Halt 1341 Popular Post Share Posted November 12, 2023 18 R.R. A SHORT STORY, BY AMELYA VAN AERT @Fie Emmelina, a precocious child with braids tumbling down her back and a mischievous smile, was always on the lookout for ways to play matchmaker. Her cousin Gustaf Otto was a man of many things, primarily without much immediate family or kinship except for his sister and cousin. For, he had yet to find a partner in this life of his. One morning, one Emmelina rushed into Gustaf’s periphery and pulled at his cloaked wrists. “Cousin! There’s trouble brewing in the square of Winburgh,” she cried. Gustaf let loose a sigh and followed in her wake toward the ostensible chaos. But as he arrived, expecting a ruckus, the crowd seemed to disperse. Instead, he found only a single figure—Margaret. “Emmelina spoke of unrest?” Gustaf began to inquire, still looking around with a gaze made cautious. Margaret chuckled softly and looked confused, maybe. His younger cousin took this opportunity to make known her cousin’s station as a man yet unwed. Gustaf dodged the topic with a polite smile. “Children and their games. I apologize if she troubled you.” Too, he wrote her a simple note; pulling a stick of charcoal from the pocket of his burgundy robe, Gustaf made clear that he was not involved with her schemes. Margaret waved her hand dismissively. “No harm done. Though I must admit, it’s not often I’m introduced under such pretenses.” In the ensuing conversation, Gustaf mentioned a tournament his uncle was attending in Celia'nor. Margaret’s eyes lit up at the mention of the bustling city. “Would you care to join me?” Gustaf offered, “There’s room on my horse if you’re willing.” Margaret considered briefly, then nodded. “I would like that.” Together, they rode to Celia'nor, the journey filled with shared, idle thoughts and occasional laughter. Upon arrival, they joined Gustaf’s father in the noble stands, overlooking the throne room, where knights and warriors alike clashed. As they watched, they made small talk, continuing in their conversation held prior. “I don’t drink,” Margaret remarked after declining a glass of mead offered by one of the attendants. “No matter,” Gustaf said, smiling. “The tournament is entertainment enough.” As the tournament continued, Gustaf’s eyes were drawn to the fierce fighting between the famed Húrin and a nameless warrior of unknown prowess. Their blades clashed with a symphony of steel, and the crowd erupted into cheers. “Why don’t you compete?” Margaret asked, turning to Gustaf. “Aren’t you a swordsman?” Gustaf leaned back, his fingers tracing the hilt of his sword. “I prefer to fight in real battles,” he replied thoughtlessly. Margaret smirked. “Well, a victory here would surely be real enough.” Gustaf considered her challenge, then leaned closer. “If you’ll agree to have a drink to my success, so I’ll fight the winner of my Húrin and the man unknown.” Margaret’s smile scarcely widened. “Deal.” After Húrin was defeated by the unknown warrior, Gustaf stood up and vaulted over the stands into the arena. The crowd fell silent as Gustaf Otto challenged the mysterious victor, and so the man clad in golden armor obliged this request. Their duel was intense, albeit one made brief; Gustaf’s technique was flawless, and his strikes were only precise. The man was overmatched and defeated swiftly. From her seat, Margaret watched with amusement, or so Gustaf thought. He returned to her side, victorious and still catching his breath, only to find her face painted ambivalent. “A drink to my success?” He echoed it with a grin. “Perhaps one,” Margaret replied with a suppressed smile. “If I so survive the siege come the morrow,” Gustaf spoke in earnest, “I will buy you one such drink to make good of your promise.” “I’ll hold you to that just the same, Gustaf. But, you had better return to Winburgh safely.” 38 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
TreeSmoothie 4993 Share Posted November 12, 2023 Spoiler HELL YEAH, I love the use of css 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Esterlen 4462 Share Posted November 16, 2023 The Baron de Wett watches the spectacle - a combat training yard in the shadow of the Captain-General's residence - from the balcony of his pied-a-terre. He swishes his brandy, his glass maintained as full by a cowed manservant. "This boy reminds me of myself at his age... very athletic," muses the demented aristocrat, to no one in particular. 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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