• Closed • Wordplay (Alistair)

[Rafael Warrick]

18th Cyclus, 717

The road to Venora was a long one and Rafael tried not to remind himself that the distance from Venora to his home region of Warrick was an even longer journey, his buttocks were already aching from spending three days in the saddle and the constant bobbing had brought on a light headache. He did not ride alone through the perpetual twilight. At his side was Olyfer, his once teacher and now most trusted advisor. Five more horses followed with a soldier from Warrick, in full attire, on each of them. Olyfer had handpicked the men and women, making sure that only those with similar sympathies towards the Qe'dreki would be accompanying the youngest Lord Warrick. Balian and Finton, twin brothers near twice Rafael's age, rode at the very front of the column while Aria, Quinten, and Helga secured the back. None of them looked too happy, in part due to the freezing cold that seeped through even the thickest wool and also because they didn't feel at ease in Venora, least of all as they passed through the gates into Sabaissant. Whereas everything in Warrick was built from a functional perspective, the denizens of the pearl of Venora seemed to have had different priorities. Though Rafael was prejudiced against Venoran vanity, he couldn't help but marvel at the enchanting beauty of the city, especially now that it was blanketed in snow.

Balian and Finton rode ahead to the palace to announce Rafael's arrival to Lord Alistair Venora and give the man a little forewarning, should the message that had been sent two trials ago not have arrived. They would deliver a message just as brief and cryptic as the letter delivered earlier to Lord Venora. Rafael Warrick humbly requested an audience with the esteemed Lord Venora to discuss private matters.

Helga whistled through her teeth as they slowly rode up the mountain, which earned her a stern look from Olyfer. In the privacy of his mind however, Rafael agreed. All around were buildings worth a small fortune, and that was just in the lower areas of the city. The further they travelled up, the more ornate the buildings got. The bakery's and pottery's were like small castles, and the windows shone with polish.

“Don't get too distracted,” Olyfer warned at his side. “You didn't come here to gawk now did you?”

Still mesmerized by the view, Rafael slowly shook his head.

“Then snap out of it,” Olyfer said sternly. “I know little of Lord Venora, but I'd bet my life's savings that he has more political experience than you.”

“But I have a very good advisor,” Rafael smiled sheepishly.

“Who will not speak unless spoken to, as is the proper form. I am just a fly on the wall. Once you're in there, you're on your own.”

Olyfer was right of course, and a tinge of nervousness tickled at his innards as they continued the slow road up the mountain back, towards the palace. His goal was as simple as it was impossible: find out what Lord Venora desired the most and gather as much knowledge as possible about the man destined to one day become the Duke. Dukes were powerful allies to have, after all, and he would need many powerful allies for the web that he'd started to spin.

Knowing full well how obsessed the Venora bloodline was with beauty and perfection, Rafael made a stop halfway up the mountain to refresh himself and shed any dirt from three harsh days of travel. By the time he passed through the gates into the palace, he eyed fresh, healthy, and well-groomed with the exception of his jet-black hair that insisted on scattering over his forehead.

Surrounded by a small army of Venoranguards, Rafael and Olyfer were escorted deep into the palace while Quinten, Aria, and Helga waited outside and guarded the horses as well as their swords and other equipment. Rafael had been reluctant to part with his blade, but didn't wish to offend and begrudginly handed it over when asked to do so. After what seemed like a small eternity, they finally arrived at a spacious room in the heart of the palace. In the middle of the room stood a tall, broad man blessed with fair, lank hair, his back still facing the doorway.

“Lord Warrick is here,” a servant announced.

Rafael braced himself for the look of surprise that he'd seen far too often. In comparison to Lord Venora's height, he was small, and next to someone as old as Olyfer, he looked even younger than usual. As always then, he would have to convince Lord Venora that he was not a mere child from the minute he opened his mouth.

When and if he would be greeted by Alistair, Rafael's head would dip into a shallow bow and he would speak with confidence. “I am most impressed by this city, Lord Venora, and most honored that you're willing to receive me here. As a token of gratitude, I've brought this,” he turned to Olyfer who held the polished longbow in both hands like a newborn child, “small gift. I must confess that I don't know if you're a sportsman, or perhaps a warrior, and I can only hope you'll find use for it.”

