Valentin peered around his nearby vicinity to see if there was a group that felt safe to enter. To his left, he saw Hubert draining cups of ale with a handful of other warriors. The boy shuddered, deciding it was best to avoid the mustachioed warrior. He knew too much about topics that easily wounded the boy.
He walked forwards, his eyes surveying back and forth to find a suitable group. Stray looks would center on him but were quickly drawn back towards something more interesting.
Eventually, Valentin was drawn towards a sizable game of pas deg played near one of the tents. Flashes of silver could be seen in between fingers as the bets were placed near the playing bowl. A familiar face grinned at his winnings, placing the coins into a leather pouch with a clatter.
Valentin approached the group and peered over their shoulders. The presence of the new spectator brought the game to a halt as heads turned to look at the well-dressed guest. A pit of discomfort formed in Valentin’s stomach. The silence felt condemning, that he was not welcome. He had to stand firm.
“Hello, Kern. Are you playing pas deg?” Valentin asked one of the warriors.
The elder warrior’s eyes widened a bit. “Now this is a surprise. I didn’t think you would show your face without Ferron standing over your shoulder,” he said with a chuckle. “Everyone, this boy here is Ferron’s ward, Valentin. He’s the reason that Durant’s been so sour recently.”
“So you’re the Tiarling?” asked a warrior smoking from a pipe. “I saw you with Ferron from a distance but you really are a tiny one, aren’t you?”
“Careful now,” another warned. “You heard the deggan, you need to treat him with the same amount of respect as Durant. If the rumors are to be believed, even more than that.”
The gambling circle continued to have their conversation about Valentin as though he were not standing right there. He considered leaving but was not sure what message that would send to this group. Winning over the opinion of adults was territory that was firmly outside of Valentin’s expertise and he could only guess at what direction was the correct way forward. He did, however, know with certainty that he could not allow them to continue.
“I saw Gervin before I left,” Valentin said to the table.
A deathly quiet fell over the gamblers, allowing the background sounds to fill the space where discussion once lived.
“How was he?” Kern asked in a voice that was uncertain if they really wanted the answer.
“Bad,” Valentin responded. “It is said that his remaining life will be short and agonizing. He is in the care of the druids now.”
“A terrible shame,” one of them remarked solemnly.
“Do you have a cup?” Valentin was asked by another warrior.
Valentin unclipped the metal cup that he used during meals. An amber liquid filled his cup and sloshed around inside. He held it up to his lips and a yeasty scent filled his nostrils.
He had only ever had watered down wine before but drinks like this were a favorite of his uncle. Gilles had told him when he was grown, they could share a cask to celebrate his adulthood. Valentin wondered if he finally reached that stage in his life. Melancholy that he would be having his first drink without Gilles present panged Valentin’s chest with the thoughts of missed opportunities.
Kern held his drink up over his head and the rest did the same. “Let’s drink for Gervin and to deliver upon our enemies a taste of the suffering that he’s going through.”
The circle slammed their cups together and rapidly drank the contents. Valentin drank as well, the alcohol tasting bitterer than he had expected. He was unable to finish it in one go like the rest and instead needed five or six efforts to finally empty his cup.
The entrance of more alcohol seemed to be the panacea required to bring a bit of levity back to the group and they shared a morbid laugh with each other. The sadness that they temporarily held for their compatriot dissipated out of their mouths and focus returned towards their game. Valentin’s thoughts also mystically turned from the sad thoughts that preceded it as though his mind was suddenly preoccupied with maintaining appearances.
“Do you know why we drink before the battle and not after?” Kern asked Valentin.
“For confidence?” the boy responded.
A few chuckles came from the rest of the circle. “Not a bad guess. It’s so that everyone has a chance to enjoy themselves. It’s an unfortunate truth that not all of us will be here this time tomorrow. Ferron is confident that we will overpower them, but there is no bloodless battle. Those that pass would much rather have drank today than everyone else drink without them tomorrow.”
“Then I hope that you all make it to this time tomorrow,” Valentin said with a nod.
“Aye,” the group responded, raising their cups.
As Valentin turned to depart, he was stopped by Kern.
“You are welcome to stay if you have coin,” the elderly warrior clacked his bone dice together and grinned greedily.
“Are you sure that you want someone like me at your table? Or did you forget that I was there when Druid Ula humbled you?” Valentin smiled with uncommon natural confidence that seemed to throw the man off.
