THE WINTER CROWS: Volume XII; Robert I - The Reader

[Nectorist 12870]

THE WINTER CROWS: Volume XII; Robert I - The Reader

Written by Demetrius Barrow

 

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Robert I - The Reader

“We must not anger the fiery beast, but we can roast sausages from its plumes.” - Ithilian Enthelor, Haense’s first Aulic Envoy, c.1688

 

 

Prince Robert Lothar, born on the 9th of Horen’s Calling, 1666, to Prince Sigmar of Haense and Lady Sophia Chivay, was the last King of Haense to spend his early years raised outside of the land he would eventually rule. Neither of his parents were outcasts, but they were the black sheep of the Bihars, and the courts and well-to-do taverns of the Heartlands always enjoyed the strum of his father’s lute. Mere months after his birth in the Krepost, enough time for his mother to recover, the family was on the road again. 

 

Through the final years of tumult during the Dark Decades, Prince Robert was happy and safe in the warm lands to the north, where food was plenty, civil war unthinkable, and cities that could sleep calmly at night. They were years that would eventually become a hazy memory for the future king, but he always maintained that it was a blessing from the Lord that he avoided the fate of the many hungry, ill, and scarred children of his homeland. The courts of Renatus-Marna, Santegia, and Curonia became an itinerant home for the boy, as “the grey walls faded into one. Whatever distinguished them was just a blur of a colored banner, more often than not dyed some shade of red or blue.” 

 

Fortunately, the family’s time away would only be for the first four years of his life. The death of Franz II in 1666, then the ouster of Queen Tatiana and her Palatine, Karl the Monk, four years later, gave way for Sigmar’s return to Haense. Prince Robert, now the heir to all of Hanseti-Ruska, could not possibly understand how dangerous of a situation he was in when he returned to the unfamiliar Krepost. His father had inherited a kingdom that, through a combination of war, plague, rebellion, assassination, and economic hardship, was on the brink of collapse. Any waking moment could herald another disaster, a riot in the streets, or a coup from the disgruntled nobility or distrustful royal army. If any of those things came to pass, youth would not be a shield for Robert’s life.

 

Sickly and frail throughout his childhood, the inhospitable climate of the south forced Prince Robert to spend most of his time within the Krepost during his first year back in Haense, often confined to his bed with various illnesses. After an episode of influenza that left him blind for two weeks, his parents resolved to have him made a ward to Rhys var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus. The more temperate climate of Vidaus would be better for his health, while the “Ferrum Duke” of House Ruthern, a ramrod, martial man, would tough him to the environment. The arrangement was not only for Robert’s sake, though: the Duke of Vidaus was the most powerful vassal in the realm, and his support would be sorely-needed if King Sigmar wished to keep his throne.

 

For the next five years, the Crown Prince found himself under the watchful eye of the Duke of Vidaus. Although he was too young to be given a thorough education, and certainly not a soldier’s, he would credit his experience among the Rutherns as an edifying one. In Robert’s own words later in life, “it was among the black peaks that I truly became Haeseni.” Despite never having shown much of an independent streak, he did not miss his parents to any great degree, though frequent trips back to Markev, specifically around holidays, likely alleviated any symptoms of homesickness. Otherwise, he enjoyed the company of the children of Vidaus, chiefly among them the duke’s granddaughter, Elizaveta.

 

Elizaveta vas Ruthern, the future Queen of Haense, found herself in a similar predicament as King Robert, though to a far greater degree. Rendered a cripple from a childhood illness, she was forced to be carried around by servants in Vidaus, though her grandfather, a loving man, even despite his rough exterior, ordered a wheelchair be made for her to use in Markev, where the flat terrain made it easier for her to move around. Unlike what the romances would say, the two’s lifelong affection did not develop during Prince Robert’s time in Vidaus (they rarely interacted on account of her poor health), but both would come to develop similar interests, particularly with reading. With their bodies unable to let them fully explore the wonders of the outside world, the two found beauty in the pages of the great Ruthern and Barbanov libraries. On the day Prince Robert left Vidaus, a few weeks after his tenth birthday, his carriage was filled with parting gifts from his hosts: among them was a bundle of Ruthern histories from Elizaveta.

 

Upon returning home to Markev permanently, Prince Robert’s education began in full. By this time, the realm had stabilized, and King Sigmar enjoyed a rule that would not go seriously-opposed by any within his realm. Although the king was not a particularly well-educated man himself, he took great care to see all of his children be taught in the manner of most royals of the age. Although he could not impart much to Robert on the nature of kingship (that was for trained priests and tutors), he was a uniquely present father in the young boy’s life. The two hunted, fished, swam, and took walks through the city, where Sigmar showed his son just how far magnanimity and generosity would endear him to the common people.

 

Queen Sophia, more grounded in the principles of education, took more direct involvement in her son’s education. Beneath her watchful eye, and the guidance of many tutors, Prince Robert flourished, reaching intellectual heights that few other Kings of Haense would match. By twelve, he could read and write in Common, Flexio, New Marian, Raev, Waldenian, and Ayrikev. Throughout his life he authored and annotated religious treatises, philosophical theses, and both folk and worship music. Taking after his father’s musical talent, he quickly learned the lute, organ, and harp, and could sightread music sheets. Geometry, monetary policy, arithmetic, geography, and history were among the other subjects that Robert excelled at.

 

In spite of his success in his education, or perhaps because of it, the Crown Prince did not inherit his parent’s social graces. He was a genial and well-spoken boy, but he did not naturally and fluidly make conversation as if it came naturally, as was especially his father’s case. For much of his boyhood, the one true friend he had was Elizaveta vas Ruthern, who eventually became a permanent fixture of the Barbanov court by the time she was twelve. With a shared love of artistic and intellectual pursuits, which had seen a rapid decline within the kingdom and were perceived as wasteful distractions at best, the two struck up a quick companionship. On certain occasions, though never too frequent as to look poorly upon him, Prince Robert could be seen wheeling the Lady Ruthern around the streets of Markev as the two laughed and chatted happily.

