Lord James Douglas of Douglas lay upon the bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt useless in situations like this. He’d wanted to stay with his wife and the King, but recent circumstances found him publicly out of favour.

It had been a chore to get back to his rooms after escorting his wife to the King’s door. Nearly half the nobles of Scotland had gathered outside the king’s rooms and demanded news as soon as the Lord of Douglas emerged. Now that the king’s displeasure with him was known, their attitude of polite respect had been replaced with an expectation that they could make demands of him.

He grit his teeth in anger. Few of those lords had fought for their king, and fewer still would do so again without compulsion.

He could hear them muttering beyond the door to his chamber even now. The grunts of piglets awaiting their turn at the trough. They disgusted him. Even worse was their judgement of his King’s simple home.

The Palace of Cardross was not grand, or even large by the standards of a medieval court. It was a simple country manor. Built on the West bank of the Leven river midway between Renton and Dumbarton Castle, it was only large enough for the King, his wife, and one guest.

Now it was packed with wealthy nobles, worried debtors and wailing clergymen along with their many attendants, servants and guards. All of whom sneered when they saw the bare wooden floors and thatch of the roof.

Having arrived only the day before, James was certain that he and Tatania would sleep in the Tavern at Renton or in tents like the other nobles. That had changed when he and his wife had been brought to the King’s chamber.

King Robert had been slipping in and out of consciousness when they reached his room. His pallid face and unmoving posture had made James fear they were too late. Those worries only worsened when he heard the King take a troubled breath and then cough, violently.

The fever wracking his body was slowly killing him. James wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

Several other nobles had tried to approach James, some with friendly greetings, others with proposals for political favour or land purchases. Few were the men who stepped aside, seeing the anguish on his face.

More fool them. He’d thought.

He’d pushed his way through them roughly and without apology. James needed to get his wife to the King’s side, no matter the cost to his reputation. He remembered the shock on the faces of those around him when Tatania had started to sing.

It had started as a whisper, but she gained confidence as she felt first his presence, then that of the King. He heard her gasp as her song reached him.

She’d later described feeling as though the disease had shredded his soul like a threadbare sail in a storm. Small and tattered parts of it were so badly damaged she’d worried her skills couldn’t knit them together.

Sensing her fear, he’d reached out and grasped her trembling hand, guiding it to rest over their King’s heart. The slow but weak beat had created a tempo upon which her song rang out. Her voice lifting the spirit of all those in the hall, but she didn’t focus on them. Tatania instead directed all her will and energy into their King, their friend.

Slowly, her healing had done its work, and Robert soon had strength to open his eyes as colour returned to his face. He looked at Tatania and James, smiling. “It's about time you two showed up. These bastards were boring me to death.” He laughed weakly, then coughed wetly.

It was then that James wept. He leant forward over his friend’s bed and gathered him into his arms, holding him as he would a babe. He was so thin that even if he hadn’t added to his attributes, the king would have weighed next to nothing.

Robert had merely laughed as Tatania continued to sing.

Many in the hall had frowned at the familiarity displayed by Lord Douglas towards his Liege, but they didn’t understand just how close their friendship was. They may hear tales or talk in the tavern of the brotherhood formed by the survivors of the battle of Methven, but few here had seen it displayed openly before.

The two men had been as close as kin for almost twenty years, eating together, mourning together, and fighting together. They had been through the deaths of family, friends, and almost their nation.

When all hope had been lost, it was their brotherhood that saw them through.

As it did at that moment.

The Earl of Moray was suddenly there, as were Malcolm, the Earl of Lennox, and Sir Gilbert Hay. Iain’s father, Lord of Atholl, joined them, standing where his father would be, had he not died nearly a decade before.

Now Scotland could see them. The survivors. The brothers who had risked all for their land.

The only other missing member was Alister, and James said a silent prayer for his cousin thanking him for guarding the king from his place in heaven.

Robert sat in the room talking to his close friends for a long while, the other lords watching on jealously.

