No Crown, No Glory

Prologue

"Not all those who wander are lost" _J.R.R Tolkien-(The Lord of the Rings).

To the Southwest, in a continent that people have yet to know its name, there was a land covered extensively in a massive amount of sand that followed all the way down, making its way to the nearest river and going further beyond. It was wide enough to make the homeland of a Kingdom, not too small to accomodate its people, but big enough to be considered one. It went wide open to the sides, extending and extending until the borders where the heaty, dry desert ended and the deep, down rainy forest began.
At the afternoon, the sands shone with intensity of the brightest stars, a reflection that blinded anyone on the sight, but gave out a beautiful view of the blue painted sky. The tickest clouds that once brought down a storm moved their way to the neighbour kingdom, one surrounded by the tallest trees and the most various kinds of animals, exotic and typical fruits, tasty vegetables and numberous other plantations. As for the desert Kingdom, the feeding of the people it hosted was merely based on what those arid lands could give, with or without the help of the long sided river, a thread of a blue ribbon in the middle of shiny, gold sand.
However, the two kingdoms had made a strong alliance, straigthened by the holiest bond, the bond of sacred marriage. With that, the tradement of food, cloth and property goods was sent running, satisfying the people of both kingdoms.
Almost as much as the royalty.
But at the center of the golden Kingdom, was a tiny little girl, tall for her age, but still very young, looking at the horizon further beyond. Indeed, her eyes, the color of the rarest metal, precious like her, the silver inherited from her mother's side. But there was something different in her eyes, something that did not quite set her parents at ease, but, instead, instigated a new worry.
Her silver eyes were stained with red smoke, which toned them with the color of a bright ruby, the color of her eyes almost fading to that shade of red. It was a mystery yet to be solved, but the curiosity of the little girl was only spiked more.
She was dressed in silk, one of the finest cloth, a dress suitable for a tiny, little princess. It was sleeveless, for the extreme heat of her home didn't allow anything else. It warmed the atmosphere, and darkened her smooth skin into a warm light brown color. Her feet was slipped in leather sandals, which didn't make it easier to walk down the paths of the desert Kingdom.
Her heart-shaped face was moldured in falls of caramel-brown hair, down to her waist, straight down, adorned with a crown of gold smithed tiara that fit the crown of her head. The little princess didn't stop looking ahead, for her mind was still wrapping around the events that were to come. They tried to easy it down for her, an eight seasoned child, small enough to be easily dismissed, but tall enough to make the nobles spot her at once. They always tried to fool her with sweet nothings and marriage promises, however, unbeknowest to them, she was quite smart for her age, and despite what the Scribe that taught her and her brother had managed to come up with, she had dig her nose in the books deep enough to know that the First Trial meant.
It was a tribute.
It was torture.
It was tradition.
For years, nobody had ever seen a priest or a priestess in the desert kingdom of Aeronia. Many had wondered why, and came up with theories to fill that gap. And despite not one Aeronian acknowledge the existence--or faith,--in some kind of a deity, this kind of Trial was held for the sake of tradition.
Or at least, that's what they told her.
That's what they fed to anybody who asked why must their children submit to such torture.
And no one had dared to drop off another answer.
Behind the tiny body of the Princess, who was standing some feet ahead of the enterance, was the massive building of the Aeronian Castle. It was a labyrinth of marble walls and many passages that led to different rooms, towers rising from the ground to reach the sky, crowned by pointy tops. It wasn't very pretty at the first sight, but one hell of a fortress. It was mostly designed to protect and guard the royal family, and further behind its walls were many houses, some big, some small, but comfy enough to accomodate the nobles and knights. It was all surrounded by a steady wall that did not allow the enterance of anyone who didn't have the permission of the King. The guards and Knights that stood there like statues made sure of that.
The princess did not take her eyes out of the sight of the setting sun, the gusty winds following north swipping the sands, kissing her skin and leaving her eyes exposed to the danger. She could tell it was the signs of an upcoming sand storm. Yet, she never moved out of her space.
Not even when the Queen stepped forward to stand by her side. She was taller than her, thin, but a good eater and tremendously fair skinned, pale as the moonlight. She held at her lap those delicate hands of hers, swept in shiny rings, particularly one that had a topaz in it. It contrasted highly with the silverness of her eyes, steady as the silver in the crown at her head, intertwined with ribbons of gold.
A symbol of her union. Of their alliance. Of their marriage.
It was right on top of a handful of pitch black threads of hair, massively falling to her shoulders, the height of her waist, straigth down. In her ears held loop earrings, pendants that solidified her position as the Queen. Her dress of a stunning emerald green, with threads of gold, some silver, a silk smooth skirt that reached her perfect ankles, her tiny feet slipped in sandals.
