#mitigating damages

The guards closed in on him quickly, and Mizzah was only able to murmur out a quiet, "Wait-" before another kick to the side sent him rolling back to lying flat out on his chest. He vaguely heard chatter among the guards, but having not fully regained his breath from before, he was unable to attempt a bargain of any sort. Regardless, and despite his pain, he was angry and determined to retain his dignity through this ordeal.

However, just as Mizzah began to attempt to get back upright, a boot stomped hard into his left hand, the heel grinding down. The scream escaped him in spite of his most recent thought, silenced only by another set of boots kicking him square in his open mouth.

Mizzah remained frozen on his side for a moment, his mind a haze of pain. His hand was freed, and he slowly brought it up to his eyesight, noting the twisted appearance of his thumb and palm. He attempted to breathe in but instantly choked. Adrenaline kicking in in earnest, Mizzah managed to scramble up, partially using a nearby pair of legs as support. Now at least upright, he began to cough, blood flying out of his mouth. Once he could breathe again, Mizzah panted, tasting the blood and gagging.

"Oh yuck!" he heard a voice say before the guard he had used to wright himself bent down and picked him up to his knees by the nape of his now-disheveled traveling coat. Mizzah's eyes were wide as he stared face to face with a gruff man with a chiseled, worn face. Mizzah silently begged for mercy. The man promptly reared a fist back and hit Mizzah's face like a punching bag - once, twice, and at the third punch, Mizzah slid out of his coat to the floor.

His mind a haze of pain, Mizzah absentmindedly spat out a few teeth. He tried to reach for his face, but his injured left hand was unable to feel anything. His right hand clamped over his injured nose, his painful eye… was that wetness blood or tears? He held his eye, attempting to calm the pain there for just a moment - or at least protect it even a little.

Again, he could just make out voices from beyond the fog the injuries had caused his mind. "Hey, don't hog all the fun!" A kick to the stomach followed. "Why not? As long as we don't kill him!" Another kick to the stomach. This was too much. Against his will, his body revolted, sending him retching. He just managed to prop himself up on his uninjured arm before vomiting a mix of the small amount of food he'd had that morning, blood, and yellow bile. The guards backed up from him momentarily before one managed to grab his leg and pull him backward out of the pile. Mizzah's throat burned fiercely as he watched the floor receding in front of him.

Mizzah coughed again, his voice mingling with his breathing. He rolled onto his side, holding his stomach with both arms and folding in on himself. For a brief moment, he remembered the castle just the day before, and how confident he'd been that he could make a difference. Through the one eye he could see out of, Mizzah noticed how bloody and filthy he'd gotten the floor beneath him, just before another hard kick to his exposed back sent him flailing: back arching; legs, arms, and hands curling in like a dying spider.

"I don't mind you all having a bit of fun, but his Majesty specifically requested that he be unable to stand," a serious voice…

"Oh, yeah! Good point, guys we better see how he's doing!" a younger, more jovial tone.

As he finally began to be able to relax again, Mizzah felt himself being roughly gripped around his arms and pulled upright by his shoulders and shirt. He was placed on his feet, and though he stumbled forward a bit, dazed as he was, he actually managed to stay swaying, but standing.

A disapproving sound was heard, and Mizzah was punched in the side of the head, falling hard onto the ground once more.

"There's an easy way to manage the standing part," the voice seemed very muffled and far away, as though the speaker had been behind a wall. Additional murmurs followed at a similar volume.

Mizzah again felt himself manipulated to lie flat on his back, arms outstretched. In the soup that was becoming his mind, Mizzah recognized this as a position of vulnerability, but before he could do anything about it, guards positioned themselves on top of his arms and hands, standing on both as though he were a board to be held for sawing. The one foot that pressed down on his already injured hand caused him to moan and squirm.

