It's called The Old King. Ramsus had the initial idea, and I was going to write the story. It would cover the founding of Guardia. At any rate, it was too much of a project and didn't have enough to do with the series, so I stopped. Here's some background from a chat with Ramsus. by the way Ramsus, if you have the original thing you wrote, post it.
Zeality: Do you like the direction it's going? I believe...for the first part of Alexander's book, he will encounter problems in the way of hard work vs. natural ability (Naruto reference there), fall in love, as well as ponder the Frozen Flame's assignment of destiny to him.
Zeality: I'm thinking the second chapter of his exploits in defeating the Mystics and uniting the tribes will begin with his brother's defeat and passing on of the Masamune to him.
Zeality: His brother is the genius, while Alexander is the hard worker. I'm also wondering how to portray Alfred; if he should be a sullen child.
Ramsus: Alfred should be a spoiled brat.
Ramsus: That way, when the world hits him, it hits hard.
Zeality: Excellent. Speaking of hitting hard...what shall trigger Alexander's extreme sufferring, which you've already written?
Ramsus: Death of everything he knows and loves.
Ramsus: He blames himself and his own ambition.
Ramsus: God has humbled him.
Zeality: His wife, perhaps a castle he built, his most loyal generals and friends in battle, his heritage...and perhaps the Masamune?
Ramsus: The Masamune abandons him in his moment of need.
Ramsus: His friends either have died or flee from him in his time of need.
Ramsus: His family is killed (as far as he knows).
Ramsus: And he feels he has caused the end of his family's lineage.
Zeality: Do you think this will make him appear quite the tragic character?
Ramsus: It's only tragic after he blames himself for having a tragic flaw and is humbled.
Zeality: Readers may grow to adore Alexander because of his perseverance and energy.
Zeality: Ah
Zeality: Do you think it would be appropriate or 'cool' if Alfred did something similar to cutting the Gordian Knot, and...
Zeality: In his mobilization to retake Guardia and fulfill his destiny, simply walked into the Frozen Flame's holding room, took it, and left? I'm describing it as if it were a very holy, sacred item, and for him to simply walk in and take it for battle would have some effect.
Ramsus: What if certain trials must be completed before the guardian of the Frozen Flame allows a "chosen" person to proceed, and Alfred simply defeats the guardian and takes the Frozen Flame?
Zeality: Ah, of course, it would be guarded. Yes, I suppose it'd be logical to have an immensely powerful person guarding it, and it would attest to Alfred's power to simply defeat him on the spot.
Zeality: This is also making me wonder about the Flame's role in assigning arbiters. I believe one has to come into physical contact with it for such a thing to happen, as Serge did, so perhaps this may also strengthen Alfred's use of the power of gods, as he will become the arbiter.
Zeality: Ah, bit ironic. Uknowingly using the power of Lavos to raise an entity which will produce its vessel of defeat.
~
The Old King
As had done for centuries – no, countless millions of years – before, dim sunlight rolled over the landscape as a cheery orb peeked over the horizon, bathing the prior darkened world in rich, luminous rays of purplish gold. The far mountains enjoyed the sun’s ambience first; their snowy peaks appeared as terrestrial stars. Leaves that held fast in the night began yearning towards the appearing beams -- slowly, heavy eyelids would be awash in the dawn, heralding a new day and many opportunities for glory with it. The various fiefdoms, carrying tradition of grander times, heroic exploits, and mystical doings, would rise; hunting and farming could not be ignored. These instincts took form in the sleeping voids of the clan’s men, save the children – for dreams of soaring and heaven had not yet ceased to lift their subconscious high in astral journey. What forces could disturb such sweet slumber, other than the very light that created it? Thus, small eyes also opened, accompanied by breaths that drew in the fresh, wild air of the morn. Yea, all was born anew, even the untamed spirit of Alexander – a child who verily embodied fire and bravado.
Awaken! In an instant, the calm of the placid dawn was tossed aside, as the young prince stretched his growing muscles and sprung up from the soft bed of furs that formerly nurtured with warmth. Naught was there time for a glistening dewdrop to run the length of a blade of grass before Alexander had dressed, touting a short-sword and shield whose face was roughly carved to represent a long-unseen beast of the sky, once unchallenged in its aerial superiority. Armed, with a glowing ember twinkling in his eye, the young contender deftly swung the blunt iron blade at a robust figure made of ancient timber. He flashed the sword every which way, eventually becoming unsatisfied with its inability to cut through the practice dummy. With a crushing blow, Alexander toppled the personage, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the floor; he could not help but smile at the shared strength of his training and the new day. A young, gleaming ray blessed his chamber where he lay through a small window. He lay happy, gazing into the blinding beyond with quivering eyes and truthful grin. Herein was youth.
“Alexander? Alexander, have you awoken? ‘Tis time to rise; the dawn can no longer be ignored.” The voice was his mother’s; strictly stern, but laced with much care and adoration.
