June 17th, 1616
Cluaine Mor, dual city of a dual country, chosen capital of the new monarchy, rose above the plains of Carib with a stately sort of majesty. It was certainly a welcoming sight to the small party from Pomerania - to the as-yet-uncrowned King of Carib and his select few who were prepared to make the journey as fast as was physically possible, with the rest of their party following a week behind them. The Horse Lords of Carib had met Henry when his ship docked in Seanport, one tribe selected personally by the Archon himself to escort the new king along the trade route to the city that straddled north and south of his new kingdom.
It had been a long journey on horseback, ten days of sleeping in tents and traveling in the growing summer heat, but finally they had arrived. Cluaine Mor rose above them, its pinnacle the castle restored for the use of the monarch and government. Down here, a wide avenue stretched out toward them, and along it came several horses, their riders difficult to distinguish. All but one, whose white-blonde hair fairly shone in the sunshine as she took the lead. Brynhilde, Queen of Carib and soon to be his wife, was coming to greet them personally, with a crowd forming in the streets behind her, eager to get their first glimpse of their new king beside the queen they had come to embrace as their own.
The future King of Carib didn't feel very kingly, but then, he hadn't felt much like an Earl either, despite the bloodline that said otherwise. And yet, six months had changed him, even if he didn't realize it. He had worked hard to learn the language, the customs, the history, and the politics of the place he was supposed to be ruling, though he believed it was really the Queen who'd be in charge, not a man who'd been raised a commoner. He'd do everything in his power to help, but he didn't care much for power or wealth. His main concern was for his betrothed, and beyond that, for the welfare of the people.
Despite his insecurities and self-doubts, he was anxious to see her again. He had missed her all these months, and her absence had only made him realize how much he really cared for her. He had cherished every letter, and now that they were about to be re-united, he felt both nervous and excited. But he had learned to remain composed in public, and to try to give off a regal manner, even if he didn't feel worthy. He was not king yet, and the people would be hoping for a strong but just and kind king.
On horseback beside him, Thomas Montague grinned at his friend as the party from the city approached. "Try smiling," he suggested out of the corner of his mouth. "You look constipated. She's probably as eager to see you as you are to see her, at least try not to look like you're going to implode with pomposity."
"I'm trying to look regal," Harry replied, as quietly as he could, but he took his friend's advice and offered a smile, not only to the party that was on its way to meet them, but also to the crowd surrounding them. As for his appearance, he looked kingly enough, as he sat straight and tall upon his horse. A handsome, healthy, young man, as opposed to the king they'd lost recently to old age.
"Just looking like yourself will do," his friend advised, schooling his own expression as the other party drew near. With a gentle touch to his reins, his horse backed up a couple of steps, leaving Henry out front to greet them alone.
Brynhilde drew her own mare to a halt in front of him, her own smile far less schooled than their tutors might have wished for. She had missed Henry far more than she could ever have imagined, longing to slide off her horse and throw her arms about him for the first time. But there was protocol to follow. "Welcome to Carib," she said, the warmth in her voice surprising her companions, it seemed. The numbness that had held her in its grip since she had learned of the death of her father seemed to have fallen away in the presence of the man she loved. "May I present the Archon of the Horse Lords, Domnall MacTeer?"
The man who drew his horse forward at her invitation was huge; bare-chested, heavily armed and very well muscled. He was also soft-spoken, as evidenced once his horse had bowed to Henry. "You are very welcome among us, my king."
Harry didn't notice the man at first, as his attention was focused entirely on Brynhilde, who seemed even more beautiful than he remembered. Her smile was as bright as sunshine, and though he, too, longed to take her in his arms and show her how much he'd missed her, he knew it would have to wait until they were away from prying eyes.
"I am happy to be here," he replied, doing his best to contain himself, though the tone of his voice and the look on his face told her more than those few words. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary before turning to acknowledge the man at her side. "Thank you for the welcome, Archon MacTeer, but I am not the king just yet," he told the man, quietly enough that only those who were very close by would hear him. To the crowd, it would merely appear they were exchanging pleasantries. Harry couldn't help but notice the size of the man, feeling a little scrawny in comparison, but he was confident enough of Bryn's feelings not to be jealous.
