“We meet again, Princess."
Moria stopped, startled out of her thoughts by the greeting. The peasant, Lander, stood in the hallway, smiling at her. He hadn't even bothered to bow, she realized. At least he addressed her properly. Composing herself quickly, she attempted a mask of careful neutrality, and succeeded for the most part. "Hello..." Her mind churned with titles, but none of them fit, and calling him peasant seemed to be an unpleasant reminder of her situation, "...Lander."
Her gaze drifted to the door he stood in front of. It stood across from hers, and had been vacant for some time now. What he was doing here, she couldn't fathom. Perhaps he was lost, which was understandable. It took most guests months to figure out the layout, and Moria had the advantage of living there her entire life. “Can I help you find something?” She asked, neutral expression wavering into something more questioning.
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It's okay!
I'm in the middle of hectic christmas/college finals week(s) so I've been super busy also, and I feel bad because my replies are somewhat... not fabulous.
But I should be back to a more peaceful schedule by the weekend. c:
I'm in the middle of hectic christmas/college finals week(s) so I've been super busy also, and I feel bad because my replies are somewhat... not fabulous.
But I should be back to a more peaceful schedule by the weekend. c:
“I will do it.”
Moria stood up, a sort of numb anger filling her as she struggled to regain her composure. “If you will excuse me,” she said to nobody in particular, “I’m going to retire.” Not waiting for a response either, she turned and left quickly, passing through the door the guard had opened for her. It creaked as it closed behind her, and she was left alone.
Faint voices filtered out into the hall. “She’s displeased.”
“Of course she’s displeased…”
She began walking with no real intent except to get away from what had just happened. There were few things she disliked more than not having a say in something, especially concerning her own life, but it seemed her father had decided how he would handle whatever ‘worrisome threat’ he had received without her say.
The halls had since begun to take on an orange glow as the sun crept lower in the sky. It was quiet except for the occasional servant, who hurried to pass her with their heads bowed. Her aimless wandering had brought her close to the guest quarters and she made her way towards Lady Ashlyn’s room. There was no guarantee she would be there, but Moria needed somebody to talk to, or at least to rant to. The anger had not dissipated in the least.
Knocking on the door, a few beats of silence passed before the door opened. “Yes, wha-“ Ashlyn’s expression morphed from neutral to questioning as she recognized the princess. “Moria? What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you. Privately.”
“Who am I to say no to the princess?” While her tone was sarcastic, she still moved aside to allow Moria to enter. The room was less decorated than her own, but still held all the luxuries necessary for an honored guest. Moria sat in front of the vanity, removing her crown and setting it down delicately. Ashlyn took a spot on the bed, waiting in silence.
Moria let out an exaggerated sigh. “A peasant won the tournament.”
“So I have heard.” Ashlyn said, nodding.
“And my father wants him to be my personal guard.”
“A personal guard? What for?”
Moria gave a dismissive wave. “Some sort of threat.”
“A threat? To you?”
“Of course. Who else?”
“I don’t know.” Ashlyn paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “What is wrong with this peasant? Is he dumb?”
Moria snorted. “Aren’t they all? He barely talks at all.”
“Did you try to speak to him?”
“Well, no.” She hadn’t wanted to talk to him, after all.
“I see. So, I’m assuming you’re here because he accepted the king’s offer?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re upset.”
“Of course.”
Ashlyn gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”
Moria returned the look, though a slightly more irritated version. “Why? Because I’m going to have some farmer boy, not even a knight, escorting me around everywhere for however long my father thinks I need protection from a likely false threat. All because he won a tournament.”
“It sounds to me like you’re overreacting.”
“I am not!”
“Yes, you are.” Ashlyn sighed, clasping her hands on her lap. She sat like a perfect lady, and Moria was silently jealous of her ability to remain poised in any situation. The woman was only a few months older than Moria, but it seemed as if they were years apart. “So what if you have a commoner as an escort? Your father is satisfied, and if the threat is truly false, then he will be gone soon enough. All you have to do is grin and bear it.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
“If you’re going to be queen, you’re going to have to do a lot of things you don’t want to do.”
Moria didn’t respond, instead reaching out to caress the crown on the vanity. The metal was cold and the adornments glittered in the fading light, a symbol of royalty and glory. What Ashlyn said was true, but it didn’t mean she hated it any less.
“At least it wasn’t a suitor tournament.” Ashlyn said after a moment. Moria grimaced, earning a light laugh from the other woman. “It won’t be so awful. Maybe you should try talking to this commoner. I’m sure it’ll make things easier.”
“Right.” Moria said, sarcasm dripping off her tone. She stood up and retrieved her crown, satisfied with the conversation. Her anger had dissipated, leaving her with clearer thoughts. Mirroring her movements, Ashlyn stood and moved to open the door. “Thank you for your time and advice, Ashlyn.”
“Anything for the future queen.”
“See you in the morning, then.”
Ashlyn’s expression dropped, looking very resigned. “I’m afraid not. I’m leaving this evening to return home.”
“Oh.” Moria didn’t know what else to say, standing outside the threshold. She felt uncomfortable, turning the crown in her hands rather than returning it to her head. “Well, then… Until another time, Lady Ashlyn.”
“Farewell, Princess Moria.”
The door closed softly, and Moria set off down the hallway, considerably slower than her previously aggressive pace. She replayed Ashlyn’s advice in her head as she walked. Just grin and bear it. It seemed simple enough.
