[u]Morning, The Outer Limits of Rotaerus[/u]

The morning downpour had soaked the ground, turning it to a sticky mud. The young boy was running through back alleys and small roads, going as fast as his legs would carry him. Puddles of water splashed as his bare feet slammed into them. Several of his friends were following close behind, laughing and playing as they headed to the northern gate. Someone near the bakers shop had said that soldiers were returning; and that was never a sight to miss. The boys breathing was labored and his calves began to cramp, but run he did, not stopping for even a single break. As the gate appeared in the distance, he sped up as much as he could. His bright eyes opened wide as he saw the approach of riders through the gate. But as he got a better look, these men did not look like soldiers. Soldiers wore shining armor, and travelled in great groups, appearing noble and strong. These men were wearing cloaks, which hid their yellow and black armor, as well as their faces. The cloaks themselves were soaked from the rain that had passed, their faces were bearded and dirty. These were not the sort of soldiers he had wanted to see. "Back from the northern valley they are. They been fighting clansmen it seems like," a butcher with a graying beard said. The man was wiping his hands with a dirty rag. "Nasty business that. Back when I was a volunteer I tumbled with the likes o' them." He turned to the group of young boys. "Where ya think I learned myself to cut up a pig?" He smiled and laughed as he turned back into the shop.

There was a small group surrounding the riders on both sides of the street, watching them as they passed. Their eager eyes hoping to see some grand parade; instead seeing a ratty group of seven. They would have seen ten walking in, as had walked out, but three of the group had lost their lives in the valley several weeks past. The sight surely must have been disappointing.

"We're home it would seem, sire," one of the riders, the commander of the small detail said. His moderately grown beard swayed in the slight breeze, and bobbed softly up and down as he talked. He looked to the prince riding beside him in the center of the group. The man of twenty one appeared older and unrecognizable, which is probably why the crowd wasn't cheering his name and throwing flowers. His own face was covered in an unruly growing beard; there were spots of mud and blood so caked on his face that the rain hadn't touched them.

"Indeed we are. Though it isn't the same as when we left it." The sky was dark and the clouds had dropped their rain, yet they remained overhead as if to keep people on a gloomy edge. If that was their intent, it was working.

"That's because you're not the same, if you don't mind me saying sir. Not many men go north and come back like they once were." It had been the princes idea to go north into the valley and join the sentry unit there. They had stayed for three weeks and saw what there was to see, done what there was to do.

The prince was silent for a moment before responding. "Father always told me that one could not be a good king if they did not know their people. Share in their struggles and strife, join them in joy and celebration. He said compassion is the key to ruling well, for people will follow a compassionate ruler even unto death." The prince looked about at the small crowd as they passed. He smiled weakly at the group of young boys. "He also said, that it was a kings responsibility to fight at least once in his life before ordering others to do so on his behalf. 'How could a king command to kill an enemy if he isn't willing to do so himself' he asked me. I considered this trip a trial, and one I hope I passed."

"That you did sire. If I may speak freely, the commander of the sentry unit was awfully hesitant about letting you join us. He thought you'd get in the way as young royals tend to do in such situations. But after our first skirmish, after your steel tasted blood, that was when he respected you. That was when they all respected you."

Prince James smiled at the sound of that. He was very aware of the sentry commanders feelings when he had arrived. Knowing that in some way his fathers advice was correct, made him feel a bit more certain as to the future of his inevitable reign. But still, a nagging feeling tugged at him as if doubt itself were holding him back. Ruling was still decades off, but it was on the horizon, and that scared him to a degree. His thoughts drifted to the three knights of his personal guard whom lost their lives for him. Once king, there would be an entire nation whose lives depended on his ability. How could he be sure he was up to it?

Killing was another thing to think about. In the valley, James had killed around ten clansmen in the few skirmishes they'd had. This was the first time he'd ever taken a life, and as well as he seemed to cope with it on the outside, it was eating at him on the inside. He had wretched up his lunch after the first, and in doing so, nearly got killed. If it wasn't for his guards stepping in to protect him, he surely would've been counted among the casualties.

"Sire, look." He was pulled out of thought by the commanders voice. He was pointing forwards as five riders approached. They were in full armor, excluding one well recognizable man whose gray hair and beard James would know anywhere. The small badge on the left side of his tunic, which was in the shape of a shield, displayed the symbol of his office.

"The Purveyor of Guardianship, Sen my friend, it is good to see you."

The purveyor was looking old these days, but he acted as a man still in his thirties. The way he road a horse gave strong indication of the mans military background, and his overall fighting spirit. "My prince, it is always a pleasure to see you. I come at the request of your father. There is an emergency session of the council today and he would ask your presence." Sen looked uneasy. This meeting would not be of a normal topic, James suspected.

James looked at his own wet and dirty attire. Mud, blood, and stains of other means dotted his armor and clothing. His hair was gnarled in several places. "I will have to change clothing, I'm afraid I'm in no state to be seen currently. But afterwards I would gladly attend."

"As you wish sire. The meeting begins at high sun. I hope you've broken your fast, for there probably won't be food." That news was hard to hear. James had broken his fast over some unappealing jerky and hardened bread. Supplies hadn't come to the northern valley before they left, so it was all they could have. His stomach would be groaning during the meeting.

"That's fine. Thank you for letting me know." The purveyor nodded and turned his horse around, heading back towards the capital, probably to get ready as well. James and his party of six would be heading that same way, and the closer they got, the more likely he'd be recognized. "Let's get home quickly. I need to be prepared for the meeting as soon as possible."

The road towards the capital within the city itself was a long and beautiful one. As one gets closer to the interior of the city, they see less of wood and mud, and more of cobblestone and polished granite. The interior had better shops, better aesthetics, and better roads. Signs marked each direction clearly, so one always knew which way to go; not that the prince would get lost in his own home. Civil defense patrols walked the alleys and stood guard at important buildings, dressed in armor and carrying long pikes and short swords.

The capital surrounded a castle upon the hill, and it was another sight altogether. Built around the reign of King Jonathan, the magnificent keep had been improved upon as the years had gone by, with each King making an addition. It was something of a tradition in the House of Welles. The castle was surrounded by a low wall many yards out, built as an added defense. As James and his band rode under the gate of the low wall, he could see a group of people standing on the stairs leading to the castles main entrance. But his father was not among them.