"The maids can provide you with whatever you want doing." Jazz grinned. It wasn't meant to sound like the maids were her slaves or anything, she just meant that they would provide the girls with whatever they wanted. She was glad to hear that her new found friends had had a good nights sleep. She had no idea what conditions they slept in at their place in Ayia. She'd never been out in Ayia to see the conditions and was completely oblivious to them.

Looking at all the frocks that had been brought in, Jasmine let them chose whichever ones they wanted and watched as the maids helped the girls put them on. They looked so pretty now and glad that someone else was able to wear her old frocks as they seemed so boring just lying there, never to be worn.

"Once you're all washed, dressed and ready we can go to the hall and eat breakfast. You might even get to meet my father..." Jasmine continued before trailing off. As the maid had left she heard a sudden outburst come from Shane, who must have been up and awake in the hallway. Frowning, she looked back at Lisa and Marissa. "Don't worry about Shane, he's harmless. He's always grouchy in the morning." She stated.

"Now that we're friends, you guys can come over as much as you like. After breakfast I'll get father or one of the maids either to find out where our doctor is and he can look at Marissa and take good care of her." She grinned, watching the two girls, obviously happy to have their company. Just from the look in her eyes, you could see that she was already making plans on how to spend the day with her new found friends.

Meeting her deceased ancestors was an eye-opening experience for the young tavern maid. She was proud of the hardiness of her lineage. And despite the foul temper of her family’s black sheep—Great Uncle Arnsteinn—she was overcome with a peaceful expansion of her soul as she watched the smoke disperse, and her relatives return to the otherworld.

“I wonder what it’s like, where they go back to,” she murmured aloud as she smiled wistfully at the fading form of her girl cousin Natalía. She was amazed at how quickly the air cleared, and when all that was left was a slim trail of curling smoke from the extinguished candles. Tegwen stooped to pick up the candles, fingers brushing the rustic twigs and leaves embedded in the wax. She turned to her father and presented them to him.

“Thank ye for showing me that, Pappy,” she said with glowing eyes. “Is that what ye do every morning?”

“Now, Teggy, don’t pester ye father with questions. He needs to get dressed, he does,” Cundrie chimed in, laying her hands possessively on his forearm.

“In his armor? Oh, can I help, can I?” Tegwen asked, eager to experience any of the duties of a squire. “And your horse, Pappy, do ye want me to feed it or brush it? And will ye help me buy my own horse this day, will ye? After I get ye dressed, of course, tee hee!” Teggy was clapping her hands with enthusiasm, and darting across the floor to pick up Avark’s tunic and trousers.

Cundrie looked with slight disapproval as her buxom daughter returned bouncingly with his clothes. “Now Teggy, I think I, yer mother, ought to help ye father get dressed…” There was a brief moment of tense competition between mother and daughter, and then Tegwen finally relented and handed over the garments to Cundrie.

“I’ll wait for ye in the tavern hall for breakfast, then,” the girl said, a note of jealousy in her voice. She wanted to spend every moment she could with her father, since she had only met him the day before. At least Cundrie had known him all those years before.

Leaving her mother with Sir Avark, Tegwen set down the stairs, her coin purse jingling on her hip. The moment she set foot in the kitchen, she was promptly handed a bowl of breakfast porridge and told to serve the knights in the hall.

She entered the hall and her eyes were drawn to Lady de Volkan. She looked around and saw that other eyes were drawn to the beauteous lady knight as well. And the lady seemed unaware of the looks directed at her, because she was ignoring them.

“’Morning, milady. Here’s ye breakfast, if it pleases ye,” Tegwen said, setting the steaming bowl in front of de Volkan.

Loot opened his eyes, and for a wild second he did not know where he was.

Tangled in sheets, lying on a soft bed. This wasn't Eisengreld Manor. Loot sat up quickly, shrugging the blankets off of him. The memories fell back into his head at once, and he managed to make a mangled combination of groan, and blissful sigh.

He was living the dream of any gleeman; traveling with a group of knights as they plunged headlong into danger. Still, on the first day Caluet knew he hadn't been much entertainment tagging along quietly behind Roark's massive stallion. The youth reached up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Today would be a better day, he determined.

What would Aeferth do?

