TSA - INTERLUDE:  Triumphant Return

{Excerpt}

Verse I
In westerly dawn, where cold winds did bite,
Stood Levi, the Gryphon, with valor and might.
From the hill’s lofty crest, he beheld the fair field,
Where Tristan, the Lion, would soon have to yield.

Chorus
Oh, Gryphon bold, thy wings do soar,
With muskets' roar and cannons' score.
Oh, Levi, fierce Levi, with fire in his soul,
With pikes and with horsemen, his banner did roll,
He guarded his fief, his own father’s land.

Verse II
Tristan’s vanguard did march, with pride in their stride,
Unknowing, they ventured where death did reside.
A host clad in armor, with spears shining bright,
But Levi had readied the storm of the fight.

Chorus
Oh, Gryphon bold, thy wings do soar,
With muskets' roar and cannons' score.
Oh, Levi, fierce Levi, with fire in his soul,
With pikes and with horsemen, his banner did roll,
He guarded his fief, his own father’s land.

Verse III
A signal, a fire, and the muskets did roar,
Their volleys crashed forth, and the Lion’s men swore.
Yet Levi stood firm, his gaze sharp and keen,
For he knew well the trap, and victory unseen.

Chorus
Oh, Gryphon bold, thy wings do soar,
With muskets' roar and cannons' score.
Oh, Levi, fierce Levi, with fire in his soul,
With pikes and with horsemen, his banner did roll,
He guarded his fief, his own father’s land.

Verse IV
Now let all men remember, the tale of this day,
When Levi the Gryphon kept the Lion at bay.
In the annals of history, his name shall resound,
For in that cold valley, his victory was crowned.

Final Chorus
Oh, Gryphon bold, thy wings do soar,
With muskets' roar and cannons' score.
Oh, Levi, fierce Levi, with fire in his soul,
With pikes and with horsemen, his banner did roll,
He guarded his fief, his own father’s land.

…

“Lordly Reproach”, composed by Chrétien von Jongleurs

{END}

• [07.04.1624]

Faywyn.

Triumphant was the return of the Bloody Gryphon. 

Word of Duke Tristan’s defeat in the newly named “Valley of Lordly Reproach” had reached the town long before Levi’s return. The messenger bird bearing his declaration and orders had miraculously survived the perilous journey, evading the falcons that still haunted these parts. So it was no surprise when Levi found the people of Faywyn—long fretting over the threat of siege and slaughter—gathered in droves along the roadside, their faces alight with disbelief, joy, and relief. The clamour of the market square stilled as townsfolk abandoned their wares to hasten and greet their lord. The clang of hammer upon anvil in the smithy ceased, the baker left his loaves half-kneaded, and even the children, caught up in their boisterous games, paused to join the throng.

As Levi’s company approached the heart of the town, moments passed with excruciating sluggishness and the murmuring of the commonfolk only grew in intensity. Hands—gnarled, supple, filthy, and pristine alike—reached out from the roiling mass of people to touch the hem of Levi’s cloak. Elders, stooped with age yet swift of foot in their eagerness, children, men, and women—some with babes in arms, others with tears of gratitude streaming down their faces—sought to bask in the earl’s presence, murmuring blessings upon him.

“The ancestors’ grace upon thee, my lord,” cried one old woman, her voice quavering yet filled with fervour. “Thou hast delivered us from the ravages of war, as a shepherd doth protect his flock from wolves.”

With a warm smile, Levi turned to her. “Nay, good mother,” he said, stopping to hold her outstretched hands. “‘Tis the strength of Faywyn that hath won this day, not mine alone. Ye have held fast in faith and labour, and for that, I give thanks. We are all delivered, by the mercy of our ancestors and the valour of Faywyn’s brave sons.”

His words rang through the crowd, and a cheer arose, rolling like thunder through the masses. Pleased with the response, Levi continued on with the few soldiers who had escorted him home by ship—the rest were left in Ser Justin’s care to complete the arduous task of hauling the spoils of war back home; they would not arrive for many days.

At Faywyn’s Fort, the air was thick with the scent of burning wood from hearths newly stoked in celebration. The steward and Master of Coin, Ser Robert, greeted them at the gates, bowing low before Levi. “My lord, by your will, a feast in thy cohort’s honour, as a token of their lord’s gratitude for a battle well fought. The great hall awaits thee, and all within Faywyn shall feast this night.”

Levi turned to the line of knights and former militiamen, now bloodied soldiers, and spoke as loudly as his voice would allow. “Tonight, my braves, we shall break bread and give thanks! To honour those who fell, and to cherish those who remain! To Faywyn!”

“To Faywyn!” echoed the voices of knights, soldiers, and peasants alike. And so, the jubilant crowd entered the fort, and a great feast commenced. The fervour was so high that the sun set quickly, yet the night wore on with song and laughter, the fire in the hearth crackling merrily as the warmth of the hall wrapped around them all.

