Drogo sat alone in the alehouse with a large mug of ale. He was fuming with anger and was sure that this was the beginning of his downfall if he didn't do something to stop it. Both his kids were taken by Lord Lazarus. He sold the first one while the second one was taken forcibly. He held his head in his hands, feeling like a fool. How could he trust his wife so easily? Why didn't he read the signs of her behavior?
He drank his ale and started thinking of how to rescue his image. With rebellion gone, his importance and reputation in the village would go down sharply. The girl who was serving ale to all, refilled his glass. He was about to finish the second one when he heard how people were murmuring as they stole glances at him.
"I heard from my wife that his wife had also gone there on invitation," said the blacksmith.
"Yes, Avice kept this a secret from us. What for? To maintain their image? Did she think that she would be alone there?" said his companion.
"She is such a hypocrite. I heard that when Lord Lazarus offered her to take care of Angus, she protested. So the prince had to offer her lot of palace treasure."
"Really? Does that mean that she was offered a bribe for him to take care of her son? Isn't that ridiculous? If Lord Lazarus would have asked for my son, I would have given him for a better life!"
"Not only that," the blacksmith gossiped. "Their daughter, Emma, never went to their relative's place. She was in the palace and is now appointed at the Advisor for the village. Can you imagine that? Lord Lazarus has taken the rebel leader's children and gave them the best jobs one could even think of. This means that he is waving an olive branch at us."
"That's right!" His companion snickered and gulped half his mug down. "He and his wife are such hypocrites. Had our wives not been invited to the palace, we would have never come to know the reality!"
"Lord Lazarus has given so much jewelry to our wives. He is so kind. He has promised to look at all the village issues. But Drogo was painting such a horrible picture of him," the blacksmith added.
Drogo glared at them. He gulped his ale down and got up rather shakily. He walked to them and punched the blacksmith on the face. "You are labeling me as a bigot!" Drogo shouted.
The blacksmith got up, shook his head and punched him right back. "Yes. Both you and your wife are bigots!"
"You!" Drogo launched himself on the blacksmith and soon both were rolling on the ground with blows landing on each other.
The owner had to intervene along with a few others to separate them.
Drogo wiped the blood from his forehead, wiped his mouth and walked out, cursing everyone. He wanted to go and release his anger more by going home and punching his wife, but he turned to go to a lonely place. He walked to the point at the foothills of the mountain from where the climb to the palace began. As he looked up at the distant palace that was lit with torches and looking majestic against the backdrop of the night, he couldn't help thinking that both his children were there. He was never close to Emma but he loved his son. He stabbed his fingers in his hair and was about to sit on a boulder when all of a sudden, a large shadow flew in the sky, its dark silhouette stark against the white moon. It was a dragon. His eyes went wide with shock.
"Drogo!" A voice disturbed him. He whipped his head to look behind. One of his men was running towards him. He gritted his teeth and turned to see the dragon, but it wasn't there anymore. Did it mean that his first wife had come back?
"What do you want?" Drogo snapped at him.
The man came panting towards him. He was panting heavily. He bent over and placed his hands on his thighs as he took a deep breath in. "News from the north has come. Two villages that were severely affected by cold and perpetual snow are marked by the king to pay taxes!"
Drogo's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
The man sat on a boulder. "These two villages are low in producing crops and there are very few families left. They are usually exempted from taxes because of terrible living conditions."
"Exempted? How?" Drogo was surprised. That was never the case with the king and his men.
"They are exempted unofficially," the man replied. "It's the king's men who overlook these villages often because of the fact that they are reeling under the effect of heavy snow all the time. The king also doesn't take notice of them because eventually how much taxes would these people pay?" He shook his head. "I don't know why but this time the king hasn't relented. He has sent his sons, Jade and Jasper to collect taxes. And the problem is that both of them have resorted to whipping and torturing the villagers to extract taxes. They have threatened the villagers that they would have to evacuate the village if they won't pay taxes."
"That is absurd!" Drogo snapped. "How can the royals treat the villagers like that? What has gone wrong with the king?"
The man shrugged. "No idea. We all don't know what it is that the king is thinking. It's weird. Those two villages are just too poor."
Drogo stared at the informant for a long time while trying to understand the king's mentality. If this continued, the villagers would rebel. Did the king want the villagers to rebel against him? But just a few days back, Drogo had received the information that the rebellion had mellowed down. So why would the king take such a drastic step against himself? Was it because he wanted the villagers to continue with their rebellion? But what would he gain out of it?
"We need to go to those villages with our people as soon as possible," the man said. "We have to take a few of our men if we have to combat the atrocities of the princes."
Drogo nodded. "Let me think about it," he said. "Ask the main men to gather in the meeting chamber of the potter. We have to make a solid strategy before we go to those villages."
The man nodded and was about to leave when Drogo stopped him. "How far are the villages?"
"About two days from here."
As Drogo walked to his home, he started thinking again about the king's reaction. Sending two princes to collect taxes and that too from such poor villages seemed like a very crafted act. Drogo rounded a corner. He peeped in the kitchen of a home and saw a woman blowing air to the logs in the stove to build a healthy fire. And suddenly, he realized what the king was doing. He wanted the rebellion to continue but at what cost? Why would the king want to continue the rebellion? What would he gain? What was his game?
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