"Neither was she the queen when we accepted her as our ruler," the Archon pointed out, jerking his head toward Brynhilde. "We won't make you fight our champion to prove your worth. You have her love; you're more than worthy of your title." He drew his horse back, clicking his tongue, and the riders around Bryn began to rearrange themselves, forming into an escort, mingling with Henry's own escort.
Brynhilde herself drew her mare to the side of his stallion. "Are you ready to enter Cluaine Mor, dear heart?"
What the Archon said was true, but Harry wasn't going to point that out. While it was a relief not to have to prove himself worthy, he wouldn't really feel like a king, until he had proved his worth to himself. "I hope I can prove myself worthy in other ways, as well," he told the man, before the Archon drew his horse back to form an escort. Harry moved his horse up to meet Bryn's and fall into pace alongside her. "As ready as I'll ever be, I wager," he replied, with a warm smile that belonged to her alone.
"I'm glad you're here," she said softly, sharing his smile. Then they began to move, horses walking at a comfortable pace to traverse the winding avenue up to Caislean Dha, the castle above them, through the crowd that had turned out to greet their soon-to-be king. Henry's name was among the shouts and cheers as they passed into the city, mingled with Brynhilde's. "I knew they'd love you the moment they saw you," she told him beneath the sound of the crowd around them. Glancing back a moment, she leaned toward him a little. "The men riding with us ....the older man is Bradan, the chancellor. Loyal to the crown, and therefore to us. The younger is Ailan, one of the newest barons. It was his father who tried to poison me by his own hand, and his brother who saved my life. He's the only man at court that I trust with my life and yours."
"I'm glad, too," he replied back, more because he missed her than anything else. He turned to acknowledge the crowd with a smile and a wave of a hand, but they only cheered louder. He then followed her gaze momentarily behind them to match a face with a name. "It seems you've made quite an impression on them," he said, turning back around.
Cluaine Mor, dual city of a dual country, chosen capital of the new monarchy, rose above the plains of Carib with a stately sort of majesty. It was certainly a welcoming sight to the small party from Pomerania - to the as-yet-uncrowned King of Carib and his select few who were prepared to make the journey as fast as was physically possible, with the rest of their party following a week behind them. The Horse Lords of Carib had met Henry when his ship docked in Seanport, one tribe selected personally by the Archon himself to escort the new king along the trade route to the city that straddled north and south of his new kingdom.
It had been a long journey on horseback, ten days of sleeping in tents and traveling in the growing summer heat, but finally they had arrived. Cluaine Mor rose above them, its pinnacle the castle restored for the use of the monarch and government. Down here, a wide avenue stretched out toward them, and along it came several horses, their riders difficult to distinguish. All but one, whose white-blonde hair fairly shone in the sunshine as she took the lead. Brynhilde, Queen of Carib and soon to be his wife, was coming to greet them personally, with a crowd forming in the streets behind her, eager to get their first glimpse of their new king beside the queen they had come to embrace as their own.
The future King of Carib didn't feel very kingly, but then, he hadn't felt much like an Earl either, despite the bloodline that said otherwise. And yet, six months had changed him, even if he didn't realize it. He had worked hard to learn the language, the customs, the history, and the politics of the place he was supposed to be ruling, though he believed it was really the Queen who'd be in charge, not a man who'd been raised a commoner. He'd do everything in his power to help, but he didn't care much for power or wealth. His main concern was for his betrothed, and beyond that, for the welfare of the people.
Despite his insecurities and self-doubts, he was anxious to see her again. He had missed her all these months, and her absence had only made him realize how much he really cared for her. He had cherished every letter, and now that they were about to be re-united, he felt both nervous and excited. But he had learned to remain composed in public, and to try to give off a regal manner, even if he didn't feel worthy. He was not king yet, and the people would be hoping for a strong but just and kind king.
