Doormice and Hedgehogs

A Chance Meeting

And at the fire we sang the songs;
lost, she's lost, forever in frost.
Frozen so very long;  
the lover,  the Queen, lost in-between.

"I know where you can find a dragon."

Night had fallen on Felbrook, a small insignificant town on the border between the Kingdom of Wan and the Kingdom of Alb. It was a cozy place, holding a couple hundred villagers and a fair number of buildings. These buildings were made from stone, wood, and straw, making them decent for life in the warm seasons, but quite the opposite come the snow.

The tavern, aptly named the Lion's Rest, was a warming place that created a welcoming atmosphere. Felbrook's location provided an opportunity for business, for they collected travelers from both Kingdoms daily. There was a number of room's available and hearty food to be had.  The golden warmth of roaring fires were everywhere, creating the namesake posted above the door.

It wasn't just the food, or the bed that drew visitors to the Lion's Rest. This was a place where heroic adventurer's told their stories, where outlaws hid from their pursuers, and where the bards sung tales of legends past. It was an entertaining spot for weary souls, but more than that, a place to find hope for an arduous quest.

"I'd like to believe you, Bard, but your stories are as tall as the tallest oger," the man said with a morose wave of his hand.

"I'd say you're wrong, Sir Knight, because I sing of legends, not children's tales," the bard replied matter-of-factly. Her hand settled on one hip, the other clutched her lute about the neck. "If you don't care to listen, I'll return to my work. I just couldn't stand anymore of your griping."

She turned on her toes, her foot in stride, when his hand grasped her wrist.

"Wait," he said.

Looking down her nose at him, her brow arched with the faintest glint of interest in her blue eyes.

"I didn't mean to discard your words so abruptly, it's just that I've been told so many tales and so far they've led to pointless ends."

"There's no such thing as a pointless end," she replied and shook his hand off of her wrist. "There are pointless people, and pointless things, but every end has a story and every story has a point."

"Your point is?"

"My point is that I know more than tales to garner gold, I hear and see things," at this, she turned fully toward him, giving the tavern a sweep of her gaze. "I listen to the crones and the thieves, day in, and day out. How else can a bard sway a crowd but to pry their whispering apart and spin a good song? There are some truths to what they say, I can tell in the tone of a whisper just what stories are worth remembering."

The knight's gaze, which had been waning in weariness, now lighted at her words. He straightened in his seat, his metal armor clinking together as he did so. A hand gestured to the empty chair before him, and at this, the bard took a seat.

"My name is Vonriel," the knight proffered his gauntlet covered hand across the table.

The flicker of the lamp cast patches of light across both bard and knight, dispersing shadows that lingered in the tavern. There were many lamps like this hanging on walls and resting on tables. It allowed him to see further the color of her straw-like hair, which flowed down from her head in many strands. Most of her sandy hair was tucked behind her ears, but a few fell wayward across her eyes. These she swept away with a graze of her hands whose gloves had no fingers.  The cloak she wore was bunched behind her head, a hood that once had been drawn, the rest fell about her lender figure obscuring her body.

"Filora," she returned, dainty hand slipping along the leathery palm of his armored hand. A faint shadow of a smile twitched one side of her lips, before disappearing. She just as quickly removed her hand from his.  He was handsome, perhaps, to some people.  His hair was golden, down to the lobes of his ears, slicked back to avoid the view of his emerald eyes.  His silver armor caught glints of light from the various fires, covering him head to toe.  She had to guess that he was maybe a year or two older than she, and her 17th year was approaching.

"So, I take it you were eavesdropping on me, as you said you do so well."

"Yes, I was tired of hearing you moan so adamantly from across the tavern."

"I was not moaning!" he replied, bristled.

"It was as close to it, you can't hear yourself, can you?"

"You have no idea what it's like to live in my shoes," Vonriel huffed. He pulled off his gauntlets and set them aside on the table. "The constant journey from land to land. It's all but impossible for a knight to be anything these days."

"Yes, if I remember correctly, you said that there's no chance for a knight to become the oh so credited White Knight in a world full of Doormice and Hedgehogs."

"I've done everything in the book. I've learned the art of dance, the languages of love, read the literature of days past, and made myself a chivalrous man. I've spent years honing my craft, I've slayed countless ogers and my fair share of beasts. There's only one last thing for me to do, and once I've done it I'll become a full fledged knight – a White Knight."

"What good is a that in a world like this?" Filora retorted and waved her hand in distaste, her eyes rolling in time with the motion. "So, what, if you slay your dragon? You'll find your princess and run away with her to Never Land?"

"Never what?"

"Never mind."

She flipped some of her shoulder-length hair out of her face and leaned forward slightly. Her forearm rested on the table, her eyes made another cursory sweep of the room. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little intrigued. You intrigue me. I haven't seen a knight in these parts for some time. I've been singing my songs here for a while, and you and I have a few things in common."

"Do we?" he replied wearily.

"You, Vonriel, are going to help me kill a dragon."