Sense and Sensibility

For all Addam and Mythra were an unlikely, or at the very least unexpected, pair, much of the same could be said for the bastard prince's other, much less visible, feminine counterpart. No, their marriage was not arranged, but no, they were not childhood friends either. After all, those pre-adolescent years were occupied with a fair few other trials and tribulations that would have made such an easy companionship rather less than natural. So, let us...?

The scene, and the cast: Khanoro, exercising infidelity circa 3539, caused Addam to be born to a woman known only as an "ordinary farming lass" among those who would have been present to know (and that is to say, Mungo the mostly-trustworthy would tell it out right), and even as this caused irreparable damage to his relationship with his current wife, who would eventually divorce him and distance herself from royal life, Addam remained in Leftheria, the site of that fateful public relations campaign (indeed, might not his whole life and existence be termed an unfortunate exercise in public - or other - relations gone wrong...?), until such time as he was needed.

Yes, eventually Addam was summoned out of Leftheria for precisely the intent of ruling, because...well. There's more than a bit more history to be unfolded here. Firstly, we note that his mother, Odette, died during his childhood, and when that occurred, Khanoro rather immediately became more withdrawn from the whole affair than he had ever been up to that point. No one wanted to have to acknowledge her relation to the Tornan royal family, so if she was gone, and Addam living as a simple child in Leftheria, playing on the beaches with no one minding that he wore shorts instead of skirts and kept a braid next to his cheek rather than a ponytail behind his crown, the ugly ordeal could summarily be forgotten.

The problem, however, came when Khanoro's actual wife, Sarnai (short for Altansarnai, but she found it unnecessary to restate that adjectival addition among their beloved land), became so frustrated with their inability to conceive an actual heir - anything to combat the advances of Zettar's branch of the family, made most significantly up of himself and his half-brother Chaghan (and they half- and step- to the king themselves, so it's a mess all round, really) - that she decided she'd forfeit the responsibility (and here it sounds like we're, I'm, pinning blame, but that is most certainly not the point) of producing a fitting successor. Because after all, if you think you're so smart, o grand and glorious Khan, why don't you just rig up that child of yours? Wasn't even a boy, was it?

By now, it, he, was. So Khanoro, with all reluctance only deepened by his practical bereavement, summoned Addam back in from the outlying territory to the mainland, and was more than slightly confounded when the grinning twelve-year-old who stepped off of Azurda's back looked both nothing like his father and almost nothing like his mother, save for the golden eyes. Zettar, still sniveling, ever sniveling, had the rattish smirk wiped clean off of his face when he realized that this child, for all intents and purposes a boy (or so he was considered...caitiff), could in fact be poised to supersede the High Prince himself as next in line to the throne.

This, of course, why, this couldn't be let stand. This simply couldn't be! So what to do next? Determinedly ignoring all of Khanoro's bleak-eyed, graven-voiced protests, Zettar hammered at the governors' parliament for a bastard child to not be allowed to act as anything more than a potential pinch-hitter for the kingship, and furthermore - futhermore! Since he has apparently changed his presentation from the gender...assigned at birth, my sister Ashigu should also be considered as a legitimate candidate. It is only fair, dear governors...?

So let it be written, so let it be done. Addam was not first, was not second, was not third, was merely fourth. Not that he cared. Walled up in the palace for fear that someone should see him and cast undue judgement, or even that requisite, he learned no airs and unlearned no graces, only cavorted gaily with those of the palace staff that would have him. From time to time, he was taken on holidays at Aletta, where the sitting lord entertained him only begrudgingly. In short, Addam was a responsibility nobody wanted, and no one ever dreamed that one day he'd have those very same burdens, even perhaps thoughts and dreams and goals and ambitions, of his own.

By and by, Khanoro ordained that he should be taken upon various and sundry diplomatic visits so as to gain some knowledge and experience in the world beyond silver and golden shores, of something more than playdates and place settings, and so Addam went. Perhaps he met Minoth, and Amalthus. Perhaps he didn't. Surely, you can see that that's not the focus here. We've been so wrapped up into royalty and keeping up with their klannish policies that we haven't even stopped to consider Blades and Drivers and how they figure into the whole stew. Indeed, we won't. But, to be sure, those were topics upon which Addam began to develop opinions, of varying degrees.