A strange silence came over the guards then, and Mizzah felt an odd sensation around his right leg. A prickle of a blade slicing up his shin, a loosening, a feeling of fresh air… they were removing his travel boot. "Please-" he finally managed to croak out in the stillness that followed, barely able to see anything, but feeling that all the guards still surrounded him. "Pl-aaah-" he inhaled as sharply as his injured lungs would allow as a sharp pain exploded in his right shin, followed by a similar feeling lower, in his ankle and foot.

He breathed in, and in, before finally screaming, finally, loudly, unabashedly. The sound echoed off the high ceiling and reverberated back to Mizzah's damaged ears. He breathed in deeply, over and over, each breath out signaled by a smaller scream, a cry.

Once more, he was lifted up, head hanging limply - blood, tears, and bile dripping uncontrolled from every opening in his face, every bit of his dignity and anger drained from him. This time, when placed on his feet, his right leg cracked audibly beneath him. Pain re-erupted in his leg, and his body, unable to hold its own weight, fell limply to the ground, collapsing in a twisted, bloody heap.

"Mission accomplished!" "Does that mean we're done?" "Do you think its good enough?" A snort. "Good enough for a Grant messenger? Hardly. As long as he's not dead when we're done…"

Mizzah moaned pathetically, the sound escaping his lips without knowing: an animalistic sound of a dying being. Another kick to the head, and Mizzah's eyes glazed over, tears falling from his swollen cheeks, blood pooling under his mouth.

Mizzah looked down at the floor as he walked. That had been a very long wait… and he wondered what for. He tried to stay positive, figuring that the King was probably busy, and perhaps the advisors were simply being overly cautious.

The two men stood before a square set of doors, and the advisor whispered something to one of the soldiers that guarded the door. They then wordlessly opened the doors as the advisor glared at Mizzah to stay put.

Unlike Tomo and King Maverick, who spoke clear and loud, this exchange between King and courtier was hushed and muddled. Mizzah thought the throne room seemed quite dark, and he could only hear echoes of the conversation the advisor must be having with the King inside. The voices went quiet, and Mizzah was shoved into the room by one of the guards.

He stumbled through the doorway but regained his composure just in time to see the doors close behind him. Though a bit annoyed at his treatment thus far, Mizzah stood upright and dignified as he walked down the path toward the King, whom he still couldn't see in the gloom. Looking around, the edges of the large room were shrouded in shadows, only punctuated here and there by torches that were far enough away from one another to do little for the oppressive darkness. He could make out about a dozen lightly armored humanoid forms lining the room. Were they statues? Suits of armor? Or were these soldiers? Probably guards of the King himself… Their presence made him nervous. The throne, as he finally approached it, was higher and more ornate than King Maverick's was. A lithe form could be seen outlined, lazily draped upon it.

The advisor was nowhere to be seen, so the messenger stopped where the carpeted path ended and bowed low. At first, silence. Mizzah remained in place until hearing the King finally acknowledge his existence. "You may rise, messenger," a hoarse voice emanated from the throne.

Mizzah straightened, preparing to speak, when he found that an additional torch had been lit beside the King. Though he had never seen King Rovan, he was still surprised at his condition. His body seemed undefined in a royal garb that appeared unkempt. His face, still not well revealed in the poor light, looked sickly, tired, and much older than Mizzah knew him to be.

Before he could say anything, the King spoke again. "Why have you come, messenger?"

Mizzah found himself taken aback again. He was here on Rovan's invitation, or so he thought. Surely the King was expecting him? This was not off to a good start. "Your most gracious Majesty," Mizzah again bowed his head, hoping that humility would serve him well. "I have come to communicate peaceful intentions from the kingdom of Grant, which I humbly represent." Depending on the King's reaction would dictate how Mizzah proceeded.

"Yes…" came the King's deep rattling reply. Mizzah mentally sighed. That wasn't much to go on. He decided to forge ahead.

"His Majesty King Maverick Sahir wishes to communicate his apologies in-GHH-" Mid-sentence, a soldier had approached Mizzah from the shadows and kicked him square in the back. Mizzah fell hard, flat on his chest, winded. He slowly got up on his hands and knees, struggling to breathe, struggling to piece together what had just happened.

