"How do you justify the extermination of an enemy? Simple: you make it known to the people how contemptable they are. Truthfulness is irrelevant." - King Renault Pelariaux I after the extermination of and subsequent victory over House Garlieaux.

Prince Thijn approached the command tent of black and white. The air was crisp, the first moon being at its zenith and a cold wind blew about. Pulling back the flap, the old prince saw before him the most beautiful being to ever walk this plane of existence.

"Nadine, my dear." The old prince approached her slowly. She wore her night gown with her long grey hair untied and dangling. It had been a day since their fight, and already she insisted on being up and continuing with her duties. The duchess' mobility was limited by her injury. A priest of Darrion had set it and placed a balm to help the healing, but they had given an estimate of a three week minimum before she was to return to her normal duties.

"Yes, Thijn." She responded without turning to face him, her eyes intent over the final reports from the ambush. He approached slowly, kissing her on her left cheek before reaching the other side of the table. They said nothing to each other, he allowed her to continue with whatever thoughts were in her mind, no doubt important ones. After she finally gave some indication that her focus had shifted, he spoke.

"Seeing as... well, just, given all that has occurred in the passed, oh, month... Well there is - there is something that was brought up a while ago and then never touched on again. We, of course, did not have the chance to discuss this, but... this is something that I would very much like to discuss. Now, that is." He gave a small smile as she slowly brought her eyes to meet his.

"Oh. This sounds quite serious. Sure. What is it?" Thijn allowed for a pause before he began his question. Despite having run through this moment in his mind countless times, the words simply failed to form as he had hoped.

"Your son... am I - "

"You have got to be joking." The fair duchess' eyes nearly rolled out of her head.

"Well you cannot just throw that bit of information at me, go no further, and simply try and pass it off as a 'maybe, maybe not.' It has been eating me up in side. Is he my son? Am I his father?"

"What does it matter to you?!" Nadine surprised the old prince with her burst of anger. Though, it was short lived as she pain in her collar forced her to recoil into herself. Thijn went over to hold her but was sent back with a look.

"He is nineteen years of age, he has gotten through almost two full decades without you being there for him. It does not matter, it should not matter to you. Or, what? Are you offended? Do you feel I should have told you? I did not owe you that, I did not owe you anything."

"I know you did not, and you still do not. I just - Nadine. Please, I have to know. Is he my son?" Thijn looked deeply into the eyes of the woman he loved, a woman he would have given his entire life to in service had circumstances been permitting. She gave a heavy sigh, water brimming on her eyes only to be blinked away.

"I do not know, Thijn. I do not know. He looks a lot like you. He - by the gods - he acts a lot like you. He is smart for gods only knows what reason."

"Well, that would be you." Thijn gave a knowing grin to his everything.

"Yes. Yes that is true." The Duchess Obbinkerloo allowed their eyes to meet for a few moments longer, thoughts of bliss filled confusion whirled through the old prince's mind. Was that confirmation? The way she looks at me, gods. I never should have left.

"Who are we kidding, Thijn? Our affair went on for... a few years. It was not like we were careful either. I mean you filled me with enough of your seed to impregnate me one hundred times over." Feeling the moment spoil a little, the old prince let his gaze go away from her directly and off into nowhere.

"Yes, well... yes. But... your husband?" Thijn sputtered out the half-compiled question.

"Yes, yes. He might not be yours. You know I had others." The old prince stiffened at this, head turned completely away from his love now.

"Yes. I do." He spoke in a cold tone. "Your husband's chamberlain, if I recall."

"Do not get upset with me. Jealousy does not look as good on you as you might think. And let us not forget - you left me. I did not kick you out, I did not banish you for another. You left. And when the longing became too great, and the thought of bedding my husband repulsed me to the edge, I found solace in another's embrace." Thijn turned back to face Nadine.

"I did not have a choice. My brother - "

"I know. Your brother summoned you to court on 'important business.' I am over it. I got over it. But you cannot be upset with me for finding another. I was deeply, deeply hurt and insatiably horny. So I found the first thing that was mildly attractive and road it until it broke." The two old lovers looked to their feet, heads cocked away from the other. "Frankly, he could not keep up with me. Twice a day was evidently too much for him. I never should have expected anyone to match you, though." A grin was allowed to come over the old prince's face as he looked up to the edge of the tent. Nadine leaned her head to rest on the prince's shoulder, her hand fell gracefully onto his thigh.

"Nadine, you are obsessed. And it is one of the reasons I am obsessed with you."

"I know. Wipe that grin off your face, I know that look and it is not happening. We are not having sex."

"You confound me, woman."

"Good." Once again the tent fell silent. The old duchess' long hair flowed to just above her buttocks, a plump and firm end built up through decades of training in combat to stay fit and agile. Thijn leaned over and kissed the top of her head, his mind wandering from past experience to past experience.

"He... he could be my husband's."

"Really?" Thijn gave a coy look, knowing that she could sense it without having to turn and face him.

"Yes! We did have sex. At least twice. It is possible that one of those times... it probably did not, though." Nadine sighed. "What of it? What do you want of this? Fine, yes, yes. All signs do seem to point in the direction of a conclusion I have already made but neglected to tell you. Alright. Yes. He is probably your son. So what?" Nadine looked up to Thijn looking for an answer, but he simply did not have one yet.

"It does not matter now. He is already grown. Not that I needed you." The duchess nuzzled her head back into his shoulder.

"I did not think you did."

"I raised him all on my own. Gods know my husband was of no use. So, what do you want? Was that it? You just wanted to know?" A quizzical look came over the old prince's face. Was that is?

"Well I... I should like to be a part of his life." Thijn felt his side grow cold as Nadine pulled back to get a better look at him. He continued talking through his thoughts.

"In some... in some capacity. If-if he wants. I-I... I never imagined myself having a child, but, under the circumstances - "

"The circumstances being what they are, you are not getting a child. Again, he is fully grown. Yes, you can be a part of his life, but it is not like you are suddenly becoming a father. You are treating this like he is still in need of being raised. You are not entering his life when he is just eight years old. You can teach him some things, be there as his father figure. Those days are well behind him. If anything, you are just an old - older possible friend. He will not see you as a parent and I do not expect you to see him as a child. At least you had better not." Thijn paused again to think of a response. Was that a yes? In a round about way he believed it was. Nadine sighed.

"What do you care, anyhow?" The old prince gave a sullen expression towards the love of his life, taking her hand into his.

"Nadine. I have always loved you. I would have killed your husband and whisked you away. Not a day went by that I did not think of you. But circumstances being... your family needed your husband, my brother needed me at court; there was - nothing we could do. But, I have loved you. By the gods I am always going to love you. You are the most gifted, unashamed, and just wonderful woman that I have ever had the grace of the gods to know. Your beauty knows no bounds. With age, you have become stronger and smarter, ripening more with each passing season. While those around you grow dim, you have brightened. Instead of a single flower, you have flourished into a bouquet. If you have a child - if we have a child - I want them to be our child. I missed it. I missed it. The circumstances... well, it would not have mattered. I could have - I should have been there. I would have been there."

