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Day 6 of @oc-growth-and-developmentās OC-tober, as well as the Fictober20 prompt. This one takes place some time after the final round of the Red Fury, and basically continues from THIS piece I wrote a while ago.
When Riin walked into the South Gate tavern near the outskirts of Vetrose, he wasnāt sure what he had been expecting. All around him, bodies were pressed close around tables, hunched over dice, deep in conversation, laughing raucously as they poured ales and wines and harder drinks down their throats.
Nose wrinkling, Riin slipped inside as casually as he could, doing his best not to stand out among the distracted patrons. Which was surprisingly difficult, all things considered. Heād put on quite a show in the arena, and already, eyes were fixing on him, flicking away the moment he looked.Ā Idiot, he chided himself as he sidled between chairs and tables, stopping abruptly as a waitress cut past, a tray of thick brown stew balanced on one hand. Heād spent almost a full ten years in Talvera without revealing what he could truly do. Now, it seemed to be all anyone spoke about. The demand for him to compete in the arena - to engage in a friendly fight with a champion from one of the noble houses - had become incessant. It didnāt seem to matter how many times he refused, a new offer always presented itself the following day, the wording more insistent, the payment higher. Do us this one favour, before you depart for your homeland.
Huffing, Riin managed to pause in an empty space and scanned the room. It didnāt matter how much they offered, he could not be bought. He was a Kyriin; a soldier representing his people, acting on behalf of Kal-Kriyan interests. He was not a spectacle to be gawked at and gambled on.
It was a concept Talverans didnāt seem to understand. Not fully, at least.
A boisterous shout from his right drew Riinās attention, his gaze snapping across. A drunken man stood, albeit barely, a card in one hand, a tankard in the other. Liquid sloshed dangerously as he ranted at the other players around the table, accusations of cheating and trickery being thrown back and forth among the competitors.Ā
Luckily, seated at a table just past them, was the man Riin was looking for.
Crosus grinned wide, spotting him at the same time, his huge hands wrapped around a flagon. A collection of admirers crowded him on either side, partially obscuring him from view, explaining why Riin hadnāt been able to spot the giant sooner. As he approached, Riin glanced between Crosus and his companions, brow tensing into an uncertain frown. This⦠wasnāt what heād been expecting. When heād received the manās message, he had assumed they would be speaking alone.
Luckily, Crosus either read the misgiving on Riinās face or never intended for his sycophants to remain in the first place. Before Riin reached the table, Crosus was already shooing them away with his bear-like hand. āRight then, off with you lot,ā he said. When the demand was met with hesitation - even disappointed whines - he tossed a small pouch of coins to one of young men with a good-natured wink. āEnough of that. Tavernās got plenty of room elsewhere. Go on - get yourselves drunk on a championās coin.ā
Apparently, all was forgiven. There was a collective whooping - loud and sudden enough to almost startle Riin into taking a step back. Bodies pushed past him, the men and women seeming utterly unaware of his presence as they rushed towards the bar.Ā
āThat was⦠quite a crowd,ā Riin said as he finally approached the table. He paused, then gestured to one of the newly vacated seats. āMay I?ā
āSure,ā the big man drawled, raising a bushy brow. āDidnāt ask you here just to make you stand all evening, black-eyes.ā
Riinās shoulders tensed, but he hurried to mask it by sitting down, resting his forearms on the table. Unfortunately, as he feared, Crosus far from an unobservant man.
āNo good?ā the northerner asked, and to his credit, he seemed genuine. āSorry. Heard folk calling you that lately. Figured it was proper.ā He snorted, bringing his flagon to his lips. āShouldāve known it was probably an insult. Fucking Talveransā¦ā
Riin had to admit, the man was oddly disarming. And relatable. So much so that he found himself relaxing into a smile, offering a resigned shrug of his own. āItās not an insult. Justā¦ā He hesitated, but decided it didnāt hurt to share. āIād hoped no one would find out. Thatās all.ā He huffed. āI was so close, too. Being called that name just reminds me of my own failure.ā
Crosus grunted. āYeah. That kind of fameās more trouble than itās worth, isnāt it?ā Raising a hand, he flagged one of the waitstaff, who seemed to have been loitering nearby. āYou - yeah lad, you. Bring my friend here some of the good stuff.ā He paused, glancing at his own drink. āAnother for me, too.ā Again, he tossed a small pouch of coins, the scrawny young man catching it between shaking, over-eager palms before scurrying away. Crosus just smirked, leaning in, brown eyes gleaming wickedly. āTurns out, tipping well gets you special treatment.ā He leaned back again, laughing, and slapped the table with a thunderous palm. āWho knew, huh?ā
Every soul in Talvera, Riin thought, amused. But he just shared in the manās laughter, enjoying the luxury of being away from the palace. Of not having to second-guess every move he made. Soon, he had a drink in his hand, and before he knew it, half of it had already vanished. āI can see why you would come to a place like this,ā Riin remarked loudly, fighting to raise his voice over the din. He glanced around, noticing a large number of watchful eyes flicking back and forth towards their table. āBeing champion has made you well-sought.ā
āHey now - three timeĀ champion,ā Crosus corrected, then chuckled. āThe first time wasnāt nearly this rewarding. That said, theyāre not all looking at me either. What you did out there?ā He huffed, nodding to himself. āThat was impressive.ā
Riin just stared at his hands, wrapped firmly around his drink. It hadnāt felt impressive. He took another long, deep pull to delay responding. He could remember the moment so clearly, as though it had happened that morning instead of over a turn ago. When heād seen Crosus land that blow⦠when Adiran had gone down and couldnāt get up again⦠heād just...
