A Dish Best Served Cold.

[Wiggle]

Jory sat in the Obsidian throne, and stared at the floor for what seemed like hours. It was going to be quite the boring day, apparently, and it would be even worse if he had to listen to thousands of people's requests. He sighed and shrugged, slumping further down into the throne. He knew it was a King's duty to help his people, but that still didn't make it any fun.


"My King!" A voice shouted. "Your Uncle asks to see you, he says it's urgent."


Jory raised his eyes and looked at his steward, and nodded curtly. The man bowed, turned and rushed off and returned a few minutes later with Jory's uncle. He was covered in blood, and looked battle weary, there were multiple small cuts on various places on his face and he walked with a pronounced limp.


"My King, the rumors were true." He started, "General Vyran is coming to take your head and your throne, you must make haste if you're to survive, reunite the kingdoms and return to your rightful place."


Jory stood up suddenly, his chainmail making a soft clinking sound. He turned to his squire and nodded, who ran off and returned a few minutes later with his armor and his sword, Dawn. He allowed the squire to put his armor on, and Jory unsheathed his sword, and studied the sword. The blade was a polished Hyghthornian steel, which reflected every light beam in the throne room.


"They say Hyghthornian steel is so sharp it could split a mouse's hair." Jory mused as the squire hurried around him, putting his armor on.


"What they say is true, milord." The Squire agreed.


Jory laughed at the boy and sheathed the sword and handed it to the squire, who had just finished with his armor. The squire quickly threw the belt around Jory's waist and fastened it tightly so that it wouldn't fall when he rode his stallion. Jory thanked the boy and told him to arm himself, and prepare to fight. The boy nodded, left and returned with a double headed ax, and stood beside his King.


"Lyo, tell my Uncle that I am ready." Jory said.


The steward nodded, left the throne room, and returned with the King's uncle.


"Come, King Jory. We'll take the hidden passage." He said.


He left the throne room, and Jory followed close behind. Outside stood about two dozen of the finest King's guard with their flowing deep purple cloaks. They all marched down the Obsidian Keep's hallways until they reached an old weathered door.


"Here, I'll send a dozen of my men with you." He said.


"But where are you going, Uncle?" Jory asked, a hint of concern on his voice.


"I'm going to take the General's head." He answered, and disappeared down the hall with the remaining men.


Jory cursed, turned and opened the door and went inside, followed by the guardsmen. Jory grabbed a torch from a sconce in the wall, and started his way down the barely lit tunnel. He'd been shown this hidden passage hundreds of time by his father, and him and his brothers often played in the cavern that lay somewhere between the entrance and exit. If he remembered correctly, the tunnel exitted somewhere in the city. Near a bread merchant's building, if his memory served him correctly. He sighed and made his way down the tunnel, followed by the thundering footsteps of his squire and the dozen guards. They were completely silent the entire way through the tunnel, the cavern and finally when they reached the exit an hour later, one of the King's guard spoke up.


"My King, allow me and my men to exit first, just in case they are waiting for us." He said.


The King nodded, and stepped back from the weather door and allowed the men through first. Once they gave the all clear, Jory stepped out into the sunlight. There were enough horses there for the King, his Squire and the guards to ride out of the city and make it to safety and perhaps to one of the houses that were loyal to the King. Jory cursed his luck and saddled his horse, before one of the King's guard called out that there were riders. Once Jory looked up, they were surrounded by soldiers loyal to General Vyran.


"Off your horse, my King." One said. "Fight us like a man, and die with honor."


Jory growled and slipped off his horse and ordered his Guard to do the same. They weren't going to run like scared children, they were men, and had men's honor.


"Good choice, my liege." The same one said.


The Soldier's leapt off their horses and charged the group. Jory unsheathed his sword and began hacking at anyone who wasn't wearing a purple cloak or the Black Raven of his family. The small battle seemed to drag on forever until one of the soldier's stuck his sword under one of the small gaps in Jory's armor, just in the stomach. He gritted his teeth in agony as he felt the sword pierce his flesh, and felt his life's blood begin to spill out once the soldier removed his sword. Jory pulled his sword arm back, and swung Dawn with all his might, slicing through the soldier's helmet with a sickening crunch, and through the other side. The man took a step back and stumbled for a bit, before the top part of his head and helmet fell off, revealing the man's brain. He fell backwards and hit the ground with a solid thump. Jory grunted and looked around him at the carnage. His squire, the soldier's and the Guards were dead, leaving Jory alone. He stooped down with a grunt of pain, and pulled a cloak off of a dead soldier, wrapped it around his shoulders and drew the hood up over his head. He turned, and wearily climbed upon a horse, turned the great beast around and rode off and out of the city.


Jory rode what feel like for days before he came across a tavern. He slid off his horse, and used the stone fence to keep his balance, and slowly walked to the door. He mustered all of his strength and knocked four times as hard as he could before falling to his knees at the door. He had lost a lot of blood, and if he didn't get help soon, he'd be dead. His vision swam just as the door opened, and he fell forward.

 

[Lucyfer]

“Jory, Vyran,” the names were spoken with disgust by a scarred man at the counter. “What’s it matter who the king is? Won’t affect us none.” It was too early for most to be there for drinks, but this man was already on his third cup. To say he was jaded would be an understatement.


The red-head behind the counter had watched him sink low, as he had watched her grow up. “So long as we pay our taxes, they don’t give any fucks,” he had been a knight, once. Now he was just a body guard in service to the son of the local lord. “You shouldn’t worry your head over it, girl. It’s all gonna be just fine. Ain’t no war coming here. This is all noble nonsense.”


“Your Lord might end up involved,” the woman commented. “What will you do then?”


“Fight like ‘e says, for whoever ‘e says.”


The woman’s lips quirked into a smile, “It must be easy to just follow orders like that. You really don’t care?” The news had only reached them that day, and through Lord Didymus, who revealed it to this mercenary. The woman wasn’t sure yet if the rest of the town knew, but soon enough, they would. The mercenary would tell them all soon enough. For someone who didn’t care, he didn’t seem to leave the subject alone.


“’Course I care, I’d back Vyran in a heartbeat. The Barra did me no service,” he wrinkled his nose to show his disgust, “but the Lord don’t think like that. He strategizes,” the man tapped his head, “Got his hands filthy with strategies.”


