Strigonium was as majestic as Ruby said it was.
Solid stone foundations supported sturdy timber hovels stretching across the banks of the River Ister. Thatched and hay roofs stretched from one side to the next with their trusses and chimney smoke doing little to diminish the citadel on the hill. The banners of the royal houses and noble families colored many of the wealthier walls but it was the standard of King Béla IV rippling off a royal guardsman's lance that had reminded the group of how much they missed the air of a Western feudal realm.
However, it seemed that they would have little time to enjoy the sights on their own time as they were coddled in the streets by an overexcited crowd. Peasants, slaves, levies, and even the king's men jubilantly welcomed them, waving their hands, their colors, their swords, and their spears in adulation once they had crossed the bridge over the River Ister.
It seemed word of their return sparked a frenzy. House Rose may not be as influential as the others in the court of the Hungarians but word of a prodigal child returning alive and well from the hands of the Tartars—from death and Hades itself—was news so cathartic that it warranted a celebration from even the most impoverished.
Jaune found it suffocating. As did Qrow and Ren who seemed to hide deeper under their hooded cloaks. Ruby, however, humbly basked in the glory, waving back and smiling awkwardly while Blake held the reins of the horse that carried them both. Ozma the Templar and Cardin the Hospitaller paved the way for them, as was their custom as Papal knights.
By the time they reached the base of the hill, they were met by the king's guard on their mounts. Their commandant, adorned in glistening mail armor and bearing both the colors of the king's dynasty, reined in his steed at the threshold of the gantry of the outer wall surrounding the castle. He unclasped his helmet to reveal a face that greeted Ruby with utmost surprise and cheer.
"Pirósza Rubin Úrkisasszony!"
For the first time since entering the city, Ruby called out to someone she knew. "Sirzju Gazjarik Várjobbágy Úr!"
The horses plodded to a halt. Ruby and Blake slid off their saddles, the former rushing into the open arms of the landed knight who commanded the city garrison.
"So it is true!" harked Lord Gazjarik. "Hállá Istennék!You are alive, Rubin Úrkisasszony!"
"I'm so glad to see you again, Varjú Sirzju!"
Blake shuffled over to Jaune. "Ruby has a lot of friends in high places here."
The Frank shrugged. "Her house holds influence. And her father is supposed to be one of the more notable defenders."
"And these are your escorts, Pirósz?" inquired Lord Gazjarik.
Ruby nodded, dashing over to Yusehol and tugging on the reins. Jaune dismounted and was dragged by the arm towards the commandant. "This is the man who saved me—and inspired the rest of us to escape from the Tartars. Jaune of the Frankish House Arc."
Lord Gazjarik jubilantly took the Frank in his arms. "Welcome and many thanks, Jaune, son of Arc."
Jaune subtly slipped out of the embrace with an uneasy handshake. As much as brotherly kisses brought comfort and security, he was neither in the mood for warmth nor willing to trust strangers even among his fellow Westerners. He was not ungrateful though.
"I am honored to be here, milord," he replied courteously.
The commandant gestured at the others. "And a great welcome to our heroes, servants of the Temple of Saint Solomon and the Hospital of Saint John!"
Both the Templar and the Hospitaller returned their salutes, dismounting themselves and handing the reins of their horses to the squires of the royal equerry. Ren and Qrow, however, kept under their hoods, sliding off their saddles and nodding gruffly at the knaves who approached to lead away their steeds.
"You must be their mercenary escort," continued Lord Gazjarik. "Welcome. It is good to see more friends among us."
Ren smiled thinly while Qrow only grunted his response.
"Not much for words, eh? That's fine. The reception has been overwhelming." Lord Gazjarik beckoned for them to follow him up the hill towards the citadel.
"It's like they're hosting a lost princess," Jaune remarked offhandedly to which Ruby jabbed him lightly on the arm.
"I'm not a princess," she corrected softly. "Not that I want to be one."
Blake chuckled. "A girl can dream."
Lord Gazjarik chortled. "Pardon the townsfolk, my friends. It is just that...the people are in need of uplifting news. And the return of a deceased child has greatly stoked the hope that has been burning out over the past months."
