Dead Star Dockyards

He was on a boat again.

It shouldn't have been surprising, he couldn't get to the capital without one, but the fact Len was taking yet another ride so soon after his previous experience was still a little unnerving. He wasn't afraid of pirates though, if anything pirates should be afraid of him this time around. Setting aside the detachment of elite guards, Len was travelling with Arrelois, Brethold, and a newly wed Arrewiz, any one of which Len could confidently see demolishing the the fleet he had faced without outside assistance. There was also the unknown quantity his mother represented, as well as the escort of one of the other passengers.

Len was simply content this ride hadn't been nearly as long.

"You've never been to the imperial seat before, have you?"

"Dad never took me, no." Despite the vast distant between these places, nothing felt different. Same salty air, same rocking and rolling of the waves, and same annoying birds. Even the coast, which Len expected to have a different color, was practically indistinguishable from the coast of Slaphitori. If anything, the biggest difference was the size of the birds harassing him, though that really wasn't much to comment on.

"Hm, well, now's as good a time as any." Wiz was swigging wine straight from the bottle, a wedding gift courtesy of a merchant their family frequented. A crate of the stuff had been supplied so Wiz wasn't wasting it by doing such a thing, but it was a bit odd for him to be day drinking so blatantly. "It's a beautiful place. I just wish the beauty extended to its inhabitants."

". . . are they ugly?"

"They've all got a stick up their ass." Another swig. Len couldn't help but notice the flushing in his cheeks. "I'm sure the peasantry are fine, but I've never met a group of people more concerned with status and image than the nobility of the capital. I guess it makes sense to keep your ducks in a row so close to the Emperor's gaze."

"Oh." Len was reminded of the urgency with which his mother commissioned a suit for him. He thought one of his older outfits would have sufficed for the wedding, but if his prospective jury was as obsessed with image as Arrewiz claimed maybe she hadn't ordered it for the event it debuted in. "Is everything alright? You've been going hard on that bottle."

"Hm? Yeah." He swirled around the bottle before chugging the last few mouthfuls, unceremoniously throwing the glass receptacle out to sea. "Just preparing myself for the shit show. You aren't the only one with enemies. I'm envious you got to beat up yours."

"Donovan was the one who beat him up, not me."

"Eh, same difference." Wiz wrapped his arm around Len's shoulder, pulling him closer so he could give him a noogie. "Perk up. You'll get out of this just fine."

- - - - -

"These will be your quarters for the duration of your stay. If you have any requests or concerns, please inform the maid."

"Thank you, sir." Len leaned his lance against the wall, careful not to let it down too quickly. He couldn't be certain of the strength of the floorboards, and this was the second floor. A brief look around revealed this room to be nicer than the one he had back home, though he wouldn't call it welcoming. His own aesthetic ineptitude aside, this room came off as stale despite the apparent luxury. "Um, will I be permitted to exercise and practice with my weapon?"

"Under supervision, yes." The guard raised an eyebrow, not convinced Len could wield the metal pylon effectively. "I take it you wish to keep yourself fit for your return to the academy?"

"Kinda. I think it'll be more to stave off the boredom, actually."

"Hm." With that, the guard closed the door behind him, leaving Len to collapse on the bed. Despite the gravity of his situation, Len felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest.

He had been met at the harbor by a contingent of masked men led by a bureaucrat in pompous garb, then politely shuffled into a windowless carriage so he could be shuttled to this manor. It's location didn't appear to be secret by any stretch of the imagination, having clear view of the imperial palace atop a hill in the distance, and the faint hubbub from beyond the grotto surrounding the property suggested it was in close proximity to a large number of people. Len could only imagine it was meant to conceal the identity of those under trial, not that those precautions mattered much to him.

Len was more concerned with his residence for the time being. A prison for highborn individuals, the manor sported more maids and butlers than armed guards - though Len got the impression that most of the guards were nothing more than decoration. In fact, he reckoned this whole manor was nothing more than decoration, a form of appeasement for those selecting to attend trial without causing a stir so that they may maintain their dignity. Such would explain the secrecy, as well as the strange degree of freedom he was apparently permitted.

