#JARON/TOBIAS IMOGEN/AMARINDA FIC??????????

[ascendanceseriesveteran]

Aftermath 🌹

Honestly, I've lost a lot of creativity and I don't have any good fic ideas that won't turn to shit.

Will welcome any prompts.

Got a bit spicy at the end sorry not sorry 💅

Don't have your hopes up.

The carriage rocked to a stop and I dared to look outside. Lyriad was one of the towns occupied by the Avenians, but, to my greatest surprise, I wasn't greeted with burning buildings or a ravaged landscape. Everything was relatively untouched and the inn seemed busier than we expected.

"Are they seriously that desperate for ale," Roden groaned. Which I thought was ironic given he laid waste to the castle supply frequently.

"These are probably the people who lost their homes and had nowhere to go," I said.

Someone gently tapped my shoulder, but I didn't need to turn to know who, "Maybe we should just camp out." Imogen was whispering, but everyone heard her anyway.

I turned to her. Aside from the admittedly embarrassing fact that looking at her practically winded me every time. And not because I would twist around suddenly but simply because she was so breathtaking and even her scent alone made my heart pound in my ears. Aside from all that, she didn't seem particularly uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping outside voluntarily, something that made me fall in love with her all over again.

"It's my duty to ensure the King isn't sleeping on the floor, Imogen."

I chuckled at Roden, "Since when do I care where I sleep. Actually, since when do you care?"

"I'm not asking if you care, I'm simply stating that it's not happening if I can help it. Imogen shouldn't have to sleep on the floor either. And you also forget that a princess is sitting across from you."

"A princess," Amarinda interrupted, "Who is perfectly capable of sleeping on the floor as well."

"Imogen was shot, Jaron is practically a cripple, my neck still hurts and if Tobias doesn't get some proper food he'll probably die from malnourishment." After successfully insulting the young physitian, Roden smiled and left the carriage before anyone could stop him.

I didn't protest. In all honesty I longed for something resembling a bed and a roof over my head. Not a heap of cloth in a tent. My entire body ached and my leg throbbed with betrayal. Even with half of Imogen's body against mine, I could feel the air's chill. Sleeping under the stars tonight would have been about as romantic as sleeping in stables. Both had drawbacks that I didn't want to be subjected to. Nor did I want Imogen to endure that, though I knew she was capable of anything, her comfort was a priority for me.

A few minutes of silence lapsed before my captain joined us again, "There were three rooms but I only took two. Thought we need one person capable of defence in each so I'll stay in the one with Tobias and Amarinda."

Tobias glared, "I can fight too, you know."

The up and down Roden gave was enough to make Tobias snap, "I'll have you know I wounded someone in battle."

"Who, yourself?"

"You know what, you are such an-"

"Boys."

They blanched. I thought it rather unfair that they simply listened to Imogen without protesting, but said nothing about how they didn't extend that same courtesy to their literal monarch.

I stepped outside and twisted around to help Imogen down, placing my hands on her waist and carefully setting her on the dirt.

"You know I have fully functioning legs," she kissed my cheek, "Something you can't boast at the moment."

"Let me savour this. Besides, I have fully functioning arms, might as well put them to good use."

"Do you have fully functioning lips as well?"

My grin widened, "Is that an insult or a challenge?"

I was worried she regretted our kiss in Connor's dungeon and kept my distance since. Secretly replaying the moment every other minute. But as she raised herself onto her toes and pulled me down to her, I melted. There was a hint of sweetness from the berries she was eating throughout the carriage ride. I had been watching them tint her lips red. Now I was tasting a fantasy, even more divine than I thought reality would ever grant me.

"He has something else that is fully functioning too."

It was like someone poured a bucket of water on us. I glared at Roden, hoping he understood the depth of my resentment for him. Resentment was better than humiliation. One day I would kill him if I didn't die in this moment, right now.

Though I wasn't sure what would kill me first, embrassment or Imogen. But she just gave me a once-over, bit her lip and burst out laughing as my face grew hotter than the sun. Embarassment it was then.

[enchanted-prose]

#14 She Holds the Key in Her Hand

my beta loved this chapter :,)

Word count: 5,218

Characters: Tobias, Imogen, Princess Amarinda, Mott, Renlyn (Original character), Feall (Original character), Jolly (Original character), Roden, Jaron

Notes: edited. im excited to see reactions.

Enjoy!

The atrium was large enough for a group of people, but small enough not to feel empty. Shelves lined the round walls, and the ceiling was made entirely out of glass. Plants, books, and small collected trinkets rested in odd places. Couches and padded chairs of all designs had been placed strategically around the massive fireplace. A massive rug kept the chairs a safe distance from the fire, which illuminated a series of paintings.

It was a treasure among the castle’s numerous libraries.

Renlyn had been responsible for most of the furnishings. She'd managed to turn a stern room into one of the most favorite places in the castle for Jaron’s inner circle.

"That's nice," Tobias said, gesturing to the book covers Amarinda, Imogen, and Renlyn were embroidering.

Imogen’s creampuff of a kitten opened a single green eye, stared at Tobias, and settled back against Imogen’s arm.

"Thank you, I suppose, but my embroidery has always been severely lacking," Amarinda teased, holding up her mediocre book cover. "I refuse to give up."

"I think you've improved," muttered Renlyn.

Amarinda feigned offense as everyone in the room began nodding.

Tobias kept his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out of the tower window. He kept hearing pieces of Amarinda’s conversation, but couldn’t contribute.

It was an unspoken pact that each time there was a regents’ meeting, Amarinda and Imogen would gather all information possible, and discuss it with each other while they tended to their needlework. Renlyn had been invited, but no husbands were allowed to participate.

Eventually, Tobias earned the right to be in the same room during a needlepoint session, and did his best not to encroach on the discussions.

"Very true, I still remember some of your earliest designs," Imogen yawned.

"Play fair, I was a child at one point."

"As were we all,” Imogen mused. “Except Renlyn, I suppose"

“I emerged from the womb fully grown, it’s true.”

Amarinda snorted, and pulled her needle free from its thread. She frowned. “I do wish I’d stop doing that.”

“Perhaps you should consider a longer tail?” Renlyn gestured to the long thread dangling from her own needle.

“Be careful with a longer tail, it sometimes causes the string to knot,” added Imogen.

Tobias, who didn’t know much about the art of embroidery, turned to one of the shelves. His practice fippler stared at him from its dusty pedestal.

Several weeks ago, Jolly had made his home in one of the many rooms in the castle, and offered to teach Tobias the fippler.

However, Tobias was a natural disaster when it came to certain instruments, and he made no point in practicing after Jolly left to perform for a Lord’s daughter’s wedding in the northwest corner of Carthya. The fippler knew Tobias’s sin.

He picked it up, and wriggled some of the pieces. Tobias blew a series of extremely off key notes through the mouthpiece. Imogen’s cat hissed and ran beneath her skirts.

The cringe he wore rivaled the crown of garbage that adorned some of the Vault entrances.

In practicing the fippler, Tobias failed to notice how close Amarinda, Renlyn, and Imogen had gotten. The veil and circlet Renlyn wore over her hair hid both Renlyn’s and Imogen’s faces. Amarinda drew her head back from the secret conversation, a smile on her face.

Don’t eavesdrop, don’t eavesdrop, don’t eavesdrop.

Ah! He could quietly play the fippler and look at all of the trinkets on the shelves. Many of them weren’t Carthyan, and even more of them had been made by Jaron, Imogen, and Fink.

The most beautiful image was a bird made from the outline of a hand, the thumb outline served as a head, and the other four outlined fingers served as colorful feathers. Jaron’s signature took up the entire bottom portion of the image.

Tobias flinched as a loud, pitchy squeal escaped from the fippler.

All members of the embroidery trio looked at him. His ears burned.

Jolly was going to kill him for abusing the instrument.

Unable to continue mistreating the fippler, for both his sanity, the women’s sanity, and the fippler’s sanity, Tobias set the instrument down on another shelf. He’d have to pick up practicing later.

Tobias took a step onto the rug and turned around himself. Shelves of books, bottled flowers, angry wooden knights Roden and Jaron used to throw at each other; the atrium was filled with hints of his friends.

Without the fippler, Tobias wasn’t distracted from Amarinda’s conversation.

He couldn’t stop himself from catching strings of phrases.

Certain words stuck out; words like “Blackberry Night”, and “Mandatory”.

Don’t intrude, Tobias, don’t intrude. They invited him to be in the same room because he didn’t feel the need to stick his nose into their business.

“- it wouldn’t be difficult,” Renlyn chuckled. “The decorations can be reused.”

Amarinda hummed, “But do they match our preferred color palette?”

“Do the colors even need to match the color palette?” Imogen asked.

Don’t intrude, don’t intrude.

Both Renlyn and Amarinda gasped, and then shushed each other.

All three of them were plotting. Tobias peered over his shoulder, only to make eye contact with Amarinda. He flung his gaze back to the window and prayed his flushed face would soon return to normal.

“Tobias?” Amarinda wore a charming smile. “Do you want to join our circle?”

“I thought I’d never get an invit-! Yes, I would love to join your circle, I appreciate your offer,” he said, bowing his head ever so slightly.

“I brought up Jaron’s stance on Blackberry Night,” Imogen explained. She and Renlyn inched away from Amarinda. “We decided we’ll take care of the party ourselves.”

“Thank you,” Tobias said as he sat down by Amarinda, grateful for the space Renlyn and Imogen had made for him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He recognized the proud look on Renlyn’s face. It was the look of a woman who knew how much power she had. The corner of her mouth turned up, the closest to a smile Tobias had ever seen from her. “Not exactly. I’ll be providing decorations for the castle. We’ve decided that we’ll require a series of colors for everyone to wear; the decision to host Blackberry Night has been a little short notice, and a lot of nobles wouldn’t be able to find something new to wear in time.”

“Ah, I see. I suppose I can help get the word out.”

Amarinda nodded, “I’ve agreed to help set up the decorations.”

“Our goal is to set up as much as we can before Jaron notices,” Imogen explained. “He puts a lot on his shoulders, and it’s only fair that we help him.”

“And I’m the one paying for Blackberry Night, not the crown, so our lovely king and queen don’t need to worry about the cost,” Renlyn sat a little straighter.

Sometimes Tobias forgot just how much wealth the Karises had. Renlyn didn’t enjoy discussing her assets outside of a business transaction.

“How long will it take you to get the decorations here?” Amarinda asked, setting her embroider on her lap.

Renlyn smirked, “Not very long at all, I have a residence not far from here, and I can always rent.”

Tobias tilted his head, “What exactly do you want to see done?”

“Trellises, blackberries hanging from the ceiling. I’d very much like Blackberry Night to look like a dream.”

“A dream? Amarinda is an expert when it comes to creating an atmosphere, you won’t be disappointed, Lady Ren.”

“Oh, I know, and if I am, I’ll redo everything by myself.”

She continued to explain that she wanted the magic of the party to stretch out as far as it could. Those who weren’t nobility would have their own rustic celebrations, and Renlyn wanted to be able to experience that same concept without having to take a tumble through leech filled mud. An army of farmers were awaiting her call to bring harvested berries and branches to the castle.

The entire castle was to be decorated, and it needed to be at least halfway done before Jaron returned from checking in on Feall.

Something was nagging at the back of Tobias’s mind.

Something important.

“Renlyn, how can you even afford this?” He asked, racking his brain for everything he knew about the Karises.

It wasn’t much.

She waved her hand, “I know how to make a profit.”

A profit. Tobias wrinkled his nose, there had to be more to it than that.

He wondered if the current unrest following the name Mireldis Thay had anything to do with Lady Renlyn Karise.

No amount of courage could motivate Tobias to blurt that out to the world.

“So it’s settled, we’re setting up as much as we can over the next two hours?” Imogen asked, a devilish glint sparkling in her tea-colored eyes.

“Oh, absolutely,” Renlyn winked. “Call in the page outside, I’ll send word to my staff. They’ll be excited to get involved.”

“I do have to recommend that we bring in fake pools. Queen Danika did that for her daughter’s birthday, and they were quite popular,” said Amarinda as she reached for Tobias’s hand.

“That-, that really would add a little extra something to Blackberry Night.”

Tobias grinned as he pictured Renlyn’s splendid plan for Blackberry Night. He’d always avoided participating in Blackberry Night while he was younger; many people used Blackberry Night to drink barrels and barrels of bees wine and lead wild hunts for fairies. It was a fool’s holiday, but a welcome one.

A tradition among young couples was to take a bouquet of flowers, wrap them together, and write a secret wish to tie to the wrapping. You’d take the bouquet and your secret wish with you to one of the many dances, find your partner, and hold onto the bouquet as you danced to light jigs and reels. The longer you held onto your bouquet, the more likely your wish would come true.

When the church bells rung at midnight, you and your partner would rush to the Roving River, and throw your bouquet into the water.

It was your choice whether or not you’d tell your wish to your partner.

Although in certain cases, certain wishes could be fulfilled during the remainder of Blackberry Night. Typically, these wishes led to rushed weddings and a series of babies born in the spring.

“Excited for Blackberry Night, love?” Amarinda asked, reaching over to brush her fingers over Tobias’s curls.

“We’ll see, I might have to tend to the drunken nobles who’ll try to punch their way through stained glass,” Tobias snickered. He looked back at Amarinda, studying her every feature. “Although. . . I do know of a few favors I can call in if needed.”

“I’d like that; I’d hate to be stuck with Roden as a dance partner again.”

“Why? Does he step on your toes?”

She laughed, “He’s a skilled dancer, surprisingly enough, but he’s not my husband.”

Tobias reached for Amarinda’s hand, and kissed her fingers, “I’ll pull strings, you’ll have a dance partner for Blackberry Night.”

“Then I’ll find a bouquet of flowers to throw.”

“Does that mean you’re writing the wish this year?”

“Absolutely,” Amarinda smiled. “And I won’t tell you what it is.”

“Are you sure?” Tobias stuck his bottom lip out as far as he could.

“You won’t get a single word out of me.”

The bounce of her red-brown curls captured all of Tobias’s attention as she threw back her head to laugh. Amarinda was a creature of grace and poise, and Tobias couldn’t stand the thought of his life without her.

Somebody was calling his name- probably Renlyn.

He didn’t care.

He could spend an eternity watching every flick of Amarinda’s hands.

The conversation continued without him.

“Right, as I was saying,” Renlyn wrinkled her nose. “My workers will be here within the hour. Amarinda, you’re welcome to include Tobias in decorating the main hall. Imogen, I take it you can handle the cooks?”

Imogen nodded, “They’ll be more than happy to spite Jaron in a way that won’t get them into serious trouble.”

“I suppose that’s good.”

“To clarify, we’ve decided on creams, pinks, and golds for the dress code?” Amarinda asked, excitement sparkling through her hands.

Tobias could sense the energy she carried.

He waited for Renlyn’s confirmation, and shared a smile with Amarinda. A ball was much needed at Drylliad. They’d be able to dance around the floor and forget the Faola, Mireldis Thay, and Oberson’s meddling hands for a few hours.

They’d be able to throw a bouquet and a secret wish into the Roving River and hope it comes true.

There were a handful of wishes always lingering in the back of Tobias’s mind, but he knew eventually their time would come.

It was a matter of being patient.

“Do you, ah,” Amarinda’s voice dropped. “Want to find a nice corner with me?”

“A nice corner? We’re in a nice- oh! That kind of corner!” Tobias chuckled, his ears burning as he realized what Amarinda was hinting at.

“I take that as a yes?”

“It better not be a corner where I can see you,” Renlyn gagged. “So childish.”

Renlyn’s obvious discomfort at the possibility of catching Tobias and Amarinda tenderly wrapped in an embrace drew a series of giggles from Imogen. She smiled, “It’s only childish if you get caught. I strictly remember seeing you with-“

“That’s not important!”

“Does Renlyn have a secret admirer?” Amarinda widened her eyes, plastering a mask of utter shock on her features.

“I most certainly do not! I have better things to do with my time!”

“Kissing is a good thing to do when you have the time,” Tobias teased. “Especially when you have the right partner, speaking of which. . .”

Renlyn jumped to her feet, “Don’t! No, no, no! I don’t want to see that!”

Tobias pressed a kiss to Amarinda’s nose, “See this?”

“No, I think she means this,” Amarinda explained, leaning in to kiss Tobias’s smile.

The cry of frustration Renlyn made only made Imogen laugh harder, which made Amarinda laugh, and then lead to Tobias’s burst of laughter too. Renlyn stood up, embroidery in hand, and bowed.

“I’ll be meeting with my staff, send a page if you have any questions,” she spat. “And if I find out the decorations aren’t taken care of because the two of you are off in a corner unable to keep your hands to yourselves, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Ren, we’re just teasing you,” Amarinda’s laughter was contagious, her smile lit up the room.

“Whatever, I’m trusting you to stick to your duties.”

“And I promise neither Tobias nor I will disappoint.”

“Is this the conclusion to Drylliad’s first party planning committee meeting?” Imogen asked, laughter twinkling in her eyes.

“Consider this meeting adjourned, we’ll return to further discuss our plans in a few hours’ time,” Renlyn bowed her head, clasped her hands behind her back, and left the atrium

“Party planning committee?” Tobias couldn’t contain his laughter.

Imogen shrugged, “We needed an official name, ‘Sisters of the Book Embroidery Circle and Tobias’ doesn’t really work.”

“Does this mean we’re going to go behind Jaron’s back when he says he’ll think about throwing parties?” Amarinda wrinkled her nose. “I’m in, especially if party funds come from our purses rather than Carthya’s.”

Amarinda was proving her promise to Renlyn only half an hour later; after she and Tobias had finished in their private corner of course.

Tobias had witnessed battle firsthand, he’d been subject to various types of terrors, and he’d seen many a grisly sight while working with the royal physician.

His precious wife had the strength of a military commander when it came to planning a party.

Her troops were the artisans and servants standing at her feet. Half of them held themselves like cornered mice, and the other half gawked at Amarinda. Her ability to capture any crowd’s attention was a talent not many people had.

“My lady, traditionally, Blackberry Night is much less detailed,” explained a larger gentleman.

Tobias wasn’t exactly sure what position the large gentleman held.

“No, no,” Amarinda shook her head. “I don’t think you understand, it’s vital that we stick to pinks, golds, and creams. This should be treated like a gala, not a barn dance.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to add, Amarinda was handling the situation on her own. He’d rather remain silent than hold her back.

So he watched his wife command her troops.

Amarinda motioned for several servants carrying baskets of brambles to stand before her. She instructed them to put the brambles around the base of every column in the great hall. With that taken care of, Amarinda began instructing the next group.

Watching her was fascinating. Tobias continued to stand behind her, watching as the great hall slowly began its transformation.

When he was younger, his grandmother brought him wondrous books of fairies and knights. Tobias could remember that one of the books was painted, and bore pictures of a magnificent fairy kingdom.

By the time Renlyn, Amarinda, and Imogen were done with the castle, Tobias was certain he’d see that fairy kingdom in person.

“Do you think Renlyn will take care of the lights? She didn’t give me specific instructions, and I’d hate to mess up her grand vision,” Amarinda said, reaching back for Tobias’s hand.

“I think it’s alright,” he shrugged. “She trusts you enough to do this.”

Was it wrong that Tobias was slightly shocked that Renlyn was even allowing Amarinda, Imogen, and himself to help with her plans?

He’d grown to be on better terms with her, but Tobias knew how important order was to Lady Renlyn Karise. Trusting others to maintain that order wasn’t always an easy choice.

Tobias would know. He’d rather do things on his own than trust the other physician’s apprentices to do the same task.

The front doors burst open, and a trio of men stumbled in.

Odd, Roden and his friends rarely slurred around drunk during the day. Was that Mott with them?

Tobias rolled his eyes, returning his attention to Amarinda and the task at hand. It wasn’t his responsibility to limp Roden and whoever else up to their rooms. They were grown men, and Tobias didn’t want to play nursemaid any longer.

“By the Saints-,” Amarinda gasped, shooing the servants away. “Tobias, Tobias! Look!”

“It’s only Roden, I think he managed to drag Mott to a tavern this time,” he waved his hand.

Amarinda’s voice went small, “That’s Jaron, Tobias, not Roden.”

It clicked into place, almost. The realization wasn’t quite there, similar to the way not every toy’s pieces fit together when assembled by a child.

Roden was shoving his way through the small crowd that had gathered around Mott, and was pushing them back as Harlowe ducked under Jaron’s arm. Feall had his arm wrapped around his torso, supported by Mott.

Vomit stained Jaron’s trousers.

His skin was paler than the freshly washed sheets out in the courtyard.

Tobias recognized the lines of pain on Jaron’s face. The creases in between his brows grew deeper as Jaron fought off tears. Jaron didn’t have any outer injuries.

This was much worse.

“Get him upstairs!” Tobias barked, his voice not his own. “Mott, tell me what happened, spare me no details.”

“Faola attack,” Mott grunted, and transferred half of Feall’s weight to Roden’s outstretched arms. “He was asking for Feall, Jaron attacked, the Faola got a kick at Jaron’s right leg and sent him straight down. Commander Regar managed to hold the Faola off long enough to escape, but Feall is sporting an-”

“Take care of the king!” Feall growled. “I was foolish to trust you Carthyans with this matter, and now Regar is dead!”

Roden was practically carrying Feall, “Did you see Regar fall?”

Mott shook his head, “Regar is in danger, Roden, I can handle carrying Feall up to the physician’s chambers, but you need to save Regar. Check by the Vaults, lower Drylliad.”

“Don’t let either of them die, Tobias,” Roden grunted. “I’ll be back.”

Faces of shock passed. Tobias ordered the physician’s apprentices out of the chamber, and instantly began shuffling through herbs and poultices. Imogen soon joined him, and began grinding various herbs into powder.

She was pouring the mixture down Jaron’s throat within seconds.

Tobias began patting down Jaron’s ankle, checking for broken bones. He couldn’t see any evidence of breakage, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any damage.

“Imogen?” Tobias asked, gesturing to Jaron’s thigh. “Any breaks?”

She shook her head, “None that I can feel. Hand me a knife, I can cut through the trouser leg.”

“You’re being awfully calm.”

“My anger is balancing my hysteria, Tobias. I promise you’ll see my temper very soon.”

Her threat carried too much weight.

Her tea-colored eyes so full of kindness turned to stone all too easily.

“Come- come here,” Jaron murmured, sweat trailing down his temples. “Imogen-.”

“Keep quiet, I promise I’ll listen,” Imogen swore, she quietly gestured to the shears on Tobias’s worktable.

Shears in hand, Tobias began cutting away Jaron’s trouser leg, tossing aside the vomit covered fabric each time he finished with it.

“I know- I know who- ah!”

“Sorry, found the bruise,” Tobias choked, gesturing to the foot sized shadow on Jaron’s thigh.

He’d never heard Imogen swear that profusely before.

“The Faola did this to you?” Imogen murmured, her hands balling into fists.

“I suppose he didn’t like my sense of-,” Jaron coughed. “My sense of humor. But that’s not what I need to-”

Tobias frowned at Jaron’s bruise, “He needs to stop talking.”

“I think I know who Mireldis Thay is!”

“Imogen, he’s getting delirious-”

“Let me speak To- ow!” Jaron flung his head back against his pillow. “Curse this-!”

Jaron’s forehead was slightly warmer than usual, but not dangerously hot. His ramblings cut through the chamber as Tobias left Imogen at Jaron’s bedside, and returned with a damp cloth for Jaron’s forehead.

He once again swore that he knew who Mireldis Thay was.

“Where’s Ren?” rasped Jaron.

“She’s busy,” Tobias said. “And you need to rest. Your leg is bruised, but not broken. You’re to lay low for the next few days.”

“There’s too much to do!”

“You’ll have to trust us to take care of it then. We’ll put on Blackberry Night in your absence.”

“Tobias!”

“Imogen’s in on it too!”

That earned him a pair of angry glares. Imogen frowned, and dabbed at Jaron’s forehead, “You need to lay back, Jaron. Can you do that for me?”

The fire in Jaron’s eyes was clouded with pain, even Tobias could see that. He grumbled a complaint, but finally settled back into the pillows.

