King Oswald surveyed the host arrayed before him. The greatest host Vale had ever mustered, pitted against the greatest horde to come crawling from Vacuo's sands. It would be something to be remembered for the ages.
The Vacuoans had spilled across the border nearly a year ago. The Marcher Lords had fought bravely but had been swiftly overwhelmed. He had been busy in the north, suppressing a peasant's revolt, and the latest iteration of the Children of the Sun and Sand had managed to push all the way to the walls of Emerald Vale, the glittering jewel in the crown that was Vale.
Oswald had sped around the country, rallying every lord and count and baron within his realm. He had sold away his treasury, his lands and a great amount of his own royal sovereignty in order to sway them, but regardless of the cost he'd managed to rally them all and bring them here, where in the field of battle Vale's fate was to be decided. Would it be ruled by its native people as it had been for thousands of years? Or would the barbarian horde finally overwhelm and supplant them?
"My King."
Oswald turned and felt a relief that only an Arc could bring. His distant cousins had been among the first to join him and had poured just as much resources as he had in assembling the great army of Vale, nearly one hundred thousand strong.
"Lord Arc." Oswald replied formally, before lowering his voice. "How great are our odds Armel?"
"Scouts say the enemy number in the millions. I say they field a similar number to our own. But they have a weakness we don't."
"Go on." Oswald said, intrigued at his vassal's crypticness.
"Their camp followers are just as many as their fighting force." Armel explained quietly. "And they are very close to our army."
"What are you proposing?" Oswald asked, a cold feeling trickling down his spine.
"Let me take a force of cavalry around the enemy host and strike their camp." Armel said, sky blue eyes more akin to the colour of ice as he met Oswald's. "They will be forced to send a significant portion of their forces to defend it."
"Are you proposing we attack women and children?" Oswald asked lowly.
"I am proposing we do to them what they have done to us." Armel replied coolly.
"It is not chivalrous."
"They show no chivalry either. We should give them no quarter because they give none to us."
Oswald stared down his vassal. Armel did the same.
"I will not sanction an attack on women and children." Oswald said finally.
"But if someone was to see an opportunity during the battle and take it?" Armel asked, without a hint of remorse or second guessing or anything similar to guilt.
"If any child or woman is hurt during the battle then the commander who led such a cowardly attack will be dealt with accordingly after the matter." Oswald replied, fighting hard to keep his composure.
Armel said nothing, instead he bowed lowly and turned to face the army arrayed before them. Horns blared and the host of tribesmen moved like a swarm of locust. War cries and chants filled the air and the ground shook beneath the sheer weight of the horde's size.
His own army was not silent neither. War drums pounded, spears were slammed into shields and some men sung the Song of the Old Men of the Sea, the song of death and blood spilling that had led to Vale's founding.
"Up from the overturned keel!" They cried, hundreds of voicing united into one, almost ethereal cry.
The horde began to move, splitting into a crescent like formation, dust kicking up from the grassy fields as it surged forwards.
"Clamber with a heart of steel!"
The cavalry on Oswald's distant flanks charged forward too, thundering forward to meet the Vacuoans head on. Neither side slowed nor changed tactics, insistent on meeting the other in a foray of blood and steel.
"Cold is the ocean spray!"
Both flanks of each great horde crashed against one another. His men had steel plate armour and lances. The Vacuoans had light leather armour and spears. It was a one sided massacre.
The enemy centre, the bulk of their horde, continued to charge, nearing his own centre of infantry. He stood alongside his men, sword at his hip with his spear and sword at hand. He nodded at the hornblower next to him, and others joined his low blare. The infantry shifted, shield overlapping shield, spear overlapping shield. A wall of wood, steel and men.
"You death is one its way!"
The horses of the Vacuoans crashed against the shield wall. Screams, bloodshed and killing followed. The song of battle.
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Armel Arc grunted as he slid his sword into the guts of another Vacuoan tribesman. The battle had been waging for the better part of the day now, with the sun rising high into the sky. Corpses littered the fields for miles around, and the once great armies had devolved into a disorganised mess.
His few remaining soldiers rallied around him. He did not know if the missing ones were dead or lost in the chaos of this battlefield, but the fact of the matter was that there was little to no organisation anywhere anymore. The shield wall had collapsed, the enemy had scattered and now it seemed to be the case of wandering over piles of bodies in search of an enemy.
