Past dated: Cloudreach 15, 9:48 (A week prior to the Celebration of Love)
Franziska may have been raised royal from the age of four or five, but that did not mean that she forgot how her earliest years of childhood were. Surprisingly her childhood before her Papa had been like this; trapped in a dungeon in nothing, filthy, hair matted and in disarray. Master, that's what her biological father had her call him—that, or "My Lord". At a very young age she had learned to respect titles, even if that person had not earned your respect. Crying, or disobedience, meant he'd keep her mama from her. And they were all each other hand in those years.
She had, once, asked her mother how she had been with that man for so long. Franziska had been born as a last-ditch effort to make the Lord treat Eularia nicer, but prior to the child's birth, she had been with the Lord alone for a decade and some change. Her mother's response had been: I was heartbroken. I thought it was what I truly deserved. And, in the end, if I'd disobeyed, he would have sent me the Circle as an apostate.
The words haunted Franziska.
She had sat in the cell, frozen out of fear and expecting the Lord to find her. If she was a good girl, if she sat in the corner and quietly made no sounds, he might let her out. Every time she heard footsteps, heart heart lurched. And... every time she heard footsteps, it was just the guards bringing her food. She was silent, staring at them with the feral look that one might expect to see in a heavily abused child's eyes. Her Papa had never raised his hand against her and she idolized her father. He'd taken her and her mother in, he'd treated Franziska as an equal to his biological children...
She shouldn't have taken off.
No note, nothing to tell them where she had gone. She'd fled in the middle of the night, using every skill her mother had taught her to leave very little trace. She could already hear her mother's disappointed sigh, but see the pride in honey-brown eyes. Too many of the Campana children both pleased and annoyed their beloved mother. Fran remembered the day that she had been informed she was being betrothed, the look on her father's face, that pursed-lip neutral look that her mother had done. Neither of them had been pleased; and they'd dealt with her tantrums... The idea that she'd never, ever step foot in the same room as her betrothed...
And here she was, caught while breaking into his home. She was lucky she wasn't dead.
Five days turned to seven, and eventually the young woman decided the guards posed no real threat to her. Nobody had entered her cell, or raised their voice with her. She was just existing in their dungeons, and they doing their jobs. So she finally worked a pin out of her mess of a hairstyle, and crawled towards the door of the cell to pick the lock. Franziska leaned into the slime-coated cell door, one arm through the door, fingers deftly working the lock. She held her breath until she heard the 'click' and heard the metal scraping as the lock disengaged.
Her Papa would be proud.
She'd have to tell him.
Footsteps echoed down the dungeon steps and she froze, debating on whether she could slip past the guards or if she should just wait... But her decision was stalled when she saw someone more finely dressed than a guard had the right to be, staring at her, as the lock finally fell free of the door. She stood up, nearly slamming her head into a bucket hanging above her head, ducked at the last minute, and confidently flashed a smile.
Franziska Lovette-Campana, Royal Child of the King and Queen of Antiva. She stepped out from the cell, like he'd not just caught her breaking out, and offered her hand out to him, regardless of the fact she was positively filthy. It's my pleasure to leave your dungeon.
Take time off, his brother had told him as he had fussed over the course of a day about one thing or another while his mind drifted back to home and family. You haven't been home in months, we can handle it for a few days. And of course, after much more fussing over things being done right, where he would be in case someone had need of him and one of his siblings couldn't handle it, he'd gone. Back home to the Arling, the West Hills where he could just by Byron Wulff, with some exceptions, and not the Ruler of Ferelden. At least if he was in the castle and not amongst the people.
For those occasions he'd stripped down and gone hunting or similar in a helm, Samson the Mabari at his side, as he did. It wasn't the most kingly of things, a hunt for food and not sport, but it was enjoyable in it's simplicity and he went home on those rare occasions with a grin even as he cleaned himself up under his mother's watchful eye. It was good to be home, it did his heart good at least and if he looked a little lighter, a little happier as he left on that final day, then obviously someone, somewhere had known best. He was rather certain it was his mother, as his brothers were just as stubborn as he.
And for once, he hadn't minded the guided manipulation for someone to have their way in regards to him.
