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writinglizards · 3 years

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I’m Kinda Helpless (and I Need You)

Summary: It's not anyone else's fault he fell in love with a witcher who decided he wants nothing to do with him. They're here to have fun. He can pretend to do that, for a little while.

Jaskier, at a New Year's party, gets a terrifying call from a certain witcher.

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"Come on, Jask," Priscilla's saying, tugging him out of the kitchen and away from the alcohol table, "we brought you here to enjoy yourself, not drink yourself stupid. You could do that at home."

"This is only my fourth drink, Pri," he whines, spinning the mostly empty wine glass in his hands absently as Priscilla continues to lead him through the densely packed crowd to where Essi's chatting with..."Valdo," Jaskier hisses.

"Jaskier," Valdo returns, smile bright. Jaskier scowls harder and both Essi and Priscilla roll their eyes.

"Play nice, boys," Essi chastises before catching her girlfriend around the waist and reeling her in to press a kiss to her cheek.

"Just like college," Pri laughs, looping the arm not wound around Essi around Jaskier's neck and dragging him in with her. Valdo watches with an indulgent smile and Jaskier finds he doesn't even hate him, much. It's frustrating.

He forces a smile and tries not to let his sour mood drag the rest of them down with him. It's not anyone else's fault he fell in love with a witcher who decided he wants nothing to do with him. They're here to have fun. He can pretend to do that, for a little while.

They chat for a little before Essi gets dragged off by another acquaintance, Priscilla following, and then it's just Jaskier and Valdo.

"Heard you've had a rough go of it, lately," Valdo says as they stand shoulder to shoulder, staring out across the room. Jaskier doesn't know most of the people here; a few years ago that would have been exciting, now he wishes he'd stayed home, just a little. He lifts his shoulder in a one-sided shrug, sips from his wine glass. There's no point lying to Valdo.

"I'm...sorry for that, Julian, truly. You deserve someone who loves you, who makes you happy." His fingers tighten on the stem of the glass.

"And who's that, hm? You?" He can't help but say, words sharp like a knife. Valdo winces.

"Once upon a time, maybe," he sighs. It's quiet for a beat, "I still want the best for you, though." Jaskier lets out a gust of breath. He may not love the man anymore, may have never loved him, really, but--

"I know," he says, bumps their shoulders together gently, "thank you, Valdo."

"Anytime, Julian." It's soft and subdued, private and just for them. "Come find me before the countdown, yeah? For...old time's sake." It sounds like a resounding bad idea, but...

"I'll think about it," Jaskier says softly.

Valdo makes a satisfied noise and bumps their shoulders together again, gently, before he's stepping away, "Well, better make the rounds. See you in a bit, maybe," and then he's gone too, leaving Jaskier standing at the edge of the party.

He stays there only a moment. It's...a lot. The press of bodies, people chatting, the low thrum of music. This kind of thing used to be his scene, where he thrived. Now he just...he just wants Geralt and that hurts, Geralt wanted him gone, said "if life could give me one blessing" and well. Jaskier's trying, he really is it's just...hard.

He slips out the back door and onto the terrace off the back of the house. It's just for some air, he tells himself, he's not...not running away. He just needs a minute to breathe.

From here he can see the street through the cute little metal gate, the pass of cars and the occasional pedestrian. It's a rich side of town, one he rarely visits any longer. He doesn't even know the host, a friend of Priscilla's, someone she works with. He feels out of place. This is a far cry from the dingy diners, the 24-hour gas stations he's used to frequenting at this point. Or well. Had frequented, he guesses. He hasn't been much of anywhere since...before.

He leans against the little railing and tugs out his phone to check the time and then just...stares. He hadn't been able to bring himself to change his lock screen yet, a photo of the two of them, squeezed into a booth at some little coffee shop whose name he can't remember. Jaskier's smiling, bright and electric and Geralt's...not, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners, just a little, and he looks...he looks...

His chest heaves a nearly sobbing breath as he lets the screen go dark. He's maybe had a few too many drinks, but he's not going to cry about it, about him. It doesn't matter how happy he looks in the photos on Jaskier's phone. Geralt doesn't want anything to do with him, not anymore.

He's still wallowing in self-pity when his phone rings, vibrating intensely in his hand. No caller ID pops up, but Jaskier answers anyway. It's just as likely to be Essi calling from someone else's phone because hers has died as it is to be Geralt calling from a new burner phone. Except--

"Jaskier?"

His voice is rough and beautiful and tight with pain and Jaskier's heart stutters. His throat works, but no sound comes out.

"Jaskier, please, I--"

"Geralt," he forces out, his own voice hoarse. "Geralt, what--"

"Please," he continues, steamrolling right over Jaskier's quiet protest, "I need you to know I...fuck," it's a tiny noise of pain. Jaskier's chest clenches, "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve any of it." His voice is faint.

"Geralt, where are you, what's wrong?"

"I'm...fine." It's not reassuring.

"Geralt, where are you," he's starting to panic, a little, "I'll call Yen, I'm sure she'll--"

Geralt laughs, sharp and sardonic, a noise that cuts off quickly on a wheeze. "Yen's the last person I'd call, Jask." The diminutive does something painful to him. He can feel the tears slipping down his cheeks as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, frustrated.

"Still. Where are you?"

"Do you remember that diner on third street?" Geralt asks, voice a little hazy, a little too soft as Jaskier pushes back through the house. He needs to find Essi or Pricilla, someone who can drive him--"the one where...ah...where you order the--the milkshakes?"

"I do," he says. He can't find his friends, but he catches Valdo's eye across the room and something in his expression must be especially concerning because Valdo's already bowing out of the conversation and making his way over.

"I'm...I left Roach there," he says just as Valdo approaches, mouths "what's wrong" at him.

"Okay, and where are you?" Jaskier asks, holding a single finger up to Valdo who nods.

"I--" a harsh, painful breath, "--was checking out the warehouse two streets over. Bruxa nest."

"Okay. Okay, just--Valdo, do you have your car?" Valdo blinks at him, a little wide-eyed. Geralt makes a strangled noise on the other end of the line.

"Jaskier, you've had too much to drive," he says, which means he does.

Jaskier makes an ungodly sound at the same time Geralt asks "Jask, where are you?"

"Will you drive me, then?" Valdo's had...maybe half a glass all night--he's still carrying around the rum and coke he had when they'd talked earlier, untouched.

Valdo gives him a hard look, and Jaskier thinks maybe he won't before, "Yeah. Let me grab my coat, I'll meet you out front in a minute."

"Thank you, Val," he says, nearly choking on the wave of emotion that hits him, the gratitude he feels for this man he used to love. "Geralt, we'll be there in a few minutes, okay?"

"Mm," the mumbled little response over the line isn't reassuring.

"How close to the warehouse are you still, love?" The endearment slips out without a thought, and Geralt sucks in a sharp breath. Jaskier winces hard.

"'M...down the street." He's quiet for a long moment where Jaskier worries he's passed out on him. "Sorry to ruin your night out."

"Geralt, you're not ruining anything for me." He shifts from foot to foot on the stoop out front, waiting for Valdo to emerge. "How bad is it?" Geralt's silent for too long. "Geralt?"

"Uh," Jaskier can tell from the tone he's making a face, "few busted ribs. I'm..." a soft sigh, "losing a lot of blood." His voice is faint, still.

"How much is a lot, Geralt?" Valdo steps out the door and ushers Jaskier over to his car.

"Where are we going?" he asks as he slips into the driver's seat, Jaskier already fumbling for his seatbelt.

"It's...I may not..."

"Geralt."

"It's not your fault, Jask." A feeling like ice washes through him.

"Are you out of swallow or what?" he asks, trying not to snap at him. Valdo's sitting patiently while he waits for directions, only the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel giving away his nerves.

"It's...I didn't bring it." Jaskier makes another ugly noise.

"The diner on third street," he tells Valdo who nods and shifts the car into gear, backing up. "it is in your car, yes?" he asks Geralt.

"...Yeah," he breathes. Jaskier just listens to the slow rasp of Geralt's breathing, eyes closed. He doesn't ask why Geralt didn't bring any with him, doesn't want to hear the answer, probably. "It's not your fault," Geralt repeats softly, and Jaskier can't help the little hiccuping sob, even as he presses a fist to his mouth to stifle it. Valdo stares out of the corner of his eye but doesn't say anything, which he's thankful for.

"If you die, I'll never forgive you, witcher." Geralt gives a huff over the phone, something like a laugh. "Don't hang up, okay?"

"Okay," he says. They lapse into silence, Jaskier occasionally giving updates on where they're at in relation to the diner, Geralt making vague noises of acknowledgment. When they hit the parking lot of the diner, Jaskier's out the door before Valdo's even parked. Roach is a few stalls away and Jaskier jogs over, fumbling his spare key Geralt hadn't taken back out of his pocket and unlocking it diving into the passenger seat, phone still pressed to his ear.

"I'm with Roach, Geralt, we're maybe five minutes away, okay?" Geralt doesn't respond, and something tightens in Jaskier's chest. With shaking fingers he digs through the floorboard and finds the little pouch of potions tucked in next to the steel sword and his sharpening kit in the foot of the passenger seat. He pulls the whole little bag out and locks the car door before slamming it closed behind him, a little too hard.

He slides back into the passenger seat of Valdo's car a few moments later, the pouch in his lap.

"Where to?"

"Try Fletcher. He's down by the warehouses." Valdo nods and backs out of the stall again. "Geralt?"

There's a rough noise over the line, but no indication Geralt's conscious. Fuck.

They turn onto Fletcher and Valdo drives slowly. It's dark and most people are either at home or at New Year’s parties, not hanging around the industrial district, so it's easy to spot the figure slumped over against a brick wall, pale hair hiding his face.

"Valdo--" he starts, but he's already seen him, and he hits the breaks. Jaskier's out of the car like a shot, potion bag tucked under his arm. He nearly trips over the sidewalk, barely catching himself at the last moment as he stumbles to a stop, hitting his knees beside Geralt hard.

"Geralt, love," he breathes, but it doesn't matter that his heart is pouring out his mouth--Geralt's out cold, phone cradled in his lap but not hung up, just like Jaskier asked. "Fuck."

He can see he's torn up--there's blood all over his armor and pooling on the sidewalk beneath him. He's got a hand pressed loosely over his side and his breathing's shallow. Jaskier fumbles a bottle of swallow out of the pouch and uncorks it.

"Please don't be too late," he whispers, careful fingers tipping Geralt's head up and coaxing his jaw open so he can pour the contents down his throat. Geralt sputters, but swallows, throat working, and Jaskier sits nearly in his lap, face cradled in his hands and fingers brushing his pulse point. Slowly, Jaskier watches as the wound on his side clots and knits together, feels the way his pulse, slow as always, strengthens ever so slightly, and Jaskier sighs, tips forward to press his forehead to Geralt's bloody shoulder as the adrenaline leaves him all at once. He'll be fine.

He sits there for a long moment, just letting the panic fizzle out. The footsteps behind him tell him Valdo's finally parked the car.

"Is he--"

"He'll be fine," Jaskier says, pulling back to stare at Geralt's prone form. His breathing is strengthening, the ribs beginning to knit back together now that the source of the blood loss has been dealt with. "Thank you, Val."

"Should we, uh, move him or something?" Valdo asks, the same moment Geralt groans and blinks open his eyes. "Oh, I'll...um. I'll wait in the car if...if you need me." He ducks his head and retreats to where he parked on the sidewalk a few paces away, giving them some privacy.

"You're here." Geralt's voice, usually gravel rough, is somehow deeper, more jagged, with the remnants of the potion.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" Jaskier asks. He realizes he's still kneeling over Geralt, palms cupping his jaw and throat. Geralt's eyes flutter closed again, tired.

"I don't deserve it."

Jaskier's chest aches, sharp and painful. "Maybe not," he whispers, "but here I am." Geralt's breath stutters and he rotates out of Jaskier's grip to cough, a deep, rattling sound that makes Jaskier wince.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date," Geralt grinds out when his breathing settles, collapsing back against the wall again. Jaskier frowns.

"Why would I--?"

Geralt doesn't let him finish, "He looks...good. For you. I'm. I hope he makes you happy, Jask." Geralt's expression is guarded and it's...that's not...

"Geralt," Jaskier says slowly, "That's Valdo Marx. We're not dating. You did not interrupt a date. I was at a party."

"You're not...?" he starts, brows pinched, and Jaskier wants to hit something.

"Geralt. I'm--I'm not dating anyone. I. I can't." No one could ever make me as happy as you, he thinks but doesn't say.

Geralt makes a soft, unhappy sound, "Why?" At some point, his hands have landed on Jaskier's waist. Now he rubs gentle thumbs against the swell of Jaskier's hip bones in a movement that is more distracting than it has any right to be.

"Because I love you, you dolt," Jaskier chokes out, unable to hold down the swell of emotion at the confusion on Geralt's face, "and I know you said you didn't want to see me again and I--"

"Jask," Geralt stops him, a hand rising to cup his cheek, "you shouldn't."

"I know. I know, and I do anyway and I. I'm sorry, but--"

"I shouldn't have pushed you away," Geralt says, eyes bright with something Jaskier can't name. There's a thundering sound of cheers, distant this deep into the industrial part of the city. Midnight. New Years. "I love you, Jask, I'm sorry."

He tips forward to kiss him, and Geralt surges up to meet him, hands tangling in his hair. It's like breathing fresh air for the first time in years, like the first trip out of the city looking for a forktail, like every time Jaskier's patched him up, every time they've gotten coffee together at three am, every time Geralt's bought him a meal at a diner after midnight. The kiss breaks, but they don't move away, foreheads pressed together.

"I'm sorry," Geralt repeats, eyes closed.

"So am I," Jaskier whispers back, "I've been a right bastard myself, on occasion.” Geralt huffs a laugh, something soft and intimate. Jaskier cards his fingers through his hair, gentle.

"Stay with me?" He asks, and that's--

"Yeah," Jaskier says, presses another kiss to his mouth, slow and sweet, "let me go tell Valdo I'm walking you to your car and he can go. Then you can take me home and we'll crash at my place, okay?"

"Okay," Geralt breathes, reluctantly letting go so Jaskier can stand. He stares at him a moment, bloody and bruised and so very, very beautiful, and then he's pulling himself away, back to Valdo and his car.

"He's okay?" Valdo asks, rolling his window down when Jaskier gets close.

"Yeah, I'm--"

"Are you okay?" he continues, gaze intense and--

"Yeah," he sighs, "yeah, we're okay. I'm. He makes me happy, Val." Valdo's expression softens, something relieved in his eyes.

"Good. I'm glad, Julian. Does he need a ride back to his car?" Jaskier turns to follow Valdo's gaze, sees how Geralt fidgets at the edge of the sidewalk, impatient.

"No. We'll walk back. Thanks for the ride. I'm. Really very thankful."

"I know." His smile is radiant. "Don't be a stranger, Julian." Jaskier makes a face, which only makes Valdo smile wider. "See you around."

The car pulls away when Jaskier steps back onto the sidewalk. Geralt winds his arms around Jaskier's waist when he gets close enough, pulls him into another slow, thorough kiss that sets his nerves alight. They break reluctantly, Jaskier's hand on Geralt's face.

"Come on, love, let’s get you home."

It's been weeks since Jaskier's been this close to Geralt, weeks since they talked, since they touched.

"You're here," Geralt rumbles, a quiet sound, "I'm already home." And that's--Jaskier has to clear his throat not to cry.

"Happy New Year, Geralt." Geralt’s expression is soft, fond as they start the walk back to Roach. He slips his hand into Jaskier's, threads their fingers together and brings the back of his hand to his lips in a gentle kiss.

"Yes," he says, "it is."

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes #rating: teen #this is just an excuse for hurt/comfort and soft things

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frywen-bumbles · 3 years

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The Way to a Man's Heart Goes Through His... Cat? Ch1

Fandoms: The Witcher

Word count: 1545

Chapters: 1/?

More tags in AO3

***

DAY 1: Jaskier meets the biggest and meanest cat he's ever seen

Jaskier looks at the house and checks he has the right number again before approaching. The house is nice, not as nice as some of the others he has been in, but a regular two-storey house in a nice neighbourhood. Nothing remarkable which makes the secrecy of the gig more baffling.

