Lunar Flare Book 1: Crimson Moon

Chapter 2

Beowulf was desperately trying to temper his excitement as he approached the tavern that evening. He didn't want to come off as too eager, but he just couldn't seem to keep himself away. He had not, in fact, seen the jester at all that day, as Thedrick had not been summoned to perform for the king and queen. They had instead been engaged in more serious affairs, and Beowulf had gotten a solid taste of his new job of just standing around all day. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so keen on guard duty.

Though it wasn't all that bad, truth be told. The day had just gone by so slow, though probably only because Beowulf's mind was fixated on the idea of possibly seeing the little jester again later at the tavern. He really hoped he would show up, given how much he had enjoyed Thedrick's company the night before. Beowulf was praying he was right about the jester frequenting the same establishment, though there was the chance he might pass considering how wasted he had ended up the previous evening.

The top of the door into the tavern was at Beowulf's shoulder height, meaning he had to duck significantly in order to get inside, his broad build nearly filling the entire door frame as he squeezed through. Once inside, he had to still duck his head somewhat or it would hit the ceiling. Beowulf peered through his visor at the tavern patrons, searching for the jester's red and black outfit and bell laden headwear.

Beowulf was glad for his visor hiding his expression, because his face probably lit up when he spotted Thedrick sitting at one of the tables with a bunch of other men. A card game was spread out over the table, and the men sitting around it were glaring angrily at the jester, who was grinning smugly back at them.

Suddenly one of the larger of the men pushed back his seat and stood up, before reaching down and grabbing the jester by the collar, lifting his slight frame into the air. Thedrick's eyes went wide, the cards he was holding falling from his grip as he was hoisted up towards the man.

"Cheater!" the man snapped at the fool, eyes ablaze.

"Now now good sir, I think you will find you are very much mistake-" Thedrick's sentence was cut off as the larger man grabbed his leg and let go of his collar, causing the jester to fall upside down, now being held up by one leg. Thedrick let out sounds of protest as the man started to shake him, and playing cards began to tumble out of his clothing, fluttering through the air and onto the table and floor.

After a while of shaking the angry man stopped, lifting the jester up as high as he could to glare down at his pale face. "What do you have to say for yourself, clown? Think you're gonna sweet talk your way out of this again?" the man sneered derisively.

Thedrick looked up at the man nervously, and then reached into his clothing, pulling out another playing card. "Is this your card?" he asked dramatically, as if this was the end of some magic trick, like the ones Beowulf had seen done by street performers at the town fair. The man holding Thedrick somehow looked even more furious, his eyebrows narrowing over his eyes and his searing glare locked onto the jester.

Beowulf quickly made his way over to the table, his heavy footsteps causing all the men, including the man holding Thedrick up by the leg, to look up at his approach. Beowulf towered well over all the other men, even the larger one, and many of them looked slightly nervous as he drew close. Beowulf set his full attention on the man who was holding Thedrick, while the jester himself was trying to turn his head to see who had caught everyone's attention.

"Hand the fool over to me, I'll escort him out so we can avoid any bloodshed today," Beowulf demanded in his deep voice, holding a hand out to the angry man. He saw Thedrick's face light up in recognition, but luckily the jester kept his mouth shut.

"This good for nothing weasel needs to be taught another lesson!" the large man spat angrily, glaring up at Beowulf's visor.

"If you accidentally kill him, the king will be most displeased. Let me handle it," Beowulf insisted more firmly, his voice almost a growl.