Offer aid, return home.

After sleeping fitfully until dawn, you rise. Sir Malcolm is there to greet you when you venture outside your tent.

"Good morning to you, Majesty." the knight says sombrely. "Though it would seem this year's Contests have concluded under something of a pall."

That's putting it lightly, you think to yourself.

"Prince Donald and his sister, as well as most of the Beathan lords, rode north last night." Malcolm explains. "I would advise we make for home."

"Agreed." You nod. "But reach out to any of the remaining Beathan lords, see what aid we can provide."

"Indeed, Your Majesty." Malcolm nods.

Within several hours, the Itherian delegation has packed up and departed, heading back for the capital, your carriage in the centre of it. You sit, a beaker of wine in your hand, Vanessa nestled up against your other side, trying to put the tragic ending of your foray into Beatha behind you.