The sun emerged above the horizon, letting its light gradually spread across the earth below. Dozens of people, hundreds of people, were gathering in the clearing below a stately manor. The light spread to shine upon the colorful tents, owned by the knights who had come to compete. Warmth crept into the muscles of the horses tethered nearby. The morning's glow caught the bright colors of orange and yellow that adorned the lord and lady as they took their seats at the edge of the field. It also reflected off of the coat of arms that was displayed, announcing their proud heritage. Lion and Horse: The House of Icthus.
As the wind wound its way through obstacles, moving and immobile, it listened to the murmur of the crowd. The breeze rolled and played through the tall strands of grass and danced through the nearby fruit trees and their branches. It carried the sounds of knights preparing themselves for presentation before lord and lady. Conversations, tinkling and clamor of armor, nickering and neighing of horses, the wind heard every sound and held it out to any ears that were willing to pay attention.
The hum of the crowd rose and carried, as more and more people gathered at the field. The wind pulled it along where it met with the warmth and light of the sun. The sun had rested its warm gaze upon a set of three riders that were headed towards the field. Just by the sight of them, it was evident that they were not there to compete. They all rode white horses, obviously bred for nothing more than to be impressive when clean. Indeed, the coats gleamed in the light of the sun. Manes and tails, held aloft by the wind, were almost transparent in the light.
The wind swirled around the horses' feet before lifting to the man on the right, and raising any loose material it could find in the colorful, though less extravagant clothing. It swirled around his features. By most standards he was scarcely an attractive man, but that was hardly what had gained him the employment by the nobles.
The sun was warm on his face, but did nothing to lift the haunted look of his brown eyes. The wind pulled his straight brown hair away from his face, causing him to blink. A rough hand came up to tame the strands, before slipping down to brush the beginnings of a beard on his chin. Leaning forward in the saddle, against the protest of the wind, he turned his gaze to the side.
The wind shifted, following that troubled gaze to the man who rode opposite. The breeze twisted and pulled at the brown curls atop his head. It did nothing to improve the tornado-styled mop. Indeed, it only made it worse.
The sun pushed its warmth into his muscles and he sat up a little straighter. Jovial sideburns framed his jaw line, giving way to a face that hadn't been shaven in a few days. He rolled his head, side to side, working out the kinks in his neck. The muscles stretched, leading down to powerful shoulders and arms, where his hands rested near the two-handed mace at his side. Also dressed in the colors of yellow and orange, he was a closer match to the lord and lady. Yet, the colors seemed to highlight the tan of his skin.
Plain brown eyes caught the sunlight. He squinted, though it didn't retract from his lazy grin. After a moment, he turned away from the light, and his eyes rested on the first man. The smile remained, half covered in light, and he gave a nod. The wind swirled again, stirring a shared thought connecting the two. Their focus moved to the woman who rode between them.
The wind shifted and circled the beauty of the woman. She was a vision, and the wind knew it as it caressed her skin. Lifting the loose strands of her hair, it held out the auburn silk, shining in the sun's warm embrace. When the breeze let it fall back against the slender of her body, it brushed the top of the saddle, just past her trim waist.
The sleek material of her dress clung to her body, refusing to be caught by the wind. But the breeze insisted, settling to tug and pull at the golden folds that covered the woman's legs. The sudden updraft caused her to put her hand against her skirts to keep from showing too much. The current of air moved back up her body, following every curve and dip until it reached the smooth skin of her face. Bright green eyes stared straight ahead, paying no more heed to the wind that wanted to hassle.
The wind, thwarted in its desire to bother, died down and gave way to the warmth of the sun. The horses plodded forth, manes and tails dancing with the rhythm of their gait. The soft breathing of the animals accompanied the sound of their footfalls against the earth.
The horses made their way closer to the field of competition, and the men exchanged glances again. They shared a thought. They were the young woman's protectors, one voluntarily, the other hired but devoted. The only thing they couldn't protect her from was a bruised heart. Another thought was shared between the two.
"Aranel?" the man to her right spoke, concern in his voice. The anxiety etched on his face only deepened by the look in his eyes, "What troubles you that you can not enjoy the ride?"
"Valrance," her voice held a bitter edge to it as she turned to look at him, pulling her horse to a sudden and protested halt. The sun reflected in her eyes, revealing a second hue that was similar to honey, "You, of all people, should know why I cannot find pleasure in this morning."
Valrance had to act quickly, turning his horse a full circle to rejoin the young woman. He sat for a long while, letting the silence grow between them. She didn't respond, but her eyes shone a more brilliant green than they had just a moment before. For as many years as he'd spent with her, he knew the signs of her anger when he saw them. They were similar to his own, though his eyes lacked the striking change that hers took on with her moods. He furrowed his brows as thoughts criss-crossed his mind.
The other man watched as Aranel and Valrance stared at each other. Save the fact of nature that they were opposite genders, the similarities were astounding. From how their eyes were set, to the definition of the jaw line, the resemblance was obvious. But something else that was carried strongly, in both of them, was their stubbornness… thanks to their father.
"Please…" he spoke up, his voice soft and cautious, "If we are late to the field, Lord Dagon will not be pleased."
Aranel and Valrance turned to look at him, both of their faces softening almost immediately.
"Thery's right, Aranel," Valrance spoke, he turned his gaze back to his sister, "We do not want to keep him waiting. Not today."
"Agreed," she responded, but her gaze turned down, as if the back of the horse's mane were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
"My lady?" Thery moved closer, stopping his horse just short of rubbing against Aranel's, "What keeps the smile from your face? What has brought your mind such pain?"
Had Thery not been known so well by Aranel and Valrance, his tone might have been confused for that reserved between lovers or sweethearts.
"Tell me… Thery, my friend… Valrance, my brother… What does my father, Lord Dagon…" her father's name was said with disdain, but her voice and eyes held a challenge to the men who rode with her, "Hope to gain from this event? Is the goal to gain hate from his daughter?"
Her words left both men in silence. Neither could answer for a long time. It was Thery who spoke first, "My lady, I can not believe that your father wanted to upset you with this…"
"He could mean nothing else," her eyes were suddenly a bright green, enhanced with her temper, "He has taken all choice from me. Every chance for my happiness has been stripped of me!"
Hot tears had begun to streak down her face. Her hands shook, causing the reins to tremble along the horse's neck. Then, more quickly than the eye could follow, Valrance had dismounted and was standing at the side of Aranel's horse. His much larger and weather-worn hand lay across the quivering hands of his sister. He looked up at her, displaying his anguish and helplessness.
He could not answer her questions about their father. He could not keep her heart from the torment that came from this day. For that, Valrance felt powerless. He would have rather faced countless enemies than to see the look on Aranel's features in this moment.
