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This is a private role-play between Arc Angel and I ((Eoin)) ONLY.

You may read, but if you are not any of the above parties, please do not post.

Evelyn

Among the throbbing mess of servants and bewildered guests scattering throughout the dining hall lay the body of a young lady, not but twelve years of age. A calm hand felt her motionless and quickly-cooling face, another hesitantly feeling for a pulse at the neck. It took only an affirmative nod from the family physician to alert everyone present that one of the attendants to the princess, the young lady on the floor, had passed away. Cries from ladies rose in the air and the castle's guard rushed the room, urging the flustered guests to depart and head to their homes while they were sent to look for the one to blame for the death.

Evelyn knelt beside the small girl who was but a child in her eyes, one of her hands caressing a soft, cold cheek as her mind whirred out of control while trying to process what had just happened. The watering of her eyes drew her vision to grow steadily blurry as she felt a firm pair of hands attempting to pull her away from the body and off of the floor. Why did this have to happen? Her father had just announced that she would be receiving the assistance of a personal guard today, but before their arrival, an assassination attempt? Evelyn's gaze remained steady upon the young face of the dead girl as she was lead backwards through the crowd, remembering how lovely the evening had once been.

The kingdom was facing dark and difficult times, but Evelyn's father, the king, faced these challenges with trying to lift up the hopes of his court. To do so, he had invited them all to a charming dinner that had filled their dining hall quite rapidly. Musicians had filled the air with soft music as the pleasant hum of conversation rung out amongst their guests at the dining table. Servants had brought in the first course, a soup, and all seemed to have been enjoying it. Evelyn had spent the afternoon playing and relaxing with her ladies, the now-dead young girl one of which, and the same child had taken a seat upon her lap at the dining table. When it came time to eat, Evelyn blew gently on her first spoonful of soup to cool it before unknowingly feeding it to the small girl. Before she had the chance to take a spoonful for herself, the child had fallen to the floor, lifeless. Never would Evelyn have guessed that the soup she had been served had been laced with poison.

Evelyn was quickly lead up to her room, attended by two footmen and her ladies. What her mother and father were doing, she hadn't a clue, but the image of the child upon the floor became engraved in her mind. Her frantic thoughts didn't cease for the majority of the next hour, where guilt accompanied fear, anger, and an onslaught of sadness. While some royalty disregarded those whom attended them, Evelyn was glad for whatever company she was given, and tended to be humble in the way she treated them. The child had been no expception-- often she had played with the younger of her ladies in the courtyard, and memories of the one that had just passed were still fresh in her mind.

After a few hours, her ladies were called out of her room to leave Evelyn be, and she sat by herself in front of her vanity. The two footmen from earlier stood careful watch outside of her door, on the king's orders. Of course Evelyn had yet to see her father, or any of the others who had been at dinner, aside from those who had attempted to comfort her. The tears from her eyes had finally stopped, and while staring blankly at herself in the mirror, she heard the firm knock on her door that signaled her father. First, he apologized for the evening, comforted his daughter, then proceeded to explain his reason for coming up to her room.

He didn't wish to come in when she hesitantly opened her door, but instead requested that she come down to meet the man that was to be her new body guard when he arrived. He seemed sure that that would be soon, but promised he'd send an attendant up when they heard word that the man was near. Evelyn reluctantly complied, and upon saying a temporary goodbye to her father, proceeded to clean herself up a bit. Her red eyes, slightly puffy from crying were unsightly but she would have to make do. When she was done fixing herself up, Evelyn let out a soft sigh and stood over by one of her windows. A new guard? She could only hope he would be successful, and good company if she were lucky.

