The Wisp and Wander.Of the many taverns and establishments in Aimlenn, this one in particular was known for two things: a large dance hall and an elevated dining area. Bards and bands frequented this place, strumming strings and singing songs, while clientele of a decidedly middle-class position twirled with their partners to work off the heftiness of their meals and the headiness of their drinks. At times bawdy and at times eloquent, the Wisp and Wander was at all times lively, and it was with characteristic boldness that Serenity lead Gerard through the double doors and up the fanciful (if creaking) divided staircase up to the second floor. Music trailed after them as they circumvented the merriment of spinning couples; the musicians today had a flare for higher-tempo music, and the violinist, who augmented his melodies with the click-taps of his shoes, was indeed an exceptional talent for his surroundings.
“Sit down,” Serenity gestured, waving one of the waitresses over.
“I’d recommend their olive salad, but I figured you’d want something heavier. Anything you want for drinks?”“Cider, if they’ve got it.” Gerard replied, pulling a chair from under the table and seating himself quickly. The walk up to the second story had definitely reminded his legs how tight and spent they really were after the day’s conditioning, each step up the staircase a hollow refrain of the work.
He glanced over, as the waitress caught Serenity’s wave and began to start in their direction, favoring them with a polite smile as the quick tempo of the strings floated up from below. He’d spent their quick journey through
The Wisp in a refrain of his own, however small. Where the Lion was bold, her eyes in front, and dauntlessly carving the path forward to their destination, the Wolf let his instincts guide his gaze, subtly gauging the atmosphere, the structure of his surroundings, the temperament of the clientele as he’d followed along. It was an old habit from his days as a soldier of fortune— honed in Velt, Thaln, and Estival’s seedier pits. Places that didn’t quite cater to such a genteel crowd as the fine folk of the capital.
“Mm, yeah.” he agreed, taking measure of the growing pit in his stomach. He hadn’t treated himself to a meal after leaving Candaeln, too absorbed in the search for refinement.
“Could probably do with some meat, honestly— Anything you suggest there?”“Well?” Serenity turned to the waitress.
“Any suggestions?”Consistency could be found in vegetables and preserves, but when it came to good meat? That was liable to change on a day to day basis. The waitress’s brows lifted slightly, but her response came quickly enough afterwards. “We’ve a boar on the roast, and our venison pies have been popular tonight, young miss.”
“Two of each then, with a bottle of whatever cider the cook’d think works best. Couple of baked apples too, and a bowl of your olive salad, with the dressing on the side.” Apples weren’t quite in season, of course, but the tartness was enjoyable too.
“Anything else, Gerard?”“I couldn’t ask for more,” he replied, turning and inclining his head to the waitress in thanks. The baked apples had already been an unexpected addition— piling on any other dishes would likely be overkill.
“Thank you.”Wasn’t as though he knew much of the menu, either.
Regardless, as the waitress about-faced on her heel and descended the stairway, kitchen-bound, Gerard found himself already anticipating the courses to come— something he assumed would strike a middle ground between road rations and the at times otherworldly food whipped up by the Candaeln chefs. Cuisine served equal to that of the royal family was no mean feat, and had indeed blown him away that first evening after recruitment. He’d always marvel at the kitchens’ ability, surely.
But taking the simpler pleasures was nice as well, from time to time. On that, he didn’t believe he’d ever be able to
fully change in the name of invoking the prestige of this new knightly title. It was nice, then, to know it was good enough for someone who had been born and raised for the prestige as well. It made things easier.
Another thing on the “easier” side of the spectrum…
“So a griffin, huh?”Talking shop. Having seen the pinions on Fleuri’s helm and swapped stories between the three divisions, Gerard had to admit his curiosity was sparked by the idea of staring down a beast he had only ever really believed he would see in heraldry. After the inevitable swapping of stories between the three divisions in the days of riding that followed their victory, he’d gotten a piecemeal recreation of events after the tree’d been felled.
“Heard you got the kill on it. That right?”If possible, though, a firsthand account of fighting the thing would be what he trusted the most. Especially from a comrade he held in such esteem, and especially if it might be his turn to do battle with such a fantastical beast the next time they encountered one.
