Tale of Four

"Tristan." A new voice called from beside Tristan, and looking over, he saw Mabel standing there with a grin, watching him like she had seen an interesting sight. Looking around, he didn’t realise how long he had been stuck in his own mind, but enough time had passed that Vincent had left along with all the servants, any warmth from his meal long gone. "Why are you staring at the ceiling?" Mabel asked, jumping up on the table and leaning closer to him, resting her hand on her chin.

"I was lost in thought." Poking at the plate, he pierced a few vegetables and stuffed them in his mouth, grimacing at the horrid taste; now, they had lost all heat. Pushing it aside, he quickly ate what he could, finishing with the soggy bread, forcing it down. "You looking for me?" Pushing the plate aside, he looked up at Mabel’s eyes, seeing them curl with her wide grin, revealing her unnaturally sharp canines.

"Not really, I was just looking around." The worries spoken about the previous night had vanished from her eyes. Staring into her eyes, he shrugged and got up, wiping his face clean.

"Then shouldn’t you be with Elias? I would have thought he would keep you around. After all, he doesn’t trust many people." Rolling her eyes, she jumped off the table and followed by his side. It was rather strange standing next to her. He wasn’t small by any measure, but Mabel was of similar height to him, far taller than most women.

"I always enjoy speaking with Elias, but right now, he needs to get accustomed to his role alone. Once he has, he will find somewhere to put me, or father’s orders will come, and I will be sent to battle." Her face broke into a wide, excited grin at the thought of fighting. Tristan wondered how anyone could find war enjoyable, and could only assume it was because Mabel had never truly seen it before, only heard stories.

Walking in silence for a moment, the two navigated the maze of the Palace for a while, arriving in the empty throne room. Staring at it from a distance, the grand room felt imposing, the towering pillars leading to the throne seemingly dwarfed by the small throne itself. Slowly inching forward, Mabel stared at the throne. "It is rather beautiful," Mabel said, trying to find some conversation to fill the silence. Tristan stared ahead, not replying instantly.

"Yes, but terribly uncomfortable apparently." Mabel giggled and shook her head.

"No wonder you never wish to sit in it, then." Mabel jabbed back, making him smile.

"Did you hear? Edmund is getting married?" Mabel nodded and looked above the throne at the Cosmaton banner.

"Edmund is rather sweet if stupid." Throwing a glare her way, Mabel shrugged, "I mean no disrespect. He isn’t suited to court life, too innocent and protected. In the flatlands, he will likely be fine, but here, he never understood the game people play, shielded by Mary and Lord Wells." The two came to a stop beneath the steps up to the throne. Looking at it, they were silent for a moment. "Not you, though. Tell me, how was a taste of power? You were the King’s cupbearer."

"I would hardly call it power." Mabel looked at him, waiting for the answer she wanted. Tristan met her gaze and held it for a moment, his face unbroken, before looking back at the throne and then towards the Cosmaton banner. "It wasn’t what I expected. Everyone assumes the people in charge are sure of everything, that those who govern the realm have all the answers needed." Shaking his head, he looked back at the throne. "Sure, they plan and prepare, but it was all reactionary."

"You didn’t answer the question," Mabel said.

"Tedious. I listened to the same problems get brought up over and over. When one plan made a day or even an hour previous was made obsolete, they would quickly prepare again." He stopped. Staring at the throne, he couldn’t help but think of the council, and the numerous things each member was thinking and doing even whilst the relam was at war, how when they needed a united front, people still squirmed to clutch at more power and destroy their rivals. "Frankly, it was disgusting. Secrets, plots, withheld informaiton. All of it didn’t serve the relam, but people. What’s the point in it all, really?"

"You believe no one should crave individual power."

"That is not what I am saying." Tristan replied, "Those who serve on the council do so because they are ambitious. Is it how it should be, however? No, but they are the ones who will get power because they are willing to do anything for it. Rare men, like Lord Deacon, slip through the cracks, truly devoting themselves to the cause rather than grasping for personal profit, but he is the exception." Tristan’s index finger bounced as he took a deep breath. "The realm needs to change after the war. How much war, how many kings will it take before this is realised?"

Mabel turned to him and stared, watching Tristan’s unchanging face stare at the throne. Following that gaze, she wondered if she should mention how his words bordered on treason or the danger anyone who tried to do so would face from the rest of the Lords, but held back, knowing Tristan would have already thought about it. "Then what does your realm look like? No kings. Do we have a Jude system like in Tiree or merchant kings in the Triangle Cities?"