This, the woman knew. She’d turned Didymus down many times when he came to seek her aid in some of his schemes. “He’ll back the winner, but right now, it’s lookin’ like Vyran. Jory’s probably dead as it is in some gutter. ‘Is body will turn up, and then,” he lifted his cup, “All hail King Vyran,” he acted as if to toast, but he just let the cup slam back down on the countertop. “Fuck it. I don’t care.”


At his declaration of not caring, a figure knocked on the door. “It’s op—” but the mercenary didn’t finish his sentence as they both heard the thud. Before the mercenary could get out of his seat, the woman had darted around the counter and was drying her hands on the white apron around her waist. She opened the door only to find a slumped figure, in armor, bloody.


“Nathan,” she whipped her head around and fixed her purple eyes on the man, “Help me.”


He left his stool and did as asked. He lifted the unconscious body into his arms and followed the woman up the stairs and into a room. The woman was part of the family that owned the tavern, and they resided here. Once he was laid out on the bed, she said, “Please go get Aidan, he’s in the kitchen, and tell him to get Mitchell.”


Nathan huffed, but he did as asked. The youngest, a strawberry-blonde man, took one look in and then turned right around, “I’ll get your things!” He called back as he darted by the second.


This one walked in, a smirk on his lips. He shook his head, “We do not get paid nearly enough for this.”


“Oh, hush, Mitchell. Help me with the armor.” She had already undone some of the buckles and straps, but she didn’t fully understand armor. She’d never had to put it on before, and she’d never taken off such extravagant armor before, either.


Mitchell approached and began to assist in the removal. “You should have asked Nathan.” He said as pieces began to slide off. “He’d know.”


“I’d not trust him right now, he’s been drinking.”


“When isn’t he drinking?”


“Hush.” She repeated. That wasn’t the full reason. She had noticed the black raven, and decided it was best to keep Nathan from being too close, lest his apparent dislike of the Barra overtake him.


Aidan came back with jars of salves, bags of teas, and other assortment of items. Needles and thread, clothe, and many items besides were brought in by Nathan, who had clearly been ordered about to assist by Aidan. “Thank you,” Mitchell said. “Aidan, take care of the bar.”


“Aww, only one of you need to be here. Why can’t Hazel watch the bar?” Aidan complained immediately. Mitchell and Hazel were both known as healers in the town, following in the footsteps of their mother, though they did not make it their profession. That would have been too dangerous, considering how they truly healed. They’d be run out—too many distrusted magic.


“Go watch the bar, Aidan.” Mitchell ordered. “Sorry about this, Nathan. Thank you.”


“Sure. Take care of’em,” he had some sympathy for knights, and that seemed to be what he thought of the once-armored man before he left the room with Aidan.


Mitchell let out a relieved sigh, “All right, did he grab the right things,” Mitchell mused as he walked over to where the salves were placed. Some were already enchanted. Others were just standard medicine. Mitchell opened one, touched it, smiled, “Good. He’s learning.” He tossed it to Hazel, who caught it.


They would take their time ensuring the wounds were treated in silence—the large one in his stomach would still need to be sewn shut, but most of the others just required a bit of a cleaning to prevent infection, and some salve to bring the flesh together again. When all was said and done, Hazel put a kettle on of warm water, and set out a cup with tea. Dusk was arriving.

 

[Wiggle]

"Nathan." A female voice said. "Help me."


Jory slipped in and out of consciousness multiple times on the way from the door to the room. He felt himself being carried by a man, who stunk of sweat, ale and like he hadn't had a bath in a long time. Jory awoke when the man laid him, quite roughly on the bed, and then passed out not long after that.


Please...get Aidan, he’s.......kitchen, and tell...........Mitchell.” The same female voice said,


Everytime Jory woke up, he tried his best to force his body into staying awake, and each time he failed. It was no use, he had lost too much blood and would die soon. He felt a sort of strange longing for the end, he was in severe pain and said a prayer to the Lord of Dawn, how hopefully would receive him with open arms if he passed.


"Help me...armor." He heard the female said.


A male voice replied, and Jory felt the pieces of armor that had protected him from the traitor's swords began to fall off, one by one, until he felt like he was weightless and completely naked. Jory wasn't sure how long he'd been riding or wearing the armor, but it felt like months. He heard what seemed to be a third or fourth person walk into the room, and set some things down on the table next to his head. There were too many people here, what if they were with General Vyran? What if they took his head? He hoped that he died before they did such a thing, he didn't care what they did once he'd passed.


More sounds of movement, and the clinking of glass, clay pots or something reached Jory's ears, and he felt the practiced fingers of one, maybe two people. He silently thanked the Dawngod that he'd reached a house of a doctor or someone that might be able to help him, or speed him along to his death. There were no more voices, only the sound of movement while whomever helped him worked on his wounds. Jory suddenly felt exhausted, and felt sleep calling his name. Was this death? Was this what death was like? It wasn't really so bad if it was. Jory suddenly felt his flesh pierced once again, and lost consciousness.


A large Black Raven looked down on Jory from a tree branch above. It didn't move, didn't make a sound, it just stared at him. Jory lifted his head and looked around. He was no longer in the room with the two people, and instead was in the Tyhron Forest that they often hunted in. The large raven made a croaking call and suddenly flew off, Jory followed the bird until his sight rested on the head of General Vyran on a pike. Jory smiled at the sight and suddenly felt a tap on his right shoulder, turned around was horrified to see General Vyran, with his serrated sword in one hand.


"The Kingdom is mine!" He growled, and shoved the sword into Jory's belly.


Jory awoke with a start, and managed a small scream from his parched throat. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, calming himself before he realized that he wasn't in the Forest, and was inside on a bed.


"Water..." He managed to croak.


@Lucyfer

 

[Lucyfer]

“It’s no use sitting here and waiting,” Mitchell said on one of his trips up to check on the unconscious man and Hazel. “Come, it’s starting to get lively downstairs and mother and father haven’t yet returned.” They’d gone to the market in a city farther away with their elder brother and his family. The whole family worked here, but their elder brother had a life apart. Mitchell was the one presently being lectured about doing just that, but it was more difficult for him than it would be for Aidan.


