26 – Cupid's Itch
"My, we are looking pleased with ourself, are we not?"
Sauren spun around at the familiar voice. A smile spread easily across his face. "Oh, you pick your times to leave town," the half-elf teased.
Louvel Nottley, the noble rogue had returned and was leaning against an open doorway, the building it once graced now just a burnt out shell, dilapidated and dark.
The young man laughed and pushed himself away from the door-frame, dusting down his jacket sleeve as he stepped forward to meet Sauren. Securing his monocle, his blue eyes twinkled mirthfully as he greeted him. "Yes, I heard you had a bit of trouble here."
Sauren guffawed and moved on, shaking his head. Louvel, with hands behind his back, fell in step beside him. "I am glad to see you have survived the battle," he said.
"I am duly flattered."
Louvel surveyed all the damaged buildings, walkways, sculptures and public gardens. His voice adopted a more sombre tone. "It must have been a traumatic and arduous fight. Harrowing in many ways."
Sauren nodded. "Yes, it was. Nonetheless, it also provided a veracious chronicle of how effective the city's defences are. Perhaps, in light of their defeat, the orcs will think twice of trying to conquer Lordaeron again."
"Perhaps," Louvel responded. Clearing his throat his voice become lighter once more. "Now that you mention conquests, however, who was that pretty little filly I saw you with?"
Sauren stopped in his tracks, the realisation that Louvel's exceptional skill in melding into the shadows had caught him out before. "And just how long were you watching me?"
A slightly perturbed expression crossed Louvel's face causing his monocle to drop on its fine cord and swing over his waistcoat. "Why Sauren, I am offended. You think I was spying on you?"
"Well, were you?"
With a lofty sniff, the human rogue explained. "I merely observed you as you sauntered past with the young lady on your arm and that gaggle of girls following behind."
Sauren laughed and then resumed walking. "You missed an opportunity then, you could have had one of the gaggle. Or more, if so inclined."
Louvel snorted. "Oh, no! Not I. I am soon to be a father and my wife is the bloom of the forest."
Once more the half-elf drew to a halt. "You're married? I did not know that."
"Yes," Louvel replied, noticeably proud. "Almost two years now. If we have a daughter we shall name her Kaitlin or a son will be called Lewis."
"I congratulate you, Nottley."
The black-haired rogue grunted and narrowed his eyes at the half-elf's constant use of his surname. "So, whipper-snapper..." a smirk duly replaced his brief annoyance. "Was that possibly the future Mrs Nightflame?"
Again they started walking. "I do not intend to pledge myself to one woman yet. I wish to sample the fruits of the orchard."
"Ah. Well, be careful of those fallen from the tree, all manner of nasties can they harbour."
"Nasties?" Sauren laughed. "I take it you mean undesirable conditions of the genitalia?"
"Exactly. You do not want to contract Cupid's itch."
"Are we talking from experience?" Sauren afforded a sly look at the noble rogue while trying not to laugh again.
"Not at all, merely hearsay." Louvel sniffed, his manner off-hand.
"Hmm," the half-elf grinned. "And how does hearsay suggest one takes care of such a malady?"
"The apothecary on Elder Row mixes an excellent remedy at a very good price. At least he did about four years ago - so I believe." He caught Sauren grinning at him and he could not suppress his own mirth. "Those days are long gone for me. I love my wife very much and would not betray our union."
"Then again, I congratulate you. Might I suggest that as you are about to embrace fatherhood you consider joining our guild? It would be most lucrative for you and your family, of that I am sure."
Louvel laughed loudly, the sound was most refreshing amid the dolorous surroundings. It was infectious too. "I think your father would have my guts for garters if I were to even consider seeking such employment."
"Oh, I think he may look at things differently now."
"Well, thank you for your consideration but I am, as I have already said, a lone wolf. I intend to remain so."
"Perhaps I will convince you one day," Sauren smiled amiably.
"Do not count on it," Louvel said, repositioning his monocle.
They had reached the shop where Sauren and his two friends had been working to help clear the debris. Don met Louvel with a suspicious glare while Reed smiled a greeting to the rogue. The half-elf introduced them all. Gradually, Don seemed to relax, his protective persona finally surrendering in favour of Sauren's judgement of character.
Louvel removed his jacket, carefully folding and placing it over a bench which had strangely survived the battering the shop had undergone. He offered to help the boys in their task and together the four of them finished clearing out the rubble, broken timbers and the ruined goods. The proprietor was most grateful for their help, now he could look towards rebuilding his business. He offered them all a monetary reward, but taking the lead, Sauren declined on behalf of the group. He suggested the proprietor put it towards his livelihood. All were in agreement.