On horseback beside him, Thomas Montague grinned at his friend as the party from the city approached. "Try smiling," he suggested out of the corner of his mouth. "You look constipated. She's probably as eager to see you as you are to see her, at least try not to look like you're going to implode with pomposity."
"I'm trying to look regal," Harry replied, as quietly as he could, but he took his friend's advice and offered a smile, not only to the party that was on its way to meet them, but also to the crowd surrounding them. As for his appearance, he looked kingly enough, as he sat straight and tall upon his horse. A handsome, healthy, young man, as opposed to the king they'd lost recently to old age.
"Just looking like yourself will do," his friend advised, schooling his own expression as the other party drew near. With a gentle touch to his reins, his horse backed up a couple of steps, leaving Henry out front to greet them alone.
Brynhilde drew her own mare to a halt in front of him, her own smile far less schooled than their tutors might have wished for. She had missed Henry far more than she could ever have imagined, longing to slide off her horse and throw her arms about him for the first time. But there was protocol to follow. "Welcome to Carib," she said, the warmth in her voice surprising her companions, it seemed. The numbness that had held her in its grip since she had learned of the death of her father seemed to have fallen away in the presence of the man she loved. "May I present the Archon of the Horse Lords, Domnall MacTeer?"
The man who drew his horse forward at her invitation was huge; bare-chested, heavily armed and very well muscled. He was also soft-spoken, as evidenced once his horse had bowed to Henry. "You are very welcome among us, my king."
Harry didn't notice the man at first, as his attention was focused entirely on Brynhilde, who seemed even more beautiful than he remembered. Her smile was as bright as sunshine, and though he, too, longed to take her in his arms and show her how much he'd missed her, he knew it would have to wait until they were away from prying eyes.
"I am happy to be here," he replied, doing his best to contain himself, though the tone of his voice and the look on his face told her more than those few words. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary before turning to acknowledge the man at her side. "Thank you for the welcome, Archon MacTeer, but I am not the king just yet," he told the man, quietly enough that only those who were very close by would hear him. To the crowd, it would merely appear they were exchanging pleasantries. Harry couldn't help but notice the size of the man, feeling a little scrawny in comparison, but he was confident enough of Bryn's feelings not to be jealous.
"Neither was she the queen when we accepted her as our ruler," the Archon pointed out, jerking his head toward Brynhilde. "We won't make you fight our champion to prove your worth. You have her love; you're more than worthy of your title." He drew his horse back, clicking his tongue, and the riders around Bryn began to rearrange themselves, forming into an escort, mingling with Henry's own escort.
Brynhilde herself drew her mare to the side of his stallion. "Are you ready to enter Cluaine Mor, dear heart?"
What the Archon said was true, but Harry wasn't going to point that out. While it was a relief not to have to prove himself worthy, he wouldn't really feel like a king, until he had proved his worth to himself. "I hope I can prove myself worthy in other ways, as well," he told the man, before the Archon drew his horse back to form an escort. Harry moved his horse up to meet Bryn's and fall into pace alongside her. "As ready as I'll ever be, I wager," he replied, with a warm smile that belonged to her alone.
"I'm glad you're here," she said softly, sharing his smile. Then they began to move, horses walking at a comfortable pace to traverse the winding avenue up to Caislean Dha, the castle above them, through the crowd that had turned out to greet their soon-to-be king. Henry's name was among the shouts and cheers as they passed into the city, mingled with Brynhilde's. "I knew they'd love you the moment they saw you," she told him beneath the sound of the crowd around them. Glancing back a moment, she leaned toward him a little. "The men riding with us ....the older man is Bradan, the chancellor. Loyal to the crown, and therefore to us. The younger is Ailan, one of the newest barons. It was his father who tried to poison me by his own hand, and his brother who saved my life. He's the only man at court that I trust with my life and yours."
"I'm glad, too," he replied back, more because he missed her than anything else. He turned to acknowledge the crowd with a smile and a wave of a hand, but they only cheered louder. He then followed her gaze momentarily behind them to match a face with a name. "It seems you've made quite an impression on them," he said, turning back around.