Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 29: Negotiations

 Snow rested on the King's Tent that sat on the imaginary line that split the field. The bitter cold accosted them on a grey-skied day, leaving only the footprints of the three remaining heirs as they approached the battle tent. "I thought we had left this weather behind when we left the Vale," Metimafoa grumbled, drawing his outer-cloak around himself.

"Unfortunately, winter comes once a year. We closed out autumn in the vale, but The God of Winter could not be held at bay for long." Percival shivered under his coat, shooting a glare at his sister. "How are you not cold?"

"I am, Percival, but I am willing to ignore it. I have other things on my mind." She looked around the field and grimaced. "You do understand, that if everything goes into our favour, that the ground will so be stained with red and brown. Mostly of those loyal to us."

Percival stopped them at the tent flap. "Stick to the plan. We can't afford any variances."

As they entered in age order, Gygax counted the three before him. "Hello, Children." He paused waiting for the fourth, but none of them spoke. "When you left My Kingdom, there were four of you. Where is--"

"Do not dare to say her name, Pig," Metimafoa interrupted. "You are not worthy of having it pass from your lips!"

Percival pushed back on his brother's chest. Metimafoa turned away from the table and rested a hand against the tent post, and placed hi other over his mouth,

Gygax understood his reaction as he had experienced it before. "How did she die?" He asked, keeping his tone level.

Metimafoa didn't turn, but he answered quietly "She was struck by a poisoned crossbow bolt outside of Copaostirion."

A coldness seized his heart, and he closed his eyes. Visions of Hunawen popped up before him, and when he opened his eyes, she was still there, in Faramaurea. They were the spitting image of each other, but it seemed that the older sister matched her fate. "That was not my men. I am truly sorry that she went in such a way. No one deserves to go like that."

Percival was enraged. "Do not defile her memory with your words, bastard. You will not speak of her!"

Gygax stood up, his anger returning. "Do you think you are the only one who has ever lost someone they loved? Do you think you are the only one who has thought, late at night If only it had been me, and not her? No one deserves to go like that! Not even the scum who took her from me!" He paused realising that he was shouting. "Do not misunderstand; I am not deterred by the fact that she is dead. I sought only the return of Percival, and my wife. But I am truly sorry that she went in the way that she did. Do not presume to know me."

As Gygax sat back down, simmering with rage, Faramaurea looked at him, not with pity, but with understanding. "Who was she?"

"It doesn't matter now, My Queen. Too many years have gone by," he said

"But the wound has yet to heal," Faramaurea stated, certainty in her voice, but she pressed him no further.

"Unlike my sister," Percival said with a pointed glance, "I am not here to talk about your history. I am here to end this game of cat and mouse." Taking off a glove, he said "I don't have much respect for you, Gygax, but I trust you are a man of honour. I challenge you to a one on one duel to the death, for the Kingdom." He set it down before The Elder King, who sat up.

"Do you take me for a fool, Percival?" he asked, throwing the glove back to the Prince. "I am no wizard, nor am I a druid. Each of your family member slaughtered at least ten well-trained guards who were following the order of their king." Leaning back, he stated, "Plus, I have no incentive to dueling you. My army is ten times the size of yours. It is well provisioned, well-fed, and warmed in the fires of their homes. Your army is a minimal threat at best. And I can have this insurrection against a rule organised by your father, put down violently enough that no one will rise again against the power of our rule."