The Seer (Closed)

Rashad realized that his correspondence was growing daily. He was running the risk of stretching himself overly, at this rate, without focusing sufficient attention on receiving the grant on which all of his hopes had been bent. Presently, it was a letter to the Count du Gertrande, who sought advice regarding the dowry of his eldest daughter. Lacking a male heir, his daughter was widely courted. This made it quite easy for Rashad to craft his response, especially when the Count had so graciously written of his fears and concerns. He did not even bother consulting the astrological tables.

“You must choose your course with care,” he wrote, “for the mists of time are shrouded. With some difficulty, I perceived a grave threat upon your House, a dark looming shadow that threatens to swallow it whole, until it becomes lost in the grinding dust of history. I saw a fell beast of the air, a wicked thing , roosting within your own tower and driving forth all other inhabitants, until your house lay as bare and desolate as a tomb. Indeed, there seems to be a threat upon your very person, from those jealous heirs too anxious to come into their own. I see a bed of flowers…a fox hunt, which shall end in tragedy. The fox is always clever…beware those who seem too eager, and too clever, for I have also seen a vision of a man danced upon strings, as flames licked at his toes. Better suitors will seek not your house, but your daughter, and your generosity. Therefore, a generous offering must be made to find the appropriate match.”

Admiring his writing, Rashad set the parchment aside to allow the ink to dry. It was all quite vague, and yet, held sufficient truth, or portential truth, to provide counsel. Counsel the Count would have done well to heed, regardless, and which of course played upon his own concerns. That was the key to prophecy-vague terms and allusions, and offering them as though they’ve been presented through Providence. Take no credit for yourself, give freely while asking for nothing, and you can create a reputation. While people might be suspicious of those who ask for nothing, they’re even more suspicious when you demand coin for your services. Rashad was not to be mistaken for any palm reading crying warnings from the street.

The seed for this idea had been planted many years ago, when he was studying at the university. Astronomy and astrology were primary subjects for the learned, even those who wished to be doctors, as he once had. He’d always imagined he would find some comfortable position tending to some aging lord in a grand hall, but the truth was, doctors were always more needed to treat the masses and their many, many ailments. He’d learned too much of that while he’d spent time traveling as an apothecary. Regardless, he had learned a lot about how superstitious even the wisest teachers could be-a trait which he no longer shared.

Rashad had always had very vivid dreams. Sometimes he could almost imagine he was receiving a message, or a vision. Occasionally, he would experience something that was so remarkably similar to one of his dreams, it would create a feeling that he’d experienced this before, that he’d seen the future. He had been describing one of these experiences to a fellow scholar in the hearing of an instructor, who had become convinced he truly WAS seeing the future, and required Rashad to write down all of his dreams. He’d been all too eager to comply, at first. It was only later, after his elder had juxtaposed some of his more vague imagery to justify that he’d foreseen the (truly inevitable) death of an elderly Bishop, that Rashad had truly learned scorn for it.

Then his plan had been given birth.

He had begun writing. Vague words, occasionally published in journals, paired with snippets of philosophy. After leaving the university, he began traveling among the masses again, treating illnesses, when he’d caught early warning signs of an impending outbreak. And thus his reputation had been born, with a prophecy he made certain were published into an almanac.

“A dangerous shadow looms over all the lands. It is a dark beast, invisible until it strikes, manifesting in intense pain, and eventually death. The high shall be carried off as certainly as the low, with neither Noble Birth nor Earthly Wealth serving as shield. Even those among the Devout shall be tested. Tears will run like rivers through the streets, and children fed to feed its flames. The dead will be piled like ashes following a great blaze, and blown away like dust floating on the wind. This I have seen, by the Grace of the Almighty.”

