Leander had long become accustomed to the constant presence of Nevermerean soldiers in Gilead. Agents of the pestilence that threatened the heart of Coheed, they scurried like vermin through city streets and were about as welcome and numerous as such pests, too - at least, by any true Coheedsman. The plague-carrying creatures had, of course, been welcomed with open arms by none other than the man who claimed to have Coheed’s best interests at heart even as he worked to eradicate everything that made their kingdom what it was. First Gilead, then Nevermere, then the elevation of the female sex. All of it was utterly shameful.

With the next round of soldiers due to arrive, Leander made his way up the little rise that provided something of a view over the docks only to find the haunt already occupied. A handful of years his junior, Ferrul Brawleyson had earned a reputation as the kind of man who found success as a warrior: the kind of man who both started and ended fights. A lifetime of experience had taught Leander that such warriors seldom took very kindly to his presence, so as he drew to a stop carefully out of arms reach - far too many times had he been grabbed and dragged around for forgetting such a precaution - he returned the nod. Keeping the other man in his peripherals, Leander turned his attention back to the Nevermereans. Then: “Came to enjoy the show?”

As he was wont to do, Leander listened quietly to Ferrul’s complaints, too long accustomed to the screech of a whetstone on steel to flinch at the unpleasant noise. Sensitive hearing was useful in many regards, but in others, it became rather inconvenient. When he was a boy, the noise of the training grounds in his tribe had been overwhelming.

But that was neither here nor there. Ferrul clearly had some strong feelings on their Nevermerean parasites. Leander found himself wondering how far they went. He made a noise of agreement, then, and glanced over at the other man. “Blind, deaf, and weak,” He summarized silkily. “Yet our chieftan has bent his knee to them, just as the one before him did.” To no one’s surprise, given that the two men were brothers. “And Rian has even claimed one for his wife.”

Well, Leander found himself musing as he listened to the warrior spit out another round of insults. If Nevermere ever sought a man to sing their praises, they would do well to overlook this one.

Ferrul might have initially attempted to keep his opinions on the chieftains a secret, but his smaller companion had turned to watch his expression. Keen eyes practiced at reading the nuances in the body language of his conversation partners catalogued the disgust that flickered across Ferrul’s countenance: the twitch of his upper lip, the tension in his jaw, the clenched fingers on the whetstone and sword. The other man himself only confirmed a moment later through a largely typical Coheedian statement.

Yes, Ferrul, one can safely assume that by marrying her, Rian is invested in his Nevermerean wife’s exclusivity, Leander thought but did not say. Some men had brains. Some men had brawn. The Nevermereans, according to the warrior beside him, had neither.

“They have not earned their places at the table,” He agreed smoothly, elaborating on the warrior’s perspective. “Yet they sit there anyway. Eating our food. Scorning our traditions. Dishonoring our strongest warriors by considering themselves equal.“ A pause. “How can you stand it, Ferrul?”

What he lacked in brute strength, Leander made up for in intelligence. He knew exactly what he had tempted by needling Ferrul. Keenly aware of the short fuse owned by every Coheedsman, his attention hadn’t strayed from the large one beside him, so when the other warrior abruptly shifted and stood, the smaller man had already prepared for some display of aggression.

The blow toward his head was easy to dodge, and, in his opinion, utterly unnecessary. Honestly. The things he dealt with on a daily basis.

“No true warrior could,” Leander soothed, hands loosely open in front of him as if subtly trying to placate the man. “But I am not your enemy, Ferrul. I recognize that you are the epitome of a Coheedsman: strong, proud, and honorable.” With one hand, he gestured toward the Nevermereans below. “How do you intend to make them see the same?”

Asserting that the Nevermereans needed to learn boundaries did not technically answer the question that he had asked, Leander silently bemoaned. In so many of the men around him, every ounce of intelligence seemed to be put toward posturing rather than any amount of thought. Though he took advantage of such shortcomings as much as possible, sometimes they caused him great pain as well.

Still, at least the warrior had lowered his sword.

Leander made an agreeable noise at Ferrul’s words, turning again to watch the soldiers disembark, though he kept the other warrior in his peripherals. “Will you be the one to teach them such boundaries? You’re a respected warrior, after all. An example to every Coheedsman of what they can become.” A brief pause. “Why not become an example to all of them of why they ought to respect us?”

“Careful, Ferrul,” Leander cautioned with a wry smile. “Keep talking like that and I might start believing you think me capable of fighting.” He knew how the other warriors viewed him, even if they refrained from voicing such thoughts. “You know as well as I how any altercation would end.” A pause.

“And I have no plans.” He shrugged, glancing back at the other warrior. “I merely thought to point out that if you wish to establish such boundaries with these people, what better time to do so than with newcomers who have yet to learn the lay of the land?”

As Ferrul stood, Leander backed up a step and offered the other man a pleasant smile. “You are a warrior of Coheed, Ferrul, and when warriors want something, they take it.” He gestured lazily with one hand toward the Nevermereans below. “You want them to learn how they ought to behave. The window of opportunity to most effectively teach them grows smaller with each passing day.” After all, bad habits quickly took root and always grew with increasing tenacity.

Unless stopped, Leander would back away before turning to make a casual exit, keenly aware of the warrior he left behind. But he wouldn’t go silently. Only once he had tossed a light, “Just something to consider,” carelessly over his shoulder would he depart.