Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 79: Learning to Dance

"Of course—he’s Berion Tuck, our lord of Norlandenburg, the hero who led us to lives with full bellies, warm clothes, and roofs over our heads." Bran puffed out his chest with pride.

Gamgee clapped him on the back, chuckling, "Alright, then let’s hurry and catch up to our hero."

Not long after the three of them returned to their lodgings, Broda and most of the guards, who had been watching the tournament from the public steps, also returned. Broda burst in, excitement bright in his eyes as he addressed Berion, "My lord, your name will soon be known to everyone in the province of Janwickshore. Before long, all the people of Brick will hear of your valor and knightly virtue."

As Broda finished, the bard Drew laughed and said to Berion, "Sir Berion, soon your name will precede your face, whether people are friend or stranger. Bards like me, and the merchants as well, will spread your story far and wide. Your fame will grow, and Norlandenburg will become renowned. It won’t be long before followers flock to your side."

Listening to the flattery from both his subordinate and his old acquaintance, Berion just smiled, saying nothing. Though both seemed to be buttering him up, he knew their admiration was sincere.

Seeing that everyone had returned, and the day was indeed one for celebration, Gamgee proposed another grand feast of roasted meats, with no one stopping until they were well and truly sated. Unsurprisingly, everyone agreed at once.

However, that evening, Berion kept a watchful eye on his guards, who drank like fish, lest they outdrink Gamgee. Taking advantage of the moment, Berion asked Gamgee about dancing. He didn't reveal that he would be dancing with Jessis—he didn’t want his friend worrying for his safety. He only explained that the banquet would be full of noble ladies and girls, and since he couldn’t dance, if someone asked him, he’d be humiliated before all the Janwickshore elite.

Gamgee, clutching his cup, toasted himself, belched, and, half-drunk and reeking of ale, slung his arm around Berion’s shoulders. "My good brother, learning to dance is simple. I tell you, I’m a master dancer. I won over my wife and that woman in Janwickshore all with my dancing at banquets. Let me tell you—"

Berion, realizing he was about to launch into tales of his romantic exploits, quickly stopped him. "If you really can dance, then teach me. We’ve only got two days, so I have to practice hard if I’m to keep up at the banquet."

"No problem! I’ll teach you. Dancing’s easy—you just grab a hand, wrap an arm around the waist, hand on the shoulder, turn, and hop." So saying, Gamgee stood up, cup in hand, and began demonstrating in the courtyard.

After a while, noticing his ale sloshing out, Gamgee simply finished the cup, his face flushed and his steps unsteady. "I have a special move guaranteed to win a lady’s heart. Grab her waist, lift her hand, and spin her around. After a few turns, she’ll be dizzy. Then, with a little force, she’ll fall right into your arms. When she’s lying there, lightheaded, whisper a few words to her—and you’ve got her."

He spun around the courtyard, oblivious, while everyone else watched and burst into laughter at his antics.

"You little rascals! I’m teaching you the secrets of wooing women—most people wouldn’t get these tips from me! You don’t know how lucky you are. Watch closely, I’ll show you again. You spin like this, lift the hand, turn, turn—ow!"

With a yelp, the self-styled master of love and dance missed his step and tumbled to the ground.

Berion couldn’t help but laugh, but hurried over to check if Gamgee had injured himself. Fortunately, it was just a scrape; the fellow was tough and thick-skinned, such bumps hardly mattered.

Seeing Gamgee both drunk and hurt, Berion had Broda and two others escort him home to rest.

Still, Berion now saw that while Gamgee did know how to dance, his skills were mediocre at best. He talked a good game, but in reality, he wasn’t much of a dancer. Berion could only hope that once Gamgee sobered up, he’d be able to find a proper dance instructor.

But sometimes, the solutions you pin your hopes on fail, and unexpected people end up solving your problems.

After Gamgee had been sent home, the bard Drew approached Berion with a cup in hand. "Sir Berion, do you need to learn ballroom dancing?"

Berion nodded. "You know, in two days I’ll be attending a banquet at Count Greber’s estate. There will certainly be dancing, and as the focus of the evening, I can’t risk making a fool of myself."

"If you trust me, I can teach you to dance," Drew offered.