A cry to his left alerted him to a group of four tribesmen. They were outnumbered and had at some point lost their horses as they were on foot. Armel managed to slay one with ease, and his troops quickly followed his example and slew the remaining tribesmen.
Armel stood still, gathering his breath shakily. He had not eaten since before the battle, and the water carrier had gotten lost some time ago. His face was sweaty and the helm he wore made the world seem humid and stuffy and all the more painful.
"What do we do my lord?" Asked one of his men. Armel didn't know his name.
He surveyed the battlefield. He did not know if his eyes betrayed him, but it seemed like there were more tribesmen than there were men of Vale. He watched as a rider crashed against a lone soldier, trampling him with his horse before leaving him crippled. Armel had seen the same tactic used earlier, and could only watch in horror as a few soldiers went to help their wounded comrade, only to be cut down or trampled down by a sudden surge of Vacuoan horsemen.
"We retreat." He said, mind made up. "We have to regroup or die."
His men were quick, eager to aquiecse to his demands. He felt a sour feeling in his throat at abandoning the battlefield, but he had no other choice. They would not win the battle unless they were able to rally.
So they retreated.
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Oswald could only watch helplessly as another of his soldiers fell. He was surrounded by a ring of brave, loyal men, though they were slowly but surely getting whittled down by the circling Vacuoans.
He was making his last stand on some hill, having been dragged from the frontlines after his shoulder had been shattered during one of the many charges the Vacuoans had done that day. It gave him a perfect, birds eye view of the battlefield, from the circling horde around him to the distant specks of his own, slowly retreating army.
'Should I have listened to Arc? Attacked their camp?' He couldn't help but wonder. Probably. But then again it may not have worked in the first place.
It didn't matter now though. At the least he would die as a man of honour.
His soldiers slowly fell, killed one after another by jabbing spears or sudden charges. Towards the end, some of them broke, either throwing down their arms or trying to flee. None escaped, and they were all cut down by the Vacuoans. Oswald threw down his sighed and drew his sword. It was his weak arm on account of his shoulder being broken, but if he was lucky he'd be able to bring down one of the bastards before he died.
The horsemen charged. He swung his sword.
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The scattered remnants of Vale's army slowly reorganised as night fell. Armel had set about organising the survivors and posting patrols, though so far they'd seen or heard hide nor hair from the Vacuoans, who were likely just as bloodied as their own forces. As time passed, a sizeable force had managed to muster, though it was far smaller than the one they'd had the previous day.
The surviving lords had gathered at the top of a grassy green knoll, the army arrayed around them. The moans of the wounded echoed across the field and everyone looked pale and drained.
"Has anyone heard anything about the King's whereabouts?" Armel asked finally, tired of listening to the sound of the wind and the wounded.
They shook their heads, looking defeated and forlorn.
"I've heard there is another force of Valean's to the east." Said Lord Jeanne, whose lands had been overwhelmed at the start of the invasion and was now one of the last surviving Marcher Lords. "But apart from that…"
"What are we going to do?" Lord Roldon asked hopelessly. "How many are dead or wounded? How are we to defeat the Vacuoans?"
"We do not know who won the battle yet." Armel replied calmly, making Roldon scoff.
"That's a lie Arc. We've been beaten."
"That is not true." Armel retorted, heat in his words making the others stare. "We retreated yes. We've lost many men, thousands, that is true. But we have not lost yet."
"Are seriously proposing we fight them again?" Roldon demanded incredulously. "After yesterday's massacre?"
"Where are they?" Armel snapped, tried of the man's defeated tone.
"Where are who?"
"The Vacuoans. Where are they?"
"Their camp. Celebrating. Or hunting down survivors."
"Wrong." Armel said simply, as if he knew everything he said was the absolute truth. "If they were hunting down survivors why haven't they attacked us yet? We're barely a mile or two away from the battlefield, which means they aren't celebrating or we would bloody well hear them."
He leaned forward, overly aware of the fact all of their eyes, the eyes of his peers and subordinates and superiors, were all resting on him.
"They are licking their wounds. The same as us." Armel said finally, and he watched as each and everyone of them digested his words.
"What are you proposing we do Arc?" Lord Jeanne asked.
"We strike. With everything we have left." He said confidently. "We strike hard, we strike fast and we cut our way into the heart of their camp."
