Feather Light

Chapter Four

The platform groaned and the gears around them began to turn, lifting the platform. "So this is how they got down from their little tree houses," Xagok grumbled quietly, though in the tight space, Rogan could hear him clearly.

As they reached the top, the platform coming to a groaning halt, the door opened in front of them. In front of them was Incycita Sarven and his children. "I hope the ride was pleasant," Sarven greeted warmly as the orcs dismounted their horses and stepped out of the lift. Xagok grunted in response. Xagok turned his head, peering at Rogan, and motioned for him to come forward.

"This is Rogan, my youngest as promised." Sarven nodded and stepped forward, his hand raised for a handshake. "Nice to meet you." Rogan took his hand and shook it firmly, nodding his head. Sarven stepped back and gestured to the shorter boy next to him. "This is my son, Feyrith."

Feyrith looked at Rogan and he couldn't help but think he was quite handsome. He was much shorter than the other orcs, standing about six or seven feet tall. He was bare-chested with a fur cape around his shoulders, brown trousers, and black leather boots, like the other males in his party. His black hair was shaved on the sides with shoulder-length hair resting freely at his shoulders. His tusks were much smaller, just barely taller than his upper lip.

His brown eyes were much softer than his father's beside him. His greenish-grey skin was littered with scars. His torso was strong, his muscles bulbous and powerful looking. There was a scar running down his stomach to the hem of his trousers, which were straining to contain his powerful legs. Feyrith snapped out of his daze and stepped forward, offering his hand to Rogan, who took it gently and kissed it softly.

Rogan had noticed the omega checking him out. He felt proud that his future wife (was that the right term?) approved of his appearance. He couldn't help but look the omega over as well. Feyrith was dressed up today. His father had wanted him to get used to dressing more femininely, so he wore an emerald evening gown that swept the floor, black heels, and silver earrings inlaid with precious moon stones.

Rogan thought Feyrith looked breathtaking and he couldn't help but smirk slightly at the omega. "It is nice to meet you," He said, his voice gruff and deep. "Likewise," Feyrith breathed, praying it wasn't obvious that he very much enjoyed the sound of Rogan's voice despite the obvious disinterest in it.

Haryk breathed, preparing to speak, when Feyrith shushed him. "He was being rude!" Haryk hissed, "So what? Do you want to jeopardize the treaty?" Haryk shut his mouth at that. Rogan looked between the two for a moment, trying to discern what they were talking about before deciding it was none of his business. That or he'd simply ask later.

"Feyrith, please show your fiancée around the enclave, and show him to his room as well." Sarven said, his tone bordering the same tone he used to speak to the servants.

Feyrith nodded and turned to walk away. "Right this way," he called over his shoulder. Rogan felt as though his feet were being pulled along by the omegan elf. He could hear his siblings laughing quietly at how taken he seemed to be with his betrothed. Rogan couldn't be bothered to care about them, after all, being taken with this omega was a good thing considering that they would be married in only a few days.

Feyrith showed him to the training grounds, the dining hall, the library, all be it reluctantly, and his room next to Feyrith's own. "This is your room," Feyrith explained to Rogan "it is only temporary. After the wedding, you and I will share my room next door." Rogan nodded, thanking Feyrith who left afterward.

As Feyrith walked away from Rogan's room, Haryk pulled him aside, concern etched on his face. "Why did you let him talk to you like that, Feyrith? He's a guest in our home."

Feyrith sighed, his gaze flickering toward Rogan's room. "It's a delicate situation, Haryk. I don't want to jeopardize the treaty. We need their cooperation, even if it means tolerating a bit of rudeness."

Haryk's expression hardened with disagreement, but he relented, realizing that Feyrith was right.

A few moments later, a few servants brought his bags to his room and he waved them away. He began to unpack his things, tucking his clothes in the wardrobe. Time seemed to fly away from him as soon he was nearly done unpacking his things when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he called. The door opened to reveal his mother standing there.

She stepped inside closing the door behind her, and walked over to where Rogan sat on the bed. "You know you were a little rude to the elf earlier."

"Was I? I didn't mean to be."

"It was subtle, but there, it was what he spoke about with his brother." Borzul sat down next to him and took his hand in hers.

"Rogan," she began, her voice carrying a tone of guidance. "This may not have been your choice, but you must learn to be gentle with Feyrith and his people. This alliance is crucial for both orcish and elven prosperity. Find something unexpected in this arrangement, my son. It might be more than you anticipate."

Rogan looked away from his mother, down to his hands that rested in his lap. He had always been much more gentle than his siblings. His mother patted his hands and stood to leave. His mother's words lingered in the air as she left his temporary dwelling, her footsteps echoing softly against the wooden planks. Alone in the dimly lit room, Rogan pondered her advice, his thoughts a tumultuous sea of conflicting emotions.

He reclined on the simple bed, staring up at the ethereal patterns created by the glow of enchanted orbs on the ceiling. The room, though crafted with elven magic, felt foreign, an unfamiliar space in the heart of the Lymsia Woods.

The weight of his mother's words settled upon Rogan's shoulders, stirring a mix of contemplation and reluctance within him. Being the more gentle of his siblings had always set him apart, a trait that sometimes clashed with the expectations of orcish leadership. Yet, now faced with the necessity of forging an alliance with the elves, that very quality seemed to be a potential source of strength.

As the evening descended into night, Rogan joined the elven royals for dinner. The atmosphere in the grand hall was cordial, with Feyrith and his family extending hospitality despite the underlying tensions. The aroma of elven delicacies wafted through the air, a blend of flavors that spoke of a culture so different from Rogan's own.

Throughout the meal, Rogan observed Feyrith, the elven Ignacio who seemed to carry the weight of duty with a graceful resilience. The conversation, though polite, echoed with the nuances of diplomacy, each word carefully chosen to maintain the fragile alliance.

After the dinner, Rogan returned to his temporary room. The soft glow from the orbs cast a gentle ambiance as he lay on the bed, his mother's words echoing in his mind. He thought about the potential for unexpected discoveries in this unfamiliar alliance, about the untapped strength within the more gentle aspects of his nature.

The enchanted room, designed with elven magic, seemed to offer a moment of reflection. Rogan stared at the patterns of light on the ceiling, contemplating the complexities of the path laid before him. Rogan stood from the bed, changing into his nightclothes and climbed into bed. The soothing sounds of the woodland creatures winding down into slumber and the melody of the wind rustling the leaves lulled his mind into a deep sleep.