Their soft mutterings went ignored as the Kings inner circle joked and talked once more. They laughed away old jests and jibes as they spoke of family and old acquaintance long forgot.

Any man not of their unspoken brotherhood who dared speak those words would find their life forfeit. But amongst these warriors of Scotland, the harsh words simply refreshed ancient bonds of kinship.

The moment reminded James of how he and his friends had been so alike the pages and young Iain. He said as much, and the group chuckled.

“At least we weren’t as bothersome as Hay’s lads.” Lennox said in his thick brogue, turning to Sir Gilbert. “You collect any more squires and the King won’t need an army, he’ll just need to send for you. How many now? Eight?”

“Seven, and nineteen pages.” He grinned. “The wife says the hall is too quiet if we don’t have plenty of lads about. Besides, someone has to train the knights young David will rely on.”

James did not know how he managed them all, but then Gilbert also had seven children of his own, and his wife was a dragon, both protective and domineering over her wards.

The conversation between James and his friends lasted until the Bishop of St Andrews had stormed into the room. Spotting Tatania, he’d surged forward, and before anyone could stop him, he had gripped Lady Tatania by her arm and pulled her from the Kings bedside.

“This is no place for an unmarried woman.” He’d bellowed, trying to push her bodily from the room.

James groaned at the memory, for in this moment, he had left the kings favour–at least publicly.

He’d never liked Bishop James Bane when he’d been a Canon at Aberdeen, but now he’d succeeded his friends Bishopric he’d become an intolerable bastard. This hadn’t even been the first time he’d physically assaulted Lady Tatania.

Years before, he’d slapped her when she visited the St Andrews with Queen Elizabeth. He’d claimed that because of her failure to marry James properly, she could not take part in the mass.

James hadn’t recognized the man, but when he grabbed at his wife’s arm and attempted to manhandle her, he reacted without thought.

Of course, his reasons mattered little to the onlookers, as James’ public vow to beat the Bishop if he ever saw him was recalled to all. James had stood, and with a grunt of effort, had landed a punch square in the Bishop's face. The blow sent the prelate reeling to the floor, unconscious.

It helped even less that this was done in front of most of the noble Lords of Scotland. As it turned out, the prelate had recently become a ready and eager source of funds in exchange for influence, and the room had erupted in shouts of protest. In the ensuing uproar, the King had no choice but to banish James from his presence.

James had, of course, written an apology. Squire Iain read this to the King and the Bishop before their supper in front of all those same Lords.

The King–whose suggestion it had been–acted as though the words surprised him and had publicly asked the Bishop if this could settle the matter.

The Bishop had smiled and nodded, before glaring at Tatania and leaving the King’s presence.

The evening’s business concluded, King Robert had dismissed the nobles from his chambers and enjoyed his first good meal in almost a week. He’d kept the Earl of Moray and Lady Tatania with him for a few more hours before falling asleep, their company and Tatania’s song helping his souls wounds to heal.

When Tatania had arrived at his tent, she told him the good news. Glad that his Liege would recover, James had been even more surprised when Tatania had ordered the pages to move their few possessions into the Kings house.

The rooms James and his wife now occupied had been granted to the Earl Moray upon his arrival, but since his wife was still at his home at Tarnaway Castle, he’d ceded the room to James. Ostensibly to ensure Lady Tatania’s comfort while she healed the king.

It turned out that Earl Thomas Randolph of Moray had been visiting with the King along with the Bishop when he suddenly took ill. It had been he who had sent for healers and the other nobles, and it had been he who dealt with the urgent issues of state as best he could.

James appreciated the man’s willingness to give up his comfort for Tatania and the King’s sake, especially considering his age. It was not out of character, but anyone moving from a Palace to a tent for a friend’s sake showed their worth beyond any doubt.

A knock came from the door, and Thomas entered, smiling at James as he took his ease in a leather chair by the fireplace. “Your men are well settled. Pity about your squire. His lack of an arm is recent, I assume?”

