"We were once kings, Guyard, kings of our own domain. It is exhausting trying to live under the bootheels of another, when your own crown is only just behind you. You may never understand why I have done what I have done, but know that it was worth it. I love you, son." - Duke Anselm Pelariaux II to his son of 5 before leaving their estate for the front gate of Pelaresse. He would be killed during the fighting in the first section of the city when the Desramaux forces broke through, 22nd of Geshan, 304 PR

Licon now sat in the forefront, its walls towered overhead with the banner of their liege billowing from the parapets. That Peryton on a field of forest green, giving the appearance of true flight as the wind swept the fabric back and forth. Nadine had always considered the blazon of House De Licon rather... strange. Not the fact that there was a peryton resplendent, but because of what that creature represented. Honor, valor, bravery, and strength. Typical associations with the use of the peryton were holy orders, or a knights errant who had just begun their journey, still with eyes of wonder and hearts of naiveté. Yes, it was quite honorable the way your grandfather raped my grandmother, very honorable indeed. How valorous of him to banish the woman and the babe. So brave was the great Eustace De Licon for removing the signs of his misdeeds. What a strong heart and mind he must have possessed to commit such a vile act upon a person coming to him for help. Standing in her command tent, Duchess Nadine Obbinkerloo, clad in her plate armor - freshly polished - save for her gauntlets and helmet, which sat to the side, peered over the layout of her army. 30,000 soldiers slept, all of them having finished construction of the siege camp just one day prior on the Seventh of Dekvut. It was now the night of the Eight, and tomorrow they would begin their siege in earnest, with sappers making their rounds to find the weakest points in the walls, while the rest began constructing the siege engines. The duchess preferred a more straightforward attack style, using primarily ladders and siege towers while archers from below protected the approaching host. She never did understand the great usage of engines that would destroy sections of walls or gates - in the end, if you are successful, you must now repair what you have destroyed, inevitably leaving you at a great disadvantage if the enemy has reinforcements close at hand. There was a time when the duchess would scale the walls at night with rope and hooks; but an unfortunate skirmish with a rebellious vassal ten years ago caused her to favor sturdier methods.

Lady Heleen Dietma would lead the sappers, taking two-thousand of her levy along the southern side of the walls, the most likely to have the least guards given the more hilly terrain in that direction. Prince Thijn will oversee the construction of the towers, using as many soldiers as he requires to get them done efficiently. Their goal was twelve - each would then get 250 soldiers to bring it to the walls, with another 1,000 trailing behind with shields raised and ready to follow up once the walls are reached. Another six regiments of 1,250 will be given ladders, while the remaining 5,500 will stay on the ground, providing as much cover fire as they can. Four days, they needed to begin the first assault in four days. Thijn entered the tent with a messenger.

"Good evening, love."

"Hello, Thijn. Please, take a seat, how is your wound?"

"I can hardly notice it anymore. Wine?"

"Yes, please, emerald." Thijn made his way to Nadine's wine rack and pulled the first shimmering green bottle he saw. Pouring them both a healthy amount into goblets, the old prince returned to the side of his lover. Nadine grabbed the cup and pressed it to her lips before stopping herself, pulling her eyes to the messenger, and saying, "I assume you have some news to report?" The messenger, adorned in black and white gambeson, bowed his head and pulled out several pieces of parchment from his bag.

"Yes, my lady. Firstly, following your continued instruction, Duke Aert Dietma II has commanded the remainder of his children and knights to leave Diependam and make their way to Obbinzum. The Duke regrets to inform you that, with his age, he shall remain in Diependam with his retinue and 1,000 soldiers."

"Regrettable but understandable. Though I have no doubt the old man will still stand on the battlements, cleaving any who get too close. Does he say how many we should expect?"

"An additional 10,000. He remarks that, as the message is being written, his scouts report Rikkert and his forces have taken Mathieden, though he has not mobilized for Diependam yet, dated the 35th of Darsu."

"I only pray the gods were merciful to House Mathink." Thijn raised his eyes to meet Nadine's as he spoke. She only thought more of the foolishness of having stayed behind, but was forever grateful for their sacrifice.

"Second letter, my lady and lord, is from your son - " Thijn nearly fell out of his chair.

"My son Thijn. Calm yourself. Carry on, please." The messenger, eyes on Thijn, blinked twice before clearing his throat and returning his eyes to the paper before him.

"Lord Hendrik Obbink has gathered an additional 5,000 levy to the Obbinkerloo force and awaits instructions in Obbinzum. Furthermore, the representatives he sent to meet with the Linten tribes returned empty handed. They will not join our fight." Nadine sighed and looked to her goblet, her look of disappointment gave a haunting visage in the reflection of the emerald liquid. House Obbink had always remained on good terms with the tribes of the Forest of Boum, knowing full well the ferocity of the Linten Tribes. There was a very natural reason that two minotaur were her houses blazon, without the help of the tribes in the past, House Obbink never would have come to power. But, now, it would seem, their friendship had run its course. A tear fell into her cup, though she did not know whether it were from despair or rage. Whichever it were, the duchess wiped her face and returned her focus to the soldier before her.

