Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

[pointmango]

Ethon took note of the Sterling Lords reaction to his invitation to Aiyda. Lyram likely more offended that Ethon would be asking such under the circumstances, Hector likely because he did not think her worthy to a royal feast, and well Conrad was likely just jealous of the fact Ethon had been able to ask her before he got the chance.


Lyram’s interruption of the sense did strike something within Ethon, despite this girls state, he was aware she could speak for herself. From the moment he met her she never seemed the type to fall to him simply because of his status, which truthfully was unclear many within the walls of White Hall. Worse however was his mention of Arah, as if something within him did not wish for anyone to mention his connection to the maid in front of Aiyda.


“I do apologize. I did not wish to put you on the spot.” Ethon told her, his voice softer now, his gaze turning to her, wishing she wouldn’t look down like that when she addressed him. It was odd, he knew why people did it to the Lords, out of a sign of respect, but Ethon preferred to be looked in the eyes, and he preferred to look everyone the same. A smile lifted to his lips as she invited him back to her room if the party became boring, “Thank you. I will certainly stop by, in the least to bid you a good night, although perhaps I will need an escape from Arah as well.” He offered, trying to appear as lighthearted, glancing to the boys at his attempt for joke.


Ethon paid much attention as she spoke she knew how feasts went. It was true, especially Northern feasts, they were loud, and happy and full of the old music that made everyone grin and drink even more. Ethon had never attended a Northcross feast, but he had heard of them, what a sight those must’ve been. Men of the hunt likely got quite drunk and honry for the occasion.


Ethon’s head picked up a bit more at Lyram’s question, a bit forward he thought, but the girl did not waver, Ethon’s attention was back to her, she held well with the banter of men, a notable trait. One she likely learned in her upbringing quite early too. She did not drink. Ethon nodded, he wanted to press why, but knew better than to. Likely not to dull the senses, she was a huntress, a woman, and clearly intelligent. Often Ethon held back from the drinking, he did partake sometimes, but he was never portrayed as a drunk man, especially not the way the Sterling boys drank. Often times when Conrad got too drunk, Ethon would replace his friends cup with water, Conrad too drunk to even notice at times.


He supposed the evening feast would pan out well. He would come late with Arah, stay towards the back as Arah would not be allowed to close to the front, stay out of Victor’s sight, and perhaps ask about the Southern guard some, in case Victor was hiding something. Perhaps dance with Arah, Conrad had told Ethon before that she was fun in such circumstances. But now he did wish to go back and discuss with Aiyda before the nights end. She proved that she could have some wit hidden up her sleeve, he hoped she would be less formal in conversation without the Lord present, but he could not be sure.


Conrad watched the exchange, more quiet than usual, he was often more talkative around women, letting them know of his strength, and attempt to converse with them. This one did well to converse with them on her own, an amusing young woman. He was a bit disappointed she did not wish to attend the feast, there Conrad could have spoken with her, under the influence or not, and charmed her in a closer manner. At feasts such closeness was acceptable, but for the time being of the feast he would be able to flirt with southern women, and maybe he could pay a visit to her chambers before Ethon did.


He noted Lyram’s attention on him and pressed a face at him, he did not wish for Lyram and Hector to know he posed any interest in the girl. She clearly had already taken to Ethon, or on Conrad’s head she had anyway. It would make his presence more challenging, but a challenge he was willing to accept. Still, his older brother’s words would cause him great annoyance.

Hector rose first from the wooden table, his eyes moving over each of the four before him at the table, before then letting a slight bow towards the girl. “I’m going to go read before the feast.” He spoke, his lips upturned just slightly to reveal that impish grin of his. Hector’s heavy boots echoed throughout the hall and he paused just beyond the door, his hand touching the shoulder of the steward from earlier.


Conrad’s eyes moved to Ethon, he knew Ethon had duties before the feast, he would have to move some of the horses in the main stables for theirs. Now would be his chance. “Well, while Ethon is regarding the horses, would you care for a stroll about White Hall?” Conrad asked her, his tone too confident compared to when Ethon asked her to the feast.


Ethon noted Conrad’s tone, cocky, and determined. Ethon himself rose, his thought of his own hand moving to touch hers, to make Conrad squirm, but she’d been through a lot, and that was a bit much. “I’ll be out by the stables. Don’t worry, your horse will stay well tended to, and I’ll keep her in the main stable we set her in yesterday.” He informed Aiyda, before biding them all a slight bow as he made his way to exit the room now, knowing he would have to change again before visiting the stables.

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda had not expected to hear an apology from Ethon, although a part of her knew that, perhaps, he was more intimidated by his brother than the thought of having offended her. It was something that she refused to pay much mind to; she was a good talker, far from gregarious in that moment, but she had found a way to keep their spirits afloat and was proud of her success.

A simper graced her lips at the mention of Ethon paying her a visit after the feast. She had never been one to enjoy being by her lonesome, and even then, when another would have rather spent all day locked away from the scrutinizing eyes and ears of the young Lords, Aiyda longed to be as far from silence and solitude as her possibilities offered. The greatness of the hall and feast offered for breakfast that morning made her feel out of place, but the lack of bitterness in the men's voices appeased some of her unrest. For a brief moment, it made her forget that she did not belong within that room with the rest of them.

And yet, she could not help but notice the slight tension that still resided between them. He could see the fire in Lord Lyram's eyes as he grazed over each of his brothers, as though waiting for them to make a hasty step; he could see the way Lord Hector smirked at Ethon jeeringly, and the way Lord Conrad eyed her like a hunter eyeing his game. She was no longer the huntress then, but the prey, a small sorrel hare surrounded by bears and a sunkissed wolf who, strangely enough, stood by her side unmoving. The scene reminded her of the lunches she had enjoyed with his father's comrades after a fruitful morning of sporting about the woods. It only lacked the cold, for which Aiyda was truly thankful.

With Lord Hector's sudden shift came another gnawing wave that seemed to remind the Lords of their duties for the day. Lyram's gaze lifted from his plate to his brother striding across the Great Hall, then to Conrad, who rose from his seat as well, urging Ethon to do the same. He pressed his lips and dropped his silverware as he listened, eyeing Ethon cautiously. A part of him knew that he could not deny Conrad, but the thirst for childish rebellion still burned in his orbs. It only gave his brother more pleasure, for sure; Ethon looked as though he was tempted to hurl the girl away from his reach, but instead, he stood his ground and only offered her the same candor as before.

Aiyda let out a breath as she lowered her head again and rose from her seat. She had gotten ready to follow Ethon before Lord Conrad's following question, and Aiyda was jolted from her state, her gaze flickering to the man, before it quickly moved over to Ethon. She was tempted to refuse, to tell him she would be joining Ethon to see Krull as she had planned earlier that morning, but could not afford to crush her chances of being listened to once again after the turmoil of the royal visit came to an end.

A stroll around the keep seemed as bad of an idea as that of joining them to the feast. The warmth of her new chamber suddenly seemed more appealing than having to straighten her back and kiss the toes of a few young boys playing at lordship. It was, however, the price she was willing to pay for a fair hearing, even if she would have to bear the snickering and banter of the boys behind her as she unfolded her tragedy before their father.

As Ethon disappeared from her reach, she felt her stomach drop and her knees weaken beneath her weight. Looking back at the Lord, she only gave him a short nod and, reaching around the table, straightened her back and offered him her hand. From the corner of her eye she could still see his older brother, tensed but steady, watching them intently. "So long as it is not keeping you from your duties," she said, "unless you wanted to join your brother in his reading."

It was merely a vain hope, but worth a shot. She did not trust him in the least. He had not offered her half of the hospitality and ear of his brother, nevertheless Ethon's. Without a doubt, he regarded her as bewildered and dumb, a peasant child who was remotely worth of being looked at for the sole reason that she was young and sturdy. Another interesting challenge for him to partake in.

"You will be here by noon," Lyram stated to his brother. It was not a question, but rather a subtle order. They had not received news from the King's escorts, but knew that they could not be too far from White Hall. By then, the three of them would have to gather to meet their parents in the courtyard before the gates. Another look was shot of him, one menacing, meant as a warning. He did not want her trilling about the stupidity of the Sterling Lords once she was back amongst her peers once everything came to a resolution, and frankly, Conrad was one whom he worried about the most.

"Do not worry, my Lord, we will," Aiyda responded instead, and gave him a humble nod.

 

[pointmango]

Ethon leaned against the outer wall of the stable, brushing snow at the entrance slightly, considering his options for the night. The chance that Victor would see him was considerably high even for the events. He now moved to open the doors slowly and his nostrils were engulfed by the stingy smell of the horses, mixed with the cold dampness of the north. He was often responsible for the horses, raised here with the older stable hand years ago. Truthfully he didn’t think about his start there very often, he was so used to it by now, that the sadness of his beginnings often left him feeling rather uncomfortable if he gave too much thought to it.


The weather was brisk that morning, a few of the barn cats were curled in the corner and horses seemed to be awake and well this morning. A soft smile came to his lips as his hand moved over the mane of his horse, he’d have to move him today as well. Being with the horses lifted his spirits more than usual, he did enjoy the horses, but often did not permit himself to such joys.


Truth was he was good with the horses. He did not know if it was in his blood or not, but he’d been trained up with them. He’d spent years tending to them really, watching horse after horse come through the stables and noting how they acted and matured. He knew which visiting horsemen to listen to, and he learned when to keep his mouth shut when the ones claiming they knew horses spoke falsely about them.


Ethon learned early on to hold his tongue. Unlike the other Sterling brothers, who were politely, but they wouldn’t be reprimanded as harshly by their masters when they spoke out. Ethon was knocked early on. His attention was now turned to her steed. He was beautiful, he could tell just by looking over the beauty that he was strong as hell. But the eyes, well the eyes revealed everything. He made his way towards the horse further, without haste at first, and then he paused just before reaching him. He reached his hand out slightly, first facing upward, waiting for her horse to lean in.


“Shhh,” Ethon whispered softly. Sometimes Conrad referred to him as a horse whisperer, the horse leaned in with ease, and Ethon smiled softly at the animals ease to him. Of course, a startled horse was nothing compared to breaking a horse in. He’d broken many horses, and he’d tended to ones with wounds and helped rehabilitate them. It was intense work. Although still, despite this horse trusting him in this moment, he could tell, those eyes, it did not trust anything outside the stable walls.

The hall echoed slightly as Conrad moved through them, his hand over Aiyda’s as her hand rested on his arm gently. Her pace was light, he noted her stride as she walked beside him, she kept up well. A constant smile toying at the corner of his lips as he moved with her. Walking with a woman was effortless for Conrad. He took many women about the castle, young and old, proper ladies, whores he snuck in, tavern drunks daughters, farm girls, maid… the whole works really. Never a huntress through.


“Is your weapon of choice a bow?” He asked her as they moved along, he could not help his gaze traveling below her face each time he looked to her. She did have a woman’s body, any woman of any hunt would likely have to be agile and fit. By the gods, she was probably an animal in bed, one that needed to be tamed, and Conrad relished in the thought of that. He could tame her.


He thought about pressing more, but he was curious now, “I’ve noticed you’ve taken to Ethon. He’s a good boy.” Conrad spoke, making sure to use the word boy, even though Ethon was not that much older. “I do hope he has been kind.. I could always arrange for someone else to tend to you.” He offered about. “Shame you won’t be coming tonight as well.” He added, “I would have liked to accompany you for a dance.” He spoke, he knew he was testing the waters, but he didn’t care all that much, all he truthfully cared for was seeing if she would bite at any of his bait.

 

[peritwinkle]

The corridors of White Hall were bleak and uninviting, only seeming to bear her presence because of the man that accompanied her. She felt strange striding about a castle as if it were hers; her dreams of being a Lady and living in a place like that seemed childish to her now. Her home back at Northcross now came to her more, small and welcoming, and although cramped, it was a place that she could have called hers, where she knew she would always find a familiar face and dulcet warmth.

Now, even the man who paced by her side was strange. Aiyda could feel his hand upon hers, warm, almost protective in a way. It made her feel both soothed and entrapped as she followed him, her eyes only following her steps on the cold stone beneath her feet rather than his own. She felt his gaze burning into her, tracing her form each time he addressed her, like a child exploring a new toy. It was not something she was unaccustomed to; back home, many boys had tried to win her over, and she had eagerly turned it into a game, always amused at their foolish attempts at her heart.

As the Lord broke the silence she had been relishing in, Aiyda swallowed the thought of her childhood and answered, still not daring to look him in the eye. "My father always knew I would be an archer," she spoke. "I was terrible at swordfighting, but I had a hunter's eye." She would spot birds from the window of her chamber and ask her father what they were called. She could hear hares rustling through the bushes, and point right where they were hiding, only to miss the target by a finger as her arrows whistled by the animal's ears. "When I turned eighteen, I was given a pass to join the great hunt... And a bow for good augury."

She could vividly remember that day. She had woken up as early as the sun and trotted down into the kitchen, having prepared a seemingly convincing speech to implore for him to take her along that winter. Mathys had been silent the entirety of the previous day, snickering as his older sister counted the hours until she turned of age. That day, she had found the bow carefully wrapped in a coat of grey ermine and set on the dining table; Jasper had been waiting for her, freshly out of bed, with his bear curled and hair disheveled, knowing that his girl would rise with the sun to come beg him.

"He had it carved by one of the masters in Eldstead. I do not think I could ever shoot as well with any other bow." It had fit the curve of her palm perfectly and shoot in almost a straight line, as opposed to her others that pulled to the left with each arrow. It had not taken much for her to learn to shoot with it; she had been able to hit her mark by early that afternoon. "Perchance I will find it again," she thought; the hope had not left her heart, but she dreaded the thought of what she would find lying next to her bow in the meadow where her comrades had found their gruesome ends. "When we ride back for Northcross."

It was never an if. Lord Lyram had promised a hearing, and at the very least, he would send men to investigate the attack on behalf of his House, and she would join them for certain, regardless of the Lord's orders. She did not have a weapon of her own and doubted that the party would be armored to the neck, but she doubted that the Wild Hunt would return to the same place yet again. With a bit of luck, it would not take much time to find the meadow. Northcross was more in the open, by the river bend.

A frown touched her forehead as he mentioned Ethon, and she felt her stomach clench tighter. "Indeed he is," she said. "He was kind to me, from the very moment he found me in the woods... Without ulterior motives." Her gaze now found Conrad, almost a jab at him, but shrouded by her usual meekness. "I am sure you will not be lacking company at the feast. A man like you... A Lord. You must have stolen many hearts in these halls... Servants, harlots, handmaids... Free women, who make you feel like a free man. Is that not what you are seeking, Lord Conrad?"