"Then what? Get surrounded and massacred a second time?" Roldon demanded, and Armel shook his head.
"No. We hit them where it hurts hardest." He said simply. "Their families."
They stilled.
"We cause as much damage, as much pain as we can then retreat. Then whilst they mourn we'll strike at the dead of night, fling fire into the tents, set their horses free from their enclosures. Then whilst they sift through the smoke and carnage the next morning we strike again and shatter them, send them back fleeing to Vacuo with their tails between their legs." Armel explained, leaning back when he finished.
"What makes you think this would work? Why would killing their loved ones make them flee rather than give them the resolve to fight?" Lord Jeanne asked quietly, as if he was afraid he was even contemplating the plan.
"Because they aren't here because they want to be. The tribes were fine before they were united. Yes, some of them raided, but the vast majority were fine to trade. Even made a tidy profit from it too. It was their leader that brought them here, who changed things. They'll be dissent. Questions. Why don't we just go home? Their resolve will weaken. Then their tents will burn. Then the enemy who they fought to a bloody retreat yesterday will strike again in the morning. Why would they want to fight a tenacious, strong willed enemy? They'll demand a return home, and if he wants to stay their grand leader, their leader will be forced to oblige."
There was silence once more.
"We should wait for King Oswald." Lord Roldon suggested meekly.
"If we wait then they'll recover." Armel warned. "They lost many men, but at the end of the day they weren't the ones forced to leave the field. They will recover from their losses quicker than we can. Unless we strike first, surprise them, make them grieve and mourn then fear."
"In the absence of King Oswald or any member of the Royal Council." Lord Jeanne said. "I propose we vote on the matter. All in favour of Arc's plan?"
Arc raised his hand. As did a dozen other lords.
"All against?"
Lord Roldon raised his hand. As did a dozen others.
"A tie." Lord Jeanne sighed, hanging his head low. He had been the only one not to vote. He turned to Armel. "Are you sure this plan will work?"
"I am." Armel replied confidently.
"Why?" Roldon interjected. He grinned savagely.
"Because it's the same tactic I used to break the Peasant's Revolt."
There was a tense silence. Everyone looked at Jeanne, who sighed for a second time.
"Get any man who can stand and swing a sword ready to march." He said, voice filled with determination and his eyes boring into Armel's. "And may the Gods help us all if your plan fails."
It wouldn't. Armel was certain of it.
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Turnk grunted as his sister stitched up the jagged wound on his soldier. During the battle, a Valean had snuck up behind him and landed a solid blow before one of his horse brothers had killed the Valean.
"Can you be a little more gentle you damned pyschopath?" He snapped, as he felt her fingers brush up against the wound.
"Quite whining you big baby." His sister replied, swatting his unwounded shoulder. "Or else I'll leave you with your shoulder gaping open so flies can burrow inside and lay their eggs in you."
Turnk shuddered at the images her words conjured up, and he promptly stayed as still as a Valean settlements walls whilst she went about her work.
He wasn't sure how, but he could feel something wrong. Perhaps it was him still coming down from the battle high. Perhaps it was his many years as a warrior for his tribe, but he could feel the earth tremble, could hear the distant pounding of feet and jangling of armour.
He stood suddenly, making him grunt as he tore his sister's needle out of the wound and ruined the stitching.
"Head towards the centre of the camp." He ordered, before grabbing his spear and heading outside. He had no time to don any armour, nor to guide his sister through the chaos that would soon unfold. Why hadn't the sentries said anything?
From the forest next to their camp a horde of silver spilled out into the light cast by the afternoon sun. Rows of armoured beings surged forwards with all the frenzy and gusto of a sandstorm. He could hear the panicked cries of families and warriors alike, and soon others were joining him whilst their loved ones fled to the safety of the inner camp, where the greatest warriors were gathered around the Son of Sand and Sun, the Great Chief.
Turnk wasn't sure how it happened. For a moment the enemy were a few feet away from him and then he was being bowled over by an indescribable weight. He fell amongst the freshly made corpse of his brothers and gasped and groaned and screamed as a horde of steel swept over him, leaving him broken and bleeding in the dirt.
He could hear the cries of the women, the wailing of the children. He'd heard those noises before, when he'd followed the Son of Sand and Sun and sacked Valean settlements. He never expected to hear it from his own, from the mightiest tribe Vacuo had seen. It made his guts twist uncomfortably. What if one of those screams belonged to his sister?
