Chapter four: Rags to stitches (2)

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This is the second time he's pleased today, and Solaith Fierce doesn't get pleased. His features are daunting, from the scowl present in his eyes to the vigor and potency of his voice—a tenor of reverberation and mastery, interwove in each other. His appearance can be labeled as one who knows naught but pain, war, survival, not to discourse of his figure.

In his casing are tattoos that show his many triumph, Solaith believes that in the eyes of the United Lands, he looks like a maniac, a pariah, an outcast of civilization. And thus, he begins to wonder if Mona also had that initiative in her thoughts when she saw him today.

Contrasting to how one of his many abilities is to read the mind of people through their eyes, he couldn't find the stark-naked veracity in her eyes. Solaith can only remember how striking and serene it settled, like she didn't just meet him.

In his nature, he is holding unto a tottering string encircled by the insecurities he once faced from society; he believes that people will judge him for who he used to be and what he has become. And what he is searching for so badly is to find that mien, that one that would tell she's judging him too.

Solaith expects her to be maddened that her grandfather would be joining her hand with his. "He, a man who was used to be nothing but a servant, a champion now, but one that has too many scars and wounds." He has also heard that the King's second son, Prince Berkha has taken a fancy to her.

"If this Mona is an ambitious woman, her chances to get exceeding could miscarry with him, he could perchance soil her standing with his past, so where was that state of aghast that he expected."

Solaith gazes at himself in the large vintage mirror as he adjusts his collar, he is dressed in a light cream, unbleached suit made in one hundred percent satin material and embroidered in authentic black work. Following the charismatic piece, is a pair of leather pants of fine work matching his leather lace up boots.

This is not all Solaith's panache, but he can make do with it since the shirt leaks his torso, it is definitely not United Lands idea of being an aristocrat or gentleman, but he couldn't care less if they thought he was crude. They would judge him nevertheless.

The light in his chambers are dim, evening has drawn and it is the interval for him to head over to the fete inaugurated for he and his clansman. His eyes peers around the almost furniture room before he strides out.

The clansmen of the Sokha tribe are outside the newly owned estate given to him, the redeemer of the United Lands. Solaith was gifted acres of lands, horses, gold and all he never thought he would never own. And just like him, his comrades who wrestled beside him were also given titles, and proclaimed as heroes of the Sokha clan.

They now have a significant position in matters that concern their clan after several years of struggle and massive bloodshed that almost wiped them out of the surface of the earth.

It is time for them to have their own conquerors, ones that sustained the bulwarks of their tribe. And the forename connected to this glory is Solaith; it will run in history and generations to come.

Solaith treads out of his abode with his hands freely resting on his waist, it is the first time that he is without sword and he does need something to caress. About fifteen men fall on their knees when they see his incoming presence and he feels respected.

He looks up to the cloudless sky while standing before them.

"Rise."

He utters in a spontaneous tone that is dissimilar to his customary menacing rasp as he soars onto the primed mount, the men all upsurge on their feet and ascent their horses too. Behind him is Reshnok, a pal and fellow comrade who has been through thick and thin with Solaith, they were both mendicants of a fallen nation and Solaith was one who overextended a hand to pick him up even when he himself was still a beggar.

"Very ravishing, I must say." Solaith hides his scowl when he hears Reshnok's contribution to his outfit. As usual the impudent fellow will never cease the opportunity to raise an uncalled suggestion.

"General Udon must be at the ball by now, it wouldn't be unwise if we delay, and we wouldn't want the Aurora household to worry of our presence either."

"You don't say." Solaith's voice this time has a mix of menace to it, but Reshnok is safe, Solaith won't bite him.

The man with pitch black eyes that could melt ice kicks his steed and charges along the pathway followed by his aids.

In few minutes, he would be meeting that woman of color—his eyes would be on her honey skin that made the sun seem useless, her sea green eyes that he couldn't decipher. What would she look like again? Today, in front of the aristocrats of the United Lands, they will proclaim their engagement to all tribes.

His tribe's folk will be there to congratulate him on his engagement and victory that he brought to their kinfolk, and amidst all the grandeur, an undertaking will be borne. Solaith knows this troth is merely to appease the hearts of the Sokha people on the tactics of vengeance that they may harbor in their fraternities, and they are right.

But there is a superior reason why he will join in matrimony with Mona. A reason so deep rooted that the mere thought of it buckles his knee. Someone in that household has something to do with it and he will not repose until they pay in full price.

"Blood for blood."

After minutes of passing through vast routes in the direction for the venue of his inauguration, Solaith descents from the horse as more than a few escorts gather around him for an imposing entrance. He can see the glistens and allure from where he stands; it looks like different world. They take charge of his mount and the announcer readies himself to call upon the appearance of the savior of the United Lands.

After gawking back and seeing his troupe behind him, Solaith braces himself for the gazes that all and sundry would give him. In any second he would be walking into this majestic presence with the attendance of aristocratic people, noble men and women.

He squeezes his fist before he gestures the announcer to call upon him. And there he goes...

"General Solaith Fierce, savior of the United Lands and soldier from Sokha clan!"

Solaith treads his feet upon the floor of ball and the silence breaks the entire hall, he rears his eyes to the great number of people who have their sights on him, and slightly crushes his fist to comprehend that he was actually facing judgment. Before he can even take another step, a resounding clap seals the atmosphere of the room shadowed by a resonating cheer towards him and his men.

He didn't expect it, even as he was called savior of the United Lands.

Solaith didn't think that people would cheer him on like this, he was looking at everyone's expressions and they were grinning as they continue to cheer and praise him, this lasted for more minutes.

A blonde haired man comes out from the esteemed crowd and makes his way towards Solaith with his hands stretched out.

"Welcome Solaith Fierce, I am Lord Tako."

Solaith collects Lord Tako's outstretched hand with disbelieve that all these people that pucker around him really care celebrate him, he, an indigent. His eyes are still static on the crowd who are still beholding him, some have beams on their faces and it is a complete shock to what he actually thought about these aristocrats.

"Please, come with me. Lord Messiah Aurora and his family have reserved seats for the whole troupe."

"Including General Udon, he waits for your presence too."

Solaith nods in response as he follows in suit.

As he strides, he sees noble men and women nod at him with unsaid greetings, if he thought the prior place spoke aristocracy. Then, he was wrong cause inside this was the real world, everything was scintillating with civilization, and Solaith had never been close to anything like this in his life. All he has seen was blood, and dust.

Everything in general has tinsel and gold, the ornaments on their necklines and collars, the tables are occupied with people clad in best clothing and silver. Their possessions spoke volumes, and he is still in shock of why he, a vagrant, breath the same air as them.

My lord? Lord Tako says to Messiah Aurora, but Solaith hasn't caught an air of what is in front of him yet. He is still diverted by the highlights of this room that he cannot cognize that he is at the table of the Aurora household.

The table that had Mona, Mona Aurora his betroth.