“Once I’d have had enough of a dowry to be interesting to them,” Emlyn sighs, “but they’d have been deemed unsuitable by my parents, and I doubt our king would have allowed me to marry outside my people.” Then Emlyn straightens herself, “Enough about that, this isn’t a day to reflect on what was lost. This is a day to look ahead and be happy. We have a party to attend.”
As Emlyn approaches the chapel again, the doors are propped open, the pews are pushed back, and everyone turns to greet her, raising their glasses in welcome. Gethin steps forward, beaming, “Welcome home, dear girl. May you be prosperous and happy among us for a long time to come.”
Someone puts a glass in her hand, so she takes a sip. Gethin approaches her and she hugs him. When she does, he whispers to her, “Come stand here so that everyone can greet you, Paladin Nia.”
First in line is the prince’s retainer, who bows to her before presenting her with the box: “I was told that I should wait for you to open it.” Handing her glass to Gethin, who smiles indulgently, she carefully unwraps the box, noting that the silk ribbons and wrappings are pretty lovely.
Folding them carefully, she sets them aside. Inside is a marquetry-covered wooden box that depicts a knight engaging a dragon. It’s as ornate and lovely as the silk wrappings. Opening the box, she finds it holds a salt cellar in the shape of a knight engaged in jousting. It’s an absolute work of art down to the smallest detail of the horse’s bridle. At a gesture from the retainer, she takes the salt cellar from the box. Tilting the body of the knight sideways, she opens the salt cellar, and inside is a note and half of a carved stone amulet.
“You can read that later in more private circumstances,” the man intones, “I was merely to make you aware of its contents.”
Dropping a deep curtsey, Emlyn replies, “My thanks to both you and the prince. Your gift certainly warrants additional examination, which it will receive in due time."
Moving carefully, Emlyn quietly palms the contents of the salt cellar while pretending to examine the artistry and stows them in a hidden pocket in her dress. Milvara has proven to be correct about the need for hidden pockets in her garments.
As the man turns to leave, smiling slightly, Dru and Jessop approach her with a large bouquet made of Freesia, Arborvitae, Acacia Flowers, White Heather, and Ivy. Smiling at their offer of friendship, she takes them and hands them over to a server to put into a vase.
“Those are much too lovely to be allowed to wilt,” Emlyn replies with another curtsey.
“Mostly,” Jessop grins, “we came to see you and wish you well. We had such a nice time at the ball.” Dru nudges Jessop and adds quickly, “If you’re amenable to it, we could see that you get invited to more of them.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to attend,” Emlyn replies, “I have duties to attend to now, and I don’t want to offer an insult if I cannot attend. You can always send a note and ask, but I expect that I’ll be quite busy. I will try to attend, if you wish it, but I can’t promise, since my schedule isn’t my own any longer.”
Gethin coughs politely, “I think that if the invitation were to come from the Ducal palace, we could probably see a way to rearrange her schedule. I know that the High Priest has been wanting to bolster our support among the nobility.”
“It’s settled then,” Jessop grins, “I’ll see that you start getting invitations to some of the events.”
With the Duke’s sons stepping aside, her new friends file up to greet her.
“It’s customary here,” Gethin explains, “for everyone to come and tell you something they hope for as you start this new part of your life.”
Parth steps forward and hugs her, “I hope you aren’t so lonely and far from home now.”
“No, I’m not,” Emlyn says, a bit teary-eyed, “Not anymore.”
Parth pats her shoulder as he releases her and steps aside. Grinning, Branaulf hugs her, “I hope you’re half as good with a bow as you claim. Maybe you can help me teach the others.”
Swatting at him playfully, Emlyn grins up, “I’m probably better. We tend to understate our abilities lest our opponents realize just what they’re up against.”
Laughing, Branaulf steps aside. Amon greets her, “Since you don’t use axes, I’ll have to go with something more generic. I hope you have a long and successful career with us.”
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A quick hug, and he steps aside for Wex, who hugs her, “I hope you don’t hit my ribs like that again.” When Emlyn laughs at that, he quickly adds, “In all seriousness, I hope you find happiness here.”
He steps aside for Yanthus, who grins at her for a moment before he hugs her, “Redoubtable Nia, I hope your skill rubs off on all of us.”
He steps aside, and Shu-Jin bows to her as an equal, “Redoubtable Nia, indeed. High praise from Master Yanthus and entirely deserved. I hope you find peace among us.”
Gethin hears her mutter what sounds like “Oh, bollocks this,” and Emlyn hugs him. “Thank you for understanding,” she whispers to him as she steps back.
One by one, everyone at the induction ceremony greets her and shares their hopes for her. At the end of it, she’s so touched by it all that she’s nearly in tears. Reaching into her sleeve, she whips out the fan and starts fanning her face to prevent the tears she can feel welling.
Gethin sees this and whispers to her, “What’s wrong?”
Smiling at him, she replies, “Mae'r cyfan yn rhy hyfryd. Doeddwn i byth yn disgwyl dod o hyd i ffrindiau fel hyn eto. (It's all too lovely. I never expected to find friends like this again.”