"Apologies?" King Rovan sat up a little straighter. "He's come this far, realizes I have the power to kill him, and then he wants to APOLOGIZE?"

Mizzah stared down at the carpet he had been standing on. This close, he noticed how worn it looked, its sky blue color faded to a dusty iron. As the King yelled, Mizzah strained to speak, hurrying to salvage this meeting. "He-… we don't… it… to come… to war," he put a hand on his chest and looked up from his crawling position, taking as deep a breath as his lungs would allow. "We'll do… anything- Trade…. food… "

This time, he saw the signal. The King flicked his wrist, and another soldier moved in behind Mizzah, pushed him roughly back to the ground, and held him there with her foot. Mizzah lay on the floor, focusing even more on breathing now that his ribcage was futher restricted. He was still unsure of what was going on - but he knew one thing - King Rovan had indeed gone mad.

The King now stood up from his throne. Mizzah struggled to see what he was doing. The king looked quite unsteady as he took one step towards Mizzah, then another. “You mean to tell me that the great, giving, generous King Maverick Sahir wishes to share his food with the poor people of Solace?” He flicked his hand again, and the soldier removed her foot. Mizzah sat up on his knees, still too winded to stand, and watched the king continue to approach him. “It had to come to this didn’t it? War? That’s such a horrible word, don’t you think so? I prefer just rewards. I’ve slaved for years and years to save this city. What makes Grant so special, you think?”

The king was now only a few feet from Mizzah. “Anything but war… your Majesty,” Mizzah panted. "Think of your city… Think of the people-" This time, from where he sat on his knees, a soldier kicked him square under his jaw, sending him flying onto his back. He tasted blood.

As he struggled to sit back up, Mizzah suddenly felt metal up against his neck and looked up to see King Rovan holding a rapier point right up against his skin. “The only reason the good King Maverick doesn’t want war is because he knows I will win,” the king mumbled, his empty gaze staring right into Mizzah's eyes. “But if he wants peace, then I pray he finds it in the next life.”

Mizzah’s head and neck hurt from the jarring blow to his jaw. Despite his pain, Mizzah stared up at the morbid king, a fierce anger in his eyes. This man had just threatened his King Maverick Sahir, the whole populace of Grant. “I came in peace… as you asked… alone,” Mizzah said, his rage evident.

The king smiled…a horrible, unnatural looking smile. “And you will leave in peace as well…" he tilted his head. "Though I can’t exactly promise you’ll leave in just one piece.” The king sheathed his rapier and looked up at the soldiers gathered around. “He shall be made an example of.”

At that, Mizzah’s blood ran cold.

Mizzah’s horse snorted beneath him. “Aw, wazza matter Jenna? You hungry too?” he reached down to stroke her neck. Jenna went with him everywhere. That was Mizzah’s job: to go everywhere. If there was a message to be delivered, Mizzah was the one to go. For the most part he was a likable guy, but his ability to read people was what made him so valuable. Often the content of a message was secondary only to the way it was delivered. Mizzah thought this way subconsciously, and was as such very good at it. His horse, named Jenna, was a horse in her prime, light tan in color with a white tail and mane. She was fast but not hard to handle, and Mizzah greatly enjoyed her company on his various journeys.

As they got closer and closer to the gates, Mizzah realized how truly odd it was. He had never been to Solace, but he’d been to more than a few other cities. Very few kept their gates closed or even closed them at all. For the longest time, he was convinced that kingdom gates were merely for show. But here he was, about to step before a set of closed gates.

The nearer they got, Mizzah could also see guards through the gates. He really wondered if they would let him in at all, despite the letter to King Maverick. The last few steps toward the gate, he hopped off of Jenna and led her behind him.

“Good mornin’!” Mizzah shouted at the iron gates. The doors themselves were a thick, dark gray metal formed somewhat like a grid. At points where squares formed on the grid, there were tiny, square holes: just enough to see a little bit through, or perhaps pass small parcels through.

“You from Grant, are ya?!” came a gruff voice from the other side.

