The White Raven (fanfiction)
It was a morning like any other. The sun, warm and gentle, diffused through the soft white clouds that drifted down from the mountain tops, falling like bright snowflakes of light, waking the little village as a mild mother gently wakes her young child.
Down from the mountains came a cool, tumbling breeze that ran giddily along the wide dirt path that called itself a road. It raced through the village, eager and swift, past the local tavern and inn, swiftly cut down the alleyway, around the stables, and wound like an invisible ribbon to the edge of the village. It moved with such speed that it seemed to want to outrun the sun, which was rising steadily, quickly, and patiently. Just as the sun was about to win the little race, the breeze snuck across the finish line: the window-sill of the most average-sized room in the most average-sized house in the entire (very average-sized) village.
The fresh breeze spilled into the room, an excited child greeting a familiar acquaintance, and the sun, more patient and mature, smiled gently on the room a few seconds after the childish breeze had graced the cheek of the very average resident of the average room.
“Mmm...”
The average person stirred, and opened their eyes - very average, brownish eyes - and stretched out their average limbs on their average bed. Everything about this person, to the eyes of the average town, was decidedly average. It wasn’t that she - for it was a she, it seemed, from the breasts and hips of normal, average size - was not pretty, no, not at all. In fact she was of an average prettiness, with her nice, full lips and generally feminine proportion. It was more that there was nothing spectacularly notable about any given part of her. She was, in summary, quite normal, quiet average. She was built well for the work she did (sewing and mending, some light gardening in the average patch of earth she tended) and nothing more was to be said of it. Even her hair, though odd for the red tones it picked up in the sunshine, was almost entirely like the dark, long hair of every other girl in the village.
This is not to say, of course, that the average girl was unhappy with her averageness. No, one should say quite the opposite. For the average girl smiled brightly when she awoke in the morning, happy to see another average day. Perhaps this, of all things, made her not so average. For all over the village, the other average girls rose begrudgingly, or had to be woken by their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, while the average girl in this particularly average bed in that particularly average room was already out of bed, eager to start her average day, before the second shaft of light could fall on her earthen floor,.
After slipping on a simple tan day dress over a loose, off-white blouse, the girl left her room, left the house, and, after checking on the promising little plants in her garden behind the house, headed toward the village tavern and inn. With the sun soft and warm on her face, she smiled and let her bare feet savor the feeling of the cool dirt path beneath her feet.
It was a morning like any other, it seemed. And the average girl was just fine with that.
-
“Morning mother.”
“Good morning Andriana,” the average girl’s mother said, not looking up from the mug she was buffing with a cloth. Her daughter shut the heavy wooden door behind her, shutting out the cool breeze that made the tavern sign swing and creak. There was enough light coming from the few small windows around the long, dark room to illuminate small patches of the tavern in clean, bright sunshine. Andriana wove her way through the many chairs and round tables, stepping now and again through the narrow shafts of light that fell through the windows, the sound of her steps endlessly amplified by the deep, rich wooden floor.
“Will you be staying to help me today, or will you be going with Natan?” her mother asked, still wiping down the mug. Andriana skipped over to the bar, which ran the length of the eastern side of the room, and behind which her mother was standing. She gracelessly placed her elbows up on it, her dress swishing around her ankles as it settled. She regarded her mother for a moment, with a blank expression of thought on her face, then answered, “No, I think I’d rather stay with you. I’m not very interested in what the committee has to say, and I’m sure Natan would rather I not come. He says I’m distracting,” she added, a bit petulantly.
Andriana’s mother smiled, though her daughter couldn’t see it.
“I’m sure he means it out of love, darling,” she said, and Andriana scoffed. Her mother sighed, setting the brown mug down on the bar. She placed her large, worn hands wide on the counter, and had to look up at her daughter, for she was a good foot shorter than her (height she made up for with her healthy stoutness). “Despite your inability to put a brush to that hair, that boy seems to like you very much,” she said. Her daughter just blushed very pinkly. “I’m sure having you there... a boy his age,” she chuckled wryly to herself,“...very distracting indeed.”
“Mother!” Andriana exclaimed, catching her meaning.
“What?” she said, less innocently than matter-of-factly, and returned to her mug. “It’s the truth. And don’t you think it’s about time? You’ve been dancing around each other since you were kids, the two of you. You should start thinking about settling down. You can’t live in our little house forever.”
Andriana frowned, her brow creasing much more childishly than she realized.
“I know that,” she said, though it didn’t sound like she did and only increased how child-like she seemed. “I just... I don’t know, of course I care about Natan. We’ve been friends since we were kids, but...”
Andriana shrugged.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re just friends,” her mother said finally, giving Andriana a stern look. “As if I haven’t heard you sneaking out to meet him in the stables enough nights.”
“Mother!”
“Or that Natan’s father hasn’t ever had to calm those poor horses after a disturbed night’s rest.”
Andriana’s face was livid with color.
“Mother, I am not a...a...a whore!”
She looked like an indignant child, her hands balled in tight fists, cheeks pink, face screwed up in frustration, but her mother simply shook her head. She put the mug back down and reached for her daughter’s arms, taking Andriana’s thin hands in her own larger ones. The touch, despite Andriana’s wishes to resist, was calming.
