CHAPTER II
BONUM COMMUNE COMMUNITATIS
DISCLAIMER: All trademarks are properties of and belong to their respective owners, including Fable to Microsoft Game Studios, Lionhead Studios, Peter Molyneux, et. al. Original characters and plotlines are mine. While I'm not expecting profit, I just ask that you don't rip them off.
The next thing I knew, I felt a cool mist settling on my face. The wind howled with a deep, chilling hollow. The crisp air settled into my lungs. A chill swept over my body. Opening my weary eyes, I found myself prostrate on the ground, arms spread across black stone. An ornate, imposing wrought iron gate with towering ramparts on both sides loomed over me. Heavy fog obscured the path ahead. I didn't know where I was or what I was doing here. Nearly panicking, I tried to my arms to push me up, but to no avail.
A woman covered in red and white clothing appeared out of thin air. She had her arms crossed pensively. The wind ruffled her fine red and white headdress. As she walked over to me, I panicked. Looking up at her pale face, her pearly eyes did not move, nor did her upturned mouth flutter. I was completely in her control; as if I didn't have enough control issues to deal with at the moment.
Outstretching her slender hands, she summoned a gold and blue circular trinket in mid air. It curiously looked like a larger Royal Guild Seal, with "æ" pattern at the centre. Grabbing it, she approached me with slow, deliberate steps.
"Stop! Who are you? What do you want with me?" I demanded.
"I am Theresa, the Seer of the Spire," she responded, nary a flinch of her brow. "I have followed you, Prince Rupert, ever since the beginning. But first, I must allow the Guild Seal to conduct a simple test."
"I can do it myself, thanks," I said. Her words made no sense at all.
"I know. However, I must oblige that the Guild Seal chooses impartially."
"Choose what? The Royal Guild Seal does not choose anything. It only belongs to our family and to nobles we deem that need royal association."
"Have you forgotten, Prince Rupert? Your father created a replica with different dimensions to which he could identify himself as the Hero of Bowerstone. The Seal of the Heroes' Guild does not discriminate who it chooses. It could be a peasant, a freeman, or a noble."
"He never said anything about that. What happens if it doesn't choose me?"
"Then you will be returned in your present state, without recollection."
"Oh, okay," I said hesitantly, somewhat satisfied with her reassurance. No, wait. In my 'present' state, I was shot and lying in the middle of a street. Sending me back was going to be a death sentence. I was going to be trampled, shot again, or at least succumb to my injuries. "No, please don't!" I pleaded. "Anything but that! I'll die!"
"There is nothing more I can change," Theresa said. Kneeling down, she took the seal and pressed it against my brow. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to accept my fate. "I ask again, Seal of the Heroes' Guild of Albion, is it this one?"
Warm heat enveloped me. Something tugged against against my chest, my back, and my limbs. Bright light pierced my eyelids. The wind howled louder, like a tempest in my ears. Was it choosing me? I couldn't tell. As the wind died down, I opened my eyes. Not seeing a boot crash onto my face was an enormous relief.
She held out her outstretched arm to me. "Rise, Prince Rupert. The Seal awoke at your touch, as it would at no one else's."
As Theresa helped me up, I expected to fall back onto my face or at least stumble around like a chicken with its legs sheared off. Feeling no pain at all, I looked down. There was a hole in my trousers where a bullet ripped through it. There was no blood, no gore, just a solitary hole uncovering skin. There was no possible explanation, other than it was a miracle.
"You did-? How did you do that?" I stammered.
"I did not heal you," Theresa said. "That is for the Seal to decide."
"That's nice to hear," I said. "But what am I? How do you know my father?"
"I guided your father, like so many others, in his greatest triumphs and his lowest misfortunes," she said, stepping off to the side and gesturing beyond the gate. "Before you lies the path you were born to take. At its end was the kingdom you were born to rule. You will face many trials, but you cannot pass through these gates alone. You will need to gather followers and the support of the people. The people of Albion are fractured in their opinions, but they long for a leader to guide them, to lead a revolution."
