It was hard moving around in the room, especially when the foyer was divided between nations as it was and every noble was content to sit or stand where they were and stare down the opposition at the other side of the room, watching like a hawk waiting for their prey to make the wrong move. Suspicion was nearly identical with patriotism here and the amount of tension was enough to drown in. Still, he hadn't expected a fight to break out so soon, not while the guards around were high strung and armed. By the time Luke even made it half way towards the grand doors leading deeper into the citadel, some idiot noble had said something that was lost in the echos of the halls and the two sides collided in patriotic fury. All still in their sleeping wear.

Luke considered himself especially gifted in running. Even without his wind magic to boost his speed, he prided himself in escaping a tight situation quickly. Running, however, was particularly hard when human walls were converging on either sides. Soon he was being buffeted by pushes, shoves, praying desperately that the next strike wasn't a fist (directed at his face). Screams and shouts became synonymous, even between the two nations (and Hagar regrettably caught somewhere in the middle). He hoped to be caught in the wave of less aggressive nobles quickly extricating themselves from the fray but it was simply to hard to tell where he even was anymore. There was not time to trace rune words, no time to brace impacts with magic or strike back. His instincts were caught between bee-lining it out of the crowd and curling into a ball on the floor hoping to disappear when a fist, stray or intended, smashed itself into the side of Luke's face.

The entire world twisted and melded into a vortex of color as Luke spiraled to the floor. A foot, intended now for all that Luke was concerned, found itself in Luke's side only marginally subdued by the soft tip of the slippers. A strong hand slipped around his arm, and painfully yanked him back in some direction. Another voice began shouting into the crowd and a flurry of cold armor and steel ran in past Luke.

"Luke! Hell of a time to take a nap!"

He immediately recognized the voice to be Cor but everything was a blurry mess of colors. "Lieutenant! Gods--" Luke propped himself up on his elbow, one hand searching for his glasses. Of course they weren't on his face, god forbid if they were beneath a soldier's heel, but even worse was the warm wetness surrounding his nose. "I-I'm bleeding!"

"Break it up! Break it up or we will use force!"

"I'm blind and I'm bleeding!"

"Leon, put out that damn fire! What the hell are you still doing on the floor Luke?!"

"I'm losing too much blood! God's it's all over my face! I'm feeling faint! Someone catch me if I fall!"

"You're still on the floor! And you're not bleeding! Get up before someone trips--"

A boot, while searching for a firm foothold, planted itself squarely onto Luke's thigh and while the human leg does not make for a good foothold, this particular boot managed to stay atop for two entire (and agonizing) seconds. It wasn't clear to Luke whether Cor simply stopped talking or the sound of his own screaming drowned out whatever Cor had to say. He didn't care to know either the moment he discovered that it was Cor's boot that had landed on Luke's leg and now a dark shadow were looming over Luke's head and he would bet his entire estate that it wasn't someone leaning down to give him a hand.

"Hael--"

Cor toppled over with a loud fwump. Added on with the weight of all the unnecessary trinkets and frills, small in individual units but surprisingly hefty when joined together, every ounce of breath Luke had in him rushed out. Luke let out a loud groan, at least with whatever air he managed to suck in.

A loud voice rung out before him. "Bring out your king immediately!"

Cor managed to push himself off of Luke (as if he hadn't landed on him at all, the bastard), one hand grasping for his sword before undoing the clasp that held the blade in its sheath. "Lord Faus, calm yourself! I won't ask again!"

Luke couldn't sit up, not without at least rolling on his side to see if he had at least a third dimension left in him after the fall. The room was still filled with shouts and screams, the later following every time a woman witnessed someone being punched (a rather large probability for people claiming to be aristocrats). Even without his glasses, where ever they are, Luke could make out the bulk of the man Cor was speaking with and it wasn't a shape that Luke would want to deal with alone.

At first it sounded as if Faus had addressed Cor, demanding that he bring out King Ascoth, but it wasn't until Luke actually regained his breath and his line of sight stabilized that he noticed Faus was facing someone else. The commander of the Peltian Army and father of the supposed assassin, Arthur Lowell. Arthur was steadying himself against his wife, a smudge of blood where Faus' fist no doubt made contact. The woman snarled at the general, a faint line of tears making tracks in her foundation.

"How dare you strike my husband! You should be trying to stop the fighting, not instigating it!"

Faus stuck an accusing finger towards the two, his face red with either anger or wine. "I'll not speak to you woman unless Vesper Lannister stands at your side!"

"Or what? You'd strike a woman too? You disgrace your king and country!"

"Cornelia, please--"

"Don't speak to me of disgrace when it was your son who dealt the first blow to Griswold!"

It was Arthur to speak this time, a tinge of insult, a tinge of guilt now lacing his features. "Cedric's crimes are Peltian affairs! You have no business--"

"No business!" Faus began to advance, stopping only when Cor jumped forward, pressing a firm hand against the man's chest. Regardless Faus spoke past the First Lieutanent, his face growing redder with each passing moment. "You killed our prince, our king! The matter is our business if not our right!"

Cor pushed Faus back, shouting now. "Disengage Emerson!"

The large general had locked eyes on Cor now. Not only was rude for lower ranked soldiers to use a senior's first names, but the tone Cor took was bordering on an order. By now Faus' face was steaming. "Get out of my way soldier!" He moved forward only to be rebuffed by Cor again.

"You are out of line! Is this how Griswold treats our hospitality?!"

