"Remember," Julian urged, "Your duty is to watch, learn from leaders how to lead."
Edwin hadn't needed to be told; he knew that in this moment, he was an ant amongst giants.
Front and center sat Alexander on a foldable stool. In the time he had been at his camp, he had removed most of his armor, except his padded gambeson and plate Greaves. In person, the Dunvarrian King oozed an assured confidence. Confidence not born of arrogance from a lifetime of royal privilege. Instead, Alexander oozed confidence because he had earned it. Within three days, he had marched an army larger than any in his people's history (After somehow managing to keep its existence hidden) across the Merrow River, stormed, besieged, or otherwise subdued Bannock Castle, destroyed a small force from Stamford, and finally surprised the defenders of Blychester. Momentum was on his side; it was clear to all that he held all the cards.
John, dismounted now, held the reins of his horse in his hands as he walked forward. Edwin, Julian, Finchley, and the two Rockwell's followed a pace away, dismounted as well.
Edwin sized up each member of the opposing retinues; they stood side by side behind their King. Four were knights, armored just as well as their king had been earlier, but without the pomp of royalty. Visored helms covered their faces, but through the eye slits, Edwin could spot a mix of blue, white, and green warpaint. Standing out from the knights was a smaller, younger man with none of the armor of his fellows. He did wear a coat of chainmail unadorned with any coat of arms, and a padded coif topped his head. He was young, not as young as Edwin, though, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He was a squire, either for one of the Knights or the King. Edwin didn't know; he found it likely it was the king's squire.
Alexander stood as John approached, "Good of you to come!" he greeted
John didn't smile or nod or wave; his face remained steeled behind a mask of professionalism. "Alexander," John returned.
A second stool had been set up for Duke John; this alone was unusual. Edwin had expected only Alexander to have a stool; it was a common power play. Make your opponent be forced to stand in uncomfortable conditions while you sit comfortably. It was nothing but a cheap slight, a way to get a rise out of someone, such was the way of nobility.
Clearly amused at John's attitude, Alexander offered his hand with a smile.
For a tense moment, it seemed as if John might refuse the courtesy, but with a grunt, he accepted, shaking the king's hand.
"Please sit, let us get straight to it, yes?" Alexander returned to his seat.
John took the open seat right across from the Dunvarrian king.
Edwin spared a glance at the Dunvarrian squire, who happened to be standing on the left end of King's retinue, directly across from Edwin. The squire caught Edwin's glance and gave him a smirk. The smirk was not a friendly one; it was a smirk of amusement. "This man thinks himself better than me." Edwin realized.
"First, before we begin, I would like to know what happened to the Mowbray's and Bannock Castle." John inquired.
"Hmm," Alexander hummed, "Well, no harm in telling you. Perceval Mowbray is dead, and my men garrison Bannock Castle."
John sank, considering the effect this news would have on the war. On a personal level, it stung him deep as well. Perceval had been a constant member of Baychester's court; both he and his father were well-liked in the city and by the duke.
"And Lord Mowbray?" John asked; he feared he knew the answer.
"Dead as well," Alexander confirmed, "Not by my hands or that of my men, the Elder Mowbray was taken by sickness the day of our arrival."
"I see," John said, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice.
Alexander turned halfway to look at the squire opposite Edwin, "Grab me that skin, would you, lad?'
The squire moved his hands towards his waist, his hands fumbling with a leather waterskin. Edwin smirked at this; the King's squire was embarrassing himself. The waterskin came free when he gave up trying to yank it off and instead cut the knot tying it to him.
Alexander took the waterskin; he showed no reaction to his squire's mistake. He opened it, took a gulp, then tossed it to John.
Reluctantly, John caught the skin and brought it to his nose, suspiciously smelling its contents.
"Relax," Alexander urged. He sounded almost offended at John's suspicions. "It's only water; if me drinking it wasn't enough to assure you of its safety, have one of your people drink it."
John took the king at his word and took a long gulp. He resealed the top before tossing it back to the squire, who once again fumbled with it, almost dropping the skin.
"Good, now that our thirst is quenched, we can get to the proper talks," Alexander stated Excitedly.
"We will not surrender the city," John declared
Alexander's smile never left his face. "Unfortunate, won't you reconsider?"
"No," John stated firmly, there would be no negotiation.
"We will put you under siege, starve you out, and when we breach your walls, we will sack the city. You have put a city to the torch before, you know how bloody it will get."
"I will not surrender my city." John reaffirmed
Alexander turned red. He shot out of his chair, knocking it over, his mood changing like the sea during a sudden tempest, "Help me spare the lives of your people!" He demanded
Hands moved to their weapons on both sides, a single slight movement threatening to cause the parley to turn into a melee.
Slowly, John rose from his stool, "It seems we have come to an impasse; you want my city, but so do I. So here is what I suggest: ready your men, your weapons of war. You want my city? You'll have to take it by force. I promise you this: I will bleed you dearly. On the off CHANCE that you take the city; there will be nothing left of your army."
Alexander recomposed himself, his rage fading away like a storm receding into the ether. "Kiss your city goodbye, Duke." He nearly spat the last word.
John brushed off the gathered dust from his lap, turned, and strode away with his horse, Edwin, and the others once more following their lord close behind.
They did not ride their horses back, opting instead to walk back to the castle slowly. Edwin was luckier than the rest of the group. He didn't have armor on him to slow or tire him; despite this boon, he shared the somber mood of his group.
As they grew nearer to the city, a question came to Edwin's mind: "My lord, may I ask a question?"
"Of course."
Edwin caught up to John at the front of the group to speak to him more easily, "Why did we attend the parley?"
John shot him an inquisitive look, "What do you mean?"
"You knew you wouldn't come to terms with the King, didn't you?"
John's eyes lit up, "You're right, but tell me something."
"Yes?"
A great shadow enveloped them as they passed under the eastern gate, "You already know my answer. I want to hear you say it."
Edwin hoped he was right, "You wanted to see the Dunvarrian king for yourself, to get the measure of him."
"Keen mind, you are smarter than any boy your age should be." John Praised.
"And?"
John looked back at Edwin, puzzled, "And what?"
"What did you think of the King?" Edwin pressed
They began towards the Keep. Finchley split off from the group with the two Rockwell's towards the east district, where the port was. Julian went somewhere Edwin was unaware of, most likely towards a storehouse or something similar.
"He is confident," John started, "Either he can back his confidence, or he does not. I will admit I was just as impressed as I was irritated. Soon enough, we shall see if he can back his words up. For our sakes, I hope he is bluffing."
The rest of the journey was spent in silence, each person lost in their own thoughts. Edwin thought about the King; from what little he had seen, he could understand how he had tamed his court. John's thoughts drifted to the matter of war: how would he plan the siege, and how long would it take?
"Hugh?" John gasped, "You're finally out of bed?"
Edwin dragged his eyes from his feet. How long had it been since he had heard that name? Sure enough, Hugh stood on the bridge, his face wrapped in bandages.
"He must have been healed by now." Months had passed since their last encounter; Edwin doubted his face was still wounded.
Hugh took a step forward, his breath oddly ragged, "Father," the word came out wet and sickly. His bandaged face turned to gaze upon Edwin.