Thank goodness for this. The journey had taken far too long. First they had travelled to Popping to see his vassal lord, Weston Dray who had begged to travel with Damyen, since Lord Weston was taking part in the tournament, and he had no choice but to accept or the man would think less of him, and to rule a province well, your men could not think less of you.
                The man was insufferable. His thoughts on himself were perpetuated by some unrealistic view of his own skill with the sword and this resulted in his unrestrained arrogance. Oft when Lord Damyen made a choice, Weston would dispute him, and just as oft, he would pester Damyen on matters that did not hold any interest for him.
                Worst of all, Weston wished to travel to Dawnrose to visit his relatives, but Damyen refused. Instead they crossed the river once more and rode north for several more days until they reached Elymun. There, Weston met with Lady Heather Enton. She was an interesting creature, the only heir to the fief of Elymun after her father died at war and renowned for her beauty which Weston seemed to dote upon. She had some odd fascination with the tournament, the day before they left after feasting with her and resting, Weston had once more begged of him something, this time, he wanted Lady Enton to come with them.
                Damyen was all too eager to accept, he found that when she was around, Weston’s attention was on something other than himself. It was a relief. So the growing party of Damyen, two dozen of his guard, Weston and several of his guard and Lady Enton and several of hers, continued onwards to the Orchards.
                House Laurel was not his vassal lord directly, yet they owed him allegiance being part of the province of Ascocenda. The Lord of The Orchards accepted him and supped with him. Finally they moved on to Celosia and from there, made the penultimate leg of the journey across the vast Heart Lake until he reached the Heartland. From there, a two day ride brought them to the capital.
                Louennon was a grand place. Set at the feet of three large mountains, the castle took up the entire space between the mountains whilst Damyen knew that the city stretched on to the lake in the far distance. The mountains were so sheer they acted as part of the wall, but there were three entrances with huge walls that rose into the air hundreds of feet and supported by ornately carved braces. The gate was so large Damyen did not know how it could be opened it was so heavy.
                The towers that littered the walls held black spires that radiated soft, silvery light and large tapestries fell down depicting the insignia of the King in amazing proportions. The silver owl in flight on a black field pinpricked with stars.
                From here however, the keep was still visible, bigger than the walls with smooth circular towers like those on the walls themselves.
                It was an architectural marvel, a prodigious feat of engineering that seemed impossible, and much of it had been around since the Magorians had been here.

The End

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