In the Name of the King (IC)

In a lonely grey hall, lit only by the dull light of an overcast sky seeping in through slit windows, a weathered old man argued with his son. The great hall, with its high ceiling and thick stone walls, would carry their voices in echos, so they spoke in harsh whispers. Even the guards at the door, their ears hidden away in their metal helms, could not hear their private conversation. The old man never seemed to cease moving. He paced back and forth, swept his great cloak back in passionate motions, substituting the intensity of his actions for the volume of his voice. His restless movement was in stark contrast to his son who stood with him, but hardly moved a muscle. His son, a strong young man, stood opposite his father with his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

"Father, please! This... this show you put on for the peasants will do no good! What does a simple farmer know of nations and armies? What does a shepherd care for politics? You send away our most loyal men to cast pearls before swine."

"Of course they don't know!" his father replied, brushing away the rejection like a persistent gnat, "What do you know of swinging a hoe? Of herding sheep? You have never sought to learn, and who has thought to teach you? Yet I doubt you would find much difficulty with such tasks. They are angry because they do not understand why we went to war. Teaching them is not difficult."

"The peasantry is angry because they are hungry. We have tried to lower taxes, but local lords raise them. They take more than they should, and they blame the war for needing to. The people blame you for starting the war while barons and viscounts bleed them dry. And you know why they are gathering wealth, wealth that never reaches our coffers. The court thinks we are weak, they hang over us like vultures, and in the midst of this you would have your knights leave you."

"Hah!" the old man laughed and sneered, "Nothing but smoke and noise, that lot. Every one of them is too afraid of Brumland to do anything to me. No, we need to have the people on my side for the coming turmoil. Now is when the heart of the people can be swayed, and now, while the others are still licking their wounds from the war, is when I can act with impunity. Do you not see? It must be now."

"Even if they hesitate to outright take the throne, which is not as fanciful a thought to them as you may think, what stops them from trying to kill our men outright? How would we even know who strikes against us?"

The father advanced on his son with a menacing smile on his lips, "Let them try. They'll soon see that every one of my loyal knights are worth a dozen treasonous cowards."

"For God's sake, father!" his son cried out, twitching when he heard his words echoing throughout the hall.

"Mind your tongue, Dietrich," his father hissed, inches away from his face.

"For God's sake," the crown prince, Dietrich, continued in hushed tones, "Gabi's going with them."

King Reinhard stopped. Then he sighed. "That was Gabi's choice," for a moment, the king's stony face relaxed, and his eyes drifted far to the west, but it was only for a moment, "And this is my choice. My knights go. They tell the people we needed to go to war against Brumland, before they became too strong, and before they could form an alliance with the barbarians to the East. We need to keep them weak enough to be afraid of their neighbors, and weak enough for their neighbors to think Brumland can be toppled. I will not stand for a foreign king coming to take my lands!"

---

The farming community of Eweald numbered no more than four hundred, including women, children, and the infirm. A paltry number compared to the ranks of soldiers in the army, but a large number for the land they had been allotted. In times past these people had farmed on more land in more spacious houses, built by their own hands, but many had been moved during the war. Some land was taken to allow horses and cattle to graze, other families had simply been unable to farm the land while their men were off at war and local lords had confiscated to make use of it. No matter what the case, many families had been taken off their land and told to share what was left with distant relatives, acquaintances, strangers, and even old family enemies. During the war, they did what they needed to survive. When the men returned, the community found itself beyond its capacity, and the harvest taken for the tax only increased. All these hardships were blamed on the war.

Eweald could not properly be called a town. The people had built it more like a living space for an enormous family. Most people lived in the a sprawling, connected complex. Children were all cared for by a few dedicated women, though their own mothers fed them if they could. The men worked together to raise what grain and potatoes that they could from the ground, and raise the animals that they could. Most of what they produced, they shared. The elders of the various families sorted out disputes, though the men returned from war gave them less respect than the rest of Eweald's inhabitants. There were small houses separated from the main complex for people to take care of the further reaches of the farmland, but few people lived so far away permanently. Many took turns caring for the more isolated areas of the farm, particularly young couples.

In Eweald, despite the chaos of living everyday life with so many other people, life rarely changed from the usual routine. When something unusual happened, the news spread through a blaze in the dense community. So when the flash of metal and the rumble of horses was heard in the distance, the elders knew almost immediately.

"Damn them! Damn those... damned brutes," an elder beat his fist feebly on the ground, "We already paid their damn taxes. We already paid and paid and paid! How much more do they have to steal from us?"

Five elderly men sat in a circle in a room with covered windows.

"Maybe they aren't here for taxes," an old man with one good eye responded.

"They're always here for taxes. Bucketheads don't even show up if it isn't to take something."

"Yeah. Only reason they come out is to steal."

"Or to tell us that there's a war going on."

"Maybe they're here to tell us the king's dead."

Some of the elders laughed, the one with one eye didn't.

"This isn't a time for laughing. What if they came about... the bandits."

The rest of the elders fell silent. A few of them looked nervously to the side, others looked on firm, but had nothing to say. The silence was broken when word came from the hall.

"The men aren't from Lord Albrecht! They're flying the banner of the King!"

The sodden earth made travel much more difficult as the party travelling under the banner of the king entered the small rural countryside. The recent rain made the earth soft and wet, it clung desperately to the horses' hooves, causing the poor beasts to stumble and pull against the greedy hands of the wet earth. Hazy clouds shielded the sun, soft green sprouts shot up from the damp soil alongside the well traveled road. It was the season when the farmers allowed natures soft sobs to nurture their planted seeds and help them mature into soft tender sprouts which would be hardened by the sun in later months. And although the damp air and slight chill left over from winter still nipped the air the knight was silently thankful for the absence of gnat and insect which would feast on the sweat of travel and annoy both horse and rider.

