When tales of yore and whispers of lore suddenly spring to life before one’s eyes, how many can resist the urge to probe the marvels?
Let’s just say, at the very least, neither Arwin nor Raventa were the resisting type.
"Look here, kiddo, can you guess my name?" Arwin crouched down, all serious yet not stern, scrutinizing the tattered girl before him.
"Shoot, I wanted to ask her that! You sneaky old coot,” Raventa said with a hint of defeat, but respecting seniority, he too squatted beside Arwin, anticipating the girl's response.
Everyone in this world grew up on tales of Dark Lords and valiant Heroes, regaling in great sagas that were an integral part of their upbringing, be it the invincible armor-clad heroes or drooling, cross-eyed Dark Lords with a wonky gaze.
But for staunch families like Arwin and Raventa’s, those stories have turned into tactile, historical truths. Thumb through a century-old family history, and there you'd find sketches of past heroes, not to mention that they knew of at least two powerhouses who fought alongside those legends, right there in the Capital. Though these formidable acquaintances have long stepped back from the royal limelight.
Thus, they were well-versed about a Hero's world-blessed eyes that could divine the true names of all things and beings.
That's how the two aged men found themselves squatting before a ten-year-old, waiting for bedtime stories from their youth to manifest in the flesh.
"Your name is... Mr. Grey Alwyn," Eleanor said cautiously, her memory serving her the name she had spotted when he hoisted her onto his back.
"The legends ring true, after all. And what about me?" Raventa couldn't hold back his query.
"You are..." Eleanor glanced at the beaming face, and the familiar golden script materialized anew, "Mr. Spencer Raventa, sir."
"A bona fide Hero, no doubt about it," Raventa mumbled, "Alice would’ve killed to be here – that girl's been dreaming of meeting a Hero all her life."
"It's unbelievable; Ethan of all people bumbled his way into birthing a Hero.”
"Indeed…"
The two old timers, deep in their own world, seemed to forget that Eleanor's awakening owed a bit to their “contributions.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"So why did you guys snatch me up?” Eleanor mustered the courage to ask, “You are... You're the rebels, right?"
"You can't just throw words like that around, kid," Raventa's normally jovial face grew serious, "We prefer ‘the righteous army.' Understand this, we're not cozying up to darkness or crowning a Dark Lord His Majesty... We just want to swap out a king."
"Yes, we're all about justice, and if the kingdom won't dish it out, we'll seize it ourselves," Arwin chimed in earnestly, "So you needn't worry about these complications. With us, you'll get the royal treatment, no different than in the Capital, until a truce is struck."
But Eleanor had no interest in meddling with power struggles, pondering briefly before lobbing an unexpected question, "Does joining the rebels come with meals?"
"Meals are included."
"Two a day?"
"Three, actually."
"Then we have a deal," Eleanor rushed, as if worried they might backtrack, "You said it, not me. So, can I eat now? I'm starving; haven't eaten all day."
Truth be told, Eleanor's past was no stranger to hunger; she’d faced almost two days without food before tumbling into the swollen autumn river.
Perhaps it was the energy used to mend her injuries, but her stomach was now twisting with hunger pangs.
Exchanging a glance, the two Dukes couldn't help but chuckle. Arwin made his way back to his quarters while Raventa, the very image of a doting grandpa, said, "Find yourself a spot to rest. We’ll eat soon."
Before she knew it, Eleanor was face to face with a table arrayed with aromatic dishes, her keen appetite uncontrollably whetted, her salivary glands working overtime almost to the point of choking her.
Never had the poor child from the lower city beheld such a spread, and for a moment, she was at a loss for where to begin.
But that hesitation was fleeting. Dining with her were the two Dukes, and in their brief interaction, they had become acquainted.
For a waif like Eleanor, cheek was necessary, and those few minutes of banter sufficed to drop all pretense of decorum.
Arwin’s household had a reputation for strict etiquettes. Now, he wistfully furrowed his brow at the sight of the girl, barely older than his granddaughter, scoffing down food like a starving ghost not far off.
He was about to discuss the Hero’s need for some noble etiquette when he caught sight of Raventa beside him, tackling a lamb chop with gusto, even smacking his lips loudly between chews.
The only difference between them was that Raventa had the decency to use cutlery, while Eleanor immersed herself in a hands-on feast.
Could the two be kin?
The absurd notion flitted through Arwin’s mind briefly before he dismissed it. The nobility valued their reputation above all; even were there illegitimate offspring, they'd never be left to the streets, and it's not as though Raventa had any peculiar tastes...
Catching Arwin's gaze, Raventa tore off a hefty strip of meat, "What's wrong? Not eating? Is it not to your liking? Why didn't you say so? What are we, strangers? My attendant will..."
Raventa's next mouthful met Arwin's icy stare, prompting him to swallow hastily, "What's up, old buddy?"
"I was thinking, the Hero might benefit from some lessons in decorum, considering she'll likely frequent high-society soires," Arwin intoned gravely.
"And your point being?" Raventa leaned in, already nodding in agreement.
"There is no point, not anymore. After watching you, I reckon she's doing just fine as she is."
"What's up with that? This is the way to eat—heartily, with gusto..." With nothing pressing at hand, Raventa went back to his previous glee, and the feast continued.