A Hero Emerges

"See that there isn't any, boy," the dwarf grumbled. He took a swig from his canteen, which always had his favorite dwarven fire-brandy.

As they passed through the vicinity of the city, King Byron's manor came into view. While not the most magnificent of castles, it was impressively sized, especially for a lord of a moderately large land. It rested on top of a hill surrounded by a moat.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" A guardsman called from beyond the walls.

Dante held up his medallion. "I'm Dante of the Griffon's Order and this is Jarn Yewshield of Fire Mountain. King Byron expects us today."

"Wait!" The guardsman called out. Moments later a drawbridge lowered across the moat.

"Remember, many things ride on this," Jarn sighed before he grabbed his canteen for another swig as they crossed into the castle.

Inside the castle wasn't much more interesting than the outside, except for the great hall inside with its grand table of oak where many guests were seated. On the walls hung various trophy heads of boars and deer taken from successful hunting endeavors. Decorative weapons and ornamental shields along with King Byron's coat of arms displayed on a great tapestry hung over his throne.

King Byron, a fat older man with a golden circlet was sitting in his great feasting hall all along with his family and various other guests merrily chatting and feasting with food and drink around them. Dante eyed the food as Jarn spoke to the servant that guided them inside and gave him a letter bearing the stamp of the Fire Mountain king. He pulled out a pouch of jewels. golden brooches, amulets, finely cut sapphires, diamonds, and other precious stones shined splendidly from the light in the hall before the courier opened the bag. He closed it and brought the dwarf's gift and the scroll to the king who glanced at the gifts with some curiosity before he set it aside.

Though Dante did have a meal earlier that day, the savory smells of fine meats and exotic spices from the table ignited his hunger. The servant made his way to the king, gave him Jarn's gift and letter and after a brief talk and a gesture towards Dante and Jarn, bowed and left. King Byron skimmed the contents of the letter before he set it aside.

"Ah! Sir Dante! Welcome!" King Byron called out, extending his right hand to wave them over to him. He held a drumstick of chicken in his other hand. "Come now! Sit with me on my table, my friend! Your friend, the dwarf there too. Join us!"

Dante and Jarn exchanged glances before they bowed and sat down at the table.

"Come now! Don't be shy, dig in! There is plenty of food to go around!" King Byron laughed merrily. "Make yourselves at home, my guests."

Dante stared at the finely cooked meats, the bowls of fresh fruits and salads and pitchers of drink in front of him before he served himself a generous portion of food. Jarn silently gave Dante a stern look and head nod as he helped himself to some warm mutton and gravy. Remember, boy. No trouble, his look said before he sipped a horn filled with mead.

"So I heard there was some trouble at one of my local taverns," King Byron wiped some meat juices from his beard with a handkerchief.

Jarn froze in place and stared ahead blankly while Dante ate his meat without a care in the world.

Jarn cleared his throat as his brow tensed, "Your Majesty, our deepest apologies for any offenses we may have--"

"No need for that. The conduct of a soldier reflects on their king and land and I expect my men to hold by a higher standard. Their offenses against you, guests in my land, I take personally. I extend my hand in friendship to you both. I hope you can accept my token of goodwill here and we can put this ugly business behind us," King Byron tore into his drumstick after he doused it thoroughly with a large helping of gravy. "Know that the men responsible for the incident have been disciplined."

"You are most kind, Your Majesty," Jarn answered with his brow still furrowed before he carefully took in another bite of mutton.

As Dante dug into his food, savoring the fine mix of spices and delicious juices of the delicate meats, he recognized a young brunette who stared at him with familiarity from across the feasting table.

She was his once childhood sweetheart, Camille. She wore an elegant blue dress and a white surcoat of fine silk that flattered her modestly slim shape. On her beautifully braided hair and delicate forehead was an elegant net of jewels and gilded threads. The lids of her intellectually sharp brown eyes lowered ever so slightly as a dreamy smile snuck across her cherry red lips.

Next to her was a young blond man in a red cape and circlet, Lord Kyle, Camille's husband and nephew of King Byron. The young lord was glaring at him. Dante shifted his attention back to the meal at hand and helped himself to another serving of mead.

"So, Sir Dante, tell me. You have seen much in your travels, visited different lands. What is your impression of East Frisch?" King Byron peered over at the young man who was preoccupied with the piece of mutton in front of him.

