"Blackened steel, taken from the land of the Sand Eaters. It can cleave bone as easily as a knife slices through bread."

 Lorgan took the blade in his hands, running thick fingers along the nearly shimmering blade. He tested its weight, gave it a couple of light stabs into the air and then, slowly, he returned it to Brogan. 

 "They say that weapons like these are created by magic. Can ye imagine such a thing? Sorcerers standing around a forge, throwing words at a lump of metal until it looks like a sword?" 

 He slapped his knee at the thought, just before Brom began to speak. Lorgan scoffed midway through and gave a dismissive wave, but did not interrupt the prince.

"Shit on that! Perhaps I'll show these southern girls how [i]bloodthirsty[/i] I really am. Let me find one with her moon-blood and ye can damn well watch how [i]bloodthirsty[/i] Lorgan Ogreson really is! I might even have the decency to let ye have her when I'm done." He was jovial again, "So long as they don't point, laugh, stare or brag too long, there will be no problem from me," Lorgan offered a smirk to the prince, standing from his seat to look down on the boy. He placed a massive hand on Brom's shoulder and stared him in the eyes. "If there's no mead, though, you can bet your royal asses that I'll be killing someone tonight." The Ogreson let loose another massive laugh as he turned away and strode toward the door, kicking aside several pitchers as he did. "Now, lads, I've got to piss. Get on to your kingly feast. If ye hear the girls screaming my name, don't bother with bothering me or I'll knock your ears sideways."

- - - - 

 [i]What place is there for me amidst this noise? This infinite rumbling that tears away at focus and demands a facade be enacted. Am I merely the pawn born to play a queen or the queen born to...[/i]

 Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden thundering of a distant drum; the applause following her father's speech about the future of the realms.. All around her, though, the din of merriment and joy resounded. Plates were moved, cutlery scraped, tankards were crashed together. Seven different songs burst into existence at once. Quickly they mingled and swirled together, creating a disjointed melody and broken chorus. Sera stared out from her high perch at the high table, to the left of her betrothed. She knew she wore a sour face, despite the resplendent feast spread before her. Unbidden, words came from her lips.

 "The Sand Eaters are known to use pipes in their peace ceremonies. I find it strange, in a way, that savages can make peace with such a simple action. Their leaders meet and smoke from the same pipe, they trade stories and tell jokes," she placed her elbows on the table and rested her forehead, trailing her eyes along the chaos of the arrayed tables, slowly turning her gaze to Brogan. "it makes me wonder if that is because peace means so little to them, or if it is simply that they understand that peace is a thing to be made...not traded for." She slid her hands from under her chin and wrapped them around a horn tankard. "Then I wonder who brought the pipe."

 She drained the tankard and placed it back gingerly, eyes still fixed on her betrothed.