A week had passed since the parlay, and the city of Bricaterun remained enveloped in an uneasy stillness. Lord Ilbert Hervius sat alone in his private chamber, a place of muted opulence, with dark oak paneling and a single window letting in slivers of pale daylight. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and ink.
The last days had been uneventful, the kind of quiet that felt tenuous, like the calm before a storm. No banners of war had been unfurled, no shouts of skirmish rang from the battlents, and the siege lines beyond the walls showed no sign of movent. Both sides adhered to the uneasy agreent brokered during the parlay; neither party had any interest in spilling blood unnecessarily when a bloodless compromise was still within reach.
Ilbert sat at a broad wooden desk, his fingers steepled as he stared at the collection of docunts and letters spread before him. Reports from his stewards, quiet musings on the morale of the city's defenders, and the state of their supply . He rubbed his temples, the week's weight pressing down upon him.
The city seed to mirror his mood—watchful, tense, caught in the liminal space between despair and determination.
Among the sea of reports, requisition lists, and missives scattered across the desk, only one docunt held Lord Ilbert's attention. His hand gripped a letter bearing the red-and-gold seal of House Herculia, its wax imprint gleaming under the dim light of his chamber. Without ceremony, he slid a small dagger beneath the seal, breaking it with a soft crack before unfolding the parchnt within.
'' To our loyal vassal, Lord Ilbert Hervius of House Shafza, Defender of Bricaterun,
I have received word of the dire circumstances in which you now find yourself, and it troubles greatly. Your steadfastness in the face of adversity is a testant to your noble lineage and unwavering commitnt to the crown, more than any of your ancestors ever showed. Let it be known that I hold your loyalty in the highest regard, and your endurance during these trying tis shall not go unnoticed.
However, the complexities of our current struggle must be acknowledged. While it grieves to say this, I cannot muster the forces necessary to relieve you within the fortnight. The heavy losses sustained in recent engagents have demanded a more deliberate approach to our preparations. Even now, I am rallying the lords of the realm to my banner, assembling a host that will be strong enough to break the siege upon Bricaterun, your lands, and push back the invaders with the fury they deserve and that they will get , for their dare onto marching on our land.For that however I need more ti .
I must ask of you a grave duty, one that weighs upon my heart to request. The Yarzat dogs, arrogant in their temporary success, believe they can buy your fealty with honeyed words and empty promises. But you, Ilbert, are of sturdier stock, and I trust you to resist their lies. Stand firm, my loyal servant, even should the agreed-upon date pass. Let no doubts creep into your heart, for I swear upon my honor that help is coming, as I will personally deliver help to your house as soon as my circumstances permit it .
Your oath binds you to as my lordship binds to your protection. Rember that it is the duty of all who serve the crown to endure hardship in the na of justice and honor. You fight not only for your house but for all those who rely upon us to preserve order and stability in these lands.
When this war is won—and it shall be won—you will be rewarded richly for your loyalty. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, and your house will rise in prominence, its coffers filled and its na spoken in the highest circles of the realm. Do not let despair cloud your judgnt, for the dawn of our victory is near.
Hold fast, Lord Ilbert, and may the gods grant you strength.
Lechlian, Prince of Herculia''
Ilbert stared at the letter on the table, his eyes hard and unblinking. The words etched on the parchnt seed to mock him, their hollow reassurances and veiled commands echoing in his mind. With a slow, deliberate motion, he picked it up one last ti, scanning its contents as if daring the ink to offer a better answer.
But the ssage remained the sa.
With a sharp exhale, Ilbert flung the letter to the floor. It landed carelessly among the other papers, its seal of House Herculia half-crushed against the stone. He leaned back in his chair, one hand rubbing his temple, the other gripping the armrest as his thoughts churned.
"That bastard," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with quiet fury. He wants to die here. To bleed and burn in this forsaken city, buying him ti for his grand sches.
The idea festered in his mind, each repetition sharpening his resentnt. Lechlian's letter wasn't a command to hold the city for glory or the good of the realm—it was a death sentence, written with all the flourish of noble prose.
He truly believes I'll sacrifice myself and my family for his foolish ambitions. Ilbert's jaw tightened as his fingers drumd against the armrest. The faint noise of the city outside his chamber, the muted bustle of soldiers and servants, only deepened the weight of his thoughts.
It was Lechlian who had caused this war, Ilbert thought bitterly. His ddling, his arrogance, his insatiable desire to impose his will on lands that had no wish for his interference, allowing traitors to join his side. The prince had extended his fingers where they did not belong, and now it was Ilbert's neck caught in the noose of his ambition. He had been clamoring for this war, and now that it ca, it hit him fast and hard.
"Fool of a prince," he spat, his voice low but venomous. "A man with a crown but no wisdom to wear it?"
He rose from his chair abruptly, the legs scraping against the stone floor as he paced the room. His hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles pale.
