The Two Princes' War

Freya smirked in triumph when her blow found its mark, not feeling the slightest bit guilty for the injury. Then, without a moment's hesitation, they began the dance again. The sparring swords seemed close to splintering from the force of the two, though she knew they would hold. Her muscles ached as the moments dragged on, but she paid no mind to it. She would not let Caelan win because of her fatigue. She was surprised he had not won the match, for it was most certain that he could have by now if he truly wanted. Her lips pursed, her mind trailing into the idea that he was going easy on her. She opened her mouth to comment on the matter when, all of the sudden, he lunged for, moving from defense to offense. The move took her by surprise but only just, as she quickly recovered.

There. An opening so wide it was almost laughable. She swung her sword quickly, stopping just short of his neck. She grinned, thinking she had finally, finally won against him. But then he chuckled, and then he laughed. That's when she noticed just the slightest pressure on her stomach, right at her navel. She looked down, mouth opening just slightly. How...? And before she knew it, she was laughing, too. It was a melodic sound usually, but now it was breathless and exasperated. Her lungs heaved, but she laughed all the same. "It seems...we are at a draw...my friend," she said between laughs before taking a deep breath to quiet herself. She smiled genuinely, her slight disappointment overturned by her triumph that she had, in fact, been made his equal. At least in this match.

Letting the sword fall, she turned her eyes to the sky, letting the slight wind cool her forehead. Running a hand through her hair, she looked at Caelan a little more intently, a thought passing her mind. Her joyous expression quickly dissolved into a thoughtful frown. "Caelan, I..." she cut herself off, her eyes finally noticing the man on the balcony just overhead. It was him. Her "fiancé." Her frown became a look of anger in the blink of an eye, but she held her tongue from what she desperately wished to say. She turned away quickly, breathing heavier than necessary as she put away the sparring sword. She stood there, for once unsure of how to handle the situation. How could she possibly know? She didn't have all the answers, and she knew she couldn't avoid this problem for much longer. But oh how she wished she could just run and keep running.
 
Frustration, fear and immense fury. Caelan's mind was bombarded as his bond with the princess suddenly exploded with emotion. And it was aimed at a person on a balcony nearby. Caelan's eyes turned towards the man, narrowed and dangerous. That man had just ruined Freya's mood. That did not put him in Caelan's favour. Not that he had that in any way. He thinned his lips and turned back towards the princess he swore to protect. The guardsman planted the tip of his training sword into the ground and placed his hands on the hilt, taking up the resting stance that had become famous for depicting him and his brothers in artistry. It was not a real stance and useless in battle, but it had an effect. He did not exaggerate or stand stiff. It looked natural, and it gave him an excellent position to talk from.

"We will not stand idle while your brother makes threats and pressures you to do things you do not wish to do." Though he had not intended it to, it came out in a low grown, unnecessarily sharp and full of dire consequence. For a moment, he was surprised that it came out like that. Then he sighed and lowered his head from that proud, noble way it had been tilted. "We are always with you, Your Highness. We are sworn only to you." And this time it was gentler, a solemn reminder, tinged with an emotion not usually heard from many guardsmen, let alone Caelan. Affection. He did not smile at her this time. But he inclined his head deeply.
 
Freya turned in surprise at the sound of Caelan's voice. She knew he was self-confident, but his tone seemed almost...authoritative. She pursed her lips, worry etched in her expression. It was unlike him to allow his emotions to take over even for a second, and it seemed that they had. And then he lowered his voice, inclining his head deeply. Something stirred within her, a feeling that she couldn't quite place. Taking a breath, she took a step towards him but quickly thought better of it due to the unfriendly eyes scrutinizing them. She sighed, her anger quickly dissolving as she realized that she was not alone. She had the loyalty of her guardsmen and, more than that, she had their friendship in one way or another. She trusted them more than anyone else. Though they were not of noble blood, she believed them all, especially Caelan, to be far superior to those she met in court. Including the bastard trying to marry her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, a warm smile displaying her mutual affection for him. She looked up, and the man was gone. She did not know how long he had been there, but she knew this wasn't the end of anything. It was only the beginning. Only seconds later, a servant appeared where the man had stood. Upon seeing the princess, he hurried down the steps and across the training grounds. Freya recognized him instantly as her father's most loyal retainer named Ladon--a man who would sooner give his life than betray the word of the king. She straightened without thinking, her eyes hardening as she waited for what could only be disaster. Was her father dead? Did he mean to order her to marry that man? What could it be?