James pulled himself up to sit on the bed facing the Earl. “Aye, t’was an Orc. A horrible green skinned monster that swung the blow.” He gestured to the corner where the Great-Axe now lay. “We took that from its corpse.”

“I heard rumour of monsters but would never have believed the tales from any but your mouth. You’ll have to find another man to Squire you. The lad seems capable, though, as was his grandsire, even if he is a cripple…” The Earl began.

“No.” James interrupted. His voice was firm as he suppressed his anger. “Iain Campbell will remain in my service. I have a mind to knight him as soon as the King is well once more. Besides, we owe it to his grandfather.”

“Knight a cripple?” Moray laughed. “I suppose stranger things have happened, but to knight a Campbell, that’s asking for trouble! He’ll be a Laird one day. Knighting him will merely give him a big head.”

James laughed. “No bigger than yours Thom. And you did alright despite your own crippling mental capacity.”

The older man’s laughter was gruff, but his words were not unkindly meant. James knew the Earl meant no malice towards Iain.

“Squire Campbell has done my family and myself a great service over the last years, and I will not give up on him simply because he lacks one arm. He can still strap a shield to his stump and can wield a blade or lance as well as any man I’ve seen.”

The old warrior nodded. “And we’ve both seen men do worse with more. Did your wife try…”

“She did. She said the axe injured his soul, but the flesh did not reform as it should when she healed him. There might be a way, but I don’t know it yet. Till then…”

“Aye… till then.” Came the soft reply. It had been words they’d lived by when living hand-to-mouth when on the run with their King. The saying meant that the day would come, or it wouldn’t. In which case it didn’t matter anyway, because they’d be dead.

Looking at his friend, the Lord of Douglas could tell something was wrong. The way his friend had said the words reminded him of the days when news of a new English raid had come north.

“What is it Thomas? You have news?”

The smaller man nodded. “A rider just came in this morning. Balliol has risen once more in the Borders and Southern Lanarkshire. The report says his forces are merely raiding for now, but we cannot expect that to last. They say he may have up to three thousand in his army.”

“What says the King?”

“We’ve sent riders to as many knights and lords within two days' ride. If they can make it here by then, we shall have something close to the enemies number.”

“And it’s Balliol?” James mused. “I had a run in with some Comyn men a week before, but nothing that would tell of a wider rebellion. Do you know who is with him?” James asked, worried about his liegemen. “He wouldn’t have risen just on the say so of Edward and the traitor Comyns.”

“King Edward, almost for certain. I cannot think that any rising would take place without support from England. I suspect that many of the old names may sniff at his door if the opportunity warrants. The king being ill may give them cause to believe they can win.”

“I doubt the English King is with him just yet, but aye, the bugger will probably join if he scents blood in the water. We’ll need to set some order to this mess first, then go about trying to create an army from whoever we can muster mob. Are your Liegemen here?”

James watched as his friend shook his head. “I have at least five knights who owe me their fee who I can have here in a week, but they will need to raise men. Most of my Men at Arms and archers are on the other side of the country. I only brought ten.”

James thought for a moment. The other lords here had far more men, but he was uncertain of where their loyalty would lie in a few weeks. “There might be just over two thousand here, but more will come if we wait. The trouble will be securing their loyalty.”

Moray nodded, seeing his old friend would not be dissuaded. “That might be easier done than said. The Bishop you so recently punched holds a great deal of sway over these men. If we can get him to join the cause, we may turn many to our side. That the King’s health is improving helps too.”

James nodded. “Aye, then.” He said reluctantly, standing. “It’s best we see to sorting this mess out.”

********************

It took most of the next day to finish getting the recalcitrant Scottish lords in some semblance of order. Most of the effort had been spent seeing that the encampment around the Kings house was properly defended.

James had insisted that the hill be fortified with a palisade, and his men had gotten to work.

Many of the nobles had mocked his decision, but when they’d seen the support he received from the Bishop, they’d finally agreed. Men at arms and servants had worked through the night to fortify the area. Even the villages of Renton and Cardross had quickly expanded to the size of a town to keep up with the demand for timber, supplies and rope.