Mott lingered in the back of the chamber, and gestured for Tobias.

Imogen had finally managed to capture Jaron’s attention. His gaze was glued to her face. Every so often, Imogen brushed a stray curl from his damp forehead.

They didn’t need Tobias’s company.

“Do you think Regar will be alright?” Tobias asked as he stood next to Mott. He pressed a hand over his heart, hoping the motion would force himself to calm down.

“Count to ten, time sped up for a moment,” Mott murmured. “Does it always feel that rushed when somebody comes needing medical attention?”

One, two, three. . .Tobias inhaled. Four, five, six. . . Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out.

The stakes were different in Jaron’s case because not only was he Tobias’s friend, he was also the king. Jaron’s survival was the highest priority.

Death was unpredictable, and Tobias only had his mind to combat it.

“Yes and no,” he shrugged. “Sometimes the patient is too far gone, and sometimes the rush of the moment slows to a still. I always carry extra concern for Jaron; you never know what kind of trouble he gets into.”

“Where is Feall?” Mott scratched the back of his bald head.

“Another chamber, we typically keep patients in separate spaces, keeps things clean and tidy.”

Tobias pinched the bridge of his nose, his heart had finally calmed.

A lone Faola had attacked four men, if Mott’s report was true. The Faola challenged not only Feall, but Mott, Regar, and the king of Carthya.

Two of those four were left wounded.

Roden would be returning soon with word about the third.

“Jaron’s claiming that he knows who Mireldis Thay is,” Tobias noted.

“Not quite sure how he figured that out, or where he got the time,” said Mott. He inhaled. “Is he going to be alright?”

If Tobias’s assumption was right, and the only damage Jaron sustained was that large bruise on his leg, everything would be fine.

But things rarely worked out in Tobias’s favor.

He rolled his shoulders forward ever so slightly, his mind winding through layers and layers of ignored findings. The Faola had attacked Feall so long ago, and Tobias had to stand in Roden’s way.

His kindness had brought harm to Jaron, his closest friend.

This was his fault.

“I can see your guilt, Tobias,” Mott muttered. He frowned, “This is out of your control.”

“But I was there, Mott, I was there during the first attack. I couldn’t let somebody die, and now Jaron’s tossing on a medical cot because of it!”

Tobias flinched at his own words.

He hadn’t meant to grow so frustrated.

Had they been wrong in pushing aside Mireldis Thay? Did she have more to do with the Faola? Was Feall right in fearing her every move?

Was Oberson’s irrational fear of Lady Thay really that irrational?

Imogen chuckled lightly, she was holding Jaron’s hand. His eyes had finally closed.

“There’s something I-,” Jaron paused to heave in a breath. “Tobias, you need to do something for me.”

“Promise me you’ll rest and I’ll consider it,” Tobias countered.

Jaron’s ghostly smile didn’t belong on his exhausted face. “I need you to ask questions for me.”

------------------------------------------------

The great hall had changed in the few hours Tobias had tended to Jaron. Renlyn’s staff was all too talented at quietly setting up for a ball.

He doubted that this was the first time she’d set something up like this.

It was easy, slipping through the crowds of servants rushing to fulfill Renlyn’s requests. Tobias usually didn’t sneak. There wasn’t a reason to suspect him of everything.

But this time was different.

This time, he was sneaking around for Jaron. His instructions were clear.

Jaron insisted that a certain troubadour knew more than he let on. It was this realization that led to Jaron’s bruised leg, he was sure of it.

Jolly would be hiding at the Dragon’s Keep, singing bawdy songs and asking for garlins.

It was Tobias’s duty to get Jolly to share crucial information.

Tobias? A spy?

It was bad enough sneaking around trying to find murky answers, but it was worse knowing that Jaron expected a handful of murky answers.

The Dragon’s Keep was more crowded than usual. Tobias crossed his arms as he slipped in, dodging as many flying fists as he could.

The bright orange jerkin was the first thing he saw. Jolly was slumped in a corner booth, his lute at his side.

“Not who I was expecting, Lord Branch,” Jolly smirked. He gestured to the open seat across from him. “I’m only a little disappointed, but you’re welcome to take a seat.”

“Who were you hoping for?” Tobias muttered, sitting down across from Jolly. He shook his head when a barmaid offered to bring him a drink.

“A king, I suppose.”

“Jaron?”

“Be more creative.”

“Oberson?”

“Closer, but not quite.”

Games, games. Tobias pinched his nose, “Jaron was attacked today, he was trying to keep an eye out for Feall.”

“He’s meddling,” Jolly called over a barmaid, asking for another drink. “You caught me at a bad time, I’m frustrated and raging drunk.”

“Why?”

“Friends, I suppose. I love my friend with my whole heart, but she’s going down a path I will not follow.”

Ah ha! Jolly had left a door open for questions. Tobias leaned his elbows on the table, trying his best not to seem too eager. “What’s her name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, doctor boy?”

“I would, actually.”

“It’s not my story to tell, I’m sorry,” Jolly took his fresh tankard, and drained as much liquid as he could.

It wasn’t his story to tell. A friend was going down an unfollowable path. A lute was playing, and a man’s low voice rang through the hushing crowd. Jaron had hummed the song multiple times throughout the week.

Ingrithay.

Tobias smacked his forehead, cursing himself for forgetting vital history lessons with his wife late at night. Ingrid Thay. Ingri. Ingri Thay.

Ingrithay.

“Ingrithay is about the queen of Idunn Craich, isn’t it? Queen Ingrid Thay, wife of Graer Thay, stepmother to Mireldis Thay. You’ve been dropping clues.”

Jolly threw back his head and laughed, “I’ve been dropping clues!?! I’ve thrown them to you as best I can, but I will not tell the story. It is against what I do; if I can’t keep a secret, I can’t keep my head.”

“I’m a member of Queen Danika’s family, you can-”

“Through marriage, Lord Branch,” Jolly corrected.

“That still holds, you can tell me. You have nothing to fear. I know you know who Mireldis Thay is, and I want to help. Tell me who she is, and we can-”

“I love Mireldis Thay more than I fear any king or queen, my Lord. No bargaining in the world would change my stance.”

Tobias had never seen Jolly’s face so serious before, and frankly, it frightened him. There was no trace of a smile or a musical note.

Nothing but determination.

“Amarinda and I want to-,” Tobias began, but Jolly held up his hand.

“I’ll give you a single hint, but don’t betray my trust, Tobias. There is more to me than music and laughter.”

More than music and laughter.

He shuddered despite the warmth in the tavern.

Jolly drained the rest of his tankard, and slammed it down. He dragged his hand across his face, “Mireldis Thay has a bone to pick. I won’t help her, and I won’t stop her, but you can do what you can.”

“Tell me where she is, Jolly,” Tobias grunted. “She attacked the king, didn’t she?”

“To her, Jaron is a blocking piece. She’s still a princess, despite this all, and you know how royals get.”

A memory flashed across Tobias’s vision.

A glimpse of a smug, rare smirk.

His heart thudded in his ears, and he was certain he was correct.

But he needed Jolly to say it.

Tobias’s voice was small. Too small. “Mireldis Thay has been living under our noses the entire time, hasn’t she?”

All it took was the slightest nod of Jolly’s head. “You know her, and I know her. Mireldis has played this game with only one goal in mind, and soon she’ll have her winning move.”

A rare smirk, a flash of gold hair. Tobias pressed his fists to his eyes.

Mireldis Thay, a fugitive, was serving the queen of Carthya.

And Tobias had left her in the castle, close enough to the king to strike a killing blow.

He tried to ignore Jolly’s chilling laugh as he fled the tavern.

[cobalts-corner]

hello and welcome to cobalt’s thoughts on tsc!

SPOILER WARNING

I really loved it! 

I found castor really annoying ngl

Teenage fink was terifiying but i loved it at the same time

where was amarinda and roden the whole time?

what even happened to nila?

errol ♥

cook ♥

so much imogen content!!!

i was concerned when i found out jaron and imogen were related, but i know its really distant so like... but still- 

wilta ♥

TOBIAS WAS SO COOL IN THIS BOOK I LOVE HIM SM im legit proud of him

fink swears 😭

i expected jane to go out with more of a bang

VELDERGRATH IS DEAD  😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 

i have new fanfic ideas ;)

im so sad its over

tobias  ♥

its so bittersweet when you finish a book

IMOGEN THE PEACEBRINGER OMGGGG  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I want more Amarinda content 😤😤

chapter 31  ♥

Darius in this book >>>>>>>>>>>

made me cry

MOTT AS THE HIGH CHAMBERSOMETHING YES PLEASE

i high-key shipped jaronxtobias for like 5 minutes

TOBIASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

i want to write a tobias fic now

im still crying

TOBIAS KILLED MERCY (RIGHT????)

Imogen was #girlbossin this whole book

F IN THE CHAT FOR KERWYN

WHERE WAS AMARINDA??????????????????????

AND RODEN?????????????

TOBIAS  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

ok im done now

im so sad now someone send me wholesome tas fics pls

im gonna try to catch up on ascendance month

[kanerallels]

111 Followers Fic Ask Prompts!!

Alrighty, this is not going to go exactly how I thought it was, but I shall do my best!! Let's get going, my good hobbi-- FOLLOWERS I MEANT FOLLOWERS

Rules: Choose a fandom, and two characters and/or a ship from that fandom. Then, choose a prompt/au-- you can have two of those. Send them to me in an ask, and I'll get you a ficlet asap!!!

I will not be writing any smut/explicit sex/NSFW content, and if your ship isn't on the list, I probably won't write it.

Fandoms:

1. Star Wars. Ships: Kanera, Obitine, Merrical, Foxiyo, Damerey, Jyn x Cassian, Finnrey, Blyla, Hanleia, Skyjade, D'ukarrde, Vos x Ventress, Fenn Rau x Bo-Katan. I'm most comfortable writing for SWR, but I will write for the sequels, TCW, the original trilogy, Rogue One, Star Wars Legends, The High Republic, etc. There are very characters I won't write about (hint: Rush Clovis, Arinhda Pryce, Lux Bonteri)

2. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Ships: Mackelena, Philinda, Fitzsimmons, Huntingbird, Staticquake, Dousy (although that one might take a little longer)

3. Six of Crows duology/ Nikolai duology. Ships: Kanej, Zoyalai, Adrik x Leoni, Genyadavid, Helnik

4. The Ascendance Series. Ships: Jaron x Imogen, Tobias x Amarinda

5. The Silver Eye. Ships: Runo, Donicus, Aperlyne

6. Avatar: The Last Airbender. Ships: Kataang, Maiko, Sukka

7. Dragons in Our Midst/Oracles of Fire: Ships: Bonnie x Billy, Walter x Ashley, Sapphira Adi x Elam

(list of prompts under the cut)

Prompts:

- Soulmates

- Time Travel

- Platonic Soulmates

- Fix It

- Unlikely friendship

- Loss

- Holiday

- Domesticity

- Princess Carry

- Disney Movie Au

- First Meeting

- Lost a bet

- Working together as cops

- Karaoke

- Crossover (send two fandoms!)

- Rescue

- Doug Judy Au

- Found family

- Dancing

- Waffles

- Bailing out of jail

- Band on tour

- Sparring

- Stars

-Bending (ATLA style)

- Grisha

- PAIN

- Art/singing

- Modern au (crossovers are basically mandatory. Jk, but they're high key welcome!)

- *gets adopted by the Ghost Crew* (crossovers welcome!)

-Fake relationship (romantic or platonic)

- Send your favorite quote from a Marvel or Star Wars movie

- Imagine your OTP (I'll choose from a list of prompts)

It's worth noting, some of these are specifically geared towards couples, while others could work for platonic with ease. I'm totally happy to accept platonic requests as well!!

Alrighty, that should be about it!! I'll link this in my original post so people can find it easily. Send me an ask if you have any questions, and let's hope this doesn't blow up in my face!

[piratekingimogen]

ascendance fic recs

some of my favorite ascendance fics on ao3... treat yourself ;)

a shoulder to lean on (2k, multi-chap in progress) i love this one so, so much and i’m begging each of you to read & comment to encourage the author bc i could read a novel’s worth. the war is over and imogen is safe (and married to the boy she loves) but suffers from old aches. imogen’s POV (my girl!!!). excellent writing, and there’s a super sweet scene with harlowe!

little bird (1.5k, one-shot) a look into queen erin and jaron’s relationship. you WILL cry. erin’s POV, then jaron’s. featuring adorable child gremlin jaron. it’s got a super pretty carthyan lullaby (i think it might be an adaptation of an actual lullaby? it’s very atmospheric). canon tells us little abt jaron & erin’s relationship but it was clearly close and loving and this is a lovely interpretation.

reunited (3k, one-shot) harlowe’s pov of his reunion with roden after roden finds out harlowe’s his dad. this one will ALSO probably make you cry but happy tears this time... there’s so much delicacy and self-doubt and we all WISH we had a dad like harlowe. the missing scene we needed!!

the almost-king (<1k, one-shot) full disclosure: this is one of mine :) amarinda’s POV. amarinda’s engaged to jaron but loves to listen to tobias ramble and think about what could have been. the intersection between amarinda character exploration, analysis of jaron+tobias+amarinda’s relationship, and just sweet amarinda/tobias pining

shields (2K, one-shot) roden attempts to teach fink how to use a shield properly with mixed results. roden’s POV ft some top-notch roden+fink and roden+tobias dialogue (why do they have to see tobias? it has to do with sword practice going... uhhh not great). just a super cute and funny slice-of-life!

[enchanted-prose]

#12 A Bloody Ballad

and with this fic, I have officially crossed into the 60,000 word count territory. I've also decided that I will finish this ficlet series by July 14th and submit it to Jennifer Nielsen’s fan content competition.

Word count: 5,715

Characters: Jaron, Mott, Jolly (Original character who deserves lute rights), Lord Thomas Row (a babey and original character), Merry (Original character), Commander Regar (Original character), Roden, Tobias, Renlyn (Original character), Princess Amarinda, Imogen (this one’s a reAL party)

Notes: This was creepy even for me to write, so that’s your warning. Edited and ready to be read!

Enjoy!

The sneezing never stopped.

Always sneezing.

And it was all that cat’s fault.

Jaron rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t the cat’s fault, it was his. He should’ve thought about his reaction to the cat when Renlyn managed to sell it to him. Cat hair was everywhere.

But by the Saints, nothing could best the smile Imogen had when she held that kitten on her lap.

He didn’t mind silent suffering if it meant Imogen’s happiness.

Her secret smiles filled his head. The way her hand sought his whenever they were near each other kept his feet planted on solid ground. Jaron knew that Imogen’s mere presence gave him the focus to solve every puzzle at his fingertips.

However, it went deeper than that.

Imogen insisted on looking him over each time he got into trouble. She had no qualm about staying up until the early hours of the morning when memories of Avenia plagued him. Her love came in gentle forms; she brought him deftly spun bracelets, a spoonful of sweet pastry dough, ruffled his hair with flour covered fingers.

He could sneeze for a millennia for her.

With each passing day, his stance seemed more and more likely.

Did the Saints sneeze?

Energy burst through him without a warning. Jaron stood up, nearly knocking his chair to the floor. He snatched the letter he’d been reading and began to pace. King Kippenger was sending a representative to discuss the situation Avenia was in.

There was nothing Jaron wouldn’t do to assist an ally, save abdicating the throne and a few other atrocious acts of course. He was prepared to give aid to Avenia in any shape.

He was prepared to send his best military leaders to action if needed.

His mind instantly began thinking about what news Kippenger’s representative would be bringing. The path he walked was familiar. It gave him space to think outside of his normal routine. To the corner, to the door, to the shelf, back to the desk.

Thomas Row, that was the representative’s name. A farmer raised to nobility after demonstrating his loyalty not only to Avenia, but to Kippenger during the first months of his reign.

Carthya’s harvests over the past four years had been wondrous, and a new push for education thanks to Amarinda and Tobias. Feall was working with Roden, and Jaron was confident that Feall would make a capable temporary replacement should Roden be sent to Avenia.

The pieces were in place. Jaron could play this figurative chess game and win.

He was juggling what would happen if Avenia wouldn’t accept his help and what he would have to do to protect his own people.

Would it really be worth it to keep a Carthyan influence in Avenia if it only forced Avenians even further away from good relations?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

To many outcomes, not enough stable variables.

Think, think, think.

What could he do if Avenian relations soured?

Bymar would come to help, Jaron was certain of it. Mendenwal would likely come as well, and maybe even Gelyn, though the latter would likely have ill intentions. He could always completely withdraw Carthyan aid as a last resort.

A very last resort.

Why, oh why couldn’t Thomas Row be there, knocking at the door?

Jaron rubbed his watering eyes, and returned to his desk. One letter down, countless others to go. He inched his chair backwards, inched his chair forwards, and wished he had a chair that spun in a circle.

Saints, it wasn't even noon and he was already bored.

He’d managed to read through ten letters when somebody finally came to check in on him.

“Mott!” Jaron stood up, this time successfully knocking over his chair. “Thank the Saints, I wanted to ask you if-”

“No, I will not let you use a shield as a sled and ride down the grand staircase,” Mott’s brows lowered into a solid line.

Jaron broke into a wicked grin, “Good idea, but that’s not what I was going to ask. You read Kippenger’s letter, no?”

“Haven’t had much to do but read since the attack.”

“Do you have any- oh.”

During the Avenian war, Mott had received a wound that would’ve killed him if not for Tobias’s skill as a doctor. The wound prevented Mott from fighting his way through a battle.

The wicked grin Jaron sported faded into a deep frown. He wanted to be a good king, a just man who sought out justice rather than revenge.

It was a well kept secret that Mott’s ghost wound flared up. A well kept secret that the fight with the Faola who attacked Feall was responsible for the ghost pains.

But Jaron knew, he knew about Mott’s pain.

And if it weren’t for Imogen and Tobias, he would’ve taught the Faola a lesson they’d never forget.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” muttered Jaron, tossing through the emotions pulsing through his veins.

Anger, grief. Anger, grief. Anger, grief, and frustration.

Did nobody care how hard he was trying? Was that why there was still crime plaguing the streets of Drylliad?

“Not exactly, but I do appreciate the sentiment,” Mott shifted on his feet. “I did read Kippenger’s letter, and I dispatched a series of spies to try to locate his representative.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, although the information came from someone who’s not one of ours.”

Oh?

Jaron motioned for Mott to continue, “Is it reliable information?”

“From a friend’s perspective, yes. However, from a ruler’s perspective there’s a series of holes in the story,” explained Mott. “My informant, ah, has a history of lute playing, colorful clothing, and pursuing every vice he can.”

“Please don’t tell me-”

“Jolly is my informant.”

He didn’t mean to snicker. He didn’t mean for that snicker to turn into a fit of laughter. Jaron coughed into his fist, trying his best to mask his grinning, “Jolly is your informant? The man who sings about floral crowns and otherworldly romances?”

Mott was all too serious as he nodded. “Considering that he not only found Thomas Row in Avenia, he also managed to bring him here, I’d give him a bit more credit.”

“Lord Thomas Row is here!? When did he arrive!? Why wasn’t I informed!?”

“He requested to stay at an inn rather than in the castle, said he wanted to be with the army that accompanied him.”

“By the toes of every Saint, I have to meet with him,” Jaron bolted to the door, froze as his hand hovered above the handle, and turned back to face Mott. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Perhaps,” Mott said. “I have several things that require my attention, but I don’t suppose you’d be opposed to helping me with my duties.”

More chores?

More papers to read?

Jaron shrugged, “You can’t tell anyone, otherwise they’ll always come to me to help push papers around. I have duties of my own.”

“As do I.”

“To the Devils’ with duty then, I’m the king, my word is law.”

With a few catches, of course, but Jaron didn’t need to explain that. It would’ve diminished his perfect excuse for abandoning the papers on his desk.

All he needed was a quick stop at his chambers to change his clothing. He’d be able to blend in with the crowd well enough in a pair of shabby trousers. It was a slight miracle that he hadn’t been recognized yet.

He was feeling more comfortable once he’d dressed in a patched shirt and ragged shoes.

Although when he stood next to Mott, who was still dressed plainly according to the royal court’s ridiculous standards, he looked like a pickpocket.

Once a thief, always a thief.

The courtyard was bustling with life. Horses were being led to shadier pastures outside the castle. Sheets and sheets hung on lines as they dried in the sun. Roden was yelling at a group of soldiers.

Everything was as it should be. Jaron was grateful for the false security the routine brought.

He would be a fool not to acknowledge that there was something not quite right anymore.

Like a right shoe being ever so slightly bigger than the left. Like a spoon and fork sharing the same engraved design, only the spoon was missing a line.

Quiet yet obvious once found.

“Tell me about the army Thomas Row brought,” Jaron asked, stepping over a laundress’s large bar of soap.

“It’s a hired army,” Mott wiped his nose. The smell of heavy duty soap wasn’t the sweetest scent. “The army’s lead by a man called Commander Regar, I suspect his men are mostly Bymarian and Gelynian.”

“Ah, mercenary armies. They’re too unpredictable for my taste.”

“One could argue that you’re also too unpredictable for  different peoples’ tastes.”

“I don’t give my loyalties to the highest bidder; mercenaries do.”

In fact, Jaron didn’t think the mercenary armies so favored by nobility were worth their cost. The mercenaries were little more than bandits who could play the game of life a little smarter.

It was far better to find men willing to fight for something they loved rather than men who fought for coin.

“Market day should be a success,” Mott noted, gesturing to the various stands that had popped up overnight.

Jaron shrugged, “I’m hoping for a large supply of peaches this time. The peaches at last market day were full of worms.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait two days to see the peaches yourself.”

“Think I should have Roden pray for my peaches and their health?”

“Don’t be sacrilegious.”

Ah, market day was a thief’s dream. Hundreds of vendors came with their goods to sell, and security could only protect so many. Jaron had taken advantage of market days as a child. He rarely returned to Mrs. Turbeldy’s Home for Disadvantaged Boys with his hands empty after market day. Sometimes, he got lucky. Sometimes he was able to steal enough food to feed himself for a few days.

Though the anxiety that constantly tugged at his lungs made him wonder.

Made him think.

Made him realize that maybe this market day would be unlike the others.

Perhaps he should get somebody to pray about it.

Thomas Row was staying at the Traveler’s Inn, which meant a short walk for Jaron and Mott. . . If Thomas was there. And as fate would have it, Thomas wasn’t. He was at the Dragon’s Keep, catching up with a certain brightly colored troubadour.

Jaron could hear the lute playing long before he saw the Dragon’s Keep. Jolly’s clear tenor voice sailed through the tavern’s open windows.

There was blood in the kitchen

And blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

There was no way that tune was Carthyan, Jaron would’ve remembered a ballad that violent.

“After you,” Jaron said, holding the door open for Mott.

“On the contrary, after you Jaron.”

“No, after you.”

It took several more ‘after you!’s before Mott finally conceded and walked into the Dragon’s Keep with Jaron trailing behind him.

Stepping into the Dragon’s Keep was like stepping into a warm cloud.Men and women crammed around almost every table. There was no set uniform among them, although several people wore thick, knee-length skirts with knotted patterns. Jolly was sitting on a table flanked by a man playing a large set of pipes and a woman playing a tin flute. Jolly’s tenor voice took on a thick Bymarian accent; the chords he played turned sour:

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

And blood on her Majesty, Lady Ingrithay

A heart in her right hand, dagger in the other

Ye can’t outrun yer mother

She is yer judgement day

Jaron shivered.

Ye can’t outrun yer mother

She is yer judgement day

“That’s him, Lord Row,” Mott said, gesturing to a man in humble clothes sitting a few tables away from Jolly and the other musicians.

Lord Thomas Row was a plain man, save for his head of wiry, black braids. His white shirt flared down his arms and cinched around his wrists.

Cinched around one of his wrists.

One of his wrists?

Lord Row had a right hand, but the left one ended in an elegant, covered hook.

“Sir Mott! It is good to see you!” Lord Row bellowed, and he lunged to embrace Mott. “It’s been too many years!”

“Yes it has, Tom, yes it has,” Mott clapped Row’s back.

Jaron tried to stop the squirming unease that came when watching a pair of old friends reunite.