"Your father wishes to see you, Your Highness," Ladon said quickly and confidently, as if his position held any more authority than that of a mere messenger. Freya's eyes widened in shock but only for a brief moment, as she was quick to recover. She could not show even the slightest sign of weakness, especially in front of her father's men. She held herself even higher, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the man. Standing next to Caelan, he was small and unassuming. She would consider him to have the look of a coward, but she knew full well that he was devoted to His Majesty without fail.

"Tell His Majesty that I will be with him presently," Freya replied, her own confident voice making Ladon's seem small and terrified. In fact, it seemed to cause the man just the slightest bit of panic. Without missing a step, he bowed and left more quickly than necessary. As soon as he was out of sight, her whole body seemed to tremble. Was it fear or shock? Likely both. There was a time when she was happy to be able to see her father, but that time was long past. Her heart felt the pain as if it was a fresh wound, but she could do nothing about it. It seemed now she could not do much of anything about her fate.

As if suddenly remember Caelan's presence, Freya straightened once more and walked briskly towards the steps leading to the balcony. She would have to call her maids and make herself presentable, although she hated to make her father wait. But if he saw her dressed like a man, his fury would be unequaled throughout all of time. Such fury would surely kill him in his current state. It was better for him to be impatient. By the time she made it to her rooms, her maids were ready. The next hour was spent scrubbing off sweat and grime, as well as practically dipping her in powders and creams. This time, she chose an ornately simple blue dress accented with gold. She chose her colors wisely, as she knew her father would appreciate them.

And now it was time.

~*~*~*~
​
The heavy wooden door leading into her father's quarters was ornately carved from pine wood, dark with intricate patterns. As she stared at the design, she could only marvel at the true masterpiece it really was. Whoever had carved it so long ago had put time and effort into their work, and they had created something befitting of His Majesty. She quickly realized that her fascination with the door was her own mind delaying the inevitable. She did not want to go in, no matter how she longed to see her father--especially knowing that he was possibly being poisoned. Fear, anxiety, and a strange sense of excitement pooled in her belly, making her nauseous. The King's Guard posted at the door shifted uncomfortably, unnerved by Her Highness's obvious hesitation.

She knocked.

A weak, grumbling voice filtered through the door, calling her to enter. Her throat closed as she opened the heavy door, peering in as if expecting a monster to be on the other side. What she found was far more shocking. The king--no, her father--lay white as a sheet beneath a crimson duvet. Attendants and doctors surrounded him, keeping an eye on their king every minute of the day. As she moved closer, she began to see in true horrifying detail just how sick His Majesty was. His eyes had sunken in, and his cheeks had lost their color. Without even thinking, she rushed to his side, taking his right hand in hers. Tears pricked her eyes, her love for her family finally pushing away the hurt and mistrust.

"Father," she whispered, her voice breaking. The king looked upon her, smiling as best he could. Despite his sickly appearance, his eyes still held the same intelligence they always had. Even more, they now showed true affection towards his youngest child and only daughter. Before anyone could stop him, he leaned forward with a grunt of pain and kissed Freya's forehead so softly it was almost as if he hadn't. And then it was too much, and the tears began to fall. The gesture was so simple, yet it spoke volumes between the two. She could not agree with what he had done, but he loved her. He always had, and he had wanted what he thought was best for her and the kingdom.

"My dear child," he rasped, "I fear...my time with you...is coming...to an end. Your mother...she was so beautiful and kind...you remind me of her. Maybe that is why...I could not...treat you like...I should have. Please...do what is right...for this kingdom." He stared at her hard, trying to communicate what he could not say aloud. Freya nodded, understanding washing through her as well as intense relief. She smiled, but it quickly broke as she tried to contain her sobs. The king visibly relaxed, as if all the tension had disappeared from his body. He gripped her hand, a last gesture of love before he fell back into a restless sleep. The doctors did not hesitate to shoo the princess away, claiming His Majesty needed to rest.

