#Nanowrimo Day 2: Fried Yams

Today in Frewyn is Tiusmiuir Shearla, or Parents' Day, a day on which all children are meant to honour their parents. The holiday started during King UiNeill's time as a small observance and since has flourished into a nationwide phenomenon. Brigdan, having grown up in Varralla with only his parents for company, lauds his mother and father for instilling within him excellent morals, good manners, and contributing to his generous disposition, and therefore has difficulty commiserating with Draeden's sense of right and wrong: 

The scent of fried yams suddenly burst on Brigdan. He turned toward the markets, and tittuping over the cobblestone walkway was a cart, its vendor holding a garland of fried yams rolled in brown paper and handing them to a passing patron. “I have not had those in ages,” he said to Vyrdin, with an amorous sigh. “Does this vendor give out the tomato and cream sauce in little cups?”

“He does,” said Bryeison, his eyes sparkling and his cheeks in a glow.

“Then perhaps we might have some of what he’s giving away and go to the Tench afterward. I know it will not be enough to appease Draeden for long, but it will be something. Why do you smile so, Bryeison?”

                “The last time Draeden wanted fried yams, he ate everything that was left in the cart.”

                “Well, is that not good for his business?”

                “Paying him for his wares is. However,” and there was a smirk when Bryeison said it, “Draeden making the rest of the patrons cry is not exactly good business.”

                “Cry?” said Brigdan, bemused. “But how can Draeden make anyone cry? Well, besides being whipped in skirmishes, but that is his job as a commander, and it is only Aengus who cries. I don’t see how he should think to make anyone other than his cerns cry on purpose.”

                Bryeison heard Draeden exclaim “Ooh, fried yams!” and watched him as he tripped off toward the cart. “He went back to the vendor a few times as we were patrolling that evening,” Bryeison told Brigdan. “The last time Draeden went back, there were a few young children standing in line. The moment that the vendor announced he had only two servings left, Draeden panicked and rushed to the head of the line.”

             Brigdan gaped. “You mean, he pushed all the children out of the way?”

“Never mind out of the way, he almost pushed them into the river,” Bryeison laughed.

Brigdan looked toward the vendor, who was quickly moving his cart away from Draeden and hurrying the prince on by telling him that there were no more yams to be sold, and Brigdan shook his head in confoundment. “His hunger knows no bound, does it?”

“He would probably throw children in the river if it meant getting the last batch of anything,” said Vyrdin.

“He might as well have with the way those children cried,” said Bryeison. “He snatched the last of the yams, threw down his coppers, and knocked one over as he left. Every child was wailing when he walked away. I had to buy six battered potatoes to calm them down.”

“By the Gods,” Brigdan exclaimed. “And did Draeden really see nothing wrong with what he had done?”

“I don’t think he saw anything other than those yams,” said Vyrdin.

Draeden returned and glunched in disappointment. “The vendor would not give me anything because he said all his stock had all gone cold from the afternoon.” He pouted and folded his arms. “I hope he is not lying to me because of what happened with the children the last time we saw him. They all began crying when I approached, and I hadn’t even done anything to them.”

“You did push them out of line just to get the last two servings,” Bryeison reminded him, with a sagacious smile.

Draeden huffed. “I did not push them, Bryeison. I only gave them a gentle nudge with my foot as I passed. And isn’t as though those children would have been able to eat those yams anyway, for they hadn’t any money at all. I would have given them a few coppers, but as it was, there were only two servings left.”

“You could have given them one to share between them, Draeden.”

“Nonsense,” Draeden scoffed. “You know that they should have wasted it anyway. They were not hungry, they only wanted yams merely for the sake of wanting them. It was not as though they were going to enjoy them, being as round and bucculant as they were. It was you who remarked how round and wobbling they all were. It isn’t as though they needed the yams, which I did at the time because I was absolutely gutfoundered, so you cannot say that I was not doing the right thing by bowling them over. I was saving them from gaining a few pounds, which I daresay they didn’t need, and I was giving the vendor business. If the children cried, they did so because the vendor would not give away anything, not because I took anything away. I was a paying customer, and they were little lardacious vultures. At that point, they were just getting in the way of a sale.”

Vyrdin smirked to himself, and Brigdan was uncertain as to whether he should be amused or horrified.

“I did my part as a patron, supporting a local businessmen, and I can see nothing wrong with that. I

was doing him a favour by circumventing those odious dollops, for he should have lost money by feeding them. I still cannot believe you bought them something after all their wailing-- and you see? The moment you gave them what they wanted, they were all smiles, and then they jiggled back to their parents to show them what they had got for their connivances. They tried to work their charms on the vendor, and when they failed, they settled for working on your sympathies.”

“I also didn’t want them to tell their parents that the Prince of Frewyn pushed them out of the way,” said Bryeison, raising a brow.

Draeden clicked his tongue and sighed. “As if stuffing them with potatoes should quiet them. They stuff themselves as it is already, and they still moan like caterwauling gulls when there is anything to be aet in their way.”

Bryeison rumbled with wicked mirth. “I cannot wait until you have children.”

“And neither can I, for I will teach them  better than the parents of those fat geldings ever shall do for their own children. I’ll teach them how my father taught me, and my father did not raise me to cry and fuss when I did not get something I want.”

“He also did not raise you to push children into rivers.”