We all shuffled back to ‘the little banqueting hall’. The room was gorgeous, about twenty paces long. The walls were decorated with beautiful paintings depicting legends that were familiar to us all – stories from a history long past, ranging from the fall of the Atlantean empire to the rise of the Wild Hunt. One wall was dominated by the image of a silver lake, its edge lined with women, each beautiful in her own way, each one handing a sword to a different knight. A trick in the painting gave the illusion that the eyes of the many incarnations of the Lady followed me as I entered.

Despite their stares, I felt more relaxed. Not only from the bath, but I’d had some time to think through my current situation. I still had far more attention than I felt was healthy, but at least I was safe here and now. I was in good company. Robertson had requested that we all keep our attire humble, as the meal was intended to be informal. As a result, we all walked in wearing simple tunics and leggings, the only exceptions being Elaine and Maeve’s governess, who wore dresses. I'd last seen the hawk-faced woman as I dived out the window of the ‘matrimonial bedroom’, and I vaguely recalled her name was Rensliegh. I was pleased that she didn't seem to pay me any attention.

My fae-given outfit had taken some persuading before it finally agreed to adopt a more subtle appearance. My black tunic with red trim seemed simple, but if one were to look closely at the black, they’d find subtle patterns that mimicked billowing smoke.

We were led to a long table of dark stone, marbled with threads of silver. It had a sheen to it that radiated power. I could see runes layered into it, mundane ones to keep food warm, as well as complex patterns that would test for poisons. To my great relief, there was no assigned seating. The last thing I wanted was to be forced to sit near the head or manoeuvred into some position of power.

To my left was Sephy. Lance approached to grab the open slot on my right, but Elaine caught her at the last moment. The older cultivator flashed me a look of apology as Maeve took the seat. Arthur appeared from somewhere, looking fresher, and grabbed the seat beside her. Rensliegh glared at him for a second – a fact I doubt he noticed – but conceded the seat to the over-eager prince. She took a seat next to Elaine, who was up by Ursul.

The bear sat at the far end of the table. Ursul was at the smallest size I’d ever seen him, restricting himself to a form equal to the biggest mortal bear I’d ever seen. I did notice that a few table settings were kept clear. As Gaz tried to sit between Lance and the ex-Inquisitor Kay, he was guided away by Robertson the butler. I frowned, wondering why, when Pellinore appeared at the head of the table.

It was disconcerting. One moment he wasn’t there, the next he just was. It didn’t have the strange flavour of glamour that Mercury had shown. Rather, it was as if reality had decided he had always been there. It was an act so without fanfare that it took a couple of seconds for silence to fall across the table as people noticed his presence.

“Guests, I welcome you to Artoss Hall. You have a great deal to celebrate, and while I would love nothing more than to leave you to raise glasses as a group, I do have at least one other guest whom I would be remiss not to include in this celebration, as well as a couple of members of my house whom I’d also like to include.” He gestured to a door, and through it appeared a woman I didn’t recognise.

She was dressed in a green dress that flowed from a bodice delicately patterned with gold thread. Dark curly hair collected beneath a lace net studded with small jewels. She was the image of a courtly maiden, eyes downcast and pace serene. She entered the room with grace. I looked around, and the only faces at the table showing recognition were Lance and Elaine.

“Tiff—” The word burst from Gaz, who was over by Robertson. The squire looked like he wanted to run across the room. Where did I remember that name? I thought back to the stories of how Lance and Elaine had snuck into a nearby town to see his fiancée. This had to be her!

She raised her face, and there on her lips was a wide grin. She went to approach Gaz but stopped herself and bowed to Pellinore.

“This Lady Tiffany Tormens thanks her gracious host, Lord Pellinore Artoss, for bringing her betrothed home from his adventures.”

“It is appreciated. Lady Tormens’ family oversees a holding within our territory, right by our border with the Chox. She has been visiting to report on recent developments. However, this is no dry, dusty meeting, so no need to be so formal, young lady. In fact, it would gladden me if you could treat this as an informal meeting.” No sooner had Pellinore finished than the gentle maiden shrieked and lunged at Gaz.

“Gary!” Gaz, showing amazing reflexes, or maybe just knowing his bride-to-be, easily caught her, and together they swirled about, locked in each other’s gaze. They lost themselves in that moment, and the rest of us found ourselves looking away. To peer at them felt invasive, as though we were intruding on something special.

My eyes found Sephy’s, unspoken words dancing between us. We had a lot to speak about, but not here. Beside me, I heard a tut from Maeve, the kind that slipped out when one saw something detestable. The rudeness of it caught me so off guard that I spun to glare at her. I knew I had to speak to her at some point, but I’d expected her to at least be polite while she waited.

Maeve’s glare, and the source of her tutting, was a man who hovered in the doorway. He was a young, plainly dressed man whom I didn’t recognise. He had the Artoss black curly hair and wore hints of silver, so he was likely part of the family. This unknown Artoss obviously sensed Maeve’s displeasure and didn’t seem keen to enter the room.

