| seeking vengeance | ze_kraken x moffnat

[ze_kraken]

Prologue
​

Rain fell from overhead as Edmund Thorpe darted between doorways through the holdfast as swiftly as his aged, crippled legs would let him, striking hard against the roof above. He clutched his sword in his hand, steel gleaming in the flickering orange glow of the torches lining the walls. Up ahead, at the end of the narrow hallway, he could hear faint voices. Unfamiliar voices. Edmund tightened his grip on his weapon as he gingerly stepped over the corpse of a fallen comrade, the blood sticking to his boots as he continued.

The voices were getting closer now, and Edmund could see the shadows of three men etched on the wall at the end of the hallway. Overhead the storm still raged, masking his footsteps as he hastened to the corner where the hall turned off to the left.

"You sure the garrison's cleared out?" One voice asked.

"They weren't expecting us," another replied. "Most got their throats cut in their sleep before they knew what was happening!"

The first man chuckled. His footsteps were closer now. Even over the din of the rain, Edmund could hear his leather boots scraping against the cold stone underfoot. He gripped his sword tight and rounded the corner, lashing out in a sweeping arc, catching the man off-guard. With a wet crunch Edmund's blade cut through the man's throat, lodging itself in his spine as the man's knees buckled out from under him. As Edmund dislodged his weapon from the man's neck, his companions took notice and began to charge down the hallway, spears clutched in their hands. Gripping the fallen man before he could collapse fully to the ground, Edmund threw the dead man in front of him, allowing his companion to impale him with his spear and send him staggering from the unexpected impact as blood sprayed out against the walls.

Deftly, Edmund shifted his weight to his right side and stabbed the second man through in a single, fluid motion, blade piercing his leather armor and ripping out the back with ease. Edmund cast a look over the body of the second man just in time to see the third following suite, his spear extended out in a defensive stance. Edmund let go of his sword and allowed the second man to fall limp, shaking and convulsing as blood filled his lungs. For an instant, only the sounds of the rain above and the spluttering, dying men on the ground could be heard. Then the third man let out a blood-curdling yell and lunged forward. Edmund, unable to urge his legs into motion, was pushed back as the spear pierced his right shoulder, tip leaving a gash as it sliced through leather and flesh.

Edmund raised a hand up and pushed himself off the spear, grunting in agony as the tip retracted. Before his opponent could react, Edmund fished his dagger from its sheath at his belt and, shoulder-first, lunged into the third man in a half-jump, sending them both to the ground. Edmund snarled, pinning the man as they collapsed to the floor. They struggled for an instant before Edmund sliced through the man's arm and managed a swift blow to his face, winding up on top of him.

"Where is the girl?" He spat, pressing his blade up to the man's throat.

"What girl?" The man asked.

"You know which one," Edmund retorted. "Where's Anne? Where are you taking her? Look at me!"

The man on the ground shook his head violently. Edmund growled and pressed his blade closer to the man's throat, drawing blood.

"Tell me."

"She's being held! In the main chambers! We couldn't get past her guards and-"

Edmund pressed his knife deeper into the man's neck and sliced to the bone, staggering to his feet and retrieving his sword from the slain soldier. He sheathed his dagger, wiped the blood clean from his sword, and began to hobble off toward the main hall...

Edmund
​

Edmund trod through the muddy town road of Laencaster, one hand placed calmly on the pommel of his blade, the other clutching a sealed note bearing a sigil he did not recognize. It was early morning, and the distinct hazy mist of the Iron Highlands still filled the town, having yet to be burned away by the morning sun. In his youth Edmund had felt no need to be so on guard at home, but those had been simpler times. He greeted a pair of passing stablehands as they walked by, casting a careful glance over his shoulder before continuing on.

He could just barely make out the crest of the Highlands proper in the distance - hazy, craggy outlines standing out slightly darker than the grey mist around him.

And to think I called this place my true home once, Edmund mused to himself as he turned left when the main road ended. The ground was firmer here, but still dampened by the morning fog, dew clinging to the few tufts of grass that protruded from the grey-brown muck beneath. The town was just starting to bustle with activity as men and women were roused from slumber. He could hear voices calling out now, shuffling feet. The start to an otherwise uneventful day in an uneventful town in an uneventful part of the Iron Highlands.

If only they knew, he reflected as he arrived at a small, unassuming house at the end of the road. Casting one more cautious glance over his shoulder, Edmund knocked three times on the door. A slit in the doorway shot open and a pair of probing blue eyes stared back at him.

"You alone?" A raspy, low voice inquired.

"Always, Rast," Edmund replied.

The eyes peered left and right, scanning the surrounding area.

"Damn fog," Rast grunted, slamming the slit closed.

Bolts and chains could be heard unraveling from the other side of the door at Edmund waited patiently. When the door opened, Rast darted out, sword at the ready, staring intently at the hazy, empty village road.

