Chapter Two: Heavy is the Head

Keeper Yennen had refused to discuss The Righteous inside the Temple, suggesting instead that they retire to Whitestone Castle. Percy barely remembered the trek across the city. So bound up was he in rage and grief at Cassandra's suffering at the hands of those terrorists that he could hardly see where he was going. Only Vex's hand at the small of his back had kept him moving in the right direction as his mind taunted him with images of his sister's face, pale, drawn, sunken, and oh so still. As though the Matron of Ravens already loomed over her.

No. Percy shook his head. He couldn't think like that, not now. There was hope as long as Cassandra drew breath. And he would fight for her in any way he could.

As Vox Machina gathered around the table on the castle's great hall, Percy began to sit down between Vex and Pike. But before he could, Yennen cleared her throat pointedly, and he paused, glancing up at her.

Meeting his eyes, Yennen raised her brows and nodded toward the more ornate chair at the head on the table. The Lord's seat. The seat that had been his father's, and his father's before him. The seat that should have passed to Julius. The seat that now, by birthright, belonged to him.

He swallowed hard, glancing down at Vex. She met his eyes with an encouraging smile and grasped his hand, giving his fingers a brief, gentle squeeze before letting him go. Reluctantly, he stepped back from her and took his (rightful? could that be true?) place.

It felt so wrong, sitting here, looking down this table. The chair seemed to swallow him up, as if he were but a little boy playing at ruling. This perspective never should have been his to claim. He felt like a usurper, a pretender to a position he had no true business holding. He didn't belong here.

And yet here he was: Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Lord of the Royal House of Whitestone.

Gods above.

Having all of his friends staring expectantly up at him didn't help matters. Vox Machina had no hierarchy, no leader. They functioned as a team of equals, deferring to each other's areas of expertise, following whoever had the best idea at the moment. To see them sitting at this table, waiting for him, for no other reason than that he was in charge here, was more than a little bit surreal. As if he would wake up at any moment in his humble, comfortable quarters in the Keep, and laugh with them all over breakfast at how ridiculous this was.

But this was no dream. He was dreadfully, painfully conscious, and his sister's life could very well hang on how he proceeded from here.

Percy folded his hands on the table, clenching them perhaps too tightly, fleetingly glad for the leather gloves that disguised his white-knuckled grip. He closed his eyes and took a moment to try to steady his breathing and calm his racing heart, but with limited success.

Well. Time to get on with it.

"Keeper Yennen," he began, forcing what he hoped was a tone of command into his voice, "tell me what has been happening in Whitestone. Who are The Righteous? What are they doing? What is the aim of their movement?"

Yennen pressed her mouth into a grim line. "The Righteous are a small but brazen group of religious extremists," she said. "They claim a direct connection to the Dawnfather, to be the only ones truly capable of interpreting His will. They insist that the more… traditional clergy are somehow corrupted. Even so, they limited themselves until recently to preaching their doctrines from the Sun Tree to any who would listen."

"Quite a leap from there to attempted murder," said Vax dryly.

"Indeed," Yennen replied with a nod. "Over the past several weeks, their sermons have begun to take on an anarchistic bent. At first, they spoke carefully, in generalized criticisms of nobility as a whole. But as their audiences grew, they became bolder. They have recently begun to speak out against you specifically, Percival, and Cassandra. They claim that your family has lost the Dawnfather's favor, citing the Briarwoods' occupation as evidence."

Percy's jaw clenched until he thought his teeth might crack. "How dare they? How bloody dare they use that against us?" he snarled. "The unparalleled audacity of—" He cut himself off before he could say something entirely un-lordly, and took a deep breath to try to calm himself.

It helped. A little.

"Why didn't Cassie just have them arrested?" Scanlan asked.

She hated being called that; had since she was five. But now was not the time to call Scanlan out for being overly familiar. "I would imagine she didn't want to make political martyrs of them," Percy replied tightly. "By letting them have their say, she thought she could retain the moral upper hand. Throwing them in the dungeons for expressing an opinion risked making her look like a despot."

