It s a busy morning in the castle. Most of the servants are already up, starting to cook breakfast and preparing for the day ahead.

There is a curious procession that's become a norm since the new Duke assumed power. Four old men, looking almost identical with the same hairstyle and clothes, even their expressions mirror each other. Unlike other servants, they are dressed in sharp clothes with complex liveries on their chests.

Two of them are carrying the big wooden tub with jugs of water in it. The other two are bringing silver plates with food. They walk fast but with a sign of pride in them. Their backs are straight and they don't bow to any knight or guard that encounters them, instead they nod and go on to fulfill their duty. Their destination is clear, the main tower of the castle, the heart of the duchy. The place where the fabled Holy Blood resides.

The main tower is a big place, made of stone with only one heavily guarded entrance. There are four knights guarding it, two on the inside and two on the outside. The guards don't bat an eye at the procession and open the doors. The servants go through without acknowledging them, but the guards don't care about that. Such is a way of life in the castle, no one is more important than the Duke.

The procession stops before an unremarkable wooden door on the first floor. One of the servants opens the door with caution and peeks inside. Darkness and the sound of soft breathing are the only things that greet him. He signals his colleagues and they move in. Carefully, one step at a time, afraid to make a single loud noise. The first thing they do is open the curtains, the dawning sun still hidden by the castle wall. The old servants leave the wooden basin near the fireplace and the plates of food on the table, under the nose of the sleeping duke. They leave the room as quickly and carefully as they entered, with pride swelling in their chests.

The duke wakes up not long after that. He squints his eyes and looks at the window, cheerful dawn greeting him. Yawning, he stands up from his chair and shakes the sleep out of his limbs. The young man looks at the table, filled with letters and plates, and curses at the sight. He had fallen asleep at the table again.

Stretching out, the young man performs some exercises to get his blood flowing. Early wake-ups are normal for him but mental fatigue is new, the headaches from reading and writing so many letters are something else. Mael sighs, unsure if he will ever be used to this.

He wanders to the wooden tub near the fireplace, a sight he has grown used to over the week. Pouring the water from jug to tub, he begins his morning rituals. Cleaning his hands and face and chasing away the morning fatigue with cold water.

Mael is eating breakfast when his brother enters the office. Lorcan is wearing a simple white shirt and brown pants, almost identical to his brother. His room is near the Duke's office, the same room where Mael lived not so long ago. Lorcan seems well-rested, unlike his brother, who has heavy bags under his eyes. Lorcan's red bright hair hides a smile, as he bows before Mael.

"I told you to stop with the formalities, Lorcan..." Mael sighs, tired by his brother's antics.

"I am just reminding you of your new position, brother!" Lorcan says as he sits near Mael, his voice as strong as ever. He grabs a piece of bread from one of Mael's heaping plates. They're carrying enough food to last the entire day, but the duke knows that the servants will bring new portions around at noon and evening. Even now, some leftovers from yesterday linger on the table.

"Did you sleep here again?" Lorcan asks, concerned, tapping on a table some unknown rhythm. It was an old argument at this point, the older brother would work all night, even after declining his help.

"It is my duty to oversee all letters from my subjects by myself," Mael replies while eating. The food is delicious, as always, but his mind is occupied by the prospects of another day of writing and reading letters.

He would be more comfortable in the forest, hunting, or on the training grounds refining his spear work. But this is his duty, the same duty that his father had neglected. So, Mael spent a week here, not leaving the room. He had done nothing but sort out letters for all this time but the mountain of paper didn't seem to lessen.

"No one says that you need to do it alone," his brother says, still tapping some rhythm on the table. He sighs and smiles, "That's why we will help you today."

Wait for a second... We?

The duke hears a quiet knock on the door. "You may enter!" Mael shouts. The door opens slowly as if a visitor is afraid to enter. An unlikely helper appears, the castellan of the castle, Patrick, stands at the entrance. His breathing is short, as always, and his sweat has already made a strong odor around him.

