-Dark Flame-
(C) Fire Emblem
Original ideas copyrighted to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems
Fan Fiction by Becki
Chapter Eight: The Offer
He followed her with some confusion but a look upon his face that clearly read his annoyance. Amy told him flatly that his arrows and bow would not be needed inside the castle, and promised that the soldiers would take good care of them before running off and scolding his slow pace. His horse had been taken by the stable hands, and Rath felt the strange idea of someone trying to take care of him and his every need.
They entered the castle walls, and Rath looked around at the court. It seemed bright and lively, random people scurried about with their business. some carrying in things left over from the tournament. When they actually came through the castle door, he noticed the faint, sweet scent of perfume and incense.
The corridors were not brightly lit, the lamps hanging high upon the walls only delivering so much light. Rath noticed the elegant furnishings and the silk scarlet curtains that hung from the tall windows.
Amy stopped him in front of two large mahogany doors. With a stiff finger and an ordering voice, she commanded him to stay there and wait. Disappearing through the doors after her arduous command, she left the Sacaen youth quite alone in the half-dark hall.
His eyes searched the walls and the ceiling in patient boredom, and they fell upon a large portrait on the wall opposite from the door. The frame was tarnished silver, giving it an old-fashioned look and an elegant essence.
The portrait was of a young woman. Semi-curly waves of auburn hair fell upon her shoulders, curled around a slender neck. Her eyes were a shining teal, her smile faint but there nonetheless. Upon that brow there seemed to be a troubled glance, and her clear eyes seemed so empty. Guiding his eyes down to the frame, he noticed a bronze plaque with letters written upon it.
Obviously unable to read, he was left confused at this anonymous lady. Perhaps she was a noble? The artistry on the painting was detailed, every stroke in line. Only a rich person could commission such a talented artist.
"Ahem!" Rath turned to see Amy standing between the two doors like a queen. Behind her, the same elderly man Rath had first heard of the tournament from approached.
"Amy, let us be polite, lass.."
"Grandpa, are you sure this is the one?" Amy ignored the older man's rebuke and tilted her head at Rath. She held the basket firmly between her hands, and gave a suspicious look towards the nomad.
"Yes, yes, Lord Araphen wished t'meet with him." Amy scowled, and started off for one of the halls.
"Whatever. I'm going to bed!" Even before she had vanished around the corner, Rath saw the man chuckle a light, kind-hearted chuckle.
"Please excuse that granddaughter of mine. She's a kind lass one y'know her well." His hands were empty, but he bowed respectfully to the youth.
"My lord awaits, young master."
Poor Rath stood there more confused than ever. But the man beckoned him inside with a gentle hand, and Rath could only just follow along.
There was a sudden warmth deep within what seemed to be a small dining hall. People dressed both casually and in rich attire sat long the edge of the long table where food propped up on shining dishes. The scent was strong, the food smelling different from the spicy aromas served at the Kutolah camp.
And only with expectations, Marquess Araphen sat upon the high seat at the end of the table. His sharp eyes were surveying everything, with some distaste. Rath felt himself frown as he wondered what he wanted. He would not come this far only to be mocked. But that was all he was used to.
The old man gestured to an empty chair next to none other than the sniper who had won the archery tournament. The sniper watched him warily in a distrusting manner, but Rath merely stared at the seat. The old man kindly waited.
"Your seat, sir."
Upon sitting, a plate was instantly set in front of him. His seat was a few away from the Marquess himself, and the youth felt the Lord's gaze on him.
Rath also felt a feeling that he was being mocked, in some ways. But, that old man was kind and gentle, so he tried to force back these suspicions. As he looked at the rows of food, he felt his hunger come back to him. He had not eaten since noon, and his meals were often meager. His lithe frame proved that.
But even as his hunger was clear, he ate slowly and sparingly, like he did at the Djute camp. The food was not terrible to say, but he did not want anybody to think him a glutton.
But the conversations were long and almost.. pointless. Some political questions rose and mini-debates took place. But nothing that appealed to him in interest. His main goal was to quickly figure out why he was wanted, and take off like he usually did. Although.. he did not know where to go, or what to do.
Rath looked down the long table and realized that most of these guests were the winners of the different tournaments. But there was that same man dressed in black he had seen before the tournament had commenced. The paladin that had a cold expression and a frightening appearance. But even besides this man, the air about all them seemed like a warrior's stance, and all bore scars of age and war. All except this nomad.
The Marquess stood up and raised a gold goblet. All conversation upon the table hushed and all eyes were on the lord. Rath kept his eyes distant, but noticed that the lord kept his eyes away from the nomad.