James had become suspicious of Bishop Bane almost immediately upon his quick agreement with the need for defences. It was not a Bishop's place to concern himself with military matters outside of a battle, but he put it down to self-preservation.

The harder part of uniting the lords would come that night, where he would need to ask the Bishop to join him on campaign.

Looking over the work, James could see that most locations in the now expanded towns of Renton and Cardross were temporary. The simple canvas dwellings or crude huts created from whatever daub and wattle their makers could muster were a common sight in Scotland, but rare for Nobles and their retinues.

A few of the more industrious individuals seemed to be crafting more permanent buildings using skills gained from the system. One man who clearly had skill as a mason was building a structure from river stones bound with a simple mortar. James nodded when he saw the stonework.

“Mason?” He asked, curious to know where the man gained the skill.

“No, Lord.” He grinned. “I just figured it out.”

“Well, if you have time, I’d appreciate it if you could look at building something for the defences too.” He suggested, and receiving a bow of acknowledgment, he moved on to inspect some of the other sites.

The difference in quality was immediately apparent between those who were trying to learn the system and those who ignored it. Soon, many of the younger nobles and men at arms were approaching the workmen, asking to learn.

After completing the palisade, James and his men set about a different task, to get an accounting of who was present and able to fight.

News was filtering in from some of the Lords of significant amounts of banditry near the borders. Though the news had not been widely announced, many already feared another invasion by Edward, King of the English.

Walking through the town of Cardross, James spied Iain and Princess Margaret hovering over a stall. Approaching, he called out to Iain.

“What are you doing, Squire?” He asked. “Why are you not doing tallying the Pages reports?”

“Well, Lord.” He began to explain, but Margaret interrupted.

“I started thinking when you asked Iain to count the numbers and status of the men present. Surely the System has some way of tracking those who are loyal to you on your lands. It was Iain who discovered it.”

“What?” James demanded, now looking angrily at Iain, whose need to explain the matter was compounded when the Princess spoke once more.

“That you can tell who is on your land if they are sworn to you or hold lands in fee to you.”

James’ mouth dropped open at that. “How in heaven’s name did you know how to do that?” He asked. He hadn’t even discovered that aspect yet.

“Well, while we were travelling, Iain mentioned it to me, so I started exploring the different areas of the Statistics vision. When Iain saw a number listed under Fief population for my lands in Argyll, he stopped me, and I inspected it.”

She displayed the vision once more for James to see. It listed the people present on the lands and their occupations. She had even narrowed the list down somehow to military occupations.

Population (Military)

Fief: Ardchattan (Argyll)

Men-at-Arms: 2

Serjeants: 1

Spearmen: 30

“Does the King know you can do this?”

The Princess nodded. “As soon as we discovered it, we went to see him. He’s very proud of Iain.”

The lad blushed beet. “And of you, highness.”

“So, what did you find out?” James grated out through gritted teeth. If the two of them behaved like this in front of Robert, he knew he’d have some explaining to do.

“Little on our own, so I went to visit my father, and explained matters to him. Once he discovered he could access the same visions, he called in scribes and they created a tally of the men fit to fight.”

She gestured to Iain, who quickly produced a letter from the King. “We were here to find you and deliver this, Lord.”

James grasped the paper and looked it over. Someone had clearly been doing some frantic calculations in the margin, but only the totals were important. There were just under two thousand men, of which nearly half were men-at-arms of Lords with historic connections to Balliol.

James could already tell the men they had here would not be enough for a prolonged campaign. Nor were most trustworthy enough to stay near the King’s household.

“Could the King see the enemy strength?” He asked.

Iain shook his head. “Aye, Lord. He tried to inspect the areas South of Douglas, but few were visible to him. What they did show was a force of two and a half thousand men were gathered upon a hill called Black Meldon. There is more news too, Lord. The system says that the Keep in Douglas is under siege.”