"I do not think my husband would have liked that very much."

"To hell with your husband!"

"One can only hope."

"And now. Now we find ourselves fighting a war, leading an army. Either of us could be cut down at any moment - it has already come too close. So, call me a fool - "

"You are a fool." Prince Thijn spun around, his hands holding those of the woman he adores, left knee on the ground, eyes to she who was his heaven.

"Nadine. Will you marry me?"

"No. Now get up and take your pants off."

It has been twenty-three days since their first assault on Pelaresse and the death of Guillaume. Since then, the region of the city beyond the First Gates, known colloquially as the First-Sixth District was where Mathias and the rest of the military leaders had repositioned their primary command. An old abandoned temple devoted to Dekinhold was their main center, Duke Fleury had found it fitting that the god of order, law, and justice serve as their new base of operations. Half of the roof had been caved in at by this day, the Eighth of Pictosh, due to an assassination attempt on the leadership a week prior; the attempt left none but the Count Lefouvre injured, who sustained a deep wound to his left leg. After that assault, they had made the decision to move around more frequently, rotating between several locations and never on the same day of the week. Despite their initial triumph in getting passed the Second Gate, they had been forced to hold firm on the opposite side within the First-Sixth District. Any attempts at maintaining what little ground had been taken within the First-Half District were futile, being stopped by the archers up top or the guerilla fighting in the streets between soldiers and citizens. When last Mathias had taken count, they had lost already ten-thousand soldiers. That, on top of those lost during the initial assault, brought their total casualties of dead to fifteen-thousand; wounded was an additional twelve-thousand. It became quickly evident that during the months of the siege, as they attempted to starve out the populace, that same citizenry had used the time to lay traps throughout the entire urban area. Just this morning, a squadron of twenty-five soldiers, eighteen spears and seven short bows, perished as they were coaxed down an alleyway only to trip a wire and cause boiling oil to descend upon them. The ghastly remains were retrieved a few hours later when a search party was sent for them. Dozens of incidents like that were happening every day, with more and more soldiers dying from their wounds. Spike traps hidden in walls, or even beneath false floorboards within domiciles. Boil water and oil. Rock traps. Nets that caught unsuspecting wandering soldiers, allowing citizens to run up with daggers and quickly slit throats. Morale had plummeted.

The Duchess LuRene and Duke Yve, four days ago, had led a successful march passed the second gate and were holding strong in an old market place with one-thousand soldiers. The square footage they had managed to secure was just large enough to house them all. Mathias crinkled the parchment in his hands, the contents of which were a recent correspondence from Emilie. In the night, several of their buildings were set ablaze, killing half of their soldiers. They were preparing to retreat back passed the second wall and were requesting additional squadrons to cover their retreat. This is what happens, when fools lead the charge. Mathias thought to himself. But, who was the fool? Was it still Guillaume? Yes. A brave fool, but a fool none the less. Had he redeemed himself? Did it really matter? They were bleeding constantly, and they could not keep going like this. One more week and they would start seeing mass desertions. Already, small amounts began to trickle out. A few nights here and there, one squadron of levy. By the old prince's estimates, some three-thousand soldiers had already deserted since they breached the gates; and that number would only continue to grow exponentially as morale continued to fall. They had to break through the third gate. They had to make a push, through the First-Half District and into the Pelariaux District.

The name First-Sixth and First-Half District were misleading, because the city was not divided up into sixths, but rather nine districts. Those were then divided up into primary, secondary, and tertiary walls. The primary walls were the first set of walls and the first gates; the largest and most heavily defended. Once passed them, were the secondary walls, an inner circle of walls; still strong and tall, but not as heavily fortified as the primary. Within the secondary walls was then the tertiary walls, the third gate, and all that that set of walls surrounded was the estates of the nobility and wealthy. While smaller in total size, the tertiary walls were as fortified as the primary, serving as the final bastion of defense. Not just for the nobility and the leaders of the city, but also the garrisons, as two large barracks lived within these walls as well. Outside of these three major walls, there were a series of smaller walled subdivisions. Cutting the urban area within the Secondary Walls in half from North to South were very thin walls which began in the north, touched the tertiary walls, and continued to the south of the Secondary Walls, bifurcating the secondary area exactly. Within the Primary Walls but outside of the Secondary were six subsections, divided up similarly with thinner and often times ungated walls. These divided the urban area between the Primary and Secondary walls into sixths, thus dividing the entire city into nine total districts and three primary sections - the Sixth Section, the Half Section, and the Primary Section. They had made their way to the First-Half District, the western half of the Half Section, and had taken Four Sixths of the Sixth Section, encompassing the entire west and south of the city.

Clenching his jaw, Mathias had finally reached his destination. Just beyond these doors, having been put up with a great deal of guards with great discretion, and against the Prince's recommendations, was the Empress Jolijn Biljvank. Greeting the guards at the door, Prince Mathias entered. A moment of shock took over as he was surprised to see his son within the main chamber of the building; a small chamber made mostly of hewn stone, this building seemed as if it had once been a temple based on the artwork, but was repurposed into a tavern. The two young royals paused in their conversation as the noticed the old prince's entrance.

"Father." A confused look was on his son's face.

"Son."

"Forgive me, I did not know you were coming."

"I do not think the Empress knew either."

"No, I did not. Please come in, Prince Mathias. I trust you have good reason for coming in without notice." Jolijn motioned for Mathi to step to the side and away from her, Larynwy taking a closer step the queen's left side as the young prince moved further to the right.

"Yes, Empress. Son, leave the room."

"Your son may stay."

"This is not for his ears."

"I will decide that." The old prince scowled and then forcefully relaxed his face.

"As you wish, my Queen." Mathias glanced to his son, taking note of the mixed emotions being presented - fear, confusion, and a desire to not be noticed. The old prince continued.

"We have done as you requested. We assaulted the city, we broke the siege. We have taken four districts within the Sixth Section, we control - well - are attempting to maintain control of and continually losing control over the western side of the Half Section, and we have yet to touch the inner most circle. We must break through."

"I agree, uncle. So where are the battering rams? Why do we not now utilize the trebuchets?"

"My Queen, at this point, not only do the same reasons against the trebuchets still stand, but we also now risk killing our own. The battering rams are available for use, two of them."

"And of the siege towers?"

"We are able to reach the battlements within the districts we control. However, they have successfully blocked us off further, we are unable to get from one section to the other by scaling the walls. Siege towers will not fit within the city limits, and while we could utilize ladders to get up on side, in the time it took us to hoist up and send down the other side our soldiers would be filled with arrows. They have time and again proved their dominance when it comes to fighting on the walls. While we still have the superior numbers, morale is depleting quickly - and this is not a resource we can go without."

"So, then what does my uncle suggest?" Prince Mathias made eye contact with his son. What is he doing here? It does not matter. The whole world will know soon enough.

