Carouse [open]

[Caellach Baratheon]

How long now?

It's the sound of others crying amongst the din that fills his ears. It's the sound of wood groaning and the whole of the Ruddy Vixen breathing. It's the sound of thumping feet and hands; men carousing and barking with laughter. It's the sound of men singing and clapping their hands solidly upon their companions whilst celebrating the oncoming tide of night. It's even the sound of women swaying to and fro; magnificent with small oaken casks balanced upon their hips.

They smile politely and their welcoming eyes speak of women who'd spread their warm thighs for any semblance of coin. Their own voices couple with those of men; crying outloud when caught up and swung upon one knee or another as wine and ale slosh to the sand-specked floor. There's laughter then mingling with uttered words filled with lust and passion whilst others bark and shove at one another within a corner over a game of dice.

Some men sing loudly with their voices nigh ready to give under the crescendo of their voices whilst others pound their feet wth staccato beats. Within another corner a troupe thrums with life as a fiddle squeals over the din and hands fall hard upon a tight-skinned drum. All the while feet strike notes upon stairwells leading upward and to rooms awaiting patrons as a tender works with ease behind the wall of his counter whilst serving women work the floor.

As for him?

Every sound echoes from the first-floor and thrums throughout the Ruddy Vixen. All that thumping and carousing makes each and every room quiver faintly. It makes the beds shudder only a slight but still a slight that nudges him toward wakefulness. It's that subtle touch from the earth that throttles him and his mind sways without balance.

It's a sharp scream that pierces his mind and the face of his beloved mother keening uncontrollably. It's the sharp sound of steel slipping free of scabbards and the fleshy notes of heavy hands falling upon soft faces. It's the sound of asphyxiation; the gurgling note of one attempting to gulp air. It's the sound of death and the soon the sudden note of him gasping.

It's wakefulness that greets him and a room smelling of musk.

Tears prick his blue eyes as his nostrils drink the scent of the room and of flesh both. His head lolls as he shifts upon bedding only to nudge his legs outward from underneath sheets. His barefeet touch upon the cool wooden floors of his bedroom before hands clasp between his knees; elbows nestling upon his thighs whilst he hunches forward. He breathes deep.

"Mm, another nightmare...?"

No. Yes. Yes, another.

Caellach's face tips and his gaze flits over his bare shoulder onto the barely awake form of a woman. His nose wrinkles a slight and one eye pinches shut. The truth was, was that none of that was anything that she should be privy to. "Sleep," he tells her simply and she whines somewhat at him; her breath hitching as she clutches the sheets around her bare form more firmly. Caellach, though, comes to his feet and stands as naked as his nameday without shame as he saunters forth to the wash basin nearest the shuttered window.

His hands cup within the room-warm water and he motions his hands over his face soon after. He washes the weariness from his face and the sleep from his eyes. All the while his mind was working over what he had seen; recurring night terrors that leave him to thinking. He couldn't help but scowl before bracing his elbows upon the edges of the basin. Within moments he's leaning upward and reaching for the shuttered window.

He opened the shutters and with that was greeted by the bright and distant lights of the city square and castle proper. He had been there a number of times and had recognized the lights more for the fact that they often greeted him at this hour all too often.

Caellach wasted little time then before drawing away from the window to seek his clothing.

This had become somewhat of the norm by now and the Ruddy Vixen somewhat of a homestead to him. The truth was, was that Caellach had no true place to lay his head besides the soil beneath their very feet. It had become to the point that any semblance of bedding was a true luxury and for the first time since the last passing years Caellach had truly slowed to a steady pace and that had led him here to the birth place of himself.

The Ruddy Vixen wasn't the point of his true conception, or so he thought, but Caellach had the sneaking suspicion that Camelot was the origination of his birth. That here, somewhere, within the city proper he had been spilled deep and thick within the womb of Yaril the concubine. Yet, that's a different story entirely and soon Caellach was leaving his rented room.

