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Thread: XX Royal Lies [Alura and Koti~] IC M

  1. #21
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    “I will keep that promise, though I make no such vows about the horse.” Diana spoke at an attempt to make a joke. She was thankful that the girl was willing to teach her, to help her grow from just a simple treasure locked away. Her eyes drifted to Byron, who was looking at them with a mixture of curiosity and something else, like a parent watching their kid to prevent them from trying something stupid. She couldn’t hold the gaze as she finished off her current mug of ale, looking into its depths before letting out a sigh.

    A steady silence fell between them, Damanius unable to place the feelings bubbling between them. It was like a tick in the back of his head, a need to fill the silence that sat heavy between them, yet feeling unable to start on a topic. He still didn’t want to talk about the night prior, and nothing about the place had grabbed her yet to really talk about. Most of the others had moved on, the few brothers that had come in late eating in silence while the travelers headed to the cottages they had purchased for the night. His meal was gone, and he sat, clutching the empty mug as he just let the world move about him, letting the quiet thicken like a cotton blanket.

    “You two could make a drowned man look pleased.” Byron spoke as he moved to speak with them, his voice a bit raspy from his tales. Throwing back the rest of his ale, he let out a rather loud sigh and settled into the bench, looking the two of them over for a while longer. Damanius could feel himself shrinking into himself, trying to pull himself up to a better feeling, yet it was hard to come by. He was content with how things were, but felt a bit of unease that seemed to lurk just out of view.

    “Look, ya can’t waste your time just starin at the sun until things happen, both of ya.” Byron spoke, pointing a finger at the both of them. Damanius began to speak back to him, but the old knight held up a finger to silence them.

    “Listen, let me tell you a story about your father, the late king. I think it suits both of you rather well.” Byron spoke, shifting a bit closer while looking heaven bound. Damanius remained silent while Byron set himself up for another long story. The jovial storyman from prior had been set aside for a more serious knight, one who still longed for the glory of his youth.

    “Your father, may his spirit rest with God, was a shrewd man, though knew how to address his people. This was before your second sister was born, Kokiri was born. We were on a campaign to address the southern borders and the threat of invasion. We had come to the local inn and retired there for the night, on the third day of the trail. Most knights were tired and ready for a good meal.” Byron spoke, giving himself a thoughtful pat on his stomach.

    “I don’t remember this one.” Diana spoke, trying to scrub through all she could remember of her lessons. All of her fathers campaigns had been implanted into her, from quelling the emerald tides from the east, to governing the lands. The fact that one of the campaigns would be left out either meant the mission was a complete disgrace, or a sordid affair best forgotten.

    “It was a meager one. Most of the dealings with the south were never written down due to how simple they were. Only a show of force was enough to keep them quiet. Now hush and let me tell my story.” Byron spoke to her, shushing her. Damanius felt slightly indignant at being told off like a child, but he would hold in his tongue for now.

    “Regardless, during the evening meal, a local jester had begun his words. He began upon the king, roasting him with words I would dare not speak. Shango and I, both having followed the king to the pub, had moved to silence the man for daring to speak against the king.” Byron spoke, a twisty smile curling his lips. Damanius sat in mild shock, knowing that insulting the king was about a sentence to the gaols, or even worse. His father was a strong man, never to suffer a fool that dared mock him.

    “Before we could so much as draw our blades, Aminan moved in, staying us as he moved in. The jester turned whiter than a ghost, dropping to his knees as the king stood over him. He waited a moment before pulling up the man, giving him the goofiest grin I thought possible.”

    “‘You got it all wrong, Jester. It was a mackerel that had managed to knock me off the boat, not a tuna. At least tell it right!’ He corrected the man, moments before the rest of the room burst into laughter as he moved to return to his seat.” Byron spoke, letting out a deep chuckle at the memory.

    “So, of course in shock I asked him, ‘King Aminan, how could you let him off so easily, even as he insults you,’ To which, his response still shocks me.

    ‘Never be ashamed of what has brought you here, nor worry what past you carry. Those who judge you will neither pity or praise you if you hide from all that you have done. If I am to be judged by the people, I will let them know I am not a folly to tomfoolery like the rest of them.’

    “What… what does that even mean? He corrected a jester's tale about a bad fishing trip, and that his was response?” Dianaspoke, a puzzled look across his face as she glanced between the two of them while trying to figure out his meaning. She had remembered several of the lessons her father had spoken to her, most of them sensible and straightforward. This was as straight as an arrow in a windstorm.

    “You have more brains than smarts, don’t you? King Aminan was never ashamed of his past and actions, knowing that everything he had done was all he could in the heart of the moment. Hold yourself with pride and humility, for your actions were done for what was needed.” Byron spoke, looking between the both of them so they could soak up his words.

    “Now, by your leave, I will retire to rest. Unlike the two of you who slept the day away, some of us had to actually work.” Byron spoke back in his jovial tones, smiling at the two of them before excusing himself from the table.

    “...I feel more confused than before.” Diana spoke rather bluntly as she watched him hobble through the main doors, leaving a sour taste in her mouth, yet more puzzled than anything else.

    ON THE ROAD

    Joaquim held onto the side of the wagon, the moon hiding behind the clouds, obscuring their road travels. The wagon driver and guard had just crossed through the next town, a short ride into the castle town. He had persuaded the men to ride through the night, knowing that Sir Byron wanted them back as soon as he could. Even more, if he could reach them early enough, it would leave enough time to enjoy some of the more pleasant sights. More so, the roads had been unpleasant to them since passing the first town.

    Guards had been posted both at the entrances of the town, stopping any and all who traveled through. The wagon had nearly been torn apart while they dug through anything they could. Apparently, the men were looking for a kidnapper and noblewoman, the princess of the late king no less! Joaquin didn’t even know one had still lived, and the news that she had been captured had him worried yet very excited. Already he was fantasizing what the young woman must have looked like, thinking of what this could mean to the current king. While he was no fan of king Sinal, he didn’t dare speak out against him. Those were the whispers between the riders and himself, just pondering what the princess must look like, and what that meant for the current King.


    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




  2. #22
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    Day 2 - The Friary, Evening

    A few forlorn apple cores stood in a row near Horatia's elbow and she poured herself another cup of ale, head a little fuzzy from the drink. She knew that the relief was temporary, but between the firelight and the burning liquid her muscles had unknotted a bit and her mind had been able to move on to more than just worry. She hated sitting still like this, but waiting is what Alfson would do she thought. When the action was somewhere else and you had something you needed to keep hidden, it was best to keep out of sight.

    It was like that time they had lightened one of King Sinal's supply carts of a couple of bushels of autumn-ripe apples and a kenning of sugar. It did little as far as resistance was concerned, but the little cakes that had been made of the stolen supplies were somehow sweeter for the little victory. Byron had allowed many things, but thievery and other unbecoming, even criminal activities he had squelched. At least, mostly. It was in large part due to his meddling that they had steered away from a more unscrupulous path in the end. They might not always see eye to eye, but he always steered them true when they listened to him.

    When the man himself came to them and poked at their attitudes, Horatia laughed at Diana's attempt to interrupt before straightening herself on the bench and refilling their cups. Once the old man launched himself into a tale there was little on earth that could interrupt him. She rolled her eyes behind the pitcher to Diana and set it aside, batting her lashes innocently at Byron.

    "Rest him!" Horatia said, lifting her cup before drinking when the old knight mentioned the late king. Despite her flippant attitude, she found herself caught up in the man's story as he mentioned their campaign, leaning in a little despite herself. Her smirk when Diana was reprimanded was a bit like a barn cat who had just eaten a mouse, well pleased not to be the brunt of Byron's telling off for once.

    At the mention of her father, though, her attention was totally recaptured. Her father rarely spoke of his time in service to King Aminan, not the way he had when she was a child. Such things were, she supposed, different to him now. In many ways the fall of the king, the loss of his father and son followed quickly by his wife had broken him.

    Laughing loudly at the picture of King Aminan being knocked from his bark by a mackerel, Horatia elbowed Diana's arm amiably, eyes half-closed as her smile widened. She kept chuckling as Byron continued, pausing to turn her laughter on Diana when she questioned the moral of the story, wiping a little twinkling tear from the corner of her eye and folding an arm across her stomach as if it would hold in the stitch from her laughing.

    It was hardly the first time Byron had accused someone of being a few horses shy of a cart, but at least he thought Diana had brains.

    "Don't feel badly. He usually tells me I've smarts, but even the smartest ass is still an ass." Horatia snorted, nearly spitting out the sip of ale she had taken in the process, and wiped the dribble away with the back of her wrist still crowing.

    Dipping a half-hearted bow with hand over heart at the man, Horatia watched him retire with sparkling eyes, coughing faintly. "Oh, Byron," she said softly to his retreating form. One thumbnail scratched at the long board absently.

    “...I feel more confused than before.”

    Giggling at Diana's admission, Horatia shook her head softly.

    "It's simple, really, when you think about it. Some people, like Alfson - I so wish you'd met him first - are good at thinking. They take their time and can see far, almost like they know what people will do before they do it. Some people are good at doing. That's us, maybe. Old Byron seems to think so, anyway. You see a problem, you solve it. As far as I'm concerned it's the best way to be." Annoyed, she rubbed the back of her neck and sighed.

    "You are going to have a lot to do going forward, too much to worry about where you've been. People are going to have a lot of questions about who you are, where you came from... Some, even in the Resistance, may want proof that you are who you claim to be and not some puppet Sinal threw a fine gown on and called a princess of Hymnascal. That's just the beginning of it, I'd wager. I can't help you with those things, but Byron can even if it's in parables.

    "Maybe Ignatio. He'll know what you should say and," She waved a hand over the young woman still wrapped in brown friar's robes, "How you should... do princess... ness." She trailed off, entirely out of her depth, and tried to mask it behind another drink of the ale she had meant to stop drinking.

    "He is right, though... Byron, I mean. Waiting isn't for everyone. Plenty to be doing while we are here. Look, I..." Fumbling for words, she took another steadying drink before setting it aside and using her hands to talk. "I don't really know how this should work. I suppose I should be bowing and scraping every time you enter a room, but that's just going to take too much time and effort we won't always have likely. So how about this. When we can I'll call you 'Your Majesty' and when others we don't trust are around I'll call you 'Rhiannon'... No, wait, better not. If someone remembers... maybe best we just avoid that. Diana, Byron's niece will do, I suppose. 'Your Majesty' and 'Diana'. Until we get you back to the castle, for a proper coronation let's just skip the kneeling and ring kissing and 'by your leave' bit, fair?"

    Holding out her hand as if they were striking a trade agreement, she lifted her brows expectantly.




    Day 2 - Castle Kitchens, Evening

    Alfson was not always calm. Tonight in particular his mind was reeling as he moved at a measured clip along the corridors of the drafty castle. Rumour was as deadly as truth since the king had sent out his bounty on convincing tales. People were turning in their own families, their own sisters for their own estates. Second, third sons were giddy with the possibilities, dispossessed cousins coming out of the very woodwork to point fingers at aunts and women who had not looked favourably upon their romantic overtures. Fishwives and wise women from villages far and wide were brought forward and accused. Disgruntled farmers claimed their wives of fifteen years were secretly yellow-clad horsewomen in disguise.

    The women were not alone. A few enterprising men sought to undo their competitors in love and business by proposing that they, disguised as a woman in yellow, made off with the Princess Diana after secretly wooing her away from her engagement. This rumour was also the one the Resistance chose to fan, planting the seed of the idea that it was ludicrous a woman would be capable of managing such a feat. What a shame the old Knight Hast had to die for the actions of a wild, lovesick youth to steal away the king's bride.

    Of the princess herself, there were ladies flocking to the castle in hopes of claiming the crown for themselves, insisting that they were Princess Diana despite the fact that some had the weathered hands and dark features of the common folk. They came in all ages, all sizes, all manner of dress - all willing to marry King Balaser if only he would just believe them to be his missing bride.

