#rheil

“You should smile more.”

Farris turned his head to eye the thin figure sitting under the window. Without use of his eyes, Kent could no longer see the sunlight spilling down onto him, but the human still enjoyed the warmth of the sun’s rays nevertheless.

“What are ye on about?” Farris asked. “I smile plenty.”

Kent didn’t turn to face his Vhasshalan guardian. “I can hear it in your voice when you frown.”

“The fuck ye can.”

“See?” said the man with a knowing grin. “You did it just now.”

Farris stepped away from the pan of toasting spices to glare at his ward. “Aye, because I have a smarmy lil’ wanker tellin’ me I frown too much.”

“I believe what I said was – ”

“BAH! I know what ye said. When I have a reason to smile more, I will.”

“Seems like you have good reasons to smile now,” Kent said, turning his face to Farris at last. There was no real point in facing the giant when they spoke other than an old inclination from when he still had use of his eyes. “No one’s caught fire in a while. That should be a good enough reason to me.”

Though he clearly saw that Kent was trying to goad him into a lighter mood, Farris did not possess enough spirit at that moment to feel anything other than the same weighted guilt that always followed him day in and day out. “Gonna take a lot more than that, lad.”

Kent’s mild smile faded away. “Isn’t just… being alive enough?”

“Not everyone’s as chipper about that as ye.”

A silence fell between them. To Farris, it felt heavy and dreadful, and he had half a mind to demand the human to simply drop the topic and allow him to go on with his day. Work was numbing and was the only thing he had found that came close to alleviating the pain. The pain brought on from the memories and the knowledge of what he had done. He had his reasons, of course. He had made his choice: the lives of his boys over the scores of captured humans. He was responsible for the workers under him and the humans had been enemy combatants. But that justification only held water for so long. 

“You’ll forgive yourself one day, Farris.”

Kent’s words felt like ice in his chest. He brushed a hand across his nose as he bent to grab the pan from the fire. Tipping the now-toasted spices into a bowl, he set it aside before grabbing the next batch and tossing the raw spices into the still hot pan. Giving it a firm shake, his eyes drifted to the flames and he watched them dance for several long moments. He sat the pan down. 

“No,” he finally replied in a soft voice. “Ain’t no forgivin’ what I’ve done.”

“You’re too good a man to let his legacy ruin you.”

“Good men don’t murder in…” He stopped himself and sighed. “Ye wouldn’t understand, Kent. And I don’t expect ye to.”

“I think I do a little. Was on the other end of that mess, don’t you forget.”

“How could I?” Farris asked as he glanced over his shoulder. “Ye remind me all the time. Even though I was there.”

“And your bedside manner is as terrible as ever.”

He had to laugh at that. Walking around the table, he went to the counter where Kent was sitting and poked the man’s side. “Was there a point to this or do ye just like hearing yerself blabber on and on?”

“Hm… maybe a little of both?” Kent replied grinning. “No, I did have a point.”

“Then make it so I can get on with my work.”

“You’re a good man, Farris,” Kent said seriously. He reached out and patted Farris’s hand. “Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”

Farris eyed him, suppressing the urge to be angry or brush away the man’s touch. Kent always confounded him. He had every right and opportunity to be a bitter wreck of a man after everything he had been through and yet, despite it all, Kent was endlessly cheery and kind. Sometimes frustratingly so. For several moments, Farris stared at the small scarred hand resting on his own. He grunted and pulled his hand away. “What’s got ye all sentimental this mornin’?”

“Hm? Oh, I dunno. Been thinkin’ about my place in the universe. Meaning of life. The usual,” Kent paused as a devious smirk crossed his face. “And of course see how long I can distract you until you catch on that your spices are burning.”

“Wha…? Ah! Ye lil’ fucker!”

Kent’s laughter filled his ears as he rushed back to the hearth to try and salvage his work. In the following years, Farris would regret not appreciating that sound more. It would be the last time he would hear Kent laugh.

The next night, he came down with a hellish fever.

And by morning, Kent was dead.

………………………………………………………………………..

The wedding feast preparations had been a symphony of chaos: carefully planned, but executed more with stubborn will than any finesse or strategy. He had assumed the weeks of prep they had done would carry them further than they ultimately had, and by the second to last course on the last day they were scrambling to keep up. Luckily for Farris, most of the guests were happy enough to indulge in the free flowing wine and liquor between the courses. They would be too inebriated to be able to find their own feet, let alone be able to tell that the next course was late.

