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March, 743 M.E. - Kingdom of Tenebrae
When first they meet, the lady is ten years old and her mother is alive and well.
The woman is but reminiscent of a fae, her build thin and fair with eyes clear as glass and every bit as blue as the Cygillian. She is Queen and Oracle, but her late husband – may he rest in peace – a kind man of extremely noble stock, remains beholden still to the people of his small kingdom in much the same way as the wonderous Sylva Mira Fleuret. Quite a shame he's not been granted the chance to meet the man, but his wife – a right powerhouse of a woman – remains upon the Star to claim that pleasure upon the chancellor's arrival to discuss terms on behalf of Iedolas himself.
Her genuine propriety far outweighs Ardyn's own theatrical mimicry of the art, her bloodline having been somehow preserved and passed on by the grace of the gods. While curious, he does not press the queen for answers, nor seek to broach the subject at all. He's not come to reminisce, drown himself in longing which serves no practical purpose. No, this visit is reserved solely for the purpose of securing the nation in the name of Niflheim.
Sylva is as politically savvy as the intelligence has suggested, and she finds a great many errors in the documentation which Ardyn presents to her from across the table. Pen in hand, she begins writing in the margins and crossing out lines of text, much to the chancellor's amusement, finding far more wrong than right with the emperor's terms. He expects she's not taken too kindly to the bit in which His Excellency has proposed harvesting a large portion of Tenebrae's sacred forest for the purpose of the region's agricultural expansion – not that Ardyn expected she would. This woman is beholden to the old ways of the land, to tradition and family, and, after ten minutes of frenzied scribbles and the disappointed shaking of her head does the queen return to him the paperwork.
Though the intention – for Iedolas, at least – was for her to agree to terms in a peaceful fashion, to set an appointment for the emperor to arrive for the treaty signing, Ardyn hasn't dared to think things would go quite so smoothly.
"No," she says solemnly, softly, certainly fearing that the worst is yet to come. Perhaps she cannot believe Iedolas would be so underhanded in his treatment of her nation. Shame. She really ought to have expected nothing less from such a ruthless man. "Pray forgive me for making you come all this way, Chancellor, but I fear... Tenebrae cannot accept these terms as they are."
Ardyn shrugs off her apology, for it means precious little to him, serving only to further advance his plans in the long run. "No need for apologies, Majesty," he says, and stands, replacing his hat and tipping it in her direction with a rather innocent look set upon his face. Yes, he plays the sympathizer well. "If I may be so bold, I myself know a thing or two about being beholden to one's country. I'll not fault you for it."
The queen appears relieved, if only for a moment, and he takes his leave, tossing the bound and marked papers to one of the many unnecessary lackeys in the entourage Iedolas insisted accompany him for the sake of appearances. A collection of useless minds and an armed guard? The man really does pride himself on unnecessary appearances.
From atop the spiral staircase, two sets of bright blue eyes follow the man as he shows himself out. Ardyn knows. He's heard but rumors of the pair – Sylva's children, looking very much like precious china dolls with their smart attire and fine features – one in line to succeed his mother as Tenebrae's ruler, the other set to take on the mantle of Oracle when she comes of age.
The younger of the two can be heard hurtling down the stairs in a manner ill-befitting a princess, but the chancellor smiles all the same, turns on his heel to halt her momentum as her feet touch down on the last step. Of course, as a child exposed to little beyond her own borders, she would leap at the chance to investigate a stranger from Niflheim.
"Best watch your step, my dear."
She has her mother's face, the similarities stunning enough to stop a man breathing. Looking up into his strange colored eyes, the girl smiles, takes a step back and curtsies in a fashion that almost makes Ardyn melt.
What a perfect little charmer she is.
"Pardon me, sir," she says, smoothing out her white dress adorned with bits of lace. "I do hope I didn't startle you."
"You must be the princess." His tone is that of absolute amusement, and the girl screws her face up in an expression very unbecoming of a young royal. It would seem he's gone and poked fun at her purely by mistake.
Oops.
"I am not a child, sir," she states, youthful indignation but fizzling sparks to Ardyn's eye. "Please do not speak to me as though I am."
"It would seem, then, that I owe you an apology."
"How can you properly apologize," the girl posits, "if I've yet to tell you my name?"
The longer he lingers here in the foyer – much to the open aggravation of the emperor's chosen entourage – the more he likes her. Once grown, this girl will be a force to be reckoned with, not at all unlike her mother. She will question everything and is certain to trust naught but that which she can verify with her own two eyes and hands. Yes, she will be a force, indeed.
"My, that does make this a bit awkward."
Ardyn plays her little game. They each know the name of the other, if only by word of mouth and reputation, but being raised by so proper a woman as Sylva Mira Fleuret demands that her daughter behave as such: Respectably.
