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Lycaon, surrounded by his knights on one side and by Rendon’s knights on the other, rode alongside Ser Rendon. At long last Lycaon had returned home, and the circumstances that had brought him back home could not have been worse. Once he had left here with Felise at his side, and now he came home to bury her. She had given him so much, and he could offer so little to her in return. Things were made worse by the fact that Alasdair had seen it fit to send Rendon du Paraquette as a “viceroy.” Lycaon knew he could not trust Rendon or his Knights of Nidanke. As they rode up the peasants that saw them gawked at them, and soon they all bowed before him. They saw men in knightly armor with red shirts that bore the white dove on them, the symbol of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor, and they knew that Lycaon, their favorite son, had returned.
Issarot was not an overly-impressive town. As far as the eye could see there were peasant farms made up of wood, straw, and mud, and peasants tilling their fields of vegetables. Up ahead was Issarot Keep, a compact yet sturdy keep made of strong gray stone. When it was fully manned its sentries could withstand an assault from a force three times their number, but today it had only a skeleton force guarding it, the rest all having joined up with the rest of the army of the du Paraquettes when the civil war had begun. The gates were open up for them. As they entered the courtyard there was a troupe of stable boys there, and a number of people there ready to meet them. One of them, dressed in elegant and opulent regal attire, approached Lycaon as he entered the courtyard. Despite his full beard he held a strong resemblance to Lycaon, with his fair skin and long fair blonde hair.
“Lycaon!” he exclaimed. “So you have finally returned to us. I only regret that it is under circumstances such as these that you return. But I see you bring guests with you.”
“You are right. This is Ser Rendon du Paraquette,” Lycaon said. “Ser Rendon, this man is my cousin, Basil Issarot, and was the brother of my wife.”
Bowing, Basil said, “You honor me and all the hall with your royal presence, Ser Rendon. This hall is but a humble one, but we shall give you a welcome worthy of one as esteemed as yourself.”
In response to this Rendon himself gave a overdramatic bow “I thank you for your hospitality, my condolences for the loss of your sister. I swear to you we will bring justice to the heretics that dared to harm her”.
“My lord is gracious,” Basil said. “I thank you for your kind words. Lord Issarot is inside, and he shall give you a welcome worthy of your royal self.”
With a bow Basil turned and the escorts who had come to welcome them opened up the doors into the main hall. Aside from the dignitaries who had to greet them and were entering behind them, there was a host of people inside to meet them. The long table in the hall was filled with food and dishes, and ready for feasting. At the head of the table was an old man with a long beard and a tired look in his light blue eyes, who wore garments more regal than any others at the table, and had the same platinum blond hair as Lycaon, his gray hairs intermixing with the blond. Beside him stood a beautiful woman, slim but buxom, with light skin and the same striking beautiful platinum hair that graced Lycaon, and piercing light blue eyes. She looked at Rendon as he came in, and gazed at him a little too long and with a little too much attention that he couldn’t have failed to notice.
“That man at the head of the table is my lord father, Percival Issarot, Lord of Issaria and head of House Issarot,” Lycaon said, his voice calm yet filled with a coldness that was unusual even for Lycaon. “And beside him is my sister, Irene Issarot.”
“My lord,” Basil said. “We have arranged a welcome worthy of your royal self. Enjoy yourself to your heart’s content, my lord. We have food and drink aplenty, and many other pleasures that you are free to indulge yourself with. We have many here who shall be eager and willing to make a strong acquaintance with you, if you gather my meaning.”
Rendon once again gave another one of his overdramatic bows “I am honoured to make your acquaintance my lord” he said as he straightened himself meeting Irene’s gaze as he did “I am Ser Rendon Du Paraquette, a pleasure to make your acquaintance” Almost immediately Rendon had tried to take center stage of the situation, determined to make himself seem like the most important man in the room.
“The honor is mine, your grace,” Irene said.
“Thank you, your grace,” Lord Percival Issarot said. “Please, join us at the table. We have plenty of food and drink.”
Without hesitation Rendon walked over and took a seat. He sat close to Percival but left a chair between him and his host. While this would be interpreted as a sign of politeness, secretly he hoped that Irene would take the seat next to him.
Irene understood the signal that Rendon was sending. She gracefully took the seat next to Rendon. Lycaon took a seat at the opposing side, as did Basil. One of Lycaon’s knights whispered to him, and Lycaon whispered something back to him. Then the knight quietly left the hall through the back door.
“We have heard terrible news from Nyhem, your grace,” Irene said. “You must have been through quite a lot, your grace, ever since the riot.”
