The young King's quarters were packed to capacity, with people ranging from lowly farmers, to heavily-armed soldiers, a certain Storm Coast nobleman and his retinue, through to a few nobles and businessmen who hadn't fled the country. The only thing all had in common, no matter their social standing, whether a peaceful peasant or grizzled warrior, was fear. They had seen their friends and family butchered before their eyes by the invaders, and had been helpless to stop the goings-on down in the city. Now the room was abuzz with nervous discussion, some suggesting a desperate attempt to break out and flee, some vowing to fight til their last breath, and one unscrupulous, corpulent trader advocating cannibalism, which led to a rather heated argument.
A haggard-looking Trubaldsome, slumped in his seat with his hair hanging lank and unkempt about his weary face, raised a hand for silence. When no-one took any notice of this, Waery stepped fowards from his place by his Lord's side, and bellowed, "Shut it yer stupid arse-lickers, yer King's speakin'!!" That shocked the lot of them into silence.
"Thankyou, Waery." Trubaldsome lowered his hand, eyes assessing the various folk in the room. He appeared fairly calm, even a little removed from the whole goings on, and the truth was he'd dosed up on the last of his medical sedatives before the meeting.
Beneath his drugged exterior the young King was utterly terrified, but he needed to be an island of calm for these people, and what better way than injecting himself with depressants?
"I know you are all frightened. Do not feel ashamed, so am I, any sane person would be in this situation." He spoke in a clear, strong voice that belied his disheveled appearance, and despite a few slurred syllables he got his point across fine.
"But what we must do, despite these dark times, is keep our heads. Despite how it seems, we must put our fear aside, and think of a way out of this." He beckoned over a group of men, a bunch of raggedly-armed peasants, along with one of his personal guard. "You lot, I have an important task for. Are you ready to serve your country, to attempt to save your families and avenge those lost to the Elbrethian aggressors?"
The soldier and his men nodded firmly, their jaws set in determination. They clutched shovels, rakes, pickaxes and even a broom in readiness.
"Very good. Good, strong men, all of you. I want you to make your way down over the walls on ropes and to the docks, which are still fairly intact despite all this. You are to stay out of sight, and gather up all the money and valuables from the businesses there, then bring it back. We will pull the ropes up after you, but on your return caw three times like a crow, to signal, and we will-"
He trailed off, frowning, then amended that. "No, too many crows about already. Hoot three times like an owl to signal, and we will drop the ropes. We will have lookouts on the walls anyway, watching for you."
He took a deep breath as the men nodded, then wiped at a brow with a rather ragged handkerchief before continuing.
"Now, while these brave souls are about their task, the rest of us need make plans, also. Let me be blunt here: If we are to have any hope of surviving this, we need money. As much money as we can get."
His eyes moved back and forth across the sad, fearful faces of his people, huddled in the room with only their surviving family and the clothes on their backs, grief-stricken and full of hate, hanging off his every word. The young Lord began to feel a true kinship with these people, something he had never felt before; he had always kept himself apart from the 'turnip-grubbing' affairs of the citizenry, but now here they were, in the same boat as he; each to rely upon the other. His gaze settled on a small baby, no more than one or two years old, clutched by a skinny young mother. He stared, transfixed at the tiny creature for a moment, wondering how many siblings, how many family members it had lost in this senseless violence... What had it done to deserve that? Why-- He hastily shoved those thoughts aside as a terrible mix of sadness, panic and anger began to well up within him; it would not do to break down in tears before these people. No, he needed them, and they needed a strong leader. He took a pinch of snuff to recover his train of thought, took a deep breath, and continued.
"Obviously, the treasury was stripped bare when the Elbrethians murdered my brothers, there is not a penny left there."
At this point, Waery bent down and whispered something to his lord, prompting a frown to cross his features. "No! Why-"
Trubaldsome sighed, and relented. "All of you," He went on, looking about the room as he pulled his beloved hat from his head, "As you value your lives, and those of your families, give whatever you can. We are all in this together, we stand together, we fight together, and we live- Or die- together."
He handed the hat to the man standing nearest to him, a large, burly peasant with a long, unkempt moustach hanging from his upper lip. The man eyed his new King somewhat warily; he had been a farmer all his life, working the land with nothing to do with this young fop or his brothers except for tax-time. Yet, he slowly began to see the truth in the man's words, nodded slowly a few times, then reached into the front pocket of his tattered clothes and fished out his worldly wealth, a few meagre copper coins.
But it was a symbolic gesture as he dropped them into the hat, nodded once to Trubaldsome, and then turned to the person next to him.
"I ne'er thought much of th' Kings we've 'ad, meself," He began, his voice a deep bass-y rumble, not made for speeches, "But if this lad's goin' tae put 'is life on th' line, sacr'ficin' him money an' such to keep us all alive, ah dinnae see why we can't do th' same. Ah'll fight by the King's side fer better or worse, or me name's not Sempyl Merrwyn!"
He coughed, a little embarassed at having spoken so emotionally, then handed the hat to the next person with some ceremony.
As the hat went around, Trubaldsome began to feel a little light-headed. He massaged his temples briefly, and then addressed the crowded room once more. "Now, there are other matters, also. If we can gather together enough money, we can perhaps make it through this, who knows. But there is more to it than that," He gestured hopefully towards certain members of the crowd, yl Marchis, a few experienced soldiers, and then to Waery, "Who here has any input as to how we should go about defending ourselves? We are most terribly outnumbered." He held out a hand, and a servant stepped fowards to hand him a piece of parchment, which he unrolled and scanned quickly.
"Yes... They have had several more regiments of troops enter the City, and there are reports of several ships moving into place to blockade the port, as well as make off with some goods." He heaved a sigh, running a hand along his bristly jaw- He had not shaved in weeks- and went silent for a long moment, deep in thought. After a long pause, during which a few people began to murmur amongst themselves, he finally spoke up, raising his brows hopefully as he appealed to the masses,
"Any ideas? Yl Marchis? Anyone? Do not be shy, we need some sort of plan. Oh, and any money would not go astray, either. Remember,"
He swept a hand about, the gesture encompassing the entire room, "We are all in this together. Those madmen will brook no surrender; either we fight them off, or we die. As simple as that."
He sat back in his chair and listened, mopping sweat from his feverish brow as people began to speak up.
Pass my hat around to gather up as much money as possible from those in the castle, while sending a small group of farmers led by a veteran soldier to go down to the docks, gathering up whatever money and valuables they can.
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Topic: You are King! (Spring 315a) (Read 188905 times)