AN: The Latin subbing for ‘Midraeic’ in this bit is made mostly of stock phrases that should be pretty easy to plug into searches so you can follow along if you wish. OR you could pretend to be on the dais not understanding any of it, like the rest of the crowd. It is as you wish!
The city did truly sparkle, and where it didn't sparkle, it roiled. The idea of the number of people that the Capitol held, often called upon in annoyance on market-days or in narrow lanes, had until now been only an idea. Every street and every building seemed less a thing of stone and dirt than of limbs and cloth, the multi-colored waves of people holding afloat a morass of the joyful detritus of feasting food, drink and bright bolts of fabric. Every corner, though filled with its habitual dirt, by resounding the general shouts and cheers, became brighter, until even annoyance, filth, and the bottleneck at Harper's Curve seemed a cry of 'welcome', the press of poor street-planning an embrace from a fond old home. Soldiers that marched in dutifully became lighter as raining petals built into piles on their shoulders, until they hardly marched at all, but rather strolled or took a dancing step along their way. To the prisoners the whole affair was a song in another language: perhaps beautiful, and with a meaning simply not for them to understand.
Little could have been worse, Guy thought, than to ride through it, accepting the shouts of victory, while knowing the enemy at your side to be a friend.
Except – as his gaze continually returned to Nika like a sparrow on a string – except, riding through it, knowing your home all around you shouted victory for a friend who was the enemy at your side.
The trumpets sounded the presentation. The Prince, sitting back in his chair at Royal Leisure (feet planted, elbows and knees all akimbo, it was actually a bloody uncomfortable way to sit; he had no idea why they called it 'leisure'), could hardly keep his feet from tapping and his body from leaning forward. When he was King, he would re-set Royal Leisure. Alas, his father lived.
His sister's demeanor tended rather to pointing that out. She sat at polite attention. (She wasn’t expected to recline only at Royal Leisure, so she very wisely didn’t).
A guard approached, up the stairs to the dais, tucking a curled horn under his arm. He bellowed like he was trying to wake the dead.
“AS it has been His Highness’ desire to recognize the feats of courage performed both in his name, and the name of the glorious realm of Ainjir by the victorious returning army of the same, it is to do them honor that the Executive General of Ainjir's Martial Forces has returned, and does present himself before his lord, along with the prize of the surrendered arms and person of the General of the Army of the Comid Rebels. At your pleasure!”
He belted out the last as if ordering a charge and the Prince couldn't control the urge to wince. It turned out well and good because it reminded to him to wave his permission to have the persons presented into his presence, which he often forgot on these occasions (the Prince's entire Regency was rather characterized by long pauses). Also, he allowed himself to break Royal Leisure. Doing so would cause a minor scandal – 'minor' especially in comparison to what followed.
Down at the unseen base of the steps up:
“...I don't know who that woman is; we're also missing one. Your runner said there would be an Ambassador from Adineh, who should be the only other person of enough rank to be on the Royal Dais. Other than that, it's Hammerlyn, Prince Diarmaid, and the Princess Aodhnait,” Nika glanced over to see what Guy thought of this summation, only to find that Guy was sweating like snow melt, pressing his uniform flat.
“That was a good presentation speech,” Nika said, after a moment's wait.
“Was it a good presentation speech?” Guy asked, trying to catch his breath.
“I thought it was good.” Nika said. Guy's nerves were catching like a fever. He tried to remind himself that he didn't have anyone to impress. He especially didn't have anyone to impress.
“Yeah, I thought I covered everything well. Nice presentation speech.” Guy was straightening things that were already straight. Luckily, he was more practical than compulsive, and eventually, when there really was nothing left to fix, he stopped fixing it.
The guard with the horn came down, giving Guy an encouraging smile, that no doubt someone used to court would be able to interpret as other than silly-looking. Nonetheless it was appreciated, as he gestured for them to ascend the steps.
Nika couldn't move first, but Guy seemed to hesitate, steeling himself with a few unsteady breaths.
“One thing: you forgot to announce your name,” Nika said.
Guy swallowed, smoothing down the front of his uniform.
