Grindan Osgar was a man focused on the affairs of his own kingdom; in spite of this, he was not entirely blind to the events that had transpired in Bolgaz. He'd known of Helen's departure from the court, and had been determined to capture the Princess himself. He'd sent Aaldorenfeald's cavalry units, the Feriendema, to patrol Aaldreonfeald's fiefs bordering the Overlord's lands. They didn't find the wayward Princess; they found someone entirely more surprising. The man was escorted back to Aaldorenfeald's capital fief, Rytael, and Osgar saw him: Sir Theodore Trisch, traditional first in line to the succession of House Trisch. There was no mistaking who he was: Grindan had fought with this man in the battles against the Bogan host. Still clad in his armour, which had rusted, he and his horse looked emaciated, pale, and exhausted from travelling in the Waiting Season cold. He could barely make a coherent sentence. Grindan had decided to allow the man some rest before he inquired as to his lack of rigor mortis.

When Grindan entered the guest room that day, he found Theodore looking much healthier. His armour and wet clothes had been replaced with simple, but comfortable servant's garments. Despite being emaciated, he was still a very fit man of 25, and didn't look too much weaker than when he'd last saw him.

He nodded in Grindan's direction. "So, I have you to thank for a feather bed? I suppose it's better than the dungeon. I don't recommend high-balling my ransom: Rone's council would only pay it if it were cheaper than hiring an assassin."

Grindan called the nearby guards out of the room and further down the hall, stepped closer into Theodore's temporary quarters and closed the door behind him. He grunted at Thedore's joke and set his right hand leisurely on the hilt of his blade. He had the look that a peasant might have upon looking at a day's worth of labour to be done—solemn, but unyielding. His eyes did not make direct contact with Theodore's, the King of the Aaldoren examining the young heir to Lundland only in his periphery. When he spoke, he uttered the Overlord's name with a measure of venom usually reserved for curses.

"Rone is an incompetent twat that is already responsible for as much death and misery as any other two Overlords put together, 'cept perhaps the great Aella himself. Thankfully for you, though, his council definitely won't be sending any assassins this way..." Grindan trailed off here, drawing his blade just enough to be able to stare at the steel. "...not to kill you, at least. I must've had attempts on my life at least a dozen times under Balthazar's reign, and I'd bet you my kingdom that every single one of these skeletons populating the graveyard that tried to make off with my head were sent to Rytael by the man at the top himself. You? You're safe, though. All of Lundland figures that you are dead".

"Do they? That's good to hear." He sighed, and leaned back into his pillow. "But, you're saying Rone is responsible for the death of late?" He made a curt laugh without smiling. "It's hard to imagine him responsible for anything." Theodore paused for a moment, tossing and turning under the sheets. The torchlight of the windowless room cast shadows over the almost bare walls. "I don't think he was doomed to be a bad Overlord. Maybe if Balthazar had lived five more years, maybe if we all enjoyed peace in that time, maybe if he grew up a little, Rone might have been a decent peace-time king. Such an ascetic, he. The foreigners would have loved him. He'd have entertained them at court."

Theodore sighed, this time more deeply. "And after meeting him, they'd probably kill him and attack Lundland again," he finished.

Theodore slowly shifted out of the bed, first with his arms, then his legs, and slowly stretched out his limbs, until he was standing firmly on the floor. He turned toward Lord Grindan. "If you've got a bottle of wine ready, I can explain everything. I've already slept for a day; my body won't let me rest again until I've gotten the piss and vinegar out."