Moria stood up, a sort of numb anger filling her as she struggled to regain her composure. “If you will excuse me,” she said to nobody in particular, “I’m going to retire.” Not waiting for a response either, she turned and left quickly, passing through the door the guard had opened for her. It creaked as it closed behind her, and she was left alone.
Faint voices filtered out into the hall. “She’s displeased.”
“Of course she’s displeased…”
She began walking with no real intent except to get away from what had just happened. There were few things she disliked more than not having a say in something, especially concerning her own life, but it seemed her father had decided how he would handle whatever ‘worrisome threat’ he had received without her say.
The halls had since begun to take on an orange glow as the sun crept lower in the sky. It was quiet except for the occasional servant, who hurried to pass her with their heads bowed. Her aimless wandering had brought her close to the guest quarters and she made her way towards Lady Ashlyn’s room. There was no guarantee she would be there, but Moria needed somebody to talk to, or at least to rant to. The anger had not dissipated in the least.
Knocking on the door, a few beats of silence passed before the door opened. “Yes, wha-“ Ashlyn’s expression morphed from neutral to questioning as she recognized the princess. “Moria? What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you. Privately.”
“Who am I to say no to the princess?” While her tone was sarcastic, she still moved aside to allow Moria to enter. The room was less decorated than her own, but still held all the luxuries necessary for an honored guest. Moria sat in front of the vanity, removing her crown and setting it down delicately. Ashlyn took a spot on the bed, waiting in silence.
Moria let out an exaggerated sigh. “A peasant won the tournament.”
“So I have heard.” Ashlyn said, nodding.
“And my father wants him to be my personal guard.”
“A personal guard? What for?”
Moria gave a dismissive wave. “Some sort of threat.”
“A threat? To you?”
“Of course. Who else?”
“I don’t know.” Ashlyn paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “What is wrong with this peasant? Is he dumb?”
Moria snorted. “Aren’t they all? He barely talks at all.”
“Did you try to speak to him?”
“Well, no.” She hadn’t wanted to talk to him, after all.
“I see. So, I’m assuming you’re here because he accepted the king’s offer?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re upset.”
“Of course.”
Ashlyn gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”
Moria returned the look, though a slightly more irritated version. “Why? Because I’m going to have some farmer boy, not even a knight, escorting me around everywhere for however long my father thinks I need protection from a likely false threat. All because he won a tournament.”
“It sounds to me like you’re overreacting.”
“I am not!”
“Yes, you are.” Ashlyn sighed, clasping her hands on her lap. She sat like a perfect lady, and Moria was silently jealous of her ability to remain poised in any situation. The woman was only a few months older than Moria, but it seemed as if they were years apart. “So what if you have a commoner as an escort? Your father is satisfied, and if the threat is truly false, then he will be gone soon enough. All you have to do is grin and bear it.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
“If you’re going to be queen, you’re going to have to do a lot of things you don’t want to do.”
Moria didn’t respond, instead reaching out to caress the crown on the vanity. The metal was cold and the adornments glittered in the fading light, a symbol of royalty and glory. What Ashlyn said was true, but it didn’t mean she hated it any less.
“At least it wasn’t a suitor tournament.” Ashlyn said after a moment. Moria grimaced, earning a light laugh from the other woman. “It won’t be so awful. Maybe you should try talking to this commoner. I’m sure it’ll make things easier.”
“Right.” Moria said, sarcasm dripping off her tone. She stood up and retrieved her crown, satisfied with the conversation. Her anger had dissipated, leaving her with clearer thoughts. Mirroring her movements, Ashlyn stood and moved to open the door. “Thank you for your time and advice, Ashlyn.”
“Anything for the future queen.”
“See you in the morning, then.”
Ashlyn’s expression dropped, looking very resigned. “I’m afraid not. I’m leaving this evening to return home.”
“Oh.” Moria didn’t know what else to say, standing outside the threshold. She felt uncomfortable, turning the crown in her hands rather than returning it to her head. “Well, then… Until another time, Lady Ashlyn.”
“Farewell, Princess Moria.”
The door closed softly, and Moria set off down the hallway, considerably slower than her previously aggressive pace. She replayed Ashlyn’s advice in her head as she walked. Just grin and bear it. It seemed simple enough.
Going to bump this back up. c:
Art Credit: Jebii @ FR
Full Name/Title: Naberius
Age: 100
Gender: Agender - It/Its or She/Her
Species: Pure Demon.
Magic: Shape-based (shapeshifting, illusions) and Defensive (healing, shielding). Telekinesis occasionally.
Myers/Jung Personality Type: INJP
D&D Alignment: True Neutral
Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff
Astrological Sign: Gemini
Important Traits: Stubborn, Ill-mannered, Versatile, Adventurous
Brief History: Fresh out of her matron's care (if you could really call it "care"...), Naberius has decided against becoming a ward of her sire and seeks to find territory to make her own. This, of course, is easier said than done, especially with so many demons older and stronger than her having already secured most of the surrounding territories.
Some Likes: Sleeping, Hunting, Practicing Magic, Winning Fights
Some Dislikes: Losing, Humiliation, the Cold
Songs/Playlists Associated with It: Demonica
Full Name/Title: (Princess) Moria
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Myers/Jung Personality Type: ESFP
D&D Alignment: True Neutral
Hogwarts House: Slytherin
Astrological Sign: Scorpio
Important Traits: Spoiled, Selfish, Intelligent, Strong-willed, Daring
Brief History: The only heir to the throne, she has been handed everything on a silver platter. He father dotes on her and she revels in her princess-hood. Her mother died after childbirth, so she does not remember her very well.
