There it was, the island city of Melanium, with its high spires half hidden in the clouds. He remembered the wise woman of his village tell him about the towers of Hortensis; about how some of them saw constant rain due to how high they reached. He had longed to see it since before he could remember wanting anything else. It felt like a longing ache in his heart, pulling him towards the great city.
He clung to the ship's mast as he watched the size of the island and its castle increase before him, hardly bothered by the way the waves rocked him back and forth. He had spent days watching the waves foam as they struck the bow as the sickness kept his head overboard. In front of such majesty, his previous unease lay forgotten.
He didn't think it was a particularly lovely looking castle. The proportions seemed wrong, as did the walls. It seemed all for show, as though they were less worried about the warring factions outside of their Kingdom and more about prying, nosy neighbours. He shrugged as he sank to sit and watch as they pulled into the harbour. There was a rightness about being here like an inescapable thirst finally being sated.
He recalled other stories, of great knights and adventures of great glory and a mysterious Princess, cursed. He'd asked questions, as any child would, what wonders had the knights seen? What great deeds had they done? What was the curse? Was it gory and morbid? As he sat and remembered his avid questions, he wondered whether the Princess was real and whether she was indeed cursed.
The bustle of the sailors on deck roused him from his reverie, as they shooed him below deck and out the way, laughing when he tripped down the stairs.
He blew out a breath before picking himself up off the floor. There would most definitely be a bruise on his back now from where one of the steps had broken his fall. He winced as he tottered towards his cabin. They were still several hours away from shore yet and judging by the mutterings of the crew; the port might be busy, delaying them further.
He shrugged to himself as he unlocked his cabin and pushed into his room. He locked the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed. He winced again as the pain in his back reminded him it was there. He rolled over gingerly and looked at the wooden ceiling. It wasn't a large room, but it was still more significant than his own back home.
His family were aristocrats from Arda, a land known for herbs and medicines. But even though he was noble-born, he looked like any other groundsman or 'earther' as they called them. His clothes were simple and in earthy hues, and his green-tipped hands and dark fingernails singled him out as a foreigner to these parts.
He looked at the papers by his bed and picked them up, wanting to confirm what he had already read countless times previous. He gently opened the parchment to gaze at the elaborate lettering again. He was to tend the royal gardens and apprentice under the royal healer. The great healer himself, the Great Zabini had requested his presence. His presence to work directly for the royal family, the great family of Junonia. He shook his head again as the sickness returned to the pit of his stomach.
He thought he knew what his lot in life would be. He would be the bumbling grandson to the Marchioness of Southfarthing, his parents having been killed during the Riddle rebellion when he was young. He thought he would spend his years amongst the plants, becoming a scholar, away from people.
People were seldom kind to him; he was clumsy and awkward. Even his high breeding hadn't been able to iron away all the kinks in his personality, much to the dismay of his grandmother.
When the letter had arrived, she all but jumped for joy at the prospect of sending him out into the world to prove himself; To test his mettle in the name of the family.
He folded the paper up again and sank back into the firm stuffing of his bed. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about this whole ordeal. His head told him that it was a terrible idea indeed, but something in his heart clung to the notion that this was the one place in the world where he would be able to make a difference. He rubbed his face as he listened to the organs argue until the toing and froing started to make him feel sick again.
He rolled over and proceeded to lose his lunch into the bucket he'd left by the side of his bed. He wiped away the sweat at his forehead as he looked out of the porthole. He watched as the tops of building bobbed in and out of view. He shook his head as he turned away to fight nausea that threatened to rise. A deep croak came from a nearby cage.
"I know, I can't wait to get off this Junker either." The toad was silent as it regarded him with its bulbous, orange, slit-like eyes, and he didn't think that his pet was overly enamoured with the idea of being this far from home either.
"Come on you. We'd better get our things together so that we can get off as soon as we dock." The toad croaked again as Neville climbed to his feet and tried to retain his stomach.