
Third Person Narration - High Fantasy IP / Novelization / Character Concepts
Character introduction created for unnamed tabletop RPG module in early dev with provided world parameters. (*shared with permission)
“She’ll never wait a year, not when she has the eye of every guy from here to Kathar.” Garron fell limp into a velvet padded chair as if his very soul had been torn from his body. Beams of afternoon sunlight draped across his wan face, giving the whole scene a sense of beatific tragedy. “I don’t even know why she’s with me.”
“Because…” Altia let her reason hang unsaid in the air between them until her brother was forced to glance upwards. “She loves you?”
“For now.” Garron lurched forward to cradle his head on the table, causing a lock of blond hair to pull free from its tie and drape across his elbow. He wasn’t usually given to such dramatics, but the reality of his situation felt inescapable. At this time tomorrow, he’d be aboard a ship bound for the other side of the continent.
Altia poured a cup of tea and nudged it across the table before refilling her own. Her brother was right, of course, someone like Thalia Avanier would never wait around that long, but what he didn’t need was pitiful commiseration. “Why do you think it’ll be a year? With the way your father spoke, it sounded like nothing more than a polite invitation. I imagine it’ll be two, maybe three months at most?”
Garron let out a sigh before patting around for the offered cup like a blind beggar. The warmth of the porcelain in his fingers seemed to reanimate his manners as he sat up straight. “What’s the quickest path to Farron?”
Altia shrugged. “Travel caravan by way of the Raven?”
“Exactly! So why order me aboard some privateer ship that must sail four times that distance? Mark my words, he wants Thalia to leave me.”
“Of course he does,” Altia said and immediately wished she’d stayed quiet, even if it was the truth. Why would Lord Haver wish to see any of his sons married into some merchant family when they could be joining with nobility instead? Three sons meant three chances to gain greater legitimacy for the Haver name, even Altia saw the gain and she wasn’t even a recognized member of the family.
Garron took a measured sip of his tea before nudging aside the gauzy curtain to stare upon the harbor. Altia followed his gaze to a large three-mast ship with red sails—the Rising Crest had just come into port. “I don’t know what to do. I love her, Altia, and I would marry her right now if it wouldn’t mean her reputation.”
Altia raised her cup to her lips to stall for time and to take one last measure of her brother’s suffering. Had she ever seen him so distraught, or so earnest? After nearly two years of courting Thalia, it was clear Garron loved her and that she would make a good wife despite their father’s increasing disapproval. The whole situation seemed so needlessly cruel, especially over something so ignoble as politics. After all, it wasn’t as if the old blood of Vahlen would ever send their prime daughters to a backwater like Newgate, and especially not for anything less than an prime heir.
Which meant that Garron would be sacrificing his happiness for nothing.
“What if I went in your place?” Altia reached for a biscuit and quickly dunked it into her tea to hide the nervous tremble. “I’ve always wanted to see Farron.”
“How can you do that? You savage.” Garron said in a convincing approximation of their father. “A proper lady does not dunk their food.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a lady or I’d be discovered for sure.” Altia stared at the chunk of cookie floating atop her tea and shrugged before fishing it out with her fingers. “Hand over some of your clothes and no one would even know the difference.”
Garron laughed, but then noticed the daydreaming look in his sister’s eyes that oft precluded one of her wild schemes. “You’re not joking, are you? You actually mean this?”
Altia gathered her haired back against the nape of her neck in imitation of her brother’s style. “And why not? Everyone says we’re practically twins, and it’s not like anyone would notice my disappearance anyway. Just bribe my tutors with a few months wages and they’ll stay quiet.”
“No. It would never work, and I refuse to entertain this further. Sending you to Farron, alone, would be— “
“Boring? Stuffy? Please, do spare me from night after night of feasting and drinking with the boys.”
“Dangerous, Altia. It could be dangerous. Once Maybridge catches on that we’re trying to further ally ourselves with Farron, there could be serious trouble.”
“If there’s such risk, then father shouldn’t be risking you either! With Darion fighting in the south, and you in Farron, that leaves Gideon in charge.”
Garron looked away and gave a somber nod. Gideon could barely take care of himself most days, let alone rule Newgate should their father’s health continue to deteriorate. If only the simpleton were the least bit capable of diplomacy, he could have been sent to Farron instead, but such an idea was more fanciful than sending Altia.
Still, she raised a concerning point. If something were to happen to him in Farron, and Darion while fighting with the capital forces, it could mean the end of House Haver.