Yennen nodded. "Precisely."

"Yeah, but doin' nothing woulda looked weak," Grog argued. "That's even worse."

"I don't know about worse, but I get what you're saying, Grog." Vex leaned forward to rest her forearms on the table. "Cassandra never struck me as the type to let a challenge to her authority go entirely unanswered." She shrugged. "Of course, I didn't really have the chance to get to know her very well. And she's so young. You know her best, Percy—what do you think?"

"You're probably right, Vex," he said. "Keeper Yennen, how did Cassandra respond to these sermons?"

"She invited the leaders of the movement to dinner here at the castle, in this very hall," said Yennen. "She promised to hear their grievances and negotiate redress."

"She attempted diplomacy. Father would have been proud." Percy's left hand twitched, his own version of Diplomacy hidden under his glove. Another reminder of how out of place he was here. "What happened?"

Yennen spread her hands. "You may wish to question the staff and guards; I was not present. All I can tell you for certain is that Cassandra was attacked during that meeting."

"Related question." Vax sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "The courier who fetched us from Emon brought a letter, ostensibly from Cassandra herself, and claimed to have received instructions from her personally. But she denies sending it. So who did? And perhaps more importantly, why?"

"The letter bore her seal, but it wasn't in her handwriting," Percy said. "I assumed she'd dictated it. But given what we know now, I would guess some of The Righteous broke into her chambers and forged it. That courier was probably one of them. Or working for them."

"And as for why," Yennen said darkly, "the fact that they summoned you here suggests they may have plans for further violence."

"By which, you mean I'm their next target," Percy bit out. "Wonderful."

Keyleth clutched her staff with both hands and gave a nervous giggle. "Good thing you brought us, then!" she said, a little too brightly.

"Agreed," Vex growled.

Grog stood and hefted his greataxe. "Anybody wants to come for you, Percy, they gotta get through me first."

"We've got your back, Percival," said Vax. "All of us. Whatever you need."

As a lump rose in his throat, Percy met each of their eyes in turn. Yennen, serene and severe. Keyleth, frightened but resolved. Scanlan, blazing with indignation. Grog, prepared to rage. Pike, sympathetic and compassionate. Vax, calculating and determined. Vex, fiery and intense. All on his behalf, and Cassandra's. What had he ever done, he wondered, to deserve such unwavering loyalty? "Thank you all," he choked out, the words entirely inadequate, but all he could muster.

Vex reached out and laid her hand over his, her eyes shining with that certain softness he dared to imagine she reserved for him alone. "Of course, darling," she said. "Now, what's the plan?"

A plan. Yes. That would be useful.

Percy cleared his throat. "Right. I want the names of every person at that dinner. Guests, staff, guards, everyone. Kepper Yennen, I assume the captain of the guard has opened an investigation?"

"I should think so."

"I would speak to him. Privately," he declared. "Is my father's study in order?"

Yennen met his gaze evenly. "Yes, Percival, your study is on suitable condition. I will send the captain there at once."

"Bloody hells, I shall never get used to this," Percy muttered under his breath. He looked out at the rest of Vox Machina. "We need to gather information. Vex'ahlia, Vax'ildan, I want you to speak to the staff here in the castle about what happened that night. The smallest detail could be important. Pike and Keyleth, start at the Temple and see what you can learn about The Righteous. Be circumspect; the topic may not be a welcome one. Scanlan and Grog, see what the gossip is around the city. I want to know what kind of influence these extremists have on the people." He spread his hands flat on the table and stood. "Report back to me at sundown with what you have learned."

Nobody moved.

Gods damn it all. "Right. Um, meeting adjourned?"

Grog blinked in confusion. "We're meeting a what, now?"

Pike grinned fondly up at him, patting his arm. "He means we can go, buddys."

"Oh. Well, all right, then!" Grog replaced his greataxe on his back and turned to Scanlan. "C'mon, Scan-man, let's go get some gossip!" He paused. "You think they serve that at the tavern?"

"They sure do, big guy," Scanlan said with a chuckle.

Percy buried his face in his hand.