His pressing on the matter had bothered her. Perhaps, in other circumstances she would have been smitten with him, and fed his little game that he attempted to play with her then. He was unquestionably handsome, much like his brothers, much taller than her and clearly had his wits about him. The latter only made him believe that he was the only one with. Her hand tightened its grip around his and her gaze returned to their path, cold, unmoving. "I know what you thought of me, my Lord. Mad, fragile and shaken. Maybe I am the latter... But I have not come here to beg for your mercy."

She remained ever humble as she addressed him, her voice soft, but her gaze kindling a fire which she did not shy away from letting him see. She wanted him to know she was no puppet he could twirl around his fingers, no dimwitted commoner naive enough to think that a man like him would ever turn his gaze to her.

 

[pointmango]

Conrad nodded some, now wishing he had paid more attention in archery practice. He was wicked with a sword, almost as good as Lyram at this point, which he was proud of since he was four years younger. And almost as skilled in sword strategy as Hector. He was strong, best at hand to hand, and even did well with close hand weapons like knives and axes. The only one of them that ever did decent with a bow was Ethon, and he cursed that fact gently in his mind.

“Good eye is hard to come by.” He spoke easily, “We can all kill and mane with a thick sword and a steady target, archery is much harder.” When she spoke of her bow his own brow cocked, “Wow, that is an excellent bow.” Conrad spoke, he remembered his own father gave a similar gift to Ethon just a year ago. Ethon thanked his father graciously, but Conrad noted that Ethon simply hung the bow on the chamber of his bedroom wall. He still used the bows he made himself. Conrad asked him of it once, Ethon stated his bow was better than any professional could make, had the right bend and flare, so not another soul but him could weild it well enough. Conrad just thought that was code for that he enjoyed being good with a shit bow to show off.

Her claim of ‘when’ they rode back to Northcross caught him some, he did not let any reaction come to his face. But he was unsure if she should use such certain language. Conrad knew they would send a convoy that way, of course, especially since the entire population was claimed to be wiped there, but she was so sure she would be going. Conrad had no issue, but he knew Hector and Lyram would likely argue over the fact again.

Conrad wanted to ask why Ethon believed her story. Even Lyram’s eyes were unsure when the girl told them her story, and Conrad himself had no idea. Hector seemed to think she was straight rubbish, just vying for attention. Such questions could not be asked of her though, Ethon believed what he did, whether she told the story differently or not.

His gaze met hers, as hers turned to him, clearly aware of his mindful thoughts on her. She was quite intuitive, although most would argue Conrad’s intentions with a beautiful girl wouldn’t take more than a dimwit to figure. “Do you blame me?” He asked her carefully now, “For thinking that of you?” He clarified. “You were shaken, and your allegations… it’s been decades, nearly a century since any formal sightings of the Hunt.” He informed her, his tone not chastising or accusing, simply conversational. “Unfortunately, not even if I had come forth with the same words as yours, no one would believe me either.” It was simple why Hector had been so upset. Conrad oddly enough did believe that she saw what she saw, mad or not, she believed whatever it was.

“I’m not here to give you mercy.” His lips curled up just slightly. “If you wished for mercy, well that is something Lord Lyram would hand out. Lyram thinks himself just, and Hector thinks Lyram can be soft when it comes to the common people.” Conrad revealed. “I think if my father were to die tomorrow we would all be in deep shit.” At least Conrad was aware they were too young to take anything on. Thankfully his father was in good health, and they would have time, if things continued how they were.

She was not a woman he could win over with tricks. She would want truth, and conversation, a task Conrad never enjoyed revealing. But perhaps to lay with this one it would be worth it. His eyes moved back over her, he had now led her back towards the main hall, where he was to meet Hector and Lyram before the arrival of the King and Queen. “I do hope you enjoy your time here, I would very much enjoy to walk with you again. I like hearing what others think of White Hall, the castle itself, but mostly what they think of the people who lie within.” He pulled away from her now, but first taking a step back and leaning over slightly bringing her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon her hand. “Good afternoon, m’lady.” He spoke, his lips pinned straight, but a grin toying at the corner of his eyes.

Ethon huffed moving back inside after having moved all of the horses. Most of the main stable was empty, for the royal horses. He had kept Aiyda’s horse there as well, feeding him as well as giving him a quick groom, or as much as the horse would let him touch him anyway. The soft fur of her horse showed it’s muscles through deeply, and he could tell based on many movements if the horse tensed or not, and would back off when he did.

Deep in thought as he was leaning in the servants quarters hallway, a hand came behind him, first moving over his shoulder, and then as the tall dark haired woman moved before him, her hands now on his chest, she grinned. “You smell awful.” Arah stated.

With the closeness, Ethon smiled some, his hand moved to her waist a moment, “If I smell so awful why do you stand so close?” He countered.

Arah’s hand now moved over his long fingers, pushing his hand down over her rear, “Because I enjoy doing so, my lord.” She said in a whisper.

“I am no Lord.” He informed her.

“Might as well be.”

“Hardly.” His hand now moved off her rear, his smile having faded, “I need to bathe, if I remember correctly I will owe you a dance tonight. And I do not think you want me smelling of this.” He left Arah down the hall slowly making his way towards his own room before pausing, thinking about stopping by the room Aiyda had taken for the time being. He decided against it, knowing she might not even be back from walking with Conrad… or maybe her and Conrad were both back. He wouldn’t interrupt if that was the case, and so his best bet was to gather his things and head to the bathing chambers.

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda swallowed her tongue as the Lord answered her bitterness with kindness. She could not tell whether it was genuine or meant to impress her, but his lack of indignation did take her by surprise. She would not have expected a man of his title to allow a commoner to address him as she had. Expose his intentions as she had, although ever subtly. She liked to think of herself as humble and meek, with the right people. It was only when she doubted one's nature that her feelings were ever conflicted.

Him not believing her was understandable, yet nevertheless frustrating. A small fire still burnt within her at the thought that her requests might be brushed off in favour of the pressing matters of their lordship. "I cannot blame you," she replied simply. "I would not have believed myself either. I never listened to when my mother spoke of the dangers of the Northern woods... I thought they were mere tales." Yet she had come to see the tales with her own eyes, and the horrors they had brought along. A shiver ran down her spine as the memory flickered back in her head, but she quickly forced it out as they reached the entrance to the Great Hall.

She did not flinch as he removed himself from her side, but did found herself missing the warmth of his body. It left her both disappointed and eased. "I will have to check my schedule to see if I am available for you, my Lord," Aiyda replied softly as he bent to kiss her hand. The gesture was unusual, but she took it proudly, theatrically pushing her chest forward as if she had been expecting it.

The way down to her room was long and winding, but Aiyda recalled most of it from that morning. She did not wish to request anything more of Arah; something about the look in her eye when she had brought her to Ethon had spoken more than words. Conrad Sterling was wrong: it was the servant girl who had taken to Ethon, although his hint at his friend had likely been a part of his tactic of winning her over...

If only for one night of glory, after which he could boast about having bedded a huntress of Northcross.

*

The carriage jolted over the rocky path leading uphill, now slower as it swam through the light layer of freshly fallen snow. Looking out the window, Queen Amara struggled to make out the darker shape of the stronghold emerging from the field waving before them. The pure white made it harder to get accustomed to the surroundings, and despite having resented being forced to sit in a tight carriage for days on end, she appreciated the relative warmth and darkness that separated her from the world outside.

"Soon," a voice murmured from beneath thick furs. A woman was sat on the bench opposite to the Queen, donning sturdier garments than in the capital, but still embellished around every rim and sleeve. The pallor of her cheek matched the scenery outside, ashen and time trodden as a woman of her age would be. "Soon, you will come to see that I speak no silly drivel."

The Queen's eyes did not move away from the window. Her fingers only tightened about the pouch in her hand, knuckles turning white at the pressure. "I never doubted your honesty, mother," she nodded. "I only doubt your visions, nothing more. When Roddrick was born, you told me he tragedy would befall him and bring his death..."

"And could you know that he truly is dead, Amara?"

She breathed. Her eyes were darkened and glazed as she eventually turned her gaze back to her mother. A part of her wanted to believe that the North would give her the resolution to her endless questions. As much as she wished for Roddrick to prosper, there was another soul that haunted her mind when she went to bed each night. One that kept her awake, staring at the canopy and thinking of ways she could have taken the life out of the handmaid who had stolen her boy. Such thoughts were futile; the woman was far away, perchance even food to the forests by then. It was her treasure that she had a hope of finding... If the Gods had been kind enough to offer her mother a clear sight of their secrets.

"If such is true," the Queen murmured, "then Roddrick is not only a commoner, but a bastard." He had been conceived between a Lord and his servant, which only dug his claim to the throne deeper into the ground. "If it is discovered, we will not be able to hold the curtains up for much longer." It was why a part of her wished that her mother was wrong. She loved Roddrick like her own, and wished to see him married and sitting on the throne come spring, with his father and a good wife by his side. A Northern Lord, as well, to tighten the tie between the lands of Armath.

The older woman wavered, a soft simper trembling at the corners of her fine lips. "Would a bastard make him of pure noble blood, then? Oh, you remember, Amara. You never forgot."

And she did. It only kindled the fire within her, twisting her emotions into an amalgam of pain and harrowing turmoil. He of noble blood, in time of war will rise, and bring with blade of ice, the Hunt's final demise. A verse she had embedded into her mind from the day of the first ceremony, after having disregarded it as bedtime tales for so long. Even bringing it back to her memory made her feel filthy; it was only commoners, harlots and old hags who believed such prophecies, and who so fervently spread them like news of death. War. It was what the Heir's Augury foredoomed, after all.

Soon enough, the carriage stopped with an abrupt kick and the curtains fell back into place, covering the scenery painted outside. Queen Amara lifted one with the tips of her fingers to look upon the glory of White Hall and smiled bitterly. "Not quite as imposing as I imagined," she sighed. "Far more stark than the capital."

"At least it does not look like it smells of horse shit all the time," the old woman replied. The narrow door to their carriage parted open and a guard bearing the glimmering sigil of House Kilgour invited the two Ladies outside with a wave of his hand. The tall walls of the stronghold made it difficult to make out anything but the highest of towers, but to Amara, they looked small and cramped, although fitting for the colder weathers in the North, which even then, dressed as she was, she could feel biting to the bone. It only made her more eager to meet with the Lords awaiting them in the Great Hall of their home.

 

[pointmango]

Her reply to see if she was available was different, and yet it made him want to stop by that evening all the more, perhaps before Ethon. Somehow the idea of Ethon finding the pair of them tangled about in her chambers made his idea of her only the more thrilling. But that thought only lingered for a split moment, perhaps Ethon would be hurt by the affair. Perhaps he could coax Aiyda to his own chamber, leave the subtleties of her being absent from her chamber for Ethon’s mind to run wild with imagination.

He moved towards the Great Hall’s chambers his father already in his chair beside his mother, and Lyram first beside them. Hector was nowhere to be found, but Conrad knew he would show just on time, per usual. Conrad approached his father, this was the one room in White Hall where the walls were well.. More white. An ashen stone lined the Great Hall, making the place appear much brighter with the light peaking through the ceiling windows. Most of White Hall’s interiors held a darker complexion, he enjoyed the lightness of the Great Hall.

*

Ethon had finished his bath quickly, heading to one of the Stewards for a shave, who insisted he truly did not need one, hair would grow soon enough, but any hairs that tended to his chin now were blonde and simply impossible to see. He dressed in his finest, which was still hardly anything compared to the Sterling brothers. His coat a darkened blue shade, lined with silver and hints of scarlet within the stitching. Lord Victor had stated he would not attend the feast, he spoke nothing of their arrival, and so Ethon positioned himself on one of the higher side balconies of the Great Hall.

His appearance had shown just as the King and Queen had been signaled arriving and would be marching into the Great Hall within minutes. Ethon knew unless looking around no one would see him, but Victor had noticed his presence. Ethon could tell by the Lord’s eyes he was not happy, but technically Ethon had not broken any of the rules yet, and so he stood back, wanting to see the people who ruled the entire country, but also the Capitol in which he came from.

*

The King grunted as they came closer to White Hall. The snow on the ground was thicker than he would have expected, and he looked to his son riding by his side. Both of their horses had slowed, the Northern steeds not used to the cold wet ground, but also not used to such hills in such conditions. Still, they’d be to the top soon enough, and he would be seeing Lord Victor and his sons, in hopes of a deal for men and one of his sons as well.

Was a shame the King did not have anymore children, girls would have been nice to have, to pair with the sons of other Houses and areas. A daughter to marry off to the incoming Lord of the North would have been ideal. But requesting one of his sons to train to assist the King would fair alright for now. After Roddick, the King and the Queen had tried many times to make more children, but nothing came of it, miscarriages a few, but nothing more.

“You’d be a fool to call yourself the true King of these parts.” He grunted to his son. “The North, by law is yours as well. But here… where the ground often lays in white, where no Southern men dare come for sport... “ The King trailed off, remembering the first time he visited with his own father. It made sense. “The largest and most formidable territory of Armath, you will do well to show respect.” The King appeared to be warning his son. Roddick was spoiled to have no siblings, especially no brothers. There was no competition, he was always protected, and never faced any harshness in his life. All of his fighting was practiced, and he often was let win by other boys his age. Corban did not approve, but his mother was often afraid he would be hurt or killed at any possible moment because of some spittings of old woman’s tales and satanic rhymes.

King Corban dismounted his horse at their greeters, a bit put off they did not send out one of their sons to greet them. Of course he knew Victor to be a traditional man, and in traditions not even for a King would a another noble member greet them. They would all meet within the Great Hall. He waited patiently for his Queen to exited her carriage, handmaidens trailing her, his own eyes trailing the younger women who seemed encaptivated by the shock of the nature that White Hall held.

*

When the King and the Queen entered the hall, their escorts coming first, and their son, the Prince behind them, Ethon stepped forward just slightly on the balcony. King Corban was tall, lithe, but also formidable looking. Ethon had expected a fat man to be King with the way the Northerns spoke of him. The Queen was lovely, well kept and beautiful, although her face appeared different than the other women, who seemed full of wonder looking about the hall. The rest of their party stayed back, but the King moved forth with his wife and son.

“Welcome to White Hall my King.” Victor spoke standing and bowing to the king. His sons following in suit, and their mother bowing her head as well.

King Corban smiled, “Strapping young sons you have.” He smiled, looking over each other their faces, all quite similar, but also differing. He could tell just by looking at them they would all have differing strengths.

“We have prepared an excellent feast-” Victor began, but Corban raised his hand.

“Yes, of course, thank you. I do wish to discuss more diplomatic issues with you soon though.” Corban spoke. “Alone, Lord Sterling.” He spoke, his tone deep.

