The Reins of Power… Mine and Mine Alone!

[14.03.1623]

Faywyn.

The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint moonlight that filtered through the window slats, casting eerie shadows across the walls. The air was still musky with the sharp earthen scent of yesterday’s rain. It felt cold and heavy on Levi’s skin; like mercury seeping through fresh loam. Behind him, his bed lay empty, its sheets tangled and rumpled. The earl himself sat by the window in a daze, his head thrown back as a slow, plaintive tune emanated from his lips.

He could feel something icy burning in his chest. A longing. For what, he knew not. A calling. From whom, he knew not. The feeling persisted, clawing at his resolve. For a moment his gaze flickered towards the open window, the urge to jump out rearing its ugly head in his mind. Absurd, he thought shrugging the feeling off, a playful smile creeping onto his lips

Death is a prison, he whispered as he rose to return to his bed, but some men are condemned to be free. I choose to remain condemned. He lay in silence but again, sleep refused to take him. With a sigh he turned on his side, humming a wistful tune beneath his breath.

…

Morning came and with it the burdens of his mantle. The earl, clad fully in a plain suit of armour, stomped over the soft, waterlogged soil. The ground slick with rainwater warped beneath his soles; this with the added weight on his person made walking precarious.

Panting, he swung his blade at a phantom opponent. On the muddy training ground, he struggled to find balance, more than ever before. Levi was well aware that he had no real talent for the elegant swordplay that most Udorian fighters fancied; Lancelot having described his movements as brutish at best one too many times. But then again, who cared so long as it got the job done, right? Training in the mud made it harder, yes, but who was to say his future adversaries would grant him the privilege of finding stable ground to do combat? A change of pace was very much needed lest he stagnated.

He swung again, his blade mechanically slicing through the air as it cleaved downwards. He stepped back, imitating a feint before cleaving again in a move that nearly cost him his balance. The earl wobbled for a few moments, his armour creaking noisily as he fought against gravity’s pull to remain upright. Moments later he succeeded but at a cost.

His dignity.

“Who taught you to fight, Lord Earl?” a voice asked behind him. Feminine. Levi turned around to face the speaker; it was the princess—deposed princess, important distinction there. Iris stood behind him, one hand on her hip as she stared at him with disappointment in her gaze. His legs were splayed out comically beneath him, and his arse, by some thrice-ancestors-damned stroke of luck, stuck out towards the young woman in the most undignified poses. To say he caught an egg with his face might as well have been the understatement of the century.

“You swing like a stiff pole and move with the grace of an old drunk,” the princess continued, unsympathetic for his plight, “and here I was pining for a good showing. How disappointing.”

Levi chuckled between pants, righting himself as he turned to face her. “I don’t remember … having ever bragged to Your Highness about my supposed talent with the blade… or have I, Your Highness?” The earl paused to catch his breath before continuing. “...I fully admit to being no skilled swordsman,” he said, “ Lancelot himself having remarked I fight like a barbarian. Considering this, your expectations of me do seem a bit misplaced, don't they? … Your Highness.”

Levi smiled as the princess’s eyes squinted distrustfully at him. “The viscount’s servants had bragged to me about your supposed prowess,” she said, taking her hands off her hips as she treaded her way carefully across the muddy ground towards him. “This they did with grand claims that you almost bested Lord Lancelot himself the few times you two fought. Now I am forced to wonder if that was just a bold-faced lie from the viscount’s house towards an honoured guest in what would constitute a grievous breach of noble etiquette. Or rather, is this another one of those many secrets you keep hidden beneath that naive, harmless facade you have so lovingly crafted your entire life?”

Levi laughed again, this time lifting his visor as he regarded the lady. “I don’t know what you expect me to say to that, Your Highness.”

The princess remained silent, her uncertain gaze still fixated on him. With a pompous sniff, she turned away, walking towards a small wooden shed at the edge of the clearing. “Indulge me the pleasure of a duel then, Lord Earl,” she said, prying two wasters from a weapons rack before tossing one to Levi. The earl caught the wooden training sword with a raised brow.

“A duel, Your Highness?”

