1363 AD (seven years earlier...)



The great, sprawling metropolis of Heathersea was easily fifty miles north of our little village of Billburyshire, which was no more than a hamlet by comparison — the population nothing to Heathersea's; despite the Black Death. My father, who had business in the capital, had relented grudgingly to bring us along, but it had taken us two full days, though we were on horseback, to travel thence, by virtue of the soggy roads having been inundated with mud from the heavy rains of the day before.

Due to our slow progress, we — my father, Elinor, and I — had been forced to spend the first night at an inn not thirty miles south of Heathersea. By the second night, having already marched a grueling five and twenty miles, my father procured a single room in another inn — not half so comfortable as the first — that seemed, in fact, more like an alehouse than the conventional lodgings more suited to a weary traveller with a few marks in his purse. It had been crowded and filthy, and to that end, the proprietor had no rooms to spare but one. The three of us, therefore, had to squeezed into that small, ridiculous room while our servants had been relegated to pallets in the stables. 'Twas no matter, for we rose with the cockerel and were once again on our way as the sun broke along the horizon, with only five more miles to go.

What did I care for such inconsequential inconveniences in any event, for I would soon be seeing one of the largest cities in the country; an extraordinary feat for a girl who had never travelled a day in her life. That my father should approve my inclusion along the journey was miraculous and extremely fortuitous; or so I had thought then.

Though it was midsummer, the days were unusually chilly and our crops had not fared well this year. Less than half our two thousand acres lay fallow. Winter had not completely retreated from the south and July had utterly reneged on the promise of warmth. The £20 per annum of yesteryear, generated by Buttongrass Hall's estate, had dwindled dismally to less than half that much. 'Twas why we were on this sojourn.

My thoughts had came full circle by the time I brought my eyes back to rest atop my father's balding pate. I was not supposed to be privy to his reasons, but I knew — for even a normal child's ear is as sharp as flint — that Edwyn sought to petition the banks for a loan, and thereby facilitate the family, as well as his yeoman and servants, through another, possibly dire, winter. The Heathersean Bank was, as like as not, no better than a usurer, but my father was now a desperate man.

❅

My enthusiasm, having waned pitifully during our tedious journey over the quagmired trails, had returned tenfold at the sight of the flying buttresses and mammoth city walls of the Cathedral of Saint Brennan as the morning sun erupted over its golden dome.

As we drew near the walls, our nags ambling leisurely across a narrow bridge, my jaw practically loosed completely from its catch, and it was all I could do not to leap over Elinor's wide lap and bolt ahead.

We were sharing a pony, she and I, while my father sat astride his own bay gelding, his brow furrowed and his shoulders tense. This did not concern me, however, in as much as I had not the troubles that he entertained, save the need to sit still and resist the urge to run to the ancient gates like a common peasant.

Not even the putrid stench of the brook below us could distract me from my enthusiasm; its banks lined with the filth, waste and excrement that was so prevalent in any populated municipality. We stopped before a fine-looking inn that boasted a colorful sign atop its entrance: the severed head of a pickled goat — the image inferring that the goat itself was drunk and merry.

My father's business would keep him occupied the rest of the day, so Elinor and I set off to explore the city alone — and by alone, I mean we were escorted by two male servants and Elinor's maid, Alice.

Elinor was my father's second wife, my own mother having died the day I had entered into this world. I harbored no strong attachment to Ellie other than perhaps a tepid regard that she herself cultivated with her reserved civility. Oh, she was affable enough in a sort of detached and cool kind of way. I suppose I might have otherwise been endowed with an evil stepmother had not my father married dull, bland Elinor, so I was grateful that providence had elected to favor me with her instead.

While we toured the city, she smiled blankly as I pointed this way and that, answered noncommittally when I exclaimed excitedly at each and every new curiosity, and then chastised me absently when I wandered too far abreast of our small company. Truly, she was rather a tolerable stepmother, albeit somewhat stolid.

