"You look like someone shit in your breakfast. Tough day?" Ceren grabbed the tankard Gunnar handed over and immediately took a healthy swig.
"Is there any other kind?" she replied back, welcoming the hot burn that seared down her throat. In Thronbeq, nothing came easy. When you live in a town covered in freezing snow all year round, let alone by yourself in a small shack on top of the mountain where temperatures drop below negative fifty, tough was how you put things lightly.
"So, what was it this time? Old coot Gittins asked you to look for his missing left boot again?" She shook her head. Gunnar picked up and started to wipe a decanter from the ones lining the bar. "I still can't understand why he'd need the bloody thing. The man has only his right foot left!" Old man Gittins's peculiar attachment to his left boot has been an ongoing mystery in town. So much was the townsfolk's interest that several stories, one more outrageous than the other, have sprouted about the mystical left boot. Ceren herself contemplated on asking a few times before but thought better of it. Rumor has it Gittins lost his leg killing someone who asked about his ex-wife. She wouldn't want to be the next one who asked the wrong question.
"Well, what was it, then?"
Like a dog with a bone. Ceren sighed, "Ulma asked me to look for golden bells. Said she needed it for some kind of new concoction." Probably will also test it on her right after. Yet another time to make sure Ceren's away on one of her 'hunting trips' when that time comes.
"That wasn't so bad. There's a lot of those by the foothills near the Yuger trail, right?"
"Yeah, but I already took everything last week." Golden bells were more common in mountainsides where temperatures were a bit warmer. They're not hard to find most of the time, but it takes at least a month for the fruit to grow back.
"You didn't find any?" Gunnar asked after delivering drinks to some customers on the seats across . She shook her head, knowing he wouldn't like where this was headed. "Well?" he urged when she didn't follow up.
"I had to go up the Yuger and look for stonehoof trails. They usually graze where there's thicker foliage and the grass isn't as frosted. I was hoping to find some there." Over the past few years, Ceren has picked up quite a substantial amount of knowledge when it comes to hunting. And one of the first things she had to learn the hard way --- where there's a lot of prey, a predator usually wasn't far off.
"Were you able to find them?" Ceren nodded. She intended to end it there if it wasn't for the expectant look on Gunnar's face. She should have known better. "Yes." She answered. Taking a sip from her mug, Ceren added, "They were in Khilgir territory."
"What?!" With the way Gunnar's face grew an unholy shade of red, she'd rather be facing that Khilgir right now instead. Realizing that all eyes were on them, Gunnar leaned to her and hissed, "You fought a Khilgir? Alone? Are you out of your godsdamned mind?" As if reminding her, Ceren winced from the pain in her rib.
"Well, those stonehoofs weren't much of a help." They were already gone even before she was able to whip out her glaive. Spineless bastards.
"Don't start with me." Gunnar pointed at her. "Where is it now? Did you kill it?" A blank look was all she gave him. To hunt animals for more than what's necessary benefits no one. This has been taught to her ever since she was old enough to kill one without shaking in guilt. We do not kill with no purpose, katinka. Learn to respect life and it will give life back to you. A deep, melodic voice echoed in her mind.
Hands to his hips, Gunnar blew out a deep breath and looked up as if begging for divine intervention. "I swear. I swear to Jecht's grave you'll be the one to put me six feet under." In an instant, all humor was sucked out of her. Ceren thought she was strong enough. You'll get through it, they said. Just give it some time, they said. It's already been a year, but the mere mention of his name still never failed to squeeze the breath out of her. Would crying help? Would it ease this feeling and make it go away, even for a moment? But she's never cried. Not on that day and neither would she now.
The silence pulled Gunnar away from his one-way conversation with the ceiling to glance at her. He must have seen something for he gently placed his hand over hers and said softly,. "Oh, honey." Ceren went rigid. There's that tone again. She's been hearing that from almost everyone since Jecht's death. Ceren hated that sound. She wanted it to stop. "It's already been a year. You might as well have died that day with the way you're living now, if you even call this living." Gunnar gestured at her body. She tried to remember the last time she even bothered taming her raven hair or washing her wool coat, which was the only one she has. Looking presentable was the last of her worries these days.
"You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened and start instilling in that stubborn head of yours that it was all an accident. Neither you nor Jecht could have predicted an icefall was going to happen. Not even the watchers noticed the signs." Ceren gritted her teeth. Talking has always been a chore for her --- socializing, not her strongest suit. She preferred saving her words for conversations that serve her a purpose. But right now, it took all of her not to open her mouth and spill the truth. Many things happened on that day, but an accident, it was not.
"It's time to move on, Ren. We both know Jecht would want you to." He squeezed her hand. "There's more to life than what this tiny snowtown can offer you --- a life outside of all this ice and cold. Get out there and explore it." He continued. "Or if that's too much, too soon for that lone-wolf thing you got going, you can come live with me. The spare bedroom at the back is all yours if you want it. I even bought you those atrocious-smelling incense from Amakesh because I know how much you love them."