Iris frowned at his hesitance. “What? Will you claim you cannot fight me because you fear you will hurt me?.. Or is it because I am a woman?”

“I am not so bigoted as to suggest that, Princess,” Levi replied with a gentle shake of his head. “I fear not for anyone’s safety but mine. You’ve been training with the best this kingdom has to offer since the day you could pick up a sword. I have been training for barely three months; I can’t imagine coming out of a fight with you unscathed, talk less of offering a befitting challenge for a fighter of your calibre.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly as Iris preened subconsciously at the compliment. As usual, people loved empty flattery when they didn’t know it for what it was. “I will be the judge of that,” the princess said, visibly reining in her emotions as she took a guarded stance. “Fight me.”

The earl stared contemplatively at her for a long moment. He could very well refuse the pampered girl’s poorly veiled order. It wasn’t like he was beholden to her or anything. Nor did he care much about her identity, presumed self-worth or the supposedly all-important peerage that seemed to define her entire existence. Ignoring her and returning to minding his business would result in very negligible consequences for him.

Though, on the other hand, he also had very little to lose should he decide to indulge her for a bit. Besides, he was curious as to how well he would fare against someone of presumably lesser skill than the battle-hardened veterans he was used to training with. “Very well then, “ Levi said, dropping his visor and raising his sword. “En garde.”

Iris, much lighter on her feet due to her lack of armour, struck first, bouncing on the ball of her feet in a display of masterful footwork as she cleaved at Levi’s right shoulder. The earl raised his sword, parrying the strike, before hurriedly swinging his waster aside to throw off the wooden sword that continued down the length of his blade instead of simply bouncing off. Levi backpedalled from the princess, his attention fixated on the tip of her weapon as it whipped back towards him in the periphery of his vision. He wobbled on the slippery floor, allowing his momentum to carry him out of her reach, her sword whizzing just inches from his torso.

Just as it began, the battle came to a sudden halt. Levi stared at Iris as she withdrew, her feet unsteady. Apparently, she was unwilling to continue pressing her assault and risk overextending as he had hoped she would. Bummer. Very well then. “You are fast,” Levi remarked, righting his stance. He pried his helmet off his head, tossing it aside. The object needlessly obstructed his view. It was a hindrance; he doubted the princess would stoop so low as to go for his head in what was supposed to be a friendly duel.

Iris remained silent. “...You lied,” she said taking a probing step forward.

“How so, Your Highness?” Levi asked, parrying the sudden thrust she sent his way. The princess was fast, yes, but the power and execution of her strikes paled considerably in comparison with fighters like Lancelot or Ser Carter. That was to be expected. Frankly, the earl would have been terrified if she, with her skinny arms and lithe, delicate figure, could match the veteran swordsmen blow for blow. Witchery, he thought in amusement as he imagined the princess tied to a stake in front of a blob of angry, brainless, easily manipulated masses. This did not make her an easy opponent, far from it. The earl struggled to fend her off as he was easily being forced back on the defensive by the smaller woman.

Iris cleaved at him again. Levi caught her wooden sword with his own, wobbling as he struggled to remain standing. “...You take me for some fool, don’t you?” she replied, gracefully parrying his counter before saying out loud to herself. “I am no skilled swordsman, he says! What a load of horseshit!”

“I can scarcely fend you off as it is,” the earl chuckled as he backed away further from the princess, using his superior height and reach to keep her temporarily at bay. He found some measure of amusement in her mounting frustration, her facade of elegance crumbling away; the potty-mouthed, spoiled tomboy underneath slowly rearing her head. “Had you been in armour this farce would have barely lasted as long as it has,” He added, which in a way was not a complete lie. Had the princess been in armour she would have been much slower than she was now meaning, Levi, protected by his armour, would have had a much better chance of cornering her before simply bulling past her offensive and wrestling her to the ground. He might be scrawny for a growing man due to his predecessor's dominantly reclusive lifestyle, but he was still more than a whole foot taller than she was, and thanks to his apparently superior genetics, much more bone-dense. Also, he had plenty of experience devolving surgical swordfights—which he had little love for—into chaotic grappling matches that favoured him more as evidenced by his numerous bouts with the viscount.

