#NaNoWriMo Day 4: Brigdan's Birthday
Happy birthday to Brigdan! Head Captain of the Royal Guard, Lord Protector of the Realm, Lord of the House of UiBrien commander of the Diras regiment, royal falconer, keeper of the ancient beacon at Farriage, Brigdan has acquired a multitude of titles and positions over the course of his life, but there are two appellations that he has always regarded as more important that the rest: that of being Alasdair's uncle, and being Vyrdin's most intimate and beloved friend. Conscious of Vyrdin's situation as an orphan adopted by King Dorrin, Brigdan was always careful never to make Vyrdin feel different or inferior, but Vyrdin, being the steadfast and stubborn man he is, never allowed his friend's scrupulousness to stand in the way of his paying for a birthday dinner.
“Oh, look, they’ve brought the
whipped salted butter,” Draeden raved, his mouth packed with bread. “Here,
Brigdan. You absolutely must try their whipped butter. It is rather like eating
a slightly salty and delectable cloud. I’ll have some on my next slice—thank
you, sir,” taking the slice that had just been placed before him and plunging
it into his mouth. “Or perhaps on the slice after this. Isn’t this lovely,
Brigdan? Everything is done with such ceremony and display, and while I admit
that I cannot like being waited on so much, as I dislike anything being done
for me that I might do myself, attendants mantling over me, perched and ready
to take up anything that falls or any dish that is empty, but what I do like
about all this frooncing is if I would like something more to eat, I don’t have
to wave down Bettidh or chase after anyone merely to ask for more bread or
water—thank you,” taking a third slice from his plate. “Are you not using the
satled butter, Brigdan?”
Brigdan had not even looked at the
butter, nor had he tasted the bread or anything else that was laid on the table:
the pickles, the bacon, the butter, the bread, the lemon ice and water all went
untouched as he marked the menu that was tucked neatly under his plate. He
glanced only at the section that was visible to him, the pricing of the main
courses, and his heart seized, and he could not avoid looking astonished. He
pulled the menu out further, trying to screen it from Vyrdin, though Vyrdin
would have his own in a moment, and he looked rather dispondant, his chest
sinking under all the disappointment in finding that there was not one item on
the menu that was under a week’s worth of captain’s pay. Brigdan could justify
the expense of such a dinner for himself, for though his father’s fortune was
moderate, he had always saved away something for Brigdan to take to Diras with
him when he went, a small sum to be used if and when needed, but he would not
reason away such an exorbitant expenditure for Vyrdin. His captain’s pay was
all he had, there was no inheritance waiting for him, no estate dividends to take
from; Vyrdin’s ten silver a week was all in all, and it was monstrous of
Brigdan to ask his intimate friend, one who had suffered the immeasurable agony
of exploitation and poverty reprehensible for so long, to pay for such a meal.
He closed the menu without perusing the selection and said, in a most mortified
voice, “I knew this place was known for being expensive,” eyeing the owner and
making certain that he was too occupied with the surrounding attendants to
hear, “but I did not think it would be this costly.” He leaned over the table
and whispered, “Even a basin of coddle is fifty copper.”
He glanced over to Vyrdin, to see
how his friend bore the idea of spending the whole of his pay on one dinner,
but Vyrdin’s countenance was steady and unchanged. He examined the menu without
any apparent distress, and even stroked his beard as he considered his
selection. Brigdan looked to Bryeison, but the giant was complacent as ever,
tootling to himself about whether he should have as an entrée. Am I alone in thinking these prices are
unreasonable to ask for a dinner? I know that Bryeison might afford it, as he
never buys anything that is not food or drink of some sort, and Draeden is used
to spending all of his money on food anyway, but Draeden will surely be left
copperless after eating here. And how can Vyrdin not think this is excessive? I
know he will say nothing about it, and will possibly insist on paying as he
always does, but how can I allow that? I know what he earns in a week, and
though he never spends it, he will squander a month’s wages in one sitting here.
