Post by Father on Aug 19, 2018 16:07:27 GMT 1
Megelle
The Castle Sept of Highgarden had been magnificent, absolutely stunning in the sunset through the glass windows of many colors just as septa Marei had said, and it's size seemed almost able to contain the entire Kingsbridge Keep within it. The Starry Sept of Oldtown is said to be bigger and more impressive, and the Great Sept of Baelor grander still, and the good septa would know. But Megelle finds it difficult to fathom that anything could be even more splendid than Highgarden.
Darkness covers the fields of golden roses, another breathtaking sight in this place of wonders, now unseen. Her step hurries, surely she had lingered much too long and the lady had need of her, even if the lady was likely to forgive tardiness. The camps seems to stretch out forever, thousands of lanterns and campfires fills her field of vision, the shadows playing upon the tents and muddy ground between them.
"Girl!" A voice calls, and she turns to see a knight in yellow tabard, with horizontal stripes of a color hard to discern in the torchlight striding towards her. Megelle stands frozen, what would a strange knight want with her? He simply grabs her arm in a hard grips that hurts. "You better come with me". Obeying, knowing all too well that one should not offend the highborn or ask for their reasons. A state of unease fills her, knights she knows to be honorable men, no maid is ever unsafe in the company of a knight, but still, something feels wrong.
He leads her into a nearby camp, one of the larger ones it would seem, and close by to Highgarden itself, a banner of a golden horn that she has seen before several times, many fruits spilling out of it prominently displayed, at the center is a large pavilion, white with golden stripes, she is brought inside where many lanterns provide good illumination, it is lavishly decorated, even more so than the lord's quarters at Kingsbridge, a large bed, three times the size of that of Lord Willem and Lady Alysanne, covered with furs and blankets is to the left, to the right a table with intricate carvings, upon it is a plate with fruits and a pitcher and a glass half-full of a deeply colored red wine.
A hand with thick short sausage-like fingers studded with golden rings inlaid with stones of such size that Lady Alysanne would remark upon them as gaudy reaches for the glass and brings it to the lips of a round face with hard squinting eyes, sunken deep in a frame elongated by an absurdly fat chin, framed by greasy blond hair. Over a belly of such girth she had never before imagined even the unworthy king could have had, the man wears a silken tunic of white and gold with the same cornucopia on it as the banner outside, it reaches halfway above his knee, exposing his short and wobbly legs. He empties his glass and waves to a servant for a refill before casting his hungry eyes over her, his gaze lingering at her crotch and chest. The urge to flee fills her, but a pair of hard hands clutching her shoulders leaves her unable to move.
"Would you care for some wine, my girl?" He asks in a high and thin voice, all she can do is a weak shake of her head. "Fruit?" No response. He shrugs, and studies her again, drinking more wine. "What is your name?" A long, uncomfortable silence fills the tent, a moment seemingly lasting forever, the man's hand reaching for a plum. Finally her voice, weak and trembling utters "Megelle, m'lord". His smile puts her even more at unease, he takes the plum and bites into it, the juices dripping down from his mouth. "Megelle" he repeats "A pretty name for a pretty girl, don't you think?" All she can reply with is a sullen "Yes, m'lord". Savoring the moment and draining his glass, the man's eyes looks at her longingly "I think, however, that your gown does your beauty no credit."
The man makes a signal to his servant, the young man rushes to his lord's side to give a helping hand to pull his great girth out of the cushioned chair, to Megelle the scene seems frighteningly absurd, every detail of the carved table, the arms and armor on display towards the back, the livery of the servant, the hairs on the man's thick legs. "Ser Bryce, if you would do the honors?" Long before the hands on her shoulders moves to grip the fabric, Megelle has lost the illusion of knights being as honorable and chivalrous as the companions of Kingsbridge.