“Andy,” she said sweetly, the lingering childhood nickname pacifying Andriana further, “even I had my mother point out a few pieces of hay in my hair when I was your age. I’m not calling you anything other than a normal, average girl, with the curiosity and needs and wants of such a girl.”
Andriana blushed and looked down at her hands, enveloped in her mother’s. She sighed.
“I know, mother, I know. It’s just...well...” She looked up pleadingly at her. Her wide brown eyes were doe-like in their innocent confusion. She spoke softly, as though what she were asking might seem foolish. “How do I know that he’s the one?”
Her mother pressed her lips together firmly, then blew a breath out roughly through her nose. Andy looked into her mother’s eyes, and the deep green flickered and flashed. Her mother’s eyes always got like that when she was considering something very seriously, almost like a storm had to brew and settle before she could come to a conclusion. When she finally did speak, it was with certainty and force.
“Maybe he isn’t, Andy, but I think he could be.” She tugged Andriana’s hands gently. Andriana turned her face aside. “Look, you can’t see what I see when he looks at you, but I know how you’ll know.”
Andriana turned back to her, cautious but intrigued. Her mother smiled compassionately, rather motherly.
“You’ll know he’s the one like how I knew your father was the one: one day, when you’re without him, you’ll want him there. One day, when you think he’s in danger, a part of you will itch until you know he’s alright. One day, when he kisses you, you won’t feel or hear or see anything but him. And one day, you’ll know that all you want, forever and ever, is to be close to that person you love, and the gods could take everything else in the world away from you and you would still be happy. That’s when you’ll know he’s the one.”
Andriana’s mother looked up at Andy, face round and gentle, and her earthy green eyes, so unlike Andriana’s own plain brown eyes, peered out from the growing wrinkles, wise and twinkling; they calmed her. She knew she should listen to her. Her mother and father were so happy, happier than any other husband and wife in the whole village. They hardly ever fought, they still loved to just sit and be in the same room together, and as embarrassing as it was to think of, she knew they weren’t shy of each other, in that way. So if her mother told her she would know when she had found the one, then she’d believe her.
"All right, mother,” she said with reluctance. She swung their hands back and forth like a small child might. “I guess I’m just afraid, that in the whole wide world, how could I have found someone in the same little village I’ve lived in my whole life?”
“Ah,” her mother nodded, “But have you thought about it the other way?” Andriana gave her a curious look. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re lucky to be in the one village in the whole world that happens to put you where your true love could find you?”
Andriana swung her mother’s hands away with a wry smile, shaking her head.
“You really are insufferably optimistic sometimes, mother,” she said.
“I guess that’s where you get it, Andy.”
Andriana spun on her heel toward the door, but simply shook her head more strongly when she saw who it was.
“Oh Father,” she said, amused. “Of course you’d say that.”
“Well, it’s true,” he said, striding with heavy steps into the tavern, the floorboards aching beneath his weighty boots. He smiled genially at his daughter, the smile crinkling his dark eyes to nothing more than small, black sparkles below his heavy brow. His wide grin was strongly contrasted by his attire: he was clad in full armor today, shin guards wrapped about his round calves, wrist and upper arm guards holding loosely to his large arms. A chest plate the size of half an ale barrel enclosed his torso. He carried a large, silvery helmet for his rather sizable head.
It was always a sight to see, her father in his armor. It suited him so well, the worn but strong metal. He had the nicest armor in the entire village, the only one with any silver in it. It was only fitting that he have the best, as he was one of the wealthier men in the village (owning the tavern and inn) and was head of military matters. It was really more of a position of respect than of actual authority though, considering the small forces the town could muster. They were just a small town between Eusthripia and Opalia, a tiny through-village with a decent tavern, nice stables, and a few little farms. They paid tribute to Eusthripia, and Opalia had no intentions of conquering anyone - they were traders, and the city itself just a giant bazaar. They were merely “that simple little village on the road to Eusthripia”, without a name of their own, even. Not that there was anything wrong with that, to Andriana.
And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder: what did a village like theirs really need an army for?
Andriana did not see their “army” as anything more than play acting, really, an act that the men put on to make themselves feel more like real men, like their fathers who had served in the Eusthripian-Aelinsian wars, who had fought and died for their safety, their freedom, and won. They didn’t want to feel that, by leading lives out of the danger zone, they were not as much men as the soldiers of Eusthripia. Not so much as roaming thugs had touched their little village in so long as it had existed. The hills protected them to the north and east, and the mountains so close to the south prohibited any serious threats. Besides, any force that wanted to get at them from the south would have to go through Eusthripia first. It wasn’t as if Eusthripia had even faced war in the last ten years! They weren’t in any danger now, as far as Andriana knew.
Looking at her father, though, his aging face full of pride, that small scar across his cheek (which he had gained in a small battle before Andriana had been born) that he so cherished looking so unusually prominent as he smiled, she was reminded again of why they went through the motions. She loved her father; she was a good daughter. The very least she could do was pretend to be doing more than humor him.
“Well, I’m optimistic that everything will go well today with your committee meeting, so it’s not as if my optimism is misplaced,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder when he was within arms reach. He opened his arms to embrace her and she hugged his bulky form clumsily. Over his shoulder, she saw someone else entering the tavern, but the increasingly bright sun blinded her to the stranger’s face.