The young Leonian man sipped his drink then lowered it. "What do I think? I think that the wars, and strife, and the constant threat of the fiends have worn down the people here like everywhere else. I see it wherever I go."

"Hmm," King Byron sat back in pensiveness. "Thank you for the straightforward answer, Sir Dante. How refreshing to hear an honest opinion for once. Yes, it's as if end times are upon us with the dark elves and the southern Nairubi bastards invading our lands, with the devils that stalk in the darkness bringing their death and their famine to the people, and the fools of feuding lords and kings that are content with their petty squabbles and games of opportunism. They'd rather fight than vie for peace and unity for the Frischian people. We must bring back the ancient rulership of the High King to reunite and bring back Frischia to its former glory and bring these idiot lords and kings back under control if Frischia is to survive.

"If I may speak, uncle, I feel that if there is one person I would nominate to be worthy to be High King, it would be you," Lord Kyle raised a horn to which others followed suit in a toast.

"Hah! Well! You flatter me, nephew! But if you insist, then maybe there could be some grain of truth to it," King Byron chuckled; he playfully shrugged away the compliment in the most affable and dismissive manner he could muster as he grinned. "But then again, who else would be in contention? Graham of Merced? The doddering fool is so addled by age one must wonder if he remembers his own name, let alone marvel at how he can even run his country at all! Or if he can even remember anymore that the privy isn't located in his trousers!"

As the feasting hall erupted in laughter King Byron sat back with a self-satisfied grin.

Lord Victor, one of the other lords at the table, a middle aged man in a finely embroidered doublet, laughed, "We can't forget his son, Milo the Coward!"

King Byron shrugged with a baffled smile, "That useless manchild? That weak and pompous fop with the fortitude of a delicate old lady caught in the summer sun?"

"I hear baby Milo still wears his nappies as a grown man to bed! Like father, like son!" A well-dressed knight with a thick, dark-brown mustache exclaimed to the uproarious amusement of the others at the table.

"Hah!" Lord Victor guffawed. "So I hear, Sir Philippe! And I hear his mother does the changing for both men in the family!"

"If one could even call them men at this point." King Byron shook his head with a smirk and a dismissive wave of his hand to his boisterous assembly. "Anyways, King Harry? An incompetent, paranoid savage who is soft in the head! I also hear he cannot satisfy his woman anymore!"

Sir Philippe grinned, "Soft in which head, your majesty?"

"Both of them!" King Byron exclaimed as everyone laughed.

"Then King Fredrik of Norma? A worthless, drunken, foul smelling lech with gods knows what diseases he has from his routine romps with his whore women."

"I hear the man doesn't even confine his exploits to the castle proper," Sir Philippe smirked. "His standards are so low, even the local farm animals are not safe from his need to mount merely as long as they are female, so I hear!"

"Well, in his defense, one would naturally copulate with their own kind." Lord Victor gestured with a chicken leg in hand. "After all, they're the ones who can stomach the barnyard stench that emanates from him best."

"Yes, they love him whenever he visits the fields because they can smell their kind!" Sir Philippe cackled.

King Byron pounded the table in a fit of laughter. "Hah! How that dirty ass' disease-ridden manhood hasn't fallen off yet is a mystery!"

The king waited until everyone calmed down before he continued as his smile turned into a resentful frown: "And who can forget my dear friend, High King Rodney of West Frisch?" King Byron sighed as he leaned back on his armrest. "That uncivil moron would rather make his threats and stupid demands for tribute, that everyone would call him, High King! Hah! Who'd recognize that donkey's ass as High King!? He claims he's descended from some obscure ancient royal bloodline and that he is a prophesied savior when no one has ever heard such a thing from his family before! Wretched liar!"

King Byron pounded his fist on the table as everyone sat silently.

"And the fool would send his army to stir up trouble near my borders for petty skirmishes when he doesn't get his way. He's a petulant child who'd rather throw his temper tantrums than have civil discussions like an adult!" King Byron groaned then continued ranting. "Does the idiot ever stop to think that if my domain falls, then the rest of Frischia will fall to the dark elves!? It's as if he wishes Frischia to end with the same fate as Leon... Ah! I didn't mean--! Forgive me, Sir Dante! I forget myself sometimes!"