The world glowed slightly in the wake of the sheeted rain that cascaded down from the darkened sky. It was strange, seeing nothing and everything at the same time__but stranger still was the complete and utter silence that surrounded the area like a shroud...not even the splash of muddy water could pierce the stillness as a lone rider cantered down a narrow road that cut through the stubble fields of winter wheat. The rider sat atop a large Andalusian beast. The horse's slate-like coat was sleek and shiny in the mist that wafted up from his hide; great puffs of steam rose from his nostrils as the stubble fields passed by in a uniform canvas of unerring sameness. The figure atop the roan kept his eyes alert. From inside the deep recesses of his woolen cowl, a hidden gaze swept out from under the darkened landscape, ever searching for any signs of life.
There were none.
This revelation came as no surprise to the rider, for why would any fool still within his reason be out after dark while the rain fell down ever colder upon the earth?
The man chuckled, supposing that he had indeed taken leave of his senses, because he was that hypothetical fool who was traveling after dark in the pouring rain. Of course, it had not been raining when the rider had set off on his journey, but not five hours from the time he had left his home, a dreary grey cloud had begun pursuing him, ever increasing the amount of rain it spit upon him. For seven days, he had traveled under the watchful eye of that grey cloud...he was sodden through, grumpy, and now quite unsure what exactly it felt like to be warm and dry.
His gloomy mood persisted as unerringly as the rain.
After several leagues of the same stubble field and gnarled trees, the first signs of human life began to emerge: fields gave way to fenced paddocks and barns, then those barns gave way to small groupings of houses.
The horseman smiled. His journey was almost at an end. Soon the muddied path on which he traveled would metamorphose into a rough shod road loosely paved with river stones. Then that road would give way to the smoothly cobbled streets that threaded themselves through Caer Dathell. 'twas this place to which the lone rider headed. He had traveled over 100 leagues in a constant downpour to reach the capital city, and he heaved a sigh of relief when the massive wall came into his view.
The rider leaned far over the neck of his mount, and whispered gently in his ear, as if the beast understood.
“Swift feet, Raja. We are almost there.” the timbre of the man's voice was a voluptuous high tenor, and sent a tremor of recognition through Raja's chilled and aching muscles.
The roan flattened his ears against his skull; he arched his neck, unwilling to push on through the freezing rain.
The man's lips were possessed by a deep scowl, and he tightened his grip on the reins. He was not in the mood to bicker with the large beast.
Without much deliberation at all, the man dug his silver spurs into his mount's steaming flanks.
Raja took off like an arrow. Stubborn though he was, the Andalusian was wise enough to know that arguing with your Master when he is wearing spurs is never a good idea.
The raindrops were like needles as they broke apart on the man's exposed face. The pair were only half a league away from the walls, but it seemed like nothing as Raja's powerful legs pushed them on.
They hit the river stone roadway, and the silence was finally shattered by the thundering roar that the roan's shodden hooves. Five hundred meters 'till the gate.

Inside the little watch house, the watchmen was roused from his sleep.
The bleary-eyed young lad moved to the window, searching for the cause of his awakening. He saw it, and his brown eyes widened.
As quickly as he could, the lad bolted out his doors and down the stairs to the portcullis entry. He looked through the gaps in the iron gate, and saw the horse and rider closing in on him. With all the strength he could muster, the watchman heaved the lever that tripped the mechanism that forced the heavy gate to shoot upwards. It was slow going. Normally he was forbidden to trip the tumbler without proper permission, but this case was dire. The horseman showed no signs of slowing down, and the watchman wasn't about to get reprimanded for the death of a potentially important person.
The rider reached the gate.
With fear lacing his heart, the watchman closed his eyes, and turned away. He waited for that horrid squeal as the horse struck the gate...but it never came.
The horse and rider thundered passed him. He looked up in astonishment. The upward motion of the portcullis had stopped when the watchman had let go of the lever. He hadn't seen what had happened...

