"Fear, is a powerful motivator, so long as it is not you that your people fear." - King Jurrien I, of the Kingdom of Biljvank, reign 203 - 235 PR.

The Duchess Zelderloo was a spindly old woman well into her 7th decade. Her white hair was in its signature braid streaming down her back to just above her rear. A Silver Dragon pendent held the braid together at the bottom, the crest of her old house. Despite being married to Prince Aart Biljvank, she never did drop her own family's name, nor desist in her usage of her House's Coat of Arms - a Silver Dragon on an icy mountain. In fact, most everything she would wear was silver or white in coloration; and, if her dress were not silver, she most certainly would be wearing silver jewelry. 

She sat on one of the many balconies in Castle Biljrend, looking out onto the vast Fields of the Biljvank. She had always thought it such a curious tradition, naming places and things after dynastic houses, as if holding land, power, and wealth weren't enough. Now, some names were symbolically named, perhaps after someone who died there or whomever discovered it. Much like Vaarskerke Mine in the north between Zelderland and Zelderstad. The mine was discovered by Vaars Zelderloo, her great-great grandfather, some 200 years prior in an effort to find protection for the humans journeying north from a massive blizzard. The extensive cave system was initially just that - a safe haven for some 1,000 humans in search of a new home in the north. But, it soon became much more than that, as his nephew noticed the first veins of copper during their second day waiting out the storm. By the fourth day, it was time to pack up and continue on their journey, and Vaars' nephew was no where to be seen. In the centuries to come, the mine would dig deeper and further into the mountain range, finding much more than just copper. Silver, iron, the occasional sapphire, and of course, bones. The very dragon bones that now rest at the peak of Castle Zelderloo; the massive dragon skull serving as a greathall unto itself. 

The significance of the discovery led to it being named after the person who made the cave system into the bustling mine it is known as today - Vaars Zelderloo. That usage of the name made sense. Sometimes, it is also used to name something the landmark is near; like the many villages in and around the Zelderloo Woods, all of which start with Zelder or Zeld in their names. Again, this makes sense, it denotes a nearby landmark, something to look for when finding the village or a defining feature of the villages economy. But, why name it Zelderloo Woods? The complicated answer might involve telling the story of after the Resurgence, the survivors coming together and rebuilding society, giving rise to great and powerful families who were entrusted with rule for one reason or another. How these families led those people to new and safer pastures, built great cities, funded the foundation and creation of the very civilization we currently live in. That, these families, those who helped to rebuild the world, they are deserving of landmarks such as mountains and valleys and plains and forests being named after them, in fact, foreshame on those who are ungrateful and question the namings. The simple answer, is that Vaars Zelderloo was a vain man.

Hekket curled her lips down into a frown as she sipped her dark purple wine. Fools. She placed her challace down on the small table beside her, simple in structure with a blue tabard with silver embroidery covering it. Her cup itself was made of silver, burned to give it an old and rustic feel, but also to remind her of a dragon's breath. With her other hand, she raised a long white pipe, smoldering with Delrician tobacco and coffee. She pulled it back from her mouth and hesitated to exhale.

"Yes?" She said, never turning to look towards who had disturbed her as she let out her two-toned breath. 

"Mother, you asked for me, did you not?" A male voice, slight timidity reverberated out as every word was a question. Judging by the hoarseness in it also, he'd had another fit today, most likely soothed by his usual remedy of copper salve and acidic brandy. Hein. Hekket let out another puff before waving her wine hand, usuring her younger son forward. He slowly shuffled forward, standing at the edge of the balcony beside his mother's end table on her right. 

