Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen's face was grim, holding none of the hope he felt inside. The day had finally come; he was to reclaim his child from the Frosted Cunt of Nyrthlond, and see him safely off. Beside him was his son, a witness to the proceedings, and around them were mounted knights of no little valour and prestige. Behind, and well-guarded, was a caravan of gifts which would serve as the royal ransom. He felt uneasy entering the woman King's encampment, though his guards were more than adequate protection. He wondered, as he dismounted from his charger, if Ulrika would meet him on open ground or demand he petition her inside her royal tent.
Uhtred Valenti wore his grim war glory on this day, though he was wise enough to leave the blank face of his helm hanging on the strap of his horse. The beast was excited. The man things gave the impression of battle, that nervous tension on his flanks and the concurring sentiments of the other horses forming the opinion that something was going to happen. His tail whipped at the air like a lash, stirring himself on as the prince brought him to a halt. He protested only minorly when the man thing dismounted and walked, palm on pommel, a few paces behind his father. Uhtred held a fist up to hold the knights back some, lest the neutral ground be compromised. They'd been instructed to the letter, and he felt no great fear as he looked into the encampment.
Ulrika Kergard had known of the approach long before the Valenti entourage breeched the loose lines of her camps, deciding it best to leave her guests within her tent while she went to meet them. Her raiders, who had begun to grow rather restless, had organized themselves near her tent, the entire camp pulsing with intensity. Leers lingered on the gifts, but not a one moved toward it. Discipline held, even if their armour was more often dull leather than polished metal. The King waited within her tent, the strange cadre of personal guards ringing it. They parted to let her pass, Ulrika stalking out with a faint smirk on her pale lips, garbed not for war on this day, but in the preferred pale blue leather coat and trousers. Not that it would serve ill if it came down to it. Held against her hip dressed in a fine tiny tunic was the boy that all the fuss was over in good spirits, waving a small wooden sword as he squealed at the sunlight. "It's so good of you to stop in, Your Majesty. Your Highness." She greeted casually, icy eyes wandering over their host.
Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen's gaze softened perceptibly when he saw the unmistakable features of his son held so casually on the vile woman's hip. His own garb was peaceful enough, greaves and gauntlets the only sign that he was prepared for hostilities. He nodded at the Nyrthlonder's cool greeting. "A fine day, it is. I believe we have some business to conduct?" He sounded as though the matter concerned him hardly at all, hiding all his cards close to his chest. Danele waited in the tower behind them, the King not trusting himself to face her before he dispatched the boy safely. "Allow me to introduce you to my son, Uhtred, Prince of Nharati." The tension veritably roiled from the boy, and Wyld wasn't entirely sure that the Prince would try to avoid unnecessary conflict.
Uhtred Valenti took a cursory examination of his surroundings, before settling on the woman... no, man who stood before them. The child was there, such as it was, and the prince's brows furrowed. He'd never gotten a particularly good look at it, and now it was making obnoxious noises. Strange, how sharp the difference could be in comparison to his own - focus. His sharp eyes locked viciously onto the bitch king's face, showing a brooding temperment... that abruptly smoothed into a pleasant smile. He gave the gracious bow that he had drilled into his skull, though it was always more uncomfortable with armour upon his person. "I give you greetings." He did not give her a title of any sort, for fear that he would choose the wrong one and usurp her ire.
Ulrika Kergard's gaze settled upon the aging King's face, brow quirking slightly at the lack of title. When his son repeated the same, she felt Nessa shift behind her, her guards perhaps more touchy about respect than the King, but a glance stayed her. Ulrika herself retained a pleasant smile as she nodded, "That we do." Her attention slid toward the bowing Prince with mild curiousity, watching at the quick change of his expression. "Your reputation proceeds you. Well met." Tyltin threw his own warbling into the polite greetings, the high pitched sound making it difficult for the Nyrthlong King not to grimace. Courtsey so far held the day, and though her company seemed as ready for action as the horses. "I would offer you the hospitality of my tent, but I dare say that we all would like this acquited as quickly as possible." Nor did she suspect either had survived this long by crowding into strange tents.
Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen kept an eye on the moving boy, an odd sort of pride filling him. "Through good fortune you have come to possess a member of my family. For that, you have my gratitude, Your Majesty," he finally admitted, the words foreign on his tongue. Rarely did he have to prostrate himself before another, but this matter required rather more of a personal touch. "I am prepared to compensate you for your trouble. You have the pleasure of my court for as long as suits you, and your recent proposal of marriage between Prince Cyrus and Princess Synaria has received my blessing." He held the tremble in his hands by keeping them crossed at his spine. The caravan was laden with treasure not insignificant, though most of the jewels and fine clothes were of the feminine persuasion. "As well, I offer this coach of goods in single tribute. Do you accept those terms?" He looked more haggard than hardened, eager to get the proceedings over with.