When the plague really struck hard, two years later, he had done what he could to help curtail it. But he had also claimed the prestige of being the pre-eminent diviner and philosopher. It had not been hard to predict, really-plague was never far away for those living in squalor. And the worst plagues, of course, always struck the highborn as devastatingly as the common. But by claiming it was Providence, and taking little credit for himself, he had been called a great seer. It had only improved when King Cristobal had written him, asking how he might be spared, and spare those he cared for-Rashad had told him he must bathe daily, and avoid visiting cellars and dungeons, or any places vermin might be found. Rashad had theories about how the plague was spread, but those he was keeping to himself.

When the plague had subsided, without Cristobal succumbing to the disease, he had begun a regular correspondence with his Chancellor. The King took his advice to heart, but it was difficult for Rashad to offer convincing prophecy while far removed from the politics of the court. Without being close enough to the situation to get a read on the people involved, he offered only vague “visions,” of lions, of fish, storms and sunlight. He had dropped hints that he might serve His Majesty better if he could perform a séance in person, to be near the spirits that dwelt within the palace and in a place where destiny swirled. Now, just today, he had finally received the letter he had long awaited, bearing the King’s own seal and in his own hand, inviting him to take his place at court.

The knock at the door came just as he’d finished his last letters. That would naturally be the carriage he had arranged to conduct to the palace, in his new style as Chief Seer and advisor. His quaint house would be forever left behind. Gathering up his parchments, and quickly sealing them, he answered the door, and smiled at the footman who arrived to load his possessions. Rashad would need to find a courier before leaving down to deliver the last of his writings before he left, but such concerns were small to him now, as he found himself rising to new heights. It seemed to him, then, that he truly COULD pierce the mists of time, seeing himself rising far from the gutters in which he had born.

Marriage.
It was an odd word. Deceiving in many ways. For most it conjured up images of bliss and love, of a lifetime of happiness and sharing that lifetime with the one other who held your heart. To Gabriella the word had very different connotations.

Convenience. Obligation. Responsibility.

It was true, there was happiness in her world, a lot in fact. She wasn’t badly treated, far from it. But she wasn’t living the fairytale ending many would imagine she would be. Gabriella was queen and while her home was a castle with banners fluttering from the battlements, a hundred guards sworn to protect her honour, with more gowns in her wardrobe than there were days in the year, she was lonely. She had come from the coastal country of Acquitania and was, essentially, a peace offering with the inland country of Cosenza. Her homeland controlled the ports, Cosenza controlled the crop growing plains. The one, without the other, was nothing. If the port had nothing to export, it would flounder. If the inland areas had no one to export through, they would suffer a similar fate. The marriage of the Princess Gabriella and King Cristobal ensured this wouldn’t happen.

Her husband was a good man. A very good man. He was well respected by his peers and well-liked by his people. As a husband he was considerate and thoughtful, but he was also far older than Gabriella, closer in fact to her own father’s age than her own. He was loving, in his own way, although their attempts at producing a royal heir were often brief and, for Gabriella at least, usually unsatisfying. He would climb on top of her, his excitement almost too much for his body to cope with just from looking upon the body of his young queen, a few thrusts, a few awkward kisses and it would be over. After which he would leave her and return to his own chambers and affairs of state. Leaving her to try and bring herself some kind of satisfaction before falling asleep, her mind filling with an unknown suitor, whose hands were strong and skilful, whose thrusts were possessive and deep. It wouldn’t take long with her delicate fingers between her thighs before she would whimper quietly and her body would shake.

They had been married nearly three years and, as yet, there was no sign of an heir. Privately, Gabriella believed her husband’s age already too advanced to enable him to father a child, but still they kept trying. And trying. The rest of the time, Gabriella was free to do as she wished. She visited local nobles on behalf of the King, attended local fetes and celebrations, but most of the time she was alone in her chambers. She had always loved reading and had been so happy to find Cristobal had an almost reverent affection for the written word. His library was quite extensive and in her first months she read several manuscripts a day.

