New Hunter

Ronan sat in his throne, his cheek resting on his palm as he stared off into the grand throne room; None of the decor or fanciful architecture interested him though, he was horrifically bored out of his mind. If it weren't for this stupid meeting about "new work", he'd likely be outside training with the other recruits, or running through the woods... Instead, he was stuck here listening to his father's babble. People came in and out of the throne room, all sorts of professions and people, but he didn’t seem to care about any of them, they weren’t of any importance in his mind.

Ronan held back a groan as he slouched further in his throne, the overwhelming sense of monotony overcame the discomfort of his tailbone that was pressed against the cold metals of his seat. His cheek switched hands to let its previous column rest, as he stared out into the grand, ornate room. The once beautiful and captivating tapestries and towering columns now felt dull. None of this once wonderous décor could hold his interest anymore; he felt like a wild dog in an ornate cage—a beast, meant to be free, trapped behind beautifully disguised prison bars.

His father, Cormac, sat beside him; his figure was imposing and serious as ever as he glanced at the young prince. "I know yer not interested in these matters, but they're importan', Ronan." His voice, deep and usually commanding, was softer; yet it still held that gravel that could turn wheat into flour. “The people come from all over th’ place to offer their services, it’s our job as rulers to give them a chance.”

Cormac’s dark hair was slicked back, tucked under his elaborately decorated crown, and his deep blue eyes felt like an icy spear through Ronan’s spirit. He sat tall and proud in his elegant throne, his scarred hands gripping the end of the armrests tightly, as if bracing himself for something. Ronan always wondered why his father always had that tight grip, even in the most relaxed situations; maybe it was because of the stresses of being a king…

Ronan sighed and glanced at the King, his eyes practically glazed over with the purest boredom anyone could see. "I know, I know..." He sat back upright, but only to take the pressure off his aching tailbone, he soon slouched down again, with his arms resting on his knees. "Why do we need so many new people anyway? We have enough people to do those duties needed, what’s the point in hiring more of them?"

Aisling's voice piped up, the queen’s soft soft chuckle at Ronan's response filling his ears and causing him to look over at her. “You can never have too much help when it’s needed, Ronan. If yer so bored, how abou’ you read off th’ next name, hm? I’m sure you’ll like them.” She handed over the list, each name scribbled neatly in a list on the small stack of paper; half of the names were already crossed out, the rest had the names, professions, and who they were the children of written in a neat orderly fashion. Ronan assumed it was the Advisor, Nimue, who wrote this.

Aisling was known as a rare beauty; fiery red hair fell down her shoulders, decorated with golden chains and clips that made her head look like it was lit like a bonfire. Her soft brown eyes resembled the same amber colors that wolves possessed, and shined with a kind yet not-so-merciful demeanor.

Ronan huffed before taking the list, scanning the names before finding the next one, though he was mostly paying attention to profession. "Hm... Darragh, a hunter, son of Oisín." At least this next one sounded somewhat interesting; a hunter? That was a job he could get behind, hopefully this hunter would be as impressive as the prince thought.

Ronan watched as the next person walked up to the three thrones, the man's appearance immediately piquing Ronan's interest. The man before him was tall, slim, yet athletic; his skin was darkened by the sun, and beads of sweat shimmered in the light that came from both the windows and candles. A large buck was laying across the hunter's shoulders, and yet somehow, he carried it as if it was nothing more than a chicken. Darragh soon knelt at the king and queen's feet, his golden hair flopping into his eyes as he stared at the floor. Ronan leaned forward again, trying to take in every detail of the new arrival; He hadn't seen him around before, not even during his treads through the main village, was he new to the kingdom? The fact he could lift a deer so effortlessly was both impressive and intimidating for reasons the prince couldn't describe, he almost felt jealous of such natural strength.

“Your… Your Highness, your Majesties, it is an honor to be here.” Darragh spoke, his voice trembled nervously, contrasting his strong and unbreakable appearance. “I… Brought this buck, as a sign of my skill.” He adjusted the buck on his shoulders before dropping it onto the stone flooring next to the rug that lined the walkway from the thrones to the door.

Ronan was about to speak, but his mother managed to speak first, rising from her throne and beckoning towards the young hunter, causing him to stand shakily. “You don’t have to be so nervous, son of Oisín, we don’t bite.” She smiled, although the disgust was clear as she saw the dead buck so close to her. She stepped away from the dead animal and kept her smile.

“Oh—no, no, no! I’m no’— I’m jus’ a little tired is all…” Darragh laughed nervously, seeing the queen’s reaction and going to pick the buck up again. “It took a long while to get this buck here, I took th’ trail by foot.” He grunted as he lifted the buck into his arms, holding it as if he was holding a baby, and stepped back from the throne. Of course, Ronan could see the hunter struggle, but he wasn’t going to outright ask if he needed assistance.

“By foot?” Cormac asked with an amused tone, almost as if he didn’t believe a word of what Darragh had said. After a moment, he crossed one leg over the other, shaking his head with a grin; Ronan always found the way Cormac smiled almost supernatural—years of age suddenly wiped away with that cocky grin he always managed to perfect. “If I was yer age, it would've taken me days to carry a dope like tha’.”

“Did you kill it yourself?” Ronan finally got the chance to speak, the question spilling out without much forethought. He wanted to ask the hunter many different things, but right now, asking more practical questions felt like the smarter move. He couldn’t stop looking between Darragh and the buck, was it too obvious? He hoped it wasn’t or at least that the hunter and his parents were too preoccupied with each other to notice.

Darragh paused, blinking a few times as he looked at the prince, his emerald eyes blank and wide like a deer who had heard a stick snap in the middle of an open wood. Ironic, since the glassy-eyed stare of the dead buck in his arms had a similar appearance. “Yeah, course I did… Did… Did you doubt me, your Highness?”
Ronan felt his cheeks flush, leaning back in his seat and trying to discreetly hide his face in his crown. He heard his parents snicker at his mistake, the sound only working to deepen his feelings of embarrassment and need to sink into the floor and disappear. After a few moments of awkward silence, Ronan felt the elbow of his father poke its way into his arm, beckoning him to speak. “N…No, of course I wasn’t doubtin’ you…” Ronan murmured, unable to raise his voice any higher, “It’s just… Impressive.”

Ronan listened to Cormac as he spoke up again, his deep voice returning to the usual commanding presence he normally had, it was almost relieving to the prince to have his father take over the conversation again. “Alright, movin’ on… If ya did in fact kill tha’ there stag, I doubt you’ll have trouble with a lil test o’ ours? Just ta make sure you’re actually tellin’ th’ truth here, that’s all Ronan here meant.”

The prince peeked from under his crown to see Darragh nodding, a thoughtful and contemplative look on his face. “Aight, sounds fair ‘nough t’ me I suppose…” The hunter looked between the three royals sitting on their thrones, Ronan could see the excitement in his eyes, even if Darragh was hiding it behind a facade of calmness. “I’m sure I’ll impress ya!”