Faeryn entered the great hall by the side door just as the man called Byerron and the doorkeeper entered by the main door.  Byerron looked considerably different, the bath and the clean clothes leaving a startling impression.  His hair, which Faeryn now saw was golden, was combed down and made his particularly brilliant blue eyes jump out of his face.  Byerron was now clad in tan clothing and a tan cloak which had been provided for him as a gift, but he kept his black boots, which kept up their constant clamor as Byerron walked.  

The doorkeeper glanced at her as he passed, but Byerron took no notice of her, intent upon what he was going to say to the king.  Faeryn found this rather peculiar, for she was used to people looking at her.  Her father had made it no secret that his daughter was fair to look at, and surely, being the only woman at the court, she would be noticed even if she had been ugly.  Added to the fact that her gowns were some of the most colorful and expensive that the kingdom had ever known, she ought to be recognized.  This man must really have something to say, to completely pass her by without noticing.

            Faeryn walked as quickly and as silently as possible to where the chancellor stood at the far end of the hall, slipping behind the pillars instead of walking in from of them so that she wouldn’t be noticed.

            “Faeryn, I’m glad you made it,” the chancellor whispered to her as she walked up next to him.  “You really have impeccable timing,” he added playfully.         

The princess smiled at him, enjoying his jest, but the voice of the herald announcing Byerron brought her to attention.

            “My Lord King, Laencastere of Orotaek, I present to you Byerron, son of Credo, formerly of the Red Forest.”

            The king spoke, “What is it you have to say, Byerron?”

            “Oh King Laencastere, sovereign ruler over Orotaek, I come bearing a warning, and counsel, if you will heed it.”

            “By all means, speak your warning and your counsel, Byerron Credo’s son.”

            Byerron hesitated a moment before answering, “Oh king, as I have walked through the land I have seen many who were suffering under the weight of the taxes you have imposed, and they are hardly able to sustain themselves because of the enormous daily sacrifices required by the priests, particularly the priests of Ryselleacar .  Oh Laencastere, I have heard the teachings of the priests of the new goddess, and all their words come out as empty lies.  I implore you to lift the taxes and restrict the sacrifices, so that the people will not starve.”

            Laencastere leaned back in his chair, a small gesture of defiance, and then spoke;

            “I see no such problem with my kingdom, oh Byerron, such as the one your eyes have imagined.  The taxes are paying for the army that keeps them safe, and the sacrifices and teachings of the priests are good for them.  They need more religion in their lives.”

            “But my lord, there is no war going on at the moment, and you have more than enough men ready to fight at a given moment.  And what of the teachings?  Don’t you even care whether they speak truth or not?”

            Laencastere reached into the bowl that sat near the throne and pulled out an orange.  As he ripped it open he spoke in a rhetorical tone;

            “Truth?  What is truth?  No one knows if the gods even exist, but we sacrifice to them in case they are.  And for simple folk such as peasants, I think a little belief in the gods is good for them.  They are superstitious folk and need something to cling to.  Come now, you don’t believe that there is anything so real and steadfast as this ‘truth’ that you are talking about?   The gods demand sacrifice and homage: that alone never changes.  There is nothing else.”

            Byerron looked at the floor for a moment, his face impassive, and Faeryn could tell he was weighing his words on the scale of his mind.  What he was about to say had a gravity greater than all he had previously said, and it was a subject very dear to him.  His fear of ridicule was getting the best of him.  Then it seemed that he made the decision in his mind to go forward, and he looked Laencastere straight in his hard brown eyes. 

            “While I was in the mountains,” he said, “a god came and spoke to me.  He said that He is the only god in heaven, on earth, and under the earth, and He said that worship of any other god is abominable to Him.  He said that if we would serve only Him, he would show us truth.  Oh Laencastere, if we would stand as an upright nation, we must follow this god.  He is the only God, and if we do not follow we risk His anger.”

