<div style="margin:auto;max-width:600px;height:50px;margin-top:10px;background-color:#101608;padding-left:12px;font-family:Rubik Mono One;font-size:17pt;color:#ffffff;text-shadow:2px 0px 2px #101608;text-align:center;">Bjorn Kamen</div><div style="max-width: 600px; margin: auto; display: flex; flex-direction: row; justify-content: space-evenly;margin-top:-15px;"><br/>
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font-size: 0px;margin-left:10px;">.</div>"Yield." Bjorn's harsh raspy voice was barely a whisper and yet he managed to captivate a whole field. His army was small compared to that of the King's men and yet what they ;acked in size, they made up for in heart and savagery. They were strong, born warriors who'd rather die than fall to bend knee to anyone whether their lives were on the line or not. But Bjorn and his men knew that was far from the truth for the soldiers of Alvari. Why on his knees, with thick blood oozing from the side of his face and panic in his eyes, Bjorn held the King's strongest soldier captive under the sharp point of both his blades. He was not a man fit for battle, still a boy and while he wasn't any kin to the King, Kowarð, he was a valued subject and Bjorn knew that by capturing him, the soldiers he had left would lay down their weapons should he say that one word.<br/>
"Aye," Ademir finally gave in, his shoulders sinking with dejection as he knew he had terribly failed himself. But he'd saved Sylvari from any further damage. Their people had been suffering at the hands of Bjorn and the others as they had plans to start their own small colony in Alvari. It'd been in talks for years, but it was Bjorn who was the first King of Essos to make it happen. His head tilted back and his tongue lolled out, threshing wildly toward the skies as he gave a thunderous roar of furious triumph. His men followed, swinging the long braid, a symbol of their strength in battle, in celebration. Bjorn was far from finished.<br/>
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</div></div>He longed to be home, back amongst his people. For the last year the battle had raged on and while the people of ALvari suffered far greater: the land and women raped and pillaged – his people suffered too. They were weak and in a vulnerable state with Bjorn there and he knew it was not smart to leave them under the watch of the few soldiers that stayed back for too long. But he was not completely a man of no class or no sense of business. His father had been a fool in the past, too entrusting of the King that he didn't bother getting the deed of land in writing. Bjorn was intent on not making the same mistake. And so, he met with the King himself, personally to assure that the land he'd lost two of his best men over would be rightfully signed over to him.<br/>
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Bjorn got more than he bargained for.<br/>
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The King of Alvaria lived up to his nickname, coward. He was afraid of the future possibility that Bjorn would come back for more, as he had with Algernon. It was the last bit of land stretched across the Southwest, thereby making their clan the largest in the area. He'd conquer the whole world if he could, but Bjorn knew better than to get greedy. So, what was the frail and pale king to do? He stared across the round table, decked in the brightest gold and colored garments while Bjorn was still decorated in blood and mold; still covering the bold tribal ink and old scars that littered the left side of his body. A sheet of parchment was brought over to him in the trembling hands of a guard whose eyes skirted from the different colored eyes and finally downward. He was drunk in Bjorn's image; the hulking mass of man barely able to fit inside of the chair he sat on. The paper was snatched away and he read through it quickly, lifting a brow as he started to get toward the end.<br/>
<br/>
He'd promise to end his conquest for good. And Bjorn in turn would get the King's second most prized possession to his crown: his own daughter.<br/>
<br/>
Bjorn had three wives already: Isis, Verna, and Araya. Yet, he was still without his maïta, or at least, he had yet to make either of his wives the destined to carry his heir. It was an important title, and not so easily earned. A maïta would be the closest to his heart and that deserved a trust and an undying loyalty. She had to be strong and powerful, capable to lead in his absence or worse . . .his death. A woman of Alvira couldn't hold a candle to those of Essos. But it would be a lie to not admit that Bjorn was interested. Kiara was docile, like most of the women in Alvaria. She'd be easy to mold into a plaything when he was bored. When he did finally have a child, she'd make the perfect overseer of his child. He doubts she could prove herself to be as worthy as his other wives, especially Verna who he'd been with since he was twenty. The thirteen year relationship was stronger and he did care for her more than the others. But she was barren.<br/>
<br/>
Bjorn didn't give an answer right away. The King was willing to offer more, gold, jewels, his finest stash of libations – all of which Bjorn accepted with a nod and yet he still had no answer. He came to a stand and reached to remove a feather from the black vest that was latched onto his shoulders. He placed it on the table, a sign that was accepting of these terms.<br/>
<br/>
"Have her ready by sunset. Today." The astonished look on the King's face was evident that it was too short a time, but what would he do? Tell Bjorn no? He'd had enough of being in Alvaria. He wanted to be home with his people to celebrate his victory. They'd leave by ship that night.<br/>
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<u>Translations:</u><br/>
<b>Kowarð</b>:<i> coward</i><br/>
<b>Maïta</b>:<i> queen mother; birth giver</i><br/>
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</div></div></div><br/><br/><div style="margin:auto;margin-top:-15px;color:#a4a4a4;text-align: center; font-size: 8px; font-family: times; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: uppercase;">code by promethean</div>