Under the Crown’s Shadow, pt. 1
Under the Crown’s Shadow
The air in Greengood carried the scent of rain clinging to the wind as it swept across the ramparts. Lady Rosamund stood at the edge of the stone wall, her hands pressed into the cold surface, eyes fixed on the distant ridge where the Andar banners still flew. They had been there for weeks now, fluttering in defiance, a reminder that this land - her land - was still contested. The storm loomed on the horizon, clouds swollen and dark, but her thoughts were elsewhere, drawn to the weight of the decision that had been made.
Behind her, Ser Elric approached, the sound of his armor muted by the wind. He waited a moment before speaking, as if testing the air. "You sent for me?"
Rosamund didn’t turn. "How many left yesterday?" Her voice was steady, though she already knew the answer.
"A few dozen. More will likely desert by nightfall, I suspect," Elric replied, his tone even. "They fear what’s coming."
Rosamund’s grip on the stone tightened, her knuckles white against the grey of the wall. "They think they’ll be safe outside the city? They think they’ll escape this?"
"They don’t think, my lady. They react. They hear rumors of Andar’s forces, of King Arvin’s plans, and they run." He moved beside her, gazing out over the valley. "They don’t know what’s coming, not truly."
Rosamund’s gaze turned toward the edge of the distant ridge, where the banners of the Andar stirred restlessly in the growing wind. She could just make out the sigils of the noble houses under King Arvin’s rule, each more familiar than she cared to admit. Closest to the ridge stood the black serpent of House Daresh, a symbol of unyielding ambition. They were the king’s oldest allies, their loyalty earned through blood and gold. Further down, she spotted the crimson sunburst of House Valen, their arrogance as blinding as their crest. She had crossed paths with them once, and the memory still left a sour taste. Beyond that, banners of lesser houses fluttered - House Mirren, with their winged boar, a symbol of unearned pride; House Alden, whose black wolf-pup snarled in defiance of a past long forgotten.
These were not just banners. They were reminders - each one a herald of the forces arrayed against her. Old families with old grievances, drawn together under the shadow of King Arvin’s crown.
"No one does," she muttered.
She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the damp air pressing against her skin. Elric was right. They didn’t know. Neither did she, not entirely. But she knew enough. Arvin’s hunger for expansion had never been subtle, and he would not rest until all Essarian cities were under his rule. The weight of that realization had settled on her like the storm clouds above - gradually at first, and then all at once.
"What of the Ushani?" she asked, shifting her gaze to the north. "Any word?"
Elric’s expression darkened. "Two of the tribes have pledged to Arvin’s cause. The third remains silent, but they’ve been offered a share of the land."
"And the Chezāhrani?"
"Nothing yet. They claim neutrality."
"Neutrality." Rosamund let the word hang in the air, her lips twisting in a faint sneer. "It won’t last."
She pushed off the wall, turning to face the captain of her guard. The Andar banners were a distant concern now. What mattered were the cities to the north, the fortifications being hastily rebuilt along the border. They had time, but not much. Arvin’s patience was never long, and his reach extended far beyond what it had in years past. Now, he had allies.
"They’ve begun work on upgrading the outposts, but we’ll need more time," Elric said, his voice lowering. "The people are rallying, but if Arvin brings his full force, we’ll need every able body we can muster. We need them to believe in this."
Rosamund met his gaze, her expression unreadable, her eyes flickering with something deeper than mere resolve. "Belief doesn’t stop a blade."
"No," Elric conceded, glancing down at his gauntleted hands. "But it keeps a sword in hand when it’s needed."
The sky rumbled, a low growl from the storm building on the horizon. Rosamund’s thoughts drifted back to the Essarian cities - the places that were supposed to be hers by right, now slipping away with each passing day, each banner planted in foreign soil. The fortifications wouldn’t be enough, she knew that. But they were all they had. And it would be enough, for now.
"King Arvin will come," she said, her voice quieter now, almost lost to the wind. "When he does, we’ll be ready. Not for long. But long enough."
Elric said nothing, the weight of her words settling between them. The rain had begun to fall, soft at first, spattering against the stone and the cold iron of their armor. The banners in the distance blurred, fading into the mist of the coming storm.
"We’ll be ready," Rosamund repeated, though the words felt heavier this time, as if they carried with them the full force of what lay ahead. She turned from the ramparts, pulling her cloak tight against the rain.
She walked toward the keep, the storm closing in behind her. They would hold, as long as they could. As long as it took.