Arrosh stood when they entered and only sat when they had placed themselves on the sofa that was in front of his chair. Aravis, his sister, looked as though she was going to insist he sat in a more comfortable spot.
Before she could speak, he folded his legs atop the chair, bowing his head to both hide the grimace of pain from his leg and show respect, "With your permission, I would like to begin at once." Time was of the essence. He inhaled and willed his muscles to relax. They would not be as keen to believe him if he was as a stone wall that spoke.
"Please, speak." The woman - his sister, answered.
It was strange to think of her as his sister. She was a queen in a far off land and he was but a pauper. He could barely remember her, her existence only fixed in his mind by his father's blame. She was far from the image of the girl his mind could recall. Her features were softer, wrinkles starting around her eyes. The face was a shadow of the one before and the resemblance to their father was unmistakable. There was no way of knowing if she looked like his mother as the woman had died before the seeds of memory could be planted.
Nevertheless, the woman's face said she wanted to believe him. The king, on the other hand, was another matter. It was him whom Arrosh had to convince.
Arrosh bobbed his head again and fixed his eyes on the wall between the couple, "12 years ago, a young woman, nearly a girl, came to the doors of my father's house. When the servant pronounced that Aravis had come home, father grew dark and his wife neared hysterics. The nurse took me away before I could greet you. I admit, I did not remember you well but the name I knew. I knew I wanted to see the face that belonged to the name I remembered. I snuck to the door and peeked in while my nursemaid was searching for me. And who did I see?" Arrosh looked to Aravis, letting the truth in his eyes come through, "I saw you."
The king leaned forward at this, "And why were you with your father and not off with your nurse when the servant came in to announce her coming? What time of the year was it?" Of course it would be him who would ask the first questions.
Aravis waved a hand at her husband, "Please, let him finish. We can ask questions once he has completed his tale." Cor glanced at his wife in an annoyance that was quickly stifled, he gestured for Arrosh to continue.
The young man nodded, giving a short answer for the question, "It was the appointed time for visiting when she arrived." He collected his thoughts, bringing his mind back to the fateful days so long ago, "Not a month after you left, we had to leave the only home I had ever known. When I asked why, all father would say was, 'Your sister, Aravis, did this to us.' It was not until later that I discovered it was due to the Tisroc of the time, having discovered the family's shame that had been brought upon us, cast us from our homes and denied my father any right to trade and was stripped of his title. We were a stench in noses of our neighbors and friends." At this, King Cor started to rise but Aravis merely looked pained and held her husband back once again.
"We moved often for over a year. Even with what was left of our father's funds, none of the lower nobility were willing to sell or charter a house, the words of the former Tisroc tainting any goodwill they may have had for us, except at highest of prices. We, eventually, found a shack on the coast of The Great Eastern Ocean. Father was forced to learn a trade and taught me as well. His wife,"
Arrosh paused and closed his eyes, willing his features to relax. Men did not cry. He would not remember her body. He would move on. "His wife did not take our circumstances as well as our father. The sun was dark in her eyes and the will to live left her." Arrosh set his eyes on a tapestry on the back wall, "I found her bloodied body behind our home not two weeks after we came to stay in the shack. I was 6 years old." Both king and queen sunk into their seats further, their gazes never leaving him.
He took a moment to let it set in, to bring himself back together, then continued, glancing back to them, "After the death of his second wife, Kidrash, my father, grew dark and bitter. Refusing to leave the soil that now held his wife, being too poor to buy a tomb or even make the proper sacrifices to the gods.
"We have struggled on for the past eleven years, doing what we could to survive. Iliz, my youngest sister, was hired out as a maid and nursemaid's aide as soon as she was able.
"It was this year that Azaroth brought us into in his left hand, there was a famine in the land, and we longed for the sweet kiss of death many long nights. This last month, a sickness came upon our father. We were unable to purchase any medicines and he knew death grew near." The pain and anger began to boil inside of Arrosh. He locked it away. It would consume him if not.
"However, it was heard that slave traders were making their way through our village before their final resting place in, and father saw his chance for life." Arrosh desperately tried to keep the tears of rage from his eyes, he looked up at them, "During the working hours, in which I was away, he took Iliz to them and sold her. All for an herb that didn't save him in the end." He knew he wasn't a proper storyteller or one that could keep the attention of a crowd, but they needed to believe him. "That is truly the only reason I have come here. She may be dead by the time I earn enough money to buy her back and to steal her back would be the death of both of us. I have no one to turn to." He looked into the eyes of his estranged sister and knew she believed him. "Please, help me."
This had to work.
~ A/N: This is mainly being posted on Ao3, but I will be updating over here as well. :D