Ingrid Jorvikdatter's Story

As Beorn bowed and left them, it suddenly struck Lelinus that he was alone with his new wife for the first time in their wives. He pondered her words for a moment. He knew what was expected of them, but he didn't object to it. He could not ask for a more attractive spouse. Surprisingly, she took her hand in his. He squeezed it as he led her down the hall.

"I have to say that I could have done much worse. I honestly don't think I could have done better. I am glad that Brynjar thought he could humiliate us both with this," Leo told her with a slight smile, "We will have to find a way to make this bite him in his arse, don't you think?"

"Oh, are wedding presents traditional among your people? I had yours placed in our quarters by a trusted servant. Giving it to you in public would have caused... Complications," he mused as he gently guided her up the steps towards the rooms that had been prepared for them. Luckily, they weren't far, though, Lelinus had begun to stumble slightly when they reached the top of the steps. When they stepped into the room, a sword lay on the doublebed. He let go of her hand to present it to her.

"The steel is good and pure from what I understand, but the pommel is new. The blacksmith must have felt like being creative."

"I have to say that I could have done much worse. I honestly don't think I could have done better. I am glad that Brynjar thought he could humiliate us both with this," Lelinus smiled, "We will have to find a way to make this bite him in his arse, don't you think?"

Ingrid smiled. Lelinus's happiness was gentle, like him, but still infectious. Given time, Ingrid was sure that this initial attraction to Lelinus would grow into something deeper, something closer to love. "We will." she said, her voice steady.

"Oh, are wedding presents traditional among your people? I had yours placed in our quarters by a trusted servant. Giving it to you in public would have caused... Complications," Lelinus said, leading her to their room. Ingrid was surprised. She wasn't expecting a gift from him. As far as she had been aware, this had been a marriage for political convenience. She hadn't expected all the excesses of marriage. Her free hand hovered forward as Lelinus stumbled, ready to catch him if he fell too far forward.

Lelinus let go of her hand and handed her a sword. Ingrid turned the blade over in her hands. It was a fine blade.

"The steel is good and pure from what I understand, but the pommel is new. The blacksmith must have felt like being creative."

Ingrid nodded, testing the weight and balance of the blade. She could wield it one handed if she needed to, but she had a feeling the sword would be better controlled with two hands. The pommel was solid. A smile tugged at her lips. "Thank you." She said, placing the sword on the dresser. She felt for the leather cord around her neck. She pulled the pendant from around her neck.

"My people don't exchange gifts so much, but we do have this tradition," she said, placing the pendant around his neck. She traced the lighter interlocked rings. "The eternal bond of husband and wife, and the light it can provide when the world is dark," she explained, tracing the darker disk that made up the body of the pendant. Ingrid looked up, finally realising how close her face was to Lelinus. "Taking our strength from each other," she said quietly, trying to fill the silence. Her lips brushed against his, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She pulled away, her face still close to his. Her lips tingled where she had pressed them to his. It was their first day together, but there was something there. Her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered. For the first time in a long time, she felt like a woman first and a warrior second, in the best way. "Come to bed with me?"

Lelinus smiled slightly as he helped her place the pendant around his neck, his fingers brushing hers as she explained its significance. The irony of him giving her a weapon as she gave him necklace did not escape him or fail to amuse him. Somehow, their faces had gotten close to one another without his notice and he could feel her breath against his chin as she kissed him.

He returned the kiss gently, his hands finding their way around her body. He admired the feeling of the leather hugging her sharp curves and he gazed at as they broke apart. Her words caused him to tense in a pleasant way. The desire he had packed away so neatly earlier came flooding back and for once he had no clever remarks.

He pulled her into a kiss and led her towards their bed in a suddenness that even surprised himself, his hands reaching for the strips of her jerkin.

"Thank Artemesia you're not wearing a dress," he murmured. Love would definitely come, but tonight, they could begin to know one another.

When the servant found King Artos dead in his bed that morning, chaos broke out within the palace as news traveled like wildfire. Did the king pass away naturally? Was the king murdered as some said? Did the Fjellborgans, sensing weakness, murder him in his own bed on the very night the treaty was concluded? Naturally, people turned to a figure of authority and Patriarch Julius, as the preeminent adviser on the King's Council in the absence of a Chancellor filled that role quite well. He doubled the guard and had the king's body examined immediately for foul play.