 

Innocent boyhood would not last long for Prince Robert. Tragedy struck the royal family on the 6th of Sigismund’s End, 1682, when King Sigmar died at one of his country lodges after a swimming accident. Still in Markev at the time, Robert was reportedly distraught when he heard the news and confined himself within his chambers for a full day. When he emerged, the Duke of Vidaus noted that he “bore a grim, stoic expression, though one that did not shy from the demands that had come of him now.” The boy-king’s coronation was held on the 9th of Sigismund’s End, which made for a cheap and hastily put-together ceremony, though it was to his liking. Although he held himself well, grief and uncertainty still struck at the young king’s heart. Four days later, his father’s body was brought to the city and laid to rest. Once again solemn, yet strong, in view of the realm, King Robert spent his time thinking about what would come of a nascent reign that had leapt upon him far earlier than anyone had expected.

 

Although King Sigmar’s premature death was unexpected, few in Haense truly feared for the state of the realm. The kingdom had joined the Pertinaxi Empire in 1678, bringing with it regular trade and the protection of the Imperial Legion. The Rothswood and Sleetfalls rebels had been entirely eradicated, and the army’s centralization reforms had improved recruitment, training, and morale. A slate of competent ministers remained to guide the new king and the realm, chief among them the Lord Palatine, Prince Robert of Bihar, the beloved grandfather of Robert I, and the Lord Marshal, Duke Rhys var Ruthern. The peace and stability that had been brought with Sigmar’s reign had led to economic and population recovery: the towns and cities of Haense brimmed with life again, and the farmers of the realm enjoyed bountiful harvests. Finally, King Robert himself, though young and inexperienced, was known to be a bright and dutiful young man, for whom only age tempered expectation.

 

Had King Robert chosen to allow his councilors to effectively rule in his stead, few would have blamed him. The Hanseti bureaucracy, while not efficient, was at least able to run at the direction of the Lord Palatine. Most of his father’s reign had been driven by the king providing an overarching vision, with his officials and secretaries managing the day-to-day governance. While much of the institutional levers of the state would naturally have to be delegated through subordinates, given the weakening of the feudal system and the rise of Markev as the undisputed economic hub of the kingdom, King Robert did not desire to rule in name only. Equipped with the knowledge his education had provided him, a healthy, growing treasury, and an expanded pool of talent to utilize (the latter two having been bequeathed to him by his father), the young king earnestly threw himself into a year-long project of developing a reform plan, aided by the Lord Palatine.

 

The Dark Decades had forced the Kings of Haense that reigned during the crises to be uncharacteristically insular. While diplomacy was conducted during the reigns of Karl II and Franz II, it primarily served the greater strategy of countering Renatian influence in the region. The partnerships forged with Curonia, White Peak, and other statelets were alliances of convenience that lasted only so long as the next war against Renatus, not a comprehensive effort to develop a united front against the power of Aurelius. As domestic problems took priority after the First Atlas Coalition War, the reigning kings grew successively insular, as the resources of the state had to be fully committed to keeping the realm alive. By the time of Sigmar I, Haense’s ties to its neighboring states had withered.

 

Well-steeped in the histories and cultural practices of much of the rest of the world, King Robert endeavored to look outwards once more. Although Haense’s submission to the Empire meant that true foreign policy was in the hands of Emperor Aurelius, there was still a need for positive relations to be maintained with fellow vassals, not to mention to the court of Carolustadt itself. After consultation with the Lord Palatine, in 1682, the king established the Office of the Aulic Envoy to oversee Haense’s affairs outside of its borders. Ithilian Enthelor, a young, bright professor of philosophy at the University of Markev, was appointed to the position. Within months, over a hundred envoys had been recruited and dispersed across the Empire and beyond. 

 

The revitalization of the Royal Army, the defeat of the rebellious elements in the Sleetfalls and the Rothswood, and regular patrols from the Imperial Legion, had helped ameliorate the endemic banditry and crime that ravaged Haense’s roads and smaller communities during the Dark Decades. Justice during the reign of Sigmar was effective, but it was also brutal, inconsistent, and wholly unsuitable for a time of peace and stability. Petty crime in some of the realm’s larger cities remained a problem, one that required more tact than the hammer of the army. Even when violent criminals and robber bands surface, there was clarity on what an appropriate response was. Should the perpetrators be summarily executed, or be killed before the public eye? Did communities bear the responsibility for the wrongdoers that emerged from them? What differentiated the actions of a rogue that attacked a farm for plunder against a man-at-arms who did so in the name of his lord?

 

The process of regularizing Haeseni law, and reforming the legal system, fell to the Office of the High Justiciar, which had technically been established during the reign of King Sigmar, but had been generally neglected and deprived of the resources it needed. The High Justiciar, Lyov Vanir, had managed to document over a thousand various local laws and customs throughout the realm during his tenure, but his death in 1683 had left a vacancy that needed to be filled by a resourceful reformist. Few men fit the bill better than Swithun Aldor, the cooper’s son who had risen to become the Royal Scribe and a close friend of King Sigmar and his family, and he was quickly appointed to fill the post. Fulfilling his duties with characteristic diligence, the new High Justiciar established a committee to begin the process of codifying Haeseni law and regularizing its enforcement.

 

King Robert also took a personal interest in Markev’s reconstruction and surrounding infrastructure. Throughout the Dark Decades, roads, bridges, and dams had generally been left to ruin, save those of immediate military necessity (and even these lacked the funding they truly needed), but the realm’s recovery strained the city’s outdated harbor, narrow city streets, and crumbling walls. A new, modernizing Haense would need a capital befitting its re-elevation on the world stage, but instability in the Seneschal’s office, which was vacant at the time of Robert’s ascension, had to be righted if the realm’s infrastructure was to be restored to its condition during the later reign of Otto II.

 

After personally restructuring the Office of the Seneschal and producing a list of his favored construction projects, King Robert named the Duchess of Kvasz, Emma Ludovar (the granddaughter of Jakob Ludovar, the illegitimate son of King Stefan I), his Lady Seneschal. Like his other appointments, the Duchess of Kvasz was young (the two were the same age), but showed promise and could, if nothing else, bring a fresh perspective to the responsibilities of the office. Although she generally adhered to the direction of the king’s construction proposals, she brought several builders from Kvasz to aid her in reviewing the preliminary plans and making changes where she thought them necessary. Instead of being outraged at his ultimate authority theoretically being circumvented, Robert encouraged her initiative, promising: “Should you, in the result of your work, have proven to have performed excellently, I will have no reason to dismiss you or any other officer.”