It appeared the princess caught on to his insinuations, her eyes squinting into a glare. Maybe she wasn’t so oblivious after all, he thought parrying another jab to his torso. Her assaults dialled up a bit in aggression as her budding anger visibly consumed her.

“....You are an irritating person, you know?” she said, managing to get a strike past his defence. The tip of her waster connected with his left pauldron, just inches above where his heart was. “Condescending, arrogant, and brash. I fail to understand how you hid all that for so long; everyone here only has praises to sing of you. It sickens me.”

“Maybe you are just a bit paranoid,” Levi said smiling. “I have barely spoken to you since the day you first arrived, yet every time I see you you seem to hold a grudge. What is it that I have done to anger our dearest princess so? Hmm?”

The princess’s expression froze at his words. For a few moments, she pressed on, subconsciously. Mechanically; Levi could feel her assault weakening as a result, but not by much. He was at the edge of the training ground now; any more and he would literally be forced up a wall. A short wooden fence rather, but still an obstacle nonetheless. Another strike connected, pinging off his breastplate.

“What were you expecting when you arrived?” He asked, observing Iris’ expression as he continued to fend her off. “Hmm? Tell me. Were you hoping to arrive at Faywyn with the duke at your beck and call, ready to muster an army to go rescue your dearest father? I am sure finding this place as it was when you arrived, with my house in shambles, vassals rebelling, and the coffers near empty might have disappointed you a little.”

“Don’t,” Iris whispered, her assault relenting further. The earl managed to push her back a step. Then another before she regained her bearings.

“Ah!” Levi exclaimed as if coming upon a realisation. “...Is my desire to hold onto my house’s lands getting in the way of your little quest, princess?.. Were you hoping that the threat of Tristan’s incursion would force Aden to reconsider his decision to stay and once again abandon everything in favour of escorting you to your next saviours? Now that the von Grifenburgs have been squeezed dry of what little value we have left it’s off to the next foolishly loyal lord to give up everything for your cause, is it not? Still, I am forced to wonder, would every lord you run up to be as bull-headed as Aden to entertain your rather selfish aspirations.”

The princess’ face darkened with anger and a hint of guilt just before indignation surged forth overshadowing all. “You call me selfish? What do you know of my plight to speak so boldly?” She spat, enraged. Another strike dinged off Levi’s pauldron. The left one again. “You are just an arrogant nimrod too deluded to know when a fight is not worth having. Sadly, no one around here seems willing enough to break your foolish self from this spell; the duke blinded by whatever perverse hope you instilled in him, and everyone else unwilling to be the first to voice their doubts and earn his ire. You want to do battle with the Lion? With that paltry sum you call an army? The gall!”

Levi smiled, another strike pinging off his armour; he was unsure where exactly but the waster struck somewhere on his upper torso. “We are done here,” he said, catching Iris’ weapon only to wince as his palm stung beneath the gauntlet he wore. Irritated, he unceremoniously pried the weapon out of her grasp.

“What—” Caught off guard, the princess stumbled, her feet slipping on the mud. The earl caught her by the collar as she fell forward, almost plummeting face-first into the mud.

“You know,” he said, pulling her up as she yelped, her arms flailing about uselessly, “I had much higher expectations of you.” He walked away as the princess wobbled in a bid to steady herself, both wasters in hand. Iris glared at him as he stopped to pick up his discarded helmet and longsword; the weapons eventually being hung by their hilts on the rack in the shack at the edge of the training ground.

Levi turned to face Iris, staring at her form smouldering in anger. “Walk with me,” he said simply as he turned around to leave. Iris remained where she stood, glaring holes into his back as he walked away. The earl stopped just as he was about to cross the threshold to leave the training ground. “Walk with me,” he repeated mildly, glancing sideways at her, “or forfeit whatever aid my house has and would continue to offer you.”

“Whether Lord Aden offers his king aid or not is not for you to decide, boy,” the princess spat.

Levi said nothing, walking away.

…

“I want them beyond Faywyn’s borders before nightfall today,” Levi said, resting his chin on his left fist, staring blandly at Aden. The duke frowned, confusion clouding his features. The other members of the council exchanged befuddled glances.

