Lochan laughs again for a while
Eallair sighed deeply staring down into the foamy dregs of his half-finished ale. They had been sitting holed up in the King’s private quarters for what seemed like most of the night. Lochan would not have been surprised if the sun was already poking its head over the horizon outside. In here there was not sense of time.
It had been many hours since the King’s steward had come to awaken Lochan telling him that the King was running around in a panic in his underwear. Of course Lochan had dragged himself out of bed to sit with his cousin, his best friend, through this most important of nights. Garrick was with them too… Lochan had met him in the galley, sitting before an almost empty tankard of ale.
And so the three of them sat together, Lochan and Garrick trying to make conversation while the King sighed.
“Do you think she will be alright? And the baby?”, he asked his brows knitted into a worried frown.
It pained him to see his younger cousin like this. Eallair had always been the cheerful one, dragging him up into the light even when he thought he had sunk so low into despair he would not return.
And so he met every question with a reassuring statement, every sigh with a distracting comment. He was reminded of the sad little boy he had found hiding in the pantry after he had accidently broken one of the chapel windows with a skimming stone. They had sat together Lochan trying to distract him while he waited for the inevitable thrashing that would occur when his father found his hiding place. His face had broadened with age but the expression was the same.
“Alright then lads… listen to me!”, he exclaimed as jovially as he could manage, “I have a test for you then, let’s see how good your memories are, you old dogs”.
Eallair looked at him with a confused smile. His brows were still sitting above his eyes in a most distressing fashion but this was something at least.
Garrick took a long swig of his ale, “Alright then Lochan… out with it”.
Lochan screwed up one eye, opening the other one very wide and hoisted his left shoulder towards his neck.
“Now then ya… ya young hooligans! Stay away from me armoury or ya’ll all be in for a hiding ya will!!! What did I tell ya! Take off that chainmail ya bunch of ning nongs!! Ya look like a flock of ladies what with it hanging around yer legs like a dress!! Get out of here! Get away!”.
Garrick, who had been taking another drink from his tankard began to choke, spraying ale across the table.
“Ha! I know who you are!”, Garrick roared, “It’s old limping Anfar that used to be in charge of the armoury… you sound just like him… and the eye… it’s perfect!”
He peeked to the side at Eallair’s face and saw the young man was smiling wider, chuckling softly, the brows beginning to soften. He would have to do better.
“Oh my gawd and you Prince Eallair look at what ya’ve done to my chickens… look at them running about… poor things are terrified… what was ya thinking waving swords at the poor dears! Look… they’ve lost all these feathers from the fright of it!”
“You should be acting more prince-like and less like a pissed-faced buffoon ya idiot! Ya young fools’ll be the death of me… look at these grey hairs sprouting out of me poor old beard”, he theatrically pulled out a tuft of hair, “the Lord take me now before I ever have to deal with the like’s of you lot again!!!”.
It was the memory of being called a “pissed-faced buffoon” that did it, a rolling laugh bursting from Eallair until he was clutching his sides, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Stop… stop Lochan… please… my stomach can’t take it anymore”, he pleaded, the fit of laughter beginning to subside.
“Ha! And do you remember when Lochan snuck into the armoury and greased all the handles of the swords so that when it was time for the knights to practice they slid from their grips with a mighty clang as soon as they clashed! And what a hiding your father gave you after that one. You couldn’t sit down for a week”.
This brought on a new fit of laughter from the three of them as they remembered the woes Lochan had experienced from not being able to sit down. It was funny that he could laugh about it now, Lochan thought, at the time he had not thought it amusing in the slightest and had been very cross with the other two for teasing him about it at every opportunity they got.
It felt good to laugh, it had been such a long time since any of them had heard the happy sound.
“Those were the days weren’t they lads”, Eallair sighed happily reaching for his ale.
The door clicked open and Valeriya walked in carrying a small bundle that was making a large amount of noise.
She looked at the three men, who were red in the face from the laughter and the ale and smiled slightly. It seemed like such a small expression but Lochan could see the amusement flickering in her eyes. And behind it in the foggy depths, an all consuming sadness, so tangible he felt as though he could reach out and stroke it. Her face was pale and smooth, expressionless as a carved marble statue, but one had only to look into her eyes to understand the pain that lay beneath. Lochan knew. It was like gazing into a mirror.
Eallair had leapt to his feet before the others could react and was rushing over to where Valeriya stood.
“Is Madlenka alright?”, he asked worriedly.
“Yes, she is fine. Tired but fine”, Valeriya replied.
“Is that… is that mine?”, he wavered pointing to the baby she held which had stopped its lusty wailing and was now staring up at the King with his own big grey eyes.
“Well who else’s would it be… look at him Your Highness. He has your eyes and if I’m not mistaken your hair too”.
“Meet the heir to your throne Eallair”, she said more gently.