The griffin again.
Serenity made her exasperation obvious with a rolling of her eyes. At the distance of an audience to a storyteller, of hearsay made on the road back, a fight against a griffin could have been glorious, but the reality of the fight offered little in terms of martial excellence or strategic wit.
“No,” the flaxen-haired knight replied.
“Morianne.”She could preempt his questions easily enough, and there was no point in holding Gerard’s curiosity against him to begin with.
“The beast was a griffin in name only. Intellect dulled by the hateful shame of captivity, strength shackled by its meager diet, and instincts scrambled by the sheer chaos of its surroundings, it did nothing more than lash out at its surroundings.” The corner of her lips twitched, a flash of an unkind sneer.
“Meaningless pride robbed it of its opportunity to flee before two knights leapt on its back, and at the sight of my own advance, it chose to leap over me in order to savage the archers at my back.”Serenity shrugged. Unless she lied, it wasn’t a good story. And unless she lied, it wasn’t her kill.
“Needless to say, Morianne ensured that it had not leapt higher than the reach of my sword.”The picture she painted certainly dashed the tall tales the battle had been warped into by hearsay against the rocks, that much was inarguable. To be expected, even, but rather than a triumph of skill, wit, and might…
“Two knights got the thing in an advantageous position like that and it didn’t end there.”…It now sounded more like a complete mess. A once-remarkable opponent, shackled by circumstance into something feebler, mind and body already frayed to the limit by its captivity. The beast itself ignoring her presence as a close threat to deal with, instead lunging past her for further-off nuisances that, in his mind, ought to have been well out of reasonable range.
…
”Why not just stab it?”He frowned, brows pulling together as the low, flat tones of confusion crept into his voice.
Passing upon a gilded opportunity to end things then and there for, apparently, little benefit. When he considered Dame Serenity Arcedeen, caught in the middle of it all, it wasn’t hard to place her dissatisfaction. The young woman before him was defined by her focus and orderly manner, both in bearing and in the few spars they’d shared. He understood that much well enough— and in turn imagined the chaos to be all but
infuriating.And then there was the issue of Morianne’s involvement, forcing it into her range for the ending strike. A final twist of the knife to the mess— at least, for her. Just as much, she sought to embody the virtue of independence.
No. That was wrong.
Moreso than anything else, she wanted to prove her strength as one who stood alone. Both someone who wouldn’t be shackled by the tumultuous competencies of whomever her compatriots might have been… and, most pointedly, as one who rejected the interference of outside assistance. It was subtle, but he’d seen it in the way she stiffened at small offered favors.
Like every fight is a duel. She’s more realistic than that, but it’s that kind of want for the purity of it.Breathing in deep, he rubbed his temples for a moment, massaging away the train of thought. Puzzling over strangeness that was locked in the past wouldn’t get anywhere good, and even
he wasn’t dumb enough to ignore all those good reasons why the disdain had flashed across her face in speaking on it.
When he breathed out, it came as a wry chuff.
“Well, I threw sand in my opponent’s eyes. Can’t say I got him in top form, either.”Serenity stared at him.
Then, as if contemplating deeply his previous questions, she coolly placed her hand over her mouth, eyes taking on a deathly serious light.
But her shoulders shook nonetheless, and when she removed her hand once more to speak, there was just a tinge of red in her cheeks.
“Well,” the Arcedeen scion replied, tone as flat as mole-infested plains,
“At least it was your sand.”It was at this timing that the waitress spun over again, balancing their entire meal on her hands and forearms. Without waiting, Serenity helped set the table, pouring a mug of cider for the both of them while the matter of utensils and meats were being settled. A welcome distraction, perhaps, but maybe just another spot of that wilful independence.
“Enough of that dreary talk anyhow,” Serenity said. She raised her own mug, the contents sloshing merrily.
“A toast, to valiant futures.”Nearly, but not quite there. She’d almost,
almost cracked— but that composure made sure to win out in the end. He wasn’t some genius when it came to reading people. An old hand, at most generous.
