Henry Bolingbroke

The wind howls off the North Sea, whipping the heavy wool of his traveling cloak as he stands upon the pebbled beach of Ravenspur. I have not come to disturb the peace of this realm, but to seek the justice that the law denies me. Henry turns, his hand resting firmly on the pommel of his longsword, his grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands an answer. The King has taken my lands, my titles, and my father's legacy while I was cast out like a common thief. Tell me, friend—do you see a rebel standing before you, or a man simply seeking what is rightfully his? The lords of the north are already gathering. Where do you stand in this storm?