The Dinner
He was dressed in simple, functional clothes. Ones which would alllow him to freely move in case of a sudden attack during the dinner. Logan had smiled politely and had looked interested while Aral pontificated on and on, occasionally eating a bit of the meat, his own manners not half so exquisite then those of Aral but he tried to do his best to emulate her in this. His grin grew wider as she spoke about marriage. Whenn she finally finished he broke into loud laughter. Not mocking, or bitter or ironic but simple amused laughter.
Oh, Aral. You always think of everything. And you are the only person remaining who speaks to me bluntly. And yet to your most important question you dance like the cat around the hot porridge.
You know, i had feelings for you way back then at the beginning of this. When you went with my brother i couldn't understand it. A young heart broken, but life went on. The war went on.
When Gared died, i didn't make advances out of respect to him. He would have been better on this throne than me...better suited...he was a better man.
But that has nothing to do with this. You are what this kingdom needs, a brilliant mind bringing it back from its smouldering ruins. That's why i gave you the position of King's Hand. I don't want you to marry me out of necessity out of pure need or ambition. I have already given you the power to form this kingdom to your wishes. That leaves you with the freedom of choice.
Logan leaned forward awaiting her answer, well aware that he had reduced her "freedom" to two choices.
He was well aware that he just did something which he usually avoided as best as he could.
He gambled.
Araline paused for a moment. Garad had been her first choice-for a number of reasons, both political, emotional and physical. When he had died, she had found her position difficult to maintain....swearing allegiance to his brother had been her only way to survive. The mention of her old lovers name brought a flurry of memories-a smell, a touch, a sound, a taste-they were faded and broken little things she had locked away deep inside because they hurt her, and she couldn't show that weakness, not to them. Not to anyone.
Even before she had arranged for the death of her own father to avoid what was no more than slavery via matrimony, Araline had decided that she needed to be strong to survive...
It was odd, of all her stratagems and calculations, Logan had honestly surprised her. Not that anyone would ever believe it. Why would he want to marry her? It made no sense. Thoughts and feelings were dangerous things, she knew. They made you do all sorts of...foolish things. She had loved deeply once, and it had almost killed her to lose it. Her cold, logical mind screamed at the insanity of subjecting herself to that once again.
And yet, she could not deny the enticement. Araline had known Logan longer than anyone-knew his mind and heart. Beneath his scarred visage, there was something else. Something that was like her...and something she was missing, thought she knew not what.
As was her way, she went on the attack when confronted with an unknown variable.
"Well.
I can't say it is not an intriguing idea. The rumor mill has been saying we're all but joined at the hip for years now...and I also can't say I've never felt anything for you. I too, did not pursue that something as vigorously as I could have. A part of me...thought I would never get over Garad. That I would be seen as something awful if I tried to be anything but a poor excuse for a widow.
...But why me, of all people?" Araline asked, genuinely puzzled.
She paused to take another sip of wine, before idling motion to the crowds seated far from them.
"To say, there are no lack of full bodied, empty headed women younger than myself here that would serve the purpose just as well. Or am I special to you, somehow? Unique?" She queried, raising an eyebrow.
-With Araline-
Jarod frowned, but remained silent as she spoke. He knew her intent - despite her careful wording, it was clear beyond doubt. She was worried power placed in the hands of priests would be abused, and she was not going to trust him with such responsibility. He was not sure what to think of the mention of his head falling - perhaps it was all it was, stating what would happen if the lords gathered against him, or perhaps it was meant to be a threat of some fashion. It did not matter. He stayed silent for a few moments after she was done, thinking.
"There is much work to be done, my Lady. The King wants me to bring into justice all the mages of the kingdom - and they will know I am coming for them no matter what I do now. Up north, there is talk of beasts - there has always been, and there will always be. And so I must hunt down beasts and mages - though the distinction is getting narrower by the hour. I have to track down men capable of breaking armies apart and either kill or capture them, and ensure no darkness leaves the forests to prey upon the northern fringes of this kingdom.
I have been given a duty and I shall honor it. I am not one for too much chivalry and honor myself, but when the King commands, I obey - after all, his goals and mine have been the same in the areas where he involves me. However, I must accomplish those tasks with as many men as three parcels of land will support, all the while making sure I do not abuse my authority and step on any lordling's toes - which could mean something as benign as hunting down a mage hiding in their lands without their permission, or being accused of stealing glory because I killed a beast they could only imagine to wound in their wildest dreams.
I am no politician, Duchess. I am a knight, and I was trained to kill and am damn good at it. I am a priest, and I was taught to guide the hearts of men and to be the light that illuminates the darkness. I am a bastard, and I was bred to stay away from noblemen and always remind myself that I am not one of them. But I am no politician, and I have enough things to worry about as it is without having to dance to the tune of petty lords ruling over three peasants and as many sheep. Do you understand my, ah, problem with the limitations I was given, my Lady?"
Araline nodded, distracted, and uninterested in further discussion-really. She had other things on her mind.
She took him to task not unlike the unruly soldiers she had had discipline during the war. Complaining...they were always complaining. Especially since she was a woman.
If he thought her easily pushed about, he was in for a surprise.
"Understood...and, I have no doubt you will succeed completely with what has been given to you. Can you do anything else? You were given a difficult job, and you will do it-or get out of the way, and allow someone else.
You know my reputation-a packmaster, a logistician, a mover of supplies. I must view things beyond the point of emotional bias.
Don't expect pity from me. To hand too much power to a third party now would be dangerous-for the King, for you, for me. The Lords would wonder why you were being shown favoritism above all...and if the King is truly in control. No army must rival his own in size, and by my calculations, yours will come dangerously close. And what might you-or your successor-do with such power? Ask me not to judge the hearts of men. I saw fields of fresh blooming corpses, what happens when power is to freely shared.
Rest assured. You will live by the limits I have set, and when your order has proven it's effectiveness, or the threat of the Magickers rises to unforeseen levels, it will be expanded-that is my promise to you. I expect you will have your problems with the nobility, but effective results blunt all criticisms, don't they? Do well, and I will not let them bother you overmuch. I want to be your ally, not your enemy...
To put in simpler terms-Logans armies only survived the hard winters because of strict food rationing-and because I hanged the men who dared to steal. You will eat what you are given...and if you hate me for it, so be it. So did those soldiers, who survived the dark and the cold to feel the warmth of summer and touch of a womans breast once again.
I cared as little for their grumbling bellies, as I do your idle complaints. I did not accept my position to be loved-let them love the King if they want. I have a job to do. As do you."With that, she smiled, settling herself back into the chair. There was a thin hope he understood her a little better now-but she doubted it. Most men, when denied what they wanted, snarled, curled a fist and threw a punch-unthinking rage. She knew well enough. Her father had done enough to her mother, to teach her that.
"Now, was that all you wanted to talk about? Or shall we turn to lighter matters?"
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Topic: You are King: Chronicles of Nocte - IC Thread (Read 19748 times)