A Royal Meeting

Together with a delegation from your host, you make your way to the centre of Donald's camp. Soon, you're being shown into the large, well-guarded tent from which the newly-crowned ruler is co-ordinating the Beathan war effort.

Kara is there, as well as Jana, Solla and two Beathan men with whom you're not quite familiar. All are dressed for battle, and look far more tired than you've ever seen them.

“Edward!” Donald's countenance at least, lights up as he claps eyes on you. The young king quickly closes the gap between you, pulling you into a friendly embrace. “Ach, you're an encouraging sight.”

“My men, doubly so.” you needle him.

“Aye, I'll not lie.” Donald admits. “We're grateful of the help your kingdom provides. I've warred with the Deanians before, under my father, but not like this.”

“It's that new king.” Kara interjects, drawing closer to you and her older brother. “Damned mage brings something dark out in his subjects.”

“Could be.” Donald nods. “They're even more vicious than in campaigns past, better trained too.”

“Y-you've fought with them already?” you ask. “Looked like your troops were massing for battle."

“They're holed up in the town, but they've come out for a few brief skirmishes, aye.” Donald says. “Deanians are raiders at heart, see, and aren't the type to sit and stew behind walls.”

“We expect if we challenge them, they'll meet us on the field, any day now.” Jana claims. “With your assistance, Edward, we should prevail."

Taking a step forward, Roland scoffs.

“You expect us to believe that?” The Shark asks. “No commander in his right mind would give up the defences they've got down there for open battle.”

One of the Beathans you're not yet acquainted with steps forward, putting up a hand to silence Roland. He's a stern looking man of average height, well into his fifties, with close-cropped silver hair and a beard to match.

“You ought not let your pet fish talk out of turn like that, Your Majesty.” the older man scowls, looking to you.

“Pet fish?” Roland sputters. The hulking beastfolk's anger might've overwhelmed him, had Donald not stepped in.

“Peace, uncle.” Donald urges. “I take it you're not too familiar with the Deanians, aye? Cutthroats to a man, but they have a certain respect for custom. They'll no' shy from a battle if challenged.”

Seemingly assuaged for now, Roland withdraws his protest, taking a step back.

“This, Edward is Eoghan, uncle to me and Kara, and lord of these lands. I don't believe the two of you met at the Contests.”

Eoghan bows his head to you with the due deference, before grasping your good hand.

“An honour, Your Majesty.” Eoghan remarks. “I had to be by the king's side as he passed. Were I here, I'd have repelled the invaders or gone to my grave trying.”

“Take heart, we'll drive them out in good time.” you say, doing your best to project kingly authority.

“That won't bring back all the good folk those fookin' monsters have slaughtered, but thank you.” Eoghan nods.

As the siblings' uncle steps back, Donald motions for another figure to step forward. This man is younger, closer to Donald, Kara and yourself in age. Tall, strikingly handsome, with a neat red hair and a clean-shaven face, something of a rarity for a Beathan man.

“Gordon, lord of Milcra.” the young man nods to you, his voice smooth.

“Gordon's a good friend of mine.” Donald tells you. Of course, given what you know of Donald, as well as the intimacy and comfort the two men share, it's easy to infer they may once have been more than “good friends”.

The introductions out of the way, you, Roland and several of your more experienced knights join the Beathans, hashing out a plan of attack for the battle. It's early enough that your men should have ample time to rest up and prepare to shed blood by tomorrow.

“Who's leading the Deanians? Is King Einar here?” you ask.

“No.” Kara responds. “The lovely lad causin' us all so much trouble is one Jarl Siggi. Though most simply call him Siggi the Whelp, on account of his youth.”

“How come?” you ask. “He can't be that young.”

“He's fourteen.” Kara clarifies.

“A fourteen year old took one of your castles? Seriously?” Roland asks, barely stifling a laugh.

“A fourteen year old that inherited a massive army, eh?” Solla interjects, in her warmly accented tone.

“Young as he may be, he's no stranger to battle.” Kara tells you. “Einar raided the east coast of Gaelica not long after he took the Serpent Crown. Brought little twelve year old Siggi along with him. Rumour has it he took to it well. Blooded himself time and time again. Boy was apparently commanding his own warship by the time the Deanians made for home, their hulls full of twice-raided plunder.”