North Wind, Midday Sun.

[Ernain1111]

Prologue

Barbarians in the Empire
In the Year of Our Lord 867, January — Eastern Roman Empire, Constantinople​

The Empress walked through the palace gardens, followed by a large retinue of servants and sycophants. Less than a year ago, her husband had murdered the false emperor and claimed his place—just in time for the birth of their firstborn, hailed as a sign from the Almighty. A new imperial dynasty had been secured.


The new emperor had barely time to savor his coronation. Heretics had risen in Anatolia, and he was forced to lead the legions eastward to restore order. Eudokia caressed her belly, wondering if she had conceived again during their final night together. She still flushed at the memory of that wild encounter in the Chrysotriklinos, the throne room of marble and gold, where mosaics of saints and emperors gazed down from the ceiling. The imperial throne stood flanked by golden lions, engineered to roar when a hidden mechanism was triggered. She had reached her climax to the sound of their roar—at the very center of the world.


Surrounded by the daughters of the noblest Roman families, Eudokia relished their praise, though she knew it rarely came from the heart. These women, born of ancient and pure lineages, served a woman they still saw as a barbarian peasant. Their husbands, she knew, thought the same of the Emperor—a mere soldier who had clawed his way to power from a village hovel.


She asked one of the noblewomen to bring her wine, chilled with ice—a luxury few in the empire could afford. She smiled, thinking of her parents’ homeland, where ice was as common as air. Before she could bring the cup to her lips, a guard stepped forward:


“My Empress… someone must taste the wine first.”


Eudokia looked at him—slender, refined, a palace-born soldier whose career had been made by bowing to the right men. She scanned the other guards. More than half were like him. Her heart pounded. Her husband had left a personal guard—men forged in the empire’s wars, not these… these—


“Assassins! Assassins!” cried the noblewoman with the cup, just as a sword cleaved her face in two.


Chaos erupted. The guards turned on each other. One rebel grabbed Eudokia, tearing her silk gown in the struggle. Her diamond diadem fell to the grass.


“Filthy barbarian whore!” the soldier spat as she kicked him away.

Blood spilled among the orchids and fruit trees. Servants and noblewomen fled—some drawing daggers. Eudokia crawled back toward the palace, her hair disheveled, and stripped off her imperial robes behind a colonnade, changing into the plain dress of a murdered maid. Fires and screams spread through the halls. Greek mosaics and painted saints watched silently as she fled through the corridors, reaching the imperial chambers—where she found her brother-in-law, Symbatios.

He stood in full armor, blood on his sword. Eudokia froze—was he part of the coup? Her eyes darted to the crib, terrified. But the baby was there, crying in royal purple. Her sister-in-law was beside him, savagely beating a servant’s corpse.

Soldiers approached. Symbatios raised his blade. The soldiers entered and dropped to one knee—not to him, but to the crying infant. A sign from heaven. The heir lived. The dynasty survived.

“Ready the procession,” Symbatios ordered. “We take the boy to the Hippodrome. The people will rise against the traitors.”

“No—you’re mad!” Eudokia snapped. “I will not parade my son like a trophy. We wait for the Emperor. I have friends in the Nordic Quarter—we’ll be safe there.”

“My nephew is the hope of the empire. Until my brother returns—if he returns—he is emperor.”

“I’m the Empress. I forbid this.”

“If my brother is dead,” he said coldly, “you’re just a barbarian.”

She turned to the soldiers. “Men of the Empire—escort me and the imperial prince to the—”

But they ignored her. Her sister-in-law scooped up the child. Symbatios led them out, and a guard shoved Eudokia aside as she reached for her son.

Frantic, she ran to her daughter Anastasia’s room. The girl, just seven years old, stood frozen behind a bed.
Her uncle Marinos sat nearby, idly turning a dagger in his hand.

Screams and fire echoed outside. Marinos barely recognized Eudokia without her silks.

