Chapter Text
Melisandre resisted the urge to yawn as she sat in her solar, listening to Colm’s report on the revenues for this month.
Galerius’s reign had brought House Meillet to the brink of ruin. Though it swore fealty to the Emperor, he refused to lift a finger when the plague struck its lands. Her father, mother, and brother all paid for their fealty with their lives.
As the sole survivor of House Meillet, the responsibility for her family’s future rested on her shoulders. It was a burden that Melisandre had long come to terms with the moment her aunt and uncle succumbed to the illness.
And with the war finally over, she could finally work on restoring her house to its former glory.
But now, she faced a problem that not even her skills with the blade could resolve.
Upon returning to her family estate, her first priority was to fix up the castle and its surrounding lands, both of which had fallen into disrepair in her absence. The plague had claimed so many lives – not just Melisandre’s family – and forced many of the survivors to migrate elsewhere. She needed to find a way to get more people to migrate back and raise her tax revenues.
Though Melisandre had received the education necessary for someone of her rank, counting coppers was never her strong suit. She was fortunate to have Colm, who had years of experience handling her family’s accounts, on her side. If not for him, House Meillet would have collapsed into destitution and obscurity years ago.
But that did not make her task any less dull. As head of the household, she always had the final say onwhat policies should or should not be implemented. And that meant having to listen to her steward talk on and on about the intricacies of tax collections and maintenance fees.
“Lady Melisandre, are you even listening?” Colm’s voice called out in exasperation, snapping the Lady of House Meillet back to reality.
“Of course I am.” She hastily replied, trying her best to sound attentive.
“Then if I may ask, what were we discussing about?” Her steward questioned.
Melisandre tried to recall what Colm said, but her mind went blank.
Her hesitance was all the steward of House Meillet needed to know. “I was just explaining why repairing the well is of the utmost importance,” Colm said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“But don’t we have a river nearby? Why would our people still need a well?”
“‘Tis true that Cornia’s rivers leave us with no shortage of water for our fields,” Colm explained, “but what about water for drinking and eating and washing clothes? We would need clean water for that.”
“I suppose you have a point there.” Melisandre conceded.
Colm let out another sigh. “Lady Melisandre, as the head of House Meillet, you should take these duties more seriously. I understand you have little interest in such matters, but we need to bring in more people and coin if we are to restore Castle Meillet to its former glory. And there is the matter of your dowry…”
Melisandre bit back a groan of irritation. This was not the first time Colm broached the subject of her marriage prospects, how as the last surviving member of House Meillet, it was her duty to find a suitor to continue the family line.
The last thing she wanted was a bunch of money-grubbing lords, some of whom were at least twice her age, vying for her hand in marriage.
There was only one man her heart belonged to, and he had chosen another.
Yet Melisandre could not bring herself to resent Yahna. From their time together in the Liberation Army, Melisandre recognised her as a woman of great wisdom and grace, a suitable match for Alain.
Perhaps in another world, if things had gone differently, it would be her standing at the altar with the Ring of the Maiden on her finger. But she knew that was a pipe dream.
And she doubted any other man would match Alain’s nobility, his strength, his kindness, his forbearance. It might be selfish for her to put her family's future in jeopardy for an unrequited love, but she may never feel for another man the same way she did for Alain.
At the very least, she ought to enjoy what short time she had left as a bachelorette.
Suddenly, a rap on the door interrupted her depressing thoughts.
“Milady,” the voice of her servant Colette came through the door, “a messenger has come bearing a letter from the king.”
Melisandre sprang up from her seat like a fox about to pounce on its prey. “What are you waiting for? Show him in.” She exclaimed, barely able to contain the excitement in her voice.
Colm, always the rational one, looked more worried. “I hope it is good news His Majesty has brought,” he muttered.
The door opened and the messenger, a young man dressed in leather armour and a traveller’s cloak, was shown in.
“Milady,” the messenger bowed respectfully, “I bring a letter from His Majesty, King Alain."
The messenger drew from his sachet a tightly rolled paper sealed with wax and passed it over to Colm. He took the paper and after a cursory glance at it, gave anod of confirmation before handing it over to her.
As Melisandre took the letter, she saw that the blue wax was bearing the royal seal of the unicorn.
Her fingers trembling in anticipation, she broke the seal and unfurled the letter.
Lady Melisandre,
I trust all is well in Castle Meillet. But I am afraid there is trouble in mine. Gran Corrine is rife with crime as of late, and Galerius’s misrule has left the City Guard a s
hadow of what it once was.
Our Captain is in need of officers, which is why I have recommended you to him. I trust that your skill with the blade and discerning eye for people will unearth the seeds of corruption that have taken root in my city.
I understand that your duties are to House Meillet, but I assure you that this appointment, should you accept it, shall not go unrewarded.
Alain
Melisandre handed the letter back to Colm. His eyes scanned the paper several times.
“The City Guard?” Colm said in surprise as he lowered the paper.
