Rhema IV: The Mists of Autumn
The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Ninth Moon, 873 AD.
Stagspring, Central Owkrestos, Klironomea.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Rhema stared on with incredulity at his brother. He was dressed in the same sort of leather armour that Rhema tended towards wearing, only duller and more worn. He looked like he belonged in the camp that Symon's boys stayed in, not the royal court. Neither did the man who stood besides him for that matter, who wore a very similar garb despite appearing to be somewhere around twice his brother's age. The man apparently was, or rather had been, the fucking Triarian King. And he'd just... given Lykourgos his crown. Rhema hadn't known his brother to be one for negotiation with those he saw as enemies, but then if this royal had reached out before any sort of conflict had taken place... yes, that would probably stay his brother's hand from violence.
"There's no lie here, your Highness.
"My title is 'your Grace' at the moment. Until my brother has a kid of his own, that is. Not that I particularly care for titles. Anyways, this whole fucking situation is madder than a spring hare. You mean to tell me the two of you just... went to an inn, had a few drinks, and now you've sworn fealty to my brother?"
"It was a little more complicated than that," Lykourgos interjected, "but yeah, that's the broad strokes of it. Lord Sigiros has talked much with me about future plans, and I am pleased to have learned that many of his ambitions line up with mine. We have entered into a true partnership."
Somehow Rhema doubted that. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe he was letting the memories of Lieutenant Isen get to him, but he really doubted that the ex-king was being completely honest with his older brother. Lykourgos had intellect and ambition, drive too, but the man stood to his left had the experience that came with age. Ernest his words may have been, and perhaps many of his ambitions truly did line up with those that his brother carried, but Rhema suspected that there were other ambitions hidden below the surface. He suspected that there were ambitions that none would learn of until they came to pass, or ones that might remain buried for decades more and never spoken of until the opportunity arose.
You could take the title away from a man, but you could never take away the ambition that titles once gave. It was only his love for his brother that stopped Rhema from dreaming on what might have been at times, even if he had hated sitting on the throne whilst he'd been king. That was just what memory did to you, especially when said memory was as patchy and false as his. It made the past seem better or worse than it was, and Rhema had no doubts in his mind that he was certainly remembering his time as king to be far nicer than it was. He wasn't cut out for kingship and he knew it, but most didn't. The question remains, therefore: does this man mean to betray my brother?
Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Rhema couldn't very well act straight away with no evidence, but he would definitely be writing to the Master of Silver and telling him in no uncertain terms that he didn't trust this man, and that he needed to be watched. At least that might give them all some warning before treason came around.
"You seem discontented at my presence by your brother's side, your Grace. Have I done something to offend you?"
Rhema shook his head swiftly, recognising that he at least needed to appear civil in front of everyone.
"No, you haven't. I'm just wondering what you hope to gain from my brother. From this deal you've made with him. What could be worth giving away half your kingdom, and your sovereignty for that matter?"
The man smiled at him, not in a threatening or manic way, but in a genuinely earnest and amused manner.
"What else but gold, boy? What else could make a man give up his kingdom save riches beyond compare? The lands of the Arthaxan Plateau are rich in iron and coal. The riches I will gain by becoming the main provider of weapons, tools, and armour to the armies of your brother will far outstrip all the taxes and tithes placed on me by becoming a vassal. Now if I were to stand against your brother then there's a very real chance I'd lose everything, and my family would be destitute. Swearing myself to your brother in peace, however? That brings with it no risk. I am free to see to my manufactories and business links, becoming one of the richest men in this new kingdom. As for my loyalties, why would I ever seek to turn against his Grace when this partnership promises to be so lucrative? As his kingdom grows, so too will my wealth. That's what was worth giving away half my kingdom for. The world is changing, and we in Triarios know it well. I'd rather my family sit besides the victor when the smoke clears. I'd rather we grow strong alongside the next generation than fade into nothing against them. That is why I swore myself to your brother."
Honesty. It was refreshing to hear such honesty. There was no attempts to pretend that this had been to save lives, nor that this was the 'right thing to do'. The man had sworn himself to Rhema's brother because he was greedy and believed this to be the best way of increasing his wealth and his business empire. In a strange way Rhema could respect that. At any rate, it just meant one less kingdom that his brother would need to take through war. For all Rhema's bluster and want for battle, even he couldn't deny that it would certainly be good for his brother.