Rendon signalled to one of the servant to fill his glass as he spoke “It was a nasty ordeal, but tragically inevitable, those in charge did little to stop this heretical movement when it first started and it came back to haunt them. At least we were able to remove such heretics from our emperor’s city, though sadly it seems too little too late. Now it is up to the inquisition to counter the threat”.
A servant quickly went and immaculately filled his glass with a red wine.
“I heard that many of these heretics went south,” Irene said, looking Rendon with intense interest. “I hope they are taken care of soon.”
“We must hope our southern brethren see reason, though if they are foolish enough to take these heretic then they shall surely suffer the consequences. Though fear not” Rendon said as he made eye contact with Irene “For I am sure her lady will be safe under the inquisition’s protection”.
“For that I must thank you, your grace,” Irene said, continuing to look at Rendon as he drank.
Lycaon had little to say. He exchanged pleasantries with those who spoke to him, but said little else, and little else was needed. When he had departed from his home he was a young, brash aristocrat, but the boy that he had once been had died long ago. His aged father looked at him with a sad expression, but Lycaon had nothing to give him. His face remained immaculately unreadable as always, but his eyes looked even colder than usual.
“It is good to have you back with us, my son,” Lord Issarot said.
“It is a sacred duty for my wife to be buried in honor among her ancestors,” Lycaon said. “I am thankful for Issarot’s hospitality and their aid in seeing this sacred duty rightfully filled, father.”
There was no coldness in his voice, but there was no especial warmth in it. Lycaon spoke just about the same as whenever he spoke about anything.
“Shall you be staying long?” Lord Issarot said.
“The Church’s needs are urgent, and my presence is needed elsewhere,” Lycaon said. “My dear wife Felise shall be given a funeral befitting one as noble as herself, and then I shall depart. The treasury of Issarot shall not be disturbed. The Church shall cover all expenses.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Issarot said. “You are my son. You needn’t worry. Issarot shall have no trouble, to provide the arrangements for the funeral.”
“The arrangements have already been made, and the Church shall be happy to cover them,” Lycaon said. “There is another matter of importance that must be told. I plan to renounce my claim to Issaria. Irene and whoever she chooses to marry will inherit Issaria instead of me.”
“You would abandon your birthright?” Lord Issarot was shocked.
“The Church has need of me,” Lycaon said. “I bore no children, nor shall I again take another wife. I leave it to my sister and her future husband to deal with these responsibilities.”
There was a collection of whispers among those congregated there in hushed voices, and surprise in the faces of many there. Lycaon looked as calm as always.
Rendon himself was shocked for a moment, before his expression changed to a smile “It would seems you are a man who takes his vows to the gods seriously, to give so much for the church I must applaud you. It would seem the inquisition is in good hands”. Though he spoke cordially, he said it with a cold twisted smile, the smile of a man who saw an opportunity and was willing to seize it for his own ambitions.
“I thank you, your grace,” Lycaon said. “To serve the Church is my goal. All else must come second.”
Lycaon took a sip from his wineglass. He said no more on the topic.
“This puts a new burden on my shoulder, though I am not ungrateful that my brother would see me worthy of such a responsibility. Now I need only find a man proper to share this responsibility,” Irene said, half joking. “I suppose it would be best if I found my future husband soon.”
“I am sure a beautiful woman such as yourself will have no problem finding a man worthy of yourself” Rendon said with a smile as he took a large gulp from his goblet.
“Oh, you do honor me, Rendon,” Irene said.
Lycaon felt disgusted to see Irene and Rendon carrying on this sort of banter, but he had no choice but to allow it to take its natural course. He took another sip of his winecup and said nothing.
***
The dinner had gone on far longer than Rendon had originally expected as he somewhat drunkenly stumbled down the hallway of Issarot Keep. While Lord Issarot had offered him a servant to guide him to his room, he had declined his offer and claimed he would be able to find his own way through the keep. This was of course a ruse, for it was simply a excuse for him to find his way to Irene’s room. She had left the meal earlier than Rendon had, but before she had left she had not so subtly told him where it was her room was located before giving him a slightly more subtle wink. Rendon approached a thick wooden door that he assumed was lady Issarot’s bedchamber, though even if it wasn’t he could simply use the excuse that he had gotten lost while trying to find his own room. He knocked on the door and waited for a response.
Irene was there, and opened the door for Rendon, smiling at him with a coquettish shyness. She was already wearing her nightgown, which was more revealing than the gown she had worn to dinner had been.
“You finally came, Ser Rendon,” Irene said. “Please, come in.”
----
When Rendon awoke he was still in Irene’s room, lying in her bed. Irene, herself, however, was gone from the room. Instead, Rendon had Lycaon watching over him, seated on a chair looking over him.
