To Claim A Crown Book Three: The Host Of Death

Chapter Nine: Presenting Proposal

Raurlin guides Naomi up the stairs and into their bedroom. He ushers her in then shuts the door. Naomi sits down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes are heavy and tired. He never wanted the record-keepers to see her like this. But he can never admit to her that that is the true root of his frustration. Raurlin cups her cheek lightly then walks to their cupboards. He pulls them open, gently taking Naomi's traditional cloak out first.

A gift from Stellan, it is a tie in on her origin and his. The inner lining of the coat, beneath the thick furred material, delicate white snowflakes are stitched neatly, perfectly in line. The coat is fitted with two sleeves that reach far past the wrist, but Raurlin knows the coat is intended to rest across the shoulders, worn in important occasions such as this, and not for mere comfort. The outer of her coat is a rich blue with, representative of the waters that her lineage would have conquered.

The realisation that Naomi and Stellan share a lineage came as a shock. No one could have possibly anticipated it. But Raurlin is forever grateful to the Gods for allowing Naomi a relative so deeply entrenched in the world she is just becoming accustomed to. The wrists of the coat are stitched with roots and leaves, tying in Stellan's lineage of farmers and workers of the land. The neck of the coat is covered in thick white fur. The final piece of the coat, Naomi's piece, is a dagger embroidered on the inner sleeve of her right wrist. No one but Stellan, Raurlin and Naomi know that it is tucked in there, symbolic of so much for his aeturnum.

He drapes the coat across Naomi's shoulders explaining, "when we represent ourselves and our home in an official capacity such as today we must wear our coats. They represent our clans, lineage. They show where we come from. These cloaks demand respect. Wearing these is as good as wearing a crown."

"And will you be wearing a crown?" Naomi asks as she adjusts the coat around her body, pulling it straight. Raurlin watches her as she gathers her long hair twisting it and dropping it down her left shoulder.

"I will not. That...is for something else." Naomi looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Raurlin smirks, merely then walks back to the cupboard, easing his coat out. A coat that would have been passed down to his eldest son. Before The Great War. Before the great change, such a thing would have been possible. Raurlin holds his coat up by the hanger it is hanging on and examines it.

It is a rich green, far darker than emerald and is stitched on the inner with neat rows of intricately twisted vines and leaves. This is an ode to his clan, farmers too. Workers of the land. Bur warriors too and this is evident in the daggers that are stitched in black too across each upper shoulder, on the outer of the coat. The neck is thick with a black fur, a distinct contrast to Naomi's. Raurlin throws the coat around him and onto his back, fulling it straight across his shoulders. He draws it closed in front of him, covering his casual clothes.

Naomi stands up and she mimics him. "Going into the room" Naomi asks, "what do I need to know?"

"They will stand," Raurlin explains. "We will take our seats at the head of the table. We will sit first and once we are sitting they will sit too. Sarah will sit to your left and Jackson to my right. Horatio, by right, must formally introduce the record-keepers. Each by name and by lineage, which should be Havebyr. Horatio must then declare himself as their caller, and explain why. He could be excused at that point but I would like him to stay. The record-keepers have a 'leader' so to speak. I am guessing the lanky arrogant one would be their leader. They call the leader a Hayward. He will present their proposal, we will have an opportunity to review it in private with Sarah and Jackson then we will make a decision."

Naomi nods, fully absorbing his words. Like this she seems somewhat more awake, more alive. "From what I've read on Havebyr they are the vampires that refused to fight. They retreated to the mountains then were bestowed with the record-keeping duty?"