"I do not call this prison cell 'hospitality'!" His gaze quickly became accusatory, his rage focusing now on Cor (and by consequence Luke beside him). "I have half a mind to say Hagar was in on it! Is it coincidence that our prince would be killed on your territory?"

Luke's face grew red. "That's absurd! We wanted the end to this idiotic war the moment your countries started it!"

Cor swung his arm out, pushing Luke back. He opened his mouth to protest but it was Arthur that shouted out in his stead. "Bite your tongue boy! It was our people who died in the wars, not yours!"

"Don't turn your cheek to me, commander! Our prince's blood is on your hands!"

Arthur's wife was at tears now and Arthur himself looked near desperate. His voice was already losing strength. He spoke his words as if they were rehearsed. "The entire affair is a misunderstanding. We sacrificed thousands for this treaty, Cedric would never--"

"Your boy doesn't understand what peace is! War monger, that's what that boy was raised to be!" He laughed, bringing a hand to his face. "Your country breathes war."

Arthur pushed his wife back, anger now beginning to simmer behind his tear stung eyes. "You don't speak of my son like that!"

Faus' face began to betray the blood lust in his eyes. Words were quickly losing meaning and though Cor was armored and armed, Faus looked ready to launch an assault and somehow managed too look intimidating even in his pajamas. He leapt forward, slamming his shoulder into the much smaller Cor's chest and launching the lieutenant several feet back onto the floor. Arthur took hold of his wife's arm, shoving her out of the way before bringing his arms up in defense.

Faus swung his arm once but the fist hadn't connected as it had before. Arthur swatted aside Faus' fist and, just as he had done earlier, rammed his shoulder full force into Faus' chest. Despite Faus' massive size in comparison tot he aged Arthur, the general surprisingly was thrown back. Even more surprised was Luke who just happened to be where he was to catch Faus before he fell onto his back.

Luke was suddenly caught between the instinct to catch someone before they fell and the repulsion of catching a man who could pummel him within two inches of death without batting an eye. Without even planning to, he pushed Faus back and in return was met with Faus' massive arms. The man was skilled at throwing people off of their feet.

The man's arms felt like a log moving at high speed. Before Luke knew it, he found himself again, spitting on the marbled floor as he tried to re-inflate his lungs. He half expected Faus to let loose his famed war cry but someone out had shouted out before him.

"Enough!"

A hush suddenly billowed out across the crowd and Luke could suddenly hear his own heart beating loudly in his ears. His eyes did what everyone else's did in that room, look up towards the balcony where the voice had echoed out from. The three kings. Ascoth stood in the middle and, maybe without realizing it, played the wall that split the two nations' kings with his presence. His face didn't carry the dressed-up grandeur that he wore when he greeted the crowd the wedding day, nor was his voice empowered by magicks and yet it called for every person's attention. Like a ripple, the voices simmered down into a thick silence. Luke was almost surprised to see Faus roughly pulling away from Arthur.

"Stand down, everyone! You all disgrace our late king! Do you call yourselves nobles or barbarians?!" He fell silent once more, swinging his piercing gaze from one side to the next, each battle hungry noble looking away as his eyes drew past. His eyes fell upon Arthur and Luke could already tell an entire speech were undergoing careful consideration before he could even think of speaking them aloud. "Your detention inside our Citadel is nothing more than a means of protection. We assure everyone that you are safe as long as you cooperate."

It didn't matter if Ascoth believed the words to be true. What the man wanted was for the people to believe it. Showing up in person despite suspicions of assassins lurking in the shadows was nothing more than a ploy to feign safety. Luke grimaced as he pushed himself to a sitting position, daring to stand up before he figured every rib in his chest was probably broken and sitting was the best thing to do right now.

Ascoth continued, his lips pursing with each passing thought. "Now we are conducting a throughout investigation of the assassination of His Majesty Kristopher Vilentrope. And though we have narrowed suspicions down to one person, we cannot draw any conclu--"

Vesper Lannister stepped forward, waving Ascoth back. "There's no need to mince words William." He turned to face the crowd or more specifically, the Griswoldians who stared back at him like wolves watch their prey. He spoke clearly and confidently. "Cedric Lowell will be tried for the assassination of His Majesty Kristopher Vilenthrope."

A low whisper immediately rippled out through the crowd. Arthur's arms dropped the moment he heard those words. "My king, no..." Cornelia slid to the floor, tears already streaming down her face.

Vesper continued without even locking eyes with the commander of his own army. "Pelta Lunata does not abide by Cedric Lowell's actions. I hereby declare Cedric to be stripped of rank and citizenship until he be proved innocent through trial of our three nations." His eyes finally fell upon Arthur whether drawn by his wife's increasingly loud wails or not. After searching his lord's face for what seemed like hours, Arthur finally dropped his eyes. It wasn't going to be a trial, just a death sentence. Whatever Griswold would ask for, Pelta Lunata would have no choice by to concede.

Vesper turned his gaze back towards Ascoth. "My lord, I hardly see the need for you to hold our people now nor those of Griswold's..." His eyes drifted to Siegfried Vilenthrope who stood just beyond Ascoth and cracked a dry smile. "Don't you agree?"

The king of Griswold returned Vesper's gaze but there was no smile. His eyes betrayed the aged hatred between countries, renewed now with the death of his son and heir. "Griswold values our treaty between nations."

Vesper's smile remained as it was. "As does Pelta Lunata."