The Meeting of Minds
Your command tent is a simple thing, just pure red and white canvass thrown over a simple skeleton of finely worked ash. It lightly ripples in the slight winter breeze, white snow shifting a bit. You can hear "spirited debate" coming from within, as Robert the Beast argues with all ferocity against some, likely absolutely irrelevant detail.
You adjust your belt a bit, shift your trousers and your doublet and enter the tent, cape billowing behind you as you do. White flakes enter on the breeze with you, some sticking to the purple and gold silk as it shifts like the waves near the coast.
You are ignored, except for Robert rolling his eyes.
Very well then.
Viktoria, wearing the white garments of Myrmidia, glares at your friend and you immediately feel a slight twinge of anger. "The Goblins are weak! Ever have they been, and ever will they be! If your men are so weak that they cannot hold, for just a moment, until the men of Mortensholm sally out and strike their rear, then perhaps the reputation of Bretonnia was unearned."
"We are thirty-thousand! They outnumber us, two-to-one. Nevermind the battle at hand, we would be too broken to ride to the aid of Aldium, never mind to face the full bulk of Grimgor! We might wipe out the greenskins of this forest, true enough-- but we would then burn! No, we march as a single unit and scatter them-- we can hunt them at our leisure, then!"
"If we are too busy hunting them, then how are we to face Grimgor? We can shatter these goblins here, clear the forest for decades if we're lucky, then merge together our ranks! The people could be brought into service, refill the ranks, and we could make this a stronghold!" Edwige's hands are white as a sheet as she strangles her sword, vaguely pretty face split in a nasty snarl as she fights to control her temper, the Northman blood in her flaring. "Emma, speak reason to him?"
"I think, considering this is his army, that we should let the prince decide. Whatever else, we should not tarry." Her hair covered under a blue veil that falls to the floor, and a pristine white dress, you cannot see her eyes in the shade; but even so, you shudder to think what power they might contain. Her voice is soft from disuse, a black staff rests in her hands, and she gives you a feeling somewhere between your mother and the old maid who educated you until you were fit for squirehood.
"Indeed we should not, Fair Lady."
They turn to you, finally split from the arguing.
"To be clear-- what, exactly are your plans?"
Robert turns to you first. "These two want to use the soldiers as bait. They'd have the men at arms and the bowmen move first, lure the goblins away from the walls to battle them in open field-- and when they did, the Knights and yeomen would swoop in and grind them into the dust--ignoring the massive casualties we would take."
"And this fool," Edwige says, "Would have us slam into them like a wrecking ball. No finesse, no tactics, simply throw so large a number at the goblins that they rout and flee and return to attack again, except this time ready for us."
The room looks to you, their prince and one day, their king.
A weight settles on you. This is far from your first battle-- you were there, at the outskirts of the Storm; you marched with the patrols of Couronne against the Norscans; admirably stood in the defense of Jacquesburg; but this is your first command.
Best to make it count, then.
[] "We will follow Lady Viktoria's plan. Ready the infantry, and the cavalry. We'll destroy them yet." (Viktoria, Edwige Pleased; Robert annoyed; Emma ??? You have no idea, really; Goblins Removed from forests near Mortensholm)
[] "I'd rather face a future problem than a certain slaughter. Robert's plan is a good one." (Robert Pleased; Viktoria, Edwige annoyed; Emma ??? You still have no idea; Goblins routed but still around)
--
In any case, after your decision is made and you sit, eating your steak and eggs in a more companionable silence before you leave for the first battle you have ever commanded-- and one of such import, as well-- a squire arrives, carrying a letter.
(Pick 1):
[] The cloying scent of perfume hangs on it, like a mist. You are all gentle and delicate with it, for you know only one thing that would require her to send a letter to you, now. Imagine the court's shock-- a mistress might disappoint them; a baseborn peasant's girl, though? That might kill them. (Gain trait a Lion's Love)
[] You can see the smirk already, scrawled hand. Even from Reikland, he tries to mock. Your attempt to ignore it holds up about as well as the egg does to your aggressive stabs, as you punch your fork into them. A bad temper is an ungainly thing for a prince. (Gain trait Lion's Roar)
[] It is a simple correspondence from your father-- so why does your hand shake as you read it; why do you feel such fear? Not death-- failure. You know how far you can fly, even if the entire rest of the world does not; but for mountain peak, there is an ocean deep. (Gain trait The Lion's Doubt)
Magic from a Damsel should be useful, and it's not like Bastonne is going to provide any competition with the ladies 