Brother Beorn, along with several other herbalists peered over the body. He frowned thoughtfully. The king was in good health the night before. He found it hard to believe that he could just die. Yet, there were no physical wounds nor was the blood he had drawn reacting to any of his herbs or powders. He grimaced.

"Your Excellency, there is no proof of poison," a healer told the Patriarch, "At the very least, no poison from the North or Byrdain was used or Brother Beorn's herbs would have revealed them."

"Yet, it could have been poison from the south. If we had been there to observe him, we could have seen the signs. It would've been expsensive, one available only to someone with gold to spare. A prince, maybe."

"Careful, Brother Beorn..." the Patriarch warned.

"King Artos wanted to speak with first Prince Brynjar last night and then Prince Lelinus this morning. What if he intended to change who his successor was and he was murdered by it?"

"Silence! If His Grace, may Artemesia give him rest, intended to make such a drastic change, his Council would have known about it beforehand! You must not antagonize the new king with accusations of patricide, Brother Beorn. I cannot protect you from his wrath if you do."

"But it we could open up his body to see if there was damage..."

"And mutilate your king's corpse? Nonsense. King Artos the Great laid down his burden upon the knowledge that this long war was over. That is the cause of death and we now must begin preparations for his funeral and King Brynjar's coronation before Byrdain's enemies can latch onto any perceived weakness. Now go... We must prepare the king's court for a smooth transition of power."



Lelinus woke up enveloped in a feeling of warmth. For a second, he assumed he was running a fever and a cursory touch of his forehead revealed that while he did have one, that wasn't the source of the warmth around him. He opened his eyes and smiled when he saw that his body was entangled with that of his new wife and his bed's covers. The night before was pleasant, far more pleasant than he had dared hope it would be. Memories of bare skin and touches of hands, fingers, and mouths coursed through his mind and he thought he understood a little of why some at court would risk life and reputation for unwise dalliances.

He reached over to Ingrid, perhaps intending to consummate their marriage a few times just incase when he heard the bells begin to ring. It started from highest tower, he knew, but the sound spread, the somber tone taken up by other bell towards other bell towers, the whole capital filled with the noise.

"Father," he whispered fearfully, he stepped down to the floor but slipped down as his head ached, his body acting up at the worst possible time. He thought he made a pathetic figure, sprawled out on the floor in the nude. Grimacing, he pushed himself up.

"He was not supposed to die this soon."

Ingrid shuffled in her sleep, moving closer to the warmth beside her. Her arm rested across Lelinus's waist in a lazy embrace. The early morning sun rolled in through the windows. Ingrid turned her head away, willing the sun to disappear. Surely it couldn't be morning already.

She felt a hand trail down her arm, it's touch feather-light. She smiled, pressing closer to Lelinus. Then the warmth was gone. In her sleepy haze, Ingrid frowned, patting the bed for some sign of her husband. The sound of bells began to slip through, pulling her to full consciousness. Her eyes opened. For a moment she panicked. Lelinus was not in bed. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the clothes scattered across the floor and the incongruously neat furniture. She relaxed when she saw Lelinus standing. The moment of relief was quickly gone though. Ingrid slipped from the bed to Lelinus's side. She took hold of his arm, feeling the unnatural warmth beneath her hand, and helped him up.

"He was not supposed to die this soon."

That must be why the bells were ringing, Ingrid realised. "Your father is dead? But he was well enough yesterday." This didn't make sense. From the man she saw yesterday, Ingrid had thought he had at least another ten years on the throne. To die so suddenly seemed peculiar. "You and I will get dressed and then we will find out what has been said, yes?"

Lelins gripped Ingrid's arm, hating that she had to see him so weak now at all times. He forcefully studied himself and he smiled gratefully at his wife as he took in the sight of their room and state of undress. The night before was perhaps the best one of his life, but the thought of his father dying even as he lost sight of anything in this world but Ingrid filled him with profound guilt even thought he knew such feelings were irrational. At her words, he nodded.