"In that regard," Cardin said. "I do hope our presence here we will not be a bother."
"Nonsense, brother. You are all welcome here."
"But," Blake piped. "There could be a famine and..."
"Ah, rumors," dismissed the royal knight. "We have enough food for everyone. Come! The heralds have spoken of your arrival. His Majesty is eager to meet you."
"But what of...?" Ruby trailed off.
Lord Gazjarik smiled and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Rubin Úrkisasszony, your father and sister have been informed. The revelry in the streets cannot be ignored after all. I have no doubt they are hurrying to meet you at the castle as we speak. It would do no good to keep them waiting, no?"
She made to argue only to be silenced by the touch of someone's hand on hers. These fingers coiled until she traced them back to Jaune who offered her a confident smile. No words were exchanged and yet she ended up lighter in the cheeks, in full view of everyone around them, including commandant and the rest of the king's men.
"In that case," Ruby said, never once letting go of the Frank's hand. "Let us go and see my family. And His Majesty, of course."
If the reception they received from the townsfolk was akin to that of Christ's return to Jerusalem on a donkey, then the recognition that greeted them at the king's palace would have been much in the way of the prodigal son in Christ's parable.
To Jaune, it was a breathtaking experience and one that he never thought he missed. The ornate floors, stained-glass windows, the fine masonry, and even the air itself—all of these he thought he would never again enter since his days in the Kievan Rus'. To Blake, however, it felt nostalgic. Her graceful gait as she stoically took in their surroundings wordlessly spoke of her longing to be back in the wealthier Lombard demesnes. To Ruby, it was Heaven.
Bump.
"Oh! Sorry!"
"No, no! I'm sorry. I should've seen you."
Jaune sighed. "Think nothing of it. It's just...so overwhelming."
"I know how you feel," Blake replied. "Nostalgic, isn't it?"
The Frank nodded. He remembered they were stepping on carpet and almost felt the urge to unlace his boots. Instead, he felt a tug on his wrist and remembered that Ruby was pulling him along.
Behind him, he caught sight of the guards standing at attention in respect to the Papal knights striding in their midst. Though, he guessed they were not as excited when Qrow and Ren followed after, remaining as shadowy as thieves despite Lord Gajzarik's declaration that they were friendly mercenaries. Lord Gazjarik himself marched gallantly ahead, opening steel bolted doors and escorting them into the Hungarian royal court and ultimately to King Béla IV himself.
Jaune and everyone in their party bended their knee before the monarch who, surprisingly, stood from his throne and descended down to the floor to meet them with a warm, brotherly hug.
"Greetings!" bellowed the king, who appeared no older than Qrow or Sir Ozma. "Welcome, welcome, brothers and sisters! Praise the Lord for your safe return!"
The Frank, for his part, endured more than savored the strong arms of a powerful ruler squeezing the air out of him. A part of him derided the king's courtesy as flavor that he spared to every refugee who came running here. Ruby had gone on long enough about the Cumans and other poor folk scrambling to Hungarian borders to escape the Tartars.
"Pirosza Rubin Úrkisasszony," King Béla said. "Welcome home, dear child."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ruby replied courteously. Smart move for someone who did not hold too high an opinion of her own liege, Jaune guessed.
"And our dearest guests! You must be Blake Belladonna of Lombardy, yes?"
Blake reciprocated the king's gesture. "Yes, Your Majesty. It is an honor to be in your presence."
"House Belladonna, yes?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Very wealthy family, I have heard. I express my sympathies for your struggles with House Staufer. Such a shame that we have Christians going against fellow Christians when we have greater threats amassing on our borders."
Jaune quirked a brow at that. It seemed that news of Rome's troubles also reached the Hungarians and that they at least had room to be sympathetic, much to Blake's surprise. She still carried with her that damned bag where she kept her family seal. Then again, he still had Saphron's ring hidden on his person.
"Ah, and how could I forget Ozma Úr and Winchester Úr?" the king bellowed. "The Lord bless you both! We feared the worst when you did not return."
