Harold was heading for the wooden door when the sound of quick footsteps came in from behind him. He turned about, only to see a painfully thin man hurrying towards him; surprisingly, Harold could identify him. It was Prince Frederick, the elder brother of his main character and a major reason he had managed to ascend to the throne following the Reign of Blood. The green eyes gave Frederick away, for he had an idiosyncratic shade that complemented his ruffled linen tunic.

“Dieter!”

“Brother Frederick.”

Frederick didn’t answer, huffing and puffing after his short bout of exercise. He really looked more skeleton than man, protruding elbows, thin wrists and all. Frederick gave their surroundings a nervous once-over, before grabbing Harold’s right hand. Bemused, Harold let himself be dragged away, waving off Baldy and the attendant. What’s his game?

The moment they were far enough from the door, Frederick whirled about and stuck an accusing finger in Harold’s face.

“Dieter, have you no shame? Why, are we not brothers? How have I erred that you would treat me so?”

Harold grabbed the finger and then the hand, pushing it gently down and away from his face. Right, I’d forgotten that Frederick was a drama fiend. There’s probably a reason he’s angry, but 10:1 it isn’t as severe as he making it seem. He said as much to Frederick and the latter exploded, waving his arms in exaggerated consternation.

“Oh, lords above! What black deeds have I done, to merit being saddled with such defiant brothers! Drama he says! Drama! What degenerate times we live in, where the young spite their elders with impunity!”

But you’re only a month older than me. Still, Harold couldn’t help the twitch that ran across his face, which evolved into full-blown laughter when Frederick waggled his eyebrows. But as the laughter faded away, Frederick grew more somber, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Dieter, did I not tell you to stay away from that maid?”

Had he? Harold fought to keep a blank face. “You may have said something to that effect, yes.”

Frederick looked exasperated. “Must you plunge your sword in every sheath you can find? Especially one of whose duplicity I had warned you weeks beforehand?” He massaged his temples. “Ensnaring a prince for the price of a bastard daughter, that duke Lana sure is formidable.”

Harold crossed his arms. “What if I told you that I did not bed her?”

Frederick gave him a pitying glance. “I would take you at your word, my ox of a brother. But who else would? Appearances are as good as reality. The harder you deny it, the more the world will believe you to be in league with the duke. I do not need to tell you why that is dangerous.”

Harold considered. “But if her virtue is still intact-”

“You would have an impartial judge verify it? Hmm, perhaps the wife of a minister? Naïve.”

“How so?”

“Do you think the duke Lana would give up the chance to push you into his faction so easily?” Frederick’s lips curled in distaste. “That maid would not be a virgin by sundown today, willingly or not. That old monster might even do the deed himself.”

Harold couldn’t even process the thought. “His own daughter?”

Frederick shook his head.

I created duke Lana. Harold felt a little thrill of horror. It was easy to create ruthless men of great ambitions and greater depravities. Necessary even, because a villain was an agent of change, an important obstacle to be overcome. But he had never considered the human carnage villains left behind; they had only ever been faceless victims. “Is there anything that we can do? For the maid, I mean.”

Frederick gave him an odd look. “Dieter, the more involved we become, the further we will be drawn into duke Lana’s affairs. Besides, we are princes. We cannot sacrifice our interests for every tragic tale; the gods know there are no shortage of them.”

Harold knew that. The ranks of the dispossessed were a river, not a stream. There was no shortage of former soldiers who had lost an eye, leg or arm to the tender attentions of a sword, mace, or arrow and had to beg for their living. Then there were the street urchins, the unwanted children of the painted ladies who plied their trade in the seedy outer district. Rarer was the occasional fallen noble, usually a well-dressed older man who sat listlessly on a cobblestone corner and wasted away. So why do I care? Was he really that much of a sucker for a pretty face?

Frederick must have spied the conflict on Harold’s face, because he softened. “It is good you have a good heart, Dieter. But we cannot disregard our own prerogatives. Everyone cuts their own deal and it is up to the gods to judge. Anyways, dismiss her from your service at the soonest opportunity and keep a low profile for now.”

Harold nodded, conflicted. Changing the subject, he asked: You have a plan?”

“I do, yes.” Now Frederick looked troubled. “There’s a storm coming, Dieter. Near daily, I get reports of men in the mountains and strange sails near our southern shores. No one has brought the matter up in court, for all the good it would do.” He raised his head, eyes flickering about the hallway before he leaned closer, whispering into Harold’s ear. “The heavens are just. The old usurper has taken sick and his grip on the reins is slackening. The old monsters of the court are stirring. When he dies-”

“Princes will vie for dominion, but blood will reign as king?” The famous saying had arisen in the aftermath of the era and eventually given it its name.