As the hour grew late, and the revelry began to wind down, Levi stood once more, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs of the crowd. “This day, we have earned our rest. But let us not forget the duty that remains—recompense must be paid to Khule for daring to march on Faywyn. Though the storm has passed, the lands beyond must understand the folly of repeating the Lion’s foolishness. Together, we shall face whatever may come and triumph regardless!”

Drunk and fed, the people cheered, their spirits resolute, for they knew in their hearts their lord spoke true. Duke Tristan’s grasping was a slight that would not go unpunished…

For who led them but the Bloody Gryphon, vengeful, cunning in battle and ever victorious.

***

“You look abhorrently pleased with yourself,” a soft feminine voice remarked. Levi turned bleary-eyed from the window, where he’d been staring out at the simmering revelry below, cradling a cup of wine. Princess Iris stood across from him, arms crossed.

A faint smile slowly bloomed on Levi’s lips. “...You are just an arrogant nimrod!” he slurred, quoting drunkenly, much to Iris’s confusion. “Too deluded to know when a fight is not worth having!”

“...Pardon?” the princess asked, perplexed.

Levi’s smile widened. “Those were the exact words you hurled at me the day we duelled in the training yard. I haven’t forgotten.”

For a moment, realization flickered in Iris’s gaze before morphing into an awkward expression. “It seems the rumours are true—you hold a grudge more faithfully than water clings to parchment.”

“A grudge?” Levi chuckled, taking another sip of his wine. “No, I just have a potent memory. You losing your temper over something so trivial isn’t notable enough for me to hold a grudge. Had you conspired against me, then you might have cause to worry. But let’s set that aside—what brings our beautiful princess to seek this oh-so-horrid lord out?”

Silence fell as Levi patiently held the princess’s gaze. Moments passed before Iris finally found the resolve to make her request.

“...When last we spoke,” she began hesitantly, “you asked if I desired to rule. I do, but what I desire more is to see my father again, safe and free of the Hertaleans’ shackles—”

“Ah!” Levi interjected cheerfully. “You’ve finally come begging for my aid. Today truly is an auspicious day!”

Iris ground her teeth in response, but Levi only chuckled mercilessly. “Remember, I warned you there would be a toll to pay when you finally succumbed. Are you ready?”

“...What do you want?” the princess spat, her disgust evident.

Levi’s chuckles faded, but a pleasant smile remained. “What else would I want but a Queen, princess.”

“...Pardon?”

“What do you not understand?” Levi quipped, setting aside his goblet. “While you might be a bit dull, few are the women of this realm who rival you in beauty or status. Surely, it wouldn’t be beneath me to take you as my Lady-wife. ”

Several seconds passed before the princess found her voice again. “You want to wed me?” she asked, bewildered.

“Is that so surprising?” Levi asked. “Did you really think I’d go through the trouble of restoring your father’s throne just to let you marry someone else?”

Iris sniffed disdainfully. “Well, aren’t you grasping? To think a single victory would embolden you to ask for my hand.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Princess. It’s simply the toll I ask to grant you what you desire. It’s only fair, given the unpleasantness I’ve suffered at your hands and of the task you demand of me.”

“That’s absurd—” Iris began, but a knock at the door interrupted her. Levi looked up to see Malina, scantily dressed in sleepwear, standing cautiously outside the study.

“...My Lord,” the young woman said. "Is this a bad time?"

“...Ah, your wench, I presume?” Iris spat in distaste. “Let me leave you to your evening pleasures then, Lord Earl. This has been a waste of my time. Excuse me.”

Levi smiled as the princess stormed off. Whether she accepted the proposal or not didn’t matter—it was the Queen who would decide the final verdict. Whatever decision they made would determine their fate in the coming months. They should know by now he had little patience for freeloaders.

In Iris’s absence, Levi’s gaze turned to Malina, who still stood awkwardly outside the study. “What do you want?” he asked.

The former noble fidgeted before slowly entering the room and closing the door behind her. Levi arched a brow as she began to disrobe. The cotton dress she wore silently pooled around her feet, leaving her bare before him.

“...I don’t remember telling you to do that,” Levi remarked with a small hiccup.

“I know,” Malina murmured, her voice steely with resolve. Without further explanation, she walked up to him, took the goblet of wine he’d set down, filled it from a jar, and downed it in one go before refilling it and offering it to him.

Intrigued, Levi watched as she spoke. “I beg you to stop tormenting my family,” Malina said, holding the cup aloft. “Every day I visit you and return with my maidenhead intact, my father and brother spiral further into misery. Even my mother, who loathes you, has begun to worry. They fear what will happen if I don’t earn your affection. Today, you returned victorious from a battle my father was certain would lead to your defeat, and in despair, my brother nearly hung himself…

“My father bargained to see me by your side for a reason. I cannot continue to fail him. Surely, I’m not so unattractive that you wouldn’t fuck me despite being so deep in your cups?”

Levi simply stared at her for a long moment, then his smile returned as he took the cup from her hands and drained it in a single gulp.

“...I must admit, you make a compelling case,” he said before tossing the cup aside and grabbing Malina by the waist, pulling her into his arms. “Still,” he continued jokingly, “how long will you deny the fire that burns in your loins for me? Simply declaring your desire for me would have been so much more easier than this, no?”

