A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

by Spike368

Sent out to gather the knowledge of the real world. A young scholar from the University of Oxenfurt finds a wounded Witcher on the steps to the inn where he was staying. So he starts gathering the material for his journals. Rated T for language I will be publishing this story on Royal Road /profile/349358

127. Chapter 127

Sam sat at the bench, staring at me.

His eyes boggling out of his head as his jaw worked silently. It was as though he was trying to chew the words before they came out of his mouth. To see what seemed to be most palatable. As I watched his face, I saw thoughts formulate and then be dismissed by new thoughts. Then those thoughts would get together, get drunk, get married and give birth to questions. It was these quesstions that were fighting with each other to emerge from his mouth.

I remember my own response to this moment when Kerrass had first told me that he had found sign of that wizard, Phineas Torlane of the cult of the First-Born, in Angral. I remember sitting in that barn, the desperate heat from the fire and the food and the shared alcohol doing it's best to protect us from the encroaching armies of cold that tried to get through to us from the outside. Helped in their task by the earlier exertion and the leftover emotion from the conversation about my setting my quest aside.

I remember that moment. When I looked up at Kerrass' unhappy face with, I suspect, exactly the same expression on my face as the one that Sam was now wearing. I remember a whistling sound in my ears. The sound of running water or rushing air. The same whistling that you hear when you are riding a fast horse into a strong headwind. I remember looking up into Kerrass' face as all the energy rushed out of me and pooled in my legs. I felt my arms and legs jumping and longing to be in motion.

I remembered the paralysis of too many questions and too many thoughts and as I looked at Kerrass, I remember not knowing what to say first. What to do first. Then, as if spoken by someone other than myself, I spoke those first few words and asked a question that I didn't know that I was going to ask.

Exactly the same question that Sam put to me, several weeks afterwards in a tavern in Toussaint.

"What does this mean?" He asked.

He spoke in that strange place between a whisper and a shout. As though he didn't know which was the most appropriate and couldn't settle on the one or the other.

As it happens, the answer that I gave him was also, exactly the same answer that Kerrass had given me.

"I don't know." I told him.

After that the questions seemed to come out in a different order though. Although a lot of the sentiments were very different.

"Was there anyone else with him?"

"I don't know Sam."

"Why not?"

"Because the witness was terrified, intoxicated when she saw him and was only able to recognise this Phineas person from Kerrass' descriptions. She fainted when Kerrass described him and had to be brought round."

Sam nodded and stared into space.

"She didn't recognise any of the other cultists that Kerrass described either." I supplied.

"But what does this mean?" Sam asked again after another long moment.

"I don't know Sam." I told him.

He stared down at the table before staring out at the river before he looked at his wine cup.

"So was he alone? Did he go by himself?"

"We don't know Sam."

"Did he only go before the coup attempt? Or after it as well?"

"I don't know Sam."

"Dammit." Sam shot to his feet and paced away a little rubbing at his forehead. As I say, the tavern in question was protected by mercenaries who would step in when customers would get a bit too uppity. Those men had already been looking over at us in concern. We had staved that off a little but Sam's abrupt movement brought their gaze back.

Just as quickly, Sam came back and leaned on the table.

"So he could have been acting alone." It was not a question.

"We don't know Sam."

He nodded again and sat back down.

"So he was in Angral. What for?"

I could not control a sigh. "We don't know Sam."

"So does that mean that... Does that mean he was working for whatsisname, Dorme before he was working for Cavil?"

"Or at the same time. Or Dorme was working for Phineas the mage in order to take what he needed. We don't know Sam."

"Fuck." He shot to his feet again and stood, staring out over the river.

There was another pause. I felt the need to fill this one. "Ariadne suggested that Phineas even started in Angral. That he was experimenting with contacting other realms as part of some kind of Goetia (Freddie's note: simply, demon summoning and binding. More complicated solution is contacting other beings from other realms of existence. Almost never works) ritual to summon a demon in order to make himself powerful. But that he contacted the same thing that the First-Born cult found and so he left when he realised the limits in Dorme's ambitions. He might have been sent to Dorme by Cavil and his ilk as an effort to recruit Dorme to their cause. He certainly seemed the type to fall for the First-Born's nonsense."

Sam kicked the railing a couple of times. Not hard, but in the way of people thinking over unpleasant things.

"So we know nothing else?"

"No. We know that he was in Angral. Or at least, someone was there matching his description close enough that they are either brothers or it's the same guy. But beyond that, even the timing is suspect."

Sam nodded again and sat back down. He was staring at a point in the air off to one side that only he could see.

"What does this mean?" He asked again, his face looked as though he was in pain. "We missed him Freddie. We were so close."

"I know Sam. I know. I spent a not small amount of time after Kerrass told me what had happened being really angry at myself for that. Angry because we had let the fucker go. We weren't to know and we were in his place of power. But we let him go."

I felt the beginnings of that old anger in the depths of my chest and squashed it as ruthlessly as I could.

There was another pause as Sam worked himself up to another question. He knew what this question was and it needed to be asked. But he didn't want to ask it. He was afraid. Possibly even of the answer.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked. "Straight away I mean. Why didn't you tell me."

"It wasn't our choice Sam."

He snorted his scorn at that.

"No Sam, it wasn't. I swear that it wasn't. It's a manhunt now. We don't know where the fucker is, we don't even really know where to start as tracking him went cold after he left Redania during the whole, cutting the cult out of the countryside. So he could be anywhere in the Continent. Fuck, he could be in Zerrikania or half-way across the sea to Ofier by now. Kerrass took it to the Imperials."

"WHAT?"

"I was angry at first too." I told him. "I wanted to be the one to hunt the fucker down. Leaving everything else aside, I wanted to be the one that hunted him down and caught him. But where do you start looking. There are no leads Sam. None at all. We checked. Fuck, you checked. So where do we start? So Kerrass went to the Imperials."

Sam was nodding unhappily.

"The Lodge sent a couple of mages who specialise in hunting down missing people. Lord Voorhis was there for the day and carefully questioned the witness. They combed the countryside for more information. The mage was like a ghost. We heard a bit of rumour here and there but nothing strong or firm. And that's it. It's in their hands now."

A spasm stuck me then. As I remembered that moment where I was sat in Ariadne's courtyard. Kerrass, Emma, Ariadne and Mark all around me. Trying to distract me as Lord Voorhis stood before us, unhappily explaining that the best thing that we could do for the search was to stay exactly where we were and to continue to behave as we had been expected to behave. Enjoy Yule, go to Toussaint. I remembered Voorhis' face and his voice as clear as if he was stood next to me. "Let us do this." He had told us. "Let us help you."

"The Mages told us that the danger would be that if the target was magical, then he could be listening for us coming. That if we..." I swallowed the metallic feeling at the back of my throat. "If messages went this way and that way telling people to look out for this wizard. Then he would hear about it. The search had to be carried out by non-magical means and it was absolutely vital that it be done quietly and under the radar. The mage that Voorhis brought with him, backed up by Laurelen and Ariadne, said that a clever mage who was expecting to be a fugitive could prepare all kinds of alarms to know that hunters were on his trail."

"We were hunting him anyway."

"Yes we were. But not like this and not for this." I replied. "This is small stuff. I have to keep telling myself that, over and over again. I have to keep telling myself that all that this does is prove that he was in Angral. Once. We don't know if it was a one off thing. We don't know if it was a research trip, a recruitment effort or whether or not he was giving Dorme the recipe for the totem that would, in theory, control an elder Vampire.

"We don't know if Dorme was a dry run for what was happening in the North. You know, trying something out away from the cult's centre of power so that they could use it properly later. We don't know if he was working with or for Cavill, with or for Dorme, cousin Kalayn or any of the other fuckers. Hell, it might even be that he's the mastermind behind it all. We just don't know. It's possible, even probable, that he still has nothing to do with Francesca"

"But to know, we have to catch the fucker." Sam nodded. "So why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't mean to pass the blame Sam." I said. "But you were supposed to be in the South with us. We wanted to, but Laurelen and Ariadne were ordered to remain home. A teleport to Kalayn lands would have been noted, even watched for. And the Lodge would not agree with that. The Imperials wanted the word spread quietly. So waiting until we could talk to you in person for the agreed upon reasons was all that we could get them to agree to."

"That's not good enough Freddie."

"And I know it. But that's not my fault. Nor is it Emma's. It was what we were ordered to do."

Sam was not happy.

"Over and over again." I began. "Over and over again, it keeps coming up. It might even be the central theme of my work. If you need something doing then you hire a professional. If you are hunting a supernatural creature or lifting a curse then you hire a Witcher. If you want to fight a war then you fetch a soldier. If you want to investigate a magical effect then you send for a mage. We are hunting someone. So you send for someone who makes their living by hunting people.

"They told us, they ordered us to stay out of it. We were told that we could tell you when we met you here and that we could tell the Duchess and her circle when we got here. And lady Yennefer when she gets back from Cintra. She's on holiday at the moment and Lady Metz who is heading the magical part of the search told me that you don't interfere with Lady Yennefer when she's on holiday."

Sam said nothing.

"Our hands were tied Sam. I'm sorry, we all wanted to do more."

"Even Emma." He sighed bitterly.

"Especially Emma." I told him.

He nodded. "This is fucked Freddie."

"I know."

"I want to go charging off round the countryside and get this sorted. I want to find him."

"I know. I feel the same."

Sam nodded and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Freddie. I didn't mean to blame you. I just..." he shook his head.

"I know Sam."

He nodded. "Well thanks for telling me. Any reason you and not someone else?"

"Would you have listened to Emma, or Mark?"

He chuckled a little. "Not easily. I would have been more angry with them. I still might to be honest."

"We need them Sam. Emma especially. Having her on your side will make so much easier and you cannot do whatever it is you are doing in your lands and in the future, without her."

He sighed and the two of us stared into space for a while. "I hate to ask this Freddie. But is there anything else I need to know, or should have been told?"

"If there is, I don't know it."

He nodded and rose. I joined him as we paid our tab and headed off towards the castle.

"Ooh," I said. "There might be one thing."

"Which is?"

"Have I told you about Anne yet?"

"You have not."

He found that part of the story very funny.

The family reunion was not what I wanted though. This was not Sam's fault. Nor was it Emma, Mark, Ariadne or Kerrass' fault. I can, and with Sam's blessing, lay the blame solely at the feet of Sir Kristoff. Who had arrived at the families appartments and had started to go over the security arrangements, finding fault with everything that he could see.

Then he had picked a fight with Kerrass who had made the Redanian even angrier by ignoring him before he had figured out who Anne was and had called her a common harlot.

When I heard about it later, Anne's response was perfect and I laughed long and loud in regards to the subject. She told Sir Kristoff that she was an "exceptional harlot" and that there was nothing common about her at all. For a while after that it became a family joke that one of us could turn to the other and say "Exceptional Harlot" and the other would dissolve into laughter.

But in the there and then of the matter, it was far from funny. Anne was providing a service and that service was legitimately helping me. In working with Ariadne she had woken me from nightmares on several occasions as well as acting as a comfort in those moments where things were getting on top of me. The nature of that comfort had not been overtly sexual, she shared my bed certainly and often enquired as to whether or not I might take comfort from that form of intimacy. But although I was coming round to the idea, my body was still rejecting the possibility and I would far rather collapse into her arms towards rest and sleep than I would perform any kind of carnal action.

Now the problem here was that everyone in the room knew who Anne was and what she was there for. Including those knights who were there for our security and to protect our honour from those people that might seek to do us harm. Everyone knew who Anne was and what she was contributing and although Emma, Kerrass and Mark knew who Kristoff was, they didn't see as how he had the righte to insult Anne to her face.

I have spoken about how I feel about those ladies and gentlemen that ply the oldest trade. I have written about the amount of respect and admiration I have for those people who do a difficult job that society abhors. So I will not go through the arguments again here. If you think that someone shouldn't be a prostitute then find them another job. Calling a woman a slut or a harlot to insult her promiscuity is a double standard as men are often praised for their "conquests".

I have received more un-asked for, unpaid for and undeserved, kindness and respect from these people than I have from a lot of people that share my social station. A group of prostitutes saved my life and my sanity. I lost my virginity to a courtesan and she was very kind to a lost a little boy when I could have just been a transaction to her. And here was another lady that made her living by selling her body, working towards the healing of my mind. Healing that I so desperately needed. And a knight of my homeland did his best to insult her and drag her honour through the mud.

Kristoff was shouting when we got there. Captain De La Tour had been sent for on the grounds that Kristoff was causing a furor in the palace itself so that was Captain De La Tour's territory. A pair of knights were standing in front of Kristoff as he was shouting at Captain De La Tour and another pair of knights were standing between our family and the angry knight.

He was shouting at Emma. Something about her being a non-human harbouring piece of filth. A Witch lover and a heretic. There were people there that were trying to shield Emma from all of this. Kerrass and Ariadne were there. I was told that Captain Syanna was on her way. As we came round the corner, Kristoff was now picking a fight with Captain De La Tour and calling his competence into question now that he was subordinate to a traitorous bitch in the figure of Syanna.

De La Tour was holding onto his temper with a grip of steel. I think that Kristoff was lucky, very lucky indeed that Syanna hadn't been there otherwise things might have gone quite differently. Sam heard some of it, it was hard to miss as we got into the palace itself. People were running this way and that way and as we came round the corridor Kristoff's voice could be heard, echoing off the wooden panelling as we came.

Sam's pace quickened.

We came round the corner into view and my brother's voice cracked over the scene like a whip. "Kristoff." He didn't shout, he didn't scream, but there were teeth in his call.

"Lord Kalayn." Kristoff turned. "The measures that have been..."

"Be silent." Sam hissed. "I remind you sir that you are speaking to my sister and my family as a whole."

"But."

"I would further remind you that we are a guest here and you will keep a civil tongue between your teeth. You disgrace, not only yourself, but you disgrace me and the house of Kalayn with your actions. Explain yourself sir."

"I..."

Kristoff had misjudged something. I have no idea what it was that he had misjudged, but the confusion on his face was plain to see. Some people have suggested that he might have had something else in mind. That he was trying to pick a fight or to otherwise make a point. I just don't credit him with that much intelligence. I have seen this moment many times before. That moment when the trained soldier thinks that his skill at arms or the strenght of his sword arm is enough to carry him through most problems. Then comes that moment where the warrior finds that he has built his house on a foundation of sand. That moment where he finds it all collapsing around him and they always wear exactly the same expression.

Kristoff was wearing that expression now.

Normally I would say that I feel sorry for these men when they find themselves in this situation. We would have been lost on the battlefield without the skills that people like Kristoff possess. But he was trying to fight on our ground in the same way. Normally I would feel sorry for someone in his position. But here and now, with some of the things that he had said still echoing in my ears, I was just angry with him.

I could tell what he was trying to do of course. It wasn't that difficult. He was trying to pick a fight with someone. He wanted a duel. With Kerrass, with one of the knights, with this person or that person and he was dissappointed that he wasn't getting it.

Why didn't he get one? He was an honoured guest.

"I..." He tried again before subsiding.

"You will apologise to Captain De La Tour." Sam's voice grated with dissappointment and rage. "Then you will apologise to my sister, both my brothers, Witcher Kerrass, Lady Ariadne and, above all, you will apologise to Lady Anne who has done much to help heal the damage that was done to my brother under our watch. You will do so now sir, if you please."

"But..."

"NOW Kristoff."

My father once told me something. He said that if you are going to be angry with someone. Do not start loud, start quiet. That way, when the time comes that you have to be loud, the extra volume will be suitably shocking. Sam had started quiet but forceful and then, when the time came. He went onto loud and as he did so, his voice thundered.

Every so often, Sam reminds us all that he used to be a battlefield knight. With a voice that had to dominate over the sounds of crashing arms and armour so that he could properly lead people into the fray.

Kristoff's face stiffened as he looked at his master. You could see him gather himself to fight back, just a moment to gather himself together... And then... He folded.

It would be easy for me to go over his disgrace and his apology to everyone involved. I could describe his lost pride and the destruction of his arrogance. But that would serve nothing. Instead, all I will say is that I've had less graceful apologies. But not many.

Sam sent him home. He was ordered to return to the transport area so that he could await Lady Vigo's pleasure in order to be sent back to Kalayn lands.

So when Sam finally came to a halt in the rooms that we were all sharing and he looked at us all. It was a powerful moment.

"I can't prove it." He told us all as he undid his sword belt. "But I didn't want him to do that. I don't know why he did that. I am furious with him for doing that." Then Sam looked at the fire for a moment. "I am truly sorry for what he said and what he did. Please believe me when I say that those words were not mine. That he never heard those words out of my mouth. I have been angry over the last year, and sometimes I have been angry with the people in this room. But I would never... I am so so sorry."

It could have gone badly. It could have gone very badly. But Emma did me proud. She climbed to her feet and went over to gently coax Sam into her arms where he sobbed uncontrollably.

"It's not been a great year for any of us." She told him.

At some point, Kerrass, Ariadne, Anne and Laurelen left the four of us. The four surviving members of the Coulthard family and we sat in that room and took some time to reconnect. There were tears, recriminations, laughter, a little bit of shouting and then there were more tears. I cannot speak for the others but I think we needed those few hours. It was just a few hours to reconnect and, hopefully, begin the long process of healing each other and healing our relationships.

As I say, I cannot speak for the others but I hope that it wasn't wishful thinking that had me believing that we took the first steps forward into a new era for the family that afternoon.

It was not entirely positive though. It left me with a feeling of selfish guilt as I began to see that I had neglected my siblings in running off around the world to hunt for our sister. It was one of those things where I knew this to be true, but it was re-emphasised in that room in Toussaint. We had, all of us, lost Francesca and we had all been dealing with it in our own way. And in a time where what should have happened was that we should have come together as a family unit to deal with what had happened. To work through our collective grief and... rage at what had happened to us. But instead, we had shattered as though we were made of glass.

One of Mark's observations that I found interesting was that we had all, in our own ways, thrown ourselves into our work. Emma had moved from being a merchant into being the arch-merchant. She had become a Merchant Queen, ruthless and terrifying. Using the money and power that she commanded as a weapon to surround the family in a powerful fortification made out of money and influence. Where she had set out to destroy our enemies and in doing so had begun to drive the rest of us away from herself and potentially each other.

I had set out back on the road. With little clear plan and with, possibly although I'm not entirely convinced, a bit of a death wish as I threw myself into crisis after crisis after crisis. Barely escaping with my life each time and it was little wonder that I nearly lost my sanity in doing so. That I had taken a stand against the family, in the right cause as they would all admit, but that I had done it anyway and be damned to how it would affect them.

Sam had thrown himself into his new life as a Landed Lord. Looking after his people and the land that he had, using anything he could, including his brother, as a tool to facillitate the retaking of that land from the wilderness. He apologised to me over and over again. Not for exiling me from Kalayn castle because of my patronage of the elves. But for playing on my sense of duty as he sent me to the North to find the rest of the cult. He had driven Emma away without working with her and had allowed himself to be driven away by her rather than actually sitting down with her to sort out what the problem was.

As for Mark? He had divorced himself of the responsibility of being the head of the family. Where he could have... Where he should have stepped in to heal those rifts that were forming, he had declined the responsibility of being the elder brother, the Lord and the spiritual shepherd of the rest of us. He had declined to get involved in the rift between Emma and Sam, me and Sam and he had not stepped in to bring me to heel for the good of my health sooner. He had not acted in those moments, especially after the problems with the cult when I was holding onto my health and my sanity with my fingertips and he had all but told me that the family was my responsibility.

