The Power of Excellence

 Within every society is someone who has excelled in some way over others that their word becomes law. Or, occasionally, it is a group and, at times, it is not excelling so much as exceeding.

Excelling would be for virtuous peronality traits or activities, such as bravery or saving the lone crop of grain during a terrible cold snap.

Exceeding would be a lot of virtue or an excess of some personality trait, such as less familial feeling and being full of murderous intent.

The individual may promote family or friend to succeed them. Family and friend may prove to grasp the succession like a pillow over the face of the trusting.

The ways of building up within a society what amounts to a noble class are as many and varied as the dark twistings and light turnings of the human heart. However it happened in the history of Ordem, it happened. As it did in Ordine. As it did in Kaenisbeth. No one can, as of this date, tell us how it was that the persons who were considered rulers and betters got to be so, but what is known are the bare facts of how it is these superior lads and lasses began what is now an old old tradition of marrying outside their social class.

It began, as many ill tales do, with a birthday. No, not a day of birth, but a day many years hence when, for reasons unfathomable, this person that had been born on a certain day cares to continue to remember it with various selfish demands and, often, lewd gestures and excesses. Even more questionably, others egg this person on and engage in contests of increasing silliness.

One night, it was the alleged day of birth of the man simply known as Ur. Ur was a tall plank of a man who had many hard knocks in his life, which is why, after his death, he was honored at the castle built by the first of a succession of kings known as "The Mad King ..." followed by a name or further titling and then name, by the manner in which the castle was planned.

He was also a jolly man who attracted jovial people, and they tended to have madcap evenings of silly games, pranks and weird little sayings thrown about; especially on birthdays. Therefore, on this birthday, being as it was a day to celebrate a man promiment even among his own prominent acquaintances, things got rather out of hand.

Murder? Rape? Mayhem? No. Gift giving. You see, up until this very night, there was a well-respected tradition among these persons that whatever the person who was being celebrated was given that was wearable would be immediately, to the best of their ability, donned and worn throughout the rest of the evening. Once worn, they were to be treasured and an outfit was to be made of them that, as closely as possible, fit the manner in which it was worn at the time of them being gifted, which was to be the outfit they would wear at major functions of state.

In a practical sense, this made little difference in the lives of the noble class because, as a general rule, not wishing it to happen to them when it came to be their turn, the nobles would eschew gifts of clothing that might clash, be ill fitted to form or occasions anticipated, or otherwise make the receiver of gifts unhappy. Or, if they would not eschew it, they would instead, embrace it by collaborating to make a successful outfit of finely tailored pieces in classic cuts and becoming colors

This night, Ur's friends were nursing a friendly grudge. He was moving up in society, due to the death of a relative, and that meant he would be leaving them behind. The proof of their feelings hung around his shoulder in a wreath of plastic roses mingled with baby rattles, dripped from his ears in tinkling strands of brass bells and green cubed glass hung from clips that pinched his tender lobes. He sat, stewing in the oppressive heat of their despairing love in the form of a boiled wool suit that was 3 sizes too big and when he stood to receive his last gift, he tottered and almost broke an ankle in the stiletto-heeled expression of affection given to him by his most boon companion, knocking 6 confections of silk, netting and all sorts of finery, off his head. He was besieged with silliness.

"Well, you'll have to wear it all." sobbingly laughed the girl he was leaving behind. "You are too good for us, now, but you won't forget us. In fact..." she jibbered, "I give you this to remember me by."

Now, she had meant to snatch the apron off of a passing woman who had other ideas as to how life should go. So, while the apron came along as his last flame of freedom snatched it toward him, so did the woman inside of it. Wide-eyed, the lass slammed into Ur, who caught her in his arms, as much to keep himself from falling off his heels as to steady her on her feet.

"I say." Ur said, to break the silence that had immediately enveloped them all, "How do I wear this to all important functions?"

This was not a casual question. Traditions were not to be broken, though they could be added to or worked around. No one had ever had a person thrown on them before, but here it was now and no one knew what to do about it.

