The Dragon of the Blue Moon

[Rudolph Quin]

Prologue​

The tension filling the room was like a large spider waiting on every man's back with poisoned fangs poised and ready to strike. The King of Roland, Tristan Steward, sat at the large table with his lords assembled at either side of him, every man on the edge of their plushly cushioned seats in the large hall. The gleaming table dominating the room was a testament to Roland's wealth as well as the furnishings and crowned moldings and pillars that accented the walls of the palace. After years of his family ruling over this noble and majestic kingdom, he was about to lose it all.

The war with Sorbold had been going on for longer than any of the men present had been alive and now it was finally coming to an end. Although for nearly 20 years, Roland had possessed the upper hand and might have even won, ever since they'd lost their secret weapon they could not stand against Sorbold's might. Now all they could hope for was that after all these years of oppressive conflict, the Emperor of Sorbold would be willing to make peace and bargain with them.

It had been 10 years since Tristan's father, Reginald, had passed away and given up the throne to his son resting in peace with the knowledge that he would do what was best for their great nation. Now Tristan felt a hint of bile rise to the back of his throat to realize that after generations of his family ruling this beautiful land, he would have to accede to a higher power to stop the complete slaughter of every one of Roland's citizens. There were bloodthirsty forces in Sorbold that sought to destroy them all completely if he didn't bow to their might and power.

The hall echoed with the sound of the main door to the room opening and a soldier in liveried garments stepped just inside. "They're here, m'Lord."

"Send them in," Tristan said without hesitation, glancing uneasily at the men to his right before squaring his shoulders and holding his head high in a dignified manner.

The first man that entered through the doors was of a swarthy complexion with dark hair, little whisps of gray at his temples and a pitch black square of neatly trimmed facial hair around his lips and on his chin. The clothes he wore were full of dark colors, richly embroidered and emphasizing the naturally strong frame of the man's body. It was good to know that even though they'd practically been isolated by war, Sorbold had not suffered for wealth among it's royalty. The man was in his early forties and yet his features were not aged beyond the charm of youth, his dark eyes holding a smirking menace and his easy saunter into the room flowing with wolf-like grace. The man was the Emperor of Sorbold, holding a similar position of the title "King" in the opposing nation. Anborn. The man his father had fighting against for years now and a very experienced warrior.

On his heels followed only one other man, and the breath from all the men at the table was taken in sharply in unison as he stepped past the doorway following his liege. It was a face they all recognized and although their was a communal astonishment amongst the lords of Roland, the king was alone in feeling an aching pain of regret in his chest at sight of the man. Trygon, the "Dragon".

Where Anborn was a seasoned warrior with every movement articulating years of battle experience, Trygon was a beast in man's clothing. Tall and slender, every step as he approached the table was soaking with the potential for violence, a brutality in his posture and expression speaking of not only an objectification of everything living but a domination of Death itself. The environment seemed to bend and twist around him, bowing before the might of his presence, and the frenzied, bestial look in his eyes seemed to see beyond the temporal existence into a realm outside of human comprehension. Even wearing flesh and bone as he was, it was more than obvious to anyone who caught sight of the man that he was much more than human.

His features which could be classified as handsome had grown taunt and severe in the time since Tristan had last seen him face-to-face. Although a smile full of spite and hatred lurked just below the surface of his twitching lips, his cheeks had grown gaunt, his chin more angular, and there was a darkness around his eyes giving him an almost feverishly haunted look. Despite that, every bone in his body exuded limitless confidence, his eyes sweeping over the room with a God-like arrogance with the tiniest hint of amusement in his face. Even so, the king of Roland, above any of his fellow countrymen, feared Trygon's wrath. What had once been friendship and comradeship between them had grown twisted and warped through betrayal and oppression and the king fully expected the Dragon to kill him for the slights he'd visited upon the man-God in their past.

If that had anything to do with what Trygon planned in this meeting, he did not let on, seemingly grown at ease in the chambers that he'd been banished from not even a year ago. He'd known they'd welcome him back and just as they'd held him in awe when he'd first occupied these halls with Roland's royalty, he now held them in awe at the edge of his sword in their very own homeland. It was something he was more than happy to share with the Emperor, although Anborn was here more for the show presented by Trygon's dominance than any actual diplomacy.

Both men approached the table together and sat across from the king and his loyal council and Anborn breathed a light sigh before smiling pleasantly at the nervous men facing him. It didn't get much better than this, did it? "Alright, I'm here, just as you so humbly requested. In light of the current circumstances, I assume you're ready to acquiesce and admit defeat? I most graciously accept and want you to know there are no hard feelings, even after all these years of nonstop war, and endless fields of dead bodies littering both of our lands - I'm willing to negotiate a set of terms for peace. Of course, since I have the ultimate weapon, I fully expect to come out of this a lot better off than you will - and that of course means 3/4 of Roland will become a part of Sorbold - I'd like the western half that connects with Corbair for the trade routes and also that lovely chunk by the coast for the sea trade."

He lounged back in his grandly made chair and glanced at Trygon who chuckled silently, before looking back at Tristan with a smug grin. "We should probably get a scribe in here to make sure you get all this down." Idly, he scratched a slender finger at his neatly groomed beard and waited expectantly for the king's response.

_______________________________​

**disclaimer: I know very little about war or the nature of it. This is just a little fantasy story I made up for fun. Some characters may be inspired by internet personas but are not a strict portrayal of any real people or situations.

 

[Rudolph Quin]

Chapter One

18 years ago

_____________________________________​

The sun rose over the crags to the east, the firey red light illuminating the broken teeth of the earth like a grinning maw after ripping into vulnerable flesh, the bloody sunlight dripping down it's gruesome fangs. Still barely peeking above the horizon behind them, the pointed mountains cast shadows upon the spacious field, some still dark with the shades of evening clinging to them. From the south an army assembled and approached the middle of the field at a steady trot. Having only arrived in Leads Hill a week before, the generals of the army were confident of their victory against the men of Roland today, the other army only having arrived here yesterday.

The men of Sorbold raced across the field, screaming their battle cries like one large growl across the miles of endless pasture in the striped shadows of the Crags. Their skin was a darker, muddy shade than that of the people of Roland, all of them with darker hair and eyes, their faces and armor more severe with the different warrior societies among their military men. They were an honorable and war-like society with tribal communities all joined together under the Supreme Ruler and Emperor, Anborn the Great. It had been Anborn's great grandfather who had been a chieftain of the Bloody River tribe, who had conquered the lands of the other tribes bringing them all together under one ruler in hopes of crushing their fairer skinned enemies in the north. No longer was Sorbold a collection of warring tribes in the mountains of the south, but a united nation with enough strength to challenge the kingdom of Roland.