“Yessir,” Mizzah bowed his head in humility. “A single messenger from the honorable King Maverick Sahir to the presence of the honorable King Rovan Salvatore. ...As requested," he added, trying to make it evident that this was no random visit.

Mizzah heard snickering from the other side. “Sure ya’ are. You’re not just some bandit come here to pillage our town and corrupt our children.”

Mizzah raised an eyebrow, but merely retrieved a hand-written message from King Maverick, as well as the original letter received from Rovan's attendant, and his own formal identification, just for good measure. He held them before himself. “My papers,” he said, trying hard to keep annoyance or nervousness from tinting his tone.

“Hmm…” another voice spoke up. Mizzah could see a few pairs of eyes peering and him through the gate and kept his composure.

“Why don’t chu go on and hand that here,” came one voice, indicating a hole.

Mizzah was no fool. He stood in the same position, waiting for some real response.

“Ey’, that might be true,” one said softly. “Best go get the captain for this.”

Mizzah heard commotion. He waited a few moments, then heard a sharp order. “Open the gate ya’ bloody asses!” Mizzah held tight to his paper as the gate slowly swung inward with a grinding metal sound.

Then, a man with a more professional air then he had received thus far approached him from the city. The man was clad in armor that was red in color and looked clean and kept. “Might I see that, sir?” he held out a hand.

Mizzah sensed no maliciousness and complied. The man read over the two notes and flipped through the remaining papers, handing them back to him sternly. “You are permitted to travel to the castle of our king. There, your paper will be examined further. I should warn you sir, should it be a fake, you will be severely punished.”

Mizzah smiled a little. “Then I have nothin’ ta worry about,” he said, replacing the papers in his sachel.

“You should go straight to the castle without delay,” the man honestly advised.

Just then, Mizzah’s stomach growled again. “Oh, well, can I stop fer somethin’ ta eat first?” Mizzah asked, a little embarrassed.

“Why, don’t they feed ja out there?!” one of the guards called. A few others broke into unbridled laughter. “SILENCE!” the captain called out sternly. All the men hushed. “If you must, there is a little restaurant right here near the gate. You may eat there, within our sight, and then I fully expect you to be on your way.”

“Understood,” Mizzah nodded honestly. “I thank ya,” Mizzah bowed. Then man nodded and led him and Jenna through the gates. Once through the gates, Mizzah saw the restaurant in question and felt even hungrier. He headed that way as he heard the gates close back behind him.

___________________

Azekah stared at a wall. She was tired. No one came into Patches this early in the morning. The night was when Patches was busy. The other waitress was talking with the cooks in the kitchen. Azekah tried to find something else to clean, but she had swept the floor, cleaned the tables, filled all the napkin holders, and even dusted all the paraphernalia on the walls. She looked at the clock on the wall. Only twenty past the hour. Could this day get any slower?

Just then, the door opened and a man walked through, looking around. This man appeared to be a traveler. His clothes were definitely those of someone with an active nature and they were covered in dust. His brunette hair was slicked back, and his eyes seemed wide and inquisitive. Azekah stared... The other workers stuck their heads up over the counter and seeing that it was only one person, disappeared back into the kitchen.

Seeing Azekah, the man lifted a hand in greeting. “Good morning!” he said with a smile. “Do I jus’ sit wherever?” he asked her, still looking around.

“Oh yeah,” she smiled back, her demeanor totally changing. She may not have been a happy person, but she could fake it to keep her job. The man sat at a small table close to the door against the wall.

"What can I get for you?” Azekah asked with a smile, pulling a notepad and pen from her apron.

The man looked down at the menu that doubled as a placemat. “Um…Toast ‘n eggs sounds wonderful.”

“Small or large portions?” she asked, jotting down the order.

“Small please. I have tha appetite of a sparrow,” the man smiled.

"And to drink?”

“Water would be heavenly!”

“You got it!” she chirped, hopping off to place the order.

“Oh! And can I have a few orders of jus’ bread?”

Azekah turned around, annoyed, but the smile still plastered on her face. “Just bread? Like just plain bread?”