[Alistair]

The request for a visit by Lord Rafael Warrick, bastard of the Warrick line, was something he'd never quite expected. Though, as usual, the fact that such a Lord of such insecure standing in the politics of the Great Houses wished to meet him was... worthy of some speculation. He must've had some ambition, some goal, that he sought to put to life. They all did. The Lord was a natural skeptic, particularly concerning those from other Great Houses, as he himself had virtually never made these diplomatic visits without something in mind. Whether it was merely to keep the bond between their houses aflame, or whether it was to shower the other in gifts and praises followed by some outlandish request for support . . .

Everyone wanted something in Rynmere, and the nobles wanted the most. It was in their nature, lavishly decorated men and women with hearts as vicious as Jacadons in heat. A young fellow such as this only concerned him more, as he could hide so well behind the innocence of a childish complexion. Yes, Alistair was cynical. And yes - he accepted the young lad regardless, because in truth, he wished to ally with House Warrick so that he may finally achieve the crown. He depended on their support. Perhaps Rafael caught onto that. Perhaps someone else in his family did. One never knew the origin of the voice that came from one's lips.

Setting up for the visit, Alistair wore exceptionally lavish garbs, two servants of the house accompanying him with a valet at the door entering the audience hall. He seated himself upon the chair beside the ducal throne, and waited, tapping the tapestry along the wood as he waited for the sound of footsteps. When he'd heard them approaching from down the hall, he removed himself from the seat, and stood in the center of the room. A servant announced their presence.

Lord Warrick, the man repeated in his head. The house has always been a loyal friend. They sided with Venora and Andaris in the civil war. What motive could they have for sending such a greenhorn?

The young Lord approaching, and offering Alistair a bow, the man's cynicism stilled. He had to at least be polite. He held out his hands to accept the fine bow, smiling quaintly at the other Lord as he very slightly bowed his head. "I appreciate your compliments towards our fine city," he said. "I have seen Fort Warrick before, and it too is a fine abode - built to be strong and valorous as the men and women within. So too are we strong here, but in a different way - economically. I hope you have enjoyed our many accommodations," he said, politely. The servants closed the door, keeping their conversation private behind the many thick walls. Alistair had no advisor in his employ, but he did have the air of an accomplished politician, and he knew exactly where this conversation could lead. He'd ridden of all of the untrustworthy servants, leaving the throne room quite bare.

"I am indeed a warrior, and so I thank you for your well chosen gift. I can assure you it will be used with care, and shall secure many a fine kill." He spoke with the same air of grace he always did, though he had to admit, a portion of him wished to move forward and get to what Rafael actually wanted.

"Now," he began, "what is it that you wished to speak of, Lord Warrick?" It turned out, he did just that, steering away from the pleasantries and getting to the cusp of the issue. Alistair wasn't a man for playing games, or wasting time. He commanded the flow of conversations, often, using his political leverage to assert his position. This was one such a conversation, and fully, he believed himself capable of being the commanding authority in this meeting with Rafael. The young nobleman was clearly not as experienced, by grace of his age and position in the inheritance. There would be no flowered words with which he spoke.

[Rafael Warrick]

18th Cyclus, 717

As befitted a Venoran, Alistair was dressed in the most excessive fashion possible, yet managed to look good, almost casual in it. Perhaps it was some kind of trick, a way to make any guests feel like uncivilized dogs in comparison. Fortunately, due to a healthy disregard for etiquette in general, Rafael was merely surprised at the impracticality of the garbs and wondered who in their right mind designed such contraptions.

While Olyfer's brows furrowed into a harsh frown once or twice during the Venoran's monologue, Rafael took no notice of any cleverly veiled insults at his address. While sharp of mind, he was simply too naive to think that Alistair would inject any cynism into his words. “I've only stopped for a brief refreshment,” Rafael replied in answer to the small talk. For a brief moment he worried that at least half a bell of idle chit-chat would have to pass before they could get to the real reason of his visit, but Alistair turned out to be equally impatient, and managed to say so eloquently.

No matter how eager he was to move forward, he remembered that Olyfer had insisted he'd not move too fast. He folded his hands neatly behind his back and offered a small, devilish smile to his host, as though he were privy to something quite amusing. Then his face grew serious once more and he began stepping forward, taking in the large room they found themselves in.