Angels, when had his brother become so lucky? He guessed they both had Angels looking out for them now, literally as well! The fact that the Angel Hydran himself seemed to have taken an interest in his brother was... well, if that were the case then it certainly made sense that things would be going his way. Saints, that was weird to think about. There were still Angels who physically existed in this world, and they'd taken an interest in his family. Not that Rhema thought his brother needed the support of any divine creatures; they raised him from sleep at an opportune time, yes, but now Hydran seemed content to sit back and watch the wars from afar if Seventh's complaints about the man were anything to go by.
He nodded his acknowledgements at the man and tried for a grin, but it probably looked more like a grimace. There were too many things going on at the moment, too many things for him to try and keep track of. He'd have to start trusting some of the others his brother kept in his inner circle to keep any new members in check. Hell, the new Master of Copper was doing an excellent job and had been advising his brother by letter from Anaria about financial matters, so he seemed like a trustworthy start. In time perhaps this new lord might go that same way, might become a valuable and trusted man to have at his brother's back, but no matter how honest he was Rhema had no intention of trusting him at the moment.
"Well," he started, turning back to his brother, "what now then?"
His brother stared off a little, a look that suggested deep thought passing over his face as he rubbed his chin.
"Well, first things first there's the matter of the last few Owkrestan holdouts, who are now rebels and not legitimate claimants thanks to the legal passing of the crown over to me, but they'll fall in line relatively easily. Rhema, I'm leaving you in charge of that. Most of the lords have heard what you did to Blacktree Hall, so they'll be loathe to show such defiance to after what happened to the Old Oak. Make sure that all know who now rules these lands, brother. The people are innocent, but the rebel lords are not. Dispose of them."
Rhema grinned, nodding his assent. He'd learned a thing or two this last year about leading men into battle, and now he was being trusted with these responsibilities without the oversight of a more experienced commander. His brother trusted him, and Rhema would do anything to ensure that he would remain worthy of that trust. If a half-dozen petty lordships had to have their castles razed to prove that point then that was what he would do. It wasn't like the people were living within the walls of those castles, only the lords and the traitors. It seemed that his brother was content to allow one lord in his new kingdom, and a powerful one at that, but the rest of the old order was to be swept away.
It was all rather exciting, really; he was stood at the forefront of the single most radical shift in the balance of power of the world in... well, perhaps in a millennia. Centuries, surely. The campaigning season was coming to a close, what with winter on its way, but there would still be plenty enough time to see this mission through to its completion. He just needed to ensure that the people weren't incited to rebel in his wake, which meant that he'd need to be rather generous to the towns and villages he passed through. There wasn't really anywhere in Owkrestos worthy of being called a city outside of Stagspring itself, so it wasn't like he could offer the gentlemen chances for their towns to become cities to pacify them. Well, Derrytown was probably big enough, but that one was already pacified and the opposite direction to the way he was marching, so he couldn't do that himself. He'd be surprised if Lyk hadn't done that already though, given that the bestowing of city charters to large towns in his possession was his idea to begin with.
Those things were considerations for later, however. At the moment Rhema needed to keep his mind primarily on war, and then on the pacifying of the lowborns. Whatever his brother was to do, well, that was for him to know at the moment. Rhema was already trying to keep up with too many things at once, so it was time to take a step back and ignore the other happenings around him. Rhema had been given a job, and that's what he would focus on. The rest of this was for his brother to work out, and if Lyk wanted his help then all he had to do was ask. Until that time came, Rhema would do what he was told.
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His brother continued relaying orders to the other members of his council in the room, the confidence in his voice matched only by the conviction with which he carried himself.
"Ser Romanos, Marshal Crowe, I'd like the two of you to lead the majority of our forces eastwards into Triarios. With the assistance of Lord Sigiros' forces the campaign shouldn't take more than a few moons to reach its completion. After we've pacified our new lands and ensured that we upheld our end of the bargain with Lord Sigiros then we march our forces away and ready ourselves for the coming coronation. Those are your orders. I have the utmost faith in the both of you to see these carried out, and should you need anything then you need only send a raven or messenger. I trust you."
Romanos slammed a metal-clad fist against his own chest in a sign of respect whilst Crow nodded with an almost proud look at his brother.
"It shall be done. Grandmaster, I would borrow you for a conversation in my chambers shortly. We have much to discuss."
The Grandmaster, resplendent in his plate armour, gave a slight smile and bowed his head a little.
"Indeed we do, Marshal. Your Grace, by your leave?"
