Kings and Queens/Nathalan III

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Nathalan

Bono's funeral fire was a truly magnificent sight, minus the sorrow and grief in the air. Two of his *trustee* rides found him. *Trustee* were hand-picked best of the best warriors who served the Tri like it was there only wish in life. There had been a lot of sobbing from many of the camp followers, alongside his daughter and wife. Princeton even shed a few tears, neither Nathalan or Ser Jerome made an attempt to stop him. According to Tritress Roo, Bono's wife, it was the sand storms that did it. Although, Ser Jerome made his own assumption.

"It was the fat loot's own fault, I say. What man of eighty-three still chows down on greasy goat chops and drinks ale like there's no tomorrow?" His statement earned him a slapping from one of Tri Bono's *trustee* riders, Eawod. If Princeton and Nathalan hadn't intervened, then Ser Jerome would be the third and final knight to have died serving their rightful king.
As the camp followers began praising Tri Bono, Nathalan hunched his shoulders up and down, slowly, rolling them, flexing them out. Nathalan had followed Viona's advice and was learning how to fight like a proper Tri. During the evening, he would meet with Gargon, another one of Tri Bono's *trustee* riders, and the pair would fight it out like wild boars, fighting for a mouse. Nathalan preferred a short-hand scythe when play-fighting with Gargon, who constantly reminded him of how bad his weapon of choice was.

"Weak weapon of choice, royal doormat. You must choose a bigger one if you wish to win against a Tri." In exchange of teaching him how to fight, Nathalan taught him the language they spoke in Fantasica. Surprisingly, he took to it quickly. Royal doormat, that's what Tri Bono's men called him. He despised the nickname, and constantly wondered why they called him that. He got his answer from Viona, however. "You are outsider, charming king. Must earn their respect, then no longer royal doormat." Viona's language skills was not changing, however. She was being taught it by Ser Jerome, but whenever she became flustered, she would pinch the knight, causing him to yell in curses at her, which made her cry. It was safe to say that his oldest friend and his wife were not going to be friends in the near future.
Nathalan was shook out of his thoughts by the sound of a horn. The Mourning Horn, according to Princeton Summers. This signalled that the funeral had ended. The camp followers separated away from the fire, going back to their tents. Nathalan took one last look at the fire, which was being drowned out by salt water. The smell of salt and fire, mixed together, was never a good smell. It made his eyes water. Nathalan cleared his throat and turned away, deciding to retreat to his own tent, where Viona was. Women were not permitted to attend the funeral fires, especially those who were kin, much to Nathalan's displeasure. *She was not able to say goodbye to her father, much like I*, he thought to himself. Ser Jerome and Princeton Summers trailed behind him, speaking about the funeral fire. Nathalan made no attempt to voice his own opinion, he had too much on his mind to do so.

Nathalan opened the flap of his tent and greeted Viona with a nod. She smiled and nodded back to her husband. They had been married for a fortnight now, and every night of those fourteen days, she attempted to bed him. Nathalan had refused all fourteen attempts. She didn't seem upset by his declining, in fact, it was as if every time he said no, she wanted him more. Viona was being assisted by two of her handmaidens. Nathalan took of his short-hand scythe and laid it on the bed, beside his long sword. He no longer carried the sword around with him when was in the camp, hoping that it would sway some of the warriors into liking him. It somehow worked. Nathalan walked over to the table, and poured himself a goblet of sweet wine. He then turned to face Princeton Summers.
"Find me Gargon, Eawod and Rivan at once, and send them my way", Nathalan ordered the young man. Princeton nodded and left the tent. Viona stood up herself and exited the tent, leaving with her two girls close behind. Nathalan took a seat on the hard chair. Ser Jerome moved to stand to his left, away from the desk.

Nathalan looked up to him. "Do you think they'll accept me as Tri, Ser?"
Jerome shrugged. "Mayhaps, Your Highness. Mayhaps not. You might have one, two, or three, or none."

Nathalan nodded. He didn't expect a better answer from the Knight. Ever since Nathalan began taking lessons with Gargon, Ser Jerome was not as pleased. It was understandable, of course. Jerome spent months teaching him how to fight like a gallant knight, and now the knight felt like it was being thrown away. *Do not worry, old friend*, Nathalan thought to himself, *your prize is due*.
The three *trustee* riders entered the tent, with Gargon leading the way in, and Eawod, Rivan and Princeton close behind him. According to *Iitiri* legends, Rivan was the name of a heroic Tri who married his cousin, Jario, and made her his Tritress. Through his thirty-seven years of leading his own tribespeople, Rivan conquered and took over the city of Yvaro, which serves as the homelands of many *Iitiri* tribespeople. Rivan, the *trustee* rider, always felt the need to share the story of his namesake to anyone who listened. All three riders bore long-axes. Long-axes were a common weapon used in riders, alongside warriors of a Tri. Nathalan drained his wine, put the goblet on the table, and stood up. Both Summers and Jerome kept reminding him that Tri's had to be strong and powerful when speaking to their riders, not slumping on a hard wood chair.