"We must wear solid black, no jewelry or other decorations. We can have a servant bring you one if you don't have an outfit like that, yet. Patriarch Julius will be in control of the proceedings until he crowns Brynjar, which will be soon. The man may be a blithering sycophant, but that means he won't stretch things out to enjoy being regent. He'd rather do as he will in the king's name than his own or the realm's. It provides him with some shield from criticism."

He frowned as he approached his wardrobe and began to dress himself in appropriate attire, "The court has become much more dangerous. Brynjar is to be king now and he will seek death and power and Julius won't be the only one trying to curry favor with him."

"Stay at my side, please," he requested.

Ingrid nodded, following Lelinus's words. Black. "I have black," Ingrid said as looked through her clothes, searching for the dress. It was a simple, long sleeved dress. She hadn't worn it since Ull had died and hadn't expected to be wearing it again so soon. Ingrid pulled the dress on, sliding it over her head. Ingrid fussed with the sleeves, pulling the cuffs into place. She smoothed the skirt of the dress. For a moment, she thought she felt Ull's hand on her shoulder, solid and warm. She took a deep breath, cinching the belt of the dress.

"The court has become much more dangerous. Brynjar is to be king now and he will seek death and power and Julius won't be the only one trying to curry favor with him."

Ingrid pulled on her boots, thinking all the while. She needed to get at least Tyr out of Byrdain. After last night, she wasn't sure how long it would be before Brynjar and Tyr came to blows now that Brynjar was not protected by it being Ingrid's wedding. Blood could be spilled now and it would not mean ill for her marriage to Lelinus. It seemed that keeping the Fjellborgan King and the heir in the same place for too long would be dangerous.

"Stay at my side, please."

Ingrid looked up at Lelinus's words. She crossed the space between them and pressed a kiss to his brow. She felt a moment of fierce possessiveness as she looked at her husband. Mine, she thought, mine to hold and protect. My family too. She would defy the Gods themselves if they tried to take him from her, and may their mercy shield any mortal who tried. "As long as you want me to be, I'm here. Now to face the day." She said, bracing herself for whatever lay beyond the four walls of their room.

Lelinus smiled at her words. It was strange how they seemed to have bonded so quickly, but he did not object to it. He was glad to have someone by his side in this. Beorn was a good friend, but he did not want to involve his healer in the intrigues that would follow if he could help it. He was glad that Ingfrid was willing to bear through it with him and already, he could see her face set as though she was ready to cut down Brynjar as soon as she saw him.

Wouldn't that be nice? he thought to himself with a grin. Unfortunately, that would create too many complications. Still, he had been defying his elder brother since the moment he could walk. Even if he were king, Lelinus was sure he'd still find a way to blunt his stupidity with little damage done. He reached out with his hand to grab Ingrid's arm and kissed her cheek.

"The rabble will be gathered at the throne room. It's best we show up there too."


Herding nobility was like herding cats in Patriach Julius' opinion. Each and every one of them were strong-willed, ungrateful, solitary creatures as likely to bite your hand as to do you a favor. Oh, and they would hiss at you upon receiving unfavorable news. He glared at the assembly before him.

"Why am I acting as regent? I am the the senior adviser on the king's council and in absence of a chancellor, the responsibility passes to me. Furthermore, I am the Patriarch of Byrdain. To question my honor is to question the honor of our holy church. If you wish to continue, I will be happy to write the Holy Father on your behalf."

The latest loudmouth backed down and Julius held back a smirk. The threat of excommunication was enough to cowl even the most uppity lordling. In the time it took to appeal to the Holy Father for forgiveness, they were liable to lose their holdings and wealth to an opportunistic neighbor or greedy liege. Of course, he was not well-liked by the current Holy Father, but few wished to risk it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Prince Lelinus arrive with his she-wolf of a new wife. Before he could say anything, another fool spoke.

"It had to have been the Northmen! The king...."

"Was old, Ser Dayne. The healers of the palace did a full autopsy and there was no foul play involved. Besides, poison is not in the pagans' modus operandi. If they killed him, we'd have found him cut in half."

He crossed his arms behind his back.

"Now, preparations are underway. If all goes well, by the grace of God, King Artos will be laid to rest and Prince Brynjar will be crowned King of Byrdain."