“What?” James asked, in shock. “How? Douglas is too far North.”

“I don’t know Milord, but that’s what the system reports. The King said there were forty-one people still in Douglas.”

“Damn.” James almost crumpled the paper in his fury. “We cannot deal with that now. We must trust to Sir Keith and the defences until we can muster a relief. To do that, we must defeat Balliol.”

Turning, James looked around the market. “Where are the pages?” He asked.

“They’re at the river, drawing water for the camp. I came here with the Princess to find you, Lord.”

James nodded. “You did well, both of you. Although you could be more discreet about who you spend time with. I know the Princess’ father will wish words with me once I have organized the army.”

Iain nodded, and James could see him hoping he hadn’t caused more trouble. “Don’t worry lad. If the King let you leave with your head attached, he won’t claim it for now.”

“Is there some way that the King can call his Bannerman to him? Using the system?” He asked, hoping that Princess Margaret had discovered some way to do so.

She shook her head. “Not that I could make out. Although there may be some way through the upgrade system, or other magical means.”

James nodded. He still had some tribulation credits left to him, and perhaps they could find some way to call the clans within the week. “Very well. We shall have to deal with things as they are, not as we wish they were. That applies equally for the both of you. Iain, I am ordering you to keep to your duties regardless of the Princess’ wishes. This is best for you both, though it may not seem so right now.”

Iain reached out with his good arm and grasped the Princess’s hand. James smiled. “It is not permanent, or not intended that way at least. You must give us time to see Iain knighted, and for your father to come around on the matter. I shall speak with Moray of it tonight after dinner, and he shall get Sir Hay on to our way of thinking.”

Margaret almost leapt into James’ arms, so glad was she at the news. She spun, grinning to Iain, who looked shocked at the news the Lord was planning to knight him.

***************************

James had been discussing these matters with Earl Moray when Tatania finally emerged from the Kings chamber late in the evening. He could see although her eyes were ringed with tiredness, they still shone with pride.

She gave a curtsey to the Earl before tiredly walking to the bed and collapsing beside her husband.

“Go to supper, husband. The King is faring much better.” She sighed, and rolled over, not even bothering to place the covers over her now slumbering form.

James approached his wife, laying a gentle kiss on her brow, before taking the blankets and placing them gently over her. Moray smiled. “I’ll never understand how she fell for an ogre like you, James Douglas. But moments like this make me doubt I ever knew you at all.”

With that, the pair left to the King’s hall.

James knew that wooing the bishop would be far more difficult than anyone expected. He despised the man and knew it was mutual. Tonight, he would need to allow the Bishop to take his pound of flesh, letting any slight remark or even blow go unpunished.

As the entered the hall, James was surprised to find Iain and Princess Margaret sitting at the table. King Robert was glaring at Iain as though he’d just spat in his cup, though, and the Princess was staring back just as ruthlessly.

Bishop Bane sat to the King’s left, and James took up the next to him, receiving a raised eyebrow from the Prelate.

“Bishop, I wanted to apologise for my actions the other day. At the time, I did not know who I struck, but my desire to protect my Lady overcame my sense.”

Bane nodded to him, acknowledging the remark, before turning to the King. “My King. Age seems to affect all your most loyal retainers for the worse. Even Lord Douglas seems much weakened by time, his blow hasn’t left so much as a bruise.”

Robert turned and leaned forward, looking James in the eye. “I suppose you pulled the punch?”

“No my King, I gave the Bishop the best I had. I suppose he’s just a far more resilient man than many give him credit for.”

The Bishop’s face froze for a moment as his mind processed the unexpected compliment. Clearly, things were not going how he’d expected when James sat next to him.

“You are leaving here soon, Lord Douglas?” Bishop Bane enquired, sipping his wine.

Moray, who had just taken his seat next to James, leaned forward. “He will not. Given his recent acts against your person, many would feel that if James led the men, we would not have God’s support.”

The Bishop smiled. “Perhaps I should lead the campaign?” He asked, turning to look at the King.

