The Thorn Crown

Chapter IV: Of Beggars to Lords

Darrion Freeman

He couldn't believe that was his first proper bath in a couple months. Fresh threads too. He paced through the castle pondering at the expensive and shiny objects that laced the many halls of the keep. The walls were themselves quite devoid of any notion of life, but the nature and shrubbery sprawling across the wall imbued the keep with a sense of living. Flowers of many bright and saturated colours upon what seemed to be branches flowed along and through the walls. Vines seeped within the infrastructure itself prying on all within the walls of Godsgrace.

Eventually he made his way to the outer walls. In which the main walls had still kept in the same fashion to his right and walls crawling with windows elongated down the hall to his left. Through the windows, the great tree of Godsgrace was in view, placed upon a large circular plate that hung of the side of the hill. Even though night fell upon it, its green leaves penetrated the darkness. The tree reached out towards Darrion, spindling its arms, grasping towards him. It was now the sheer size of the tree had come into Darrion's reconsideration. He wondered how it got so huge.

Eventually he stopped walking, just for a brief moment. He peered into one of the glass panes, admiring himself. He could see himself in the tall glass, from head to toe. And from head to toe he was covered in fine garments.

They were a bright lime green, and upon his breast was a part of his outfit folded over, which showed the jade green inside. His bottoms consisted of sharp black cloth, which laid baggy upon his legs. Cuffing the bottoms were brown leather shoes, barely creased and freshly polished and darker brown strings tied up the shoes from sole to top. Under the warm candle light, the leather glistened with a glossy finish. His hair complemented his outfit. It was a lighter brown and now that he had washed it, it showed off small lighter highlights within the smoother texture of his hair. It was now just above shoulder length. He had most of his hair, cut by the maids' in a layered fashion, however, it was long enough to tie it in half up style whenever he needed to fight. His hair gave volume and floated like passing sea waves.

I feel like a boy again, aweing at lords and ladies from dirtied shacks held aloft by sheer hope. I barely remember when I used to steal from that bunch, feels like ages ago. He reminisced; feelings of nostalgia and hatred flooded back to him. His eyebrows flared and he looked down towards the ground. He continued down the halls, which led to the dining room.

Fluttering out of the doors came a heavy feathered bird. An owl. It stopped at Darrion's feet, peering into him. From the angle of the candle light, to Darrion, its eyes seemed almost hollow yet bore the weight of someone watching. White feathers dropped towards his feet. He stamped toward the owl hoping to usher it away. Nothing. It stood sentry at Darrion's feet. He continued around the owl, still keeping his eyes fixed. Afterwards he entered the dining room

A long hall encompassed a thick table. It was a slab taken from a large tree log, naturally formed and cut into a cuboid shape. An oil topped the table, enhancing its grain, which ran long through its length. Atop this table were fine metal goblets and silver plates, alongside the traditional cutlery. Vines and flowers had beautifully infested the walls, the same as the halls. Instead of the mostly blank void of the white walls of the castle, paintings lined the walls, both large and small sprawling across them, filled with grand artworks of battles, nobles and landscapes. Queen Eleanor sat a one end of the table, while her close advisors, the leaders of her privy council, sat around the rest of the table, leaving one space for Darrion, next to the queen. They had not filled up the table though, as there were only four head members of her privy council. They awaited him in awe.

'Ah! The man who sailed across the known world!' a man exclaimed, holding his goblet to the air. He was in the same clothes as the monks who had surrounded the tree earlier that day. Leaf green robes, with many trinkets of gold and nature worn. Alongside, this he sported a shaved head. Edwin Crawford. Definitely the religious fanatic. Not even trying to hide it. He sat the closest to the queen opposite to Darrion's' seat.