Chapter 2: Euric
Dirt.
That's all he tasted.
Dirt and dust.
Dirt and dust and blood.
The land was flat and barren, decorated with cracked rock and hay. The sun bore down hot with the lack of clouds, the only thing to relieve the earth being a cool spring gust. The hay stretched long, dehydrated arms outwards towards the blue, almost screaming for water. Plumes of brown cloud drifted along the pastures with the wind, blowing specks of umber against any nearby beasts and people alike. Euric gripped the handle on his longsword tightly, feeling the branded leather squeak and stick to his calloused palms. Small beads of sweat rolled down his temples and along two sharp cheekbones, before dripping off the edge of his jawline. The young baron rotated his heel in his place, shoulders screaming with a dull ache that strung through his arms. It was hot beneath his tunic, and he felt the thick material weigh down his nimble frame. His legs shook beneath the weight, arms hot from the bleeding sun. Long brown hair stirred in the wind, dusky skin hardly blistering beneath the sun. Grey almond eyes were set forwards in this time, watching the face of his opponent.
In front of him stood Sir Ulric Ward: a sturdy knight who no one seemed to know the age of. He spoke poorly of the dreadful giants to the east, and was Euric' sternest teacher. He stood tall and blundering, with two heavy feet and a pair of brutish hands that clasped a longsword with an unwavering strength. His sloped forehead and strong chin gave him a deceptively sober look, in which he was usually found indulging in the temptations of ale and bitter stout. Unlike his other glorified baby-sitters, Ulric was cruel and blunt, commonly dressed in all black and in thick furs. On this hot day, however, he wore a simple tunic. Along his left breast was pinned a silver pendant of a lion warped with a sea serpent. The sigil of his people.
The chill of the morning and the crisp dew of dawn had faded beneath the cruel heat of a newborn summer, and even the hesitant breeze did little to settle down the relentless heat. Euric looked up over his shoulder towards the balcony of one of the western towers. Here sat Euric's father, Edwin, tall and solemnly with hands wrapped around the nicked bark in anticipation. He was a rather quiet man, and had a signature crease in-between his eyebrows to replace the lack of wrinkles from the corners of his eyes. He wore a thick black coat with oily hair that slicked back across his head, pulled tightly into a bun to keep it away from his eyes. Rugged and scrawny, the Lord met his eyes with a common displeasing leer. His dark youth and charming wit had left him many years ago, and now stood a shell of his past. To his right stood Euric's mother. Aldith was a woman of reserve and peace, with beautiful tresses of dark oak with a reddish undertone. Her skin was sorrel and unblemished, save for a pockmarked pair of cheeks that hardly puffed out from her slender face. Her eyes were warm and trusting, and even from here, Euric could see her shuffle away from her husband's grasp, offering the baron a reassuring nod. Euric was never a fan of his father, and watched with hidden disgust as the man bore an unclean smile at his formal wife.
"Foolish excuse for a Lord" Euric muttered under his breath, before Ulric's heavy gait drew his attention back towards him.
The baron rose his sword high above his head in anticipation for the attack, but this time, Ulric lacked a weapon in hand. The young bairn puckered his mouth in surprise, before feeling the blunt force of Ulric's boot hit his side. The pain struck his stomach, earning a sudden cramp to strike his ribs. As if he weighed little to nothing, Euric fell to the floor with a grunt followed sharply by the clang! of his fallen longsword. His opponent succumbed to a paroxysm of laughter.
"You're supposed to watch your opponent, boy." the older male taunted with a snicker. "Not bat your eyelashes at the butterflies."
Euric stumbled onto his feet with a restrained huff as he looked at the victor, who had already begun to unseal the threaded latches of padding along his elbows and knees. It did little to surprise onlookers on Euric's irritated glare at Ulric as he turned on a large heel and stumbled off towards the kitchen. Normally, Euric would find it within himself to chuck a stone or two at the knight's thick head, and suffer the beating for it. However, the stable-boys watched on with peeked interest as Euric's face changed. The young baron straightened his back and smeared dust-laden hands across his breeches. In usual circumstances, he would not be so bitter and solemn. The barren landscape and heat of the sun had made him irritable and quick. The pale afternoon sky was shredded with departing birds, the pasture, grown dustier and more uneven in the last hour, was scattered with a tittering thrush. The sunlight beamed almost orange beneath the haze of the spring, making the air dry and stale. He pursed his lips, tasting the salt in the air. Today remarked as an especially distasteful ceremony. Today, they would have visitors. His father had been blessed with the company of another across the great seas. The elvish would soon grace Euric's humble presence in drapes of gold and silver. Steel would become ethereal in their grand presence of knights and riders. The tall men would walk astride great crowned beasts. A dozen or more golden and crimson banners would wave against a metallic blue. It stood as no secret that Euric did not take a liking to the royals of the elvish kingdom. They pitied Man and he could pick up on their disgust whenever they would stride into the room with pompous noses held high.
"Come now, come now- what's this? Too stuck up to fight your opponent properly?" Edwin blabbered out from the top of the balcony, sharp wrinkles deepening as he pulled a surprised look, rising a bony hand to his breast.
