Vitreous (Lyonene)

[As Day Fades]

(This is a roleplay based in the Final Fantasy Tactics world, and is likely to incorporate a number of extreme fetishes.)


The gilded hilt of the equally ornate golden blade turned over in Delita's palm again, and again a time after that, brown eyes going on several minutes now of staring over its features. The observation wasn't one of admiration, though the craftsmanship alone was worth such a thing, but rather it was an observation laced heavily with disdain. With sighs that commonly accompanied every other breath. Golden hilt, slight grooves for one's fingers, a flat-headed pommel with perfect balance and a large emerald embedded at its base. Numerous small rubies circled around the larger jewel at the pommel, then continued to trickle up the handle of the sword like raindrops, fancy, expensive raindrops, until spilling onto the blade and disappearing halfway up its length. And the blade itself was gorgeous, a marriage of steel and gold, the soft hue shimmering from any light which would dare look upon such an extravagant masterpiece.

"How long has this thing been around?"

"All of it?"

"All of what?"

"There's more."

"..."

"The blade was crafted roughly fifty years ago. Fifty...three, I believe? But the suit of armor was only commissioned about a decade ago, when King Damatchka thought the war had been won."

"A congratulatory gift for himself?"

"Yes, sire, I believe so."

"Had he actually used that gil to buy a few more soldiers, or maybe even pay the ones he had, he might've won that war a few years earlier. Maybe when he was alive to see it."

The attendant cocked his head. "Such extravagance isn't out of the question for men of your rank, sire. If anything, if you'll pardon me for saying, it's quite expected."

Sighing, shaking his head, Delita sheathed the royal blade in its equally bejeweled scabbard and tossed it on his bed, tossed it as if it were a toy, as if it were trifle. This caused a wide-eyed gasp and an almost lunge from the attendant to catch it, but the voice of the king held him in his place, "Expected... It's also expected of kings to pay their soldiers and to make sure their people have food. But I'm glad that if Damatchka could only concentrate on one of the three, at least he had his priorities in the right place." That came with another sigh, a roll of his eyes, and a turn of his shoulders to the door.

knock knock knock.

Delita's head perked up and his steps halted, having half-stepped toward the door out of his personal chambers in Lesalia's royal castle. The king blinked once, then again, and tilted his head in curiosity, "Yes? Enter." ...Gregor? No, Danielson. Delita recognized the eldest of the royal servants immediately, though he hadn't much time to speak to the man yet since his coronation late last week. And as much as he wanted to speak to him by his first name, he'd had enough lately with being told of 'how kings should act'.

The old servant, late into his sixties and having seen a total of four kings now, entered in his time and gave his king a deep, respectful nod before speaking. He paused a moment, as if collecting his thoughts before beginning, hands at his sides and ever proper, "Sire, a woman has arrived at the castle and wishes to see you. A Lady Oaks I believe."

Delita's head tilted in curiosity. His eyes narrowed and he regarded the man solemnly for a moment.

"Sire?" the elder messenger questioned.

"Oaks?"

"Yes, sire. Agrias Oaks. Young woman, though perhaps a few years ahead of you. Long blonde hair. I believe she was assigned to Queen Ovelia in some manner, though before she was Queen that is."

"Yes, yes. I'm familiar with her, if only in name. And she's here?"

"Yes, sire. She just arrived recently I believe."

"In the throne room yet?"

"I don't believe so. Shall I have her sent in?"

"Yes - No, no, hold on that. I'll take my seat first. ...Are you certain it's her?"

"As certain as the name she gave me."

"..."

"Shall I doublecheck?"

"No, that will be fine. I'll be seated first. I'd like the opportunity to measure her as she approaches the throne." Delita took a quick glance over his chambers, adjusting the cloak that hung from his shoulders as he took a moment for thought. He glanced toward the messenger again and spoke while his booted feet took him toward the doorway, "Give me a moment to take the throne. You may send her in after that."

 

[Lyonene]

Agrias Oaks knew very well what it meant to wait. It was her calling and her glory as a Lionsguard - one of the elite protectors of the Royal family. She understood that it would rarely fall to her to alter another's schedule.

