"And the weight of it hung by a damn tree, tell you what. Just swaying' in the wind, with dame from the North inside."
"Oh, fuck off. A tree off the cliff?"
"Yeah! No, that's not even the funny bit— heard she made it the whole hell way down. Said she jumped outta the cage and slid down the cliff like a, like a Hyoite hillside."
"You're full of it, mate."
Shorter, more eventful trips to and from the Duchy of Ardal— be they by nobles of the duchy or the Duke himself— were typically overseen and guarded by a contingent of the duchy's finest; handpicked guards by the council who specialize in skirmish and skirmish-adjacent combat and security. Longer trips, however, made this strategy infeasible as depriving the duchy of such consistent military manpower for extended periods of time tended to put the safety of the people— and more importantly, the council— at risk. As such, it was more common to hire trusted adventurers and mercenaries to supplement a much smaller contingent of men when traveling across the nation.
Adventurers loved their stories. And for what it was worth, from within the comfortable interior of the carriage, Valen loved to listen to their stories. Daring tales of adventure and romance. Gripping stories that could barely beget reason, yet somehow held just enough credibility to be believed possible. As he stared out of the window to the plains of Matron's Hollow, his eyes flickered between taking in the sights so unfamiliar to him, and the two men riding horseback next to him as they traveled the beaten path toward the cobblestone roads.
The adventurers and their horses. Valen also liked horses; majestic creatures, truly.
"We'll be making a stop in Matron's Hollow, as well as the capital proper." The curt, almost tense-sounding voice of another within the carriage caught Valen's attention; The 'dulcet tones' of one Valerie Anne Kethenns— one of two councilors from the duchy who'd been dispatched to accompany him to the capital. "It would be prudent to review your speech notes now, 'ere we have the chance for a proper audience while we're here."
Wordlessly, Valen simply nodded and turned his gaze back to the outside world. He'd been so entranced in the stories of the men riding with them that he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. No, not even just in his carriage— three others flanked his own, men and women of the high houses nested plumply in their (read: his) cushioned, velvet seats with their (read: his) satin silk curtains to block out the excess sunlight. The nobles could do nothing less than he extravagant— it was a part of the posh and proper lifestyle that Valen still couldn't get used to even after some months on the throne.
His father was in one of the carriages as well... he could only thank the gods that the council took up the remaining seats in his carriage. Annoying as they were, it was better to deal with whisperings in his ear than... well.
"...Have your injuries—"
"Healed, yes. Or well enough, at least."
"Very good. You... would do well to—"
"Be more cautious of stairs, yes."
"Yes. Stairs. Very good."
Valerie's attempts at 'conversation' were rather crudely veiled attempts at absolving herself, and Valen knew it— in truth, she was not the only one who had acknowledged his father's... 'poor habits', yet turned a blind eye toward it. Nor was it the first time he'd been made to go through the tip-toeing and false apologizing that was these near-painful interactions of 'sympathy' from the council. Perhaps they thought it would garner them affection in his eyes, and make it easier to control him— Valen didn't really know, nor did he care. Yet he didn't hold it agains them, all the same.
He didn't have the capacity for hate— not for the council, the assassin who'd come for him that day, nor his father— He'd never truly had anything of worth taken from him to be resentful over— nothing he deemed of worth, at least.
Just so, under an awkward peace and a pregnant silence did the Duke's convoy arrive in Matron's Hollow proper, the adventurers and nobles alike breathing an air of relief that the journey went without incident. The typical fanfare followed; the nobles avoided the adventurers like the plague as they made for the lodgings settled for their party, and the council escorted the Duke away from the stables and through the square of the town they'd stopped in— though not before he'd had a chance to personally thank the mercs that escorted him, as well as the horse that rode nearest his carriage. Her name was Edith, apparently, and she was every bit as powerful as she was affectionate to the blonde-haired lord— going so far as to lick at the side of his face. He really liked horses.
His father, upon arrival, was nowhere to be found... much to no one's surprise. He had the backing of a proper duke and the eyes of a serpent; Very few people questioned him, leaving him free to do as he pleased. He spared not even a glance for his 'son', from what the young man could gather. Typical.
As they had arrived just shy of high sun, Valen was left with time aplenty after having acquainted himself, and the council, with the town mayor. This left the young duke essentially free to his own devices whilst the council discussed the finer details of their reason for visiting. Dressed in his Ardal (second) best, a blue and gold street coat, doublet and matching pants, Valen walked the streets of the town for a time, before growing quickly aware of the effect his unrestrained presence had on the commonfolk, and making his way closer toward the lakeside. He was careful not to get so close as to tumble into the highest reeds and marsh, but he was awarded a beautiful view all the same, even from the distance.