"My Queen. I wish to question you about something." Her right eyebrow rose at this.

"You wish to change the topic of conversation?"

"Momentarily, yes, but this tangent will eventually reconnect to the primary discussion at hand."

"Very well, ask away?" The prince hesitated for a second, eyes coming to rest on the Burradduoddo warrior standing at the ready.

"Are you a mage?" Mathias watched as Jolijn's eyes opened wide and Larynwy placed a foot forward, as though ready to strike.

"I - what? Why does my uncle by marriage ask such a question?"

"No one was leaning on the table when you snapped it in half. You were furious with Guillaume, and he was frozen. He attempted to move but simply could not. And, unless you have spies that have read through my personal reports, reports that are meant for only one pair of eyes and that would be my own."

"Why is that?"

"They are personal records, only created for my own reference. They contained the only record of the conversation I had with my cousin that revealed his knowledge of the plot. The only other way you could have known of his foolish endeavors would be if your spies had read my reports, or if you are a mage capable of reading minds. I understand not all mages can do this, but I know enough that it is something some arcanists are capable of. That, along with the table and a few other peculiarities I have noticed about you has led to this question." The old prince watched as his queen thought diligently on her response. He noticed that Priest Volka was not present at the time. Larynwy stood firm, eyes still sharpened on the prince, her hands never leaving the hilt of her weapon. It must be truly devastating for her to have failed to protect the King. It amazes me she did not request to commit suicide. Though, perhaps that is no longer part of their culture. It has been years since I have read about the Burradduodo, and the books I have read were written before the Resurgence. He looked back at the queen, awaiting her response.

"Perhaps my son shall answer for you."

"Your son cannot answer for me, for your son also does not know the answer to this question. What I am about to tell you, Prince Mathias, is of the utmost secrecy. We three are the only members present now."

"What of Larynwy?"

"Larynwy is privy to this information, along with Priest Volka." Of course. Mathias thought.

"I have an ability. Something hereditarily passed on in my family. Something known as the ziend. I suppose you could call me a mage of the mind. I can read thoughts, I can partially take control of a person's body, freezing them up. I have not yet been able to make them do my bidding, but I do not know if that is a power I would like to learn anyhow."

"And the table?"

"Yes, that was me. Priest Volka calls that telekinesis - the ability to manipulate and control items around me with my mind. She has informed me that that is the strongest part of my ziend." Prince Mathias continued to not allow any emotions to show through his demeanor.

"That is good to hear. You see, I was inspired by your destruction of the table. It makes me think of the gates that would lead us to the inner most circle of the city - where Guyard resides." The empress' eyes went wide as her eyebrows raised high.

"You must forgive my astonishment, Prince Mathias. You have suddenly come quite a long way from demanding I not even be here to now implying I utilize my secret abilities - secret for a reason, mind you - to aid us in our efforts."

"Yes. Well, desperate times." The old prince shuffled his feet slightly, sending the nervous energy away from himself.

"How can you guarantee my safety?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have to be in front of the gate. And they are quite large. I do not know that I will be able to do as you ask."

"We cannot get siege towers to Tertiary walls, we cannot even get them to the Secondary. The citizens and levy who fight us in the streets will clog their limited paths, burn them to the ground and force us to start all over again. The same goes for the soldiers on the battlements. Unless my queen is willing to accept the friendly casualties, lowered defensibility for ourselves after conquest, and increased ill-will from the citizens should we use our trebuchets, I will attempt those first. But, they may not reach the Tertiary walls from outside the city. Then we face the same problem as we do with the siege towers, should we attempt to bring them within the city limits."

"Forgive me, but, are the battering rams not an option? You have no squadrons to form several shield walls and march up? Make a column of five-thousand soldiers, follow the main road, and destroy the gate."

"As they pelt us from above with arrows, my queen?"

"Yes."

"I fear we would lose all five-thousand."

"Is that not a risk you are willing to make? You are willing to risk losing the life of your Queen and Empress, but not those who willingly fight for you? I understand the sentimentality of it all, prince. But you understand that, if I die, here and no in this city, then all is lost. You could continue to fight and reclaim Pelaresse and its duchy, but Empire crumbles in its infancy, before it is even born and takes first breath. In truth, we are still in embryo, and you would risk killing the mother before those who protect her?" Mathias held his gaze at Jolijn, her words resonating within his mind as he weighed countless possibilities and their implications for each option presented.

"I will do as my Empress commands. We will form the columns. Five-thousand will march forward, with an additional ten-thousand to scour the First-Half District and secure it in its entirety. Thousands will die. But, if it is what my queen commands."

"It is not necessarily just what I command, Mathias. It is just what must be done."

"As my Queen commands."

A column of ten by five hundred formed up. Shields in front, spears raised high - though, to what effort could they be used, the old prince truly did not know. Hidden within this column were two battering rams, each manned by twenty people. The soldiers on the outside of the column held their shields out in front, as those in the center held them high above. These shields were not made to form a testudo, however, but rather for schiltron and shield wall, interlocking in a way to protect the soldier next to you with gaps just large enough for spears to poke through. In their attempted testudo, even with the gaps minimized with some soldiers holding two shields, they were still large enough for the skilled archers of the Pelariaux to make their mark. They had little choice. The Queen was right, it was too risky an option to send her to the front lines, protected or otherwise. Even with this column of five-thousand shields and spears, Prince Mathias was not confident she would have been protected. Pouring into the sides of the First-Half District was another ten-thousand soldiers. At the helm of the northern five was Duke Yves Hemramoux and Count Beauves Lefouvre, who had recovered enough from his wound to insist on his participation. Leading the southern five was the Duchess Emilie LuRene and one of her most trusted knights, a woman from the House de la Chat. Mathias could not recall her first name, but easily recognized the emblazon of an orange tabby over a field of burgundy. It was just the face of the cat, long hair and even longer wiry whiskers. A fascinating coat of arms, but he suspected there was some history behind it, with de la Chat being a newly elevated House. Afterall, Emilie's lover was the brother of the Count de la Chat, and it was only his father who had received the title of Count by the Duchess' father. Perhaps he was a knight in the old Duke's entourage who made a name for himself with his guile and cunning. Or, perhaps it was his dexterity that earned his name, or he had a penchant for sleuthing about the shadows to pick off his enemies. Or, he was very domesticated and excellent at hunting rats and any other vermin that haunted the late Duke's halls. Mathias did not know, but the family was given the moniker de la Chat, and so they were.

While he could not recall the woman's name, the knight de la Chat who stood beside the Duchess Renangers was first cousin to her lover, but still significantly younger. The plan of the ten-thousand others was merely to be a distraction. While the main column advanced towards the third gate, the others would reek havoc in the alleyways. They were to use as much non-lethal force as possible, keeping back civilians that would otherwise lay traps and hurl insults as well as weapons at their advancing foe. The old prince had hoped that this would also distract the archers from high above. Ashmen, as they were called, as their bows were exclusively made from wood of the ash trees native to the Trentenn Woods to the south. The old prince gritted his teeth, and nodded his head to signal the march forward.

