(1866-08-28) Honest Words of the Future
Honest Words of the Future
Summary: After the day spent mingling, Thomas has a chance to sit down and speak with Henric. Thomas gets an idea of how black Henric has become but he does manage to outline a few ideas for the future of Galenthia.
Date: 1866-08-28
Related: Merry Mingling
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Henric  Thomas  

Roseguard
Stuff goes here.
1866-08-28

The garden party deteriorated before dinner, guests making their various excuses to leave beforehand. Dinner was had, though, noticeably the food provided was paired down to quantities and qualities that would make a Lordship raise an eyebrow - there were not thirteen or fourteen courses! A handful instead, down to seven. It seemed to lack the normal flare a feast held in the County could muster, though that didn't mean the food was horrible, just not anticipated to be so sub-par. The guests either saw it as weakness in not showing wealth of the County in what was glistening their plate, a weakness for being poorly managed or simply poor, lack of preparedness, or some feeble attempt to be humble. In reality, winter was approaching; harvests were threatened and the instances of more fields being burned continued. The Viscountess did a splendid job voicing such proactive measures to ensure enough food for the winter haul, though, many would still see it as weakness. Henric just sat there and brooded when he had seen the reactions and eventually cut his presence short by announcing his retirement from the table and company. The perceptive of eye may have noticed the hard eyed squint, and the man's thumb going into the corner of his eye as his fingers clawed at his head.

Later on, a page would be sent running with a note to invite Thomas to a quiet parlor on the east end of the castle, overlooking the exterior battlements and landscape stretching to the horizon, one that had been swiftly covered in the mists of the humid evening. Henric was settled most comfortably in a lounge chair, slouched down with feet spread apart, elbows on the arms of the chair, a glass of whiskey in hand. He was dressed down to a loose shirt and slacks, still black for the most part - the shirt could be dark blue, but it looked black in the waning light of dusk. The servants would be around shortly to light the torches, but for now, a few candles helped aid the fading light.

Thomas has never been one for many coursed meals, anyways, except maybe at very special occasions. The men of the Eastern Province and their border marches especially have always been known as pragmatic, after all. Having changed into something considerably more comfortable, a and with nothing more than a dirk at his waist, the Baron of Repton March would be the last person to abandon his old comrade's dinner, and despite what anyone would have said, it was a damned good meal. When Henric retired, Thomas did as protocal demanded and remained at the table, conversing easily with those around it about current events. Small talk does not come easily to him, but fortunately for conversation's sake the world has enough interesting events going on to fill the gaps.

"So much black, Henric. So much. It has affected you more than I'd thought, though not without good reason. In person, then, when we are clear headed - my condolences." Says Thomas as he enters the room, dipping his head from the neck. Even here, he sticks to some kind of loose protocol, even the bare bones of it. "May I?"

Henric's head was down when Thomas came in, to the point that it was unclear if he had been trying to catch a bit of sleep. Maybe he had been, for the way his head jerks upward at his comrade's voice. Strangely, or not so if he had just been caught napping, he doesn't rise to greet Thomas he normally might have once before. The signs of weariness had put a few more years to the man's face now, as he regarded the Baron before him. He shifted his whiskey glass to look down into it as those condolences are brought into the room, a shadow that rests in the eyes of the man while it is said. "I was the fifth son, fifth… the sixth of seven and the only one to make it. Perhaps I will not even see thirty at this rate," the whiskey was set aside on the table as he gestures rather lazily toward the seats. Lifting his brow with a tilted edge of his jawline nearly grinding his teeth as he says it, "And don't, please for the sake of my sanity, stop the etiquette shenanigans. You know as well as I, it's a damn charade. Let us maintain the fact that we are friends that have shared the field of battle and shed blood as brothers. Do me that service at least that you recognize me still as who I am?"

"The Dark One is done with you and your family, Henric. Cruel as it may be, the Almighty has his plan set up; sometimes, the Dark One takes advantage of it." These words are spoken with the conviction of a true believer. "I cannot say that I truly understand; I still have siblings and my mother left, though I too was not born for my role. But I can empathise and this I will do, my friend." A taut, wan smile graces his lips but only for a moment. As he sits, he fills his own glass with some of the Cassomir lord's whisky, offering to top his up too. "A charade, sure, but I believe in the system. It's a weakness of mine. Please forgive it. How do you feel of late, Henric?"

"The fucker forget to take me with them, or that son of a vitch god has one weak plan," Henric says with a caustic declaration, saying no more to the subject as he grinds his teeth together, as if waiting for something to pass. Maybe the conversation all in itself. His hands come together, absently wringing them, cracking the fingers as he looks aside toward the dwindling essence of the sun. He breaks from whatever thoughts consume him when the whiskey is poured, nodding at the top up. He may crinkle his nose in obvious distaste for the system, not a known supporter of any of the courtly things, having often taken advantage of them for other pursuits far from political. "A weakness to believe in structure," he sighs, "I cannot fault you for that, nor can I sit here and claim to it be a weakness." The last however, does put him off guard, answered with a flippant, "How do you think?"