            “If he is the only god, and if he even exists.  Am I right in guessing that this so-called god has appointed you to be his prophet?  How lucky that the god who speaks to only you has come to you and told you to start this new religion.  And I suppose he also wants you to preside over all matters belonging to this religion?”  Laencastere laughed, a teasing, unbelieving, mocking laugh, and said: “No, Byerron, I cannot allow this.  You have driven yourself mad, living alone in the mountains, and have begun to have hallucinations of a new god.  The old gods have been good enough for us.  Why do you think your new god will be better?”

            Oh, stop it!  Faeryn thought.  Let him speak!  Does he look like a crazed man?  He speaks from his heart, do not crush him so!

            Byerron did not take his eyes off the king, although his shoulders sagged a little, having received the answer he had feared.  In a low voice, he said plainly, “Laencastere, for once in all your years as king you are wrong.  You are making an unwise decision.  If I am right,” he paused, as if uncertain.  “If I am right, destruction will not come from without, but from within.”

Faeryn saw her father’s face harden dangerously, and his eyes seemed as though they would shoot poisoned arrows into Byerron.  Did the man not know the peril he was putting himself in by angering the king?  Surely Byerron must stop his accusing, now that he was risking his freedom by tempting the wrath of her father!

            But Byerron did not stop.  It seemed then that he couldn’t stop speaking, even if he had wanted to, until his task was done.  “My lord king, I beg you to listen.  Do what is best for the people.  Lift the burden of these taxes and let them live free.  Let them learn of the truth instead of walking in blindness.”    

Laencastere leapt up, charged with fury, rising to his full height of six-foot-seven and lifting his head in defiance of all that Byerron had said.  The orange fell from his hand and rolled forgotten on the floor.  “How dare you,” he said, starting quietly but growing louder with every syllable, “How dare you think that you know what is best for my kingdom!  It is I who guide the kingdom, I who make the decisions!  Do you really think that you, who are barely into manhood, can have anything to say in the matter?  The people are not overburdened.  They are not harmed by learning of the gods.  You shall not come in and say they are without reason.  I, with my wisdom, have decided what is best.  You are nothing but a confused beggar!”

Byerron said nothing.  Looking back years from then, Faeryn was struck by the irony of the situation.  The king was accusing Byerron cruelly, and he simply stood there in silence.

“I name you,” the king said, his voice booming and ringing over the hall, “a disturber of the peace.  You have come only to incite trouble and instigate a rebellion.  You are a treasonous dog.  Guards, arrest him – “ Two guards came, almost before they were called, and grabbed Byerron.  “ – and throw him in the dungeon.”

Faeryn gasped.  This shouldn’t be happening.  No one was arrested in Orotaek for this reason.

Byerron looked at the king one last time, not with anger so much as with sadness, before the guards forcefully dragged him across the Great Hall.

Watching Byerron being removed from her father’s presence, Faeryn could be silent no longer.

            “My Lord King, please do not do this!  This man has done nothing wrong!  Why have you imprisoned him?”

            The king looked at her with a lazy impatience that made Faeryn feel that she was only three inches tall.  “Faeryn, he spoke treason,” he said slowly, as if explaining things to a very small child.  “All those who speak treason are imprisoned.”

            You don’t need to explain it to me like I am a child, Faeryn thought.  I’m almost a woman, and I know the proper sentences to be given for every crime known to man.  “My Lord, if that is treason, than half the beggars that come to you at Mid-Moon should be locked away.  They spoke much the same words as Byerron, although they didn’t do it nearly so well.”

            The king was no longer so unconcerned about what she said, as if suddenly realizing that she might have made a well-reasoned point against his decision.  His voice had more of an edge to it as he replied, “I am the king, and in this land the word of the king is law.  I see this Byerron as a threat to Orotaek, so I am removing the threat.”

            “But what of justice, my father?  He was only trying to help the people!”

