Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

[pointmango]

With boys now outside the room, Shana let the tension in her shoulders fall only for a moment as she repositioned the yarn she had measured for the boy. She’d have to take in the outfit quite a bit. She’d have to make a comment on delivery to have the boy eat more, so boy his height should be that skinny.

Shana now touched the edge of the dress that Aiyda held, she nodded quietly, “My sister made this dress.” She spoke quietly. “For the Lady of the North, before Lyram. Never got to wear it.” Her hand then came to the waist of the dress, seeing as some parts, minor touches for fitting sizes was still undone. “And she never got to finish it. But I do think it’s time someone began wearing it.” She nodded.

She then helped Aiyda to stand on the stool before her as she began taking measurements. “Well try it on dear, we’ll have to see where to take it in better.”

Shana pulled at the dress over Aiyda now, pins in her mouth and between her frail fingers. “It’ll be nice to have more women to make dresses for.” Shana pulled again, “Only one egtravegant dress, and four coats and pants for the men. I like the more delicate pieces, had the wedding not been so rushed I would have made all the Sterling men great coats, could barely manage to finish the one for Lord Lyram this time.” She sighed.

*

Conrad’s gaze was now on the boy, he laughed at Mathys words, “Yeah, she’s pretty harsh, always is though. Sometimes I like it.” He shrugged. He set his hand on Mathys shoulder, “Don’t worry. We’ll bulk you up, I’ve seen your father, many years ago, but it’s in you.” His gaze now shifting back to the door at the mention of Aiyda eating, a smirk resting on his lips when Mathys said ‘truly feasting’.

At the boys mention of his mother though, Conrad lost the upbeat nature in his features, and he patted Mathys again, “She’ll look beautiful. They’ll know.” He spoke solemnly. Lifting his shoulders again, he forced another smile, “And we will find you a lovely maiden to dance with.”

*

“My Lord, still no word on Lord Conrad.” A steward spoke to Lord Victor as he stood at the entrance of white hall with his wife and eldest son.

Lord Victor simply nodded, although his wife’s features were obvious. “Perhaps he is just.. Freshening up. Or still feeling ill.” Her tone unhopeful.

“Our youngest son has little tact with respect.” Victor’s fists clenched in a harsher manner. “We should hope the Hunt holds off, for who knows when Conrad will be ready?”

“Victor, please, he is recovering-”

“If he can attend breakfast, and follow around a common girl, he can attend his one true duty of being here when his brother’s betrothed arrives.” Victor snapped.


Elyana had shut the curtains of the carriage. The closer they came to White Hall the more she returned to sitting in the center of the bench she had traveling in for far too long. “I am lucky to have had a bath in the last place we stayed. That village was kind.” She ran her fingers in her blonde locks, which had already been pressed, curled and styled by her handmaids. Most nights they had set up Camp and tents on their travel, some staying at ins, one night as a castle in the furthest territory east. But her father had made sure they stop the night before their arrival.

The morning had been spent cleaning her, and preparing her for her evening. She wore an elegant gown colored a light rose pink. She already knew the gown would drag in the snow the moment she stepped out, and yet her father paid no mind. He kept going on about how his beautiful and smart daughter would be the Lady of the North, while his son would reign in the East.

“Not going to peak outside, see if your new love is to be waiting?” Trentan teased.

“No,” she whispered. Elyana was always patient, and quiet when needed, but she never held her tongue around Trentan.

Sensing her hesistance and nerves, Trentan leaned forward a bit, taking his sisters hand. “Mother would have been proud.” He whispered and watched as his sister clutched his hand tightly.


Stepping outside the carriage was a shock. The ‘castle’ that was White Hall, now close up, looked smaller than she had imagined. And it’s architecture was far from grand, although the erosion on the stone piqued her interest. How old was this place? Trentan helped her down, the snow lightly falling and the wind seemed colder than when she exited the carriage on their previous stay. A coat was helped around her shoulders, but nothing too thick that would hide her or her dress.

The large wooden doors were opened for them, and waiting just inside was three of the Sterlings. The older two who must’ve been the Lord and Lady, and a handsome man beside them both, who she could only assume was her betrothed.

“Victor,” Lord Estermont spoke, taking a step forward shaking his hand. “Been a while,” he seemed to be beaming. Lord Estermont had a tuft of pale brown hair upon his head that was quickly greying. His figure and jawline showed a man once of great stature and strength who had seemed to spend too many nights at the pub.

“Indeed Gilbar,” Victor smiled back, a much warmer welcome than the King. “You remember Caterina.”

Lord Estermont took Caterina’s hand, kissing it gently, “Of course, of course. Lovely as ever.” Then he moved to the left a bit, now looking over Lyram who was a couple inches taller than him. “You must be Lyram.” he nodded, “This is my boy, Trentan. Already heading all the exports down our way.” He boasted. “And of course, my beautiful daughter, Elyana.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda could see the relief on the seamstress’s face as she showed her the dress she had picked. From the many that required considerable amounts of retouching and resizing, hers was the closest to being finished, despite the fringed rims and loose bodice that still begged for the woman’s handy patchwork.

Regardless of that, it was pretty; it looked like something her mother would have worn in her youth, to bring her father’s eyes on her in a thick crowd. Perhaps a part of her longed for the same, but the thought was quickly brushed away as the seamstress pulled her up on a stool and began taking hasty measurements around her middle and chest.

“I doubt I am as worthy of making dresses for as the ladies and lords of this keep,” Aiyda murmured, although she had a feeling that Shana could not care less about her status. “Frankly, I am not even sure why I was invited to Lord Lyram’s wedding. His kindness simply happened upon me.” And Conrad’s, as well, although she would not mention him again, lest the woman thought to make a stingy remark.

Once she was done, Aiyda stepped off of the stool and slipped into the night gown she had initally come in. The air in the room was warmer than in others - perhaps easily explained by the amount of fabric scattered around the floor and furniture. Once having put on her bedroom shoes, which she had now inexplicably dirtied, she turned towards Shana and gave her a dulcet smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “For doing this... for my brother and I. It means the world to be able to enjoy a feast again, like family, not...” refugees, was the word she was looking for, but quickly decided against using it, knowing it would likely raise questions. “Send word for me when the dress is done. And Mathys’s garments. I’ll come as soon as I hear.”

With that, she tiptoed towards the door and out of the room, a large simper on her face as her gaze fell on Conrad and her brother once again. “Did I hear lovely maiden?” she teased, then leaned slightly back and gestured towards the seamstress’s quarters. “Well in that case, I think I have gotten myself a dress to impress a lovely knight, as well.”

*

Lyram looked... miserable.

At least that was what his reflection in the mirror had told him that morning, before he had hurried off to greet their new guests. With the Kilgours having left, the tension in the castle no longer felt as stifling, but still heavy, as though a great God’s day was approaching instead of a mere visit. A visit, of new faces of the East, who were there to stay, for far longer than the blue-blooded Southerners.

Hector was not there to shake his shoulder and tell him to look less solemn. Neither was Conrad, who would have quietly chuckled in his ear and nudged him the moment his betrothed stepped through the doors. Instead, his parents, grand and elegant as ever, stood before him in a proud and protecting manner, light in their eyes as the guards opened the door for Lord Estermont’s convoy.

His eyes, however, did not seek the man’s features, but the golden locks behind him, her shoulders lowered by a thick, heavy coat and apparent reticence. And her gaze, light and warm, sought him as well, for between the heads standing in front of them, he could see her looking at him, scrutinizing him like a woman would the intricate pattern of a dress.

She was... beautiful. His mother, at the very least, had not lied about that. Of her wits, he could not tell much from a mere glance, but she looked nothing like the mindless maidens he had seen about the city. Her blood was pure, her cheeks were pale - although not quite as white as the snowy pallor of the North - and she stood tall with pride. She resembled her father like two drops of water.

“Lord Estermont,” Lyram greeted the man with a forced smile, which he struggled to keep up for the entirety of the encounter. “I hope your travels were not too rough on you,” a line he had memorized and only recited like a poem. “It is an honour to meet you, and your family,” which would soon become his own, as well. The thought terrified him, even then, for he knew it would only be a day until such idea became factual.

Only another moment passed until he was tempted to look the woman’s way again, and his eyes rested for a moment, contemplating. “I...” he began, before gathering himself quickly and turning back to Lord Estermont. “You are invited to enjoy dinner with us, tonight, after you make yourself comfortable within your prepared quarters.” Frankly, he only wanted to hear her voice, to decide what she was like for himself, and not only rely on the polished fairytales his parents had filled his mind with.

 

[pointmango]

Conrad smiled softly upon Aiyda reentering their presence. “Yes, I will introduce Mathys to a couple maidens, ones who enjoy a dance or two as well?” His attention now directed towards the boy with a bit of a smirk. “We should all be getting back now, freshen up before the feast. I will see you both soon.” He nodded to the Saeberian children. “A drink, and a dance.” He called as he walked away, speaking respectfully to each of them.

*

Lord Estermont grinned, “Our travels, huh, saw the entire country it seems. Excellent though, truly.” He set a hand on Trentan’s shoulder a moment. And then Caterina announced for them that some handmaid's would be showing them to their quarters.

Elyana watched Lyram carefully, careful not to stare, but enough to see his interactions well. His gaze was impossible to read. Was he disappointed? Worried? Indifferent? She had heard the men of the North were honorable and tame when it came to formalities. Somehow, when she was a girl she had not imagined meeting the man she was to marry in this way. His words had been incredibly dry, and practiced it seemed.

“Well thank you, thank you all. We should go freshen for dinner, shouldn’t we sister?” Trentan was the one who spoke now. Elyana simply nodded and followed the Northern handmaids with one of her own trailing behind, her brother taking up the rear, bowing slightly to each of the Northern nobles.

“Nerves, surely. She’ll warm to the place, as you did Caterina…” Lord Estermont trailed off as he moved down the hall with Victor now.

Elyana kept her body faced forward, not turning her head as they moved through the corridors of White Hall, but her eyes darted to the walls. It was exceptionally dark, very little windows, more like a cage than an expansive home of nobles. The handmaiden stopped at a door, opening it for Elyana, and Trentan kissed her head gently, “I will return soon after I change in my room.” He told her.