It was early evening and Sauren invited Louvel back to the complex for some supper. He was reluctant, to begin with, but the half-elf convinced him he had nothing to worry about and so he accepted the invitation.
As they strolled through the courtyard at the Crimson Blade, the boys were greeted warmly by house-staff and trainers. One or two of the elite rogues still graced the complex as they awaited orders for their next missions. They too nodded or waved their greetings.
Don and Reed excused themselves to freshen up and hurried off towards the dormitories. Sauren led Louvel to his chambers where they would do likewise. The half-elf offered a change of clothing to the noble rogue, but apart from accepting a clean shirt Louvel respectfully declined, opting merely to wash at the basin and dust down his existing attire.
He emerged from the water closet drying his hair roughly with a towel. Sauren had placed a shirt on the bed for him. "Thank you," he said picking it up, his smile betraying the appreciation of such fine quality. Sauren grinned saying he could keep it.
As Louvel pulled the shirt over his head, the half-elf noticed a ragged scar on his side. "And how did you earn that trophy?" he asked indicating the scar.
Louvel grinned and shrugged. "That was about three, maybe four years ago now and I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I nearly died, actually." He tucked the shirt tails into his britches.
Sauren asked him to elaborate. The human rogue proceeded to tell his host what happened as he finished dressing. It had happened in Redridge Mountains, he began. A grin crept over his lips as he confessed he had been following a group of mercenaries with the intention of collecting a few of the spoils from their endeavours.
All had been going well until they'd reached Stonewatch Keep. There they had been outnumbered and bested by orcs who had made their way down through Blackrock Pass (affectionately known as The Gates of Hell) into the region.
Louvel was left lying bleeding against a tree, a large gash to his stomach threatening to bring about his demise. Fortunately, he was discovered by a young priest in the employ of Marshall Reginald Windsor whose forces fended off the orcs from invading the town of Lakeshire. "Fyn Godwin was the priest's name," Louvel said rather fondly. "An affable man indeed, most kind. He spent a long time tending to my wound. We started talking and he has become a good friend over the years although we do not see each other very often."
"Tell me more about yourself," Sauren coaxed, pulling his hair back into a ponytail and securing it with a leather thong.
Straightening the lapels of his jacket, Louvel eyed the half-elf warily. "There is nought to tell," he said flatly.
"There must be something. Where do you come from? Who are your parents? Do you have other family, brothers, sisters?"
Louvel sighed heavily and took his time before answering. "I was left on the steps of the chapel when I was but a babe with nothing more than a blanket, a pocket-watch, allegedly from my father and a note. It said "Look after my son, for I cannot. I have named him Louvel Nottley after his father who died an honourable man." The expression on the rogue's face was one of pained bewilderment.
The half-elf was surprised by the story. After a moment he ventured, "Are you not curious to know..."
"No, I am not!" Louvel cut him off. "While I was blessed to be so well cared for by the priests, even after they realised I would not conform to their teachings of the Light, I did not pursue trying to discover who my parents were."
"Why?"
Louvel was becoming noticeably uncomfortable judging from his posture and tone and yet he continued with an explanation. "From the time I was a small boy, Cyrus hinted I was of noble birth. Quite why he thought such a thing I know not, but he was convincing to a small boy. Nevertheless, I decided I did not wish to know my origins. The fact I was left on cold stone steps in the middle of winter made me realise I was not wanted by my mother and if, as the old priest thought, I was from a noble house, whoever she was, would most likely reject me again as she would not want the shame of her bastard showing up. It was best just to live my life as best I could."
Sauren realised he had just been privy to a secret which Louvel did not share willingly and it was something which also left a deep hurt in the otherwise jovial young man. He decided, out of respect, he would not to pry any further. "Come. Let's eat," he gestured to the door.
The jet-haired young man nodded appreciatively and with a wistful smile stepped ahead of his host.
Don and Reed were already in the dining hall seated at their favoured place waiting on Sauren and Louvel to join them. No-one else was in the dining hall, it seemed the four young men were the only ones hungry this evening. As such, Sauren beckoned the other two and led the way to the kitchens.
As they descended the stairs, the warm glow from the kitchens rose to meet them along with the aroma of the day's cuisine still lingering in the air. Sounds of crockery, pots and pans and cutlery ascended also, the few staff still working on ensuring all was its rightful place before they retired for the evening.
The kitchens were large, divided into four specific areas; meat preparation with a cool room where the cuts of meats were kept fresh and cool thanks to the dexterity and ingenuity of gnomish engineering. External buildings were still utilised for the likes of the butchery along with a smokery and curing room which also sat in the small courtyard behind the kitchens.
The buttery and bottlery were located to the far side of the kitchens en route to the dining hall. A variety of beverages were stored there but through a low doorway was a cellar in which the ales and wines were kept.
