Chapter Two

Muirgen’s servants helped her into a blue velvet dress with a gold embroidered underdress that peeked through when she lifted her skirts to walk. She turned to the side, enjoying the way the colors of the dress complimented her golden hair and brought out the pink in her cheeks.

She froze and frowned at herself in the mirror. What must they think, the council? A pretty, breakable Queen with little care for her subjects. One who refused to go to war, allowing more and more of her subjects to die at the hands of the Northmen. She lowered her eyes as the servants tugged at her hair, braiding and pulling until her mane had been smoothed into several braids knotted at the base of her neck.

The nails bit into the flesh of her palms. She felt so useless, constantly caught between wanting to do something and knowing anything she did besides send aid and reinforcements would end badly.

There was a brisk knock on the door as the Dragon proclaimed it was time. The servants hovered, picking extra hairs off the velvet as she made her way to the door. They swept it open for her and she looked up into Uthyr’s face as he smiled down at her.

“You look lovely,” the Dragon said, taking her hand in his to escort her. She nodded in thanks, distracted as she threw words around in her head, trying to get them just right. Thank you for coming. I hope to see you… No. She had to be strong. Decisive. She should have prepared the speech hours ago, but instead had wallowed in her own helplessness, trying to find some way around the council. Our country’s future rests on your shoulders…The Dragon is my protector and friend…

“Stop,” Uthyr said, squeezing her arm lightly, “Just breathe, you’ll be fine.”  She nodded and forced her mind to go blank, focusing instead on each breath—in and out—as they walked to the great hall.  

It was overcrowded, the tables going from wall to wall. Even the space reserved for dancing had been filled almost entirely. Only her entrance walkway was clear of the tables. The nobles struggled to their feet as they saw her standing in the doorway. The fireplaces burned two on each wall, too hot with this many people present, and banners from each noble house of the kingdom decorated the walls. They had already, unfortunately, brought out the mead, the riotous laughter and screamed conversations making light of that fact. They fell silent as she walked into the hall, conversations dying.

Her knees wobbled, but Uthyr’s arm kept her gliding forward as though they hadn’t.  At the head of the room lay a lonely table for just her and Uthyr, unless other guests were invited. Tonight it held two chairs. When they reached the table, she spun to face the crowd and the Dragon stepped backwards, feeding her his confidence through their emotional line.

“The post of Dragon is one of the most important in the realm,” she said, her voice wobbling once, but then evening out. “His charge is protection, his vow life-long. Over the next few days the tournament will put you through trials of mind, body, and spirit, for the Dragon must represent a balance of all three. In these dark times the Dragon must be strong to stand by his Queen’s side,” she let her eyes drift toward where Lord Beven stood, his face pinched as he looked at her.

She tugged at her dress, suddenly too-conscious of the figure she presented. The figurehead Queen. There to look pretty—nothing more.  She forced herself to continue, “To withstand the threat of the North he must be a fierce warrior and a strong tactician, ready to follow his Queen’s orders and protect our land.” A small bit of leverage against the council, reemphasizing before all gathered that she was Queen. “Tonight, feast and enjoy the hospitality of the hall. I wish you all luck in the coming week.”

The hall erupted in riotous agreement and the scraping of wood against the stone floor as they took their seats and returned to the mead. Muirgen looked out on them all, studying the sea of faces. One of them would take Uthyr’s place. Her stomach pinched in nausea, she couldn’t think of that now. She shoved the pain into the back and focused on the flood of nobles at the tables before her.

A servant came, bringing a selection of items for their table and she eagerly forked a partridge with blackberry sauce and plopped it onto her plate. It was rare to enjoy such a feast. Usually she did not spend much time at her table, jumping from table to table making connections and attempting to feel out the noble houses. Often she didn’t even eat and had leftovers sent to her quarters after the meal. “Five on the council have sons here,” Uthyr said quietly, leaning over to her. Muirgen searched the crowd while scooping a mix of seasoned potatoes and squash onto her plate. “Lord Beven’s two sons David and Richard, Lord Tristan’s son Derek, Lord Ander’s son Garret, Lord Gavan’s son Edward, and Lord Wend’s son Jared.”