The baby was looking up at him with curiosity, his brows knitted with worry and although Lochan couldn’t see it he was pretty sure Eallair was gazing back with the same expression.
“Can I hold him?”, he asked in a quavering voice.
“Of course you can, he’s yours isn’t he”, she carefully passed the baby to Eallair, with a hint of reluctance, Lochan noticed.
Eallair held him at arms length as though unsure what to do with him.
“Well look at that”, he said in amazement, “He really does have my eyes”.
The baby reached out and patted him softly on the nose with a tiny hand.
“Ha! Did you see that Lochan! It seems the young lad likes my nose! Well I hope you do my boy because there’s a good chance that you’ll have it yourself one day”.
Lochan couldn’t stop staring at the sight of his cousin, a happy father holding this healthy baby in his arms. He felt as though his world was screwing inwards until finally it would reach the centre and he would implode.
He closed his eyes and gasped quietly trying to fight the feeling of suffocation that was growing. Spinning and spinning, sucking into a single point and all he could do was helplessly hang on and hope that it would stop before he was crushed into oblivion. His head was growing light and he had a strong desire to scream and sob and to gnash his teeth, beating his fists against the floor.
He opened his eyes and looked up and suddenly everything stopped. Her soft grey eyes were fixed on his own, holding him in place, a feeling of calm emanating from her. Those eyes were telling him to be strong, and he knew he must for be for the sake of his cousin. He took a deep breath and tried to smile as Eallair turned to face him.
“This is your Uncle Lochan little man”, he proudly presented the baby for Lochan to examine.
He was indeed a fine, strong baby, Lochan thought with a happy pang. He was very glad for Eallair and he must remember that tonight.
“Well done Eallair… he’s a very fine lad.”, Lochan asked, swallowing to try and wet his desperately dry throat, “What are you going to name him?”.
Eallair looked him the eyes and answered, “Kendrick”.
Then he clutched the baby tightly to his chest, choking back a sob.
Kendrick had been Eallair’s father, the King shot down by Faldorn’s arrowmen. The wound was still raw for all of them, but Eallair in particular. He had always been his father’s favourite.
Life was all about grief, thought Lochan. They may have these small happinesses along the way, but when it came down to it, they spent their days collecting woes like shells on the beach, storing them carefully away to pull out and admire in the light. But tonight he would push them back away into their dark cupboard and be happy for his cousin. Tomorrow was another day to caress the bleached lines of their eroded forms, to gaze inside their hidden depths and watch them spiral into nothingness.
That was really moving, Verity. Quite a roller-coaster in fact. The funny parts really were very funny (especially with the facial expressions), and poor Lochan for the sad parts! And poor King too for naming him for his father. I am so glad you chose to tell it from Lochan’s POV though. I love him more than ever now, being strong for his friend’s sake.
And Valeriya impressed me. It must be very difficult for her as well. I didn’t really think she was that strong. Is she particularly close friends with the Queen?
The baby is gorgeous, as I expected. (I was hoping it was a girl, though, pretty as her mother, but perhaps the boy will be too.) Those dreamy early Enayla skins make such pretty babies. I can’t wait to see how the facial features turn out when he gets older.
Did you notice we got a sneak peek at the baby in the second picture?
And… a bunch of ning nongs?
I love it. Did you make it up or is that some Australian (and/or Swedish) slang I don’t know about? It seems like a logical evolution of ninny, triple-ninny, and ninnyhammer as Sigefrith likes to say. I would love to use it if I may.
Whoops! Thanks for pointing that out Lothere! Sheesh that ruined any suspense I was trying to create
I know why it happened to… I remember when I was sending that picture to the editor my boyfriend came and gave me a hug and I thought I had clicked and put the picture accidentally somewhere but I looked and didn’t see it. Must have been in too much of a rush to post 
I think Valeriya is actually a lot stronger than it sometimes seems. She has been through an awful lot with Radomir but she never breaks down about it (except with Harndall, he is the only one she has shown her emotions to). I don’t know… I guess it depends on what you define as strong… some people would say it takes a lot of strength to hide your feelings and not burden people with them, others say it takes a lot of strength to let someone in. I think she and Lochan also have a certain respect for each other in their shared suffering and understands too what it is like to be on the outer rim of all the happy couples. I thought someone might wonder why she brought in the baby. There is actually a reason behind it and that is this; there is a bit of a shortage of ladies around at the moment, especially of noble class. Cindra is about to pop and basically confined to her room. Isaura was too ill to attend her. Morven is also about to pop and is ill so she wasn’t there. Varda and Lisbet were present too but since Valeriya was the highest ranking woman there they thought it would be appropriate that she present the King with his heir. So there you go
I have obviously been thinking about this too much.