Robert was not paying attention, turning in mild surprise at being addressed once more. “You spoke, my Lord Bishop?”

“These noble lords were just saying how they wish me to lead your armies south against Balliol.” He said.

“That wasn’t…” James started, but Robert looked amused. A look James had seen before.

“You wish to lead the army? Why would I allow that, Lord Bishop?”

“Simple, my King. You have no choice. Lord Douglas has already proven himself too much of a brute, and Moray and Lennox are too old. That leaves Sir Hay, or me, and Sir Hay, bless him, holds no influence over the Lords.”

Robert had gone still as he listened to the explanation from the Bishop. He remained unmoving for a long moment, before James spoke.

“My King, while the Bishop speaks true about his ability to unite the Lords under your banner, he does not have…” Robert cut him off with a raised hand.

“I know he doesn’t have the experience, Lord Douglas. But I do not need experienced men to lead mulish Lords. I need men who can hold some kind of order amongst the other nobles.”

Leaning forward, Robert looked at the Earl of Moray. “And he’s right about you, Thom. You are too old to be galloping down some hillside with your lance tilted at a foe. I am too. And James, while you can lead the men in battle, you cannot lead them on the march.”

He mused for a moment. “You have both read De Re Militari?”

James nodded, surprised to see the Bishop’s head bob as well.

“Then I appoint you, Bishop, as the Magister Militarum, and you James as his Comes Militarum. While the Lord Bishop shall have overall command to keep the Lords in line, you, James, will conduct the battle.”

Both men stood and bowed, albeit James did so reluctantly.

“I know you have no love for each-other, but I know you both have a regard for your King and for Scotland.”

They both replied simultaneously. “Yes, your Grace.”

“Good, then on to other business.”

James sat, shocked that the King would so readily place him under the banner of a priest. Worse, a priest who so wholly undeserved respect. He looked at Moray, who shrugged, leaning close to James. “Whatever the Lord Bishop thinks of my age, I will not be leaving you to deal with Balliol on your own, nor will Lennox.”

James nodded his gratitude and the rest of the meal passed awkwardly. Towards the end, conversation turned to the miracle of the System and the benefits it granted. The King was especially interested in the Fief Management vision, and, having been taught by Iain and Margaret, now displayed his screen to all in the hall.

The list of fiefs under the King’s control was long, and the list of upgrades and events was longer still. It was then that Moray spoke. “Your Grace, before the army is to leave, it would do them well to gain some levels. If Balliol’s men have improved their strength far beyond ours, even three times our number may still be defeated.”

The king thought about this for a moment. “What do you suggest?”

“A tournament, your Grace.” He gestured to the Events area of the display. “Lord Douglas said he noticed there was an option to allow for tournaments. If our men all compete, regardless of their noble standing or common birth, we can all gain some experience quickly.”

Robert laughed, a small coughing fit coming over him as he did. “That would be well.” He selected the Tournament event.

You have selected an Event: Tournament.

The fief you are currently in will hold a Tournament. This event will invite all eligible participants to join the tournament, or if you hold their oath of fealty, you may choose for them.

The Tournament will allow competitors to gain experience at double the normal rate.

Any wounds inflicted by competitors in the course of competition will be healed on completion of the competition.

All those killed on the field of competitions will be resurrected on completion of the event.

Would you like to activate the Tournament?

[YES] [NO]

Cost: 3000 Tribulation Credits.

James stared at the cost. “Your Grace, three thousand tribulation credits are nearly four times what I have collected from my men after the battle at Ferniegair. Perhaps something else?”

The Bishop held up a hand to silence James. “I believe I can make up the difference, your grace. Many of the lords have donated significantly to the church over the last few days, and these did not seem important to them."

Taking a tray that now contained the bones of a small pig, the Bishop emptied thousands of coins upon it, grunting as he shoved it towards the King. James added his much smaller pile to the mass.

The King, eyes wide at the wealth of credits before him, selected [YES].

