Thread: Royal Tribute (Ursus Peregrinus & Alexandria94

The warriors rode up the long narrow road towards the palace, double lines of men clad in steel and fur and bearing arms. Their banner, a dark blue field with a grey wolf's head, fluttered from a lance borne at the vanguard of their numbers. One hundred men, as was agreed by the King's courier. Brand Aelfricsson, the Wolfsbane, was coming to claim his bride. The gates stood open for them, and as they filed into the courtyard the tension in the King's Guard mounted. Hard northern men on their smaller mountain horses, naked steel in their hands, faces hidden behind their conical helms and thick beards. They moved in silence, and as the man at the head of the column reached the inner keep his right hand rose and clenched into a fist, stopping his men in nearly perfect unison. Not a word from any of them as the rear of the colum fanned out until they formed a square in the center of the courtyard, spearpoints gleaming in the morning sun. Their leader swung down from his steed and stripped off his helmet, hanging it from his dappled grey stallion's saddle. Unlike the southern knights in their fine plate, he wore a chain shirt and thick boiled leather, but the shield slung across his back and the sword and axe hanging from his belt showed signs of heavy use. He was fair haired, his face harsh but not unhandsome. Tall and strong in the prime of his life, with bright blue eyes like chips of ice and a confident bearing that showed no fear at being within his enemy's domain. Several days growth of beard did little to conceal the mocking smile he directed at the soldiers watching them, their fine tabards and armour. Their finery hadn't won them victory, nor did it grant them any special protection. His own men might not be so pretty, but they had seized the fortress of Whitecliff the previous spring in a daring escalade, and defeated every force sent against them in the months since. How arrogant were these raiders from across the icy Sea of Tears. Once they had been content merely to raid the kingdom's shores, but now they seemed bent on conquest. Duke Colwyn, Lord Warden of the North, lay dead. His head decorated the gates of Whitecliff, once his own ancestral seat. His son sent south to inform the King that Whitecliff was now the property of the northmen, of Brand son of Aelfric. Of Brand the Bastard, younger son of a Nyorden warlord. The latest defeat he and his men had inflicted had been less than a hundred miles from this palace. A daring raid that burned grain stores set aside for the summer campaigns. No one had expected them to strike in the dead of winter, but they had come, crossing a frozen moat and scaling walls in the dead of night before setting the King's own grain stores aflame and then melting back into the winter night like wraiths. Then the messenger had come, offering peace. Offering fealty, even. But only on condition. Brand Wolfsbane was to be created a Duke, enfeoffed with Castle Whitecliff, named Lord Warden of the North... and to seal the pact, he was to marry the King's only daughter. It was a daring gambit, and Brand's men had advised him not to travel to the capital himself but he had ignored their advice this once. It was important that everyone see that he was not afraid of the King. That the King be seen to bend his head to HIM, and not the reverse. He came not as a supplicant, but as an equal. Halfstan, to me. Aethelred, wait here and let none come too closely. His voice was sharp in spite of the rolling vowels of his northern accent. A burly, red-haired bear of a man with a thick beard braided with shining copper beads leapt down from his horse and hefted a wooden chest over one shoulder. The two men approached the guard captain. Stand aside, I have business with your king. The cold words had hands reaching for weapons but the Chamberlain hurried up and raised his hands. Peace, all of you. Lord Wolfsbane, I am pleased to welcome you. His majesty awaits you in the Great Hall. Then take us there. Brand snapped back, pushing one of the guardsmen aside and smiling as he backed down. I wish to meet my bride. He smiled a wolfish smile, taking pleasure in cowing the guards. To come here, under arms, to dictate terms to the King... it was delicious. Brand intended to savour it. To think his Father had chosen his brother over him. Before he was done, Brand intended to show Father that he had chosen the wrong son.