I suspect that we could have talked for hours. Given enough time, Laurelen, Kerrass and Ariadne would have been drawn in as well so that we could reaffirm out bonds with each other. So that we could begin to take steps forward and work together in deciding what the Coulthard family would look like in the months and years to come.

I made Sam tell everyone what our reputation was in the wider world and we talked about how we could work on mitigating that. Emma told us all about threats that she had received from some of the other merchant circles. While also telling us that, unless we really resisted it, she would be taking up Ciri's offer of a position at the Imperial court. That she felt that she could make a difference for the better there. Sam resisted but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The prospect that Emma could "use her powers for good" while also increasing the Northern presence in the Imperial Court was attractive to all of us. We briefly talked about what was going to happen in Angral and touched on my wedding while also reassuring Sam that he would find someone eventually.

As I say, we could have talked for hours. We probably should have talked for hours. And saying it like that suggests that things went badly, that there was an argument. But that is not the case. What stopped the conversation?

We had to attend a ball of course. Sam had just arrived, the finals of the tournament were tomorrow and we all needed to get ready.

There is a problem here that I'm not really addressing. I am writing all of this stuff and I don't really know how much you are interested in or care about. As I write, I send it all off to various people and one of the things that is coming up is that I could keep writing about everything that is happening in Toussaint and everything that has happened in Toussaint for ever.

That is part of the spell of the place. It is so big and so epic and so... so full of everything that it beggars belief. The first urge of the historian, or rather the first urge of someone like me, is to write down everything.

I have done as well. There are drafts of these pages that have gone un read and will probably go unread forever unless some unforseen time arrives where I come to write my memoirs.

I have no way to prove this to you but I have just shuddered in fear and distaste at the prospect. That would involve my revisiting times in my life that I would be much happier just forgetting.

But what with all the balls, parties, feasts and dinners. I could still be here talking about this stuff for years. Some of you would be fascinated by that. Some of you, even now, are taking up your quills to write to me, wondering when I am going to publish those …. shudder... memoirs that I have just talked about. Full of every detail including who makes the suits that Emma orders for me. What chemicals go into the cosmetics that Ariadne wears and how, exactly, I like my meat cooking.

Rare in the case of red meat in case you're wondering.

But what would that possibly add towards the overall picture of the world that I live in. What would my future counterpart. The man, woman or other that comes to these articles and my diaries and other written books with the eye of a historian wanting to know what life was really like back in the first years of the Empress' reign. When some lost, self-important little berk from the North decided that the world needed to know exactly what his life was like. What would they want to hear? Or read about? What do they need to know in order to explain what was going on here and in this part of the world.

I do think about them occasionally. I wonder what they might need to know. What truth they might want to have been told in order to make their own way and have their own work pushed forwards. How else can I help with shaping the world and teaching the future about the past so that they don't make the same mistakes that we... that I made.

Yes, I really can be that arrogant in the small hours of the night. When the nightmares come and I try to keep myself awake and aware enough to set all these things aside.

But the truth is that they already know what Toussaint was like. There are numerous sources on the matter and although I might have been experiencing these things as an outsider, making that experience unique to me. My experience was not unique in the grand scheme of things.

What I'm saying is that I'm going to skip over that dinner that night. I don't think that I am alone in the rest of the family when I say that I would have been much happier if the four of us could have had a quiet meal somewhere where we could have finished up our long conversations from another time and place. Hell, I would have expanded that to include Kerrass, Ariadne and Laurelen. Even Anne too if she wanted to come.

But that wasn't the point. The Coulthard flag had to be raised. We had to show the colours and Sam had to make his presence felt.

It was an entirely unremarkable dinner and looking back we came perilously close to insulting all of the other attendees there as the seven of us basically formed a small knot of people as we wandered around the room talking to people.

I was proud of both Sam and Emma that night. After their initial period of getting over themselves so that they could move forward as a brother and sister, Emma had taken Sam aside and very carefully, with as few intonations as possible so that Sam didn't end up thinking that she was judging him, she asked him how Kalayn lands were doing. She listened carefully and politely as best she could before she then asked the follow-up question. "How can I help?"

I think it took a lot for her to ask that. I think it took even more for Sam to not jump down her throat as she did so. Sometimes when you are used to being distracted and on edge and used to being on the defensive. The urge is to stay there. So as she asked that, Sam stared at her for a long time, weighing his responses carefully before he nodded and said something that I did not expect.

He said "What would you suggest?"

I could have cheered them both. As it was I found a couple of cups of wine and toasted them both with Mark.

So that was that evening. Emma and I guided Sam around the room introducing him to various people.

But a lot of that evening passed in a blur if we're honest with each other. I was overjoyed that Emma and Sam seemed to be getting on and I realised just how afraid I had been of the possibility that the rift that had formed between the two of them would now be impossible to overcome.

Sam, it seems, has read my treatise on how a man should behave in public when their skills lend them more towards the martial end of the scale. He responded to most questions with a "yes, no, maybe" of attitude. He does have a couple of talents that help him out in this kind of area. Most noticably his talent for remembering people's names. He claims that it is a left over from his time in the military where it becomes vital for a man to remember the names of those under his command as well as those who are in the command structure above him and on either side.

Dispiritingly, he didn't really seem to get on with Knight Commander Syanna. He would later admit that he found her a little condescending and that he was resentful that she had gained so high a position of military command without ever actually having served in any kind of military. He was self aware enough to admit that it was an ingrained thing. About how people had hated him for his perceived, if innaccurate, stigma that he had achieved his own rank through nepotism. While at the same time seeing other men, lesser soldiers and knights than he, finding advancement through money and family connections.

Regardless, she rubbed him the wrong way and after he had gone, I would find that the feeling was mutual. Captain De La Tour was, like Syanna, unamused by the confrontation with Kristoff and muttered darkly about the lack of discipline.

But Sam did well. He spent some time talking to Lord Palmerin where they exchanged notes about the massacre of the fish market and condolences were given. But the truth was that we didn't venture ourside of our comfort zones that much.

It got further than that even. When we all retired for the night, the urge was to stay up late and spend our time gossiping and talking. Going over things. Emma and Sam were talking about what they were going to do with Kalayn lands. The comment that was made ages ago about how we could turn it into some kind of herbary was taken on board. So Emma was talking plans. She was going to introduce Sam to some people over the next few days. As well as some botanists that would be able to go up to Kalayn lands and have a good stomp around up there. But also she was going to talk to some farming innovators that would be able to go up there and show some of Sam's villagers about how they might be able to make the best of the land that they were living on without seeming too condescending. The argument being that those people had been cut off from the world for so long that it would possibly do them good to realise that they lived in the wider world for a bit.

But we had to go to bed. Tomorrow was the finals of the joust and the sword and we would all expect to be present.

There were two finals of the joust. The first was to crown the champion of the tournament itself. These were men who were competing in their own names and on their own behalf to earn the title of the first Winter Champion of Toussaint. The second was from the knights of Saint... you can't possibly know it but I shudder every time I have to call her "Saint"... Francesca. My understanding was that there had been a small amount of uproar at the fact that some of the other knights ahd wanted to compete in Francesca's contest and didn't see why they couldn't be counted in that kind of elite.

It had all died down in the days immediately before Sam's arrival as Syanna had declared that the Knights of Saint Francesca would not compete in the finals for the tournament. But that they had taken part in order to keep their skills sharp. After all, a Knight of Francesca would be too busy with his (or her) other duties to be able to properly defend their own titles.

This had not been taken as graciously as some people had expected. Syanna couldn't give a damn. She had said, a little smugly, that every time one of those knights complained that she was trating them unfairly, or keeping them from their proper plaudits, or otherwise preventing them from displaying their capabilities on the field, then they continued to prove her disdain for the office of knighthood justified.

I didn't understand their problem and said so loudly to whoever was nearby.

It took Sam to explain it to me. Which says something I suppose.

"It's about Pride Freddie." He explained to me. Some idiot had put several bottles of wine in the Ducal box where we were watching the contests from. Sam and I have always been bad influences on each other when it comes to drinking and as a result, the two of us, together doing our best to reconnect, along with some of the finest wine in the world, were getting rather drunk.

"It's about Pride Freddie." He told me. "Remember what I told you on the castle walls in Kalayn. A warrior needs their pride. It's the thing that keeps them going. It's a warrior's pride that forces him into the breach, into the enemy shieldwall or..." he gestured at me, "onto the deck of an enemy ship."

"Thanks for reminding me." I told him.

"Remember when we were little and I told you that we would make a warrior out of you one day."

"I remember that I was eleven."

"And I was twelve. And lo and behold, we managed it."

"Not far off ten years too late."

"All he does is moan" Sam commented to Ariadne who was watching the horsemen closely. "Are you prepared to put up with all of his moaning?"

"That depends what kind of moaning he's doing." Ariadne leered at him.

Have you ever seen a beautiful woman leer? It's the most off-putting thing you can imagine.

Sam shuddered. "Anyway. It's about Pride. To make warriors better, then one of the things that you can do is to take the best of those warriors and make an elite cadre of them. You put them together and tell them that they are the baddest, hardest, most deadly motherfuckers on the face of the continent. You build that spirit of companionship between the lot of them and you would be astonished as to how often it works as well. That was why Rickard and the Bastards worked together so well.

"So that's what the Knights of Francesca are. Or rather, that's what other people are seeing them as. You and I know that they are not. They are also guards, investigators and negotiators. But to these knights down there. They are what they think of as knights. Just bigger and better ones. These golden armoured twits are hurt that they are not allowed to prove to the world that they are better than these steel clad common born fuckwits by pounding them into the mud. The Knights of Francesca are a challenge to their pride and they don't like it.

"They would be happier if Commander Syanna had allowed them all to compete equally before being pounded into the ground themselves. Especially as, to my eye, Guillaume is on fire out there today. There is no way that any of these wretches would be able to touch him."

Ariadne had been listening as well. "It begs the question, how many of them did Syanna reject from being allowed into the knights of Francesca."

"It's an interesting question." Sam mused. "That would certainly explain some of the anger of both these knights and their families."

It turned out that a good chunk of them had been rejected from the ranks of the knights of Francesca. This had angered both the knights in particular and their families as well. Adding fuel to the fire of the old guard of Toussaint.

All that you had needed to do before to be a knight was to pay for your equipment, stand the vigils and be of suitably noble blood. Now, Syanna had standards that she expected you to hold to to be a knight of this "higher order" and not everyone agreed with those standards.

Such as virtue. Any accusation of impropriety or cruelty meant that you were automatically dismissed. Not a bad thing in my view but some of those knights complained that the peasants that they had supposedly been involved with were just peasants so that their views didn't count. It might not in law, something that is sadly still true in a lot of the continent, but it did not sway Syanna when it came time to join her order of knights.

And she said so. Loudly and to anyone that would listen.

The finals were a privilidge to watch. Some people might wonder whether or not I would be critical due to the politics and the behaviour of some of the knights involved in the final of the standard bouts. But at the end of the day, I was forced to enjoy the spectacle for what it was and what it was, was an outstanding piece of showmanship, horsemanship and the proper use of the lance. That final involved the four best knights from the previous jousts and their places in respect to the top four places. First, second, third and fourth.

There were prizes for all four places as well as the honour of being able to call themselves the Champion of the First tournament of Saint Francesca.

That alone, or so I'm told, was more than enough honour for any knight to want to give it their all on the field and, to be fair to them despite my personal distatste for their behaviour, they did.

Sam provided proper commentary, telling us all how they were doing and the techniques that each of the knights used. The way he described it made it all sound rather complex. The proper use of armour and how that armour was forged. The shape of the armour and how it was anchored to the body. The weight, length, balance and focus of the lances that were used. I was more use when it came to matters of the horses that were being ridden in the joust. Whether the knights were using chargers, Geldings, Studs or any of the other many and varied breeds.

It was fascinating and I took it all in as the four men met each other over and over and over again. Best of three passes on each case with an unhorsing ending the bout. Pretty standard but each man had to meet each of the others.

The other thing that was clear was that each came to the field having watched the others joust in detail and each had a theory as to how the other could be beaten and had come up with a counter to the techniques of the person that they were facing. I didn't see it all and the only reason that I know that this was taking place was due to the commentary and help of Sam and Kerrass between them.

The closest I could call it from my own experience was a group of people at a Gwent tournament. Each of the players had their own decks and preferred tactics that they liked to use while also having a large selection of other cards to choose from. So they had watched the other players and, as a result, had a good idea of what kinds of cards they liked to play and in which order. Then they had gone away and constructed decks to counter their future opponents. Just as I had once countered Mark's favourite Nilfgaardian deck with all of it's spies. But now the players know that their own weaknesses have been exposed and, as such, have been able to take steps to ensure that they can counter the counter.

In Gwent, that can sometimes make for boring matches where people just keep pulling out decoy cards. But in jousting, there is always the possibility of an impact and someone being unhorsed.

So here are just a couple of the examples of things that I did see and techniques that I could tell that were used.

One man liked to use a long lance. The hope being that he could unhorse his opponent before being in range of his opponents lance. There wasn't that much in it but the technique was there. But in order for this lance to be viable and not ridiculously heavy, it had to be slim and light meaning that the knight using it had to be very precise in his strike to hit his opponent just right to cause the lance to shatter correctly let alone un horse his opponent. The other man knew this and knew precisely where he would need to be struck for it to work. So as the two men came together, Long lance aimed his spear precisely, his opponent saw it coming and tilted his body aside so that the lance glanced off his chestplate and clattered clear, leaving the opening for the return blow.

Another man was a huge figure of a man. Riding something that was, essentially, a cart horse. It had to be in order to carry all that man and armour. He jousted bringing all of his strength and power to bear on his opponent. Ignoring the opposing lance as it struck him on the chest but using the following tidal wave of flesh and metal to carry his opponent from his horse.

I had watched the man, one of those rare people who did not bother with too much ornamentation on his golden armour. This was Sir Gregor who had been the Champion of Toussaint before Lord Geralt had entered the Tournament as a way to get close to Lady Vivienne in order to lift her curse. He was a terror on the field and I had seen more than one match that had ended with his younger, more inexperienced, opponents simply throwing their lances aside and surrendering rather than facing that storm of knightly power and fury.

It was one of those techniques that needed a counter to be able to affect them. And a clever knight had done just that. He wore a light set of armour. Ridiculously light and white in it's colourings. The armour lackquered white and light blue. He carried a short, delicate looking lance and rode a small, lightening fast but equally delicate looking horse. The horse, the armour and the make of the lance were all different from what the white knight would normally joust in. As the match started, the betting was not on who would win but more on whether or not Sir Gregor would kill the White knight during the match.

All possible precautions would be taken of course. But accidents do happen. Especially when a man comes to the field so woefully under prepared or under protected against the galloping tide that was going to come at him.

As it turned out though. It wasn't a contest. As the two rushed together it became clear that the white knight had planned for all of this. At a given signal, his horse danced aside from Gregor's lance, causing the other man's blow to sail, cleanly past the white knight so that he had missed. Then all the White knight had to do was choose where to place his own lance.

It was smartly done and spoke of hours of practice. Days of practice as not many horses would do that kind of maneauver. Certainly not without complaining loudly whenever given the opportunity.

I saw another lance parried in mid stroke in a move so similar to a fencing parry that I marvelled at the wrist strength that that must have taken.

It went on and on. Move and countermove and I sat there in awe and joy as I watched everything that those men brought to the field.

There is a simple joy in watching true masters of their craft perform at the very top of their skill levels. To perform at the very best of their games. I didn't need to be a master of the sport that I was watching. I didn't need to be a proffessional jouster to follow everything that was going on there. It helped and Sam's input and informed admiration was certainly a powerful addition to the commentary. But I didn't need that to acknowledge the mastery at work here. I didn't need it to admire the artistry.

Because that is what it was. That was more than what it was. This was Professor Dandelion singing for the Empress. This was Daniel the poacher shooting into the sun. This was the swirling magical energies of... Oh I don't know.

I sometimes remain dissapointed that I lack the skills of a poet.

Other people might claim that I did not enjoy those displays. Some might claim that I was less than enthusiastic about what I saw. But those people are wrong. I was struck in the face by the skills, the talents, the showmanship and the mental trials that were being undertaken here. I might not have cheered with the wins or moaned with the losses. If we're honest with each other, I didn't really have any skin in the game here. My previous betting record was doing well but at this level I lost as much as I won and the amounts were relatively small. This was more about mind against mind and that was something that I couldn't judge. It was a place beyond impressiveness and I was struck speechless by what I saw.

When the victors had been decided they rode a small circuit of the field. The winner, the rider who wore the white armour, rode high in his stirrup and rode around the field with his gauntleted fist held high without showing us his face and the crowd loved him.

Sir Gregor took second place. He, at least, had taken his helmet off and rode around the arena silently, without expression and did not lift a hand or a smile to acknowledge the crowd.

Sir Morgan the Blackhand rode next. He wore the golden armour that was expected of a Toussaint knight. He was a much older man than the others by the look of him but he had ridden as well as the rest. His armour was unusual as he wore the gauntlet that gave him his name in that his right hand was a plain, black gauntlet. Utterly lacking in any of the other ornamentation that the rest of his armour had been tooled with. He was clearly beloved by the people and waved, shouted and laughed as the crowd cheered him as he past.

The fourth place was a man called Alain La Sentinelle. Toussaint speak for Alain the watcher. I didn't know why you would have a title like that to be a knight. But this man did. From where I sat I didn't get to see much of him until the ball later. But for here and now I could see that he had a shockingly red head of hair. Red enough that I wondered if it had been dyed. He seemed to interact with the crowd fairly well. Especially the women there which suggested that he might be rather handsome. But that was from all the way over there.

There was some distress that we wouldn't be presenting the prizes there and then, but the light was beginning to fade by this point. A fact that made Syanna mutter darkly that the jousters had deliberately delayed things so that the finals of the Knight's contest would have to take place in darkness, or be postponed to a point where they would not get the prestige that they deserved.

I have no idea about that.

The Knights of Francesca took the field and it was... something else. The previous posturing, showmanship and gaming of the system was done with and set aside.

To use my earlier Gwent analogy. This is what would happen if you got the best Gwent players in the world together and gave them each a set of identical cards. No deck building, no faction strengths and no leader cards. Just the Decks themselves, premade. Then told them to go at it, so that the entire thing was about which order the cards were placed and when a player decided to stand.

It was jousting at it's purest. No tricks, no mind games. Just pure skill against skill with the winner getting past. They all wore the same suits of armour, rode similar horses and carried identical lanses. Physical stature was part of it, I have no doubt. But at the same time, there was very little between the four people fighting in that particular final. Syanna had already told me that those people unsuited for the contest had not even bothered signing up for the fight.

It was also anonymous. So no reputiations to fall back on. No bullying or intimidation. You went to the starting position, a squire would give you a lance and off you went.

Sir Guillaume won. I could recognise him by the size of him and the way he moved. To my eyes it wasn't even really that much of a contest.

I am no expert in these things and I am certainly not going to wade into the debate about whether or not he could have beaten the other contestants in the earlier jousting. That sort of thing is a little bit beyond my capabilities to test or comment on. To my eyes, the two types of contest were so utterly different. The one a complicated mash of different techniques and thought processes versus a pure, stripped back demonstration of the art form.

There was also a sense of camaraderie in the knights of Francesca that was missing from the other contestants. When Guillaume unhorsed his fellows he climbed down and helped his opponents to their feet who would promptly embrace him, sounds of laughter and congratulation between the two as they slapped him on the back with the crashing of gauntlet against breastplate. I suppose there was no weakness in admitting that another man is better than he you are in that regard.