“I pray that I never need to see that holy woman again. I have never met a woman that could use the spirits themselves to determine the outcome of a dice roll. Fine, fine, begone with you. See if I invite you to another game,” the man dismissed Valentin with disingenuous annoyance.
“Do you know where I can find Durant?” Valentin asked the group.
“He usually spends his nights at the tents that way,” one of the warriors pointed further down the row of tents.
Valentin thanked the group and continued further along. While he had been speaking to the gamblers, the celebrations seemed to have neared its apex. Valentin wondered if the greatest enemy that Ferron’s forces would face is the dreaded hangover.
He made several more introductions on his way towards Durant. Some treated the boy with respect from the beginning, many viewed him with the same condescension as the first group initially used. His small frame, his age, and his presumed weakness were all detractors from making a good first impression. Ferron’s influence was the only thing that prevented things from escalating to more uncouth words and actions.
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What he did learn was that drinking a cup of ale with them seemed to turn their attitudes more favorably towards him. The warriors cheered him on each time, clapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him. One turned to two turned to five, or perhaps he had simply lost track of what number he had reached. While the ale was of a low alcohol content to prevent drunkenness yet Valentin’s diminutive size made him more susceptible to the spirits and he sloshed about the street like the drink did in his stomach.
It felt as though his rosy cheeks and disheveled appearance made the remaining warriors who followed the boy through the tents possess a curiosity at how long he would manage to stay upright. Each time he fell off balance, some would cheer before he would right himself.
A large bonfire raged near an intersection of four tents. Under the glow of the fire, a man was telling a story to the large group assembled nearby. He made suggestive actions with his body and spoke a bawdy tale much to the enjoyment of all that watched nearby. Laughs and quips from the audience only encouraged the man to continue his tale in more and more detail. Perhaps if the boy were more knowledgeable or more cognizant, he may have been embarrassed by the words being spoken. Nevertheless, he invaded the group and spotted Durant lounging with his friends along with Elane and Arthus.
Valentin strode up to his pretend brother, keenly aware that he was drawing competing attention to the man’s story, but did not understand how a singular boy could garner so much attention. He had forgotten that he had obtained an entourage of spectators that followed behind him.
He was confident that Durant had seen him approach, but the man turned his head away from the object of his father’s attention. Instead talking to the people near him. Valentin, in a bout of irony, found Durant’s actions to be quite immature.
“Durant,” Valentin spoke to gain the attention of the man.
The story stopped as a more interesting spectacle took place in front of them. This thin, wobbly boy had called out the heir to their warband and was promptly ignored. Ferron’s ward had been a mystery since he arrived in camp and now here he was, pissed drunk leading a group of rowdy warriors.
“Durant,” Valentin repeated louder.
“I heard you the first time,” Durant snapped back at the boy. “You reek of ale. What have you been doing?”
“Ferron told me to introduce myself to everyone, and everyone was having fun drinking so I thought it’d be a good way to do it,” Valentin slurred. “It’s been going alright.”
Laughter from directly behind Valentin surprised him. He turned to see the group of people that he had forgotten were following him.
“Yes, lad, it’s been going very well,” one of them affirmed. “He’s so small it makes you wonder where all the ale went.”
“Wonderful,” Durant responded dryly, seemingly unappreciative of the positive attention that the boy was garnering. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You were meant to help me,” Valentin responded as though it were obvious. “Ferron says everyone likes you so why wouldn’t I go to you?”
Reporting his father’s compliment appeared to soften Durant’s derision towards the boy. However, it was not enough to win him over. “I don’t need to help you. You’re already doing such a great job being the jester of the camp. Not to mention with those rumors going around camp about you and Morna, I think you’ll have a great number of admirers and enemies by the time you wake up.”
A feeling akin to being slapped with frigid water hit the boy at the sound of that woman’s name. Interested whispers crashed upon Valentin and he squirmed under the weight of the attention. Was it Hubert that did this? Was it Morna herself? In this moment it mattered little. Regardless of the source, he found himself at the center of unwanted attention.
Valentin’s silence seemed to provoke Durant further. Seeing that he had struck a nerve, the man decided to dig deeper. “All of the warriors that came back from Lutant say that you two were holding hands in front of Ferron. There’s no need to keep it to yourself, Clesarin.”