As the ornate wooden door closed behind her, a feeling of new dread coursed through her. She knew, deep down, that was the last time she'd see her father alive. And the thought was far more painful than she ever thought it would be.​
 
[End Scene]​
 
And so the princess feared for her people,
And she thought deeply and gravely on the time to come.
She made decisions then and they pained her much.
By her stood her faithful Caelan,
He who would one day be known as the Direwolf,
And ever was he watchful with blade half-drawn.​
 
Here Ends The First Chapter
Of The War Of The Two Princes​
 
Chapter Two

[Begin Scene]​
 
Clang. Clang. Clang. The morose tolling of bells rang throughout the city. The dawn bell. Caelan glanced out of the guardroom window grimly. The Princess was undoubtedly in the city, riding with the funeral procession of the king. A full contingent of guards had gone with her. Caelan hadn't been part of it. He had been aghast until the Lord Commander had ordered him to draw aside provisions and prepare to evacuate the Princess from the city in the case of an emergency. Though the Princes had taken their full Guards with them, the Princess had only taken a part of her Guard, wishing not to aggravate her brothers by outnumbering their men almost three to one. To reassure her, the Lord Commander had suggested that, devoted as her men were to her, the rest of the Guard may take it upon themselves to mingle among the crowd. After the Princess had left, he had promptly ordered the Guard to do exactly that. Caelan had never had any intention to do otherwise.

The sergeant buckled his sword to his baldric and then strode out of the guardroom. He wasn't on duty but neither was he wearing clothes for comfort. He wore a coat of leather studded with steel over his normal wear. It was more than able to stop a blade. Over it here wore a simple rough, green cloak, held in place by a small breastpin with the Princess' insignia. He intended to cover himself completely with it. If a person saw his clothes underneath, it would not be a far guess to believe he was a Princess' Guard in plain clothes. The breastpin was the only thing that could alert a man to that fact and that would only be if he had eyes keen enough to mark that out. Caelan drew the cowl over his head and pulled the cloak around him before mounting the horse waiting outside. The funeral procession must have almost reached the temple. It was time for his cadre and the rest of the Guard to move out.
 
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Grey. That was all the princess could see. The mourning veil covering her face prevented anyone from seeing how she truly felt, and perhaps that was for the best. With every ring of the dawn bell, her heart seemed to shatter just a bit more. It had been mere days since the king had passed...since her father had breathed his last. Although she had known, deep down, that his time on Earth was coming to an end, her heart had rejected it. Her foolish, damnable heart that refused logic and embraced the bliss of ignorance. When Ladon, that loyal retainer to her father, had come with downcast eyes and a woeful expression, she'd sent him away before he could say anything. Try as she might to be strong, the words "His Majesty has passed" were ones she could not bear to hear.

It had been a clear evening that night. Just hours before, she had seen her father for the last time. He had spoken to her in ways far too complicated for words; at least she could be thankful for that. They had made their amends, and she could say her goodbyes without regret. But that did little to nurse her wounded soul. All she could truly think about was the thin sheet placed over her father's body, the one barrier between her and her grief. And then her brother, Frederick, in all his delightful sorrow, had torn away the sheet to ensure that their father was dead. He had apparently not trusted the word of the castle's aging but experienced physician. She could remember letting out a terrible cry as her father's body lay lifeless before her. She'd left just as quickly as she had come, unable to bear looking at the dear king.

The procession was slow--painfully as such. As the bell's final clang resounded, all fell silent. Not even the birds dared to make a sound, as if all manner of living creatures could sense the horrible mix of grief and delight washing over the city. Freya was not stupid, even in her own despair. She knew there were many people, besides her father's murderers, who had hated the king. She also knew that, even now, her brother's were calculating their next moves. The throne was wide open for the taking, and she was fully aware of their amassed armies hidden haphazardly throughout Callaecia. The very thought sparked a fire in her gut, causing her to sit up even straighter as her horse neared the temple. Her jaw set, and she gripped the reins tighter than necessary. How could her brothers be this way?