Trumpets sounded throughout the hall and echoed across the land.

A vision appeared before James, and he glanced over the message before selecting [YES] himself.

King Robert the Bruce has created an Event:

Cardross Tournament.

Do you wish to Enter the event?

[YES] [NO]

Closing the screen, James looked about at the others. Above most of their heads, there now sat a small vision, similar to those of the Tribulation system.

[Thomas Randolph #173]

Even the King seemed to have entered. [Robert Bruce #1]

A second vision appeared before him.

Contestants have been assigned a number. Odd numbers form one team. Even numbers the other.

Combat will begin at Dawn in the Tournament Field of Cardross. All attendees must be present or will be removed from the competitions.

A -1 level penalty will apply to any who are not present when the countdown to dawn ends.

Time remaining: 9 hours, 14 minutes, 3 seconds.

James looked over at Iain and Margaret, surprised to see they both had a competition number.

Iain was already whispering to her furiously and his voice carried. “You shouldn’t have done that, your Highness. What will your father think if you’re to fight with us?”

Her reply was without subtlety. “I fought to keep the goblins off you at Ferniegair, Iain, and I’ll do so again before this tribulation is done. We no longer live in a time where we can afford for only men to be strong. If I cannot defend myself, should you fall? What then?”

“He would think that the King’s daughter is just as stubborn as her mother, and with half the size.” The king said sharply.

“I see no harm in it though, and you're right, daughter. Gaining some experience in the tourney may dissuade her from seeking actual combat where the stakes are life or death on a whim.”

He paused, staring at Iain. “Speaking of life and death.” He began, only to be interrupted by the Earl of Moray. “Your Grace, you should retire. It will be a busy day tomorrow, and these matters are better discussed when we are rested.”

Robert turned his glare on Thom. “Really Moray, and I wonder what your stake in this might be?”

At this, Margaret shot to her feet. “Don’t bark at him, father. Uncle Randolph was merely trying to be kind to my Iain.”

Robert jumped to his feet at that. “Your Iain! What in hells name do you mean to say by ‘your’ Iain.”

“I mean to say that I’m in love with him, father. As he is with me. We are betrothed.” Her chin came up at that and she stared down her nose at her much taller father.

Iain and the King both looked shocked. “What?”

The word came out of both mouths simultaneously, and the King calmed somewhat. “So, Iain is the innocent in this. But I shall not have a squire marrying my daughter. If you have your mind set on this daughter, I shall put an end to it now.”

The King rose, gesturing to the others at table to sit. He pointed at Iain. “You. Come here.”

Walking over to a chest in the corner of the hall, the King bent down, causing another coughing fit. Opening the chest, he removed a large war-axe. Its half-moon blade and spiked reverse made it look sinister.

Turning, the king walked towards Iain slowly, the squire having approached the King’s seat as he’d been ordered. “There is only one way to solve this.”

Margaret rose and ran to her father. “Guards!” The King bellowed, and men at arms stationed within the hall stepped forward to hold the princess back. Others stepped forward and held Iain down, kneeling before the King.

James looked on in horror. “What the hell are you doing, Robert. It’s Niall’s grandson, not just some back-country squire.”

Robert looked at James and frowned. “That’s King Robert, and he won’t be for much longer.”

Raising the axe over his head, Margaret only had time to scream in horror.

*******************

Andrew had spent the day at work with the other pages, bored with the drudgery of the camp. For the last few nights, he, Aidan and Llywelyn had drunk themselves into a stupor at the Dumbarton Tavern, crossing the bridge to return up the road towards their accommodations in Renton. They had little desire to drink where they worked, it being simply a reminder of what would lay in store for them tomorrow.

All three had heard the news. Douglas was besieged, and here they were, stuck, unable to return, and unable to gain levels. All they could do was wait. At least drinking made that slightly less boring.

Crossing the bridge over to Dumbarton, the three lads spotted four riders and a cart approaching. Knowing the bridge could not accommodate all of them, the boys waited at the far end, only to be hailed by the lead rider as he approached.