“I thought you’d never arrive,” he said, glancing behind her. “Where is my brother?”

Eudokia fell to her knees, hair undone, sobbing. She lied—claimed to have found only a dead maid. She knew nothing. She feared for her life. Marinos hesitated. But the Emperor had been enchanted by this barbarian woman. And Marinos needed leverage. The son was gone, but the Empress and her daughter might still win him allies.

He led them to the docks, dodging flames and looters. Two guards fell to his blade. They rowed fast across the Golden Horn. Marinos found himself admiring her—not her freckles or pale skin, but her sheer vitality. She was not refined, but there was strength in her. The same strength, he thought, that might one day make her his.

They reached the Nordic Quarter. Bearded men with axes guarded the wooden palisades, faces lit by torches. Eudokia shouted in a language Marinos did not recognize—guttural and harsh. A warrior emerged. After tense words, he vanished, then returned to open the gate.

Tolir, the man in charge, had grown up there but spoke little Greek. The Northerners had arrived half a century earlier to trade furs and amber, never mingling with the refined Greeks who scorned them. Eudokia promised gold and trade privileges if the Emperor returned. She was given a simple cabin and watched closely.

During the week that followed, the empire teetered. Rebels and loyalists battled in the streets. The heir's presence rallied crowds, but Symbatios retreated often. Old grudges resurfaced, and daggers settled them. Fires raged. The palace bled.

Tolir waited. If the rebels triumphed, he could sell the Empress and her daughter. If the Emperor returned, he would be rewarded. In the meantime, he dined with her, brought her gifts, and told her of the world beyond—the death of the great Ragnarr and the pagan army rising in the lands of the Anglo-Saxons; of the warlord Rurik, founding a kingdom for his people among the Slavs.

Surrounded by disdainful Greeks, Eudokia clung to these tales. Had she not escaped by boat, with wit and strength? She imagined summoning warriors from the North to avenge her. Among her people, she was safe—even if only because they, too, were despised.

On the seventh day, Tolir came with his men and knelt. The Emperor had returned, cutting short his Anatolian campaign. At the sight of the imperial fleet, the rebels had fled.

Eudokia asked for a horse, a shield, a spear. The Northerners followed her, armored and armed—for the first time, allowed into Constantinople bearing weapons. Scuffles broke out. A few men died before they reclaimed her son from Symbatios.

The Emperor disembarked surrounded by his veterans. He saw his wife—half Christian, half barbarian—draped in furs, crowned in steel, and guarded by men with axes. He saw her power. Her fury. Her strength.

It was the strength he wanted for his dynasty.
It was the strength he needed for the empire.​

 

[Nikolai]

Curious, a Northern woman named Eudokia? I wonder what else is special about her.

 

[Ernain1111]

Curious, a Northern woman named Eudokia? I wonder what else is special about her.

Welcome aboard!! This won't be the last time we see the Empress. And I encourage the rest of the readers to feel free to comment. This is just the introduction. I really hope to be able to post the first chapter pretty quickly.

 

[stnylan]

To say the politics of Constantinople can be rough would be something of an understatement.

But it reads like a particularly violent baptism.

 

[dmurgell]

The Empress walked through the palace gardens, followed by a large retinue of servants and sycophants.

At first I had read "followed by a large retinue of servants and psychopaths" ... which would also make perfect sense ...

 

[Cora Giantkiller]

Very dramatic opening. Can't wait to see what happens next.

 

[Chac1]

Thanks for this prologue @Ernain1111 . Nothing like starting with a rebellion to sort out the various factions. I will agree with the others here: the empress is impressive.

Always good to see new AARs in the CK2 sub-forum. Thanks for posting and I will definitely follow along especially to see what becomes of your Varangians. The Eastern Roman Empire seems to be an area a lot of authors like, but we don't have one of those active AARs in this sub-forum, until now.

Curious about what version of CK2 you are playing. The screenshots take me back a bit.