Adela Pentaghast sat astride her mount, her well fortified form coated in a confusing array of armor and metal that disguised her true gender. A hefty helm covered her feminine face, and with each jarring movement from the steed would cause a chorus of clanging and creaking as her armor moved at the hinges and her chainmail tapped on the steel plates of her armor.
From afar she appeared as just another well armed knight in the service of the king, but upon closer inspection the slight swell of breast that was hammered into the metal caused an onlooker to raise an eyebrow. With the removal of her helm short cropped bister hair would further confuse, but the soft feminine face, carrying war-hardened and fierce hazel eyes, would give away the truth of her birth. The truth of her gender had imprisoned her to a helm, concealing her face from the rural townsfolk who would not understand. Only in the safety of camp, in private audience, or in a town that followed the teachings of the Chantry of Truth, would she remove her helm. Only they would understand the greatness a person could wield, no matter their gender.
It was true that Adela was a female knight, given the title by the small but exalted Order of the Hatchet, whose woman had proven themselves just as great as any man in time of battle. Adela herself had fought alongside the Count of Dumas and protected him in the battle for the province during the desperation of the war. It was the Count's own blessing and good word that carried her so far during these times. Tales of her valiance spread far enough for the King's men to take notice and recruit her, which was a shocking and surprising event. It was that day that her faith in the King grew, a man who could look past the error of her birth and see the greatness behind the truth of her actions.

The exhausted beast below her had difficulty pulling itself from the mess of earth, let alone a metal clad guest. An exasperated snort passed through the horses nostrils shaking out its mane in frustration. Swifthide's coat was speckled with mud, the moisture in the air causing his mane to clump together in unsightly strands, matted with sweat and grime.
The banner of the king stood out against the dull colors of the countryside and as she gripped onto the wooden pole to which the banner was attached she couldn't help but feel as though the anger of the rural peasants were whipping at the fabric like the hefty gusts of the wind. You did not have to have first hand experience with peasants to know that they abhorred any change other than the scheduled change of the seasons and the shock of the sudden war had battered them. It did not help that that their land owners were taking their losses out on their workers, burdening them with more taxes in order to keep up their manner of living during such hard times, and as the village game into view this fact became more apparent.
It had been a long campaign, they had visited a handful of villages already, explaining to the villagers the state of the kingdom and the necessity of war, that their gracious king was doing all he could for them. They offered aide and spoke with Barons and Dukes about the amounts of taxes if the villagers were peeved enough about it.
Adela's hazel eyes scanned the marred village, falling on soupy land that was unused, the soil upturned and laying barren. As they traversed the muddy road and approached the great stone walls of the main fortress a few gaunt figures could be seen, eyeing the colorful banners and the well armed mounted warriors making a comfortably paced approach toward their scant neighborhood, ravaged by the hardships of war. The figures quickly retreated into doorways, children running in the muddy streets plump on the ignorance of youth were pulled inside by quick hands and the party had arrived to an empty courtyard.
She stopped her mount with a swift tug of the reigns in her free hand, and Swifthide gratefully accepted, snorting in such a way that it made his lips flap as he flicked his tail with mild boredom. Her concealed eyes turned to the small windows that looked into the courtyard, peering eyes emerging from the gaps between patchwork curtains as they stole a glance at the king's men decked out in elaborate armor. It was only natural that such villagers would be skeptical of such unannounced visitors and as she let her eyes run over all the windows on one side of the courtyard, settling comfortably into her saddle as the horse below her sighed and twitched its ears habitually, looking around and perking it's ears up at a sound too subtle for a human to register. She looked to her superiors waiting for a command as she rested her free hand on her hip as she let her eyes peruse the windows on the other side of her.

Inside the caretakers' room, young, mud-flecked children were bunched against the window trying to get a look at what was happening outside. They pushed and clamored as much as they could on their toes, barely any of them tall enough to see over the windowsill. Their few nurses were still darting back and forth through the halls and calling the names of the children that they had not been corralled with the rest. The children were quick to take advantage of their absence, climbing over and on top of each other to get a better view. Usually, when Lord Albrecht's men came, they all fled to this room and huddled together under cloths or sheets if they could find any.

When Lord Albrecht's men came, the nurses would already be here, hugging the children. The nurses would hug a child too tight in these times, but the child would see their nurse's face, and they would let them hug too hard. When Lord Albrecht's men came, their mothers would become pale and stiff until they left, and they would say little to anyone. Their fathers would hunch their backs and hide their faces, but even from behind the children could see their chests heaving and hear their shaking breaths. When those men came, the children felt bad tingles on their skin and in their stomach that told them to hide. With the king's men outside though, their only thoughts were to get a glimpse of those great horses and shining armor.

A boy slipped trying to push his way to the front and fell onto the hard wooden floor. With a smile, he scrambled back to his feet and kept trying to lean in closer. Just before, all the adults were running around outside and yelling, and then coming in and yelling, and then going back outside and yelling. The adults were hiding indoors now, but everyone was still looking. Men peered with wide eyes through cracks and holes in the dark wooden walls, women paced back and forth fidgeting with their skirts and sneaking quick glances at the knights out of the corners of their eyes. The children knew that whatever was outside, they wanted to see it too.

"Look at 'em!" one boy cried, pulling himself up on the windowsill, "They're all shiny!"

The children bustled and bounced at the news, and the boy on the windowsill was pushed off by another.

"Lemme see!" he poked his head up and the other children held their breath, waiting to hear his report " 'E's right! They're shiny, not all brown and mussy like the other lot. And they're huge!"