"Does Hendrik mention their reasons?"

"Chief Andriakos has said there was no longer a reason to fight with the Obbink, having not fought alongside us for three generations now, he doubts the strength of our fighters."

"Of course, brute strength is what they care for, nothing more, nothing less. Very well. What else?"

"Only this, though I have been informed not to open it, as it is for your eyes only. It was received three hours ago." The messenger held out in his hand a small letter, the silver ribbon still attaching it to the leg of a falcon - though the rest of the falcon had been surgically removed. Nadine slowly approached, her heart rate increasing though she did not know why. Gripping the parchment, she brought it to her table, motioning for Thijn to join her. The messenger bowed, and left.

"The ribbon, it can only have been sent from one person." Thijn hunched over the table, face examining the yet unopened parchment.

"No doubt this was intended for Licon, or perhaps even Rikkert." Nadine took a large sip from her goblet, gingerly placed it back on the table, and pulled at the knot. With silken grace, the fabric unwound, effortlessly falling to the table. The duchess picked up the now freed paper and unraveled it:

The Duchess Belle de Licon, may this letter find you safely,

I am regretful for the purposes of this letter, as I had wished to only provide you with pleasant news of the war on our front. However, things change, and sometimes the inexplicable can occur. On the Seventeenth of Darsu, the treacherous Prince Mathias led an ambush against our friend and ally, Duke Lars II as he and his forces marched for Renangers. A little over half of his forces were able to retreat back to safety, however the heaviest loss came with the death of both he and his son during and from the fighting. Duke Lars III passed from his injuries upon arriving back in Pelaresse. As such, King Thierry and I have made our way further east to Niljrend, from which we will gather more support from those around us - Ruuding, Heerma, Zelderloo, Biljvank, Mathink, and eventually Dietma and Obbink once they have fallen to my son as well. We must sure up our defenses along the Southern Road to ensure my sons efforts do not go to pot once he takes his armies north to us. So, I am entrusting you to now muster your forces and travel West to Lebatou. From there, you and Duke Henri Batelle will take Garlennes and let no one else pass along the Southern Road. King Rikkert will no doubt be able to take Diependam and Obbinkerloo with the aid of my nephew and the Duke Rodzijl, just as he did Mathieden. With the siege of Pelaresse and King Guyard in progress, it is imperative that you and Duke Henri keep the Southern Road closed to any potential aid to the northern front.

Duchess Hekket Zelderloo, Thirty-Third of Darsu, 346 PR

"Do you know that this means, Thijn?"

"It mostly confirms what our scouts have told us?"

"And House de Licon is nothing more than a sitting duck right now. They were awaiting the instruction to muster their forces. There are no soldiers within those walls right now, no more than they can rally amongst the citizens trapped inside. Forget the towers, get ladders built quickly, we begin the assaults tomorrow." Nadine ran to the end table by her bed and pulled out parchment, ink, and a quill as she began to feverishly scribble.

"What are you doing now, love?"

"I am writing my Hendrik, he will take all of their forces here. We will begin the assaults without them and they will bolster our ranks within the city once it is taken."

"Are you so certain they do not have a force in there? The walls seem quite filled with archers."

"Nothing more than the usual amount, perhaps with some additions from a patriotic citizenry. No, Thijn, they are woefully unprepared, and we have caught them entirely by surprise. May Bershion be praised for this fortune, the god of war is truly favoring us." Nadine allowed her excitement to subside for a moment as she realized the lack of enthusiasm coming from her partner.

"What is it, Thijn? How can you pout at a moment like this?"

"What if its false? What if we were meant to see this?"

"Does Hekket even know we are here?"

"No, but it could be a forgery."

"Oh you ridiculous man, here, you know her hand writing better than I, is this the work of Duchess Hekket or a mockery?" Nadine watched as the old prince squinted hard, making his way back and forth across the page several times. Finally allowing his scowl to subside, the prince responded with a deep sigh.

"It - it does look like her writing. I apologize, love. It just feels too good to be true."

"So does our love making, and yet, here we are. For the gods sake, Thijn, this is excellent news. And further proof of my own brilliance."

"That never needed more proving."

"Agreed, but I accept the evidence anyhow. Once Licon falls, they perhaps can bring together five-thousand soldiers, we can raise the levy that they failed to have the foresight to raise for themselves."

"Still flying the banner of House de Licon?" Nadine gave pause with this question. Burn every instance of the Peryton. But, then again, would her subjects fight without their liege lords sigil? The duchess poured herself and the old prince a fresh cup of wine.

"Perhaps. It might be best for maintaining their morale. And who knows, maybe Duchess Belle will join us willingly?"

"Once we have bounded across her walls, slaughtered her people, and held her at the tip of a sword?"