            Laencastere never answered her question, but only said, in a voice that was calm yet amplified so that everyone in the hall could hear, “Faeryn, I believe you are worn out from the day’s work and are not able to make a sound judgment.  I suggest that you return to your quarters and rest.”

            Faeryn could have screamed in frustration, but what could she do?  The word of the king was law, and she had to go.  She turned without a sound and left the hall.  It wasn’t until she got to her room that she ran to her bed and sobbed into her pillow.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

Here is my scene that depicts my main character, Faeryn, showing emotion. 

Faeryn froze as the ground rumbled beneath her feet.  Her eyes widened and stared wildly at the prophet.  “Byerron?”  She said his name slowly, but her voice rang with anxiety and the last note squeaked with panic. 

            Byerron knew well enough what was causing the ground to shake, but he was unwilling to reveal the cause to her and thereby force himself to admit the predicament he had gotten them both into.   

            “It’s nothing,” he said, a note of haste leaking into his words despite his efforts to appear calm.  “The ground often shakes in these parts.” 

            Faeryn’s eyes contained a glint of mistrust as she stared at him, and she took one tentative step forward.  She looked up at the mountain, as if she thought she could find the reason for the tremors there, and then continued on the path, occasionally glancing down into the ravine to refresh her memory on how far it was to the bottom.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

Paragraph Describing My Main Character -- Faeryn

           Faeryn is a sixteen-year-old princess of Orotaek.  She is only five feet tall, but her light-brown, wavy hair goes all the way down to her knees.  She is exceptionally beautiful for her young age, her crowning feature being two brilliant, bluish-green eyes that reveal her deep, thoughtful nature.  She is quiet but not overly so, and when she does talk she tends to speak on serious issues.  She loves to be by herself and write poetry, and when she was younger she spent most of her time creating pretend worlds.  Because she was only a year old when her mother died, Faeryn has lacked a significant feminine role model and dreads becoming a woman.  Because she has become disgusted with the polytheist religion of her country, Faeryn is desperately searching for real, unchangeable truth that can support her in the midst of the transitions in her life.  Faeryn loves mountains, and to her they represent life and a way to break out of her difficult situations.  At her worst, Faeryn can tend to focus on the people and issues directly surrounding her and forget the big picture, and she can also become too afraid to do what is needed.  Though she is very mature, Faeryn has much to learn and many changes to undergo before she can truly become a woman.

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Chapter 1 -- Part 4

Faeryn wandered through the gardens on the west side of the palace as she waited.  She paused often in all her favorite old places, for every spot had a memory.  She had spent her childhood playing pretend in these gardens, dreaming that she was an elf or a fairy, or that she had found a wild phoenix and learned to ride it.  Beautiful memories, they were.  Back then the gardens had seemed like a fairyland in and of themselves.  Back then she would listen to the wind as it rustled through the leaves and fancied that they were speaking to her.  But, though she still loved such things, time was pushing her ever forward, and she found that this time she really had to grow up.  There could be no pretending about things that did not exist anymore.  She had to become a woman. 

            Yet Faeryn still mourned the passing of her childhood.  Strange, she thought, that I should feel this way.  Most girls can’t wait to become women.  But womanhood seemed cold and cruel still.   She didn’t want to leave the world of her imaginings.  The servants and the courtier’s wives were the only women she had ever known, and she didn’t want to become like them.  She wasn’t sure what to do, or why she felt like weeping at the thought of her womanhood ceremony.  I feel like I’m waking up to a world where I am a pawn in the game of politics, where my first duty is to marry and bear children and my second is to advise my brother, where my days must be spent doing needlework, and where my life is confined to the castle.  I dress up until I am no longer beautiful, and then I continue to powder and perfume myself even though my looks are fading, and then I die.  And for what?  I don’t want to wake up.  Maybe I am waiting for the things I dream of to come true.  Maybe I am waiting for a reason to live a real life.  But life isn’t like that.  There is no reason behind everything.  Those kinds of things belong in fairy tales, and I just have to accept that.  But she couldn’t.  She envied the men, who got to hunt and fight and rule.  They got to take part in things that were actually real, instead of being stuck indoors all day, dressing and acting in such a way as to fool the world into thinking you were the perfect person and frittering away time doing things that didn’t matter.  Womanhood seemed to Faeryn to be another sort of pretending.  I am transitioning from one form of pretending to another that is cruel, and all I want is something to be real. 