The man nodded with a smile. Azekah wrote it down and delivered the paper to the distracted cooks. She glared at them as she handed it to them. She went to get a glass of water and went ahead to the kitchen, maneuvering past her fellows, got a plate and put about four pieces of bread on it. She then brought it out to the man, curious to see what he would do with it.

“Oh thank you,” he smiled, putting the bread on a napkin off to the side and taking a drink of water. Since his order was so simple and since the cooks were eager to get back to talking, the man’s order came quickly. One cook rang the bell to signal an order was up. That wouldn’t have been anything special except for the fact that Azekah had been standing right at the window.

She snatched the plate angrily and took it to the man. She placed it before him with a smile. “Enjoy your meal!” she chirped.

The man glanced at his meal, then up at her. Azekah was afraid he was going to say that there was something wrong with it. “You really don’t have ta sound so happy if ya ain’t, ya know.”

Azekah’s whole demeanor fell. She suddenly just felt like crying. She tried so hard to keep up the façade of a happy worker, but she had failed. Now he wouldn’t tip her! She sat down on the other booth at the small table, sighing in dismay. She covered her eyes with one hand. Hearing a clank sound, she glanced up to see the man calmly eating.

He noticed that she was looking at him, and he waved his fork at her. “I’ll still tip ya’ if that’s what you're worried about.” He smiled.

Azekah looked at him, her face honestly covered in confusion. What an odd person... she found herself oddly intrigued by this man, in a way she felt a bit disconnected from... An odd feeling, Azekah could at least admit to herself.

She relaxed a bit in the booth seat, after making sure no other customers had presented themselves and that her co-workers were occupied enough to ignore her taking a bit of a break.

"This doesn’t really seem like a fun place ta work I suppose,” the man commented, his mouth half full. “It’s kinda small.”

“Yeah,” Azekah slouched down in the seat. She tried not to think about how much her life sucked. She worked so hard and was still barely able to pay rent for her small house. No one respected her, and the only job she could find had her prancing around in clothes she despised. She hated her life, and she found herself fairly constantly stamping down crazy ideas, that would never work, to break the cycle...

She looked up at the odd man as he continued eating. “Are you a traveler?” She really wanted to know. That kind of thing seemed so great to her. She wished she could just pack up and leave, see the world.

“Um…” the man swallowed a mouthful. “I guess ya could say that.”

“What are you doing on this side of town?” Azekah asked, knowing that most travelers came from the other side of town where the main gate was. She assumed he was visiting family on this side of town or sightseeing…whatever was on this side of town worth seeing...

Without even looking up, the man began a sentence. “Oh, cause I came in this way from Gr-…I…”

Azekah’s gaze shot up and she sat erect, eyeing him nervously.

The man was obviously uncomfortable. His head was bowed, his eyes were squeezed shut, and his teeth were gritted. He had just about said something he hadn’t meant to.

“You’re not from there,” Azekah said quietly, as much to calm herself as to change the subject.

The man looked up, saw doubt in her eyes and continued eating in silence. After a few moments, he looked up again. “Is it hard to find a job here?”

“Why do you ask?” Azekah inquired, still not fully recovered.

The man shrugged. “Seems like you hate this one. I was just wondering if ya haf ta stay here cause there's no where else that’s hiring.”

“Well, yeah.” Azekah didn’t even have to think about it. She despised this job. But it was either this or starve in the street.

“Well, I know it don’t help,” the man said, laying his fork down on the now empty plate. “But I really hope things work out for ya. Keep yer chin up- you never know when change is coming.”

Azekah felt the man smiling, but she just looked at the table. Change wasn't usually a good thing for her... but she understood he was trying to encourage her.

“Ya got my bill?”

“Oh yeah,” she reached in her pocket and retrieved it.

The man took a look at it and handed her about three copper shells. “The change is yours,” he smiled. “Plus,” he reached his hand into his pocket, retrieved something and held it out. Instinctively, Azekah reached out to take it. The man dropped a shell in her hand and stood up with the pieces of bread in his hand.

