Evriene's Song

Evriene looked over the itinerary she'd been handed for the Peace Day celebrations. It wasn't quite Christmas, but as far as she was concerned, a big party in the middle of winter (okay, not midwinter; Yule apparently wasn't a thing either and this was just a few weeks before spring, but shut up), was close enough. The event apparently commemorated the end of the War of the Gods, when her nation's own patron fell in love with the goddess of life and revealed a path to peace after centuries of bloodshed and destruction.

It was an important event for anyone; the social gathering of the season, for high and lowborn alike. For her however, it was perhaps even more meaningful. It was the first time she had ever celebrated it, despite being 14 years old. That was of course, because while the old Evriene had apparently existed in this world for years, the current Evriene had not yet seen her first full year, having awoken in her new body and new life on her fourteenth birthday, some thirteen years younger, winged and a dick lighter than she had closed her eyes!

She had mostly managed to adapt by now, (although her reflection still caused her breath to catch when she didn't expect it), but she was slacking. She was a princess now and even in her old life, she had been a believer in the 'noblesse oblige'. It was time to introduce herself to the nation.

Finding what she was looking for, Evriene smiled and turned to the dutiful maid-in-waiting standing with her hands chastely clasped a short distance away. "Enitte, if you would be so kind, I would like to speak with whoever is in charge of providing music for the royal house."

The girl blinked at the request, her wings ruffling slightly. She was only slightly older than the princess herself and still uneasy at the way her mistress tended to treat her more as a friend than a servant. "Ah- I am sorry, but I do not believe your father keeps such a person on a permanent retainer, your highness," she explained. For the past year or so, her mistress had been acting exceedingly odd.. Not unpleasant at all (in fact if anyone were able to tease an admission from her, she would probably say she preferred the princess this way), but still strange. Her requests, her manners... It was like she was a totally different person, at times. Of course, one would have to have been a maid who had attended the princess since her tenth year to even notice the change, but to the girl's perceptive eyes, it was there.

"Does he not?" Evriene blinked, tapping a quill against her perfect lips. "Well... That shall have to be rectified first. If you would be so good as to fetch the ledger for my allowance? I think I have a few dispensations to make..."

*****

The air was cold and crisp in the breezy streets of Heaven's Hand, that Peace Day. Peddlers selling hot, roasted chestnuts; bowls of soup and hot sausage; and warming ale did a roaring trade, as high and lowborn alike huddled together in warm wool coats and fur mittens. The different strata of society mostly kept to themselves, but on this holiest of days, there existed an atmosphere of comradery and companionship. In places, affluent nobles threw coins and sweets to the peasantry, or paid for bonfires and entertainers to add warmth and revelry to the city. It was a day of love, of family and the simple joy of life and peace.

While the city celebrated, many made their way unhurriedly to the enormous amphitheater in the royal district. Normally, the smallfolk wouldn't even be allowed to walk these streets, but on this day, they (or at least those who could afford it) were welcome, at the invitation of royalty, no less! they packed into the seats and stands of the great theater, the great canvas awnings above clean of the stains of soot and oily smoke that typically coloured them, having been replaced for this very occasion. Mana crystals spread warmth across the crowd as the nobility and the rich packed the galleries and the poorer patrons packed the stalls and pit, some squeezed so tight they could scarcely raise their arms.

A huge curtain of heavy red fabric hung across the stage, drawing curious gazes from all onlookers, almost as much as the platoon of royal musketeers standing at the flanks of the stage, their muskets held across their chests, their eyes locked forward. All voices hushed as a man in black robes walked out onto the stage from one side and bowed to the audience.

"My lords and ladies, gentlemen and women and all besides. On behalf of the royal house of Aena, I would like to welcome you to this, the first performance of the new heart and soul of our great nation's culture - a testament that resonates in every soul of every people, in every nation of this blessed world we share. For your consideration today: The Royal Symphony Orchestra presents a selection of celebratory anthems and hymns. And leading the choir in our first performance this afternoon - offering a song of her own composing, Her Royal Highness, Princess Evriene Koyo Aena."

Breath caught in the throats of 4,000 elves and angels at the announcement, their eyes wide as the master of ceremonies bowed once more and left the stage. The presence of the soldiers made sense now; they were a royal guard for the very person who had invited them all there. The curtain raised and barely a sound count be heard as they looked upon their princess in awe.

*****

Why did she think this was a good idea?

Evriene waited in silence behind the curtain, trying to calm her nerves as the master of ceremonies introduced her and her pet project. She had been so busy in the weeks leading up to her performance that she hadn't had time to stop and consider what it would mean. The royal theater seated thousands, all watching her, all waiting to hear her voice break or stumble over her lines, or someone's string to snap or the horns to miss a beat and then all the shame and humiliation would be heaped on HER head! Every noble in the city was out there, from squire to duke, to say nothing of the several thousand affluent commoners who had been required to buy their invitations!

Still, it was far too late for second thoughts now. The master finished his introduction and the curtain began to raise. No applause could be heard; she could barely make out a breath, although she was certain her own heart could be heard from clear outside the building, it was beating so loudly!

Magical lights turned themselves on her, bathing her in a heat-less spotlight, the orchestra behind her lit only softly. This was her number, written herself and the music composed at her direction. All eyes were upon her and even by her own admission, her looks at least could not be faulted. A spotless and elegant dress of purest white wrapped around her, clear as the fresh snow that even now fell in a light dusting from the opening in the awnings over the pit. A veil trailed behind her, over her hair and wings, her feathers edged with brushed gold. Every man and woman in the audience felt their heart skip a beat as they recognised the radiant beauty of their monarch-to-be in a bridal gown.

Then the first roll of the drums and the trill of the flutes sounded and she lifted her voice in song. In another time and another world, the words were already meaningful, but now, stolen and re-purposed as they were (sorry Sir Cecil Spring Rice), sung by a maiden in a white dress, they were amplified yet further

"I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
Entire, whole and perfect, the service of my love;
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;"

It was a wedding vow, a patriotic hymn, an expression of service and a pure, unashamed love for her land and people; strangers to be sure, but her people none the less, to whom she offered her life and all that she was.

"The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice."

Tears prickled her eyes as she sang, her emotion adding weight to the song that few singers would ever capture again for years to come and that would never leave the hearts of those that heard her.

"And there's another country, I've heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;"

There was a burning in her yet-modest chest, as grief, joy, loneliness and devotion all warred for supremacy. To those listening, she sung of the golden age; of the heavens; of a utopia that could never be, but that was ever worth striving for. What none of them would ever know, is that to her, it was also a farewell; a remembrance of a home and friends she loved dearly - a nation she had prided herself in her patriotism of, but could never return to, save in her memories. This was how she said goodbye and honoured them all as best she could.

"We may not count her armies, we may not see her King;
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace."

The last strains of the orchestra faded and for a moment, there was silence in the theater. Then, amid tears and expressions of rapture, the applause began. Barons and Earls stood; commoners tossed their hats into the air. The air rebounded with the crash of stamping feet and the thunder of clapping hands and Evriene blushed, bowing her head to hide her redness, the gesture only encouraging yet further cheers of devotion. Their princess had pledged herself to them in the grandest and yet most personal ceremony imaginable. Who could help but return such love in kind?