Eldon stood framed in the doorway wearing the finest garments he no doubt possessed. Maker's sake, what was he doing here? She left him behind at Highever. A refusal of a proposal tended to send a man scampering back to his den to lick his wounds until he wanted to try with another woman. Then again, perhaps he wished to apologize, to reclaim a more friendly relationship with the crown.
"Lord Eldon," Rosie greeted him with as patient a voice as she could.
"I have come to discuss a grave mistake," he said with his hands perched behind his back. The pose reminded her of a little boy with no easy outlet who found himself forced to confess that he was the one who broke a vase.
"Please," she waved her hand, attempting to calm him and cut off the rising tension, "there is no need to apologize..."
"One that you have committed," he spoke right over top of her, not listening to a word.
The bonhomie turned to ice, Rosie's hand freezing as she glared at him, "Excuse me?"
"In refusing my offer of marriage. You clearly did not think through the implications of what such a decision would have."
He couldn't be serious. Rosie glanced around the room, trying to find someone who would be laughing at this farce. All the faces were still, mouths locked in tight as if they feared speaking a word. Only Cailan she caught rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
Sadly, Lord Eldon was not finished, "My family is well established within the Ferelden line of nobility. We are nearly as ancient as Calenhad itself, in fact. Some would say that would put us as having proper rights to the throne, which we graciously allowed your father to take during the civil war."
At that Rosie rose up to her full height, her chest thrust out and shoulders back as if she was about to attack the man. "You graciously allowed?" she repeated, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Their family was minimal at best, inbred at worst, and a dying tree. If Eldon was to be their last hope of glory, they failed spectacularly at it. Probably why his father was shopping for anyone else to take the reign.
The man opened his mouth, no doubt about to spew more claptrap of his family, but Rosie talked over him. "Master Eldon," she sneered his name as if it was mud stuck to her dress, "When a woman makes her decision about who to marry, it is not proper for the man to storm back to her and insist she was wrong. I attempted to let you save face for that travesty of a proposal through a letter in the first place, but this is..."
"I understand," he tipped his head down, his eyes scanning through the ground, "I wished to make a show of strength but forgot that ladies such as yourself prefer a rather frivolous show of romance."
Rosie huffed, "That is not at all the problem...!"
"So I am here, fully in the flesh, about to take a knee and ask you once again to do what is the most logical choice in thedas. Take me as your husband," his clammy hands flopped out for Rosie's, but she had both digging her nails into her elbows.
"You," she spat, her eyes burning in fire at this tiny, insignificant man who believed he could command her with impunity. "Drop to your knee and I shall have you dragged out of here in chains."
"My Lady?" he whispered, fully confused as if he really thought all she needed to be won over were a few words and a hollow gesture.
Sucking in a breath, it struck Rosie that that was how he always referred to her. Never a 'your majesty' or 'your highness' just a constant reminder that she was a lady that he seemed to think he could scoop up like a horse at an auction. "There will be no niceties, Mister Eldon, only the facts. I have no interest in you, I shall not take you as a husband, nor let you anywhere near the throne."
"No offense, my Lady," he chuckled his hands stretched out as if he planned to soothe a skittish horse, "but you're not thinking clearly. You're far too emotionally invested to make a wise decision."
"Emotionally invested?" she scoffed. "Yes, how dare I be emotionally invested in whosoever becomes my spouse and king." In flailing her eyes around the room, she caught Anjali with a hand back behind her shoulder. The assassin had a grip to her dagger, but Rosie tried to shake it off. They didn't need a dead Bann's son to add to their problems.
"If this is how you behave for a simple issue, your cheeks flushed, your nostrils flaring, your body locked off tighter than a knot, it is no wonder that the crown requires a far cooler head to lead it." He wouldn't stop, he seemed incapable of stopping from tearing her down while also attempting to winch himself higher using bullshit for the rope. "Since you seem incapable of reason, I shall have to petition the King..."