“Did you sleep well, your grace?” Lycaon said. “We seem to have run into a problem. It appears you have lain with my own sister, and shamed us all. Myself, my father, my sister, and yourself shall not escape from this matter unscathed. There is only one way in which the situation can be rectified. Marry my sister Irene.”
Rendon slowly stirred from his bed as he casually stretched, seemingly unconcerned with the man sitting across from him, as if the situation was a normal one.
“Where is Irene” he asked as he reached for a goblet of water by the side of the bed, hoping it would help his mild hangover.
“She is with our father,,” Lycaon said. Rendon was being nonchalant, and it was enough to enrage Lycaon. Nonetheless, he would stay calm. “Is the in wine still in you, your grace? Do you not understand the situation you are in? While you may have as many drunken trysts as you wish with village girls and tavern wenches, Irene is neither. You shamed her in her own bed, under her own father’s roof. My father’s roof. You cannot escape from it.”
Rendon took a gulp of water remaining as calm as he had been when he woke up. He left out a purposely loud sigh of relief as he finished drinking “You seem to be confused, I did not force myself on her, she invited me into her chamber and into her bed” he said with a smirk “if marriage is what is required to save her honour then a marriage shall take place. Irene is a fine woman, and shall make a fine bride, surely you agree”? He continued as he stood up from the bed “and I can assure you the Issarot’s lands will be in good hands” he finished with a twisted smile.
“So we are agreed then,” Lycaon said. “The marriage should occur as soon as possible. It would be disastrous should she happen to be heavy with your child and still be unmarried. This shall make us family.”
Lycaon had not been happy about it, but this was what had to be done.
“Very well then, I suppose I will soon be calling you brother” He continued with a laugh, it was clear he was devoid of any sort of remorse or guilt over what he had done. “Now if you don’t mind my Lord, I would like to prepare myself for the rest of the day and I would find it most awkward if you were to stay there staring at me”.
“Of course, your grace,” Lycaon said. “I will take my leave of you. I think we shall have an eventful day.”
Then Lycaon left Irene’s room, and left Rendon with whatever business that he had to deal with. Rendon had slept with his sister, and now would have to marry Irene to cover the shame. Not that he realized the gravity of the situation. Now, with Lycaon having renounced his claim on Issaria and Rendon effectively becoming the co-heir with Irene, some would have thought that Rendon had outwitted him. In fact things had gone just as he had hoped. He had sacrificed Issaria, but it was no longer much use to him, and now he had blood ties with the du Paraquettes, and counted the man that Alasdair had sent to watch him as a brother. Lycaon had no illusions. The situation was still very volatile, but Lycaon would consider this a victory.
Issarot was not an overly-impressive town. As far as the eye could see there were peasant farms made up of wood, straw, and mud, and peasants tilling their fields of vegetables. Up ahead was Issarot Keep, a compact yet sturdy keep made of strong gray stone. When it was fully manned its sentries could withstand an assault from a force three times their number, but today it had only a skeleton force guarding it, the rest all having joined up with the rest of the army of the du Paraquettes when the civil war had begun. The gates were open up for them. As they entered the courtyard there was a troupe of stable boys there, and a number of people there ready to meet them. One of them, dressed in elegant and opulent regal attire, approached Lycaon as he entered the courtyard. Despite his full beard he held a strong resemblance to Lycaon, with his fair skin and long fair blonde hair.
“Lycaon!” he exclaimed. “So you have finally returned to us. I only regret that it is under circumstances such as these that you return. But I see you bring guests with you.”
“You are right. This is Ser Rendon du Paraquette,” Lycaon said. “Ser Rendon, this man is my cousin, Basil Issarot, and was the brother of my wife.”
Bowing, Basil said, “You honor me and all the hall with your royal presence, Ser Rendon. This hall is but a humble one, but we shall give you a welcome worthy of one as esteemed as yourself.”
In response to this Rendon himself gave a overdramatic bow “I thank you for your hospitality, my condolences for the loss of your sister. I swear to you we will bring justice to the heretics that dared to harm her”.
“My lord is gracious,” Basil said. “I thank you for your kind words. Lord Issarot is inside, and he shall give you a welcome worthy of your royal self.”
With a bow Basil turned and the escorts who had come to welcome them opened up the doors into the main hall. Aside from the dignitaries who had to greet them and were entering behind them, there was a host of people inside to meet them. The long table in the hall was filled with food and dishes, and ready for feasting. At the head of the table was an old man with a long beard and a tired look in his light blue eyes, who wore garments more regal than any others at the table, and had the same platinum blond hair as Lycaon, his gray hairs intermixing with the blond. Beside him stood a beautiful woman, slim but buxom, with light skin and the same striking beautiful platinum hair that graced Lycaon, and piercing light blue eyes. She looked at Rendon as he came in, and gazed at him a little too long and with a little too much attention that he couldn’t have failed to notice.
