[center][b]Within the Kamer van Macht; Afternoon, Veere, north-eastern Frisstreek[/b][/center]
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The idle noises of silence worked their way throughout the Kamer, [I]the hall[/I], the fire spitting and cracking as a servant placed another armload of wood into its flames before disappearing off through a close door. In the distance an echo of a clock’s pendulum kept a steady beat, but it was nearly drown out by the deep, steady breaths of Lord Ode, which kept a time of their own. 

He’d been asleep for the better half of an hour now, but truthfully, he had not been awake for many years now. Every once in a while, his brilliance would spark up within him, a stubborn flame, and for a moment, Frisstreek would be reminded of the authority he commanded all those years ago, but as quickly as it was rekindled, his mind would snuff out, trailing off into bubbling nonsense, his purple lips trembling, as those half-blind, haze of eyes closed, and like a babe, he was soothed from the cold, terrible world, into the womb of ignorance his age had granted him. 

Often he forgot he’d been talking at all, and all gathered around him, the court would wait, drawn in breath to hear would wisdom he might share. For many moments, they’d stand there, listening to his labored breathing, until Lord Ode would mention the weather, or ask, prideful and delighted, if anyone had met his new grandchild, Basilious’ baby boy, Ode the Younger. Ode the Younger now had children of his own, but every time the Lord regaled them with the wonder that was his first grandchild, the entire court humored him with their own smiles, and sympathetic nods. 

Lord Ode’s wrinkled face bobbed down in his seat, Basilious, who sat at his right, reaching over to his elderly father, and adjusting the man, righting him with a look of suspicion at the other two Lordships, as if they had somehow cast his father into this stupor, as if they found his age amusing, once the most powerful man in all of Frisstreek, now a wrinkled, old child. 

“I received a messenger from Middenveld, yesterday. He sent word that the farmer, Saar of Laren rides through the countryside with a group of yeoman, garnering support for expansion south.” Lord Henri finally spoke up after several terse moments, his green eyes flickering between the sleeping Lord, and the rain-pattered window lining the eastern wall. “There is claim that the Graafen of Laren, Edam, and Hoorn.”

Lady Sara scoffed softly, dressed still in morning, as she had been for a month now since they lay her brother to the fire. Henri shared no love for a de Vires, but Nys had been only a boy, and he knew Sara to have taken to him like a son of her own, “ Firstly,” The woman spoke, her once radiant blonde hair now without luster, threads of silver greyed out the gold, and her youth seemed drained from her, leaking from her pale pours as her ten years had exhausted her especially, and she craved a life unburdened, “Why were neither Lord Ode, or I, called when the Messenger arrived? Though, My Lord, you do make a grand relay yourself, it seems only fitting that we should have been present when this news was shared. Secondly, pray tell, what care do farmers have that our borders expand south? It would be a bloody war, and bloody wars are fought by farmer’s sons.” 

“I agree with Lady Sara, at least on her first point, the second; forgivable ignorance.” Basilious spoke in turn of his father, a grin on his face, as if he thought himself to have shared something particularly funny.

“Excuse me?” Lady Sara’s eyes narrowed, “What of my ‘ignorance’ makes it so forgivable?”

“It’s only to be expected, M’lady.” He cooed back, that cocky grin never leaving his face. Across the table, Lord Henri, who had done well thus far in remaining neutral, began to smile as well, “Forgive me, all I mean is, that as a Lady, though fiercely intelligent as you are, blind spots in your [I]vast[/I] knowledge are foreseeable. Especially in works of war and expansion. Not that I am not of fault! Surely if you were to quiz me on what-..I don’t know, silks and dyes were in fashion currently, I’d be clueless too. Don’t you agree, Lord Henri?”

“Most agreeable, Basilious.” The youngest Lord snickered, as they shared between them a bond of misogyny, two schoolboys within a club that she was excluded, and from their perceived betterment, they grinned down at the woman, who stared icily back.

To keep her face, Sara said nothing, having dealt long enough with their idiocy to know that it’d pass, a lasting storm, that one day would blow right back into their grinning faces. 