But in times like these, such would be enough. Even if the humble student couldn’t break the poise of the master, his jest hadn’t fallen onto deaf ears. As she stood to pour out their drink, he allowed himself to be happy with that much.
“To our health and our dreams.” he added with a smile, raising his mug in turn at her toast. For a moment, he was like a mirror image— albeit one with almost every detail swapped. Dark hair across from flaxen, common birth from noble pedigree, and simmering amber meeting piercing blue.
But in spite of it all, a like-minded comrade, tireless in her hunt for the ideal self. A Knight of the Iron Rose, embodying all that solemnly sworn duty.
Egészségünkre!The barrel of his mug tapped against hers with a cheerful, hearty report.
And with tongue wetted, Serenity dug into the meal before her. On social occasions, there may have been room for conversation, but when it was just a meal? It would be a travesty to let the food grow cold in lieu of words. Grease dripped from the boar roast as she sliced into it and she wrapped each portion in salad greens before taking bites. The venison pie was delectable as well, thick gravies soaking deeply into the crust and the gamey meat melting against the roof of her mouth as she took large bites. Compared to the chefs at Candaeln, even this could still have been considered a rustic selection, but dwelling over how fanciful the presentation was or how many herbs went into a sauce was a waste of time.
Meat tasted good even with plain salt, so long as one knew how to control the fire.
And so, she ate in silence, occasionally mixing olives into meat pie, occasionally rolling boar meat into gravy-soaked crust, occasionally dabbing slices of baked apple into acrid dressing, experimenting with the vast combination of flavours on the table, breaking her meal only to cleanse her palate with small sips of cider.
Soon enough, only a few slices of apple remained. Serenity folded her hands over the table and set her gaze on Gerard once more.
“Well now. In matters of the near future, Gerard, where do you imagine the Knights will be next?”“Wherever evil threatens the lives of the people.”His meal already long finished, a skill picked up on the road, Gerard’s answer was equally swift. He met her gaze evenly, a long-fostered conviction burning soft embers behind the eyes.
This was what he had set out to achieve— already attaining the title and membership of a legendary order he once believed beyond reach. To waste the opportunity was utter anathema, as if turning his back upon all the blood, sweat, and tears that had colored his checkered path into Candaeln’s gates.
This wasn’t a prediction. He doubted Dame Serenity really expected one from him.
“If there’s goodness and justice to be done, then we’ll be there to see it through.”He had drilled the words into his head for years, as though mantra. They came forth practiced, almost pointedly so, but never again would they be hollowed by doubt.
“Why do you ask? I can’t imagine you don’t have an answer to the question yourself.”Well, what was she to expect? Serenity moved her cup to her lips, then set it down. It was empty. She would not be refilling it.
“Abstraction is good for painting in the distant future,” the young woman replied.
“But in this case, I’m speaking in concrete terms.”She glanced over to the side, over to the unceasing din down below. Strings and drums, winds and songs. The click-clacking and the du-thumping of heels and boots, as couples spun in dizzying circles.
“The slaying of the Bandit King and the subjugation of his subjects speaks well to the results that the Iron Rose’s new cohort can deliver, regardless of the process in accruing such results. We’ve slain an evil that threatened the land, enjoyed a victory march on our return to Aimlenn, and by tomorrow, you’ll hear songs of how our Knight-Captain struck down the Thousand-Man Slayer with a thrust akin to a falling star.”An index finger and a thumb, thick and callused, nails trimmed so short it looked painful, plucked one of the remaining slices of apple and swirled it through the vestiges of gravy. Serenity tossed it into her mouth, crunching it down with a ferocious relish.
Gerard wasn’t smart, but he knew how to think. And if he so idolized tales of chivalry, he’d know too, of what always occurred after the dragon was slain and the hero had returned.
“What happens next?”The former sellsword blinked, but didn’t make any show of disappointment at having missed her cue. Instead, he followed her eyes down, casting his own gaze over the merriment of those below. Wheeling pairs of merchants, artisans, citizens… all with faces light, letting the rhythm of the tireless musicians play their cheer ever higher. It was a night of revelry, song, drink, and food— and it had come in the wake of the bombast of their parade, as she’d said. A celebration continuing, well into the night.
