Splinters of wood flew through the air as John smashed his curled fist onto the wooden table. “What do you mean you cannot offer any more knights?”

         Edwyn stood, tall with his night-black eyes, his hair combed with the same black hue. His armour shuffled the beautiful work of fine dark Damascus steel that glow with the light of candles with intricate artwork on it. His left hand held the sheath of his long blade.

         “Answer me,” John said, his voice stern. “Answer me.”

         The candles that stood on the tables trembled; splinters of wood wedged into their white torsos. John took a deep breath, gazing at Edwyn, even when he was a head taller than him.

         “I am your king, I am your leader,” John said, his gauntleted hand with splinters in it, brushing them off. “Stay anymore silent and I’ll have you executed for treason.”

         Edwyn’s face was calm, his nose sharp and his lips thin with a blank expression.

         At John’s left sat a warrior, strong with long braided ash hair that reaches to his shoulders with a braided ash beard that hung down to the bottom of his neck. His eyes were a bleak grey, with white skin as he wore plated armour with a clean white cloak. The quiet man shifted his great-axe that was half his height, sharpening the blade of it.

         Frodison, help me now damn you. John thought, turning back to Edwyn and his calm face, his plated armour and his black fur cloak that contrasted the red and yellow of the tent.

         Like the night calm. John thought, his left hand clenched his sheath of his sword tightly.

         “Your majesty,” Edwyn answered, his voice slow, male and deep. “I cannot supply anymore knights; it goes against my house’s code of honour.”

         “Code of honour?” John gritted his teeth, pounding the table again, wine spilling and tainting the fine red carpet with adorned yellow and white flowers with splotches of purple. “Your code of honour is to aid me.”

         “I serve kings with honour, that is my code.”

         John took a deep inhale. Do not be a slave to emotions, John.

         “I am your king,” John said calmly, signalling a page to clean the mess of wine with a wave of a hand.

         “Yet the nobles back at Britannica do not think so,” Edwyn replied, refilling his cup of purple wine. “They think you a monster, a fraud.”

         A fraud, I did not know of this…surely lady Wystan has kept everything under control. Surely Lord Galnor stays strong. “Explain.”

         Edwyn took a deep sigh. “Most of the houses have lost much of their resources, wealth and their husbands and wives and son.”

         That does not explain much. “Continue.”

         “These widows see that your sons and lady Wystan’s sons are not going to war unlike theirs, they see some form of…fraud, in your honour, your majesty,” Edwyn continued, sipping his wine, staining his lips a thick purple.

         “So they think I a fraud for not sending my sons to war?” John said, his voice slightly loud and fast. “Is that what they think?”

         “Yes.”

         “Well now…how does this situation of our long politics effect you from giving me men? I see many young knights and many useless ones to take,” John asked, wine poured into his cup.

         “Politics, your majesty,” Edwyn said. “It is a block and if I were to do so, there are men that will sell everything for gold, thus if they tell some of our…”

         Fellows? John thought, standing straight, sipping his wine.

         “Enemies and allies to turn against us, most of the nobles already turn their banners to the mad king,” said Edwyn.

         “The Mad King?” John laughed. “Has this two-century war effected our sanity like that excuse of a king?”

         “ ‘At least he’s with benevolent intention’” Edwyn said, taking another sip, his voice strained.

         “Benevolent?” John took a deep breath.

         “They believe you and me, they fear us,” Edwyn said. “They think that if they allow you to take more of their ‘meek’ resources, you will slowly consume them.”

         “I killed a lord for treason and this happens?” John said.

         “Marcus went from peasant to an entire duke in a month,” Edwyn turned to a two-meter-tall man.

         The men stood tall with plated armour of intricate design and the helmet of a lion, the metal silvery and reflecting candlelight as he held a long thick halberd with one hand, the shaft a jetblack and the blade of it thick as a fist.

         “Is there an issue with me?” Marcus said, looking down at Edwyn. His eyes were a common black. “Tell me, now.”

         “None,” Edwyn replied. “We have had good relations, Marcus.”

         “Not until what I heard you say, if you hid this for…” Marcus stepped forward, towering over Edwyn. His cape of blue and trimmed gold flowing behind him.

         “Months.”

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         When Edwyn said that, Frodison stopped sharpening his axe, the sparks that flew off and the grinding from it came to a sudden sharp halt.

         “Months,” John said, raising his voice and slamming his hand once more into the table, shattering his glass cup and breaking a hole through the oak furniture. “Months!”

         “Months,” Edwyn said, his voice still calm, sipping his wine. I am sorry, I made a mistake, John.

         The head of a halberd dug into Edwyn’s skin, blood flowing from Edwyn’s nape, staining his armour and fur. The dark red blood dripping into the wine, three times.

         “Marcus,” Frodison said, his voice thick. “We should not do this.”

         Marcus said nothing.

         “Marcus, take the blade off his nape,” John winced, massaging his temple, breaking through the sheet of sweat on it. “Months, fuck.”

         “Months,” Edwyn rubbed the back of his nape. “Write this down, scribe.” I am sorry John. I truly am.

