The Closing Feast.

The Contests have now concluded. It's the final night of the events, in the morning both delegations will return to their lands, until the next year. For as long as the two kingdoms have been competing against one another, the occasion has been capped with a final great feast.

Songs are song, declarations of continuing goodwill are exchanged, and the winners of each event are toasted. That, and a copious amount of meat and ale are consumed.

You are seated at the feasthall's front table, alongside Donald, Kara, and a selection of the more important nobles in attendance from either kingdom. You've just finished leading the feasters in a toast celebrating Kara's victory in the wrestling event. It was custom for the highest ranking Itherian to toast Beathan wins, and vice-versa. You wouldn't mind, but the northerners had won the majority of the events this year, and drinking to the health of this bearded barbarian or that bear-skin wearing lord was quickly becoming tiresome.

You regard Kara. You'd become fond of her since spending more time with her, not least because of her sexual prowess. You had discussed wedding her with Donald, but you imagined the princess would prefer to be asked herself first.

It was a known fact that because of her prowess in war and prudence as an administrator, King Coinneach held his daughter in such esteem that he had extended her the rare right to choose her man, or choose to remain unwed entirely, as she had until well into her twenties.

You prod at a portion of well-roasted boar on your plate, mulling over your next move.