“Yes, surely we can discuss first thing tomorrow. After the feast? After you and your kin have rest and settled, with full and content bellies?” Victor suggest. He did not want to discuss anything without preparation.

Corban was shocked at Victor’s slight refusal of him, but ultimately he just nodded, “Tomorrow morning.” He nodded and looked to one of his men who nodded.

 

[peritwinkle]

It felt strange watching her husband stride about Northern territory like it was his, so carelessly stepping into the wolves' lair with his likewise careless son by his side. Amara stayed behind as they rode through the streets of White Hall; they were tight, perhaps tighter than those in the capital, but the winds did not blow as strongly due to the size of the walls encapsulating it. Not surprisingly, the pavement was made of white stone as well, although only slightly touched by dirt, having worn off in time. With the snow ever falling from the skies, it almost perfectly hid the grime of the old place.

The gates leading into the courtyard of the keep with the same name awaited them already opened, countless guards with the sigil of House Sterling framing it on each side. The gold and black of House Kilgour stained their brisk grey soon enough, and by the time they reached the steps leading into the keep, its surroundings were swimming in the colours of the Crown.

"A dark place," the dowager Queen said, careless whether the Sterlings heard her or not. The main hall was dark and tall, its walls seeming endless as they rose to kiss the ceiling. The place itself felt far more empty as opposed to the throne room, only sparingly decorated with a few long rugs embroidered with scenes of hunting and battle, tables pushed to the side, the room seeming to double as a feasting chamber, and roughly sculpted candle holders decking the walls, just enough to allow for their features to be distinguished in the darkness.

Amara had heard stories about Lord Sterling's sons, and their appearance then did not disappoint; they were tall and fair, well built to withstand both the cold and the difficulty of fighting through heavy snow. They cheeks were pale, but their hair was dark, making it easy to tell whose sons they were. The tallest of them - who was only perhaps a finger taller than the rest - seemed to be Lyram Sterling. The Queen had no doubt. There was a look about his eyes that inspired superiority, confidence, strength. A look she had tried to nurture in her own son, but failed over the years. Roddrick had become a man of his own.

And Roddrick did watch them with admiration, for they were good men who looked to have their wits about them. It was difficult to tell apart, but they each seemed to have a clear particularity about them. The most imposing, perhaps the future Lord of White Hall, looked cautious, calculated. The one standing next to him, his arm thick and well rounded, looked like he could cut a man's insides open with a simple flick of his axe. The other had an impish grin upon his lips, strange but almost menacing. A man who knew more than he let others see. Roddrick thought he fancied that one the most.

"We are honoured to have you here, in our home," Lyram spoke first. He came to stand by his father's side momentarily, making it clear who he was. "You are highly respectable guests, which is why we want to make sure that you are treated accordingly." His gaze shifted to the King. "I agree with my father. I think it is best if such matters that require great focus are discussed after you have rested, and of course, after a good feast."

Roddrick could not deny that he was hungry. He had been eating grits and stale meat for so long, that the thought of a feast seemed heavenly. "I am sure we will all enjoy ourselves tonight, my Lord," the boy said. "I am eager to explore your home. To make... friends." His eye flickered to Hector momentarily, before returning to his older brother. "After we have rested, of course. Such interactions... require a clear mind."

Amara watched in silence whilst their dialogue unfolded. She could feel her mother's breath on her neck as she stood by her side, tense but content. The slight simper on her face bothered her immensely, which was why she chose to direct her attention to her son and Lord Sterling's. It only shifted when she noticed a slight movement in the corner of her eye, somewhere on her right, and as she looked up, her gaze fell upon a boy not younger or older than her own Roddrick, his hair light and his temple kissed by the sun, odd features in such parts of the land. For a moment, she felt her stomach tighten, but quickly forced her gaze away and back on her brown haired son.

"You see what you see," the dowager Queen nodded by her side. "I have told you to be wary, Amara... Many times, and many times you did not listen."

She did not respond. The feeling in her stomach was stifling her words. It both hurt and burnt, like flames kindled by the sight of a stranger. "The travels have exhausted me," she said plainly. Her lids felt heavy, and she was famished, but would rather rest her head upon a pillow than dare to put something in her gut and watch it spill. Her mother remained silent for the time being, as if chastising her with her barely broken poise. Amara could feel that she had turned her head upwards again, towards the strange boy, likely nothing more than a servant, but dressed in cleaner and more luxurious garments.

"Your Graces," Lyram's voice shook her from her trance. "Our best servants and guards will lead you to your chambers. Food will be offered if you ask, perhaps a steaming bath would be in order. My family and I are looking forward to see you this evening."

With that, Amara stepped closer to her husband and put on a theatrical smile. "We should go, my love," she said, pulling on his arm. "We are both exhausted." Frankly, she wanted to get away from the sight of the boy as soon as possible. She wanted to clear her thoughts with a good bath, and the more time they spent within that bleak hall, the more she wanted to see herself out.

 

[pointmango]

The entrance of the King and Queen fared well within the eyes of Conrad, there was some tension among King Corban and his own father, Lyram stepping forth as if to ease the tension. Conrad wondered if there was history there that he had not known. Or perhaps King Corban simply did not wish to be told what to do. Either way, the tension was brushed aside quickly when Roddick stepped forwards to speak of making friends. The boys warm chocolate hair showed he was of southern descent.

Hector enjoyed watching the scene unfold before him. Every movement made, every little piece held information that he was dying to get a hold of. The unspoken tension between his father and King Corban, had to be a story there. The Queen, who was beautiful, quite so actually, he was sure Conrad had noticed that piece almost instantly. But the Queen seemed tense, and nervous, and the elder woman behind her, who he assumed was her mother or the King’s mother also seemed tense, and to be whispering to her. For a brief moment Hector caught the Queen glancing up to where Ethon stood, but his watch on the Queen was distracted, as he felt the eyes of the Prince on him. The curve of his grin tilted just a bit more.

Hectors gaze was now on Lyram as he spoke, keeping himself calm and collected, as if trying to ease anything going on. Hector thought him a kiss ass in these scenarios, but he knew his younger brother would think Lyram brave, and intelligent. Hector smiled yet again when the Prince’s gaze turned to him when he spoke of making friends. Hector’s eyes now moved over the Prince, only for a moment, Hector was careful with such looks, but the Prince was built well, thinner, but still strong, sturdy looking. Hector’s jaw quietly clicked as he turned his head, thinking too much on the Prince’s torso, wondering what held beneath his thickened drapes.

Ethon felt her gaze on him, why the Queen was bothered to look at him was beyond himself, perhaps just intrigued at why such a southern looking boy was in the midst of White Hall. All visitors thought it odd, but her gaze held for a moment, before turning back to the lot of the conversation. It was only then, when the Queen’s gaze had turned away from him did Ethon allow his own head to look over her. She was beautiful, and appeared gentle, and collected, contrasting to her husband, the King, who held a high step in his walk, and clearly knew of his status in just the way he presented himself. His eyes were studying the side of her face when she turned to look once again, his eyes meeting hers, and for a moment he felt as if he were looking into his own eyes, a golden color in the right dimmed light, one which Ethon had never seen before here except upon looking into a mirror at himself.

The moment she turned away, looking to Lyram, Ethon turned quickly leaving the balcony. The feast would be held soon, and he thought it best to take a break. He’d probably be seeing many more southerns this evening that would remind him of himself.

Hector stepped forward as well now, “Do have someone call for us if you need anything.” Hector spoke, his voice conveying hospitality and sincerity.

King Corban nodded to both Lyram and Lord Victor now, “Thank you.” he spoke at his wife’s tug. Corban let Amara hold his arm as they left the hall, being escorted towards their respective chambers, parting with Roddick as he moved a few doors down for his. As soon as the door closed behind Corban and Amara, some of her handmaiden’s there. Corban looked to his squire and the maidens, “We will both need baths.” He spoke, and none of them moved. “Get on with it!” He spoke as they exited to find servants of House Sterling to help them figure the baths here.

Corban looked to Amara now, “The great North.” He huffed as he walked from her now, any trace of affection that came with their touch before was completely gone. “Great shithole to me.” He muttered.

*

Preparation for the feast was in full swing now. Many of the men setting up tables, and the kitchen was ablaze as cooking left and right was occurring. Ethon took this chance to move down the servants halls without being seen by Arah or any of her friends. He knocked swiftly on Aiyda’s door, his breathing a bit heavier than he would have liked, still shaken from earlier, but knowing it was truly nothing. He’d probably have odd feelings all night.

*

Conrad stood beside Lyram at the door of the feast, having not been inside yet to see the sight, but he knew it would be more grand than anything ever done before. The evening was growing in, and still, no sign of Hector. “You think he’d be punctual at least once.” Conrad spoke huffing.

Conrad’s eyes drifted to his brother and he punched his gut a little harder than he should have for his joking manner of the gesture. “Lighten up, for the gods sake Lyram. You act like this is a funeral.” Conrad offered up a smile. “You will drink good wine, take a woman to your bed, and eat all you can eat. Sometimes I think your face is stuck like that.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Lambent flames danced in the hearth of the small servant’s chamber, casting shadows on the narrow walls in their lively dance. As she stood before the fire, Aiyda was thankful for the warmth; the room had already grown heated by then, only breathing through a small crack in the window reminiscent of the winter still raging outside the warmth and safety of the castle walls.

A servant had come to her room earlier to bring something to eat of the less appealing victuals that had been prepared for the feast. At first, Aiyda had prepared herself to salute either Arah or Lehna, but had been surprised to see it had been neither of them. She had thought that they were getting ready to attend the welcoming celebration, and a pang of regret struck her momentarily at the thought, before the scent of fresh food and smoke lured her back into her nest made of various pillows gathered into a makeshift bed before the fire.

She had been taught to always be grateful with anything offered with hospitality, so Aiyda was quite content when she saw her supper, made of grilled bread with butter melted ontop, dried ham coated in a blanket of perfumed herbs and spices, hard, sour cheese that stung her tongue as she bit into it, roasted game dipped in berry jam, a goblet of red wine and a tall cup of mint tea for soothing the belly. As famished as she was, she doubted she would be able to finish the tray on her own, but a fugitive thought of Ethon passing by made her wonder if he would stop to dine with her before he joined the others.

‘A man should never drink on an empty stomach,’ Jasper had told Mathys once, as the man downed his pint brimming with beer and wiped the foam from his top lip. Northern beer was bitter and thickened by chewy balls of hop, as those who made it were more concerned with drinking it than perfecting its texture. It was why Aiyda had never truly bent towards such drinks; wine tasted good, but was not worth the dizziness and warmth that took over her cheeks after the smallest of sips. She resented the feeling of losing her senses, especially around men who were hunting her like hare.

As she munched on a slice of ham, her eyes lingered on the few drops of wine the servant had brought with her meal. She could already hear music echoing from the Great Hall, a melody she recognized from the many hunting celebrations she had attended, and could already imagine herself dancing to it with her brother. It was not often that she wore dresses back home, for her days were always filled with either riding or exploring the perimeter of the woods closer to the village. Riding in skirts was as much a pain as attempting to sit on one side, like the ladies. It was a talent and a strength that she often envied her mother for.

That night, however, she had donned a thin nightgown of the two the servants had brought to her to change. It was far thinner than the others, more appropriate for the warmth in her chamber, and she had tied it so that if fell off of her shoulders, leaving her collar and chest exposed to the soothing heat. She had been allowed to wash her hair, and although not fully dried by then, she was now braiding it in a crown atop her head to encourage the curls to spring out as soon as she removed the pins. The effort was for nothing, but it felt nice pretending to be preparing herself to attend the feast.

As Aiyda popped in the last of the pins, her eye flickered to the wine one more time, and she briefly tallied the choice of taking a sip. If she were to spend her night in solitude, perhaps it would not cause such a stir within her. Bending down, a few locks sprung out of the braid, but Aiyda paid no mind to them for the time being, focusing her attention on the root of a vice she was about to indulge in. Soon enough, the red liquid kissed her lips with a first sip, followed by another, slow enough for her to enjoy is aroma. She could taste cinnamon and a hint of clove, spicy enough to sting her tongue, but which earned yet another sip.

When she placed the goblet back down, there were only a couple other drams left, yet Aiyda could not help but feel proud of herself for downing it. There was already a fire burning inside her, akin to that dancing in the hearth, and could feel her thighs heat as well as the drink settled in her gut. ‘You would be proud of me now,’ Aiyda thought, thinking of her father. He would have liked to see her become a mature woman. To see her happy and enjoying herself as one would, so long as he was by her side, always there to keep an eye on her and protect her.

A light knock on the door disturbed the heavenly silence, startling Aiyda from her comfortable seat by the flames. She shot up far too quickly, her blood boiling down into her soles and her chest heaving at the sudden movement, but the girl forced herself to straighten up as she paced towards the door to open it. Immediately, her eyes fell on the golden gaze she knew too well, and only then realised that it could have been someone else behind the door, whom she could not have presented herself to as such, with her night gown slightly pulled down and her locks floating around her still damp braid.

“I can already hear music,” Aiyda breathed softly as she looked at him. “I would have thought you were already there.” She glanced down to take in his carefully crafted attire of a dark blue, which could easily make him pass as one of the Sterling brothers, before taking a step back to allow him inside. She would have wanted to be more formal, then, to have greeted him with her day clothes on and her meal not scattered over the floor.

A grin played at the corner of her lips which she fought and failed to stifle. “It is quite cramped,” she sighed as she looked back to him. “But there’s enough room for an unexpected guest... And a dance, perhaps.” It was the wine speaking, she knew. Her cheeks were aglow, and so was her gaze as she looked upon him. The feast would be too much, but the privacy of her own chamber offered her a false sense of safety.

*

In other circumstances, Hector’s absence would not have surprised Lyram in the least, but then, as the feast was about to begin, he wondered if his brother was already too busy bedding a woman to care for his duties. It irked him, but found solace in the thought that at least Conrad had found the poise to wait. He could hear music coming from the Great Hall, silver cutlery clinking as servants moved about and voices echoing over the melody, almost urging for them to step through the doors and join them.

Conrad’s hit came unexpectedly, abruptly pulling Lyram out of his pull of thought. “We have to act like Lords, brother, not boys,” he said as he straightened his back. “At least for a first impression... Then you may get to drinking when our guests lose interest in watching us pace about the room.” He had prepared himself to be standing idle for some time, so he could wait and welcome their royal invitees as they arrived. It was not his duty to see to their comfort, but at the very least appear as though he gave a shit about their entertainment. Frankly, he only wanted to get it over with; after all, the feast was only a formality, the calm before the storm truly began.