And then, of course, that was when Yale brought him the thief.

A human child. She was a small and pitiful creature. Dirty, skinny, and terrified, but a thief nonetheless. He was far too busy to spare her any consideration of leniency. It was her poor luck that she chose to steal from him on the single busiest day in more than a decade. She would just have to wait, he decided. Secured in one of the wooden cages left over from the delivered livestock, he placed her on the counter inside the pantry, gave her a firm warning to be quiet, and left her there. She didn’t scream at him or try to escape. In fact, the little thief barely even made a sound other than muffled weeping. If it had been any other day, he may have felt pity for her. Instead, he was annoyed to have something else dumped onto his already overloaded plate.

Several hours later, when he had a moment to even consider her again, he found that she had wedged herself in the corner and fallen asleep. He opened the cage and slipped a ramekin of water inside before closing it back up again. The human child did not stir.

Even balled up as she was, he could tell she was very young. Too young to be wandering around on her own. A suspicion began to form in his mind that she was not just some young hooligan from the Hill Tribes making trouble. He’d had plenty of those come through over the years and after threatening to toss them into a pie, each of the little troublemakers would be quick with their excuses and defenses. So, after a good scare and a lecture, they’d be sent back to Gregis for another lecture and whatever punishment the Hill Tribe leader saw fit. The war might be over, but danger still remained, even within the castle.

However, Farris could not recall ever having come across a thief so young. Her clothes were made of a rough homespun hemp and, best he could tell, seemed too small for her. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Autumn had been mild but still chilly enough to warrant shoes. Where in the Seven Hells did this girl come from? And where were her parents?

He decided to leave the questions for later and went to help with the last big push to get the dessert course out the door and cleanup underway. There was a large tankard of dark ale waiting for him at the end of the day and he did not intend to be late. He felt as though he had earned a drink.

…………………

“So what’re ye gonna do with the Dumplin’?”

Farris had sat down to supper that night, more aware of his age than he ever had been. The arthritis in his left wrist was acting up, his joints creaked, and his back hurt. But still, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment for the work they had done. He opened his eyes, glancing towards the source of the question, and shrugged. “Notified Donal. He’ll inform the King tomorrow and then it’ll be his discretion as to what’s to be done with her.”

That seemed to surprise Saen and the rest of his staff. Yale sat up a little straighter. “Why’d ye do that? Ain’t ye just gonna send her back to Gregis? Like the others?”

Farris chuckled. “That lil’ mite ain’t from the Hill Tribes, lad. She’s feral.”

“How can ye tell? She say somethin’?” Yale asked.

“Nah. Just a hunch,” He took a long swig of ale and, as he sat it back down, sent a vague gesture towards the pantry door. “Fer one thing, Gregis wouldn’t let a child run around in that state.”

“She was pretty mangy lookin’,” Yale conceded with a chortle. “Looked like the thin’ needed a good scrubbin’.”

“Thinkin’ a keepin’ her are ye?” Saen asked, elbowing Yale in the ribs.

Yale grinned. “Crossed my mind.”

“Well,” Farris said. “first she’s gotta face the King’s justice.”

“Still. If she ain’t from Gregis’s lot,” Yale said, “where the hell she come from?”

“Who knows,” he replied. “Where do any of ‘em come from anymore?”

Beside him, Bart laughed. “Half the time it seems like they just pop out of the ground like cabbages.”

Grinning, Farris took another long pull from his ale before getting to his feet and reaching for one of the communal bread loaves. He tore off a small but still sizable piece and turned from the table.

“Well, suppose I should go feed her somethin’,” Farris said. “That one’s the skinniest dumplin’ I’ve ever seen.”

Light laughter followed him as he opened the door to the spice pantry. The hearth light fell in an illuminating column into the room and onto the cage where he could see a swathe of red. Farris froze.

The girl was awake and on her belly, clutching the rim of the water cup he had left her. Her skin was red with a distinctive rash and she was pulling in short gasping breaths all the while, laying in a small pool of her own sick.

Farris felt his stomach drop. The red reap.

He recalled the night Kent fell with the fever and how the rash soon followed. His breathing had become raspy and labored and it was not very long at all before he breathed his last breath. But Kent had been an adult, a grown man. The Dumplin’ was just a small child.

“Seven fuckin’ Hells,” he cursed. It was Kent all over again and, though he would never admit it aloud or even to himself, Farris was scared. He turned to call back over his shoulder. “Yale, get me warm water, not hot, and a few towels.”

