[center][h3]Last district of Defender held Tautom[/h3]
[b]The Luxurious Premises of the Marvelous Balti Palace[/b][/center]


[i]‘’Do you have business with the King?’’[/i]
Gateguard Pelos looks inquisitive at the lamellar sporting barbarian as he approached. The man was clearly a foreigner, and for a moment Pelos wondered if he was a Chlotar, but that couldn’t be. The city is about to fall, what is such a man doing here now at the very worst of times?
[i]‘’State your business now; his majesty is quite busy at the moment.’’[/i]

The barbarian gives a sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to say. After half a second he finds himself again and states, [i]“I am here to speak with your king, as a representative of the mighty kingdom of the Lamperts.”[/i]

[i]‘’Lampert? A diplomat? You?’’[/i] Pelos inspects the Gastald inquisitively.
[i]‘’Are you the Lampert reinforcements of Lulupus? How generous of the Mighty Lamperts to send us one man.’’[/i] The sentry grumbles sarcastically.
[i]‘’And let me guess, that lamellar you wear is pillaged off the Amalians, right?’’[/i] The sentry looks at Ardoiwn with an almost condescending frown.
The Lampert stares at Pelos with fire in his eyes at the blatant insult, but keeps silent on the matter, he was here as a representative of his king, and too many of his friends died to put him here.
Getting no response from the stoic visitor, the sentry shrugs, scratching his bulging neck muscle. 
[i]‘’Well. I’ll grant you passage. Not like it matters at this point.’’[/i]

The great door opens, and a large elaborate, gaudy throne room appears. On the back of the hall is the vacant throne, elevated high on top pyramid-like stairs.
It appears a banquet had taken place recently, with there being bits of confetti scattered over the floor, and tables of empty plates with bits of bone and crumbs. Also, the air is moist and steamy. A... banquet-sauna?
 
Ardoiwn hastefully moved across the room, he did not find any amount of relief in the wet air. As his boots crushed stray bits of paper he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of king this Orso was. 
[i]“Certainly not the same kind as King Dalgiserius.”[/i] He found himself saying aloud to himself. Perhaps, perhaps this man would be closer to what Ardoiwn believed a king should be…

[i]‘’Hrm? Who let this funny looking man in?’’[/i] One voice says.
[i]‘’Ah, it’s the leader of that Mercenary Company from the Nova Street. I see you have recovered.’’[/i] Another replies. Two men appear from an opening to an adjacent room, concealed behind the hall’s large white columns. One long haired, handsome and athletically built in an ornate plate muscle cuirass. The man behind him thin, almost sickly so, wearing only a towel and covered in a long cloak. At first Ardoiwn mistook the former man as King Orso, until he noticed that it is the gaunt man that has a regal diadem covering his forehead.
[i]‘’I am Abadactus Rogan, Marshall of the Sacred Band. We meet again.’’[/i]
Abadactus then takes a step backwards to let Orso walk forwards. [i]‘’The King.’’[/i]
The gaunt man speaks; [i]‘’Yes Abacus, you don’t have to talk on my behalf now.’’[/i] The pitiful King rubs the sweat off his forehead -- seemingly they came back from an intense meeting, or a sauna -- and looks upon Ardoiwn. [i]‘’So. You are a Mercenary leader?”[/i]

This… was not what Ardoiwn was expecting. Of course, he knew not what he expected of the king of such a place, but whatever it was it certainly wasn’t this. Ardoiwn simply stares for a moment too long before remembering his mission, his sacrifice, and most importantly, his king.
Falling down to a knee Ardoiwn states, [i]“I am Gastald Ardoiwn, servant of the King Dalgiserius, master of all Lamperts. I am to offer to you my aid in these trying times. I was to offer my warband, but they fell to the enemy in your city.”[/i]
Ardoiwn stares at the stone floor. It feels as if a weight is slowly passing off him, perhaps it was the air, or the rest he got since the battle. [i]“As per the orders and wishes of the King of all Lampertei I offer to you my blade until we are free of this threat, as well as the blades of any of my comrades who still yet live.”[/i]

Orso claps his hands in delight. [i]‘’That’s fantastic Ardon! You can begin right away! You’re a Castellan, you say? With you on our side, in addition to the exuberant support of the King of Lampertei, I am confident everything will be alright.’’[/i] The King speaks with a laugh, and by the bliss on his face he seems to be whole-heartedly serious about his words. Then he proceeds to tap Ardoiwn’s shoulder with his scepter. [i]‘’Come come, stand up now, friend. You’re embarrassing me!’’[/i]

Ardoiwn stood, uncertain how to think of this jovial and seemingly foolish king. Ardoiwn’s mind felt hazy, soft.

The face of the Marshall, however, could be described as much more dire. He slowly speaks up with a brooding tone. 
[i]‘’Am I to assume your coming to Tautom... insinuates Baltia has achieved alliance with Lampertei? Did King Dalgiserius actually say such?’’[/i]

Ardoiwn’s thoughts returning to his king cleared his mind for the moment. Blinking once he took a deep breath. [i]“No. My lord Dalgiserius has decided, in his wisdom, that the lands of his subjects need protection first and foremost. He allowed me and my- and the band of warriors he allows me to command to offer our aid only because we are not needed elsewhere.”[/i]

[i]“See, Abacus?”[/i] King Orso snickers and smiles reassuringly. 
[i]“Why must you doubt such noble intentions and wisdom?”[/i]
He turns to the Gastald. [i]“Ardon, your gesture will not soon be forgotten. In this dark hour we needed heroes, and here you are! 
I thereby anoint you the… Grand Domesticus of the Royal… -”[/i] Orso begins to mutter inwardly in contemplation. [i]“-wardrobe is taken, as is stool, as is blade, as is horse… Ah-” He looks back at Ardoiwn. [i]“Ardon. You are Grand Domesticus of the Royal Rampart. Baltia’s last line of defense! We are short on commanders, and I wholeheartedly accept you and your fellows into our ranks.’’[/i]
Ardoiwn looked for signs of jest in the absurd king’s eyes. Some joke being played on him. When he found none he bowed his head and raised his hand to his chest, [i]“Very well. I’ll serve how I can.”[/i]
Orso smiles and continues. [i]‘’Ardon, if it does not daunt you, will you take command of the Royal cohort on the left wall? They comprise mostly of evacuated militia and survivors of yesterday's fighting. You might yet make good use of them.”[/i]
With a nod Ardoiwn accepted his duties. [i]“We will hold the line till the end, for the sake of those who did the same.”[/i] Ardoiwn then turn and left.

As soon as he was gone from the room Ardoiwn sighed a breath of relief. The weight of his loss returned to his shoulders again and he was comforted to once more feel the regret and pain. [i]“Somehow, this is worse than the fear.”[/i] He muttered to himself as he wiped moisture from his face with his sleeve. He needed to collect his armor, make sure his spear was ready for combat. He needed to find his men, and then he needed to find the new men under his command. Then… Ardoiwn was thankful for the rest his near death gave him, for he realized that he would have need of it.