He hadn't bedecked himself with his armor; after all, that would be a rather foolish thing to do. Yet, he hadn't stepped out of his chamber without proper clothing. Either way, with or without Baratheon's token, Caellach was recognized well enough with his grizzled and experienced look alone. His clothing though was something well off to say the very least.

Caellach may be considered of lower class but he was known to have enough coin to keep casks of wine flowing and women warming rented beds. Thus that's what led Caellach to having very little in the end of things. That's not to say he didn't know how to spend his coin properly but the truth was, was that Caellach was somewhat lost. It's an endless circle with him.

So, Caellach doesn't wear the roughspun garb of a peasant proper but fine silk that's form-fitting and dyed a blue that's reminiscent of the womanly eyes set amidst the features of his face; his mother's eyes. The tunic lingers cinched with a sash of white that's sewn properly with a display reminiscent of Asriya; his homeland, and the Baratheon household emblem; another note toward who he truly was. That's hardly making mention of the trousers of white fitted properly to the length of his thighs though or even the properly fitted footwear adorning his feet comfortably.

There's a sudden uproar that fills the Ruddy Vixen upon him finding the landing; after all, Caellach had made a name for himself. It was here he often came for news and knowledge about the world abroad. It's here he came often to make his way and coin; flocking from one banner to another. They knew him. They also knew his generosity with coin and the fact he often spread wine amongst the others freely upon his own nights of celebration.

Yet, tonight felt different.

[Imriel Cwningen]

The orange moon rose high in the night sky and smiled down on Imriel and her companions. After passing her second day of training with a few of the other men, they decided to go out for a drink. Imriel, afraid of revealing her secret, agreed to come. Dressed in a white tunic, brown vest, and deer skinned pants, she followed her companions through the streets of Camelot. It was her first time out since she had arrived in Camelot. Most of her nights were spent in her room, looking up at the ceiling and thinking of her deceased brother.

This was probably the first time Imriel smiled since she had arrived as she walked down the narrow and dusty streets. She had never lived in a town like this before. Used to rolling hills and forests, Imriel had been quite secluded as a child. This new experience caused her to feel giddy. She only hoped that there would be no tavern fights. Her brother had been in one once and he used to tell her the stories as her eyes grew wide with curiosity and fear.

The men finally reached their destination. The tavern was probably not the cleanest establishment. A few women stood outside, their pale flesh revealed to passerbys. Their inviting smiles encouraged Imriel's companions. As they walked through the door, one woman rested her hand on Imriel's arm, inviting her to come closer, but Imriel silently shook her head and walked inside.

Inside was chaos for Imriel. Drinking songs appeared to bleed out of the walls as men swayed and drunk from their cups. Groups were large and huddled together in an intimate manner. Imriel felt comforted by the dagger concealed in her boot. Though she was dressed as a man and could almost pass convincingly, she knew her feminine features would attract attention. Alone, without her companions now Imriel felt true fear. But she could not walk back to the castle on her own so she walked through the throngs of the crowd, trying to find them.

Suddenly a mutual roar was emitted from every group and Imriel looked up at the landing to see a man walk onto the landing. He was rather fit and striking, though it was difficult to see from where she stood. Imriel looked away as she moved through the crowds, her small body being tossed in between men as she slipped by them.

[Caellach Baratheon]

There were men who would allow themselves to be swallowed by the din; men that would suspend their belief and recognize themselves as more than man. Caellach, though, was different. He understood the mortality that's himself and how quickly one could fall. He savors the sound, yes, but does not consider himself more than what he truly was lest their Good God deem fit to ruin him then and there; that's something he could not afford, truly.

Nonetheless, he listens and watches; gaze flitting over the faces of each man and woman. None of them were the same and all of them were from different walks of life. Yet, here they linger underneath the same roof and uttering one song after another. All the while they look to him; a leopard amongst wolves, truly. He lifts his hands palm upward only to direct them downward.