Tristan pursed his lips, wondering if he should answer. It was easy to say what you wanted when not incharge but it was ignorance to say your beliefs were better. "Almost nine hundred years." His voice was quiet. Not out of fear of being overheard, but pity for what Veston had suffered, "In times of peace, people say we are united; they quickly forget the troubles that came before and move on as if this is how it always is and how it always will be. Yet the peace never lasts. The Lord’s war with other lords. Rebellions rise up and are crushed. Over and over the story repeats."

Tristan turned to Mabel and met her gaze, "What do you think, is this fate, that the realm can never be untied and must always fight itself, or is there another reason?" To his question, Mabel thought for a moment, not outright dismissing it. Looking at the Cosmaton banner, she looked around and saw how the rest of the throne room had been left bare of anything else, bar the torches across the wall.

"Both. Conflict will always arise because the ambitious will always crave more, but sometimes war doesn’t break out becuase of it." Mabel paused, "Like this one." Her voice was like a whisper, as if she didn’t wish to say it.

"War may be inevitable between the minor lords beneath the great houses." Tristan carried on, choosing to ignore her whisper, "But the crown and Great Houses. I think it can be different. Rebellion doesn’t always happen; the times of peace prove that. In this war, does the Desert fight for Brandon out of love? No, they do it for revenge. During the Red Rebellion, did the Blackwells rise up to change the realm for the better? No, it was revenge. During the numerous desert uprisings, why did they fight? Becuase they believed they were wronged. True or not, they believed it. There are others all following the same principle."

"So what?" Mabel snapped, "Over and over the relam fights. You say that it doesn’t have to be this way, but every perceived slight by the crown seems to throw the relam into war. Our family are their king. We have the right to rule over others, and yet when we do, they want to fight back because they didn’t like it." Her tone was full of mockery by the end, "All bent the knee. All knew what they bent to."

"Becuase you rule over someone doesn’t mean they must bend to your every whim." His voice was soft. Looking back on the throne, he carried on, "Yes, we are in charge, but does that give us free rein to act as we see fit? There are real issues every lord has with us, and there are issues that are stupid. Every Rebellion happens becuase the core of the issue has never been solved."

"That’s naive." Mabel replied, "We can do everything the Great Lords want, and it will never be enough. If we give the Desert everything they want, and the Valley complains about favouritism. If we give the Blackwells everything they want, and the forest calls us heretics unfit for the throne. No one cares about fairness, only their own benefits. So why shouldn’t we act as we see fit? Everyone will have a problem anyway."

Tristan stayed silent. Each breath was shallow, and although he could counter with logic, he didn’t. Rather, he looked to Mabel and smiled, "It’s rather sad to think about it like that." Mabel opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when Tristan carried on, "Of course, no single option is right. We can’t give everything they want, but we can’t not give anything. Otherwise, what is the point in us ruling? Anton was elected by a vote. The other time was when Dante ’The Old’ died. Why is it that the Great Lords only ever gather when a king dies, which causes a succession crisis?"

"So, what? Let every Great lord sit on the council? Some are inept, others hate each other, and all will solve their own regional problems before dealing with the realm at large." Mabel said, getting a shake of the head.

"The council is its own thing. They run the kingdom. All I wonder is why there is no system in place where the Great Lords and the crown gather to discuss issues. Why is it that the first line of thought is to always raise arms? Sure, what I say is naive in a sense, but is it any worse than what already happens?"

Mabel looked at him, staring deep into his eyes. "And if those discussions don’t work. If the Desert or Artlands decide to start a war because they feel they aren’t being listened to, then what? What’s stopping the other Great Lords and the King themselves from deciding that they gave it a go, and it still ended up the same way, and scrapping it?" Mabel stepped closer to him. "What then?"

"As I said, it’s naive in a sense," Tristan said with a small laugh.

"Not an answer." Mabel snapped.

"I don’t know." Tristan said, "The same as always. All I am saying is that at least this gives the option for soemthing more." The two looked into one another’s eyes for a moment, with Mabel stepping back.

"Then, when the war is over, why don’t you propose it to my father? Give your way a chance." Tristan was stunned and tried to see if Mabel was mocking him. Her eyes were sharp, deadly serious, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to reply. Mabel scoffed and shook her head. "Tristan, if you’re going to think grand ideas, at least be willing to see it happen. Did you tell me all this, hoping I would say it to my father? I won’t becuase I don’t see how it could work. I don’t believe the Great Lords won’t destroy any peace it may bring, and I don’t believe our family would honour it for long enough. Maybe father, maybe Elias, but what about after them?"

"And if King Anton doesn’t listen to me. I give him my idea, and he brushes it off, then what?"

"Nothing. The same thing we have had for 800 years continues until someone else decides to change things."

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