“Appreciate the food and company Miss...”

“Azekah,” she finished before she realized what she was doing.

“Miss Azekah,” he finished. “My name’s Mizzah,” he smiled with a bow. “I hope you have a good day,” he said before turning to leave the restaurant.

Azekah stared after him for a few moments. She felt her hand clenched and looked down into it. There, the man had given her a silver shell. Her heart skipped a beat.

For the rest of her shift that day, the mystery of Mizzah was swimming around in her head. Was he really from Grant? If he was from Grant, then that silver shell was probably stolen. But then if he was from Grant how would he have gotten past the guards? She wondered who he was really. She knew the chances of her ever seeing him again were slim, so she tried to get it out of her head and just chalk it up as some much needed good luck.

____________

Mizzah walked through the streets of Solace with wonder. Jenna licked her lips, trying to get every bread crumb from her snout. Mizzah petted her mane from atop his saddle, all the while looking around in awe at the various dwellings about. Never before had he seen such an assortment of tents, wooden houses, brick buildings, and sandstone dwellings. The city reminded him of a patchwork quilt - mismatched, but beautiful in its collectivity.

As horse and man traveled down the road, Mizzah now looked up to see where they were going. A large flag pole declared where the king’s castle was. However, given that very few buildings even had a second floor, the king’s three story dwelling was easily identifiable, even more so by the fact that the main road led right there. The day was still young, and the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. The roads were mostly empty, but the few people out and about paid him little heed.

Not much time passed until horse and rider arrived at the outer gates of the king’s castle. There, a few guards, all in red armor, stood at attention. Mizzah jumped down from Jenna’s back again, waiting for someone to notice him. To his surprise, one man ran out from the castle, exited through two sets of gates and came right up to Mizzah. Apparently someone from the main gate of the city had alerted the castle to his presence.

“Excuse me, sir,” the rather nervous man addressed Mizzah with a bow of his head, obviously a royal attendant. Mizzah wondered if it was he who had penned the note that had been delivered to King Maverick. “If you will kindly come with me to a holding area, I’ll have your papers verified, and we can get you an audience with our King.”

Mizzah nodded and followed the man through the first set of gates, and a man approached to take Jenna’s reigns. Mizzah became nervous for his horse. “Don’t hurt ‘er,” he blurted as they led her away. This job was making him too nervous. Rarely did anything come out of his mouth he had not thought through.

“Why we would never injure your horse," the attendant said sweetly. "How else would you get back home?”

The comment was innocent enough, but something about the way the man said it put Mizzah really out of ease.

He was then led through a second pair of gates into the main castle. There, the man led him down a hallway and into a large room with a whole bunch of benches inside it. “If you’ll just wait here, I’ll take your papers and have them authenticated. If they are real, I’ll make an appointment with the king for you.”

He wasn't sure how, but the attendant had made this request sound like a threat. Mizzah silently handed over his papers to the man. “Thank you,” the man bowed again before leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

Mizzah stared after the man and looked around the room which was completely empty but for the aforementioned benches. After a few minutes, he picked a bench by a wall and sat, nervously tapping his foot as he waited.

______________

Azekah’s shift was finally over. If she had felt better, she would have felt like celebrating, but as always, she felt like crap. A few hours after midday, her shift ended for the day, and she retrieved her bag from her locker. She then went into the bathroom and quickly stripped off the demeaning “uniform” to change into a loose pair of trousers, a long tunic, and a sturdy pair of boots. Then, in front of a mirror, she removed the tie holding back her hair and jerked out all the painful clips. Her thick black hair feathered out around her shoulders, and Azekah ran her hand through it to make sure it fully covered half her face, including her right eye. She struck a rather ragged sight, but she liked it that way. With that, she started home.

Azekah lived a ways away from Patches. She had to walk nearly across the whole town. On her way to and from work, she did lots of thinking about this and that. Today, her thoughts still dwelled on Mizzah, but also on the silver note he had given her. He must have been rich to have been able to afford to just give it away, but she had felt sympathy coming from him when he had given it to her. She briefly wondered if she should be insulted, but realized quickly that she didn't have enough dignity to be mad about free money.