The Papal knights bowed in return, exchanging the same pleasantries. Only when the monarch rounded on Qrow and Ren did Jaune feel his chest tighten. A glance to Ruby showed worry betraying her joyous facade and panic seeping off Blake's neutral mien. The worst came to mind—no one had yet caught on that the two were Tartar soldiers...even though they were no doubt branded traitors by the Tartars for aiding in their escape.
King Béla, however, saw them as friends and stretched open his arms. "Welcome, brothers!"
Qrow and Ren rose from the floor and finally loosed their hoods. The air in the palace suddenly became difficult to breathe in. Jaune shuffled between Ruby and Blake, ensuring to have both of them within arm's reach. Just in case.
"Welcome back, Branwen Úr. And you must his companion Rinai Úr."
'Sir Branwen' and 'Sir Rinai' dipped their heads in response. Jaune, meanwhile, turned to Ruby who only shrugged. Welcome back?
"Do you not remember me, old friend? After all, I myself could not forget such a familiar face," the king remarked haughtily.
Qrow snapped his head back up at him, crimson beady eyes scanning for hints of deception or malice. "Your Majesty?"
"Come now, Branwen Úr. How could I not forget the brother of one of my men's first wives? Ah, it seems time has dulled your memory. I forgive that. It has been many moons after all."
Eyes gravitated to the grizzled Magyar slave-warrior. His unkempt beard twisted to accommodate the awkward smile that graced his lips. "Now that you mention it, it has been awhile, Your Majesty."
"Indeed, my friend."
King Béla, in high spirits, returned to his throne, barking orders to his servants and whispering a command to Lord Gazjarik who quickly departed with a contingent of the palace guard. Not too long after, a retinue of the palace keepers filed into the court, startling all in the party but the Papal knights. Jaune, Ruby, and Blake were draped in silk robes while Qrow and Ren were courteously freed of their ragged cloaks, exposing their outstanding lamellar armor.
"Fine choice in the spoils of war, no?" the king remarked jovially, gesturing at the glistening shells that protected the upper body of the two men.
Jaune, now seated by the long table with Ruby and Blake, eyed the Papal knights across from them. How keen of King Béla to recognize equipment unique to the Western realms. As far as Jaune was aware of, most of Latin Christendom's armies fielded hardened leather, mail, or steel plate. On the contrary, many of their Greek and Eastern brethren, alongside their pagan allies, were more fond of the looser, linked brigandines and silken tunics woven so thick they could catch an arrow.
"Jaune," Blake whispered, leaning slightly to where her breath tickled his earlobe. "I think he knows."
The Frank wiped his sweaty palms against his lap under the table. "The king's smart. I don't doubt that he thinks Qrow and Ren are soldiers defecting from the Tartars."
"You'd think that? I know that look in his eye. He knows the armor, the curved swords, and even paused for a moment to study Ren's face. Jaune, His Majesty knows—"
"—and is keeping it secret for now. I can see that too, Blake. He's up to something."
"He's always up to something," Ruby muttered. "My father always said that there was a fateful reason for why His Majesty let the Kun into our lands."
"What was it?"
"The Kun are vicious warriors. As barbaric as the tribes in the north. My father said that he wanted to use them as mercenaries to bolster our troops...or what was left of them."
Jaune, Ruby, and Blake then fell into a stiff silence when the king began loudly calling for a feast on their behalf. The Papal knights seated across from them indulged the monarch while Qrow and Ren remained stoic at the far end, nodding back at the servants who poured their goblets full with wine and placed pillows and warm sheets around them.
It was as the festivities were about to begin when the doors creaked open and two people hurried into the court. One was tall, well-built, and drenched in sweat that had his tunic sticking to his bulging muscles. The other was a shorter maiden with a wild, unkempt hair bustling like a lion's mane down to the hem of her working dress. Both had come from the fields, apparently. And both were in crying tears of happiness when they saw Ruby rise from her place.
Jaune sat back and watched as Ruby Rose, daughter of House Rose, was reunited with Lord Taiyang Xiao-Long and his daughter Yang Xiao-Long.
For a moment, his fears and anxieties were dispelled by the wholesome picture. The three enveloped each other, wailing and speaking their own language. Sir Xiao-Long held onto his daughters tight, loudly whispering his love for them. Yang, a rather voluptuous maiden, was both laughing and crying while squeezing the air out of her younger half-sister.
