He walked straight through the audience room of the King. Undaunted by the stares he received from the nobles in their velvet, silk and lace. He walked past them all, cutting a path. He stopped just before the throne, untied his sword belt and presented his sword to the king, bowing low as he did. The King let his eye's travel over the scruffy Mercenary in front of him, the torn tunic, the rough boots and the untidy hair. He had never thought to see such bravery and determination in a man whose name held no rank untill this man had leapt to defense of his wounded son mere minutes before. In a clear voice that echoed through the hall the mercenary spoke, 'I hearby pledge my sword and my life in service to His Majesty, in defense of his land and people or where he should see fit to place me.'