Eyildr leaned back in her chair, and watched Bertil with narrowed eyes. He and the Jarless of Ashfall had made their status as newly ennobled Jarls extremely prominent and noticeable through this moot, and as she watched Koval retreat with his retinue in tow she noted that the elder, more traditional Jarls would not take kindly to this. For her part she offered no grovelling to Henrik. She hoped that the Jarl of Tyr, and new King, would be able to see through their facade immediately - but she could not vouch for his perception, and it was easy for someone newly enthroned to fall victim to the proclamations of undying loyalty from others. 

"I have no token bauble to offer you, Jarl Henrik," She said with no small hint of sarcasm as she rose slowly from her seat. Her eyes lingered carefully on Bertil for a moment. That, there, was not a likeable man. She had known the type both here and from Galadriel - slimy salesmen, turning up in one's castle with a chest full of snake oil, empty promises and quick escape plans for when you find out everything he had sold you would turn to ashes in your mouth. These men's promises were as flimsy as their product.

"But I can offer what I have offered your predecessors - loyalty, and sustenance from my vast fields. I, like our dear friends the Moths here, see myself as a woman who serves the realm and not the king. I hope you do not take this offensively; fifty years will do that to you," She grasped her stick with one hand, and one of her daughters appeared from the shadows to grasp her arm. The girl was fair skinned and fair haired, with a strong, solid figure and a pretty face framed by two large, steely eyes that would leave anyone in the room doubtless as to her parentage. "Thank you, Hjelda," Eyildr said softly, and with that she exited the hall, with all the dignity a woman of her age and condition could possibly have and more.