"Is she awake yet?" Edmund asked, pushing aside Rast and greeting the other guardsmen in the house with a wave as he entered.

"No," Rast replied, shutting and locking the door behind Edmund. "Or she's just off reading again and pretending to be sound asleep in her bed."

Edmund chuckled.

"Aye, if I could read I wouldn't want to do much else with my time here either," Edmund said calmly.

"What's that?" Rast asked, shoving a dirty finger at the letter clutched in Edmund's hands.

"A message," Edmund stated plainly. "Some upstart miner's son has laid claim to all of Stratford and is rallying men to his cause. I'll inform our young lady when she comes downstairs."

"You won't tell her now?" Rast retorted, taking a seat by the hearth.

"She's still a child for a little while yet," Edmund replied, seating himself by Rast and unbuckling his sword. "Let her enjoy it."

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

The morning sun bled through thatched curtains. Birds chirped beyond the windows and walls; Anne was familiar with their little sounds and had named each creature who tapped the glass with their beaks. But the birds were not her focus this morning. Anne had woken hours past in the aftermath of a dreadful dream. In it, her castle was flooded with water yet somehow burning, ash and dust mingling with the air and water, a clash of fatal elements. Bodies floated in the tomb. And the longer she stay asleep, the darker the water became, until her childhood home ran red with blood and not a sound could be heard over the rushing, rushing, rushing. ​

​

Anne had awoken before dawn and done what all nightmares begged her to do: seek the comfort of a book. She had curled up in her reading nook by the bay window, ignoring the birds, deep within the pages of her latest adventure. The public library in the more sophisticated part of town did not allow women, much less poor ones. It was in her trusted guardians whom she placed the fate of her pastimes. Whatever books they procured, she read with eagerness like a sponge collecting droplets of rain. They had learned her tastes over time. It wouldn't be long until she needed to request another, but not yet. Not until the lonely prince reclaimed his throne and proposed to his lost pirate love.​

​

Anne only lifted her head when the distant temple bells tolled. Eight times, she counted. Not terrible early, but still before her usual time. Anne enjoyed her sleep very much, and going downstairs before she was expected would raise questions from her guardians. They were like fathers and brothers to her. The family she had lost. All of them, unique in their own ways. There was Rast, funny and charming with stories to tell. Thorin with his brash jokes and love of ale. Bartrand with his devotion to the lute -- he often played when Anne felt the need to sing, and the two of them made quite a popular pair in the taverns. And then there was Edmund. Quiet, sweet Edmund whose primary concern was her safety and hers alone.​

​

She saw him in the streets. Over the noise and distraction of a waking city, of hooves on cobblestone and the distant market, she noticed Edmund return from wherever he'd been, clutching a letter in his hand. A letter? That was certainly odd. Her book temporarily forgotten, Anne rose from her little nook and stripped from her nightgown, dressing in a simple gown of olive green and tying her hair in a braided crown atop her head. If the others asked questions as to why she was awake so early, she would deflect. They didn't need to worry over her troubles more than they already did.​

​

Anne slowly opened her door. Her room lay at the top of the stairs, which allowed her to keep her presence a secret, even for a moment. "She's still a child for a little while yet," Edmund said, and Anne smiled to herself. His care was beyond honorable. It made her feel safe -- it had since she was young.​

​

"Have you brought me something today, Edmund?" asked Anne from the top of the stairwell, smiling down at the two men. She kept her hand on the rail as she descended to the ground floor. "I hope it's not another one of those political posters. Thorin may like throwing darts at them, but if we damage the holes in the walls any more, the landlord may throw us to the streets."​

​

"M'lady," said Bartrand from the settee near the hearth, the one opposite where Edmund and Rast were seated. "You're up early. What's got ye so excited?"​

​

"The book you brought me, actually." Anne moved to sit in the open space beside Bartrand, smoothing out her skirts and beaming at her protectors. "The prince is going to propose to the pirate."​

​

"Truly?"​

​

"Yes! I couldn't wait to finish it, but when I saw Edmund returning this morning, I thought I would see what you all were talking about." She turned her gaze to Edmund. A mild fear suddenly bubbled inside her, but she swallowed it down for the moment. "Unless it's something I need not hear?"​

 

[ze_kraken]

Edmund
​

Edmund snapped to attention as he heard Anne's footsteps approaching, softly patting against the wooden stairs. As Anne and Bartand spoke, Edmund shuffled in his chair uncomfortably for a moment. He cast Rast a quick, doubtful glance - the Magi returned it by raising his eyebrows.

We both know, Edmund realized. Dazielle knows I've tried to spare her from the real world, but...

"...Unless it's something I need not hear?"

