Wilhelm and co. walked their horses inside the gate. For now, they would be safe from harm at the hands of the various bands of murderers who were constantly pursuing him. These past few weeks had been hell on earth for the trio, and Wilhelm was glad to finally have respite from the constant violence that surrounded them. The village of The group had some money on them, mostly taken from men who'd underestimated them and met their ends at Wilhelm's pollaxe or Roger's longsword. The House of Lazarel was renowned for its food, and they were more than eager to see if their cooking skill was as widespread among their peasantry. They settled on a nice, homely-looking inn run by a stout old woman and her husband. A bit of silver secured them three bowls of hardy, rich mammoth stew with chunks of meat in it, as well as a loaf of bread to split between the three of them. Ale was free; it was a special occasion, though Wilhelm hadn't a clue what it was. Regardless, it was one of the most delicious meals he had ever tasted.
As they were eating, Wilhelm overheard a group of smallfolk speaking further down their table. "A toast to the new Captain of the Guard, Urt Lazarel! May he never have need to do his job!" A bout of laughter followed, with precious little actual toasting. Wilhelm smiled. I'll stay here for as long as I can, he thought, I'll change my name, maybe, and wait here until the war's done and over with. It was then he noticed a bard tuning a lute in a corner.
"Attention, ladies and gentlemen!" The bard was glad in mammoth fur, and wore gloves of fine leather. Perhaps he had won them in a bet or poker game. "This particular tale has been spreading throughout the land like wildfire, and has finally found its way to the tip if the Iron Mountains! I give you, the Ballad of Royal Bastards."
Wilhelm nearly choked on his stew. He had heard the song far too many times before in rebel-friendly lands, and more often than not, the head of the bard who had sang it was displayed on a pike outside the charred remains of the tavern the following morning.
First was Sir Ridley,
A knight brave and strong,
A noble born mother, and a lover of song,
He dared raise a question to the Tyrant but instead
of giving and answer the king chopped off his head!
Oh, oh, he chopped off his head!
Wilhelm found it far too uplifting for a song about murder and death. He sunk down in his seat as the bard slowed his playing slightly. It was still a joyful tune, but it now had an ominous element to it.
Then came fair Matilda,
A maid sweet and kind,
She wore a white dress and wore flowers in her hair,
Locked herself in her tower, to grieve for her kin,
But the tyrant did find her, stuck a sword through her chin!
Oh, oh, stuck a sword through her chin!
The last line of the verse was sung in unison with some of the restaurant's patrons, in a way that made chills run down Wilhelm's spine. Again the bard began to play slower. Now the song was starting to sound just utterly tragic, and this particular verse was: even moreso than the rest.
Third was little Lily,
Naught more than a babe,
Too young to know she would soon be in her grave,
Her mother did struggle, Her mother did fight,
But a child was nonetheless murdered that night.
Oh, poor Lily, murdered in the night.
Wilhelm let his elbows rest on the table. Now was the final verse...
Last is staunch Wilhelm,
A peasant like you,
With no coin to his name and nothing to lose,
But that one fateful day when the king's men came by... As many bards often did at this point in the song, he took a dramatic pause...
He gripped his sickle in two hands and he said...
In the name of brave Ridley, you chopped off his head,
In the name of fair Matilda, who you murdered in bed,
In the name of little Lily, whose poor mother cried,
I am Wilhelm the Bastard, and I choose you to die!
Oh, oh, I choose you to die!
The entire tavern screamed the last line in unison as the bard moved onto the last verse of the ballad...
Goodbye, to Sir Ridley, Lady Matilda too,
Goodbye to young Lily, whom we hardly knew,
But hold onto hope, for there's one still alive,
He's Wilhelm, the man who's too stubborn to die!
The entire tavern erupted into applause and laughter. Wilhelm was flattered by the praise, though the story was only half-true. First and foremost, the king had sent only three assassins after him, as they did not anticipate that he would have any sort of combat experience. Second, Wilhelm's cousins aided him in his fight and subsequent retreats. Thirdly, he had used his pollaxe to deliver the killing blows to two of the three guards, whereas Roger had killed the third one. Perhaps the most important difference was that Wilhelm had quite a bit of gold -- at least for a peasant -- from collecting the spoils of war during the conquests of the Tyrant King. What really worried the bastard was that things were expected of him. The people wanted a hero to praise, who would rally and army to rise up and slay the tyrant king, whereas Wilhelm wanted no part in it. Peasants seemed to support him well enough, due to his background, but most noble houses saw him as either a nuisance or a bargaining chip. Best to stay out of it entirely.
Wilhelm, Roger and Frederick sat there finishing their meals, taking in the sights and sounds around them. Though the Flowers Brothers were enjoying themselves, Wilhelm was beginning to feel uneasy again.