His blue gaze then shot to Conrad as he drew one step closer, enough so that only he could hear his words. “Be careful, brother,” he murmured. “Your intentions are not subtle. Bed your servants and Southern handmaids all you want... But give the girl her peace.” He had seen the way he had been eyeing Aiyda at breakfast, almost in defiance of Ethon. “She has seen her father be slaughtered before her eyes... Be it as it was.” She was but a girl, shaken and suffering, either by an ungodly hand or that of a wildling raid.

With that, he turned towards the entrance and gestured for him to step inside. “We should proceed without Hector. If he wants to make a fool of himself before our guests, so be it,” and with that, he almost stormed through the archway and into the sea of servants, guests and music.

 

[pointmango]

Ethon stood easily outside the door, he knew she had to be back by now, unless she went exploring about the castle. He used to do such when he had first came to White Hall as well. However, when the door peaked open just slightly, and then further, his entire thoughts were encaptivated with other preoccupations.

The fire’s glow from the room illuminated her from the back, and somehow made the fact that she was in a frail and thin nightgown, strung below her shoulders all the more evident. Her skin appeared soft in it’s glow and Ethon could not help himself from looking at her, he admired her figure, so apparent now before her, and he stepped into the room as she moved aside. “Yes, I’ve always enjoyed the Northern music.” He spoke, his tone deeper than he would have thought in the moment.

When he moved inside her chambers they were close now, he had not remembered how tight the room when he was making the bed the previous night. Quite aware of their closeness now, and he let himself smile a bit as he could smell the hint of wine on her breath. “I thought you did not drink?” Ethon questioned to her, instead of stepping towards her, accepting her invitation of a dance, he stepped towards the tray of food that had been tampered with. He took the empty goblet and the pitcher that had likely been full of wine before, but now felt at least half empty and he poured himself some wine now. He sipped from the light goblet, slowly finishing the drink as he then set the drink down.

“Odd how you also declined my invitation for a dance earlier as well.” He kept the slight smile upon his lips as he stepped a bit closer to her, the closer he moved, the more off-put he was by himself. This talk of dance was likely the wine talking, and now that the wine had graced his own throat, and left a warm feeling within his belly. He shouldn’t dance with her, he should tell her to enjoy her evening and bid her a goodnight, but he could not help himself. A red haired beauty with hair strung lightly about, framing her face from the strands that fell from her braid.

Ethon took another step towards her, their breath mingling now as his hand slowly, but surely took a grasp of her waist. He careful, and his other hand moved to hers, smiling softly as he now pulled her just slightly closer, framing the dance. In their closeness Ethon felt a more masculine take over Aiyda, she was tall for a woman, he tall for a man, although he liked the height difference. Not enough were he had to crane his neck, but just enough that as he looked down her, she had to look up at him through her lashes.

Ethon began to lead, slowly, out of pace with the music it seemed, but he kept her close, which worked well in the tightness of her chamber. In the moment he felt inclined to skip the feast altogether, to sneak to the kitchens and gather them more wine, and dance with her in here until he felt content. “You dance well.” His voice spoke quietly, still deep, but nothing more than a whisper.

*

Conrad rolled his eyes some, Lyram was too concerned with good nature and tradition. He knew the second the King and Prince had sipped a few pints of Northern ale, and set their sights on a Northern woman they wished to take to bed nothing else would matter. But he had to humor Lyram.

Conrad’s own gaze turned to a frown as Lyram’s next words suggested what he thought. “It is no matter to you who I bed, brother.” His tone suggested he did not wish to speak of this matter at all with Lyram. “I will not force anyone to do anything. I do not play like that. And so, she is free to make her choice.” Conrad spoke simply, “Perhaps she needs something to take her mind off her loss. Not us constantly reminding her why her time here is so solemn.”

The paired turned into the hall, through the archway and Hector was already among the mist of the lot. Greeting his brothers close to the door. “Good evening brothers. So nice of you to join.” Hector spoke, wrapping an arm around each of them before Conrad shoved him away.

“I’ll enjoy this evening more thoroughly, if you keep away from me.” Conrad huffed.

Hector shook his head at his younger brother, “Don’t let such a mood overcome you brother, you’ll never win the game, the best at bruting is and always will be dear Lyram over here.” Hector teased. Contrary to the appearance he was giving off, Hector had consumed no liquor yet. He likely wouldn’t tonight. He wished to figure many questions he had out tonight, he would need his sharpened mind, and perhaps some coaxing of Lyram into drinking as well, so he wouldn’t suspect anything. Hector wished to know of his fathers tension with the King, and the Queen’s regards as well, which meant a lot of asking around the Southern nobles and servants. Although he would peg his biggest enigma at the Prince, he’d like to have a conversation with him later as well.

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda’s dark gaze moved with Ethon’s form as he paced through the room, as though analysing it for the first time. She could feel stray strands of hair tickling her cheek and neck as she followed him on the tips of her toes, barely touching the floor as she hopped. Flames burnt louder and louder within her, pouring down to her soles and sliding up to her cheeks and lips, ever fervent. It was an odd feeling, one of both an odd enthusiasm and joy that quickly overruled the taste of tears in the back of her mouth.

Her night gown was short enough to not get caught beneath her feet as she steps, barely passing her calves just above the ankle. The flow made it all the more exciting to spin around, despite the lack of room between the bed and pillows spread on the floor right in front of the hearth. It was a small place, which made it all the more comfortable; the closeness to the kitchens and the Great Hall brought the sounds and smells of the feast into her own apartment, without the rush of the festivity itself.

Aiyda watched Ethon finish her drink as the simper on her face only widened more into a smile. Her meal was almost intact, but she no longer felt anything else in her stomach beside a pleasant burn. “I thought I could indulge,” she shrugged then, pushing a few of pillows away towards the window with her feet. “It is safe here... Or at least the safest you could get within a castle brimming with strangers.” Thankfully, they would all soon be too occupied with dancing and drinking to mind her existence, or perhaps even Ethon’s for that matter, although she had a filling at least some would he looking for him through the crowd.

As he turned towards her, her eyes flickered to him and she pressed her lips into a line to stifle a grin. She could feel the wine on his breath as well then, mirroring her own as they had sipped from the same goblet, although his own scent mingled with that of brisk pine and winter, making for a strange contrast with his golden features. Yet even his gaze seemed to darken then, fierce, like a wolf eyeing its prey and, for a moment, Aiyda saw a fragment of his Lord within him, with the same flame caught ablaze in the almost longing stare.

A short sigh left her lips as she felt his hand cup the side of her waist, but eased into his pull and allowed herself to move towards him. His own cheeks radiated warmth, and close as she was, she could feel his light locks tickle her cheek as her own. Gently lifting her hand, she pulled the pins out of her hair to let it cascade back, slipping over her shoulders and floating behind her as she tilted her head to look up to him. “I might have stolen something that wasn’t mine,” she smiled to him. “Your first dance... It should have belonged to someone else.”

Her hand fell into his and she let him guide her in sluggish pirouettes around the cramped room, feeling the tendrils of fire wrap around her calves whenever she got closer to the flames. The music reverberating through the thick walls was still faint, but just enough to make it seem as though their breaths and whispers were part of the melody. “Would you believe me if I told you that I used to dance?” she murmured softly following his compliment. “For hours... I would twirl like this, lose my shoes and pins from my hair...” She let her fingers run over his shoulder as she spoke, playing with the rim and buttons of his coat.

It was not often that she refused the opportunity to dance during feasts, and sometimes even skipped about the room by herself, although not for long, until a man caught her from behind and pulled her to his side to join her innocent play. Mathys danced, as well, although he more preferred to watch from his seat by their father, listening to his comrades’ stories of killing tall beasts and bedding sturdy women. They seemed to be ever the same, yet he never truly got bored hearing them over and over again. Then, she would return to their table, dripping in sweat and with her hair barely holding on to a knot at the base of her nape, as she struggled to breathe out how much she had enjoyed her dance with a handsome stranger.

And although handsome, Ethon no longer felt like a stranger to her. She knew him like an old friend, or perhaps in her night of daze, she saw past her fear of the unknown and regarded him as more than he truly was for her. She relished in the longing gazes he traced over her body; it was like a game of hunting, although as the pray, strangely enough, she felt no need to hide in the bushes.

“You dance like the nobles,” she whispered in his ear, before twirling in his hold and jumping towards the other side of the room with a giggle. Then, with another pirouette, she hopped back into his arms. “If only I weren’t so sleepy... You would not be feeling your feet come morning.” She let her head fall back on her shoulder, the quick movement having drained her of some of the fire, but her head was only then beginning to buzz. “Or perhaps you won’t, anyway... Many will want to dance with you, I’m sure...”

*

Music had already started to echo through the halls of the castle as Roddrick was donning his finest of coats for the feast. Despite the cold of the North, his room had been made to be quite comfortable, and he had only found himself wearing little over the normal attire he chose back home. Now, the gold of House Kilgour was crossed by black fur lining the seams of his shoulders, collar and sleeve, making for an elegant but Northern twist to the usual noble taffeta.

He had not paid much mind to his parents’ own choices in terms of fashion, although in the darkness of the corridors leading towards the Great Hall, he could see the gold embroidery glimmering through the thread in the candlelight. Guards framed their sides, taking some of the attention away with the ever glowing silver of their armour, and briefly, Roddrick pitied them for having to endure a night watching a celebration instead of indulging in the vices it provided.

Soon enough, they found themselves before one of the archways leading into the Great Hall, brimming with people of both the North and the South who were either gathering to enter or escape the heat and rush of the room. Through the shoulders and skirts filling the hall, he could see countless servants hurrying to fill the tables with food, from hard cheese and stout bear meat to baked potatoes dripping in glistening honey sauce and pheasant wrapped in ham and dried rosemary, from cold beer foaming over the rim of the tankards to mulled wine. The melody only made it all the better, as if inviting them to partake, and a glance to his mother was enough for her to tell that her son was more than eager to join.

“A feast in our name,” she nodded towards him, a theatrical smile curling at the corners of her lips. “In your name, moreso. Make sure they know it, as well.”

The smirk on Roddrick’s lip was enough to either pass as agreement or nonchalance. He simply turned to face the room yet again, and as the guards lead them through the archway, the crowd split into two, making enough room for them to pass between the long tables and towards that which belonged to the Lords. Lyram was the first to appear from the sea of nobles and servants, his temple already glistening with sweat from the warmth within the room, but ever poised and calculated as he straightened his back to salute them, along with his younger brothers.

 

[pointmango]

Ethon thought of commenting on her safety, speaking that here he would ensure her safety, no matter which parties she tended to. Such a promise to keep really, one he thought he would uphold well enough. He kept his mouth quiet though, and watched her gaze, hearing her sigh as his hands moved to touch her. She was drunk? Maybe? He didn’t know. He did not know this girl, was she like this in nature? Was there an entire pitcher here before he came that she had finished herself? Although he did not know her, he felt close, as if she was an old friend down the hall for many years, rather than a mere days.

“You did not steal it.” Ethon spoke, her long red locks cascading over her shoulders was captivating. His longed for his hands to run through her hair, perhaps with their bodies mingled together as well. “It was always yours.” He promised her. In such quarters his hands could never stray, but there were no other eyes here to pry, no one else but the two of them, and so his hand sank just above her rear after sliding over the curve of her hip.

“I would.” He smiled as she spoke of dancing. “I can imagine it.” His gaze grew softer, “I bet you are a sight, an open hall, loud music, many men vying for your attention, eh?” He asked her, knowing the answer already. A woman who looked as she did never went past the attention of men. She certainly had not escaped any of their attentions.

Ethon chuckled as she bounced about the room, rather spriteful with a little bit of wine within her. “I was raised with nobles. Of course I would dance like one.” He informed her. And when she came back into his arms and her head fell back his own head leaned down some, one armed wrapped around her back, but the other hand moving up now, letting his fingers touch the fiery hair that was just as soft as he imagined it to be.

Shame she was so… tired. He would have liked to spend more of the evening with her. His hands pulled her to her bed, allowing himself to sit on the lower corner of her bed, and her to the same beside him. Sitting on the bed, her dress fell flat over her legs, outlining the strong form she had, his hands itched yet again, but he made no movements. His gaze however, did come to meet hers. “And what if I do not wish to dance with anyone else tonight?” He asked her, his tone almost as soft as the crackling of the ashes in the fire.

He could dance with Arah, as well as others any night he pleased really. Tonight, in the dimly lit room there was only her and him, and his gaze was occupied looking over her features now. Her cheekbones were soft, but yet for a woman, they were also high and defined. He would need more wine if he wanted to let his thoughts continue as he looked over the subtle curve of her lips, her lower slightly more plump than the upper. The gods would not have forgiven his thoughts from earlier upon him touching over her waist.

His hand easily picked up her own, and he held her fingers, oddly enough having gentle callous over the tips and inner knuckles where she held her bow. He turned her hand upward, and traced upon small white lines that matched the kind on his own fingertips. A small paper like cut would occur when the sharpened spine of a feather on an arrow was released quick enough. Rare, but the best shooters had them.

*

Hector watched back at first as Lyram approached when the Prince entered, his golden and black suitcoat fit him well, very well if Hector thought so. Conrad scoffed, “Looks like a prick in-” he began but Hector elbowed him harshly.

“No matter what he looks like you’ll keep your smart mouth shut tonight.” Hector informed him.

Conrad frowned, “Gods,” he muttered.

Now Hector and Conrad stepped forth, Hector bowing just slightly to the Prince, “Prince Roddrick, your arrival has signaled the official start of the feast.” Hector spoke easily, a light smirk upon his lips. His gaze did glance at Lyram, who still, always so serious. “My brothers and I are so grateful to have you. Please, join us up front, I’m sure Conrad would not mind moving over, providing you seat between myself and the future of White Hall.” Hector smiled, now looking at Lyram.

Conrad huffed a bit, but took his place, which had been switched with Roddrick, and was now seated on the other side of the Queen. Conrad did his best to keep his chin up, and tried not to eye every one of the Queen’s handmaiden’s that stepped forward as he had better plans for tonight. The Queen herself, very beautiful and radiant, her gaze almost felt familiar to Conrad, he was more concerned with how he would make conversation with the woman. “Your first time in the north, Queen Amara?” He asked her.

Towards the center of the table, Hector was helping himself to some glazed ham, offering some to the Prince, “Any chance you read, your grace?” Hector asked him, “We have quite a large collection, the largest in all the North, although I am sure nothing compares to the amount in the Great Library in the Capitol?” Hector glanced to Lyram, as if to suggest to his brother to make light and easy conversation, none of his bruiting would be tolerated tonight.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was not easy for Aiyda to resist the warmth of his voice as he held her close, and nor did she try to in that moment. It was a strange feeling, one that seemed to be recurring to her then, a feeling that hinted home, with the golden hair glowing in the candlelight like her sweet Mathys’s and the comforting scent of fire breathing heat from behind the two of them as they danced. If it was a all but a dream, she did not wish to be woken up.

