Dryad Eyes #46.
1,284 words, yo. This is Deredon's official in-story debut, as opposed to his previous 'just for fun' outing created between me, Wendi, and Chris!
The hood of her simple, grey peasant’s dress was drawn far forward, and her face was hidden deep within. Treyp hoped that it was enough. Slowly, as unobtrusively as she could, she made her way across the Keep’s courtyard and pushed, pressed, and wormed her way through the throngs of people gathered within the First Hall. The idea was to keep from being seen. As they had no way of knowing just how many, who, or what sort of people the demon that had been Erek had been infecting with his influence, both she and Matthew had decided that it would be for the best that they return to the Keep as quietly as they had departed it.
Well, Treyp amended the thought, Matthew had decided. Though it pained her to admit, even goaded her into wanting to gnash her teeth and pitch a fit that would be heard for miles around, when it came to all things ‘sneaky’ he was the authority. Doing as he said, however infuriating the saying had been, was in her best interests.
It was worrying that there were nearly double the number of the usual Guardsmen on duty in the First Hall, and but few of the people gathered seemed to have some sort of actual business within the Keep. Every which-way she turned her eyes, Treyp saw more and more faces that looked dark, angry, and generally belligerent. While she had scoffed when Matthew suggested that she try to not look anyone in the eye, mostly because of her own distinctively dark irises, she was beginning to think that there was some wisdom in his words. What had he seen to make him aware and wary of their collective mood when he had been out-and-about, making preparations and visiting the apothecary?
With her anxiety already running high, Treyp nearly shrieked and lashed out when a strong hand closed on her arm and gripped just hard enough to pull her to a stop and turn her around. She managed to choke it down to a startled yelp. Matthew had grilled her about this, several times over before they set out.
Do not draw attention to yourself. If you are confronted, what do you do? You be friendly, polite, and try your best to end the situation without further conflict unless you know your life is at stake.
What Treyp first noticed about the man who accosted her was that he was smiling. It was a very nice smile, she thought, which only just showed off his perfectly white and straight teeth. This smile was framed by a cleanly, carefully shaven face, with skin that was only just darker than her own. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high.
“Hello, Pretty Lady,” the man was saying.
The length of the jet black hair that framed his face was impressive enough to put her own dark locks to shame, and fell in a long, smooth cascade around his thick neck and over his wide, nicely rounded shoulders. Treyp was aware, peripherally, that his clothing was all very neat, inexpensive, and uniformly black. His eyes were what had finally grabbed her attention, however. Warm, amber colored irises met her own nearly-black gaze and held it for several heartbeats. Then he winked.
“Well,” he spoke around that pretty smile which had slowly stretched into a full-fledged grin. “If I had known that getting your attention would be that easy--”
“What?”
“I would have saved myself the trouble by standing in your path.”
The burning flames of shame crept swiftly up her neck to color Treyp’s cheeks and brighten her ears. Exactly how long had she been standing still, staring at this stranger? Ten heartbeats? Twenty? And it had not been simply staring, she chided herself. She had been outright checking him out.
Not that it was in any way her fault that he was so damn pretty.
Treyp suppressed the urge to slap that irritating grin from his handsome face, and instead snapped, “What do you want?”
“Shhhhhh,” the man held a finger to his lips. “Listen. Not ten paces behind me stands a group of very unpleasant looking men who thought you might be Vy Miegga, who has been leading their little congregation lately. Now, since you walked past them without a word, and because you’re so much taller than they first thought, they’re thinking you might be one of the new Dryads everyone has been hearing rumors about.”
“New Dryads-- ?”
“Now me? They kind of like me. I bought a round of drinks for them and everybody else in Big Thom’s last night.” He leaned closer, keeping his voice low. Though it had lost some of its potency, the smile never left his face. “So I used that influence and told them that you are just a dark haired kitchen girl, and that we know each other quite well. So well, in fact, that if you were to give me a quick kiss and take me with you through that door you were heading for anyway, they probably won’t interfere. I’m guessing the guard there knows you? My name is Deredon by the way.”