Elyana moved into the room with her own handmaiden, at the end of the bed one of the blankets seemed to be made of animal pelts and she reached out two delicate fingers to probe the fabric.

“He was very handsome.” Her handmaiden spoke as she now pulled a dress from a bag she had held, laying it out on the bed, preparing it for the feast to come.

“He looked upset.” Elyana said.

“No man could ever be upset with you,” Her handmaiden almost scoffed shaking her head.

“Cassie,” Elyana met her handmaid's eyes, “It seemed more than just me,” She began.

“You think you know every man’s mind so well. Maybe he’s just nervous, weddings can be nerve wracking,”

A knock came on the door, and Elyana strightned. Cassie moved to the door and opened it slowly. “Lord Trentan,” she nodded.

“Cassie, sister,” He nodded to them both. “First impressions sister?” He asked.

“Well father was right, he’s handsome and tall.” She shook her head.

“Think he can keep up with you?” Trentan seemed to be grinning.

Elyana shot her brother a bit of a glare, “He looks like he wants to catch no one.” She pointed out. Cassie held up the dress to Elyana, and fixed her hair slightly, as if assessing if any last minute alterations needed to be made.

“Please Elyana, every man loves the chase, and you love to run.” He smirked.

Elyana turned now, “I do not.”

“Well then get dressed, the feast will leave you both plenty of time to chat. And plenty of time for myself to enjoy a conversation with some Northern women before the wedding.”

*

As Lord Estermont and Victor walked a head, Caterina fell back with her son some. “You should try to look a bit more… cheery at dinner, my son.” Caterina suggested to her eldest son. “Now, while your father discusses more urgent matters with Lord Gilbar, you best go find Conrad, make sure he attends the feast.” She spoke now with a more sour tone in her voice. “Maybe tell him and Ethon to share a drink or so with Trentan, so you can speak to Lady Elyana.” She patted his arm.

 

[peritwinkle]

The attention that the woman gave him made him wonder whether he should be flattered or concerned about his first impression of him. Lyram stood, waited, yet the only comprehensible reaction he got was from Lord Estermont and Lord Trentan; the two men seemed far more enthusiastic about the feast and the newly found hearth than, frankly, the gift they had brought along.

He felt his mother’s presence near him, and he knew than that his demeanor had likely come across as brisk and unwelcoming. Lyram lowered his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to relieve tension, then slowly turned to gesture for their vistors to follow the guards leading them to their assigned chambers. Left within Lord Gilbar’s presence only, Lyram dared to turn to his mother with almost glassy eyes.

“I doubt she feels any warmth in this castle,” he whispered, “or in myself, for that matter. I will try... Wine might warm one’s spirits, but a woman is always careful about what she drinks. I know it from you, mother. She does not look too gullible.” Which he supposed was a good think, but he knew better than to judge prematurely. He was not familiar with the way women were educated in the East.

He felt a breeze of cold air grace his spine at the thought that she would simply deny his efforts of grabbing her attention. Had he ever been refused, he wondered? How could he warm up to the woman, when she kept her head turned away and her frail hands cold and far away from his? In a night’s time, or two, they would have to bed, and he could not bear to wonder what suffering that would bring to the both of them.

“I shall see you at the feast,” he called over his mother’s shoulder as he stopped in his tracks. His eyes moved cautiously over the two men’s faces, almost waiting for their permission to leave, before turning away on his heels and trotting down the now empty hallway towards Conrad’s chambers. His feet felt heavy, but so was his heart, as he hastily prepared a speech in mind for when he would be faced with the true purpose of that evening.

Knuckles resonated against wood, as the guards moved away from his brother’s door, and Lyram called from the light crack in the doorway with a raspier voice than his ever stern one. “I saw her,” he said. “Our parents were looking for you, Conrad, and you weren’t there to... witness.” He should have seen it - seen her, for that was what really mattered. “I shall tell them you were busy tending to te preparations in my stead,” almost in a scolding manner, before shaking his head and looking down to his feet.

“I’m pathetic, brother. I look nothing like a lord, I haven’t-... I haven’t in far too long. How have I come to fear a woman?”

He didn’t want to step inside, afraid of what his brother would think of him then, or rather, afraid to face him as he looked him in the eyes and asked him if his balls had dropped yet. He would be in his shoes one day - he’d have to marry, and he’d know that it was nothing compared to holding a whore’s hips or seducing a handmaiden. Lyram knew, himself, even then. And Hector would know, as well.

“I... I will see you at dinner,” he called eventually, as he once again spun on his heels heading for his own chambers. “Tell Ethon to come along as well. We should all get accustomed before the feast tomorrow.”

 

[pointmango]

His brothers scold was half-hearted, causing a brow of concern to raise on Conrad’s features. He offered a smile at his brother’s remarks. “Perhaps a woman feared is one well sought.” He joked. Then he patted his brother's shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. “That fear you will get over. They are quite interesting actually. The more fear, perhaps means the more interesting.” He suggested.

Conrad shook his head again, pretending not to notice Lyram’s submissive nature in the moment. It was odd for him to have experience in this area over his elder brother. They’d never quite spoke of it in these serious terms. “Do not fear her. Coming to know her might be more exciting than anything else, aside from tomorrow night, of course.” He joked. He cleared his throat in an attempt to be more serious now, “The real scare is when you fear for her, brother.”

When Conrad left to turn, he nodded back. “I will tell Ethon.” He spoke.

*

“Why must I come?” Ethon frowned a bit. Now knowing his heritage, he should have been jumping at the chance to learn more about the East. Perhaps gain more potential allies- it was a silly thought, thinking like that. Just because he was well… who he was told he was. Didn’t mean that meant anything. In truth he was hoping to use tonight to distract himself. Perhaps chat with Aiyda, or even just be with her in bed. He did not know if such an act would be welcome anymore based on their previous conversations.

*

Moving into the dining chambers, the feast tonight was clearly a private affair. Ethon plastered his face with a professional look, despite the groan he was holding back. Victor was at the head of the table, the man at the other end he assumed to be Lord Estermont. Victor had introduced the pair, Ethon noted how Lord Estermont’s grip was firm, and his words jovial and kind. Seemed an excitable man in Ethon’s opinion.

His son and daughter were missing from the table still, the fair assumption must’ve been travel. Ethon found himself sat beside Conrad, although his eyes often wandered to Lyram, who appeared… well Ethon wasn’t quite sure what he would call Lyram. Shaken? Maybe.

*

Elyana’s hand rested upon her brother’s arm as they were escorted by a Northern handmaid to the dining chambers. Her back was poised straight, and she took deep breaths calming herself before the occasion. She’d have to finally speak to this betrothed of hers, who seemed to have the opinion that she was vermon. Trentan had tried to assure her that this was not the case, he’d heard rumors about this man, and that it was unlikely he even had another lover, but Elyana was unconvinced.

She promised herself as soon as they entered the chamber she would keep her eyes forward and not look at him until spoken to. Although any rouse of that plan flew out the window as they entered the room, the large doors swinging open loudly and her eyes fell right onto his.

“Ah, there she is!” Lord Estermont spoke, standing as she moved inside with her brother. Trentan led Elyana to her seat, and then took his own across from Ethon.

“Have you found your room and everything else in order?” Lord Victor spoke now to Elyana, as she was seated closer to his end, to be closer to Lyram.

“Everything is lovely, Lord Victor.” she replied to the Lord of the North.

“I think my sister is being modest. I saw the look you had when you noticed the pelt blanket.” Trentan smiled, as though he was tempting his sister to play along.

Elyana reamed rather tense though, “I understand it’s purpose.” She nodded smoothly, “We often don’t need such thick blankets and coats back home.”

Ethon paid close attention to the girl. She was good, too good he thought. Her words were well thought, and carefully stated. Her voice was lovely to listen to, soft and gentle, but one to be listened to. He wondered if the girl could sing. But he did catch the glance to her brother, she did not want to be made the center of attention this evening. Ethon did not blame her, a wedding tomorrow in a land and with people she had never known. He cleared his throat, “Perhaps we can get you situated with some coats tomorrow?” He suggested, glancing to Lord Victor. Ethon’s eyes were directed towards Lord Estermont and his son. “Conrad and I could take about the outskirts of the castle. I know you may be interested in the oar exports?”

“Ah, good boy, yes.” Lord Estermont beamed.

 

[peritwinkle]

The room smelled like venison and wine, something otherwise a heaven, which Lyram doubted he would be able to swallow that evening. His eyes remained on the open door, waiting, for he knew that if he looked around he would be met with the fervent gazes burning on his cheeks from each corner of the dining chamber.

He was both grateful and hesitant when the wait was over, and somewhere behind his father and Lord Estermont, a narrow figure appeared floating like a phantom over the stone floor, holding the arm of the man he now knew by the name of Trentan. With elegant trimmings and neatly done hair, it made the young Sterling almost conscious about his own attire, the elegance and tidiness of it now palpably diminished under her glow. He reluctantly reached to straighten the seams and his back along with the tight coat, in a pathetic attempt to brush away some of his childish impatience.

She was beautiful. Even in the dim light, her eyes seemed to sparkle with an almost tearful youth, and despite the pallor of her skin, it glowed like a hearth’s fire, as though sparks would spring if he were to touch it. His mother had not lied – that, he knew – and as she parted her lips to speak, he came to understand that, perhaps, her mind might match the weight of her looks, at the very least when it came to diplomatic small talk.

His seat was positioned in a way that allowed for a comfortable distance, but still right by hers, so that they were one way or another forced to communicate. A good kind of torment, for a greater purpose, and he took the opportunity with a perfectly polished smile and a charming gaze that could only belong to the eldest son of Victor Sterling.

“There is much more to the North than pelts and somber walls,” Lyram started, a newlyfound confidence in his tone, which he was both surprised and grateful to find once again. “There are plains crossed by rivers and streams that stay green well into the last months of summer, so green you could hardly believe they had ever been crossed by boot or hooves. Our forest – by the village – is one of the oldest and largest in Armath. And the legends it carries...” He waited for a moment, before regaining his composure, “Well, none should die before they hear its stories from a true Northerner’s mouth.”