It wasn’t lost on him that these were people more well-to-do than most anyone in his little farming village, his own family included. People that he had pegged, rightly, as “too genteel” a crowd to compare to his past lives.
A few eyes met his in passing as he swept his vision over the wheels within wheels, their whirling joy fixing for a moment on the fresh face above.
He
was sitting above them, he realized. A Knight, even though upon its lowest rung, classed as nobility.
“The stories will spread through the realm,” he breathed, looking back to Serenity.
“Those songs will reach every ear there is to hear tell of what we did. The realm celebrates.”A soldier to the core, he knew when he was being led somewhere. Her patient shifting of the query had seen to that— but had the shift in her gaze also served that end? Did she mean to show him this view, to impart this perspective as one of her lessons?
“The Iron Roses are held in high esteem by the crown. The royal family will hear as well.” It seemed unthinkable, assuming so much, but when had he ever known her to move without purpose?
“When a threat like that is struck down, a feast follows. A banquet in our honor, hosted by the sovereign.”A meeting with the new blood.
His grip upon the handle of his mug tightened, if only just.
“And plenty of young ladies wishing to see your moves on the ballroom floor.”Serenity stood up abruptly, her eyes catching the waitress’s gaze again as she deposited a few glimmering coins upon the table. She stepped away then, bold strides bringing her closer and closer to the din of the lower floor once more, pausing only to wait for Gerard to catch her cue.
A procession required only a good riding posture and the ability to look at everyone and no one at once. But for a social occasion? Setting aside her companion’s ability to inhale food at record pace, one certainly couldn’t be expected to hold a conversation for long without an invitation drawing them away from the banquet tables either. Food offered energy, drink offered headiness, and both had only space to be expended upon the ballroom if one wished to not be seen as a violent boor.
“Come now,” she spoke at the bottom of the steps.
“Awkward amateurism may be charming to some, but it’s better to charm with skill than with foolishness.”He didn’t keep her waiting long, rising shortly after she began to make for the stairs. Briefly, he wondered how he’d be able to get by if he recalled the steps to a
csárdás…
“You’re right,” he agreed after a bark of laughter, his frame halfway down the stairwell.
“Best I not embarrass the Order by tripping over my own feet.”…But quickly cast them away. At best, such a folksy dance would only invite an intrigue he wasn’t confident he’d be comfortable accomodating, at worst, it would cast into harsh relief the gulf between who he was and who he was forging himself into. His mother’d taught him the village tradition when he was nine. To hear it be mocked would doubtlessly stoke a fury in him that would prove disastrous.
Foolishness beyond compare, and none of it so charming as to be forgiven for want of social grace. He wasn’t too proud to deny that he would need better schooling.
“If I’m to do anything, I ought to do it well,” he began as he drew level with her, before gamely extending a callused, strong hand. For so long, it had held a blade tight to seize life. For so long, his feet had moved on the wheels of war, rather than of court.
“And I could hardly imagine being in the care of a better mentor than you, Dame Serenity.”He bowed his head.
Were there anyone he trusted to teach him
bridging that gap, she stood before him.
But Serenity did not take his hand.
“Chin up. Like there’s a string suspending you from your crown. Roll back and relax your shoulders. Your neck looks good, so don’t shorten it with tension. Chest out, stomach in. A weak stomach affects the entirety of your posture. Keep your back straight as well. Imagine you have a painting from your shoulder to your waist. That painting should be perfectly flat.”With each comment, she pressed her hand against the body part in question, taking well to the persona of a severe instructor. If he sought to do well, then she would instruct well. Well enough that it would only be want of motivation that would prevent Gerard from becoming competent when barroom bands became ballroom orchestras.
“After you get your posture down, focus on your limbs. Extend them boldly,” Serenity continued, having not yet moved the two of them into the dance floor yet,
“and be prepared to move them in a controlled, deliberate fashion. Listen to the music, it’s your second partner here. Envision a duel, but rather than disrupting your partner’s rhythm, you match it, so that the two of you can both showcase the full breadth of your ability.”She snapped her fingers in tune to the music’s tempo, waiting for him to notice too how the musicians’ own movements matched the swing and sway of their music. Two steps to bring herself in front of him once more, and Serenity modeled for him the ideal posture. Two phrases, waiting for him to settle into this new form, and she turned, finally taking his hand into her own.