"You louts woke me up," he states firmly and loud enough for them to hear. They laugh, though, and their fists pound upon each poorly abused table top. He couldn't help the slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth then as he steps away from the stairwell and within the throng without fear or shame. Hands fall upon his shoulders then; palms clapping his shoulders. All the while the world swims with faces before his very eyes; those he could name as his trusted companions and those simply there to leech upon his generosity and the fever of his men oft created.

...then something else entirely.

He's unsure what drew him to the other then and there, but fate had led the lad straight to him; nigh tossed within Caellach's arms. What could he say about the boy? He looks young and slight, and lithe, too. There's even a look about him that's feminine also. It's what makes him stand out amongst the brash and brusque men that are more grizzled than not and even baring scars worn by the ravages of time. So, there's no doubt to why Caellach looks at him somewhat oddly. Nonetheless, he holds the lad at arm's length and straightens him lest he be trampled underfoot.

"Easy now, lad," he warns and throws an arm across his shoulders; leading him along and through the throng with relative ease. "You should be more careful around these parts," he warns him. "Mn," he eyes the other suspiciously then; gaze searching the soldier's own.

"I've never seen you around here before," Caellach confesses.

[Imriel Cwningen]

Imriel continued walking through the crowd until the man on the landing spoke again. She wondered if he was the owner of the tavern or something else of importance. He looked tough and she knew that she would not want to be on his bad side. Especially without her armor and sword. The small dagger in her boot became even more of a reassurance, as well as the fact that she knew she was small and quick enough to escape these drunken, lazy men.

Imriel then saw the man walk down the stairs and she tried to walk perpendicular to him, trying to find a wall, but the men around her had a different idea and she was jostled back and forth right into the arms of the man who just spoke. Part of her wanted to duck and run away, but the other part of her froze to allow her to take in her situation. Here she was, newly tossed into the scary looking man on the stairs. Her only wish was that he would not take offense. She did not want to have to fight this man in a fist fight, not until she could observe him first fighting with someone else. At that moment she noticed her comrades leaving, but she could not call out to stop them. Instead she looked up at the man.

Imriel allowed the man to hold her out at arms length and she looked back at him, her brows slightly furrowed and her lips shut tight. She looked like a child would when observing something strange with that indiscernible look and curiosity. She only hoped that he did not recognize her as a girl. Luckily her long blond hair was still tucked neatly under her shirt. She would either have to cut it or find a way to look more masculine. She knew of men who wore their hair as long as her.

Imriel nearly jumped as the man put his arm around her. She was not used to being touched so much. But she had learned quickly that men were comfortable touching other men. As a woman she would not be treated this way. "It is my first time," she said, her voice low and trying to not sound like a scared rabbit. She would not show fear.

[Caellach Baratheon]

Caellach wasn't one that would roll over and allow others to overwhelm him; to overtake him, even. He's a smart man and has a sharp mind at that. More oft than not he made others suffer for thinking they could fool him. As for now? Ah, Caellach knew nothing of this lad, but he had the sneaking suspicion that there was something to him; something beneath the surface that he hid well enough from the eyes of others. Who was he to drag that away from him though?

"You look utterly frightened," Caellach begins; looking down at the boy from the corner his eyes. There's an experienced look to him. Yes, he didn't have the peppered look as many other aged men might have, but there was something there beneath the surface of those eyes; something different. Yet, subtle and not overwhelming whatsoever, truly.

"I'll take care of you," Caellach states suddenly. He didn't need to. Yet, he would. Why? Who knew. Caellach learned not to question fate by now and understood the repurcussions of doing so. It often led to the harsher things within life as a whole. That's something he didn't want to risk whatsoever. So, Caellach leads the lad along until they were approaching one squared off table; the seats bunched around such. There were already men pounding their fists there but others were eager allow room for the two. Caellach's touch leads the boy to settling down within one until he himself was lowering unto the seat beside him.

"I'm Caellach," says suddenly and offers a sidelong glance; gaze settling upon that feminine face of his. Ah, a lovely boy, truly! There were men who were attracted to such things. Perhaps Caellach should tend to him until he must leave lest he find trouble therein, no?

