The Viscount's Son: Chapter 1
#1 of Navarre
Hello everyone! Trying to get back into the swing of things here.
Trying a take at something a little more political and in-depth. There will probably be adult scenes of some sort, although that's not the main focus of this piece.
This first chapter's a bunch of setting and character development. Boring stuff. :3
Pain. It had been a long time since he had felt anything remotely like it. He wasn't sure if that was a privilege that he lived, or if it was some sort of shortcoming. It was as if life decided to leave him unprepared for the current situation, instead throwing him down to the ground.
And thrown he was, quite literally. Navarre had found himself lifted off the ground near-effortlessly; a spear had been lodged between his ribs, and was the fulcrum of the assailant's lift. The pain registered within a split second, but it was that momentary case of shock that lasted like forever. The searing feeling shot up through his side, and then echoed in the other as he found himself slammed down hard into the ground. He wasn't even aware of the second spear entering him, as if having to make sure he would be pinned, until he felt a burning twist in his side, lower down than the initial point of entry.
Fear filled him, quickly mixing in with pain. He looked over the grasses that he lay in; his vision of the world distorted and turned on its side. He wasn't even worried about the fact that he was dying. He wasn't worried about how he was going to get out of this one.
"Kar...satz..." He groaned out, eyes failing to focus on a figure only a few metres off. Instinctively, his hands tried to creep along the ground, as if trying to reach out for help. That only earned him yet another spear-tip plunging into the back of his hand, pinning it to the ground. Pain didn't even register that time. Just a disheartening, sick thud as the sound reached him, fingers twitching before falling still.
What hurt most at this point was that he had been abandoned. He was left there, pinned to the ground, as his attackers ran off towards the figure he could barely see. Alone, forgotten--that was true pain.
"Navarre, this is Karsatz. He is to be your retainer. He has taken on the Oath, and as such his life is His, and Yours. Do not betray this trust, Navarre."
It was a day he would always remember, mostly because he didn't understand it. Back then, Navarre was only 6 years old, and at that point in his life he didn't really understand what "oafs" were, or why people "took them". As far as he knew, taking things was wrong. At least, not without permission; and even then, he had to make sure that he truly needed it, and didn't just want it unfairly.
Still, the being that knelt down in front of him made him feel awkward. He was a mixture of afraid, curious, wary, and excited. Suddenly, his father was no longer in the room, despite being in those grandiose, colourful robes that Navarre loved to tug on. They were no longer standing in the Grand Hall, but instead it was just him, and Karsatz.
What got him the most flustered was that Karsatz was nothing like anyone he'd ever seen in Sephira before. Being the son of Viscount Navarre the II meant that Navarre lived in a rather large castle that included the surrounding city. The city itself was a main centre of hustle and bustle, being an accessible centre of trade, having both a port, and being situated on major trade routes. People of varying races came in and out to do business, pay respects to the Viscount, or to celebrate major occasions; but despite all the faces, Navarre had never seen anyone like Karsatz.
The main difference was that Karsatz had scales. Just about everyone that he knew had skin, and he'd heard of the furred peoples from the East, and even seen pictures of them in books. Karsatz had scales--shining, golden scales. It was like they had various tones of that brilliant gold, varying from pristine to dulled--it reminded him of how coin would lose colour over time. It made him wonder just how old this Karsatz creature was, though he only dwelled on that thought for a moment.
Nothing prepared him for the rough texture of Karsatz' face, or how cold it was to the touch. The "man" didn't flinch as Navarre reached out, taking his curiosity in hand and stroking over the oddly shaped face. Unlike his own, which was human (or, to Navarre, "normal"), Karsatz' face had a snout. There were no lips to speak of, but his teeth were hidden, and he didn't seem to have any real nose, just two nostrils. The odd man's eyes were an odd mix of black and deep blue, so dark they looked like they were pure black (except this close up, the child could tell otherwise).
"You look like the lizzers I find by the pond." Navarre said, without any sort of tact. That earned a hiss from his father, but the scaled man just laughed aloud, a low, booming bass. He didn't say a word outside of that, however, letting Navarre step around him, inspecting him. It was almost like he was waiting, and the grin on Karsatz' snout grew when he was rewarded with the child's gasp. "D-Daddy! He's got... got... Daddy, he's got -WINGS-! Them's real, right?"