A name hovered in both of their minds. A face. A presence that had graced Aranel's side for many a month. A presence that had become a friend for all three of them. A friend who had won Aranel's heart, just before Lord Dagon sent him away.
Aranel lifted her eyes to the horizon and whispered a name to the wind, allowing one last tear to slip down her cheek. She took a deep shaky breath and wiped at her face before turning her eyes back to Valrance.
"We must get to the field," she said, her voice quiet and holding just a hint of defeat.
Valrance was silent as he nodded, though his eyes didn't leave his sister's face for a few more moments. A question, remaining unasked, slipped through his eyes. Aranel saw it, and simply shook her head. She would not discuss it here. Not now. Another silent nod and Valrance turned, easily swinging up into his saddle.
The three of them turned and looked at each other before encouraging their horses to move forward again. The tournament field was in sight, and it would only be a short amount of time before they arrived.
"If you will excuse me," Thery spoke, causing the other two to glance at him, "I will leave you in the safety of your brother, my lady… I have been informed that a friend of mine is among the knights today, and I wish to see him before the day's events keep us all too busy."
Aranel smiled and nodded, "I envy you Thery, but please, go and see your friend."
"I will rejoin you before you are seated with Lord and Lady Icthus," Thery said with a smile as he turned his horse, and spurred it into a slow run towards the tents of the knights.
Aranel turned to look at Valrance, her face etched with a bit of wonderment and surprise, "Thery has never mentioned that he had a friend who might have been here today, has he?"
"Not to me," Valrance answered as his gaze followed the other man disappearing among the knights' tents, "Interesting isn't it?"
"Indeed," Aranel agreed, turning her eyes back to the ever-nearing tournament field.
True to his word, Thery rejoined brother and sister not long after they had dismounted and tied their horses. With a man on either side, Aranel made her way to where Lord Dagon and Lady Finella were seated.
Two chairs sat next to each other, their materials and color a stark contrast. Dagon sat in a chair of black wood, carved with the symbols of his house. Lions in many different poses covered the sides and back of the ornate chair. The wood was heavily polished, as though it were carved obsidian. Finella sat in a chair of ash wood. Like her husband's, her chair was carved with the symbols of her house – horses. In the light of the sun, her chair glowed white.
Dagon's bright green eyes were clearly unnatural in the hue of their color, but didn't waver from the trio that approached. His auburn hair, curly and unkempt, hung down past his ears and occasionally over those eyes. Dressed in darker shades of orange, the red highlights of his hair became apparent. He shifted in his seat, leaning against the backrest. Even sitting, he was tall and seemed to loom over his wife.
Finella, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind this. She knew her place as his wife, but also knew that he valued her for what she was capable of – and her beauty. She was almost exotic in that beauty. Her eyes were the darkest of browns, and spoke of wisdom beyond what most would think a woman capable of. Long brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, was pulled back in a braid that easily reached her thighs. Her skin, though aged, was still soft, and held a tan that never faded in the winter. This was only highlighted by the pale yellows that she wore, fashioned in a dress that only emphasized how noble she really was.
The attention of the couple focused on the three who approached them. Stopping before lord and lady, Aranel lowered herself into a curtsy, leaving Valrance and Thery to bow.
"You are late," Dagon spoke, his voice eerily calm. Vibrant green eyes flicked between the three before him.
"Forgive me, Father," Aranel's spoke softly, her head lowered to keep her eyes downcast, "My horse was misbehaving, and the men helped me to tame her."
"The horse was misbehaving," Dagon's trademark sarcastic nature came forth, "You… the only person of our house," he caught a look from Finella and smiled, "Besides my lovely and beautiful wife… who has been able to tame any horse in our stables… You had trouble with your horse?"
"She speaks in truth," Valrance lifted his eyes to meet his father's, "Aranel required assistance with her horse."
"Dagon, dear," Finella finally spoke, putting her hand over her husband's clenched fist, "It doesn't matter why the children are late… They are here, and you may begin your tournament."
"Yes, I may begin my tournament," Dagon said quietly, still sardonic, "Everything is perfect, with one exception – the gods hate me. Every effort put forth for this day, and they must scorn me, by making my sister and mother late, and causing my daughter's horse to misbehave."
Dagon's gaze leveled on her, and though she had still not lifted her head, Aranel could feel her father watching her.
"Please Father," she spoke again, her voice softer yet, "Forgive me…"
"Aranel, come here, and look at me," Dagon's voice was flat, and Aranel did as she was told, raising her green eyes to meet his, "Do not lie to me. I know your horse did not act up… it is not possible. I also know that you do not want to be here…"
"If you would only allow me to choose for myself…" Aranel began to speak, but stopped when Dagon raised a hand to silence her.
"It was a mistake to allow so many to come to you as they did. I should have had this tournament long ago, but I failed. I will not fail again. The man who wins this tournament will be the one best to protect and look after you. I have heard your arguments on the matter, and I will not hear them again. I have decided what will happen," Dagon leaned forward and took his daughter's face between his hands, "You must trust me Aranel… I do this for your own good."
"What a touching moment between father and daughter," a female voice, full of scorn and loathing, caused all eyes to turn and look, "So precious…"
There, near the edge of the family dais, stood a woman dressed entirely in black; the clothes of mourning. Her tanned skin was weathered and wrinkled. Her eyes were dark and disturbing. Long brown hair, wrapped up in a bun, with a color that matched Lady Finella's, was beginning to show the signs of her age, evident by the small grey wisps that were now peppering her hair. At one time, she might have been considered beautiful, but that was a time long passed, despite how elegantly her hair was done. Beside her stood an elderly woman, dressed in the same deep oranges to match Dagon. The material flowed around her and made her appear elegant in her obvious old age. Sharp hazel eyes peered around, from beneath the silver curls atop her head, and momentarily glared at the dark clad woman beside her.
"Sister," Dagon's hands slipped from Aranel's face as he stood to greet the women, his tone becoming warm as he greeted the older woman, "Mother. So glad that you were able to make it."
"So sorry to interrupt such a precious little moment," the tall woman spoke again, ignoring the now constant glaring from the older woman, "But you did want us here for your little games, did you not?"
"This is important, Eriga," Dagon retorted with a frown, "This is what will decide Aranel's future."
"Yes, yes," Eriga said with a wave of her hand, "Just get on with this. The sooner these games begin, the sooner they end. I have other, more important, matters that I could be attending to."
"Eriga!" the matronly voice of the older woman scolded, "You will show your brother respect, as well as the rest of his family. Were it not for them, you would be living in the wilderness, instead of creating your precious potions."
Eriga looked over at the older woman, once she had taken her seat, but said nothing. Her face was an emotionless mask, and for a long while, neither woman spoke. It was Eriga, however, who turned away first to stare at the field of competition.
"Now," the older woman turned to the rest of the gathered family, her tone becoming pleasant, "Where is my granddaughter?"
