The amount of detail in the training was daunting. It was an arduous process and often Iolas was up from dawn ‘til dark, crouched over the books of history. More than once did he find himself dozing. The news had come as much as a shock to him as it had to any others and yet if this was his duty, if this was what he was permitted to live for, then he would bend a knee to it. Recitations of kings, of important generals. Of battles. A more strict schoolmarm would have seen to rapping his knuckles til they split open for it was not his forte, rote memorization, so much as it was tactics and decisionmaking. But one must have the grounds established before one can begin to build upon them, Zanil had told him time and time (and time and time) again to his disdain. He was so weary of it, irritated, grunts and growls and yet there was a dedication within him. Something in this he had found gave him life.
For the first month or so, it was unsettling to see Iolas about the palace. There were many suspicious eyes upon him, ones that did not trust him. There were even frowns and whispers about questioning the choices of the advisor in taking him as a pupil and yet none were so audacious as to speak openly before himself or the king of these decisions. After all, they had been made with the blessing of the king and to undermine the king in a time of peace could very well be labeled as treason. Iolas watched from a high balcony, draped all in robes that were akin to those worn by Zanil during his time as advisor, as the wolves arrived and departed. They did not linger until spring as those of Vaira planned to, instead departing with a rapid turnaround. There were, after all, other wolves that waited for them within Vitnir hall--so Zanil had told him upon his first conversation with one of the residents of the fighter’s guild. His remark that they had the lingering odor of wet dog given the snow had not tided well for an initial friendship, but it was discarded easily enough. Residents of Vitnir Hall had, by and lard, heard it all before--it was notoriously difficult to offend or upset them, save for insulting their honor or one of their own. An offhanded dog joke? It scarcely even resulted in a raised eyebrow or a second glance. They were used to that even among their own kin.
“And where is their hall?” as Zanil joined him upon the balcony overwatching as their numbers departed from the castle. Undoubtedly, it would be considerably more quiet as they were now void of the rambunctious wolves.
With his own hands tucked into his sleeves to help alleviate the chill, there was a momentary pause as though he, himself, had to think of it. “Far southeast of the castle,” mused the man, “and well away from any cities, for their own safety and the safety of the people of the town. While all their fighters are notoriously kind, one cannot always be sure of what attention may be drawn to them, or the potential of things going wrong. A day’s ride from the border of Ludan, give or take, by my recollection. I have spent little time there for the kings rarely ride in that direction.”
“And they are under govern as well as any other citizen of Baiden?”
“You are more than capable of answering your own question.”
The more he had learned, the more he had learned to hate that particular phrase. It made his scarred face turn into an expression of distaste as he exhaled a sigh. “They are citizens under the Baidenese banner and so they are by law citizens of Baiden and must adhere to all rules applicable to their citizenship.”
“Very good.” Dark eyes rolled a bit as he was praised in a manner not unlike one would reward a child who answered a question correctly after a lecture. He righted himself from where he leaned on the snowy fence that kept him from tumbling off the balcony. His eyes were upon Zanil for the moment before he heaved a sigh. “I suppose you came to retrieve me to inform me that it is best that I return to my studies?”
“No.” This caused the scarred face’s expression to drop as his hands fell idle to his sides. “It is far beyond time for you to have a day of rest. You may read if you see fit, but it is a day off. Besides, you have seen little of Baiden outside of the castle and now it has been long enough and it is known well enough that you are under royal protection and decree that none will harm you. Do as you will for the day. We resume your studies tomorrow.”
Those assumptions and statements were true: very little of Iolas’s time had been spent outside the confines of the castle walls. Until it was the decision of Zanil, he had foreseen that all he would know of Baiden was indeed the cell that he was in. The idea had put him off, initially, and for very valid reason: much of his time was spent repenting. It was spent preparing for death. And when this death did not come, it was a shock to him. He attempted to rebel against it, but was at the mercy of the advisor. And, blessedly, even the guised god of death was fantastically merciful, if only because in the long run it would come to his benefit. So he had begun to learn.
“Do as I will?” His dark brows knit at the comment when Zanil spoke again.
“If it so happens that you will to stay inside and read further, I will not stop you. I merely suggested stepping out to see the city.”
“I miss the blade.”
The fur-trimmed cloak was drawn tighter around her frame which seemed to be growing greater as the weeks ticked on. There was a glow about her now, the one that was always describe of a woman with child. Silvya had returned to her and Brayden’s home, though they were still in frequent communications--the northern woman was growing even larger and there was a high suspicion of twins. It would not be surprising at all, as Brayden and Brenner had been the son of Clarent, a man who was one half of a set of twins. It ran in the family.
Beneath her boots crunched the snow of the morning, the sun shining off it and blinding those that were unfamiliar with how to cut their eyes from it. The hood draped over her curls of ebony helped curb at least a portion of the impact of the glare.
She lingered, at the moment, in the training area. The horses were away for the time being and it was occupied by Arric and Mercurius, for their training sessions had been frequent and intense as of late. This was what prompted the statement as a training dummy was firmly struck with one of the training blades. Not sharp, no, but more for learning the need of force and how to handle the recoil.
“I would hope that you would not lose all of your prowess by the time our child is born, Abigail,” stated Mercurius. He was on one side of the fence and she the other as he paced over the accumulation of snow towards her. Much of his time was spent with Arric, yes, but he did not squander time with his wife. Every morning, they ate together, and again at evenings. They spoke of politics, of councils, of Iolas’s training. In no way were they separate from one another more than they should have been which, to some, was in fact a surprise. The king had been at least somewhat reluctant to wed her, but they had been able to form at least some sort of a relationship. And a positive one, at that.
“I would happily be in your place if you would be in mine, Mercurius. I growy weary of the aches and weights of carrying a child.”
The training blade was lowered and the lent helm removed from the blonde hair as the Vairan king crossed the snow to where the Baidenese royalty lingered. Towards him did the face of the king turn with a small look of amusement.
“I do not envy that which is seen solely as a woman’s duty, Abigail. In that way women are far greater than men.”
“And in some other ways. Mind your tongue.” But she smiled at him, teasing. Any hint of jealousy that had lingered between them was negated by the return of Mercurius; no rivalry, no struggle for the attention of the king. Mercurius himself was wise enough to spend much time working to this point where the three of them could be comfortable.
But always in the back of his mind was the lingering spring. The point at which the world would be green again and yet there would be changes to be had. He did not favor the winter. None in Baiden truly did, for it made living harsh, harder than it needed to be. But this was likely the only time in his life that he would wish that winter would never end. Truthfully, travel to Vaira was not blockaded. There were no roads known to be closed off by snow and yet this was the way to make it easiest. To give some illusion of elongated time.
“Do you intend to seek a wife in Vaira, Arric?” While she was versed in courtly rumors, indeed, she was not quite knowledgeable about those that swirled around Arric alone and not those that wove together the Vairan king and her own husband. The training blade was forsaken and yet there was a moment exchanged between them, one set of brows creased as the others arched up in curiosity. “Surely you intend an heir.”
“The assignment of an heir is indeed part of a king’s duty, but as far as the production thereto… I confess, Abigail, that few women have ever held my interest beyond intellect. It is not unheard of in Vaira, nor is it a frowned upon. For a king to live openly as such, however… that has not happened. But is there not a point to progress? I cannot speak of the importance of moving forward to Mercurius and not ask it of my own people.”
“So you have intentions to adopt, then?”
“And here we are, having done it the hard way. Though in fairness, it is more strain upon your body than mine, Abi--”
He had not even finished his statement when he was stricken by a blow to the face in the form of a snowball. Slightly did he recoil from it, more surprised and suddenly chilled than anything else before he stooped and gathered up his own projectile. Arric was safe only for a brief interim before the queen if Baiden herself saw fit to drag him into the dispute by throwing a snowball in his direction.