Yes, half-sister. Because Ruby had regaled them on their journey here about the two women who bore him a child each and who both broke her father's heart.
Sniffle.
Jaune caught Blake wiping away a tear. His smirk widened. "Emotional, isn't it?"
"Melancholic, I would say," she replied.
And like a candle whose wicker had burnt out, the warmth of the reunion cooled when Qrow stood up from his seat. Taiyang was already pacing towards him. Not those wide angry strides but in slow, cautious steps.
"Qrow," the castle warrior greeted.
"Tai," replied the mercenary.
"Welcome back."
"Good to see you again, too."
"Varjú Bácsi?" Yang echoed.
Qrow took a moment compose himself. "Yang. How're you doing, Kicsárkány?"
Yang replied by wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Ren reciprocated Taiyang's greeting with a nod while the man proceeded to express his gratitude to Sir Ozma and Sir Cardin.
Amid the spectacle, Jaune felt Blake's nudge on his arm and he followed her gaze towards to the king on his throne, an unusual mien hiding behind his golden cup. The way his lips curled to his ears, how his eyes sharpened, and how his ringed finger scraped the stem of his goblet—this was not the face of a man delighting in the warmth of a loving family restored. Rather, the Frank and the Lombard were experienced enough to discern an impenitent opportunist.
"Jaune of House Arc," bellowed Lord Xiao-Long.
Jaune stiffened in his seat and plastered on a smile to greet the father of his...slave? No. His friend. His dear friend. His dear female friend who often insisted on laying with him but doing nothing more than sleeping on his side. The thought of it made him pale.
"Thank you for saving my daughter."
The Frank let himself be pulled up into the man's arms. Though the odor was intolerable—the man had come from toiling in the fields—he kept nodding and smiling until the castle warrior released him with a grin wider than anyone present.
"And you must be Blake of House Belladonna."
Blake bowed and was given courtesy by the noted castle warrior.
"Thank you both for saving my daughter. Oh, what am I saying? For saving yourselves, too! Lord knows you were suffering as much as my Pirósz."
"We did our best to help each other," Jaune replied diplomatically. Lord above, it was overwhelming how easy it was to talk to someone who was not a Tartar. "We survived together."
"That you did." Lord Xiao-Long turned to face Qrow. "That you all did."
Jaune and Blake both caught movement behind him. It was Yang. And she was beaming. The rather voluptuous girl waved her hand then twirled her fingers to point at them before ending with a wink. A harlot's wink, it seemed, as Ruby suddenly came up beside her horrified with cheeks redder than the tips of her hair.
"I want to say thank you, too," Yang said, bowing before them.
The Frank had to glance away a bit—her dress was a little loose in a certain area. "You're welcome, Miss Xiao-Long."
"The troublemaker has regained her fire," crowed King Béla.
Yang and Ruby froze up and faced the monarch with backs straighter than a lance.
The monarch laughed. "I jest, I jest. It is good to see life in your eyes again, child. Though I do hope that your rekindled fire will not burn down another tavern."
The half-sisters exchanged awkward laughs until the doors once again creaked open.
It was Lord Gazjarik and he returned with another nobleman, this time adorned in plate armor shinier and bulkier than the rest of those present. A straight short sword hung off his hip while three pages followed after him with his polished helmet, his scabbarded claymore, and his heavy kite shield. His face, however, radiated such authority that Lord Xiao-Long, Sir Ozma, Cardin, and even Qrow stood at attention.
Jaune stood up as well, noting the colors on the man's shield: yellow with horizontal stripes of red. These were the colors of the Kingdom of Aragon.
"Simeon Ispán Úr," greeted the king of Hungary. "Come! Sit. Let us feast."
"At a time like this?" retorted the ispán in a thick Iberian accent. "You know our provisions are running dry, Your Majesty."
"We can spare enough for this moment," the monarch countered. "Only enough to celebrate the return of a prodigal child, a blessing from God in our time of need."