“Isn’t David Beven a little too old to compete?” she asked, watching Lord Beven thump his son on the back. The man was spindly and had a patch of gray at either temple.

Uthyr shrugged. “We didn’t set an age limit. But he will not be able to compete with those younger than him. I should know.” Muirgen smiled at his curmudgeonly remark. “Edward Gavan for instance,” Uthyr said taking a deep gulp of mead, “just turned twenty, build like an ox, and I hear his skill with a sword is unparalleled.”

“I’ve heard he has the wit of a three year old,” Muirgen said, considering the soldier's flashy garb and the mop of blonde hair on his oversized head.  She pulled her attention from him and back to Uthyr. “I cannot pick one of their sons, Uthyr. Giving one more power would alienate the rest and only cause them to work more against my wishes.”

He nodded, wiping the grease from his mouth. “Agreed. Though I think Richard Beven might be a problem.” She raised an eyebrow, returning her gaze to where the Beven family sat. Lord Beven made lively conversation with his elder son while Richard and Lady Beven sat quietly, examining the competition around them. “He’s quiet, and thus is often underestimated. He is smart, and though he may not be the strongest warrior, he is quick and uses his knowledge to assess situations before wasting energy.”

“And his temperament?” Muirgen asked, considering the angled cheekbones and tousled brown hair.

“He is kind, for the most part. Has a bit of a temper that rears its head when he isn’t taken seriously,” Uthyr said, shoving a leg of turkey onto his plate.

Muirgen’s mouth twisted in cynical amusement. “Hard to be taken seriously, I imagine, with such a brother.”  She had met David before. He was large and pompous, too used to wealth and admiration for his own good. Lord Beven had once desired her to marry him. She had avoided it by exposing a string of jilted, noble daughters David had left in his wake, causing the other Lords to decide such a match would not be suitable. She frowned. The other Lords decided. Not her. She examined her fingernails, her throat tight. The Dragon reached over, taking one of her hands and squeezing it lightly. She squeezed back once, wrangling her feelings back under control.

The bard employed for the event had set up in the room, his harp rested on his knee as he leaned in back into his shoulder. He plucked two strings—a call for quiet. It took a few minutes, but at last the hall gave their attention to him, their conversations slow to come to a close. His fingers danced across the strings, a melodic, jovial tune to set his stage. Then his fingers stilled, and his voice rang out loud and clear across the hall:

“In the year of our Lord five-fourteen,

Lords and Ladies were called to the Queen,

Her hair was golden, face was pale

Beside her the Dragon, dressed in ‘mail.

She planned a tournament great and grand

Proclaiming to all across the land,

“Tis time to step ye down,

Find another to protect my crown.”

Through the town the crier went out,

“To the castle, warriors brave and stout.”

Though offer extended to one and all,

Only two-hundred seventeen answered the call.

To a feast was called the Bard,

To ply his trade with much regard,

Amaze the men and shock the ladies,

Mayhaps they’ll throw favor and pennies.

Though he may spin you tales of wonder,

Remember the Northmen, set to plunder.

Try as she might to protect the gold,

Horrors upon her will soon unfold.

Be brave, young warriors and answer the call,

A part must you play or we all will fall,

To darkness and doubt, to fear and pain,

All mankind captive once again

In the Dragon there must be

Courage, love, and harmony,

For test the tournament may be,

Those trapped can still be free.”

His final words echoed through the silent hall. Then, suddenly, the bard struck his harp again, this time going into a lilting song of youth and prosperity. Muirgen could not tear her eyes from him.

He knew. The slender, brown-haired man so humbly picking at his instrument knew.

She turned to the Dragon as the bard unfolded the story of two doomed lovers, the crowd unaware of the affect the Bard’s words had on their Queen.  “How?” she whispered to the Dragon, her appetite gone. He shook his head, his hands clenching the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.