"Revolution? You lead it," I said dubiously. "My existence has been erased from Albion. I can't even use my name anymore."
"Yet your name and your image still carry some recognition. Mine carries none. I live in the Spire. I am content."
Clegg appeared before me. "Currently, you have the support of the former Home Secretary, Nicholas Clegg; loved and reviled in equal measure by the people of Albion," Theresa said. "He has made many difficult decisions throughout his career, balancing the needs of the people while placating the nobles he associated with. He appears friendly, but his support is as tenuous as anyone else's." The gates squealed open behind her. "For now, claim your reward, which the Guild Seal entrusts in your care."
As the gates clamoured all the way open, I was left alone. Ferns and rosemary flowers flanked the narrow patch. At the end was a solitary chest. Approaching it cautiously, I opened it, not knowing what was inside. Expecting at least a pittance of gold, resting innocently at the bottom was a simple red and gold fingerless glove of some sort. Bending over to reach it, I reluctantly put it on. Feeling something pulse through my body, I tried to whip it off my arm but it wouldn't let me.
Theresa appeared once more. "There is magical power inside you. You merely lack the means to unleash it. This is the only remaining artefact of the Guild that vanished more than half a century ago."
A small ball of flame erupted from and floated slightly above my hand. Looking at it awkwardly, I flicked my wrist. I watched as it sailed out and disappear into the mist. It may pass off as a parlour trick; but to do real damage, I'd have to aim it at someone's face.
"You have taken your first steps, but there is still much to do," Theresa said. "Now go!"
The next thing I knew, I was kicked out and left in darkness once again. Instead of the howling wind, harsh clacking and rattling sounds welcomed me once again. My body was jostled and thrown as the cart hit an occasional rock or pothole. Groaning a bit, I propped my arms up, trying not to have my back broken prematurely.
"David! Stay down!" Clegg said. "You alright there? I thought you were a real goner!"
"At least I'll live," I said. Looking at Clegg, Theresa's words resonated in me. The words were there to question his loyalty and his background, but that would send him off in a jiff. Casting him as a traitor would be a grievous mistake on my part. His knowledge was valuable, especially now.
"You sure?" Clegg wondered. "You like you just had a bleeding catharsis."
"I'm fine, Cle-"
"Don't call me that!" he hissed. "Remember, I'm Gordon."
"Right. Sorry, Gordon."
"Anyway, rest up if you can. I reckon we'll near Brightwall by dusk."
Glancing at my bandaged leg, I think I could heed Clegg's advice for now. At least he trusts me enough to tell me where he's taking me. Maybe if I told him my leg was fixed by a kooky soothsayer and a magical Royal Seal, he'd actually believe me. Yeah right. Miracles were fairly easy to explain with the Maker behind everything.
The last rays of sunlight beckoned as the carriage made its way across an arched stone bridge. Compared to Bowerstone, the landscape was beautiful. The abundance of pines, the grasses, and the flowers made me wish I'd live here. After we hit another pothole, I looked ahead. Brightwall, at least on first impressions, disappointed me. There was a gaping hole in the side where someone could easily plunge to their death. The battered and weathered walls looked liked they had seen better days. The hanging banners that carried the insignia of Logan were sharp and gaudy to my dismay. If he could afford new banners, surely he could afford some improvements in infrastructure.
Clegg yawned. "This here's Brightwall," he said. "Anyone who's never been here will be quick to label people here as simpletons, country folk, or yokels. Call anybody that and you'll get a good tug by the ladies and a pummelling from the men."
"Is it safe?" I wondered.
Clegg tipped his hat. "Course it is. No one's going to mug you in the streets like in Bowerstone. They'll leave you be if you don't act like a prat," he smiled. "Let me look at your leg for a moment. I've probably got to change your bandage and make you look, well, presentable."
"There's no need for it. Honest. I can do it myself," I said, waving my hand in front of his face.
Clegg untied the bandage. "I don't think anybody has taught you basic first aid, much less- Bloody hell! What's going on here?"
