3430 of the Age of Gods and Men
Mordurel, Easterland Region
Silverhall Castle
Danica
She tucked a lock of her golden hair in behind her pointy ear and repositioned her hands to her lute and finished up the final phrases on a song about a little sweet princess. It was fitting since they celebrated the birth of a little one, Alys. Though the song was about an elven princess, Danica simply changed a few words here and there and it fit perfectly. The noble ladies and lords applauded her and some, pretty drunk, roared in amazement. With three light steps, she skipped up on the table and took to her next tune. Naemodras and the Dragon would sit well. It was always a good choice, being a well-known melody whether it was Men or whoever. With care, she danced across the table and sang. When a drunken lordling decided he was going to get up, likely to grope her, she gave his face a little kick and earned the laughs of those around. The drunkard’s blazon was a leafless brown tree with a golden crown above, surrounded by a field of green.
The song was finished when she’d crossed half the table so first, she thanked those who cheered and clapped. She heard a few rude comments ones.
“Who knew Ebenese could sing.” It came from some uptight woman who looked like she thought dancing on the table was far too peasant-like or something.
“Ladies and Lords, Nûdreg the Red,” she introduced the next song of her choice.
And so Danica moved on to dance right in front of her and her lord husband. In opposite of his displeased lady wife, he raised his goblet and cheered with a load of onions soaked in gravy and butter.
“The orc, ugly he was cut, killed and raped his way through the land, from Cromborough and the Den of the Wolf in their silvery glace to Reikland and Oakenport he butchered and ate all in his path. From the proudest of knights to richest of lords they hid in their keeps and pleas to the Aezirin fell on ears pointy and deaf. Nûdreg bragged of his kills and collected the skulls of his foes for cups filled of blood. Then one day before him stood a man by the name of Rhaegon, a man tall and strong, for he was a king so mighty and brave that dragons and trolls fled from his sight. The king said to the orc, “Enough of your deeds foul as they are and I swear on the patron that the next blood to be spilled will be yours.” With a swipe of his blade, the fat head of the orc’s fell to the floor!”
She curtsied and on her way down from the table she sat down in the lap of a young lordling.
“H-he-hello…” was his awkward response and it amused her to see him blush. His eyes seemed fixated on her ears. Had he never touched someone with old Aezirin blood before? While there were not very people with the old Aezirin blood within the borders of the kingdom they weren’t that rare so he could never have seen one. Her people, the Ebenese was one of those who could brag to have that old blood. Her pointy ears were prof of that.
“May I?” She nodded to his drink. He nodded, as awkwardly as his greeting. With that, she swiped his goblet and got up. “Thank you handsome.”
Half a dozen men called after her, but she skipped along to the dais where the royalty and grandees and their families gathered their collective bums. Two Crownsguards eyes followed her as she approached. A knowledgeable sort, she stopped at a good distance and curtsied.
“I sort of hoped my signing could earn me a word with Her Majesty,” she told one of the men. Already she caught at a glance that the young queen had noticed her and seemed intrigued.
“You wish an audience, young bard?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She stood up and straightened her back. “My voice is getting a little tired you see. I was hoping for your leave to dine a bit.”
Young queen Raenys nodded with approval.
“Naturally. You’ve earned more than food for lending me your wonderful voice,” she complimented her. “Please, join our festivities at one of our tables.”
Danica winced, “Thank you kindly, but…I would prefer to join the knights and lesser folk. You’re all a bit too richly dressed for my taste.” Hopefully, it wouldn’t be taken as an insult. The closest Crownsguard grimaced with suspicion. Though, she could breath easier when Princess Alyssana snickered.
“You may choose whatever hall you wish, Mistress Danica,” Queen Raenys told her with the same good-natured tone as before.
Danica curtsied and the queen had a servant guide her to the hall for the retinues of the lords. Or, more precise the courtyard, for they were set up outside. There were too many tables to count all the tables, surely it had to be forty of them and all filled with men and women. Most were knights at best or men-at-arms or highly thought of gentlemen-of-the-bedchamber and their female counterparts. A man impossible to miss had jumped up on a table, albeit with some difficulty, and was in the midst of professing his love for a certain serving-woman. That same serving woman was on her part sneaking away with another man, for a quick plough no doubt. Danica smirked widely. The courtyard was far livelier than the nobility’s feast and so much more fun. With her lute on her back, she sniped a cup of ale from a serving woman’s tray and made her way into the courtyard. She drank and danced with a dozen faces forgotten as soon as she switched partner. From a table close by an old knight with a scraggly grey beard slammed his cup against the table and led the others in singing the King Song.
The old knight had a strong and at the same time gentle voice, “Out of the kingdom’s people’s deepest heart, comes a strong and simple song, sung for the king forever loved! Stand thee loyal by his line, seat a crown on his head, and give your allegiance, and of our celebration! You patrons of the heaven, be with us, and lit on our shores, that noble light of Westerlander kings and their men so dear. And let your spirit rest across the lands of the West!”
He then raised his cup up high, “Hail King Aldrich and Queen Raenys!”
What sounded like far over a hundred voices took up the call, “Hail King Aldrich and Queen Raenys!”