"Or the blade of an axe, yes. Oh do not look at me like that, these are no doubt the tactics of your great cousin, King Rikkert. Which reminds me, how many kings are there now? Your cousin, whoever this King Thierry is, and now King Guyard?"

"It would seem anyone with an army is claiming royalty now."

"I like the sound of Queen Nadine." The duchess gave a sly look to her lover, the cold metal of her goblet pressed up against her warm lips.

"Only if I am to be your king." Thijn wrapped his arm around the duchess' waste, pulling her in for the warm embrace of his lips to hers.

The old prince sat with greater stiffness than usual, his skin crawling for being forced to touch the furniture of House Van Niljveld. While there was not much reason for the prince to detest the Van Niljveld's, he did find their way of living repulsive; over eating, dozens of feasts and hunts every year, it sloppy color schemes, it was amazing they were still considered nobility. Nonetheless, Thierry supposed, they were willing to die for his cause, or at least by extension his cause. There was no other way to look at it - Lars II marched an army to die for Hekket Zelderloo, not Thierry Desramaux. Martien Ruuding and Vaars Zelderloo VIII were not taring through the Southern Road in the name of King Thierry, but King Rikkert. The old prince gritted his teeth, his finger nails digging into the wretchedly upholstered arm rests. They all mocked him, laughed at him, did they not? How could they not? What King has no subjects to command? What King has no treasury to pull from? What King must spend his days drinking in the estates of those lesser than he? A King in Exile, that is who. Thierry let out a small sigh, just enough to finally allow his grip to release the chair from his strangle hold. Soon, however, this would all change. Soon, he would command the fighting force necessary to truly be a King. Duchess Hekket could be heard approaching at a brisk pace, entering the parlor with her silvery hair trailing behind her - eyes white with rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" The duchess made her way between Thierry and the fire place, placing herself some two feet away from the old prince, who was now attempting to hide a faint smile.

"Elves? You brought elves into this?" Dirk-Jan, having been following Hekket at quite a distance, rounded the corner and passed the threshold of the parlor. "Do you have any idea how terrible of an idea this is?"

"For who, exactly?" Thierry did not turn to face his host, nor did he stand to speak.

"For all of us! The Sun can not be trusted!"

"Why is that? Did they not come to your families aid just under fifty years ago?"

"They - they did. But not without a heavy cost to ourselves in the end."

"What cost could that have been?"

"We could not afford to pay them at a certain point, so they left. Having relied too heavily on them, our offensive quickly crumbled."

"Forget about that, Dirk-Jan. You went behind our backs, Thierry. I do not care what title you have deemed yourself worthy of, but we are allies, we are partners in this fight - this means we make decisions like this together."

"Well, in this instance, I have made the decision for us." Hekket's eyes widened, her thoughts gathering for a frontal assault. Dirk-Jan went to the bar. "You do not care that I have written to the Dynasty of the Sun for aid, you do not care that they were once enemies of the Biljvank's, that they are mercenaries with no stake in our cause, nor do you even really care that an ally made a decision without you. What you care about, Hekket, Duchess Zelderloo, was the lack of control you now feel in this relationship. Or rather, the feeling that you do not have total control over this partnership anymore. We do make decisions together, you are correct - however, it is most often that we are all simply at your command, your son included. I have had it, Duchess Zelderloo. I have had enough of groveling, standing on the side as my crown is fought for by those who truly could not care less if I received it or not. Dirk-Jan, you taunted me for my lack of soldiers, my lack of vassals to command. Well, I have procured them, we should all rejoice that." King Thierry, who had now found the courage to perk up and stand before the hearth, back straight and eyes to heaven, allowed the silence of the room to reinforce his words. The Duchess Zelderloo eyed the old prince, looking him up and down twice before locking eyes with him. He could feel the fire burning, the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Who's bluff has been called now, Hekket?

"Dirk-Jan, would you be so kind as to pour us all a glass."

"Of what?"

"You are the host, I leave the decision to you freely. After all, we are allies, in a partnership, no one of us has dominance over the other, right Thierry?" Thierry allowed his smile to show through finally.

"Of course, Duchess Zelderloo. Shall I inform you all, now, of our latest addition of soldiers?" Hekket tilted her head as she gave a forced grin before taking a seat on the couch centered in the room. Dirk-Jan eventually, gradually, and with great trepidation, made his way to the duchess, handing her a very full glass of amethyst wine. Once the young duke had taken his seat opposite Hekket on the couch, Thierry took his glass from Dirk-Jan and raised it to his lips. The purple liquid was cool and refreshing to a sensation the old prince had not felt in years. His throat now moistened, he spoke.

"Upon leaving Pelaresse, I sent a letter to the Dynasty of Sun seeking their aid in our efforts. Their deep seated hatred of the Biljvanks is no secret, much like most people's feelings towards the Biljvanks. Having promised an initial payment of twenty talents - "

"Are you mad? twenty talents, just to start? Before they had even arrived you had bankrupted yourself."

