He crossed the wooden gate of the Oizenian camp atop a stallion that seemed to sense the hostility in the air, its ears pinned back against the wind.

High above, the black bird of his grace’s standard danced and fluttered, its silk wings snapping in the gale as if mimicking a real falcon’s flight.

It was a weary bird,no doubt of that after months of blood, its feathers ruffled and worn from weeks of hard campaign, yet it soared nonetheless over a field of enemies.

They had faced a full invasion and broken it; now, all that remained was sweeping up the bloody seconds they were left with.

An honor guard of twenty rode at Aron’s back. Five of them wore the polished white of the prince’s guard, a choice that sat ill with the Golden Steeds of Yarzat.

They were usually the one tasked with the royal protection, and yet their importance was become smaller and smaller the more the confidence of the prince grew.

Aron was of course told of the Prince’s plan for them, wondering not a little bit whetever that would be taken well by said knights.Tradition after all was a strong rock in the minds of men.

Five more riders meanwhile led the van and brought up the rear, though those were not sworn to the Falcon but instead to the Sun.Were it in any other field and circumstances they would already be with steel in hand hacking at each other.

But these were envoys and its party, as such bloodshed was prohibited.

They were not permitted to enter the heart of the camp at once and were instead made to wait at the secondary line for some minutes, taking the company of the wind and the cold air, instead of that of men that had failed on the venture their princes forced them in.

Bad blood might turn the rivers red between the two houses, but this was not Romelia, here, the ancient laws of envoys still carried meaning and they were to be accepted the right way.

As the order finally came, Aron trotted his stallion onto the main thoroughfare, through mud and muck.

The Oizenian ranks snapped their heads up like startled deer as the party passed. First came the lower levies alongside the ragged men the whimpering princes had left behind for Sorza to feed and lead. They were hollow-cheeked and huddled,the little game the Fox had played with them still on their face as clear as lake on a sunny day.

Most of them, as it was proven by the smaller number of tent if compared to said ranks, were made to sleep on the bare earth with only a thin sheet of wool between them and the frost.

The prince of Oizen may had prayed for Snow, but his men would kill for warmth,Aron reflected with all but a hint of joy.

But as they delved deeper into the encampment, the scenery shifted alongside the soldiers’ station. They reached the quarters of the high-born and knights, where banners hung heavy with heraldry and every lord and knight possessed a tent of his own. Here, the air smelled of roasting meat and woodsmoke rather than shit, piss, and hopelessness.

All three things Aron was eager to see Oizen rot in.

"Ride slower," Hemuttered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic clink of mail under the hostile gazes of the Oizenians.

He glanced at Ser Rodry Longspear, who rode stiffly beside him. Aron did not know what he was to expect from the man, but surely it wasn’t to have him make the sound of a confused child, head cocking to the side with the jerky rhythm of a chicken.

He took in the vacant, baffled gaze of the man.A doubt spread in his head.

That couldn’t be it? He must have been told of their task... surely.Indeed, the Prince’s son had been right there when they spoke of it, and he had offered his knight up at once for the mission.

Still...there was indeed some bad blood between Basil and...

He realized it all at once.The princeling hadn’t told him. The boy had sent the man in blind.

He would have laughed at the matter, if only he wasn’t to work with the man, potentially trusting his life to the man.

Still, whatever the case of his companionship, hehad a task to tend do, and Five be begged everything would probably be all right.

After all were they not envoys?

With that thought they slowed their pace to a funereal crawl.Those at the front muttered for them to speed up as did those below, but the order came on one ear and went to the other without making nest.

Word of their arrival had rippled through the camp like a fever. Knights in wool and mail paused in their drills; squires with brushes in hand or sacks of oats slung over their shoulders turned their head as they made way.

"Ser Rodry."

The man turned at once, his eyes still swimming with confusion. Whatever his wits, he was apt enough with a sword. Aron only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

"Whatever happens, make sure to buy me as much time as it is necessary."

"For what?" Rodry asked, his voice rising. "Where are you going?"

He called out again, more hurried this time, as he saw Aron’s back. When he received no answer and instead watched as Aron steered his horse away from the procession toward the congregation forming on the roadside, Rodry finally realized the play or at least part of it.

The men sworn to Oizen took notice of him at last.

"Yarfhat! Whefh your horfse going?" called one of them with a thick, wet lisp. "Yarfath! Come hefthe!"

But Aron did not heed the order. He went where the crowd was thickest, where the wandering knights gathered, attracted by the promise of glory, loot, and the hollow hope of making a home in a land that was not theirs and would never be, unless it were to receive their ashes.

Only they wanted battle more than the Crownless Prince did.

That was why he was here. They all wanted the same thing, to bathe in the warmth of the same fire and he would provide that spark.

