Chapter 22: Wine And Dine.

Chapter 22: Chapter 22: Wine And Dine.

If Gurdet was honest with himself, there really was quite a lot to enjoy about parties.

He enjoyed the food and the readily available supply of alcohol. The music was always undeniably pleasant, if predictable, and the gossip positively delightful. And he always garnered a great deal of amusement out of watching those around him imbibing what could only be an ill-advised quantity of alcohol.

The company he could care less for.

The small talk for one thing was a right nightmare –every noble and his son figured that a social event was a wonderful opportunity –an invitation, even –to rub noses with royalty and earn their graces. And of course Gurdet endured it all as best he could and with as much wine as possible, but if he had to listen to one more nobleman talk finances –specifically, their own –he was probably going to drown himself in a keg of ale. Literally, or figuratively, he hadn’t quite decided yet. Literally seemed the better way to go –who knew it was so frowned upon for the upper class to get drunk out of their mind these days. The wine was flowing so freely and for some strange reason the nobles seemed determined to subtly undermine each other by proving they could hold their liquor better, and yet whosoever made a right fool of themselves would undoubtedly be the laughing stock of the castle –presumably behind their backs, in most cases –until the next party came along and another poor, overeager chump took the spotlight.

In that regard, Gurdet was a little envious of the palace guard, and any of the soldiers who happened to be well-connected enough to receive an invitation to the festivities. He knew they were all good men, good soldiers who took their jobs very seriously, but he had it on good faith that when a keg or two of ale was mixed in with the lot they made for a rowdy bunch of scoundrels of the best kind. They were always in high spirits, and would inevitably wind up too drunk for their own good –laughing as they drunk each other under the table and trying their best to sneak away with a maid or the coy daughter of a nobleman at the end of the night.

Ah, those were the days.

Gurdet took another nostalgic sip of his wine as he gazed out across the courtyard. It was an impressive spread, no doubt. Lord Sprida always aimed to impress, and frankly –as much as Gurdet hated to admit it –never failed to deliver. Personally, the décor was a little tacky for his taste –there was far too much crystal, and the solid marble bust of his son, handsome as he might be, was a little too much –but he couldn’t deny that if the man was looking to show off his wealth, (which he was), he’d have been highly successful.

Even so, Gurdet was bored.

Not bored out of his mind, so to speak –being at least three wines deep was certainly helping –but enough so that his eyes kept flitting back to a bench packed fit to bursting with rowdy soldiers and the odd arrogant noble brat who seemed to think he could hold his liquor. How delightful. They’d be shown a thing or two when the drinking challenges started –the aim, more often than not, being nothing more than to consume as much alcohol as possible, and keep it down.

Sometimes, when he forgot that he was a king, and not really supposed to be doing that sort of thing, he thought about seeing if he could still give some of them a run for their money. After all, he had rather fond memories of such things –of the old roaming gypsy markets that had breezed by every few seasons, the kind with roaring fires and jaunty bands and the kind of drinking that still, in hindsight, made him queasy. The wine had been strong and the food endless, and every time there was a noble foolish enough to try outdrink a gypsy. He’d never been a dancer, but he’d danced around a fire or two in his hay-day, woken up in a barn with straw in his hair and a pretty girl in his arms more than once or twice –and borne witness to his fair share of drunken disasters.

But alas, a king he was –and his family, his prickly attendant, and all the rich, pompous nobles he took so much joy in slighting would never let him hear the end of it if he set aside his crown for a night and drank himself into a stupor.

So, there he was, lounging as carelessly as he could in the nightmare of a throne Lord Sprida had allocated to him, Vogrid lingering at his side as the king made nice with his fellow nobles, at all times listening with sly ears to whatever whispers took his fancy. And, of course, watching over the proceedings with a practiced eye, waiting in a kind of shrewd anticipation for whatever might make his evening just a little less mundane.

After all, the best part of a party was when something went wrong.

Although, seeing that his daughter was enjoying herself about as much as him was definitely a close second. And seeing her being dragged across the dancefloor in the chubby arms of a man with as many left feet as he had chins, perhaps made him snicker just a little too loudly.

"Oh, don’t they just look so dashing together?" he tittered playfully to his attendant –catching his daughter’s eye across the room and receiving very little warmth from her. His smirk widened with a touch of glee, and he glanced up at Vogrid for affirmation. Of course, the younger man was not so obliging, and evenly met his gaze with his nose curled up in equal measures of scepticism and disgust. But Gurdet just chuckled into his glass and turned back to the room hoping to catch Xena’s eye again as the musicians struck up a new song. He was in luck –she was already taking pains to excuse herself from the dancefloor. And of course she did it while maintaining the picture of elegance –her words undoubtedly dainty and kind as she turned away his request of another dance with a practiced graciousness that was to be expected of a young woman who routinely turned away suitors left and right. But when she eventually managed to dissuade her various admirers to make a beeline for her father, she did not look impressed.

