Aryanne Levell

Hearthhall Manor, Howlington, Jorden

   ARYANNE WASN'T SURE how she liked ale. It was bubbly and tasted unlike anything she ever had before. She had a hard time swallowing the foamy beverage and felt as if steam was coming out of her nose whenever she did. She took another sip, and once again, the alcohol went down less than smooth. She started coughing, and there was that obnoxious little burn in her nose again. Water is not nearly as hard to drink...

            Rickard laughed and patted her on the back with his meaty mitt of a hand. "Come now, girl, it's not all that bad." He grinned beneath his white beard and held up his mug. He clanked it off hers, causing some of Aryanne's drink to spill, and started gulping down his own mug of ale.

            Aryanne wasn't sure why he did that. That was a little rude...

            Rickard finished his mug, and caught Aryanne's stare. He returned a confused stare of his own. "What's the matter?"

            Aryanne blushed, but decided to ask either way. "Why did you hit my drink with yours? I almost spilt it."

            Amusement lit up Rickards face. "It was a cheers."

            "A what?" Aryanne asked.

            "A cheers, you know the sort, when we drink to good health and fortune."

            Aryanne furrowed her brow. "Can this drink really provide you with all of that?"

            Rickard let out a deep and hearty laugh that Aryanne could feel in her chest. His laughter slowly died down, and he wiped a tear away from his eye. "That depends," he said finally. "Mostly on who is doing the drinking. The drink can make times such as these a bit more fun." He gestured around his dining area. There was a hearth in the center of the room, stoked and emanating warmth. It reminded her of her uncle, and she wished he was there with them now.

            Gabrielen was sitting talking with Bryanna and Sam, a mug of ale in his own hands. The dog Cotton was lapping up spilt ale, and barking happily at the three of them. They were laughing about something when Gabrielen caught Aryanne's gaze. He gave her a nod and smiled, and Aryanne quickly turned away blushing.

            "However," Aryanne heard Rickard start again. "The drink can also make a man mad. I've seen men do the vilest things under the influence of the drink. Best be careful with who you're drinking with, lass. Like that man Seigfreid. I'd wager he has a foul temper when he drinks."

            Aryanne wondered where he had gone. After he came too from fainting, Rickard invited them into his manor to spend the night, but Seigfreid refused and stormed off, vowing to never sleep under the roof of a man who killed him. Aryanne wasn't sure where he went, but she was sure he hadn't gone too far.

Rickard held out his hand and gestures to Aryanne's mug. "Want me to top you off?"

"What does that mean?"

Rickard smiled. "Want me to fill up your drink?"

Aryanne looked down into the contents of her mug. She had only taken two sips of the frosty ale, and would have to take many more before she'd reach the bottom. She politely shook her head. "No thank you, Rickard, I'm quite fine."

Rickard nodded. "As the lady commands. Excuse me while I fill up my own then." He stood and left for the cask of ale, and there was a slight stumble in his steps as he stood.

After he was gone, Sam, Bryanna and Gabrielen came over, followed by Cotton.

"Aryanne," Sam said with a thick and syrupy voice. "Tell us a story!"

Aryanne blushed. "A story about what?"

Bryanna chimed in. "Anything! Gabrielen told us a story from the north, about Blackfin the Whale and the Lost Widow." Gabrielen gave a smile and nodded.

Aryanne combed through the library that was her mind. Her uncle had told her countless stories over the years, and now that it was time to find and dust one off, she could hardly recall a single story.

Then she thought of Valyn. He was up in one of the rooms, quiet, sleepy and freezing. What story would he have told? It was then she knew.

"Okay," she said thoughtfully. "I have a story."

Bryanna and Sam beamed bright smiles. "Let's hear it then!" Sam said with a volume that Aryanne could hardly describe as an indoor voice.

Aryanne chuckled. "Okay, okay!"

The three of them gathered around her, mugs of ale in their hands and smiles on their faces. She caught Gabrielen's eye, and he gave her a wink. She didn't know why, but that made her feel all the braver, even if it was only just a simple story.

She thought a few moments on how to start the story. That always seemed to be the hardest part, and yet, with every story her uncle ever told her, he always seemed to know just where to begin. "You should always start a story at the beginning," she could hear him say. "The beginning is the most exciting."

