1866-03-13: Who Pulls the Strings?
Who Pulls the Strings?
Summary: Crown Prince Jean-Paul al'Ramar ponders the state of the West while living as a fugitive.
Date: Marse 13, 1866 IE
Related: The Powerful Man memoirs, Year One metaplot in general
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Jean-Paul  

Jean-Paul al-Ramar huddled near the hearth of the small hut he occupied, finishing off the cup of mulled wine that had accompanied his dinner, which had been a stew whose meat he…felt best he not risk the attempt of identifying. Still, it had been filling, at least. He glanced around his surroundings, smirking to himself more than anything else. He had always felt close to the common folk of Aequor, and by and large they seemed to return the feeling…his sheltering in this village was testament to his reputation among them. However he had never had to live like one of them until now.

Was this then, what it had been like for Arturo Romante and the future Rose Queen during their Succession War? Traveling the backroads dressed in rags, flitting from fleaspeck village to one-horse town, constantly looking over their shoulders? He imagined it probably was, and the realization that Melisande Romante had endured it for ten years gave him a newfound respect for the woman.

Jean-Paul's reverie was cut short by the door opening. Instinctively his hand went to the blade that rested beside his chair, but it was, as should have been expected, only the leader of his Cavalier detail stepping inside. He nodded to Sir Ariella, gesturing silently towards the stewpot, indicating that she too should eat her fill. No words were exchanged. Whether they were too exhausted or there simply wasn't anything to be said remained an open question.

Louisa and his children were safe in Murnord. At least as safe as anywhere in the Kingdom during these times. No matter what happened, there was no way that Cesare al'Callenta would surrender his eldest daughter, at least not short of his father or mother ordering him directly to do so, and he knew that his mother would not, and his father, presumably could not.
His father.

Jean-Paul gritted his teeth at the thought of his father hovering near-death. Turned against by one of the Cavaliers. And the finger had been pointed at him. He had had his disagreements with his father of late, but the One knew he held no ill-will towards the man. He was his father, and he loved him and respected him, and it gnawed at him to see the strong, decisive, and wise father he had known all his life deteriorate as he had. So much that had been left unsaid between them…

No, now was not the time to be maudlin. Someone had tried to kill his father, and now someone had tried to kill him, as well. Were it not for Sir Gaspard looking back just in time to see the Cardinal's Guardsmen leveling his Crossbow, he'd have been dead, but instead Gaspard took the bolt, and gave his life in defense of his Prince.

That should have decided it. Surely the Cardinal was the man who wanted him dead, and yet…when the battle had then begun, many of the Cardinal's men seemed just as surprised and confused as his own Cavaliers. It was not the Commander of the Cardinal's detail that had bellowed the order to fight, but rather his second, and the Commander had been cut down in the chaotic melee before he even had the chance to countermand it…a ripple of dark humor teased at his mind with the thought that his Cavaliers had been TOO effective. They had cut down the Cardinal's men swiftly, and with only a few casualties and injuries themselves despite nearly two-to-one odds. They hadn't, however, managed to take any of them alive to find out just what the hell was going on.

Was it Lucien? Jean-Paul had never trusted the man. It was one of the largest points of contention between himself and his father that Jean-Paul felt Lucien's friendship to be false, while his father considered him a dear and trusted friend and ally. And yet…he knew the Cardinal to be a thorough man. It did not seem to him that he would have only ordered a few of the Guardsmen to make the ambush and leave the others ignorant of their purpose. Then again, the fewer people that knew a secret, the less likely it was to escape, and perhaps the Cardinal thought the sacrifice of many of his Guard worth it if he could eliminate the Prince.

But to what end?

He had backhanded one of the Cavaliers who suggested that perhaps Sylvain had arranged it all. Not just because he knew his brother would not betray him in that manner, but because Sylvain simply didn't have such ambitions within him. If anything, Sylvain often seemed as though he would gladly divest himself of his Royal duties and responsibilities if permitted, though to his credit he did not complain of them.

Sylvain, however, had not been groomed to rule Aequor, at least not nearly to the extent that he had. He could easily see that Sylvain would be regarded as a weak king…possibly a pliable one. The Cardinal would be in a position to benefit from that. It seemed a clear enough motive…and yet…Jean-Paul hesitated to make the accusation in his mind.

For months, his mother's "dolls" and some of his trusted Blue Cavaliers had been looking into the various matters plaguing the West and Aequor in particular. They might not have been as widespread and entrenched as James al'Sylenthar's spy network, but what they might lack in numbers they made up for in diligence. When all gathered in one place, the evidence did seem to point to the idea that a single body may well be orchestrating events. Whether one person or a conspiracy remained to be seen, though all reason and rationality told Jean-Paul that surely it had to be multiple individuals working in concert. A single Man with the power to pull all these strings just-so would already have made himself a king if that were his goal.

He had been ready to present his findings to his father. He had intended to do so after the Wedding. To take a brief leave of Mastings. But then the attempted assassination had occurred, and from the information he had received just prior to leaving Mastings…the Cavalier that had poisoned his father had ranted in such a manner that indicated the Prince thought his own father might be the bearer of the invisible hand. Which brought the chilling realization that whoever was behind all this not only was aware of Jean-Paul's inquiries on the matter, but that he had agents that had infiltrated nearly every level of society. It would be enough to drive a man mad with paranoia.