Some people liked their privacy Jaskier guesses as he tries to spot a flowerpot without looking too suspicious. The flowers have almost wilted but Jaskier doesn't reserve them a second glance as he fishes out the spare key under the pot.

He checks the notes from the owner again from his phone.

He could deal with cats who hate people. Animals love him, he just has to be patient and offer peace and love. And food. Food is very important.

He opens the door carefully, not sure if Roach is the type of a cat to try to squeeze her way to freedom every chance possible. He slips through, his bag in front of his leg to protect his pants in an event of a clawed attacker but, to his relief, there is no cat in sight.

He leaves his shoes and bag at the entryway and makes his way to inspect the house. The ground floor consists mostly of an open plan kitchen and living room, the backdoor in the kitchen leading into a small yard.

The living room looks like it's from a magazine, only the small decorative items usually on display are stuffed haphazardly in a cabinet, and by the looks of it, forgotten there. But what draws Jaskier's attention isn't the fine furniture. No, it's the gigantic cat tree in front of the window facing to the street. Jaskier eyes the cat tree warily. Either the owner is very enthusiastic about their cat (Jaskier has seen those, usually ladies in their middle ages or older) or the cat is a giant. No normal cat requires a cat tree that large.

He ventures further into the house, phone in hand and selects his best friends number.

"Hi, Essi, it's me. I arrived safely, there are no axe murders in sight. Yet."

"One of the days there will be and then I can tell you I told you so," Essi's voice is amused despite her admonishing words but she turns serious as Jaskier walks up the stairs, trying to find the bedroom, "You need to call me every day. If you won't I'll come storming over with Priscilla and that won't end pretty."

"Yeah, yeah, Little Eye. I got this, don't worry." The first floor seems as devoid of a cat as the ground floor. There are three doors Jaskier guesses lead to two bedrooms and a bathroom. All doors are ajar so he peeks through the first. A study. A boring one at that. Bookshelves line all the walls, and two decent sized monitors sit on the desk. No laptop.

It doesn't surprise him, the owner said he had to leave for work for at least two months. But why did it have to be so boring?

He glances at the bookshelves expecting to find more boring stuff.

What he finds are two enormous golden eyes staring down at him.

He would deny shrieking like a little child to his dying day.

"Jaskier?! Julek?! Are you okay?! What is it?" Essi screams at him.

"Fuck, fuck, cock, bloody Melitele, fuck, that is the biggest fucking cat I have ever seen, is that even a fucking cat, what the fuck?"

"Jaskier what the fuck? You can't just scare me like that, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"That thing is not a cat. No cat is that big. Nope. Exotic pets weren't in the deal I'm not having this, no."

The long-haired tabby stares at him and waves it's tail in irritation, hitting it against the bookshelf with a series of thuds.

"Um, yeah... goooood kitty, I'll just... go..." Jaskier runs from the room all while listening to the wheezing laughter of Essi from the other end of the line.

"Are you sure it's not a Maine Coon or something?" Essi laughs.

"Do you think I haven't seen Maine Coons? That cat is a monster!" Jaskier hisses while keeping a keen eye on the door of the study.

"You know for a fact there are monsters in the world and you're scared of a little cat? Sure, catboy. Have fun with your monster cat."

The cat (Roach, Jaskier's brain helpfully supplies) walks out of the study and stares at him unimpressed. Now, on a reasonable height, it clearly is just a very large cat. Sure, it's by far the biggest cat Jaskier has ever seen, but a normal longhaired cat none the less.

"Please, don't tell Pricilla about this," Jaskier beggs as he eyes the cat and blinks slowly in hopes of gaining the enormous cat's trust.

"Yeah, of course, I won't, why would I do that?"

"You're telling her as soon as this call ends aren't you?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, I already texted her," Essi mocks him gleefully.

"Traitor!" Jaskier hisses.

"Love you too! Call me tomorrow!"

"I will," Jaskier admits defeated, "bye."

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and looks at Roach, "I guess it's just you and me then, girl."

Roach screams at him.

"Umm, yeah, you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that."

Roach screams again.

"You could meow like a normal cat, you know?"

Jaskier has never seen a cat look as unimpressed with him as Roach is at the moment. She gives him a wide berth as she heads for the stairs to the second floor. And screams.

"Sorry, that's off-limits for me, you're on your own." Roach looks him up and down before she heads upstairs. He can hear her digging around and meowing pitifully. Something crashes to the floor.

Still, off-limits, he reminds himself and turns to investigate the rest of the house. Bathroom, bedroom. Both void of any personal belongings.

It's all fairly boring, all personality stripped, no pictures in sight. There's a sort of detachment to the whole thing Jaskier finds unsettling.

He steps to the back yard, making sure that firstly the door is unlocked and secondly Roach is nowhere in sight. He looks up after closing the door and blinks in surprise.

The whole yard is one giant catio, reaching all the way to the first-floor windows. The windows are connected with planks, leading to a wooden ladder. In the yard is a small vegetable garden and a shack Jaskier guesses contain the gardening tools.

"Well then... I guess I don't have to worry about leaving the back door open." He eyes the garden again and makes a vow to try to remember water the vegetables. He's not sure he'll succeed.

By dinnertime, Jaskier has settled down, unpacked his belongings in the bedroom and claimed a space on the desk in the study. He's putting his shopping away in the fridge (where all he found was cheap beer and snacks clearly meant for a child, thanks for the hospitality) when a demanding meow sounds from the other side of the kitchen.

"Oh, hello Roach. Is it time for your dinner?"

Another meow.

Roach walks in front of a cabinet and screams, as demanding as before.

"Is that where your food is? I'll be right with you, sweetie, just wait a moment..."

Another scream.

"Yeah, yeah..." Jaskier mutters as he tries to find some logic to where everything is in the kitchen. Like it was organised by some crazy witch who never cooked other than their evil potions.

A loud metallic bang makes Jaskier jump in the air and hit his head on a cabinet door.

"Roach?! What the fuck was that?" He looks at the cat who sits next to her empty bowl which sits upside down on the floor, a good half a metre from her tray.

Meow.

"Yeah, okay, food! You'll eat me soon if I don't feed you..." he mumbles and goes digging the cabinet Roach pointed to him.

Roach trills and screams and attacks the cup as soon as Jaskier puts it on the floor. Roach doesn't eat, she just keeps her head in her bowl and stares at Jaskier, a low growl rising from her throat.

"Right, of course, I can't watch you eat. Don't worry, I don't want to steal your food." Jaskier takes a step back. Roach eyes him warily, but apparently, he's far enough she starts to eat her food, selecting carefully the tastiest bits first.

Jaskier digs his phone from his pocket and snaps a selfie of himself, Roach happily munching away in the background. Or so he thought, as soon as he looks at the picture more closely he can see the cat staring at him like it wants to eat him instead.

He picks up the right conversation in WhatsApp and hits send before he turns back to Roach.

"You know, you have to start to trust me soon, I have to brush you so you don't get tangles and mats in that gorgeous hair of yours."

Roach doesn't look impressed.

#the witcher fanfic #fanfic #the witcher #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #frywen writes

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mystical-flute · 5 years

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Black Coffee & Pumpkin Pie (Ch. 3)

FFN || Ao3 || Ko-fi?

"Wow Neal, so you helped rescue two kids out of a mine?! Talk about a first day! The only thing that happened on my first day was me nearly dropping Charlotte's order all over the place."

Neal laughed, leaning back in his chair as he held his phone in front of him, his adoptive sister's face on the screen. It was surprisingly empty in this part of the station, which he was thankful for given the topic of conversation. "Well firefighting and waitressing are two different jobs, and it's not like I was the one that went down there. But I'm sure something exciting will happen to you. You're still in the big city, remember?"

"Yeah yeah. Hey, Mama wanted to know if you've met your dad yet."

He shook his head. "No, not yet. I'm just gathering information right now. Seeing what he's all about, you know?"

"You find anything interesting out?"

"Not – "

"Hey! Neal! Where are you?!" Ali's voice suddenly cried out. "We've got a visitor you need to meet!"

Neal grinned a little. "In the library!" he called back, turning to the phone again. "Duty calls. I'll call you later Tiana."

"Talk to you later, Neal!"

Neal ended the FaceTime call with Tiana as Ali burst into the room.

"Come on slowpoke! Who the hell were you talking to all the way over here?" Ali said with a laugh. "Mayor Mills-Hood is here."

"My sister," he said, pausing. "The Mayor? Why is she here?"

"Did you miss the name? Mayor Mills-Hood. She comes to visit all the time when she has a break from work… and besides, she's the sheriff's mother-in-law," Ali said. "I think she brought a pan of her famous lasagna so let's hurry up before it's gone!"

Neal could only blink as Ali dragged him into the dining room.

"Ah! There you are Neal," Captain Hood said. "I'd like to introduce you to Regina Mills-Hood. My wife and the mayor of Storybrooke."

Neal's stomach twisted into an uncomfortable bundle of nerves as he held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Mayor."

"And you as well. I just wanted to stop by and thank you for helping to save my grandson from the mines," Regina said, her polite smile dropping into a look of concern. "He's still in the hospital with some lung problems. I'm not sure if it was the smoke from when the tunnel started to collapse or something else but..."

Neal frowned. "I'm so sorry Mayor Mills. I hope he makes a quick recovery." The kid hadn't looked good when they'd pulled him out, and he hated to find out that his suspicion had been right.

Regina nodded a little. "Thank you for your concern Mr. Cassidy. The family truly does appreciate it," Regina let out a small sigh and rubbed at her arm. "My step-daughter hasn't slept all that well. I'm glad she has the support of the school and the community."

She looked around the station again and gave Neal another polite smile. "I won't keep you any longer. The boys here love the lasagna so you'd better hurry and grab a serving. I just wanted to say welcome to Storybrooke."

Neal nodded, letting out a breath when she turned and walked out of the station.

"Well that went better than I thought it would," Ali said, handing him a plate of the steaming lasagna. "You should've seen what happened when Jefferson met Mayor Mills for the first time."

"In my defense, my first time meeting her was at the hospital after we'd put out the fire at the cannery and we had people demanding information. No one warned me that she was the mayor!" Jefferson cut in with a scowl on his face. "It was my first day as well as Victor's so neither of us were prepared for that! We just thought she was a reporter!"

"Sure you did," Ali said with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey! Don't forget, I pulled your ass out of the mine when you were a student," Jefferson scowled.

That got Ali to shut up, and Neal had to hide his laughter behind a cough.

"Anyway… why don't we show you around town? Not that there's much to see but it's the least we could do for a new friend," Jefferson suggested.

"I'd like that. Thanks…" Neal replied with a smile.

The rest of the shift went off without much excitement, and before long, Neal was sandwiched between the two more experienced firefighters, wandering down the streets of Storybrooke.

Ali clapped his arm around Neal's shoulders, pointing at a building in the distance. "That's the animal shelter there. My girlfriend Jasmine works there. She's training to be a vet."

"I'm sure she'll become a great vet," Neal replied awkwardly. He'd only ever had one girlfriend, and it hadn't ended well when he'd caught her cheating the night of prom.

"And what about you, dear Neal? Don't you have a lovely girl or guy back in the Big Easy waiting for you to return?"

Was Jefferson reading his mind? Neal got the distinct feeling that Jefferson was reading his mind. Still, Jefferson and Ali were giving him matching curious, almost puppy dog-like looks, so Neal finally let out a sigh and shook his head.

"No. I'm single. Which is probably for the best, considering the move."

"Ah! Then you'll have plenty of fun in this town!" Jefferson said with a wide grin. "But really, you should find a date to the Fireman's Ball."

Neal furrowed his brow. "The what?"

"No one warned you about that? Honestly, it's like they dropped you in the deep end without any floaties! The Fireman's Ball is the biggest fundraiser for the department. Most of the town usually comes out to party with us. It's in two weeks," Jefferson explained. "The firefighters have the first dance, so everyone has a date."

"That sounds like something out of Harry Potter," Neal said with a slow blink.

"Well, maybe J.K Rowling just stole the idea for the Yule Ball from us."

Ali rolled his eyes. "Yeeeeeah, and I'm Stephen King." He turned to Neal then and gave him a grin. "A date isn't necessary, Neal, but Jefferson is right that most of the town shows up for it. Even if you don't have a date that night you'll be able to find someone to dance with there. But no, we don't get the first dance. Captain Hood and Mayor Mills-Hood do. Jefferson just has this strange habit of trying to play matchmaker for the town."

"Oh." Neal had to admit, he was a bit surprised. Most of the people that he knew that ever tried to play matchmaker were women. "Well I'm sure the Fireman's Ball will be a fun night regardless," he said with a smile.

Ali shrugged. "Truthfully, I think Jasmine enjoys it more than I do. I was never one to like to get dressed up and stuff but Jasmine grew up in that sort of world so she's used to it. I'd rather not have my shirt buttoned all the way up to my neck."

Neal laughed. "That's a fair point."

Ali grinned at him. "Seriously, don't worry about Jefferson. He's harmless. Usually." Ali ducked a playful smack from Jefferson before continuing. "C'mon, why don't we head to Granny's for dinner?"

"Ahh sorry I'd love to, but it's open house at the school and I have to go meet Grace's teachers," Jefferson said, smacking his forehead. "Pricilla and Victor would kill me if I was late. Even if Grace told me she doesn't want us there. I'll see you later."

"Pricilla? Grace?" Neal asked with a small frown as Jefferson wandered off down the street.

Ali nodded. "Pricilla is Jefferson's ex-wife. Grace is their daughter. The three of them have a great relationship so they all do the school stuff together. Even if it embarrasses Grace."

Neal laughed. "Just like any father would, right?"

Ali shrugged as they wandered into the diner and found a booth. "Wouldn't know, really. My dad was kind of… not the greatest guy in the world. He was a thief. Started bringing me up to be the same. One day he found out about the mines and heard that there could be gold or jewels or some bullshit like that down there. He was too big, so I went down. The mine closed in on me, like what happened the day you started here. Jefferson saved me. Took me under his wing. Dad was arrested and he's doing time in the state prison. I haven't seen him since. Frankly, I don't want to."

He stared at the man. "Shit Ali. I'm sorry, that's horrible."

"It's fine. It's in the past now."

Neal scratched the back of his neck before smiling gratefully as the blonde waitress stepped over to their table. Oh, it was the same waitress he'd had the day he'd arrived to town.

"Emma! I'm surprised you're working," Ali said with a small frown. "How's Robert?"

Emma only shrugged. "Spending time in the hospital gets to be a bit much. I can't really stand to be near my mom as she cries so much. Too depressing. At least I have school and work to take my mind off it all." Her face screwed up into one of distress. "You guys know what you want yet?"

"Chicken sandwich. You know how I like it. And a coke." Ali said immediately.

"Uh… I'll take a burger. Medium. With lettuce, tomato and grilled onions… with fries and a lemonade," Neal told her as her pen scribbled along the pad.

Emma nodded, giving them a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sure. I'll get that right out for you guys."

Neal looked at Ali with a small frown as Emma walked over to the kitchen. "So… she's related to the kid we saved?"

"Yeah. Emma's the oldest of the Nolan family. There's three total – Emma, Robert and Eva. Good kids, all of them. When they aren't going down into the mines of course."

He snorted in amusement, and before long, Emma was back with the order, sliding the two plates in front of the men with a polite smile. "There you guys go. Anything else you need?"

Neal looked at the ketchup bottle she'd passed over to him and bit his lip. "Yeah actually, if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like a small side of mayo, if that's alright."

Emma gave him a more genuine smile, a small chuckle and a wink following. "It's not the weirdest thing anyone's ever asked me to get for them. This is no problem. Be right back."

When she returned, he grinned, taking the ketchup and squirting a fair amount of it in with the mayo. "Thanks Emma. Growing up in the Big Easy, you can't have fries without fry sauce." Of course, he knew this wouldn't even remotely compare to Tiana's, but it was better than nothing.

"Huh."

Neal looked up in surprise to find Emma still standing next to him. "Uh… something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong exactly. It's just… I haven't seen anyone in town mix mayo and ketchup mixed together except for Mr. Gold."