 

Although King Robert was not an exceptionally pious man, he was a reliable ally of the Church and employed many holy men in the ranks of the bureaucracy. Owing to the high literacy rate within the priesthood, and their relative political neutrality, they made for excellent scribes, tax collectors, surveyors, lawyers, and other mid-level officials. Even as the king and queen increased literacy within the realm, raising a class of secular bureaucrats drawn from the burgher class, local priests remained vital to strengthening the government’s influence over the towns and villages further from the capital.

 

The final government initiative that King Robert undertook in the first year of his reign was the consolidation of knighthood within the realm in an effort to rebuild the chivalric order under the guidance of the Crown. The past two decades had seen the death of most of the knightly class perish through war and disease, but this turned out to provide as much opportunity as it did hindrance. While the Haeseni knights beneath Petyr I or Stefan I were considered some of the finest horsemen and soldiers in humanity, their prestige had lost its lustre beneath the weight of bloat and inaction. Sons and daughters of major vassals were conferred knighthood as a gesture of goodwill to their family, rather than any recognition of merit, and as the Dark Decades eroded royal power, local lords promised knighthood for those who could aid them in the defense of their lands, thus diluting the ranks further. Historical estimates even put the number of ‘false knights’- those who claimed knighthood without ever having it conferred upon them- at ten percent of the total population of knights.

 

Despite his own lack of martial interest, King Robert did not refuse to see the opportunity in the blank canvas he had been presented with. Believing that the traditions of knights of the Heartlands would make for a positive influence, he invited the experienced Adrian knight, Ser Hans de Ruyter, to lead the newly-formed Order of Bihar. Many within the Aulic Council advised the king against looking outside of the realm for someone to fill the post, but Robert was adamant that needed outside influence. While he may have been correct on the merits, he had not thoroughly-vetted his new Knight Paramount. It would take some years for this mistake to rear its head, but it would come to mark itself as one of the few poor decisions during the reign of Robert I.

 

For as much time as he spent working to rebuild and reshape the kingdom through a blitzing flurry of reforms, the king could not persist at such a rapid rate by himself. Come the end of 1682, after an incident in which Prince Robert found the young king asleep at his desk, having spilled an inkpot over a stack of papers during a furor of writing, he bade his grandson to winter in Vidaus, so that his health would not suffer in the deep cold as he overworked himself. After a few back-and-forth disagreements, King Robert relented and returned to Vidaus with Duke Rhys and Lady Elizaveta. For the two months he was there, he concerned himself only with poetry and music, which soothed his heart and allowed him to recover from the taxing months of his early reign. 

 

Robert was not only in Vidaus to relax and allow himself to enjoy his creative passions. Haense was in need of a queen, and Lady Elizaveta had the aptitude, shared interests, and confidence from the king that made her an ideal candidate: indeed, when conversations first arose within the Aulic Council regarding Robert’s wedding, she was the only woman he put forward. There were some concerns about her disability and health, but the match was considered necessary nonetheless, as the ties between the Bihars and the Rutherns needed to be reestablished. As the spring sun broke in 1683, clearing the thick snow and grey ice on the road to Markev, King Robert was able to return home with the arrangement for he and Elizaveta to wed in hand.

 

The wedding between Robert and Elizaveta was reportedly a humble one, but well-received in light of the king’s reputation for avoiding grandiosity. Held on the 4th of Sigismund’s End, 1683,  it preceded a week of festivities that celebrated the renewed connection between House Ruthern and House Bihar. The new King and Queen of Haense, though very young, possessed the dignity and grace that the royal family had lacked since the reign of Otto III. While this could have been perceived as an unnecessary break from the familiar, personable styles of Sigmar I, Franz II, and Otto II, most considered it to be a welcome return to form for the monarchy. The aristocracy wished for tradition to recover as the realm had, while the commoners in and around Markev found comfort in the strong image that a distantly regal sovereign presented. The wedding, which saw visitors from around Atlas congregate to see the recovering Haense, was heralded as a success. A year later, the new couple were blessed with their first child, a son named Marus Demetrius.

 

For the next five years, King Robert’s reign continued peacefully, but productively. Much of his time was devoted to maintaining and guiding his reforms, though he remained receptive to reasonable critique from his Aulic Council. The Royal Army continued to rebuild its ranks, aided by centralized recruitment and training methods, which slowly chipped away at the vassal levies that had often numbered greater than the standing military itself. Markev thrived from the peace and healthy trade networks the Empire’s authority had brought, which filled the treasury’s coffers with money that could be put towards modernizing the capital and building much-needed infrastructure in the wider kingdom. The historically-important ties with Adria and Curon were reestablished, which soon developed into a regular correspondence between King Robert and his fellow Imperial vassals. Beneath the steady hand of he, the Lord Palatine, and the rest of his councilors, Haense’s recovery soon turned into another period of blossoming prosperity.

 

In 1687 and 1688, the final holdovers from Sigmar’s Aulic Council resigned. Prince Robert and Rhys var Ruthern (he had abdicated his titles to his grandson, Demetrius, in order to prioritize his work as Lord Marshal) were both in their sixties and had fulfilled their purpose. Both had guided the young king during his early years, providing stability and continuity in the government during a period of ambitious change. Now, they believed King Robert was able to direct the realm without the safeguards they provided, though they would remain treasured confidants of the king for the rest of their lives.

 

The Lord Marshal’s retirement address was directed to the soldiers of the Royal Army. Most of it has yet to be recovered, but we are left with a fragment recorded by Captain Andrik Wyd:

 

“I remember when I could barely scrape together a thousand soldiers in a time of war. Now, standing before me, are five-thousand, with another half of that ready to be drawn into service in a time of emergency. Do not grow complacent, for none of that matters. It may all be blown away in an instant.”

 

Rhys var Ruthern remained in active service as a commandant, but at the urging of his family, he allowed himself to delegate much of the day-to-day work to his staff. 

 

A year later, Prince Robert, who had first entered high office during the reign of Otto II, retired to his country estates, as he had done decades early. In a farewell speech he gave to Markev on the evening before his retirement, he remarked: 

 

“To leave this great capital once more aches my heart, much as it did three decades ago. However, then I felt ache, for, stricken by the plague that took so many, what thoughts did not ruminate on my own potential demise did so for the kingdom, which seemed enwreathed in the fires and pestilence of apocalypse. Tomorrow, as I take a last look from my carriage out towards the city gates, I will first think that they do not look the same- for the Duchess of Kvasz has had them widened to accommodate the larger caravans from the north- but second, I will marvel at the beauty they contain within them. It will not be the awe of the craftsmanship and new renovations that bring a tear to my eye, as well-needed and well-delivered as they are, but instead in the resilience that allowed the dying, decaying Markev I once left to now take its place as the jewel of the Empire.”

