forum No Choice (Closed with Null-Gravity) (1/1) (MxM)

Started September 05, 2023 by @RhysTheFirebird groupIs It Worth It?

tune

Roazin currently felt nothing but anger as he stared out the carriage window. He pulled slightly at the fabric of his tunic, resting his head back against the banded panel behind it. He runs his palms over his pants, feeling the sweat there. He shifts his gaze to the older man across from him. The man was his father butler, assigned to make sure Roa made the six week hourly safely.

He’d spent the whole six weeks, believing that he was on his way to make an agreement of peace between the two kingdoms. This morning, the man across from his had told him that while, yes, Roa would be making a peace agreement, it was that Roa was the peace agreement. Marriage to the crown prince of Trila.

Roa had heard the stories. The cruelties. He knew why no one had told him his purpose in this whole farce. Roa would have run away, causing war between the two kingdoms. At least, that’s what he knew his father thought. ‘Strong minded Roazin, doing only what he wanted because he could.’ But ROa would never put his homeland in that kind of danger.

The carriage makes its way along the road leading to the gates of Incarcius‘ home. He looks out the window again, his golden eyes taking in the details of the home.

For the past 6 weeks, Incarcius had raged.

Raged at the duplicity of his father, at the duplicity of his entire kingdom, the duplicity of the neighbouring kingdom with whom they'd been so close to war with, so close to stamping out to make their lives better.

Raged at the underhanded tactic of being sold off, for all intents and purposes, to some no-name, witless man from said neighbouring kingdom.

He had raged at his father, his servents, his subjects. Anybody who stepped in his path was fair game. His already short temper had gotten shorter every day, every hour, every minute and second that he knew of this marriage.

He planned on raging at the no-name prince, as well, for even daring to allow hisself to step foot in enemy territory without intent to fight.

However, as was the custom for his kingdom, he dressed in scarlet and silver and obsidian, the classic colors of royal betrothal in his kingdom.

With a slight difference.

Instead of the usual blood red rose in his hand, to be presented to one's betrothed, he carried a thorny briar, stained red. A symbol that he could not care any less for the man he was about to meet. A symbol that if given the chance, he would tear the man he was about to meet to pieces for the duplicity of his father and kingdom.

He looked hisself over in the mirror in his chambers, disgusted at how well tailored it was to his lean, athletic frame. How good he looked in it, despite the blue tone his hair took near the tips.

His pale, flat, pupilless eyes glance out the window and see the other prince's carriage rumbling up the drive.

With a heavy, wrathful, disgusted sigh he heads down, to the main foyer, where his servants stood, waiting to assist the prince in getting his belongings to his room.

---

The first thing Roazin would notice as he stared at the home of the prince of Trila was how surprisingly simple it was for a member of royalty.

White marble brick was the stone of choice for both the barrier wall which Roazin's carriage had passed through moments earlier, and for the home itself.

The home was three stories and stretched half a league east and west, and in the manner of all noble or wealthy homes in Trila, was topped with elegant traceries of the countrie's war-filled history. Scenes of the subjugation of old Trostland and its neighbour, Vermint were accompanied by visions of numerous heretical attacks from the feral bands of barbarians that roamed everywhere across the continent, and gruesome depictions of executions of Trila's worst enemies were displayed prominently.

The front porch, roof held up by massive marble pillars adorned with more bloody history, was a grand affair, fit for a crown prince's garden parties and stately affairs which were required of him, even if he never showed up to them for longer than half an hour.

To put it succinctly: it was clear that Incarcius was as patriotic as they come, which would not bode well for Roazin.

(I’m also assuming both kingdoms have their own language- just cause I wanna see Roa struggle to try to speak correctly. And I’m not saying vastly different, but kinda like French and Italian or English and German. Both similar, but different enough it’s hard to communicate.)

The foreign prince sighs, “You could not have told me of this bullshit it before we left home? You know, the fact that I’ll never go home again unless Incarcius wants to go as well. Which I highly doubt he will.” He peers out the window again.

“Young prince, it is not that bad. The lands here are just as beautiful as the ones at home, if not more so. And your father had his reasons for keeping this quiet.”

“Yes, so that he could make sure I was off his hands and in the hands of someone far more inclined to actually do something about my. . . Attitude, father called it?” The butler raises an eyebrow at Roa and he sighs, slumming back. “I will do my best to keep the peace, however unsteady it may be.”

“Good, I would hate to report yet another failure to your father.” These words have Razin’s back stiffening and he glares at the older man, his golden eyes sharp. “Last year’s finagle was not my fault. I had nothing to do with it.”

