My Lord! Please! (A Character Driven Kingdom Building Novel)

Garrick came to a stop near him, dipping his head.

"Lord."

He glanced around briefly before nodding toward a more secluded area. "There's something you should hear about...out of earshot, Lord."

Lucien gave a nod and moved to follow him even as he spoke.

"I had thought you were Harlon from the way Talia was avoiding you."

"Since she's been avoiding the old man, he started sending me instead," Garrick replied, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Though Lady Talia wised up to Harlon's tactics when I kept approaching her about issues with the refugees."

Lucien's brow rose. "Issues? Is that what this is about?"

Garrick exhaled faintly as they stopped beside a storage shed farther from the housing site. "Something like that, Lord. Thought it would be better to speak of it away from them."

"People have heard about the orcs, Lord. It's been causing some problems with the refugees."

That was not particularly surprising, considering the women had to be escorted out of the village every day whenever they needed to do laundry or other chores at the Easthollow River.

Lucien looked toward the housing site, watching refugees and villagers go about their work before he slowly spoke.

"How are they dealing with the news, Garrick? I heard from Lord Rathenfell that most of them fled because of the orc raids."

Garrick rubbed his stubble in thought as he followed the direction of Lucien's gaze.

"That's partially the problem, Lord. Some of them think it's the same band that raided their villages...they're afraid the same thing will happen here again."

He shook his head. "But they aren't panicking yet, Lord. Mostly because you've settled them within the walls. Some of them had to stay outside settlements while fleeing to Helvarn during the winter."

Garrick turned toward the gate, his brows furrowing. "Even with escorts...many of the women are afraid to do their washing at the Easthollow River. Some wait for more men or a larger group to gather before they go, and that's caused a bit of trouble."

"...I had thought they would feel stifled by the rule Dorian and I implemented," Lucien replied, glancing at the same young group of women he had noticed earlier.

'That might explain the shared washhouse and baths proposal from earlier with Elias...''

Garrick's mouth tightened. "No one is more wary of orcs than the womenfolk, Lord."

For a time, neither man spoke before the miner ran a hand through his already-messy hair, leaving it even more disheveled.

"The washing at the river has caused some disturbance, but it hasn't affected the building. The real problem is with the villagers who've reunited with the second wave."

At Lucien's questioning look, Garrick waved toward the completed longhouses. "Some folk from the first wave agreed to settle into these longhouses when they were finished...but then they saw how the courtyard cluster was being built."

"When the second wave arrived, they changed their minds. They think it's safer to stay together with people they know from their old villages."

Lucien's brow creased. "Even if their own homes have already been built? Surely they don't expect those who have moved in next to them to give way to the newer arrivals."

"...Some claim they wouldn't mind, Lord. They say they can wait until the next set of longhouses is built before moving over." Garrick's hand rose to rub at his temple tiredly. "After Harlon rejected that, they started coming to me instead. Lady Talia has been trying to convince them, but..."

He grimaced slightly. "They aren't as willing to speak openly, despite her attempts."

Lucien found himself mildly surprised at that. His junior usually had little trouble easing people into speaking before they noticed what had happened.

It must have shown on his expression, because Garrick continued.

"Way they see it, she's part of your...inner circle. Makes them wary of saying anything too direct in front of her."

Lucien understood immediately, remembering something Maris had said a few weeks ago about how the refugees had been reluctant to approach her.

"And since you are considered one of the newer villagers from Cragwatch...that's why Harlon has been leaving the planning to you these days."

A snort left Garrick before he spoke, a dry tone in his voice. "The old man just doesn't want to deal with managing them, Lord. He'd much rather build than listen to folks complain."

The corner of Lucien's mouth twitched. "Perhaps you have found your calling after all? Listening to people's troubles? I recall you were searching for something to do other than mining."

At first, Garrick seemed ready to deny such a thing, only to fall silent as a contemplative look came over his expression.

A brief moment later, he shook his head. "I still haven't decided yet, Lord...mayhap I might have something to put forward when it comes time to choose the proposals."

When Lucien gave him a curious look, the miner sighed. "I am still planning on it, but I should be ready by then, Lord. Let's focus on the problems in front of us first."

He turned to lean against the storage shed. "Besides, even if I say they are more open to approaching me...it's not as though I am their first choice."

At the miner's words, Lucien's brow rose. "Who else would they even approach, if not you?"

"Their former leaders, for one," Garrick replied, his brow furrowing.

Lucien stilled before leaning against the wall beside the man, his voice lowering. "They are gathering among themselves?"

Garrick exhaled through his nose. "It hasn't reached the same point as the folks from Cragwatch and the other refugees who arrived in winter, Lord...but some of them have been asking for advice from their former headmen, older villagers, or elders."

