The boy stood before the king and queen in the throne room, his back straight and head held high despite his ragged state and the clumsily wrapped wound on his leg. He was of average Calormen height, his black hair long and cut as though sawed at with a knife, his frame thin and taut with muscles earned through hard labor. Nothing to indicate Aravis should believe what he was saying.
Yet it was the eyes that made her pause. Those bright, sly, emerald eyes that were so full of life. The eyes of her mother. Aravis nodded to him, her heart in her throat, "If you are who you say you are then who is your father?" It was a simple question but an important one to ask none the less.
If it was possible for the boy to hold himself up any higher, he did, "I, Arrosh, am the son of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Rishti Tarkaan, the son of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Illsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc who was descended in a right line from the god Tash." Rather than stopping there he continued, "My mother's name is Nalinayis, she died shortly after I was born. I am 17 years of age and will be 18 in 6 months' time."
There was a moment of silence before Cor sat forward some, "You could have easily gotten those names and memorized them. If you truly are the son of a tarkaan then why do you appear to us in this fashion? One would think you would be dressed in the attire made for one of your station."
Arrosh's posture did not change, but he did quirk an eyebrow. Her father's look. "To explain that I would have to tell you the story of the past 12 years of my life." His voice was smooth and tranquil as that of many Calormens yet it lacked the vocabulary of that of the upper class.
Aravis waved her hand in dismissal, "Not here and not with you in this state. I shall give you the benefit of the doubt that you are speaking the truth. We shall speak somewhere more comfortable and you will be given new clothes and your wound treated." Cor merely gave her a small look but did not disagree with his wife aloud. That was something for behind closed doors.
The boy, a young man was closer to it, bowed his head low, "Thank you for your kindness, your Highness. If you wish to move to a more comfortable room, then, by all means, let us go. However, on the subject of clothes and care, I would prefer not. If you choose not to believe me and cast me out as a liar then I do not wish to take what is not mine."
Cor nodded, "So be it." He looked to the guard, "Please, lead him to the parlor. We will be in shortly." Now it was Aravis' turn to give him a look. That was not as they normally did things. The only reason he appeared before them without being properly cared for was due to him having claimed to have an urgent matter to discuss with them.
Both the guard and Arrosh bowed low unison then left the room. The doors shut and the sound of footsteps soon faded. The silence of the room was shattered with the swiftness of a hawk diving in for a kill.
"What were you thinking?"
"Why would you agree to that?"
The voices came in unison and equally harsh. Faces went red and nostrils flared. Faces turned to the other with glares to shut the mouth of a Narnian squirrel.
Aravis tilted her head up, "I was treating him as we would with any other visitor who came to our gates. I was acting in the principles of our land." She waved a hand at her husband, "You defied them by agreeing not to treat him as such."
"Me? No, that boy has the pride of every Calormen workman." Cor scoffed, "He would never have agreed and you know it. I was merely speeding this dreadful process up!" Co leaned forward onto his knees, "We both know he would only refuse if he wanted something more from us. He -" He paused, seeing the look in her eye, "You don't believe this, surely."
Her head lowered, eyes looking into his, "I may. The resemblances to my mother are strong and his expressions are that of my father. Even the age aligns. By Aslan, I feel he's telling the truth."
"Your father is a tarkaan in Calormen. Why would your brother need to come here? Much less in rags."
"Well, let's hear what he has to say. Shall we?"
XXX
Arrosh sat in the parlor upon a straight-backed, wooden chair with his head in his rough hands and decidedly ignoring the guard in the corner of the room. A prayer passing in his breaths to the gods as blood seeped from his bandage to the old slippers that the head housemaid insisted he wore. His bare feet were not clean enough for the rugs of the palace.
This had to work. They had to believe he was telling the truth. He had not done everything in his power to get here only to be turned away. Everything depended on it. All was lost if they did not believe it.
XXX
A/N - Hello again! (Huh, using this as a way to channel my procrastination really works.)
Thank you all for such nice reviews!
Yes, I have the horrible habit of writing short chapters. I'm working on that.
Anywho, I hope you liked this!