But it was late when he arrived home, back to the palace, dirtied from travel to the sight of someone waiting for him. Someone who informed him of the goings on, of who had appeared and who hadn't and the usual. Well, until of course, his brother, for that was who his advisor and source of information was, told him the final, small tidbit that he should have started with.
That his betrothed was in the dungeon.
Well rather, that a royal of Antiva was in the dungeon, but they had figured out who it was and as a result, they hadn't tortured her. Or in general, done much to her since he'd gone except to feed her and leave her in the dungeons. Which truthfully, for most of the other royal families about, was likely akin to a declaration of war and Byron had already felt the headache brewing behind his eyes as he took the news in stride. Accepting a towel to wipe down the worst of the dirt and grime of travel, he headed towards the dungeons, unafraid, with just his Mabari at his side.
The sight that greeted him, of her breaking out on her own, looking proud, had been enough to make him grin. Before of course the unfortunate spat with the bucket and her head and he had to hide an outright smile, he even had to smooth out the grin from his face. Not that the rules of propriety and Byron looking like a stonewall applied to Samson of course, who in the habit of all Mabari barked in greeting, his hindend already wagging as if ready to pounce in play. It was enough for Byron to place one hand on the Mabari's collar to keep him still, while reaching out with the other to accept the handshake.
It's not often our dungeon is graced with such a fine person as yourself, his grip was firm on Fran's hand as he took it in his own, Samson pulling to get away and accost the other human for pets. Though is it breaking out if someone is here to help? It wasn't a lie, he was there to get her out and take her upstairs, get a bath and dressed in whatever she wished.
Franziska warily eyed the mabari, as she shook hands with the stranger. Hah. You can keep the pleasantries. I told you who I was days ago. You could have let me out. She scowled, and rolled her eyes at his question. I'm pretty sure I got out before you opened the door, so yes. I was hoping those guards would listen and release me, so I didn't have to break out in the first place.
Her father was going to be pissed if she told him why she'd been without contact for so long. She removed her hand from his, and sidestepped the dog, making a face at it. She'd never been allowed pets, and had never gotten too near to animals. Her father wasn't one to want extra work around the palace.
So who are you? She inquired, already making her way towards the exit. As far as she cared, she was free to go. Though she wasn't; the Crows were surely watching her next move. She smoothed out her rags, as she started up the stairs. Fully expecting the stranger to follow.
It wasn't often someone forgot who he was and Byron was fully intent on barging ahead and seeing how long he could keep up the charade. More than likely not long, not if some good hearted soul stopped to greet him while he walked about with Franziska but it was worth the attempt. You'll have to forgive me, some things move slow about here,especially when the King is gone, he thought dryly to himself. Though if you had felt particularly put out you could have made more of a ruckus, honestly she had been downright polite to his guards. Or at least that was the impression left seeing how she had been given meals, one of the nicer cells in the dungeon and no guards about all day and night.
As she sidestepped his dog, he pulled the offending creature closer to his side. He would never understand the disdain of others for Mabari, the best hounds one could ever ask for, let alone the best of friends. He kept the slightest bit of insult he felt at it off of his face, for she hadn't said anything yet, and turned his attention briefly to the dog as they started to walk. Samson, side. A simple order, said firm and yet the dog was glued to his side even if the whining showed how much he wished to be allowed to not be.
Well, one couldn't have everything they wanted in life and apparently his betrothed wanting to be actually with him was one of them, the Mabari's freedom to do as he pleased another.
Just a friendly face, here to insure you're dressed and fed for your next adventure, because what else was he to think when one seemed intent on leaving the very place they broke out of? Let alone whatever else trouble was going on with the Antivans. Unless you'd like to go gallivanting about in rags throughout Ferelden?
Franziska shrugged, glancing over her shoulder. I guess I wanted to see how long a King would keep me there. She rolled her eyes, as she continued out of the dungeons, not at all shy that so much skin was on display. People had likely heard that it was common in the Antivan Court for the King to grow bored and undress his Queen in the public's eye.
Where is the King, anyway? They wouldn't tell me, but I suspect he isn't here, or I'd probably have been seen before him instead of tossed into a cell. He continued to chat, about being a friendly face, and she scrunched her nose.