"That would prove...problematic if allowed to continue," Lucien muttered, his gaze dropping in thought.

"Aye. It hasn't caused trouble yet, but the ones who approach me are usually the same people. I suspect they're the ones who have been...chosen to be their representatives."

Already, another faction was beginning to form. Ashridge had its own prominent groups, but the newer arrivals alone had numbers greater than the village's original population.

And Lucien could not outright forbid it either. Who villagers chose to turn to with their problems was not something he could control, nor something he ever intended to dictate.

"The people they have been turning to...I assume there is one for each longhouse cluster?" Lucien asked, glancing at Garrick beside him.

At the miner's slow nod, Lucien considered the matter briefly before he spoke.

"Keep each of them involved in the affairs of their individual clusters, then. If one comes to you with a problem, answer it through that cluster. There is no need to gather them all in one place."

When Garrick looked as though he was about to speak but hesitated, Lucien waved for him to continue.

"I don't mind speaking to them, but wouldn't it be better for you to be seen doing it, Lord?"

Lucien shook his head. "It would only make their authority more official if a noble were involved. The same thing would happen if Lady Talia or Harlon were to approach them."

"I see...so someone like me, who's seen as under Harlon's leadership..."

"Yes. And as for the people who want to switch allotments among themselves...allow those who are related by blood to do so."

Lucien exhaled faintly, looking toward the housing site. "But those who only insist on remaining close to familiar faces...discourage them by letting them know they would have to wait for the last few longhouse clusters to be built."

"Remind them that the clusters being built later will be upgraded after the ones that were erected first."

"So those who continue to insist would be among the last batch to live in that," Garrick muttered, eyes moving to the sole courtyard block that was only half finished.

Slowly, Lucien inclined his head. "It might just be enough for them to reconsider switching. And as for the river..." He pushed off from the wall, adjusting his cloak.

"I will speak with Dorian about that. See if we can have a few of the militia on duty to escort the women in groups at specific times...I need to visit the sawmill now anyway."

Garrick raised a hand, still leaning against the wall. "Tell the old man to stop fussing over that sawblade of his, Lord. He has enough gray hair already."

Lucien returned the gesture, a small lift at the corner of his mouth. "I am sure it isn't that bad."

With that, he turned toward the northern gate, leaving the noise of the housing site behind for whatever problem Harlon had waiting near the sawmill.

"My Lord. Captain Dorian has tasked me to escort you to the sawmill. One of the men there will escort you back when you are finished with your inspection."

Lucien inclined his head, allowing the man to fall into step behind him as he continued on his way.

The distance to the sawmill was not as far as the Easthollow River, but at times like this, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Idly adjusting his cloak over the shoulder harness that held his bow, Lucien fought the urge to grimace at the summer sun blazing down on him. Even though he had left off his outer coat, Lucien had never liked going outdoors, even back in his former world.

After crossing the wooden planks built over the irrigation ditch, he pivoted right toward the sawmill, reaching it before long.

Once, the area had been filled with men digging the ditch. There were far fewer people now, though the traffic had increased compared to when the land had not been developed at all.

Even with news of the orcs lingering north of here, Lucien met more than a few people still moving to and from the sawmill or the river, exchanging nods with a few of them.

Upon seeing him, the shoulders of the villagers he passed seemed to lower, the unease they carried easing slightly.

Lucien heard the sawmill first, long before coming anywhere near it. He had stopped by to observe the construction efforts before, but this was the first time he had come here since it was finished, too busy over the last few days with the orcs and the arrival of the second wave of refugees.

Even from a distance, he could hear the sharp rasp of a blade biting into wood, only for the sound to turn into a rough, uneven chatter a moment later.

It seemed Harlon might not have been exaggerating when he complained about the blade not cutting as cleanly as it should.

Lucien turned back toward the guard. "You can head back to the gate now."

He gestured to the men drilling not far from the sawmill, Dorian standing in front of them with his arms crossed. "Dorian isn't far from here, and I doubt you want to stay any longer than you need to, hearing this racket."

The man bowed his head, looking slightly grateful before he turned to walk away, making the effort not to do so too quickly.

He couldn't blame him, considering even Dorian had chosen to drill farther away than necessary from the noise.

'What I wouldn't give for earplugs right about now...I wonder if rubber trees exist in this world.'

Lucien shook his head, inwardly noting to ask Talia if she had seen anything of the sort in Helvarn's markets, before making his way reluctantly toward the structure.

When he came to a stop just outside the entrance, a rough voice that was decidedly not Harlon's sounded from within.

"That oaf Joren made this? What shoddy work...and these brackets might as well have been forged by an apprentice."

The voice was distinct enough for Lucien to remember.

It seemed Harlon had an unexpected visitor.