Eyildr shifted in her seat and a small frown graced her lips. Both sides had providence - both had spoken truly and, as they saw it, faithfully. But the outcome had been almost unanimous, and with it she dared to hope that unity and peace may follow. Asmund would be unhappy, for he spoke frequently of once again wetting his axe in the blood of the Gothra, but the moot had decided. She rose carefully, once again leaning on her cane. 

[i]"I have spoken at length, my fellow Jarls, this night, and thus I see it as my duty to speak shortly here and now. I have heard all of your voices, and most of you have raised points I see as valid and well thought of. But the moot has spoken, and with peace in mind, I see it as my duty to duly swear fealty to Jarl Henrik. This kingdom cannot fund another war. Glorious as it may be, my Jarls, for you to imagine yourselves, your Arls and your sons in the songs they sing in the mead halls a hundred years from now, we must be pragmatic rather than simply bloodthirsty or caught up in the machinations of what you all deem honourable. If we war again, then the people will starve. I can guarantee you all for that, for it is my vast fields that house our grain and our crops and which will suffer when men die in some land, forsaken by Odin. I will not see that happen,"[/i] She nodded, casting an approving gaze to Henrik.

[i]"I am not a foolish woman. We will war, one day. But that day is not tomorrow, nor the next day. We must be wary and careful and then - and only then - can we find ourselves in a suitable position,"[/i] She paused, then seated herself. With any luck, Asmund could find himself on the council. She herself would seek the role of Steward, but she feared that to already be filled before the moot had even began. Asmund would make a clear headed military leader, and not a foolish one at the behest of his mother.