He offered a smile to Trentan then, who seemed far more eager about their new change of scenery than his sister, and Lyram lifted his cup to the side, for the servant to fill it with ale. “If you love drinking and eating, I do not think you will find White Hall or any Northern inn lacking in that department. We, here, know how to feast, and not in the formal ways, like they do down South. You’ll come to see. It might not be all that barbaric after all.”

Feasting came as easily to Northerners as bragging about his heritage came to him, and Lyram did not deny himself of the freedom to do that there. He was a Lord, he thought, and a Lord ought to be loud and blunt when he needed to, silent and calculated when time asked of him to be. Most of all, he wanted to believe that he could bear a blow from a woman, so he decided to take it chest-first.

“And of course, the library,” he thought to add once the glass was brimming and he set it before his empty plate, one finger tapping on its rim. “My brother, Hector, if he were here, you would have heard of it first thing when you stepped through that door. There is much to it, I am a reader myself but I will let you indulge only if you wish. All doors within this castle are open to you, as you please.”

 

[pointmango]

Elyana turned to the young Lord as he spoke. Since he was speaking, she was allowed to look at him for an extended period of time, truly take in his features. Dark hair and handsome, like she had already known. His skin pale, clearly due to the lack of sun, however she found herself tracing the elegance of his jaw with her eyes. He had fine lips for a man as well, she thought. But what truly caught her was the blue hue of his eyes, unlike his father and brother’s brown ones, and a brighter hue it seemed than his mothers. Had his words not been so pompous, she might have found it within her to call him kind.

Of course, in the moment, he was assuring her how beautiful the land was, when she did not doubt it’s beauty, at least she did not voice this to him anyway. At mention of the library her head did lift slightly more than it had been before, her gaze looking back to him. “Well thank you. I am sure will enjoy the literature.” She spoke.

There was a silence and this time Elyana decided to fill the silence, “I know I shall not find White Hall lacking. And I’ve heard of the beauteous summers here. I, for one cannot wait to experience the wildflowers.” She commented.

“Ah, my sister and her flowers,” Trentan began.

But now Elyana looked to Lyram again, “Tell me Lord Lyram, where have you traveled? Seeing as South could mean many places to you, and well I am curious as to where they do not, as you put it, ‘know how to feast’” She asked him simply.

Ethon glanced to Conrad at the girls question, the pair of them holding in a laugh. Ethon was aware of how Lyram’s statement boasting about the North could have been taken. Knowing Lyram, it was a clear indication of welcome and pride and wanting to share that with her. Although the same phrases spoken by a Lord of anywhere else would have come off as an act for the fact that his domain was better than any other.

Trentan had of course let out a bit of a laugh, he thought his sister would have taken a bit more time than this to banter with the young Lord. Lord Estermont appeared outraged at his daughter's words. She had never once had an instance like this before another Lord. Maybe before her father and brother she let choice words of sarcasm slip here and there. But none ever this obvious, and never in the company of others.

 

[peritwinkle]

It looked like the cat was, truly, a vixen, and frankly, Lyram was pleasantly surprised by her tendency to poke back at him with her own pointy stick. He pressed his lips into a smile, visibly intrigued, while his gaze flickered to Conrad and Ethon, both entertained by the exchange. Deep inside, however, he felt worried that his words had been taken with such impression – had he been too proud, too loud about his home? How could he, when that was what he knew to be true?

“I have traveled South a few times, with my father,” the young lord nodded. “I have attended feasts and weddings, and indeed they were as glorious as they were formal. Here... The North plays things differently. I suppose you could consider our celebrations to be more cordial.” In that sense, it was nothing like how they feasted – the foods were more carefully presented, the guests were rarely below the hosts in status, and their attire often exceeded the usual Northern comfort.

He leaned back slightly, gestured for her to do the same in her chair, and let his fingers relax on the base of his cup. “Not as tense,” he continued to explain. “More familial. From blue blood to servant, we welcome all in a time of joy, and do not care as much for etiquette when the night grows darker.” Anywhere else, all would have their places, closer or farther away from the celebrated, places where Ethon or Mathys might be frowned upon if they were to clink their glasses with the Lord’s sons, where Aiyda or Arah could not share a dance with Conrad in the night.

Plate by plate, the table was filled and complete with an array of game, pickled vegetables, steamed potatoes garnished with aromatic herbs and a proper display of drinks for specific tastes. Lyram waited patiently for the guests to make their choices, followed by his parents, and only picked his own in the end, almost theatrically careful not to disturb the pale blue of his coat. His eyes lifted to Lady Elyana for a moment, attentive with her choice of food, as though making a note of her preferences before their wedding feast the following day.

“I can take you on a walk through the halls tonight, if you are not too fatigued from your travels, that is,” he said casually through a breath, as he cut up his meat. “The silence here is hauntingly beautiful. If you listen carefully, you can hear the wolves in the woods,” something he had always enjoyed listening to once servants no longer roamed the corridors, in the taller towers of the castle.

He wanted to catch her alone for a moment or two, learn not to fear the unknown, for he did not feel threatened by a woman like her. She was much like his mother, he knew then, and a part of her was wild, indecisive and fierce. Whether that was imprudence, he did not know, but his dream painted her to be of a bright recklessness.

 

[pointmango]

Elyana found it hard to believe anything here this time of the year could be ‘cordial’ but this time she held her tongue. She nodded her head slightly, “Well I look forward to seeing such a feast tomorrow. I suppose then I can judge for myself.” She replied simply. She would be thinking for herself, thank you very much Lord Lyram.

When the food came she too waited for the others to pick at the game. She was not familiar with the animals here. Down where she was from, most of the meat were boars and cattle. Here some of which mentioned were caribou and elk, various names of larger woodland animals she’d only read about. She noticed the boy with southern features pick that of a deer. Lord Lyram’s brother and his father picked the dark meat of a wild turkey. And Lady Caterina and her brother and father picked that of a northern sheep breed, probably herded and raised in a nearby pasture.

Elyana came to pick the meat of a yak, tender it seemed, and very exotic to her. She had wished Lord Lyram picked before her, she probably would have tried what he did, but he appeared to be waiting for everyone else.
“I would appreciate a walk, if father will allow it.” She paused cutting her meat to look to her father.

He nodded, his mouth half full, “Of course, of course,” He replied, “Not too late. You both must be well rested for tomorrow.” He added.

The rest of dinner Lord Victor and her father spent talking trade. Every now and then Lord Conrad or another would pipe in, adding a fact about the North overlooked. After dinner her father kissed her forehead, bidding a goodnight as he was off to drink himself to bed likely. And Trentan said he would be exploring about the castle as well, but that he would visit before bed.

She was left in the hall after the others had left with just Lord Lyram, and she looked him over a moment, waiting for him to prop his arm to her so they could begin their walk. “Have you walked many women along these halls Lord Lyram?” she asked carefully.

*

Ethon’s mind had been taken away from his heavy thoughts for a bit that evening. Dinner was pleasant, Lyram would have his hands full, but it got his mind off of his own woes for a moment. But the moment he had parted with Conrad his feet were carrying himself towards Aiyda’s room, his mind plagued with the thoughts he had earlier.

His knuckles knocked on her wooden door. “Aiyda,” he muttered into the door. He still was not sure what he wanted. A distraction? Perhaps to vent? Whatever he needed, he knew Aiyda was the correct person to discuss with. She wouldn’t make assumptions, she would not react how Conrad or Lyram would to this news. He wondered if Victor ever planned on telling his sons, or if that would be left to Ethon to do on his own time. Either way, he needed to chat. He knocked again.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lyram was relieved that Elyana did not hesitate before accepting his offer for a walk, albeit a part of him worried of what she would think of him while alone - or rather, of the things left unsaid in her mind. He thought, for a brief moment, that perhaps it was her family’s aura that kept her resigned and calculated, and solitude would encourage her to bring out her true self.

Once the plates were emptied and the guests had their bellies full, Lyram stood up to courteously bid them all a good night. He knew there would not be time to speak to them the following day - not before the ceremony, at least - yet the one that remained in the hall once her family disappeared through the tall doors seemed to be looking forward to a continuation of their evening.

In the dim light of a hundred candles, she looked far younger than him. Her eyes glistened as they turned, and her face was of a pale rose hue then, warm and inviting, a strange contrast with her poised demeanor. Lyram found it difficult, if not impossible to read her then, yet he could only assume that, if his touch was not denied, then their walk would prove to be slightly more pleasant than he had imagined.

A light simper played on his face at her question, which he found rather naive. He let her wrap her arm around his, and he took a moment to breathe in her scent, of meadow wildflowers and cotton. “Should I assume that is a trick question?” he responded back, an attempt to lower his stern walls. “Not many ladies such as you have walked these corridors. White Halls is filled to the brim with men - my father and my brothers, and Ethon, whom we took in as one of our own... It has been pining for a more delicate being.”

His steps were slow and calculated, carefully following hers and making sure tey were going at a steady pace. The night was silent, no wind blowing outside, no servants disturbing the fragile tranquility. “I know this was a hasty decision, my Lady,” Lyram eventually spoke. “I wish we could have gotten to know eachother better before... Being forced into eachother’s lives like cattle. Not quite poetic, I’d say, but so were my parents when they were our age, and they came to love eachother one day.”

He sighed, pursed his lips for a moment, then stopped and turned to look at her. “I want you to speak to me. I want to get to know your mind, your thoughts, your likes and dislikes... I want to make it easier for us to stand eachother - for now, at least. The North is not at peace, you will come to understand. The least I can hope for is peace between ourselves.”

*

“And... checkmate.”

“Again?! It isn’t fair!” Aiyda scoffed and leaned back against the side of her bed. The floor had lost its comfort for a while, but she had given it all to finish one game in her favour. It seemed, however, that Mathys had other plans, and his childish chuckle only angered her more at the scene of his victory.

“On the contrary, I’d say it’s fair,” Mathys sighed as he began collecting the pieces. They were old, but beautifully sculpted, nothing like the pieces of wood their father had carved for them back when they were younger. “I’ve been at this game for so long my back hurts, only because I didn’t want to beat you so fast.”