As the biggest boys fought for the next place, one of the girls that had been pushed to the side dragged one of the nurse's wooden chairs over behind the crowd. The others were too distracted to notice her. She set her little jaw and furrowed her brow and began her shaky climb to the seat of the chair, which was only a head shorter than she was. When she reached the summit, she smiled and nodded to herself, and she saw that one of the big knights, all in shiny black armor, was looking right at her through the window. Her mouth opened in a wide O and her eyes opened big, then she waved back at the big knight with her whole arm.

The building the children were in was one of the closest to where the King's Knights had stopped, although it may not have been where they had chosen to stop. Though many of the people were watching from inside, there was a group of thirty or so men and one of the elders outside in front of the knights. They stood to the side, not standing in the path of the knights' mighty beasts, but they had all the signs of a greeting party. The elder stood in front, but with the great height of the horses and his hunched back, he could not even meet the eyes of the knights' leader. The young men at his side stood firm, with their chins held up, their lips pressed, and their brows slightly furrowed. They stood straight as boards, and they might have been made of wood except for the periodic opening and closing of their hands. Some brave ones tried to meet the gaze of the King's chosen, but they would sharply look away after a few seconds.

The rule of thumb was to not speak until spoken to, and as unsure of the situation as they all were, the group was anxious to be spoken to.

The countryside was a dull place, Matthias had decided. They had been riding for what felt like hours, and he was bored. Hot, sore, and bored. He had removed his helm a few leagues back, to let the misty, damp air run through his dingy blonde hair, and although it served to relieve the heat, it had done little to improve his mood. Personally, he had never been one to much enjoy riding either. Mounted combat suited him ill, it deprived of the physical, tactical joy of battle. From horseback you couldn’t feel the sting of steel on steel, the breaking of sword against shield, or rush of fists against flesh, sensations he had hungered for, for too long now. Now all he had to look forward to was tramping into some mud-hill of a peasant village for gods knew what. Fantastic.

“…And I swear, his edge of her dress was lined with diamonds. Pure diamond. Handpicked from the eastern mines, aye, her servant said so.” Conversation drifted throughout the ranks, rousing Matthias from his sour thoughts. “Too bad she was as wrinkly and old as the devil himself.”

“That’s the life, innit? Marry some rich ol’ lady from the court, and when the ol’ nag knocks off, you ain’t have to work another day in your life!” Another voice perked up, snorting laughter.

“I’d rather work til my hands were red and bleedin’, than bed one of those court crones for a night.” Matthias chimed in, illiciting laughter. “Now, perhaps if she had a pretty daughter, or two…”

“What would you know about marryin’ proper?” His new companion grinned. “I know you: You’re Fairchild’s bastard, the whore’s son.” Matthias paused, before breaking out his best cheeky smile.

“Aye, son of the finest whore in all Dunborough.” He winked. “Not many women can claim her children by a farmer, by a vicar, and myself, by a Lord. Our dear King Reinhard better watch himself, gods forbid she sets her sights any higher.” His companion let out a hearty laugh, in which Matthias joined, nudging his horse forward, through the column.

Come to think of it, his position as sole son to Lord Fairchild was anything but secure. At his last visit to Dunborough, he has been witness to untimely death and funeral of Lady Fairchild, who for all her standing could only manage to give her husband a quartet of lovely daughters: Lydia, Cassandra, Elise, and Marie? Maria? Marissa? Gods, he could never remember, they were all so equally dull and mindlessly concerned with the frivolities of their noble life.

Despite the tragedy, it was undeniably fortunate for their shared father. With his wife gone, word from home was the aged Lord Fairchild had found himself a new wife, a proper and pretty little thing ready to give him a proper son, one for inheriting his lands and carrying on his name. Rumor had it she was a distant relative of the king himself, with a good breeding, and a fantastic pair of-

“Company halt!” Came the sharp command from the head of the column. Matthias pulled his beast to a dull stop, the animals of the company shifting in ranks, pawing the earth and snorting great clouds of mist into the air. Matthias ended up alongside a fellow knight, one of the few still in full regalia, helm and all, astride a fine black steed. The once empty streets seemed to creep full of the peasantry, their hungry, curious eyes peeking out from every window, cracked door, around each corner, silently watching.

“Ugh.” Matthias let out a short snort of disgust. “Why we’re here is beyond me... filthy…” He mumbled disdainfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small boy, bold enough to wander wide-eyed ever so slightly nearer to the column. Matthias grinned and spurred his horse slightly, causing it to neigh loudly and start slightly towards the child, sending the boy sprawling back and scrambling back inside in fear. He laughed to himself. Perhaps the countryside would not be so dull after all.

“From ranks! Look sharp!” The leader of the knights shouted, trotting his steed among the lines of assembled men, before pulling the creature to a halt. “We come in the service of his Majesty Reinhard, King of Westend.” He called into the peasantry in a deep and bold voice. “Who among you might receive us?”

Dearest Father,

You know why I did this. These lands can ill afford another war. Our people are angry, sick and hungry. Regardless of your wishes for me, I will not sit idly by as things grow more dire by the day, nor will I see our armies march against our own.

Most importantly, I owe this to William.

Just as my brother once sought peace on your behalf, I now do the same.

I will not ask your forgiveness, nor will I ask for leniency upon my return home. I only do what I know in my heart to be right.

By the time you discover my absence, I will be far from your reach.