From the Grey Wing, Zanil watched, his head craned slightly with his hood lifted about his argentine hair. And he smiled. There was a youth there, a light in his king that he had not seen in many years. But he had not eternity to look upon them--at least, not in this form. His attention was gathered as there was a whistle from behind him, the sound of Thrandir calling his attention. While the wolves had some time ago departed to their hall, such was not the case for Thrandir. They had opted to remain, lingering in the shadows and in places few people thought to look. After all, progress did not happen in the manner of days. Very visibly did Thrandir carry the blood of elves within them, for the point of ears was visible through short cropped hair--and for them, it was indeed a matter of pride. Such still merited sideways glances from the household of the king. As for those that existed without, those that existed in the city of Baiden and the country around, well. Thrandir was wise enough to know not to go about unescorted where he was not wanted.
“I do miss my sister,” mused the visage of the dark-skinned elf, his hands cupping his own elbows as his weight shifted, foot-to-foot. “Perhaps I will go to the plains again. After all, it seems that we have little to no intention of traveling to find Lisrael any time soon.”
“I hope you were not under the misguided impression that at any point I was merely going to pack up and leave overnight, Thrandir.”
“I could hope.”
A shake of Zanil’s head was the response to that statement as he walked forward a few paces, distance now resting between himself and the oracle of Lisrael. His gaze was downcast as there was a weight on his shoulders. It was ending. Frankly, the fact that it was finally drawing to a close should have, could have offered at least some miniscule inkling of relief. There was a finality to it and for things to be ending, he had predicted there would be a relief. Some ability to exhale and allow the breath to carry with it the weight of hundreds of years, the heavy responsibility of being advisor.
By no means was this to be an implication that he did not trust Iolas. Had he not felt that the half-elf was the most fit for the job, he would not have drawn Mercurius aside and demanded to have it so. He had been surprisingly receptive to the idea, even if the truth finally had to be revealed to him. What the king did with that knowledge after his departure was truly his own call; It would have no bearing. He would be long gone.
“I have done far too much for this country to simply flee it as though I were a criminal.”
“Less a criminal. More a man with a higher calling.”
“I have always had a higher calling and motives greater than simply being an advisor. That does not mean I have ever forsaken it.”
“You were Tiados first, you know. Zanil was a farce that came after,” as they spoke with that lazy tone. It seemed Lisrael’s element, that part of her that resided within the soul of this plains elf, was likely wiser even than Zanil had been: no ties. Nothing too heavy to weight him down. “But if you must tie up loose edges, I suppose it is only right for me to as well. I had hoped that you would come with me, that you would tie yours up as well… but if we have waited this long, what is a bit longer?”
Initially, the advisor had dismissed himself. He strode a few paces away, the soft soles of his boots upon the floor. Then he paused, turning to look upon Thrandir again, to find that he was gone. Alone did he find himself, the still echoing sounds of those in the courtyard beneath, the laughter of the Rosenlied king and his wife and the ruler of Vaira. These were sounds that he would not hear ever again, once he departed north. He could not see himself returning within the king’s lifetime, when he left to find Lisrael. And the idea of a Rosenlied passing to be with the gods without him being there caused a foreign ache in his chest. He would not be there.
But there was only so long that he could put such things off.
She deserved peace as much as anyone else.
By and large, the majority of the Vairans were able to take the snow with minimal complaint. There were, however, more than merely the Vairan healers and the Baidenese natives within the confines of Baiden. Silvya was one of these in that this sort of snow, in the north, was a near year round occurrence.
“Only snow,” she had informed the complaining Tahvaen when he and Brenner had arrived one evening; life was beginning to become normal again. The brothers dining with one another was a rather common occurrence and despite the war leaving them both off kilter, the sense of normalcy ebbed to them all. Brayden was still reluctant to speak much of the war and such was respected. “Almost all year round in the north, there is snow. But here? Not as bad. Not as icy.”
“I don’t care one way or the other ‘bout the snow,” spoke the Vairan half-elf as he drew nearer to him the wool jacket that he had been given by Brenner. “It’s the cold that I’m tired of.”
“Well you are here until spring,” as a heaping helping of rabbit stew was placed before the red-haired elf, “so I would get used to it.”
So winter went as winter would, with snow and the occasional storm of ice that made travel more difficult that it needed to be. Spring began to come in small ways: flowers pushing through snow and days that were longer, warmer. Icicles dripped and faded away from their points upon the edges of statues, homes, and shops. Green was beginning to appear on the trees as the last lingering patches of frozen-over snow clung in areas the sun hardly hit, and the homesickness had settled into the Vairans. Even the king.
“We should begin preparations to return to Vaira soon,” mused the fairer king as he stood at one of the windows alongside Mercurius. The town was awake, alive again after a winter’s sleep. There was some green to be seen among the city streets, the new growth of spring. And one could really only delay that which was the inevitable for so long. “Thankfully, there will be less urgency in the return than the initial trip. There is no war upon our shoulders.”
But Mercurius was quiet. He lingered next to the more petite visage of the younger king until it seemed his plans to travel had been vocalized. But he noted the pause, and turned to Mercurius, and the king looked down upon him. It was an act of impulse as he shifted forth to tip-toe, and his lips were against Mercurius’s. Just for a moment as the Baidenese king felt the hands linger on his chest as the closeness persisted for a short span of time.
And when Arric smiled, Mercurius smiled. “Everything is as it should be, Mercurius.”
“Yes--all is how it should be. And we will do what we must to keep it so.”
When the news reached the camps, carried by messengers bearing Baidenese flags, there was rejoicing to be had. Celebration, embraces. Naturally, the captains took the celebration with a slight grain of salt, brows knitting as they were forced to ponder the fineries of wrapping up camp and returning to home. But creased brows and unsure faces could be saved for when it was time to deal with the issue. For now, there were songs and celebrations. For now, people were able to breath and rejoice. Even as the departure of the Baidenese from the north had transpired, there was a lightness of heart that was foreign to them. Naturally, Zanil had seen to the penning of the treaty, proper, and overseen the signing of it. Drunel, serving as interim advisor, had acted similarly, for it was the signatures of the kings and their advisors that were mandated by the wording of the script in elegant hand. Even though their return to Baiden should have been the finale of the chaos of war, there were still many manners to attend to. After all, someone had the duty of escorting the elven prisoners to the Circle of the Gods for the exchange of them and the wolves of Vitnir Hall. There was also the fact that Iolas would not be part of that exchange and the fate of the elven bastard lay wholly in the hands of Mercurius and those in his pledge.
It was only after a few days had passed and the agreement as to who would be escorting the elven captives to the Circle of the Gods for the exchange had been made that Zanil approached Mercurius where he lingered in the courtyard. Snow still fell and likely more than Arric or the Vairan healers had seen (save, perhaps, those that had grown up in other countries before studying the arts in Vaira). Tahvaen was seated on a paddock’s gate while Brenner circled the warhorse around it in long strides, kicking up snow like sand. It was a light snow, not a frozen snow; it was too cold for the snow to melt and become ice. It made little impediment upon travel and so it was enjoyed if only for the aesthetic. Nearby was where Mercurius lingered with Arric, the younger king bedecked in maile that had clearly been leant to him and armed with a blade.
“If you are to have a standing army, Arric,” shouted Mercurius from one side of the small training area that they were currently in, “you must learn properly how to handle a blade.”
“Your highness.”
The voice of the advisor rang clear even over the king’s shouts and the sound of hooves upon the ground beneath the layer of snow. Stilled was the horse for the moment save for a snort that resulted in an exhale of mist skyward, the thrown spear landing against the practice dummy with a precise whang. Zanil had been seen only little since the return to Baidenese lands and even less had he sought Mercurius out. It was the afternoon with the sun high in the sky, Elfreda tasked with escorting the elves north with a company of her men. Save for Faeron, the tailor who had spoken with the king. It had been at his own request that he remained and planned to travel to Vaira. That is, once spring dawned. Correspondence with Arrendel had communicated those plans, for travel in the winter would be very hard upon those not used to it. Allow them rest and reprieve at the expense of the country they had aided, those healers who returned from the war. Mercurius had consented to as much, though there was indeed talk of his potential ulterior motives lying in Arric.
