Tale of Four

Andre Makepiece looked up and saw a hooded figure appear behind him. Rather than panic and question how he entered, he gracefully stood up and rested a hand on his chest, spinning and bowing towards the man. "My king." Brandon looked at Andre before peeking behind him at the painting he was working on, a piece detailing a little girl, no older than eight, holding a yellow flower, offering it to a knight in the middle of a rainy street.

"Something new?" Brandon asked with a flat tone. Andre took no offence to the perceived lack of care, understanding that Brandon was still in grief and smiled. Picking up the cane he didn’t need, he walked towards him and nodded.

"I needed a break from making your crown, and hoped for inspiration. Hampton’s streets have always been a great source of it." Andre led Brandon out of his studio. His cane echoed throughout the halls of his manor. Brandon looked around. He had been to Hampton numerous times, but the manor was different in wartime. The halls usually filled with aspiring artists, servants and guests were empty, finally bringing out the numerous artworks that filled it. Paintings, sculptures, ornaments. Everything lining the halls was a work of art or designed to provoke something in someone. Not even the plants were spared, their leaves and petals cut in a way to distinguish them from where they actually were.

"I had seen a group of knights walking the street." Andre continued, "One of them was approached by a woman, likely his lover, and given a small piece of cloth. I don’t know what it was, but it made me feel something. I never had a daughter, and I imagined what it would feel like if it was my daughter seeing me off. A boy can live without their father, but a little girl." Andre shook his head. "I didn’t want it to be a sad painting, but it came out like that."

"No. I don’t think you could paint it any other way." Brandon said with a deep sigh, "The knight will go off knowing he may die, and their daughter will wait wondering when their father will return." Brandon closed his eyes for a moment and touched his monocle, realising he had let his sombre mood slip through. "Ignore me."

"There is no need. Art is meant to make someone feel soemthing. It tells a story that each person will read differently. If it fails to do so, then there is no point in the art itself." Andre said with a thin smile and opened the door into a side room. Inside, Brandon saw Ester, a thin and flat woman with black eyes. Her hair was tied into a thick bun at the back of her head, golden with strands of red inside it. Standing up, she looked at Brandon and offered what she could for a smile, bowing.

"My king." Her voice was deep, almost masculine, not matching her appearance. Grabbing the end of her green dress, she curtsied towards Andre, who smiled and took his place at the table.

"Aunty. There is no need." Brandon said and bid her to rise. Looking up, she met his gaze. Although she was his aunt, she was young, only a year older than him at 43. It wasn’t strange. She and Cleeve were accidental pregnancies at the end of Henry V’s reign, a time when the king assumed he could no longer have children, as did his wife.

"Have you received news on Cleeve?" Ester asked, and Brandon looked to the ceiling.

"Cleeve retreated into the Forest and has regrouped with Lord Elvissia. He didn’t say clearly what he planned to do, afraid of his plans being intercepted, but he hinted at marching on Helios now that Lord Sunflare has entered the Crownlands." Ester smiled and nodded, taking a seat. Looking around the rest of the table, he saw Alexis and Oswald, Andre’s two sons.

Alexis, much like his father, was a thin man, on the leaner side with sharp aristocratic features. His brown hair was long, reaching his ears and fitting the aesthetic culture of Hampton, the inner section dyed white, streaks of the white slipping through each time he moved his head. He wore thin-rimmed golden glasses, with a bright blue outfit adorned with gems, each one catching the light and shining, trimmed in white that matched the hair dye.

’Another fashion trend will likely start.’ Brandon said to himself and looked to Oswald. Unlike his brother and father, he was bulky, staring ahead with an intense gaze. Despite that, he still had the same sharp features of his family, only subdued by his large frame. Brandon narrowed his eyes. Oswald’s gaze was intense, but hidden in it was a madness, one that he had seen in many of the artists in Hampton, desperately trying to create their greatest piece that would last for generations, wishing to do so by any means. He had short brown hair, trimmed at the sides and wore a black outfit, with a wolf pelt wrapped around his shoulders.

Brandon chose to ignore the gaze and took his seat at the end of the table. Sighing, he interlocked his fingers and nodded. "How are my daughters finding your home, Andre?" Before official business started, Brandon made sure to ask, having not had time to see them yet. Andre smiled and wrapped his hands around the end of his cane, his leather gloves snapping as he did.

"They enjoy my home very much. But it is best you ask them yourself, my king. Paintings evoke emotions in people, especially those who have recently lost family." Brandon lowered his head and closed his eyes. Reaching up, he touched his monocle and nodded.

"I understand." His sombre expression changed, turning emotionless as he slipped out of his mood, ready to begin discussing matters. "Lord Clover has begun mobilising but will not be able to march instantly. Word has reached me. House Littlefield, House Sickle, House Adams and House Doyle have declared for my brother." The room didn’t react to his words, rather choosing to wait. "Lord Clover has entrusted his son to handle this matter."

"Which son?" Andre asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Christian." Brandon groaned, "Whilst Lord Clover has a lot to earn in this war, he is taking it as a chance for his son to learn rulership. It’s annoying"

"I have met this Christian. If he were dealing with it via military might, he would have sent the bastard boy, Ander. If he is sending Christian, he believes it is a situation that doesn’t require war." Brandon nodded in agreement.

"That is not all, however. Gerald Stem has declared for my brother as well. It is not just the Flatlands but the Clover family that is split." Andre frowned and stroked the end of his cane.

"I see." Closing his eyes for a moment, he sighed, "Maybe we need to entice Lord Clover with a little more. Alexis is unmarried so far, and he has numerous daughters." Brandon shook his head.

