“It shut a lot of men I wanted nothing to do with out of contention to be my husband,” Emlyn shrugs, “Those four yabbos were going to sell us all into slavery as Ban Chiele so that they could steal the dowry fund. Side-stepping that fate was worth everything I had to go through. Having an army to defend myself and my sisters was worth it. The best part was that I was training Arwydd. She’d have been my First Awst, eventually. Lefi was more business-minded, and I’d been investing in his ideas for all of us younger ones. Even Myfanwy was wealthier than our father. We were all quite wealthy, and it was ours, not the House’s. Any of the five of us could have bought my older brothers for what they thought they were worth, sold them for what they were really worth, and written the loss off our annual payment to the king. We made sure that they never knew just how wealthy all of us were. We were planning to branch the House and leave my father and older brothers to, and I’m quoting Grandda, ‘to wallow in their own swill’. We’d have taken the dowry fund with us since all the unmarried daughters would have been on our side of the split.” Loket stifles a snort of laughter at Emlyn’s statement about taking a loss on the sale of her father and brothers.
“Your dowry fund,” Otrin grins, “has grown considerably since you’ve seen it last.”
“Oh, gods,” Emlyn says, alarmed, “Don’t let anyone know that. The king and duke here have both tried to marry me to one of their sons. The only thing that made them drop it was finding out I was a penniless orphan. It’s been easier that way. I’m sort of friends with those boys. They’ve been kind and helpful.”
“Don’t worry,” Loket shrugs, “If it should come to that, the whole clan and a couple of our allied clans would roll out. We’ll get you back. Still, I see the sense of not letting things get that far. We’ll keep it quiet.”
“Thank you,” Emlyn replies, looking relieved.
“What else have you been up to, Girlie?” Otrin asks, and Emlyn launches into a description of her encounter with the current Nemhain, her second trip to the Hall of Judgement, and Neit’s subsequent offer to try to salvage the Cymry.
“Anything we can do to help?” Gramin asks.
“I need to get Atres into some proper kit,” Emlyn says, “and start training him. He’s going to have to defend a lot of challenges. I need him to stop seeing himself as nothing more than, and I’m quoting, ‘a lowly King’s Guard’. Let me show you something…”
Without waiting, Emlyn darts up the stairs.
Gramin gives Atres a long, appraising stare, “Boyo, she’s right. If that girl there says you’re worthy, you can bet your boots that you are. If you weren’t or if it was even the slightest bit iffy, she’d still be searching for someone who was. You have to shed those notions right now.”
Returning to the table, Emlyn upends her saddle bag, dumping out all the brightly colored parcels.
“What’s all this?” Loket asks.
“Benger and I fought with some bandits,” Emlyn smirks, “Spoils of battle.”
She begins to unwrap some of the pieces and lay them out.
“Girlie,” Otrin says, “That’s quite a haul. I’ll bring this back with me when I go to tell Gendini we found you. I’ll put our traders on getting the best price for it we can. We’ll put the money into accounts and invest it. It’ll be ready when you need it.”
“That would be helpful,” Emlyn nods, “but that’s not why I brought it to show you.”
She points to Atres, “When he saw it, he asked if I would rather have the prince or one of the local duke’s sons instead of a lowly King’s Guard. I’ve met the prince and he’s nice enough. So are the duke’s sons, but none of them are suitable. None of the lordlings here has had to defend any challenge to their right to rule in generations. None of them has any skill in combat. Nor do they seem willing to learn it. They are soft and pampered and lord over people solely by right of birth. If I, if we, are to live among the Cymry, that won’t do.”
“They’d eat them alive,” Otrin grimaces.
“We’d chew them up, spit them out, and pick our teeth with the bones,” Emlyn nods, “Worse still, it would destroy any respect my people had for me. They would think me a fool for agreeing to such a union. Cymry, as you well know, are not overly tolerant of fools. Atres on the other hand… Without any prompting from me, he’s already shown his willingness to defend his place at my side. He was willing to accept me when I had nothing more than a couple of silver ducats to my name. He’s already placed himself at some risk to protect me. They took him from his mountain village to the capital when he was young, maybe even younger than I am now, and abused him. They took a tiger and made him believe he was a house cat. Now, I must make him believe he’s a tiger again.”
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Turning to Atres, Emlyn says, “On the day we leave this place, that tiger must be ready to roam free. Let me lay this out plainly. I am the highest-ranking survivor. Rumors and conjecture aside, we found no sign of the royal family when we were searching for any remnants of the Great Houses. I have no way to retrieve any of them, even if I knew where they had gone. It falls to me to assume the mantle of queen and begin the rebuilding. If I am queen…”
Sighing, Atres nods.
Emlyn continues, “Worth, among the Cymry, must be proven. We have never accepted someone by right of birth alone. When I went to the conclave, I battled two or three times a day to answer all the challenges. When I became an Awst, I battled constant challenges. Since you were not born among us, you will be challenged, much as I was, for being female and so young. Your right to rule will be challenged. Your right to be my mate will be challenged. You will be able to answer those challenges, but we must prepare you to face them. Once you answer enough of them successfully, they will accept you and come to understand my choice, as I was eventually accepted as a general. Among my people, with our rules, you, Atres, are cream, and you will rise. You will do more, be more, than all of those coddled lordlings combined. In time, you will become Kashin’s equal, and if for some reason we should ever choose to return here, you will be his better.”
“Is this why your grandfather told me I was going to need a tattoo?” Atres asks, and Emlyn nods.
“Tattoos for us indicate many things,” Emlyn explains, “My status, my name, my House, many of my affiliations are written on my skin. This is partly why I keep them covered.”
“Why else do you keep them covered?” Loket asks.
