Chapter 4: The Ruins are Behind Us

They left the evening of Marion’s oath, having recovered usable supplies from the Queen’s Palace. Candles and dry rations from the larder were what they recovered and tucked into saddlebags and rucksacks. Eris stood in his childhood room before they left. It had not changed much since his mother Adalina died, save for the fading of the colors and the dust that settled before his arrival here. He was, in some parts, grateful that Marion had not looked too closely at the room or at him.

There was a vague bloodstain on the comforter, one he had furiously tried to blot out and cleanse. It was taint to his mother’s memory for the violence of his father to be here with her ghost. The only thing Eris collected from the room before they left was the rosewood lyre and the small trinket long abandoned on his desk. A small, winged serpent, cut from the same rosewood as the lyre.

Marion was leaning against Jacket as Eris emerged into the courtyard. A brow was pointedly raised, inquisitive to the nature of what to them seemed to be a toy. The prince did not offer an answer, simply going to tuck the trinket into one of the saddlebags. He made sure to tuck the wooden serpent among the knight’s bedroll and the meager medical supplies, a quiet thought striking him. It was a wonder that the elf hadn't bled out if they had been injured during the trip, given how poor their medicine supply was. The lyre was secured to the side of the saddlebags, tied so that it did not bounce or rattle as they rode.

As expected, the elf helped their prince into the saddle, seated behind him. Jacket did not seem to need much steering or controlling, leading Eris to suspect some form of psionic link between the fey creature and the knight existed. Everything settled into a comfortable silence thereafter as they turned away from the midday sun and the Queen’s Palace. He was left to his own thoughts for a while.

“You’re thin, but not skin and bones like I worried you were,” Marion explained as they made camp on the roadside the first night. “You should be fine to sit behind me, given you hold on to me. Don’t want you to fall off or get whacked or something, you know?”

“You’re worried about me falling off the horse? Why would any sane individual ever be worried about someone falling off a horse?”

“Listen, Your Highness–”

“Do not address me as your prince. It’s Eris,” he interrupted the elf.

“Eris. Yes… Listen, Eris. I’m a middle child and I’ve seen my siblings fall off horses all the time.”

“Then that’s an issue with the skill of your siblings, isn’t it?”

The question caught Marion off guard, and Eris did love to see them squirm in the moment. They bowed their head, paying attention entirely to the fire now. “You can sit behind me, tomorrow…Just make sure you hold on to me, would you?”

“I can accept this request, Marion.”

The week passed much the same after that, the day starting at dawn and ending at sunset. Eris was comfortable in sitting behind Marion, given it allowed him more opportunity for movement then his prior spot had. It also allowed for napping, head rested against the knight’s back.

Eris thought best while he was dreaming. When he would wake up, every so often, he was greeted by the landscape around them. Sprawling fields and dense thickets. Nobody lived this far in the Lowlands except hermits and farmers. Sleeping for much of the day also afforded Eris freedom at night, while Marion slept, to be more at ease. He spoke more with Jacket at these times, before even the fey creature would have to excuse herself to rest.

It was evening at the end of the week when they finally came upon a township. Eris figured they must have totaled just over five hundred in population, but Marion suspected a little more. They paused in the market square, taking directions from an old woman who was wrapping up her goods towards the nearest inn. An exchange of whispers were had by knight and prince, offering the woman a few coins for her wares before they parted ways. They were rewarded with three cheese tarts almost as big as Eris’ head.

The prince protectively carried these treats into the tavern as Marion took the saddlebags off of Jacket and Jacket shifted to a more inn-friendly size. Eris hung back as the elf did most of the talking and the bartering, not wanting to interfere too terribly much. It was easier to pretend he wasn’t a prince then acknowledge it.

The innkeeper looked from Marion, to Eris, brow raised. There was something scrutinizing in the man’s gaze. “If you break anything, you pay for it,” he barked, throwing the key to Marion.

Eris’ nose scrunched up as he followed Marion up the stairs. “That was sort of rude, wasn’t it? I don’t think we’re going to break anything. . . Do I look destructive?”

“No. It’s not that you look destructive,” the elf offered absently, pausing in the hallway as they checked the key. They counted quietly under their breath, before going to one of the doors. “They think we’re honeymooning, or something like that. A pretty young man and his. . . Well, they likely assumed I am either your wife or your husband.”

“Oh.” The air left his lungs, his face turning red as they stepped into the room. “They think we’re–”

“Don’t think too much about it, would you? It’s not anything personal, people just tend to assume things about young folks they see traveling together. Especially ones who seem like they’re close.”

“We’re not close,” Eris snapped, setting the wrapped up treats on the singular table in the room.

“I’m aware we’re not close, we’re not going to be close.” Marion held up their hands upon the snap. “Tell you what, alright? We can get drinks, there’s a bar downstairs, and we can just. . . sit here, and play cards, or something. Don’t want to force you into the public eye.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to–”

“Eris, you look wealthy. Wealthier than me, and I’m donning full plate,” the knight noted, having stepped aside to undo the buckles and straps of their armor. “We can cut your hair.”

“We’re not cutting my hair,” he pointed at Marion. “I refuse! I’ve never cut my hair, not once in my life and I won’t be doing it ever.”

“Then you’re going to put on my spare clothes,” the elf’s tone was pointed and commanding, gaze settled on the prince. “You don’t have a choice. We’re around people now, and you’re going to need to blend in.”

Eris considered this, a protest forming in his throat before he was unceremoniously smacked with the roll of clothing. Marion did not give him time to protest before they stepped out of the room, presumably to achieve the promised drinks. He stared at the clothes for a moment, then to the door as it shut loudly behind the knight.

The clothes were, at the very least, comfortable but very plain. A cream colored cotton poet blouse, lacking the typical frills that he might’ve associated with the style. The shirt alone was too big on him, hanging loosely on his frame. The breeches too were loose in the waist, but not necessarily ill fitting. His old clothes, silk and fine cottons, were pilfered for a sash to tie through the belt loops, then unceremoniously stuffed into the saddlebag.

When Marion came back, Eris was carefully examining his appearance in the standing mirror in the corner of the room.

“I suppose I look less… What was the word you used, important?”

“I said wealthy, actually,” the knight corrected, shutting the door behind them with their foot. “Got them to give me two bottles of a higher quality alcohol. Not too fancy, but it’s port wine. Will you open up those pies? I’ve not had anything sweet in . . .At least two months? Things got busy. . . after you know, everyone thought you–”

“Died?” The prince went to unwrap the three parcels, setting one aside for Jacket as she climbed up onto the table. Eris watched as the strange little fey dragged her pie to the end of the table, shielding it from view as she began to tear into it. “You don’t need to remind me that everyone who claims to love me thinks I’m dead, Marion,” he noted absently, going to cut his pie in half.

Marion moved to collect their round, their gaze having not moved too far from Eris’ face.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you knew. Your father put out a relatively large bounty for anybody who could kill Ganymede–”

“Let’s not talk about Ganymede tonight, or really for the foreseeable future. I’d love to never hear the name out of your mouth again," Eris interrupted bitterly. "Now come, Marion, come and open that bottle of port. I’ve not had anything good to drink in ages.”

And like a good knight, Marion popped the cork on the bottle, then offered it over to the prince. What they had not expected though was for Eris to be a lightweight.