The butler shakes his head as the carriage comes to a shuddering stop. The man stands and opens the door, holding it open for Roazin. Roa peers outside, looking at the building before him and sighs softly before hopping out of the carriage. His feet connect with the ground and he relaxes. He always hated carriage rides. To small and cramped for his liking.

He walks forward a few steps, looking up at the doors.

(I wanna say he’s wearing exactly what the pic shows for his court attire-)

(Oh, yes. Foreign Enemies to Married Enemies to Married and Finally Falling, minor language barrier 500k+ words.)

A maid sticks her head into Incarcius' chambers and bows her head.

"My Lord, the foreign prince is here. He is currently waiting outside the front doors. Shall we welcome him in?" she asks, her voice soft and subservient, doing her best to avoid bringing the crown prince's rage down on her head.

"No. Make them wait. I never wanted to do this, and neither did they. They can keep their wits for a few more minutes. I shall be down shortly. Gather everyone in the hall in 2 minutes. And make sure everyone is spotless and smells decent. I don't want tthe foreign prince to think we're a bunch of slovenly drunkards or feral raiders," he says distantly.

The maid bows deeply.

"As you command, My Lord," she replies, scurrying off to gather everyone.

Incarcius takes a few deep breaths to steel himself against his still potent rage, at least until the prince is settled in.

After a bit, he heads downstairs and stands at the front of the host of maids and butlers.

He nods to two of them, and they walk over to the massive front doors, hauling them open.

As they open, Crown Prince Incarcius puts the best welcoming smile he can muster on.

It looks as though he's being molested by a gaggle of geese with knives.

"Prince of Veandera, Roazin Democarcius, we bid you welcome to the North Territory and the kingdom of Trila. We hope you find your stay here to be enjoyable and warm," Incarcius states.

(Exactly-)

Roa stands there, looking up at the building before him. He may or may not have felt the slightest bit of awe at seeing the home. It was beautiful, if slightly cruel. It wasn’t everyday Roa saw homes carved with detailed images of bloody battles. But that was probably because his homeland was more. . . He didn’t have a word for it. He didn’t want to think more civil, because, well, every kingdom had a different way of society. He would say his home leaned heavily into the edict side of things?

He shakes his head slightly, he wasn’t here to judge Trila. He was here to make a peace agreement. By marrying himself off to one of the cruelest men known to the world. He sighs heavily, wanting to go back home, but from the looks of things, that wouldn’t happen for a long time.

He clasps his hands behind his back rocking back and forth slightly on his feet. When the doors open, he masks a light, kind smile onto his face. He says mask because it wasn’t genuine, though Roa was kind. When the other person deserved it.

In the span of the last few weeks, Roa was struggling to learn Trila’s native tongue, and so far he sucked at it. He could barely introduce himself or greet anyone. He would have to make do. He clears his throat, trying to piece together a sentence before speaking, “Thank. . . you for the. . .” He pauses, biting his lip in concentrations before speaking again.

“The welcoming. . ?” He tilts his head, wondering if he sad ‘welcome’ correctly.

(He tries so hard- I’m just waiting for the moment when he accidentally curses someone out-)

Incarcius stares for a moment.

"It is said, 'thank you for the welcome,'" he corrects. He wasn't bothering to speak in Roazin's native tongue, though he knew it well enough to hold a simple conversation. Only because he'd spent time interrogating a few Veanderan spies his nation had captured.

This was Incarcius' home, his country, and he did not care if some prince showed up out of the blue, he would not switch tongues expressly for anyone's comfort. It was not how he did things.

Especially not to some namby-pamby prince from a nation that was clearly too weak to defend itself. It was insulting, really, how weak Veandera was.

How easily they gave up one of their commanders as a sacrifice, to keep theirselves safe.

More than anything, really, that's what pissed him off. Even beyond being given up himself as a peace offering.

Presently, his pupilles gaze and natural looking yet forced smile bored into Roazin like the fall of an anvil into a wood floor.

"Please, make yourself at home. I doubt you will be leaving us for a long while," he continues, gesturing to two of his ervants. Immediately, they nod at a few others and they all rush out to the carriage to start bringing in laggage.

Roazin processes the words, nodding slightly. "Of. . . course. I'm apoplexies." He felt like he spoke wrong and tries to fix it.

"My. . . apoplexies?" He should shut up now before he says something wrong. He goes silent, shifting his weight slightly. He felt awkward, unsettled. His lack of communication skills made him feel worse. They didn't help. He looks up at Incarcius, not only was the man on high ground, but he was well over a foot taller than Roazin.

