Chapter One: A New Warrior:
It was early morning and the pale pink tinge of dawn was just beginning to fade from the sky. The tops of the trees were gilded with gold as sunlight from the rising sun lit up the sky with purple and orange. A young warrior if seventeen was sitting on a rock watching the sunrise over the purple mountains to the east. The young fighter knew it was time to leave this peaceful copse of tress behind and head for Altea. The meeting with Prince Marth and General Roy was coming closer and being late would not leave a good first impression at all!
The weary warrior walked back to a stream and brought the cold water swiftly to their face in an attempt to wake their self up. Then the warrior walked back to the campsite and picked up their pack. The swordsman still had a long way to go.
Prince Marth of Altea paced the floor of his room, waiting for a new warrior to arrive at his kingdom. Roy was watching him from where he sat by the warm, newly built fire.
"Marth, sit down and stop being so nervous!" Roy exclaimed suddenly, looking annoyed with his commander.
"Sorry, Roy. I can't help but be nervous! This warrior arrives today, we next to nothing of him and he's spent his whole life in a special convent that's taught him how to fight!" Marth exploded, releasing his pent up nervousness.
The young warrior walked up to the gates o the magnificent, spiraling palace of Prince Marth of Altea. The guards gasped in surprise at the lone figure coming towards them.
"I am here to meet with Prince Marth and General Roy. I am the warrior that was sent for from Warrior Convent," the lone figure, a warrior most likely unless it was a trick, said.
"Of course, Warrior. Come in. You shall require a bath before your meeting with Prince Marth?" asked a council member coming down to open the large gates for the warrior.
"Yes please. I should like that very much," replied the auburn-haired fighter softly, looking at the ground.
The guards still stood at their posts on the parapet wall gaping at the new arrival. So this was the new warrior. This was not what had been expected at all they thought.
A knock at the door startled Marth and Roy, both of which had been gazing into the warm, orange fire, lost in thought.
"Enter," Marth said with a sigh.
A young serving boy entered with a low, graceful bow. As he stood back up, his eyes darted around the room as though amazed with all the grandeur of the huge room.
At last he spoke and said, "Prince Marth, the warrior is here from the convent is here. If you will please follow me to their room,"
"Of course. Roy, wait here. I'll bring him in here for the meeting," Marth said, getting up from a winged chair to follow the young serving boy.
As the young warrior waited for the bath to be fixed, the seventeen year old looked around the huge room. It was a very masculine room. Once Prince Marth meets them, they were going to ask if they could be moved to a different room.
"Sir…um…your bath is ready if you will follow me," a servant stuttered, surprised.
"Oh. Thank you very much," the fighter replied, as they got up to follow the servant. As they walked down the hall, the swordsman looked around at the surroundings. The hall was very long and ornately fixed. There were torches placed at intervals of four feet so that the hall was softly lit. There was enough light to see that the walls were a light pinkish-blue color that you see before dawn and as the sunsets.
They soon reached an ornately carved door that had roses, birds, and rabbits on it. It was beautiful rosewood and was highly polished. The servant opened the door to release warm steam into the hallway. The gentle scent of rose wafted out to the young warrior who inhaled deeply. Steeping into the room, the warrior gasped in surprise at the feminity of the room.
The room was an ice pink. It was very beautiful and seemed to sparkle in a very odd way that wasn't quite natural. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind the seventeen year old and they got knocked off of their feet. The young warrior tucked and rolled before their head hit the glittering white marble floor. As they popped back up, the door locked.
The fighter took advantage of being alone and began to undress. The tub stood in the middle of the room surrounded by thick, soft rugs and a thick, warm towel had been placed on a stool by the tub. Over on the far wall opposite the door was some clothes in a chair by the fire. As the fighter walked over and climbed into the tub, they began to sing a haunting, soft gentle melody that came from the families they had never known.