"Go ahead," Rosie laughed, wanting to be back home for that one. Perhaps her and her father could both fire arrows into the letter...or the messenger she added from the anger she felt burning in her heart. "The King will refuse you, and then ignore you."
"He is very good at that," Cailan added in, the first assist she received the whole time.
Eldon's beady little eyes snapped from sister to brother. He seemed to be acting as if he lost ground, instead of never having a leg to stand on to begin with. "The Bannorn will hear of this, my Lady," he hissed.
A hand clamped onto Eldon's arm and he turned to stare up into the tight grip of Henry. "I think you've acted out of turn long enough. Be wise and step away, my good man."
It was obvious Eldon intended to shake him off, but Henry had the strength and height on him. Walking forwards, Henry began to drag the puny pain out the door. But Eldon wasn't finished. "The Bannorn will not approve of you Rosamund. They will never let you take the crown, not without a husband that they wish. You will be dethroned in an instant, a weak and childish girl stripped of her foolish ambitions."
"Hold," her voice was ice, Rosie's back locked straight while she stared deep into the man's wild eyes. Henry glanced back at her, clearly wishing to hurl Eldon off the balcony onto the latrine pile below, but she shook it off. Walking crisply towards the man still pinned in her cousin's hand, Rosie eyed him up.
"Lord Eldon," she began in her projecting voice that could reach the back of the throne room.
He looked at her and gulped. Perhaps he remembered that she had power beyond a simple waiting to be, that she'd already been crowned and could say execute someone if they were deemed a threat. Her father wouldn't even bat an eye for scraping this turd off.
Raising back her hand, Rosie slapped him hard on the cheek. The thwack echoed through the still library, every inhabitant holding their breath. Wisely, Eldon didn't move, his hands dangling limply at his sides. Good. When he turned to her in shock, she tipped her head back and said, "I challenge you to a duel."
"What?"
"If I win you shall never again broach the subject of marriage with me or any of my kin, nor will you speak to me until the day your sorry corpse is hurled onto a pyre."
He glanced around the library, his fingers struggling to reach up and cover the rising red welt Rosie left behind. "And I win?"
No if, of course. She spread her hands wide, "Then you shall have what you wanted."
"You'd marry me?" he sputtered as if it was so simple.
"Uh, sis..." Cailan tumbled to his feet, moving to rush over.
Cousin Henry glanced over at her, his lips barely whispered, "Rossie, is this wise?"
She shook it off, glaring at Eldon, "Do we have a deal?"
"Yes!" he shouted, before fading back as if he was barely interested in anything she could offer. "Yes, I accept. When shall this be fought?"
"In two hours time, in the courtyard," she threw out, barely having thought it through. Most would take a day, but damn it, she wanted this over with now while her blood boiled in her veins.
Eldon, either unaware of duel etiquette or thinking he'd easily win, nodded, "Very well, I shall select my champion."
Beside her Rosie felt both Henry and Anjali slide into view, their chests lifting as they clearly volunteered to fight for her cause. But she shook them away and honed right in on Eldon, "No. There are to be no champions, no stand-ins. We will fight ourselves."
"What?!" the m
an gasped again, his eyes widening.
"Okay, I changed my mind," Cailan chuckled. "This just got fun."
Rosie leaned closer to Eldon. Blessed Andraste, hopefully as close as she'd ever get to the worm. With a sneer, she said, "Surely a man of such supreme worth as you claim would be capable and willing to fight for what he wants or deserves."
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting from Henry back to the unwilling bride-to-be. "Very well, princess. I shall fight and win your hand in two hours time."
"It's a duel," she said, unwilling to touch the man's hand. "Henry, you can let him go." Her cousin dug his fingers in a moment before opening them to release Eldon. The man quickly got his feet under himself and shuffled out of the room to prepare.
"Cous," Henry turned to her, concern etched in his voice, "is this wise? He could..."
Rosie laughed a moment under her breath, her fingers dipping through the paperwork she'd already read a dozen times over. "Trust me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a duel to prepare for." Spinning on her heel, she marched out of the room. Her cousin and brother were sharing a look, the girls were all gasping behind their hands and fans in shock. Only Anjali stood back with a great smile on her face.