The rider cursed inwardly as he came upon the gate. It wasn't going up fast enough, and yet he couldn't rein in Raja now, he was going too fast and the cobbles were too wet. He sent up a silent prayer that he would make it in time.
Barely.
The rider swept under the gate just as it rose above Raja's head. The rider had to duck low over the neck of his mount to avoid taking his head clean off. The portcullis caught the edge of his cowl, and the rider heard the rip of the fabric as he passed. After so many days, the rider's head finally became exposed to the elements. A crop of disheveled white hair gleamed in the starless night, enhanced by the sun-weathered skin the colour of zebra wood. The strangeness of his hair was second only to the rider's eyes, which shone like quicksilver in the faint gleam of city.
This occurrence did nothing to improve his mood__that cloak had been a gift from his Praeceptor__but they had made it through. It could've been much worse.
The rider leaned low over Raja's neck once again:
“Latian, drengur. Latian...” he spoke, using the language of his people.
Raja immediately responded, and his run slowed gradually down to a gallop, then a canter, then finally to a walk. Raja was breathing hard, and white foam dripped from his mouth.
The rider felt a deep pang in his chest for the horse. Raja had been his companion since he was just a lad, and the roan was one of his greatest friends.
They soon found themselves in the shadows of the palace. It was immense, much larger than the spartan chapter-house that the rider was used to. The palace appeared as a Brobdingnagian monster, threatening to devour the entire city of Caer Dathell in one massive gulp.
The rider averted his eyes, and dismounted.
As soon as he had one so, three porters immediately closed in from nearly all directions. They plagued the rider with their probing fingers, attempting to impose themselves on Raja. The rider wouldn't let them, however. He slapped their hands away from Raja as they tried to lay them on his steed.
“No!” he said gruffly, startling all three of the young lads. There was not one of them that was older than seventeen. They all stumbled back, frightened of this large man with preternatural eyes and a terribly large sword belted to his waist.
“I will put him up myself.” the rider continued, ignoring the reaction he had had on the grooms.
One of them, a small boy with ruddy-blonde hair and many many freckles, stepped forward. With a trembling lip he said:
“Uh...wh-what n—name shall I t—tell my master?” He looked at the ground, expecting a blow from such a terrifying man.
The rider took a breath before answering, and then looked the boys in the eyes.
“Tell your master that Argenteus of Seralia has come by order of your king.”

The overactive mind of the placid young woman churned itself into a ghastly pulp, until Evelyn's even facial expression was forced to reveal her mental upsets. Her neat brows drew forward, her eyelids faltering partly closed over a set of unwavering grey eyes that were read as easily as a Latin book to the girl who once more stared at herself in her vanity. It was no show of conceit as it may be to another girl of her age, to stare at herself for such a prolonged period of time, but instead that of careful study. Her longing gaze was drawn forward into the mirror in which she could only but imagine that young girl's presence. Perhaps she would have been sitting upon her lap once more as her older ladies, flanking her sides from behind, would work on the ever-unruly crop of brunette hair upon her head. Or rather, would the child allow the princess to French braid her hair once more, as she had shown the child the method of which her mother had once taught her.

A whisper of metal clinking together signaled what Evelyn knew was the opening of the main house's grand doorway, a sure alert to her that the newest guest to their castle had indeed arrived yet tonight. The listless Evelyn rose from her cushioned stool to sweep across her chamber's floor to the set of stained glass windows that granted her a more than adequate view of the castle grounds. As done, the action left a streak of a curious glimmer in her eyes. For, even while mourning, her curiosity- that which her tutors sometimes compared to that of a petulant child's- would not be suppressed. The steady rain outside concealed the figures gathered about the courtyard just enough to hint at the build of each person present. However, while Evelyn's questioning eyes strove for distinguishing features of any present, the immense cloak of the rain left her empty-handed. To find such drew the corners of the princesses' mouth down just the slightest degree into a bit of a pout. Why, this view simply wouldn't do.

Barefooted, though she doubted a soul would be able to tell from under the skirts of her simple dress, Evelyn dashed from her room as a rabbit might its den. Her chamber's door swung open and stayed so in her stead, the two footmen outside of it bewildered but not swayed in the least. Many of the castle were used to the often-compulsive activities of the young woman already, a free spirit as she were. With childlike vigor, she made her way through the corridors in surprisingly graceful bounds that swept up the gentle curls of brunette hair behind her in a bit of a bounce. Her hands gripped the corners of her dress' skirting lightly, so as not to wrinkle its hems, but firm enough so that she would not be able to trip upon it as she swiftly descended one of the many stairways into the entry hall.