Anger, that he thought had been deadened, was released from its cage by the deft fingers of ale. Why couldn’t it all just go away? Why did he have to put up with this? Should he say that he was forced upon? Should he tell them all how he feels uncomfortable taking baths with others? That he questions the intentions of everyone meets because of it? It didn’t matter. Ferron disregarded it for camp politics, Hubert only cared as long as he was able to be violent. Charlon and Robert viewed it as a gift that was spurned.
“Why are you so quiet?” Durant taunted, egged on by the drink that he had. “Worried that your lie has been found out? That she was only protecting you and nothing more?”
Lie? People were more than ready to believe that the rumor of their encounters were conjured by Valentin to brag and gain reputation. There was not even the slightest consideration that it was something unwanted on his part, it was inconceivable to the people that surrounded him. It was becoming more and more likely that Valentin is the only person that would feel that way. Was there something wrong with him? Was it his own shortcomings that made him anguish in this way?
Perhaps Charlon’s kick to the ribs was justified. He was being ungrateful to the gift that was continually given to him. His situation had only upsides to it and everyone near him would have taken the opportunity in a heartbeat. Even something within his body had betrayed him and received it as the gift that all others saw it as. Yet, he could not shake those negative emotions, the disgust and fear within his heart was too palpable to be fake. If it was supposed to be something so sought after, then why did he feel so terrible?
Valentin’s soul sparked with the influx of emotion. Arcs of light danced and crackled along his skin. His hair stood up on end and those in his immediate area took a step back. The deggan stood up from their seats and reached tentatively for their weapons.
“Ask her yourself and you’ll have your answer,” he boomed in his juvenile voice. “My answer doesn’t matter anyways.”
Valentin’s answer took the listeners off guard. They hadn’t expected him to invite them to ask the one person that could easily confirm or refute the rumor. Morna was trusted more than the newcomer. She had spent several cycles with these warriors. She fought and drank and mourned with them. If this upstart couldn’t be believed, she could be.
“By the way,” Valentin continued, discordant emotions tearing at his inebriated brain. “Your father says that having a rivalry with a boy half your age is pathetic.”
Durant rose from his seat in anger. “What did you just say?”
“Isn’t it shameful that we are meant to get along and you have not once tried to be friendly?” Valentin spat. “Do you think that spurning me will change Ferron’s opinion? I’m not going anywhere and your actions aren’t going to change that.”
Durant moved to strike the boy but was restrained by his fellow deggan. He was dragged back down to his seat by Arthus and Elane.
Valentin smirked and then vomited everything in his stomach, past, present, and future, into the grass in front of him. His body seized up and then retched again, eliminating the toxins in his body and bringing strange relief to him.
Compliments and cheers and pats on the back rained down upon Valentin, but he could not differentiate them. He was still bent over, spitting out the remaining bile that caught in his mouth. An unknown hand delivered him a cup of water which he used to rinse his mouth of the odious taste.
He suddenly felt quite weak and wobbly. Exhaustion crept over him and his thoughts still scattered in disarray.
A strong hand landed on his shoulder and the connecting voice shouted out in an accent that reminded Valentin of home, “The boy’s had enough, I’m taking him back.”
Arthus quickly led Valentin away from the prying eyes around the bonfire into the less crowded throughways back towards the central tent. Many of the warriors in these less populated areas had already gone to sleep within their tents and small wisps of dead embers hung in the air. The dice games had all but wrapped up and only the most desperate of gamblers remained, too engrossed in their life and death battle of finances to pay much attention to the passing pair.
“Do you think that I have made a mistake?” Valentin weakly asked the escorting deggan. “I only wanted to introduce myself.”
“You have succeeded in making yourself well known to much of the camp for better or for worse,” the southerner replied, navigating through dim torchlight.
“I hope I have not made things difficult for Ferron.”
“He may harbor displeasure towards tonight. You have made a fool of yourself before many. However, I think that errors are part of growing up. You showed much courage in calling out Durant for his petty actions towards you. It has won over more people than turned away, myself included.”
Valentin had a thin smile on his face as he passed through the entrance of Ferron’s tent. Arthus placed him upon the small straw mattress and Valentin’s eyes went blurry from the upcoming wave of sleep.
“What happened?” Ferron asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
“He thought that a good way to endear himself to everyone was to drink with him. A fine plan under normal circumstances, but he does not yet possess the constitution to manage all that drink.”
As Arthus explained Valentin’s situation on the boy’s behalf, Valentin drifted deeply into his first drink induced slumber.