 

To replace the two esteemed councilors, King Robert appointed the new Duke of Vidaus, his brother-in-law as Lord Palatine. Heinrik Kovachev, the Duke of Carnatia and a captain in the Knights of Bihar, was selected as Lord Marshal. Neither men would reach the stature of their predecessors, but both were adept enough at continuing the progress that had been made. The government continued to run as a well-oiled machine, spurred on by the initiative of its councilors or the personal direction of the king. As Curon and Adria floundered under the Empire’s boot and the Heartlands stagnated beneath a government that served the ambitions of the Imperial Legion, Haense became a bastion of competent, even-handed governance, attracting artisans, learned classes, and merchants who craved economic and political stability.

 

However, there was one councilor who had proven to have been a mistaken pick, and would soon arrest the Haeseni development. Ser Hans de Ruyter, the arrogant, foolhardy Knight Paramount, had quickly turned the Knights of Bihar, meant to rejuvenate the broken tradition of Haeseni chivalry, into a vehicle for his own ambitions. Vain, avaricious, and violent, the Adrian knight spent more time leading his ordermen in settling personal scores (such as his feud with House Mournstone, whom he accused of settling on his properties), or harassing the Lady Seneschal in an effort to have a city manor built for him in a comfortable location. To make matters worse, he was an excellent warrior and charismatic reveler: the young men he recruited swiftly became loyal to him.

 

King Robert was a moderate man, never prone to an excess of any passion or vice, but hand-in-hand with his benign temperance was an unwillingness to make difficult, controversial decisions. Queen Elizaveta, far more willful, urged her husband to sack the errant Knight Paramount, but the king, not yet unconditionally trusting his wife’s judgement, dithered. As the years went by, Ser Hans accrued more power and wealth for himself, and while the Knights of Bihar theoretically blossomed during his tenure, it was a mirage in the way that the successes of other offices were not. “The king’s finest soldiers acted in the manner of brigands, not of gentlemen,” wrote Fabius Baruch, Queen Elizaveta’s secretary. 

 

King Robert’s hesitance in the face of this growing tumor led to what would be the only true disaster of his reign. On the 3rd of Harren’s Folly, 1689, Ser Hans led the Knights of Bihar and segments of the Royal Army in a bloody chevauchee in the Arberrang, a region south of Markev that was home to a number of pagan tribes nominally sworn to the Barbanovs. Citing rumors of rebellion, as well as a request from his cousin, who was the Bishop of Markev, to crack down on heathens within Haense, the Knight Paramount led his soldiers on a campaign of murder and plunder that lasted for over a week. The raid may have gone by without much greater of a consequence than a headache-inducing petition sent to the Krepost from Arberrang, but Ser Hans, in his haste, had started his raid without gathering proper intelligence first. Had he done so, he would have been alerted that a large Norlandic retinue, led by Earl Torsten of Nordengrad, had been traveling down to Arberrang to cultivate relations among the pagan subjects of the Empire.

 

On the 11th of Harren’s Folly, Ser Hans and his army, numbering around 1,200, was stopped by Earl Torsten’s host, which was over twice as large. Believing Ser Hans’s host to be acting on accord of King Robert’s will against one of his allies, the Earl of Nordengrad refused entreaties and requests to pass, intent on forcing a battle. For all of his faults, Ser Hans was committed to some of the ideals of knighthood, and so he and five hundred hand-picked soldiers raced back to Markev to warn the king of what was to come. After a few hours of battle, Ser Hans was captured, his force was destroyed, and a fourth of the Knights of Bihar lay dead. The day after his victory, Earl Torsten turned his retinue towards Markev, demanding that King Robert pay for the (unauthorized) chevauchee against Arberrang.

 

On their way to Markev, the Norlandic army acted much in the way the Knights of Bihar had, looting several farms and villages that lay on the road north. By the time Earl Torsten and his army reached the city walls on the 20th of Harren’s Folly, they found 3,000 soldiers under the Duke of Carnatia’s command ready to face them. After a brief period of negotiation, the Norlanders insisted that King Robert come out to personally entreat with them, and the Lord Marshal demanded they return home, refusing to entertain the idea of imperiling the king. Talks broke down, and hours later battle was joined outside the city walls. 

 

Duke Heinrik and his army performed well but, facing the might of the earl’s retinue, which contained his elite berserkers and housecarls, they were pushed back to the city’s gates over the course of an hour. King Robert, who watched the battle from the Krepost, brimmed with a confidence that, in the words of the Mayor of Markev, Brog Dhoon, “seemed undue for the occasion.” The king’s faith in victory was not misplaced, for just as it seemed the city’s defenders were on the verge of breaking, a Legion patrol, led by the Emperor’s grandson, Prince Cassius, was spotted on the horizon. In the days leading to the arrival of Earl Torsten’s forces, King Robert had sent word to the Imperial general about what was to come, beseeching the Legion to aid Markev. The Haeseni soldiers were rallied by their allies’ arrival and stood firm, while Earl Torsten was compelled to flee, lest he be trapped. Nonetheless, hundreds of Norlanders were cut down by the Legion patrol during their flight. 

 

Although Haense had technically been at fault for the Arberrang Incident, and Earl Torsten could feasibly explain the misunderstanding to the Emperor without much difficulty, the proud Norlander took Prince Cassius’ intervention as a sign that he had been betrayed by the Pertinaxi government. He raised his banners in rebellion, declared himself King of Norland, and urged the other vassals of the Empire to join him. The tribes of Arberrang joined their ally, as did the dwarves of Kaz’Ulrah and the orcs of Krugmar, who both wished to throw off the Imperial yoke. Elsewhere around the Empire, and among the elven principalities, the people stood firm with Aurelius. Pertinaxi order was not always just, nor consistent, but few wished to incur the wrath of the Legion.

 

There were only a few voices in Haense who cared to join the King of Norland in his revolt. Torsten Rosik had done himself few favors with his meddling in Arberrang and his raid against Markev, and his cause was deemed a failing one. “It would spell the death of our kingdom, whose prosperity we have so recently renewed, to join a war the likes of which we have lost thrice over against the power of the Emperor,” said King Robert during a meeting of the Aulic Council. Much like his father, Robert was no foe to the idea of the Empire, and while he privately made critiques of the Pertinaxi model of government, he valued the security that they had brought to his realm.