It was an odd sensation, but, as the column advanced, Mathias felt a sensation of longing. He thought back to the Battle of the North Road by Auris and recalled how he would have been dead were it not for his cousin. His foolish oaf of a cousin. His foolish oaf of a cousin who broke the siege and managed to break passed the Second Gate, something not even his father, the brilliant Prince Jean was able to do. Within the same day, two walls of Pelaresse fell, with Prince Guillaume at the helm. Perhaps the old prince had misjudged his cousin. Perhaps he simply needed a prod to finally see his potential. Potential that was quickly snuffed out the moment it created flame. Gripping the hilt of his sword wit his left hand, the old prince marched forward with the column.

The morning sun gave a strange air of disquiet. There were grey clouds high above blocking out the suns rays, save for a few patches of holes high in the sky. This gave the sensation of a star lit night, but, rather than the moon providing the illumination, it was simply the stars. Tiny beams of fire piercing through the cover above, a vain attempt at lighting the way. Two hundred yards from the third gate were when the sounds of battle finally rang out.

Far to the south, the old prince could hear the clangs of spears and shields. The scream of victims as traps went off. Astonishing. He thought to himself. A population of fifteen-thousand successfully fending off an arm six times their size, with nothing more than traps, crude weapons, and boiling oil. If this attack failed, depending on the number of casualties, there was a good possibility that they would have to retreat and abandon the First-Half District all together; something the old prince had been desperately trying to avoid since they struggled to keep it in the first place. But, what were they to do? Kill off the populace? Burn the city to the ground. These were viable options. They were not conquerors. They were parents disciplining a petulant child. You do not kill your children when they rebel, you simply punish them accordingly, just enough that they will come back to the table to talk so that you might sort out your differences.

It was not long after the pangs of battle began that the old prince heard the whistle of arrows flying from above. Hundreds of archers now populated the battlements. Arrows flew, some were arrows with specially hollowed out bulbs attached just below the tip that they might explode on impact, coating their target and the surrounding area with oil, so that the following shot - engulfed in flame - might set the surrounding area ablaze. Soon, small fires began to break all along the column, as now the screams became closely localized. Soldiers began to break rank that they might roll on the ground in futile attempts to put out the fires killing them. Soldiers being burned to death, this had become a normal occurance during the occupation of Pelaresse.

One hundred yards now from the gate, and already entire sections of the column had broken off or dropped dead as arrows continued to fly, finding successful routes through the gaps in the shields to strike their targets true. High upon the parapet, Prince Mathias could see the greatest of his current foes - Duke Guyard Pelariaux. A long recurved ashen bow, the likes of which was more than likely at a one-hundred pound draw-back - capable of launching an arrow passed a shield with the potential to even pierce through a breastplate. No doubt the bastard of a duke was scanning for the old prince himself, wanting to claim yet another Desramaux before he finally must give up.

Fifty yards now. Scanning the surrounding area, half of the column had fallen or retreated already. The sounds to the north and south had only grown in intensity. Thousands were certainly die today. The streets of Pelaresse would take weeks to clear, with reconstruction taking months. But, if they succeeded today, they could begin immediately.

Twenty-five yards. An arrow whizzed passed the princes ear. Looking up, Mathias could see that the duke had found his target, missing by a fraction of an inch. The old prince barked out orders. Fifteen yards, the first battering ram charged forward and within seconds was upon the gate. Back, slam, back, slam. Splinters of wood began to shoot out all around, now covered entirely by those with shields, the ram continued with all of its might to break down the door. The column was now halted, the reserve battering ram stood ten yards away, ready should the necessity arise. Arrows continued to fly. Oil splattered. Fires grew. Soldiers screamed in pain. There was nothing they could do but cower behind their arrow filled shields. With no way to reach the battlements, it was too late now to go back for ladders. Damnit. He thought to himself. Why did I not think of the ladders? Why had he not thought of the ladders? His queen had mentioned not to bother with them, but coupled with the battering rams they could have - why did he take her orders at face value? Maybe, subconsciously, the old prince was attempting to garner more favor with her. Why? Well, she was his queen, that is why.

An eruption of screams and the sound of popping blisters halted the old princes thoughts. He turned to face the battering ram, a pile of now fifteen corpses surrounded it. Boiling oil descended from the battlements, splashing off of the wall and scattering down upon the Desravank forces below. Cursing, Mathias ordered the second ram to move forward, but they hesitated. That hesitation was just enough time for a barrage of arrows to be launched, with enough oil and fire to bring down all of the soldiers surrounding the secondary ram. Terrified, with flames licking at their boots, half of those holding the battering ram scattered. The column was going to break completely. Mathias looked around frantically, desperately.

"Hold firm! To me! To me!" Grabbing a shield with his right arm, he ran to the battering ram and hoisted a section up with his left.

"To me, damnit! Gods be damned! We are taking down this gate!" Shield raised high above his head, enough soldiers back to grab up the rest of the siege weapon and aid the prince. They slammed and reared back, and slammed and reared back. Harder and harder still. More soldiers gathered around, shields raised high. A half dome of shields now surrounded them. With each jolt from the ram, the old prince could feel the bones in his arm quake. But, he could not give up. His age would be a hinderance this day; he still had strength in his body, strength enough to bring down the gate.

The dome began to falter, as levy after levy received an arrow in one area or another; this caused their stumbling out of the formation, opening themselves up for one more fatal shot. More soldiers filed in the provide cover, more soldiers began to fall. The old prince refused to look back, refused to see who still remained. He refused to listen to the north or the south, he refused to allow himself the curiosity on how any skirmish was going that day. Then he felt it. A soft hand on his shoulder. But, not on his shoulder. He felt it, but there was no hand there, and then he heard in his mind:

"Prince Mathias. I see now the folly of my orders. I am here. The door must be weakened enough for me to finish the job; and it must be timed to seem as though the ram delivered the final blow. I cannot be seen and it cannot be known that I have done this."

"Where are you? You should not be here."

"I will be where I wish to be, you ought to know that by now, uncle. Worry not. A few more blows from the ram and we should be through."

Suddenly, the old prince was invigorated, and noticed as the soldiers around him shared in his feelings. The queen's doing? It did not matter. They had the strength, and now they most certainly had the ability. They reared back, and swung, and reared back, and swung, and reared back, and swung. Crack after crack began to form within the wood. Breach after breach. Was this them? Was this the queen? It did not matter, they were going to do it. They were going to break the gate then - an explosion of splinters and wooden boards rained down from above, collapsing on all angles as the gates swung open. Shouts of terror rang out from the walls up above. It was then that Mathias allowed himself to release and turn around, seeing the column that was once there had been replaced by a horde. Another ten-thousand soldiers had swarmed to the streets, and now burst through the gates, spewing forth like blood from a freshly severed artery.

