Ser Nolan of Carleone, one of the most steadfast members of the Royal Guard, was having a tantrum in his quarters like an eight-year old. Armor pieces were flung across the room, the Royal Guard cloak that was fastened to the armor--white and gold quartered, with the coat of arms of the Human Kingdom combatant with the coat of arms of the Triumvirate*--cast on the flagstones like a whore's dress. He downed a shot of vodka, only to fling the small glass into the fireplace, where it shattered and the small dregs that remained caught fire and briefly provided a brilliant light show before the fire returned to normal. Love had utterly destroyed him, and he required peace, quiet, and most of all, solitude to put himself back together.
But for now, he slept, his rest fitful and full of dreams of what might have been with Isadora. Waking at roughly four in the morning, he wondered what woke him when he heard a voice in his head. It was Vilthenax. You are troubled, Whisperer. I am sorry. I shall make this brief. A matter requires my urgent attention, and I shall be unable to fly to your city this day or for many days hence. Nolan sighed, running his hands through his hair and down his face before replying, I understand. Please be safe, as safe as you can in this trying time. The dragon replied, Hah! I thank you for your concern, as unnecessary as it is. No, my daughter is finally about to give birth, and amongst dragons, a new member of our race coming into the world always takes priority. Smiling, Nolan said, Congratulations. Now, if you will excuse me. Vilthenax said, Of course, of course. Fare thee well. The mental conversation now over, Nolan rose from the bed and, after neatly assembling his Royal Guard armor and cloak on the stand that stood in the room, crossed to the writing desk.
Pulling parchment, ink, and quill closer to him, he dipped the quill into the ink pot and began to write two letters. The first was to the King.
Sire,
There are two matters which must be brought to your attention. The first is the postponement of the meeting with Vilthenax. His daughter is with child and is close to giving birth, and in dragon culture there is no higher priority. Perhaps this will bring some small measure of relief to the people, and will give everyone more time to get used to the idea of a dragon landing in our midst.
The second matter is of a far more personal nature. Isadora and I had what could best be described as a fight last night, or perhaps it's less two-sided than all that. Regardless, she has wounded me deeply, and I require time away from court to deal with this. I am already breaking her confidence by telling you anything is amiss at all, but if anyone could possibly understand, it is you. There is a small cottage less than two days' ride from here, although I shall not divulge more, in the event you view this as a desertion of my duties and a violation of my oath. I assure you it is not, although I will not blame you if emotion clouds your judgement in this matter. My own emotions are certainly preventing me from carrying out my duty effectively, which makes this unusual action necessary, if difficult.
I only plan to remain away for less than a week, unless circumstances wrought by an angry father and King force me to remain away for longer.
I remain your faithful and loyal Knight,
Ser Nolan of Carleone
Folding the first letter and sealing it with the emblem of the Human branch of the Royal Guard, he pulled another parchment towards him and wrote the second letter to Isadora.
Goodbye, my love.
Nolan
This he did not seal, merely folded it. Rising from the desk, he packed a rucksack for a week in the woods bordering the capital, as he had no idea what the state of the cabin would be like. Cinching his swordbelt against a leather jerkin over a sage green shirt, black breeches and riding boots, he wrapped himself in a brown cloak and stopped by the armory, taking a newly-designed spear from a barrel that contained fifty of them. The shaft was made of metal, hollow, and it separated in two places. But instead of having to assemble the weapon manually, a stretchy piece of a new material made from the rubber tree that ran the length of the inside of the shaft allowed the weapon to be pulled out of a bag or pack in its collapsed state and brought to readiness in less than three seconds in trained hands. The blacksmith that had designed it received a king's ransom--literally--for his innovation and now produced arms and armor exclusively for the Triumvirate's knights.
Stashing the spear in his pack, he slipped the king's letter beneath his door, and then Isadora's, the guards on duty paying him no mind. They presumably believed that whatever was in the letters was between him and their recipients. In a way, they were correct. When he made his way to the stables, he immediately saddled his black destrier, Drogon, and left the castle and the city through small, postern gates.
*Since the Triumvirate is governed jointly by Elves, Dwarves, and Humans, the Royal Guard as a whole numbers thirty knights. Ten to guard the Human King and his family, ten to guard the Elven Queen and her family, and ten to guard the Dwarven King and his family. Each group of ten wear cloaks with the coat of arms of their own race's Kingdom, combatant with the coat of arms of the Triumvirate.