Her kind face turned to her daughter, who finally stopped looking ahead, at the nothingness beyond, to turn to her mother, who smiled. Yet, it didn't reach her silver eyes, as she reached to pet her daughter's hair affectionately. The little girl leaned in to her mother's touch. It felt good in a time of pure desperation.
Because the Queen also knew what was coming, and she couldn't avoid it. It didn't matter how much she wanted to hide her precious son away, the light of her days, her young prince who was destined for the crown that heavied in any head. He was the first of her two children, to be born to the new royal line, one that intertwined both the ancient rival Kingdoms.
Because that was what anticipated her savior marriage, the holly bond in both houses that secured such partnership--or tradeship, the brutal destruction of a furious war.
It was true that, twelve years ago, there was a war that wrecked both kingdoms out of their resources. Many died, including the loving King of Surya, and her father, leaving her to rule on his behalf. Except that, by that time, she had met and planned with her husband to end it--forever. Her two children, a young prince with bright silver eyes and exceptionally strong, and a young princess with a sharp mind and smoke tainting her silver eyes, came later, when all was already settled to continue. It gave her brother room to rebuilt the Kingdom of Surya in his own troubled way. She, of course, knew from her experience with Aeronia, along with her husband Khrysaor.
She was the Queen Kyra of Aeronia, and beside her stood the young princess, Arielle Nasryn.
And there her brother came. It was then that the family of four walked their way across the desert, straigth forward, never looking at the huge Castle they left behind. Arielle was feeling some sort of coldness in the pit of her stomach, which was strange, given the intense heat of the sea of sands. Then, she realized that the nerves nestling there were only growing at each step they took. They were heading to it, and the anticipation only awaited.
The Strength Trial was an event held for ages, even before the alliance. It didn't change anything, with the sole exception that more were allowed to participate in what were the most honorable tradition in Aeronia. More were healthy enough to submit. It was held far away, at the simple, but very cherished Temple of Ildiko, a structure that, despite its advanced age, never faltered or showed signs of the passing of times. It stood there, immaculate and poised among the gusts of sandy wind, and clouds of heat that the desert had to offer.
Immobile.
Indestructable.
The people who had lived in Aeronia made sure of that--and they only knew of one person: The First King of the kingdom of Aeronia, ancestor to the Nasryn Royal Lineage. Arielle could say that she was proud of belonging to that. She even smiled at the thought. But with that, followed a mental image of how she imagined the Trial to go: the way she heard from the Scribe, but not told, as everybody deemed her too young to know the hidden little details.
Yet, she knew. And that made her shiver, as if she was the one to submit. She might as well have been.
Arielle was very close to her older brother, Prince Elijah Nasryn, whom she shared a family with. Whom she shared everything with. He stopped at the very front of the huge temple, once used to honor the strongest of the gods, located in a village called Ildiko. Ildiko wasn't a God, but Aeronians didn't bother to learn their names or the methods to workship them, rather, they preferred to ignore their existence at all. But they did know something: It honored strength. Resilience. Durability. Aeronia was a land of soldiers, but strength was also valued in the matters of hard work life and preserverence, just as much as mental strength was.
Elijah shivered at the sight of the massive columns, aligned at a fine line in both sides, covered only by a huge roof made out of bright, white marble, secured by the columns only. At the top, the marble made the shape of a triangle, all the way to the rectangle length of the temple, filled inside. At the very end, a massive wall marked the end of the building, leaving only one enterance to be used. In it, it was engraved the values Aeronians held. The qualities any soldier--or Aeronian--must have, ones Elijah would have to carve in his heart too. Deep down, it was already engraved and known to him these particular values, taught to him since he started to walk. Arielle, on the other hand, was forced to uphold princess lessons, just like her cousin, but she was never very good at those. Instead, she chose to observe every training her brother did and learn closely just as if she was included.
To any outside world, Prince Elijah looked like a very handsome boy, somehow taller than any kid his age, the way Arielle could only reach his elbow. Just like her, his skin was also kissed by the sun, giving it a warm light brown color, slightly contrasted by his shiny silver eyes and perfect nose, fine faced. His hair was just as caramel like as his sister, but not as long. His stopped at his elbows, tucked behind his ears.
The Prince's eyes never left the front, as he stopped by the temple. The five words formed a circle around the figure of a lion, Aeronia's symbol, while sprayed with different shades of yellow, red and orange.
Strenght. Elijah straightened his back.
Courage. He drew a long breath, then exhaled.
Loyalty. For as much as he wished to do so, he did not allow himself to look back. At his father, whom he was an exact copy of, the same hair and air of authority that reeked from both of them. At his mother, the one who always comforted them when they were scared or confused.
At his sister, whose companionship wouldn't last long--when he would go away. His family.
Honesty. The most dangerous value, if only for the pain the truth brings.
