For most of his life, Lorcan had looked forward to Advent and the celebration of the Savior's birth and resurrection. His father and mother had celebrated the holy days with enthusiasm bordering on zeal, setting a feast table he thought should have attracted the Almighty's attention. He remembered the daily masses at Castle úa Neill, the sharing of largess and the open table for one and all.
In contrast, the celebration at the King's court was reserved, if not somber. As befit the capital of two thrones, the head of the church was often in attendance. Holy Father Cuthburt stood in stately attendance and was called upon by many of the nobles present, and generally fawned over. Lorcan was probably the first order of business for His Eminence, his presentation for approval as heir to King Lachlan's throne. It was the prince's first direct meeting with the man; the Pope of the Celtic Church.
He was shorter than expected, and softer, but certainly not the corpulent expanse of the Lord Chaplain on the king's closed council. The green eyes were as hot as an emerald fire, almost bewitching in their intensity, and his features were expressive, though grim. When his spoke his words were measured, precise.
To the prince, however, there seemed an odd tension between the king and this arbiter of God Almighty's will. He could not quite put a finger on their issue, and no gossip of court shed any light on it. At least, no gossip apparently felt safe enough to speak such to Lorcan.
The local priests and their acolytes handled what decorations there were, as opposed to the family making a spectacle of it-with most of the observance performed from the pews in the chapel. After a few seasons at his grandfather's court, Lorcan was used to this reserved festival, and years past his childish disappointments.
Despite the parsimonious observance of the season the king set a bountiful table for the feast and, with the exception of a few members of the Connacht delegation, none dared refuse the invitation. The people of Eireland and Alba, those that attended, filled the great hall to bursting. Lorcan sat at the king's table at the north end, the best table with the largest portions and most delicious dishes. Lesser and lesser nobility populated the tables toward the south end, until they tables ran together into the greater congregation of the lowborn and those servants so honored to dine at the feast. That end of the hall featured the great cross and all of the incumbent wreaths and branches of holly decorating, and the two great trees flanking it, vivid with bright blue and yellow streamers.
The hall was alive with conversation and merriment, but to Lorcan, it seemed a sham. He found himself indulging in the wine, a fruity lambrusco, to reinforce his own gaiety. He enjoyed its effervescence most, and found that it buoyed his spirits even if it let him remain maudlin over the preceding week's events. Perhaps another round would help. He reached forward and poured more from the silver ewer.
His favorite dish of the feast was the rabbit; tender, spiced to perfection, and hard to come by. This recipe left the skin on and cooked it to a crispy finish. Each bite exploded into a little star of flavor and warmth. The centerpiece of the feast was the goose. A large gander held pride of place at the high table, though he found the dish too dry. The herb rub and garlic stuffed under the skin and pierced into the flesh was excellent, all the same. The bread with dates baked inside, and the various aged cheeses with the salads pleased the tongue and helped cleanse the palette.
By the third course, Lorcan had indulged of the wine and food quite heavily, and he was inclined to keep on indulging. The jongleur and his gleemen were engaged in a lively display that involved mirror polished knives and bright red and yellow wooden balls that seemed to float through the air, though he found the flashing metal distracting.
To his left the king bent forward, engaged in a conversation with the Lord Chancellor. Something about it piqued Lorcan's interest, but the room was too loud to pick anything out easily.
