A Bow of Thrones: Bow Before You Check

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A Bow of Thrones: A Short Marble Tale

In the grand Hall of the Checkered Floor, two houses stood opposed—each sculpture carved of fine marble, each bearing a regal posture that promised honor and intrigue. Their pedestals gripped the edges of the chessboard like lords defending castle walls.

House Onyx, ever dark and brooding, was said to have been chiseled by a master artisan who swore an oath never to laugh. Its marble figure, all solemn lines and austere features, commanded a foreboding presence reminiscent of ravens taking flight at dusk.

Across the board loomed House Ivory, gleaming white as new-fallen snow in the Frosted Vale. Legend held that its stone had once been part of a temple dedicated to the gods of politeness and pastry. Though beautiful to behold, its expression had an air of quiet mischief—some whispered that it had once been caught smirking at a rival column.

Now, as a hush fell over the chamber, the two statues readied themselves for the ancient ritual of courtesy. This was no ordinary bow: no, their stony brows dipped forward in unison, a gesture so grave and so comical that any mortal bystander might have giggled at the sight. Had the great King of the North himself been present, he might have paused to wonder whether the old tales of dancing gargoyles were true after all.

For a time, neither sculpture moved a fraction further. Then, with excruciating slowness, House Onyx stooped lower, as if to say, “I bend to no one but here, fine marble, I shall bend for you.” House Ivory, not to be outdone, lowered its neck with equal care, as though replying, “A courtesy so gracious demands my profoundest response.”

A heavy silence followed, thick enough to match the weight of their stone forms. One might have expected at least a squeak of marble under the tension—or perhaps a playful snicker from a pawn on the sideline—yet all stood still, transfixed by the gravity of this mutual show of respect.

Suddenly, it was done. Together, House Onyx and House Ivory righted themselves, the echoes of their bows vanishing into the air. The duel—if it could be called that—had reached its swift conclusion, won not by sword or cunning, but by the purest courtesy. Some say that in that moment, the spirits of old kings and queens stirred among the chessboard squares, smiling upon this most chivalrous of stalemates.

Thus ended the Bow of Thrones, where marble lords paid one another respect in a dance of silent humor and timeless elegance. Should you wander the Checkered Floor and witness such a scene, be certain to offer your own nod of gratitude, for you stand in the presence of proud houses that know: peace can be as grand as war, and a proper bow is sometimes the mightiest move of all.