The steady pounding of the soft soles of her feet upon the cool stone flooring came to an abrupt stop once she reached her destination, the grand hallway from which one could enter and find a pathway to any given wing of the castle. Faintly, the evidence of the last remaining guests would be evident from this room as their boisterous voices mingled in the air of the dining hall, which one could enter through either of the short corridors at the further most section of the room. Their laughter echoed gently through the marble and stone halls, almost mocking to the unsuspecting ears of Evelyn whom found an utterly repugnant taste in her mouth upon thinking that some of the guests had remained to dine. What baffoons! To remain in the house of a distraught family, however noble in blood, after the death of a beloved servant and companion earned a sudden abhorrence from the princess. Not only was it despicably rude to carouse themselves for hours on end in another's home but to disrespect the dead as such and blatantly signal their continued presence?

Evelyn's neck experienced the cool caress of the breeze beyond the open entryway to remind her of her purpose downstairs, and the bright shine of curiosity returned to her eyes as her head turned to once more face the open doorway. The figures were clearer now, distinguishable in at least age as first three porters exchanged brief conversation with the footmen at the door. The three knew better than to actually enter, so they witheld from doing so, but they had done well to warn the guards of the visitor's presence. Two of the footmen ran off to alert the king and kitchen staff, the former in order to submit a proper greeting and the latter which may need to prepare a fresh dinner on behalf of the guest if requested. The remaining figure outside that had been standing aside the three porters was left alone, for the porters scurried off to their duties which Evelyn assumed would be to care for the person's method of transport.

A shock of white hair grew from the remaining man's head, much to the coaxing of Evelyn's curiosity, and though there was still a great distance between he and Evelyn she could decipher his age to be nearer hers than most of the guards present at the palace. Was this to be the man to take the position of which her father had told her of? To guard her, regardless of her consent to his accompaniment? It were not as if she were opposed to safety precautions but she strove moreso for her mother and father to take up guards than herself. Her personal liberties were strained enough so with the state of the court, any more pressure upon her freedom and she feared she may be starved of air. After a moment's registration that this, indeed, must be the man she was to welcome as a visitor, she abandoned her grasp upon her dress's skirting to walk in a leisurely manner over and through the open doorway.

Custom had nothing to do with the idea that the princess was alone to greet a guest, and in fact her father may be greatly upset by her doing so without his presence, but it would be more rude of her to dismiss him than for her to greet him unattended. "Sir Argenteus, are you not?" she spoke up cautiously after she breached the open doorway, her voice carrying a melodic sense about its delicate tone as she stepped forward. Then curtsying shortly, she would smile warmly in his direction, observing the other with a studious gaze for a moment before standing aside to gesture him in through the doorway if he would allow for such. "Quite warmer inside, if you please, my father shall be jointing us shortly," she informed with a grin in his direction. Greeting another unaccompanied seemed as odd as it had sounded to her, but something was moreso off with her thoughts during the greeting than she had initially suspected.

Evelyn hadn't spent much time with those her age, and those that were closest were her ladies which she treated moreso as friends despite the imminent gap in status. While she was unaware if this man was to serve her family or if he were truly an equal to them, or lower, she treated him with the friendly facial expression and words she may have to an equal. Nevertheless, she found her gaze drawn back to look upon the face of the man, blatantly curious though her thoughts lay along borderline admiration. He was a rather handsome man of her age, it was to be expected that there lay some interest, but the intriguing and seemingly exotic feature of his white hair was attention-catching. As original as it were, her gaze was moreso occupied with his face while greeting than his appearance and she waited patiently beneath the archway of the doors for a response from him.

