Jocelyn's Journey

Jocelyn's Journey by PigPen


The sun was in its final stages of clearing the horizon when the queen finally threw open her shutters. Her view was exceptionally beautiful on mornings like this. The sun was basking her realm in early morning beauty. The blue-green waters of Kings Bay, where the Mason’s River ran into the Smugglers Ocean, were alive with yellow fire as the sun glistened and shimmered across it. Her view was the most commanding view in all of the Valley Lands. Looking out to the northwest, away from Kings Bay, ran Garrison’s Way, an enormous road that stretched the entire length of the kingdom, north to south. She could still remember riding down Garrison’s Way and seeing Hammond Hall for the first time -- the largest and grandest castle in all of Duramond, befitting the royal seat and home to the “Largest Fleet.” There was no power at sea with half her might. They had launched a new dromond the day she arrived and it was her honor to name it. She had been dumbfounded when her good father had bestowed that as a wedding gift. When her wits returned, she had naught else but to name it after he betrothed. Henry’s Hammer was the biggest, fastest ship ever to set sail, as her prince had been the best knight in all the kingdom.

She turned around, intending to call her handmaidens and have them fetch up a bath. Her husband was propped up on his elbow and eyeing her lovingly, a small, innocent, yet playful, smile playing at his lips. “You seem very happy with yourself today, my Lord.” She couldn’t help but smile back, knowing how he disliked his wife calling him that. The first time she had made that faux pas had been their wedding night. Now, she only did it when she wanted to get a rise out of him.

“How not?” he replied coolly. “I bedded the most beautiful woman in all my kingdom last night and woke up with her in my arms this morning.” She could feel her cheeks heat up instantly.

She went to him, wrapping her arms around him and placing her head upon his chest. She could feel his heart beating slowly and surely.

As she lay there, her thoughts went back to when she was but fifteen, a maiden freshly flowered. Harold Hammond had arrived at their castle with the biggest retainer of knights, servants, squires, handmaidens, camp followers, and cronies that she had ever seen. Snow Fall was a large castle by any standard but could never hope to hold Harold’s entire host. Most had camped outside the castle walls, which made a city outside the castle. Her heart had begun to pound inside her chest the minute Harold’s outriders had been seen. He had come to see if she was fit for betrothal to his son. Stories had preceded his coming about how scathingly he had judged the first two maidens whose fathers saw them fit to wed the prince. She had met both girls at the last Kingdom Tournament, held every spring. Neither had been exceedingly comely, but neither had they been homely by any means. The girls had been pleasant and been her friends during the tournament. Some of the tales that had reached her claimed King Harold had gone as far as to call one girl a lack-wit and the other a freak. Her sisters had done little to lift her spirits. They had taunted her mercilessly from the day the raven arrived, heralding the coming of the king. She had been on edge from that day until the king claimed her worthy of his son almost a fortnight later.

Now, she couldn’t be happier. She had come to love her betrothed despite thinking she never would. He had been kind with her and generally wanted her to be happy, starting from the first day they met on the steps of Hammer Hall and ridden through the city and out the Kings Gate. They had ridden out to the cheers of all the small folk, a wave of noise that seemed to swell and followed them out through the fields. They had stopped after several hours and eaten a picnic that Prince Henry had packed in a handbasket. They sat and talked till the sun was low in the sky. They talked of childhood memories, friends, secrets that they hadn’t told anyone, and many other things that were of meaning to them. This was one of many quiet times Prince Henry had planned for them in the week prior to their wedding. It was the most magical time of her life. She felt as if she were in some fairy tale, told by wet nurses to young children at bedtime.

The wedding had been no less grand. After a resplendent ceremony in the Most Holy Sept, they had returned to Hammer Hall for the reception. It had been immaculately decorated from floor to ceiling. There had been seating for a thousand wedding guests, but more had packed in along the walls. Singers were all about, as well as jugglers and jesters in motley. They had even brought in dancing bears from the Isles of Veramell. She had not seen anything half so beautiful in all her life. The highlight of the evening for her came as the feast was drawing to a close. The hall was in a rare lull when the heralds began shouting the arrival of a late guest. As the doors parted, the Bard of Bention strode into the hall. The most renowned singer in all the kingdom bowed before the dais. “I am afraid that my tardiness will limit the amount of entertainment I can provide,” he said. “But if you will allow me, I have a new limerick I wish to share with you.”
He looked directly at the future queen, smiled and said, “It’s called ‘Jocelyn’s Journey’.”