Once, long ago, there lived a king by the name of Alphundus. He was a direct descendant of Roawan the First, who was the very first king of these lands that were named after him. The line of kings had never been broken and Alphundus was proud of that. He himself had a daughter with his first wife. And after she died, he remarried and his second wife gave him three sons.
The children were alike their father. True knights, high-spirited, brave and good in combat. Tough Garmen was even taller than his brothers. Grave Lenard had arms like tree trunks because of his work in the shipyards. Swift Lorean was an athletic, for he liked to run and ride on horseback. All had the brown eyes of their mother. Except for the princess. She was much more like her own mother, slender and sinewy, and green-eyed. She didn't like jousts, nor other royal duties. She wandered the woods instead, speaking with travellers, hags and even centaurs and elves.
Times grew troublesome. It happened often now that the king had to ride out to set matters straight. The queen accompanied him, but his children not. They stayed safe at the royal keep. But left alone, the brothers started to argue. They gathered followers and agitated against each other and especially against their half-sister. She was, being the oldest, the legal succesor to the throne. But rumours spread that she was not the kings daughter, that never in history a woman had held the throne, that she was weird, that she was a witch. Though she was truly her fathers child and wielded the sword better than any of her brothers, the three factions together were too strong.
On the morning before winter solstice she had disappeared. Lorean said she must have been murdered. Garmen suggested she had fled away and got lost in the snow and ice. And Lenard argued she might have gone to the isle of mages, to seek allies. The king said nothing and ordered an investigation. The uncertainty and mistrust grew during a week. Then, at sundown, king Alphundus was found dead. He was stabbed with a blade, the dried blood had blackened.
The three brothers all accused each other of murder and the absent princess was prime suspect too. Weapons were drawn, friends and faithful came to aid and they fought all night. At the end they withdrew, wounded, each in his own favorite territory. Garmen went to the northern mountains, where he knew richess and steel could be found in the mines. He named them Garheim. Lenard took off to the western forest lands he called Lenfald, where hunting game was abundant, and wood to build ships. And Lorean felt home on the southern grassy plains, between his horses. He named it Loreos. They didn't dare to crown themself king yet. But they did all they could to clear any trace of their half-sister, and to destroy anything that smelled like magic.
Eight months after the quarrel news came from their mother. She had given birth to a fourth son. The three oldest did not want to give in to each other and certainly not to a fourth. But neither could they neglect the newborn completely. They decided that he could be king, but in name only. He would have no rights on any land. He could perform ceremonial tasks, and act as a judge, though he could not make laws.
And now, eleven generations later, Roawia is still divided in three, though it has one king. The line of ancestry is broken for good, for the current king is the great-great-grandson of a steward. The story of the brothers lives on in the lands that are named after them. The name of the sister is forgotten now. Strange creatures only live in folklore tales and magic has vanished. Some whisper it's still strong on the isle of springwells. But no-one knows if that is real, for few have dared to go there. None returned.
This is the current History of Roawia by Koffiemoc as posted on the LCC General Information Thread on the forums.