As they made their way across the field, weapons bared and shaken in angry fists, the Sorbold army neared an especially dark shadow that seemed to defy the growing light. It wasn't until too late that the men realized that it was not a shadow but the earth had been tainted itself, a long strip about 15 feet wide of blackened earth. As soon as the first booted foot touched upon the ebony dirt, the men fell, all who touched it consumed by black crumpling and screaming as their bodies turned to dark ash. But the frenzy of battle had overtaken all of them and the men behind climbed over the stone-like bodies of their brethren, eventually creating a wide bridge across the spell-turned ground. What the men of Sorbold would only realize later once they'd had a chance to regroup and collect their forces after the battle today, was that Roland's soldiers had been here the week prior and had set the trap for the other side to fall into.

While they were disoriented and struggling to climb over the hill of stone bodies, on the opposite side of the hill Roland soldiers were still advancing, their metal plated armor glistening as the golden yellow sun stretched herself above the crags. As they grew closer, the men of Sorbold could see at the lead of the opposing army, which was just as fierce as their own, a lone man walked a mile ahead of them.

Not older than 23, the slender man was obviously a soldier, his feet moving with the grace of a lion stalking it's prey. Nearing the darker skinned warriors, they could all feel a jolt in their hearts as their pulses quickened and a palpable hum filled the air. Still yelling their battle cries, they felt fear when they could finally see the man's features and the smile of pure delight crossing his face. With only a half a mile left separating them, he drew out of his easy saunter smoothly, his body tensing and his speed increasing as he ran, weaponless, towards the charging men.

The first men who came within reach of him fell in a spray of blood, their bodies rent open and tossed aside with an effortless swipe of his hand. Death was not signaled by the screams of the fallen, but rather by the absence of any noise other than his insane laughter as he tore into flesh with his bare hands, pulling bodies apart like he was merely pulling a blanket from them. The pulse of power residing deep within his chest grew like a blossoming white rose and his reach extended. Without even touching them, several men back in the crowd fell apart as he ripped the flesh from the bodies of the current men engaging him in battle. Swathes of the crowd around him several feet deep into their forces fell around him as if spontaneously exploding from the inside out.The last thing the Sorbold army saw before they were consumed by his hungry fingers, was the mask of pure ecstatic insanity upon his laughing face.

****​

With the sun high in the sky in early morn, the Roland army returned to the camp on the other side of the hill. Among them, an unarmored man walked with the sleepy sway of one in a haze. As the men split up to go about their ways, tending to wounds and cleaning armor and weapons to get ready for the next charge, the man wandered to a secluded place in the shade of a tent and flopped down in hastily made chair, his body sagging into it with an almost pleasured lounge. From head to toe he was drenched in blood, his clothes soaking in it and not an ounce of it his own.

His face was streaked with gore and held an almost drugged and placid expression, his eyes wandering back over the delightful death he'd poured from his fingertips this day. The white beast within him, curled around his heart with it's shining alabaster tail, hugging close to him with a sigh of contentment. It had been a good day and more than half of the deaths of the Sorbold army had been done with his help. Nicholas smirked and laughed breathlessly as in his minds eye he relived an especially brutal moment, feeling that electric current of power surging through his arms again, the memory filling him with a warm euphoria.

Sunlight flashed into his tent brightening over his closed eyelids as he felt the presence of another enter the room. He didn't need to open his eyes before the white dragon within him told him who it was. "Hello, Tristan..." he drawled out in a slightly smoky voice, his throat having grown tight and sensitive from all the uproarious hilarity he'd expressed this morning. And it's not even noon yet. No singing at the after party, I guess, the white dragon thought and Nicholas chuckled lightly at it.

Tristan Steward, the prince and heir to the throne, was no more than 4 years older than the blood-covered man before him, and although they'd shared many drinks and relaxed conversation together, Tristan held an almost reverent amount of respect for the soldier. He'd been the one to find Nicholas, buried in the large port city of Nemosyne, drinking himself to death and playing music in the taverns for food and lodging. After going overseas to recruit more soldiers for Roland's cause, he'd stopped in the city for the night and encountered "The Dragon" for the first time. Nicholas had been completely wasted, beyond even sitting up right, and his ribald songs were starting to come out off tune. The annoyed locals, fishermen and seamen, had grown fed up with it and sought to toss the man out on his ass.

The drink did not seem to have any effect on the man's ability to fight and he'd effortlessly pummeled all 11 men, even with 5 or 6 engaging him at one time. Looking back now, Tristan realized it had been an uneven fight, but not in the way of Nicholas being outnumbered. And it wasn't until later, after convincing him to join his army and traveling back to the capital city, did Tristan realize the true extent of the man's power. Seeing him like this, battle-worn like he'd just finished having really great sex, still sent a shiver up his spine.

"How'd it go this morning?" tristan asked, folding his arms in a relaxed posture with an amused smile coming to his face. Mostly, he was asking for a report on the damage of both sides, but he also knew that by asking, Nicholas would no doubt give him more. He loved to talk about the battles. Thankfully, his robust excitement for talk of war and battle was contagious.

"Dawn was beautiful, like always," was the purred response. If not for his lips moving, he would have looked like he was sleeping, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. "The first 300 fell in the trap I set and the next 500 or so died before they could utter a prayer. At one point, it rained blood..." His voice trailed off with a whisper of wonder, his eyes closed and obviously visualizing the scene again.

"Really?" Tristan asked with a hint of curious interest in his voice before his tone grew a bit resigned. "Did you throw soldiers into the air and split them apart again?" It was what had happened the last four or five times Tristan had seen it "rain blood" while Nicholas was on the battlefield.

The seated man's head snapped up and his eyes opened to squint through the drying blood and a proud smirk spread across his lips.

Tristan shook his head and glanced away for a moment, his voice amused when he spoke but with a hint of genuine disgust. "That's really gross. I've been on the field with you when you've done that and I feel really bad for the man who got a mouthful of entrails when he happened to look up like I did that one time."

"Nah, you like it," Nicholas said smugly as he laid his head back again. "Don't lie." Tristan, even as well-bred as he was cracked a lopsided grin and shook his head before leaving the tent.

EDIT: Added

****​

The next 7 days were a repeat of the first - although the Sorboldian soldiers had come in on the night of the first day and set up impromptu bridges across the blackened earth and would likely be wary of shadows on the field from that point on - with Nicholas leading the charges sometimes 4 or 6 times in a day, returning to camp looking like he'd been dipped in a vat of blood. By the 8th day, the Sorbolds retreated from Leads Hill, returning south towards the mountain country.

It had been the Sorboldian Emperor's opinion that Leads Hill should have been a simple battle, one that he would continue to provide men for but which would not be his main focus. Leads Hill provided a geographical advantage if they took it, but it was not his primary concern. Mostly, it was an attempt to divide Roland's forces while his main troops marched on the Stoneshell keep. After his chieftains kept requesting more and more men for Leads Hill, The Emperor, Anborn, had decided to cut his losses and leave that Black Hole alone. He couldn't afford to play games demanding dominance over something that would only give him a minor advantage. So, a battle that would have taken 3 - 6 weeks was more than halved by the efforts of Nicholas.

