Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

After the altercation between Egil and Lord Storvium, the feast slowly began to return to its previous rhythm. With the troublemaker gracefully excused by Jarza—and likely tied to a water bucket somewhere—conversation and laughter resumed, flowing again like wine in the goblets. The tent was warm with torchlight and drink, and for a while, it seemed peace had returned, at least for the length of an evening.

With Egil gone, Alpheo turned his attention to Asag, the last of his close circle still upright and lucid. Their conversation, unlike the merry chatter around them, quickly steered toward matters of state—cold, sobering, and ever-pressing.

"So," Asag began as he pulled his chair a bit closer, lowering his voice, "are we to expect any reforms regarding the army? I assume you'll be able to tap into far greater resources now that Herculia is under your banner. The White Army could stand to benefit from a little of that."

Alpheo ran a hand down his jaw, fingers brushing against a shadow of stubble. His eyes momentarily wandered toward the a plate of quail eggs, before returning to Asag.

"This year?" he said, voice even. "No. This year will be spent healing. Herculia took the brunt of the damage. Egil fights like a hammer dropped from heaven—he breaks what he touches. Whole villages are in disarray. Fields torched, storehouses plundered, roads barely passable. Not that I take it against him, that were our enemy's lands until some months ago."

He paused, taking a sip of wine and a bite of an egg before continuing.

"I'll need to direct much of our capital toward stabilizing the region.'' he chewed and swallowed'' Rebuild what we can, feed who we must. It's winter, which means grain will spike in price. Fortunately, the coffers are padded thanks to the sack of the capital. That wealth will keep Romelian merchants from gouging our eyes out."

Asag smirked faintly. "So that's a no, then?"

Alpheo gave a curt nod. "For this year. But next ?" He leaned forward slightly, the wine in his cup swirling with the movement. "I intend to raise another legion. With it, new structure. I'm leaning toward promoting Edric. The lad has shown competence, and more importantly—he has the force of will needed for command."

Asag's face lit with easy agreement. "A good choice. He's followed under Jarza's command long enough to learn more than most would in a lifetime. And last year's work with the new recruits? Pleasantly good . Jarza will be pleased to see the bird under his wing take flight."

"He deserves it," Alpheo said simply. "And the army deserves someone like him."

"Of course," Asag nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "though that means Jarza'll need a new bird to take under wing."

"I was meaning to speak to him about that, and ask for a favor" Alpheo said, glancing over the crowd as if trying to spot the old soldier through the haze of firelight and laughter.

"Oh?" Asag raised a brow. "That's rare. You don't usually ask for favors."

"This one's personal."

"Now I'm intrigued. What is it?"

Alpheo let the pause stretch just long enough to add weight to the answer.

"Robert's boy. Talek."

Asag blinked, his amusement vanishing into a furrowed frown. "That's a name I hoped to leave behind. I thought Robert would've long since vanished from your mind. And yet... you want to mentor his son?"

"I hated the father and liked him in my own way , yes," Alpheo admitted, swirling the wine in his cup with slow intention. "But the son... he's different. He's got the same iron will, the same sharp mind—but not the same ghosts clinging to him. His loyalty is to the crown that stands now, not the ones buried beneath it. And he doesn't have a power base of his own, which means any rise he enjoys comes by my hand."

Alpheo's voice dropped to a quieter register, words more thoughtful than commanding.

"That makes him valuable—and loyal. If raised correctly, he could become a fine addition to our future. Few are the men I can give command after all"

Asag chewed his lip thoughtfully, nodding. "And I suppose you've already thought of a way to test him?"

"I have," Alpheo said, eyes flicking toward the door Jarza had dragged Egil through not long ago. "With Edric moving up to become legate, Jarza will be without a sub-centurio. I was thinking of placing Talek under him. Let the old wolf see what the cub is made of."

Asag grinned, lifting his cup. "Well, that sounds like a cruel but effective trial. I wouldn't wish Jarza as a mentor on many, I know he can be quite rough but at the end of it …"

"He'll come out forged," Alpheo said, raising his own cup in return. "Or broken. Either way, we'll know."

They drank to that.