The last one stang at the Prince's chest.
Selflessness. Would he be selfish if he ran out now?
His little head turned back. His eyes met the ones of his entire family, none of them smiles or cheers, instead, they were quiet and stoic. Hiding their on going emotions.
His father stood tall, in front of him. His muscled arm around his mother's pale shoulders, his fingers gently stroking her long, wavy black hair falling down her back. His clothes were expensively tailored, yet simple, but Khrysaor showed a deep sense of royalty by carrying a long, thick velvet cloak, which he dragged across the sands of the desert. His crown shone with the light of the sun, hard dug out gold heaving his head, tangling in his caramel-brown hair. His eyes were pure gold, directing his golden gaze right to his silver one.
The boy hesitated only for a second, before dragging his gaze down to his mother, who gently smiled with all the comfort she couldn't give, and then to his sister, whom he would leave behind. Only he didn't want to.
The sister, Arielle, watched as her brother turned his head back to look at her. To others, it might've seemed a blank stare, but there so much words hidden in them. Her only wish was him to endure it, not having another choice. She could see the love in them, the loss, the nervousness that reflected her own. Even though she wasn't the one stepping on that marble ground, her nerves still shook and there was fire running through the little princess's veins, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest. The anticipation, cold and sweet, dropping like a rock in her stomach. The bubbles that boiled in the pit of her stomach unsettled her, her eyes never leaving her brother, who had turned his back on them and prepared himself to step.
She heard her father draw a breath, his golden eyes glued to the scene, unmoving. The King held her mother close, who in turn stretched out her delicate, pale hand to reach Arielle's, who took it. The hands intertwined, her mother squeezing in a sign of unspoken reassurence. It was warm and comforting, and the princess slowly leaned in to be hugged by her mother, smelling her amazing scent of jazmin mixed with lemon verbana. The Queen often used a jazmin scented perfume, which she imported from Surya, so the princess was used to that smell of her mother--the smell of safety and home.
Elijah, her brother, gave another step forward, however slowly. Arielle didn't take her eyes off him, and as soon as she heard her heartbeat go up, everything went excruciatingly slow. Every motion, every breath, every step of the neatly dressed guards that were approaching the Temple, but the princess did not care enough to pay attention to them. Instead, she noticed other little boys, the same age as Elijah, yet dressed poorly, revealing their status. This was a tradition that no one could escape of--salve for the girls. The girls, a small part of their increasing society that served for little more than breeding. To everybody else, the Queen was a piece for show, the woman a help for bringing children into this world, all the time and effort wasted on them. To Arielle's father, Queen Kyra was his whole world, his treasure, his love. Her smartness and wisdom helped him rule the kingdom, more then anybody thought. More than the princess herself would ever witness. She was a little girl, but what they told her was not the same as every girl was told.
You're strong;
You're beautiful;
You're smart;
But not everybody thought that way, which became evident in the lessons they had together with the Scribe. Every scoff, every sneer, every shred of hidden disgust that leaked through his wrinkly forehead.
Not enough.
But every other way, she'd learn to be a lady. And ladies did not need to be strong. Not in Aeronia.
Finally, her brother stepped into the cold marble of the Temple, following every little boy that joined him. Hopefully, eleven years of train would serve to endure it. The others would not have such readiness. Yet, all of them were grabbed by the arm, as the guard pull them into one of the columns, steadying the ones who faltered. Elijah didn't. The guard--knights as they were called, but quite as so, was massively built, shaped muscles from years of hard train, paid by blood and sweat. It was eleven years--eleven years, close to twelve that peace had been safely secured into the two kingdoms that were once at war-- but they still recruted every boy they could get--that was chosen by this trial to be sent away.
Just as Elijah would.
The guard's green eyes searched the king's gaze, but her father didn't compell. Instead, he gripped his queen's hand and drew a long breath, before nodding ever so slightly. Comprehending the unspoken agreement, the guard tied Elijah's hands to the column, the prince's silver eyes glued to his sister's, the ones he didn't want to miss. From the moment she was born, they were practically inseperable, together at every instance they could. Except now, the prince would endure alone what the princess wished she could endure in his place. To hold his warm hand.
She thought she had braced herself for it.
She couldn't be more wrong.
The anticipation was there--in every heartbeat frantically beating inside her chest. In every mental image she couldn't bring herself to picture. Thus, she just waited for the unavoidable.
Strike. The sound of a lightening, of something ripping the air they all breathed. Cutting through it, a piece of metal she seemed to can manage to see. The form of a slith weapon in the hands of the people who were meant to protect them. Cherish and respect the royalty.
Instead, such cruelty landed on the bare back of her older brother.
Yes, because it was all bare, the tanned skin exposed to the sun, already slashed because of the first blast.