Once Row had broken off his embrace, he took a long look at Jaron. “Is this-?”

“It is, no need for names, my friend, I came here to make your acquaintance before rushing into talks of politics,” Jaron said, extending his right hand. “Sometimes they get messy, I’d rather be friends than enemies. And forgive my dress, I find it’s easier to slip through crowds when not wearing a jeweled tunic.”

“There’s no need for forgiveness, I wholeheartedly agree, and I sincerely hope you don’t become my enemy, your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Jaron.”

“I accept your invitation of friendship,” Row bowed his head. “Jaron.”

“By the Saints can he change this ballad?” Mott grumbled as Jolly launched into a new verse.

Ye can run, ye can run

But lady, o’lady

Yer time’s almost done

Sing like a bird, say what you say

O’lady yer the one

To stop dear Ingrithay

Blood in the-

“No! Don’t touch my lute you insufferable imp!” Shouted Jolly as he launched off the table.

Jaron let out a sigh of relief, “Find whoever stole the lute and bring them to me, I’ll give them a knighthood.”

“The ballad isn’t that bad,” muttered a man from Row’s table.

“On the contrary, I think it is.”

“Ignore old Regar, he’s sympathetic for Bymarian ballads,” Row waved his hook at the man who’d spoken.

Regar held up his hand in greeting, but chose to drink the contents of his tankard than say hello.

“It’s not exactly a song for dancing,” Mott pointed out. “It’s Bymarian, you say?”

Row nodded, “I’ve heard it multiple times on my journey here. Regar’s men are mostly from Idunn Craich, it’s been interesting hearing their tales, they’re much bloodier than tales from Bultain.”

“Only recent ones,” Regar said, having finally finished his drink. He dragged his hand across his bearded face and smiled, “Commander Regar, I am honored to be in your presence, Majesty.”

Jaron made a face, but nodded in return.

He hated it when people called him Majesty.

That’s what people called their prettiest mares, Saints be cursed.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jaron said. “Sort of.”

“Thank you, I think.” Regar nodded his head. His eyes were elsewhere, and soon he was sitting again, nursing his tankard.

“See something you don’t like, Commander Regar?”

He didn’t answer.

“Regar isn’t the most spirited at this time, return in a few hours and he’ll be singing with our mutual friend Jolly,” Row said, setting his hook on Jaron’s shoulder. He steered both Jaron and Mott away from the table. “Jaron, may I ask how your day has gone?”

“Oddly average, if I must be honest,” Jaron said, still looking at Regar.

“Ah, I must say the same, as average as riding can be.”

Mott chuckled, “That’s good news, I’d hate to know there were troubles with your travels, Row.”

His head was racing. Put the pieces together, put the pieces together! Regar was several inches taller than Jaron, and from his standpoint, could probably see more than Jaron could. From Regar’s eye-level, he could see the other side of the tavern, which was much emptier.

Bar maids dashed to and fro trying to appease every customer they could.

One of them was serving drinks while keeping a lute free from Jolly’s hands. Green scarf in her bushy hair. Jolly’s ballad echoed through Jaron’s mind.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

Something was staring at him, right in the face.

It plagued him as he sat at the bar, listening to the bloody Bymarian ballads, and trying to weasel his way into Mott’s conversation with Lord Row.

He rubbed his eyes, which had finally stopped burning now that he’d left his cat hair covered office.

Aside from Lord Row and discussing Avenian policies, there were other matters to take care of. Among that never ending list of problems to be solved was the Faola attack on Feall.

It took numerous questions from Feall, Roden, Amarinda, and himself to firmly conclude that the girl who’d been arrested wasn’t responsible. She was simply doing the wrong things, got involved with the wrong people, and got caught at the wrong time.

But Feall had suggested bargaining with her. Bargaining with Ayvar, a criminal.

It wasn’t the worst deal Jaron had to make.

He promised Ayvar her freedom and a pardon for banditry if she was able to help them catch the culprit. She swore on her own false grave in Gelyn that she would keep her word, and was prepared to act immediately if needed.

Ayvar would remain a prisoner but would be moved to a tower room. She would be given ample food, water, and blankets.

All she needed to do was be prepared for when she was needed.

It was a game, and Jaron didn’t mind playing games.

He only hoped that he’d win this time.

Too many times had he gambled and lost, resulting in disastrous consequences and a pile of innocent victims. This time, it would be different. He would catch a Faola, and in the process, drive away all the others.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

Jaron rubbed his eyes. The words to Jolly’s song refused to leave.

It seemed that even thinking of Jolly caused him to appear. “Headache, sir?”

“No, no, I bought a cat from Renlyn Karise, turns out I don’t do well when cats are around,” Jaron confessed.

Jaron didn’t want to admit that he was thankful for Jolly’s company; he didn’t want to admit that Mott was talking to Lord Row much better than he was.

“Ah, Renlyn,” Jolly held a hand over his heart. “The envy of every man and their wives. A beauty and a wickedly intelligent woman.”

“Imogen mentioned that you knew her, how did the pair of you meet?”

Jolly’s blush matched the pink details on his blue jerkin, “Ah, well, I was one of the fools who chased after Ren for her golden curls. I thought I was clever by tricking her into a gambling game. . .”

“And?”

“And I lost everything. She gave it back, of course, but I learned my lesson. Karise is a force to be reckoned with, and a fierce friend. But she’s good at every kind of game.”

Especially the game of How Much Money can Jaron Waste on a Cat?

“And you know Merry, as well,” Jaron noted, gesturing to the girl in question as she dragged a box of dirty dishes to the back room. “How?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Jolly scratched his mass of black hair. “I’m sure you could ask her about it one day, not sure how much luck you have.”

“I’ve heard plenty about her, believe me. Roden, ah, Roden gets easily excited when he’s on the bottle.”

“Yes, yes he does.”

“And how do you know Roden?”

“You know what,” Jolly made a face. “I’m not quite sure, we were speaking in a tavern and he’s always been a friend of mine. Wrote a ballad about him, and a ballad about Renlyn. I have a ballad I’m writing about-”

“Don’t say it’s about me and Imogen.”

“-you and Imogen.”

“By the toes of all the Saints,” Jaron pinched his nose. “At least make it a good one.”

“I can sing it right now!” Jolly bounced away from the bar, swinging his lute into action.

Jaron’s eyes went wide as Jolly began strumming each chord, tuning them all to perfection. He began plucking out the first few notes, which led to a series of slowly strummed chords. Jolly heaved in a breath, preparing to sing, when out of nowhere a pair of hands shot out and stole the lute.

“You’re in timeout!” Merry said, cradling the lute in her arms. “You sang Ingrithay too many times, you’ll lose your voice!”

“Merry, Merry, quite contrary, you tug my- that’s actually a wonderful rhyme,” Jolly made a face, nodding ever so slowly.

In silence, Jaron pressed his hands together and bowed his head, grateful for Merry’s interference. She winked at him in return.

She patted Jolly’s shoulder, “That’s right, my tortured artist, think about your songs, and drink something warm. Can I get anything for you gentlemen?”

“I’ve heard the lemon tarts here are very nice,” Jaron said, exchanging a sneaky grin with Mott.

That wasn’t the only thing they’d heard.

“And for you, Lord Row?” Merry cradled the lute in one arm, and set her free hand on her hip.

“I’m quite well, thank you,” Lord Row flashed a smile. “I’ll be certain to call for you should anything change.”

“I’ll do my best to answer that call, sir.”

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

No, no. Not the rhyme again.

He hated not having all the answers. He hated knowing that there was something lurking in his future.

----------------------------------------------------

“This stuff, really?” Tobias asked, gesturing to the bottle not far from Roden’s reach.

As much as he tried, Lord Thomas Row was more concerned with checking in on Commander Regar’s men, and opted to save their discussion for a few days later.

Meaning Jaron had nothing to do for an entire evening.

His first instinct was to snuggle up to Imogen, or do something silly like cover her eyes and guide her through the castle. However, his attempt to steal her away came too late: Amarinda had commandeered Imogen and Renlyn for an evening ride in the woods with Feall and Mott as chaperones.

His second instinct was to pester Roden into doing something fun, but when he entered Roden’s usually clean office, he knew he was gravely mistaken.

Pieces of fabric and at least one of Roden’s shirts were scattered about the floor. He and Tobias were arguing about something, but the argument came to a grating halt when Jaron walked in.

“Be quiet Tobias, you need loads of spirits to be a seamstress,” Jaron wrinkled his nose. “Let Roden embrace his dreams.”

“I’m not becoming a seamstress!” Roden crossed his arms, his frown rivaling the gargoyles on Drylliad’s biggest cathedral.

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Then why do you have a pair of shears in your hand and fabric on your lap?” Jaron sauntered over to Roden’s desk, sat in his chair, and kicked his heels up. “I can arrange for you to get more pretty things if you’d like.”

Roden perked up, “Really? I mean, no! That’s not what I want!”

“Oh he definitely wants pretty things,” Tobias pointed out. He’d picked up the bottle on Roden’s desk. “This is definitely stronger than what I’m used to trying.”

As Roden curled over his piece of fabric, Jaron looked to Tobias, and both exchanged a snicker.

If he couldn’t convince Roden to ride a shield like a sled down the grand staircase, Jaron would make fun of him till he reacted. That would be worth it.

Tobias looked at Roden, who was cursing his scissors, and made an outline of- of a bell?

Jaron squinted at him, shrugged, and shook his head. What could he do with a bell? What- oh! Tobias was making the outline of a skirt, not a bell. Ah! Jaron could work with skirt jokes.

“You know, I hear Bymarian women wear dresses with slits so they can move,” Jaron rubbed his nose. “I’m sure Amarinda can get you one.”

“No, no, that wouldn’t work,” Roden waved his hand, and didn’t bother looking back.

Looking for reassurance, Jaron looked at Tobias, who was sniffing the contents of Roden’s bottle of spirits. He made a face as the fumes escaped. No reassurance from him.

There had to be a way to upset Roden. “Are you more of a skirt person?”

He paused and straightened. “I suppose I am.”

Once again, Jaron looked to Tobias. This time, Tobias was prepared with a confused shrug.

“Are you- are you being serious?” Jaron leaned forwards. He’d heard of men wearing skirts into battle. By the Devils, even some of Regar’s men wore skirts. He just hadn’t expected Roden to suddenly take a stance on the trend.

“I don’t really mind what a girl wears,” Roden looked back to glare at Jaron. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I was talking about you wearing a dress, you oaf.”

Roden pointed his scissors at Jaron, “No. I’m not playing this game, I’m in a good mood.”

“Good mood? I’d like to change that.”

“Jaron, nothing you could do could change that. I have the evening off and-”

“Are you making dish rags for the kitchen staff?” asked Jaron, now resting his chin on his hands and his elbows on Roden’s desk. “No, Tobias, don’t drink that. I need somebody on my side in case Roden plays dirty.”

Unfortunately, Tobias was looking to do something foolish too. Jaron could hear him draining Roden’s bottle of spirits.

Dear Saints, he was causing a circus.

Good!

“I’m not going to fight y-,” Roden tried, but Jaron was eager to do something incredibly foolish.

“You’re making hair scarves for Merry, aren’t you?”

Aha! He’d hit a nerve!

“So?” Roden grumbled, curling back over his fabric. “I like seeing her ears. One of them has this-”

“Boring!” Jaron jumped to his feet, and walked over to a fine square of red fabric. “You want to know what would make these all prettier? Tobias, you’re going to pass out.”

“I think I deserve a quick nap,” Tobias argued, setting down the now half-empty bottle of spirits. “Jaron, don’t do something stupid, remember what we said about being kind.”

Oh yes, Jaron remembered that deep discussion. Something about being considerate for others and not pestering people until they reacted in a negative way. During the conversation, Tobias pointed out that perhaps Jaron wasn’t used to receiving any verbal or physical attention, which was likely the cause of Jaron’s desire to punch Roden as hard as he could during the most obscure times.

Unfortunately, Tobias’s statements were too close to home. During the next large banquet, Jaron made sure to punch Tobias as hard as he could rather than Roden.

He’d certainly gotten an earful from Imogen after that.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Roden growled, slowly rising to a stance to attack.

Jaron raised his foot above the red square of fabric, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m warning you. Don’t do-”

“What, this?”

His intention was to bring his boot down on the red square of fabric and leave a massive footprint, but he wasn’t sure if he accomplished his goal. Roden had launched himself right at Jaron, sending both of them careening across the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey! I’m a little guy! It’s my birth- hey!” Jaron cried out trying to wriggle out of Roden’s deathgrip.

“I told you not to touch the fabric!” Roden roared.

Jaron felt his feet touch the ground for a split second, and then he was hurled over Roden’s shoulder. Completely unfair. He refused to stand for it. Jaron kicked his legs like a fish, grabbed the back of Roden’s tunic, and tumbled to the ground.

He barely managed to roll away from Roden’s swinging foot.

“Oh, the fabric,” Tobias murmured. “It’s so pretty.”

“Quick-” Jaron dodged a flying fist “-question! What was in the bottle?”

Roden lunged, successfully grabbing Jaron by the left leg and dragging him to the ground. “It’s from Libeth!”

Now that wasn’t good at all. Libeth had some of the wildest alcohol brewers in the entire kingdom. Supposedly, they made a liquor strong enough to remove barnacles from sea vessels.

And how much had Tobias drank?

“He was-,” Tobias hiccuped and wiped his eyes. “Roden was making little hair scarves-,” another hiccup. “Making hair scarves for Murry. Little scarves, oh dear Saints, this boy can only wield a sword, bless him in these days as he-”

“Shut up Tobias!” Jaron and Roden yelled.

By the Devils! Roden had the upper hand again! Jaron was all too aware of Roden’s hand holding both of his wrists, which meant only one thing.

“Please, Roden, I beg you, it was just a joke!’ Jaron whimpered, trying to weasel out of his grip.

No, no, no.

The first time Jaron and Roden had gotten into a physical fight ended the same way, with Jaron unable to move and Roden prepared to deliver the finishing blow.

“I just wanted to cut up fabric!” Roden argued. “Tobias and I were doing fine before you barged in!”

“I was bored! Please don’t do this!”

“You could’ve helped with the fabric!”

“I wasn’t that bored!” Jaron squirmed again. “Please, Saints, no. No! Ah!”

The finishing blow was the worst part of the fight. Roden had licked his little finger, and shoved it into Jaron’s ear.

Although, now there was a third party involved.

Tobias flung his arms around both Roden and Jaron, tears streaming down his face. “I love you both with my whole heart, honest to the Saints. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Can you get Roden to take his nasty hands off of my body!?” Jaron bellowed, yanking his head free from Roden’s little finger.

“Does the baby need a nap?” Roden cooed.

Oh, ho, ho, Roden was remembering old exchanged insults. Jaron unsuccessfully tried to escape, but to no avail. Roden hooked his arms beneath Jaron’s knees, and swung him up into his arms, while still keeping a drunken Tobias on his feet.

“Put me down!”

“Not until you apologize!”

“Roden?”

“Yes?”

“Rot with the Devils, you clotpole.”

Tobias’s quiet tears turned into sobs as he wrapped his arms around Jaron and Roden once again. “Little hair scarves.”

It was quite the scene to walk into: Roden holding Jaron like a baby, Tobias sobbing like he’d learned he would die soon, and bits of cut up colorful fabric covered the floor. It just so happened that Amarinda’s night ride finished early.

They didn’t look pleased.

The disappointment in Mott’s eyes was an all too familiar sight.

“I can explain,” Jaron croaked, finally realizing that he’d lost the fight.

A fight that he started.

“It looks like a dress shop in here,” Mott clasped his hands behind his back, Amarinda, Renlyn, and Imogen trailing behind him.

Roden practically dropped Jaron on the floor. “I was trying to make something, and then Jaron showed up.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to hit me,” argued Jaron. He grunted when Tobias set his head on Jaron’s shoulder, and refused to move. “Get off of me!”

The only answer Tobias gave was a new wave of silent tears, and a fresh set of apologies.

Mott’s face didn’t betray a single emotion. “Weren’t you going to meet with Lord Row?”

“He moved the meeting back, and I happened to finish my work this evening, and didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you picked a fight with Roden?”

Jaron scowled, he realized how foolish he’d been in starting the fight. A conversation wouldn’t have been enough for him, there was too much energy bursting through his body.

“These are pretty,” Amarinda held up an opaque piece of yellow fabric.

“Don’t worry, I’m not making myself a skirt,” grunted Roden, his hands full of different fabric squares.

“Were you putting something together?”

“I finished, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“He was-,” Tobias hiccuped. “He was making tiny, tiny scarves. For Merry, to wear.”

There hadn’t been a time when Tobias had been so drunk before, or at least there hadn’t been a time Jaron could remember.

Amarinda sighed, and transferred Tobias’s head from Jaron’s shoulder to her own.“Oh, darling, what did you do this time?”

“They were fighting, and I’ve had it.”

Amarinda patted the side of Tobias’s head, her eyes boring into Jaron’s very soul. However, she gave no biting remarks, she only wrapped her arm around Tobias’s waist. Together, they inched towards the door.

Her smile was forced. “I’ll be taking him to our chamber, I don’t want him doing something foolish.”

“Is that from Libeth?” Imogen asked, gesturing to the bottle on Roden’s desk.

However, before anyone could give a clear answer, Renlyn took a large swig from the bottle, set it down, and frowned. “That batch was weak.”

“You know what?” Jaron crossed his arms. “I don’t think I want to know. Jolly told me about your tendencies.”

“Is that an invitation for me to take over the kingdom through a gambling match?”

“Absolutely not, I’ve been warned, and I won’t ever concede to your money games again.”

“That’s what they all say.”

By the Saints! Jaron scowled at Renlyn, who had the audacity to remain completely placid. He knew deep in his heart that he’d have to do something worse than terrorize Roden to get a reaction out of the notorious Renlyn Karise.

Imogen raised her hands, “Ah, we should take the energy down a notch, don’t you think?”

“Jaron started it!”

“I know Roden, I usually start things, unlike you.”

“Jaron!” Everyone chorused, followed by Tobias’s slurred agreement.

“What!?” Jaron crossed his arms, screwing his face into the fiercest scowl he could.

He’d rather be lectured than think of those cursed lyrics.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Jaron would rather hear complaints and be tossed around like a child’s doll than consider what fate had in store for him.

He wasn’t ready yet.

He just wasn’t ready.

[enchanted-prose]

#4 “I’m NOT A Baby!”

Once again I’m sooo sorry for publishing a day late! I’ve had several requests for more information on Bymar on other publishing platforms, so I figured maybe it’s time to set this ball rolling! I’m publishing these because I’m planning on writing a novel length fanfiction, and want to introduce my audience to some characters and concepts early on! (Plus I’m secretly trying to gather an audience to read said novel length work) I’ll begin publishing my longer work sometime in June! I’ll make a little preview and give a release date eventually!

Word Count: 4,048

Characters: Jaron, Imogen, Tobias, Amarinda, Roden, Jolly (Original Character), Merry (Original Character)

Notes: Halfway edited! There might be a few mistakes! Enjoy!

"It's going to be a nice evening," Jaron insisted, but he knew that a nice evening was a little too much to ask for.

Especially when it involved the Dragon's Keep, the weekend, and a certain captain of the guard who was ready to make a fool of himself.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Donning a set of rags for a night out on the town. 

After all, Jaron and Imogen had their escapade at the festival only last week. At this rate, they'd be abandoning their duties all too regularly, and leaving Tobias with a massive headache that could only be cured by seeing Jaron seated on the throne and far far far away from anything remotely entertaining.

If things went wrong, it was obviously the will of the Saints. 

Obviously.

"You say that now," Imogen only shrugged. "I'm almost expecting to see a bar fight. I'll be disappointed if one doesn't happen."

"Are you hoping to see violence?"

"No, I'm just hoping to see you get your arse handed to you for once."

Jaron froze in his tracks, hands on his hips. He pouted as hard as he could, "Imogen, I'd never be foolish enough to get my arse handed to me."

"Uh- huh, you always insist on not being a fool moments before you do something foolish. I know you Jaron."

Unfortunately, she was right, and Jaron knew that. 

He wouldn't be able to argue against her point, so instead he kissed the top of her head. Imogen didn't take back what she said, but she still reached for Jaron's hand.

Seemed like she wasn't entirely fed up with him yet.

They could hear laughter from the tavern echoing through the alleyways. People were out arm in arm, hand in hand, and sometimes fist to face. Jaron caught himself grinning. Without a warning, he spun Imogen around, pulled her into an embrace, and pressed a sloppy kiss on her lips.

She squealed, eventually slipping into a giggling mess, "Vagabond!"

"You like it," Jaron insisted, his arm now draped over her shoulders.

"I most certainly did not."

"Yes, you most certainly did."

"Did not!

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

At this rate, he'd only kiss her again. Imogen had to have known that, as each time Jaron leaned in close, she wriggled her way away from him. It didn't take long before they were laughing.

There wasn't any other person Jaron would want to be with, or any other person he'd rather terrorize.

Although Mott was a close second. 

Followed by Tobias.

And then followed by Roden.

Truth be told, he did get quite the rise out of picking on his closest friends. 

Jaron did his best to kiss Imogen, but she successfully dodged him.

Chaos was threatening to spill out of the Dragon's Keep and into the streets. Laughter rumbled the outside of the tavern. Loud music seemed to be breaking out of the windows. 

However, it seemed like there hadn't been any fights.

Yet.

"Into the fray we go," Jaron announced as he pushed open the door for Imogen.

Imogen wrinkled her nose, "Can we go home now?" 

"And hurt Roden's feelings? He'd be so upset that we didn't come to see him drain two full barrels of something only the Saints know about."

"I think it's sad that he does that."

"So long as he doesn't vomit on the soldiers, I don't see it as a problem."

"I know, but- I don't know, it just seems like- it seems like he's hurting. This isn't how you get over something that hurts."

No.

No it wasn't how you got over something that brought you pain. It only pushed it away. It only bought you an opportunity to forget everything.

But Jaron had no intention of forcing Roden to stop doing something that eased that hurt. 

Eased that painful ache nobody else could see.

Jaron shook his shoulders, determined not to confront his own bitter memories. He gestured to a wall lined with kegs of alcohol, "Do you think they'll have fruit juice for me? You know how I get without my juice."

"I'm sure they'll have a special pitcher full of fresh juice just for you," Imogen teased, reaching for Jaron's hand. "Is that our favorite troubadour I see?"

Sure enough, perched on a table, was Jolly of Angelmarr. 

Dressed head to toe in purple and pink, Jolly was a sight for sore eyes. He was waving an ornate lute in the air with one hand, and spilling a drink on his spectators with the other. 

"Has anybody seen my drink girl? I need a new drink!" Jolly declared as the last of his tankard's contents spilled out onto the floor. 

"Jolly!" Jaron cried, waving at his friend. "You're, ah, you're looking quite well!"

"Oh yes! I feel," he coughed. "I feel amazing! It'd be better if I got myself a new drink. Have you got any, Your Majesty?"

Normally, Jaron would've had to lie about being mistaken for the king despite actually being the king, but almost every customer in the Dragon's Keep was too drunk to even see straight.

"Would it be mean to make him play a song?" Jaron asked innocently. "Try to get him to dance at the same time?"

"Is he actually drunk?" Imogen crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and reached for Jaron's hand again. 

"If he can successfully play us a song, then no, he's not drunk. But! If he plays the first few bars and begins to cry, then he's most definitely drunk."

"Get him to play something fun."

Jaron practically had to wave his arms above his head to get Jolly to play a song, which quickly evolved into a bawdy ballad about a young lady and her goat man lover.

Jolly didn't cry while he sang, but he did repeat the song three times in a row. Both Jaron and Imogen agreed that Jolly might not have been entirely sober, but not entirely drunk either. 

More and more people poured into the tavern, the atmosphere growing louder and louder as each person stepped in. Imogen led Jaron to the wooden bar protecting a wall of kegs. There they waited for any sign of Tobias and Amarinda.

Finding Roden in this mess would be awful.

"Oh! I see them!" Imogen exclaimed, tugged on Jaron's shirtsleeve.

"Dear Saints I already hate it here," Tobias was gripping Amarinda's hand as if he was going to be swept away in a sea of drunk customers. 

