A Tale of Two Realms: Written in the Hand of your Servant. Part 2:

William Barnsley - 28th Year of the Winter. Fjordrin.

William sat his desk, grim-faced, pouring over the letters littering his desk. Many were from his vassals detailing the stockpiles they had left; casks of ale, haunches of mutton, water, ravens, anything. A few from the Lord Commander of the Red Knights from the Blood Wall. Asking for more knights, most like, when I have none to spare. He discarded the letters.

He read isolated reports from his spies in Danabia, whom had just recently discovered a mine with several shafts about a hundred miles from the Trench. The Trench is a boggy wasteland, full of traps for the unwary, a place home to the most horrid torturers known to man. Fifty miles wide at its narrowest, twenty and a hundred at its widest. There was an unspoken pact: No one went in, and no one came out. It was no man's land. Not for anyone of the Tridom, at the least, nor for the Lesser Men walking upon the plains of Danabia.

Only the Border People resided on the Trench, who preferred to be known as the Free People. The Lesser Men were descendants of those who did not cross the Trench with those people that now inhabit the Tridom, six thousand years ago. They lack the fundamental ideal which bound the men of the Tridom: Chivalry. The Borderlanders were a nasty bunch. Cannibals. Savage. Animalistic. All fucking sorts, William pondered.

William gave a short laugh. Fucking monkeys bent on murdering anyone who goes through. Good thing they keep the Lesser Men out, or I'd slaughter them to pieces for incompetence. Without thinking he cast a little power to scan over the Trench, and found no power except for those of the Free People. All well and good, thought William. And then he scanned to the south and felt a surge of power coming out from the King's See. That might explain this last letter.

William got up from his desk, and walked to the window. The air was chilly, but it did not phase William in the slightest. He was clad in his dark green tunic, two-toned green hose and his smallclothes. He looked out over Fjordrin, his birthright, and saw many townsmen and women hard at work. Smiths, farriers, farmers, peddlers. William was a kind ruler, and was seen by many to not only be their overlord, but their father figure as well. William was loved, and now he was blessed.

Five months ago, William was busy training new guards in the drill square, when a squire came running to tell him that Marjorie, his wife, was in labour. He had taken the steps three at a time, and was in time to see Jon's head crown out of his mother, in a spillage of blood, water, and screams. The nurse had taken Jon away to wash him, and maids set to cleaning the chamber at once. When the nurse returned she had placed Jon in Marjorie's arms, and William had cradled them both in his massive arms. He had cried, he remembered. The tears of joy streaked down his face and muddled into his beard. He was too happy to wipe them away, and was content to let his wife wipe them away.

Up until five months ago, William thought of himself only as a father figure, now he knows he must be a father to his child. A good father. Unlike his own father, Geoff Barnsley.

Geoff was a brutal, savage, unruly bully. William suffered for eighteen years of his life and then he left Fjordrin for the King's court. When he heard that his father had succumbed to an easy death and the second eldest, Daniel, had claimed Fjordrin, he marched north. Why is it always the bad ones that get an easy death? thought William.

He had received aid from his younger brother, Mykel, who was the third born, and would have inherited nothing, save their father's scorn. Mykel was known affectionately by William and those close to him as the Black Wolf. Mykel called his older brother the Young Lion. A reference to the family's crest which consisted of a lion and wolf combatant, blue and black plumes, upon a field of light grey, surmounted by an ice blue crown with four points. The crown represented their time as Kings of Ice. The King of Frisia who subjugated Scainborough, Rivan the Third, had decreed that the new Duke Scainborough was allowed to keep their crown on the crest. A mockery and humiliation that every Duke had borne well enough, so far. The King of Ice who had knelt before Rivan was George the Tenth, and would forever be known as the King Who Slept, for his inaptitude to act, when Rivan had marched. The four points were a reference to the four pillars of the Gift: Violence, Healing, Tactical, and Ethereal. Powers which the Barnsleys had kept, and secretly improved on.

William had marched north through Lexin and Virran, meeting up with his brother at Virran, and together they captured Daniel outside Fjordrin, after a foolish sally, and William personally executed his own brother in a public display. He decreed that no traitor shall live in the north, and that had stood the test of time, at present. 

He heard soft footsteps approaching his door. As the door hinge squeaked slightly, he said whilst still gazing over Fjordrin, "I always know when you come." He smiled and turned around. "My love." He leaned down to kiss his wife.

"You always do, it's not fair," and she swatted lightly at his chest. "Let me creep up on you, just once."

"Next time."

"What's kept you up here all day, husband? It's a lovely afternoon and Jon is sleeping soundly. Come to bed with me. I want to make sweet love to you."

"Would that I could, my sweet. But I've been feeling strong tendrils of power from the south. I am certain the King marches."

She pouted, and then smiled. "I'll make you a wager."

"Name it."

"If I can guess the contents of that letter you haven't yet opened, don't look at it, you know I know, I'm a woman after all, will you come to bed with me?" She bit her lower lip seductively. Marjorie always knew that William loved that, as much as her full breasts and slim hips.

"And if not?"

"Then you can have me anyway you please," she winked.

He guffawed. "You drive a hard bargain, my Lady."

"So all the Lords tell me. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal. Have a guess."

"The King marches north with his Queen to congratulate us on our first born, but that wouldn't be enough, would it? He also marches to give you a position of power in the court and requests your presence there, which you will refuse he knows, but knows I will persuade you to go because I will be coming with you. He'll tell you to enlist Mykel from the Borderlands as constable of Fjordrin, and then formally induct you into his Council of Nine."

He smiled. "My love, your tongue may yet get you in trouble." He smiled again. "Let's see." He broke the seal and smoothed the letter out, and read aloud:

Duke Scainborough,

In the name of Rivan IV, I, Ruler of King's See, Fidei Difensor, Lord of the Tridom, Purveyor of Justice, Baron of the Borderlands, with the blessings of the Nine, King, do hereby extend my congratulations to you and your lady wife, Marjorie, upon the blessing to your marriage with your first born son.

I also wish to congratulate you on your new position in my court. You are hereby to be named Coinraker, and are thus requested to return with me to King's See after the festivities.

I march North with a great host, but worry not, for we have our own provisions. The South is not as hard hit by the snows this year as your beautiful Scainborough.

Your King,

Rivan IV.

William smirked, and walked up to his wife, and produced a dagger he kept in his sleeve, and in one swift cut, he cut off her shoulder straps and tore away her dress, and ripped off her linen shift, until she stood naked. He pressed the blade, side on, above her left breast and moved her to the wall, and as her body touched the wall, he grunted and she gasped for air. He stared into her eyes and spun the blade around and offered it hilt first to Marjorie, and then smiled. "Your turn."

"I love it when you do that," she purred. She cut off all of his clothes, and shoved him onto his desk and had her fill of his body.