Hein Zelderloo was his mother's child - tall, skin and bone, with the muscular structure of a dried lemon and the face of one who had just taken a bite out of said lemon. It wasn't his fault, of course, he'd been stricken by the Dragon's Grip at a young age, treating it regularly for the last four decades. Every morning the same, he drinks a mixture of copper salve and acidic brandy, enjoys a cup of water along with copper blood pudding for breakfast and if he has any fits during the day he'll take his copper salve with acidic brandy. He's lucky, copper is a much slower deterioration of the body and, if properly treated, those with it can still live long lives. Unlike his grandfather, who had the red variant; burned him up in a matter of days.

"Sit, I'd hate to see the wind take you over the edge." Hekket let her lips curve into a slight grin as a nearby servant brought over a chair for the lord. Once he took his seat, she glanced at the attendant signalling their dismissal. Hein took note and raised his right finger as he spoke.

"Actually, miss, if you wouldn't mind, I'd love some lightning brandy." The attendant smiled and knodded before rushing off, her expression having turned from darrow to pleasant over the course of the lord's sentence. Pitiful. Hekket returned her face to its natural state as she drew another sip from her challace.

"Lightning brandy? My child it's not quite noon." Her tone reminiscent of the time she'd caught Hein sneaking a 'companion' to his room when he was merely 15, just before his diagnosis. Hein leaned in close to look at his mother's drink.

"You're one to talk." He took out a piece of rolling paper and some coffee grinds as he carefully placed one into the other. Hekket had never understood the draw to smoking coffee on its own. Her husband smoked it in a pipe, and her uncle mashed the beans into a paste that he could smother rolled up coffee leaves in. The scent was always delightful, but the taste never wholy appealing. At least he doesn't take everything after me. She extended a lit match for her son.

"You're plotting." Hein spoke after his second exhilation.

"What?" Hekket never took her eyes off the horizan, taking a puff from her pipe.

"You only ever drink amethyst wine when you're plotting."

"I can enjoy amethyst wine whenever I please." She took some exception to her son's insinuations, as correct as they may be.

"Because you're always plotting?" Hein snickered from underneath his cofferet.

"Because I am old." Hekket muttered just audibly enough for her son to hear as she sipped from her challace again. The air was dry, growing drier every day as winter took its full grasp of the region. Despite this, it was still warm, one of the last days of warmth before true winter hits in the month of Berso, and the new year begins.

By now, the servant returned and handed Hein his lightning brandy, a blue transluscent liquid in a small ornate glass. 

"Thank you, that will be all for now." Hein spoke with kindness to her, smiling through his first sip. She returned the expression and turned to leave, melting it away as her gaze met Hekket's; once again, she dismissed her with a look.

"Well," she stared towards the midday horizan, the sun splitting the world in half from its rays high in the sky. "Let's just say I am plotting, what would I be plotting about?" Her gaze never faltering.

"I would not have the slightest idea," Hein drew a final breath from his cofferet, flicking the butt to the ground to smolder out. "But I am sure it is why you called me out here. Or, did you simply want to smoke and drink the day away with your sickly son?" He proceeded to hide his grin with his brandy, sipping the gliscening liquid as his eyes reflected the sunlight refracting off its surface.

"Your cousin." Hekket thought to say more, but decided it prudent not to.

"I see. What about him?"

"He's a fool." She finished her pipe, placing it next to her challace on the table.

Hein thought hard before responding to his mother's accusation.

"That all depends on the situation. If you are tasking him with the oversight of an entire kingdom, by and large he does well; if you are asking him what style of drapes should be hung in the court, then yes, he is a fool." Hein glanced over at his mother who had not stopped staring at the horizan. Curious as to what has captivated her so, he too looked off.

"I never thought you to admire him," a tinge of bitterness behind her voice.