In comparison, the other knights were doing their very best to make the other fellows bleed. They needed to defeat their opponents and drive them into the mud in orer to intimidate them for the next bout. I remembered Sir Cawthorne and his own methods of ensuring his victories. By doing his best to ensure that he had already won before he started by methods of intimidation and bullying.

But with the Knights of Saint Francesca, they were doing their best. I even know that Guillaume was giving them pointers on how the losers might be able to beat him next time.

So who was better? How would Guillaume and the others, who I didn't know, have done if they had taken part in the standard lists? I have no idea. It's one of those conversations that is going to be dominating conversations in the world of Jousting for some time to come until one of those other knights joins the knights of Francesca or until Sir Guillaume leaves the knights and competes in his own rights.

All I have to say on the matter is two things.

The first is this. They say that a true master of a sport, art or physical activity makes it look easy. Watching them leaves you thinking that anyone can do it. It makes you want to rush over, pick up a paint brush, the lute or the Lance and get cracking. Professor Dandelion does that with poetry and the Lute. Lord Geralt does the same with a sword and Jarl Helfdan looks like that when he stands on the deck of a ship.

Guillaume looks like that on the back of his horse.

The other knights seemed to be tied up in their techniques and tricks and the way that they moved. Guillaume simply rode his horse towards the other at hight speed. As far as I could tell, he did it in a straight line and every single time, his lance would shatter properly while his opponents lance would escape unmarred. That was when his opponent did not fall from his horse.

Every. Single. Time.

The other comment is one about Sam's reaction.

Sam is a knight and was skilled enough in the jousts that he got to the quarter finals of the sword and within the top thirty of the Joust for the Empress' coronation. He would say that he is not great but he was good enough. He would also say that you do not need to be a good jouster to be able to comment on the quality of what he saw. For those who were wondering. Sam has retired from the jousting circuit which he only took part in occasionally anyway on the grounds that he doesn't really have time to train properly anymore.

When Sam was watching Gregoire and the others, he would be full of commentary on the way that the lance was held, the way that the blow struck home, the way that the knight in question rode his horse.

But when he was watching Sir Guillaume joust, he only had one word to say in comment.

"Beautiful," he said as he turned away shaking his head. He had odd comments for the other jousters among the knights, but he commented that Sir Guillaume was just operating on another level in this particular case.

So Sir Guillaume won. To most people's utter lack of surprise. Some of those noblemen in the stands, (not the noblewomen, but I will leave it to you to comment on that kind of thing.) made a few comments on the subject. They were especially annoyed that although it had been acknowledged that the other knights would be given their prizes at the ball later. The knights of Saint Francesca would receive their prizes now and in the open.

It didn't seem to matter that the prizes for the tournament champion were fine works of art, master crafted swords or pressed gold statues. Items of worth and significance. This compared with the white scarf that would be tied around the wrist of Francesca's champion so that all might know who they were to call on should another seek to take advantage of what had been found.

It didn't matter that the tournament was named after the patron symbol of these Knights and that, indeed, the entire event was planned around this particular moment. Nor did it matter that the practical aspects of the prizegiving were just as important. Where the public needed to see who it was that was being crowned as their champion. None of that mattered.

But that Guillaume received his plaudits before the men that came from within their ranks. That is what rankled. That he received the attention first and in public where their other champions were deprived of those awards.

But the prizes were to be given. As the family of the saint, we had been asked if we would give out the prizes to the knights of Francesca. I say prizes, but it was more about who would receive the responsibilities first. If Guillaume was incapacitated or was unfindable for any reason. Then the second would take his place. And so on down the line.

We had been warned in advance so we had spent some time to try and figure out how we were going to set about doing this in order to include as much of the family as possible but also to work within the female centric nature of Toussaint's preffered method of prize-giving. We had four prizes to give out and we had discussed how to arrange this over dinner the previous night.

So if you will forgive me some of the more poetic stylings of writing that I was taught in the Skelligan Isles.

And so it was that the family Coulthard walked out onto the field of victory in Toussaint.

The sun was setting, we had managed that at least. So as we walked out onto the field we had worn our best clothing. Emma, Laurelen and Ariadne had all worn white dresses that covered them from head to toe. I am no dress maker to be able to properly comment on such things. But they had all dressed in order to look as virginal as possible to stay within the overall theme of the situation. They were, after all, representing a Saint.

Mark led the procession in his formal regalia, lacking only the hat and the more ornate symbols. So he was priest but not on duty. He was a priest but not speaking for the church in that regard. He led, hands pressed together in the attitude of prayer.

Emma came next, resplendent in her white dress. I have to admit, she looked good. She had a long train with long sleeves with the inlay being of Coulthard colours. She looked regal and impossibly sad. No wonder, I was a little moved by what we were doing as well.

Sam and I came next, not out of a position of prestige, but because we were carrying the portrait of Francesca that had been her representative during the tournament. I didn't talk to anyone else about it at the time. But I remember feeling sure that, as I walked with the almost precariously large gilded frame in my hands, I felt sure that I could hear my sister laughing at the entire situation. It was, there is no doubt about it, rather an extreme situation.

The painting was not heavy but it was all too easy to imagine a gust of wind coming and blowing it over, taking Sam and I with it. And Sam was wearing his sword so we would ALL go flying off. It was a funny image and as I say, I am sure that I could hear Francesca laughing at me as we walked.

I felt the tears pricking in the corner of my eyes as we walked. Flame but I missed my sister.

Behind us walked Laurelen and Ariadne. Included in the family because they were all but married into the family itself. We thought of them as Coulthards. Ariadne would be a Coulthard before too much longer (flame help her) and Laurelen would be if we could convince the church to allow it. They wore similar outfits to Emma but with a little bit more ornamentation and personalisation than Emma's. Neither of them had quite so expansive a train and Ariadne wore her gown sleeveless despite the brittle cold of the air.

After them, we had asked Commander Syanna to be part of the presenting party. She was the Commander of the Knights which meant that she was linked to this. She was also a woman which meant that she fit the poetry that lies in the heart of the people of Toussaint. But also, there was symbolism there as well. This was us showing the world that we supported what she was doing. That we approved of the Knights of Saint Francesca.

Which was mostly true. There were individual things that we all felt were a bit problematic and Syanna herself admitted that there would be problems to iron out in the weeks and months to come. But for an imperfect system that would do better at keeping people safe. I thought that they had done a good job. It was certainly better than the efforts that had led to the loss of our sister in the past.

Kerrass brought up the rear. Carrying the stand that we would place the portrait of Francesca on. We had wanted to find a way to keep him involved and had struggled until he himself had wondered how we were going to carry the stuff around.

The Duchess had already gone out to greet the victorious Guillaume who had led his fellows to stand in a row and wait for us. The four knights standing in their faceless helms and anonymous arms and armour. As I say, I knew which one was Guillaume due to his size and way of moving. But the others could have been anyone.

The crowd went still as The Duchess made a short speech. I wasn't really listening as I was too busy working with Sam and Kerrass to properly site the portrait so that we could get it right so that it wouldn't fall over or anything.

The Duchess spoke of the sacrifices that were made. The purpose of the Knights of Saint Francesca. How the people of Toussaint could contact the Knights and make use of their skills as and when it was needed. She spoke well but it was a speech about practicalities rather than a rousing call to arms.

When she was done, Commander Syanna placed a small white scarf, little more than a ribbon, at the base of the portrait. The fourth place knight came forwards and knelt. He picked the ribbon up and lifted it to his lips, or rather that place on his helmet where the lips were, as a symbol of devotion before Syanna helped him tie the ribbon round his wrist.

The pattern was followed by Laurelen with the third place prize of a slightly wider ribbon that was tied around the third places belt.

Second place was a scarf placed around the neck of the runner up by Ariadne's hands.

But the winner, who needed all of our help to get it on, was given a white over mantle. Like a cloak that rested over the shoulders of Francesca's champion.

All of the prizes had that same silhouette on it. Made from a thick white material with the silhouette picked out in gold but there was also a black trim to show that the knights would always be mourning she who was lost.

Being part of the ceremony I felt a little apart from it. It lacked the emotional heft that it might have had otherwise. I felt like an intruder, looking out at the world and so I noticed small things that might otherwise have passed me by.

The crowd roared as the prizes were given. Of course they did, this was Toussaint after all. But I couldn't help but notice that the common-folk cheered with considerably more enthusiasm than the nobility on the stands.

I also saw that the other knights and their squires didn't bother to hide their disdain of what was happening. I don't think that their disdain was aimed at me so much that it was aimed at the knights that were receiving the prizes.

I saw Captain De La Tour, silently watching the entire thing from the Duchess' viewing box with an impassive expression on his face. I saw Syanna wink to her sister. I was also privilidged to see Lady Vivienne beaming with pride at her husband's accomplishments.

And just like that, it was over. Sam and I were carrying the portrait back to hand it over to a couple of servants who would be taking it off to be crated up in order to be transported back to the chapter house of the knights where it currently sits, overlooking the entrance hallway to the main buildings. The stand vanished somewhere and the rest of us filed off to the waiting horses and carriages so that we could go back to the palace in order to prepare for the evening's festivities.

It was all over so fast that I felt cheated in a small but significant way. I had been looking forward to the moment but, in some small way, I felt as though I had missed that same moment. As though, in concentrating on making sure that the painting hadn't fallen over, or in listneing for that strange laughter that I had heard before, I had missed the gravitas of the moment. I had been looking forward to the catharsis that I would feel now that the name of Francesca was going to be spoken on all those lips for some time to come.

But I didn't have that and I was left feeling more than a little lost and afraid by it.

I felt hollow and vacant. I wanted to go and sit somewhere quiet, cool and dark and to let myself unwind from that moment. I needed to take it all in and let it all flow through my mind and my heart.

Francesca wasn't mine anymore and that was the moment that I realised it, I think. Properly realised it. Francesca the woman, the sister, the girl was gone now, fading into the memory of the people that knew her, the people that loved her. We would never stop loving her. We would never stop.

But she was gone. All but certainly dead. I'm not going to comment on the uncertainty at this stage. It was hard, very hard but that's not what I'm talking about here.

She was gone. Dead in all but name. And she was being replaced. She was becoming Saint Francesca now. She would be repainted, reformed into a virginal Princess, kind, gentle and caring. No-one would remember the wicked sense of humour or the quick wit and intelligence. They would take those bits of her character that she needed and elevate them to the virtues that they undeniably are. And they would forget the rest.

The Knights of Saint Francesca were not even their final form. Syanna had spoken about plans that, if these first few years worked in the Duchy, then there was the suggestion that the form of law enforcement would be expanded to other parts of the Empire. That Knights of Saint Francesca would become what those other knightly orders were supposed to be. Upholding the laws, protecting the innocent and helping those people that had neither the money or the prestige to look after themselves.

"Witchers for Monsters and curses." She said. "Because no-one better. Sorcerors and Sorceresses for Magical phenomenon for the same reason. But for those crimes where the skills of the local watch are not good enough. Where the lords of the land are persecuting their people. Where there is a murder that cannot be solved, then call for a knight of Francesca.

"Think of it." She went on. Her eyes shining. "Diplomatic missions guarded by Knights of Francesca, incorruptible, anonymous and resolute. Diplomats guarded. Roads patrolled. Villages protected and when a Lord descends from his castle or Manor house to despoil and have his way with a farmers daughter then a Knight of Francesca will be there to protect her at best and to avenge her at worst."

"It is a pleasant dream." I had told her. "But you will need to be careful. Such a system will be open to abuse and you will need to be careful not to fall into the same traps that the Knights of the Flaming Rose fell into."

It is a pleasant dream and I sincerely hope that they can pull if off. Holding themselves to some impossible standard and if I am honest with myself. Francesca would be happy if she could do that for people. If all that resulted from her death was that her name would be used to scare bandits to sleep. "Be good or the Knights of Saint Francesca will come for you." Then she would be happy with that.

In theory, that means that her name will be elevated. In theory, even if it's only in this, relatively small corner of the world, the name of Francesca will still be spoken long after I am dead and gone. Long after the events that robbed her of her life. Long after people have forgotten that her surname was "Coulthard". Not necessarily a bad thing. But I couldn't help but mourn a little bit for the loss of my sister.

I was not alone in being absorbed by my thoughts as we all climbed back aboard the carriages to be driven back up to the palace. All I can tell you for certain is that Ariadne held my hand through it all but I remember no conversation. I can remember no speeches or words. Just lots of staring into space as we rattled over the cobbled streets of the city of Beauclair and when we got back to the palace, each of us retreated to the rooms that had been set aside for us where we could sit and think. Ariadne joined Anne and I, but we didn't speak.

We just sat.

That... fugue state lasted until we had to start getting ready for the ball that evening. And this is largely due to the fact that it's impossible to be contemplative while you're getting ready for that kind of thing. Emma claims that you can get used to it if you have to do it on a regular basis, which I suppose she has to sometimes. But I can't ever forsee a time and a place where I would be so used to being manhandled in such a way that I would be able to leave what I was doing around me and just retreat into myself and think about nothing.

It's hard. I had to stand there while servants cleaned me, shaved me and then dressed me so that I would be presentable for the coming ball. A thing that was going to drown out everything that we had been to or seen before when it came to our time in Toussaint. So we were all dressed in the finest fabrics, leant jewels and things so that we could cut the best figures. We would be eating the finest foods and drinking the finest wines while mixing with the most fabulous people that we could imagine.

I was oddly fascinated by it all while also dreading the entire process.

But I couldn't keep hold of my mood while all of that was going on. I couldn't maintain the thoughtful calm while I could hear Sam yelping that he didn't need anyone's help in drying himself after a bath. Nor listening to Ariadne's whining that she neither wanted, nor needed to be any slimmer than she was, therefore the servant could take the corset that she was being dressed in and jam it somewhere that a surgeon would be required to find it.

There are some things that just require you to go with the flow and to enjoy yourself.

I greeted Sir Guillaume warmly and with congratulations. I had, after all, won a not small amount of money on him which I donated back to the Knights coffers so that the funds could be properly used to help in what they were trying to do. I was going to do that anyway but Emma congratulated me on making a proper statement of support for the family.

I shrugged at her.

I'm not going to go through our ensembles for the night. Mostly because I would fill several pages of parchment, use up several quills and a pot of ink to do so and I have already written far more on the subject of what was happening in Toussaint before things boiled over than I intended to.

We all looked splendid. I mean that in every sense of the word. We looked amazing. And even as we all stood there admiring each other we all vowed silently that these outfits, which were gifts from the Duchess, would be folded up carefully before being consigned to some out of the way place to never be worn again.

Other than Mark who rather thought that he would "never need to wear this shit again this side of my death bed", who intended to sell it and give the proceeds to charity.

For the rest of us though. The only feasible way that anything like this would ever be worn again was if we were invited to another court function at Toussaint where we would be the guests of honour, in which case we would almost certainly be gifted another suit. In any other court in the land, from the Southern parts of Nilfgaard to the Northern tips of Kovir & Poviss by way of Skellige and Lyria & Rivia. This outfit would be far too gaudy. It was almost too gaudy for Toussaint itself if the truth of the matter be known. But that was a fight for another day.

But it soon became clear that the best tactic for ongoing survival was to just let the professional servants get on with things and as a result, I found that I was done and prepared all the much the faster.

"Is there any reason." Sam began while we were waiting for the ladies to have their finishing touches to their hair and makeup. "Why I shouldn't get utterly wasted tonight. This is going to be excruciating enough without having to do it sober."

Sam was still tired. Pale, and obviously on the edge of exhuastion but it was good to see that, at that point at least, he was beginning to recover some of his former sense of humour.

"Believe me when I say..." Syanna was wandering in and out of the suite as she prepared for the night's ceremony where the knights of Saint Francesca would formally take over security of Toussaint from the 4th Alba division. "... That you will not have time to get properly drunk. You will be far too busy shaking hands and being..." She shuddered theatrically, "nice to people." Her mouth twisted in distaste. "I sympathise with your predicament though. My advice is to last as long as you can before stealing a number of bottles of wine and bringing them back to your rooms to get properly shit-faced."

Syanna was wearing her own full harness. A slimmer and, to my eyes, lighter fit than what Guillaume and the other knights were wearing. But there was little doubt as to who she was. Silver steel plates over shining chain mail over a dark blue arming coat. She looked good. Especially as she was glowing with triumph. This was her moment after bringing the knights of Francesca so far in so short a period of time so, for my money at least, she deserved what she had gained.

"Now that." Sam pointed at her to emphasise the point. "That sounds like the best plan I've heard in a long fucking time." Mark, Kerrass and I laughed. "What do you say boys. Gonna join me in getting utterly rat-arsed after all this is done? After all, when this is over, I have to head back north to find out about all the other problems that my chancellor and seneschal have left for me."

"Something to look forward to." Mark agreed.

"I'm game." Kerrass said. "A lot of these functions leave me feeling giddy so some good hard drinking would possibly do me some good."

"Isn't there a Lady that you're keeping on the hook nearby Kerrass?" Mark teased. "A certain Lady Moineau?"

I blinked and turned. I had not known about Kerrass' endeavours on that field.

Kerrass snapped his fingers. "That's true." He grinned. "Although it has to be said that after the amount of time and effort it took me to get into this thing," he gestured at the suit the tailor had made for him, "and the amount of time it's taking the ladies to get into their outfits, the possibility of taking her off into a quiet corner for a good hard boff will involve far too many petticoats for my liking. Things are likely to get in the way."

"Oh how awful that must be for you Kerrass." I let the sarcasm build.

"So I will probably spend the evening with longing stares and play up the world weary, lonely and heartsick Witcher that cannot possibly allow himself to love or be loved." He struck a dramatically tragic post with the back of one hand pressed against his forehead. "That way I can allow myself to be caught later and under more... practical circumstances so that the passion can overtake me to the point that I can hardly hold back."

"Bit unfair on the lady isn't it?" Sam wondered.

"Nah, she knows the game as well as I do and is enjoying the drama of it. She acts all innocent but I wager that I am far from the first noble savage man of violence that she has seduced in this way. She's too practiced at this, too good at wearing her dresses just right so that her... hysterical and passionate breathing does interesting things to her bosoms. But she will be with her husband tonight and her father is here as well. So I doubt that anything can happen. As I say. Longing looks, averted gazes. Heavy breathing."

"In the meantime you can console yourself with that maid that I saw you looking at, right?" I wonderd.

"Which one?" Kerrass grinned nastily. "But in all seriousness. It will depend on who's working tonight."

"So it sounds like the Witcher's amourous adventures will keep him from drinking heavily tonight." Sam moaned. "Mark, do your brother a solid and tell me that we have time to get properly drunk together."

"Would that I could old boy." Mark said. "But the medication that I'm on along with the illness means that I can't afford to. I have to heavily water my drinks at the moment and even then, I'm a lightweight the likes of which you have never seen."

"Dissappointing." Was Sam's verdict.

"I will keep you company though." Mark told him. "It is, after all, a big brother's duty to tuck his errant siblings into bed when they take things too far. But I'm not holding the bowl for you when you vomit this time."

"Fair enough. Freddie. Surely you won't leave your brother hanging."

"I'll have a drink or three with you Sam. You just have to promise me that if I start getting too maudlin that you will put me to bed rather than laugh at me."

"No promises. But it's been years since we last had a proper drunken, Coulthard boys putting the world to rights session."

"It has at that." It had been after Father's funeral. I suspect that Sam knew this as well but didn't want to bring that up then and there, like me.

We were the guests of honour. Again. But in this case, due to the formality of the event, we would be part of the receiving line being introduced to all of the guests. Syanna led us and our escort through the back corridors of the palace until we came to the banqueting hall where we formed up in the line. I was both the youngest and the least ranked so I was placed at the beginning of the line with Ariadne on my left and Sam on my right.

