Nagron- Liebesgeschichte
Title:Liebesgeschichte
Pairing: Agron/Nasir
Tags: Romance, Angst, AU
Chapter: 1/?
A/N: This is my first, FIRST ever long fic. I can’t even believe I am doing this but Nagron inspired me. I hope you like it. I have slaved over it and sat on it for so long… I’m finally going to have some courage to post.
The story is set in early 16th century, like 1511 or so. I meshed a itsy bit of history with imagination so all you history buffs go easy.
Many thanks to my beta Marcelareads!
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Chapter 1: auf den ersten Blick
“Papa, papa!” a blonde fair skin girl screamed out as she burst through the door. She almost knocked over a woman standing near the clay dishware on the center aisle of the room. Her haste rattled the contents of the large merchant store, one of the largest shops in town. Its walls and shelves were filled with various supplies from candles to paper, to chicken feed and knives.
“I just saw him!” She called out through bated breath. Her round cheeks were flushed red from the run nearly masking the freckles scattered on her oval face. Her green eyes were wide and excited. Everyone in the shop turned to her intrigued by the outburst.
A large middle aged man emerged from the room in the back of the shop. He wiped his hand on the brown apron stretched across his robust belly. Only a bit of graying-brown hair clung to the sides of his head. He walked heavily and uneven, no doubt the remnants of an old injury from youth or a new condition of old age.
“Who is coming?” He asked agitated and nearly as breathless as the girl.
“Agron von der Feuerriegel, The….”
“Markgraft?!?” A woman in the shop asked and declared excitedly.
The girl turned to answer the woman, who now had the same wide eyed look as the she had, but the man grabbed her by the arms and brought her attention back to him.“Headed this way? Are you certain?” He asked frantically.
“Yes papa, I remember him from before! The men with him where wearing green and blue. That is the color of the Feuerriegel family is it not?” She asked to reassure her claim. She waited for him to reply but he gave no answer. Turning slightly from her, his mind began to race.
“Papa?” Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
“….Hum? Oh… yes…yes…” He half answered her, his mind still turning at the thought of it actually being Lord Agron. He had not seen the man in nearly a year. His shop --one of the most prominent establishments in town, was the only thing of note along this road. If Agron von der Feuerriegel was on this road he was headed this way. What did he want, the shop keeper wondered, a belt, knife, bridles… His search for a reason soon led to more important thought.
“Lea, take a horse and return home as quickly as you can. Tell your mother and sister of the Margraf’s arrival. Bring Corina here, presentable.” He told her with a smirk. The girl nodded and ran out of the back entrance as swiftly as she had entered.
“Hurry!” He called to her. Agron von der Feuerriegel is coming, he thought happily to himself, the unwed Agron von der Feuerriegel.
The shopkeeper limped back to the store room. He barely splashed water on his sweaty face and reached for a cloth when he heard horses trotting to a stop outside of the shop. The man wobbled back to the main room of the store. Just as he neared the entry, a tall broad figure stepped into the doorway.
His clothes were not elaborately colored as the current fashion but were definitely of the finest fabrics anyone could hope to buy-peasant or king. He wore a dark brown slashed jerkin. The sleeveless leather waist coat was smooth and supple forming to his body and tapering to reveal the dark tan doublet beneath it. The collar stood high framing his handsome face. A large gold ring with 3 square tiers paved with blue stones decorated his right middle finger. Black pants, slightly billowed and tucked in to black boots, finished his wear.
His boots were the only thing that conflicted with the quality of his clothes. The color of the leather was uneven and had little give. There was also a rip in the side of the left boot. That is why he is here, the shop keeper deduced.
Respectfully and instantly the people in the shop bowed to the Markgraf. The shopkeeper could not bow as low and proper as the others but he made an earnest attempt. Once upright, the people all stared at the Markgraf as if he was 7 ft tall. His stature was impressive, sure, but nothing of an oddity. It was just strange seeing him in a merchant shop.
“Where do you think you are going Ingo?” The Markgraf asked the shop keeper with a smile.
“To greet you my lord, my daughter told me of your coming. I thought to look for myself. Surely the Markgraf has no need for the humble contents of a pauper’s shop... And I have not seen my old friend in over a year. Naturally, when I was told that you approach my shop, I thought it was a mistake.”
“Your words of flattery do not mask the scolding Ingo.” Agron chuckled as he grasped the shopkeepers shoulder. “I had been away all this time, duties and responsibilities called me from preferences.”