“Not 'forgot'.”
The first remark was on how the Prince's smile fell off his face as soon as no one followed the two to the dais. He refrained from checking behind them, but many of the broadsheets speculated it was only just so.
The Comid General's bow was widely derided as rough, uncouth, and not low enough, but the Princess noted nothing lacking in it when writing that evening, and she would have noticed were anything amiss. She, even in her personal writings, was too polite to comment upon the brief but immediate silence.
When the Prince failed to speak first, she took it upon herself to not make the Royal Family look like a bunch of gape-mouthed twits.
“The Palace honors you, victorious and brave, for what you have done for it and for Ainjir.” She nodded, as was appropriate, and received a pair of deferential bows in return. She noted the Comid's hands were tied, and wondered if that were standard practice, as, she later wrote, she disdained cruelty.
The second remark was to the effect that the General addressed the Princess first, which was slightly backwards for a royal presentation, but as the Prince hadn't seen fit to recognize them yet, it was reluctantly admitted that he had no other recourse. This was written up in the broadsheets as generally admissible, and several mentioned as relevant the coolness of a man attuned to the pressure of battle.
“Your Royal Highness by her address does me too great an honor,” said the General, “it was my pleasure to execute my duty with what abilities nature saw fit to grant me. If I may be so bold as to say so, I make my presentation today only thanks to the conspiracy of bravery of the soldiers of Ainjir and upon the probity of our chief foe, whose arms, surrendered and conveyed peaceably, it is my great, but not particular, honor to present to you now.”
This speech was adulated by the broadsheets, and widely circulated in accounts outside the Capitol. Several salons featured dramatic recitations.
The third remark was, uniformly across all papers (and with unusually direct quotation) that the Princess, seeming unfazed, next inquired, “And by whom are we thus honored in return, though not particularly?”
In as much as the General's clear, and perhaps even over-honest speech had amazed, so did this witty and ambiguous response from the Princess. Heretofore regarded primarily as a swain's plateau of royal achievement, in reports it either rendered suspect or elevated Her Royal Highness (the two being often the same in court). Speculation on her exact mood and meaning did not falter for many years, though the issue was immediately settled for any present at the time by her teasing smile.
“General Ríoghbhardán MacLaoidheach Guy is before Your Royal Highness, and it is my particular pleasure to say so.”
She then issued her hand, which honor the General knelt to raise above his head, her knuckles flirting quite adventurously close to his lips as they passed. It was even speculated that the General's eyes met hers in the briefest of flashes (later, scandalously hyperbolic accounts would mention this as fact), and certainly the growth of a poorly contained smile on her face from seemingly no cause gave ample evidence that Something had Occurred.
Upon the General's standing, the Prince Regent seemed to awaken. The timing was appropriate, for the presentation of arms must needs be nigh, but the Prince Regent's standing (accompanied by the hurried stretch of everyone else upon their feet; those already standing simply endeavored to stand more) seemed less to have to do with that than to do with the fact that–
“You are not Esras Cole,” the Prince said.
The only polite thing to do was bow, which Guy did, letting Nika indulge in the nasty smile that should come with it. The foremost choice of adjectives was 'villainous'.
“Your Highness is perspicacious,” said the General, and the Princess seemed to suddenly resist the urge to sneeze, or at least, she covered her face as if it were so. The Prince stared at the General, who stared back with the utmost respect, deference, and a sheep-like naiveté so thorough as to almost amount to a denial of mental competence.
“We expected one Esras Cole to appear before us. As far as we are aware, you are not the Executive General of the Army,” the Prince said.
“Alas,” said General Guy, “I am the only one in the position to be so, and must regretfully inform Your Highness of that fact.”
“And what, indeed, has happened to General Cole?” The Prince asked, with a general smile spread about like butter on toast, which his more ever-present courtiers would've recognized as his signal that he was 'in on the joke', however much the evidence pointed to the contrary.
“An attack of conscience, Your Highness, too sudden to plan for, over a matter which imperiled his honor to the highest degree, and therefore his suitability for Your Highness' generous commendation, could be the only thing which has kept him from Your Highness' most gracious presence.”