"Oh? You can dance?" Berion asked in surprise.

Drew smiled sheepishly. "I am a bard, after all. I often perform at noble banquets—learning to dance from them was only natural. My teacher could sing and dance at the same time, really enlivening the room. I’m not as good as he was, but I think I do alright."

Berion looked at him with appreciation. "I believe you. From now on, you’re my dance instructor. If you get me ready in two days and I don’t embarrass myself at the banquet, I’ll reward you with ten dinars."

"Hahaha, very well, Sir Berion. You’d better have those ten lovely silver coins ready!" Drew laughed.

He led Berion to the fireside in the courtyard, pulled Bran over to serve as his partner, and demonstrated the men’s steps while Bran played the lady. Once he’d explained the nuances and etiquette of courtly dance, he switched roles, taking the lady’s steps and guiding Berion through the motions.

It must be said, Drew was not only an accomplished dancer but also an excellent teacher. Though Berion had little natural talent, Drew’s patience and clear instruction got him through most of the steps by midnight. He was still rough, but with two days’ more practice, he would at least manage not to embarrass himself at the Count’s banquet.

By the end of the night, not only were Berion and Drew exhausted, but so too were the guards and Bran who had watched their lessons. Everyone turned in for the night.

The next morning, Berion and Drew practiced all through the morning. Progress was swift: Berion could now make it through the dance without Drew’s help, and he felt confident that, with a bit more practice, he’d be able to lead Jessis with ease.

After a rather strenuous morning, Berion decided to take the afternoon off to rest.

During that morning’s practice, in a lull between steps, Drew mentioned a tavern in the city renowned for its food, especially its Janwickshore fish soup and red wine braised pheasant. Drew assured Berion these dishes were utterly delicious—unforgettable after a single taste.

Having been a gourmand in his previous life, Berion could not pass up such a recommendation. It was nearly midday, so he had Drew take him and Bran to the tavern to sample the dishes that had left such a lasting impression.

The tavern wasn’t particularly close to their lodgings, but Janwickshore, though the largest city in northern Brick, was nothing compared to many cities Berion had known. The walk took as long as it might have to ride the subway into a city center for lunch in his previous life.

Arriving at the tavern, they found it nearly empty after the lunch rush. The maids and bartenders were chatting and lazily tidying up the mess left by earlier patrons.

A sharp-eyed bartender noticed Berion and his companions, their clothing bearing the family crest embroidered in silver thread. He hurried to the door to greet them enthusiastically. "Honored guests, would you be needing rooms or a meal? If you’re staying, our rooms are clean and comfortable, and we can look after your horses. But if you’re here for food, you’ve come to the right place. Our Janwickshore fish soup and red wine braised pheasant are famed far and wide—nobles from other provinces come just to taste them."

Berion, smiling at the bartender’s enthusiasm, tossed him a handful of copper coins. "We’re here to eat. Have someone take our horses and see to them with fresh water and fodder."

The bartender’s grin grew even broader as he pocketed the tip. He called over two others to lead the horses to the stable, and personally attended to Berion’s group as they ordered.

In addition to the two signature dishes, Berion ordered three grilled fish, a platter of crispy fried shrimp, and some honey bread. After a morning of dancing, he was ravenous. At the bartender’s urging, he also ordered three large mugs of fresh black beer—a dark brew made from roasted and black malts, full-bodied and rich with a malty, smoky flavor. It was refreshing and satisfying.

Thirsty from the long walk, Berion drained half his mug in one go and ordered another round, unconcerned about getting a beer belly—after all, beer bellies had little to do with beer itself.

When the food arrived, it lived up to its reputation. The flavors were superb. Bran was full of praise, and the three of them devoured both signature dishes in no time, still yearning for more and promptly ordering second helpings.

While the trio feasted, none of them noticed a raggedly dressed boy slip into the tavern. Neither did the staff—at such a slow hour, it was common for poor children from the city to sneak in and snatch leftovers from the tables. This was a familiar sight; as long as they didn’t disturb the guests or steal from the tavern itself, the staff would turn a blind eye.

It was a small grace from those who made a decent living from the tavern to those who struggled even for food and warmth. Only successful establishments could afford such kindness; in failing taverns, such beggar children would be driven out at once.