"Admiration, no, respect and appreciation, yes. Afterall, he is the one ensuring my medication is always on time when I am running low. And, despite being easier to come by than others, copper dragon blood is still rare and very expensive." Not to mention bitter. Hein shuddered slightly as a breeze swept by. What passed for cold to him was a pleasant warmth to most. He thought back to his fit from earlier in the morning. He had awoken with the sun, as he is used to doing, dressed himself in the colors of his house, and went off to 'enjoy' his breakfast. As he approached the dining hall, a servant had just finished laying out his meal, well, more of a snack. A small glass just large enough for two sips had been prepared, it's translucent dark green swirled with the crimson salve within. Beside the small glass was a larger wine glass filled to the brim with crisp water, and then there was the main course; a small plate with an even smaller disk of dark red pudding sat expectantly. The small cake was no more than an inch in diameter and a quarter inch tall. All together, his breakfast normally took him no more than four minutes to consume; it was expedient, necessary, and horrid. 

Usually an hour later, he is able to eat something more, perhaps a sausage link and a potato pancake. But this morning was different. It began small, like always, a slight cough once every few minutes followed by the clearing of the throat. By the time he had sat down for his pancake, it quickly accelerated. The coughing became incessant, harsher on the throat and occurring more frequently. He began hacking up bits of dark green mucus, splattering on the table before him as he wheezed for help. The veins in his forehead burst forth with a dark green tint to them as the veins in his eyes did the same. A nearby attendant, there was never one too far from him, rushed to fetch him his salve and an ice brandy. Within a minute, in the same small glass as before, this time with a crisp white liquid and drop of crimson, was swished together and emptied into his throat. He gave one final cough as a large glob of mucus sputtered onto his pancake. Hein caught his breath and clasped his throat with one hand, loosely massaging it. These types of fits only happened once every five or six months, he could expect to get only one a year. Usually, they were more mild, he finds himself unable to breath but the coughing and mucus stay to a minimum. Those fits occur every few weeks. This was the second of his massive fits this year, though still within the normal window of time for the occurrence. All the same, it left him very weak this day.

Hein glanced over to his mother, giving up on finding whatever meaning there was in staring at the fields before them. She was a very strange woman. He had hoped she would say something more, but more than likely she was, just all in her head.

"What makes my cousin a fool, mother?" He broke the silence, hoping to make eye contact with her to read into her mind. She did not turn.

"The marriage of my grand-niece to that pampered Quynian, Phillipe." Ah, of course. The wedding of the century, the unthinkable that is to occur in just two months time - the merging of two dynastic houses into one. Of course, it wasn't really a full merger. Hein and the rest of the cousins would retain their dynastic name, handing over the Principality of Biljvank over to one of them, though who still has not yet been decided. It no doubt would not fall to him, not that Jurrien ever had anything against him, quite the opposite in fact. When Hein was first diagnosed, much of the family drifted from him, some believing him contagious and others not wishing to watch his demise. Jurrien was different, he sought to help his cousin however he could. 'You're a Biljvank, and we help our own.' Hein recalled his cousins words from so long ago when pressed about why he was helping. No doubt he owes his life to Jurrien, pitiful as it may have been. Perhaps Rikkert, his older brother, would receive the title. He was slightly shorter than Hein, but made up for it with his brawn. While he was not known for his intellect or wit, Rikkert was still a clever man, often pursuing more shadowy interludes. As an added bonus, he already had two strapping young sons of his own, Aad and Mart; with both of them being young and healthy, the line would be properly secured. Yes, he would be a good candidate. 

Then, of course, there was Jurrien's younger brother, Thijn. Three years his brother's junior, Thijn was a kindly gentleman, understanding all to well the meaning of being the younger brother to a king. He always enjoyed his position of relative power, advising his brother and dining on exquisite cuisines from around the world. He never did take a wife though, which could prove problematic should he be given the Principality. Even if he did soon, he'd most likely only have one heir, who would inherit young. Still, no one is even sure how the inheritance of the Principalities will work. Is it appointed? Eldest son? Eldest member of the family? Jurrien and Francois were not very forthecoming with informationa about this entire plan. Perhaps that's what mother meant in calling him a fool.

"You don't like Phillipe?" He questioned, still waiting for her to turn towards him.