Though Zanil was likely the only one aware of it, Abigail watched, seated in a high window with a warm drink cradled in her hands and a smile on her face. She was not to be reigning queen in peace for the first time.
“If I may have a moment?”
Within its sheath did the king’s own blade rest, idle at his hip for the first time with no intention to be drawn since the beginning of the war. Lazy was the hand that was raised to Arric to signal him to for the moment put aside thoughts of training as the king strode towards his advisor. “You’ve my attention, Zanil. What is it?”
“I would request privacy for this matter, Mercurius. If that is not too much to ask.”
Though black brows were drawn tight, there was a nod given to him as the two walked towards the open archway that would lead them indoors. A breezeway was passed through, meticulously devoid of snow, and once the heavy wooden door closed behind them and they were within the hall, the footfalls of the advisor were still. “I would like to know what exactly you plan to do insofar as Iolas is concerned. There is only so long that you can avoid the subject, and we are coming to the end of things. Once the prisoners are exchanged safely, then he will be the only lingering remnant of the war.”
For the moment, the king found himself gazing only at the back of the advisor’s cloak. It was the thick wool that the people of Baiden tended to favor during winter, drawn around him, though the hood was down. “A decision must be made, you know.”
“He will be put to death--”
“Please, lend your attention to me.” Interrupted. Upon the king’s face was an expression that was rather taken aback, but a nod was given. It was permission for him to speak freely as the king’s arms folded over his chest. “I have a suggestion regarding Iolas. And… I’ve news to share with you that I have intention to keep secret.
“Much of my time since the council has been spent upon my own self-reflection. Many, may generations, many years I have spent with the Rosenlied family. I am sure I have been a constant in many lives of Baiden. However…” a pause, a low exhale. Mercurius felt the weight upon his heart for he knew what was to be said before it was even spoken, “I believe it best if I resign myself to my own private pursuits upon the ascension of your heir to the throne, Mercurius. I have recalled who I am and why I am here. I knew it all along, but I quelled it. But now it is time that I choose one to teach the ways, one to carry on when I am gone.
“I chose Iolas as my protege, if you would grant it. I will train him to serve your heir as I would have, I will instill the loyalty in him. It is there. I swear to you, loyalty to a cause is deep within him though now he is without cause to serve--”
“You expect me to grant my consent to this?” Naturally, he had expected the anger. Such was the manner of Mercurius: he grew angry with ease, he expressed it forthwith. His jaw tightened and he shook his head. Oh, the war had aged him. Even in this dim light Zanil gazed upon hair that was tinting to grey in a few strands. His father had greyed rather early, as well. “To even entertain the idea that the man who started this war will serve my heir as advisor? You must have taken an injury to your head if you think…”
“Please.”
Never in his life had he heard the voice of the advisor plea with him. The weight that dragged his heart down served to clench about his heart, to wind tight a spindle-fingered grip around the beating muscle. Slightly the head even canted as his brain almost seemed to struggle to process the notion that, truly, Zanil was pleading with him.
“I cannot remain in Baiden longer, for my heart is elsewhere. Where, I do not know. That is what I go to seek--”
“In all your days that I have known you and likely in many that extend beyond my own knowledge,” began the king, advancing a few steps forward with a frown upon his lips, “you have spoken in riddles and stories. You have brushed inquiries off with wily smiles and fed half-truths yet never lied. But never have I heard of you pleading, Zanil. Nor have I heard the truth of your story. I will listen still to your request if you will grant me the truth of who and what you are--where it is you came from. Those are my demands. Until then, I will not consent to your tutorship of Iolas, nor will I consent to your departure from beneath the heel of the Rosenlied family.”
Sounds from outside barely penetrated the walls for a moment as they both stood, steeping in their own silence. Hands reached up to move argentine hair from the face that now faced the king, the look upon his face resolute. There was something that seemed almost somber, and the king was suddenly reminded of the feeling he got gazing upon statues of gods. A regality and a feeling of being entirely too small. His fingers curled into loose fists to stave off the strange, creeping near-anxiety.
“A fool could tell you I am not human. Nor am I an elf. I am longer lived than many of their lifespans.
“I am from the north. Those stories are not false, those origins. I found myself on the tundra after I cast myself from on high. Many years I spent among the elves in the north. Yes, I knew of the mounting threat when the first whispers of war were heard, when the news came of the Grand War to the north. But I was old by their standards even upon that time. I could not bring myself to come to Baiden, because of who and what I was.
“It was during the Grand War that I came. I was among those that came for war, yes, but I had no intentions of fighting. I became a slave among many others elves, for they operated under the common assumption that that was what I was. This was the way that I found my way into the Rosenlied house. When the slavery was abolished--it lasted perhaps thirty years after the Grand War--there were a number of elves who became servants. I was one of those. From there, my tale of working my way to become advisor is true. I am sure you heard the story.”
Ancient. The word was strange, unsettling. Time stretched back further than the human experience, further than his mind could grasp. And so did the life of Zanil. His nails bit into the flesh of his hands as his head shook: “You have not answered the question: what are you?”
“I will tell you first what I leave to seek. Then I believe you can place who and what I really am. Zanil was not was I was always called, but I am sure you will realize that soon enough.
“For you to understand what I am, I will tell you who and what Thrandir is. Rather, a knowledge of what they are will greater benefit to understanding what I am. I know well that you know the tales of the two lost gods--of Lisrael and of Tiados. Those that disappeared from the pantheon after their work was presumably completed. This? This was not the case, I am afraid. They did not indeed pass from existence after they work was done so much as they quarreled.”
The king’s brows were tight again as he listened to the words before he raised a hand, interjecting: “I do hope there is some sort of a point to this story, Zanil.”
“Do I ever prattle on aimlessly?” inquired the voice of the male. This action served well to silence the speech of the king as the advisor continued talking. “Tiados and Lisrael quarreled for months upon end and such is where winter came from. For in winter, things sleep. They neither live nor die. Spring marks the point upon which Lisrael departed from the quarrel and the world flourished into life under her appearance. Or, so the old tales go. In truth, seasons existed long before, the work of Sheala and Rzael. That I know to be true, but I am not one to deny the tales that humans believe.
“Lisrael disappeared and Tiados, in his grief, disappeared after her. Even the pantheon as they rule know now the location of Lisrael. But Tiados has remained in communication with them, albeing slightly infrequent. They see through his eyes as he walks among the people, the humans that they created. At least, they see through his eyes when he allows them. But they worry him, when they speak; they speak that he is becoming too human, that he has learned to love humanity in a way that is different from the manner that gods do. And for some time he turned from them, and had little to do with them. He closed the pathways through which they could see through him, and loved humans in the way that he deemed most fit.
“But then Thrandir came. Thrandir holds within themselves a fragment if Lisrael, a bit of her soul given to an ailing child. This bit of her soul moves, hope, body to body--soul to soul. It is not a part of any one person but Lisrael and yet it feels hollow. Incomplete. It seeks reunion with Lisrael for in death, that never will be found. In death, it finds only a new host. A child, usually, upon the brink of death at birth. This allows the soul to live on an search, eternally, for reunion with Lisrael.
“I found this within Thrandir. And I felt again my heart’s desire, and the reason that I am here. Mercurius, I am the lost god Tiados. That is who I have always been, though I have dodged the truth for many a year.
“And I beg your leave to seek Lisrael so once again the pantheon can be whole.”
It wasn’t disbelief. The greatest problem that Mercurius did not disbelieve him. He could not dispute this, as facts lined up. Stories lined up. So with an exhale, he stated as much: “My greatest trouble, Zanil, is not that you are leaving. It is the fact that this is all plausible. This all makes sense. I do not doubt you. Not for a moment did I feel that you were lying, or that you were telling tales. Not for a moment.” To his sides did the king’s arms come to rest and from him he let loose a rather heavy exhale. His head even shook from side to side. “To know my life has been spent not only at the feet of a god but also by one’s side is certainly a change.”
