A rare clear sky and hot sun were ignored in Caernholm as the city was a hive of activity. News had spread of their lord's departure and the commons were nervous. They gathered at the people's fountain outside the gate of the inner bailey. Small groups of men stood talking to one another in hushed whispers, and groups of women with young children chittered nervously their eyes darting back to the gate now and then waiting for some change. Most of his people had stayed in, unmoved by the news. It was one of the things that made Leofric proud to be of the Angevain, when faced with trouble or change most of his people kept their heads down and continued with their lives.

It was advice he would now need to follow. Lord Chancellor, Valorium, the king. These thoughts swirled in his mind as he looked down from the battlements. Duc Arand had wasted no time after his arrival in pushing the royal missive into his hand, Leofric barely had time to enter his hall before the weight of duty rested on his shoulders. The entire assembled party watched with bated breath as he held it, the prince, the grandmaster, the knights. Leofric refused to give them the satisfaction and slid the parchment into his tunic. Later in a moment of peace away from the eyes of court, he read the letter from his old friend.

Leofric looked out at the rolling green fields of his home, pockmarked with large boulders carved by his ancestors in various shapes and statues. It was a quiet place Angevain, a peaceful one where progress was made slowly but surely, where people knew who they were and where they belonged. Leofric had marched south before and all he found there was death and pain, now he was ordered back into that cauldron. He had nearly torn the letter in half when reading it. The letters were by the king's own hand Leofric knew it well, but he could not bring himself to believe it was the man he once followed who had written them.

What has that throne done to you, dear friend?

Lysander Aurel and Leofric Rune met thirty years ago at the annual tourney on the Fang. The Valen and Reiqer knights were at each other’s throats- as was tradition- the Alderfen knights swanned around in armour as well-decorated as their lady's dresses. Servish knights hid away under tent canopies shy and broody in equal measure. Knights of the Angevain and Fenryr competed in absurd challenges of strength and fortitude, throwing barrels of ale between each other and seeing which man could finish it first or without vomiting. The knights of the Estermarch prayed together in a vast kneeling sea, one earl or another led the prayers extolling the virtues of the Everchosen. It was raucous and joyful as the Third Errants war had come to an end and the armies of Evros had come home. The two boys were introduced and then left to their own devices as their elders discussed matters of state.

They swam in the river, hunted frogs with nets and sticks, and fought on the banks pretending to be the famous knights of their youth. They mounted pigs and tried to joust only to be thrown in the muck. From that day on they were the closest of friends, inseparable in mind and soul. They toured the realm together for many years fighting in tourneys, assailing bandits, and eventually serving briefly in the Errantry. Then when their fathers were executed, they joined together in war and their bond brought down a dynasty that had ruled for five hundred years. If Leofric’s sister still lived she would be queen and the two would still be brothers. He cast the thought of Lenora from his mind, dwelling on her was dangerous- now more than ever.

Leofric turned back to his castle, the royal party had already left; both Grandmaster Vauken and Duc Arand were very eager to set off for the capital. Leofric had hoped for them to stay longer, it had been decades since Caernholm had housed a royal, and as word spread of their arrival, other barons already made plans to come to Caernholm and attend him. The prince himself seemed resistant to their speedy departure, many times had the young man called upon the sleeping Aelf, praying with his mother and wishing them the best.

He’s a good lad, Lysander has done well with him.

Aelfric was still abed. Hedwyn told him the danger had passed and that his son would likely live. Eveline was beside herself with worry and accusation. More than once she roamed the halls and with tears in her eyes screamed at the guards for allowing this to happen, allowing him out of their sight. Only Leofric was able to calm her and usher her back to Aelf's chamber to continue her vigil. It was hard not to agree with her, Leofric knew his son was crafty, as were all his children, but with a castle full of strangers he expected better.

He sighed deeply; it was terrible news to make a bad situation worse. Before his son had vanished Leofric had hoped for Aelf to accompany him south. It would be expected for him to bring his children but Leofric was loath for them to leave the safety of Angevain. There were talks already in place for betrothals for all his children, save Luc, and Leofric didn’t want to lose any of them to the South no matter how advantageous it would be. A son would be accepted under the guise of tutelage and apprenticing to the Collegia, it would not be popular, but it would be accepted. Now he faced a more difficult choice. Edric could not go that was clear, he needed to be the Lord of Caernholm and Lord Superior of the Angevain in his absence. Luc could not go, an adopted son would not be accepted, and Leofric knew what the vipers of the capital would try with him, what they would try and bend him to do. It was of little matter as the boy had designs on the Errantry and Eveline had already made the arrangements. That left his daughters, Gwendolyn and Guinevere. Leofric knew it made more sense to take his eldest, she was more likely to be accepted by the Ladies-in-waiting and that would be the case if his daughter wasn’t Gwendolyn. He rubbed his head, when Gwen had been told of his decision to take Guinevere to the capital and leave her with Edric, she had been wroth. Gwen had inherited little of her mother's look but all her fiery temper.

