BONUS ROUND 4 - FOOD

[scallioncreamcheesebagel]

In this round, we want to see prompts inspired by food!

Fills can be in any format, and you can fill your teammates prompts, but you cannot fill your own prompt. 

You can post as many fills and as many prompts as you want!

for your prompt post title, please use the following format:

PROMPT: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

for your fill post title, please use the following format:

FILL: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

to participate, reply to this post!

Comments

PROMPT: TEAM RWBY

[alphajaye071]

Hosting a war council with your enemy over dinner as the both of you are facing a greater threat

Fill: Team OC

[static_prevails]

Ship: Deshavi/Ymira/the Captain (PC), from Mount & Blade
Words: 1,242
Notes: This is part one of a six-part story.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

——

The day before the siege, Lord Fudreim summons you to his council chambers.

Culmarr Castle is abuzz with activity: freshly-levied village militia from Istiniar, supplies requisitioned from the surrounding farms, riders bound for Yalen and Jelkala with last messages for the outside world. The Khergits in your employ are already long gone. If you hadn’t dismissed them the moment you heard the news, they would have left of their own accord, contract be damned. There’s no glory or loot to be had here. In the best case, you’ll survive. In the worst case?

Well.

You bring Ymira as your lieutenant, leaving the company in Deshavi’s hands. That wasn’t so much an assignment as an excuse, which she’d gladly taken.

Lord Fudreim’s seat is empty when you arrive. Instead, you see -

“Lord Gerluchs.”

“Ah, the fabled lady captain makes an appearance!” His smile extends as far as his mouth, and no further. “You know,” he continues, “I was barely a child when your parents were exiled. I never thought I’d see the banner of the rose again, much less as the banner of a mercenary band - pardon, a band-errant. My father was on the council at the time, did you know?”

“Yes,” you respond dryly, “I did know that.”

“Of course - it’s part of your family history, how could you not? Oh! Here’s our host.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” Lord Fudreim says, by way of introduction.

“I wouldn’t think of it! I was just making conversation on our common history. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” you lie.

“That said,” Lord Gerluchs continues, “what is she doing here? Has her house been rehabilitated and I missed the news?”

“She is my guest,” Lord Fudreim responds. “Her soldiers answer to her, not to me. If we want to make use of them - and we will need them - then we have to take counsel with her as well.” Then, to you: “I’m sorry that you were caught here unawares, but I won’t lie and say I’m sorry to have you at all.”

He’s insufferable, isn’t he, you can practically hear him thinking.

“What’s done is done,” you tell him instead. “We were all unprepared for the speed of the Swadian march.”

Your host nods. “That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? But before we discuss that - our meal.”

He gestures to a servant, and in a moment, plates are set before you. The portions are small and the preparation austere - a signal, you assume, about his intentions.

“I see three options,” Lord Fudreim says once you have settled in. “We take to the field and fight, we fortify ourselves here for a siege, or we negotiate the castle’s surrender.”

“Surrender is out of the question,” Lord Gerluchs replies immediately.

“Agreed,” you say. “Even if we can’t win, we can delay them, and make this castle cost them time and manpower.”

Lord Gerluchs nods. “And if we fight?”

“The terrain is in our favor,” Lord Fudreim responds. “The balance of forces is in theirs.” He glances over to his marshall.

The marshall clears his throat. “Our scouts report a sizeable Swadian host. King Harlaus does not seem to be among them, but they counted the banners of at least five lords and several smaller companies.”

“They would outnumber us at least two to one,” you say. “The Swadians are poor crossbowmen, and on uneven ground we can force their knights to fight dismounted, but even so -”

“I think we should do it.” Lord Gerluchs speaks as if you’re not present. “Can we drive them from the field? Almost certainly not. But we can bleed them before they lay siege. If we cost them two men for every one of ours, I’d call it a fair trade.”

“And begin the siege with a depleted garrison?” you retort. “Tell me, Lord Fudreim, do we have the bandages and herbs to treat the wounded from a pitched battle and still maintain a stockpile for the following months?”

He turns to his marshall again.

“We do not,” the marshall concedes.

Lord Gerluchs scowls. “I’d wager the Swadians don’t either, and they can’t plunder enough from Istiniar to make up for what we’ll cost them.” He turns to you. “You’ve never faced the Swadian army in pitched battle before. Are you scared you’ll lose? Scared your bloodline will rear its head at the pivotal moment? We’ve always been outnumbered by the Swadians. It was true when Grunwalder won us our independence, and it’s been true ever since - when we bleed them, we win.”

You catch a surreptitious, worried glance from Ymira, and beneath the table, you slide your hand onto her knee. I’ve heard it all before, and worse, you think at her, and pray she catches on.

She slips her hand onto yours and squeezes.

You can’t think about that right now.

Instead: “And if we’re overrun? The castle falls undefended. If our casualties are heavy? They storm the walls when we retreat. We’d be gambling not just with our lives, but with our ability to hold their army in place. If we lose, the Swadians gain unfettered access to plunder our lands, not in three or four months when defenses have been raised and King Graveth has returned from his eastern campaign, but tomorrow. That’s not cowardice, that’s cold reality.”

“It’s your castle,” Lord Gerluchs says. “You’ve heard my counsel, and I stand by it, but the decision is yours.”

Lord Fudreim looks to you, and you nod in agreement.

“How many months’ provisions do we have in the stores?” he asks the marshall.

“Three. Four, if we ration strictly.”

Lord Fudreim drums his fingers in silence for a moment.

“Then I pray King Graveth’s campaign is both successful and swift,” he says at last. “We will plan for a long siege, so that when he comes to relieve us, we will be prepared to press the Swadians from both within and without.”

You occupy yourselves for the next hour with logistics and contingencies: how rations will be divided, whose troops will stand watch where, who will take command should someone fall ill. Ymira inscribes your notes and offers suggestions to Lord Fudreim’s marshall and steward, and you are once again grateful that her talent and dedication is yours, and not rotting away in a decrepit merchant’s country estate. When your host dismisses you, it’s already evening.

——

“Let me knife him in his sleep,” Deshavi says. “It would be so easy. It would be so worth it.”

Ymira nods. “He would deserve it, and I certainly wouldn’t miss him.”

This is why you hadn’t brought Deshavi, and why she hadn’t wanted to come - not that you don’t appreciate it, not at all.

“It would bring me nothing but pleasure,” you say, “but no. He’s a blowhard, but he’s our blowhard, and his men love him. We need him now, and he needs us. He talks like that because he knows his words are his only real power over me, and he wants to capitalize on it. I’m not going to let him.”

Deshavi grumbles, but she accepts it, and she and Ymira spend the rest of the night plotting pettier forms of revenge. Officially, you disapprove. Unofficially? You wouldn’t trade them for anyone or anything in Calradia.

You can see the Swadian campfires from the castle’s walls. In the morning, you are surrounded, and the siege begins in earnest.