The Savage Storm of Golden Geese

Emerick

"Whittou River, soundless so they say." His sister says joining him on the ridge.
"It was before you arrived," Emerick joked.
"How did he find his first patrol? Did Alec have tears on his cowl?"

"They haven't returned yet, Josiah did say he may be late" Oriel grins slightly. "Extra time for his 'knightly duties'."

"Longer than a week? For a patrol? Only Josiah." Emerick stands from his seat. "I want to be at Summerstone when he returns, he will miss the feast and the Barringtons."

Oriel grips his arm firmly and pulls him back down, closer to her. When she releases him, his arm was red and raw.
"It's still early," She said softly. Emerick didn't meet her gaze. "He will come."
Oriel was gorgeous, Emerick knew that from memory, he didn't need to look to see her face in his mind. She can sing, dance and write poetry,
Her blue eyes were lighter than the other Blackwells, and her mousy tan hair was aswell. Cuts of blonde in seas of chestnut that glow in the sun made her almost impossible to ignore.

"Forgive me, it has been a stressful morning." Emerick apologises.

"It will be an even worse night, I can help you with that."
Oriel wraps her hand around his wrist softly, moving his hand to her breast.
"Would you want that?" she asks playfully.

He pulls it away.

"Oriel, I told you last time no more" Emerick snaps, jumping from his seat. "I'm to be wed soon, you know this. My betrothed is not you."

"Yes but I thought-" Oriel begins.
"No, we are over." He finalises.

Emerick almost spoke again, there relationship had always been beyond physicalities. Instead he went down the ridge, letting his words get stuck, leaving Oriel to the sweet sounds of silence.

Summerstone was alive, the courtyard was flooded with seas of gold and jewels. Masons and shoemakers trade in the markets, and the chapel breathed faith.
Emerick spotted a few familiar faces, Tarquin Dullon, his father's prisoner who he kept as a ward, no higher than a slave. Gregor and Breen Blackwell, Gregor was big for his age and thought it made him older, and Breen was happy being a child. Maxwell the Monk, who helped birth each Blackwell child, yet held no favourites.
Emerick headed into the main hall, the Blackwell emblem of a chipped sword hangs high, All men must serve, all men must die.
The main hall was being set up for a feast, it was a day of importance afterall. The scent of seasoned sausages and horse radish beef stew battled to be consumed. The doors to the kitchen and servant quarter's were open constant, streams of food and summerwine were carried and placed methodically, Emerick could feel saliva coat his lips.

"Is your father in his quarters, sir?" The Monk Maxwell whispered from behind, startling Emerick slightly.

"That would be my guess," he replied turning to face him. "Trying on some new silk no doubt."

"And how are you feeling?" he asks mindfully.
"It is a big day for you."

Emerick was trying to ignore that thought.
"Fine I suppose, as fine as one can be marrying someone they have not met. I understand why though, and because I understand... I can't dispute."

"Listen to me Emerick," Maxwell begins. "You are the only boy who can bear that weight, you are the heir and when your father passes, the West will be yours, and the South a possibility."

The Monk could make torture sound appealing.

"Don't decide before meeting the girl." Maxwell says behind a sweet smile, patting Emerick's back as he heads to Father's quarters.