Fantasy Cross Purpose

[Coward]

Death was closing on his father.

Hayne could see in the listless flutter of his eyelids, the way he stared right through the prince by his bedside. His body disappearing under a mountain of furs. The way the thin fingers were cold in his. He squeezed, anyway, and King Athner’s pale eyes focused, briefly, on his son’s face.

“You sent for me,” Hayne reminded.

The servants were all looking carefully at walls and brushing down their skirts. They were used to ‘not noticing’ the king’s state, by now. And it had been a long time, for them to practice - a slow, slow ebb over months. Even now, the old man clung to life by the fingernails, trying to scrape his way back. Hayne’s mouth had set in a grim line, like a good stoic, but the nails of his free hand were biting into his palm. His chest hurt.

Spit crackled in the king’s throat before he could speak. “I need you to talk to a spy. He’s been looking at our friend Earl Ingles for me.”

“You wish for me to speak in your place?”

“Mm.” His father’s head had turned away again, breathing going slow as his eyelids drooped.

“Father,” Hayne mumbled.

It was no good - the king had drifted into one of the rough, delirious dreams again. Hayne slightly loosened his grip, but couldn’t help kneeling there longer, slumping slowly against the side of the mattress. A spec of rust-coloured mucous had dried on his father’s lips, but it seemed pointless to wake him for that.

After some long time, Hayne breathed out harsh through his nose. He straightened his coat as he stood, shrugging his cloak around his shoulders.

“No one will hear about this,” he told the men by the door.

“Of course not, your highness.”

----

Hayne went directly - what else could he do? His feet echoed as he went from lush carpet to bare stone, rebounding in the empty halls. Breath fogged in front of him whenever he passed a candle, and he shivered even under the fur cloak.

He knew where to go, yes, but not what the hell he would do when he got there. How should a third son know these things? His brother Iver would have known what to do - cunning. Trained in state matters. The dishonourable things a ruler might need to handle.

Dead… as well.

Now there was only the ailing king, and a successor who never should have been near the crown,
Hayne’s feet veered from the aristocrat’s path into shoulder-width servant’s runs, and then again, he stopped at a hatch in the floor. Then he had to double back a spell - no light. Now holding a candle stolen from the wall, paused to stare at the ceiling and breath deep. Then he threw the hatch open, descended into pitch black.

 

[Hel]

he ladder that Hayne climbed down saw him descending into dankness, the candle was his only source of light here. Where he found himself now had been made to look the part of a wine cellar, but the majority of what was kept here was empty. It gave the illusion of more wealth than may have existed in this castle, and people did not often go looking for secrets in such places. One barrel on the far wall hid the way to the spy that Hayne had set out to meet.

Aspen pulled his hood down lower over his face as he passed another tavern. He'd been away for some time now, and did not like the local gossips to know of his comings and goings. The route through the castle serving hall was one method of getting to the place Aspen had been summoned to. This was the other. The clouds hung low to the ground, trying to trap in what warmth the ground let out after he warm day.

It had been a long day so far, and as Aspen reached the home he stayed in, officially. He sighed. He didn't want to stay here, but after his journey from the keep of Earl Ingles, he would have been happy resting here for the night. Unfortunately, he still had a meeting. An important on. He'd heard whispers, about the current state of the king, and Aspen wanted to know how the man was. He'd be able to assess his health for himself at this meeting.

Now, he went to the edge of the small shack he'd decided he'd be staying in for the night, and shifted the small bed out of the way to reveal a small hatch. He opened it, and dropped down into the room below. This room was nicer than the one above, there was a desk here, with some rows of shelves full of notes and private information. This was where he sat, waiting

 

[Coward]

When he was a child, these tunnels had seemed like the biggest mystery - a grand secret for his brothers and father. Now he barely noticed them, chewing the inside of his cheek as he walked. By the time he reached the office his back was painfully straight, one hand hooked in his coat pocket. Right above where the hilt of a sword would be. If he was wearing one.