“I’d also like to introduce you to Tristan Artoss, whom I dispatched to find your group. Without his hard work, we might not have found you, and you would’ve been without Mercury’s aid.” While the rest of us nodded some form of welcome or thanks, mine died in my throat. I felt the anger rolling off Maeve, her fury powerful enough that her aura slipped. It had weight to it, and my new Iron senses rippled in response.

In the past, I could’ve sensed a glamour’s nature – each had its own tune and rhythm. This time, though, it wasn’t the high-tension whine of blade glamour I felt, but rather, if not a memory, then a very specific sensation. It felt as if I were beside someone wildly swinging around a naked blade. It made my skin crawl, and I found myself leaning away from her. She caught me looking, and then, with a blush of embarrassment that seemed totally out of character, the aura changed. The blade sheathed, and yet I could feel the steel waiting, yearning to be set free.

What in the Sidhe was that? I had so many questions! I really knew very little about what it was to be Iron. I’d not read on the subject much, not wanting to torture myself back when I’d been deliberately suppressing my growth. Was this an Iron thing? Was that some aspect of her intent, or merely an evolution of her glamour?

“So let me introduce you to Tiffany.” The couple took a seat opposite Sephy and me. Tristan used them as a distraction and ended up sitting near Pellinore. I vaguely noted that Elaine and Rensliegh were both sending him some sharp looks. Bors was his seatmate, and he greeted him warmly, shielding him unintentionally from the rest of the table with his bulk.

Perhaps it was deliberate? I had to remind myself that Bors was far more socially adept than his boisterous persona would have you think.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“Hi, I’m Tiff. Thanks for keeping Gary safe.” Tiff was bubbly and kind. She eased some of the tension at the table as she earnestly thanked all those who had travelled with Gaz for keeping him safe. Gaz was clearly smitten with her, the normally reserved squire sitting close, one arm wrapped around her, a smile blazing across his face. We found ourselves lauding Gaz's contributions in response to her gushing thanks. Then silence descended on the table.

The food had arrived.

The feast wasn’t the fancy food of balls. There was no stuffed swan or delicate slices of vegetable that were more art than sustenance. This was hearty fare. Roast boar, suckling pig, and venison sausage competed for space on the table with buttered leeks, honey-roasted root vegetables, and sprouts with more nuts and bacon than sprout. All was complimented by bread so fresh it had yet to cool from the oven.

“So, I’d like to hear about your adventures in the fae realm. I’m sure I’ll be told by Mercury, but he’s hardly a reliable narrator.” Pellinore addressed the table after the initial frenzy to fill our plates subsided. I found eyes turning to me. For a moment, I questioned why I must be the one to speak, and then I nearly slapped myself. I was their bard, after all.

Someone had poured us all heavy glasses of amber beer with a most delightful head of foam. I took a sip and had to fight to avoid spitting out the drink. Not only was it shockingly cold, but my mouth didn’t know what to do with the sudden explosion of sensation as the bubbles burst and danced on my tongue. That was to say nothing of the overwhelming flavour, which had layers upon layers. I could taste the hops and the nature glamour that had been infused into them to boost their quality. My mind was lost in the sensation.

I was drawn back to reality by Bors’ booming laugh, which was enough to tell me I’d failed to hide my surprise. The second voice to join him surprised me, as Sephy let out a snort, failing to hide her amusement. With that, others joined in, as word went round the table of my plight. Ursul's laugh won the award for most impressive – the bear’s sounded like an amused natural disaster.

Sephy whispered that I'd been frozen for some time, just staring with the rest of the table waiting in silence until Bors had worked out what had happened and begun to laugh. From that point onwards, the meal went smoothly. While I was still caught out by the impact of the flavours, I wasn’t left stunned.

I told our story, covering aspects of the realm. I aimed to skip some details that felt close to secrets, like our dream meeting, but Lancelot stepped in, speaking of her contribution. It helped break up the story and gave me time to eat. Others also contributed, and I learned more about the others’ battle with the poison cultivator. Kay even spoke up, and we learned that Astor had three more thralls armed with natural treasures that she'd had to carefully dispatch, wary of damaging their payload and revealing her treachery.

We kept eating and drinking, retracing our story, covering how we handled the army of divine cultivators. I got some very approving nods from Maeve and Rensliegh for that. Pellinore laughed hardest as Ursul recalled how he'd slain the cardinal.

We finally got back to the bridge and spoke about killing Ulfast and his partner. Kay had plenty of questions there, and when we reached the end she took a deep breath and asked, “Could he have survived?”

“Not unless he can survive with a head the shape of the leavings of a particularly sick cow.” Bors grinned, as Arthur and Gawain admonished him for the crass description, but as I looked over at Kay, she wore a smile and seemed truly at ease for the first time in the entire conversation. We didn't share everything, and at no point did any of us so much as hint at the Lady or my past.