Argentine brows rose in response to the statement. There was no shock no--anger, truly, and he had expected at least one of them. Exasperation was a nearer descriptor of the term for how, exactly, the king felt. This caused borderline confusion in Zanil as he looked upon him. “... That’s it? You ask me for no proof, nothing? You take my words that all your days you were besides the very god of death and scarcely bat an eyelash?”
“In Baiden, we have little fear of death. I am sure if worship of Tiados… of… you, was favored anywhere, it would be within my country. It may be a lie. This may all be a story that you have concocted, but I do not see what motivation you would have to lie. Besides…” And there was a slight shine within those eyes, the youth that had almost vanished through the trials of kingship and through the weight of war. A bright shine that honestly, Zanil had missed. “But if there is one thing I know about you that cannot be disputed, it is the fact that you do not lie. You may tell half-truths and spin your own version of reality, but you haven’t lied in all the days I have known you.
“As such,” as the kingly demeanor was upon him again, his fisted hand placed beneath his collarbone in the very image of the Baidenese salute, “under my authority as king herein witnessed by Zanil, my advisor, I decree that the warmonger Iolas, bastard son of Alden Rosenlied and my very own half-brother, will not be executed but instead be taken by Zanil as a pupil. Therein, his fate will be at the hands of Zanil hereto.”
His own eyes shone, bright, and for a moment within them were stars. The lips of the king parted, mouth agape for just a moment as he gazed upon him. It was truly a change from looking into the oft matte pupils (another rather obvious sign that there was something about him far greater than human or elf could beget) for in that instance, that ephemeral moment, Mercurius had the sensation he gazed into something far greater than he had looked upon in his life. A universe, perhaps. A galaxy. A whole world behind the eyes of the man he had taken for granted all of his days. Then he felt the nearness of the man in a way he never had before, a hand upon the back of his short-cropped hair of ebony and lips against his forehead through his black hair. Instinctively his hands rose to grip to the crux of Zanil’s elbow and in that moment, he felt the same sensation of his childhood. The innocence alongside the unsurety. When again Zanil’s eyes were upon his, they were matte and black as they had been every day that he had looked upon them. There was something comforting about the familiarity, and yet… how familiar were they, really? Until this point, there had not even been so much as an inkling of truth between them. He realized that now. Such a major secret…
“I will spend the duration of your and Abigail’s rule to teach Iolas and prepare him to serve as advisor to your children. I will not depart until I see him as fit for the role and, should that not be when their ascention has come, I will remain. But this will be at my discretion and no other’s…”
“Please,” as he shifted, standing now beside the slightly taller figure of the advisor with a hand resting between his shoulderblades. “There is no reason to give full disclaimers of your intent. You will do well. I trust that of you. You… would not leave the Rosenlieds in hands that you felt unfit.”
It was as though the advisor exhaled a breath that he was not even ken to the fact he had been holding. He may well have hold it during the full duration of the time he served the Rosenleids. Speaking the truth had been relieving as he conversed with Thrandir, to be honest of who he is. It had been so long, truly, that he may have forgotten what it was like.
“If there is no further discussion to be had,” spoke the voice of Zanil after a brief interim of silence between them, “then do you not have training to return to?”
Then a smile was on the lips of the king as he nodded. “In that you would be correct, Zanil. Thank you. For everything.”
Abigail was not even aware that she had fallen asleep when she was roused by the blonde who had served as her companion as of late. When it came to disparity of culture, the two were likely akin to as different as she and the man behind bars were. Gentle were the hands that lifted her from where she dozed, her head leaned idly against one of the stone walls on either side of the bars that served as the door. Bleary was her vision as she looked up and was cognitive of not only her hunger but her aching pain. As she rose, the tension in her back only served to remind her of the fact that falling asleep listening to tales of another land was not ideal when her body was already quite strained by the state it was it. It was only exacerbated. Then she looked towards Silvya and towards Iolas, and he, too, had found rest in a similar state, though in the back of the room. Who had fallen asleep first was anyone’s guess, but Iolas was granted still the respite of continued slumber. He was, essentially, a dead man. Why not allow him little luxuries?
“Come on, now,” as the woman nudged the lower back of the queen to guide her away. “Be glad only I saw you. No servants yet. Tch, servants and their rumors…” And what, if any rumors, would boil out of the fact that the queen was found sleeping, twined in fur, outside the cell of her husband’s bastard half brother who had started the war. That would be a story for the ages. The chill made Abigail’s boans ache, the tightness of sleeping in such a position and in such a chill rent her even more uncomfortable in the morning than she usually was. And the queen could only hope it would not wear on her.
“How in Silas’s name do you do it, Silvya? I have yet to see you bend or waver under the life it is you carry.” For that was true. Never once had the woman of the north shown any sort of errance or exhaustion. She rose before Abigail and often was more physical than her: much as a knight captain would, she trained alongside some of the younger recruits that remained still in Baiden. Her style was different, modified because of the need to protect the growing child inside of her, but even yet she was able to go sprawling back and land on her rump and yet still draw herself back up unphased. Abigail hardly rose in the cold without a dull ache within her bones. It could also be that the cold was too intense for her. Oran’s climate was considerably more temperate. For Silvya, she was quite adjusted to the extreme frigidity of winter.
She could have spoken of what Iolas said. The thought crossed her mind, but instead she merely cast a glance to him and drew about her the fabrics of her cloak and the fur that she was clad in. “A bath--”
There was a pat on the lower back of the woman and a low chuckle from Silvya. “I have already asked they draw a bath for you. If you slept away from a fire, well, it is very cold. You are not from the North. You get cold easy. The bath water will be hot when you get it.”
Now she stood on her own, able to walk forward in time with the other woman. Their steps did not quite match, for the queen’s legs were longer, but they kept pace with one another.
“I do confess my envy of you, Silvya. You seem to be unphased by whatever life may throw at you. If I were more like you--”
“Ah-ah,” as she gave a playful tap upon the shoulder that was concealed by many a layer of fabric. “Do not compare. Do not want to be me, like me. There is a reason I am me and you are you, Abigail. We were made like this to do this, whatever ‘this’ is.”
Made like this.
Made for this.
Was she truly made to be a mother and raise a child? The idea almost hurt her. But she was also aware she did far more than mother. She commanded at impromptu councils, and she spoke for her people. She was a queen and soon would be a mother, and that was what she was made for. Or so she would like to think. It was inevitable that one in her role would be mandated to wear many hats, to play numerous roles. And that was what she was made for. She was not hardy in the same ways as the other woman, but truthfully comparing herself to anyone--including, in this case, the queen that had ruled before her, seeing as there were instances of her visage nearly everywhere in the castle. Near constantly did the woman feel as though she would be judge by Georgiana’s merit and some part of her grew to fear the former Rosenlied queen’s shadow that seemed to edge itself through the castle. Georgiana and all those that came before her, as well.
Those were the moments she felt so small.
“Breakfast will be ready when you are done bathing.” After all, hadn’t Zanil asked her to take care of the queen? She intended to do just that and so she attended to such things before even setting out to find Abigail. And it hadn’t exactly been easy. “Take care of yourself better! It’s not just for you anymore.”
And so the queen smiled, and held her head a little taller than she initially had. She was made or this, so Silvya had said, and she would take pride in it. How strange the castle would be when all the knights and kings and advisors had returned and she contended with them on a daily basis instead of the servants that still ducked away from her when she walked down the hall and the one strong woman of the north that held her stable through all this.
“Would you eat with me, Silvya? I would rather not dine alone this morning.”
“Two pregnant women? We will run the servants worth their salt.” and up were those bright blue eyes turned as they met Abigail’s gold and the women laughed.
Arric ate alone. It was not a prepared meal, not a scheduled one, and he took it in the private sleeping quarters on a table that, in summer, would be beneath the light of the sun given the tilted skylight that made its way through the mountain above. Now, in winter, the table was illuminated by a flickering candle as he made his lunch (he presumed it was lunch, for they had taken breakfast before they had joined the council) of bread, cheese, dried meats, preserves of fruits, and part of a fresh apple. How they maintained fresh fruit through the winter, the king had no notion.