"Here," Aranel spoke up, her voice still timid, "I am here, Grandmother Oloriel."
The old woman wrapped her arms around Aranel before pulling back to look at her. Old wrinkled hands, deformed by the crippling pains of age, lifted to hold the fair young face before her, much like Dagon had done only moments before.
"Don't look so disheartened, my child," her old voice cracked, "This event might not be your idea of a good future, but you may be surprised by the end of the week."
The grandmother's eyes danced with an impish light. Aranel frowned, not quite understanding the old woman's words. Oloriel could be strange at times, and this was no exception. She was hiding something.
"Aranel," the old woman spoke again, "Please, smile for me today. It will be enjoyable, I assure you."
"I can only doubt that such will be the case, dear grandmother," Aranel fought to give the aged woman a smile, "But I will try, if only for your sake."
"Good!" and without another word, Oloriel moved to take her seat next to Dagon's chair, a spring in her every step, despite her advanced years.
"Come, everyone," Dagon's voice was loud enough to catch the attention of everyone, not already listening, nearby, "Sit down, and take your places. I want this tournament to start before the sun sets."
Dagon sat in his chair, Finella to his left, followed by Aranel, with Valrance and Thery standing behind her. To his right was his mother, Oloriel, and then Eriga. Eriga stood out from the rest, her dark clothing seemingly absorbing the light around her. A spot of darkness in a sea of color.
The wind picked up again, swirling through the family dais, before moving through the crowd. Its playful nature annoyed some of the people who mingled around the tournament field, lifting skirts and pulling hair.
The trumpet blasted, causing some of the gathered crowd to jump with the sudden noise. Knights and their squires paused in the midst of their last minute preparations to look around at the others. As the wind whipped past, blowing material from tents and clothing in various directions, it cared not that it was a hassle to the people in those final arrangements.
Men went back to their duties, focusing on being ready for presentation before lord, lady, and prize. Yet not all men had this as their sole focus. Standing near the darkest tent, colors of black, blue, and red, was a man whose gaze was focused on the manor above the field. His eyes, the color of blue topaz only appeared darker, emphasized by the deep blue tunic that he wore under his hauberk. Short black hair, trimmed close to his head with the exception of one single braid that fell down past his shoulder, didn't twist in the wind, but kept a small rhythm in the currents of air that moved past.
He knew that the family was present for the tournament, and that the house lay empty, but his mind could not be kept from dwelling on the memories of the past…
"Kelmeras! Balian!" a young girl's voice shouted across the field, "C'mon! I want you to see the new foal born this morning!"
"I'll race you!" Kelmeras gave Balian a challenging grin before he sprinted forward through the grass, threatening to leave Balian far behind.
"Oh yeah?" Balian started after his friend, laughing as he went. It was only a short distance and Balian had caught up with the other boy. They were easily matched, stride for stride, despite the two years that separated their ages. Kelmeras tried to shove Balian off balance, and with Balian's reaction to stay upright, both ended up tumbling to the ground below. They were still laughing when a shadow stretched over them both. The laughter died on their lips as they looked up at a young man.
"You two need to be more considerate around the stables," he said, arms crossed over his chest, "You might spook the horses."
"Sorry 'Rance," Kelmeras smirked up at him, "Balian wanted to race."
"Hey," Balian protested, "You're the one that set the challenge... and…"
"Whatever the reason," Valrance interjected, "Knock it off. Aranel's waiting for both of you in the broodmare stalls."
Balian stood up and offered his hand to Kelmeras, helping the other boy to his feet. Looking back up at Valrance with an apologetic expression, Balian said, "Sorry Valrance, we'll be more careful."
"Yeah… just get going, or Aranel's going to be upset."
Giving Valrance one more smile, Kelmeras sprinted off, leaving Balian behind to catch up again. Rather than waste his breath, Valrance simple shook his head and motioned for Balian to follow.
The mare's black coat gleamed in the dim light of the dusty stall. Large brown eyes drooped lazily as she dozed in the center of the four walls. The long silken tail twitched every once in a while, perhaps more habit than useful. The sounds of the stables- the burring and whinnies of other horses, men cleaning out the stalls, the stallions trumpeting from their nearby paddocks – even the three sets of curious eyes, at the stall door, didn't seem to appear to bother the mare.
They were whispering, their voices kept to hushed tones, as they stared at the bundle of legs at the mare's feet. The colt did look to be made of mostly legs, stretched out on the hay; more than half of his body was those long gangly legs.
With a dun colored coat that spoke of the warmth of the sun, it only made the black of his mane, tail, and legs all the more darker. But what was even stranger than the difference in mare and colt, was the peculiar black streak just behind the colt's front shoulders.
"Do you think he's got one on the other side?" Balian voiced the question that they were all thinking.
"I don't know," the young girl, Aranel, answered, "He's been sleeping for most of the morning."
"You would be too if you'd just been through all that…" Valrance voiced from behind the three, "Being born isn't exactly easy on anyone."
"Well, wake him up," Kelmeras stated, matter-of-factly, "Get him up on his feet so we can see."
Without waiting for an answer, the boy started to open the stall door to head inside. Aranel grabbed at his arm, "No! Leave him alone!"
Aranel's shout caused the black mare to lift her head, perking her ears towards the door, and a few things happened in that moment: Kelmeras glared at Aranel – the mare nickered softly – the colt stirred and woke, lifting it's head towards the noise – and Valrance, having stepped closer to stop Kelmeras, suddenly halted himself, staring into the stall.
"What in Levancher's holy name?" his voice, a mixture of fear and wonder, caused everyone to look.
The colt, now laid with his legs curled up underneath himself, ears perked, looking at those who had caused such commotion. It was not the fact that the colt was awake, but the colt's eyes that had caught such attention. They were the color of liquid gold, and reflected much like the precious metal. Balian, Kelmeras, Valrance, and Aranel all stared, in silence, until Kelmeras let out a sound of protest. Valrance's hand had unconsciously tightened around the boy's shoulder.
"Go get Lady Finella," Valrance whispered harshly, as he pulled Kelmeras away from Aranel and pointed him towards the door of the barn, "And don't waste any time doing it."
Valrance left no space for argument, and Kelmeras ran from the barn in search of Lady Finella.
Lady Finella had come to look at the colt, and Balian had been sent home. Kelmeras had already left for home after fetching the lady. For the next four days, Aranel could not be persuaded to leave the stall. Even Finella didn't understand. Normally, any mare who had just given birth, would be overprotective of their foal, and simply would not put up with having so much time spent with a human – Gezra, the black mare, didn't seem to care that Aranel's presence was a constant. Those mornings, when Finella came to check on her daughter, it was a common sight to see Gezra standing over her colt and Aranel, as they lay cuddled together in the hay. It was then that Finella suspected that Aranel had gained the gifts of the Horse People.