Thomas isn't going to put an eloquent defence of Church theology with a friend hurting - not here, not now. He lets Henric's comments fade away, watching him with interested watery blue eyes, putting the whiskey back down and taking a sip of his glass. "Not good, but better than you think of yourself. You're running a County and quite cannily, I hear. You have a beautiful wife, a child and the admiration of those who matter in Firen, whether you realise or not. You absolutely crushed the Thorns when they came onto your lands. Good riddance to them and cheers to that, by the way." He raises his glass to Henric. "Inside, you are hurting, but you are building something for your children and your grandchildren. Your name will be remembered, Henric, not because of the misdeeds of the past but because you work for a good future."

Henric hmms thoughtfully into the whiskey, wetting his lips with it before he settles it on the arm of his chair, cupped by his fingers that lightly tapped against it. The summation of how he was doing by an outside party has him thin his lips, as he sits forward, listening attentively as if curious of how he's being perceived in the great wide world. The nod he gives for the raised glass is for posturing sake, since the victory did nothing to quench his desire for revenge. "Is that really what I'm building? A good future?" he gives the Chandus Baron a short laugh, "Right. I'll take that and run with it. Here I thought I was just trying to eradicate the enemy, utterly." He shakes his head, "Enough about me. Your letter. It sounded pressing. I was hoping to have your accounting of the Arkanin situation and to dispel the rumours of her death. You -were- in Four Corners, weren't you?"

"And how to build a good future when the enemy nips at your gates? War is cruel and it is best done that way, for in that way it is over quickly and our lands and people can recover." The gesture returned, Thomas takes a sip from the glass. "This is absolutely delicious. We've got a lack of good whiskey out in the East, you know. You'd laugh, but the Duke gets it from the Sokars." He returns to the topic, sighing. "I… I don't know what to say, Henric. I did not see much of anything but I heard from those who were there. She acted like a lunatic, evidently, squeezing out plague towards the Viscount. What would have caused such a lovely, promising young woman who only wished to help to do that? And now she is dead. What an incredible shame."

Henric takes the opportunity to readjust and slouch back into the couch, lounging there in the tall backed chair, as if he didn't give two fucks about how he presented himself, which he obviously didn't. The servants had finally come along to start lighting the torches and wall scones and while his eyes tracked them at first, he eventually let them go about their duty without his watchful gaze set upon them. Half of them were intimidated by him anyhow. "Comes up from Rivergate, not so much these days, though my Uncle is working steadily to adjust that problem." His face turns aside as he frowns over something, using the opportunity to lift a finger and massage his temple quickly enough. "Has she been confirmed as dead?" He asks, "I would have sent an expedition north to find her, had it not been for the crisis on my own borders. Just the other day, with the Steward of Goldhollow high tailing it, we've seen increased signs of banditry upon the western roads and heard nothing from the Queen." His eyes light with fire when he says the title of /that/ woman, an edge of steel in the green eyes that show nothing but ire for her, "Her silence is deafening. It is small wonder many have cast their stones with this Grey Prince, for how can she retain such silence during a war second of its name?" There is an exhale of exasperation breathed out of his nostrils, "Lady Jaelynn.. I fear war got to her, that or her mother's death."

Thomas absorbs all the information being pushed, resting a hand partly on his chin and partly his mouth. It is a pensive expression. "No, she has not, but Lady Shirlyn told me so. With her family there I put stock in her words. Further, Lord Lee of Leeton was assassinated several nights ago, allegedly. Ambushed in his own keep with some of his men, stabbed by ten daggers and hanged from his own parapet. I tell you, Henric, these are not the actions of civilised men. This Viscount d'Armaz… while Lady Jaelynn was beyond a fool and wrong to do what she did, he is acting a barbarian. This extreme behaviour backlashes, inevitably."

Thomas doesn't make any comment on Henric's assessment of the Queen, or of the ease which people joined the Grey Prince. "Perhaps. She seemed normal in the East, after the Ball." The peace ball, obviously. "But perhaps the slaughter was too great. But we must speak on the way this Kingdom is run, Henric. If nobody else is doing so, at least we must."