Much of the time was not spent eating so much as it was spent gazing into the flickering flame that glowed before him, reflecting in the pupil of his eye as he attempted to find some sort of solution. There was much weight upon his shoulders, or at least, he was under the impression that this was the case--he would have harbored a strong preference for simply being able to speak of his ideas with Zanil, to muse over options. But this was the weight of the Lander family, he had to think. The fact that a solution may lay at his fingertips but his own hesitation may cost it.
Weary was the sigh was the knife delved into the small glass jar that contained the remnants of summer’s harvest of grapes. Across the sliced bread did it smear before it was brought to his lips and he took a bite. A few crumbs fell, and his hand brushing them away. There was a middle ground, and the pressure was upon him to find it.
The rapping on his dore drew him forth from the reverie that did trouble his mind. Upon the table was his bread and jam placed and he opened the door taking little mind to hazard even a guess as to what was on the other side. Inward did the door swing as to reveal who stood on the opposite side and, to little surprise, he was faced with Mercurius. His gaze lifted, eyes blinking as the dark shape was visible even in the dim lighting.
“Arric.”
“Mercurius,” as the male gripped to the door and made as thought to push it again. “I do not think it wise of advisable that we speak. Our discussion will reconvene at the council. And I, I pass to you Zanil’s advice: Eat while you’ve the chance. We have no notion of how council will go…”
“Don’t oppose me.”
“What?”
That was when the younger king found himself rooted and felt the burn of anger in him. It hued his face red so often it was mistaken for embarrassment, or even some mutation of shyness. But that was not the case. It was anger and frustration as he knew that Mercurius was attempting manipulation. He was attempting coercion by force and it caused the jaws of the fair-haired prince to tighten. This behavior--
“It is as I said. Do not oppose me. Do not act as though you are my enemy when you were brought to be an ally--”
“If you think speaking against you makes me an enemy, Mercurius, then I am afraid the whole of this council is a waste of time. I am not here to bend to your whims. I am to act as a negotiatior. I am to find the median, the peace. I am not here to take sides, regardless of what we are outside of this, Mercurius. You would do well to respect that--”
“You have--”
“Mercurius.”
There was no positive out to this conversation. The exhale was audible from the Vairan king as it was Zanil who interjected himself, walking down the hall with a steady gate and clapping a firm hand upon the Baidenese king’s shoulder. The moment of distraction was enough for Arric’s weight to push against the door and close it, a heavy sigh coming from him as he moved away from the door. He heard the sounds of the two men walking away and had to admit at least some relief at the concept. His head ached slightly and he had no desire to return to the stress of council, but knew he must.
“You,” spoke the advisor in a tone that was honestly at least reasonably accusatory, “should do your best to leave your negotiator well enough alone. He is doing more than enough for you…”
“Doing it for me?” as the king stilled his feet, shrugging from his shoulder the weight of the man’s hand and going so far as to stride a bit away. “He is doing little for me. I should have known his alliances were still with the elves--”
There was a moment of hesitation, knowing well that what he wanted to do was likely a bad idea. But he squared his jaw and lifted his hand and across the face of the darker haired male did he land a firm smack, the sound radiating through the corridor. Thankfully, not through closed doors, and not enough to call Brayden or the other Baidenese guards that peopled this wing of the elven halls. It was a hard enough expression that the king stooped slightly in reaction, a hand upon the place of his skin that was gradually reddening.
“Mind your damned mouth. I have been too kind to you for too long but I will not stand here and tolerate your disgusting racism towards someone who is doing well to assist you and doing well to acclimate himself to you. No more. He is here to serve as the median between Baiden and the Ceredi. Why would it not make sense to have someone with elf blood involved?
“Furthermore,” quite frankly the king was too stunned to speak, the sting of the smack upon his dark skin, “he is not even born of the Ceredi. I know Arandel, I know his advisor. He served Arric’s father, and he came across the south seas with the half-elf woman that is Arric’s mother. You cannot stand here and tell me you are under the illusion that all elves work in kind. The elves of the north and the elves of the south have little uncommon. Neither religion nor hardly language, save for the most common tongue. To think the Vairan king has any tie or loyalty to them is much like saying that the Meh’rokan king has an alliance with the Northmen. Passing knowledge of and lack of animosity does not, by necessity, mandate alliance. I would think such a warmongering country would understand that.
“You will,” as he planted his feet firmly and turned to gaze upon the king who was slowly rising from his bent position, “respect Arric as he deserves to be. I have seen many a Lander quiet a Rosenlied in council and I am proud that he can do the same. I am disgusted that Rosenlieds keep needed to be quieted, and part of it is my fault. Let it be known that I chose Abigail for you because the woman has sense in her head to oppose your nonsense.
“This is enough. War is enough to change minds. I would hope it would get to yours, but it seems I am once again to be disappointed in your behavior, Mercurius.”
Disappointed. Frankly, the king wanted to be angry. He wanted to stand before Zanil and tell him of the fact his pompous attitude and all-knowing nature had served as an irritant, as a thorn in his side but instead he simply stared.
“You will not find peace by being so unwavering. You will not find it in this life or the next, nor will you find it in your kingdom or your relationships. The trees that live the longest are those that bend and curve to the sun. You have to bend and give to find peace.”
“Is not attending this council giving enough?”
“Absolutely not. How badly--how much have I failed in raising you?!” came Zanil’s voice as he once again raised his hands to push argentine hair from his face. Visibly his chest rose and fell with the weight of breathing upon him. “Act as a king. You have been raised for this, To rule. And to rule, you have to learn to bend.”
Still did the hands of the king linger upon his face, upon the place where he had been stricken. And yet when he opened his mouth to speak, he could not bring himself to form words. Disappointed. Be a king. He had cried before Zanil and wept when he became king, and expressed doubts of it. “Be a king…” mirrored the man’s voice of some of the words that had been spoken by the advisor who lingered across from him. Dark brows knit tight above his eyes before he spoke again. “So you would have me yield to their demands?”
“I am not saying you should cast of what you feel is right, Mercurius. I am simply asking you at least make some sort of middle ground possible. If you will not bend or lean, then we will get nowhere. This will not--Mercurius.”
“What?” There was a waver voice, a softness to it that was almost unheard in the man’s voice. The weakness therein was revealed as he looked across at Zanil.
“You do not look yourself.”
“Perhaps I am not suited to be king--”
“We cannot have such discussions here, Mercurius. Those thoughts have lingered over your for years and I will not hear them. You have been a good king, but a challenged one. One that was presented with war for the first time in many years. And you have done your best. In a way, one cannot fault you for simply doing what you can, as this has not been easy for you. For anyone. But you must understand that Iowyr, too, is king, as is Arric.
“Communication will beget peace. I knew that, and yet I was the one that simply disregarding my own instincts and desires when it came to maintaining peace. Working as an advisor. The primary functions of my duties. I am as guilty of this as you, as guilty of my ills and my wrongdoings. This is why I beg you to reconsider. To think over these offers simply out of love for your people, and their need for safety--their need for peace. I am quite sure that they would rather have an ambassador than more war. Than an elongation of something that could be solved. I do not ask you to change, but to bend.
“And,” as the man moved past the king with a slight glance over his shoulder, “to perhaps widen your worldview. There is more in this world than simply humans, and there are more upon Liev than humans, no. If the Gods have no qualms with it, why should you? Seek me out when we are ready to reconvene council. I would advise you eat, rest, and think.”
For time being, Mercurius merely lingered in the hallway. The light cast shadows from the mirrors, upon his face. And in that moment he frowned deep, knowing these were familiar thoughts. They had plagued him since the death of his father. Be a king. Do what is best for the country. But was there any way to know that what he was doing was, truly, the best for the country?