"You shouldn't have bought them. That might have cost you a fortune." Gunnar simply waved his hand.
"So, what say you? I'm really in need of someone to rub my aching knees from time to time. Getting old isn't fun, you know." He smiled at her, eyes pleading. Time to misdirect.
"You're only forty-seven." Ceren replied. Yet, she did note the fine lines starting to show around his eyes and the whites that began to pepper his auburn hair.
"Which is ancient! And stop changing the subject, young lady."
It was wasted effort to distract him. Ceren looked at those earnest green eyes that always reminded her of wet grass after a rainstorm, and she still couldn't believe how lucky she was to receive this man's love. It pained her to have to break his heart.
Holding his eyes, Ceren said, "I can't." The same answer she's been giving him whenever he's asked before. They stared at each other waiting for the other to back down. And just like the other times, it was Gunnar who broke the standoff.
Sighing, he muttered, "I blame your stubbornness on that father of yours." Ceren couldn't help but smile. "Don't get me wrong. I've never loved a man like I loved Jecht, but that bullheadedness of his isn't something I'll miss any time soon." She was about to retort how he was so full of shit when the door chimed and in came two men carrying swords by their hips.
Immediately on high alert, Ceren covertly placed her hand in her pocket, gripping the leather hilt of her dagger. She came to a halt when she felt a hand on arm. Looking up, she saw Gunnar shake his head. The two men took the vacant seats by the bar close to her. It was only for a moment but Ceren noted that the larger one, a full head taller than his friend, had a white scar on his right cheek. Rarely does their small town of Thronbeq, population 475, get that many visitors, much less swords for hire. Only the ones seeking the thrill of freezing their balls off would dare come to this side of the Anderas Mountains where heat was a luxury more precious than a mountain-pile of the shiniest jewels and gold. So to say she was curious as to what brought in these men was an understatement.
Get out right now. Go home and hide. Don't let them see you. Even in her head, Jecht remained that commanding, immovable force. She should leave the tavern now and hide where there's no risk of someone recognizing her --- especially the kind who were hired to kill. Unfortunately, Ceren was as curious as she was cautious. It's a trait that has both saved and put her life on the line before. Going at it logically, it didn't seem like the men came in here looking for trouble. If they meant to kill her, they would have already done it as soon as they entered and found her sitting by the bar. But then, perhaps they're just waiting for her to let her guard down, follow her back home, and slit her throat with the townsfolk none the wiser. Deciding to stay and keep an eye on the two outlanders for now, Ceren drank the last of her ale and gestured for a refill.
"What did you think, Lev? Seem legit to you?" The shorter of the two asked his companion as he grabbed the tankard placed in front of him.
The one called Lev shrugged. "As long as they give us the twenty-thousand tora they promised upfront, I couldn't care less."
"I'm not talking about the money." The other one took a swig of his drink and threw a coughing fit right after. "What's this shit? Gasoline?" Hearing his comment, Gunnar gave him a droll look. "That's our regular brew. Would you like something weaker?" A few snorts were heard from the other tables. The man waved Gunnar away, muttering something Ceren didn't quite catch.
"Anyway, I was talking about the tournament, man. I mean I have heard rumors about it but it still sounds bullshit to me." This time, the man took a tentative sip.
"I don't see the problem." Lev grunted, easily downing the contents of his mug.
"Everything! Expecting a woman to fight is like expecting chickens to fly. They should stay at home where they're supposed to be. You know, cooking, taking care of children, shit like that." Ceren saw Gunnar roll his eyes.
"Nobody's forced to fight. Participants are allowed to bring in a representative. That's why we're here."
"But that's even worse! How can you suppose I fight a woman?"
"Like you're paid to do." The scarred man shot back. "Quit your whining, Van Hoff, and finish your drink."
"I say that sleazeball isn't paying me enough. And what's up with him? Who sweats that much in this temperature?" Ceren has a good idea who this Van Hoff was talking about. Was he the one who brought these men to Thronbeq? "Can't believe I'm about to break my vow never to hurt a woman. My mother would skin me alive." She subtly caught the scarred man sigh and shake his head as if already used to his friend's dramatics. "Leave it to the Crimson King to come up with shit like this."
Ceren froze. Crimson King? Did she hear that right? Perhaps he was referring to someone else, she thought. Then again, there was only one known Crimson King in all of Edria. One so notorious nobody could possibly mistake him for another.
Her pause happened for all of a split second, and she expected no one would have noticed. However, it seemed the larger of the two men was more attuned to his surroundings and she could now feel his eyes watching her every move.
"How long are you going to nurse that drink? Hurry up and let's go." The scarred man addressed his friend, all the while keeping his eyes on her.
"What's chasing your tail? We don't have to go back to the capitol until tomorrow anyway. Might as well spend the night drowning in ale and pussy. Though now that I'm noticing it, there's a lot of ale but not much pussy. Aren't there any women in this town?" Looking around the tavern, the man's gaze skirted Ceren as if she didn't exist. Guess she didn't qualify as a woman. Good to know.
"There's plenty of those in Duneburgh. Now, let's go."