“First of all, my condoleances for the loss of your sister. I only saw her once, at the Warrick tournament. She seemed quite taken with Veljorn, even then. I can only wonder how you must feel...” his voice trailed of deliberately, in hopes that Alistair would feel inclined to fill in the blanks. Regardless, Rafael stopped near a particularly ornate piece of furniture and pretended to be interested in its design before turning his gaze back to Alistair. “I can also sense what you think of me Lord Alistair, because it's what everyone thinks when they see me.” Again he smiled, though not in joy. “You're wholly forgiven, but you're also mistaken.” Yet what exactly Alistair was mistaken about, he left up to the Lord's interpretation. Almost lazily, his grey eyes locked onto the heir's for a few trills. What they lacked in years, they more than made up for in intensity and Alistair would find himself facing a very serious young man.

Eventually, he tore his eyes away again and resumed his careless strut through the throne room, stopping every now and then to study an intricate detail on the wall or ceiling, more so to gather his thoughts than to actual inspect the artwork. When he could no longer feign any interest, he turned and pressed his lips together in deep thought. Olyfer shot him a telling look, which he ignored.

“The crown has condemned my cousin to be a traitor, but I do not think of her like that. I wonder how you...” he paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Would you consider my cousin a traitor Lord Venora, or would you consider her a loyal friend to your sister?”

[Alistair]

My condolences for the loss of your sister, the boy said. Alistair nodded his head, though he did not appear emotional in the slightest as this was said, considering it had been quite some time. That, and he knew she was alive, but he didn't allow that knowledge to effect his demeanor in the slightest while discussing this issue. Alistair was naturally quite cold, and so a cold reaction even to condolences over a familial death wasn't out of his character. Still, he would keep up appearances, and reply as if he believed she had truly passed away.

"Dying is a terrible thing. Dying for love - less so. I commend her for sticking up for her husband's beliefs, even at the expense of her life." He nodded his head, deciding not to say more. If this conversation had been made a year ago, he would've surely added profanities about the way in which she damaged Venora's reputation, but times had changed, and so had Alistair. He realized that reputation wasn't everything - that Leadership could be held in a balance, with one's true character being important too, as a man rather than just a ruler. Zvezdana had effected Venora's relationships poorly, but she'd also provided a moment of mourning and self-understanding for many around her. The throne of Sabaissant still stood, directly behind the Lord of Venora speaking today. That was enough. They were alright, and the storm had passed. He had moved on from criticizing his sister.

As for what he thought of Rafael, he wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but it could have been a variety of things. He could certainly see ambition in him, there was no doubt of that. He reminded him of himself at that age. He was also similar in demeanor and experience, but that was fine. Overall, while Alistair did believe himself to be speaking from a superior position, he did not demean Rafael. The boy jumped too quickly to the assumption that the man viewed him lowly, when in reality, he didn't view him as much anything at all, yet. His experiences with Rafael had been far too limited for any conclusions, whether to break his natural cynicism or instill it.

Speaking clearly on this issue, the man sought not to embarrass Rafael, but also to correct him. "If you are to claim that my views on you are mistaken, then you are asking me to view you quite poorly," the man stated, bluntly. "I do not think anything negative of you, yet. In fact, I admire your courage in approaching someone such as myself despite your age and inexperience. If you believe I am mistaken in admiring you, then that is fine. However, Rafael, when dealing with other Lords it is best not to assume their intentions. Generally, I have none, until I am given a motivation to have one. We have spoken of nothing yet, so still the presumptions for now, if you may."

He was, of course, ruthless - but that was because he did not wish to coddle Rafael. The young Lord needed to know where he'd gone awry in order to make amends, and in this matter, he had gone awry.

Watching the boy strut through the ducal throne room, Alistair's eyebrows rose as the young one seemed to examine and make contact with the furniture around the building. He wondered why he was acting as such - was it some sort of nervous issue, or was he genuinely curious in the design of Venoran furnishings? The nobleman decided to quickly dismiss it, as it was a minor point, but it did help to mold something about the demeanor of Rafael in his head.

When he spoke of his cousin and her loyalties to Zvezdana, he could only guess whom he might have spoken of. Vivian Warrick, a natural friend and companion to his sister. He'd never really known her, but he knew she was important to Zvezdana, and he knew that Zvezdana was even more important to her. Should she have been punished for her mistaken loyalties? Possibly. The King did need to show his subjects that they could not urge rebellion against him without being punished. Cassander was acting perfectly in his rights in this matter. If anything, he was being merciful.