Her thoughts wandered to what she should spend so much money on. She could pay rent for a good while with that, and that meant she could afford to treat herself for the first time in quite awhile. She wondered if she should buy a dessert like ice cream, or a pretty dress, or maybe even both! She smiled a little at the ideas.

Azekah arrived at her tiny house, which was tucked away in an alley near a few bigger houses and apartment buildings. The outside wall was covered in wood shingles, but inside, cheap plaster covered the walls. Azekah unlocked the door to her house and threw her bag in the corner. She then went into her tiny kitchen to eat what was left of the canned serving of green beans she had started eating the night before. The silence bothered her, so she flicked on the radio that was standard for all citizens of Solace.

“-vises all residents and businesses who desire to see the display to be within view of the main street by four o’clock pm today. Authorities advise that no one from the populous should get involved in any way or risk punishment of the highest degree. This demonstration is dangerous and must be treated as such.”

"Look," she said in a low voice. "I think this is different. It's about Solace, ok?" She locked eyes with him before turning back around to continue her march. "Solace?" he repeated to himself. Mizzah hurried to catch back up to Tomo.

Solace was a large city a half-days ride to the east of their city of Grant. The two cities had a long history of trade, especially food from the bountiful region of Grant in exchange for ores mined from the nearby mountains and whatever other seasonal resources could be gathered from the surrounding desert. Relations had soured over the past decade or so, to the point that trading parties and even messengers like Mizzah himself weren't even allowed inside the city...

"Hi Tomo! Hi Mizzah!" A child's voice interrupted his train of thought, and Mizzah looked up to see a small boy in regal garb, waving as he was being led in the opposite direction by a train of educators.

"Good evening Prince Julian," Tomo replied formally, nodding her head in respect as she passed him.

"Hi Julian!" Mizzah waved back with a smile. The boy beamed and turned his head to smile at them as they went by, shuffled off toward whatever princely duty was required of him this late in the day - bedtime, Mizzah hoped with a smirk.

"You really should address the royals with respect," Tomo scolded without turning back to look at him. "Oh fer cryin' out loud, Tomo. He'll hear all that 'sire' and 'majesty' stuff all his life, it doesn't hurt to treat him like a kid while he still is one." Tomo huffed. "Oh please," Mizzah continued as the two rounded a corner, taking the opportunity to trot up beside her. "Like I haven't seen you slip the Prince a sweet or two when he doesn't get desert." He took his turn to side-eye her as she blushed, clearly irritated that he knew her secret but unable to form a comeback, so she merely quickened her pace. Mizzah chuckled.

The two walked in silence for just a moment or two more before passing a couple of vestibules lined by guards until they stopped in front of a large, thick set of doors which were attended by another set of courtiers- the throne room. Tomo turned to him again and began fussing over his garb, smoothing out his shirt and brushing non-existent dust from his shoulders. Mizzah huffed as she began grabbing strays from his slicked back brunette hair and putting them back in place. He was always a little confused by her particular attitude toward how he looked. The more prim and proper his appearance, the less like a messenger he seemed, in his opinion anyway. But in matters of court, Tomo knew best, he decided.

Finally, she seemed satisfied and nodded to him to follow her. The two attendants swung the door open, and Tomo stepped through. "If you please sir," Tomo bowed low, "The Court Messenger, Mizzah, as you have requested."

"Please, enter!" came a deep voice that wasn't overly loud, but echoed around the chamber no less.

Tomo straightened, and Mizzah followed her down a red path toward the raised throne. He glanced around the room, noting an odd lack of guards or other nobles. This immediately made him nervous. Tomo and Mizzah stopped beside each other and bowed low in sync.