The brothers look at him with surprise as he tries to bow. His massive stomach obstructs his efforts, but finally, he manages to lower his head to a respectable level and enters the room. Mael nods in approval on seeing that the castellan has changed his clothes. Gone were the robes made of silk and velvet. Instead, he wears a plain brown robe.

Patrick sits to the left of Mael, keeping his hands on his knees and avoiding looking at the brothers. His perpetual stench reaches the Duke, but the lack of perfume heaped atop it has cut some of its acridness, somewhat. Feeling merciful towards the sweating old man, Mael says, "Clean yourself up at the basin and drink some water from the jugs. We will be here for a full day."

"Thank you, your excellency," the castellans voice is quiet as he stands up from the chair and goes to the basin. Brothers look at him as he awkwardly pours the water into the tub and starts to clean his hands. He is stiff and slow as sweat keeps falling from his hair. Seeing this pitiful display, Lorcan sighs and stands up from the chair. He grabs one of the jugs and pours water straight onto the fat man's head.

"M'lord?" Patrick asks dumbfounded as water drips from his hair. "We need you at your best, lord castellan," Lorcan says with a soft smile on his face.

Lorcan and Patrick help Mael go through the mountain of paperwork that the previous Duke neglected. Most of the papers are reports from local rulers, about the state of affairs in their village, town, or border fort. They find some letters asking for the extra garrison to their villages or a few more patrols on the border.

Mael reads one of these letters with a blank look on his face, "These letters are old, some of them go as back as two years ago."

"Yes your excellency, they are pretty old," says castellan, avoiding his gaze.

"Curious, " Mael asks Patrick a question, reading another letter, "Weren't you appointed castellan of the castle two years ago?"

"Yes, I was, your excellency," Patrick whimpers, suspecting where this question will lead.

"And for two years," the duke says pointing at the hills of paper piling up in the floor, "These letters were piling up in here. Wasn't your duty to read and present letters that you found important to the Duke?"

Patrick gulps, his breathing becomes faster as he starts to nervously sweat again, "Yes, it was my duty your excellency..."

Mael glares at the fat man as he whispers under his breath, but a sudden strong voice cuts through them, "Brother! Can we honestly blame lord castellan for avoiding his duties? After what happened to the previous castellan?" Lorcan's fiery speech seems to startle Patrick as he almost falls from his chair.

Seeing the pleading look that Patrick gives him, Mael sighs and drops the matter, "I suppose we can't. After all, the previous castellan was hanged by father."

Patrick seems relieved hearing that. He grabs the jug with water and starts to drink it. Lorcan looks at him with pity. His predecessor was hanged by Duke Senan. Is it surprising that the new castellan would avoid the Duke and follow his every whim?

They continue to work on paperwork and read everything that piled up. Hours pass. Mael and Lorcan are already exhausted by all this busywork that needs to be done. Surprisingly, Patrick seems to be most adjusted to this. Where the brothers simply throw all the letters they've reviewed into one massive clump, Patrick's papers are sorted into separate piles and accurately organized. Mael expected him to be a talentless sycophant, but it turns out he does have a good head on his shoulders.

The Duke and castellan are resting and eating lunch as Mael had deemed that a break would be good. Lorcan immediately went out of the room, preferring a stroll in the corridors to remaining in place. The liege and subject sit together near the fireplace, watching the wood burn

"I expected more cruelty from father," Mael says pointing at orders that his father wrote. "But there are few orders written from him about executions and tortures."

"The duke Senan was stable if you didn't annoy him or try to disobey him," Patrick says, relaxing as he seems to grow accustomed to his new situation.

"I see... what happened to ones who did?" Mael asks, remembering the death of the previous castellan.

"One servant said something about the Duke's appearance, how it was not fit for one of the Holy Blood to neglect his looks. It got him killed." The Castellan says, morosely.

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"Did he say that near father?" a young man asks, surprised by that sudden comment.

"No, he wouldn't be that stupid or brave to mock the Duke in his presence. He was saying that to his friends," Patrick explains with a frown.

"Then how did father find out the servant mocked him?" Mael says, confused.