    Alfson himself had whispered in a few ears here and there. The value of servants could never be understated. The aides, the ladies who attended their mistresses, the body servants, the messengers, the cooks - all ruled their tiny kingdoms within the walls of the castle and beyond, and spread news around and outward from there, radiating it through the castle town. His handsome face, slim frame equal to the elegance of riding, and quiet demeanor made Alfson a perfect match as he darted amongst the most elegant of the castle's servants, those who served directly the king and his retinue themselves. Despite the pride of place and arguably the relative safety of his position, he had slept little knowing that every action now could ripple into catastrophic consequences for those of them still here at the heart of the Usurper king's displeasure.

    For this reason, he had collected droplets of news like a tree in drought and now headed towards the scullery where he was due to meet Ignatio's adoptive niece, his contact to the outside world. Ducking below the narrow door, the last dark liquid of the wine he had served the king swirling against the silver of the pitcher, he stepped to one side. Women with skirts belted up for ease of movement with their heavy, dirty work moved about running heavy pots to scrub clean while others cleaned and peeled vegetables. A few were separating linens for laundering, ruddy-faced with hands nearly as red. From among them, standing near the cool breeze let in through the open door framing the amber twilight in the little kitchen courtyard and gardens was a woman in pale grey, the ringlets of her hair slipping their confinement piled atop her head. She bent close to one of the girls who had a handful of dripping forks half-wrapped in her apron. With a nod, the girl skirted around the woman and moved towards the larger kitchens where the cooks and kitchen maids were busy at work.

    A smile broke across the woman's face as she turned and saw Alfson, hands folded primly. She was every bit as lovely as she had been when Riga had met her, and Arletta was the sort of beauty who was none the wiser to it no matter how she was praised. Waving him nearer and taking the pitcher from him, she greeted him pleasantly and offered him ale. Accepting, he pretended to stay a moment to rest in her company while she leaned a hip against a low wooden counter patiently. She managed the scullery and saw to it that things flowed smoothly into the kitchens, and despite her sweet nature somehow managed to do it well. He had never met someone in such a position who wasn't chasing about beating people with spoons and shoes. Then again, he had not spent time in many kitchens. His smile was half for her and half for home, remembering the ill-tempered cook who had given him the rough side of a spoon plenty of times - yet always gave him a bite to eat despite the grumbling. He had survived on that grudging allowance for longer than he cared to remember.

    Arletta touched his arm softly, recalling him from his thoughts. "I trust you are well, Alfie?"

    Alfson lowered his voice, taking her hand as he explained to her the state of things. Of Brand he knew the details in full, having stood out of sight but near enough at hand he could bring refreshment to the king if required. Of Riga, Arletta herself was able to give some insight, as he had stopped by the kitchens to speak with her when he had gone to see Brand in the stocks. Her cheeks flushed, and she told Alfson that Riga had said he was going to the execution. Their expressions both darkened, and he took a deep drink of the offered ale, feeling the burn of the rough quality all the way down.

    "Listen, Arletta. I should return to my duties, but if you don't mind I'd like to send my regards to your uncle. Do you think that you could share them for me?"

    Arletta nodded, understanding that the messages she carried for her uncle were something more than they seemed, but not entirely understanding what they meant most of the time. She smiled, confirmed her memory, and even accepted a letter from Alfson. It was a risk to send it with her, but he had taken special pains so that if anyone were to find it, it would seem like a folded blank piece of parchment and nothing more. Bowing over her hand, Alfson drank the last of his ale and turned away to collect a new pitcher of wine and a clean towel. He returned to his place and continued the evening quite like any other, bracing himself for the long night to come.

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

  3. #23
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    MONASTERY HALLS

    “I don’t think Diana would work well either, as the moment they hear the name and see me, it’ll be a dead give away.” Diana responded as she looked to Horatia. She had gotten accustomed to people bowing to her, but she did agree that it would also be a dead give away if they ever got to a castle. In truth, they had been in such a panic to escape and get here, the lack of greeting had barely been noticed for her, and while she should feel insulted, it wasn’t a big enough problem for her. She tapped her chin while allowing the silence to stretch between them already. A name to hide herself, one that would be different enough to not draw attention, yet one they would easily remember at all times.

    “Maron could work. It was the name of my sister's maid.” Diana decided upon, giving a half smile at the memory, an older lady that was rather pleasing to be around, yet rather stern when needed. It had always been a treat to harass her when the two had played around, a woman who just didn’t give enough care about protocol to be bowing every time when having to deal with them.

    “I think you would have liked her more brash side.” Diana spoke as she reached out, taking Horatias hand in her own. She could feel the strength behind the rough skin, a contrast to her rather light hand as they settled upon the agreement. Now that it had been settled, Diana finally picked herself up and cleared away the mug and food she had been nibbling on in the last bit.

    “Now that the names are taken care of, I need to go change. Robes don’t seem the most pleasant thing to ride around in. We should also inform Sir Byron so he doesn’t blurt something out. He would be pleased to know his niece Maron is here to stay for a while.” Diana spoke as she left the room, having to take a few measured steps at the start. The ale had been much stronger than any wine she had before, and she could still feel the warmth still resting in her cheeks from the drink.

    The night air was a welcome sting to his face as Damanius found himself momentarily alone, giving a half choked sigh. He mostly blamed the alcohol, but the memories of his sister were starting to float through his mind, and the happier times back in the castle he had when free from his lessons. They had been quite the fun time, terrorizing the servants and just causing general mischief. He had been the more gullible one, and Kokiri was more than pleasing to take advantage of it to try and sneak away as many sweets she could. The last he could remember of her was when she had been sent to an academy for proper ladies, and then the news of her place being burned to the ground just days before the invasion in the capitol.

    Damanius slapped the sides of his face before darting off to the cottage, letting the cold wind burn his face as he moved to change into the riding dress that had already been repaired for him. Entering the room, he was quick to barricade it and let out a sigh. There was no reason to dwell on the ghosts of his past and focus on moving forward, as Byron had said. He had some time before heading to the stable, and even worse it would take time to get properly dressed, so he had time to get back into a good shape of mind.


    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




  4. #24
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    Day 2 - Friary Cottage, Evening
    Shaking on the names and manner of address settled between them, Horatia nodded, "Maron it is! Has a ring to it. Sounds like someone who doesn't deal in nonsense."

    Despite their agreement just past to be informal, the older woman was quick to take the cup and other leavings of the meal from Diana's hands and wave her off... Informal didn't mean she'd have a princess doing the scrubbing in her presence. Byron would give her more than a slap across the skull for something that egregious.

    Bobbing her head as Diana turned a bit unsteadily to go, Horatia rubbed the back of her skull as if she'd already been slapped. She caught up their cups in one hand, balancing a bowl and trencher with the apple cores in the other hand as she wobbled toward the kitchen where a few of the brothers were still tending to the business of tidying behind the others. She spoke with them a few minutes idly, but the one-sided conversation did little to soothe her nerves.

    She could not have said why they were singing. Perhaps the combination of worry over her friends left behind and the potential the princess might break her neck riding tonight, but she did feel it was a good way to learn. "Nothing for it but to do it," she mumbled to the friars who had long since tuned out her slightly slurring speech.

    Snagging a bottle of wine on her way out of the kitchens, she shifted her eyes around, smug at her success as she followed behind into the night beyond the hall. She found Byron smoking a pipe outside of his own cottage in conversation with one of the travelers who had passed by on his own way to rest. Feeling a little off put by the presence of the stranger, she laughed at Byron's jesting and told him after a brief time that she would be checking his niece Maron was settled in to sleep. He lifted a brow, but nodded his understanding. When he saw the cork of the wine bottle peeking from under the leather coat she had pulled over her tunic before supper he tried to chide her, but she easily danced out of reach and off into the night with an impish chuckle trailing behind her like child of the Lost Woods as she slunk amongst the trees.

    When she arrived at the temporary haven she shared with Princess Diana, she rapped her knuckles at the heavy wooden door and called her name softly, but there was no answer.

    "Diana? I've gone to see Byron and he's excited about his niece Maron staying a while as you thought he would be."

    She waited a moment before rapping more firmly and tried the door: it was barricaded. A stroke of panic sliced through the haze of drink while it clung just enough not to entirely puzzle out that a barricade from within was more likely to be the Princess own doing than not... Glancing about her looking for any signs that someone else had come that way, she shouldered into the door, resorting to kicking at it. With a running start, she shoulder-checked it again and finally burst through, wielding the wine bottle like a weapon and looking about wildly for any hidden danger.

    "Diana?!"

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

  5. #25
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    COTTAGE

    Damanius gave small blessings for his years of practice. Getting dressed into the outfit was more troublesome than anything else, and being tipsy was not helping him out at the moment. He had managed to get most of the delicates on, including most of the corset that came with it. Fumbling with the upper ties, he had just enough wherewithal to hear Horatia begin banging on the door and not completely freeze. He was still holding his breath to make sure the corset sat right on his body and had thus been unable to respond. Just as he had been about to finish the last of the strings, the door burst open, sending the chair and dresser he had used to block it skittering across the floor.

    A small squeak of surprise escaped him as he grabbed the dress from the beds post and cover himself with it, panic coursing through him from the sudden shock of the intrusion. He dare not speak for the moment while staring wide eyed at Horatia, surprised mostly by the strength of the woman. While he knew the barricade wouldn’t hold against soldiers, having Horatia break it down was surprising. Just what was this woman made of. He glanced down to the wine bottle grasped in her hand, ready to strike down any who might bash down those wanting to harm Diana. A growl rippled through while his face turned red, both at annoyance at being seen in such a state of undress, and the fact that he may have just been caught not a few moments earlier. Having himself exposed so soon was not what he hoped for.

    He would need to drive her out, and thankfully her drunken stupor would help himself out. Most normal people would consider two women seeing each other barely dressed would be natural, even with reservations. Damanius was used to only one woman seeing him in the nude, but she had been left in the castle, and Horatia was not that Grueta. He began working himself up, letting his mind work through the words in the few sparse moments from Horatias forced entrance and her crying out his name.

    “I am getting dressed! These doors do not lock, and I prefer to have my privacy! You do not just get to barge in here without my allowance!” Diana shrieked, glaring daggers into the womans as she reached beneath and grabbed one of her shoes she had left nearby. Without letting the dress drop from covering her form, she tossed it with all the might she could, aiming to peg the woman square between the eyes.

    “Get out! Get out!” Diana screeched at her, tossing a second shoe at her once the first had found its hopeful mark. A pillow followed shortly as she did all she could to chase the drunken woman from the room. While she was assured that everything of Damanius had been hidden by garment and banding, there was no reason to take extra risk. Besides that, she still felt uncomfortable being equivalent nude in front of another.


    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




  6. #26
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    Day 2 - Friary Cottage, Evening

    It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the firelight from the little hearth in the cottage, her eyes brushing over Diana's form to see if there was trouble. None found, it took her mind a moment to take over for the heart still pounding in her chest. She felt a little strange standing at the door holding the wine bottle aloft, but looked at the chair with a now-broken back and the off-kilter little dressing table in confusion and blinked. She returned her gaze to the other woman.

    Diana's embarrassment was mostly hidden in the red-yellow glow of the low light and Horatia's mouth gaped a little as she tried to puzzle out why the door had been barricaded in the first place.

    "Diana," She began more softly, "Are you alright? What on earth are you-?"

    Her words were lost in the sudden outburst from the noble. Horatia's cheeks flushed angrily at the talk of allowance. What a pompous thing to say! "Allowing" her to enter her own room.

    "Oh, pardon me if the finer accommodations of the friary in the middle of the woods that we escaped to because you stabbed a man through the eye doesn't meet with your approval, Your Ma-Och!" Horatia managed to dodge back and turn her face away in time to take the shoe sharply across the temple instead of square in the face. Her arm had not come up quick enough to dodge the attack. She staggered back into the door, blinking and letting out an angry sound at the impact. Kneeing the corner of the dressing table as the shoe plunked to the floor, her temper flared. Scooping up the impromptu projectile without releasing the wine bottle, Horatia flung it back at the princess's chest.

    Since the woman was still screeching and seemed not to be in any danger, Horatia ducked back into the night air, kicking the door shut with an angry crash behind her and rumbling, "Rabid, feral little monster!" The door gapped a bit, wedged by the chair back, but she hardly noticed.