Guy, though still bent half-over, managed the catch the flick of the Prince's eyes from the vague royal vista (above and around generally everything) to Nika, before returning again. The gears that suitably symbolized his working mind switched immediately to grinding in the reverse with much unseen, internal commotion.
“We see.” The Prince paused just long enough for a drop of sweat to fall from Guy's nose to the dais. “Well, then, we suppose that puts this whole presentation into General Hammerlyn's hands, doesn't it?”
Subdued as reactions necessarily were on the dais, it was with a shift of eyes and several sharp intakes of breath that riotous confusion reigned for a moment. The only two who showed no reaction were the Prince, who smiled at his own cleverness, and Nika, whose calm refusal to perform any more actions worthy of derision had at this point rendered him nigh invisible.
General Hammerlyn was quick to step up, but Guy was faster with a hand to his chest. “I'm afraid not, Your Highness,” he locked eyes with General Hammerlyn, the two staring each other down, “Brigadier Cole promoted me to Executive status just before his departure to ensure the proper proceedings would continue in his absence.”
At the phrase 'proper proceedings', General Hammerlyn's face began its trek towards furious redness. He paused in his approach, eyes searching Guy's face for some sign of the man who had jumped in Cole's shadow at his raging a slight week ago.
As if oblivious to hostility between Guy and Hammerlyn, the Prince continued to smile to himself, glancing about to his sister. “'Brigadier?' What exactly does a Brigadier do?”
“Commands Brigades, Your Highness,” Guy said, his hand steady on Hammerlyn's chest, and his eyes unwaveringly focused and cool.
“Well, that makes sense, we suppose,” The Prince said, switching to affable amusement that allowed him to drop the royal 'we'. “I've no head for these complex military matters, General Hammerlyn, so I'm afraid I'll go with General Guy's best judgment on the issue.”
Hammerlyn's face grew from an unattractive (though loyal) red to an even more unsightly purple-red, seeming all the worse for Guy's pale calm. Guy's claim to out-ranking him was tenuous, at best, but there was no one to whom he could appeal – except Guy's own sense of self-preservation. But the man who had jumped and quailed was gone, and table-shaking and shouting would only get Hammerlyn dismissed from the Royal Presence. Unable to contemplate any response but sheer rage, he had no choice but to take the insult, now given twice, with the Prince's approbation.
He stepped back. Guy brought his hand down, returning his gaze respectfully to the ground somewhere around the Prince's feet. “Your Highness is generous.”
“Not at all, my dear General,” said the Prince, coming forward to stand in front of Nika. “So you're the one, eh? Our valiant foe?”
“I may not judge my own valor, Your Majesty, but find it easy upon the tongue to praise the honesty of your officers,” Nika said.
“That's a pretty statement... I was expecting something more...” The prince waved his hand, and the monkey, being the only one able, suggested a response in his chittering, “...accented.”
Nika responded cooly, “Then, if it pleases your Highness, accusare nemo se debet nisi corum Deo – even of virtues.”
Most of the population of the dais – excepting the Princess – stared.
“Ah, that does provide us some relief,” the Prince smiled, “What with the confusion over your betrayal, I had worried your heart might not be in it, especially now as the cause is lost. You know, we learned a Midraeic phrase once.” The Prince paused, as if finding the words difficult to recall, though he said them fluidly, “Actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea. Though in the present circumstances, I think 'Audere est facere' sounds more appropriate.”
Nika couldn't actually lay eyes on the Prince Regent, though the Prince very clearly had his gaze focused on Nika. Nodding a bow, Nika spoke eye-to-eye, if not able to look it. “Your Highness pronounces the words very well,” he glanced at Hammerlyn, who he could stare at all he liked, “and the importance of an accent was very strongly impressed upon me. I believe my people felt: Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest, ad maiorem Dei glorium.”
“Ah, a verbis ad verbera: Hominem unius libri timeo. Autem, vincere est ratio ultima.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty: Is fearr Aincice bhriste ná Midraea cliste.”
The Prince laughed, “Ego sum rex, et supra grammaticam – we must now commend our enemy's accents, as well as the variety of his reading.”