"I've never met him." She admitted.

"Then how do you know what he's like?" Finally she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for just long enough to roll her eyes and head back out to the horizon. Is she nervous she'll lose her standing in the family because of this?

"Never mind what he's like. He's taking our kingdom away, this should upset you too." Hein leaned back in his chair, a small moment of clarity.

"Is this why you've called me out? You wish to break off the engagement." He scoffed as he grabbed his glass for a drink. Seeking me as an agent, no doubt. Hekket often sought out her children's aid in whatever plots she is unfirling. Which one she sought depended on the plan; if it involved seduction or charm, Rikkert was called upon, if it involved espianoge or other forms of subterfuge, Hein was called. Most of her plots were relatively harmless, simply wanting to remain informed about the goings ons of the Kingdom, securing some patronage for people from one of her House's namesakes, or enticing a merchant or bank venture to open the door to more investors. But breaking up a marriage? Not just a marriage, the marriage to forge an empire. Hein squirmed back in his chair, hiking his collar to guard against the breeze.

"Break it off and eradicate the very idea." Her tone remained a constant intensity, never moving her gaze.

"Might I ask why?" Hein gave an exhausted breath as he sipped from his glass.

"You're really going to sit there and ask why? To save our family, our holdings, our House, our Kingdom."

"Our family?" Hekket swiftly turned to her son, a scowl burned into her face.

"Don't you dare question my affiliation with the House of Biljvank. I have had too many members question it and I have always proved them wrong. I never thought I would have to do so with my own son." They kept their eyes locked for a moment, Hein could see the fire within hers. It wasn't hatred or anger, but frustration, desperation, and worry. It is true that she had always maintained her loyalties, even after her husband passed. But, it is difficult to ignore her helping hand in keeping House Zelderloo's power strong over the last couple of decades.

"I apologize mother, I mispoke. I just fail to see how the marriage puts any of those things in jeopardy." Hein stood from his chair after finishing his drink. 

"I am afraid I must go, mother. While I am sure this weather is delightful to you, I can no longer feel my hands. I shall be in my chambers should you wish to see me again today." He waited for her response, but nothing came. He turned to leave, and just as he was about to grab the door, she spoke.

"When House Desravank is firmly established by their marriage, I suspect you can forget about your treatments. Like you said, it's rare and very expensive. I doubt Phillipe could find room in the royal treasury for such frivolities as copper dragon's blood for distant cousins while building an empire." Hein turned to face his mother, who, by now, had turned to look upon her son.

"I shall see you for dinner, yes?" She asked, some hope in her voice.

"I wouldn't miss it." Hein turned and exited, his heart pounding as his palms began to sweat.

Hein clammored to his room, barely about to open the handle as his arms attempted to shake off of his body. The air felt thick, filling his lungs with breaths of lead. Stifling coughs, he leaned back on the door as it closed behind him, slumping down to the ground as he let out one large hack, some small bits of mucus flinging away. He just needed to sit there a moment and let his body relax. Stress fits is what the apothecary called them, apparently common for those with weaker variations of the Grip. While painful and concerning as they occur, they are not in need of treatment. The only way to get them to stop is to allow yourself to relax, mind and body, which, of course, is more difficult with the added stress of feeling like you are breathing in tar. He clenched his fists and leaned his head back against the door, attempting to draw the stress out through muscular exertion, or as much as he was capable of. Eyes clenched tight, the floor gave out from under him, a feeling of being adrift out on the sea. Waves of stress buffeted his body, swaying him from side to side as more salt water was gulped down.

