The morning sky was clear. Vardan went to the palace and, as was court custom, surrendered the two swords at his waist. Although he was a close companion of Ruben, he couldn't help but wonder, 'Can this court in the mountains even be called a court?'
In any case, he now felt awkward about this custom.
After all, the great Armenian Kingdom of the Bagratid Dynasty had been destroyed for nearly forty years. Vardan hailed from an ancient family of Armenian Nobility, and for as long as he could remember, the kingdom had existed only in the words of his elders. His family had lost their lands when the Byzantine Empire occupied Armenia.
Their glory was long gone, and they were barely surviving on small plots of land and the last vestiges of their ancestors' honor. The Armenians seemed destined to be second-class citizens within the Empire. Their freedom was but a dream—vivid, yet ultimately unreal.
