[Novnarwen]

Tarkan

It is a rather fine Palace, Tarkan thought to himself while climbing the stairs. It was built of hewn stone and reflected strength and steadfastness. It rose proudly up from the ground, stretching high upwards, almost touching the white clouds, which floated restlessly over his head. Tarkan gazed at it, thinking of the riches that lay within these strong walls. It was almost unimaginable to think that his very own half-brother lived in this luxurious way, meanwhile he himself hardly had anything at all. How ill fortune he had witnessed, how unfair it was. Tarkan bit his lip, in bitterness, and hurried up the last steps and went inside. It couldn't be avoided the feeling that rose up inside of him; he was always slightly pained by seeing how his brother lived compared to himself. The walls were covered with beautiful tapestries in glorious colours. Pictures, painted and drawn, of sceneries so green and pure hung side by side. The soft splendidly weaved carpets lay as if scattered on the floor; there were cushions and divans along the walls in the Hall, and the servants seemed to do their very best in keeping those who sat there pleased by bringing them cool drinks and fruits of various kind.

With an obvious jealous expression on his face, he waited to announce his errand. As a servant was passing by, (Tarkan loosing his patience by now,) he grabbed a hold of him.

"I am here to meet the Queen. I believe that she is unfamiliar with my coming though."

The servant pointed straight ahead to a door, an antechamber where he could wait.

"So, not invited?" the man asked suddenly, seeing that Taran was not to release him just yet. "Oh, sorry! I meant not expected , as in if you were not expected" he continued hastily, emphasising the word 'expected' the first time it was mentioned to make up his mistake.

The Priest, thunder stricken by the rude behaviour, tried to hold his mask. He was certainly going to report this, but to whom, he did not know.

"Whom do you work for?" His voice was filled with anger, as he did not manage to hide his utter disgust of the man in front of him.

"The King, sir."

"The King?!? Don't be smart with me," he said. His face was turning red as he said this. The anger he felt swelling up inside of him could be reflected in his dark eyes, which seemed to suddenly light up with a burning fire; a fire of hate and disgust. His jealousness had taken command. The thick vein which was abnormally visible in his forehead, turned purple. The priest's figure seemed to enlarge where he stood, and his figure cast a large shadow which laid the room into darkness. Everything was silent. The people who were present stood immobile and watched, surprised and bewildered by such an event taking place in the Palace's Main Hall.

The Priest bit his lip. The last sentence could be misinterpreted by people; he understood that much. He had not wanted to imply that no one were to work for the King, as if against him; he'd just wanted to report the servant's behaviour to his superior, who dealt with the staff and their business. He frowned, still holding the servant by the arm. "Who deals with the staff around here?" he asked again, this time choosing his words with care. "I want to talk to your superior! I will not take this rudeness from you! I refuse! Now, fetch me your superior! If you don’t find him this instant, I promise you, " he lowered his voice," I’ll make you wish you had!"

If the servant boy had had the chance to loosen himself from the priest’s grip, this would be the time; Tarkan’s anger seemed to have reached it’s definite height. Yet the boy, who had probably not reached his twenties; he certainly didn’t look like he was older, moreover younger; he was slender and short, and his face bore the features of an innocent child, stood motionless.

"I’ll go," the boy managed to press forwards at last. "I’ll fetch him!"

"The King?"

"No, you just told me to ..."

Tarkan interrupted. "Let the King know that I would like to meet him after my meeting with the Queen. Tell him that it’s urgent!"

The priest released the servant from his grip, waving him off. "Silly boy, be gone before I change my mind and do make you fetch your superior!!"

Tarkan watched the boy run as fast as his legs could bear him out of the Hall. He hoped he would deliver the message to the King; if not personally, then deliver the message orally to someone else who could. Tarkan wondered whether his brother would decline a meeting with him. It would not surprise him. The two of them had in fact never been too close, yet, they had never shown, in public that is, any real signs of dislike of one another. Tarkan let his gaze wander, discovering that people were casting glances his way. This Palace is filled with incompetent poultry, he thought to himself, the King will lose face if he doesn’t do anything… With a sly smile on his thin womanly lips, he cast the mantle he wore backwards and entered the antechamber the boy had directed him to.