the rotten prince

♛ Crown Prince of Kanto and Duke of Indigo, Frédéric Gabriel Arthur Clemens But address me as Freddie-- or Fire, if you prefer.

[falsecrown-blog]

You've Got Mail!!

[royalsong]

When she returned from evening prayer, loud squawks from her murkrow could be heard from the other end of the corridor. Lyra wondered what could have unsettled the bird. Her feet moved faster. Her hands picking up the skirt of her dress. She had an idea what could have happened while she was away. The attendants that were present gave her curious glances when she passed. The excitement was practically glowing from her face. It caused her to almost ripped the door off it’s hinges. This only made murkrow squawk even louder.

Placing a reassuring hand on it’s beak, it calmed down moments after. She always had that effect on pokemon. Her eyes moved over to the window. A smile graces her features when she found a small natu hopping about on the sill. The princess opened the window and the small bird flew onto her desk. It chirped happily at her. It has been quite some time since she last saw it.

Lyra sat at her desk and removed the scroll from it’s leg, unraveling it, and finally reading the message. Her smile never leaving her lips. There were a few ink blotches, his penmanship would use a little more work but it was legible, and— it gave of a sense of familiarity. Once she finished reading the letter, her hands flew to an empty parchment and picks up a quill.

And so she writes,

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[falsecrown-blog]

Frederic receives her letter almost immediately, of course, but doesn't reply for several weeks. This is customary. It's just difficult for him to fathom his thoughts into words-- no, that wasn't right.

Could it be that Lyra was especially distracting? (Unlikely. Now that was a thought that Freddie rarely entertained!) As he finally finds he time to set his pen to paper, he tells himself that he is just a thorough, but preoccupied man. There was nothing wrong with wanting to read her letters a little more carefully, or writing several drafts. (Nor was anything amiss when he kept all of her ribbons.) Thorough, that was it.

The letter is cleanly printed, but if you hold up the paper to the light, indentations of fervid crossed out pen marks are plain to see.

Dearest Lyra,

Greetings again, milady. Your Murkrow doesn't seem too fond of me, to be honest. It's a prickly one. Then again, you do tell me that I give a similar impression.

I hope my father will recover soon, too, but his pride outweighs almost all other concerns, including his general well-being. I do understand, in a sense. I think he just refuses to be pitied. Your thoughts are verily appreciated, but... I wouldn't let this matter concern you. A smiling face suits you far better than a knitted brow.

Why, a private recital from the Princess Lysandra? It would be my distinct pleasure. I will hold you to that.

My family hasn't attended your region's Independence Day since the scandal... Indeed, it's been a long while since I've last seen you at all. But if it is your coronation that is taking place, I wouldn't miss it for the world. It might take some convincing from the council, however. I suppose they believe politics requires a delicate touch.

(My mother would most likely faint if she saw me discussing matters with you so bluntly, but it is the current state of affairs.) For now, I can only assure you that I will do all in my power to attend.

Yours, Freddie

P.S: I think of Jaime often... but it isn't good to dwell on such a bittersweet subject. He'd be very proud of you, though.

[falsecrown-blog]

You've Got Mail!!

A Natu, no bigger than the prince's curled fist, hops up and down on the desk. Its chirping is incessantly cheerful, and its demeanor is no doubt reminiscent of the original owner. Frederic patently ignores the little bird as he finishes his work. His hand is determined as it guides the reed along the paper in delicate curlicues. He doesn't have the best penmanship, really, but it will have to do. Enough parchment had already been wasted already, crumpled up and burning in the fireplace.

His attendants are no doubt surprised by the intensity of his focus and shift in their stance to see what he is writing. This was pretty unusual, after all.

With the final flourish of his pen, he carefully rolls up the paper and ties it to his Natu's leg, which can barely contain its excitement. And after another few hops, the Pokemon flies out of the open window into the afternoon air.

The letter reads:

Dearest Lyra,

Good day. I hope this has found you well. Natu is a loyal and speedy messenger, so I am not worried. Thank you, by the way. He was a welcome gift.

Nothing much has changed since I last wrote. My father grows more and more vigorous by the hour, and I have faith that he will make a full recovery by the end of the month. No one is supposed to know of the stroke. My mother is rather obvious, though-- whenever my father falters in his steps, her quick reactions always betray sincere fright. He still insists on walking without a cane.

The forest is well-stocked again in spring. I've caught plenty of game. I remember that you wished I would try harder at the harpsichord-- alas, so did the tutor. I still don't find it particularly interesting, however. You can play for the both of us, since I assume you are twice as proficient. Your melodies were always the most beautiful.

Yours, Freddie