    Her hand went to her reddening temple. "With a shoe, a damned shoe!"

    Horatia shouted back through the mostly closed door, "Did you learn etiquette with a pack of wolves?! You bark as much as you blood bite, you... you brat!"

    She carried on muttering under her breath as she stalked off towards the meadows. "Not sharing the damned wine, that's for certain. Chateau Romani and all. Mongrel!"

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

  7. #27
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    Damanius took the time to make sure the door was properly closed, still full of anger, and now nursing a sore spot on his chest. He had taken it to far, but such was his need to protect his secrets. Besides, it had been ingrained that unless you were of royal blood, you waited until cleared to enter if no danger was present. A sigh let himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, dress draped across his knees while giving himself some time to calm his nerves. The risk of almost getting caught had left him racing.

    "I'll have to apologize." Damanius let out in a minor huff as he went back to the act of getting dressed. His mind was already at work planning out what to say, while finding no rush to go and hunt her down. They already had plans to meet up for his training tonight, so that would be the best time to speak his mind, and hopefully the time to herself would be enough to calm down her anger. He took the remaining time for himself, just working around the room and letting himself adjust everything he needed, including a fresh coating of the paste for his thighs. That was the only part he was truthfully worried about for this entire thing.

    MIDNIGHT FRIARY STABLES

    Diana approached the stable fences, having to carefully pick her way through the path. The moon above provided plenty of light to see well enough through the grounds, but hidden shadows lurked everywhere for the unprepared. She took her time, her nerves catching up with her now. While excitement was there to push her forward, nerves stymied her in approach. Her first goal though was to apologize to her impromptu teacher for the lessons. It took a moment of hunting, but she soon found herself at the fence line and nearby Horatia.

    "I wish to apologize for my actions earlier. I acted most unbecoming of my position and was cruel with my words. I was raised with the notion that none were to enter my dwelling without my acceptance or approval, nor have I ever been put into a position to share a room with another. I acted out of shock and poor taste, and hope that you accept my apology." Diana said with as much poise and humility as she could muster, the words rehearsed yet sincere. She curtsied at the end and waited for the response from Horatia, wondering how the woman would react.

    Horatia saw Diana's approach from atop Capilet, her fists curled into his mane, but she took another turn around the meadow before they moved near the fence line. Throwing a leg over, she hefted herself atop the fence and crouched, balancing a calf against the near fencepost as Capilet made a little turn and came to whuffle her hair and drape over her shoulder in anticipation of a chunk of carrot she had tucked into her belt. No one would miss it from the kitchen garden. Biting off a large piece, she offered it to him broodily.

    When the princess apologised, she pursed her lips, pride more wounded than her head. With a deep sigh, she exhaled with a tremour of annoyance.

    "I shouldn't have shouted anyway. I apologise for frightening you... and for what I said. None of this is your fault, and I know that." Her nose was scrunched up as if it pained her to say as much. "I thought you might be in trouble, that's all."

    Biting off another piece of carrot, the silence that fell between them was punctuated by the chewing of the horse. Finally, Horatia cleared her throat.

    "Didn't think you'd actually come. Wine by that tree if you care for a drink." She waved a hand towards a heavy pine, adding the warning, "Mind the chickens. Sometimes they get out and they like to harrass people they run into along the paths..."


    "Thank you for the offer, but I will decline for now. It may not be best to mix drinking and riding into one. Though it may ease the pain later." Diana responded with a light shiver, glad to not have run into any of the chickens so far. As for not having been expected, did Horatia not think her strong enough? She needed to learn this, and if showing her dedication to it meant being awake at midnight to learn it, then she would.

    "Not like I would get much sleep anyway." Diana mumbled to herself as she joined Horatia on the other side of the fence, careful to not get caught on it. Once over though, she observed Capilet for the few moments.

    "It's going to take some time getting used to the differences, wont it?" Diana asked after a few moments, motioning between them before waving her hand wide. Things out here were much different than in the castle, and with the need to keep her hidden, a lot more would change. Would they do their best to keep her secured away, just like she had been prior, or would she be treated just as another woman, meant for cleaning and house workings around the place. She didn't even know have the stuff she would need to be able to do any of it and pass off as even a hand maiden.

    Shrugging off the refusal, Horatia jumped from the fence and watched the exchange between the princess and the horse. She nodded agreement as she made a soft sound and, swatted Capilet gently on the rump. He went off to enjoy the night while he could. He should have been stabled, but she liked to let him roam when she could.

    "Life is different inside the castle, I expect. Assuming you've always been at the castle? How long did Balaser have you? All this time?"

    Her mind boggled at the idea that they had so badly miscalculated, had all truly believed his line had been obliterated when the castle fell to the Usurper and the power of his fighters. Her grandfather would have been as mortified as the old knights were now.

    "Or were you kept somewhere else, hidden?" Turning her face, she took a few steps away and indicated that Diana should follow her. "Let's walk and talk."

    Holding a leather strip between her teeth as she listened, the woman bunched her hair up in her fingers, combing it back before securing it with that scrap instead of a more traditional ribbon. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to expose her forearms, and nodded her head towards the stables on the far end of the meadow. "Time to find your horse."


    "He .. kept me in the castle towers. I had access to the grounds, but when I tried running the first few times, that was restricted. There were only so many tunnels I could try and sneak through, using mostly servant halls and such to move around." Diana spoke, trying to quash the uneasy bile that rose through her stomach. She didn't want to start going through all those memories just yet, nor ever. Eventually people would want to hear it, but tonight would not be it.

    For the most part.

    "He kept my survival a secret. Said he had plans for my lineage and bloodline that would... disgrace my fathers line." Diana spoke the last part in a whisper. She had no desire to know the mans full extent of what he had planned to do to them, but the look he had given them made her skin pale. Putting that out in the air made it all the more real to be telling her story, but it wasn't for sympathy.

    Maybe she spoke it for someone else to share in her misery? Or even to let others know the true depravity of the man. A small part hinted that it was so she didn't have to burden herself with the horror alone.

    "Regardless. How do I go about finding me a horse? Don't we just pick one that I can ride and go from there?" Diana asked her, having to keep up with a mild jog to the woman.

    At the talk of lineage and bloodlines, Horatia's nostrils flared, though she did not press further. There were some things women simply knew and there was no need to belabour it. With a little luck, the Usurper would not survive his own violence: what was one more wound to the mortal one they planned to inflict. It was too generous, perhaps, that the honour of the chivalrous code of the old knights was just, but not cruel. Despite all he had done and forced others to suffer, like the tender young Diana, when it came to it his end was meant to be relatively easy.

    Clearing her throat a bit to break the tension that hung between herself and Diana who seemed, as Horatia regarded her over her shoulder, a bit lost in her own thoughts despite their brisk pace; she shifted the tone of the conversation intentionally.

    "It's good you considered different ways of escape. You must have mapped it out through the years: surely there are none better to help navigate the castle itself than its mistress. Even Balaser will have no idea of the tunnels and passages you must have discovered, particularly if those who served your father within the castle are still loyal to you."

    True, they had not set her free, but fear was a powerful motivator. They would have witnessed first-hand the power of Sinal Balaser's fighting force and doubtless been unequal to fighting against it alone. They were simple folk: nobles sent as wards or handmaidens, servants from the town and farmlands beyond who had come for a better life. They were not soldiers. Had they helped Diana in their own ways?

    "Mm," Horatia's lips curved upward at the question. "Well, sometimes they find you as much as you find them." Leaning into the heavy stable door already ajar, Horatia waved an arm inside. Lantern light illuminated the stables gently, nodding heads and curious, soft eyes regarded the pair. "For tonight, I would recommend Morgan."

    Stepping along, the horsewoman stopped before a stall containing a small, grey horse with small ears and expressive eyes. Its muzzle and legs looked like they had been dipped in ash, dark tail matching them as it swished softly at their approach. Shades of grey gave its coat depth of shadow in the amber light.

    Reaching up, Horatia brushed her calloused, slender fingers along its muzzle and tucked stray locks of its sooty mane towards one swivelling ear.

    "Morgan, meet Princess Diana. Princess Diana, mild Maid Morgan." Her smile was soft and genuine, in her element away from people more than with them. Horses, no matter how tame, were wild things, and she loved that element of their nature even if she might not have been able to put that sentiment into words.

    Stepping back, she turned to the other woman. "You should open the gate and speak with her. Smoothest ride in the friary stables, maybe this end of Hymnascal. She can carry you through a forest or over a brook like air. If she'll have you. Oh!"

    Reaching to her belt, Horatia shared a second carrot with the other woman.


    Diana glanced between the carrot and Horatia, a look of utter lack of faith in the woman. She was honestly demanding that she, the princess of the kingdom, not even to speak of Damanius, to talk to a horse?! Did she just want her to play at a fool for her own amusement? She wanted to retort as such, but bit her tongue. It would be ill to speak in such rough words for how recently they made amends from their prior fight. If Horatia tried to make fun of her for it, she would claim the woman to drunk to remember right.

    She approached Morgan though, tentative yet certain about herself. Diana would not cower before an animal, and she could see the elegance in the girl. She looked like smoke and ash made solid, the animal much shorter than Capilet, yet her eyes studied the woman who had entered her stall, until she focused on the carrot instead. Taking a deep breath to steady herself some, she stepped into the stable proper, shifting aside hay and moving close to the horse.

    "Greetings Morgan, it a joy to make your acquaintance. I bring a carrot for you." Diana approached her like she would a visiting noble, thought added the second part as she stepped forward, watching the mare. Morgan, with patience, moved forward to snack on the carrot, allowing Diana to place her hand carefully on her. Diana felt both silly and glad that the interaction had gone mostly smooth, until she had moved further down and mostly out of view of the girl. She was greeted with a loud huff and shake of her head, making Diana dart back some in caution more than anything else.

    Looping her arms over the stall door, Horatia allowed it to swing wider under her weight, watching the interaction with bemusement. She cast her mind back to the first time she had laid eyes on Capilet, surly and dark like a thundercloud. He had given the trainers in their family stables fits, more so than the usual stallions. His ill temper had nearly cost him more than his jewels, and she had decided that they would be fast friends. It had not been easy, convincing him of it: nothing easy was worth having, though, Horatia felt. She had saved him and he had repaid that friendship many times over their time together.

    Eyes refocusing on the princess feeding the carrot to the little mare, she grinned as Morgan whuffed and then nipped at it in a genteel fashion. After deciding that Diana was trustworthy, she set about polishing off the carrot with relish. A few apples and they would be inseparable. Moragan ought to be perfect, she thought. Gaited and gentler to ride than Capilet or war-trained horses of which there were a few lingering in these stables from knights-turned-brothers, she would make a suitable mount for both a novice rider and a royal who might be more precious about jostling. And, Horatia allowed to herself, it might also make for a gentler recovery from Diana's initial bolt to the friary.

    "Well, what do you think? Will she do?" Diana had said she knew little of horses, so perhaps she would not have a strong opinion. Still, there was an importance in bonding. That's how the horsewoman felt, at least. She had spent more time with horses than training riders. In fact, she could not recall ever really spending time with anyone who was not at least passingly familiar with riding. Still, the girl had quick enough reflexes that she ought to catch on and if not... well, there were always carriages for the silver spoons.

    Pulling some of the waiting tack from the wall, the cavalier braced a saddle along her upper arm and shoulder, lifting a brow. They would only have a little time for riding by the time they sorted out the finer points of preparing horse and rider if they were also to allow for how to care for a horse once that was done. There was, Horatia supposed, little substitution for practice when it came to that bit. What she could share was how to properly care for a mount. She did wonder if the princess would retain any of it when she inevitably took her throne. Still, that was fitting in the end. It would be a strange thing for a queen to saddle her own horse. Curious that she wished to learn to ride now, but to be encouraged. Perhaps even to be admired.

    The carrot consumed, Morgan was nuzzling inquisitively, tickling Diana's outstretched fingers as she looked for more.


    "She seems pleasant enough. I was thinking of one more impressive such as Capilet, but having one to start my training on seems best." Diana mused as she stood next to the horse, gently running her fingers through it's mane. The well mannered beast seemed more than content to the affection, more than likely looking for more treats that may be coming. She was somewhat reminded of the stable cats that usually roamed the castle grounds. The thought of the horses slinking around looking for scraps of food humorous.