But even more than that, the seed of revenge planted itself in her subconscious, biding its time well before coming to full fruition. She had heard that terrified little man just like Caelan and her senior guards. Someone--probably one of the nobles paying their respects to the incensed corpse that once held her father's spirit--had done this. They had planned it all, murdering her father without a second thought. Though her grief-stricken mind refused to entertain such thoughts as she looked at the world through a veil, they would cross her mind soon enough. Whoever had done this would be brought to justice. Whether it be by God's hand or her own, they would not remain in the shadows of their crime forever.

She would make sure of that.
 
There was a tenseness in the crowd that Caelan did not like. A wildness held back on a fraying leash. He prayed that it would not snap before the princess was able to leave. Caelan felt her grief. Her deep sorrow and her simmering wrath. Even as the crowd's half-wildness washed over him, Freya's emotions battered him from within. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, trying to shake the haze from his head. He needed to concentrate.

His eyes picked out a man in the crowd. There was something off about him. Caelan realised that not only was the man wearing a coat of mail under his cloak, he was without a doubt a soldier. It was the practice of centuries for criminals to be recruited to serve as the lowest dregs in the army. This man had the look of a criminal about him. His cloak was worn and old cloak and he was certainly concealing a weapon beneath it. Someone had brought soldiers into the city. As Caelan watched, the man moved through the crowd and vanished into the streets.

It was not right. There were soldiers in the city. How many then, had been brought in. The lieutenant looked around, assuring himself that his squad was there. The other Thanes would know when they needed move. The other squads would mobilise if there was a threat to the Princess' person. Caelan just needed to command his own.

He clenched the hilt of his sword, hidden under his cloak, with his right hand and wrapped the reins of his mount's bridle around his left. Catastrophe would happen today. That same old dread had tightened around his heart again. He readied himself to mount and ride within a moment's notice.
 
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Stiff muscles ached as Freya's steed finally came to a halt along with the rest of the funeral procession. Her even breath shuddered slightly as she looked up at the temple, staring with blank eyes at the formidable architecture. It was a place reeking of death in her eyes. She had been too young to remember her mother's death, but she would remember her father's until her own marked the pages of history. Setting her jaw, she waited, dismounting at the perfect moment with perfect grace. Despite her inner turmoil, she had to appear strong. She could not show weakness to her people now, especially with the anxiety that lurked beneath their grief. The question on all their minds: who would ascend to the throne? Of course, Princess Freya was hardly an option in their eyes. Rather, they looked to their princes, already placing bets on who would win the coming battle. They hardly realized that the battle would be quite literal.

The proceedings went on, incense and perfume filling her nostrils as she stepped into the temple for the first time in many years. Although she was not normally devout, she prayed silently now, her pleas ringing clear. She knelt before altar and corpse, head bowed and lips moving silently. Her brothers were the same, but she knew they weren't praying. They were watching each other, stealing careful glances when they thought it would go unnoticed. She bit her lip, anger spiking as she prayed Lath'Mord to judge her father as righteous. He knew his sins well, and he repented. Remember this, please. Let him be with my mother once more. Over and over, she repeated this in her mind, with some variation. It felt trite, and her fingertips seemed to grow numb in response to the monotony. She was sincere, but part of her didn't believe the gods would listen to what she wanted. They had never seemed to give a damn before. Why would they now?

Before long, they ceased their prayers, standing to their feet and paying direct respects to the lifeless body that once held her father's spirit. She blinked back tears, clenching her fist to keep from trembling. Don't show weakness. Not now. A priest came forward then, ensuring that their good king's spirit would be properly released. Freya cared little for what happened now. Her father was dead. Could they not just get on with it and release her from this hell? She cast a sideways glance to her brothers, her gaze focusing in particular on Henry. She had not seen her quieter brother in many months, as he had been away on mission. His presence here and now, at such a time, was far more terrifying than Frederick's. Although most would assume Frederick was the most dangerous out of the two brothers, they couldn't be farther from the truth. Even now, she could see it. The way Henry's lips turned at the corner, the way his gaze focused on details that Frederick had already missed, the way he carefully hid his thoughts behind a carefully constructed mask. She had known him all her life, and she still found it difficult to interpret his expressions.