After that Alpheo's gaze swept across the lively tent, skipping over the dancers, the jesters, and even the Lords deep in their wine. Eventually, his eyes settled on two particular figures seated near the far end—brothers, both born of the fallen house of Herculia, sons of the late Princ Lechlian. The remnants of a dynasty, now shadows flickering at the edges of his court.

He exhaled slowly, setting down his cup.

"I think," he murmured to Asag, "I'll take a walk with the elder of our two prodigal sons. Help digest this feast."

Asag raised a brow, smirking. "What, were the eggs hard to swallow?"

"Harder than they had any right to be," Alpheo replied dryly, rising from his seat and adjusting the collar of his coat. "Besides, there's something I need to drive into Arnold's head. This moment may be the best chance I'll get."

Asag lifted his goblet in a mock toast. "To indigestion and diplomacy."

Alpheo smirked faintly and turned away, making his way through the warmth and flickering shadows of the tent. Nobles parted subtly as he passed, either stepping aside or bowing their heads.

Arnold was seated with the posture of a man politely enduring something, listening as his younger brother Thalien rambled on with boyish excitement—his hands animated, his words spilling without rhythm. The contrast between the two could not have been sharper. Where Thalien still seemed dazed with wonder at the feast, Arnold wore the fixed, tight-lipped expression of someone surrounded by enemies and unsure of which words might become a noose.

As Alpheo approached, both brothers turned their heads, sensing the shift in air around them. The prince spoke before either could rise.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything too profound," Alpheo said, his tone light but edged with intention.

Thalien leapt to his feet with the eager reflex of youth, bowing deeply. Arnold, a moment slower, followed suit—his own bow tighter, more restrained.

"I was hoping to borrow your brother for a short walk," Alpheo continued smoothly directing the words at the youngest. "You and I have had our fair share of words, Thalien. But I suspect Arnold's view of me still leans a little… villainous? " His smile tilted ever so slightly, enough to make the words seem both jest and warning.

Arnold's jaw shifted, but he kept his voice even. "Never, Your Grace. I would never presume—"

"Of course," Alpheo cut in gently, not disputing, but not exactly agreeing either. He turned to Thalien with a softer smile. "In the meantime, perhaps you could keep Lord Asag company. He may look grim, but he's a better listener than most, and a worse drunk than you might expect."

Thalien gave a quick nod, clearly eager to remain useful. "Certainly, Your Grace," he said with eyes that appeared to be shining as they looked at him.

And so as the younger brother stepped away in search of Asag, Alpheo gestured casually for Arnold to follow, leading them both through the tent's flap and into the cold evening air, leaving behind the golden flickers of firelight and the muffled revelry still echoing from the tent.

For a moment he stood at the outskirts, where the cold crept deeper into the bones and the silence felt sacred. Above him stretched the ink-dark sky, vast and unending, scattered with stars so crisp and clear they seemed almost close enough to pluck from the heavens like flowers.

His breath clouded in the air as he tilted his head back, gaze trailing over constellations. The stars glimmered with an old, indifferent beauty—serene, untouchable, eternal. In their quiet light, the weight of conquest, blood, and politics faded for a moment.

Revealing that above humans' matters, nature was always there.

He took a deep breath, the cold filling his lungs, clearing the haze of wine and thoughts alike. A small, knowing chuckle escaped him as he murmured under his breath the old words of verses he'd memorized as a boy, now more meaningful than ever.

"Lo duca e io per quel cammino ascoso. The guide and I, along that hidden path,

intrammo a ritornar nel chiaro mondo; Entered once more to find the world of light;

e sanza cura aver d'alcun riposo, Without a thought for rest or any pause,

salimmo sù, el primo e io secondo,We climbed up—he first, and I behind,

tanto ch'i' vidi de le cose belle. Until I saw again those lovely things

che porta 'l ciel, per un pertugio tondo.The stars the heavens bear, through a round opening.

E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle."And then we came forth—to see the stars once more.

As the final line passed his lips, Alpheo stood in stillness. The stars shimmered above him, untouched by war or memory. And for just a moment, the prince was not a conqueror, not a ruler, not the wielder of fate.

But simply a man, returned from the dark, and reminded of the potential that humanity could reach.

The only being in existence capable of accomplishing the worst and the best that life can offer.