His assistant looked up at him from his place at the table with round cheeks, unable to answer him with his mouth so full. Beside him Saen was grinning at him cheekily. “Oh aye? Be needin’ some relaxation after all that exhaustin’ spice grindin’, eh, Farris?”

He glared at the cook. “Shut yer gob Saen before I bash it in. It ain’t fer me,” he said and turned his gaze back to the sick little girl. “The human’s got the red reap.”

All of the merriment and cheer died in an instant as all eyes of his staff turned to him. Yale especially looked upset as he mechanically chewed and swallowed. “She didn’t look ill earlier.”

“They call it the reap fer a reason, boy. There’s no warnin’. It just comes. Now get off yer arse and get me what I asked fer.”

Yale was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the shelf to grab a bowl. “...right away, boss.”

He stood beside her cage, feeling the weight of his shame and harshly cursing himself for his cruelty. It was very probable that these would be her last moments and he had her put into a cage. As a joke. But no one was laughing. He opened the cage and removed the cup of water. There was sick all over it and down the side, but he did not pay it any mind. When he reached back inside for the girl, she shied away with a pained mewl. She was shaking and weeping.

He had done this to her.

“Hush now,” he murmured softly to her, resting the tips of his fingers lightly across her back. She tried to squirm away from him. “I know it hurts, lil’un. I know yer scared. Just keep breathin’...”

Yale was there with the water and towels. “Where do you want this, Farris?”

“Upstairs,” he said, considering the girl and how best to pick her up without doing her more harm. “And I’ll need the salve from the drawer there. And a Cayne leaf. Small one.”

In the end, he simply scooped her into his cupped hands. She was so small and light, but shockingly warm. The fever had well set in and he knew she may not have much longer.

Yale followed him up to his private quarters and once inside, Farris directed him to set the bowl of water on the table. His first attempts to remove her vomit-covered clothes resulted in her struggling against him and he snarled at her in frustration. “Stop that, girl. Yer covered in sick.”

He decided it best to get it all over with as quick as possible and simply yanked them off her. She showed signs of malnutrition and was so thin that he knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight off the fever. The realization seemed to hit Yale at the same time. Once she was clean, he wrapped her in one of the towels and tucked her into the crook of his arm. He applied the salve to her eyelids, where it would help cool the raging heat of the rash. Then he slipped the Cayne leaf into her mouth, which she immediately spat out.

He didn’t blame her. Cayne leaves were rancid and vile tasting things. But it was also one of the best pain remedies known.

“Ye can go Yale,” he said. “I’ve got ‘er.”

His assistant looked at him with wide and fearful eyes. “Ye sure?”

Farris nodded. “If she makes it through the fever, she’ll live,” he said and sighed deeply. “We’ll know by morning.”

He reached out and grabbed Yale by the shoulder with his free hand. “Regardless, I need you awake and alert tomorrow. There’s too much that still needs to be done. If she lives, she’ll be seeing the King. If not, well, the reap will have made the judgment fer ‘im.”

“All right,” he said with a lingering concern in his eyes. Yale touched a finger to the girl’s head, petting her softly. “Good luck, lil’un.”

After Yale had left, Farris went to his bed and sat down. He was not sure how long he sat there, watching the human sleep. The red rash had spread along her neck and face, but she did not stir from her sleep. Her breathing remained raged and labored.

In the quiet of the night, when he knew no one was around to hear him, Farris spoke to the girl.

“Yer just a lil’ thing,” he said quietly as he ran a finger across the top of her head. “Probably all alone in the world, eh? Either that or yer folks are right shit. Don’t look like the world’s been very kind to ye, lass. Even now, it’s still tryin’ its best t’beat ye down. But yer a strong one, ain’t ye? Not gonna let a fever take ye. Nah. Too green fer it all to end so soon. Yer gonna be alright there, Dumplin’. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another. Yer gonna be just fine. Yer gonna wake up…”

His hands were shaking.

“Please. Please, wake up.”

…………………..

He woke at the same time he had for the last twenty-some-odd years. It was still plenty dark, but the lamp on the wall was still lit, a minuscule amount of oil still feeding the small flame. He knew it would last until the first rays of the sun reached the castle roof and then would need to be refilled. At first, his mind automatically went to sorting out the day’s tasks, but everything stopped with a sickening jolt when he remembered the child. His arm remained curled around the bundle and he wondered, if he were to look down, would there be another face to add to the collection of the dead within his mind and nightmares? With a fortifying breath, his heart pounding, Farris dipped his head down to look at the little girl. The harsh red rash that had covered her face was gone. She had not gone stiff, and he realized with a start that she was still warm. 

