Eyildr had arrived at the Jarlsmoot with a sizeable cortège of attendants and family members. Her retinue included her son, the warrior Asmund, and her three youngest daughters - Kalli, Hjelda and Birna, the Maids of the Vale. Their attendance was deliberate, as was the fact that their mother had dressed them all in fine clothes of ermine and silk, studded with amethysts and jet jewels from beyond the sea. The king was dead, and thus the kingdom needed a new ruler. That ruler needed heirs, and for heirs one requires a Queen. Hjelda seemed the most appropriate choice, she was a learned girl with a strong constitution and aptitude for stressful situations and meaningful conversation. 

For her part, the aged Jarless was also resplendent in her finery. A diadem carved of ancient, blasted oak wood rested atop her greyed hair, woven into two long plaits that trailed down her front fluidly. It was studded with jewels, sapphires and emeralds both. Her thick, leather robed dress was inscribed carefully with her house sigil, a blue horse riding on a vast green field, and her rough hewn but carefully maintained staff rested against the edge of the table. Though her age was plain and clear in the wrinkles about her face and the frailty of her person, the Crowsfoot sat upright and calm, eyes piercing and steely in the face of those who looked at her. Her manners were easy, however, and a warm smile graced her face frequently at those who took to it to strike up conversation with her. She recognised many of those seated around the table, though many of them had gained wrinkles and scars of their own since she had last seen them. Others were new, or distant. Eyildr noted Myriane Ashgold, barely older than her daughter Faelina but the Jarless of Ashfall. The old woman took a long drink of wine. "The Gilded Maiden". She had come from nowhere, and toppled the ruthlessness of Helbrook with no king to contest her. Pretty she may be, but anyone who can almost single-handedly fell such a house is not one to be underestimated.

Zarathustra Metsamees was also a familiar face, though a somewhat uncomfortable one. He reminded Eyildr precisely of the sort of Jarl that her son Asmund would make. All of the carefully cultivated relationships and diplomacy with Galadriel and the neighbouring provinces could be shattered by Asmund's warlike disposition. It had been five years now, since the young warrior had become heir to the Jarldom, when the longship carrying his two elder brothers had sunk in a great storm in the Icevein Inlet. Torvigg had been the capable leader. Eyildr had moulded him into a man of great diplomatic care and unyielding patience. Hallfrid and Asmund were to be his book and blade. The scholarly Hallfrid, however, had perished in the storm. Only Asmund had survived, only the blade remained. 

Eyildr contemplated for a long while, as she always did, and disguised it as the muddling of an old woman. When Henrik spoke, she listened, placing her goblet down carefully and leaning forward. Yes, that could work. He was a careful man, loyal to the old King, but so had she been. 

[i]"If you permit me speak, my brothers and sisters,"[/i] Eyildr said in her dulcet southerly tones. She rose carefully with the aid of her stick. [i]"I would speak my piece,"[/i] She waited for silence to fall, whenever such an occasion would present itself. [i]"I may not surprise you by stating that I will not be putting myself forward as a candidate for ruler. I am old - though, I am sure many of you have observed this with your own eyes. But I feel it is my duty, as someone who has been a Jarless for some three-and-fifty years, to speak my piece duly. This may be my last Jarlsmoot, and if I should survive long enough to see such an occasion again I fear my disposition and mind will be even frailer than they are now. The election of a King is no easy task. It must not be based on whose beard is longest, whose axe is most hallowed or whose smile comes most easily. A King must be a man of careful decision and due consideration. I remind you all here tonight, that you do not have to like a King for him to be good,"[/i]

[i]"I also know that many of you still simmer over the peace with Gothra. Many of those who do this, I have duly noted, retain lands far away from its border,"[/i] She pursed her lips as if chastising her fellows. [i]"Hjaldr's Vale rests along the southern border, alongside Galadriel, and thus I have had the opportunity to develop my diplomatic skills continuously throughout the years. It was the right thing to do. This nation cannot prosper on the face of warmongering. The Elves are a good and benevolent peoples and through me they provide many of our most valued goods, but if we had continued a campaign of Gothra I can tell you here and now we would have lost their trust. War breeds atrocity. It breeds poverty, and disease. Who will feed you when my men are called to my son's banners? Who will plough the fields and make the bread that feeds you, your wives, your babes and your servants? I urged caution throughout that war, and I urge caution again, my brothers and sisters,"[/i]

She paused, leaning bodily against the table for a moment as if her speech had fatigued her. [i]"It is with this in mind that I consider the claims,"[/i] She settled herself down into her chair again. [i]"Jarl Henrik makes a good case for his leadership. But if he keeps slamming his goblet onto the table I may have to rescind any support I have for him,"[/i]