 

[Ernain1111]

The City on the Hill – Chapter 1
Year of Our Lord 867, January. In the lands of the Eastern Slavs.​

They had come down the river. It was a horde of exiles, dissenters, and adventurers. Rurik wanted them gone now that he was about to become king. He told them of the great city to the south. At the river’s mouth lay a sea, and following the coast, they would find Miklagard, the greatest of cities. Stone buildings, gold and silver. Some brought furs and amber, as merchants claimed they sold well there; all brought their spears, shields, and axes. They raided and spread terror along the Dnieper.

Winter caught them at a bend in the river. On a hill stood a small settlement. A wall of earth, wood, and grass revealed smoke rising from the huts. Seeking a place to rest before continuing, they refrained from pillaging. They asked the locals who ruled the city. The people answered that three brothers governed it. The brothers, hostile to each other, each sought to use the warriors to seize control of the town. When spring arrived, the brothers were dead, and Askold, the leader of the Norsemen, was already collecting tribute from the inhabitants.

After a few years, Askold decided to continue south to see Miklagard. The warrior chiefs drew lots to decide who would stay in command of the city on the hill. It was called Kiev. Askold arranged for his lieutenants to be on the city council. He placed a young man named Dyre at the head of the regency council, someone proven in raids. The boy was as ambitious and greedy as all Norsemen. Askold had taken him in as a child from a raided Norse settlement in Rurik’s lands. Dyre grew strong and showed skill in war. Askold left him in charge, hinting that he was either his son or a bastard of King Rurik, increasing his chances of finding the city intact upon his return.

They reached the Golden Horn without major troubles, but there they were annihilated. A great chain stretched across the strait. When Greek fire rained upon the ships, few escaped. This happened during the reign of the Greek emperor Michael III "The Drunkard." Very few returned from Constantinople. The Greeks decreed that, seeing the Norse greed, no armed man would be allowed to enter the city. A young soldier named Basileos, from the lands of Macedonia, led the attack against the foreigners. His victory catapulted him to the peak of imperial power. Years later, in a palace coup, he would kill the drunken emperor and become emperor himself. To the surprise of the Greeks, he had a Norse wife. Her parents had arrived long before the invasion as simple merchants, unremarkable in that ant hill of races. But to the common Greeks, her image quickly became associated with the barbarians who had tried to enter the city.

Seven winters passed, and while he waited, Dyre had become a man.

The settlement had grown with exiles from Rurik’s lands, and lately many men from Scandinavia arrived, having lost their lands to Harald "Golden Hair," bent on becoming king. In the fortress on the hill, Dyre was warming himself by the fire. The smoke grew thick and lazily escaped through a hole in the thatched roof. Winters could be harsh. A pair of slaves cleaned the place and laid out herbs to ward off fleas.

“If we keep this up, a rebellion will start any day, or the settlement will be left without warriors and the slaves will slit our throats while we sleep,” said Arngrimr, scraping the bottom of his bowl with his hands and eating—“Vagn isn’t one to lose his patience easily. Everyone knows he likes to wake up with the midday sun. You need to handle this trial carefully.”

“Then it’s easy,” Dyre's eyes watered from the smoke. He reached out and grabbed the mead jug. “We’ll pardon Vagn for being Norse, and everyone will calm down. In a few months, it’ll all be forgotten; it’s not the first time this has happened. It’s also the first time Vagn has used violence in the city.”

Vagn had gathered a group of warriors and gone after a Slav who had mocked his cleft lip. They entered the man’s house and killed him at night. After looting, they tried to burn the hut. The man’s neighbors, afraid the fire would spread to their homes, tried to stop them, and violence broke out.

“Do you think everyone will be satisfied with that?” Arngrimr said. “Turns out the Slav was Yngvar’s cook… that man values his food too much. He filed the charges against Vagn and is determined to see him exiled.”

“They’ll sort it out in the end. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last,” Dyre replied, taking a long drink of mead.