“...Is there a problem, My Lord,” Lancelot asked hesitantly.

“Yes, there is,” Levi said, his gaze flickering to the viscount. “I have deemed it unnecessary for the Queen and Princess to remain here any longer; they are a needless risk I no longer have the inclination to tolerate. As we speak, preparations are being made to escort them to Emanmog where Lord Lark can assume responsibility for their safety and welfare should he feel so inclined to do so; should he not, their escorts would resupply there and continue south until they’ve found a lord willing to take them,” he said before turning to face Aden. “I have made preparations to accommodate you, Father, should you desire to accompany the duo; you were, after all, personally charged with protecting them by the king himself.”

The council fell silent again. Levi glanced around appearing to mull over his next words. “...I would be willing to spare three knights to accompany them, but no more. War is on the horizon and I would need every able-bodied man I can get to ensure Souville’s territorial integrity remains intact. There would be no negotiating this.”

“‘...You no longer have the inclination?’” Aden said, quoting him as spots of anger appeared in his demeanour. Levi held his gaze, offering a curt nod.

“I don’t.”

“...Well, whatever your reasons are, son, I will not permit this insanity,” the duke said, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Oh,” Levi said, his left brow rising to punctuate his exclamation. “ There seems to be a bit of confusion here. I wasn’t asking for permission, Lord Aden; I was informing you of my decision. Whether it pleases you or not, is none of my concern.”

“My Lord, I would advise—”

“You are informing me?” Aden said coldly, interrupting Ser Carter in his hurried attempt to mediate between the two. “...You have grown bold, son; foolishly so.”

Levi stared expressionlessly at the duke. “Should I find those two still within Faywyn’s borders by nightfall today, Lord Aden,” he replied, “I will disregard all courtesy and personally have them removed from this fief. By force if necessary.”

“I am your lord and father!” the duke growled, anger finally bubbling unto his countenance. “You will not speak to me in this manner, boy!”

“...Should I also find any of you attempting, in any way or form, to subvert my authority in some misguided bid to disregard my instruction,” Levi continued, his gaze leaving Aden to pan across the assembled council members, “I will have you know that I have the means to ensure you suffer gravely for that mistake. Please don’t attempt to test my resolve on this matter.”

An ominous silence blanketed the room. Levi glanced around, observing the expressions on the faces of all gathered there; concern and confusion being most dominant, but an undercurrent of wariness permeated the atmosphere as well.

“They are not going anywhere,” Aden declared, his face set into hard, angry lines which Levi promptly ignored. The earl was well aware the duke was impotent as he was now. Nothing short of a house arrest or Aden openly coming out to assume command of Faywyn itself could keep him from ejecting the royal duo, and even those he had made arrangements to mitigate should they happen. It is not for me to decide, Levi scoffed inwardly as he held Aden’s angry stare, Foolish thing.

“Moving on,” Levi said, disregarding the duke’s statement. “I am sure all of you must have already been informed about the situation at Ricos by Madam Eliza,” Levi paused to glance at the woman. The tavern-owner-cum-consul gave an assenting nod, the wariness in her gaze slowly receding. “Well then, I shall still reiterate for the purpose of clarity and formality. Our attack on Duke Tristan’s fleet proved to be an outstanding success. Ser Johan and the men under his command succeeded in removing the possibility of Tristan sailing down the Strega from our list of concerns. They also managed to liberate the Codfather from Count Karl’s command, offsetting the loss of the Cherrybomb and her sistership, HMS Jessica Rabbit. Although the Codfather possibly might have suffered some damage during her escape, she is well on her way here. I suspect she should arrive at the latest, a few hours from now.”

Despite the news, there was little joy on the faces of any of the men present, their minds most likely still preoccupied with the matter of the Queen and Princess’ possible expulsion from Faywyn. Levi’s dull gaze panned across the uneasy group before returning to Aden’s smouldering form. “And the Lion?” Levi asked. “Has he received the news yet?”