Meanwhile, I will convince the new king to make me chancellor. It is an office I am due and in time, it should convince the Holy Father to name me Cardinal. He thought smugly.

The castle was a dull buzz as Brynjar left his room and strode down the hall with purpose. His face was composed into a perfect masked mixture of grief and anger. It wouldn't be a terrible leap to assume that one of the Fjellborgan's had done this. If anyone of them decided King Artos hadn't died from old age, then the blame would easily be placed elsewhere. There was no use for Brynjar to try and plant these seeds. The doubt was already there. It was cruel irony that Artos died the night the two countries were sealed and supposedly at peace.

There would be no peace.

The was the only part he kept in his mind as he walked forward. He heard the whispers in the shadows and around the corners. Everyone he passed fell silent and bowed their heads. The pain was clear and evident in his eyes. To an outsider he was a grieving son. One who had a crown and thrown thrust upon his shoulders without warning.

Brynjar seemed to be the last one to enter the spacious room, though he was barely beat by Lelinus and Ingrid. He was rather surprised to find Ingrid dressed in a gown of solid black in standing with the traditions of Byrdain. It seemed rather odd to find her in a dress when she had refused to wear such apparel for her wedding. Oddly enough, it didn't suit her. Brynjar would much rather have her back in her leathers and furs as it was more revealing.

The slight twinge of jealousy that his feeble brother was able to bed such a ravenous creature was dim and dulled in comparison to the sudden tasks at hand.

"Patriarch Julius," he tilted his head ever so slightly. It was the most he ever gave when acknowledging another with respect, and those people who received it could be counted on one hand. Now that he was to be king, the number would be even fewer. "Is it true?" he stopped. Anguish laced his tone in a clever way and he allowed his brow to pull together in a slight manner. "Father cannot be dead." The disbelief was tucked into the corner of his mouth.

He felt the energy in the room. There was hot and indignant anger. If the Northmen weren't careful, they would be plunged into war before sunset and they would have no chance to escape the city. They were cornered.

That would be no fun. Brynjar was the lion, and every Fjellborgan was his mouse. He wanted to play a game of chase, to hunt, and to snare his prey at the last moment. To have them defeated so easily would not satisfy his hunger for blood.

"It had to have been the Northmen! The king...."

Ingrid snapped her head around, searching for the source of the outburst. How dare they suggest such a thing. Her people were not so ignoble that they would murder an old man in their sleep. Exactly what world had Jorvik dropped her in to? Was there truly so much hatred towards them.

"Was old, Ser Dayne. The healers of the palace did a full autopsy and there was no foul play involved. Besides, poison is not in the pagans' modus operandi. If they killed him, we'd have found him cut in half."

Ingrid squeezed Lelinus's hand. They wouldn't have killed Artos in the first place, no matter the method. Despite Julius's attempts to calm the crowds, she could feel the animosity towards her people, towards her. She stood a little straighter, holding her head high. Ingrid's gaze briefly swept over Brynjar. He was staring at her again. She dropped his gaze and looked back to Julius while half the room's attention was on Brynjar.

"Patriarch Julius, is it true? Father cannot be dead."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. There seemed to be something off. Ingrid remembered her own grief when Ull had died, Tyr's as well. Despite his best attempts to hide it, Tyr's grief had been palpable before he had told her about Ull. His face had seemed to be crumpled. Jorvik was still broken by the loss of his son. Brynjar seemed to be a little too put together, even if he had only heard whispers. Or perhaps Brynjar and Artos hadn't been close as father and son.

The animosity in the room confirmed her previous fears though. Tyr needed to leave Byrdain as soon as possible. In a way, losing Jorvik would not be so bad. That was the natural order, the parent died before the child. But she would do anything to be sure that no more of her family were killed by Byrdains. She needed to get Tyr as soon as possible. The only problem was there was no way to get to him without arousing attention. She could hardly use her old method with Lelinus, he probably wouldn't know what she was trying to do. With Tyr, she had traced the letters on his hand or his back and he had known. She looked around the room, waiting for an excuse to leave.

