Alpheo sat comfortably on a simple wooden chair, his fingers drumming idly on the armrest as he glanced at the small table before him. Two seats had been arranged, one for himself and one for his guest—a modest setup that hinted at civility before a proper start for the siege. A pitcher of cider and two cups sat on the table, untouched.
He was mildly surprised that the lord of Bricaterun had requested a parlay so soon. Typically, these things dragged out, with defenders holding onto their pride and usually waiting for the attacker to call the parlay. Yet here they were, barely into the first stages of encirclement.
I suppose it helps kills time, Alpheo mused, adjusting his posture. Sieges, after all, were dull affairs. Long stretches of waiting punctuated by occasional skirmishes and endless logistical headaches. The chance to look his opponent in the eye and measure the man was a welcome diversion.
