3430 of the Age of Gods and Men
Mordurel, Easterland Region
Silverhall Castle
Velanwë
He lowered his cup and chuckled at the jape from the lordling across the firm oak table. Then he raised the cup to for a sip of wine. It was a fine vintage from Middenland, one of the three noble families that had grown famous on their winery arts. He raised his hand to return a wandering lock of his dark hair behind his long pointy ear. The feast had gone on for several hours and he had relieved himself twice due to all the drink. He must admit he found the wine the only good beverage crafted by human hands. The ale was mostly tasteless and the mead bought from the Sverd Isles was just dreadful. It had made him grimace when he first let it touch his tongue. It was absolutely rancid and to say nothing about the brandy. Or rather their dwarfen brandy and ales. He could do little but scoff at them. Any man that had tasted a spicy bottle of dwarfen spirit would be insulted by it. He concluded that the vintage served was from a Westerlander dwarf and not a great brewery master in the far west of Mordurel. It was probably made with lesser spices, like those native to the kingdom’s provinces.442Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡycHZsbK87p
Not far from him the baron of house Ward finished a bottle of the insulting excuse for dwarfen ale. He sat the bottle down on the table and reached for a plate with spicy salmon with sliced garlic and tomatoes. The baron’s complexion stuck out among the dining hall’s assembly of fair nobles. His was a darker, more olive complexion that was closer to that of Velanwë himself.
That wonderful female Aezirin bard had returned with her lute and joined the other bards and she sang the song about Naemodras and the Dragon, and she did it gorgeously. The Aezirin prince and the beast his people’s legends remembered as the Mountain that Walks. According to those tales it had been the largest dragon to ever live, and the song was of their battle. She sang beautifully. He sipped from his wine once more and chewed down on some salad and beef in butter sauce with olives and onions.
He chose to finish his goblet’s content and take a stroll around the dining hall. He made his way up the table to where the presents to the infant princess were assembled on the left side of the dais. It was a mighty trove of gifts with perfectly carved wooden toys, beautiful baby gowns in a vast display of colors. Must be about a hundred gowns alone. Then the babe had received three chests worth of jewelry, three tapestries and eleven pairs of horns from stags. There was also a gilded rocking horse. How could anyone possible use this many gifts? He had come to understand during his stay in the Kingdom’s court that nobles, and especially royalty, was showered in gifts. Far more then any common born child would ever seen in her entire life. It appeared an easy way to bridge divides and build friendships or to prove loyalty and fealty. He recognized the gifts from the grand duchess of the West Mark. Beyond the shadow of a dwarf’s backside, those were the most exquisite of all. While the horses were not there, the envoys had brought six-strong Black Steeds. They were tall and gorgeously black animals, with ebony mane and red or black eyes. One of them had had clear full white eyes. In addition to the steeds, ten lion pelts had been presented with one dark warg pelt. For her majesty the Queen Raenys another present had been presented. The preserved head of an Uru-zul warlord. The Uru-zul was commonly known as Steppe-orcs and unlike some of their cousins like the Urks, they had a similar frame to humans. Why this head was of importance he had no idea.
Her Grace had responded with a gleeful, “You must tell your lady that I wish her luck in her hunts.”
It was clear that he was out of the loop about the goings on in the kingdom with King Aldrich away. His friendship with the young king didn’t translate to the queen, to his misfortune. In her eyes, he was just a knighted foreigner in her lord husband’s circle of friends and confidants.
“I’ll make you join His Grace on his next travel. Avoid these feasts.” If it could chose he would avoid these large events. It was absurdly extravagant. Feasts home back home were always simple matters and their intend was not to show wealth. He was taken off guard by the distant roar from the dragons. It sounded like it came from the west. The dragon stables, he knew. The monsters are being fed too, then. The generations to come will be pleased to only read about them in stories. He had seen enough in life to not be saddened about how rare the monsters had become. He focused on the music to block out the distant roaring beasts. His grumblings caused him to miss the woman that approached him.