Gurdet was sure that he looked the absolute picture of innocence, but as Xena took her seat to his right –much cushier than his own, he’d earlier noted –she didn’t look fooled in the slightest. She smiled gratefully at the servant who laid a dainty glass of wine in her hand, but sent a disapproving sidelong look towards her father.

"Father, that’s your fourth wine," she remarked all-too conversationally, as she raised her glass to her lips for a sip.

"Oh, isn’t this wonderful, Vogrid," he simpered lightly, a hand pressed to his chest like a father might when he was particularly proud of his young daughter, " –It appears that my sweet daughter can count too." He sent his attendant a pointed look –one that told of how he had been reminded a few too many times of just how many glasses of wine he’d enjoyed so far. Predictably, Vogrid ignored the taunt, and merely adjusted his glasses as he turned to eye the proceedings with ill-concealed displeasure. He hadn’t touched a drop of wine all evening, and did not seem at all fond of the drunken ruckus that was rising up from one of the tables of soldiers situated at the opposite end of the courtyard. In fact, it wouldn’t have been outrageous to claim that he was currently the most uncomfortable person at the affair.

"Come now, Vogrid," Gurdet tutted, inclining his head and smirking at the sour expression on his attendant’s face, "Let them have their fun. We’re at a party, after all." He gestured to the kegs of ale stacked around the edges of the courtyard, adding with light condescension, "Do feel free to enjoy yourself."

Vogrid did not seem to share his enthusiasm.

"A pity," the king mused mournfully, shaking his head when it appeared that his attendant was steadfastly lingering at his side and had no intention of joining the crowd. "Lord Spidra has wine to spare, and I’m sure that there’s a lovely girl out there who would love to dance with a..." He paused a moment to appraise the stony-faced young man at his side –drinking in the stern curl of his lips and the haughty steel in his eye, "...A man, such as yourself."

It was like talking to a stone cliff face. One that could glare.

"I have no interest in such...frivolous...things," Vogrid replied flatly, adjusting his glasses and looking down his nose at the way his king was leaning into the palm of his hand rather curiously.

"Is that so, hmm?" Gurdet hummed, raising an eyebrow mockingly, "Well, careful now, or I’ll start thinking that the reason you’re not out there pursuing some delightful creature is that you’re already enamoured with my lovely daughter."

Well now, if didn’t that cause Vogrid to make the most interesting face –almost like he found the mere thought laughable, but also sort of pinched, like he’d eaten something bitter.

Xena too, looked about as perplexed as any daughter did when her father made a particularly bad joke, and it pleased him greatly.

"He’s not in love with me, father," she sniffed, rolling her eyes and huffing slightly as though even the thought was ludicrous.

"A crying shame," her father deadpanned, eyes rolling skywards as he took a long sip from his glass. He licked his lips and savoured the sweet taste for a moment and then glanced at her with a touch of boredom flickering back to life. "But dance with him, would you?" When she simply stared back at him as though not understanding, he merely quirked his lips up at the corners and gestured vaguely towards his attendant. "...With Vogrid."

"Father."

"Oh hush now, Xena," he tittered, rather enjoying the look of vehement exasperation reflected in her bright eyes. "I’m only joking," he assured her, and gave her just enough time to relax again before adding, a little quieter, and a little pleased with himself, "...I’ve promised your next dance to Lord Harasawa."

As expected, she looked suitably indignant.

"Father, no."

"Come now, Xena,.he’s a handsome man," he reminded her. "Virile too," he added offhandedly, and she blushed right up her cheeks to her lashes, "...He’s got the four particularly striking sons to prove it."

"He’s even older than you," she hissed under her breath, and there was a look in her eyes that seemed to be begging for him to admit that this was just another one of his jokes. "Father, not again –"

"Oh, but you looked like you were having such a lovely time with Lord Porply," he snickered, and she pouts as much as a princess was permitted to. "I must say,.I have never seen anything move quite like that..." Protesting in her own way, his daughter stuck her nose in the air and pointedly looked away from him, hands folded passively in her lap. He chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes, only to catch sight of the Lord Hanqan himself striding towards them –tall, dark, and impeccably dressed.