He pictured Lars, his mastiff from years ago, the large dog wagging its tail tirelessly as he went down on his front paws. Rikkert has just shot a flying quail and Lars is eagerly awaiting the command to go and fetch it. He did not care for the animal, nor the taste of its feathers in his mouth, but he loved to fetch things. The dog was a gift from his father when he had first been diagnosed, meant to be a close companion for those early years when he spent much time in isolation. Not do to any contagion, the Grip is not contagious through touch or breath, as the apothecaries say; no, his isolation was self-imposed from his persistent exhaustion. Lars has the small bird in his mouth, a gentle grasp just enough to keep it from falling out as he proudly trotted back to Hein and Rikkert. It's dropped in front of the brothers and Lars looks up as if to say 'look what I got!' The waves begin to slow, the torrent mellowing out. Such a gentle giant he was; before Hein had attendants always near, Lars would fetch his medicine whenever a fit came on, the same gentle clasp on the precarious glass bottle.

The first time he had a massive fit, Lars howled uncontrollably, refusing to leave Hein's side until the fit had subsided. He would sleep beside Hein in his bed, usually waking him by placing his head on his chest and looking up with wistful, and hungry, eyes. Hein begins to cry as the waves have finally disappeared and he finds himself on dry land once again. He closes his eyes tighter and let out a long undisturbed breath. There was a pounding at his door.

"My lord, are you alright? I heard your coughing again." The nearby attendant asked with sharp concern. His name was Riedric, wasn't it? Riedry.

"I'm alright, Riedry, no need for alarm." He wheezed out with breathes in between words.

"Are you sure, my lord? I can fetch your medicine."

"It's quite alright, I'm already beginning to come down. I'll just be here a moment." 

His eyes fluttered open with a question. Looking about, he was still on the floor by the door. Green bits of slime dotted his black coat and yellow shirt. Wonderful, he thought, yet another outfit ruined. Slowly rising from the ground, a hand against the door handle to steady himself, Hein realized some time had passed. Approaching the windows, he staggered over with a hand on any furniture for balance while his other hand reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. Black with yellow roses, he smeared green from his face to the piece of cloth in his hand. It's well into the evening, the sun's glare casting a golden light onto the world. Four hours? He thought, that felt about right. Based on how dry the mucus was, the placement of the sun in the sky, and the amount of sunlight pouring into the room, it was probably around 4 in the evening. He slumped down in a chair by the window and took in the view, an eisel standing by with a half-finished landscape painting staring him in the face. 

The foreground was that of the hillside, fields over fields encased within small fences. The occasional animal stood idling, enjoying the fresh grass at its feet. On the right side was merely the outline of a forest, though it looked more like rambling scribbles hoping for cohesion. To the left side was a more completed outline of another more far off woodlands, and at the background of it all was the pink, orange, red, and yellow of a setting sun. Hein had been working on this landscape for sometime now, with the hopes of finishing it before the year is done. I'll work on that before dinner, he thought, hoping it will keep him calm enough before dealing with his mother again. Gods was he thirsty. Riedry! Hein hoisted himself up so as to sit up straight before slouching down a hair. 

"Riedry!" He let out a cry. Moments later his door opened with Riedry standing in the threshold.

"Yes, my lord? Is everything alright?" A nice soul, Riedry had only been serving at the castle for a few months now. His last attendant, Diedric, retired after thirty years of service to the family and was all too used to Hein's fits. Riedry, however, had a great deal to get used to.

"I would love a glass of water, please." Without a word, Riedry bowed his head and exited, closing the door quietly behind him.

Watching as the sun slowly began to set and the sky filled with all of the wonders that nature displayed day after day, Hein picked up his pencil and continued outlining the vast treeline of the Zelderloo Woods. Was I drunk when I did this? He thought as he attempted to fix the squiggles that riddled the canvas, attaching some lines to others and dispersing more trunks and branches on the closer ones. By the time Riedry had placed the glass of water by Hein, the forest looked less like the ramblings of a madman and more like, well, a treeline, that had been drawn by a madman. Leaning back to take in the edits and the horizon, he took a sip from his water. The crisp liquid washed down his throat, taking with it any and all bits of dark green that lay stuck within. 