Then one day she found, almost hidden, a leather bound book on a high shelf. She pulled it down and opened it, closing it almost as soon as her eyes registered the words upon the page, usually pale cheeks flushing as she had slipped the book up the voluminous sleeve of her dress and headed quickly back to her rooms. The book was filled with romantic short stories, all of which went beyond the courtly love written about by most of the country’s poets. It was filled with graphic acts between men and women, sometimes even between women and women, between several men and one woman, all highly detailed and shocking. They were also, by far, the most exciting, most arousing thing Gabriella had ever come across, even if most of the things written about were things she doubted were even possible. She had been a virgin upon entering the marriage bed and her husband hadn’t really widened her horizons in that respect. The book became her escape. Every afternoon she would excuse her ladies in waiting and claim to be tired. She would read a story or two and then lay upon her bed and release the tensions that the stories created within her.

It was just such an afternoon, when her eyes were reading lines she already knew practically by heart, her breathing was steadily increasing in speed and her fingers were running back and forth along the top of her dress, that she was almost caught. A knock on her door made her jump and slip the book down the side of her skirts.
“Yes…?” She called out, smoothly concealing the emotions of the previous moment.
“Sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but His Majesty requests your company in the Great Hall. His new advisor is due to arrival shortly and His Majesty wants you to meet him.” Came the meek reply from one of her ladies in waiting, it was Sofia. A pretty little blonde, who Gabriella knew was very much in love with the Captain of the cavalry. The young woman hovered near the door, waiting to be told to do anything else.
“Oh, of course, I had quite forgotten, do come in…” Gabriella smiled and slipped the book beneath the cushion upon her seat before rising elegantly and signalling for her ladies in waiting to do what was needed. Gabriella had to do little except to turn around from time to time, to hold her breath as her corset was tightened. Besides that, her ladies undressed and redressed her without her having to do a thing.

She glanced in the looking glass when they had finished. She was still young, barely twenty-four, her hair was jet black like her mother’s had been, her eyes were the same piercing emerald as her father’s were, her figure was lithe and small but for the undoubtedly womanly swells upon her chest and the current fashions of the kingdom made the most of her curves. Sighing Gabriella turned once to inspect the work of her ladies more clearly before leaving her rooms and heading down to the main hall to take her place beside the King.

And so, she sat beside her husband, back straight, hands folded delicately in her lap. Her clothing chosen to reflect the colours in the royal standard, red and gold. Her ebony tresses carefully pinned back from her face, her crown perched on top of the curls. Her expression was calm and regal, quietly interested, inside she was bored stiff. She was counting down the minutes until this audience was over and she could escape back into her chambers and into her book.

Cristobal had to resist the urge to hum to himself softly as he perused the volumes in his library. Such childish behavior would surely be noted, since the King was never truly alone. He pulled down one of the heavy tomes, a thick book of the sort that had much been on his mind lately, "Gerald Grayscale's Astrology And Lesser Divination." He brushed off the hint of dust on the cover and flipped it open thoughtfully. He'd read it before. As a young Prince, he'd often wished he had the power of the great Seers, the ability to divine the future. His father been placating and dismissive at first. It had been a boy's fancy, carried over too long into adolescence. So when he would come out of his room after a long night of pondering to pronounce, "There will be a rider arriving with grave news next week," he'd been humored. His predictions had never come true, though.

His brother Ferran had not been as placating. "You're a fool," he'd told Cristobal, and he'd been right. Cristobal was not a fool, but he'd often been taken by the foolish whims of a young boy. Ferran had always been the wise one. The one destined to rule, actually...but it was not to be. The war had taken Ferran, along with so many others. None had seen that coming, not the priests, nor those masters of the arcane who had served his father. In a fit of rate, all of them had been dismissed from his court summarily, upon pain of death. His father's lecture to him had been no less poignant.

"Nonsense and foolery, Cris, that's all it is. Platitudes offered to those too dull of mind or of sensibility to see through them, to the essential waste of time they are. If you're to be a king someday, as now you must, you'll need to find your own sense instead of trying to discern it from the heavens, and from the hare's liver. Let the other fools waste their time on it, and focus your energy into what YOU can see. A king need not be able to see the future in order to prepare for it."