Though she remained silent, Melisandre’s excitement was now palpable. The only thing stopping her from letting out a squeal of delight was the messenger’s presence.
An invitation to Gran Corrine! A chance to escape the tedium of Castle Meillet and, more importantly, a chance to be close to Alain! She wondered if the Father had blessed her with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“Your name, ser?” Melisandre asked as she approached the messenger.
“Jean, milady.” He replied.
“Well, Jean, tell His Majesty that I shall consider his offer.” She took out a gold coin from her coin purse, which she always carried with her in situations like this, and pressed it into the messenger’s palm. “A reward for your journey all the way here. Colette will see that you have food and fire before you depart.”
Jean’s eyes lit up as he accepted the offer. He walked out of the room with a spring in his step while Colette followed after him, closing the door behind her.
“You cannot seriously be considering His Majesty’s offer, milady.” Colm exclaimed in a beleaguered tone. “What of your responsibilities here in Castle Meillet?”
“Think about it, Colm. If I succeed in this task, which I shall, I will win Alain’s favour and House Meillet’s standing shall rise even higher.”
Her steward raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Is this about House Meillet, milady? Or is it His Majesty?”
Damn you, Colm. If there was anyone who could read Melisandre like an open book, it was the man who raised her from birth.
“And what if it is?” Melisandre simply retorted with a pout.
Colm sighed. “I understand your infatuation with His Majesty, Lady Melisandre. But I do not need to remind you that the king is already married, and is already expecting a child.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious, Colm.” She replied dryly. As if she did not need the knife to be twisted any further. “But I assure you my intentions are pure. As Alain – I mean, His Majesty has said, crime has taken hold of Gran Corrine and somebody has to put a stop to it.”
“Besides,” she continued coyly, “Castle Meillet will be in good hands in my absence. A loyal and diligent steward of mine has seen to that, hasn’t he?”
“There isn’t any way to dissuade you, is there?” Colm muttered, running a hand through his grey hair.
“If there was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She said, puffing up her chest.
Colm paused for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face.
Finally, he spoke with a resigned sigh. “Very well. But promise me that there will be no shenanigans. The last thing I want to hear is you breaking into the palace.”
“Thank you, Colm!” Melisandre exclaimed as she pulled Colm into a deep hug. He may not be her father by blood, but he had always been one in spirit, since the death of her family.
“Well then,” she finally pulled away, “I believe it is time I start packing.”
~.~
There were times when Rudolf Stafford regretted taking up this job.
As the second son of House Stafford and now an uncle of two, Rudolf was at the bottom rung of the ladder of succession. With no hope of inheriting anything from his father, he would have to earn his own spurs.
He had been among those who fought with the Liberation Army against Zenoira. At only twenty-two years old, he was knighted by Monica Nordheim for bravery, an honour that few could boast of.
But once the war was over, Rudolf had been in search of new pastures and found one in the City Guard of Gran Corrine. His Majesty was in need of a new Captain.
He expected that he would have to compete with others for the position, yet he had gotten it with surprising ease. Either he was the best candidate, or no one else had applied for the post. Rudolf thought little of it at the time, too blinded by personal ambition.
Only when he arrived in the city did he understand why nobody wanted this post.
The City Guard was in a sorry state. For starters, it was severely understaffed, with only four hundred men. And out of those four hundred men, most of them were in terrible physical shape and ill-disciplined, and it was clear that many of them were only in it for the bread and coin.
And then there was the city itself; beneath its gilded surface was a rot left by Zenoira. Refugees fleeing the ravages of war now occupied the city’s slums, and with no means of employment, they were forced to turn to crime to survive. By the time King Alain had vanquished Galerius and liberated the capital, crime was the only thing most of these poor souls knew.
Worse still, more and more people were coming into the city, hoping to find new opportunities now that the war was over as Rudolf had. There were merchantmen from Bastorias, artisans from Albion, and smiths from Drakenhold. With all these people coming in from all over Fevrith, the city was growing too large for its walls.
But it was the sellswords who proved the most troublesome. With no contracts available in peacetime, they spent their days languishing in the city’s taverns and brothels. And who could be more troublesome than a drunk? A drunk who could actually fight and with an unsatiated hunger for battle, that’s who.
In this month alone, the city had seen three tavern brawls, with the third one seeing blades drawn and bloodied. Two watchmen had lost their lives trying to keep the King’s Peace.
Rudolf had already appealed to His Majesty for aid. He first needed coin; there were complaints from the men about the low wages, with some of them having yet to receive this month’s pay. He also needed the money for the barracks, which had seen major damage and disrepair thanks to the war. Fortunately, the Lord Treasurer had given him the amount he had requested. The men were in a better mood now that they received their pay (not that they did much to earn it), and the barracks was well on its way to being restored to its former glory.
The second was the matter of training. Ser Hodrick Dupont, Captain of the Royal Guard, was gracious enough to offer his services as master-at-arms. His rigorous drills have worked wonders for the men thus far, though they have yet to test their mettle.