She was still breathing.

She was alive.

“...ye… yer alive,” he breathed in shock, resting his free hand on the bundle. “Seven fuckin’ Hells… ye… I can’t...”

For a long moment, he sat there and watched her sleep, all the while riding the waves of varying emotions. In the end, he thought of Kent. Farris easily recalled what a pitiful and broken creature he had been when he had first laid eyes upon him. He remembered how he had made a place in his kitchen, his home, for him. He could do the same for the girl.

“...I could do that fer ye,” he said to no one in particular as he rose from the bed, careful not to wake his charge. With a warm smile on his face, he rocked her gently. “My lil’ Dumplin’.”

…………………..

It took Rheil less than an hour to return to the kitchens after delivering the girl to the King. Clutched in his gloved hand, he held Farris’s note. He stepped down into the kitchen and everyone eyed him eagerly as they slowed in their work to watch and listen. 

“So?” Farris asked Rheil as he wiped his hands on a tea towel and leaned against the counter. “She give his Majesty her story then?”

“Aye,” replied the captain as he crossed the room and held out the note to Farris. He took it, but did not open it. Rheil crossed his arms and leaned up against the long table and regarded the kitchen master with neutral expression. “Orphaned.”

He nodded. “Figured that much.”

“And ye were right,” Rheil replied. “She ain’t one of Gregis’s. She ain’t even a refugee.”

Farris squinted in bemusement. “No?”

“No. She’s from the Southlands. The port,” Rheil replied. “Guess there was some big ol’ fire than killed her last living relative. She was trying to steal some food from the caravan when it was being loaded and she got stuck.”

“That’s a three day trek nonstop,” Saen butted in, eye wide in horror. “Ye mean she was stuck in that basket for three days?”

Rheil nodded. “She was. Probably too scared to ask for help. Who knows what the Beastmen would ‘a done if they caught her and once she passed the Gate… well. In fer a penny.”

Farris huffed. “No wonder half my persimmon order was gone. She probably ate three golds worth all on her own.”

Rheil made a face. “Seems awfully steep just for some fruit.”

Farris waved the comment away. “That ain’t nothin’. Them red mud boars were twelve gold a piece and one arrived dead. Weddings on the whole are expensive affairs. A royal wedding is extravagant and extravagantly expensive. But I ain’t one to tell the King how to spend his money. That’s Thame’s job.”

“Also, the lass thought Nethrin was still King,” Rheil added and Farris frowned.

“She what?”

The captain nodded, a smirk creeping along the edges of his mouth. “Aye. Thought she was gonna faint on me fer a second. Told her he was long dead, but I ain’t sure how much she believed me.”

Farris ran a hand down his face. “Where she now?”

“Lolly’s got her.”

“Well, we won’t be seein’ her fer a few hours then,” Bart laughed as he came down the steps from the courtyard. “Them ladies will be fawning over the Dumplin’ till suppertime. Mark my words.”

“True enough and just as well,” Farris conceded. “That’ll give her time enough to acclimate a bit and we can get on with our work.”

Bart gave him a questioning look. Silently, Farris handed the note to him. Bart’s eyes scanned the words before glancing back to Farris with the same questioning eye. In reply, Farris just nodded and Bart shrugged noncommittally.

“Well alright then,” he said and went back to work.

Farris opened the note again to scan the words, feeling an rising sensation in his chest, and Kent’s words came abruptly to the forefront of his mind.

“You’re a good man, Farris. Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”

The note read:

If it comes to pass that the girl does not have any place to go, I ask his Majesty to consider that I might be granted guardianship over her. - F

And written just under his note in a much finer hand and with higher quality ink than his own, was the short answer:

Your request is granted. Take care of her, Farris. - W

Farris smiled. 

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BONUS ART:

It took her a moment to work out where the door to the walkway was from the corridor, but was pleased to find a door near the end of the hall where the sounds of guards sparring was loudest. Peaking around the frame, she saw the wooden pathway that edged high along the square courtyard, the battlements above creating a sort of canopy overhead. Rheil stood in a spot kitty-corner to where Nenani was, looking down and giving encouragements or criticism to his men below.