Her words shot through him like a blast of cold water, and he masked his shock with a sip of lemonade before trying to give her a casual shrug. "Well… Mr. Gold has good tastes then. Maybe's visited the Big Easy himself and got a taste for it," he said with a small shrug, busying himself with his fries again. "Thanks again Emma. Gives me a small comfort of New Orleans."

The blonde let out a soft giggle. "Well, you guys enjoy. I'll be back to check on you."

He wasn't sure what to make of this new information about his father at all, but it did give him a small bit of comfort to know that he had something in common with the man.

…And he had to admit, that little giggle Emma let out was pretty damn cute.

Zelena looked up from her book, listening and watching Neal Cassidy carefully. He did fit the basics as to what Baelfire Gold would be now nineteen years after his disappearance, but of course, it was very basic information… but the information about the ketchup-mayo combination could have been something.

It was a speck, but sometimes in the personal investigative business, all she had were specks. Sometimes they panned out, but many times they didn't.

She didn't often go out and do investigations of her own anymore, being a social worker with a handful of investigators of her own meant she was stuck with paperwork most of the time, but with Aiden Gold, it was different. Tumultuous as their relationship was, when it came to a missing child, Zelena Mills had promised to do her best to find him. Especially in the way Milah and Killian had just up and disappeared from the town.

So she observed, sipping at her tea and making small notes in her notebook, until the two firefighters departed, and then, when she knew no one else was looking, Zelena rose from her seat and slid Neal Cassidy's straw into the plastic bag she had on her.

Specks were nice, but if she could get a fire burning, well… that would be even better.

Slipping a tip on her table, Zelena quietly paid for her meal and made her way to her car, dialing a number on her phone as she did so.

"Yes?"

"Walsh my darling. I need a favor."

Walsh let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "Well, that's never a good sign. What is it now?"

"I'm working a case for Aiden Gold."

"An even worse sign."

"It's his son. He's suspicious about the new firefighter."

"Oh? And what do you have cooked up in your head in order to help him, Zelena?"

"I have a straw Mr. Cassidy used. Will that be sufficient to get DNA off of?"

Zelena could hear Walsh's fingers tapping against a desk, the man letting out another sigh. "I'll try the straw, but you know it's easier when it's a lock of hair. But I'll do my best on it."

"I know you will, Walsh."

Ending the call, Zelena slipped her phone into her pocket and drove the short distance to the lab. Sure, it was shady, considering she could have just gone to the forensics lab that the sheriff used, but Walsh got results faster than them, with little red tape. For Zelena, it was better that way.

Especially when one was working for Aiden Gold.

Zelena slipped easily through the halls of the lab, giving Walsh a sly smile. "Hello darling," she said with a smirk. "Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

"I always make time for you, Zelena," Walsh replied, giving her a weary nod. "For this town's sake, I hope you've got something. The results should be in in about a month."

She bristled. "A month?! Walsh, you know this needs to be done faster than the police!"

"Yeah, I know that Zelena, but the police are kind of breathing down my neck right now so I need to be careful. I know this case is important. I know it involves Gold. But I can't put my life and career at risk like this."

Well, he had her there. Even though she was a private investigator, she was still at the mercy of David Nolan, and even though Robert was in the hospital and he'd be busy, that didn't stop him from making sure she was in line.

"Okay. Just tell me when the results are in," she relented, turning and making her way out of the office with a heavy sigh. She paused when she felt her phone buzz as she got to her car, eyes widening when she saw she had a text from her daughter, Margot. She'd been traveling for so long and Zelena hadn't seen her in months. Her heart thundered against her chest as she opened the text anxiously.

Hey Mom. I'm home.

#swanfire #fanfiction #ouat #once upon a time #emma swan #neal cassidy #black coffee and pumpkin pie

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el-oh-her · 6 years

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Daily Writing Practice

Prompt Source: forever-prompts

Perspective: Linette Vir Na’al, the former princess of Vir Na’al, now a fugitive decreed by the Skivine Empire.

Selma was out there dancing for a pretty coin while I watched from side hallway. Men gazed upon her, drooling like the greedy bastards they were. They talked amongst themselves, maybe about how much it would cost to sleep with the former princess, maybe talking about how much she’s worth to the Skivine Empire. Or maybe they didn’t recognize their former princess at all, and only took note of her exposed skin, a sight that would cause Father to shove her into the temple to pray for being such a tart.

“At least she’s doing something,” another dancer, Pricilla, stood next to me and watched Selma dance on the stage.

“She should be hiding,” I said, “What if someone sells her out?”

“These men are too drunk and besides,” Pricilla pointed to the ceiling where the Vir Na’al sigil was engraved. “We shan’t be bowing to that hag any day. They ain’t welcome in this establishment, and they know it.”

“That makes me feel no better,” I said, brushing past her and entering the room Selma and I shared.

We never had to share a room before, but here we were in a rotting brothel with a single bed between us. Never before had we fallen so far from the god’s graces. I sat on the bed, staring at the painted walls that I’d spent so much time on. It was a beautiful mural of a flourishing garden that went on to infinity.

“Hey,” Pricilla said, standing by the door, “Nobody will touch your sister. She’s just a performer here and that’s it. She’s still pure. Everything will be fine.”

“My father sold us out,” I said, gripping the hem of the cotton dress that the ladies here lent to me. “We’ve had to hide here because he only cared about Lamb. He’s only ever cared about Lamb.”

“There must be more to it,” Pricilla said, “You weren’t there. Your advisor told you to flee, did he not? He saved your life.”

“This is not a life!” I shouted, “I’d rather be dead than live in this squalor!”

Pricilla stiffened. “Better than on the streets.”

That night, before Selma returned from the night of dancing, I donned a thick green cloak and slipped out of the brothel towards the center of town. There, Skivine soldiers marched in lines and guarded the city while the folk kept their distance. I pulled from my purse a few bits of gold.

“I must speak to your captain,” I said, “Immediately.”

“Right away miss,” he said.

In the barracks, men laughed and spoke with one another, giving me a good look before going back to their conversation. Passing the bunks, the soldier opened the door to a man with ice cold eyes dressed in heavy metal armor. When the soldier was gone, the man smiled.

“You’ve paid your bribe this month,” the captain said, “Do ye wish to donate to the cause this time?”

“I wish to report a sighting of one of the fugitive princesses,” I said, placing all of Selma’s savings on the table. “In exchange for amnesty and status in the Skivine Empire.”

His kind smile turned into a wicked grin. The captain stood and took the gold.

“I shan’t deny such a pretty lady such an offer,” he said, “You see, I am looking for a lady to marry with my son. He was a brave warrior in the Vir Na’al War, and as a reward, was given land, wealth, and status. I can speak with Empress Juliet about this tip, if you’re willing to be my son’s wife.”

“I can do that,” I said, “But do not expect me to love him.”

“Oh no, I don’t expect that at all. But the loyal princess marrying a decorated soldier will surely speak a thousand words to the rebels that occasionally crop up. The other day, an ex-solider was arrested for breaking into the palace with intent to assassinate. She’s to hang by her king come tomorrow’s dusk. With you, there will be no more hanging. No more will think to oppose our lady, the Empress.”

Three weeks had come and gone. In that time, I visited the captain to check on the status of the tip, and after the third week, he offhandedly mentioned that the Empress has agreed to my terms. That day, I did not return to the brothel in the small town of Cynbel. I waited outside by the prison cart that would take my sister back to the capital and the Empress’ mercy.

The captain ordered three of his men to arrest the dancer in the Sky Bird Brothel. For the first time in years, the world was clicking back into place. Things were going to be okay.

“We paid you!”

I turned my head, and watched the soldiers drag in Selma. She was in her dancer’s dress, her hair and makeup a tarried mess. They pulled her towards the cart. Selma’s terrified blue eyes locked onto me.

“You’re nothing but a GODDAMNED TRAITOR!” she shouted, fighting the guards to get at me.

“Well at least I admit what I am,” I said, “You’ve been pretending for these years.”

“I damn you to the coldest cavern of the deepest depths of Damnation,” Selma cursed, “May your soul freeze, and rot, and beg for mercy that you shan’t ever receive.”

“I never believed in curses,” I said, turning from her and walking to the carriage that waited for me. My future awaited.

“I will make sure you hang next to the empress, traitor!”

I didn’t look back.

#writing #original writing #spilled ink #vir na'al

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mystylet-shirt · 4 years

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Subway 161 street yankee stadium station cole 45 train etsy shirt

It’s almost time Time Subway 161 street yankee stadium station cole 45 train etsy shirt . to do the Time Warp again! And again! And again! Time to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show either at home or at a midnight screening, and see if you can remember all the callbacks you knew in college (though for some of us, they are very outdated).I’m sure some of those who are reading this go to Rocky Horror on a more regular basis than once a year. Maybe you’re even in the cast that performs along with the show. It still amazes me that a movie released over 40 years ago can still get butts in seats ever at midnight showings ever week in almost every major city in the United States. Subway 161 street yankee stadium station cole 45 train etsy shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt Even when I was going, way back in the mythical time of the 1980s, people were saying that the cult film would soon be replaces by others Subway 161 street yankee stadium station cole 45 train etsy tshirt . I’d say Pricilla Queen of the Desert and Repo The Genetic Opera have give Rocky a run for his money. But like the boxer of the same name, Rocky has yet to go down for the count.When October rolls around, there is even a greater interest in this cult classic. Yeah, it’s kind of like those who only go to church on Christmas, but the more audience the better.And it’s the only time of year you’ll hear “The Time Warp” played on the radio. #Subway161streetyankeestadiumstationcole45trainetsyshirt Read the full article

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bennyboy721 · 6 years

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Musicals I have to get into

A comprehensive list of shows I have to get into along with ones I’ve actually checked out that I need to get more into, mostly for me but this list is everyone i guess

Ones I have to get into (I know a song or less):

Starting with the 3 I got for christmas

Dear Evan Hansen

Carrie

Come From Away

Hadestown

Bring it On

Next To Normal

Spongebob

Gypsy (I know more than one song and have seen the movie but whatever)

Be More Chill

Bat Boy

The Lightning Thief

21 Chump Street

Spring Awakening

In The Heights

Pippin

Aladdin (All these Disney ones, I know the og movie but not the show)

Tarzan

Freaky Friday (checked out the whole thing one time)

Pippin

Assassins

Passion

Merrily We Roll Along

Ballroom

Side Show

Road Show

Kinky Boots

Avenue Q

Something Rotten

Bonnie and Clyde

Jekyll and Clyde

Secret Garden

Footloose (saw it a few years ago, could use a refresh)

Titanic

Secret Garden

Billy Elliot

Great Comet of 1812

She Loves Me

Chess

The Little Princess

Once Upon a Matress

The King and I

Something Rotten

Urinetown

Porgy and Bess

Aida

Groundhog Day

Waitress

Once on this Island

Tuck Everlasting

Big Fish

Mowtown

On the 20th Century

Falsettos

Ragtime

42nd Street

It Should Have Been You

Me and My Girl

The Wiz

The Color Purple

Violet

Bandstand

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Mame

Dog Fight

Ordinary Days

Fun Home

Hair

Bridges of Madison County

The Producers

Man of La Mancha

Sunset Boulevard

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

Jesus Christ Superstar

Godspell

Phantom of the Opera (Yester and Kopit)

The Drowsy Chaperon

Catch Me If You Can

The Wild Party

Pricilla, Queen of the Desert

Xanadu

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Follies

Pirates of Penzance

Nice Work If You Can Get It

A Funny Thing Happened on They Way to The Forum

Henry and Mudge

A New Brain

State Fair

Amadeus

Tommy

Zorro

Billy Elliot

The Light in the Piazza

How The Grinch Stole Christams

Suessical

Half a Six Pence

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

Love Never Dies

9 to 5

A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder

Blood Brothers

Company

Sunday in the Park with George

Little Women

Parade

Hedwig and the Angry Inch

FlashDance

Saturday Night Fever

Amelie

The Baker’s Wife

The Wedding Singer

A Bronx Tale

We Will Rock You

Rock of Ages

Brigadoon

Candide

Kismet

Rocky

Ghost

The Fantasticks

Young Frankenstien

Fun Home

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

School of Rock

Ordinary Days

Promises, Promises

Curtains

The Mystery of Edwin Drood

The Boy from Oz

The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

Elf

Peter Pan

Sister Act

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Once

Geekville

Toxic Avenger

Beuatiful

Rocky

The Full Monty

Meet Me in St Louis

A Star Is Born

All That Jazz

Grey Gardens

Nine

A Little Night Music

La Cage Aux Folles

All Shook Up

South Pacific

American Psycho

Lestat

Dr. Zhivago

Spiderman: Turn off the Dark

It’s A Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman

BKLYN

Kiss of the Spiderwoman

If/Then

Taboo

Starlight Express

Camp Rock On Stage

High School Musical 2 On Stage

White Christmas

Holiday Inn

Dracula

Dance of the Vampires

The Band Wagon

They’re playing Our Song

Smile

The Last 5 Years

Mean Girls

Tick Tick Boom

Gay Card

The Spitfire Grill

Is There Life After High School

Schoolhouse Rock: On Stage

Menopause the Musical

3hree

Escape to Magerittaville

The Band’s Visit

Two Men from Verona

The Boys from Syracuse

The Frogs

Let It Be

Anne of Green Gables

In Transit

Amélie

Bat Out of Hell

American Psycho

Coraline

The Wind in the Willows

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Barnum

Greatest Showman

Anyone Can Whistle

Allegro

Anchors Aweigh

Aspects of Love

Babes in Arms

Paint Your Wagons!

The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas

Big

Sweet Charity

Bloomer Girl

Bullets over Broadway

Bring Back Birdie

Annie Warbucks

Carmen Jones

Can- Can

Cannibal! The Musical

A Christmas Carol

A Class Act

City of Angles

The Civil War

Clue

Damn Yankees

Daddy Long Legs

Dear Edwina

Disaster

Do I Hear A Waltz?

Do Re Mi

Elisabeth

Fiorello!

Finian’s Rainbow

Flower Drum Song

Floyd Collins

Funny Face

Grand Hotel

Honk!

I Love You Because

I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change

Little Mary Sunshine

Little Miss Sunshine

Lucky Stiff

Much Ado

My Son Pinocchio

No No Nanette

Nosferatu

On a clear day you can see forever

On The Town

On Your Toes

Pacific Overtures

Pal Joey

Pipe Dream

The Red Shoes

Repo!

Rex

The Roar of the Greasepaint – The Smell of the Crowd

Scarlet Pimpernel

Smokey Joe’s Cafe

Song and Dance

Stop the World – I Want to Get Off

title of show

The Unsinkable Molly Brown

Where’s Charlie

The Woman in White

A Wonderful Life

Wonderful Town

Wonderland

A Year With Frog and Toad

Musicals that I either kinda know or know pretty well that aren’t quite at the best level

Cabaret

Anastasia

Camelot

Pajama Game

Calamity Jane

Fosse

ALW’s Wizard of Oz

Singing in the Rain

Moulin Rouge!

Legally Blonde

Mamma Mia!

Across the Universe

Oklahoma

The Addams Family

The og West Side Story (I only know the movie)

The og Into The Woods (I’m still better with the movie)

Carousel

Sweeney Todd

A Chrous Line

Evita

Hamilton (Almost there)

Newsies

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Fame

Spamalot

The Lion King

My Fair Lady

Hello Dolly (almost there)

Funny Girl

Anything Goes

Showboat

Fiddler on the roof

You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown

Cats

Book of Mormon

Annie

Miss Saigon

Rocky Horror (stage version)

An American in Paris

Annie Get Your Gun

Kiss Me Kate

Guys and Dolls

Chicago (stage version)

Reefer Madness

Grease (stage version)

#Tag so I can find #Musicals I have to get into

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fableweaver · 4 years

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Arc of the Valiant Paladin

The alley stank worse than a stable; mysterious rotting things huddled in corners and along walls. Darkness dominated everything of which Horace was glad as he didn’t want to familiarize himself with the contents of the alley. He stood as still as he could, trying to take small breaths through the smell. Pricilla rested in his arms unconscious, she was not light. Glen stood as a shadow at the mouth of the alley, one pale hand held out signaling to wait.