Perhaps it had all been nonsense...and yet, Cristobal was well aware there were things in the world he could not explain. There were phenomena beyond count that the philosophers were incapable of accurately describing, let alone understanding. Nonetheless, it had been the end of those games for him. His father had been mostly right-his kingdom was comprised of that which he could see and touch himself. The supernatural had been left to those who made it their living. After his father had died, Cristobal had made peace with the priests, of course. It had been necessary to maintain control of the country. His coronation had been blessed by a High Priest, as his father's had, and his people had felt that their ruler's place in the realm of God was secure.

Cristobal sighed and then smiled. He began to make his way toward his throne room. It had been such a pleasure to find Rashad, years later. The man had written letters upon letters of sage advice, and he'd already proven himself. There were men much more learned than he who swore by Rashad's visions, after all, and his foresight about the plague had proven invaluable. None of those closest to Cristobal had been struck, even though the plague raged within the city below, and neighboring kingdoms had lost many a Noble son. Cris sighed as he settled into the hard seat of his thrown, his bones aching slightly as he lowered himself into it. No throne is comfortable, he thought, but it would tempting to add a cushion. He then glanced down at his hand, flexing it thoughtfully. He was not so old, was he? Fifty-eight summers, they did not seem so many. He still felt strength in his hands. His eyes still saw clearly...in the daytime, at least. He could see clearly enough that his darling wife was not there. He turned to his page.

"Can you send one of the serving women to see what is keeping my wife. I wish her presence to welcome my-oh, nevermind," he cut off, as Gabriella entered and made her way to her seat beside. He did not rise to greet her, as it was befitting by protocol for the king to rise to greet his wife, but he did give her a smile. As she approached, though, he beckoned her present her cheek, so that might grace it with a chaste kiss before the court.

He smiled as she sat down, giving her a kindly, teasing smile. "Glad you made, Gabriella," he smiled. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. His lovely wife....he smiled at her, resisting the urge to let his gaze linger on her too long. She was a boon to him in many ways, though she had yet to provide him with an heir. A king needs an heir, after all...as does a kingdom. But his alliance with Acquitania was well made, he deemed. Rashad-Rashad of Menlon- he mentally declared-Rashad would be here any moment. His queen appeared bored. Cristobal felt his thoughts beginning to drift....

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Rashad departed from his carriage, making sure to leave a silver penny for the man who would take his chests to his new living quarters. They were sworn to the King's service, and knew better than to displease any one of his advisors, but then, being on good terms with any of the servants would doubtless make him much more comfortable. The office itself provided a relatively modest income, but it was still more than Rashad would ever have hoped to earn as a private physician. Additionally, he had already suggested an additional stipend to help him continue to pay for his "continued research," along with any of the herbs or poultices he might need-Rashad did intend to remain grounded in medicine as much as he was able.

He dusted a hint of mud off of his robe and approached the grand front doors. There was a guard approaching, wearing arms and armor, helmetless. He gave him a respectful nod, and spoke up immediately. "I am told you are the new addition to the Small Counsel. You're to be presented to the King immediately. I am to escort you."

Rashad nodded and then schooled his face to avoid the wry grin which would have been completely out of character. He gave a slight nod back with a downturn of the lips. Kings, it would seem, were not very patient. Dealing with them in person, rather than through correspondence, would require some careful stepping. "Very well, Captain, I am eager to serve at the King's pleasure. Please lead the way." He followed as the guardsman led him through the grand doorway, the massive door swinging shut behind them. They entry was impressive, as it was meant to be, with banners strung against each of the walls, showing all the Lords who owed fealty to the throne. He kept his face carefully schooled, focusing upon the shoulders of the guardsman who led him directly toward the king's Audience Chamber, straight ahead.