The ceremony was over. A collective breath was released as the burial was completed, as if they had expected the king to resurrect before it was over. Freya turned away from the altar, leading the procession back towards the temple's entrance. Henry followed close behind, his breath practically tickling her neck. She stiffened without meaning to, chiding herself for showing her reactions so plainly at such a time. Her brother chuckled, but it was a laugh devoid of any humor at all. It was chilling, but what truly horrified her was what he whispered just loud enough for Frederick to catch a bit. Henry was not a stupid man; every word he spoke had been carefully calculated. She knew what he wanted, and it terrified her.

"Time is no longer your luxury."
 
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The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do. Prince Henry's own words, spoken to someone as Caelan had passed. The younger twin exited the temple, his guards flaring out into formation. He strode, unafraid and confident as the crowd murmured and watched him warily. Henry had planned and his plan had almost reached fruition.

The Princess exited the temple. Her presence called towards Caelan. The blood oath demanded for him to draw his sword and be her bulwark. Caelan bared his teeth, struggling against the red filling his vision. He clenched the reins of the horse beneath him as Henry stepped onto the podium and Frederick drew his sword viciously.

"The king is dead!" Henry announced calmly. His voice projected magically over the square. The Prince paused, relishing the moment, then declared, "Long live King Henry!"

The crowd muted, stunned by the declaration. Caelan turned his head in response to movement in the corner of his eye. An arbalist in the crowd had raised his crossbow and taken aim at Henry. He bore the arms of Frederick. "A plague on the Princes," Caelan hissed under his breath. Frederick had also brought an army into the city.

The temple grounds itself would be a place of bloodshed and the Princess would be caught right in the crossfire. Caelan raised a silver horn to his lips and blew three sirenic peals into the air, summoning the guards to arms. He kicked his horse into motion, forcing himself through the crowd.

The shadow of death had fallen over the city. A hundred and half men and women would now take formation and drive through the crowd. Another hundred and half were already forming around Freya, blades drawn. Yet fear plagued him.

Caelan twisted in his saddle to look behind him. A crossbow bolt punched into his right shoulder. He tumbled off his horse into the crowd below. Pain exploded in his shoulder and arm and the world grew dark.
 
Freya had listened with blood roaring in her ears as her brother declared his kingship to what felt like the whole world. For a second, she froze, fear delaying any action that she wanted to take. Frederick had yelled in outrage almost immediately, drawing his sword against his own kin. Henry only smirked in response as his soldiers formed around him, a challenge that she already knew Frederick would lose. She finally gained her senses, taking a step away from her brothers. She instantly regretted the movement, as it only caught Henry's attention.

He turned towards her slowly, as if basking in his own sense of glory. Before she could take another step, he had caught her wrist, the strength of his grip nearly breaking the bone. She cried out in pain, but the sound was lost over the noise of the crowd's frenzy. Freya stared into her brother's eyes, anger burning hot in her gut. It quickly mixed with bitter sorrow, as she only saw twisted cruelty in the eyes of the boy who had first taught her how to hold a sword.

"You won't be going anywhere, my dear sister," he said evenly, his smirk growing into a horrible smile. She held her breath, blinking back tears as she finally realized that there was no hope for her family. Not anymore. She quashed all the memories that lurked in her mind, the memories that would keep her from doing what she had to. With a deep shuddering breath, she moved.

For once in her life, she caught Henry by surprise. She moved with all the grace and speed of a true warrior, her free hand striking towards his chin. Her fingers curled with the movement, her palm finding its target with perfect precision. His head snapped back with the force, his grip on her wrist loosening for a precious second. She grabbed him herself, using her momentum to toss him towards his own soldiers. He didn't go flying, but the strength of the princess sent him sprawling nevertheless. If not for his soldiers, he would have stumbled to the ground. As it was, they caught him with ease and helped him regain balance.

Henry whirled around, snarling in anger. She had never seen him so furious in his life, but it was not because he had been bested by his sister. It was because he had been bested in front of his own men--nay, the whole city. He drew his sword, daring to take a step towards her. It was then that her guard moved, drawing their weapons in defense of their princess. Frederick had watched the scene in near awe, staring at Freya as if he had never seen her before in his life.