“I will find out,” he said, gritting his teeth. He quietly rose from the table, leaving the room from one of the side doors. Muirgen forced herself to focus on the bard, his eyes glittering in the candlelight of the hall. He caught her eyes, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile as he nodded at her. Muirgen gritted her teeth, but did not look away. Moments later Uthyr slid into his seat next to her. “The guards will intercept him before he leaves.”  

Muirgen could barely concentrate the rest of the night, her food no longer holding any sway. She rested her fingers between her breasts, the slight shape of the knot work beneath her skin giving her slight comfort.

When the bard bowed, collecting coins from the crowd in a small dish, the crowd thundering their approval with slaps on the table.  Though the bard’s back was to her, she felt like he was watching her still and it unnerved her.

Muirgen stood, her eyes on the bard, the hall once again growing quiet as she addressed them. “Lords, Ladies, and champions, please enjoy the hospitality of my hall. I will see you all for the first round of the tournament tomorrow.” The bard didn’t turn around, instead focusing on his instrument. Muirgen’s heart beat fiercely as Uthyr placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the bard. She raised her eyes to the door, her nerves shot. Only Uthyr’s hand kept her moving forward as they passed the bard. He finally turned to her and bowed deeply as she passed. The man straightened sharply and Muirgen stiffened at the sight of his pointed ears beneath the brown curls of his hair.

“Keep moving,” Uthyr growled as she stumbled. She clutched at his arm, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears as she turned back to stare at the man. He smiled at her and inclined his head. “Muirgen,” Uthyr hissed pulling on her arm. She flushed, realizing that she had stopped in the middle of the walkway. She wanted to keep her eyes on him and back out of the hall, but she could already hear the nobles starting to whisper at her strange behavior.

“He’s...his ears,” she managed to whisper as she turned around. Uthyr stiffened as the doors to the hall closed behind them. He lifted a hand, beckoning two of his men to follow them. The men took out their swords, and Uthyr dragged her down the hall at such a quick pace that every few steps she had to run to keep up with him.

When they reached her door, Uthyr did a quick sweep of the inside, then helped her into a chair. “Don’t answer the door for anyone. Keep your weapon nearby.” She nodded, her heart still dancing at it’s relentless pace. He unsheathed his sword and left the room, the two soldiers entering the room after him. They threw the lock on the door and stood at attention, their swords out. Muirgen reached into the hidden pocket in her dress and drew out a dagger.

~~~~~~

There was a knock at the door, then the Dragon entered. Muirgen sat up straighter, her lips raw from hours of chewing them while waiting for his update. But now his weary face told her everything she needed to know. “He escaped, didn’t he?”

Uthyr sank into one of her cushioned chairs, a luxury he did not often allow himself. “He didn’t even collect his payment. We searched the grounds—no one remembers seeing him leave through the gates. The men I had trailing him said he vanished around a corner.”

She smiled wearily, the words of the bard echoing through her. Those trapped can still be free. “Why is it that every time I think I’ve started to handle one problem, another appears?”

The Dragon smirked, rubbing one hand through his beard. “The world knows how to keep you interested.”

“I’ve been very interested for the past year.”  She raised her eyes to the Dragon. His dark eyes were calm, but she could feel his unease, and that, beyond her own fear, scared her. She had trained with him for years, watching him knock his men on their backs in mere moments. Watched him stare down the physician when he was told he had mere months to live. But he was scared. The bard had reminded both of them how human they were. How vulnerable. The hair on her arms raised, and she scrubbed them down fiercely.

Uthyr took in her violent arm-rubbing with a frown. “Try to get some sleep, Muirgen.”

“I’ll sleep only if you do,” she said, raising her eyes to his. He looked exhausted, rings starting to show around his eyes. He was pushing himself too hard, for her. He needed rest.

He inclined his head. “You know me well.”

“Too well,” she grumbled and he smiled fondly.

“Sleep. Or I’ll call your physician to employ a tonic,” he threatened as he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Author Notes:
Hello everyone! The next chapter will be posted in two weeks, on May 30th. Until then, re-read, leave a comment, or follow me on social media. Thank you so much for reading!

Credit given to:
Photographer Fenix Fox
Model Richard Mace
HMUA Kiersten Carson
Costumes Dark Moon Designs (me)