"Can I not consider her both?" he asked. "A traitor and a loyal friend. She is certainly a traitor, Rafael, and I mean that with no crude intentions. However, so is Zvezdana, and so are a great number of people." So many, in fact, that he wondered if it may be prudent to pardon them and bring them home - though he'd never suggest such a thing to the King, who was still filled with thoughts of vengeance. In all likelihood, Rafael could have been an agent of Cassander's, so Alistair wouldn't say that to him, either.

"Why do you ask?" he questioned. "Would you have me see her as a loyal friend? Would you have me seek to help you to free her from being hunted? Speak honestly with me, Lord Warrick - I will not bite, regardless of what you believe. You are a guest in my home, and shall be treated with respect."

[Rafael Warrick]

18th Cyclus, 717

Rafael cocked his head to the side. He'd expected a stronger reaction from Alistair, in fact he'd hoped for it, hoped that it would grant him a way in. There were only a handful of explanations: either the Venoran heir was hiding his sorrow, or perhaps he'd already processed her passing. Either that, or...he didn't care. His brows furrowed in confusion, and wondered how dying for love was somehow less terrible, but he didn't inquire any further. Judging by the silence that followed, Alistair preferred a different topic, and Rafael couldn't blame him.

He was just making his way over to sit down on one of the chairs at the edges of the room when Alistair remark on his assumption. At once he froze as a cold, tingling sensation shot up through chest. His eyes flicked over to Olyfer, who gave a quiet shrug in return. Had he offended the Lord? He idly scratched the back of his neck with his fingers as Alistair reprimanded him for assuming too much. Perhaps it was merely friendly advice, but Rafael felt like he'd been caught nicking cookies from a cookie jar and his cheeks burned ever so slightly. All of a sudden he became all too aware of how loud his heart was drumming in his throat and ears. He fidgeted with his hands behind his back in an attempt to calm himself. Nothing had gone awry yet. Lord Venora was merely trying to be helpful, wasn't he?

Rafael bit down on his lips before apoloziging. "You're right. I apologize," he said a bit too tersely.

It wasn't until Alistair moved on with addressing his questions that Rafael relaxed again and mustered the courage required to sit down uninvited. It was all rather flustering as he began to worry about where to put his hands and if he hadn't accidentally plonked down on the wrong sort of chair. He wasn't quite so nervous yet however as to miss that Alistair addressed him directly by his first name which could be taken as a sign of friendliness, or disdain. Given what the tall man had said moments before however, it was most likely a mere friendly informality.

Whereas Alistair had elicited a sense of shame in Rafael just moments before, he now seemed to achieve the opposite. Something the Venoran had said caused the boy's skin to pale and his shoulders to slump. A pained look came to the young Lord's face.

"Only if..." Rafael started, but then swallowed down the rest of the sentence. His eyes roved over Alistair, then flicked to the door as if he worried someone might be listening in. Quietly, he motioned for the Venoran to come closer and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "I would like to tell you why I've come, Alistair, but you must swear the most sacred vow that what is mentioned here stays between us. Can you do that?"

[Alistair]

The boy tensed up. It was like his nerves had not just been tightened, but annihilated, Alistair putting him into a position beyond discomfort. The man didn't intend as such, but he knew that such lessons were best imparted now rather than later, when the boy was older and more apt to be targeted by slander, violence and insult. Young Lords playing the game of politics were cute, old ones were enemies. Considering Rafael's intellect at his age, though, he imagined the boy would be an excellent statesman once he grew to Alistair's age. There was no doubt in his mind.

"There is no need to apologize," the man said, waving his hand and slowly shaking his head. "You're a fine young nobleman, Rafael. I hope you don't feel as if I've embarrassed you - it's just, we're cousins, aren't we?" He asked this, despite knowing that Rafael had been adopted by the Warricks, rather than sired by his biological relatives. "So, we'd best look out for each other, and that includes pointing out things we could improve upon," the man said, nodding. He really meant no harm, and actually - surprisingly - felt sort of guilty for making Rafael even more nervous than he already was. Fortunately, the boy had some fortitude, and he quickly seemed to recover from his apparent slight.