"You arrogant wretch," he hissed. ".You play at king while n like spill our blood and burn our hos for the scraps of your favor. You want to stand here, to hold this city against an army you could not defeat yourself. And for what?"
Ilbert paused, glaring at the letter as if it might rise from the floor and defend its sender. "For a promise of rewards that you can't even guarantee? You think your na and your trinkets will be enough to bury the ashes of my house when it falls?"
Ilbert's voice rang out with sharp authority as he turned from the window, his fury tempered into cold resolve. "Guards!"
The heavy wooden door swung open almost imdiately, two n stepping inside with practiced precision. Both bowed slightly, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, waiting attentively.
"My lord," one of them said, his tone steady, awaiting instructions.
Ilbert's gaze was icy as he addressed them. "Is the envoy that delivered this letter from the court still within these walls?"
The guards exchanged a brief glance before one of them nodded. "Yes, my lord. He remains your guest in the east chamber."
Ilbert held the guard's gaze for a mont, then gave a short, dismissive laugh, as if the word guest was the punchline to a grim joke. He straightened, his tone unwavering. "Throw him out and send my eldest to "
The command hung in the air for a mont, the guards' expressions flickering with confusion. One of them hesitated, opening his mouth as if to ask for clarification, but quickly thought better of it when Ilbert's piercing eyes settled on him.
"As you command, my lord," the guard replied, bowing deeply.
Ilbert stood by the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face. He had summoned his eldest son only monts ago, and now, footsteps approached from the hallway. The door creaked open, and a boy of fourteen stepped inside, his fra tall for his age but still carrying the wiry awkwardness of youth.
The boy's na was Arendon, and though his dark hair was neatly combed, the hint of curiosity and tension in his green eyes betrayed the boyish energy beneath his composed exterior. He bowed slightly, showing respect, and greeted his father in a clear voice. "Father."
Ilbert turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Arendon," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "Do you know why I called for you?"
Arendon hesitated for a mont, then straightened, eting his father's gaze. "I saw the commotion in the hall, Father. It seems you've made your choice."
For a mont, Ilbert regarded his son, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Without a word, he turned and picked up the discarded letter from the ground. He held it out to Arendon, his eyes dark with simring anger.
"Read it yourself,I wan't the one that made the choice" Ilbert said curtly, his voice edged with a bitterness that made the boy flinch slightly.
Arendon's eyes flicked over the letter one last ti before lowering it slowly. His fingers tightened around the edges as he looked up at his father. "So, we're alone, then," he said quietly, his voice steady but carrying a note of gravity beyond his years.
Ilbert nodded, the firelight casting his expression into sharp relief. "Yes, we are. And that is why I called you here today," he said, his voice softer than before. "You are my heir, Arendon, and you need to understand the reasons for the choice I am about to make."
Arendon inclined his head, his youthful face composed as he replied, "You are the lord, Father. It is your decision to make, I have no part in it ."
Ilbert studied his son for a long mont, a mix of pride and burden visible in his eyes. "Being lord, Arendon, is not about the title or power. It is about the choices you make, no matter how bitter, for the well-being of your family." He took a step closer, his gaze unyielding.
"Vroghios," he continued, his voice hardening, "chose treachery for his own gain, and where did it lead? To the block. His head rolled, and his family was stripped of their titles and lands.''
Arendon's grip on the letter tightened slightly, his brow furrowing as he listened.
"But the boy outside," Ilbert said, gesturing toward the door, his voice shifting as if weighing his words, "he is not like Lechlian. Not at all." Ilbert's tone grew quieter, but resolute. "That boy has substance behind his claim. Even If I manage to stand for two weeks help will not be coming , as soon as the date passes , I will co down and bend my knee.''
Arendon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his voice tinged with disbelief. "To a commoner?"
Ilbert's lips tightened briefly before he replied, "No. Not to the boy. But to his army, to his cause. And more importantly, to his wife, it's either that or see our family deprived of his land and nobility."
The young heir's expression grew incredulous. "Still, Father. Taking the knee to a lowborn? "
"Still," Ilbert interrupted sharply, his voice hard and resolute, "we will keep our lands, our titles, our lives. And you, my son, will have a future unshadowed by war or ruin." He let the words settle, his gaze challenging. "Do you disapprove?"
Arendon stared at his father for a long mont, the letter still in his hand, before shaking his head slowly. "No," he admitted at last, his voice quiet. "I do not. I just… I did not believe it was in you to go so deep, to bow so low, even if it was for the well-being of our family."
Ilbert's expression softened, though his eyes remained sharp. "A lord must know when to stand tall and when to bend, Arendon. What matters is not the posture but the outco. I bend now, so you may one day rise without the weight of my mistakes upon your shoulders."
Arendon gave a slight nod, absorbing his father's words, as he ca to the understanding that they now had a new liege to bow their heads to.
Maybe he will be better than our current one, Arendon thought as his eyes moved toward the window, where 2,000 n sharpened their blades.
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