The colt, named Arion, was the talk of the surrounding country. Word spread quickly throughout the villages, 'The house of Icthus had been blessed' – 'The house of Icthus had been cursed' – In every case, everyone knew of the colt with the golden eyes and the strange black marks on either side of his body, just behind his front shoulders. Many from the tribe of the Horse People came to pay honor to Finella and her family, for being blessed with such a miracle, though none could say exactly what would come of it, or what the colt might be capable of. Through it all, Aranel would not be separated from Arion, for at least the first week, and every spare moment she had throughout the next two months, was spent with him. Even visits from Balian and Kelmeras couldn't hold her attention for very long.
It was two years before Aranel showed any signs of interest in something other than Arion. The young horse was now to the point that he would only answer to Aranel's call. Balian and Kelmeras began to make regular visits again, though they greatly differed from previous years.
Aranel was growing into a woman, and this fact was hard to hide from Balian and Kelmeras any longer. Aranel would soon be eligible for suitors, and both young men now had it on their mind when they paid visits to the Icthus house. Aranel, for all of her knowledge of horses, was innocent to the thoughts of her friends, though Valrance made it a point to never leave her alone with them anymore.
It was probably the reason that they had all started out as friends. Noble-blooded women were hard to come by in this area, so the friendship with Aranel had been encouraged by the parents of both young men.
"So my father said that I get to start training as a knight next year," Kelmeras said as he sat with his friends at the nearby river. Arion, now a constant companion to Aranel, grazed a small distance away, and Kelmeras couldn't take his eyes from the young horse, "He said that I need to find a horse before I can go."
Balian, stretched out on his side, watched the water stream by, bubbling over the rocks and other immovable debris, "Knighthood training is a hard thing, Kelmeras." Balian spoke from experience. He'd started his own training not more than six months ago, "And more than likely, you'll be serving as a squire first. I believe that all knights start that way."
Aranel sat near Valrance, her skirts spread around her, leaning back against a tree, her eyes closed, "Good luck in finding a horse. I'm sure you could buy one from my father. We've some of the best stock in the country."
"I'm not going to be a squire," Kelmeras turned to look at Balian, the look in his eyes determined and proud, "I'm going directly into the actual training. I don't have time to waste with squire-work."
"Working as a squire is part of it Kelmeras," Valrance said from his position near Aranel, "You can't truly be a good knight without knowing how to serve others."
"I'll do just fine," Kelmeras replied crossly, "I'm training for a knight, not a servant."
"Kelmeras," Aranel was sitting up and looking at him now, the beginnings of a frown on her face, "You don't have to be so defensive. Valrance and Balian only speak from experience…"
"Fine," Kelmeras's angry gaze shifted to look at Aranel, causing her to cringe, "Let them. But my path will not be the same as theirs!"
"Alright Kelmeras," Balian spoke up after seeing the distress on Aranel's face, "It won't be, but don't be irate with Aranel…"
Kelmeras was silent as he turned his gaze back to Arion. The young horse had stopped grazing and was looking at the group of young people, his ears perked forward and his golden eyes fixed on Kelmeras. That golden gaze shifted to Aranel, however, as she stood and walked away from the three young men. The young horse came without call, blowing softly in the girl's hair before letting her lean against his body. Balian and Valrance stared at Kelmeras. Balian had shifted to sit up, and Valrance had taken his usual pose with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Kelmeras Melkor," Valrance's voice was strained as he struggled to keep his volume low, "How dense can you be?"
"What do you mean?" Kelmeras raised his eyes to Valrance with a challenging gaze.
"Look, I may only be Aranel's brother, but I know why you two are hanging around her so much lately…"
The skin of Balian's face flushed pink, but Kelmeras simply stared. Valrance let out a sigh of frustration, "You keep acting like that, Kelmeras, and Aranel's not going to have anything to do with you."
Again, Kelmeras didn't say anything, causing Valrance to shake his head a sigh, "Fine, you want to mope, go right ahead. Balian? Come on up to the house, if you will. Aranel? Let's go."
Aranel looked up when Valrance called her name and without a word of protest, she followed, Arion right on her heels, devoted horse that he was. Balian watched them leave before he turned to look at Kelmeras, only to find his friend had stood to start walking back home.
"Kelmeras," Balian called after him, moving to his feet, "What are you trying to do?"
Kelmeras muttered something under his breath, so that Balian couldn't hear, before turning to look at his friend, "Valrance thinks he knows so much. So do you. Well you don't. Neither of you do! And Aranel will still like me after my training is done, you'll see!" Kelmeras turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Balian to wonder what had set into Kelmeras's mind to give him such temper.
For three days, Kelmeras didn't return to visit Aranel, didn't visit Balian, nor did he speak to anyone. His behavior made the small group of friends wonder what he was up to, and if he'd simply cut them off as friends.
As it turned out, Kelmeras only wanted the best. Those three days that he had been gone, he had been discussing horses with his father, Jericho, telling him that the horse he had decided on was none other than Arion. Jericho agreed, and began negotiations with Dagon for the young stallion. Dagon saw no reason to not sell the horse – with the exception of the objections of Aranel and Finella. Aranel's love for the horse was 'unhealthy,' Dagon reasoned as he dismissed his daughter's arguments, and she needed to learn that not all things would last forever, nor always go her way. Finella also listed various reasons why the horse should stay, and while some of them were good – breeding stock, well mannered, nearly trained, Aranel's first horse of her own – they did not outweigh Dagon's decision.
Balian was at the Icthus estate on the day that Kelmeras and Jericho came to claim Arion. Dagon had told Aranel to come to the stables, but the young girl refused, so it was Valrance who stood holding Arion's leadline. The look on his face was clearly not one that was pleased.
Balian and Kelmeras regarded each other, but said nothing. Their eyes carried most of what they felt. Kelmeras had a look of triumph, while Balian could only look at his friend with nothing but contempt. How could Kelmeras have done such a thing to Aranel? Her love of Arion was well known, even to the common folk. Balian shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as Kelmeras walked near.
"With Arion," he said to Balian, "I will only be a knight, not some lowly squire."
"You may be a knight," Balian snapped back, "But you've lost any chance with Aranel you may have ever had."
"She will see me when I come back, riding Arion, and will love me for my accomplishments."
"Keep thinking that way, Kelmeras. Pride will be your downfall."
"And humility, yours."
A young squire carefully approached, pulling the man from his memories. The man turned his cloudy gaze to the boy, questioning. The boy held a piece of his armor, no doubt because the time to present before the family was drawing near. The boy was dressed to match the knight, in the same deep blues, though not as finely adorned. His clothing lacked the embroidered crest of the knight, and carried small patches of grime from his morning duties. However, where the blues highlighted the knight's eyes, it only emphasized how dark of a brown the boy's were, and how tawny his skin was. The curly black hair that topped his head was a tangled mess, made more so by the wind. Long black tendrils hung down in front of his eyes.
