"Raminas, no," Ondore was begging. "I cannot stay. I must return at once, this was a mistake."
The king sighed a bit at his friend. "This will be good for you, Halim," he assured. "Calm down and make the best of it."
"I cannot stay here," he pleaded. "Please, 'tis just that…well there is…there is no…"
"What? There are no Humes prancing about? Aye. You need to separate yourself from that for a while, and perhaps a long while at that. I have requested that your duties be divided among your advisors, and that you will not be returning for several weeks."
"You did what?!" The Marquis whined, looking maddened. "I cannot—wait!"
But Raminas had dug his heels into his chocobo's side and tore off, not looking back. Ondore turned and stared out at the expansive plot of land. Two warriors of unknown race stood watching him, amused, though Ondore would not have been able to tell through their conservative masks.
And what horrible masks, Ondore thought to himself. Do they realize how terrifying they look?
He paced outside of the gate for a few moments, occasionally glancing at the two warriors to see if he yet had the courage to approach them. He would have to stay until Raminas came to his senses and returned to get him, as he didn't know how to ride a chocobo, and couldn't survive the journey back to Rabanastre on his own.
Finally mustering up his courage, he marched to the warriors and cleared his throat. "Good evening," he said, but immediately lost whatever he was going to say next somewhere in his crooked train of thought.
"We welcome you to Jahara, Marquis Ondore," one of them said, his voice deep and gravelly. The Marquis started a bit. "We are the Garif. We have a tent prepared for you at the request of King Rami--"
"A tent?" The Marquis said, indignant.
The two Garif glanced at each other, and the Marquis could have sworn that one of them chortled.
"We assure you that the tent will be suitable to your needs, and that you will have your privacy."
He wanted desperately to protest, but he knew it would do no good. The whole village was composed of tents. They led him in, one in front of him and one behind, and for a brief hysterical moment, Ondore believed that they might be taking him hostage.
Finally, he calmed down. Something about the village felt different, in a pleasant sort of way. The air smelled…nice. That was the only word Ondore could think of to describe it. It was clean, if a little dusty, and the faint smell of livestock gave it an interesting odor. A couple of Garif were wrestling and laughing, surrounded by a gaggle of cheering onlookers.
"What is that?" He asked, pointing to the scene.
"War-Chief Kadalu and his younger brother, Supinelu," the Garif behind him said. "You'll meet them before long."
"Where are we going?"
"To meet the Great-Chief," the Garif said, his voice returning to its amused pitch.
---
The Garif Great-Chief made Ondore more than a bit nervous. His mask was far more ornamental and extravagant than his peoples', and he didn't seem to move.
When Ondore sat before him, he started a bit when the Chief turned his head upward to look over the Marquis.
"Marquis Halim Ondore IV. It pleases me that you have come to visit our village. I wish you would have done so sooner, perhaps as a child."
Ondore fidgeted. "As a child, Great-Chief?" He asked.
"A child's mind is a tablet to be written upon, to have ideas and beliefs inscribed upon it. I have heard from King Raminas that you may not be as tolerant as you would like to be."
Ondore lowered his eyes, for the first time feeling guilty and extremely humbled by the Garif tribe. "I…that is true," he said quietly.
"Then we will do our best to teach you," the Great-Chief said, leaning back slightly. "If you are willing to learn. You are welcome here for as long as it may take, and longer. You are a welcome guest among us."
"Thank you," Ondore said quietly, bowing his head.
"Now stand up. You'll filthy your clothing, and I am afraid we do not have the funds to replace such rich robes."
Ondore blushed furiously, hopping up and brushing himself off. "I would never…"
"Of course not," the Great-Chief chuckled. "Go with Ereilu and Goromu. They will show you to your tent, and you may settle in."
This time, Ondore did not protest. He thanked the Great Chief and stood, moving to the two young Garif with his head down. The one called Ereilu patted his shoulder. "You do not have a strange diet, I hope."
"Huh…?" Ondore managed, looking up.
"The Queen of Dalmasca does not eat meat," Goromu said. "And so, when she visits with the King, we must all eat only vegetables." He looked annoyed by this. "It is not good at all."
Ondore had to chuckle at this. He shook his head then, brightening. "No, I eat meat."
"I am surprised to hear that you eat at all," came a new voice, shouting. Ondore and the two Garif turned to see the War-Chief and his brother approaching. "I've not seen a Hume so skinny," he said.
"Ah, but haven't you?" Goromu said, jostling the War-Chief.
"Hmm…perhaps the Queen."
Ondore huffed again, his indignity returning.
"Supinelu, he is like you," Kadalu said, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulders. "He cannot take a joke."
The other Garif looked grumpy.