A smallish man darted to meet them from the left end of the Grand Hall. He bowed his head. "My Lord, I am the King's Herald. You are Rashad of Menlon?" Rashad nodded, though he had never been called that before. It was almost jarring to be reminded of just how far behind he had left his hometown. He supposed they needed to him an additional name if he was to enter the service of a King, though-he might have to endure many further reminders. The herald continued, "When you are introduced, it shall be in your new style, as Grand Seer and Spiritual Advisor. I hope you don't mind, but I must give you a quick lesson in protocol."

Rashad gave him a wan smile. "My province is the future, and other matters arcane. I would appreciate your instruction." After a short pause he gave the man a penetrating look, and added, "Remember this. No wise man ever rejected advice, no matter how trite." Deciding he'd fulfilled his role of playing the wise master for the moment, he fell silent as he was instructed upon how to approach the King, the poor Herald being forced to speak rapidly while back-pedaling as they approached the door.

Rashad waited as the Herald entered in front of him, announcing his presence. "Rashad Of Menlon, Chief Seer and Spiritual Advisor and member of the Small Counsel of King Cristobal of Cosenza, arrives to swear his Oath." Rashad waited for the flurry of titles that now identified him to be recited before he swept into the audience chamber.

He was wearing his finest robe for his audience before the king, Green silk, matching his eyes, with thread of gold along the seams. He wore his dark brown hair long, down to the shoulders, but well kept, along with a short, closely kept beard, which he attended routinely with scissors. His appearance had been carefully crafted, an attempt to satisfy both his vanity, as well as the expectations of anyone who would be meeting a reputed Sage for the first time. He felt he'd compromised properly. Rashad strode down the long hall, stopping at the end of the carpet as he had been instructed, before taking a knee.

"I hereby swear fealty to King Cristobal of Cosenza as my Lord and Liege, to offer what service I may, and to hold his interests above all others in my counsel, and may death take me swiftly if even I should fail my duty." He remained kneeling, head bowed toward the floor in front of him. The oath of office was short enough, but he felt the eyes of his King studying him as he knelt. Finally, he spoke.

"You may rise."

Rashad finally straightened, then looked up to study the man to whom he was now sworn. He was aging, but he did not appear old nor frail yet. There was still strength in his face, even behind the greying of his hair and beard. He offered a smile for his lord, before his eyes found the Queen. Once again, he was forced to keep his face from reacting, because he was startled by her youthfulness and ravishing beauty. He could feel her eyes on him, and he looked back up into her face with the quiet confidence of a man who could see the future. He was quietly reveling in the moment, too, enjoying looking at her. She was very easy on the eyes. The King finally spoke.

"You will be weary of your journey, of course. I will allow you to retire to your quarters to recover, but this evening I will require to take your seat on the Small Counsel and attend me. I am looking forward to add your voice to that of my other advisors."

Rashad looked back at his King and bowed again, with a slight flourish. "I am always at your service, my Liege. I hope my service shall please you." After he had been dismissed, he turned around, leaving the grand hall...but his thoughts were less upon how to advise his King later, and more upon the lovely beauty he'd seen seated at his side.

At first Gabriella barely noticed when the new advisor entered. She had been watching the subtle glances Sofia and the Captain, shy smiles when their eyes met, a delicate flush to their cheeks. It caused her own lips to curve into a smile to see young love, real love, at work. It was only when he spoke his oath that his voice drew her attention away from the young lovers to the man knelt before their thrones. She readied herself to bestow a benign smile upon him when he rose. But when he did and she saw his green eyes sparkling she felt her smile falter. She couldn’t deny, despite her own cynicism about the magickal and spiritual arts, there was something almost magical about him. Whatever it was she had to be careful not to stare too openly. In a way he was everything one imagined a ‘Seer’ to look like, the robes, even the groomed beard. And yet he wasn’t.

She was careful not to hold his gaze for too long. She didn’t want to give the court’s gossip mongers anything to get carried away about and so she restricted herself to almost condescending appraisals of his appearance. Regal. Detached. Definitely disinterested.

