**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.