His face calmed, and he listened, though within Alistair's speech Rafael seemed to express some form of discomfort. Was it because of Vivian being called a traitor? He wasn't sure, though he imagined the boy knew he only meant legally, and technically. Still, his look was pained, and he began to speak in hushed voices, gesturing for the Venora to come closer. I would like to tell you why I've come, Alistair, but you must swear the most sacred vow that what is mentioned here stays between us. Curious. The man's brow rose, curious as to what words lay in store for him. He had no issue with keeping the boy's words a secret - what was more worrisome was what might escape his lips, and how it could possibly have effected House Venora.

Still, the boy seemed to trust him, and he wouldn't betray that trust. He nodded, responding back. "That's fine, Rafael. I swear on the grave of my great-grandfather, Lord Wolsingham, and upon the honor of Lady Nora, First Queen of Rynmere, and matron of my house. I will not speak of this to others unless you give me express permission, for the sake of aiding you in whatever it is you seek," he said, bowing his head as if to seal the deal. "Now, tell me, Rafael. Why have you come? I do not wish to rush you, but you must understand, I am growing worried."

Did this involve Lady Vivian? Or Zvezdana? He already knew his sister was alive, so what of Vivian -- where could she be? With Zvez? His mind was racing, though he knew he would not have an answer by his thoughts alone. He needed Rafael to tell him of what direly important thing he'd come to discuss.

[Rafael Warrick]

18th Cyclus, 717

For a few more trills he shifted in his seat and wrung his hands uneasily. A pang bolted through his heart at being called cousin. How he wished that someone would actually consider him family! But surely, Alistair was being cynical. To him, after all, he was merely the adopted son of Ned and Ray Warrick, and thereby only a relation in name, not blood. After sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils, he finally decided to take the gamble and roll the dice.

“I came here because of you. You’ll be the Duke one day, whereas I…” He cocked his head to the side and tried to gauge Alistair’s reaction. Would his cousin be able to fill in the blanks? “I’m the very last in line. I will inherit some lands perhaps, maybe a small homestead if I’m lucky, and I will have a chance to live out my days in relative comfort.” To some common men, there was nothing greater in the world than what he’d just described, but it was clear from his voice that he loathed the prospect.

“I don’t want that. I don’t want any of that. I can do better, so much better but my family...they don’t have any backbone anymore. They’re afraid of the King, the crown, the empress. To me,” his eyes locked onto Alistair’s now, “they’re the traitors, not Vivian. She followed her heart. She fought for what she believed was right while my father and uncles cowered before Cassander.” He almost spat the Boy King’s name as though it left some vile taste in his mouth. “And what kind of King is he? He slaughters his enemies like cattle in the arena, giving them no chance to fight back while others are sold as slaves or send to work in the mines. He’s vile and cruel, and he murdered his wife, yet all we do, all the houses of Rynmere do is stand by and watch while a foreigner rules our lands!”

He flared his nostrils and fired a challenging look at Alistair. There it was. The truth, laid out bare before the nobleman’s eyes. “I’ve come to you for advice, and with the hope that you won’t betray me, not now, and not when I return.” There was one more thing resting on the tip of his tongue. Olyfer shook his head quietly in the corner, advising against exposing the last bit of truth. It was the biggest gamble yet, and should Alistair disagree, he might as well have dug his own grave.

“Next season,” he resumed in a far quieter voice, “I will go to the Eastern Settlement, where the Qe’dreki slumber under Yoreth Blackwood’s command. I will find them, and I will join them, and in time, I will be their King. I do not ask for your approval Alistair, but I would hope that when I come back, I will not have to stand against you.”

[Alistair]

This was... an interesting development. Rafael was not content with his position in the inheritance, that was clear. In fact, he wasn't content with much anything occurring in the Kingdom right now, which was a common sentiment among the nobility, one they scarcely shared. The truth was, few liked Cassander, and even fewer liked him on the throne. Yet they all did cower, too afraid to rise up. Too afraid to assert the power they'd accrued for six centuries, while these Renault's hadn't even been established. Rafael was absolutely right. Too many Dukes and Duchesses had betrayed the Kingdom they loved. They'd let it fall to nigh-anarchy, with the peasantry rising against them in anger, blaming them.