Aiyda rolled her eyes, but did not protest. It was true that he was much better at chess than her, and frankly, any game that involved strategic thinking. She was quick about eyeing prey and running for her life in case of trouble, which, in her mind, proved to be much more useful than being able to beat anyone at chess within the shortest time.

There was a knock on the door, and Ethon’s voice echoed shyly from the other side. Aiyda felt her stomach sink slightly; where had he been since morning? Why had he left her without a word? A part of her wished she had not recovered quite as quickly from her illness, so that she could slip between the sheets and pretend to be sleeping. However, Mathys tritted over to the door with the chess table gathered and propped beneath his arm, and cracked it open before his older sister could protest.

“Come to check on her?” Mathys smirked. “I beat her at chess, and now she’s pouting like I killed her favourite ch-“ he stopped, his gaze finally meeting Ethon’s, and before he thought to continue his bland joke, he turned to Aiyda and gave her a nod of goodnight. “I’ll leave you two then,” he muttered and walked past him, through the door and across the corridor to his own chambers.

Aiyda pushed herself up on her feet and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting. Her eyes fixated Ethon like a target, fire flickering in them, and her cheeks were of a fervent red. “Have the guests made themselves at home?” she asked plainly. She needed no explanation, frankly, but she knew something was off about him then. Was it shame, for having left her without a word? A part of her hoped so, for she was angry he had left her, yet she remained of a bitter calm, waiting for his answer.

 

[pointmango]

Now that she was directly beside him she became quite aware how tall he truly was. Elyana was of no means a short girl, but most of the men she walked back home were of a smaller stature. She bit her tongue when he asked if it were a trick question. She had to keep reminding herself not to judge him so quickly.

This time she watched his face carefully as he spoke. He was so calculated and careful with his steps and with his words. Speaking of poetry and love, and comparing them to cattle.

When he turned to look at her then, her eyes looked up at him, his words honest and vulnerable. She was finding trouble in figuring if this was because of their marriage tomorrow, or because he had never done this before with a woman. He didn’t seemed the most practiced when it came to saying the right things.

She didn’t speak for a moment, her eyes on him still, contemplating his wishes. Finally she nodded, “Alright.” She decided. “I won’t bother you with questions on the rumors I have heard about this impending… lack of peace.” She decided to put it. Part of her felt betrayed by her own blood, placed up North, to be wed to a Northern man in exchange for more lucrative trade. Sent here when in in her lifetime at least the North was facing a rumor of upset.

Her mind had drifted, thinking of the next night they would share together. She was nervous, as she knew every woman was on her wedding night. She had no one to discuss her fears with. She was not entirely afraid of Lord Lyram, wary, but now, even after such short words he seemed kind. But kindness didn’t always warrant trust, and it was still much too early for that.

“Suppose we can begin with likes and dislikes,” She nodded and began walking with him again, “I like wildflowers. When I was young my father would bring tame ones from the garden. They were lovely, but I’ve always enjoyed the flowers that grow free, wherever they please.” She smiled. Now she thought a bit harder, “The feeling of getting into a freshly made bed after a good scrub.” She decided was a good one. “Grass between my toes.” She knew more of what she wished she could say. Perhaps it was too early, she didn’t want to express to this new man how fascinated she was with the inner workings of a kingdom. She wondered how White Hall was ran. Moreover, she wondered what needed to be done differently that they had not found a solution too. “I like the potential White Hall seems to have.” She revealed with a coy smile.

“Dislikes,” she hummed, “well horses,” shaking her head she squeezed his arm a bit, “They are the most lovely and beautiful creatures, and so tender. But the smell, just awful.” She thought again, unable to conjure much else without letting on too much she glanced to him again. “Tell me now, what are your likes and dislikes. And, as I am to be your wife,” Her eyes met his yet again, “Tell me something no one else knows of you Lord Lyram,”

*

Mathys answered the door beaming about their chess game, and attempting to tease Ethon’s efforts to see his sister yet again. Ethon stepped aside as Mathys left, his gaze glancing back at the boy before moving into the room closing the door behind him.

Ethon thought looking at Aiyda he’d have his plan set. But still uncertainty laid in his mind as his own eyes darted between her and the fire. What did he want to say? “The who?” He asked. Then shaking his head again, he nodded, his hand moving over his chin, “Ah, uh, yes. They’re settled nicely. The girl seems bitter, maybe she’s just cheeky, I dunno.” He shrugged.

His feet now moved him across her room closer to the fire. His body tense and his brows furrowed at the flames. He then moved himself back over to the door, as if tempting himself with the knob, and then he moved back to the fire. “I learned…” He trailed off some. “Victor told...” His voice was lost again. “When the Prince was born,” he began, his voice grating over the word Prince, “Someone was pining for him. An assassin. Likely due to the Heir’s Augury. Just a story, a poem, a myth, you know the one?” he asked her. His hand pressed closer to the fire a moment, before he pulled it back. “The Queen found out someone was trying to kill her child. She made a switch. A handmaid had another child. Her child. She switched the pair. The handmaiden ran, thinking her baby would be killed, and this new one taken. Guards seized the assassin before it could attempt the switched child’s life.” Ethon couldn’t stop himself now, the words were pouring from his mouth as he stared into the flame.

His words only continued, “The handmaiden hid with this child. She swore him to be hers now… and she did what she could to make money to raise him. She turned to the whore house.” His hand now picked up one of the metal furnace sticks, used to prod at the charred logs of the fire, his knuckles were white around the grip. “People must’ve known, throwing the Queen off the trail of her… and her son.. Her son who-” he twisted the stick within his hand, “When he was still young, a man, a Lord in the North came and collected this boy after hearing rumors, in fear this boy would be found out, and harmed. Or used for bad.” he muttered now.

Finally his wrist flicked, the metal stick slamming hard into the wall beside the fireplace before falling to the ground. “I look like them.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “She told me. And Victor told me.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Lyram was partly surprised that Elyana knew of the disturbances in the North, although he knew better than to raise the subject before their wedding night. Moon high and and spirits low, speaking of the horrors in Northcross would only weigh down their situation, and the mythical nature of those events would likely be doubted by a woman of the East.

He smiled softly as she drifted the subject away, and he listened with patience, making sure to note each of her preferences in his mind for another time. “A soul of nature,” he thought out loud, a simper on his lips as the thought of seeing her in the fields surrounding White Hall in the summer, donning a light gown and with her hair undone. “Perhaps the choice your family made is not so terrible, after all. The North’s wilderness is... premier.”

A light scoff left his lips as she said she was not a particular admirer of horses. Growing up surrounded by hunting creatures, it was difficult finding a flaw in such a majestic beast, yet he could understand why a lady such as her would be repulsed by the smell. “Depends on who takes care of them,” he said. “Here, we clean them well, and braid their mane and tail to keep it from getting filthy. Ethon, our stableboy, he does quite a good job of it. You could join us for a hunt, one day, see for yourself.”

At her question, he slowed down his pace slightly, thinking. Most of his spare time, he spent within his own quarters, far away from the noise and bustle of the castle, and from the never-ending bickering of his younger brothers and Ethon. “I suppose you could say I am a passionate poet,” he said, letting out a quiet chuckle. “I write, often. But Gods forbid my brothers know, or I would never be left in peace again.”

He remembered, then, that Hector could not bother him any longer, and the thought washed away his smile, opening a deep cut in his chest. “I... I suppose now the threat is no longer as great. One of my brothers left to advise the future King of Armath, in the Capital. Just before you arrived. And the other, he... He has been quite busy drooling over a particular girl, a huntress. His type, the wild ones,” he smirked.

*

Ethon was pale, trembling but tense, a threatening lion in the skin of a boy. Aiyda watched him from her side of the bed, followed his hand as he moved it nervously over the glowing fire, followed his shape in the dim light, moving from one side of the room to the other, as if searching for possible holes and cracks where an uninvited eye could be peeking through.

She listened in silence, consuming every word like water, and with every moment that passed, her stomach tightened and twisted painfully. The brisk sound of metal clinking against the wall of the fireplace sent a shiver down her spine, and Aiyda jolted in place, leaning slightly back and away from the source of the noise.

Then, she let out a soft breath, and dared to get up on her feet, making one step towards him, followed by another, shorter and hesitating. “You are the heir the Augury speaks of,” the huntress whispered, barely above the crackling fire. “It fits too well... The attacks, the symbols...” The Kilgours’ visit to White Hall, all an odd assortment of events which only now tied together in her mind.

Another step, and she was close enough to see the rage and sadness in his eyes. They were of a fiery gold then, molten, burning, and for the first time she feared him. “‘He of noble blood, in time of war will rise’... It is you, Ethon... The long lost Prince of noble blood.”

‘...And bring with blade of ice, the Hunt’s final demise.’ The words played in her head like an irritating ballad. She felt overwhelmed by it, yet only then did it truly make sense, or a part of it either way. “The blade of ice, it has to do with you being a child of the North,” she continued softly. “Ethon,” she grabbed his hand, a firm grip, but gentle enough not to hurt him. “You are the not meant for the life of a stable boy. You are the King of Armath.” She could feel his muscles beneath her fingers, tense, menacing.

The word tasted strange on her tongue. Should she bow to him? Should she call him by his titles? “Do Lyram and Conrad know?” she thought to ask, although deep inside she knew she was the first to hear; for one reason or another, Ethon trusted her, and she did not wish to take that relief from him.

 

[pointmango]

She smiled softly as he called her a soul of nature. And as he continued to speak, he seemed to like such as well, which she was grateful for. She did enjoy the commonalities of the home and hearth as well. A proper meal, good stitching. The look of a beautiful dress, the comfort of removing her corset after a long party.

Her eyebrows did lift at the offer to join them on a hunt. She had never been allowed to hunt and fish with her father and brother and their party. “Join you on a hunt?” She asked almost in disbelief. What would occur? The animals here were much larger than even the wild boars where she was from. She’d seen the meat that came from the dead animals.