“Close the door, will you?” she said, pulling back to look at her father. “I can hardly see in all this light.”
She surveyed her father’s face and, for the briefest moment, saw something like poorly-masked concern, but it was so quickly smothered by a smooth smile that she convinced herself she had imagined it.
“Am I some sort of servant now, m’lady?” came the voice of the person who had entered behind her father, who, despite his playful mockery, was obediently closing the door.
“Oh, Natan, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t see you,” Andriana said apologetically, leaving her father for her... what exactly was he? She wondered. Surely not just a friend, as her mother had pointed out, but what was he? Her lover? That was not a lie, but too romantic a title for what they did, roughly, in the stables at night. Her betrothed? Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t brought it up, but nothing official had happened yet, so... She must have looked so puzzled as he turned from closing the door as to warrant his saying:
“What’s wrong? Not happy to see me?”
His sweet voice, familiar face, and hopeful smile temporarily pushed away the worrisome thoughts from Andriana’s mind. His dark eyes smiled at her, and his tufts of curly hair fell endearingly about his face. She smiled back, chastising herself for worrying so. It did not matter what she called what the two of them had. She knew that, more often than not, he made her happy. Wasn’t that part of what her mother had said?
“Hey there, pretty lady, you’re mussing up your pretty face with those thoughts,” he said softly, out of ear shot of her parents, who had begun discussing something in low tones at the bar. Natan took advantage of the moment alone; he grabbed her right elbow and pulled her closer, scrutinizing her with slightly narrowed eyes. His round, stubbled chin jutted forward slightly, his mouth open as though he were about to say something, but then he closed it, pressed his lips together and pursed them, eyes still narrowed on Andriana.
“Is it about the committee meeting?” he asked at length. “Are you worried about that?” He didn’t even give Andriana a moment to say otherwise, telling her, “ Look, I’ll only be gone a few days, and everything will be just fine. I’m sure they won’t even ask for soldiers from the village. Eusthripia has enough soldiers to take care of one little self-important warlord without resorting to asking us for help.” He smiled sideways as though that had been exactly what she’d wanted him to say. “Come ‘er,” he said gruffly, pulling her to him. She did not protest, nor did she tell him that she hadn’t been worried at all about the committee meeting - until now.
Andriana’s mind raced as Natan held her. Normally when he was like this she was utterly comfortable. The feel of his heavy armor against her, his oiled scent from working at his father’s blacksmith’s shop, his coarse, curly hair, dark around her slim fingers, was all usually strangely comforting in its untamed masculinity, but now it just made her uneasy, made her think of war, of danger. What did he mean by “one little self-important warlord”? Her father had told her that this was just one of the routine, once-in-awhile meetings that Eusthripia required of them, to bring their tribute and update the Eusthripians on their military readiness. It was usually an endurable, if not enjoyable time, the few days apart from Natan and Father, and they usually brought some small trinket back, like a new fabric for her to sew or a fresh flower grown in the Royal Eusthripian Gardens.
This time, Andriana doubted she’d be getting any presents.
Instead of visions of fields covered in flowers, or of rows upon rows of beautiful fabrics in the markets, her father’s concerned face flashed in her mind. Father hadn’t said anything about conflict of any sort, and certainly hadn’t mentioned even the most remote possibility of Eusthripia calling on their village for soldiers - and for what, exactly, Andriana couldn’t even wrap her mind around. That, and the fact that Natan even thought that he had to reassure her that they wouldn’t call on them to serve drove her mad with worry that they would do just that. Maybe she had been too secure, she thought ruefully. Maybe the gods were punishing her for taking for granted the long period of peace they had laid on them.
“All right you two, save that for when we come back,” her father called from across the tavern. Andriana was pushed to arms length by a sheepishly grinning Natan.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, still grinning. “I guess I just can’t wait until we get back... I think I’ll be bringing the best present you’ve ever gotten from me this time.” Natan leaned closer, so only Andriana could hear him say, “And it’s not just something you can put in a box.”
Oh gods! Andriana’s heart skipped a beat. Did he really mean what she thought he meant? Would she have a definite name for what they were when he came back? Andriana suddenly felt dizzy.
“Come, Natan. The sooner we go, the sooner you can get back, with that present,” Andriana’s father said, patting Natan’s shoulder rather affectionately. “I assume we’ve got a lot to talk about on the trip, then,” he said, slightly obviously, but with a hint of warning. Natan didn’t flinch, but Andriana knew him well enough to notice that quick, measured breath he took before speaking, to master the nervousness that claimed him whenever Andriana’s father spoke to him. He was so good at hiding it, from years of practice, but Andriana almost laughed, seeing him act so calm but knowing otherwise - and knowing her father knew otherwise, too.
“Yes sir, I was going to say so, sir.”
Natan released Andriana, gave her one last smile and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. But try not to worry about me.”
Andriana sighed and nodded, accepting a chaste kiss on the cheek before he turned and left.
Try not to worry.
Andriana swallowed. The man she thought she loved, thought could be the one, who had all but told her that he was going to ask her to marry him, was possibly heading off to war.