Argenteus glanced up from Raja as the grooms scampered away. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what it was that had frightened them off. He turned back to Raja, and stroked the big roan’s neck affectionately. The rain was falling just as hard as ever, and the sooner Argenteus got Raja to the stables, the better.
With a heavy sigh, Argenteus flipped the reins over Raja’s head, and began leading the beast to where the room had said the stables were. Argenteus had taken no more than three steps when a voice like unto golden chimes caught in his ears. He stopped, and his head whipped around to where the voice had come from.
“Sir Argenteus, are you not?” the voice asked. Crystalline though it sounded, the voice was nonetheless filled to the brim with authority and majesty. Argenteus' body automatically reacted to this voice with discipline. His entire body went rigid, and he stood at attention.
His pallid eyes locked upon the figure who had spoken, and the images of a regal commander that had dominated his mind deflated like a set of pipes with a hole in them. Before the silver-maned man stood a woman as small in stature as Argenteus himself had been when he was a teenager, which was not very impressive at all. The woman, no, the girl, as Argenteus now saw she was, was standing in the pouring rain with no coat or outer attire. She appeared as if she was dressed for a gay occasion, but the expression on her face betrayed an air of anger, mourning, and…curiosity? Yes, curiosity. Argenteus could see its brilliant light flickering in the girl’s gaze as he had seen it flicker so many times before in the eyes of the children he trained at the Chapterhouse where he had lived and trained his entire life. It was strange to him to see such a light in one so old, most of the time that light was extinguished from the eyes of the boys he trained as they grew from simple children to true Amalech Gladii__ or just Gladii, as members of said order were fondly nicknamed by those who spoke of them in common conversation.
Amalech Gladii…it was an order devoted entirely to the training of the world’s most skilled warriors. The name literally meant ‘Children of the Sword’. Young boys were taken from orphanages or offered up as students by wealthy families to be trained by those venerable Praeceptors of legend to become the protectors and soldiers who served the noble families around the known world. The weak were rooted out early on in training, and those who survived were granted their spurs and the title Paladin.
Argenteus was one such Paladin. He had been taken from his razed town in the far southern country of J’iroch when he was four years old and had been brought to the northern Chapterhouse in Aenon where he had lived and trained every day since then to become the soul protector of a person whom he had never met. He was a bit of a celebrity amoung the Gladii, for he had risen in prowess swiftly and received his spurs when he was only seventeen, whereas most Gladii earned that right well into their twenties. Since then, Argenteus had proved himself time and time again to be a Paladin of great worth. His name was amoung those that were whispered in fear amidst the slums of the world, and his deeds were amoung those tossed around lightly in the courts of nobility and so often dismissed as fancy and wives’ tales. Argenteus’ sense of duty did not decrease any within the shadow of the larger-than-life figure that most people imagined him as. The twenty-four year old Paladin knew his duty, and he consecrated that duty with all the vigour of a zealot.
Even so, Argenteus was a little amused at the authority with which such a small girl spoke to him. There were no doubts in his mind that this iuventa was the Princess.
Argenteus bowed deeply in response to the Princess’ curtsey, and when he stood, he spoke in answer to her question.
“I am,” he said, voice ringing out above the clatter of the rain as clearly as a cry in the night. His voice was much deeper than the Princess’, and it seemed even deeper in comparison to her light chiming tone. Compared, the two were like a Kanun and a Cümbüş played in a discordant and yet pleasing harmony to each other.
“Quite warmer inside; if you please, my father shall be joining us shortly.” The Princess said, stepping aside with a gesture that invited Argenteus to enter the palace.
Argenteus bristled. He took an automatic step backwards, and the soft neck of his mount met the back of his head. Even if the girl was the Princess, he would not abandon Raja to the hands of strangers even at the cost of his own life.
The Andalusian roan nudged his back gently, encouraging Argenteus to say something.
The Paladin cleared his throat, and stood as proudly as he could manage.
“Forgive me, mea Domina, but I cannot accept your invitation. Until the time I have sworn myself to you as your Gyámolító, my first duty is to Raja.” He said boldly, eyes narrowing in her direction. The orange light coming from the doorway caught in their silver canvas, giving them a horridly devilish glint that so terrified the students Argenteus instructed in the Chapterhouse. Raja snorted and pawed the cobbled ground to emphasize his Master’s point.
Argenteus stared intently at the Princess, daring her to dispute him.