"What?" I said, feigning my surprise. I knew who fully healed me. The hard bit was trying to put on a convincing act.
With the bandage still around my leg, he poked my leg repeatedly with his outstretched finger. "I don't believe it myself, but it looks to me like it's fully healed. Try moving your foot."
I did. Feeling no pain as expected, but I tried to act amazed. "It seems fine to me. I don't feel anything."
"Bollocks. Well, bless the maker. I guess I don't have to blow pounds on the doc then. More money to drink!" he said gleefully.
As we arrived into Brightwall, Clegg paid off the driver and we hurried off to the nearest pub or inn we could find. Maybe I could grow to love this city with its lack of smokestacks, the trees sprouting into the air, and citizens that didn't look like they went through a latrine. The playful laughter of children and the smell of fresh flowers reminded me of simpler times from my youth. Sure there were His Majesty's guards out in force, but they generally kept to themselves. The only downside was seeing my brother's face plastered on the exterior of every single quaint and charming building. Despite my personal loathing, it seemed no one seemed to care and carried about closing up shop for the day.
We soon found the Ye Quill & Quandary Inn, a quaint little place in the middle of town. After getting a room for the night, we proceeded to get tipsy with the best bitters money could reasonably buy in these parts. While some alcohol was nice, I wanted to avoid blacking out like last time. Stumbling up the steep, narrow steps nary a moment too late, I collapsed into the room and onto a waiting bed. Another long day would likely await me.
The next morning, we left Brightwall bright and early and headed straight into the mountains. As we climbed higher, the temperature got colder and the air was thinner. I don't think I have ever seen snow before. I liked it how it contrasted on the dark, tall pines. Seeing my breath was a nice touch too.
"So where are we going?" I asked.
"There's supposed to be a Dweller Camp in Mistpeak Valley. Got to go meet the leader. I think his name is Sabine."
"Dwellers?"
"Yeah. They're a proud lot, not used to eating day-old frozen pinecones for dinner. The army was about to slaughter them before a truce was negotiated by none other than yours truly. Instead of blowing the damn place to bits, they've blockaded it." Clegg sighed, "I'm afraid with me out of the way, the king's going to enjoy a good romping."
"So what's so special about them?"
"They've been the most successful at getting under King Logan's nose. They nearly came close to taking Brightwall and the surrounding area at one point. If we can stabilise the situation and work their allegiance to our favour, we'll gain a steadfast ally to recruit others."
"But why not go to the army camp instead?"
"You've got to realise that whatever we order doesn't carry any authority anymore. Army blokes love shooting things, preferably something live. Rumours are their blockade is thin around here. There should be an abandoned tin mine where we can sneak in."
After more trudging through the snow, Clegg stopped and quickly dived to the ground. I did so as well, enjoying the sensation of fresh snow up my nose. As we crawled through the snow, I was nearly freaking out. If I knew I was going to be shot again today, I would have stood up and ran.
"Two guards, dead ahead," he whispered. "They look like greenhorns. If we're lucky, they'll cock up."
To my surprise, they looked like the same age I was, if not younger. We watched them closely. The brown-haired guard dug his finger into his ear and flung earwax into the woods. His blonde-haired chap bent over and farted, stretching back afterward.
"Jesus Christ! What gives? They were supposed to relieve us an hour ago," the brown-haired guard moaned.
"I dunno," his partner said. "I've heard a shipment of brandy was coming in. Going towards the officers of course."
"I dunno 'bout you, but a bottle of brandy is better than standing here for another minute," he said as his vigorously bounded up from his chair and started marching. His partner followed him as they trudged through the snow, right past us even. I was sceptical at first, but their footsteps got softer, not stopping to rebound back even.
"See? Told you," Clegg whispered. "Come on. They'll be back soon."
Breaking from the snow, we ran toward the entrance. I didn't stop running. Truth be told, I didn't think we were going to make it, but we did. Grabbing a torch, we proceeded deeper into the tin mine. Fearing the endless possibilities that could go wrong, I never liked these tight spaces. The wooden supports groaned loudly, anticipating a cave in. Plus, if the mine caught fire, it was all over. The squealing rats unnerved me as well. I might as well admit that I was a pansy in these types of places.