Gabi

The letter sat atop a small desk within the Princess' living quarters. It was carefully rolled and sealed in a wax. Around the parchment was the coiled braid woman’s bright auburn hair.

~~~

Sweat pooled beneath her breasts, under the many layers she wore, starting with a tunic bearing the colors and crest of her family. Beneath that she wore her brother’s chainmail, and yet under that a man’s shirt. Finally, within all those layers of a man’s attire were the tight bindings meant to disguise her womanhood. Her red locks curled and plastered against her brow where she continually wiped the perspiration from her eyes. Gingerly, she trotted a short distance behind her fellow Knights.

She did her best to ignore the ongoing banter, only picking up bits and pieces of their lewd ridicule. In truth, it was difficult to hear such things about old maids, and ladies of low virtue. Gabrielle lost count of the number of times she had to stop herself from scolding the Knights on such talk in front of a Lady. At one point, she thought to join in with such banter, if only to maintain her carefully crafted façade… after several minutes of awkward silence and confusion, she decided it was best to remain silent. Idly, the Princess wondered what Adela, having been a knight for so many years, thought of such talk. What would Elena think if she were ever close enough to hear?

Pushing such musings from her thoughts, she instead turned her attentions to the road ahead. Silently, Gabrielle took note of all she saw across countryside. So many lands were left salted and scorched. The remaining lands fortunate enough to be untouched by years of war were left overgrown and poorly tended; that is if the lands were tended at all. Even the livestock were too lean, or worse, left for dead with vultures patiently circling overhead. Each passing day the Princess found her despair rising, despite the proud face she put on before her Knights. William would not have voiced his concerns either; at least not openly.

Her beloved twin would have kept a level head and he would devise an equitable solution. He would have calmed the angers of the people and soothed the hurts of the land. William would have worked alongside the farmers. He would have gone to the fields himself and help the people sow. Gabrielle would do no less. This land would be green and plentiful again. This was her promise. And her resolve.

Silently, as if the heavens themselves held answers, Gabrielle let her gaze rise. Though you are not here, brother, I will see our lands returned to their former glory. I swear it.

With a heavy sigh, Gabrielle knew they would soon reach Eweald. She returned her gaze to the lands before her. Despite it all, few could deny that it was indeed a gorgeous spring day, and even the light breeze did much to ease the exhaustion and burden of such travel. In the rare plots that the Princess spied a small crop, the grains were sickly and seemed unnatural in their color.

It was certainly not a lack of rain that prevented these crops from rising. The soil beneath her horse’s hooves was rich and ripe for tilling and sowing. Even if the cattle continued to roam parts of Eweald’s land, much of the farmland could be tilled. Why were there so few farmers tending this land?

As the Knights of Westend rode, the occasional farmer would look up from their work. It was not a look of respect or reverence. There was anger in those looks. Disappointment.

In that moment, Gabrielle—or William, as the others believed her to be—was ripped from her thoughts as she heard a rearing horse and the barking commands of Matthias “Company halt!”

She looked up and trotted forward, ignoring the Knight’s commands. As she watched the older man tease and cruelly taunt a small defenseless child. She felt her temper rise.

“From ranks! Look sharp!” The leader of the knights shouted.

“We come in the service of his Majesty Reinhard, King of Westend.” He called into the peasantry in a deep and bold voice. “Who among you might receive us?”

She guided her horse to the Knight’s side, letting her shadowed gaze show her disapproval.

“Matthias!” She narrowed her bright blue eyes to him, confident that her deep, practiced tone would pass as her brother’s, even if it was little more than a whisper. “You will not behave in such a manner toward our people again. Especially the children. We are here to offer aid and hope. We need to regain the trust of these people. I will not have you upset them further.”

She turned her gaze then, toward the village of Eweald. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for the people’s response to her Knight. Gently, she swallowed, thinking of the words she would offer these people. What could she possibly say that would soothe their fears? What reassurances could she give?

She prayed for strength.

This was her choice.

“Beloved people! I, William, come to you on behalf of my father King Reinhard.” Gently she guided her horse forward, praying that no one saw her trembling under all her layers of armor and clothes. After taking a slow breath she let her low tone carry on the cool spring breeze. She let her words be heard by all present. “We know that the past several years have been a burden! That you are hungry and weary! Your King would see your hearts glad again and your bellies full! Your King would see you return to the fields!

“We come in peace. We come to offer what support we can.”

The silence, save for the pounding of her heart, that followed her speech lasted an eternity.

Leather boots squishing in the mud of this forsaken land. Most of the people watching as they passed, Telth watched back as they all looked on in anger and disappointment. The assassin took note of this, for each was considered a threat by him.From angry farm workers, to disgruntled potters, he didn't care they were all enemies in the eyes of the Assassin and if any tried plotted or schemed, he would kill them before they had the chance. That was why he was here, to stop things before they happened. For this non were told of him, plausible deniability for if, and when a corpse shows up.

Travelling in the back of this little parade, keeping his role as a humble servant. Astens shaggy grey hair would often fall into his face, as he had to blow up to get it out. "You know, with such long hair you would put into a pony tail Asten." A girl walking next next to him said as she looked to him, Maria was her name. A slip of a girl with ample hips, a busting bosom, and Just another of the many servants fallowing wherever their masters will. She wore a simple dress that hung a litle loose, her nicer clothes that had been fitted in one of the supply wagons. She was a server for when the knights would camp and eat. "Yes! But then my days would be spent mindlessly walking in mud and gazing at rolling hill, and lets not forget the arses or our brave nights and their mighty steeds, at least this gives me a little game!" he said, his voice ringing richly with the accent of a commoner from the city. Blowing up at his hair repeatedly to keep it up, making the young girl laugh some as he looked at her with a child like grin.

