Zorian awoke to a smoking fireplace, soot covering the ground in which he slept, his face smothered in ash, as was his clothes. He dusted himself off as best he could seeing through the open doors to the quiet dawning ahead, that was glaring through the windows. As quickly as he awoke, the remembrance of the promise to meet Mule hung over his head, the string cut, crashing down on him, as he rushed up off the floor, making his way out of the keeps stone walls, and onto the bailey to the stables, it was still early enough for none of the servants to be fully awake and they would not be so till another hour, as quietly Zorian shuffled through the stables to Pirates paddock, saddling him up, and climbing upon the horse. They galloped back through the stables and bailey. Zorian could see as they passed the raised gates that the guards were fast asleep, he smirked, making his way to the fields.
When he arrived the sun was just beginning to rise in the dimly blue sky, still darkened with the night, he spotted Mule, who stood with his horse, that seemed wellbred and groomed. Mule waved wildly to the boy, Zorian could already see the grin on his face, and couldn’t help the curl that lifted on the side of his lips. “Sorry, I'm late,” Zorian muttered, looking down to Mule from his horse.
“Do not worry, i had waited long before dawn, you had made it hard to keep away and i found it worth the wait if it were for you,” the boy said softly within a smile, that made Zorian turn away smiling bashfully to the ground, as Mule climbed upon his chestnut horse, “come along then, i know a great place to go.”
Zorian snorted looking back up to Mule, “you sound confident,”
“I am,” the boy smiled, Zorian scoffed but followed alongside the boy as they began to head towards the gathering of trees in the keeps woods. It was cold still, and Zorian hissed in a breath suppressing a shiver, he saw that the boy was cold despite the warmth of his liein and a red leather jacket. The forest was dark, and looming yet as they traveled in their silence, there were glimmers of sunlight that seeped through past the hanging leaves, that Zorian gladly bathed in. “is your mistress fond of horses?” Mule asked after a moment, “it is only i noticed how well kept the stables are.”
“A little, far more than my father had been. For back then we had two, for himself and mother.”
Mule, came to a halt, stopping mid trot, “your father was the lord of Harwood?”
“Will hadn’t told you?” Zorian came to a steady pause on his horse, looking over to Mule.
“No,” he began to frown looking disappointing to the leaf wept floor,
“Her ladyship Elenor Harlingway, is my stepmother.”
The boy's lips drew into a straight line, “yet you serve in the keep, like you are of the common folk.”
“I do not mind it,” Zorian shrugged,
Mule frowned, starting to move once again, “you should,” he muttered.
“Why do you care?” Zorian chuckled catching up with the boy, whose horse seemed far better to keep it’s pace then Zorians Pirate who would get tired far too quickly and often.
The boy sighed, “I would not know where to start, for there are so many reasons to care.”
Zorian looked on to the boy with a frozen expression losing his humor, “you have only known me three days.”
“And three days are enough for me to find it hard not to fall for you.”
Zorian snorted, “you do not mean it, hadn’t you gone to the temple, as for-”
“For you,” he barked in a stronger voice, Zorian had ever heard before from the boy. “I have done so for the last three days, because-'' he stopped sighing in a way that reminded Zorian of when Gwyn or Will would sigh about their latest supposed loves, which was often, but for a few years Gwyns eyes had stopped wondering and found its place on the prince.
Zorian gulped feeling a weightlessness in his gut, that made him feel sick with nervousness. “Why do people seem so interested in me all of a sudden lately,” he muttered. It was quiet for a moment as they rode on, Zorian took that moment to look upon Mules horse, it was finer than what he expected a serving boy to ride, but he guessed he must have, had taken it from the king's stables. “Your horse,” Zorian began, “he is very handsome.”
Mule began to grin once more, “i have had him since he was a foal,” he told the boy, “i rather like breeding horses, the stables are my favorite place to go,”
“Not busy running after the prince?” Zorian chuckled,
“The prince is fond of horses too, so much so that it is a gift most given to him and the king.”
Zorian scoffed, “and does he train them himself?” he joked playfully,
“When he can,” Mule smiled, “but mostly he likes to hunt.”
“Of course,” Zorian sniggered.