    "So, what is the next step." Diana asked while watching Horatia gather up the saddle and bits for the horse. Morgan watched the horsewoman girl gather up the stuff and gave a huff of her head, half annoyed to be saddled up so late, but more willing if treats were involved.

    Horatia's eyes flickered with pride at the complimentary mention of Capilet.

    For a split moment, she toyed with the idea of allowing Diana to try her hand at riding him. Knowing the most probable outcome, she reined in the idea with a chuckle, one arm cradling her ribs. She could still remember the pain and discomfort of breaking them.

    "He threw me more times than I can remember in the beginning, and I have the scars to prove it, Your Majesty. Byron would skin me alive if I let you loose on a stallion your first lesson, set aside one like him.

    "Try not to think too unkindly of Morgan. She may not seem as flash, but good control and an even stride can be as good for parading as riding. Better to have a well-mannered mare who cares to follow your lead than one who will leave you on your head in the street. Hard to make a good entrance from the dirt, even more so unconscious or with a broken neck.

    "Trustworthy girl also, good to get you to safety if something were to go wrong, though I dare say at this point she'd turn herself back to the friary as home. You could do worse."

    Smiling, she dropped her feet back to the hay and moved around to point out some of the other qualities of the smaller horse. Diana had not been wrong about the greedy girl's search for treats, the creature whuffling and pressing her muzzle into the princess's hands searchingly, ears swiveling faintly as she felt Diana's caresses.

    "If things go well you likely won't need to do the work on your own, Your Majesty, but there is always the chance you may find yourself in a situation where you will need to care for your horse and yourself unassisted. If that were to happen, it is better that you know how rather than try to fumble through it. That sort of thing can injure the horse as much as it can injure you.

    "I don't claim to be a riding instructor so much as I work with the horses, just to be clear. Still, if you want to ride - even if you don't have to do - my opinion is that there is value in building that relationship by managing their care yourself. It's like any kind of relationship, really. You wouldn't send a servant to marry your future husband and you shouldn't send one to build trust with your mount."

    Pausing to consider the comparison and realising it was a fairly pointless one, she nonetheless leaned into it, wishing for the hundred-and-twelfth time that Alfson was there to mediate. She spent a fair bit of time showing Diana how to prepare a horse for riding, what each of the pieces of tack were meant to accomplish, and reiterated that horses were intelligent creatures.

    "If your heart is racing and you think you have yourself under control, a horse will let you know quickly whether or not that's true. They see how you feel, they can feel it in how you sit and your other body language. If you let your nerves run then they will let theirs loose also. The point isn't to force the horse to do what you want, it's to ease them into it and cooperate. Otherwise you'd have as much success as trying to drag one behind you."

    That mental image also made her laugh lightly. "Alright, Your Majesty," she began, handing Diana the lead line to guide the fortunately un-catlike Morgan after them. Scooping up a heavy wooden stepping stool and strolling up the line of stalls back towards the edge of the meadow where a little platform stood to help novices, drunkards, women in heavy skirts and rotund brothers mount up with ease; Horatia settled the stool in the little strip of cleared and compact earth nearby instead of going to it, tamping her heel onto it. "Bring her near side around here and let's see about getting you seated. Remember, take your time, easy does it. If you become frustrated then your horse will also."

    The cavalier patted her left thigh to indicate which side Diana should bring flush with the mounting block.


    Diana followed all the instructions as best she could, despite the long night. Being walked through every piece of equipment while thinking over Horatias words made sense. Even if the horse was mild from what she expected, it was better than nothing. Just the act of riding in, dressed in regalia and ready to claim the throne would be enough to turn several people. Her hands never left the horses mane as she worked, if only to help associate with Morgan, while also keeping her own nerves in check. Morgan was mostly calm while hunting for her treats, taking it all in stride.

    The comment about sending a servant to marry a future husband caught a snicker from Diana, the humor in her mind. If she could honestly allow someone else to marry for them, it would make life easier. Horatia was true though, and letting someone else take care of her problems would be a bad idea. The citizens and nobles would be looking upon them to see that things went right, and to heal a kingdom torn apart by the bastard king. Right now though, she needed to stay focused on the idea of learning to ride a horse.

    "Come along Morgan." Diana spoke softly while wrapping her hands around the reigns. She moved the two of them, keeping pace with the horse as they moved towards Horatia. It was a relaxing feel, yet was playing with her nerves greatly. She did her best to keep them in check, but the moment was slowly creeping closer to actually riding a horse, and the last she wanted to do was make a fool of herself. Even if she did expect to do so. The offer of wine was sounding ever more appealing to let the alcohol dull her nervous energy.

    "Even if you are not a trainer, you speak with just as much joy as them. Makes me think some of the archery trainer I had. He was one of the older guards at the castle, working under Sinal at the time though. He trained me in secret on how to use a bow and arrow, taking time and effort to make sure I understood everything, despite some of his stuff making no sense." Diana spoke, reminicing on better memories to just try and steady her nerves. Reaching the stool with Morgan settled correctly, albeit disappointed at the lack of more carrots, Diana looked to Horatia for the next action.

    Cocking her head to one side, Horatia, gently took the lead back from Diana and moved to hold Morgan. Fortunately she was a patient horse, and despite the faint annoyance anyone would feel at being kept up at this hour as the princess has noted, was even-tempered.

    "I like them." With that simple enough comment, Horatia smiled at Diana's shared experience. "Good of him to teach you. Must've been a good tutor. You looked ready to needle all-comers with your bow the night we met."

    Laughing softly, she caught Diana's eye and nodded to Morgan. "With that sort of skill you will be more use than I am in the saddle before time for your coronation. Marksmanship was never my strong suit. Give me a spear or a lance over a bow any day!

    "Alright, watch me and then it will be down to you."

    Exaggerating her movements, Horatia stepped up to the mounting block and held the reins in one hand with her foot stepping up to the stirrup. After a brief pause, she lifted her body and threw her leg over in a smooth motion. From there, she tapped her heels gently and gave a soft command for Morgan to move. The horse complied, evenly moving off and allowing herself to be directed by the gentle pressure of her rider back to the mounting block. Horatia threw her leg back over and slid back to earth.

    Horatia retained hold of the lead rope, but proffered the reins to Diana. "Your turn. Just repeat the same commands, gentle pressure with your thighs and light taps of the heel as needed as you saw. No need to kick or dig into her. You may feel a touch unsteady, but as long as you settle well you should be in little danger of a fall."


    "You may do well with a spear and Capilet. Could easily break through most armor and soldiers with just his muscle alone." Diana spoke as she moved up to the block, her moment finally come. She had intently watched all of Horatias movements, watching her guide Morgan around in a gentle loop with simple pressure of her heels and soft words to guide Morgan. It was like watching a dance, though much less about precision, and more about guiding. Diana already knew she would be completely lost if she had to do it on an actual war horse.

    Now that it was her turn, she didn't know how well she would do. Getting herself onto Morgan proved to be a bit of a trial just to swing over. The first time she hoped up on the stirrup nearly lost her balance and had to steady back onto the stool. The second she had better balance, yet she hadn't swung her leg far enough to only rest her leg onto the side. The third time she swung it over the horse, though had to straggle a bit enough to sit just right. Diana felt some embarrassment that it took three times to get onto the horse, but that would have to pass for the moment.

    "Okay, then. So, forward Morgan." Diana commanded as she tapped the horse in the side, holding the reigns...

    and getting nowhere.

    Diana glanced down towards Morgan, staring at the horse and waiting for the horse to move forward while looking to Horatia and trying to gauge what she had done wrong. She had ordered the horse forward and tapped it on the sides as the other woman had done. Diana grumbled as she took hold of the reigns in both hands and gave a much sharper tap into the sides while ordering the horse forward again. Morgan gave a whiney of annoyance and shuffled to the side, jostling her rider as they finally began to move from the stand.

    Capilet was certainly a hellion, and Horatia was pleased the princess thought so highly of him. She smiled to Diana, the other woman's attention turned to Morgan and the prospect of getting herself up into the saddle. With restraint, the horsewoman managed to stand still and let the other woman sort herself out... She would have intervened if needed or if asked, but there was also no need to get in the way of Diana's trial and error. It was how they all learned, really. Stroking Morgan's nose, she spoke to her softly, soothing her as the horse stood patiently.

    When Diana conquered the first step toward actually riding, Horatia nodded approvingly. When the other woman went nowhere quickly, it was all she could do to blank her face clear of her amusement.

    "Tch," She added her mild annoyance to the horses as she held the lead and stepped into the center of the circular path she had traveled so that there was a tether back to her should anything go wrong with Diana's inaugural ride. "Easy does it. Lean into her and use your legs. You want to indicate what you are doing, not goad her. Good."

    As the princess and her shadowy grey companion began their first turn, Horatia held the line but did nothing to interfere. "Good, good. Make sure to guide her into a turn. Just keep that pace for now. Get a feel for it and we'll have you galloping in no time."

    It was the same sort of ride children might enjoy at a holiday, but for the life of her Horatia could not remember attending one of those. Not in ages. Breathing in the night air, she exhaled wistfully. It was a nice night, despite all that had happened. The angry squall of a number of chickens carried from far off, no doubt blustering at a wayward boot that had braved the path to the privy in the dark and made an unfortunate misstep.

    "How do you feel?"


    "I feel .. rather silly, to be frank." Diana spoke as she took the moments to look towards Horatia, just trying to get used to the sway of Morgan. It was a steady movement, a back and forth shifting of her legs and thighs, yet without the footfall to accompany it. She could almost relate this to riding in a carriage, the rock of the road bouncing her about, yet this was much different. She did her best to keep her legs relaxed so as to not press deeper into the horse when not needed. Last thing the two of them needed was to go shooting off with reckless abandon.

    "In truth, it feels a bit ... surreal. Between the steady motion of Morgan and the patchwork of the ground, I feel like I am being moved back and forth on a rocker, yet side to side. Its a bit calmer than last nights run, but a bit hard to place mentally. I enjoy it some, but it feels different." Diana spoke, feeling a bit more relaxed. Just having the time to put her thoughts into words helped her. It was a habit she had picked up while living this duel life. Just having some way to put her thoughts into actual words just helped make sense of the world. She never really dealt with emotions and illogical people well, so speaking her mind helped force the world into some sort of order.

    "I will say though, it is a lot easier than I had expected. I was nervous this was going to be a giant blunder and I would have ended up on my rear more than anything, but in truth, it's not that difficult once you actually get started." Diana finished up, reaching down to pat Morgan on the side of the neck as she moved to turn Morgan, a bit rougher than the horse liked, but handled with nothing more than a snort and shake of her head.

    Horatia smiled as Diana made her way along. "That will pass with time."

    She left her to take a few turns, quietly observing as the princess found a rhythm with Morgan. When she spoke again, Horatia grinned. "Good! You're right of course... sometimes the most difficult thing is to begin. You showed up, that's the first bit. It is getting late, though. We should get Morgan to bed so that we can do the same."

    She came around and guided horse and rider back to the mounting block, offering a hand and a knee in case Diana needed assistance with the dismount.

    They would need to lead the horse back to her stable and remove the saddle before grooming her properly. Once that was done they could put their second and far calmer night at the friary behind them. Eyes growing heavy suddenly, Horatia stifled a yawn. She'd need to retrieve the wine from under the tree on the way.


    "True, getting some sleep while we can is good." Diana spoke as she was led back to the block. Wanting to prove that she had some skill, she moved herself and swung herself free... missing the block and planting herself onto the ground with a rough 'oof' as she landed. Blinking both in mild annoyance and feeling the blood rush to her face, Diana quickly righted herself and dusted herself, pointedly ignoring Horatia for the moment.

    "Thank you for the lessons, Horatia. I will find some way to repay you for them in the future." Diana spoke as she moved back over to Morgan, taking the reigns in hands and gently patting Morgan on the nose.

