The Marshaling of the Host

The knight, Lord Arynn Pyrl of Vrene, drew his longsword and knelt down on one knee, laying his sword on the rug, hilt towards his leige, and began to recite the Vow of Knighthood. Scot had heard this vow for the eighteenth time today and was distracted. He knew that he had plans that needed finalized and that the quartermaster had logs and purchases for him to review and sign. These ritual vow readings were a waste of precious time.

They were in a tent seperate from his personal living tent, set up with the express purpose of dealing with these formalities. Scot sat on an ornate wooden chair, carpentered out of a rich maple. It had been acquisitioned from the dining room of his keep. Jayne had not been happy about that. The tent was ornate, sewn from well made cloth, alternating between the colors of the Schneider house: a forest green and a golden yellow. The rug was an ornamentation taken from one of the guest halls, longer than it is wide, layed so that a knight could enter the tent and walk directly towards Scot's seat. Arranged around the tent were banners from the first households, the most important behind Scot, a golden chalice on a field of green.

As Lord Arynn finished his vow, Scot stood from his seat and walked towards the knight. He was handed Arryn's sword by a squire boy who rushed over before Scot needed to stoop over. When Arynn finished Scot proclaimed, "House Schneider is honored to accept the sword of House Pyrl. Please stand." Scot returned the sword to the knight, who returned it to his scabbard.

The time for formalities was over. "Tell me, what levies were you able to provide?"

Arynn was young, too young to have seen twenty summers. He was still a boy, his blonde hair still golden, his handsome face free of scars, and his green eyes too eager for war. "Half of my men-at-arms from Vrene. They were all I was able to spare; six men, seasoned. We drew an additional twelve serf boys  from the countryside. They should know which end of a halberd to hold."

Eighteen! Where are these peasants hiding, Scot wondered. And where was Arynn's father? He needed more seasoned knights, not younglings that haven't even used a sword in anger before. "Thank you Arynn," Scot said with his best attempt at hiding his disappointment, "have your men set up camp in the east. And get those boys onto the training fields. Find Lord Leslie and report. You'll ride with him." Arynn made a short bow and made his leave.

Lord Eddard Kaufman snorted as the young knight exited the tent. Eddard was an old knight, fat with too many feasts. He neared his last summers, but was a loyal man who had every reason to remain loyal. When it was obvious that Arynn was beyond earshot Eddard said, "Another youngling? We could do without more men who are too young to take the quest."

Scot returned to his seat. "We need the knights. And we need the levies." He smirked, "And besides, let Robert worry about what the younglings need to learn."

Scot thought of Cris, his second son, whom he had sent to learn the art of war under his father-in-law, Lord Robert Leslie. Cris was nearing his twenty-second summer and needed to learn how to swing a sword, or die trying. Both were good outcomes for the stability of his realm.

The conflict between Cris and Stephan, Scot's firstborn, was deepening, and was beginning to erupt into heated words. If he didn't separate them, by placing Cris under Robert's command and Stephan under his own, then no doubt blows would be exchanged soon, leading to further death when the count-hood was to be handed down. Cris needed to learn how to calm his ambitions, and Stephan needed to solidify his claims.

"See if my son is ready." Scot ordered the squire boy. The boy darted out of the tent.

"Is it time for him to take the vow?" inquired Eddard.

"Yes. He needs to be ready to rule, and won't be until he proves to the lady his worth."

The squire rushed back into the tent and held back the flap. First entered Anders, the grandson of Robert and close friend of Stephan, followed by Stephan himself. Stephan was tall and broad, with dirty blonde hair trimmed short and a stubble that he no doubt had shaved at dawn. He wore his plate mail, but without the usual green and gold tunic of the Schneider house. He had an old scar on his forehead, directly above his left eye. His grey eyes had an intense look to them, and it was obvious to Scot that they also had a hint of anxiety.

Behind Stephan followed his squire boy, who carried with him Stephan's tunic and lance. This squire boy knelt beside Stephan, holding the lance within easy reach of Stephan.

Scot adjusted his seating so that was seated with a straight back. He looked his son in the eyes and gave a slight nod, and then said, "Lord Schneider, what duty has brought you before me today?"

"My Liege," began Stephan as he knelt on one knee, "I set down my lance, the symbol of my duty." He grabbed the lance from the boy, and laid it on the rug before Scot.

Scot recited his part of the ceremony, "Lord knight, what house do you honor?"

Stephan took his tunic from the squire and laid it with his lance, "I spurn those whom I love. I relinquish all oaths, and take up the tools of my quest." At that Eddard stepped over to the kneeling Stephan and laid before him a bastard sword of master quality. Stephan picked up the sword and placed it in front of him like a cross.

Scot asked, "Knight of no household, what quest do you speak?"

"No obstacle will stand before me... no plea for help shall find me wanting... no moon will look upon me twice lest I be judged idle," Stephan replied.

"And whom do you serve?"

"I give my body, heart, and soul to the Lady whom I seek," Stephan finished.

Scot stood and walked over to his son. He placed his hand on Stephan's shoulder. His son looked up into his father's eyes, and was rewarded with a warm smile. "Good, my son," said Scot, "Let us go over the composition of your muster."