I'm just here to ask for sanctuary. My betrothal has to mean something to the Fereldens. She held no enjoyment or appreciation for the betrothal, her own father had been heartbroken when the arrangements had been made and succeeded in being cemented. He'd wanted his children to wed for love, if at all. A love like he and his wife had.
Fran crossed her arms as she finally hit the top of the staircase, and stepped onto cobblestone that wasn't grimy and gross. Can you take me to the King? She was dismissing him; point her in the right direction and leave her alone. It didn't matter how she dressed; the King almost deserved to see her this way, he'd played a part in this grime and muck.
Out of a sense of politeness, or because you didn't want someone to know you're here? Valid questions, or so Byron thought as he followed her up the steps. He took a moment to pause and take a deep breath of fresh air in, or at least fresher than the dungeons had provided, a far cry from home truly where one could almost smell the spring water even in the cells.
Her directness made him chuckle, as he wasn't so used to it when the others liked to dance about with him. When one was tentatively allied with Morrigan and placed on his throne because of the Crows, well, it wasn't all that surprising really, even if he thought it all stupid. He hadn't changed as a person, he still was the fool who'd go out and take on bandits nearby if he could sneak out to do so and keep his skills sharp after all, proud of the scars and cuts he could add to his body. The King should be back soon, his mother was ill and he stepped out for a few days to see to her, it was true. His mother had been sick, with a cold that had laid her up yes but well....it wasn't a lie.
But then she kept going on about her reasons why and a part of him felt used in a way, the part that had been looking forward to their betrothal if only so he wouldn't be so damn alone. If all she wanted was sanctuary well, he could grant that, but that meant there was little desire to get to know him. Perhaps that would change, he could only hope.
Her directness once again struck in asking him to point her towards the King, where he was and he sighed. One hand landed on top of Samson's head as he pet the dog as if in support while he shook his head before extending a hand towards her. Byron Wulff, milady, at your service. Attempted good son and present ruler of Ferelden. And this, he ruffled Samson's short fur as he shot the dog a smile, a small one that reached his eyes before he glanced back up at Franziska, is Samson. Royal guard dog and good boy. His voice had more life to it speaking of his dog than it had about himself, not that he noticed really, but his pride in the dog was more evident than in himself.
Franziska tilted her head, shrugging. Does it matter? The Birds probably followed me anyway. She spoke so neutrally about the Crows, no inflection to her tone. She'd heard her mother warn her that this King had been placed upon his pedestal by the very people trying to take their home from them. She'd be weary of him, use him, and then she'd leave... at least, that was the plan.
Her head tilted to the side, as she turned to study the man. Oh, that is quite unfortunate. I wasn't aware that kings cared enough about their mothers to just... take off. She hummed quietly, eyeing the man. That was a trait she could admire; a king stepping up to take care of his family. Her father was very much the same kind of person; though her father had no more family than his wife and children.
The Antivan's lips parted in a slight frown, as she stared at the outstretched hand. And then, she furrowed her brows, as if trying to put two-and-two together. She'd only ever spoken to guards; never his brothers, though she'd always just assumed the guards had told the king who he had in his cell.
I see. It's not milady, it's my liege or my lord, if you insist on a title. Fran bowed to nobody, not even her own parents, and that was something her mother had spent a lifetime trying to change. Now that she knew who he was, she was studying him, tipping her head to the side as she took in his features.
He looked kind. Down to Thedas kind of man, like her father. Some small part of her almost felt bad for the fact she just wanted to use him to stay safe... I've never been around pets. Babba didn't believe in having them. She wasn't sure if that was true; her father had certainly never entertained any kind of ideas of the royal children having pets, though. But I suppose he looks like an okay guard dog.
It's said as an afterthought, as if she's not really thought much about what might make a good dog or not. Should kings not be guarded by guards? I mean, my father's guarded by my mother, but... that's an arrangement that I can only assume plays into their sex life, too. She crinkled her nose, studying Byron wide-eyed and unashamedly.
After a pause...
So. Can I stay? We'd have to make our betrothal... looks real, accepted, but I wasn't given a choice in who to marry... and I don't know you. But Ferelden's better than living on the run.