“That’s not the problem... of course they’ll sort it out eventually... the problem is the law.”

“Then let the law decide.”

“The law will be whatever you tell the judge it is, you know that...” Arngrimr wiped his dirty hands on his clothes. “If you favor one or the other, we all lose. Vagn says he’s a noble and everyone believes him, apparently his father owned a particularly large frozen piece of land in Norway. Yngvar knows too much to be lying. Everyone must be innocent...”

Days later, Dyre crossed the river with the warriors. They slipped through the forests, raided villages, and took slaves. Yngvar and Vagn agreed to set their dispute aside until after the raids. The fight was one-sided; the Polayne tribe was small. Their great chief holed up in his fortress, hoping it would soon be over. But hunger grew, and the villages were too poor. Dyre surrounded the earthen palisade; the warriors hurled torches, spears, and arrows.

Overheated, the Slavs opened the gates just as the Norse scaled the wall. Dyre charged the first man, slashing with his axe and leaving his arm hanging. The Slav’s screams quickly mingled with the cries of women and children. Some Norsemen were already fighting over the loot, as the more agile Slavic warriors fled. Dyre pressed on with a small group. He met more resistance as he neared the main house. A group of Slavic warriors rushed the shield wall. The impact made it waver. Dyre alone did not fall back. The wall quickly reformed.

“Forward! Forward!”

At Dyre’s shout, the warriors pushed the Slavs back with their shields. The Slavs tried to mimic the formation but failed. They used their swords to break the shields.

“Forward! Open!”

The wall moved as one. Yngvar opened his shield and swung his axe twice, missing. Vagn stepped forward a few paces and struck down a Slav. He retreated at the order to close the wall. Minutes later, repeating the maneuver, the Slavs lay dead on the ground. They surrounded the house and kicked the door down. Inside, it was dark, only a little cold light filtered through windows covered with hides. They killed two more warriors and advanced. The great chief stood, shielding his wife. Only one trusted bodyguard remained. The man had a red beard and moved his sword and shield swiftly to block the Norse. Dyre looked around. The shield wall had scattered through the hall. He was surprised to see a dwarf wielding an axe a few steps behind him — a Norseman.

The Slavic chief raised his hand, displaying jewels.

“All yours now! No dog death! All yours now!” he shouted in broken Norse.

The jewels drew the warriors’ attention, who were ready to pounce on the chief. The dwarf seemed more interested in the woman, circling her without deciding to confront the Slavic warrior. Dyre shouted for his men not to move.

“No dog death! She not whore!” the chief said, pointing to his wife. “Gold buried! I tell where!”

Dyre said he accepted the deal. The Slavic warrior let himself be tied hand and foot, though murder in his eyes, while the dwarf groped the woman as he bound her. Dyre had to scold him to stop — he had given his word. The chief led them to the dung heap; a few steps south he dug in the ground and gave them silver bracelets and some rusted coins.

Two weeks later, Dyre crossed the river back to Kiev.

“You’re not locked up like a dog. If your people pay ransom one day, you’ll be free,” He said, pointing to the bucket and the straw bed in the cell.

Peace returned to the city on the hill for the rest of the winter.
​

---

​

 

[Ernain1111]

It took longer than expected, but here's the first chapter. I thought about including it as the second part of the prologue, but since we're already on the playable character, I decided to leave it like this.

 

[Ernain1111]

Thanks for this prologue @Ernain1111 . Nothing like starting with a rebellion to sort out the various factions. I will agree with the others here: the empress is impressive.

Always good to see new AARs in the CK2 sub-forum. Thanks for posting and I will definitely follow along especially to see what becomes of your Varangians. The Eastern Roman Empire seems to be an area a lot of authors like, but we don't have one of those active AARs in this sub-forum, until now.

Curious about what version of CK2 you are playing. The screenshots take me back a bit.