"He was reported by his fellow servants and thrown in a cage," the old man explains, "Did your excellency expect anything else?" Patrick asks, surprised. "He mocked the Holy Blood, it was their duty to report such disrespect."

"How did he die," Mael asks with closed eyes, but already imagining the answer.

"Hunger," says the Castellan dully, "As the Duke Senan did not give any orders what to do with him."

Mael and Patrick sat in silence until Lorcan returned.

It was near evening, wood crackles in the fireplace, slowly burning away. Brothers and castellan sit near it, with bottles of cider in hand. The mountain of paperwork seems to have lessened somewhat, as Patrick's organizing has broken the pile down into separate folders.

"Reading the recent reports I assume that the duchy is doing fine." Mael says looking at Patrick, "There are no immediate issues I need to address, right?"

"Yes, your excellency," Patrick says while sipping from his cider, "Though there is a matter of your coronation and possible regency."

"Regency?"

"Your excellency is still not an adult by the law," the old man explains. "Despite you being the heir and the Wielder of Gae Bolg, other duchies could press their claims to install one of their own as a regent."

Hearing that the younger brother snorts as the cider hits his head, "Ha! Mael is the rightful ruler of Galicia, if they try the whole duchy will raise up!" Lorcan exclaims with a smile on his face, as his face becomes red and his eyes smoky.

"Who could become a regent if we agree to their claims?" Mael asks. His eyes are closed as he sips the cider bit by bit. His skin looks even paler in light from the fireplace.

Lorcan stands from his chair and brings another bottle of cider to Patrick and himself. He offers one to the Duke but he declines. Castellan thanks the younger brother and continues "Let me think for a moment... The Duke of Silesia would be a prime choice. Not him personally but one of his sons or brothers. After all, they are your relatives since your aunt married the previous Duke of Silesia."

"Silesia..." Mael says, remembering the old lessons from his father about their neighbors. Duke Senan never told him that he had a sister. The young man puts his drink away as he asks, "What if they decline?"

"If they decline, the Grand Duke of Grannia could send someone from his family," Patrick says, then burps as the cider takes its toll. "Excuse me for a moment, your excellency." The fat man stands up, not without hardships as his legs almost betray him, but he manages to walk to the tub and refresh himself.

"I see..." Mael whispers, as his mind reminds him of his inexperience. Would it be that bad to invite an older, more able ruler to be a regent?

After refreshing himself, Patrick comes back with a jug of water in his hand. He is quietly sipping it when Lorcan asks a question, while Mael still thinking about the possibility of regency. "What about the coronation, when you think we should arrange it lord castellan?"

"We could plan coronation and invite notable people to attend in this year. Maybe in next month in the middle of summer," Patrick says, internally counting the amount of time it would take.

Lorcan looks at his brother, who is still in his world. The younger brother exchanges a glance with the old man and touches Mael's shoulder. Mael is snapped out of his line of thought, as Lorcan asks him with a concerned look on his face, "Brother? Are you alright?"

Mael just nods looking at Lorcan and addresses the issue directly, "By law, I become an adult in two years right Patrick?"

"Yes, your excellency," the old man says, knowing where it would lead.

"Then there is not gonna be a discussion, the coronation will be held on my eighteenth birthday," Mael confirms his suspicions.

"As you wish your excellency," the fat man says while bowing his head.

"Let's have a talk about The Commonwealth, Patrick," Mael says, as he stands up and adds wood to the fireplace.

Castellan puts the cider away and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. He looks surprised by a sudden question, "The Commonwealth? What you want to know your excellency?"

Mael frowns at his manners but continues with his question, "Do I need to send a letter to the Grand Duke of Grannia? Or arrive in person to present myself before him?"

"You don't need to do that, your excellency. All duchies are autonomous and self-governing. Grand Duke of Grannia is just a first among equals, we don't owe him anything," Patrick declares with a smile that immediately replaced with a frown. "Though sending a letter confirming that you are a new Duke is a good thing to do."

Mael recites his lessons in his mind, as basic as they were.

