Pocking at the bowl of mushroom stew, Jeremy made a disgusted, resigned face as he lifted a spoonful of it and swallowed without chewing. Making a face, he looked to Oliver with a bitter, playful look. "Ser. Couldn’t you have sworn fealty to someone not in the Vallies? Mushroom stew, mushroom pie, mushrooms themselves. I can’t remember what good food tastes like anymore."

"Shut it." Oliver said, taking a spoonful, trying to hide his own dissatisfaction with the food, "You’re lucky I managed to find a Lord who would even feed us in the first place. Or do you want to go back to nibbling tree bark when I couldn’t hunt a rabbit or find an inn?" Jeremy looked at the bowl and took another spoonful; it had a reply of its own.

Looking around the packed keep, Oliver sighed as more and more lords and knights flooded in, finding themselves a seat. Those with money brought along their own food and drink, having goat and ale, or soemthing to add flavour to the mushroom dishes the valleys survived on.

Jeremy took a deep breath and rapidly stuffed the remaining stew in his mouth, forcing it down, before pushing the bowl to the side, happy to be done with it. "Ser. Is there going to be a war?" Oliver didn’t look at him, continuing to stare at the people filling the large hall.

"It seems. The horn sounded."

"Then will I have to fight?" Jeremy asked with a mix of fear and excitement in his voice. Looking at his squire, Oliver gave a quick flick over his head and chuckled.

"A brat like you on the battlefield. No, you’ll be incharge of my equipment and food when we march. If you ever fight, it’s becuase you have to, not because you were sneaking out on the field. Only when you’re a knight can you do what you want." The young boy let out a disappointed sigh but nodded. Oliver said nothing, turning back to the doors of the hall, peering at the empty throne at the end of the hall afterwards.

A week and a half has passed since the horn of Epton sounded, and with it, the entirety of the Valley had marched on Epton. Those who wouldn’t be able to arrive quickly enough sent representatives who stayed close to Epton as they readied their forces, to be ready at the march where needed. Oliver couldn’t help but lazily lean on his sword and sigh, wondering where he would be sent.

He wasn’t shy about war, having fought in many minor conflicts between lords as a sword for hire, but this was different. It wasn’t a minor conflict about land or stolen grain, but a war that the Great lords of Veston were involved in. In it all, he wondered where the person he was told to protect was, and feared that maybe he was on the wrong side of the conflict.

’What if I fail and they die? Will I even know?’

Shaking his head to clear a thought he didn’t want to think, the great door of the hall flew open as a group of men swaggered through, their hands on the hilt of their swords. Each one wore leather armour with chainmail, on their chests, the sigil of House Alkaris, a white goat inside a star, with a pair of swords crossed behind. Each one looked at the men in the room, smiling and laughing when they saw people they recognised, but quickly lost the attention of those people when the man they surrounded came into sight.

Unlike a normal person, he looked more like a giant than a human, standing 6’6, dwarfing the tall guards around him, his chest and back bare of clothing but adorned with tattoos, the main one being the name of a woman, Maria, on his back and along his shoulders. Around his chest, back, and arms, he had numerous others, either names of fallen men who had served him, dates burned into the man’s memory, or patterns and phrases in remembrance of the old Gods before the spread of the Lord of Creation in the Valleys.

He was a strong man, a mix of fat and muscle, and swung over his back a large great sword that was small in comparison to him. Next to him, two men, almost identical to their father, followed, slightly smaller than him. On the left, he had the same build, both fat and muscle, Maxwell Alkaris, whilst the one on the right was more lanky, Ralph Alkaris.

Oliver rose, as did everyone else, and fell to a knee, seeing Lord Alkaris as he stood before the throne. Pulling his sword, he turned around and sat down, letting it lean against his shoulder. Both his two sons took to his side, watching the room. A wide grin broke his bushy brown beard, as his brown eyes pierced through the crowd, nodding in approval of the kneeling men.

"Rise." Even if he didn’t shout, his voice boomed across the hall. Oliver stood and got a good look at the man, a person he would never have believed he would meet: Hyman Alkaris, Great Lord of Veston, Lord of Epton, and ruler of the Valleys. "First things first. Who here has never seen battle?" Some of the knights and the Lord lifted a hand, and Hyman nodded. "Who here has never killed a man?" A few more lifted a hand. Jeremy went, but Oliver stopped him and waited. "GREEN BOYS OUT!" Hyman shouted, looking at the crowd.

Many of the people with raised hands were shocked and wanted to protest, but stopped seeing the sharp brown glare hit them when they went to. "I want men advising my war, not fucking children. Out. Now." Those who lifted a hand could only sigh and walk off, leaving the hall. Hyman nodded and looked around, quickly spotting Jeremy. Leaning forward, he had an amused smile on his lips, "A brat so young has killed?"

Jeremy froze up from the glare, but Oliver didn’t. Smiling, he stepped forward and, with the courtesy he was taught when coming into Lord Stoneheart’s service, bowed, "Your Grace. My squire has not killed, but." Looking around the room, Oliver met many gazes. "I wish for him to learn from the finest. He shall not speak, not give ideas, but sit and learn from the best of Veston."

Oliver said without a stutter, unwilling to yield to his suggestion. There was a tense silence as Hyman stared at him, but Oliver didn’t back down, standing firm like a statue, knowing it was the only way to gain the respect of the people of the Valley, looking deep into Hyman’s eyes. Hyman slowly chuckled before it boomed. Slapping the armrest, he nodded.

"Fine. I need backbone in this council. The brat can stay under the condition he doesn’t presume to know better." Oliver bowed and stepped back, retaking his seat, shooting a glare at Jeremy to do what he promised. Hyman fell back again, letting his greatsword fall on him. It was a large sword, with a worn blade that didn’t lose its sharpness, with a golden hilt and pommel of a goat head. Many couldn’t take their eyes off it, seeing the ancestral blade of House Alkaris, Realm Splitter, a name given from the tale that it was what split the land and created the Valleys.

"Men." Hyman said, his smile never leaving his face, "A war is coming." His words got a few of the people to give equally mad grins as they slammed their fists on the tables. Hyman let it happen for a moment before lifting a hand to stop them. "When we were called to fight in the Desert Rebellion, our king came and fought with us. When the Desert rats crawled close, he held the line to buy us time."

Hyman looked at older warriors, signalling those who carried the title of Hill Sword with pride. "A debt is a debt and this." Pulling out a letter from the waistband, he threw it on the floor and spat on it, "This is an insult. To claim we voted in fear of our King. We know loyalty and loyalty alone. We do not fight those we have sworn to, nor those we owe." Hyman closed his eyes and nodded to himself, "Even if the entire realm sides with the false king, we shall not. Am I clear?" Looking around, he waited to see any dissent and smiled when nothing occurred.

"We will discuss war, but." Hyman jumped up, with a speed unbefitting a man of his size, the great sword left to fall onto the throne, "First, we feast and celebrate. Drink until we fall. Drink like it’s our last." Stepping down, he swooped a jug of ale from one of the tables and climbed up it. Holding it up, everyone else grabbed a drink as they chuckled. Bringing it to his lips, lively music began playing as the rest of the room drank in response. No one pulled the drink away from their mouth until Hymen did, who threw the empty mug across the room, laughing when it broke on collision, signalling the start of the party.