Rhema's brother nodded, eyes flicking between the knight and the marshal. Was he reading too much into that smile or was there something there?
"Of course. You may take your leave. Brother, yourself as well. Lord Sigiros, attend me if you would."
There was a series of responses, mostly just a repeat of "Your Grace", and one by one the attending councillors and servants of the prince took their leave. Rhema himself made to walk back to his chambers, tired but electrified with energy thanks to the new task that had been bestowed upon him. It seemed he had some planning of his own to do.
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It was all quite exciting really, making these plans and imagining the battles that were soon to come. He tried his best to keep himself from getting distracted with musings on how he could better apply his skills in personal combat, since he knew that there was so much more to leading men into battle, but it was a hard line of thought to keep. Even so, he felt like he was making steady progress when it came to understanding the logistical concerns of an army thanks to the lessons he'd had whilst his brother was incapacitated, so even if he didn't totally understand everything he at least had a good starting point to build off of.
Hell, at least in part even reading some of the reports from the Lieutenants about the state of the men and their capabilities was turning out to be somewhat engaging, even if it did make his head hurt. Not in a joking way either, nor the normal dull thrum he usually felt at the back of his head, but an actual pain.
Angels, now that he thought about his head hurt really bad. Like, really bad. He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing gently so as to try and alleviate a little of the pain. Was he truly going to have another-
"Hello, brother. You remain as busy as ever, don't you."
He sighed, then swallowed hard. He knew this would happen again, he was just hoping it wouldn't be this soon.
"I am very busy, sister. Leave me be."
His voice came out shaky and he stumbled over his syllables a little, but he was able to get them out nonetheless.
"You don't get to command me, brother. You lost the crown that I never got to wear. I should have worn the crown, not you, and certainly not our baseborn brother. With me we would have had peace, the lords would have been given their homes back, and the church would have taken its rightful place at the top of our kingdom. Now you just have chaos. Chaos and war."
"You were the queen in all but name for several moons, and all you proved in that time is that you were exactly the kind of ruler that the heads of the New-Church hoped for. That is not a compliment."
He heard the noise of a laugh from behind him, not quite the gurgle that a man made when you cut his throat but there was certainly a hint of that macabre noise hidden within the laughter.
"All these insults, and yet you can't even bring yourself to look at me. I shouldn't be surprised; you weren't even capable of looking upon my execution without turning and running."
He turned to look at her and respond, but the words died in his mouth. Hearing her was terrifying enough, but actually seeing her once again made it all feel more real somehow.
She'd looked bad the last time he'd seen her visage, but now she looked even worse. Her pallid cheeks and glassy eyes were sunken and stained with dried blood, and her hair seemed as matted and tangled as a briar patch.
The bloodied, pale visage of his sister smiled at him. He wasn't sure whether it looked sickly sweet or mocking, or perhaps even a mixture of both, but what he did know was that just the sight of it felt like it was hurting him just as much as the headache was.
"Seventh," he spoke with a dry voice, "it's happening again. Help me."
His voice was quiet and Seventh wasn't even in the same room, but almost as though Seventh had maintained a connection to his mind he felt a twinge of comforting energy ebb at the sides of his headache.
"You can call for help all you want, little brother. This isn't over. It won't ever be over. I made a promise to you, little brother, don't you remember it? Do you really want to forget me, Rhema? To forget your own sister? You're not allowed to just forget, brother. I won't let you just forget me."
He opened his mouth to respond, but the only sounds that left his mouth was a pained groan.
At that moment there was the thundering sound of running feet from outside the room he was in, and the doorway burst open to reveal a blinding jolt of whitish-blue light. Seventh, as soon as they'd all but broken the door off of its hinges, rushed over to him and and pressed a smooth yet scarred hand to Rhema's forehead.
"Hey, hey, I'm here. You called me, and I'm here. Come on, lets sit down."
Rhema nodded shakily, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to focus on the coolness against his forehead that seemed to be slowly pushing the pain out of his mind. Seventh led him to a small table and poured out a small measure of what smelt like lemon water, though where the hell they'd got that from Rhema had no idea since it wasn't in here earlier, and handed Rhema the goblet.
Slowly, one sip at a time, he forced himself to drink. The cool liquid helped him to ground himself in the here and now, and the fact that his friend was wordlessly next to him somehow gave him a sense of... stability. Security. He hadn't even noticed in the commotion that the mind-spectre of his sister had vanished, but her bloodied form wasn't tormenting him anymore so she must have dissipated at some point.