After wandering around for quite a while through the maze of narrow tunnels ready to collapse, we hit a dead end. Scattered on the ground were a few shovels, stained with blood. Shallow scratch marks indicated the way to go. Without saying a word, Clegg picked one up and started digging. I hurriedly joined in.
Our frantic digging paid off. My shovel discovered light. Thank the Maker we were getting out. We dug excitedly, as if savouring that faint light through that tiny hole. Once we broke through, I dashed forward, eager for fresh air and relief from cramped spaces.
The bleak winter landscape revealed itself once again, littered by craters. Flanking the winding frozen dirt path were a solitary pair of brown banners too tattered to be even recognisable. The stone guardrail guiding the road into the camp had gaping holes in it. As we neared the camp, it was clear that the damages of war did not spare the buildings. The rubble of half-collapsed houses splintered from the snow.
"Well, here we are. Not much to look at, I'm afraid," Clegg said. "But this is where the revolution begins. This is what the king has reduced them to. He's taken control of these mountains and started razing forests. And that was before the war."
Overpowering the howling of the wind were the moaning and weeping of the remnant people. They gnashed their teeth on anything they could find, hoping to dull their misery with pain. They complained profusely about my brother, threatening to wring his neck and hang him from the highest pine tree if they could. However, any mention of Sabine was followed by praise. Despite that, they choked on the frozen ice they were forced to eat from numbed hands.
A little girl ran up to me. "I'll trade you my doll for some food. Please, sir, she's really good. Honest."
"No thanks, love," I said.
"Everything's gotten bloody pear shaped since I last came here," Clegg said. "I've never seen it this bad in ages."
We worked our way up a small hill, against the cold wind and the falling snow to walls made of timber lashed together by rope. At its centre were two wooden doors. Two guards were on either side, huddling around their weak fires; even though they were fully clothed. They pulled cloth from the banners that hung beside them and threw them into the fire. Clegg walked over to one of them and whispered, eventually flashing his papers. What he said to the guard was beyond me, but it seemed to work.
After he was done, he turned to me. "As I said, the man we need to convince is Sabine," Clegg explained. "He's a proud old sod, but he's a relatively good man, if not a stubborn little bugger. His allegiance will be difficult to obtain, especially to us. I've got a lot of explaining to do." He rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I'll have my arse chewed first."
"Well, good luck," I shrugged.
"Thanks," he said. Clegg grabbed a fistful of coins out of his pocket. "Use the last of the pounds if you have to. Support the local economy and buy something if you can. Just be mindful of beggars. Once you give to one, the whole lot of them will come out."
With that last piece of advice, Clegg disappeared behind the pair of wooden doors. Still stuck with the handful of coins in my hand, I hurriedly shoved them in my pocket, hoping nobody saw that. Turning around to leave, I was confronted by the crowd must have gathered behind us while we were talking. They said nothing, but their vacant eyes screamed in silent desperation.
"Papa, are we getting food today?" a child's voice cried out.
No one in the crowd dared to answer that innocent child's plea. Neither did I. Confronting the crowd head on, I walked toward them with deliberate steps; crunching the ice and snow underneath my feet. To my astonishment, they put up no resistance and parted to let me through. I did not dare meet their glares. I was too scared to.
Once again, I was left alone and free to look around for a bit. A family huddled beside a felled pine tree. A man with a torn jacket for a coat, I assumed was the father, was grunting in the harsh cold, digging a hole in the frozen ground. Next to them was something round wrapped in a few strands of rags. One could only assume it was a child. Two trees over and a son was burying one of his parents. Unsurprisingly, it didn't look like anyone dared to set up shop when they and their families were starving and freezing to death.
The town centre was devastated when I got there. Only the eroded pedestal remained of a grand statue, its contents probably melted down. Amazingly, there was one tiny cart with a gaping hole in the back. A lone mannequin was still standing, trying desperately to peddle its wares.