"They're." Karsatz said, correctively. "And yes, they're real." The scaled man, at that point, decided to stand back up to his full height, turning back to the Viscount. "He's never seen dragonkin before, has he?" The Viscount shook his head. Karsatz shrugged, looking back down when he felt a tug on his tunic. Navarre barely came up to his waist, and his powerful thighs were nearly as thick as the child was wide. "Hm?"
"Whass... a jagginkin?" Karsatz laughed again, the booming sound almost like a roar.
"Dra-gon-kin. And they're... well me. Beastfolk, that take the form of dragons instead of other animals. We are few and far in between, but we are out there." Karsatz seemed a little saddened as he brought up the last truth. "However, I have been informed that right now you have a class to attend, is that not right Little Master? I'll take you there."
Navarre whined loudly. He shot a look at his father, trying to convey a feeling of being betrayed. Suddenly, the idea of having a pet jagginkin wasn't so amazing, especially if he was going to force him to go to classes.
"Little Master, I heard today that you skipped out on your class again." Karsatz said. He stared up into the boughs of a tree, where Navarre was laying back, tossing an apple up and down. It had been a good decade since the dragonkin had come into service for the Viscount's family, and he had quickly learned that Navarre was going to be less of a babysit case, and more of a game of cat and mouse.
"Yeah, so?" Navarre shot back. "Karsatz, you know I absolutely loathe those classes! Why do I, the son of the Viscount, have to be forced to take the same classes our Clerics and healers take? I have a natural gift with magic! Why can't I focus more on my studies of the Elements, or Conjuration?" The youth stared down at the dragon, whose expression was simply that of sympathy. "Don't give me that." He grumped, lobbing the apple down. Karsatz batted it easily with a wing, arms already outstretched as the youth floated downwards to the ground, looking more like an annoyed leaf gliding lazily in the wind. Once the youth straightened himself out, the dragon folded his arms in, revealing the apple had been caught in his strong tail, which held the fruit up to the youth. "I know, I know. It was my mother's wish for me to learn from both schools. And so my father caved in, forcing me to take it. Can't he see that I don't like it? Besides, the only male healers we have are the priests and druids, and Father knows I absolutely refuse to live a religious life." Navarre complained, swiping the apple to take a bite.
Karsatz sighed. He'd heard the spiel before. They both had, time and time again. It was on instinct that the dragon turned, Navarre in tow, as he led him back to the castle, passing a large, pristine, white building. It had a delicate-looking sheen, made from some sort of ivory, or pure rock, and the first step past it made Navarre shudder.
Sephira was a city that sat more on the practical side of building design, opting less for a beauty and more for the structural integrity the close sea and its resulting waves demanded. Houses were high, and built of stone to withstand any incoming waves. The seas were usually fair to the port city, but it wasn't uncommon for a good storm or two to flood the streets during the right seasons. The three main buildings that stuck out from the drab grays and reds of the houses were Castle Navarre, the Grentz Trading Post (which was a two floor, extremely spread out building that covered almost as much room as the castle itself), and the big white building.
Navarre always called it the "worst place in the world", but Karsatz had come to learn that it was called the Sephiran Arcane House. Each major city had their own Arcane Houses where the magically talented could enroll in classes towards various fields. Healing, Elementalism, and Conjuration were the three main streams, with various off shoots the more one specialized in their field.
"You know I'll have to tell your father." Karsatz said. They both sighed. Navarre dreaded this confrontation just as much as Karsatz did. "Navarre--"
"I know. I'm sorry, Karsatz." He said. His head hung low, his hair covering his face. During his maturity, Navarre had developed into a rather awkward boy. His hair grew long and silky like his mother's, opting to keep it just past his shoulders. He had his father's height, but his mother's grace, though he was by no means effeminate. Magical training forced him to become physically active in order to avoid being tired out too easily; though despite that he was still nowhere near Karsatz' build. The dragonkin had explained once, that being a mercenary meant he had to deal with a lot of various challenges, and thus a lifestyle like that had filled him out, though there was something to the story that Navarre felt was being untold.