A herald stood behind me in order to announce those people that we didn't know and to remind me of when I had met the person in question if we had had any dealings in the past. A clever system so that I didn't end up accidentally offending anyone important by forgetting a bosom companion that I had gotten drunk in a tavern with at some point in the past.

Not so remote a possibility as you might imagine.

Kerrass was further down on my left with Emma and Laurelen beyond Sam before you got to Mark in his guise as the Baron von Coulthard and then onto Syanna and the Duchess at the end of the line.

Some people, strange, bizarre people, claim to be able to enjoy being part of the receiving line. Emma is one of these people that need to have their heads examined. But for people like me, I tend to find that all of those names and faces tend to melt together into one, amorphous blob. A featureless face that blends into others.

Even people that I have met before and been good friends with can suddenly come out of the mass of well-wishers and ambush you. So that you find yourself staring blankly at the person opposite you while they wait for you to remember that you swore eternal friendship with each other only the previous evening.

As it was, it took me several heartbeats to recognise Colonel and Lady Duberton and I only recognised them because they were both wearing the subdued black of their homeland. He in his uniform, freshly pressed and groomed while she wore the same cut of dress that she ever wore with her hair tuckedd underneath a bonnet.

Despite all the efforts that we had made to become friends with her, efforts that had begun to look as though they might bear some fruit, she had reverted to type under the influence of all the extra people. They looked good as a couple though and a couple of quick jokes were able to get the lady to relax as well. They struck me as a couple that were happy. A not unpleasant job was about to be finished when the Colonel formerly handed over protection of Toussaint to Syanna and the Knights of Saint Francesa. Then the pair could enjoy a short time of rest and relaxation before duties recalled them to the greater Empire.

They looked happy.

Another couple that I struggled to recognise for far too long was Lord Palmerin and his escort, the Succubus Natanis who chided me on being out of bed when I was clearly still unwell. Then she chided Ariadne for allowing me to be out of bed and made several lewd and frank suggestions on how Ariadne could get me to stay in bed. I made a joke that I would not be averse to such things. Then I claimed to be feeling much better. Natanis looked at me from under her long eyelashes and brushed a lock of long golden hair out of the way. I felt a jolt of erotic fascination shoot through me and my loins stirred.

"You can lie to many people Lord Frederick," She said brutally but, I think, not unkindly. "You can lie to your betrothed, your family and your friends. You can even lie to yourself. But you cannot lie to a Succubus. You are heart sick and your healing is a long way off yet. That is if it ever comes." She turned and looked at Ariadne frankly. "If you ever need any more help or advice on how to proceed with the healing, then I am at your disposal madam." She said, almost formally but, towards the end, there was a small touch of humour in her voice.

"I will bear that in mind." Ariadne said with a slight smile.

There were many other interactions of that sort. I exchanged a few more words with Lady Vivienne who smiled and laughed at my jokes. She had discovered that Ariadne and I, at least if not the rest of the family, would be staying in Toussaint for a while after the investitature of the Knights of Saint Francesca and was insisting that we go out to stay with her and Sir Guillaume at the family estate for a few days. Likewise, Ariadne and I were insisting that she and her husband should come to see us in Angral when they get the chance and their duties permit them.

I sincerely hope that I will get to maintain that friendship with that couple as I like them both dearly. Ariadne has already made noises about their invite, along with the Duchess and her sister so I leave all of that in her capable hands.

As I say though, the majority of the rest of those interactions melded into my memory. I had to fight to keep my conventration in one place and focus on the person standing in front of me.

That is the other problem with this kind of thing. When people do arrive, coming down the line, that you would actually unjoy spending a bit of time with, then they often have to move on before you have proper time to talk to them and discuss matters.

I let myself slip into the kind of drowsy headspace where I answered questions automatically, trotting out the same tired responses, gratitude and jokes that I had used on every different occasion where this kind of thing comes up and allowed myself to drift off.

I noticed a few things during this period. I noticed Sam being introduced to several sets of Merchants by Emma. Men who wanted to travel up to Kalayn lands in order to discuss how the land could be used in order to generate proper revenue. They all, to a man wanted to know how long Sam intended to stay in Toussaint so that they could meet "over lunch or something" so that they could talk through the ideas.

I was moved to help him and interceded with a joke about the line being held up to move on.

None of the trio of merchants seemed like particularly bad people to me. But none of them had any idea on how to talk to a soldier. They talked to Sam as though the priority was the bottom line without understanding that this was just the kind of thing that was almost tailor designed to annoy someone like Sam.

But here's a lesson to how to deal with this kind of thing. As well as the people that are standing in front of you, shaking your hand or kissing your knucles depending on the circumstances before bowing and making some small conversation. You also have to be aware of what's going on behind you. As well as the heraldic specialising servant, there will also be a servant with a jug of watered wine and several cups. This is so that you can wet your lips and loosen your dried throat when the time comes.

But there are also other things and people moving around.

So one of the tricks that is sometimes employed is that a devious or cunning man will send a trusted servant ahead to bribe the heralds into adjusting the information provided to the man or woman in the line. Or the servant will just stand there for a while and listen. In this case a man caught Sam out by the performing of this exact trick.

"Lord Kalayn." He said after leaving me behind. "A pleasure." His voice was strong and formal. Obviously trained.

Sam has had the same training that I have had and had cocked his head to one side to listen to the introduction for the man. He was not as good at it when we were younger but it seems that his elevation in the world means that he must be more driven to learning this kind of thing.

"Lord Velles." He said, offering his hand to be shaken. "I do not believe that we have had the pleasure."

"We have not Lord Kalayn." I point out the use of "Lord" Kalayn rather than Sam's official title of "Baron" to my unofficial students in the arts of being a courtier. Sam always rankles a bit that he has the lands of a Count but that he cannot get that title ratified by the crown of Redania. This Merchant had found this out and therefore was using the more neutral title.

That's how you are trained to think when you are a courtier. Yes it is a lot. Yes it takes time to learn and yes it is an unpleasant way of thinking. Consider that the next time you find yourself wishing you were a politician.

"Please, Lord Kalayn. I have no titles and though I do have a certain amount of resources to my name and as I no longer bear arms, I find it a little presumptious to name myself a knight."

"You served, sir?" Sam asked. Assuming the title notice.

"I did, before a mace shattered my shield arm at the battle of the Line."

"You fought for Temeria then."

"I did."

(Freddie's note: The battle of the Line was one of those horrible wastes of life that happen in any war that later get elevated to a story of heroism against the odds in order to goad people towards the fight and to glorify the sacrifice of one's life in the name of national pride.

Foltest was dead. Natalis and all the "competent" Temerian field commanders were still at Loc Muinne while the Nilfgaardian army was advancing on Temeria. The terrified commander of the Viziman garrison ordered a ridiculously small force to hold the Imperial armies back so that the people of Vizima could escape before the siege could be properly invested.

It was a shameful piece of military cowardice. There was no way at all, that the couple of hundred men could hold back the might of the Imperial army, but they did as they were bid while the richer and more cowardly nobles of the city fled to the North and the waiting arms of Radovid.

Those soldiers and knights would not really have made much of a difference behind the walls of Vizima but they might have been able to cause enough damage in order to force the Nilfgaardian forces to sue for terms. In the meantime, the richest friends of the commander, or those who could afford the bribes escaped at the cost of a couple of hundred dead or captured.

Rumours vary from the Redanian propaganda that states that the five hundred Warriors of the Line fought to the last man so that the good and innocent people of Temeria could escape the oncoming black tide of Nilfgaard. All the way to the Nilfgaardian Propaganda that states that the two hundred soldiers of the Line were overwhelmed and captured where possible and taken into custody. Brave men who fought to protect their cowardly and decadent noble caste.

The truth is harder to find. At that early stage in the war in Temeria, there was relatively little organisation in these matters. There was certainly a battle. Many brave men died and the Nilfgaardians certainly did their best to save as many of those brave soldiers and knights as they could. Soldiers in wars, as I have said before, often find more in common with their opposite numbers than they do with the people that give them their orders.

For a while, it was quite trendy for people to borrow the valour of those men and claim that they fought at the Line, knowing full well that their participation could not possibly be proven one way or another. Those that really did fight there, stopped claiming so on the grounds that people rarely believed them and, like Sir Velles, found other occupations rather than trade on an old, lost battle that became a symbol for both sides.

There is something of an effort to find the survivors and bring them together though.

Those nobles that escaped to Redania had all their goods and wealth confiscated by the Redanian war effort and the escaping nobles were sent to the front on the grounds that Radovid despised Traitors. Even when they had betrayed others to go to him. So there was some justice there in the end.)

"Yes, I fought for Temeria." Velles offered his wooden left hand as proof. "I took up an old shield and it shattered under the mace blow. Stupid bloody fool like I was."

The woman that I was talking to winced at the language and I didn't hear the conversation for a bit.

"Your sister tells me that you need some help securing funds so that you can secure your holdings Lord Kalayn?" Velles wondered.

"That would be helpful Sir Velles." I noticed that Velles no longer objected to being called knight. But Sam was lapping it up.

"I understand that there has never been proper mineral explorations in your lands. Also that they are full of many herbs of a most potent nature?"

"So I am led to believe."

"Then maybe I can help you Sir. Might I call on you before you leave in the morning."

"I believe I would enjoy that." Sam replied. "In the meantime, maybe I could trouble you for the truth about what happened at the line. My brother would, I am sure be fascinated as well."

"The truth is that we were betrayed, surrounded and very nearly slaughtered." Velles sighed bitterly. "I might have taken it easier if any of the bastards survived for me to take my revenge on. But Radovid did me out of that vengeance too."

The lady blanced again, her husband who was talking about something with Ariadne became red-faced and snapped along the line.

"Sir. There are ladies present."

Velles looked a little shocked before being instantly contrite.

"Of course. Forgive me Ma'am. Sir. Discussing things with another soldier reminds me of times in the field and I regressed for a moment."

The lady and her husband, or course, forgave Velles who moved on. I remember this interaction because I did indeed sit with Sam and Sir Velles as we discussed the Battle at the Line and I have sent that account to the University as an account of the battle.

Sir Velles was not the only merchant to spend some time with my brother. Nor was he the only person that knew a bit more about how to approach Sam properly. Lord Leuvarden was also prominent and was wearing his cheerful and affable persona. Sam is not quite that naive but I notice that he still was not so averse to having a small snifter from Lord Leuvarden's flask.

Lord Leuvarden is one of those kinds of merchants that made their money a long time ago. A scion of the Nilfgaardian family of Leuvarden's which means that Declan Leuvarden is in the game as a way of keeping score and because he happens to enjoy it. It also gives him a cover for his rumoured involvement in the Imperial Intelligence services. There is, obviously, no proof of that and Lord Leuvarden never denies it. But there is also more than a little bit of a hint that he happens to enjoy the notoriety on the subject. Then he gets to surprise people by being nice to them which always throws people into confusion.

Emma's assessment of the man is that if he really put his mind to it then he could be a power in the merchantile endeavours. But fortunately for her, he sees it all as a game. Something that she finds a little offensive but my understanding is that their rivallry is relatively friendly for all of that.

But I was able to drift off into my half snoozing, half doze while things carried on until the guests of honour arrived. This being the top four knights of the joust. The men that would bear the title of the first champions of the Winter Tournament of the Saint in Toussaint.

I tried, I really did. I tried really hard to be nice to these people. I tried to like them so much that it is honestly a little bit upsetting that it all went so badly and that we would end up disliking each other to such an extent. There was one exception of a man that, from everything that I had heard of him, I rather expected him to be someone that I would dislike intensely where I turned out to be wrong. But I will not speak out of turn.

They came in reverse order.

The first was announced to me as Sir Alain La Sentinelle. Lord Moineau as was.

The name of the man triggered something in me that I was not expecting and I bitterly regretted being distracted so that I did not see Kerrass' reaction to the man and the lady. After all, the fourth place knight's wife having an affair with the Witcher as Mark had suggested is a story for the ages. I had wanted to know whether or not Kerrass would have been aware of that going into the affair and whether or not she would change her mind when the time came.

But I didn't see that. Instead, I saw a man in his early to mid twenties, powerfully built, while lacking the huge build of someone like Sir Gregor, with the startling shock of red hair, a neatly trimmed goatee and moustache with piercing blue eyes and a ridiculously handsome face. He looked groomed. I can't say any finer than that. But this was not why I disliked him intenself on sight.

His clothing was an expensive suit of deep forest greens with red stitching and small red jewels sewn into various places with the golden highlights that were almost expected. He, like me, was carring a fighting knife in place of a sword and it was a thing of beauty. Where I still wear the plain business like dagger that Letho gave me all that time ago, this thing was a work of art and beauty that must have cost a fortune. And even worse than that. For all it's ostentation, I would be prepared to bet that it was also a weapon for killing people.

His shoe leather was dyed to match the same deep greens of the rest of his suit. I don't know why it's important for me to tell you these things but it's one of those details that sticks in my mind.

So why did I dislike him on sight. Normally in this kind situation I would use some kind of narrative device. I would say that something in his manner had set off my dislike or, I did not like his face or something about him seemed a little off. There have been many people like this over the years that have triggered my almost instant dislike. People where I have had to sit down afterwards and try to work out why I disliked a stranger so intensely.

Sometimes I have got it wrong. Underneath it all, Lord Dreng turned out to be bitter and angry for a reason and when that reason was stripped away, he turned out to be a man of honour. Or the other way round when I actually quite liked Lord Dorme before he turned into a stereotypical evil genius.

Or those times where it was so obvious why I disliked them like Sir William the Ram or that merchant on the docks who tried to pick a fight with Kerrass.

But in this case. I looked into the face of a very handsome man with careful grooming who wore a suit with colouring that would not suit anyone else. With a hair colour that was so startling that it rather drew the eye. I looked at him with my mouth open and expectant expression, ready to congratulate him on all the effort that must have been expended in order to get him to this position. All the fights that he must have won. I was there, ready, willing and able to be charming and polite.

Only to find that he wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was staring, openly and without artifice, at Ariadne's cleavage. I was so startled by the brazen nature of his lechery that it quite robbed me of my speech for several moments.

That same part of me that gets me into trouble as often as it gets me out of trouble came to the fore and I cleared my throat loudly.

"Sir Moineau," I began. Again, for those people who are trying to learn about how to be an utter bastard in the courtroom will notice that I didn't call him Lord Moineau as a small insult. I was confident that I could defend myself on the matter though. The one rank that I could be sure of was that he was a proper knight which meant that the "Sir" was usable. I didn't know what title came with being called "Lord Moineau" and so I settled on "Sir". The fact was that I knew exactly what title it was, would be unimportant to my defence. He was a Baronet. The Toussaint equivalent of Baron but with slightly less prominence. A Northern Baron would outrank a Toussaint Baronet.

"Sir Moineau." I began. "Might I offer my congratulations on placing so highly in the tournament.

"Hmm? What?" He tore his gaze away from Ariadne's chest and looked up at me. Then he smirked.

"Might I offer my congratulations." I said again. Keeping the hostility from my voice by effort of much practice over my father's dinner table.

"Yes of course." He said dismissively, still stealing glances at Ariadne although he was now an equal opportunities kind of lech. Now he was looking at her legs, hips and tilting slightly in an effort to get a look at her rear. "Black hand was lucky with that last pass." He declared after a moment of distraction where Ariadne shifted. "Clever use of the horses speed. Not that I expect someone like you to see such things."

I swear I'm not making this up. I had seen the trick that he was referring to. But the old maxim of not betraying knowledge to an enemy rattled through my mind "Where you are strong, feign weakness," and I decided not to say anything about it. Let him think I was ignorant.

But now I was being rude. I would rather have allowed Ariadne to avoid the circumstance but there were some things that cannot be avoided in these circumstances.

"May I present," I began, turning slightly. "My fiancee, Madame La Comtesse Ariadne du Angral."

Ariadne, who had not missed his lasciviousnes, reluctantly offered her hand which Sir Alain took.

"Mademouiselle." He began. "Might I say that rumours of your beauty, vastly, understate the truth." Then he took her hand in both of his and kissed her knuckles rather fiercely and for just a touch longer than was entirely polite. He looked at me as he did so and I could see the glint in his eye. He knew he was more handsome than I was. He knew he was rich and muscled and skilled at arms. He therefore assumed that Ariadne would succumb to his charms. He was attempting to seduce Ariadne out from under me and was hoping that I would challenge him so that he could humiliate me in some way and he was absolutely confident of his charms that would tell me that he would succeed. He made all that clear with a single glance.

He even thought he was being subtle about it. I weep for those men, and those women, who have fallen for this kind of ruse in the past. It was exactly the same kind of tactic that I know Edmund used to use to get his conquests. Seduce the woman with charm, wit and a pretty face, provoke a duel with the boy and kill the boy before moving onto the next conquest.

Fortunately, I am in love with a woman that doesn't value such things as a pretty face or strong muscles above all else. Or, if you prefer, a lady who has not been taught that such things are exemplary.

"Actually." She began, "We are soon to be married," She smiled gently but I noticed that in doing so she displayed fangs. As she rarely does unless she is making a point. "The only reason that date is now delayed." She went on. "Is for political reasons and as such, I prefer the married title."

She extricated her hand from his grip, maintaining eye contact.

"Still, a beauty such as yourself can surely not be from the North." He had hesitated for a moment when Ariadne had shown fang, displaying who she was. "Surely you belong in Toussaint where a Lady of your... quality." I swear he leered and looked her up and down as he said "quality", "could be better appreciated rather than by some, womanly, ink stained scholar."

He twisted his voice to make it sound as though it might be a joke. An out that he could use if I got aggressive. But now he was actively trying to provoke a duel. But his intonation about it being a joke meant that I had my own out. I was better at this game than he was.

I smirked.

"Rather an ink stained, womanly scholar than a thick headed knight whose horse has more brains than he does." I faux jested.

He snorted in laughter. I was not fooled. He had seen my play and gone along with it rather than cause a scene. but I had seen the flash of rage in his eyes. I had made an enemy here.

Which was fine by me. He had made an enemy of me by being so rude to Ariadne.

"Still," he said. "It was a good move by Blackhand. Even if it did..."

"Forgive me." I interrupted. He was being rude again only this time, he wasn't being rude to me. Instead, he was being rude to the woman who was waiting next time who was making eyes at Kerrass. "But perhaps you could introduce me to the lady?"

"What? Oh, of course, yes I suppose. May I present Lady Moineau."

It was really hard. Really hard not to allow my hackles to rise. Really hard. Mark had already let the gossip out that this was the lady that Kerrass was having a kind of affair of the heart with. And now that I had met her husband I could see why she might be interested in an affair.

And, as I met her and got to look at her properly, I could see why Kerrass would have been attracted to this woman.

I suppose this needs some explanation as well. I know there's a lot of that sort of thing happening here and I beg your patience in that regard.

When I first met Kerrass, he was rather rigid in his romantic leanings. He had rules that he had placed upon himself to regulate the romantic and carnal aspects of his life. The rules were that he would never engage in an affair if he was "on the job" where that period was defined from the moment where he accepted the contract to when he had finished the contract and accepted the pay. He would also, only arrange an assignation with a woman beforehand if he didn't know about a local contract yet. He once told me that the danger is that if he is beginning a contract and he sleeps with the wrong person then that can affect the hunt before it's begun.

During the hunt is a no-no because it's distracting.

After the hunt, he was not averse to a roll in the hay with a willing lady. He would scout out the potential ladies during the hunt, in the same way that he would scout out the monster that he was hunting. Then, when the monster was dead and the pay collected. Often during the celebration that sometimes follows such an event, he would arrange to spirit the woman in question off for whatever happens next.

