Sweeter still ...

Chapter 3

Authors note: how is it so far? :)

Dancing the fools dance

Two weeks later....

She swiped at the loose hair falling in her face as she wrapped the three candles and two soaps for the bakers daughter. Her usual order. The sun was growing hot in the evening air. Her canned goods, soaps,wool cloth, and whiskey sold very well. High quality goods sold at a very low price.

She wasn't looking for wealth, she simply looked for ways to pass the lonely decades away.

"It's always hard to believe such a young lass has such amazing skill" she often heard said.

It was ironic that she was in fact older than all of them. She was at least 150 years old. She bid the bakers daughter good day and carried on selling her wares.

"Oi good day lass! " a familiar and beloved voice called.

"Why Angus lovely to see you as always. What can I do for you?" She smiled brightly at her old friend. An old member of the resistance that had retired his sword around the same time she did.

"I was wondering if you could step in and perchance help at the tavern tonight. Maggie is sick with the babe." He scratched the back of his neck. "I know it's no place for a lass of your standing but..."

"Congratulations at being a grandfather for the 5th time" she cut him off. " I would love to."

"The king plans on bringing a hopeful alley with him to enjoy the whiskey you sold me. As he always does the bastard. " he grumbled.

"It doesn't matter. As you well know it's easy hiding from dimwits. " she jested.

She closed the stall somewhat earlier and decided to take a ride to clear her mind. Her dreams had been dark of late. Her mother was there trying to tell her something. It would be all well and good if only she spoke a language that she could understand. Sindarian wasn't her strong suit.

And always the stag stood cloaked in the shadow of a murky forest. And as if coming from the stag himself in a veil of smoke was the elf king himself. Her mother would fade into the background. The consistent feeling of dread crept upon her as she went about her days.

She mounted Rochael and urged him into a fast gallop. She dashed through the small village and on through the fields and into the sparse woods beyond. She revealed in every motion of her friend. Only in this moment could she feel free. Free from hiding who she was. Free from worrying about sisters that would never care that while they fought their battles she was left alone. Free of all of it.

And her dreams didn't haunt her. And the ethereal visage of her long dead mother and the arrogant king who thought himself better would not longer in the shadows of her mind.

Free.

She pulled the joyous horse to a slow stop as she came upon a knoll. There stood her fathers keep. Though where once a open and happy looking place was now a monstrosity of stone and metal. Auchindoun was no more. Now was blackthorn manor.

Her heritage her birthright and the lives of her parents stolen from her all because of one mans greed. Some men had holes in their hearts that would never be filled. This was one of those men. He and all his descendants possessed such hearts. At one time in her life she would have gladly carved it from their chests. Now she saw the pointlessness of it and choose a different way.

Peace.

Sometimes though it was hard to swallow know all that she had lost and could never regain. She wheeled Rochael around and galloped back to the village with the fading sunlight. Never taking a notion to look and notice the carriage being followed by five familiar white horses.

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Once she stabled Rochael in the pubs stables she entered into the mad house called boarsteeth pub. Angus loved the place and his family had called it their own almost as long as the village had stood. She immediately was thrown an apron and went about serving the raucous crowds with ale and her very own whiskey.

Angus knew she made no qualms about immediately getting to work with nary a chance to acclimate. She had done this and many more things in her long life. She also thanked whatever gods were listening for her innate ability to dodge gropes and caresses. There would be none of that nonsense going on.
It wasn't as if she was the mostly beautiful maid they had ever seen.

After living with men for so long she and her sisters had learned to cloak that which mad them more than pretty. They even learned how to change certain features to make them more plain looking than pretty. It was the masking of the light that made them simmer with Elven beauty.

Almost an hour later with sticky forearms and trying to pretend she was wore down by the work she noted their arrival. She was standing by the bar getting another pitcher of ale. And they swept in. Two kings. One she hated the other she disliked.

Darion was slim for a noble man. Looking thin and wiry like a wolf.
He was twice as dangerous as any man with twice his strength in build. It was the mind. The patience his bloodline taught generation after generation. They struck when the ones they stole from was at their weakest. An amazing intuition.

She gave them credit where it was due.

'Someday I will slowly place my knife betwixt your ribs and stab the place your heart should be. Never will your line live beyond you and your barren queen!' She remembered her brazen oath almost 60 years ago.

She let a mysterious smile play upon her lips. ' It's still early in the night killing may well come before its end ' she appeased to herself.

For just this moment though she would play to the fools flute. Only just a little while longer.