"I promise you, good duke, I shall be far from bankrupt even once this venture is finished. You see, while you all were very confident in your ability to muster soldiers and laud over me my lack there of, I do have something that, as it would now appear, you two will soon find yourselves lacking, as wars are quite expensive." Thierry could feel the burn of the duchess' gaze, even as a smirk took over her face - perhaps it was unintentional.

"You see, when I left Desramaux City, I certainly did not leave empty handed." The old prince reached into his jacket and pulled out a gold bar, weighting roughly four pounds, and placed it firmly into the Duchess Zelderloo's outstretched hand.

"I assume this is not the only one you took?"

"Of course not. I made away with around fifty - each one weighting in at four pounds, a total value of two-hundred talents." Dirk-Jan nearly fell out of his seat.

"Your people fight out of duty and loyalty now, but as this war drags on, and I guarantee you it will considering our most recent runs of luck, you all will be needing to begin pulling from my treasury. A treasury, which I am more than willing to open to my friends. After all, we are all friends, and we are all here to help one another. Your son to claim his throne, Guyard his, and me mine. All of us providing great value to this alliance. Which, now, brings us to the two-thousand elves who have entered the city this morning."

"Yes, I should very much like to talk about them. Where are they to be housed? Who do they serve? Are they really worth twenty talents?" Thierry rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his gauntlet to hide his response to the young duke's questions.

"They serve me. As for housing, they provide their own, attaching their encampment to the one growing outside the city walls. As for their value, no, they are not worth twenty talents, they are worth forty. Twenty now, and twenty at the end of the war when the crown is placed on my head. I hired four regiments, five-hundred strong each. The warriors of the Sun are exceptionally trained in the use of the glaive, as well as the bow. From my own readings of their wars, as well as seeing their training myself many years ago, I assure you that five hundred of them is worth five-thousand of any well trained and well equipped levy."

"So you will lead them, then?" Hekket raised an eyebrow, the fire in her eyes only just now beginning to subside.

"I shall. Along with Louis. My crown is his crown, he shall learn what it means to lead and fight for what is yours." The old prince led his eyes around the room, taking stock of his allies reception to his words.

"I must say, that is refreshing to here. I was beginning to worry you would never actually fight for your own cause. I may have misjudged you, it would seem." Dirk-Jan took out a box of coffee grinds to roll and smoke, raising them in offering as the old prince took out his pipe to partake. Thierry could feel Hekket's eyes burrowing into the back of his skull, though he could not yet tell if this trick would prove the undoing of their relationship or strengthen it. As the old prince lit his pipe, the old duchess spoke, wine glass at the tip of her lips.

"It would seem, King Thierry, that I underestimated you from the very beginning. I thought you nothing more than a weak uncle to the king, despairing over your lot in life to eventually fade into obscurity. An alliance with you was, at first, marginally helpful, as it gave a possible cause for decenters in your kingdom to rally behind, no matter how half-heartedly. But here you are. We are continuing to amass more and more troops each day, and, I am unsure of the state of your coffers Dirk-Jan, but I know there will come a time when they need to be refilled. Odds are, much sooner than expected, as is so often the case. We have the soldiers, we have the strategy, and now we have the funds. May our anxieties be laid to rest."

Gripping the rungs of the ladder tightly, the old prince pushed against the side of the wall, along with the rest of the soldiers clad in black and white gambesons who were now clambering their way to the battlements of Licon. Twenty Obbinkerloo shield bearers were holding the base of the ladder, while those on it leaned their weight into the wall, doing everything in their power to keep the defenders from pushing the ladder over, taking all the riders with it. The twang of bow strings rang out in rapid succession, no clear orders being given, as the archers on the walls fired frantically at their foes below. Lead the vanguard, how valorous it always is. Third in line from top, Thijn reached out his sword arm wide and began swatting enthusiastically at any archer who dared to try and take aim at him or anyone close to him. The soldier in front of him let out a loud cry before plummeting forty feet to the dirt beneath them, his face unrecognizable from the axe that had been plunged into it. Pushing forward, the soldier directly in front of Thijn was able to get their shield up fast enough, pushing back against the defenders, the old prince placed his left hand onto the shield bearers back, helping in pushing forward against the see of bodies. Finally reaching the battlements, Thijn quickly found himself overwhelmed and unable to draw his sword, having sheathed it to help push up. Thinking quickly, or perhaps not quick enough, the old prince delivered a punch with his bare gauntlet to the nose of the nearest soldier in green and brown, blood was sent spurting forward as the soldiers nose caved in and jaws shattered. Side-stepping and then grabbing a spear that was thrust at him, Thijn yanked back and forth, eventually getting enough momentum to force the wielder to lose their footing and topple over the edge, his screams of help quickly being drowned out by the clashing of steel and the cacophony of wood splintering.

