(Sure you can have a maid or someone in Yawain's place, Maeth! Great charries too, I really like the idea of shifters )

Lord Yawain had felt an undeniable smugness when the Arvaine nobleman Trumen and his daughter had arrived to join the welcoming party; Yawain had no doubt that he was the envy of all the nobility at this present moment. It was his castle that had been chosen as fit lodgings for a prince, and it had been his work alone in winning such a prize. There would be great reward in this, no doubt. Perhaps he would even be given a few more pieces of land by the king; land was something Yawain craved, it gave him power, it gave him standing. If this all went to plan, he would be an even richer man by the time the prince left than when he had arrived. That is, if Ophelia does not ruin everything. Yawain had a strong disliking towards his daughter. She had a tendency to talk back and raise her own opinions; today she may have been standing silently with her head down, but there had been many a time previously when Yawain had had to raise his hand to her. It was widely known in the castle that he beat Ophelia, and no one objected to his face; no one dared to. She would have to endure whatever anger he dealt her.
Ophelia noted without a word as Adria, the daughter of Trumen, a man known to her father, came to stand beside her, assuming her position of downcast eyes and bowed head. She knew Adria, briefly, but only because their fathers were both men who longed for power and wealth. The two young women had never exchanged so much as a word; they had always been too busy being silent at their fathers’ orders.
The clattering of hooves could be heard clearly in the castle grounds; a rising excitement took a hold of the great hall, and Yawain turned round to silence his servants with a glare. He wanted to make very sure that the prince knew that his household was one of elegance, and that his word was law here. He did not need attendants who chattered amongst themselves and got over-excited. He glanced at Selene to make sure she was behaving correctly; she was standing with her usual smile, turning her head slightly as her assistant came to stand behind her. She was dressed in rich dark blue robes, her golden hair swept upwards, pale stones hanging from her ears. Anyone who looked at her would have thought that she was the lady of the castle, Yawain’s wife, instead of the healer; she assumed unusual authority in the household. She had been here the longest and had never seen herself as a servant. She was almost like Ophelia’s mother, and Yawain wasn’t sure that he resented that or not. Certainly he resented that Ophelia was even related to him, that her real mother had died in bringing her into the world. He would never forget his wife’s death, never forgive Ophelia for having life whilst her mother did not. Unfair anger had gnawed at him for twenty-one years, and he would be glad to hand Ophelia over to a husband who could benefit his wealth highly and rid Yawain of his daughter all in the same deal.
Smiling coldly, Yawain lifted his hand in the signal; a guard saw this and called out to the men in the courtyard. Smoothly, prepared for the lord’s order, they let sing into the air the announcement that the prince had arrived, a fanfare worthy of a prince of Arvaine; in short order this was echoed by the men lined up on the balconies of the highest windows of the castle. The castle almost rang with the salute, and Yawain felt pleased. He reminded himself once more that he was the host here, none other; and it would be he who, very graciously, would be the first to greet the prince.

Through all the excitement and all the fuss, Ophelia did not raise her head once. She had become used to contemplating the floor; she wondered if she stayed standing like this long enough her head would become fixed in a permanent bow. She observed the pale embroidery on the hem of her gown, the tips of her boots, the shimmer of the marble floor… she blocked out the noise of the fanfare and the clatter of horse hooves as the prince approached, nearing the courtyard. Everything became insignificant.
Was he really worth all this trouble, their royal visitor? She tried to imagine what he would be like; perhaps a man like her father, a grim man, a cruel man. It was difficult to imagine a prince who was pleasant and ordinary. She had seen the king and queen, once, at a street parade long ago. She remembered how she had stood with her father amongst the crowds of people that had lined the streets to see them as the royal carriage went past; her father had positioned them at the very front of the crowd. Selene had been with them, and a few of the castle guards. All of the nobility had been at the very front; the normal, poor people of the town had been pushed back, having to content themselves with peering over the heads of the nobility.
Ophelia remembered holding Selene’s hand and peering up into the healer’s face.
“Selene? Who is that smiling beautiful lady and the happy man? Why are they waving at everybody?” she asked, curious to know. Selene looked down at her, beaming.
“They are the king and queen, our sovereign lord and lady,” she replied. “They are waving because it is important to show the people that they are good and kind. A royal must always be kind to both the rich and poor.”
“Always?” Ophelia pressed. Her father wasn’t kind and he was rich. A king and queen must be even richer, so how could they be kind and good?
“Always,” Selene said, squeezing Ophelia’s little hand. Ophelia smiled up at her and squeezed her hand back.
The sound of the prince and his men entering the courtyard shook Ophelia from the memory, and another fanfare rang out. She would probably not find out what the prince was like. Her father had forbidden her to talk to him.

