Chapter 17

It was the afternoon of the ball, and Beowulf sat on Emil’s bed while the noble knelt on the mattress behind him, carefully braiding the knight's long blonde locks to keep them out of his face. Emil occasionally chastised Beowulf for fidgeting or adjusting his position in the fancy new outfit that had been tailored for him for the occasion. Beowulf complained meekly about how uncomfortable the clothing was. Emil reassured him that was normal, that fashion wasn’t supposed to be comfortable.

Once the noble had tied off the braid he ordered Beowulf to his feet, and the knight complied, standing up in front of the full-length mirror that Emil kept in his room. The noble had eventually inherited Beowulf’s old room near the barracks, after so many years as part of the guard, finally having space for wardrobes and dressers filled with all sorts of fancy clothing. Emil looked Beowulf up and down thoughtfully.

“You brush up very nicely,” Emil mused quietly, one hand stroking the stubble on his chin.

Beowulf looked into the mirror at his own reflection and winced slightly. He wondered why the plush fabric had to be so stiff, and why there were so many layers involved; shirt, waist coat, jacket… he had required Emil’s assistance just to put it all on properly. The only sort of suit Beowulf had ever worn before was a suit of armour. 

He had also never spent a lot of time looking in the mirror before, considering there were not many of them around the castle or back at home. That act in itself felt awkwardly uncomfortable to him, and wearing this overly fancy outfit he felt he looked rather ridiculous; it was all sharp edges and convoluted stitching and a collar that made his neck itch. The overly ornate attire felt uncomfortable and looked even more so. A big oaf like him didn’t belong in such pretty clothing.

“I look stupid…” Beowulf murmured melancholically.

Emil gave him a look of surprise, then scowled. “Nonsense. You look fine, I promise you you’ll blend in perfectly. Trust me.”

Beowulf frowned, but he nodded anyway. “So, um… what exactly do people do at balls?” Beowulf asked timidly. He had never been to such an event before, as Richard had never held any parties like that since Vivienne had died, and Beowulf wanted to make sure he would fit in as best he could there.

Emil had wandered off across the room to where his own outfit for the ball was hanging on the front of his closet. “Oh, you know. Talk, drink alcohol, eat tiny pastries. Dance.” Beowulf couldn’t drag his eyes away as he watched the noble pulling off his own casual clothes, stripping down to just his undergarments.

“Dance?” Beowulf said in slight alarm once Emil’s words had fully registered in his mind. “But I don’t know how to dance!”

“You don’t know how to dance?” Emil responded in disbelief as he started pulling his own outfit on. “Wait, of course, you’re a commoner…” He made some thoughtful sounds as he buttoned up his own jacket. Emil’s outfit was even fancier and more extravagant than what he had dressed Beowulf in, just as desaturated but with vibrant greens speckled throughout to complement his eyes. Beowulf couldn’t help but make the mental comparison to the peacocks that wandered the castle gardens; all intricate details and swirling patterns that made his head spin if he looked at them too long. 

“What do I do?” Beowulf found it difficult to keep the panic out of his voice.

“Calm down big guy, don’t worry,” Emil reassured, adjusting the lace ruff hanging from his neck down his chest as he stepped back over towards the knight. “I can show you the more basic movements you ought to know, should the need arise.”

Beowulf looked down at the noble pleadingly. “You will?”

“Of course, now put your right hand around my waist, and give me your left hand,” Emil instructed. Beowulf obeyed, hunching over to place his large hand around the noble's small waist and offering up his other hand. Emil wove his delicate fingers in between Beowulf’s huge ones, clasping the hand.

“Now basically you follow my lead and slowly step around, making sure you don’t tread on my feet. Usually you would step and sway in time to the rhythm of music… and usually you’d also be the one leading if you were dancing with a lady,” Emil explained as he guided Beowulf to slowly step and sway their bodies around the room.

“Why would I be dancing with a lady?” Beowulf asked in slight confusion, mostly looking straight down to make sure he didn’t step on Emil’s toes.

“Because that’s how it’s usually done, men dancing with women…” Emil trailed off slightly and stopped their movements. “It… It doesn’t matter anyway; it is highly unlikely that you’ll be expected to dance with anyone there. And it’s not like you could do this with Thedrick, he’s far too small.” Emil let go of Beowulf’s hand and tried to pull away from him.

“What if I want to dance with you?” Beowulf asked, reluctantly letting go of the noble’s waist as he moved away.

Emil pulled his own hands close into his chest, glanced up at Beowulf and then back down again. “That’s… n-no… we can’t…” he muttered, refusing to meet the knight’s gaze.

“Why not?” Beowulf questioned, tilting his head in puzzlement.

“B-Because… I can’t be seen dancing with a man…” Emil trailed off again, shifting his weight awkwardly. Before Beowulf could question that statement the noble spoke again. “A-Anyway, I still need to do my makeup and hair… you need to go to Maerwynn yes? I’ll see you at the ball.”

And with that Emil was suddenly pushing Beowulf out of the room, and then closing the door in his face. Beowulf paused for a moment out in the hallway, then his shoulders slumped a little as he walked away from Emil’s room.

