I'm baaaaaaack! yay! Welcome to my third story. It's been kickin around in my head for a while, so I decided to write it down. It might go a little slower than my other stories in terms of updates, but I hope you'll like it.

It's based off of the 'Twelve Dancing Princesses' (well, as much as my other stories were based off of their counterparts) but mostly, it's my own. It's not as action based story as the others, but, you know me, and I can't stay away from action, so there will be some.

Woot!

Oh, and please excuse the title. It was really the only thing I could think of.

Chapter One: The Decision

King Jarrod Fer Drewery sat in his chair at the head of the table, seriously considering just jumping out the window and running away. The sun was shining brightly and, really, it wasn't that far to the ground.

"Your majesty?"

Jarrod snapped out of his reverie and turned to look at the curious gazes of the men surrounding the table.

He sighed. "I'm sorry; I did not catch what you were saying."

The Earl of Havara's lips tightened. "As I was saying, majesty, I have been having more problems with these bandits. Just last night, they stole half a flock of sheep!"

Jarrod was beginning to get annoyed with the Earl. The annoyance was probably fuelled by the ridiculously heavy and hot blue cape that Jarrod had to wear and the ridiculously hard chair he had to sit on.

"Haven't I sent you several troops of guards already, Havara?" Jarrod asked.

"Yes, your majesty, but they are obviously ineffective, as indicated by the stolen sheep," Havara replied. "Not that you are to blame for that," he added quickly, noticing the narrowing of the king's eyes, "but I feel something must be done, if only to keep my nieces in acceptable living standards."

Lord Turnbull raised an eyebrow at the Earl. "You have nieces?"

"Yes," Havara said with a slight nod. "The poor things' parents passed away about ten years ago, leaving me to raise them. All I want to do is raise them with all the advantages young ladies of rank should have."

Jarrod sympathized with the unnamed nieces. He had also lost his parents, and his older brother, and he knew the pain of losing loved ones.

"It seems that this situation has slowly spiralled out of control," Jarrod began slowly, steepling his fingers together. "It started with a little money, and then a few cows, but half a flock of sheep? What is next? A herd of horses? A wagon full of gold coins?" He shook his head. "Do you have any idea who would be behind these robberies?"

Havara shrugged. "I have suspected the villagers, your majesty, but even the villagers need a leader, and I have no idea who that would be."

Jarrod gave a small smile. "That would be a 'no' then?"

Havara glared, but nodded. "Yes, that is a no."

"Your plight bares further scrutiny," Jarrod announced, rising from the table. "I myself shall escort you back to Castle Fer Havara and see if we can put an end to this string of misfortunes."

The blood drained from Havara's face and his mouth hung open. "Your majesty, there is really no need-"

Jarrod held up his hand. "No buts, Havara. That is my decision. This table is dismissed."

Jarrod turned on his heel and walked from the room in a swirl of blue cape.

He collapsed on his ornate bed after throwing his cape on the floor. His brother had the room done up in a busy gold and red style with a huge four poster bed and several chairs around an enormous fireplace. Red and gold tapestries hung on the walls with a thick red and gold rug on the floor.

Jarrod hated it.

But every time he started to take something down, he felt a wave of guilt so strong that he just left everything as it is. He felt like such a fraud renovating the room. It wasn't supposed to be his; it was supposed to be Marcus'.

A knock sounded on the door.

Jarrod raised his head from the pillow that he was currently face down in and called, "Who is it?"

"Your two favourite people in the world," came the wry response.

Jarrod rolled over so that he was at least sitting on the bed. "Come in."

Tyrell and Warren entered the room.

Tyrell, Jarrod's younger brother, crossed his arms. "I heard something interesting today."

"Oh?" Jarrod lay back with his hands behind his head. "What?"

"That you are leaving."

"Just to visit Castle Fer Havara and see what is happening over there."

"And who is going to look after things here?" Tyrell asked.

"I thought you would," Jarrod admitted. "I was going to ask, but I wanted a break before I approached you. Who informed you that I was leaving anyway?"

"Lord Grindol," Tyrell said.

"Ah," Jarrod murmured, closing his eyes.

"He's stopped listening to me," Tyrell complained to his cousin. "I hate it when he does that."

Warren nodded.

"He needs a wife. That way I don't have to nag at him constantly," Tyrell said, only half-joking.

"I tried that once," Jarrod interjected. "Remember how well that turned out?"

Tyrell turned back to his brother. "Belinda wasn't your fault. Everyone could see that she was an unfaithful strumpet."

"Everyone but her fiancé it seems," Jarrod murmured.

Tyrell put his hands on his hips. "God, Jarrod. This self-pitying act is so annoying. Maybe you should go on this trip. Then you can at least get out of this God-awful room."

Jarrod opened his eyes and gave a little half-smile at his brother. "It really is awful, isn't it?"

"Why haven't you changed it?" Tyrell asked.

Jarrod's expression sobered. "It was Marcus'."

Tyrell nodded, but then shook his head. "I don't know what Marcus was thinking."

Jarrod smiled again. "He did seem to go a little overboard."

"A little? He has enough gold in here to feed Castle Fer Drewery for three years."

Jarrod laughed and stood. His younger brother always put him in a better mood. "I should start packing."

"Would you like some help?" Warren asked.

"Robertson will take care of it, but I want to make sure he doesn't just pack my banquet clothes to spite me," Jarrod said.

Tyrell laughed. "That's a good plan. When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow, I think," Jarrod said. "It's not that far to Havara."

Jarrod conversed with his valet in quiet tones, going over what he wished packed as his brother and cousin stood waiting patiently.

Tyrell clapped a hand on his brother's back as they exited the room. "Are you going to ride your horse, or are you going to get pulled in a carriage?"

"Of course I'm riding Thunderbolt," Jarrod said indignantly.

Tyrell grinned. "I'm just making sure that you haven't gotten so out of shape that you can't even seat on your own horse."

Jarrod winced. "Actually, I think sitting on that throne has conditioned my rear more than all the horse riding in my youth."

Warren smiled at the two brothers. "I must leave you here. There are a few things I must do before I eat dinner."

"Like what?" Jarrod asked.

"I have a couple letters to write," Warren said.

"Letters?" Tyrell asked with a sly grin. "To a young miss maybe?"

Warren blushed. "I'll see you at dinner."

"See you then," Jarrod said.

As Jarrod climbed into his huge bed that night, he thought about what Tyrell had said. It was good that he was getting out of the castle, for a short period at least. He smiled slightly. For the first time in a long while, he looked forward to the next day.