It had been a difficult flight through the palace and city, Glen giving no sign as to their destination or intent. Why they hadn’t stopped when free of the garden Horace didn’t know, but he decided to trust Glen in this. He had seen the assassin following them, even though Horace suspected they were invisible since no one else saw them. They had lost him at last in the lower city, or so Horace hoped.

Glen signaled him to move and Horace followed, alert. They would have gained much attention walking through the streets, a knight carrying a noble led by a Sect, had they been visible. They had been running through the city all day and into the night, a haphazard path that led them over practically every dirty street of Cair Leone. Horace was exhausted from carrying Pricilla, he suspected Glen had made sure she would sleep through this all.

Glen stopped suddenly in front of a tavern, the sign showing a rose stained and battered. He went in, the sounds of a full tavern room drifting out into the night. At this time the tavern would be in fullness of the drunken patrons who frequented places like these. Horace frowned as they entered; he had only been in such places to make arrests. Thankfully their invisibility still held because no one took note of them, except one man.

It was the Daunish man that had spoken to Glen before; though he was blind he was turned towards them. He signaled to a Hyrian man next to him and they both made their way over. Silently the Daunish man took Glen’s arm and led him away to the stairs, the Hyrian falling in behind Horace. Horace glanced back at him nervously. He was tall and lanky, built like all Hyrians with ropy long limbs. His copper skin, raven black hair, and blue eyes were common for Hyrians, his features long and nose thin.

They tramped up the stairs to one of the rooms. It was a small tenant room, common and sparsely furnished.

“Ye can set her down here,” the Daunish man said indicating the bed. Relieved Horace walked over and gently set Pricilla on the bed. For a moment he looked down at her vulnerable and felt his heart constrict. Quickly he turned away to look at Glen and the other two men.

“I baint meant this when I said ye could call on me Glen,” the Daunish man said in the common tongue, the drawl of the Daunish accent in his words. He didn’t sound displeased though, only thoughtful. “This be mine travelin companion Rork o Loamy Downs. Rork, this be Glen n his brother Horace.”

“I cogging that be the Princess on the bed,” the Hyrian said shifting on his feet. “Strange fellows ya cogging Ian.”

“What happened?” Ian asked Glen. Glen held out his hand and Ian took it, a silent communication going between the two. Horace watched Ian’s face grow dark as he listened to Glen’s words. At last he broke contact shaking his head.

“We’d better go now then,” he said crossing his arms. Glen fluttered his hands, making the sign of haste. “Aye I ken, I ken,” Ian said.

“Wait,” Horace said and they both turned to him. “What do you mean go?”

“It baint be safe here,” Ian said. “The hunter still haunts the night n he has yer scent. Ifn we baint leave the city tonight we’ll be dead by mornin.”

“Not if we go back to the palace,” Horace argued. “Glen we should never have left. I only followed because that man was terrifying, and I know he had power about him. But it has to be safe now right?”

Glen sadly shook his head.

“What hunts ye baint be somewhat ye can reason with,” Ian said shaking his head. “N it baint let the princess go er us.”

“The King can…”

“Nowt he baint,” Ian said forcefully. “Ye ken the court knight, do ye really think that Elrik has any power there now?”

Horace felt ice through his veins as he realized Ian was right. Lucia controlled the court now, and she had killed the Queen herself.

“So now what?” Horace asked softly. “Where do we go?”

“Alma,” Ian answered. “We will be safe there.”

“They won’t let us into Alda,” Horace argued. “The Aldan only let kin through their borders now.”

“Baint worry bout that,” Ian said.

“Far now I cogging we be more worried bout getting outta here,” Rork said. “I’ll get the horses, ya’ll pack.”

“We’ll need a few more horses,” Ian said.

“Leave it ta me mate,” Rork answered as he left the room.

“Glen, why is Pricilla still asleep?” Horace asked once the Hyrian left.

“It be a Phay skill sos Glen said,” Ian answered for him. “Usually only works on children, but she be close enough I guess.”

Horace wanted to argue that fact but looking at Pricilla on the bed he realized he was right. She looked younger asleep, more at peace and her features soft. Again, he felt his heart wretch, and felt guilt quickly after. He shouldn’t have such feelings for a girl who was barely a woman, who was unconscious.

Ian went about packing his things and that was when a child’s cry drew Horace attention. Ian went over to a basket where a child of about a year old rested, crying now at all the voices. Ian made soothing noises as he lifted the child from the basket, calming him down. Horace was surprised to see the child had dark skin like Ian, but mostly Aldan features with pointed ears and pale hair. The child calmed quickly looking at Horace with dark indigo eyes.

“Is that your son?” Horace asked.

“Aye this be Will,” Ian said proudly.

“He is half Aldan,” Horace said, it wasn’t a question.

“Quarter,” Ian answered. “His ma be half Aldan.”

“So that is why you aren’t worried about the Aldan turning us away,” Horace said. “That child is our ticket in.”

“They’d let us pass even without him,” Ian said.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Horace said. “A Regarian Sect, knight and Princess? They might still turn us away with Pricilla with us.”

“They baint,” Ian said confidently. “Nowt just because I have a son with Aldan blood. Because they’ll see what I be, n what Glen be.”

“Witches you mean?” Horace asked, and Ian nodded.

“Hold Will Glen,” Ian said handing the child over to Glen. “I have ta pack.”

Glen took the child and Will looked at him with a smile, snuggling down into his arms to sleep. Horace was struck by that sudden reminder that Glen knew this man and his child. He tried to remember everything Glen had said about Ian but could only recall tall tales about walking through dragon fire.

Ian finished packing, but he left a few sets of clothes out of the pack.

“Ye’ll have ta change,” Ian said. “Least wise Glen, I be assumin ye be dressed in Sect robes aye?”

Glen nodded and handed over Will to start to dress. Horace took off his breastplate, helm, and then coat, leaving his mail and sword. He took up an unmarked tunic and slipped it on over his mail, buckling his sword back on over it. Ian started towards Pricilla and Horace grabbed his arm.

“Don’t touch her,” Horace growled, gripping Ian’s arm hard.

“We have ta change her,” Ian said calmly. “I be the best ta do it, I be blind after all.”

“You don’t seem blind,” Horace argued.

“I have some sense bout myself aye but I baint see details,” Ian answered. “Er do ye want ta do it?”

His tone was obviously accusatory, and Horace flinched away. He let him go; determinedly turning his back on the scene to see Glen dressed now in a simple tunic and leggings. He held Will now, the child once again asleep in his arms.

“You’re doing that thing to him to make him sleep like Pricilla,” Horace said, and Glen nodded. Ian finished dressing Pricilla and Horace turned to see her now dressed in a tunic and leggings as well. She still wore her slippers, but Ian had removed all her jewelry.

“Hand it over,” Horace growled.

“I weren’t pinchin it,” Ian said handing over the small bag containing Pricilla’s jewels. “It just baint be wise ta leave em.”

“I’ll carry them for now,” Horace said tying the bag to his belt. Ian simply nodded, and Horace collected Pricilla. She was a bit lighter without her heavy gown, but without it, Horace realized how chubby she really was. Ian hid the dress under the bed and collected the bags.

Glen led the way out of the room and down to the courtyard. Rork waited with four horses, a pony, and a donkey. On one of the horses was mounted an Aldan man. He looked rather ragged and thin, like a street beggar that just had a bath.

“Who is that?” Horace asked, unable to take any more surprises.

“Ezra Croft,” Ian answered. “He’d only sleep in the stables. Glen, ye may wanna put him ta sleep as well.”

“I thought you said it only works on children,” Horace said.

“Ezra baint be right in his mind,” Ian answered. Horace looked at the Aldan who was currently trying to untie the lashings that held him in the saddle. Glen walked over and put a hand on the man’s leg. He slumped in the saddle asleep, snoring slightly.

“What be with the donkey?” Ian asked going to the big dray horse. He loaded the packs onto the horse, and then mounted, the dray unbothered by the weight.

“Ya’ll be lucky I got any horses,” Rork said as he went to the highland pony. “Bran bargains like a sailor’s widow.”

Glen took the donkey without protest, still holding Will. Horace sighed as he went to the only mare, a bent back old nag, and put Pricilla in the saddle. He lashed her down with the rope before going to the last horse, an ill-tempered stallion and tied the reins to the back of his saddle. He mounted the stallion, the horse shifting under him unsettled. Horace tugged on the reigns before the horse could fight him more, he had to assert dominance over it.

They set out, Rork leading Ezra’s horse, and Glen in the lead. They went at a steady pace yet wound their way through the streets. They had been in Rogue Town, but as they headed north, they started to make their way towards Poor Man’s Paradise. Horace shivered as the buildings became more and more derelict, ruined, and shattered. Fires could be seen burning in the dark, feral shadows crawling around the flames.

The stench of garbage and the sounds of scurrying things in the dark set his nerves on edge. Horace held his reigns tightly, trying not to jump at every shadow. Even if someone wasn’t hunting them Horace knew going through Poor Man’s Paradise at night was nearly suicidal. Yet he saw shadows fleeing from them as they traveled, wondering at the powers that were protecting them.

Horace felt something pass by his head, nicking his ear, and he ducked down to his horse’s neck. His horse sensing danger danced under him, trying to fight the reigns. Horace kicked his heels into the horse’s sides, making it leap forward past the others. He turned and saw Pricilla’s horse following, Pricilla slumped over the nag’s neck.

The darkness flew by, fires and shadows passing by in a blur. Their mad dash lasted what felt like moments, but when his horse finally slowed Horace realized they had left the city behind. Looking around he realized they were also alone now on the road outside the last dregs of the city. Turning back, he saw nothing but the wane lights of Cair Leone, but no pursuit or any sign of the others.

Instead he saw Pricilla’s horse stumble under her, falling to its knees. Horace leapt from the saddle, running to catch the princess before she fell and broke her neck. He cut her from the saddle and pulled her free, her horse dying from the exertion.

“Damn,” Horace hissed. Pricilla stirred then, starting to struggle against him. He held her as she gasped and then screamed, trying to get away from him. He had to put his hand over her mouth, feeling her try to bite him, but failing. “Stop struggling,” Horace growled in her ear. “I’m trying to protect you.”

She stopped struggling, but he felt her fear in her tense shoulders and back. He stood, pulling her with him and forcing her over to his horse. He pushed her up into the saddle and cut the line to the dead horse before mounting behind Pricilla.

“Who are you?” Pricilla asked angrily.

“Quiet,” Horace hissed.

“No, I will not…”

Horace covered her mouth again, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. He tied it over her mouth as a gag before urging his horse on. The spirited stallion only managed a walk, it was already winded and lathered, but Horace dared not stop. He kept his eyes open, but the moon was dark and the stars hidden making the road darker than a well. Silence was as smothering as the dark, only the wind in the trees and murmur of night creatures broke the dark’s oppressive weight.

At last he spotted a corpse of trees, a darker stain along the road. Turning off he guided the horse into a small clearing in the trees. He dismounted and helped Pricilla down. She struggled against him, but he pulled her over to a tree and tied her hands around a branch. Turning away from her he tended to the horse, old habits hard to ignore even if he didn’t like the ignorant brute.

He unsaddled it and rubbed it down with a handful of grass before he hobbled it. His tasks done he went to Pricilla.

“I’m going to take off your gag,” he said lowly. “Scream and it goes right back on.”

He pulled down the gag, unable to see her expression in the dark other than the outline of her frame.

“Untie me cur,” she hissed.

“No,” Horace answered turning away. He sat and lay back against the saddle, settling down to sleep.

“Who are you?” Pricilla asked a little louder now.

“Careful princess or I’ll put your gag back,” Horace said warningly. “I’m trying to get some rest.”

“I can’t sit down,” Pricilla complained. “Untie me.”

“No, you can stand for a time,” Horace answered. “You were asleep all day and I had to carry you around.”

Pricilla grumbled, and he heard her trying to untie her bonds. He ignored her until she started tugging at the branch making it rustle. He stood and went to her, grabbing a handful of her hair and tugging hard. She gasped and whimpered, Horace just able to see the blue of her eyes as she stared up at him.

“Stop it now,” Horace said coldly. He let her go and went back to lie down. She was silent now and Horace dosed off. He’d long mastered sleeping but being slightly awake and aware, so when the horse snorted and shifted, he was awake instantly. It was the dog hours still the sun had not risen. Pricilla was slumped against the tree she was tied to, asleep with her arms over her head.

Horace felt that pang again in his heart, this time guilt joining it for having left her like that. It seemed he only had feelings for her as long as she was asleep. Shaking off his guilt Horace crept towards the road looking for what woke his horse. He saw nothing on the road, not even a horse or shadow of a person. Puzzled he turned back and ducked as a glint of metal flew at him.

Horace drew his sword and batted away another dagger flying at him, straining his senses for the assassin. There was nothing but darkness, Pricilla starting to stir at the sound of metal clashing.

“Come out,” Horace growled.

“Not until you’re dead,” a man answered, his voice echoing around. Horace started to back towards a tree to get something at his back, only to hear a twig snap behind him. Horace whirled, feeling a dagger skitter across the mail on his chest. He swung his sword but it didn’t connect. He felt a something punch through his mail in his shoulder, pain coming shortly after as the stiletto lodged in his muscle.

He grabbed the hand behind the blade and twisted, but the man didn’t lose his grip or even grunt as Horace broke his wrist. He lashed out with the pommel of his sword connecting with the man’s jaw. Horace stepped in then using his bulk to force the smaller man down. Horace had the leverage over him but the man had the strength of a bull, pushing against Horace about to rise and pin Horace to the ground.

Suddenly the assassin leapt away releasing Horace, dodging a sword swing. Ian stood between Horace and the assassin now, ceramic blade drawn. Something about Ian made the assassin back away, suddenly wary.

“Ye’ll leave here n ferget yer prey,” Ian said in a commanding tone.

“Why would I do that?” the assassin asked. Ian answered by striking out with his sword. They exchanged blows, Ian pounding the assassin with his ceramic sword. Horace was surprised to see the assassin retreat, stumbling under the blows and falling to the ground. Ian stood over him, ceramic blade raised.

He stopped suddenly, turning towards the road. Horace looked as well to see Glen standing there, looking stricken.

“Why?” Ian said and Horace realized Glen had silently spoken to Ian. Glen answered by stepping forward and putting a hand on Ian’s shoulder. They conversed briefly before Ian sighed heavily. He lashed out with his sword, striking the assassin unconscious. Glen sighed and turned to Horace, helping him up.

“We have to kill him,” Horace said. Glen shook his head, trying to pull Horace away.

“Glen says this man be important,” Ian said. “He won’t follow when he wakes; he can’t leave Cair Leone in pursuit o us. We should get goin.”

Horace wanted to argue, but felt Glen’s hand on his arm. He looked at his brother to see him looking up at him with the pleading eyes he once used to ask him to let a dog go.

“Alright I get it,” Horace said wearily. He sheathed his sword only to wince at the stiletto still lodged in his shoulder. Glen saw and he touched the wound examining it. “Leave it until we can tend it later Glen,” Horace said past the pain. Glen sighed and nodded, turning back to the road. Horace looked to Pricilla, who was watching all with wide blue eyes. He went to her and cut her free; taking her by the elbow he led her to the road. Thankfully she didn’t fight, seeming in shock again.

Ian saddled his horse and led it back to the road, Horace pulling Pricilla along after. Glen had mounted his donkey, Rork waiting with the Ezra who was still asleep. The dawn was just starting to rise as Horace helped Pricilla up onto his horse, mounting behind her. Ian mounted and they set out onto the dawn road.

“What happened after I fled?” Horace asked riding next to Ian.

“Baint really ken,” Ian answered. “Were an arrow then ye were ridin as if yer horse’s tail were afire. Glen said we needed ta follow but the donkey wouldn’t go faster en a trot. We got there just as the assassin were bout ta skewer ye.”

“Thanks,” Horace said mildly and Ian just shrugged.

“We’ll stop soon ta tend ta yer wound,” Ian said. “Bit further up the road.”

