Succession of a Priest
"The last thing this already small nation needs is a schism."
-Adviser Sevin Floumite
Priest Karzt. A man in the waning years of his life, after his prime and down the long road that led to degeneration and death. He was getting older, it was true, but he remained fit by exercise. He rather enjoyed his daily stroll across the Palace grounds. The Palace, really just more of a small mansion, was at the center of the grand buildings being built around it. His path first took him to the Hall of Diplomacy, grand and right across from The Palace. It had never been used. He was glad of this. Aryie had always remained nicely neutral, which gave him free time and saved him a lot of worry. He looped around to the back and then went in a large circle, for the Monuments of Karholm were rising up around The Palace. He liked to go very slowly at this part of the walk, because things were always new, and the Hall was always static.
He was sure that they were going to be quite grand, and he worried that he wouldn't be able to see its completion before his death. Still, he was reasonably sure that he would get to see the spoils of this labor. It was all part of the attempts to make Karholm the beating heart of Aryie, without all the nasty mucking about in diplomacy and wars and invasions and loss of life. Who needed men scampering about in shiny uniforms and pieces of land that were stained with blood when one had nice pretty gardens and pretty architecture?
Still, his walks were starting to get less and less pleasant and more and more broody, which he didn't like at all. He didn't want to be bothered during his only truly free time of the day, and yet as he ambled about trying to think of pleasant thoughts, one line of thought crept in nearly every day. And it worried him, gave him crease lines on his brow, forced him to deal with unhappy things.
Officially, the monarchy was simply hereditary. It was plain and simple and secular. Of course, it was a de facto theocratic monarchy in that the heir to the throne was inevitably a priest. It did not matter which order the son was born. The only important thing was that this son was A. a practicing Oneist and B. furthermore, an active one, i.e. a Priest.
Priest Karzt had two sons, in fact. The oldest, Prince Aagi, was a Priest, the traditional arrangement for the eldest son. The youngest, Prince Zekat, was a Bladeist. Karzt didn't know where his son ever picked up such an...alien...religion, but it was of no importance. So far, it was good. He had a Oneist ready to inherit the throne.
However, there was a hitch. Prince Aagi was a sickly young man who also happened to be a hemophiliac, which probably explained his sickliness. Fine, it was all fine and dandy. After all, a hemophiliac doesn't have to do any physical activity when he's a king, right? And yet...he showed signs of instability, which was the clincher for the good Priest. The man seemed to get absolutely
obsessive with the most
insignificant things. Once, he had refused to leave the palace until everything on all the shelves and closets were alphabetized, marked, and placed in the appropriate places whereupon his organization was ruined. It was pitiful, for the Prince was amazingly intelligent. This obsession probably made him an excellent priest, but overall, it was disastrous. Stack on to that a disturbing increasing trend of an inability to distinguish reality from his fantasy. For example:
--
20 Thermador, 319 Y.G.[1]
Today, I didn't feel like going to lessons, so I ditched Tutor Reuott after breakfast. I went swimming in the Palace Pool with Dwill. I swim the freestyle better, but he has me licked on the backstroke. That's about all. Swimming makes me really tired, but it's still fun! I love swimming and I have a nice tan because of it. Afterward, I got yelled at by Dad, presumably for cutting class. Maybe it was about something else; I wasn't paying attention. I went to bed early because my dad was angry with me.
-Prince Aagi
--
20 Thermador, 319 Y.G.
Today...Aagi thrashed around and giggled in his bed...I fear for his ailing health.
-Priest Karzt
--
The final straw that broke the camel's back was that he was too old to conceive another child, although he was trying his best with his wife, who wasn't aging gracefully. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, in other words.
He rounded the loop and sighed, breathing a prayer to The One, who he was sure was listening to his predicament.
Please, I don't want the great line that started with Priest Azlan to die out. Please, cure my son, or give me an heir. I beg of you. Keep this small nation together.
He sighed and walked back into the Palace, where he effectively distracted himself from the monarchical woes with paperwork.
--
[1]Y.G. is Years of Glory, which started when much of Svitzerland left the crowded nation and established Aryie under the good old Priest Azlan, whose fame and accomplishments have not diminished over time. I also realized, after writing this story that Thermador sounds oddly like Thermidor, and since the French Revolution and Napoleon are being covered right now in Euro AP, well...But anyway, it wasn't intentional. 
I wanted to try one of those coolio story templates that go "TITLE, QUOTE, STORY", so don't sue me if I don't do justice to this style D:
Of course, my own birthday is in six days *hint* *hint*
Strange that two neighboring nations are both having a crisis of succession is it not? Be a terrible thing if you chose the wrong choice 
