A/N: Ever wonder how Danric knew it was Mel's name day? Just my thoughts on how it happened. Hope you enjoy!
Danric rolled over and willed himself back to sleep. He should be – and was – exhausted from the trip up the mountain to Tlanth, but too many years of training made it impossible to sleep much past dawn. At home, he would have gone out and trained with his Blues, but here … Danric sighed and rolled over again. Here with the Countess who might see it as a sign of aggression. Here, with the Countess who he wanted to see him as a friend – not the enemy who had won where she had lost. He rolled over onto his back and watched a ray of sun sneak through the shutters. He tried again to close his eyes for his mother's sake. He couldn't help a small smile as he thought of his mother's advice before leaving Athaneral.
I know that much of this trip is for political reasons, whatever the court may think. But remember,
you are going for a vacation. Be sure you are seen to be relaxing, but even more importantly
Danric – actually relax. Make sure to sleep late, and eat hot, regular meals. I don't
want to see you with any sniffles when you return.
Danric opened his eyes again and noted that the ray of light had crept up ever so slightly higher. He tried to relax – his responsibilities today were few – he couldn't say he was disappointed to be missing court. However, he still had mail to answer. Mail that wouldn't be considered strenuous. And he could tell his mother he had slept late – later than usual, anyway.
He got up and began to dress. Once he settled down to write, though, exhaustion pulled at him. There was no help for it now. He refused to go back to bed now that he was up. He finally decided he needed coffee. Or at least hot chocolate. His work wouldn't get finished without it.
He debated with himself for several minutes – this wasn't his home, and good guests didn't wander around unattended. However, he couldn't rely on Branaric to rise soon. As much as Danric enjoyed his company – that man could sleep a whole day away.
Finally, he rose, taking a handful of non-sensitive letters with him. He quickly followed his nose to the kitchen. It wasn't an unfamiliar route – he and Russav had spent more time than was proper sneaking down to kitchens for midnight snacks.
The kitchen was alive with activity. An older woman headed out through the door Danric had just stepped through. She started when she saw him, but then dropped into a graceful curtsy.
"Your grace. What can I do for you?"
The woman was clearly the head of the servants here, and bore it with a grace that reminded Danric of the stewardess from Renselaeus. He instantly warmed to her.
"I was hoping for some coffee, actually. Or hot chocolate."
"Of course," she curtsied again. "I can have it brought up immediately."
"I'll wait, if you don't mind."
"As you wish." She turned away and returned to the bustle that was the center of the kitchen.
Danric watched as they prepared enough breakfast to feed an army. Obviously, his presence on Branaric's unplanned visit had repercussions below stairs as well as above.
He hadn't planned on staying, but a thought had struck him. Much could be told about a person by what their servants said about them. The warm familiarity of the woman who had greeted him gave him hope that he might find friends among the Countess' staff. Friends that he would never use against her – only to judge whether he would ever stand a chance to win her affections.
A desire he had not told anyone about. He suspected Russav may have guessed, but so far, Danric had avoided an inquisition on the topic.
A younger woman, nearly the spitting image of the first, approached him with a steaming mug of coffee. She curtsied before handing it over. "Anything else you need, Your Grace. You have simply to ask."
Danric smiled appreciatively. "I must confess – those sweet rolls smell delicious. Would it be possible for me to have a taste?"
Within moments, one end of the large prepping table had been cleared, and his coffee was set before him, along with a plate of sweet rolls and sticky buns. He pulled his letters from his pocket, and assured them he would trouble them no more.
The kitchen was noticeably quieter as he read and ate – he would be sure to tell his mother he was eating wonderfully large meals. Once he was finished – and before anyone could refill his plate, he stood, and quickly stepped to the wash tub where he placed his cup and plate into the sudsy water. Then he turned, thanked them all, and stepped back out the servants entrance.
He smiled to himself as he climbed the narrow stairs back to his room. If there ever was an alliance between the Astiar and Renselaeus families, he was quite sure the servants would accept him with open arms.
The next morning, Danric didn't fight to stay asleep. He rose when the sunbeams first sneaked through the curtains, dressed, and then sorted his mail. He took a few letters, some blank sheets, and his pen, and retraced his steps to the kitchen.
He didn't mean to surprise them, but the whole room stopped what they were doing to stare.
Danric raised his hands in mute apology. "I was wondering if there was any coffee."
The kitchen roared back to life, and Danric was cleared a place to eat. Today his plate was piled high with pancakes, drizzled in syrup.
"I'm sorry if I'm adding to your work." Danric addressed the younger of the two women who served him. None of the other workers came near, carefully shepherded away by the older one.
"It's no trouble at all, Your Grace. Besides, I doubt it would be necessary if Bran wasn't too lazy to get up."
"Oria." The older woman scolded.
"My apologies, Your Grace," the girl replied meekly.
"No apology needed. I am quite afraid I rise rather earlier than most people prefer. Your dear Branaric is no exception."
The younger girl glanced smugly at the other woman, who could only be her mother.
"If Your Grace wishes to rise earlier, we can have a tray prepared for you at dawn." The older woman swooped in to preserve calm and order.
"I appreciate the morning stroll if it's all the same to you …" he paused for her name.