The pantry with its variety of cupboards and dressers was host to a myriad of perishable goods and this led through to the bakery where the aroma of fresh bread, rolls and pastries wrapped itself around the heart making one feel all warm and contented.
The young pageboy, Thomas, was sitting on a low stool near his mother who was busy buffing the cutlery and folding the recently laundered napkins in preparation for the following morning's breakfast sittings. The boy looked up when he noticed the four rogues descending the bottom stairs and frantically tugged his mother's apron to get her attention. At first, she chided him, she was busy and needed to finish what she was doing but the young boy would not relent. Irked, she turned, smoothing down her apron ready to give Thomas a telling off, when she caught sight of the young master approaching with three other young men. Sauren smiled warmly.
Instantly, the boy's mother fixed her bonnet and curtseyed. "Master Sauren," she greeted a little flustered at her show of intolerance in front of the young men. "I apologise, I did not hear you calling for service."
Sauren's friendly demeanour did not waver. "I did not call, Editha. It is late, there is no-one in the hall and I realised you would all be in the process of finishing up soon, so I took the liberty to come down with the sole intent of raiding the larder. Young Thomas here, however, has scuppered my plans." He winked at the pageboy.
Thomas giggled. His mother looked embarrassed. "May I get you anything, then, Sir?" Editha asked.
"Please do not call me Sir for one thing - I am not my father." The woman blushed but nodded her acquiescence. Sauren continued. "I can manage thank you, Editha. We will not leave a mess for you to clear either, so please finish what you were doing and enjoy the rest of your evening."
"As you wish." She curtseyed again before turning her attention back to her work and shushing her still-giggling son.
The four young rogues moved through to the larders. Sauren hauled out some platters containing cured and roasted meats, cheese, reserves and slices of bread and passed them to his friends who placed them on the table where the kitchen staff ate their meals. Excusing himself for a moment he disappeared into the buttery and emerged shortly after with two bottles of wine duly picking up four goblets on his way back to the table.
Editha and Thomas bid them goodnight shortly after. The rogues watched as mother and son ascended the stairs and headed to their quarters.
With their supper now in front of them, the young men tucked in, their appetites having peaked from their day's work. Their conversation initially revolved around the siege and the subsequent devastation to the city. The following work involved to rebuild, strengthen and improve the city was now being carried out in earnest and everyone was contributing in one form or another to aiding the development.
Eventually, however, the topic came round to the young lady Sauren had escorted back to the centre of town. All manner of suggestive caterwauling fell from Reed and Don's lips, much to the amusement of Louvel and Sauren himself.
"She is very pretty, yes," the half-elf agreed with them. "Her mother could be a problem though."
"Fuck her too then," Don said. The table erupted.
"That is scandalous!" Louvel laughed.
"Could work though," Reed added, chomping on a generously loaded sandwich and struggling to keep it in his mouth while laughing.
"No thank you," Sauren guffawed, nearly choking on his wine. "Besides I think there would be a more pleasurable response from a stone gargoyle than with Catherine Alston."
Again the young men were in an uproar. "That is a shocking thing to say about your future mother-in-law."
"I told you before, Louvel, I do not intend to settle down."
"Yet," the noble rogue smirked. "I guarantee within two years you will be walking down the aisle with that girl."
"I can think of at least two broken hearts at that prospect," Reed commented.
Sauren fired him a warning look. For all he liked Louvel immensely, he did not want the subject of the royal concubines disclosed. Thankfully, the affable rogue merely smirked and advised the half-elf that while he should enjoy the raptures of wanton women he should also exercise his lasciviousness with due care. The last thing he would need, other than the previously mentioned Cupid's itch, would be a stream of grieving ex-lovers at his wedding. Sauren laughed and pinged a grape at him. The result was a food fight, with the only one coveting his supper being Reed who, by rights, should have been three times the size he was with his enormous appetite.
Another hour passed and having enjoyed the camaraderie along with their fill of food and wine, they cleaned up behind themselves as promised. Louvel left the grounds bidding all goodnight and the three Blades retired for the evening.
Standing at one of the windows looking out to the city's centre, Sauren pulled off his shirt and britches casting them to the floor. His eyes drank in all the little lights flickering from windows of the stretching metropolis and he found himself wondering - Where is she? Is she sleeping?
There was no denying he found Piper Alston alluring and just perhaps Louvel's laughable prediction had fuelled thoughts of the chestnut-haired girl beyond that of simple attraction. The corners of his mouth twitched as he scoffed at such a notion.
Reaching up, he yanked the leather thong from his hair and shook it free. The platinum mane fell around his shoulders and back, one or two strands shielding his eyes from the view. He pulled them back over his ears and with one last gaze across the city he sighed and turned in for the night.