She wouldn’t worry at all.
“Come, Andriana,” her mother called, sensing the nerves, thick and electric in the air. “With your father gone, we’ve got a lot to do today.” She turned and headed through the door that led into the back of the tavern.
Andriana did not turn right away. She was thinking about what her mother had said. Andriana wanted Natan back right now, she was worried about him, and wanted to know he was safe... weren’t these good things? She had wanted to know if he was the one, and her mother had told her what would prove to her that Natan was the one. Now she was feeling worried and scared, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to feel like this at all.
Andriana’s mother called for her from the back of the tavern, presumably already in the storage room. Andriana cast a longing look at the closed door, then sighed, turned toward the bar, and followed her mother into the back of the tavern to begin the day’s work.
-
Meanwhile, somewhere near the Syrnian hills, a voice cut so sharply it could have carried all the way to Andriana’s little village.
“Will someone please explain to me...why I do not have tribute from the village yet?”
Three men knelt on a thick, plush, red rug, all looking positively terrified. They were tall and strong, armed to the teeth with swords and daggers, fierce in their impressive armor, jet black and blood red. For all their presumed ferocity, however, they looked like frightened school children. Taken individually, and in other circumstances, they looked like they could each be fearsome warlords. And yet they were kneeling like servants, and all but trembling from the softly uttered words that floated down from the massive onyx chair - no, throne - set a few meters away from them in the semi-darkness of this section of what was certainly a massive tent. This room alone, which housed only the dark throne, was bigger than the average peasant’s entire home.
In the throne sat something no less impressive: a strong, lean looking figure, clad in startling white, which was simultaneously hazy and brilliant in the low light. A stern, sharp face was turned aside, its features obscured by the darkness and flickering shadows cast by the light of the candles strewn about the room. From their place on the floor, the three men could only just make out the outline of what was undoubtedly either a god or their superior officer. Perhaps it was some combination of both.
Frankly, none of them wanted to see anymore because if they did, if that ominous figure rose from that chair, they knew from experience it would mean nothing good, nothing good at all.
“Well?”
The tone was heavy with impatience. The three exchanged glances until the man furthest left could no longer chance making his superior wait longer.
“Your Excellence, the townspeople have refused your offer. They have decided to seek assistance from the Eusthripians, whose protection they are under and to whom they owe tribute.”
The figure seemed to consider this for a moment. Then came the response, echoed and hollow sounding from a distance:
“And have you explained to them that Illyria and Kylisius have already fallen to me?”
The second man grunted in the affirmative, then added, “We even told them of the heavy losses that Psr’ac took before crumbling at your feet, Your Excellence. However they claim to have no knowledge of the fall of Psr’ac, it’s so far to the East…and foolishly stated to be unafraid of ‘one self-important warlord’ with insignificant Eastern forces.”
The men to his right breathed in sharply. They hadn’t been planning on sharing that particular detail of the meeting with their leader. But the man who had spoken simply waited, apparently awaiting a particular response. He had to have planned on saying it, but why, they did not know. Perhaps he had a death wish.
There was a brief silence, a short moment which felt like eternity to the three men, kneeling on the floor, for all matters exposed and vulnerable. Then a dark chuckle emanated like a pulse from the darkness, and they couldn’t decide whether that skin-prickling sound should relax them or frighten them more. They tried not to feel afraid (they were grown men, for the sake of the gods) but that blood-curdling sound made the urge to run paramount in their minds. Thankfully, the laughter soon stopped, and the voice spoke with surprising lightness.
“Did they?” There was an almost dangerous amusement in that voice. From the darkness, they saw the shadowy form shift and move. Soon enough, it was slinking and swaying toward them, like a snake emerging from the grass.
“Then perhaps they won’t mind if this ‘one self-important warlord’ pays them a visit with my... insignificant Eastern forces.”
Into the haunting glow of the candle light emerged their leader, and the three of them had to master the glow of admiration in their eyes. It would not do to be looked on as sycophantic pups, panting at their master’s feet. That might have been what their leader looked for in others, but not in the chosen three, the Masters of War.
The man at the center allowed himself a smile and a small inclination of his head. The two others smiled darkly; ah, they thought, that was exactly what their leader had needed to hear. It was the one thing that could guarantee destruction on the part of their foes: underestimating the great figure before them.
Their leader paced the length of the red rug and spoke quickly but assuredly.
“I want the troops ready within two days time. Fean, you are to command the cavalry and the archers. Melean and Daein, the infantry. We’ll be moving along the hills, so I want us ready for some difficult progression. I don’t want the actual attack to be delayed more than a day once we’re ready.”
The men nodded their acknowledgment of the orders. Their leader slowed to a stop, then turned slightly to directly face the three of them.
“And send a small division of your fastest to cut off the messengers to Eusthripia, Fean” their leader said in a soft, lilting voice. Then they were looked straight in the eyes, all three in turn, dazzled by flashing, bright blue eyes. There was one thing in those eyes: victory. And one that they knew would be decisive and harsh. The electric blue broke contact, and their leader turned away, heading for that throne once more, but suddenly hesitated, pausing a moment, back to them. Even without facing them, that commanding presence was as strong as if they were still being looked in the eyes. The three waited attentively, ‘til their leader spoke with delightedly dark words.