"Julen, Your Grace. And my daughter, Oria. She is the stewardess here."
"My pleasure to meet you both." Danric's mind whirled. He had heard the name before, yet he couldn't' place it.
Danric finished his meal in silence, placed his things in the wash water, and returned to his room, the name still searching for its memory.
It came to him later that day. Bran had mentioned her when talking about their history. Julen was what passed as Meliara's Lady's maid. Danric resolved to make friends with this woman. Maybe someday, she could plead his case where he could not.
Danric went down for an early breakfast most mornings. Even when Branaric rose early and they practiced with the garrison (practices which Lady Meliara did not attend – much to Danric's disappointment) he went down for a mug of coffee. On a few occasions, when he had missed his morning ritual, he went down after everyone had retired from dinner, and sat and talked with Julen and Oria as they prepared the menu and meals for the following day. Danric found a certain peace in the kitchens of Tlanth – he felt accepted, and enjoyed a welcome relief from the duties of Athaneral.
Julen was a straightforward person – perhaps where Meliara had learned it from. However, she was quite staunch in her beliefs of how the world should be. Danric had once overheard her saying that it was good for Mel to be spending time with hew "own folks" instead of with the village children.
Finally, Branaric reminded Meliara that they, none of them, could stay in Tlanth forever, and the date was set for the return trip to Athaneral.
Danric slipped down to the kitchen the next morning to find a mug of coffee and a plate of muffins awaiting him. He had a distinct feeling Julen thought he was too thin and should eat more. She would get along wonderfully well with his mother.
Oria was nowhere to be found as Julen poured him a second cup and settled down in the seat next to him.
"Are we to expect the announcement of the coronation, Your Grace?" It was unusual for Julen to speak first, and Danric had a feeling there was more to this conversation then picking a date.
Danric surprised himself by answering with his true feelings, instead of the political ones he so often hid behind. "I believe ruling should begin as a partnership – both king and queen should take power together."
Julen raised her eyebrows. "Are we to believe you have chosen your queen?"
Danric opened his hands. "If it were only that simple. There are those who seek the power of it – and may even be able to use it to effect wonderful change. However, my belief is in the partnership – the union – between the king and queen."
"And you have not found that person yet." It was a statement, not a question, so Danric merely inclined his head, and took another bite of his muffin. Something in his carefully controlled mask must have slipped, for he nearly choked at Julen's next words.
"I think you have found that person." She stated it matter-of-factly – like claiming the sky was blue. "From what I have seen, you are practical – despite your belief in a partnership, you would set a date if there was no queen in sight. The country would need the stability of a crowned sovereign. Perhaps this girl is not quite ready for that commitment?" She finally turned to Danric for confirmation.
"The matter of the crown does complicate it a bit." He hoped being as vague as possible would quickly end this embarrassing moment. It didn't work.
"Would you be willing to take an old woman's advice?"
"I have found much wisdom in the advice of my elders – I am most willing to hear it."
Julen frowned at him as if he was a ten year old again, in trouble for abandoning his duties. "Hearing it was not what I asked, Your Grace, however, a seed planted is better then one left on its own. If you truly believe in the union between the king and queen – the marriage that binds them – then you will first treat this girl of yours as if she is the only thing that matters to you. Not the crown, or the coronation, or even your desire to have a partner in ruling."
"I do intend to pursue her for herself – I have received the advice before, but have found myself at a loss to follow it as of yet." Danric made to rise, hoping the conversation would end with the meal. Julen seemed resigned to letting him go.
"I wish you luck, Your Grace. I think you will make a fine husband – and a fair ruler."
"Thank you, your support is heartwarming."
Danric returned to his room, rolling the conversation over in his head. Julen was right – the seed was planted. He knew that he could not wait forever, if he wanted to convince Meliara of his good intentions – never mind his love – he had better get started.
Danric attempted to approach her that very afternoon. She was in the library, tucked into a cozy corner. He wanted to smooth over the issues between them – he left with a commitment to avoid antagonizing each other – in public. He felt that perhaps she thought that seeing him ever again would be too soon. He sighed as he organized his things for the return trip. It seemed that he would be choosing a date – alone. It was not as he would like it, but as Julen had pointed out, it may be more practical for the unity of the country. He would discuss it with his parents when he returned home.
There was a quiet tap at his door. Danric stepped over and opened it, to find Julen with a tray.
"I thought you might be interested in a few treats for the road."
"Your kindness has been overwhelming – I have felt at home here."
"Well, then you must visit us again, Your Grace." With a practiced curtsy, Julen returned the way she had come. Danric inspected the tray she had left behind. Beside the steaming mug of coffee and plate of muffins were carefully packaged treats for the road. Underneath it all was a paper napkin. Starting to pick it up to protect his writing desk from the hot coffee, Danric noticed writing on the back. Flipping it over, he found a date, and underneath simply "Meliara's Name Day". Lowering himself to the bed, Danric stared at the date. It was mere days away. Of course Branaric would not have mentioned it. The absentminded count had no idea it was so close.
Danric smiled to himself as he rose and slipped the napkin into a stack of letters. He would make sure Meliara would have something to celebrate.