[center][h2]Owyn[/h2][/center] 
[center][h3][i]House Niven's lands, Aaldorenfeald[/i][/h3][/center]

“They couldn’t pick a more wretched place to meet in?” Owyn grumbled under his breath. 

The humble Aaldoren inn was indeed a sorry sight, especially after the splendour Owyn had grown accustomed to in Rhaetia. The building seemed to be cobbled together from whatever wood the owner could find, while most of the thatching was but a distant memory. The whole thing looked like it might topple from a stronger gust of wind. It was even worse on the inside, with rickety chairs and tables whose surface seemed to be soaked in liquor. Not to mention the people! Dirty peasants, deep in their cups, surrounded them, chattering in their indistinguishable tongue. The innkeeper looked at them like lepers, even though Owyn could probably buy this place with half of what he had in his pouch! 

“It’s out of the way, the fancy stuff is situated along the King’s Way” Niels put in. 

He was correct, Owyn had to admit. The King’s Way ran through Kedoren and Aaaldorenfeald and was the site of heavy traffic; their approach would doubtlessly be noticed. Knowing Rurik, his older brother had spies all along the road, so caution was needed. They’d left it a few days ago and had travelled through the countryside, dressed in simple clothes to avoid drawing the peasants’ attention. It was reasonable, but it didn’t mean Owyn had to enjoy it. 

“I still don’t like it. We’re obviously foreigners here, despite these rags, someone is sure to notice” Othric voiced his concern. 

“You worry too much. These bastards are so drunk they wouldn’t be to recognise their own mothers!” Niels replied. 

“I don’t know, Niels, I was stationed in Greybarrow for over ten years, I’ve seen my fair share of Aaldorens. They can drink like you wouldn’t believe!” 

“Whatever the case, we’re here now, so what’s the point fussing over it?” Owyn brought an end to the discussion. 

He examined his two companions, rough-looking men in their forties. Othric was a beast of a man, heavily muscled, with a long, greying beard and a mop of sandy hair. His hands were huge, Owyn was sure that they could snap his bones without much effort. Niels on the other hand was lither, taller, with a hawk-nose face and patchy black beard. His head was clean-shaven; Owyn suspected that it was to hide the fact that he was going bald. 

Niels and Othric were his father’s men, entrusted with the young prince’s safety. They had accompanied him to Rhaetia and had taken up residence near the Academy during his studies. The two had developed a hearty friendship even though Othric was of the Strolund family, while Niels was a member of the Crowtons. The blood feud between those families ran deep, but these two, scions of lesser branches, didn’t seem to mind. 

Owyn owed them his life. During their journey north they had saved him from bandits and a few other hairy situations on more than one occasion. If he became king, he would be sure to reward them. That was a big [i]if[/i], of course. 

“Look, they’re coming.” Niels, who was watching the door, announced. 

Two men, likewise dressed in drab clothing, approached their table. They set next to Othric, opposite of Owyn. It was hard to make out their features in the dim light and the hoods they foolishly wore didn’t make it easier. One was a young man with a patch over his right eye, probably around Owyn’s age, the other was older and the prince immediately recognised him as Gawen Parhall, heir to Greybarrow. 

“My lord, it is good to see you alive and well” he said. 

“Lord Parhall, I am glad you came” Owyn glanced at the other man “And your companion?” 

“Dorin Banhill, at your service, my lord.” 

Ah, so this was the second son of Lord Banhill. Owyn was surprised at this turn of events – not one, but two southern Houses supported him. That was already half of the Freeholds! Well, the weaker part, but people in his position couldn’t afford to be picky. 

“What news from Kedoren?” he inquired. 

“Not good, my lord” Gawen began “as you know, the King is missing. Your brother has taken power, backed by the northern families. The law forbids him from assuming the throne, but he has already done so in practice. He rules from Highcliff and is mustering his forces, preparing for a confrontation with the Freeholds.” 

Owyn frowned, this just confirmed the rumours they had heard on the road. Gawen had carefully avoided mentioning that the Freeholds would like nothing better than a kingdom in disarray, so that they could increase their own independence. Already they were trying to play him, but Owyn had expected this.
  
He looked around the crowded inn. The din of coarse voices, cups clinking and a bard trying to play something resembling a melody drowned out individual sounds. It was doubtful that someone would pay them much heed. Still, he couldn’t shake the growing paranoia in his mind, who else was watching?  

