"My Lord... the Council of Notables is in agreement with you, but..." The one minister, Nicholas, spoke hesitantly and paused to glance at his colleague before continuing. "But the Lansraad is less pleased. It is, as you know, made up of minor houses mostly and they view any sort of national treaty as a threat to their sovereignty. They feel that it is the duty of individual lords to conduct such treaties and is not the place of the Prince-Elect."
Prince-Elect Gregory of House Borion shook his head and pulled the napkin out of his collar. He had lost his appetite. As he pushed away the swan he had been eating, he addressed his ministers. "I don't see the problem. I do not need the approval of the Lansraad for foreign affairs. I have the approval of the Council of Notables, you said?"
"Yes, my liege."
"Well then. No problem, as I said." The ministers glanced at each other once more before the second minister, this one named Joseph, spoke to the Prince-Elect. "My Prince, I fear that you underestimate the magnitude of the displeasure in the Lansraad. As you know, on a four fifths vote, they can depose you..." This hint shocked Gregory. The aged Prince-Elect had ruled now for nearly forty-two years (it was extremely difficult to un-elect a Prince-Elect) and the threat of deposition had never even been fielded once until today.
"How many votes do they have?"
"Your enemies are canvassing as we speak." Gregory stared at the door, seemingly imploring it to grant better news. He turned to Nicholas and said, "We will go to the Lansraad. Strike my banners."
"Your banners, my liege? Such will be seen as a declaration of war against the Lansraad."
"The ceremonial banners. I want display, not blood."
"I will muster the halberdiers and arquebusiers, then. An escort of seventy-seven ceremonial guards ought to be appropriate, as that is the number of authority. They should be ready to march soon." Nicholas finished Joseph's thoughts, "And I will prepare the escort. All in all we ought to be ready in... an hour?" Joseph nodded.
"Good. I will dress in my regalia, I think. Bloody well time someone reminds them who is the Prince of this nation."
Roughly an hour later, the main street of the capital, Terra Antiqua, was closed in order that the Prince-Elect may proceed, in ceremony, to the State Building. The standard of House Borion, a bear emerging from a cave, fluttered everywhere. And all was silence. The very city itself seemed to understand the gravity of the matter at hand. When he arrived at the State Building, the first thing that Gregory noticed (though his ears were starting to fail him) was a distant roar. As he walked along the colonnade, he approached a doorman. "What is this
racket?" The doorman gave a knowing smile, put his hand on the doorknob next to him, and said "That, my Prince-Elect, would be... The Lansraad." As he said the word, he flung the door open and the dull roar became an utter cacophony as it lost the oaken barrier between it and the Prince-Elect's ears.
Gregory entered, in awe. He had never been to the Lansraad before. He had sat in on the slightly more prestigious Council of Notables, but never this. So this was where all fiscal policy originated from. It was enormous. The large, circular chamber he was entering was divided into four quadrants, all of which seemed to be competing to be louder than the next over. Placards and small standards bore the sigils of hundreds of houses and the rows were awash in color. Some shouts, in particular, caught Gregory's attention. Namely one representative, who seemed to be representing a Minor House sworn to House Impian, shouted "Treason! Treason! Treasonous scum!" at a representative who was attempting to speak on the platform at the center of the circular chamber. The Lord-Speaker of the Lansraad was banging his gavel noisily for order. It came of its own accord. It took one person to notice Gregory. Then they all noticed him. And they all went silent. Some had sneers on their face, others looks of anger, still others looks of downright fear. But none could beat the face of the Lord-Speaker. A condescending, venomous smile was splayed across Quentin Tirral's face. House Tirral was no friend of House Borion. But by the time Gregory had finished speaking, so true did his words ring, that Quentin's face turned to one of sourness. For after Gregory had made his case, even House Tirral could not vote against Gregory's continued reign. And so Gregory left the Lansraad victorious.
Addressed to the Allied Nations Treaty Alliance, Her Royal Commonwealth of Yohannes Presiding, Dear Sirs;
We would have the Noble Republic of The Blue Plains, and all of her sworn dependents join your alliance. Such an alliance, being presided over by a like-minded nation, appeals to us. We are a Noble Republic, as opposed to a Democratic one. There is a democratic element, but on all but the most local levels it is solely in the hands of the nobility. Small-folk are rarely involved in politics except as the representatives of noble houses.
Thus saith Prince Gregory II who was, on January 5th, 1970, elected rightwise Prince of all The Blue Plains. He is recognized by all who are legitimate as the senior ruler of House Borion and all its cadet branches. He is the liege lord to House Hydewell and House Martin, and all other Minor Houses sworn to House Borion. He is Prince to all Houses, both Major and Minor. He is the Grand Justicar, responsible for the enforcement of law. He is the benefactor of the Lansraad and the adviser of the Council of Notables. Long may he reign in righteous office and may his actions always reflect a just and thoughtful contemplation upon the Noble Conventions of 1375.
OOC: Communiques are boring alone. So that explains what happened ^there^. Also if I put a lot of work into it, you should feel worse about rejecting me