As soon as they were certain the Sorbolds had fled and were not coming back for another round, Roland's men marched home victorious. The men sharing the ranks with the man who had decimated the playing field were more than happy to share the glory with him, despite the supernatural power he possessed.

"If we continue on like this, the war will be over in a month!" a soldier by the name of Christian said. The small group sat around a campfire in a glade where they'd stopped for the night on their way back to the capital city. Other tents and campfires spread out through the open woods, all fires within sight of each other through the trees. "As it is, I'm going home to see my wife and children a lot sooner than she will have expected. She might not even believe I've been in battle!"

"Just show her your scars and she'll not only fall over herself to tend to your every need, but she'll also feel guilty for doubting you," Nicholas said before drinking down the rest of the stew from his tin bowl.

"Yeah. Right. Thanks to you, I'm not sure any of us really have anything worse than a scratch," A burly soldier nicknamed "Blister" murmured with a laugh.

"That's right; for one length of that battle on the last day, I found myself about 15 - 20 feet from your shoulder. Seemed like every other man I went up against suddenly exploded in a burst of blood in my face," a blonde soldier with a bit of scruff on his chin said with a wry grin. "Not that I'm complaining. At the time, with the chinks in the armor under my arm digging into me and the sun beating down on us making me feel like a chicken in a pot, I was more than happy to accept the help."

None of the men asked how it was done, offering uneasy smiles and laughter to help lighten the mood of what they were actually dealing with. Nobody wanted to be ungrateful, but more than that, Nicholas was not a man to be scorned. So, he took the anxious praise for what it was, not minding the sideways glances and even basking in the attention. He was a nobody from a small farming village in the deeper hills of Roland. The war meant next to nothing to him and here he was stealing the show.

"Don't worry. You'll all get another chance to be stabbed, maimed and relieved of your limbs when we face the forces marching on Stoneshell keep," Tristan said with a humored nod. "There will be way too many angles for Nick to cover on his own." From across the fire the two men's eyes met and Nick flashed him a haughty smile. Was that a challenge? After that, the men broke down into telling stories about the women they'd left behind and the women they'd had. Once again, Nicholas became the center attention in the conversation, but the other men did not mind and even seemed more at ease with him. The guy had a gift for telling an erotic tale.

 

[Rudolph Quin]

Chapter Two​

The night was cool and clear, the moon waxing about a quarter full without a cloud in the sky to obscure it's light illuminating the capital city of Roland in a silver shadowed, glow. A person walking out and about at this time of night was rare, but those who did brave the streets did so without fear. With the city Watch constantly patrolling, even with the constant influx of strangers and merchants traveling in and out of the city, they kept the street clean and the sleazy Underground you'd find in most places was tame in comparison to the size of the metropolis.

The winding streets all formed straight lines and angles leading up in a woven pattern to the large castle in the middle. Tall, golden spires were turned silver in the light of the moon and jutted every which way from the main girth of the stalwart structure, the pristine walls holding an elegance as well as a noble might. In the shadow of the castle sat nestled a small two story inn. The painted sign hanging above the door donned the image of a waning moon, with the words "The White Crescent" beneath it. All of the windows on the ground floor glowed with warmth and music filtered through on a cloud of softly playing music and uproarious laughter.

Inside the main room spread out on either side of the front door with a hearth on one end and a bar along the other. Tables cluttered the sawdust covered floor and patrons crowded the space, every seat occupied with serving maids weaving through the open aisles between them. A lot of the patrons in this night were soldiers from Roland's army and among them sat Nicholas, his fist wrapped around the handle of a thick mug of ale and his eyes already glazed with the heavy weight of the drink.

A few of the men had been with them for the battle at Leads Hill, Christian and Blister and Tristan all present, but a few of them were newcomers from a battle to the west in Brock Marsh. Two of the four men were robust and well-known among their battalion for their expertise at womanizing; there wasn't a woman on this earth that they hadn't had the pleasure of enjoying in their beds. The other two with them were a tad bit inexperienced in that regard, the one a lad no older than 19 and the other a 36 year old warrior with a stone cold demeanor and streaking scars crisscrossing his face.

According to them The Marshes were unbearable in the heat of summer, especially the bog which put a lot of weight on the men as they marched through to meet up with the enemy. The Sorboldians in their leather armor and tough animal hide clothes had no better a time and that was probably the only consolation. The bog itself led upwards alongside Roland's border and if the Sorbolds made it on the other side of it, they could spring their forces in from the north-west. Despite the difficulty of the terrain, Roland was keeping a firm hold over the area with the help of border patrols along the neighboring land of Corbair.

The current conversation was not on the topic of the war however, but rather the women the men thought about to keep them sane while marching through the harsh lands with sweat pouring under their armor and bugs flying around eating them alive. "Ajala Lopar," Nihil, one of the Brock Marsh soldiers said, cocking a knowing eyebrow and lewd grin. "Olive skin, brown, wavy hair down to the middle of her back, and breasts the size of ripe Orlandan melons."

Nicholas smirked around his mug and murmured, "Oh? We're including Sorboldian women in this conversation? Guess it is possible not to hate them all, despite the war and everything."

Nihil put up his hands in a defensive gesture and shrugged with that same haughty grin on his face. "I'm not gonna ask who her father is and she's living here."

"Personally, I'm fond of the women from the Hintervold to the north," Blister put in. "Porcelain white skin like the snow, and long, straight black hair like the deepest night. This one sweet thing I met up there, kept me up all night. Not much to say for her breasts, but her hips were wide and that waist fit between my hands like the two were made for each other." He illustrated by connecting the thumb and forefinger of both hands forming an oval with his thick fingers.

"Long legs and big eyes is what I'm looking at," Nicholas said with a shrug. The dragon within him noticed that the scarred soldier had not said anything ever since the conversation began and let him know that where all the men at the table's heart rate had increased with the descriptions of glorified body parts, Gareth's had not. In fact he seemed to be trying to mimic a stone statue with as much emotion and interest he was showing. The man hadn't even ordered a drink, refusing to consume anything other than plain water.

"What about you, Gar?" Nicholas said with a small smirk, gesturing at the soldier. "What occupies your thoughts when endlessly marching across country?" Nihil and the other man with him, Fal Dar shared a look but waited for their comrade to answer. They'd traveled with the man for 6 months now and knew what to expect from him but hoped this wasn't going to be a repeat of other times.

Shaken from his thoughts, only Gareth's eyes moved to regard the slender soldier who'd addressed him, letting out a small "Hrm" He did not care for this topic or any topic, really, but looking around at the expectant faces, decided to answer as honestly as he could. As he spoke, the rest of the noise in the room seemed to dwindle even further into the background and everything around their table was completely still as his deep, hollow voice spoke.