He heard someone's footsteps. He turned and saw feet. They weren't wearing anything. He followed them up, seeing the dirty brown rags and the tearstained face of a slave girl. He didn't recognise her, and when he tried to speak he couldn't, choking on his own blood and broken teeth.
She grabbed a spear from amongst the dead and raised it over him, eyes wild and face contorted into one of pure rage. He closed his eyes, thankful the end would at last come for him.
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Juk surveyed the carnage. The Valeans had left as quickly as they came, though in their wake they left a disorganised mess. More and more bodies were being found. Slaves had rebelled and those that hadn't fled were being put down. He could hear the wailing of mothers and wives as they found the corpses of their dead sons and husbands. A child, little more than four years old, was cradled in her mothers arms, body broken and shattered after being trampled on.
Whether by the steel boots of the Valean soldiers or the panicked feet of his own fleeing people, Juk neither knew nor cared. Knowing wouldn't bring back the child.
"You will know." The woman spat, voice hoarse and neck bruised from where he'd gripped it in order to force her down. "You and all you barbarians will know what it is like to lose everything."
He had laughed at the woman before cutting her throat after she spat spittle and blood at him. Perhaps he should have listened to her.
"Great Chief, what are we to do?"
It was one of his subordinates, a man who had been Chief in his own right before Juk had united the tribes. Juk couldn't remember his name.
"I want all our dead given the proper funeral rites they deserve. As for the Valean's, make a wall of their corpses around their camp." Juk ordered, and the man left quickly, either to fulfil his order or plot against him. Juk didn't care about either so long his death was quick.
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Haila watched her Mama's body burn in the pyre. It was shared with other bodies and her brother said it was because there were too many bodies for one person to use one pyre. That would explain the crowd at least. There were so many of them, all of them sad and forlorn.
Her Papa wasn't there. He was busy patrolling the camp, keeping them safe.
Haila didn't notice it at first, too drawn by the flickering of flames and the slowly melting skin and bone. But the fire was spreading. Except it wasn't.
Screams erupted suddenly. She turned and saw armoured men with swords and torches. The torches were thrown into tents and she watched as the sword were hacked and slashed into the crowd. Her brother ran towards them, and she lost sight of him due to the press of fleeing bodies.
She managed to push her way to a place in between the tents. She watched as the armoured men pushed onward. They took logs from her Mama's funeral pyre and threw them onto more tents. She recognized one of them. They belonged to her brother's lady friend, Sharla. Her parents had died earlier today, and Sharla had become the sole protector of her little brother, Sand.
Haila didn't know where Sharla was, but she knew where Sand was. She could hear his screams from inside the burning tent.
Haila had been there for Sand's birth. A virgin had to be present at a birth to ward off evil spirits. She remembered him being slimy and bloody. She remembered the way his mother held him and looked at him with love, despite the pain he'd put her through. Haila remembered her Mama's proud smile afterwards, and the sweet roll she'd been given for doing a good job warding off the evil spirits, even if she had just sat there.
The armoured men walked away. No one went to help Sand.
Haila ran towards the fire. She wasn't sure what she was doing. She wasn't sure why. She just did.
The flames licked her as she darted into the tent. The smoke was acrid and burned her throat. Her eyes watered but she stumbled over to Sand's crib and pulled him into her arms. He was screaming and crying shrilly in her ear, but she ignored it and stumbled out of the tent, panting as the air went cool rather than humid.
She coughed and spluttered, and staggered away to her hiding spot. There were no fires there. Maybe she would spot an adult who could help her and Sand.
"What do we have here?"
Haila turned around. It was an armoured man.
"A little girl and her baby brother. How adorable."
She heard the words. They were guttural and hoarse. She didn't know what they meant, nor what he was saying.
'What if he was a demon?' Haila thought, stepping backwards out of fear. He made a weird noise.
"That's no good at all." The demon tutted. "Don't do anything stupid now girlie."
Haila turned. She was small and swift. She could outrun the slow, heavy demon.
"Woah there!" The demon said, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her to the ground. She rolled on her back so Sand slammed into her chest rather than the ground. The demon chuckled and leaned over her, not pressing down on her but keeping her trapped.
