Chapter 4: Feasting

"To the King!"

All goblets were raised as Ser Adam Redboar led the toast. Knights from around the realm all raised their glasses, toasting both the health and the reign of good King Alistair. The main hall of their hosts holdings were packed to bursting; only the most slender of men and women could have made it through. Elven servants moved to and fro through the crowd, making sure every cup was filled before the next toast.

Ser Oswald had lost count of how many toasts he had drank. To the king yes, and to their host, and the Lord Chancellor, and then one to the Maker himself for granting them all this most glorious day, toast followed toast as the wine continued to flow. The young knight's head swam from too much strong wine. After the first glass, he was starting to wonder if the servants had watered it down at all; it certainly did not taste like it.

He shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing, yet it seemed to be no use.

Maker, he thought, this must be what one of Lord Honeywell's bee hives feel like, if they could feel that is.

Oz had been trying to keep his wits, to make sure that he was at least aware of the world around him should he choose to joust tomorrow…

..Yet the servants kept filling his cup, it would be rude not to drink when toasting either the king or a noble lord, very rude indeed.

It was a bit of a sacrifice, he thought with a hiccup, but he would try to be brave.

Ser Adam had once again invited him to share a seat of honor. He had thought that a bit excessive, but the man would not take no for an answer. He sat to the left of their host, next to Lords Honeywell and Stryker. The man they had called Ser Maron remained close to the lord and his eldest son. Who exactly the man was, Oz still did not know, He wore no sigil, and though his clothing was fine, fit for a lordling, Oswald had no memory of ever having seen him among the nobles his father had met with before.

Not that I would likely recognize him right now if he did. Wine had a way of playing tricks on your memory, and right now. Ser Oswald Ogre's Bane was firmly in its grip.

Yet, in spite of being more than a little intoxicated, he still managed to retain his noble honor. So far he had avoided embarrassing either himself or his house.

Of course, the night is still young of course, he thought stifling a giggle.

Nope, he would not embarrass his family.

If the Maker remained with him, he hoped to stay that course.

The death of Ser Aubrey during the last tilt had dampened some of the merry making. No one made any accusation of murder towards the knight from the Crowned Mabari, but it was there none the less. The table was meant for both the lords and the champions of the day, yet three seats sat empty. Ser Eagan, Lord Percival, and Ser Vickon had apparently decided not to attend. The first two were missed, the third was not...

As the suckling pig was brought out, and wine continued to flow, all talk of the sad final tilt of the day ceased. The food, jugglers, and music quickly drew the attention of the men at the seat of honor, and talk turned to more pleasant mattered.

"It had been too long since we had some true merry making," Ser Gorman Wright said.

The gray haired, flame of the west smiled one of his rare smiles.

"It is a about time that things started to return to normal."

"Is that even possible Milord," one of Honeywell's sons asked, the one that Ser Wright had not defeated earlier.

The man favored the boy with a brave look.

"We recovered from the fight against Orlais, boy," he said, "Ferelden can recover from this."

"Well said," Ser Alden said from his place of honor, bringing his tankard down hard on the table. "Ferelden will recover."

"Indeed," the Red Boar said nodding, "A recovery that truly begins here."

Oz gave him a curious look, not sure what their host meant by that. Before he could ask Lord Honeywell started speaking again.

"We are glad that you joined us here young Oswald, for too long had Dragon's Peak been isolated."

The young knight shrugged.

"Oswyn is still healing," he said, "And my father still has much rebuilding to do, we all do truth be told."

Again Honeywell nodded.

"My family has always been a strong supporter of Dragon's Peak and your lord father, perhaps your presence here is a fortuitous one for both of us."

Oz smiled respectfully.

"What makes you say that Milord?"

Honeywell grinned.

"As it just so happens, my eldest girl has just turned fourteen. Give her another year and she would make you a fine wife, my young friend. She would make an excellent match for a future lord of Dragon's Peak."

Oz blushed slightly. Suddenly he realized why Honeywell had been so friendly since he arrived.

"You flatter me Milord," he said, "Alas; such a thing is beyond my choosing. I have already been promised you see. I'm to wed Lady Johain Speare. She is the daughter of Ser Buford Speare.

The older man nodded.

A fair match, to be sure," he said, the man did a good job of masking any anger or disappointment he felt at Oz's rejection. "You must be very proud."

Oz nodded more out of duty than anything else.

In truth, he could not say if the match was a good one or not. Ser Buford was one of his father's most loyal banners, and his house was known for producing some of the best Spearmen in Ferelden, hence where the family had gotten its name. Speare family soldiers had stood at the van during the siege of Denerim, they had kept the darkspawn off the mages that had ascended Fort Drakon to fight the Archdemon, or so he had heard.