There were exeptions to the rule of course. He slept with a girl before the situation in Amber's Crossing became clear, but from the way he told it, that was almost a part of the hunt and he wanted to talk to the girl to get some information. There was also the time with the Unicorn where he slept with the Innkeeper's daughter. But that wasn't really a hunt, that was more of a rescue and that was after... well... I'll get to that.

It is also true that he was beginning to relax around me in the run up to the incident in Amber's Crossing but I will leave that to other assessor's than I.

Eventually, we would be steered towards a population centre where there was an increased chance of a decent brothel and Kerrass would hurl himself into the debauchery that this entailed with giddy abandon. As I have written before, it was part life affirmation, part enjoying the finer things in life after time on the path and part... We have never really talked about it but I think he likes the company of prostitutes. He understands them and I think they understand him. Although unrelated in the main, both do largely unpleasant tasks for ungrateful customers for not enough money. While also taking the satisfaction from a job well done.

He always made sure that the lady was willing and not being put up to it by parents, husbands or siblings in order to convince the Witcher to take less coin or in order to feign an excuse for a disgrace. He once joked that he likes his lovers to be enthusiastic in their participation.

But most of these rules went out the window after Sleeping Beauty was woken. Not all of them, but most of them. He still chooses his partners with care and has no patience with girls that are pressured into the situation, even while he blames the people doing the forcing rather than the woman in peril.

But now, he is much more... It's as though he is desperately seeking something in the arms of the ladies that he meets. Where before he was much more selective...

Not physically I mean. As far as I have been able to tell, he doesn't have a physical type when it comes to lovers. I've seen him take Tall, short, large, petite, slender, shapely, long haired, short haired, elven, (not dwarven) with hair all of the colours of the spectrum. Including dyed.

Dark-skinned, pale-skinned, older ladies, younger ladies. All of them. As I say, it's as though he's looking for something and to date, he has not found it. I have wondered if he would have more luck if he stayed in one pace for a longer period of time so that he might not have to rush such a matter.

But now that he was in one place and I saw the object of his affections. I could see why he was interested.

She was close to, but sufficiently different from Princess Dorn that I could see a certain resemblence, but different enough that Kerrass could convince himself, delude himself if you prefer, that she was not the Princess. He could tell himself that this woman was different and that he wasn't pining away after a, now, seventeen year old girl.

He was wrong of course. For one of the cleverest, most perceptive and self aware people I know, Kerrass has a blind spot when it comes to his feelings on this particular subject.

He loves the Princess Dorn. He will always love her and that is never going to go away. No matter how hard he tries. He knows that I think that and disagrees with me every time that I say it. But that's what I think he's looking for. He's looking for the Princess in the arms of all the women that he meets and loves but he is always left dissappointed.

He deny's my assessment of course. But that's an ongoing argument.

The Lady Moineau was beautiful. She was still young. A little younger than Emma would be my guess so I would put her in her mid twenties somewhere.

She was very close to what I imagine the Princess will look like in several years time. But where the Princess is shy in her beauty, this woman was beaten down by it. She knew she was beautiful. Not arrogantly so but it seemed to me as I stood there looking at her, that the dismissive way that her husband introduced her to us cut her to the bone. His obvious lack of care or respect for her in the introduction, in the brazen way that he tried to provoke a duel and seduce an other, younger looking, woman right in front of her. All of it seemed to physically wound her.

The more so because she was beautiful. What was more heart-breaking was that she didn't even bother to conceal her hurt. Which meant one of two things. The first was that her husband didn't care that he was hurting her. Or that he didn't know. I suspect the second of the two options.

She was blonde, because of course she was blonde. Not the white, ashen blonde of the Empress nor the rich golden blonde of Princess Dorn. But the reddy golden blonde that I understand to be called Strawberry blonde. Her hair was, to my eye, curled with some form of artistry and done up in an ornate style so as better to keep the curls out of the way of her long neck and facial structure. How long it had taken to get her hair like that I dread to think and how long it would take some poor maid to take it all out would be just as long.

She wore a scoop necked dress that displayed the tops of her well toned shoulders as well as a, to my eyes, perfect collar bone structure and long beautiful neck that was accented by a choker of pearls with a red ruby, the same shade as her hubands hair, while acting as a contrast to her green dress.

She knew exactly what she was doing when it came to her own appearance. She was showing off her, franky, amazing bone structure and muscle tone as well as accenting the facial features with the cheek bones that could cut glass and pointed chin.

Then there was the dress itself, It was an unremarkable dress really for Toussaint and was noticably cheaper in material and construction than her husband's outfit with straight skirts and the like, but I noticed, because it was rather hard to miss, that the front piece of the corset was remarkably rigid and a little bit too tight. It was difficult to guess, but my judgement was that she was one of those lucky few ladies that do not require corsetry in order to obey current fashions. But she was wearing it anyway. Why? Becuase it meant that her chest was flattened and lifted so without showing cleavage there were definitely two swells (here and here if you know what I mean) at the top of the dress that were even more accentuated when she was breathing heavily.

Which she did a lot.

To compliment this she wore another red jewel worn in a pendant that drew the watchers attention to the, undeniably attractive, way that her chest moved.

She was also, utterly miserable. It is rare to find someone, especially in so courtly a setting where their emotions are so obviously on display, making no secret of her misery. Even rarer when those emotions are properly negative in such a way. She was unhappy, desperately trying to catch the attention of her husband but had not yet realised, or come to terms with, his roving eye and philandering ways.

She stood, shoulders stooped and head bowed. The very image of the down-trodden woman.

She was the kind of person that you find yourself wanting to protect and look after. In my case it wasn't in a romantic way, but in every way that I instantly disliked her husband, I found myself liking his wife.

And then I saw her looking at Kerrass and I had to restrain a smile.

She stole odd glances when she was sure that her husband wasn't looking. Even though I strongly suspect that she could have stripped naked and torn Kerrass' clothes off in order to have her way with him and this man would not have noticed.

Or cared.

But she hid those glances for when her husband was otherwise engaged in gesture or conversation and when I saw those glances, they were filled with a romantic longing that was palpable. The full thing. Hooded eyes, slightly open mouth and quickened breathing before she forced herself to look away to get control of herself. I have never seen such a blatant case of romantic longing in all my life and I have been an hormonal teenaged student amongst other hormonal teenaged students.

"Interesting nickname Sir Alain." I said. "If it's not too derogatory, why do they call you "La Sentinelle"?"

He laughed. "No, it is no insult. It is that, when the tournaments are not in action, my seat is on the wstern passes where I watch out for invading armies. An important duty with much attached honour to it. As a result I have been granted the nickname as a recognition of the duties that I perform in service to Toussaint."

"I see." I said, nodding. "Then I shall let you get on with..."

He had already gone.

For those who don't know the geography of the area. There is indeed a mountainous pass to the west of Toussaint. Most of the passes in and out of Toussaint are mountainous. But if you go to the west it is the hardest and most remote pass and travellers have been known to freeze to death in the middle of the summer taking that route. Merchants avoid it, even when it would be a shortcut. So even the least competent general on the continent would refuse that passage.

Especially as the other end of that pass descends into marshland.

I didn't have much time to think about it as the next knight that I was to meet was the third place jouster. Sir Morgan the Blackhand and his wife.

As I said earlier. Sir Morgan was an older knight. According to some of the assessments that I have since heard, he is now on the downslope of his career. He was among the best. His career peaked when he had a three year run at holding the championship of Toussaint, defending it against all comers.

But jousting is a perishable skill after all, especially with age. He was a knight that had benefitted from the destruction of Sir Craythorne as it meant that he had gone up in the ranks of the various tournaments again. I was told that he could regularly expect to be taking home the prizes in the top four somewhere although it would be considered an upset if he won. But that was still enough for a knight to make a living off the jousting circuit.

As I say, that is according to those people that are more knowledgeable about such things than I am.

He was not particularly interested in following the circuit too closely though as he was a Knight Errant after the old school of the thing. His armour was golden, his sword was large, bejewelled and he walked with the confident swagger that those knights once moved with.

He was one of the Knights Errant that had been taken up with duties elsewhere at the time of the Empress' coronation and had been unable to attend. Therefore, he had not been present at the time of Francesca's disappearance. He took some plaudits for the fact that he kept to his duty rather than rushing home to bask in the borrowed glory of the Empress' coronation. He was rumoured to be a good knight that others looked up to. But that was a matter for the old knights Errant. He exemplified the tenets of a knight in the old form. He kept his word, swore his oaths and carried out his duties. Which put him above people like Craythorne.

As I say, he was an older man now. His hair was cut short to the scalp and what had once been dark hair was now grey. He had brown eyes under thick and unkempt eyebrows that seemed to glare about himself suspiciously. He was a handsome man and seemed charming enough as he spoke to people. He walked with the slightly bow-legged stride of the inveterate horseman and he carried his wife's hand around as though he was leading the most precious person in the world around a lake of lava.

Before I move onto his wife. The thing that gives him his nickname is that, when armoured, he wears a plain black gauntlet over his right hand. I had wondered how that was going to translate to being in a courtly situation. He was wearing a dressed down and more decorative set of his golden armour, cut for movement and dancing rather than protection although I daresay that the breastplate would have stopped a thrust dagger at a pinch. Underneath that he wore a relatively plain doublet that masqueraded as an arming jacket. He too had a dagger at his side in place of a sword and his boots had spurs on them.

For those people who would like a reminder of why Spurs are a thing that I noticed. Father trained all his children to despise spurs. He told us that the proper training of a horse and the skills of a rider render the need for spurs redundant, and that therefore they are a crutch that lesser and lazy horsemen depend on. So I have one of those learned responses whenever I see anyone wearing them. Especially when someone is wearing them as a fashion statement.

But his accessory that he wore to pay homage to the nickname that he had been given was that he was wearing a black glove over his right hand. Tight fitting leather by the look of it so that he could still grip things like wine glasses (very important) tightly without having to worry about them slipping out of his hands and falling down.

So I found Sir Morgan to be an interesting, almost confusing figure. On the one hand, there were a lot of things that I liked about his appearance and the way that he carried himself. But there was also a lot of things that I didn't like as well.

His wife was. She made me think of what Aunt Kalayn would have looked like if she had been a healthy woman and able to avoid all the problems that she had been through. She was a woman who's age was impossible to tell. Her hair was greying and there were crows feet at the corner of her eyes but otherwise her skin was smooth and she walked with an upright carriage. Whether her body was young looking due to the artistry of a dress maker or was the product of will, proper diets and exercise was impossible for me to guess, but she walked upright and looked around herself with interest. She wore a yellow, longsleeved, long skirted dress with a demure collar that only showed a little bit of the chest below the neck.

Her jewellery was lavish, but I thought that it was tasteful. Nearly all of it was blue Sapphire.

Lots of use of complimentary colours in the outfits and accessorising choices I thought as I watched the pair of them approach.

"Allow me to present myself Lord Frederick." He said formally as he bobbed forward into a slight bow from the waist. "I am Sir Morgan Tonlaire who men nickname "Blackhand". It is my honour to present my wife and the owner of my heart, Lady Madeline Tonlaire."

Lady Tonlaire defied any guesses as to her age again by sinking into an absurdly low curtsy.

"Your Servant, Lady Tonlaire." I acknowledged. "Sir Morgan. It is a pleasure to finally meet you both. I have heard a lot about you and have been looking forward to meeting you in person."

Stock greetings and stock responces. These are the kind of automatic responses that you get taught from childhood if you are born into a noble family.

"Likewise it is my honour." I carried on. "to present the love of my life and bride to be, Madame Ariadne, Comtesse du Angral."

Ariadne offered her hand, which Sir Morgan took gently and bowed his head over it rather than kissing it. A point in his favour.

"Your servant Madame." He told her. "And might I say in advance that I apologise for my prejudices."

"Oh?" Ariadne's eyebrows rose.

"Indeed." He straightened. "I, like many of my fellows, was dismayed to learn that another Elder Vampire was being invited into the Duchess' palace and as a guest of honour."

"The night of the Long Fangs left scars in both cultures." Ariadne said carefully and like my exchange of words with Sir Morgan, it felt more than a little like something that she had said several times over the time that she had spent in Toussaint. "Your people are justifiably wounded and angry by the actions of Detlaff while mine are equally justified in their anger and hurt by those actions that were taken to manipulate him into his rage so..."

"Yes yes." Sir Morgan interrupted Ariadne's speech, waving his hand to say that it wasn't important. She does have a speech when this subject comes up. It goes on to wonder what any of us would do if our loved ones were in danger. And then to wonder what we would do if our hearts were broken.

"But despite this," he went on. "You have carried yourself admirably and behaved with honour and respect during your time in the courts of Toussaint. So I apologise for the presumptive nature of my bias against you."

Ariadne was taken a little aback. "Um. Thank you Sir Morgan."

All the way through this, Lady Tonlaire watched the conversation intently, hardly moving and not speaking.

"But your point regarding the actions of Lady Syanna in the matter is well taken and well meant." Sir Morgan continued. "Might I enquire as to how you feel about her given that she was also responsible for the tragedy that took place, if not more so than the Vampire. Your Detlaff would not have attacked if not for her manipulations."

"This is true." Ariadne admitted, "And I will admit that it has been hard to set that aside. However it is also clear that Knight Commander Syanna..." Sir Morgan and his wife both winced at the use of Syanna's proper title. Ariadne did not smile as she got the response from them that she expected. I know this because I checked with her later. "... Has a certain amount of remorse for what she did. She still believes that what happened to her to prompt those actions was awful which justifies her actions. But, that does not justify the resultant loss of life and the hurt done to many. Including Detlaff."

"Yes, well." Sir Morgan sniffed.

"I happen to believe in rehabilitation and redemtption." Ariadne went on. "And it is clear to me that the Knight Commander is working towards both, even as she does not seek forgiveness."

"Yes, well." Sir Morgan said again before visibly turning away from her. "I also wanted to aplogise to you Lord Frederick."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I was elsewhere when your sister was taken. The actions taken by Sir Craythorne in the lead up to your sister's dissappearance were sadly lacking. Although I agree with him that those lost before your sister were of relatively little consequence in comparison to your sister. He should have seen where the natural course of leaving those things, improperly investigated, would lead."

I felt myself stiffen a little. Still a sore spot.

"The fault was not yours sir," I managed, possibly too stiffly for my own good. "You were not there."

"No, but if I had been, I would certainly have been able to properly work to prevent the disaster of the Fish Market. That was shameful. Absolutely shameful. It should have been obvious to everyone there what was going to happen. If the Empress had held off her punishment of Craythorne and the knights Errant then they would not have been so hurt and enraged. They could have expunged their shame with cooler and calmer heads that were not so desperate for redemption and maybe then the overall actions could have fallen on one head rather than punishing everyone."

"Maybe so." I said. It's not an invalid point and one that has been made before. Then he ruined it.

"Quite." He went on, taking my noncomittal answer as an agreement. "I can understand the Empress' actions. She is, after all, a woman who doesn't understand how these things work, but if she could have waited and judged the actions as a whole. Then I firmly believe, as do many, that such cataclysmic upheaval would not have needed to be committed to the Toussaint way of life."

"Oh."

"Cooler heads would have prevailed and the knights would have brought Laughing Jack down. I, and many of my former colleagues in the Knights Errant, firmly believe that under the leadership of cooler heads, the knights would have been able to bring down... Jack without the aid of the Imperial Forces or the Witchers, although I would agree that their, and your, advice would have been gratefully received."

I said nothing.

"Maybe then, the loss of life would not have been so calamatous."

My mouth spoke without my really wanting it to. "I take it that you disagree with the reforms."

"I do not believe that they needed to be so... sweeping. Change is, after all, painful. I will agree that some changes needed to be made. To refocus on service and a broadening of a skill set. Far too many of the knights, like Craythorne and that younger du Launfal chap, had come to believe that brute force and ignorance can solve all problems. But as a learned (Freddie: He pronounced it "LearnED") man yourself you would agree that a strong sword arm is not the solver of a murder. Nor is it useful in tracking down bandits."

"I can agree with that, but..."

"But some of the things being enacted now... The cheapening of the office. The lack of pride in individual accomplishment. The cowardice and... what was that?"

His wife had leant forward and whispered something in his ear.

"Ah yes of course. Forgive me Lord Coulthard. My wife has just pointed out that we are holding up the line. Perhaps we could continue this discussion at a later date?"

"I would be more than happy to..."

"Excellent." He said and he was gone.

"to discuss it with you." I finished to the empty space that he had occupied.

Ariadne snickered at me. "Do you know that I actually preferred the Lech to that man." She said.

"He is older and set in his ways." I told her, trying to be charitable.

She stared at me oddly. "It is the duty of a thinking person to educate ourselves on changing social and moral standards and to correct our own behaviour accordingly." She took my hand and squeezed it. "You taught me that."

Further conversation was halted by the next man in the line. At first I thought that the sun had been eclipsed.

I am not a short man. I wouldn't say that I am tall as I stand at a little under six feet tall when I straighten up properly. There is a bit of a problem that I tend to stoop a little due to carrying books, crouching over writing desks and the one that I tend not to talk to other people about. The fact that I learned to stoop when I was a younger man and trying to avoid my father's glare.

The point is that I am not a small man, but I had to crane my neck to look up into the face of Sir Gregoire de Gorgon.

He was, by some margin, the largest man that I have ever seen. And I have fought with Letho the Kingslayer and have met a Witcher of the Bear School. I have not seen taller or more heavily muscled. At first I wondered if he was one of those people that are born with gigantism in the same way that some people are born with dwarfism. I don't know much more about these conditions other than the names that go with them so I apologise if I have accidentally insulted someone.

But this wasn't the case with Sir Gregoire. He really was, just that big. Ariadne would later wonder if there was some kind of magic involved. He was not talented himself but she did wonder if the conception had taken place somewhere auspicious or in a place of power or something.

I did not get to measure him but he was tall enough that Kerrass had to look up at him so that puts him at well over seven feet tall. And he was made out of muscle.

If you believe half the stories that I have heard about Sir Gregoire then he is also one of the most terrifying individuals that walk upon the face of the continent. If you go out onto the streets of Beauclair and walk into any kind of watering hole then you will find people talking about "The Brute of Beauclair". Stories like the the one about how he went to rescue a farmer's family as part of his duties and when they could not pay him his dues, that he raped the wife and daughter as part of his payment. A rape that was so violent that the daughter did not survive.

There was also the many, many stories about the fact that he is just so strong and so physically powerful that there is nothing that the watch or the other Knights Errant could do if he just decided that he wanted something. So if he wanted something to eat then all he had to do was to walk into the tavern or the eatery and demand food loudly. If it wasn't forthcoming then he would lay about himself with whatever weapon he had on his person. When he wanted a woman then he could take any woman off the street and that no-one would dare stop him. Because who could overpower the mighty Gregoire de Gorgon?

There are any number of stories like this.

It should also be mentioned that his surname, "de Gorgon" is taken from the great mountain that stands at the back of Beauclair palace so beautifully.

When you hear of that sort of man, or meet a man that has quite so evil a reputation. You find yourself imagining what he looks like. I will admit to being a little guilty of this. I found myself imagining a big man with a broken nose with small veins running through it. I imagined beady little eyes that glared out from under sloping brows and examined all that came with a hatred that would scorch the ground that we all walked on. I had imagined a fat mouth, broken teeth and greasy, unwashed beard and hair which would be cut haphazardly

Sir Gregoire was none of those things. I would even go so far as to say that he was quite handsome really. He had cut his hair short and close to his scalp in the same way that Sir Morgan had. His eyes were blue and his hair was a deep shade to the point of being black. He did wear a beard but that was also kept nicely trimmed and close to his face.

