A week passes with a minor incident..

The following day, Sir Giles asked if he could say a few words to you in private before he and Count Lamar's company of men departed (you certainly hoped the goblins or whomever they were going to fight didn't kill all of them - what a wasted effort all this would have been). Your chambermaids conveyed your sincerest regrets to the knight but offered him a parting gift of a jar of Undrek's finest moisturizing lotion. The idea of that handsome knight furiously polishing his lance while reliving that one lucky hour he had with you, over and over again, made you titter with delight every time you thought about it. You even waved to him, along with Count Lamar (of course!) as they passed back out of the gates.

For the next two days you were occupied sorting out a particularly thorny criminal case. Although you did have a judge serving under you, you'd appointed the old fool because she was easily manipulated by you - when you actually *wanted* to judge a case accurately on the merits, you needed to do the job yourself.

The conundrum was thus: two soldiers from somewhere in the vast overseas empire of Al-Anashab had been visiting Undrek as part of a caravan under the sultan's protection, trading olive oil and spices for dyes, medicine and perfume (your county's chief exports). One of these two guards, a horse-beastman, had gotten too rowdy with one of the girls at one of Undrek's less prestigious bordellos, and the other women, incensed, had inflicted an especially vicious and painful disfigurement on him (apparently the equine fellow's comment about an uncooperative woman's resistance only heightening his excitement had been considered especially vile). The second soldier, a human, was roused from a nearby bed by the commotion and soon begin threatening the prostitutes responsible with a loaded crossbow.

At that point, a privileged young knight from northern Itheria had taken offense - not so much to the conduct of the beastman or the fact that this foreigner was threatening women, but with the weapon itself. Apparently, like many hotheaded young knights, this fellow had an **** dislike for crossbows and was incensed to see their usage spreading through Itheria, especially borne by foreigners. Or perhaps his favorite girl was one of the ones it had been pointed at. Either way, bloodshed occurred. Despite being shot in the gut, the knight had managed to messily kill the caravan guard with a sturdy glass ale mug. Now, you had two wounded idiots both sending messengers back home to try and escalate matters.

Ordering your chirurgeons to... arrange a hasty decline in the health of both the feuding parties was tempting. As luck would have it the Itherian lad died the following day anyhow. Generous gift to his family, eloquently written condolences, done and done. You followed that up with an gift of additional goods to the caravan master in return for persuading him to pressure the poor gelded beastman into admitting guilt for the whole affair (under threat of being stripped of his rank and thereby marooned in a foreign land). This all would've been wrapped up in a neat little package if your foolish guards had kept their mouths shut.

But word leaked out, and a few days later, your received a note from Count Mace, whom your own scouts had been keeping tabs on, politely informing you that he was sending a regiment of troops to 'patrol' the southern half of your domain due to the 'recent unrest' (his words). Knowing how ambitious that man was, you knew that this might very well be a prelude to aggressive action against you, or at the very least, an ongoing and intrusive presence in your land. Your county had been something of a moral eyesore to Itheria for a time now and it was possible that Count Mace could pressure you into marriage or otherwise take over Undrek by dint of military **** while the other nobles stood idly by in a way they never would if a "respectable" county was bullied in such a way.

Naturally your first inclination was to head off any potential aggression by dealing with Count Mace on a personal level. But it was a violent era, and your mother had taught you well that although submission rather than martial valor was Undrek's way, the town could not be allowed to appear a tempting target, some pathetic village that fell to its knees and pleaded for mercy in response to the mere rumor that an army was passing through.

"No," your mother had said, "Undrek is a beautiful and confident lady, and so she plays hard to get and asks a high price before she lays down. Those who come to dominate us might succeed, but never too cheaply. That is why we have Captain Aeson's company, and the militia. Hold your own against aggression from any quarter, and THEN compromise."

The most prudent course, it seemed to you, was to start staging drills of Undrek's militia (or "The Rabble" as they were often called) to demonstrate that you were far from helpless and to make sure that they wouldn't be completely worthless to the town's defense, if it came to that.

Johari's objection was a certainty. She and her order of necromancers had been agitating for a grandiose public works program of reclaiming usable land from the marsh, which was why she objected so strenuously to large chunks of the population (particularly the male population) being dragged off to serve in some legion or another.

...

Sure as the sun rises, the next day (a week after Lamar's visit) is occupied with Aeson and Johari sniping at one another... and you... over the breakfast table. "Even if it were not an atrocious waste of manpower, you will only provoke this other Count or those like him by training and showing off that collection of armed dregs you like to call a militia."

"Did not one of your philosophers once say 'If you want peace, prepare for war'? And besides, I would've thought you people would be delighted at the prospect of having piles of fresh bodies to play around with." the handsome elf said flippantly.

"What do you mean 'you people'?" Johari said challengingly, puffing out her chest and placing her hands on her hips.

Just as you were about to proudly declare that by making better use of the (non-sexual, er, non-necessarily-sexual) powers of the witches of the Crooked Tower, you could devote resources to both priorities at once, an unusual request reaches you - a Baron's daughter from the Crownlands has come here, asking for an audience with you to plead her case about something or another. You've never heard of this girl before and it seems vaguely suspicious, but you offhandedly state that she can speak to you while you're overseeing the drills later today.

"You know, Johari, you were a much happier and more agreeable person to be around the day after that man-at-arms who came with Lamar gave you a good, hard lay." you say teasingly. "You should try it more often. Prove to some more skeptical men that just because you study the dead doesn't mean you've given up on the pleasures of life."

Captain Aeson just shrugs and smirks, chiming in with an unprepossessing "Right??"

"Anyway," you say, pushing your plate of pastries away (you loved to wastefully eat out the jelly at the middle of them and leave the rest of the bread-y bits for the dogs), "Both of you come with me, and sheathe your barbed tongues for a while. We'll have a guest visitor today, a young lady."

"Oh, you have my attention already..." the elven mercenary said, inspecting his nails vainly.