Some Likes: Summer, Parties, Adventure Stories, Pretty Dresses
Some Dislikes: Singing, the Lower Classes, Snow
Songs/Playlists Associated with Her: sorry bitch im royalty
It's called the garbage dump because all my characters are beautiful trash. Kidding. Mostly.
Full Name:
Age:
Gender:
Species:
Myers/Jung Personality Type:
D&D Alignment:
Hogwarts House:
Astrological Sign:
Important Traits:
Brief History:
Some Likes:
Some Dislikes:
Songs/Playlists Associated with Them:
Full Name:
Age:
Gender:
Species:
Myers/Jung Personality Type:
D&D Alignment:
Hogwarts House:
Astrological Sign:
Important Traits:
Brief History:
Some Likes:
Some Dislikes:
Songs/Playlists Associated with Them:
Moria was immediately irritated by the man. He hadn’t even waited until they were to the castle to ask about his money. He was not only impatient, but greedy too. How wonderful.
She was halted by the advisor, who was patiently waiting for the commoner to catch up to them. The commoner stood there, staring up at the castle as if he had never seen it before. Then again, he probably hadn’t. Any travelers were either merchants looking to sell things or a village leader looking for some sort of hand out.
“This way.” The advisor said, gaining his attention. He must have had quite the ego, making the princess and advisor wait for him like this. The advisor pushed the door open and allowed her to enter first. The hall was lit by the late afternoon sun, which would soon dip below the wall, and then the horizon. The day couldn’t end soon enough. She kept her pace quick and steady, wanting to sit down and have a glass of strong wine with dinner.
The dining hall was both a blessing and a curse in that moment, but she reminded herself that the faster she dealt with the dinner, the faster she could pretend it never happened. She would certainly be laughing about this later with Ashlyn and the other.
Taking her spot at the table, Moria did her best to completely ignore the commoner. He remained quiet as well, another blessing as far as she could tell. The advisor took his own spot and when they met gazes across the table, he mouthed something suspiciously like “Graces”, earning him a poisonous glare from the princess. He was grating on her already frayed nerves.
Finally, after what seemed like a century of silence, King Rion entered. A few guards followed him, taking their positions by the door as he moved to the table. He held a rather large bag in his hand, obviously the prize money the commoner had been so worried about. Taking his customary spot at the head of the table, the king set the bag aside.
“I am sure you are eager to obtain your well-won prize.” The king said, addressing Lander directly. “However, I implore you to be patient. There is an additional matter I wish to discuss before you leave.”
Moria furrowed her brow, examining her father to no avail. Additional matter? What could the king ask of such a man? The advisor seemed unsurprised, either hiding it well or knowing what the king wanted. Why hadn’t she heard about this?
King Rion did not wait for a response from the other man, motioning to the waiting servants who had appeared out of door to the kitchen. They served separate trays of food to everyone before disappearing again. Apparently no one else would be joining them for dinner, which meant that the eventual discussion would be private.
Moria sipped the wine and picked at her food for most of the silent occasion, her appetite gone in the face of growing anxiety. Guest dinners were usually a loud, festive occasion, with any visitors trading tales and jokes across the table. This quiet affair was a stark contrast, and she wished vainly for Ashlyn or one of the other visiting ladies to be sitting beside her. At least their gossip was entertaining. She lost herself into daydreams of the recent warm afternoons spent in the courtyard, playing chess with Vivien as Galiene chattered on about her husband’s family. A smile crept across her face as she was reminded of a particularly good story about her cousin and an unfriendly horse.
She was drawn from her thoughts as a servant girl drew up next to where she was seated. “Are you done, Milady?”
“Yes, take it away.” Moria said with a wave of dismissal. The table was cleared quickly, and a moment of silence passed, the king seemingly lost in thought. He leant forward and rested his elbows on the table, using his folded hands as a chin rest.
“Now to the matter at hand.” He began, training his gaze onto Lander again. “I am in need of a personal guard, and I ask that you would fill the position. You have shown yourself to be more than capable. It would be temporary, until you are no longer needed, and you would be paid handsomely for your work.”
Moria stared at her father. Had he gone mad? “Father” She began, drawing his attention. “You have the knights. What could you need a personal guard for?”
“Not for me, Moria. For you.” He said.
She stared at him unabashedly, her mind reeling at the statement. “What? For me? I do not need a guard.”
“You do if I say you do. I have received a worrisome threat, and I cannot allow harm to come to you.”
“What about the knights?” She couldn’t believe it. She lived in a fortified castle surrounded by armored guards. What was this peasant supposed to protect her from? “Surely they’re more suited to such a position.”
“That is why I held the tournament: to find the strongest in Camelot. I had naturally assumed that Sir Jerald or one of the others would have won, but it seems I was wrong.” The king explained.
“But… Father, he’s not even a noble!”
His gaze turned sharp. “I do not care what he is, so long as he can protect you.”
“Father, I-“
“Enough, Moria.” His voice left no room for further argument. Sitting back in her chair rigidly, her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth. A small voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Ashlyn, reminded her that ‘at least it hadn’t been a suitor tournament.’ She squashed the little voice ferociously. The advisor looked amused with the proceedings. She wanted to wring his neck.
Addressing the commoner again, her father said “You can always decline and I will send you off tomorrow with your prize. It is your choice.”
She was halted by the advisor, who was patiently waiting for the commoner to catch up to them. The commoner stood there, staring up at the castle as if he had never seen it before. Then again, he probably hadn’t. Any travelers were either merchants looking to sell things or a village leader looking for some sort of hand out.