He had to find a woman who he could trust to know about his magical tendencies. Hazel was in the same boat.


“He could wake up at any time.”


Mitchell shook his head and walked into the room, offered both of his hands to her. He waited, until at last she sighed and put both of her hands in his, and let herself be pulled up. “You can check every few minutes, but we need help downstairs. I have a feeling our favorite lord will be showing up when Nathan leaves.”


A smile graced her lips, “Which one?” She asked as he dropped her hands and walked to the door with her following.


“The son,” it was always the son anymore. No one was sure exactly how much leeway his father gave him, but few wanted to challenge him with the threat of telling his father, just in case. Sorin Leal’s history didn’t shine like a saint’s. “Should be able to put him off until the man reco—”


“Water….”


The single word caught both of their attention. Hazel met her brother’s blue eyes, nodded, and turned right back around and walked to the bed, as Mitchell bolted out of the room. When one asked for water, they weren’t asking for something hot. They were asking for something cold and refreshing, and Mitchell could bring that. “It’s coming, sir,” Hazel informed him as she walked back to the chair she’d abandoned, near the end table where some of the products remained out, though now sealed in their containers.


Mitchell came rushing back with a cup, a bit of it spilling over the edge as he turned into the room. He passed it to Hazel, nodded, and darted back out of the room. Hazel wondered at his haste to leave, but didn’t shout after him to get a reason. She’d know it sooner or later, and she wished not to perturb the injured one more. “Here,” she leaned towards him, but did not hand the cup to him right then. If he lifted his hands to take it, she would allow him to try.


For the moment, she pressed the cup’s rim to his lips, and would tilted it just a little so he’d feel the water on his lips. If he responded, she’d tilt it more so he could actually drink the liquid.

 

[Wiggle]

Jory's single word had echoed through the room, and suddenly rushed footsteps where heard, leaving the room, going down the stairs and disappearing a few seconds later. Someone walked around the side of the bed and stood there looking down at him. Jory had closed his eyes again after he croaked the word water out.


"It's coming, sir." The same female voice from earlier said.


As if on cue, the rushed footsteps were back, and headed towards the bed. There was a small splash, which Jory concluded came from the cup of water that was brought to him. There were no more footsteps for a few seconds, and then they rushed out once again and didn't return.


"Here." She said softly, her voice caring.


He felt her draw near, and suddenly a cup was placed against his lips and the cool, refreshing touch of water hit his lips. It was almost too much for Jory, and he quickly parted his lips to allow the cool liquid to fill his mouth and water his parched throat. Jory pulled back to take a breath, and reached up and gingerly took the cup from the woman's hand. He pressed it to his mouth and drained the entire thing in a second drink.


"Thank you." He said softly. "It's very kind of you to help me so earnestly."


Jory finally opened his red eyes, a characteristic of the Barras, and looked at the woman. Her purple eyes and long flowing red hair were unique in the fact that Jory had never seen a woman, or man for that matter with the combination of the two before. He tried to sit up, but the sharp pain that radiated from his belly wound stopped him almost as soon as he got the idea.


"Where am I?"

 

[Lucyfer]

The water revived the man. He responded, drank, and then took it from her to drink on his own accord. Hazel released the cup into his grasp and leaned back in the chair, glad to see him respond so eagerly. “You’re…welcome,” it came at a slight hesitation, his red eyes catching her by surprise.


Hazel had never been near enough to even consider spotting royalty, but she’d always heard they had unusually red eyes—unusual in the fact they were not albino, as the man in the bed clearly was not that. His hair was much too dark to be that, “sir,” it came quickly, as she wondered if she ought to be using a much more formal term.


When he moved, she forgot that. His health was the greater concern, “Please, don’t move,” she cautioned, rising from her seat and gesturing for him to relax with her hands, palms facing the floor. “You had a wound on your abdomen that needed stitching. Too much movement now, and you may break the wound open again. It needs time to sit, and you have only been out a few hours.” Hopefully that would come as some relief, that he wasn’t out for too long.


“You are in the town of Trist, outside the city of Velles. You are presently in the tavern known as the Will-o-Wisp,” the story of how it got its name always changed depending on her father’s mood, but it played up the idea that the Will-o-Wisp could lead one to great fortune, or to great misery—fitting, for a tavern. “Does that help?” She didn’t know if such information would be of use to him. Velles was not a small city, so Hazel thought it a decent ‘landmark’ of sorts, but then, she was not certain how far this man had traveled.

 

[Wiggle]

"You're....welcome...sir." She said, showing surprise at his eyes, then suddenly jumping up to stop him from moving. "Please don't move, you had a wound on your abdomen thay needed stitching. Too much movement and you may break the wound open again. It needs time to sit and you've only been out for a few hours."


Of course, it was probably to be expected, the only people who had red eyes with dark hair and tanned skin were those with Barra blood in their veins. Not to mention if she had been the one to see him up and deal with his wounds then she'd most likely had seen the raven emblazoned on his breastplate and the Raven's head on both pauldrons. He slowly lowered his hand to the hidden dirk he always kept under his pants while he sat on the throne and to his horror, he realized it was gone.


"You are in the town of Trist, outside the city of Velles. You are presently in the tavern known as the Will-O-Wisp." She said. "Does that help?"


Jory narrowed his eyes at the woman, unsure if she was telling the truth or not. Velles was at least a week's ride from the Capital, his horse had gotten him this far without guidance from a human? He found himself wondering if the horse had survived the journey or not. Velles wasn't a small city, and was at least half the size of the capital, and full of taverns, stores filled with various goods and many brothels. It was sort of a stop for traveling caravans, travelers and many others for supplies and a warm meal and a cozy bed before they reached the capital. They never passed through Trist before, but the Tyhron Forest wasn't far off from Velles. Perhaps the horse had thought to go where it often had.


"Yes." He finally said, relaxing and laying back against the headboard. "I assume you were the one who sewed my wounds closed? I assume you've also seen my armor? And you know who I am? How many others know I'm here? Have you told anyone else? Where is my sword, and my dirk? My armor?"