She eased eagerly into his pull as he took the two of them towards the bed, her heart twisting in her throat in a foolish excitement. As soon as she deepened herself in the soft mattress and her blood sunk into her thighs, she let out a sigh of satisfaction and closed her eyes against his shoulder, listening to him speak. It was almost as if his voice was within her own mind, barely soft enough to overrule the crackle of the fire, but deep and husky, clearly taken with her presence.

She could feel his gaze moving over her, but did not make the effort of parting her lashes. “If you don’t wish to dance, then what point is there in rejoining the feast?” Aiyda softly mumbled against his neck. “You could stay here... I could keep you for myself. And I would steal a second dance, then... Perchance a third, a fourth... Your last.” Where she had wanted to spend her night alone only a turn of the clock before, now she could not bear the thought of parting with him. It felt like it would simply be unbearable. Cruel, of him to let her go.

When her eyes opened again and her gaze fell on his hand playing with hers, the same dulcet simper from before returned to her lips. She gently lifted it away from his grasp and, wrapping it around the back of his head, slowly pulled him down with her on the bed, letting her back sink into the ermine like snow. Her head was buzzing as if she had been spinning all night, but somehow, the feeling was pleasant. It only glued her even tighter to him and the inviting featherbed beneath them.

“You are all I have, Ethon,” Aiyda whispered then, going to caress his cheek and cup his jaw. She could feel short, sharp hairs digging into her fingertips. “You are my only friend... All I have breathing life into me,” after having lost a good fragment of it along with the loss of her father. “And I swear I will never let anyone take you away from me...” They could try, but she knew she would protect him with the price of her own life if needed. He and Krull were her treasures for now, unless the Gods were merciful enough to bring her family back to the land of the living.

Her gaze fell on his lips for a moment, before returning to his eyes, and felt her own sting with a tear that she quickly stifled. She knew that the wine had touched her mind, altered the way she looked at him then, which only made her wonder if it had played with his own attitude towards her, although she knew he had had far less than she had.

A part of her irked her to get up and pull him into another dance, lift their spirits if his own had fallen any lower, but could not find it within her to leave the comfort he provided. It felt heavenly, a place right between sobriety and slumber, the right mixture of safety and longing for adventure. Maybe she had been wrong to deny the invitation to the feast, after all; at least the noise would not have allowed her to think of anything else but music, dancing and good food. Wine would never have kissed her lips, and she would have been burning like fire through the fervent sea of servants and nobles.

*

It was an odd sight when Hector spoke first, although Lyram did not deny his attempt at winning the graces of the Crown. If anything, he was rather happy he did not have to think of a way of rephrasing his words from earlier to make it seem like he was truly enthusiastic to welcome them to the feast. All which resided within him was tension, which would only be relieved once he spoke to his father, and he gave him a satisfactory answer, not one made for the ears of naive children.

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he bent forward, gesturing for the Queen to follow him and offering her his arm. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as him, but undoubtedly beautiful nevertheless. The look in her eye told him she had the wits about her as well; in her youths, pristine as a girl would be, perhaps she would have been the perfect candidate to the vacant slot as the Lady of White Hall, although he doubted she would have chosen that over the reign of Armath.

Yet as they claimed their seats overlooking the Great Hall, it was Conrad who stole the woman’s attention from him. Queen Amara turned her head, her lips barely painting a smile. “My first time as a grown woman,” she spoke. “I have been here as a child... Although I do not truly remember much.” She knew their names by then, and knew Conrad to be the youngest and, by the look of him, the strongest in battle. He was more robust than Lyram, but the latter seemed to make up for it in intelligence and subtlety.

“Are you holding back, my Lord?” she said as a servant came to pour wine into her glass. She then went to bring it to her lips. “Do you not wish to spend the night with your young friends? I have seen many pretty faces here, and many handsome as well... A sunkissed boy, if I remember correctly... He seemed almost regal in his presence this morning. Will he not be attending the festivities?”

On the other side, Roddrick had made himself comfortable between the two Lords of White Hall and had already eagerly agreed to indulge in a goblet of wine. He lifted it from the table, giving the glass a few twirls, before bringing it to his nose to take a whiff. “Your father, Lord Victor, does not shy away the finest of drinks, does he now?” It was soon followed by a sip which earned a smirk of satisfaction from the man. “Cinnamon and clove. Good wine. Would likely get you hammered in less than a full goblet.”

He chuckled as he took another gulp and watched the servants come bring them their appetizers. Hector was the first to help himself from the plentiful tray, but the Prince followed soon after, grabbing a few slices of ham and cheese for himself, alongside a corner of toasted bread. “I do read, Lord Hector. I am quite avid, I must say. I read in the morning, to clear my mind... And I read in the evening, to muddle it so I can have the dreams I desire when life is not kind enough to provide,” his smirk only widening at the latter.

“Do you read poems?” Lyram thought to ask, leaning back in his chair. “If you have ready Almund the Wise, he has an impres-“

“I don’t,” Roddrick shrugged, ripping a piece of ham with his fork. “I am afraid poems are not to my liking. I do read prose. Romance, war, philosophy... Food for the mind. Poems... What are poems but awful interpretations of reality with a bit of musicality to distract the reader from it?”

Lyram pressed his lips into a line and gave him a nod. “Indeed, your Grace.” His eye flickered to Hector then, visibly irked but attempting to restore his poise. “I am sure you could show the future King of Armath around the library, brother. Tomorrow, or when he so desires. He seems like good company.” Bitter, but he knew it was exactly how Hector liked it, and it only made Lyram want to see himself away from the crowd as soon as possible.

 

[pointmango]

She laid her head against his shoulder, and the notion of it all felt too natural, too familiar. So much so to the point were Ethon almost did not trust himself. Almost. He could feel her soft breath on his neck as she mumbled, reasoning well with him as she spoke her question that reasoned with himself to stay a bit longer. “Tempting thoughts you know.” He smiled softly as worded against spending the rest of his evening, seemingly even his night here with her. What went along with spending the night he did not know. His mind trying to decipher if she meant a real dance, or one beneath her sheets.

Ethon frowned just slightly as she pulled her hand from his grasp, upset he could no longer hold her hand. But the moment she rearranged them, there was no longer a frown upon his lips, only shock lying above his brow. Her hand touched softly at the short-cut hair at the nape his neck, and his body leaning slightly against, and even slightly over her while they were on the bed. His mind buzzing when her hand moved to his cheek and jaw, a far too intimate touch for such meetings of a simple dance.

All she has. That was a heavy weight to bear, even in the situation. And then she swore to him, and his chest pulled, oddly captivated by the idea of being tied to her by her own promise. “You are drunk.” He told her, although while one hand felt lowly at her waist, the other came up to her cheek. Her jawline softer, smooth, but even there on her elegant features, he could feel the slight movement as she breathed out. He wished he had more wine in his belly in that moment, it would have justified his next movements. He did not truly know how he spanned his events, the wine affecting him, but not to the point where he was unaware of his intentions.

One hand moved lower, caressing over her thigh, still over her nightgown, but leaving little of her outer form to his imagination. His hand that held her jaw touched one of her fire kissed locked before dipping lower, tracing the outline of her lower lip, letting his thumb brush just slightly over her feature, now knowing he needed her lips upon his.

“For all you know I could be a southern spy.” He spoke to her, although he knew even the thought was rubbish. Despite his early years in the South, he hardly remembered them. Other than his looks, he was raised to be a Northern man. A small smile toyed at his lips at his joke, and he pressed his torso into hers some. Had she not been here he’d be dancing in the Great Hall with Arah, looking around and taking in all he could about the South. And yet with her arrival, and in this moment, he could barely even think of his own name, let alone his plots of the Southern mystery to him.

His hand by her top now traced back behind her neck as he let his own head lean down closer to hers, her face visible in their closeness of her dimly lit room. His ears were poked with the sound of the fire between their louder breaths, from their slighted movements in the dance, and he leaned forward more, pressing his lips firmly against hers, letting his body press to her slightly as well.

*

Conrad nodded some at the Queen’s words. Her first time as a woman. Maybe she was a suitor of his father’s. He did not know, and truthfully he did not care. He knew Hector would have loved to hear such stories, how the Queen came to know the North in her early years, but Conrad was more preoccupied with escape. He’d have to evade any sightings from Lyram.

Conrad’s attention shifted when the Queen spoke further. “No, just, formalities.” Conrad decided to speak, a line he might expect from Lyram’s lips if he did not dance with any women tonight. Conrad glanced to her yet again as she spoke of Ethon. Made sense she would notice him, not many golden haired boys here in the North. “Ethon,” Conrad spoke his friends name, wondering where he was. Father did not seem off put by his lack of presence. “I do not know. I would have expected him to show. A feast with his Southern counterparts.” Conrad shrugged some as he now took his own goblet, sipping generously from the cup.

“Would not call him regal. From the streets of the capitol. Father took him in, I do not remember his arrival too clearly, father stated something about potential, diplomatic purposes maybe. He has had lessons with us ever since.” Conrad shrugged. “Bright lad.” He truthfully had never thought much on the subject until now. He knew it was odd, he knew Ethon’s background, the son of a whore, taken here to be taught to read and write and fight. Truthfully it made no sense at all. Conrad has always assumed in some way his father must’ve owned a debt to the brothel master, maybe one of his men raped the whore who was Ethon’s mother. He did not know.

Hector watched the Prince carefully, he had to be subtle with Lyram’s eyes close by. But every movement suggested to Hector the Prince would fair well in his battle for wits. The smirk after he drank from his goblet of wine only solidified Hector’s desire to spend a bit more time getting to know the man he would advise as King one day.

When the Prince interrupted Lyram, Hector would have laughed right then and there at his brother, but he could not let on to such an implication at Lyram’s pride. Besides, the look on Lyram’s face after he was cut off was enough to soar Hector into the sky with gratification. Here Lyram was next in line, everyone respected him without fail other than their father, who even then treated his sons as he would any other advisor. Here was the Prince of Armath disregarding Lyram with a flick of his wrist, he answered to no one but the King, for now.

“I do tell him, poems are only the songs not good enough to be sung by the masses.” Hector stated taking a bit of his ham before nodding at Lyram’s next words. “Of course, although judging by your interest and avidity of reading, likely the only items you have missed are the histories of the North.” Hector spoke, clearly flattering the man.

Hector cleared his throat some, the Prince took compliments well, intellectual conversation seemed to be no bust, what about competition. “My father spoke of jousting.” Hector lied. “I told him not to bother, I told him I wouldn’t want to embarrass the future King in the eyes of the North.” Hector smiled proudly, his eyes glancing for just a moment to Lyram, seeing if he had any wits left to contribute.

 

[peritwinkle]

There was plenty that Aiyda wished to say to him in that moment. Plenty that could not leave her lips, in the fear that the tears now forming in her eyes would spill upon her heated cheeks. Locks of golden hair touched her forehead as he drew close to her, their breaths never breaking apart, as warm and soothing as the embrace she had pulled the two of them in.

Yet as he accused her of being drunk and mindless, she could not stifle the frown that curled her lips and darkened her eyes. “The wine might have toyed with my senses,” she murmured softly, “but I know the words that come out of my mouth.” Only a blind and dimwitted man could deny that she had anything more than him and a horse to remind her of her home. It was pathetic, really, but the thought of him brought her solace. At least it reminded her that she was, still, not alone.

Her hand lifted to caress his temple, then slipped to trace the contour of his nose, his cheekbone and his jaw, down to his chin. “It might be a mystery to you... Having nobody. It was to me, as well. I still cannot truly comprehend it.” Even if the Sterlings were not truly his family, she knew she had grown to love them; otherwise, they would not have paid mind to a servant coming to present a lost huntress before them in the obvious apex of a discussion.

As he bent down, however, her lips were quickly silenced by a fervent kiss, abrupt but heated akin to his voice from before. Closing her eyes, she was certain he could hear the loud beating of her heart against her stern and his own, but which she did not bother to hide. She let out a breath as he touched her thigh, and her hand immediately flickered to his own to gently bring it back over her hips, her waist, subtly keeping it from slipping any lower.

“Not like this,” she murmured against his lips. They were warm and soft, and she longed to have them pressed against her own again, but she knew that she was not truly being herself then. “Not like this...” she whispered again, pressing her forehead to his. The moment felt far too intimate, although she could not deny the feeling in her stomach as he was holding her. It was eerie, almost, a dream that only seemed to become more vivid as moments passed, yet the time in their room seemed to stand still.

“We are both not ourselves,” another sigh escaped her as she slightly turned her head towards the window, feeling her throat clench painfully and her eyes sting again. It was not what she ought to be doing. Not what she had told herself she would he doing. She was still shaken, still numb to anything but pain, and yet he had pulled emotion out of her so easily that it made her wonder whether it was him or, truly, the wine she had sipped on too fast.

“Are you intending to leave me?” she thought to ask then as she returned to him. Her gaze lingered on his lips again, then flickered back to his eyes. They seemed glazed, almost as if he were in a trance, which only thickened the lump she felt arching within her. “To join your friends at the feast?” By then, he knew that she was not coming, but she did not wish to be left alone. Not vulnerable as she was right then. She could only assume that was what he wanted, though - to spend the rest of his night with friends and girls who would allow him much more than just a peck on the lips.

*

Amara could not tell whether it was satisfaction or fear that sprung in her stomach then as she listened to the young Lord speak, although she was an expert at hiding it beneath her thick poise. She raised the cup to her lips to take another sip, masking the slight grimace that played at the corner of her eye. A Southern boy, taken from a whore to be looked after by a man from a land far away. To be protected, for whatever reason he had found, whatever he had seen in him.

Had the dowager Queen been there, she would have gotten a nudge or two. The woman was sure, and yet Amara could not allow her heart and mind to fill with empty hopes. Frankly, she was unsure what she would even do with the information, if it did prove to be true, although she did not think Victor Sterling would be eager to give it away so easily, especially if he had kept it from his own sons.

Her gaze returned to him, masking a false smile. “I would love to meet him,” she said, more as an order than a statement. “I have... always been fascinated with how people from other lands fare so far away from their homes. Especially a boy like him, from the streets of my home.” The capital was not her home, but she had grown to trill it like a poem, now coming to the forefront before anything else.

Roddrick’s own eyes did linger on his mother for a moment as he enjoyed his meal, wondering what it was that interested her in the Sterling boy. He was surprised she was not yet speaking to Lord Victor, but not too much bothered by it as much as his inability to eavesdrop on the conversation due to the noise and music in the hall.