“This way.” The advisor said, gaining his attention. He must have had quite the ego, making the princess and advisor wait for him like this. The advisor pushed the door open and allowed her to enter first. The hall was lit by the late afternoon sun, which would soon dip below the wall, and then the horizon. The day couldn’t end soon enough. She kept her pace quick and steady, wanting to sit down and have a glass of strong wine with dinner.
The dining hall was both a blessing and a curse in that moment, but she reminded herself that the faster she dealt with the dinner, the faster she could pretend it never happened. She would certainly be laughing about this later with Ashlyn and the other.
Taking her spot at the table, Moria did her best to completely ignore the commoner. He remained quiet as well, another blessing as far as she could tell. The advisor took his own spot and when they met gazes across the table, he mouthed something suspiciously like “Graces”, earning him a poisonous glare from the princess. He was grating on her already frayed nerves.
Finally, after what seemed like a century of silence, King Rion entered. A few guards followed him, taking their positions by the door as he moved to the table. He held a rather large bag in his hand, obviously the prize money the commoner had been so worried about. Taking his customary spot at the head of the table, the king set the bag aside.
“I am sure you are eager to obtain your well-won prize.” The king said, addressing Lander directly. “However, I implore you to be patient. There is an additional matter I wish to discuss before you leave.”
Moria furrowed her brow, examining her father to no avail. Additional matter? What could the king ask of such a man? The advisor seemed unsurprised, either hiding it well or knowing what the king wanted. Why hadn’t she heard about this?
King Rion did not wait for a response from the other man, motioning to the waiting servants who had appeared out of door to the kitchen. They served separate trays of food to everyone before disappearing again. Apparently no one else would be joining them for dinner, which meant that the eventual discussion would be private.
Moria sipped the wine and picked at her food for most of the silent occasion, her appetite gone in the face of growing anxiety. Guest dinners were usually a loud, festive occasion, with any visitors trading tales and jokes across the table. This quiet affair was a stark contrast, and she wished vainly for Ashlyn or one of the other visiting ladies to be sitting beside her. At least their gossip was entertaining. She lost herself into daydreams of the recent warm afternoons spent in the courtyard, playing chess with Vivien as Galiene chattered on about her husband’s family. A smile crept across her face as she was reminded of a particularly good story about her cousin and an unfriendly horse.
She was drawn from her thoughts as a servant girl drew up next to where she was seated. “Are you done, Milady?”
“Yes, take it away.” Moria said with a wave of dismissal. The table was cleared quickly, and a moment of silence passed, the king seemingly lost in thought. He leant forward and rested his elbows on the table, using his folded hands as a chin rest.
“Now to the matter at hand.” He began, training his gaze onto Lander again. “I am in need of a personal guard, and I ask that you would fill the position. You have shown yourself to be more than capable. It would be temporary, until you are no longer needed, and you would be paid handsomely for your work.”
Moria stared at her father. Had he gone mad? “Father” She began, drawing his attention. “You have the knights. What could you need a personal guard for?”
“Not for me, Moria. For you.” He said.
She stared at him unabashedly, her mind reeling at the statement. “What? For me? I do not need a guard.”
“You do if I say you do. I have received a worrisome threat, and I cannot allow harm to come to you.”
“What about the knights?” She couldn’t believe it. She lived in a fortified castle surrounded by armored guards. What was this peasant supposed to protect her from? “Surely they’re more suited to such a position.”
“That is why I held the tournament: to find the strongest in Camelot. I had naturally assumed that Sir Jerald or one of the others would have won, but it seems I was wrong.” The king explained.
“But… Father, he’s not even a noble!”
His gaze turned sharp. “I do not care what he is, so long as he can protect you.”
“Father, I-“
“Enough, Moria.” His voice left no room for further argument. Sitting back in her chair rigidly, her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth. A small voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Ashlyn, reminded her that ‘at least it hadn’t been a suitor tournament.’ She squashed the little voice ferociously. The advisor looked amused with the proceedings. She wanted to wring his neck.
Addressing the commoner again, her father said “You can always decline and I will send you off tomorrow with your prize. It is your choice.”
It's perfectly fine. I got a little carried away too. x]
It was very fun to write, though.~
It was very fun to write, though.~
The sunlight cast a bright glow throughout the study, illuminating the dancing particles in the air. The room was spacious and delicately decorated in blues. An elegant table and chair occupied the center, with a few book cases against the walls and various paintings hung where they could fit. A book sat open and unread in front of Moria as she gazed out the window, her tutor droning on about Camelot’s history. Today the focus was on the ban of magic, a subject she had known about since she was a little girl.
The shallow memory of a servant found practicing magic surfaced in her mind, and she remembered the way the servant had screamed as she had been lead away. In Moria’s opinion, she got what she deserved. Magic was an illegal practice, after all, and the kingdom had no use for criminals.
A stern voice broke into her thoughts. “Moria.”
She turned her attention back to her elderly tutor, Nascien, who was currently giving her a rather sour look. Then again, he always seemed to have a sour expression, as if he had bitten into a poorly made lemon cake. His face was wrinkled and weathered, his bald head reflecting the sunbeams.
“Yes?”
“Who was the most powerful sorcerer of all?” He asked it very slowly, exaggerating his enunciations.
Plastering on her best bored look, she responded with the first name that came to mind. “Caxton.” A story about him and a dragon came to mind, though she hadn’t read it for many years. Or had he actually been the dragon?
