Military Inspections

[Alan Dale]

The barracks and training grounds adjacent to the palace were constantly filled with an ever-changing group of men of various levels of military standing, as rotations swapped, patrols changed, men were discharged and others enlisted. Alan was there relatively little, since his work as a military scout kept him working throughout the country and only in the city for short periods of active duty and slightly shorter periods of leave.

It was on one such period of city duty (often termed 'rest duty' by the others in Alan's patrol due to its lightness in comparison with their normal work) that Alan found himself turned out in dress uniform and awaiting inspection by none other than the heir to the throne, something that seemed to awe many of his fellow soldiers but meant relatively little to him. Growing up so far away from the capital, kings had been but a distant dream aside from the taxes they demanded, and although his allegiance was pledged to the king and thus his son (as the whole army's was), Alan felt little personal connection with the crown.

And so he stood towards the head of his unit, as his advanced scout position allowed him, and kept to correct military form, although he could not help but think of better uses for his time and those who could read his behaviour well would have been able to note his pleasure when a superior officer approached the ranks to speak to him briefly about the borderland terrain that he had just ridden from.

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

Marcellus' arrival was announced loudly -- chiming bells, loud horns, and a dozen or so men of higher rank aligned perfectly with one another down each side of the path guiding to the tent in which he'd come to reside in, however temporarily. This sort of investigation was often left to his father, but Arcturus was a busy man (always busy bashing his mother and making the world a more miserably place to live in) and so Marcellus was asked to step in, represent the country he'd come to dislike.

"At ease."

A sweeping gesture was made as a way to salute the group that stood before him rather than each individual -- they were important to the country, yes, risking their lives in order to keep it as safe as possible -- but meant very little to nothing at all to Marcellus. This was clear in his aggravation. "You," And Marcellus pointed to Alan who had unknowingly become his target by aligning himself closest to the tent. "Come with me and get me up to the date on our current numbers."

[Alan Dale]

Alan saluted swiftly and took a step forward before giving one of the bows that had been drilled into him from his training. "Your highness. I am at your service."

He stood ready to follow the prince wherever he wanted to go and decided that today was one of the days that he would not be remembering for being particularly lucky. Alan had no interest in currying favour with nobles or showing himself to be open to progress through the ranks (although had he wished it, he would have been able to do so with relatively little trouble).

Despite his inner regret that he had been the one chosen, Alan's tone and behaviour were of utmost respect, calm and proficiency. It was his default setting, which his fellow soldiers had considered quite remarkable upon his arrival, since the majority of the time he used it was all men, superior, equal or lower in rank, although now they were generally used to it.

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

"Of course you are," Marcellus remarked. Wasn't that what they were hired for -- to represent the finest of the country, offer support to those members in society so desperately needing it? With a shake of his head to show his annoyance (Marcellus, unlike his father, had very little control over his anger), he motioned for Alan to take a seat as he went about inspecting the tent.

Certainly not up to his standards, but there would be very little that was in a camp designed to house so many beneath him in rank.

"How many soldiers can we expect to find on the battlefield? Keep in mind my father has decided against sending the newly recruited -- training should be completed before being thrust into battle, and I have to agree."

[Alan Dale]

Although he was in no position to comment, Alan found that the prince's attitude irked (underneath his blank mask, at any rate). Of course, he was the prince, and thus rightly used to much better than such areas as the military barracks and outdoor training arenas, but such a show of superior displeasure could not fail to register somewhat negatively with a person who had made his home there upon leaving the country. Alan was far too practiced to let such feelings show (in tone, expression, or behaviour), as he sat down as instructed, but it was a fact that the prince had not made a spectacular impression so far.

He felt that given the situation, the best thing to do would be to sum up the information succinctly and respectfully, and hope that the prince would be quickly satisfied and dismiss him.
"There are currently five field-ready regiments - six if you include Haversham's, supposing their tour of duty is at a point where the men are not severely depleted and which would allow immediate travel. There are also seven specialist units ready for mobilisation, although they would be of limited use on the traditional battlefield, your highness. Within a fortnight two further reserve regiments would be available."

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

Numbers. All numbers and nonsense, none of which Marcellus knew much about or cared to. After all, this was his father's specialty -- controlling, instructing the military units in whichever way Arcturus saw fit. The unsettled feelings that had come to overwhelm either country was also left to his father, who made it difficult at all for the treaty to hold considering his treatment of Marcellus' mother.

Details now that caused Marcellus to clench his jaw and turn abruptly away from Alan as he raged on, still, on the this and that of the ranks.

Eventually, Marcellus lifted a hand, motioning for Alan to pause in his lecture as he turned and met his gaze most curiously. "Do you honestly believe our military are ready for what could become a never-ending war?"

[Alan Dale]

Marcellus' look of curiosity was returned by one of Alan's own, although much milder and more controlled. "Unending war, your highness? Frankly, no. It's highly doubtful that it could withstand a relatively short war. Even supposing conscription were introduced in the early weeks of a conflict, it would not sufficiently swell the ranks enough to provide a solid defensive block, although there our terrain works to our advantage. Of course, that would also plunge the land into crisis."

