Bermand, the Distrustful
Script
Lynia shifts her poise upon the comparatively small throne. While Father - King Bermand, rather - handles the audiences and tasks that are fitting of a Caynean monarch, she cannot seem to focus on the court as her mind wanders to no place in particular.
"My dear Lynia, what do you think?" The king, clad in his finest robes and seated upon a throne far more ostentatious than the smaller one next to him, does not turn to face his daughter as he asks.
Lynia responds not with words, but with a quizzical expression.
"Court would go much more smoothly, my dear, if you would only pay attention," the king hisses, still not looking in Lynia's direction. "You said you wanted to know what it felt like to be a judge. Well, here is your chance. Give this peasant his verdict."
She shakes her head. "I do not understand what he has done wrong."
"What's //wrong//? This peasant, this...common thief!...is charged with lifting his fellow man's waterskin!"
"My Liege, I--I would have died without a drink of water!" The "criminal," barely old enough to work, bows so low that his head touches the extravagant blue rug. He is snatched up from the floor by one of the two watchmen at his flanks.
Lynia raises a hand to the watchman. "Let him go."
"But my dear Lynia..."
"Father, I may not possess first-hand knowledge of the goings-on in our city's peasantry, but if things are dire enough for this poor man that he must steal a basic necessity like water to survive, then I don't see that he has committed a crime; only that he needs another chance."
"You are too soft, my dear, but I shall not contradict your decision. Guards, release him." Bermand waves his hand dismissively.
The merchant offered a single, opened hand toward the throne. "It shouldn't be such a difficult request, Highness," he said, "after all, we promise you a cut of the profit as tribute. Let us manage that troublesome Oasis and your people shall never go thirsty again."
King Bermand stood sharply from his throne and shot an angry gaze at the merchant. "How shall you defend it?"
"With only the best mercenaries, Highness."
"And to what end?"
"That the citizens of Caynea need not fear drought ever again, Highness."
Bermand took only two long strides forward, as his hand shot across the merchants face, resounding across the royal hall for all to hear. "Do you take me for an imbecile, you miserly toad?"
The merchant, rubbing his reddened cheek, began to shout at the nearby guards. "Did you see that? The King just struck me!"
"And I'll do it again, for as long as you continue to lie to me!"
"Lies? What lies? My Liege, you don't trust me?"
"Do you think that I am not informed, day in and day out, of the kinds of people that do business in my kingdom?" King Bermand stood over him with his hands at his sides. "Misers, thieves, bandits and cheats! No matter the label, none are welcome!"
"I-I've been nothing but a reliable merchant for twenty years, sire!"
"You promise more than you can deliver," boomed the King. "No one company of mercenaries can defend the Oasis. Not without demanding more than they're worth. But more than that, you act as if you know better than your King."
