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The day had drawn upon him far sooner than he had hoped, and as Erick and his men crossed into the perimeter of the city limits, his entourage mounted on horseback, they were soon met with the royal escort of King Harold. The magnitude of the Astalian palace soon came into view and as they approached the more affluent, innermost sections of the city which was decorated to much grandeur, citizens had began to gather to gawp at his arrival. Erick wasn’t unfamiliar with this as such, but usually his return to the capital in Jörda drew a different kind of crowd; pain and sorrow as the families could not identify their sons or husbands within the returning troop. 

The prince had with him only a small squad of men, some were soldiers too - guardsmen, a guide or navigator and a handful of officials should any negotiations or contracts need be discussed. There was only one man who rode before Erick, the standard bearer presenting the flag of Jörda; a golden ouroboros set against a green background, and the King’s family crest; a fierce, dark grey wolf passant, set against a dark yellow background, a black chevron separating the shield where a sheaf of arrows points downward in the lower portion. No one, not even the King, rode before the flag of Jörda. Otherwise, Erick had no particular pomp or airs and graces about him, save his attire; a heavy woolen cloak of deep blue was wrapped across his shoulders, it had a dense collar of a white, silver and tan fur, pinned with a heavy ouroboros broach made of silver. Beneath the cloak, he wore a sleeveless quilted tunic in a brighter hue of blue and finely embroidered at the neckline and fastening edges, it was belted at the waist and worn atop a white, long-sleeved linen shirt. His plain, dark coloured trousers were slim fitting, more closely resembling leggings and he sported tall, dark leather boots with some subtle embossed areas which nonetheless exhibited their craftsmanship.

As was customary, Erick had brought with him several gifts for King Harold from the nation of Jörda, this included a chest of gold, and weapons amongst other things, as it was generally considered rude to arrive empty handed, and to marry one of the King’s daughters too, no less, it would be particularly offensive. This was no dowry, as such a thing did not exist to the people of Jörda, though it was possible it could be misconstrued as such. 

Erick’s body had healed from his campaign in the North, but his heart and mind had not yet adjusted to the loss of his brother, with every motion his horse, Sinir, carried him closer to the palace gates. The prince knew Andor should be in his place, for Erick knew his elder brother had been a finer man, and better suitor in all regards. It pained him also to no longer be amongst his countrymen who continued to fight, and die for Jörda, and he had not been prepared to be next to lead them from the centre of a city. He wondered what was the disposition of these daughters of King Harold - the daughters of Astalia, and if they too loathed this entire arrangement?

They had travelled far to reach the gates of Astalia’s great palace, and yet the distance did not seem to be long enough nor far enough for the prince. The horses, and his company would need rest, but first they’d have to perform all the required formalities. The standard bearer blew a note through a robust, natural cow’s horn which bellowed as they entered the palace grounds to announce the arrival, the Astalian guardsmen guided Erick and his men to the area at which they would dismount, “his name is Sinir, be careful with him” the prince warned as one of the stable boys attended to the steed, whom was the only animal of a deep chestnut, and led him away. Erick made his way into the palace with his company, he wondered if he was the first to arrive - a part of him hoped this was not the case.