[Co-Credits go to Flooby, some edits have been made to fit the past-tense narrative]

Lately, Lady Fiona has been plagued by headaches. She sleeps a bit worse as well. One figured it was the harshness of the Waiting Season, but even as snow melted and the warm sun brought life back into the lands of Lundland, Fiona's body continued to protest.

Her husband, Lord Donald, son of Ekbarte of Nicland, was not blind this development. A sigh here, some temple-rubbing there, sometimes she even sat in one of her working chambers and just stared at the wall. Not that she was slacking off, though. No, in fact, it would be more true to say that Fiona tried to be as good to her people as possible. She was not a fool, who believed this state of momentary peace would last for much longer. Eventually, war was bound to came, and then she'd have to be ready to protect Lundland.

However, knowing what you wanted did not mean necessarily that you knew how you would get to that goal. Fiona, in the most private moments in the most private places would admit that she wished someone would just descend from the heavens to tell her what to do. Donald would during these moments try to comfort her, say that she is being a splendid ruler and that he would be there to listen and comfort. Sometimes it worked, but sometimes Fiona could just stare back at her dear Donald, as if he told her that trolls occupied their kitchen.

It was a beautiful day when she received that letter, accompanied by a very special guest. She walked in the courtyard of her manor, watching her little sister Karin play with the child of a servant. A little moment, one of these when she was envious of a child's innocent joy. The lieutenant of her patrol guards appeared with a letter, a horse and a red-haired woman. The horse and the woman belonged together, it said, and the Captain of the patrol guard believed her to be Princess Helen – the woman, not the horse, as it was clarified in ink – and urged Fiona to give her shelter.

Fiona didn't need anyone to tell her that. The woman claimed to be Helen was in a terrible condition, starving and cold and dirty. Fiona ordered her servants to prepare bath, food and a chamber fitting for the rightful Overlord. She waited for a few days, and a part – small and insignificant, but there – of her hoped that this woman would not be Helen.

After several days of staying in the castle, the woman who claimed to be Helen regained her strength. Fiona joined her one day for breakfast in the dining hall. The woman's wet clothes had been exchanged for dry servants garments, which fit her well enough. Upon seeing her more closely, it was hard to deny she is Helen: her hair was a bright orange-red, the colour of a Harvest leaf. She stood a little over six feet tall, and even sitting, her height was still noticeable. Her skin was pale, her face freckled, and her eyes big, bright and blue. Her muscles were also visibly toned, and her shoulders quite broad. She certainly wasn't the kind of woman who saunters about a castle all day. 

"My Lady," she said with a full mouth. She quickly swallowed her food, and smiled at Fiona. "Good morning. I'll say it again, a thousand times thank you for letting me stay here. It's been a [i]long[/i] Waiting season." 

"Indeed, it has."

Lady Fiona began to feel small, between her, her husband - who was already a human boulder - and Lady Helen. Fiona imagined she would be more... petite. An idiotic assumption, perhaps, one a fool would made who never heard of Helen. Eitherway, Helen was healthy again, and that was good enough in itself.

"Lady Helen, I say it again; you are most welcome to stay at my court for as long as you please. Yet I am afraid that we currently have little means of pressing your rightful claim. Certainly, we will try and carefully find out what the other lords of Lundland think, but for the moment, I am afraid that our hands are more or less tied." 

"That's just it, my lady, I've wanted to talk to about my claim." She finished the rest of her food by shovelling it into her mouth, before wiping it with a handkerchief. The dining hall of Diritania's castle was smaller than most, but held a table long enough to seat two dozen. Stained glass windows, depicting the Saints and Archangels in their most glorious moments, flanked the table's sides at every few feet, letting a brilliant morning light into the room. One particular light shone on Helen, making the dust of the room visible, like a wispy mist over a lake after a rainstorm.

"I travelled toward your court, because I knew I'd be safest here. You've supported me from the very beginning. The steward, and my caretaker in youth, Aengus Stanric, he arranged to have me in a safehouse. But I'll be damned to hide in some hole like a varlot, while my brother lets all our father's work disappear. The lords of the land have already reclaimed the right to mint their own money, make their own treaties, war with whomever they please, for any reason, and refuse the call to arms!"

Helen looks out the window behind her. Past the image of Saint Sera, the warrior girl who defended Lundland from a Baccan raiding force shortly after Aella's death. Behind the window, serfs could be seen working the keep's private fields. It was a bright, sunny morning, and though they looked exhausted, many were smiling, appearing to make jokes.