Ur sat down with the serving wench on his lap and considered the matter. She made to leave but he quieted her. "It's all right, lass. It will be. I just have to know what to do that is best. Then, I'll do that. "

"But, my job .. I'm going to get fired. Please! I can't be seen like this. My fa.."

"Her father .. " Ur heard growled into his ear from behind, "will certainly come to see her and give you the good killing your right arm is asking that you receive."

"Father.It's not what you think."

"It's not my own daughter on the lap of a man who is not her betrothed?"

"Oh. Well, it is. But, I .. "

"Look here, lad. I don't care who you are, how you were born or where you are going in your life. I can only tell you that you'll either have to marry her or take a very fast exit."

"Excuse me?" interpolated Ur. "I have to what?"

"You have to marry her or unhand her.'

Ur sat up, blinking. He looked into her eyes, which looked back into his between blinks. "I have to marry her?"

"Look, old man. He can't marry her. He's going to be king. He can't even marry me!" groused Ur's former love.

"No. I can't marry you. Because, you are not of a rank to be given to me. Yet, she has been given to me by someone of a higher rank than herself, which was you. Which means, you elevated her above yourself and she is a higher rank. Oh, Esmer .. you have added to the tradition and all is lost."

"Ur, but .. Ur .. you love me."

"I am a man of honor. I love you no more. This is my betrothed. If she will have me. If not, I must die."

The serving wench seemed to be fluttering every which way. "I... I .. I .. How .. I don't want you to die. I don't .. we don't .. Fathe.."

"So, that's settled then." her father announced, rather good naturedly. He walked around the seated couple and lowered his ax to sit beside him as he found comfort in a nearby chair. "Now, then, how does this work? She has to stay with you until the party is over or what?"

"Or what." Ur replied, eyeing the older man's axe with trepidation as he continued. "I have to wear her overnight and then plans have to be made as to how I shall continue to do so through the years. Now, how about you put down that axe and let me explain myself."

Put his axe back down and grimaced patiently, did her father. Ur continued,beginning the next sentence as if each word were the tredding of an angel who could think of 1,000 places better to walk. "I .. was ..gifted.. your .. daughter ... and, now .. I .. have to follow ..uhm.. tradition as .. as if she .. is a gift. "

Having got thus far, he sighed with the relief of still being alive and hurried on. "When someone gives me a gift I have to keep it on in the way it is intended to be worn, either by usual tradition or by the giver's clear instructions. The only "instruction" was that she was thrust against my side. My fully clothed side and her fully clothed self, father."

His potential other-father stopped massaging the axe handle and sat more deeply into the seat.

"I will take her home and I will treat her as a gift. I will change nothing about how she came to me until and unless it is called for as part of the greater plan. As she is a female and, as you are aware, will be in a compromising position, I will take her home- with you- and we will inform my parents of what must be done. And, then, as she will be my betrothed she will be expected to be in my bed, with female attendants to watch over her virginity. In other words, now she is an addition to the tradition. Now this is how a man in my position takes his wife. She will be treated as my future-intended and given all honor.You will be the father of the Queen."

Her father cocked his head, this way and that, eyeing Ur. Then, he nodded. "I can see why they'll make you king."

"Thank you, father." Ur said. "If you don't mind, we'll end the party here.." he said to his friends. "And, you and I.." he looked to the woman and to her father, "shall go see what is to be. This is new territory for us all."

"Don't I have a say in this at all?" queried the woman on Ur's knee.

"You do. You did! You said .."

Her father interrupted to finish the sentence, " .. that you didn't want him to die."

"But, Father.. what if he's a bad man?"

"If he was a bad man, I'd be in jail on trumped up charges and you'd be impregnated and alone, already."

"What?"

"He wants to do right by you. If he was only out for himself, he'd do it some easier way. Let us go with him, child and let him live a while to see how he does."

She smiled. "Okay then, father."

Ur laughed. "I will make you so proud, you'll come visit me without an axe in hand, one day, father."

"We'll see."