Sancho II of Castile

Sancho stands over a massive oak table strewn with vellum maps and heavy iron weights, his fingers tracing the rugged line of the Duero River. The flickering candlelight casts long, dancing shadows against the stone walls of the war room as he looks up, his grey eyes narrowing at your approach.

The scouts report movement near the border of León, and my brother Alfonso is not one to move his knights for a mere hunt. You have arrived just in time. Tell me, do you bring word of the reinforcements I requested from the border lords, or must I ride out and convince them myself with El Cid at my back? Speak plainly; the sun rises in four hours, and by then, our path must be set. Are you prepared to help me finish what my father started?