Week 15: The Prince of Miklagard

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My brother will get us killed. My brother will get us killed. My brother will get us killed. Over and over and over the thought echoed. Prince Yorden loved his brother, but the younger prince could be rash. My brother will get us killed. After their father's death it had fallen on Yorden to raise the two of them - well, not exactly. They were princes, they had a whole castle to raise them: Knights to show them the ways of war, cooks to prepare their meals, servants to clean their quarters, to dress them, to tend to their every need, but nobody to trust.
Their lands had been occupied for two generations before Yorden took charge. Took charge… what a disappointing thought that was. Once upon a time, it would have been “ascended the throne,” but that died along with his great grandfather. Prince Zeldir had taken the death of their father poorly and blamed the occupying forces of Voraci for his death, which isn’t too far from the truth. Perhaps if I had sent him away to be a ward at Tarnwood he would have been more levelheaded. It’s not his fault, but he’s a man grown now and I cannot keep acting like he’s a child. My brother will get us killed.
Yorden loved his brother dearly. The 15 year old was the only family left to the prince. Despite his advanced age of 26, Yorden had taken no wife and sired no offspring. Their parents had been buried a decade ago, their aunt and cousins taken by bandits on the way to the memorial. The last 10 years had been rough on both of them, but more so the younger prince. He'd always been a troublemaker, so when he came to age, Prince Yorden sent him off to govern Aros in hope that the increased responsibility would temper him and teach him responsibility for their people. Truth be told, the idea wasn't Yorden's, but the brainchild of Merus Findlemaker - the appointed shaffi from Lord Ferrus.
Merus, a grey haired man with a long crooked nose, beedy grey eyes that darted to and fro like a rat's and a penchant to snicker at the problems of the common folk, was undoubtedly a spy, and his appointment came with certain understandings. Yorden would keep his position as Warden of Miklagard and it's lands, but Merus would act as first shaffi, and would act as Warden while Yorden was away. That last one was tricky. It meant that Yorden rarely visited his lands and his people, which weakened his grip on the region. When he did leave, those who came to seek his counsel would instead deal with the Gilded Rat as he had come to be known. Stay and govern from the capital, and people would call the Prince a lap dog, or worse, a puppet for Ferrus. Go and visit his lands and lords, and people would call him a coward who left an agent of the enemy to rule while he was off feasting, hunting, and enjoying himself. 
My brother will get us killed.
Zeldir was about to change all that. In a rare breath of fresh air, Merus had traveled to Aros to visit with Zeldir and oversee the appointment of another one of Ferrus’ agents as first shaffi to Zeldir. The journey between cities took a few days by griffon, the turn of a moon for a single rider on horseback, another fortnight for a proper caravan, but only a matter of seconds for an agent of Ferrus. Not a week later, a message had arrived by pigeon - Zeldir had bound Merus in shackles and left him to rot in the dungeons awaiting execution. Yorden had convinced his brother the other occupied kingdoms would see them as divided and weak if Zeldir executed the Findlemaker without Yorden there, so the execution was stayed while Yorden made the long journey to Aros.
Yorden knew Zeldir had no love for the Findlemaker, but never did it cross his mind that his younger brother would do something so rash. Zeldir had a great many supporters who felt similarly about Merus, Ferrus, and the occupying forces. Supporters who would readily take up arms to... to what? They were one occupied kingdom, without magic, against the might, spread out as it may be, of the Goddess of destruction herself. A thousand spears might be raised, but with no clerics, no wizards, their griffons long dead... they might as well be children against knights. My brother will get us killed.
Ferrus was like to learn, if he hadn't already, of this treachery. Would they be executed? Would they be tortured? Would they be left to Lady Felicity?
What will our people think if I do this thing? My brother may only be 15, but there are enough simple minded fools who would follow him that war might break out. No, I must shed as little blood as possible.
The spires of Aros loomed on the horizon. It had been almost two moons since the pigeon had arrived, and so far Zeldir hadn't drawn blood publicly. Stranger yet, Ferrus hadn't been heard from in some time. Yorden often wondered what the arch mage was thinking. Was this a test? Was he busy? Is he dead? Has he forgotten us? Surely not, taxes were still being collected, and Voraci officers still walked the streets. He must be waiting for me to ‘deal’ with this. Should I fail him, we could all die. My brother will get us killed. His life is already forfeit. He’s all I have left.
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