“I realize more than you would assume I know, Arric.” Ire had raised in the king’s voice and part of the fair king desired nothing to to flinch, to draw back. But he kept himself steeled, breathing in through his nose to fill his lungs. If nothing else, it helped him stabilize himself as he turned his gaze upon the king who threatened to rise from the council. “I understand that this is supposedly a point at which we can bend and lean and that Baiden’s peace impacts all of Liev. As soon as this war began, it was impressed upon me by multiple facets that such is the case. You will understand that I have grown weary of the repetition. But there are limits. Pushing too far into Baiden’s affairs is neither your place nor the council’s--and you stand here making decisions for the entire council in regards to the involvement of the elven king in Liev’s affairs.” Whereas Arric’s voice remained by and large steady even as he disapproved of the behavior, Mercurius’s rose. The sound reverberated from the council room that was far smaller and, arguably, less acoustically sound. And yet his voice seemed to fill every crack and all eyes were upon him. The tone mandated respect or, more likely, fear. “I will not have too great an involvement of the other countries in our affairs.”
“You have proven that you cannot handle the country on your own,” came the harsh words of the advisor that shattered the solid mien put forward by the king. Visibly the black-haired male flinched at the statement. “Such is why I saw to Abigail becoming your bride. But traveling would have been hard upon her body, upon your heir.”
“I cannot handle the country? How dare you--”
“Peace,” came the voice of the elven king, containing similar properties to the raised voice of the human king. “This council is not for your internal debate. It is to put and end to the senseless war and death. Neither side has anything to gain but peace…”
Squared was the jaw as once again Mercurius rose from his seat and his hands slammed hard upon the table before him. “Liev is a country of humans, rules by humans. That elves are playing a part…”
For the first time since the men had been seated at the council table, Arric rose. His height was likely the least mpressive of those that filled the room and yet there was a bizarre light, a radiance about him that turned eyes to him as he kept his voice stable still, a flat hand extended forward. “That the elves are playing a part mandates change. Adaptation. It is necessary for survival. So animals must change to fit the situation they are given, we, too, must adapt or fail, King Rosenlied.”
“Then Baiden will fails as it is before it will adapt to that which it was founded against.”
“Baiden.” began Zanil, who remained seated to the side of the kings who stood and faced one another. “You speak as though you know of its founding. I myself only know stories, for I came to the employ afterwards. But Baiden was not build upon exclusion, as you may have us believe, Mercurius. No--it was built upon strength, upon solidarity. Where the hatred of elves came from, well…”
“The so-called hatred of the elves came when the northern elves invaded our lands. Baiden once extended to the sea until they came…”
“Kingdoms change. Once Liev was itself from sea to see, unified. And now it is many, as it was deemed best. Do you think Baiden itself is greater than what was once a unified nation? The elves are here. Would you banish them?”
This wrought from the king a laugh as he pushed his hair from his face. The action caused the brows of the advisor to crease, yet for the moment he remained mute. “Is that not the whole purpose of this council? The fact that I made it clear I would?”
“Peace,” demanded the voice of the elven king as tension began to rise. His voice was raised slightly, yes, and it filled the room. Not in the same way that Mercurius’s did, no, but still it did and attention turned to him. Both kings turned their eyes to him and with all the poise and grace one would expect of an elven noble, the man rose. “We must keep in mind that the end goal of this council is just that. However, I ask also that I be respected in my kingdom. I am a king, as are both of you. Talk of the annihilation of my people is what this council was called to avoid.”
“The king is correct,” spoke the advisor. Not once had he stood or raised his voice, and by and large his statements were only affirmative to Arric. However, this time, he felt the need to speak in direct opposition of his king. This cause the eyes of the man to turn upon him and narrow. “This council is for peace. Bickering over history or the future will do nothing to rectify the problems of the present. If can at minimum agree on that, perhaps we can get somewhere. If, however, this is going to dissolve into naught but threats and bickering, nothing will be achieved. It will be a waste of our time. All of our time.”
A heavy sigh came from the Baidenese king as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I do desire peace. I do not by necessity desire the interweaving of our cultures. So far we have remained separate, and I would prefer it not change moving forward. I see no reason for emissaries. I see no reason for the elves to take part in council.”
“Such is like saying you would prefer Meh’rok be kept from councils if only because you would rather not deal with them.” He could have lifted his gaze to Mercurius or even directed it at Iowyr or Drunel. But instead it was upon his hands resting idly upon the table, not dragging his nails into it as his king had nor seeming overly relaxed. There was a tension to him. A tension that few had seen of the man. “If the Ceredi are to remain in the north, then communication with them is the only way to keep peace. You cannot have one without the others, King Rosenlied, and to act as though such is possible is folly. Acting as though that would work is what has lead to this situation--and I would know. It is as Arric has said. Adaptation is necessary for Baiden to be able to flourish. I am not saying to single-handedly tear down the mores of your society and the parameters set up by your fathers and their fathers. But changes must be made if you wish for the country to simply continue in a positive light. That is why you agreed to this council.
“However, if you continue to push back whenever there are requests made of you, you are wasting all of our time. The elven king has agreed to your primary request: the safe passage of your people to the northern trading post once it has been reestablished. It was the suggestion of an ally, your ally, another king of Vaira, that you communicate with the Ceredi for the sake of all of Liev. To continue to balk against it is simple selfishness.
“You will endanger many lives if you continue to act in this manner. I would assume that a man bearing the name of Rosenlied would be more willing to do what was needed for his country than this and I would certainly hate to be wrong.”
“Do not sit before me and disrespect my name. You have no right to,” spoke the Baidenese king. “You have gotten away with far too much for far too long, Zanil. I would loathe to be the one to see to dismissing the advisor of so many of my fathers from his position--”
“Stop.” It was Drunel’s voice that interjected and heads turned to him. Once more, save for Zanil’s. “We will take a recess from council for emotions are beginning to run high.” Iowyr had said nothing but visibly the tips of his fingers shook as he listened to the other kings speak. Frankly, the fact that the fate of his people hung in the balance of the men that spoke before him caused a burn in the back of his throat, thought he would not confess to it. “I am sure all parties are in agreement that attempts at neutrality will get nowhere when tensions are allowed to escalate.”
The primary worry was the fact that Mercurius may balk at the idea. And such was indeed his knee-jerk reaction--however, he lifted his own hand as he did not even bother to seat himself again. “Then a brief interim we will take.”
As was expected of the king, he wanted little to do with the escort of the elves back to the wing that the Baidenese people were occupoint. It was mandated, of course, but the moment some privacy was alotted to him it was taken. Initially, the Vairan king had made at least some attempt to follow after when the door closed behind the taller man, but a hand upon his shoulder stilled him. Firm was the grip of the advisor’s hand upon his shoulder.
“Let him be.”
“But if he simply barricades himself away--”
“I have dealt with many generations of Rosenlieds. Mercurius’s temper is not unlike his father’s and his moods are not unlike his mother’s. I almost pity him, in a way. The combination has done him no favors.” A hand between the shoulder blades pressed a bit to guide the petite king away from the door, as though such would serve to prevent any further temptation to look in or speak with the Baidenese king, for the time being. “Allowing him to be wound too tightly and not decompress is a recipe for disaster, I am sure you can understand. That is how the threats of genocide had been rought up. There was none there to curb him.”
Deep was the frown of the king as he turned his gaze up to the taller, argentine figure. “I am sorry. Perhaps if Davin had been aware--maybe then…”
“There is no time or use in ruminating over the way things could have been if someone had known this or that,” as the pand pressed on that point between the king’s shoulders and urged him to walk a few paces forward, away from the room. He was not sure of the intensity of the soundproofing with mountain halls and so he did not want to run the risk of Mercurius overhearing any part of the conversation. “Especially not where we stand now. When I am penning the history, we will talk of what-ifs. We will cause those ideas long into the night, if you would chose. But for now, we must let the king catch his breath.
“I was too kind to him as he grew,” came the advisor’s voice as his hand dropped from the back of the blonde king. “His father and I both. We pitied him, for having been so near to his mother and her quick departure. I forsook the harshness that I gave many others. I fear I loved him too much, too deeply. I feel I spoiled him in a way. Part of this is my own fault.