Anne. Mentally shaking himself down, regaining his wits, Edmund offered his lady a brief smile. Rast stood and placed a steady hand on Edmund's shoulder before heading to the staircase. Edmund caught himself staring at the Magi's red-inked tattoo on the base of his neck, a plain ring of scarlet ink. Realizing he had not spoken yet, the knight turned his attention to Anne once more.

"Ah, yes," he began. "This is for you, my lady."

Edmund fumbled with the letter for a moment before offering it to Anne, sigil-first. It was a bit derivative, Edmund thought. Crudely embossed on a muddied brown wax seal rested crossed mining picks beneath a crown. The parchment itself was already yellowed and cracked at the edges, indicating either the message had been written long ago or seen a rough journey to Laencaster.

"It would seem," Edmund explained as Anne took the letter from him delicately. "That a man by the name of Loghar has declared himself king of the ancestral Iron Highlands, invoking blood ties to the first kings of Stratford. I spoke with his envoy this morning - he sought you out specifically."

Batard perked up at the news, interjecting.

"And isn't our lady supposed to be-"

"Aye, hidden, presumed dead or missing," Edmund agreed. "Regardless, this Loghar claims to have raised over one thousand men to his cause from the Highlands. Though we have, at most, a hundred men loyal to us - and that is being generous - I believe the implication was that you would be wed to him to strengthen his claim. The Larks have strong roots in the Highlands - and I know your father never cared much for the way of life here, but we owe no love to House Hanthrain and neither do the Highlanders."

Edmund paused, studying Anne's face, attempting to gauge her reaction to the news as he seated himself back down by the hearth, finding a sudden interest in the tips of his boots.

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

Anne felt suffocated at the mere mention of marriage. As a girl, her mother had always told her that it was her duty to marry and marry well, to strengthen the ties of the family and ensure prosperity in the region. But what region did she have, now? What family? As far as Anne was concerned, this was her family -- Bartrand and Thorin and Rast and Edmund. Their little house was her castle and her books, its treasure. A marriage to an upstart was the farthest thing from what she wanted. Perhaps, in her time growing up with her head in the clouds, she'd foolishly believed she could marry for love.​

​

"M-Marriage," stuttered Anne. The letter felt weighted in her hand, as though she carried stacks of iron ingots her father used to inspect. "I... I don't..."​

​

"You don't gotta give an answer straight away," Bartrand assured, placing a large hand on her shoulder. He was a portly man, but strong as an ox, and he often joked about how the dark color of skin made it easy for him to strike assailants from the shadows. "Read the letter. Think it over."​

​

All at once, Anne collected herself. She handed the letter to Bartrand. "You do it," she said. "I've been teaching you to read. Consider this practice. Read it aloud to all of us, sir. I have no secrets."​

​

Bartrand offered a sympathetic smile. Rast and Thorin stood together in the doorway, ready to hear whatever it was Loghar intended. He broke the poorly-crafted wax seal and cleared his throat to speak.​

​

"Dearest Lady Lark and her four companions," Bartrand began, slowly due to his poor reading skills. "The Hanthrains have butchered your families, stolen your homes, and dishonored the very gods by which they were..." A pause. "Appointed. The Highlanders will unite to my cause. I, the Great Loghar of Battle's Dread, will smash their skulls and rip them from their homes, root and stem. Their blood will drip in the streets as we take what is ours."​

​

"Charming," grumbled Thorin.​

​

"My lady," Bartrand continued. "Your beauty has been confirmed and praised by my spies. There is no maid more fair in all of Stratford. Be my wife. Give me strong sons and daughters that bear your beauty, and together, we may conquer the realm and rule over what is rightfully ours, what has been stolen from us, away from the crown that keeps the Highlands in chains. Should you wish to reply, meet my courier in the Blackwater tavern at midday in three days' time. Yours, Loghar."​

​

"Well," said Thorin, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. His dark hair hung in his face, as usual. "Sounds like the kind of fucker I'd like to knife. Assuming this isn't a trap, of course."​

​

Anne could not laugh. Her eyes remained downcast, staring at the floor, the grooves in the wood. Her hands remained folded in her lap like a polite lady's, but she wore the face of a woman in mourning. Mourning for her lost childhood, for the curse of nobility, for the future of happiness that apparently could never be. If this Loghar knew of her whereabouts, it was possible that others did too. They were no longer safe. The secret of her birth and survival would soon be known.​

​

Nothing would be the same.​

 

[ze_kraken]

Edmund
​

"And I'm sure knifing him would grant you a great deal of favor from the Hanthrains," Edmund grumbled. "Assuming you lived to leave his camp - you know as well as I do the Highlanders are a bunch of stuck-up, bitter men. Would spare us a great deal of headache, though - two less problems to deal with."

"Oh fuck off," Thorin retorted, brooding demeanor replaced with a quick flash of amusement as he chuckled.

"However, ehrm, charming this would-be king is," the knight continued, "he is still to be taken seriously. A thousand men is piss in the wind to what even a few minor houses could rally, but it's more than enough to storm Laencaster and put this town to the sword."

Edmund paused, casting a glance over at Anne.

"Forgive me, my lady, for speaking such unpleasantness but a refusal to meet with him would likely result in this town being taken by force, every man in this room slain, and you taken off and forced into marriage anyways."

"Assuming she isn't bartered off to the Hanthrains for some easy lordship," Thorin grunted. "And that'll be after this king has a go-"

Edmund cast a glance at Thorin, who shuffled awkwardly in place and inclined his head in a slight nod. Rast still stood in the back of the room by the stairs, muscular arms folded across his chest, his tangled blonde hair framing his square face in a low light. His brow was furrowed, eyes intently focusing on the letter still clutched in Batard's hands. The Magi cleared his throat, stepping forward and addressing Anne, his crooked teeth flashing as he spoke.

"If it please m'lady," Rast began - even educated as he was by the Magi, he still spoke as a commoner. "Edmund's right - and a meeting doesn't mean a marriage. To Batard's point we have time - today at least, given a day to ride safely to this tavern. And even if you decide not to-"

"Even should this match prove to be distasteful - and from the way this king's note reads he is not fit to wed any noble woman," Edmund interjected. "He wants a woman he can put up as a symbol. Even if we were to meet this envoy, decline the proposal, and flee, there is no guarantee that he will not still find us. Clearly he has some allies with more than their fair share of courtiers and informants. I will admit, with no allies and barely the four of us over the past five years, I never expected your secret to be a secret forever, but I never expected to be found out by some miner-king. If we run, there is no guarantee we will not be found again."

Edmund stood and knelt before Anne, gripping her hand tenderly as he met her eyes. Thorin rolled his eyes, and Rast retreated back by the stairs.

"My lady, I have fought for your family for years, and will continue to do so. Should you wish to avoid this marriage, then I shall do my utmost best to protect you, but I urge you to at least seriously consider this. If you ever want to return to Lark, or ever fulfill your father's image of a better life in Stratford, then you need allies. This may not be an ideal fit. This may not even be a worthy cause of your attention, but it is a potential ally, and a dangerous enemy."

"But," Edmund continued as he stood back up. "We act on your command, my lady."

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

Oh, Edmund. Sweet and loyal Edmund. Anne smiled a little at his proclamation of intent, though that smile faded when his words sunk in. "Thank you, Edmund. All of you. I think... I think I owe it to our fallen families to meet with this Loghar, even if I do not decide to marry him. An alliance could help us recover our homeland. That is worth a meeting, at least."​

​

But no matter how much Anne wished it were so, she could not convince herself of that conviction.​

​

The following week was filled with uncertainty. Bartrand had met with the courier alone to solidify the plans to meet Loghar where his army was camped, but the closer the date of their departure came, the more terrified Anne grew. The discussion of marriage marked a loss of innocence. A trade-off of childhood for true womanhood, for wifery and child-bearing and becoming nothing but a symbol. A necessary tool for the progression of man. She liked it not. Anne had grown up surrounded by men, it was true, and she loved them dearly, but she feared the idea of belonging to one. They could not be trusted unless they were trustworthy. This Loghar, with his words of violence and grandiose promises, was not encouraging. But that was the sacrifice, wasn't it? Placing her future in the hands of the unknown for a chance at restoring all that was lost?​

​

Anne had made her decision. Though she mourned it, there was no other way. She plucked a wooden box from under her bed. Within was a golden hand mirror crested with silver songbirds and emerald flowers. The sigil of House Lark. It was one of the few items Anne had been able to salvage from the wreckage of home. It was her prized possession, containing memories of family and childhood and home, of all things before.​

​

At dawn, Anne traded the mirror for a gown of sky blue and pearls. She could not meet Loghar in rags.​

 

[ze_kraken]

Loghar
​

Loghar Startford, first of his name and the Battle's Dread, stood admiring the misty dawn of the Iron Highlands as he gazed out over his encampment of over one thousand men. The sun had barely shone through the rocky hills around him as the day began. He could hear the distant banging of steel against steel, the shouts of masters at arms, and the low buzz of arrows as his men prepared themselves for war. Hardly any among their number had been soldiers - but under Loghar they had become true fighting men. Men worthy of the title Highlander.

Behind Loghar stood his ornately decorated command tent, resting on a rise overlooking the dip in the foothills where his army rested. At the lady Anne's request, Loghar had moved his tent away from the main armed force to ease the concerns of the lady's advisors.

Weak cunts, Loghar spat in the grass as he mused to himself. As if I would murder a woman I intend to wed!

Their insistence has offended Loghar deeply, but as his advisor had so wisely put it, better not to resort to taking a noblewoman by force. The ways of the eastern nobles confused Loghar greatly - even if he were to steal this Anne of Lark, murder her companions, and burn the town they called home to ashes the claims would be his by right of conquest.

Aye, he thought, entering his command tent and greeting the men gathered there. Perhaps mine by right, but they are Highlanders still.

"Any word on the lady of Lark?" Loghar asked in his gravely, booming voice.

"None, your grace," answered Tomas, stepping to attention.

"No reports from the scouts?"

"Not yet - they are expected before noon," Tomas replied.

Loghar grunted. He was not a man accustomed to waiting, let alone on the whims of some noble woman nearly half his age.

"Tomas," Loghar stated after a brief pause.

"Yes, your grace?"

"Grab a training sword - I need to distract myself," Loghar commanded.

---

Edmund
​

Edmund despised full wearing plate mail. Having trained under a Morecheri master at arms in his youth - a foreigner his father had hired to entertain and challenge himself in his old age - Edmund was accustomed to feeling unfettered by layers of heavy chain, cloth, and plate armor. Still, as Anne had sacrificed her mirror and her childhood to meet with Loghar, so could Edmund bear a little discomfort for the better part of three days as they rode to his encampment.

Thorin had ridden ahead of their merry little band to scout out the land and warn them of ambushes. A born Highlander, Thorin knew every crag around Laencaster like the back of his hand. Edmund stayed close to Anne throughout their trip, hand never straying far from his sword. Not that he would be of much use on horseback, clad in armor, days spent riding aggravating his crippled leg.

On the third day of their journey to meet Loghar, Thorin had returned announcing they were within an hour of arrival and rejoined their company. As they neared Loghar's encampment, Edmund could see the smokes of cookfires and could hear the distant ring of steel clearly. The rocky walls of the Highlands grew increasingly steep on either side of the road as they ventured closer to the camp, forming high natural defenses as they came to the mouth of a craggy, twisting maze of stones.

"Halt!"

Edmund, lost in identifying potential points of ambush, jolted to attention as two armed men approached from the mouth of the rock outcroppings.

"What business have you here?" The lefthand soldier demanded, slamming the butt of his spear on the ground.

"We seek audience with King Loghar - I have with me Lady Anne of Lark-"

"Oh right," the soldier cut Edmund off. "He's expecting you. Dismount here, he's up on that rise."

The soldier gestured over his shoulder to an unsteady, winding path up the left-hand bluff of rocks. Edmund cast an apologetic glance to Anne as the company dismounted. The company escorted Anne gradually up the path, ensuring to keep her dress untarnished by the muddy and slick mud underfoot. At last they arrived atop the rocks, staring down a large tent made of plain grey canvas. At its opening stood two armed and armored men, clutching swords and shields in their hands. On their chests was engraved the same sigil as had been embossed on the letter - dual picks beneath a plain crown. The men ushered Anne and her companions forward.

Edmund entered the tent first, hiding his surprise at its relative cleanliness and charm. The tent was decorated with lush chairs, a plain wooden table, and a full bedspread. Two rows of four warriors stood on either end of a large, sprawling oaken chair of dark red cherry wood. Its legs were carved into miners' picks, its back woven into a rough crown shape of sorts - obscured almost totally by the giant who sat before them. Dark brown hair cupped his square jaw and proud chin, savage and piercing blue eyes peering from beneath a stern brow. The man's wide shoulders made him appear to dwarf all in the room, his stature one of a man who knew his power and was not afraid to put it on display.

Confidently, a man stepped before the giant on the throne and cleared his throat.

"You have the honor of speaking to King Loghar Stratford, rightful King of the Iron Highlands, the Battle's Dread, Lord of the Lodestone, and Son of Siomon Tolmach! State your name and intention."

Edmund stepped forward, bowing.

"We are honored your grace, this is Anne of Lark, Rightful Lady of Lark and-"

"You a knight?" The giant finally spoke, voice not too unlike two grinding stones.

Edmund stammered, meeting the king's gaze with his own. "Aye, I am a knight-"

"I don't much care for knights," the king continued. "Just because some prat with a name says you're half decent with a sword, you get to play little lord for them - I see you, I see an old man, maybe you were good with a sword once, but those days are gone. But you're still some knight, still worth something and I-"

"Then if it please your grace," Edmund interjected, seemingly unperturbed by the insults thrown his way, "here is the beauty you summoned. I present, Anne of Lark."

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

Though Anne was indeed beautiful, her demeanor was not calm or graceful as those with beauty were expect to uphold. She was angry. Angry that this so-called king had summoned her here only to make a mockery of those she loved. She stepped forward and offered the slightest of curtsies before speaking her mind. "Greetings, King Loghar. I am Anne of Lark. As your first gift to me, a potential ally, I would like for you to apologize to Ser Edmund. He has given his life to defend me and I expect nothing but the kindest of treatments for him and the rest of my men, knight or no."​

​

Loghar's men turned to each other. Even Loghar himself shifted in his seat. None of them had expected a woman of words -- such indignant words they were -- and all of them were put to shame. ​

​

She continued.​

​

"Furthermore, I would like an apology for myself. It is not a gracious host who invites a woman he wishes to marry into his place of rest, only to insult the very men responsible for keeping her alive. Whom she trusts with her life."​

​

"M'lady," Bartrand murmured, but Thorin shook his head to tell him to be quiet. This was between Anne and Loghar. It wasn't their duty to get involved.​

 

[ze_kraken]

Loghar
​

"Ah, she has fire this one does!" Loghar boomed, hoisting himself up from his throne as the old knight stepped aside by his lady. "Looks like a life in the Highlands has squashed all those eastern trappings of nobility!"

The warrior-king beamed at the young lady as he approached her, lumbering forward on long, sturdy legs as he sauntered with hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He caught the knight shifting his hand to his own weapon out of the corner of his eye as he stood before Anne, towering well over her. Her other companions looked equally uneasy, their stances tense and alert for danger all while the air of pleasantry lingered over the room, tinged ever so slightly by the young lady's cutting remarks.

"If this young lady has so fiery a tongue, then perhaps her kin are not so worthless as I first thought," Loghar proclaimed, voice carrying over the tent.

Loghar shifted his attention to Edmund and clasped the man's wrist with a strong, calloused hand and hoisted it up between them as his other hand gripped around his wrist as well. He cuffed Edmund on the wrist once, grinning widely.

"Though I doubt any men here will go around calling you sire, you will have a place among us so long as your lady remains this fierce," Loghar exclaimed, locking eyes with the rest of Anne's companions. "The rest goes for you lot as well!"

Even as Loghar played theatrical king, he could still noticed the glint of steel behind the eyes of Anne's men, the suspicion and doubt lingering even as his own men relaxed. Bloody tough crowd, he mused to himself as he circled back around to Anne, gingerly beckoning for her hand.

"You need not fear for you or your companions so long as you are here, Anne of Lark," Loghar said softly, head leaning low to better level with the young lady. "You will find we Highlanders are stubborn and quick to temper, but will admit when we are wrong. I am not a polished noble of some perfumed king's court, nor am I particularly gifted with an overabundance of elegance, but I will always honor you so long as you are by my side."

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

Anne did not like this Loghar. She did not like him even when he provided her a spacious tent, guards to protect her, and a feast thrown in her honor. She did not like his false promises and grand gestures, his cocky personality or his assumption that she should be grateful to him. She had already decided that she would rather return to Laencaster empty-handed than wed. But there was no need to break the news so soon, not when there was a feast to enjoy; she would be a fool to turn down good food.​

​

Dinner was magnificent. Roast duck with seasoned and buttered potatoes, fresh bread rolls and fruits and cold wine. Anne had taken more than one goblet. She wanted to enjoy herself, to ease the burden surrounding her reasons for coming to this place. The men in Loghar's service were not intelligent, but they were strong and loyal, which Anne could not fault them for. They made good company. Being the only woman for miles was a great fear for her at first, but the more she ate and drank, the more those fears faded away.​

​

The golden sun set behind the valley mountains. Stars glittered in the navy overhead. Music and laughter filled her ears, and Anne moved from her seat at the high table to seek out Edmund, whom she wished to be with.​

​

"Have you had anything to eat?" Anne asked her most loyal guard when she approached, beaming, her cheeks flushed from the wine. "I command you to eat, ser, if you have not. The food is exceptional. I didn't think Loghar would recruit many cooks into his service, but it appears that he has."​

 

[ze_kraken]

Edmund
​

"Oie' Edmund," Rast called from two seats down the feast table, waving to catch the knight's attention. "Pass me a bread roll, been too long since I've seen anything but the salt lumps 'ole Ross calls bread."

Edmund grunted and passed a rough-spun round of twigs lined in cloth filled with steaming bread over to Rast. He hungrily snatched up three of them, slashing frantically with his dinner knife to butter them and shoving the basket back Edmund's way. Rast had grown up on the streets of Vestaria as an ophaned boy, that much Edmund knew. But how a lowlife thief's bait had gone from begging for coins by the Iron Vaults to a College of the Magi Rast would never say. The knight watched as the magi devoured the bread with that same street urchin appetite, holding the food close to him for fear someone else might snatch it away.

Around Edmund the feast raged on - men laughed and flailed about with their drinking horns, serving girls fought off attempts to rip their blouses open, and at the head of it Edmund could spot Anne sitting on-edge by her betrothed Loghar. Thorin nudged Edmund.

"Knifing this cunt still off the table?" He asked.

"Afraid he might get to that with me first," Edmund retorted with a wry chuckle.

"That why you wore this?" Thorin probed, lifting the cuff of Edmund's sleeve to prod at the chainmail he wore underneath his tunic.

"Partly," the knight replied, wiping grease from his chin with his sleeve and taking a quick drink from the drinking horn to his left. "I know how rowdy men can get, pinned in a camp with no good food and drink."

"Remind you of fighting daddy's wars?" Thorin chortled, reaching over Edmund to spear a hunk of roast duck on his plate. The sellsword proceeded to stuff the duck unceremoniously into his mouth, speaking through the food. "Or was this the time when you were in charge to make daddy all proud?"

"Fucking prick," Edmund grunted, much to Thorin's amusement.

Thorin washed the duck down with a swig of Edmund's drink and slapped the table.

"Think that's the one thing your prick ain't doing," the sellsword countered, eyeing a serving girl as she passed by and running a hand through his messy hair. "Say, think these girls like a more civilized man?"

"I think they'll be sorely disappoin-" Edmund turned his attention to Anne as he caught her approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Have you had anything to eat?" Anne asked as she came within earshot.

Sweet girl, Edmund mused. Too sweet for her own good.

"I command you to eat, ser, if you have not. The food is exceptional. I didn't think Loghar would recruit many cooks into his service, but it appears that he has."

"Aye, I think this is where I leave you, ser," Thorin clapped Edmund on the shoulder, nodding to Anne. "M'lady."

Edmund watched as Thorin headed in the direction of the serving girl before shifting in his chair, meeting Anne's glazed gaze. Never in all his years under Anne of Lark's service had Edmund thought he would see the girl drunk on wine so far away from home.

"It's quite difficult to enjoy a meal in peace with Thorin, my lady," Edmund replied politely. "Though I do find it curious that Loghar's a man of finer tastes - a bit unusual, given his general, ahem, disapproval of eastern nobility. Has he spoken to you much? Or shall I call Thorin back for his original plan? The six of us versus a thousand, I give it even odds."

Edmund laughed at the absurdity of the thought as he took another drink of beer, glancing over at Loghar who returned the knight's gaze with his own, curious one.

What's your game, highlander?

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

Anne chuckled. Oh, Thorin, ever the opportunist when it came to women. He respected them, of course. Never once had it been said that Thorin mistreated a lady he took to bed. This made Anne more than willing to encourage his flirtatious behavior, so long as it was never directed at her. And it never was.​

​

Edmund's comment about the unusual presence of fine food was lost on her inebriated mind. Anne wasn't drunk, but she was feeling exceptionally good, which made her laugh. "I quite like those odds! I shall take up the sword and dash a hundred men on my own, good sir. You need not protect me. I am a warrior all my own."​

​

Pleased with herself, Anne took a seat beside Edmund, her goblet of wine still in-hand. "Loghar has not spoken to me very much. Nothing beyond empty promises about our wedding and children and so forth." She leaned very close to Edmund, the alcohol having taken away all sense of boundary. She liked the way he smelled, of musk and leather and metal and war. "Between us, Ser Edmund, I do not like him at all. And I won't be marrying him or having any children with him if I can help it." She leaned back in her seat, then, grinning quite wide. "What say you to that?"​

 

[ze_kraken]

Edmund​

Edmund cast an uneasy look around the other soldiers as Anne seated herself beside him. His attention shifted back to Loghar - the warrior-king had seemingly forgotten about Anne entirely, boasting and jesting loudly with a handful of his men at the high table. He caught the flash of spilling ale in the torch light as the men huddled around their king.

"In all honesty, my lady," Edmund said, drawing each word out as his attention moved from the high table back to the young lady. "Loghar is what he is - he is a fighting man, and an uneducated one at that. Perhaps his father was a mining boss in the iron mines, but even bosses' sons are rarely taught to read. No matter what last name he gives himself, he will always be a lowborn Highlander. I doubt he will care much for you - it's your story he wants, and your children will strengthen his claim to nobility by right of marriage and a proper lineage."

The aged knight shifted in his seat to look head-on at Anne with his somber brown eyes. He placed a delicate hand on her own, squeezing it softly. Dare he tell her that life was not all hiding in the rafters reading books and songs of princes wedding princesses? Dazielle's mercy, Edmund cursed. Why Anne of all the noble girls? Edmund knew why. She was an easy mark, easy for some warlord to bully or some courtier to manipulate. She was alone, young, and surrounded by those who would sacrifice much for her own safety. Only, Edmund was not sacrificing his safety for her benefit now.