 

[Lucyfer]

It was clear that the man was a bit wary by her answer, but Hazel did not speak in the silence that followed her answer. She let it soak in, and accepted his narrowed gaze without comment and without flinching. Of course, in his condition, he was nothing to be afraid of.


In the silence, the man did settle himself and he relaxed his gaze, with his body.


Questions spewed out of his mouth, but now they were in a much more commanding tone. She let them all come without attempting to answer until it was clear he had finished speaking. Then, she nodded, an act to compose herself more than any answer to him, “My brother Mitchell, and myself, tended to your wounds. I do not know for certain who you are, and I will not make any assumptions if you have another name,” it would allow him room to lie, if he wished, though her words spoke that she had her suspicions of his identity.


“Your effects are to the left, sir,” she made a motion to where chairs and a table were. The armor and the weapons were scattered between the two chairs and the table. “Those who know you are here are myself, Mitchell, my brother Aidan, an ex-knight Nathan Phaedron.” As she listed off the names, she walked around to where the tea was, “Nathan is in service to the Lord Didymus Leal, so it is probable that soon he will know, and from him, Lord Sorin Leal will know. Right now, those are the only ones who know that an injured man is here. I cannot say who may have seen you brought in, though.” Hazel was honest in her answers, for she had no reason to lie.


Though she was not as uncaring as Nathan was—or as he tried to convince her he was—the matter of politics was not her concern at that moment. Her concern was on the man, not as anyone important, but as a confused and injured individual. She didn’t wish to make his condition, mental and physical, worse. “Would you like some tea? It’s flavored with lemon.” She offered, perhaps too casually given the situation.

 

[Wiggle]

My brother Mitchell, and myself, tended to your wounds. I do not know for certain who you are, and I will not make any assumptions if you have another name, your effects are to the left, sir,”She said, gesturing the the table where Dawn lay resting against one of the table's legs, and his armor placed haphazardly around the table. “Those who know you are here are myself, Mitchell, my brother Aidan, an ex-knight Nathan Phaedron.” She recounted the names, stood and headed towards the tea, causing Jory to flinch for a moment before calming down. "Nathan is in service to the Lord Didymus Leal, so it is probable that soon he will know, and from him, Lord Sorin Leal will know. Right now, those are the only ones who know that an injured man is here. I cannot say who may have seen you brought in, though.” Her body language and facial expression assured Jory that she was telling the truth. “Would you like some tea? It’s flavored with lemon.” She suddenly asked.


Jory suddenly grew suspicious, but rethought his reaction. If she had wanted him dead, she would've killed him while he lay unconscious or just allowed his wounds to take him, but instead she treated him. There would be no point for her to waste her supplies just to kill him later after he'd woken up. This gave Jory reason to trust the purple eyed woman. He nodded his head in agreement, and then realized she couldn't have seen him, since her back was turned to him. He quickly inched over while ignoring the protests from his wound and grabbed the dirk from the table and slid it under the covers of the bed. He wasn't afraid of the woman, yet of the possibility of someone coming in after her.


"Yes, I wouldn't mind some tea. You have honey?" He asked. "I hate to trouble you further, but do you have any food? Dying is hungry work."

 

[Lucyfer]

His move to grab the dirk did not go unnoticed, but Hazel made no reaction to it. He had just been stabbed. Having a weapon near might make him feel safer.


Hazel was pleased that he accepted the offer of tea. It wouldn’t be just regular tea, but she didn’t imagine he’d even notice. The herbs were a particular mixture, blessed and fortified. It would heal any of the internal damage she couldn’t reach, and help to fight off the infection some. “Of course. I never take tea without honey,” no matter how sweet it naturally was, something Mitchell found exasperating.


The hot water was poured into the cup with the tea bag, and she walked over and deposited the cup on the end table, as well as the honey. He could sweeten it himself, to his liking. “I will go see about food for you. We wouldn’t be a very good tavern if all we had was alcohol.”


Hazel walked across the floor and exited the room, found the stairs and headed down. The tavern was a bit more full, and as she suspected, Lord Didymus was now present and talking with Mitchell, who was clearly trying his best to dissuade Didymus from investigating matters further.


“—enemy of the kingdom under your roof—”


“Lord Didymus, have you been served already?” Hazel interrupted and passed by Mitchell, saying, “Our guest needs a bit of food, do you mind?” And Mitchell was more than happy to exit from behind the counter and walk on back to locate food.


The blonde lord was none too pleased with this. “I do not wish to get in trouble with the reigning king for harboring an enemy of the kingdom.”


“I assure you, we are not harboring an enemy of the king,” Hazel answered him. “He was an injured soldier, but not on the wrong side. We’ll get him patched up and back to the capital soon.”


Mitchell exited the kitchen with a bowl of soup. He’d seen to it that chicken noodle was made. Sure, it was best for sickness, but it seemed appropriate to feed to someone who was recovering from injury, as well. When Mitchell felt he could eat something more substantial, he’d see about getting more red meat and almonds in the injured one.


He knocked on the wall besides the door, since Hazel hadn’t shut it, before turning into the room. “Good to see you awake,” he said on entering. “Soup is all I want you to eat for now, until I’m sure you can keep food down.” He set it on the end table nearby, took note of the red eyes, and unlike Hazel, commented on it in his own way. “How are you feeling, sire?”

 

[Wiggle]

"Of course, I never make tea without honey." She replied.


Jory watched her pour the tea, and grab the pot of honey, and bring both over to him and place them on the table beside his bed.


“I will go see about food for you. We wouldn't be a very good tavern if all we had was alcohol.” She said, turning to leave the room.


Jory watched her leave, and turned, as gingerly as he could and grabbed the honey jar. He scooped two spoonfuls of honey into the tea and stirred it, until he was sure that the honey had dissolved. It was strange, this was his first time ever preparing his own tea. Usually his squire or one of the handmaidens or servants did it, but Jory didn't think it was too bad. In a way it was refreshing to do things for himself, as always having someone there to wipe your ass seemed a bit ridiculous. He smiled as he remembered his father ordering him to make use of the servants and his personal handmaiden, who he had a fling with. He remembered how angry his father had been when he found the two together in Jory's bed. He'd sent the girl away to one of their house allies, and that was the last he ever saw of the girl. Ellen her name was, with long beautiful blonde hair and green eyes. He sighed and took a sip from the tea, and found it completely delicious, and began taking regular sips from the thing.