Swapping his shield over to his left arm, the old prince unsheathed his sword and joined the fray; but, they met very little resistance. The few squadrons of Pelariaux soldiers that were there were quickly dispatched, and soon, they had taken the walls, storming the battlements and forcing the ashmen to surrender. If they did not, they proved themselves a problem no longer. It was during the fray that Prince Mathias found himself breaking into the Pelariaux estate. There, before him, drenched in sweat, arrow knocked, bow drawn, was the Duke Guyard Pelariaux.

"Take one more step, and I will add another prince to my kill list." Breathing heavily, Mathias sheathed his sword.

"It is over, Guyard. You have lost. Come willingly, and tell your people to lay down their arms." the old prince looked deeply into the eyes of the duke, wide, blood shot, and poised to do what must be done.

"I have your guarantee that no harm will come to me or my family?" No longer was this a would-be rebel king, but a father desperate to save his loved ones.

"You have my guarantee."

"Alright then." Gently, the old duke brought the bow string down, allowing the potential energy to dissipate slowly and safely away from the arrow. The two stared at each other for a long while. He had done it. He had stepped foot in the Pelariaux estate, a feat not achieved since their first conquest of the Pelariaux. All three walls had never been breached since then, even in the two times they were forced to besiege it between then and now.

"Are you prepared to reaffirm your fealty to King and Emperor Phillipe, and Queen and Empress Jolijn?"

"I will do what I must for the safety of my people, the dignity of my family, and to keep my head upon my shoulders."

"I have given you my guarantee, Guyard. No harm will befall you or your family. There will be no retaliation against you or your people, and we will begin efforts to rebuild your city and any villages in the periphery that were damaged during this conflict."

A voice reappeared in the old prince's head.

"Have you done it? I heard the sounds of battle have ceased outside."

"Yes, we have taken the Pelariaux District. I stand before the duke right now, and he promises to reaffirm his fealty in exchange for a promise of safety."

"It shall be granted."

"How fair you?"

"I am drained. That has to be the most difficult thing I have done to date, and it has exhausted me physically and mentally."
"How close did you get to the battle?"

"We will talk on this later."

"We will talk on this now."

"Your son is injured, Prince Mathias. We will talk on this later. For now, secure the city in its entirety and we shall meet at the Pelariaux Estate later this evening."

The old prince clenched his jaw, rage filled him. My son should have been nowhere near the fray. He thought to himself. We will discuss this in great detail, my queen. He thought, whether or not she heard him was irrelevant. The prince had resigned himself to do exactly as he was ordered, and when the time came, he would speak his mind.

The entire city of Pelaresse was a buzz, as the remaining forces of the Desravank Empire, whittled down from some ninety-thousand to around sixty-five thousand thanks to the determination, cunning, and guile of the citizens of Pelaresse. Of the twenty-seven thousand casualties inflicted upon them, twenty-thousand were dead as of today, the Tenth of Pictosh, 346PR. Seven-thousand were still wounded and being treated in triage tents - of these soldiers, levy, peasants taken from their homes to fight, almost all of them were so grievously wounded that they would never be able to fight or work again. Prince Mathias slowly made his way around the medical encampment. Priests of Darrion did everything they could, but every day, there seemed to be more Priests of Mostrosty seen giving death rites. This damnable war. The old prince thought to himself. Damn my brother! Damn him to the hells.

As he made his rounds, he found his way to a knight, a younger knight. A sigil he did not recognize was emblazoned across the young man's leather pauldron, clearly a much smaller family, perhaps simply the lord of a village. Three golden stalks of corn on a field of brown. The knight was somewhere in his third decade, perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven, not much older than his own son.

"My prince. My-my, my lord."

"Easy, do not stand. What is your name?"

"I am Julien. My father is Sir Jules de Caillaud."

"Where is your father now?" A sullen expression took over the boy-knight as he dropped his gaze to the foot of his cot.

"He... he did not survive the siege."

"I see."

"A Pelariaux arrow... um-uh, caught him in the neck, just by his collar bone. He was killed instantly."

"Your father's sacrifice will not have been in vain."

"I know it will not!" Julien rapidly brought his attention back up to Mathias' gaze. "I know it will not. The young king will retake his throne, I know it in my heart. I have met him before, you know."

"King Phillipe?"

"Yes. Of course, he was just Prince Phillipe, then. And your son! Maybe. Forgive me, your son is Prince Mathi?"

"Yes. I understand he is here, do you know where?"

"Your son has been wounded?"

"Do not worry yourself about him. You have met the king?"

"Yes, as I said, he was still a prince then. It was just a few months back, actually. He and your son were caught in a terrible blizzard, and my father found them and brought them in for the night." The old prince's face lit up with recognition as he recalled the story as Francois came in cursing and damning the weather and his own son.

"The stupidity. The damnable stupidity. Did we raise idiots, Mathias?" He recalled his oldest brother asking the morning after they were brought back to Desramaux Castle. A smirk on his brother's face had betrayed the anger he was attempting to exude in that moment.

"That all depends on your actions."

"They went out riding in a blizzard."

"Well, there you have it then. We raised idiots."

"My bones ache. I need to lie down."

"Get warm, brother."

"I will. I will. See to it that your son is alright, I would hate to see any of us catch something from such an endeavor - such cases can be deadly. No need to think on that now, though. Let us all enjoy some mulled wine by the fire."

Remembering his brother's words now rang out as hollow - an unkept promise.

"You saved them."

"My father did."

"Yes, but, I understand you offered up your bed to my son and nephew?"

"I had, but the offer was not taken."

"Yes, I understand my son, my pride and joy, slept on the floor beside the hearth wrapped in a bear pelt."

"Yes. Yes, he did." The young knight laughed as he remembered the night, Mathias was glad to see that the humor of seeing royalty in such a state had not been lost on the lad despite his current world around him.

"Get some rest, Sir Julien." Julien's expression shifted to one of grave confusion.

"What?"

"With your father gone, you are now the lord of Caillaud."

"You are... right. I am... I am... So many have died." Sir Julien returned his gaze down to the foot of his cot, staring blankly into nothing.

"Yes."

"We brought twenty of our strongest from Caillaud. Ten have fallen, five are ill, and the other five wish to go home."

"We will all be going home soon enough, Sir Julien. Of that, I am certain." Prince Mathias placed his hand on the shoulder of the wounded knight to offer some level of reassurance. Sir Julien de Caillaud continued to simply stare off into the distance. The old prince continued onward, stopping to chat with some other wounded soldiers. One of them was a levy from Aurrennes. The priests were forced to amputate his right arm, it had been burned so badly from Pelaresse oil that he would never be able to use it again - he felt nothing and could not move it. So, to eliminate the chance of infection and greater injury from not feeling lacerations,  they amputated the arm from just passed the shoulder, cauterizing afterwards. He was a stable hand. Prior to the war he spent his days caring for the horses of a very wealthy merchant within the city limits; he was not sure how he could do that anymore. Another, an archer, perhaps just into her fourth decade, had lost the usage of both of her legs. A stone trap crushed them, shattering the bones within. She would never walk again. Makeshift splints were made by the priests in an attempt to do all they could to heal the legs correctly, but, when a bone is broken it can be set, when it is shattered you can only hope. Mathias thought back to his ribs - they had all but healed just before the assaults took place, the result of several months of rest and labored breathing. The archer had asked if she could go home, she was from a village just outside of Renangers. Her husband was a woodsman, felling trees that would then be sold, carved down into planks, and used in construction.

