Feast

[aestrix]

It is a special day, in the city of Orzammar. For one man, especially. It is a day of celebration for the second son of King Endrin Aeducan. Despite his physical... issues, he's been made Orzammar's newest commander. Tomorrow, there will be quite a lot of bloodshed. But tonight is for Stalas Aeducan. Not only is there a feast in his honor, but Provings, as well. It's his day, one of honor, but also his formal presentation to the heads of houses.

The merchants have even been allowed into the Diamond Quarter, a rare treat they only see on special occasions. They're probably regretting it, by now, after trying to talk to some of the dwarven nobles and tackle their very particular brand of pride, but it's a chance to win over the highest class, instead of hoping they deign to notice the Merchant Caste.

Regardless, today is certainly a day to remember. Possibly for the wrong reasons.

Comments

[thisvorlunatic]

"You're a sharp one, Gorim."

[aestrix]

"I try, my lord."

[thisvorlunatic]

And that's the end of that line of inquiry. Whew.

[aestrix]

Yup. Thankfully Bhelen was born from another mother, so there is no fear of inbreeding. How lovely.

The duo head to the Provings, but - it seems that there is a brother in the way. Two, technically, but only one is really a problem.

[thisvorlunatic]

Stalas sighs.

"Hi, Trian. Hi, Bhelen. Fancy meeting you out here."

[aestrix]

"Atrast vala, big brother! How surprising to find you out here," says Prince Bhelen.

"Especially since duty requires that you attend our king father's feast today. Have you so little respect for him to disregard his wishes on a day set aside for you?" growls the problematic one.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Duty does require that I attend the feast, and I absolutely will, but duty does not require that I attend the feast right now, so I'm going to see the glory Proving they're holding in my honour first. I thought it would be... appropriate, brother."

Trian is a massive pain, but he can be more or less handled sometimes, if you know how to talk to him and don't let him rile you up too badly.

[aestrix]

"... Perhaps you were right, Bhelen," allows Trian, grudgingly. "When you said our brother was not a useless, skinny, honorless weed."

[thisvorlunatic]

"I'm glad to know you think so highly of me," Stalas says sweetly, trying not to clench his teeth.

[aestrix]

"Yes. I'll be along later to toast to your command," says Trian. Bhelen makes an apologetic look. "Come, Bhelen!" barks Trian.

Predictably, Bhelen follows his brother.

"That was fun," says Gorim, when they have both left. "Nothing like being talked down to by the next king. Did you bruise your hands clenching your fists?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"No," he says. "It's just Trian being Trian. Ugh. I hope Father lives forever, that's all I can say."

[aestrix]

"Yes," agrees Gorim. "But today is yours, my lord. That's something to celebrate."

[thisvorlunatic]

"True. To the Proving Grounds!"

[aestrix]

"Indeed!"

There is an escort to the Proving Grounds. No conveniently dropping the ceremonial armor off the bridge, it seems.

[thisvorlunatic]

Stalas is pretty sure his father didn't provide this escort just to stop him from dropping his ceremonial armour off the bridge. Pretty sure. The stated excuse is reasonable - it is an awful crush of merchants down there, and the royal escort is handy for clearing a path.

Anyway. They escort him all the way there, right to the balcony where the proving master oversees the fights. Stalas steps up beside him.

[aestrix]

"Your highness!" says the proving master, when he spots Stalas. "It is an honor to have you here. Have you come to watch these brave warriors do battle in your honor?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"I'll watch, sure - but I was thinking I might fight," he says. "If that's okay with you."

He suspects it will be.

[aestrix]

The proving master blinks in surprise. "It is - well within your rights to fight in a Proving in your honor," he agrees slowly. "If you would like me to announce you?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Go right ahead," he says, grinning. "Just give me a minute to get into my spare armour. Wouldn't want the ceremonial kit to get scratched before my feast, eh?"

[aestrix]

"Of course not," he says. Then he turns and announces, "Men and women of Orzammar, we have a late entry to these Provings, held on the eve of battle for the honor of House Aeducan." The crowd hushes in anticipation. "I give you - Lord Aeducan himself!"

There is a stunned silence, followed by quite a lot of cheering.

[thisvorlunatic]

Yeah.

He gets into his good armour, and he gets down to the vast stone floor below, with his best daggers and the pretty-but-functional longsword. No shield. That shield was just as much of a tin-plated turd as the rest of the ceremonial kit.

This is going to hurt quite a lot, but it's infinitely preferable to waddling around in badly fitted plate armour. His leather-and-scale armour was actually made for him, as any piece of armour or clothing has to be to have a hope of hanging right on his twiglike frame.

And now all he has to do is win some fights. Maybe show off a little. Avoid getting so badly bruised that it slows him down for tomorrow's expedition. Oh, yes, and not kill anyone. He'd never admit it out loud - though he suspects Gorim knows without having to hear it - but quite possibly the thing Stalas Aeducan hates the most about the traditions surrounding ceremonial occasions in Orzammar is the wasteful blood-sport. The Proving is fine at its best, when no one fucking dies, but its best seems to be receding into the distant past as Stalas grows up. These past few seasons, they've started keeping count of decapitations, like the warriors should be competing to kill as many of their fellow dwarves as possible. Ugh.

"You honour me with this fight, my lord," his first opponent says when he walks out into the ring.

"The honour's all mine," Stalas calls, loud enough for them to hear him in the stands, and when the proving master gives the signal, he attacks.

Speed is key. Slender as he is, he doesn't have the weight to take a solid blow from a sword or axe, even blunted by good steel scale. He's tried to pick up the trick of it now and then, in private practice with Gorim, and his second can throw him halfway across a room without one good hit. No, Stalas Aeducan wins fights by not being there when his opponent's weapon falls. And when he wants to win showily, he makes sure to cross blades a few times - always in motion, with strength and momentum behind his blows, to match his opponent's solidity - and then get the other fellow on the floor with a clever application of leverage. Strike a shield just so, or knock a sword flying and then jab threateningly at just the right spots so they miss their footing and fall over.

The crowd loves him for the novelty, his opponents love him for giving them an honourable fight that doesn't do permanent damage, and Stalas loves himself for making sure nobody dies to honour his name. He wins all four fights.

[aestrix]

"Congratulations!" says the proving master, pleased. "Your last opponent, Frandlin Ivo, is as fierce a competitor as we've ever seen. But, it seems, you are fiercer. The ceremonial helm your father commissioned for today's winner goes to you."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Does it?" he says. "But that's hardly fair. My father commissioned that helmet for the best warrior to fight in my honour, didn't he? I'm not so selfish as to steal that prize. Give the helmet to the runner-up, and may the ancestors bless him. He fought very well."

[aestrix]

"The people will remember your honor and generosity for all time." Well, until the next Provings came around, anyway. It's likely that Frandlin Ivo will remember longer, though.

[thisvorlunatic]

Stalas beams, and - reluctantly - changes back into his ceremonial gear before allowing the provided escort to escort him back to the Diamond Quarter.