The only feature that he shared with my imagined figure of the man was that he was scowling that everyone and everything.

He wore a breastplate, greaves and bracers. Armour as a fashion statement, but unlike other knights of Toussaint, his armour was burnished steel with golden highlights. It looked more working armour than anything decorative. He had a light cream jacket underneath it with dark leather trousers and comfortable looking leather boots.

But even though it was easy to imagine that the clothing and armour must have cost a fortune, he looked desperately uncomfortable in them. The bulging muscles were part of that. The tailor had obviously decided that his muscles were the best part of him and as a result had cut the suit to emphasise them but you could see Sir Gregoire chafing at the resulting lack of freedom in his movements. He was the kind of man, a lot like Sam, that only look good and comfortable when they are on the back of a horse or have a sword in hand.

He walked around with one hand resting on the pommel of his dagger and the other hand was tucked behind his back.

I found myself feeling sorry for him. When I had seen him in his full harness and on the back of his giant warsteed, he had seemed a terrifying force of violence. But here, he was out of place and uncomfortable. He had also been out of town when Francesca had disappeared and I had wondered what he and I were going to make of each other.

"Lord Frederick." He said and I instantly had another insight. His was not the clipped, careful speech of a noble of Toussaint. It was the voice of a commoner. There was undoubted intelligence in his eyes, you can't be a champion of so many jousts by being stupid. But there was an unrefined nature to his speech and so much more of who and what this man was fell into place.

"Lord Frederick." He said giving me a nod. "Lady Ariadne." He bowed and did not take her hand or offer to kiss it until she offered. I swear that I saw him sigh a little when she held her hand out to be taken which was when he did something interesting.

I know that I'm spending a lot of time on these details but I actually think they're quite interesting.

Normally, a man is expected to take the lady's hand and kiss it, or bow over it. The important part of that sentence is that they "take" it. Sir Gregoire didn't. He held his... huge... hand out and waited for Ariadne to place her hand atop his. Then he didn't close his hand to grip hers. He merely lifted it slightly as it rested atop his hand. It was an almost unique gesture and I certainly haven't seen it's like before.

"I hope you will... uh... forgive my... uncouth and plain speech." He began. "I don't... uh... belong in such gatherings." He looked about himself. His accent was interesting. He pronounced the word "uncouth" as "uncooth". I guessed that the pauses in his speech were something to do with him trying to think through his word choices and deciding which word would best suit.

I then went on to wonder how old the habit was.

He had seen me thinking and he seemed to sigh.

"Yes. I am common born and no, I do not see that as a lack." His words got hotter and he frowned down at me. I then had another memory rush through my head of an ice giant lifting his foot up so that he could stand on someone. "No, I have not been properly schooled. Yes, I can read and write... but it is a struggle. Yes, I came to my letters late in life. And yes, before you ask that as well, my knighting was... proper . I was knighted by my father as a joke."

I realised that my mouth had fallen open. "What?"

His face reddened and he opened his mouth but I forestalled him.

"Forgive me Sir Gregoire but that is one of the most remarkable little speeches that I have heard in a long time."

He subsided and glared at me suspiciously.

"Are you mocking me?" He demanded.

"Perish the thought." Ariadne smiled gently as she reached out and touched his arm with her hand. "But you have to understand that it is not the kind of conversation starter that we have had so far."

He grunted as he looked ahead of himself in the line. Sir Morgan was giving Sam an almost identical version of the speech that he had given me. Sam was getting red in the face.

"Let me guess. Alain tried to..." he frowned in concentration. "seduce the lady and pick a fight. Sir Morgan insulted everyone and no-one at the same time."

"Sounds accurate."

He grunted again. Then he shut his eyes and sighed.

"Forgive me Lord Frederick. I... uh... despise these gatherings. I took an oath of silence once so I could avoid these bits of small talk."

"I heard." I told him. "You swore that you would be silent until you lost the championship."

"Yeah." He grinned sheepishly and I had the most vivid image of what he would have looked like as a younger boy. "Then two years in, I get my ass kicked by a Witcher." He laughed suddenly. "That'll learn me to try and take the easy way out."

We stood in uncomfortable silence for a while as the three of us watched Sam get redder and redder in the face as Sir Morgan continued to drone on and on. Held up by the fact that Alain was trying to seduce both Laurelen and Emma at the same time.

"No escort Sir Gregoire?" Ariadne wondered.

The big man sighed unhappily. "No. Not many ladies want to be seen with "The Brute of Beauclair." Not the kind that I would want to escort to this kind of... thing anyway."

He sighed again.

"Lonely Sir Gregoire?" She wondered.

"Not really." He lied. He wasn't very good at it. "But truth be told, there's not that much... conflict. I spend my year on the road travelling from one tournament to the next which means that there isn't room for love in my life. And as I say, ladies generally don't go for... well... you know."

"Why do you put up with it?" I wondered.

He shrugged. "People are gonna say what they want. I am common born. I am big and I do have to keep from hurting people. The nobles resent my skills on the field and the common folk hate me for it."

"Why?" I was mystified.

"Sometimes people make a hero of a man who did what they could not." He told me. "And sometimes they make a villain out of them. And I never managed to turn my winning streak into a noble title or a plot of land or a marriage. I'm a bastard son you see. Not one thing or the other. So... I'm still out there. Trying to win and earn a bit of money with it."

He shrugged again.

"It doesn't bother me." He lied again. "The crowds need someone to jeer anyway. It is what it is."

"Is that how you make your living then?" I wondered. "A travelling jouster."

"It is." He told me. "It was all I was ever good at. I tried being a soldier after I got knighted. Trying to serve something bigger you know?"

I nodded.

"But men won't follow me. I don't have the knack for it. I don't know how to farm as my mother told me that I was the bastard son of the Lord and kept me from learning a trade. My father wouldn't acknowledge me and would laugh at my mother every time she tried to have him acknowledge me. So what's a man of my size to do other than to get really good at swinging a sword? As I say. It was all I were ever good at. Put a lance in my hand and a horse between my legs and I can hit a coin nailed to a board at a full gallop. But talk to people, talk to women?"

He sighed. "I'm pretty rich. I spend on my weapons and armour but other than that, I save. I've got several years more jousting ahead of me and after that?" He shrugged unhappily before shaking his head.

"Something'll turn up. It always does."

"Why not join the knights of St Francesca?" I wondered. "They would give you a future."

"As what?" He wondered. "I can't teach someone to be as strong or as big as I am. I can't pass on the knowledge. I have a squire now but I go through them quickly. Not because I mistreat them although they always lie about what I do to them in order to get the sympathy vote. But because I don't know how to pass on my skills other than to leather them with training sticks. So what would I do for the Knights? And they're not going to want the Beast of Beauclair in their ranks are they? What peasant woman is going to come and ask me for help?"

He frowned and the line moved up. "Your servant ma'am. My Lord." He bowed stiffly and moved on and we watched him go.

"Poor man." Ariadne said. "Poor, unhappy lonely man."

"You want to set him up with someone don't you."

"I really do." She said. "Although who would..." She shook her head as we greeted the next in line.

I turned with her to see who was coming up and to meet and greet the winner of the tournament. Respendant in a white coat over a white doublet and a white shirt underneath that, contrasted only by the odd black highlight such as a piece of cloth that was tied around his neck. His collar was high and starched within an inch of it's life to the point where my treacherous sense of humour wondered if it was stiff enough to cut his throat.

His trousers and his boots were also white and he had a black sash around his middle to tie the thing together. His dagger was scabbarded in white, the leather of the handle was dyed white and there was a clear jewel on the pommel. The metal that I could see was painted black. As were the buttons on the jacket, the buckle on his sword belt (also white) and the spurs upon his feet.

It was a powerful image. The white knight. The hero of legend. Champion of the people. Beloved by everyone around. I was shocked by the cost of the outfit. It destroyed the mind to think, just how expensive all of that must be. Not only that, but the positive army of servants that it would take to keep all of that clean and free from blemish.

It is the oldest tale of tournaments all over the land. The large, brute that terrifies the children and destroys his foes, often wearing plain, scuffed and otherwise unpleasant looking armour. But then comes the hero in the white armour to defeat the evildoer in a contest of wills.

It is also a sham. Not the joust itself but the characters portrayed. The joust is real and both men have a lot to gain but it's also a story that's being told. If the "bad" guy loses then the two have even more of an audience at the next tournament when they meet again. If the "good" guy wins then the watchers are uplifted by "their" champion vanquishing evil.

I have even heard rumours of knights that take it in turns. Or where they split the prize money and arrange between them as to the stories that they are telling to the people that come to watch them joust. Maybe the villain will win for several jousts in a row before the hero is jousting in front of the woman that he wants to propose to or sleep with. Then he looks at the lady, visibly perks himself up and handily destroys the knight in question. There are also cases where the Lord of the Land has decreed that this knight or that knight needs to win the tournament in order to lift the morale of the common folk. This, on the grounds that if they are feeling happy and buoyed up by the joust, meaning that the local lord could raise taxes with impunity, or make some kind of unpopular declaration.

I am not immune to this kind of storytelling. As Kerrass says. Never let it be said that I am difficult to manipulate.

But as I commented previously. These roles are often arbitrarily assigned. Sir Gregoire had obviously garnered the reputation of the villain due to his size, the undisciplined nature of his fighting and the rumours of his sinister birth (born out of wedlock for those people unfamiliar with the term. But it's taken as the "evil and mysterious" form of sinister far too often). Whereas this man had clearly gained the role of hero and was playing it for everything that he was worth.

And he hated me.

I was not special in that as he also hated Ariadne. He hated Kerrass, Sam, Mark, Emma and Laurelen. He hated the Duchess and Syanna. He hated Captain de La Tour, Sir Guillaume and Lord Palmerin de Launfal. In fact. He hated everyone. Absolutely everyone. You could see it in his face and the open sneer that he wore on his face. How he had won his role as the hero of the Tournament is absolutely beyond my understanding.

I mean that he hated us. It came off him in waves that were oppressive and unpleasant. He just gave off this miasma of disgust and disdain.

Part of the reason that he could get away with it, or thought that he could, was that he was so good with his weapons. But you could see that as well. The arrogance that he held himself with as he walked down the line, looking down his huge and hooked nose at all of us. It was clear that he thought he was better than us in almost every way.

He was also, uglier than anyone that you could imagine.

That is possibly slightly unfair. Taken as a separate thing. He would probably be considered "plain". Certainly well short of Handsome. He had little chin to speak of, his nose was large and hook like, giving him the unfortunate appearance of being some kind of bird of prey. An image that was not helped by his slightly sunken cheeks and high cheekbones. His brow was knotted into an almost permanent scowl.

It was one of those faces that... well, it amplified the idea that he hated us all. There was no escaping it. It was written all over his face and that hatred, arrogance and disdain, conspired to make him ugly.

I have seen wickedness hidden behind beauty and I have seen great goodness hidden beneath plain and homely features. This was... even now when I am somewhat distant from these events, I shudder to remember how he walked into the hall.

He was accompanied by a girl. I have no idea how old she was but she was not old. And I started when I saw her. She was very pretty with Long dark hair and big eyes with long eyelashes. She looked almost exactly like Francesca had done when I had last seen her before I departed for the university. A little bit too thin for her frame, demure and with an incredible sadness about her. When this girl looked up, you could tell that it wasn't Francesca, but if you caught her out of the corner of your eye, then it was really easy to miss that and feel your heart skip a beat when you thought that the person that you have lost is still alive.

And of course, that was the point. Again, it was easy to see this as this bastard was openly being smug about the fact that he had someone who looked like our sister in front of us.

She was also dressed in an outfit that Francesca wouldn't be seen dead in. Nor would Father have allowed her to wear it even had she wanted to. She was dressed in something that, if it wasn't so richly made, I would have thought to be stolen from a bordello. The kind of outfit that a prostitute would wear when she was pretending to be a noble lady of some kind and needed to attract a customer. When they are doing a kind of Role-playing situation where they dress in fancy silks and have their hair styled. Except the fancy dress is cut like this.

It was off the shoulder and the poor girl was nearly spilling out of it if you know what I mean. It was on the verge of falling off her while the skirts were cut so that you could see her legs. It was also tied together at the side with bits of ribbon so that you could see the flesh through the open pannels.

Now don't get me wrong. I am a red-blooded male who can admire the female form along with the best of them. But this kind of dress only works when it is designed to fit the lady in question and that lady is comfortable and confident enough in wearing it.

This poor girl was not. It didn't fit her and she was constantly trying to pull it up to cover her modesty a little more and to prevent the dress from falling down. She was obviously miserable, embarrassed, uncomfortable and shy. Throughout the course of the evening, we could see that she would occasionally attempt to cover herself, hiding against walls and behind people when she couldn't use her hands. But then he would notice and glare, or tug, or pull her into view.

I couldn't tell how old she was. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt and say that she was older than I think she was. But she was madeup to appear younger. And again, I've seen women who look much younger than they are and I've seen children that look like women. So I hope I'm wrong.

I also never got to talk to her, so if she, or anyone that knows who this person was, then please get in touch as I would like to express, in person, just how mortified I was that you were turned into a weapon to cause me, and some others I think, pain.

The gesture was plain. Not only the insult to the family but also the debasement of the saint. Toussaint was building Francesca into this virginal figure and here he was trying to turn someone who looks like that into the whore.

It was disgusting.

He led her up to Ariadne at I and gave me an expression that was half grin and half snarl. And then he waited.

He was insulting me again. I was the guest of honour and he was waiting for me to introduce myself as an inferior social standing. All of this was an exertion of dominance and I sighed inwardly while deciding that I wasn't going to play his game.

"Greetings Sir knight." I told him. "My name is Lord Frederick Coulthard and it is my honour to present Madame La Comtesse Ariadne du Angral."

"Charmed." He said carefully. "You will forgive me for not kissing your hand Madam." He told her. He was not asking forgiveness as the words so often suggest. He was telling her that she would forgive him. "But some of your kind killed a number of people in Toussaint."

Ariadne said nothing. She would later tell me that she had decided, like I had, that she was not going to play this game.

"I am Sir Raoul Le Blanc. Count de Camnau." He gave the smallest dip of the head. The very smallest movement that you could make and for it to still be a movement. Not even a bow.

I carefully, did not, check to see how Sam was doing with Sir Gregoire and therefore how quickly I could get rid of this wretch.

"I must congratulate you on your victory Sir." I said carefully. The man wanted to fight and I had little doubt who would win a formal duel. "It was extremely well fought."

"Not really." He sneered. "There are not many men that could stand up to me when I have a horse between my legs and a lance in my hands. Gregoire is my only real competitor after Guillaume left the circuit," he sneered as he said it, "and Gregoire is disabled."

"Oh?" If I could keep him talking about the joust, then he wasn't talking about anything that would make me cross.

"Yes. A proper joust. A real joust is not about strength or brute force. It is about speed. It is about technique. Gregoire simply relies upon strength and brute force. He will simply take the hit in order to deliver one of his own, there is no finesse to it. But that is not his real weakness."

I bit. I had little strategy on the subject. I wanted to keep him talking here so that he didn't decide to do anything else.

"What is?" I wondered.

He smirked. "Not that I would expect a man like you to understand. There is a point on a knight that if you strike it, just right. Then the man will always come off his horse."

"Always?" I wondered.

"Always, Lord Frederick. It is a matter of mass, weight and size. Him being the bigger man then that point is bigger on him than on anyone else. All you have to do to defeat Gregoire is wait for your moment and then strike ruthlessly and he will be off balance enough that his own strike misses you. It really is quite elementary. If you did not know that then it is no surprise to me that you were unable to compete."

"We all have our arenas." I said without thinking it through. "The jousting field is yours. The library is mine."

"But you have claim to martial skills do you not?"

I was being goaded, and it had worked. This man was dangerous and I needed to bring it back.

"I would never claim to be anything other than merely adequate with a spear on foot." I told him. "The mystery of the sword passed me by and I had no talent for the lance."

"Pssh." He told me. "Real talent is rare and is not as important as people think. Skill and speed is all that you need and those things can be trained. The strength comes from the body of the horse rather than the arm of the man."

I couldn't help it. "But jousting is not a skill that gets used on a battlefield." I argued. "Against a lance, all you have to do is get past the point and you are safe."

"I agree." He told me with a gleam in his eye.

"At which point Sir Gregoire's strength and physical power become an asset."

"Skill will always trump that. I have some skill with the sword as well but I am interested to see how a spear would handle a real swordsman."

"Kerrass trounces me regularly with a sword."

"Yes yes. But he isn't a real swordsman is he."

I left that there without comment.

"We must arrange a demonstration." He told me. "Because the same problem with the lance, exists with a spear. Once you are past the point of the spear then you are safe."

"Which is why I carry a dagger." I told him.

His eyes gleamed. He knew that that would be my response.

"But the counter for that is a shield." He told me.

I said nothing.

"We must see how it would fare. I would hold that a sword and shield would defeat a spearman in a duel easily. But I see that the line has moved on and I am eager to introduce myself to your elder brothers."

He gave his miniscule bow and moved on.

That was the last guest I had to greet so I took a moment to turn and take a drink before I held my right hand out to see if it was shaking.

"Fuck me." I whispered.

Kerrass had moved up and covered me from view as Ariadne took another cup and poured some of my medicine into the cup which I drank."

"Heavily watered wine for me for the rest of the evening." I told the servant. "Health reasons." He nodded and left.

"The Flower of Toussaint chivalry and knighthood." Ariadne sneered a little and Kerras grunted his agreement.

"A little unfair." Captain De La Tour had guessed what had happened and had come to join us and help shield me from view. "The real flower of Toussaint knighthood now works for Syanna and through her, the Duchess."

"That's as maybe Captain." Ariadne snarled. "But it's those men that children will seek to emulate." She sighed suddenly. "Forgive me Captain. That was uncalled for. But that man just did his best to... I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright." He said. "I often feel the same way. But Syanna is doing a good job and in a year or two, after the kngihts start getting a foot hold and we can start telling everyone about the good things that they have done. Then it is them that the children of Toussaint will want to start emulating."

"I hope so Captain." I told him taking a shuddering breath as I could feel the medicine taking an effect. A thought occurred. I wanted to change the subject quickly. I needed distraction. "But I thought you hated Syanna."

"Oh I do. But that doesn't stop me from admitting that she's doing a fine job with the task that has been given to her."

"You know she means to marry you?" Kerrass wondered. We have worked together for long enough that he could see what was needed.

"Yes." He muttered glumly. "She won't stop either. I think she has her sister's support as well which makes it even worse. I would die for my Duchess, but marry her wayward sister?"

"Would it truly be so bad?" Ariadne wondered slyly, seeing what we was working towards. "Maybe you could even get her to dress up like the Duchess. The similarity is striking after all."

Captain De La Tour scowled. 'This is hardly the subject for jesting." He said. "That woman tried to destroy Toussaint."

"I wasn't here." I told him. "I didn't see it. But I seem to recall reading that she didn't, she wanted the same Toussaint that you want. What she wanted was justice but did not believe she would get it. And now, she still wants the same thing that you want. Which is to return Toussaint to glory."

"Yes but..."

"You should think about it." I told him. "You might find that you have more in common than you think you do."

"But..." His face fell. "Why does she have to be so..." his face fell. "Unkind?" he finished with a slight wail.

Kerrass, Ariadne and I exchanged glances. "You should talk to her about that." Ariadne said.

He found some humour from somewhere. "But then she will tease, insult and aggravate me and then I will shout back and then I will have to walk off so that I don't lose my temper."