"Long ago," she said suddenly, "there was nothing. There were no oceans or lands, only a vast and black empty space. But then suddenly, there was a great burst of light!" She let a flash of light escape her palm suddenly, and it wasn't bright enough to blind any of them, but it certainly had the dramatic flair she intended.

"Whoa!" Sam shouted delightfully. Gabrielen gave her a smile and a mocking shake of his head, and Bryanna sat there star struck. Aryanne let the light fade away, and she continued. "The Allmother was born, and she was the most beautiful thing in all of the world. But as beautiful as she was, she was lonely, so she created Evril, the land, the seas and skies from which we are born. She filled her kingdom with animals and trees, and yet, she was still lonely. So then came her children, and they were the first of the Elven Gods.

"The first of them was Zennel, and he was the elven God of knowledge and time. He was carved out of the ice of the northern mountains, and he claimed the northlands as his dominion. He was thoughtful and wise, and very well-loved. Next came Kaywen, and she was the elven Goddess of light and beauty. She was formed by pure sunshine, and she ruled the southern lands, as that was where the light touched the longest.

"After her was...was..." she trailed off. Was it the God Brenvas or Kellor that came next? Ugh, I wish Valyn were awake, he would know.

Before she could continue, Rickard returned with two full mugs and slumped down next to Aryanne. He set one mug on the small table next to him, and set off to drinking the one still in his hands. He gave Aryanne a glance and caught her staring at the other mug on the table. He gestured to it. "So that I don't have to get up again," he said with a smile and knowing wink.

"Grandpa, you interrupted the story!" Bryanna whined.

Rickard gulped down a bit of ale and belched. "What story?"

Bryanna pouted. "Aryanne was telling us about the Elven gods and the birth of the world."

Rickard gave a strange smile. "Was she now? I did always wonder where the world came from. Since the elves came first, I suppose they'd know." He took a sip of his ale. "Do continue, lass."

Aryanne smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I lost my place, and don't remember where to start again. Perhaps later?" In truth, she did remember, but the story reminded her of her uncle and brother, and memories of them were hard on her heart.

Rickard shrugged. "Fine by me."

"I have something," Gabrielen chimed in. "Though it's more of a question than a story."

"Ask away," said Rickard.

Gabrielen hesitated before he came out with the question. Finally, he said "Why do you still live here? In Howlington? Why not move south, where there are more people and villages? There's always a need for workers in the Groves."

Both Bryanna and Sam gave their grandfather a curious look, one that suggested they've wondered the same thing before. Rickard took his time before he answered his question. "It's a simple question, so I suppose it deserves a simple answer. Its home. I was born here, my children were born here, and my grandchildren were born here. It's the only life I ever knew. And..." he stopped, as if there was something he had to say, but not the strength to say it. "My name...it is not a name well-loved in Jorden."

"Rickard?" Gabrielen guessed.

Rickard shook his head, and his eyes had a dark look to them. Before he said anything further, he looked toward his grandchildren and sighed. "It is not something to discuss here and now." Suddenly, in a drastic mood swing, a smile spread across his face, and he raised his mug of ale high in the air. "Now is the time for laughter and music! I have a lute upstairs, but I'm afraid I'm years and years out of practice. Do any of you play?"

Gabrielen shook his head, as did Aryanne. Her free time in Valadel was often dedicated to things far more practical than music, as her uncle had little love for it.

Rickard sighed. "More's the pity then. I haven't heard a good song in longer than I care to admit."

"Well," Gabrielen said suddenly. "I know Seigfreid is a good musician."

They all gave him a quizzical stare. "He is?" Rickard asked.

Gabrielen nodded. "I've heard him play more than a few times in the taverns of Jorden, when he was a ranger. He's actually quite decent."

Rickard shook his head. "Of course he's the musician of all of you's. Where is the bastard now?"

*****

The rain came down hard through the ruined roof of the ramshackle house Seigfreid took up shelter in. It was cold and unrelenting, much like the winds of winter, or the fury of a woman. Seigfreid pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and let out a sullen breath.