"M'lord," the boy answered holding up the black breastplate of the man's armor, "Your armor."
"Thank you, Pesach," he answered, his voice smooth as a smile worked its way across his face. The man stepped forward to take the armor from the lad, lifting it above his own head to put it on. Pesach moved quickly to the man's side and secured the fastenings to hold the armor in place. The man closed his eyes and took a deep collected breath, leaving Pesach to do his duty and go to fetch the other pieces of his armor.
The man ran his hand over the black metal, with an odd sort of respect. His fingers traced over the runes carved in the surface, and his eyes followed the movement. The metal was a foreign type of black, unseen in any of the surrounding areas. The surface was polished to an obsidian black, making the engraved runes invisible from every angle, except to the wearer. The runes had power to them, known only to the man who now wore it and that which gave it to him.
The town crier had been hired to act as the herald for the tournament. To do such was an honor, and he knew this. He knew it enough to understand that if he was a disappointment to Lord Dagon, he would regret it for the rest of his life. But he did not want to simply call out the knights as they entered- he wanted to entertain those who had come to watch. So, it was with a nervous grin that he placed himself in the middle of the arena, facing the noble family, and most of the crowd.
"Lord, Lady, and fairest of all maidens," he began with respect, bending at the waist and bowing his head, "Lady Oloriel Icthus and Lady Eriga Normargy, extensions of the great Icthus household. Loyal subjects and friends of this great country, we gather today for a great event. Today, we see the beginnings of a tournament!"
The man stopped as the crowd erupted into cheers. It was not often that they were blessed with such an event to distract them from the mundane of day to day life. Lord Dagon had even declared these days as days of rest. Of course, it helped that he wanted the tournament to be popular. So since people didn't have to work, they came to watch the events. As the crowd died down, the man smiled and bowed again, growing more confident.
"For many years we have watched the fair maiden, Aranel, grow in beauty and skill. Long have we seen men come seeking her hand, and go after being refused. Why so many? None were worthy!"
Again, the crowd erupted with applause and cheers of agreement. Long had they seen the men come and go, and many feared the day that Aranel would be married. She was considered a treasure among the common folk.
"None were worthy!" the man cried out again, and the crowd quieted once more, "So why are we here?"
A few voices in the crowd rose, calling for the answer. They were soon echoed by the rest of the crowd, and the volume grew again until the man raised his hands. Almost immediately, the crowd went quiet. There was a look of surprise on his face for a brief moment before the smile spread across his face again.
"We are here for our fair Aranel. We must find a suitable match for our fair Aranel!" Another cry of approval went up from the crowd. "Who is fit for our Aranel? Who has the right to her hand? Today, and these days afterwards, we will find one who is worthy! We will find a knight for our maiden! Do we have knights to compete!"
"Yes!" the crowd shouted in union.
"Yes! And one will be chosen. One will rise above the rest, so why do we delay? Why put off this tournament any longer? Let the games begin!"
The crowd's voices rose in a great cheer of anticipation and excitement. The hope was clear on everyone's faces.
"Where are our knights!" the crier called out again, and almost as if it had been rehearsed, the knights began streaming out onto the field, their horses trotting around the outer edge before making a line in the middle, all facing the family dais. The multitude of colors was amazing; the variety of armor, astounding; the differences in horses, surprising. Sixty-four men had come to seek Aranel as a prize. Sixty-four faces hid beneath the helms they wore, each as different as the flowers of the field. Sixty-four men were astride their mounts, waiting to see who would be skilled enough or lucky enough to make it through all the aspects of the tournament. To be the one who would take Aranel's hand in marriage.
Aranel watched the dramatics from her seat, hardly impressed with what was said by the town crier. When she was younger, she might have been flattered to think that the villagers thought so highly of her, but she was not so innocent anymore and scarcely believed that any of the villages and their townsfolk would worry that much about who she was attached to.
Her gaze moved over the insignias of each knight before letting her attention move to each horse. One thought was a constant in her mind – if she could not find a way out of this place as a prize, and if she were married to the winner of the tournament, then she would find her freedom with the horses. Many of the equines pranced, as war horses are bound to do. The armor of the knights clinked and clanked their protests against the horses' movement, as the men did their best to keep the horses calm. There were a few knights who were smart enough to have their squires come out and hold their mounts after they had all come to a stand still.
Aranel's attention was drawn however, by a horse that needed no attendant. The horse, clad entirely in black cloth and armor from its ears down to its hooves, was not moving. It was standing stone still, with its ears perked forward. It made Aranel wonder where the knight had found such a horse. The only other horse she knew of who would behave in such a way, had been Arion, but this was not him. This horse did not have the golden eyes so well known to the stallion. Aranel turned her eyes to the knight, curious as to whom it would be. The knight, like his horse, was clad entirely in black armor, and while the sunlight reflected from the surface, it also appeared to be absorbed into the metal. The dark blue piece of cloth that rested over his breastplate was embroidered with a crest that she did not recognize – a wolf's head.
The town crier was calling out the names of the knights, and Aranel turned her attention back to the man. She would look at the horses later, when she had more time to evaluate their demeanor and build.
"We have many great names among us today," the town crier continued, "Sir Malicon Edrahil! Sir Johann Tyko! Sir Aramiah Radagast! Sir Kelmeras Melkor! And, the dread Dark Wolf!"
The crowd cheered after each name, and booed as the name of the Dark Wolf was said. Surely their fair Aranel wouldn't be wed to such a man as he. He was said to be without a heart, and without mercy or love. Such a man should not have been allowed into the competition, and the crowd let their wishes known with boos and hisses.
While Aranel could have wanted to join in the crowd in displaying her disapproval, it was not because of the Dark Wolf. Instead, it was Kelmeras that made her want to hiss and jeer. He was the one who had made some of her younger years the worst she could have experienced. He was the reason that this tournament was happening. At least, in her opinion, he was. The memories were strong and nearly fresh.
"Come to the stables, Aranel," Dagon said from her bedroom door, watching his daughter lay on her bed, facing away from him, "Come and learn how to part with a horse."
"No."
Dagon was growing angry, "Come to the stables, daughter. Do not forget, it was you who told Kelmeras that I had horses to sell. This includes even the young stallion. The price has been paid and he is sold. Now come and see the horse off, at least."
"No."
"Aranel!"
"No!" her voice hard and stubborn as she sat up from her place on her bed and turned to look at her father, "You knew that Arion was mine! You knew that! And you still sold him to Kelmeras! Now, you expect me to come and give away my horse to a boy that I now despise? Never!"
"It was not a request."
"I don't care! I'm not going. You sold Arion, you give him away."
"Kelmeras will want to see you."