Jory laid the empty cup on the table and watched the door for a moment, lost in his thoughts. If he was to get the throne back, he would need to rally his House Allies. The other houses had been House Barra's allies since the beginning of the Kingdom. House Harl, House Gregor, House Eberhardt and House Welsin were a few of the much larger houses which had a long standing friendship with House Barra and Jory had grown up with many of the heirs of each House. Jory's father would often send him to spend his summers and winters with a different house each time, citing that a future King should develop his own relationships with his allies and retainers. Jory was pulled from his thoughts as a knocking sound was heard, instinctively, Jory grabbed the dirk and unsheathed it to a point where if he needed to, it'd be out and ready to use within a millisecond. Jory relaxed when he saw the man, who looked a lot like the woman. He assumed him to be her brother or close relative, and Jory slid the dagger back into it's sheath.


“Good to see you awake,” He said, entering. “Soup is all I want you to eat for now, until I’m sure you can keep food down.” He set it on the table, and turned to look at Jory, and a knowing look was in his eyes. “How are you feeling, sire?”


Jory feel like he'd announced it to the world, and narrowed his eyes at him.


"Don't call me that out loud, there are people who want me dead." Jory growled, low enough for only the two of them to hear. "Thank you for helping me in my time of need. I promise you, once I reclaim what is rightfully mine, I will reward you and your sister tenfold of what you did for me. You will have your own lands and be lords and ladies."

 

[Lucyfer]

Mitchell smiled at the King’s answer. It confirmed everything for him, and he realized, it meant Didymus and Sorin were going to be a nuisance if they ever figured out who, exactly, was here. It could go either way with Didymus. He would have fallen prey to the sweet words that escaped Jory’s mouth about rewards.


Mitchell wasn’t so easily impressed. “I have no intention of it. I just needed confirmation,” Mitchell informed Jory, added, “You better think of some name to call yourself, and save those words of gains for nobles with sworn men to fight for you.” Mitchell didn’t actually want land or titles. Well, maybe titles, but in truth he liked his quiet life. Politics weren’t for him, if half of Nathan’s stories were true. “We’d do the same for Vyran here.”


He walked back to the doorway and asked, “Is there anything more you need? I have an irate lord downstairs who doesn’t like to be denied knowledge.” Of anything, really. If Didymus weren’t a snake, Mitchell might dare claim him the smartest of all the lords for his obsession with learning all things. The problem was the use he put that knowledge to was usually questionably moral. “It’d be nice if you could think of a name of one of Vyran’s knights to get him to run along for the moment. Should give you time to recover and leave before Didymus learns I’ve lied.”


Mitchell didn’t enjoy lying, but it came with the life he led. “Unless you want to see the lord for some reason.” Perhaps they had been allies. Well, of course they had been allies. Where they stood now, Mitchell didn’t know.

 

[Wiggle]

Jory eyed the man, quite peeved by his attitude towards his King.


"My name is Jyth, I am a sellsword from the Ly'thora Desert tribes. If anyone other than the two lords ask." Jory said, surprising himself at his sudden creation. "Give them the two Lords the name of Sir Hayton Franco, he was one of the ones who attacked me and my guard."


Many of the tribes had red eyes like the Barras did, they often lived in desert towns and even had a city almost as huge as the Capital. Their warrior's had fierce dark hair and long beards. They were fierce warriors but often reckless in the fact that they barely wore any armor and relied in their luck to survive battles. Hayton's name might work, and he hoped they didn't wish to see him. His eyes would give him away, if the man decided to use Hayton's name instead of the alias he made up.


"No, I am fine for now." He said. "But I would like the woman back in here, she was pleasant company, I would also not care to see Lord Didymus, we did not get along as children, and I doubt we would now."


Jory took the warm bowl of soup, and sipped on it gingerly. The warm soup filled his mouth with a seasoned chicken taste and seemed to wash away his aches and pains. It was wonderful, and Jory found himself sipping at the soup faster than he should. He lowered the bowl from his lips, and allowed himself to get a breather, and to let the soup settle in his stomach. It was delicious, and look towards the man with a smile on his lips.


"Thank you for the soup, it's quite delicious." Jory said, "My compliments to the chef."


He refocused his attention back to the soup, and took another sip. If he had to see one of the Leal's, he would need to see Sorin. Sorin was one of his father's closest friends, and was severely mournful to hear of his father's untimely death. Jory had even heard from the gossip around the court that Lord Sorin had torn his fine silks and cried out in anguish once he had heard the terrible news. Much to Sorin's and Jory's father's disappointment, their sons didn't get along as much as they did. In fact, Jory found Didymus to be a bit revolting. He schemed too much for a Lord, and was often dealing with shady characters. It was no place for the son of a Lord, no matter how small or big their hold was.

 

[Lucyfer]

Mitchell took in the information given to him, the two different identities for the two different parties that could ask after his identity. It was time for Mitchell’s eyes to narrow when Hazel was requested back. He had the suspicion any brother would have towards a man of nobility eying his sister, “Very well, Jyth,” he addressed him as such and turned to leave, catching the words about the soup just as he stepped out.


He smiled a little, but offered no words in return. He would tell Aidan, though.


Down the stairs, he found the Lord still leaning on the counter and trying to get information out of Hazel, though she continued to offer him little and tended to the other customers. Mitchell walked behind her, touched her shoulder and said, “Sir Franco requests you return. Seems you’re more pleasant than I am,” he said it so that Didymus would hear.


Those silver eyes of the Lord lit up, “Hayton Franco?” Hazel was already setting aside the cup.


“That’s what he said,” Mitchell answered, “I mentioned you were here, but he isn’t taking visitors right now.”


Didymus shook his head, “It is unnecessary. I’ll send word to Vyran so he knows the man lives.” And it would be a quick way to fact check. When Didymus stepped away, Nathan rose from his seat and followed after the Lord.


Hazel started to move away to head up the stairs then, but Mitchell caught her arm and pulled her back. He whispered, “He wants to go by Jyth, a sell sword of the Ly’thora Desert, to anyone but the Leals.” Hazel gave a nod. “It is Jory.” He let go of her arm then, and she walked back on up the stairs.