He wasn't far from the manor, not far at all. Perhaps only a few houses down, he reckoned. He could see the warm light of the fireplace glow through the windows, and he heard their laughter and conversation. He knew mead and ale was certainly involved, only alcohol could make laughter like that. I could kill for a warm mug of honey whisky and tea right about now...

He shook his head at the notion. He made it abundantly clear that he would not accept the hospitality of a murderer, and his own murderer at that. He felt almost betrayed when Aryanne and Gabrielen chose to stay with Rickard rather than storm off with him. But he supposed you have to trust someone to be betrayed, and he had yet to find himself trusting either of them. He was sure they felt the same way, and for that, he could not blame them.

There was a crash of thunder in the sky, and it seemed as though that made the rain come down harder. Seigfreid scurried back further into the corner of the wall, and felt his back stiff and aching. Still, he was too cold to get up and move. He looked back out the broken window towards the manor, alive and warm in the dreadful cold night. He didn't know what overcame him; his desire for mead, company, warmth, or to simply survive the night, but he stood, and he found himself making his way to the manor's doorstep. He sighed. Dignity is no good when you're dead...

When he finally made it there, he was drenched to the bone, and his hair was matted against his skin. He raised a cold and clenched fist and pounded against the door. The conversation stopped, and he heard someone approach. The door swung open, and Rickard stood there, tall and stalwart, a sudden frown on his lips where a smile had once been.

Before Seigfreid could say anything, though he didn't know what it was he would say, Rickard spoke. "We were just talking about you."

Seigfreid nodded, his head low and his gaze angled downward. "All good things I hope."

"Surprisingly, yes."

Seigfreid looked up and met his eyes. That was not the answer he expected, and that almost made the answer sweeter than it was already. "Truly?" he said in a voice just shy of a whisper.

"The boy says you're a musician."

Seigfreid nodded. "I am. I play the lute, keys and harp."

Rickard nodded, and a faint smile returned to his lips. "I have a lute, ale, and a warm fire. Would you care to join us?"

Seigfreid felt his eyes grow warm and wet. "I very much would."

Rickard stepped aside and opened up the doorway. "This way, then."

*****

Seigfreid wasn't expecting a warm reception from the others, but he supposed he was expecting some sort of reaction to his arrival. When he came to the fireplace and took a seat on one of the dining benches, no one said a word to him, not even the girl elf or the half elf, and they had been his travel companions for the past two weeks or so. The other boy and girl that lived in the manor just gave him a nod, and continued to avoid his gaze. Perhaps coming inside was a mistake. He looked out the window to the storm that brewed around them, at the cold rains and whipping wind that came down hard and battered the skeletal houses. Or perhaps not.

Before he could change his mind, Rickard sat down next to him, a dusty old lute in his hands. "Here she is. Hadn't brought this old girl out in many years. I don't even know if I remember a single chord." He awkwardly held the instrument and gave it a strum. The thing was badly out of tune, and its unpleasant noise was hardly something Seigfreid could describe as music.

"You need to tune it," said Seigfreid. He held out his handle gently. "May I?"

Rickard handed over the lute as if it was on fire. "Take it, maybe you can get something out of it that resembles a song."

Seigfreid took the lute in his hands, and held it as if it were a newborn babe. He could hardly remember the last time he had played anything. It was before Valadel, before the return of the Oathbreaker, that much he was sure of. He gave each string a gentle strum, and twisted the knobs until his ear registered the strings were in tune. Once he did this for all seven strings, he thought of what to play. Not a single song came to him.

"Are you going to sit there forever?" Gabrielen said, a smirk on his face.

Seigfreid scowled at him. "I'm trying to think of something to play."

Gabrielen's face lit up. "You could play the Wandering Cock of Whitelocke."

Seigfreid shot him a glare. "No, I don't think I'll play that."

Aryanne stared at him curiously. "Is that song about you? Your name is Whitelocke, isn't it?"

Seigfreid sighed. "Yes girl, it is."

Aryanne furrowed her brow. "Your cock...wanders?"

Bryanna and Sam both let out stifled giggles, and even Rickard rumbled with a deep chuckle.