She came at last to her favorite tree, which stood right next a place in the wall that was overgrown with ivy.  Many a day in years past she had climbed up into the tree with her notebook to be alone and write poetry.  She wondered briefly if she could climb it now.  Immediately her mind rose up and protested, reminding her of the trouble that would be caused if someone saw her, but as she glanced around the gardens she saw no one.  Quickly she tied up her long skirts, and, looking around again just to make sure there really was no one around, she leapt between the tree and the wall.  The ivy that grew there was so thick that it could support her weight, so she carefully clambered up it until she reached the lowest branch, which she grabbed onto and proceeded to go from branch to branch until she reached her favorite spot, and found it just as she had remembered it.  At this point the branches curved around to make a sort of chair, just perfect for writing and thinking. 

Faeryn settled herself in her spot, glad to have arrived without mishap, and gave herself up to her memories of the place.  It was here that she had written her first poem, not a very impressive thing, to be sure, but she had been proud of it just the same.  Many poems had followed after it, inspired by nature and the elements, and the beauty of everyday life.  Ah, poetry…Faeryn regretted that she hadn’t brought her book up here with her.  It had been a long time since she had written anything, and she missed doing it. 

She wished to stay here forever, watching the sunlight waft through the leaves, listening to the breeze as it danced through the trees, and letting the sound of the little waterfall below her flow into her ears.  If she twisted around a little she could look down and see the little pool that the waterfall emptied into.  Nearly everything was as she would wish it.  This was how she imagined the mountains, full of beauty and openness and life, without the bustle of people or the formality of the court.  When she was here, in her favorite spot, a feeling of peace would always wash over her, and Faeryn thought it reminded her of her mother – or at least what little she remembered of her.  

            As she was thinking this, she heard a faint voice in the distance.  Could it be that it was calling her name?  She listened, and heard the voice again, louder this time, calling, “My lady Faeryn!  Faeryn Aenara!  My lady!”

            Faeryn pushed aside the leaves and saw a page coming down the walk, calling her name repeatedly.  As he came closer Faeryn held her breath and tried not to rustle the leaves.  She hoped fervently that he would not see her deep blue dress and find her.  A member of the royal family up in a tree would be the topic of gossip for the next year if a servant with a loose happened to notice the occurrence.  Finally he turned a corner and started walking away from her, and she scrambled down as quickly yet as quietly as she could, pounded by fears of being discovered or her dress tearing.  Luckily neither of these things happened, and when she was safely back on the path she answered the page’s calling.  He came running, but though he had a quizzical look on his face, he did not break formality by asking a question of a superior.  For once, Faeryn was glad of the custom.  The page quickly stated that he had been sent by Chancellor Rendreik to inform her that Byerron would now appear again before the king, and then he turned to lead her back to the Great Hall.  Faeryn fell into step behind to page, discreetly trying to smooth her hair as they approached the castle. 

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

 Chapter 1 - Part 3

          The door at the end of the hall slammed once again, and in strode the doorkeeper followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a long dirty cloak and heavy boots.  His hair was short, unusual in Orotaek, and from where Faeryn stood she couldn’t make out the color of the man’s hair.  He walked calmly but determinedly across the great expanse of the hall in huge, heavy strides that echoed off the walls.  When he came near to where Faeryn was standing and she could make out his face, she couldn’t help but notice his large, wildly blue eyes, which radiated a power and a passion that Faeryn had never seen before.  “Byerron,” she whispered to herself, trying it out and deciding that it fit the man splendidly.  Here, she thought, is a man to rival my father.  I wonder what he has to say.

