Adeleina snatched her sword from where it lay on top of her dresser. The well-worn leather grip and the familiar weight felt comforting in her hands. She stuck the sword in the hook at her hip, then bounded down the stairs. Her eyes were still smarting with the hastily-wiped tears, and her cheek felt sticky with the drying liquid. Adeleina scowled and seethed as she leapt the last few steps of the stairs, her loose breeches allowing her an easy freedom of movement.
She stomped through the deserted corridors. Outside, the sun had risen, and the twittering birds that rose with it were jabbering in full song. Adeleina slammed through an exit door and squinted at offending sunlight. Her eyes watered.
She hurried towards the patch of stiff yellowing grass where she knew her burlap dummies awaited her. A soft thudding sound and an exerted grunt stopped her.
Adeleina froze. She was not alone in this area of the grounds; someone was using her dummies! Adeleina stalked forward, an irritated scowl on her face, and stopped in her tracks.
A lean, broad-shouldered figure with gleaming hair that matched, in color, with the straw that littered the ground was swinging a broadsword at Adeleina's mock enemies. His back was turned to Adeleina. She could see the outline of the muscles on his back; his tunic clung tightly to his body. A thin sheen of perspiration coated the back of his neck, and his hair stuck up at odd ends on the back of his head. The corners of Adeleina's turned downwards in a disaproving frown. Who on earth was this man, and why was he using Adeleina's equipment?
"Hey!" she shouted, her eyebrows drawn into a irked expression. The man stopped swinging his massive sword and jerked around in surprise. Adeleina's eyebrows went from furrowed to high on her forehead. Damien of Dale stood before her, burlap heads and loose straw strewn around him. His startled demeanor resembled that of a spooked rabbit. Adeleina fought the urge to giggle.
"Those are mine," she told him, pointing at the mutilated scraps of burlap hanging limply in their frames.
Damien's own eyebrows shot up.
"These are yours?" He repeated incredulously. Adeleina scowled at him good-naturedly.
"That's what I just said," she replied coolly.
"Are you any good?"
Adeleina wrinkled her nose at him, a slight smile on her face.
"I'd wager I could match that monstrous blade of yours, Your Highness," she said, drawing her own thin-bladed sword for him to see.
"You wield a bastardsword?" Damien's incredulity increased. Adeleina glared at him and brandished the sharp tip of her sword.
"I daresay they're quicker and much more agile than your bulky broadsword," she told him defensively. She flicked the point through the air to demonstrate. It made a sharp zing as it whistled through the air.
"This is a rare specimen of a broadsword!" Damien patted the blade of his sword, careful to avoid the razor-like edges. "This is a Scourtish Claymore," he continued, a gleeful edge to his boastful words. Adeleina blinked in confusion.
"A what?"
"A Claymore!" Damien shook his head at her ignorance. "A sailing merchant from Scourtland brought a few to Dale. He had a funny accent, but the swords he shipped in were undeniably superior to those forged in Purlei."
Adeleina nodded, slightly impressed. Her own sword had been made in the smoky and faraway kingdom of Purlei. The kingdom, which specialized in coal and metalworks, was rumored to have tens of thousands of mines dotting the soot-coated land. Men from all corners of the earth flocked like geese to Purlei in attempts to become rich digging for precious metals; many of them succeeded. It was even said that the ever-present ash there had permanently coated the skins of the people of Purlei, so that their skin became dark and tanned.
"What's the difference between an ordinary broadsword and a Claymore?"
Damien immediately launched into a long sermon on the subtle differences between his sword and the broadswords that some knights preferred to wield.
"It's got a wheel pommel, see?" He showed her the round, wheel-like circle that formed the end of the hilt. "This beauty boasts of a fourty-one inch blade. By the gods, it's heavy, but it's a formidable weapon!"
Adeleina stared, fascinated, at the broadsword. She'd never been much impressed by their bulky weight and bumbling blades, but Damien had made this one sound like a weapon fit for the god of war.
Damien withdrew the glinting blade and sheathed the sword, letting it slide in with a zip.
