Bow Before Your King

[Lief]

Thainbroek​

Midvinter​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r453Xtjn6bA​

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"Can you see it, lad? The Great City of Thainbroek..."

Before him on the hardy horse sat a young boy, his hair as bright as the sun and his eyes fixated on the sprawling City in the distance. Truly it was a sight to behold, one he had not seen since the battle which cost the land their King and gave them a God instead. One arm wrapped around the boys waist, while the other held the reins with confidence. He could not help but recall the first time he had seen the gates from this vantage point, no horse had carried him then just his own weary feet and the very real threat of death.

How far he had come.

"Right there" he said, lifting the hand which gripped the reins to point toward the center of the city where a large building lay, "Sits the King, and his family. I lived there once."

His boy lifted his head, shrewd eyes speaking of disbelief. "Never did" the boy quipped, goading a chuckle from his father.

"I did too, lad, I worked the forge like old Dorik back home, made steel for the King I did."

Thorrand turned his gaze back to the sight before them in deep thought, as the horse beneath them was urged forward once again. Down through the snow-filled slopes which led into a forest of firs, gone was the view though their other senses were brought to life. Fallen needles from the evergreens lined the ground, crushed under hooves to produce wonderful smells, creatures chirped and cried just beyond the paths, eyes staring out at their small entourage. His poor son didn't know which way to look.

"Easy now, lad, or you'll spook the horse. It's not far to Thainbroek now and then you can stretch your legs." Turning his head back, he looked to one of several scouts and gestured them forward. "Baenir, ride ahead, send word that we are nearing the Capital. Gods know we should've been here two days ago, already."

"Yes, My Lord."

Turning his head both father and son watched the scout ride ahead, until he too was lost to the trees. A sudden flurry of snow had slowed their advance through the mountains, he could only hope that the King would understand and not see it as a slight.

"Now then, son, how about we see how fast Mistin here can carry us to those gates?"

Excitement rushed through the boy, who clapped his handsbefore holding on to his father's arm tightly. And when the simple trot turned into a gallop he smiled from ear to ear, all the way down to the Great Gates of Thainbroek.

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1k9E5KXDbM​

A cold breeze swept across the courtyard at the centre of the city, but it bothered the king none. Fiery eyes rested firmly upon the face of his father looking back down at him with unflinching yet mournful gaze, watching over him and his people with sword in hand. It had become somewhat of a morning routine for the firstborn son to visit his father's statue, and so the inhabitants knew to keep clear of the area for the duration so as to not disturb their king's moment of prayer.

What Thyrian said to his old man was a mystery to anyone but him, for he gave no voice to his words. He knew father would hear him either way, and as often was the case he preferred to remain quiet, speaking only when necessary. As the minutes passed by in complete silence between the two, his face grew ever more intense until a tear escaped the corner of his eye only to switfly be wiped away. He wanted nothing more than to slump to the ground and sit by his father's feet, embracing him. But he had to stay strong for his people, and for his sons. Thrand, the sweet summer child, and Theryn, the frail little thing.

"Your Grace," a nearby voice snapped him back to the present. Immediately Thyrian's crumbling facade was shored up and set in stone once more upon turning to face the rider bearing the colours of Valsten. "Lord Varamund wishes to inform your Highness of his imminent arrival and sends his apologies for the delay." The king stood still in his father's shadow, as if they both were statues.

"Better late than never," finally came his humourless reply. "Tell him I shall wait for him here. I have more words to share with my father." With that the rider bowed his head before setting off the way he came, and Thyrian was alone again. Turning back to look upon the Dawnbringer, he took a step forward to place his gloved hand upon his father's as they clutched his mighty greatsword. "Say 'hello' to mother for me, and for Thurion," he concluded their morning talk, then knelt before the Lord of Sunlight.

The only man he would ever gladly bend the knee to.

[member="Joramyr Varamund"]​

 

[Lief]

When it came time for Mistin to carry them beneath the great gates Thorrand's eyes were as wide as they could possibly be. They had met back with Baenir upon exiting the evergreen forest, where his sweet son had requested a tiny brown pine cone to remember the trip by; the scout reported that the King was not in fact at the Great Hall at all, but before the statue forged in commemoration of the late King. Joramyr had not realized such a thing had been made, and while he was truthfully uncertain if he could look upon the face of his friend, chiseled in permanency, who was he to refuse the High King?