He couldn't believe his mother would send him off with such a threat. Losing his medicine? Just thinking about her words now made his chest tighten. She knows how stress can induce fits; perhaps that was her intention, to scare him. He shuddered in his chair, face quizzicle as he searched the canvas for answers. They wouldn't cut me off, right? Right? After all, he'd never spoken ill of either parties, nor against their engagement. In fact, he was one of the few Biljvank's who supported Jurrien's decision in the first place. It may not be a great option, but it certainly seems like their best bet of holding onto their little sliver of the world. The Dynasty of the Sun to the north has been eager to expand their territory for the last ten years or so; ever since Sun Bei passed, his son, Sun Jian, has intensified the training of their military. Some rumors even say they've enlisted the help of some Draconians. The very idea made him wince. While they are very small in comparison to the Kingdom of Biljvank, their military is known for its ferocity. In the last border conflict the two nations had, around fifty years ago, it is said they lost one solider for our every ten, and adding Draconians to that mix would only intensify the death toll. Granted, fifty years ago, they were on the defensive, which probably accounts for their fighting; the death toll eventually put an end to the conflict, along with the death of his grandfather, Jaap-Jan III. Some say he was assassinated by the Sun, that they sent an assassin in with the red drakeling that gave him the Grip. It did always puzzle him how the thing got into the castle in the first place. Either way, his uncle, the newly crowned Jorgen II, seeing no feasible way, or reason, to continue the push northward, swiftly ended the conflict.

Hein winced as he sat up to begin mixing some of his water with his dyes, creating just enough paint to begin his work on the, now much better looking, forest on the right. The fact of the matter was, the joining of their Houses was necessary, an alliance simply wouldn't cut it anymore. Ever since their pact was first formed, each side had begun plotting how to take over the other, should the opportunity arise. When the deal was signed, one hundred years ago, it was not out of respect for one another, but fear. Etienne Desramaux had just recently conquered his neighbor, the Pelariaux, and was struggling to keep them quelled; meanwhile, Jurrien Biljvank I had begun the final phase of conquest over their own neighbor to the west, the Kingdom of Van Niljveld. Two monarchs, desperate to maintain their new found borders, sought each other out to maintain peace long enough to reorganize and then strike each other. They both knew it then, and so it has remained since. Conflicts, foreign and domestic, kept either side from ever executing this plan, though it was questionable during the Second Sun War, and resulting Van Niljveld Revolt, fifty years ago if the newly crowned Francois Desramaux III would seize the opportunity of the weakend Biljvank House and military. Instead, the opposite was his intentions, even sending some aid to defeat the revolting Van Niljvelds. Still, there are those who think it all to be a rouse; a means of underhandedly siezing the kingdom from under them. Like mother, he thought to himself.

By now, Hein had given some much needed life to his tree etchings. Much better, he thought, leaning back to enjoy his work. It wasn't done yet, still had the rest of the forest to finish along with some final touches on the hills in the foreground, but it was beautiful all the same. He looked out as the sun neared its final descent behind the treeline in the west, the exquisite pinks and oranges radiated up until being swallowed by the ever approaching night sky. Ermac, the first of their world's two moons, paralleled the sun, coming up in the east as the latter sunk in the west. No wonder the Gods stay up there, Hein thought as he leaned closer to his window, eyes fixated by the celestial changing of the guard. What he wouldn't give to walk up there, high in the heavens, watching the trifles of his fellow humans from a grand distance. There was a knocking at his door. Supper time. It seems that all would have to continue to wait. For now, at least, he will observe the trifles of his family from far too close.