When Hector spoke again, his ears perked up and he immediately turned to him with a fine smile. “No, I have not. Northern stories are not regarded as genuine in the South, we... They say that most Northern writers are inspired by... fabrications of the mind in restless nights.” Frankly, they had always intrigued him to a point. As surreal as they seemed, a part of him had always found a gram of truth within them, or at least a fragment which he wanted to believe.

“One, however, has been spreading through the capital... By commoners, of course,” he quickly added in an attempt to not be regarded as gullible. “A prophecy, of sorts, they call it... Hmm...” He thought for a moment, although theatrically, for it had plagued his mind for nights on end after hearing it. “The Heir’s Augury, I reckon. Speaks of a man of noble blood who will end an emerging war. A story, nonetheless, but one that the people seem to be inclined to believe.”

The talk of jousting did intrigue him, but did not earn much more than a shrug. “I would not get my hopes up. I have been told we will not be staying for long. The capital cannot be left without a ruler for too much, can it now?” He had always enjoyed jousting, even as a boy, only allowed to ride his pony with a blunt wooden stick. “But perhaps I could talk my own father into one, and you would certainly be invited.”

 

[pointmango]

Her hand was quick to move to his when his fingers pressed lower, keeping his hand at bay which made the message clear to him in that moment they would not be allowed to do much more than kiss. Still he did not pull, not until she pressed warm words against his lips, telling him they could not. Her forehead now pressed to his, and although their lips had parted he did not dare turn away.

When she spoke, sighing and now turning her head away, his own position did not falter, his forehead now pressed to the side of her head, against her hair. When he gaze returned to his, he listed his head slightly, and then he moved to roll beside her on the bed now instead of over her. His hand kept at her waist as he let out a deep breath of his own now as well, “I can’t remember the last time I was myself.” He whispered slightly.

He shook his head now as he looked at her, “I will stay until you fall asleep.” He informed her. Words he decided he would hold true to, he did need to head to the feast. He had to converse with the southerners while they were still open and drunk. He now shifted in his seat, letting his arm wrap around her some from behind, and his free hand now moving across his own body and reaching for her hand. He thought of just laying with her, listening to her subtle breaths as the night would slowly send her off into a slumber.

Now he shifted in the bed, his gaze returning to hers for a moment. “I do not remember much of the South.” He spoke to her, his chin now leaning down some, letting his eyes now reach the fire, able to just make out her outline from the side of his eyes. “I remember the sand, or maybe it was more so dirt in the streets where I came from. But we called it sand. It left a thin dust like layer over every floor. You’d have to wipe your hand over your feet each night before bed. Course it was always in the beds too.” He smiled softly remembering the routine, and wondering why the hell it mattered if he felt little dirt and sand particles in his bed each night.

“Me and some of the other boys, we used to throw rocks for game. We’d draw targets on city walls and whoever got the most in the target would get to take hom the extra gold we would steal that day.” A grin tugged at his lips, the memories of his young childhood friends were only names now, he could hardly remember their faces, and he was sure even if he saw them exactly how they were, he would not recall them. “I won almost everyday. I’m a great shot, even back then.” He nudged her some, clearly teasing a bit.

“I saved my coins. The brothel master told me if I paid him what my mother made in a night, he would give her the day off. To spend with me.” This sentence revealing more about his childhood than even some of the Sterling brothers knew. “The first time it happened, she took me outside the city walls. I’d never been to such a place, she told me when she worked at the castle some of the younger male servants would take her here, bring wine and stolen food from the castle kitchens.” His own fingers traced small circles over the back of her hand as he lived his memory. “She took me to the most grand lake I had ever seen. I saw much more grand bodies of water on my travels here with Lord Sterling, but then, I must’ve been six, I thought it the largest amount of water in the world.” He spoke, deciding to leave out that the body of water wasn’t so much a lake as it was a pond.

“We swam all day and into the night. And when the night came, we watched from outside the castle walls as they lit each torch that lined the city.” His eyes closing, remembering the sight, that was one he would never forget, sitting in the lap of his beautiful young mother. “White Hall is so different from the Capitol.” He muttered.

*

Conrad glanced to the Queen at her request. “Of course.” He nodded without hesitation, “Perhaps even tonight, if he is heading to the feast ti should be soon.” Conrad spoke, hope lined in his voice. “He fares well, I did not know him, but a common boy to be raised like a Lord and making it this far… he did well I’d say” Conrad spoke as if he was part of the reason Ethon had made himself so well off.

“I’m sure Ethon will be interested to meet you as well. I know he has been excited to finally meet some southern counterparts. Sure many tales and memories of his childhood will resurface.” Conrad delivered to the Queen in a sure tone.

Hector disregarded the Prince’s views on Northern history. Hector only studied it to learn from others mistakes. He took no other interests in matters of the past. His own chin lifted as he listened to the story of the Heirs Augury. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard of such.” Hector noted, although unfamiliar with the exact words, he understood the gist, and that the witch talk was likely about the man sitting right next to him.

Hector opened his mouth to reply about the jousting, when a woman approached them. Hector’s gaze barely lifted, but he knew the girl. His jaw clenched as the woman was the girl who fancied Ethon more than any other in the entire castle. The same woman who had caught Hector with one of the Stewards bent before him.

“Lord Hector, would you fancy a dance?” She asked. A bold move made by a woman to a Lord, especially one of her status.

Hector would have gutted the girl for the act she caught him in, but Arah knew her way about the servants, one line that Hector didn’t have a way with, especially with the women. Hector had proposed a deal for the pair of them, selling information to one another when they could.

“I would, but I actually have been enjoying neat conversation with the Prince here,” Hector spoke and Arah bowed to him, a smirk on her lips. “I would offer you to Conrad, he’s always fond of a dance with a beautiful woman like yourself, but he is occupied with the Queen.” Hector pointed out. Finally Hector looked to Lyram, “Brother.” Hector spoke, making his tone as sincere as possible, “Please, I know you had no intentions of dancing tonight, but please spare your thoughts for the girl. The Prince Roddrick and I will be awaiting you. Only one dance.” Hector spoke. That was all he would need to get a full read on the Prince he thought, although he was already fairly certain.

“One dance my lord?” Arah asked, her tone sweet as well. “Please, it would be such an honor?” She smiled generously at Lyram. Had he the same mind as Conrad he would have described the look she was giving him as fucking him with her eyes.

 

[peritwinkle]

For a moment, Aiyda was afraid that her denial would push Ethon away, but she was relieved when his touch was just as kind and heated with the same passion as he pressed his forehead to hers and held her to him. It was more than an embrace, although it brought her the comfort that she had been seeking in the depths of her heart, the wish to feel safe and in the right hands, even if such feelings were kindled by the wine.

She turned towards him as he fell to his side and bashfully rested her head against his chest. Soon enough, she felt his arm wrap around her back and could ease into the hug more easily, closing her eyes. Had it been any other night, perhaps they could have fallen asleep like that, having found solace in one another. She had seen the pain in his eyes, as well, even before he admitted it now. He needed her, maybe almost as much as she needed him.

Ethon’s voice rung like a wind’s whisper in the night, barely above the crackling of the fire. It had lost its lustful depth, now replaced by melancholy. Aiyda listened to him as he spoke, her lids resting over her eyes for the time being. She did not wish to fall asleep, but could not deny the fatigue pulling at her head. One night could not have made up for two others lost. It had been peaceful, nonetheless, but barely enough to breathe the same life into her as before.

He spoke of his mother, and the thought of her own pierced her heart painfully. She missed her mother more than anything; perhaps it was the blind hope that she was still alive that kept her going. The thought that she and Mathys had not been reached by the Wild Hunt, althought it was a childish hope. Completely in vain, only to perturb her mind even more when she was faced with the bitter truth.

A soft moan of exhaustion left her nose as she pulled closer to him. The material of his coat was now dampened, and she could feel the corners of her eyes burn from the tears streaming slowly but continuously through her lashes. The lump in her throat never did leave, but was overshadowed by a gentle slumber taking over her then. She could almost no longer hear him speak, his voice now but a murmur above the flames.

When she did fall into the depths of sleep, her arm relaxed, tending to fall from his own, and her body fell weakened over his arm. Soft breaths left her lips, locks of her russet hair trembling against them. Sound asleep, it was as if the room itself had bid them goodnight, now shrouded in peace and quiet, with a gentle melody echoing through the corridors still, but one which Aiyda could no longer hear.

*

Frankly, Roddrick was already growing annoyed with his mother for bending her ear so obediently to the youngest of the Sterlings. Even as he listened to Hector speak, he could not help but wonder what it was about their conversation that had gotten her so interested. It was not often that she displayed emotion or interest, truly, but he had learned to see it in her eyes, see the guile flickering like fire as she nodded and took a sip from her goblet.

For the last few days before their departure North, she had been spending time either in the castle library, or taking long, boring walks through the gardens with his grandmother. It was just a strange a sight to see them so close so often. It had been even stranger that the woman had come along instead of staying in the capital, but Roddrick had not had the courage or cheek to ask.

He was shaken as their conversation which he wasn’t paying much attention to was interrupted by a girl. She was a servant by the looks of it, which made Roddrick wonder if it was normal in the North for servants to address their nobles for anything other than taking on orders and commands. But to ask one of the Sterling Lords for a dance? It seemed absurd and earned a half amused, half annoyed grimace from the man.

“Have you no cheek?” he asked then. “Are all the servants and floor swipers taken?” He brushed her away with a gesture of his hand holding the goblet of wine. “Off you go.”

“I would care for a dance, actually,” Lyram painted a bitter smile as he turned to look to the Prince. “I was wondering when you’d ask, Arah.” His gaze was on the verge of a glare as he rose from his seat and went around the table to reach her side. If he had thought of denying the offer then, he now wanted to do it out of pure spite. “I am sure my brothers, Conrad and Hector, will take you for one as well when they are done.”

With that, he offered the girl his hand and wrapped the other around her middle as he pulled her closer to the middle of the room. The music was louder then, which sent his ears buzzing, but it was a pain he was willing to endure. “I assume you do not know of Ethon,” he said to her ear, “otherwise you would not have embarrassed yourself before the Prince like this.” She was worried, he could tell because he was as well. “You would have rather danced with him, hm?” It was never a hint, but more of an observation. It took a blind man to not see she felt for him. But her feelings did not concern him as much as her beloved’s absence from the feast.

 

[pointmango]

He had felt her crying softly against his chest at his words, she did not seem to sob, the cry was almost gentle, which to Ethon made the tears so much harder to handle, his hand rubbed slightly over her side and back, and he continued to hold her hand gently, letting himself run small circles with his thumb. He felt her body slowly relaxing against him, her face which had moments ago been pressed so tightly to him, no relaxed slightly, as did the rest of her body.

Her breathing grew softer and her sleep came over her quick, Ethon unsure if it the wine, or her long few days here. Likely the latter. He pressed his own body away some, shifting slowly and slightly in attempt not to wake her. His own being turned more and he allowed himself to slip from the bed, taking one of the lower throws and pulling it easily over her body. He straightened his coat jacket back out, in case it was out of place, and he moved over to the small fire in her room, adding two more logs so it would last the night through for sure.

When he came to the door, he glanced back to her one final time, wondering if he should stay. She was battered, beaten emotionally, and clearly physically exhausted, and he felt like he was betraying her by leaving. But he needed to know if there were any connections to his past, he pulled the handle of the door open and slipped from the room, wishing there was no feeling of regret in his gut as he made his way towards the great hall.

There was a door that lead to the hall from the left side, quite different from the main entryway, one the servants would use when they were cleaning dishes and food from the feasting room. Again, he pulled his coat and now even ran his hands through his hair, in hopes of not appearing disheveled or any sorts while in the feasting room. He should have stopped to look in a mirror, although his time with Aiyda was not messy at all, he still felt like maybe one of the Sterling brothers would have an idea about his absence.

*

Hector did note the way the Prince handled Arah’s presence at the table. In White Hall they were taught to treat their servants with respect. Victor always made sure of that. Even they were clearly of lesser status, there was still a line, they were still human, and part of the Sterling House by residence. His father had always made such very clear to him and his brothers. He knew the Prince’s upbringing easily by his comment to the girl, had it been anyone other than Arah, part of Hector might have even been offended. Might.

Hector nodded some as Lyram agreed to dance, he knew Lyram would never shy away from showing someone respect, especially when they had been wrongfully disrespected by someone like Roddrick. It amused Hector more than anything, the differing natures of the Prince and his brother. Imagine if the King had requested the future heir of White Hall, instead of him or Conrad. If Lyram was forced to be swept up and brought to the capital.

Hector knew Lyram would not fair well there. His brother was more just than any of them, a man of honor and fairness. Hector heard the stories, he’d met diplomats, and now he had seen the royal family too. The capital was clearly anything but just. It was all politics, whoever had the best sense of knowledge, threats, the ability to expose others, those were who would hold power there. The idea of it all fascinated Hector, it was how he spent his time about White Hall. But he knew he would not cut it in the capital either. Sure better than Lyram, but it would take him time to gain trustworthy allies, if any. He was too much like his brothers, despite the sneaky nature about him.

When Lyram moved away with Arah, Hector now looked to the Prince. “Tell me about the capital, your grace.” Hector spoke, leaning back bringing a gentle sip of wine to his lips. He never indulged in more than a cup when he wanted to be aware of himself and his surroundings.

Arah followed Lyram neatly to where the dancing was as he led her. When his hand came around the back of her midsection, she stepped in closely with him. A warm smile coming to her lips as he spoke of Ethon. She kept the smile on her lips, but clearly her eyes spoke that she was unhappy it was Lyram she was dancing with. “No, Ethon is likely… preoccupied.” Arah spoke, even though she had not seen him, they could both guess where he was. Her eyes kept glancing around the room after she would look at Lyram, clearly still looking for Ethon.

She glanced at Lyram, his question hardly a question, as he and everyone would have known the answer. “Yes, my Lord.” Arah spoke. Truthfully she’d never paid much mind to Lyram, he had no interest in fucking the servant girls, not like Conrad did. And he didn’t pay them much mind either, Hector was the one who had his eyes on everyone, watching constantly. Many of the servant girls thought Lyram was incredibly good looking, Arah wouldn’t argue, but her heart fell to the golden haired boy when they were younger.

Her first official job with pay, she was fourteen, Ethon fifteen. She had been on verge of turning to the brothels to make her money, when Ethon found her, a stroke of fate really. She had been asking about the taverns for work. None of the barkeeps wanted her, none would pay what was fair. She had even been thrown out of one of them, thrown from the bar and right into Ethon and Conrad making their way to a different tavern after sneaking out one night. She was in tears and Conrad had nearly laughed in her face. She doubted Conrad even remembered her face from that, the youngest Lord of White Hall had only noticed her when she had reached her maturity the next year.