At least one person had faith in her.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Duel
Word must have percolated through the palace quickly as Rosie spotted far more heads circling the courtyard than were necessary. Technically, all she needed was her second but she didn't really care if there were plenty of people on hand to watch. Let them all know and remember the outcome. Digging a hand into the back of her neck, Rosie glanced around to try and get a sense of the sun. They were early, and something told her Eldon would be late.
"Cailan," she turned to her brother who'd been politely following the train but also doing his best to stay out of it. "Would you be my second?"
"Uh, okay. What does a second do, exactly?"
"Typically, you're there to fight in the chance the duelist chickens out," she explained as if defining a term, but her brother's eyes bugged out. "I'm here, all you have to do is make certain Eldon doesn't cheat."
"All right, all right," he bobbed his head and rocked back on his toes. "Er, how does one cheat at a duel?"
"Just...stand around. You merely need to exist. I think you can handle that," she sighed while struggling to try and find her center. Cousin Henry paced about the edge, a hand upon the hilt at his hip. She could have asked him to be her second, but as the host it seemed better to leave him as detached from the proceedings. In the off chance she made the wrong choice, she'd need Henry's help to fix her mistake.
"Pst," Cailan inched closer to his sister, his head bent over to get nearer her ear. She turned, annoyed at his antics, but found his skin sallow and cheeks stricken. "I get that you were a bit riled up from that wonderful interlude by your paramour..." Rosie snarled at the idea. "but isn't this one of those things we really need to tell father about?"
Rosie heard a clatter of boots and turned from her brother, "I shall inform him after the duel is decided."
"Oh great, after. Because I'm certain that's how he'd want to know. Not going to bite you in the ass at all."
She tried to wipe any emotion off her face, but it was Tess that appeared in the courtyard and not Eldon nor his entourage. "I've brought it," Tess shouted, waving Rosie's sword high above her head. She seemed to have brought others as well, a few more who'd been milling about followed the handmaiden with the princess' sword including Myra.
Her eyes honed in on Rosie picking up her blade and sliding it out of the scabbard to inspect the edge. "Hey, Cailan," Myra slid over to their brother, "what the shit's going on?"
"Our future queen has decided to fight a man to the death in a duel for her hand in marriage," he groaned.
Myra took it all with a shrug, "Neat."
"It is not to the death," Rosie sighed, her thumb guiding along the razor sharp edge. Still, it could always use a bit of work. "Does anyone have a whetstone?" A few hands scrabbled into pockets before someone was kind enough to drop one into her fingers.
"What do you mean it's not to the death?" Cailan, the man whose only experience with swordplay involved husbands chasing after him, stared down in confusion while Rosie tried to hone her blade.
"Most duels are not fought to the death, only first blood. You can waive the right, if you're an idiot or wish to die, but..." she twisted her sword around in her hands, savoring the feel of it slicing apart the very air, "I rather doubt Eldon is that enchanted with extinguishing his worthless hide."
"Eldon?" Myra stuck her tongue out, "That waste of a dried up druffalo pizzle you wouldn't toss to a hound?"
"Yes, that'd be the one," Rosamund drew the whetstone back to the other side, wishing her blade was sharp enough it could cut through words themselves. That'd make her life easier.
"My Lady," a hand drifted towards hers and she noticed it was a soft brown. Turning, she raised an eyebrow at the squire standing with his arms limply reaching towards her as if to try and rescue her from this folly. "I could do that for you," Gavin added.
"No, a good swordsman takes care of her own blade," she said, an eye following the edge, but from the corner she watched Gavin smile almost proudly and slide back. He stepped beside Myra, the two whispering quietly to each other. No doubt he was quizzing her sister on how talented the princess was and if she stood a chance at this folly.
They were all asking that question from behind hands and at the side of their mouths. People knew Rosie had her own sword, but nothing else. She preferred it that way.