 

A willingness to aid his liege did not correspond to an eagerness to go to war. It would be expensive to outfit an army to both defend his lands against Arberrang and join the Legion in a campaign in the far north of Atlas, where Nordengrad, Kaz’Ulrah, and Krugmar were. Critical investments would have to be halted, and the government’s work upended, in order to support the war effort. After consultation with the Lord Marshal, the king agreed to raise 7,000 soldiers. 2,000, under Rhys var Ruthern, would remain in and around Markev to defend the capital against any incursions from Arberrang, while 5,000, under the Lord Marshal, would join Aurelius’s gathering host in Carolustadt and go north from there.

 

While he was reluctant to leave the country, King Robert knew that his personal presence within the army would lift the morale of the soldiers and be received favorably by the Emperor, who had stressed the need for the presentation of a unified front. After a military parade held on the 4th of Godfrey’s Triumph, 1689, where Robert and Duke Heinrik led several columns of the army in procession out of the gates of Markev, and final goodbyes were made in an encampment out of the city, the army began its long march north. It would not return home for almost two years.

 

The Third Atlas Coalition War was difficult on the Haeseni army, who were not acclimated to the hot, arid, stifling climate of the north, but it was generally a smooth campaign nonetheless. Because Prince Cassius held actual command of the entire Imperial army, and Duke Heinrik the Haeseni army, King Robert used the war as an outlet for diplomacy and relationship management. Much of his time was spent with Emperor Aurelius, with whom he personally observed the Siege of Nordengrad and the Siege of the Krag in 1690, where King Torsten was killed and his lands occupied. The Haeseni soldiers, despite their struggles with disease in the camps, performed well, earning the respect from their Legion counterparts.

 

This depiction of one of the many meetings between Emperor Aurelius and King Robert was painted by Acaelanites in the server of the King of Gladewyn, Karin Ithelanen, a powerful elven vassal of the Empire. King Robert is believed to have taken a curiosity to many of the far-flung subjects of the Empire, and spent as much time gathering artifacts, books, and other sources of knowledge from the Emperor’s colorful retinue as he did from his liege.

 

Shortly after, Robert received news from Queen Elizaveta that twin daughters had been born to them, whom she and her grandfather had named Anastasya Ingrid and Nataya Elizaveta. As a token of fealty and gratitude for the Empire’s defense of Haense, he named Aurelius godfather of the two princesses. The old Emperor, usually quite stern and unmoved by displays of flattery, jubilantly ordered a day of feasting in honor of the birth of the Haeseni princesses. After the war, the Emperor would send a string of five hundred gold-maned ponies as a gift for his goddaughters.

 

At the Siege of San’Kala later that year, King Robert joined the camp of Duke Ratibor of Adria. Despite the variance of their personalities (the Duke of Adria was a noted eccentric, while King Robert was reserved and mild-mannered), both shared an interest in reforging the ties among the Karovic Houses. As trebuchets pounded the walls of the orcish stronghold, and repeated charges were ordered against the citadel, the two men came to an agreement to host a Crowsmoot in Belvitz sometime after the war. The descendents of the Carrion Dynasty would be joined again to aid each other in the pursuit of their common interests and form a counterbalance against the power of the Imperial Crown (though, notably, not as a disloyal opposition). The negotiations and the siege concluded in the winter, and Robert was satisfied with his fortune on both ends: a Crowsmoot was to be held in the coming years, and a report from the Duke of Carnatia lauded his soldiers for capturing an important gate in the orcish citadel, leading to its capture.

 

In just a year of campaigning, the stronger half of the rebellion had been knocked out of the war, and its leaders killed or driven into hiding. Satisfied with the war’s progress, Aurelius permitted the Haeseni army to return home and concentrate their forces, aided by two legions under Prince Cassius, against Arberrang. The journey home was long but triumphal in nature. Everywhere the army went, they were hailed as heroes and hosted by the lords and ladies of the Heartlands. The acclamation was only greater when they finally reached Haense that summer, and from Vidaus down to Markev, they were by cheering crowds, orchestral choirs, and local celebrations. Few were old enough to remember the early wars against Aurelius, but those who did were glad that their sons and daughters now returned home mostly-intact and buoyed by victory.

 

From 1691-1692, the Arberrang campaign saw the forced removal of the tribes in the area, who had tried to fortify their encampments with beasts of the dark and black magic. The offensive lasted for the better part of half a year, but in time, Duke Heinrik and Prince Cassius had either driven out or pacified the peoples there. Most of the lands were divided among several petty lords and second sons, but a significant portion was given to House Baruch, who were deemed to have provided loyal service during the war. Soon after the conquest of Arberrang, news from the north came: Kaz’Ulrah had been stormed and taken, and the Third Atlas Coalition War was now over.

 

While the war was something of a footnote in Haeseni history, there were some notable consequences. The first was the diplomatic arrangements that King Robert had made. As part of his talks with the Emperor, his son, Marus, was sent to Carolustadt for six years as a ward of the Emperor. Although it will not be addressed much in this volume, it would certainly come to be the most important consequence of the war. Additionally, the negotiations with Duke Ratibor would herald a new era for the Karovic Houses, defined by close cooperation and a shared fraternity. The Duke of Adria’s death in 1696 would forestall the agreed-upon Crowsmoot for another five years, but the seeds of alliance had been sown.

 

The second was Queen Elizaveta’s increased role in the government. Her time as regent during her husband’s absence gave her confidence in managing and providing her voice in the realm’s affairs, where before she had limited herself to the role of a quiet consort. She had used her position to appoint Siegmund Corbish, an experienced official in Markev, to the Office of the High Seneschal in 1690 after Duchess Emma’s retirement. She had also named Ser Varon Kovachev, son and heir of Duke Heinrik, as Knight Paramount of Haense, hoping that a young heir from a prestigious family could restore the honor and reputation of the Knights of Bihar. Unfortunately, while her logic was sound, her choice of a man to fulfill it was not: Ser Varon would eventually prove to be just as corrupt and self-serving as Ser Hans had been.