“That man at the head of the table is my lord father, Percival Issarot, Lord of Issaria and head of House Issarot,” Lycaon said, his voice calm yet filled with a coldness that was unusual even for Lycaon. “And beside him is my sister, Irene Issarot.”
“My lord,” Basil said. “We have arranged a welcome worthy of your royal self. Enjoy yourself to your heart’s content, my lord. We have food and drink aplenty, and many other pleasures that you are free to indulge yourself with. We have many here who shall be eager and willing to make a strong acquaintance with you, if you gather my meaning.”
Rendon once again gave another one of his overdramatic bows “I am honoured to make your acquaintance my lord” he said as he straightened himself meeting Irene’s gaze as he did “I am Ser Rendon Du Paraquette, a pleasure to make your acquaintance” Almost immediately Rendon had tried to take center stage of the situation, determined to make himself seem like the most important man in the room.
“The honor is mine, your grace,” Irene said.
“Thank you, your grace,” Lord Percival Issarot said. “Please, join us at the table. We have plenty of food and drink.”
Without hesitation Rendon walked over and took a seat. He sat close to Percival but left a chair between him and his host. While this would be interpreted as a sign of politeness, secretly he hoped that Irene would take the seat next to him.
Irene understood the signal that Rendon was sending. She gracefully took the seat next to Rendon. Lycaon took a seat at the opposing side, as did Basil. One of Lycaon’s knights whispered to him, and Lycaon whispered something back to him. Then the knight quietly left the hall through the back door.
“We have heard terrible news from Nyhem, your grace,” Irene said. “You must have been through quite a lot, your grace, ever since the riot.”
Rendon signalled to one of the servant to fill his glass as he spoke “It was a nasty ordeal, but tragically inevitable, those in charge did little to stop this heretical movement when it first started and it came back to haunt them. At least we were able to remove such heretics from our emperor’s city, though sadly it seems too little too late. Now it is up to the inquisition to counter the threat”.
A servant quickly went and immaculately filled his glass with a red wine.
“I heard that many of these heretics went south,” Irene said, looking Rendon with intense interest. “I hope they are taken care of soon.”
“We must hope our southern brethren see reason, though if they are foolish enough to take these heretic then they shall surely suffer the consequences. Though fear not” Rendon said as he made eye contact with Irene “For I am sure her lady will be safe under the inquisition’s protection”.
“For that I must thank you, your grace,” Irene said, continuing to look at Rendon as he drank.
Lycaon had little to say. He exchanged pleasantries with those who spoke to him, but said little else, and little else was needed. When he had departed from his home he was a young, brash aristocrat, but the boy that he had once been had died long ago. His aged father looked at him with a sad expression, but Lycaon had nothing to give him. His face remained immaculately unreadable as always, but his eyes looked even colder than usual.
“It is good to have you back with us, my son,” Lord Issarot said.
“It is a sacred duty for my wife to be buried in honor among her ancestors,” Lycaon said. “I am thankful for Issarot’s hospitality and their aid in seeing this sacred duty rightfully filled, father.”
There was no coldness in his voice, but there was no especial warmth in it. Lycaon spoke just about the same as whenever he spoke about anything.
“Shall you be staying long?” Lord Issarot said.
“The Church’s needs are urgent, and my presence is needed elsewhere,” Lycaon said. “My dear wife Felise shall be given a funeral befitting one as noble as herself, and then I shall depart. The treasury of Issarot shall not be disturbed. The Church shall cover all expenses.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Issarot said. “You are my son. You needn’t worry. Issarot shall have no trouble, to provide the arrangements for the funeral.”
“The arrangements have already been made, and the Church shall be happy to cover them,” Lycaon said. “There is another matter of importance that must be told. I plan to renounce my claim to Issaria. Irene and whoever she chooses to marry will inherit Issaria instead of me.”
“You would abandon your birthright?” Lord Issarot was shocked.
“The Church has need of me,” Lycaon said. “I bore no children, nor shall I again take another wife. I leave it to my sister and her future husband to deal with these responsibilities.”
There was a collection of whispers among those congregated there in hushed voices, and surprise in the faces of many there. Lycaon looked as calm as always.
Rendon himself was shocked for a moment, before his expression changed to a smile “It would seems you are a man who takes his vows to the gods seriously, to give so much for the church I must applaud you. It would seem the inquisition is in good hands”. Though he spoke cordially, he said it with a cold twisted smile, the smile of a man who saw an opportunity and was willing to seize it for his own ambitions.
