Joakim sat upon the throne for several more minutes, as some of the earls had not yet left and he didn't want to seem rude by leaving before them. They were talking to eachother while overlooking the strategic map on the large table in front of the throne, pointing at several holdings of their own, to the north where recent reports of barbaric woodspeople have surfaced, an old annoyance to the Weade that Joakims' father had thought dealt with. Apparently they hadn't been dealt with. 

After pointing at the north, their hands shifted south to the border of the Forklands and the Whitelands. The few things Joakim heard from them related to the trade resuming there after a road had become unaccesible due to a heavy storm. It's good that trade resumed, whatever small amount of trade passed through. After discussing all that they bowed for Joakim, whom nodded in return and made a small gesture with his hand, before they left. Joakim was about to follow suit and retire for the night, but it seemed ser Rolland had urgent news of some sorts. He walked towards Joakim with a Northerners stride, it seemed, and handed him the daily raven messages. 

An annoyed look becrept Joakims face, more so for the messages than ser Rolland, for he had already gotten plenty of messages. No doubt these were more letters of support in this time of mourning. Joakim shook his head, they were merely trying to rub the Weades' the right way for the most part as most of them paid no mind to Rikard unless they needed something. However a certain letter caught his eye, being sealed with the seal of an Athos man. Quickly he opened it, and read it carefully. It seemed Jovan Athos was on his way to the north, a dangerous escapade for anyone, and more so this plagued man. But he was welcome none the less. 

Joakim turned back to Rolland, throwing the other letters onto the table without paying them more mind. From his jackets' pocket he revealed a letter, marked with the sign of Harrighfield, meaning it must've been written by lord Perris himself. [b]“A message from the Harrighfields,”[/b] he spoke softly, to not allow anyone other than Rolland to hear. [b]“he claims the right to sit on our throne, as according to him Gregar is not fit to rule. And more so, he claims that right by force. We are going to war, it seems. I want you to raise the guards, and double the patrols. There will be no tresspassers here tonight.”[/b] Joakim gave him a serious, stern and strict look before rolling the letter back to a mere roll of paper, and stuffed it back in his jacket. What he didn't mention to Rolland was the chance for a peaceful solution, though Gregar would not like it, most likely. His hands went over to the table again, grabbing the pile of letters, before greeting Rolland with a nod and walking away to his chambers. He would probably have to spend a night writing the 'thank you' letters to everyone, and then the entire tomorrow to rewrite them, as his handwriting was rather sloppy. 

[hr]

Gregar smiled at Amber, who seemed intent on mocking him as he did her. [b]“Aye, that horse was a tough one.”[/b] His head turned around the room once again, spotting amidst the crowd that had gathered a man he knew as Tomas, the bastard. The man had somewhat short hair and a small beard, with a pair of blue eyes that would make any woman swoon as soon as the next. Gregar had never really been interested in him, and usually talked to him only when he had to, but he was sure the boy was a fine man. A bastard, but a fine man. A hand went up as he waved at Tomas slightly, almost as if he was trying to be funny doing it. 

He noticed some others, amongst others a tradesman he knew to be.. less than trustworthy, but very rich. He hadn't understood why Amber had kept the tradesman turned noble around, but then again Gregar didn't understand the concept of wealth either. Some armed man stood around the tradesman, but Gregar paid him no mind, since he blent in with the environment rather easily.

Besides Amber were the advisors, all looking the part with their fancy robes and clothes, and a devilous grin on their face, as if they were so happy to spend their days listening to commoners' pleas. Or perhaps they were happy because they could rub their grubby little hands all over the Rossrics' wealth. [b]“However if you'd excuse me, I wish to rest and the road to my home is yet long. Perhaps you have a quarters for me, after which I can stay the rest of tomorrow, leaving in the evening? I'd reach the border before midnight, and after that it would be not much longer.”[/b]