"Torture and death. Constantly, my mind is consumed by thoughts of the enemy, fantasies of my sword cleaving heads off left and right, disemboweling those who dare stand in the way of my blade. My battle axe slamming into rib cages and skulls, rivers of blood flying everywhere to spray me in it's wet warmth, and always the sounds of their screams in my head... Crying and pleading for their lives before my sword slices through their vulnerable flesh and I--"

"Alright," Tristan said instantly cutting the guy off in mid-sentence and relieving the tension that had gathered among them while he'd been speaking. "I think you've made it more than clear that you need to get laid, mate." Both Nihil and Fal Dar shook their heads with an uneasy laugh wondering yet again why they even dragged the guy out to go drinking with them. This wasn't the first time Gareth had been included in a conversation only to completely kill the mood.

Nicholas on the other hand was highly amused by the whole thing, enjoying not only the guy's description of his obsession with death, but also entertained by the reactions of the others at the table. He was in the middle of taking another sip from his mug, when a doe-eyed bar wench passed by the table with a tray of bowls of stew and ale mugs for a group at a neighboring table. She had strawberry blonde hair tied up in a loose bun, the light from the lamps and hearth causing it to shine like burnished gold. Her big eyes were a bright green, offset by the slender, smooth angles of her face and neck, her skin a light pink from the warmth in the room.

Within, Nicholas felt the dragon stir at sight of her, whispering deep inside. I want this, it said in an urgent voice, greed and treasure lust gleaming in it's serpentine eyes reflecting through Nicholas's own. And the obsessive quality of the dragon's desire was contagious, threatening to take him over. Ever at ease and in control, it was smoothly put under control and he felt the jolt of electric energy as the white dragon insisted, I WANT THIS. Whether the dragon was influencing him more than he realized or if it was his own attraction talking, Nicholas could not help but agree.

"Speaking of getting laid," he drawled out lazily, finishing his ale and setting a gold coin on the tabletop. "I'll talk to you gents later." Without looking back at the men seated at the table, he rose gracefully from his chair, proceeding to walk after the young woman who was now weaving back through the crowd. Tristan's hand on his arm stayed him and for a moment he felt the dragon within growl in venomous protest.

"I don't want to keep you, but tomorrow evening I've got some meetings to attend in the castle. Did I tell you my father requested to meet you?" Tristan asked.

"You mentioned it," Nick said with the slightest bit of annoyance. "In fact, I told you I'd go if you promised to stop bugging me about it." Hint, hint.

"Alright, alright," Tristan said, letting go of the other man's arm. "I just wanted to make sure to say something because I probably won't see you until later tomorrow. Don't want you to make any other plans."

Nick broke into a wide smile and spread his arms wide as he started to back away in the direction the barmaid had gone. "Tristan, you know me. When do I ever plan anything?" And with that he'd stepped out of earshot, the dragon helping point the way she'd gone through a swinging door beside the bar.

Minutes later in a secluded hallway behind the kitchen, Nick had the strawberry blonde wench up against the wall and was severely assaulting her neck with his lips, his hands on the wall either side of her and barring her escape.

"Please," Amber said with breathless insistence, her voice begging for something - mercy or freedom, it wasn't quite clear from her voice what she was desperately pleading for. Her body, on the other hand, told a different story, molding to his rock hard muscles and squirming with heated sighs at the ministrations of his lips and tongue. "I need to get back to work..."

"You told me you were on break," Nicholas purred against her flushed skin, with a knowing grin on his lips. He loved it when they played these little games - it was almost like role-playing. "And that you could take the rest of the evening off if you wanted to."

It was becoming very difficult to speak and even though she was more than willing, she did not want to give in too easily. She'd never been the type of woman to just hand it over, but this man...made it so hard to keep her will firm. The power of the dragon within his rib cage burned brightly, it's scaled crest unfurled and shining as it dominated her. She wanted so badly to submit, but continued to struggle.

"Well...I sort of...lied--Oh!" a sharp gasp left her as Nick's teeth dug into the dip between neck and shoulder and a deep chuckle rumbled up from his throat as he felt her shiver and practically melt in the cage of his arms. "Damon will get mad if I...don't go back out there..." she wasn't really worried about the bartender - there were enough other maids flittering about this evening to take care of business without her - and the dragon sensed it allowing Nick to see straight through her.

Retreating back from suckling on her neck, he let his lips hover at her ear, his hot breath cascading over her tingling flesh and making her tremble. "If he does...you can blame me..." he whispered huskily, his tongue snaking out to tap her earlobe. Searchingly, his hand reached underneath her skirt and between quivering thighs. Her whole body folded up and blossomed around his long, slender fingers, no longer fighting against the touch that had the potential to kill thousands of men in the blink of an eye.

 

[Rudolph Quin]

Chapter Three​

The grand hall was decorated lavishly, the tiled floors gleaming with a sunny, golden marble streaked with burnt orange veins, and the walls smooth with crowned moldings and pillars of white stone that accented well with the gold and brass colored draperies on the tall windows along the far wall. The sky beyond was black, the lights from the millions of candles in the diamond chandeliers shining off the glass and casting a faux daylight in the room. A table sat along one side of the room and a large hearth sat on the other but no one sat, the liveried genteel who lived within the castle walls all preferring to stand amidst the celebrations. Lords and ladies, dukes and other assorted nobles, both related and outside of the royal line stood assembled, chittering away in small clustered groups together while a group of three musicians played in the far corner upon a small dais, a fourth man singing melodiously to the ambient tune.

Nicholas stood not far from the windows feeling and looking decidedly out of place in his wealthily embroidered jacket and well-woven boots and clean pants. He'd cleaned up nicely, the grime of battle and the residue of enemy blood scrubbed completely away from every crevice on his face and body, and short hair that had once been dark, always gleaming with a wet, spiked sheen, turned a sandy brown, slightly fluffed after being washed and allowed to dry.

Standing as he was in a predatory slouch apart from the other guests - a posture he adopted when feeling anxious or uncertain - it was clear he did not belong in the noble class and even his expensive clothing and groomed appearance could not hide that. Fuck! What was he doing here? It was one of the pitfalls of being friends with the prince, he supposed. He got the benefits of being readily accepted among peers even before they knew of what he could do on the battle field just by association with the man. But he also got dragged along to all these stupid parties and big shot meetings where they planned strategy and talked politics.

He was just a soldier, God dammit! All he had a desire and talent for was killing people. As much as he appreciated the confidence it showed that Tristan had in him and how much he valued his opinion, Nick really didn't care about all this other bullshit. As long as he got to unleash the dragon he carried with him and sate his bloodlust, it didn't matter to him where he had to go for the next fight. Curse Tristan for getting him into this1 and shame on himself for not having the balls to bean the brat on the head with something heavy when he'd insisted on his attendance for the 50th time.

To calm his nerves, Nicholas tipped back the rest of the drink in his hand and glared sourly at the men and woman currently circled around Tristan and welcoming the prince home for this brief visit. Pompous laughter bubbled up from the crowd of nobles and Nick sneered even as the dragon within stirred to adjust it's sleeping position. Oh, yes, stories of a far away war that they had no comprehension of were sooooo amusing! Ridiculous. He let out a groan under his breath and glanced around the room for a way out. Finding none, he went back to glowering menacingly at the few who happened to glance his way. Their awkwardness in reaction to the expression was entertaining for a while but eventually he grew bored with it.