"Your so silly Asten" she said to him. "And your annoying" Telth thought as the girl had seemed to taken a fancy to the lie of Asten Roth. Asten only blushed looking away from the girl as she giggled cheerfully. Looking out at those fore mentioned trees and rolling plains and unkept fields over grown with weeds. "as you know, I have never left the capital" Which was technically true, the alias of Asten has never even left the castle, not in his adult life at least. "well welcome to the world" the girl said as Looking at him with a slight blush to those high cheek bones. "Do you ever shut up" Telth thought, as Asten kept with his foolish grin "Well world I am pleased to meet you!" laughing some "god if i have to keep this up, I might puke" Asten was always his cover, but he was always simply in the background of Dietrich and never really seen or heard or having to interact with the servants. This was truly a test of his acting ability.

“Company halt!” Asten could hear Matthias shouting. Telth had always had a disdain for knights, loud and clumsy, always boasting of their battles and how many they have killed, how many wenches or noble daughters they have robbed of virtues, exaggerated numbers always. Telth was quite sure that he had killed more people then they, only he was not so open about it. For them killing was a game of numbers. For him it was an art form, and he was considered to be the one of the greatest artist in both countries.

Now the young prince was up, Shouting his messages of aid and hope, but their was something off. Many times had Asten watched, either from shadows or as Asten. And his voice was odd, the pitch slightly to high, his movements a little to graceful, he didn't move as a fighter would. He ran his hand through his hair as he watched, He would be watching the prince closely he decided, for something was simply not right about him.

The little wagon train was soon to be stopping and all the servants were about there duties, setting up camp and the like. It was then that a young lad rode up to him "You there, Servant" He said as Asten looked up, he was learning to hate squires on this little escapade, they had all the entitlement of a noble, but to the knights they served they were treated little better then servants, thus they treated servants like there own personal slaves.

"My horse need grooming, and his shoes cleaning, Get to it now" he said un-mounting and handing the reins to Asten.
"I could kill you where you stand" Telth thought as Asten bowed his head
"Yes m'lord, I will have him cleaned and pampered to likes of his station as your steed" the sarcasm was lost on the boy.
"I see, how have at it" he said returning to be the bitch boy of whatever knight he was tied.
"I hate that one I do, he is always staring at me" Maria said
"yes well I best be off, This noble steed needs a bath, and maybe his pretty little hooves painted!" Maria laughed some as she ventured off for her own duties. Asten walked with the horse to the small stable yard of the town, sure that more would come he took to his duties cleaning off the horse "I'm sure you are for better company then your master" he said, though alone he kept up his facade, as you never knew who might over hear.

Sometimes, Elena feared she had become somewhat paranoid concerning her son’s safety. She knew that her fears about her brother-in-law were warranted; she could prove nothing, but before she stopped complying with Stefan’s wished to spend time with his nephew, she had more than once found him having let Arran stray a bit too close to the river or turned away to attend to something while he played with the largest hunting dogs or other things like that. At first, she had put it down to Stefan simply being unaccustomed to children and not realizing or not remembering that a one-year old who had just learnt to walk needed to be watched. There had been an uncomfortable, nagging doubt in the back of her head reminding her of what her late husband had said of his brother and his greed and bitterness for being born second, but it had been easy to dismiss. Surely no man could kill his own nephew – especially when he was such sweet a child as Arran – over an estate, even such grand a one as Rivergate.

She had no longer been able to ignore the growing feeling of unease, however, when her handmaiden had burst into her room one night and fearfully reported what the stable groom had overheard Lord Stefan and one of his knights discussing. A plan to kill Elena’s beloved child. Elena had been too hysterical to properly take in the details of what Freda was saying, and had started to dart around the room gathering what she would need for travelling before the woman was even half-finished, unable to think of anything other than that she need to get away from that despicable man right now. But Marie had calmed her, convincing Elena that it was pointless and dangerous to go off with no plans and no provisions, insisting that Stefan would try nothing immediately.

So Elena had waited until the following night – Freda helping her to pack as surreptitiously as possible – before leaving in the middle of the night, with only Freda and her son accompanying her. It left a bad taste in her mouth; that her son, the Lord of Rivergate, to whom Stefan owed fealty, should have to steal away under the cover of darkness like a thief. She swallowed the bitterness, though, and promised herself that she would return the lands of his father to Arran.

And she hadn’t forgotten the promise; this trip was but a delay. Arran would have the estate.

But to have it, he needed to be alive, and that brought her back to the slight worry that she was developing paranoia. Arran needed protection; not only from Stefan but from more natural dangers, especially now that they were travelling. Elena wasn’t sure, though, if it was natural to feel her throat constricting, the blood leaving her face and her lips going numb when there was the slightest danger to her son. As they neared the village, the road grew more and more uneven and muddy, probably from the many feet walking on it, and her carriage – even as well constructed as it was – was constantly jostled and every time her son looked about to fall from his place on the seat opposite her, playing with a wooden horse, Elena tensed and held her breath, prepared to catch the boy should he fall. He hadn’t done so yet, though; in fact, he seemed completely unaffected by the sharp jerks the carriage made and was completely focused his toy. If only there was another mother in their party who she could ask whether the constant fear would ever lessen.

Before she could reflect any further on the issue, the carriage stopped and moments afterward there was a light knock on the door. She drew back the curtain and nodded for the servant outside to speak.

“We’ve arrived at the village, m’lady,” he said, “but the road’s not wide enough to take the carriages in, so I’ll reckon you’ll have to ride.”

Elena nodded, offering the man an attempt at a small smile. She had never been told his name, but he was nice. “Very well. But I think I shall stay here for a while longer, and let the prince and his men handle the introductions. Please have someone inform the prince that I am here and ready to do whatever he wishes me too, as soon as the welcome is finished.”