"Sers and Lords! Sers and Lords! Lend your ears to me! Your ears I ask of you!"

All eyes snapped toward him like moths to a flame.

"Don your armor! Buckle your shields and saddle your horses! Steel and Blood I bring! Steel and Blood! Honor and Glory! War! I bring War upon you!"

"Stop him! Bring that fuckefh hefthe!" the lisper ordered. At once, the men around him unsheathed steel.

Unluckily for them, Aron’s guard had more. Say what you want about the man’s wits, but Ser Rodry was among the first with a blade out.

"Hold there, boy!" Rodry barked, levelling his steel at the man with the lisp. "Hard enough to hear you as it is! No need to make it harder with a missing jaw!"

Whatever they thought of Yarzat, they could not easily best twenty armed men. While they were surrounded by knights who could have butchered them like sheep, the crowd was more attentive to the words Aron spoke than the fight brewing in the mud.

And Aron gave food for their attention.

"Shields shall be splintered! Lances broken! My Prince calls for battle! For Steel and Blood, he calls! The Warrior of Wrath shall decide the just! An honorable battle! A glorious battle! A just one!"

The shouting grew, drawing men from their tents and their fires.

"Tell all who will hear! Spread the word! Tell your friends and your foes! The Prince of Yarzat sounds the horns and he rides for war! Tell all who have ears, and all who crave glory! Tell all that have taste for war, the Prince of Yarzat offers battle to Oizen!To battle, I say! To battle!"

From the deep end of the road, more and more armed men thundered toward them, a tide of Oizenian steel ready to crash. But it was all right. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Aron looked at the faces of the invaders, the hunger for the end of the waiting, the spark of fire in their eyes that hinted to a desire that their prince did not hare. He had done what he was set to do. He had bypassed the Prince and spoken to the hunger of his army.

They could beat him and his men, hack them down if they wished, but the whispers already began.

The rhythmic chink of mail and the heavy, muffled breathing of men closing the distance reached Aron’s ears as suddend and clear as pots dropped from a cliff.

They were like a tide. He was intending on giving them no quarrel.

There was no need for a drop of blood Their task was finished and done. They had reached past the Prince’s silk walls and set a fire in the bellies of his men. They had forced the Crownless Prince’s hand; now, he could either march to meet the Fox or be trampled by his own host’s hunger for a conclusion.

Aron noticed that at the incoming’s party’s head was a man with a scarred cheek and a helmet that bore a red plume appeared.Riding his horse close to the Yarzat party with no fear.

No doubt he had already realised the play.Who knew?Perhaps he too was in an agreeable mood for the tidings they had brought.

Though his words hold none of that.

"Drop your steel, Yarzats!" the man roared, his own sword leveled against them, like the other dozens of his men were already doing while circling them like wolve against a wounded lamp. "Drop it now, or I’ll see you fed to the crows before the sun sets and relay them the words of your prince!"

Rodry hesitated, his knuckles white on his hilt, his head still cocking like that confused chicken who was now at risk of being pout on soup.

He looked to Aron, then back to the dozen spearpoints and swords suddenly leveled at his chest and throat.

"Do as he says, ser,we wouldn’t want for our dear and pious Longspear to come across any arm." Aron said, his voice eerily calm as he found the humor for a jest.

He turned to all the others with a less kind tone. "Sheathe your steel!Drop your blades and abide by whatever they ask. All of you!We aren’t here to spill blood."

The honor guards obeyed at once, dropping their swords and spears,as they cluttered down onto the ground into a pile of iron like a mountain made of pebbles.

The sound they made as the steel cluttered with one another, however , was still several times smaller than all the loud whispers and conversation their latest trick had sprouted within the enemy ranks.

The Oizenian commander took notice of that, and as he steered his mount closer, the beast’s hot breath huffing against Aron’s face,the Yarzat man realised at once he seemingly did not like that one bit and he too like his prince would have willing ended the war without battle.

"You’ve got a bold tongue for an envoy. A bit too bold. My Prince might want to hear those words himself, but I wouldn’t mind if you lost a few teeth on the way to his tent.Will you give me reason to do so?"

Aron offered him a smile, thinner than the water-porridge the league must have fed their men on the last week of the siege. He was not a leggionaire, he did not really took pleasure in pain. "The words are already out, ser. You can take my sword, and you can take my teeth, I only need my tongue to do my job.Though I would like to keep it as whole as it is now."

The commander’s face darkened as he grabbed Aron’s reins with a jerk. "If you won’t give me such satisfaction , then move. And if one of you so much as farts without leave, I’ll gut the lot of you and leave your carcasses for the camp dogs to fight over.’’

’’Are you sure your prince will approve?’’

’’I shall offer him my deepest apologies that be the case’’ He gave the reins one last hard tug.