A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Just noticed that my chapters are really short compared to other fanfictions'. ._. This one is a bit longer than the last, but there's quite a bit of waffle in here too, so yeah. I'm planning on getting another (hopefully longer) chapter out before the end of this week because us Aussies are on our winter break right now.
The culture of FaFM will be explained a bit more in a map I'm working on. It'll be uploaded at .com before the end of this week also.
Hugo frowned a little, taking time to think as he attempted the translation from Eravitti to Thriennor. The lesser nobles took this opportunity to whisper amongst each other- impoliteness, and one Encra did not like to see from her people. She silently straightened her back and held her chin just a bit higher.
"Your Highnesses," the Viking finally said, "the lands… south- east, I apologise, of Thrienne have…"
His attempt quickly failed, however, and he glanced at his group, muttering a few words in his native language. They pushed a short figure, one of the nobodies, in front.
"Your Highnesses, the lands east of us have declared peace with the mobs not too long ago. We don't know exactly when the mobs here will hear about this or if they even will, but rest assured, they will be incited to start a rebellion of their own." Her slight accent placed her as from somewhere in the Mid Lands. Encra felt proud for knowing this; her culture lessons had paid off well.
Encra's father stood up straighter and deliberated the woman's words- for the most part in amusement. "How would we know this information is true? And how exactly did this happen?"
By now, everyone was chattering to each other, respect for this bunch lost. Who would be stupid enough to speak such an untruth in front of the King? Netherrack burning for all of them, probably, or at least exile in the Nether. Encra herself raised an eyebrow.
"Because the portals here have reopened, Your Highness. They have been open for a long, long time."
The portals here have reopened echoed around the chamber. They faded away into the crystal ceiling.
Yes, maybe a "reporting of a strange youngling wandering off in the South Swamp" or "a mob who had approached them in a friendly manner." Those were expected. Those were normal. Anything but the words, 'The portals here have reopened.'
That was enough to shatter all disbelief; any claim that the portals had reopened was so serious that not even the stupidest person would make such a claim even in jest. A serious claim. One with uttermost certainty in it.
A silence pinged off the walls, everyone struck dumb mute motionless by this announcement.
Sensing the atmosphere, the nomad bowed deftly, biting her lip. Encra noted that this was a habit which did not make her look any more appealing.
"I'm sure you know what that means. And I'm sure you'll find a lost little child wandering around here before too long, because we found one ourselves."
A scrawny figure, whom Encra had not noticed before, made an odd noise and garbled something in a language she was unfamiliar with.
"Sorry about that. He does that sometimes, shouting nonsense. It's been so long since the portals have done this- we don't know the language anymore."
"Very well. Leave the child here, please." The King paused. "You, prepare these guests rooms. And you kitchen lot, prepare their meal."
The freemen watched as the servants scrambled around, chattering away to each other in a variety of different dialects of Thriennor. The nomads left. Encra stood there, hands locked in position, not quite able to move.
"Ollie. Hey, wake up." A bucketload of water sloshed over Oliver Hunchen's face, freezingly freezing and the last thing he needed right now. Startled out of a dream, he flailed his arm through the air, hoping to give whoever did this to him an almighty slap.
He had been having the best dream ever. He didn't want to wake up. This was not on right now.
His school was being burned down. By him, no less. Arson. But totally awesome arson, seeing as it was against a school (which should be legal.) Holding a matchbox in the middle of the night, throwing 'em one by one into the building, and watching the epic bonfire…
His clumsy attempt at a slap was blocked by a small, tough hand.
Oliver Ardwu opened his shocking green eyes at last, looking up into the face of his new best friend/brother Mor (who was already dressed in a smart-looking suit).
"I want to something I made yesterday," Mor said, holding the dripping bucket in his hands. "Come over here and I will pay you."
The soaking boy scowled at him, ready to hurl the worst Grim obscenities he knew at the no-lifer, but he was at least smart enough to know that that would not get him anywhere. Mor was persistent and wouldn't hesitate to tell on him in a tick.
He pressed his face into his pillow briefly just to hold on to that dream of his homeland before clambering out of bed and falling flat on his face.
"WHAT THE F*** IS THIS F***ING MONSTROSITY DOING HERE?"
He felt so proud of himself for knowing such a word as monstrosity.
Mor stared at him for a while as Ollie realised his mistake.
Eventually, Mor shrugged, fiddled with his backpack strap, and said, "I had no idea what you were."
Oliver hastily reverted back into Grim. "Sorry, panicked and just said random things." Not hastily enough as it seemed, as English slang grammar still seeped into his language and made him leave out his pronouninstead of his verb. How he had forgotten this after living in Grimminy for five years, he did not know.
"No idea what you were then either. Are you all right?"
"I am fine."
Feeling a lump on his nose starting to swell, he glared at the tripwire. "I hate you," he said. He'd put it there yesterday to stop Mor from dousing him with a bucket of water and ironically he had been the one to trip over it himself.
The boys clattered down the fancy quartz stairs, Ollie pausing by the kitchens to grab a loaf of bread, and tumbled out on to the stone-slab street.
"Thank goodness for the weather. I would not have bothered to go outside if it were raining."
"It would ruin your thousand-nihye suit," Oliver laughed.
They made a brisk walk around Aisur's house and turned off to the road leading out of town, exchanging banter along the way. The sandstone palace was nearly complete, with red-wool carpets and towering quartz pillars and hedges decorated with glowstone. A worker had fallen off the building placing window panes the day before. Mor's father had paid his family, and everyone was happy. Ollie finished off his bread and rummaged around in his backpack for cookies. He held out one to Mor, who refused. "It will make me too fat!"
"Whatever." Oliver practically inhaled the snacks.
Mor was quite obviously glad about the silence. Oliver didn't really care.
A few minutes passed in this strange quietness. They turned onto another road unfamiliar to the blonde boy, and just gazed at the sprawling city on the hill below them. The bottom was partly shrouded in long-distance mist but the peaks of the worship place were just in view.
Mor smirked briefly. "Hey Oliver. Zetta's here."
The blonde boy looked to where Mor was staring and choked on his third piece of cocoa heaven, undignified as can be. Oh why did she have to appear right now, when he had a large lump developing on his nose and crumbs all over his face and especially when Mor was standing so handsomely right next to him.
"Hide me," he hissed, but Mor smirked even wider and waved.
"Hey Zetta! Lovely day today, isn't it?"
Some bleeping excuse for a friend.