Hello!! Thanks a lot, I'm reading your AAR too, although pretty slowly, hehe. I'm playing with the HIP mod.

 

[Nikolai]

So you are playing Dyre?

 

[Ernain1111]

So you are playing Dyre?

Yes, although I can say that we will be close to the empire in one way or another.

 

[Ernain1111]

I couldn't help it, and the story of the Byzantine emperor and the empire appealed to me even more. So I changed the player character to the Byzantine emperor. The original idea was to reach the Mediterranean with Dyre and establish a new kingdom in Africa. But I've done that before, and I've never played with Byzantium. However, Dyre won't disappear completely from history. I've already played with the imperial family for a couple of decades, hahahahaha. Fortunately, I'd only played the siege with the Slavic tribe, a couple of days into the game. So, if you're still interested, I'll let you know about the change of direction.

 

[Ernain1111]

I couldn't help it, and the story of the Byzantine emperor and the empire appealed to me even more. So I changed the player character to the Byzantine emperor. The original idea was to reach the Mediterranean with Dyre and establish a new kingdom in Africa. But I've done that before, and I've never played with Byzantium. However, Dyre won't disappear completely from history. I've already played with the imperial family for a couple of decades, hahahahaha. Fortunately, I'd only played the siege with the Slavic tribe, a couple of days into the game. So, if you're still interested, I'll let you know about the change of direction.

It seems to me that the prologue and the first chapter will not break the unity of the story so they can stand well.

 

[Nikolai]

Indeed it is so.

 

[dmurgell]

Would it be somehow to play both characters (?) and have an AAR with two storylines that become intertwined... an idea I just had and might explore in the future...

 

[Chac1]

Thanks so much for this new chapter. Good to get more on the Norse who would be Varangians but instead took over Kyiv.

Hello!! Thanks a lot, I'm reading your AAR too, although pretty slowly, hehe. I'm playing with the HIP mod.

Thanks for letting me know about the mod. Some folks definitely recommend that mod. The user interface though looks like it comes from an earlier version of CK2.

Also, thanks for venturing in to read Lost Seasons. It is starting to sprawl after two years of storytelling. I always suggest now that new readers pick up one of the appendices and read those, instead of starting at the beginning, as they tell complete stories on their own. That is an easier way to get into what is now a narrative project with quite a few chapters. If you like Norse stories, I hope it connects with you.

 

[Ernain1111]

Chapter 2: The Widow
Year of Our Lord 867, May.
Constantinople, Eastern Roman Empire.​

Spring, having descended upon the city, stirred the passions of beasts and men. Basileios looked at Empress Eudokia lying naked on the bed; she tossed in her sleep among the silk sheets. The emperor recalled how close he had come to losing everything, and his hand gripped the crystal goblet so tightly it shattered.

In many ways, the empire was like a wealthy widow, he thought—full of suitors and well aware of her status. One had to know how to court her. One had to be ready for her demure refusals, her faint appeals to piety and conscience. One had to be ready to step back, from time to time, to provoke anxiety.

He took a new goblet from the marble table and poured some wine. He had failed to read the widow's signs and had nearly lost her. He had left the city too soon. It had not even been a year since he had killed Manuel III just a few steps from where he now stood, he thought, gazing at the corner of the imperial chambers. The emperor had been half-naked, reeking of wine and covered in vomit.

It had been Eudokia who told him the time was right. The guards were also drunk after the night’s bacchanal. It had been simple. Manuel hadn’t even realized what was happening. Only when he felt the sword sinking into his stomach had he opened his bleary eyes, surprised to see his companion in drunkenness and orgies holding the blade. At that moment, Basileios thought he had taken the empire. He took a sip of wine—mixed with water this time. Manuel had not been the husband of the rich widow that was the empire... only another suitor.