Nascien’s nostrils flared in quiet frustration, a quirk she found hilarious. “It’s Morrigan. The most powerful sorcerer was actually a sorceress. A very cunning one too. She was publicly executed for her crimes against the crown in Great King Luther’s reign…” He returned to his droning lecture and Moria returned to ignoring him, retreating back into her thoughts and daydreams. Lady Ashlyn had given her a new book of poems. It was about the adventures of a handsome knight named Gwyn, who was brave, kind, and funny. Smiling to herself as she recalled the jokes, she imagined herself as the girl he danced with in one of the poems, her beautiful dress twirling as they circled elegantly in front of the dazzled guests.
After awhile, the lesson was finally over. Moria left the room without another word, escaping down the stone stairs. Her father’s reasons for continuing her studies were understandable, but after six years they would be coming to an end soon. She could speak Latin fluently, recite the history of Camelot from the world’s creation to last month, sew better than her own seamstress, dance like a bard, and sing… Well, her singing wasn’t the greatest, but it’s not as if she needed to be an entertainer. As she walked, she took the time to run her hands lightly over her dark blonde braid, looking for any places she may need to fix. Satisfied with her check, she paused before the doors to the inner courtyard doors. The shrill laughs and squeals from the group of noble girls gathered outside pierced through the wooden door as if it were air. Moria didn’t particularly like any of them, except for maybe Ashlyn on her good days, but they fell over themselves to suck up to the throne’s sole heir. Their thinly-veiled jealousy was a bonus.
The door suddenly opened towards her so quickly she had to step back to avoid it, nearly tripping on her long dress. After the initial surprise, her rage appeared as fast as lightning, burning red hot in the face of near-humiliation. Her gaze instantly zoned in on the servant who had opened the door and frozen upon seeing her there.
“You nearly hit me, idiot!” She hissed.
“M-Milady, I-I am-“
“I could have been hurt!” She continued, venom dripping from her voice. “Get away from me, filth!” He scurried away, rounding the corner in the blink of an eye. Moria let out an indignant huff, straightening her dress. The servants only got more stupid as the years went on. Walking out into the sun, she was greeted with the stares of the three gathered ladies as she approached. “Did you see that? He almost smashed that wooden door right into me!”
“Oh yes, we saw.” Galiene immediately chirped. “He swung it open so carelessly.”
“He could have hit you right in the face!” Vivien added.
“Would have knocked you right out, most likely.” Ashlyn said, looking more amused than anything else.
“That would have been just awful.”
“I know.” Scenes of her falling gracelessly to the ground occupied Moria’s thoughts. It would have been incredibly embarrassing, even more so in front of the other noble ladies. “The newer servants are positively useless. They have no respect for their betters.”
“Quite true.” Galiene hummed cheerfully, blue eyes drifting to Moria’s braid. “You hair looks very pretty today, Moria. I’ve never seen that style before.”
“Do you really like it? I learned it from a foreign noble awhile back.”
The quartet chatted through much of the early afternoon, enjoying the warm day. Birds chirped overhead, occasionally taking off towards the puffy white clouds. Topics the women discussed were mostly light-hearted, and their laughs echoed across the ward.
“So, Moria.” Vivien began after a short silence, “Are you excited for the tournament?”
Moria frowned, tugging absently at the folds of her dress. “I guess. It just seems so… random. There is no need for a tournament right now, except for maybe as entertainment.”
“Maybe King Rion is looking for potential suitors.” Ashlyn said.
Galiene gasped, her eyes widening at the idea. “Imagine all the knights and nobles who will be there.”
“I hadn’t considered that…” It was true of course. The champion would win money as well as fame, but they would also be facing off against one another in front of the king and princess. It would be an excellent opportunity to show off. Her imagination supplied her with images of shining armor and brilliant smiles.
“You know, I hear the king is allowing peasants to enter.” Ashlyn said. “Maybe a farmer boy will be the one to win your hand in marriage.”
Moria made a face as the other ladies giggled madly. “Over my dead body.”
“Sit still.” Sebille commanded, promptly ripping the brush through a rather nasty tangle in Moria’s hair. Moria let out a rather undignified yelp, her head aching from the torture. “You made the decision to wrap your hair up in that fancy foreign braid, now you have to live with the consequences.”
Moria may or may not have hissed a few choice cuss words under her breath as her maid continued to brush her hair, pulling through the tangles with strength she didn’t know Sebille had. Her father had a certain fondness for the late queen’s maid and kept her around, though Moria didn’t like her at all. After many grueling minutes, the brush finally passed through her hair smoothly, and she was granted a reprieve.
“I believe it looked very pretty.” Moria said, examining herself in the mirror. She had slept fitfully last night, dark dreams refusing her decent sleep.
“Of course it did, Milady.” Sebille busied herself with searching for what she needed, opening and shutting various drawers on the large vanity. “Now, how about something a bit more elegant for the tournament?” The question was rhetorical, but Moria still gave her a small nod.
“Sebille, do you think father will really let simple commoners join the tournament?”
“The king will do anything for you, Milady. If a peasant is the worthiest in the land, then your father would honor that.”
“As if a peasant could be the strongest in the land.” Moria rolled her eyes, earning her a reproachful glare from Sebille. As if she cared what her old maid thought. “All they do is toil about in the fields and go to church.”
“You may be surprised, Princess. Many commoners learn to protect themselves, and some are quite skilled with the sword.”
“But none can ever win against my father’s knights.” Moria stated, a confident fire lit in her eyes.
“As you say, Milady.”
“Besides, my father would also never allow a peasant to marry me.”
Sebille gave her reflection a befuddled look. “Marry you?”
“Of course. Why else would he be holding a tournament to test the worthiest so close to the end of my studies?”