She looked back up to him when he thought on his question, slowing his pace. His answer was not at all what she was expecting, and a soft chuckle came to her lips. “A poet?” She asked, now realizing this was the secret, and she squeezed his thick arm. “I should like to see some of your prose then,” she commented, “That is, if you’d let me.”

She could sense the longing in his tone even as he spoke of his brother who had only left the day before. She knew she would be feeling the same after they were wed. “You care about them,” she commented, “A lot.” she looked up at him through her lashes, “Brothers are quite fun aren’t they?” she shared the smile back with him. “Conrad seems good fun.” She laughed now, “Don’t worry, he reminds me of my brother. I will enjoy getting to know your family I think.” Her voice softer now.

“I would have liked to know.. Hector, right? Yes. Rumors of the three northern brothers have spread even to my castle halls.” She decided not to let on much more, each of them had their titles, Lyram the leader, Hector’s mind, the warrior Conrad. Seeing them in person today made the stories seem simply silly.

“What would Hector say?” She asked him now, “If I asked Hector to tell me about you, what would he say about his older brother?” She wondered now.

*

Ethon didn’t dare look at her as she approached. He could hear her feet growing closer. The light steps on the stone floor echoed in his ears. Her whisper caused his jaw to quiver. She thought it fit, and well Victor and the Queen did not strike him as liars.

“Do not call me that.” He snapped when she mentioned him as the Prince. Ethon held his breath another moment, trying to relax himself as it was not Aiyda’s fault. Her hand came to grab is, his body tensing a moment before relaxing within her grip.

“They don’t know.” He whispered back to her. “They... “ he trailed off a moment. “They are my brothers. I’m not their blood, but they’re my brothers. But there has always been a line.” His eyes looked to her now, “I should have known, shown promise, I bet I was dumb as a stone brick when Victor found me.” he muttered. But his mind was back to Lyram and Conrad. How could he tell them? What would they say? Lyram would panic, he’d try to devise a plan and take it slow, but internally the man would be shaken. And Conrad? What would Conrad think of him?

And Aiyda. His jaw tensed again as he searched her eyes a moment. She did not want someone like that. He was almost certain the only reason she hadn’t spent the night with Conrad was due to his status as Lord. And now he was a Prince? The Prince. He was the true Heir to the entire Kingdom of Armath, and now he wanted to run with her more than ever.

She would never leave though, not with her brother here. She was too good to leave him, to good to even leave her duties of being an informant here. He had been announced a Prince, and she was still too good for him. “I can’t do anything can I?” he muttered now. “I know. But no more word of the Hunt, and no word for certain what this blade of ice is…” his eyes moved back to the fire. “A sittin’ duck. I have to wait, don’t I?”

He took a deep breath in, “Victor will know. He must have a plan.” Ethon had always been sure of himself when it came to Victor in the past. Victor always had a plan, and he always took into account his sons thoughts as well. But this time he was not so sure. In fact, in the manner Victor had told him this news, Victor had no idea himself. “The wedding feast is tomorrow. And all is well. Victor, he always knows.” Ethon attempted to convince himself.

*

Trentan found himself wandering about the castle. He was avoiding his own bed, and he would only return when he thought the Lord of this castle had brought his sister to her room. He had no idea his whereabouts within the castle at the moment.

Cracking his hand over his knuckles he turned the corner to a small room where sheets lay about. In the small were too girls, one with lighter hair the other with dark. He noted the lighter haired girls tone as she packed sheets into a basket. “I’ll tell ya, been changing sheet like mad here, all these damned guests.” She went on, stopping as she stood to see the man standing before the pair of them.

“Oi, you lost?” Arah asked.

Trentan shook his head, “Cannot be lost if I’ve got nowhere in mind to be.” he replied with a small grin. “Although, I could use some help getting back to the West Wing, I believe that’s where my room is?” He told the girls.

Arah glanced to Lehna, she knew she was headed in that direction, and her eyebrows quirked as if to ask if she was alright showing him the way back. “I’ll circle back around the way, meet you after I’ve made these beds.” Arah said lifting her basket to let this man know he wouldn’t have too much time alone with her friend, and to not try anything smart.

Once Arah was gone, Trentan turned back to Lehna, chuckling, “All you Northern girls this tense?” He asked. He stepped aside, and lifted his arm out to let her walk before him. Trentan was in a new land, there were no other Eastern spectators, talking with a maid was fair game here in the North.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was clear that bringing mention of his love for poems and writing would attract curiosity, but Lyram felt like she would not judge him as harshly as his brothers would. After all, it was a woman’s joy to read such things, and Lyram considered it as a chance to find a common ground with someone he had never gotten to bond with before.

“I suppose I could make an exception for someone like you,” the lord chuckled slightly, tempted to tease her more as he saw he more playful side peek from between curtains of poise. He liked to see her smile, and he wanted to get more out of her. Perhaps a proper laugh, that, he would like to hear resonate through the silence of the castle.

He thought, then, that was what White Hall missed and needed – a woman’s trill of laughter.

“My family is... effervescent, to say the least,” he explained further. “At times they do challenge my temper, but I do love them. We have always been quite close, and even Ethon, all three of us see him as a brother, and my father, Lord Victor, he... He is a paternal figure of sorts for him, too.” He had grown up by their side, after all, and learned their ways and mannerisms from a young age. Despite the warmth of his appearance, Ethon was a child of the North.

Then came another question, and for a solid moment, Lyram felt cornered. He knew all too well what his brothers thought of him, and what their first response would be, regardless of the person asking. He was older than them, more mature, and future Lord of White Hall if the wedding went well. They had plenty to say, yet was it the moment to be honest about his siblings’ fervent opinions of him?

“Hector and Conrad share their thoughts of me, I think,” he decided to admit. His gaze remained lost, thoughtful as before. “They think I am too brooding, too serious.” But how could he not be when he had such responsibility on his shoulders. “I do admit I was burdened, to say the least, when I learned that we would be wed. My mother worried, my brother asked me and teased me about it. I had to be strong, yet I am afraid my definition of strength differs from theirs.”

He let out a soft breath and looked down at her with gentility. She looked sincerely curious, and oddly enough he was drawn to telling her the truth in its entirety. “I am, in a sense, the embodiment of this place. Too much like my father, you might come to see. However, I do know how to feast, if that’s what you were thinking,” he added with a faint laugh. “You will see tomorrow, I promise you that. For one night, our night, I will let that chill go.”

*

His voice was harsh, and it startled Aiyda for a second. Fear echoed within his tone and she understood why. He was young, too young to carry the responsibility of serving an entire Kingdom, and with the unfortunate addition of the Heir’s Augury, it was all the more nerve-wracking to process such news.

“You cannot endure this all on your own,” she muttered softly, taking one step back to give him room to breathe. “They might not be of your blood, but you cannot deny they are your family, Ethon. They will understand, and they will support you, no matter the cost.” She knew as much, for she had seen how honourable Lyram was, how brave Conrad had proven to be, and how selfless of a man Lord Victor had been when listening to her dark news.

Her brown eyes rested on the flames as she thought. The tightness of her stomach seemed to fade, but now she felt her cheeks burn, and her fingers itch in nervousness. “It might pass unknown another time, but now... Armath needs you to protect it against the Wild Hunt. If you truly are the heir, then there is no denying your true purpose. Just as there is no denying mine, or Mathys’s – that we have to help you defeat this evil.”

She turned to look at him then, pressing her lips into a tight line before resuming her speech. “We could be your blade of ice. It might not take an army to defeat this evil, in the end. You need our help, you need allies. That is why, after the wedding tomorrow, you have to let your brothers know of the impostor they are about to kneel to very soon.”

 

[pointmango]

The more he spoke, the more curious she became. Her lips did upturn when he mentioned his temper, she could hardly believe he even had one. She did however believe that he could be serious, and brooding. She had already attempted listening to him with light of heart in the general sense. Then it had come across as insincere and bragging. They’d have to work on that.

“Is that not the point though?” She asked him carefully. “I know little of the North, my parting with my home was painful. I should have spent my time learning more, preparing myself perhaps. I was selfish, saying goodbye to the place I will likely only see one of two more times.” She told him. “But I have always known about the three Great Brothers of the North. I don’t think there is a soul who does not.” She told him, her other hand slipping to rest upon the back of his palm. “Properly Northern looks, brought up to rule the large land side by side. All different with the same outcome in mind.”

“It is funny, is it not? Each of our lands ruled by one single man. I’ve read about radical lands, far east and west, so far from Armath I’m not even sure how real they are. But they had ruling councils. Each member an equal say from a different area of the land. Not unlike a King’s Council, except for the say in it of course.” She chuckled, but then she looked away shrugging, wondering if she had spoken too much. She knew no such ideas would ever take place here, but it was interesting to speak of. Most men she spoke to preferred the open brawny humor of men to the barbed wit of women. She did hope Lyram was different.

The mention of the next night brought forth nerves within her. She wondered how many women Lord Lyram had bed before her? How many were virgins? Would he be gentle? His words today had been gentle, although his stature was quite masculine. It was all very confusing. He was burdened to be wed? But excited as well? “Our night.” She repeated after him quietly. “Perhaps we should turn back?” She mentioned, they were in a part of the castle she did not recognize, and so she assumed further away from her room. “We will chat on the way.” She nodded, “I am looking forward to this feast you speak so highly of.” She pushed forth another smile.

*

Ethon tried his best to collect himself. He was a southern boy in the north. Any old stick he picked up could be his blade of ice. Damned prophecy. His brain was reeling and he rejected the pressure. He could not think about telling Lyram and Conrad. And her offering her and Mathys help?

But he would have to tell them, and he would need the Seaberian’s help. Surely, but slowly his fists unclenched, and he let himself take a deep breath. “I just,” he muttered, now taking a step back himself. “I dunno. Spent my whole life here studying, learning with the Sterling brothers, and tending to horses. I never thought…”

His feet carried him over to the edge of her bed, “How could anyone ever think that?” He muttered again, “I mean, Lords and Lady’s dream of being the king. Merchants dream of being Lord and Lady’s. Laborers want to be merchants. Beggars wish they were well enough to labor. A slave for freedom. No one… unless they are a child… I just thought I was lucky.” He leaned back on her bed a moment, looking up at her ceiling. “The Lost Prince.” He muttered, the words felt like filth on his own lips. He didn’t want to be a Prince, he didn’t want to be a King. He certainly did not want the fate of Armath resting on him and whatever or whoever this blade of ice was.