 

The end of the Third Atlas Coalition War allowed King Robert to return to what he preferred: managing the government and ensuring the health and viability of his reforms. However, experience and a year away on campaign had inured the king to a style of rule that did require his constant input. The levers of the state could function without him, certainly for several hours a day, and it was not long before he found himself establishing new habits. Where before his mornings had been devoted to reading papers and signing documents, he delegated much of that work to his secretaries and instead ate with his family, composed music, or went for strolls through the gardens of the Krepost. It was not laziness that guided him during this time of change, but instead a willingness to delegate his work to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

 

Conversely, Queen Elizaveta increasingly took on more responsibilities within the realm. A patron of learning, she desired to continue the education policies of Otto III. In 1696, she founded the Theodosian Imperial Academy with the Duchess of Kvasz, intending on training a new generation of nobility and future government officials in the history and traditions of both Haense and the Empire, as well as a common, well-rounded curriculum. She also oversaw an expansion of the Theodosian Library and bought 5,000 new texts from Haelun’or, providing Haense with a wealth of knowledge that had previously been inaccessible. Not one to limit her interests to the needs of the few, the queen opened a grammar school in Markev that serviced those who could not afford a tutor or a place in of the realm’s few, elite academies.

 

Aside from education, Queen Elizaveta also involved herself in foreign affairs. Emperor Aurelius’ death in 1694 brought his grandson, Augustus, to the Imperial Throne. Lacking the strong support of the army, inheriting a depleted treasury from decades of war, and hoping to turn the Empire from outwards expansion towards internal stabilization and government rationalizing, the new Emperor made managing relations with his vassals a focal point of his policy. Queen Elizaveta often met with Augustus, whom she found reasonable, and the two would discuss the Haeseni government reforms, the Imperial Legion’s reliability as a model for the Haeseni Royal Army, and education policy across the Empire. The queen also made occasional trips to the elven realms, promoting stronger trade ties between Haense and the children of Malin. When the Aulic Envoy, Ithilian Enthelaor, retired in 1595, no replacement was named, for Elizaveta had effectively taken the role herself.

 

For much of the rest of Robert I’s reign, stability and competence governance, which came under his watchful eye if not always his involved hand, defined Haense. When the Duke of Carnatia died in 1696, passing his titles and lands to his son, Ser Varon, King Robert appointed the Viscount of Grauspin, Sergei Stafyr, to lead the Royal Army. Lord Stafyr had been Duke Heinrik’s chief-of-staff during the Arberrang Campaign, and had ensured the army was well-supplied in such an inhospitable land. More comfortable in an officer’s tent than on a horse overlooking the battlefield, his appointment was a clear signal that an era of peace was now expected, and the duties of the Lord Marshal would reflect the need for an efficient military bureaucracy instead of a rugged fighting force.

 

The long-awaited Crowsmoot finally came in 1701. Duke Paul of Adria, son of the late Duke Ratibor, had finally secured his rule after a years-long power struggle, and wished for a convention of the Karovic families in Belvitz to cement his concentration of power. Leaving Haense again for the first time since the war, King Robert made his way to Belvitz with a large, festive entourage, stopping by the halls of several great lords. The procession was slow but precise, and Robert arrived on the 1st of Sigismund’s End, just a day before the Crowsmoot was set to begin.

 

On the 2nd of Sigismund’s End, the patriarchs, matriarchs, consorts, heirs, sons, daughters, cousins, distant kin, etc., of the Barbanovs, Sarkozics, Tuvyics, Rutherns, Kovachevs, Ludovars, Vladovs, and Ivanoviches gathered in the Belvitz square, where for three days and nights they entertained themselves through feasting, drinking, gambling, boasting, and all other manner of celebration. Even King Robert, by now famed for his temperance and well-mannered behavior, allowed himself to get as drunk as the rest, but he refrained from excessive bragging or displays of vice. Only by the fourth day, when the best wine and the best meat had been consumed, were serious political arrangements made.

 

The next four days were spent haggling over betrothals, trade compacts, ancient inheritance disputes, and other matters by the families, but they paled in comparison to the discussions between King Robert and Duke Paul, of whom the others owed their fealty. Not only would an agreement between Barbov and Sarkoz affect the dynasties themselves: it would have wider implications for Haense, Adria, and the Empire as a whole. Duke Paul, closer in disposition to King Robert than his father had been, made for an easy-going negotiator (his youth also played a role. According to his Chancellor, Alaric Vladov, he was dominated by the older, more experienced Robert). The terms that were eventually agreed to were simple, but began the start of a relationship between the Barbanovs and Sarkozics, and Haense and Adria, that would central to the reigns of Robert I, Marus II, and Andrik III:

 

I) Prince Marus of Haense, heir of Robert I, would wed Valera Tuvyic, Duke Paul’s sister (the wedding occurred later that way).

 

II) Haense and Adria would establish a (de facto) military alliance, and engage in joint-training and field games every two years.

 

III) In the event of needed resettlement, Haense and Adria would construct their new capitals close to one another.

 

The last clause in particular would come into effect just three years after the Crowsmoot. In 1704, the well-known calamity struck the lands of Atlas, forcing the flight of its peoples to Arcas. Once again able to settle in the north, the people of Haense constructed their capital, Reza, in the snowy tundras. To the south lay Ves, built by the Adrians. To the immediate west lay Leuven, built by Savoyards beneath Conrad de Falstaff, the wealthy count of Leuven. Even further west lay Helena, capital of the Empire. To the east lay Avalain, capital of Curon.

 

The final years of Robert’s reign saw him cede more formal power to his councilors, who preferred instead to join his wife’s efforts in transforming Haense into a center of learning. Together, the two founded a new university in Reza, and provided Duke Demetrius with the funding to establish a second in Vidaus. While the Empire as a whole suffered from a dearth of literature, Haense (and Adria), became a center of enlightenment: a home for historians, ethnographers, poets, authors, philosophers, and theorists who kept the intellectual tradition alive within humanity. 

 

King Robert also enjoyed playing the role of host to foreign dignitaries. A healthy treasury and yearly tax surpluses encouraged him to spend liberally on feasts, balls, dances, and festivals that would attract the eye of travelers from abroad. King Wilhelm of Curon, a famed reveler, visited Reza three times from 1704-1707, and the two monarchs of the Empire struck up a fast friendship. The Count of Leuven, Haense’s closest neighbor, also became a frequent guest in the halls of the Prikaz Palace. Queen Elizaveta, ever the savvy negotiator, obtained a favorable boundary agreement and waterway rights in the Rubern River during one of his many visits.