The spy had arrived first, which he hadn't expected. Hayne froze in the doorway for an instant, jolted by their eyes meeting in eerie silence. The man was younger than he would have thought, and seemed a ghost-like part of the room. Soon, though, he hooked the door shut behind him and dragged a chair squeaking across the flagstones. When he had thumped into it, Hayne met the stare again.

"The King has other matters to attend to," he said, flat. One hand rubbed his mouth as he slumped. "You'll report to me."

Report. Hayne shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. Two months in the capital hadn't killed his military tone, or the slight northern drawl that had come into his accent. But, why would a third son have worried about such things before? And this spy shouldn't care.

 

[Hel]

The 'soldier'? This was the one who came to meet him? The king had sent his remaining son. That must mean that he's in worse condition than Aspen's sources lead on. He knew this one, Hayne, was the only some who still lived. Still, though, he always dealt with the king before now. Was he so ill that he could not come on his own? Perhaps it was the case that the young prince was finally learning the true ways of nobility.

Either way, he demanded control of the situation.

"Aye, so I shall." Aspen said, with a nod that originated from midway down his spine. His background colored the prince's language, Aspen noted. Did he dislike it? Years and lessons had taught Aspen about the ways of voices. How to tell where another is from based on how they say words. How to fool others into believing that he was someone he was not. Now, the voice and face he presented. "You want to know about Ingles? The earl your father thinks to be so treacherous? It is not he who's been inciting rebellion, it's a housemaid who's stolen his insignia and writing, convincing other houses that you and your father aren't so God-chosen, after all." As he spoke, he handed one of these letters to Hayne, one that cited the deaths of Hayne's brothers as reasons his family should be relived of their power. The language was flowery, and the intentions hidden, regardless, these were the sentiments that were written of.

 

[Coward]

The spy's blithe acceptance only itched on his nerves more - what was he thinking, exactly? Hayne sank back, away from the dull light of the candles. But soon the worry faded, blot out by wide-eyed fascination.

"A maid?" he said, eventually, reaching to take the letter.

For a moment he read, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. The work seemed fine to him - like an Earl would have written - but he trusted Aspen. His father had chosen him. Instead he tried to see the hand in of a woman in the writing, only got the dull thump of the message itself sinking in. They knew that his father was dying, at Hayne himself was the kind of heir to sweep aside.

It was a few seconds before he realised he'd reached the end, was just staring blankly at the page. Instead he glanced up, met the unreadable eyes of the spy.

"I'll be damned." He huffed a faint laugh, rubbed at his mouth before carefully sliding the vellum back across the desk. "She's quite good. But a rebellion started by a maid is still a rebellion, I suppose. What do the replies say?"

 

[Hel]

Aspen watched the prince's response, wondering what was, going through his mind. Did Hayne disbelieve him? His shadowed eyes had rounded out with the reveal, clearly the message Aspen had brought him was not one that Hayne was expecting, but that was all that Aspen could gather from the dark face, away Does he think me a fool? Does he not believe a woman could have written it? It doesn't matter. Aspen thought to himself, keeping his own face from betraying his thoughts.

"A maid." He repeated, nodding, as Hayne continued reading the page. He seemed to be a slow reader - or else a careful one. "She is good. I don't believe that everyone she'd written to had responded, and most that had were noncommittal. They responded by cautioning our good earl- or rather his maid - that his letters were treason. However, I note that I've recieved no word that they had warned the king, or anyone else in the castle, about this treason. One could not call any of the responses treasonous, but few of them shot down the idea with appropriately harsh language. One of the recipients, Duke Ashea of Woodbridge, seemed encouraging of these notions. I could not say if this was sincere, though, there has been bad blood between the two families and it could be that the duke wants to encourage who he thinks is the earl to be more extreme in his language before turning him in. I couldn't say which is true, though."

Unfortunately, that was all of the information Aspen had been able to learn. Writing was a tricky business. There's plenty of information shared between the lines, but one could not always trust that the intention was the same as the implication that the reader picked up on. It's easy to hide malice in lovely words if you know how to do it. Aspen found that the trouble is the translation from paper to intention.