I found some of my own humour and laughed. "You want some more advice?" I wondered. He didn't react. "Go ahead and lose your temper at her." I told him.

He looked appalled. "Lose my temper at the sister to the Duchess."

"Why not?" Kerrass wondered. "It worked for him." He gestured at me.

"It did too." Ariadne agreed.

The mood had lightened with the jesting and poking the Commander of the Guard. I began to get a sense of why Commander Syanna might enjoy needling him so much. He was just so much fun to do it to.

He spluttered agreeably and moved aside to make room for Sam coming off the end of the receiving line. He was pale and shaking, same as the rest of us with his face like thunder.

Sam was swearing. And he used to hang around with soldiers and grooms so when Sam started to swear, he began to get really inventive with it. I won't repeat it all here. Not least because I can't remember all of it. When he gets really angry. Sam swears like the sound of sword blows hammering against sword blows.

We all waited for him to grind to a halt as we said nothing.

"Honest to fucking God." He said. "I would honestly consider dueling the lot of them if it wasn't for the fact that they would all kick my ass with their hands tied behind their back."

"You sell yourself short." Kerrass told him. "It would come down to whether it's a duel or a fight. If it was a duel then yes, the odds would not be in your favour. But if it was a fight?"

He shook his head.

"Even if you haven't spent any time training at all since we left the North. Your skills would have had to go backwards rather than merely decay. The only real "fighter" amongst the lot was Sir Gregoire. That man is a beast." Kerrass even sounded a little awed.

"And he was the only one that seemed to try and avoid offending me."

"No. Sir Gregoire is not like that." Captain De La Tour told us. "He just does what he does and be damned to who gets offended."

Sam realised the amusement in the group as he looked around. "What are you all laughing at?"

"We were advising Captain De La Tour here as to how he should go about wooing the Knight Commander." Ariadne told him with a smile.

"Really." Sam was fascinated before his face took on a serious expression. "I was always told that Roses were a good start. Never worked for me though."

"A start." Kerrass agreed. "Although take a tip. Strip the thorns from the stems before you do so. That way you can show that you've gone to some extra effort."

Captain De la Tour was now spluttering most agreeably. Although there was a glint in his eye that suggested that he knew exactly what was going on in that Kerrass and Ariadne were distracting the rest of us by teasing him about things to make us laugh.

Here's something that is worth saying. It takes a big man to allow himself to be the butt of the joke. Especially when he has nothing to game for it.

Other than my friendship. I hope he considers it adequate recompense.

"Roses." Laurelen started as she and Emma approached. Now that my brain was returning to it's proper and full working order under the influence of the medicine that I had taken, I could see that she was shielding Emma from our view. "Roses?" She demanded again in mock outrage.

She exchanged a glance with Ariadne. I suspect magical shenanigans. Some kind of telepathic communication to sort everything out and brief the woman in my sister's life.

"So cliché. So boring." Laurelen sneered. "Tedious. Mundane. Ridiculous. Here's a tip." She told De La Tour. "Find out what scent she uses. Bribe her servants or something and they'll tell you. Then take that scent to a good herbalist. Make it a really good one though. And get them to tell you which flowers and herbs were used in the construction of that scent. Then have a bouquet of those flowers put together and send them to her." She smiled in satisfaction. "That'll really show her that you made an effort."

"Oooh," Sam, Kerrass and I showed our appreciation.

"That's really good." Ariadne agreed.

"It worked on me." Emma admitted as she blew her nose. "Although, it has to be mentioned that she sent them anonymously."

"All the better to imply the mystery dear."

"This is all fascinating stuff. But how does this help me get past the fact that I don't actually like her that much." Captain De La Tour wailed.

"Then you must ask yourself a simple question." Mark had snuck up behind us. "Do you dislike her because of her past or because of who she is? Neither are problems that are insurmountable although I will admit that the one takes more work than the other."

"Is it worth it though? I mean... I hate her."

"Do you?" Mark snagged a drink from a passing tray. "Hate is an interesting emotion. So often confused for something else."

He grinned at Captain De la Tour nastily over the rim of his glass.

The good Captain sighed and left. Either because he realised that he wasn't going to get any peace, or because he had decided that, now that we were all together, we could take care of ourselves.

"Got it bad that one." Mark said as he finished his glass and stole another one. "I've never been in love myself but I am reasonably confident in spotting it in others."

"How did you get on with the Chucklefucks?" Sam asked him.

"Pssh." Mark replied. "I'm a churchman. I get insulted for a living. I only think that the last one was outright trying to insult me though. That first one... what'sisname?"

"Alain the Watcher." I supplied.

"Yes him. I rather think he was more interested in seeing if he could get Emma and Laurelen into bed than offend me. I am male and therefore uninteresting to him."

"He tried the same with me." Ariadne said.

"I pity that wife of his." Mark commented. He was looking at Kerrass as he said it. "Be sure that she doesn't try and get you to rescue her my friend. She strikes me as a woman looking for a White Knight."

"I can't rescue her." Kerrass told him. "She might need it, but I don't think she will get it, nor does she want it."

He glanced over to her, where she quickly seemed to flush, start breathing heavily before averting her eyes.

"She likes the drama of the thing. She likes the stolen looks and longing kisses."

"You make her sound so unpleasant." I wondered.

"Then I do her a disservice." Kerrass told me sadly. "She likes it because it means that she feels alive. And I will admit that it's nice to be pursued and seduced. I know what she's doing. She knows what I'm doing and it is therefore less risky for both of us."

I stared at my friend for a long time. "I had not realised Kerrass."

He shook himself. "Had not realised what?"

"That you were so unhappy."

He snorted at that.

We had to quiet down as the prizes were presented. It was a long, drawn out thing with speeches and decorations and elaborate ceremonies. I watched dutifully and applauded and cheered in all the right places.

But I've spent better evenings.

Sir Alain accepted his prize with a grin, a wave and a suggestive leer at the Duchess which, I have no doubt. He thought was very subtle. Sir Morgan accepted his prize with a gracious bow and a modest but not insubstantial round of applause and the odd whoop of affirmation. Sir Gregoire's prize was accepted calmly. He did not bow, nor hold his prize up for the adulation of the crowd. He took it, bowed to the Duchess and moved into the crowd.

As for Sir Raoul. I was genuinely astonished about what happened there. I have never seen anything like it before.

He hated the Duchess and he hated her sister just as much. He hardly bowed to them at all, the naked insult was clear in his eyes. And then, after he had accepted the prize, he held it aloft to the crowd and they roared their approval.

They roared.

I do not understand it. I doubt I ever will. There was nothing but naked and unabashed hatred in his eyes for the entire assembly. But they loved him for it. I don't get it.

I once saw Father being received by King Radovid after he had provided vast amounts of money in order to properly equip and outfit a not insignificant chunk of the Redanian army. The banquet was not as lavish as this one but it was still as good as it got in wartime Redania. Looking back it was clear to everyone watching just how much my father despised all of the other nobles in the room.

But they despised him back.

Or earlier when Father was still sincere in his efforts to get the nobility on his side and the hatred was still there. So Father ended up feeling almost cheated of his... adulation.

But Sir Raoul hated everyone in that courtroom. And they loved him for it. And after the receiving and accolades had been handed out. After we had all eaten the many miniscule courses of delicious food with complex flavours that made me long for a hearty roast in a roadside tavern, Sir Raoul continued through the ball that came afterwards. Spreading his hatred and scorn around the room in the same way that you might spread butter over bread.

It was very nearly obscene.

So obscene that it became ridiculous.

Then came the moment that we were actually here for. The moment of history where the new order of knights would take the responsibilities of Law enforcement and protection of the realm back from the Imperial army.

In comparison to the earlier ceremony of prize giving and congratulations. This was a matter of simplicity and starkness. There was an austerity to it that made me wonder who had ordered the differences. I suspected Syanna but I thought it was just as likely that the Duchess and her new Knight Commander had concocted the scheme between them. Because the contrast was startling.

Another portrait of Francesca was set up in the room and placed on an easel. All of the paintings and works of art that we had seen and been shown that used Francesca as a subject were beautiful so I cannot claim to any kind of objective critique.

But in this case, I rather suspect that it was this painting that made the difference. This was not a painting of Francesca my sister. This was the painting of Saint Francesca and although Saint Francesca and my sister had the same physical features, they were really too different pictures.

It was a painting of the Saint in an attiturde of standing prayer as wings were at her back and a halo was above her head. It was exactly the same attitude as the statue at the base of the waterfall and the symbol of the Knights of Saint Francesca. In fact, it was so close to those things that I wondered if the two artists had worked together on the production of the artwork.

Or what was first. The painting or the statue.

But the Duchess beckoned Colonel Duberton forward and then beckoned the Knight Commander who placed her full helm upon her head so that she became an unidentifiable knight. Then the Duchess gestured for silence.

"I am Colonel Duberton of the 4th Regiment of the Alba Division." the man said. "It has been my charge and the charge of my regiment to protect the people and the lands of Toussaint from enemies within and without at the order of the Empress of Nilfgaard. It is my judgement that the Knights of Saint Francesca are ready to take this duty from us now and as a result, I formally surrender my duty to the Knight Commander of the Knights of Saint Francesca."

He clicked his heels and saluted Syanna with a whip crack of movement. "The realm is yours Ma'am." He said formally.

"Thank you." Syanna said. Her voice sounding hollow and metallic from within the helmet. "I accept your charge and my knights will take that charge from here. The realm is ours Sir and you may consider yourself relieved." She saluted similarly.

"I stand relieved." He replied.

The crowd cheered and as far as I could see, the majority of the adulation was entirely genuine. It wasn't perfect. There were some skeptical faces amongst the nobility. Sir Raoul the White was plainly furious at having his thunder stolen and more than one member of the nobility wore a sneer of disdain. Most of the genuine unhappiness seemed to come from the mercantile contingent but the vast majority of people were Toussaint enough that the gesture and the theatre of the matter reached down to their hearts and their cheering was genuine.

Syanna held her hands up and silence stole over the crowd. Before she turned back to Colonel Duberton.

"And please," she began. "Let me be the first to thank you for your service to Toussaint." She said carefully and clearly. "We did not want you. But we did need you and the lessons that you have taught us, the lessons that you have taught me. Will be carried forwards into Toussaint's future."

The cheering was much more genuine this time.

"She practiced that." I muttered to Emma.

"And had it written by someone else." She agreed. "But that doesn't make the sentiment any the less true."

The family unit began to break up after that and go off in different directions. Emma, as is her wont, would be pulled off to discuss various things with various people about various ways to make each other various piles of money. Laurelen and Ariadne went off to talk shop with Lady Vigo and a couple of other magic users that I didn't recognise. Apparently there are a couple around that like to spend time in Toussaint in order to investage some of the old ruins and things that still defy classification.

Mark was speaking to a gaggle of noblefolk. Probably holding forth on his opinions regarding the life and times of the Prophet Lebioda and his utter lack of interest in the ridiculous statue that had been erected in the Prophet's honour.

The thing really is obscene. I won't go so far as to call it an eyesore but... it's an eyesore and I think that if I had been the prophet, I would have had slightly choicer language for it as well.

Kerrass was off flirting with Lady Moineau. Not in the way that you or I would think of it as flirting. There were no exchanges of drinks. No gifts. Neither of them found excuses to bump into each other. Indeed, Kerrass seemed to be going out of his way not to have anything to do with her.

Sam was watching with me as we both worked on getting massively plastered on the Duchess' wine. It was a fun watch.

It took a while, but then I noticed that Kerrass would often have a clear eyeline to Lady Moineau. That he always knew where she was in the assembly and that when she would turn around to look for him. She could always find him and relatively easily.

Then she would watch him for a bit as he carefully avoided looking directly at her before she would "force" herself to look away. With her bosoms heaving.

Sam and I were commentating. Sam was talking in a ridiculously bad Kerrass impression and I was doing a ridiculously falsetto version of how we imagined the lady to sound.

You have to find your entertainment somewhere when you are attending one of these things.

"No," I whimpered in a high girlish squeal. "I cannot possibly allow myself to fall for the monstrous brute of a Witcher."

"Ah yes." Sam replied in a gruff voice that actually sounded nothing like Kerrass but was close enough that if you heard it, you knew exactly who he was doing an impression of. "Yonder do I see a fair maiden in need of rescuing."

As we watched Kerrass turned his head away from Lady Moineau in an exaggerated fashion meaning that the movement could not help but draw the eye.

"But no." Sam went on. "I am a monster and do not deserve to feel the warmth of human affection."

"And I am a lady." I contined. "I must remain true to the dick dribble that I married. But I cannot help it."

She was breathing heavily again and her gaze was drawn back to Kerrass. As though Kerrass was wielding a fishing rod that gradually and surely tugged her eyes back towards him.

"I cannot help myself." I said. "He is just so manly and uncouth."

"But I can never be with her." Sam said as Kerras, with a look of almost comically anguished longing allowed his head to turn towards Lady Moineau. "Even though her heaving bosoms and beautiful...I dunno..."

"Eyes." I suggested.

"I was trying for cruder than that but still." The Kerrass voice was back in place. "Even though her heaving bosoms and beautiful eyes are hooks that wrench deep into my soul..."

"You know that makes no sense." I teased him.

"Hush Freddie. I'm being poetic."

"Somewhere the Bard is weeping."

"Hooks deep into my soul. I cannot allow her to be dishonoured by so profane a touch as my own. I am a wretch, unclean and villainous. I must turn away. I must resist the lure of a Lady so great. I... must... turn away."

Kerrass visibly tore his eyes away from Lady Moineau's gaze and walked off.

"No don't go." I said as Lady Moineau's hand raised just a little as though she would reach out and stop the Witcher from leaving her with a gesture before her face fell. "All I want is to feel something. Anything to make me feel better than how this wretch that I have been forced to marry makes me feel."

Lady Moineau watched Kerrass go with the largest puppy dog eyes that I had ever seen. I have to say that if I had been in Kerrass' shoes. Then I am not sure that I would have been able to resist those eyes. But the Witcher seemed to know what he was doing.

"Will she go after him?" Sam wondered.

"She will not." Said a woman's voice behind us and we turned. "She will wait." Knight Commander Syanna went on. "Although I will admit that it is fun to see her meeting someone who is meeting her sense of drama with one of his own."

"What's her story anyway?" Sam wondered.

Syanna smirked. "A long one." She told him. "And not entirely mine to tell. Lord Kalayn. I wanted to apologise to you for the confrontation between one of my knights and your man, Sir Kristoff. Me people were correct in what they did and their interpretation of their orders was correct. However, the matter could have been handled better. Not least by me."

Sam waved it off. "Do not concern yourself." He told her. "Kristoff was spoiling for a fight with someone. Anyone really. And I shall be having words with him when I return home."

Syanna nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And when will that be Lord Kalayn. I ask as I need to arrange for elements of protection."

"Of course I quite understand. My intention is that I will be leaving for home tomorrow. As soon as I can be sure that I can make a proper goodbye to the members of my family and I have recovered from all the wonderful hospitality that Toussaint has shown me since I have been here."

"Very well."

I will admit that I was surprised at the formal language between the two. I would have thought that Sam and Syanna would have a similar attitude towards each other and would have gotten on quite well.

Sam looked between her and I for a moment before nodding. "If you'll excuse me knight Commander. I have the need to speak to my sister on a private matter."

"Of course Lord Kalayn."

They bowed to each other and Sam wandered off.

"What was that about?" I wondered to Syanna who had seemed to relax as soon as Sam was out of view.

She took a deep breath as she moved a little closer and beckoned a servant over to bring us a pair of drinks.

"Forgive me Lord Frederick..."

"I thought we were past the "Lord Frederick" thing."

She smiled at that and passed me one of the glass goblets that the people of Toussaint insist on drinking their wine out of. The sad thing is, it really does make the wine taste better.

"In which case Freddie." She sighed a little and scratched her head as she thought. "I like your sister a great deal. I admire both her and Laurelen's utter lack of shame in who they are and how they drive that point home. I also like your older brother although I, rather treacherously, think that I wouldn't have liked him before his illness. I know that it will take him from you early but I admire the man that he has become because of it."

I nodded as I let that go.

"Kerrass is the kind of man that I wouldn't mind taking off into a back room somewhere to have my way with. He's got that way of him that leaves me thinking that he would know exactly what to do with a woman and I am more than a little jealous of Lady Moineau and her coming night or three of passion."

"I'm sure I can make an introduction..."

She waved her hand. "Your friend is too good a man for a random encounter and not good enough for me to fall in love with. I am still working on myself too much to have to work on him as well. That and, for now, all eyes are on me and I must be as pure as the driven snow. Believe me when I say that it's rather frutstrating."

"In more ways than one?" I leered suggestively, tentatively testing the bonds of friendship.

"Oh Freddie you have no idea. I was on the road for years being able to take my pleasure when I wanted it and now... But that's not what you asked.

"I feel that you and your intended could become friends of mine. I feel a lot of kinship with your lady. We are both returning to a world that distrusts us and fears us although for different reasons and I find you not unagreeable company. I daresay that I would even see if I could make something of a man out of you if I had found you before she did."

"You know," I began as I took that in. "People have told me that before including several beautiful women."

"Including me?"

"Do not tease me." I said with some mocking irritation in my voice. "You are well aware of just how beautiful you are and I am also aware of these things enough to know that you play it down in your current guise. I also know that you could have any man that you wanted if you put your mind to it."

"True, but where would the fun in that be. Damien is so much fun to pursue."

"Be careful that you do not drive him away with your pursuit." I warned her. "But as I was saying. I sometimes find myself wishing that some of those beautiful women had told me that they found me attractive before I met Ariadne. It would have made my life... a little bit more bearable."

She laughed. "But it is the confidence that that gave you that makes you attractive. If she left you, I would guess that you would instantly become less attractive."

"Sounds about right knowing my luck." I told her.

We both laughed.

"I could do with friends like you and your lady." She told me when the laughter had died down a little. "You would keep me grounded. You remind me not to take myself too seriously and..." She took a breath and sighed with it. "You remind me that I still have much to do to make up for the things that I have done."

Then she looked at me again. "But I don't like your brother."

"Why not. He is a good man."

"He is hungry." She told me. "He wants something and I have no idea what it is, but he looks around the world like a starving man looking at a piece of meat. He looked at me like that and I felt... dirty."

"He is lonely." I told her, trying to defend Sam. "And he has been for a long time. Ever since the war ended and men like him stopped being quite so attractive."

"Hmmm." Syanna grunted dubiously. "If you were like him when you were single and lonely. Then I rather think you would still be single. Desperation is not attractive, no matter what the Bards tell us. After all," she smirked, "most of the bards that tell us things like that are male and desperate themselves.

"But also, while I'm on the subject, I should also tell you that soldier boys and blustery knights become less attractive the older we get. Obviously I am a special case in that I got over that really young and some people are too stupid to realise that it is a problem. But the women that I know and respect who married their knightly ideal young are, all of them... All. Of. Them. Disappointed in their husbands. Soldiers and warriors are occasionally good for a roll in the hay. But for someone to fall in love and settle down with." She shook her head.

"This from the woman that's intent on seducing and marrying a soldier and a knight." I teased, the conversation had become uncomfortable and I was keen to move on.

"Yes. But he is not a noble born. You would be astonished as to how much that makes a difference. As nobles go, you are not bad but I think we both know that you had the arrogance pounded out of you by a Witcher's sword."

"Not unfair." I accepted.