“I thank you, your grace,” Lycaon said. “To serve the Church is my goal. All else must come second.”
Lycaon took a sip from his wineglass. He said no more on the topic.
“This puts a new burden on my shoulder, though I am not ungrateful that my brother would see me worthy of such a responsibility. Now I need only find a man proper to share this responsibility,” Irene said, half joking. “I suppose it would be best if I found my future husband soon.”
“I am sure a beautiful woman such as yourself will have no problem finding a man worthy of yourself” Rendon said with a smile as he took a large gulp from his goblet.
“Oh, you do honor me, Rendon,” Irene said.
Lycaon felt disgusted to see Irene and Rendon carrying on this sort of banter, but he had no choice but to allow it to take its natural course. He took another sip of his winecup and said nothing.
***
The dinner had gone on far longer than Rendon had originally expected as he somewhat drunkenly stumbled down the hallway of Issarot Keep. While Lord Issarot had offered him a servant to guide him to his room, he had declined his offer and claimed he would be able to find his own way through the keep. This was of course a ruse, for it was simply a excuse for him to find his way to Irene’s room. She had left the meal earlier than Rendon had, but before she had left she had not so subtly told him where it was her room was located before giving him a slightly more subtle wink. Rendon approached a thick wooden door that he assumed was lady Issarot’s bedchamber, though even if it wasn’t he could simply use the excuse that he had gotten lost while trying to find his own room. He knocked on the door and waited for a response.
Irene was there, and opened the door for Rendon, smiling at him with a coquettish shyness. She was already wearing her nightgown, which was more revealing than the gown she had worn to dinner had been.
“You finally came, Ser Rendon,” Irene said. “Please, come in.”
----
When Rendon awoke he was still in Irene’s room, lying in her bed. Irene, herself, however, was gone from the room. Instead, Rendon had Lycaon watching over him, seated on a chair looking over him.
“Did you sleep well, your grace?” Lycaon said. “We seem to have run into a problem. It appears you have lain with my own sister, and shamed us all. Myself, my father, my sister, and yourself shall not escape from this matter unscathed. There is only one way in which the situation can be rectified. Marry my sister Irene.”
Rendon slowly stirred from his bed as he casually stretched, seemingly unconcerned with the man sitting across from him, as if the situation was a normal one.
“Where is Irene” he asked as he reached for a goblet of water by the side of the bed, hoping it would help his mild hangover.
“She is with our father,,” Lycaon said. Rendon was being nonchalant, and it was enough to enrage Lycaon. Nonetheless, he would stay calm. “Is the in wine still in you, your grace? Do you not understand the situation you are in? While you may have as many drunken trysts as you wish with village girls and tavern wenches, Irene is neither. You shamed her in her own bed, under her own father’s roof. My father’s roof. You cannot escape from it.”
Rendon took a gulp of water remaining as calm as he had been when he woke up. He left out a purposely loud sigh of relief as he finished drinking “You seem to be confused, I did not force myself on her, she invited me into her chamber and into her bed” he said with a smirk “if marriage is what is required to save her honour then a marriage shall take place. Irene is a fine woman, and shall make a fine bride, surely you agree”? He continued as he stood up from the bed “and I can assure you the Issarot’s lands will be in good hands” he finished with a twisted smile.
“So we are agreed then,” Lycaon said. “The marriage should occur as soon as possible. It would be disastrous should she happen to be heavy with your child and still be unmarried. This shall make us family.”
Lycaon had not been happy about it, but this was what had to be done.
“Very well then, I suppose I will soon be calling you brother” He continued with a laugh, it was clear he was devoid of any sort of remorse or guilt over what he had done. “Now if you don’t mind my Lord, I would like to prepare myself for the rest of the day and I would find it most awkward if you were to stay there staring at me”.
“Of course, your grace,” Lycaon said. “I will take my leave of you. I think we shall have an eventful day.”
Then Lycaon left Irene’s room, and left Rendon with whatever business that he had to deal with. Rendon had slept with his sister, and now would have to marry Irene to cover the shame. Not that he realized the gravity of the situation. Now, with Lycaon having renounced his claim on Issaria and Rendon effectively becoming the co-heir with Irene, some would have thought that Rendon had outwitted him. In fact things had gone just as he had hoped. He had sacrificed Issaria, but it was no longer much use to him, and now he had blood ties with the du Paraquettes, and counted the man that Alasdair had sent to watch him as a brother. Lycaon had no illusions. The situation was still very volatile, but Lycaon would consider this a victory.
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