Feasts and Fortifications

It felt more like a stumble from one circle of hell into a somewhat warmer, louder one than a move from the stressful courtyard ceremony to the obligatory joyful feast. In a confusing attempt at cultural fusion, Stonegate Keep's great hall—typically used for somber military banquets or strategy meetings—had been hurriedly adorned. Kaelan's silver hawk banners hung limply next to goblin symbols that were shabbily painted and featured jagged peaks and snarling monsters. Grakka's troops presumably supplied bundles of dark, stinky fungus, which were draped near pine boughs, a human touch supposed to symbolize endurance, creating an aromatic combat zone.

One long table was occupied with human lords and their entourages, who sat firmly and looked nervously across the room. The force of goblins mostly disregarded the seats that were provided, opting instead to squat in close groups along the opposite wall on their haunches, moving efficiently and keeping a watch on everything. More than the smoke from the raging hearth fires, a tangible discomfort hung over the hall.

In a position of honor that was more akin to being marooned on an extremely uncomfortable island, Kaelan and Grakka were seated at a smaller table in the middle. Presenting dishes that highlighted the culinary divide between the two civilizations, servers fumbled anxiously. The human end of the table was decorated with beautiful pastries, stuffed pheasants, and gleaming roasted pig. Charred cave lizards (bigger cousins of the one Kaelan had almost gagged on earlier), skewered grubs the size of a man's thumb, and bits of black, unknown meat that smelled intensely gamey were all on hot plates down near Grakka.

With undisguised disdain, Grakka regarded a delicate piece of glazed fruit tart that was set in front of her. She grabbed it, took a whiff, and threw it back on the plate. useless. Instead, she grabbed for a skewer of shimmering grubs, biting into one with a crunch that caused the human Baron Von Hessler, who was close, to tremble and turn away. In the meantime, Kaelan discovered that somewhere between the strong goblin brew and the present olfactory bombardment, his own appetite had disappeared. He tried to appear calm and authoritative by pushing a piece of pheasant around his plate, but he didn't feel that way at all.

Even the differences in table etiquette were a spectacle. A completely respectable goblin custom that appalled the human population, Grakka and her warriors ate with quick, practical precision, using daggers when needed, and discarding bones with neat snaps and tosses onto the floor below. While humans chewed with tense, cautious bites, their sips of wine looking positively timid in comparison to the deep drafts of strong, dark liquid the goblins preferred, belches echoed from the goblin side from time to time, seemingly indicating satisfaction.

Perhaps encouraged by wine, a gallant human lord made an effort to speak with the closest goblin warrior and asked him nicely how the weather was in the highlands. All he got in return was a low grunt and a slow, suspicious blink before the goblin returned his whole focus to chewing on a bone that looked suspicious. It seems like diplomacy was off the table.

The toasts finally came. Known for his long speeches, Lord Valerius stood up unsteadily. Waving his glass perilously, he began a rambling speech about dawns of new eras, bridges of understanding, and the great sacrifice made for peace. Kaelan observed Grakka throughout the speech; her face was completely expressionless, though she did rub the dagger's edge against her thumbpad, possibly thinking of Valerius's windpipe's structural soundness.

Upon the lord's completion, Grakka's second, Borg, stumbled to his feet. He lifted his tankard. He yelled, "Grok'nar!" till the rafters echoed. "Fortitude! "Survival!" He emptied the tankard all at once, and it crashed back down into a barrel lid nearby. "Break peace, break bone!" That seemed to be the goblin toast in its entirety: succinct, straightforward, and completely devoid of any diplomatic ambiguity.

Kaelan felt compelled to answer. He got up and raised his own glass of wine. His voice could be heard clearly throughout the auditorium as he said, "To the peace," which had been ferociously maintained and hard-won. May wisdom and fortitude win out. Aware of both goblin indifference and human relief, he took a slow sip.

Perhaps five words were spoken directly between Kaelan and Grakka during the agonizing lunch. When he asked a neutral question concerning the mountain passes, he was given the monosyllabic response "Steep." She had later said, "Your knife angle is wrong," as she watched him meticulously chop his boar. reveals the wrist. He had been at a loss for words. It was frustratingly close—close enough to sense the eerie energy emanating from her, but far enough away to be cut off by an insurmountable cultural desert.

Thankfully, there were no further incidents during the feast, although Kaelan had a suspicion that some of the human aristocrats would need powerful spirits to heal. Grakka and Kaelan were escorted by a grim-faced castellan from the haunting discomfort of the hall to their designated rooms, a hurriedly prepared'marital suite' in the most guarded tower of the castle.

The suite included two distinct bedchambers on either side of a central living space that was decorated with faded tapestries and substantial oak furniture. It was the usual, cozy cuisine of human dignity. Although the carved furniture and thick velvet curtains seemed to emphasize the ridiculousness of the scenario, Kaelan felt a brief moment of tired comfort at the appearance of normalcy.

Grakka had a completely different response. Her eyes sharpened as she stalked through the rooms, evaluating everything with the practical eyes of a fighter. She pushed a massive wardrobe slightly, perhaps to check its weight or stability, tried the bars on the windows, then slammed the hefty oak door of her designated chamber shut and looked at its lock mechanism. She looked particularly suspiciously at the tapestries, running a hand behind one as though looking for listening devices or secret passages. They grunted and tossed aside the soft cushions on the chairs. Disarray. Weakness. Possible hiding places.

Without saying anything, she vanished inside her room. Kaelan heard the hefty thud of a door bar that she must have brought herself, followed by the distinct sounds of furniture scratching across the floor. The uneasiness was heightened by the silence as he stood by himself in the sitting room. Feeling completely worn out, he withdrew to his own room, the one with the massive four-poster bed. He took comfort in his usual routine as he carefully unloaded the few necessities he had brought and placed them in a military-like manner. The heavy oak door that divided his chamber from Grakka's felt more like the boundary between two adversarial countries than a passageway.

Later, when Stonegate Keep was engulfed in genuine night, the suite was quiet but not serene. The rich linens felt foreign to Kaelan as he lay still in the canopied bed. It was impossible to sleep. His wife, the goblin warrior, was on the other side of the wall, maybe even now evaluating the room's defenses or honing her blade in the dark, but he could hear the subtle sounds of the keep settling about him. The feast survived, the ceremony went on, and the treaty was signed. However, the true challenge of living with Grakka, or even just sharing a space, had only just begun.

There was no Grakka sleeping in the adjacent room. Her cleaver rested across her knees as she sat on the hard floor with her back to the wall and her face toward the entrance. She completely disregarded the human bed; comfort breeds complacency. She paid close attention to the strange nighttime noises coming from the keep, such as the creak of old timbers, the distant whicker of horses, and the tread of sentries on the walls. Every noise may be dangerous, and every shadow could be an adversary. The most perilous battleground she had ever encountered was this keep, this room, and the forced closeness to the softskin knight. And her only trustworthy defense was attentiveness.