I think she might have been comely once, her hair perhaps not as mousy and her frame mayhap not quite so hefty, but for as long as I could remember she had always had muddy, brown eyes and pallid skin that was stretched across a somewhat doughy physiognomy and an ever billowing, stout form. If not for her sturdy haunches, she would have been considered practically impish for she was awfully short. My own height surpassed hers by some inches; but I was considered bizarrely tall for a girl almost ten.

'Giantess' was one of many epithets I had endured of late. "We'll soon need to start placing bricks on your head so you don't continue sprouting, Aria!" 'Twas a hackneyed jest that galled me no end, I'd heard it so often.

We were meandering toward the meat market, spread along Butcher's Row, toward the deafening ringing of Saint Brennan's bells. I watched as a stalwart butcher with ruddy cheeks, that were wet with perspiration, brought his meat cleaver down atop the chopping board, splitting bone and flesh in twain; his blood-splattered, leather apron a grim canvas indeed. The freshly slaughtered carcasses hung morbidly from hooks behind the meat-laden counters and were already attracting flies in the morning sun, but this only seemed to arouse my stepmother's appetite for she stopped to sample a passing vendor's tasty wares.

"Warm Sheep's trotters! Warm peascods!" he called as we approached.

Elinor chose the sheep's feet, chewing heartily at the gristle and sucking noisily as she waddled along the streets, while I opted for the peascods.

As we drifted further into the center of town, by way of Main street, we visited many shops — only to look, mind, as we were on a budget.

Cobblers, silk merchants, tailors and hundreds more were on the first levels of the multistoried buildings abutting the edges of the road; exhibiting various painted signs that advertised each merchant's various trades. Here we idled around Market square where traders had set up stalls displaying their ironwork and whatnot.

The city was a sensory deluge of vibrant hues: reds, blues, browns and yellows! 'Twas a veritable kaleidoscope of smells and colors, although not all of which were pleasant. There were peasants leading packhorses, ambling carts filled with grains or produce, all manner of livestock, and laughing urchins running between the dense, vivid horde of jugglers, vicars, villeins and every other breed of humanity. Even the gentry were bustling purposefully along the causeway in their bright apparel.

I watched as a housewife leaned out from an upper story window and vigorously beat a dusty carpet, unimpressed by the humdrum and excitement of her surroundings. However, I was of a different opinion: I could do naught but gape in awe as I paused amidst the flow of traffic like the foreigner that I was.

"Alms! Alms for the poor!"

"Thief! Stop!"

"Pies! Many a pie! Get yer hot liver pies!"

"Cor, ye bleedin' little bastards! Ger'off!!"

The din of voices came from all around me, ricocheting off every building. It was both thrilling and daunting.

From Main Street lead a network of shadowed alleyways that stretched between lopsided buildings and more narrowed, muddied paths that further lead to nothing more than wretched slums and squalor. However, Elinor and I kept to the bright and noisy main artery, away from the open sewers and putrid ditches, where the effluvium of bilge water and waste was not so intense.

By mid afternoon, my stepmother had walked her fill and deemed it time to return to our room at the inn back on Front Street. As we drew closer to our lodging, and further from the congestion of the town center, the roads became broader, the houses grander, and the smells so much the sweeter.

We passed more high walls, albeit not the Great Wall that encircled the city. No, some of these walls enclosed subdivisions of monasteries, and others girdled the lofty residences of wealthy lords and knights.

It was here I stopped to gawk through the latticed grille of a sturdy gate that belonged to the latter category — a luxurious, four story, red sandstone mansion. It lay settled in the space behind the wall of the gate I now peered through, and sat replete with tall chimneys, a crenellated parapet and creeping yellow honeysuckle — the smell of which reached me even at this distance. The house stood proud behind the angle-towers and gatehouse, the oriel windows richly glazed and brilliant where the sun lent its glow.

