[CANON] 2332 IC: A Day In Court - torroar
Update still being chugged at. Here's an omake I've been working at for far longer.
2332 IC: A Day In Court
Neither occupants of the bed were pleased with the sunlight that poured in. Whether it had been the events of the night before or some errant shifting of the cloth, the curtains were pulled back just enough for punishing beams of light to crash directly into their faces. Still, both were more than stoic enough to withstand such unholy punishment, but even their strong constitutions faded within a few moments. Natasha was first to disappear beneath the covers, pulling the thick blanket over her head entirely. The mighty Steel Bull of the Northern Trident shifted his body until he was face down into his pillow, but moved no more.
"Frederick?" Came the muffled word.
"Mmph."
"I'm still tired. You're holding court today."
"Mmmph?"
A hand snapped out beneath the blankets to slap heavily against skin, causing a higher pitched noise of some kind to emerge from Frederick's throat as he shot upwards on his arms, hissing between his teeth.
"Agh, Gods, Tasha!" He yelped, whirling away from her as she laughed and advanced, a shadowy lump under the covers. "All right, all right!"
The blankets gathered themselves until only the faintest sight of the Countess' eyes could be seen within the shadows, glittering in pleased amusement at the sight of her husband before her. Humming throatily, Natasha continued to stare at the man before her until finally Frederick turned about and headed for the closet. Soon after she retired to her bed. She'd been overexerting herself lately since the halflings had begun to arrive in organizing them. Due to their relationship to the former Elder of the Moot it was not as if they could afford to treat them as regular immigrants. Moro herself was going to be arriving any day now, more likely than not. And yet she'd also felt and acted with far more energy than before, after that strange encounter with the Everqueen…
"Hey wait a minute!" Frederick said with confusion in his voice, half-way through putting on a pair of pants. "You-,"
He was interrupted by a heavy pillow to the face.
"Frederick," Natasha said calmly, a void crevasse in the blankets where her face purported itself to be by her voice, "You haven't attended nearly as many courtly meetings as usual this year, you've spent all your time in the workshops."
Scowling, he dressed himself as quickly as possible before striding over to the dresser where the pitcher of ostka waited.
"It was for a good reason-,"
"I'm not denying that, but this is the least amount of time you've spent at court since we married, husband," Natasha interrupted, her voice growing somewhat smokier somehow, "And the least amount of time you've spent in our bed…ever, I think."
Frederick paused, looked at her, and then drank from the pitcher directly rather than from the glass. Swallowing heavily once he'd drained it halfway, he placed his hands on his hips to face the bed fully.
"I could always delay. Tell them to wait a few more hours."
Both were silent save for the sound of their light breaths before finally the swaddled lump's top slowly swayed from side to side.
"Mmm…no. You need to go," Natasha eventually said, though there were faint notes of regret in it. "Boris will have all of the information you need."
Frederick blinked as he finished dressing, drinking another fourth of the pitcher on the way.
"Shouldn't he have retired by now? The man was two decades older than you when he got to Ostland."
By now, the black-armored Kreml Guard were just as much of a fixture in Wulfenburg as the Greatswords, it seemed. Though they always seemed to put more of their forces towards protecting their original charge and her first two daughters than any other. Then there were the others…though for now neither of the ruling Hohenzollerns had made any movements towards dealing with them one way or another.
"Boris is…dedicated, but yes, you are right about that," Natasha murmured. "I'll need to find a replacement for many of them, frankly. Most are about the age to retire. We'll need to recruit more."
Or ask Kattarin for more, though neither were particularly inclined to do such a thing at the moment.
"We'll discuss the matter further later," Frederick eventually said as he headed through the doors, "All of my love, forever," he called back to her.
"Forever," was the echoing reply.
Thus he found himself face to face with the helmed visage of Boris, a voluminous white beard stretching beneath the chin of it. Or, at least, once voluminous. That too was growing remarkably wispy. A small sheaf of papers was held in his hands, though upon seeing the Count he came to attention while holding the things in one hand, his halberd in the other. Nearby, a pair of older Greatswords greeted their lord before returning to attention themselves.
"Count. Is Her Ladyship going to be joining us?"
Even after all this time, Boris' accent remained strong. By now, some were even hearing rumors that the Kreml Guard specifically worked to keep it, the better to remain connected to their homeland. No one really knew for sure, and the Kreml Guard weren't inclined to answer any questions on the matter.
"Not today," Frederick shrugged, lightly holding Brain Wounder in one hand. "Let's get moving."
Boris paused an exceptional two seconds longer than necessary before turning sharply on his heel and walking parallel to the Count. They did not banter or exchange anything more than the papers previously held. Frederick flicked through them rapidly, his eyes moving and mind processing at a much higher rate than many would think him capable of. Notes taken over the course of the various cases and matters that had come up until now, those resolved most recently, and of course the names and supposed motivations of all involved. Then, beneath those, were the more pertinent notes of what they weren't saying outright. Few dared try to lie to the Lady Hohenzollern to her face, but omission and misdirection would remain forever in the blood of the nobility.
