Chapter 5 - The Prince

Alarick’s party arrived in the Temple of Cyndel with very low panic from the citizens.  

Actually, most of them bowed for him, and even said some Maudinian words of praising. Interesting, but supposedly expected since Cyndel was joined at the hip with Maud.

The temple was a big building made to train druids and hunters, different from the ones where priests studied the old books.

Alarick saw the people gathered in front of the temple moving inside, while some of them called Erriene's name. They seemed wary but trusting all at the same.

Alarick watched a familiar figure walking from inside of the temple, and the afternoon sun lazily shone over the silver white hair.

Those violet suspicious eyes narrowed over the amount of soldiers Alarick brought along, but Erriene’s expression and slight nod said he was already expecting it.

The regal creature waited for everyone to settle with a patience Alarick didn’t had.

Erriene was always so proper, so put together. The right rings on his long aristocratic fingers, the well brushed hair, the soft skin on his pale hand that had never seen the rough end of a well worn sword but certainly knew how to yield an expensive one.

His robes weren’t plain ones either. They usually had patches of gold and silver, sewn with several symbols, some for protection, others as ornaments. They frustratingly always went over stupid breeches made of strong looking cloth, and Alarick always thought they were useless.

His high cheekbones and soft looking jaw molded a beautiful face that was gentle and trusting.

Like mages, druids were usually scrawny, but hunter types like Erriene had to climb up trees and actually trek the woods more than enough times to give him a more healthy complexion.

Older to him by two years, the Elf Prince still looked like a sixteen year old, seventeen at most.

A mix of druid, hunter and priest, he was small and slender but he wasn't weak, and had all the right curves in all the right places.

“Son of Randal.”

Alarick heard the light soft voice. He trotted his heavy horse from side to side in the green grass of Cyndel as greeting.

Erriene clenched his jaws when he looked past him and to the wooden cage that rattled as a soldier opened the bars and let the women and Severn pass through. His face showed anger but he didn’t say anything.

The women and Severn ran inside the temple and out of the Maudian's view. The air was tense and Alarick wondered if it was all of Erriene’s angry aura contained.

Erriene walked down the stairs of the temple as if protecting everything that was inside. People looked at him like he was a savior and he knew it.

Alarick had seen the way women looked at the elf prince, as if they WANTED to be in distress for a little of the Prince’s attention.

To his warriors and the Maudian people, Alarick was an uncontrollable monster.

Except he was a monster on their side and they wanted to keep it that way. He was seven feet of muscles, anger, and pride, just ticking, waiting to explode at the first opportunity and as often as he could.

To Erriene, he was a barbaric animal with no morals, no rules and imprevisible. That made Alarick want to act like a barbaric animal towards him, but he knew that would only prove his point and make no good.

Alarick knew the feeling he caused to others when he walked right up at them. He dismounted his horse, dragging along the three gigantic beasts at his heel.

Erriene may never run, but Alarick still liked the way the Prince trembled, just a little, when he walked up to him like this. He loved it.

Only for Alarick, he did that, or at least that’s what he liked to believe. Rationally, he chalked it up to his tall and bulky frame- it was intimidating, but sometimes he liked to think it was something more.

Fantasize and imagine was all he could do really, because Erriene would rather die than to wake up in his bed every day, and he knew it.

Every time he thought about it, a wave of anger went through him, accompanied by something deeper, darker, that he didn’t want to call sadness.

It was rare for him to see a thing he wanted and not to be allowed to have.

Growing up as a warlord’s son and in the care and loving arms of Aefstine, Alarick was used to getting anything he wants. Aside from having his mamkka back, this was the second time that he can’t get something that he really wants.

When he got close enough, he stared down at Erriene for some seconds, waiting for him to feel small and petty in his presence.

It never worked.

Erriene, who only reaches up to his chest, just stared right up at him with that little tilt in his lip, as if waiting for him to stop the tantrum.

“Wie vu er meg bheil dhuais?” Alarick greeted in thick Maudinian, face somber and serious, and lifted an eyebrow feigning disgust.

(Where is my prize?)

The soldier’s eyes beside them widened in apprehension.

Erriene smiled, but not in a nice way.  

Never in a nice way for the Maudians.  

Erriene parted his heavy robe to the side and drew out a sword that was tucked in his belt. Alarick saw the heavy silver glinting in the sun, the warm energy coming from it, and came forward.

“I’d say it’s good to see you again, but I don’t lie,” Erriene said in that soft but firm voice of his that always made Alarick’s crotch give a twitch.

Kill him, a mocking voice said in his head, He disrespected you.

He took the sword and dragged his finger on the carvings. It was Maudinian.

‘Dir ylemi er zi nie rata cogadh anns treubh.’

(There is no war in the tribe.)

A quote from a frost giant’s legend, about a great frost giant warlord and his weaknesses, his people, his family and his enemies. There was one special sword for each one of them.

Alarick was impressed by the thoughtful gift, it looked just like the ones in the old drawings.

He showed his gratefulness by getting the letter from his belt then throwing it at Erriene’s feet.

With a flick of Erriene’s fingers, the wind slowly went by and the paper went fluttering in submission into his open hand.

Alarick didn't let his amazement show.

Look bored, he told himself.

“Is that a no?” Erriene pouted, folding the letter in his hands and hiding it somewhere in his robes.

Alarick was distracted by the little patch of skin that showed over his hips for a while. He frowned trying to recall the conversation.

“It depends on what you have to offer, and what is it that you seek,” he said at last, noticing the resignation in his voice and hating it.

Erriene smiled and turned to the temple.

“Follow me, Warlord. We will discuss this inside where it is warmer.”

The words sent a shiver in his spine, but he quickly reminded himself who he was talking to, and focused on looking bored.

“It’s Xiath, and

you know it. And what about them?” Alarick said, not moving from his spot and jerking his head towards his warriors.

Erriene turned.

“Your soldiers are welcome to enter. There is food that we hunted and prepared for them. Ali karade darte ca se fhein,” Erriene said in both Gythanean and Maudinian.

(But make sure they behave.)

The mixing of the languages didn’t confuse Alarick anymore as it once did. His mamkka made sure that he was well versed in both languages.

Alarick let out a grunt and told his soldiers to follow.