The majority of his convoy were dismissed to the Great Hall, while Baenir was bade to bring the Lord of Valsten to the courtyard. Only Thorrand and one of his Household Guard remained with them; he doubted the King wished for an audience, and besides there were plenty of things to do before the day was up. Soon enough the statue was in view, so Joramyr halted their advance.

"You have my thanks, Baenir, now go rest you've earned it."

"Thank you, My Lord," the scout replied, before turning his mare to rejoin the convoy. That left just the three of them.

Dismounting Mistin, he handed the reins to the Guard and stepped slowly forward. The King was on his knees, knelt before the Sun God, and Joramyr focused on him as opposed to his friend. He could not bring himself to look upon him, not like this. Not now, at least.

"Your Grace," came his quiet voice, not wishing to disturb the King but also seeking to inform him of their presence there. His loyalty to the Dawnbringer brought him to his knees, and Thorrand quickly followed suit much to his surprise. The lad was quick to learn.

He had never traveled South following the coronation, never truly pledged himself to the King of Fire, but so much had happened since then. He was here now, that was what mattered.

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

Eyes opened as the voice of Lord Varamund returned him to the present once again, and with a lightened heart Thyrian rose and turned only to find the man and the young boy at side on their knees instead. The king knew precious little of the Commander of the Vinterguard stationed in the north, tasked with the keeping track of and fending off any Vinterbound stragglers since the Battle of the Living Dead, when Thyrian had destroyed the Sith artifact guilty of reanimating them to begin with.

But what he did know, was that Joramyr was a man utterly devoted to his father during his years as High King. Would he deem House Hearthfire worthy of such unflinching allegiance?

"Rise, my lord. And you, lad," Thyrian stood over the two, his black cloak wafting in the wind and eyes burning bright. "I trust you did not come all this way just to grovel in the much," he added with a brief but kind smile. When the boy rose to his feet he placed a gentle hand upon his head for a light ruffle of his hair. "You're a real soldier, aren't you, lad?" A chuckle escaped his lips.

The king then looked the Valkyri noble in the eye, for there was but one to look into, in an attempt to get an idea of the man. "Come, walk with me. You must be weary from your journey and ache for some warmth and hot food." He turned and began the climb up the steps leading to the Great Hall where the Valsten men were already gathering, assuming father and son would join him.

"Lord Varamund, I am told you were a staunch supporter of my father. Some even go so far as to say you were like brothers, unseparable. It gladdens me to know he had friends like yourself to rely on in tough times, I'm afraid I know very little of his personal life here on Midvinter..." A sad thing for a man to admit, that certain aspects of his own father remained a mystery to him.

[member="Joramyr Varamund"]​

 

[Lief]

The voice of the man before him bellowed with a might Joramyr had not felt in a long time. It was not unkind, nor intentional if he were to make a guess at it, yet he could see how it could sway entire armies to his side, or from the battlefield entirely, under the right circumstances. With the correct words.

Far be it for him to deny the wishes of his King, he rose from the dirt and watched as his boy did the same. The King's own hand lowered to ruffle the young lads hair, and he could not help but witness an almost bewitched look in his sons eyes. So in awe and captivated by the man before him.

He is Dawnbringer's son,alright.

"We have traveled far, Your Grace, that is true, but I've staved off sleep and hunger for longer periods of time than this." Still, it seemed as though the King of Fire was finished with his Lord Father, so he followed the man up toward the Great Hall where horses and wagons had been halted while their things were unloaded.

"Your Father, may he have found peace in Beornskald, was everything to me from the moment I was able to understand what it all meant. I waited for his return when the False King took the throne, Your Grace, I'd have given my life to see him overturn the Usurper. Reckon I almost did."

But what was an eye compared to the return of the One True King?

"He was a good man, truly he was. Midvinter is a little colder without his presence."

For a moment Joramyr glanced the man before him up and down. He knew so little of this man, though he had seen him bring down the Behemoth who had ended the lives of so many and for that he had the Lord of Valsten's respect and eternal thanks.

He is blood of your brother... He has kept Midvinter safe from all manner of evil hosts.

Lifting his gaze toward the sun, though not directly at it, he said a mental prayer to the Sun God, a pledge from beyond the veil. He halted in place, looking back to the High King, before dropping back to a kneel. At his side his lad seemed confused, yet when he began to lower himself to the same position his Father shook his head.