"What did I say about doing something stupid?" The demon said, shoving Sand onto the ground next to them. "Now be quiet unless you want something to happen to the little tyke over there."
He drew a dagger from his belt. Haila closed her eyes, scared as the dagger inched closer towards her. But rather than sink into her flesh it sliced at her clothes.
"There we go, now just urk!" The demon grunted, as something sharp and red slid from beneath his head and out his neck. Something red and warm splattered onto Haila's face, and she realised it was the demon's blood. Someone shoved the demon off her, and she looked up to see her brother, his face bruised and blood coating his side, a bloodied knife in his hand.
"Take the boy and run." He grunted, swaying unsteadily. "Get out of here Haila."
Then his eyes rolled up and he fell backwards. His chest stilled and Haila waited for him to get up again.
She heard footsteps. They were heavy.
She turned and saw and armoured man, though he looked different to the other. He had no helmet and he had a long white cloak. He kneeled next to her, looking at the body of the other armoured man and then her brother. Then he took off his cloak and ripped it in two. Part of it he swaddled around Sand, who he cradled in his arms gently. The other half he wrapped around Haila. He took her hand and stood, gently pulling her up.
Then he turned and led her from the burning camp.
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Smoke from the ruins that had once been the camp of a mighty horde. The Vacuoans had fled the moment dawn came, leaving behind everything from their dead to their plundered goods. Amongst the corpses had been King Oswald, his body defiled and desecrated by the Vacuoans. Now they were either dead or long gone, and Armel had gotten his Chaplain to give Oswald a proper burial with what remained of him.
That move had not gone unnoticed. Lord Raldon had tried to involve his own Chaplain, knowing that with the King dead and heirless then the throne was up for grabs. Others knew it too, though Raldon was merely the most overtly ambitious. Tensions were rising, lines were being drawn and alliances were being formed. Armel had a good claim, his grandmother being a princess of Oswald's house. But so did many other nobles, even Raldon to an extent, making the question of succession murky, ambiguous and likely bloody.
"Lord Jeanne." Armel nodded as the Marcher Lord approached him. "Come to bask in our victory?"
"It's our victory is it?" Jeanne replied. "It was your plan."
"But your vote that saw it executed."
Jeanne met his eye for a moment, before turning to survey the carnage.
"I'm tired." He grunted. "Let's skip the intrigue and get to the point."
"Gladly." Armel replied with clear relief. "I want your support for my bid for kingship."
"And in return?"
"You become the sole Lord Protector of the Borders." Armel replied. "There is a lot of empty land now due to the Vacuoans and Lord Amelie supports Raldon's bid. I cannot trust him and should this conflict turn into a civil war then he will lose his lands and you will get them."
"If you win."
"When I win."
Jeanne smiled.
"Funny thing is Lord Raldon made a similar proposition, though he said he would win and after the fact I would get the lands of Lord Ralderic, who supports you. Who should I place my trust in hmm?"
"Who came up with the plan that saw the Vacuoans flee?"
"And who made sure it was executed? No. I see no benefit in supporting you or Raldon or any other pretender."
"You're making your own bid." Armel realised.
"Indeed I am. Now you can support me and get Raldon's lands, or you can lose in the war against me and I will get both yours and Raldon's lands. Think wisely, Arc. You aren't as popular as you may think due to your new pets."
Armel watched as Jeanne strode away towards his own troop of men. What had days ago been a united, cohesive force had quickly fallen apart into cliques and factions. Gangs would be more accurate though, especially after the reports he'd hear do of brawls over loot.
He sighed and stared at his tent. Within were his new 'pets' and whilst he had no doubt he had done the right thing in taking the girl and baby away from the bloodshed he couldn't help but wonder if he should shove them off to someone else. He couldn't exactly adopt them into his house, they would never be accepted as his heirs and who knows what sort of people they may turn out to be. He had no interest in seeing his house destroyed by an adoptee trying to usurp his own blood born son, when he eventually had one of course.
Armel shook his head. He wouldn't abandon the children, but he wouldn't adopt them either. When he got back to Ansel he would make sure they had lodgings and employment unless they eventually chose otherwise. Perhaps he could provide them an education too? Well, that would depend on the state of his coffers after what seemed like an inevitable civil war with more than two factions.
"Sergeant!" Armel called. His soldier rushed over to him, bowing quickly before Armel ordered him to stand at ease. "Take as many men as you deem fit. Search the battlefield and bring back as much gold, silver, anything of value that you can."