The table cloth was not as it should be. The corners were perfectly placed, centered around the table with an even trim hanging off all around. The candelabre center piece blazed with glory over the quiet room, each flame reaching for its sibling descending from the chandelier high above. Everything was set exactly as it ought to be. Hekket frowned as she rubbed the cloth between her forefinger and thumb. Yellow. House Biljvank's colors displayed proudly throughout the castle, dinners were her only chance to enjoy any comforts of her old home. Why had the servants forgotten tonight? She shall have to speak with them. Though, wait; they had done this before. Yes, years ago, when Jurrien was crowned King, and again, the day of husband's death and funeral. What didn't she know? The thought disturbed her as she released the fabric from her grip, her thumb's indent still visible. She reached for her challace and sipped the purple liquid, her eyes focused in on the chandelier up above. Fire had always fascinated her; it was pure chaos, and yet, could be controlled completely. Placing her cup down, she eyed a servent and nodded her head towards it. The servant, a young male with short brown hair and mutton chops rushed over to refill it, his hands shaking slightly with his eyes intent on the wine.

He was cute, though, not really her type. His hands seemed far too soft, but he clearly had some muscles underneath his tunic. He sheepishly walked back to where he previously stood, attentively waiting to refill her challace again. Her was definitily nervous, wiping sweat from his brow as he had returned. There's use for you. Hekket sipped from her fresh wine, eyes locked on the servant as ideas swirled her head. He wouldn't take much convincing, he was already terrified of her.

Foot steps approached, a pair of them. One heavy on the wood floors, clacking down the halls with littel regard for other's ears. The other set, barely audible, as if they were attempting to sneak up on the leadened foot ahead of them. They're late. Her sons Rikkert and Hein entered the dining room, Rikkert standing tall and walking with purpose, with Hein slinking in behind him. Hein had changed his clothes from earlier, a red ruffled shirt beneath a black vest. She thought he had seemed shakey after their conversation on the balcony. Rikkert, her oldest son, was a stark contrast to his brother. Tall, like Hein, that was the only real quality they had in common. Hein kept his hair longer, usually tied up behind his head, while Rikkert kept it short in a military style. Hein kept his face clean shaven where Rikkert had a large bushy mustache keeping his upper lip warm at all times. Where Hein was his mother's son, Rikkert took much after his father. Broad shoulders with large muscles down his body, he spent much of his time training and keeping his body in the best physical condition he could manage, despite being well into his fifth decade. He had served as a captain in the military for some time, commanding a battallion during a Van Niljveld rebellion twenty-five years ago. Wearing his military dress, as he so often did, a black tunic over a yellow linen shirt with a symbol of rank sewn onto the breast, he strutted over to his chair and took a seat opposite his brother. Hekket sat at the head.

"You look well on tonight, mother." Rikkert smiled to her, looking to a servant for a glass of whiskey. He never seemed to care what kind.

"Thank you, I took advantage of the warmth today and spent much of it outside." 

"That was good of you, the scribes say this winter is supposed to a harsh one." He took a gulp from his glass. "They estimate a blizzard every few days." More servants came into the room now, hands filled with plates and platters of all kinds of exquisite foods. Roasted chicken, freshly hunted boar, fresh greens roasted and seasoned, and bread just taken out of the oven made of the finest Vankian wheat. The room's temperature went up as each person present received their meal. Rikkert enjoyed half a chicken, stuffed with bread, onion, carrots, and turnips, all roasted and then broiled with garlic cloves, oregano, basil, and pepper. Hein treated himself to some steamed pork, merely having to push the meat off of the bone with his utensils as it slid right off onto his plate. Dinner was the only meal he could really enjoy, and enjoy it did. To the side sat a baked potato, salted and covered with sauteed mushrooms and onions. Hekket enjoyed herself some pheasant breast, grilled a crisp brown with salt and parsley, a ring of roasted vegetables encircling it on her plate. There was very little talking as each family member dug themselves in, only stopping to sip from their respective drink.

After the onslaught had finished, the table had been cleared of all platters and plates, and the servants had left for the night, all except for Riedry, all that remained were the glasses, Hekket's challace, and three bottles of emerald wine sitting on ice to the side. Hekket weighed the words in her head, breaking the silence as she placed her cup down after a long drink.