            Byerron stopped at a respectful distance from the throne and waited for the doorkeeper to announce him.  The king, however, did not wait, but commented immediately;

            “I see that you didn’t bother to bathe before you came here.  Most people do, you know.”

            Faeryn felt sorry for the man, wishing he hadn’t been criticized by the king right from the start, but Byerron didn’t seem at all bothered by it.  (She decided later that he had probably received similar comments the other times he had visited.)  He opened his mouth to say whatever it was he had to say, but the king cut him off.

            “No,” he said.  “This really won’t do, Byerron.  Doorkeeper, take him and have him cleaned off and give him some clean clothes, and then I will listen to what he has to say.”

            Byerron shut his mouth and reluctantly followed the doorkeeper back across the hall, making just as much – if not more – noise with his great black boots.

            Faeryn felt rather impatient.  How could her father put off the encounter any longer?  She wanted to know more about this odd stranger, and she wondered how long it would take him to clean himself and get dressed.  Anyhow, now that he was gone she would have to try to refocus on her lesson, and she was sure that she didn’t really want to.

            She must have sighed a little, because Rendreik looked up at her and decided that he would get no more real concentration from Faeryn and that their lessons were over for the day.  As he closed the books he said, “you are released.  We will have no more study for the day.”

            Faeryn was glad for the break, but she realized that her lessons were her only free pass into the great hall.  Unless she was with Rendreik, she would not be able to see what happened when Byerron came back to speak to the king.  She opened her mouth, torn between voicing a thank-you or a complaint, but Rendreik whispered;

            “I will find a way to get you back in here when Byerron comes back.  He’s quite a man, and I would hate for you to miss this chance to see him.” 

            Faeryn could have hugged the old man, but, as that gesture went against the rules of court formality, she merely smiled and nodded her thanks as she turned to leave.

Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.

**Note:  As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.**

Chapter One – Part 2

            Chancellor Rendreik watched as Faeryn approached him from the opposite end of the Lower Hall.  He was glad to be able to tutor such a lovely and brilliant young girl in the things he loved best.  Faeryn never made it too hard for him to communicate to her the points he tried to teach her in their lessons.  He ran his fingers through his white hair, pondering on the fact that her Womanhood Ceremony was not far away, and that their lessons would soon come to an end.  He would miss seeing her so often; he had never had any children, but if he had he would have realized that she was like a daughter to him, and that she trusted him as a child would trust her father.  Since her own father was distant from her, she often confided to Rendreik her deepest emotions, and he was able to guide her in straight directions.

“Thank you for coming to see me today, my Lady Faeryn Aenara,” Chancellor Rendreik greeted his student.          

“Thank you for having me, Lord Rendreik Chancelloran,” Faeryn said, returning the formal greeting.  Though Chancellor Rendreik was close to her, during her lessons with him they were required to follow the formal rules of speech and conduct.

“There have been many interesting matters of state that I want to discuss with you, occurances that are perfect for teaching you more about how to rule a kingdom.”

“I thank you again, my Lord Rendreik, but may I venture to wonder why my father would have me learn how to rule if I shall never wear the crown?”

The chancellor paused to consider how best to answer.  “Let me suggest to you, my Lady Faeryn, that since you may one day be your brother’s advisor it would be best to have a knowledge of what would be his best course of action.  And, in times of war, you may be called upon to rule while your brother is overseeing the army.”

            Faeryn thought about that for a moment.  “I consider your advice with great pleasure, my lord, and I am grateful for this courtesy you show me by bestowing it.”

            “You are a wise one, my lady.  Now, today we will be looking over the census records, which are kept in the Great Hall.  Come this way.” 