"My lord!" The man replied, bowing again before rushing off, the prospect of loot making him move faster than he had been in the battlefield. Armel shook his head, making his way to his tent to check on the children when a messenger rushed toward him.
"Lord Raldon has called for a Grand Council to decide on who should succeed King Oswald in a civil manner." The messenger panted, and Armel rolled his eyes.
"Very well. Where is the meeting?"
"Oswald's Hill milord. Just to the north of the camp."
"I will be there shortly. Here." Armel said, handing the man a golden coin. "For your troubles."
"Milord!" The man gasped, bowing lowly. Armel changed course, heading towards his Captain of the Guard, who was lounging outside his tent.
"Lord Arc." Aldric greeted with a grin. "Anything good?"
"I want two dozen of our best men guarding this tent and the treasury." Armel ordered, referring to the tent used to house all the goods they'd managed to take so far from the sprawling battlefield. "I want you and the rest to accompany me to this so called Great Council."
"Yes My Lord." Aldric said, standing quickly as he realised the gravity of the situation. Oswald had said that their battle with the Vacuoans would decide Vale's fate. He was wrong. It was the aftermath of the battle that would.
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"Before we begin, I would like for a moment of silence to honour our fallen liege. May he find peace in the Otherworld."
"May he find peace in death." They murmured tonelessly, and Armel rolled his eyes at the long silence that followed Raldon's proclamation. Across the way, he saw Jeanne grin at him. He doubted he would be grinning for long.
"Very well. Thank you for indulging me." Raldon said with a horribly put upon smile. "Now lets get to business. Our Lord King, may his soul be at peace, left no heirs nor legitimate children, however he did have a bastard daughter-"
"The day we let a bastard girl rule Vale is the day Vale dies." Lord Thornwick, yet another contender for the throne but not amongst the big three of Jeanne, Raldon and himself, interjected.
"Very well. In that case we will need to decide upon a new monarch to take the throne. I would like to nominate-"
"I put myself forward." Armel interrupted, doing his very best to ignore Raldon's outraged expression. Despite them now being enemies, Jeanne could not, chuckling at Raldon's reddening face and making the poor fool redden further than a ripe tomato. "I have royal blood. As do most of you, I acknowledge that, however my claim is closer, with my grandmother being a sister of Oswald's, who was King of Vale long before him."
"You have the blood true." Raldon retorted. "But as you say as do we. I myself am related to our former liege through my father, whose great-grandfather married to a King Osric the Fourth's niece. And whilst you might have the greater blood claim I have the greater claim in experience. Ansel is a small fiefdom whilst my own spans the length and breadth of the land. I know how to rule and govern large territory fairly, justly and above all well."
"Yet it was also you who tried to derail Lord Arc's plan yesterday, the same plan that saw the Vacuoans routed." Lord Jeanne finally spoke, and he stood from his seat confidently, before striding around before each lord arrayed in the circle. "Now I won't bore you with by going into details for my own blood claim. However I will bore you with details as to why I should be king. Whilst Lord Arc came up with yesterday's plan it was I who helped execute it. Whilst Lord Arc was mustering his forces in the west, I was already battling the Vacuoans in the east. I have protected Vale's borders loyally and staunchly all my life. I ask of you to let me protect all of Vale now."
"If you protected Vale's borders so well than how did the barbarian horde reach Emerald Vale?" Lord Raldon demanded, standing suddenly.
"Because they outnumbered my forces one hundred to one, yet I still managed to delay them long enough for a sizeable host to be assembled by our liege." Lord Jeanne retorted.
"Enough!" Armel barked, though he stayed seated. Both Jeanne, Raldon and everyone else turned to face him. "I'm sure we can all agree that we are at an impasse already. Who else wishes to nominate themselves as Vale's newest King?"
Lord Thornwick raised his hands. The other rumoured candidates didn't. They must have seen they had no chance against the bigger players and toned down their ambitions to get the best deal from the one likeliest to win.
Then someone Armel did not recognise raised his hand as well.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Jeanne asked concisely and eloquently. The man lowered his hand calmly, meeting his questioning look, and that of everyone else present, with a neutrality that bordered bored.
"I am Lord Thomas Ironwood. I am not nominating myself, rather my own liege, King Koln Schnee."
