Rynal Claimthe Part 1

When love meets itself it isn't always the way we expect it. The beginnings to a fantasy lover/adventure story.

They were the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Like a glacier in the middle of the ocean, the sun twinkling through it to make them sparkle and light up all of their surroundings. Glistening with promises unspoken and begging for heat to warm their core. But, the expression on her face was an overcast of clouds threatening to poor down rain in the most horrendous of thunderstorms, but never to rain.

“I am here to see, Jerick, the blacksmith.” Her voice seemed almost inhuman. It was a little too toneless. Without feeling.

“He no longer smiths, his bones are too weak. Our local herbalist told us that he was too fragile, my lady.” He gave a slight inclination with his head, and used the formal address for an aristocrat. He could tell her royal blood by the fine silk that she wore. A gray dress that flowed down her knees to her ankles, showing  just the tiniest bit of skin, just enough to make a man’s skin crawl with fancy. Her sleeves were long and low, almost melding into the skirt of her dress. It was a foreign style from the western desserts. Expensive and very rare. Her hair was clean and fine, held in a tight bun so he could not tell how long it was, and her face was fair and not pinched or painted. It didn’t need to be. If she would only smile she could make a man’s heart melt.

“I did not ask for excuses, apprentice, I asked for Jerick. Now fetch him before I lose my temper.”

That’s very unbecoming of someone of your status. Not at all lady-like. Was what he wanted to say, but instead what he very carefully said was: “Yes, my lady.” He bowed and left the room.

Jerick was old, it was hard to tell how old he was, he was just old. His hair beyond gray to white, is skin was so wrinkled it almost looked like it was going to fall off his bones. Yet, despite his apparent old age he was strong from years working behind a furnace. Frail is not a word one would describe to him. It was impossible to tell him age not because he was so old, but because he didn’t look like he should be old. It was his eyes, however, that spoke beyond his age. Pale blue as the calming sea, flowing, changing, yet always the same. Endless wisdom in the depths of his mind. The wrinkles on his face showed signs of smiles wearing through from his soul, yet those eyes showed years of sorrow, transparent in the intensity of their color.

“Yes, Rynal? What do you want?” His voice was deep and rusty. Years and years of working by a fire seemed to have burned it.

“There’s a lady to see you, Master.” Ry’s voice was respectful and loving.

“Who is it?” Those years of smiles did not play a part in his voice.

“I do not know. She’s aristocratic, though. And she’s got the bluest eyes I have ever seen.” A slight blush came to the young man’s face, he hadn’t meant to add that last bit.

 “Trae…” A smile appeared on Jerick’s lips as he rushed past Ry with no apparent reckoning with his age.

“Trae!” He embraced the lady, his big, strong arms almost completely engulfing her, and she wasn’t a tiny woman.

“Jerick.” It might have been a trick of the light, but Ry thought he saw a small appear on her lips for a second, but no more.

“Girl, what brings you here?”

“Brigands threaten the southern border and we march out. My knife was broken and we are to pass your town, so I thought I would come by and see if you could fix it.”

“Oh, course, child, there is nothing more than I would love to do than to help you. It has been far too long, dear one.” His rough voice was tender and sweet. Ry felt jealousy stir deep in his gut, almost making him nauseous. He had never heard him speak that way to him. Who was this royal brat that caused such great affection?

“Thank you, Jerick. I cannot stay, but I will be back to retrieve my knife on our return.” A tinkle came from the door as a huge man entered, bigger than even Jerick. He had long, stringy, black hair and wore heavy mail. The sword on his side was as big as Ry’s leg, and he looked like he used it with little effort.

“Milady, it is time to go.” His voice was stronger than he looked. Commanding. Ry felt that even the emperor would move if he asked him to. His words were proper but there was an accent in his voice that said he rose through the ranks of his own accords, without blood ties. This was extremely rare but it has happened. Twice. Which meant this was none other than the hero Falcom. The general of the army and Lady Trae Condena’s personal advisor.

“Lady Trae?” His eyes widened a little in respect.

“Yes. So next time, I expect you to show me a little more respect.” He had heard rumors of her being a fighting woman. With one look at her muscled arms and broad shoulders, Ry believed them. It actually surprised him a little that he hadn’t noticed them before. Well, after looking back at her eyes, maybe he wasn’t all that surprised after all. God damn, she’s got some amazing eyes. He thought. He felt something familiar about them, but he couldn’t tell what. Something that gave him a great deal of comfort, which is about the least likely word he would ever use to describe her.

“The usual response is something like; ‘yes, my lady,’ but at least it should be something. Silence is only acceptable and expect of the dumb. Are you dumb-witted, apprentice?” For some reason, the comfort was gone.

“No, my lady, I apologize most humbly.” He bowed as deep as he could without falling over.

“I think you are dumb. I hope he isn’t as bad as he seems, Jerick.” She turned attention back on her friend.

“He’s a good lad, but he’s got a lot of growing to do. And so, apparently, do you.” Jerick’s expression had slowly drained from joy to disappointment throughout their exchange. “I expect more of you, Trae. The least I expect was you to become your father. I think it’s time for you to leave.”

What was that expression on her face? Hurt? Before he could be certain it was gone. “I will retrieve my knife on our return. I’m sorry to have bothered you, blacksmith. You will be paid.”

“I don’t want your money, Tre. You know what I want. You best go now before your general gets any more anxious.” He turned and left the room in silence.

“My lady.” Ry bowed again, but there was no response, only the tinkling of the door opening and closing. And just as mysteriously as she had come, she was gone. He couldn’t tell anyone why, after all, his feelings toward her can only be described as dislike at the least, hatred seemed a little more accurate. Yet, he longed for her presence. He longed for those eyes.

Author's Note

My chapters on her will be about half of the chapter in the novel, depending on the chapter. I'll write parts as they come in.

So, how is the dialogue? I haven't written one in a long time.