When the formalities were over Gabriella watched him leave, feeling both curious and cautious. Desperate to ask him of her own fate, whether she would do as her husband required, as he hoped, and provide an heir. Would she ever be happy, truly and completely happy. Terrified he might be able to see inside her and know the things she’d been doing, the thoughts she’d been having, when she was alone. Once he had gone, Gabriella rose and excused herself to the gathered members of court. Turning to Cristobal and lowering her lips to his cheek.

“It has been a busy day, Sire,” Her voice was soft and gentle against his ear. “With your permission, Sire, I shall retire to my chambers for a little while. But I shall see you at dinner?” She knew the chances of him visiting her bedchamber during the hours of daylight were rare but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. She fancied he would seek out his new advisor, pose his questions and worries about the kingdom before dinner but he may yet wait. Kissing her husband’s cheek she made her way to her rooms and dismissed her ladies. She had been in the middle of something.

Settling into her chair she found the book where she had hidden it beneath a cushion and flipped to one story in particular. It was one of her favourites, about two lovers who must enjoy stolen moments as both are promised elsewhere. Their union is quick and rough, passionate and sensual and it was one that never failed to take her body to the heights she sought.

Within a few paragraphs her breathing had grown shallow, the hand not holding the book had pushed inside the tight bodice of her dress and was idly thumbing a rapidly hardening nipple. The man in the story pinched and pulled his lovers breasts, so she did the same. Wincing as she held back a whimper. Dropping the book onto a nearby table Gabriella moved to the bed. She knew the scene word for word by heart and now she had a more pressing use for her hands than to turn pages.

She closed her eyes as she lay back, the hand in her bodice teasing the sensitive buds while the other made short work of lifting the copious skirts that made up the bottom half of her dress and pressed eagerly between her thighs. Growling as in her mind she played the rest of the scene. The lovers against a wall, him taking her, claiming her as his. Her legs around his waist, his mouth at her breast.

Fingers pushed inside herself as her back rose up from the silken bed sheets a little. In her mind she was now the lover with her back against the wall. Her own limbs wound around the pistoning hips of her phantom partner. Candlelight flickered around them, illuminating patches of naked flesh, a hint of a shoulder, a glimpse of chest. Then, just for a second, his face. That image pushed her already over excited body beyond the point of no return.

Gabriella rolled over and buried her face against the pillows, muffling the cry that left her lips. It was loud and long and wanton. Almost like a wail of anguish. As the sound faded and her body finally stopped shaking, she rolled over onto her back. Her face flushed, eyes bright, yard after yard of expensive fabric bunched up around her waist, a hand wedged between her suddenly soaking wet thighs. Extricating her hand carefully she marvelled at how wet it was, how powerful her own aroma was, how it affected her.
Sighing heavily she dropped her hand by her side and stared up at the canopy above her. Never had she found her peak so powerfully. And she was almost certain she knew why.

For the first time, ever, the man in her mind had had a face. It shocked her as much as it aroused her. She barely knew him, barely remembered his name if she was honest with herself and yet, she could not deny that the hands she envisioned on her body, the lips against her skin, belonged to her husband’s new advisor.

When the time came to dress for dinner she tried to remain calm, to banish the images her mind had created. Her evening gown was a deep red, the corset tighter than the one she wore in the day, making the most of her assets, as was befitting the current fashion. Royal jewels glittered around her neck, dangling from her ears and sparkling on her fingers. She smiled as she entered the banqueting hall, taking her seat beside Cristobal, taking a slightly shaky breath as the entrance of Rashad of Menlon was announced. She reminded herself as she sipped her wine that he was an advisor. Nothing more. Nothing to get so worked up about. She was Queen. Queen. One little daydream meant nothing. She loved her husband. She was loyal to him.

Then why did she feel so anxious?

Rashad left his room, having finally gotten situation. The servant outside his quarters bore the King's own livery, one of his private household. This would be the man sent to fetch him.

"You are here to show me to the King's Counsel?" he asked.

"Aye, Milord. And to see that your quarters are to your satisfaction."