"You know you should try working on that gruff thing you have going on. It's not popular with the ladies. No wonder those twins earlier were visibly shaking when.." Ah, so she was right. There might be quite a few sleazeballs in this town, but there's only one pair of twins residing in Thronbeq. From what she's heard so far, these men were hired to participate in some sort of tournament. And it seems women were allowed, no, more like expected to fight in this tournament. For what? And what's that have to do with the Crimson King?
Ceren prepared to hear more when the man with a scar slammed his hand on the counter, abruptly ending his friend's tirade. "Enough. We're leaving." He stood up, placed a few coins on the table, and turned to leave. Their eyes met for a brief second before she averted hers. She heard, rather than watched, the other man scramble after his friend, grumbling his displeasure as they both walked out of the tavern. And just like that, the outlanders were gone from The Tipsy Maid.
"What was that about?" She asked when Gunnar was finished cleaning after the two men.
"What do you mean?"
"Those outlanders"
"What about them?" Ceren sighed. She knew he was being obtuse on purpose. "Who were they and why were they here?
"And I would know the answer to that, how?" He raised his eyebrows at her and she raised hers back.
"Because you know everything that's happening with everyone in this town." There's a reason why a tavern was the best place to gather intel. One would be surprised how people love to overshare with a few ale and a listening ear.
"True." He admitted. "But those men obviously were not from this town."
"Still." Ceren shrugged. "You didn't look the least bit surprised with what they were talking about." She tried her best to tamp down her curiosity, seeming to sound unconcerned and not at all restless with every second Gunnar remained silent. It's rare for her to show any interest outside of hunting, Gunnar, and a few acquaintances in town. Gunnar knew this. And he was enjoying making her squirm in her seat.
Taking pity on her, he finally asked, "Why do you want to know?" Thinking of the best way to approach this, Ceren decided to simply say, "Because I'm curious." There. That's an acceptable reason, right? And it was the truth --- part of it at least. She wanted to know who those swords for hire were and why they were in Thronbeq. But mostly, she wanted to know why they mentioned the Crimson King at all.
Gunnar stared at her, his face inscrutable. Something flashed in his eyes but they were already gone before Ceren could decipher them. "I'm sure you already pieced together an assumption of your own." She opened her mouth but Gunnar shook his finger at her. "And don't tell me you didn't hear anything. I know for a fact how sharp that hearing of yours is."
Taking a sip of her wine, Ceren found it useless to confirm the truth to that, opting to share what she knew so far. "I heard them mention a tournament where I suppose both men and women are allowed to participate in." Though why that was unusual, judging by the outlander's reaction, she couldn't understand. "I also heard the word twins and a...Crimson King. I do not know how he's connected to it but I'm assuming the Bredhams had to do with those men being here in Thronbeq. That's about it."
"Hmm...you got most of it correct." Gunnar said. "A week ago, our dear chieftain commissioned the capitol's Mercenary Guild and requested two first-tier mercs for the job. Those men you just saw arrived this morning." Every area, from a nation down to a village, always has a privileged few who reside at the top of the food chain. It's a part of social dynamics where the powerful lead the majority. In Thronbeq, the Bredhams were the ones at the top of the food chain. Ernest Bredham and his ancestors before him have been the town's acting power ever since Thronbeq's establishment. And one of his twin daughters, Aurelia and Emilia, were set to take his place in the future.
"Why did he hire them?"
Gunnar gave her a quick look and turned back to cleaning the counter. "How much do you know of the Aethers of Edria?" How much did she not know was the better question. Aethers were celestial beings created by the gods to guard the five continents of Edria; Aswar in the West, Wastrall in the North, Shaloris in the South, Von Drakkor in the East, and Edreon in the Middle. And in each continent, an Aether will choose one 'vessel' or known as an aesir and bestow upon them immeasurable power to carry out the Aether's duty to protect the land. Of course, there was more to it than that. It was the core of Edria's history and Jecht made sure Ceren knew everything about it by heart.
Remembering Gunnar's question, she answered. "Enough." No point in showing off her level of knowledge on the subject.
"Then you're probably aware of who the Crimson King is." Ceren doubt there's anyone in all of Edria who hasn't heard of the Crimson King. The bearer of the mark of Zalador, harbinger of flame and smoke, aesir of the East, and ruler of all Von Drakkor, the Crimson King was as much notorious as he was elusive. A wealth of stories written of the aesir, yet little was known of the Crimson King. A moniker that had nothing to do with his ability to manipulate fire.
Taking her silence as confirmation, Gunnar continued. "Well, rumor has it that the Drakkorian council's been pressuring their king to get on with producing an heir. Apparently, 15 years was already too long for a king to stay unwed and unattached." Ceren still failed to understand what that has to do with Bedham hiring mercenaries. Noticing the obvious confusion on her face, Gunnar finally got to the point, and what she heard next almost knocked her out of her seat. "It seemed like he got sick of their nagging because the Crimson King finally agreed to take a wife. And what better way to look for a Queen than to hold a fighting tournament."