She hoped that it would be a welcome; some of the villages they had been in had received them with very badly hidden hostility and though she couldn’t say so out loud, a large part of why she would wait a while before entering the village was to decide whether there was danger for her son here. With a nod giving the servant permission to leave and do as she had said, she turned back to her son and immediately her weak smile widened and reached her eyes. “Have you decided on a name for your new horse yet, my sweet?”

Trailing at the rear of the knights' caravan were the unproven fifth and sixth sons of nobles. Few of these new knights had proven themselves in the war, but they had been trained, and were eager to use their training. Most were bachelors without much to miss at home. They were unlikely to receive much of an inheritance, and little was expected of them by their fathers. These were the men that were simply told not to embarrass the family name. With few skills besides how to handle a horse and swing an untested sword, few had hopes for them. For these men who felt like they had little to lose and everything to prove, the employ of the King was everything they could have wanted. The King would give them a chance to prove that they were as valiant as any of their elder brothers who had the great fortune to be born in time for the war. The King recognized their strength, their potential, and he rightfully put their faith in them. The King knew their worth, all that was left to do was to show all the ones who had doubted them.

When the group had first set out, the young knights were constantly volunteering to scout ahead, waking up early to polish their armor and blades, and practicing their drills whenever they stopped for the night. As the days passed and not a single bandit or revolutionary was found though, the knights volunteering to ride ahead dropped. The men who decided to keep their skills sharp fell as well, with more men rolling dice than swinging swords at camp. And it was these men that languished at the back of the line, well away from the ears of their superiors. They stood as if to guard the carriage of the Countess of Rivergate, although they had guarded her from little besides damaged carriage wheels and pits in the road.

A small group of knights rode alongside the carriage, their helmets tied haphazardly to their saddles. One knight with a bent nose and persistent allergies hacked and spit a ball of mucus towards the lady's carriage.

"Ugh, even the air is terrible in the country. This place is miserable, no wonder the peasants are always so pissed," he turned to look at the finely crafted carriage, "That one's piss next to the one Father takes around town. Least it keeps the damn air out though. Maybe I'll take a turn in there, big enough for two I reckon."

His riding companion rolled his half-open eyes and responded in a dull tone, "Come off it. Commander'll have your head if you piss the lady off."

The other knight sneezed and wiped his nose messily onto his tabard, then responded with a one-sided smile, "Oh what's the harm? She hardly comes out of there. And a young, rich widow like that...," his narrow eyes wandered back towards the carriage and his smile crept slowly wider, "She might enjoy a little company."

His companion turned his head and stared with his mouth half-open, "She has an infant in there, you louse."

The knight of allergies laughed, a short laugh that ended abruptly as it had started, "I'm just passing the time. Learn to laugh once in a while."

The horses continued to trot and draw mud flying into the air. The town was coming into view, and the company had been seeing farmland for some time already. The faint sounds of activity could be heard from the town ahead.

"Besides," the knight rubbed his crooked nose and picked up the conversation again "All she does is sit in that carriage and coddle her little heir. A little tenderness wouldn't be too much to ask, would it? I mean we've pulled that damn wagon out of pits so many times--"

"Two times."

"That I feel like we're tilling a damn field. Has she done a thing to help this expedition?"

The other knight languidly took his hand from the reigns and pointed at his companion's horse, "You're sitting on one. She funded half this thing."

Even with his red, crooked nose, the knight's face managed to stiffen and pale.

"So yeah. Don't make her upset."

---

Maria's chest heaved as she hastened her step to nonchalantly keep pace with Asten. She was walking behind him before, and she was just naturally walking up to him while walking with the rest of the group. She took a deep breath to calm her beating heart. She was walking naturally, just like she had planned. Such a fast pace, but Asten kept it so easily with his long legs and his strong, confident stride. She hurried to be by his side, just a little in front of him. She knew how fast he walked, and he knew just how often he looked behind him or to his sides. She had been watching him all the time, almost since they had taken off, so she knew how to walk up to him without him seeing that she was moving faster.

When she finally reached him, those few seconds had felt so long, she leaned over just so, and looked up at him. She had carefully loosened her blouse so he would see her, so he would notice her. Asten knew who she was, but she wanted him to see more than just a servant girl. Maria wanted him to see her like Maria saw him, watched him. She had loosened her clothes, she had picked clothes that were loose at just the right spots, just so that Asten would, well, so he wouldn't be fooled by her clothes, is all. They were just a little loose, as loose as she had dared to wear. Asten was such a nice lad. Nice lads didn't want women that were too loose. She didn't want Asten to see her as a women that was too loose. He was so nice to her. When she was so alone and homesick and the knights had treated her like, like she didn't even matter, Asten had been so nice to her. Ever since then, she had been able to forget her homesickness by watching Asten.

She had been so sad before. She had cried herself to sleep. Now she didn't need to, not when she could watch Asten at night. His face, his sleeping face that belonged only to her, brought her so much comfort. Sometimes she didn't even fall asleep anymore. She was just so happy to watch his sleeping face that she would simply watch him until morning. A few times she had approached him while he was asleep. Not to touch him or, or steal a kiss, not anything like that at all. Just to... look more closely. He had always stirred though, just the tiniest bit, but she could see even the tiniest change if it was from Asten, and when he stirred she knew that he would wake if she crept any closer. At those times though, she knew that they were meant to be together. Even in his sleep, Asten was aware of her. Even if he didn't know it yet, she knew that he loved her too.

But it would be so improper for her to approach him. And there would be no romance at all! She had to wait for him, and she would wait for just the right time, so when she told her children (Kaitlyn and Mark and Joshua and Adelaide and Lily) the story of how their father fell in love with her, they would all be entranced by how perfect and destined it all seemed. And she wouldn't let that opportunity slip by for lack of vigilance. So she would always, always be watching him.

