Title // Checkmate
Chapter Title // Ch. 1 - Thorne ~ Beginnings
Warnings // Nothing too bad, though shounen ai/slash (male/male relationships) later, as well as a few suggestions earlier on. Possibly a few curse words.
Notes // This story takes place at an indefinite point in history in some screwed up universe! It will be told from three people's points of view, and will be divided up into chapters by the changing of views.

~~~

"Checkmate."
"Darn it . . . again?"
I never could win at chess. Still can't.

Thorne Delant, that's me all right. The knight who wasn't much of a knight, at that point (of course, I was only in training.) It all happened about 5 years ago, when I was 16 and rather full of myself, even if I had slain no dragons and hadn't left the town I had come from, which surrounded the castle. I was a common boy in a most uncommon place.

The castle was miraculous, and still is; the towers surrounding it (we called them rooks) are on odd platforms that allow them to move. Creepy, if you ask me. Like they were alive . . . the worst part is that they moan as they move, sounding like an army of undead beings. The rooks have scared away many a foe, except, of course, the Acerbus. The Acerbus are . . . or, rather, were, the opposite of our kingdom, Lumen. Dark people with dark minds, dark souls, and dark plots. Oh, and dark hair, but that's rather irrelevant. They seem to enjoy calling Lumen 'The Land of the Fools', which I find rather insulting, seeing as if we're fools to fools . . . well, that just makes the insult more insulting. Or invalid, because it's an assumption by fools.

'Enough of your young, insane ramblings!' my teacher would have said. But, he's not here, now is he? Ah! I should probably finish what I was saying before I lose it, because that would really show my stupidity. I have pure white hair . . . at that point in time it fell to just above my shoulders, and was always getting into my eyes. Vito, my teacher, threatened many times to cut it off, but I always ran away much too fast for him to catch me. Ah, the wonders of youth. We had a game of chess everyday, his vain attempt at teaching me a regional pastime and possibly some tactics. I lost every day, so it wasn't too much of a surprise when I did again that day.

"Thorne, really! My 7 year-old daughter can win a game of chess!"
"Congratulations, you have a very intelligent daughter."

I do believe I set him off one too many times . . . but he never hit, never yelled, never did anything too unreasonable. He just became quiet, and would send me to go and ride about on the practice field. Now that was something I could (and can still) do exceptionally well. My horse, Wadsworth (I did not name him . . . I promise you), is pure white, just as I, and a most elegant beast. Now, anyways. Then he was just as bad as I was, but still adequate. The practice field was where young knights-in-training were sent to practice their sword skills on a horse. Much to Vito's dismay, I insisted on leaping over all the dummies that were representing our front line, instead of learning to fight around them. Over was much easier than around.

A bell had tolled, then. Right before Vito was about to snap at me. His eyes had flicked upwards, but then off at an approaching guard whom everyone called Rory. I was not, and am still not, positive of what his actual name was before he came to the castle, but Rory worked just fine. At the moment of reaching us, he had handed Vito a small letter, marked with the seal of the king.

"His Majesty wishes to see your underling, Master Vito."

A prompt nod from my teacher, and I was sent off with Rory, silent and rather confused. It was not a normal thing for one such as myself to be called to an audience with the king, much less without another. I mused at the thought of him scolding me for breaking off the heads of most of the practice dummies because, on occasion, Wadsworth would get lazy and not lift his feet to the proper height. Upon reaching the throne room and moving inside, I heard two voices engaged in a most peculiar conversation.

"Aislinn! Her name will be Aislinn!"
"There are more pressing matters than naming your new horse, Alistair!"
". . . only here to ruin my fun, aren't you?"
"And to make sure you don't rename the country Greasemice or some other odd name."
"Quiet! I would never do that. Applesand is a much more fitting name for the kingdom."
All this was followed by a rather exasperated sigh from the second speaker. I didn't want to know.

"Your Majesty? I've brought Thorne, as you requested . . ."
Coming into view of the two men caused me to blink.

One had caramel colored hair . . . the darkest color I'd seen before, seeing as our kingdom was full of blondes and others with light hair. It was thin and smooth, glinting with cleanliness and falling just down to his shoulders, held back in a rather sloppy ponytail. He adorned a loose white shirt of an odd gauzy material, and rather tight black pants, cut off at mid-calf by sturdy boots. His emerald eyes looked rather perturbed. The other man was a different beast entirely. His hair was of a pale blue, thick and shining, falling all the way down to the floor in twisting curls, bands, braids . . . it was hard to make out where each section of hair began and ended. My mind chirped that it must have been very difficult to comb. This man was delicate and feminine, his eyes a vibrant blue, filled with childish joy, but also an odd hint of supreme intelligence and wisdom. His skin held almost no color, and thus his deep blue, rather deadly looking fingernails, stood out a great deal. He wore robes of white, trimmed with every shade of blue imaginable. Then I noticed a small crown on his head. I admit I almost fell over at that point. Sitting alongside the king's throne was a rather intricate marble chessboard.

"Damon! He's almost as cute as you are!"
The man who I then recognized as his advisor, made an annoyed snorting noise.
The king stood gracefully, giving a most friendly smile. I still have never seen one quite like it.

"Pleased to meet you, Thorne. I'm King Lumen, though I'd prefer you call me Alistair! That is my name, after all . . ." He paused, "I need your help, to tell the truth. My son was stolen away from us in the dead of night a few days ago by Acerbutts . . ." A glare from Damon, "…Acerbus. From what I've seen, you're an intelligent young man with potential. An unnatural amount, even if you don't know it. I would like you to go to the Acerbus kingdom in an attempt to retrieve my son. Unfortunately . . . it's not going to be an easy feat. Our castle is milling with traitors . . . their pawns. And, of course, there's always the need for planning, and a war is beginning. Things are not in the best of conditions . . ."

I'm sure you can all guess what happened next. I was a knight-in-training. I'd never seen the king. I'd never even left home. And suddenly I'm asked to go on a quest. A very important quest. I jumped at the opportunity to prove I was something more than a sloppy boy who broke dummies by the dozen.

"Y-yes! Of course, Sir! I mean Alistair! Or. . . Ali. . . star? Stair. . . ?" I was always very good at showing how smart I was. But Alistair didn't seem too miffed. He merely laughed, leaning on his cupped hands, elbows supported on his knees.

"A good choice, don't you think Damon? So adorable. . . spirited! And he has Wadsworth! I love Wadsworth. . . he's such a silly horse! Don't you agree, Damon, Thorne? So silly. . ." Damon cleared his throat. He made me a bit uneasy when I was younger. I later found out he was merely a gigantic troubled puppy, and nothing to be scared of.

"Thorne. . .I'll send someone to brief you in the morning. Explain all the details, see if there's anything you need. All of that. As for now. . . I suggest you go and relax. There might not be much time for that in the near future."

I nodded, giving an awkward bow, for I had never been in the company of any so much higher than myself, and walked smoothly from the room, leaving Alistair, Damon, and Rory to their own devices. I couldn't wait to go tell Vito.

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