The Royal Advisor

He does not wear armor.
He wears memory.
An old man wrapped in tide-colored robes - deep green, black, and drowned teal - fabric flowing like a quiet sea at night. His silhouette is thin, almost ascetic. Priest-like. Untouchable.
He speaks rarely. When he does, kingdoms hesitate.
He has seen revolutions rise like storms, and collapse into new tyrannies. He knows victory does not purify power; it only transfers it. Even if Orkney wins its war, he foresees the same decay returning in a different crown.
He does not believe in heroic rebellion.
He believes in surviving the storm, and quietly bending its direction.