The baron felt a dull ache throb along his temples and eyes. He needed some wine.
"Are you daft? I was speaking to you."
"A thousand apologies, Your Grace." retorted Euric, this time, meeting his eyes. The bairn tightened his jaw with a muted pop! and crossed his legs into a faux curtsey. His legs ached and screamed at the gesture, but the pain was worth the look on his father's face. Mother would be disappointed in the mockery, but he would hold onto his victory until then. Edwin's face dropped, and his ungainly brows came forth together in an ugly frown. Dropping his leather-bound cuirass, he wandered off away from the ogle of his parents towards the Great Hall. And as he walked, he could just see a beaming line of white, twinkling beneath the daylight in the far distance. The sea. It was unclear how far he had travelled beyond the walls of his great citadel, but it had been many years since he had witnessed the breath of the ocean. The air carried it's scent with it- of musky seaweed and a punch of salinity. It made his mouth water- crystalline liquid threatening to leave his jowls at the thought of water. Of course, it would be foolish to attempt to drink from the great waves, but the thought had made him realise just how thirsty he was.
. . .
A man's thirst had rendered him a famously sturdy drinker among the youth of the Halls. The red liquid had pooled just at the bottom of his cup, spiced with tannic baking spices and soft currant. It burnt his throat and stung his nose, but he made a point to force himself to enjoy it. He held out a firm arm in front of him, cup clasped in his grasp, as it was filled by one of the maids. The younger boys cheered and clapped him on the back at the number of drinks he already consumed, and the air of the Halls soon filled with youthful blabber.
In all honesty, he was not the biggest fan of these events. He did not share the duties of his fellow youth, and more often than not kept to himself as he sipped on the crimson beverage. He watched as stableboy Duncan Page and his two younger brothers, Peter and Eustace (who seemed too incapable of their own thoughts to handle their own responsibilities), wrestle over a thick log of blackened sausage. The feasts within their walls were of exceptional extravagance. Thick blood pudding and roasted quail always seemed the first to go. Peppered chestnut and pineroot were laced elegantly along the back of a smoked slab of wild boar. Small sprigs of rosemary and cubes of apricot were lined around the fat in a delectable bite that was purely reserved for those of a higher status. Euric had no stomach for such delicacies today. Lost in his own mind, he jabbed a fork at a plain square of bread. He wore a self-contained look; bolted and unreachable; guarded and testing. Among the gathering at the long strip of table along one of the bricked walls of The Hall, Euric was senior among them. He felt it in their artificial laughter and childish gimmicks. This often led him to remain tongue-tied unless called upon, and had little interest in engaging with their foolishness.
Across The Hall with the other girls sat Morwenna. She had a youthful face of only sixteen, and laughed boldly next to her dear sisters. The latent prettiness with the rouged mouth, clique set of brown eyes and lift of her chin gave her an unusual look. He would often hear her gossiping mother proclaim that the handsomeness in her daughters faded with each new birth, to which she had seven. Morwenna sat tall next to her elder siblings, being the youngest, and her wide smile had faded into a pucker as she gnawed on the loose skin along her bottom lip. He smiled warmly at her, leaning a head full of hair on his left palm as he felt the warm buzz of wine coat his throat in a hot sweetness. She scrunched her crow-nose and rose her eyes to meet his with a hesitant glance. He felt the heat of her stare on his and croaked beneath her grasp, feeling the wine bubble at the back of his throat and cause him to cough vigorously in surprise. Diarmuid piped up from his bickering with his youngest brother to point and laugh at him. "Ass" said Euric, eyes rolling in their sockets at his ignorance.
The oldest Page boy cuffed his shoulder with a laugh once the hooting had died down. "And how many cups have you had? It's ungainly for the son of a lord to make such a scene." He quirked a quizzical brow with a handsome charming smile, bringing a half-empty cup to cracked lips.
"Does it matter? Sober or not, no amount of drink will make me bold" Euric replied bluntly, swirling the bottom of the cup around the table with a soft grinding noise. The laughter had subsided into usual boisterous chatter, and from afar, he could see Edwin's stone face peeking out from behind the candles. The harsh light casted dramatic shadows about his face. It made the ungainly even more hideous, and brought out the deep bags beneath his eyes. Duncan had followed his eyes. "Lord Edwin doesn't seen to be in much of a celebratory mood now, does he?"
"He's never been overly fond of the elves."
"Even so!" cried the stableboy, suddenly pushing off from the table. The noise died down once the lad clambered his way to the top of the table, large muck-covered boots treading waste through the last of the rubbed venison and fowl eggs. The golden candlelight flickered beneath the boy's confident grin, oblique green-set eyes piercing through his olive skin. Even his younger brothers had settled down at the sudden movement, looking up with mouths agape and full of chewed up food. "We are to celebrate! It is not often that Ettinsmoor receives royalty." Even from here, Euric could feel his father's glare as Duncan rose his glass towards the ceiling.
"To the lord!"
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