Horace nodded, the stiletto lodged in his should didn’t hurt as long as he didn’t move it. Pricilla shifted in the saddle and Horace winced as she brushed the hilt of the blade. She looked up at him and gasped, Horace having to wrap one arm around her to stop her from leaping out of the saddle.

“You!” Pricilla shouted. “That stupid love sick knight! You kidnapped me!”

“Calm down!” Horace shouted holding her. Ian reached across and grabbed Pricilla’s shoulder, the girl stopping as she glared at him.

“Ye baint be in any danger lady,” Ian said. “Please, this man risked his life fer ye, settle down.”

Pricilla calmed, Horace unable to see her face but she seemed less angry now.

“What is going on?” Pricilla asked.

“You don’t remember?” Horace asked.

“I remember going to tea with mother,” Pricilla answered. “Then waking up in the dark.”

Horace wondered if he should tell her that her mother was now dead, and an assassin sought her should she return. Glen rode up on his left and took Pricilla’s hand, making the sign of peace and hope. Horace looked at Glen and their eyes met, Glen shaking his head slightly.

“There was an assassin milady,” Horace said, trying to sound reassuring. “Jeanne ordered me to take you and protect you when you fainted. We fear there maybe a member of the court after your life, the Court of Miracles is no longer safe.”

“We head fer Alda,” Ian said. “My wife is there so we will get passage through the forest. Ye’ll be safe in Alma.”

Horace still couldn’t see her face, but he was sure Pricilla was thinking. What remained to be seen was if she was clever like her aunt or as malleable as her mother.

“Does this mean you are now my sworn knight sir?” Pricilla asked at last.

“If you so wish milady,” Horace said relieved that she was fooled.

“Very well,” Pricilla said. “What was your name again?”

“Horace De Modeste,” he answered wearily; unafraid to give his full name now they were free of the court. “This is my brother Glen. The blind man is Ian of Orna. Behind us rides Rork of Loamy Downs who carries Ian’s son Will, and Ezra Croft.”

Pricilla nodded, but didn’t seem interested in them. Ian turned off the road, leading into a more screened off clump of trees at the foot of a hill. Glen helped Pricilla down and Ian helped Horace. Rork and Ian made a fire and set up a quick camp while Glen tended to Horace’s wound. It was deep but not large, nothing vital had been hit. Horace noticed Glen use a few herbs in the bandage, feeling a tingling on his skin which made him realize Glen was once again using his powers. Horace didn’t remark on it, letting it drop.

“Since yer horse died milady ye can ride Puzzle,” Ian said indicating the highland pony.

“I’ll walk cause I can keep pace easy like,” Rork said.

“It’s a rather mangy animal,” Pricilla said.

“He be smart as a whip lady,” Ian said and went to the little horse. He said something in a low tone, a language that was little more than a few grunts. The little horse nodded, looking at Pricilla with liquid brown eyes. Horace shifted on his feet, all this use of dark magic was making him uncomfortable. Pricilla didn’t seem to notice, mounting the little pony with distaste.

They set out but it wasn’t long before Pricilla was complaining. She didn’t know how to ride well and barely kept her seat. She complained of the sun, the dust, the lack of food, and everything she could mention. No one listened, Horace noticing Glen and Ian holding hands having a long private conversation to themselves. Horace rode next to Rork, the Hyrian keeping pace with them easily.

Rork led Ezra’s horse, the Aldan man awake now. Horace saw why they had tied him to the saddle, Ezra muttered nonsense to himself, his eyes darting around following invisible shapes. Horace rode up next to Rork, ignoring the mad Aldan.

“Who is this man?” Horace asked pointing to Ezra. “We don’t really need him do we? I doubt the Aldan will welcome back a mad man.”

“I taint cogging that sir,” Rork said as he shrugged. “We’ve been takin care o him cause somewhere in his noggin be somewhat important. He was a historian, sos is said, and he cogging something about the song.”

“The one Glen is looking for,” Horace said.

“The one the Phay need ta march aye,” Rork said nodding. “Ian spoke ta Ezra most, might be he got all he cogging already. Might be not, he’s jawing it o’er with Glen right now though.”

Horace looked up at the two ahead, feeling slightly jealous. Glen obviously trusted Ian, he looked to him much like a brother, maybe even more than Horace. The past weeks had made Horace think Glen was coming to rely on him more and look up to him, but now he saw what real reliance was. Yet he couldn’t help but like Ian, there was a calm dependability about him that inspired faith in him. He wasn’t a man to lead armies, but he was one that you would love to have as a neighbor.

Ian and Glen broke off and Horace rode forward.

“What did you two talk about?” Horace asked them both and Glen turned to him. He made the sign of music. “The Song?”

“Aye,” Ian answered. “We were telling each other bout what we learned.”

“And?” Horace asked and both hesitated. “Why keep it a secret?”

Glen nodded and made the sign of sharing, motioning to Ian.

“Well I told him what I learned from Ezra,” Ian said. “He read Ioram’s journal. Ioram III Alvar had been the lost king, he went a wanderin. Only what most people baint ken is that he did so cause he found the song from Bellamy. He traveled seekin Eileen only ta lose the song in the Xinian desert.”

“Then it is lost?” Horace asked. Glen shook his head and made the sign of secrets.

“See this where Ezra came in handy, n why he still be with us though I baint just abandon him just cause he mad. He had a theory that Ioram hid the song, maybe in Xin maybe somewhere else. He left clues in his journal. Only…”

“This is a theory of a mad man,” Horace finished and Ian nodded.

“I asked Glen n he said though this be highly likely. He read up on Ioram n said that he was said ta be very secretive, even lovin riddles n all. Might be Ezra’s theory holds water, but we baint have the original o the journal.”

“Where is it?” Horace asked.

“Glen searched fer the un what might be in Cair Leone,” Ian answered. “Ta tell it short, he baint find it. But we be sure it be in the library o Alma.”

“So why would Ioram hide the song?” Horace asked and both shrugged, Glen making the sign of mysteries. Horace thought it over but he wasn’t willing to accept it was simply because Ioram was a bit of a loon. “You said he was seeking someone?”

“Aye, Eileen reborn,” Ian said. “We need ta find her too, she be the only un ta be able ta play the song. She be a Phay spirit, born again inta anyun.”

“And you’ll know her when you see her?” Horace asked and Ian shrugged.

“Baint really ken, been focused on the song,” Ian said. Glen made the sign of Iris and then music. “I think he says Arke wants us ta focus on the song.” Glen nodded.

“Alright, but Ioram was looking for Eileen,” Horace said. “What if he found her?”

“Then the Phay would have marched baint?” Ian said but Glen shook his head. He made the sign of discord and music. “Ah, nowt if the song baint been sung, the Phay wouldn’t have been ready.”

“Right, or maybe Eileen wasn’t ready to play the song,” Horace said. “Or what if she died? Maybe that is why Ioram hid it.”

“Why does it really matter why he hid it?” Ian asked.

“Because it could be a clue to breaking the cypher of his journal,” Horace answered. “If he left it in Xin then he might have left it there for a reason. That reason could lead us to the location.”

“Well we baint really ken,” Ian said. “Ye start ponderin like that n ye’ll realize there be thousands o possibilities. N it baint change our path, Alma.”

Horace sighed as he nodded, maybe he was overthinking things. He couldn’t help it though; it gave a distraction from the path ahead. Despite the presence of Ezra and Will, Horace doubted the Aldan would let them past the border. If so he had no idea what they were going to do when they were turned away. East lay Lir which was a greater danger than Regis. A sobering thought that sent a chill through Horace made him realize how few allies Regis really had. Hyria was only a bought ally; they would never be accepted into the river lands. Xin was unreachable from where they were and had its own dangers as well. The Mark wouldn’t be welcoming as well as the rest of the north, and Dridia’s mages had their own agenda above theirs.

Horace had to face the fact that outside of Regis as a Regarian he wouldn’t be welcomed.

They traveled through the countryside, mostly farms run by Elmerian farmers which they avoided keeping to the road. Horace had always wondered why it was these lands that the first Arian had laid claim to when he took the throne. Seeing the lands, they passed through he understood a little more now. The wine yards and crops provided the bulk of wealth not timber, as crops were always in high demand. He wondered then as well, if Alda’s bread basket now rested in Regarian lands how did they feed their people?

He resisted asking Glen, he would never be able to explain it with his limited communication skills. Horace doubted Ian or Rork knew, they seemed of simple country stock in education. So, Horace decided to try asking Pricilla, surely, she had learned something of the husbandry of the kingdoms.

“Pricilla,” Horace said riding next to the princess, stopping her from her constant list of woes. She glared at him, but he continued before she could start again. “Regis now holds all of Alda’s farm lands.”

“So? What about my nails?” Pricilla asked heatedly. “And you have my jewels, don’t you? Give them back.”

“I am holding them for you milady,” Horace said ignoring her tone. “If Regis holds all of Alda’s farms how do they feed themselves?”

“How on earth would I know that?” Pricilla asked.

“Because you’re the princess of Regis,” Horace answered. “Don’t you receive schooling?”

“No, mother says a girl that is intelligent only scares away a good husband,” Pricilla said tossing her hair back.

“Do you even know how to read?” Horace asked and Pricilla wrinkled her nose.

“Why would I need to know that?” Pricilla asked. “I have servants.”

Horace ground his teeth in frustration, and out of anger turned to Rork.

“Rork do you know how to read?” Horace asked.

“O course,” Rork answered, he walked next to them with a steady stroll, a long piece of milk grass hanging from his lips. “Hyrian, bit o Regarian, n Markian too.”

“You speak all those languages?” Horace asked.

“Five,” Rork answered. “Hyrian n the trade tongue fluently, smidgen o Markian, Regarian, n now Daunish thanks ta Ian.”

“Well princess of Regis it looks like this country bumpkin next to us is more educated than you,” Horace said.

“Well then ask him how the Aldan eat,” Pricilla said waspishly.

“Wouldn’t coggin that darling,” Rork said. “Alda’s been closed tighter than a virgin’s ass.” Pricilla gasped in outrage at Rork’s language, but he continued. “We’ll be the first inta those borders in twenty years.”

“You might want to consider wising up Pricilla,” Horace said. “Because last I checked you’re no longer on your high perch.”

Pricilla frowned, Horace unsure if it was in thought or anger. He let her be, deciding to ride ahead. They were nearing the border after a week’s worth of riding. Horace scouted ahead, looking for the forest on the horizon. To the north he could see the line of green of the forest; they could reach it before night fell.

They rode on, pressing harder to beat the dusk, despite Pricilla’s whining. At last they reached the forest wall, the sun low in the sky setting shadows lengthening. Ian reigned in and everyone followed suit, Rork stopping his jog and gasping for breath.

“I’ll approach the forest first,” Ian said. “With Will I should be able ta…”

He stopped when Pricilla suddenly dashed for the tree line, taking them all off guard.

“Stop!” Horace shouted running after her, Glen hot on his heels.

“Help!” Pricilla shrieked running for the trees, Horace realizing she had been waiting for a moment to escape. She however was not a very fit runner, Horace caught up to her before she reached the trees. He scooped her up, screaming and beating at him uselessly with her fists, only to have an arrow land only a few hand spans from his boot.

He froze, but Pricilla tried to wiggle away again forcing him to take a few steps past the arrow. Pulling Pricilla back by the hair he covered her with his arms, just as another arrow struck this time lodging in his right bicep. Pricilla saw the arrow then and stopped, staring at it in his arm. Horace pulled her back, another arrow glancing off his mail on his shoulder.

Glen was at his side then, his hands fluttering as he looked at the arrow in his arm.

“It’s nothing, not even a knuckle in,” Horace said. “We need to get back.”

Glen shook his head pointing to the arrow still in the ground.

“That’s the marker then?” Horace asked and Glen nodded. “Don’t go past that point, I get it.”

Ian arrived with Will, the child staring at everything wide eyed.

“So much fer me goin first,” Ian muttered glaring at Pricilla, but she was still staring at the arrow in Horace’s arm. Glen waved his hands and pointed towards the trees. Five figures dropped from the trees, gathering in a wedge formation. The two at the ends had bows drawn, the two in the middle held swords ready, and the leader strode forward with a long spear. Horace had to admire their movements and formation, neat, organized, graceful, and fluid. All wore molted grays with hoods and cowls, their innate grace the only mark towards their Aldan race.

They stopped a few spans away, near enough for words to be exchanged or arrows.

“Alda is closed to the likes of you,” the leader said, his spear resting on his shoulder. “Leave.”

“We baint be all we seem,” Ian said stepping forward to where the arrow rested. He held out his son who turned to the Aldan curious.

“Where did you steal that child?” The Aldan spat, those behind him shifting restlessly.

“He be mine n I ken ye can see that,” Ian said holding his son close again. “My name be Ian o the Orna, this be mine son Will. His mother be Bailey, n her mother be Eileen V Alvar.”

Horace saw the Aldan flinch back, only those with drawn bows did not move. Carefully the leader walked forward and inspected Will closely, then looked up at Ian. He stared into Ian’s face, but what he read there Horace could only guess at. His stance relaxed and on some ungiven signal the bowmen relaxed their draws and swordsmen sheathed their swords. The leader removed his hood and cowl, revealing a youthful face despite his air or command.

“Welcome wanderer,” the leader said. “My name is Lorne Fay, Baron of the Young Woods.”

“Thank ye,” Ian said bowing his head.

“I’m afraid we can only let you and your son past,” Lorne said glaring over at Horace, Pricilla, and Glen. “The rest we must turn away.”

“No!” Pricilla said suddenly waking from her stupor. “You don’t understand. I am Princess Pricilla, these bruits kidnapped me! You have to save me!”

“Only those of Aldan blood, or close relation, may enter Alma,” Lorne said coldly.

“But she is of Aldan blood,” Horace said and Lorne looked at him with burning indigo eyes. “Distantly, but blood is blood is it not?”

Lorne seemed to chew on this like a piece of bile unwillingly.

“There be more ta our party,” Ian said waving behind him. Horace turned to see Rork was walking up leading Ezra. When Ezra saw the other Aldan he gasped and hurried forward.

“Brethren!” Ezra shouted. “I bring word from the raven! Death is not coming tonight.”

“Ezra Croft,” Lorne said shocked, sounding desolate. “What happened to him?”

“He’s gone mad,” Ian said as Ezra reached the Aldan walking around them and muttering softly. “His thoughts all be jumbled up in him. I can calm him but it can take me hours ta make him make any sense n then fer only a short time.”

“I see,” Lorne said softly, sorrow in his eyes. “I’ve read his histories, he wrote with a clear heart.”

“Clear his heart still be,” Ian said. “It be his mind all muddled.”

“The trees eat the winds, don’t you see it?” Ezra said to one of the Aldan. “They mean to steal my breath but I will not let them.”

“Thank you for bringing him,” Lorne said. “Even if he is mad.”

“I hope this means ye will let us all pass,” Ian said. Lorne scowled, but then looked at Horace with Pricilla still in his arms.

“Milady Pricilla, you said these men kidnapped you?” Lorne said. Pricilla shook Horace’s arm off and stepped forward then, looking up at Lorne doe eyed.

“Yes, please help me return home,” Pricilla said pleadingly. Lorne looked around waiting obviously for someone to contradict her, but no one spoke so he looked back at Pricilla.

“We cannot return you,” Lorne said. “We will not leave Alda. It seems these men wish to guard you Lady Pricilla, it would be wise to stay with them.”

“You cur!” Pricilla snapped stamping her foot petulantly. “You heartless monster!”

Lorne turned away from her then, ignoring her to face Ian.

“You and all your party may walk the forest path,” Lorne said. “But we will offer no guard nor guide for we can spare none from our watch. I believe however this will not be a hindrance to one such as yourself or the boy behind you.”

“We’ll find our way,” Ian said nodding. “Will we need a token ta pass through the forest unmolested?”

“No, that you were allowed to pass stands for itself,” Lorne answered. “But please take Ezra with you to Alma, he has kin there that will take care of him.”

“Aye,” Ian said. “I thank ye, kin ta my wife.”

“Near enough kin you are to us now,” Lorne answered him. “Perhaps we should seek the Daunish to spread the blood through.”

“Ye’ll have ta go ta the moors fer that,” Ian said with a slight grin. “Daunish lasses baint like ta wander from their sheep long.”