A shabby vendor was at the foot of his stall, cannibalising it by ripping off pieces of wood. Nearby was a weak fire, where I assumed the people gathered around it were his family. His ragged face and pale blue eyes met mine.
"Hello. Please look around," he gestured with shivering arms. "It's not much I'm afraid, but it's all I've got. If we don't get some food soon, it's all over."
Despite being batted by the wind and the snow a bit, it looked fine to me. Trying it on over my coat, it felt a bit bulky with all of the extra fur, but it did wonders against the cold. It may have looked like it was pelted by the snow more than a few times, but I felt it was in good enough condition.
"I'll take it," I said. "How much for this?"
His eyes widened. "You're joking, right?" he said in astonishment. "P-P-Pardon me, sir, but no one's bought anything in ages. I don't even remember how much I sold it to the last person."
"No harm taken," I said. I pulled the money out of my pocket. With this kind of product, I reckon it was worth more than a couple shillings. "I don't have any food but, um, three pounds?"
"Bless you, sir. Bless you," he said, thanking me profusely as I dropped the coins into his hands. "I'll never forget you. Stop by again and I'll give you a discount."
Satisfied with my purchase, I moved on. Seeing the beggars out in force in the cold, I wanted to help them, I really did. But remembering what Clegg had said, I knew I didn't have enough money to satisfy everyone. Plus, I needed money for myself. Two pounds weren't going to last very long, even for the most basic expenses. Although I'd never feel good about it for the rest of my life, I stiffed them all, not sparing a penny. Heartless, maybe, but I didn't have much of a choice.
Clegg was waiting outside the gates. "Well, I guess you look more like a murderer or a rapist with that garb on," he said. "Come on in, Sabine is quite eager to meet you."
I followed Clegg inside. A solitary rug greeted me in the middle of an expansive section sealed off from the rest of the camp. Four caravans were parked at the corners, with a fire near the one off to my left. A giant tent stood in the middle, curiously taller than wide. Lanterns were strung between each caravan, seemingly impervious to damage. Compared to the surroundings his people were living in, it seemed like a palace.
A towering man grunted. Crossing one of his eyes was a gaping scar nearly matching his outrageously long and fat moustache. His arms rested stiffly above his rotund skull and crossbones buckle. He was dressed in the same oversized Dweller costume as I was, with spiked armour jutting from his shoulders. Was this menacing person really Sabine? I was going to be in a lot of trouble if it was.
"Out of the way, Boulder. I can't see a thing," an annoyed voice chided. Inside of a spacious tent ornately decorated with lanterns and rich cloths was an arrogant, stubby little old man sitting on a grand throne carved out of a pine tree. Compared to what his people were dressed in, he was dressing in a multicoloured outfit made of cashmere. Fancy red boots, jewellery all over his body, a gilded golden hat with a flamboyant feather; even gold earrings and gold hoops for his wide and snowy white moustache and beard. As if that weren't enough to satisfy his penchant for dressing so outrageously. He could be forgiven for being a noble if he wasn't here of all places.
He sighed and rested his elbow on the on the side of his throne. "Look Prince Rupert, your attempt to blend in won't fool anyone, especially not the likes of me."
"It's the least I can to do to help your community," I said.
He stood up from his throne and marched down the steps; gold medallions on his chest clanging. "Bah. Dwellers can't eat money. You're not helping anyone. So, what do you think of our home? Do you like what your brother has done to us? Stripping our land? Bombarding us? Driving us to the brink of death so he can have his way?"
I tried to visualise all the things I had seen wandering around this place. "Seeing it on my own, it's despicable. I'd never let this happen."
"The Home Secretary has already come and offered ridiculous promises. Why should we follow Logan's kin?"
"I'm not like him!"
He swung his arm in front of my face. "Pah. We don't take much stock in words 'round these parts. Toss me a piece of venison, Boulder."
