Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 23/Twenty-Three: The Gathering Part Two/2

"I understand what you want to do, Percival, but I'm not certain it will work," Faramaureä repeated for the third time since her older brother had gone over his plan. 

"I promise you it will, Faramaureä." Percival maintained,  "How many people have we interacted with on our journey, dear sister?"

"All told? Several hundred. But how many of them have fallen to," she paused, shivering as she said the name, "Gygax and his forces? How many of them were trained as a military? How many of them are willing to fight for a King and his family that they never met?"

"They have met us! We helped them in the streets as children, when our family worked alongside them." Percival pointed at the list of names in front of him. "We have our list, and I am sure that more will be sympathetic to our cause. Our family helped them for millenia, and–"

Faramaureä cut him off, "And our family let them die during the famine." Percival went to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him.  "I know they did their best, but it wasn't enough. The people accepted Gygax with open arms, even after the deaths of our family. When you were reading the papers in an attempt to find them," she said, gesturing toward Metimafoa and Rainëwen, who were trying to read over the list, "did you read one story of a revolt against him by our people?" She sighed as a despondent look crossed his face and concluded. "I'm not against us raising an army, Percival, but we need to consider the possibility that maybe we will be unable to raise a force that is sufficient in size."

Rainëwen spoke. "I disagree, Faramaureä. You have a list of () names here that would certainly fight for you if they still live." She picked up the quill, and scratched one name off of the list. "You mention that the mayor was killed, so he's off of the list, but what about the other Dragonborn. You told us that Drakoria was ravaged. Surely the survivors there would be willing to fight against those who destroyed their homes. You mention the death of Simon, but surely there are some druids left in Elorean. The miners of the Elyanme could lower their picks and take up an axe instead. What of The Meneltarma soldiers who would serve the Royal Family? Are there none who would defect to your cause? You could have an Army, if you look in the right places."

"Look, even if that does work, we don't actually want to fight. Even if we raise ten thousand by some blessing of Alacrin," Percival reminded them, "We want to take our home back with as few casualties as possible."

Metimafoa frowned and looked up from the list. "If we wanted that, why not just hire an assassin and be done with it. The bastard deserves it anyway, from Orónëminya told me. There is no loss of life, except his, and no harm done to the people or city."

But Percival shook his head, and declared "If you are all going to force this crown upon me, I will not have my Reign begin with an under-handed blow. We will face him, and try to negotiate. Should that fail," he cast his eyes toward the list of names before them, "there will be blood spilled." He shuddered, but steeled his resolve and added, "But that will be on his head, not ours."

Faramaureä looked at the list. "Where would you like to start Percival?"

Percival pushed his growing hair back from his eyes, the brown locks no longer obscuring the umber pools underneath. As he pulled over the list, he answered "Rainëwen does have a point; we do have allies beyond this list. But I think we should gather those last, if only because they are more likely to join a larger force than a smaller one, and a man they trust by my side could not hurt our chance. For that reason, I think we should start here." He circled a name on the list and stepped back.

Rainëwen looked at the name in confusion. "Canoelloestel? Who is he?"

Métimafoa recognised the name and answered before the others could. "He was a General in the Second Great War, who served with our grandfather. I wasn't aware he was still alive."