Seigfreid shook his head. "It's a stupid song written by some has-been Jordein bard. My cock is exactly where it should be."

"Up your own ass?" Gabrielen said smugly as he took a sip of his ale.

The remark drew more laughter from the rest of them, and Seigfreid decided he had enough. "The lot of you can fuck off," he said angrily as he set the lute down and stood from the bench with the intent of storming off.

Before he could though, Rickard grabbed his wrist. "Easy now lad, we're only jesting with you. Here," he reached to the table and brought up a mug of something alcoholic, that much Seigfreid could tell. "Have a drink, sit down, and play something for us."

Seigfreid eyed the mug of ale. It had been sometime since he drank. It had been some time since he had done many things that he loved, like drinking, playing music, and making love. Since before that cursed castle...

Seigfreid took the mug with reluctant hands, and sat back down. He brought the mug of ale to his lips, and took a sip. And then another. And another. And then he gulped down the rest of it, and handed the empty mug back to Rickard. He belched, and the stench of ale floated from his lips. It wasn't the finest ale he had ever drank, but it would have to do, he supposed.

Rickard looked at him with a scrunched up face. "Right...would you like another?"

Seigfreid nodded. "I would please. As many as you can bring me."

Rickard nodded, and handed the mug to Bryanna. "Another round love, if you wouldn't mind."

Bryanna nodded and went to fetch more mead.

"Do you know the March of the Farren King?" Sam asked. "My mother used to sing that one to me when I was little."

Seigfreid nodded. "Every northerner worth his salt knows that one." Farren music was some of Seigfreid's favorites, and was the only thing he valued from the kingdom of Farrenhelm.

Seigfreid took the lute in his hands again, and the chords of the song came back to him. It was in a minor key, he remembered that much, as it had been some time since he played that. He made the chord with his fingers, and pressed the strings firmly into their frets. He softly stroked the strings, and a somber note rang out. His fingers glided over the strings as he made the next chord shape, and he continued to move on to different chords, like he were reuniting with old friends. The lyrics rushed back to him like running water, and they poured from out his mouth.

"The North was a wild place
That never could be tamed
No place for a man
Of any name

"The bite of the winter's chill
Was something to be feared
And the howling winds
Was all a man could hear 

"But from the south came a king
Braver than any known
A king who would make the land
His own

"He marched along with many a men
Who were fierce as sharpened steel
And he brought the winter winds
To heel

"The Farren King never bowed
To anyone less than he
For a stronger man
There could never be

Seigfreid strummed the last chord, and let it ring out until silence rushed back into the room. The rest of them stared at him with soft eyes and open mouths. He felt a smile tug at his lips and tears form in his eyes. Gods, I've missed music.

Finally, Rickard began clapping, as did the rest of them. "That was...really good," said Rickard warmly. "You are as good as the boy said."

"Thank you," Seigfreid said quietly. Bryanna brought him another mug of ale, and Seigfreid gulped down the drink like it was water. He was in desperate need of it, after all. He felt warm, and his head started to feel just a little light. Good gods, has it been that long? Two mugs of ale, and I'm already soft in the head.

"Could you play another?" Aryanne asked with the utmost formality.

Seigfreid nodded. "Let me think of another one."

That smug smile returned to Gabrielen's lips. "How about the Wandering Cock of Whitelocke?"

Seigfreid rolled his eyes. "For the last time, no. I will never, ever play that abomination of a song."

*****

Aryanne couldn't help but smile as Seigfreid strummed hard on the lute, and the cheery music grew faster and faster.

"Oh, this is a tale of a man who hails from the white northern rock! So raise your glasses to the masses for the wandering cock of Whitelocke!"

Gabrielen was singing with him and smiling stupidly, and they were dancing atop the benches. Aryanne and the others giggled with delight, and there was not a single one of them that was sober.

"It's sharper than a sword of steel
The whores say it's their favorite meal
And it ticks faster than the clock!

"It makes more milk than a cow
This I couldn't tell you how
So raise your glasses to the masses for the wandering cock of Whitelocke!"

Gabrielen knocked over a mug of ale as he kicked out his foot, and the frothy beverage splattered across Aryanne. She laughed heartily and almost fell off the bench, had not Rickard caught her.