He now looked up at her from the bed he was lying sideways on. “Can I stay tonight?” He asked in a whisper. After their altercation the other day, and him leaving suddenly in the morning, he was unsure she would want that. But he needed someone else tonight.

He shifted himself back on the bed properly a bit, fumbling with the tie at his chest, the room was too hot. He thought about mentioning that she should let it simmer some but his mind was elsewhere. “It’s not mystical. It’s not some all powerful force of death.” He untied and retied the strings at his neck over and over again. “The gods wouldn’t create that. There is balance. There has to be a sure and sound way they can be defeated.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Elyana’s blunt sincerity brought a soft simper on the corners of Lyram’s lips - he liked what he was hearing, and he liked the sound of it on her tongue, as well. The three brothers of the North were indeed spoken of down South, although he had imagined their names to be resting on the lips of querulous women rather than a lady such as herself.

“I do hope that Conrad will stay by my side through my lordship,” he shrugged lightly, his eyes on the stones paving the corridor. “We were supposed to remain together. We were to find wives of our own, and bring them here, take the North to ourselves and share it as we have shared our bread and hearth. I never truly believed that a land could be ruled by one mind alone.”

Hector was gone, and most likely not coming back to join his brothers. The thought still broke him, and he knew it would do so for a long time, but he could only hope to refill a fraction of that gap with Elyana’s presence.

The mention of their wedding night seemed to distress her slightly, and Lyram was quick to sense her tension. He stopped in his tracks at her suggestion of turning back, and placed a firm palm on her shoulder, and another held her own frail hand. “You have to know, I would never dare to harm you, Elyana,” he said then, daring to use her name for the first time by itself. “You might not come to endear me, and I would not blame you for that, but here you will be respected, and one day you will be loved. You will call this place - me - home, I will honour this promise one day.”

With that, his gaze remained on her for only another moment before he turned, carefully leading her the other way towards her assinged chamber. “You won’t fear these halls soon enough. Every breathing soul beneath our roof is sworn to serve you and protect you, and once you are Lady of the North, you will swear the same to them,” he smiled.

*

Aiyda followed Ethon on the bed with a slight reluctance. She understood his fear, and frankly the thought of it frightened her, as well. The war was more real and inevitable than ever, almost palpable then, a terribly vivid nightmare she had kept childishly hoping would never materialize. The Heir’s Augury, the Wild Hunt - they no longer were the legends she brushed off as bedtime tales.

She pulled one of the thinner blankets over her shroulders and watched him fiddle with the strings on his shirt. “I had a feeling there was something strange,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Ever since the Queen came, but even before... You were the one to find me in the woods, take me into your home and offer me all you had. And most importantly... You believed me from the beginning. Nobody else did,” she said, and lifted her eyes to look at him. “You have honour and courage pouring through your blood, Ethon. I might not have seen it then, but I saw it when you came all the way from White Hall because of my brother’s bad dream.”

She wanted to chuckle, but the matter felt too grave and her words too honest to for her to sketch more than a faint smile. She let herself fall down on the bed and rested her head on his shoulder, still tugging at the blanket to keep it tight around her. Despite the warmth in the room, she felt cold - a remainder of her illness, she reckoned.

“You were all I had when I thought my family was gone,” Aiyda whispered. “Then Mathys came, and fate smiled upon me again. But you two, Conrad... You are all I have left to fight for. And I intend to do so until the very end.” She let her palm rest on his chest as the blanket dropped slightly over shoulder. The day had gone slowly, but for one reason or another, she felt exhausted and far too deep into the arms of slumber.

“When you’re crowned King,” she thought to add, lightly, “I want to have the prettiest dress. Even better than the one I’ll be wearing tomorrow... I suppose it is a demand,” she smiled and curled to lie more comfortably.

 

[pointmango]

Her eyes lifted to him through her lashes, feeling his strong grip attempt to be soft on her shoulder and holding her hand that felt small within his grip. His words were sincere, and just. It was the most she could hope in the moment. Even if she did not feel like the Northern land could ever feel like her own, she supposed it would have to.

When they turned, moving back towards the chambers, his words were sure now, and she nodded some. “Thank you.” She spoke more sound than her tone was before, a smile offering on her lips as well. Tomorrow she would no longer be a woman of the East. She would be a Northern Lady, she would speak for the Northern people, and soon come to bear Northern children.

At first they continued down the dimmed halls in silence, but she broke the silence soon enough. “I do look forward to getting to know White Hall, the people, the North itself.” She told him. “I cannot say I am excited for the cold, although I heard the snow falls greater than it already has outside. Which I am interested to witness.” She added, a lighter tone.

When they arrived at her bed chambers she turned now, facing him, looking up yet again. “Thank you, Lyram,” she spoke using his own name without his title. “I had a lovely evening.” she touched his arm carefully. It was a much needed evening she thought. It eased her tension. She was still nervous, she supposed she would always be nervous, but he seemed gentle. For then, she decided she trusted him.

She lifted her feet to her toes, stretching her neck up, and pressed a very gentle kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight,” she whispered to him before opening her own door and slipping inside the bed chamber. Closing the door her cheeks flushed red.

*

Honor and courage. Could that be inherited? Was it taught? Would he have ended up like the Prince had he not been stolen away? Amara seemed sure that he was who he was because he was theirs it seemed. She seemed sad and proud of him all at the same time.

Denial had consumed him the moment they arrived. He looked stunningly like his parents, and yet they left him. Amara had asked him to come, but Corban had barely glanced at him. Ethon knew Corban was aware of the fact, the King was no fool. If Ethon had a son would he treat a child like that?

If he truly was the King and it was revealed, he would have reign of the Kingdom. Maybe he could figure how to defeat the Wild Hunt and appoint Conrad the King. He’d make a good leader. He remembered once what Victor had said before though, a man too just could never be a King. He said they saved the just morals for the North.

Ethon looked down at Aiyda as she spoke, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. He had never thought of it that way. His protection of her, and her trust in him so suddenly. It was unnatural in a sense. Her palm moved to his chest and her talking about fighting for him until the end.

His own hand moved to her chin, lifting her face to look up at him. “When I am King,” his mind thinking if he did not die fighting the hunt, “you can have whatever you wish,” he assured her. His head leaned in to her forehead, “And whether I am King or not, I will protect you, Aiyda.” He pressed his lips to hers, “I promise,” he muttered, kissing her again.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lyram wanted to think that his future wife had warmed up to him, more or less. He wanted to think that his words had flown naturally, and that her own had been sincere. He had seen it in her eyes - the pity, the appreciation, the care - and all he could think of was how he could earn that once again during the ceremony. Would she, then, look at him the same way?

Her touch was enough to send a wave of heat up his arm and to his cheeks. It was for the first time that he regarded a woman as more than a porcelain trinket, but something more complex that was - it seemed - interested in looking at him back with more than mindless admiration or forced respect.

His brothers knew much more about the way of women than he did. Before, he had not seen many who caught his attention, and even those whose looks were above the norm, as soon as they parter their lips, most seemed to rarely know anything but the usual learned-by-heart formalities and bland interests. He could see why Conrad always chose action over interaction.

“I am glad you chose to spend the evening with me,” the young lord spoke, and sketched a kind smile, offering her a nod of good-bye. “I... I am looking forward to seeing you in a white gown tomorrow evening.” It made him wonder if the jewels and expensive fabric would make her look any more beautiful. “Good night, Elyana,” he added, and waited for the door to close before he turned to leave.

*

Aiyda could feel her heart beat against her chest, a wild sound of drums that threatened to never cease, but only get stronger and stronger. Any moment, then, it could be their last, for they did not know what was next on the Wild Hunt’s list of victims. She wished she could stay there for longer - another night, another week, another month - until winter vanished and the heat of summer came back along.

His promise was fervent, and his kiss mirrored it exactly. Aiyda closed her eyes and took in the scent of fire and pine in his hair, and let her cheek rest completely on his shoulder, right by his neck where, she thought, even he could hear how quickly her heart beat.

In a sense, it felt right. She was young, too young to marry, but many girls in her village had found their ways into a man’s soul, and she knew that Ethon’s care for her was much stronger than a childish love. For a moment, he had been her family, and she supposed even with Mathys there, he was, in one way or another, part of their pack. Yet there was something behind the feeling that tugged at her heart and took away from his kiss, which she felt then on the tips of her lips once she pulled away.

“It is not me whom you’ll have to protect,” she murmured softly, and lifted her hand to caress his cheek. “We are both martyrs in this war, Ethon. Only the Gods can say whether one of us will fall in battle... And I felt the pain of losing someone I loved for myself. I don’t wish the same for you, or anyone... But especially you.” She let out a sigh and lifted herself up slightly, so that she was looking down at him, but still close. “I cannot guarantee that one day, on the battlefield, I won’t have to jump in front of an arrow for Mathys... or for you.”

She felt a knot in her throat, tight and painful, but she knew herself stronger than to let tears of emotion roll so easily. She took in a breath, then another, and rested her head once again on his chest. “I do care for you, Ethon,” she whispered. “Don’t know which way, yet... Perhaps a bit of both. But I do care for you. And this will be the end of me when the war begins.”

 

[pointmango]

His arms stayed around her when her hand came to his cheek. The gods would be the judge of them in this war, and he was not okay with that. Why did the gods get to decide their fate? He trusted the gods all his life, he believed in them and their purpose. He believed in their balance. But stealing Aiyda from the world and her brother after losing so much, how was that balanced? Stealing another away from her?

Ethon was still unclear what this was. And how this ambiguous feeling she had towards him would end her. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and breathed her in slowly, “I wish you knew.” was all he could manage to whisper.

He settled himself into the bed, still holding her as he muttered a ‘goodnight’ to her before letting his eyes close and falling to sleep.

*

The morning had been odd for Conrad. He was awoken by a steward who had brought his clothes for the days, drew him a bath, sheering his hair and shaving his face close. Not even such preparations had been made for the King and the Queen.

