[flutegirl_132]: 508.Chapter One: Message

The sun was just beginning to set when the first drunkard slowly staggered out of ‘The Bloody Rose’.
Alatariel let out a sigh of relief and picked up the few silver coins he had placed on the counter. Once one left, the rest would follow and she wouldn’t have to put up with their loud bragging and occasional fistfights.
She slowly scanned the dimly lit room, her deep emerald eyes lingering on a few tables that needed cleaning.
Picking up a damp rag, she walked around the wooden counter and began wiping down a table near the back.
“Excuse me, Miss,” a soft, gentle voice whispered.
She turned to see who had spoken and found herself facing a cloaked stranger sitting alone in a dark corner. She had not noticed him earlier and did not recognize him as one of the tavern’s usual patrons.
His face was hidden beneath his midnight black cloak and she could just see the tip of a sheathed sword at his side. One gloved hand rested near a cup of untouched Ale on the counter and the other was hidden inside of his cloak.
“How may I help you, sir?” she asked warily.
“Are you not known as Alatariel Falassion?” His voice had dropped so low that it was barely audible.
She hesitated before answering. Who was he to know her name?
“Aye, It is.”
He slowly pulled his hand out of his cloak and handed her a rolled up parchment.
“Give this to your Aunt. Do NOT read it and do NOT let anyone else see it.”
She took the parchment from his hand and nodded, confused.
He stood, dropping three gold coins on the table and swept out of ‘The Bloody Rose’, his long cloak trailing behind him.
She stood there, mind racing with questions and confusion.
Who was he?
How did he know my name?
How did he know I can read?
She pocketed the coins and studied the message in her hand. She could read it... Or, she could give it to her Aunt and erase it from her mind.
Her eyes glistened a she sat down at the table and unrolled the parchment. She allowed her long, brown, curly hair to fall into her face as she secretly read the neatly written letters.
‘They Are Coming’…
That was it. It said nothing more and nothing less.
‘They Are Coming’…
“But what does that mean?” she muttered, rolling it back up.
Who are coming? And why?
She sat there, lost in her thoughts until she heard her Aunt coming down the stairs that led to their living quarters.
She jumped up and hid the parchment up her dress sleeve, wiping down the table as if nothing had happened.
“Alatariel, look at this place! What on earth have you been doing?”
She looked up to see her Aunt glaring at her from the stairway. Her stern blue eyes looked tired and her long silver hair was pulled back in a bun.
“I-I was just cleaning this table, Aunt Mia.” She replied.
“Well, this place is a mess! Look at the dirt on the floor and the cups all over the tables! This place used to be, and look, so respectable when your Uncle was…” She broke off suddenly and turned to stumble back upstairs, leaving the young fifteen year old to clean.
It had been a year since her uncle had died and still her Aunt had not gotten over it. There were some nights when Alatariel would pass her Aunts room and hear her talking to him, though he was not there. She used to be so patient and kind, but time and loss had made her grow colder.
She sighed and pulled out the parchment.
What do I do with this?
She walked over to a small candle and held the paper up to the flame until it caught fire. Then, she watched it burn until it was reduced to ashes, never to be read again.