[center][h1][color=silver][u][i]Routine Reports[/i][/u][/color][/h1][/center]

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	The tapestried halls grew silent as evening embraced the palace. Within the Prince’s royal chambers all that could be heard is the steady clink of spurs as his highness paced back and forth across his room. It was a well adorned room, decorated to fit Aaron’s particular tastes. The walls were hung with the trophies of many hunts, bear, boar, fox, and deer stuffed and preserved, rested in macabre poses, while red silk curtains covered the windows and fur rugs were draped across the floor. In a large dog bed in the corner an old wolfhound lay curled up, one large eye watching the prince as he paced like a caged animal. Once in a while he stopped, stooping down to scratch the dog behind the ears, but in a moment he was up and walking again, his brow furrowed in thought. 

	He felt a pang of sadness at the loss of his sister. If Willum did not kill her outright, he would ship her away, far away and sell her to some distant princeling. Aaron would have liked her to stay, perhaps even have her married to a lord from their own lands, someone powerful who could have bolstered their strength. Someone loyal and well-liked by the people. She would have served a far greater purpose at home, a figurehead that the people could love and adore. Something beautiful they could marvel over while he ruled with strength. She possessed an almost natural affinity for wooing their hearts, something he, and his father lacked in considerable fashion. Instead, through some twist of fate, or a conspiracy of the highest order both of them had ruined any success on that front, and in his stupid fit of anger Aaron himself had destroyed any chance of his sister supporting him. A bond he’d worked so hard to form shattered with a few ill-chosen words. Aaron cursed himself, and his stupidity aloud with such venom his dog whined and cowered in his bed. 

	Clicking his tongue Aaron quieted, soothing the old hound before beginning his ninetieth circuit of his room. 

	He still was not sure of the validity of his father’s claims. How far would he go to lie to them, just to unbalance her and anger her just enough to make her irrational, spouting nonsense born from anger? What bounds did his father’s paranoia have? Would he really have went so far as to prove his own theory? Who then were the other players? Sir Fenros, a more loyal man Aaron had never known, what would drive him to betray his king? His love for El perhaps? His loyalty for her? But then what purpose would she have in slaying her own father? To stop the murder of the people? Mayhap. But she herself had said such things were not her way. Besides she had easy access to their chambers. Aaron had no personal guard standing outside his door, neither did the king. She could have waltzed in at a late hour, slid a knife across their throats and left without any man being the wiser. Or even give entrance for another assassin to do the deed. And who would suspect the beautiful, and innocent princess of such hideous crimes? No, for all the logic Aaron could muster it made little sense for Eleanor to nefariously plot the king’s demise in such foolish fashion. She was smart enough to realize there were a thousand better ways surely. What had caused this then? The honest testimony of an assassin?  

	Aaron was interrupted from his contemplations by a soft rapping on his bedroom door. Wondering who would think to disturb him at this hour the prince hastened over, lifting the latch and pushing the heavy door outward. A young man, only slightly older than Aaron stood at attention on the other side, dressed in the uniform of the House Guard. He placed a hand over his heart as he whispered out his report, his voice kept low for the sake of the slumbering keep. 

	[b]“Sir Arvel sent me sire, to inform the Lord Commander the city has been successfully brought under control and the crowds dispersed to their homes. The streets are safe, and well patrolled and those who break the curfew are being sent to the gallows to await execution. The gates are locked and the wall watch doubled as ordered, until your review your grace.” 
[/b]

	[color=crimson]“Good news for once.”[/color] Aaron muttered clapping the tall runner on the shoulder. [color=crimson]“Send Sir Arvel my regards, and inform him I would meet and discuss reopening the city on the morrow. I would like to reward him for his swift completion of his orders... Those prisoners, there must be many, where are they being kept? And when will their justice be administered” [/color]

	The soldier paused, thinking carefully over the answer. [b]“Most are held in the standard watch cells your grace, though, as you say there are many. The overflow are being transported to the Inquisition dungeons, the upper ones for low security. I brought a few there myself. They should begin the hanging in a few hours, mayhap sooner since there are so many.”[/b]

	Having learned all he wanted Aaron dismissed the man and stepped from his chambers. His suspicions nagged at the back of his mind as he checked his sword, and pulled his mink fur cloak tighter around his shoulders before departing alone through the many halls and staircases within the keep, ever downward towards the dungeons. Everything about this situation seemed off to him, and perhaps a private conversation with the would-be-assassin would assist in clearing the all to murky waters.