To that, Malina scoffed, drawing more amusement from Levi. Casually, he began divesting himself of his garments before pinning her against Aden’s prized table.

“...I-I thought it was beneath a man of your stature to take a mere servant in this manner, My Lord?” Malina quipped, her words punctuated by a gasp as she felt the pain of her maidenhood breaking.

“Shush, woman.” The earl, amused, said before seizing her lips with his in a half-hearted attempt to silence her. Defiant, Malina fought back his encroaching tongue with hers, and in time they, both fell into the throes of fleshy pleasure. 

A dozen minutes more would pass before Malina, dazed and conflicted, finally exited the study.

***

• [21.02.1624]

Helsbury.

King Lendar de Scymaester stood in the shadows of his fortress’s great hall, his face carved from stone, his eyes like cold steel as he watched the flickering torches cast long, trembling shadows on the walls. He had heard rumours before—whispers carried by the wind—but he had dismissed them as baseless slander. Now, however, the truth lay bare before him, undeniable and unforgivable.

The king clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled, yet he felt nothing. A storm brewed inside him, colder and deadlier than any winter, and it was about to be unleashed. The dishonour was unimaginable—worse than any defeat on the battlefield, more ruinous than a fortune lost to reckless gambles. His own blood, his legacy, tainted by sin so vile it sickened him to the core.

He glared down at the figure at his feet. Chained to a post knelt his heir, Brandon. His auburn hair, once the pride of the family, now hung matted and unkempt, his head bowed. The prince wore a torn tunic, the basilisk of House Scymaester barely visible through the dirt and grime.

Guards stood at the ready, their expressions blank as they awaited the command that had yet to come.

“Brandon,” Lendar’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade. “Look at me.”

The prince raised his head slowly, defiance in his grey eyes despite the situation. “Father.”

“How dare you,” Lendar’s voice remained calm, but the underlying fury was unmistakable. “How dare you defile our name, disgrace our house, and taint our bloodline with this... abominable behaviour.”

Brandon did not flinch. “I love her.”

Lendar’s hand lashed out, striking the prince across the face with a force that made the guards flinch. Brandon’s head snapped to the side, but when he looked back at his father, there was no submission in his gaze, only stubborn pride.

“I don’t care what you call it,” Lendar hissed. “You are a Scymaester. You are my heir. You know what is at stake, what is expected of you. And yet you act like a reckless child, with no regard for the consequences of your actions.”

Brandon remained silent, his jaw set.

Lendar stepped back, eyes narrowing as he studied his son. “Strip him,” he ordered the guards.

They hesitated for a moment before obeying, pulling the prince’s tunic over his head, and exposing his back. Lendar’s voice rang out again, colder than before. “Again! Fifty lashes!”

The whip cracked through the air, and the prince’s body jerked with the first blow, but he made no sound. Another lash, then another, the whip biting into his flesh with a sickening rhythm. Lendar watched, his face devoid of emotion, as if witnessing the punishment of a common criminal rather than his own flesh and blood.

As the whipping continued, the king’s attention slowly turned to his daughter, who attempted in vain to vanish into the shadows.

Lendar’s gaze shifted to her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something close to disgust, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Stupid wench.”

“He tried to rape me!” she cried, anger creeping into her voice. “How is this my—”

“Silence!” Lendar’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall. The whipping paused as all eyes turned to the King of Verum. “You will speak when spoken to.”

Alina’s hands trembled, but she forced herself to stand tall, defiance mingling with fear in her gaze. “I deserve to speak in defence of myself! I am not some common maid your stupid son can abuse without recourse! I am a Scymaester as well!”

“Indeed, you are,” Lendar said, his voice dangerously low. “Which is why you will do your duty to this house. You will set sail for Quilton within the fortnight. I won’t allow you, in your vanity and stupidity, to despoil my heir and legacy.”

Alina’s eyes widened. “He tried to rape me!” she cried again in disbelief. “Yet he is the one being despoiled—”

“Silence!” Lendar interjected once more, his voice hard as iron. “Enough of your lies! Your marriage to Prince Everhard will proceed without delay. You will bear his children, and you will never again bring shame to this family. Understood?”

Tears welled in Alina’s eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

“Get out!”

The hall fell silent again, the only sound being the princess's footsteps as she stormed out of the hall. Lendar turned back to Brandon, who was now slumped against the post, blood streaming down his back but his eyes still filled with that same, unyielding defiance.

“Finish it,” the king ordered, his voice cold and final.

The whip cracked again, but Lendar no longer watched. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating the next moves, the next steps he must take to salvage the situation. His children had betrayed him, but he would not allow that betrayal to tarnish the legacy he had worked so hard to build. He would see them bend to his will, or he would see them broken.

King Lendar de Scymaester stood alone in the great hall, the echoes of the punishment fading into silence. He had lost control, just for a moment, but that was all it had taken for the cracks to show. He would not allow them to widen. He would restore order, restore control, no matter the cost.

For the basilisk does not bow, nor does it forgive.