---

Hearing the authoritative decree of the lead knight, the elder stepped forward with his head bowed, truthfully he no longer had the strength to raise it, and his palms stretched outwards. He was quite accustomed to the pomp and circumstance of these types, and he knew how to handle their egos. His small footsteps padded lightly on the drier dirt near the commune and he opened his chest and mouth to speak clearly.

“Matthias! You will not behave in such a manner toward our people again. Especially the children. We are here to offer aid and hope. We need to regain the trust of these people. I will not have you upset them further.”

The smooth-headed elder's jaw gaped, and his eyes opened so large they threatened to fall out. He had not spoken, or at least he prayed to every god he could remember that he had not spoken. No, he was sure that wasn't him. Then what damned fool spoke up? Everyone knew the rules. The elder speaks, the rest answer questions if asked of them. Who was Matthias? What was Matthias? His shrunken shoulders quivered as thoughts raced in his mind. He should throw himself forward on the ground and apologize for the disrespect. Yes, that was the only- except the voice had come from in front him, wasn't that what happened? But he was at the front of the villagers. Had the voice from before belonged to one of the knights?

The crowd shifted, and even breathing seemed far too loud in this atmosphere. The prince had finished speaking seconds, incredibly long seconds, past. The young men behind the elder were as statues, save for their eyes which would flit between their elder and the much more preferable view of their feet. They sucked in air sharply, and hoped their smiles would save them.

After what seemed an eternity, the elder spoke in a loud and clear voice, "My dear, beloved lords! We humble people of Eweald are ever your servants, and my undeserving self Tullo, am ever honored by your presence! Please! Speak what you wish, and we will set ourselves to the task."

Tullo's breathing was ragged and uneven, but he had delivered his speech as well as he ever had. He smiled, thanking his own wits for always using the same greeting, which would always answer the noble's first address.

The people stared at elder Tullo with their faces contorting into expression they did not even understand. His heart sinking in his stomach and his body screaming at him to move, a young man dove through the crowd and slid himself in front of Tullo. He had no words planned, but anything he could say was better than this silence.

"Hors-es!" he shouted, his voice cracked halfway through. He gasped in air, trying to breathe, "H-horses are what we need!"

He panted, eyes wide, nodding. Then another voice came to his rescue.

"Yes, we need horses! We can't till fields a'selves!"

"And spades!" another voice, "And shovels!"

More voices chimed in with more farming equipment, then tools for building and the digging wells, and then even cloths and medicines and seeds. The voice of the crowd began to swell, feeding on its own energy. Before the voices became nothing but a raucous din, the first young man started to wave the others down.

"Hold! Hooold!" he swung his arms over his head in wide motions, "Let me- let me speak to them!"

The young man turned back to the knights, "Hell- Greetings, your great Royal Highness Will- that is your royal Prince William. I am-" he coughed, then took a deep breath and nearly shouted "I am Rholio. I am but a simple, novice toolhand, but I have traveled throughout Eweald and I can tell you our troubles."

Rholio took another deep breath, and he gulped. Without meaning to, he took a look behind him, and he saw hundreds of hopeful eyes fixed on him. His eyes closed, and he nodded to himself, and he fixed his eyes onto Prince William.

"We have many difficulties, and we have spoken to Lord Albrecht of them, but he will not listen! True, this is Lord Albrecht's property by law, but we need this land to survive! Our families have known no other home for generations, and we know not where to find other farmlands were we to search for them!

"During the war, Lord Albrecht called upon our men and our metals and our horses for the nation. Our tools of the land were smelted into weapons. Our beasts of burden became the legs of our knights. Our fathers and brothers, who were the providers of this country, became its shield against Brumland's vengeful armies. When we were unable to tend the land with so few able bodies remaining, Lord Albrecht built for us a place to live and gave us tools to provide for ourselves. We were grateful for his help. But now, when the war is over, he keeps our horses. He keeps the weapons that were made from our own tools. He tells us to live on the same land he gave us to feed half as many!

"Lord Albrecht says he needs the horses, and he needs the weapons. That wild hogs have flourished in the peace of the war, and that they run rampant over our fields. He promises us land and the means to make it bountiful, but he says he must use our horses to clear the lands first. But we cannot survive like this! We ask for the horses to take our lands for ourselves, but he says we do not have the time to learn to ride like a knight does, and what of the people if the horse is made lame by a hog? He will not yield.

"Then, he takes more and more of our harvest. We have not the strength to resist, but if he takes much more we will hardly have the strength to stand! Even during the war, he did not take so much, and then we only had to feed women, children, and the elders. He says the reason is beyond our learning, beyond our knowledge, but we know that we are hungry. We can eat now only because it is still the growing season. When winter sets... we will not be able to bear it."

Rholio fell to his knees, his hand falling to his sides. He had been avoiding the thought until now. So many of them had. They had ignored what they knew was coming because it had been inevitable. There was no avoiding it. But now, now there was hope, and it was unbearable.

"Please... please," he weakly, haltingly crawled forward until he was bowed down in front of them, "Your horses. Metal. Tools. Even just for a few weeks, a few weeks is all I ask! I beg of you! A few weeks to save so, so many lives. If you say no... if you don't... my mother, my father..."

Others slowly came to Rholio's side, knelt in the dirt and the mud, and bowed their head to the ground. And some shook, and some sobbed, and some stayed strong, and they all simply said "please..."

Unseen eyes hidden by the shadows of the small rooms looked out in quiet curiosity. They watched silently as their elders and strongest men shuffled out of doorways, standing at least thirty strong in a herd across from their metal clad visitors. The current state of the village warranted spite and suspicion on their behalf, living in mud drenched hovels along the outskirts of their land owners estate. Half of the land left unturned, and even more ruined by the camps of the warriors who had rested here before setting off to battle.

