"Branson! I'm delighted to see you again, my most timely rescuer. I hope you didn't get lost this time?"
"No, this place was easy enough to find in the daylight."
"I'm glad. Sit, sit. My father will join us shortly."
Ameren sank down into the richly embroider armchair and leaned back a bit, her gaze wandering the study. There was no question to the wealth of the family whose estate she'd come to. Each piece of furniture probably cost more than the average worker made in a year, the walls were draped in paintings and large, colourful banners, even the hearth was a work of art, white marbel carved into a magnificent arch, branches and leaves etched into the stone. Eithil stood bent over the table her weapons had been placed on after she was disarmed, eyes practically gleaming with fascination as he looked between the various knives and daggers. He reached out to take one, stopped himself and looked to Ameren.
"You don't mind, do you?" asked Eithil, smiling hopefully and ignoring the disapproving frown of the guard next to the door.
"Not at all. Just don't cut yourself, they're not exactly blunted."
And I don't want to have to clean your blood off them, not after spending all morning polishing them.
The young man grinned and picked up the dagger he'd reached for, eagerly pulling the long, thin blade from the scabbard and studying it in the light.
"Why do you carry so many of them?"
"Each has its own function. The one you're holding easily slips through cracks in armour and in between ribs, piercing organs and poking men full of holes. But the thin blade can break if it's used to deflect blows from stronger lengths of steel, so it's not ideal for fighting with."
"But these are?" asked Eithil, having sheathed the first dagger and put it back down, now going for the two identical parrying daggers at the end of the row, getting a nod from Ameren. He grinned again and was about to pull one when an older gentleman dressed as richly as his son entered the room.
"Those are not toys, Eithil," said the man sternly, the grin immediately disappearing from his son's face and causing him to carefully put down the dagger again. "Quite the collection you have, miss."
"Branson. And I know my trade well, your lordship," said Ameren in a dry tone, inclining her head a little as a show of respect, yet remained seated.
"Lord Denien," said the nobleman, inclining his head in turn and sitting down across from her. "And I should say you do. Eithil has done nothing but rave of your heroics since he came home. He may be exaggerating some out of gratitude, but I have no doubt that my sons are still alive and unharmed because of your efforts, and for that I'm deeply in your debt."
Ameren said nothing, she merely nodded and looked between father and son, Eithil smiling at her as he finally managed to tear himself from the weapons and sit down, Denien taking a hefty purse from the folds of his jacket and handing it over to her.
"300 silvers and my gratitude may be a start to repaying that debt. Eithil also mentioned that you were new to our fair city and looking for employment."
Not bad for an evening's work.
"He is correct on both accounts," said Ameren, tying the purse to her belt without checking its content.
"I came to Linhir just about a week ago with a merchant from the north. I was hired to ensure he got here safely, which he did, and now that he's set up shop he no longer needs an expensive mercenary cutting into his profits."
"Judging from your accent and manner you're a northener as well, aren't you?"
"Aye, all the way from Bree-town. That's a little backwater in the northern part of former Cardolan, if that helps place it."
"I know it, but I've never been there myself. It is strange for a woman to take up the blade, and to use it even half as well as Eithil describes that you do," said Denien, dragging his fingers thoughtfully through his neatly trimmed grey beard as he looked her over. "Who trained you?"
"My uncle. He was the captain of the town watch and I reckon he wanted me to follow in his footsteps one day," said Ameren with a slight shrug. "Never did, that life wasn't for me."
"But the life of a mercenary was?"
"Aye, the pay's better, you get to see the world and meet interesting people. That's a whole lot more appealing than being stuck in a small town, arresting folk for tipping over cows and pissing in the fountains."
The lord pursed his lips slightly, clearly not used to such crude manners from a woman.
"And the reason behind the mask? You look a bit like a criminal yourself with it on," said Denien, a slight edge in his voice. "I can't say I like discussing business with someone without seeing their face."
"Most folk tend to find my appearance a bit... well, unsettling, to tell you the truth. Especially among the upper class," replied Ameren, hooking two fingers around the edge of the mask and tugging it down, and then raised her chin a little to let light spill onto her face. There was a slight tan line under her eyes, and rather than just a single, deep scar running along it, the left side of her face looked as if it had been dragged through broken glass some years prior, covered from cheekbone to neck in long, ragged scars. The lord's raised brows and appalled expression told her that he found it just as gruesome as she'd hoped he would.
The horror! Such scars on a woman! What a terrible world we live in.
Eithil, on the other hand, stared wide eyed at her, mouth slightly agape.
There's a curious lad, though. Glad it's working in my favour. He's like a spoiled child who's seen a stray puppy he just has to have. 'Oh please, daddy, can we keep her? Please?'
"Ah... I see..." was all the lord said, coming to his senses and averting his gaze.