The left her cup on the edge of a table and sought new liquor and she took note of a handsome man with long flowing hair as long as hers, and a well-groomed dark goatee that fit perfectly on his strong chin. He poured ale into his cup, and her keen eye noted the firmness of the glass bottle, a green bottle with dwarfen scribbles on it. Those dwarfen ales always had a nice kick to them. Mayhaps she could kill two drakes with one bolt. With a mischievous smile, she sat her bum on the handsome man’s lap and earned a surprised expression, and then a disgruntled frown.
“Excuse you, little lady,” he said in a voice that fit his expression. “Too drunk to see its occupied?”
His demeanor caused her to frown. Everyone appreciated her presence, be it singing, dancing or taking their liquor. Usually, a young woman with Aezirin traits was irresistible, especially when they began to get drunk. With the exception of this one man apparently.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and one of the bottles and said, “I noticed you had some dwarfen spirit. Though this you see, we’d make a deal for it.”
His dark eyes locked with her in the tiny distance between their faces and he answered, “If you get off, the bottle’s yours.”
“Deal.” Not what she’d imagined in truth. “I would have suggested you the honor of a kiss from the evening’s lovely bard.” With no response from him, she took the entire bottle and stood up. “You have no idea what you missed, sir.”
“That so?”
“Oh, you have no idea.” She gave his choice of clothing a lookover. A common red tunic, albeit in exceptionally good quality, a pair of blue trousers of wool for warmth held up with a belt. The buckle was interesting though. It depicted a dragon’s head with flames coming out of its maw. It was not something a regular lowborn man had, and too specific for most gentry knights. Someone spent a good amount of time with it, likely earned a lot as well. she sat down on the chair beside him and drank straight from the bottle. By Ígilil, it was strong stuff, a hell of a kick to it. an interesting pendant hanged in a chain of this bronze around his neck. It was a pretty dark shard of some gemstone, though she had no idea what sort of gemstone it was.
“I’m Danica. You got a name to share?”
“Sir Daemon,” he answered and sipped from his cup.
Sure he was a knight, but whose?
“Which banner did you come here with, sir Daemon?” She inquired.
He drank from his cup before he answered, leaving a pause. “Lord Cowlhof.”
She blinked, “Who?”
“An Easterland arl. Made a noble a few years back. One of those three thugs turned arls.”
Well, those were stories she’d heard. Three common thugs made arls by the queen’s command. She wondered how much of if was true and how much was made up by gossiping peasants.
“What’s your house?” She asked.
A tiny smile cracked through his facial features, finally. “You that interested in me, my lady?”
My lady? That was a noble’s version of it. The lowborn said ‘Milady’.
“You don’t really fit in here,” she told him. “Too much class to you. Clearly, you are from one of the noble houses in the land, despite your attempt to dress like a commoner. You’ve got a Nülinholm dialect to you, so…you running from your part in society.”
He arched an eyebrow and said, “Why do you think I’m running from…anything?”
She placed a finger on his chest, “Nülner nobles love to dress in the most over the top fabulous clothes.” She arched her eyebrows knowingly, perhaps with a hint of smugness. “So? Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Daemon Drakefyre.”
She smirked, “Oh, my. A toast to your line then.” She soon found herself with only half the liquor left in the bottle.
“Well, my lady. You seem a sweet and delicate sort, but far from it. Not as trusting and easy as you seem.”
“Oh, you analyzing me now?” She rubbed her palms against each other. “Go for it.”
He tilted her head, licked his lips and said, “I’m counting six daggers on your person, right now. One in each boot, three underneath your shirt and one prettily attached to the lute, the very spot you place your hand to play. Easy access. Nobody’s afraid of a lute in a tassel so no one cares if you grab it.”
She was impressed. She always took great care to ensure that no one ever noticed. A part of her worried too, though. Not allowed to bring weapons into the court like that. That went, especially for hidden daggers.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he added. It must have been visible on her face that she grew concerned. “I bet my family’s lordship you’re not an assassin.”
“So…” best change the subject, she thought. She preferred to talk of something else then her secrets. “…Milord Drakefyre.” He frowned at her little grin. “Suppose that makes you the only Nülinholm noble that bothered to appear.” To her surprise, his face darkened and he turned his head away and looked deep down in his cup of ale.
“My countrymen are rather busy. Half the province is ablaze with Hobgoblins, Beastlings and whatever else crawls out of the Felwood. Trust me when I say that far worse rest in dark places. Stay out of Nülinholm on your travels.”
She felt awful to see the pain in his expression. It wasn’t her intention to drew upon any painful memories. Knowledge of Nülinholm’s situation was common knowledge. Indeed every soul in this Kingdom of Westerend knew it. For a century it had been a slow descent into blood and fire. She knew a similar situation faced its neighbor province to the east, Barrowland. Seemed to her this old empire of Men was falling apart. To leave the grim conversation it would probably be best to use pendent to change course.
“That’s an interesting pendant. Not sure it fits you, though.”
Daemon closed his hand around the shard before he spoke. “It’s just a gift from a special lady.” Then he stood up with a grim expression as if he just wanted to leave. “Excuse me.”
When he left she followed him with her eyes for a moment, that is, before he disappeared in the crowds and tables of people.
“What was that about?” She asked in confusion. Seemed a silly thing to get upset by. Oh, Nightingale, had that special lady died? “You need to stop putting your feet in your mouth, Danica,” she told herself firmly.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