The steward had suggested dressing before he left to check any other preparations. But COnrad knew he had to pick up Aiyda’s dress as well as Mathys clothes. “I will be back soon. Then I will dress. Get some wine while I am gone.” He told the steward as he left to go receive the clothes from their seamstress.

Shana hit Conrad when he took the clothes from her grasp. “Hold it like this,” She spoke, showing him her hands outward, raised delicately. “Walk to your destination. I cannot be bothered with rips today.” She spoke simply and then slammed the door in his face. Conrad laughed to himself quietly.

He did as he was told, moving at an acceptable pace towards the servants quarters. He headed towards the back of the hall. He thought about approaching Mathys room first, but he decided to see Aiyda first this morning. He knocked at the door, firmly, loud enough in case she was asleep. “I have your dress!” He spoke in a deep tone.

*

Ethon barely stirred as a knock sounded on the door, he groaned slightly, his body pressed tightly behind Aiyda’s as she had been pressed into him through their sleep. His eyes opened slightly hearing Conrads voice. Part of him thought to hide in the corner of the room. But after catching them in the same bed at the inn he wanted Corad to open the door and see them how they were laying.

“He got you a dress?” Ethon muttered in a sleepy voice. “Attempting to tame all the Lords for dresses are you?” He teased, recalling her comment last night about what she wanted if he were king.

*

Elyana could see the swing of the gown even as it sat upon the wall before her. The cut of the cloak was stylish, and she knew any woman who looked at the pale white gown before her would have been swept with pure envy to wear such a form. The heels on the ground before her were high, made of a material she did not recognize.

“Do you think I could wear my own heels?” She asked her handmaid.

“I think you should wear the gifts of the North today, my lady.” She muttered as she helped Elyana to turn around.

Elyana held the stomacher across her naked form and turned her bare back to her handmaid. Her handmaiden pulled the ties tightly in her hands, and then threaded the laces through the holes in a uniform criss cross pattern. At each turn Elyana felt the hand of her maid brush against her skin.

“Nervous?” Her handmaid asked.

Elyana simply nodded slightly. “This is my first presentation before the Northerners.” She decided to let on. Then more northern handmaid's entered the rooms. He recognized one as the girl named Lehna, whom she had taken a liking to. Those handmaids once her corset was set began on her hair and her skin. All of them glancing towards the wedding dress still hung before them all.

“It’s lovely,” One of the girls spoke.

“Yes, quite lovely.” Elyana agreed. “Too lovely to be worn don’t you think?” She commented. Her comment caused some girls to chuckle and others to look at her oddly.

“No better day to wear it then I suppose.” Her own handmaid spoke.

The chamber doors opened, Trentan moving into the room, beaming. He wore an excellent suit of Eastern styles and the look of him made Elyana smiled lightly. “Well it looks as though the preparations have been made and completed.” Trentan assured her. “Father is excited to see you in your gown.” He spoke only half heartedly.

“I am excited to see the Northern customs and attire.” She commented in a reply.

“Father will come before the ceremony is to be begin. Then the feast after the ceremony and then-” he had begun.

“And then the next ceremony.” Elyana finished in thought of the bedding ceremony.

 

[peritwinkle]

Despite the ever approaching winter, the morning sun was gentle on her cheeks. Aiyda woke up slowly after her long night of sleep, one so sweet and warm that it seemed a sin to dare and stir herself awake from. Ethon radiated a pleasant heat, pressed to her back, and a part of her, buried in the back of her mind, longed to turn around and curl closer to the crook of his neck.

Then she remember to whom the voice outside her room belonged.

She was up on her rear before Ethon could make his cunning comment, which earned a look of red cheeks and pursed lips from the huntress. "He offered," Aiyda whispered while frowning slightly at him, "Besides, I have nothing to wear for the wedding ceremony tonight. He was kind enough to... Make me one." She pulled one of the blankets over her and trotted over to the door, making sure to position herself strategically so that her bed - and Ethon - was out of sight.

"Good morning to you too," she said through the crack, peeking to look up at Conrad. It was almost strange seeing him so fit and trim, yet visibly exhausted. She looked down at the dress in his hands, carefully settled over the garments likely meant for Mathys. "I can take those to him," she offered as she went to take them from his hands. "I... Thank you. For everything."

There was much more she wanted to say to him then, but her mind was only filled with thoughts of how strange it was standing in front of him then, with Ethon a few meters behind, one morning after having kissed his friend... A few days after having slept in Conrad's bedroll back at Northcross.

How could she be preoccupied with such thoughts when the Wild Hunt was getting closer by the day? When she did not have the assurance that White Hall wouldn't be the next in line for an attack? She could smell Ethon's scent in her own hair, and standing there, before Conrad, she felt like a terrible liar.

"I will see you at the feast tonight," she added quickly. "You come to me, once you are free. There is much that I owe you, for this," she smiled, before closing the door and leaning against it on the other side with a long sigh. Then, looking at Ethon with the clothes in her hand, she wanted nothing else than to smack him out of the room. "I miss home," she whispered sadly. "There was far less trouble there..."

 

[pointmango]

Conrad smiled as the door cracked open, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he looked her over slightly. Part of him thought to ask her how she was feeling. He still felt cold at night, and wondered if she did as well. He decided against it, she wouldn’t want to hear his woes of being cold.

“Of course.” He said after she thanked him. He opened his mouth again after she said she would see him later at the feast, but before he could reply the door closed quickly. He found her more difficult to read than many other girls, and so he headed back towards his own chambers to dress for the occasion this evening.

*

Ethon had watched the exchange carefully, the way she was slightly tense as she spoke to Conrad. And how she her words had met him earlier on the defense. His eyes narrowed slightly. He knew the pair shared a connection after he saved her in Northcross, but her fancying him was not as clear as it was in this moment.

Ethon’s jaw was set once the door closed, and he was already standing up as she turned back around. He had hardly any sympathy for her words this time. He walked past the fire, adding two fresh logs to it for her before making his way towards the door now. He motioned for her to move now. “Trouble I’m sure you will instigate tonight with a drink and some dancing.” He spoke lowly to her, this time no sign of teasing within his tone.

The blond boy left the room, closing the door behind him rather sharply, heading straight to his own room where his own attire for the evening had been brought to him days prior.

*

Conrad stood at the font of the grand room beside his mother, who brushed his shirt carefully as Victor motioned for them to be quiet. The room was decorated nicely, all doings of his mother, whom seemed more fussed with how Conrad was looking at the moment than anything else. Conrad was sure she’d be fussing with Lyram if he was close enough to fuss with. The crowd had filled the room, and all they awaited Elyana to be made Lady of the North, and he supposed then Conrad would be officially the Lord of the North.

Flaring torches lined the room, which brightened the white stone of the castle. In the back corner stood Ethon, not seated like the rest of the guests. Often times he was separated like this in terms of status and holy days, and here, a ceremony of both, Ethon was sent to the back with all the other servants who were fortunate enough to attend the event.

Conrad wished desperately he could look around for Aiyda, wanting to steal a glance of her in her dress, but he didn’t dare look behind him until the doors at the entrance of the hall creaked.

*

The ornately carved dark wood doors open. Elyana steps out in her white dress, capturing the attention of all in attendance, most of whom had never seen her before. She lifts her head as she holds her father's arm tighter. “She would be proud.” Her father whispered to her, and a sad smile formed on Elyana’s lips.

She could feel her heart rate picking up as she moved down the aisle, feeling her breath pick up, and just trying to remind herself to breath. She kept her eyes forward, but her peripheral showed elegant tapestries of silvers and blues, some hints of green and yellow as well. At the end of the room were three beautifully massive aureate stained glass windows.

As she approached the front where she knew Lyram to be standing, she heard the older man by his side ask a question. Her ears had buzzed out any noise until that moment. But she heard her father pronounce his full name, and then hers, and then beckoned her forward.

Slowly and gently, her father released her, and she took two large steps upward to meet where her betrothed stood. Her eyes finally lifting to meet his.

 

[peritwinkle]

Chords filled the air like a dulcet sunset trill. The room was filled with a warm aura of light that caught the brightest of gems and trimmings on the guests' attires. That night - his night - he had donned the silver and blue of his House, with embroidery carefully chosen to revere his family: wolf heads, for his father and mother, birds in flight, for Conrad, and the words of their sigil scribbled in silver, for Hector.

For himself, he had his cape of fur and leather, carefully tied at the base of his neck with a jeweled pin, which he would give to his wife as a promise of love and protection.

As the door opened, he could not help but turn his gaze towards the white silhouette flowting over the stone of the hall. Gold and ice merged together in an overwhelming masterpiece which he could not comprehend from one glance. He sought her eyes, her lips, her veil, the curves of her body beneath the dress, and all he could wonder was how, in the name of the Gods, could he have been as much a fool as to doubt the judgement of his parents?

He could smell her hair as he looked down upon her, so close, yet far away that only their hands could touch. There was much he wished to tell her then, but over the sound of music and the words of the priest, he doubted she would understand, and do more than to sketch a polite smile.

"...That they bring this couple under their wing, and look upon them like their own children, and love them as loyal servants of their own," the priest's speech continued, and only then did Lyram catch the meaning of his words and cared enough to listen. "You may say your vows, my Lord and Lady, to unify this marriage in mind and heart."

Lyram's jaw tensed as he looked down at her once again. He felt a lump in his throat, keeping him from parting his mouth just yet. It had all been too fast, too much for his understanding, too quick for his liking, and each moment seemed to pass like a galloping horse.

"I swear before the Gods and men, that I take shall take her for my own..." the priest began.

"I swear... before the Gods and men, that I shall take you for my own," Lyram repeated, and continued in his echo, "To love and cherish you until the end of my days..."


*
Aiyda's palms burned, her fingers clenched around the fringes rimming the hearth. Her room was dark, only brightened by the fire that was still burning joyfully ever since morning. Despite that, she felt cold, shivering, and her cheeks were of a crimson red. She had not dared to look in the mirror just yet, and the dress meant for that evening's feast was still laid untouched on the edge of her bed.