Licon spear in hand, the old prince snapped it over his knee, keeping a shaft of roughly two feet attached the bay leaf tip. Wielding his make-shift short sword, the old prince began stabbing wildly at the see of perytons before him. Not knowing which direction he was headed, he was quickly joined by the ripping of Obbinkerloo axes carving up the skulls of De Licon defenders as a line of his own formed behind him, acting as his own retinue normally would have. Thijn did not know where they had gotten off to, having last seen them when he first made it to the ladders. His attempt to remember was cut short, however, as another soldier, clad in a green tabard with brown peryton resplendent over a chainmail hauberk and brown gambeson and wearing a bascinet without a visor, burst forward from the ranks of the defenders to hack at those in black and white. Unable to make proper introductions, the old prince was forced to squint at the assailants face as he blocked the downward blow from a longsword with his short-spear, nearly cleaving the shaft in half. Gripping the spear with both hands, the prince tossed the assailants sword to the side, with enough force to nearly throw them off the walls - though, it could have just been sloppy footwork on the foe knights part. Bringing his right arm back and thrusting forward, the bay leaf found a gap in the chain links of the hauberk and buried into the torso of the peryton knight, who quickly doubled back to deliver a punch to the helmet of the prince. Slightly dazed, Thijn released the spear, allowing the assailant to stumble back and, having pulled it out, now dual-wield sword and bay leaf. The old prince sighed, drew his sword, and charged forward. Feinting a strike to the wounded side of the knight, Thijn pulled back and landed a slash on the right thigh, quickly spinning his rotating his wrists to thrust the point towards the foes center. Leaping back, the target then looked up at the old prince, giving him the chance to recall why they looked so familiar - Lord Hadrien de Licon, second child of the Duchess Belle de Licon. No doubt, he had been sent quickly to take part in the defense of the walls. However, this would prove to be a fatal mistake for the younger man, as Thijn seized the opportunity of the Hadrien's return swing to duck both the sword and the bay  leaf, spin to his left, rotate back to take advantage of the peryton knight's poor footwork and catch him in the left foot. Toppling to the ground, Thijn pierced the tip of his sword through Hadrien's right eye, before instructing the soldiers around him to push the corpse over the stairs and into the city. Having the desired effect, those in green and brown on the walls began to curse, with some beginning to the secondary walls.

After continuing to cut his way down the stairs, a trail of bloodied peryton's and minotaur behind him, Thijn reached the front gates. With merely the point of his finger, the Obbinkerloo soldiers quickly took to unbarring it and swinging it wide open. Immediately, with the beautiful Duchess Nadine at the helm, a swarm of Obbinkerloo and Dietma shields came pushing through and into the city, bear spears poking through at any unfortunate enemy that got too close. The old prince was prepared to now take a minute of respite, having secured the city walls and gates, his part in the days assault had mostly ended. It was only then, resting on the remains of a wagon, that the old prince began to take notice of the bodies strewn about. Fifty, sixty, seventy... by the gods. Toppling from the battlements, filling the streets, and clogging up doorways lay the bodies of hundreds of soldiers, each adorned in one of three blazons. There was no time to sulk, no time to take a total count of those lost already, a horn could be heard bursting throughout the city limits. Looking to its source, Thijn saw another peryton knight, this time with a breastplate showing the peryton resplendent proudly. Based on their frame, the old prince guessed it was one of Belle's daughters, perhaps Sophie, her fourth child, or Solene her first. Whoever it was, Thijn watched in horror as the master of his passions charged the peryton knight, battle axe firmly grasped by both hands, a scream echoing throughout.

Followed closely by the Obbinkerloo rear guard and archers, Prince Thijn came racing forward, battering his blade against any who came in his way. His heart sank as he was forced to stop, the wall of shields from both sides had met squarely in the streets, spear heads broke off against wooden frames as each wall attempted to pressure the other into breaking. Where is she? Where is she? Desperate, Thijn grabbed a spear from one of the Dietma soldiers and hurled it deep within Licon's lines. Following suit, those well behind the shield wall spun their spears and sent them flying across the demarcation line. Without fail, Licon spears began raining down upon the heads of the Obbink and Dietma forces. Forming a testudo, each side was now simply two trunks, bashing into one another for dominance of a single underground vein of water. After minutes that felt like hours, Prince Thijn Biljvank, having sheathed his longsword and grabbed a greatsword from the ground off a fallen member of his force, let out a raging froth of noise from his vocal cords. Rushing faster and faster towards the enemy lines, as he gained momentum, more axe wielders and sword handlers fell in behind their prince. At the final moment, the Dietma shields turned in to let the hurdling force through, crashing down upon the Licon shield wall, sending a shock wave that hurled the perytons into the air and down to the ground. Crushing skulls, gouging throats, and removing heads, Prince Thijn continued his battle cry, his heart pounding with fear as he searched endlessly for the center of his universe. Finally, standing over the corpse of another peryton knight, was the god like presence of Duchess Nadine Obbink, the horns of her helmet coated with blood. Allowing his soldiers to charge passed him, Thijn pulled up his visor and ran to her side.

"Oh, Thijn, love. There you are."

"Nadine, I thought I had lost you. You were no where to be found, and the Licon have put up a much stronger resistance than we anticipated." Nadine glanced around at those dead around her, all of them with the signs of a battle axe having brought them a grizzly end.