"You will return home soon. I will make sure of it." He had said to her, not sure when 'soon' was. She had told him she had two daughters back home; the eldest was just fifteen and had been proposed to before her mother left to join the war effort. The boy was two years her senior and had just finished an apprenticeship with the tailor in the village; it was a good match, though she told them to wait until she got home for the ceremony. All of her earnings were being sent back home to go towards the wedding. A pittance was how the old prince would describe what the levy were paid. They did receive a salary, of course, twelve boucls a week, or two a day that was then collected at the end of the week. Twelve copper coins - weighing one fiftieth of a pound each - a week. It would take just under five weeks for them to have earned the equivalent of one florin, with them earning roughly one and a half florins each month and roughly fifteen a year. The old prince looked down at his sword - the hilt alone was fifteen.

Finally, after spending the morning and most of the afternoon making his way through the wounded encampment, the old prince found who he most wanted to see. To his astonishment, he was not the only visitor to the young prince.

"My Queen." Prince Mathias said as he entered the tent. He should have assumed that his son would have received private quarters for his treatment. It had been two days since the assault and successful breach of the third gate and the subsequent capitulation of House Pelariaux and the City of Pelaresse.

"Ah, Prince Mathias. It is a pleasure to see you." Queen Jolijn said having hidden very well her immediate reaction of shock, though not fast enough for the old prince to not have seen it.

"Hello father." Prince Mathi was laying down in an old bed which had more than likely been repossessed from a citizen of Pelaresse who was no longer alive.

"Son. How are you feeling?" Mathias did not move any closer from the entrance.

"As well as I can be."

"Your son was quite valiant the other day." The young empress, who was seated by the young prince's bed, turned back to face Mathi as she said this.

"I am sure that he was. How was he injured?"

"He was stabbed in the back."

"What?" Mathias rocked back, the only amount of physical reaction he allowed himself.

"I am alright, father. It was a small dagger, barely pierced through my gambeson. I will be alright. All of this is - is just precaution."

"You should have never been out there in the first place."

"Why? Is my place here not to fight? You are fighting, why is it that I should not?" Mathi attempted to sit up further in his bed but winced in pain, signaling inadvertently to his father that the wound was worse than he was letting on.

"You should not have been out there fighting anymore than our queen."

"Why? Give me a good reason as to why." Forcing himself up through the pain so that he might get a better look at his father, his son's rebellious act broke the tension of the old prince's flood gates.

"Because we cannot lose you, damnit!" He gave pause to allow his emotions to settle. "Because I cannot lose you."

"Oh. I see."

"It does not matter. You went out there anyways, had I forbade it you would have gone out there all the same, just as our queen did."

"Would you have preferred I let you struggle through the gate?"

"No I - that is not my purpose for being here. I could have commanded my son, but I cannot command you, my queen. I am sure you would have had my son follow different orders too."

Glancing passed the right shoulder of the queen, the old prince noticed Larynwy standing guard; ever vigilant, ever close.

"I take it she was with you?" He spoke motioning his right hand to the Burraddouddo in the corner.

"Of course she was." The queen replied.

"And how many did she kill?"

"Seven." The response was low and silken, its source from the back corner of the tent, hand on her sword's hilt.

"Seven?"

"Yes. Three levy in Pelariaux garb, and four citizens armed with knives. Hardly a fair fight, though, they did have a certain ferocity about them."

"Of course they did. They are defending their homes against invaders. There is a long held Pelariaux tradition to send your citizens out with not but cloaks and daggers to fight your Desramaux enemies for you. They never cease to astonish us with their brutality." Jolijn turned up to face the old prince now.

"Do you think they will submit to me and Phillipe?" she asked.

"I do. They clearly do not see a difference between House Desravank and House Desramaux, which, while negative now, could make the transition to accepting you and Phillipe as their rulers easier. That, and, Guyard is prepared to swear his fealty to the both of you. He is currently held in his estate under house arrest."

"Very good. I shall meet with him tomorrow then to ensure his loyalty."

"Fealty is all you will get, loyalty will hopefully come with time, though I have doubts that it will be with this generation." The queen pursed her lips and clicked her tongue at this.

"If fealty is all I will get then that shall be enough. So long as he bends the knee and pays his taxes we will be just fine."

"I assure he will give you that at the very least." After a lull, Mathias glanced to his son and then back down to Jolijn. "My Queen, if I might have a private word with you."

"Is this not private enough?"

"Please, my queen, this is not for my son's ears."

"And if I deem it necessary that it is?"

"I shall gladly repeat it for him at a later time." The old prince locked eyes with his young empress, determination to see her alone racing through his thoughts, the hope being she will see and know. She glanced over to Mathi, rolled her eyes, and then back to Mathias as she stood to exit.

"Very well, Prince Mathias." As they made their way out of the tent, Mathias heard a voice in his head.

"You know, we could just have our discussion - "

"No. This all makes me very uncomfortable if I can be perfectly honest, my queen." They exited the tent with Larynwy staying close behind. The old prince made eye contact with the elf, raised his eyebrows, and turned his attention to his queen.

"I would like to begin by requesting you do not take offence by what I am about to ask you."

"I must say, Mathias, you always find the best ways to begin conversations."

"Did you and Phillipe consummate your marriage?"

"What?"

"Did you and - "

"I do not require you to ask me again. No. No we did not."

"And your relationship with my son?"

"I am not certain I like what your questions are implying."

"I am simply asking questions, nothing has been implied yet." Jolijn raised an eyebrow and lowered the corners of her mouth into a frown.

"Your son and I have developed a strong bond in our time together. He has quite the head on his shoulders, and you should be very proud of what he does - for you and his empire."

"I have never been anything but proud of my son."

"That is... good." Mathias gave pause for a moment, waiting for the queen to continue a thought but quickly realizing that she would not.

"Does your relationship go beyond conversations?" He watched as the demeanor of the empress shifted slightly, her annoyance shifting into another emotion not yet fully realized in physical display. She glanced to Larynwy, back at the tent, and finally to the old prince.

"We have... shared some experiences together." The princes eyes widened.

"You understand what you are saying to me constitutes treason by Desramaux law?"

"Well then it is a good thing we are under Desravank law."

"Has my son impregnated you?"

"You are a bold one, Prince Mathias."

"I could say the same for you, my Queen."