When Beowulf had gone to check on how the queen’s new handmaiden was going getting Maerwynn dressed up for her party, the little monarch had burst into tinkling giggles upon seeing her bodyguard. For once Beowulf had no helmet on to hide the embarrassment on his face, which only made him feel more exposed and awkward. He told the young queen how pretty she looked in her special birthday gown; it was all vibrant colours with a poofy skirt. She said he looked pretty as well, and he couldn’t help but smile as his heart melted at that comment.

Beowulf accompanied Maerwynn and her handmaiden to the main hall, which had been brightly decorated for the occasion. Attention was brought to the young queen’s entrance into the party, and Beowulf tried not to squirm under all the eyes suddenly on him. Though it only lasted a few short moments, before the noble guests went back to socialising with each other, and the three of them made their way into the crowd to mingle, as would be expected of the heir to the throne.

Beowulf was happy to simply stand quietly, holding up the queen in his arms so she could be at the same height as her guests as she spoke to them. It was clear to him that she was trying her hardest to act like all the adults did and remember her tutelage in proper etiquette. But at the end of the day, she was still only a small child, though Beowulf and others clearly found her efforts to be adorable.

Most interactions began with nobles approaching the queen and complimenting her on her beautiful birthday dress, telling her how pretty she looked in it. This made Maerwynn quite excited, and she basked in the compliments. However, she also seemed to be trying to remember what she had been taught, especially by Beowulf, in being nice to people in return. This led to her calling all manner of ladies and gentlemen ‘pretty’, which the ladies giggled at and told her how adorable she was, and that men awkwardly blushed at, falling quiet, clearly not used to being called ‘pretty’ by a monarch.

Beowulf watched all of this with an amused smile on his face. He was getting some slightly strange looks from the guests, but he did his best to ignore them. It was likely just due to many people not having seen his face much before. Though he found it difficult not to feel at least a little self-conscious under their gazes.

Looking around the room, Beowulf spotted Thedrick; sitting atop a table strumming on his lute and singing to a small group of nobles who had gathered around him. The vampire was wearing a fancier jester’s outfit than usual, with a lot more colours and frills and lace that helped him to blend in with the rest of the nobles. Beowulf was once again reminded that Thedrick himself was noble born, a fact that felt so easy to forget considering how the jester acted in everyday life, though he must be somewhat accustomed to these sorts of events, at least more so than Beowulf.

Wandering around the room more, Beowulf eventually caught sight of Emil, his pouty pretty face now all dolled up in makeup and his usually unruly curls neatened. Maerwynn must have also spotted him, as she suddenly called out “Stinky!” and started reaching out towards him, letting Beowulf know she wanted to go over and talk to him. A smile tugged at the corner of Beowulf’s mouth as he turned and headed over in Emil’s direction, carefully weaving through the crowd of bodies a lot smaller than his.

“Hello stinky, you look pretty!” Maerwynn exclaimed happily once Beowulf was standing in front of Emil, who had turned to look up at them with a neutral expression, which turned into a smirk at Maerwynn’s words.

“Why thank you your highness,” Emil responded a lot more confidently than all the other men the queen had called pretty so far this evening.

“Now you have to call me pretty as well!” Maerwynn demanded, sounding a little put out that Emil hadn’t already done so.

“Oh, my deepest apologies, your majesty! I thought that the beauty of your visage would go without saying,” Emil explained, sweeping into a deep bow. “You are, of course, the prettiest one in the room, after all. There is simply no contest.”

“That’s right!” Maerwynn agreed, the cheer having returned to her tone. Emil looked like he was struggling to keep a straight face.

Though suddenly Emil’s expression changed to be extremely dour instead, his eyes now looking off to the side, focused on something the queen and Beowulf had not yet noticed. So Beowulf turned the two of them slightly to try and catch a glimpse of what had so quickly soured the noble’s mood.

Two other nobles were approaching them. A man of average height, his fancy outfit was mainly black, with well-kept and trimmed ruddy hair and beard framing his face, holding himself very straight and proper as he walked. The woman on his arm was quite short, with long chestnut curls pulled back from her face with a pin, and familiar bright emerald eyes, dressed in a lot more colour than her husband.

The two nobles stepped up and stopped in front of the three of them, their eyes on their son, who maintained his dour expression. His father looked down his nose at him, disappointment clear on his face without even having opened his mouth to say anything yet.

“Hello Mr and Mrs Rosenthorne!” Beowulf chimed up quickly, wanting to do anything to break the icy tension between the family members.

Surprise crossed the faces of the two nobles, who quickly turned their attention up to Beowulf and the young queen that he held in his arms. Emil’s mother especially looked quite alarmed, as if she had not even noticed that the monarch and her bodyguard were right there. She let go of her husband’s arm and dipped into a quick curtsy, and her husband followed suit with a small bow towards Maerwynn.

“Good tidings, your majesty,” the woman said, and the man nodded in agreement. They appeared to completely ignore Beowulf, despite the fact that he had been the one to greet them.