As I loitered at the iron gate, the large front door opened of a sudden and an extremely tall gentleman emerged from its depths, his liveried attendants trailing in his wake. He looked to be around his late thirties, or so I gleaned from a child's estimation. His face was cleanly shaven and his dark blond hair was wavy beneath a fashionable hat. Though his garments were functional, dark and unadorned, they were by no means inexpensive — quite the opposite. His woolen chausses were brown and of an excellent quality, as were his doublet and leather boots. His tunic and sable-trimmed cloak were a dark warm burgundy and suited him perfectly for his mien was rather esoteric and...predatory.

Where did that notion come from? I wondered.

He was elegant and understated, and I watched him with a fascination that had nothing to do with his attire and everything to do with his demeanor. I noticed abruptly that he was heading straight for me, an impatient frown marring his noble visage, and I pushed away from the gate with a gasp as he opened it.

I thought he would simply sneer down his nose at me, covered in dust as I was; and so he did, turning to leave in the opposite direction. Howbeit, quite unexpectedly, and with so frightening a speed that I scarce had a chance to blink, he whirled around with an astonished expression fixed upon his face. With a muttered apology, I made to leave, disliking his sudden interest in me, and began to walk briskly to where my company were disappearing down the road; seemingly ignorant of my tarrying.

"Wait!" he barked.

His voice held such authority that there was naught for me to do but obey. He was obviously a high-ranking peer of the realm, presumably a Marquess or a Count by the look of him, and I only a country gentleman's daughter; and a female to boot.

He came at me so suddenly that I froze, flinching with dread and thinking that he meant to hit me, but for what possibly reason, I knew not. Surely I had not offended him by merely admiring his residence? When no blow was forthcoming, I looked out from where I'd shielded my face with my feeble, little arms. He was considering me curiously. In fact, he was studying me so intensely that I too looked down at my raiments and boots to see what the matter might be. I was no more grubby than usual, if a little dustier perhaps.

"Forgive me, child. I meant no harm. Prithee, what is your name?" said he with narrowed scrutiny.

"Ariana," I answered dumbly, forgetting my manners as I marveled at his odd accent; slight though it was.

"And where is your father?" He looked passed me expectantly, ostensibly in search of the aforementioned guardian. "Your mother?" he asked, his strange eyes shifting back to me as his brows lowered suspiciously, seemingly annoyed that I was, by all appearances, unchaperoned.

"My lord?" I gulped.

"Your father's name?" He arched a solitary, dark brow at my vacuity.

"Edwyn Felstead."

"Do you live here?" He seemed now to question my intelligence for he was quick to elucidate. "In Heathersea, I mean?" He took another critical glance at my clothes, his eyes tightening further, and followed caustically with, "Cheapside, perhaps?"

"N-no, my lord. I am come from Billburyshire," I swallowed noisily, "in the South Moorlands."

He nodded thoughtfully. "And where are you staying now, pray?"

"The Goat's Head Inn, my lord."

He mulled this over and scratched the stubble at his chin while I fidgeted uneasily under his contemplative gaze.

"Aria!"

We both turned to see Elinor waving her pillowy arms at me from a distance, frantically motioning for me to catch up, which surprised me inasmuch as she was not often so...animated. The Gentleman before me peered curiously at my yelling guardian.

"Your mother, I presume?"

"No!" I said aghast. "Erm...I beg your pardon, my lord, but no." I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and endeavored a more dignified manner of speech. "That is...s-she is-" Having failed to achieve that dignity, I could do no more than stutter some more. He waved his hand nonchalantly, if a bit impatiently — my lapse in etiquette and stammering of no bother, apparently. I tried again. "She is my father's wife, Lady Elinor."

"You had better go." He considered Elinor as she made her way hastily toward us, huffing noisily even from this distance. "Afore she's struck down by apoplexy," he murmured ironically with deadpan precision. I might have laughed were I not still so intimidated. "Come, I shall accompany you thither."

There was no thought to declining his offer. He was obviously not a man to be gainsaid for any reason. I remarked Elinor's eyes widening to the size of two gold nobles as we approached her. Despite his impressive height and habiliments, she did not allow her shock to overwhelm her and curtsied respectfully as we, and the rest of his entourage, halted before her.