Lorne smiled slightly in return to that, nodding to Ian before he and his men returned to the woods. Ezra watched them go, muttering again to himself. Rork led him away back towards the horses.

“Gather the horses,” Ian said his eyes on the trees where the Aldan disappeared. The gate in the wall of trees was opened, the large boulder lifting up from the gate.

Glen was at Horace’s side, and carefully pulled the arrow from his arm. Horace winced, but the arrow head hadn’t been barbed so it came out cleanly. Glen made a quick bandage for the wound, but it was a minor wound. They mounted and started off towards the woods, Rork leading Ezra’s horse.

“Why did you kidnap me?” Pricilla asked riding next to him. Horace turned to her to see her glaring up at him, a glare of puzzlement more than anger.

“We saved you milady from an assassin,” Horace said.

“Lies,” Pricilla hissed.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me,” Horace said wearily. “It doesn’t matter if you hate me or curse me. I’m not doing this to earn your love.”

“Then why?” Pricilla asked, Horace feeling Glen’s eyes on him waiting for the answer as well. He sighed because he knew the answer, had learned it the moment the assassin had tried to kill Pricilla.

“Because you don’t deserve to die,” Horace answered looking at her. “You maybe a brat but you did not choose your lot any more than the poorest urchin.”

“Aye n it be what we make o our lot be what determines our worth,” Ian said mildly. “Ye learn this lesson well lady n might be ye’ll outgrow what ye were born ta.”

“I am a princess of the high throne!” Pricilla said sharply. “What more is there?”

“That be fer ye ta learn,” Ian said simply. She huffed and looked away, obviously unwilling to accept this. Horace held hope that she would learn though, after all he had grown beyond his past so could she.

They rode through the tree gate, Horace amazed to see how the trees had grown together into a virtual wall of living wood. Beyond the forest was dark, shadows dancing in the twilight. Ian led the way down the forest path, no sign of the Aldan. The forest was dark and oppressive, the horses moving slowly over the uneven path.

They found a campsite not far into the forest, and rested until day break. The woods were dark here, tall pines and conifers ruling the woods. The undergrowth was thick and the path took a winding turn. There were many paths they crossed; Horace lost all sense of direction. Ian led the way assured though, and Horace didn’t bother to ask his means of guidance. The answer to Horace’s question from before came upon them as they rode the forest path.

They came upon a village, the pod like homes built among the trees and up into the foliage. Every house was boarded up, vines and moss covering them showing years maybe decades of abandonment. There was no sign of violence, this place had been left willingly.

“The wars,” Rork said and Horace turned to him. “Alda took many casualties.”

“They’re gone,” Horace said realizing what he meant. “That is why they can feed themselves without their farmlands, the Aldan are gone.”

“Nowt gone,” Ian said sadly. “Fewer, n fadin.”

Glen made the sign of Eos, her rising power.

“Aye, but they will rise again,” Ian said nodding. “Come we must move on.”

Horace turned to see Pricilla staring at the abandoned village, her face slack with shock.

“See now the price of our pride,” Horace said sadly, a truth he had come to realize. She looked at him, confused and obviously still struggling with her emotions on this. “We thought them arrogant, lording over us all with their long lives and beauty. But really they were alone, so alone they sought to bring peace to the kingdoms and be our guides. This is how we’ve repaid the people that ended the Cursed Age.”

“Why did they just abandon the village?” Pricilla asked softly.

“Because they are dying,” Horace answered.

“The Phay will march,” Ian said. “N the Aldan will be reunited with their kin.”

Horace nodded, but feared pointing out what could happen if the Phay didn’t march. The looming Orc army to the east would decimate them, and even if it didn’t the slow progress of time would instead. He had no relation to the Aldan, but he couldn’t help but feel sad that they might disappear from the world. A whole people gone made him realize how important diversity really was.

They rode on through the forest, Ian leading the way. Pricilla was at last quiet from her usual complaints; she had slipped into a silent melancholy. Horace let her reach her own conclusions, as he once did. He did not envy her though; he knew the cost of change.

#fairies #fantasy #series #writing #please read #dragons

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andyangus · 4 years

Text

Wednesday 17th March

11.10 a.m. Gordon Bennett flinched when he first saw me at the bar. ‘Andy, is that you?’ he asked, in disbelief. ‘Bloody hell! What happened to you?’ I believe he would have yelped, ‘Gordon Bennett!’ but that would’ve been ironic, I loath to report. I spun a yarn about spilling a large glass of red wine over my original outfit and having to, unfortunately, borrow this ensemble from a colourblind fashion victim of the New Romantic period. He didn’t sound convinced when he asked, ‘And the hat?’

‘My hair was singed badly by one of the many scented candles my flatmate irresponsibly leaves burning around the flat,’ was my swift reply, as I shot daggers at Ryan who was oblivious and having a whale of a time at the bar with his moocher friends. ‘Drink?’ I yelped, in an attempt to move away from fashion completely. Ryan winked at me as if to say, ‘All going well so far.’ I could’ve killed him. I was the fashion equivalent of Pricilla Presley’s Botox job.

Despite this, the night got better. Let’s face it, the only way was up. Ryan let his hair down and even got a bit of interest from a few students. ‘I’m at that age when younger men find me fascinating and alluring,’ he wailed over the music to Gordon. ‘The experience of an older man is very enticing to the younger generation. This is no revelation to our Andy, mind you, as he’s considerably older than me, Gordon Bennett!’ I detested that he took every opportunity to say Gordon’s full name with an exclamation.

‘Sixteen months is not that much older,’ I interjected.

Ryan flicked his hair sloppily, as he was well on his way to drunkenness, and ignored my protest. ‘Of course, all this allure and youth is wasted on me as I just can’t see past my gorgeous Tony,’ he slurred.

I wanted to grab him and say, ‘You fool! Tony is a tactless, egocentric streak of piss!’ while shaking him feverishly by the shoulders and slapping him up and down the bar, but I could hardly shake a leg in my circulation constricting jeans. Instead, I opted for the slightly sarcastic and yet safe, ‘Aww!’

Despite my awful attire, Gordon was keen to get close to me as the last track was played and T-shirts were pulled back over sweaty, youthful torsos. I was glad they turned up the lights as Gordon’s teeth went neon every time the bar’s UV strips caught his grin. It was like talking to a Cheshire cat. Still, only one minus so far, so not bad.

Gordon leant in and gave me a kiss with such passion I was delighted the anaesthetic had worn off. ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling out of the kiss but still holding me close. ‘Just checking my work.’

‘All okay?’ I asked, blatantly flirting.

‘I’d better check again. You know, to be thorough. I need to get as far back as seventeen and thirty-two.’

‘Is that far back?’

‘Molars, baby, we’re talking molars.’

What’s a boy to do? ‘Ah, okay.’ I opened wide, and he slipped his tongue deep into my hungry mouth. He was that far in me, I could feel his breath in my lungs. My arousal was so apparent through the stretchy jeans I became embarrassed when we parted again, covering it up with my beer. Gordon, however, seemed amused and impressed at the now prominent silhouette. He pushed the bottle out of the way and squeezed the denim hard, causing me to pulsate in agreement.

Ryan slid his hands between us and pushed us apart. ‘Ugh! Enough, girls. Get a room. Honestly, keep this up and I’ll …’ He didn’t manage to finish his words, but we soon got the gist when he took a mighty gasp and proceeded to projectile vomit at our feet.

‘I think we’ll call it a night there,’ said Gordon, retching as he inched back in disgust from the diffusing pool of WKD, bile and M&S Chicken Tikka Marsala that had been served up between us.

‘I think you’re right,’ I sighed as we watched Ryan crack and collapse like a condemned high-rise block that had just had a ton of explosives detonate at its feet.

It wasn’t easy supporting Ryan on the road home. Even the taxi warden wouldn’t allow us the short trip up the street, which says something as I watched her guide a raucous hen party into a hackney moments before.

‘You know, I’m glad you came back. I really do love you, Andy,’ sprayed Ryan as he slid down the front door. I fumbled for the key as quickly as I could. It doesn’t come naturally to requite love when your mate’s hair is matted with a mixture of Paul Smith, alcohol, bile and curry.

Tony wasn’t best pleased to be woken by a drunk husband-to-be and his wedding planner, but I don’t give a damn. It was well worth torturing him for a night after the bath incident. What’s he going to do? Throw me out? I don’t think so. Any-rate, I have a date with Gordon on Friday night. A lovely, single, sane, handsome, professional homosexual. Already I can see a lifetime of comfort and gleaming molars.

Result!

7.33 p.m. A text from 4x4 Guy: ‘R U free tomorrow at 12?’

His timing is rubbish! And short notice. But I agreed. We’re meeting at Joseph Pearson’s on Elm Row. I’ll be wearing my usual casual attire. I will most certainly not be making an effort for a married man. He’s lucky I don’t turn up in my TARDIS pyjamas.

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fableweaver · 5 years

Text

Arc of the Valiant Paladin

They docked in Grace Harbor, a small Regarian village south of the Lady of the Rock. Horace paid the boatman, two silver coins for the man’s service and silence. The village was small and homey, a simple fishing village with simple folk. Horace looked at Glen wrapped in the robes of Iris. He could see nothing of his face behind the lacy veil, but his body language spoke of fatigue.

“Are you feeling alright?” Horace asked. “We can rest here if you need to.”

Glen only shook his head and motioned on, squaring his shoulders. Still worried, but deciding it was wiser to keep moving Horace led the way into the village. The docks were busy with fishermen as the men were preparing to cast out for the day’s work. Most here were Regarian with a few Elmerians as deck hands. Hyrians were not the only ones to build boats of course, just the best. A Regarian fishing skiff seemed sad compared to the colorful and artful vessels of the Hyrians.

Past the docks the village was a cozy place with shingled cottages and cobbled streets. Glen stuck close to Horace and as they walked Horace noticed Glen didn’t trip or fall into any puddles. He had been worried about the fine silk robes Glen was to wear, but somehow Glen seemed to avoid any mishaps this time. Horace led the way out of the village and along the road, Glen keeping pace with him.

“We’re going to a farm where Gervase arranged horses and supplies for us,” Horace said turning to Glen realizing that if he had any questions he couldn’t ask them. “Then we’ll ride on to Torington.”

Glen shook his head and began gesturing, but Horace couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Seeing this Glen stopped and picked up a stick.

We can’t go to Torington Glen wrote in the dirt of the road.

“Why not?” Horace asked. “You’ll be safe from Elisha there Glen.”

I need to go to find the song Glen wrote.

“Song?” Horace said. “This has to do with the Phay doesn’t it? I’m not helping you traipse around half the kingdoms Glen. You’re in no shape for an adventure.”

Glen shook his head, pulling up his veil and gesturing. Horace crossed his arms and glared at him, expecting Glen to wilt under his glare and give way. But Glen glared right back at him, his blue eyes set and determined. He only looked away to write in the dirt again and Horace looked down to see what he wrote.

I need to go to Cair Leone! Glen had written it in bold letters and underlined it as well. Horace stared at the name of the city feeling his heart flutter suddenly. Cair Leone the city where Pricilla lived. Desire wared with caution. Gervase had made it so his absence from the knights would not be missed, but only for as long as it took him to get Glen to Torington. After that Horace had to rejoin the army in the east or he could lose his position in the knights.

But just the thought of seeing Pricilla again overcame all desires of standing. It was idiotic, he knew it was a bad idea, but he really wanted to go and see her again even just a glimpse. Horace looked at Glen and saw his brother watching him with a look of sheer determination.

‘If you won’t take me I’ll go alone’ Glen’s eyes said. Horace looked away from his eyes; he had never seen Glen look so determined and confident, only shy and compliant.

“Alright,” Horace said relenting. “Do the Phay really mean that much to you?”

Glen’s eyes filled with tears and he looked away to dry them. He nodded and pulled his veil back in place, radiating sorrow. Deciding not to ask Horace turned back to the road. It was a short walk to the farm Gervase had mentioned and they arrived midmorning. The only one in the farm house was an old Regarian lady, her back bent and eyes blind.

“Gervase told me that you’d be along today,” the old woman said. “You’re timing is good, everyone is out tending to the fields.”

“In winter?” Horace said puzzled.

“There is just as much to do in winter as in the spring,” the old woman answered. “Mainly picking stones from fallow fields. Come, I’ll show you to the barn.”

They followed her through the yard and to the barn where several horses were stabled.

“These two will be yours,” the woman said indicating two stalls. “I would help you saddle them but…”

“Don’t bother milady I can handle it myself,” Horace said and the woman laughed.

“I’ll just go get your supplies then,” she said giggling. Horace kept his smile until she was gone; he knew flattering old women kept them from griping.

By the time he got the horses out and saddled the old lady had returned with the supplies.

“Thank you again for your help,” Horace said to her.

“Tell Gervase to come and visit me sometime,” the woman answered. “I get so lonely in the winter.”

She cackled as she hobbled back to the house, Horace suppressing a gag at the idea of her as a lover. He helped Glen mount before mounting his own horse and they rode off at a steady walk. They rode off joining the road again heading north. Horace noticed that as they rode Glen prayed to the gods, making hand signs to the sky.

“Wait, that’s it,” Horace said when Glen finished. “You can communicate with those hand signs.”

Glen shook his head and made a negative gesture.

“Why not?” Horace asked and Glen sighed. He started to make a few signs with his hands, the sign of aid then the sign of guidance. It took Horace a moment before he realized what Glen was trying to demonstrate instead of say. “The signs are just a few words, there is no way you could form a sentence with them.”

Glen nodded and Horace sighed. It was a good idea, but Glen wouldn’t be able to convey much with just hand signs. Besides, Horace was a bit out of practice in his prayer signs, having focused more on his combat training rather than the prayers.

“Maybe we can get you some slate and chalk to write with,” Horace said instead and Glen nodded. Then Glen waved at him as if he thought of something. Horace rode next to him and Glen held out his hand. Horace gave him his hand and Glen wrote on his hand with his finger. Horace thought this was a good way to communicate as well, thought it was slow since Glen had to spell out everything. “P-A-S-S? Pass, oh you want to see the pass Gervase gave me.”

Glen nodded and Horace searched through his pockets until he found the travel papers Gervase had provided. Glen opened the pass and read through it and the letter that came with it, before he nodded. He held the paper out to Horace, pointing to a spot on the page.

“Torington,” Horace said his heart falling. “It says our destination is Torington. That’s far to the south of here, there is no way we would be traveling north to Cair Leone.”

Glen pointed to himself and then mimed writing.

“You can fix it?” Horace asked and Glen nodded. “What will you need? Ink?”

Glen nodded and then pointed to Horace’s sword.

“A blade?” Horace said and Glen nodded again. “And some pens too I suppose. We can get those in the next village. I doubt anyone will check our papers for a while but they will when we get close to Cair Leone and when we try to get into the city. I have enough coin to get us there and keep us in an inn for a short time, but after that I’m not sure what we’ll do.”

Glen didn’t answer this, probably because he didn’t have an answer. Horace looked at his brother riding next to him; he had pulled back the veil since they were alone on the road. He had scars around his mouth and lips. He was painfully thin, his cheeks hollow and eyes sunken in. Yet he had an air of calm and peace about him, he no longer seemed awkward and odd. It was like for the first time he was comfortable in his skin.

“We can stop early if you feel tired,” Horace said and Glen looked at him. He smiled, holding up his arms to show he was strong, before lowering them to grin sheepishly. “I take it that means you’re up for a long ride?” Glen nodded and smiled.

They rode in silence for a time, the country side of Regis passing them by. The farms of the south were barren now in winter, yet there was only a dusting of snow over the fields and trees. Along the coastal regions Regis was flat lowland good for farming. It was in the foothills of the Spine Mountains where Regis gained its wealth, gold. The Arc River flowed out of the Spine Mountains and into southern Regis, rich with gold. The hills and mountains of that area were heavy with mines for gold, slaves traded from Xin dying in those caves.

As they rode through the peaceful country side Horace grew restless. He was used to the conversation of many young men as they rode, even if he wasn’t participating in it. Horace looked at Glen and saw his eyes were drifting, as if he saw something that wasn’t really there.