“Let’s show them exactly who they’re dealing with. Dismissed.”
Down from the mountains came a cool, tumbling breeze that ran giddily along the wide dirt path that called itself a road. It raced through the village, eager and swift, past the local tavern and inn, swiftly cut down the alleyway, around the stables, and wound like an invisible ribbon to the edge of the village. It moved with such speed that it seemed to want to outrun the sun, which was rising steadily, quickly, and patiently. Just as the sun was about to win the little race, the breeze snuck across the finish line: the window-sill of the most average-sized room in the most average-sized house in the entire (very average-sized) village.
The fresh breeze spilled into the room, an excited child greeting a familiar acquaintance, and the sun, more patient and mature, smiled gently on the room a few seconds after the childish breeze had graced the cheek of the very average resident of the average room.
“Mmm...”
The average person stirred, and opened their eyes - very average, brownish eyes - and stretched out their average limbs on their average bed. Everything about this person, to the eyes of the average town, was decidedly average. It wasn’t that she - for it was a she, it seemed, from the breasts and hips of normal, average size - was not pretty, no, not at all. In fact she was of an average prettiness, with her nice, full lips and generally feminine proportion. It was more that there was nothing spectacularly notable about any given part of her. She was, in summary, quite normal, quiet average. She was built well for the work she did (sewing and mending, some light gardening in the average patch of earth she tended) and nothing more was to be said of it. Even her hair, though odd for the red tones it picked up in the sunshine, was almost entirely like the dark, long hair of every other girl in the village.
This is not to say, of course, that the average girl was unhappy with her averageness. No, one should say quite the opposite. For the average girl smiled brightly when she awoke in the morning, happy to see another average day. Perhaps this, of all things, made her not so average. For all over the village, the other average girls rose begrudgingly, or had to be woken by their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, while the average girl in this particularly average bed in that particularly average room was already out of bed, eager to start her average day, before the second shaft of light could fall on her earthen floor,.
After slipping on a simple tan day dress over a loose, off-white blouse, the girl left her room, left the house, and, after checking on the promising little plants in her garden behind the house, headed toward the village tavern and inn. With the sun soft and warm on her face, she smiled and let her bare feet savor the feeling of the cool dirt path beneath her feet.
It was a morning like any other, it seemed. And the average girl was just fine with that.
-
“Morning mother.”
“Good morning Andriana,” the average girl’s mother said, not looking up from the mug she was buffing with a cloth. Her daughter shut the heavy wooden door behind her, shutting out the cool breeze that made the tavern sign swing and creak. There was enough light coming from the few small windows around the long, dark room to illuminate small patches of the tavern in clean, bright sunshine. Andriana wove her way through the many chairs and round tables, stepping now and again through the narrow shafts of light that fell through the windows, the sound of her steps endlessly amplified by the deep, rich wooden floor.
“Will you be staying to help me today, or will you be going with Natan?” her mother asked, still wiping down the mug. Andriana skipped over to the bar, which ran the length of the eastern side of the room, and behind which her mother was standing. She gracelessly placed her elbows up on it, her dress swishing around her ankles as it settled. She regarded her mother for a moment, with a blank expression of thought on her face, then answered, “No, I think I’d rather stay with you. I’m not very interested in what the committee has to say, and I’m sure Natan would rather I not come. He says I’m distracting,” she added, a bit petulantly.
Andriana’s mother smiled, though her daughter couldn’t see it.
“I’m sure he means it out of love, darling,” she said, and Andriana scoffed. Her mother sighed, setting the brown mug down on the bar. She placed her large, worn hands wide on the counter, and had to look up at her daughter, for she was a good foot shorter than her (height she made up for with her healthy stoutness). “Despite your inability to put a brush to that hair, that boy seems to like you very much,” she said. Her daughter just blushed very pinkly. “I’m sure having you there... a boy his age,” she chuckled wryly to herself,“...very distracting indeed.”
“Mother!” Andriana exclaimed, catching her meaning.
“What?” she said, less innocently than matter-of-factly, and returned to her mug. “It’s the truth. And don’t you think it’s about time? You’ve been dancing around each other since you were kids, the two of you. You should start thinking about settling down. You can’t live in our little house forever.”
Andriana frowned, her brow creasing much more childishly than she realized.
“I know that,” she said, though it didn’t sound like she did and only increased how child-like she seemed. “I just... I don’t know, of course I care about Natan. We’ve been friends since we were kids, but...”
Andriana shrugged.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re just friends,” her mother said finally, giving Andriana a stern look. “As if I haven’t heard you sneaking out to meet him in the stables enough nights.”
“Mother!”
“Or that Natan’s father hasn’t ever had to calm those poor horses after a disturbed night’s rest.”
Andriana’s face was livid with color.
“Mother, I am not a...a...a whore!”
She looked like an indignant child, her hands balled in tight fists, cheeks pink, face screwed up in frustration, but her mother simply shook her head. She put the mug back down and reached for her daughter’s arms, taking Andriana’s thin hands in her own larger ones. The touch, despite Andriana’s wishes to resist, was calming.