It was not all our stories. Elaine, with help from Maeve, explained the battle of Fosburg. I was a little unclear as to how they'd managed to drop an entire castle off the bridge until I noticed a curious absence from the explanation. Miss Peaches wasn't mentioned once, and I wasn’t about to ask why. Still, it sounded like an epic victory, and Ursul, while rumbling about ‘ungrateful cubs’, seemed very pleased that his message had reached them at the right time.

Maeve and Tristan also spoke about the hunt for the ‘Son of Gwendolyn’. I appreciated how they both used the name I'd given Maeve and placed upon my cache of secrets. The Tristan that appeared in Maeve's story was strikingly different from the man who sat with us. I found it difficult to imagine the bombastic personality applied to the quiet, reserved man who relayed his exploits in academic detail.

Tristan openly admitted that half his efforts went into following Maeve around, which triggered another burst of that strange blade aura. Her fury was quickly sheathed as Rensliegh admonished her and complimented Tristan on his ‘logical’ tactics.

It was a little surprising to know that so much effort had been put into finding me. If nothing else, I hadn't expected my fake death to be easily seen through. I blamed that one-legged crow. I should've been more suspicious of it in hindsight. I wasn't sure how much they both knew, but Maeve hinted at ‘interference’ a couple of times, implying some knowledge that the Lady had placed her finger upon the scales of my fate.

The couple of times that the discussion drew close to stormy subjects, such as exactly why Arthur and company were running wild, the odd similarity between Lance and Arthur, or what our future plans were, Pellinore stepped in to remind everyone that this was a celebration and not the time for speculation. The Artoss head was perhaps the quietest of us all. He seemed aware of the slight hush that fell whenever he asked a question or ventured an opinion.

The night wore on, and we were very much in our cups. At some point, the Steels and above had left us to our celebrations. We were also herded into a smaller, more homely room with soft furnishings, a roaring fire, and a general lack of expensive things that might get broken.

Without the table to spread us out, there was some tension between us and the recent additions of Kay, Maeve, and Tristan, but the force of nature that was Tiffany smoothed that out. She brought drinks and shifted around conversations. After a while, I watched Sephy start to follow her, taking notes. Lady Tormens was clearly a master at work, and Sephy wasn't about to miss out on a chance to learn.

With Sephy distracted, Maeve hovered near me. We had talked here and there, but it was mostly small talk, such as congratulating each other on reaching Iron rank. I got the sense she worried that I'd evaporate into mist if I got too far away from her. I found myself oddly appreciative of Arthur, who was engaging her on an endless list of topics. They got talking about sword techniques, which summoned Lance, and the trio ended up in an intense discussion.

I resisted calls to play songs, mostly from Bors who wanted the others to hear his ballad. I was enjoying not being the centre of attention for a while. I caved only when Gaz directed the full force of Tiff upon me, and her earnest interest had my lute in my fingers before I knew what was happening.

As I played, I noted that Tristan was talking with Kay in the corner. The former Inquisitor looked exhausted and kept glancing around as if she were waiting for all to be revealed as some cruel fae illusion. The younger Artoss had a serious look to him, but whatever he was saying seemed to be helping her. Bors, Gaz, and Lance occasionally swept by to check in on them, which was a kindness to the unfortunate knight. I would have to speak with her tomorrow.

That was the last clear thought of the night, because then the whiskey arrived.

From that point on, all was muddy and confused. What might've been an hour or five later, I was strumming idly on my lute, sat on one of the sofas, looking out upon the odd collection of faces. The face that I devoted most of my attention to was Sephy, who was curled up on the rest of the sofa, using my lap as a pillow. The exhaustion of keeping her and Arthur alive had finally brought her down. In a brief lull, I stroked her hair and marvelled at our closeness. It was a beautiful moment.

I half-expected trouble from Arthur, but he stumbled about using Gawain as a human crutch. The prince clearly needed to rest, yet refused to give in. He ineffectually tried to join in as Lance and Maeve used some sticks they'd found somewhere to discuss sword forms. They were the most active.

Bors had a large pipe of something that smelt distinctly herbal and was happily puffing it. He'd lend it to Tristan and Kay, who sat with him. They'd occasionally disappear and return with more food. How they had any appetite left, I did not know. Gaz and Tiff had disappeared at some point, returning with clothes askew, and now lay on one of the other benches, comfortably lounging over each other.

I drank a dram of whiskey. It was violently peaty in flavour, so much so it almost set me coughing. Seeing the state of the room, I felt it was time for a bawdy song I'd been taught by a lost traveller some years ago. He'd run off when the other Harkleys took an interest. I never did find out what happened to him. Apparently, of the trio sent out to find him, two had been eaten, and the one other kicked half to death by some fae monstrosity that pursued the mysterious traveller.

“O, the wizard's staff has a knob on the end.”