The woman paused, seemingly lost in thought. Becoming irritated, Moria snapped her fingers to regain Sebille’s attention. “What is it, maid?”
“It is nothing, Your Highness. That idea is a sound one.”
“I am quite smart, you know.”
“Yes, Milady.”
After a long hour of Sebille’s fussing, Moria was made to look “much like the queen herself”, and escorted off to meet her father so they could travel to the tournament. King Rion met her with a smile and a slight bow, both of which she returned.
“Shall we depart, Your Majesty?” The king had been a rare sight during the past few weeks, and she had missed him.
He smiled. “I would never keep a lady waiting.”
There were people everywhere, as if the entire population had shown up. It was a loud and chaotic event, many gathered to either watch the show or to be a part of it. She managed to avoid fidgeting in her seat, but she was not immune to the infectious excitement of the crowd.
The crowd was hushed easily, however, with the presence of the king. While he spoke, Moria examined the contenders, finding that her father had indeed allowed commoners to enter. Quite a few had even bothered to show up, though they were obviously ill-matched to the better armored and better armed knights. A few looked slightly formidable, but she paid them no mind.
The first rounds of matches were boring. One side would easily defeat the other, ending the match in a few swings. She observed as a knight knocked a peasant unconscious without even unsheathing his own sword. It was almost comedic, but she kept her amusement in check. After a time, another peasant was called, and the crowd jeered once more. The knight, Sir Baul, was a beast of a man, making the match an easy one. He charged with a shout, and she was surprised when the peasant simply sidestepped him and caught him off balance. Her surprise turned into sheer disbelief as the commoner knocked Sir Baul to the ground and placed his blade against the knight’s neck.
He had won. A commoner had truly won against a knight. The spectators had gone silent, echoing Moria’s state of mind. Then again, it was probably just dumb luck. The commoner had won only once, after all. She settled back into her chair, waiting for the next match.
Anxiety grew in her stomach as she watched the peasant defeat his next opponents with ease. Her nails dug into her arm rests, turning her knuckles white. The king remained quiet throughout the event, observing with an indecipherable look. This peasant, Lander, was making the knights look like bumbling fools. The crowd had even begun to cheer for him.
Finally, the last match was called, and Moria was granted some relief in knowing that Sir Jerald would be the commoner’s opponent. The knight was one of the finest in all of Camelot. The man would be put back in his place, as they would laugh about it over the evening’s dinner.
The king addressed them one last time before they faced each other. The duelists exchanged words Moria could not hear, but the tension rolling off of them was obvious. When the first blows were exchanged, she was mesmerized, watching them fight near equally. The people roared around her, and she leaned slightly forward with rapt attention.
And then, it was over. Lander’s blade made contact with Sir Jerald’s armor. The knight fell to the ground and remained there, the peasant standing above him.
All of the air left her lungs in a surge. It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation. A low class common man did not simply win a tournament against the kingdom’s best fighters, not to mention a hundred gold pieces and the honor of a meal with the royalty. It was outrageous.
“It seems we have our winner.” The king stood, projecting his voice so all could hear, though his eyes remained fixed on Lander. “Lander, you have defeated many worthy opponents. You have proven yourself for the honor of the title of Champion.” The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and Moria’s stomach was full of knots.
“It seems we will be having a rather unexpected guest for dinner tonight, Your Majesty.” The advisor whispered to the king.
“An honored guest.”
“Yes of course.”
The realization hit her that she would indeed have to dine with this man as if he were an equal. What if he didn’t speak properly? If he stuttered as some of the servants did, she would not last the whole meal without leaving. What would he even talk about? The wheat yield this year? A headache bloomed above her brow, the dull pulsing putting her in an even worse mood. It couldn’t get any worse after this humiliation.
Her father turned towards her, gaining her attention. “We shall return to the castle shortly.” His expression turned abruptly serious. “He is our guest, Moria. Remember your graces.”
She did not bother to hide the subtle distaste that settled across her face, but she did not push the subject.
“Good.” The king then turned and addressed his advisor directly. “Make arrangements with our guest. I have a few things to attend to before we go. He will come with us when we return, and will be staying in a proper guest room.” His gaze flicked over to Moria for a moment, a thoughtful look behind his eyes. “Bring Moria with you to congratulate him.”
“What?”
“Your graces, Moria.” The advisor said, his face completely neutral. “Congratulate the winner. He fought hard for his victory. Come along now."
This was truly the icing on the cake. Sometimes she really hated these royal niceties. Standing up gracefully, she forced her tumultuous feelings aside and put on a mask of perfect regality. Her father gave her a small nod, but she ignored him, turning and descending the stairs. She crossed the arena in quick steps, the advisor just behind her. It would be just like singing lessons: the faster she did it, the faster she could leave and pretend it never happened.
Sir Jerald had already disappeared, but the commoner remained, probably waiting for his bag of gold. Lower classes didn’t seem to care for much else. Halting before him, she addressed him with the best neutral tone she could muster. “Congratulations, Champion Lander. Your fighting skills are… admirable.”
The shallow memory of a servant found practicing magic surfaced in her mind, and she remembered the way the servant had screamed as she had been lead away. In Moria’s opinion, she got what she deserved. Magic was an illegal practice, after all, and the kingdom had no use for criminals.
A stern voice broke into her thoughts. “Moria.”
She turned her attention back to her elderly tutor, Nascien, who was currently giving her a rather sour look. Then again, he always seemed to have a sour expression, as if he had bitten into a poorly made lemon cake. His face was wrinkled and weathered, his bald head reflecting the sunbeams.