 

War had eluded King Robert for most of his life, as had combat, but his time campaigning in northern Atlas, and his experiences visiting the wounded and dead that filled the temples of Markev during the Arberrang campaign, had stuck with him. The medical field of the era, especially the sort that soldiers could expect to receive, were fraught with a reliance on supplies that could rarely be provided, outdated practices, and a lack of well-trained and willing surgeons. Moved to address this, and with ample opportunity to modify the army, the king established the Office of the Surgeon General in 1704, to which he appointed Lotte Kortrevich, a surgeon from an esteemed gentry family who was personally recommended by Queen Elizabeth. The Surgeon General would work closely with the army to stockpile medical supplies, revamp old methods with advances made in the Heartlands, and organize and certify the doctors, surgeons, and medics of Haense while incentivizing others to join the profession.

 

The final great initiative of Robert I’s life was the establishment of the Royal Duma. During he and Queen Elizaveta’s stay in Belvitz during the Crowsmoot of 1701, both had become enamored with Adria’s dumacratic institutions, namely its Duma. Robert’s reign had been defined by the growing power of the crown, but also his willingness to distribute that power and allow his government to manage the realm without interference. The creation of a Duma similar to Adria’s (though, notably, with far greater restrictions on who was allowed to participate) was seen as the next logical step. How this body would look, act, and interact with the other elements of government became a frequent topic at meetings of the Aulic Council, and even of the king and queen over supper.

 

Family, which had been an important part of Robert’s life to begin with, became a core object of his focus in the last few years of his life, surpassed only by his plans to establish a Duma. When his son, Marus, returned in 1699 after his wardship under the Pertinaxi, the young heir was included in sessions of the Aulic Council and made a lieutenant in the Royal Army. Prince Marus seemed to have inherited his mother’s headstrong attitude, and his father’s firm belief that change in the government was needed, but he had not adopted his parent’s liberalism. Perhaps because of his time in the heavily-authoritarian Pertinaxi court, where even the enlightened reforms under Augustus were done in service of entrenching a bureaucracy and legislature completely subordinate to him. Marus’ desires were wholly despotic, and he and his parents frequently clashed over the question of where the rungs of authority ought to lay.

 

Disagreements with their son aside, the king and queen enjoyed a loving family life. Both were affectionate, though not to a degree that was deemed unseemly, and they remained involved in their children’s lives, especially as their duties transformed from tending to the very real and practical minutiae of governance to the broad, often ceremonial role that they came to inhabit. When two more children were born to them (Mariya Oliviya in 1704 and Otto Tuvyic in 1706), they devoted even more time to the raising of their children, whom they read to, oftentimes tutored, and took strolls through Reza with. They also became doting grandparents with the birth of two children from Prince Marus (Mariya Angelika in 1703 and Sofiya Theodosiya in 1704), renewing the lively atmosphere of the Barbanov household that had been lost for decades.

 

Extended members of the royal family shared in the generosity. When King Robert’s uncle, the reliable Prince Edvard-Audemar, died in 1704, his son, Prince Josef, was rewarded for his family’s efforts by being named Red Prince of Muldav, which came with extensive tracts of land in the bountiful, rich forests and plains of southern Haense, which bordered the Heartlands. Prince Josef, on account of his youth, would not play an important role in the rest of Robert’s reign, but he would come to be the founder of the House of Alimar, which would soon play a part in the world.

 

Before being gifted the rich lands of Muldav Prince Josef was merely the Baron of Antioch, a poor, sparsely-populated, yet rather pretty, stretch of territory in western Haense. Within a generation, the House of Alimar would be among the richest in Haense, and as the power of the realm’s vassals shifted, waxed, and waned in light of deaths, ascensions, and the events of the time, the ‘cadet of the cadet’ would soon find itself among the great power plays of the Haeseni aristocracy.

 

For as learned of a man as he was, for as adroit a government he could craft, for as idyllic a family life that he could enjoy, King Robert was perpetually failed by one thing throughout his life, which he had little mastery over: his health. Always cursed with a poor constitution, frequent bouts of illness were common. To make matters worse, he would often prolong his sickness by forcing himself to work through it, refusing rest and medical aid beyond basic care. Some doctors believed his refusal to rest, compounded with the stressors he placed upon himself, further harmed him in his later life. In the last two years of his reign, Robert, still less than forty, had, in the assessment of the Surgeon-General “lost over a third of his weight, had begun to sprout grey hairs, and looked physically gaunt and pale. His hair, normally thick and curly, rapidly receded behind his brow, altogether giving him the appearance of a man twenty or thirty years his senior.” While the king’s latest bout of illness seemed that it would fade, like those before it, tragedy struck.

 

Caring for her husband as he once cared for her, Queen Elizaveta spent much of 1707 playing the role of her husband’s nurse. She would sit by his bedside, his hand in hers, as he muttered feverish deliriums. She presided over meetings of the Aulic Council in his absence, and would bring back summarized reports of the matters of the realm to read to him when he could receive them. Even bringing her husband his meals, typically stew, was not beneath Elizaveta’s dignity. Robert, ever the grateful husband, did not wish for his wife to also be made a recluse on account of his health.

 

On the evening of the 15th of Tobias’s Bounty, 1706, Queen Elizaveta, at her husband’s urging, visited the Library of Reza, which had been undergoing construction under her supervision. She stayed well into the night speaking with several stone masons working on the building, but she eventually dismissed them so that she could have a moment alone. As the streets of Reza, though still at night, were deemed safe, and the queen had a known habit of meditating, her guards also departed to their quarters, believing that she would soon be behind them. Instead, she would be dead fifteen minutes later.

 

Close to midnight, either on the 15th or 16th, as Queen Elizaveta sat within the nearly-finished central room of the library, a lone candle providing her with enough light to see. However, the light was not enough: within the shadows lingered Andrei Dune, the military reformer from the Rothswood who had delivered his people to the arms of defeat in exchange for his position in the Royal Army. Either to cleanse his guilt, or as revenge for the near-destruction of his people, he had planned to kill a member of the royal family. Little is known of what transpired between the two in the moments leading to Queen Elizaveta’s murder, as only testimony from the guards, as well as a handful of eyewitnesses, were available. Autopsy reports from the Surgeon General found that the queen was stabbed once through the heart by a dirk, without struggle, which would have killed her instantly. No screams were heard from the library, and she was only found the next morning when a group of carpenters arrived at the site to begin work.