"Lady Elinor, I presume" said he. "I know this is wholly untoward, but I thought it best to deliver the child personally into your care." He shot a sidelong look at the tall giant in his retinue that was as equally dressed in fine clothing. They seemed to communicate silently ere the gentleman continued his address to Elinor. "This street, no matter the wealth that abuts it, has perils enough and is no place for any child to rove alone; it therefore behooves you, madam, to take better care of your charge." There was a decided air of menace in his warning and no mistake.

Why my protection should be any business of his was not a little confusing, and poor Elinor could only stutter her apologies, blanched with the mortification of being thus addressed by such a one as he. Though who he was was yet a mystery.

Noticing her difficulty in deciding how best to greet him — for the man's demeanor bespoke his highborn status — he revealed his name to us.

"In the absence of a mutual acquaintance, I am afraid I will need to break with convention and take care of the introductions myself. Godwin Greyback," he said, according us a slight, condescending bow. "My brother-in-law and I," he added, indicating the young giant who appeared much too young to be his brother, "are come from the north." And seeing the confusion apparent in our gazes, he added, "Nordrlund to be exact."

My father had always spoken ill of the northmen with their barbaric customs and strange manners. He was fond of telling the story of the great northern chieftain, the Blood-drinker, who had come to Heathersea hundreds of years ago to meet with our southern King. Upon being told to kiss the kings's feet, the heathen had merely bent over to grab a foot before yanking it up to his lips for a hearty kiss, much to the roaring delight of his clansmen. The northman, tall as they all were, had therefore practically dangled the king from his pasty toe.

Having heard these asseverations from Edwyn all my life, I was hard pressed to ignore my prejudices. For all my father was no more than a benighted scoundrel himself, I nevertheless beheld these men with ingrained distrust and trepidation.

"I believe I have kept you both long enough." The man, Godwin, then inclined his head in farewell. "We shall meet again soon enough..." His eyes settled on me once more. "Of that I have no doubt."

The need to get away was a powerful one; like some ancient and primordial instinct coming to the fore and urging me to run and hide. But this was at odds with whatever gentility and etiquette was instilled in me, and my manners would not allow the slight. I therefore bid him adieu — a spurious smile cracking my lips — as was polite. Then, mindful of walking sedately beside Elinor, who had offered her own timid goodbye, we strolled away though my brain screamed for me to hurry!

All through our retreat, I glanced behind us to see that he and the giant stood watching us — nay, me — keenly. I would not soon forget the man's eyes: that odd shade of blue that was so pale as to be nearly otherworldly. I had only ever seen eyes like his in...the glares of wolves and cats.

For all their refined manners and sophistication, the pair of them seemed almost wild and remarkably tall even for Nordrlunders. In fact, their peculiar accents had hinted at the possibility of northern ancestry even before they had confirmed it.

❅

That night, as I lay humming to my doll on a lumpy pallet, positioned flush against a papery-thin wall that separated mine from my parent's rented tenements, I heard a knock at the door to their room. The hour was not so late that a visitor would be unwelcome so I thought nothing of it.

No doubt a money-lender, I yawned.

I listened as my father greeted whomever had arrived and could make out an answering male voice, its timbre rich and low. Alas, I could ascertain nothing else — no distinct words — so I ceased to listen and continued singing Dolly to sleep.

The muffled voices coming through the wall soon lulled me into a deep enough slumber that when my door creaked opened a while later, it did not rouse me even a little.

I did not see the stranger approach my cot, like a silent apparition, while my father's silhouetted figure stood sentinel at the doorway, and watched on curiously. I was not cognizant of the large frame of a man peering down at my sleeping form with his icy, blue eyes — wolflike and calculating.

It was all no more than a vague dream, or so I told myself later, and by morning — upon recalling the surreal occurrence — I dismissed it as such, just an odd hallucination.



🌟Hello werefolk! This chapter is dedicated to RebelDynasty. her writing is some of the most superior stuff here in Wattpad World, so if you have a hankering for YA fantasy about magical creatures and mythology, look no further!🌟