"They will do quite well," responded Rashad, with an easy smile. He nodded and gestured for the man to lead the way. The innermost aspect of was quite lavish. Like most castles, its life had begun very stark and cold. But with any important fortification that stands the test of time, the walls were continually improved and shored up, and the city around it grew in importance, so the wealth within multiplied. As the wealth increase, so did the concessions toward comfort. Holes in the inner citadel which had originally arrow slits on an exterior wall were now widened out to become full windows, adorned with curtains. Many of the hallways had rugs in place, cushioning the burden of walking on hard stone and insulating from the coldness as well. And muting the sound of footsteps as well. Helping servants to move silently so as not to disturb their betters was an obvious concern, here. Rashad turned to the man escorting him. "What is your name?"

"Godwin, Milord."

Rashad nodded in response. "And how long have been in service to the King?"

"12 years, Milord. Me mum used to serve the previous Queen-the King's Mother, if you please. I used to work in the kitchens, but now I generally see to the them Lords as yourself who visit the court, MiLord." Godwin's voice had just the slightest hint of a tremor in it. He was clearly not used to being spoken too so directly by his betters. Rashad studied him-he was about his own age, perhaps just a few years older, but clean shaven and well maintained. A servant who enjoyed some amount of comforts then. He nodded once more. It might not be proper if he were seen to be too friendly with the servants, but it would pay to know exactly what kind of gossip they were passing around. Rashad made sure to look directly at him and smile.

"Well, I'm certain you've served the King well. I hope you'll eventually have me properly navigating my own way before very long." With that, the conversation seemed to have ended. Godwin turned at the end of the hallway and led to a room that, Rashad deemed, must be located somewhere behind the throne room. The door was open, and a few members of the King's Counsel were already seated. Preparing his face and steadying himself, Rashad entered to take his own seat at the long table and awaited the King.

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He found Godwin shortly after the meeting ended, and was shown back to his rooms to change. His head was already aching. It was problematic because he still did not know enough. He had mostly kept quiet during the Counsel meeting, despite the Chancellor's near mocking of his usefulness. Rashad couldn't afford to make any clear declarations until he knew more about the situations. Being seated at the table of power was a good start, at least, but information was in short supply for him. The few times he spoke, he'd simply promised that he would know more once he was granted a vision, and to remark upon what he thought were wise advice from the other members of the counsel. He felt the beginnings of a headache stirring. Fortunately, there was no conversation with Godwin during this trip.

Apparently, Cristobal's lack of brothers or an heir was beginning to create a bit of trouble. Without a clear rival outside of Cosenza upon which to focus the nobles' energy, rivalries within it were flaring up. It wasn't revolt, it wasn't treason, but there were political maneuverings taking root, and the root source was clear enough to Rashad: Who would be the next king? Some of Cristobal's cousins were attempting to shore up their own position and place themselves within His Grace's favor, while lesser houses were busy guessing who stood highest and attempting to ingratiate themselves. Still a minor concern, but Rashad knew enough about history to know that the situation could quickly become volatile.

He changed quickly and then awaited his summons for Supper. He was to be announced, since, as the newest addition to the Counsel, he would be the guest of honor. The servant who came to escort him this time was a young girl, barely sixteen. He did not even bother to speak with her, simply following as he was walked toward the King's dining room.

Nestor, the Herald, announced his entrance for the second time that day. "Rashad Of Menlon, Chief Seer and Spiritual Advisor and newest member of the Small Counsel of King Cristobal of Cosenza," he declared, and Rashad entered, walking down the long hall. He saw that he was to be seated at the King's own table, unsurprisingly. The High Chancellor would always have the seat of highest honor, just below and to the right of the King, but as the guest of honor at this state dinner, Rashad was awarded the second seat-to the left of the Queen. He had to work very hard to avoid a smirk as he approached, seeing her dress. It was very flattering, and gave him a better glimpse of Her Majesty's cleavage than he might have deemed appropriate. Especially when he paused next to her seat while she was seated, and he could look down at her, before taking his seat.

