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Sir Gilbern sighed yet again, earning another now slightly-annoyed glance from Sir Cato de Ferros.
Thankfully, Sir Andrei’s reports had come through via less dramatic means since that first courier detailing the worrying Langland situation. Although he had kept a cool composure for those watching, Sir Gilbern had nearly had a heart-attack when a Griffinhawk had swooped in from an open loft-window moments after a meeting of the senior Ordo Reginate members present in Aubrey had convened.
There had been a great deal of hushed speculation as he left the hall, most presuming a message of some great import to have come on the wings of one of the rare imperial messengers of old, but Sir Gilbern had long ago stopped paying heed to the whisperings of his colleagues as the circle of those he could trust drew tighter. The attraction of being the type of person to receive important messages from unknown sources lost much of its lustre when he actually <span class="mu-i">was</span> receiving important messages, any of which could and usually did spell out some peril or crisis-in-waiting for the Kingdom at large.
Sir Gilbern’s time in Aubrey as the preeminent Queen’s Herald present in the capital these past few months had only solidified his view. Despite his rank and resources, not to mention the Mater Reginate’s own ear to speak to and own lips from which to receive direction, his efforts to supervise and map the extent of the Faction’s hold here was like grasping at smoke. The Crown Prince himself was untouchable, acting entirely through intermediaries whose motivations ranged from genuine devotion to unquenchable greed. Prince Lionel Aubrey continued to carry out his official duties with competence and dedication, whenever he did act openly it was always proper and with the Kingdom’s interests in mind. Most recently he and his uncle Duke had unveiled a set of proposed reforms to the standing Aubres army, one that few with any sense could speak out against other than perhaps at the cost involved. His actions and words were proof from criticism, and publically all saw him as every bit the faithful heir. But the actions of his underlings and go-betweens pointed to something else. In his darkest hours as sleep eluded him, Sir Gilbern could almost see the strings link to form a picture. Ancient ruined prisons, armies on the march, ancient rivals returned… but then it faded like fog with the morning sun. And after several months watching the Crown Prince and his cronies like a hawk Sir Gilben could not say with any certainty what their plans were, only that men had died or disappeared trying to find out. Men he had trusted.
[4/?]