“It is not so bad,” mule laughed in defense,
“I had never said that,” Zorian chuckled, “it is only it is such a princely thing to do.” he spoke in a mocking voice.
“Princely?” Mule questioned, “don’t you mean arrogant,”
“Ah yes, arrogant,” Zorian agreed, he sighed after a moment, he hesitated in his next words, “has the prince spoken of that boy he had danced with?”
Mule grinned widely, “there has been nothing else,” he oddly spoke in a brag.
Zorian frowned, “isn’t there other lords and ladies he could set him eyes on?”
Mule smiled, “none of them are him,” he said with certainty,
Zorian groaned, just as they came to a clearing, they came to a small lake, with a small stone cottage, Zorian had stopped to take a look at the view, and how gorgeous the landscape looked, as the newly awakened sun shined down on the shimmering water. Mule carried on along onto the clearing, his horse coming to an end at the cottage as he jumped off. Zorian gazed at the cottage that was simple and miniature of size, with a hay roof. “How do you know about this place?” Zorian asked, climbing off pirate,
“It was my mothers, well at least that is what my father told me, he had taken me here when i was young, and told me it was mine for whatever i wished.”
“Well, it’s certainly something,” Zorian smiled dimly, looking over to the lake.
“Come on,” Mule grinned eagerly, taking hold of Zorians hand, dragging him along into the cottage. The cottage itself was furnished well, and on it’s walls were woven tapestries of dragons and gods. “My mother had made them,” Mule told Zorian, noticing how he stared at them. “And this,” he spoke, as he pulled a sheet away from something, “was hers too,” it was a golden made herp, bigger then what Zorian had ever seen, the metal work, wielded with precision, and details drawn with a steady hand, it was much finer than what his stepsister had, which was made from simple wood. “I play, you know.” Mule spoke.
“The harp?” Zorian questioned,
Mule shrugged looking down at the large instrument, with eyes full of emotion, “I thought it would help me feel more close her, to have at least one thing shared with one another.”
“You are lucky,” Zorian breathed, “I hardly have anything of my mothers, and one thing that was truly left of her, was cut down years ago.”
“The tree?” Mule asked,
Zorian nodded, “will?”
“Yes, he had said it was the most beautiful thing about Harwoods grove.”
“It was, but my lady thought it would be better served as a chair.” Zorian spoke resentful.
“Sit,” Mule spoke with order, Zorian gave the boy a strange glance, a brow rose up, but listened and took a seat, as the boy pulled a stoll close to the harp and began to play.
It was slow at first, but then began pick up in pace as a sorrowful melody sung out, the vibrations of the strings leaving shivers along Zorians skin, he watched as Mules fingers plucked with a feathers touch at the strings, the song building with a whirl of melodies that seemed to slow time it self. Telling a story in which made Zorian think of his own mother, and her gentle smile, and her laugh as she watch him play among the bailey, his father joining and instantly he was brought deep into his memory, hearing a song his mother once sung, one she had told that her mother had sung to her too. Her voice was musical and light, entrancing with an allure that was cautious with it’s beauty. It was sung in words that was not native to Zorian, yet he knew each meaning of each word that came out from her lips, it was a sad song of a mother left alone, each of sons dead in battle, health or idoticy, the woman was left in her tiny house by a cliff, endlessly thinking of her children and soon to see them once more as the songs ends with the mother jumping from the cliff.
Mule's song ended, and Zorian had hardly noticed that he closed his eyes whilst listening. “Whilst i was learning,” Mule started, “my teacher had said that i could be a great player with him for the court.” he smiled,
“I can imagine.” Zorian spoke, “for you play so beautifully.”
Mule grinned brightly, “you are the only other person I have played for, other my father and teacher.”
Zorian smiled shyly, “that’s nice of you,” he breathed deeply, “shame i have nothing to play for you.”
Mule began to smile mischiefly, “why not sing?” he said, “i could play something, i know a few court songs that are popular at the moment.”
Zorian shook his head violently, “i can’t,”
“Of course you can.” Mule said, getting up from his stoll, and taking hold of both Zorians hands, pulling him closer to the harp,
“Mule-”
“Go on,” the boy smiled, sitting back down on his stoll as he began to play something again on his harp.
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