"Long enough to admire your form... And to see that you rival our new king. It's best you don't tell him I said that. I wouldn't want to wound his ego."
Ingrid let out a small laugh. "Oh, I don't know, might do him some good."
"I actually prefer the bow. My father used to say it was the thinking man's weapon. A man could defend his city without opening the gate." Ingrid could sense that Lelinus's thoughts were wandering. She remained silent, not wanting to interrupt him. She knew from experience that distractions, no matter how well intended, were rarely welcome when someone was grieving. Her own thoughts turned to Tyr. Like Lelinus, he favoured the bow. Not that she had ever thought it to be a thinking man's weapon while it had been in Tyr's hands. A deadly weapon, yes. Tyr had rarely missed his mark. Still, Tyr was the wisest of the three, well two now, of them. Perhaps Lelinus was right. "He was as wise as he was strong. He didn't arrange my marriage poorly."
Ingrid smiled down at the ground. "Both nations need peace and it seems the gods chose us younger children are destined to be the symbol of it. I can think of worse people to be a symbol with."
Tyr kept his head down as he made his way back to the guest house that the Fjellborgans had been granted as a living quarters while they were in Byrdain. How gracious of them, Tyr had thought at the time. Then he realised that half the rooms were in disrepair. The slights were coming thick and fast. First they married Ingrid to a man who would be lucky to survive to thirty, and then housed her family in a building that was falling apart.
Tyr felt the gaze of the men on him as he crossed the hall to Jorvik's room. He knocked twice and let himself in. Jorvik was sat at the desk and barely noticed Tyr enter the room. Tyr quietly closed the door behind him. He took a moment to study his father. King Jorvik was a man who was rapidly approaching his twilight years, if he had not already embraced them. His face was lined with wisdom, age, war and grief. His hair was peppered with grey.
"Father," he cleared his voice, announcing his presence.
Jorvik looked up, startled as he saw his eldest child. His eyes were a watery blue, sparkling as Jorvik's face crinkled into a smile. "Tyr, what brings you here my boy? You should be out, seeing all that Byrdain has to offer."
"I saw Ingrid earlier. The bells mean that Artos has passed. Prince Brynjar will no doubt be king by the end of the month."
Jorvik nodded slowly. "It is as I feared. I had hoped that Artos would live a little longer. Alas, we are both old. Our lives are in the hands of gods now more than ever."
Tyr folded his arms. "Ingrid fears that the mood may turn against us. She says many of those in the courts believe we had a hand in his death."
Jorvik laughed. "As if we would kill an old man! The Byrdains might be a mighty people, but they are lead by half-wits." Jorvik calmed himself. "And what else does Ingrid say?"
"Ingrid believes it prudent that I leave Byrdain after the coronation."
Jorvik shook his head. "No. You will stay." Tyr frowned,, ready to protest. "I don't know what Brynjar's intentions are towards our people. If I die here, it will be dismissed as the death of an old man, nothing of great consequence beyond the passing of a king. If you are to die on Byrdainian land, it can only be an act of war. Killing the heir apparent can only be an act of war. You will stay." Jorvik said with an air of finality that left no room for any argument that Tyr might have constructed.
Tyr nodded his head. "Yes father."