It was then that chaos erupted, soldiers coming from all corners bearing the arms of one of the two brothers. Freya's own guard held fast, suddenly doubling and tripling in size as her "off-duty" soldiers came onto the scene fully prepared. Affection blossomed within Freya as she looked at the people she considered to be comrades. They were prepared to lay down their lives for her, and she could never repay them for such devotion. She found herself searching, wondering where Sergeant Caelan was. It was unlike him to not be by her side. Her attention was pulled away from it, however, when one of her soldiers brought her sword.

She took it, smiling gratefully as the familiar weight settled on her fingers. She drew it with the familiar shring! and felt more at ease than she had moments ago. It was then that she finally turned back towards her brothers, who had already abandoned the thought of her to fight each other. She could already see that Henry had the overwhelming advantage. As expected, he was far better prepared than Frederick. Her guards surrounded her protectively, men and women fighting for the only sane person left in the kingdom.
 
Caelan fell onto a mass of bodies. Witnesses of a kingdom's fall, they were now turning into a riotous, panicked mob. If he collapsed to the ground amongst their feet, he would never get up again. The sergeant grabbed at his horse's reins, the trained beast sturdy and calm amid the chaos. His feet hit the ground awkwardly, sending lances of pain through his arm and shoulder.

Numbing resin. He needed numbing resin.

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The mob thinned all of a sudden. Caelan could see combat ahead of him, and beyond that a wall of shields standing strong with the Princess' standard emblazoned proudly upon them. The horse, a well-trained palfrey, had slowly pushed through the crowd, its large body forcing the commoners out of the way. The numbing resin had worked well, as it always did. The pain in his shoulder was dulled, though Caelan felt his cloak grow heavy, a dark red patch of blood growing from his right shoulder. The crossbow bolt was left in its place. The sergeant was prudently aware that pulling it would could very well cause him to bleed out, if it didn't cause more damage. The numbing resin had cleared his mind, another one of its effects, and he realised that if he did not see a physician or healer soon to dig the bolt out of his shoulder, he could lose the use of his right arm, and become essentially useless to the Princess. But first, he needed to get her out of the immediate threat of the wretched armies of the Princes.

He pulled himself onto the horse with some effort, ignoring his wounded shoulder with stubborn determination, before kicking the horse into a canter towards the shield wall, knocking over the soldiers and mercenaries that now crowded the square. A small battle was happening somewhere, between the two armies. Caelan ignored them. His Princess was in this mess somewhere and the responsibility of her safety had been placed on his shoulders. Wounded or not, he was in command.

The shield wall opened to grant him entry, but he did not ride through. Instead, he turned the horse around and raised his voice, barking off orders, "Form ranks! Cast smoke wards! Advance ten paces! Strike but do not slay!" The guards would clear a path for the Princess. As they began to move forward steadily, they passed around him and closed the gap. Their formation was impeccable. The chaos and storm outside could not pass beyond the encircling wall of armoured men and women, and Caelan was left in the middle. With Freya. As he approached her, his eyes focused and he regarded the only daughter of the dead King. This chaos was very much personal to her. For all that was happening, tomorrow these townsfolk would return to their daily work and these guards would continue drawing their blade at any man or beast that bared fangs at their charge. This young woman, however, would undoubtedly, in her compassionate nature, assume the burden of restoring the nation. Though her brothers would blindly oppose her.

"Your highness," Caelan greeted calmly, dismounting and kneeling with a smoothness only possible because of the numbing resin, "We have prepared for this eventuality. Swift horses have been readied and are in a nearby guardhouse. With your command, we will retreat to a secure location where you can consult with his Grace, the Lord Commander as to what actions to take."

He would not show a hint of panic, or concern. He refused to, for if he was anything less than confident, then she too would worry, and Caelan feared she already had enough to worry about.
 