She went to the wooden railing. The topmost rail was far above her head, but the supporting beam below that was just at the proper height for her to rest her arms on and peer down. It’s actual purpose, aside from additional support, also seemed to be a place for giants to prop their feet up. As Rheil was doing. It was several minutes of watching the guards below before Rheil noticed her and left his spot to approach her.

“Back again?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curling in a teasing smirk. Placing his arms on the railing, he leaned forward until he could see her.

“Yeah,” she said with a little trepidation. She hoped he wasn’t irked at her from before. She’s ignored his orders outright and he had sounded properly angry. But looking at his expression, it did not appear to be so.

“You trying to pick up a few things for the next time you meet that mage?”

“...couldn’t hurt,” Nenani replied with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t suppose her grace approves of this venture?”

“No,” she admitted with a frown, turning to look back down at the giants below. “But only because...I think she’s just scared. More of him than me hurting myself. She can barely say his name sometimes.”  

“Well,” he said with a conceding tilt of his head. “As I understand it, she was at his mercy for many years. That does things to a person, Nenani. Terrible things. Even if all my men and these thick walls and Maevis’s magic could keep him out of the castle for good, he’s always going to be there in her mind.”

“But if he were dead, she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore...”

The mild amusement of his expression died and he studied her for a moment. “And you plan to kill him? Is that it?”

She couldn’t answer for several moments. “...when Nonna gave me my dagger, Mama didn’t want me to have it. She wants me to learn how to control my magic, but only because it could kill me if I don’t. I’m sure if she knew how to, she’d seal it again. She’s scared. That he’d hurt me. And...I think it might be also because she thinks that if that if I knew how to fight that I’d be more likely to try and fight him.”

Rheil raised an eyebrow at her inquisitively. “Well...is she wrong?”

With narrowed eyes, she starred down as a giant lifted his sparring sword and brought it down with a loud bang. After a pause, she said, “...not entirely.”

Rheil surprised her by barking a loud laugh. Looking up at him in confusion, he grinned down at her and said, “You know how funny is it to hear such a tone of conviction from a such a small and young person?”

She frowned at him. “Just so you know, even squirrels can bite.”

He let another loud loud and then tilted his head at her in amusement. “Looking to add warrior to your list of titles, are you?”

“No,” she said. “I just...I’m tired of feeling so...helpless. Like I have to wait for someone to do things for me.”

Rheil shrugged. “That might be more to do with your age than your size, Nenani. Even us big folk felt that way when we were your age. I know I did.”

She didn’t reply at first, but after several moments, she said, “...I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

The captains face grew thoughtful and he nodded. “I understand. But take it from someone who knows, lass. Don’t place that burden on yourself. People will be hurt. Some may even die. Our best defense against it is to be ready and to be smart. This mage...he’s different from anyone or anything I’ve ever faced. Nothing like those sorcerers a few years back. He commands an army of beast through forced coercion with a magic that not even the greatest arcane scholar in Vhasshal can decipher. He turns into bloody smoke for fuck’s sake. He’s more demon than man. As I’m sure you can attest to that better than most.”

“He is a demon,” she agreed.

“So a word a caution, lass,” he said, bending down into a crouch to be more on her level. “As I can see it in your eyes what’s going on in your head and you need to reign that in before you go on and do something stupid. I tell you this in all seriousness: no one is a mountain.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“If the time comes where you meet the mage again. Don’t act a fool and go at it on your own,” he reached out and gently poked her shoulder with a finger. “Rely on those around you. It’ll take the lot of us all to bring him down, mark my word. No matter how powerful your magic may be, remember: you’re not a mountain.”

She slowly nodded and let his words sink in.  

“Now, all that aside,” he said with a smirk as he rose back to his feet. “If Nonna went on and gave you a dagger, it was for a purpose. Most folks think she’s a perfectly harmless little old lady, but believe me. I’ve been dealing with her since she arrived. That lady is a lot more devious and cunning than folks give her credit for. Warrick may lead the tribe now in name, but everyone knows Nonna is the real power there. So it seems an awful waste for you to not know how to use it properly.” He winked at her. “Even just a little bit.”

……………………………………………….

“See how they’re standing? You want your body angled to present as small a target as possible. Keep your weapon in front of you and your other hand up, it’s no use to you behind your back or at your side. Go on then, lads.”

Rheil stepped back from the two guards to give them room. Each held their own daggers clenched in their fists and raised up close to their chests. The other guards stood to the sides of the courtyard, watching the lesson with a sense of boredom.