“Andy,” she said sweetly, the lingering childhood nickname pacifying Andriana further, “even I had my mother point out a few pieces of hay in my hair when I was your age. I’m not calling you anything other than a normal, average girl, with the curiosity and needs and wants of such a girl.”
Andriana blushed and looked down at her hands, enveloped in her mother’s. She sighed.
“I know, mother, I know. It’s just...well...” She looked up pleadingly at her. Her wide brown eyes were doe-like in their innocent confusion. She spoke softly, as though what she were asking might seem foolish. “How do I know that he’s the one?”
Her mother pressed her lips together firmly, then blew a breath out roughly through her nose. Andy looked into her mother’s eyes, and the deep green flickered and flashed. Her mother’s eyes always got like that when she was considering something very seriously, almost like a storm had to brew and settle before she could come to a conclusion. When she finally did speak, it was with certainty and force.
“Maybe he isn’t, Andy, but I think he could be.” She tugged Andriana’s hands gently. Andriana turned her face aside. “Look, you can’t see what I see when he looks at you, but I know how you’ll know.”
Andriana turned back to her, cautious but intrigued. Her mother smiled compassionately, rather motherly.
“You’ll know he’s the one like how I knew your father was the one: one day, when you’re without him, you’ll want him there. One day, when you think he’s in danger, a part of you will itch until you know he’s alright. One day, when he kisses you, you won’t feel or hear or see anything but him. And one day, you’ll know that all you want, forever and ever, is to be close to that person you love, and the gods could take everything else in the world away from you and you would still be happy. That’s when you’ll know he’s the one.”
Andriana’s mother looked up at Andy, face round and gentle, and her earthy green eyes, so unlike Andriana’s own plain brown eyes, peered out from the growing wrinkles, wise and twinkling; they calmed her. She knew she should listen to her. Her mother and father were so happy, happier than any other husband and wife in the whole village. They hardly ever fought, they still loved to just sit and be in the same room together, and as embarrassing as it was to think of, she knew they weren’t shy of each other, in that way. So if her mother told her she would know when she had found the one, then she’d believe her.
"All right, mother,” she said with reluctance. She swung their hands back and forth like a small child might. “I guess I’m just afraid, that in the whole wide world, how could I have found someone in the same little village I’ve lived in my whole life?”
“Ah,” her mother nodded, “But have you thought about it the other way?” Andriana gave her a curious look. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re lucky to be in the one village in the whole world that happens to put you where your true love could find you?”
Andriana swung her mother’s hands away with a wry smile, shaking her head.
“You really are insufferably optimistic sometimes, mother,” she said.
“I guess that’s where you get it, Andy.”
Andriana spun on her heel toward the door, but simply shook her head more strongly when she saw who it was.
“Oh Father,” she said, amused. “Of course you’d say that.”
“Well, it’s true,” he said, striding with heavy steps into the tavern, the floorboards aching beneath his weighty boots. He smiled genially at his daughter, the smile crinkling his dark eyes to nothing more than small, black sparkles below his heavy brow. His wide grin was strongly contrasted by his attire: he was clad in full armor today, shin guards wrapped about his round calves, wrist and upper arm guards holding loosely to his large arms. A chest plate the size of half an ale barrel enclosed his torso. He carried a large, silvery helmet for his rather sizable head.
It was always a sight to see, her father in his armor. It suited him so well, the worn but strong metal. He had the nicest armor in the entire village, the only one with any silver in it. It was only fitting that he have the best, as he was one of the wealthier men in the village (owning the tavern and inn) and was head of military matters. It was really more of a position of respect than of actual authority though, considering the small forces the town could muster. They were just a small town between Eusthripia and Opalia, a tiny through-village with a decent tavern, nice stables, and a few little farms. They paid tribute to Eusthripia, and Opalia had no intentions of conquering anyone - they were traders, and the city itself just a giant bazaar. They were merely “that simple little village on the road to Eusthripia”, without a name of their own, even. Not that there was anything wrong with that, to Andriana.
And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder: what did a village like theirs really need an army for?
Andriana did not see their “army” as anything more than play acting, really, an act that the men put on to make themselves feel more like real men, like their fathers who had served in the Eusthripian-Aelinsian wars, who had fought and died for their safety, their freedom, and won. They didn’t want to feel that, by leading lives out of the danger zone, they were not as much men as the soldiers of Eusthripia. Not so much as roaming thugs had touched their little village in so long as it had existed. The hills protected them to the north and east, and the mountains so close to the south prohibited any serious threats. Besides, any force that wanted to get at them from the south would have to go through Eusthripia first. It wasn’t as if Eusthripia had even faced war in the last ten years! They weren’t in any danger now, as far as Andriana knew.
Looking at her father, though, his aging face full of pride, that small scar across his cheek (which he had gained in a small battle before Andriana had been born) that he so cherished looking so unusually prominent as he smiled, she was reminded again of why they went through the motions. She loved her father; she was a good daughter. The very least she could do was pretend to be doing more than humor him.
“Well, I’m optimistic that everything will go well today with your committee meeting, so it’s not as if my optimism is misplaced,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder when he was within arms reach. He opened his arms to embrace her and she hugged his bulky form clumsily. Over his shoulder, she saw someone else entering the tavern, but the increasingly bright sun blinded her to the stranger’s face.