Dante, the Leonian downed his drink of mead and paused before he raised a brow, "No offense taken, my lord. Besides, who can think of anything else when one is surrounded by good food and talk?"

"That's what I like to hear," King Byron laughed. "Drink! Eat your fill, my friend! You! Over there! Tell the servants in the kitchen to bring more food!" King Byron took another bite of his drumstick, which was nearly bone, and helped himself to a generous serving of gravy on the last bits of meat remaining, "You! Dwarf! You're of the Fire Mountain Nation, correct?

"Correct, Your Majesty. I'm Jarn Yewshield of Fire Mountain, nephew to King Bronzebeard himself," Jarn broke a piece of warm bread which revealed its light fluffy interior.

"Hmm. You dwarves normally are so secretive and stubborn, and always make a point to keep out of the struggles of good men," King Byron set his drumstick on his plate and cleaned his hands with a cloth, "Yet now, you wish to discuss opening trades routes, deals, and a possible treaty between our domains? Not that I am complaining of course! But one must ponder on the reasons as to why this change of attitude."

As all eyes turned towards Jarn. The dwarf put his piece of bread down and his brows tensed with concentration.

Jarn replied as he set a large pouch onto the table: "Your Majesty, the Fire Mountain Nation wishes to make a treaty with your kingdom because we have come to understand that it is in our best interests to have good relations with neighboring nations. We hope that this treaty will benefit both our nations in the areas of trade, resources, and security. Our gift of gems is a sign of our good will towards your kingdom. I hope that after you have reviewed the details of the treaty, we can discuss any questions or concerns you may have."

"Hmmm..." King Byron took a slow sip of his mead as he looked at the sizeable bag given to him from before. The king opened it and ran his hand through the glittering jewelry as they clinked through his fingers before he tied the bag closed again. "If we are to discuss such matters, what better time than when one is surrounded by food and cheer to uplift the spirits and ease negotiations. I do have questions regarding this treaty, Sir Jarn. Why is it that your people wish to make an alliance with my kingdom, exactly?"

Jarn took a careful breath in, "We Fire Mountain folk normally keep to our own business. But from seeing the state of the world today, King Bronzebeard and our council feel that it is no longer wise to continue these policies. We must adapt to a world that is rapidly changing around us, to protect our lands and the free world while it remains, and so we wish to support the free world and help create a united alliance."

"And so, you've chosen East Frisch as an ally?" King Byron raised a brow as he took out the letter again to skim it, "Who else have you offered this generous alliance to? If I may ask?"

Jarn paused for a second and answered, "you are the first of the Frischian kingdoms we've reached out to, your majesty."

"Hmm..." King Byron trailed off, his attention focused on the treaty letter at hand, "I feel I must sleep on it before making any final decisions. I still feel some changes might need to be made and add my own demands as well, before I accept this deal."

"Of course," Jarn responded. "We don't expect an immediate answer but please consider our proposal. We are, of course, open to negotiations when it comes to the terms and deals set forth in our proposed treaty. We hope to hear a reply within a month."

"Very well," Byron rolled up the letter and put it away.

"Hmm. You are quite well spoken. Well, for a dwarf," Sir Philippe scratched his chin, "Though I wouldn't say nearly silver-tongued by any means, no! But for a dwarf? You speak surprisingly with some actual form of sophistication."

Jarn lowered his brow before he smiled, "I wouldn't call you silver-tongued either, friend, but your attempts at speaking with some form of intelligence and class are noted."

Some hushed chortles and whispers were heard as Sir Philippe's lip twitched with a tense smile. Dante raised a brow at Jarn as he refilled his mead. He noted the pulsing vein on Jarn's temple and the tension in his jaw, the classic sign of him repressing his temper. Jarn turned to Dante and gave a reassuring nod and smile to relay, I'm fine, boy. Don't worry.

Lord Victor looked over at Dante, "Dante, yes? I've heard the stories of your quests and your bravery against the dark elves and the forces of darkness, that you were even instrumental in saving the elven kingdom of Mul'yanei from the invasion of the Nu'rath. I hear you even saved Princess Sania herself. Tell me, is she as beautiful as people say? I hear she is a fey descended from the Goddess Elune herself, so I'm curious, naturally."

King Byron broke a large piece of warm bread and bit into it. "Speaking of which, there's the matter of the young man's quest here."