"Your name?" He questions until a sound catches his ear. It's a woman. She's comely looking and free of any semblance of paint. Her mouth spreads wide to bare white teeth, and wrinkles sprout at the corners of her eyes. She's balancing a cask upon her hip all the while; mulled wine from the scent of such. She peers down onto the two of them; the only ones not drinking, yet.

"Ser Caellach," she begins and bows her head respectfully to him and nigh curtsies before grinning. There's no doubt that he's held within high regard here. Yet, held no hold to the royal army. Freeswords were wont to own the love and eye of lowerclass; especially those like himself.

"What will you have?" She questions with clear merriment within her eyes. Caellach, though, looks unto his new companion with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you drink, boy?"

[Imriel Cwningen]

Imriel did not know if it was the pheromones she admitted that made him say he would take care of her, or if it was the doe-eyed look, but for some reason she did not know if she should take comfort or not in the statement. Sure this man was more experienced and older than her, but she was training to be a knight of Camelot and that was no small thing. One day she could be dragging someone like him into the dungeons for killing a man or harboring a fugitive. One day she might have to cross swords with him, unless they would end up being on the same side.

Imriel followed the man and gladly took the seat offered. She was tired of standing up and being jostled between the bigger, rowdier men. To finally sit down and get her bearings felt good. Imriel let the corners of her mouth turn upward as he introduced himself. "Imriel," she replied, keeping her voice low. As a woman, Imriel had a naturally low voice, though the melodic sound generally gave her away. So she had to alter her voice before she spoke each time.

Imriel looked up and watched as the woman walked over. Imriel had not had to deal with women yet to prove his masculinity. Of course a few men over the years had teased him and tried to help him lose his virginity. Little did they know that her virginity was actually her future and her honor. At some point she would have to reveal herself. She could not be a man the rest of her life. She did want a husband and children possibly one day. But she also wanted to be a knight.

"Yes sir," Imriel responded. Inside she laughed. As a woman she was old enough to marry and bare children. Though Caellach was much older than her, she could make him a wife. But as man, she was thought of as a boy and barely capable of anything.

[Caellach Baratheon]

...Imriel...

It's a proper name and nigh sounds regal upon one's tongue. It's fitting for his looks though, truly. "Imriel," Caellach breathes his name out with ease. "Imri," he murmurs next and nigh bestowing him a name then and there; a nickname of sorts, of course. Ah, but who was he to do so? He undoubtedly had one such thing from one man or another. The truth was, was that soldiers were wont do that amongst themselves. At least that's how he had ended up with Cael a number of times. Nonetheless, he offers a somewhat toothy smile to Imriel.

"Caellach," he corrects Imriel easily enough. There's no doubt that he wanted to rub elbows with the lad as he would have any other man within the Ruddy Vixen, and that he wouldn't settle for less. Who was he to claim a higher place amongst the rest? After all, they were the ones that had placed him within high regard. He'd be no where without them, truly.

"Wine," he begins suddenly and his gaze flits from Imriel's face to the woman waiting upon them. "Mulled wine," he adds suddenly before lifting his fingers to brush against the woman's forearm; fingertips pinching at the fabric of her gown only to rub between forefinger and thumb. "That, and some broth," he adds and looks to Imriel. "Are you hungry?" He questions then and there, and with that, was sending the woman off. Within moments they were alone; as alone as one could get within the midst of drunken freeswords and soldiers both.

"I must admit that you look rather young to be amongst us, wouldn't you think?" He questions of her him; amusement clear within Caellach's eyes. "What are you, truly, Imriel?" He questions with one brow lifting. It's then that his fingers tangle; rough palms pressing together and the backs of those scarred hands held bare for all to see. There was no shame to him, and for him to sit beside Imriel...Ah, the differences were more than clear to say the very least. Yet, he did not judge Imriel or discard him amongst the throng all around them. He kept the lad close and listened...

He genuinely listened and watched.

So, there's no wonder why Caellach wondered of Imriel's profession.