Brynjar was lying. Lelinus could always tell when his brother attempted to deceive people, particularly when he was performing for a large audience. His eyes never quite matched his performance. There were no tears or distress in them. Instead, they remained as cold and calculating as ever. Unfortunately, the rest of the crowd seemed to be taking the act even as he cast unchaste glances towards his wife. He squeezed Ingrid's hand back.

"I am sorry, Your Highness. King Artos was as mortal as the rest of us. Within the week, the king will be returned to God's earth and the denizens of the kingdom will pay their respects. Then you must take your father's throne.... That can be delayed until you are ready, Your Highness. No one will fault a son for taking time to grieve," Julius said with a bow.

Lelinus resisted the urge to snort. There was no way that Brynjar would delay the chance to achieve full power. Again, he glanced at Ingrid and seeing the look on her face, he murmured quietly, "Are you unwell?"

If she could warn at least Tyr of the mood in the kingdom at the moment, the Fjellborgan heir could be saved and any war postponed.

Brynjar was enjoying the tension and strained emotions in the room. This was was he loved. He was a master puppeteer and all of these people were connected to him. He held all the strings, well, almost all. There were two sets disconnected from his deft fingers. He could feel Lelinus' penetrating gaze as Patriarch Julius spoke calmly and reserved as he explained the proceedings that would take place over the next days. It did not matter what Lelinus thought. He was only one man against him. No one ever defied Brynjar boldly. Lelinus was the only one to fight hard against him. He was a sickly prince and even if he convinced others of Brynjar's devilish ways, no one would dethrone him. Who would want to see a sick king sit upon the throne?

"Thank you Patriarch, but I do not believe this is the time for us to sit back and grieve. Without our king we are weak, and I do not think the Fjellborgan's will be so keen to keep our peace treaty unless a strong king is upon the throne. We cannot delay or hesitate. I will not watch our people suffer needlessly." He glanced around the room. The nobles were murmuring quietly. He had not heard or seen Katinka enter the room briefly before she had left. He did notice, however, that Ingrid was restless. He knew she was probably uneasy to have her family at the heart of Byrdain with feelings having turned sour.

Her worries were needless, at least for now. Brynjar was not ready to let any of the Fjellborgan royalty fall just yet. They needed to watch their people suffer as his people had. He would make them rue the day they had ever invaded their border. He would never forget the precious life they had stolen from him. They would pay ten fold with the pain he had felt for years. This was not over. He would let them feel safe. He would let them get settled. Then he would turn their world upside down and rip everything the loved form their tight grasp.

Lelinus was silent as Brynjar pressed the Patriarch to crown him sooner. It was typical of his brother. As much as he believed himself to be a puppeteer, he was still led around by his own lusts and vanities. Frame it however you wanted, Brynjar still appeared too eager to sit upon the throne. It was not enough to cause anyone to voice any accusation even with the privacy of closed doors, but it was enough that if and when Brynjar crossed the line somewhere in the future, certain people would remember.

"It is breaking with tradition. No monarch has ascended to the throne before their predecessor was laid to rest and rushing the funeral would upset a great deal of the population," the Patriarch weakly protested. He would cave, Leo knew, and his next words confirmed his suspicions.

"Still, these are extenuating circumstances and all those who would attend your coronation and the king's funeral are in King's Hold due to your brother's wedding," Julius conceded, his lips twitching slightly in distaste and for a second, Leo felt his anger burn hotter than a simple quirk of the lips deserved.

"A coronation the week before the funeral would not be improper, in my judgement. Do any of the lords assembled object?"

The crowd buzzed at this news, but no one stepped forward to challenge the future king. Lelinus was half-tempted to himself, but now wasn't the time. Still, he couldn't help but snark to those around him, "He seems awfully eager to sit on the kingdom's most uncomfortable chair."

The Iron Throne, forged from the swords of a thousand enemies during the era of Liamette the Conqueror was not designed for comfort. Quite the opposite, actually. Many parts of it was still as sharp as the swords that forged it and if a king wasn't careful, he could prick himself.



Beorn was pacing the halls. This wasn't good. The king had been poisoned, he knew it, but Patriarch Julius just wanted to have the matter closed. He needed to think of something. He'd tell Lelinus soon, of course, but his friend didn't nearly have enough power or influence to rock the boat against the Patriarch's wishes. And Brynjar's. He had the most to gain from the king's death and if the he did do it... Beorn shivered. He did not want to think about what the future king could be planning.