    "I thank you as well Morgan, for being patient with me. I don't get the whole talking to you, but I do believe this is right." Diana spoke as she patted the horse on the side. Letting out her own yawn, she began helping guide Morgan into the stables and into her own stall, doing what she could to help unsaddle the girl and following the instructions with proper aftercare of the horse.

    Horatia hid a grin behind her arm at Diana's rough landing, patting Morgan's neck. As dismounts went it could have been far worse, and the fact that the princess was so calm was a good sign. Some people, those who had little experience of the large animals, were brave until it came time to mount them. Once they were actually riding alone - assuming they made it that far - nerves sometimes got the better of them. It was good that none of that seemed to bother Diana, and it affirmed what Horatia had hoped. She had not only seen herself to the stables in the dead of night to a relative stranger, she had been eager to go above what was asked of her to learn. She would, Horatia imagined, be just fine with a little time and practice.

    She nodded agreement at the mention of sleep and in reply to the other woman's thanks. "Learn well and don't embarrass me when you rule. That's the best thing you might give." Perhaps, she thought, she did channel a bit of Old Byron at times.

    Regarding Diana and Morgan as they spoke, she saw the fine little horse's eyes regard the princess intelligently.

    "Horses are one of the most loyal creatures you'll find, Your Majesty. They listen, but they never share it and they would never betray you." She swirled her hand through the oats she added to the feed for Morgan. Her eyes darkened, thinking of the war horses that might give everything for their riders, wondering for a moment if the Resistance would face battles the old guard had already lost in the taking of Hymnascal. There was still much to do to unseat the Usurper, and many powerful members of his army who were rumoured to possess more than human skill. Still, it was far too late and distant yet to lose sleep over it tonight. She forced herself to smile again and waved the princess off.

    "Nearly finished here. I should make sure Capilet hasn't gotten up to trouble. You can have the cottage tonight. I've found some where else to bed down for the night. Pleasant sleep. Mind the chickens."


    "Thank you. Don't forget the wine. I promise to do everything I can to save this kingdom." Diana spoke as she helped the last little bit with Morgan, praising the girl a bit more before letting out a massive yawn. With the excitement and nerves of learning to ride a horse properly, she was not feeling extremely tired. Giving a polite curtzy to Horatia, she headed back towards the cabin, careful to avoid the aggrivated chicken coot while she moved into the night.

    It wasn't long before Damanius found himself alone in the cottage, quickly scuttling the heavy dresses and disrobing to his undergarments. Checking the door was secured as he could, he found himself quickly asleep in the bed, already out before he even hit the pillow.

    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




  8. #28
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    Day 3 - Friary Stables, Early Morning

    Looking slightly offended at the idea that she would ever abandon a good bottle of wine alone in the woods, Horatia nodded her thanks and smiled. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

    No, not a friend she reminded herself, sniffing lightly as the back of her wrist reflexively brushed away a tickle of hay. Despite the hot water they'd found themselves in, she genuinely felt she understood the girls actions and reactions. If she had been in her position, truth be told, she was not sure she could have successfully freed herself from the castle. She was competent enough to get outside of the castle itself, and made it to the wall alone. As easy as it was to say, Horatia remembered what Diana had muttered about tracking the guard movements and all of her careful planning. She had taken well-considered action, perhaps not entirely unburdened by hot temperament, but not breaking under pressure.

    There were a hundred ways that night could have gone, much like this one tonight under the stars. Diana had met them both equally and moved through them with more than flying colours. Perhaps if she could carry that forward well, she would be an admirable queen. Horatia would feel better to have her friends' opinions on the girl, but Old Byron seemed fond of her and she found herself thinking again of home. While she murmured to Capilet and prepared his stall, she thought of the family estate and of the days before the Usurper. She thought of her grandfather, who had always favoured her despite her being a girl. She thought of her strong, but warm mother weaving for market and the busy atmosphere and joy that had gone in to planning the shop in Castle Town. She had been young enough not to remember details, but she remembered her mother smiling and turning with open arms in the sunlight from an open window.

    Horatia's face fell a little. She could barely remember her face now. It seemed like too important a thing to forget, but it had been so long since she had seen her face, set aside the family portrait hung in their estate and the one of her mother that her father so loved. Anxious tendrils curled around the back of her neck and she shivered. She had been gone a while, in truth. Even when she was there she was not really present. Now, though, with Diana the end was in sight. She could already see the fall of the Great Interloper, could begin to imagine the faint shape of life beyond it in the same murky outlines of her mother's face.

    Maybe her father would finally shake himself out of his daze as well. They had both been suspended in some ways, but maybe that could change. Taking a deep breath and rubbing Capilet's nose fondly, Horatia made the trek to retrieve the bottle of wine, taking a sip before corking it and nestling down into the pile of straw she had built up near Capilet and covered loosely with a saddle blanket. The princess was a guide star for far more people than she might realise. Not quite the travel companion one would choose for hard rides to hidden locations, but not so bad really, once you overlooked the little tantrum at the cottage.

    Some of that was just the way of royals, she supposed. Nobles had their foibles also, and she remembered some of the etiquette she brushed aside even though it was never as stifling for her as she imagined it must be for the other woman.

    Drifting in the warm comfort of wine and the nearness of Capilet, the horsewoman swirled around her thoughts and impressions with her hopes for the future, slowly pulling her coat closer about her and passing into sleep.



    Day 2 - Castle Walls & Stockades, Midnight

    The stroke of cool weather flooded the plains rising up to the castle town and the castle that rose above it. The rain showers that had begun off and on had left the previously chill air humid, and a sort of muted damp seemed to stifle the land. In the castle, all but the most devoted or terrified servants slept, including those who served the Resistance.

    A soft shift began in the gloaming, something hardly observed by most even as it happened around them. Those waiting servants in the castle, even who worked against the Great Interloper, had no idea of what the morning would bring. Guards and ostlers, a page or two, even the odd knight, began to slip away out of sight.

    They were so few and so subtle that just before midnight watch was called there had been no alarm, no concern sparked at all. Through the humid mists steaming up from the high road to the castle's main gates came a band of horsemen - perhaps two dozen - robed all in dark astride mounts with hooves padded and wrapped to muffle the sound of their approach. The result was something like distant thunder rolling toward the castle. The archers threw back their cloaks first to reveal clothing dyed just as black beneath, merging them into the inky dark of night.

    The pages and servants who had slipped away inside the castle provided distractions to the guards ready to be relieved of their watches, easily leading them away with the promise of drink or entertainment. The lights were snuffed so that their work was hidden unless one were to know to look for them. The first arrows loosed dispatched the few remaining guards, and the deadly horsemen entered the castle grounds ready to quiet any others awake and walking where they should not be at this hour.

    While they made their sweep, others lowered the body of poor Grueta and wrapped her in a sheet. If she lived, they had planned to take her to a physician loyal to the Resistance. If not, then her remains were to be taken and given a proper, respectable burial. A few of those about the stable yards defected to their side, likely fearing a true invasion had begun, but most slept - fortunate, for that was where the greatest risk of fighting had been.

    In Grueta's place, a magpie was nailed, its wings spread as an ill omen, a warning.

    The silent riders removed those in the stocks, hurrying from their imprisonment and helping the men then barely able to walk onto horses brought for the purpose - if they could ride. The third member of the eastern guards the night of Diana's disappearance was thrown across a saddle tied and gagged. He would be, the old knights had decided, given the opportunity to join the Resistance or else... Well, there could be no witnesses or loose lips. One of the archers dipped an oil-drenched cloth wrapped about the tip of an arrow into one of the last torches lit in the little yard and sent it arcing into the dais where the men had been held. The wood kindled up into flames easily. The sand laid out for the execution of those not worth making examples of would keep it from spreading too far, but this would, they hoped, set an example for the king to observe.

    Long shadows bending grotesquely over the cobbled stone paths through the castle grounds, the riders dispatched the guards coming to their posts. Time was growing even shorter, but the bodies were neatly laid out crown-to-toe in a line along the carefully tended grasses, as ineffective as toy soldiers set aside from play. There were far more soldiers to be had within the castle. Knights slept nearer the stables or within the thick stone wall of the main structure itself. A barracks had been erected by the Usurper that had not existed in the true king's time - something the Castle Town hated far more than it benefited from as a result. Still, bent intently to their purpose, the horsemen lowered the king's pennant from where it flew above the main watch tower and raised in its place the crest of King Aminan and his line. They could not take the castle tonight, but this first foray they would leave their mark.

    Mischief done, the ghostly black riders faded into the dark, skimming from their work within the castle's high walls. Riga pulled down the black scarf wrapped about his throat, grinning to one of the other riders who nodded in return, and they went to ground in the castle town. Some of them would be gone by morning: and there would be more work to do at the dawn, but their part was finished for now.

    There had been no interruption, no flaw in the plan, so that their silent doings seemed to stretch on far longer than the brief span they had occupied in reality. They left in their wake a few scattered guards dead along with their row of fallen soldiers beneath the billow emblem of the true king, the smolder of the wooden stocks, and the magpie. It would be nearly morning before discovery, the next watch lazing to their places immediately flying towards panicked confusion as they began to see what had been done under their noses. Somehow, impossibly, the evidence of a battle appeared that most within the castle had not even realised they were fighting. It was laid out plainly in the stark grey before the dawn, giving hope to those under the oppression of the Interloper and worry to those who had chosen to serve him.

    Now, they would see what Sinal the Pretender would do with their message:

    Your days are numbered, and we are counting.



    Day 3 - The Owl & Thistle, Morning

    When not at the castle, the lovely Tabitha could be found at the little inn and tavern her adoptive uncle had assisted her with obtaining. She held the purse strings even if Olivia Dade spent most of her time running the place. The two women got on well, Tabitha younger and mild-mannered while Olivia was older, protective, and not one to take lip off of soldier or civilian alike. She was also one of the best brewers this side of the Broad Bridge. The wooden tables, chairs, and bar were polished to a shine. The cups were clean, the floor neatly swept clear.

    Daylight spilled into the common room like paint when a few of the dark riders appeared. They had stripped away their black robes and clothes and sent them with couriers for burning, replacing them with the simple fabrics and drab browns most commonly seen amongst visitors to the town. A merry fire lit at all hours in Ignatio's warehouse had gluttonously consumed any trace of conspiracy for all of them, at least. Still, Olivia's sharp eyes noted who they were and she nodded to herself. She was perhaps once a handsome woman, but if so there was little grace remaining to her. Her face was chapped and Her husband had been a simple foot soldier in the brief and ultimately doomed efforts to prevent Balaser's overthrow of King Aminan. He had been a simple farmer and a good man, and until that day all Olivia had wanted was an equally simple life with good crops and the hard-working man she had loved since the day she met him at Maypole decades before... They had had one child - a girl who had died during an outbreak of fever quite young. In so much adversity one might think the woman would have come undone. Not Olivia. She picked herself up, brushed herself off, and set about the business of elevating her own community. They were not soldiers or fighters, but they cared about the taxation, about the casual overexpectations of the new, so-called "king".

    To most eyes Olivia was nothing but a plain-faced, aging woman from the farmlands who tended bar. In fact, she was one of the keystones of the Resistance. There were few so well known beyond the castle town as she, and well-respected by the people who lived day to day under the thumb of Balaser. They were unarmed, simple peasants to most, but they outnumbered fighting forces heavily and they were all angry. She was a soothing voice, a voice of reason, but underneath it all she was just as angry and just as ready for the justice swiftly coming to hand. As handy in a row as she was tending those who frequented the custom house portion of the establishment she now ran, most people respected her enough not to run afoul of her. Those who did very often found themselves out of Ignatio's good graces as well.

    Clapping his hand onto the shoulder of the taller Alfson, Riga cracked a grin and leaned against the counter towards Olivia.

    She gave a fond smile to the grinning Riga and passed him a cup of beer. His grin broadened as he winked, "Still the only woman for me, Ollie."

    She rolled her eyes and laughed, but her cheeks tinged red as she swatted the much older man with the tail of the cloth she was using to mop up stray droplets of beer from the bar. Even Alfson smiled, nodding to her and inquiring after the children. She took foundlings and the unfortunate of the city under her wing and helped them find placements and kept them fed, something near and dear to her. She caught him up on the idle gossip of the city as she readied a meal for those arriving, excusing herself only when the smell of freshly baked bread began to waft through the room. Some inns bought their bread from the bakers within the city, but she trusted few people with the art of yeast beyond herself. A few smiling faces bobbed around the room, accepting the custom of guests and weaving in and out of the kitchens as the slow trickle of life began to flow into the day.