Understanding, he gives her a brief hug, “I hope all of this is a balm for you.”
Once she’s composed herself, Gethin nudges her, “Go mingle.” Just then, Ember comes in and makes a beeline for Nia.
Wrapping her in a bear hug, he rumbles, “I hope you take all this over soon.”
“Oes, tad,” Emlyn replies, and Gethin chuckles. When he releases her, Nia wanders off, glass in hand, to enjoy her party.
“What did she say?” Ember asks, and Gethin explains that she’s somewhat sarcastically said, “‘Yes, Dad.’ Apparently, you remind her of her father.”
“Hrmph,” Ember shrugs, “I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Either way, the smiths will be staying over the break to finish up her armor. This mess with that dragon Divaros has gone all the way to the duke, and he’s requested that we send a group of paladins to try to parley with him,” Ember explains, “and Dranor suggested that we include her in the party for her diplomatic skills.”
“You know that I hate this idea,” Gethin replies, “She shouldn’t be out in the field until she’s fully recovered physically and mentally. If Divaros were to take her as the tribute, we’d have some explaining to do to the Goddess. If one of her companions gets hurt or worse. I don’t know how she’ll handle that right now. Dragons are dangerous in many ways. They’re smart and tricky creatures who also happen to be able to fly, have huge teeth, giant talons, and elemental breath. Tell the Duke that she’s still recovering from massive injuries and pull her out of it.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better,” Ember shrugs, “I’d still be sending Benger and that cohort. They’re the best we have, and anything less would be seen as an insult since it’s a personal request from the duke. If she’s left behind, and something happens, how’s that going to sit with her?”
“As much as I hate it,” Gethin concedes, “You likely have a point. I don’t know if that would make things any better for her. Gah! I hate having no good choices. When this is over, we should pray about it and ask the Goddess for guidance. For now, we are going to enjoy her induction party.”
Nodding in agreement, Ember wanders off to find a glass of something to nurse as he watches the dancers since the first strains of music are starting. Having danced with both of the duke’s sons, her friends, Gethin, Odus, Dadmus, and the other Masters of Craft, Emlyn approaches Ember.
“Come on,” she says, “I’ve danced with all the others, so you must be next.”
“I’m more like a dancing bear,” he sighs, handing his drink to one of the roving servers, “but if you insist, then I shall.”
“I could suggest you visit Master Shimmermint since there’s a lot in common with swordplay and dancing,” Emlyn says mischievously, “but I wouldn’t want him to be stuck training a dancing bear. However, I think you can do a bit better than that. We’ll get them to play something more sedate. You can’t be any worse than Master Lokrag.”
Chuckling, Ember agrees, “I can probably do better than an orc. Their style of dancing involves forming lines and executing the steps. It always seems to involve a lot of stomping and kicking and turning, not what we’d normally call dancing.”
“I found it to be very invigorating,” Emlyn grins, “if not what I’m used to.”
“I suppose I shall have to see if I can dance better than Master Smith Lokrag,” Ember nods and places Emlyn’s hand on his arm as he leads her to the dance floor. At a quiet signal from Emlyn and the musicians nod and drift into the strains of a more formal piece, and Ember sighs in relief. This particular dance is more akin to walking to music than actual dancing.
“I think I can manage this one,” Ember grins at her as they square off. He bows, and she curtseys before they both sidestep, and she breezes haughtily past him. It’s a very stylized version of a courtship, with the lady disdainful of the man. He steps, and she dodges him adroitly until the very end. Only at the very end of the dance does he get to embrace her for a moment.
“I should probably speak to you about the wild rumors I’m hearing,” Emlyn confides, “when all this is over. Something about a dragon.”
Smirking, Ember sighs and walks her over to Gethin, “I should have known that one of you would have heard about it. It’s supposed to be a negotiation with this dragon, Divaros, if he’ll even speak to you. The local lord’s men attacked him under a flag of parley, so he’s stopped speaking to anyone other than the village elders.”
Gethin gives her the whole story, and Emlyn sighs heavily.
“I’ll get him to talk with us if I have to track him back to his lair,” Emlyn frowns, “but we’ll need the men who attacked him to accompany us so that they can apologize profusely for their idiocy. Who doesn’t know the difference between a drake and a dragon? They’re not even the same size. Real dragons are at least twice as large as a drake and almost triple the size of dragonettes. You don’t have to be very bright to realize that what you’re looking at isn’t a drake.”
“You should be quite wary of him,” Gethin says slowly, “He’s got a penchant for… unsullied females, and you likely meet all his criteria.”
“In that case, I’ll need to leave some plans for Master Lokrag for some special weapons,” Emlyn shrugs, “I just hope I don’t have to hunt down this dragon. The idiots better hope I don’t have to serve them up to him to get him to speak to us.”
“Would you really do that?” Gethin asks.
Who would you want to dance with at the party? Jessop? Benger? Wex? Amon? Someone else? Let me know in the comments.