Clint seemed to be the better of the guards when it came to close combat as he easily caught the other guards wrist with his own as their dagger plunged down and he twisted the wrist and the dagger up and away from his body which then afforded him a clean shot to his opponent’s vitals. He pressed the wooden blade of the sparring dagger against the other man’s throat and grinned. “And yer dead. Sorry, Jon.”

The other guard grunted and pushed the wooden dagger away. “All right then. One more time.”

They took their positions again, angled their bodies towards one another and at Rheil’s command, Jon thrust straight for Clint’s heart and just as before, Clint caught his wrist with his own and spun the arm away, his own dagger coming in to strike, but Jon’s other hand reached for his wrist and grabbed it. He turned his body as the inertia of Clint’s forward movement brought him closer and flipped the man over his shoulder and slammed him to the ground. The eyes of the other guards who had been finding the exercise rather boring were much more alert and several began to laugh. As soon as Clint was on the floor, Jon jumped onto him and held his dagger to his throat, grinning. “And yer dead. Sorry, Clint.”

Around them, the other guards yelled and laughed and clapped. From her seat on a crate nearby, Nenani’s eyes were wide. “That was amazing.”

“A dagger is a close combat weapon,” Rheil explained after dismissing his men. “It’s small size is deceiving and can easily do just as much damage as a broad sword if handled correctly. Now, I don’t claim to know much about the Thorn clans ways, but I have seen them use their daggers. The first time I ever saw it, it confused the hell outta me.”

“Why?” Nenani asked. “What were they doing?”

He tilted his head to regard with a small grin. “Dancing.”

She squinted at him in confusion. “...dancing?”

“Aye. Two little’uns with their daggers. Little younger than you. They were proper fighting forms, but they’d been blended into a dance. Had a guy banging away on a drum and everything so they kept in time. Kind of brilliant if you think about it.”

“I wonder if they’d teach me the dance,” Nenani said with a grin.

“You’ve never been to the Hill Tribes have you?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe next time I go, you can tag along,” he offered, leaning an arm against the crate. “I’m sure Nonna would be pleased to pieces to see you. She’s you’re...grandma?”

“Great aunt. Her brother was my grandpa.”

Rheil whistled. “Your a right proper wonder, lass. Never wouldn’ve guess the day I took you to the King you were actually a high born lady. Or a mage. Or a member of the Thorn clan.”

She snorted sardonically. “...it sounds so dramatic when you say it like that.”  

“Don’t think so, eh?”

“I’ve never done anything to...earn all this. Or asked for it. It’s all been there,” she said. “I just didn’t know it. Kind of feels like people are just throwing it all at me...”

“Heard you’re asking folks to not address you as Princess too.”

She nodded, hunching her shoulders and making a face. “I don’t like it...”

“Oh?” he asked. “And why’s that?”

“I’m not a Princess.”

“Says who? Barnaby showed us the official record he’s kept all these years. He never took your mothers name out like he was supposed to. She’s still in the line of succession. The heir apparent. Till she’s officially crowned, that is and then she’d be Queen. Which makes you a Princess. Not sure how much Silvaaran succession laws are still applicable now. But that potentially makes you her heir.”

There was a sinking feeling in her belly and she pulled her knees up to her chest. “...what if I don’t want to be though?”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty to throw away that part of you, lass. A royal title does comes with a lot of hardships. But the trade off is you have the power to make changes. You could do some good with a title of Princess. Even just by being alive, you and your Mum and even your little brother, you’ve given a lot of folks in the tribes real hope.”

“Hope? For what?”

“A future. For them. The King took them in and gave them a safe place to call home. But he can’t give them back their Kingdom. They live and farm on granted land in a country not their own. If given the chance, I know a good many of them would go back to Silvaara. Try to rebuild. You and your family are a little sign to them that perhaps such a dream might be possible. Hope’s a powerful thing, Nenani. It can move mountains.”

She squinted at him. “What happened to no man being a mountain?”

He grinned at her. “Aye, still true. But you get three hundred or so folks behind you and give them the right inspiration, I promise you. That mountain will move.”

………………………………….

“Lift your arm just a bit more...there. Just like that.” A large finger gently nudged her bend arm into position. Her body was twisted at the hip with one foot forward and one arm up, clenched tight with an imaginary dagger. Rheil tapped her back leg. “Too far back. Scooch up a tad. That’s it.”

He stood back a step. “That’s your basic stance. No need to get any fancier than that as everything else is just a branch off from that. Like I said before, daggers are close quarter weapons. You have to get up into into your opponent’s face and look him in the eye as you gut him. Quite personal too. Most folks prefer a sword not just because it’s flashier, but yer a bit further away. Little less bloody.”