Rudolf’s last request was for officers, preferably those with prior experience in holding command. Yet His Majesty had so far recommended him only one candidate.
She was the Lady of House Meillet, a noble family from the eastern provinces. From what Rudolf had read from her dossier, most of the family had been wiped out by the plague a few years ago. Only their daughter survived, making her the sole living member of House Meillet.
Rudolf had no clue why this Lady Melisandre would join the City Guard. She already had everything: lands, titles, and prestige. She should be securing her House’s future by finding a husband and heir, not roaming around in slums and alleyways.
But it was not Rudolf’s place to question His Majesty’s decisions. If the King said black is white, then white it is.
~.~
It had taken Melisandre less than a week for her to reach Gran Corrine. She and her small retinue of knights had travelled light; she wanted to arrive in the city as soon as possible.
The city was just as beautiful as the day she last saw it, though her thoughts had been too preoccupied with other events back then to really admire the city’s beauty. A particular royal wedding came to mind.
Focus! Melisandre mentally slapped herself. She was the Lady of House Meillet and a grown woman with her own responsibilities; she was beyond this.
Her retinue finally arrived at the barracks of the City Guard, where they stopped before the guard stationed at the gate. He wore a gold tabard over a dark blue tunic with black leather gloves and boots and a feather-brimmed cavalier hat.
“State your business,” he said.
“I’m here to see the Captain. I’m to join the City Guard.” Melisandre said, handing him Alain’s letter.
The guard took the letter and, after skimming over it, he signalled for the sentries to open the gate.
“You may enter, milady.” He said as he handed the letter back to her.
As Melisandre’s retinue entered, she took the chance to look at her surroundings. The place was a large complex lined with stone walls and watchtowers, making it more akin to a fort than a soldier’s barracks. Melisandre saw carpenters and stonemasons working on one of the watchtowers, which meant that this was only a recent development. The keep, located along the southern wall, stood four storeys high and towered over everything else. The banners of the City Guard, a pair of knights supporting the shield bearing the royal unicorn, were draped over its walls.
Across from the bailey was the training yard, where Melisandre saw men drilling with practice swords. The stables were just a few yards away, and she decided to hitch her horse there before meeting up with the Captain.
Leaving her retinue to rest in the courtyard after a week of riding, she made her way to the keep. Most of the interior was barren, save for a few cobwebs and crates left to the wayside.
The keep’s steward directed her to the Captain’s office on the top floor. She opened the door and saw a man sitting at a large desk made of oak, working under the dim glow of the oil lamp beside him.
“The Lady Melisandre Meillet,” the steward announced.
“Thank you, Caulaincourt.” The Captain said as he looked up from his paperwork. “I shall take it from here.”
Caulaincourt nodded before closing the door behind him, leaving Melisandre alone with the Captain.
As she approached him, she got a better look at his appearance and was surprised by how young he was. He looked no older than her, with shoulder-length copper hair and green eyes. Melisandre must admit that the Captain was a comely lad, even if he still can’t hold a candle to Alain. An unbiased opinion of hers, of course.
The Captain reached out his hand, flashing a charming smile. “Rudolf Stafford, Captain of the City Guard.”
As they shook hands, Melisandre could tell that despite the pleasantries, Rudolf was already assessing her from how his eyes glanced up and down at her.
So she decided to put on her best smile as well. “A pleasure,” she said. “If I remember correctly, the Staffords had fought for the Liberation Army. But I don’t think we ever crossed paths before.”
He chuckled as he sat back down. “Unsurprising, considering how big the Liberation’s ranks were. And speaking of the war, the King himself wrote highly of you, that you are one of the finest swordswomen he’s ever known.”
He did? Melisandre felt her heart swell with joy upon hearing that.
“Of course,” the Captain continued, “what piqued my interest is that you apparently have a sharp eye for things. People especially. Is that true?”
Melisandre had to hold back a snort. Many have told her how good she was at reading people, but she did not see it. If she had been, she wouldn’t have aligned herself with Galerius, who stood by and did nothing as the plague wiped out what’s left of Melisandre’s family.
She simply shrugged. “Perhaps, but my pride has first and foremost been in my bladework, captain.”
Rudolf pursed his lips, and that calculating look in his eyes appeared again. “Be that as it may, the ability to read people is vital in this line of work. Our job is to keep the peace, which means finding and catching criminals.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard.”
“Hah! If that were true, I wouldn’t need your help in the first place. Not all criminals go around parading their crimes for all to see. They are a superstitious, cowardly lot.”
“Anyways,” he continued as he leaned back into his seat, “your duties don’t officially begin until tomorrow, and Caulaincourt will need to prepare your uniform and kit. I don’t suppose you are up for a sparring match in the meantime? It may prove a good lesson for the new recruits, and I’d like to see if your swordsmanship is as good as His Majesty says it is.”
Melisandre grinned at that. “Of course, captain.”
The more people she could impress, the better.
The City Guard of Gran Corrine's banner
Rudolf Stafford, Captain of the City Guard