"Why are you up so early?" He asked, kicking a bit of straw off his boots.
Adeleina fidgeted uncomfortably where she stood. He did not know of her father's impulsive and rash decision yet, and Adeleina did not want to be the one to break the news to him.
"Why are you up so early?" Adeleina deflected his question clumsily. One of Damien's eyebrows went up, but he replied nonetheless.
"I'm always up this early. I don't like sleeping when there's daylight," he admitted.
Adeleina opened her mouth to reply, desperate to keep the conversation away from her, when scuffling footsteps scampered their way. An exerted boy, red in the face, burst around the corner and approached Damien and Adeleina.
"Sir," he bowed deeply. "My lady." He repeated the greeting to Adeleina, whose heart sank until it rested in the lowest pits of her stomach. "His Majesty requests your presences in the Great Hall."
"Umm...alright, then," Damien said, looking a bit taken aback. He turned to Adeleina, a bemused expression. "What's this? Am I in trouble?"
Adeleina struggled to not look terrified and furious at the same time.
"No, I don't think so," she told him, panicking slightly. "Listen, Damien--"
But he was already trailing after the eager little squire, and Adeleina had no choice but to follow him back into the castle.
♘♞♘
Adeleina hurried to catch up to the pair in front of her. She marvelled slightly at the boy's ability to trot along, quick as a filly. Her own legs scrambled faster to match his pattering pace and Damien's long strides.
They reached the entrance to the Great Hall. Adeleina grimaced at the solid doors she'd fled from mere minutes ago. The sounds of the councilmen's chattering had died away; she assumed they had concluded the meeting and were now sitting behind those doors, awaiting her and Damien's arrival.
She was right. As the doors swung open, Adeleina caught a glimpse of the councilmen, still sitting along the Great Hall. Her father sat on a large chair with a looming back. It wasn't his throne, Adeleina knew, for his throne was seldom used and usually sat in it's own room. Next to her father was King Dale, who sat on a slightly less lavish chair of his own. His face was bright red, and an elated smile stretched across his ample cheeks.
"Adeleina!" he shouted. The echos bounced off the polish stone floor and reverberated against the walls. "Damien!" he cried.
A bewildered expression fixated on Damien's face.
"What?" he asked, though it didn't seem as if he expected an answer. Adeleina pressed her lips together into a tight line. She should have told him about her father's decision the moment she'd seen him. Now, it was too late. Her father avoided her gaze awkwardly, shifting his eyes towards Damien. Adeleina scowled at him, though she was careful not to let Damien catch her agitated glare.
"My son," King Dale addressed Damien, still beaming like a ray of sunshine. "I trust my future daughter-in-law has told you of this excellent news?"
Damien gaped at his father.
"What daughter-in-law?" He asked suspiciously. King Dale frowned in confusion, and King Corandell sighed wearily at pressed a finger to his temple. Slowly, like the tides ebbing away, realization dawned on Damien's bemused face. His head swiveled so that his gaze snapped on to Adeleina's, who ducked her head uneasily. "Daughter-in-law?" He repeated. This time, the question was directed at her.
"Well," she began, her fingers nervously tugging at the ends of her hair. Her scalp twinged. "I was getting around to that..." Adeleina trailed off, unsure as to what to say next. It seemed unfair that Damien had to find out in such an unfortunate way. Adeleina mentally kicked herself. She should have told him while they'd still been alone.
"You're engaged!" King Dale clapped his hands merrily, oblivious to the thick, palpable tension that fogged the room. Adeleina's father made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat.
"Engaged?" It seemed that Damien could do nothing but regurgitate what others had said. Adeleina vaguely wondered if he'd died of shock, and his body was now naught more than a shadow that repeated the words of others.
"Hm-mm-mmm," Adeleina made a noncomittal sound, deliberately avoiding Damien's attempts to watch her face for answers.
"Hmmm," her father echoed.
"Hmmm!" King Dale harrumphed.
Damien said nothing. He only regarded the congregation in the room with a floundering expression. The corners of his mouth pursed a little and turned down. Adeleina couldn't help but feel a twinge of hurt at that frown. Was she really so undesirable, so that their betrothal made him unhappy?