I know it is very rude to recommend it, but perhaps we should go somewhere
else. I cannot bear the idea of Vyrdin being forced to pay for any of this, and
Brigdan was just about to suggest their going elsewhere for the evening, paying
what they would for what they had already aet, when Draeden finished his fourth
slice of bread and assured Brigdan that the prices were justified.
“The Errant Fox is known for being
the best establishment in the kingdom,” said Draeden, taking a slice of roasted
bacon from the bowl and gnashing at it. “The place boasts quality, character,
but most importantly its authenticity. Thus far together we have only aet at
establishments which serve mostly traditional Frewyn meals, but the Fox has
dishes from every country across the Continents. All of the ingredients for
each dish are imported from their respective countries-- it says so on their
certificate at the counter—so Frewyn beet sugar will not be used in Lucentian
begira if sugarcane from Lucentia can be got, and so forth, all in the hopes of
making everything as genuine as possible for those visiting from abroad. Just
as all their ingredients are imported, so to are their different chefs. The
Lucentian chef will prepare all the Lucentian dishes, and the Livanese chef
will prepare all the Livanese dishes, and so forth. You need not worry about
getting your copper’s worth here, Brigdan. Everything is always exceptional,
and all the portions are enormous—well, large enough that I only need to ask
for a few dishes instead of ordering one of everything on the menu—and every
dish comes with a complementary something or other, a soup or a salad or one of
their famous sides, and we all get free pressed chocolates at the end. And you
are sure to get a small cake with a Lucentian sparkler in it for your birthday—will
that not be nice? And the show and presentation are well worth the price. Even
ordering a drink is worth the expense, for your drinks are not merely poured, Brigdan,
they are done up with show and flourishes—you will see presently, after we have
made our orders. You will be easier about it once you see how everything is
done—oh, more bread! Thank you.”
Draeden watched the owner slice the
second loaf of bread that was brought to the table, and Brigdan sighed as
Bryeison and Vyrdin lay down their menus. They had chosen their dinners, and
now he must oblige them by doing the same. He took up his menu with a heavy
heart, and said,“Perhaps I am only unaccustomed to dine out in a place like
this. I suppose being only at my father’s, I am ruined for lavish dinners, for
my mother always prepared our meals and we never dined out. The more I see of
the various establishments around the capital, the more impressed I am with the
Wayward Traveler. Their prices are more than reasonable considering their
quality and variety of dishes. I do not mean to complain,” he implored, eyeing
the owner of the establishment, who appeared unbothered by his comments, “I
could never mean that.” He paused and turned aside. “Perhaps I’m only
scrupulous as to how much I spend on dining out, as I never grew up with the
custom.”
“The price shouldn’t matter to you
anyway,” said Vyrdin firmly. “My present to you is dinner. Order anything you
want.”
Brigdan’s complexion paled, and he
leaned forward to whisper across the table, “Please, Vyrdin. This place is
terribly expensive. I cannot ask you to do that—“
“You aren’t asking me, and I’m not
giving you a choice.”
“But it is unfair to you, Vyrdin.
For your birthday, you hardly let me pay for anything at all, and Bryeison took
the bill for dinner.”
Here was a sagacious smile from
Bryeison, who watched the Lucentian carps dancing about in the pond beside them
and said nothing.
“Please allow me pay for the
dinner,” Brigdan entreated. “It is my birthday—“
“And on your birthday, you are not
allowed to pay.”
“But it is not necessary, Vyrdin—“
“It is, and I want to do it,” and
it was said with such decidedness that Brigdan was compelled to surrender to
the ceaseless goodwill of his friend. He exhaled, feeling dreadful and
uncomfortable about the whole business, and said reluctantly,” Very well,
Vyrdin. If you are sure you want to do it, and you absolutely insist—“ He was
silent when he realized that the owner was standing beside him with a pencil
and paper in his hand, waiting to take his order. “Oh, pardon me, sir. I did
not know you were waiting for me. I will have the—“ he quickly searched for the
least expensive dish on the menu, “—the almond crusted salmon, if you please.”
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