[Story] [Charles Frederickson] - "A Burden Shared Upon Other Shoulders"
( I realized I had like, zero writing on Charles's placement in power, so I decided to write up a short blurb about him, his land, and how he met his heir. Feel free to give any commentary you feel is necessary. I finished writing this at like, 2 in the morning so I probably need it. )
It was said that Viscount Charles Frederickson of Belgrave’s adjustment to nobility was a slow process. The land he was given, however, could be considered tailored to him if no one knew better. The land of Arathi was often regarded as harsh, the men of the Highlands boasting its hardships as training grounds for their virility and strength.
The Viscounty of Belgrave was the exception to the rule. While the climate could be considered brisk at its most mellow, it was one of the few heavily wooded areas of the Arathi Highlands. Amongts the tall trees and mountains surrounding it, the town was well fortified by nature itself.
The hefty Viscount wouldn’t have it any other way, as a druid of the harvest. His position of power left him in an awkward position regardless. Born of common blood in Gilneas, he retained that status until a year and a half ago when the Duchess of the land gave him his current title.
He did well as a face of a new set of blood in the Duchy of Brightdale. A crushing tax rate and dwindling grain shipments tested the self-sufficiency of Belgrave greatly. Seeds of dissent towards the Blackwinds were sewn in this manner, distrust blooming like a weed begging to be culled.
Charles’s presence among Belgrave sent ripples upon arrival. His background was unknown, though the man’s friendly demeanor and calculated transparency resolved the rumors as they were starting. Among the lumberjacks, the miners, and the wash of commonfolk in his town his interactions with them were nearly as much of a presence as the overbearing tax rates he was credited for slashing immediately. As boisterous as he was, still today his town’s trust grew as a slow build. Some resented the blood of another nation mixed with the blood of the Highlands. Some distrust the druid’s motives, seeing only a face to placate the masses.
Whether or not the things voiced were founded was unknown to the town. Most dismissed it as chatter, citizens still riding on the high of lighter tax policies instilled.
But a face was a still a face. Those who remain close to Charles knew he would need help running a Viscounty. As advisors were listed and counsel gathered, Charles stumbled upon the son of a brother he once knew, a bastard child to one of a few Fredericksons who ran from the Greymane wall as it was built.
But it was his mother who defined how Charles saw him. A trip to Stormwind brought him to the former heir of barony named Celadon’s Grasp in the Elwynn Forest, Craig Delathain.
A youthful face framed by fair hair styled in a manner most would call odd looked up at Charles, the druid a far taller man than he. Craig, who at this point could only recently be called a man, spoke with a soft tongue that carried confident tone. “I believe you are Viscount Belgrave, Charles Frederickson. But I believe it would be best if I regarded you with a title most relevant to the both of us. It is my pleasure to meet you, Uncle Dearest.”
Charles, whom at the time had only come to the Mage District of Stormwind for business, gave a stare most dumbfounded as he scratched his beard. His head tilted as he uttered oafishly. “What? Do I know you?” He said.
Craig, a boy of unimpressive height, beckoned his uncle as he turned to walk. “You probably do not. But you will know one of the names I speak of. I am Craig Delathain, the son of Denice Delathain, the late Baroness of Celadon’s Grasp. I am the bastard son of Archibald Frederickson. I have learned recently that you are the Viscount of Belgrave, an area in the Duchy of Brightdale in Arathi. I have come for a proposition.” His words flowed like fine wine from lips that looked too young to consume such.
Viscount Frederickson’s eyes widened at the second name the boy dropped. “Archie? He’s still around?” He said in disbelief. It had been decades since he last saw his older brothers. Such news piqued his curiosity.
Craig shook his head. “I am afraid not. Both of my parents have ceased to be. It is shameful, and I am sorry that you must learn about your brother in this way.” He said.
Charles looked down briefly. “I see.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Well. That’s… depressing. So what of him, then? Did he speak of me? How do you know all of this?”
The boy shrugged. “I am sure he would have, if we had ever spoken at all. I am a bastard son, if you have been paying attention. Besides, information is my weapon. But I do know enough to say that we are blood related, and are in need of something the other has.”
Charles looked down to Craig as they continued their walk. “And that is…?” He asked.
Craig gave a soft smile. “I require a station, a place on the ladder to replace the one stolen from me. You require an heir to maintain legitimacy in your own station. I also know your Duchess is lenient.”
The Viscount furrowed two bushy brows, as he spoke with caution. “You want to be my heir?” He said slowly, piecing together the request. “Why wouldn’t you assume I would, uh… make my own?”
To that question the boy laughed softly, before he spoke in a tone most confident. “From the intelligence I’ve acquired, you have taken a few male lovers before your rise to power. I believe a couple afterward, as well.” He stopped and looked the taller man in the face. “Procreation is not on your list of priorities, nor does it need to be. The laws your Duchess have set in her lands look kindly upon adoption.”
Charles’s brows slowly became unknitted as the pieces started to fit in his mind. “So what makes you more valuable than some kid in an Arathi orphanage as an heir?”
Craig’s smile only grew wrier. “You hurt me uncle, comparing me to the rabble. I know you have no experience running anything other a fruit stand in Gilneas. I was primed and raised to maintain a Barony in Elwynn. At least until my mother befell the unfortunate fate of being an actual serial killer. We can discuss that fun topic later, though, as I can also function as your court wizard as well.”
Charles quirked a brow. “You don’t look old enough to do more than a few magic tricks.” He said, voice thick with skepticism.
It was after that the boy’s form flickered. As if it were a simple image, it suddenly dematerialized. The Viscount jumped as he felt a finger prod into his slightly tubby side. The boy looked up at Charles with mischief in his eyes, he gave the druid some space. “Does that count? You were speaking to an image the entire time. A flawless deception, if I say so myself.” He bowed, before continuing. “You will know my other specialties in time.”
Charles tilted his head once more. “…I see.” He said, as he scratched his beard once more. “I…” He began, before pausing. A few more moments were taken to think the situation through before he let out an unsure grunt. “I don’t really have a reason to say no, Craig. You blindside me with all this information you have about me and give a compelling argument. So.” He paused awkwardly, a hand outstretched. “Welcome to the-... team, I suppose.”
Craig took the calloused hand with his much smaller, softer hand and shook firmly. “Thank you for giving me this chance. You will not regret this decision.”
And since that day, the load on Charles’s shoulders seemed less overbearing than it was before.