"Brother Beorn. You think the King was poisoned?"

Beorn paused and he couldn't help but flush as Katinka came into view. Even with her veil, she was breathtaking and without it, he could not help but admire her appearance in silken black fabrics that were worth more than his own life. Still, he focused on her words and nodded.

"Y-yes, milady. The king was healthy the night before and he was healthy this morning apart from the lack of life. He had to have been poisoned. Someone must have done it while we were distracted by the Northmen."

"Are you unwell?"

Ingrid look to Lelinus. A wry smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head. He should be worrying about himself and yet it seemed his only concern was her wellbeing. It was good to have at least one ally in the room. She would have to be stupid not to notice the hostility even as Julius was placating the gathered nobles. "Concerned is all."

"Thank you Patriarch, but I do not believe this is the time for us to sit back and grieve. Without our king we are weak, and I do not think the Fjellborgan's will be so keen to keep our peace treaty unless a strong king is upon the throne. We cannot delay or hesitate. I will not watch our people suffer needlessly."

Ingrid bit her lip. The bait was obvious. Everything Brynjar was saying was calculated, every implication meant to turn the room against her and her family, perhaps even against Lelinus by extension. Fjellborg hadn't reached for this peace because they saw Byrdain as a strong nation. They had reached for peace for reasons beyond that.

"It is breaking with tradition. No monarch has ascended to the throne before their predecessor was laid to rest and rushing the funeral would upset a great deal of the population," Julius said weakly, apparently reluctant to deny his future king his wish. "Still, these are extenuating circumstances and all those who would attend your coronation and the king's funeral are in King's Hold due to your brother's wedding. A coronation the week before the funeral would not be improper, in my judgement. Do any of the lords assembled object?"

"He seems awfully eager to sit on the kingdom's most uncomfortable chair." Lelinus said.

Ingrid took a moment to look over the throne. The criss cross of swords did not make for a comfortable throne. And the Byrdains thought that the Fjellborgans lived like savages. Still, one thing was becoming abundently clear. If Ingrid was to survive in this place, she needed to keep Brynjar on side. She had a vague idea how to do it, but it carried a great deal of risk, not only that she would fail in her endeavour, but that she would lose the upper hand against Brynjar. She would have to tread carefully.

"Well," she said, when the buzz had died down, "I don't think anyone will object to the Fjellborgans being informed of the morning's events. I will personally see to it," she said stepping forward to Brynjar. "Allow me to extend my condolences. Losing family is never easy, irrespective of the circumstances." She dipped her head to her new brother and to Julius before she left the room.

Once outside the hall, Ingrid gathered her skirt and ran through the corridors of the keep. Decorum wasn't important when she was on her own. She turned the corner and collided with Tyr.

"Ingrid, what-" he looked at her, "Why are you wearing a dress?"

Ingrid took a moment to gather herself. "Artos is dead. That's what the bells were for. Brynjar will be king before the week is out. He hates us Tyr, you have to get out Byrdain."

Tyr's smirk faltered, "Artos is dead?"

Ingrid nodded, "You have to leave Tyr. If you stay he will find a reason to keep you here for some imagined crime. Half the court already thinks we had something to do with it."

Tyr pulled his sister into a hug, stroking her hair, "I will tell the men to be cautious. Half of us will leave after the coronation."

"But-"

"Ingrid, if we leave too soon after the death of the king, it will only arouse more suspicion. For now, we play nicely and by their rules alright."

Ingrid nodded, "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I always am. I'll tell Jorvik. You should get back before people start talking."

Ingrid smiled thinly. At least her people knew what was going on. "I suppose I'll see you later then." She said by way of a goodbye before making her way through the keep, taking her time as she made her way back to the hall.

"I have no proof," Beorn told Katinka sadly. They were all feeling the death of the king, but he couldn't forget that King Artos was this great and beautiful noble lady's foster father. She probably knew him better than her own father, he realized. He looked into her eyes and continued.