"How are you feeling, Hein?" She sucked on her tongue for a second, letting out a little squeak as she stared down onto the yellow abomination still on the table. 

"Oh much better than earlier. Today was a rough one, that is for certain." Rikkert's face churned with sincere concern.

"You had a fit today?" He leaned forward to give his brother his complete attention.

"Two, actually. A wrather severe one to start the day, but Riedry saw me through that one. And another later in the day, nothing to be concerned with, however, everything has calmed itself down." Hein gave a smile to his brother, hoping to have him reassured no doubt.

"Well, I am glad to hear that. You always worry me when you say you've had bad days." Rikkert's words rang true as he leaned back into his chair, crushing some coffee grounds into his pipe - a short stocky thing made from pine. He struck a match to light it as he took his first puffs. The smoke lingered about like a mask before dissipating into the air above.

"And what of you Rikkert? How was your excursion today?" Rikkert pondered his response for a moment.

"It went... as well as could be expected."

"What was your excursion? If I might ask." Hein added.

"I went out into the country side, thought I'd have a look into some of the problems local merchants have been complaining about on the roads between Niljden and Biljrend. Apparently, some bandits have made short work of three caravans over the last couple months." Hein gave his brother a puzzled look.

"That sounds like something more for the local guard, why did they call for you?" Rikkert puffed from his pipe and searched for an answer in the smoke.

"They didn't. Like I said, I thought to have a look. Shows good faith between the people and the House that rules over them when we take an interest in such things."

"Better one of us, than a Van Niljveld. Gods know they'd try to get the people stirred up over it." Hekket chimed in, her voice with a dull annoyance throughout it. Hein sat back in his chair, taking a sip from his glass. Unlike his mother and brother, he was simply having water. A shame, thought Hekket, he can't even enjoy dessert today. She knew exactly why. Her final words to her son this afternoon had the desired effect it seemed. Not that she enjoyed sending him into stress fits, but if it drove the point home, then it was necessary. Though, more wine for her, she supposed.

"Right, of course. It is always best to have the people on your side." Hein said, hands now rolling a cofferet.

"Never know when you might need them." Hekket's words reverberated throughout the chamber, hitting each of her sons in visibly different ways. Rikkert, none the wiser, simply smiled and nodded in agreement. He understood the necessities of rule and the roles every family member plays in such. He was a good and obedient son, always putting family first; which meant occassionally riding out twenty miles just to talk to some merchants, or at least, that's all it was to him. Hein, on the other hand, sunk back into his chair even further, clutching his glass of water close to his chest. No doubt all of the possible implications of her words running through his mind. He too was a good son, but he always took more convincing. Hopefully her words from earlier and his resulting fit have convinced him to at least discuss more with her about her objections to the union. He should come around soon. She thought, and if not, she glanced off in the distance, thinking of the servant from before.

"Hein," her voice like hard tac, "have you thought much on our conversation from earlier today?" She sipped a gentle drop from her challace, eyes keen on observing her son's every tick. At first, he froze, followed by a full body shudder and a wince in the face. Rikkert took notice and leaned in with an eyebrow raised. He didn't know of the conversation, yet, she had to know Hein was on board before she began tying the strings together. Hein stiffled a cough and took a sip from his water to wash whatever came up back down.

"Don't worry about it, love. It's only been a couple of hours after all. Take your time." That seemed to steady him a little bit. Was he getting weaker? Perish the thought. So long as he had his treatments, he would survive. That was a good enough reason to stop the engagement, if for nothing else.

Taking a hold of the table cloth, with its excrutiating colors, Rikkert opened his mouth with a puzzled face as if to ask something, but swallowed his words instead. He was oft to do that. Hein noticed this and seemed to perk up a bit, though his face remained solemn.

"It's for Jurran." He said, eyes down at the yellow fabric. "He would have turned 28 today."