“Are you really mad Glen?” Horace asked worried. “What are you looking at?”

Glen looked at him and shook his head, then seemed to think of something. He held out his hand and Horace waited to see what he was doing. A sudden breeze blew down, biting cold and plucking at Glen’s robes. Horace watched startled as the air above Glen’s hand shimmered and then a creature appeared. It was feathery like a bird but vaguely human in shape, limbs thin and spindly. It danced around before vanishing again, the wind dying as it left.

“What was that?” Horace asked in a small voice. Glen took his hand and spelled out a word, but it took Horace a moment to understand. “Sylph? What is a Sylph?” Glen continued to write, tapping Horace’s hand when he finished a word.

“Wild Kin,” Horace said reading along with Glen’s writing. “Is it a Phay?”

Glen shook his head and wrote again.

“Wind Spirit,” Horace read. “So it lives in the wind?” Glen nodded enthused, then he made the gesture of peace and life. “They’re good spirits?” Glen made the sign of evil then. “Bad spirits?” Glen shook his head signing out unity. “They’re both good and bad?” Glen nodded.

“And you can control them?” Horace asked and Glen made a wry face. “Alright sort of control them. Like that fire creature you summoned before.”

Glen took his hand again and spelled out ‘Salamander’.

“How do you know so much about this?” Horace asked. Glen wrote a word that it took Horace a moment to realize it was a name. “Bailey? Who is he?” Glen made the gesture of mother. “She, who is she?” Glen wrote the word ‘witch’ onto Horace’s palm. “She taught you this witchcraft.”

Glen nodded and looked at him worried.

“Relax, I know whatever your powers are you will use them wisely,” Horace answered. “You saved us in that village after all. Thank you for that.”

Glen smiled at him and nodded, Horace smiling back at him. After that Horace just talked to Glen, catching him up on the family. He had been sent back to their family manor after he received his deployment; many noble knights got that right to see their families before they were sent off to war. There was the regular gossip, who had a child, or who married who. Their parents were well, and overjoyed that their son had been declared mad. Horace still remembered sourly his mother nearly cheering in relief at the news.

He hadn’t been this way before; he had agreed with his family that Glen had been a nuisance. But he had seen Glen face off against the Legion; he had saved everyone’s lives then. It had been that event, and Glen’s obvious suffering, that had swayed Horace. He realized there was much more to his brother than he had thought a heart of courage and compassion that was admirable and envious.

As they traveled Horace noticed one thing about Glen that he had never thought of. Glen admired Horace, it was obvious in the way he deferred to him and listened to everything he said. Horace wasn’t sure what to feel about that. He knew before he would have felt glad and arrogant over his younger brother’s admiration. He would have thought it was his right as an old brother to have his younger brother’s admiration. But now Horace wasn’t so sure he felt worthy of Glen’s opinion, if he had been a better brother Glen’s tongue wouldn’t have been cut out. In fact through their childhood Horace could have done a lot more to be a better brother.

Horace did his best to set his doubt aside as they neared Cair Leone. The countryside became richer with farms and villages, more people traveling the roads. Most travelers were Elmerian or Regarian in these parts, but there were still a few Rhodin despite the Regarians’ dislike for the wandering people. The Rhodin went where they pleased and no one could stop them.

At last after two weeks of travel they had arrived at the greatest city in all the kingdoms. Cair Leone spread out before them in a dark line, the palace sitting over all on a hill. They joined the great flow of traffic into Odd Terminal, the southern district where the trade routes met and warehouses stored all the trade goods. The streets here were wide for the flow of traffic, but it still moved slowly.

Horace stood in his stirrups trying to see what the holdup was in the traffic. He could just see over the traffic ahead to see knights surrounding a palanquin of a noble lady. Horace couldn’t see much more other than the traffic was slowed because of the pace of the palanquin. He sat back wondering who was traveling through the Odd Terminal. He looked over at Glen who tipped his head to the side in inquiry. He had pulled his veil over his face so Horace couldn’t see he face now.

“It looks like a noble lady is traveling through here,” Horace said. “We may be caught behind her routine for a while. I know an inn in the merchant quarter that is nice enough, if we could just get there…”

Glen grabbed his arm suddenly and pointed. Horace followed his finger but saw nothing, Glen pointing to one of the warehouses ahead.

“What? I don’t see anything,” Horace said confused. Glen grabbed his head and moved it so he was looking at the roof. Horace squinted, but it took him a moment to spot what Glen had been trying to point out. On the flat top of the warehouse a man crouched behind the wall that topped the roof. He was well camouflaged wearing colors of the brick around him, and he barely moved which made him hard to spot. Horace wondered how on earth Glen had spotted him.

As a knight Horace realized immediately the man’s intentions. He was at a corner where the noble lady’s palanquin would turn, and a perfect place to drop down on her palanquin to kill her. Horace reached down to the holster in his saddle where he had several javelins stored. Gervase had provided him a sword, mail, and at his request javelins. Horace had wanted a lance but Gervase said that would attract too much attention. Now however he wished for a long bow.

Horace carefully drew his javelin, trying not to gain attention and warn his prey. Already his mind was calculating angles and distance and he knew that his only chance of a hit would be when the man dropped down. The lady’s palanquin approached the corner and slowed to make the turn and the assassin stood up. Horace stood in his stirrup, raising his javelin, and threw. The bolt flew true, just as the man jumped from the roof the javelin whistled through the air. It caught him in the chest and he fell short of his mark among the knights guarding the lady’s palanquin.

People cried out in surprise and the traffic slowed to a stop as men shouted orders. There was a moment of confusion as people milled about, but the lady’s palanquin hurried off. Horace watched it go disappointed; he had hoped the lady would come out to thank him. Glen patted him on the shoulder, giving him the sign of greatness and thanks.

“It was a good shot,” Horace said hiding his disappointment.

Traffic had come to a standstill now and Horace was ready to sit in for a long wait when a knight pushed his way through the crowd. He was on foot, while those around them were either on carts or horse, but others still made way for him. He was looking around and when he saw Horace he hurried forward.

He was a Regarian, in his mid-thirties, and wore a distinguishing mustache. He took off his helm as a sign or respect and Horace did the same, though he didn’t dismount in the middle of traffic.

“You are the knight who threw that javelin?” The knight asked.

“I am Sir,” Horace answered. “I am Sir Horace of Tairgare, escorting my cousin Gwen of Tairgare. She has taken oaths of silence and chastity in the name of Iris.”

“I am Sir Bedivere of Sereaux,” the knight answered. “Champion of the Princess Jeanne Drasir. Come with me, the Lady Jeanne would like to have a word with you.”

Feeling both excited and terrified Horace nodded. He was excited because this was his chance to be noticed and gain glory. At the same time he had used a fake name, and if Glen was discovered it would mean his death and Horace’s humiliation. Still he had no choice, but to follow Sir Bedivere as he ordered the people to part to let them through.

They followed Sir Bedivere until he reached a corner where a boy stood holding the reigns of a horse. Bedivere mounted and led the way through the city. As they rode through the city Horace felt his tension begin to rise. The crowds parted for them and they made good time through the city, which gave Horace less time to try to think up a story. They forged their travel papers to reflect Cair Leone as their destination, but hadn’t thought of a back story to go with it. Horace had thought they wouldn’t need it.

They passed through several gates and approached the palace, Horace cobbling together a story he hoped would pass. They reached the courtyard before the palace and dismounted, grooms hurrying to take their horses. Glen stayed close to Horace with his head down so he seemed smaller.

“The Lady Jeanne will be here shortly,” Bedivere said. “We probably beat her here riding as we did.”

“Of course,” Horace said trying to seem unconcerned.

“Perhaps we should move indoors for the Lady Gwen’s comfort?” Bedivere said. Glen answered by waving his hand, making the sign for prayers.

“I believe Lady Gwen wishes to pray,” Horace said. “It is time for High Hour prayers.”

Glen nodded to him before moving a little ways off to pray. He didn’t kneel, probably to preserve the fine silk of his gown. Horace watched as Glen signed to the Gods and wondered about that. Most of the members of the Sect hardly preyed once they became full Sects. It just seemed tedious to pray six times a day, many making the excuse that they were already close with the gods so they didn’t need to pray. Horace had hardly ever prayed, he believed in the gods but to him it seemed like the Sect had taken on a life of its own now. It was an institute of power more than of religion, and that power was slipping now that the cult of the Legion was spreading.

“So what brings you here Sir Horace?” Bedivere asked almost casually. “I am surprised you and your cousin risked the roads given the current uproar and war. Especially in the cold season.”

“It is the cold season that brought us Sir Bedivere,” Horace answered. “Cael’s Day is near and my cousin wished to be in Cair Leone for the festival.”

It was thin but it was the best he could come up with. Bedivere simply nodded, Horace unable to tell if he believed him. They both turned at the sound of boots on cobble stones. Lady Jeanne’s procession had arrived, marching into the courtyard. The men carrying the palanquin set it down with care and the curtains parted.

Lady Jeanne stepped out, one of the knights offering her a hand which she took. She was gorgeous, Horace sure that she had several beauty enchantments. Her raven black hair fell in waves down her back, her skin milky pale, and hazel eyes were like burnished bronze. She wore a fine gown of blue silk and elegant lace, cut in the Markian fashion with bell sleeves and low neck line. She wore jewels as well, a necklace of diamonds, and a silver circlet around her brow.

Her eyes were sharp when she looked at Horace, not with challenge but with what seemed like curiosity. She walked up to him and he realized how tall she was, only half a head shorter than him and he stood six spans tall. She stopped before him and he bowed to her, his mouth dry.

“I owe you my life sir knight,” Lady Jeanne said smoothly; “And that of the child I carry. What is your name?”

“I am Sir Horace of Tairgare,” Horace answered unable to meet her penetrating stare.

“I thank you Sir Horace for your courageous act,” Jeanne said and Horace glanced up just in time to catch a smile from her. “How did you manage to see the assassin before he struck?”

“I didn’t milady my cousin did,” Horace answered indicating Glen standing behind him. “This is the Lady Gwen of Tairgare, a Sect sworn to the goddess Iris.”

“Lady Gwen, I own you thanks as well,” Jeanne said to Glen. Glen only nodded to her and Jeanne frowned.

“Lady Gwen has taken vows of silence and chastity milady,” Horace said quickly and Jeanne’s frown disappeared.

“I see,” Jeanne said. She stared at Glen for a moment, Horace feeling sweat drip down his back. “Lady Gwen you must be very dedicated to your goddess.”

Glen nodded and made the sign of love with his hands.

“My cousin has always been loyal to the gods,” Horace said.

“The Gods are lucky to have such a loyal servant,” Jeanne said still staring at Glen. “What brings you to Cair Leone in such dangerous times Sir Horace?”

“We came to celebrate Cael’s day in the capital,” Horace answered.

“I see, so you were not called off to the war?” Jeanne said.

“I am to go once I escort my cousin back home,” Horace answered his heart pounding.

“Many of my own knights are being sent away,” Jeanne said. “King Arian ordered half of them to march to Lir once the god’s day is past; he says I don’t need ten knights to protect me. After today it is obvious I don’t need more knights just good ones.”

Horace felt his heart race more, was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting?

“My personal Sect also went missing a few weeks back and the Grand Sect has been on my case to get a new one,” Jeanne continued. “My last one spoke too much and scolded me all the time, I think I would like someone who is a bit more silent than her.”

“Milady I don’t think…” Horace started to say but Glen cut him off by grabbing his arm. He stepped forward to Jeanne and bowed to her, making the hand sign of acceptance.

“Does that mean you would take up my proposal?” Jeanne said excited.

“Just a minute milady I have to have a word with my cousin,” Horace said panicked as he took Glen by the arm and pulled him away until they were out of ear shot. “What are you thinking? Our covers aren’t good enough to last through a long period of time Glen. Plus you’ll be discovered. We can’t take up her offer.”

Glen shook his head and mimed out reading and writing.

“Books? You want access to the library in the palace don’t you?” Horace asked and Glen nodded enthusiastically. “Glen there are better ways to get access to the books here.”

Glen then made some signs that Horace couldn’t follow, ending with the sign of the goddess Iris. He mimed threads and pointed to Jeanne.

“What does threads and Iris have to do with this?” Horace asked. Glen just shook his head waving his hands in frustration. “You think this is the right thing to do?” Horace asked and Glen nodded. “Do you think we should tell Jeanne the truth?”

Glen only shrugged, but Horace knew it was best to keep it a secret. He thought for a moment before he remembered who he was dealing with. Lady Jeanne was the future High Queen, she had a certain amount of power. He knew not to tell her the truth, but if she wanted Horace and Glen in her service then she would probably do things to make that happen.

He went back to Jeanne, Glen following him.

“Milady I would be more than willing to serve you, but I’m afraid there is a complicated matter in my family. My sister died of a fever last year, she had been promised in marriage to a wealthy lord. My father is the mayor of Tarigare, and when my sister died he despaired at the idea of losing the chance to elevate our family’s line. Then he remembered my cousin Gwen. He tried to pressure her into the marriage, but my mother kept him at bay for a time. The lord offered to raise the bride price and my mother gave in.

“Gwen has always been loyal to the gods, especially Iris, and had pledged herself to the goddess to forever be a virgin. My father bribed the local Sect to oversee the marriage against her objections and that is when she took the oath of silence. I couldn’t bear to see her married off no matter who it was because she was so loyal to the gods. I took her and we ran. My family cannot learn we are here, they have every legal right to take my cousin back.”

“I see,” Jeanne said. “So you are turning down my offer?”

“No milady,” Horace said quickly. “I am very honored and would love to serve you. I only ask that you keep our identities a secret. Perhaps there is a way you can make it so no one knows who we really are so that I am not called off to war and my cousin not forced into a marriage she does not want to enter.”

Jeanne was silent as she contemplated this. Horace had not been in the Sect when Jeanne had been married, he had been stationed in the palace at the time standing like a statue. He had of course heard the whole story afterwards through all the gossip. Rumor had it that Jeanne was not fond of her husband at all. That had been the main inspiration to Horace’s story.

“I believe I can make it so you and your cousin are safe here,” Jeanne said at last. “I don’t see much of a problem since your cousin hides behind a veil. I am sure she is so beautiful no man would forget her face.”

“I wouldn’t go that far milady,” Horace said with his throat tight. “Not as beautiful as you certainly.”

“I have three beauty sigils so of course I am gorgeous,” Jeanne said tossing a lock of hair back over her shoulder. “Do you have any sigils Sir Horace?”

“No milady my family could never afford them,” Horace answered. Sigils were only ever bought individually from families; the Sect never bought knights sigils. His father had bought some for his older brothers, but of course Horace never got any.

“We’ll have to remedy that,” Jeanne said. “If you are to be in my service you will have to be as strong as my other knights.”

“Thank you milady,” Horace said astonished.

“Does the Lady Gwen wish to have any enchantments done?” Jeanne asked, but Glen shook his head. “Very well, come then and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

They followed Lady Jeanne into the palace, only Sir Bedivere following them after he had a word with a servant.

“What of the other knights?” Horace asked.

“They only guard Jeanne when she goes on her tour of the city every week,” Bedivere answered.

“Sir Bedivere has a set of rooms near the women’s wing,” Jeanne said. “I hope it is alright if you two share rooms. I will see that another bed is set up.”

“It is alright with me,” Horace said glancing over at Bedivere.

“Fine with me as well,” Bedivere answered calmly. Horace looked at Bedivere for signs of resentment, but he was unreadable. After they had settled in their rooms he was given the day to rest. Glen had been given rooms in the women’s wing, Horace worried he would be discovered. Jeanne arranged it so Horace and Bedivere switched shifts guarding her, so Bedivere now had more time to himself. Horace followed Jeanne in the mornings until the afternoon, Bedivere guarding her in the evenings now.

Horace already knew how boring guard duty could be from having guarded the palace before. Luckily for him all the knights that had been here before were now at war, leaving only the older knights behind as guards for the palace. The palace was humming however as all the servants prepared for Cael’s Day. Cael’s Day was one of the most revered of the God’s days, heavily celebrated in Regis and the central kingdoms. So the party that was being thrown was of course huge and lavish.