"He lives just around the block," Seigfreid sang out.

"The wandering cock of Whitelocke!" Gabrielen sang back.

"He makes love in his socks," Seigfreid sang again.

"The wandering cock of Whitelocke!"

"He has the key to every lock!"

"The wandering cock of Whitelocke

The wandering cock of Whitelocke

The wandering cock of Whitelocke!

Hey!"

The two of them fell clumsily off the bench, and the lute went skittering away from Seigfreid's grasp. They were both laughing and Gabrielen started to snort, which made Seigfreid laugh even harder.

Rickard stood from where he sat, and smiled as he shook his head. "That's enough for you two for the night, I'm afraid. Come on," he said as he offered them his meaty hand. "Get on up."

Gabrielen stood first, and Seigfreid after him. Seigfreid fixed himself and ran his fingers through his wet hair. "You have a decent set of pipes, half thing."

Gabrielen grinned. "So I've heard. Perhaps in another life, I'd have been a bard."

"What's wrong with this life?"

Gabrielen shrugged. "This one I don't know what to make of."

Seigfreid patted him on the shoulder. "No one does, but we all find out sooner than later."

Gabrielen nodded plainly. "I suppose it's later for me then." He paused, and a yawn escaped his lips. "I think I'm ready for bed."

Rickard grunted. "I couldn't agree more."

Seigfreid frowned, and threw up his hands. "What's this about? The night is still young, and I know many more songs than just those two."

Rickard shrugged his rugged shoulders. "I'm old now. A night of drinking is a young man's pastime." He looked over to Sam and Bryanna. "You two should head to bed soon as well."

Sam's expression soured. "Pa, we're not children, I'm almost a man grown!"

"And growing men need their sleep. Don't argue with me."

Sam and Bryanna both sighed, and sulked off to their bedrooms. Rickard went with them, but stopped before he made it to the staircase. "Help yourself to more ale if you wish. There is bread and honey butter in the pantry if you grow hungry, and some apples I think. Good night."  With that, he headed upstairs to the warm and gentle beckon of his bed.

            Aryanne was left alone with Seigfreid as their drinking companions went off to bed, and the amateur bard picked up another mug of ale. "Suppose it's just you and me now, elf."

            Aryanne nodded and softly smiled. "It certainly seems that way." She took another sip of her drink. She had drank it down to about halfway, and she noticed that the more she drank, the more her mind started to loosen. It was a strange feeling, and it made her awfully giggly. She spotted the lute carelessly left out on the floor and gestured to it. "Could you teach me to play?"

            Seigfreid nodded. "It's simple enough. If we practice regularly, I reckon you'd be able to at least carry a tune within a moon or two."

            Aryanne laughed, though she wasn't sure why, she just knew she wanted to laugh. "I must say, I am fond of music. It's like magic you can hear."

            Seigfreid smiled. "Yes, I suppose it is." He stood and went over to the lute and scooped it up from the wooden floor. He brushed the instrument off and sat next to Aryanne. "Now this," he said as he moved his fingers into a distinct shape among the strings, "is a D chord. It's my favorite one." He strummed the strings, and a sweet and soft sound emerged from the lute, like a child's laughter echoing in a clear and sunny sky. He handed the lute over to Aryanne, who take hold of it carefully. "Give it a try."

Aryanne did her best to mimic what she had seen Seigfreid do just moments ago. She put her fingers where she saw he had put his, though he made adjustments as she did so. Finally, when she pressed the strings into their frets as hard as she could, she plucked the strings. The sound was buzzy and twangy, and didn't sound near as sweet as what Seigfreid had played moments ago. She frowned. "It doesn't sound the same."

Seigfreid chuckled. "Not, it does not, but with enough practice, I'm sure you'll be better than even I one day. Time tempers and perfects all crafts, and time is the one thing I care to wager you're not short on."

Aryanne smiled. "Time is a strange thing. It seems more has happened in the past few weeks than the past thousand years."

Seigfreid whistled. "I couldn't tell you what I was doing a thousand years ago. Probably something stupid."

