[Novnarwen]

"Father, you're aware of the banquet which will be held at the Palace shortly? Are you not?"

He opened his eyes. The sleepy state he had just been in was interrupted by a squeaky voice. He didn’t turn immediately, just rose briskly from his kneeling position. He gave a little snort, before casting his black mantle furiously with his right arm. He reminded an awful lot of a bat, which made the young man jump, as if scared. The Priest frowned, turning to the man who had entered his chambers. "Banquet?" he raised an eyebrow, bit his lip and gave the man a grim look. "Of course, my dear Son," he said with a firm voice, emphasizing 'dear'. The Priest hurried over to the young man's side, approaching him with elegance. He laid his hand on the other man's shoulder and smiled evilly. "I am indeed aware of it, but I will never be able to make it ON TIME!!! . . .Do you know why?!?" The tone of his voice changed drastically, and it was obvious that the male Priest was working himself up into a frightful temper. His brow turned suddenly fiery red; meanwhile the veins on his neck went dark purple.

What had he done to deserve all this? What had he done in his life to deserve such a cruel and despicable punishment? Inside of him, his organs were turning. The anger, with which he was filled, was making him dazzling red all over. He tried to restrain himself, whispering curses the man next to him could not hear; he reproached the god or goddess who had sent him this incompetent Servant. A man, his age, his position, deserved better. This was degrading. He made a sigh and tore himself away from the Servant. "Be gone, Son. Be gone from my sight." The Priest heard the footsteps die away. He was alone.

He cast himself onto some of the big cushions on the floor, sighed sorrowfully, feeling sorry for himself. "I do not deserve this. That arrogant little oaf. How could he forget to tell me. A banquet! He knows I like banquets, especially those at the Palace. Oh... Dear, dear." He shook his head slowly. "Alas, what a world. It has truly turned on you, Tarkan..."

The Priest rested his head on one of the bigger cushions, staring out in thin air, while thinking. Could he not change his life? The life he was living now was certainly not to his likeness. It lacked of happiness and pleasures, position and respect. How could he gain it, a man like himself? He realised that he still had much of his life ahead. Tarkan was only in his mid-thirties, though, looking quite a lot older. His face was without a wrinkle; thus appearing quite young, but his eyes were dim and sombre, underneath, there were, as painted, large dark rings, which made him appear old after all. The paleness in his face was a proof of this unhealthy way of living. The life in the temple or in his chambers, praying all day, doing his rituals, fasting and everything else that had something to do with religion and the god and goddess, was eating him up inside. It was not that he didn't enjoy it; he did to a certain degree, but he didn't feel that he accomplished anything. He felt empty, as if deprived from all riches in the world; riches such as respect. He was nothing to anyone. Well, that was not completely accurate. He was the King's half-brother, but he would never gain any position for that reason. He was nothing to the King, but he was related to him, which meant at least something. Also, he would probably become a High Priest if the new temple was built, but it didn't mean anything. As far as he knew, people were caring less about religion than ever. The feeling of being abandoned struck him with the power of a clock which strikes six times, which means that it's time for evening prayer.

He let his gaze wander. The cushions, on which he laid on, were of green fine fabrics, a mix between cotton and silk. He touched the surface, feeling the smooth material under his fingers. He had several of these cushions, each in different colours. They matched perfectly and gave thus the room a very lively look, not suiting the priest's personality. The walls were painted light green, whereas the strips of wood were moss green, but were almost covered completely by pictures and tapestries; several amongst them were portraying Rea or the goddess of the earth. In front of him, there was a low table, of dark wood, where he usually sat when eating. To his left, stood a rather big altar, of which he used every day. Incense of every fragrance was released from here, giving his chamber a cosy and rather mystic atmosphere. Aside from that, he did not have many belongings which were his and his only. He lived in simplicity, such as, after his opinion, all priests, priestesses and other who wanted to commit themselves completely to faith should do. He lived by the biggest temple of the goddess of earth. There were a few private apartments and chambers, only available to true men and women in faith. He had a few things though, other than the described cushions in the living room. He owned a bookshelf, where there were placed about fifty to hundred books, of which mostly was religious literature. It stood at the far end of the Hall which led into the room of where he sat now. The bed he slept in every night was also his own. The bedroom was the smallest room of his apartment, and faced the east. When awakening, he could to see the morning blossom, making the night fade away, through the window. Also belonging to him, were a few fine clothing, which included robes, mantles, trousers and shirts, of pure silk or other fine fabrics; all with rich embroidery with golden, silvery or any other matching colour.

He had almost fallen asleep, as he had closed his eyes pleasantly, dreaming about the world of Kings and all their riches, when he was reminded of the banquet. He sprang up, not certain about what he was to do. It would be embarrassing to show up late, yet it would be worse if he didn't appear at the banquet at all. He frowned, tapping his foot on the floor which was covered by a brown carpet. What was the banquet for anyway? Had the young man, whom served in the temple heard wrong? Why there would be a banquet on a day like this, Tarkan didn't understand. Why he hadn't been informed in advance was even more peculiar. He ran out of his chamber, out of his apartment, and knocked on the first door that he met in the Hallway.

"Father," the young man said with a bow, when opening the door. He lowered his forehead for Tarkan to kiss it.

"Dear Son... I must apologise for my behaviour earlier. I hope you were not offended by my complete lack of forgiveness," he said, calmly, not meaning a word he said.

"Do not apologise. It was your right to get angry, Father." The young man, whose name was Pelin, said quietly.

Tarkan stared at him, trying to hold his mask. Did this young man sincerely believe him, or was he faking it? How dumb could a man become? He wondered, but didn't dare think more of it as he was eager to question him about the banquet. He gave the man a gentle smile, before opening his mouth. "It is hard for me to believe that a man can forget about a banquet, especially when it's taking place at the Palace. But I do forgive you, my dear. Let us not think evil thoughts of each other, as it will bring no good to either of us," he said with a grin, and clasped the man on his shoulder. "Regarding the banquet . . .Were you told why such evening is taking place in the Palace? What is the occasion?" he asked politely.

Pelin shrugged; "Of that I do not know for certain, nor was I told much. But it is said, from rumour that an Emissary has come to offer the king an alliance. You are invited to the banquet to sit quite near the King, I believe. You should hurry." The young man's eyes lit with excitement, and Tarkan could feel that he got even more eager by every word that came from his mouth.

Thanking him and adding a false smile, Tarkan went to his own apartments again, rather curious about this person - this Emissary.