That caused an uproar. Armel leaned back, raising a brow with surprise. He hadn't seen that one coming.
"Quit your bitching and let the man speak!" Jeanne bellowed, quickly bringing order just as quickly as it went. "Why do you think Vale would accept a foreign King with no blood claim to the throne?"
"Because King Schnee would not be claiming the throne through his own blood as it would be non-existent. He would be King through his wife, Queen Adeliza, King Oswald's sister, who cannot rule in her own right due to her womanhood."
That was a bold move Armel hadn't seen coming. It also made sense in a way. Oswald's house would still technically rule, as Schnee's wife would provide the blood to whatever children they ended up having. That did not change the fact he was foreign though, with no knowledge of Vale nor its customs.
"A valid claim." Armel said, drawing attention from everyone present. "If we were all kicked in the head by a horse of course."
The Valean lords laughed. Ironwood didn't. Was his eyes deceiving him or was the icy looking Atlesian blushing?
"A fair point Lord Arc." Jeanne smiled. "I do not know why you are here Atlesian, but it is best you leave before you dig yourself into an even greater hole."
"Very well." Ironwood shrugged, before he stood and bowed curtly before leaving. Armel watched him go. He didn't need to press harder, the Schnee had made their claim loud and clear. That made the outcome of this meeting all the more important. The others seemed to realise that too, as a unnerving silence descended following the Atlesians departure.
"We need to come to a decision." Lord Raldon said quietly. "I still believe I would be the best nomination."
"We need a warrior, not a clerk." Lord Jeanne argued. "Especially now we know the Atlesians will be coming. They believe we are weak. We have to prove we are strong."
"Vale needs a leader, not a war monger." Armel argued. "We won our war against Vacuo, but we lost many, too many, good men. We cannot afford another war."
"Even if it means sacrificing our sovereignty?" Jeanne retorted.
"I am not suggesting that." Armel replied calmly. "I am merely saying we do not need to be gung-ho, nor a leader with the same attitude, towards a potentially bloody, avoidable war."
"And how would you avoid it, Arc?" Raldon demanded angrily.
"I'm not a god Raldon. I don't have all the answers." Armel retorted, causing some tense chuckles. "But I will find them. That I promise."
Silence fell yet again.
"We should vote." Jeanne proposed.
"No." Raldon snapped. He had the fewest supporters between Armel and Jeanne, at least as far as Armel knew. "I have the claim and the experience to be Vale's King."
"Then it would appear, gentlemen, that we are at yet another impasse." Jeanne said quietly.
Armel tensed. So did the others. Then swords were drawn and sides were formed. Armel's supporters flocked around him, as did those for Jeanne and Raldon and to a lesser extent Thornwick. No one made a move, knowing that causing a battle at a diplomatic meeting would be a reputation killer.
Slowly, like a skittish rabbit, they backed away from one another, heading towards their camps. There were a few brawls and skirmishes, but all sides remained too nervous to make an overtly hostile move against another. A tense night and day followed, and four days after King Oswald's death, the mighty army he had assembled split apart and scattered to the winds. Each claimant returned to their lands, where they gathered their armies and built up their strength for the war to come.
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The civil war, known by some as the Brothers War due to the close yet distant blood relations between each claimant, would bring about an end to Vale as an existing independent political entity.
It lasted for three years, during which famine, disease and massacres became common. Regional divisions previously minute or non existent suddenly flared, and the war turned from a war for the throne into a war for the extermination of all other rivals.
Lord Tomtum Raldon was slain by King Jeanne the First, who crucified the claimant two years into the war after storming his seat of power at Kingsport. King Armel 'the Bear' slew Lord Thornwick at the Siege of Emerald Vale, and the war devolved into a stalemate between the last two powers after an inconclusive, bloody battle at the Emerald Ford, north of Emerald Vale.
The lawlessness caused by the conflict caused the near total disintegration of the feudal system within what was once Vale, as lords died in distant battlefields and their lands became vacant. Powerful gangs of brigands and robber barons seized control of vast amounts of territory as the war progressed, eventually causing the last two claimants to meet at the Field of Brotherhood, near the Emerald Ford, where King Armel proposed neither claimant would take Vale's throne, instead they would each split the Kingdom of Vale between the lands they currently held and would become sovereign of their respective territories. With the ever present threat of Atlas and the rumours of rallying Vacuoan tribes, King Jeanne agreed, with himself becoming the first King of the Kingdom of Vallée whilst King Armel became the first King of the Kingdom of Ansel.
