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]

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.

[aestrix]

Back to the Diamond Quarter!

"Congratulations, by the way," says Gorim.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Thanks," he says brightly. "I'm going to look like I was pounded with mallets tomorrow, but I actually don't feel that bad. I didn't take any solid hits down there. Life is pretty good right now."

[aestrix]

"I'm glad to hear it, my lord. And now, the feast in your honor." He would say something snarky about feasting with vipers, but they're still in public. Best not incite the assassins. Stalas can probably figure out his opinion about it anyway.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Mmhmm," says Stalas. Oh yes. He knows.

[aestrix]

Good, because they are about to enter the room the feast is taking place.

Gorim looks around once they're inside. In an undertone, he informs, "All of the usual suspects. Looks like this will be pretty routine. Good luck, my lord."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Thanks, Gorim."

Then all that's left is - assuming there's no one here he actually wants to talk to: nope, doesn't look like it - to approach the far end of the hall, and greet his father.

[aestrix]

It seems someone is already in a conversation with his father.

"My king, please reconsider. The trade contracts alone could bring great prosperity to our houses," says one foreign-looking dwarf.

His companion adds, "Will we really turn our back on our brothers and a potential force of cheap labor because of a political technicality?"

The king's eyes narrow. "Denial of the traditions of our people does not qualify as a political technicality! There is more to life them monetary gains, my lords Bemot and Meino. The assembly of Kal Sharok will respect the rule of Orzammar, or they will rot and die alone, surrounded by enemies."

"Yes, my king," sights lord Meino.

Stalas's father spots his son and smiles. "But look, we have company to spare us further wrangling. Atrast vala, my son. How fine you look in your grandfather's armor."

[thisvorlunatic]

He's sure he looks like an earthworm playing dressup, but he smiles anyway.

"Thank you, Father."

[aestrix]

"And I hear," says his father, looking amused, "that you were declared champion of the Provings. I suppose you were never one to sit by when something exciting was going on."

[thisvorlunatic]

"You know me," he agrees. "But I felt it would be discourteous to claim the prize myself. I'm being given enough today already."

[aestrix]

The king nods. "Honorable of you. Are you ready to be presented to the heads of noble houses?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Yes."

[aestrix]

"Very well, let us begin." He raises his voice to address the entire room. "Lords, ladies! Grant me a moment of your time. I introduce to you my second son, Stalas Aeducan! Prospect to be the newest commander of Orzammar. Would any of you like to pose a question to know the prospect better?"

"I, your highness. I would like to know the prospect better," says a lord.

"Lord Dace, head of House Dace, speak."

"Lords, ladies, my question concerns the plight of our wayward kin, the so-called surface caste. What does the commander prospect think is the correct place for these lost souls?" asks lord Dace.

[thisvorlunatic]

"I don't know, Lord Dace," Stalas says with a smile. "I haven't given extensive thought to that particular issue. It seems to me that a little time spent under a ceiling of air is a small thing for a dwarf's fate to turn on. We allow the brave warriors who guard our gates to leave and return without forfeiting their caste, and we have sent forces in the past to aid our honourable friends, the Grey Wardens, without exiling the troops or their commanders. Who's to say that a merchant venture, for example, should not be similarly permissible? After all, we depend on trade with the surface to bring us some of our finest food and clothing. But the ancestors made this rule, and I must assume they had a good reason, even if I don't yet know what it is. Perhaps after tomorrow's battle I'll consult the Shaperate to find out more, and return to you with a better-founded opinion."