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“I am the eldest, it is my right… I will not be overshadowed by her any longer… You cannot keep me locked up forever and I will make my escape if not brought.”

Leofric weathered it all but under the verbal onslaught and the threats that he had no doubt his fierce daughter would make good on he agreed that she would come as well. Eveline had not taken the news well.

“You will strip me of all my family! Leave me here to nurse one son and advise another. Do you wish to see me die of a broken heart?”

They had been in their chambers days after Aelfric had been found. Before, Leofric had spent his time leading search parties through the countryside and arguing with Duc Arand about the time for their departure.

“We have no choice, my love. The letter from Lysander, what he had written, I fear for my old friend.”

“And so you will tear the family apart, for the sake of an old friend.” She said her voice dripping with venom.

“There is no other way, the king will not sit idly by if I were to stay here, ignore or refuse his order. Eve if you had read the letter you would understand.”

“Then show me this letter that had decided our fate, if simple parchment and ink are so powerful then let me write my own letter and tell you how terrible this course of action is.”

Leofric had to pull her into his arms and calm her and he wanted nothing more than to cover his ears when she began to weep. His wife was strong but almost losing one child and being stripped of two others was quickly becoming too much to bear.

Leofric felt it too, the pain tugging at his heart. Little Aelf, the most joyous of his children. So curious and full of wonder, laying on that bed his ragged breath getting more and more shallow by the day. Knowing that if he does pass from this world, he would not be there to bury him.

The battlements were clear as Leofric slowly paced the length of the castle keep. His furred cloak billowed behind him, and his armour clinked delicately as he walked. A great change was coming to Evros, Leofric could feel it in his bones, his dreams were troubled assailed by visions of death and the thundering sounds of hooves and horses. They were dreams he had not had since the days before his father's death and Lysanders challenge to the tyrant who killed him. He shook his head clear of those thoughts but the pit at the bottom of his stomach only grew larger.

To his surprise he came across another figure on the wall, looking out across the far green country with a pained look on his face. Luc Derune, his adopted son, was thought by many to be his bastard son. It was true they looked alike the same eyes, and the same hair, the same blocky face. They often had the same moods and mannerisms, to those below it would be of no surprise to find Luc and Leofric seeking the same place of solace to think.

“Luc.”

The young man glanced over at him briefly, his wounds had healed well, and the bandages had been taken off by Brother Hedwyn. Still, he noticed a stiffness in the arm when his son moved.

“Father.”

They both looked out from the walls saying nothing, for there was nothing he could think to say. Farewell? Safe travels? His son had chosen a dangerous life, a lonely life of death and duty. Men who join the Errantry do not leave, they swear their lives to the defence of the realm, to the perfection of the martial skill over anything else. He would not love, not learn, not dream of anything but war. It was a noble thing to do, and Leofric knew why he wanted to do it, and who was pushing him toward that life. Now with Aelf and the girls leaving, Luc had no reason to stay in Caernholm, no matter how much Leofric wanted him to.

“You never told me about them.”

Leofric looked over at Luc, he didn’t need to ask who his son spoke of.

“You never asked.”

“I’m asking now.”

Luc was born during the last days of Lysanders Contest for the Sacred Seat. After the death of Crown Prince Aetherion and the betrayal of the Grandsraad knights guarding the capital, he was brought into this world and given to Leofric. It was the last wish of his mother, and his father had fallen in battle. They had both been close friends of his, and distant kin, an old branch of his house that had been given the honour of using the name Rune. When he was presented with that little giggling bundle, he declared him his son and took him into his household. It had not been a popular decision.

“Your father was a brave man, a soldier. He died on the field. Your mother was a warrior woman, she birthed you on the battlefield after taking a wound which ultimately killed her. They were distant kin and for their sacrifice in the war, I took you in and made you my son. They left you no land, no property. They were not wealthy and were retainers of my house. You have the look of your mother over your father, but you act more like your father. They both would have been proud of the man you’ve become.”

Luc didn’t turn to face him and nodded slowly. “Is that the truth my Lord, the full truth.”

Leofric felt a lump in his throat which he could not swallow. “Yes.”

“I make for Guildmark in the morning, and from there I will take myself to Talon keep and join the Errantry. I expect I will not see you again.”

“Don’t say that my son, this is not the end. The Errantry send agents across the kingdom, the son of a Lord Superior will be an ideal candidate for such an officer. We will meet again.”

Luc turned to him, his face unsure and filled with doubt. Before he could turn away Leofric pulled him into a short embrace.

“I will miss you Luc Derune.”

“I will miss you too, Father.”

With that, the sullen youth took off leaving Leofric alone on the battlements once more. In the distance, the Grand Baron could hear birds singing a solemn song.