Finley: Antagonist

“What in the Queen’s name is going on?” shouted Parker, “My Father can’t have agreed with this nonsense: a Monarch, in Elaea, what is this, the Dark Age?” Finley, pulling away from his Uncle’s eyes, looked at Parker, “I haven’t the foggiest.” They were both yelling to be heard above the din. About this time another man walked into the chamber. He was tall, very tall, well dressed, handsome, and lithe. He had dark hair and a commanding presence. It took a moment for those gathered to register the newcomer’s presence. They quieted. “This, you see,” de’Fleet sweated as he spoke, “is Sir Bek of the Combe. Though he is not unknown to us members of Parliament, you might not be aware of his extraordinary talents and gifts. He is a leader, an administrator, and a politician with gravitas. It is him that I will be nominating to lead us into the future, as ruler…as king.” A clamor, once again, filled the room. “I am,” Sir Bek began, the disorder turned to a low murmur, “both honored and humbled at this noble nomination.” Sir Bek stood perfectly still, like a lamppost, revealing no emotion. “While I feel there are others more suited to this role, I admit, I am eager to direct Elaea through this secretive and swarthy storm. Yet, per the saying, ‘as the Tower goes, so the people go;’ we need your help—Elaea needs your help.” “Yes, quite right,” said de’Fleet, “tomorrow I am calling for a parliamentary vote on the matter after a seasoned debate. The reason I am here is to both present my candidate and to ask that the members of the Tower attend the vote and help me in swaying parliament.” De’Fleet’s eyes flicked towards Alfred as he said this, visibly nervous. Alfred sat, stoic and thoughtful. “I am not,” continued de’Fleet, “suggesting anything outside of precedence. You might recall the ferocious fire of 1310 or the war of 1512, when Parliament was temporarily disbanded for a surer leader. This, of course, is no different.” Alfred stood. Finely felt the budding tension. “I am no dictator,” Alfred began, “those individuals whom comprise the Tower can make up their own minds to attend or not.” He turned to the chamber, “You have heard the Prime Minister’s request, weigh it carefully and choose, not in haste, but in a timely fashion. I will cancel classes tomorrow. If you so choose then attend this debate and vote; if not, then use your day wisely.” Alfred stopped and looked at Sir Bek. Not a word could be heard in the Guildmaster’s council chamber. The firelight from the torches cast dark shadows across the two powerful figures. “Tomorrow will tell all,” said the Guildmaster as he rounded on his heels and exited through his personal chambers.
The meeting was adjourned.

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