“Duties? Humph...” The shop keeper scoffed. “I was once a young man too my Lord, not as handsome, but still young. Do not speak in code to me!” The old man nudge Agron’s arm coaxing another chuckle from him. “Did your guard accompany you?”
“Yes. I told them to stand outside. I hate having them hover over me.”
“Good. You should not travel alone my Lord. It is dangerous for all these days, and especially for a man of your importance….”
Agron nodded.
“Come sit with me. Talk with an old friend.”
“What of your shop? Your customers?” Agron asked as they made their way to the back store room.
“Edmond shall mind the shop. Edmond!” The old man called out.
“Edmond?”
“My son.”
“Yes Vater.” A young man appeared, answering the shop keeper’s call. He walked toward them.
“Edmond this is Agron von der Feuerriegel, Markgraf of Rhinedine.”
As his father recited the Markgraf’s name, Edmund bowed. “Forgive me sir.”
Agron nodded to the boy.
“Mind the shop. I wish to visit with the Markgraf.”
+
The back room was half the size of the main area. It too was filled with various contents. One wall had a wide shelf cut into it with cabinets underneath. A small window in the center of the wall brought light to the dark room. Although the fabric did not cover the entire doorway, the shopkeeper drew the curtain to give them as much privacy as possible. Sighing heavily, the man plopped down in the wooden chair next to the table. It creaked under his weight. Agron stood near the window, leaning on the shelf.
“All is well at Regen?” The shopkeeper probed. “How fairs Herzogin Anya?”
“She is well… too well even. She governs the castle with an iron will.”
“And Lord Feuerriegel? There have been whispers that he is confined to his bed.”
“The whispers are unfortunately true. We had thought it was the sweating sickness. The physicians prohibited us from seeing him. But my mother disregarded the orders, claiming that no one could care for her husband better than her. She tended to him and nursed him back to health.” Agron proudly stated.
“She was always an extraordinary woman.” Ingo remarked with equal pride. “Graf Duro? Lady Anna?” The shopkeeper inquired about the rest of the Feuerriegel family.
“All is well, truly. I have simply come to visit an old friend. And...”Agron reached down and pulled the torn boot from his foot. He plopped the meager shoe on the table. “…Given to me by the Duke of Epernay,” He said with disdain. “They did not last four months.”
The shopkeeper grabbed the boot and examined it. “Well my Lord, the French have always been more concerned with fashion than function.”
“Do you still deal with that shoemaker that made the pair I bought from you last year? I forget his name.”
“Yes, yes I do My Lord.” The shopkeeper said.
“You know every time you say ‘My Lord’ I cringe.”
“Yes My Lord.” The shopkeeper replied and smirked. Agron laughed and sighed.
“I accidentally left the other pair in Vaasa. I am having them sent to me, but I still would like another pair. Hopefully, they will arrive in time; the Jubiläum is in three weeks.”
“Ah... der Jubiläum!” The shopkeeper perked up. “It has been years since I have attended. Tell me, which is it?”
“Their 30th anniversary, the 15th Jubiläum, the event is every other year.” Agron said with a flat tone as if dreading the affair.
The shop keeper smirked again under his thick mustache and beard at the dry tone. “My lord the very nature of the word should not cause such indifference, especially since it is the event that led to you being brought into this world.”
“Yes, yes you’re right. But, it should be called the Auktion.” Agron stated with annoyance. Ingo looked at him puzzled.
“Lady Anya has doubled her efforts of finding me a wife. I have notice an increase of unwed noblewomen at Regen, during dinners, holidays, weekends, celebrations, everywhere…so many women.” Agron stared out the window and sighed. His responsibility seemed to suddenly press down on him. His father was aging and getting ill more frequently. It will come a time that Agron, first born son of Lord Walther von der Feuerriegel, Herzog of Rhinedine and Lady Anya Zollern Feurriegel, Herzogin of Rhinedine would have to assume his responsibility as Herzog of Rhinedine. The mantle had privileges, responsibilities and obligations like managing the territory, marriage and children. None of which Agron desired.
“There is never any harm in meeting pretty young girls, my Lord.” Ingo declared with a gleam in his eye, trying to turn Agron from whatever troubles his mind had wandered to.
After a pause, he finally responded, listlessly. “I suppose not… but it is tiresome, the barrage of women, performing day in, day out….” Agron’s thought trailed off and halted when a pretty young girl entered the room.
She was slender. Her blond hair was parted in the center emphasizing the delicate features on her face and pulled back hiding the locks under a veil.
