The Nomination

The Honored Sir Argen Teyr walked in his formal blues brusquely to the quarters he shared with his wife. The silky blue garments whisked lightly with the quickness of his steps. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he leaned against the wall in a brief pause. The ruling council had nominated him to be the First, and he had declined. He was a swordsman, a soldier, not a politician. He was a pretty young face they thought they could control to their own ends, a hero to the people, like Steven before him. Akin to Steven, he politely, firmly demurred.