“You are tall and fit, but your partner will wear heels, and few of them are trained the way we are. Place your hand against my back firmly, and use that as your guidance. They won’t feel anything through their corsets anyways, so don’t be shy about it. If you feel the pressure of their body increase, listen for their footsteps and see if they match yours. As a knight, they won’t expect the most grandiose movements from you, but they do expect you to be chivalrous.”And then Serenity settled her gaze upon Gerard’s, the azure of her eyes melting away into the bright warmth of a summer sky, her lips parting into a handsome smile.
“So above all, don’t fake your smile. You do not need to love someone to want them to enjoy their evening, and if you can’t find it in your heart to wish even that, then bring a pleasant memory to mind, or enjoy the skill of the musicians who have made this night possible. Your partner will always be connected to you. They will feel your tension or your disinterest, and for a young, impressionable lady? They will feel that they are the source of your tension and disinterest.”The smile flickered into a smirk.
“Even if they are, it’s still quite rude to make it obvious during such merry occasions. Now, do you have the tempo in mind and something to enjoy in your heart?”Although the flash of surprise passed over his face unbidden, by the moment Serenity’s hands firmly guided his broad shoulders into place it had been excised, in favor of attentive focus. His martial training had come from the watch of a mercenary quartermaster, focused upon bringing the unlearned up to manageable par and enforcing tactics and formation rather than technique. This, he wagered, was the breed of fine-tuned specifics and insight one could only learn from private schooling.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.The ball of his foot softly struck the ground, quickly catching the time and beat of her snaps as she melted into the persona of an exacting instructor. He was no master swordsman, but any warrior worth their salt who had survived as long as he could catch, read, follow, and break rhythm. Each exchange of blows were the strings, each step and shift of weight the percussion— without proper stance or command of space, you were sure to falter.
This, as she thoroughly illustrated, was only different in two key areas— Firstly that he wasn’t reading that rhythm with intent to break it, and second that he was trying to share it with his partner, not overwhelm them off the back of any missteps.
Dueling, as it were, was a game of lies. Dancing was the stage of honesty, and as she said, chivalry. Pull from the dream, if nothing else.
“Believe it or not, I’ve got a few.” he replied, meeting her smile with one of his own. Perhaps not so dazzling, for his was not the visage of summer azures, but altogether he found a warmth that settled into something earnest. It softened the harder edges of his face, the same that he had often left set in stern, focused lines. Placing a hand upon the small of her back as instructed, he stepped them onto the floor, a slow, deliberate circle drawn from their movement.
Chin high. Shoulders back. Painting through the torso… a little abstract, but it fell in line with the more familiar cue of pressing his back flat to a wall. It brought the chest and core into place— a lot of cues at once. Much more ramrod in posture than the target minimization fighting called for, how it loaded hips and trunk for explosive bursts of motion.
In minding them, a juggling act for a moderately-unfamiliar subject, tension would often resurface— but the Arcedeen scion was never someone to mince words or hold her tongue. Each and every time, a reminder would fly forth, and his effort would redouble to relax, paradox though that was. She made for a strict taskmaster, but he would ensure the lessons would ingrain themselves into his frame, just as swordplay had. He would meet her intensity to teach with an intensity to learn.
Though not necessarily clumsy, he was far from perfect, and perfection would never be achieved in a single night. But this would prove a bedrock from which he could work, and refine. It required diligence, but moreover, so too did the generosity his fellow knight showed him. There was nothing that said she
needed to be so thorough. She didn’t
need to instruct in the first place.
Yet here she was, reining him in when he stepped too far, urging him forward when his rhythm began to lag, and keeping his posture tall and dignified. Each correction, each cue, each moment of praise or further polishing was time she had every right to spend on her own, relaxing on the night of victory.
Perhaps it was his gratitude that kept the smile on his face, even when his body tried to rebel against the unfamiliar demands and some element of him failed.