Basileios looked at the moon and returned to the bed, feeling the soft, perfumed mattress. He gently caressed Eudokia’s exposed buttocks. The empress awoke, startled. Basileios kept caressing her until her body relaxed. The night was frenzied; they unleashed all their frustrations and tensions. In the morning, Basileios thought it was time to court the empire properly. He needed to be noticed, to become an attractive suitor—not just another desperate, complacent bore.

​

---

At first light, the strategoi entered the great hall. Basileios walked across the Bosphorus and sat on the golden throne, elevated above the city. An enormous model surrounded him: remarkably precise, it displayed the Eastern Empire at its greatest extent. The mountain reliefs inland in Anatolia, the terrain gently sloping down to the coastal plains, Greece and the islands...

A sign of the times, the model was modular. This magnificent piece of craftsmanship could be expanded or reduced depending on the empire’s advances or losses. Only Constantinople in the center could not be removed. The Queen of Cities… heir to Rome… guardian of the Orthodox Christian faith… the center of the world… And above it, the imperial throne, which turned smoothly thanks to a hidden system of pulleys, allowing the emperor to gaze over the entire model.

Some want to rape the widow outright, thought Basileios, sitting on the magnificent golden throne. Around the model, generals, officers, and advisers stood. Servants moved swiftly among the men adorned with medals and armor. Long ago, Basileios had stood down there too, among the servants. It was there that his strong, agile build had first caught Emperor Michael’s eye.

“The bulk of the Tunisian Sultan’s fleet has been sailing along the western coast of Sicily, capturing local garrisons. At the height of Syracuse, we lost their trail. Reports from the Thema of Calabria are clear. Strategos Prokopios believes they’re heading south to attack Malta and drive us out of the western Mediterranean.“-said Konstantinos.

Konstantinos commanded the Thema of Thessalonica, near Constantinople. It was the second-largest city in the empire, though Anatolian commanders had been gaining more influence lately. He had retained his title of Megas Domestikos, marshal of the empire, after Michael fell, thanks to his personal connection to Basileios. He had also survived a failed rebellion just months earlier. He knew he had to prove useful. As he spoke, lower-ranking officers were moving miniature armies and fleets across the model. From atop the dais, the emperor's voice rang out:

“And what is your opinion, Konstantinos?”

Konstantinos studied the positions on the map. He hesitated, but his instincts had never failed him. More than just locating the Tunisian fleet, he felt the urgent need to show control—show that he mattered. He had good relations with the strategos in Greece, who had sent word that he’d spotted Muslim forces near Crete. Of course, he hadn’t used official channels. The man was bitter with the imperial administration over some forts he claimed were under his jurisdiction. The bureaucracy had reviewed the case and confirmed another strategos in command. Then a second message arrived:

“My emperor… I don’t think they’re in Malta. We haven’t heard of any pirate activity in Crete for months. The Tunisians chose the perfect time to strike—just when they believed you had gone inland to fight the heretics. If they knew that, they also know... they know what happened in the city afterward... If I were in their place, I’d take advantage of the apparent disorder to try to take the center,” he said, pointing at Constantinople.

Basileios nodded at the map. The next hours were spent sending envoys, debating, and assigning responsibilities.


​

Augusta
​

Eudokia had been proclaimed Augusta, mother of the Empire and second only to the Emperor of the East, third only after the Most Holy God. The imperial decree had been issued in late April.

Niketas Ooryphas entered Hagia Sophia with a firm step as part of the imperial procession. He wore black, with a large golden crucifix. The silver chain hung around his neck, so he straightened his posture and lifted his chin. The monks’ chant welcomed them. The incense smoke dissolved over the capitals as the imperial procession passed. At the far end of the building, under the dome more than thirty meters high, Christ Pantocrator looked down at them—stern yet merciful. Beneath the golden light of the windows, the long procession thinned. The last of those who had entered through the Imperial Gate were now standing near the exit.

Niketas grasped the hand of his wife, Theosebo, with pride. She was young and attractive. Though somewhat unruly at times, nothing he couldn’t correct. He followed closely behind the imperial family. The emperor and empress wore long purple robes. The emperor’s mother and brothers were dressed in the same color.