    A few messenger boys weaved amongst the guests, waiting for notes and letters to be composed and returned along with a fat coin for the boy doing the delivering. Two or three of the men who pressed into the room separated from their companions and moved towards one of the small, private rooms Tabitha let for suppers. They were most often levied by merchants and those with the coin to entertain guests in peace, and today Riga and Alfson paid Olivia for a simple meal with beer before ducking out of sight behind the other men. A few stately knights of the old guard sat around the table disguised as well as they could be as peasants. There was something fine about their appearance and the way they carried themselves that was largely unmistakable. All but Berant, that is. The lanky knight was as slippery as a bard, somehow managing to fold and warp himself into whatever character he chose. It had made him popular with both Ignatio and the children Olivia tended who loved his stories.

    One or two of the others who joined them were compatriots of the old knights, but had been hardly older than Riga and Alfson at the time of the coup. They had the unmerited swagger and confidence that many of the riders' own number also possessed. Untested, as Byron liked to remind them all. Riga wondered if he would say the same after the princess's escape and the raid on the castle. Things were really beginning to move, and he wondered also how Horatia was faring with a bratty noble in her sights. She was probably the least patient of their quartet. Too bad he hadn't found the princess first. He was sure he could find the patience to spend time roaming the forests and streams with a beautiful princess on his arm.

    Alfson could not have possibly known Riga's thoughts, but the sharp elbow that interrupted his daydreaming seemed to indicate he might have all the same. Lifting one brow a bit at his friend's drifting attention, Alfson seated himself at the table while Riga propped himself against a nearby wall.

    A gruff voice complained of the lateness of the hour.

    "Give him time, Cairn," replied Berant lightly. "It would be foolish of him to rush as visible as he is. We have the luxury of being relatively unknown these days."

    The seated knight grumbled to the lanky one nearby, but said nothing further. It was perhaps a quarter of an hour when the door opened and in stepped Ignatio and one of his aides, trailed by Old Byron's man, Joaquim. The aide leaned beside Riga, nodding a greeting. The younger man grinned another Riga grin. Joaquim sat near to Ignatio's hand, clearly chuffed to be among the number of those afforded a seat at the table. Olivia came, bringing their meal and refilling cups before leaving a pitcher of ale and one of fresh milk.

    After good-natured banter and a little friendly sniping had passed and each had had a bite to eat, Ignatio dabbed at his lips before waving a hand about the room. "A little bird has suggested there might have been some mice taking advantage of an unwary cat in the night. I can't say I understand such things. Giving away the element of surprise is a bit of an overstep." Alfson nodded once silently from beside him. "I suggest any among you who has business in town conclude it and move along. Those who remain until the situation favours such little creatures will need to be particularly careful."

    The gruff old knight Cairn folded his arms, but slowly nodded as well. "You aren't the only one with plans, Ignatio, much as you might fancy you are. It was necessary. We've lost enough that all good men count."

    Ignatio gave a magnanimous shrug with an expression that suggested he was unconvinced this had been the best course. "As you say. Now that the kettle has been upset, what is the intention going forward?"

    Leaning over a map of the castle and adjacent town, Ignatio, Joaquim, and the Horsemen present listened as the knights took turns walking through the plans for the Resistance. After a few days time, when the king had stewed - and possibly raged - against their warning, it should be time to strike. By then they should have rallied their supporters from the far corners of Hymnascal and made ready to retake the throne. Before another full moon, King Aminan's house would once more be restored to the throne if their reckoning was right. There were things yet to address. Their cleverest minds had been hard at work to counter the might and weapons who some even yet believed to be magic.

    When questions had been asked and details clarified, the maps and plans were burned, the ashes swept up into a motley assortment of pouches to be taken away and disposed of elsewhere. As this was done, Ignatio clapped a hand on Joaquim's shoulder and gave him an encouraging nod. "Joaquim came to purchase Chateau Romani, a very fine year, for his master and your former commander, Byron. He has a very interesting tale to tell about our wayward Mare and the little filly she has adopted."

    Joaquim straightened his spine and nodded, recounting to them what little he knew of Horatia's visit. He did not have the full picture, but he was aware of a sense of importance that the news be delivered. Ignatio nodded approvingly and after some discussion about those retained from the workings of the night, it was agreed that letters would be sent from those who would remain and that Riga and Brand would escort the body of the late Shango Hast to his daughter. It would be impossible to rest him in the family crypts immediately, but after the Usurper was overthrown he might be reinterred with the honours he was due.

    Riga stopped Alfson mid-letter to inquire what he was doing. With a sad little smile, Alfson explained that he would be remaining with the old knights as an advisor of sorts. With Ignatio too high profile and most of the knights known to the king, he was in a unique position to act as both spy and council member to the Resistance heads. Riga knew he was well-suited to the task, but the idea of the four of them continuing apart sat badly with him. Still, he nodded and accepted Alfson's letters to Byron and Horatia. To Joaquim, Ignatio entrusted his own letter for Byron alongside one from Cairn.

    The knights were the first to leave, rising and excusing themselves before one or two at a time vacating the inn by different doors. After some time had passed, Alfson rose and joined the messenger boy headed to the castle himself, with a last farewell to Riga. He wished that he could speak with Brand again, but there was not time enough for that. Tabitha entered as he was going, nodding and smiling before floating back to the room with her adopted Uncle and the remnants of the clandestine meeting. She helped Olivia clear away and spoke light-heartedly despite the tension in the air. She would go about life as she always had, having little reason to hide. She made sure to include a basket of sweet jam and tarts, savoury and sweet, for Joaquim and the other men on their return journey to the friary, and kissed her uncle on the cheek before leaving again.

    It had felt more a rat-race than anything to do with mice, though the mouse hunt Balaser would launch would no doubt be memorable as well. Riga kicked a stone along the cobbled street into the earthen alley as he made his way along to the square where Ignatio's warehouse sat. The man had remained behind, playing ever bit the patron of the place and joking with Olivia and the other patrons who he plied with bread and drink. There was little unusual about the morning in almost every way, except that beneath it all nearly everything was changing.

    All too soon he had wandered through the stables, assisting Joaquim and loading up the cart with crates of wine and all the other items that Old Byron had asked him to obtain. Dutiful as always, the man had done an excellent job and was, by all accounts, a decent haggler when he put his mind to it. Brand's heavy frame sat atop his mountain of a mount, while Riga rode his own horse and led a laden mount behind him. Joaquim settled himself into the seat of the carriage and expertly navigated the tight streets towards freedom. When they reached the open road, having had no real trouble doing so, Riga glanced back once more at the gates to the town. So much had happened over such a small span of time. They had waited, they had been ready for this fight for so long... yet now that it was on them the air felt close and the tension of waiting for Balaser to react was like waiting for a lightning strike. His brows knit considering Ignatio's words. Regardless of the plan, they had kicked the hornet's nest. The next time, they would smoke Balaser from the comfort of the throne room to engage them.

    Brand's attention was on the carriage before them, the shrouded body of the last appointed knight of the Hast line hidden within. He was a man of few words, but even his typical gentle optimism was blunted by the knowledge of what they went to do. War was inevitable. Death would be inevitable also. That was all a consideration for another day, albeit a day soon coming. What lay before them on the road to the friary was the last bit of their little band's youth. Things would change, had already begun to do so. What this would mean for them, he couldn't say, but with Alfson left behind at the leading edge of the Resistance and Horatia ahead forced to play the waiting game, perhaps opposite to their preferences, this could only add to their troubles. He thought of the flash of Diana he had seen, their brief encounter the night of her escape and dearly hoped that she would prove the answer to the problem of kingship.



    Day 3 - Castle Halls, Mid-Morning


    A page ran nimbly through the tense castle halls, whispering around every corner quieting at any hint of news. Eyes followed him, and he felt skittish as the shadows dancing in torchlight seemed to stalk him from room to room. When he reached the throne room, he held a quick conversation with the Herald of Arms who blanched and shoved the boy forward. Resisting the push, he felt the King's beckon dig into his chest like a hook, sending his heart pulsing in his throat and his thin legs shaking as he obeyed the command to move near. He knelt, and as he repeated the message his young voice broke:

    "Archers, Your Majesty, in the night. The watchmen said they came out of the mists in the dark and... None of the prisoners on the walls survived."

    There had been a minor raid earlier in the day, which had been crushed by the knights and guards loyal to the king. Those who survived had been tortured, their broken bodies stripped as they were hung alongside Diana's servant, Grueta, from the high turrets of the castle's imposing walls. His message had been received; and the response was clear. They would come, would take aim at his throne in the dark if they could not wage war openly against him in the light. There was no army for the Great Usurper to conquer, only the unseen Resistance who could be anyone and anywhere at any time, dogging his treacherous steps like wolves awaiting his fall.

    Lip curling back in a sneer, the king's advisor began to wave the boy away.

    "There's more," he started with a hoarse shift of octaves. The advisor shot him a warning glance, but the king waved impatiently for him to continue.

    "Spit it out, then, brat."

    "S-Sire, the three men who survived the attack on the eastern gates have disappeared with the others commanded to the stockade. They... Th-they left them burning with..." He hesitated, afraid of his next words.

    "Out with it!" The king slapped his palm on to the wooden arm of the ancient throne, his large frame and war-like countenance at odds with the delicate craftsmanship and care that had gone into creating Hymnascal's seat of power.

    "There was a figure burning atop the platform where the stockades were placed. The whole platform seems to have burned up with it and the figure... was dressed in an imitation of your armour and wearing... a fool's crown."

    Its flopping felted points had been fixed with jingling bells that had tinkled in the side court as the flames shifted the smoking air. The boy swallowed again, thinking of the men covering their faces with damp cloths as they stamped out the last embers in the charred black-grey remains carcass of the raised stockade platform.

    As the boy's message had been delivered, a very tall man in Balaser's colours had made his way bowing on the fringes of the various clingers-on and advisors who ranged about the room observing. Appearing at the king's elbow at nearly the same moment was Alfson, pouring a cup and stepping back respectfully as the royal taster passed the cup onward to the king.

    "I'm afraid there's more, Your Majesty," Entoned the tall, thin man, throat bobbing as he cleared it and hesitated a moment. He stepped quickly beside the messenger. "Regarding the ahhh... goings-on this night passed. There seems to be some uncertainty about where it has gone and when it was last seen, but it would appear that the head and body of the late Shango Hast is missing."

    One of the king's advisors raised a question, "Missing? Taken?"

    "I would not presume to know, My Lord. When the square was cleared and everything was taken off for burning one of the carts seemed to be missing. The knight commander ordered the night soil carts and other trade carts from the town be searched, but the missing cart was not found. It is presumed that whoever has the cart was responsible for removing the remains."

    The shuffling of feet resounded in the quiet that followed his words, and everyone turned to see a sheepish groundskeeper twisting his hat in his hands. "Y'Majesty, ah, there's something you might wish to see. The woman, Grueta is gone, but something was left in her place..."

    The gasps around the court were audible, and the whispers began to rise like a tide behind columns and under tapestries, quickly carried through the halls and beyond by the wagging tongues of noble and servant alike. The cart was, of course, in a thousand pieces and burned up through the night over sympathetic hearths.
    Last edited by Alura; 03-10-2021 at 08:31 PM.

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

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    FRIARY COTTAGE, EARLY MORNING

    Damanius didn’t sleep well, despite the exhaustion he felt in his body. Waking up, every joint in his body felt still and delayed, like he was submerged under water. Even the struggle to push the heavy blankets off him as he sat up, letting the surroundings soak in. The budding headache behind his eyes didn’t help matters as he pushed himself off the bed, figuring the ale from last night had much to play in his grogginess, not helped along by the completely destroyed sleep schedule. Letting out a yawn that rolled through his body, Damanius waited by the bedside, watching the door for a moment, pondering what lay beyond it. The last night and day, stretching for what felt like months, had left him unsure of approaching the door. Beyond it held once again his freedom, and despite the joy he already felt yesterday, now it lay as quiet. The feelings were still there, eager and ready for him to take apart in it.