āIt was panic,ā Riin said suddenly. He looked up at Crosus, mouth twisting into a rueful smile. āNot something I would call impressive.ā
āMaybe,ā the man agreed slowly, then shrugged. āNot sure your princeling would feel the same way, though.ā Hesitating, Crosus sat back a little, taking a moment to regard Riin carefully. āI, ah... take it thereās no hard feelings about all of that?ā
āIām here, arenāt I?ā
Crosus barked a laugh. āTrue enough.ā Then he jabbed an accusatory finger at him. āBut you wouldnāt be the first person Iāve gone drinking with to tried to kill me after. Got my eye on you, Kyriin.ā
A smile tugged at Riinās lips. āI take it those men are no longer with us?ā
āWho said anything about men?ā
Riin grinned as Crosus bellowed a laugh, raising his flagon in makeshift salute. āAhh... all the same,ā he continued after draining another full mugās worth of dark ale and setting it down with a thud, āwanted to thank you for what you did. Saving the princelingās life.ā
That was enough to stop Riin mid-drink. He lowered his flagon, eyes fixed questioningly on Crosus. āThank me? Why?āĀ
What did Crosus have to thank him for? As far as he knew, heād done nothing to help the man. In truth, heād barely even acknowledged him, when heād leapt the barrier and rushed the arena. The most heād done was shove him aside, sending him sprawling in the sand. In truth, all he remembered clearly from that moment was Adiran, lying there, suffocating inside his crushed plate...Ā
āI know why people watch that tournament. The Red Fury...ā Crosus' voice was softer, stirring Riin from his thoughts. The manās mouth twisted, expression grim. āEveryone in that crowd wanted blood. Especially the ones who would never admit it. Must make them feel better about themselves, to watch good men die before their time. Your princelingā¦ā Sighing, Crosus reached up, running a hand down his face. āIāve killed plenty, Kyriin. Right bastards, most of them. But taking that young manās life for a crowd? For sport?ā Grunting, he just shook his head. āNo. I have enough people looking at me like Iām no better than a wild beast. Donāt want to start believing it myself. I never meant for it to go that far.ā
Stunned into silence for a moment, all Riin could do was look at the man - really look at him. The boisterous personality, the bellowing laugh, the tangle of dark hair that framed his face. For all of his strength, deep down, Crosus doubted himself. Who he was. What people thought of him. What he thought of himself.
It was something Riin understood all too well.Ā
āAdir---ā Riin caught himself quickly, āPrince Adiran knew the risks, Crosus. A fight is a fight, and it would be foolish to treat it as anything else. Even if I had not been able toā¦ā Shei-tarās gaze, the thought alone was enough to turn his stomach. He cleared his throat roughly. āThe prince does not resent you. In truth, you might be one of the few men he actually respects.ā He caught Crosusā gaze. Held it. āAs for me... I saw you by his side.ā
Another memory, clear as day, flashed behind Riinās eyes. It was of Crosus, crouched beside Adiran, a lone shape in the middle of the arena. It was of the crowd, roaring their shock, their approval, their delight at the blow that had flung Adiran, bodily, over and past the red-marked ring. It was of Crosusā large hands, frantic but ineffective, tugging at the suffocating princeās ruined plate...
Crosus just raised his brows. āYou did, did you?ā When Riin met his gaze and nodded, he gave another low grunt. āHuh. You know, most folk thought I was trying to finish him off. Already had three offer to buy me a drink for it.ā
For whatever reason, that shocked Riin. āWhat?ā He rose half-way out of his chair, heat and anger rising like a storm beneath his skin. āWho? Show me.ā
āEasy,ā Crosus said, voice concerned. He rested a large hand on Riinās shoulder, urging him to sit down. āRelax. Itās nothing personal against your prince. Just their small way of spitting in the eye of that shit they call a King.ā
Somehow, that didnāt comfort Riin. The indignation he felt on Adiranās behalf rose like bile up the back of his throat. But at the same time... he supposed he could empathise. Heād like nothing more than to spit in the Kingās eye himself, if he knew no one else would have to suffer for it.
Slowly, he complied with Crosusā request, sitting back down, catching his flagon as the northerner slid it back towards him. He took another drink, still bitter. Still sure he hated the idea of people wishing harm on Adiran just to hurt his father. āThe prince,ā was all he said after a moment, feeling strangely tired. Simply correcting Crosus was easier than acknowledging the rest of what heād just said. āAdiran is the prince, not my prince.ā
If heād bothered to look up from his ale, Riin would have seen Crosus raise a dark brow at that. Would have seen the way he smirked slightly and shook his head. Instead, the only thing Riin caught was his final, amiable shrug.
āAs you say,ā Crosus replied. Then he sent for another round.Ā