Grindan looked Theodore in the eyes, the stoic King's stature upright and firm. His hand still rested calmly on the hilt of his sword. "Lack of action on Rone's part makes him just as guilty for all of the recent killing as the men on the ground actually committing the killing. We Lords justify our position atop the common-folk on the basis of our responsibility to them. We have power, we tell ourselves, but also the obligation to use it in the defence of those who don't. Rone, and those like him, are not only incompetent bastards that are responsible for the deaths they failed to prevent, but also responsible for the degradation of any positions they happen to hold. In Rone's case, the position being shat on is one that tens or hundreds of thousands of men have fought and died over for generations. Maybe it isn't all Rone's fault; he didn't ask to be Overlord, and he might very well have been starkly less incompetent if he had a few more years to grow. The problem with that idea is that none of us asked to be who we born into being. When I was in my father's balls, God didn't reach down to me and ask me whether I wanted to be the King of Aaldorenfeald. I was born into it—the power, luxury, and responsibility alike. God didn't ask Rone whether he wanted to be Overlord one day, but it fell into his lap anyway. It was his pile of shit to clean up, and just like the peasants outside cleaning up horse-shit, he's got to do it whether he'd like to or not. There are certain consequences men can run into if they fail to do what is meant for them."

Grindan turned his back to Theodore and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway to be flanked by guards. "And the consequence is doubled if they failed because they didn't even bother to fucking try!" he continued. "Now. Let's go wash down that piss and vinegar of yours with a lake's worth of wine".

---

The dining hall of Rytael was not like the dining hall of Bolgaz, or many other lords. It consisted of a single, long table. There were no paintings, tapestries, chandeliers, or even many candles. The only decoration were the torches on the wall.

"I admire your taste," said Theodore, as he turned his head about the hall. A cook had already brought up two bottles of wine, plates of salted pork, with steamed vegetables, and several tomatoes. Theodore went straight for his goblet, but dug into his food slowly.

"Where to begin?" he continued after the silence. His shoulders slumped over the table, and he stared off into space. "I suppose with the battle. Uthred lead us to that attack on the Bogan Host, thinking we could easily defeat them if they were already assaulting Country Castle. I suppose he thought the garrison would hold out longer than it did, because as soon as we arrived, they'd already taken the place. We ended up assaulting our own castle, and that turned out about as well as you'd expect. We did manage to send a party to set up ladders on the walls, and since most of the Host wasn't inside the castle yet, the force was able to get inside, and do battle. I joined them sometime later. Around that same time, the battle went from being mostly outside the castle, to the top of its walls. It was chaos; you couldn't tell your arm from another man's sword."

He paused for a moment, and took a draught of his wine. "And that's when I saw Constantine. I was relived to see him alive, so it didn't quite register to my mind quick enough why he was pushing me. I fell off the edge of the parapets, into the castle's moat, and he didn't even make a glance downward. That moat, mind, was eight foot deep, and I was in my full plate armour. It was difficult to get out. I nearly drowned. But, I made it out, and must have coughed up half the moat's water. I just laid there for a while, until the sounds of battle stopped. I had no idea if we won, and I didn't care. I found a horse, and went as far away from that place as I could. I've been wandering ever since."

Another silence. "I don't know if Constantine was told to try and kill me, or whether he did it for himself. Maybe he has deigns on the throne." Theodore scoffed. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?" He took another drink of his wine, and bit into his food some more, absently stabbing his knife into the table.

"My Lord Grindan," he picked up again, turning toward you, and looking into your eyes with a sudden focus, "I'm asking you knowing that my life continues at your pleasure: do you hate the Crown?"

Grindan laughed at Theodore's question, a hearty and bellowing laugh that filled the entire room. He matched Theodore's intense gaze, and replied, "The salient issue, from my perspective, has been whether the Crown hates me. Balthazar used his royal cock to screw over all the Aaldoren more times than I can count. That ass of a man went out of his way to piss on my kingdom, on its people. If he had it his way, all of the Osgars would be dead, and he'd own all of my lands himself, to do with as he pleased".

Grindan took a swig of wine, a few angered breaths, and continued. "You can't expect the lords of the land to all bow to some hateful old bastard that'd rather have them rotting in the ground, solely on the basis that one of his ancestors once defeated one of your ancestors in battle. The way I see it, Lundland, the Crown, is a necessary evil—I'd rather Aaldorenfeald belong to the Overlord than any of the other despotic hell-holes bordering us, and the strength of the armies of Lundland, when united, is what has kept us from turning into the northern chunk of Mishfarden all these years. I'd prefer, though, for Aaldorenfeald not to belong to any outsiders. The day there's no King of Aaldorenfeald will be the day that the Aaldoren, nobility and commoners alike, plop onto their collective death bed and begin the slumber towards non-existence. Balthazar, for one, certainly seemed like he would've preferred if there hadn't been a King of Aaldorenfeald."

