The sun was breaking over the horizon, the sky ablaze with the fiery rays of its wrath. Underneath on the plains of Windermere a large encampment began to stir itself awake. The cooks beginning their morning fires and the duty of feeding 1,000 hungry knights and their retinues. This was the Henri's hastily assembled host, his guard while he traveled to Remonnet to have a say in the next High King and hopefully see himself elevated to that position. 

Henri himself was lying half-awake under the sprawl of cushions and furs that made his bed in his lavishly appointed tent. Beside him the warm body of his companion was still, Henri's wife was still in Vine and the young maiden had caught his eye the night before, being a King was not to be refused what he desired. While these few moments of half-day slipped away Henri pondered as to what he would do to see himself on the throne. 

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Further north a warhost thundered through the empty fields of golden grain, the wind sending their banners a whirl, snapping and fluttering taut. Above their heads a proud white dragon rampant roared on a red field. Lord Reynard Vywren, one of King Henri's most important vassals and the King's Seneschal as well. He was on his way to the Summer Isles as per his King's instructions, on the flank of his destrier a small chest bearing the letters his Liege charged him with the duty of carrying.