“...Possibly,” Eliza replied two beats later, slow to realise the earl’s question was directed at her. “Last I heard he was a few days from Ricos on horseback. The duke should be arriving in the town sometime today or tomorrow. Although, Count Karl Pers was quite furious about the development; he had the harbourmaster beheaded on the account of negligence just an hour after the explosions.”

“I have met Pers once before,” she continued. “He is a man with a rather… fiery personality. I foresee a falling out between himself and the duke. The count might quite possibly refuse to give any additional support towards Tristan’s war effort, slowing Lion’s recovery from this even further..”

Levi's gaze turned thoughtful. “We will see about that,” he said, pushing the speculation from the forefront of his mind. “Anything new regarding the forest wolves?” he asked, his gaze panning towards Ser Justin. The Captain shook his head in denial. “I guess we will just have to continue relying on the Aigan tribesmen then; thankfully they are really good at hunting those mangy dogs. Anyway, we should remain vigilant and observant, more so now than ever. That’s all for today. You are all dismissed.”

Levi remained seated as the councilmen, as well as Miss Sarah who had been taking the meeting minutes slowly filed out of the room. The door closed with a dull thud, leaving him alone with the duke. The ensuing silence dragged on for several moments

“...What do you aim to achieve by doing this, son?” Aden asked with a tired sigh, confused. Levi tilted his head as he regarded the older man.

“We cannot continue like this Father,” the earl replied. “A ship cannot have two captains, nor can this land have two lords. I am only trying to resolve this dilemma.”

“...You mean to say—”

“Yes, father,” Levi interrupted, “your presence here dilutes my authority. It irks me. If you want Faywyn back, all you need is to ask. Otherwise, leave me with the reins. Fully. Not the half-measures you have been attempting to achieve.”

“...You should have just said this rather than so grievously ruining your relationship with their majesties.”

Levi chuckled. “To be honest Father, I couldn’t care less. Besides, the princess brought this upon herself. A word of advice to the spoiled thing; she should learn to keep her ego in check lest she worsens matters for herself even further.“

The duke stared at him for a long moment. Another sigh escaped his lips as he also rose to leave. “You are young, so you might not understand. With time…” He trailed off with another sigh.

“...You know what,” Levi said moments later as if experiencing a change of heart; it was all a facade of course. “If Iris is willing to apologise for her misdemeanour I might reconsider letting them stay.”

The Duke stared at him for a long silent moment before exhaling a tired sigh.

“Thank you, son,” he said, the corner of his eyes wrinkling in a smile.

Levi watched as the duke vacated the room, his gaze pensive. His eyes flickered back to regard the empty room as he also rose to his feet with a shrug. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said to himself on his way out.

“I can’t imagine how you would succeed in squeezing an apology out of the shrewish thing.”

***

The Lion rode along the docks of the ruined harbour, observing the result of the Gryphon’s first official response to his planned incursion into its den. Brutal and decisive were the only words Tristan could use to describe the scene; two sections of the docks were seemingly erased from existence, and what remained of the targeted vessels and piers floated in the resultant basins as twisted, broken wrecks. The duke refused to believe, on principle, that a boy rumoured to be that naive and soft-spoken could plot something so brilliantly insidious.

“Who do you suppose is the mind behind this?” the lord asked, glancing sideways at the procession behind him.

“...I am not sure, My Lord,” Sean replied, exchanging cautious glances with the men around him. “I can think of a few names who might be responsible, but I cannot do this with any certainty that might appease you.”

The duke remained silent as he pulled his steed to a halt. He sat there, simply staring at the sheer carnage that had been inflicted on the harbour. It would take months, years even, for the facility to be fully restored. Whoever was whispering into the ears of that whelp really did know how to strike where it would hurt the most. Tristan would love to have such a person in his employ; failing that, six feet beneath the ground where they would no longer constitute a nuisance.

“Abel.”

“Yes, My Liege?” A young squire replied, nudging his horse forward towards the duke.

“Send a pigeon home to my wife; she is to speak to the merchant guilds on my behalf to arrange a baggage train for my army. The Gryphon dealt me a terrible hand, but I refuse to let him savour this victory. We will march on ahead for Faywyn today … Bring me to Karls; I believe he would also want his pound of that whelp’s flesh.”