[@Jbcool]

The biggest house she had ever seen rose on the hill before Éolan: raw majesty, grey sternness indistinguishable from the manifold clouds above and beyond it. [i]A fair proposition indeed.[/i] The seriousness that came over the smith's face when he snatched the message from her hand was reason enough for her not to wait for the deluge to be over, but instead haste towards the king's hall immediately. He'd directed her, gave brief explanation of the contents of the message, and bade her farewell and good luck. Looking at the wet windows of the inn she felt as if she should have thanked the man properly. [i]Thank you? I could have spared a word of kindness for the man. What got into you? You're kinder than that. He was a bit rude although. Hunger and cold, yes. That's why I acted so. Remember to seek him later and apologise. Unless he tricked me.[/i] She went on through the mud uphill.

Under her drenched cloak she was clutching the handle of the sword, just in case some sort of rascal was waiting for her. She removed the hood and swept the plastered hair off her face. It was hard to breathe, more due to excitement and apprehension than to the ascending path, and she found herself sweating even in such a cold weather. A solitary figure, save for a shivering black cat in front of one of the homes, she trudged slowly now as if to delay whatever awaited her on top of the hill. [i]One does not so easily claim to be a king's man. There's a great punishment for such lies. He might have been honest, that blacksmith, even if he was so vague. What does the king want of me?[/i]

A thunder exploded and the cat suddenly twitched, and Éolan's heart too. She saw the flags on top of the fort jerk violently in the wind and heard the long wooden planks of the simple houses rattle under the barrage of a rather light hail that had slowly started to replace the autumnal rain. She drew nearer to the houses and walked beside them to shield her head from tiny ice beads. [i]Almost there.[/i] Then the path turned to slippery cobblestone on both sides of which an empty area of beaten grass and wet earth spread in front of her. Forward stood the guards, clad in green wool and mail, resting on spears near the gatehouse, with faces tuned to the elements. 

One of the guards raised his head tiredly and called out coarsely: "Be gone if you be a drab, or if you wish to beg, we've no money, nor food! Get lost, or I'll lock you up!"

[i]The hospitality of our folk has somewhat lessened as of late.[/i] Éolan stood still and silent for a moment, then said: "I do no such things. Look." She took out the letter from her shirt, stretched her hand to the guardsmen, and saw that the paper was almost ruined. Shaking her hand, she said: "A letter. From the king. See?"

The loud guard nodded to his friend and the latter went on towards Éolan fixing his helmet. "Try nothing funny," he said in the voice of a youth. [i]He's shorter than the spear he wields.[/i] He took the papers and scanned them, but his frowning brow showed that he could decipher little to nothing. "This is nonsense. Nothing can be read." he said. 

"The rain! The rain ruined it, and many hands that held it. Look at the seal, the horse, it's the king's." She pointed at it with her finger. "King's blacksmith told me so, too."

"She says Eōrwīga's involved," the guard said, laughing and turning his around towards his mate. "Are you trying to sneak in with all them scoundrels king summoned to his hall? Did you steal this off a corpse on the road?"

"Enough games!" the aggressive, annoyed guard that first apprehended her yelled taking the spear in both of his hands, an action repeated by the young one holding Éolan's letter. "Move, wretch!" they both said and thrust the spearheads towards her. "Through the gatehouse, slowly!"