Treyp was shaking her head, trying to process all of what he was telling her. “You want me to kiss you… ? Why do you want into the Keep?”
“Yes. I most certainly do.” As he spoke, Treyp realized that his gloved hand was still on her arm, and that he was drawing her slowly, slightly closer. “And I want to meet Geran. I mean neither of you any harm. You can trust me.”
“No.” She disagreed immediately. “There are… I can’t trust anyone right now.”
Perhaps mistaking her meaning for the anti-Dryad sentiment, for how could he know about the demon?, Deredon shrugged. “Well, look at it this way. If I meant you or yours any harm, I would either be standing beside those men right now or I would already be inside the Keep. I could always seduce a real kitchen girl you know…”
What he was saying made a certain measure of sense. That did not, of course, mean that it was true. Treyp knew that. Still, it seemed that her best option was, for the moment at least, to move forward with the plan that he had presented. With a quick flick of her eyes over his shoulder to confirm that the men he had mentioned were actually there, she nodded once and then leaned forward to press her lips to his. He surprised her, unsurprisingly considering how forward he had already been, by returning what she had meant to be a quick, chaste gesture with considerably more ardor. Treyp took his face firmly in hand and pushed him back.
“Let’s go.” She hissed, and took him by the hand.
What would Matthew think? Had he seen what happened? What would she say if he had? Did it matter? These were the major topics on Treyp’s mind once she finished assuring the Guardsmen that, yes, Deredon was in her company. Her guest. At least she was inside the Keep again. That, and the worst case scenario that she had imagined in which she was arrested on sight and dragged in chains before some dark and twisted version of her uncle had not come to pass. In fact, neither of the Guardsmen had reacted at all to seeing her face, except to greet her and question her about Deredon. Whether or not that meant that they were or were not influenced by Erek’s demonic power, she could not begin to guess.
Maybe Matthew had already moved deeper into the Keep and did not see anything. That was her favorite scenario, Treyp decided.
The hood of her simple, grey peasant’s dress was drawn far forward, and her face was hidden deep within. Treyp hoped that it was enough. Slowly, as unobtrusively as she could, she made her way across the Keep’s courtyard and pushed, pressed, and wormed her way through the throngs of people gathered within the First Hall. The idea was to keep from being seen. As they had no way of knowing just how many, who, or what sort of people the demon that had been Erek had been infecting with his influence, both she and Matthew had decided that it would be for the best that they return to the Keep as quietly as they had departed it.
Well, Treyp amended the thought, Matthew had decided. Though it pained her to admit, even goaded her into wanting to gnash her teeth and pitch a fit that would be heard for miles around, when it came to all things ‘sneaky’ he was the authority. Doing as he said, however infuriating the saying had been, was in her best interests.
It was worrying that there were nearly double the number of the usual Guardsmen on duty in the First Hall, and but few of the people gathered seemed to have some sort of actual business within the Keep. Every which-way she turned her eyes, Treyp saw more and more faces that looked dark, angry, and generally belligerent. While she had scoffed when Matthew suggested that she try to not look anyone in the eye, mostly because of her own distinctively dark irises, she was beginning to think that there was some wisdom in his words. What had he seen to make him aware and wary of their collective mood when he had been out-and-about, making preparations and visiting the apothecary?
With her anxiety already running high, Treyp nearly shrieked and lashed out when a strong hand closed on her arm and gripped just hard enough to pull her to a stop and turn her around. She managed to choke it down to a startled yelp. Matthew had grilled her about this, several times over before they set out.
Do not draw attention to yourself. If you are confronted, what do you do? You be friendly, polite, and try your best to end the situation without further conflict unless you know your life is at stake.
What Treyp first noticed about the man who accosted her was that he was smiling. It was a very nice smile, she thought, which only just showed off his perfectly white and straight teeth. This smile was framed by a cleanly, carefully shaven face, with skin that was only just darker than her own. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high.