"As you might imagine, the mask is the lesser of two evils," said Ameren, raising the soft leather again and pulling it taut. "I've even had some employers who've enjoyed the air of mystery it grants their protector, said it made them feel a bit special. And appearance alone can sometimes be enough to deter those with ill intent."
Eithil gave a slight chuckle at that, but his father still looked a bit distraught.
"I-... Yes, as you say. A terrible shame for you though, to have been scarred so badly in your line of work."
"It would have been, if it was my face that brought in the wages. Fortunately it's not."
"Erm... yes. Right you are," said the lord, trying to regain his composure. "We've never had a mercenary in our guard before, even if it seems to have become rather popular as of late in this city. I've always heard that your lot is only ever loyal to your next coinpurse."
"And that's a bad thing, if you're the one providing that coin?"
"I rather have people in my service who are loyal to me and my family, not my coin."
"That's a very fine and honourable notion, and I hate to speak ill of the dead, but fine and honourable got himself killed last night, and almost took your sons with him."
"Your point being?"
"Who would you rather have protecting you? A fine and honourable fool, happy to die out of devotion for your family, or a sensible professional who wants to live to collect her coin?"
The guard at the door glared at her, Denien frowned slightly and Eithil seemed a bit confused, peering down at his fingernails.
"You're blunt as a hammer, Branson, and have about as much tact as one, but you raise a fair point," said the lord, rising from his seat. "Very well, I'm not objected to change. I want to see what you can do for myself first, however. Captain, take her to the courtyard and test her mettle."
This time Ameren had no reason to hold back or take things slowly. She'd felled the guard in two seconds, all she had to do was step around his swing and send a low kick toward the back of his legs, then calmly rest the edge of her sword against his throat as he looked up at her from his back with a puzzled expression. Eithil had been ecstatic, something that didn't fade in the least during the tour of the estate and the discussion about her duties and wages. Indeed, the lord himself had been impressed as well by the display, eagerly asking more questions about her training and travels.
Aye, we're all too happy about the new puppy we found wandering the streets. How fortunate we are to have been the ones to pick her up and take her in.
The young man looked near heartbroken when Ameren left the estate to get her horse and her things from the docks, and to inform Havaldr of the new arrangements, as if she was leaving for good and didn't intend to return right away.
Good thing my quarters are on the other end of the estate and I can bolt the door from the inside, otherwise I'd be a bit concerned about this smitten lad sneaking to my chambers in the middle of the night and finding them empty.
The room was on the ground floor and the window lead out into the gardens, ideal for getting in and out unnoticed when she needed to.
So far it's all looking to be going remarkably well.
Fairy was half a ton of pent up anger when Ameren lead her out of the dockside stables, snapping and kicking at anything she could reach. After the weeks spent stuck on the ship and in the stables far from the open spaces she was used to, not getting anywhere near enough exercise, and now being handled by an uncaring, emotionless husk of the person who was suppose to be her owner, she had had enough. Something was very wrong with all of this and she was not standing any more of it. Ameren growled a long string of dark curses as she swung herself into the saddle and tried to keep the mare under control, the horse fighting furiously against the bit and the reins, her ears pinned flat back against her skull and her iron shoed hooves thrashing against the paved street, sending sparks and chips of stone flying. People kept well clear of the pair as Ameren struggled to manoeuvre the horse into the city, the mare blankly refusing to move in a straight line, trotting sideways, bucking, and trying to bolt all the way back to the estate.
"Are you sure that horse is broken in properly, Branson?" asked Eithil when they came into sight of the estate's stable. He was standing leaned against the wall, appearently having waited there for her, arms crossed over his chest as he cautiously eyed the enraged animal.
"Aye, best horse I've ever had," growled Ameren through gritted teeth. The struggle through the city had left both horse and rider drenched with sweat as they faught one another, Ameren only just managing to keep the mare in line through sheer force and effort.
"So this is your first horse...?"
"Far from it. She's just a bit wound up after travelling across the sea. She'll be all right again once I get a chance to take her out of the city and let her run off all of this energy."
Eithil remained sceptical as he watched Ameren take the horse into the large stall prepared for her and remove the tack, taking off the bridle last and stepping back outside quickly to avoid being bit.
"Give her a little while to calm down," mumbled Ameren to the frightened stable groom who had come running as he heard the commotion. He looked from Ameren to the angry mare and swallowed, turning his attention to taking care of the sweat soaked gear first. Meanwhile Eithil lead her back into the estate, talking ceaselessly about his own two horses and how going out for a ride along the countryside one day was a brilliant idea. He only left her alone to get settled in after she'd mumbled something about wanting to wash up and almost shut the door to her chambers in his face.
Gods, damn horse almost killed me... She's never been that way before.
Ameren bolted the door and went to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing back the hood and tugging down the mask. She looked down at her shafed fingers, opening and closing her stiff hands a few times, a bit puzzled as she found herself annoyed at the mare rather than concerned for her.
When did I become this... numb...