But she didn't watch her brother wince. She could make out his braced muscles, prepared for what he was told he would endure--since he was very little.
Because that was exactly what demonstration of love her parents could provide. They couldn't spare him of it, but they could brace him well enough.
The princess knew, for she had seen it enough times.
She couldn't see his back, but kept imagining the damage that deadly weapon could do. It was designed to whip out any weakness left in the boys, for every flinch and trembling, the whipping got harsher. It was maddening to see the guard's hands hold it, that giant whip compared to her small size, and giving it such impulse that, when the tip slashed the air and landed on his back, sparks flew. She could not take her eyes away from her brother's face, slick with sweat, his once bright, silver eyes fading to black. At that moment, all she could think of was a slient pray, to whom, the little princess didn't know, but it was a spark of hope, of clingingness to a positive outcome.
Do not sleep.
Do not sleep, Eli.
Please.
Tears threatened to fall, her eyes burning with their awake, but she conteined them. She felt her mother's grip on her tighten. It was enough for her to swollow all the worry, all the fear, all those useless weaknesses. Her brother would be fine, in the end. But how long would it take?
She didn't count the seconds.
The minutes.
The hours--yet, the princess had already closed her eyes. It was an unconscious move, but no one protested. She could still hear the whips.
One.
Two.
The small snaps in air, the deafening sound of those clinging to her ears. She was standing still, eyes closed, hoping for it to be over. Hanging on to that hope, at last.
She didn't know how much time passed until she dared to open her eyes.
She blinked.
The Temple stood in front of her, every column with an unconscious, tiny body attached, small boys whose backs were bare and, from the stains of blood that dotted the marble ground, clearly slashed, wrecked--undoubtfully marked. The poor boys wouldn't be able to forget these precise moment, the moment when their childhood ended--and adulthood began. As for the princess, her eyes clung to her brother, barely conscious but awake--she allowed herself to draw a breath. Raising her eyes, she met those of the guard, green as the vegetation she rarely saw, drown in sorry--but they weren't looking at her. No.
They were looking at her mother, right behind her. She didn't dare to look back, did not dare to look at her parents' expressions. Her parents, who doted on her brother dearly, as much as they did to her. After all, both prince and princess shared their looks, mixes of both lines, uniting what was once severed apart. And now, both of them would be--for who knew how long--apart.
It was only then the guard freed Elijah. The others, as unconscious as they were, were sent to the tent that the Healers had set, getting ready to go.
The first thing the little prince did was rush to his sister. Arielle, opening her arms, welcomed her brother, holding him carefully enough not to touch his wounds--it could hurt him. His scent--pure summer and hints of spices--pepper, paprika or curry-- hit her at once. She drowned on it--carved for a bit of her brother, who always protected her--loved her and entretained her when the Castle they were both confined in became boring.
They stayed that way--for a long time before a hand landed on Elijah's shoulder. It was then that she saw him wince, flinch at the touch of that man. The sight triggered her own protective instincts, her veins boiling in a second, the blood becoming increasingly hot. Her reddish-silver eyes darkened--as she eyed that massive guard dressed as the other were--slipped in a tight, hot and heavy bronze armor, a weapon--a sword, perhaps,--hanged from one side, a shield attached to his forearm--a lion painted on it, and a spear attached to his back diagonally. It was a sight to behold, such a capable guard ready for battle. Except--only what it did to Arielle was fill her with rage. Fury. Frustration, because there was nothing she could do to keep him. He was bound to go.
His eyes met hers once more--ruby and silver all at once, and Elijah grabbed her hands, petting them softly, as he spoke lowly so only she could hear, even if their parents were right there.
"Be strong, Arielle," He told her, a smile forming at his lips--the pain of the slashes in his back still made him flinch ever so slightly, but he did well to hide it. She--unlike others--knew him as well as the back of her hand and could tell immediately.
"Fight, for I'll not be here to fight for you." With that, the guard rushed him to be pulled away, and Elijah only protested slightly before giving in and leaving--even if reluctantly. One last look, and he was far away within the heat sands of the desert. In direction to the Soldier's Camp. Where she could not go, she had to stay here.
With him gone, there was only a few minutes with the princess staring and staring at the wall in the end of the Temple, all the words carved on the stone recording into her mind.
Be strong. Be brave. Be honest. Be loyal. Be selfless. And above all, smart.
The images of her brother being whipped never left her mind as she turned to leave, making her first decision for her future--and she would not let others decide for her.
I'll be strong, brother. Even when you are here, I'll never give up without a fight.
Easy enough, the princess and her parents left.

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A/N: Hi readers! For all those who stopped by to read this story, thank you. This is my first try, and it has been edited several times before I put it to public. My chapters are going to be long, but I think it's worthy.

~Quaint109🥰