'Or make demands of any sort,' she thought ruefully, glancing along the corridor. How long had it been since she'd attended the Princess in these very halls? How long since her most dire assignment had been to keep a pretty girl's virtue intact and ward off dozens of anxious suitors with a cold glance and the threat of colder steel?

A barely audible sigh slipped between her lips as she ran a gloved hand across her face, fingers pressing hard to her forehead. Everything had changed so quickly, thrusting a gentle young woman into a battle between Lions with few allies besides a band of mercenaries and a loyal bodyguard. An untried knight.

"Lady Oaks?"

It took her a moment to realize that the servant addressed her and not her aunt. 'Lady' Oaks had always been somebody else; a woman with grace and dignity. Someone she could aspire to be .. in time.

"Yes?"

The syllable sounded less certain than Agrias would have liked; she'd barely spoken since she heard the news.

"His Majesty will see you now."

She could only nod, square her shoulders, and press forward.

...

A solitary figure strode through the throne room's massive doors, heavily booted feet striking against marble tile in an otherwise silent space. Tall for a woman, Agrias cut an impressive figure in her silvered armor and blue surcoat, her long blonde braid trailing behind her like a pennant as she approached the throne.

There was plenty of time to survey the figure on the throne but Agrias couldn't bring herself to do it. Large blue eyes stared straight ahead, marking a spot somewhere above the man's right shoulder. All she saw was the rich lustre of golden armor as she sank gracefully, if noisily, to one knee, gauntleted hands covering the hilt of her sword. Impossibly long eyelashes swept down to rest against her cheeks. She was glad to note that her hands were steady and her breathing even .. in spite of the anger and sadness that did their best to tear her apart.

Could she have prevented Ovelia's death?

 

[As Day Fades]

Delita shifted in his seat as he watched the woman enter. In his throne. It was an odd feeling, and one he wasn't very much sure he liked. Still, the puppetmaster had as much a part to play as anyone else, if not more so. He regarded Agrias with eyes of brown steel yet with a belyingly calm expression upon his features. He regarded her, looking directly into her blue eyes as she approached the throne, taking note of how she didn't do the same.

She was an intelligent one. Little Delita knew of her, little more than brief conversations with Ovelia and far briefer with Ramza. At the moment, nearing the back of his mind he wished he'd had Amelia or Verilay look into the woman more, perhaps Verilay if he had his choice. He was curious as to her exact demeanor, as to exactly what she was thinking, able now to only surmise what might be going on in her head. And for a pawn-turned-king, to have a piece on the board he did not feel three steps ahead of, whether it be bishop, rook, or in this case a knight, it left a dissatisfied feel to his gut.

When she reached her place upon the beautifully woven red carpet, taking to a rather loud kneel twelve or fifteen feet away, King Hyral remained silent, remained still a moment as he observed her further. After a moment he shifted in his seat, golden armor clamoring quietly compared to her own - his, rather than the ornately crafted pieces left by rulers past, from his time leading the Black Sheep. Impressive, yet far less extravagant than any king would wear. Delita shifted in his seat, a soft red cloak lined with white fur draping over his shoulders, and a palm coming up to cup his chin as he observed her. And observed her still, in silence, for a moment more.

"Seize her."

It wasn't quiet, per se, but very much so when considering the booming strength an order of such is usually spoken with. There was a pause for a moment as Delita straightened his back, hands now going to the armrests of his throne. It was time to overact. Time to make a show. Time to, whatever mindset she was here with, make sure that he held every last card.

"Agrias Oaks, lay down your weapon at your feet - and do so cautiously, I warn you." Calm, yet impassive. Those steel eyes were cast quickly to one side, then to the other, that look alone commanding the guards to step in on either side of her, pikes in hand and confusion abound. "It is to my understanding that you were charged with the sacred duty of guarding my dear Ovelia, and to everyone's understanding that she is now dead, your duty unfulfilled!" Delita stood, his voice rising with anger, "I will not hear your words - not now, when all I see when I look upon you is failure! Treason, daresay, for where have you been these last months? Not at the lady's side, that I can assure you! In my years I have seen nobler than you hung by their neck for far less!"

Brows furrowed and his brown eyes narrowed. "Relinquish your sword! As of this moment I strip you of your knighthood!"

All the cards, indeed.