Inouv 42, 228: A King and His Boy

Callem and Tyrel discuss the results of Callem's recent deliberations and meditations.


Inouv 42, 228: A King and His Boy
Summary: Callem and Tyrel discuss the results of Callem's recent deliberations and meditations.
OOC Date: 12/31/2013
Related: None
Players:
Callem Tyrel 
King's Study
The room is nicely appointed but austere. Floor to ceiling bookcases dominate the walls, the many-colored spines presenting a varied but demure mosaic within the walnut frames of the shelves. On one wall, a large stone hearth presents itself, the fire always tended to drive off the chill of interior castle rooms. Above the fireplace one may view a portrait of Callem Kilgour's children.
At one end the room is a heavy oak desk, always strewn with bits of writing in progress and stacked with books. Comfortable chairs are placed almost randomly around the room, each with its own table and lamp. In one corner is a rather long, comfortable couch, upholstered in azure fabric, with a blanket of llama wool thrown over the back and several comfortable pillows at one end. From the indentations in the couch, it is clear that someone naps here frequently.
Inouv 42, 228

It has been a respectful day, or at least a good handful of hours since word circulated around the castle that the women of the Kilgour family had descended upon the King. Like a good military commander Tyrel held forces in reserve, not letting them get caught in the quagmire of blood and death as the king defended hims small patch of moral high ground. When the miasma of filth has settled Tyrel surveyed the scene, looking over the charred stain where the boar's head had caught fire and burned hair and fat into the wall of the fireplace, the cracks in the furniture where it was overturned, the scraps of paper lingering in corners from the torn parchments. He considers the bottle in his hand then sends his squire back to this room to fetch a second and a third. On occassion, even reserves must be bolstered with reinforcements.

Tyrel steps into the study. "Good Morning, Father." He offers a moment after rapping his knuckles against the doorframe to announce his entry. "I need a few moments of your time, and I suspect you could use a few moments of peace that my requiring your time should bring." He is dressed in the light leathers with stiched rings of chain he favors within the castle. The metal mesh shining under his doublet of purple and silver.

The King looks serene, and even a glimpse of happiness dance on his lips. A glance he can't contain. A smile that never fades, and perhaps he who was long thought to be dead, doesn't look like a phantom anymore.

His dressing is more formal than in past days. Almost formal enough to return to court - which can tell a lot about what might happen. Neither of the Crowns rest on his head, but the regal and solemn stance is always there, covered by grey and gold.

"Tyrel, my son. Truth be said, I wished to speak with you. But first things first, please tell me what you felt you had to." The dark eyes of the sovereign drift easily to the Crown Prince, waiting in silence for him to speak his thoughts.

Tyrel considers for a few moments then says, "I've come to believe that there is a madness that takes hold of women at times and the reason we must keep them from warfare is that such an event would be the end of civilized life entirely." He smiles, "Aside from that observation, and that I've found a particularly nice collection of drink I wished to offer you, I believe you should have all current information on troop movements, and the state of our political scene in report." He sets the bottle down near to the king's hand turning for a moment to receive the second from Bowen before moving to sit, "Please do speak, I'm eager to hear what your meditations and considerations have lead to, other than Roslin's marriage."

Callem chuckles at the fist observation, laughing and letting his son continue his speech. The comment about the reports receives an agreeing look, and the bottle is received with a pleased smile. "You are a dutiful and rightful son. I am proud of you. I think I should say it more often."

After a few moments, the King clears his throat and continues.

"The Laniveeri have been in our Court for a while. Among them, there is an unmarried Princess, as you know well. That, Tyrel, is more dangerous than a whole army inside our walls." Letting a few pause take place, his voice becomes more serious and thoughtful. "If she, at any moment, marries a Mobrin noble - or a royal, which won't happen - her claim eventual claim over the Laniveer Throne would be fairly strong. Not rightful, nor true, but many would follow the daughter of a so-called King and wife of a legit noble of Mobrin blood. She could be a Queen on her own right after my death, if our Court is not loyal enough, not to you, but to your wife." His eyes burn in black fire.

"Ciarrah will be a wonderful Queen, you and I know that. And I will ensure she will reign by your side. Ciarrah, if that happens, would be in the biggest danger. She will be the legit Queen. And I, personally, will get her an army to protect her. An army made of something more powerful than men with steel. An army made of men with power."

Tyrel considers for a few moments, "Her brother should be the greater threat in that situation, however he seems somewhat lacking in purpose, as he would inherit first whatever title the father bore. Rowena would be a convenient way to encourage another noble family to buy into their ploy, passing the false claim to the throne to them when the father passed if there were no more heirs produced, but she is in our keeping now and I have no intention of releasing her until the matter is settled. If she grows to be a spinster in our towers then I'll feel no qualms over the matter. She did not come by invitation, I am under no obligation to release her or her brother."

He works looks the seal of the bottle and drinks a sip from it. "Ciarrah will be my queen, and she shows great promise, but I do not understand entirely your meaning. Our army is a match for any in the world, while I would not foolishly throw us into conflict with all the world at once I am confident if it were to turn against us in such a way we would not fall easily. Why do you speak as if our forces are not enough?"

The King rises a brow. "I see you didn't understand me." He shakes his head and looks deeply at him.

"An army of men with power is not a military army. But I will return later to that." Callem takes a cup for himself and starts drinking slowly. "The heir is the obvious treat. But he will only inherit the fake title of his father. Whether we want it or otherwise, there will always be a so-called Stewert King. Still, it is Rowena who carries his blood and can spawn a baby of Mobrin name and rightfulness."

"The heir won't uprise against us. From the time he inherits the throne he will be already at /war/ with us. But Rowena will have a bigger claim to the Laniveeri throne, from the Stewert /and/ Kilgour side. The army I tell you is an army of nobles. Both those loyal and those who would betray us if the Laniveeri offer the right gifts. I hope you understand me by this point."

After drinking a bit more, Callem tilts his cup. "I am just telling you what I am already doing. I just want you to be informed. And I want you to be silent, and don't tell anyone else about this." The cup is completely drained before finishing. "I will ask many, selected, nobles to oath loyalty to Ciarrah. In case anything, and I mean /anything/, happens after my death, they will protect her, no matter the cost. She will be the Queen of Mobrin, and I won't let anyone else take the place of the person I chose to lead this Realm. Is that understood?."

Tyrel considers for a few moments, "It is understood, you speak of political arrangements. However do understand that I have no intention of releasing these Stewerts and if they show signs of attempting to leave I'll have them killed. I am treating the prisioners cordially but they are prisioners. If you wish them treated otherwise make me aware of it and I will do so, but I would disagree with that tact." He takes another sip from his own bottle, "Once the war is over, however long that should take, if the Stewerts have shown signs of good faith I would consider allowing her and her brother to marry nobles of my choosing who have no illussion of other than a quiet life then I would permit it. If otherwise they can remain celibate and barren until they pass from this world."

"Oh, of course." Callem smiles amiably in agreement. "You treat them as you wish. I don't think they will leave. And I have not yet talked with them. If Gods are good, they may be better than their parents, though we can't rely on that." Rising a finger at the last part, he comments, "Just one correction. They will be of my choosing. Only mine." That point cleared, the monarch rises from his seat. "It was a pleasure to see you, Tyrel. Is there anything else you want from me?"

Tyrel considers then rises, "More of your time when you have it, Father, we've much to discuss and many things I should like to laugh over with you." He nods to the correction, "Such nobles as you choose, of course, Father, I spoke in such situation as this war had dragged on for longer than we would have wished it to."

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