"I am still a virgin, you must know. Your son and I have not shared a bed. Simply words, meals, and a kiss time and again. I am not foolish enough to go further than small signs of affection. I care greatly for your son and he has come to care for me as well. I am sure that, in time, I shall develop such an affection for King Phillipe as well. He is a gentle soul, and I can tell he will be strong when necessary. In our short time physically together since our nuptials he expressed great concern and tenderness for my person physically, mentally, and emotionally. Despite the mere days we had together, I can assure you that my feelings for my husband are positive and I hope they will continue to grow. That our marriage might be more than just a political alliance. However, in my husband's absence, your son has filled a role that I needed filled. Do not think me an idiot or a miscalculated fool. Your family made it very clear at my wedding reception that I will need to take allies wherever they may come from and however I may come by them. If that means a kiss on the cheek or neck, perhaps even the breast, I will allow such a thing to happen. Not only does it secure friendship and alliance, but I like it." The old prince shifted uncomfortably in his boots. He averted his eyes to the entrance to the tent and then, after great pause, back to the queen.

"Very well."

"May I ask you something, Prince Mathias?"

"Of course."

"What brought this suspicion about?"

"You are asking how I found out."

"Yes." The queen spoke in a slightly exasperated tone.

"Small things. He is always at your side. He is quick to defend you. I have a feeling he knew of your abilities before I did."

"He did not."

"And yet that did not stop him from instinctively trying to cover for your destruction of the table. He somehow knew it was your doing and sought to keep everyone's attention off of you. It would seem you successfully bought his loyalty."

"I should not have to buy the loyalty of my in-laws, my family. And yet, here we find ourselves." The old prince sighed heavily.

"Seeing you alone with him, in the tent, confirmed my suspicions and prompted my line of questioning. I am pleased to hear it is nothing more than - than a flirtatious and platonic relationship. You are young and he is young, and urges can overcome reason and logic."

"I do not need you to lecture me on when and whom I shall have sex with. Frankly, it is not a conversation I would want to have with you regardless of my intended."

"I just ask that you are careful, my Queen."

"I am not a child. I do not need to be warned about that which I already do with full knowledge of the implications and possibilities."

"Forgive me, it was not my intention to demean you." Jolijn closed her eyes as she took a deep inhalation.

"While you are here, I also wish to speak with you on other matters of state."

"Yes, my Queen?"

"Supplies, resources, how do we stand?"

"We are still taking stock of what food preserves are within the city. I estimate, based on what we had left in the camp and the reports I have received, that we have six months worth of supplies within the city limits for all sixty-five thousand of us and the other ten thousand civilians." Shock overcame the queen's face at this.

"Five thousand citizens were killed, laid down their lives?"

"Yes." Mathias watched as the realization of the amount of conditioning done to the people of Pelaresse by House Pelariaux over the centuries came into full view of Empress Jolijn.

"I - I understand the challenge we have ahead of us more so. And the necessity to keep this city. We should bring all remaining soldiers within the walls. We can begin the reconstruction effort immediately, hopefully buying us some good will from those we... from those we have brought back into our fold. That is something we cannot afford to let slip. How long do you think we will be here?"

"I do not know. We have received little word from the south and no word from our King, which does worry me. I suspect it will take the next... three weeks to a month to rebuild and sure up the gates. After that we must march east; the longer we delay the longer our foe has to plan around us. But, we must allow our soldiers time to rest and begin the reconstruction - some seven hundred buildings were destroyed during our siege, assault, and occupation here." The old prince found a certain level of comfort in this conversation, the orders from his Queen to bring in the army and rebuild. I have misjudged her, it would seem.

"I understand. We should begin our efforts on housing. Make is so, uncle."

"Yes, my Queen." The old prince felt a faint smile come over his face as he said this, a sense of pride in who he addressed with such reverence in this moment. This feeling was short lived, as the all too recognizable sound of a horn broke their meeting.

"What was that?" Jolijn asked.

"Horns." Mathias watched as the young queens eyes flashed purple for a moment and then widened with shock.

"An army, half a mile to the east, they are beginning to set up a siege camp."

"What, how? Who?" Prince Mathias bolted out of the triage area and up to the nearest gatehouse. Making his way along the battlements, pushing passed archers of all banners to reach the eastern end of the first walls. There, before him, waving high in the air, was the flag of House Pelariaux along with the triple spears on a field of brown that was the House Jacqueaux, the Count Jacquegnon. Twenty-five thousand soldiers, it had to be, based on the number of flags representing companies. Seated proudly at the helm, high on their horse was - no. Mathias allowed his gaze to narrow, his brows furrowed, and a frown overtook his entire face. Before him, at the head of the army, preparing to lay siege, was Prince Claude Desramaux.

"My lord." A knight clad in a white gambeson with a carnation horse rampant regardent and another reversed clambered to the side of the old prince. No doubt she was of a minor house in service to Duke Fleury, perhaps in command of a cavalry division. "Do not fear, I am certain we could take them now. They number less than half."

"That matters not."

"Why is that, my prince?"

"I am certain this is just the first section to arrive, dutifully setting up the siege camp. Bershion only knows how many they have who are just a three days behind. We could sally forth, but we would only weaken ourselves and create more wounded for when the main force arrives. No. Let them build their siege camp. Let their water grow contaminated and their supplies dwindle while we wait. We have the reserves to do so. Post watches, I want round the clock watches on all the parapets, we shall not fall to the same tricks we ourselves utilize." Glaring out at the gathering forces, Prince Mathias did not hear the knight's response, nor see her run off to carry out his orders. Rather, the old prince maintained his narrow eyed stare at the other aged prince down before him, wearing the colors of their shared house. The gods have truly cursed our House, that we must now fight each other so directly. It was after this thought that Mathias had a sobering realization - Claude does not know his brother is dead. Worse yet, and depending on the events to follow this new siege, he may never know. A joke played by Syl himself, for no other god could conceptualize such madness - that I should mourn the loss of one cousin, only to turn and slay his brother before he knows the other is dead.

Riding at the helm of two-thousand battle hardened Warriors of the Sun, King Thierry Desramaux entered the siege camp on horse back. Soldiers saluted. Horns blew. Cheers of joy and praise poured out. The king waved here and there, his eyes having made their way up to the walls of Pelaresse. Searching through the crowds, he finally found his aptly named cousin, Prince Claude Desramaux, and his son Prince Jean-Claude - named for his grandfather and father. Dismounting, Thierry slowly approaching, eyes circling the field of gold, azure, and crimson about him.

"I must say, I always imagined deep within the bowels of a Pelariaux army, though I never expected it to be as their commander."

"Oh, cousin! Well, these are quite unprecedented times, are they not?" Claude had a surprisingly jovial attitude about him.

"Yes, they are. I am curious what you are doing."

"What do you mean, cousin?" Thierry glanced around and motioned at the soldiers and banners surrounding them.

"Why are you outside of the city with your army camped?" A grave expression came over Prince Claude, the color draining from his face.

"Did... did you not receive my falcon?"

"Evidently not, as you should guess from my confusion with the current situation. You did receive mine?"