Boulder grabbed a slightly red but juicy looking steak out of a bag near the fire and lobbed it into the air. Seeing it land in Sabine's hands, he began devouring it eagerly, as ravenous as a hungry schoolboy. While his people were eating pinecones and snow, he was eating freshly cooked deer. What nerve! I couldn't take it any longer.
"What a hypocrite," I muttered. "Only kings are not subject to rations."
Sabine took another bite. "It may not look it, but this is the only piece of meat I'll have in a month. What do you expect me to do? Toss this over the gate and expect people to divide it up fairly and rationally? Like good little boys and girls?"
"Well, yeah," I shrugged.
He swallowed his bite of venison. "If I toss this piece of venison over the gate, I guarantee you that this community will die. People will kill each other until there is no one left, all for this one piece of deer meat. By that time, it will have spoiled and rot, and any gains would have been all for naught."
Hearing someone stomping in the snow behind me, I turned. One of the Dweller guards came running toward us. He kneeled down. "Sir, there is a mob outside the gates demanding an audience," he said.
"I'm in the middle of a meeting," Sabine said. "Can't this wait?"
"Afraid not, sir. They'll slit his throat otherwise."
Sabine turned to us. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'm afraid I must take care of this urgent matter. I assure you it won't take long."
"Fine with us," Clegg said.
Sabine stuffed the rest of his crude meal into his royal attire. He redirected his attention to the guard. "I only want two people in here; the person accused and one member from the mob to argue their cases."
"What about our visitors, sir?"
"They may witness."
"Yes, sir."
A man and a woman came forward and stood in front of Sabine, with accompanying Dweller guards making sure they wouldn't tear each other to pieces. Both were clearly poor in their tattered outfits, ripped coats, and hodgepodge mending. Frazzled hair and gruff beards seemed to be common appearances for these people.
"Mrs. Fletcher, what's all the trouble over that someone's throat would be slit over?" Sabine asked.
The woman whipped out a piece of parchment. "My Lord, look at Mr. Peck's deed," Mrs. Fletcher stated forcefully. "This is a contract forged from briberies and fraud! This land deed should be rendered null and void."
"No!" Mr. Peck pleaded. "I didn't know! I didn't know it was connected to Reaver!"
"Who sold you this land, Mr. Peck?" Sabine asked.
"John Marshall, my Lord, representing Marshall and Sons," Mr. Peck said.
"I see no connection to Reaver here," Sabine said.
"You fail to realize that Marshall and Sons were one of the land companies that received the lands through direct payment from Reaver, who in turn obtained it after the king himself seized my land and many others without compensation," Mrs. Fletcher stated. "We demand that you nullify this deed and restore the lands which we obtained honourably before we were shoved off."
"What you're saying is that the sale of this land to Mr. Peck directly benefits Reaver and the king?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"What do you have to say in your defence, Mr. Peck?"
"The transaction was an honourable one. I enquired about the land and I was reasonably satisfied with Mr. Marshall's answers. He made no disclosure that the land was taken in such a way. Had I had known, I wouldn't have bought the land," Mr. Peck confessed. "But you can't take away my land! I paid for it legitimately and honourably! I have a wife and a daughter! I can't possibly take a loss of property!"
"My husband was killed and I have three children!" Mrs. Fletcher screamed. "Don't you dare compare your hardships to mine!"
"Hmm..." Sabine said. He paced around and sat back in his throne, pondering his response. Clegg honestly looked bored; his eyes darting around everywhere. I however, was kind of fascinated by these arguments. It seemed like Sabine had no way out. He'd have to make a very tough choice. Sabine rose from his chair again. "It hasn't been an easy decision, but I'm sure it is best for the community. I can't ignore the fact that this sale directly supports the efforts against us. The buyer should have been more responsible."
"This is ridiculous!" I said before Sabine could continue further. "Why are you going after him instead of the seller?"
Before I knew it, I was knocked to the cold, unforgiving earth face first. A brute force pressed on my back. Twisting my head back, I realised that it was Boulder's knee. He was doing a great job of immobilising me. I was struggling to breathe.