"Here." A new hand -- smaller, darker, and more beautiful than before -- thrust a scrap of red fabric at her. Rosie gripped onto it and turned to find Anjali with her hair erupting off the top of her head. She'd handed her headscarf to Rosie, who couldn't stop running her fingers over it as if the scrap of cloth was the finest silk in thedas.
"So nothing gets in your eyes," she explained, her fingers cupping against the back of Rosie's hand. Those umber eyes burned with so many unspoken words they could number the stars. Lifting the red scrap of fabric to her head, when it wafted past her nose she smelled the woman whose scent yet clung to her skin. Jasmine, myrrh, and the sweet embrace of sex all mixed into Rosie's hair as she knotted it in place.
Nodding her head in thanks, she moved to turn away, when Anjali said what they were all thinking, "You better win."
It was quick, most everyone else fretting to themselves, but Rosie caught both her sister and her sister's squire looking over. Oh no. Did Myra know? Was she puzzling it out? She tried to swallow down the fear of having her intimate life laid out before her like the timeline for a murder, when the gate opened and riding boots clopped across the bricks.
The courtyard was laid out the way most were, a hexagonal shape that bore a short fountain of Andraste in the middle. For now the fountain was barely bubbling, most of the water long since evaporated in the heat. It was where Rosamund stood as she turned to face down her challenger. Eldon clipped in on far too high heels as if the riding boots would help to increase his reach instead of teetering his form. Or maybe he was just insecure about his height.
Beside him stood his second, a man Rosie barely glanced at. She moved to speak, when Eldon beat her too it. "I'm surprised you showed," he chuckled.
"I challenged you," her voice drifted down to a growl, wishing this was a duel to the death. It'd solve her problem permanently at least. But so would this. He would have to honor the concordance; the future Arl of Redcliffe was watching and very few could go against that word.
Eldon shrugged, the man clearly ill informed on matters of a duel. "I brought a selection of weapons, but I see you have some cute, little pink sword for yourself." She chuckled while running her fingers over the finest steel in Ferelden. Made from the bone of a dragon, it was a rare blade that could match it. Not that Eldon needed to be informed of such matters.
He selected a bastard sword, far too large for
such a matter as this but the man seemed to be all pomp and no circumstance. After swiping it through the air like he intended to kill a bee, he turned to the princess. "Do you need a moment to change?" Eldon chuckled, staring down at her dress.
"No," Rosie shook her head, "this shall suffice." She'd already rolled her dress up into a belt on her stomach, making certain the hemlines wouldn't catch. After all of her training, she feared that putting on trousers might throw her off.
Eldon shrugged, "Very well, it is as you said, your challenge. How shall we begin?"
"In the middle, away from the crowd," she gestured towards the empty courtyard, all their people quickly sliding to the sides. Eldon raised his sword high as if she was going to attack right then and there, but Rosie sighed. "First, we have our seconds shake hands."
Cailan's eyes opened wide and he dashed into the fray. Sticking out his hand, he was quick to grab onto whoever Eldon conned into this and give a single pump. "Good enough?" he whispered at Rosie, who groaned.
She knew she was going to regret this part. Extending her hand to Eldon, she waited for him to take it. The man picked up her fingers, but instead of shaking them, he began to pull them to his lips. She moved to yank them free, but he clamped down harder and before slobbering all over her skin, whispered, "My lady." The emphasis was so crystal clear it was a wonder he didn't piss on her leg to seal the deal.
When Eldon finally released her, Rosie made a show of wiping his drool off on the side of her dress. Passing her sword into her right hand, she clamped down onto the hilt, while her left gripped tight to the scabbard. "Oh, is this the part where we fight?" he asked, waving his broadsword back into play.
She could do this. She was prepared. She just had to trust in herself. Tipping her head down, Rosie tried to find her center, the calm part that kept her head cool and arm straight. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Anjali whose mouth dangled partly open in concern. Rosie twisted her head, wanting to take one final look out of fear it might be the last, when the woman lifted her thumb up.
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