Adeleina realized, then and there, that that was exactly how she was behaving. She'd thrown a temper tantrum like a child without his toy, bawling and shrieking when she herself had heard her father's decisive words. She'd hidden the news from Damien, who had only ever treated her as a friend, as an equal. Really, he was taking this much better than she had done. Had she been standing in his shoes, she would have, at the very least, done a bit of shouting and protesting. Yet Damien stood there silently, his cheeks sucked in and lips curved. Adeleina shook her head. She could only ever hope to be as complacent as the man who stood next to her.
"That is excellent news indeed, Your Highness," Damien finally broke the stiff silence. His gaze shifted between the two kings who sat before him. Adeleina wondered which king he was addressing. She watched his face, seeking something that would reveal his emotions.
King Corandell coughed, clearing his throat.
"I'm relieved you see it as so, Damien of Dale." Adeleina didn't miss the pointed look he tossed her way. She frowned at him. "The wedding will be taking place in three weeks time."
Adeleina's head snapped up in shock.
"Three weeks!" She'd be married in less than a month! "Why so soon?" Her father's jaw twitched slightly at her accusatory and impudent tone, but she didn't care. She pressed on. "Why isn't the wedding in a year, like all other royal weddings?"
"Certain...circumstances have made an alliance neccesary as quickly as possible," her father told her. He still avoided her gaze.
Adeleina balled her fingers into a fist. Her nails dug at the flesh of her palm. What was her father doing? He was practically selling her away; that's what he was doing. And for what? For a bonus to the treasury? For an alliance with a coastal kingdom? For his own political gain? Adeleina snorted, a bitter sound. She'd always thought her father valued her as a daughter, but apparently, she was nothing more than a pawn in his plans.
King Dale cast a frightened look at the silent battle that was taking place between father and daughter. The council was already sneaking away, though they had not been dismissed. Adeleina ignored them.
"Perhaps we should leave," King Dale squeaked. He stood and bustled over to Damien, who still stood next to Adeleina like a silent and unprotesting boulder. King Corandell only nodded abruptly.
Adeleina turned her head to watch Damien cross the Great Hall with his father. His head was turned, watching her, too.
Sorry, she mouthed at him. Despite her reluctance to be married to any man, she felt genuine regret that Damien was the one who would become collateral damage, caught in the crossfire between the wills of her and her father's.
Damien didn't reply, though there was no anger or hurt on his face. Adeleina relaxed a little. At least he was not angry with her; at least he bore no grudge against her.
Adeleina turned back to her father and crossed her arms tightly.
"Well?" Her own voice surprised her. It was cold and steely, and sounded nothing like anything Adeleina had ever heard come out of her own mouth before. She was shocked to see that her father's eyes were glinting with moisture in the weak morning sunlight, and that they were rimmed with red. Immediately, she wanted to take that single biting word back. Never before in her life had her father cried. At least, he'd never cried in her presence. She hadn't meant to hurt him!
"Sit, Adeleina," he finally said. His head rested on one of his hands, propped up at the elbow against the arm of the chair. Adeleina's heart panged to see the strands of grey streaks running through his hair, marring the curly brown. His face was beginning to line with age and worry, and dark circles sagged under his eyes. "Please."
Adeleina pulled out a chair at the long table and sat. Her father spoke again.
"There is something I must explain to you."
---------------------------------
In case you found the whole sword bit interesting, here's some more information on medieval swords:
Adeleina's sword, the bastardsword, is shorter and lighter than an average longsword. It's sometimes called a hand-and-a-half sword (though that term didn't roll around until the 19th century), because it could be wielded with either one or two hands. Damien's sword is the Scottish Claymore ("the great two-handed sword"), a massive broadsword made famous by a legendary seven-foot tall knight. It wasn't commonly used until the 15th century, but Damien's an exception ;) Fun fact for Lord of the Ring fans: The Scottish Gaelic translation of "claymore" translates directly back to "Bilbo".