Ethon told her her to find him the next morning by the outskirts of the White Hall boundaries. There Ethon set her up well, arranging her for a kitchen maid position. He helped her in the beginning too, vouching for her, and even easing her when the others were nasty. Arah fell into the likes quickly after that. Ethon having explained that was just the way they treated all the new folk. And it was. Now she was apart of their family, but she would never forget the kindness in his heart, not helping her out of lust or any purpose other than to simply help.

She tried desperately for the man’s affections, but he never cared for another. She thought him to be like Hector, once she discovered his vice, but Hector assured her he was not. That he would have known. She was not the first to think it, apparently other Stewards had asked Hector the same question. Arah thought it was odd, most men lusted after her with ease, she knew she was no sore to the eye. But Ethon seemed to look right through her. Up until the other night, when he had touched her waist, pulled her so close to him and flirted. And now tonight… she was stood up.

*

Ethon tapped Lyram’s shoulder, dancing with the woman he had saved a dance for. He would not break his word, he would dance with Arah, and then he would pull her along to catch the eyes of southern nobles as he conversed with them, and tried to figure out anything he could. “May I?”, Ethon asked with a smile. But Arah looked at him frowning, she knew where he had been.

“No you may not.” She answered before Lyram could.

Towards the table COnrad nodded now at the scene, Ethon having joined Lyram and Arah. His gaze switched between them and the Queen, “There he is now. Always out and about, popping in here and there.” Conrad spoke with a small joke on his lips. “Look like he upset that one.” Conrad added, now a bit intrigued wondering how the scene would unfold.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was quite clear to Lyram that Arah was not entirely content with her option, but he did not care enough to show any hint of disappointment on his face as he addressed her. As soon as she started speaking, now away from the ears of his brothers and the Prince, he could tell that there was something more than mild annoyance residing within her at Ethon's absence, which made him wonder if the boy had promised one to his servant friend.

"I know Ethon enough to say that he is not as much like Conrad as you might think," Lyram corrected her, his gaze scouring the hall as they moved to the rhythm of the song playing in the background. "His intentions might differ from what you may be thinking." A part of him was sure that he was with Aiyda, although he could not truly make himself believe that he would be doing anything more than chatting before the fire. Perhaps even with a glass of wine for good measure, for himself, as the girl had stated she was not an avid drinker.

The corners of his lips perked up at her blunt honesty. He had never truly expected her to enjoy a dance with him, despite him not being particularly unpleasant to the eye. He knew many commoners and Ladies alike had eyed him at least once, and although he had never taken to any woman, he did long for having someone to love. Yet faced with the fact, Arah's suffering was not a part of love that he was eager to experience for himself.

His hand remained at her side, clutching her gently but firmly, enough to keep her from running away if tears began stinging at her eyes, which he frankly doubted coming from someone as headstrong as Arah. His gaze eventually turned to hers as he let a sigh escape his lips. "Ethon might make for good sport, Arah, but you cannot force feelings out of someone." He had not experienced such for himself, but he knew it to be true. "He does care for you," he thought to add then, as if to dilute his words.

A pat on the shoulder startled Lyram slightly, as he was half deepened in thought, but when he turned his head and his eyes fell on Ethon, the smirk on his lips returned, almost content that he was no longer forced to dance to a bland song. "Speaking of the devil," he nodded and was prepared to let go of his partner, when she promptly denied the invitation. Lyram frown, his grip on her easing, but not quite removing herself yet. "Am I to be your dancing prisoner now?" he joked. Had he not been who he was, he did not doubt she would throw some choice words or a nudge at him.

Ethon did not look disheveled. Wherever he had been, he did not seem to have been doing anything out of the ordinary. He was tempted to try and reason with Arah for a moment, but then quickly thought against it. The mere mention of Aiyda would send her raging, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted to earn out of her right then.

"Unfortunately, I might have to give you away," Lyram sighed to Arah. "I could not leave my guests hanging." His eyes flickered to the Queen and the Prince for a moment. His father, Lord Victor, was seated near them but not he seemed to be distracted with a light conversation with King Corban. Then, he turned to Ethon, almost fearful to witness their interaction. "You are quite late," he added jokingly, before slipping from their aura and heading back towards his table.

Roddrick was not as invested with the dramatic dialogue to not pay mind to what Hector was saying. The more Northern wine he drank, the more interested he became in the conversation, leaving the music and the pretty women to unravel by themselves. His eyes seemed to catch ablaze as he was inquired about the Capital, a laugh toying at his lips as he took one last sip from his goblet and turned to the Lord.

"A pile of shit," he chuckled and swung the goblet towards him. "Drink with me, or otherwise I won't tell you anything." He then quickly gestured towards his empty cup to a servant, who quickly came to his aid and poured more, only to fill it half to keep the man sober at least until the sweets came.

He did think for a second, if only to choose his words and not make the the Capital seem completely uninviting. "I would say it is much larger than White Hall. Much more imposing and bright, even when the sun is casting shadows over the roads. It overlooks the sea, which can be seen from quite some chambers in the castle." The scenery was his favourite thing about his home, which came almost as close to the jousting grounds, which did not smell particularly pleasant, but they made for an enjoyable location nevertheless. "A grand place, really. I do not know much about here... The North seems dark and unforgiving. Cold, needless to say... But clearly, not its people."

As the feast went on, it was more and more difficult to discern one face from another, all touched by sweat and redness from either too much dancing or excessive drinking. Amara's gaze remained unpolluted by the sight, ever poised and calculated. She had not intended to enjoy herself that night. It was difficult to do so when in the presence of her husband, but she had hoped to perhaps converse with the Lords of White Hall.

Seeing it as Lord Sterling was taken with Corban, Amara was tempted to turn to his wife, but a pale, bright image in the corner of her eye made her hesitate. As she turned, they fell upon the familiar features of the young Southern boy she had been told to be Ethon, and for a moment, she had to force herself to swallow to ease the lump in her throat. "A handsome lad," she murmured to Conrad then. She could not rise from her seat and dive into the crowd herself, so she simply preferred to watch as he moved about.

"It is strange, isn't it?" she sighed. "A man so handsome, so gallant, to be the son of a common whore. Don't you think? He could easily pass as one of you." To see a man of his status donning the clothes a Lord would wear was indeed unusual, which made her wonder if he held more value to the nobles whom he served than he let on through his mere title.

 

[pointmango]

Arah was no fan of Lyram’s word, what did he know? He’d never loved another soul, anyone knew that. Had Lyram loved another it would have been the rage of the courts in White Hall. No. He knew nothing. His words meant nothing to her. Her thought to retort him was that Ethon cares for many people, and he did. He was kind, and genuine until he was given a reason not to be. Men like that were hard to come by, and Arah knew soon enough the world would taint him, like it did to all the others.

Her decline had caused more of a reaction out of Lyram than it did Ethon, which only infuriated her more. She ought to slap them both, had Lyram not been high born and Ethon associated in that crowd. Arah would have slapped sense into Ethon long ago. His position was awkward, he was not held as such high respect as the Lords, but to the servants anyway, he was held higher respect than them. Maddening.

Lyram’s jokes did not help her mood, she would have snapped at him had he not been a Lord. Lyram slipped away quickly, leaving Ethon with the impression that Arah was his to take for a dance. Arah’s gaze now turned to him, a tight frown on her lips. “Well?” She spoke.

Ethon sighed a bit, “I’m sorry I am late Arah.” He told her, stepping forward and flashing a smile. He knew he was not being fair to her. He knew her feeling, and normally he did not indulge in them, but tonight he would need them for a distraction, and unfortunately he would need her help. It pained him to see her like this, so caught up and angry at him, only to let her guard down in a moment. He knew he would not follow through with any plans she had tonight. In fact, after talking to Southern nobles, he planned to return to Aiyda’s room. Perhaps join her in sleep.

“I promised a dance, did I not?” He pointed out to her, holding out his hand. “You could give me at least that?” He pleaded with her, a playful smile now tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Arah stepped forward to him now, letting him take her hand and waist as they began to move about the room. “Why tonight?” She asked him, Arah was no fool, she knew Ethon’s lack of feelings, or had a hint of them anyway. She just hoped if she got close enough she could change them.

Ethon’s jaw clenched for just a moment, this question was testing him, and he’d have to lie. He’d have to hurt her, by the gods, why did she have to ask that? “I wanted to.. Try.” He told her, his tone a bit tight. “I realized I’ve never given you, or any others the chance.” He explained curtly. “I’m trying.” He said.

Arah’s mouth was still positioned in a frown, but Ethon could see the light lifting in her eyes at his words and his chest sank. The scariest part of it all was he wasn’t sure what a heart broken Arah was capable of, hopefully it would not go that far tonight.

Hector smiled as the Prince indulged about the Capital, and on more wine. Although Victor’s cup was filled again, he took small sips, just in case information found it’s way to him and he would have someway to remember it by.

Hector wanted to look at the Prince without shame, listening to the way he spoke of his home, knowing it was a pile of shit, but still holding so much love for how natural it was there. It was admirable. He was sure the inside of the castle walls there never smelled like shit though, only the streets, and lower classes living. “I would love to see the southern sea.” hector commented. “Here the ocean is a dark blue, often black, unforgiving, cold and many nights away. In the South, I’ve heard it so blue and clear you can sometimes see the bottom, and there is not a day that passes by where one couldn’t swim in it.” He offered a grin, wondering about the green beauty of the south.

“The North is lovely, truly. But I wish there was more… variety.” Hector spoke. Now his gaze glancing to see Ethon dancing with Arah. “We do have one green face around here.” He commented, not catching himself before he spoke the slurr. “My apologies, your grace.” Hector spoke quickly, “Less polite banter often mixes in when I’ve had a bit to drink.” Hector explained.

Conrad side glanced his eyes towards the Queen as she watched Ethon so carefully. “You could put anyone in expensive clothes, give him a shave and a bath, and teach him proper words, and how to walk and fight, and they would pass as one of us too.” Conrad pointed out to her. “We do not forget where we came from. That is what makes us different. You and I. Ethon and I. Ethon can talk and walk like us, hold an expensive piece of metal, swing it like a real nobleman. Does not change he was born a bastard to a common whore.” Conrad didn’t believe in fate truthfully, people were who they were. He believed in climbing the social ladder, and Ethon had been lucky his father took him in, or he’d probably be some shit apprentice in the south still. Bathing in the ocean or lakes he grew up near instead of a tub, with dirty long hair and the only difference still those golden eyes.

“Excuse me your grace.” Conrad spoke now, standing. Ethon was in the Hall dancing with Arah, and soon his father would notice, and Conrad had the perfect escape. He let himself walk around the back of the nobles table and towards the side door, Victor catching him on his way towards the servants door.

“Conrad.” He spoke, the King and him finishing a laugh. “King Corban was the best fighter of his brothers as well. Come chat.” Victor spoke.

 

[peritwinkle]

Amara was somehow taken aback by the Sterling boy's words, and despite listening to him ever so quietly, her gaze now burnt with a certain respect for him. Perhaps she should have expected such maturity from a man living in the harshness of the North; blunt honesty and bitterness was something that the cold often nurtured in one's mind and soul. She could not say the same about those living in the Capital, their dreams far too big for their possibilities and their egos childishly matching them more often than not.

Victor's sons had proven they were nothing like her own son, despite being of nearly the same age. Of course, Lord Lyram was considerably older, on the very edge of manhood, only then getting a taste of the horrors and suffering of life. Soon enough, he would be a Lord of the North, and his brother, Conrad, would be by his side, guiding and offering his support through every move. So far, Lord Victor seemed to have done well at raising men for war and ruling, not so much from abstaining themselves from drinking and women, but that was something which would change with time.

In the back of her mind lived the thought that it might be Horace who would sit by Roddrick's side once he was crowned the King of Armath. It was what Corban had told her, promised her, and now as she looked upon it, she regretted the decision she had so easily agreed to. 'For the good of our nation, our people,' she had nodded at the time. The North had been idle for so long, slowly digging a dike between it and the rest of the Kingdom. They had both agreed that such a resolution would be better than going to war with a powerful and almost entirely self sufficient land as the North, if one Lord called its banners in the name of singularity and integrity as an autonomous kingdom of its own.

"Mm," the Queen nodded as she sipped from her wine, her eyes still fixated on the boy. "One's true nature will always remain unchanged, but their actions do not truly reflect it." Roddrick was whom she could think of for such statement; he was, truthfully, the son of a common whore, of a traitor, and yet one who had come to be a Prince, and soon a King sitting upon the throne of Armath. And how could she, a mother, resent the child she had fed from her very breast, even if he did not carry her blue blood?

She offered the boy a cordial smile as he excused himself and left their table to dive into the crowd. Seeing herself alone, her thought once again moved to the Southern boy, now dancing with one of the servants, her chest pulling slightly as her mother's words rung vividly in her ears. 'And how could you know that he is truly dead?' No, she did not, and now, a part of her was certain that he was not. It was the pain of disappointment which kept her from truly giving in to the hope. A blind one, for that matter, but still living in her memory to that day.

She did not feel her seat disappearing from beneath her when she rose from her chair and started pacing towards the crowd. The music was loud and the room was filled to the brim, but the sea soon parted as the Queen was seen stepping off the platform and nearing its center. With the few last strings of the song the pair was dancing to, Amara came to touch upon the boy's shoulder, a soft smile touching the corners of her lips. "A dance?" she spoke, barely above the noise, but enough for those in their vicinity to hear and wonder.

It was irrational for a woman of her status to dance with a servant. She could almost feel Corban's and Roddrick's eyes burning into her as she offered her hand to the boy, discreetly dismissing the maid he had been dancing with. It was nothing she paid mind do then, knowing that it was too much of an honour to be refused, that not even a girl smitten with him would deem it disrespectful. She made sure that her gaze refleced such as she inquired him, knowing he would not dare to refuse.

And indeed, Roddrick's eyes were on her, even as Horace spoke to him, now unable to direct his attention to his words. "Who is that?" He asked, almost indignantly. "One of yours?" He was not a Sterling, but certainly a small Lord by the looks of it. One that had caught his mother's attention enough to offer her hand for a dance. He looked strangely Southern, almost a mirrored image of Queen Amara, which was, he assumed, what had driven her interest towards him. "It is a rare sight, my Queen mother dancing, that is."

She seldom even danced with King Corban, which left many wondering whenever they attended a feast or celebration, but Queen Amara was not particularly known for being the life of a party, often sitting at the great table and watching as others enjoyed their wine and women, or men for that matter. That, until midnight eventually struck, and she found her way back to her chambers before the crowd sent her ears ringing and her glare ablaze.

His eyes flickered to Lord Lyram as he returned to his table and reclaimed his seat, immediately digging into his mean without any observation. "You should have offered your arm," Roddrick said, gesturing towards his mother. Lyram looked up, and his expression quickly changed, now visibly dumbfounded as he fervently tried to make out the features of the man who was dancing with the Queen. It took him a moment, before canting his head and glancing over to Hector, as if asking if he was seeing it as well.