Aware that were he to be hanged for a small admission he may as well be hanged for a large one, Alan stood with a bow and gestured to a map with previous conflicts plotted out on a table.
"And as you can see, previous highly aggressive attacks by our army in the past have never been particularly effective, because they never utilise the more effective specialised units that should be the core of any cohesive force for a land such as ours but are instead relegated to the outskirts of the army. Sir."
Realising that despite his tone being moderate and more than respectful, and his response intelligent and honest, he had probably spoken out of place and had certainly said far more than he should have (no wonder his father had spoken of city-dwellers as babbling fools, Alan thought wryly), Alan fell silent and surveyed the heir to the throne with thoughtful eyes.

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

Had Marcellus been at all like his father Alan would have received a quick slap across the cheek as guards were called in, ordered to force the man to his knees, and his life taken there in the very tent they stood now. However, Marcellus found Alan's honesty to his liking -- it was exactly what he wanted to hear. A war, a war that would undoubtedly begin sooner rather than later, that would quite possible end his father's egoistical reign of power. End the control he held so tightly around Marcellus' mother and himself. And end with a bang.

"Have you heard any rumours from the men of switching sides? Leaving us once and for all and joining the ranks of an army more likely to win?"

[Alan Dale]

"Your highness, some men will always leave, it is the nature of things. But the commanders, presumably at his majesty's command, swell the ranks with mercenaries, and many of these have found themselves... alternative employment, recently. And it is certain that a larger proportion of the non-mercenary men are unsatisfied, even if not all have been provoked to leave as yet."

Alan gave the heir to the throne an almost bland look that hid his surging curiousity at the young man's questions - Alan was no fool, despite his outspokenness, and the prince had almost seemed eager at the possibility of dissent.
"The commanders would no doubt give you better figures for deserters if you require them, highness. Very few specialists desert to join another force, due to a lack of roles for them rather than anything else, so we experience it little in our company."
What Alan did not mention and did not think he needed to was that specialist deserters were far more likely to be hunted down and recovered than their unskilled brothers in arms.

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

"No, no, that will be unnecessary, though thank you for the offer. I was merely curious." Marcellus lifted a hand to absently wave between them, as if this mere act dismissed all of which was said. Though, with a look, Marcellus managed to catch Alan's seeming curiosity and with a smile he motioned (with the same hand) for him to sit.

"Make yourself comfortable and I'll tell you a bit of a why I'm after these things. It might benefit you in the end, if you know of it before hand, know of what to expect."

[Alan Dale]

Might benefit...? Keeping care not to let it show much as he gave a half-bow to the prince and sat in the seat indicated, Alan turned over the man's words in his head. This was not simply the routine check of an heir keeping himself familiar with the functioning of the military.
And in his (granted, somewhat limited) experience, senior officers or ranking nobility did not just explain their motives, intentions, or sensitive information without a specific reason.
It could mean trouble in his future, but although Alan enjoyed a degree of simplicity in his life he also trusted to the gods that he would be watched over, and so he was if not overly eager then he was certainly quite willing to hear Marcellus' explanation.

"Your highness." The title was more a gesture of respect than a question.

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

"You see, " Marcellus began, one leg coming to cross over the other as he sat further back in his seat and allowed his gaze to drift from the soldier to that of the top of the tent. His attention lingered there a moment, observing silently each crease and fold that came to make up the barracks in which these men called home. Eventually, Marcellus turned his focus back to the task at hand and glanced at Alan curiously.

"Well, I suppose I ought to ask your name before I begin. What is it?" Fingers came to drum idly over the table that Marcellus had seated himself behind (his father's desk, no doubt), awaiting his answer rather impatiently.

[Alan Dale]

"Dale, your highness. Alan Dale of the Second Irregulars."
The whole situation stank of some sort of intrigue, and whilst that was not a game he enjoyed, it was something that nevertheless it was vital to keep an ear listening out for whilst the unit was stationed at the capital. If one ignored intrigue and internal politics - choosing whether or not to partake in it was another matter and personal choice to a certain extent - then one would not get anywhere at all in the higher ranks.

He did not sit at ease in the chair, but he was comfortable enough as he directed his level gaze at Marcellus.

[Marcellus Aneirin Mulciber]

"My father -- I'm sure you're aware of him, his presence is one that does not go unnoticed. He's not the sort of man young men should pledge their life to follow the orders of. In fact," and Marcellus gave a hearty, yet bitter sort of chuckle, his hands coming to rest on the top of the table that lingered between he and Dale. "He's exactly the sort of man to get us killed. He's cocky, fails to think things through, and his loyalty.. it hardly lies within this country. It hardly lies within the ranks."

For a moment Marcellus sat in silence and allowed Alan time enough to absorb what all he had just thrown at him for it was quite a hefty amount of information, and not the sort so easily taken. With a single rise of his shoulder, he met his gaze again, the bitter chuckle leaving a smirk at the corner of his lips. "I'm considering showing this country just the sort of man he is, and just the sort of man they need to put in his place."

[Alan Dale]

It was more than he expected to be said outright, but not entirely unsuspected considering what the prince had said earlier. Out of all that had been said to him, Alan picked up on one major point immediately - what was being said was treason, the crown prince treasonous. Whether what he said was true or not would hardly matter if his father of his father's advisers discovered the prince's inclination for rebellion before said rebellion that he appeared to be plotting had occurred.

"Forgive my bluntness, your highness, but you're not telling me this to pass the time of day." He looked at Marcellus as intently as if he was trying to see his soul. "What is it that you want of me?"