The dukedom of Galicia is one of the seven Dukedoms of the Commonwealth of Dragon Bloods. The Family of Holy Blood rules each duchy. The descendant of seven Heroes that were blessed by Dragon-Gods and gifted the Sacred Weapons. The duchies are divided into the heartland ones and border ones. Galicia is one of the border duchies. The protector of Heartlands. Our home, our sacred duty.

The Duke is lost in his world again as Lorcan asks a question with a curious expression on his face, "What about our neighbors."

Patrick burps into his arm and responds with an apologetic smile "Our neighbors? What you specifically want to know Lord Lorcan?"

"Treat it like a history lesson lord castellan. I am ashamed to admit that I didn't focus on politics and intrications that much," the younger brother responds with a humble smile.

"The Kingdom of Mezoralia to the west. A kingdom that always in eternal strife, they change their royal house almost every generation," Patrick starts his lesson with a simple overview.

"Despite all of this they are quite rich, aren't they?" Lorcan says and takes another sip of cider. His cheeks are flushed as he starts to play with his fingers, forming some sort of figures with them.

"Yes, gold and silver flow from their mines and their craftsman and wineries are renowned in the entire world," Patrick confirms.

Mael is still reciting the basic lessons in his mind, remembering a time when his father seemed sane.

The Duchy of Agria to the north, frosty allies that rival us in trade and neglect their duties as protectors. They are border duchy but act as a Heartland one. Ever arrogant and a disgrace to Gods.

"The sand tribes of Dalomia to the south-west. They are barbarians and border raiders, but they are strong folk."

"I heard about them. It has been decades since their last tribe leader unified them and led a horde against Galicia. They're nothing more than a bunch of savages."

"I would not underestimate the might they possess, lord Lorcan,"

"Ha! Savages are savages, slice the head off and they'll crumble," Lorcan exclaims as he finishes another bottle of cider.

Our border briefly connects with the Grand Duchy of Grannia. The first among equals in the Commonwealth. The first Duchy that's been founded by the seven Heroes. The only heartland duchy that still deserves respect.

"The Kingdom of Fiema to the south-east. Our immediate concern. They were once just steppe tribes, divided and weak, but the strife that overtook them a decade ago saw them unite under one ruler. The King of Kings, Kublai. Fiemmas were silent after that, their border raids weaker than before but we need to keep an eye on them. The traders report that the kingdom is going through bloody centralization and the army is being trained. Loyal only to the king."

"Our defenses are strongest in their border right?" the younger brother asks, trying to remember long-forgotten lessons.

"Yes, but we need to keep an eye on them," Patrick responds.

"Surely some steppe nomads can't compare to our knights." Lorcan scoffs.

The Duchy of Silesia to the east. Steadfast allies and true friends for years. They border the Kingdom of Fiemma as well and will stand with you if the worst comes to pass.

"Do you have any more questions, lord Lorcan?"

"No, I don't have questions, lord castellan," Lorcan responds, beginning to droop slightly from the drink.

Patrick stands and bows, his face and nose red from alcohol as he struggles to maintain his posture. "Then, your excellency, allow me to take my leave."

Mael pays him no mind and just nods, dismissing his subject.

After the improvised history lesson, the brothers sit in silence. Their minds occupied by new information and the scope of responsibility each of them has. It did hit older brother the most. All that Mael could think of was about his ability. Could he really lead his people? Does he really have the experience to be a duke?

"The thought of a regent has some merit now, doesn't it?" Mael whispers, with a sigh as he stands up from the chair and awakens his limbs. The alcohol didn't hit him as hard as his brother who watches the fading fireplace with a dazed expression. He touches his brother, waking him up.

Lorcan wakes up from his daze and focuses on Mael with an alarming intensity. He approaches him slowly, rising up from the chair with some difficulties, and hugs him tightly. The smell of apples and alcohol hits Mael as his brother whispers into his ear, "I will not accept anyone other than you."

Mael nods and hugs his brother back.

They stand like this for minutes, two brothers clinging to the only family they have. Eventually, Mael realizes that Lorcan fell asleep, smiles, and carries the younger boy out of the office to his own bed.