Thankfully, Tristan approached him after having gotten away from his group of friends for a while and flashed a sympathetic smile at the thin warrior. "Having a good time?"

Nicholas took a long swallow from his freshly refilled glass before speaking. "I hate you," he said looking around the room with uncomfortable disdain.

In the entire time he'd known the man, Tristan had rarely seen Nicholas become unnerved. Witnessing him so out of his element now was truly an innocent delight, so he took the display of hostility with an amused grace. "You could have said 'no'," he said with a smirk.

Nick's eyes turned a level look on the prince. "I DID. 42 times," the dragon had counted specifically how many times he'd been propositioned for this event on the way here from Leads Hill.

"Right, well, I was required to ask you at least 50 since the request came specifically from my father," was the response.

"Hrmph. Then where is the bloated windbag that spawned your annoyingly persistent ass?" Scouring the room, he searched faces, already knowing that the man was not here.

The jabbing insults rolled lightly off of Tristan's back and he adjusted the silk vest under his midnight blue jacket. "He's already in the drawing room waiting with the council. I wanted to stop off here first to make an appearance with a few people who've been waiting to see me," he paused to release Nicholas of his wine glass, handing it to a passing servant. "I'd hoped to get you in a relaxed environment to allow you a few moments to enjoy yourself and loosen up before the meeting. But I can see it's not going to happen." Nick nodded without humor and Tristan merely shook his head before leading the way from the room.

The hallways were just as rich as the grand hall, the ceilings high and vaulted and the marble continuing on, polished underfoot. In the middle of a long, circular hallway with very little twists and turns, Tristan came to a stop at a door with a guard in front of it. Even before they'd come within earshot, the guard had turned to knock on the heavy doors, poking his head inside when a voice within the room answered. Standing still before the doors, they waited only a moment for the guard to announce their presence before he turned back and opened the doors wide to admit them, closing them snugly behind, once they'd both crossed the threshold.

The room was smaller than the grand hall, but the tall windows, high ceilings and large fireplace were repeated here, although the lamps around the room remained unlit and the only light came from the gargantuan hearth. The colors were darker here, the walls colored with tapestries on all sides except that with windows and a large carpet covered the floor almost completely to the door. Furniture filled the space as well, a large table - big enough to seat 8 - 10 men comfortably - and several upholstered chairs sat in a semi-circle around the fireplace with several small round tables occupying the spaces between them, adorned with small statues made of precious metals and exquisitely made vases. Against one wall there stood a bookshelf, the tomes upon it's shelves cast in shadow from the firelight.

7 men occupied the space in front of the fireplace, either seated in a chair or standing and as the two newcomers approached, the conversation became clearer with only one of the men speaking at the moment. "The savages have continued to attack from Brock Marsh, even though there are continuous reports about the men growing ill because of their armor constantly getting wet. They will give up there believe me; it's not going to be worth it to him if his men cannot survive the season, let alone what our forces are doing to them." The man finished speaking and turned from the assembled men who'd all been attending his every word with thoughtful expressions, and a regal smile blossomed over his wrinkled and aged features as he turned to welcome Tristan.

There was an obvious family resemblance between them, with the older man looking like Tristan aged 50 years, with a light well-trimmed beard and graying blonde locks down to his shoulders. Reginald, the king of Roland, held himself high with an air of authority and royal majesty. It had the effect of making him look like a once proud and fierce lion that had grown weary with time but not disarmed by the years. There was still plenty of life and threat in the old warrior's step as he walked a few feet forward and offered his hand to the man who had entered with his son.

"Welcome, Nicholas, is it?"

Nick took the offered hand feeling a tremble of power surge through him from the other man's palm and a small smile graced his lips as he nodded. Right away he knew this was not only a man he could grow close to and enjoy the company of, but a king worthy of his love and respect. Even before he'd joined Roland's army just a few months ago, he'd barely even cared about this war, seeing it as nothing more than an irritating obstacle as certain cities were flooded with refugees traveling away from the southern borders, or trade routes were clogged with supply wagons for soldiers at strategic points of battle. Even when he'd joined the fighting, his loyalty had been to himself, agreeing to kill the darker skinned men invading from the southern mountains merely for the fact that he had a gift for doing so and liked to exercise his talents as much as possible. For the first time since his father had died, Nick felt like he could actually dedicate himself to the cause and authority of another man.

"Started without us, I see," Tristan said with a small grin.

"No, just going over a few of the reports from the last few months, that's all. You're just in time," and the older gentleman spread a welcoming arm towards the circle of chairs, before walking back over to his spot in the middle of them and leaning on the mantelpiece. "Now, let's get down to business," he said in his deep and lightly weathered voice.

And yet again, Nicholas found himself feeling out of place as the discussion of war turned into a planning meeting for the best strategies. With his new found loyalty to the war itself, he tried to listen but found himself counting the minutes instead. I shouldn't be here, he kept thinking as the other men in the room offered different opinions on the best course of action.

Anborn, the Emperor of Sorbold had been focusing his troops to the geographical weakpoints in Roland's borders, the ports along the coast, and through neighboring lands in the west. So far, he'd been kept at bay, merely knocking at their doors and barely presenting a threat. Despite the years the war had already been going on for, Sorbold was a large nation and seemed to have an endless supply of soldiers to send crashing against the border. Thus, when there were rumors of him marching on Stoneshell keep, Roland had reason to grow worried.

The southernmost fortress and largest defense standing in the way of Sorbold in it's pursuit of the rest of the northern kingdom. If they broke through and gained control of the keep, they'd have an unshakeable foothold within Orlandan lands and it would turn the tide of the war in their favor. They could not let that happen. So, the current discussion revolved around how best to hold the fortress against the other forces, and Nicholas listened idly as he let his eyes wander over the rich furnishings in thoughtful appraisal. That is, until he was included in the conversation.

"What say you, soldier?" the king asked, instantly diverting Nicholas's attention back on the assembled council.

"Uh...well..." Oh, fuck! What had they been talking about? His human brain fumbled as his mind went blank and he reached out for the dragon's memory which kept an endless log of everything that ever occurred within range of it's senses. Sorry, was sleeping. Can't help you, it murmured apathetically, and Nicholas internally glared in response. Great. Thanks, stupid snake. Thanks a lot.

Reginald could tell the younger man felt put on the spot by his question, so he eased into something else to try and release the pressure he felt. Afterall, it wasn't every day a lower ranked soldier without title was included in these private war meetings with the king himself. "I've heard about your prowess in battle, young man. The Haddon Plains, Leads Hill. Both times you turned the enemy away in a matter of days. Rarely have I known Anborn to give up on geographical openings, always throwing more men at the problem in an endless stream to wear us down, but apparently you've exhausted both his patience and the energy put into the placement of his troops. And in just a few months as well. I don't think I've ever met a man capable of doing that and you have my utmost respect for the power you wield."

