The next day dawned dull and rainy, and the perpetual drizzle kept everyone confined indoors except Morgan, who seemed to take bizarre pleasure in undesirable weather. Not at all enticed by the chill downpour, I found myself with nothing better to do than pace the halls. I had paused in my meanderings to have a closer look at an ornate tapestry, when diversion suddenly presented itself in the form of a dripping wet Morgan, who materialized at my shoulder, scaring me half to death. "One of these days, I'm going to tie bells to your boots," I complained, unable to completely repress a smile. "If you were paying attention, you wouldn't need to," he replied, amiably. He smelled like wet leather. Peering over my shoulder at the tapestry I'd been perusing, he added, "I didn't know you cared for needlework." "I don't," I objected, "I was just ... " I trailed off, realizing that he was already heading down the hallway, unmindful of the trail of water that he left in his wake. I hurried to catch up with him, and succeeded just as he entered the hall and peeled off his wet gloves, tossing them on the table. "I don't know why you insist on going outside in this weather," I commented, depositing myself in the chair at his right hand. "I thrive on adversity," he replied, "and besides, it's better than examining the tapestries." "Very funny, I'm sure," I grumbled. Changing the subject, I politely asked how it pleased him to be home. "It pleases me that I am no longer forced to leave my lands in the stewardship of others," he responded, his dark eyes narrowing. "Who managed your duties while you were away?" I inquired, surprised at the tone of his reply. He made a curt, dismissive gesture with his hand. "Garrick; he did as well as I would expect. But he is not capable of meting out justice as it is warranted. Not as I would have done." A little puzzled at his change in mood, I ventured, "Surely nothing has gone amiss, beyond the usual minor troubles." "All is of consequence," he told me darkly, "these troubles that you deem minor are the biting gnats that make a deadly swarm against order. The peasants steal from me wherever they dare; at the beckoning of a scullery maid, men at arms drop their swords to give chase. This is not as I would have it! I cannot and will not abide it." He lapsed into tempestuous silence, and in disbelief, I responded, "It is against all human nature to bend utterly to the will of another. It is not possible!" "And I tell you that it is entirely possible. It is far less complicated than you imagine. Simple justice is the manner in which it will be accomplished; brutal justice, yes, but what justice is not brutal? Mercy is merely a weakness of the impotent, a pretty excuse for cowardice. And human nature? People are sheep, by and large, and may be herded accordingly." If anyone but Morgan Brisbane had spoken these words to me, I might have laughed. But Morgan I would never consider laughing at; and not merely because he might decide to behead me on the spot (unlikely, but you could never tell), but more truly because there was something of steel in his very nature, a fierce will that would bow to no-one and shrink from nothing. And so, instead of laughing, I felt increasingly uneasy. "It is useless to try to change people," I said, at length, "no matter what laws you might create, someone will always break them." "Perhaps others find it useless to try. I find it craven and foolish to fear the attempt. Command over men requires that they fear the consequences of their actions." "Fear, then, is the key to fealty? You would inspire men to hatred sooner." "Fear is the ore of a man's heart; mined by those who would forge a weapon of it." "And you are strong enough to use men's fear thus?" I asked, rashly. Of course he was; I knew the answer without having to hear it spoken aloud. His gaze met mine briefly, and I saw that he knew it as well. (Art/Story in collaboration with Carneithwen)