They went through a large oaken door into the Great Hall, which served as a throne room.  The Great Hall was truly a breathtaking marvel, the walls and great columns that lined them being made of pure white marble and hung with richly embroidered tapestries, nearly twenty-five or thirty feet in length, in all manner of blues and greens.  Upon the whole back wall behind the throne was a carving of the Battle of Tsirmhost, with men and horses in a fevered skirmish.  The ceiling arched high above, painted with a scene from Orotaekian mythology.  The pillars on each side of the hall were etched with tiny lines depicting Eranhart the Bold, first ruler of the land, aforesaid king’s victory over the Cariens, and the Orotaekian landscape, all bordered by vines and ornate flowers.  The hall and the pillars had been built by the first Eranhart nearly 300 years before, the tapestries were added by his son, the second Eranhart (and repaired by subsequent rulers), and the carvings were commissioned by Laencastere the first, only 40 years before.  The third king by the name of Laencastere, Faeryn’s father, now sat upon the gilded throne at the far end of the hall. 

One would think that the whole Great Hall had been inspired by this man, for he truly looked the part of a king.  His face was noble and regal, with shoulder-length golden hair and a flowing golden beard rolling over his breast.  He was somewhat young for a man who had two grown children, and not a gray hair marred the depth of the gold on his head. His brown eyes were sharp, but not hard, and he looked to be the picture of justice.  He wasn’t as fitful and ill-tempered as other kings had been, and he preferred to turn a cold shoulder than burst out in rage.  Unmatched was he in his command of men.  People often joked that if he commanded his soldiers to wear dresses for a day they would all do it without blinking.  Faeryn was proud to have him for a father, though she barely knew him. 

Courtiers stood between the pillars and around the throne, discussing the business of state while consulting books that lay on tables around the hall.  The chancellor directed Faeryn over to one of these tables.

“Here, my lady, are all the records from the last census, just taken during this last harvest.  All of the people in the kingdom and their possessions have been accounted for.  Now, on the left side of the page, we have the last name of the family and the number of persons in the household…”

As they were speaking, the door at the far end of the hall slammed open and shut and the doorkeeper strode quickly across the whole length of the hall to whisper something to the king.

            “Well,” said the king in his loud, booming manner of speaking, “why do you tell me of this?  Surely he is just a beggar, desiring food and shelter?  This is not a matter for the king to be concerned with.”

            Faeryn ceased listening to whatever it was Rendreik was lecturing her on to listen as the doorkeeper answered, “But, my Lord King, the man specifically asked to see you.  He says he has something of great importance to say to you. And – I think he really means it.”

            “Why?” Laencastere was losing his patience, and he had adopted the tone best suited to frighten the doorkeeper.  “Why do you think this?”

            “Because, sire,” replied the thoroughly frightened doorkeeper, “he threatened to knife the page that answered the door unless his presence was reported to you.”

            Laencastere’s sharp brown eyes turned thoughtful for a moment.  “Did this man say his name?” he asked at last.

            “He said his name was Byerron, my Lord.”

            Laencastere leaned back in his chair.  “I thought as much,” he said.  “Send him in immediately.”

            “But sire – “

            “Immediately!!!”

            The doorkeeper ran off to do as the king bid. 

            Faeryn turned to apologize to Chancellor Rendreik for not listing to his lecture, and found that he had also been paying attention to the doorkeeper’s discourse with the king.

            “Byerron,” he remarked, half to himself.  “I figured he would turn up again about now.”

            “Who is he?” Faeryn asked.

            “He…well, I don’t think I could give you a fair description of him.  You shall see him for yourself soon enough.  But now, as I was saying about the census…”

            Faeryn forced her mind to return to the affairs of state, away from the thought of the unusual man who was to be granted an audience with the king.

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places and events may be subject to change.**

**Another Note: The prelude to my story is below, if you haven't read it yet.**

Chapter 1 - Part 1

“Cressida, can you open the shutters?  I can’t see anything in this darkness,” Faeryn told her maidservant as she tried to dress in the early morning.  Cressida pulled the shutters back, revealing the prairie below the southeast tower bathed in a golden-warm glow.  Faeryn paused in what she was doing and walked over to the window, gazing out at the beautiful sight. 