Aeferth, a minstrel who had often graced Kre'ya with his stories of their haunted moors and spirit farmers. The people always welcomed him. He brought the sleepy Southland song; he brought them gripping tales of the world beyond. For that, Loot had been eternally grateful. He could remember listening to flowing sonnets of the Lady de Volden, laughing along with scathing accounts of Sir Garrow the Meek, and (of course) hanging transfixed at the stories of one Sir Mile Elrik Roark.

Skitter the Blacksmith did not approve of such goings on. While Aeferth would gather his crowd in Kre'ya's square, Caluet's father would stand in the door of his forge arms crossed impassively over his chest.

"He misses her." The villagers would say, "Cassia. The young wife. She had such a gift, before..."

Before a roving gang of mercenaries had ransacked Kre'ya. The Keep itself had been untouched, but the surrounding farmlands were ravaged and left smoking. Loot had been too young to remember the event, but Skitter did.

It was good to get out of Kre'ya. There was only so much he could do, wandering the streets with his homemade lyre. There were only so many places he could go to avoid the disapproving stares of his father. Lady Eisengreld was sympathetic of his plight, and he was allowed to stay at the Keep when he could not bear to be in his own home.

"Enough of this!" Caluet Skitterson muttered to himself. He leaped out of bed, "Today is a new day!"

His back and thighs still burned, but the pain was greatly diminished. Roark had been right in forcing him to keep moving, despite the discomfort. Loot made a mental note (that would no doubt go unheeded in the future) to never complain again, and just listen to what the knight said.

He gave himself a cursory glance in the beaten brass mirror--running his fingers through his mop of hair. Content as he could be with his gangly appearance the youth took up his precious lyre from the bedside and made his way carefully down the staircase.

It was no surprise to find Sir Roark already up. Ilena's most mysterious knight sat by himself in the corner, head leaning back against the wall. His eyes were lidded and his hands were folded neatly before him. Anyone else would have taken another table, but Caluet slipped in next to Miles.

"Morning, Sir."

There was the Lady de Volkan, as well, sitting at her own table but not far from the Death Faced. She was poised and as elegant as ever. Whenever he saw her, various lines of Aeferth's sonnets would drift back into his head...

The serving girl bustled over, and Loot lost his grip on Aeferth's melody.

She put a bowl full of delicious smelling breakfast in front of the Lady de Volkan. Loot's stomach lurched, and he realized how hungry he was. He was used to swiping fruit from trees as he wandered the Moor--this new regime of meals only once a day was distressing to him.

"I'll have the same, please!" He said eagerly.

The youth glanced over at Roark, who had not so much as batted an eyelash since Loot sat down.

"And so will he." Loot jerked a thumb at the Death Faced.

Roark did not object. He still remained as motionless as ever, as though compensating for his heavy activity the night before. He was aware of the youth and of the Lady de Volkan near him. He lifted his slate-gray eyes and nodded once to the Lady in greeting. The Death Faced was known as many things, but he did not want one of them to be 'rude.'

He flicked the stoic stare to Avark's daughter, giving her a once-over. She had his likeness, that was sure. Roark kept his hands laced together on the table before him.

It was an uncomfortable party, that was sure. Loot began humming under his breath (was it one of Aeferth's songs?) and he pulled his lyre out onto the table. He plucked at a few of the strings, tuning them here and there, ridding leaves and other foreign obscurities from the instrument.

As he twanged and plithed, still calibrating the hardy instrument, Loot looked from one knight to the other.

"Sooo..." He said, drawling the word out, "What happened in the forest last night? Everyone could feel it in here, you know."

Avark had to bite his tongue to a degree, to keep from laughing out right at his lover and child, though a chuckle did mange to run the blockade. it had always been amusing to watch the tavern girls fight without fighting, for his attention but something about this was downright tickled his ribs. Hopefully he would live long enough that he was able to set time aside for both of them, as they deserved (and in situations that did not have his daughter wanting to help in his state of dress, that could cause another one of those...tense moments).

Once he was sure that his eager daughter was well away, serving tables, the big knight wrapped Cundrie up in his burly arms for a before breakfast cuddle. After an unmeasurable amount of time, which seemed to go on for ever and yet not last anywhere near long enough, the Northmen was dressed once again in his tunic and trousers, big feet stuffed into well made boots and beard in an apparent state of tameness. Two of the candles were packed away in his kit and the third was in his paw of a hand, as if he was weighing the thing. Although all three had been burning, not one drop of wax seemed to be missing and the wick was not burn down in the slightest, nor would the candles burn away like other candles, until they too returned to the rocky fjords of the homeland.