Altia’s shrewd eyes read every thought as it crossed her brother’s features, waiting for the precise moment to speak. “So, we’re agreed then?”
“What? No! Altia, listen to me— “
“Garron, please. I’ve spent days thinking this through and I want to do this for you. If you hadn’t spoken up for me years ago, who knows where I’d be now.” Though Altia could see cracks forming in her brother’s refusal, she knew she’d have to slice much deeper if she had any hope of convincing him. “After all, this world usually offers only one path for bastards of the wrong sex.”
A flash of fury crossed Garron’s features at the implication. “I would never have let that happen to you, and neither would father.”
“You, no,” Altia reached across the table and grabbed her brother’s hand affectionately. “But if not for the undeniable resemblance, it would have been easier for father to refuse my existence rather than endure the scandal of his unfaithfulness.”
“Like anyone even cared,” Garron refuted, though they both knew it was a lie. If they lived in Farron or the capital, perhaps his statement might be true, but not when they shared borders with two devoutly religious and powerful kingdoms. Though she’d never admit it to her brother, Altia oft wondered how close she’d come to trading a closet of silk dresses for a slit throat.
“I’m grateful for everything I’ve been given, but I’m little more than a guest here and largely invisible to everyone but you. Let me do this one thing in return, and if I’m successful, maybe it’ll prove my worth to our father too. You know he’ll never give me an opportunity on his own and will likely marry me off to the first fisherman he finds once I come of age in a few months.”
“Altia…”
“Garron, I can do this, you know I can, and you deserve to be happy too. Just take Thalia to Kathar, enjoy an extended holiday and I’ll send word for you to return once I’ve finished in Farron. A few weeks at sea, followed by another week or two of feasting and I’ll be on my way back home. It’s the perfect plan, you’ll see.”
Garron’s face was a mask of consternation as he considered the possibilities; of marrying Thalia and of seeing Altia finally granted the name she always deserved. If it were only his own selfish desires, he would have rejected the idea outright, but his sister was right, she would never be given a chance like this by their father.
Garron removed his signet and stared at the crisscrossing pattern of scratches before sliding it across the table. “This should have been yours a long time ago, and I’m giving it to you now without any expectation that you carry through on this insane plan. Take the night to think about it and if you change your mind, I’ll be the one on that ship in the morning.”
Altia stared at the ring set between them, each scratch representative of the years she’d struggled to be worthy but never seen. With the hesitation of a wary deer, she reached across the table before dragging the gold signet with one finger. Touching the ring made the proposal real; of all the lies she’d have to tell, and of the dangers she’d face should anyone discover the truth of who she really was. In fact, there was no telling what Lord Farron might do if she were exposed. What would she say? Certainly not the truth; such a deception could ruin relations between their two kingdoms. If she did this, she would be doing it alone and the sudden realization made her courage waver.
“Let me see it on your finger,” Garron urged with a gesture to the ring Altia held in her palm. “If it’s too large, I’ll bring it to the goldsmith tonight.”
Altia looked down to the dream she held in her hand, and then to her brother who was smiling for the first time in weeks. She knew then that there would be no going back and slipped the signet onto her ring finger.
“It seems a little loose. Give it here and I’ll take care of it.” Garron reached out his hand, but Altia withdrew from his grasp.
“No, I don’t want to change a thing,” she said and moved the ring to her middle finger. “There. It’s perfect.”
Garron motioned for his sister’s hand and inspected every angle of the signet’s fit before nodding his agreement. “Are you sure about this, Altia? As a representative of Newgate, you might be called upon to make important decisions and you mustn’t show any hesitation or weakness. Though Farron and Newgate are linked through blood, they won’t hesitate to use your age and inexperience to secure what they want.”
“I know what’s at stake. Our relationship with Farron keeps Maybridge off our heels and I will ensure it stays that way.”
Garron stared at his sister, committing every detail to memory for the long months she’d be away. “In all likelihood, you’ll be paired with Lord Farron’s younger son, Arrand, who seems little more than a laggard and a drunk. Talk as little as possible, listen to everything he says, and do whatever it takes to gain his loyalty. With their own prime heir fighting for the capital as well, it’s possible that you’ll be befriending the next lord of Farron should the southern offensive go awry.”
Altia took in the last of her brother’s advice and gave a determined nod before letting her eyes drift back to the signet on her finger. None of it seemed real.
“I’ll pack everything else you’ll need and have it brought down to the harbor,” Garron assured before setting his hand atop hers. “Wear this well in your service to Newgate, Altia Haver, and return home to us safe.”