“Close the door, will you?” she said, pulling back to look at her father. “I can hardly see in all this light.”
She surveyed her father’s face and, for the briefest moment, saw something like poorly-masked concern, but it was so quickly smothered by a smooth smile that she convinced herself she had imagined it.
“Am I some sort of servant now, m’lady?” came the voice of the person who had entered behind her father, who, despite his playful mockery, was obediently closing the door.
“Oh, Natan, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t see you,” Andriana said apologetically, leaving her father for her... what exactly was he? She wondered. Surely not just a friend, as her mother had pointed out, but what was he? Her lover? That was not a lie, but too romantic a title for what they did, roughly, in the stables at night. Her betrothed? Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t brought it up, but nothing official had happened yet, so... She must have looked so puzzled as he turned from closing the door as to warrant his saying:
“What’s wrong? Not happy to see me?”
His sweet voice, familiar face, and hopeful smile temporarily pushed away the worrisome thoughts from Andriana’s mind. His dark eyes smiled at her, and his tufts of curly hair fell endearingly about his face. She smiled back, chastising herself for worrying so. It did not matter what she called what the two of them had. She knew that, more often than not, he made her happy. Wasn’t that part of what her mother had said?
“Hey there, pretty lady, you’re mussing up your pretty face with those thoughts,” he said softly, out of ear shot of her parents, who had begun discussing something in low tones at the bar. Natan took advantage of the moment alone; he grabbed her right elbow and pulled her closer, scrutinizing her with slightly narrowed eyes. His round, stubbled chin jutted forward slightly, his mouth open as though he were about to say something, but then he closed it, pressed his lips together and pursed them, eyes still narrowed on Andriana.
“Is it about the committee meeting?” he asked at length. “Are you worried about that?” He didn’t even give Andriana a moment to say otherwise, telling her, “ Look, I’ll only be gone a few days, and everything will be just fine. I’m sure they won’t even ask for soldiers from the village. Eusthripia has enough soldiers to take care of one little self-important warlord without resorting to asking us for help.” He smiled sideways as though that had been exactly what she’d wanted him to say. “Come ‘er,” he said gruffly, pulling her to him. She did not protest, nor did she tell him that she hadn’t been worried at all about the committee meeting - until now.
Andriana’s mind raced as Natan held her. Normally when he was like this she was utterly comfortable. The feel of his heavy armor against her, his oiled scent from working at his father’s blacksmith’s shop, his coarse, curly hair, dark around her slim fingers, was all usually strangely comforting in its untamed masculinity, but now it just made her uneasy, made her think of war, of danger. What did he mean by “one little self-important warlord”? Her father had told her that this was just one of the routine, once-in-awhile meetings that Eusthripia required of them, to bring their tribute and update the Eusthripians on their military readiness. It was usually an endurable, if not enjoyable time, the few days apart from Natan and Father, and they usually brought some small trinket back, like a new fabric for her to sew or a fresh flower grown in the Royal Eusthripian Gardens.
This time, Andriana doubted she’d be getting any presents.
Instead of visions of fields covered in flowers, or of rows upon rows of beautiful fabrics in the markets, her father’s concerned face flashed in her mind. Father hadn’t said anything about conflict of any sort, and certainly hadn’t mentioned even the most remote possibility of Eusthripia calling on their village for soldiers - and for what, exactly, Andriana couldn’t even wrap her mind around. That, and the fact that Natan even thought that he had to reassure her that they wouldn’t call on them to serve drove her mad with worry that they would do just that. Maybe she had been too secure, she thought ruefully. Maybe the gods were punishing her for taking for granted the long period of peace they had laid on them.
“All right you two, save that for when we come back,” her father called from across the tavern. Andriana was pushed to arms length by a sheepishly grinning Natan.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, still grinning. “I guess I just can’t wait until we get back... I think I’ll be bringing the best present you’ve ever gotten from me this time.” Natan leaned closer, so only Andriana could hear him say, “And it’s not just something you can put in a box.”
Oh gods! Andriana’s heart skipped a beat. Did he really mean what she thought he meant? Would she have a definite name for what they were when he came back? Andriana suddenly felt dizzy.
“Come, Natan. The sooner we go, the sooner you can get back, with that present,” Andriana’s father said, patting Natan’s shoulder rather affectionately. “I assume we’ve got a lot to talk about on the trip, then,” he said, slightly obviously, but with a hint of warning. Natan didn’t flinch, but Andriana knew him well enough to notice that quick, measured breath he took before speaking, to master the nervousness that claimed him whenever Andriana’s father spoke to him. He was so good at hiding it, from years of practice, but Andriana almost laughed, seeing him act so calm but knowing otherwise - and knowing her father knew otherwise, too.
“Yes sir, I was going to say so, sir.”
Natan released Andriana, gave her one last smile and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. But try not to worry about me.”
Andriana sighed and nodded, accepting a chaste kiss on the cheek before he turned and left.
Try not to worry.
Andriana swallowed. The man she thought she loved, thought could be the one, who had all but told her that he was going to ask her to marry him, was possibly heading off to war.
She wouldn’t worry at all.
