A King’s Work Begins

    True to Flick’s prediction, Corvane woke Sean up with a list of tasks that needed doing. Messengers would need to be sent to other settlements in the area and diplomacy initiated with the local powers.

    Greenbough itself would need to be organized into a transitional seat of power until he was able to entrench himself more fully. The established members of the community like Colm and Colin could assist with most of the work, but they would look to Sean to direct them.

    Just as important, if not more, was the time Corvane planned to set aside to tutor Sean one-on-one. The itinerary was dry, the raven scheduling lessons about mercantile law and noble privilege, etiquette and comportment, war, religion, and other critical knowledge for a ruler.

    One of the topics Corvane mentioned interested him more than the rest though – the Chain. The advisor knew, courtesy of Mig, knew how to unlock the power of the goddess’ boon. Now that Sean had assumed his mantle in earnest Corvane could instruct him in the pendants use beyond acting as a seeming conduit for the goddesses’ will.

    Sean dove into it all with desperate gusto, devoting every waking moment to either learning to lead or putting the lessons into practice. By noon on the day after the Trinity had descended on the Greenbough, the messengers had been dispatched with orders to summon the leading members of each hamlet to discuss their oaths of fealty.

    He began to feel cautiously optimistic as the next several days passed and he put some distance between himself and his “coronation”. As some of the messengers began to return, answers in hand, that optimism grew. He had hoped to gather a few of the unsworn to his banner early, but had expected few takers. What he got was a constant stream of merchants, elders, craftsmen, and petty landholders that flooded Greenbough. All of them were ready, even eager, to swear to the new king.

    The prospect of so much custom had delighted Colm. The parts of the inn that were open to guests were filled to the brim and Alma was doing brisk business at the counter.

    That delight had lasted right until Sean had named him as His Majesty’s Official Chamberlain, responsible for all appointments and audiences. Though the innkeeper had grumbled at the additional responsibilities, Alma had thanked Sean quietly for the honor.

    Between his lessons and the practical experience of holding court, Sean was glad for the chance to become more comfortable with his metaphorical crown. So far all of the petitioners had been unsworn. They had readily accepted him as their king with almost no prompting, his divine anointment being sufficient to convince them of his right to rule. It had also given him some time to learn about the Chain’s powers.

    As Sean entered Colm’s backroom office, the big man looked up dolefully from his desk. Sean smiled brightly back at him.

    “So Chamberlain, what’s on the docket today? Any newcomers?”

    “Ten, your Majesty.” Colm replied. “Four from Heatherdown, five from Knockvale, and one big fish out of Oarhaven.”

    “A big fish?” Sean asked. “If you’re the one saying it, Colm, it must be true. Are we going to need to move the meeting outdoors to accommodate?”

    Colm laughed, “Nay, he’s small in stature, but his grasp is long. Oarhaven’s a large town a ways out east. Got its own port and all, so we trade with them on the regular. Seems their Lord Mayor has come in person to see what you’re made of.”

    Sean raised his eyebrow. “Now that’s interesting.” He turned to Corvane. “Would a town led by a ‘lord mayor’ be considered sworn, or unsworn?”

    “Sworn.” Corvane replied. “Assuming it’s not a title he’s given himself out of vanity.”

    The raven shifted on his perch. “You’ll have to actively convince him to bring Oarhaven into the fold, otherwise it will remain outside of your reach. His own ambitions would have deafened him to the goddesses’ call.”

    “So not a simple ‘Hello, Your Majesty’ and a swearing in like the rest then,” Sean confirmed.

    “It would seem not, Successor.” Corvane agreed. “But it is encouraging he came here at all. Were he opposed to the idea of swearing to you, I doubt he would have come himself.”

    “That’s a good point, Corvane, I’ll just have to show him I’m the real deal.” Sean clapped his hands. “Alright! Let’s not keep the petitioners waiting.”

    While the inn was still serving visitors on the inner palisade’s green, the front of the building itself was currently serving as a makeshift receiving area. Sean had asked Alma and her husband to reserve it, producing a gold coin from his pouch that made their eyes shine.

    They’d then refused to take it from him, but he’d been able to talk them up to accepting at least two silver a day for as long as he was troubling them. He and Flick had helped them arrange it more like a corporate conference room than a bar. Now, instead of separate seating for small groups of diners, the space boasted a contiguous line of tables ringed by chairs.

    Sean’s was, of course, the largest chair the village possessed. It was a family heirloom that had been collecting dust in the village butcher’s loft. Supposedly the man’s great grandfather had been a quarter giant, a hunter with a huge appetite for game that had led him and his children to take up butchery out of simple expedience.

    He walked into the Thistle’s common room, Colm following closely behind. Stopping to stand beside his makeshift throne, Sean looked at the assembled villagers. One, a small man dressed in fine clothes, stood quietly towards the back of the room. The rest shuffled nervously around the table, staring at him with wide eyes.

    Colm cleared his throat and bellowed. “His Royal Majesty, Sean Byrne!”