He flicked his head away as he saw golden scales and a pair of claws brush away his hair, frowning. "It's alright. Ten years, and I've gotten used to the verbal beatdown your father doles out. It's almost like he's come to accept the fact that you're going to be stubborn and bull-headed like he is, but hopes that you'll cave in eventually."
The pair laughed.
"Like -that-'d happen." Navarre said, as they both approached the Great Hall. In unison, they took in a deep breath, and each pushed in a door, preparing themselves for what had become a near weekly reprimand.
"Kar...satz..." Navarre groaned. He was barely focusing on anything now, and could only see past what his hair let him see. Caked in his own blood, the thick strands blocked his vision, making him feel like he was trying to peer through the bars of the castle prison.
The only thing he could really make out was something whirling over the battlefield, and his ears rung with the dull roars of the dragonkin. Each sound made him wince, each outcry made him want to cry out himself. Here he was, helpless, unable to do anything.
Dying.
Alone.
"She was a pretty one." Karsatz said, as the pearl-white dress of a girl walked off, back into the party. Navarre shrugged. "I hate to sound like your father, but you are coming to the age where you need to be looking for a potential Viscountess. He's not growing any younger, you know."
The Viscount, in question, was off at the High Seat, laughing as he raised his chalice, toasting with his friends. Of course, out of all of them, the Viscount Navarre was the only one whose hair had greyed, and his age was obviously apparently in his face. The sight of it made Navarre a little saddened--his father had always been that strong, stern, powerful man. While he was no less now, he just didn't look the part.
The pair of them leaned against opposite sides of a pillar, Navarre doing his duty by appearing cordial as various girls came up to introduce themselves to him. He was polite, followed the rules of the Court, and even humoured a few with a dance, but otherwise was disinterested. "Yeah." He said, in a delayed reply. "I don't know, Karsatz. I mean... is it weird that I've been so caught up with my studies at the House, that I haven't even bothered to think about that kind of stuff? I mean, sure, I know what my duties are as the son of the Viscount. I've taken the political classes as well, and I know what I'm going to need to do once Father... but I mean..."
"Lord Navarre?" Came a feminine voice. It was lower than most that had addressed him that night, and when Navarre turned to look at the woman who was approaching him, he was surprised to meet the gaze of a more matured woman. Not quite in his father's league, but far out of his own. "Ah, this is where you have been. I was hoping to introduce you to my young Sophie, but we couldn't find you for most the eve!"
"Ah, Lady Metaska, I'm sorry. I haven't been feeling well this eve, and through my best efforts at trying to be a cordial host, it seems that nothing I can do assuages the uneasiness." Navarre replied, adopting a tone far different from his normal one. "However, perhaps the Lady Sophie would lighten my spirits? Where is she?" He faked looking around in concern, earning an endeared sound out of the Lady Metaska, who directed him off to another table. Sophie, he knew, was a girl that was rather fair in complexion--there was little special about her, and the last time they had interacted, all she could talk about was how amazing he was for undertaking classes under two magical Houses. While most people would have loved to have their ego boosted, Navarre despised being reminded that he was in the healing classes. As he walked off to play debonair, he spied a final glance over at Karsatz, who suddenly had his claws full with the rather busty Lady Metaska. It was painfully obvious how the Lady, who barely came up to the golden dragonkin's chest, could only stare over Karsatz' form like she was a butcher appraising a piece of meat.
Navarre, being the son of the Viscount was often dressed in what was considered Sephira's best: tunics and cloaks of the finest materials, and most vibrant colours. Red, white, and gold were the Viscount's crest colours, and especially tonight, those colours were enhanced in his regalia. Karsatz, on the other hand, wore far less. A simple pair of cotton trousers, a sleeveless, low-neck tunic, and his belt with his scabbards, as well as a strap over his shoulders to his back for his battle axe.
He was broken from his thoughts when young Sophie took his hand, smiling meekly at him. Even her smile was fair, neither too pretty or unsightly, but just fair. "Dance?" She asked. Putting on his best false smirk, he led her out to the dance floor, starting off in his well-practiced act.
