Ivory traced her fingers down the strands of lustrous white hair. Hair that was now fitted with countless glossy things—shards, jewelry, and unknowns. Most of them existed with no remembrance in her memory. What they were, if she were to guess... perhaps a makeup. Pieces of silver to enhance the hue of her natural shade. A pleasing sight to the observer. The fools, she knew, would find the jewelry odd. To them, the extravagant paints—that was beauty.
An intriguing subject to ponder, but odd to grasp.
Oh, maybe they didn't even care for that, but chose to wear it as some joke. Ah...who would know? Who could even grasp the motivation of those people? She sighed—she could afford to now, as none existed in this chamber with her.
She remembered it—here, Aunt Illenna had found her with Kabel. Even now, the memory's size remained in that gloomy vastness—lesser than the pictorial ones created by Illenna, but still, just enough. With both hands clasped over her stomach, she wandered alone, pondering.
In a few minutes, she would be summoned to the Great Hall. There, she would walk in the midst of Lords, Merchant Lords, and even Representatives from the Great Gold Bank of Bolt. Many were in attendance: representatives from the Vassal Clans of Odium, Clan Gladstone, and Clan Riverend from the House of Noctis. Even emissaries from the whiteTower. It was unknown which of the three schools would be present. This also implied the potentiality of no Highness being present.
As was expected. Highnesses had their pride to protect. Why come to a mere coronation? Why carry out an action that echoed the belief of weakness to another clan? Such were the thoughts of those leaders.
Would I one day think like that?
She observed the sleekness of the walls and nodded. "Yes...I would be expected of it."
Again, she sighed. The light from distant lamps cascaded down her form, casting a subtle glow over the white dress wrapped around her skin. Suffocating. But for the wrong reasons. There was little hesitation or anxiety—a deadEye had revealed the human trait of adopting that emotion. Not her. Not now. For now, she endured the foreboding sense: a knowing of imminent chaos. Whatever it was, it was coming.
Perhaps it was the gathering of so many Clans... Vassal Clans with their years of feud and hatred. Who could predict the intensity of the chaos? There was blood owed by many, except the Honor Clan, of course. There was also Clan Wane, with their belief that the Valor High Family should be theirs alone—a false belief, as Argon had revealed to her.
Supposedly, sometime before the death of the First Highness of Valor, Eidan had written a letter to Wane declaring them the new High Family of the Clan. This was, inevitably, not accepted by anyone. Yet to date, groups of fanatic believers have emerged from the lesser clan, claiming just as much.
When would they learn?
The steel remains with the chosen.
She tapped her fingers atop the cold tables. Woolgathering. There was also Clan vileStorm and the Comes. Ivory closed her eyes, unsure whether the supposed Comes of the North was coming to her Coronation.
She sought to whisper words of prayer. Bootless, perhaps, but one should never overlook the movements of the Theocracy's Comes. Never. Those beings, as she knew them, acted as eyes for the church, ever watching the motions of each clan. Rumors suggested that the death of Night Noctis of the House of Noctis was a result of one such Comes. Not that a Come was directly responsible for his death. No. More likely, it was a Come that had revealed the information. Or at least, that was the extent of the rumors. Very little confirmation existed, especially given the secluded nature of the Night Clan.
Who knew what happened behind those mountain walls of theirs?
She sat down, reclining on the chair. Comfortable. Perhaps it was a trick of her mind, but here, in the silence of words, men and women, she found tranquility. Of course, spyEyes and the occasional Eiya would litter the space, especially today, with the gathering of countless persons.
Important individuals.
Responsibilities!
How heavy it felt on her shoulders: the need to learn and input endless data on history, specifically the individual histories of the attendees. She had heard of Julius Dawn, the Smiling Sword; Barristan Night, Lord Captain of the Night's seatGuards; and another, Salinor of the Fray Clan.
It was countless information that required room in her immediate awareness. She winced at the imaginary pain, took a breath, and directed her thoughts toward a different matter.
