The hike up to the palace was an arduous one for Harry, who’s home lay on the low level near the oceanfront. He often thought that he should be used to the climb after all these years, but he still dreaded every step up the cliff face. One of these days, I’m just going to make a stupid big ladder and climb that, he thought to himself. Of course, that might prove more exhausting, but Harry cared far more needing to go around the spot he wanted to go. It was not in his nature to be so indirect; and yet he had denied that part of himself all these years when it came to love.
If there was one good part of the long hike, it was that he got to think over how he was going to tell her. He could try simply approaching her by saying, “Happy Birthday, Bridget! I love you!” He groaned at his own bad idea, and tried to come up with a better approach; a more classy approach. “My lady, would you join me on the terrace?” He cursed under his breath as he remembered that the terraces were all small and would be wide open to eavesdroppers. How could he tell her discreetly without seeming so conspicuous? A ring! He thought, perking up at the idea. His mood quickly dampened as he pictured himself handing her the ring, imaging her stupefied expression.
He stopped walking for a moment and let out a heavy sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought, he lamented. He decided to take a look around as he tried to think of better ideas than accidently proposing. The city was bustling all around, with many last-minute purchases being made in preparation for the party later tonight. Merchants called from every street corner selling fine clothes, jewelry, art, or other fine goods that Harry could never hope to afford in his father’s employ. He was the son of the most capable blacksmith in the kingdom, even if only by name, and yet he got no more in wages than a stable boy.
After slightly cursing his father’s name, Harry continued his march up the cliff side street. The city was a marvel in its design, or the lack thereof. Streets often went in winding patterns, thinning and widening in places that were often inconvenient for the influx of buildings that had come up over the years. As was the style, no building exceeded three stories, many even opting for larger single floor designs in strange shapes than building up high. The only way to navigate properly was to rely upon the long single roads that ran up to the palace or down to the docks, both of which would eventually meet up and lead north. When Harry finally reached this intersection, he turned towards the palace and got an excellent view of Castle Sirene towering over the ocean, ships, and docks below. The Palace sat on a large outcrop of stone that stretched out towards the sea but continued to rise high above it, leaving the large building as the sailor’s guiding post. In fact, the building was so noticeable and distinct that the old kings of Meja converted the center spire into the lighthouse of the region.
Many years had passed since the kingdom fractured into Sirene and Meja, but the lighthouse remained and still bore the crest of Meja along the west side of the spire. Relations had improved a lot over the last few generations, but bad blood was still present in the two southern kingdoms. That certainly hadn’t stopped the many merchants of Meja from flooding the ports of Sirene with their goods and wares. There was certainly no better cure for blood feuds than a little greed and avarice.
Harry had climbed the last third of the road and looked out to the ocean once more, hoping for the inspiration he needed. There was a rather peculiar sight to see on the waters today: 3 large ships from the western kingdom of Durvinna sailing a ways off. Durvinna merchants, while rare, weren’t exactly commonplace, so to see three large ships sailing in was certainly an odd site to be sure. Perhaps they were guests, here for the party, much like many of the other travelers they had staying in the city. Practically half the city was rented out for the next few days, and the constabulary had called all hands on-deck to keep the peace up and crime down. Perhaps Harry could make a better living as a constable than as a blacksmith; not to mention the respect he would get from the general population who currently looked down on him because of his place in the caste system.
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He reminded himself that being Bridget’s champion was still his primary responsibility, as long as she would have him. He just hoped that she wouldn’t fire him over what he was going to do, or worse, imprison him. It only now occurred to him just how much trouble he could be in if this went anything but perfectly. But even a fool’s hope of Bridget loving him back was enough of a hope to press him on, albeit with less gusto than before. How cliché of me, the knight in shining armor, to be so desperately in love with a princess. Harry chuckled to himself, in spite of his rising anxiety.
He finally reached the outer gates and was still no closer to having a plan than he had been when he left home. Words were definitely not his strong suit, but he didn’t think he was this bad to be practically speechless before even needing to speak. He strolled through the outer cloisters and into the castle proper. Servants were everywhere, clearly making every last preparation. Harry rounded his way around the outer hallways until he found the stairway to the lower levels where the barracks was.
“You’re rather late today, Harry.” Arven called from his post near the stairwell. “I’d say you were fashionably late, but you’re clearly not very fashionable today.” His arrogant smile stretched from ear to ear.
“Still look better than you ever will, V.” Harry retorted. The two knights gave each other a slap on the back and laughed at the clever greeting. “How’s security looking today?”
“Terrible. Captain Brom has taken several platoons down to the docks to handle things down there. Apparently, pub brawls and theft are becoming a huge problem.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. People only need the weakest of excuses to go get drunk, and sailors often don’t even need that. I bet they are probably so piss drunk they are stealing from themselves.”
Arven chortled and exclaimed “The world would be a merrier place if we all drank a little more!”
“And that’s why you haven’t beaten me since I turned 13, V. Drunk then, and drunk now.”
“Oh, come now, Harry. Even drunk, I could still blow circles around the lot of these pathetic excuses for soldiers.” He still spoke with a jovial tone, but Arven was clearly serious about his point. “But you! You clearly have more than just talent. You have a drive like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I couldn’t ever hope to beat you.” He leaned back on his stool and let out a long sigh. “If only I had learned that sooner instead of giving you hell your first year on the guard.”
Harry clapped him on the shoulder, “I forgave you a long time ago. You really need to let that go. Besides, I need you focused tonight.”
“Yes, I know.” The exasperation in his voice showed that he had already been berated today about his lackadaisical attitude. “All these haughty nobles will be needing us lowly knights light and limber to fetch their punch tonight.”
“Provided you don’t drink it first.” Harry continued to chide. “But that’s not what I mean.”
Arven narrowed his eyes at the shift in tone and leaned closer. “What you planning?”
“Tonight is the night, V. Either I walk away a happy man, an empty husk, or I get thrown in the pits.”
“You can’t be serious, mate. You still after her?”
“I never wasn’t after her.” He carried a wide smirk, one cheek raised and a pep to his movements that could be heard in his inflection. In spite of his anxiety, Harry was indeed in high spirits.
“Well don’t expect me to visit you when you get thrown in the pits.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Alright, fine. What do you need from me?”
Harry tightened on his sword and gave a wry smile. “Just need you to be yourself tonight.” He said, and strode out of the barracks, head held high, ready to do the smartest dumb thing he could concoct. This may not be a fairy tale, but he was still a knight in shining armor, and he couldn’t help but believe that he could slay the dragon of tradition and win the heart of his princess.