"I am now the Tri of this *Iitiri* tribe, as myself and Tri Bono agreed to when I married his daughter. Before we begin discussing our next action plan, I need to know now if you are loyal to me. Pledge your allegiance to be my *trustee* riders, and I will be the best Tri I could be for all three of you." As Nathalan spoke, Gargon repeated it back to Eawod and Rivan in the *Itiri* language, commonly known as Itir. As soon as he finished translating, Gargon removed his long-axe from his shoulder scabbard, and placed the metal on the ground, making a large *thud* as it went down onto the ground. He bowed his head and spoke in the Itir tongue. After finishing his sentence, he looked up to Nathalan.
"I am yours to serve, Tri Nathalan. I will ride with you, I will kill for you, I will bring you the head of any man who speaks ill of you. And if I must, I will die for you." Gargon nodded to Nathalan, and then put his long-axe away. Nathalan smiled to Gargon, thanking the *trustee* rider for staying with him. He then looked to Eawod and Rivan. Both looked unhappily towards Gargon. Eawod spoke in the Itir tongue. Nathalan looked to Gargon for the translation.

"Eawod has asked Tri Royal Doormat two questions. The first asking what will happen to Tri Bono's wife, Tritress Roo. And the second asking if he thinks that you have earned Rivan and himself to join your royal *Iitiri* tribe."
In retrospect, Nathalan expected a worse response. He expected both Eawod and Rivan to kill him and taking over the tribe. He was thankful that they didn't decide to do it. Nathalan already had an answer for the first question. Something that he had known he would do from the moment that news spread of Tri Bono's death.

"Tritress Roo will remain here, with her daughter. Viona has been lonely, as of late and she needs her mother. She will be treated as you would treat her own daughter." Gargon repeated his answer in the Itir tongue. While Rivan looked happy with his answer, Eawod seemed unconvinced. Nathalan continued.
"As for your second question, no I do not think it. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you haven't killed me yet. Nevertheless, I need all three of my riders. If I need to win your favour, let me know what I can do and I will do it." Gargon hesitated but translated the second answer.

As Gargon translated the answer, Ser Jerome pulled Nathalan's arm and whispered into his ear. "They will not kill you, Your Highness. They believe it to be sacrilege and they will never be able to take another life, ever again," he whispered hoarsely. Nathalan nodded, understandingly.
Gargon spoke up to Nathalan. "They want you to win them over, Tri Nathalan."

Nathalan swallowed. *I've got a bad itching about this*, he thought to himself. He forced himself to speak. "How should I win them over?"
This time, Eawod spoke. "Kill Tri Ugor, you have us after."

The tent fell silent for a few minutes. The only thing that could be heard inside the tent was the sound of all the men breathing in and out. Outside noises were the loudest. Children were crying in the distance, goats and boars and mules made all their animal noises. And all Nathalan could think about was how afraid he was.
A few minutes later, all three of his *trustee* riders left. Gargon was his, for sure, and Nathalan had agreed to kill Tri Ugor to attain both Eawod and Rivan. As soon as the three riders left, Nathalan fell onto the hard wood chair, not caring about how hard it hurt his buttocks. He let out a grunt of frustration. Ser Jerome was the first to speak.

"Your Highness, you should not have agreed to this. You have only been practicing with a scythe. If the tales are correct, Tri Ugor has the largest battle-axe. You simply won't defeat him."
Ignoring the pleas of Ser Jerome, Nathalan stood up and turned to face Princeton Summers. "Summers, I want all information you can gather on this Tri Ugor. I want to know what I can expect from him."

"Yes, Your Highness." Princeton bowed his head and exited the tent, without another word.
Nathalan turned to his knight, who had a beggars look on him. "On your knees, ser."

Jerome flinched at first, but then went down on his right knee. His left knee had always been weak. Nathalan took out Ser Jerome's longsword from his scabbard and put it atop his right shoulder. Jerome's sword was heavier than his own.
"I, King Nathalan Siegel, the Third of my Name, King of Fantasica and the Master of Jewels, proclaim you, Ser Jerome of House Rowell, to be my Advisory. Rise, ser, and accept your honour."

Jerome stood up, but kept his head low. "I am not worthy, Your Highness", he spoke quietly.
"Yes you are, ser. I need you with me, I need you there to support me as I kill one Tri so I can take back my kingdom. Do not make me command you, ser, you know how much I hate commanding."

Ser Jerome took his sword back, and clapped Nathalan on his back. The two laughed. Ser Jerome put his sword back in his scabbard and looked up to Nathalan and said, "Let's get your kingdom back, Your Highness".

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