"Perhaps our people have much to offer in terms of amusement," Lyram shook his shoulders with a theatrical mindlessness. He did not want to let Roddrick think much of it, if only to see the indignation of his face at her mother dancing with a servant, just as he had danced with Arah only a few moments before. "A good Queen ought to keep good relations with her people... Be it Lords or stable boys."

Too bitter, but Lyram took too much satisfaction in his polite banter.

 

[pointmango]

Ethon danced mindfully with Arah, only another dance or two, and then she would want a drink, and he could bring her along to chat with the southern men. Just only one or two more songs, until the frown from her lips lifted. When a hand came to his shoulder, he caught Arah’s gaze before he turned, it was not jealous, or much of anything other than shock. He turned as well to see the Queen standing before him, and asking him for a dance. There she was right before him, his own eyes staring right into hers, now able to see them close up, and note how similar they were to his own.

Arah stepped back now, offering a curtsey to the Queen, and Ethon was unsure if he was even allowed to touch her. More threatened by the fact of course that there was no way in hell Victor wouldn’t notice him now. He would have bet most of the eyes in that room where on them, and still, he couldn’t tear his own eyes away from hers. He nodded finally, “Of course your grace.” He spoke, the music starting back up and Ethon stepped forward, taking her hand, and his other hand wrapping quite high around her back, keeping the dance pace and distance extremely modest.

He was silent for a moment, maybe a minute, maybe four, he could not tell how long it had been, but finally he had to speak. “May I ask why you asked me to dance, my Queen?” He asked in a quiet tone. “Forgive me, I do not mean to disrespect the invitation, just… you are a Queen.” He added.

Victor’s conversation with Corban and Conrad was cut quite short as the scene in the center of the floor began to unfold. The King sipping from his goblet, noted Victor’s gaze and he squinted him. “Who is that?” Corban asked, clearly not offended his wife was dancing with anyone. He thought it strange, she never did dance, but offended? No. Maybe the boy had asked her, and she was indulging a simple pleasure from a noble boy.

“He is a stable boy.” Victor spoke, his tone deeper, but crystal clear. Conrad took note of his father’s tone, his father would have never faltered at someone dancing together. Only moments ago Lyram was dancing with Arah, he did not care. It seemed vital that it was Ethon and the Queen. For just a moment Conrad thought about staying, finding out what was about to happen and why his father was so angry. But no one’s attention was on him, this was the perfect escape. And so he plucked a goblet full of wine from the table and made his exit.

“What interest should she have in a stable boy?” Corban asked. Corban paid little mind to his wife, but he was no idiot. Amara would not have paid any attention to such a simple servant, but Corban did note the boys southern features. “He looks like he came with our people.” Corban stated, now looking at Victor, sensing his stiffness.

“He was given to me by a brothel master the last time I visited you.” Victor spoke, he remembered the weekend spent in the capital as clear as day. “The brothel master owed me a debt.” Victor spoke, it was a lie, but how would Corban know. “He offered me any of his girls, more than one if I wanted. I did not want a woman. I am loyal to my wife.” Victor said, “but his best girl had a son.” Victor nodded to Ethon dancing with the Queen. How did he make his purpose for bringing Ethon up believable. “He is built well, even then I could tell. He was intelligent. Still is. I thought it worth a shot. Raise myself a potential diplomat. Give him food, a place to lay, teach him to read and write and fight.” Victor had no idea where he was going, but he held the front well. “An experiment really. Can you raise someone to be loyal to your house, if not born of it. So far he is loyal. Of course his duties hold mostly of working with horses, but a decent lad.” Victor shrugged, hoping he would come across as showing less mind to the boy than the concept let on.

“Strange experiment.” Corban spoke coolily. “I see why you took a boy not of the north.” Corban huffed his chest some, in his drunken state making some sense of it. “So he cannot go home right? So his opetions are to live and learn here, or have nothing.” He spoke.

Victor nodded, “Yes, exactly King Corban.”

Hector said nothing at the Prince’s questions, a bit shocked at the sight of Ethon dancing with the Queen. Roddricks words causing him to wonder more as he stated the Queen rarely danced. What would the Queen want in a dance with Ethon? His own eyes flickered to his father and Corban, Corban showing interest, but nothing more, but Victor looked furious.

Now as Lyram approached, having not even noticed the pairing on the floor. Hector nodded as his brother looked to him. He only glanced at Roddrick when Lyram spoke the word stable boy, seeing the Prince’s distaste before Hector’s eyes were back on Ethon and the Queen. “And a good Queen she is.” Hector commented, now, for the time being anyway, he was keeping the peace, wanting to see how this exchange turned out. Unlikely the Queen fancied Ethon, she would not seek him out in such a way, besides, he was sure a million southern boys looked like him and the Queen could fuck all those back home she wanted while her husband was away.

Hector sighed now, he figured he could toy with the Prince some more, push his buttons, “Surely you’ve seen a beautiful woman you fancy here your Grace.” He spoke. “Anyone in particular catch your eye, perhaps a dance with some of our cousins.” He nodded to side front table where some lovely northern girls sat. “I’d be happy to introduce you to anyone here.” Hector offered.

*

Conrad knew if Lyram knew his whereabouts he’d likely be in his ear spitting out repremand’s but tonight he paid no mind to any of it. He had spoken that he would stop by her room and he held true to his words, especially to this girl. He wondered if her fiery nature held through the night? Or if her off put act this afternoon would have faded by now. He was pointed to her room by one of the kitchen maids, and coming to the wooden door he knocked at the wood. “Aiyda,” he spoke clearing her throat. “It’s Conrad.” He added, wondering if that would help any.

 

[peritwinkle]

Amara watched as the young servant bowed before her and fluttered away, allowing some privacy for the two of them, as much as it could be allowed within a room brimming with people. She could feel each and every gaze on her then, attentively absorbing her every move, clearly dumbfounded as to why someone of her titles would be interested in dancing with a stable boy.

As the melody went on and their moves began to match it with more ease, Amara's eyes never left the boy's features, as though feeding on every inch of his existence, analysing and compaing them to her own. His skin did not carry the same tone as that of his Northern Lords, slightly darker and warmer, the bridge of his nose and temples kissed by the smallest slivers of sun it had caught a hold of through the thick clouds shrouding the Northern sky. His eyes almost glowed golden in the dim candlelight, a shade close to his locks, making him a sight difficult to avoid in a sea of dark bushes and gloomy hues.

The doubt within her mind, then, was subdued in the favour of hope, and she could feel her own heart flutter faster at the possibility of her mother having read her flames and concoctions right. A soft simper perked at the corner of her lips when he spoke, and she only listened quietly, not wanting to interrupt the sound of his voice, which sounded like a warmer version of her husband's, King Corban.

"You are one of my people," she spoke softly then, only enough for him to hear her. "One far from home, as I have been told... Yet ever loyal to House Sterlings, more than to your own origins." It was something that she respected in him. It was known that House Sterling - and respectively the North - were not particularly close to the Crown. Illegard was weeks away from White Hall, and more often than not the matters discussed behind its walls did not concern them in the slightest. Their ties were strictly diplomatic, or had been until then. It was why they were there, after all.

"And yet... Have you ever wished to see the Capital again? To walk over the pavement of Ilsegard in the coastal sun? A pretty place... Much warmer than the North, for sure. Has the desire ever crossed your mind?" She knew that he had someone back there whom he considered to be a mother. A name which she could use to convince him to come South, if the roots of his loyalty and love for the Sterlings did not run too deep. "We will be riding home soon..."

The thought that he could not hear their conversation bothered Roddrick to the depths of his gut, yet he could only watch and attempt to read it on her mother's lips whenever she peeked from behind other dancing couples and servants hurrying about the room. By then, he was certain that Lyram was only trying to kindle his fire, but for the sake of not bringing his father any disrespect, he could not go as far as to answer his instigations.

He shook his head at Hector's questions and quickly returned to his goblet of wine. By then, he was beginning to feel the effects of alcohol burning through his veins, and knew that he might not be as steady on his feet if he did dance with someone. "I would rather feast my eyes upon them," he said emptily, as if it were a line he had learned to say by heart. Frankly, he was not interested in any of the women within the room. The most beautiful in the crowd, by far, was his mother.

Northern women were not particularly attractive - bulky and masculine as most were, they seemed to lack the tenderness of those in the far South, ever gentle on the eye and more discreet when dancing and mingling with other men. “I doubt you would find something to fit my tastes within your women here, my Lord,” he added then, as his eyes scoured the room absentmindedly, in his attempt to stray away from his mother dancing with a stable boy. “Even to my own kind, it seems Southerners are more interesting.”

*

The sleep had been sweet but short, for the abrupt knock on the door had stirred Aiyda awake from her slumber in what she thought were Ethon’s arms. When she parted her eyes, however, it was a large pillow that she was clutching tightly to her chest, and the warmth of a blanket over her shoulders keeping him from freezing in the night, for it seemed that the one who had kept her company that evening was long gone.

A pang of guilt struck her as the memories slowly came back to her mind. She could still taste him on her lips almost as vividly as she had the wine, and although she had not done it entirely out of the will of the drink, she was unsure how she had found it within herself to bring out the more feisty, truly joyful part of her being in such times. Even as the melody rang in the distance, reverbeating through the walls of the keep, she could not push herself to find the same desire to rejoice as she had only a turn of the clock before.

With a light push, Aiyda hopped back on her feet again and straightened her back to regain her balance. Her knees felt weakened, as though she had been dancing up until that very moment, but as she paced to the other side of the room, she did find some of the steadiness she had lost with her sleep. She had not heard a voice over the sound of the fire and the languor tarrying in her being, but the knock had echoed through her bones, and although curious, she did miss the warmth of her bed right then.

As she opened the door, it was not Ethon whom her softened gaze landed on, but the larger figure of Lord Conrad, dressed much more lavishly than that morning, and with his cheeks undoubtedly touched by wine. For the first moments, Aiyda felt her heart sink and her stomach tighten, but forced a certain poise in her features, a futile effort to hide her exhaustion.

“My Lord?” she murmured softly. She did not move from before the threshold, not wanting to invite him in. Not as she was, and certainly not as he was. “Has Ethon sent you to check on me?” she added, a sour tone on her lips, a way of hinting at the fact that he had been here before her. Likely, the man already knew, for Ethon had joined him quite late, but she wanted to make sure that his past presence was now felt by him, as much a Lord as he knew himself to be.

 

[pointmango]

The Queen was striking. As Ethon danced with her, trying to take in her words along with her features he understood why Corban chose her. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, although her poise left him unsure if she knew it, or did not care that it was known. He could sense the Queen’s eyes on him, it felt like a constant pressure against his skin, even with no contact.

Her words appeared simple, but the further she spoke, the more Ethon wondered if she knew something he did not. Her tone held respect, unsure if it was for his kin or not, Ethon listened still, her voice felt warm to his ears, like a sweet honey you drank with the soft tea in the morning after a tireless sleep.

Her mention of him visiting the south again, or any wishes too, caused his eyes to look away from hers for only a moment as his chest clenched. He wished every night before bed to visit the South, to see his mother again. Even just to find out if she was still alive and well. Maybe save her if she was still living the same fate he left her in. His jaw tightened at the corners, did he reveal such woes to the Queen? Her last words felt like almost an invitation, a damned tempting one. But his gut thought of one thing, one person whom he knew he could not leave and she was not in this room.

“I was a boy in the streets of Beggar’s Hole, my mother was a good woman. She did me well. But here I learned to be a man, I owe that to the North, to Lord Sterling.” Ethon spoke, speaking of Victor. Ethon did owe that to the Lord of the North. Whatever Victor saw in him, however he came to him, he took him and raised him up as one of his own sons. Ethon knew he would forever know Lord Sterling as the closest thing he will ever have to a father.

“I knew only a few pretty parts of the Capital, your grace.” Ethon spoke, a light chuckle coming in with his softened smile that the Northern women seemed to enjoy. “And I wish you safe travels Queen Amara.” Ethon spoke very carefully. “With Lord Hector by the Prince’s side I think they will need me here a bit more. Lord Lyram is intelligent, but ever worrisome, and Lord Conrad has the maturity of child.” He joked lightly, hoping the Queen would take some sort in it and smile. “Perhaps I will visit Lord Hector when things settle here.” He spoke easily, trying to wain the woman’s reaction of that statement.

Ethon took the slightest step closer to her, wanting their voices to be held a bit softer, her voice felt good in his ear, “Your grace, if I do ever visit the South, do share the most beautiful place?” He asked quietly.

The Prince’s answer to Hectors question left good nature in his ears. How automatic his response sounded and how he seemed to show no interest in the woman. His next comment left Hector rather sour, /Southerners are more interesting/. Hector now took a larger sip from his goblet, he’d be the judge of that when he traveled south. He could outwit and out lay any man in all the Kingdoms, he was sure of himself on that.

His own gaze turned to Lyram now, “Will you be intervening at Conrad’s current location?” Hector asked him, Hector was aware of his brother’s whereabouts. Where else would the bloke have gone? No Southern women were missing yet, and Conrad wouldn’t be off to fuck a northern girl. Only one place he could be. “Or should I be the one to interrupt?” Hector offered, done with the Prince for that evening.

*

Conrad waited easily at the door, taking a deep breath as the large wooden door opened slowly. He let out a slight exhale as she appeared to have been sleeping, and not recovering from a foreign lay with the stable hand. His smile quickly faded at her mention of Ethon. “No.” Conrad spoke quickly, his tone sharper than he had intended it.

He cleared his throat a bit, and he stood straighter, positioning his hands behind his back. “I am sorry to wake you. I would not have done so without pressing matter.” He spoke. A lie, a quick lie he was using to make himself seem less foolish, and a lie he was unprepared to follow with another lie.

“The Stewards.. Uh,” He paused quietly. “They wish to take in your account what occured in the woods… with the uh, the Wild Hunt.” he said. By the gods where was he going with this. “There have been other reports… men deemed mad, but reports still. Some recent. We wish to see how your story measures, before presenting it to my father.” He would have to set one of the Stewards up with a fat sack of gold to get them in on this one. “Just uh, common practice.” He suggested. “I can escort you there in the morning.” He said to her.

“I did enjoy our discussion earlier.” He informed her. Conrad was never a man of many words, and yet here was this red-headed woman, speaking nothing, and he was practically falling over himself trying to get even just a few moments with her. “Our walk really. If you would be so kind as to join me again tomorrow, perhaps after breakfast?” He asked, wondering how Ethon would feel, after visiting her, and her joining Conrad the next morning.