No. It was too much, too far. If this continued, Rynmere as they knew it would cease to exist. Rafael was absolutely right. "Cassander means nothing," he spoke, bluntly. "He does not even seek to preserve the status quo, but rather, his own power. There is nothing about the boy that is genuine, or meaningful to the Kingdom. When he becomes a man, he will be even worse -- the last shred of empathy and humanity in him will fade. I have known men like this, before. He will rule as a monstrosity, down the line."

The man sighed. It was another civil war brewing, and he knew that. Rafael would be only one great adversary, rising up against his Liege Lord. Alistair was another -- he had already set things in motion, with he and Xander seeking to rile Warrick, Venora and Krome against the ruling establishment. But they needed more. They needed the Qe'dreki, they needed the Skyriders, they needed the Knights . . . and they even needed the mages.

This victory would have to be one in totality. The Kingdom could not face another civil dispute the likes of last Saun. They would need to crush Cassander quickly, whether with overwhelming military might, or by pen and silver tongue. Regardless, his heart laid with Rafael, and he had no fear of professing his fondness for the idea.

"The Qe'dreki, rebels or not, are our people. They believed in a different vision of Rynmere, as do we. Please, Rafael," he began, "bring them home. I will not stand against you when they come -- in fact, I will welcome you, and provide you my fields for their nourishment. I only have one request," he said. He was going to be... utterly blunt here.

"If you find that our goals align, and that we should join mutually in rebellion, offer me your trust. Join our Houses together, as one great unit, under our mutual leadership. Warrick and Venora, historically, have been capable of overcoming any obstacle. Including wroth, foreign Lords."

[Rafael Warrick]

18th Cyclus, 717

While Olyfer held his breath in the corner of the decorated room, Rafael listened intently to what Alistair had to say. The gamble had paid off it would seem. A slanted smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he processed all that Alistair had said. He rose from his chair and paced around for a moment, lost in deep thought, then halted abruptly and looked up to the well-groomed Lord. If Alistair spoke true, then he had just gained a powerful ally for his own plans. A Duke had power over many things and could set things in motion that could change the course of history.

Like lightning, the thought struck, though he showed none of it to Olyfer or Alistair. There were only two people standing in the way of Alistair claiming his birthright. Should Ebony and Willow Venora meet an untimely end...

It was a dangerous thought to have and Rafael quickly pushed it out of his mind, but the seed remained.

"Warrick’s forces are not mine to give to you, I only command a handful of fighters and of those, only few would dare to come with me to the Eastern Settlement. In fact, I may have marched the entirety of what I command to your doorstep and despite their loyalty and ferocity, I doubt five soldiers are enough." He paused for a moment to weigh his next few words carefully.

“I was on my way to Warrick, to see my father. I will see what I can do to persuade him, but I have to be careful. I will not mention you or what was said here to him,” he stepped up to his cousin and put a light hand on the taller man's shoulder while his eyes searched the other's. “I swear it, just like I swear I will do everything in my power to see Cassander dethroned.” Who should take the overthrown King's place however, Rafael didn't say, His hand slid off Alistair's shoulder and fell to his side. For the first time in their entire encounter a genuine, happy smile curled his lips.

“I'm glad you didn't judge me when I first stepped into this room, and I was mistaken to assume so.” He was about to turn to take his leave when he realized he had one more important question to ask of Alistair. He shot a curious little look at his cousin and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “Why do you think the Qe'dreki lost last time? I have a theory of my own, but I'm interested in hearing yours first. It seems wise to me to learn from mistakes, wouldn't you agree?”

[Alistair]

Warrick's forces are not mine to give you, Rafael proclaimed, which caused for Alistair's lips to curl into a faint, half-smile. Despite the fact that Rafael was not the Duke, he had influence, being a relative and a member of the House. It wasn't as if he were the only Warrick that Alistair was trying to persuade, anyhow -- he would soon make contacts with sympathizers of Vivian, and utilize his grandfather's heritage to his advantage. They were his cousins, and thus, they had some kinship, as well as a desire to keep the houses bound together. Olivia and Andraska's likely union was proof of such.