“Anyhow…” Henri cleared his throat, and straightened himself, “The farmers want land, Lady Sara, with our population swelling, there is very little land to split among them. A system of master and serf has begun to arise, with the wealthier men buying great tracks of land, and allowing the peasant-farmer to work them, allowing that they give a hefty percentage of their crop in payment to the ‘Master’. Before such a rigid system be emplaced, many of the aforementioned ‘serf’ have begun an outcry for more land. Already, stories circulate that families have moved independently south, and rumor is that the soil is remarkably fertile.” 

Lady Sara nodded, her eyes narrowed slightly, “Our Heode is already stretched thin as it is, should we expand, it would require recruitment, militia’s created, food, weapon, and armor supplied, a new tax would be implemented, and since it is these yeomen who cry out for this expansion, which only benefits them, this tax-burden should fall upon their shoulders.”

“Squeezing coin from the already poor?” Basilious remarked, “I know you are cold, Sara, but that uncaring?”

Her eyes narrowed fiercely as she already saw an alliance budding against her, enemies forming as she sat up, “Then who would you suggest we take it from? Everyone ails, Vorst.”

That confident smile sparked once more across Basilious’ face. He was of the same age as Sara, late into his thirties, but there was a boyish arrogance still in his eyes, the eyes of a Prince, who has wanted nothing in his life but to inherent that great power his father has culled in life, and waste it frivolously in his boyish way. “ North and South, East and West. The world is filled with bounty and lushness, we’ve only to reach out, and take it. Our people are great conquerors, it is in our blood. Han the Glorious, Dedrick the Deathless, and even Adaja, Maiden of the Gods. They did not raise an army from the taxes of their poor for expansion, they saw the wealth of the world around them, and they took it, for it is rightfully theirs.”

Lady Sara stared at him, drawing in a deep breath so that her fur cloaked shoulders raised high, eyes unwavering, “Fine, we shall have a vote.”

“I am glad that you see reason, My Lady.” Basilious glanced to Henri, who though looked deep in thought, he knew craved the same status as he did; to be cast among the legends, as the Lords who returned Frisstreek her glory. 

“Wake Lord Ode, you are not yet a Lordship, Basilious, and though you may think yourself one, until your father is gone, bless his soul, the vote is unopened to you, a Vorst, no matter his status as heir.” 

Wickedly, the man glared toward Sara, [I]You bitch[/I], he thought, a hand coming to gently wake his father. Perhaps if they vote quickly, the man will still be in too much of a stupor to understand, and follow Basilious’ advice on the vote.

But before the old man’s eyes had fully opened, Lady Sara’s voice rung out across the hall, “Lord Ode, we are voting upon the suggestion of your son, Basilious, if we should raise an army, and wage war with out neighbors; the very ones you spent your lifetime creating a friendship with, so that we shall gain the wealth to expand south. What do you think of that, Hm?” Though she spoke slowly so the old man might understand, her words were loud, and the silence that followed them was a short snip before Lord Ode’s voice rang out.

“What?!” He shouted, enraged, spit still running down his lip as he spoke, “Not until I am in the grave will Frisstreek become a nation of pillagers, [b]Never[/e]!” His voice, though slurred with his jowls shaking, held remnants of his past strength, the passion alit behind those hazed eyes for only a second, the man already beginning to drift into his madness however, repeating himself, “Never, Never, Never…” Over and Over again until only an airy whisper, a passing breeze of ‘nevers’ exhaled through his slack lips, and the old man hunched backwards, staring stonily at the ceiling, as if an apparition of a life lost floated there, his mind and his body gone to hell, but up in heaven, he saw his spirit there, floating free from years of bondage, a brilliant mind shrunken and caged behind all that madness. 

Now it was Lady Sara smiling, looking across the Lord Henri, “ M’lord, your vote?”

Rather than vote, the man stood, adjusting the buttons of his tunic, and marching off, for no matter what he said, the vote was decided. Lady Sara then looked toward Basilious, it was his turn for ridicule, though the woman only smiled, seeing the rage behind his eye, “ I assume the meeting is adjourned, Vorst, a pleasure as always.” She stood, and too was disappeared out the door, the Lordship disbanded, and off to do the other duties that concerned their days.