"Cundrie" rumbled Avark, placing the crude looking candle in his lover's hand, "Give this ta the girl. None of 'em will be as strong in a number less then the original three but none of my blood shall be without family, even if they be only those in the halls of the dead. If she be taken ta talkin with 'em just before the dawn, our hallowed ancestors may be able ta pass messages betweens 'em."

The big knight gave the women, that bore him a child, the longest kiss possible without him needing to undress again, as he buckled on his sword and then gathered up the rest of his gear. With a smile full of grand promises and half-formed plans for the future, he ducked out of the room and strolled down to the common room, the iron nails in the soles of his boots announcing his every step, as his smile evolved into something cocky and triumphant.

"Sir Roark" Avark bellowed in a friendly manner, only really noticing his fellow knight after spotting the rail of a boy that seemed to haunt the man's steps, "A fine morrow to thee and to thee as well, Lady de Volkan."

Not caring if either was going to invite him over to join them, he briskly walked over to the silent knight and his...squire and plopped down in a chair besides the lad.

Loot didn't miss a beat at the Lady's dismissal. He had formulated an appropriately frosty reply, but Roark moved his head a fraction of an inch to the left, and then to the right. Caluet let his indignation simmer.

"Got my glaive back." Was all the explanation the knight gave, "Didn't die."

Caluet busied himself with his lyre again, feeling a bit uncomfortable. The Lady de Volkan sat primly and properly, with all the mannerisms of the highest aristocrat. There was nothing Loot wanted more than to upend her porridge and see what she would do.

Of course, she would probably kill him. Loot gave one string on his lyre a particularly nasty pull.

Sir Avark the Laughing descended on them now, gracing them with his presence. After a booming greeting, he sat down next to the boy. Roark did not nod, but he did open his eyes.

"Avark." The Death Faced croaked, "We must have a word."

Though her gleaming eyes had left him, Loot could still tell he had the attention of the Lady. The youth finished tweaking his lyre, and gave it a thoughtful strum. Everything seemed in order, and the chord gave him some small comfort in the wake of such scrutiny.

He pulled the instrument off the table and began to pick out a few notes here and there while Roark leaned against the wall.

The Death Faced settled back into his aesthetic state of half-sleep. In reality he was very much alert. He saw plain as day the animosity between the lad and the Lady. With his eyes still lidded and his fingers laced neatly together, the knight opened his gash of a mouth and spoke.

"Long ride to Ayia. Don't dismiss the lad so easily. Would I have let him come if he were useless?"

"Don't bother." Loot wormed his way from between Avark and Roark. He hopped the bench, lyre over his shoulder, "I'll saddle the horses Sir."

The lad flounced out of the bar and to the stables.

"Well the lad is far too scrawny" chuckled Avark, "But I do be doubtin that what ye're lookin ta toss words about. Or the lady's attention for the little laddie. So what be on ye're mind, my silent and broodin friend?"

The big man started chuckling to himself over the mental image of the prim and proper Lady de Volkan getting the squire in a headlock and giving him a noogie. Or something of the like, as the air crackled with tension, much like the air within the classroom when he was a younger lad and in training himself. That would most certainty be interesting, where she would be knocked down a few pegs if she lost or the teasing he could do if she won. The morning was shaping the day into one of enjoyment.

A vast and toothy smile crept over his face, as Avark seemed to fill up more of the chair and surrounding space in a great stretch. In innocents, he looked at both of his fellow knights. For a strange reason, the feeling that they would be the only ones carrying on weighed heavily in his mind. The forth of their number seemed to have long vanished (and would most likely reappear once the work was done, it had happened before, although not with Sir Arlight).

“We’re done my ladies.” She heard the maid say and Jazz grinned, looking at the hair and the dresses and everything that had been done to the girls. The young princess was ever so excited about the whole process and loved watching the maids fuss over someone else. It was nice to have other girls there.