"You do not need to come marching in, commanding tens of thousands of soldiers beneath House Warrick's banner. You only need to do what you can in supporting your fellow brothers. Whether that means providing a small group of soldiers to our joint coalition, or an entire army, I trust and respect in your desire to do what you can to contribute. I will do the same." He nodded his head. With that, their mutual alignment was revealed. Though Alistair didn't fully trust Rafael, especially considering his age and the whimsical nature that came with it, he acknowledged that he needed to take risks in order to overcome the current monarchy. Rafael was one of such risks, as was the Qe'dreki. Truthfully, this meeting had been overall fortuitous.

"I appreciate your commitment, Lord Warrick," the man said, nodding. "I swear, as well, on behalf of the legacy of the Seven... that we will see House Renault removed entirely from the equation." He gave the young man a firm nod, staring into his eyes as the Warrick laid a hand atop his shoulder. Rafael was... interesting. Aside from being precocious, there was something else about him that made him stand out, though the mage couldn't tell entirely what that was. He had a drive that he hadn't seen in many others -- an ambition, totally unique for his age and experience. While that meant danger, it also meant potential for growth.

The young man's hand slid off of his shoulder. Alistair offered him a pat on the back, pulling him in for a brief hug - they were cousins, after all. He shook his head upon being told that Rafael was glad not to be judged. "I know. It's difficult to get others to understand and respect you, at your age. But I hold no judgments based on arbitration; your age, your physicality, your name, your hereditary characteristics... these things matter little to me. I believe in one thing, Lord Warrick, and that is merit. Merit... is something you clearly possess." He complimented him, and genuinely so; Rafael was a fine young man. In all likelihood, this gentleman attending him had done well to create a suitable environment for mental growth. He seemed to be learning and adapting quickly to the political climate.

Alistair could only hope he wasn't executed for his Qe'dreki sympathies, which led further into his final question, the man turning to leave as Alistair released him from the familial embrace. The mage nodded at his question, and pondered for but a moment, before speaking truly.

"I believe House Venora's shifting alignment to Cassander was the deciding factor in the defeat of the Qe'Dreki. Originally, we were going to support Zvezdana for the throne, at the behest of my mother and grandmother. However, I roused the House to remain loyal to the Crown, considering our casus belli was virtually non-existent. I did not wish for the family to lose its historic reputation as loyal and agreeable, solely for the sake of a singular generation of power-mongering at the behest of a Burhan with no grounds for his conquest. As a result, the House fell back into loyalty by my machinations, though that is not where it ended. I sent Theodore to ensure Warrick's loyalty to the Crown, which proved successful. And further, we worked to rescue Lady Elyna from the grip of Marcus Krome, who was injured as a result. In completion of this task, we fractured the morale of the Krome armies at the falling of their General, as well as weakening the connection between Burhan and Krome. With those two Duchies existing as the pillar of the rebellion, and mutually weakened, whilst standing against Warrick, Venora and Andaris... there was virtually no chance."

He was not attempting to claim credit for the whole of the victory over the Northern Houses. Peake, for example, had done a great deal. However, Alistair fully believed that the diplomatic hegemony of House Venora had led to the defeat of Veljorn's army, particularly due to their arrival - behind his lines - from the Duchy. Venora and Warrick were the "swing" houses of the war, and swing they did, in favor of the Crown.

Did he regret that? No. Veljorn was not the man that deserved the crown. Alistair was -- and by proving his loyalty and excellence in the course of the war, he'd given himself an ample foot to stand on. Now, all that was left, was capitalizing on the weakness left behind by the civil war... and further utilizing Venora's diplomatic prowess to swing the pendulum back to the rebels, but under a different King.

"Sometimes it is not that you failed, but that your enemies succeeded. I and others successfully managed to destroy Veljorn, who was so caught up in his narcissism, that he could not see the weeds growing in the garden. One must always remain vigilant of their foes, and one must know to determine who their enemies really are. If Veljorn had taken the time to understand my history with Zvezdana, and my ambition, he might have realized that I had been working entirely against him. Yet he did not bother, and so I freely managed to stack the deck against him. Poor, silly, broken man. An excellent tactician, lost." He shook his head.

It didn't matter. Others would replace him, and perhaps they'd learn obedience to the proper Lords.

"I'll see you some other time, Rafael. Perhaps I'll even come find you in the Settlements, if the Gods will allow it."

Waving goodbye, he turned back around, once again facing the ducal throne. Weeds in the garden. He needed to remember that. Cassander had to have more enemies than just Alistair, Xander and Rafael. Who else would dethrone the boy-King?