In reverse, Henric does much of the same, letting Thomas reveal as much as he wishes too without pressing for details. Some rumors of similar happenstance may have coasted his way, though those that do not or had not, were filled in shortly now. "Leeton…" one could visibly see it, the struggle to remember where exactly on the map Leeton was, "Strung up. D'Armaz family… Yes, a squire told me of them, well, in brief. I know naught of this family other than that they sound Aequorian, and that, is often enough, isn't it?" His eyes are rubbed, a visual sign of his wariness, "Still, if it is a war Aequorian's want, it would be piss poor time for us to fight back. Attacked on all sides? Partharians, your battles in the east, White Hallers… Thomas, we cannot suffer a war with the Aequorians. I could manage to keep them back for a winter if they came this far down south," which would mean they'd need to tear through Arkanin lands first, "Or possibly march the men north for a few months, but it would stretch our supplies thin. Very thin. I'm not an expert at this, but Victor outlined the truth in his last address. We're going to have to toil and toil hard to make it to next harvest."

The topic of how the kingdom is run has Henric straightening, sensing something, "And what do you mean by that? You've something in mind?"

"Not just Aequorian, Henric. A common born merchant prince raised up to County. Further than my family's made it in one thousand years of nobility." A small smile presses Thomas's lips up. "He's the Minister of Trades in Four Corners, still. Very powerful, and a neighbour of Arkanin to the north through their marches. More money than they know what to do with. Jaelynn should have known better." He considers that. "I don't think they're interested in a war with Galenthia. I hope not anyways. The East is depleted. If they invade through Daltre, I don't know if Daltre will be able to hold them back. He was essentially destroyed at the Ruins. Or Redoubt, as our new Lord Venantius who fought us there now calls it." Ah, the ironies of war.

"You're better off than others, in any case. Thank the One for that. We're going to be relying on the Sokar to fill the gaps this year, a bitter pill for the Duke to swallow." He interlaces his hands and fixes Henric with a gaze. "Yes. For very long, our Kingdom has run off of good luck. We have nine Counties and seventeen Baronies. And many more Lordships. We have many nobles who ache for a job to do, working in their parents', or brothers' or sisters' households doing pithy tasks. The Kingdom needs people of worth, and we have them if we looked. Galenthia needs two things. The first is an assembly to advise the Queen composed of all land holding Lords and Ladies. The second is some kind of… path of service. The Empire had that, you know."

"Raised up in Aequor, Thomas. Our Queen could raise up whoever she wanted in the same manner, though I would hope the said individual would have something of value and merit to distinguish themselves so high…" he grumbles, "For indeed, it was just last year that Cassomir was raised to a County. A long heritage built in blood to get here. Excuse me, courage." The last added in a scathing tone, as if such things were made to give men a reason to fight without thought. Then he falls silent to listen to the other man's take on things, seemingly having no additional comments to add, yet.

"And how would you know that?" Henric asked Thomas pointedly about the condition of Ironhold, "Are your sources deep into the nose of our books?" He dismisses it then with a hand as if he never asked, suspicions and paranoia's clouding his thoughts, "We avoided prolonged battle, if that is what you refer to, yes. As for other matters, I cannot say without looking at the other Houses' ledgers…" A pointed look veiled by a swift sneer like smirk. Here he folds his hands again to nod at the matter of nobles who lack something meaningful to occupy themselves, his own cousins included.

"You've given this a lot of thought… considering you and I both were mere Lords but a few months ago," and here comes the paranoia again, "This… assembly, how would you even get the Queen-" will not say her name "-to agree to it? She is a monarch, which in definition my friend, means the sole ruler." He cants his head, "And even if she did, how many of these lords and ladies would be mere puppets to some other game going on? Your suggestion could bring more threats within Firen than without." Lancer thinking here. "If you mean to have one noble from every held title…" he squints again, this time hard and visible, which stalls his words. He flushes it down, as if it could be, by a gulp of whiskey. "…would it be the head of house or someone underneath we hope will not turn on us and feed her ill advise?" He's not sold on it, by far, he is not. The last has him ask, "I'm afraid I failed history… Path of service? You mean, in martial pursuits, such as a page has a path of service into knighthood?"

"Of course anyone could be raised. That begs the question whether people ought to be raised past Lordship in the first generation. Nobility takes time to build up to. Responsibilities are easy to shirk, even by our peers, but at least when well trained we are supposed to have the best interest of our folk and land in mind. In a common merchant? Often, concerns outside of their own welfare and power fall by the wayside." Thomas doesn't react to Henric's questioning, his paranoia or his irritability. "We were Lords indeed, but I was a lord in my own right. I have thought of this since my brother died during the last war. War, always war. There must be a better way to manage things so that they do not rise to such levels, at least not with regularity. Chaos and civil war breaks a society apart."

The Baron shakes his head. "We cannot afford that. No, I mean having Her Majesty set up some kind of civil service for idle nobility to devote their energy to. The Kingdom needs better management. Given an organised corps of nobles serving, Her Majesty could concentrate resources to assist her vassals where needed. It ought not to cost very much money, either, as we are men and women of means. A small stipend should do it. We lack an administration. The Empire had one and still has one. They have lasted as long as they have on flexibility."