The seamstress had sewn it beautifully, almost too beautifully to be worn by a huntress. The seams glimmered in birds and branches of gold around the generously cut decolletage, a pretty contrast with the pale, washed out emerald of the fabric. Next to it, Lehna had been sweet enough to bring her some dried flowers to put in her hair, and a small vial of perfume she likely only kept for special occasions.

Finally, she found her brown orbs in the mirror set above the fireplace - they lacked their usual white glow, now replaced by a stinging redness. The tops of her cheeks were swollen, pink from rubbing, and her lips were pale and bitten to blood. "I look ill," she murmured to herself and let out a shaky breath. Even her voice sounded nothing like herself.

She turned her back to the fire and took a few steps towards the gown. Trailing her hands over her middle, she wondered if there was a chance the look of it would draw eyes away from her face. She had washed her hair earlier that morning, after Ethon had left the room in a callous hurry, and even then it was slightly damp, but dry enough so that she had been able to braid her fringes to the back of her head, and leave the rest flowing naturally over her back.

"I do not belong to him," she whispered to herself again. Her chest hurt, and her knees threatened to buckle. With every moment that passed and announced the ceremony, the idea of staying in her room sounded less and less absurd.

Yet, she had promised to be there. For Lyram. For Mathys, who longed for a feast to take his mind off of his sorrow.

Would Ethon look at her once she stepped through the tall doors of the hall?

 

[pointmango]

Elyana looked up into those deep and blue eyes, his hands holding hers and hers holding his tightly. Now she didn’t dare look away from his handsome face. In this moment she was to become an official Lady of the North.

Her mouth felt dry as Lyram spoke, his voice deep and sincere, even before all these people. He was kind and strong, and she wished after this ceremony that the feast could be more like the night they had spent previously, just talking and coming to know one another.

Elyana did the same as him now, her voice echoing through the room as well, “I swear before the Gods and men, that I shall take you for my own. To love and cherish you until the end of my days.” She replied back. She wondered then would he love and cherish her, or at least try until the end of his days. Or were his words broken like many other Lords of the land.

The priest spoke again, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under yours, Lyram Sterling, and your house, House Sterling of White Hall’s protection.”

Elyana could smell him as he moved in now, like a hardened oak tree, fresh. She could feel his strong arms wrap the way of her, wishing his scent would not be tainted by the smell of pipes and ale as so many men were.

“My Lord and ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. A union. Now one flesh, one heart and one soul. Now and forever.” the priest continued.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Elyana speaks, her eyes still only on Lyram.

 

[peritwinkle]

“I am yours, and you are mine,” Lyram murmured as his last words of the vow echoed through the high hall. His eyes remained on her, blue against a sea of pearls and snow, and for a moment the chords of the bards and the voices of the men and women cherishing for them vanished into a whisper of the wind. She was stuck in a moment’s painting, perfect, pure, and he was pinned to the ground looking at her, absorbed by her.

This woman - he thought - was to be his wife for the rest of his days. The only woman he would bed, the only woman he would kiss and hold at night when winter was too cold to bear alone. And all he wished then was to slip more into her mind, to listen to her speak and understand her language, for she had only gotten to understand a fraction of his the night before.

He dared to bend in then, a last duty before the priest, and bringing his hand to touch her cheek, he pressed his lips to hers firmly, confidently, but promising, whether or not the kiss would be returned with a similar fervor. Her flesh was soft, warm, far too pure to be tainted by his hand, but he did long to know more. It made him wish, for the first time, to one day love the woman he saw before him then.

With the cloak around her shoulders, she looked small, but not defenseless. She looked proud, and he could only imagine that was how she felt, as well. Caterina was no longer Lady of the North, yet the smile on her face behind them as she watched Elyana take her place resembled nothing but joy, not a trace of pain or regret at the sudden change.

Eventually, as though waking from a trance, he turned towards the crowd and lifted his hand, the other still holding Elyana’s tightly. “Tonight we have united two great Houses of the Kingdom of Armath,” he spoke. “Tonight, we have ended one more chapter in the history of the North, and will begin a new one, with myself and Lady Elyana Sterling... As Lord and Lady of White Hall and its lands!”

*

Voices echoed throughout the entire castle, and steam warmed the air in the Great Hall where the ceremony unfolded. Aiyda watched quietly from the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame behind one of the guards keeping watch of the room. She had not entered, not an empty seat in sight, yet she could only imagine that Mathys had arrived much earlier than his older sister, and found a good place right by the Lords’ tables.

The ceremony seemed ethereal. Aiyda’s eyes remained on the couple standing before the priest, barely blinking, afraid to miss the slightest flinch or a fugitive kiss. The weddings down in Northcross were far less grand, far less elegant, and the music often resonated too loud for the guests to hear what the lovers said to eachother. Then, followed the bedding ceremony, whilst the rest of the inn enjoyed their endlessly flowing mead and wine reluctantly paid for by the united families.

Compared to this, however, those seemed almost heretic, impure. The bride’s gown was of an immaculate white, and Lyram’s own garments were perfectly tailored to his lean figure. Even the decorations, chosen by Lady Caterina, matched her son’s attire, and the banner of House Sterling itself.

For the few moments she caught of the feast, she almost forgot of the knot in her throat; her tears had dried, yet she felt her cheeks heated still, and she could only imagine how florid they appeared. Even the guard gave her a side-eye, gestured for her to step inside, yet she refused until the ceremony ended and the room filled with laughter and cheer once again, forgetting of the solemn silence from only seconds before.

Her steps were slow and careful, the dress only slightly too long for her liking, and she felt her knees weaken at the thought she might be in Ethon’s sight between the servants mingling from table to table. Her eyes scoured only for Mathys, and she found him rather quickly, chatting with some of the court lords’ sons at one of the middle tables. “There you are!” the boy called loudly once he saw her. “I told Olyn and Brynn all about you and our father. And you missed the whole ceremony!”

 

[pointmango]

She felt his lips upon hers, and in that moment it only felt right. She pressed her lips back to his gently, the kiss almost seeming too quick, even for the ceremony. Perhaps it was just herself longing for more. She did want to know him, to understand the strange man before her. Blue eyes like his mother, strong and broad like his father and brothers. Honorable as every Northern man was made out to be. And yet he held his own too, with his gentle words and she would hope his poetry.

She followed his lead as he turned towards the crowd, his hand lifting hers, and she finally let out a smile towards the crowd. That was all she could do, smile and let these Northern people know she was there for them. Tonight she was no longer an Estermont, but a Sterling.

*

The music was loud, and the men already drunk, and most women well on their way there as well. Ethon clinked a cup of ale with a few of the groundsmen whom he worked with from time to time and he took a generous sip of his own ale.

Ethon wished desperately his mood matched the mood of the evening. He could not get the image of Aiyda bending to Conrad’s will from his mind. How could he blame her though? A northern woman showing interest in a northern man. It was how things were. Women here only fancied him because he was nice and exotic. They rarely stayed more than a chat after figuring out he was just as any other Northern man was, minus the linage to show it.

He spotted Aiyda across the room sitting beside her brother. Mathys blended in well with the others. He was young and sprite, and he clearly enjoyed stories from others, and others enjoyed listening to the son of the sacred Hunters. But the red hair caused Ethon to down the rest of his drink and begin to pour another.

“Ethon!” A voice called.

Lord Victor was motioning for Ethon to approach the main table. A smile played on his lips, but his eyes lacked the crow’s feet of a true smile and so Ethon approached with caution. “My Lord,” he said with a slight bow.

Victor nodded, “Enjoying the evening?” He asked plainly.

“Yes sir.” Ethon replied.

Victor motioned for Ethon to come closer, then Lord Victor himself leaned in slightly to Ethon, “Do not drink yourself silly. Ever. You do not know who is watching, nor who could be here. Polite, cautious and stern is the way of a true leader.”

Ethon stood back now, nodding slightly. A true leader. He lifted his cup to Lord Victor now and downed the rest of his ale. “To the Lord and Lady of this house” He said and then tilted his empty cup towards Lyram. Ethon returned swiftly to his seat, and poured himself another cup. He refused to look at the frown of Lord Victor’s face. He did however not take another sip of his ale.

*

At the head table Conrad approached his brother, first taking his hand and then pulling him into a hug, “Ah brother!” He exclaimed, letting his hand come to his back with a pat. “Congratulations.” He beamed. “A truly extravagant day I think, don’t you agree Lady Elyana?” He asked, adding with a smirk, “Or should I say sister now?”

“Father has made me promise no speeches. Shame really. I suppose I can save all I have to say in my letter to Hector though. He will be truly shocked to find out how well these events turned out.” Conrad seemed happier than most in the room. Of course as a boy raised on feasts, he did enjoy such events. “Finest game for you and my brother you know,” Conrad spoke now to Elyana. “The whole room will be shaking by the nights end. Dancing with bellies full of meat and ale. By the time you two are away the party will still linger, here and in the villages outside White Hall.” Conrad was still smirking.

Now was thinking if he and Ethon should venture outside the walls of White Hall tonight. It was the best time to experience the people he thought. Everyone would be out, treating tonights feast like a festival of their own. Perhaps he ask Mathys out as well. Show him how Lords partied with the commoners, and perhaps maybe even take him to have his first woman. Although Ethon was younger than him, Conrad never looked at him in that way. Perhap Mathys could be younger figure to pass his ways onto. That or if Lyram and Elyana had a son, he thought smirking to himself.

After congratulating Lyram and Elyana again, Conrad grabbed three large cups of ale, and a pitcher as well. He lugged the lot over towards where he spotted a familiar redhead and her blond haired brother. He set the cups down, pouring a generous cup first. “I believe I owe you a drink.” Conrad spoke to Mathys, pushing the cup towards him. Then he poured one for Aiyda, “And you.” He nodded, his eyes lingering a moment. Finally pouring a cup for himself.

Finally Conrad smacked Mathys on the shoulder. “Dancing should start soon after the food is served. Any ladys or women you have your eye out for?” He asked the boy. “Any woman here.” Conrad told him. He would make sure Mathys got at least one dance with the woman of his choice, although he did not doubt the boy couldn’t fend for himself. Despite his small lanky appearance, he would grow a bit more and fill out.