"But there are a lot of people who would love to see the king dead. Not all of the nobility were content with his rule or the many decisions he made like making peace with the Fjellborgans. Some would see this as an opportunity to frame them to continue the war. And if the poison was undetectable by my arts, it would be something expensive and foreign to this part of the world. Or at least someone had to know how poisons are uncovered and treated in Byrdain."

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, "I don't know who did it, but it was poison. And if I were a Northman, I wouldn't do it with the royal family here in our capital. Not unless I was okay with them being accused, executed, and the war begun once again."



Lelinus said nothing as Ingrid spoke to his brother before leaving the hall. He was impressed. He hadn't been expecting her to be able to restrain herself as the rest of the room murmured against her people. As he watched her leave, he felt a hearty slap at his back and he turned to see the jovial, large form of the Duke of Canut.

"She is a good on', lad. Under other circumstances, I'd envy you," the man greeted in his friendly manner, though his tone was somber. He looked over at the Patriarch and Brynjar. Though he had a reputation of not being the brightest lord of the bunch, Duke Aethwulf was not a fool and he was a good man.

"Better be wary of the Patriarch. He can't be trusted to talk your brother out of bad ideas," he murmured before grinning happily as Ingrid returned. Leo smiled slightly, taking her hand as he tried to convey with his eyes that Aethwulf was a friend before glancing at his brother, waiting for him to speak.

In the end, Lelinus could not take the atmosphere in the room anymore. There was some doubt in the air, but Brynjar held the vast majority of the nobility in the palm of his hand. He felt ill. Seizing on that excuse, he turned to his new life and Duke Aethwulf with a slight smile, "I need to step out for a few moments. It is getting stuffy in here."

The Duke smiled in understanding.

"I don't care what they say. Cool air is good for the health, my lad. I'll keep an eye on things, don't you worry," the man told him, waving his giant hands in a dismissive, but friendly manner. Lelinus smiled at him. Aethwulf as a good soul. He was glad for his sake that he was not often at court. Nobles with good souls were beloved by their vassals and the peasants of their lands, but they had a tendency to lose their head when they were involved with politics.

Lelinus smiled at Ingrid and kissed her cheek in the proper manner, not at all reluctant to be seen treating her as his wife.

"You do not have to stay here either," he whispered.

As he headed out the hall, he spotted an unusual sight. A dark woman in black held a box in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other. She was obviously foreign. A dignitary? No, besides the fact that no matter the views of other lands, they would not seek to cause an incident by sending a woman in a man's role, her clothes were not quite fine enough. Still, he lowered his head in greeting.

"May I be of," he began before he felt his body rack itself with a cough. Perhaps it wasn't just the situation that made him feel sick. Shaking his head, he continued, "May I be of assistance?"

Ingrid slipped back into the hall, quietly weaving through the rabble to Lelinus's side. He was talking to another man. He looked like a kind sort of person. That was a relief. Everyone else here seemed determined to get something on everyone else, if only to get themselves half a step ahead. She slid her hand into Lelinus's, smiling up at him. "Tyr's been told."

Everyone's attention seemed to be on Brynjar. The atmosphere was tense. It probably would be for the next few weeks as everyone waited to see what sort of king Brynjar would be.

"I need to step out for a few moments. It is getting stuffy in here."

Ingrid looked to Lelinus, studying his face. He did look pale. She tried to keep the concern from her face. She doubted Lelinus would appreciate anything that looked like pity from her. He might not be physically strong, but that didn't mean he was completely weak. She would be there though, just not hovering around him.

"I don't care what they say. Cool air is good for the health, my lad. I'll keep an eye on things, don't you worry," Lelinus's friend said. She liked this man. She turned her face slightly towards Lelinus as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"You do not have to stay here either," he whispered to her.

"I'll be out in a moment." Ingrid smiled and squeezed his hand as he left. She turned to the man Lelinus had been speaking too. "Be careful. My husband likes you and I would hate to see you in trouble because of us." She dipped her head and went after Lelinus. She found him in the midst of a coughing fit. A dark skinned woman was holding him.

"No, you most certainly may not. You are ill. You should be laying down, resting." Ingrid suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he should be in bed. Obviously, though, this girl didn't know who she was speaking to. I can wait here, I'm waiting for the King, or the Prince, I'm sure they'll be along soon."