"Would be my pleasure."
"My Lord Navarre?" Sohpie chimed in. The pair had taken off from the dance floor to stand outside on one of the many balconies overlooking Sephira. Navarre turned around from where he had been leaning on the railing, putting on the best smile he could, earning one back from her. "You know, when we're out here, you don't have to fake anything. I fully understand."
That made Navarre stare blankly back at her, searching for an answer. "I don't believe you understand, Miss Sophie--"
The fair young girl took a step beside him, leaning on the stone railing. "I get it from my mother all the time. How to act. How to hold myself. I am the daughter of a Baronness. I should learn how to conduct myself as a proper lady, and perhaps one day I'll move up the social ladder." She said, bluntly. Navarre still didn't know what to say. She laughed sourly, shaking her head. "It's funny. It's not something I care about. I suppose I'm just lucky that I'm born into a noble family, else I'd probably never have had the chance to enroll in the Arcane Houses. I guess that's why I'm so rapt about them--when I wonder about what I wouldn't have if I lived any other life..."
"Forgive me for being slightly more than confused, Sohpie." Navarre said. He resumed his position leaning on the railing as well.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just a silly girl, needing to rant. I figured, however, that you and I are more alike than you think. You know, putting on faces just to come across the "proper" or "right" way. It's not fun, is it?"
The pair stared at each other, before laughing a little. It was mutual, bubbly laughter, and Navarre suddenly found a new appreciation for the otherwise plain girl.
"I don't think duty was ever supposed to be fun." Navarre quipped. Sophie nodded enthusiastically.
"Navarre, if I may be so bold to call you without title..." She started. Navarre nodded at her. "I... have a proposition. Something potentially dangerous, risky, but may benefit the both of us." That kind of scared him a little. Though, he did urge her onwards with a nudge. "You talk about duty. You and I, both bound by duty. My mother expects me to marry the family into a higher standing. And, if I may be so bold to assume, you are most likely being pressured into finding a potential Viscountess? However... you've never been one to fancy the women."
"What are you getting at?" Navarre said, doing his best not to seem defensive. Sophie turned to him, with an innocent smile.
"It's just what I've noticed. When no one notices you, you notice a lot about other people. You have never been one to really initiate conversation between the Ladies of the court. If anything, I would say you despise it. Whether it's just a general distaste for women in general, or if it's something more--"
Navarre turned to walk away, but was stopped by a soft hand on his wrist.
"Please, hear me out. I... do not fancy the idea of forcing myself to love someone in order to move my family up. But both you and I can put on a show rather well. If... we pretend to fancy each other, perhaps we have both something to gain from this. You would have a wife that you need not be attached to, would do her duty to you and your lands, and would not question anything you choose for yourself."
It took a moment, but Navarre quickly clued in. He turned back to face her, taking her hand in his.
"What's his name?"
Sophie blanched, but smiled nonetheless. "You certainly don't miss a detail, m'Lord." She complimented, before turning back to overlook Sephira. "It's Jurgen. I met him in the Arcane House. He's not nobility, but his parents have put everything into having him learn, potentially to serve as a Court Mage." She looked out of the corner of her eye at Navarre. "You understand?"
"I'm not daft." Navarre said simply, but he rejoined Sophie on the railing. "So you and I would put on a ruse. I'd potentially enlist this Jurgen to serve for me. You'd have your lover, and I'd be left to my own devices, but to the world of the public, you and I would be the happy couple. Maybe even have a few children to further improve the bluff. No one would be the wiser." Sophie's soft hand fell on his once more. "Intelligent. You're willing to make such a sacrifice?"
"Sometimes, m'Lord, one needs to be ready to sacrifice everything they have in order to gain what it is they want." She offered him a small curtsy, and then began to make her way back inside.
"Sophie." Navarre called out to her, making her stop. "I look forward to a fruitful relationship with you."
Neither of them saw the other smile.
Sacrifice.
Lies.
That's all his life had amounted up to this point. That's all he knew; he lived, breathed, and slept up ways to continue the ruse.
And now he'd never see her again.
"Kar...satz..." He groaned. "So...ph..."