The praise made Nicholas puff out his chest a little and a gracious smile jumped to his face. He should have said something respectful and dignified along the lines of, 'Well, Roland is my land too' or 'Just trying to keep the land of my father's safe from those who'd seek to destroy us.' But what he ended up doing was pulling a Gareth and with a stupid grin on his face said, "Thank you. What can I say? I really like killing people."

Smooth. Immediately after the words left his mouth, his expression turned to an embarrassed wince and he looked to Tristan for help, but the man was busy choking down a drink he'd poured from a nearby decanter. Anything!? he pulsed at the white dragon in his chest, feeling it yawn and shift position slightly. Nope. Sleeping. Sorry.

Fuck.

Instead of the weird look and awkwardness he expected however, the king burst into laughter, his voice ringing through the room with heartfelt joy. Reginald was momentarily incapacitated by the laughter that came rumbling up straight from his gullet, but after a few minutes regained his composure and control. Slapping Nick on the shoulder heartily he said, "Spoken like a true warrior."

Or a true sociopath, the dragon pulsed in amusement.

I thought you were too frigging busy sleeping? Nick thought back.

Only too busy to help you; commentary comes with little to no effort. And once again, Nicholas found himself internally glaring at the white dragon as it smugly closed it's eyes again.

"Now, Nicholas, Stoneshell keep has seven inner walls surrounding the main halls," he continued with just a hint of warmth in his voice towards the younger man. "The space between the first four are no man's zones, but the last 3 have homes and businesses filling them. The first 3 walls can fall without causing any trouble, but once they get to the fourth we'll need to concentrate the forces and keep them from breaking through. It is very important that they not reach the main keep past the seventh wall."

The king had more to say, but Nicholas chimed in as soon as he took a pause for breath. "I can make sure they never break through the first wall," there was no room in his voice for doubt and he shrugged effortlessly as if it were child's play to him - because it was. The king looked like he was going to ask him something else important and to stave off the need for him to make a decision about something he didn't care enough about to understand he said, "Look, just point me in the right direction and sit back and watch as the bodies fall. As simple as that. Sir." The address of respect was added as an afterthought and he found himself a bit nervous while waiting for the king to respond.

Reginald smiled in approval and nodded his head and said, "Nicholas, you make this war seem incredibly easy to beat. And I don't know why but I am more than confident that you have the power to back up your claims."

Well that was easy... Wait-- Nicholas turned his sights inward and felt the dragon pulsing it's suggestive power out in a wave through the room. You? he asked in surprise. It was awake and helping him, even though it was extremely bored by the whole proceeding. and it was waiting as well. Thank you, Nick finally pulsed, his shoulders relaxing.

You know I'm awesome, the white dragon said back, preening grandly.

 

[Rudolph Quin]

Chapter Four​

After that, the meeting didn't seem to last much longer. What with the dragon's help in making everyone to feel more confident with Nicholas's ability to handle things, there wasn't much more to do except delegate a possible plan B and C just in case. Even planning for his failure, nobody in the room, even though they'd not seen Nick hold a fortress yet, had very little doubt that he'd be able to. Already he was giving them unforeseen advantages in this war, when they'd been ready to give up Stoneshell keep within the month. They did not mention it now, but the meeting today was planned to be about damage control after the fact. Any ray of hope against losing the keep was something they were willing to get behind full-force, no questions asked.

But of course, there had been questions, Reginald inquiring about Nicholas's abilities in a very interested manner. Talking about himself was something he rarely got the chance to do - with the tendency for his powers to freak people out, he really only shared information with others for the purpose of his own entertainment and only when he could predict the results in his favor - so, he relaxed even more amongst these higher nobles, once again placed within his element. He didn't reveal everything he could do and did not tell them about the dragon within his breast, merely explaining that he was born not completely human.

The rest was a mixture of gloating about his command over the elements and a brief detailing about his favorite moves to use - most notably, stealing the soul from the earth to create black, infectious sand that in turn corrupted the flesh of everything that touched it, and blades of air that he placed upon his arms, wielding them sometimes several feet long to kill several men at once with just the swipe of his limbs. A lot of his more powerful gifts he kept secret however, preferring to remain a mystery and the dragon's natural paranoia foreseeing a time in the future when revealing all of it's strengths would eventually become a weakness. With the King's appraising interest however, Nicholas did not feel that way.

After a time, several of the nobles finally left the room for the night and Nick was excused, for once reluctant to leave the presence of these men who seemed so much above and yet at the same time beneath him. Tristan stayed behind and said he'd meet him back in the grand hall later, and Nicholas took his leave back to the hall of pompous idiots. Maybe they were finally serving a meal of some kind.

Upon reentering the room, a quick scan told him that there were some new faces who'd arrived. His eyes swept over features, and rich clothes in a bored fashion, blurring them all together until he was struck by the sight of something shining and glowing. Standing amidst the crowd, a maiden with wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair and a dark green dress stood. Hair like spun gold glistening in the lights from the chandeliers, was woven in a complex braid down the nape of her neck, a few curled and freely swirling strands falling loose around her face, but tied back with a green and gold headband.

Eyes the color of a deep cerulean sparkled as she laughed, displaying through slender curving lips a row of pretty teeth. Her nose did not dominate the rest of her face but complimented it and helped the eye flow naturally down to her strong chin and slender neck, the skin of her cheeks and throat smooth and fair. And everything about her body was graceful and held with a majestic and noble air while at the same time possessing something that set her apart from the other nobles who stood with her in this room. An undercurrent of something free; everyone else seemed to operate like a puppet on strings, backs straight, walking and all moving the same way, restricted and forced, laughing and talking with concern and interest that was superficial at best. This young woman was beautiful and fit in with the rest of them, her body held high and regal but not unnaturally. It was like she was born balancing books on her head, and walking like she owned the Earth she tread.

She was standing talking with a gentleman in his late 20's, who appeared to be a servant or companion of some kind, and amidst all the rest of the richly dressed people, jewels dangling from their ears and necks, she was a gem set apart. She made the diamonds in the chandeliers and the luxurious woods and stone of the furnishings in the room seem drab and junky in comparison. And she did it without flashy adornments or gaudy baubles. She was just...perfect.

And the dragon within the coccoon of his rib cage had noticed just as he had, rearing up and flashing it's crest in dominance. But before it could even utter a comment expressing it's characteristic greed, Nicholas muttered under his breath, "Do want." and the serpent just smiled in agreement, helping the young man close his mouth and take the first couple of steps forward.

As he walked towards her, Nick adopted the usual cool and collected saunter that he had in situations such as these, a charming smile held at the ready just under the surface of his lips. Stopping just a foot away from her, he nodded in respect to her, his dark eyes gleaming haughtily and said, "Good evening, m'lady. Might I request your name? Or will you make me beg?" An appropriate flash of teeth in her direction to lighten the mood of what he was asking.