Today was crucial, yet fraught with the possibility of chaos. What would happen if any of Valor's many enemies asked her a single question: Could you cast for us?
Rumors would only stay rumors without the presence of proof. Or the rumor of proof. Not for her. Today, be it Odium, Wane, or perhaps even the Strongsteel Clan, any could pose that simple question.
She looked up, taking a direct hit of the distant bulb up ahead. Blinding. She blinked, a stream of tears trailing down her cheeks. Ah, the foreboding sense screamed again.
A dangerous question could be asked. Worse was the fact that most of the attendees were casters of tremendous might—minds of exceptional speeds. With all that power and the penchant for questions and answers, what would hold back the minds of these men from posing their chaotic inquisitions?
What about Kabel? Would Argon's…My secret be revealed to the world? Could Wane have broken their vow? What if today, instead of congratulations, Valor was greeted by leeches on our heels? What would they take from us? What would they destroy with their questions?
And that was the limit of her thoughts. In the end, the mortal mind existed with a restriction toward certain ponderings. Even with all her greatness, the impossibility of Multi-simulation of possibilities was beyond her.
As it was, she could only wait for the flow of time to drift the events straight to her. Just like the men who must approach the women. She sighed, stood, and said, "This I must do. Now I wear the armor called Ivory Valor."
____
The air was sweet, perfumed with the special ones obtained from mistVeil. A scent of molten metal and flora was mixed into a mind-calming inhalant. Unlike moss from wheatshire, these were weaker. In the gentle breeze from invisible means, the scent was guided into the nostrils. Every breath filled the throat with the metallic aftertaste. That and the slight warmth within. Like Alcohol.
Not that she had ever drunk any...Argon, however, did.
She was ushered. Three tall Excubitors before her, and three behind. All clad in black metal armors and silver, reflective helms. Their heads were bulbs of dim light, caused by the base placed lamps. At her left and right, two steps behind, always, were handmaidens. Their metal links still sealed in the hair. No clacking sound was echoed from the motion. Expert. That and the fact that they were virgins from the links.
Married women had to break the links.
It signified something, something that Ivory had little care to ponder. Not now. The walls were narrow--just enough for the entourage that guided her. Each surface, grainy, black, leading forward towards one destination.
The Great Hall.
There, the coronation was to happen. If there were servs allowed into the castle, Ivory's internal state would be revealed as turmoil. What shades would the eyes of the Almighty give up in accordance?
Definitely not blue nor black.
The curiosity was passive, as the scenes of reality faded back into her awareness. The Excubitors ahead carried their Oredite swords, housed at the back, centered. Useless if she were to say. After all, the unsheathing of such weapons, long swords, required time and distance. A thing that could not be achieved with the limited arm of the human body. Even if Excubitors, after years of training in that Citadel of theirs, after the special Rings given, existing now as prime mortal beings. They were, in the end, humans.
Such, the placement of the sword was purely a decorative act.
Is it for my cornoation? Ivory wondered, both arms elegantly still placed one atop the other, over the stomach. On her hair, she felt it, was a ring of thinly wired flat orbs. A makeshift crown, except it wasn't makeshift nor a crown.
Supposed to signify the trueness of my essence as highHeir.
What a superfluous act.
An act she now endures with a smile on her face.
Ivory nodded, and the handmaiden to the left, instantly from her clothes, produced a round mirror, facing towards her. On it, her reflection was framed back. White lustrous hair, each strand similar to lean shards of light. Hers. The face, as was the rest of her, was painted. Pale hues were used, eyes edged with sharper blacks. A piercing gaze was the outcome.
And the lips, that became the brighter hue of red. Likely done for the enjoyment of the Odium Clan. Them or the Fool's clan. Who knew? The cheeks were dusted with faintly greyish tones. A painting.
She was a painting.
A beautiful art. A canvas that smiled with false desires.