“Hey,” he called into the kitchen.


“Mm?”


“Our guest liked the soup.”


“Yes!” Mitchell could hear Aidan’s feet briefly leave the ground and come back down. Mitchell chuckled and shook his head, then turned a pleasant smile to a man at the bar and began to tend to the duties.


Meanwhile, Hazel returned to the upstairs floor and gave a knock to the nearby wall, before stepping in. “My brother said you requested my presence?”

 

[Wiggle]

Jory watched the man leave the room, and found himself doubting that the fake name would foil Didymus. He was always a conniving and deceitful man, even as a child and he would often come up with plans to go out into the village that his Lord father governed and sneak into the local whorehouse to see naked women. Sometimes if he was feeling especially ballsy, he would try it on some of the maidens around the medium sized village. Jory sighed and shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. It wasn't Didymus that Jory was worried about, the man was weak and never took to swordplay like most of the young Lords did. Jory would always put him on his ass in the courtyard when the master-at-arms forced them to spar each other. Sorin was who Jory had his mind on, once he was healed enough, he wondered if he would be able to go to him for help. He wasn't sure if the Lord had remained faithful to the crown or flaked and joined the Lords who supported Vyran. He made a note to ask the woman if she knew anything of Sorin's allegiance, and if he still supported the true king.


Jory sighed and looked out the cloudy window, it was getting dark outside and night would be upon them soon. In truth, Jory was exhausted and sleep called his name like a lusty maiden or a warm meal to a hungry stomach, but he forced himself to remain awake, just to ask the woman about the state of his kingdom. If needed to, he would travel all the way North to the Cloudy Mountains, and to House Gregor. Lord Gregor would surely help the young king out, seeing as his aunt was his lady wife. Lord Gregor was a stout man, with a build that could rival the biggest mountain bear and a booming voice to match. His armor was blackened iron and his axe, Schadenfreunde was a deadly beast of a weapon. The shaft was made of Ironwood, and the double head of the ax was solid Blackened Iron, a northern specialty. Blackened Iron was what his armor was made of, and it was a gift from Lord Gregor to Jory on his name day, a gift from a Lord who pledged his fealty to the new Barra King. There was a knocking sound that returned Jory to reality, he looked up and noticed Hazel. He smiled kindly at her, as she was familiar company, and Jory never forgot someone who helped him out. This woman, along with her brother, had saved Jory's life and that was something that Jory wouldn't forget.


"I did." He confirmed. "I enjoyed your company, and I just had some questions about the state of my Kingdom. You would be more knowledgeable about it than I, seeing as I have been unconscious for a while. Does Lord Sorin still pledge his fealty to me? Or has he betrayed me and turned to General Vyran?"

 

[Lucyfer]

“I’m flattered,” Hazel gave a light laugh at the king’s statement about her company as she stepped further into the room.


Jory’s concerns were not surprising, even if Hazel thought he ought not to worry about such things then. “Hmm,” she hummed the note as she walked further in, seeming to think how best to answer. “Both the Leal Lords are similar in that they will do what is necessary to protect their own heads.” Of that, Hazel had no doubts. Sorin would pledge himself to Vyran, if he hadn’t already done so.


She walked over to the table, and took one of the chairs not decorated with armor and weapons to sit in, “But where their actual loyalty lies is another question. I do not believe Lord Sorin has any kind thoughts towards Vyran, and he is good with secrets.” As good as Didymus, anyway. Both could keep them, and both could give them. Secrets were weapons, but they were also tools to buy loyalty, as well as prove it. Sorin had a better reputation than his son about actually keeping the secrets and not using them as blackmail.


Comparing Didymus to Sorin was like comparing water to ice. They were of the same nature, but dangerous in different ways. “It will take more than your life to convince Lord Sorin to pledge to you, if that is what you are truly wondering. He might wish you victory, but he won’t make a stand unless he knows he is on the winning side.”


The world and its reality were often hard. A ruler who thought his lords would always be loyal because they’d sworn to be, were likely to be mistaken. Life and luxury were more valuable than whoever their boss was—so long as those things were kept, it didn’t often matter who ruled. “It was only a little while ago, though, that news reached us of what happened. The day you arrived was when I knew of what befell your kingdom. I have heard no official declarations from Lord Sorin, though it may come on the morrow.” It was obvious to Hazel what it would be, though.

 

[Wiggle]

Jory lowered his eyes, and sighed quite loudly.


"I see." He said simply.


It angered him that Sorin would so easily betray his father's trust and pledge fealty to Vyran. He knew his uncle would lean his army of ten thousand strong, and that would be enough to lay siege to Sorin's keep, and put both his and his son's head on a spike, but not before letting them plead their case and their reasons for betraying their true king. Jory knew there were Houses still loyal to House Barra because their oaths actually meant something to them. Those would be the Houses that would decimate Vyran and his supporters and replace Jory back on the throne. He raised his eyes to look Hazel in hers and said with a tone of voice and an expression that said he meant serious business.


"If my life is not enough to make Sorin remember his oaths, then perhaps the threat of death will. My father, although a right and just king, did not take kindly to betrayal and the dropping of oaths like waste from a chamberpot." Jory began. "I will begin by calling my bannermen, starting with House Gregor, then House Harl, House Pfeil, House Eberhardt and House Welsin, they were the bigger houses and would have the most soldiers."


After Jory had an opportunity to gather House Gregor's men, and march to the other houses, he knew news of his survival and the gathering army would be enough to make the Lords who decided to side with General Vyran rethink their terrible investment. Then, once he had gathered all of his allies, he would send out a call for any of Vyran's army who were still loyal to the true king to join his cause. And then, and only then would he swoop through the Houses loyal to Vyran and the Capital and kill every man who bore the sigils and colors of those houses. Jory clenched his fist in determination and looked up at Hazel once again.


"Thank you for helping me, milady." He said. "I'm not telling you to do this as your king, I am asking you as a man. Will you allow me to stay here until I've healed? I have a long journey ahead of me, and I feel that I will need all the rest, warm meals and tea I can get. I have a feeling it will be a long time before I am afforded those luxuries once again. You will have my gratitude and the favor of House Barra."