Her attention drawn to him, of course, the first thing she did was look him over and he could sense right away that she knew these clothes did not fit with who he was and he did not belong here. Her companion, the gentleman just a few years older than him, looked Nicholas up and down with a slight sneer on his face and an almost effeminate slant of his hips. Surreptitiously, the man leaned in towards the young woman and whispered something under his breath before turning back to smile in a mocking polite manner at Nicholas. All at once, the curiosity on her face melted into something a bit more guarded and self-conscious and her whole demeanor changed.

"Well, since you're offering," she said in a voice that made the dragon wrapped around his heart purr in pure delight. "Then why don't you go ahead and beg." Nicholas paused for a minute, with one eyebrow cocked in amused confusion and he wondered if he should tell her he'd been joking. Before he could say anything however, she shook her head and played as if she were serious. "What? Are you too good for it now? Well, then. Come on, Kawa." And she turned to walk away the slender and slightly effeminate man following behind her with a smug grin on his face.

A smile broke across Nicholas's own features as he watched her turn and go and then he adjusted his suit jacket and cracked his neck before following. HE had nothing to lose by making a fool of himself in public, as he really wasn't here to impress anybody. Stepping lightly, he moved ahead of her smoothly and turned to face her, kneeling on the ground in her path and causing her to stop dead in her tracks. A shocked frown came to both her and "Kawa's" faces as they regarded him and he obeisantly clasped both hands up before him in supplication.

"Please, madam," he begged in a very loud and clear voice, the slight smile on his lips never leaving his face. He could feel the other people in the room start to turn and look in their direction but he did not tear his gaze away from her face. "Please, grant me this one simple request of knowing your name that I may grace the ears of others to say it aloud."

All at once, she became aware of eyes turning to look at her and an embarrassed blush rose to her cheeks as she glanced down at him again. "Okay, alright," she murmured at him in a begrudging voice, urging him to rise with a small graceful gesture of her hand. "Just get up, get up. Please."

Oh, no. HE was the one making demands now and she would hate him for it if he prolonged this to it's finish. "My lady, I cannot without your name."

She looked behind herself back towards the doors but nobody had entered behind Nick yet, and he felt his breath catch as the light shone on the free whisping curls as she swung her head back to him, her voice going even lower. "Yes! Alright, for Light's sake! You will have it! Just on your feet now!" People were whispering now wondering what was going on and they were all looking at her expectantly. This...man whoever he was, was making a fool of her!

Even as her volume seemed to grow lower, his grew, Nicholas's deep voice ringing through the empty space and reaching all ears. "Your name," he said simply, a crooked smile coming to his lips and his eyes watching with pure expectancy.

He could feel the moment she broke and decided to give in. She was of a higher station than he was, and she probably could have gotten away with completely ignoring any tantrum he threw and possibly even ordered him removed from the room at that point. But his original assessment of how she'd looked at him had been correct - she was interested. And now, she was trapped by her own sense of decency and desire to converse with him longer.

When her voice came again it was a soft and spite-filled whisper through gritted teeth, her blue eyes flashing with anger and humiliation. "Emily," she hissed. "My name is Emily."

And instantly, her obedience was rewarded as he smoothly rose to his feet with a triumphant smile, bowing his head slightly in a truce. "Emily. Thank you. Don't ever attempt to 'call my bluff' again. I can assure you, you will regret it." The anger faded from her eyes then replaced with shock as she looked him over with new eyes. Even though his tone was light and friendly, the dominance in his words struck a cord in her that he could feel like a reverberating music note ringing through him. He had her and he would be able to return later to play that song again and again until she was singing back to him.

For now, however, he took his leave, bowing once more and stepping away from her before she could say anything - another thing that would keep her hooked to him later. As he left her side, Tristan entered the room and he smiled as Nick approached him. "ah, finally done talking about me behind my back, eh?" Nicholas said and jabbed the other man in the arm with his elbow.

Tristan, with his usual good humor merely laughed lightly. "Nonsense. My father really likes you. He was just going over some recent personal matters that have come up."

"Ah. Boring stuff," Nicholas said with a nod. "I made a new friend while you were gone and I think she'll replace you as my best friend. Sorry, buddy," he said with a faked sympathy.

"Oh? A woman? You replaced me with a woman? Is she someone who will tolerate your tantrums and whom you can tell all your lewd jokes to?" Tristan said with a mock seriousness that he played well. "If so, where is she? She sounds like my kind of girl."

Nick turned to look back into the crowd of people across the room and at Emily who was seating herself with Kawa at the long table as food was being brought in. A light blush still dusted her cheeks and the smooth, peach skin of her brow was creased in thought - she was still trying to figure him out and trying to debate with the new feelings warring within her, he knew - and he pointed her out to Tristan. "Her name is Emily," he said with a grand smile cast back at the other man.

"You were telling her your lewd jokes?" Tristan asked with a sober grin.

"What? No. Don't be ridiculous. I was feeling her up behind the statuesque fellow who's shadowing her."

"Whoa, come on now," Tristan said as he finally broke through the joke to get a little serious, shying away from Nicholas with an awkward grin. "Don't talk about my sister that way."

"Ha! Your sister," Nicholas said, thinking at first that the other man was still playing. But slowly the smile faded from his lips as he realized he wasn't and he looked back at the young woman sitting at the table. "Your...sister?"

 

[Rudolph Quin]

Chapter Five​

Several minutes later, he and the rest of the guests, along with Tristan and eventually his father were all seated at the long table along one side of the room, the top covered with a feast fit for a king. Savory meats, plump and juicy with the oils and seasonings they'd been cooked in; vegetables and fruits cooked to perfection and dusty among the rest of the meal as a compliment to the other dishes. Things Nicholas had never had the pleasure of eating, even sharing a holiday dinner with farmers in his father's old village. But he was barely paying attention to any of it.

His eyes were all for Emily, who sat on the other side of the table near the end where her father sat, across from her brother. And Nicholas was seated right next to Tristan, looking across at a snootily glaring Kawa. And the young woman sharing the seat next to him did the exact opposite, trying her best - unsuccessfully - not to look at Nicholas. And of course, he did the polite thing and did not stare, but kept a peripheral eye on her through the meal, making note of every uncertain and shy glance she cast his way.

When he did occasionally happen to look straight at her, he made note of the features he had not connected before - like her strong chin and the shape of her cheeks - sharing a familial resemblance with Tristan and Reginald that he felt dumb for not having noticed before. But there was very little that was similar about her and Tristan, while there was much more connecting her to the king as far as features went and Nicholas suspected that the two siblings probably had different mothers.

The intricacies of it weren't really important, but it was one of the things he wondered about during the meal - especially since 1) if the dragon had picked up on the relation, it had failed to say anything about it and 2) why hadn't Tristan mentioned that he had a sister? Nicholas had known the man for almost 9 months, often joking and sharing stories with him, standing beside him on the battle-field, and this was the first he'd even got a hint that the prince wasn't an only child. That brought up some interesting things about their possible relationship towards each other and while watching her through dinner, he also watched Tristan and his reactions to her. Very rarely did the man look or speak to her, but when he did it was with a smile and a voice filled with adoration.

