Heavy is the Head that Wears the Solemn Crown

Thirty-Three - A Brother's Concern

Wilbur

Celebratory events were never Wilbur's favorite pastime. The grief over losing his mother was a major factor, but he also never appreciated how cold these affairs always became. He could weave his way through the political battlefield as easily as a gods' champion navigated a war. He could put on a performance worthy of the greatest circuses, turning the nobles into puppets on strings he held the marionette controller of. He never particularly liked doing it, though. His manipulative disposition was not a product of his hard work, but a gift passed onto him like the swirling magic in his larynx. He could see how all the nobles were set up on a chessboard in his mind, looking over it like a player. His aptitude doesn't mean he's incredibly fond of it.

The Winter Festival is probably his most favorite, even if he holds little love for it. He enjoys the atmosphere of people getting ready for the colder months. He likes seeing his workers prepare, and the farmers load up their goods. Most of all, however, he enjoys all the festivities. As the welcoming embrace of winter descends upon them, the citizens of L'Manberg celebrate with brilliant parties and warm-hearted gatherings. They share their thankfulness and love, performing more than the bare minimum of kindness to one another. He loves the festival held in the capital city, and he finds himself asking his ambassadors and noble friends what happens in their part of L'Manberg during festival time. He doesn't completely hate the balls, either, even if it is just another opportunity for noble ladies to throw themselves at him and noblemen to curry favor with him.

The war should make this celebration less spectacular. It should make him feel awful and dirty to be honoring the incoming winter. Some part of him does feel that way, of course, and some of his thoughts are still trapped in the folds of fabric forming his tent. The rest of him, however, is standing in the Archmage's palace of the Crystal Cliffs, gaping at the beautiful ballroom. He's staring at the rooftop composed of colored glass to form intensely dazzling geometric patterns. He's captivated by the swirling masses dancing in multi-colored gowns and suits. He's sipping on a crystalline glass filled with fruity wine that smoothly passes down the throat like fish swim in the river. He's swaying with the beautiful music sung by the critically acclaimed minstrel, Dervikat. His heart is swelling, soaking up the pleasure of being at a party composed of laughter and dancing. He prefers being somewhere that doesn't make him feel like everything that can go wrong is currently going wrong and that it's all his fault. He much prefers this over talking politics with nobles as they pretended getting tipsy and enjoying music were fun pastimes and not social taboos.
The Winter Festival was a one-week affair. Villages all across the country would be putting up decorations that corresponded with the capital's main theme including grand performances and highly social parties. Three out of the seven days of the festival included balls hosted by the royal family. The first day's ball was one designed for everyone. People from all over the country could come to the venue to celebrate with one another, sharing cultural differences of the different areas and enjoying food, fireworks, and music. It was by far the largest event, but nobles rarely came to it. They did not like being around commoners, after all. Wilbur always went to the first ball because the commoners treated him like one of their own when he didn't tell him his name and they were too drunk to recognize his face.

The fourth day of the week included a ball specially designed for nobility. Anyone with an officially recognized title was permitted to enter the ball, and the nobles took this opportunity to debut children and exchange power in the forms of deals and betrothals. It was troubling to listen to the senseless chattering for an entire night, especially when it was rather taboo to eat the food or play dancing music.

The sixth day of the week came Wilbur's least favorite ball. It was for anyone the reigning ruler invited, but that was a formality. Wilbur invited the major noble families, and invitations to this event were highly coveted. It meant the ruler acknowledged that noble family. There was nothing worse than a bunch of stuck-ups rolling around in their own self-importance. It was even worse than the noble-only party because at least the lower-ranked nobles were a little bit of fun to be around.