As for Johain, he had not seen her since they were eight, back then she had looked like a fat little boy, hardly someone that he would want to share his life and his bed with, but then again what could he do…

Family was family.

"Plus." He added, trying not to slur his speech, "You are forgetting something, I'm fourth in line, and likely to go lower if Oswyn has any children."

Surprisingly, it was not Honeywell who answered him, but the knight Maron sitting down beside Lord Redboar.

"Things do not always happen as they should," the mystery knight said, "A new Ferelden is dawning."

Both his host and the Honeywells nodded.

"You must be willing to embrace change," Ser Maron added.

Oz did not know how to respond to that, so he chose to say nothing. He still did not know this Ser Maron's place among the Redboar's people. He did his best to see the man, truly see him despite all the wine he had drank.

Ser Maron was probably in his mid to late twenties, he had a stocky build with short blond hair and a closely trimmed beard. There was something about his eyes though…something familiar, though Oz could not place it.

In the end, he simply smiled and nodded. It was as safe a response as he could think of. He had no desire to insult a man not when he did not know what the consequences might be.

He went silent then, letting the rest of the lords turn their attention elsewhere, and why not? What did the fate of a Bann's sixteen year old son matter when so much else was going on in Ferelden?

He was grateful when the conversation turned away from him, and his family.

"I've heard a rumor that the Chancellor has turned to Nevarra to find a bride for our king," Ser Alden said.

"A fine match if Eamon can make it all work out," Ser Gorman said, "May our king's union be blessed and fruitful. It has been a long time since the royal tree has yielded any royal fruit."

Honeywell's younger son laughed.

"At least Eamon did not go sniffing around in Orlais, that is probably what got Cailan killed."

Both Ser Alden and Ser Gorman glared at the young man. Who was probably too drunk to realize how close he was to insulting everyone.

King Cailan's death at Ostagar had led many people to lionize the man now that he was at the Maker's side, alas; rumors of his mistakes in life still remained.

Everyone had heard the tale of course. It was suspected that Cailan had had greater ambitions than anyone had realized that he had considered throwing off his wife and marrying Empress Celene so that he might get the chance to start calling himself emperor.

Some said that Loghain MacTir had discovered that, and rather than risk his daughter or the country he loved, he chose instead to betray Cailan to the darkspawn. It was likely impossible to prove now, but the tale remained.

True or, not it was still a touchy subject, many scars still remained from the recent Civil War, and a lot of bad blood still flowed beneath the surface. Both Cailan and Loghain still had many supporters among the lords, and more than a few were unhappy with what had come to pass since. Cailan and Loghain were both dead, and Maric's bastard son now sat on the throne.

After all that had happened few would speak out against the new king, not while the kingdom was still weak, still rebuilding.

This tourney was about rebuilding after all, such foolish comments could end with tearing things apart.

Suddenly feeling very awkward, not to mention having to take a piss, Ser Oswald excused himself. He made his way out of the crowded dining hall, claiming that he needed to get some air.

Oz was grateful as she stepped out into the cool night air, the gentle summer breeze felt good after the heat and crowd of the feasting hall.

After he relieved himself he headed back to his pavilion, he wanted to check in with Alim and Tristan, see what they might have discovered.

He could not say that he had found much tonight. The talk had been awkward, but nothing that he could say was openly treasonous.

He frowned slightly, thinking about what Ser Maron had said about the world changing, and needing to accept the unexpected.

Mysterious perhaps…those words, but again, not treasonous.

He would check in with his friend the warden and see what he had to say.

He made his way across the tourney grounds; the crowd was starting to disperse finally, as people settled in to rest for the night. In the morrow, the jousting would begin again, with the archery challenge set for the afternoon.

By the end of the second day, they would have a better idea of the true contenders for the title of champion would be.

And hopefully they would have a better idea if this trip had been for naught.

He had been about to slip into his tent, to either wait for his allies or to pass out, when he heard a girl scream. He was not sure what truly motivated him, but he turned and ran to see if he could help.

The crowd parted before him, many no doubt recognizing the noble sigil on his tunic. The girl screamed again, a scream that was punctuated by cruel laughter.

Oz's eyes narrowed.

He knew that laugh, the mocking tone of the voice.

He unsheathed his sword.

At least now he knew why Ser Vickon had not been at the feast. It seemed the man had a taste for causing trouble.

He had decided, despite his drunkenness to do something about it.

It was probably a mistake, but that did not matter.

He had sat there and did nothing when Ser Aubrey had died.

Now at least, he had a chance to do something, and fortunately, for him anyway, he found that he was not alone.

He saw Alim in his peasant's garb, as well as the hedge knight who had won earlier, Ser Eagan the Cat.

It was not hard for them to find Ser Vickon.

All they had to do was follow the screams.