    Most of all though, he wanted to enjoy the quiet. It was a strange feeling, both a desire to be around others and celebrate his release of the castle, to wanting nothing to do with others, to savor the sun by himself. Letting another yawn roll through him, Damanius set about the small cottage, glad for the silence as he took the arduous task of dressing himself, setting everything back into place. He took into granted just how much Grueta really helped him, letting his mind drift back to her presence for the moment. She would never have replaced his mother and father, nor did she come close to his siblings when it came to family. She was family though, in an odd sense to him. Always there, a warm hand to guide him along. He pushed back the memories of the two of them, not wanting to voice any worries he had. They would be back to rescue her, and reclaim his throne. When it came time to reveal himself, he would make sure she was there, to be rewarded for all of her services and aid during those 8 years in the castle.

    Diana held a hand to her stomach as it rumbled, feeling both a queasy rumble through her pairing annoyingly with a parched throat. Deciding that the world was no longer going to wait, Diana pushed her way out into the yard, taking the first few steps as she shielded her eyes from the sunlight, cursing the night of drinking prior, just in time to nearly collide with one of the brothers. She was quick to stammer out an apology as the brother bowed to her, motioning towards the mess hall, the thin wisps of smoke signalling the morning mass. She responded in kind that she would be there, not feeling any need to rush for anything other than food. The thought of hunting down Horatia crossed her mind, but between last night and the fight in the cottage, decided it be best to let them both approach the day as needed. Diana wanted to enjoy these moments as she could, akin to the center of the storm. They had pushed through the worst of it, and right now they were staring down the eye of the tornado, and who knew what devastation lay in wait past them.


    CASTLE WALL, NOON

    “Get that damn sight off my castle walls! Burn the bodies, and drown the ashes in filth!” Sinal ordered his men, hatred intense enough to scare even the bravest of his soldiers. He turned back to the magpie, knowing its meaning well enough. The situation was all wrong, and he was being played for a fool! His blood boiled as he strode past his men, sun burning high in the sky as he felt the weight of his armor. The kidnapping of the princess was now more than some group wanting to parlay power. The message was laid bare, and he was more than willing to respond with complete destruction of this wasteland of a town. Despite his rage though, he knew better than to act on impulse. This wasn’t a coup from an allied nation, nor was this enemy from afar.

    It was a parasite from the inside.

    Followers of the bastard king Aminan, more than likely the old knights who had enjoyed the comforts of nobility and power they had wielded from before. Frustrated from losing their precious idiot of a king, unable to flaunt their ranks to the common folk and rabble of the borders, they wanted the old ways back.

    Sinal could still see the gleam of their teeth, riding atop prised horses as they watched over the southern border towns, slaying any peasant or knight who dared stand against them. How they had torched his homelands, salted the earth and poisoned the rivers when they fought for their own lands. The king had defiled his lands, and he would do everything to defile his history, even if it meant sowing himself into the bastard daughter of the Royal Mistress. He cared not for her, wanting to use her as nothing more than a street wretch, to bare him a son, then dispose of her corpse in the streets.

    WIZARDS TOWER, MID AFTERNOON

    “Ganondorf!” Sinal bellowed, pounding his way up the stairs, cutting the screams of a missing servant girl short. He took no time ascending the stairs, climbing through the tower grounds and eventually making his way towards the chambers. Not bothering to await the opening door, Sinal barged in, barely glancing his eyes across the defiled woman, shallow cuts splattering her chest as the wizard was busy adjusting himself.

    “Your Majesty, it is rare to see you so soon. May I ask, what brings you up here so soon?” The old man asked, dabbing away the sweat from his forehead and laying down the thin blades that he had been toying with. Sinal glared at the woman, disgusted by the woman's sight and the pity she begged of him.

    “Cover you shame, for I have a request. Your fetcher, the strange young girl I know you employ. I have need of her skills.” He spoke, motioning a hand towards the small chamber off to the side. Ganondorf frowned, grabbing a heavy blanket and tossing it over the weeping woman, shuffling his robe as he moved towards the door. Producing a set of keys, he unlocked the door and let it swing open, the soft lights playing through the covered windows.

    A thin woman stepped out, looking no older than the princess herself, yet unnerving herself. Baring the darkened skin of a southern commoner, she fixed her one good eye upon the king, dropping quickly to the ground in a deep bow. Her long red hair splayed out beneath her, the tiny frame unwilling to move as she awaited.

    “Rise Nabooru, the king has need of your services.” Ganondorf commanded, stepping back and giving Sinal room to move in. The man did so, looking down on the pathetic misery of the woman. He believed her and the old wizard related, their eyes holding the same color and their skin similar in tone. The girl was unnerving though, almost dead silent and frail, yet hiding a ferocity that frightened even him. He had seen first hand this woman fight, taking down a full armored knight with nothing but a dagger and her bare hands. Blending well into the background, Nabooru was hard to pick out of a line up, yet her one eye seemed to peer straight through you.

    “I need information from the rabble, and from one no one would expect. My knights have failed me, and even the peasant filth dare challenge me. To make a move now would be signing even more over, and I must be cautious. You can move where I cannot.” Sinal demanded of the child, looking to her for any signs of betrayal. She looked up, then, understanding in that dead eyed gaze that held him for but a moment.

    Slipping a small pouch from his pocket, he leaned down to the woman, holding it for her to grasp.

    “This here is a very powerful drug. Just one pinch, and people will spill their secrets to you. Find any who harbor ill will against me, and find who dare try and kill me.” Sinal ordered her, dropping the pouch into her hands and studying the acceptance in her eyes. With the mission given, Sinal left, leaving the two of them to their whims. As he approached the final door, he could just hear the screams starting up again as he left the tower.


    TOWN SQUARE, MID AFTERNOON

    “Here ye, here ye! By order of King Sinal, a curfew shall be started by the setting of the sun today. In response to the kidnapping of Princess Diana, and the threats on the life of King Sinal, any who are out beyond the setting sun shall be held in the gaols to await judgement.” The local crier began, gathering the attention of several people already.

    “Furthermore, any carriages and personages attempting to leave or enter the city must request permission from the captain of the guard, and must remain inside the castle barracks during their stay other than for trade or work. All shall be required to bring their own lodgings and comforts for their stay. Any found breaking these rules shall be sentenced to a fortnight in the gaols until the completion of the barracks. So says his majesty, King Simal!” The crier finished his proclamations, rolling up the scroll work as several people began to voice their opinions about the rules. Many spoke harshly before the soldiers began to break up the rabble, now wearing war time gear, shields now resting on their arms as security was tightened around the castle grounds.

    EARLY EVENING, OWL AND THISTLE THRESHOLD

    “Please, please can you let me in?” A timid voice called from the door, frantic pounding at the wooden grain of the door. The voice called out louder as one could hear the heavy steps of the soldiers getting closer, before one of the waitresses opened the door, the frail form of Nabooru standing at the entrance, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, clutching a small loaf of bread and two gold coins.

    “This way! I saw the girl escape down the alley!” The sounds of soldiers could be heard, drawing Nabooru's attention for just a moment, panic clear in the one eye not covered in bandages. The maid, her heart aching for the young woman barely out of childhood, motioned her inside, quietly closing the door as she ushered the young woman inside.

    “My dear, what has happened to you. You look moments from deaths grasp.” The maid asked the young girl, setting about cleaning the girl free of the smudge and dirt that clung to her face. The girl stood still, a small squeak and whimper as she was busied over, still clutching onto the bread and coin as though it was her very life, not trusting herself just yet to speak. It took a while for the girl to find her tongue, her body having relaxed enough to ease the tension of the room.

    “I, I just recently entered the town, as my Ma and Pa were killed … when the king … when he …” Nabooru spoke, her voice cracking with hiccups and threatening tears in the corners of her eyes.

    “Easy, dear, easy. It seems you’ve been on the streets some time. You must be one smart girl to have survived this long.” The maid spoke, praising the young girl as she pulled over a kitchen stool for her to sit on.

    “I .. I’ve been surviving off scraps and what I can get from the bushs. I … I found the coins alone, and thought I could use them to buy some fresh apples, but .. those guards started harassing me, demanding the coins and trying to throw me .. into jail.. Ididnothingwrong,Iswear! I found these.” Nabooru spoke quickly, her voice running into a jumbled mess of sound at the end. The maid, heart aching for the girl, shushed her while offering a cup of fresh water to soothe her.

    “I know, I know. There should be no reason to throw such a sweet girl like you in jail. Come now, I know just who you need to meet.” The woman spoke, taking the young girls hand and leading her further into the building, giving the girl a reassuring smile as they moved through the mostly empty tavern, the local drunkards and plenty of patrons resting about the place.

    It didn’t take much time before they stood before another bedroom turned office, a gentle knock as they opened the door.

    “Sorry to bother you so late Olivia, but .. I have someone here you should meet. I don’t mean to barge in like this, but I couldn’t help myself.” She spoke with a deep curtsy, motioning the young woman inside.

    “Hi miss Olivia, I’m sorry for disturbing you. My name is Nabooru.” The girl spoke, trying her best to mimic the maids movements, looking to the older woman with her one single eye.

    FRIARY, MAIN HALL, LATE EVENING

    Damanius sipped on his glass of wine, having enjoyed his day mostly in peace. He had come across Horatia at several points during the day, but he declined her presence, wishing for nothing more today than to be with his thoughts. Already he had plans of the future running through his mind, trying to put everything in place to return the kingdom to its former glory. They had given him plenty of problem, unwilling to put anything to parchment just yet, as not even the next day seemed set in stone.

    His head lifted as he heard the approach of horses and carriage, Old Byron having been absent since the afternoon. Joaquim had urged the team to move through the day, riding the high of having met so many knights of old tampered by the daunting news he had to bear to Horatia and the princess. He feared the horse riders anger, and wished any but himself would have to deliver the news this day. Thankfully he had Brand and Riga there, glad that they would be able to soften the anger that was sure to come.

    This was not going to be a good night…

    Last edited by Koti~; 03-11-2021 at 02:45 AM.

    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




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    Day 3 - The Friary, Early Morning

    Blearily blinking herself awake in the nascent light of day, Horatia breathed in the smell of hay and horses that hung like a blanket woven of the morning mists. A heavy weight sat on her chest and she snorted to find one of the cats that skulked about snagging fat mice and squirrels curled on top of her, its whiskers tickling her exposed throat. It stretched as she did, both for a moment made all of lolling tongues and pointed mitts before she rolled and deposited her uninvited companion into the straw. It was a simple matter to tidy away her makeshift bed, Capilet eyeing the feline that slunk its way off to its hunting with suspicion as she did so.

    Combing fingers through her wild hair, Horatia greeted the horse, patting his neck and leaning into him. It was far from the worst beginning to a day, and despite the lateness of retiring she felt infused with energy. A man or two from the friary moved about the stables tending to the other horses stabled there and one of them lifted a brow and shook his head as she passed by looking as rumpled as an old jute sack with remnants of hay poking from it. She stumbled in the direction of the nearest stream, intent on washing up and too impatient to wait for hot water that might not be prepared so early in the day in the main hall itself with so much other work underway.

    She had found her way along the unmarked but well-worn path easily, startling a little as she found Byron leaning against a tree smoking a pipe.

    "Afraid of having your vices confiscated again, Old Man?"

    "Amberlin seems to think his new-found piety somehow erases my memory of him prior to his vows." Byron groused good-naturedly, blowing out a ring of smoke with a huff.

    "Amberlin wants a long and healthy life for you, perhaps as revenge. Maybe not so pious after all, now you mention."

    Byron chuckled and Horatia smiled, both knowing Amberlin had always been as good a man as he was a fair-minded knight.

    Chafing her arm through the sleeve of her coat, Horatia dug the toe of one boot into the dirt of the path and ducked her head. "Why out so far, though? You smoke at your cottage all the time..."

    He tapped the bowl thoughtfully and took another long draw before replying, "Bit of a walk never killed anyone yet that I know."