It was certainly the reason the mistakes became smaller and smaller, the failures became less and less frequent, as the evening carried on.
And carry on it did, until the music petered out, the dancers shuffled off, and the Wisp and Wander shifted from a place of merriment to a place of quiet drinkers and muffled conversation. Even if the knights were inexhaustible, the world around them was not, and as the lute player mustered what remained of her focus into her final phrase, Serenity angled for an end as well, guiding Gerard to cut diagonally through the dance floor with long strides, before twirling into one last show-stopper of a pose.
He still stank, but at least the mud that his boots tracked was hidden beneath every other footprint upon the wood. His hands were the bigger problem, sweaty from the paradox of a perfect posture whilst perfectly relaxed, but one was not expected to dance for as long as the two of them had either.
Serenity stepped back, dipping into the mimicry of a curtsy, before escorting Gerard off the dance floor. As they passed by the musicians, she slipped them a few coins, favouring the band with a nod. Even the most blue-blooded aristocrats ought to have a respect for the arts, after all, if they had so thoroughly enjoyed it.
Once they were alone again, the flaxen-haired lady gave her evaluation in full, between sips of diluted cider.
“You change your tempo too suddenly. Lengthening your stride will help with that. You focus too much on your shoulders, and that causes your arms to stiffen unnaturally instead. Imagine your hand resting on your partner’s instead, and use only minimal strength to keep it up. Your jawline is handsome, so you can do with shifting your chin up a bit more. Yes, like that.”A nod.
“When the dance ends, step back as I had and take a small bow. Thank them for their time, then escort them as I had for you back to where you invited them.” Serenity folded her arms. Gerard was a quick study, focused and without meaningless pride, though he would benefit from improving his comprehension through questioning. It was a shame, in truth, that he was likely unable to have enough time to
really get himself to a level where he would impress.
Time passed equally for all though, and Reon and Mayon chased each other across the sky uncaring of mortal lamentations down below.
“But you will do good.”She raised her mug in his direction, but withheld the toast.
“And I expect you to take initiative. If you sense a lady stealing glances towards you, approach them, introduce yourself, and invite them to a dance. Even in times like these, it’s a lady’s shame to thrust herself upon an object of her interest.”The mug inclined, firelight upon steel chandeliers reflecting off the golden liquid.
“It’ll be an occasion, after all. An occasion to fortify old bonds and forge new ones.”From her assessment, Gerard seemed to be a tightly wound bundle of nerves. He couldn’t really bring himself to disagree, either. Each note was a further spike in his mind, an illustration of the careful balancing act that impressing upon the ballroom floor would prove. The more he learned, the less he knew— the burgeoning competence began with all the weight that came from learning to read one’s faults. As with fighting. As with any skill.
“Initiative.” He repeated, firmly nodding.
“Initiative I can do.”Yet her expectations were laid bare, and she had given more than all the tools he needed to achieve them. Why should nerves matter? To a man that had so recently stared death in the face and dared to press in, what was simple learning?
He raised his mug in turn, this one filled instead with clear water rather than liquid, golden courage. Enough of
that rested within his gaze, as memorized the view of “proper head posture”. If he could get that down to the memory below memory, set in the bones and muscle, it was one less thing to sweat over.
After a moment more of feeling the position out, he relented, and took a drink. Slow and deliberate, as though trying to smooth each motion. Learning in concepts gave one an affinity for practicing in concepts— this was nothing so churlish as theater for Serenity’s benefit.
“It’ll be a rare bond that’s old that I may fortify in Aimlenn,” he mused, gazing up into the twinkling flames of the chandelier for a moment.
“So that leaves me with twice the ability to forge bonds anew.”A smile.
“The time you’ve given me here is invaluable, Dame Serenity. You won’t see it wasted. That’s a promise.”He stepped back a single pace, lowering his head and torso in a small, tight bow. Only one thing left to properly tie it off, to show his work and attention.
“It’s getting late. Shall we return to Candaeln?”
Phase
Nallore
Andreyich
Izurich
Fish of Oblivion
Kuro
Birdboy
Crimson Flame