"Seventh," he said, voice taut and a little scratchy despite the fact he had neither raised his voice nor screamed out in rage, "I saw her again."
"I know, Re. I know. But you remembered what I told you, didn't you?"
He nodded stiffly.
"I did. I called for you like to told me to. I didn't do anything else to make her go away this time."
"And are you feeling... better, now?"
The prince was silent for a moment before nodding slowly, genuinely being a little unsure as to whether or not he felt better yet.
"I think so? I can't see her anymore. Or hear her. But the headache is still there. It isn't as bad, but it's still there."
"Well," his best friend smiled, shuffling together some of the papers that Rhema had been looking through on the table and moving them into a neat pile to the side, "I might be able to help with that. Just try to relax for a moment, Re. Like I taught you to do when we're scrying. Keep your mind relaxed and open for a moment, then I'll be able to help you a little."
Despite the sluggish nature of his movements and thoughts at the moment, he eventually nodded. His headache made the action of relaxing his mind difficult and painful, but only for a second. With Seventh's hand back on his forehead he felt that same comforting energy that had pressed gently against his headache before come back, only stronger and more... he supposed it felt more 'sustained', if that made any sense. It felt less like a burst of energy and more a slow, measured release.
It seems his friend had been learning quite a bit from their mentor after all.
"Whoa." Seventh's voice was quiet, small even. "You weren't kidding, Re. Those headaches must have done a number on you. I'm proud of you for reaching out to me for help though, Rhema. I'm glad that you know that I'm here for you."
There was a short beat of silence before a blissful sigh escaped Rhema's lips. Angels, that feels good. It didn't even feel like normal, it felt... better. The dull, barely noticeable thrum soon returned in the back of his head, but that he could deal with. That was normal.
"That's weird. For a moment it felt like I had no headache at all."
Seventh looked at him, confused.
"Yeah... that's normal, Rhema. Do you... often have headaches?"
"Well, yeah!" He started. "Everyone has a little bit of an ache in the head, right?"
"You mean like... constantly?"
He nodded, confused by how he was having to spell this out to Seventh. His friend, for their part, sighed deeply.
"Oh, Rhema. No, that's not normal. The normal amount of constant headache is 'none'. I'll speak to my mentor and see if they can do something about that for you. If not there are always apothecaries and men of healing that can assist with such things. We should really get you to the Royal Hospital in Polaeros at some point to see if they can help you with a few of your ailments, myself as well while we're at it. The two of us could make it a fun trip!"
Rhema laughed softly. The idea of going to the Royal Hospital with his friend seemed a little scary at first, but at least it distracted him from the rather distressing notion that the dull headache he could always remember having wasn't something that was normal. It really felt like the Angels had it out for him sometimes, even as they looked out for him and his brother.
"Sure, why not. We'll have conquered our way over there in a few years anyway, so whilst it might have to wait for a while we'll certainly be able to do that. How's the mentor been recently?"
Seventh shook their head at the change in subject, but the action seemed light hearted.
"He's... we'll, he's still infuriating at times, but it feels like we're getting used to each other a bit more. You know what I mean, it's like we aren't constantly treading over each other's toes all the time now. It can still be... tense, at times, usually when one of us brings up a sore spot for the other, but we're both learning what to bring up and what not to bring up. In a year or two it'll all be smooth sailing so far as I can see."
"Until he throws the next load of worldview-upending lost knowledge at you, you mean?"
Seventh flicked them on the forehead in response, and where Rhema was worried that would result in an explosion of pain and that Seventh had forgotten the headaches he'd been having he found that miraculously even the after-effects were now gone. For now his head was blissfully quiet and peaceful, and he could taste fresh mountain air alongside the lemon water he'd drank.
"Well, if nothing else then I'm glad you're okay at the moment, Re. Heavens know what I'd do if you were incapacitated."
"Apart from enjoy the peace and quiet, you mean?"
"Rhema," Seventh replied with a lopsided grin, "my spirit belongs to the wild just as yours does. There's very little I enjoy about silence. Chaos and feral energies are more my sort of thing, not quiet contemplation and reflective moments."
"Well," Rhema replied, picking up the sheet of paper on the top of the pile Seventh had just made, "I feel better now. Now that you're here you might be able to help me with some of this, if you'd be so kind?"
His friend smiled sweetly at him again, and wordlessly sat down besides him at the table. He was so very lucky to have Seventh in his life.