“Admiring the trove of gifts, Sir Velanwë?” Inquired Dayana Oakenshield.
He half-turned to face the young woman. By the standards of Men, she was a beauty, allegedly the most beautiful woman in the Ostland province just north of Easterland. She had the golden eyes of an Oakenshield with long dark curlsof hair flowing down to rest of her shoulders. She wore a long gown that was as white as milk and as green as emeralds.
“Lady Oakenshield, no. I heard the roaring of the she-drakes just over the music,” he explained.
With a smile on her face, she said, “You don’t like very much.”
He wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement. It wasn’t something he spouted lout loud to everyone. He had shared it with two men at court. both understood and one agreed with his view. Her little eyes and ears really did catch much that went on, he presumed.
“I am merely wary of them, milady.”
“Only a fool wouldn’t be. They inspire as much fear as awe. Don’t you agree?”
“Some might argue that the fear outweighs the awe.” He saw little awe in the monsters. These flying beasts kin had burned villages, fields and towns for thousands of years and the would celebrate that they began more and rarer. It was a better world for all, even those in awe over the beasts or those who seek to control them.
She gave him a knowing look and said, “Well sir, it has never been easy to tell friends from traitors, and no man considers himself a traitor or evil. We all have reasons for the deeds we do. They're a good example of it. Icefyre or Moonfyre have never done any of the vile deeds dragons have done through history. Her Grace saw them well cared of and trained by an excellent dragonkeeper.” She snickered then. “Forgive me. I was about to go on a little rant about dragons. Her Grace’s love for then is infectious I supposed.” She looked at the closest table. “I know you’ve traveled a great deal before you came to reside with us. Have you see a lot of dragons?”
He shook his head, “There aren’t many to see, thank Ígilil. I’ve seen a handful, but plenty of destruction and charred corpses.” He gazed at guests that had taken to dance. The music had gone to a song about a giant king in days of legend. The grand duke of Nordland had taken his lady wife the grand duchess from the dais to dance. Velanwë smiled. She was a lovely and gorgeous Menionese and her pale skin told of her people and place of birth. She giggled as the grand duke, a young man in his early thirties.
“Do you know the tale of the King of the City of Fire?” He inquired.
Lady Oakenshield looked to the singing bards. The Ebenese and a young man with a good voice.
“It’s a common tale for children, but I don’t remember too much. Long since I was a child, you see.” He nodded and she continued, “I loved hearing the tale as a little girl, but I remember little of it now I fear.”
Velanwë smiled and picked up two goblets from a plain serving girl and had an equally plain woman pour wine into them. then he handed one to Dayana Oakenshield and sipped from the other. She smiled and thanked him, then drank from it.
“The tale, you see, is about a legendary city the songs call the City of Fire. It allegedly lied far north in the Northern Wastes. No doubt it had many kings, but only one of them is known. “ It would be absurd if the giant had always been king of the city since only gods are immortal. Giants aged and grew old and withered away like the rest of the world’s races. “Songs and tales say that it was a great city with tall towers with enormous bonfires. The giants worshipped some fire god. This king of giants reigned over the city and surrounding lands when a threat came southward. Something only called the Frost, some demon probably, came and sought to destroy the city and the giants. With weapon of strong bronze, he fought this foe and won.” He took another sip. “Do you remember it after hearing the full tale? Despite exaggerations.”
“Some of it.”
“Like any legend it had plenty that doesn’t make sense and is exaggerated.”
“Such as?”
“Scale of purpose and grandeur, probably the threat these demons posed and the idea of giants understanding the complexity of sorcery is frankly insulting. It should frankly be removed to make it all make some sense.” He took another sip. It was a good children tale, but worth nothing more.
“I see. I think any good tale should have some exaggerations. It’s what makes it good.” She drank and smirked, her eyes locking with his for a moment. “Thank you for speaking with me. I should return to my brother and lord father.” He bowed slightly in response and raised his wine to drink.
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