 

[Lucyfer]

Men and their toys. Or, in this case, men and their wars. Hazel could see the indignant anger build inside Jory, but in truth she did not understand it. She had watched Didymus get what he wanted at the drop of a name, and seen him share in that anger whenever he was denied, but she didn’t share in it. She was no noble who knew the entitlement of birth and thought herself worthy of things simply by that.


If anything, it was exasperating, but she had learned to hide that from Didymus. She could hide it from Jory, too.


“I pray that those whom you think loyal to you, remain so,” though Hazel had her doubts. Oaths were well and good, but Vyran held the position. If he was smart, he would already be negotiating with those very lords that were named, and bringing them into the fold, and under new oaths.


Jory would need to heal, as he knew. In that time, Vyran might have a decent lock on the situation. “But I would not toss out Lord Sorin so easily, either. There are advantages to men like him who are willing to play both sides,” Hazel knew it was bold to suggest there was use to dishonest people, but she herself had to live a dishonest life. Most considered her faithful to the Lord of Dawn, after all, when she considered that deity one among many, several of which were not popularly supported. “If you think only of swords and armies, you will miss opportunities to gather information and set traps.”


However, she bowed her head, “But I only know of novels and stories of wars, heroes like Olso," an infamous trickster, no one a knight would love since he won a war through deceit, but a commoner's hero, "So take my words with a grain of salt,” she remedied her boldness, “You may stay here until you are well enough to travel, and longer if need be. If there are ways myself or my family can aid you, you only need to ask and we will do what we can.” She lifted her head, “Speaking of, do you still have enough tea?” Always a good thing to keep near.

 

[Wiggle]

Jory snorted at her hope, he knew those who were truly loyal to him would remain so. Vyran was not a smart man when it came to politics and the subtleties of court and pleasing Lords and ladies. In truth, Vyran was a brute and only knew one thing, war. He was a large man with long silvery hair, and completely ugly. His face was completely covered in scars from past battles, and he was missing two fingers from his right hand, from when an enemy's sword caught his unprotected hand. Jory had heard stories from old soldiers who had been there, they said that Vyran laughed and licked the blood from his hand before lopping the enemy soldier's head off in one fell swoop from his serrated evil sword. The man was a beast and an evil, cruel man, but he was a genius at war and the tactics needed to win, and that was the only reason Jory kept him around. But now he knew it was a mistake, and that he should have exiled him to the Hyorn Islands to die.


"But I would not toss out Lord Sorin so easily, either. There are advantages to men like him who are willing to play both sides,” The woman said “If you think only of swords and armies, you will miss opportunities to gather information and set traps." She bowed her head in apology, “But I only know of novels and stories of wars, heroes like Olso, an infamous trickster, no one a knight would love since he won a war through deceit, but a commoner's hero, So take my words with a grain of salt,” she remedied her boldness, “You may stay here until you are well enough to travel, and longer if need be. If there are ways myself or my family can aid you, you only need to ask and we will do what we can.” She lifted her head, “Speaking of, do you still have enough tea?” Always a good thing to keep near.


Jory turned his red gaze to Hazel, and raised an eyebrow.


"A man who pledges fealty to both sides is not to be trusted, if he sells secrets of Vyran to me, what's to stop him from doing the same to me? I will gather my armies, and go to his hold in force, and see what he says." Jory says. "I was too weak before, and it cost me my throne, my squire, and nearly my life. I will NOT make that same mistake again, I was lazy and did not act on the rumors that Vyran had been planning a coup to overthrow me and my family's reign. My family has sat on the Obsidian Throne since Franko Barra the Third established the throne, and I was the one who allowed it to fall into the hands of a brute. I will regain my rightful place as King, and it will not happen again."


He sighed and allowed himself to calm down and regain his composure before speaking again.


"I think I might have drank the last of my tea." He said, grabbing the empty cup and looking down at it. "I'd like some more if you'd like to have some with me."

 

[Lucyfer]

Jory clearly didn’t believe that the lords he thought of would betray him, but Hazel took no offense at his optimism. She could advise him against it, but perhaps he knew better, and perhaps she’d read too many stories. Hazel could hope the world was as rosy as Jory, clearly, thought it was.


In spite of his condition, he had hope in words. He was one of those naively honorable men, something Hazel hadn’t considered any king could possibly. ‘Will your men not pledge to Vyran if they think you are dead?’ Or would they rise up in rebellion and try to claim the throne for themselves? Hazel could see a thousand different outcomes, but Jory was stuck on one—his return to the throne. “I am glad to see your focus. Your passion should serve you well,” that much was true. Ambition and determination could take one far, and Jory had both of those things.


She rose as he acknowledged he could use more tea, “I will fetch us more, then,” as he invited her to join him. She’d have to make sure it was a simple blend. Medicine could be poison, if used improperly, and she had no need of medicine. “I’ll return shortly.” She took his cup, thinking also to fetch him a new one, since she’d use a new blend, and she took the pot as well to refill it with water.


Hazel did return shortly, not hassled at all by either Aidan or Mitchell, though Mitchell said what she suspected anyway—their parents would not arrive that evening. No doubt, they got held up for some reason in Velles, and had to spend the night there. Hazel did take note that Demetrius was there with his daughter, and seemed a bit peeved. Hazel just greeted her elder brother, and her niece, but let him be.


Clearly, his fight was with Mitchell that evening.


Hazel returned with the pot, the tea steeping within. She set it on the table, “It’ll need a few minutes more,” she advised, “It is a lighter blend, so it takes longer to get the flavor diffused throughout.” She didn’t sit this time, but remained near the pot. She would pour it when the time had passed.

 

[Wiggle]

"I hope it does." He agreed.


She stood up, said something about returning shortly and disappeared out of the door. Jory didn't notice this, as he'd already been lost deep in his thoughts. He knew his uncle, and Jory knew that he would be assembling his soldiers as soon as he heard of the coup staged by General Vyran. Jory trusted the man with all his heart, and knew he would lend his strength to the young man's and help him win his throne back. Lord Gregor hated the subtle politics of court and loved the blunt feel of combat. Jory knew Lord Gregor would be enough to encourage the other House Allies to join Jory's cause as Lord Gregor wasn't a stupid man and knew the pros and cons of every decision he made, and not to mention honor was everything to the bear of a man. Jory knew for a fact that his uncle would join him in a heartbeat, and stick with him through until the end.