“But here I am. Doing that which I scolded you for. I would have you know,” as they stilled by one of the mirrors that reflected the light. It flickered upon them, extended their shadows as they stilled their steps in these foreign lands. “I agree with you. The war happened because it was allowed to, but that truthfully that can be said of most things. It could have been circumvented, but the change of a king upon the throne will have a heavy weight upon peace. That is, if we can have the iron will of the Rosenlied king bend to the notion he is wrong.
“Emissaries. Councils. The use of the word over force, that is all she wanted,” though the last part came as a mutter behind a raised hand, causing the fair king to crane his head as thought to better hear. A wave of the hand as it was dismissed lazily. “Do not concern yourself overmuch. Mercurius has been like this since he was a child. Allow the man time to catch his breath and perhaps then he will be reasonable. If not, we will continue on.”
A heavy sigh came from Arric as soon as the monologue of the advisor came to an end. This caused the gaze of the taller man to turn to him, his brow arched visibly at it. “What purpose do I serve at this council if I am not to bring peace, Zanil?”
It was the turn of the advisor to give a weary sigh as he moved his hair away from his face. “Peace is not something so easily gotten. It comes from war. It comes from councils that may well last for days, weeks. I can say that I was indeed hopeful that this may be a simpler resolution than we may have foreseen. But I am not predicting that at our current state. And if the weather keeps up, we may well be barricaded within the confines of the elven cities until spring. If nothing else, that will allow us ample time to come to some sort of treaty.”
This was the first time that the face of the man had broken into anything resembling a smile since the stress of the council had threatened to snuff it out for some time. “That is assuming Mercurius does not continue to lose his temper and draw weapons. That is something I do not even think the expertise negotiators that brought Liev to peace after the Grand War could rectify.”
Once again there was a noncommittal gesture with his hand in response to the statement, fingers slightly flexed as they motioned away from him. “There are many things that I think my king is foolish enough to do, Arric. It is to anyone’s benefit to know that this is one that I feel is unlikely--going so far as to draw weapons at a council of peace. It would take something great indeed to make him act so foolishly, in the long run. I think better of him than that.”
“You speak the truth, Zanil,” as forward did Arric stride, aimlessly. There was no goal in his mind. No end point. He simply took a few steps forward. Then he pressed the palms of his hands to the bottom of his tunic to smoothes at it, if only out of a nervous twitch. Forever, always he would remember Mercurius looking across the table at him as though they were light years apart before he spoke: don’t fidget. But here? He had none to impress. Zanil knew well the flaws of the Baidenese king. Why not know some of the Vairan’s as well? “I would like to have the same faith in him that you do.”
“I would like to keep the faith as much as I can, Arric.”
There was notable concern from the Vairan king for a moment before he saw the lips were turned up into a smile.
“I was concerned for a moment.”
“I was concerned you were about to break either your hand or the table in there. I suppose that I took it upon myself to at least relieve the pressure somewhat.” And for a moment, for that brief moment, there was an exhale that was shared between the two of them. The breath that was held through all the council. “All things will be as they are meant to be. A this point, I have simply exhaled and placed faith in that which is greater than us.”
One who knew more of the truth behind Zanil’s origins, they would discredit it. But the statement brought forth a bit of relaxation upon the looks of the petite king before him. Long ago, long, long ago Zanil had learned that it was easier for humans to place at least some sort of faith in something greater than themselves. That was why the worship of the deities were still practiced. That was why it was so essential. It allowed humans to have at least something to lean against. To have faith in. And he wondered if the elven counterparts spoke similarly: of the faith in the divine. In the greater. Based on the words of Iolas, he would believe so--but in truth, the advisor had no means to know. How different could coping mechanisms be?
“It is good in these times to turn to something bigger than yourself, Arric. It’s fine in a time of comfort for many people.”
There was a momentary pause, a lull in conversation. Then the younger king spoke up once more: “If you are Baidenese, Zanil, do I understand correctly that you a follower of Silas?”
For a moment, there was a pause. Zanil said nothing, before there was a slight shake of his head. “I am older than most take me for, Arric, and I know even more than that. I believe in the gods, all of them, as most do; I ask each for their guidance. But I am one of the last followers of the Sleeping Gods, the Lost Gods. Turning to them for answers, though, has little bearing. I call upon Silas when need be; upon the others, in turn. My loyalties are Baidenese, but on a greater scale… my loyalties are indeed greater than you could imagine.
“But,” as the man cut himself short, his pensive gaze no longer upon the mirror. “I would bore you. While we’ve a moment of recess, I would suggest at least finding something upon which to dine. I cannot see the elves condoning eating at council, and who knows when the next opportunity we will have to eat will be?”
These were not his halls. They were not the stone walkways that he was accustomed to. Nor were they the halls of his allied kings within Liev. There was a wholly different style, a different feeling to it. Whether it was the dwarves who had erected these halls, or ancient relations of the Baidenese, or any other people or group of people, they were not the halls that he was accustomed to. This left a slight sensation of unease as he was escorted through them, flanked by Zanil and Arric and, naturally, those that were knights of the elves that he would have council with. By all means, all the words spoken prior, every implication and every statement, only served the truth. All the power was on Baiden’s side. And yet there was still nervousness in him. But he took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height as they neared the doors that opened before him. They swung inwards, mighty doors of metal and glass that reflected the scant light of fires that burned down the hallways. Not a creak, not a groan from the mechanics of the dwarves that had been installed here: the doors were not opened with a push, but opened by a turned handle deeper within the room, attended by one of the elven servants. Those that stood by the door were armored with their weapons held across their chest. They were finer, elegant, better crafted than the ones Mercurius had seen upon the battlefield. They were ceremonial--all of this was. His armor. Their swords. This was a council, but it was a play at war. Now that he had seen it, he knew it. The ceremony and the dress. It made his heart seize for just a moment but he said nothing until they stood within the doors.
He could not deem the truth behind this, but there was a definite feeling this was not the usual layout of the room. There was a table that sat in the middle, bare save for a deep blue cloth draped along the middle of it. The chairs looked slightly askew, worn. There was little call for councils in the north, Mercurius could assume, for this was clearly the throne room. At the head of the table there did indeed sit the ornate chair, the one in which he could only assume the king would sit. For now, Iowyr stood there, draped in his colors and crowned with a delicate crown, a contrast to the heavier one worn by the man. It was more akin to Arric’s than to Mercurius’s. And for a moment, all breaths within the room were held. They were like ice within expanded lungs before it was Drunel who broke the silence. Within him truthfully was the concern that all things may remain silent if none were audacious enough to cast off the silence that settled within the room. Such would accomplish nothing.
“Representatives of Baiden,” as his hand rest upon his chest in a manner that was unsettlingly comfortable to the Baidenese salute that Mercurius was very familiar with, “we welcome you to the hall of our Graceful Majesty Iowyr, son of our Late Graceful Majesty Ionwhyn. It is today we meet to discuss the peace of both our lands, and…”
Slow was the fair hand that rose to silence the knight. As fingers pointed upward towards the sky and were locked together, Mercurius felt his stomach sink once more: it was a motion that he knew well. The notion that even some things were shared between cultures was unsettling; he squared his jaw and made every attempt to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He had been taught and learned that there was little to nothing in common between the Baidenese people and the elves, but he was seeing that was not the truth.
He had learned much since he had found himself at war, since he had proclaimed war. He had not wanted this shared culture to be one of those things. Had he been oblivious to it before?
The hand lowered from its position before the knight and gestured towards the table. The fabric of the long sleeves nearly draped to the floor, elaborate stitching of silver and shining designs. It was undeniably the image that was summoned when one imagined an elven lord. And Mercurius was the painted picture of a Baidenese king. “I ask you all be seated,” came the voice of the elven king after he let his hand fall to his side once more. “And we may begin the council. There is no need to re-educate all of us on why we are here to meet, though I am glad for Drunel breaking the silence. I would have us all seated as equals so we may begin.”