The King, full of good cheer apparently recovered after the stressful counsel meeting, smiled broadly at him. The King demonstrated that, apparently, formality ended at the dinner table-it was easy to see why his subjects loved him. "Rashad, so glad you could make it. Nestor is always reminding of the protocols that must be observed to keep everyone in their place, but damn the waiting, I was ready for them to bring on the boar. Let me make introductions. First, formally, my dear wife Gabriella, formerly of Acquitania." Rashad turned to her and nodded, taking her hand to kiss the back of her knuckles. He allowed just the hint of a sly smile at her as he looked up at her face before releasing her hand. The King continued, "You already know the High Chancellor, and here's Lord Pennywise, I'm sure you remember from Small Counsel. And his wife, Lady Rosella. Further down next to you is Robert, Duke of Westerling, and his wife..."

Rashad lost focus of the flow of introductions after a moment, but the King seemed unaware. Especially when the first course was finally brought out, and he was allowed to exert his energy toward food. Thankful for a break, he sampled the soup, and then took the opportunity to turn toward the Queen. "He's quite a different man outside of Court, isn't he, Your Grace?" He gave her a knowing grin.

"Rashad Of Menlon, Chief Seer and Spiritual Advisor and newest member of the Small Counsel of King Cristobal of Cosenza,"
Gabriella took one last sip of her wine before replacing the goblet and allowing herself to look up and see him enter. She felt calmer, calmer than she’d expected, in fact she was privately proud of herself. She’d been convinced that as soon as her eyes fell upon him she’d blush and be unable to conduct herself accordingly, which would have been disastrous given where he was to be seated.

"Rashad, so glad you could make it. Nestor is always reminding of the protocols that must be observed to keep everyone in their place, but damn the waiting, I was ready for them to bring on the boar. Let me make introductions. First, formally, my dear wife Gabriella, formerly of Acquitania."
Gabriella turned and smiled, only just managing to prevent herself from reacting as he raised her hand to his lips to brush briefly against them. Their eyes met for a fleeting second and the Queen fought to keep her gaze as vacant as possible. What if he could truly see things beyond the vision of others? God forbid he saw what had flashed through her mind in those moments. Fortunately her husband continued with the introductions and the Seer’s eyes were drawn away from her and directed towards the others seated at the table.

"You already know the High Chancellor, and here's Lord Pennywise, I'm sure you remember from Small Counsel. And his wife, Lady Rosella. Further down next to you is Robert, Duke of Westerling, and his wife..."
Gabriella allowed herself another small sip of wine and frowned as she found her goblet nearly empty. Waving over a server the goblet was quickly refilled and she made sure she set it down on the other side of her waiting plate. It wouldn’t do to sip too frequently.

The soup came and Gabriella began to dip her spoon gracefully into the steaming liquid and drain it without a single sound. Suddenly a voice, nearby, came into her thoughts.
"He's quite a different man outside of Court, isn't he, Your Grace?"
“He is…” She replied quietly, allowing herself a sideways glance at Cristobal. He was laughing with the High Chancellor about something and seemed perfectly at ease. “Outside of the counsel room he is a different man entirely.” She smiled softly to herself as she mentally added that he was different again in her bedchamber but those thoughts were definitely ones she should keep to herself. If indeed she should think them at all. “He feels that there is a time and place for pomp and circumstance…and neither of those belong at the dining table.” She laughed lightly, turning towards the voice and realising to whom she was speaking. Cheeks colouring ever so slightly, although she blamed the speed with which she had drained her goblet of its contents and the heat of the soup. “King Cristobal is a sensible ruler, and for that I and many, many others are grateful.

“Forgive me, Master Rashad, I know little of where you are from and I must confess to being a curious soul. I have travelled a little since my marriage but Menlon is a place I have yet to visit. Please, if you would, tell me a little of your home…?” Gabriella broke a piece of bread from the loaf beside her and popped it between her lips as she waited.