King Antigonos III

Today, Euenios woke up bright and early, as today he would have to go to the city hall and coronate himself as King of the Macedons.

Euenios looked at the mirror and saw a tired man with a thick beard and bloodshot eyes, staring back at him. His armor was laid out neatly, the gleaming silver contrasting with the darkened shadows under his eyes. He sighed heavily and began to put it on, piece by piece, each one a heavy reminder of the weight of his newfound responsibility. The armor was a gift from his late father, Antigonos II, who had never had the chance to pass it down personally. Euenios felt the cold steel against his skin, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was truly ready for what lay ahead.

He wasn't able to sleep well last night, obviously he was very nervous, and some good homecooked food from his glorified roommate Lysandra Pervica would be nice, some meat and pastry...

As Euenios stepped into the bustling city, he felt the anticipation in the air. The streets of Mastiapolis were lined with people dressed in their finest garments, whispering excitedly about the upcoming coronation. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasting meats wafted from nearby stalls, and the sound of laughter and chatter filled his ears. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not had the luxury of a proper breakfast.

Proper breakfast is secondary, there's food at the venue anyway, plus the people might not want to see their King gallivanting about in the morning.

The journey to the city hall was a short one, but it felt like an eternity to Euenios. Each step echoed in his mind, a reminder of the footsteps of his ancestors who had once ruled with an iron fist. He took in the sights and smells, the vibrant colors of the marketplace, the cool breeze that whispered secrets of the impending colder winter. His thoughts drifted to his father, Antigonos II, who had fought so fiercely to keep Pan-Hellenism together. Would he be proud of what Euenios was about to do?

Pan-Hellenism had to die either way...

The city hall was an enlarged Iberian hut that was repurposed into a building by the Macedonians. Euenios took a deep breath as he approached the towering entrance, flanked by two stoic guards. They nodded in recognition, and the heavy doors swung open to reveal a hall buzzing with nobles and diplomats from across Oscapolis and Mastiapolis, and the entire region those cities controlled. The sound of their hushed conversations grew louder with every step he took, and he felt the weight of their gazes upon him.

Euenios's heart thumped in his chest as he walked down the long aisle, his boots echoing against the marble floor. The walls were adorned with ancient frescoes depicting scenes of victory and unity, a stark contrast to the current state of the world.

Each step was a battle against his nerves, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. He knew that there were those who doubted him, but he had a plan, a vision for a stronger, united Macedon, and today was the first step in making it a reality.

As it stands now Macedonians are a foreign people in this region...

The simple coronation began with a hush that swept through the hall like a gentle wave. A single, clear note from a trumpet pierced the air, and the assembly turned their attention to the makeshift throne at the far end. Euenios took his place before it, his eyes scanning the sea of faces, searching for any sign of dissent or challenge.

The high priestess of Zeus, a stern-looking woman named Alethia, began the sacred incantations in a language that was ancient even to the Macedonians. She anointed his head with oil, her voice resonating with the authority of the gods themselves. He felt the warmth spread down his neck and across his shoulders, a comforting weight that seemed to ease the tension in his muscles.

Now that he thinks of it... this Priestess and the temple seemed to just pop out of nowhere.

As the ceremony progressed, Euenios noticed the whispers of the onlookers growing softer, their eyes widening with a mix of awe and skepticism. They had seen kings come and go, and many had tasted the bitterness of failed leadership. Yet here he was, a man they knew only as the son of a great general, standing before them to claim his birthright.

The high priestess held up the crown of Macedon, a simple yet elegant band of gold adorned with laurel leaves. The metal glinted under the soft light that streamed in from the high windows, casting shadows across her aging face. She spoke the final words of the coronation rite, her eyes locking onto Euenios's with a fierce intensity. He could almost feel the power of the gods surging through the room as the weight of the crown settled onto his head.

The murmurs grew louder as the crowd realized that the moment had arrived. Euenios took a deep breath and raised his hands, palms outward, to the assembly. His voice, steady and clear, filled the hall. "People of Macedon, I stand before you today as your king, but also as your servant. I pledge to restore our lands to their former glory, to protect our borders, and to bring peace to our people."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. The hall was so silent that the fluttering of a bird's wings outside seemed like a thunderous applause. Then, with a swift motion, he drew his sword, the blade flashing in the sunlight. "But I do not come to you as Euenios," he declared, his eyes flashing with a newfound resolve. "Today, I cast aside the name that has haunted me and embrace my destiny as Antigonos III, the rightful heir to the throne of my father, Antigonos II, and of my brother Demetrius II."

