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She reminded him of a red-breasted robin, proud but incredibly tiny. She wore her auburn hair in the style of most girls her age, which translated to wild and untameable. Her unpinned locks shielded him from seeing her face, but he blamed the southern winds coming off the coast for this inability. The salty sea air whirled around his cloak and through his hair, short cropped though it was. He sat with his family in the open Great Hall, each seated on a carved wooden throne, stoic and imposing, all assembled to greet the small child before them. He felt, rather than saw, their royalty pulsing from them like the current off the coast of Meer. His father, the brave Chancellor of Meer, Saelen Seaborn, sat silent and strong, a silver circlet adorning his short, sandy hair. His brothers, the twins, Dallon and Kallon, were characteristically beaming their bright smiles, their matching expressions full of humor and mischievousness.
Skimming over them, his sea-green eyes missed nothing, taking in all of what he could of this new arrival. From what he could see of her skin, it was a warm brown. The rest of her body was layered in thick, frost-retardant cloth - caribou hide, perhaps? He squinted in the early morning light, seeing her eyes appear under her layers and layers of curly hair. Amber. Like two bright and shining pieces of precious jewels. Interesting. She spotted him staring at her, and her gaze tripped to his. Was she blushing? Although he was the youngest, he knew that even being so, the rank in his family was not without its advantages. Even as the youngest, he was still a prince.
He held his head higher, matching the courageous defiance in the young girls gaze. She blinked, twice, a small smile quirking on her plump lips. He went back to analyzing the rest of her features. Under the caribou hide, she was petite for her fifth age. Two ages younger than he, but she held herself well, he supposed. Considering she wasn’t royalty, he mused, she might be confused for a princess herself. He chanced another glance at his own royal bloodline. His mother rose gracefully from her throne, tall and impervious. Her royal Counselor’s crown glinted in her blonde, sun-kissed hair, woven into intricately-braided golden strands encircling her head.
“We greet you, Farrow Flameborn, daughter of the North.” Sita Seaborn’s voice sang out in the hall, a siren’s beautiful song. Her sea-green eyes were wise and full of warmth. “We heartily welcome to our humble southern land. We will serve your life with ours, Iceheart.” The girls eyes widened at this, the familiar nickname that Mother used, the one granted to the Northern peoples. The title seemed to strike a chord in her small being.
“Tha-thank you, your Majesty.” The girl, Farrow, stuttered, shifting awkwardly to bend into a vague representation of a bow. He tried hard to stifle his laughter. Her many layers of caribou hide were impeding her progress and she resembled an off kilter sane crane. Righting herself, and with an impish smirk at Hallon, she gave the royal family of Meer the expected symbol of respect. She pressed the two fingers on her left hand to her lips and then to her brow. When she finished, there was stubborn set to her jaw and her eyes, once bright, now burned passionately.
“I thank your Majesties. As I, too, will serve my life for yours.”
Hallon decided then and there he was going to like this small stranger.
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