Idle chat hung in the air as the knights' halted at the shrill call of their commander. The horses grunted with relief as their reigns were jerked in such a way to cease their shuffling through the soupy earth. The boisterous command echoed off of stone walls of the courtyard, causing the tension to climax as villagers slowly trickled out of doorways, men that were as dingy and grey as the land they plowed. And the sudden bark of an order caused them to falter in their appearance, but after short pause they carried on. It was not long till the mass of armored knights stopped moving, forming into neat, orderly lines, it was just Adela's luck that the young Matthias had stopped at her side as they faced the battered townsfolk with their own intimidating forms. The young man was a few years shy of her age, and through brief dealings with him Adela had to wonder what brought him into the King's service. The man was carefree, playful, and although he fit in well with the other knights she was not sure if he were serious about their journey and what knighthood stood for. Adela was not one to judge on first pretenses, she was an shining example of deceiving appearances, a woman in the place of a man and who did not go far to hide it. She was often the butt of cruel ridicule in the party of men, and had learned all to fast that first judgments are quick to wound and most damaging. For the sake of herself and for all those like her she kept an open mind.

The horses pawed the ground impatiently, flicking their tail as they patiently waited, ignoring the authoritative barks of the commander as he sat at the back of the party. It was not long till a grunt of disdain passed through the gilded haired man's lips, “Why we’re here is beyond me... filthy…” he grumbled as Adela sat patiently astride her steed. A curt sigh passed through her lips, turning to regard him through the slits in the metal of her helmet "As a distraction. I am sure you would welcome such a thing after being reduced to this muddy hole." She watched as he taunted a young mud speckled child who in a fit of fright flew back into the doorway he appeared from when confronted by such a monstrous beast as Matthaius' steed which evoked a soft chuckle from him as he reigned his horse back into place. Adela looked away from him, with a soft shake of her head as she turned her attention forward as demanded by the commander.

It was not long before the prince's steed trotted down the lines, his form swaying as his hips accepted the of his steed with a slightly odd grace which went unnoticed by Adela as she stared ahead in a formal fashion. To her surprise he stopped beside Matthias, taking a second to scold him like a foul tempered mother, the villagers looked on with slight shock and bewilderment. A soft chuckle passed through her lips once the prince carried on down the line, addressing the small group of tattered villagers, and all hidden eyes which watched with rigid curiosity from behind curtains. He graciously presented the terms under which they found themselves in this small village, how they needed to be strong not only for themselves but for the king as well. The prince awaited tensely for a response from the villagers, it was now or never. All hostility must be addressed and quelled before the carriage should arrive which carried lady and babe.

Adela's grip tightened on the pole as the man finally spoke up, the shock on his face subsiding into into a smile as he greeted them as graciously as ever. Her grip slacked slightly as a chorus of demands were called out by the group of men. Her free hand remained at her hip as her horse shook out its mane and snorted, frustrated with standing in the moist earth. It was not long till the shiny headed elder, probably sharing his age with the soil he worked called order to the group, swinging his arms wildly about in slight panic before reigning himself and the disheveled group back under control. Swept up in the cruel tides of despiration the villagers informed the prince and his guard of their plight. Adela could only imagine how long they had been suffering, how long ago the war had ravaged their town. One after one they fell to their knees, others managing to keep their footing as they let loose a chorus of pleads from their feeble lips. The sight churned Adela's stomach, her brows furrowing beneath the mass of metal that concealed her visage. The slow suffering was hard to watch, much more so than a comrade bleeding out and fading into the Maker's gentle grasp. These people had gone countless nights without food, and been abused by their noble for so long, death would be an escape for these poor unfortunate souls. They were too weak to tend to their farms, their whimpering cries of pain told of their demolished farmland and the greediness of the soldiers in their desperation for beast and weapon, stripping the already destitute farmers into starvation and turmoil. She honestly had no qualms turning over her steed to aide the poor souls of the impoverished village, if need be she would even help till their land.
All attention was on the Prince as the groveling peasantry desperately awaited an answer.

Her heart wrenched, and as she listened to the pleas of the people, she felt her throat growing tight and her eyes stung. They did not ask for money, or food. They did not ask for grand dreams, or divine intervention. These people asked for labor. For tools. For the simple means to live a humble life.

One way or another, she would see them get what they asked for. It would not be easy, but the Knights would not leave until it was done.

For a short time, Gabrielle was quiet. She thought for a time, as her horse snorted, and danced about clearly unhappy at being forced to remain still. Absently, she held fast to the reins, wordlessly commanding her horse to remain still, and finally she then gently led her horse further toward the crowd. With a gentle push forward she approached the leader of the township.

Just before him, she dismounted her horse, keeping the horse’s reins in her hands. On foot, she stepped closer to the leader.

In the back of her mind, her senses screamed to maintain distance that she strode closer, and risked her identity to be discovered. Her sense of honor, however, won out. In the end, she wagered these people did not care who it was that offered them aid, they were desperate, and wanted hope. They would see what they needed to see: a strong, compassionate Prince.

“I swear to you now, I will get you the horses, and the tools you require to till your fields, and dig your canals for irrigation. I will ask only two things in return.” She let her deep voice carry for all to hear. “I ask that you offer us what shelter you can spare for my Knights and Nobles. We have traveled far and are weary. On my honor, I swear to you that we will not take what precious little stores you have.

“My second request is that you allow us the time that is required to correct the wrongs set against you. I will address the issue with Lord Albrecht, and I will stay until all matters are resolved.”

Gabrielle reached out with her hand, offering Rholio a hand up. “What say you, Rholio. Do we have an accord?”