Alexander rose instantly. No matter how sullen or atrabilious his peers or superiors might be, his spirit could never be darkened; it mirrored the sun in its radiance, defying the heavens. He passed through halls supported by murky stone, as old as the hands which shaped it to construct the worn edifice – these hands had epochs ago turned to dust, abandoning the projects of life to shape the planet. Fire, in hand with Earth, served higher purpose in the small castle by lighting dim rooms and spreading the ambient, light but sure scent of smoke, which reassuringly implied inhabitance and brotherhood. The fire also served to crackle beneath the spoils of hunt and gather; although the clan was built with the intent of using the prime land in surround to help cease long nomadic wanderings, the young and restless of the group haughtily spurred off to find fleshy beasts – apt more for sport than nourishments, to the objection of the hunters. These rambling, impatient men hardly formed the military core, whose warriors were hardened by unrelenting winters. Resistance and toughness were thus naturally developed; the winters of Alexander’s time were not as harsh, but continued to instill a spirit of survival and resistance to bitter oppression.
It was the crest of these warriors that Alexander one day wished to carry in front, proudly waving honor for all to acknowledge and respect. Ever dreaming of this notion’s realization, Alexander practiced constantly: morning exercises, noonday combative practice, and evening torch-lit sparring were among his daily routines. A day could not pass in which Alexander was not pushing limits and blazing through the day with fiery ferocity; in each day, several maximums were met, whether they entailed total physical exhaustion from training or sword practice until his arms could no longer bear weight. Observers would occasionally laugh at his overflowing energy, and question why such a boy would be wasting his free, youthful time with rudimentary war skills. Although one may cite favorable conditions – the status of prince, the blessing of an able body, and the ambition of ten men – as the cause, perhaps something greater turned him to restlessness. Alexander couldn’t be bothered with prophecy or other revelatory messages, however; the single focus in his mind at present was a hot breakfast that would be devoured the moment his eyes caught sight of the plate on which his mother’s cooking rested.
“What have we here? My, you’re rather energetic, this morn,” his mother affectionately said. Alexander couldn’t be bothered, and continued to scarf down his food.
“Alexander!”
“Yes, mom!” The pause was a rude interruption to him.
“How’re today? Did you sleep well?”
“*Gulp* No, William’s stupid cat kept me up. Someday I’m gonna teach that cat to—“
“Behave! None of this, now. That cat is one of William’s few joys in life. He’s a responsible man, and quite the knight!”
Alexander scoffed at this remark, and turned his attention once again to his plate. His mother paused in her dialogue; her eyes turned upwards as she proudly thought of her son, William. This day of destiny once again reminded her of William’s proud blessing, given at Alexander’s age. Unbeknownst to any around her, a hint of uncertainty lingered in her eyes, for William had always been a sullen child – he had refused quaint toys in his childhood, and long spent his days in capricious whims, always adorned with a look of disdain upon the world, which seemed to lack a sun to him. Yea, he would even gaze up at the heavens time to time, retaining his expression of pettiness and ill temper; of course, this did nothing to describe his actions towards others. There was another observer of William aside from his mother, who had a more keen opinion of him –
“William? A fine knight! Bah!” thought Alexander, noticing his mother’s look of pride. “William does nothing. He’s always too tired to be disturbed, or out marauding the forest. Some prince!” This passing thought was marked by a sharp strike against the plate by Alexander’s hand; his complexion seemed inflamed as the thought of his brother swept over him. He had yet to realize it, but some are born into the world with a natural ability in some – or more – areas, easily surpassing those who must work towards mastery of a skill or profession. To the hard-working Alexander, this was the cardinal sin of his brother, who naught dueled or practiced combat, but whimsically spent his days doing what he pleased while showing extreme bitterness to those that dared interrupt his activities. Surely this does not mean he fared poorly in battle, or at least training, for his aim was verily true with a bow, and his swordplay was particularly adept; the bright display William would make with a gleaming rapier was tinged with an air of cruelty, almost as if the blade were craving dark crimson to run its length. Rumors abounded that William had been assigned by prophecy or otherwise to undertake a vastly important task; a notion spat on by Alexander, who hotly craved honor and courage. Unfortunately, in the old castle, a boy’s frame with only a want of strength (and not deeds thereof) was not immediately recognized, let alone rewarded. This only stoked the fire within the young prince, however.
“Now, Alexander, adorn the royal garments. I hope you’ve not forgotten—“
“I remember. I don’t see what the big deal is anyway.”
“Don’t belittle tradition, Alex! Your brother – your father – everyone your age in the high family of Guardius has done this. It’s quite an honor, too.”
“Bah, I think it’s a bunch of nothing. I’ve got better things to do! The commander of the stables has told me of a fine horse he’s bred!”
“Absolutely not. You will finish your meal and prepare. None of this fighting today, young one.”
“Aww, cmon! All this boring serious stuff—“
Alexander instantly ceased talking, and became stiff; his mother nearly followed suit, also shaken by the sudden entrance of one who walked in shadowy gloom. William had descended the steps to the dining hall; he met Alexander with a cold, steely gaze, reducing the latter to a nervous mess of fear. Slowly, he approached the table, plucking a piece of ripe fruit from the center bowl. Juggling it in his nimble hands, he caught it out of the air and took a crisp bite; the crisp crush of the fleshy fruit added to the sudden air of uneasiness that had drifted into the room. He walked as the reaper would – silently, carefully, deliberately – eventually resting in front of a crude painting depicting a popular canyon viewpoint in the land. His breath was soon released, haunting turned ears.