"I do not want Lord Clover having more power than he already will get. He will be the King’s grandfather once I hand the throne to George. It’s too much already, especially with how much his land earns." Brandon grabbed his chin and stared at Andre for a moment. Looking away, his gaze switched between Alexis and Oswald. "Andre, we have been friends for years now." Andre nodded, already sensing where the conversation was going. "Cillian is dead, and I wish for more grandchildren. How would you feel if Ellie married Oswald? They are close enough in age."

Oswald looked to Brandon with annoyance, obviously not wishing for soemthing that could impede whatever the madness in his eyes wanted, but he quickly turned away under Andre’s sharp glare. Placing a hand on his chest, he bowed towards Brandon, "You honour me."

"Good." Brandon tried but failed to smile. Looking to Ester, he could see she wished to say soemthing. "What is it?" Ester sighed and pulled out a letter, one carrying Anton’s seal. Looking at it, Brandon’s heart paused. He couldn’t be sure if it was hope or rage that caused it, but it did. Stopping his hand from shaking underneath the table, he took the letter, not letting the turbulent emotion he felt shine through.

"What is it?" Brandon asked, afraid to open the letter.

"He has sent word. Anton offers mercy to yours, mine and Cleeves’ children so long as they do not take up arms against him. He promises that so long as this promise is kept, they will be protected when the war is over." Brandon exhaled and clenched his fist.

"He always has been so arrogant." Brandon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Any emotion he struggled to understand vanished, replaced by an emptiness, wondering why Anton couldn’t give him what he truly wanted. One thing was all it would take from him to stop, but he understood it was unfair. He knew the pain of losing a son; to ask Anton to hand over his own to die was cruel, even if he felt Anton was able to make such a decision. "Thinking he will win the war."

"It could be a trap, my King." Alexis spoke up, "He knows we outnumber him in terms of Cosmaton power if they take part." Brandon’s lip twitched. There were many things his brother was, but a man who would betray his word was not one. Suppressing the rage, he looked at Alexis with a deep glare.

"I shall make this clear. My brother, as cold as he is, does not say things he does not mean. Sure, this is partly tactical to strip us of combat power, but it is the final mercy he is offering to his family. He will spare their lives if we agree." Alexis went to counter but was shot down by Ester’s sharp look.

"My son will not fight Brandon. I will not lose my only boy for this, even if Anton didn’t make the offer." Ester made it clear, and Brandon nodded.

"I understand. I do not wish for Ellie or Elsa to fight as well. I can do what is needed because I know they are protected here." The two shared a look of understanding. "What of Cleeve? I haven’t seen his son or daughter in years. Did they not return from Oros after the war started?"

"They won’t return," Ester said with a wave of the hand. "I love Cleeve, but he is a terrible father. Even now he refuses to accept them, and they have made it clear they want nothing more to do with our family anymore. I haven’t got a letter from them in over a year now. Whether they are dead or alive anymore, I don’t know." Brandon let out a deep exhale.

"Alright." Picking up the letter, he stared at the seal on it. "This confirms it." Sliding it back towards Ester, he fiddled with his monocle. "He has made up his mind to kill us, Ester."

"Would he really? Not take us as hostages and renounce our claims?" Ester asked, making Brandon shake his head.

"Everyone misunderstands Anton." Brandon lowered his head. "He is a terrifying man. People think that he is a man led by his desire for blood. That he isn’t a man who is capable of pure cold logic with an unshakable will. They’re all wrong. Anton will ponder and carefully decide things. He will never act unless he is certain, but once he does, he will do it in earnest. No half measures, either we die, or he does. He is also smart enough to realise that any forgiveness I would beg for and am granted wouldn’t stop me from avenging Cillian." Brandon looked up and grabbed the end of the table. Wrapping his hands around the end, he clicked his tongue. "Twenty years I spent protecting our dynasty." His words were directed at no one, in a breathless, tired tone. "What was the point?"

"My king." Andre spoke up, "Words like this cannot be spoken so easily."

"Andre." Brandon peeked down at him. "What have I been given in return for my service to it? I lost my son. I lost a throne that was rightfully mine. I lost my siblings. All I have left is taking back what is owed, and making sure I lose nothing else." He took a deep breath. "And yet there is still an enemy who threatens that." His gaze hardened.

Andre and Ester raised an eyebrow, able to tell Brandon wasn’t talking about Anton. "Andre." Brandon spoke again, "When we win this war, I need to know. Even if I can’t gather enough proof, even if the other Great Lords have issues with it, would you support me when I exterminate the Blackwells?" Andre and his sons took a sharp breath. Ester stared at Brandon as if he had gone crazy, wondering how he could bring up his old, one-sided feud when the war was yet to be won.

"Surely you jest, my king," Alexis said, trying to ease the heavy air, but meeting Brandon’s empty gaze, he realised he was serious. "That’s madness."

"I asked your father. Not you." Brandon said and looked back at Andre. The old man’s hands curled around the end of the cane, stroking it as he fell into thought.

"Lord Elvissia will help. Lord Clover could be convinced. The Valley and Hillands need to be weakened, but we can do that once the war is over under the guise of punishment. The Desert can be contained, and the north doesn’t matter." Andre nodded, "Sure." Andre met Brandon’s cold gaze. "I assume this doesn’t end with just Lady Blackwell, however."

Brandon leaned forward. Interlocking his fingers, he nodded, "Every bastard who carries their blood. Every vassal who preaches the glory of their family. All of them will be removed." Brandon slowly disconnected his hands. "Do not worry. I will get my proof. They have done well to hide it so far, but I will find it, Andre. And when I do, my family’s mistake will be corrected."

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