<span style="color: #FF4000"><span style="font-family: Papyrus;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">King Allistair</span></span></div></span></span></span><br/><br/>Allistair looked to his wife as she spoke and he held her hand in both of his lightly petting the top of her hand with the one that didn't have fingers laced between hers.<span style="color: #FF4000">"Darling calm down. It will be alright. I promise. Everything will be fine." </span>He explained to her. He was sure his general and archmage would be fine. They were both very competent men, and he trusted their judgment to go on a patrol about the borders with each other and come back unscathed. One of them might concern him, but surely the both of them together in the same party couldn't fail.<br/><br/>Though when she mentioned consulting Harold and Earl, he couldn't agree more. It would simply be foolish to go on a patrol about the borders without a map in hand to mark the areas they'd checked and to make speculations on where to look or where they may have been taken based on clues found. He nodded to her.<span style="color: #FF4000"> "I fully intend to see Harold and Earl some time today after my sparring match with Bren so that I can procure a map for them and have them look up a few things for me." </span>He reassured her.<br/><br/>Allistair tried to satiate his wife, but really his attention was on his "brother", Bren. As his best friend, and closest thing to a an older brother, or any sort of sibling for that matter, that he'd had growing up, he tended to be a bit protective of Bren. And when he was hurting like he was, it ached Allistair to the core. He didn't know how to make these internal worries and wounds go away. He did, but it was out of his hands. No matter how versed in combative magic Allistair was, he couldn't just make his troops reappear out of thin air, as much as he would like to. So when he excused himself from the table without so much as a bite to eat, Allistair wasn't far behind.<br/><br/>Allistair had eaten little more than a biscuit or so himself before Bren had left. The silence that befell the table upon his leaving was tense. Allistair looked back to the rest of his company and lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth before he folded it next to his silverware and stood. Not to be mistaken for a gesture meaning he wasn't finished (even though it was quite possible the man was still hungry after only one biscuit), Allistair always folded his napkin. A bit of an obsessive compulsive habit he had.<br/><br/>He stood from his seat beside Cestaline, and he looked to his breakfast company.<span style="color: #FF4000">"Excuse me. Do continue your meal." </span>He encouraged them. Whether Aurion followed or not was in the air. He knew the djinni didn't need food, but he was also a stickler for manners, and abruptly leaving the table in a meal was an example of bad ones. Though for the sake of his general, he was willing to make a bad appearance.<br/><br/>With that Allistair turned on his heel and headed out the doors at the end of the dining hall. He walked down the hall a bit to a window from the infirmary and simply watched Bren for a moment. He knew he needed some space, and he didn't wish to disturb him, but he did wish to make certain he was alright. And this was often a task best left to standing back and observing the man's body language. His brow creased in thought, and a solemn, more serious look coated his features. It was a look that rarely adorned his face, as he usually appeared happy and upbeat about his staff and friends. He usually had little to frown about. He felt he was a blessed man. But oh how he wished he could bear some of the ache for his brother. How he wished he could eradicate some of the worry he felt for his troops.<br/><br/>Allistair thought over where they could possibly be. He'd seen the maps. And he'd not been able to draw any conclusions. It unnerved him to think that a potential war was looming over his head. Most kings seasoned in their travels didn't ever see war. Much less at so young of an age. Allistair was honestly frightened. He feared, would he be able to protect his citizens? His family? Would he have a military that could hold up to the foe that lurked in the dark? Who could it be? And would they try to strike again should he have the ability to fight them off? All questions he couldn't answer yet.<br/><br/>After some internal debate and thinking along with Bren some time to cool off, Allistair exited and walked to the ring. He stopped just outside of it and beckoned to him.<span style="color: #FF4000"> "Warmed up already? I can hardly deem that fair."</span>He chuckled to him as he reached about his neck removing a button up and hanging it from the fence before donning his leather armor. He never liked using full armor, and when he did, it was either for formalities, they were in real threat, or he was being fitted. But never in training or sparring did he like to wear full armor.<br/><br/><a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=111252">@Kiddo</a><a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=110586">@WildSpawn</a>(also<a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=110674">@thetruegarsot</a>simply because our characters were mentioned)