Horace looked forward to the God’s day; it was a great feast not only because of the revelry, but because of the gifts. Being the father of the Gods Cael was generous, and so gifts were given out on his day. It was usually only gifts to one’s family members, though often suitors would give gifts to their lovers. Horace knew he had little chance, but he still decided to give a gift to Pricilla.

His problem though was what to give her. He had the coin Gervase had given him, which he was planning to save for when he and Glen had to leave Cair Leone. Jeanne had agreed to pay him in a little coin but he had been with her for only a few days and so had yet to be paid. He didn’t want to ask for coin from her. That left his own reserves and as a simple knight of the Sect he had little in way of coin.

It was barely enough to buy some simple silver wire. Horace had always been good with his hands and as a child had often made his Cael Day gifts. Using some pliers he had borrowed from a servant he twisted the wire into an elegant shape to make a bracelet. It took him most of the day before Cael’s Day to finish it but when he was done he felt it was a fair piece of work. Gold would have suited Pricilla more, it would have matched her golden hair, but he couldn’t have afforded gold.

Cael’s day arrived and Horace waited anxiously for his guard duty to be over. In the afternoon there would be a tourney so before it started he went out to search for Pricilla. Asking a few servants he soon tracked her down to the west garden. The garden was covered in snow, artfully decorated for Cael’s Day. The palace had hired several sculptors from Nyrgard to make snow statues and ice sculptures. There were many people gathered in the west garden to admire their work.

Pricilla walked with her mother and several other ladies in waiting, admiring the sculptures of bears and dragons. Horace felt his heart in his mouth as he looked at Pricilla, the winter sunlight glinting off her golden hair. Gathering his courage he walked up to them and bowed.

“Greetings your majesty and princess,” Horace said, keeping his eyes lowered. “My name is Horace of Tairgare.”

“Greetings,” Cecilia said seeming annoyed that he had spoken to them. “What do you want?”

“Princess Pricilla, I have a gift for you this Cael’s Day,” Horace said before Cecilia could dismiss him. He glanced up and was rewarded with a smile from Pricilla which gave him courage. He took out the small box he had tied with a simple blue ribbon for Cael. Pricilla took it with a light of excitement in her eye, which quickly died when she unwrapped the gift.

“What is this?’ she said with distaste as she lifted the bracelet from the box.

“I made it myself milady,” Horace said choking on the words. His face burned with shame as Cecilia and the other ladies tittered behind their hands. Pricilla’s eyes flashed with anger and she twisted the bracelet in her hands and threw it to the ground.

“This piece of trash is worthless,” Pricilla said angrily. “Leave now sir before I call the guards here for your presumptuous actions.”

“Yes milady,” Horace said. He bowed and walked away as quickly as he could, feeling tears choking him. He stopped behind a great fir tree to crouch down and hide. He felt as if Pricilla had twisted his heart and thrown it to the ground not the bracelet. He resisted the urge to weep; if he did he would never stop. Horace felt like the lowest piece of trash in the world. It had been a fool’s hope to think a princess would want anything to do with him a lowly knight with little to his name.

Shame was burning in him, but an angry hope came after as he remembered the tourney. If he could prove himself in the tourney he could show Pricilla how mistaken she had been to reject him. Maybe he could even win her over.

He stood and hurried then for the tourney grounds. Jeanne had entered him and Sir Bedivere in the tourney, Bedivere would joust while Horace would be in the sword fighting competition. There were little competitors in this tourney, most knights and lords had gone off to war with the King. Still the tourney grounds were crowded as the nobles and wealthy gathered for the entertainment.

The grounds were inside the palace grounds, situated in a large field along the west walls of the palace. The jousting was already underway when Horace arrived, but it looked like the sword fights had yet to begin. These tourneys could be dangerous, more died in the sword bouts than jousting. But Horace was skilled in the sword, having a natural gift for it. And Jeanne had already granted him with a strength enchantment and a speed enchantment.

After going to the armor tent Horace walked to the tourney field. He had gotten mail, a breast plate, shoulder guards, a helm, sword, and shield. Some knights wore more, but Horace liked to use his speed to his advantage. He went next to the board where the names of the competing knights were listed and their bouts. He was pleased to see he was going to be fighting soon and that he was in a bracket with some lords. Since the war was going on there were fewer knights around for the tourney and so more lords would be competing in the contest.

Horace waited down near the stands where the other knights waited for their bouts; only few here as the lords all had their own tents in which to wait. Horace glanced up into the stands to the royals. Jeanne sat with the Princess Sherah, talking behind their hands. Horace noticed Glen in his robes of Iris sitting next to Jeanne, his face unreadable behind his veil. Pricilla sat with her mother looking bored. The king’s throne sat empty between the two pairs, Horace wondering where the Prince Elrik was. From what he had heard he would have guessed Elrik would have loved these competitions.

His name was called and Horace walked into the ring. He saluted and bowed to the throne, glancing up at Pricilla. She wasn’t even watching him, with his helm he doubted she even knew it was him since she had probably forgotten his name. He turned his attention instead to his opponent. The man was a lord telling by his fine armor, built much like Horace in the shoulders and chest. Before Horace could measure more the bell rang and his opponent lashed out with his sword.

Horace danced aside, keeping his guard up and ignoring the cheers of the crowd. The lord came at him with wide swings of his sword, powerful strokes but with little aim or precision. Horace could also tell the man was putting a lot of strength into his swings by the air that whistled by as he dodged the man’s sword. The man wasn’t particularly skilled, he just seemed to think that if he swung his sword hard enough he would win.

Horace let him swing his sword for a solid five minutes, dancing aside and dodging each blow. This seemed to infuriate his opponent and the man kept charging at him. Horace could hear his ragged breath and could see his sword arm shaking. He watched several wide openings in his opponent’s guard go past before he chose his moment. The man swung too hard and Horace side stepped him, bringing his sword down on his opponent’s shoulders.

The man grunted, had he not been wearing armor he might have been decapitated. He fell to his knees and struggled to rise. Horace looked to the judge to call the match when the count of ten had been called and his opponent didn’t rise. The judge however did not call it even when it took the other man nearly a minute to rise. Horace felt his ire rise then, the man must have bribed the judge.

His opponent had gotten to his feet and charged him again angrily. Horace dodged the clumsy charge and lashed out with a kick to the man’s back side, sending him into the dirt again. The crowd laughed and cheered to see this, though the nobles of the audience looked grim. Horace ignored them as he walked over to his opponent and lifted him back onto his feet. He saw the man’s blue eyes glaring out at him from his helm and the man lashed out with his sword. Horace stepped back avoiding the blow as he had been expecting it.

His opponent was angry, but so was Horace and now he decided to attack. He swung his sword up and began a rain of blows on the man’s defenses. Horace saw his opponent’s desperation grow as each blow fell, his fine armor becoming dented and scratched. Horace completed the attack by lashing out with his shield, slamming it against his opponent’s and sending the man to the ground for a third time.

This time his opponent didn’t even struggle to rise, he lay in the dirt groaning. Horace looked to the judge once more and saw the man was white with terror. Puzzled Horace looked back to his opponent and only then noticed the sigil he wore on his shield and tunic. A dragon rampant, it was the Prince Elrik he had faced. Horace had been so caught up in Pricilla he hadn’t listened to the judge announce his opponent.

“Sir Horace of Tairgare is the winner,” the judge called out when it was apparent Elrik wasn’t going to get up again. The crowd of common folk applauded followed by a more hesitant applause by the crowd of nobles. Horace could hardly hear it through the ringing in his ears. He had just beat down the crown prince of the High Throne. Worst yet he was one of the sworn knights to his wife.

A mage and healer hurried out and knelt by the prince, taking his helm off. Elrik groaned and the mage cast a sigil over him. Color returned to his face and he slowly woke, looking around confused. He seemed to remember what had happened and sat up. He looked at Horace with utter rage, leaping to his feet as he grabbed his sword.

“How dare you!” Elrik roared. “How dare you beat your prince like a whipped dog? I’ll have you drawn and quartered for this you bastard.”

“Elrik that is enough,” Sherah said coolly from the stands. “It’s about time you got your ass handed to you, it is even better that it is from your wife’s knight.”

Elrik’s face flushed as he turned to his aunt.

“This is a matter for men not women!” he shouted.

“Your father left me in charge Elrik,” Sherah answered mildly. “Go throw a temper tantrum somewhere else.”

“I will not be talked to like some child!” Elrik shouted.

“Then do not act like one,” Sherah said. “Go now or I’ll have the guards drag you off.”

Elrik’s face was so red now Horace wondered if it would explode. He turned to Horace and Horace saw his eyes were wild with rage. Elrik charged him swinging his sword in wild arcs. Horace dodged and blocked Elrik, not with ease but Horace could tell he was in no danger. Elrik however looked to be in danger of chopping off his own head with his wild swings.

Horace waited and once again Elrik over extended and Horace was able to pin his sword arm against his side with his shield. Horace dropped his sword and grabbed Elrik by the throat. He glanced up at Jeanne, seeking permission. She nodded slightly and with a twist Horace broke Elrik’s arm. He screamed like a child, but Horace brought his fist down on his shoulder breaking his collar bone. With one last pull Horace popped Elrik’s arm out of the socket and let him go. Elrik’s eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

Silent hung like a head’s man’s ax over the crowd and the mage hurried forward once more. This time a stretcher was summoned and Elrik was carried off to the medical tent. Horace looked up at the royals wondering what he would see. Jeanne looked exalted, Sherah grinned like a cat, Cecilia seemed to have fainted, and Pricilla looked outraged. Despite the hate on her lovely face Horace didn’t care anymore about what she thought of him. Her brother was horrible and so was she; he didn’t care what she thought of him anymore.

“Well now it is a show,” Sherah said and Horace had a sick feeling she had enjoyed that a little too much. “Well done Sir Horace, the next bout!”

Horace walked off the field feeling sick, but there were more bouts after his. The rest of the tourney went by in a blur even though he fought on until the very last match and won. The victory seemed meaningless now, the cheers of the crowd little better than a racket. He washed and changed out of his sweaty armor into a clean tunic. He went to Jeanne and knelt before her as was customary.

“Well done,” Jeanne said pleased. “And Sir Bedivere won in the jousting, making me the strongest lady in the court. Come.”

She stood and left, Horace following her feeling hollow. He felt a light touch on his hand and turned to see Glen standing next to him. He made the sign of peace and Horace shook his head, unable to answer. Glen made no other motions then, obviously letting Horace be. They walked back to the palace to the main hall where the feast continued. Sherah, Cecelia, and Pricilla had followed them, returning to the main table. Elrik was nowhere to be seen, but he was probably spending the rest of the festival in a drugged stupor.

Jeanne didn’t join the rest of the royals at the table, but rather floated around the room talking to other nobles. Bedivere joined them meaning Horace could have left, but for some reason he didn’t want to be alone. Both knights made an impressive scene flanking Jeanne, both wearing crowns of holly and mistletoe to show their victories. Bedivere received gifts and flirtations from other ladies, but Horace was avoided. Many of the ladies looked on him with fear; he stood in the middle of the crowd like a rock alone in the sea.

It was several hours later when Horace noticed Glen was missing. He looked around wondering where his brother could have gone. Worried he went off in search of him, going out into the hallways of the palace. The halls were only partially lit, few people out in the halls. Horace walked down several halls until he saw a ghostly white figure, Glen in his robes of Iris. He was knelt before one of the tapestries that depicted Iris seeming in prayer.

Horace saw a shadow peel away from the wall and move up to him, the form of a man resolving in the dim light. There was a flash of metal in his hand as he raised a dagger over Glen’s vulnerable back.

“Glen!” Horace shouted and his brother turned just in time to avoid the dagger meant for him. Horace raced ahead but the figure had already fled, running down the corridor. “Are you alright?” Horace asked kneeling next to Glen. He nodded, seeming shaken but he was unharmed. “Who was that? Do you think Elisha found out you were here?”

Glen only shrugged, his body shaking.

“I think we should get you back to the rooms,” Horace said. He helped Glen to his feet, letting him lean on his arm. Horace jumped at nearly every shadow they passed, but they reached the women’s wing safely. The knights let Horace pass and he led Glen to Jeanne’s rooms, helping him sit on the large couch.

“Are you alright?” Horace asked, Glen’s hands were shaking. He nodded though, removing the veil over his face and running his hands through his hair. His hair had grown long in the past few weeks and Horace noticed he really did resemble a woman.

Glen signed writing and Horace hunted around for paper and pen. He found them and set them before Glen on the table.

Who tried to kill me? Glen wrote on the paper.

“I don’t know,” Horace said. “There are thousands of assassins in court, Elisha must have hired one.”

How could Elisha know I was here? Glen wrote. I don’t think it was him.

“Who then?” Horace asked. “We’ve only just got here. I mean I did break Elrik’s arm but that was only a few hours ago. There’s no way he got a hit man, no one could in that short amount of time.”

“You’d be surprised Sir Horace,” Jeanne said coolly. Horace jumped and turned to see her and Sir Bedivere standing at the door. “If you have enough power a man can be hired in a heartbeat.”

“Princess, you hired the assassin?” Horace said surprised.

“I did, but not because you broke Elrik’s arm,” Jeanne said coldly. “But because once again the Sect sent a spy on me. I’m impressed; I had thought it a mere coincidence that you saved my life. I thought a mute would never be a spy. You two had me fooled.”

“Milady I don’t…”

“Do you think I am an idiot,” Jeanne said. “It took me all of two days to realize your cousin is a boy.”

Horace froze, unable to deny her claim. He had always been like that, once caught in a lie he could never keep it up. Before he could say anything however Glen stood up and faced Jeanne. He wasn’t wearing his veil but he had a determined look on his face. He opened his mouth and Jeanne flinched from the mutilation he had undergone. Glen closed his mouth and held out a piece of paper to Jeanne. She looked at it seeming to struggle to read the words.

“I had to hide from the man that did this to me,” Jeanne read the note. “We are not spies.”

She looked at them flatly and crumpled the note, throwing it in the corner.

“It’s true milady,” Horace said. “My brother was accused of witchcraft and Elisha Drakon is set on killing him painfully.”

“Witchcraft?” Jeanne said interested, her manor changing. “You are a witch?”

Glen nodded though Horace wanted to deny it. He couldn’t though, Glen had summoned a fire creature, there was little doubt he was a witch.

“Could you teach me witchcraft?” Jeanne asked.

“Why would you want to learn witchcraft milady?” Horace said shocked.

“To protect my lady,” Jeanne said. She went to her bedroom door and opened it, ushering someone out. The woman was pale and wane but looked like Jeanne. “This is the real lady Jeanne Lonna. I am her double, meant to take an assassin’s blade if need be. Only Elrik’s sadistic nature made the Lady Jeanne unable to bear children. So I bear the child she was meant to bear. If I learn witchcraft I can protect Jeanne all the more.”

Glen sighed and went to the paper again, writing a quick note before handing it to Horace to read aloud.

“The Elder Magic can do much but it cannot protect you from the world,” Horace read. “It is not like the High Magic.”

“I would still learn from you,” Jeanne’s double said. “Let me decide if it is worth it or not.” Glen sighed and nodded. “Good, my name is Lucia what is yours?”

“His real name is Glen,” Horace answered.

“Glen, pleased to meet you,” Lucia said. “It would be best if you remained in disguise. You mentioned Elisha Drakon; I would hear your story Sir Horace so that I can prepare for the danger that might arise.”

“Yes milady,” Horace said. They all sat down and Horace told Lucia about his brother’s trial and banishment. Lucia listened, Jeanne sitting next to her looking like a poor imitation of herself.

“Will you be able to protect us?” Horace asked when he finished the tale.

“Of course,” Lucia answered. “Elisha won’t know you’re here and even if he came here for you I have the power to keep him at bay.”

Horace wasn’t willing to trust that, but he was willing to accept her help.

“I thank you milady and promise that I will continue to guard you as I have. I promise this to you both Lady Jeanne and Lady Lucia, I will protect you.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne said softly. Horace looked at her and saw she was smiling at him with a sad smile like a mother gave to humor a child. Horace felt a chill at the sight of that smile, somehow it forebode darker things to come.

#fantasy #series #writng #please read #fairies #dragons

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