“Tattoos here are reserved for criminals as part of their punishment,” Emlyn explains, “No one else gets them. It saves a lot of explaining and suspicion.”
“You really think he can do that?” Gramin asks.
“He will do it,” Emlyn replies firmly, “His own gift will drive him to, if nothing else.”
“Well, boyo,” Gramin grins at Atres, “It looks like you’re going to be spending some time in the ring with the four of us.”
“What else is going on?” Loket grins at Emlyn, “I know you too well to think you’ve only got one pet project.”
Smirking, Emlyn nods, “I’ve also got plans to do a lot of expansions on the Temple. It will be good for the Temple, but it will also give me another avenue for resources to help with rebuilding the Cymry.”
“What kind of plans?” Otrin asks, “Maybe we can help you with that, too.”
“The most critical thing is metal,” Emlyn says.
She pulls one of the daggers out of her boot and lays it on the table. “The steel here is absolute crap. The bronze here is even worse. If we’re going to face off against a dragon or whatever this thing really is, my whole cohort, me included, needs better armor and weapons.”
Loket picks up the dagger and tsks, “This won’t do at all, Girlie.”
“That’s one of our most recent attempts,” Emlyn shrugs, “It’s better, but still terrible. I wonder if I have enough to let the artificers have a go at making us some kit.”
“Hold on to that idea. Tell me something, Girlie,” Gramin says, “What did you think of the girl at the jewelry store?”
“I quite liked Astridir,” Emlyn nods, “She’s spirited and funny.”
“Well then, I might just have to pay her a visit,” Gramin grins, “Solve a few problems all at one go.”
“Well, boyo,” Loket grins, “Seems like there’s some work to be done. We’ll take you tomorrow and see what we can do about getting you kitted out in something better than whatever that is.”
“It’s one of our uniforms,” Atres shrugs.
“The same uniform that has Girlie wanting to put her hair up in war braids?” Loket laughs, “That on her… She’ll need them, around the lordlings. She looks fierce in those braids, maybe fierce enough to give them some pause. I’ll see if I can find someone who knows how to do them.”
“I should do the face paint as well,” Emlyn smirks, “That might put them right off.”
“You think the tiger is still inside the house cat?” Loket asks.
“It’s there,” Emlyn replies firmly, “I’ve caught flashes of it peeking out a time or two.”
Otrin eyes Atres, “This isn’t going to be much fun for you, but we can help you get up to speed quickly. You up for all that?”
Smirking, Atres shrugs, “For her, I’d do damn near anything. I’d take her however she comes. If this is the price to pay for her, I’ll pay it.”
Smiling at Atres, Emlyn scoops everything back into her saddle bags and darts back up the stairs to go put it away.
Loket looks at Atres, “How is she really?”
“Physically, she’s doing better, but she’s got a long way to go for anything that looks like a full recovery. Mentally, she’s having nightmares that bring her out of bed ready to attack or defend. She talks in her sleep, but it’s in her language, so I don’t know what she’s saying.”
Loket and Otrin both give him a look.
“Please,” Atres shrugs, “Nothing like that. She still qualifies as tribute. I promised to wait, and I’m waiting. One thousand and seventy-seven days to go. She’s dozed off on my shoulder a couple of times, that’s all. She’s grieving. For her, it was this time last year she was hiding in the woods with her friends. It’s all still fresh, and she’s still raw from it. The dam finally broke today. There are probably quite a few more of those still trapped in there. My shoulder’s good for it.”
“You seem awfully certain about taking on quite a lot for someone you haven’t known very long,” Loket says, “Why?”
“My gift screamed at me that I need her and that she is important. My gift is never wrong. It’s never been that clear and that definite about anything or anyone. That’s the strongest premonition I’ve ever had. That tells me how badly I need her and just how important she’ll be to me. I couldn’t walk away, even if I wanted to. If I were foolish enough to try it, my gift would drive me back to her.”
“How’s this gift work?” Otrin asks.
Laughing, Kethas breaks in, “Let me. I’m better at explaining it than you are.”
Kethas walks the men through his primer on the Valkis gift.
Atres Watch
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Current Count: 1 "Shedding of the House-Cat Persona" and 4 "Terrified Gulps."
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Observation: "The dwarves are literally circling Atres like wolves. Gramin told the lad to 'bet his boots' that if Nia says he’s worthy, he is. Now he has to survive a ring with four Clan Fathers of the Rune Axe. I’d almost feel sorry for him if he didn’t look so smug about her choosing him even when she thought she had nothing. I’m docking him points for being 'cream that will rise'. Nobody likes a rising dairy product, Atres!"
Paperwork Protest
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Official Entry: Inventory of 'Spoils of Battle' taken from bandits by Emlyn ferch Terwyn.
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Boltir’s Correction: "RE-LABELLED: 'The Queen’s War Chest.' Otrin wants to put his traders on getting the best price for these parcels. I’ve added a rider that states 10% of all investment proceeds must go toward 'Emergency Bardic Maintenance.' Also, I’ve crossed out the mention of her father’s House entirely. If the man is stuck in a sword, he doesn't get a cut of the loot
Tip Jar
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Current Jar Total: 95 coppers, a silver-plated spoon, and a "Tiger-Taming" manual.
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Boltir’s Plea: "She wants war braids and face paint to scare the lordlings! Can you imagine? My muse, looking fierce enough to make a Prince faint. Toss a coin in the jar, kin! I’m saving up for a 'Disguise Self' scroll so I can sneak into Atres’s training sessions and play some 'motivational' (insulting) music while he gets pummeled by Loket. Leave a review if you think Atres is going to end up more 'bruised peach' than 'Tiger' after a week with those dwarves!"