Honestly, Len didn't feel comfortable with it. Sure, a jail wasn't really supposed to be comfortable, however he expected that lack of comfort to come from a lack of amenities rather than a surplus. This just felt wrong.

". . . I should have asked him when the trial would be." He had been so caught up in what he was in for that specifics escaped him. It wasn't a particularly consequential lack of information, he'd be told at some point, but Len would certainly prefer a degree of foreknowledge in order to prepare himself. The last thing he wanted was to be surprised by a summons in the middle of training. They would probably allow him to get cleaned up and ready to be presented to the court, he would simply prefer to avoid the hassle of a rush. After all, Arrelois told him cooperation with the relevant authorities would make his life in custody easier.

- - - - -

"The food too?" Len spoke only after the maids left the room, uncertain of the etiquette he should display to them given the strange social arrangement. They were - by technicality - of a lower strata than he, but at the same time he was the one being put on trial.

"Never had a meal 'au Gratin' before?" The other person at the table asked him with a degree of amusement, tucking a handkerchief into his collar as a bib of sorts. Len didn't know him, or why he was here, but given the nature of this manor Len could only assume he was a fellow 'inmate'. Whatever the case he was evidently much more informed on the delicacies of nobles and how they should be consumed, pouring himself a glass of wine as soon as his hands were free. "Just a bit of cheese and bread crumbs broiled atop an entree, nothing special about it."

"Is that so?" Len wasn't sure he should be so accepting of his assertion this was 'nothing special' considering his family never ate something like this, but then again his family was very much in the realm of 'special'. Normal noble cuisine was almost certain to differ from his experience. "I, um, I don't believe I know your name, sir."

"I go by Brahn." He swirled his wine once or twice before taking a sip. "No need for honorifics. Such trivialities are unnecessary here. You are?"

"Um, Len, sir. Len Kerr."

"Len Kerr . . . Len Kerr . . . I apologize for my ignorance, but I cannot recall where I've heard that name. It sounds familiar, though. Just to refresh my memory, would the first or last be the nomen of your house?"

"Neither, sir. I was adopted by General Arrelois."

"Grand Marshall Arrelois? Ah, I remember. Truly, I offer my deepest apologies, but the man rambles on so often I simply cannot commit the majority of his utterances to memory. Pray tell, why has someone of your stature, adopted though you may be, found yourself here? Surely he has the capital to keep you from trouble, no?"

"I had a spot of friction with one by the name 'Rishtahn'." Len frowned, wondering if this was appropriate dinner conversation.

"Rishtahn? The Prime Minister's son?"

"The, uh, the very same."

"Oh." Brahn's eyes widened slightly. With a small show of dignified mannerisms he removed his bib before picking up his meal and circumnavigating the table, dropping off his plate at the seat next to Len while leaning over to grab the wine. "Here, my treat."

"Wh-what?"

"I thought I should pour you a drink!" Len had not caught him snagging one of the works of crystal from the tower in the center, but it was full of the blood-red fluid before he could raise a protest. "A toast!"

"A toast for what?" He hadn't even thought to mention his lack of care for wine, too occupied with the sudden celebration.

"To youth and good decisions!" Clinking glasses with a smug expression, Brahn addressed a non-existent crowd. "You wouldn't believe how many people wanted to see him humbled. He's always going on and on about 'grace' and the dignity of action, nitpicking everything everyone does to make it as perfect as possible. Fair play to the little jit, he does an excellent job with whatever task he's assigned, but he's a total ass about it. On behalf of the ministry, I thank you for your service."

"U-uh, I didn't hit him though?"

"Yeah, yeah, your superior at the academy was responsible for the broken arm and swollen face, but you got the first blow in!"

"N-no, I didn't strike him. At least not without provocation." Len choked down a gag from his sip of wine. "I was protecting my brother's fiancé from his assault."