Still, if Lucien wasn't ultimately the puppetmaster, he might well be one of the puppets. Either way, Jean-Paul certainly wasn't going to be revising his policy of distrust and skepticism towards the man anytime soon. Still, Lucien certainly was clever. He may well have the mind to accomplish all this…but even as a Cardinal of the One Faith, the sheer amount of resources being bandied about would seem well beyond him. Which again led Jean-Paul back to the idea that Lucien was simply a piece of the puzzle, not the keystone. The question remained, if not Lucien…than who?
There was a bitter irony in the fact that Jean-Paul could easily see why one might think that his father was behind it. That perhaps his "illness" was a facade. He had the mind for it, certainly (when it was not afflicted), and the resources of a Kingdom at his disposal. But no, Jean-Paul simply could not believe such a grand deception of his father.

There were, perhaps, only three other men in the West that he could imagine filling the role of conductor for this symphony of chaos. Mario al'Mordran was quickly dismissed…he had the cunning and the intellect for the role, but if his ambitions reached so high he would have simply poisoned Jasmina years ago rather than allow her to take the reins of the Duchy. No, Mario was brilliant and capable, but he was loyal to his Duchess and his house. Besides, this chaos harmed his house far more than it served it…the al'Mordran may be merchants, but the bulk of their business came in luxuries and curiosities from the East, and such items were often the first to be removed from the budgets when war loomed. Their Warhound sales would be brisk, but that was not so great as to compensate the losses in other areas.

Prince Mikel Viscarin was, arguably, the most brilliant man in the West. He was wealthy almost beyond measure thanks to Kentaire's immense trading empire. He surely had the means and the capability, but he had also been the target of an assassination attempt from the Thorn Insurgents, whom Jean-Paul was fairly certain were wrapped up in all this business. If Mikel was the puppetmaster…he had either constructed one of the riskiest double-blind gambits Jean-Paul had ever seen, or his control over events was an elaborate illusion. Still, while Kentaire might profit from additional weapon and alchemical sales in all this chaos, he had wed his daughter to Michael al'Callenta. He had read Mikel as a man capable of great ruthlessness in the brief moments he had met him, but would he sacrifice one of his eldest daughters to maintain the illusion? No…between the assassination attempt and the marriage alliance with the al'Callenta, it seemed unlikely that Prince Mikel had a greater role in this game. Brilliant he may be, but that much deception would veer into a degree of insane paranoia that likely could not rationally coordinate the events that had passed.

That left James al'Sylenthar. His father had always seemed assured of James' loyalty. His mother no less so, though he could tell there were aspects of James that she was discomfited with. Even Cesare seemed to have a grudging respect for the man. Still, he knew the truth of James' chief vassals, and he knew James had close ties to Lucien. Was Lucien corrupt enough to be bought? The al'Sylenthar's history was rife with betrayals, but they had never turned against the Crown of Aequor. James had never given him any reason to be overly suspicious of him, but was that not the hallmark of a great deceiver? Was James perhaps seeking refuge in the audacity of the al'Sylenthars' black reputation? He had to admit it possible, in which case he truly was walking through the Lion's den (or the Hawk's aerie, as it may be), but it had seemed wise to make ones' hiding place in the lands of the Duke he was known to be least close with.

Jean-Paul's mind could not settle upon a culprit, and even now he realized that he had discounted other possibilities. Someone in Galenthia that was unknown to him? It seemed unlikely that whoever led these Thorn Insurgents would be the ultimate general of this campaign…if for no other reason than the resources commanded would seem beyond their grasp.

High Priest Aluksander? Frighteningly, Jean-Paul could see a scenario where all of this actually would make a degree of sense if one wanted to expand Rikton's influence. However, to the best of his knowledge, no offer of heavier Templar and Reliant support had been forthcoming from Rikton, and that would be a key component of the plan that had sprung to Jean-Paul's mind. To occupy the lands after they had become its' "saviors." Besides, not even Rikton held that many Templars and Reliants, and most of those within their respective countries would be unlikely to follow orders to turn against their countrymen.

In any case, his musings were pointless now, as he still had to find a way to clear his name. Indeed this mental exercise had largely served only to distract him from the fact that at present he had little idea how to accomplish that, but he knew in his gut that simply turning himself in would not solve the problem. Indeed…his mother's last message to him had indicated quite the opposite. So he needed to remain free, for now. Just until he could find the path to exoneration…or perhaps until his Mother could find evidence to render the accusations baseless.

"Your Highness…Sir Ariella" A voice came from the door. He and Sir Ariella both looked towards the newly-arrived Blue Cavalier, "Scouts have spotted a patrol, headed in this direction. A few hours out."

"Wraiths?" Sir Ariella queried, frowning.

The Cavalier flushed a bit as he replied, "It looks routine, Sir Ariella. If it were Wraiths…there is some question as to whether we would see them coming."

"Regardless, we can't risk discovery. Gather the others, it's time to move on." Jean-Paul noted, rising to his feet. "If we're swift, we might be able to make the next village before morning." Jean-Paul had fought in this landscape during the tail end of the Thirty Years' War. Thankfully it had not changed so terribly much.

"As you wish, Your Highness." Ariella and her fellow Cavalier moved off to see to rousing their fellows. Jean-Paul briefly considered leaving a crown or two for the woodsman that had sheltered them…but no, the presence of gold in a town this small would rouse suspicion. He would have to find a way to remember and reward the man later, as with all the others that had hidden them on his journey thus far.

When Ariella stepped back in, Jean-Paul had re-fastened his swordbelt about his waist and put on the dingy, smelly woolen cloak he'd been wearing. "We'll head west."

"West? Closer to Alasce?" Ariella didn't sound challenging, but she did sound surprised.

"Yes. Perhaps the Hawk's eyes can't see us if we're right under his beak."

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