Since three years ago, things had not been right. One failed diplomatic mission and the King had lost a little faith in him.
                It was no fault of his own. The Victumians were a fierce people who still harboured resentment to the King. There was not a one man in all of Louena could have successfully brokered a deal with the sons of whores.
                Not only had he failed however, but the farcical event had lost him face with all of the other Provincial Lords. It was a horror and it made life at Court very difficult.
                Three years ago, he had travelled across the Old Sea with just himself. There was not fleet to accompany him if things went less than bad. The King had claimed it was a precautionary move, so as not to look threatening to the leaders of Victum. Damyen was beginning to have other idea about that.
                Off he sailed on the barge laden with gifts, a simple merchant’s barge of Tundrakkian make, though bearing the royal heraldry and the hand of peace. All he had with regards to security was a handful of his personal guard for himself and his two younger sons, Eldin who was sixteen at the time and Astor who had been thirteen. He had hoped to teach the young boys lessons of life and the bigger world. He had only succeeded in imparting upon them lessons of failure.
                With the royal papers and his entourage, he moored on the central port city of Chavrine and treated with the Lord there.
                He had been hopeful, for the simple reason that, should he have succeeded, the King would have gifted him with great favour. He could have been raised to become the Lord of Westguard, which would have placed him on the King’s High Council, one of the highest honours in the kingdom.
                It was not to be.
                Things had gone instantly sour as soon as he docked his ship. The Lord has spotted him in the distance and set about to seizing the ship and taking him prisoner—

                “Lord Drayvon?” a voice called out. He turned to see the guard outside of his carriage.
                “Well, it is about time!” he yelled, though glad to have been distracted from his troubled mind.
                “Apologies m’lord, but protocol must be addressed and effectively followed for the safety of His Majesty the King as much as the safety of His peoples.” The Guard laid a hand on his carriage. Damyen had a mind to cut that damned hand off.
                “Save your misguided notions, I know your meaning peasant.” Fools! Fools with ideas of superiority! If only for a moment, it probably makes the little man feel very good about himself, stopping great Lords such as I at the door. He was fuming.
                “Be that as it may, by the Kings decree, you may pass through His gates—“
                “—thank you—“ his tone dripping with ire.
                “—but it His royal decree,” the guard continued. “That every Lord is to leave half of his guard to the protection of Louenon.” There was a careful look on the man’s face, clearly he was uncomfortable. Good, he is beginning to learn his place. But Damyen could not argue with the King’s law, only the self serving methods of this jackanapes. 

The End

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