Message #67090

[Jay117]

Four hours on the back of a dragon is no easy task. Less so in the ornate robes of a Chancellor. So when Miles finally touched down on the snow covered landing zone of the Navihielan palace, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It was cold, obviously. Freezing actually. And of course, it was snowing. Miles hated snow. But there was something about the snow that fell from the heavens over Navihielo that was different than the snow that fell over any other part of the world. It seemed to twinkle differently and dance in the breeze as it slowly drifted down to the earth. Almost like it was alive with its own conscience. He shivered and haunched up his cloak and fastened his scarf. He was dressed in black and red, the national colors of Lejenda. He fixed his sword, decorative of course, and adjusted his cuffs. The Wyvern Riders landed beside him but Miles told them to wait. He didn't want a legion of armed guards inside. The last thing he wanted to do here was incite violence. As far as Miles was concerned, this was a peace mission. An act of diplomacy on the part of one nation that hated another. He'd like to see peace, yes, but he'd also like to see Navihielo fly the Lejendan flag. But it would never happen, so peace it would have to be.

Walking briskly at a steady pace, Miles entered the palace. The grand ballroom was a sight to see indeed. Fashioned almost entirely of ice, it was held up by magnificent columns of ice, carved intricately, each depicting a different scene of the nation's grand and beautiful history and mythology. One depicted the birth of Articuno, emerging from a blizzard, forged of living ice. Another depicted Articuno giving life to the people of Navihielo. Still another depicted King Fross slaying Chancellor Prince. Miles winced at that one. He hoped that he wouldn't be a distant memory on an ice column any time soon. Looking up, the ceiling was also carved immaculately. The humans and pokemon that worked to make it must have toiled for decades. Or a year. The Navihielans were notoriously good sculptors.

He grabbed a drink from a passing server. It was clear and shimmering, like liquid ice. He took a sip and it was icy as it touched his tongue. But it was potent and had delicious notes of Winterberry, a fruit native to the arctic. He would have to remember to ask for the recipe to take back. Looking around, he noticed several other dignitaries. The young Sultan Kien Fien, of whom he had heard rumors of being a master thief, the President of Blazi, Shugo Strauss, regarded as the most popular head of state in the Serennes, the Prime Minister of the Republic of the Featherlands, whom he was surprised to see, given that the nation was so small and relatively unimportant, and of course, at the back of the room, Glacea herself. She looked like she was no older than 30. 28 perhaps? There was no way she could have been the Queen of this country for 170 years. Yet somewhere deep down in his mind, he knew this was true. That was the same Glacea who took the throne after the death of Fross the Second. The same Glacea born 203 years ago. The same Glacea who slew Mad Atticus in battle. And she looked just as perfect as ever.

The Prime Minister of Featherland, an old acquaintance of Miles in fact, noticed him and came over to offer his greetings. "Miles! Good to see you. Never thought I'd find myself here. Can you imagine? That child having ruled for 170 years? Preposterous. I would so wish this House wouldn't take the rest of the world as fools."

"It's good to see you Roland. I agree. She couldn't be that old. It's impossible. But all the same, it would be rude not to introduce myself. Hold this." He gave his glass to the Prime Minister and walked over to the Queen.

"Queen Glacea, it's an honor to finally meet you. My name is Miles. Miles Lawliet. Chancellor of Lejenda. I hope that name means no bad blood would come between us so soon," he said, flashing that hypnotic smile.