Chapter Text
There was once a Kingdom.
The Kingdom was one of peace and beauty. The rivers and springs sparkled with riches untold. The trees grew amethyst plums and golden apples, generously offering their fruits to anyone who yearned for them. The castles were made of glorious marble, with golden roofs shining brightly when the sun shone over the city just right. It was untouched by bloody wars and the petty grudges of the outside world. Its people never starved, and winters were never hard. However, this kingdom had one problem.
No one knew what had made it so beautiful.
If you ask the noble man he laughs heartily. His fat, ring-covered fingers reach toward his tankard. He takes a mighty gulp before answering, “It's the good nobles that keep us happy! If it weren't for their riches and their generosity we would all be without!”
If you ask the holy man he flips through his manuscript, his wrinkled finger gliding across the golden lettering of the page. He snaps shut his book and declares, “Why, it's the gods! The gods have made this land with their own glorious hands. Every single one of us has been blessed by Mother Fortuna!”
If you ask the handmaiden she gives you a strange look. She fidgets with the ribbons on her dress and chews on her lip. She sighs, “Now, I'm not wise, but I would say it's the people who work to provide for us. Farmers, weavers, and people of the like. What's a kingdom without its people?”
Scholars attempted to answer these questions. They read through ancient manuscripts that were supposedly written by the sculptors of the world. They interviewed the wisest man in the kingdom and a lowly beggar in his barrel. They scrawled down notes and obsessively scanned the same scrolls over and over. They spent lifetimes studying, fathers and mothers passing on stories and unfinished ideas through generations of family. Libraries filled and overflowed with all the knowledge in the Kingdom, and yet. . .
Not a soul could agree on one concise answer.
Eventually, they gave up. The scholars closed their books, removed their robes, and threw their caps to the ground.
“We will never know who makes the Kingdom, and we no longer care to. Good riddance.” They stated, and abandoned their halls of knowledge.
And so, that was the end of that oh-so-noble pursuit. The world kept spinning. Nobles were still rich and fat, Holymen were still devout and pious, and the Handmaids still woke and dressed their Ladies. Everyone had come up with their own answer, and no one ever thought to speak of it. Life was good, who would question such fortune? What man looks into the face of Mother Fortuna and spits on her cheek? No man with common sense, that's for certain.
There was a Kingdom, and no one knew what made it so grand.
This is a nonsensical story, and this Kingdom is a fantastical place. Trees don't grow ruby red fruit, and rivers don't sparkle with gold. That is the nature of fairy tales, and this isn't an exception. This was a destination spoken of around campfires between strangers. Drunken patrons mumble and laugh over tall tales of this Kingdom that sounded too perfect, too peaceful. Even if it was true, if jeweled trees grew and no one starved, it was impossible to have a kingdom without conflict.
Despite this, most held the idea of a flawless kingdom close to their hearts. Maybe if they believed hard enough, it could be real.