"Nobles are born into it, so they don't see all the privilige and rights that they have as a privilige. They see it as something that they deserve. Where as people like Damien, and Sir Gregoire to be fair, see it as the privilige that it is. They had to fight for it. They had to earn it and as such, it becomes more important to them that they treat it properly. Your brother, and people like him, think that they deserve to get the girl and have a life of peace and prosperity because they are noble. Because they are knights and soldiers. They fought for their Kings and their flags and... yes, their Duchesses. But that means that they think they don't need to be kind. That they have earned a loving wife and the adulation of the masses."

"Sam isn't like that." I insisted.

"No?" She sighed. "Then maybe he is just too close to those men in my memory who were like that."

I decided to let that go there.

"So now that we've had the first awkward conversation of our friendship." I began. "What is Lady Moineau's story?"

She laughed, as I intended. "She is an unhappy woman. He needed the marriage because he needed the money. I have it on good record that she was the youngest and prettiest of the women that he got offers from that would be able to support his lifestyle. She fell in love with the ideal of the perfect knight and then he turned out to... well... not be that."

"No mechanism for divorce in Toussaint?" I wondered.

"Heh, there is actually. It's duelling. But for two problems. The first is that he's actually a really good duellist. The second is that she doesn't really want it to happen. Not really."

"Why do you say that?"

"She... She likes the scandal. She likes being the centre of attention. When all of her girly friends gather for wine and pastries, she likes them to be all over her with pity while she gets all teary eyed and acts all strong as they tell her that she's married to a brute. All the time she carries on her affairs. Which I think she also gets off on the potential scandal of it and the... well... the naughtiness of it."

"You don't like her." I guessed.

"Actually no. I do like her a great deal. But I cannot tell if she knows the game that she's playing or if it's something that she does automatically. I can't tell if she's being really stupid or really clever and, as a result, I find that I don't trust her. What she's doing is absolutely in the story book history of Toussaint women. It's the kind of thing that we romanticise and when she does get swept off her feet by some shining knight of a figure, then she will be a celebrity in our circles.

"But that means that she would need to settle for someone rather than have the romantic ideal. It's far more likely that she will become a widow due to her husband's ways as he picks a fight with someone he cannot defeat and then she can sleep with whoever she likes and enjoy the scandal."

"Is he that successful with women?" I wondered.

"Women? no." She looked a little cross. "Girls? Definitely. It won't be someone's husband that fillets the bastard. It will be someone's father."

"So you definitely don't like him."

"No I don't."

An insight struck me. "Why do people really call him the Watcher."

She laughed. "Did he tell you the bullshit about him guarding the Western Passes?"

"He did. And I know my map enough to know that even were I to be heading West, I would be better taking the river passage to the North or travelling further to the South in order to find easier passes."

Syanna chuckled. "They call him the Watcher because he watches people. Or more precisely, he watches girls. He's creepy and slimy and if you're a woman, he makes you want to take a bath after he has kissed your hand."

"Ariadne did express some similar sentiments. Not going to let him into the knights of Saint Francesca then?"

"No. He wanted to but that would tarnish us right out of the gate. There are so many examples of him being caught trying to catch a glimpse of a woman taking a bath in the river, or girls in the lake or sneaking through the bushes "in pursuit of bandits" that it just makes me feel uncomfortable. There have been two duels fought that I know of where he was caught assaulting a girl where it was clear that he was in the wrong. But he challenged his accuser to a duel, won and that was the end of the matter legally. There are others where the accusations have been made but it can't be proven or a knight couldn't be found to defend the girls honour. Peasant folk on his lands or the lands of his friends, that kind of thing."

"It sounds like legal reform also needs to be something that you and your sister talk about."

"Trial by combat is one of those things that is never going to go away. And it is because of that that people like Sir Alain get away with all the things that they need to get away with." She sighed. "The other problem is that there are not many swordsmen that can take him. Not in a formal setting anyway." She looked at me sidelong a little bit. "What did you think of the rest of our "flower of knighthood"?"

"I will admit to being stunned." I told her. "I know of Sir Gregoire of course, anyone who has read the tales of the Bard knows about Sir Gregoire. So I was expecting that it would be him that I would end up hating and disliking. But honestly? I would cheerfully drag St Raoul out of his bed and murder him in his sleep for what he's doing to that girl."

I gestured. As we spoke, Sir Raoul was talking with Sir Morgan about something. Sir Morgan's wife was away somewhere else but the two men were examining Sir Raoul's escort. Sir Raoul was showing her off while also chastising her every time she tried to pull the dress up a little in order to cover her modesty. I would admit that Sir Morgan was frowning slightly but he seemed to be attentive.

"Both of them have that affect." Syanna agreed.

"Indulge me." I told her. "Would you have let any of them join the Knights of Francsca."

"Saint Francesca." She teased.

"Fuck off Knight Commander."

She laughed.

"Oddly, I would have taken Sir Gregoire if he had asked. But he didn't. To be fair to him, he's the kind of man who can't do what we need to do. People will be afraid of him and not go to ask him for help due to the sheer... force of him. He's withdrawn and understated at the moment but when you see him coming at you with an attempt to attack you..." She shook her head. "He is terrifying. Even in my most desperate imaginings, I cannot picture a poor commonfolk woman going to tell him that someone has assaulted her. They would be afraid that he would assault them as well."

"He does have a reputation." I commented.

"I know. But I was once involved in investigating one of those and it turned out to be made up. It was one of those things that "Everyone knows" that he had raped and murdered this girl before taking her out to the swamps. It wasn't him. He was in Beauclair under the gaze of several witnesses at the time as he was choosing a new Sword. He has to have them made specifically and he gets quite picky. I was working with Colonel Duberton as his military police investigated the crime. Everyone knew that Sir Gregoire did it because the girl's injuries were so horrific. But it turned out that she had turned down the Blacksmith's son and the Blacksmith lost his temper and smashed her face in with a hammer. Even though it was provable and the boy confessed as a witness. People still believe that we were covering for Sir Gregoire as the Smith's body swung from the tree."

"Fuck." I swore.

"Not quite my words." She said. "I was more... extreme in my views. I like Sir Gregoire. I think there's a good man in there, trapped inside the body of a bastard and a brute. I can relate."

"We thought he looked lonely."

"Hmmm." She let that go. "Sir Morgan is the most traditional, ass sucking bastard of a knight that you could imagine. Born a couple of hundred years too late. If he had been born back then he would have been the very pinacle of knighthood. But now he is old fashioned and dangerous. He's getting old though, on the downslope of his career and unlikely to change so we certainly can't force him. He didn't ask and gets offended when people suggest that he should join us and try to make us better from within."

"I can imagine."

"And Sir Raoul hates me. But that's ok. I hate him back so I feel as though we're even on that one."

"So what you're telling me is that they're the best of what's left."

"They're the best jousters of what's left. Which in their eyes... yeah. They're the best of what's left. Only Sir Gregoire would argue that point. He knows what he is at least."

"Fuck me."

"We knew this going in. We knew that there were going to be people that didn't agree with what was going to happen. We knew that there were people that were not going to want to sign up and we knew that people were going to hate what we were doing with the office of knighthood."

"Even though, you're making knighthood more traditional in many ways."

"They would argue that we're turning our backs on centuries of progress."

"This is making my head hurt. How can you stand all of this?"

She laughed at me.

"This is Toussaint."

"And that explains everything?"

"In Toussaint it does. Yes, I would cheerfully drop-kick Sir Alain off a cliff. Yes, I want to shake Sir's Morgan and Gregoire until they see sense and yes. Sir Raoul needs his ass kicking and sooner or later, someone is going to have to do that. But I am of Toussaint enough that I can see their point. I am afraid that we are going to fail."

I smiled. "But you're going to try anyway."

She shrugged. "I have to. If I don't, then someone else is. This is my putting my money where my mouth is. If I don't try and change things for the better then I don't get to keep moaning about it do I?"

"No, I suppose not."

We gossipped for a little while after this. Nothing exciting, things about the canapes and the wine and places that I should go and visit. We also spoke about some of the plans that she had for the knights of Saint Francesca that I cannot repeat for what are, I hope, obvious reasons.

"Which reminds me," She said, handing her side plate to a passing page and brushing her hands clean of pastry crumbs.

The Crab cakes were quite magnificent.

"Reminds you of what."

"I needed to ask you the same question. What are your plans for staying in Toussaint. I ask so that I can arrange your security. I know that your sister and Laurelen are staying on for a few more weeks to see to some business things and that your brother Mark is intending to head back North at about the same time. What are you planning to do?"

"You would be better off asking Ariadne." I told her. "She's got something planned for me and for us as a whole. Something she wants me to see and someone she wants me to visit. But she won't tell me what or who that is. So it could be a week but she seemed to suggest longer than that. I want to spend some time here and finalise some friendships and make sure that that foundation is nice and solid, present company included."

"Thank you."

"And there are some other sights that I want to see. I also need to see Lady Yennefer when she comes back from Cintra. Just finalising a few things regarding the book. There are some Errata details that need to be gone over and addressed for a second printing and then I want to see if she would be interested in collaborating on another project."

"What do you want to collaborate on?"

"I have no idea." I admitted. "I was kind of hoping that she had some ideas."

"You should have some ideas of your own." She advised. "Lady Yennefer can be... prickly when she feels as though you are wasting her time. Even when all she appears to be doing is lazing about underneath the shade of a pear tree, drinking Lord Geralt's wine and reading books."

"Speaking from personal experience there?" I wondered.

She did not rise to the bait.

"The truth is that I don't know what I am going to do yet. My wedding is nine months away which means that I don't need to be back in Redania for six to seven months. I suppose that things might be adjusted by what happens about you-know-what. But I really don't know what to do next."

"Well," She said looking back into the party where Kerrass had wandered into Lord and Lady Moineau. Lady Moineau had reached out and grasped his hand in reflex as she stared at him longingly while Kerrass looked in the opposite direction with a look of anguished but firm resolve on his face. He gently pulled free of her grip while her hand continued to reach for him before she turned away, wiping a tear from her face and, naturally, started breathing heavily.

"It looks like your companion will have enough to do here to occupy himself."

We both sniggered.

"And with that Freddie, I'm afraid that I must bid you good night. Power is officially in our hands now and I want to make sure that we are taking up the responsibility properly."

"Are you expecting any trouble?"

"A few people might try to be uppity. Thinking that the might be able to push things now that a woman is in charge or expecting the old forms of the Knights Errant are back in force. I suspect that it will all die down after the first time I can prove someone's guilt and promptly hang a few people."

She grinned and moved off.

"Syanna." I called as a thought occurred.

"Hmm?"

"It's none of our business but my family have a habit of trying to interfere in the romantic lives of people that we care about. You might have heard of Sir Rickard and Shani the medic as well as Jarl Helfdan and the Queen of Skellige?"

"I have," she came back.

"So we spent some time talking to Captain De La Tour earlier."

She said nothing although her lips thinned a little.

"He thinks you're cruel Syanna. If you truly seek to make him love you, or..."

My voice petered out as her face hardened. "You are correct Lord Frederick. It is none of your bus..."

Then she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Forgive me. I am unused to having friends." She took a deep breath. "I am aware of some of my character flaws Lord Frederick and the problem that you refer to is known to me. I am made of sharp edges because I needed them to defend myself when I was younger. I kept them in order to stay alive. I was working on filing them down after... well... after Detlaff. But then this job needed doing and I find that I need all my sharp edges back."

"I don't think you do but..."

"That's because you are not from Toussaint. I can't talk to Damien the way that I want to. I can't go to dinner, or tour the museums and art galleries and walk in the gardens. I am the head of the new order of knights that are to enforce the laws and patrol the borders. If I slip or show a sign of weakness for even a heartbeat... Then it will undermine everything that he and I have worked for and it will place him in danger. There is a reason that I am waiting to have my way with him. Six months and then I can shift. Six months and I won't need to rip the throat out of everyone that comes after me and I can allow myself to live a little. Six months and I can stop sleeping in my mental armour, even as I don't sleep in my physical. Six months and I can..."

She petered out.

"I'm sorry." I told her. "But you are wrong. Toussaint is Toussaint. Is there any more poetic romance than the Captain of the guard falling in love with the Commander of the knights? People will love you both for that."

"No they won't. If it was anyone else then maybe. But not me."

"I think you're wrong. But even if you're not. Then you deserve..."

"Do not tell me what I deserve." She hissed, her rage was sudden and violent. "I am sick of people telling me what I deserve. I deserved the Duchy but my parents wanted their perfect little princess and I refused to be that. I deserved the noose or the headsman after Detlaff killed all those people, but my sister forbade it and nearly caused a revolt as a result. I deserved my end at the hands of a Vampire who's heart I broke, but a Witcher played a little girl at Gwent for a length of ribbon. I deserve to spend the rest of my days rotting away in some prison alone and unloved but your sister came, found me and dragged me out into the sunlight where it dazzled my eyes. Do not tell me what I deserve. I will decide when I deserve the love of a good man and not before, do you understand me?"

"Of course." I was appalled.

"Never speak of this again Lord Frederick. Not to me, or to Damien. I like you and your family a great deal but if you do bring this up, then I will have you castrated." She stormed away.

If I did not know better I would have sworn that she had tears in her eyes.

The night passed without me managing to mortally insult any more people. For which I am grateful. As the guests of honour, we left promptly and although we did not go early, we were not late either so that we could free up other guests to leave when they fel thte need.

Sam, Mark and I stayed up to get a few drinks in us. I stopped drinking early as I could feel my mood beginning to fall. I felt as though we were on the verge of some kind of ending and I was saddened by it. Mark was in good spirits and kept going far longer than I suspect his Doctors would have prefferred while Sam seemed struck by as much of my melancholy as I was.

Kerrass was off somewhere and the ladies were having a similar kind of meeting off with the Duchess or something similar.

Sam, Mark and I did our best to put the world to rights. We talked about the future, my coming wedding and the festivities that would come with that. Mark, in particular was looking forward to that as he wanted to take part in the pig herding part of the festivities and dive for a ladies shoe. But Sam spoiled the mood by wondering if Mark would be able to do all of these things due to his failing health. Mark was forced to agree and the conversation took a down turn as a now maudlin drunk Mark wanted to make us both promise that we would remain friends for the rest of our lives and that we would take care of each other. No matter what.

Naturally, we swore all the oaths that we could in order to make Mark feel better.

Then Mark started to tell us what he wanted to happen when he died and I shall draw a curtain of discretion over some of the things that we talked about. It was hard. He is not ready to go and I find that I am not yet ready to lose my eldest brother.

Mark and I have had our differences over the years. Not least when he first heard about Ariadne and my friendship with Kerrass. But he encouraged me into scholarly pursuits when just about everyone else was trying to get me to better with a sword. I love him for that.

In the end, Sam and I had to carry our drunken Cardinal of a brother into his chamber where we tugged his boots off and tucked him in. I had expected to spend more time with Sam after that but he pleaded off. Something in what Mark had said to us all had caught in Sam somewhere and I think he was actually deeply upset. He wouldn't meet my gaze and went to his own bed after that leaving me to go to my rooms feeling empty and depressed. Anne took me in hand and I fell to sleep, exhausted after the party and everything that had happened.

The following morning found me hungover and disgusted at myself for being hungover. I had stopped drinking somewhat earlier than I could have and I do not remember feeling particularly drunk. I remembered most of the interesting conversations and had been able to recount the details to Anne before we went to sleep. But the medicine and my illness had left my stamina for these kinds of things is absolutely shot. So I resolved that, when I was feeling a little bit better I would take steps to redress this balance so that no-one would be able to drink me under the table when it came to my own wedding.

But no matter how badly I felt, Sam felt worse. Pale faced, clammy to look at and with huge dark bags under his eyes. Even Mark looked better than Sam did as he came to see his brother off. Admittedly, he did have every intention of going back to bed after Sam had gone but even so.

Emma, Laurelen and Ariadne also surfaced and it was a gentle breakfast. Again, I felt it was all quite personal so I won't go through it all here. Sam thanked us all and apologised for his behaviour in the lead up to the winter. We did the same. Mark gave Sam a hug, Emma gave Sam a bottle of wine and promised that she would have some people up and in Kalayn lands within a couple of months to start sorting things out regarding ways that Kalayn lands might be able to start turning a profit and elicited a promise from Sam that he would get in touch if he needed any help. He took that in the spirit that it was meant and we left after Sam exchanged a brief hug with Ariadne and Laurelen.

I had wanted to walk Sam off to the transport gates and we moved through a frozen Toussaint that was just in the process of waking up in order to meet the merchant for his tales about the Battle of the Line.

We had a pleasant brunch with the man as we talked and I took some notes while he and Sam talked shop about Kalayn lands before we headed up to the transport circle. The whole thing was a bit abbreviated due to the fact that everyone was hungover and har risen late.

As it turns out though, another one of the people that had not yet woken up was one of Lady Vigo's apprentices that was responsible for opening the portal to the North and so Sam and I waited next to the gate site.

Sam stood next to a rail, looking out over the lake that glittered in the bright morning sunshine.

"Sam." I said eventually.

"hmmm?"

"Sam, I don't mean to be funny. I've been waiting for days for the right time to ask about it but... I might not get another chance. Are you alright? Because you look awful."

"Hungover Freddie. That's all."

"I love you Sam, but that's not it. You are pale, sweating and you look exhausted. You've been getting worse since breakfast and you looked the same when you climbed out of the portal a couple of days ago. Now, you look the same only you look close to tears as well."

"I..." He sighed. "I don't want to go Freddie." He told me. "This has been amazing. I don't want to go back North and go back to all of that... horror. It's a mess Freddie. This has been... It's been amazing and yesterday, before Mark reminded us how sick he was... It was the best I've felt for years and now I have to go back and get back to work when all I want to do is stay. I want to nurse Mark through his last months and I want to help plan your wedding."

"Then why don't you Sam. You don't need to go back. They can live without you for a few more days."

"No Freddie. No they can't. If Kristoff hasn't beaten up a couple of people in my absence it's going to be a miracle." He smiled sadly. "This has been a holiday and I wish it could have lasted forever."

"Whatever you're going through Sam. We can help."

"I don't think you can Freddie."

"Try me."

He smiled at me. The apprentice had arrived.

"I have to go." He said.

"Tell you what Sam." I said. "When the time comes, tell me what you need and I will see if I can help."

"I will." He seemed more moved by that than I think he had a right to. It was a little depressing even. I would have liked to think that my brother would know that I would come when he called, even if we had hated each other a day or so previous."

"And remember," I went on. "that no matter what you decide you want, or what you decide you need. You can't do it without Emma. So be nice to her and she will move the continent for you."

He sighed and nodded reluctantly. "You're right. I will try to remember that."

"And take care of yourself will you." I told him. "You look tired so eat properly and get some sleep once in a while. Delegate. Take some time off."

He grinned and looked like my brother again for a moment. "I will Freddie. But promise me that you will do the same will you. You say that I look awful but you look as bad. Take the time, rest up, spend some time with that Vampire of yours. You have a big year ahead of you."

"I will. I love you Sammy."

"I love you too Freddie." We hugged and then an impatient looking apprentice muttered some words and the portal appeared for him to step through. Some servants threw his bags after him.

I watched the empty space where the portal had vanished for a few moments before turning back for the palace.

It was that night, that they attacked Lady Vivienne de Tabris au Launfal.

(A/N: I swear, I promise, I guarentee that things are going to start heating up again soon. I also apologise for the delay in getting this out. It's been a... busy time since I last published anything and that meant that there were too many days where I couldn't spend the time cranking out the words. I would like to think that things could get back to normal soon but I think we all know that that would be a self-delusion. I love you all and as I normally say at the end of these things, thank you for reading but now, more than ever, I would rather close off by saying this.

Be safe out there. Please)