Uhtred Valenti's actions would prove key to whether or not the entire scenario exploded bloodily. If the terms were refused, and could not be amended, he needed only signal. Knights would charge, take the king queen and the child, or at least kill the former, and then retreat. His father's outrage would be a hard thing, but not inconsolable. Uhtred was certain to keep his hand on his pommel, lest the signals become crossed. He feigned boredom with the proceedings, taking to shuffling a foot against the crushed grass and turning his eyes high and left to watch a kestrel at play with a blackbird. His free hand wiped at his nose to disguise its curling when the gifts were offered to the ridiculous woman. It was a ransom, and Uhtred's standards smoldered under the concept.
Ulrika Kergard finally inclined her head graciously to Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen when he offered her proper title, his elder son only half-watched from the corner of her eye for she knew that it was him her guards and her men had focused on as they should. They were not, she hoped, fooled by this display of inattention, any one of them having put such a thing to use themselves. No man worth anything would be truly disinterested in the situation. Her lips parted to snap that the marriage was unrelated to the issue at hand, but she answered more coolly, "With your permission, I would like to have the goods inspected that we may weigh their worth." A brow arched at the King, anticipating his assent.
Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen tried to keep reign on the situation, though he could sense control slipping away from him. The presence of his guard was essential, but stressful nevertheless; the Nyrthlonder's reply did nothing to assuage that stress. A deep breath settled him, and he forced a smile...after all, if she refused the gift, he had one of far greater worth to her back in the castle. "Inspect them to your heart's content," filthy upjumped wench. "As long as we can all go home to a good meal in due time." He gestured back to the carriage, his gaze flicking back to the infant.
Uhtred Valenti's sensibilities were curdling every time the woman opened her mouth, but the kestrel and blackbird were intriguing. He liked how the kestrel would pump its wings less than its playmate, preferring to glide until the last moment when it seemed that the blackbird would catch him. It would flicker, then, fold its wings briefly and snatch through the wind in a strange aerial display. Now he turned his attention to one of the Nyrthlonder guards behind the king woman, raising an easy fist in greeting and talking in reasonable tones. "Do you have fodder for your horses? Meat for your plates?" It did not sound as though he was offering assistance, but wondered how hard the trail had been to them.
Ulrika Kergard flicked a hand to send one of the smaller groups to paw through the contents of the carriage while her eyes remained trained on the Nharati King. "You are too kind," she remarked with a faint smirk. "Never fear, I shan't keep you long." Tyltin thwacked her shoulder with his flailing wooden sword, an irritated squall rising from him for he was bored in truth, but she ignored the infant..thankfully soon to be rid of his shit smell and cries. Her blonde head tilted when Stygger approached with a murmured report on the tribute, eyes narrowing in contemplation. Finally, she nodded, and he scuttled back. "Very well, Your Majesty. Should you add to it your assurances of safe passage for me and mine out of Nharati, and a small but reasonable measure of your harvest for we've taken time to deliver your son during the season when we should be tending the fields." If by tending the fields, one meant taking what honest men had harvested in lesser lands. "Then we are agreed." Her chill gaze met the King's green one patiently, knowing just how it galled him to treat with her. As for the Prince's inquiry, the guard met it with a simple brusque nod. "We are well supplied, Your Highness." Whether or not they were, that was the answer.
Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen stood as patiently as he could, his eyes focused on nothing but the woman and the child at her hip. His patience was wearing thin already, and his son wasn't helping in that regard. The condition of safe conduct was not unexpected, but her demand of a 'reasonable' portion of harvest threatened to give him a stroke on the spot. A heartbeat passed before he nodded. "Very well, Your Majesty," he growled. Those hands both lifted from his back. "Now, my son, if you please." If not, those hands would not lower until the King--either one--was dead.
Uhtred Valenti paid full attention now. The posturing and annoyances had been set aside, though the concept of feeding these foreigners was enough to make his bile rise. His eyes locked onto Kergard, then, his head tilted to the side with a small smile upon his face. Now was the time to decide what to do. His fingers were touching his pommel, now, with the palm of his hand raised in preparation. He would just pat the metal three times, and the charge would begin. He chanced a turn of his head, his peripherals confirming that his horse was held in readiness to be brought to the front for when they made their withdrawl. What a happy day for politics and posturing, he thought happily to himself... it was all worth while when the possibility of bloodshed was very real.
Ulrika Kergard hardly thought requesting food in addition to the almost insulting, if hefty, tribute of the Queen's castoffs to be worthy of the displeasure of the men before her. What was a prince's life worth, after all? There was only a moment's hesitation, her glance showing her that her people had slunk closer to her, their eyes trained on the Prince's upraised hand. "With pleasure, Your Majesty." Smiling faintly, she placed the little beast of a child in his father's hands, realizing as she did so that neither man were likely aware of her guests that she'd left in her tent. It could prove useful should they sway toward treachery. Icy eyes alightened on the Prince once she'd relieved herself of his brother, more curious than confrontational though her preferred spear was merely a handspan away in Nessa's care
Tue Jun 02, 2009 10:24 am