"I'd like to apologize for my absence, Your Grace. Between my duties to the Vinterguard, and those at Valsten, traveling Southward hasn't been entirely practical until now. I do hope you don't see it as some slight, I wish I had been here truly I do. You're the Son of my Brother, the greatest man I ever knew, you shall know my unyielding loyalty as he did, in the eyes of all the Gods, from this day until the end of days."

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

The sudden bow had Thyrian stop and turn just as a gust of wind caught what few wayward strands of hair there was on top of his head, as well as his fur-lined cloak. The one-eyed Commander of the Vinterguard seemed so utterly devoted to his father, and now his firstborn, that he felt so very touched by it all. A soft sigh escaped him as his gazed dropped to the ground between them briefly. "I am not worthy of the honour," the king solemnly replied.

He reached down to him, offering his hand to help his bannerman up. "But I shall strive to become so, Lord Varamund. If I in any way betray what my father built, I want you to tell me how I've wronged my people." Rising him to his feet, Thyrian's fiery gaze pierced his. "Will you do this for me, friend?"

Another cold wind, harder than the one before it. Noting the lad starting to shiver a little it was now he that bent the knee to take the boy's small hands in his, cupping them before breathing into them. To the lad it would feel as if he was already inside warming himself by the hearth. With a wink and a smile the king rose to his feet. "No need to stay out here in the cold. Let us head inside, I am sure you must want to get warm and kick up your feet after such a long journey."

Walking the last handful steps the three stood before the Great Hall, its thick, ancient doors swung open for their lord and liege. "Welcome back to Tháinbroek, my lords! I share with you my home and my hearth, as my honoured guests," he showed them inside with a welcoming gesture.

[member="Joramyr Varamund"]​

 

[Lief]

"You are worthy; you are His son, you brought down the Behemoth at the gates of this very City, and helped chased off the otherworldy fiends who killed my wife. You may not have been born here, but you were born for this position, Your Grace."

Taking the offered hand he rose back to his feet.

"But I shall tell you if you steer this world in the wrong direction, that much I owe you, as I owed it to your Father."

The day was cold, colder than it looked even, and he could see his boy bouncing at his side to avoid the worst of the child. He watched as his King knelt down to his level, or as close as one could given the distinct size difference, and took his hands in his. Whatever the man did brought colour back to the lads cheeks; Joramyr wasn't going to ask questions.

"Yes, let us head inside."

Settling a hand to the back of Thorrand's back he followed his King up the final few steps and into the warmth of a hall that was perpetually heated with countless great hearths. A small sigh escaped his boy, goading a small chuckle from Jora himself.

"I have not laid eyes on this place since the night of the Battle," he said, with a contemplative frown; the thought of that spooked him somewhat, how could he walk through these halls knowing that Thrand was not there to greet him? "Thank you, Your Grace."

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

The warmth of the Great Hall was welcome, even to the King who barely ever felt the cold. Hearths lining the walls were lit and flickering with life, but a wave of Thyrian's hand had the flames burn brighter and fiercer so as to make his guests more comfortable. "I trust the splendour of the place has not diminished since last you were here," he asked while hanging up his black cloak on the nearest coat hanger. "I am always humbled whenever I step inside these ancient halls of my ancestors. I get a great sense of longing, for what I am unsure."

Of course his bloodline was far from the only to have ever ruled Midvinter, but the throne had rightfully belonged to his family for over three generations. Midvinter is ever only ruled over by the strongest warrior, and anyone with a good enough claim may challenge him for the right to bear the crown in single combat. Such have ever been the ancient traditions, and he would not have it said about him that he ever opposed the traditions of his people.

By every hearth there were two long tables, each able to fit a hundred men. Any man, woman and child in Tháinbroek were allowed to come and dine and socialise there, along with the chance to see the royal family. Today, however, these tables had been reserved for the Lord Commander and the men accompanying him, and food and drinks had already been passed around. "Would you like to partake, my lord? You must be hungry from your long journey."

Just as he'd completed his sentence Thyrian spotted the white head of hair peeking through one of the side passages, prompting a smile on his hideously scarred face. "Thrand - come here, child!" The lad rushed into his father's arms who scooped him off the ground as they embraced before he settled upon his father's shoulder. "Joramyr, Thorrand - this here is Thrand. My son." There was no hiding the fatherly pride in his voice.

[member="Joramyr Varamund"]​