"I… don't… care… the boy can rot in the abyss for all I care. He knew how much I loved Arion, and he went behind my back. I'm not going, and you can not make me."
Dagon nodded, his face void of any expression, "You are right. I can not make you. I can however, limit your time in the stables. Such will be done after today."
Aranel said nothing more as Dagon turned on his heel and left the room. Valrance, who had been standing in the hallway, looked into the bedroom and met his sister's gaze. His brows were furrowed together in worry, but Aranel simply shook her head. She was too near tears for her brother to try and comfort her.
"Valrance," Dagon's voice came from down the hall and Valrance turned to him, "Come to the stables and help to finish this agreement."
Valrance looked back to his sister, and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," before he disappeared down the hallway with their father.
Aranel sat on her bed for a long while before she moved to the window, just in time to see Valrance lead Arion from the stables. He was an obedient horse, to the right people, and wasn't giving Valrance any trouble at all. Aranel sighed. It was to be expected. Arion was a good horse, even her mother had said so, mostly because of how much time Aranel had spent with him.
She noticed Balian standing near the stables, and while she was glad for him to be there, she had to wonder for a moment if he was planning to take something, just as Kelmeras was doing. Valrance was leading Arion over to Kelmeras and his father, Jericho, and Aranel could feel the tears starting to burn at the back of her eyes. She hardly noticed when Valrance had pulled Kelmeras close to say something. Aranel was turning away from the window and heading out of her room before a thought had completely made its way across her mind.
Running out the front entrance of the house, she was just in time to see Kelmeras and Jericho beginning to head off towards the village.
"I hate you Kelmeras!" she shouted across the distance, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, "I hate you!"
Kelmeras turned in his saddle as his horse continued to walk along side of Jericho's. There was pain in his expression, as if he did not expect such a reaction, "You don't understand Aranel…"
"Yes I do!" Aranel shouted back, cutting him off, "I understand more than you realize… You take Arion from me, knowing that he was mine… I hate you for it. I never want to see you again!"
Arion whinnied at the sound of Aranel's voice, lifting his head to look at her. Tears were streaming down her face. The young stallion pulled at the tether that Kelmeras held. Kelmeras's face was still pained, but when Arion pulled against him, he turned away from Aranel, and continued riding away, his shoulders slumped, pulling Arion with him.
Aranel's gaze now rested on Kelmeras, Knight of the Scorpion. She narrowed her eyes with the memory. He had taken her most prized of possessions, and still had the nerve to pursue her hand only a few years later. To say that there was bad blood between them was a mild statement. She stared at him, her eyes lowering to the horse only long enough to know that it was not Arion. She felt the pain in her heart, knowing that it wouldn't have been her beloved stallion, even if she wouldn't have wanted to see him with Kelmeras.
During those weeks when Kelmeras tried to persuade her to be his wife, he had told her that Arion had been sold, due to unruliness. Aranel had been left speechless, and refused to see him afterwards. It was not long after this that her father had determined that the tournament needed to be held, and plans were set into motion, despite her objections.
Now, here she sat, staring at the field of competition. Sixty-four men set before her. One of which would be her husband at the end of the tournament.
Jericho and Kelmeras mounted the horses that they had ridden to the Icthus estate and Kelmeras reached to take the rope from Valrance. However, before handing off the young stallion, he pulled Kelmeras down far enough so that when he spoke, only Kelmeras would hear.
"If you take Arion from our land, don't ever think of coming back," there was a look in Valrance's eyes that carried a silent threat. It was a look that made Kelmeras flinch, if only for an instant, before that Melkor pride slipped back in his eyes.
"Give me my horse, Valrance Icthus," Kelmeras said as he sat upright in his saddle, "You may be the son of Dagon, but you do not outrank me by any means. In fact, when next you see me, you will be unable to refuse me passage in your father's lands, for I will be a knight. You, no doubt, will be the same as you are now. Nothing, but a bully."
"You keep thinking that, Melkor," Valrance returned, "You might have right to enter these lands, but I will still be Aranel's protector and brother, and I don't have to let you near her."
"You can't control your sister, 'Rance," Kelmeras smirked, "If she chooses to see me, you can't stop her."
Valrance snorted a laugh, "Then I won't have anything to worry about. Here. Take Aranel's prized horse away, and see if she wants to see you."
Valrance handed off the rope for Arion, and without another word, he turned and walked away. Not bothering to see the smirk that he knew would be on the boy's face. It didn't matter what Kelmeras thought. By taking Aranel's valued equine friend, Kelmeras was only putting a larger chasm between him and the girl. As if the gods wanted to prove that very point, Aranel burst from the manor, screaming at the object of her hatred. Valrance turned around, moving his gaze back and forth between his sister and Kelmeras.
Only once did Valrance look at Balian, but the other young man only had eyes for Aranel. Valrance could see how desperately Balian wanted to comfort Aranel, but it wasn't his place.
Valrance shifted his gaze back to Kelmeras, and found himself glad to see the look of pain on the boy's face, though the glare that Jericho cast at Aranel was something that Valrance didn't care for. He didn't have to look back at Aranel to see the turmoil on her face because he could hear it in her voice. So as he moved towards his sister, Valrance kept his gaze on the older Melkor.
Jericho's eyes turned to Valrance just long enough that Valrance came to a sudden revelation. Women were lower than dirt in Jericho's eyes that much was clear, and by the way that it seemed, Kelmeras was growing up in his father's footsteps. It was no wonder that Kelmeras never spoke of his mother.
"Aranel," Valrance kept his voice soft as he came near to his sister, "Aranel, let's go inside the house."
Aranel had finished her outburst, and with her nerves still shaking, she let Valrance lead her back to the house. Though it may have been awkward for him, Valrance never let Jericho leave his sight until he had his sister safely in the door.
As Valrance stood behind his sister now, facing the field of competitors with the rest of his family, and Thery, his mind tumbled over the past few years. So many times, he had simply wanted to shield Aranel from the manipulation of power hungry men who wanted her for nothing more than a possession. Kelmeras was at the top of that list, in Valrance's opinion, and he hadn't seen eye to eye with Dagon when the Melkor youth had been granted permission to pursue Aranel's hand.
When Valrance had heard Kelmeras announced with the other knights, he had sought out his placement, eyes narrowing upon the sight of him. He clenched his hands at his side, one hand wrapping around the handle of his mace. In Valrance's eyes, Kelmeras deserved no place in this competition, having been disqualified long ago on the day he took Arion. He shouldn't have been allowed to come back, but until Dagon handed over the Icthus estate, Valrance was powerless to do anything.
"Let the first knights prepare for the joust!" the town crier's voice pulled Valrance from his thoughts and his eyes turned back to the small man who stood in front of the many knights and their horses. Sixty four men, all fighting over his sister, and Valrance didn't like one of them. None were worthy in his eyes. Two knights were chosen randomly, and the rest were dismissed.