Incarcius's words hurt him for some reason, a soft ache settling in his heart. His home land. He wondered when he would see it again. The lush open fields, the beautiful lakes, streams and rivers. The small grove of threes dotting the landscape. It was a beautiful place, fir for the Veanderan horses. Beautiful steads, stronger and faster than most other breeds of horse, bigger as well. Prized and almost never seen outside Veanderan lands, the horses were worth fortunes.

Roa bites his lip, taking long moments before putting a shitty sentence together, hopping he got his meaning across. "I've nothing. . . Brought horses. . ."He holds up two fingers and then motions to two out of four horses tethered to the carriage. The ones he motioned to were the largest and smallest of the four, but all clearly Veanderan horses.

"Big one is gift for you." He looks at Incarcius. "From my own. . . breeding. He's. . . one the best."

Roazin had brought Kazeal, his own horse, as well as Dryzyn, one of his best horses, with him on the trip. Kazeal, beacuse he knew he would get bored and want to ride, and Dryzyn as a gift for Incarcius.

Incarcius' nostrils flair at the egregious mutilation of his native tongue.

"I would not suggest uttering that word again, Roazin. It has several meanings, of which only one can be considered even remotely polite, and even then only in extremely rare scenarios," he chastises.

The prince of Trila tilts his head.

He really expected me to provide him clothes? How much more stuck up can he get, Incarcius thinks.

He glances over at the horse and blinks slowly.

He had indicated the massive one as being the gift for Incarcius, which made some amount of sense considering how massive he was. And yet, it was still astounding to see such a large horse.

He looks back at Roazin.

"You will be taken into the city to shop for clothes later today, seeing as you didn't see them as an important item to pack. I am surprised you made it all the way here without commiting suicide just from how bad your clothes smell," he says offhandedly. "It might have been better for you if you had, even if you had packed clothes."

He turns on his heel and strides upstairs.

The servants glance at each other, then indicate for Roazin to follow after them.

Roa bites his lip, struggling to follow Incarcius’s words but catching the gist of them. “I. . . I am. . . Sorry. . .” He murmurs, looking down and tapping the toe of his boot on the ground.

He turns to the butler and murmurs softly into his ear, an anxious look on his face. The butler listens then looks at Incarcius, “The Prince wishes for me to express how sorry he is for what he said. He’s been trying to learn the language, but with the lack of spears, he doesn’t get very much practice in Vanderan.

“He did bring clothes, enough for a about two weeks, the length of his travel. But the king though it wouldn’t like to see him in the traditional clothes of our people. We brought our own money to get him new clothes.”

Roazin nods, and then speaks slowly, “I. . . Am sorry if it. . . Came off as. . . Stuck up?” He tilts his head to the side.

The butler looks at Roazin and speaks to him softly, “Do not fail and do not be a disappointment again. The kingdom’s safety rests on your shoulders.” He turns and walks back the the carriage, looking at the driver and signaling for him to go.

Roazin swallows, No pressure. . . He follows after the servants, quiet.

Incarcius nods at the butler, but his eyes flash in a way that showed a clear dislike for the way the butler had the gall to look him in the eyes and speak in that way.

"Good to hear it. We shall get him teachers and tutors while he is here," he replies.

He waves his hand.

"We shall take the trunk with the clothes and cleanse them," one of the servants murmurs deferentially to the foreign prince and butler.

The servants that had indicated for Roazin to follow led him up to a room that held an elegant mirror, clearly very expensive.

The white queen sized bed in the center of the room was partially blocked off by a thin, white linen curtain, and the bed itself was covered in a silvery diuvan.

In a corner stood a wardrobe, and on the opposite side of the room was a magnificent desk with an equally magnificent chair.

The servants bow and murmur to Roazin that he should make himself comfortable before leaving and closing the doors behind them.

Roazin shifts his weight slightly, looking uncomfortable as he looked around the room. He was used to the darker tones of his home, blacks, browns, darker grays. He always found those darker colors calming an relaxing. Welcoming.

The whites were slightly blinding for him and he stands in the center of the room, uncomfortable. He could feel a headache forming at the blinding colors ab h presses his fingers to his temple, closing his Eyes. he felt like a sore thumb in the bright room.

He moves slowly towards the desk, pulling the chair out and slowly sitting down. He closes his eyes, running his hands through his hair. He was sitting on the edge of the chair, not relaxing. He was tense, ready for anything that could happen as he sit there.