    "Mm." She agreed, allowing a moment of silence to pass between them before jerking a thumb towards the sound of water over stone not all that far from them. "Off for a bit, wash up before breakfast."

    He nodded and she shifted her weight, peeling away toward the direction she had indicated. After a few steps, he called her name and she stopped, twisting the top half of her body to look back at him. Something in his expression made her turn all the way around and walk back to him. "Hm?"

    Chewing her lip and tugging her long sleeves over her hands nervously at his delay, she finally gave a nervous laugh and tucked some of her unruly hair behind one ear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

    Shrugging his broad shoulders, he dumped the contents of the pipe bowl and stood tall as he scraped at the deposit with his boot. "Oh, just could use some help with a few things today. Joaquim'll be back with supplies from Castle Town soon and might need some hands to unload also. Don't want to impose on our hosts."

    Byron regularly imposed on their hosts, so Horatia tilted her chin and pulled a face, laughing easily. "Right you are. I don't know why you are being so odd about it. Something else I should know?"

    The man glanced up at the canopy of trees above them before bringing his gaze back to hers, seeming more reflective today than usual. It was an unusual mood, but perhaps he had simply had too much wine the prior evening as he spun his yarns. Still, when he spoke again it was Horatia's turn to be reflective, "The world is about to grow smaller, Girl. You never really understand that until you've traveled beyond our borders. Serving the crown... There is a lot of sacrifice, but a lot of knowledge as well. Experience can be a hard teacher, but if you can hold to your convictions they will see you through to the end of anything. Do you understand?"

    Horatia narrowed her eyes a little and gave her head a little shake. "No, not really. Am I meant to?"

    Byron smiled at himself deprecatingly and shook his head. "I suppose not, no. Only... Try to remember it. Placing a crown on the girl's head will be more difficult than just killing one man. It's important for a man to know why he does the things that he does. Hard enough to live a code, even when things are simple. A country is one body of many people and there are many who would take the crown for themselves, each with their own reasons - not all right and not all wrong. Many people might see Balaser as just one bad seed in the same apple: there is no guarantee Diana will prove any better. There will be times when being 'right' is impossible. When she - or you - will make a decision that you must carry out even if you do not agree with it. When it is your responsibility, when you are one of the knights that keep her on the throne, you will need a better reason than legacy to defend her. Why is she any better than Balaser?"

    Expression mildly offended and confused at the implication of something so treasonous from the stalwart man, Horatia parted her lips to retort before he waved her again to silence. "You think you know a lot, but trust an old man who has experienced many things and lived it. We tell the stories people want to remember and keep the rest of them to ourselves: but there are five tragedies to every one of the glory tales we share. It will be a hard life and the work will only begin when King Aminan's heir is enthroned. Even royals make mistakes. Especially royals. Know yourself, what you believe in and why you conduct yourself the way you do. It will give you a measure of confidence to continue forward when there seems to be no path and allow you to act when things seem to go against you."

    He scratched his chin. "What your grandfather and father and bro-"

    "Easy-" Horatia warned.

    "What your brother chose," Byron insisted softly. "All of it is a part of who you have become, but they cannot be the definition of who you are any more than you could be that for each of them. You have your mother's temper, but not her sense at times."

    "Byron, why are we doing this now? Don't we have enough going on to stand about gabbing on chivalry and codes of conduct and knightly duty before half the damned larks have even started singing?" Balling her hands into fists, she scowled. "Have you heard something back from the Town already? Is Joaquim at his village?"

    Byron shook his head. "Nothing like that and I think you know I'd say it if so. Just a feeling in the gut. Even if all of the news from Castle Town is good, when the fighting starts there won't always be time to think: so think now."

    Confused about the serious tenor of his conversation and annoyed at having her calm morning invaded with such strange advisements, Horatia breathed out in frustration, doing her best to muffle the edge of a laugh. "Alright then, Uncle. Unknown news may be good or bad. When Diana is queen, hold my breath to be knighted and then do my job 'confidently and actively'. Glad we managed to hammer that out."

    Shaking his head, Byron waved a hand at her and let out his own sigh. "Mmhm. Think on it, Horatia."

    "Alright, Uncle."

    They stared at each other for a moment, his face a well of compassion and hers a half-facetious, half-suspicious sketch of thin amusement. It was, perhaps, a conversation nearly every person would have at least once in their life with an elder. Good intentions on all sides, but the two were simply unable to bridge their positions in conversation. She knew he must be worried, to speak like this, something more than his usual advice. For now, however, it was entirely lost on her and try as she might it made her defensive.

    He, for his part, saw that today or someday soon the reality of battle, perhaps of war, would be upon them. He hoped she would not allow her temper to lead her head away from the rest of her purely because of a rash decision. Following one's own heart was for young lovers and fools, not knights - not that it had a habit of panning out for anyone. She would no doubt have taken issue with the comparison, but the same stubborn streak that made her tenacious also made her reckless. He hoped she might find a better balance before it sent her on a course behind her brother. They had been close, and he had been valiant: neither of which brought her comfort. In fact, despite the many years they had known one another he could not recall her ever mentioning his name or the man at all.

    The horsewoman waited politely as he tucked his pipe into a pouch and began his uneven walk back towards the friary cottages. She tried to read his meaning in his departing back, but the more she thought about it the more puzzled she became. Blowing out a breath as he rounded a curve in the path, she tramped onward to the stream where she scrubbed away her irritation and rinsed it from her hair in the cool waters.

    She was much refreshed when she returned to the hall, and nodded good morning to the princess who seemed wrapped in her own thoughts also. What was happening around the place that everyone was suddenly so pensive? She ate more than her fill, palming a couple of apples for Capilet and Morgan when Byron found her again and instructed her to go collect tallow from the neighboring village and a few commissions from the blacksmith there. She carried a knife and some line with the intention of stopping by the tributary for a bit of fishing before her return. Perhaps it would improve her mood and allow Capilet to have his fill of the watercress that grew up around the spot.



    Day 3 - Castle Town Square

    One of Ignatio's aides, the same who had attended him that morning in the little secret gathering in the Owl & Thistle, bent to speak to two urchins who scattered off in two directions on their way to share the news. The hawk-like eyes and perennially calm expression never waivered, but he moved carefully nearer and gave the hint of a bow to the highest ranking member of the guard he could see and extended the offer of his master's table and the promise of good drink to the man and his men that evening. Ignatio was well-known for being a generous host and, the aide hoped, his loyalty to the will of the Usurper-King would be apparent by his calm support of the newly-instated defenses.



    Day 3 - Owl & Thistle, Early Evening

    Olivia was drying her hands on a cloth she kept tucked at her apron when one of the maids rapped at her door. She turned as the woman entered, brows drawn a little as she let herself in and lifting slightly as the child appeared beside her.

    A half-eaten plate of food stood on a table behind her that also held the current records like the tally and supply books. A small bag of coins spilled onto the table, possibly in preparation for paying out the staff. She glanced to the maid and said, "I thought you had gone home. Not safe to go out again now."

    Lowering herself to the eye level of Nabooru, Olivia rested her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Let's have a look at you then, Nabooru." She regarded the bandaging on the girl's face with a frown.

    "What happened here, Child? Are you lost?" Looking over the girl's head she addressed the maid, "Go fetch her something to eat from the larder. Bit of butter left for her bread and you might take a bit of the porridge as well. Won't be any milk 'til morning, but water down some wine for her."

    She looked back to Nabooru who she had not yet given time enough to answer her and added. "Rooms are full tonight, but you can stay with one of the maids and her little girl until the curfew lifts and we'll find you something better to eat in the morning."

    She raised her voice after the maid, "And fetch an extra blanket! She'll stay in with Zora and her daughter Ruto to sleep for now."

    Rising back to her own height, Olivia placed her hands on her hips and looked down at the child expectantly. "Well, let's have it then. Are y'runnin' away from someone? Anyone in the town we can help you back to tomorrow?" Her questions were blunt, but her eyes were kind as they were sharp.




    Day 3 - Friary Main Hall, Late Evening

    When Horatia returned to the friary, dusk was already settling in over the trees. She had not meant to be away so long, but it seemed that Byron had had more business to be managed in the village than he had let on, which required her to spend most of the day running about on errands and waiting for the tradesmen to complete their tasks. When she had finally gotten free she had purchased some sugar beets and a handful of blackberries and enjoyed the luxury with Capilet on the banks of the tributary. The fishing had not been particularly good, but a few middling-sized bream had been baited by the fat brown worms she had scrounged for the purpose.

    Abandoning the pole she had cut from soft wood and winding the line away for later use after she had caught herself nodding off in the grass, she had set their course for the brothers' home and arrived to the smoke curling from the kitchens. The scent of meat pies made her mouth water, and she quickly tended to Capilet and left him with the last beet as she headed back to the hall. The brothers had been hard at work, the meat pies accompanied by soup, cheese, cabbage, and even little apple cakes accompanying what appeared to be a sort of quiche. It was as good a feast as any festival and she looked around anticipating Joaquim and Byron. Byron stood near the fire with one hand leaning heavily on the mantel, having made his way in far later than usual and saying little. Her eyes glanced over Diana who still seemed preoccupied, nursing her wine.

    Navigating the working friars, Horatia set her fish atop a table proudly and was quickly and silently chided for it. She was directed outside the little side door leading into the kitchen where she perched on a little stool and began to clean her catch so that the brothers could add it to their preparations. Her stomach growled and she glanced through the open door at the hurrying cooks like a feral cat being denied scraps. Amberlin, noticing it, paused only a moment before walking on and laughing quietly. Horatia just watched his receding back pitifully, her stomach complaining again.

    Byron rolled his fingers together and took a deep drink of ale as he gazed into the fire. He had expected it might take some time for Joaquim to make it back to them, but it was far later than he anticipated. The friars had delayed their welcome reception as long as they could, but he had granted them leave to go ahead with them. Even if the youth had not returned, there needed to be something to lift the flagging mood within the little settlement. He turned to seat himself, pausing only to refill Diana's wine with a fatherly smile. His fingers plucked an apple from the bowl and he bit into it as a bowl of soup was served to him. In short order, Diana had been served also and Horatia had been allowed to wash up and join them after her contribution to the meal was ended. A boiled fish accompanied by a few small potatoes was placed before them.

    They ate in relative silence, Byron unusually lost in his own thoughts and Horatia happy with the day and uncertain how to break the quiet after the morning's unusual encounter with the man as she shoveled food into her at her usual timbre. Setting aside his bowl and reaching for one of the little apple cakes, Byron smiled and opened his mouth to address Diana. His effort was delayed as the door of the hall flew open and a friar came rushing into the room, eyes roaming those gathered. The travelers had left their company earlier in the day leaving only familiar faces in the holy place, but something in the man's look was a little less than the usual calm for which the brothers were renowned. When he finally caught Byron's eye, they exchanged a quiet look before the larger man rose and followed the robed brother back into the dark. Horatia had stopped chewing with her mouth still half-full and gazed after them for a moment before glancing at Diana and rising, leaving the rest of her food untouched as she dusted off her hands and loped out behind them. Beyond Byron she could see a large man mounted beside Byron's carriage and the smaller frame with a swagger that could only belong to Riga.

    She let out a low, hooting bird call and waited. For a long moment there was no response, and she cocked her head, breaking into a grin as she picked up her pace. She darted between Byron and the friar, throwing an arm around Riga's shoulders and mussing his hair. When she finally saw his face in the faint light from the hall, her smile faded. She looked around her, seeing Joaquim lowering himself to the ground with them and Brand looming familiarly beside them. Her heart swelled to see them safe, but she noted Alfson's absence.

    "Is Alfson at the village? What's with the long faces? You've all had longer rides." She tried to force a grin back to her face, but Riga's protracted silence spoke volumes and Byron had yet to speak as well. She scratched her chin nervously. "If you're that exhausted I'm sure I can manage carrying a few things into the hall. Getting a little slow in your old age, hm?”

    “Have to set up in a different cottage, though. Outranked by another guest."

    Horatia knew that she was running on, but despite being aware of it she suddenly couldn't stop speaking. Something told her that when she did, someone else might actually begin, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that to happen.

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

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