". . . really?"

"Really."

"Hmmm. Why did he request a trial, then?"

"He seems convinced that I am at fault for his injuries."

"But he attacked first?"

"That is correct."

"And you are the accused?" The bib was tucked back in just as swiftly as it had been removed.

"Yes."

"So his justification is?"

"I am adopted, so he believes one of common blood stood against a nobleman." Len struggled to remember the events given how long ago it took place, but the impact of Rishtahn's rings on the back of his head still lingered when he thought of that night. "My brother is the monarch of a foreign nation though."

"I mean, even if you weren't of noble blood, your adopted mother is Madam Linarin. She's . . . not exactly someone to be trifled with."

"What does that mean?"

"She belongs to House E-" Brahn paused, the shift in his expression suggesting something came to mind. "Never mind. If none of your family told you what line she descends from then I won't either. It might be for the best."

"I don't think she'd leverage her influence for me anyways."

"If you are so certain, then I will not speak further on the matter. I suspect I am late as is." Brahn's focus returned to his meal.

"Late? Is your trial tonight?"

"Trial?" Despite the neatly tucked napkin in his collar not a drop of sauce fell from the food on its way to Brahn's mouth. "Oh, yew fink I'm alfo charged wif somefing. gulp No, I'm here on business. I just stayed for dinner."

"Oh. I apologize for the disrespect of my assumption." As if on queue, one of the doors opened to reveal a maid with an overcoat folded over her arm.

"Don't worry about it. I find such a conclusion perfectly reasonable given your situation." Another scoop entered his maw as he stood up, unexpectedly distasteful behavior from an otherwise refined individual. "Id was nishe meedin you, Ren."

"The pleasure was mine."

"Enjoy your stay. I'll put in word for the chef to pull out all the stops. Consider it my treat."

- - - - -

The courtyard was, in Len's opinion, insufficient as a training ground. It was large enough to permit the use of his weapon with a great deal of leeway, meaning the exquisitely painted exterior of the manor would remain unmolested by any poorly judged swing of the lance, however it was not large enough to make jogging or sprints comfortable. Adding to that the lack of anything interesting to do or people to talk to, Len found the court summons to be more a relief than a burden, gladly putting a halt to his morning exercises and heading to the bath. He'd found the maids amenable to aiding his dress-up routine, help which was desperately needed given the elaborate design of the outfit his mother picked out for him.

Visually, the suit wasn't particularly impressive. In fact Len would go so far as to call it bland. However the design and materials were considered the peak of fashion in social circles at the moment - bronze and silver tassels peaking out from beneath a plethora of black cloth strips along his front and back. Supposedly it concealed all readily apparent seams and buttons on the base suit, leaving only the golden trim on the cloth strips, collar, and wrists visible. He didn't understand the fashion, thinking the whole garb looked silly, but he wasn't about to voice those opinions. Any verbal objections were choked back when he saw how many wedding guests were wearing the exact same outfit - women included.

"Are you prepared to depart?"

"Yes sir." Len was careful not to soil his shoes any more than necessary on his way to the carriage, stepping from pavestone to pavestone on the path. "I needn't bring my things with me, correct?"

"Your belongings will be kept here. Should your trial last more than a single day, you will return here." The coachman opened the door to a carriage devoid of windows, similar to the one he traveled in from the port but with more effort put into the decoration. "Expect the ride to take an hour or so."

"I understand." A brief glance at the behemoth of masonry in the distance was all Len needed to understand why. "Thank you."

Receiving no response, the door was shut and subsequently latched from the outside. This left Len in darkness, the pinholes drilled into the front side of the carriage so he might breath being far from large enough to allow appreciable amounts of light in on an overcast day. All considered, he felt the darkness to be more a blessing than anything. Sounds from outside were muted and the lack of direct sunlight on the exterior meant his ride would be cooler than the first time, so while the darkness and unpredictable swaying might disorient his senses this was the perfect environment to close his eyes and meditate on the immediate future.