"When you see the dining hall, you'll love the feast that we have." Jazz went onto explain. "We have lots of breads and meats and other wonderful feasts to enjoy. I'm sure that you'll absolutely love it all. I promise." The excitement on her facial features continued to show in her voice as it was close to something like an excited squeal rather than just normal talking.

The princess looked at both girls. "You both look beautiful now. Perfect. Just wait until you see the feast. And don't worry about anything. I'm so glad I can help someone. It's nice having people around to talk to. As nice as Shane and Alexander are, I'm enjoying having you two girls over." She stated. "Now. Let's go see my father and eat. Then we can take Marissa to the doctor.

And with that, Jazz left the chambers and entered the hallway, waiting for her guests to follow suit, her smile not leaving her face once.

"Stay or go. No secrets." Roark answered back, shortly. If there was any preference on his face, then it was hidden behind the scarf.

Miles did not wait to see what the Lady would do. He turned to Avark and surveyed the burly knight for a few seconds. The Laughing and the Death Faced seated next to each other was surely a scene to behold.

Even putting aside their obvious personality differences, they still were stark opposites. Avark had a rolling brawn to him. Roark was no weakling--but his was a lean, toned physique gave him a smaller presence and he was dwarfed in size.

"We're coming out of low lands. Into forest, foothills. Ayian pass within week. We need plan..."

The Death Faced began to speak without preamble, in his usual abrupt and clipped fashion.

"All other Knights failed. Why? Walk straight into country, banners waving. You been to Ayia? Going full armor invites uproar. If we want answers, we make other plans."

Roark, of course, did not elaborate on his experience with Ilena's shadowy neighbor. He did leave one last bauble.

"Which is why I brought the boy."

"No... Of course not... We hardly ever have guests so I'm sure my father will love to see you both." Jazz grinned, though she had no idea why her father didn't have guests. In the girls mind, guests would have been good, really good. She thought that their palace should be shown to people, that they deserved big feasts and parties and everything like that. Whenever she asked her father though, about these matters, her father said he had already tried and the townspeople of Ayia were too busy for feasts and parties.

When they got to the main hall, Jazz smiled, moving quickly down the steps and into the hall where her brother and father waited. She smiled and nodded at them both, before going straight to her father, whose eyes lay on the guests. "Oh father. I've brought guests. I thought it would be wonderful for them to come and stay the night because Marissa is sick. I said that I'd pay for the doctor." Jazz started.

Her father was about to interrupt when Jazz continued to talk. "And well I was wondering if they could stay for a little longer. I love having them here and we'll need to make sure Marissa is definitely all better." The girl smiled, her eyes begging her father, though his stern look never leaving the guests.

"We'll see..." Was all he said, a harsh tone lacing his voice, his eyes piercing the two girls that stood there.

Jazz couldn't keep her excitement off of her face as she went and grabbed the girls, seating them next to her. Jazz by her father, then Marissa and then Lisa. All they needed to do was wait for Alexander, or start without him. And before her father made his decision, he just kept on staring at Lisa, his mind processing her looks, seeing what the maids had seen.

"I see" said Avark, one of his brushy eyebrows arching slightly over his left eye, "Other plans you say."

A troubled frown passed over his lips. He had gotten the gist of what Sir Roark was suggesting and it did not sit well in his stomach. He was a warrior, first and foremost, not some flattering courtier or some lying spy out to gather information, the king had those aplenty in Ayia, whom had given them a person of interest. He would leave the sneaky business to them, not try his own hand, which he knew would prove clumsy at that task.

"Sir Roark" the big knight said softly, "I fear I cannot join you in what I believe you to be planning. It is not in my nature, nor the skills I have honed over my many years but I believe I can help in my own way. As you say, goin in with full armor will invoke ire from the common people and I will do this. Once I have their attention, you may enter the country, unnoticed. While you gather more information, I shall ride to the capital, under the guise of a messenger from the king, to every nation in the south, bring a warning of Northmen ships sailing further down the coast then normal, coming to raid the unprotected villages there. I will also be seeking a company of knights to join in a counterattack."

That wasn't a complete lie, the longboats had been going further and further and would most likely be raiding the shores of Ayia soon. besides it would give hi ma reason to get into the castle, speak with the king and most likely dine with him, as an official ambassador. Of course, the rules of curtsy would demanded that the king would have his daughter present at the meal as well and he could get close enough to speak with her then, or right after the meal.