Written for Tales of Xillia Week 2020: Night Clime {Fennmont / Ambition}
Power, Rowen mused, was a fickle thing. Dynasties and noble houses rose and fell, and though some had the strength—or luck—to remain standing strong after hundreds of years, none of them remained unscathed from the flighty whims of fate.
The man seated on his left was a good example. Though inheriting his father's royal blood, he had been so low in the order of succession than neither of them would have imagined, in their youth, that he would one day surpass his brothers and sit upon the throne. But that was the way thing had played out, in no small part thanks to Rowen's humble contributions.
The man to his right was yet another case. Who would have predicted that his family's four centuries of reign could be dismantled in less than a decade?
Rowen brought his cup to his lips in slow, deliberate movements, using the gesture to observe the man covertly. Their guest had seen better days, that was for sure. His hair was partially singed on the side, and the care with which he moved his right arm hinted at a recently healed wound. The bags under his eyes spoke of the exhausting journey that brought him to them, and his frequent glances at the starry sky outside the window showed how ill at ease he felt in this new environment.
"So, let me get this straight," Nachtigal spoke, never the man for patience. "You want us to get you back your throne."
The man scoffed. "I don't need you to get it back. I'm just saying that your support would expedite the process. As the king of Auj Oule—"
"Former king," Nachtigal interrupted. Tact had never been his forte.
The former king flinched. "Look," he sneered, "you may mock me now, but when his armies show up at your door, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Let him try!" Nachtigal declared.
"That's what I said," former king Merad said bitterly. "Yet here I am. Look…" He raked a hand through his hair in frustration, only to cringe when his fingers made contact with the burnt tips. He jerked his hand away and shook it, as if he had just touched something disgusting. "I know we stood on opposite sides of Fezebel ten years ago, but Gaius threatens the foundation of both of our countries. He is an enemy of the world, and you'd be a fool not to stop him before he became more of a threat."
Nachtigal looked at King Merad dubiously, but did not comment this time. Instead, he turned to Rowen, expecting him to settle the matter for him.
"We understand what you mean," Rowen said prudently. "We will give your warning some thought. In the meanwhile, why don't you relax in one of the castle's guest rooms? You must be tired after such a long journey. I will arrange for dinner to be brought to you shortly."
The man's shoulders sagged a little. The prospect of a good rest was not unwelcome. Rowen showed him to the door and instructed the guards outside to see their esteemed guest to the most luxurious guest room, before closing the door and turning back toward his own king.
Nachtigal did not wait to ask for his opinion. "What do you make of him?"
"He seemed quite desperate," Rowen said. Nachtigal snorted.
"Oh, he's desperate all right. Who wouldn't be after getting ousted in such a way? Pathetic."
Rowen hummed non-commitally. In truth, their guest's desperation was of little concern to him. However, the situation he had described rang alarm bells in his mind. "Perhaps we should not be so quick to dismiss him."
Nachtigal raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you took his ravings seriously. Riding wyverns into battle? That's new, even for those monster-loving barbarians."
"That would not be impossible," Rowen tempered. "Remember how they brought boars to Fezebel."
"Hmm…" Nachtigal frowned. "Do you really think this Gaius is really a threat?"
"I do not know his plans for Rashugal. However, the fact remains that he conquered the whole of Auj Oule in only five years. He should not be underestimated."
"If we make an official stand against him," Nachtigal pointed out, "we would definitely be bringing his attention to Rashugal."
Rowen nodded. "Indeed! Which is why I propose we do not advertise our support. Money and mercenaries shall suffice. As well…" He looked at Nachtigal critically. "Hasn't your new advisor promised you a new sort of weapons?"
Nachtigal's smile was predatory. "That would be the perfect occasion for a test run."
Power was a fickle thing, Rowen mused, as he watched the throne of Rashugal welcome a new king. Dynasties and noble houses rose and fell, and sometimes friends became enemies, while enemies became allies.
A pair of crimson eyes bore into him from the throne. Rowen inclined his head, and the king of Rieze Maxia nodded back.
A decade after his short meeting with the ousted former king of Auj Oule, Rowen remembered with the clarity of insight how much they had underestimated this man. It was as well, he thought, that they had not put more resources into stopping him back then. Auj Oule had flourished under his reign, and Rashugal, shaken by years of strife and corruption, was now eager to welcome a leader that would guide it back on the path to prosperity.
Power was a fickle thing, Rowen knew, but perhaps this time, the man sitting on the throne would not so easily let it consume him.