Eventually they came to the throne room of Wulfenburg Castle, greeted by the crowds of courtiers and petitioners who regularly traveled there. The whispers started up immediately of course, but Frederick paid little attention to that, instead studying the place for potential ambush and assault. One extremely large room of stone and thick wood, sparsely decorated save for a few tapestries and trophies here and there. Some light that stabbed through the highly placed windows, illuminating the thick carpet which traveled from the main doorway straight to the throne itself. Multiple passages in and out, some with doors ajar, others firmly shut. A few braver men tried to raise their voices above the crowd, to greet the Elector Count of Ostland more personally.
He did not respond besides a shifting of his eyes that made them shrink back.
The thirty Greatswords present within the hall had straightened when he had arrived, and strained to become even more so as he approached the seat. It was nothing special, the original seat of the old Udose king had been lost long ago, as had the original crown. Not that they were, going by the old tales, anything particularly special. One was apparently just a simple bronze circlet, the other a shaping of stone built more to look intimidating and large than actually being functional and comfortable. Now, the only sign of office needed was either the runefang itself or wearing the new circlet, this one made from some of the first steel forged by man after learning its secrets from the dwarfs. Above the throne, casting its artificial set eyes over the crowds, was an absolutely massive bull's head, snarling as if in life. It was not, in fact, red, but rather a harsh blue like what had once been slathered onto the chests of Udose berserkers in the days of Sigmar.
It was, now that Frederick paused to think about it, the greatest sign of Guvaur's presence in his personal life.
Then he was upon it, turning swiftly, letting Brain Wounder rest at his side leaned against the throne while he steepled his fingers. The classical sight of his armor was missing, replaced with the finest officiating robes. Black struck through with white and gold, brought together with a red bull's head pin on his breast. It was not as stately as it could be, all knew, simply because in all the years he had been holding court he had never quite managed to bring himself to hold his posture as the more ostentatious nobles of the south. Not to say he slouched, of course, there was a unique way to the sometimes sullen brow that the bearded Count glared out from beneath that was a shock to those who came from, say, Reikland or Averland.
Boris was present not a second after he'd settled, flanked on the other side of the throne by Captain Hass. The slam of the halberd's butt against the ground thrice set the crowd silent.
"We bring this day of court to order, in the name of Ostland, the Empire, before the sight of the Gods. The honorable Frederick von Hohenzollern, Elector Count of Ostland, Grand Prince of Ostland, Margrave of the Northern March, Hero of Nordland, The Steel Bull of Ostland, Hero of Ostland, Slayer of the Everliving, Steward of the Third Imperial Fleet -,"
A raised hand from the man stopped him.
"I think they get it, Boris," Frederick huffed with amusement. "We don't have to go down the entire thing."
It did not show on his face, but all three men at the throne itself knew that Frederick relished in the ability to go without the entire spiel without his wife present. Though why he did it, again, knowing that Boris would report to his wife, none could say other than the fact that on occasion Frederick von Hohenzollern chose to live life dangerously.
"Let's get this done, shall we folks?" He raised his voice to reach the crowd, allowing them the chance to chuckle in somewhat real amusement. "First on the list…," his eyes narrowed and glanced across the crowd before stopping on his targets. "A land dispute between the settlements of Brizban and Boven over mining rights in the Selonian Hills."
Two small gaggles of burgomeisters and minor nobles detached themselves from the crowd and approached to the halfway point to the throne. They glared at one another, muttering beneath their breath back and forth. Eventually however, their self-elected leaders stepped even further to within likely killing range of both Greatsword and Kreml Guard alike. An old holdover from the days long past, the better to kill potential assassins with. Or maybe just people the Udose king didn't like. Of course, back then they had archers too, ready to nock and draw at a moment's notice. The first was an almost skeletally thin man, his greying beard already growing wispy, yet he held himself proudly. The second was dressed in brighter blues and whites compared to the burgundy and yellow of his opposite, though it did not distract enough away from his clearly younger countenance.
"Let me be clear," Frederick raised his voice over the beginning words of the two. "I know who you are. Prince Whitsomheimer, your family has ruled over Brizban for many generations, and ruled it well. Prince Skellan, Boven has flourished under your family's rule for a long, long time. But," he leaned forward slightly, a slight glare spearing them both. "Now, all of a sudden, with the closing of one's iron mine, and the opening of another's copper mine, you are at each other's throats. Explain yourselves, and We will see what We can do."
Gone, now, were the days when Frederick von Hohenzollern attempted to get feuding representatives to simply perform a trial by combat, the winner getting the spoils. Or when he simply shouted them all down and told them to do what he said. Years, many years, of instruction from Lady Natasha – for whom many still gave thanks to for that very reason – he had begun to listen, deliberate, and even on occasion delegate. A land dispute solved through a joint trade venture. Another by deciding that, as the river had shifted, so too had the lands…unless they wanted him to outright dig the river back to the way it was a thousand years ago, and make them both pay for it. It was not right to say that all left satisfied by the end of the courtly hours, but more than half did, and that was about as best as could be managed on most days. He was, remarkably, lenient to certain sorts of thieves, depending on their reasons. Only a span in prison for some, others only losing a hand. Others he would personally kill out in the courtyard before the watching crowds, beheading them in a single stroke. By the end of it all, three potential marriages had been brokered, five land disputes settled one way or the other, ten criminals sentenced, and four religious concerns met with and solved. In so much as he told the latter four that their concerns were not concerns, just them arguing amongst themselves in matters that did not require his attention. He was even right, their posturing had no actual difference regardless of who 'won' in one direction or the other.
But he said it nicer than he would have in the past.
So there was that.
Eventually, of course, he returned to his rooms.
"My lady love, I have returned to you blerph mlerf," he proudly proclaimed as he entered, the rest of his words lost as a pillow was mushed into his face.
On the other side, a lightly seething Natasha stood, fully dressed in her fighting armor. She continued to grind the pillow into Frederick's face to the point that his back was beginning to bend, though she knew she could not actually push him if he did not let her.
"The point…of your list of titles…is to enforce order, and authority, and presence. It reminds the court of who you are, and what you have done. And you did not summon a Greatsword to be your bearer of the runefang, so you just let it rest against the throne like some sort of barbarian king slouching after his conquests?!" Her voice rose into a strangled shout.
"Ah," Frederick said, his voice muffled by the pillow, "Boris got back before me, did he?"
"I just wanted to sleep in. But I see, once again, that you require remedial lessons," she snarled. "But first, I am going to make you bleed in the sparring yards. Come," she pushed past him, letting the pillow fall limply to the floor.
She squealed when he spun about and picked her up by the waist, squeezing her slightly so that she was hefted above him. Her face was thoroughly unamused, to the casual observer, but this close Frederick could see the faint quirk of her lips, threatening to transform into a smile. The flash of her eyes was not in anger, or at least not in majority, and the fact that she was not currently punching his nose into a broken state was just one more sign. What truly gave it away, however, was when he lowered her enough to capture her in a thorough and long kiss that ended only when both needed to breath.
"How did I really do," he whispered to her, their noses touching. "I let Boris get out all the needed legal Imperial titles, so really, I did well enough. The sword thing is something you've never brought up before. So how did I really do?"
Natasha von Hohenzollern glared a mighty glare, but it was not the sort that put ice into one's spine, or quelled Magnus Redfist and High Priest Arthur von Hohenzollern alike. Besides which, she gave it up after a second's hesitation and laughed cheerfully.
"You did fine, Frederick," she rolled her eyes. "You and I both know you did. But it was time for sparring anyway."
"Yes, but-,"
She nuzzled her face against his, hands grasping the side of his head to help her do so.
"All my love, forever," she whispered.
"Forever," he sighed into her, letting her down so that the two could simply hold one another in the doorframe of their bedroom.
Both blinked in surprise when there was a cough nearby, spinning slightly so that Natasha was just behind Frederick with saber in hand as he half-raised Brain Wounder. The Greatsword looked, for some reason, embarrassed.
"Uh, my lord and lady, your sons are in the courtyard, as is Lady Anna. They were wondering where you were, so I was sent to-,"
Both Hohenzollerns pushed away from one another.
"How long were we standing here?!" Natasha howled, a hint of laughter in her voice as she pushed past and began sprinting down the hallways of the castle. "We're late!"
Frederick cursed, his eyes bouncing between his quickly disappearing wife and his armor still in his room.
"Come on, Frederick!"
"Damn it," he swore and followed after.
It seemed that today was a day for scenarios involving him being surprised when out of armor. Or at least, him surprising others that he was out of armor.
"Come on!"
"All my love forever," he yelled out as he thundered up from behind, his legs pumping faster than even she could manage before scooping Natasha up in one arm over his shoulder.
Her weight made no difference whatsoever to his velocity. The other nobility had long gone home. The servants were all highly paid, with a number of them being of Hagrid's sort to prevent rumor and issue from getting out without permission. Any who would have thought to rumor monger heedlessly would not be present by the next day. All had learned that. The Greatswords had long grown used to the eccentricities of their charges, and their loyalty had been refined impeccably for generations. None but these two groups witnessed the most powerful man and woman in Ostland acting as they did. And so, it continued.
"Forever," came the cackled reply as both burst into the yard.
The first that that Magnus von Hohenzollern saw of his mother that day was her laughing while being flung at him, sword-point first, as his father shoulder-checked his fully armored brother and sent the priest of Morr sprawling. The Jade Wizard Carlotta did not even look up from her book as she sat on the bench. Her peer Ernst would later inform her that she missed quite the expression on the heir of Ostland's face.
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