“Why, Dieter, I did not know you to be interested in wordplay and witticism?” Frederick seemed faintly pleased. Harold decided to push his luck.

“Then let me offer you another: the bamboo bends and endures, the oak stands and falls. Are you scheming something with uncle Guntus?”

“Well, I would not call it scheming with him as much as scheming around him,” Frederick allowed, before he processed fully what had been said. His eyes narrowed and for the first time, Harold could see a degree of genuine alarm in them.

“Where did you hear that?” Frederick all but hissed at him.

“I guessed.” Harold offered, but the words seemed hollow even to him. Sure enough, Frederick didn’t buy it. He grabbed Harold by the mandarin collar of his tunic, arms visibly trembling as he pressed Harold against the palace walls. Harold leaned against the cool surface, shaking his head when he saw Baldy going for his sword.

“Look, Dieter, this is no laughing matter. Surely even you understand this? If we brothers are to ever be restored to our birthright- as father would have wanted- or even just survive, we must find a sturdy shelter and quickly! So, tell me, who leaked our plans to you?”

“Frederick, we are the sons of a well-liked king, taken before his prime. We are a threat to every prince whose faction we might join, and too independently-minded to be the pawns of some great clan’s duke. So, what is left there for us to do? The only safe path that we might walk is that of renouncing our claims and living in exile until the board has been cleared. And the only one in our family that might aid us without ulterior motives is poor fat uncle Guntus, whose ambitions begin and end with wine and good food.”

Frederick let him go, staring at Harold as if he’d suddenly peeled off his skin to reveal himself to be a lizardman. “You’ve changed, Dieter. I thought you to be concerned solely with swords and riding, not intrigue and scheming. Have you always been so proficient? Or is another filling your head with thoughts not your own?”

He added, somewhat accusingly, “Even your speech has somewhat changed.”

Harold chuckled, but there wasn’t much mirth in his voice. I guess it was too much to expect the other characters not to notice. He had tried his hardest to ape the speech patterns and the voice of his main character but that was the voice of a Dieter a decade and a half older; he also couldn’t help but drop in a few Haroldisms every now and then. And he had had no intention of playing along nicely with how history had originally unfolded; what was the point of this chance if he were too cowardly to strike out and try something new?

“Brother Frederick, what is it called when you know what is right and do not do it?” This had been one of his favorite passages from The Analects; sometimes he marveled how a Chinese philosopher from four-hundred and something years before the birth of Christ could strike so accurately at the heart of the matter.

Frederick blinked at the non-sequitur. “Dieter, what game are you playing? Answer my questions, don’t answer me with another.”

“It’s called being a coward. Yes, we can save our lives by bending like bamboo. But what of the kingdom? Father always told us that a king was the hero of his people. What sort of heroes would we be if we cowered in the shadows while armies march across the land and the people suffer?”

Frederick scoffed. “Heroes? Dieter, you weren’t in the capital when father died. I was. I stood vigil as he died. He spent the better part of two days coughing up his lungs, splattering slimy red-white chunks into a dish and writhing in pain. By the second day’s morning, he was begging for death, unable to eat or to drink. By mid-evening he had lost control of his bowels and the royal chamber stunk to the heavens. Where were the people then? Father had ruled justly and aided many, but only uncle Guntus and I stood by his side then. The ministers, the merchants, even our own clansmen spent that day kowtowing to grand-uncle.”

He clenched his hands into fists and just for an instant Harold glimpsed the magnitude of the hurt lurking beneath the surface. “They crowned the usurper before father had even stiffened. Some loyal subjects, these.”

Harold wasn’t willing to give up the argument. “Frederick, even if you care nothing for the subjects, you must admit that a severe civil war would devastate our wealth and armies, leaving us susceptible to invasion from without.”

Frederick sighed. “I know, but what can be done? We can only rely on the mountains and hills to shelter us as we have always done; at this juncture, neither the great dukes nor the princes will see reason. And if we rally some clans about our banner- as I believe you to be suggesting- we would only further denude the land of men and wealth while most likely dying a dog’s death.”

Harold didn’t hide the smile that stole itself across his face. Frederick looked at him quizzically. “You have an idea?”

Harold told him.

Frederick fainted.