[centre][h3]Hebban, Aaldorenfeald,[/h3][/centre]

Dayton Osgar had never liked Hebban. It was the second castle of House Osgar, but first in seniority, in size, and worst of all, in splendour. The Osgars had ruled from Hebban in the old days, starting after the Conquest by Ardall the Great in what was now ancient history, and lasting well past the Great Uprising that deposed his successors. In the grand historical scheme of things, Dayton pondered, Hebban had only held its current diminished prestige for a short time; it was only a handful of hundreds of years ago that Rytael had been built to replace it, the new seat of the newly royal House Osgar. Hebban had remained, though, standing proud and tall within the centre of the sprawling city to which it had loaned its name. It now housed not the Lords of House Osgar, but their successors, in a strange arrangement that the Aaldoren had come to see as a national tradition. Rytael was a smaller and dramatically more austere keep than Hebban, and the people of Aaldorenfeald were taught that housing the Prince in a grander castle than his father helped to curb unrest, to prevent an heir longing too greatly to take the throne in his own right. It was an idea that seemed to hold credence in a kingdom that had been the site of far too many civil wars.

Nonetheless, Dayton detested it, having protested to his father at each available opportunity. Dayton's pleasure was not because he deigned to replace his father in some pointless, impatient coup, however. Rather, Dayton had always hated Hebban for precisely the reason he was supposed to love it. The prince loathed the fountains of wine, the fancy tapestries and the armies of servants. He did not like conducting himself like some ponce, some foreign glutton who depended on the help to wipe his ass and chew his food. Dayton's father, Grindan, had always instilled in him that a King should not become involved in the basal luxuries of his office. The greatest glory of rule was in ruling itself, not in the trappings. Dayton felt the jewelled necklaces and golden bracelets that his servants tried to dress him in as cuffs on his wrists and chains around his neck, restraining him from the virtue that he sought to achieve and uphold, in his family's great name. What sort of Osgar would he be, what sort of heir to the likes of the great King Rytael, if he was not strong? If he could not care for himself, and was more interested in food and finery than in his people?

Dayton pondered, as he awaited his father's visit to Hebban, on what he considered the most important lesson that Grindan had ever taught him. It had started as a simple phrase when Dayton was young, a sentence that his father had forced him to memorize, to repeat aloud to scold himself whenever he did wrong and was caught. "The wolf has purple eyes." A strange phrase, for foreigners, but to all Aaldoren they had an important meaning. A true Osgar, a true Aaldoren, and indeed an truly virtuous person, must always keep his eyes on his goals. That was all that virtue meant, and the full extent, in Dayton's mind, of what it was to be a good ruler, and a good person. Simply find a virtuous path, and follow it. Nothing else mattered.

Queen Payton suddenly arrived, startling Dayton. The Prince had been totally enveloped in thought, sitting and waiting sat on top of his disgustingly pompous seat in Hebban's throne-room. The only people he had expected to swing open the doors from the courtyard and step in to the court were his father, and perhaps some guardsmen. It was understandable, though, of course, that his mother had arrived as well, to visit her son. They had not seen each other in several months, and certainly the Queen missed him. The Prince did too, as much or more, though he tried to show it less. Royalty or not, sons were not expected to be too fond of seeing their mothers. Even a paragon of virtue like Dayton was not immune to the embarrassment of being a son too close to his mother. Rising from his throne and extending his arms to embrace his mother, Dayton also gave her a warm, welcoming smile. Payton obliged, wrapping her lithe form around Dayton and kissing his head.

"You smell of perfume," Payton chimed with a grin, playfully mocking her beloved son. She knew all too well of his tastes and distastes. "And that lovely robe of yours! Very pretty. I'm sure you've been making all of the city girls blush, in jealousy if nothing else."

Dayton's grin turned sullen, and he found himself standing up taller, perhaps to try and adjust for his diminished pride. As his embrace with his mother ended, he was eager to change the subject. "You rode here with father. Did he give you any word of what he intended to speak to me about?"

The Queen opened her mouth as if to speak, but then spent another moment deciding what to say first. "Grindan isn't here. He did speak to me, though, at length. He relayed a message for me to give to you." Payton paused, and turned her eyes to the guards standing behind Dayton, flanking his throne. She then turned her head to face her own men who had entered alongside her. They understood and obeyed, exiting the room and leaving the Prince and Queen alone. Payton continued, "Your father rides west, with a small army. He intends to resolve a dispute in Uxfrea lands. Some of those damned Black Brothers have been preaching that the end is nigh, stirring up trouble. I would imagine it wouldn't have been an issue if they didn't have half of the countryside agreeing with them. Your righteous father intends to end the insurrection peacefully, but he didn't bring that many men with him if he only expected to have to talk."

Dayton raised an eyebrow. "A handful of shepherds in revolt doesn't seem like a crisis fit for a King's intervention."

Payton chuckled. "You're right. I think it's more fit for a prince to intervene. You'll be riding west, back home to Rytael, and then west again. Your father wishes to see how you will do at handling this sort of issue. Of course, it was my idea for you to go, but don't tell remind Grindan of that. Let him think he's clever."

The Prince did not have anything to say in argument. He wanted nothing more than to depart from the gilded cage in which he was now both warden and prisoner. He did have one more question, though. "Why remove the guards to tell me this? It's not as if this is something spies would even care about."

Without warning, Dayton found himself being hugged again, a few matronly kisses placed on his cheeks and forehead. Once she was done, her son finished sighing, Payton stepped ahead and comfortably took a seat in her son's throne. "Didn't want you to be embarrassed again. Run along now. I will be managing Hebban in your stead; I believe the dresses they have you wear here are more accustomed to a lady's style anyway."

Dayton nodded, agreeing with his mother on both accounts, and quickly departed after redressing for travel. As he set off on his horse, a small company in tow, Dayton began to think about why his father was so eager to test his leadership, on such a seemingly trivial matter. Grindan had always fostered independence in Dayton, allowing his first-born son to mature into a ruler at his own pace and of his own accord. Tests like this were not common. There was a nagging doubt in Dayton's already busy mind, as the trees of the Black Woods came into view on the horizon, that the issue was as simple as his mother had described. Time would tell.

[hider=Summary]
There is a crisis related to the Godfall ongoing in western Aaldorenfeald. A group of Black Brothers, preaching that the end is nigh, are stirring up revolt in the lands of House Uxfrea, a vassal of House Osgar.  King Grindan has gone in with an armed force, to calm the situation. He has sent his wife, Queen Payton, to talk to their son Dayton (who is presiding over the palace of Hebban), and tell him to join Grindan in resolving the revolt. Payton takes command of Hebban in her son's place. Dayton doubts that the conflict is as simple as he has been told.
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