“Yes?”
“Who was the most powerful sorcerer of all?” He asked it very slowly, exaggerating his enunciations.
Plastering on her best bored look, she responded with the first name that came to mind. “Caxton.” A story about him and a dragon came to mind, though she hadn’t read it for many years. Or had he actually been the dragon?
Nascien’s nostrils flared in quiet frustration, a quirk she found hilarious. “It’s Morrigan. The most powerful sorcerer was actually a sorceress. A very cunning one too. She was publicly executed for her crimes against the crown in Great King Luther’s reign…” He returned to his droning lecture and Moria returned to ignoring him, retreating back into her thoughts and daydreams. Lady Ashlyn had given her a new book of poems. It was about the adventures of a handsome knight named Gwyn, who was brave, kind, and funny. Smiling to herself as she recalled the jokes, she imagined herself as the girl he danced with in one of the poems, her beautiful dress twirling as they circled elegantly in front of the dazzled guests.
After awhile, the lesson was finally over. Moria left the room without another word, escaping down the stone stairs. Her father’s reasons for continuing her studies were understandable, but after six years they would be coming to an end soon. She could speak Latin fluently, recite the history of Camelot from the world’s creation to last month, sew better than her own seamstress, dance like a bard, and sing… Well, her singing wasn’t the greatest, but it’s not as if she needed to be an entertainer. As she walked, she took the time to run her hands lightly over her dark blonde braid, looking for any places she may need to fix. Satisfied with her check, she paused before the doors to the inner courtyard doors. The shrill laughs and squeals from the group of noble girls gathered outside pierced through the wooden door as if it were air. Moria didn’t particularly like any of them, except for maybe Ashlyn on her good days, but they fell over themselves to suck up to the throne’s sole heir. Their thinly-veiled jealousy was a bonus.
The door suddenly opened towards her so quickly she had to step back to avoid it, nearly tripping on her long dress. After the initial surprise, her rage appeared as fast as lightning, burning red hot in the face of near-humiliation. Her gaze instantly zoned in on the servant who had opened the door and frozen upon seeing her there.
“You nearly hit me, idiot!” She hissed.
“M-Milady, I-I am-“
“I could have been hurt!” She continued, venom dripping from her voice. “Get away from me, filth!” He scurried away, rounding the corner in the blink of an eye. Moria let out an indignant huff, straightening her dress. The servants only got more stupid as the years went on. Walking out into the sun, she was greeted with the stares of the three gathered ladies as she approached. “Did you see that? He almost smashed that wooden door right into me!”
“Oh yes, we saw.” Galiene immediately chirped. “He swung it open so carelessly.”
“He could have hit you right in the face!” Vivien added.
“Would have knocked you right out, most likely.” Ashlyn said, looking more amused than anything else.
“That would have been just awful.”
“I know.” Scenes of her falling gracelessly to the ground occupied Moria’s thoughts. It would have been incredibly embarrassing, even more so in front of the other noble ladies. “The newer servants are positively useless. They have no respect for their betters.”
“Quite true.” Galiene hummed cheerfully, blue eyes drifting to Moria’s braid. “You hair looks very pretty today, Moria. I’ve never seen that style before.”
“Do you really like it? I learned it from a foreign noble awhile back.”
The quartet chatted through much of the early afternoon, enjoying the warm day. Birds chirped overhead, occasionally taking off towards the puffy white clouds. Topics the women discussed were mostly light-hearted, and their laughs echoed across the ward.
“So, Moria.” Vivien began after a short silence, “Are you excited for the tournament?”
Moria frowned, tugging absently at the folds of her dress. “I guess. It just seems so… random. There is no need for a tournament right now, except for maybe as entertainment.”
“Maybe King Rion is looking for potential suitors.” Ashlyn said.
Galiene gasped, her eyes widening at the idea. “Imagine all the knights and nobles who will be there.”
“I hadn’t considered that…” It was true of course. The champion would win money as well as fame, but they would also be facing off against one another in front of the king and princess. It would be an excellent opportunity to show off. Her imagination supplied her with images of shining armor and brilliant smiles.
“You know, I hear the king is allowing peasants to enter.” Ashlyn said. “Maybe a farmer boy will be the one to win your hand in marriage.”
Moria made a face as the other ladies giggled madly. “Over my dead body.”
“Sit still.” Sebille commanded, promptly ripping the brush through a rather nasty tangle in Moria’s hair. Moria let out a rather undignified yelp, her head aching from the torture. “You made the decision to wrap your hair up in that fancy foreign braid, now you have to live with the consequences.”
Moria may or may not have hissed a few choice cuss words under her breath as her maid continued to brush her hair, pulling through the tangles with strength she didn’t know Sebille had. Her father had a certain fondness for the late queen’s maid and kept her around, though Moria didn’t like her at all. After many grueling minutes, the brush finally passed through her hair smoothly, and she was granted a reprieve.
“I believe it looked very pretty.” Moria said, examining herself in the mirror. She had slept fitfully last night, dark dreams refusing her decent sleep.
“Of course it did, Milady.” Sebille busied herself with searching for what she needed, opening and shutting various drawers on the large vanity. “Now, how about something a bit more elegant for the tournament?” The question was rhetorical, but Moria still gave her a small nod.
“Sebille, do you think father will really let simple commoners join the tournament?”
“The king will do anything for you, Milady. If a peasant is the worthiest in the land, then your father would honor that.”
“As if a peasant could be the strongest in the land.” Moria rolled her eyes, earning her a reproachful glare from Sebille. As if she cared what her old maid thought. “All they do is toil about in the fields and go to church.”