Amarinda smiled, "I think it's fun. Though I can't be drinking too much, I'm going to be meeting with one of Queen Danika's ladies about a situation on Idunn Craich."

Idunn Craich, Jaron recognized the name. It was one of the five kingdom states that made up Bymar.

"What kind of situation?" Jaron arched an eyebrow, curious as to what Amarinda would say.

"Two years ago there was an alleged alliance between Idunn Craich's ruling noble house and King Vargan. It was handled by several lords of Queen Danika's court, which shouldn't have happened. Very messy, the lords murdered most of the house, we've been trying to locate anybody who might've survived."

"If you need any help, I'll put the guard up to it."

"Thank you, Jaron," Amrinda nodded. "However, I don't think- I don't think we're going to find anybody. Danika wants to make amends."

"You never know, people tend to survive-"

"You came!" Burst Roden, a sunshine smile painted all over his face. He threw his arms around the nearest person, and ultimately managed to crush Amarinda, Jaron, and Tobias together in a massive embrace. 

"How tipsy are you?" Tobias croaked as he tried to wriggle his way free.

"I actually haven't, ah," Roden peeked over his shoulder. "I haven't drank anything. Made a blithering fool of myself so now I have reason to drink myself to oblivion, but that's alright!"

"You're sure you're still sober?"

"Absolutely, which makes my mistake even worse."

A mistake was made? 

While Roden was sober?

A devilish grin wormed its way to Jaron's face, "Aren't you going to tell us? I'm awfully curious now. You've managed to get my attention despite the clamor."

Roden's smile grew wider just as his tanned face grew a deep red, "I, ah, I was talking to Jolly-"

"I can already see where your mistake was made. Nobody should ever talk to him when he's not sober."

"Right, well, I, ah, was talking to Jolly and got really, er, excited about speaking to somebody who'd caught my eye."

Jaron didn't think it was possible to look both absolutely elated and completely humiliated at the same time, but Roden somehow managed to pull it off.

"Did they reject you?" Amarinda asked. "I didn't know people rejected you, Roden. I didn’t know you flirted with people either."

"Well I don’t, and, uh, I marched right up to this person, looked them dead in the eye and-," he paused, his childish smile melting into a cringe. "And I said 'it's a wonderful evening'."

"That's not all you said, isn't it?" asked Jaron, though he already knew the answer.

"You're, ah, you're right. I really said 'it's a wonderful night for an evening', and M- this person, sorry, said 'the sky has weather outside'. . . And then told me to piss off. Me. To piss off."

It was hard not to laugh. 

Jaron snorted, coughed, and finally cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, you told them it was a nice night for an evening, they then told you that the sky has weather and told you to go away. Not your, ah, not your most romantic moment."

"Barkeep! What's the strongest whatever you have here tonight?" Roden asked, turning all attention away from his failed flirtations. 

Tobias, Amarinda, Jaron, and Imogen all shared a glance as Roden proceeded to order five tankards full of something potent and salty. 

Thank the Saints they all managed not to laugh. 

"Are you going to tell us who the lucky person is who caught your eye and managed to be brave enough to turn you away?" Tobias did his best to duck as a very large man began dancing.

"No, and I'm going to get so drunk I don't remember anything," Roden shot back. "First I'm going to drink these, and then I'm going to drain three kegs of mead. Jaron, put Feall in charge for the next two days, recovery is going to take a while."

"It couldn't have been that bad. . ." muttered Imogen. 

"Oh, trust me, it was."

And Roden tilted his head back and drained his entire tankard.

Jaron hid his concern, it wasn't normal for somebody to be able to do that. However, Tobias didn't seem shocked, probably because he'd been the one to deal with Roden's fierce hangovers.

"Are you sure we can't go home now?" Tobias batted his lashes.

"Pouting like that only works for pretty girls, and you're neither of those, so please stop before I have to burn my eyes," Jaron teased. "Let Roden drink his fill, and then we'll go home. I'd like to help Amarinda with her Bymarian situation."

"It'll get messy if more details come to light," Amarinda took a seat near Jaron, her hand on Tobias's back.

"What do you mean?" asked Imogen.

Despite the noise, a wave of uncomfortable quiet rippled through their conversation. Several glances passed between Tobias and Amarinda. 

"Bymar is split into five kingdom states, and ruled by separate noble houses. There's several houses, seventeen that are recognized by the crown," Amarinda explained. "Only five rule the kingdom states, which leaves a lot of room for jealousy. Dainka and Norman are technically high queen and high king, what they say goes, and nobody can challenge that unless the seventeen houses can unanimously agree that the policy needs to be changed.

"Three years ago, House Thay ruled Idunn Craich, and there were rumors that King Graer Thay was making a deal with Vargan. Danika and Norman were occupied, so the noble houses took it on themselves to subdue House Thay. The entire family was imprisoned, most of them slaughtered. Danika and Norman were able to prevent further bloodshed, but several members of House Thay are gone. There's no record of their deaths and no bodies anywhere. 

"However, there are, ah, rumors, about members of House Thay trying to make their way back to court. Supposedly, Lady Mireldis Thay has been spotted in Carthya. Danika has sent several members of her court to confirm or deny these rumors. Feall and I will be helping, too, but it's very unlikely that anything will-"

"Feall's told me all about-," Roden hiccuped. "Lady Thay. They're coming to collect evidence, not the girl."

"How do you know that?" Amarinda's voice had taken an edge. . . But no reply came from Roden as he drained his third tankard.

Jaron scratched the back of his neck, he'd heard about the situation on Idunn Craich.

But he had no idea how Queen Danika's court members would be able to find one young woman who could be anywhere in the country.

He wondered if Roden’s drunken musings were correct. To him, it seemed more likely that they were coming to collect evidence against House Thay, especially if Feall was involved.

Feall had a love for justice.

It would be difficult to let him return to Bymar, as he’d done much for Drylliad during the last few weeks. 

“Here comes Jolly,” Imogen said, jerking her head in the troubadour’s direction.

“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t- Hello again!” Jaron forced himself to smile. He wasn’t in the mood for fun and games anymore.

He wanted to figure out Amarinda’s Bymarian political puzzle.

“Did you make Roden cry?” Jolly’s cheery demeanor instantly faded into hostility. 

“I didn’t,” Tobias held up his hands. Mirth sparkled in his eyes as he pointed at Jaron, “But he did.”

“I did not make Roden cry!” Jaron insisted, completely aware of how indignant he sounded.

“I don’t cry!” Roden held up his fifth tankard to the ceiling. “Not about anything!”

Jaron rolled his eyes, continuing his merciless teasing, “Yes you do, you cried about a basket full of kittens abandoned on the curb. You massive baby.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Yes you are,” Jaron and Amarinda said in unison. They looked at each other in surprise before bursting into laughter. 

Jolly reached for Roden’s tankard, who jerked away, sloshing most of the contents onto the ground and onto Jolly’s bright clothing.

“He tried to hit on somebody, it didn’t go well for either of them,” Jaron explained. “Or at least, that’s what it sounds like.”

“Don’t worry, I know,” Jolly once again reached for Roden’s drink. “You’re acting like a child!”

“I am not!” was Roden’s bone rattling reply. 

“Are too!” 

“Am not!

“Hand Jolly the tankard, Roden, you’re making a mess,” Tobias said firmly.

Jaron coughed to cover his laugh as Roden stared at Tobias with eyes full of betrayal, and then shoved his tankard to Jolly’s outstretched hand.

However, Jolly wasn’t finished. He beckoned for the fifth tankard, “I’ll need that one too.”

“You’re ruining my evening,” grumbled Roden as he handed over the final tankard. “Stiff.”

“Baby.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“You’re going to make him cry!” Jaron snickered, earning a push from Imogen.

He knew very well that he deserved that push.

“I don’t- dear Saints somebody hide me,” Roden said as he tried to duck behind Tobias. “It’s her.”

“Hello Merry,” said Jaron, a series of greetings from everybody else chorusing behind him.

“Hello all,” Merry nodded. “You’ve got quite the faces for a group of friends in a tavern.”

“Roden ruined it for us,” Jaron snipped. This time, he got an elbow to the ribs, “Hey! That hurts! And she knows I’m joking!”

“Did you, ah, did you put him up to that?” 

“Put him up to-,” Amarinda began.

Jolly was ready with a response, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Merry.”

“I think you do know what I’m talking about.”

All eyes shot to Jolly, who squirmed on his feet.

Only a few seconds ticked by before he threw his hands up to surrender, “Alright! Fine! Yes, it was me! Happy?”

Merry frowned, “No. It was mean. Can I talk to you for a moment, Captain Harlowe?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Roden insisted.

However, that didn’t stop Merry. She took him by the elbow, excused herself, and dragged Roden away from the wood bar.

“I told him to speak with Merry. As friends! Don’t glare at me so! He really said ‘Nice night for an evening’,” Jolly snickered, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “Saints, he’s so funny.”

“Not the type of prank I’d play, but it was certainly devious,” Jaron was ready to dodge Imogen’s elbow, only to receive a light tap to the back of his head. “What!?”

“It was mean, and now Roden’s embarrassed, you know he was looking forward to tonight,” Imogen scowled. 

“I wasn’t about to let his entire evening be ruined.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I still think it was funny. ‘Nice night for an evening’,” Jolly was the only one laughing. 

Imogen inhaled, “There’s a difference between laughing at somebody and laughing with somebody. Roden was obviously mortified and not in the mood.”

“In Roden’s defense, Merry shot back with ‘the sky has weather’, which is equally embarrassing.”

“Merry told him that the sky has weather?” Tobias snorted.

“What idiots,” Jolly smiled. “Anyways, do you want to play a drinking game with me?”

Everybody instantly said no, which then led to everybody laughing. 

Jaron glanced over his shoulder, trying to look for Roden and Merry. As much as he would’ve liked to laugh at another form of ‘a nice night for an evening’, he didn’t want to see his friend make an absolute fool of himself.

He could’ve sworn he saw Roden’s blue and gold tunic near the far corner.

And he could’ve sworn he saw somebody get- somebody-

The atmosphere shattered.

Somebody had been thrown out of the tavern’s glass window.

Fighting broke out amongst all of the bar customers, even the ones who'd been friends before the fight broke out. Men were laughing as they turned around and knocked the teeth out of the person nearest to them. Tobias's eyes went wide, almost like a pair of dinner plates were growing out of his head.

"Can we please go now?" Imogen asked, ducking as a tankard came careening towards the wall behind her.

"At this rate," Jaron jumped to his feet, a smile spreading on his face. "At this rate, we're going to have to fight our way out! Roden! Where'd you go?!"

A fist came flying towards Jaron's face, but he launched himself directly at his laughing attacker to keep the blow from hitting one of his friends, or worse, his wife.

It didn't take much for the attacker to throw his hands at somebody else. Jaron decided right then and there that they all needed to leave. He reached out for Imogen's hand, and practically yanked her to her feet.

In a way, dodging punches became a game.

Except in this game, you risked losing your teeth.

Jaron frantically looked for Roden each time he had the chance, ultimately deciding that Roden was just going to have to hold his own this time.

Imogen's safety was the top priority.

Somewhere along the way, Jolly got lost in the crowd. Jaron didn't mind. He had the quiet feeling that this whole bar fight could be pinned on his shoulders.

And he had an even louder feeling that maybe Roden had been the one who caused the fight in the first place.

"Right, any bruises?" Tobias asked the second they stepped out of the Dragon's Keep and into the cold night air.

"I'm clean," Jaron answered, looking Imogen's arms over for any purple bruises.

Amarinda cracked her knuckles, "I could go back in and find Roden if you really wanted me too."

"Roden can handle himself, besides, this will take his mind off of the fact that we mercilessly teased him after he tried to, ah, flirt with Merry," muttered Tobias as he wiped his forehead. "I do hope he's alright, though. He does tend to think very little for his own safety."

"It's both noble and a little dangerous."

"Maybe we should go in after-"

Tobias never got to finish his sentence, as a second man came careening out of the tavern's other unbroken window.

It was hard to tell, at first, but Jaron soon realized that in the middle of the fist fight was a blue and gold tunic.

Sure enough, Roden was holding his own.

And also the one responsible for throwing men out of the window.

"Do we-?" Jaron looked to each of his companions, knowing that they understood what he was asking.

For several moments, nobody spoke. Nobody knew what to say. Tobias coughed, "I think we should just leave him be. You know how much he likes throwing a strong punch after drinking something with enough alcohol to kill a bear."

"I think it's time that we interfered with our friend's habit," Imogen pointed out, her hands on her hips. "It's just not safe."

"He looks like he's-," Jaron moved to the left as a third man came shooting out of another window, "He looks like he's having the time of his life."

The fight ended up lasting a half hour, which wasn't nearly as bad as Jaron was expecting, considering how full the bar had been.

It ended when Jolly, Merry, and Roden all came stumbling out of the Dragon's Keep.

Or really they were swept out by an angry bartender, telling them to come back when the 

Devils' lair froze over.

Jaron snickered to himself, knowing that Roden was responsible for a large portion of the money the tavern earned. He'd be welcome back in the Dragon's Keep soon enough.

He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but the smile on his face meant that whatever emotional turmoil Roden was grappling with had faded. Next to him, Merry's face rivaled the gruesome scowls of cathedral gargoyles.

And then there was Jolly.

Who was just behaving like himself, as always.

"Everything okay?" Jaron asked, arching his eyebrow as he stared at all the members of the trio.

"I'm perfectly fine," answered Roden, seemingly unaware that the cut on his cheek was now bleeding onto the collar of his tunic. He slipped his arm around Merry's shoulder, who instantly weaseled away. "I've actually never been better, do you think we could stay out? I'm really enjoying my-"

"Follow my finger," Tobias said as he dragged his pointer finger in a line. When Roden moved his whole head to follow Tobias's finger, he frowned, "No, with just your eyes, Roden. Your eyes! Not your whole head!"

"I am using my eyes!" Roden insisted as he continued to move his head to see Tobias's finger.

Ah, Jaron recognized that type of injury. It was one you couldn't see.

Roden once again tried to put an arm around Merry's shoulder, and once again, she slipped 

away, this time taking her place on Jolly's right side.

"I, er, I, uh, I think we need to get you back to the castle, my friend," Jaron set a hand on 

Roden's shoulder, subtly taking him away from Jolly and Merry. "How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy, but also, ah," Roden looked at Merry, who was grinning at him. . . Until she realized 

Jaron was looking at her, and then she looked away. That only made Roden smile more, "I feel 

dizzy, but also as if I were, um, I can't describe it, I'm sorry. I feel very good for the first time in a- whoa, the ground's tipping."

"His brain's been a little rattled," Tobias explained.

"That doesn't take much, considering that he hasn't got much of a brain up in that fat head of his," Jolly teased, though he did seem genuinely concerned about Roden's well being.

The morning after the bar fight, Tobias did his best to ask Roden about what he remembered about the night before. . .

And to everyone’s relief, he didn’t remember anything.

It was better that way.

[enchanted-prose]

#3 To Stress A Tobias

This occurs simultaneously with #2 Joust!

Word Count: 2317

Characters: Amarinda, Imogen, Jaron, Tobias, Jolly (Original Character)

Notes: Just a little fun piece! 

No Editing, We Die Like Men. ENJOY OR ELSE

The sun was gleaming in a cloudless sky for the first time in several days. It was difficult to find the motivation to move out of the sunlight. Light poured in through the large windows peppered throughout Amarinda's room. Occasionally, the light reflected off of the many glass bottles lining the far wall, creating a flash of color.

Beautiful displays of light caused by different colored glass bottles filled with who-knows-what.

An unknown perk of being married to a physician in training.

Saints, was this how a cat felt when sleeping on a rock? Doused in sunlight and colorful reflections?

"Is it wrong that I'm more excited for this afternoon than I've been for weeks?" Imogen asked, lacing up both of her boots. "I know I shouldn't find it fun, terrorizing Tobias like this."

Amarinda grinned. She plucked at the loose strings on her borrowed pages' tunic, "I love terrorizing Tobias. Usually because he ends up giving a lecture and then breaking into the widest grin. I think he secretly likes being the one to make sure everybody's still alive after anything remotely enjoyable happens."

"He certainly doesn't seem that way," noted Imogen.

"Ah, I felt the same way too."

Imogen laughed, which made Amarinda laugh. It was easy to be herself when dressed as a petty thief. It was easy to let herself smile when preparing for an afternoon of fun with her best friend.

Oh, Tobias.

Truth be told, Amarinda didn't expect herself to fall head over heels for Tobias all those years ago, she'd expected to marry into the Carthyan throne.

But fate had a different plan for her, and Amarinda certainly wasn't complaining.

"Right, well," Amarinda stuffed her long brown hair into the ugliest cap she could find. "I've got a whole list of things that I want to get done before you and Jaron have to, ah, attend business."

"I don't like that devilish smirk, the only business being taken care of is completely official," but the pink tinge to Imogen's ears gave her away.

It was no secret that Jaron had made a sport of squeezing in, ah, personal business affairs into his busy schedule whenever he could.

Though it was definitely a secret that Imogen was the one encouraging Jaron.

Unable to stop herself, Amarinda began to fan her face, imitating Jaron to the best of her ability, "Oh Imogen, this joust is simply delightful. I love sitting down. Let's be completely behaved. And afterwards, we can go to the chapel and pray."

"Oh, shut up! You know how much of a chore it is to get Jaron into any kind of church!" Imogen's frustrated tone melted into a laugh. She grabbed a pillow, and hurled it at Amarinda's head.

It didn't take much effort from Amarinda to catch the pillow.

Even if Imogen had thrown the pillow with the intention to hit her target, Amarinda would've been able to catch it.

Sometimes being the princess from one of the strongest kingdoms in the realms paid off.

Amarinda could hold her own in a fight, no matter how much the other women in court tried to deny it.

The door creaked open, and Jaron slithered his way in. He'd already begun to smirk.

There'd be no getting rid of that smirk until Tobias had lectured the trio and then blushed when he realized that they enjoyed giving him a hard time.

"I've sent Roden, Mott, and Lord Feall off to search for the bandits. The Faola," Jaron said as he shamelessly tugged his tunic over his head and replaced it with a worn down shirt. "I don't know if I should wish them luck or tell them that this is becoming a wild goose chase."

"Roden won't stop until he knows why Feall was attacked," Amarinda pointed out. She made her way over to the massive bench resting in the sunlight.

"Maybe there's no underlying reason for the attack, though, and that's what I'm trying to get Roden to realize by sending him off."

Amarinda snorted.

Ever since the attack, Tobias brought up the Faola whenever he was near Roden or Mott, and he always tried to paint them as the good guys.

Tobias looked for the best in people.

It was one of the many things Amarinda loved about him.

At one point, Tobias began explaining the Faola to her. Of course, he was unaware of the fact that Amarinda knew much more than she let on.

Much more.

But she didn't have the heart to crush Tobias's ideas.

And she knew that maybe there was more to the Faola's story.

If she was correct with her assumptions, then Amarinda knew exactly why Feall had been attacked.

If she was incorrect in her assumptions, then Amarinda was grasping at Bymarian straws.

She would wait to give her information. She would wait until she had proof of her beliefs.

Until Tobias recognized that the Faola were just another gang.

Or that he'd been right the entire time.

"-and apparently there's going to be flavored ice, which I thought was a winter thing," Jaron was tugging on a holed boot.

Had she really been so trapped in her own thoughts as to not notice the conversation around her?

Wouldn't be the first time that happened.

"Amarinda came up with a list for all of us," Imogen said with a smile. "I think I'm the most excited to see the performers."

"Ah, but you'll want to be careful, some people are ridiculously good at picking pockets," interjected Amarinda.

"I'm excited for the food," Jaron kissed the top of Imogen's head, and followed the sweet gesture by flinging her braid over her face.

Imogen swatted him away, "Shoo! Shoo you starving boy!"

"No! Speak to me kindly! My heart bruises easier- ow!- than my skin!" He laughed, dodging Imogen's giggling blows. Jaron caught her by the wrists, and spun her into an embrace, "Now, what do you two say to leaving through the windows? Tobias will never see it coming. . ."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was only one instance where they nearly got caught.

Jaron insisted that he knew where one of the best troubadours in the realms was. He lead Amarinda and Imogen halfway across the festival grounds to one of the most elaborate temporary buildings they'd seen before.

Somebody had really gone and set up an imitation of a castle.

Amarinda couldn't believe it.

"Don't worry, he's a friend of mine," Jaron insisted as he stepped into the temporary castle, which turned out to be a massive tavern.

"Have you told me about him?" Amarinda asked.

She had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly who Jaron was talking about.

"I haven't told you," he shrugged his way past a pair of massive Gelynians. "But I have told Imogen. Even got him to come play while you and Tobias were out and about."

"He has the most wonderful voice and the cleverest songs," Imogen gripped Jaron's hand, and then reached out to Amarinda.

She took Imogen's hand, determined not to be lost in the crowd, "This troubadour, he doesn't happen to have a song in his repertoire about Roden, does he?"

"Oh, he definitely does," confirmed Imogen.

"It's actually really funny, it's not what I was expecting, that's for sure," Jaron added. "Ah, there he is! Hey! Jolly! Over here!"

All it took was one glance at the peacock green tunic, and Amarinda knew.

She knew Jolly all too well.

"Ah! Your, uh, my old friend!" Bellowed Jolly. He was strumming a loot. "It's good to see you! Have you brought me company?"

"This is my wife, Imogen, and my dear friend, Amarinda."

Jaron's wink nearly went unnoticed. However, Jolly nodded, and pushed the black haired girl next to him into the crowd, "Get me a drink, Merry, and don't come back unless it has cream and a cherry. Ah ha! Merry, cherry. My lyricism is a divine gift."

"I can tell," Amarinda didn't mean for her tone to suddenly become so dry.

Jolly was bad news wherever he went.

“I’ve written a new,” Jolly hiccuped, “-song. You’ll have to let me come sing it for you.”

“A new song?” Jaron’s eyes were glimmering with mirth when he looked back at Imogen and Amarinda.

“You’ll have to come sing it for us,” Imogen said. “Is it a happy one?”

“I suppose so, I wrote it about a bandit king from Bymar. Or maybe I should change it to bandit queen, that’s more true to the story.”

“True to what story?” Jaron asked, his grinning face sinking into a frown.

The tiny slip gave Amarinda’s suspicions even more traction. She remained silent, waiting for Jolly to explain himself.

“The story of- Merry’s coming back!”

“True to what story!?” Jaron repeated, but even he had to be aware of the fact that Jolly was no longer interested.

He got that way when he was drunk, Amarinda knew that much.

"Oh! Captain! The captain’s here too!" Jolly called, waving his hand. "Captain Harlowe's-"

They were gone in the blink of an eye.

Roden didn't impede on Jaron's tendency to cause trouble while disguised, but he did tend to tell people things that he wasn't supposed to.

Specifically Tobias.

They simply couldn't risk being caught.

"I didn't know that your friend was Jolly of Angelmarr," Amarinda said as soon as they were out of the temporary tavern.

Jolly was Bymarian, a native to the city Angelmarr.

He frequented Queen Danika's court.

Rumors followed him.

Rumors that were unfortunately mostly true.

"I didn't know you knew him," Jaron shrugged. "He's a fun bloke to be around."

"I suppose so, he's quite flamboyant."

"All the more reason to enjoy his company."

Amarinda was preparing to explain her distrust for Jolly, when Imogen squeaked in excitement.

Right there, in the middle of a grass arena, was a group of dancers in scarlet suits and headdresses made of ribbon.

They were breathing fire.

So, Amarinda bit her tongue.

She didn't have it in herself to spoil Imogen's obvious delight.

But she'd definitely point the situation out to Jaron later that evening.

The fire breathers swallowed torches, showed them to the crowd after they'd been extinguished, and then opened their mouths to the sky.

Fire leapt into the air.

If it hadn't been for a flash of a navy blue physician's coat, they would've stayed there longer, mesmerized by the fire breathers.

Imogen was still talking about it even after they'd run into other performers doing sill tricks with their pet monkeys.

Queen Danika had a monkey at one point, Amarinda barely remembered anything good about it. All the monkey did was shred fabrics and grab at people.