"Friends of Araphen and victors of this fine tournament! It is of my greatest pleasure to give you the honor and fame that your skill rightly requires. Whether you choose to follow my desires is up to you in its entirety. But Araphen is the jewel upon Lycia's crown, brothers to Ostia and other great cities. Such a jewel has only shine because of the great men who serve it.
"You have the chance to serve Araphen as officials. High levels of honor upon the pride of a veteran. Payment will be fair and shall equal the prowess you possess. It shall be.." He paused, and a false smile followed. "a promising sum." There was a rise in murmurs, some people whispered among each other. Rath tensed and stared at his half empty plate. He didn't belong here. He hadn't even won the tournament, he was just a Sacaen nomad who had no place to wander to..
"And with these words, I shall retreat." The Marquess' sleek voice broke his thoughts, and he raised his cup, the candlelight mixing with the scarlet wine in the shining chalice. "Remember this offer, it is highly exclusive. To Araphen!" All at the table except for Rath raised their cups and drank. Rath wanted to scowl and just leave, but his face was a mask. When he sneaked a look up again, the Marquess' chair was empty.
Then there was a gentle cough behind him, so he turned around.
"The Marquess wishes an audience with you, young sir." The elderly man said kindly. Rath simply dropped down from his chair, and with one last look from the sniper beside him, he followed the man down the hall opposite from whence they came.
Rath began to notice the halls started to get more ornamented as they went down, the candlelight almost giving a more delicate look to the tapestry and painted walls.
After going through a long hall of tall windows on both sides, they reached what seemed to be a small study room. The man closed the door behind him.
Rath looked around the room. No, small was a false word. It may have seemed small, but as soon as he stepped in, the room seemed so large. There were desks with books neatly stacked, quills and tabs of ink. The Marquess sat in a chair by the window. He was covered in a brown cloak over his clothes, and the fireplace was ablaze to his left.
The old man-who could only be identified as the servant of the lord- waited by the door, and Rath looked clueless.
"Please, sit." The Marquess said without looking up at him. Rath stared at the chair on the opposing side of the fireplace, but paused. After a few seconds, he complied.
"Excuse the fact that this was so far from the Dining hall, I wished for a private place to talk."
Rath did nothing, reluctantly listened, his desire to leave just as strong as ever.
"I saw you in the tournament. Your skill for such young age is admirable. Never in my time have I seen such a prodigy."
Rath bristled under the flatter, unsure whether he was thankful for the complement or even more uncomfortable. But the Lord did not allow him the time to decide, for he continued.
"You.. are a Sacaen..?" He said the last word with a hint of held back vehemence. His eyes critically searched the youth, and his eyes were sharp.
"I am of the Kutolah Tribe." Rath finally said, but he knew that the lord didn't care.
"Hm. I see."
There was a long stretch of a pause, and behind them the old man coughed gently. The Marquess directed his gaze behind Rath, at the man.
"Roland."
"Yes, sire?" The servant said feebly.
"Make sure that there is a room tonight for young..." The Marquess looked back at Rath, expecting a name.
"Rath." The boy said, frowning slightly.
"Young Rath." The Marquess of Araphen finished. "He is to be a guest."
"Yes, milord." Rath then heard a soft opening and closing of the door, and then silence save for the crackling of the fire.
"Would you like to study in Araphen? Learn the art of martial arts and learn to defend? You must have heard my offer at dinner, and it also applies to you. I have never been more impressed by your show of archery skills today."
"I lack discipline." Rath said, not sure whether he was interested. As he said this, he remembered the mistake he had made back in Calen's mercenary group.
"But I shall choose not to withdraw my offer. What is your decision?"
Rath's mind was in a confused state. The praises the Marquess gave were so profoundly different from the criticism of Calen's words that stung him bitterly. What was his decision...
He wanted to go home. That place he had not experienced for the majority of his life. Where there were no crowds and the air was always free. The wind that would had always guided him as a child, and the horses that had fascinated him. Those nights of storytelling by the fire.
What did he want?
He had no choice. It was not by his own accord that his tribe practically drove him out. His own people who believed him to be a savior of something he did not even now, comprehend. His own father who was lost in his own past, willing to let his only son go into the world. But those words that had been uttered to him long ago. You are of the Kutolah Tribe..
And now, his decision....
Rath closed his eyes and made his answer clear.
"I will add my bow to your ranks."
Ha, from short chapter to long chapter ; I didn't know what more to add to this chapter, soo... I didn't Hey, I like easy ways XP Anyway, I lied in the last chapter, I think that perhaps I'll have about twelve chapters (if not more). So... um.. yeah ;;
Becki