Ning nongs is a very fine Australian phrase meaning basically as you said ninnys or idiots
.I was tempted to call them drongos (which is similar) as well but I thought that was going a bit extreme. It is however one of my favourite Australian insults along with “you bunch of flaming galahs” made famous by a character in the terribly bad but ubiquitous home and away. Actually I found out the other day that a drongo is a type of bird and much to my gratification there is a variant called a spangled drongo. How awesome is that. And of course you are welcome to use them there not really mine to start with 
. Actually when I was trying to think up a funny word for idiot and I kept thinking over and over loobys, loobys, loobys 
I hadn’t heard that one before? Is that an invention of yours?
I like Valeriya she reminds me of Goodwife Elfleda .
Celebration for the Crown Prince of Mhalwae!!
Awww! Yay.
Ah, distracting boyfriends with their distracting hugs! I thought you had put that picture up because the look on Lochan’s face was quite perfect, and you were so fixated on that, you didn’t even notice what was in the foreground. I have occasionally made such slip-ups already, though not as extreme as putting up as-yet-unborn children.
Valeriya’s presence makes perfect sense, when you put it that way. I have had precisely the same thoughts already… in fact every time a lady has a baby, I always ask myself who attended the delivery. So, uh… maybe you think about it too much, but I do it too. And I call it paying attention to details!
Spangled drongo is such an excellent insult it’s a shame you can’t use it. I think I will keep the spangled and attach it to something else… even spangled ninny isn’t bad. Spangled something-ninny would be better if I could think of a good something.
I am always trying to avoid too much American slang (not that I use a lot anyway, not having a TV or anything), but also avoiding too much Shakespeare, which is far more pervasive in the English language than you would think. The only thing I can quote freely is the Bible and, oh, maybe Beowulf. That makes swearing difficult. “By God’s wounds!” just doesn’t pack the same punch to modern ears as certain other things I won’t write here, and nevertheless at that time period it was a shocking oath.
As for looby, I didn’t make it up. I got that, as well as ninnyhammer and beetlehead, from the good old (as in 1911) Roget’s thesaurus, under “Fool”. In my story it’s one of Sir Sigefrith’s favorite expressions, and I try to limit its use to people who hang out with him.
I would love to use chowderhead, which my dad uses, but I am not certain people ate chowder back then. I freely use another of his, muttonhead, since people ate plenty of mutton. In fact it’s Sigefrith’s name for Murchad. He named him that to match Aengus, whom he calls Meatwit, which I think I did make up.
But there is one that keeps coming recurring in my mind and which I don’t allow myself to write… so many times I have had to stop Alred from quoting the immortal Bugs Bunny and saying, “What a maroon!”
Oh what a cute baby! And Valeryia seems to be having quite the effect on the men lately. First Harndall and now Lochan. Hmm I wonder if Lochan’s wife dies and Valeryia’s husband dies, if they could hook up and have babies together. Not that I would want death of course…just a thought.
It is really hard to not let modernisms slip in there. Some things that I use in everyday speech really can’t be used in Medieval times. Especially when the things being mentioned haven’t been invented. I know what you mean about the Shakespeare. Sometimes I almost write stuff and then realise I am quoting him. Oops.
Hehe… I would love to use chowderhead too… that is an awesome insult
.
Quite a few deaths would have to happen for that outcome Tiana
. To be honest I haven’t planned out everything and stuff is definitely liable to change based on what my sims do. But I do have a bit of an idea about what is going to happen here.
Apparently chowder is a North American word from the 18th century so no luck there. (Plus now I’m hungry for a big bowl of chowder…)
But according to the OED, as an insult, chowderhead may be an extension of jolter-head, which is an extension of the slightly-older jolt-head (early 16th cen.), which is not bad itself, and archaic enough that I might use it. I can’t literally limit myself to words dating from the 11th century after all.
The OED even has a quote from 1767, with the phrase “Ninny-hammers, goose-caps, jolt-heads”. Goose-caps! Even if I never use jolt-head, I must use goose-cap. It sounds like something Eadie or Wynflaed would say and think themselves quite impertinent.
Goose-cap! That is excellent! It brings to mind such hilarious imagery
. “Why… you… you ruddy goose-cap!”
I always want to use muffinhead but muffins hadn’t been invented back then either. Even though technically there was no back then since my world is a fantasy world but still… I don’t think muffins really fit into the picture. Mmmmm muffins.
Spangled goose-cap! Even better! I am going to have do a post with some yet-to-be-determined lady so she can call someone a spangled goose-cap.
Muffin doesn’t strike me as too modern. It goes back at least as far as 1703. Not medieval, but at least it’s old. If you like the sonority, you can use bufflehead instead. Buffle (as in buffalo) goes back to the early 16th century in English, and even farther in some of the Romance languages. Bufflehead… I’m going to save that one for Sigefrith to use.
Mmmm… buffalo…
*chuckling at Lothere & Verity comparing medieval insults*