A little frightening for a young girl.

Tobias nearly caught up to them several times after the fire breathers.

And each time they managed to escape. . .

Until they met their fate at the hands of a toothless old woman.

Oh, Amarinda couldn't resist. She knew that she'd regret her actions the next day, and yet, not even that knowledge would stop her from what she was about to do.

Just an hour ago, Imogen took control of the trio, and dragged both Jaron and Amarinda to a rickety wagon manned by a rickety woman.

She had a single tooth hanging over her cracked lips.

Turned out she had a wicked sense of humor. She later told Amarinda she enjoyed pretending to be a fairytale witch at festivals.

She also confirmed that her trade had gotten her into boiling water before.

Literally.

The wagon was decorated like something out of a fairytale. Gilded cages held shimmering twigs inside, which the rickety woman insisted were fairies when children asked about them. The rickety woman sat in a chair near a cauldron.

A boiling cauldron.

Every so often, the woman would lower a veil over her face, turn her back to the crowd, and lift a large spoon from the cauldron.

She never revealed what she was making. . . Until she deemed the crowd large enough.

The rickety old woman was making the best miniature apple pies Amarinda had ever eaten.

And Amarinda had eaten some very fine pies before.

"I'm doing it," Amarinda said, patting the extra coin purse she brought. "I'm buying a dozen more."

Jaron belched, "Am- Amarinda we've each had at least four. Aren't you- don't you-"

"Feel sick?"

Oh dear.

Their babysitter found them.

Tobias stood with his hands on his hips, obviously trying his best to scowl, "I've been looking everywhere for you three! There's a threat of bandits! Thieves! You could have at least let a guard trail you! All I ask is that- oh dear."

Amarinda hid her smirk as she trailed her fingers through Tobias's thick, dark hair. That would soften him up. She shrugged, "We only wanted to have fun, Tobias."

"It's different when you're left to fend for yourself," Imogen muttered, biting into her fifth apple pie.

"There's no point in having fun if it's not safe," countered Tobias. But the drooling grin he was fighting away was all too revealing.

"Would you feel better if you came with us?" Amarinda reached out to grab Tobias's hand, and rolled her head to the left.

If Jaron was clever enough, he'd seize this opportunity to melt back into the crowd.

“I’d feel better if you came with me,” Tobias mumbled. “Would you, un, would you-?”

“Spend the afternoon with my husband?” Amarinda glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, Jaron and Imogen had managed to slip away.

Good for them.

Amarinda rattled her coin purse, “Care to get sick from too many apple pies?”

Tobias’s eyes lit up, “You’re asking me to do something foolish.”

“That’s right, I am.”

“I’d gladly eat myself sick from pies with you, Amy.”

“And that’s-,” Amarinda pressed a kiss to Tobias’s still open mouth, “-what every girl wants to hear from her noble love.”

[enchanted-prose]

Daisy Chains

I can’t contribute anything to the fandom except for writing! Here’s my first contribution for something I’m going to call Fic Friday. I solemnly swear to drop a fic or drabble from 200-6,000 words every Friday! (drop comments because I live for attention?)

Title: Daisy Chains

Word Count: 2,000

Features: Mott, Jaron, Amarinda, Tobias, Roden, and Imogen, as well as a few ocs and an introduction for a larger project I’m working on.

No editing, we die like men.

The day was warm.

Birds chirped, and for the first time in a long time, the trees all bore their leaves. Everything was alive. Buzzing with a lazy energy.

The Roving River moved eerily slowly, slugging through the broken forest just outside of Drylliad castle. It would be years before the forest surrounding the castle healed from the wounds of war. But after two years, the environment was making great effort to return to normalcy.

But normalcy was still years away.

Repercussions from the Avenian War still rattled the government and population of Carthya. In Avenia, the people were struggling to survive. Bymar was facing severe social unrest.

At least Gelyn was still swindling people out of their fortunes, like they always did.

On the bank of the river lay a large, quilted blanket. A basket of food stood in the middle of a group of young people.

And there was laughter.

Smiles despite the haunted look each person tried to hide.

"Still can't believe you managed to drink an entire barrel full of mead," Tobias shook his head. "Roden, there's been an ongoing study about fermented beverages leading to an early death."

Roden Harlowe, the charming captain of Carthya's royal  guard, smirked, "I'm bound to die anyways, may as well die from something I like."

"That's not-"

"Careful Tobias, you might trick people into thinking we're friends."

"Shut up."

A wave of snickers rippled through Tobias, Roden, and the rest of King Jaron's inner circle.

Jaron himself had demanded that he and the inner circle take the afternoon off. They all deserved it. Each one had been working nonstop to ensure domestic peace, and others had been grappling with diplomatic responsibilities.

The rules for the afternoon were simple: Under no circumstances was anybody allowed to bring up anything that had to do with the kingdom.

Or other kingdoms.

Or anything sad at all.

"I feel like you should push Roden to his limits," snipped Amarinda, the princess and ambassador of Bymar. "If he can drain an entire barrel, why not see if he can do two?"

"Now that's a wager I'll get behind," Roden said. He settled on his back, clasping his hands behind his head.

"You'd be sick for days," Tobias argued.

"That won't stop me from doing anything."

"Idiot."

"Prat."

Jaron was laughing, "As much as I approve of pushing boundaries, maybe you should start at one and a half barrels. You still need to patrol the- ah, you still need to be wary on your feet. . . Or Tobias may be able to disarm you in a sparring match."

"Didn't think of that," Roden groaned. "My reputation would be ruined."

"Your reputation is already ruined," Amarinda teased.

"Damaged beyond compare, there's absolutely no chance you can repair it. You'll be churning butter your whole life," Jaron inched his way closer to Imogen, and settled an arm around her. "Maybe you could open a shop."

"I fully intend to vanish, and then train wannabe heroes just like the mentors from the old legends."

"Don't the mentors usually die in the legends?"

"Everyone dies in legends, that's why they're legends."

"I thought we were going to avoid depressing subjects," Imogen chirped. She tugged on the end of her braid.

A moment of silence settled in over everyone.

Avoiding the scars they'd all received would never be an easy task. They were still too fresh despite appearing to be healed.

Each one had different burdens.

Each one bore their own burden in different ways.

For Imogen, she found herself almost always afraid that somebody would materialize out of the dark and put an arrow through her shoulder again.

For Jaron, he couldn't ever seem to sit still, something he struggled with as a child before. If he was constantly moving, there was less of a chance of being caught.

"My cousin, Princess Eline, sent me a letter," Amarinda said. "She's going to be named heir to the throne soon."

"She's going to become queen in her own right?" Jaron's eyes went wide. "That's incredible!"

"She's taking the situation very seriously, especially since she's so young. However, there is much. . . Much to be done to prepare for the ceremony. I hope to attend."

"I hope we all can attend."

Silence once again.

They all knew that they were avoiding a subject very specific to Princess Eline's new title as Crown Princess.

Princess Eline  had the support of the Royalists, but no support from those calling themselves the Tairrogists.

The Tairrogists insisted that they needed a new monarch.

One that would focus on Bymar's affairs before attending to their allies.

And they were gaining an unsettling amount of support from the people of Bymar.

Amarinda wasn't the type to watch her country topple, even if she did have a duty to Carthya and her husband above all.

That was how she kept herself composed.

She busied herself with ways to make life better for everyone, and did her best to involve Tobias. Together, they worked through their concerns.

Their fears were slowly melting away.

Together, they recognized that there was only so much that they could do within their power.

Unlike Roden.

Unlike Captain Roden Harlowe, who silently insisted that he was strong enough to save everyone he could.

The results when he couldn't save everyone were devastating to watch.

So he turned to the company of alcohol. The local tavern had a stool reserved just for him. The local barmaids always did their best to serve him first for the chance to accompany him to his bed.

He kept himself detached and too involved all at once.

And he never slept alone.

"I've always wanted to know how to make a daisy chain," Roden blurted, saying the first thing that came to his mind.

"A daisy chain?" Imogen tilted her head. "I'm quite good at those, have anyone in mind you're going to give it to?"

"Not really, just need something to do while I'm out in the woods on a boring day."

"I think making daisy chains is a brilliant idea. You can use it as a weapon, maybe even a rope," Jaron snickered. "Can't tell you how many times my life has been saved by flowers."

"Ah, see, I can think of one time your life was definitely saved by flowers, your Highness," a smile split across Imogen's face like a ray of sunshine.

"None of you will ever understand how grateful I am for Imogen. If more people were like her, we'd get everything under control."

Nobody could deny that Imogen was certainly the most productive out of them all.

"I know I could use a few notes on remaining focused," Amarinda's gaze flickered to a special area. "Especially when Tobias and I are taking inventory in the physician's chambers."

Another wave of snickers rippled through the circle as Tobias's ears turned beat red, "I, ah, could say the same."

"Dear Saints, I hate being around you all," Roden groaned.

"Right! Daisy chains!" Imogen clapped her hands together, desperately trying to change the subject. "You start by getting-"

"-Daisies of course," Jaron said. He stood, and held out a hand to Imogen, "Care to look for them with me?"

"Don't mind if I do."

By the time they both returned from 'looking for daisies', a newcomer had joined Amarinda, Tobias, and Roden on the blanket. The sunlight glinting off of his shiny, bald head brought safety to both Jron and Imogen.

There was nobody they trusted more than Mott.

"Mott!" Jaron exclaimed, nearly dropping all of the daisies he'd collected. "Ae you sure it's safe for you to be out-"

"I'm not made of glass, Jaron," Mott sighed, but a ghost of a smile lingered on his face.

"I know, but, I do worry."

"I wish you didn't. What have you got there?'

Everyone was far too talented at changing the subject.

"We're going to teach Roden how to make a daisy chain," Imogen said. She sat down on the blanket, and began passing out bundles of daisies.

Mott tried his best to hide his surprise, "Is there somebody he's courting?"

"The day I court somebody, male or female, is the day that I get a sword through my middle," Roden snapped.

"Violent words from a lover," Jaron placed his hand over his heart. "How could you forsake our love, dear captain?"

"Because you're the type of person to steal the blanket in the middle of the night and I get cold."

"You do steal the blanket, Jaron," Imogen noted.

"I am not a blanket stealer!"

He was indeed a blanket stealer.

Quite inconvenient on a snowing night.

"To start with a daisy chain, you need a pair of flowers. One is going to wrap around the other," Imogen held up the daisies, expertly wrapping one stem around its twin. "You sort of repeat this pattern until it's as long as you like. I sometimes tie the ends together with string because they stay longer, but I don't think we have anything. . ."

"I have string!" Tobias said.

"Never leaves home without it," Amarinda grinned. "Always insists that he might need to stitch somebody up."

"Can't help it, I'm friends with Roden."

"Speak to me kindly," Roden frowned.

"Not on your life."

"Prat."

"Idiot."

The first batch of daisy chains from Jaron and Tobias fell apart. Eventually, their daisies became too worn out, and they fell apart. However, Roden seemed to be a natural at first. . . Until about halfway through the chain when he accidentally broke off a daisy, causing the entire thing to fall apart.

Amarinda's crown was finished quickly, and in no time, her crown was resting on Tobias's head while she worked on a second one.

They made sure to speak to each other while they weaved. It helped keep their minds from wandering to dismal places.

Crowns were made and placed on  heads.

Mott's bald head couldn't keep the crown in place until one was made to specifically fit his head, and his alone.

Tobias, at first, bore the most crowns. . .

But the circle made an unspoken pact, wrestled Jaron to the ground, and shoved as many daisy chains as they could onto and over his head.

It had been a long time since they'd all laughed that hard.

Later that evening, as Jaron sat alone in his office reading decrees and letters, he couldn't shake the feeling that the afternoon he'd shared with his friends would be the last truly happy thing to happen for a long time.

And it scared him.

It scared him that things weren't slowing down as he'd hoped. Though Carthya was well on their way to recovering from the Avenian war, Bymar was teetering on the edge of civil war.

As their ally, Carthya had an obligation to assist Bymar.

But what could they offer?

If Jaron sent troops, the Carthyan population would be decimated.

If he didn't. . . He'd be a traitor.

Oh how he wished that he could spend every afternoon simply making daisy chains with his inner circle..

[ascendanceseriesveteran]

🌹 Short fanfiction I like to call “tHis Boy iS OuR KinG?”

This is inspired by the sneak-peak, Shattered Castle quote ‘“This boy is our king?” She shook her head, her expression souring with every movement. “And soon he will be my son-in-law. How wonderful.” Her tone implied that she believed having a thorn in one’s foot was also wonderful. I was clearly the thorn.”’

Warning no. 1: I lost a bit of inspiration in part 2 and just wrapped it up, sorry that it feels unfinished.

Warning no. 2: Yes I have decidedly made this a little ✨spicy✨ at one point and also slipped in a ✨risqué✨ joke (don’t attack me please and thank you.)

Warning no. 3: Potential spelling mistakes bc I wrote this in a very short period of time.

Side note: I think Imogen’s real mother will be different to what I wrote here but I’m just really excited to see her grill Jaron. This TSC quote gave me life.

Final note: I almost died when I read “son-in-law”, don’t talk to me- 🤧 but if we get Jarogen’s wedding in TSC, or even just more talk about them being a package deal, I’ll combust.

Without further ado. Here’s the fic:

“It will be fine.” Imogen articulated every syllable. Probing me forward and ahead of the exacerbated sighs behind us.

This wasn’t how I’d hoped to meet my future mother-in-law. Not with Tobias, Roden and Amarinda here too. And certainly not while all of them, including Imogen, were angry with me for keeping the Scope from them. Now Wilta was terrorising Carthya and it was all my fault.

I grabbed Imogen’s arm, “No mother in the history of mothers has ever approved of their daughter’s partner.”

She huffed, crossed her arms, and sent our friends out of hearing-range with a single glare so that she could scold me privately. This was scarier than what was to come, I decided. “Firstly, after what you pulled, calling me your partner is a bit generous.”

I winced. Hearing her say that was like a dagger to the heart. She never seemed to accept my keeping secrets for her safety. I knew that with information, a person became vulnerable to their enemies. So did she. And yet she was willing to risk her life. I however, wasn’t willing to do that. I loved her more than anything and couldn’t bear to lose her. But each of my mistakes was succeeded by another. And every time I kept a secret, I was pushing her further and further away from me. Hurting her. It seemed that the prospect of losing her wasn’t that far from reality. That my own stupidity would be the reason I ended up alone. And I was terrified by that fact. I was nothing without her.

Clearly sensing my distress, her frustration was interrupted by a calming softness only she could muster, “Stop panicking, Jaron. I’m not leaving you. I’m just angry and need you to know that you can’t keep doing this to me. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to let me in.”

I averted my eyes.

“Secondly, very few daughters have brought a handsome, strong, honourable King home for their mother’s approval before. Though we will need to keep your sharp tongue in check. She’s very quick at forming opinions.” It was obvious that she was trying to perk me up a bit. Complimenting me. Attempting to be make feel worthy. But with that came the realisation that everything she said were standards I would never truly live up to. Standards she deserved to have in her partner that I would always fall short of.

Imogen continued, cupping my cheeks, “I haven’t seen her for a few years, but I have faith that she will see what I see in you.” I looked at her in surprise as she shuffled closer. She had to stand on her toes to reach my lips. And without any hesitation, I dipped low to meet her kiss, whimpering as we made contact. For days I have wallowed in the despair of depravation. Receiving glares rather than the glorious affection I craved like a starved man. I would give her everything. Her hand gripped my messy nest of hair and the other pressed me against her. I melted at the thought that she missed this as much as I did.

“I’m still angry at you.” She whispered, nipping my lip gently.

“I know.”

“You still have to shower me with apologies.”

“Until you forgive me.”

“If I forgive you.”

Smiling against her lips I pulled her even closer until our bodies melded into one another, basking in each other’s warmth.

“We don’t have all day” Somewhere in the quiet, insignificant distance, Roden’s frustration was heard. But it was as easy to block out as the chirping of birds at five in the morning when I’d much rather be sleeping.

And we stood like that for a while. And it was perfect. Until-

“Your sword is poking me.”

Quickly letting her go, I leaped away before I could manage to cross any more lines. Only to have her reach over and adjust the strap that held my sword in place. Because she was talking about the weapon that was currently on my hip. The sharp, stabbing device. The one used to stab people. Not anything else.

Imogen had the nerve to giggle and shake her head in amusement. At least she was no longer angry at me, I concluded.

When finished, she whispered, “I hope she likes you.” And with a final peck, Imogen knocked, fluffed my hair and tucked the face-concealing strands behind my ears. My heart fluttered as she made me look presentable. Her touch, full of love. The others returned to stand behind us, Tobias mumbling about how he hoped Amarinda’s family would accept him even though he wasn’t royalty. And I felt like I could conquer anything, including this greeting.

It was naive to be so optimistic about my chances.

When Imogen’s mother opened the door, I saw the resemblance instantly. Honey-coloured eyes and cascading, brown locks. She scooped her daughter into her arms and held her for what seemed like forever. Tears sparking in her gaze as it swept over Imogen.

“I’ve missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

Imogen wrapped her arms around her mother again, “I’ve missed you too.”

“And who are all these people?” It wasn’t really bitterness in her voice. More frustration from having four strangers impose on her reunion with her daughter.

Imogen answered for us, “They’re my friends and we need a place to stay tonight.”

“I thought you were still at Connor’s estate. Even after…” Her voice was a mere whisper, as if she was telling something forbidden. “Well, you know.”

“No, actually,” Imogen bit her lip and glanced over at me. I tried my best to look calm but it was clear I had failed. “No, I’ve been somewhere else. I think we should talk inside.”

•••••

I regretted everything. Sleeping outside in the cold would have been less painful than the scrutinising examination I was receiving from Lavinia, Imogen’s mother.

“This boy is our King?” She shook her head, her expression souring with every movement. “And soon he will be my son-in-law. How wonderful.” Her tone implied that she believed having a thorn in one’s foot was also wonderful. I was clearly the thorn.

I kept my mouth shut. Vowing that my natural talent at making bad situations worse would not cripple my chances of being liked by Lavinia. She however, had different ideas.

“Is he also a mute?”

“No.” I swallowed my words, realising my mistake. “I mean, no, my Lady.”

My courteous efforts were completely useless. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

I shot Imogen a panicked glance and thanked the saints when she swooped in to save me. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, it is,” Lavinia snapped. “I’ve heard a lot about him. And not all of it was good. As far as rumour goes, he’s the reason Prozarians are burning our crops and terrorising our people.”

Imogen snapped back. I could see where her fierce personality stemmed from. “He’s also the one who saved Carthya from slaughter by the Avenians and united us with our neighbours and liberated a whole country from the Prozarians.”

“A few good deeds don’t absolve him of the bad.”

Imogen huffed and crossed her arms, “You haven’t even given him a chance.”

“Perhaps you’ve given him too many.”

That was true, I thought ruefully. I deserved far less than what Imogen has given me.

“You have always been an intelligent woman, Imogen,” Lavinia said. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day you let your wits be clouded by status, wealth and appearance.”

“Don’t speak to her that way,” I hissed without much forethought. Insulting me was one thing. If anything, I could prove my strength by not showing my hurt. But implying that Imogen was shallow or lacking in judgement was were I drew the line. Even if the target of my rebuke was none other than the mother I hoped to win over.

“Jaron,” Imogen hand gripped my wrist warningly.

“Your daughter has more wisdom than the entirety of Carthya and if you suggest otherwise I swear we will leave.”

Lavinia stood eerily still until a satisfied smile crossed her face. “Good answer.”

I frowned, confused. Imogen’s posture relaxed a bit. But her thumb continued drawing circles on my wrist.

“I made dinner before you arrived. There should be enough for everyone. Come take a seat.” She gestured to the table and walked off to get what I could only assume was said dinner.

“I’m very confused.”

Imogen guided me to the table as everyone else took their seats. Ironically, I was at the head of the table. I guessed that was out of habit for everyone. But I wished I had a less imposing seat. Perhaps the corner Tobias lodged himself in would’ve been nice.

“See, you’re already growing on her,” Imogen whispered.

I scoffed, “Sure I am. Like fungus.”

She rolled her eyes. “I will be honest. I didn’t expect her to react that way. I know she can come off pretty strongly, but even I can admit her perception of you is misplaced.”

“No it’s not,” I murmured.

“What?”

I smiled at Imogen and Lavinia came back into the room carrying a large dish of soup and six bowls.

“Alright, let’s begin,” she announced and I swallowed.

Because it was here that I realised that my interrogation had only just begun.

[cobalts-corner]

Ascendance Month Day 4

Prompt: Modern day ascendance gang

I have a full out doc dedicated to this, and even a fic. I was born for this prompt

I’m gonna go over my modern highschool au rather than just a normal modern one. This does include some side characters but who cares 

Me and @h0n3yd3w​    pretty much share this au considering we work on the fic together

-Jaron & Amarinda are the rich kids (i wonder why)

-Tobias plays piano

-Jaron plays the saxophone

-Amarinda secretly plays the viola

-Errol works at a seven eleven

-Mott works as a police officer, school counselor, and was formerly a staff member at an IKEA

-Darius is an aspiring musical artist and he has concerts at cafes and sings really emo and depressing songs

-Imogen only wears cozy clothes 

-Mrs. Turbeldy is a bus driver

-Wilta is the school’s reginia george if you know what I mean

-Vargan is the chorus teacher (lmao) 

-Fink is some random kid that you may see breakdancing on a sidewalk, and screaming because he died in his hardcore minecraft world

-Cregan is a grumpy janitor

-Jaron isn’t the class clown, he’s the school’s clown. He even has a shrine for himself in the school’s bathroom

(IMAGE MADE BY HONEYDEW)

-Darius has beef with 80% of the school

-Harlowe is the principal 

-Darius got suspended from school for 5 months for flooding half the school, punching a kid, trapping someone in a locker... ect 

-Roden think’s he’s the school’s alpha (spoiler: he’s not) also he plays football

i could gush about this au for hours, because theres so much more too it, but for everyone’s mental state, I wont-

[enchanted-prose]

I forgot to celebrate fink’s birthday bc I was racing to finish this :,) I’ll be using these faces for alignment charts!

The whole cast of my fic! From left to right, top to bottom:

Jaron, Tobias, Roden

Imogen, Amarinda, Renlyn

Jolly, Merry, and Feall :,)))

[enchanted-prose]

#8 Just a Day in the Life

100th post = returning from teeny tiny hiatus! Special thank you to my darling editor, and @ piratekingimogen for screaming about the lack of Jarogen fluff in the fandom with me!

Word count: 5,295 

Characters: Jaron, Princess Amarinda, Feall (Original Character), King Oberson (Original Character), Harlowe, Imogen

Notes: Expect a few fluffy fics hurtling towards you, please consult your dentist if you develop cavities bc it’s too sweet and it happened to me. Edited

Enjoy!

Jaron drummed his fingers against his right leg.

The leg he'd broken.

Sometimes he touched it to make sure that it was still healed. Even though it had been years since he'd gotten the injury, he still had trouble realizing that he was alright.

He wasn't broken.

Lord Feall and King Oberson were seated in front of him, separated by Jaron's large desk. Both men were silent. Both were unable to look at Jaron for very long.

In a way, Jaron enjoyed watching them squirm, they'd crossed a line by not telling him about Queen Danika's missing investigators sooner.

Was this how Mott felt each time Jaron did something he wasn't supposed to and got himself caught?

"Your Majesty, we-," Oberson began, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"We'll discuss the situation when the ambassador arrives," said Jaron.

However, Feall didn't agree with Jaron's declaration, it seemed. "If I must be honest, we don't even know the situation anymore."

"Lady Amarinda does, and we'll wait for her to come before we make any assumptions, Lord Feall. I'm a little disappointed, I thought we were friendly enough to discuss political matters."

Feall frowned, and didn't respond.

Boredom was turning Jaron's feet to stone. He hated being bored. There was too much to do and too much to see.

And it was raining still.

He promised Fink they'd go out and hunt for frogs to terrorize Roden with.

The door to Jaron's study creaked open, and in walked Amarinda in a wide-necked blue gown. Her hair was strung up in a golden net. There wasn't any sign of a frown on her face. She dipped her head in greeting when Jaron, Feall, and Oberson stood up.