Dinner went by rather pleasantly, the king conversing with his daughter and even sharing a few words with Nick, other than the fact Kawa insisted on looking down his nose at the soldier. When it was over, Nicholas found himself in the hallway after having said farewell for the evening and heading to the rooms that Tristan had set him up with previously. As long as they were in the capital city, the prince would not allow his best friend to sleep on a straw filled mattress in a cheap inn. Arriving to his private rooms, he immediately began to undress to nothing but his undershirt and pants, kicking off the annoying boots he'd been wearing and walking to the window to peer outside at the courtyard below. The rest of the room, although cast in dense shadows, was just as richly furnished as the rest of the castle rooms had been, with plush and exquisitely woven rugs covering the stone floor and a large four-poster bed dominating half of the room.

Looking up at the moon, he was lost in thoughts of the new young woman he'd met, when the door opened behind him to emit a moving sliver of light from the lanterns in the hall. Carrying a lantern herself, a maid entered and approached the large fireplace while carrying the necessary tools to start a fire. She had not yet noticed Nicholas's presence and he watched in silence as she moved her skirts out of the way to kneel at the hearth and began working. Slowly, like a wraith, he approached her, his eyes wandering over her slender form and curvaceous backside.

Despite the shadowed room, he could tell that she was nothing compared to Emily, but at the moment, he did not let that stop him. The white dragon inside his chest had already grown restless with the prospect of dominating the other young woman and would not be placated with just merely going to bed with his own hand to comfort him. As the fire came to life and crackled happily in the hearth, she dusted her hands and began to turn, half-rising before she froze, her dark brown eyes widening as they saw him. He could see himself reflected on the gentle orbs, his face illuminated by firelight and smiling down at her sympathetically.

"Thank you for the fire," he said softly, his warm smile soft and sending a pleasant shiver running through her. "Why don't you stay a while? I may need your assistance with something else." Words merely greased the wheels of what was already turning within the young woman and she fell blissfully to the overwhelming demands of the scaled beast hugging his heart.

***​

In the morning, Emily arose with the dawn like she always did, a maid getting her bath ready and washing her hair once she was seated comfortable in the large copper tub. Kawa arrived then, sneaking through the door just as the maid finished up and left out the other side of the room to take her old clothes to the wash. Her face was stuck in a thoughtful expression as she sat leaning back in the warm water, thinking over what had happened last night. She didn't know why but the incident with that young man in the grand hall would not leave her. The way he'd spoken to her... it was like he didn't care at all that she was of royal birth. But it also wasn't like he'd been completely hateful either - more playful and stubborn than anything.

As soon as she saw Kawa however, her face automatically broke into a smile and she tried to shove such thoughts out of her mind as he greeted her. "Good morning, sunshine," the slender man said as he came and sat alongside the tub on a stool. Unlike other men, Kawa did not seem affected by her naked body, barely noticing it apart from when she wore clothes or not. It was something that allowed her a bit of freedom when spending time with her friend, that with all the men who fell over her on a regular basis, she didn't need to worry about him too. Kawa was safe and a constant comfort, someone she could confide in, no matter what.

"I brought you some breakfast rolls from the kitchen, fresh from the ovens," he said with a proud smirk, holding the steaming bread wrapped in a cloth on his lap.

Smiling gratefully, the blonde young woman said, "Thank you, Kawa. That's very sweet of you." She dried her fingers on a plush cloth hanging over the side of the tub and plucked a fluffy warm piece of bread from the array he'd gathered. Thoughtfully chewing on a piece of it she said, "And the other thing I asked you to find out about?"

Kawa made a harsh noise with his lips and rolled his eyes but willingly gave in. "Yes, of course I did. The whole castle is abuzz after that attention whore display in the grand hall yesterday. He just arrived from the battle field from the south east with your brother after winning some major battles and now he's the king's newest favorite boy in shining armor."

"He's a soldier?" Emily asked, her bright blue eyes shining delightedly. "I knew it! Those clothes did not fit him at all." She giggled and Kawa merely quirked his lips exaggeratedly before she poked his arm. "What else? What else?"

"Well, apparently he's got some special fighting techniques that nobody seems too certain about - I tried to get someone to spill exactly what he did, but got such ridiculous stories, like he wields lightning as a sword, or shoots fireballs from his mouth," Kawa waved his arm in the air flippantly, dismissing the stories and rumors as silly. "But before the war, he seems to have just appeared from out of nowhere. Nobody knows where he came from and when I talked to Tristan about it--"

"You asked Tristan!?" she asked in a horrified voice, sitting up in the water and baring her breasts to the cool air.

"Oh settle!" Kawa said, waving her down with a small scowl - what did she think he was an idiot? "Mostly we flirted, but I did express my own personal interest in the guy. He merely laughed at me like I was embarrassing him - the little cutie." Emily let out a long breath and sat back in the tub again, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as Kawa spoke about her older brother like that - Kawa could be so funny when it came to other men and she was well aware that he preferred them to women.

"So, Tristan wasn't any help," she said, swishing the water thoughtfully. "Was that all you could find out?"

"No," he hesitated, obviously either chewing something over or willfully keeping it from her.

"Tell me!" she begged with a mischievous smile, splashing him lightly.

"Well, alright," he said after dodging the water droplets she'd cast his way, his eyes looking skyward as if he was being cornered unwillingly into sharing this information with her. "There is also a lot of talk going around this morning that a maid, Brenda - short, brown-haired cute little thing, with the biggest, most gorgeous brown eyes you ever did see - was sent to his rooms last night to light a fire for him and didn't show up until before sunrise this morning. As of the 6th bell, she's still been in her rooms in the servants quarters, suffering from a sore hip. They didn't let me see her, even though we're friends, but her condition is so bad, she can barely walk. The funny thing is, according to them, she seems completely content with the world." His eyes looked at the blonde young woman knowingly. "You know, from all the vigorous gratitude he showed her last night!"

"Ugh, Kawa..." Emily murmured in protest, turning her head away from him in disgust. "You can be so crude sometimes..."

"What? You wanted me to be truthful right?" he asked in exaggerated innocence. "It's like I told you last night. The guy is a creep and he's only after one thing. You need to stay away from him. Besides, you've got a lot of other things to worry about than some nobody who likes killing people. What with your recent engagement and all."

"Don't remind me," she murmured sourly, an image of the prince of Corbair appearing in her mind's eye and making her feel like gagging.

"Reminding seems to be exactly the thing you need right now," he said in a voice of light reprimand. "Especially with your head in the clouds lately. Look at you, getting all pruny. Time to get out." Grabbing up her towel, he helped her to her feet and wrapped the cloth around her shoulders as she stepped from the water. If only he knew how much she truly wanted to get out of here...