"I said you may witness, not meddle," Sabine hissed. "I do what is best for our community. What Royals haven't."
"What do you want from me then?" I demanded.
Kneeling down, he brought his face close to mine, staring me in the eye. "Proof," he growled. "Proof that you're not another talking head." He pointed over my shoulder. "See Clegg? He came here promising the same vague promises you are. If you're a man of action, maybe I'll listen. Otherwise, you're wasting your time." Retreating to his throne, he sat down and crossed his legs. "If you have nothing more to add, please leave. Boulder will kindly show you out."
As Boulder forced me up off the ground, Sabine gave me one final glare. He was no wiser than anyone else. Clegg and I were escorted out in defeat, trudging our weary feet across the icy ground. The doors closed shut behind us. We were left out in the cold, without a plan. If we needed support from that old miser, we were certainly not off to a good start. I wondered how we were even going to get support from him at all.
Clegg sighed, "Well, that's that. I didn't expect anything go down easily, especially negotiating with him of all people."
"Sorry, Gordon, I shouldn't have said anything," I said.
"Naw, don't be so hard on yourself, David," Clegg patted me on the back. "You've stood up for something. He may not show it, but the old geezer respects that. Battles like these are hard fought with little gain and constant defeat."
"So, what next?"
Clegg shrugged. "Head back to Brightwall and regroup, I suppose. Dinner's on me."
I smiled, "Sounds like a good idea."
To Be Continued.
DICTUM: MORE CLARET! MORE SLASH! MORE REVIEWS!
Thank you to Our Lives Online and Magical Mistress Sarai for reviewing!
Princess/Ben Finn, Princess/Walter, Princess/Reaver, Princess/Logan... I don't mind slash but it's ridiculous that the princess has to be paired up with everything. Before anyone knows it, we'll have Princess/Sabine, Princess/Saker, and Princess/RandomOCvillager. Don't take it personally, it's just my shrewish observation.
Sabine in-game is quite reasonable, contrary to what the canon may think. Walter's comments of Sabine being "hard to convince" are bloody rubbish. He states his demands clearly with little resistance, sends the player off for fetch quests quite nicely, and somehow avoids the temptation and trappings of war, even when *SPOILER ALERT* you fail to uphold your promises as king and mine them *END SPOILER ALERT*. Even from a brief stint working in government, even I can tell you that politicians are nowhere near as willing to engage in compromise and alliance building. Most of these fail on their first attempt. How does Sabine get away with the extravagance he does? I found that very intriguing. A very contemporary analogue would be Winston Churchill. Britain was blockaded during WWII and Churchill, like everyone else, was subject to severe rations and lousy food. In practice though, he guzzled bottles of champagne, chomped cigars, and had lavish food. I doubt any politician would be in office if they tried to pull that today. I guess Churchill could be forgiven; he wouldn't have won the war without champagne.
I also wanted to introduce more of the "tough decisions" bit. To do so, a great starting point would be constitutional legal cases. Unfortunately, the UK does not have a single constitution, unlike the US and so many others. With "constitutional" laws in the UK scattered across 30 or so separate documents (including the Magna Carta), it would take far too long and too difficult to analyze them. Therefore, I will be using the framework of the significantly less complicated US constitution. Constitutional law and US Supreme Court cases have been analyzed in far greater detail than their British counterparts with topics covering everything from due process, contracts, and eminent domain to whether a tomato is a fruit or a vegetable (see: Nix v. Hedden, 1893). For being forced to buy an expensive, 600-page, telephone book sized, and unusually dull textbook for university, it's being put to further good use. Oyez is also a lifesaver.
This case referenced here is Fletcher v. Peck (1810). In it the Supreme Court ruled that the Contracts Clause of the US Constitution prohibited Georgia from voiding contracts for the transfer of land, even though they were secured through illegal bribery. It was 5-0 in favor of Peck. The outcome was flipped in this story compared to its real-world result but the moral and legal dilemmas were the same.
Love it? Hate it? Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated!