Elmont Padreson Chevalier

Heard of them. Denizens of the Nevernever, a few different varieties. I’d have to talk to my… associate for more details. Never had the pleasure of running into one– yet. My spectacular variety of luck will probably bend in that direction sooner or later, though.

Britain or a chorogeographical description of the most flourishing kingdomes, of England Scotland and Ireland &c &c William Camden London Georgii Bishop 1610

a handsome copy in a full contemporary calf leather gilt binding - this copy bound without the maps other than the frontis [shown]

“ … Giants.” It wasn’t true disbelief, more a confirmation of what he’d actually said in case she’d misheard. “As in … ?” Well - as in giants, of course. There wasn’t a lot of ambiguity about the word. Her hands moved meanwhile, a small knife in one working on an apple in the other, quickly dividing it into quarters that would be easier to feed.

Standing, she made her way across to Miss Phoebe, offering one of the pieces on an open palm - and asking gently about the image she’d seen a few moments before. The treat was eagerly snuffled up and more looked for, along with fleeting impressions of … a column, of some kind? Shouting. Fire. Thera nodded slowly, though she didn’t understand, scratching ears as the rest of the apple was crunched away.

“An invasion.” Elmont watched her, uncertain whether the question was mocking, meant or if he was simply being humored as a madman might. “The King was betrayed - we were all of us betrayed - and the Giants found a way to return. Our current rulers, you see, are direct descendant of King Erik. The Giants sought revenge.”

Madman, he decided, briefly meeting the woman’s eyes. The more he spoke of it, the more outrageous the story seemed. “However.” He put in again after a pause, “The matter has been resolved. There are no more Giants in Cloister.”

The full details of the tale he deliberately skirted by. The invasion seemed insane enough without mentioning beanstalks and magic crowns - though the remains of the former still graced the countryside, in the ashes of pyres that had taken months to burn away.

Trouble? Thera gave herself a moment to ponder that, wondering what he might mean - then turned her head abruptly, looking Miss Phoebe’s way. An image had flickered from the horse’s mind, a memory of another storm of thunder and … something else. “I … Several miles?” She contrived to seem as if her startled expression came from that news instead. “I still have quite a walk ahead of me.”

She opened another section of her pack and rummaged a little. “I’ll see your provisions, Captain, and raise you some bread and cheese. And perhaps a small nip of brandy.” The silver flask caught the light as she tugged it free. “I have apples as well, if Phoebe likes that kind of thing?”

Rambling a little, perhaps, her eyes on the mare and a small crease appearing on her brow. A storm, and something else. Something huge.

“I can safely say that Phoebe has never encountered an apple she didn’t like.” His smile as he glanced toward the horse vanished, however, at the woman’s next words. “ ... A tale?” He remained still a moment, focusing on the depths of his saddlebag in order to gather his thoughts. “Not one a visitor need be concerned about. The matter has been ... taken care of.”

Please, by the deities, let it be taken care of. He busied his hands once again with unpacking the provisions. “There is a legend,” He began, forestalling the further questions that would be coming, “many centuries old ... of the Giants of Gantua. Banished from this realm by Erik, our ancient king. It’s said that they inhabit a realm high above us, causing thunder with their fury, and plotting for a means to descend and reclaim Cloister as their own.”

“I’m sure we won’t do much harm.” Thera dusted briefly at her cloak before hanging it on a nearby hook; it wasn’t more than very slightly damp, and would dry well enough there. Beneath she wore a simple tunic and trousers, with well worn boots caked in dirt from the long road.

Lightning flashed overhead and she glanced up, counting silently until the rumble that followed. “I enjoy storms, to be honest - I mean, I’m glad I’m not out in this, but they are glorious to watch.” She opened her pack and began to rummage through, offering the knight a quick smile. “Perhaps Cloister’s actually showing off?”

“ - Really?” His reply came out just a shade weaker than he would have hoped, and he busied himself with the saddlebags to pretend it hadn’t. “They always feel a bit like trouble to me.” Phoebe snorted as the weight was removed, sharing his opinion, and Elmont gently patted her neck.

He left the question of whether to unsaddle her for the time being, beginning to work on the buckles of his own armor. “Do excuse me ...” He shed the shoulder pauldron, awkward thing that it was, and loosened the chest plate. “This equipment serves me well, but it’s not the most comfortable for ...” He waved toward the hay bales, “sitting around.”

There was another flash-rumble which he ignored, finding a seat on one of the bales and telling himself to relax. What would the lady think, to see the Guard Captain startling at a simple storm? “The nearest town would be Cloister city - several miles away, I’m afraid.” He pulled the saddlebags over to him and began rummaging through. Most of the people lived in small hamlets or individual farms, none of which were terribly open for travelers.

Didn’t realise? Thera blinked a moment before she caught up with what he meant - or what she thought he meant - and she hid her wry expression behind a polite nod of her head. “Not at all, sir.“ She turned at his wave toward the barn and made her way inside, smiling a little at the antics of the mare.

“Miss Phoebe,” She remarked, amused, “has the sense to hurry in out of the rain. An honour, Captain.” And again a small almost-bow, “I am Therese of Lands End.” A knight in armor, an air of courtly manner and mention of a King … this was probably the time to revert to the more formal version of the name. “Though I find ‘Thera’ more agreeable for everyday.”

“I confess she is rather the brains of the outfit.” Elmont’s tone was only half serious, though Phoebe snorted agreement. “The honor is mine, Lady Thera. Welcome to Cloister, though I fear we’ve not turned out our best weather to greet you.”

He gathered she was new to the land by her introduction and by the appearance - not that he would judge! - of being somewhat travel-stained. Still, her manner spoke of something more than just a trudging peasant. “I also confess I’m not sure to whom this barn belongs, but I’m sure they won’t object to us making use of it for the time being.”

‘Come along’?! Thera’s jaw dropped as she jogged toward him. She’d set off again once the man was past, spurred on by the darkening sky and the first feather-light patter of the rain. ‘Come along’? Don’t stop and give me a lift or anything, will you?

She’d curb that line of thought, however - he was holding the barn door, and clearly someone in authority around here. It was probably not wise to give him sass when they were going to have to get along for a while. She didn’t want to be turfed out of the shelter or get arrested on her first day.

Elmont’s eyes opened a little as the other approached, then wider still as she was close enough to be clearly seen. “Oh - I do beg your pardon, I didn’t realize.” It hadn’t occurred to him that the traveling stranger might be a woman, otherwise he would indeed have stopped to offer help. “Forgive my poor manners!”

Beside him Phoebe snorted and stamped her feet, far less concerned with manners than that the rain was falling now, and could they please be getting on inside? “Ah. Yes.” Elmont was jostled as she nudged him, “Quite right.”

Hoofbeats. The sound blended in with the thunder until it drew nearer, and she became aware of the light of the horse’s mind. A charger of some kind, hurrying along without any need for the rider’s heels, an anxiety directly related to the brewing storm. It was odd - so many here grew nervous when the thunder came.

Not unintelligent, whoever they were. Bright enough to make way for a King’s Guard, or at least step aside to avoid a possible trampling. “Tally ho!” Elmont shouted as he drew level, waving one hand forward at the barn they were apparently both heading toward. “I’ll get the door, then, shall I?”

There was no time for a reply as he galloped on, presuming the traveler would follow. He had tried to convey as much of a friendly tone as the split second of passing had allowed, and didn’t think the rain would be their preferred recourse. Phoebe skidded to a halt and he was out of the saddle at once, hurrying to the barn and lifting the heavy latch barring it shut.