         The three scribes in the room started their writing, hunched over their fourty-five-degree lectern tables that held their long scrolls. Scribbling on with their quill in their right and their correction knife in left, their brown robes stained purple with wine.

         John groaned, taking a drink as he sat down. “Months, tell me how we solve that or I’ll damn you Edwyn.”

         “Your two boys,” Edwyn replied instantly.

         John cocked his head up. “What of them?”

         “Send them to the battlefield,” Edwyn said, placing the flagon of wine on the table. “Send them and this anger of honour shall be quelled.”

         “How about I just kill you?” John gave a chuckle.

         “Then it would only worsen,” Marcus stepped in. “I believe him to be righ—”

         “Right?” John said. “Right?!”

         “I only…” Marcus took a step back, clenching his halberd.

         “Only what?” John said.

         “I believe that we must take a rest,” Frodison said. “This situation is dire but it is night, it is time for us to rest.”

         “Sure, sure just take a break when everything is at stake, Frodison, sure sure sure,” John said. “Fucking sure. Just hang on and drink your damned mead and meat. That’s the key to solving this.”

         “If we are to do so,” Frodison said. “Best we do in something more than steel, the night’s chill will kill us before dawn.”

         “You do what you want to do!” John snapped. “I care the least as long as victory is granted!”

         Frodison sighed, merely sharpening his axe.

         Edwyn sat down, his cloak blanketing the chair he sat on. “Your majesty.”

         “What?”

         “I tell you, if you are to declare you to send the boys, maybe not even say, then it shall be settled.”

         “Settled?” John asked, his fingers piercing the table. “Settled? No it won’t. Do you think it wins this two-century war?”

         “It shall stop any rebellion to come,” Edwyn answered, his face still calm and his voice calmer.

         John gave a sharp sigh.

         “It’s the best—”

         “STOP!” John shouted. “WILL ANY OF YOU STOP?!”

         Marcus kept his lips sealed. If it serves you a chance to do the right choice. I will.

         “Thank you,” John said calmly. “I…apologize.”

         “It is understandable,” Marcus said, turning to Edwyn.

         John took a deep breath, slouching into the chair. Taking another sip of wine, sloshing it in his mouth before swallowing. “Marcus, sit down with me.”

         Hesitantly, Marcus pulled a chair and did so.

         “Edwyn, I apologize for my mood…”

         “I apologize for hiding this secret, I mistook it as a mere rumor,” Edwyn said. “I do not wish to antagonize you.”

         “I know,” John said, turning to Marcus. “Marcus, are you not strained with such heavy steel?”

         “No,” Marcus said.

         “Have wine for him,” John said, a page grabbing wine for Marcus.

         “Lay your halberd, Marcus, take off your steel and come back here in something more relaxing,” John said. “Its night and Frodison says the chill here kills someone before dawn.”

         “What of the wine?” Marcus asked.

         “It will be given once you relax yourself,” John responded.

         Marcus stood up, turning to leave the tent.

         Now we are three for a while. John thought. “Frodison, if you want rest, you may, I apologize for…my outburst.”

         “It is all fine, under the bridge,” Frodison laughed. “I’ll go drink and sleep now.”

         Frodison left as well, hoisting his axe and leaving the tent.

         “Now it is us and three scribes and three pages,” John said.

         “I see that,” Edwyn said sarcastically.

         It is cold. John thought, drinking some more wine. Colder than before without the two.

         “How do we solve this little issue?” John asked.

         “It is no little thing,” Edwyn said. “That was what I said too until this threat verges on attacking you, this is why I told you. There will be a letter sent by an unknown and he will ask when you send your sons to war.”

         John’s breath stiffened as he heard Edwyn speak.

         “You will have to bring either one of your children, both are better, one will be killed or targeted if he is not sent,” Edwyn continued. “These houses are now almost lead by the widows in the mainland.

         “These widows, who lost their son and fathers and husbands all will send their own ways to kill him or…”

         “Manipulation,” John said bleakly.

         Edwyn gave a silent nod.

         Courtesy of this damned war, John. John thought. Now we’re stuck with this.

         “You have to send your children to war,” Edwyn repeated. I have sent mine too. I am sorry John, there is no other way than this.

         “I know…” John groaned. “I’ll get them and send them here, I’ll have to prepare master-smiths to create their gear.”

         You were so assured that they would not join war…so you didn’t even create armour for them? Edwyn hesitated to say, merely opening and closing his mouth.

         John dipped his fingers into wine. The tip of his fingers scraping his chin with gashes of purple wine. It will take weeks or months, it will take months. I have months.

         “It will take months for them to finish their work,” John said, rubbing his face with both hands.

         “I will tell them that,” Edwyn replied. “I am sorry, John.”

         “I’ll ask the master-smiths of the German kingdoms,” John said. “They’re work to create Damascus steel is unmatched.”

         “I know,” said Edwyn, smacking the butt of his sword. “This sword is something that I’ve had for over four centuries with my house.”

         “I hope you don’t make it as black as you,” John said, chugging down the wine. Will even one of them inherit Ingelrii?

         I hope your sword lasts this war. Edwyn thought, looking down at John’s swordbelt. I am truly sorry, John. You will bring them to a war.