Trubaldsome nodded, somewhat absently, as Aulon spoke. In truth he was feeling rather exhausted after so many weeks bottled up in the castle, with soldiers and farmers and whoever else had an aversion to dying crammed in as well.
Now, he decided, was the time to relax, to take a nice bath and recuperate. But no, the Storm Coast nobleman was swiftly dragging him back to the present. He had things to attend to.
"Yes, yes, alright." He removed his hat and tugged off the hated leather cap he wore beneath it in battle, freeing his lank hair, then handed the thing to Waery as he continued, "I doubt the citizens will have so much of a problem with Elbreth now, with Taric... Dealt with, more or less at least. Be sure to mention in your letter how he was aided by the murdering, bloodthirsty madman Terenos. Oh, and," The young King's teeth flashed in a tired grin, "Do not forget to explain how Sir Taric The Vile admitted, under... Interrogation, to a plat between him and Terenos to dethrone King Erik." He pondered for a moment, tracing his chin with a hand.
"Yes... Yes... And perhaps they were going to kidnap his sister, too. Oh, and don't forget to include an offer of any aid our war-torn country can provide in catching those traitors, hmm? After all, look what they did here."
He gestured about the corpse-choked streets, noting a wagon passing towards the city limits, filled to the brim with Elbrethian bodies, a few weeping peasants having dug their loved ones out from the rubble, and then to Waery, the tunic he wore over his chain mail stained with blood, still visible even on the black fabric.
Real anger darkened Trubaldsome's face for a moment. "Yes... I imagine we should give the people a show when we deal with Taric, shouldn't we," He muttered to himself before turning back to Aulon.
"Yes, well, you write whatever you think shall serve us best. I have many Kingly duties to attend to."
He grimaced suddenly, and rubbed wearily at his temples. "As you say, have to steer the Kingdom's future back on track."
With that he turned and headed for the castle, shadowed by Waery as he went, stepping carefully between the larger pools of blood across the street. He may of been wearing leather boots rather than his usual felt pair, but he saw no reason to dirty them unnecessarily.
Upon reaching his quarters, he shouted at a servant to fetch his bathwater, then rummaged through the cupboards in his room for bath salts and soap. Finding none, he sighed. He was rapidly learning that being King wasn't all scented baths, wealth and luxury. Well, a hot bath with no soap was better than no bath at all... And afterwards it was time to give the peasants a show to cheer them up.
Author
Topic: You are King! (Spring 315a) (Read 188799 times)