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The chaos was almost overwhelming. As the princess and her guard advanced quickly through the crowd, they were forced to step over blood and death. The sight itself did not bother her; it was the cold understanding that these men and women had died for the selfishness of two princes. Innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire, their lives reduced to nothing in the span of a breath. Freya inhaled sharply as she spied a young girl who looked not much older than thirteen, her blonde hair sullied with red and her eyes held open in eternal shock.

Muttering a prayer to the gods, the princess forced herself to move on, knowing that there was nothing she could do about it. Not as she was now. Her eyes scanned her guard, searching for Caelan. He was almost always by her side, and his absence felt like a lost limb--especially now. She feared the worst, although her heart raged at the thought. Just as her fears were about to reach their peak, however, her sergeant's voice cut through the chaos, stalwart and true. After he barked off orders to the rest of the guard, she watched with a relieved smile as he came towards her, confident as always despite the rage of battle around them.

"With your command, we will retreat to a secure location where you can consult with his Grace, the Lord Commander, as to what actions to take."

Freya nodded. "That seems the best course right now. We must hurry before Henry seizes control; the outcome of this battle has already been decided." She pursed her lips, her brow furrowing. Anger coiled within her, a beast kept on a tight leash. Her fury was righteous, to be sure, as she continued to notice the innocents that were mercilessly cut down around them. The peasants had almost cleared out now, but there were still an unlucky few that were caught in the middle and trapped by fear and the promise of death.

Her brothers...what princes they were! Cruel and hateful they had become, if nothing else. What happened to the kind Henry she had known when she was a little girl? What happened to the awkward Frederick that had come to her for advice on how to impress a beautiful woman? Those days were long gone. Now, she saw her father's legacy burned to ash by the blood of their hatred. She hated her father in that moment--hated him for allowing this to happen.

And then she hated herself. She hated that she was born a woman, pushed to the side simply because of her sex. No more. She would return, one day, and take back the throne for the sake of her people. It was not for herself; she had never wanted the crown, not really. But if her kingdom was to survive this civil war...they needed her. The burden weighed upon her shoulders, and her lips turned into a frown at the thought.

Yes, she would come back. And she would kill her own family if she had to.
 
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It took far longer than Caelan liked for them to secure a way to Fort Rost. That was the western gatehouse of the fortified wall of the Old City, and the Commander had essentially seized it and garrisoned it to the brim within a day's notice. His influence had been enough to keep that fact quiet for now. As the Princess' retinue neared, several other contingents of guards arrived from other directions. Caelan made out arms and supplies, but more importantly people. Not only had the Princess' maids and other attendants, as well as her wardrobe been brought, under full guard, but Caelan was surprised to see the bladesmith, armourer, and their entourage of apprentices in tow as well.

The commander had been preparing for long years ahead. Caelan was suddenly hit with the realisation that this was going to be a long, drawn-out and bitter war. The soil of this nation would be drenched in the blood of its people. How many of his own would he have to bury? Perhaps he himself would be laid to rest in a lonely grave. Caelan's expression hardened. He would not fail his princess.

The retinue rode into the bailey of the fortress. Caelan dismounted, and his band fell easily into position around the princess.

"His Grace waits at your convenience, Highness."
 
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The screams of horror and bloodshed began to wane as the princess moved quickly towards their rendezvous at Fort Rost, guarded by the men and women who swore an oath to protect her. Though she had her own sword in her grip, the thought that they would die for her chilled her to the bone. She had always been aware of what their oaths meant, but she had never truly been threatened…until now.

When they finally arrived, Freya smiled in relief as she saw her handmaidens. Over the years, they had become like sisters to her, despite the difference in status. Seeing them here provided the princess with the smallest comfort, and she was going to need it.

"His Grace waits at your convenience, Highness"

Her smile fell, but she nodded. There was no time to waste. By the looks of it, the commander had planned ahead for this moment. Though she was grateful, Freya bristled slightly at the lack of information she'd received from him. If she was to triumph over her hateful brothers, she needed to know everything.

"Take me to the commander, Sergeant Caelan."
 