"Bah! I say! No offense meant to you, Sir... Dante... Boy. But I feel you do not quite seem capable of living up to your grand reputation," Sir Philippe shook his head, "Truthfully, King Byron, I feel that this... boy exaggerates his exploits as all warriors do. I mean, look at him! He is not nearly as built or mighty looking as the tales make him out to be. He is a little scrawny and small, I would say, for one who is this supposed warrior, or Champion of Light! How many times have we heard others claim this title for the sake of unearned fame and glory?"

Sir Philippe gestured dismissively at Dante who was too preoccupied with his mead and his chicken to care about the conversation around him.

The knight looked around the table as he continued: "We are to believe he is any different? Merely because some fool men belonging to a secretive, possibly dead order, along with ornery dwarves and haughty elves, claim so?" The knight gestured to everyone around him before he glanced back at the Leonian. "Tell me, o brave warrior, if you are so brave, what were you doing when your home country of Leon fell? And what of your supposed hero father? Corrin of Azure Valley? One would think that a real warrior would fight the hardest to protect their home above all! Take Sir Jean here, for instance!"

Sir Philippe pointed to a large, well-built brown-haired man in a green and black Frischian doublet who seemed too interested in ripping into his mutton to pay attention.

The knight cleared his throat: "We all can agree that his service to Lord Kyle during the Siege of Crom's Keep and the campaigns to the east has earned Sir Jean many great merits as a mighty warrior. He was instrumental in driving off the Nairubi pirates that attacked his hometown of Redmoor! And he slew the wendigo that terrorized Westham! None can argue his valor, or the legends shaped by his exploits. He's even studied the magical ways from our esteemed Sage Marlo of the Northern Ashrock Spire. I'd say he's even worthy to be considered as distinguished and courageous as I!"

"Hmm, I do feel that Sir Philippe does bring some points worth addressing here, Uncle," Lord Kyle nodded at Sir Philippe. The blond man then gave a smug grin with his hands clasped together. He stared intently at Dante with a lowered brow. Excited whispers filled the table as everyone watched the drama unfold while Lord Kyle continued. "How do we know where the truth truly lies with those supposed exploits of that Leonian over there? I have to agree with Sir Philippe, I'd think a great warrior should be capable of protecting his homeland, at least."

Jarn growled as he slammed his fist on the table. "Now, hold on! This lad of whom you both speak so carelessly was there on that day when my people were besieged by the Nu'rathi bastards! He fought in the frontlines, various times no less! I'll attest to his bravery that I saw first-hand when we fought side by side! I will not sit by quietly and let you insult my friend's honor!"

"So then, he has loyalty to dwarves, but nothis own people?" Lord Kyle raised his brows as he hid his smile with his drinking horn.

"What did you just say?" Jarn clenched his teeth.

"I was a child when Leon fell," Dante answered coolly. "I witnessed my father die bravely to protect both my mother and me."

Sir Phillipe smirked. "So, then, you ran like a little coward. Is that your excuse?" The mustached knight kept his gaze on Dante who met the knight with a side stare as he casually bit into a chicken leg. All in the room were quiet and tense as Sir Philippe continued: "You know, I...? I, even as a child, understood the value of actions over mere words and hearsay. I never have abandoned my home, ever. But who can say the same of you? You are little more than a vagabond. Just like the rest of your spineless refugee Leonian criminal kin, I'd say!"

"Vagabond, you say," Jarn repeated. "Yet who says anything of you? I have not ever heard your name. You are nobody."

"That's because you live under a rock," Philippe sneered. "Just like the rest of your uncultured kin. We men suffer while you dwarves safely hide away from the world in your little caves. What would a dwarf know, anyways?"

"We know when we see a blowhard," Jarn answered. His temple pulsed.

"Blowhard? I, who have fought bravely at the front lines of Helm's Line, the eastern mountains that separate the border of Frisch and the wasted kingdom of Leon? I, who have distinguished myself in my service to King Byron, to whom I serve with honor? I'm nobody, you said? Do not speak of subjects you can't understand, dwarf," Sir Philippe sneered as his lip twitched. He turned to the Leonian with his mocking grin. "Truly, King Byron! I say it is best we throw out this Leonian refugee and denounce him for the charlatan that he is! Nor should this dwarf be listened to. They are both... Ah?"