"So to answer your question, Lord Theodore, as to whether or not I hate the Crown: I only ever hate the man wearing it. And you..." Grindan stood, and patted Theodore's shoulder. "You're an easy man to like, from what I've heard."

Theodore paused, then nodded. "I've had a lot of time to think, on this way east. All these years, there's yet to be some crisis where Uncle Balthazar hadn't challenged one Lord or another to retake privileges, or do their duties. Dozens of conflicts, thousands of lives lost, feckless Lords who only look out for themselves. It's planted this seed in my mind, and I haven't been able to stop it from taking root. The idea is: why do we need a crown? The Lords of Lundland style themselves kings, and only say otherwise when someone bigger than them leers down. Our unity inspires conflict, and this conflict makes us weak. But suppose this conflict need not happen? Suppose each kingdom were truly its own kingdom?"

"What you've said is true," he continues, "my father hated Aaldoreanfeald. I've never been privy to his private machinations, so your guess is as good as mine to all the hostilities against you and your family, but he was very vocal against you. It's ironic, then." Theodore swirled the last of his goblet's wine, then downed it to the last drop, before continuing. "That the end of all his achievements shall begin here. Allow me to stop beating around the bush: I long for the crown, as you suspect, but not to wear it. I want to destroy it. I want to take my sorry Uncle's work, tear it down, and build it anew. I wish to make each Lord in Lundland a true equal. House Trisch shall be no-one's suzerain. Instead, every House and noble in the land shall be bound by oath to defend each other against foreigners, and the machinations of each other. Each Lord's land shall be their's to keep as they see fit for until their last descendent breathes their last breath. There's a word for this, but it's escaping me. . . a canton, I believe. A Canton of Lords."

He pauses, mulling over the thoughts, fiddling with his empty goblet. "The Canton of Lundland. Has a ring to it, no?" He chuckles a little. "My Lord Grindan, I shall not hold it against you if you disagree with me. I only share these things with you because I might guess that your greatest pleasures would be Aaldorean independence, and my cousin Rone's grisly death. In these things, I can offer a great deal of help. When I prove I am not dead, I'll dredge up old contacts, unpaid favours. You spoke correctly; I'm well-liked, but friendship is not the same as loyalty. Some will side with Rone simply because it suits them, or because they have no choice. If Helen gets anyone on her side, and there are several Great Lords who believe her claim is the best, then we shall have to overcome them as well. But we need not charge in foolishly. There's yet time to plan."

"So," he finishes, "my Lord Grindan, what do you think?"

Grindan sterned his look, seeming to pause for a short second, but ultimately gave a slight smile. "I accept your proposal, Lord Theodore. Aaldorenfeald shall back your attempts to institute this... 'Canton of Lords'. It suits my purposes, and no doubt the purposes of many other wise but independent Kings. Still others, though, may reject your idea with the most grisly variety of violence, and it is for that reason that you must have the backing of more than just one kingdom. With House Trisch's armies at a low point as they are, the armies of House Osgar can defeat them single-handedly. We cannot, however, defeat all those Lords who might choose to continue their support of Rone's possession of Lundland. We need to plan, and we need to muster as much strength for your cause as possible."

"Indeed," spoke Theodore. He nodded his head, rubbing his chin. "The best way to achieve our aim would be to undermine support for Helen, while raising support for ourselves. We need to reach out to as many Lords as possible. There are only a select few we 'ought to avoid. The Vearins, obviously. A woman would love nothing more than a woman on the throne. I'll reach out to my contacts, and you see who you can reach." He stood up from the long table, stumbling a bit from all the wine he imbibed. "Let's not waste any time. Every moment here counts."

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