"As distasteful as a union might be, it might be your only option, my lady," he finally stated, words empty and hollow like the words of a man who had just returned from a brutal war. "But we mustn't speak of this here - too many unwanted ears. You should return to Loghar before men notice."

 

[moffnat]

─── .anne of lark. ───​

Anne's playful smile fell. She did not want Edmund's reason or advice. She wanted him to smile, to laugh with her, to pretend for a moment that they were home and everything was as it should be. His words sobered her. Anne pulled away from Edmund and nodded politely. "So I should," she said. "Have a good night, sir Edmund." ​

​

She left his side. Anne returned to the high table where she supposed she belonged, looking sadly out to the joyful crowd, wishing not for the first time that she had been born a man.​

​

───
​

The feast lasted until the early hours of the morning. Anne, though she'd retired for the night much earlier than that, was able to find sleep rather quickly on her own, considering she may not be alone in her bed for long. Edmund had given in to the prospect of marriage, it seemed, as had they all. Was no one on her side? My brothers would be, she'd thought sorrowfully, were they alive. But her family was as cold and rotten as Loghar's compassion. He was no gentle man like Anne desired. She saw nothing but misery ahead of her in this marriage, and there was nothing to do to stop it.​

​

Her dreams became troubled. Anne felt a pressure on top of her, heavy, crushing her beneath its weight. She didn't have long to imagine what these visions represented. She was awoken by the force. Blinking her eyes awake, she groaned, struggling to register her surroundings. ​

​

A man was on top of her. Straddling her. His drunken hands fumbled with her nightdress, and his mouth was at her ear.​

​

Anne screamed as loud as she could. She tried to shove the stranger off of her, but he was too large, too strong. "Edmund!" she cried. "Rast! Thorin--"​

​

Before she could call Bartrand's name, her attacker clasped his hand over her mouth to silence her. Anne bit his finger hard. He cursed and recoiled, giving Anne just enough room to wiggle out from under his weight. She fell from her bed and landed hard on the ground, her face in the dirt, trembling.​

​

A great roar sounded from the tent's entrance. Bartrand, gentle though he was, was a brute in battle, and an even fiercer guardian to Anne. He barged into her tent and snatched her assailant by the throat, throwing him hard onto the ground, cracking bone.​

 

[ze_kraken]

Edmund
​

Edmund tossed and turned in his sleep, his eyes clamped shut in a wild effort to remain even in the shallow embrace of unfulfilling, restless slumber. Pain lanced through his crippled leg, rousing him from rest each time the aged knight shifted in place. He had grown accustomed to it in the years following the injury, hoping the pain would one day subside. But days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years and no relief came. He still slept, fruitlessly and in constant pain.

So it was with a bit of relief that Edmund heard the sudden cry for help echoing from Anne's tent. Jumping to action, his stiff and ruined leg protesting at the sudden call to motion, Edmund stumbled to the mouth of the tent behind his companions, grasping at his sword still square in its sheath as he waited for the pain to subside. If he strained his ears he could still hear Anne's muffled cries, followed by a sudden and fierce roar from Batard. Edmund staggered out to the encampment, drawing his sword just as he heard the sharp crack of snapping bones.

"You alright in there?" Edmund called out, shifting to stand ready by the entrance to Anne's tent, sword clutched at the ready in both hands.

"Just this fucker," Thorin grunted, hauling a man out of the tent with Batard's assistance.

The sellsword and the bard heaved and tossed the man to the ground at Edmund's feet, sniveling and clutching his clearly-broken wrist. He was a large man, nearly as large as Thorin though not so muscular. A rough beard covered his face, and his teeth were like crumbling tombstones. Edmund could smell the stench of sour wine and sweat on him from where he stood. Edmund planted his sword in the mud beside him and hunched down, hoisting the man up by the nape of his neck. Alarmed men from Loghar's camp were beginning to encircle Anne's tent now, but Edmund cared little.

"Give me one good reason," he snarled at the drunk man, "why I shouldn't end you right here - what were you doing in there?"

The man averted his gaze.

"Tell me!" Edmund snapped, shaking the man violently. "Tell me why I shouldn't open you from end to end and-"

"That is my man," came a sudden voice from behind the knight. "You'll do well to remember that, knight."

Edmund wheeled about, relinquishing his grip on the drunk man who promptly retreated to the safety of his awaiting comrades. Loghar stood roughly three paces away from the tent, eyeing the scene with raised eyebrows as he looked from Edmund to the drunken man. Though it was evident Loghar had just been roused from slumber and had hurried down, he still carried his blade with him, hand resting firmly on its pommel.

"You should have better control of your men! Especially those who come wandering into your bride-to-be's fucking tent and try to rape here!" The knight shouted, hoisting himself to his feet, resisting the urge to grab his sword and skewer Loghar then and there. "You'll do well to remember that, your grace!"