 

The queen’s murder shocked Haense, but none were struck so greatly by the blow as King Robert himself. The loss of his beloved wife, a friend and confidant who had stood by him through his reign, was too great of an emotional toll upon him. His condition worsened over the following weeks, forcing him to remain within his chambers as Elizaveta was laid to rest, and an investigation into her murder was organized. Prince Marus, who had been inspecting the construction of fortifications to the north, remained in the capital after his mother’s funeral to take charge of the government and prepare for his inevitable ascension. During these final months, the father and son reconciled, familiarly, if never politically, and the dying Robert gave his blessing to his son, and spent his final days praying for his prosperity in rule.

 

“If it was his wife’s death that plummeted his body to the depths of demise, it was the fortune of his realm that allowed his soul to fly, weightless,” wrote Jakob Ludovar, the young Duke of Kvasz, on the 10th of Sun’s Smile, 1707, the evening of Robert I’s death. 

 

After a months-long battle with illness, the King of Haense had perished that afternoon, spending his last moment surrounded by his family. Much like the queen, he was young, far too young, to have died when he did, and many wept for what could have been, but what had been was evident. Much like his father, there was no great calamity that followed him, no succession in dispute, only a funeral and a coronation. “With no other tragedy, the people of Haense were free to mourn their king,” wrote the Lady Seneschal, Princess Aleksandra of Muldav.

 

King Robert’s funeral, which had received adequate planning on account of his grave illness, was held a week after his death. Crowds from the outlying towns of Haense, as well as several foreign entourages, flocked to Reza to attend. Around 50,000 are believed to have crowded the city streets as the king’s body was taken throughout the city in a somber procession. As Robert was brought to the Basilica of Fifty Virgins, where he was to be laid to rest beside his wife, several speeches were given in front of the heavy oaken doors of the church. Few of these speeches were collected for future memory, but a fragment of one, given by the Red Prince of Muldav, has been passed down to us.

 

“Of the great restorers of our country, few will receive as little exaltation, while deserving it so greatly, as His Majesty. Unlike Stefan, he did not dominate the Heartlands. Unlike Otto [II], his life was not a storied one. Unlike his father, he did not charm the hearts of all he met. However, he was a serious and diligent steward of his country, one who deftly avoided the political traps that at times ensnared the others, while transforming our country and his place within it for the better. I ask not that his praises be sung, for what song can be made of the clear-sighted, measured reformers? I ask not that he be acclaimed as the greatest of kings, for was his achievement not done upon the foundation of his father’s labors? I ask only that, when the day comes, he be given the regard that he is owed.”

 

Prince Marus, now King Marus II, appreciated his father’s accomplishments as much as any other man. The two had their differences, as explosive as could be between father and son, yet time and occasion had brought the two together at the end of the late king’s life. However, King Marus’ admiration was that of a soldier to a poet: raw strength and the pursuit of glory, rather graceful tact and the minutiae of governance, was what spoke to him. His father may have built a strong, thriving realm over his reign, but it would be the ambition of the son to turn the potential of the realm into pure, actualized power. All that needed to be done was to turn back the clock.
 

Dravi, Robert I ‘the Reader’

9th of Horen’s Calling, 1666-10th of Sun’s Smile, 1707

(r. 6th of Sigismund’s End, 1682-10th of Sun’s Smile, 1707)

---

O Ágioi Kristoff, Jude kai Pius. Dóste mas gnósi ópos sas ékane o Theós. Poté min afísoume na doúme to skotádi, allá as doúme móno to fos tis sofías kai tis alítheias. O Theós na se evlogeí.

---

The reign of Marus II shall be covered in the next volume of The Winter Crows.

[ContestedSnow 1435]

Aleksandr finished reading through the piece over a mug of Carrion Black; the newest volume in his personal set of the Winter Crows, placed down to rest with a... curious expression. The Galahar's sole eye was glazed over, perhaps in memory of these memories he would never see for himself, as he sat wordlessly at a fine spruce desk before he set to penning a brief letter to the author of the works. His hope was that it would somehow find its way to the hands of said author.

 

"Demetrius Barrow,

 

It is always a pleasure to read your works. They elucidate on memories and stories that might otherwise be lost to time, or lost to the predations of current or future rulers who might desire to see the past quashed and forgotten, or far worse, rewritten.

 

These recollections give this old man hope that the stories of the past and of my fallen homeland shall continue on far, far into the future beyond us; and that the records of the Haeseni peoples, and the tales of my royal forebears, shall never be relegated solely to the dustbin of history. From one Crow to another, I applaud your efforts. 

 

Truest regards,

Aleksandr of Barbanov-Bihar-Galahar."

[Nectorist 12870]

On 8/24/2025 at 8:07 PM, ContestedSnow said:

Aleksandr finished reading through the piece over a mug of Carrion Black; the newest volume in his personal set of the Winter Crows, placed down to rest with a... curious expression. The Galahar's sole eye was glazed over, perhaps in memory of these memories he would never see for himself, as he sat wordlessly at a fine spruce desk before he set to penning a brief letter to the author of the works. His hope was that it would somehow find its way to the hands of said author.

 

"Demetrius Barrow,

 

It is always a pleasure to read your works. They elucidate on memories and stories that might overwise be lost to time, or lost to the predations of current or future rulers who might desire to see the past quashed and forgotten, or far worse, rewritten.

 

These recollections give this old man hope that the stories of the past and of my fallen homeland shall continue on far, far into the future beyond us; and that the records of the Haeseni peoples, and the tales of my royal forebears, shall never be relegated solely to the dustbin of history. From one Crow to another, I applaud your efforts. 

 

Truest regards,

Aleksandr of Barbanov-Bihar-Galahar."

Demetrius Barrow writes a rare personal response. Oddly, it is a brief message, written on the back of the letter he had been sent.

 

"Lord Galahar,

 

We must forget neither glory nor shame, for a tapestry is most beautiful when it is untarnished by the hand of the perfectionist, allowed to hang and flutter proudly. It was a mistake of the past era to reject their history, and it is a mistake of this one to do the same. I will pray that there may be a time whence we as a peoples- united, divided, friends, enemies, otherwise- may be allowed to freely discuss, learn, teach, celebrate, admonish, but most of all, study, our history.

 

My best,

Demetrius Barrow"