"Careful darling." Nadine walked over and held the old princes arm. He had dropped his greatsword without noticing, the pain in his shoulder returning, causing him to lose strength.

"It is nothing, love. The day is not yet won." Both looked up to the keep, just beyond the secondary walls. As the two approached, they passed by rows of green and brown, kneeling, arms thrown to the ground, as the tips of spears and blades of axes kept them down. Standing by the door, steel glove gripping the handle, was Lady Heleen Dietma.

"Lady Heleen, how good it is to see you." Thijn winced at his final word, his shoulder unrelenting now.

"Duchess Belle de Licon is inside with two of her children - Solene and Hector. I counted twelve of their retinue able to rush in before they closed the doors."

"Are they open? Good. Let us inform House de Licon of the fate of two of their own."

Lady Heleen opened the door slowly, a soldier in a steel hauberk came rushing out only to be met with three arrows the chest, the rear guard having caught up with the rest of the force by now.

"Well do not just stand there, do come in." The rough voice of Duchess Belle came through just audibly enough for the old prince and duchess to follow. Passed a small entry way and into a medium sized chamber, seated at the far end on her throne, sat the Duchess Belle de Licon. To her left, clad in a breastplate with her long blonde hair flowing down, was none other than Solene de Licon. Laying on a make shift bed, right arm bleeding, was Hector de Licon. Nadine's retinue came rushing in from behind the prince and duchess, taking there places around the room, should they need to strike fast. No words were spoken as Nadine took to the center of the room, axe still in hand. The two women glared at one another, each unmoving.

"Do you, Duchess De Licon, swear your unwavering fealty to King Phillipe of the Desravank Empire?"

"I would never make such promises before the Whore of Obbinkerloo." Thijn stepped forward but was stopped by a side-eye from Nadine. Slowly and deliberately, the Duchess Obbinkerloo made her way to Hector de Licon. The two made eye contact for a brief moment before Nadine hoisted her axe high and buried it into the young peryton's skull. Belle de Licon let out a scream as she nearly fell from her chair.

"You monster!" Angered tears of despair poured from the duchess' eyes, her stifled cries of pain drowned out as she also attempted to maintain her breathing. Two Obbink retinue were now holding Solene back, who had attempted to rush forward with a dagger at Nadine. Placing her heel onto the chin of the peryton's corpse, Nadine heaved her axe out from the young man's skull. She wiped the head of the axe on the make ship bed, turned, and slowly returned to the center of the room. Thijn felt his heart pounding as it attempted to leap from his chest and out his breastplate.

"Do you, Duchess De Licon, swear your unwavering fealty to King Phillipe of the Desravank Empire?"

"You are a despicable, ignoble, and putrid blackguard of a harlot." Nadine slowly began making her way to Solene as Belle continued. "You and all of your family, that is all you have ever been. It is to no one's surprise that you would butcher your - " before the duchess could finish her thought, the Duchess Obbinkerloo shoved the point at the end of her axe into Solene's throat. The young woman's eyes twitched as her body shook in an attempt to break free, the retinue holding her still. Nadine pulled the point out and stepped back, the retinue allowed the corpse to fall to the floor. Once again, the duchess made her way to the center of the room. The two women locked eyes, the room became thick.

"Nadine, I believe we have done enough."

"Nonsense love, she still has two nephews, most likely here within the city. We will round them up, cutting them down as well if we must, until this wretched excuse for nobility finally comes to terms with what she and her family have always been: puppets, props, and playthings for those who actually hold power. I could kill her as well, completely exterminate House De Licon, and it would not matter. the world would continue turning for no great loss shall have occurred. Yes, the family De Licon is, in summary - expendable."

"Be careful with this one, Prince Thijn. See how she treats her own flesh and blood."

"What is she talking about it."

"It does not concern you, Thijn."

"I believe it does."

"Thijn." Without turning to face him, Thijn could already tell the face she was wearing. One he knew to let be, for the time would soon come to discuss this further; of that, he was certain.

"I shall ask again. Do you, Duchess De Licon, swear your unwavering fealty to King Phillipe of the Desravnk Empire?" The blood from Solene's neck had now found a small divot in the stone before Belle's chair, forming a small pool just below the now childless Duchess De Licon's feet.

Hein clenched his chest, handkerchief already being presented to him by Riedry. The old prince allowed himself to lean over the neck of his horse to steady himself, his right hand released his chest to grab the handkerchief, his left still gripped the parchment tightly. I - I do not understand. Hein convulsed as a wad of green mucus came hurtling from deep within the ravages of his body and out of his mouth - his hand just barely quick enough to catch it with the small cloth it held. He could feel his body stiffen, his knees locked around the waist of his mare, his eyes clamped shut as his esophagus attempted to rid itself of his lungs. Images of his brother flashed before his eyes, then of his son and the last time he saw him. Koen looked so much like Hein, or rather what Hein would have looked like had it not been for this wasting disease. Another glob manifested, this time coating the back of the mare's neck causing it to shake in vain. Hein could hear the feint footsteps of three people surrounding him and his horse, followed shortly by the shushing from what must have been Riedry's lips. Then there was nothing.