“You may be surprised, Princess. Many commoners learn to protect themselves, and some are quite skilled with the sword.”
“But none can ever win against my father’s knights.” Moria stated, a confident fire lit in her eyes.
“As you say, Milady.”
“Besides, my father would also never allow a peasant to marry me.”
Sebille gave her reflection a befuddled look. “Marry you?”
“Of course. Why else would he be holding a tournament to test the worthiest so close to the end of my studies?”
The woman paused, seemingly lost in thought. Becoming irritated, Moria snapped her fingers to regain Sebille’s attention. “What is it, maid?”
“It is nothing, Your Highness. That idea is a sound one.”
“I am quite smart, you know.”
“Yes, Milady.”
After a long hour of Sebille’s fussing, Moria was made to look “much like the queen herself”, and escorted off to meet her father so they could travel to the tournament. King Rion met her with a smile and a slight bow, both of which she returned.
“Shall we depart, Your Majesty?” The king had been a rare sight during the past few weeks, and she had missed him.
He smiled. “I would never keep a lady waiting.”
There were people everywhere, as if the entire population had shown up. It was a loud and chaotic event, many gathered to either watch the show or to be a part of it. She managed to avoid fidgeting in her seat, but she was not immune to the infectious excitement of the crowd.
The crowd was hushed easily, however, with the presence of the king. While he spoke, Moria examined the contenders, finding that her father had indeed allowed commoners to enter. Quite a few had even bothered to show up, though they were obviously ill-matched to the better armored and better armed knights. A few looked slightly formidable, but she paid them no mind.
The first rounds of matches were boring. One side would easily defeat the other, ending the match in a few swings. She observed as a knight knocked a peasant unconscious without even unsheathing his own sword. It was almost comedic, but she kept her amusement in check. After a time, another peasant was called, and the crowd jeered once more. The knight, Sir Baul, was a beast of a man, making the match an easy one. He charged with a shout, and she was surprised when the peasant simply sidestepped him and caught him off balance. Her surprise turned into sheer disbelief as the commoner knocked Sir Baul to the ground and placed his blade against the knight’s neck.
He had won. A commoner had truly won against a knight. The spectators had gone silent, echoing Moria’s state of mind. Then again, it was probably just dumb luck. The commoner had won only once, after all. She settled back into her chair, waiting for the next match.
Anxiety grew in her stomach as she watched the peasant defeat his next opponents with ease. Her nails dug into her arm rests, turning her knuckles white. The king remained quiet throughout the event, observing with an indecipherable look. This peasant, Lander, was making the knights look like bumbling fools. The crowd had even begun to cheer for him.
Finally, the last match was called, and Moria was granted some relief in knowing that Sir Jerald would be the commoner’s opponent. The knight was one of the finest in all of Camelot. The man would be put back in his place, as they would laugh about it over the evening’s dinner.
The king addressed them one last time before they faced each other. The duelists exchanged words Moria could not hear, but the tension rolling off of them was obvious. When the first blows were exchanged, she was mesmerized, watching them fight near equally. The people roared around her, and she leaned slightly forward with rapt attention.
And then, it was over. Lander’s blade made contact with Sir Jerald’s armor. The knight fell to the ground and remained there, the peasant standing above him.
All of the air left her lungs in a surge. It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation. A low class common man did not simply win a tournament against the kingdom’s best fighters, not to mention a hundred gold pieces and the honor of a meal with the royalty. It was outrageous.
“It seems we have our winner.” The king stood, projecting his voice so all could hear, though his eyes remained fixed on Lander. “Lander, you have defeated many worthy opponents. You have proven yourself for the honor of the title of Champion.” The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and Moria’s stomach was full of knots.
“It seems we will be having a rather unexpected guest for dinner tonight, Your Majesty.” The advisor whispered to the king.
“An honored guest.”
“Yes of course.”
The realization hit her that she would indeed have to dine with this man as if he were an equal. What if he didn’t speak properly? If he stuttered as some of the servants did, she would not last the whole meal without leaving. What would he even talk about? The wheat yield this year? A headache bloomed above her brow, the dull pulsing putting her in an even worse mood. It couldn’t get any worse after this humiliation.
Her father turned towards her, gaining her attention. “We shall return to the castle shortly.” His expression turned abruptly serious. “He is our guest, Moria. Remember your graces.”
She did not bother to hide the subtle distaste that settled across her face, but she did not push the subject.
“Good.” The king then turned and addressed his advisor directly. “Make arrangements with our guest. I have a few things to attend to before we go. He will come with us when we return, and will be staying in a proper guest room.” His gaze flicked over to Moria for a moment, a thoughtful look behind his eyes. “Bring Moria with you to congratulate him.”
“What?”
“Your graces, Moria.” The advisor said, his face completely neutral. “Congratulate the winner. He fought hard for his victory. Come along now."
This was truly the icing on the cake. Sometimes she really hated these royal niceties. Standing up gracefully, she forced her tumultuous feelings aside and put on a mask of perfect regality. Her father gave her a small nod, but she ignored him, turning and descending the stairs. She crossed the arena in quick steps, the advisor just behind her. It would be just like singing lessons: the faster she did it, the faster she could leave and pretend it never happened.
Sir Jerald had already disappeared, but the commoner remained, probably waiting for his bag of gold. Lower classes didn’t seem to care for much else. Halting before him, she addressed him with the best neutral tone she could muster. “Congratulations, Champion Lander. Your fighting skills are… admirable.”
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