DamyenMature

The throne room was immense. Most Lord’s Halls were big, this was much bigger, and it was old. Damyen had read that when the Magorians first migrated north from Aridia, they built three major constructions, Karamalakos in Corivine of Eastguard, Isolea beside it and this one. The first and last were so large that when the Louenans fled from Old Land, Karamalakos, which was built into the cliffs, became a city in its own right, and this unnamed construction became the beginnings of the capital. Isolea had long ago crumbled to the foot of its mountain, so that mountain had been named Isolea in its honour and a new city was built there designed in the style of the surviving Magorian constructs. As such, the architectural brilliance of the Magorians was astounding and here he was, standing in the proof of it. He had never actually been in the throne room, yet it was the most wonderful section. It was not surprising that the Louenites had tried to replicate the Magorian designs.
            The columns were so tall they had the feeling of closing inwards when you looked up, the ceiling was so far away it was difficult to see, yet the space in the ceiling between each pillar was curved like a dome, the pillars themselves intricately carved from a marble stone and inlaid with jewels and gold shaped into intricate patterns with the shapes so varied that it was amazing the things stood up at all, let alone supported the roof. What really stood out was the sheer scale.
            Statues adorned much of the free space. On the left side where statues of the Magorians, tall, noble figures too numerous and detailed to describe. On the right stood the Louenan Kings that had lived here in the four hundred years.
            It was a long walk until Damyen finally reached the throne itself, on a platform like the Lords’ seats, but the platform was much higher, stone archways surrounded it and tapestries hung down at the side depicting the silver owl of the King’s house. From a perch high up, an actual tawny owl looked down and watched Damyen. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable as those deep brown eyes stared unblinking.
            The throne of the King was made of stone; it was as if this whole building had been carved from a mountain. It would not have surprised Damyen, the castle was certainly tall enough to have been, and instead of a wooden stairway, this castle had a grand spiralling, stone one. The throne was far taller than a man, shaped like the bough of a tree with many rocky leaves and blooming flowers. It was magnificent to look upon.
            As Damyen waited for the King, he approached the foot of the steps. Something was calling to him, as he looked upon it. He had the strangest urge to sit on it, regardless of how uncomfortable he knew it would be. His hand reached towards it, unbidden. Should he do it, for one moment, sit on it?
            Damyen placed a foot on the steps.
            The owl hooted.
            His heart almost burst right there. He had to breathe for several moments before he regained his composure.
            What nonsense had taken a hold of him then?
            If his King had seen, he would have had his head chopped off, and for what, a moment of imagined pride?
            “Hello Lord of Drayvon. How may I help you?” A young voice spoke out.
            Damyen turned to see his King.

The End

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