“And what of my father, the King?” 

“He has not been seen since the Godfall, it’s as if he vanished in a puff of smoke!” 

“Kings normally don’t vanish in a puff of smoke” Owyn replied sardonically.

“Aye, it’s true. But nobody has managed to track him. My own father has tried to no avail and your brother’s men have not fared much better.” 

“The smallfolk say that the King’s gone on a pilgrimage to find Elonar” Dorin added “Some have followed suit, forsaking their lands and families.” 

“It’s not clear how he disappeared” Gawen continued “the Blackfort’s captain of the guard is the prime suspect, as none of his men have apparently seen anything, but I doubt he acted alone.” 

“What are you suggesting, Lord Parhall?” Owyn asked. 

“My lord…I know it’s not fitting to speak ill of family, but we believe that prince Rurik himself is behind the disappearance.” 

“There was no love lost between him and my father, it’s true. But my brother is a dutiful man, he wouldn’t dare go against his rightful king.” 

“Prince Rurik is not the same man you knew, my lord. The years have made him cold and cruel, his name is dreaded from Greenport to Saltbrook!”

“It’s true, lord” Dorin broke in again “Some months back, a few cities in the Crowton Hold refused to pay their taxes to the crown. The prince descended on them and crushed the rebellion in such a way that has not been seen since the Brenbur Massacre.” 

Owyn glanced at Niels, who winced; the man’s list of relatives had probably become much shorter. Nevertheless, the prince had the feeling that he was getting just one side of the story. The Freeholders sought to use him, his name to be exact, in order to further their own goals. They had grown quite strong during Mir’s reign and chafed under Rurik’s strict rule. Owyn didn’t exactly sympathise, but he knew his brother wasn’t right either. Rurik only respected strength - he would squeeze and squeeze until he choked out the entire kingdom. His rush to seize power just confirmed this. Instead of rallying the Houses in a quest to find the King, he’d gone and antagonised half of them! Barely a month had passed and the kingdom was already on the verge of civil war. 

Sighing, Owyn looked at Gawen again. “What else?” 

“Elonar’s disappearance has caused quite a stir. Peasants are saying that the world’s ending and fanatics have been quick to harness their fear. Already we’re hearing reports of yeomen butchered in their holds…it’s only a matter of time before they move onto bigger cities.”  

Strange, Owyn thought, no mention of the Red Brothers. Most of the Parhalls were Red Yevists since the days of King Torin. The disappearance of Elonar seemed like a good opportunity for them to spread their influence through the rest of Kedoren. Could the Parhalls control them? Could anyone, really? 

“That’s not all, my lord” Dorin said “Rumours speak of some scum calling themselves the Children of Kameth. It’s said they eat the flesh of their foes and worship the…[i]sun[/i]!” the last words almost came out in a whisper.

Everyone at the table made a gesture of warding, crossing their fingers at the breast. They looked at each other for a moment, saying nothing. 

“Well…the kingdom seems to have turned into a complete shithole while I’ve been gone” Owyn broke the silence. 

Niels smiled, but the rest of the company remained stone-faced. 

“I assume your father sent you to escort us?”  

“Yes, my lord.” Gawen said “I’ve been ordered to see you safely to Greybarow, where my father, along with Lord Banhill and Lord Crowton will be awaiting your arrival.”

“We must move with haste. It’s best to depart right now.”

“Ser Banhill is correct” Othric said in his raspy voice “the sooner we get to Kedoren, the better.” 

Gawen nodded, turning his eyes to Owyn “Some of my men will join us once we cross the border, we’ll make our way through the Iron Fields and stay off the King’s Way.” 

“Then it’s decided, my lords. May the Moons watch over us!” Owyn rose and the rest of his companions followed.

As they made their way toward the exit, Owyn allowed himself one last view of the inn. He breathed in deeply, letting the stench of sour ale, unwashed bodies and questionable stew brewing in the kitchen wash over him. He couldn’t resist smiling at the incredulity of it all. If his plans actually succeeded this gods forsaken inn would be remembered as the place from which King Owyn set out to claim his throne. Other kings waged wars or slew great beasts, but Owyn emerged from this beer-smelling, piss-stained watering hole! It didn’t sound very heroic, but then again, which of this [i]was[/i]?