The assembled sat, as far as Damyen could tell, in order of those most within the King’s graces closer to him and those less so where farther away, as such Damyen was content to be seated in the middle of the King’s grand hall, neither a lickspittle nor wholly without favour.
                Everybody who held some measure of importance now sat in this castle’s great hall, hundreds of notable names from many noble families were present at the offset of the Century Tournament, ready for the opening feast to begin.  At the head of the room on a raised, stone platform was the King’s table, traditionally reserved for the monarch and his family, but this King had none. As such, the High Lords of Louena sat there instead. The High Lords governed a host of provinces that were collectively known as the Northguard, Eastguard and Westguard, the latter of which Damyen belonged too. His eyes had instantly been drawn to Jarin of House Tallor, Lord of the Golden Sword and the Westguard and father to Captain Justen Tallor, the Knight of the golden sword who was unbeaten in combat and decorated with the favour of two Kings. Jarin sat on the King’s right and was talking with a deep smile on his face, his thinning hair the colour of honey and with a thin beard and moustache tying a loop around thinner lips, albeit shadowed by his light green eyes, age clawing around them. Damyen knew Justen would be somewhere near the foot of the King.
                On the Kings left sat Teryn Ridling, Lord of Scorresh and the Northguard with his insignia, the black horse rearing up in front of the brown, upon a studded tunic. He was a short but sturdy man, his thin lips were set into a straight line with the slate grey eyes cast in shadow behind his long dark hair. He certainly looked the soldier, with a small chunk missing from the middle of his nose, a large scar that ran from his right temple and cut into his hair line and a gouge in his left cheek. Damyen knew less about the houses of the other ‘Guards, but he was one of the most famed men in the Kingdom. He had already lost two sons to the Barbarans. His seat at Galantha stood right on the borders of Scorresh and Slogland, as such he’d faced the brunt of the war. Damyen felt a kinship with the man, he knew how it felt to lose loved ones, yet this man kept going like he did.
                Finally beside him sat Lord Theran Corvaine of Coravine and the Eastguard. His sigil, two blackbirds separated by a white river, looked well on his slate grey tunic. He sat with a grim look, and with the stubble covering most of his face and dark shorn hair, he looked the imposing figure, strong featured as if he were a most life-like stone carving. He sat still, adding to that thought, eyes flicking about the room looking remarkably uncomfortable. Tales had it told that pirates had managed to get through his waters. The Blackbirds of Coravine were famed for their skill at defending the Eastern coasts so to allow this to happen was a terrible thing. Damyen found himself smiling.

The End

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