Blond hair falls to obscure one eye as she curtsies again, this time with an entertained smile. "I am Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Princess of Tenebrae."
"Chancellor Ardyn Izunia of Niflheim." Ardyn returns the gesture, bowing deeply to purposefully allow his hat to fall to the floor, and the princess laughs aloud, coming down the few steps between them to collect and offer it to him. At least someone here knows how to have a good time. He fixes the still impatient entourage with a feline stare. "The pleasure is mine, Princess, but alas I've a fair bit of business to attend, and I do believe –" With a hand on her shoulder, the princess turns to spy her mother smiling at her from down the hall. "– your mother desires your presence."
October, 744 M.E. - Kingdom of Tenebrae
The second time they meet, the lady is twelve, and the countryside burns.
A series of MT carriers have already descended swiftly upon the nation by the time Ardyn arrives, and the manor too is alight. Ranked soldiers can be heard barking orders to their obedient subordinates, all arms at the ready to subdue – if he is to be found – the King of Lucis.
King Regis and his retinue ought to have left Tenebrae but two days prior, and what a lucky mistake for the chancellor that they had not managed it.
Acres of burning land are of little concern to the man now strolling through the ravaged halls of the manor. Blood smears and bodies of household servants line the floors, many of them certain to have perished in the ambush intended for the queen. He has doubts that Sylva has fared any better than these her people, and moves to step over a mess of fresh corpses on his way to inspect her throne room.
It contrasts greatly to that which he's read and seen of Lucis in books. The Lucians regard the darkness of obsidian as a shade befitting royals, while the people of Tenebrae opted long ago to adopt the purity of white. He finds that tidbit interesting, given the known meaning of the two nations' names. But, considering who the founder of Lucis had been, Ardyn isn't the least bit surprised.
The throne room, too, is a mess of death and carnage. General Glauca, coated in that gaudy liquid metal armor of his, holds a bloodied blade, dripping fresh upon the marbled floor beside the body of the queen herself.
Ardyn tuts, drawing the general's gaze, shaking his head. "My, what a mess you've made here, General."
In comparison to the chancellor, the infantry leader is thoroughly intimidating, often utilized himself on the battlefield as a last resort or – in this case – an enforcer of Iedolas' will. Quite plainly, the emperor had not taken kindly to Ardyn's report of the year past, Queen Sylva having aptly refused all terms presented to her in the name of peace.
"You've no business here, Chancellor." The general growls, pointing his sword.
Ardyn regards the weapon with mild disdain, pulling a handkerchief from within the pocket of his coat and diverting the blade's bloodied point elsewhere. He's little to fear from Glauca, revered as the man is for his military prowess, but the chancellor has not come to cause a scene, merely to investigate and observe. And, oh, what a delightful surprise he's been rewarded with for his trouble.
"Perhaps not, though I had expected you lot to leave the scenery intact. Such a shame."
To his left, an armored guard holds fast to the struggling arms of the princess who twists and kicks in a manner that would make her mother flush with embarrassment. Her brother, Ravus, stands silently against a column, eyes wet and unblinking. The boy is unwilling to let enemy soldiers witness the mourning of his beloved mother.
"How kind." Ardyn's words are hollow. "His Excellency sought to spare the children."
Lunafreya tenses and turns unnaturally wild eyes to him, her plain white dress smeared throughout with awful traces of blood and black soot. The fire rising in the forest just beyond the manor must be breaking her tender heart. but he knows the tears spilling freely down her cheeks are not only for the destruction wrought upon her homeland.
She manages to pull away, wrists dirty and bruised from the fast grip what had held her, and she stumbles up the steps to fall against the chancellor. He regards her with disinterest, all the same offering the girl a hand and brushing a tear from beneath her eye. It would be lying to say that the carnage before him, the princess' choked sobs, do not satisfy some sick part of him.
"I'm afraid Niflheim does not respond well to having its generosity spurned, my dear." Lunafreya regards him with only shock. "Certainly not for a few paltry trees."
Swift footfalls echo across the room and Ravus – now livid and full of righteous indignation – launches himself at Ardyn, a dagger clenched in his left hand.
The general moves like lightning, sword arcing through the air to meet the shoulder of the prince's raised hand, the boy abruptly skidding across the marble floor in a tremendous spray of blood. Lunafreya tears herself from Ardyn's side, sinking to her knees to clutch her brother's broken body in her arms, weeping as she seeks to stem the bleeding.
It is wordlessly that Chancellor Ardyn Izunia then takes his leave, successfully disappearing to Gralea with a prize of immeasurable value to both Eos and her traitorous gods.
Before they convene a third time, Sylva Via Fleuret, Queen and Oracle of Tenebrae, is dead. The nation now belongs to Niflheim.