“Emil,” the man said, turning his attention back to his son, who scowled up at him. “Where is your companion for the ball?” He glanced around as if to emphasise his point.

“I don’t have one,” Emil stated plainly.

“What do you mean you don’t have one?” Emil’s father almost growled, returning his son’s scowl. “Who will you dance with then?”

“I’m not going to dance with anyone,” Emil said firmly, looking up at his father defiantly. “And who cares if I don’t dance! No one is going to notice.”

“People will notice,” his father said, his tone brooking no argument. “You will bring embarrassment upon our family, yet again. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t care!” Emil exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air slightly.

Beowulf felt Maerwynn flinch in his arms when Mr Rosenthorne’s hand struck his son’s cheek. The slap wasn’t loud enough to get the attention of the entire room, but some nearby nobles did glance over for a moment, and then turned to whisper to each other. Emil staggered backwards a few steps, clutching his cheek, and glaring up at his father with tears of pain welling in his eyes.

“Insolent child,” Mr Rosenthorne said as he lowered his gloved hand again.

Beowulf turned to where the handmaiden was standing behind him and handed Maerwynn over to her. His heart broke at the upset look on the little girl’s face. Then he turned back to the Rosenthornes, and drew himself up to his full, intimidating height.

“Mr Rosenthorne, we will not allow any acts of violence during the queen’s birthday celebration,” Beowulf said as firmly as he possibly could. Emil’s father turned his head to look up at the knight with slight surprise. “If you cannot behave in a cordial manner, I am going to have to escort you from the party.”

Beowulf glanced over at Emil, and saw the noble was looking up at him with confusion as well while nursing his inflamed cheek with a hand.

“I understand, sir knight. In that case, we will take our son home then, in order to administer appropriate punishment for his impudentness,” Mr Rosenthorne said in response, idly adjusting his glove on his hand. “Come along now Emil, before you embarrass us any further.”

Emil glared up at his father for a moment longer, before quickly turning on his heel and running away from the group, pushing through the crowd and disappearing out the main entrance. Beowulf glanced back at the Rosenthornes, who were still looking with disdain in the direction their son had disappeared.

Beowulf turned around and pulled the handmaiden away from the nobles with Maerwynn, and then quickly surveyed the crowd from his vantage of towering above them all. He spotted Cassian, standing by a window, dressed up in a rather plain suit as compared to what most of the guests wore, looking bored. Beowulf hurriedly dragged the handmaiden over in the officer’s direction.

“Cassian, could you please guard her highness for a moment?” Beowulf asked the surprised looking officer, putting on his best imploring look.

“What’s the matter lad?” Cassian inquired in return.

“I need to go and deal with something, it should only take a few moments,” Beowulf said vaguely, pleading at the officer with his eyes.

“Alright alright,” Cassian gave in with a smirk. “Hello, your majesty, are you enjoying your party so far?” Beowulf heard the officer asking as the knight quickly moved away through the crowd, heading to the main entrance to the hall.

As Beowulf was leaving the hall, the music from the hired musicians was just starting up, filling the hall with even more noise along with all the chatter. Beowulf stepped out into the courtyard, and then started searching for Emil. The sound of the music wafted out of the main hall and through the quiet night air which filled the garden.

The knight eventually found the noble sitting on a small bench, out of sight of the party. Emil was hunched over, body moving slightly with small sobs. Beowulf took a seat on the bench next to the noble, who didn’t even look up, and the knight placed a large hand on Emil’s back for comfort.

Eventually Emil lifted his face up from where it was buried in his hands on his lap, though still maintained a mostly hunched over posture. “I hate them so much,” he pushed out in a broken voice, while Beowulf rubbed circles into his lower back.

Beowulf had no idea what to say, he could not think of any words that might bring Emil comfort in that moment. But the music that drifted through the air and over to where they sat together gave him an idea. Beowulf took his hand off Emil and got to his feet, before lowering himself down onto one knee in front of the noble. He reached out and took Emil’s hands in his own, causing the noble to look up at him, finally showing his tear-stained face.

“May I have this dance?” Beowulf asked gently, smiling at Emil.

Emil gave him a look of surprise and confusion, sniffing back the tears. “Wh… What?”
Beowulf released one of Emil’s hands so he could fish a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and he used it to gently dab away the tears on the noble’s cheeks. Then, after putting it away, Beowulf grabbed Emil’s hand once more and rose to his feet, pulling the noble up along with him. The knight placed one hand around Emil’s waist, and held onto the noble’s hand with his other, lacing their fingers together.

Then Beowulf started to guide their movements, stepping and swaying in time to the faint music, looking down into Emil’s wide and confused eyes, which shone from the moonlight that bathed the pair of them from above. The noble had his lips slightly parted as he gazed up at the knight in reverence, and so Beowulf leaned down and pressed his own lips against them.

Beowulf saw Emil’s eyes widen in shock as he kissed him, letting go of the noble’s hand so that he could move his large hand around to the back of Emil’s head to hold it in place as he pressed deeper into the kiss. Then Emil’s expression softened slightly, and his eyes fluttered closed as he kissed Beowulf back.