"My lords," she smiled. "I've brought several papers with me if you'd much rather read my words rather than listen to what I have to say."

"Please, start from the beginning. Reading wastes time," Jaron waved his hand in a dismissing motion. He was joking, of course.

Oberson shrunk in his seat with his head in his hands, but aside from his posture, didn't voice any complaint about listening to Amarinda's debrief.

There were some people who could dominate their foes on the battlefield. Others could crush their enemies without shedding a drop of blood. They could outwit their opponents with words.

Amarinda was a battle master when it came to using words for weapons. She never degraded her opponents with crude words. Never compared people to dehumanizing objects. She recognized that while people didn't agree with her, they were still human beings.

This was how she guided her foes into a corner, their only option being to take her hand and join her cause.

Her goal was not to destroy. Her goal was to create, that's what Tobias claimed.

And he was right.

Amarinda created gateways for better ideals.

Jaron caught himself grinning as he prepared for what Amarinda had to say.

She clasped her hands behind her back. "Gentlemen, we share a home country. One we take pride in. We've given many privileges to those who prove themselves to be just servants of society, but unfortunately, there was an abuse of power several years ago. I know you are aware of what happened on Idunn Craich to Noble House Thay. Rumors were sparked and an entire family was executed without a proper trial.

"Though Their Majesties Queen Danika and King Norman don't condone chasing every rumor they hear, they've made an exception. They were informed that Mireldis Thay, who would've been a child during her house's execution, managed to escape into Carthya. Many of the most skilled researchers and investigators were sent to Carthya to confirm these rumors. Their goal was to find evidence supporting Thay's innocence, and bring her home.They were stopped on their way here for several days, and during that time, I was informed that you King Oberson, went out of your way to visit them without informing the Carthyan Crown that they'd arrived," Amarinda held her head high, almost challenging Oberson to deny her claims.

He didn't, not couldn't he.

Many people had seen him ride out to meet with Danika's representatives.

A heavy pause hung over the air. Both Jaron and Amarinda were waiting for either men to try to deny her claims.

When they didn't speak, Jaron nodded. It was his turn to continue the conversation.

"Lord Feall, I was told by my captain of the guard that the investigators who were sent here were, in actuality, trying to find evidence against Thay, and that you were promoting the search in defiance of Queen Danika's orders, is this true?" Jaron kept his gaze steady, looking for any flaws in Feall's face that would betray him.

Another heavy pause.

Feall didn't squirm, and he looked at Jaron with a fierce, burning loyalty in his eyes. "King Jaron, I did request that the investigators search for evidence against Thay as well."

He fell silent.

Probably waiting for Jaron to condemn him.

However, Jaron was intrigued. He appreciated Feall's honesty. It was something that didn't come often within circles of power. Jaron motioned for Feall to continue.

"I felt a duty to ensure justice," Feall remained stoic. "While I do believe that Thay is innocent, I don't agree with only playing one side. Without considering if House Thay was really guilty, it is possible that Queen Danika's quest for reparations will bring disaster upon Bymar. Thay would likely take revenge, and as a servant to my country and to yours, I will not allow that to happen."

Amarinda's face darkened, but only for a moment. If Jaron hadn't known her so well, he would've missed her momentary weakness.

Though he wanted to support his friend, Jaron couldn't deny that Feall had a perfectly good point.

People weren't black and white.

Too much mystery shrouded what happened with House Thay.

"Do you have any reason to believe that Thay would cause harm?" asked Jaron as he tapped his chin.

Perhaps he should grow a small beard. People might take him more seriously if he stroked his beard each time he was about to say something. Many regents tried to do that, usually it was right before they did their best to be an advisor to Jaron.

If you were going to act the part, you needed to look the part.

To Jaron's surprise, it was Oberson who answered the question, and not Feall. The portly king withdrew a letter from within his coat. "The seal belongs to Thay, and you- and you can read what she wrote yourself. It was sent to me, but it- but it is clearly directed at Lord Feall."

Jaron beckoned for the letter.

The words had been written in jet black ink, and the paper was much cleaner than Jaron would've expected. The curling letters obviously belonged to a woman.

Several words had been misspelled:

King Obrson, I understand you've travelled with lord Feall. you know how much he owes me, and I reqest that you give him to me. if you comply, I promise I wont bother you again. please understand my perspective on this, you know me, sir, you know my family

So, Feall did indeed have a good reason to think that Thay was guilty.

"What would you do with Thay if you found her?" Amarinda kept a calm demeanor.

"I would return her to Queen Danika," Feall explained "Unless, however, she attacks me outright. In which case I would have jurisdiction to decide her fate. An eye for an eye."

"Those laws may work in Bymar, but that's not how we do things here."

"Then, by all means, my lady, I would try to go through with Carthya's judicial process."

Unlike other countries, Jaron didn't enjoy upholding the notion that for every crime committed, you could commit the same in return. Instead, he'd tried to emulate Mendenwal's way of enforcing justice: a vote by a body of people. Typically, two options were given, usually suggested by those who'd been the victim of the crime and the other given by the king.

Death penalties for crimes had to be completely unanimous.

"Do you think that Thay is trying to attack you still?" Amarinda asked, her hands clasped behind her back once again.

Both Feall and Oberson nodded.

"Which explains why he's looking for the Faola," nodded Jaron.

"Captain Harlowe informed me that the Faola only began traipsing through Carthya a few days before King Oberson and I arrived."

"This doesn't excuse the fact that you didn't tell us that you lied to me and Lady Amarinda about Queen Danika's representatives."

"And I humbly apologize for that," Feall held his hand over his heart. "If there is a way for me to prove my regret, tell me, and I will do so."

If he and Feall had been better friends, Jaron would've made a joke about the only way to prove his loyalty was by cleaning Jaron's feet, but he doubted the offer would go over well.

Jaron looked to Amarinda, wondering if she had anything in mind.

She only frowned ever so slightly.

There were many ways that Jaron could force Feall to prove his loyalty. Cruel and humiliating ways. Feall had to have known that. He had to have known the depth of his words.

He'd quite literally given Jaron power over him.

But Jaron didn't enjoy watching people endure humiliation of any sorts. He didn't think that proving loyalty should come at the expense of anyone's dignity.

A clever idea crossed Jaron's mind.

"I'd like you to continue helping Captain Harlowe in patrolling the streets of Drylliad," began Jaron, carefully masking his cleverness. "But you must leave capturing the Faola to him, as well as my friend, Mott. You must trust us to take care of the situation, and that's how I'll know that I can continue to trust you."

Feall inhaled deeply, his brows furrowing together. "Sir, I can't, what you-. No, I mean yes. I will do as you ask, your Majesty."

"Take good care to tread lightly, Lord Feall, this test also represents King Oberson."

"What?" King Oberson burst, his chubby cheeks jiggling with his ferocious outcry. "You can't do this! I need Feall to protect me!"

"You have all of Carthya's guards to keep you safe, as well as your own," Amarinda pointed out.

Several more spluttering protests escaped through Oberson's plump mouth, but eventually, he realized that no amount of begging would get Jaron to change his mind.

A victory, in a way.

Jaron was getting another capable military leader to ensure safety in his city, he'd done his best to uphold justice, and he managed to gain a better understanding about the Thay dilemma.

Unfortunately, however, he also recognized that he probably wouldn't ever understand what happened on Idunn Craich.

But perhaps Avenia's king, Kippenger, might know a little bit.

He hadn't been to Avenia in ages, and was overdue for a visit to check in on the reforming nation. Jaron made a mental note to suggest a diplomatic mission to Sparling.

Everybody could use a little change of scenery.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to do, your majesty?" Feall asked, sitting as tall as he could in his chair.

"Yes, I'd quite like it if you gave me your desserts as well. Especially the fancier ones with the tiny decorations." Jaron frowned when Amarinda snorted, as he was being completely serious.

A tiny smile flickered across Feall's face. "If that is what you wish, your Majesty."

"It is what I wish, actually."

"Then I solemnly swear to do all that I can to ensure that your wish is fulfilled. When would you like me to begin patrolling the streets? Would you prefer me to ask Captain Harlowe my questions, or would you like me to ask you?"

Ah, Jaron hadn't thought of any questions that might need answering.

"Go to Captain Harlowe," he said. "And if Captain Harlowe can't answer them, bring your questions to me. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir.”

Several days ago, Imogen’s new lady-in-waiting, Renlyn Karise, pointed out just how bland the great hall was. Of course, Jaron had taken down and sold many decorations on purpose, but Lady Renlyn’s various attempts to sell him exquisite imported decor were slowly growing on him.

No, he needed to use the royal purse to better the lives of his subjects first.

Beautification could come later.

When he settled into his throne and allowed for his first subject to come forward, Jaron fooled himself into thinking that court would be smooth and quick.

However, as he heard his forty-ninth claim about chickens, he realized that court was going to drag on into the next decade.

It was then that Jaron began wondering if he should heed Renlyn’s advice and have her decorate the great hall.

Maybe he’d have something more interesting to look at than whitewashed stone walls.

Jaron tapped his chin as he listened to complaint after complaint after complaint. He did his best to listen. Did his best to be a good king, but his patience was running out.

“We have never had a dispute between property before,” said a man from outside the city walls. He was holding a chicken, and pointing at the other villager beside him ever so often. “Always got along, me an’ him, we never did fight. Respected his property, I did, an’ he respected mine. But one day a chicken wandered through both of our yards-”

The chicken holding villager’s friend cut in. “A chicken wandered through both a’ our yards an’ then laid an egg on the line between our two properties!”

“We didn’t really worry about it because we’ve both got our chickens. It wasn’t really worth our time.”

“And then the egg hatched, it did! An’ now we don’t know what to do wif it! It’s a good layer, we’ve been tradin’ off every couple a days, but that just doesn’t cut it! We need you to decide for us!” Finished the second villager, vehemently pointing at the chicken tucked under the first villager’s arm.

“Well, I suppose that answers an age old question. What came first, the chicken, or the egg?” Jaron mused, buying himself time through a joke.

Both villagers frowned.

By the Saints, he didn’t like explaining jokes, humor always lost when it needed to be explained.

"There's a riddle people tend to ask when they want to annoy somebody," Jaron explained, sitting forwards in his throne. "They ask what came first, the chicken? Or the egg? And in this case, it was the chicken who came first. Actually, I suppose even that chicken came from an egg. What a conundrum."

"But who gets the chicken?" Asked the second villager with a frown.

"Who cares for it more?"

Both men raised their hands, trying to jostle each other out of the way. The second villager raised his hand to smack the first villager across the back of his bald head.

The first villager only tucked the chicken into his chest and ducked.

No blows were given, the second villager wasn't stupid enough to start a fight in the throne room.

"I have a proposition," said Jaron. He knew it didn't really matter, as he was the king, but he tried to involve his subjects in decision making as much as he possibly could.

"We're listening, your Majesty." The second villager bowed until his nose brushed his boots.

On the other hand, the first villager only bowed as far as he could without risking dropping the chicken.

A slight smirk crossed Jaron's face. "How many eggs does the chicken lay each day?"

"One, like the other chickens," the second villager nodded. "I checked every morning while I housed the chicken."

"Actually she lays one egg on the first day of the week, one on the second day, but she lays two on the third day if she is fed scraps from the table instead a grain," the first villager said proudly, holding the fat hen up for everyone to see.

The hen gave a tiny cluck.

"It's worse than I thought," Jaron muttered, wishing he had Mott beside him to joke with.

"You- you haven't decided who gets the chicken?" The first villager stuttered. "But-"

"He's the king, you fool, he can take as much time as he wants."

Jaron tilted his head at the first villager, who was nervously petting the chicken he cradled.

He wanted to smile with somebody. Wanted to smile about the fact that somebody loved their chicken so much that they knew how many eggs she laid every day.

If he were a cruel king, Jaron would've called for the hen to go to the kitchens, only to declare that he wasn't being serious and give the hen back to her rightful owner.

But over time, he'd learned that some tricks and pranks weren't truly funny.

"I know what's best in this situation," Jaron declared, waving the two villagers away and motioning for the next petitioner to come forward. "The man holding the chicken the same way he'd hold his newborn son gets to give her a permanent home."

He ignored the complaints from the second villager as they were escorted out of the great hall.

The next petitioner was a young man, requesting that his father be taken out of debtor's prison. Jaron, who was prepared to fight with nobles over situations with people in debt, agreed on the premise that the young man return to inform them if there was another threat from debt-collectors.

Ah, Jaron did get quite the rise out of showing kindness when the nobles had none.  

Court went much quicker after that. As he thought of the first villager happily carrying his hen home, Jaron grinned.

How somebody could love a chicken so much, he didn't know.

Late into the afternoon, Harlowe made his way into the great hall, much to Jaron's relief.

He stood and clasped Harlowe's weathered hand, unashamed of how big his smile had grown. "I'm hoping you came to relieve me of my duties."

"I have, actually," Harlowe said with a grin. "Today was much busier than anybody expected, and I didn't think it quite fair to keep you cooped up inside."

"On the contrary, I didn't mind being held up here for once. It's raining with enough fury to challenge the Devils."

"Ah, but you won't let that stop you from what you wish to do with your afternoon, I hope," chuckled Harlowe, his blue eyes sparkling with a glimmer of content.

"Absolutely not." Jaron couldn't hide his smile. "My bones are aching from sitting."

"I wish I could tell you that aching goes away, but it only gets worse. No, no, I tease."

Jaron couldn't resist. He threw his arms around Harlowe's neck in a sloppy embrace. "Thank you, thank you for coming to fill in."

Harlowe patted Jaron's shoulder. "As prime regent, it's my obligation to ensure that the king can handle his duties. And as someone who cares about you, it's my obligation to make sure you don't run yourself into the ground."

It was still odd. . .

Having multiple people care about his well being.

"I really appreciate it, Harlowe, and I mean it."

"Then go, my king." That sparkling contentment in Harlowe's eyes rivaled the lazy Roving River. "Your friends await you."

Was it wrong to take pride in what he’d managed to set up?

It had taken almost all afternoon, and required the help from not only Roden and Tobias, but from Jolly, Lady Renlyn, and Mott too.

In the end, it was perfect.

For several weeks, Jaron had been meaning to take Imogen away from the hustle and bustle of castle life. Although they weren’t in a position to leave for more than a day or two, they could manage to spare a night away from their duties.

And he’d finally done it.

“Don’t tell Imogen anything,” Jaron said firmly, trying his best to stare down Lady Renlyn Karise as they stood in one of the castle hallways.

It wasn’t easy.

Lady Renlyn was taller than him by a good inch.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Renlyn crossed her arms. “But be thankful, the queen isn’t always the type to enjoy a surprise.”

“See, people say that, but then get excited when they’re surprised.”

Renlyn only stared in response.

“Mad that I got you cornered?” No, no answer from that either. Jaron waved his hands in defeat. “You’re dismissed, I don’t need you and your disapproval.”

“Disapproval?” Renlyn arched an eyebrow.

“Yes! Disapproval, you’re not exactly subtle about it, Lady Karise.”

“Good, it means I’ve finally got my point across.”

“Aren’t you in a feisty mood today?” Jaron snickered, putting his hands on his hips.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he wanted from Renlyn. She was remaining completely placid. “This is how I always behave, my king.”

“Is not, you’re nicer to me.”

“On the contrary, I think I’m being nicer to you now.”

He’d known the Karises before.

From his days when his family was still alive.

Jaron hadn’t been the closest to Renlyn when they were children, it’s true. She’d rather mix various ingredients together to eliminate her least favorite dolls while Jaron would rather track dirt all over the place.

In a way, it also reflected the way they handled situations at court.

Renlyn wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done. Already the notorious gossipers of court were spreading their opinions on Renlyn’s ambition. She had but one fear: Recognition. Most of her opponents slipped away in the night, never to disturb her again.

Jaron would much rather stay away from gossipers and the like.

Made things less messy.

Unfortunately, Jaron didn’t get his retort spoken in time, as Renlyn walked away, taking the final say with her as she went to Imogen’s study.

Their exchange couldn’t bring Jaron down from the excitement searing through his veins.

Each step he took made him feel light, yet heavy. Time couldn’t pass fast enough. He was beginning to pace. To the wall. Back to where he’d stood. To the wall again. Back to where he stood. The pattern continued for what seemed like ages, but Jaron knew better than that.

The clock stationed by the door, a huge monster of wood and metal, chimed.

It was better that a few minutes passed rather than no minutes at all, Jaron reasoned.

And then Imogen quietly stepped into the room.

Dressed in a pale blue blouse with matching split skirts, Imogen couldn’t hide her smile. For a moment, Jaron suspected that Renlyn spilled the secret surprise waiting just outside the castle walls.

He offered an arm out to Imogen, escorting her through the great hall and out into the courtyard.

“I really hope there’s no crocodiles involved,” Imogen muttered as Jaron helped her into Mystic’s saddle.

Jaron cringed as comically as he could, and then swung into place right behind Imogen. “Well, ah, guess you’re not going to like what I have in store.”

Imogen’s laugh was worth all of the hassle Jaron had put into his special surprise.

The sun was barely dipping down below the horizon, throwing golden rays of light into the crisp air. A slight shimmer appeared on Imogen’s cheeks. Jaron pressed a kiss to her temple, her hair, her chin, anywhere he could reach.

She was giggling when she pushed his face away.

“Let me kiss you, silly girl,” Jaron hummed, only to once again be pushed away.

“Absolutely not, it’s embarrassing!”

“I want the entire kingdom to know how much I love my wife! It’s not embarrassing at all!”

“Yes it is!”

“No it’s not!”

“Get your filthy lips off my hair,” Imogen laughed. “I’m serious, Jaron! You’re going to run us into a-,” suppressed giggles prevented her from finishing her sentence.

“Last one, I promise.” True to his word, Jaron pressed one last kiss to Imogen’s temple, and pulled away.

Imogen leaned back against his chest. “Renlyn and I were discussing what to do with the trio of children Roden brought to us.”

“Please tell me you gave them new names.”

“We suggested it, but they didn’t seem to catch onto the idea.”

“What did you and Lady Renlyn decide? Are you going to ship them off?”

“Quite the contrary, actually,” Imogen was smiling, Jaron could hear it in her voice. “Renlyn took the subject to a business ally she has in court, and the children are to become wards here in court. We’ll be able to keep an eye on them.”

“I do love more company, maybe those three will take the spotlight off of my antics.”

“Very unlikely, but you can always hope that’ll happen.”

“Oh Imogen of such little faith.”

“Oh Jaron of such high energy.”

With a snicker, Jaron buried his face in her hair for a moment. “Copying my words now are you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Imogen countered. “Do you prefer that I copy everything you say? Is that what makes you happy?”

“Is that what makes me happy? No, it doesn’t.”

“Then what does?”

“Being with you.”

A blush spread across Jaron’s face despite the fact that he was the one saying silly flowering comments, not the one they were directed at.

He loved Imogen.

She was safe.

Without the company of guards, it was much easier to have a personal conversation.

Much easier for both Jaron and Imogen to just. . . be together.

“I, ah, I confronted Feall and King Oberson,” Jaron said over the sound of Mystic’s hooves on Drylliad’s cobblestone streets.

Imogen reached back, her hand trailing down the side of his face. “And what happened?”

The simple, shy gesture left warmth careening through his toes. Jaron tightened his arms around her waist. His heart pounded through his ribcage, but not with fear.

His heart pounded with pure, sunshine comfort.

Sunshine comfort that didn’t fade away with each new morning.

“I questioned them both, and made an offer to Feall. He trusts us to take care of the Faola, and I won’t expel him back to Bymar,” said Jaron. “I, ah, I’m playing this game for the long run.”

“As you should,” Imogen gestured to a group of ducklings swimming in the Roving River, then motioned for Jaron to continue.

He shrugged, “I plan on speaking with Kippenger.”

“Regarding House Thay?”

“Yes, but also no. Kippenger is my ally despite the history between us. I want to ensure his, and Avenia’s, success. I want to know if Carthya needs to send aid in any form, and if we need to, I fully intend to send the best.”

Kippenger was a new king.

There was no doubt that there were some Avenians who disagreed on Kippenger’s right to reign.

Revolution had to be brewing on their minds.

Imogen paused, connecting what Jaron said and what he was implying. “You need a backup in case you have to send Roden and military reinforcements to Avenia.”

“I don’t want to put Mott in any more danger than he puts himself in,” Jaron muttered. “Feall’s reputation is spotless. He wouldn’t be there for very long either, maybe a few weeks. And it’s-”

“Jaron, you don’t have to explain your choices. I trust your judgement.” Imogen said, but then she tilted her head, preparing to amend her statement. “I trust your judgement when it comes to people.”

“You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Though she didn’t say anything, Jaron could feel her quiet grin radiating through the air.

They rode in silence through the woods, waving at the few people they passed, and breathing in the sunset air.

And yet, despite the comfort, Jaron couldn’t fight the anxiety gnawing at his insides any longer.

What if Imogen didn’t like what he’d set out for her?

What if-

No.

If Lady Renlyn Karise, notorious stone-faced, heartless, ambitious businesswoman, liked what had been set out, Imogen certainly would.

The road curved left. Imogen only protested slightly when Jaron guided Mystic to continue straight.

“We, ah, I’m going to dismount,” Jaron stuttered. “But you can stay on, I’ll just guide Mystic.”

“I can walk,” Imogen insisted.

“If- ah, if you want to, I won’t stop you.”

He knew she’d enjoy the surprise, and yet, he was afraid.

Afraid that she wouldn’t-

No. Imogen was his wife. There was nothing to be scared of.

Nimbly, Jaron dismounted, and held out a hand for Imogen to do the same. He held Mystic’s reins with one hand, and entwined his fingers with Imogen’s with the other.

“Your palms are sweaty, Jaron. Are you alright?”

“I dipped them in the fountain before we came, they must not have dried.”

“You’re acting a little- oh.” Her face shifted from confusion, and then to shock.

Before them, Jaron had brought a ragged quilt he’d found in Tithio, boasting squares Imogen’s mother had made herself. Large pillows were scattered about in all shapes and sizes, some hidden behind additional blankets.

Plates of food rested on curling iron stands. A bucket of ice housed two large bottles of something sweet, Jaron hadn’t been able to decide what to take, so he relied on his head chef’s opinion. Candles on holders and stands were placed in clusters in strategic positions. Crystals hung from tree branches.

“I thought about bringing music, but I could only think of Jolly, and I didn’t want him eating everything I brought,” Jaron said sheepishly. “This- this,ah, isn’t all. I have-”

“I love it, Jaron, I absolutely love it,” Imogen was quiet, her fingers steepled together and resting against her nose.

“That’s not all, I, ah, there’s more to the surprise.”

Fink’s head poked out from one of the trees, but thankfully disappeared the second Jaron frantically shooed him away.

Imogen was still marvelling at the quilt. “This is perfect.”

Once again, Fink appeared.

Changing his plan, Jaron motioned for Fink to bring the final gift. The transaction happened in the knick of time, Fink was dashing back to the castle before Imogen looked up from the quilt squares.

Jaron held the package behind his back. “I, um, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to spend time with you. Just you, Imogen.”

“I really appreciate it,” her smile was tinged with a bright pink blush. “I don’t-, I don’t really know what to say.”

“This will probably make it worse, then.”

“Jaron? What are you-?”

He held out the package for Imogen to see.

In his hands, rested a cream colored cat with a bright pink bow hanging loosely from its neck. Imogen covered her face with her arm for a moment. When she finally looked at the kitten again, she was beaming.

“You got me a kitten,” she mumbled, covering her bright pink cheeks with her hands. “Is it mine?”

“If you want it, yes. And ‘it’ is a ‘she’, if that influences what her name is going to be,” Jaron said as he sat down beside Imogen, holding the small cat out to her.

“Where did you find her?”

Jaron didn’t mean for an instant scowl to ruin his smile. “Renlyn sold it to me.”

“Ah, I think I know why,” Imogen scratched the cat’s ears. “We were discussing different royal pets. Supposedly, there are specific cats you can train to listen to you.”

“I’m not quite sure how true that is, especially coming from Renlyn.”

