The Silver Lady

“And tell me, my Lady, how fare you? I know you must be terribly tired from your journey south. It must be truly terrible to be kept from your family and home, especially in such tense circumstances.”

There is a lingering silence, broken by the sharp exhale of the simply dressed monk who has repeatedly tried to speak, only to be met with silence. His exasperation is not directed at the surly-faced small girl standing in sullen silence before his gaze, but towards the fact that she has been made his ward. While he had heard the mocking words of Norwallians about the wild family of nobles ruling that precious border march of Sterling, he had never believed it to be true before this very moment.

The silent girl looks up at him much like a predator waiting for her prey to flinch. Her bright blue eyes and braided blonde hair stand out in the murky room, especially thanks to the burgundy dress that she has been wearing on her long journey south. After a moment longer of dominating the silence she steps past the clergyman and makes her way to the wooden bed that has been prepared for her. The heavy pelt of a wolf has been placed on top of the rough linen bedding, a final insult to the noble family that is seen as a pack of wolves by the majority of Norwall. A pillow filled with feathers tops off the intentionally unwelcoming arrangement of a bed, becoming the only welcoming thing about it in fact. While the bed might seem heavenly and rich to any peasant, to the daughter of the Duke of Sterling it is an abomination.

“This is my cage then?” the young Lady of Sterling finally deems it necessary to speak up, only to question her surroundings.

“Cage, my Lady?” the monk asks, his face scrunching as he looks at what seems like a heavenly bit of luxury to him.

“May I ask if I am to be kept here until my marriage, or shall I still be treated a noble?” the young Lady questions further, avoiding the question for clarification.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course you shall be afforded every right of a young Lady while you are staying in the royal court. It is only your right,” he rushes to speak, his tongue getting in the way as he tries to accommodate both the official excuse and his personal hope into the same sentence. “If I may, my Lady, you may always come to me with any matter that you deem needs correction. I am Brother Brander, and I will be your chaperone and educator, as deemed a necessity by His Majesty the King. I would be glad to deliver any requests to the staff on your behalf.”

“Let us dispense of the pleasantries, Brother. This is not the room for a noble, even for one of the,” she pauses and her eyes roll back as she thinks back. “Timberwolves, yes? A pack of wild timberwolves. That is what you southerners call us.”

“I am a humble servant of Our One True God, my Lady. There is nothing in such names that I find to my interests, and politics of this realm are far beyond my concerns.”

“I may be young, Brother, but I am not innocent. I know the faith plays an important part in the politics of Norwall,” the Lady from Sterling states with a quiet chuckle. “I am Lucia Druiloch, daughter to the Duke of Sterling and by now the sister to the current Duke of Sterling, and I am a hostage to be kept in the royal court for the sole purpose of forcing loyalty. You are here to watch over me, read my letters, educate me in the southern way, and whisper in my ear about loyalty to the crown of Norwall.”

With a deep inhale the monk straightens out and watches the expression of the young girl change into a keen knowing smile instead of that predatory look that she had been showing previously. Brander's mind was racing. He could see that he had very clearly underestimated this girl, as had those who brought him into the court to guide her path into a loyal subject. The task had suddenly become that much more challenging to him and a shiver of apprehension ran through him for the first time since having been approached with such an important duty. Perhaps those stories he had heard were not entirely untrue about the strong line of Druiloch, especially about the women among them.

The hesitation, the silence, it all feeds the inquisitive and quick mind of Lady Lucia with more and more information about her own place in court as well as the monk's place with her. She turns and take the wolf pelt from the bed, removes her cape and drapes the treated skin over her shoulders instead. The gilded clasp of her own cloak finds itself pinned swiftly to the dark grey fur, keeping it fastened around her neck.

“I am right about you and my own place here,” she says softly before walking past the monk. “Come, Brother Brander. I am to attend court under your guidance, yes? Then let us attend court. There is much I wish to learn.”

Lucia hurries through the narrow halls of the old stone castle, hearing the Brother's hurried steps try to keep up with her. The musk of the wolfskin fills the Lady's nose, the pungent smell making her keep her head higher than normal. It does not take long for her to find the throne room simply by guessing where the most guards are placed, and she slips through a side door with Brother Brander.

A massive crowd fills the throne room, the people resplendent with all the colours of a rainbow and the splendour of finely crafted jewellery. The walls and heavy vaulted ceiling are covered with a solid thick layer of plaster upon which are painted beautiful painting interweaving religious, royal, and historical imagery. At the far end of the hall is the gilded throne, impossible to see from so far back as where Lady Lucia of Sterling now finds herself. She slowly moves through the crowd of nobles and their attendants, glancing coyly over her shoulder to make sure that the Brother can follow close enough behind her to make sure she does not do anything untoward.

The nobles of the hall make way with hushes grumbling and whispers of complaint to their fellows about this young girl pushing through their midst, the smell of a wolf announcing her. As she reaches the front of the crowd they move further apart to not have that smell tarry on their fineries. The crowd shifting and churning to form this gap brings the King's attention away from the noble who currently has the floor, his eyes falling on the little noblewoman standing with the pelt draped over her and head held high.

The nobleman before the King pauses and gets quickly waved away with his concerns. Instead of calling for the next person in line to have their moment before the court, the King leans over to his chancellor and whispers in his ear.

“Now before the court, His Majesty the King welcomes Lady Lucia Druiloch, of the Duchy of Sterling,” the chancellor's voice booms and echoes across the crowd while Lucia curtsies and moves away from the crowd.

“Lady Lucia,” the King begins while leaning forward on his curule seat. “It is an honour to see you in our court so soon after your arrival. I do hope you have found your long and slow journey a calming experience.”

“Your Majesty,” Lady Lucia responds with a bright and clear voice while curtsying again before the eyes of the King. “It is my honour to be so warmly welcomed in Lionmane Keep and to represent my family in your presence. I am confident my time here will prove enlightening.”

“I am confident of that as well,” the King says and stands up from his seat. “We do not receive the Druilochs often enough in our halls and too often our invitations are met with silence. Your brother, the new Duke of Sterling, will surely be more jovial.”

“I am sure of it, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Now please, you should rest from your journey, Lady Lucia. You are most welcome at the feast tomorrow evening,” the King announces and chuckles. “I believe there is to be a recital of a poem about the first meeting of Lion and Wolf.”

“Your Majesty, I am eager to hear the tale for myself. I hear the Lion forces the Wolves to tear apart their own pack, only to make them stronger,” Lady Lucia says and flashes a quick knowing smile before curtsying once more. “My deepest thanks, Your Majesty.”

She slowly takes several steps back until she is allowed by custom to finally turn and walk out of the throne room through one of the many doors. As she heaves a deep breath she comes to a sudden halt, faced with the rough robes of a monk standing before her. Brother Brander sighs and looks down at the Lady before offering a slight smile.

“You will not make my duties easy, will you My Lady?”

“Would I be a Druiloch if I did?”