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~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Trälaen was several horses behind Prince Casyre, not that that mattered. He, like all others in the party, was a Royal Guard. The occupation was self-explanatory, but it was not as hazardous as most believed. Usually, all one had to do was give a few orders, hold your weapons straight, and hope for the best. Shifting his halberd on his shoulder, Trälaen shrugged his shoulders with a metallic clank, much to his displeasure. The throuble of being in armour was that it cooked you like a side of beef when the sun decideed to warm the day, which it was doing now. Sighing, Trälaen scratched at his beard and wondered for the uptenth time why Lord Yawain hadto be visited.

By the time they passed the village leading to the Lord's residence, Trälaen was bored, sharpening his halberds' spike and blade as he rode to warn off any peasants of coming too close to the Prince. The pole-weapon was an infantry tool, unwieldly and clumsy on horseback, but he had better suited weapons for that occourence. They passed a goup o circus preformers, but Trälaen ignored them, watching the dragon carefully. He had never fought one, but he had heard stories in his days as a mercenary. Horrible deaths, these creatures wrought. With one in such close proximity, Trälaen made a note to watch the group. There may be a Druid-Wizard amongst them.

The reverberation of the fanfare insie his helmet nearly deafened Trälaen, a feeling that several other Guards doubtless experienced. Straightening in his saddle, Trälaen held his halberd upright, the sun reflecting off the polished head of the weapon. He wanted back to the mountains, but this fortess would have to suffice. He set his face into a grim mast, formed into a double column with his fellows, ran a hand over his beard, and rode into the courtyard.

Into the ordered chaos of a Royal reception.

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Son of Bellatrix

Banner by Pandora

Emily glanced lazily out the window of the carriage, a scowl on her face. She played absently with a stray lock of her black hair, twisting it violently.

"Your hair will come undone, if you keep tugging at it like that." A soft husky voice murmured from across the carriage. She looked up to see Oden smiling at her.

"I wouldn't mind that." She answered. "It is so uncomfortable to have my hair pinned up. Not to mention I look like an idiot."

"You look perfectly acceptable. Even pretty, I might add." Emily scowled again. Dressed in a floor length gown, tight around the chest and full in the skirt, she was wearing the height of fashion. But the corset that bound her chest made breathing difficult, and the expensive fabric itched terribly. At least it was in a color she liked, a dark dusty violet.

"You try it on, if you love it so much" Emily retorted. Oden grinned at the suggestion.

"I do not think I would be received well if I did. I still may not, even now."

"Oh hush, Oden. They will love you." Emily stared at him, giving him her classic glare, forcing him to believe her. It was true that Emily had all but begged Oden to come along on this trip. It was such a long journey, and just for an expensive party of uptight noble snobs strutting around and making noise. Without his company Emily had no doubt she would have gone insane with the frivolity. But Oden had been born to a middle class family, son of the head hunter of Emily's house. It was not proper to bring such a guest. But then, Emily was not accustomed to following proper customs. Disguised in her cousin's good garments, she had snuck him aboard the carriage. It was only after a good ten miles that her father realized what had happened (he was outside the carriage, riding), and by then it was too late to turn back. He had growled softly under his breath, but it held no threat. He did not care that her daughter's best friend accompanied her, but he was still worried about the rumors and talk if it were to be found out he was not a true noble. But in the end he convinced himself that he needn't worry. If he knew his daughter (and he did) he knew Emily had thought up a brilliant story that would fool even the nosiest of nobles.

"I hope you are right." Oden leaned against the wall, stretching his long legs onto the empty seat next to Emily. Glancing out the window, he watched the colorful parade of people. Emily followed his gaze.

"I don't understand how people can become so excited for these events." She remarked, watching with interest as shifters appeared, leaping from wolf and fox form into humans. Oden muttered something dark and angry, which Emily took as an agreement to her last response.

It seemed like an eternity until their carriage finally pulled to a stop and Emily and Oden were able to step out. Stretching felt wonderful, even if Emily knew her shoes were going to start hurting her feet at any moment. Looking around she spotted her father and mother, who both walked over to her. "You both look splendid" her father smiled, pulling at Oden's collar until it was straight. He mother glanced them both over and smiled as well, swallowing a comment as she peered unapprovingly at Oden. She was less keen to the thought of breaking tradition than either Emily or her father, but at least had the courtesy to not complain.

Together the four, shuffling behind the line of other nobles, entered the reception.

(and I'm sorry if this wasn't the best post. Its late and I'm tired, but I wanted to get at least one post in. I'll try harder next time, I promise )

Adria stood as still as a pillar, but inside the excitement of the moment resonated. Her minded wandered to thoughts of what the prince would be like. Maybe he was like her father (or more aptly the naive picture she had of her father) who was a caring, good, and noble man. Yes, that had to be it. How could a prince possibly be any other?

As these thoughts range through Adria, Trumen stood with the rest of the noble men. Would not say he was jealous for after all, he was a man of great. He did wonder why Lord Yawain had been selected for this great task. Surely his house and land were as grand, if not grander, then that of Lord Yawain's. Still, there was nothing he could do about it now. The prince was arriving in the courtyard that moment. He'd just have to make the best of this situation.

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