Finishing his whiskey, Thomas squints, reaching over to pour more for the both of them. "The second and arguably more important of the two is an assembly of Lords. The Lords and Ladies themselves of the realm. For it is us who have experience administering our territory, of reigning over our people. Such experience would be well used to advise the Queen on matters foreign and domestic. If we were to set up such a body, it would greatly benefit Galenthia as well as tying us all together."

"It is not our -say- if they should be raised or not past a certain point," Henric comes from a traditional family loyal to the crown after all, despite his own personal feelings harboured, the bloodline itself was steadfast and loyal to how things have always been, "Those who are ordained by the One to sit the rulers of our Kingdoms, they make those decisions. In those acts, they are said to act for the One above, whom you said yourself must have some great master plan." Loyal but frustrated. One can be swayed. "And if responsibilities are shirked, it is the monarch's place to reel them in." A hard thing to do if one was sitting in the protected walls of Firen. "A -common- merchant," Henric is getting a little more unseated, "could very well have -more- concern about the people than some nobility who've been entrenched for generations. My -wife- for instance," he notes with some hint of protectiveness showing, "raised the suggestion to eat more commonly to avoid the conflicts of peasants revolting but also to ensure if we needed to feed the people, we could. Sometimes, new blood is necessary."

For the insight of Thomas thinking over these schemes since the last war does profoundly calm Henric, gaining more of his open ear now with the history established of where the idea came from. "A civil… service… To do what? To serve how?" A beat, "And you mean to tax the people for these stipends?" While the questions may come rapid fire, Thomas could tell he was digging into the idea, trying to work out the details, how it would possibly work, and the pros and cons of the system. It was a sign of interest, even if it came with a hard edge to it.

The matter of the assembly is gestured at, "Yes yes. You said it was important. But every system needs controls and balances. How do you purpose some d'Armaz planted pissant isn't going to be administering advice on your lands to the Queen? I have my hands full enough that I could not stomach this sort of … required assembly. From where I am sitting, that is like putting twenty Alexanders, my steward, all in the same room, with different agendas. How would that help me decide anything?"

"Monarchs are people, Henric, and sometimes those advising them are not as honest or as competent in all matters as they might choose to believe. Ordained by the One to lead us they are, but that does not mean that we must not believe that they are also human. They make errors, though with good sense and God's grace they will rule well. Having been to a republic in Four Corners, my inherent belief in our aristocracy and monarchy have only been strengthened." Thomas returns. "There is nothing to say that a common merchant cannot have more concern for the people than a noble, and I do not say this to heap shame upon your goodfamily. That being said, we must look at why a particular house was raised to the nobility. Volstaks were raised for steadfast service, honour and devotion. I have heard nothing similar about the d'Armaz. They serve the al'Sylenthar. That, perhaps, ought to say what I am thinking."

He gives one short, sharp note of chuckle. "On one hand you defend our system and the other tear it down. Ever a study in contrasts. Her Majesty collects enough in tariff and tax to support a service the size of a company. She has the most productive lands in the Kingdom and for good reason. A system of royal servants to administer borders and other matters of the Kingdom would free us, the Lords of the realm, to administer our fiefs and to keep our soldiery fresh. Unlike Aequor, we in Galenthia do not keep a standing royal army and do not bear this cost. A noble service would cost much less. As for the assembly, surely a gathering periodically over the years would not overstretch you? An assembly, governed by rules of speaking and controlled by a senior Lord or Lady who enforced these rules would of course advance personal agendas… at the same time, much more good than corruption would come from it, I suspect."

The chuckle, with that short sharp note, is enough to have Henric give a long tired sigh drawn from disdain of such talk. "Everything stretches me over far, Thomas," he answers as he pushes from his seat, "Tell me which way the enemy is and I will crush them, speak to me of the riddles of the bigger game of government and I am naught but a novice trying to wield a sword all over again. And you give too much credit to those who have been in noble positions longer than we we've been alive. They will not change to shy away from personal agendas… they'll take your assembly and twist it for their own personal gains. Why wouldn't they? What could they possibly gain… no, we, gain by this?" He rubs his temple, lifting a hand, "Words that we can save for another day. I'm afraid I'm beyond capacity today, my friend."

"As am I. I want to convince you of this because I think it is in the interest of our Kingdom. Strong lords advise to Her Majesty in a set way, in a regular fashion. She can keep people in line if they fall out of it, but her having some real advice is better than none. That's all I am saying, and I need people to support it." Thomas rises from his seat. All of a sudden, his eyes are tired. "Henric, I bid you a good night. We will talk about this soon."

Henric claps Thomas on the shoulder, "You -need-… hrm. That is intriguing…" Henric gives another friendly wallop to the other's shoulder as he heads in the direction of his rooms, "I'll sleep on it." Pending he -could- sleep, but no one else needed to know that.

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