In Which Dalston Knows What Makes an Heir

October 2, 1165

Dalston had spoken with Octavius and Severin prior to Roderick's audience, and the three of them had agreed that in light of current events, it wouldn't be the worst idea to bring their heirs along with them, just so the boys could have a chance to see first-hand just what their future duties would include. So far, however, it didn't seem to be going as planned. While it didn't seem too unreasonable to expect Sparron and Jadin to run about like the pair of reckless nine-year-olds they were, Dalston had been hoping that Lorn would stand with him and pay attention to the matter at hand; instead, he sat quietly next to Prince Ietrin, whom Dalston could have sworn the boy didn't even care for, just staring off into space.

Who knew what he was thinking about? Books? Horses? Girls, perhaps? It had been a long time since Dalston had been ten--but then again, it should not have mattered, as Dalston was a second son. He had never been his father's heir. He had expected to become a knight, not a lord and certainly not a duke. Lorn, on the other hand, had been born to succeed his father, and he knew it--so why would he not pay attention?

Roderick cleared his throat for what Dalston guessed was the third time in ten minutes. "Well, one thing is for certain, gentlemen; now that we've each lost a village, we cannot deny that something has to be done."

The king hadn't been raised as an heir either--none of the four of them had. Roderick had been a spare prince, given the odd lesson in diplomacy just in case Oswald met an untimely end, but any chance of his ever being King of Dovia had all but vanished with the birth of his first nephew. Neither Octavius nor Severin had ever been considered a potential successor for their respective fathers, Octavius being the youngest of eight brothers and Severin being the son of a foreign mistress, so they too had been forced to learn the ropes quickly upon becoming lords in Naroni. Every once in a while, there came along a situation which rendered all four of them clueless, and Dalston did not want their sons to share that same obstacle. In fact, he almost regretted not bringing young Abrich and Severin's son Searle along, and he wished Roderick and Octavius had more than one son apiece.

"Fortunately, we do know who is behind this," Severin reminded him. Whenever they met with Roderick, there was a silent agreement among the three of them that Severin did most of the talking; it seemed to come with the territory of being simultaneously the king's greatest grievance and only friend. "Recall that my daughter is friends with that boy who healed Florian, and he's given her more than enough insight to condemn his fiercer relations."

Roderick nodded. "So we find the lot of them and kill them, then?"

Dalston groaned; Severin scowled in agreement. "You do realize that what you are suggesting might go by the name of genocide? Roderick, they obviously want something from us, and before any drastic, unnecessary measures are taken, I'd like to find out what that something is."

The king's lip curled inward as he tilted his head, the crown upon it only held in place by his stiff hair. "Diplomacy used in regards to a group of primitive forest dwellers? And just when I thought I'd heard it all!"

Severin sighed. "I doubt that fighting them would be like fighting other human beings. From what I know of them, I would guess that the weakest of them could easily take several of the strongest of us."

"We could send for aid from Dovia."

"They've been dropping like flies in Dovia lately; the last thing they need is to risk losing any more in a conflict that we might be able to avoid in the first place."

Octavius exchanged an exasperated glance with Dalston, then turned to the king. "He's right. Look, why don't we just have Raia tell her friend to tell his grandfather that we'd like to meet with him for a civilized talk. We'll come armed, and we'll have a party of men with us just in case things get out of hand. How does that sound?"

Dalston nodded in agreement. "That sounds reasonable."

"It's risky, but just sitting around doing nothing is even moreso," Severin agreed. "What say you, your majesty?"

Roderick strummed his fingers across his chin, then placed his hand on his desk, a vein throbbing in his temple. "Fine. However, there's no sense in all four of us going; in the event of a mass murder, at least one of us should probably stay safe at home. Since I am king, I suppose it is only responsible of me to reserve that tiresome duty for myself while the three of you go about with your adventures."

"But don't they think he's king?" piped up Lorn suddenly, gesturing toward Severin. "That's what Raia said, anyway."

Roderick glowered at him, then turned away. "Never you mind that! Anyway, that may work to our advantage in the event of any slaughterings. If this creature gets angry and decides to kill him, then he and his pack will think that they've killed our king, when really..."

Severin rolled his eyes. "Yes, we understand what you're saying. I'll talk to Raia; I'll even go with her when she goes to meet the boy."

The king sniffed. "Good. Now, forgive me, but I do have several other important matters to which I must attend; consider yourselves dismissed."

Severin turned away and strode toward the door, resting his hand on Jadin's shoulder and guiding him into the corridor; Octavius and Sparron were quick to follow. Aware of the impatient tapping of Roderick's boot, Dalston locked eyes with his own son. "Ready to go? Or would you like to say a quick hello and goodbye to Leara, perhaps?"

Lorn looked up at him and grinned. His eyes were exactly his mother's, down to the sparkle. "If you don't mind, Father."

"I don't," Dalston assured him. "Heir or not, I suppose you're only young once."

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