“You there. Where is the King’s court?” The man asked, his voice whining as though his nose had been blocked.

“Just up the way there.” Andrew heard Aidan reply. “Do I know you?” He asked.

The man threw back the hood of his cloak. “You’re that Wedderburn boy. Grown a bit, have you?”

Andrew watched as Aidan's lip curled into a snarl. “Hello Father. What brings you here? Didn’t the Lord ask you to…”

Aidan didn’t get to finish his sentence, when a Giant spurred his mount forward and practically leapt at them.

Andrew, ducking away from the attack immediately swung his fist at the man. His blow connected with a cheek that felt like it had been made from solid oak. The assailant's head barely gave at all.

“Shit!” He yelled as pain flooded his hand. He stepped back, trying to gain some distance.

“What the hell did you do that for, Andrew?” The giant asked. “It’s me, Liam.”

The soft note of a harp filled the air and Andrew felt the pain in his hand disappear.

All three of the boys froze. “Liam?” Andrew asked, shocked when the giant summoned a ball of flame that floated in the air, illuminating them all in its soft, warm glow.

A stranger’s face looked back at him, and Andrew felt his face contort into a frown. “You don’t look much like Liam. You’ve got a beard and stand about a foot taller than he did.”

“Aye.” The man claiming to be Liam answered, just as two others rode up. Andrew, fearing an attack, took another step back. But it was Aidan, quicker by far than the other lads who recognized them as the wounded men left behind in Glasgow.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked. “The Lord commanded you to stay in Glasgow to heal and wait for… oh.”

Andrew recognized them now. Pat and Fergus.

“Our duty, Page. This here–at least as near as we can puzzle out–is Liam Lamberton. The page that disappeared.” One said.

“Don’t be an ass Pat. They’ll come around to it, eventually. We only knew the lad because he told us things he couldn’t possibly have known otherwise. Like that stuff about Duncan, and his Dog Lady.”

“Oh yeah,” Pat replied. “And the hunt for the boar.”

Father Doreen interrupted the reunion. “I’m heading back to the Inn. Once you idiots figure out who each-other are, you can take me to the Bishop of St Andrew.”

With that, the priest wheeled his mount and trotted back across the bridge, leaving the wagon, Liam and the two Guards with the Pages.

Andrew watched warily as the figure claiming to be Liam turned back to them. “Thanks lads. Now I have to find some other things that only I’d know. Like how Andrew and Aidan were brawling the first time we met, and how you knocked me over with your fighting.”

Llywelyn grinned, remembering the incident. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked. “You look like you’ve been eating a horse for every meal.”

Andrew was still wary, but seeing Llywelyn’s excitement, he took a tentative step forward. “What weapon wounded me at Ferniegair?” He asked.

“It was a pick.” The giant replied. “And if you hadn’t been boasting about the move Iain had taught you, it would have been easy to block the blow.”

Andrew grinned, convinced that Liam was who he claimed. “What in God’s name happened to you?” He asked, looking up into the beaming face of his returned friend.

“A lot. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I get these folks settled.” He gestured at the cart.

Aidan stared up into Liam’s face, a frown furrowing his brow. “I know it’s you. I can see it by the way you hold your eyes. What I don’t know is who you’ve become, nor what you’ll change.”

Liam nodded, his own brow furrowing. “I’m not sure either, but I hope you’ll help me find out.”

Andrew didn’t like the sound of that, and looking over, he could see that Llywelyn also looked less sure, but Aidan simply nodded. Turning, he trudged toward the King’s home.

“Well, come on then. The Lord will want to see you!”

Andrew exchanged a glance with Llywelyn, and they set off after Aidan, their boots crunching the snow into the gravel of the road. Liam gathered his mount’s reins and followed.

Just then, a notification appeared before them, and Liam shook his head, sighing.

“Just when you think there will be a moment’s peace.” Andrew heard him say.

Reading the text, Andrew grinned, and selected [Yes].