“Come, Andriana,” her mother called, sensing the nerves, thick and electric in the air. “With your father gone, we’ve got a lot to do today.” She turned and headed through the door that led into the back of the tavern.
Andriana did not turn right away. She was thinking about what her mother had said. Andriana wanted Natan back right now, she was worried about him, and wanted to know he was safe... weren’t these good things? She had wanted to know if he was the one, and her mother had told her what would prove to her that Natan was the one. Now she was feeling worried and scared, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to feel like this at all.
Andriana’s mother called for her from the back of the tavern, presumably already in the storage room. Andriana cast a longing look at the closed door, then sighed, turned toward the bar, and followed her mother into the back of the tavern to begin the day’s work.
-
Meanwhile, somewhere near the Syrnian hills, a voice cut so sharply it could have carried all the way to Andriana’s little village.
“Will someone please explain to me...why I do not have tribute from the village yet?”
Three men knelt on a thick, plush, red rug, all looking positively terrified. They were tall and strong, armed to the teeth with swords and daggers, fierce in their impressive armor, jet black and blood red. For all their presumed ferocity, however, they looked like frightened school children. Taken individually, and in other circumstances, they looked like they could each be fearsome warlords. And yet they were kneeling like servants, and all but trembling from the softly uttered words that floated down from the massive onyx chair - no, throne - set a few meters away from them in the semi-darkness of this section of what was certainly a massive tent. This room alone, which housed only the dark throne, was bigger than the average peasant’s entire home.
In the throne sat something no less impressive: a strong, lean looking figure, clad in startling white, which was simultaneously hazy and brilliant in the low light. A stern, sharp face was turned aside, its features obscured by the darkness and flickering shadows cast by the light of the candles strewn about the room. From their place on the floor, the three men could only just make out the outline of what was undoubtedly either a god or their superior officer. Perhaps it was some combination of both.
Frankly, none of them wanted to see anymore because if they did, if that ominous figure rose from that chair, they knew from experience it would mean nothing good, nothing good at all.
“Well?”
The tone was heavy with impatience. The three exchanged glances until the man furthest left could no longer chance making his superior wait longer.
“Your Excellence, the townspeople have refused your offer. They have decided to seek assistance from the Eusthripians, whose protection they are under and to whom they owe tribute.”
The figure seemed to consider this for a moment. Then came the response, echoed and hollow sounding from a distance:
“And have you explained to them that Illyria and Kylisius have already fallen to me?”
The second man grunted in the affirmative, then added, “We even told them of the heavy losses that Psr’ac took before crumbling at your feet, Your Excellence. However they claim to have no knowledge of the fall of Psr’ac, it’s so far to the East…and foolishly stated to be unafraid of ‘one self-important warlord’ with insignificant Eastern forces.”
The men to his right breathed in sharply. They hadn’t been planning on sharing that particular detail of the meeting with their leader. But the man who had spoken simply waited, apparently awaiting a particular response. He had to have planned on saying it, but why, they did not know. Perhaps he had a death wish.
There was a brief silence, a short moment which felt like eternity to the three men, kneeling on the floor, for all matters exposed and vulnerable. Then a dark chuckle emanated like a pulse from the darkness, and they couldn’t decide whether that skin-prickling sound should relax them or frighten them more. They tried not to feel afraid (they were grown men, for the sake of the gods) but that blood-curdling sound made the urge to run paramount in their minds. Thankfully, the laughter soon stopped, and the voice spoke with surprising lightness.
“Did they?” There was an almost dangerous amusement in that voice. From the darkness, they saw the shadowy form shift and move. Soon enough, it was slinking and swaying toward them, like a snake emerging from the grass.
“Then perhaps they won’t mind if this ‘one self-important warlord’ pays them a visit with my... insignificant Eastern forces.”
Into the haunting glow of the candle light emerged their leader, and the three of them had to master the glow of admiration in their eyes. It would not do to be looked on as sycophantic pups, panting at their master’s feet. That might have been what their leader looked for in others, but not in the chosen three, the Masters of War.
The man at the center allowed himself a smile and a small inclination of his head. The two others smiled darkly; ah, they thought, that was exactly what their leader had needed to hear. It was the one thing that could guarantee destruction on the part of their foes: underestimating the great figure before them.
Their leader paced the length of the red rug and spoke quickly but assuredly.
“I want the troops ready within two days time. Fean, you are to command the cavalry and the archers. Melean and Daein, the infantry. We’ll be moving along the hills, so I want us ready for some difficult progression. I don’t want the actual attack to be delayed more than a day once we’re ready.”
The men nodded their acknowledgment of the orders. Their leader slowed to a stop, then turned slightly to directly face the three of them.
“And send a small division of your fastest to cut off the messengers to Eusthripia, Fean” their leader said in a soft, lilting voice. Then they were looked straight in the eyes, all three in turn, dazzled by flashing, bright blue eyes. There was one thing in those eyes: victory. And one that they knew would be decisive and harsh. The electric blue broke contact, and their leader turned away, heading for that throne once more, but suddenly hesitated, pausing a moment, back to them. Even without facing them, that commanding presence was as strong as if they were still being looked in the eyes. The three waited attentively, ‘til their leader spoke with delightedly dark words.
“Let’s show them exactly who they’re dealing with. Dismissed.”