"Everything might seem calm now," Helen continued, "But it's only the calm before the storm. If the Lords of Lundland continue to act like the Land doesn't exist, then our enemies will treat us like it doesn't exist. If we cannot meet our enemies as a united force, under a strong Overlord, then we will be doomed at the first sight of an enemy banner." 

Helen turned back to Fiona. Her smile had disappeared, and her cool blue eyes focused on Lady Vearin with intensity. "My lady, you have been kind to me thus far, but I must as another favour of you. I need you to talk to the other lords of Lundland. Tell them you have made contact with me. Tell them to support my rightful claim to the throne. It will be no easy task: many of them like Rone's lazy rule. They would let a damned dog wear the crown if it meant they could have all the benefits of their liege's protection, without any responsibilities or duties. But if I am on the throne, all of that will change. For the memory of my father, Balthazar, I will make Lundland as strong as it was under Aella's rule. I will make the title of Overlord as powerful and respected as it should be. I will keep this land safe from the Baccans, Ordained, Bogans, Gaints, Volcanics, and even from itself. And I will make Rone [b]pay[/b] for his [i]foolishness[/i]."

She paused. Her fist was clenched over her knife, which she was stabbing into the table. She loosened her grip after a moment, but she did not loosen her gaze. "If for no other reason, my lady, help me in the memory of my father. He was a strong, and good man, who cared about everyone in this kingdom, from the highest Lord to the lowest serf. His legacy deserves a better denouement than bleeding to death, and rolling in his grave while his son fails the Land." 

Fiona did not back down from Helen's stare. Not out of spite, but because Fiona could not but agree with and believe in Lady Helen's words. She darted hey eyes over to her husband, who stopped chewing as Helen talked, and then to her own hands holding a fork. The truth was that she felt odd. Without doubt, she believed that allowing Rone to stay on the throne will inevitably end into the end of Lundland, the end of Diratania. Yet, since her father Lord Domnall has died tragically just shortly after her mother, Lady Fiona felt a lot of darkness burdening her soul. Any ambition that went beyond "survive for a little bit longer" was deemed as foolish, and bound to fail.

"Lady Helen, there is much truth in your words, but..." 

Fiona looked into Helen's energetic eyes again. That was why she felt odd. That certainity of doubt, the endless pessimism; it seemed, as if just the very presence of Lady Helen and her ambitions was enough to be the small ray of light that made a crack in the black wall of hopelessnes around Fiona.

A few seconds passed. 

"Actually, no. Helen, you have my word; I shall immediately set myself to writing the letters. I have, we have given up hoping that these lands will ever be healed again, yet seeing you here... seeing you with such might in her words and force in her will. It... I must thank you for this. So much time passed since I have felt such courage in my heart again.”

[b]This is the letter that she has sent to the major lords of Lundland. Feel free to image all the personalized formalities at the head and foot of it[/b]

"Tell, what happens when the Bogan dogs are not satisfied anymore by their own land and in their greed set out to bring chaos to Lundland. Tell, what happens when the great volcan erupts and the heathens gather to burn down our villages. Tell, what happens when the Giants direct their wrath and lust against Lundland once more? Tell, what happens when the Ordained Kingdom and the Baccus Empire find peace with each other, and yearn for the blood of Lundland?

The lands of Diratania lie in the core of Lundland, seemingly protected by numerous lands belonging to other lords, to you. Yet, even I know with certainity that with Rone - the false Overlord - our fate is sealed, for we all will be punished for our arrogance and pride by laying dead under the burned ground of our beloved home.

I know, and I can understand, that there is a certain willingness to let this happen. The incompotent rulership of an Overlord who let's his realm suffer brings certain comforts. However, when the inevitable disasters strike, whether they be coming from east or north or south, those who blinded themself and ignored these threats will cry and bleed as their lands fall to chaos. Let us not become those who cry. Let us be the one who sees those who yearn for Lundland's lives and answer them "No". Let us not sit idly by, let us bond together and stand as one mighty realm against all who set foot on Lundland with nothing but malice in their souls.

For that purpose though, do we need a strong Overlord. One who is in herself a symbol of hope and force. Lady Helen, the rightful heir to the throne, the beacon that shall make Lundland great again, as it was during the times of Aella the Great. She is residing at my court, where she has been welcomed gratefully by both noblemen and common folk alike. Here, we will strive to make Lundland strong again.

I hope and beg you to decide swiftly - and to decide to stand on the right side of history: Those of the survivors.

Signed, Queen Fiona"