No, she clearly didn't know who she was speaking to. "He is the prince," she said, stepping forward to Lelinus. She put a hand on his shoulder. "She's right Leo, you need to rest," she said, pushing his hair from his face. She was being calm but she wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. She would drag Lelinus to his rest if she had to. Byrdain had already lost a king, it didn't need to lose a prince as well, and she wasn't losing her husband until she was an old woman. "Go back to bed. If anything comes up, I can deal with it."

"If I went to bed whenever I felt under the weather, I would never leave my room," Lelinus told the dark-skinned woman with a slight smile, touched how she showed concerned for a total stranger and impressed given their difference in status. Most servants would not dare touch him familiarly in this way.

"I am Prince Lelinus, at your service," he told her simply before he heard the voice of his new wife. He blinked in surprise as she strode over to him and ran her hands cross his hair. He clasped her hands and looked as though he was about to argue before nodding in acquiesce, placing a hand on hers.

"There won't be much to do today anyway. But I would know why she's seeking me or my brother out. Better that I deal with her than him. You saw what he tried to do to the servant girl at our wedding feast," he reasoned before turning to dark skinned woman.

"So, why do you wish to speak with me or my brother?"

"If I went to bed whenever I felt under the weather, I would never leave my room," He said and Evangelina clicked her teeth. That was a shame, he seemed ill, but according to his words, he's always ill. In that moment, she saw a women approached them. She seemed to scrutinize the two, before approaching the male, in a way that a wolf circle her mate. Evangelina, didn't take it as a challenge, she wasn't here for such a thing, she was only being helpful, since the fit came when he spoke to her. She ignored this as she spoke at the same time as the young man.

"He is the prince."
[b]"I am Prince Lelinus, At your service."

Evangelina took an involuntarily step back. She wasn't versed in the ways fo royals but she knew they had a thing about being touched by commoners. and she was worse, a nomad,

"She's right Leo, you need to rest," The woman said, sternly but gently. It was sweet giving her intense look. "Go back to bed. If anything comes up, I can deal with it." She told him, and Evangelina felt her lips twitch into a small smile. This woman wasn't taking no for an answer, who was she?

"There won't be much to do today anyway. But I would know why she's seeking me or my brother out. Better that I deal with her than him. You saw what he tried to do to the servant girl at our wedding feast," The Prince said, and Evangelina took a breath, She was not looking forward to meeting his brother---wait.

She just realized who this woman was. The bride. the woman she'd made the gifts for

"So, why do you wish to speak with me or my brother?"

"Oh, well, Forgive me, Your Grace, I am not from here, as I'm sure you can tell by my accent, I've not well mannered I fear," She stammered a bit, unsure of herself, but then she realized, she wasn't here to be one of them, she was here to be herself, and to change those around her. That's why the king wanted her here. "I was commissioned by your father, the late King, to make a gift for your bride, A wedding gift." She said, and turned to grab the box she'd dropped in a hurry to help him. "These are for you." She said, holding the box out to the woman, inside where beautiful bangles, wrapped in red thread, bejeweled with gold beads. Each similar, yet unique. "I am Evangelina, a nomad from the East. I met with the late king, some weeks ago, I was only alerted of his death during my ride here. May the Gods, rest his soul, he was a kind man, convinced me that I should come here, for the wedding, and...for this." She said, and headed the prince the decree stating her employment, that she was not to be a slave, though she was a handmaiden. She was to be treated fairly, given chambers in the palace, and a salary and she could come and go as she pleased so long as she continued working for the Crowed Prince---or rather the New King.. "Your father thought that you're brother could use a woman such as myself around...He'd found it amusing that I was not from here and that even when I knew he was king, I didn't treat him as such" She said, her eyes drifting a bit in thought. "He said I treated him like any other kingly old man, and that's what he liked....He wanted me to do the same for your brother...." She said, a small smile and the kindly old man, with his grand smile and hearty laugh. "I do not know your brother, and excuse me if I speak out of turn, but your father believed he could use a bit of....how did he word it.....humility and he felt I could do that for him." She said, tears touching her eyes. He really was a kind man, and someone she thought of as a friend, he didn't seem so old that death would take him mere weeks after that. He looked stronger then his young son is now.