“Hello, Pretty Lady,” the man was saying.
The length of the jet black hair that framed his face was impressive enough to put her own dark locks to shame, and fell in a long, smooth cascade around his thick neck and over his wide, nicely rounded shoulders. Treyp was aware, peripherally, that his clothing was all very neat, inexpensive, and uniformly black. His eyes were what had finally grabbed her attention, however. Warm, amber colored irises met her own nearly-black gaze and held it for several heartbeats. Then he winked.
“Well,” he spoke around that pretty smile which had slowly stretched into a full-fledged grin. “If I had known that getting your attention would be that easy--”
“What?”
“I would have saved myself the trouble by standing in your path.”
The burning flames of shame crept swiftly up her neck to color Treyp’s cheeks and brighten her ears. Exactly how long had she been standing still, staring at this stranger? Ten heartbeats? Twenty? And it had not been simply staring, she chided herself. She had been outright checking him out.
Not that it was in any way her fault that he was so damn pretty.
Treyp suppressed the urge to slap that irritating grin from his handsome face, and instead snapped, “What do you want?”
“Shhhhhh,” the man held a finger to his lips. “Listen. Not ten paces behind me stands a group of very unpleasant looking men who thought you might be Vy Miegga, who has been leading their little congregation lately. Now, since you walked past them without a word, and because you’re so much taller than they first thought, they’re thinking you might be one of the new Dryads everyone has been hearing rumors about.”
“New Dryads-- ?”
“Now me? They kind of like me. I bought a round of drinks for them and everybody else in Big Thom’s last night.” He leaned closer, keeping his voice low. Though it had lost some of its potency, the smile never left his face. “So I used that influence and told them that you are just a dark haired kitchen girl, and that we know each other quite well. So well, in fact, that if you were to give me a quick kiss and take me with you through that door you were heading for anyway, they probably won’t interfere. I’m guessing the guard there knows you? My name is Deredon by the way.”
Treyp was shaking her head, trying to process all of what he was telling her. “You want me to kiss you… ? Why do you want into the Keep?”
“Yes. I most certainly do.” As he spoke, Treyp realized that his gloved hand was still on her arm, and that he was drawing her slowly, slightly closer. “And I want to meet Geran. I mean neither of you any harm. You can trust me.”
“No.” She disagreed immediately. “There are… I can’t trust anyone right now.”
Perhaps mistaking her meaning for the anti-Dryad sentiment, for how could he know about the demon?, Deredon shrugged. “Well, look at it this way. If I meant you or yours any harm, I would either be standing beside those men right now or I would already be inside the Keep. I could always seduce a real kitchen girl you know…”
What he was saying made a certain measure of sense. That did not, of course, mean that it was true. Treyp knew that. Still, it seemed that her best option was, for the moment at least, to move forward with the plan that he had presented. With a quick flick of her eyes over his shoulder to confirm that the men he had mentioned were actually there, she nodded once and then leaned forward to press her lips to his. He surprised her, unsurprisingly considering how forward he had already been, by returning what she had meant to be a quick, chaste gesture with considerably more ardor. Treyp took his face firmly in hand and pushed him back.
“Let’s go.” She hissed, and took him by the hand.
What would Matthew think? Had he seen what happened? What would she say if he had? Did it matter? These were the major topics on Treyp’s mind once she finished assuring the Guardsmen that, yes, Deredon was in her company. Her guest. At least she was inside the Keep again. That, and the worst case scenario that she had imagined in which she was arrested on sight and dragged in chains before some dark and twisted version of her uncle had not come to pass. In fact, neither of the Guardsmen had reacted at all to seeing her face, except to greet her and question her about Deredon. Whether or not that meant that they were or were not influenced by Erek’s demonic power, she could not begin to guess.
Maybe Matthew had already moved deeper into the Keep and did not see anything. That was her favorite scenario, Treyp decided.