“What was that thing Jon did? Where he threw Clint over his shoulder?”

Rheil laughed at the gleeful way she spoke. “You’d need to be fighting someone a lot closer to your size to manage that one, I’m afraid.”

“And tell me captain,” said an all too familiar voice as they stepped through the doorway just behind them. “Just who do you imagine she’s going to be fighting?”

Rheil and Nenani both turned around and met the incensed eyes of Lolly, arms akimbo, and glaring at them both.

“I was just showing her some stances,” Rheil quickly assured the Matron. “Nothing ludicrous.”

But Lolly did not seem to calm any at his assurances.

“She...is...a lady, Rheil!” Lolly snapped as she closed the distance between them. “This is not an appropriate thing for her to be learning!”

“It was just stances,” Rheil repeated, though his tone was more gentle. “Basic form, Lolly.”

“The only thing she should be practicing is her magic and if not that, learning to do something more aligned to her station. Something safer. Like embroidery or water painting or...flower arranging!”

Nenani made a face. “Flower arranging?”

“Yes! Flower arranging,” Lolly told her with a deep frown. “You mother would have an apoplexy if she knew what you were getting up to.”

“I wasn’t hurting anything,” Nenani protested weakly.

“That’s not the point, Nenani,” Lolly said with an admonishing tone. “Do you not understand what it is we’re trying to do? What your mother and I are trying to prepare you for?”

The girl furrowed her brow at Lolly in confusion. “Prepare me for what?”

“Your debut at court,” she said firmly. “Your mother is already known to the Lords from before the war. This won’t be her official debut. It will be yours.”

“But why does that matter so much?” Nenani asked, her voice becoming heated. “It’s just a dinner!”

In that moment, Lolly looked very much like Farris as the ire built up in her expression. “Just a dinner? Nenani, it is a very big deal for someone to make their debut at court. For you and your future, it’s instrumental. Should rumors get around that the heir apparent of Silvaara is...learning battle techniques it could spoil the King’s whole endeavor!”

“What endeavor?” Nenani demanded, exasperated. She threw her hands up. “You haven’t told me anything! Just that I have to wear a really heavy dress and sit there and look pretty!”

Lolly put a hand to her face, appearing as though she’d been struck with a sudden headache. “We need the support of the Lords. And to do that, we must ensure we present to them a carefully crafted picture. Which mean, no combat lessons.”

Nenani let her arms drop to her sides and mumbled something uncharitable.

“I heard that,” Lolly warned before reaching out to her and plucking her up from the crate. Leveling an unimpressed glare towards Rheil, she said, “I trust I can depend on you not to encourage her, Rheil.”

The captain nodded and tossed an apologetic look to Nenani. “Sorry Princess. Looks like you’re going to have to settle for one less title to your name, after all.”

Lolly snorted. “Indeed.”

Nenani had fully expected Lolly to take her back to her room and follow through with the assertion the only things she should be doing is her daily magic lessons and...flower arranging. But much to her surprise, she walked passed the staircase that would have taken them up to the royal apartments and instead headed towards the servants’ corridor. Towards the kitchens.

She could hear the hustle and bustle of everyone at work long before Lolly stepped down into the kitchen. She was forced to dodge a scurrying footman as he ran back up the stairs carrying a tray loaded with food. As he passed, Nenani noticed the human portioned foods as well. 

And plenty of it.

Her mother had been spending a large portion of her days with the King, but whatever they had been discussing was a mystery to her and for the most part, she had held no interest in it. But now she was beginning to have a nagging suspicion her person may be playing a significant role in those talks, but without the courtesy of being privy to them.  

Abruptly, Yale jogged passed them with a quick, “Hey, Dumplin’, hey Lolly,” before joining Quinn near one of the work tables and helped him load finished raw pastries onto the peels and shoved them into the hot interior chambers of the ovens. Kol was at one of the other ovens, pulling finished ones out.

Lolly walked further into the kitchen and stood just outside the spice pantry’s green door, her free hand on her hip, toe tapping impatiently on the stop floor. Avery and Gjerk, who were at the hearth, looked on in confusion. When the door finally did open, Farris froze mid-step, a collection of parchment in one hand and a folded note in the other.

“Farris,” Lolly greeted the spice master in a deceptively calm voice.