The quickening of the once-soft pattering of rain upon the cobblestone that laid out along the expanse of courtyard emphasized the moments of silence as the two exchanged a curtsy and a bow. While her gaze had lowered for but a moment for the exchange, Evelyn's gaze rose swiftly enough to catch the excessive depth the man had given in his bow. A man's manner of bowing bore more than a first impression, in her tonight's, but spoke much of his character. The depth of which he had just moved thus drove her to believe that the man before her had some great sense of obedience to royalty or an altogether stiff nature. Not the sort of person she saw herself getting along well with, but she would present this man with the benefit of the doubt. While some of her initial assumptions had already been made, the curiosity in her eyes flickered as her gaze was driven towards the horse beside him.

The man that stood there- now confirmed to be Sir Argenteus, as she had earlier assumed- was built out as well as any other soldier around the castle, and owned a voice deep enough to parallel most of theirs as well. What did surprise her of this man, however, was the shock of white hair upon his head. This fact, accompanied by the response she received from both him and his seemingly adamant horse beside him stirred her curiosity. Yet, in a manner, it also drowned such. To see a man whom cared to take care of his steed himself was certainly refreshing in the aspect that all others had simply allowed the porter boys to do so-- to hear the manner of which he had addressed her, which was heavily laden with a bold dare of argument, was most certainly not.

The young woman's jaw tend in a defiant manner, a colder not spdrawn out of her gaze as it hardened upon him. "Certainly," she managed in a polite enough tone, understanding of his wish to see to his horse. At the same time, she spoke up but a few moments later of her own devices, "Do not be mistaken, your horse may be more of an attendee than I during your time here." This retort, however unladylike of her, was brought out by his manner of speech. It clearly shook her, and though she often attempted to withhold her childlike petulance and keep her poise about her, this was one instance of few when her tongue lashed out on its own.

The young porter boys hadn't seemed to have scampered off far, for when after she released that retresidency seemed to reappear at her sides. Only then was when her facial expression softened again, a small, warm smile leading up her lips as she turned to face one of them. Bending down slightly, she'd turn to face one of the boys, nearly their height as he spoke up hesitantly. "M-Milady, what shall we--?" he spoke up, unsure of himself, his eyes cautiously place among the man that stood behind Evelyn. Sighing softly, and noting the placement of the younger boy's gaze, she would speak up firmly in response, "Escort this gentleman to the stables, Sebastian, Xavier, if you would. He may wish to care for his horse himself, but he may not know where the stables are." She would straighten herself back up as the two boys she had addressed waited beside the man hesitantly, though more sure of the,selves than they had been when they had approached.

The assumption she then made that Sir Argenteus had acted in some manner as to scare off the young boys only heightened her present dislike for him. She may have addressed the two young boys informally, out of character for royalty, but she cared deeply for all who inhabited the castle and it's grounds. If he learned nothing else in his time here, Evelyn desperately hoped that this stranger to her home would learn to treat the servants and specialists here with some sense of respect. The least he could do would act so as not to terrify them. This bitter note brought her thoughts presently back to the scene that had happened at dinner-- the death of one of her youngest ladies. Her gaze narrowing as it fell to the wet ground, then grazed back up along Sir Argenteus' form, it rested pallidly upon his face for a moment. "Go on now," she then spoke softly, addressing the boys casually before turning to head back in through the open doorway. Faintly, she could hear one of her older attending ladies worrying over her already, approaching steadfastly from the other side of the room, "My lady, your hair-- your clothing, my lady, you're soaked to the bone!" Evelyn allowed a heavy breath to slip from her pink lips, but they held no reply for the woman's worrying. Instead, she held up one of her hands as if to dismiss the words from the other as she made her way quietly back up the staircase.