The grass was cool to the touch, having only just recently released the morning dew to the clouds above. Hein could feel the damage the fit had done to his throat, slowly bringing his right arm to touch his neck. As his vision came back to him, the old prince was able to recognize the three people crouching around his corpselike body. To his left, sat Captain Jacques, his black and gold gambeson no doubt providing him with some much needed warmth as they sat in the shade of a nearby oak. To his right, Riedry had placed himself on one knee so that he might lean over and dab away - though without much success - the remnants of the prince's episode. And at his feet, squatting with a scowl, was Hein's latest acquaintance - Duke Serge Garlen, the Duke Garlennes. The duke was wearing a pair of dark brown leather pants that were tucked into riding boots of the same color, though a thicker material. Upon his torso sat a carnation pink ruffled shirt beneath an opened leather jacket that, at a distance, appeared flesh toned, but up close was clearly died red-ochre. At his hip, sheathed but ready for action, was a long knife, the blade being over a foot long. A freshly shaven face, black hair kept no longer than three inches all-around, and eyes the color of snow; Serge stood at around five feet and ten inches, his hands the size one would expect from a giant-kin, with feet considerably average. Perhaps it is true what they say about House Garlen, that even the nobles work the forges. With his vision still fuzzed, Hein reached up for assistance, with the two men to his side readily able to hoist him up and provide stability as his legs remembered what their purpose in life was. Serge rose slowly, the scowl remaining on his face, his arms crossed over his chest.

"So... this kind of shit happen often?" Hein would have laughed had his throat not been so thoroughly scoured. With a hoarse voice, the old prince was able to respond.

"Unfortunately, yes. Having been on the road for so long now, I am afraid I have had to ration out my medicine. Today was a day I did not take it." Serge looked Hein up and down.

"I see. And Phillipe sent you to lead us?" Merely twenty yards away, with the rest of the entourage, sat the Duchess Zoe Pascelet of Parseille, and further behind them was the amassed forces of twenty-thousand levy and two-thousand knights, mostly on foot.

"Well..." the old prince spat on the ground to his side, doing his best to avoid the feet of the young captain holding him up, as well as the possible indication of an insult. He continued after a moment.

"Not exactly. King Phillipe believes in my mind and my strategies, so he sent me along to both represent him and continue my role as advisor to the crown. Only, now I am advising you two and giving you the king's orders." Serge chuckled, his broad shoulders raising up and down as he shook his head.

"Orders, right. My king orders and I obey. And where is my king? Why should I believe the words of a Biljvank?"

"King Phillipe is gathering the forces of the Mannes tribes, he will join us at Lebatou."

"Of course, of course. Though that does not answer my second question. Why should I believe the words of a Biljvank?" Hein's eyes widened as a new form of shock took to his system.

"I am the king's chief advisor, as appointed by him. His trust in me should be enough for you to have trust in me also."

"And yet..." Serge looked to the parchment that was now crumpled on the road. "And yet, I can think of another Biljvank we were told to put our trust into. One who now makes his way west towards us, and not with reinforcements." The old prince could feel his lungs swelling again, the anxieties of the day coursing through is veins as a deadly poison. Hein swallowed hard, a usually vain attempt to hold the onslaught back. Collecting himself, the old prince pushed off of his supporters, demanding his legs resume their purpose. A slight tremble, followed by rocky stability, the invalid held himself up once more.

"My brother... I - I am not my brother. I have put my faith and my backing behind this union, the creation of this empire, and now I serve those whom I believe in. And now, now I shall advise you on the best course of action, because those are my orders, that is what my cousin has asked of me. I understand you will not accept me at face value, but you must accept me nonetheless."

Duke Serge allowed his scowl to subside for the moment, eyes now squinting in thought. The duke sucked on his tooth briefly before placing his bear paws for hands on his waist. The Duke Garlennes spun himself around, sauntered to his horse - a large black stallion - and Hein stumbled back into Riedry's arms as he now watched the duke return. His hands now completely enclosed the leather bound handle, and even part of the golden pommel, of the dukes claymore, the symbol and weapon of choice for House Garlen. A blade that reached higher into the sky than the old prince did, even in his youth, Captain Jacques stepped between Hein and Serge, his feeble longsword drawn. Off in the distance, the clattering of steel could be heard as the retinues of Captain Jacques, Duchess Zoe, and Duke Serge erupted from their saddles, weapons clenched. In the hands of Hein's retinue, longswords clutched with both hands as they assumed defensive stances, weight on their back foot incase they had to leap into the offensive. The Duchess Zoe stood firm, the point of a halberd outstretched three feet in front of her as her own knights wielded partisans forming a semi-circle wall centered on her. The third point of this triangle, upright and with the same determination as their liege lord, stood ten carnation knights in red-ochre jackets, mammoth hands clasping the hilt of some of the worlds mightiest swords. Hein looked directly into the snow-white eyes of Duke Serge, doing everything in his power to read the intentions of this noble. But his eyes were still, there was no passion, no fire, no desire to destroy - though, there also lacked the decision to stand down. Each point of the triangle stood rigid, every last one of them beset with the anxiety that coursed through the old prince's veins. Looking from one angle to the other, each retinue kept the other two keenly in their sights.