Jory was interrupted by the loud clinking sound of the teapot against porcelain, and the thick sound of the pot being placed on wood. He raised his eyes to meet Hazel's and was relieved to see it was indeed her.


“It’ll need a few minutes more,” she commented, “It is a lighter blend, so it takes longer to get the flavor diffused throughout.”


Jory nodded his thanks and stared at the pot, occasionally glancing up at Hazel. Sleep was almost yelling his name, and was driving Jory crazy. He knew he needed sleep to heal, and that's exactly what the man planned to do. It took all his strength to force his eyes to remain open and not fall asleep sitting up.


"I think I'll rest after this cup of tea, milady." He said, using milady as a term of respect.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Milady’. The term caused a wry smile to jump to her lips. Hazel was only used to hearing it when someone wanted something—her brothers had a habit of it, much as she had a habit of calling them ‘my lord’ when she wanted something. She wondered if doing such a thing might lighten Demetrius’s disposition.


The king had used it earlier for a promise of having this location to recover in. Now he was using it for sleep. “That is a good idea. Sleep will help.”


When the time had passed, Hazel poured out a cup for the king first, and then for herself. She would let him add what honey he needed, before adding a spoonful for herself and then returning to her seat. She sipped at the warm liquid. “My apologies on tea if you do not like it. I took my own preferences into consideration,” and she preferred white teas to all others, since they were naturally sweeter. This one had a bit of citrus flavoring to it. “What are your preferences, for tea and food? Tomorrow we will have more supplies to prepare for meals you may like better.”


He had his soup tonight, and a tea made for healing. If they kept the bandages clean and made sure the wounds didn’t open, there was no reason he couldn’t eat a steak if that was what he preferred.

 

[Wiggle]

Jory nodded, yawned and tried to cover it with his hand before coughing a bit. He would need the sleep if he planned to wage war on General Vyran and reclaim his throne. He watched Hazel pour his tea, and graciously accepted the cup, blew on it to cool it off and took a small sip. It was quite delicious, and the citrus flavors exploded in his mouth. He'd never had anything so succulent before, and the teas he was brought were usually black or green teas, with different flavors, blueberry, spearmint, whatever. There was even a tea that tasted of cinnamon from a distant allied country called Hjin, and that one was Jory's favorite out of them all. But this white tea that was being served to him by this innkeeper was quite good. Jory almost didn't need to add any honey, but he added a small spoonful just as a formality.


"The tea is quite good, and I am most grateful for your hospitality. You did not have to shelter, feed or treat me, but you did." He said. "My preferences for food would be duck roasted in honey, lemon cakes, prime rib from the fattest cows, leafy greens and dark potatoes, pork lion smothered in crown sauce, and breaded chicken."


He looked at her with quite a serious look on his face, there was no way they would be able to cook that. Those were food fit for a king's feast, and Jory had only been pulling her leg. He couldn't hold it anymore, and before long, a small smile began to form on his lips, and then he began chuckling.


"I was only teasing." He said, taking a sip from his cup. "I will eat whatever you do, there will be no time for luxuries in battle, so I'd best be getting used to it, wouldn't you agree......Hazel, was it? You'll have to forgive me, I'm terrible with names. I never forget faces though, and yours is quite distinguishable, if I do say so myself. Where do you get your eyes from?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Hazel smiled at the king’s approval of the tea. She wouldn’t have guessed he’d never really had white tea before. Her mother liked to talk up its rarity, or at least, its uncommonness, compared to black teas, green teas, or even red teas. Herbal teas were the most common blends here, though.


His request came, and he spoke it seriously. ‘Well….’ Ribs might be feasible, the potatoes and the greens as well. Breaded chicken would be easy enough, it was just not commonly made. As her mind ran through the list and wondered if the other things would be possible, though, his expression broke.


A sigh parted her lips as he admitted he was teasing, “It is Hazel,” she agreed, “And I thank you for your kind words. My eyes come from my mother, and from her mother, a strange trait in the female line,” Demetrius was the only one who had eyes close to it, purple-brown hue that she’d been told was just relaxing to look at, like some sort of beautiful wood.


Her other two brothers had blue eyes. “You may meet her tomorrow. She is off on business tonight,” Hazel noted, and said, “Depending on what she and my father return with, some of your requests might be possible. There are enough chickens here, and we could have prime ribs as a treat some night,” it would make them a popular stop that day. Her father would certainly enjoy it. “Most of what we eat is the same food we cook for the guests here,” she noted with a sip of her tea, “and we have numerous blends of tea, made here or from Velles shops. There is harder stuff, when you are in better health.”


Perhaps the incentive would help him to recover faster—small rewards and a silver lining helped the mind, to help the body, heal.

 

[Wiggle]

"Hazel." Jory echoed, mulling the name around in his mouth. "A pretty name, I don't believe I've heard it before."


Jory nodded, to show his understanding, and gave her a kind smile when she spoke about the food. All of it sounded heavenly, especially about the ribs and chicken, but Jory knew his stomach wouldn't be able to handle such hard food as of yet, and didn't want to waste their resources.


"I do enjoy tea, honestly." He said. "Do you happen to have Chai tea? It's quite delicious, because it tastes of cinnamon and sugar."


He took a sip of his tea, and finished the rest off and set the cup down on the table that sat beside the bed. Sleep was practically yelling his name and there was no way for Jory to deny it.


"I must apologize, milady." He began. "But I fear if I don't fall asleep, then I will accidentally fall asleep while we speak."


Jory sank down into the bed and closed his eyes, instantly falling asleep. That night, he dreamt of a giant black raven that circled the capital, before a blood red dragon appeared from the ruins and charged the beast. The two fought for what seemed like hours before they faded away and Jory awoke. He blinked and noticed the morning sun filtering through the dirty window and raised an eyebrow. He didn't feel as terrible as he did, and his wound didn't scream at all, just a slight throb. He found himself wondering how long he had been out.