Niketas stood beside the imperial family. The emperors advanced alone. The Kamelaukion, the imperial crown, was topped with a golden cross and adorned with rubies. The pearl veils hanging from its sides swayed with every step the emperor took on the marble floor. The empress’s new crown was made of golden laurels and small diamonds. The imperial couple knelt before the patriarch, who blessed them after they kissed the cross. The Patriarch then began to chant the litany, joined by the choir.

Later, at the Imperial Palace, the reception was lavish. Foreign dignitaries, high court officials, and church authorities had all been invited. Niketas was slightly irritated. After the mass, his wife had suffered a minor spell and fainted in the street. The emperor had looked on disapprovingly over his shoulder. It was the emperor’s brother, Symbatios, who had helped Theosebo from the ground and reassured Niketas. Later, he realized the emperor had been more interested in speaking with the Patriarch than in his wife’s episode. He devoted himself to speaking with Konstantinos about the sightings of the Tunisian fleet. It was his responsibility to locate the infidels, as he commanded the Thema of the Aegean Sea, which encompassed all the islands and controlled the Bosphorus entrance. This situation was undermining his position. He glanced at Theosebo—pale and sweaty. He would have to discipline her once they returned to the villa.

Theosebo trembled uncontrollably, unable to stop. She was not only terrified by the vision she’d had in Hagia Sophia, but also of returning to the villa with her husband. Niketas could be cruel when his pride was wounded. He had left her on the ground to follow the imperial procession. If not for the emperor’s brother, Symbatios, who had lifted her... He had tried to calm her, blaming the combination of the freshly painted capitals and the incense. The empress was receiving dignitaries but looked uncomfortable. She kept scanning the crowd. Her fair complexion was nearly pale. She seemed impatient. She turned to the noblewomen around her:

“There are too many people here... I need some air.”

The noblewomen made to follow her.

“No, not all of you. I just said there are too many people.”

She pointed directly at her.

“You… I think you need fresh air too. I saw you faint in the street.”

Theosebo followed the empress, still trembling. Behind her, several women eyed her with envy and disapproval. They descended a staircase into a small garden, where the hedges grew tall, granting privacy.

Eudokia ordered the guards to sweep the garden thoroughly. She tracked their movements, repeatedly glancing back toward the reception hall. She told the guards not to stray far. Inside the garden, they sat on a marble bench. The empress alternated her gaze between Theosebo’s face, the hedges, and the garden exit.

“What did you see? Tell me what you saw.”

Her greek was good, though a faint accent made it sound unnatural. Theosebo shifted on the bench, uneasy. She looked at the golden diadem on the empress’s head. The day had grown cloudy, and the air was cold. A statue of the Theotokos, the Mother of God, watched them, holding the sacred child. She seemed pleading—pleading to God for the future. The vision in the church had shaken her.

“It was a beautiful ceremony, Augusta… I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“Don’t be foolish, girl. I mean your fainting.”

“It was the smell of the incense, Augusta… mixed with the fresh paint…”

“Symbatios told you not to tell me.”

Theosebo sensed open fury—something she knew well—and she panicked. It had been a long day. She was afraid of returning to the villa, of the visions, and of this woman who now gripped her arm tightly. She broke down in tears. The empress stood without letting go.

“I am your empress. You just saw the Patriarch bless me. I am the mother of the Empire. You saw me proclaimed Augusta. To lie to me is to lie to the emperor. Is that what you want? To lie to the emperor!?”

Theosebo had lost control. She began crying and screaming.

“I saw a widow! I saw a widow!” she shouted, unable to hold back.​

 

[Nikolai]

But which widow...? The Empire or the Empress? Or someone else?

 

[Ernain1111]

But which widow...? The Empire or the Empress? Or someone else?

I'll say we'll find out in the future. Also, more details about the vision.