"Of course! Yes, I have been expecting you and Rikkert's army - but..." The old prince brought his gaze over to his son for support and then down to his feet in defeat. King Thierry then took a more proper assessment of the camp around him. Infantry, spears, shields, few archers, no cavalry. Carpenters can be heard on the outskirts of camp - they are hard at work constructing... Wide eyed, the old king squinted up to the banners flying over the parapets of the city walls - the rose per pale gold and black on a per pale field of black and gold.

"Pelaresse has fallen..."

"Err, yes, cousin. But we have prepared ourselves for your arrival! This is our siege camp. We are preparing the way for you and the rest of the army. Now we can simply retake the city and free our allies!" Claude straightened himself out as he said this, raising his nose high into the sky.

"When did it fall."

"A week ago."

"A week? An entire week went by and you did not think to write us?"

"I did, cousin! It-it... it must have not reached you because you-you-you were in transit. I-I bet it has reached Niljden by now." Thierry scowled at his clod of a cousin.

"Regardless. Damnit all! I should have known - never trust a Pelariaux. They are gutless, weak, of course they would capitulate." The old king began to pace the ground now, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"It-it did take quite some time."

"I do not care how long it took, only that it happened. Our goal of coming here was to break the siege and resupply the city you dotard!"

"We-we-we could still do that, cousin. We cou-could retake the city for ourselves."

"With twenty-seven thousand soldiers?" It was just then, apparently, that the old Prince Claude noticed the two-thousand dark purple skinned elves before him, their long white hair blowing in the wind.

"What... what are they doing here? Who do they serve?" Thierry rolled his eyes deep into the back of his head with an exasperated sigh.

"I have hired them, they serve me."

"Oh-oh, that is, that is good. They are, they are very skilled, very good. So I hear."

"Yes they are, as well as expensive."

"Yes, of course! As they-as they should be, as they should be. As they... will they be joining our ranks?"

"No. I command them. But, now it appears they will be helping me break into the city."

"What?"

"Rikkert is four days behind me. Originally, we were to find our ways into the camp at night and destroy their supplies. We could still do this, though. Oh... oh yes. This is a blessing in disguise." Thierry began to stroke his chin as he walked forward, eyes intent on the gates of Pelaresse.

"Is it?"

"Yes. The one mistake your father made when he attacked Pelaresse, was allowing it remain standing once he was done with it. He should have burnt it to the ground."

"Well... you are not suggesting - "

"I am not suggesting. I am promising. By the time we are through here, Pelaresse will be naught but burnt ash, and House Pelariaux will cease to be a blight upon this world."

"Are - are they not our allies, Thierry?"

"Cousin, I am going to pretend for the moment that you are not as dense and stupid as you actually are, and therefore will not answer your question." With a quizzical look on his face, the old prince glanced from side to side and then blinked rapidly.

"Umm, thank you. Thank you, my king." Pausing to wait for a further response, the exasperated king paced his way back to the front of his mercenaries to plant himself directly in front of the city and his cousin.

"Well, it is time to begin sapping."

"Sapping?"

"What have you been doing this entire time?"

"Umm... keeping tabs on our soldiers. Ensuring no diseases run rampant through camp and all that."

"I see so siege equipment yet, but I can hear your carpenters. Are you in the process of building siege engines?"

"I was under the impression that you and Rikkert would bring some."

"Why would you be under that impression? We were coming here to break the siege, not start it." Thierry rubbed between his eyes. "Have you shovels? Have you anything necessary to lay siege to a city? What are your carpenters building?"

"I am sure we have spades somewhere... and, umm. They are building... they are building palisades to go around the camp, as well as - please do not be angry, cousin, but I needed a new long table and set of chairs, my old set was - "

"Enough. By the gods. How often to they watch the battlements?"

"Frequently."

"What is frequently."

"Twenty four hours a day."

"Of course. Mathias always was cautious. Gods, I should have come sooner."

"What was that?"

"I said I should have come sooner, you idiot! You are a fool! Go smoke!"

"Oh! Well, if-if-if you insist." With a nod of his head to his son, and quite the pep in his step, Prince Claude made his way to his tent to smoke. The two captains of elven legions approached the old king, their names were Huang Gui and Wei Yan. Huang Gui spoke first, in a lower voice, with a rasp that gave the appearance he was always on the edge of clearing his throat.

"This is not what we expected, I take it?"

"No. No. How adept are your soldiers when it comes to breaking into a city?"

"Breaking in?" Huang Gui raised an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?"

"It appears we are not the besieged but the ones doing the besieging."

"I see." Huang Gui stroked his chin, his long white pony tail swaying back and forth as he bobbed in thought. "Well. We are adept with whatever you need us to be adept with."

"Do you possess the equipment to scale walls with great deftness and or burrow beneath the walls?"

"All two-thousand of us? No."

"Select one-hundred from each legion, then."

"That is more doable. Scaling the walls should not be an issue and could be the easiest method. They are brick, there are sure to be crevasses we can use to climb."

"Rope? Would your cousin and his army possess that?" Wei Yan joined in.

"Plenty."

"Very well then. Wei Yan and I shall find our one-hundred each, prep them, and prepare to go in. What is the plan?"

"Sabotage."

"How wonderful. We shall prepare oil and flint as well, then." The two captains spun around and made their way back to their respective legions.

Now we lay siege to Pelaresse. The old king thought to himself. This must be a record for time between Desramaux Sieges of this city. He laughed to himself. I shall have to write Rikkert immediately.

"Claude!"

"Yes, cousin?" The old prince had just reemerged from his tent, pipe freshly steaming in his mouth. Having been half-way through an inhalation, he choked on the puff, hacking and wheezing as he approached his cousin.

"Send a falcon - no, send a rider east. We must reach Rikkert and inform the main forces of the predicament we are in."

"Good idea!"

"Inform him that I will be conducting a preliminary assault. I shall make my way in and sabotage their supplies, forcing them to sally forth when we arrive."

"As always, cousin, brilliant." Prince Claude looked on with a smile at his cousin.

"Now go. Write the letter, send the rider."

"Oh! Yes, of course, of course." Thierry shook his head and scratched his chin. How is it that my uncle's two children came to have none of his abilities or insights. Well, at least Mathias had to deal with Guillaume. If I truly had to choose between the two... I thank the gods I did not have to. Neither was ideal, but at least Claude does what he is told when he is told... to the best of his ability - which, if you know it to not be all that great, you will not be disappointed. The old king paced around the camp, staring high up at the walls of Pelaresse. It was then he noticed a figure standing above, looking back down at him. He wore a tabard of a rose per pale gold and black on a per pale field of black and gold. How pathetic a sigil. He looked down at his own tabard, a gold rose over a black field. How many have died to maintain the strength and sanctity of this banner, this sigil, this crest? And how many more will die to keep it from being bastardized? If only father could see me now. A grin took over the left side of his face. Perhaps now he would understand. He would see the patience I have executed. Understand the power I now wield, thanks to all that he taught me. Even after death, he was provided lessons for me.