Haila and Sand were taken to Ansel and brought up in King Armel's household. Sand became a knight and fought alongside his lord in numerous battles until he was slain at the Battle of the Emerald Ford. Haila worked as a maid within King Armel's household, eventually becoming the mistress of King Armel's only child, his heir Prince Clovis Arc.
As time passed, both Kings struggled to establish control over all of the lands they claimed. Many a lord would proclaim themselves kings in their own rights, causing a further breakdown of what was once one of four mighty Kingdoms. Rebellions erupted in Mistral and Atlas, as ambitious lords sought to carve out their own Kingdoms, inspired by the chaos in Vale.
King Armel would eventually die during a siege to retake a rebel stronghold. King Jeanne promptly invaded the newly crowned King Clovis' lands, the boy just sixteen years old and seen as weak, hedonistic and inexperienced.
King Jeanne would be defeated at the Battle of the Crossing, where his army was decimated trying to cross the Emerald Ford after King Clovis flooded the plains by breaking Ozymandias Dam. The boy king then led his army and broke the remnants of Jeanne's host, slaying the older man in one-on-one combat. King Jeanne the Second became King of Vallée after his fathers death and sued for peace after King Clovis launched his own invasion of the new kings lands.
Unlike his father's rival, Clovis honoured the peace, retreating to his own lands with a sizable payment from the new King Jeanne, as well as returning with Jeanne's sister for a wife.
Atlas put down its rebellions first and ,knowing Mistral was too busy to object otherwise, invaded Vale, led by King Whitley the Third. King Jeanne the Second was slain defending Kingsport and the Atlesians swiftly put down the smaller robber kingdoms and rebels in the north through the use of brutal tactics and use of mages, such as the Great Burning, where several dozens towns and villages were flooded by a tidal wave of fire conjured by Atlesian mages.
Despite overwhelming odds, King Clovis chose to resist the Schnee and rallied a coalition of the robber kings and rebelling vassals in the south, promising to acknowledge their claims to their lands and bring a semblance of peace to Vale in return for their support.
However he was betrayed by his former lover, Haila, who had been set aside by the King upon his return with his new wife. She warned the Atlesians of his battle plans, causing them to hurry south and besiege Ansel before his armies could assemble. Rather than surrendering, King Clovis led a final charge against the Schnee with whoever volunteered to go with him, the final number totalling nearly four thousand men. They fought bravely. They fought valiantly. King Clovis nearly managed to break through the elite Atlesian Royal Guard and face King Whitley in a duel. However he was finally brought low after being struck a dozen times by a group of Atlesian Royal Guards. His army fought on, but eventually was put down as well.
To solidify his claim to his new lands, King Whitley married Clovis' widow, who had claims to her brother's now subjugated Kingdom and one to that of her former husbands through her marriage to him. In return, Reynaud, Clovis' illegitimate child with Haila would be legitimised and allowed to rule Ansel as a vassal of King Schnee so long he swore fealty when he came of age.
Although there were other battles afterwards to secure it afterwards, it was the Last Charge of King Clovis that meant the death knell for any independent, native rule for Vale. The robber barons were put down and King Whitley reinstated the Kingdom of Vale, which he merged with the Kingdom of Atlas to form the Kingdom of Atlas-Vale. He installed a Governor, who would rule in his stead, and until the appointment of Nicholas Arc many years later the position would always be held by an Atlesian and more likely than not, a Schnee.
Haila would disappear shortly after her betrayal, and it is unclear if she was killed or simply hid her identity to avoid revenge. Perhaps she returned to her homeland? No one knew except her, and so what became of her will remain a mystery.
(Brief summary of Jaune's family so it's a little more clearer):
Armel Arc: First King of Ansel and father of…
Clovis Arc: Last King of Ansel and father of…
Reynaud Arc: First Lord of Ansel (Kingdom of Atlas-Vale terms/lineage, would be seventy-first Lord of Ansel if going by Kingdom of Vale lineage) and father of…
Nicholas Arc: Second Lord of Ansel, first Valean Governor of Vale and father of…
Jaune Arc: Heir apparent of Nicholas Arc and future Lord of Ansel
A/N: Next update is on 05/08