The thunder of hooves met with the rising cheer of the crowd as two knights charged towards each other. Leaning forward over their saddles, they each held their lances ready to strike. The wind, thrilled with the beginning of the event, raced to meet each rider and horse. It whipped the manes and tails of the horses away from the bodies of the powerful steeds. It drove itself against the knights, challenging them to battle against it, to meet their opponent.
With a mighty crash, each knight met the lance of his opponent and a collective gasp went up from the crowd as one knight toppled from the back of his horse. The breath of air was held just long enough to hear the metal clank as the man hit the ground, before the roar of the crowd rose in deafening applause. Both horses continued on their directed paths, only one still carrying its rider. The riderless horse was caught, and the unseated knight helped from the field. The knight still astride his horse, moved back to the center of the field, and bowed his head.
"Sir Jedan Menich!" the town crier announced the winner of the first joust, "His lineage great! His skill even greater! The first to achieve the honor of competing again tomorrow!"
The crowd roared their approval once again, allowing the knight to spur his mount to move. The white horse sprang into motion, a picture of fluidity and grace as it and its rider exited the field, allowing the next two competitors to enter.
The jousts continued into the afternoon, but none of them could draw Aranel's attention. She didn't care who won each match, though the town crier's voice made sure that none would miss the names. She didn't care if there were men moving on to the next stage of competition. She didn't care, until she heard Kelmeras announced as the next of contenders.
Riding a strong and healthy slate-grey horse, Kelmeras rode onto the field, proudly bearing his colors. He carried his lance with him, sporting a green flag, embroidered in gold with the symbol of a scorpion. The smile on his face only grew as the crowd recognized the man for the youth that had so frequently visited the Icthus estate. He steered his mount to the proper place in the field before he paused to raise his lance in salute, happy to hear some of the crowd chanting his name. As much as he enjoyed the glory, however, his eyes shifted to look at the knight opposite him. This was the person he was about to defeat, and there was no doubt in his mind about it. He lowered his lance to his squire so the boy could remove the flag.
Opposite him, mounted on a white horse that looked to be polished with the freshest of snow, sat Sir Tosam Clapyre. His armor was almost an ivory, this only highlighted by the soft sea green of his colors. He lowered his lance as well, allowing his squire to remove the flag from the end. A white piece of cloth, detailed with the sea green symbol of a fish.
Each man lowered their visors, and stood ready, waiting for the signal that would start them towards each other. Their eyes rested on the town crier in the middle who now stood with a flag in his hands, the cloth resting in the dirt. The flag was raised, and the town crier hurried out of the way as both knights spurred their horses forward.
Again, hooves pounded the earth, the vibration felt by the people who surrounded the field. All eyes followed the knights as they drew near to each other. The wind whipped against the horses and their riders, as lances were aligned and drew ever nearer. With a powerful crack of wood and metal, the lances connected with their intended targets, and a man was sent tumbling to the ground below.
It was Kelmeras' aim that had been truer, and as he wheeled his horse around, the crowd again erupted into applause and the chanting of his name.
"Father," Aranel turned to Dagon, trying to remain as impassive as she could. She wanted to get away from the field, "Would you call an intermission, so that we might refresh ourselves before the rest of the knights compete?"
Dagon looked down at his daughter, raising his brows in consideration, "I suppose that could be a wise idea. Just long enough for everyone to satisfy themselves with a bit of food and such, don't you agree, Finella?"
"Whatever you deem worthy, my dear," Finella said as she turned to look at her husband, her dark eyes smiling, "But a pause in the jousting would be good, if only for the spectators."
"It is decided then," Dagon said as he turned back to the field. The crowd was still cheering for Kelmeras, and the knight had not yet left the field. Standing, Dagon moved to the edge of the dais, catching the attention of the town crier, and Kelmeras. No thought was given to Sir Tosam as he was helped from the field.
"Jarvis, Sir Kelmeras," Dagon's voice boomed over the field as he waved his arm, motioning them nearer. He waited until they were close before he spoke again, "I am taking pause at this point of the jousting. Make sure that everyone knows this. I will have the trumpets sound again when we begin."
"Yes, m'lord," Jarvis bowed to Dagon before returning to the center of the field to do as he was bid, announcing the respite that was arranged.
"Yes, Lord Dagon," Kelmeras answered with a bow of his head. When he raised his head however, his eyes drifted from the receding back of Dagon to where Aranel sat. A smile, hidden by his helmet, crossed his face as he observed her ever present beauty. She would truly be a prize to be had and his intentions were to take her as his own. This tournament would be easily won by someone in his position. Such were the thoughts that ran their way through his mind, only to be brought back by the presence of Valrance, standing between him and the sight of Aranel. Kelmeras blinked his eyes and waited to speak until the rest of the family had gone, "Rance… good to see that you have not changed."
"Be gone from my sight Kelmeras," Valrance's hand tightened around his mace, anger clear on his face. Kelmeras did not belong, "You are not welcome here, and you've no right to Aranel…"
"Yet…" Kelmeras finished as he lifted his visor. Eyes, the color of a clear blue sky, were alight with greed and lust, "Not yet… but soon."
"Never," Valrance growled, barely restraining himself, "Not even if you win this… thing. You'll have one more fight to face… and it will be one that you will lose."
"The next time you address me with anything less than my title," Kelmeras smirked, enjoying the fact that he had riled Valrance, "I may just grant you that wish much sooner, Son of Dagon."
"You deserve no title," Valrance growled again. He might have spoken more, had it not been for the delicate hand of his sister upon his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to look at Aranel.
"Not here, Valrance," she spoke softly, keeping her gaze from Kelmeras. Anything to keep from looking at the man, "Please."
"Yes, Rance," Kelmeras jeered, fully amused by the situation, "Go on and listen to your little sister…"
Aranel turned her eyes on Kelmeras in that moment, flashing a brilliant emerald green. It was enough to make Kelmeras flinch, "Be gone, Sir Kelmeras. Your time to speak with me or mine has not yet come."
Kelmeras smiled, but wisely kept silent as he turned his horse away from the family dais. With a harsh kick, he spurred his horse into a gallop, exiting the field in a flurry of green cloth and dust. Aranel turned from the field and moved as quickly as she could to exit the platform, tears already stinging at the back of her eyes. Valrance and Thery were on her heels, as she headed towards the nearby fruit orchard.
The breeze moved through the orchard, twisting and winding around the trees. Branches shook and leaves quivered, nearly masking the hurried footsteps that padded through the grass. Two sets of heavier footsteps followed and the wind gave pursuit. Curling and spinning around in the grass, the breeze made its way towards the three, and listened in on the conversation.