“Lolly,” Farris replied, returning the greeting with a confused one as he eased passed her into the kitchen. He sat his papers down onto the table and began to add a few notes to the bottom of one.

Lolly walked alongside him and regarded him with a curt look. “Do you know where I found your ward just now, sir?”

“Not ‘a clue,” he said without pulling his attention from his current task. “But I’ll be bettin’ yer about to tell me, ain’t ye lass?”

“In the guards’ courtyard,” Lolly huffed. “With Rheil. He was teaching her fighting stances.”

“Oh?” he said with a laugh. “What ever th’ fuck fer?”

“Gods persevere me if I know.”

The kitchen master turned his head slightly to peer at Nenani, lips curled into an amused smile. “Lil’un?”

For her part, Nenani just shrugged. “...I was just curious.”

“Uh-huh. Curious,” Farris echoed dubiously. “Well, did ye learn anythin’ useful at least?”

“Farris! It’s entirely inappropriate!”

“Ah, yer over reactin’, lass,” he said, straightening his posture. “Rheil showin’ her where to stick her feet ain’t gonna make her suddenly wanna become a soldier and run off t’war. That’s just how lil’uns are when they’re her age. ‘Specially that one. Sticks her nose into everythin’.”

“It’s because of that dagger,” Lolly said flatly. “The one Nonna gave her.”

Farris regarded Lolly for a moment, seeming to only realize the degree of irritated that Lolly had worked herself into.

“That dagger also happens t’be part of her heritage,” Farris added pointedly.

Lolly paused and the muttered a low, “Well. Yes, I realize that, but...”

“Ye can’t blame her for wantin’ to know more about it, lass,” Farris said, turning to lean against the table’s edge and crossing his arms. “Remember, not but a few weeks ago we all thought she was an orphan. Now suddenly she has family she never knew she had and an entire new culture. Or what’s left of it. Might chafe yer sensibilities, but fer her, playin’ with knives is in her blood. Better she know how to do it so she don’t lob her damn fingers off, eh?”

Lolly glared at him. “You are far too comfortable with this, Farris.”

“Lolly,” Farris said with a sigh and eyeing her sternly. “If the worst that one gets up to is learning how to gut a fella with that dagger ‘a hers, I call that a success. And a whole lot less dangerous than the shit she’s been caught up in recently.”

“That’s not the point,” Lolly asserted. “She needs to start acting like a lady.”

Farris raised an eyebrow at her, then looked down at Nenani before returning his eye back to Lolly. “Just what do ye think she’s been all this time? A goat?”

“Don’t be dim, Farris,” she said. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s a lil’ girl. Just let her be.”

“She’ll be twelve in a few weeks,” Lolly said sternly, setting Nenani down onto the table. “And will have made her debut at court. Her title, status, and rank will be confirmed. And then she will have obligations and responsibilities and expectations. And then there’s the whole bloody matter of possible suitors...”

“Wait. What?” Farris growled. Throughout their conversation thus far, Farris had maintained a muted irritation with the occasional slip into amusement regarding the whole affair. But now he looked perfectly enraged. He glared at Lolly. “What in the seven hells do ye mean suitors? The lot of ye plannin’ to marry her off now? She’s a child fer fuck sake! I’ve got tea towels older than she is.”

To her credit, Lolly appeared as though she knew she had said too much was immediately began an attempt at backtracking. “No, we’re not. Nothing like that. It’s only...I just…” She sighed. “What I mean to say that…ugh. Never mind. I have things to do.”

With a twirl of her skirts, Lolly scampered back up the stairs, leaving a very confused Nenani and a very irritated Farris.

“The closer this dinner gets,” Nenani said to Farris with a look of apprehension. “The less I want to go...”

“Fuck, I don’t think I want ye to be goin’ neither,” he admitted.

“Can I hide down here?”

“I’ll clean out a cupboard fer ye t’ live in,” he said with a wry grin. From across the room, Quinn, Kol, and Yale were looking towards Farris.

“Did I just hear that right?” Quinn demanded.

“Are they really tryin’ to marry the Dumplin’ off?” Yale demanded incredulously. “What the fuck for?”

“She’s a babe!” Kol added.

“Besides,” Avery added. “Who’s there for her to even marry? All the Silvaaran nobles are dead or poor as mice.”

“Back to it, ye lot. Ain’t no one marryin’ no one off,” Farris growled and then scooped Nenani up. As he headed back into the spice pantry, he muttered angrily under his breath. “And the first bloody fucker they try and shove at ye, I’m breakin’ his damn legs.”