Through all this, Addam didn't have much agency. He was free to go where he liked within the palace, and on certain occasions even journey into Auresco, but he never met anyone of note, for no one of note was supposed to meet him - was even supposed to see him, after all. Some time roundabout his eighteenth year, which is two after the beginning of his extracontinental excursions, he met a fellow outcast, in the market.

She wore pink, a dress and boots with gold and navy accents in well-Tornan diamond shapes. Her hair was in braids, with a smart little tie just like his. She was slight, and very short, and there was an intriguing angularity to her jaw. Hello, said Addam, gullibly but not gulping, do you come here often? They were at the perfumer's shop, and Addam had never been, but the girl turned to him, cocked her head to the side, and smiled. Indeed she had, and she'd always been window shopping, but she'd almost gotten enough saved up at last, from her teaching assistant's job, for that scent there - do you see it? The one marked Winterwind?

Addam, ever obliging even though he'd never even had the chance to be before, dove his hand with immediacy into the pockets of his baggy pants, beneath a dull golden sash, and fished out a spill of coins that was probably far more than necessary, but he was still learning accounting and getting the denominations by weight and feel, and he wasn't meaning to show off, you see. The girl's eyes went wide, but not in a shallow way, and she asked, well where on Alrest did you get all that?

Where did you get that, and...who are you? From wide and curious to squinted and suspicious, she went. They'd given him a last name, teased out from somewhere among the history books, so that he could indeed blend in among the common people from whence he'd come, just in case, and so he pronounced it: I'm Addam Origo. This was none elucidating, but somehow hearing his voice again made her laugh, and laugh, and laugh...

And from then on, whenever she came to Auresco, she always tried to call for Addam, by hook or by crook, and she became known by all those retainers who were fond of him, and then, of course, even some who weren't, but did she care? No, not a wit. She was from Heblin, the land that would be Zettar's if he ever cared (dared, really) to leave Aureus, and so the royals didn't scare her at all. Not in the least! Especially not if they were all so silly as Addam was, hmm?

Eventually, the king called upon Addam to say that the lord of Aletta would soon be too old to manage that principality, if not dead full-out, so you'd better get married, to someone, in preparation for such an event. It will not do for you, and for the future of Torna, to repeat the mistakes I made in haste, my son. Now, he didn't specify who, didn't say it had to be someone of blood and eyes both blue, but even if he had, Addam wouldn't have cared. Addam wouldn't have cared if his bosom companion had had brown eyes, or green, or yellow, or purple, because his eyes, golden through and through, were only for her.

His name might have been Adele, and hers might have been...something else we don't even care to mention, because there's nothing admirable or even poignant, plain worthwhile, to it. Her name's Flora. If we ever called her anything else...well, that just wouldn't be right, now would it? Luckily, no one ever dared. Miss Hentisane of Heblin was just as much of a nuisance to them as any young Master would have been. Something to be said for being unpalatable and going unnoticed beneath the radar, then.

So Addam and Flora were wed, and no one came to the ceremony, because the whole thing seemed a sham, but to them it was perfect, and just a fine bit of luck that they could get out of there, away from hateful uncles and horrid mothers, and have land on which to farm, even, and probably raise children, yes, but most importantly to be together. Not everything Addam did in broad joviality did Flora approve of, and not everything Flora did in piquant cleverness did Addam quite fully understand, but did it matter?

He brought home Milton, and she said well that's silly, there's no one his age who lives around here, and Addam sheepishly replied, if I turned out alright, then hopefully he will, and she wrinkled her freckled nose up at him before reaching up and laying one hand on his cheek and kissing the other. Maybe you'd better bring on some staff who have children his age, she pointed out, and Addam's reply was, what do we need with more staff? We've already more than we need.

In time, the militia and the war in tandem ended up backhandedly sorting that little dilemma out, and the former made itself a motive harbinger of events owing to the latter that neither of them could ever have anticipated, but they were there together, and in the end they would always be together, so...so it's got to work out aright, right? One month, one summer, one crop rotation, one year couldn't possibly change that much.

No, not for those two. She loves him despite all sense. He loves her for all her wonderful sensibility.