"Aranel…" there was frustration in Valrance's voice as he hurried to keep up with the heated pace of his sister, "Aranel, slow down. Just… wait."
Aranel simply made a motion with her arms, and kept walking, leaving Valrance and Thery to follow. Valrance glanced to the man who moved beside him, and Thery nodded once, before separating, and jogging off through the trees.
"Aranel," Valrance spoke more firmly this time, "You need to stop."
"Leave me alone, brother," she snapped back at him, and continued to walk.
Valrance shook his head, and left the rest up to Thery. The edge of the orchard was quickly approaching, and the village wasn't far from there. He didn't want to be that far away from the tournament field. Valrance slowed his pace, hoping that Aranel would realize that she wasn't being pursued as relentlessly. However, if she remembered anything of the past, she would have known what to expect next.
Thery had positioned himself off of the path, just far enough that it would be effective. As Aranel drew closer, Thery closed his eyes to concentrate for a moment. Pulling the moisture from the air in the area, Thery began to form a wall of ice that spread between a few trees. So skilled was he in his magic, and so quickly did the wall form, that Aranel, in her fury, did not have much time to stop. She stood there for a moment, staring at the ice wall. In turning to walk around it, however, she found that she had been encased. Aranel's pause had given Thery just enough time to completely surround her.
"Thery!" Aranel was frustrated, but her voice simply portrayed her surrender, "Thery, please."
"I cannot risk you harm, my lady," he responded as he drew near the ice structure, concentrating on keeping it from melting in the warm air, "Nor can I risk you going so far from the tournament field."
"Why not? My presence is not needed for this farce to continue."
"It may not be needed, my lady," Thery replied, his voice still calm and respectful, "But your father has required it, and my position in your household, perhaps even my life, would be forfeit if I were to fail him in this way."
Aranel sighed softly, knowing the truth in his words, "I would not wish that upon you Thery, but you cannot keep me in this ice chamber until the tournament begins again."
"Actually," Valrance had finally joined them, though he was still not happy about Aranel running off like she did, "He could."
Aranel said nothing, and Thery gave Valrance a look of reproach. This was not a good way to treat his sister. Valrance could see Thery's disapproval, and he simply shook his head, exhaling noisily as he folded his arms across his massive chest.
"He could," Valrance continued, "But he won't. We protect you, but we're not your prison guards. Don't make us be such."
"I do not make you my prison guards," she answered from behind the ice walls, "You do this with your own actions and how you treat me..."
"Aranel," Thery's gentle voice cut in, "You hear, but you do not listen. When you act so rashly, as you have in these last few moments, you make us act in haste to keep you from harm."
"What harm could there be in the village?"
"Perhaps none, but with today's events, we cannot let you wander so far from your father's sight."
"He does not see me," Aranel sighed as she stepped back to the center of the ice chamber, her gaze drifting to the leaves of the trees above the tops of the walls that surrounded her. The scents of the fruit trees drifted towards and around her, and for just a moment, she closed her eyes.
Apples. The sweet and tangy scent wafted through the air from the nearby trees. A soft thud brought Aranel's eyes open, to see the apple that had fallen to the earth inside that icy prison. Harvest was not far off. It wasn't more than a week away, and providing that the tournament went as planned, it would be the first duties to be carried out by the villagers afterwards. Aranel sighed again, wishing more than anything that she was anywhere but here. Picking up the apple, she studied its color. So fresh, so inviting, and yet it was an omen that even the tournament would still happen, despite her want. It was then that she noticed that a single wall of the icy chamber had melted away to reveal Valrance and Thery. Her brother was the first to step forward towards her.
"Aranel," for such a strong man, there was helplessness in his voice, "I cannot keep this tournament from happening. I cannot make our father see the folly in such an event. Levancher knows that I would, if I were capable. Can't you see that? Can't you understand that I am as helpless in this as you are? Even I cannot stand against our father when he welcomes knights such as Kelmeras to our property."
"To what do I owe the honor of your lovely presence, my lady?" the man turned his attention to the woman who now stood before him.
A sly smile was painted on her lips, "The same honor that your presence graces this tournament with, my lord."
The man scoffed his disgust, "This tournament is a farce. I cannot believe that Dagon would allow such a circus to occur."
"Surely this tournament is not what distresses you," the woman's voice purred as she drew nearer the man, "But the rejection of the girl that has scorned your pride."
He turned his eyes to the woman in anger, "You know nothing of pride."
"Don't I?"
"A woman that would poison her own husband? No. There is no pride left in your black soul. Greed perhaps, but not pride."
"Ah," she bowed her head in mock respect, "My lord doth know his lady."
"My lady," he was amused by this, "And what if you were truly… my… lady?"
"Nothing would stand in our way," she smiled at him again.
"Or would I stand in yours? Would you poison me as well, my dear?"
"You are far stronger and more keen than my late husband, my lord. One cannot poison the strong."
The man smiled as he looked at her, pondering what might lie in his favor. He leaned in close as she offered her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles.
"Do you know what I desire, my lady?" he spoke softly, his breath warm against her skin.
"You wish to see victory in this travesty of a competition, my lord," her eyes didn't leave him now, though the smile had relaxed slightly. A gleam of hunger passed behind the surface of her eyes.
"Yes… a mockery, isn't it," he raised his face to look at her, but continued to hold her hand, "I wish to claim that which has been denied me and mine."
"The girl?"
"Indeed," a grin worked its way across his face, "Might you be able to help me, my dark angel?"
"I believe I just might have that capability, my lord," she leaned in closely to him, her lips barely brushing the tender flesh of his ear. When she finished speaking her secret, she moved back and smiled at him yet again.
The man looked at her for a long moment, before he returned the smile and spoke, "You have such a pretty smile. It's a shame the things you hide behind it."
"Receiving such words from you, my lord," her smile remained, "I shall accept them as a compliment."
"Only one thing troubles me with your plan, my dear," he spoke as his brows furrowed with the thought, "Dagon will not acknowledge the victory if he suspects such underhanded tactics."
"And if I told you that Dagon would not have the ability to argue?"
"Something tells me that it is not only Dagon that you plot against, my lady," the man gently let go of her hand, "What exactly do you have in mind?"
"Simply to take back what was rightfully mine in the beginning," she replied as her gaze grew cold, contrasting the still-present smile, "Just as you do, my lord."
"There is not compassion left in you, is there, my beauty?"
Her voice was cold and hard with her next words, "Any scrap of compassion that still existed in my soul was permanently snuffed out when they cast me out into the flames."
"My apologies, my dear," the man bowed his head, "It seems that our goals lie next to one another."
"Indeed, they do," she responded, "My plans will begin as soon as you give me leave, my lord."
"Then by all means, my lady," he smiled as he took her hand and again, kissed her knuckles, "Proceed."
She curtsied once before turning and moving away, while the man simply watched. The male part of him appreciated the view.