Those who do not live by the sword may still die by it

Pensive was not a mood that had often struck Julien Byzantir. Distracted? Certainly. Thoughtful? On rare occasions. But deep periods of introspection had never been a staple of the princes repertoire. However rare it was, serious thought was something that he could no longer avoid- no one in the Kingdom was immune the effects of the growing hostility and threats coming from the plagued rising against them, least of all the young royal. On the surface, there was little difference in Julien, those who knew him by face and reputation alone would not be able to point out the changes that had taken place in the man in the past twelve months. Which was very much by design.

Byzantir was not the same place it was a short year before. From the highest ranking nobility to the lowliest commoners, an under current of fear and uncertainty prevailed. It was evident in the tight smiles that never were able to transcend to eyes, the tense set shoulders of the guards and soldiers in the capital, the hushed and hurried voices as people spoke of Arana. What was once a vibrant city was cloaked in fear, and while Julien was powerless to fix the damage to Escar, he could make a difference, however small, to the people of the land. So while the same uncertainties plagued his mind, the young man hid it away. He endeavored to present a confident face, his smile was as quick as ever, and as far as anyone could see, the looming threat of war was of little consequence to him other than the fact he spent more time in the training yards and less in Taverns. He had always been popular among the people and noble families of Escar, and if he could provide even a small glimmer of hope, then he would do so with all of his ability. After all, how bad could things be if the royal family presented strength and showed little concern for the monsters nipping at their borders?

It was away from the eyes of the people, among the few who shared his confidences that he allowed his concerns and thoughts on the matter to slip through. His kingdom, his people - his very home, were under attack. A righteous anger fueled him most days, a desire to ride to Arana and rid the world of the damned plague ridden monsters with their frightening magics once and for all consumed him. The growing crisis had impressed a maturity on the younger prince that he had not possessed prior. He knew despite his skills in combat, his place was not to be the front lines. One more solider was not going to make a difference in this war. The king had made it clear that he would better serve his people in Byzantir. And while Julien understood, and on many levels agreed with his father, frustration still chaffed at him, and every passing day it was harder for him to maintain restraint, an attribute that had never been his forte.

He had taken to seeking out moments of solitude, away from the eyes of the court where he could stew in his thoughts and vent his anger in private. More often than not, he made his way to the old temple. The place was calming for him, the site of so many wonderful afternoons with his siblings, the very stones, crumbling as they were in places, saturated with fond memories. It was a refuge. Quiet and empty, the air echoed with nothing but his thoughts. That morning had found the prince there once again among the ailing pillars of his former playground, blue eyes reflective as he sat on a rough outcrop of exposed stone. He'd left the castle in a hurry, the day had barely begun and he had was already frustrated with the slow moving talks of the kingdoms nobles. They sat in the guilded halls, cautiously discussing the most prudent plan of action, while the godless usurpers held court in Arana. Twelve months of inaction was enough, caution be damned, how much longer were they expected to hold steady in this stalemate?

The chill in the winter air bit at the exposed skin of his cheeks. His ungloved hands rested atop the decorative pommel of his unsheathed sword, the point of which was embedded in the hard soil.  Julien had always preferred to have it on his person, now it seemed a necessity.   The evidence of the tempter tantrum he'd unleashed was scored into the bark of a nearby tree, large chunks missing as though someone had hacked at it mercilessly with a sword. Absentmindedly he noted that the edge of the broad blade had lost it's razor edged gleam. Much like the frustration that had lead him to the temple, the blade was dulled. He now sat in contemplative thought.

He'd lost track of time, but judging from the brightening sunlight, he knew it was time to return to the castle. He stood slowly, a sigh escaping his lips as he sheathed his sword. He was surprised as he made his way along the familiar path to see another, he easily forgot that this space was public, and not his own personal sanctuary. A woman in plain clothes was staring up at the face of a statue. It was easy enough to recognize the youngest Arana daughter- even with out the bow she wielded with deadly accuracy on the practice fields. He often admired her from afar while training, she seemed to be practicing as hard as any of the realms sons, something the well bred noble women of the court could learn from. The girl who had arrived a year ago with her family was a far cry from the quiet pretty little mouse who had visited the capital the year before. This girl was much more like the one he'd met riding in Arana, who hadn't hesitated to notch an arrow at a perceived threat.

"Lady Eleanor" He said with a slight bow of his head, his easy smile sliding into place, leaving little evidence to suggest he was here for any reason beyond stretching his legs. "I certainly did not expect to see you here. " His eyes danced around the quiet and all but abandoned temple "I did not expect to see anyone here to be honest. What brings you out here this morning?"