[Imriel Cwningen]

Imriel shook her head when he asked if she was hungry. She had already eaten a little while back. Imri, echoed through her head. She used to call her brother that. It was easier for her to go by his full name rather than the nickname, though for some reason she smiled when she heard Caellach speak it. Her guard relaxed a little and she began to enjoy herself. The tavern was not too bad as long as she stayed seated.

Imriel was glad once the woman left as she still was not used to seeing how men treated them. As a girl raised as a lady, she had never had to endure such behavior from men. She always believed in courtly love and behavior. But it appeared to her that courtly love only existed in the ballads sung by bards.

"I am nineteen," Imriel replied. She probably looked nineteen when dressed as a woman, but when dressed as a man she looked sixteen, or maybe even a tall thirteen year-old. "I am training to be a knight of Camelot. It was my father's wish that I do so. And you?" Imriel asked, smiling a little. She could feel the freedom of being a man release those womanly chains around her mind and tongue.

[Caellach Baratheon]

"Nineteen!" Caellach looks mildly amused and somewhat surprised by the admittance. They were getting younger, no? He could recall a time when lads lingered until they well over twenty before becoming apart of any arm of military power. Ah, but Imriel was different, truly. He respected that. It somewhat reminded him of himself but then he hadn't a choice in the matter.

Despite Caellach's exclamation, though, he could hardly believe Imriel was nineteen at that. He looks far younger and for good reason; most of the reason being that he had a feminine look to him. Caellach's blue gaze narrows and suspicion lingers all too clear within the lay of his eyes.

"You look younger," he murmurs. "Ah, but who am I to say a thing? I've started young myself," he confesses; although, once again, he hadn't had a choice in the matter. He lifts one shoulder within a shrug of dismissal as his mouth pulls with a wry smile. All the while he looks onto Imriel and considers his words. He was training to be a knight of Camelot.

"That's admirable," he murmurs and nods curtly thereafter. Then...ah, what of him? He's aged beyond Imriel to say the very least. Yet, he smiles upon the lad as crow's feet sprout from the corners of his eyes. "I've seen thirty-three summers, Imri," he says simply enough and his mouth opens once more to speak. He didn't have the chance though as that woman was returning.

She sets down a bowl of steaming broth before Caellach with smile thereafter, and then within moments, she sets down two cups of mulled and spiced wine; lovely, truly. Caellach offers a slight smile to express his gratitude, and as she saunters off, his gaze trails after her briefly. Within moments he was looking back to Imriel and lifting his cup to him.

"I am a freesword, Imriel," he says suddenly and offers another wry smile. "I suppose you may call me a knight of sorts albeit for a certain price," he adds with merriment clear within those blue eyes of his. Ah, so he hadn't forgotten the boyish mirth within himself. Well and good then.

"Well then, to your knighthood and wellbeing within Camelot, eh?"

[Imriel Cwningen]

Imriel nodded somberly when Caellach repeated her age. Because of her gender, did she look younger than her age as a man? Was he doubting it? Imriel swallowed, but it was a dry swallow and she quickly drank something. He then did say the one thing she dread, but followed up quickly by adding that he would not press it. Imriel let her expression relax a little.

33 years of age! Imriel looked at the man and could not quite believe it. But then, in her mind that age sounded old, when in reality it was still rather young for a man. If she were back with her family she could very likely have herself married off to a man of that age. He was very handsome, though. A little weather beaten, perhaps. "Thank you," she said to his comment about her being in the army as admirable. Maybe he said it because of her age, or her slight build, or maybe he thought being in the army was admirable in general.

When the woman set down the bowls Imriel suddenly realized how hungry she was. She smelled the sweet flavor and remembered the few times when she was a young girl and walking down to the kitchens. She now missed home. "A freesword? And what are you doing here, then, might I ask?" By 'here' Imriel meant Camelot.

Imriel raised her own cup and said, "to the well being of Camelot," with a grin and took a sip. Imriel had had mulled spiced wine before and it felt warm and good in her mouth and throat. She felt comfort immediately.