The crowd erupted into a frenzy of applause and cheers. The sound washed over him, a mix of relief and excitement that seemed to bolster his spirits. He had chosen his name well, invoking the memory of his legendary ancestors to unite his people. The coronation was not just a formality; it was a declaration of intent, a promise to the gods and to his people that he would not let them down.

The festivities that followed had very good food. The great hall of the city had been transformed into a celebration worthy of a king. Long tables groaned with food and drink, and musicians played lively tunes that had the crowd's feet tapping. Euenios, now Antigonos III, made his way through the throng of well-wishers, his handshakes firm and his smile genuine. He took the time to listen to their hopes and fears, to learn their names and their stories. It was a contrast to the cold, distant reign of his predecessors.

The scent of roasting meats filled the air, making his mouth water. He took a seat at the head table, and a platter of sizzling lamb skewers was placed before him, the meat tender and seasoned with exotic spices that made his taste buds dance with delight. There were bowls of steaming vegetables, their vibrant colors a feast for the eyes as much as for the stomach. A loaf of bread, warm and fragrant, was ripped open, revealing a golden crumb that practically begged to be dipped into the flavorful olive oil and balsamic vinegar. There was a roast duck, its skin crispy and brown, surrounded by a moat of rich gravy, and a whole roast pig, its apple-stuffed maw grinning at the revelers as if it were the happiest creature to ever meet its end.

Yes, the pig was happy to be roasted, don't question me.

Antigonos picked up a skewer, the lamb practically melting in his mouth. The juices dripped down his chin, and he couldn't help but let out a contented sigh. It had been months since he had eaten anything this good. The bread was next, soaking up the flavors of the gravy like a sponge, a perfect complement to the tender beef that lay beneath. His plate was piled high with food, and he didn't hesitate to dig in.

He sampled the duck, savoring the crunch of the skin and the moist, succulent meat beneath. The gravy was a symphony of flavors, like yknow, if an orchestra started playing the harps would be slapping his tongue, each bite revealing a different note of sweetness, tartness, and a hint of something smoky. He took a moment to appreciate the artistry that went into its preparation, the way the flavors danced on his tongue. The vegetables, too, were a delight, each bite a burst of color and flavor that contrasted with the richness of the meats.

Lysandra Pervica, his trusted advisor and confidante, sat beside him, her eyes shining with pride. She had seen him at his lowest, when he had been nothing more than a general's son with a claim to a throne he wasn't sure he wanted. Now, as he ate with gusto, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She had been right to believe in him.

She remembers those times where she would take care after him as a young boy, well she was way younger than him (like 3 years) but she had to clean up after him. When he misbehaved the tutors would beat her up in front of him.

And when he would see that he would promise to never slack off and... it was that time Lysandra realized the gulf between her and him. She was just his servant, nothing more.

The conversations around the table grew livelier as wine flowed freely. Antigonos listened to the laughter and stories, his mind racing with thoughts of the battles ahead. The city of Mastiapolis was secure, but the rest of the region was a patchwork of fiefdoms, tribes, and warring factions. His coronation was only the first step in a long journey to unite all of Iberia under his Kingdom.

He took a deep breath, the warmth of the wine spreading through his chest, and turned to Lysandra. "We have much to do," he murmured, his eyes scanning the room, searching for potential allies and enemies. "Our borders are not the only threats we face. The whispers of dissent are as plentiful as the stars in the sky."

Lysandra nodded solemnly, her hand resting gently on his arm. She leaned in, her voice a low murmur that only he could hear above the din. "Remember your promise," she said, her eyes searching his. 

"Your promotion from my advisor to Queen of Macedonia?"

Lysandra's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson at the teasing tone in Antigonos's voice. She had hoped the wine had made him more malleable, but it seemed he was still as sharp-witted as ever. Despite the jest, she knew he took her words to heart.

The musicians switched to a slower tune, and the room grew quieter as a group of dancers entered, their graceful movements telling the story of the gods' battles and the birth of the Macedonian nation. Antigonos watched them, his eyes distant. He knew that the battles ahead would not be as graceful as the dance, but he was determined to win them with the same finesse.

"May Alexander give us strength Lysandra, and your promotion is coming soon, just wait for the Navy to arrive back. Hilarion came back earlier than the rest of the Navy to tell me about the Carthaginians."

Her eyes widened in concern. "What of the Carthage?"

"What the heck, where were you yesterday? In the meeting."

Lysandra's gaze was sharp, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "You know I couldn't be there," she replied. "My duties at the docks..."

"My bad hehe, I forget sometimes... Come on no tantrums..."