Serge took a step forward, sliding his back foot to the front, shifting his focus from left to right - eyes remaining on their target. Riedry pulled Hein back, Captain Jacques followed, shuffling his front foot back and then his back foot towards Hein. Serge repeated, shifting now from right to left, his blade still held tall, perfectly vertical. A bead of sweat fell from Riedry's forehead and onto his liege. Another shift, another step back; the triangle some ten yards away did not move, waiting to hear the first clang of metal on metal, no side wanting to be the one that began the conflict. Serge shifted again, but this time, Hein pushed off of Riedry, once again commanding his legs to do what they were meant to do. With great pains, he pulled forward, reached to his side, and, using every strength within his body, pulled his sword from his scabbard.

"My lord - " but Hein ignored Captain Jacques, as he assumed a mirroring position to the duke. The two now approached one another in synchronicity. Hein to his left, Serge to his right, Hein to his right, Serge to his left. Slow to begin, the two lords gained speed, the triangle of anxiety began bouncing, building up their energies to respond the moment the sound of steel clashing could be heard. Left, to right, right, to left, again, and again, the ground between them closing with increasing speed. Finally, they met, their faces inches away from each other, the dukes snow-white eyes, unmoving from the old prince's, both of them holding their swords high to the sky and close to the chest. Serge raised his claymore high, eyes still locked with Hein's. The old prince swallowed back what could have been an eruption of mucus as the duke spun his blade around and plunged it down, directly into the cool ground between them.

"Very well. You speak for the king, and I am his loyal subject. I shall hear what you have to say." A cosmic sigh of relief overcame the field as each point of the triangle slowly retreated back, sheathing their weapons and returning to their saddles. Duchess Zoe trotted over to the duke and the old prince, who by now had sheathed for the second time in his life his longsword.

"Have you finished measuring your cocks, then? We have a city to take, and if your mind is anything like your brother's, it should not take us very long to do so."

Serge pulled his blade from the ground, wiped the dirt, and returned it to his saddle.

"We can discuss strategy on the way, but if we will need siege engines, we best set up camp here so we can fell the nearby trees." Serge said as he sauntered his horse over to the other two.

"No, we cannot afford a prolonged siege of Lebatou. They are expecting Licon to reinforce them, we must find a way to draw them out from behind their walls." Hein now leaned against the side of his mare, who Riedry eagerly returned to his lord.

"How would you suggest we do that, chief advisor?" Serge leaned over his saddle to make better eye contact with the still leaning prince.

"We will have to send a diversion force forward. Two, maybe three thousand infantry. If we approach at night fall, we can hide the main force along the surrounding hills, then send the smaller force forward to act as the main body. While they set up a siege camp, after a few days, the defenders will be convinced that is all we have. They'll feel confident enough to abandon their walls and sally forth. Then - "

"Then the rest of us flank them, hopefully block their exit back into the city, and maybe even enter the gates if they are left wide open. What makes you think they'll fall for that?" Zoe asked.

"They will have to fall for it, as we will be with the diversion force."

"Are you mad? Sending us with a tenth of our forces, all in the hope they accept and try to take advantage of us? You do understand the risk every member of this initial force will be taking?"

"Of course I do. There is the chance that most of them will perish, as they will be gravely outnumbered from the start. We will have to have the flanks approach with their archers in the front, bombarding the enemy as the main body advances."

"Even then, you risk most of the diversion falling. And you wish us to go with them?"

"It is the only way the diversion will work. If they look out and do not see the commanders of each army, the Lebatou will assume it is just an advance force, sent ahead to set up camp."

"And this is your grand idea? You have no others?" Zoe, arms now crossed, asked.

"As of this moment in time, yes. We have to take the risk in order to secure the city quickly. Otherwise we will be sitting ducks in a siege camp, and our reinforcements may not get to us before theirs do." Duke Serge and Duchess Zoe looked to each other, each one wide-eyed and with arms crossed. It is either this, or we all fall to my brother's sword. The two nobles returned their attention to the mucus prince.

"Captain Canna will take charge of my main forces. She has served as captain of my retinue for ten years now and has proven her command time and again." Hein smiled at the duke, then turned to the duchess.

"Lady Rioanan will lead my forces. Her family has served mine for generations now, and they always prove to be amongst the mightiest of my knights. I will take one-thousand of mine for the diversion, Serge I suggest you do the same. Prince Hein."

"Yes, duchess?"

"If this kills us, know that I will find your ghost and run my halberd through it."

"Yes, duchess."