The Frank felt his chest tighten when the ispán turned to them. The man had eyes like molten steel and he bore into him so fiercely that the palace almost felt like a crucible. Then he turned to Blake whose natural defiance faltered. Then to Ruby who nearly squeaked under the pressure. Sir Ozma, Cardin, and Lord Xiao-Long were spared such glares because of their standing as noble fighters. But when his attention fell upon Qrow and Ren, his scowl flashed into a full sneer.
"Prodigal indeed," he growled through gritted teeth.
"Come now," the king goaded. "You're getting worked up too early in the day."
"It has been a long day."
"And you need to unwind. We have guests."
The man gestured to Ruby. "Guests, hah! The silver child, I recognize. Our brethren serving the Pope, I recognize. But these...men of the east? I'm starting to think you're hiring whoever comes knocking at your gates, be it friend or foe!"
"I see no foes here."
"Your Majesty, have you forgotten our little problems with the Kun?"
"Water under the bridge, Simeon Ispán Úr."
"Simeon Ispán Úr," politely intruded Lord Xiao-Long. "My daughter has returned with the company of others who suffered with her."
"We are all suffering, Taiyang Várjobággy Úr."
"Perhaps a moment of levity!" Jaune blurted. And quickly realized his mistake. He bit down on his tongue as he feared the wrath of the man that had contemporaries like Lord Xiao-Long and Lord Gazjarik fidgeting in their hoses. Even Cardin looked away, sweating into his cup, and he was a tough Hospitaller knight.
"You speak the common tongue very well, boy," the ispán said coldly.
"I'm not a b—"
Ruby cut Jaune off. "I taught him!"
This time, almost everyone in the court regarded her with curiosity.
"I apologize," she stammered. "I did not mean to b-be rude. I meant that I t-taught him some of o-our w-words and I—"
"Don't be so hard on them, Simeon Ispán Úr," the king snickered haughtily. "Today is a day of merriment. Let us be merry."
The ispán growled again. He dismissed his pages and took his place beside Sir Ozma on the other side of the table. "So be it. As His Majesty welcomes you, so do I, Simeon of Aragon, Count of Strigonium, servant of His Majesty Béla the Fourth, welcome you."
Jaune and Blake bowed uneasily. This man was the steward of the king's demesne and henceforth was the marshal of all the troops and levies in the county, subordinate directly to King Béla IV himself. It made sense why he was so cold towards them; Count Simeon was rightly suspicious and did not appreciate his time being spent indulging in feasts, especially with people who could very well stab them in the back later on.
The Frank sat back down to find himself being squeezed from all directions; Ruby to his right, Blake to his left, Yang studying him from not too far off, and the eyes of Lord Xiao-Long constantly hovering over the three of them. That was not to mention the unnerving staring contest between Ren, Qrow, and Count Simeon. No matter the bard or the sumptuous food, the festive air in the palace tasted like sour Tartar horse milk.
"Now then!" lively bellowed King Béla. He raised his golden goblet. "With all that out of the way, let us toast to the safe return of our people!"
Safe return, indeed, Jaune did not say.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 21, 2020
LAST EDITED: June 18, 2020
INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 18, 2020
NOTE: Even though I'm committed to be less historically accurate with this fic, I can't help scratch my head at putting Tai and Yang as native Hungarians when their names are clearly Chinese. But that's just being too nit picky, I guess. Besides, my only source is Wikipedia (and some of the accessible sources in the article footnotes) and there's only so much reading and studying I can do before I burn myself out.
I was also wondering if I was expositing too much. I like to use my writing as a way to subtly teach unknown bits of history but I don't want to overdo it (i.e. over-immersion, over-exposition). I'm also limiting how much foreign phrases I can squeeze in. Flavor is good. Too much flavor, not so.
Anyway, thanks for investing your time to read this and I'm glad to know some of you are enjoying it. We're reaching the high point of this story and if you know the actual history of this part of Hungary, then you can expect how this is going to end. Then again, I won't necessarily be sticking to what was written by the chroniclers of the time.
Translations:
Hállá Istennék! = Thank God! [Hungarian]
Kicsárkány (Kicsi + sárkány) = Little-Dragon (Little + Dragon) [Hungarian]
Ispán = Count [Hungarian]