The steel amongst Sir Leander's gauntlet clicked and clanked against one another as he watched the features of the Princess Emeline Blakesley, second of her name and appointed Royal Overseer of the walled city of Ewenor, with barely restrained annoyance. His own facial features were as still and dull as that of a stone itself, the only tell was the crinkling of steel against steel on the gauntlet he wore as he clenched and unclenched his fist. It was all he could do to calm himself under the scrutinizing gaze amidst the princess' entourage of sycophants and pompous fools who stylized themselves the leaders of this outermost city along the empire's borders. Sir Leander stood unwavering and unconcerned of their useless prattle as they sat atop their dais, looking down on him within the antechamber. Great stained glasses lit up the antechamber in a myriad of bright colors as they recounted the history of the empire in a luminous retelling. It was an opulent craftsmanship, made to draw one's eyes to but one of many adornments that decked the halls of the Princess' Keep while the city walls of Ewenor itself lies neglected and dilapidated. Sir Leander tried not to focus on that fact for now, he need not to sour his mood further.
He recounted his reports, focusing on stating the facts when he had patrolled the nameless country roads that didn't deserve the cartographer's ink to be etched on any map.
"....multiple garrisons no longer sending communications, trade and traffic from the outlying villages have halted. From these facts, we can garner that there is something amiss in the border regions. We need more patrols and reinforce the city watches - - "
A yawn broke through followed by a barely restrained gaggle of laughter amongst the nobility. Leander took all the self-control he could muster
not
to jump over the dais and throttle the fool for thinking this is but a joke to them. For the briefest millisecond, he saw a slight twitch in the princess' lips before being concealed.
Aside from that single twitch, there was not a change in the princess features. When Leander looked at her eyes, he highly doubted she even comprehended nor cared at the severity of the report. She looked as if she was above fretting over such trivial matters, as if the threat were merely a band of rabble causing a ruckus.
"Your grace," Leander continued, trying to ignore the haughty mien of the nobles atop the stand, "I implore you to reconsider these deployments, it would leave our lines too thin and spread out and we have yet to hear reports from our scouts," Sir Leander reasoned, using all his years of discipline to restrain the annoyance from seeping in to his voice. He had been told he had trouble controlling his tone when speaking with his betters.
"And why not?" Piped in a lord, dressed in a ridiculous attire of heavy frills and an overexaggerated wig that had been the craze back at the capital some three seasons back, "Are our troops not adequate enough to deal with these-these.... brigands?" he waved dramatically as if to brush Leander's concern aside.
"No," Leander quickly retorted, the back of his jaw already tightening, "Our footmen are drilled on a daily basis. Disciplined and calm in the heat of battle. It is a known fact. Perhaps too well known, that our enemy wouldn't want to meet them in an open field or suffer direct confrontation. Instead, they would use ambush tactics and try to our catch forces off guard," it is one of the oldest tenets when waging skirmish, the prediction of enemy goals helps the commander to understand the prediction of enemy movement. To do something as dividing one's forces against an unknown enemy with unknown numbers was just a recipe for disaster. Leander had the urge to smack his forehead at the prideful stubbornness and stupidity of these so called 'nobles'.
"My order stands Sir Leander," finally came the pristine voice of the Princess.
"Milady please, we can resolve this threat with little or no casualties on our forces if we take the necessary precaution!" Leander almost regretted it as soon as he said it. Almost. To second guess the Princess was a death sentence. If it had been said by anyone else, they would have had their heads on a spike before a full minute had passed since the last syllable was uttered.
The Princess bristled. The nobility gasped, covering their lips with fans and dainty hands. If it had been anyone else, they wouldn't have gotten away with it. For Sir Leander was forsworn to the Duke and a widely revered figure among the common folk. As someone had told him, he had clout. Something the Princess both envied and despised of him, as he was told.
"