Everyone upon the dais was obligated to clap, and the scattered sound, confused by their uncertain hands, was like shaking the apples from a tree by a stiff breeze.
“We daresay we can see why General Cole pursued victory so 'hotly'.” The Prince smiled, watching as Nika failed to prevent the heat from rising in his cheeks. “Well, as much as it grieves us to leave off such pleasant banter, let's get on with it. General Guy, your presentation.”
Guy signaled to Heary, who had been selected to bear Nika's sword to the dais. He put it on a silken pillow, done up in the Regent's red and with the royal seal stitched on it, held in the hands of one of the Royal Guardsmen. The silk and the sword seemed objects of two different worlds – the silk plump and shining, the scabbard semi-bleached and mud-stained, still spotted with brown blood. The trumpet announced the presence of a weapon, and with solemn step the guard approached. The Prince's mouth quirked at Nika's flinch upon seeing the weapon again.
“Perhaps there is time yet for regret?” he asked quietly.
“Only memory, not regret. It is like seeing a severed limb,” Nika muttered, looking away from the sword.
The Prince nodded in approbation, turning his attention to Guy.
Guy gingerly lifted the sword from the pillow, with the very tips of his fingers, palms held flat.
The Princess watched, face and posture as serene as propriety could demand, though a wrinkle between her brows betrayed her as a bit too long away from court.
Guy turned with the weight of the sword in his hands, heavy with dirt and pocked with use, left uncleaned and unsharpened as both evidence and tribute – as Nika would say, bearing its sin upon its surface.
Hammerlyn could not help but twitch, and the Royal Guard twitched with him, though a few of the less experienced were comforted by the rope around Nika's wrists.
Guy slowly knelt, careful not to let the sword wobble on his hands while raising it above his head into the hands of his sovereign lord.
The Prince was perhaps the most calm, the genial smile on his face at such a serious moment the direct kin to, if not the very one that so long ago fixed his reputation for buffoonery.
Guy's knee touched the ground, the sword over his head, his poise a study in perfection.
Next to the Prince on the scale of calm was Nika, though that may have been mere inscrutability, which in turn was attributable to the fact that, of them all, he was considered the only one who knew what would happen next.
“The surrendered arms of Dominicus Galen, enemy of state, I humbly offer as tribute to Your Highness.”
Then the weight was gone. The Prince lifted the sword appraisingly, looking at it like anyone looks an interesting object whose use is forgotten or whose meaning foreign. The Prince gestured and Guy stood.
“Your tribute we accept, and praise you in our acceptance.” The Prince glanced from Guy to Nika, then the sword held awkwardly in his hand. “We hope all conflicts come to such a quiet end.”
The fanfare played again, making a jest of the Prince's words at which no one could, or would, laugh. It seemed as if a lingering cloud had passed over them all, only to reveal the sun half-gone to setting.
“You may escort the prisoner to the dungeons to await trial,” the Prince paused, then addressed Nika with uncharacteristic sincerity. “We do wish to express our regret that your confession with be validated in the usual way. We shall commend you to the executioner.”
“Your Highness is generous,” Nika said, both he and Guy bowing. The Royal Guard stepped forward to make escort, and Guy waved one of them off, taking up his position at Nika's side. The guardsmen looked to the Prince, who, though he raised his brow, also waved his approval, happy to send off Not-Esras-Cole for his own reasons.
“Proper proceedings,” said the Prince Regent.
Commentators noted that the General did not seem appropriately pleased with His Highness' approbation, but thanks to the sympathy engendered by his eloquent speech, this was widely attributed to a mere unfamiliarity with court, and how one should properly interpret the subtle gestures of the sovereign. Focused as they were on the subtle gestures of the sovereign, many failed to note the subtle gestures of the remaining court. To be fair, these were somewhat overshadowed by the amusing behavior of the monkey which at precisely this time decided to climb and attempt to fornicate with General Hammerlyn's leg.
So unremarked went the following eyes of the fair Princess Aodhnait, and the tenebrous widening of the smile of the Ambassador Hawath.