            Cressida observed her new mistress with interest.  She had been serving Faeryn for almost three months, but the princess still surprised her.  If one observed her when she appeared at court, one would think that she was already a woman.  Faeryn dealt with her father’s councilors with such a noble bearing that people often mistook her for the queen.  But in private she was still a girl.  Here she was now, standing at the south window in her white under-dress, her long, wavy light-brown hair falling free, craning her head to try to get a glimpse of the western mountains.  At a moment like this the princess did not seem to be all of her sixteen years. 

            “My mistress, the view of the mountains would be better from the northwest tower,” Cressida suggested meekly.  She couldn’t quite understand the princess’s longing for the mountains, but then, she still could remember trying to get a view of the castle whenever her family went to town when she was little.  Perhaps it was the same sort of thing with the princess.  After all, it hadn’t been so long ago that she herself had been a young girl, and she still remembered what it felt like.  “We could go there as soon as you are dressed.”

            Faeryn turned and smiled at Cressida, but the smile was immediately followed by a sigh, and the regal princess that she was returned to her face a little as she spoke: 

            “I wish I could, Cressida, I wish I could, but I have a meeting with the chancellor today, and my father has made it plain that I must attend.  But perhaps another day.”  She sighed again, and the girl was back.  “You know, Cressida, I want to visit the mountains someday.  I want to see what lies beyond the first peaks.  I am tired of only looking at them.  But my father will not let me leave his court long enough to go anywhere near them.”

            “That may change soon,” Cressida said.  “You know that your Womanhood Ceremony is not that far away.  Perhaps your father will change his mind when that happens.”

            “I can only hope.”  Faeryn paused for a moment.  “Father wants me to learn more about managing a kingdom and stepping into the affairs of the outside world, but how can I do that if I am not in the outside world?”

            Cressida thought about that for a moment.  “Pardon my objection, my mistress, but perhaps it is better that you learn these things before you are introduced to the outside world, so that you will be ready.  My mother never let me go ten miles from my home while I was growing up, but in that time I learned how to serve, and that has brought me here, farther from home than I could have imagined at first.  I may not know much, my mistress, but I have learned that you don’t learn how to swim by jumping into deep water the first time, if you know what I mean.  Your time will come.”

            Faeryn looked out the window, her head resting on her closed fist, her eyes focused on the courtyard below.  She did not speak for a few moments.  “I suppose you are right,” she said at last.  “My governess did not teach me to embroider by starting me off on one of those large tapestries that hang in the Hall.  I suppose I shall have to be content with the small square of cloth I am given at the moment.”  She lifted her eyes as she saw a falcon that had been resting on the castle wall take off and fly far to the west.  She watched it ‘till it was out of sight. 

            “I still long to see the mountains, though,” she added quietly.  “I don’t think I could live my life and die never having seen them.”

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names and events may be subject to change.**

Prelude

A man lay waiting beneath a small overhang in the cliff, watching the road.  The Stag’s road, it was called; it was a little-used pathway, especially at this time of the year when most people were preparing for the harvest, but for the past few months it there had been almost no travelers.  Strange, the silent observer thought, since the Stag’s road was the only useable pass through the mountains into Carien.  In past years there had always been a few merchants, even when times were rough.  Something strange must be going on in Orotaek. 

            The man was tall, with tangled, with short golden hair that was encrusted with mud, and the beginnings of a beard on the lower half of his face.  Around his body was a travel-stained cloak littered with holes, which was thoroughly dirty to the point that you couldn’t make out the original color.  In the man’s bright blue eyes one could see that he was no purposeless wanderer.  This was a man with some serious task at hand, calm and focused, not easily upset, yet always aware and alert. 

            He stood, pulled the cloak tighter around himself, took another long look down the road, and then walked silently down the slope and into the trees on the other side of the road.  Anwyr was right; something out of the ordinary was afoot.  He must see for himself what was amiss in Orotaek. 