The wall-castle was manned to the brim and its courtyard was filled with soldiers. Caelan had so far only seen the Guard assemble at half-force for the yearly parades. Even then, the retinue of the Princess had easily rivalled their Princely counterparts. Now the entire host had assembled at the wall-castle, and rows and rows of Men-at-Arms were readied for war. The Guard of the Princess had once been no more in number than its counterparts. Had it not been the forethought of the late Queen and the Commander to make sure that the Queen's own Guard would be inherited completely and solely by Freya herself, and incorporated into her own Guard, it would still have been woefully small still today.

Etiquette demanded a Princess be received properly, regardless of what was now occurring. Caelan showed her into a parlour of appropriate comfort, the doors shutting away the warfare and madness, and shutting them in with the calm and focus of the waiting Commander.

"Your Highness." The old man bowed slightly, only as much as a man of his nobility was expected to, and extended his hand towards a seat. A map of the land had already been spread for them, and a young lad waited with warm beverages to offer. "It seems your rash brothers have decided on a decidedly uncivilized course of action. Let us away you from this unfortunate squabble."
 
Freya dipped her head towards the Commander, an equal response to his greeting. She moved towards the seat provided, a picture of grace despite all that had happened. For all that she had despised her court lady training, it was now a useful tool for keeping her own emotions in check. But one look at her expression, and even a fool would realized that she was anything but submissive and demure. In fact, she was angry.

"It seems your rash brothers have decided on a decidedly uncivilized course of action. Let us away you from this unfortunate squabble."

"Uncivilized, indeed," Freya responded, unable to keep her anger completely out of her voice. Her eyes immediately drifted towards the map, which was clearly marked. A cursory glance told her that the marks indicated places already claimed by one of her brothers. Upon closer inspection, she noted that Frederick had the most lands but not by much, and he had failed to secure several key areas before Henry did. An inexperienced strategist would claim that Frederick had the advantage based on initial area and number of ready troops. But once the lords got involved...there was a reason that Henry was better prepared to seize the capital in the first place.

Still, the winner of the war had not yet been decided. The people were restless, and many would likely flee to the few neutral lands left in the kingdom. The nobles could easily keep themselves secure in their castles and estates, but the average peasant? They would be left defenseless, either conscripted to one of her brother's armies or left to toil on the fields until death.

All of these thoughts raced through the princess's mind, but she stopped herself before her emotions could start to spiral. She needed a clear head if they were going to get through the coming months. Finally turning from the map, she leveled her gaze upon the Commander. Although she valued his expertise and counsel, it was clear that some things needed to be said.

"Commander, before we begin, I want to extend my appreciation for your tireless efforts. It is clear that you were quite prepared for this eventuality," she paused, her expression sharpening. "In the future, I must be informed of these preparations. I trust in your abilities, but my position becomes rather useless if I do not know the movements of my own people. And let me be clear...this is not a suggestion."

Freya turned her attention back to the map. "It seems that my brothers overlooked the late Queen's estates as they claimed their territory, but that will also be the first place they expect me to find me. It is unlikely they will leave me to my own devices, especially with the promise of an alliance for whoever manages to marry me off to that bastard. However, the people on those lands are loyal to me. Is there any way to ensure their freedom and safety?" As she finished speaking, the attendant placed her tea before her. Without missing a beat, the princess brought the cup to her lips, the aroma relaxing her nerves almost instantly as she waited for the Commander's response.
 
"Your Highness takes after her father in this regard. During my service to the late Queen, may light fill her resting place, I was usually left to achieve the objective of security in my own way. As such, I had been merely practising my usual habits. I will make sure to keep you apprised from hereon."

The Commander took a deep draught of his own tea, before continuing. "Though I'm sure the servants that maintain the manor there will not be touched, I am afraid for the rest it will all depend on the degree of hostility your brothers adopt, as well as their circumstances. The more pressure one of them feels, the more likely it is that they will decide to appropriate its wealth and serfs for their own use."

"The more actively you decide to oppose this, with men and spears, the more strongly you start taking an open position in this war. So keep the channels of diplomacy open. Keep them hopeful for your open support, or at least your implicit favour. If they do not wish to make an enemy of you, they will decide against offending you by appropriating your estate and its serfs. But do not allow yourself to be caught here and now. For this to be a possibility, you must also elude being under the control of any one of them. You must become a player on the board yourself."
 
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