“We’ll just have to find out.”

The tiny cat mewed, and tried to climb up Imogen’s blouse sleeve. She untied the ribbon, cradling the cat to herself.

Nothing in the world could’ve made Jaron feel the same way that Imogen’s smile did. 

[enchanted-prose]

#6 The Lady Renlyn Karise Is Missing Her Right Boot!

Hey howdy hey! I’m finally on time again! 

Word count:  4,514

Characters: Imogen, Amarinda, Lord Feall (Original Character), Lady Renlyn Karise (Original Character), Jolly (Original Character), Brat, Beetle, and Roach (Original Characters)

Notes: So many new people! Anyways, this fic introduces a very important character, and I’m very excited to be publishing her debut! I will be returning with Part 2 of the Vaults very soon, I just needed to keep you all on your toes for a bit!

Enjoy!

"I can’t thank you enough for helping me with the selection,” Imogen said as she walked arm-in-arm with Amarinda, and she knew that Amarinda’s hopes were as high as her own. “It just became so hard to choose.”

“I’m just glad you trusted my judgement,” Amarinda’s dimpled smile shone despite the dark, cloudy evening.

There was something else on Imogen's mind: the fear that maybe, just maybe

Amarinda's judgement was wrong this time.

Two months ago, Amarinda was called away to spend time with her cousin, Crown Princess Eline of Bymar, at a quiet party for friends and family. Tobias went with her, of course, as well as a splendid entourage. They weren't away for too long, perhaps a few weeks, but it was a lonely time for Imogen.

She prided herself on being a good listener. Imogen's attendants loved telling her the latest gossip, but were far too afraid to have a meaningful conversation late into the night.

Though Jaron was her confidant, husband, and best friend, there were some things he, ah, had a different perspective on.

It was difficult without Amarinda's company.

Imogen did her best to remain positive despite growing lonely. She wasn't the loudest queen there had ever been, and she didn't feel comfortable asking for favors.

But Jaron soon caught on to how much Imogen missed Amarinda, and how much Imogen simply couldn't connect with her attendants.

As gently as he could, Jaron suggested finding a new lady-in-waiting to keep Imogen

company, as Amarinda's duties as ambassador to Bymar would soon require her to make frequent trips to all five Bymarian kingdom states in preparation for Princess

Eline's official coronation. He created a list of women he thought would get along with Imogen, and she did the same.

Ultimately, the choice became too difficult.

Each woman would make an excellent companion. However, Imogen realized another very important factor.

She needed a lady-in-waiting who'd get along with Amarinda too.

In the end, Imogen asked Amarinda to make the final choice, and not to tell her who it was until the day she arrived.

And that day had finally come.

"Oh, I do hope she gets here before it rains," said Amarinda as she  gestured to the darkening sky. "We haven't had any really frightening storms in a long time, I think today's the day we get a taste of the storming season."

"Do you think that she'd like the rain?" Imogen asked, suddenly realizing how very nervous she was to meet her new lady-in-waiting.

"Absolutely. You two will probably get along very well, I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"It's silly, being this nervous."

"I don't think it's silly at all! You're meeting a brand new person who hasn't been to court in several months and has quite the reputation for her staring, but don't let that intimidate you. You're the queen. People love you."

It was still difficult adjusting to being the highest lady in the land.

After all, nearly five years ago, Imogen was a servant pretending she couldn't speak to avoid her master's eye.

Shifting from being one of the most disliked people in the kitchen to the most admired woman in the kingdom wasn't exactly easy. There were eyes on her almost every moment of every day. Ears listening for her voice and anything they could use against her. Mouths telling flowering lies, spilling with compliments that didn't seem genuine, and biting back harsh comments.

There was always the chance that her new companion would find her too quiet, too dull, and not all that exciting.

After all, that's what some duchesses believed.

"Can I know her name yet?" Imogen was wringing her hands, her eyes glued to the stairs as she and Amarinda glided their way into the great hall.

Amarinda's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, looking dreadfully smug. "Absolutely not, otherwise you'll ruin the surprise. I've given you hints, list them off."

Imogen began thinking of each reason in her head.

"Out loud, Imogen," laughed Amarinda.

"Reputation for staring, her name's on the list Jaron made, she hasn't been here for several months."

"Also that she's very blonde, that's an important one. Any guesses?"

"Promise not to laugh?"

"I swear I won't laugh."

The great hall wasn't nearly as full as it usually was, much to Imogen's relief. Jaron was out on a hunting expedition with Mott, and Tobias had been called away to tend to an ailing old woman. However, there was one brightly dressed troubadour lounging on a chair, strumming a lute while several ladies and lords listened to his ballad.

Oh, Jolly, he always had to have a crowd with him.

It was quite funny, really. Crowds turned him into quite the adventurer. Imogen enjoyed having him around, he'd added several new songs to his repertoire.

Though some of them were a little too sad for Imogen's taste.

"Is it Lady Ayvar- no, she's got ginger hair, sorry about that one," Imogen waved her hand as if trying to shoo away her mistake. "Um, Lady Isla, from Eberstein."

Amarinda smiled, "No, but you're quite close. Guess again."

"Lady Vanesse from the lowlands?"

"Not her, either, and she's not nearly as close of a guess as Lady Isla."

"Lady Helene?"

"Almost, but not quite," Amarinda was still grinning. She thanked the pages who opened the massive oak door leading out to the castle courtyard. "Want to guess again?"

"Not really, I, ah, don't really know who else to name," Imogen confessed.

"Good, it'll make the surprise even more shocking."

The courtyard was filled with people rushing to finish their duties before the storm hit.

Women dashed left and right with their arms full of laundry. Page boys were leading a group of large Bymarian war horses towards the stables. Lord Feall and several soldiers were sorting through a band of thieves.

Imogen swore she recognized one of them.

She narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward in an attempt to see more details.

"One of them looks familiar," Imogen muttered.

"Everyone looks familiar from a distance," said Amarinda. She shrugged her shoulders,

"Roden and Lord Feall have been working really hard to capture some members of the Faola. Feall has told me he suspects that one of them is the notorious Mireldis Thay."

"I've heard that name before."

Amarinda took a deep breath, which meant that she was going to try her best to explain the situation as fast as possible. "Queen Danika sent several investigators to try to find her, but they were expected to arrive several days ago. Jaron sent out several soldiers to find them, but if what Roden said was true about Danika's representatives trying to find evidence against House Thay, I hope they never come."

"Why not?" asked Imogen, trying her best not to sound too eager about learning more from Amarinda.

There was a pause before more words came.

"I knew Mireldis Thay when we were children. We got along, and she was very important to Princess Eline. I don't know everything that happened, as I only learned of

House Thay's strife several months after Tobias and I were married. And I- and I'd rather keep my memories of Mireldis as they were. I want to remember her as my friend, not my enemy."

Words would only make the situation more painful than it needed to be.

Rather than say anything more, Imogen wrapped her arm around Amarinda's waist, giving her a side embrace for a moment.

Her desire to preserve the memory of her friend was something Imogen would do her best to respect.

She wondered why Feall was so convinced that Lady Thay was one of the Faola.

Why he was so concerned with catching her.

She didn't have it within herself to ask Amarinda her thoughts and shatter the peaceful quiet. Imogen knew that she'd receive answers in due time, all that was needed was a little bit of patience.

"I arranged for a larger greeting party," Amarinda said after several moments of silence.

"They're all waiting for my word, I'm just waiting until we get word that our new guest is

in the city, I don't want everyone waiting for too long."

The fear Imogen had felt before was slowly warming up to excitement. "When do you suspect she'll be here?"

"Possibly half of an hour, maybe more than two hours," she was trying her best to be nonchalant, Imogen knew that much.

A fat raindrop hit the cobblestone step below the pair.

"Maybe even more if it begins to rain."

Imogen cracked a smile, "It'll be alright."

"Now you're telling me not to be nervous, wasn't I just telling you the same thing a little while ago?"

Amarinda's laugh was contagious, and Imogen caught herself giggling along as well.

Another rain drop hit the ground.

The courtyard, which had been bustling with laundresses not long before, was devoid of all drying sheets and doublets. No page boys and the massive horses they were leading could be seen.

Only Feall, the soldiers, and the thieves, which Imogen was certain were Faola gang members, remained outside.

Imogen watched silently as Feall separated several of the Faola from the others, and gestured to the underground dungeon. The Faola that hadn't been pointed towards the dungeon were let go.

They practically ran from the soldiers as their brothers in arms were taken away.

Feall stood back, watching as his men and the captured Faola marched out of the courtyard. Once they were out of sight, he sent the remaining soldiers to their posts, and approached Amarinda and Imogen.

"Good evening, your Highness," Feall dipped his head. "Ambassador."

"Lord Feall, it's good to see you here," Amarinda flashed a bright smile.

"Those were Faola, were they not?" asked Imogen, genuinely curious about the thieves going straight to the dungeons. She'd heard much about the Faola and their morally grey ways after they attacked Feall.

"They were indeed," confirmed Feall. "We've been, ah, sifting through the ones we capture. I'd much rather take their leaders captive and coerce them into telling us where their fellow vagabonds are instead of slaughtering each one we find. Captain Harlowe and I are trying to prove that the crown wants justice.

"The Faola we released technically didn't do anything wrong, merely stumbled onto a scene at the wrong time. The ones we arrested, however, were inciting a fight in an alleyway. While that's not a crime as hefty as murder, it's still a disturbance of the peace. They'll spend a week in the dungeon and then be released, hopefully after realizing that the guard doesn't want them dead. They are still people, after all."

"You're a good man, Feall," Imogen smiled, and clasped her hands together. "Have you considered staying here longer?"

Amarinda and Feall exchanged a glance. He cleared his throat, "It depends on if King Oberson wants to stay longer. I don't want to see trouble befall him as he returns home to Bymar."

Ah, King Oberson. The portly king of Dinwallis, one of Bymar's five states. He'd come to rub elbows with Tobias and Amarinda, but recently informed Roden that he was concerned for his safety, and wanted to remain in Carthya.

It probably didn't help that Danika was sending investigators to locate Lady Mireldis Thay.

Tobias later told Imogen that when Mireldis's name was mentioned in Oberson's presence, he went as pale as a freshly cleaned sheet.

There was a silent understanding that until Oberson was certain there was no Mireldis Thay coming to kill him for some random reason, he'd be staying in Drylliad.

Which meant Feall would stay too.

"The suspected storm is making me a little nervous," Amarinda confessed. "There was a woman coming to Drylliad tonight, I fear they were caught up in the rains."

Imogen blinked several times.

What happened?

Oh.

She'd focused on her own thoughts for too long and vanished from the conversation.

Feall noticed. "Glad to have you back, your Majesty."

"I'm so sorry," Imogen felt her cheeks grow a little pink. "Have you heard any word from our guest?"

"I have, actually," Feall was beaming, his smile so warm that it could've rivaled the sun.

"I sent out a squadron of men, I hope the captain doesn't mind. They'll be here-"

A loud clap of thunder shook the sky and-

Several fat raindrops splashed on Imogen.

Then all at once, the heavens opened up.

Rain poured down, instantly soaking Amarinda, Imogen, and Feall. In a fit of giggles and childish shrieks, Amarinda and Imogen sloshed their way back into the castle, painfully aware that their dresses were creating ponds as they stood safe from the storm outside.

Imogen looked up at Amarinda, the kohl lining around her eyes had melted down her face. They both began to laugh as Amarinda giddily wiped around her eyes. Even Feall was chuckling.

“Can you please send word to my friends in the great hall that our guest will be here soon?” Amarinda asked, most of her kohl successfully wiped off.

The page boy who opened the door nodded his head, and dashed off to do as he was told.

"Do you know our guest's name?" Imogen asked suddenly, turning her gaze to Feall.

"I do, as a matter of fact. But I have been sworn to secrecy to preserve the surprise, as Lady Amarinda asked. Would you like me to find one of your attendants so you both can change out of your wet clothing?"

Amarinda seemed to consider his offer, "Scared we'll catch our deaths, Feall?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"You said you heard from our guests," Amarinda crossed her arms, likely to keep out the

cold.

"Do you know when she'll be here?" Imogen asked excitedly, her nervousness had faded the second she realized how close she was to meeting her new lady-in-waiting.

She couldn't deny how ready she was to meet this new guest, couldn't deny that she was definitely anxious to see how the situation would pan out.

Feall ran his hand over his bearded chin, "Very soon."

"But how soon?"

"You're beginning to sound like your husband, your Majesty."

A new wave of giggles overtook Imogen. The thought of her becoming more like Jaron was something she and the rest of the castle feared.

It was bad enough having one Jaron.

But at least one Jaron had a worrying Tobias to keep him in check.

Two Jarons would likely mean the castle's destruction.

Several courtiers began shifting into the large front room, their eyes wide once they saw both Imogen and Amarinda soaked to the bone. None of them said anything.

Except for Jolly, who'd pushed himself to the front.

He pointed at Feall’s soaking tunic, "That's unprofessional, sir."

"So is pointing," Amarinda stuck out her tongue.

"It's good to see you again, Ambassador."

"Are you still frequenting Queen Danika's court?"

"Absolutely I am!" Jolly strummed his lute. "She adores my company."

"I like his company too, he's got numerous songs I absolutely adore," Imogen held her hands up in mocking surrender. She knew that Amarinda wasn't Jolly's biggest fan.

"Thank you, your Majesty, I think I'll write one about-"

"There will be no ballad writing about anybody in this room!" Amarinda insisted, trying to

wring out her braid as she did so. "Plese, Saints, please no ballads."

"Your loss, Ambassador. Besides, I already have one written about sir Feall, it's quite catchy."

Feall arched an eyebrow, "Is it now?"

Imogen took Amarinda by the elbow, and led her away from Jolly and the potential argument.

They’d change from their wet clothes, and hopefully Imogen’s new lady-in-waiting wouldn’t arrive while they were away.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The minutes were ticking by, slowly turning into an hour.

Imogen and Amarinda did their best to sit with the courtiers. Amarinda looked at the large clock imported from Mendenwal seemingly every minute, which only made time slower.

When the clock hit the top of the hour, four of the courtiers excused themselves.

The clock continued ticking.

And then two hours passed. The courtiers and welcoming party vanished, Jolly began to strum a tune about an outlawed princess from the north.

Four hours.

Six hours.

Six hours had passed since the storm hit, and there was no sign of Imogen’s new lady-in-waiting or the squadron of guards Feall had sent to meet them.

“Jolly, can you play us another song?” Imogen asked quietly, rubbing her eyes in a futile attempt at staying awake.

The troubadour yawned, nodded, and strummed his lute, “Is there anything specific you’d like?”

“Something happy.”

“I’ll play The Girl Who Ate Everything because I know that-,” Jolly shot a look at Amarinda, “-somebody hates it.”

“It’s not very kind of you to make that assumption,” Amarinda checked her nails.

Imogen knew she was doing her best to be polite.

Amarinda only ever checked her nails to avoid rolling her eyes and appearing rude.

Jolly inhaled, exhaled, and played the opening chords for the song. He opened his mouth, preparing to sing the first note-

Suddenly, a pounding knock shattered the peaceful air. Jolly jumped, striking a discordant note, which only made Amarinda laugh.

A page burst in through the door. He inhaled deeply, eyes bulging out of his face, bowed, and used his loudest voice for his declaration:

"The Lady Renlyn Karise is missing her right boot!"

Amarinda snorted.

Missing- missing her right boot.

What a way to make an appearance.

Instantly, Imogen thought of a million possibilities of the person her new lady-in-waiting could be. Adventurous, wild, somebody loud and talkative. The type of person that would exhaust Imogen in a matter of minutes.

Dear Saints, she was becoming nervous again.

“Renlyn Karise is here!” Jolly raised his lute in triumph. “Saints, love that woman. She’s charming, absolutely charming!”

"Renlyn Karise?" Imogen made a face, she'd never heard of that name before.

She wasn't even sure if it was on the list of women recommended for the position.

"Come on! Come on, let's go outside and see her," Amarinda said, taking Imogen by the elbow and leading her through the large doors before she could protest.

“I suppose I’ll stay here then!” shouted Jolly.

Imogen held a hand over her head as she and Amarinda took the steps two at a time.

Excitement threatened to knock her back.

The rain was still beating against the stone courtyard, but not with the fury it had before.

A large white carriage was waiting in the middle of Carthyan soldiers, a tall young woman was talking to one of them.

"Lady Renlyn!" Amarinda cried, waving her hand above her head.

Renlyn Karise was as tall as some of the soldiers guarding her carriage. Her hair, though dripping wet, was the same shade of wheat fields waiting for harvest. She dropped into a deep curtsy as soon as Amarinda and Imogen were finally within conversation distance.

She seemed like a nice person.

"I'm very excited to have you in my household," Imogen said, putting her best smile on her face.

"Not as excited as I am," was Renlyn's reply, and yet, her face was locked in a bored expression.

"Lady Karise, you're soaking wet!" Amarinda noted, gesturing to Renlyn's clothing. "And where has your boot gone!?"

"I hate carriages."

"And shoes too?"

"Yes, or I would've been wearing both."

Amarinda chuckled, though Imogen couldn't deny that she was a little confused. It wasn't until a smirk tugged at Renlyn's mouth that she realized Renlyn wasn't being serious.

It seemed that Lady Renlyn Karise's humor would be dry enough to combat the storm. She was collected and quiet.

They’d all get along very well.

"There are three children waiting in the carriage," Renlyn gestured behind her.

Amarinda didn’t hide her surprise."And where did you pick those up?"

"Just outside the Vaults, they were in the custody of three guards. Lieutenant Alistair informed me that the situation will be taken care of."

"What situation?"

Renlyn avoided the question, "It will be handled. I suspect that I will not be given my boot back, unfortunately."

Something in Renlyn's dry voice made Imogen suspect that there was more to the story.

It also made Imogen suspect that she wouldn't get those story details until she and Renlyn were better friends.

"The children will be taken inside," Amarinda promised. "What are their names?"

"Brat, Beetle, and Roach."

"Are you- are you joking?" Imogen tilted her head.

"I don't joke, your Majesty."

The carriage door clicked open. Out spilled three tiny, and incredibly dirty, children. Two girls, one boy.

A tall man, Lieutenant Alistair, held his cloak over the trio, preventing them from getting wet. Renlyn didn’t look away from the odd group as they made their way up the castle steps and into the warmth waiting inside.

Imogen tilted her head.

She wasn’t against bringing orphans into the castle.

She just wanted to know what brought them there.

"You must be cold," Imogen said, gesturing to Renlyn's clothes and then to the sky.

"We're going to get sick if we don't get into something dry."

"We had a group of people here to welcome you, but I suspect that you'd like to avoid people until you're ready," Amarinda added. "I suspect that they're all distracted anyways. It's very late and we have a popular troubadour in the castle at the moment."

"Which one?" Renlyn asked.

"Jolly of Angelmarr, he's Bymarian and an idiot."

"Ah, I know him, actually. Is he still,um, the one who. . .?"

"Is the favorite of Queen Danika, my aunt? Yes, he is."

“You know Jolly?” asked Imogen, deftly steering both Renlyn and Amarinda to the castle. The rain had become a constant drizzle now.

Renlyn nodded, “I do.”

“I hope he’s slipped off somewhere else, Imogen and I were listening to him play the lute. He’s talented, I’ll give him that, but still an annoyance.”

Imogen rubbed her nose as she hid her chuckle.

The page boy who’d announced Renlyn in her right-boot-less state was sitting on the steps. He jumped to his feet as the three women approached, and held open the door. Renlyn nodded her thanks, but kept her eyes glued straight ahead.

Drylliad castle was humble, yet magnificent. You’d be a fool to call it ugly, but a wise man to call it slightly plain.

“Jaron wanted to secure more money for fixing things rather than hanging full tapestries from every wall,” Imogen explained, suddenly self conscious about a castle.

Self conscious.

About a castle.

To Imogen’s surprise, Renlyn didn’t comment on the plain walls. Instead, she nodded. “I’m very much in debt to the king, he’s been assisting my search for workers.”

“You’re a businesswoman?”

She nodded. “I sell ships, and, ah, other goods.”

“How are things, by the way?” Amarinda asked, carefully lifting her skirts as the three women began to walk up the stairs to Renlyn’s apartments.

Several moments passed before Renlyn spoke. It was obvious that she was more than a little uncomfortable. “Very well. King Aranscot has commissioned several pinnaces. There is a demand for, uh, certain fabrics in Bymar and Gelyn. I take pride in the ships I’ve built, but the real money comes from what I can sell using those ships.”

“You’re quite hated among some of the trade guilds in Bymar, I applaud that.”

“I’m also a woman playing a man’s game.”

“How did you come into business?” Imogen asked, fascinated by Renlyn’s choice to do something like that.

“My elder brother was heir to my father’s trades,” Renlyn frowned. “I was betrothed at a tender age, but my brother died, making me the eldest and therefore the one to inherit all my father owned. I was tired of being passed around like a horse, and taught myself how to run a business.

“Rather than sew myself into new dresses, I requested the bolts of silk that would’ve gone to my gowns and began to sell them. Eventually, I was trading silks and giving my father a run for his money. We chose to work together, rather than run both our companies into the ground, and became much more powerful than before. When my father died, I received it all, and now I’ve proven that I’m more than just pretty teeth.”

There was pride flaming in Renlyn’s eyes, Imogen could practically see the flames leaping out.

Imogen cracked a smile.

Renlyn was a hard worker, they’d get along very well.

“We’re both very excited to have you stay with us at court,” Amarinda said as she dragged both Imogen and Renlyn to the right. “Just in time for summer, too.”

Ideas grew in the back of Imogen’s mind. The thought of running a trading empire on her own was thrilling. “Renlyn, King Oberson will be staying here for the summer, have you considered speaking with him about sending a gift to his wife?”

A rare grin slipped across Renlyn’s face as Amarinda dragged her into the small suite saved specifically for her.

“You’ll be staying here unless Imogen requests your company at night,” Amarinda spread out her arms, showing off the lovely room.

“It’s very, ah, colorful,” Renlyn noted as she stepped inside. “My clothes are being brought up so I can-”

“Nonsense! Imogen and I selected several gowns for you, we can’t have you catching your death before you even start your new position.”

Imogen nodded, and gestured to a single wardrobe pressed up in the corner. “There’s plenty of gowns in there, would you like us to wait outside while you change? Do you need-”

“By the Saints!” Renlyn burst, her sudden outcry causing both Imogen and Amarinda to jump. She’d nearly ran to the wardrobe, and was running her hands all over the tiny details. “Do you have any idea how beautiful this is? Look at these! The figures have faces! Faces! This alone could serve as a dowry!”

The wardrobe was indeed lavish.

Hand carved from dark wood, the wardrobe boasted a scene depicting a beautiful woman accompanied by many lance wielding men. Several other details had been added to the side panels and drawers.

It was odd, thinking about how a piece of furniture could serve as somebody’s dowry.

Renlyn was mumbling to herself, touching every single part of the wardrobe. A wide smile broke across her face, “I’ve been expanding my business to include multiple trades. I’ve got an army of carpenters itching for something. My, my, this is genius! Yes, yes, and then the profits could help me with the blacksmiths. . . Oh, yes.”

“This is how Tobias gets when he finds another physician’s reports,” Amarinda grinned. “It’s wonderful, seeing somebody devoted to what they love.”

“Perhaps we should give Lady Renlyn and the wardrobe some privacy,” Imogen suggested, nodding towards the door. She cleared her throat, “We’ll be right outside!”

If Renlyn heard them, she didn’t say anything, as she’d finally opened the wardrobe and was snooping inside.

As both Imogen and Amarinda left Renlyn to inspect the wardrobe, they exchanged a smile.

Lady Renlyn Karise would make a lovely lady-in-waiting indeed.

[enchanted-prose]

#2 Joust

I’m so sorry I didn’t post on Friday! I had it finished, I was waiting on an editor and then went out. Anyways, here is my second piece: Joust

Word Count: 4,859

Characters: Roden, Mott, Jaron, Jolly (Original Character), Merry (Original Character), Lord Feall (Original Character)

Notes: Edited! This is a continuation from #1 Can’t Believe You’ve Made Me Do This and from here on out, all fics will be probably continuations and interconnected. Enjoy!