"Rise," came the voice again, this time much closer. Mizzah looked up to see King Maverick Sahir, a wizening man with long grey hair, purple garb, and wide crows feet set around his bright eyes. By and large, Mizzah liked the King - a bit less of a force than the Queen had been, rest her soul, but easy-going and reasonable. Plus, like his son, Mizzah found that he had a taste for speaking plainly.

"What can I do for ya', Majesty?" humility in his tone despite his vernacular. He knew Tomo would be rolling her eyes again if they weren't currently in royal attendance.

The king, who normally seemed rather jovial, sighed deeply before looking at the two in front of him and saying simply, "I'm afraid war with Solace may be on the horizon."

Mizzah froze. He'd heard of war, studied the history. Visions of blood and carnage, chaos and insanity flashed though his mind, and he shook his head to clear it. "Um..." he began, unsure of how to continue. "I... Are you sure?"

The King put a hand to his head. "Our tradesman have been hearing rumblings for awhile now. The chatter is getting worse, and its progressing to outright threats. Rovan will not communicate with me." Rovan was the ruler of Solace- old enough to have dealt with the Queen, but much younger than Maverick. On his travels, Mizzah had also heard rumors that Rovan was going mad, raving to courtiers, locking himself away in the dark for days on end. "Last week, I sent a diplomatic party to Solace. They were sent away without being seen." Mizzah hadn't heard of this, but Tomo probably had. The King continued, "Yesterday, a trading party was also turned away, although some of their goods were 'confiscated'." The King had said this last word though his teeth. "However, they returned with a letter from an agent of Rovan." The King then produced a letter from his cloak. He glared down at it, but didn't read straight from it. "It says that Rovan is willing to talk to a diplomatic party of one."

Tomo turned her head to look at Mizzah. Mizzah blinked. The King continued looking at the paper, just to avoid looking at him, Mizzah felt. "W-what does this mean?" Mizzah asked genuinely. "Um... I mean, this is an opportunity, right?"

The King looked up, his face distressed. "Mizzah, I'm concerned about the one I send. I have no idea the state Grant or Rovan is in... but... I want to take every opportunity available in order to avoid a war..." he dropped his head. "I can't let my people... my city... my son endure a war," he said softly. Mizzah and Tomo glanced worriedly at one another before the King spoke up again, head still down. "Mizzah, can I ask you to go to Solace? Talk to Rovan, and tell him anything, absolutely anything to avoid a war."

Mizzah stared sadly at the King, his dejected posture pathetically draped around the throne, and he found himself especially glad the rest of court wasn't here to see the King this vulnerable. Suddenly, he felt a nudge at his side and looked to see Tomo gesturing a 'shooing' hand motion at him. He grimaced and drooped his shoulders, denoting what a weighty task he was being asked to perform. In response, Tomo imitated a mock-fighting pose with her fists in front of herself. Mizzah lowered his eyelids sarcastically. Tomo's eyes went to the ceiling briefly, making a show of thinking hard. Mizzah added a frown to his countenance. Finally, she looked down suddenly and then flipped her head up, a flat hand waving back imaginary hair in the same direction in a flourish, after which she flashed him a smile, rare, but genuine. Seeing Tomo mimic his jokingly charming gesture, Mizzah finally smiled back. She was right- he could do this.

The King finally looked up, after taking the extended silence for gravitational contemplation rather than the charade-like conversation it had been. "I understand if-" he began.

"You got it, Majesty!" Mizzah piped up, shoulders raised, a confident smile on his face.

The King raised his posture as well, surprised by Mizzah's response. "I... Thank you, Mizzah." Tomo was smiling as well, giving the King a bit more enthusiasm for this plan as well.

"Don't mention it!" Mizzah put his hands on his hips. "I'll lay on all the charm I got! I'll keep us out of war if it's the last thing I do!" He clapped his hands together. "Just gimme all the info I need, and I'll head off tonight!"

The King sat up straight; Mizzah's confidence was infectious. "Wonderful! Tomo! Please update Mizzah on all relevant royal affairs and make sure everyone is aware of his negotiating power. Prepare him for travel as well. Give him everything he needs to get going fast!" He once more sounded like a King.