I've posted the outlines for two characters, just because I couldn't help myself.  I have a story in mind already, so if there are any confusions I can clear them up later.

Byerron (Bye-air-on) – Wandering Prophet of God

Physical Characteristics:

• Ruddy complexion
• Bright, startling, piercing blue eyes
• Golden / Dirty blonde hair, 2’’ long and slightly unkempt
• Medium/tall height for a man
• Broad shoulders
• Wears a tan cloak

Personality:

• Serious
• Deep-thinker
• Always thinks before speaking
• Quiet
• Rarely smiles
• Is typically concerned more with the fate of a nation than the fate of one particular person
• Global personality
• Impatient, but hides it well
• Passionate
• Slow to love, yet completely committed

Likes:

• Loves God
• Elves
• Mountains / Outdoors
• Being on the move

Dislikes:

• Evil
• The cult of the chief sorcerer
• Silly things
• Staying in one place for too long

Faeryn (Fay-air-in) – Princess of Orotaek, Second Child to the King

Physical Characteristics:

• Wavy, light-brown hair down to her knees
• Green-blue eyes, intent, deep
• 5 feet tall
• Slender, delicate
• Moves like a nymph
• Oval face
• Loves to wear long emerald-green dresses and wear jewelry of any sort.

Personality:

• Dreamy
• Poetic
• Good with words
• Deep-thinker – can have brilliant insights into truth
• Innocent
• Somewhat shy
• Curious
• Earnestly seeking truth
• Clings to things; hates change
• Can be moody
• Gets depressed easily
• Can tend to fight first for individuals and forget the big picture
• Somewhat impatient
• Tends to keep to herself
• Longs to influence people, but is hindered by her shyness
• Afraid of too much action

Likes:

• Water
• Trees
• Mountains
• Heights
• Anything green
• Flying (on the back of an enormous bird)
• Writing poetry
• History
• Legends
• Forgotten things
• Birds

Dislikes:

• Desert
• Snakes
• The colors orange and yellow
• Plains
• Being made to wait
• Staying underground
• Tight spaces
• Being made to dwell only on the practical

Lovable Character: Thomas Hunter

One of my favorite characters is Thomas Hunter from The Circle Trilogy (which include the books Black, Red, and White).  He is smart and resourceful, and he can find creative solutions where it seems that none can be found.  He does not believe anything is impossible, and, when faced with the possibility that another reality may exist, he does not go crazy or try to excuse that possibility as meaningless.  Thomas is a great leader under pressure and is not afraid to say what he thinks, even if he is talking to the President of the United States!  He is willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others, and does not think twice about a decision when he knows he made the right choice.  His undefeatable spirit and extreme commitment to the cause for which he fights make him stand out as an exceptional character.

Horribly Nasty Character: Shift

One of my least favorite characters is the ape Shift in The Last Battle.  He is willing to do anything, even deceive an entire nation, to make life better for himself and to gain power over the people.  He has no qualms about oppressing other people to get what he wants.  He makes Puzzle, the donkey, believe that the ape is his friend; but really Puzzle is more like a full-time servant to Shift.  The unscrupulous Shift worms his way out of nasty situations by telling one falsehood after another, and uses guilt to make people bow to his wishes.  This ape’s wicked scheming and evil lies make him one of the most unlikable characters that I have encountered in literature.

This is the completed assignment given in Lesson 1.  I know that probably everyone else on HSB did Lord of the Rings for the first lesson, but I really like it and want to do it. 

The Lord of the Rings

Character: Frodo

Setting: Middle-Earth

Problem: The ring Frodo has will enable Sauron to conquer Middle-Earth.

Plot: Frodo takes the ring on a long journey to destroy it.

Solution: Ring is destroyed, Sauron dies.

Hello!  This is a blog for the stories I write and the lessons I complete for Mrs. Marlow's online workshop, Reach for the Stars.  My regular username is PoeticMaiden and my regular blog can be found here. 

Hope you enjoy my stories!