Ingo cleared his throat nervously. “Lord Agron von der Feuerriegel, may I present my daughter, Corina.”
“My Lord.” She said as she bowed so gracefully and slowly. Agron tilted his head acknowledging the young woman. She turned to the old man. “You called for me Vater?”
Agron immediately cocked his head to the side and looked at Ingo in disbelief. Even one of his oldest friends had joined the search for a spouse. He would have been more annoyed if it wasn’t so ridiculous.
“Please join us my dear,” the man said to the girl. “Lord Agron and I were just discussing the Jubiläum.”
Her green eyes widened at the mention of the celebration. It was the talk of the land, extending beyond the borders of Rhinedine. His mother was known for her extravagant affairs; der Jubiläum was one of the largest. Only the wealthiest and most known families where invited.
“You must be looking forward to the event my Lord, the feast, the entertainment….the Ladies of the court….” She paused when she noticed Agron was no longer paying attention to their conversation. His eyes were fixed on something beyond the curtain in the main area of the store.
The shop keeper leaned over to find the source of the distraction. All he could see in the store were two women busy with various items, a foreigner inspecting the grain and his son rearranging the plates-nothing and no one important.
“Excuse me; I would see your grain now.” Agron stood to his feet and left the room quickly.
“My… grain?” Ingo asked perplexed. The shopkeeper rose to his feet much quicker and easier than he sat down. He motioned for his daughter to stay seated.
++
Agron slowly approached the small man squatting down to pick up the largest bag of grain off the floor while holding 2 candles and a stirrup.
“Do you need help?” Agron asked softly.
“Nein.” The man answered without looking at him. “Danke.”
“It appears as though you need help.” Agron said, slightly amused. It was a comical sight. The little man grunted as he struggled to lift the weight and hold the candles and stirrup. The act was beyond his capability, but he was determined to lift the bag, alone.
Agron knelt down beside the man. “A wise man accepts the help to shoulder weight.” He said, taking the bag into his large hands and standing with ease. The little man stood up quickly and grabbed forcefully at the bag. The burlap ripped, spilling some of its contents to the floor. The give of the fabric, Agron’s firm stance and the counter force of pulling sent the man backward. His elbow knocked a vase off the shelf, sending it crashing to floor with the grain.
The man glared at the side of Agron’s face while Agron snickered at the incident.
“You will have to pay for that.” Edmund said to the young man. The man sighed and nodded to Edmund, silent apologies written on his face.
He turned back to Agron irritated and eyes low. “Give me!” he demanded, snatching the bag of grain from him. Agron noticed a heavy accent in the Deutsch he spoke. He angrily brushed past Agron.
“Boy!” Ingo raised his voice at the little man. “Show respect to the Markgraf!”
The young man’s dark brown eyes widened as he slowly turned around to Agron. He looked at him. He realized the quality of his clothing, above anything he had seen since arriving to town and that he was poised, well groomed. He had a large gold ring with blue inlaid stones on his middle finger. The young man had not seen a noble or royal of this country but if he was to guess what they would look like, the man standing in front of him looked the part.
The young man swiftly knelt to the Markgraf, a stark contrast to his previous nerve. He even spilled more of his grain in the haste to revise his behavior toward Agron. Agron folded his arms across his chest, feigning anger. The young man stayed bowed, facing the ground. His breathing fell heavy from fear of the consequences.
“Entschuldigungen.” The man said in a low voice, still facing the floor. That heavy accent intrigued Agron; he couldn’t place its origin. “Forgive me my Lord,” he pleaded.
“Look at me.” Agron commanded.
The young man lifted his head slowly; afraid to look at the man he nearly struck down with a glare moments ago. His brown eyes looked up to Agron, whose stern expression soon gave way to a smile. Dimples decorated his face as laughter leaped from his mouth.
“All is well.” He said with a smile. “One must appreciate such spirit.”
The young man stood and nodded his head in thanks to the Markgraf. He was relieved but still wore worry on his face. He stepped to the side of the aisle, head bowed, to let the Markgraf pass.
Agron did not move. Instead he studied the young man. He was small in stature but not frail. His doublet and pants hung loosely on him. His skin was darker than any of them in the store but he was not of Africa. His skin only showed hints of the sun’s affections. His features are what really gave his foreign ethnicity away. His hair was thick and dark as ink. It was pulled back tightly; though Agron could imagine the length hanging gracefully-or sprawled wildly- past his shoulders. His eyebrows were thick but neat, framing the deepest brown eyes Agron had ever seen. The bridge of his nose was narrow at the top and then widened at the end a bit more than the standard for a German. The faintest stubble framed full lips. And a wonderful smile, Agron thought, if the man would grant it. He was an exotic beauty who captivated Agron instantly, and even drew him in through the obstructed views from the back room.