Aryanne laughed. "Yes, that I'm sure of." As she turned to face him and return the lute, she caught his gaze, and saw him for what felt like the first time. Whenever she looked at him before, from when they first met in the alleyways of Jorden to their time on the road, she saw him as dirty, cowardly, spiteful and selfish. They were the things she was told of him, and the things she had seen for herself. Now, as they sat there in the warm room of a cavernous manor, ale in their blood and songs in their hearts, she truly saw him for what he was. He was a handsome man, with a gentle smile and a defeated but hopeful look in his eye. She had learned that eyes like that were common, and that everyone had a story, she supposed. It occurred to her that she didn't truly know Seigfreid's story.

"Why are you the way you are?" she asked blatantly.

The question seemed to catch Seigfreid off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

Aryanne felt herself blush. "I mean to say...why do you do the things you do? Why do you say the things you say? You're a good man, but you act as though you don't care about anything."

Aryanne couldn't tell if his eyes softened or hardened at the question. His smile faded away and a grim look came over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. A moment or two passed as he sat there, contemplating the question. Finally, he looked at her with vulnerable icy blue eyes. "If you call a man a monster long enough, he'll soon start to believe he is one." He seemed to want to say more, but he fell silent.

Aryanne didn't know why, but she felt an inclination to place her hand over his. She did so, and he turned his hand over so that their palms were facing each other. "You've been kind to me and my brother, kinder than any man we've met thus far. I thank you for that. My uncle often spoke of men as if they were spawns of the Abyss, and yet..."

Seigfreid ran his thumb over the top of her hand, and he looked back at her with a firm and stoic look. "I'm going to be better," he said solemnly. "I'm going to be a better man. There's many people I wish I could tell that to, but I want you to hear it first. I'm going to be a better man, Aryanne. I promise."

That was the first time she had ever heard him call her by her name. It sounded sweet on his lips. She had a warm and fuzzy feeling in her stomach, and it was a feeling she hadn't felt in some time. Not since Danticus...

"There's something I must tell you," she said with fire in her chest. "Or...something I must tell someone."

Seigfreid raised an eyebrow at her. "Aye?"

She forced herself to say the words. "Danticus...I...he-" she stopped, and felt tears pool in her eyes. Her breath started to grow shaky, and she forced the words out like vomit. "I killed him." She felt as if some great weight finally left her, and she could finally breathe.

Seigfreid furrowed his brow at her. "You killed him?" he repeated.

Aryanne felt warm tears streak her flesh. "I did...I had to."

"Why?" Seigfreid asked quietly.

Aryanne shook her head. "He did-" she spoke through shaky breaths. "He did something very bad." She brought a finger up to her eye and wiped away her brimming tears. "He killed-" she stopped and her voiced dimmed to a whisper. "My uncle...he killed him." My uncle...my father.

Seigfreid nodded slowly. "Good people can do bad deeds, Aryanne. And it sounds like...it sounds he had it coming." Seigfreid dropped his head and let out a deep sigh. "I'm the reason they're dead."

Aryanne looked at him with sad and curious eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I left them to die. I left them all there, and they're dead cause of me. Danticus, Edwin, Irving, Gallador Thornshield..."

Aryanne could tell the last name stung him the most. Their was pain in the way he said it, and a lingering sadness in the deep pools of his eyes. Their hands were still entwined together, and Aryanne couldn't seem to look away from his face. Her gaze fell upon his lips, and they were pink and full. She felt heat rise in her, and spread throughout her limbs. She wanted to kiss him, she realized, though she couldn't tell if it was from a true desire to kiss him, or from the drink that made her head lighter than air. Before she could act on anything, Seigfreid cleared his throat, and stood from where they sat. "We should go to bed," he said. "We need to leave early tomorrow to make up for lost time. Try and get a good night's sleep." He turned and looked at her with a warm but sad expression. "Good night, Aryanne."

With that, he made his way towards the stairs the others ascended long ago. Aryanne sat there for some time, her mind too wild to sleep now. She used to only think of him, the boy with the bow and the stars embedded in those green eyes, though now, he wasn't the only one preoccupying her thoughts. The other one, with the white blonde hair and icy blue eyes seemed to linger, and she felt her heart near tearing in two.

Men...what troublesome creatures they are.