Drylliad usually welcomed high ranking visitors with a beautiful celebration, thanking the Saints for a safe arrival.

But it wasn’t every day that a king visited, even if he did answer to a higher power.

And it wasn't every day that a king's visit fell upon a festival date.

In the streets of Drylliad, streamers fluttered from windows. Lines and lines of short banners on ropes zigzagged across buildings and houses. Poles covered in flowers had been set up, ribbons hanging down from their tops.

Tents housing food from all over the realms.

Tents boasting the best imported weapons.

Tents hiding the prettiest men and women from the public eye.

It wouldn't be long before Chaos flooded the marketplace.

Children would chase stray dogs through the festival, and occasionally, drag their favorites home to become pets. Troubadours, dancers, fire eaters. There’d be massive stages built for elaborate puppet shows.

Roden couldn't deny how excited he was to see it all.

As a child, he'd enjoyed festivals. He insisted on dragging Latamer, his childhood friend, with him to see the jousting knights and fire breathing dancers. They never missed a single one, even when Latamer was convinced that he carried the plague.

Latamer was always hanging around in the back of Roden's mind.

He should've been strong enough to save his friend.

At that very moment, he was awaiting orders from King Oberson, leader of Dinwallis, one of Bymar's kingdom states, and from Jaron.

He stood in the castle's great hall, Bymarian knight Lord Feall to his left, and Mott to his right. Behind Roden stood a small company of guards.

Just enough to keep the peace, but not enough to distract from the festival.

"King Jaron and I have been discussing the attack on Lord Feall," Oberson said. He scratched at his patchy beard, "I have decided to keep my personal guard with me, though the Lady Amarinda has reassured me that there is a slim chance of another attack."

"You don't know the Faola like I do," Feall placed an armored hand over his chestplate.

"You're right, but I do trust Lady Amarinda's judgement and her husband was very insistent that the bandits who attacked you have ulterior motives," Jaron crossed his arms. "However, Lord Feall, I advise you to take care in the streets. The Faola haven't resurfaced since their attack, but it did seem that at least one of them wanted you dead."

Ah, the short bandit.

It wasn’t very often that bandits and thieves managed to escape Roden.

He was talented at his job, his drive for justice was a fuel nobody else could really understand.

The short bandit and the Faola would be apprehended eventually.

Roden remained silent as he pondered the situations that could arise. There were guards stationed in the woods at various locations, the company of guards behind him were to patrol the outskirts of the festival, and he and Feall would be keeping an eye on the festivities in the center of it all.

He didn't want to admit that Tobias was right about the Faola.

That they did end up redistributing the goods they'd stolen.

Saints, his inability to catch them made him tense with frustration.

There were better ways to go about delivering justice to the unfortunate. It didn't require breaking the law.

"I only hope that the Faola don't try to ruin this festival," Feall joked.

"As do I," said Jaron. "Roden, I trust your plan to work, you can send your men out as soon as you feel ready."

A small grin crept across his face.

There was no way Roden would say it aloud, but hearing people tell him that they ‘trust’ his plans was beyond invigorating. It was simply proof that he was an efficient leader and a capable captain.

Jaron arched an eyebrow.

Ah, Roden was still grinning.

He forced a scowl on his face.

“We’re ready to deploy.”

Roden glanced at Mott, who cleared his throat, "Will you be alright without us, Jaron?"

"I'll have you know that I don't require a governess to watch my every move. I won't get into trouble."

Nobody said a word, as nobody dared inform Jaron that despite his efforts to avoid causing a ruckus, he tended to attract danger.

Jaron threw up his hands, "Imogen's going to be with me! Is that enough reassurance?"

"I suppose, though sometimes I believe Imogen encourages your antics," Roden teased. He turned around, ordering his men to their positions before Jaron could protest.

"Do you have a backup plan if they do decide the festival's too boring for them?" Mott asked quietly, following Roden out of the great hall.

He shrugged, "I predict that Jaron is going to disguise himself, Imogen and Amarinda will follow suit, and they'll avoid Tobias as if their lives depend on it."

Mott chuckled, "He's quite the mother hen."

"It's inconvenient at times."

The image of Tobias frantically searching through the streets brought a grin to Roden's face. Tobias would probably try to enlist the help of the royal guard, insisting that something was wrong, only to find the trio laughing at him from the safety of a tent tavern.

"Have you any word of the Faola?" Mott asked. He pushed the castle's front door open, and didn't wait for Roden as he walked down the steps. "Have your scouts found anything?"

"Not exactly," Roden confessed. The morning sun already beat down on him. He'd chosen the wrong day to wear a full suit of armor. "There's a friend of mine who may have a few words to share, but I don't even know if he's here."

The last of the guards crossed the castle bridge, split into two groups, and left for their posts. Mott squinted at the towering poles bedecked with ribbons and flowers, "Ah, he's the troubadour you were telling me about the other day."

"The one and only. Last I heard from him, he was busy in Mendenwal."

"Let's hope he makes an appearance today."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours passed, but still no sign of anyone remotely resembling the Faola. Roden, Mott, and Feall rode together through the streets, doing their best to avoid the unlucky few who were already succumbing to alcohol.

"Ah, day drinking," Feall chuckled. "I understand their reasonings behind that all too well."

A smirk crossed Mott's face, "I can't deny that I've considered smuggling a flask into meetings with regents."

"I have smuggled a flask into meetings with regents," Roden chuckled, but he had no intentions of trying any kind of drink anytime soon. He had a troubadour to find. "Have you seen anything Feall?"

"Not since you asked me twenty minutes ago."

"Have you seen the Faola before?" Mott asked, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a woman waving at him from a scarlet tent.

"I have, their leader is Bymarian," Feall explained. "I don't know his name yet, but I have suspicions. I think he comes from the kingdom of Idunn Craich, but I can't be sure."

"Another kingdom state," Roden noted, still scanning the crowd for his contact. "I know of two. Bultain and Dinwallis."

"Idunn Craich is a kingdom state too, so that's three."

"And the other two?"

Feall grinned, "Ulster and Midhe. Congratulations, captain, you've learned all five Bymarian kingdoms. Would you like a medal for that?"

Roden's cheeks burned, but he didn't say anything.

Despite his actions during the Avenian War, he still had to struggle with the education he'd been denied.

Noblemen within the military ranks adored pointing it out.

"Any sign of the troubadour?" Mott shielded his eyes against the blazing midday sun.

"Not yet," Roden said. "He goes by the name Jolly, he typically prefers bright colors. He's Bymarian, if that helps."

"Ah," Mott nodded. "Find a place to keep the horses. Does he differentiate between men and women? Is he a gambler?"

"He's, ah, definitely the life of the party. Why?"

Mott dismounted, gesturing for Roden and Feall to do the same. He then tipped his head in the direction of a massive building resembling a castle, "I think I know where he is."

"Even if it isn't him," Feall said as he led his horse to a post. "This seems like the area he'd be in."

"Do you know Jolly?" asked Roden in surprise, resting his hand on his sword hilt.

"I do, as a matter of fact. He's a favorite of Queen Danika."

That didn't bring any surprise.

Though Jolly didn't remain in Carthya for long increments of time, he visited often, and he always brought tales of his escapades with whoever he chose. Often, his visits ended in a bar fight or running from a disgruntled spouse.

Life was never boring with Jolly.

As they approached the temporary castle, Roden caught himself walking as slowly as he could.

Dear Saints, there was just so much to take in.

So many people hawking their wares.

Entire suckling pigs roasting on spits.

Jesters swallowing swords, fire, and many other things that would definitely kill the inexperienced.

To Roden's embarrassment, he had to jog to catch up to Feall and Mott, his armor smacking together with loud metallic clangs.

"Don't worry, you can have your fun soon," Mott said, clapping Roden on the shoulder. "You're the one who wanted to do this."

"I know, and you're right, I shouldn't get distracted," mumbled Roden as they stepped through the castle's threshold.

The scent of cooking meat wafted through the temporary castle, accompanied by the spicy aroma of spilled wine and abandoned sweets.

Despite the magnificent exterior, the temporary castle looked like any other tavern. The walls were made of stone, the floor being the trampled grass, and the windows consisting of several sticks and a gap between stones. Tables bore broken legs and chipped surfaces. A staircase led up to another floor, guarded by pockmarked women in ragged dresses. Kegs lined the back wall, a bar as long as the castle's width stood in front of them, and various sorts of mugs and cups hung from the ceiling.

A grin spread on Roden's face.

He was certain that this place was a site for enjoyment.

"There, at the back," Mott said, tilting his head towards a large crowd of men and women near the tavern's keg wall.

"That can't be-," began Roden, but he knew Mott was right the second he caught a flash of a peacock green jerkin.

Feall whistled, "That's definitely Jolly."

At the mere mention of his name, Jolly stood up, a dimpled smile breaking across his chiseled face, "See? I told you they'd come!"

The grin on Roden's face instantly melted into a frown, "This isn't going to be good."

"Do we-," Mott started, but he was cut off the second a group of tavern patrons shoved them all forward.

"Captain Harlowe! It's been far too long!" Jolly exclaimed, lithely jumping from the countertop he'd been standing on. "How are you? Still pursuing that one minstrel? Saints, can't remember her name. The one with the-"

Jolly held his hands out a fair distance from his chest, leaving Roden to uncomfortably clear his throat, "I need to ask something of you, Jolly."

"Ah, anything, but then I need to ask something from you," Jolly swayed on his feet, and would've toppled over if it weren't for the woman who caught him. Jolly patted her cheek, "I knew you cared about me, love. What, or who, can I do for you, captain?"

"Have you ever heard of the Faola?"

That was all it took to force Jolly to straighten out. He frowned, "Why?"

"They're here in Carthya," explained Feall. "King Oberson of Dinwallis and I were attacked several days ago by them."

"They're in Carthya?" Jolly shot a look at the woman at his side. "Shoo, Merry, I have to talk business."

The woman, Merry, scowled and yanked Jolly's full tankard from him as she walked away.

"We'll talk later?" called Jolly.

Roden almost didn't catch the fact that Feall's eyes were glued to Merry's leaving figure.

There was something in Feall's eyes that couldn't be placed.

"Right, the Faola," Feall said, jolting himself back into the conversation. "What do you know?"

"Ah, ah, ah," Jolly waggled his finger as he simultaneously smoothed out his jerkin. "Captain Harlowe, I desperately need your help before we do any talking about a subject that'll definitely get me into trouble."

It wasn't the first time Jolly had asked for help. Typically, he asked for assistance in escaping somebody he'd crossed, or needed help paying off a tavern bill. The chances of anything being different were slim.

He trusted Jolly.

Roden nodded, "It's alright, you can tell me later, I promise I'll help you in any way that I can."

"No, Captain, I don't think you under-"

"Tell me about the Faola, please."

For a moment, Roden worried that Jolly would remain silent.

Was discussing the Faola truly that bad?

He tried not to look relieved when Jolly finally nodded.

Jolly cleared his throat, and looked over both of his shoulders to his drunk companions, "I've had a few run-ins with them, not terrible company, if I do say so myself. There are worse bandits that I've had to deal with, but still bandits."

"What do you know of their leader?" asked Roden, holding out a hand the second Feall tried to interrupt him.

"Bangol Bandir?" Jolly chuckled, his eyebrows rising in the process. "Absolute cheater at cards. I wouldn't want to expose him, though."

"Bandir's not very big. . ."

"We must be thinking of two different Bangol Bandirs because the one that I know could crush your head between his thighs, Captain."

Mott smirked, "That description matches the bandit we're looking for just perfectly."

"Ha," Roden didn't bother hiding the annoyance now throbbing through his head. "Your jokes brighten my day."

"No, no, no," Feall blurted out, speaking before Roden could get him to remain quiet. "I'm Lord Feall, a member of Queen Danika's court, and while traveling here I was singled out by a bandit much shorter than you. It could've been a woman."

"Couldn't be Faola then, Bandir doesn't employ women for thievery. He uses them to poison enemies too strong to challenge in battle," he turned to one of his friends. "Can you find Merry? I want my drink back."

"Tobias insisted that the bandits were Faola," Mott scratched his chin, a thoughtful expression cemented on his face. "Perhaps the bandit who attacked you, Lord Feall, wasn't a leader at all."

"Impossible, there's no way a single bandit could-," he began, but he never finished his sentence.

"By the Saints! Lord Feall? I know you," Jolly burst, a new drink in his hand thanks to his crowd of followers. "Haven't seen you in years, has your inheritance been resolved?"

"Inheritance?" Echoed Mott and Roden in unison.

Feall's face darkened, "I was set up to inherit Idunn Craich, but the, ah, rules of inheritance have become muddled. Idunn Craich's throne was left to a disgraced family, but as Queen Danika sees it, there is more to the story. Idunn Craich will be mine someday, but that's beside the point. You'll have to forgive me Jolly, we rarely conversed."

"Ah, but that doesn't matter, I heard everything about you from court," said Jolly as he took a prolonged sip from his tankard.

"Anyways," Feall cleared his throat. "Have you any idea who could've led the attack?"

"Possibly. But what's in it for me?"

Roden kept his mouth shut as both Feall and Mott looked to him. He scowled, "I already promised you that I'd assist you. What more do you want?"

"I- I just," Jolly stuttered, and he wiped his hands on his tunic.

Jolly. . . Nervous?

A rare occurrence indeed.

"What do you want?"

"I bet against that table over there, regarding the, uh, joust this afternoon. . . And the man I bet on. . ."

Oh no.

That's what Jolly meant when he asked for help.

That's why he wouldn't speak until he knew that his request would be fulfilled.

He needed to know that there would be somebody to ride in the jousting tournament and win for him.

"That's too much to ask, Jolly," Mott was dangerously calm. "There's not enough time to find somebody to ride in the place of your failed man."

"It's going to cost me money," Jolly wailed. "It's going to tarnish my reputation!"

"We'll pay you the money you lost for the information," Feall offered, his eyes blazing with determination.

"You should understand the importance of a reputation, sir!"

"We'll pay you double! Triple-!"

"That's enough," Roden held up his hand, and a light smirk crossed his face. "I'll ride in the joust, but I'll only do it if you tell me what I need to know. Can you promise me that, Jolly?"

"You? Joust? Captain, that's absurd. You don't-!"

"You'd be surprised at what I'm capable of, my friend."

Roden shrugged once he realized that Mott and Feall were staring at him. He'd practiced on his own time, there was a large array of perks that came with being able to use a lance on the battlefield.

Now he'd have the chance to ride in a tournament.

Granted, it was his first official tournament, but Jolly didn't need to know anything about that.

"Alright, fine," Jolly looked over his shoulder again, and then gestured to a broken table in the corner. "I'll tell you what I know about the Faola."

"Thank you-," Roden began, but Jolly shook his head.

"I'm trusting that you'll win the tournament, Captain, otherwise. . . Things will no longer continue to work in my favor. Shoo! Go away!"

Jolly continued to wave off his companions as they approached the table. They soon lost interest in him, and turned to harass the poor minstrel in the corner.

"Right," Jolly rubbed his hands together. "Now, there's rumors following the Faola like nobody's business. I've seen sections of them working in Bymar and Avenia, so they're not just exclusive to Carthya."

"Bymar, that would line up with why they'd attack Feall but not King Jaron," Roden noted, wishing he had something to write down everything Jolly said.

"Could the attacker have been a woman?" Feall asked, his brow furrowing.

"Hush, let the man speak," Mott held up a hand.

Feall shut his mouth.

"Thank you," said Jolly. "It's entirely possible you were attacked by a woman, but I doubt it, Faola women are much smarter than the men. They'd administer poison to you in doses till it seemed like you died of natural causes. They're all quite dominant, too, frightening once they get you tied up and-"

"Jolly. Remain on the subject."

"Sorry Captain, where was I? Ah yes, potential identities. Several members of the Faola adopt names that aren't their own, some use it to instill fear and others use their stolen names to justify their causes. Notable aliases include Veldergrath, Bevin Conner, Mireldis Thay, Joth Kerwyn, King Eckbert himself. It's a way of being able to hide the fact that they work with bandits."

"I recognize Mireldis Thay," Feall murmured, but he couldn't remain quiet any longer. He smacked the table, "She's what stands in the way of Idunn Craich."

"It would be idiotic for Lady Thay to use her first name while fighting as a bandit," Mott pointed out.

Jolly nodded, "And then attack you. Besides, I know Lady Thay, she's far from here. It's just somebody tarnishing her name, just as the bandits who sport Lord Kerwyn's name are trying to do. No, no, I suspect that you're dealing with somebody else. Have any details I can go by?"

"Nothing, aside from the height," Roden said. "He, or she, was short, a little bit shorter than the average woman."

"Perfect!" Jolly exclaimed, standing up as he did so. "I'll see what I can do about finding your mystery bandit. And don't forget to win that tournament, Captain, I highly suggest that you don’t lose."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm beginning to worry that you haven't gotten anything keeping you away from making stupid choices," Mott said, tapping Roden's head. "Jaron's rubbed off on you."

"Ah, well, I need to learn all that I can about the Faola, and Jolly is our best bet," Roden said, strapping a plate of armor to each of his legs.

The tent he and Mott were sheltered in was blindingly hot.

The armor Roden put on made the heat nearly unbearable.

"You're sure you're going to be alright?" asked Mott as he shoved a helmet in Roden's direction.

He shrugged, "There's danger in everything I do."

It wasn't his first time using a lance, he'd trained for several months after he realized the value in being able to wield a lance while in a battle. Roden knew the risks and he knew the rules.

But a splintering lance was far different from a sword.

A splintering lance might not hit you directly, but chances were high that a piece of wood could lodge itself in your face or neck.

Not an enjoyable way to die. . . Not that dying is something to be enjoyed.

Roden pulled the helmet on over his head, and slid the visor up, "Would you give me a favor of yours to carry with me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not."

"Please remember my name if I fall on this lovely afternoon," Roden joked, slamming the visor over his face.

Mott scowled, "You're not going to die, and if you do, it means you're awful at jousting."

"I suppose I have to win now so I can prove you wrong."

"I'm concerned, were you not planning on winning in the first place?"

"There's always a chance at losing, but I try not to let that be an option. This will be over soon, my friend," Roden's voice was muffled behind the helmet. "We'll meet at the tavern this evening, Jolly said he'd be waiting there."

The sound of trumpeters shook the summer air. Mott frowned, and held the tent flap open for Roden, silent and disapproving as he almost always was. However, he did clap Roden's armored shoulder and whispered a few words of luck before he made his way to the stands.

Children waved multicolored flags at him, Roden waved back.

Ah, how he'd dreamed of taking up a lance.

Jolly's rider, the man Roden was replacing, was an older knight named Cronnach Nyrsate. Sir Nyrsate's coat of arms had been painted onto a wooden shield and leaned against the judges' box. . . Which usually sat Jaron, Imogen, the Prime Regent, and three other guests.

It was a surprise to see Jaron holding Imogen's hand in their seats and not off causing trouble. Harlowe sat next to them.

Saints, it would be humiliating if Roden lost in front of his father.

Sir Nyrsate's horse was supposed to be ridden for the match, but Roden had just enough time to pull enough strings and get his own horse armored and ready to go.

That would give him a slight advantage. His horse, a gift from Bymar, was massive. Bred specifically for war. It made the rider taller, never stopped, and brought a crushing power that rivaled all other warhorses.

It was a little frustrating, however, to see Roden's horse bearing the Nyrsate coat of arms rather than the Harlowe coat of arms.

Roden swung up into the saddle. . .

And finally allowed himself a look at his opponent.

He didn't recognize the coat of arms, nor did he recognize the horse. All Roden saw was a large man in battle scarred armor, which would've been painted black at one point. A red plum erupted from his helmet.

Definitely more than a little intimidating.

Jaron stood up, and raised his hands out to the stands full of festival goers. Roden was too far away to hear anything.

Not that he would've been able to hear anything anyways.

He was far too focused on his opponent.

"Sir! Sir Nyrsate!" Bellowed a flock of snot nosed teenagers, street rats, and esteemed young heirs to noble houses.

Roden waved a hand at them, he couldn't speak now. He needed to focus.

"Ah, good sir!" Shouted a man over the roar of the crowd. Jaron must've said something funny. The man waved his hands. "Sir!"

Roden squinted, Jolly was there to see him off.

"Good luck," called Jolly as he launched himself over the barrier keeping the viewers out. A girl followed behind. "Me and Merry came to give you a send off, and the kids of course, you simply have to let them send you off."

"A favor for you, sir knight," Merry bowed deeply, retrieving a dirty blue scarf from the front of her gown as she did so. She tied it to Roden's right wrist before stepping back to help several members of Roden's screaming fans over the side of the fence.

"Remember, if you knock him off his horse, it's an instant win," Jolly patted Roden's thigh, and hefted a lance over to him.

"I know the rules," Roden huffed as he tucked the lance under his arm.

A page stepped out from Jaron's box, holding out a flag like a sword.

The flag went up.

Roden charged forwards, a small band of children howling as they chased him and his horse for several feet.

All he had to do was aim for the center, lower the lance, and hold firm.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The crowd began to scream the second a lance cracked-

Stars blurred across Roden's vision.

He missed!

Saints, he hoped Mott didn't see that. Jolly's concerned face from the crowd didn't help, Merry was the one to get him a new lance.

Flag up, screaming children, crowd cheering.

Roden missed again.

It took three points to win a match. Points were earned when a lance was broken or a rider was toppled. One point for each broken lance, and so far, Roden hadn't broken any of his.

He was two points down.

One point away from losing.

Anger burst through his lungs.

How could he have been so stupid!? Signing up for a joust! He'd never ridden in front of so many screaming civilians before!

The children who'd been chasing at him clamored for his attention, but they backed away the second he didn't say anything.

"Lean in the saddle," Merry said as she handed Roden a fresh lance. She patted his horse's shoulder, "I know you're fierce, unhorse him and that's a match."

"I've never done this before," Roden confessed, unsure if she'd heard him over the roar of the crowd.

"You've done it twice just now, third time's the charm. Go on, don't let Jolly down. Or me. You're wearing my favor, and everybody in town knows that it's mine. You'll damage my reputation."

"I'm so sorry about your reputation."

"As you should! Be more sorry about your reputation, sir knight!" Merry shot back, her hands on her hips. "Are you so quick to give up?!"

The crowd screamed, Roden jolted to attention.

His opponent charged early, ready to finish the match off.

Merry cried out, and slapped out at Roden's horse's flank, causing the mighty beast to rear up.

Roden shouldered the lance, forcing the horse in a straight path down the arena.

Lean in the saddle

He could hear Merry's words ringing in his head.

Time seemed to slow around him as he blocked out everything save for the man barreling towards him. The crowd's screams were muffled.

Like they were shrieking underneath a pond's surface.

Lean in the saddle.

The rider was coming closer and closer to him.

Roden gripped the lance and-

Wood splintered.

The unmistakable sound of metal colliding with the solid ground cut through the muffled noises.

He was still in the saddle, holding a shattered lance.

Roden was still in his saddle.

He'd made a hit!

Instantly, Roden turned his horse around itself, and held up the broken lance to Merry and Jolly. His opponent was being dragged out of the arena by his foot. Pages chased the runaway horse. Mott was standing among the crowd, his hands above his head.

"That was amazing!" Jolly shrieked as he ran to Roden. "Knocked him clean off!"

A trail of all sorts of children, the ones who'd chased Roden down the arena, came flooding, waving their banners and shouting for "Sir Nyrsate's" attention.

"You better pay up," Roden said, tossing the broken lance to the ground.

The children all scrambled for it.

"Oh, I will, I promise I will," Jolly vowed, grabbing Merry by the shoulders to plant kisses all over her face. "Dear Saints, I've won too much money."

"Don't gamble on drunks ever again," Merry snapped as she shoved Jolly away from her.

"Oh, I won't, I promise I won't."

Roden was certain that he and Merry were thinking the same thing: Jolly would certainly go on to bet on more drunks.

But perhaps it was worth it.

After all, Roden received his chance to ride in a jousting tournament.

And he'd guaranteed an opportunity to learn more about the Faola.

It wouldn't be long before he caught them.