Ingo, who stood quiet, witnessed the entire scene and now took note of Agron’s undivided attention to the man. The young man stared at the Margkraf too. At first Ingo thought the boy was scared to make another mistake. But the shopkeeper quickly realized that there was something else happening in the silence between them. There were rumors of Agron von der Feuerriegel, reasons as to why he had not taken a wife. Ingo chose to disregard them, because he had not seen evidence…. He wished to continue that standpoint.
The shopkeeper dropped a wooden plate on the floor breaking the moment between Agron and the young man. It startled the young man who turned to him quickly. His reaction to the common noise made him realize that he was staring at Agron, admiring how his broad, intimidating build contrasted with his kind, playful green eyes. Short hair peppered his round face with deep indents adorning his cheeks giving this man, the Markgraf, the attributes of a boy.
Agron looked at the shopkeeper, annoyed by the blatant interruption.
“AchtundzwanzigThaler.” Ingo said to the man harshly.
The young man quickly walked to the front desk of the shop and reached into his pocket for the coins. He only had 24 Thaler. He stared at his contents trying to decide what he needed the most. He pointed at the stirrup. “How much?” he asked quietly.
“Sechzehn,” the shop keeper said sharply and definitely to signal that he would not budge. The shop keeper was overcharging him. Three days ago another man bought a stirrup for 13 Thaler. And the vase he broke did not cost the much. The man huffed, but did not speak out. He had caused enough trouble for one day. Plus, he could still feel the Markgrafs eyes on him. It didn’t feel angry or negative, but watched, he felt watched-which is always an awkward feeling. He separated the candles and grain from the stirrup.
“This,” He said, pointing to the candles and grain. He then felt a large hand on his shoulder. His chest tightened. His breathing became a bit heavier as he slowly looked to see the Markgraf touching him. His hand was heavy, firm and kind of…comforting?
“Allow me. You are paying full price for half the contents and broken things, because of me.”
“Nein.” He said shyly, turning his eyes from the Agron and focusing on the items he wished to purchase.
Agron lowered himself so that he would be eye to eye with the man, if the young man looked at him. “Bitte?” Agron said in a low voice, asking instead of insisting.
“Nein.” The man said again firmly then added, “Danke, My Lord.” He dropped 12 thaler on the counter and then turned quickly to walk out of the store.
+++
“Who was that?” Agron asked after a long silence.
“Nicolaus, my Lord.”
“Nicolaus?” Agron asked with extreme disbelief.
“Yes my Lord…. My Lord I believe we left my daughter Cor…” The shopkeeper began.
“That cannot be his name.” Agron thought out loud, ignoring the man’s attempt to change the subject.
“That is what he told me when first visited my shop.” The shopkeeper insisted.
“Mmmm,” Agron hummed as he swam in his thoughts. “I wish to know his name.” He headed toward the door.
“My Lord, will you not finish your reason for visiting your old friend?!” The shop keeper shouted in a last attempt to deter Agron from leaving.
Agron stopped in the doorway. He looked up, noticing that the sun had begun her western descent in the clear sky. He did have matters to attend to besides shoes and mysterious foreign men, unfortunately. “Do you know where he lives?”
“I do not my Lord.” Ingo lied. He knew the man stayed at the Beitel Gasthaus. “I can find out, when he returns for the stirrup.”
Agron sighed. “Very well then.” He, reluctantly, turned from the doorway and toward the shopkeeper.
“Come my Lord. Let us mold your foot; it has been a long time since you were here last.”
++++
After several minutes and failing to find the supplies for the cast, the shopkeeper and the Markgraf emerged from the store room.
“Entschuldigungen, my Lord. I will have what I need in a few days.” The shopkeeper said hobbling after the Markgraf. “Is there anything else I can do for you my Lord?”
“Nein, except what I have asked. I will return in at week’s end.” Agron turned to leave but stopped and faced the shopkeeper again. “Oh and Ingo...I would pay for his stirrup. Put it on my account.”
Ingo opened his mouth to object to the gesture but he did not have a valid reason. He bowed and simply replied, “Yes my Lord.”
And with that Agron left the shop.
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