Drunel stood and was seated in the space that Alduin would once have filled. But there was no sight nor sound of the advisor since he had parted ways from Iolas and he was presumed dead, lest he would have appeared somewhere. What fate befell him was a mystery. But down into that seat did Drunel find himself. It was he and the king, and opposite them on the oval shaped table were Zanil, Arric, and Mercurius. Brayden remained standing with the other knights of Baiden, for he was no advisor. A friend indeed, yes. But he was no advisor.
“I will not mince words, Iowyr.” The king of the Elves visibly winced at being addressed so bluntly.There were stories of council, of how they should go. He had never personally attended one save for the impromptu meeting at the Circle of the Gods and yet there was a distinct feeling that the address was one of disrespect. Arric had addressed each king by title at the first council he had attended and so it was within Liev. To think that this address was without at least some malicious intent would be in err, but the Vairan king did not yet speak up to protest the means of address. If that was as far as the insult went, he would let it slide. “All power of war is within my court. I have made the mandate of death or desertion and I can still make that happen.”
“I will not sit here and be threatened, King Rosenlied.” He could hae been petty, he could have easily acted in kind by referring to the king without any dignity. But he did not, simply placing his hands upon the table and lifting his head. There was much effort within him to hold himself as a king should be held, a stiffness to his existence there at the end of the table. He even seemed to school his breathing as though he feared it would exhibit some sort of malaise. “We have called this council to speak of peace.”
“You call me to speak of peace when you have held my people captive within your confines for--I am not even aware of how long. You cannot masquerade as though this is a simple instance of nothing but conversations of peace.”
“King Rosenlied.” For he was not Mercurius here, and he knew he could not be. He had to be King Rosenlied, before his allies and current enemies alike. The statement from Arric seemed to snap the Baidenese ruler back from where he had wandered, but he said nothing. “None of us can make claims that we have held peace. You cannot lord over him the fact he has Baidenese prisoners when you yourself harbor elves within the Gray Wing.”
This caused both the king and Drunel’s eyes to widen visibly and near did hte king even come to rising. “I was unaware of this--” as his gaze cut towards the knight seated by him who, despite having been within the confines of the capital city of Baiden, had not informed this. But--no. He had not been aware of it, and so had made no comment on it. “Drunel?”
“I,” as there was a waver in his voice before he continued, a hand extending to urge the king to seat himself once more. “I was unaware of the fact there were captives. As I informed you, I was within Baiden’s castle for only one day and kept under guard during that period.”
“Please,” spoke the Vairan king with his brows knit, his hands flat upon the table. “Now the knowledge of captives is on both sides, perhaps we can move forward with talks of peace. We can resolve the means of captives when we have resolved peace. We should not begin with threats or harsh words. It is best to begin with what each side desires. Please.” While the voice of the Vairan king was certainly soft and he did use the gentlest words he could imagine, there was something stern. It was not a light statement and not one to be disregarded despite the kindness of it. “If you would proceed, King Iowyr,” as the blonde king gazed across at the elf as he slowly lowered himself back into the seat he had slightly risen above, “with what you desire of this council.”
“Once again we can all agree there is a singular goal that is unanimous.” There was a slight difference of his voice as it seemed to have lost some of the rigidity that he had prior, as though his resolution wavered even slightly. “We desire peace. An end to this war. I can say for now, that is the only demand I will place upon the table--this may change in time.”
“I am sure that you understand that is one of our primary goals as well,” spoken the advisor to the Baidenese king, nearly interjecting before the man would have a chance to make any sort of response, “and that we did not desire this war. However, there were agreements that were infracted upon your people’s end prior to things escalating. Baiden did err by turning a blind eye when we received notification that your people would no longer be sending the results of the census to us. Furthermore, you closed off the northern pass and made trade with the Men of the North far more difficult than it was prior. While we cannot by necessity say that the fault for all of this is within your court as far as Iolas is concerned, he is still of the Ceredi people, and his fault will reflect upon yours. I am not wholly proud of this fact, but that is how it is viewed. If any under the raiments of Baiden acted against your people, we would take claim for their actions.
“So we ask how you will make amends. Our current demands are only that the northern trade post be reopened and that new arrangements are penned. I can judge already, King Iowyr, that you are more level-headed than your father and will be more fit to see reason. I must ask that Mercurius and Augustus differ in these ways, though, or I am afeared council will not end well.” Sidelong was the glance and upon a sneer did it fall, but immediately Mercurius did not retort. He was well aware of the fact the was not known for being the most level headed when it came to debates. Their last attempt was a prime example of that.
Silence was heard for a moment, as though he was awaiting Zanil to speak again. Or Arric. Iowyr frowned deeply as he realized the sentiments were shared by all those on the opposite of the table. “In truth,” as his gaze lifted from his fingernails to the men that sat across from him, “I can only condemn Iolas to a certain extend. If you came to expect that I would speak out in abhorrence of him, you are certainly in the wrong. I would like to address that before we continue. Iolas had his father’s charisma--he was able to rally those behind him seeking change. I can certainly say that did not come from Ellewynn. I will not stand and deny that there was indeed a great need for change. This has set change forward in motion, and I hope it is for the best.
“I have little choice but to take on the weight of what ever wrong it may be that Iolas has done. I am aware he attacked you, King Lander,” as the eyes turned to the fair king seated to the right of Mercurius, “and for that I can offer only apologies but no amends. For all the supposed magic in the blood of elves, I cannot change the past.
“I will, however, share with you bad news.” For the moment that he paused, the air was thick with tension. What further bad news was there to deliver? “The northern port that you seem so intent upon. It was destroyed. The Northmen ransacked it once--when situations between they and the Ceredi turned sour. That is your northern trade route was closed off, though I am sure that when the news was delivered to your father that it was not painted as so.”
Down did dark brows tilt as the Baidenese king gazed across the table draped in blue towards the elven king. “That does not negate the fact that it was destroyed through the fault of the Ceredi. Demanding its restoration for the use of Baiden is still within a reasonable demand. If it was the Ceredi that lead to the destruction and disuse, then it is the Ceredi that should be responsible for its repairs, whether it was spite that closed the northern route or not.”
“Let it be known that the lack of trade with the north impacted us severely as well, and not merely baiden,” returned the voice of the knight, for hte king sat immobile. Council was difficult for even those that were most seasoned in it, such as Zanil and arguably even Arric, so for one that had not been king for even yet a year to be expected to host the council and play the role of dignitary when he was taught little but hate was difficult. So Drunel, more adept at dissolving disagreements between his own units than handing matters of great security, attempted to divert things as best he could. “While the people of Baiden primarily received trade from the Northmen, we dealt with both the humans and the elves that lived in the north. We were almost entirely cut off from trade.”
“Then might I inquire,” for it was Arric that pitched his statement in, making a small gesture with his hand, “as to why, exactly, the trade point was not rebuilt? If it was mutually beneficial. I was aware that the Ceredi had few to no trade routes but to have allowed the primary one to fall into disuse seems almost… intentional.”
“I had every intent to reallocating resources to repair the trade port when I became king,” Iowyr spoke, his voice having at least somewhat more conviction than it had prior. “However, Ionwhyn died suddenly--in the middle of the war.” Died suddenly. There were a few that were within the innermost circle that knew the truth of what had happened but non dared to speak of it--none were so brazen. And none for sure were able to confirm the truth without any sort of confirmation from the king himself, and he was in no hurry to out his own action. The last thing the society of the elves needed was discourse regarding their king. Killing his father may not have been the most ideal notion for him to have done and yet he could not quite merit allowing him to further drive the elves into the ground. AT the time, it had been the only choice. But some days…
But as he sat here, he knew his father would not have even made these attempts, so he folded his hands before him again. His gaze was mostly upon the other king as opposed to those that were seated on either side of him. It was easier to focus upon a singular person instead of the triad that sat there, flanked by Brayden and the other knights who stood around him. There were a smattering of elvish knights, of course, but they had not about them the air of intimidation that Baidenese knights carried. It was but one of many disparities at this table.
“This have not exactly gone as they were planned to. My father’s sudden death changed things quite drastically, and for that…”
“So the ports will be repaired. Will be pass be reopened for us?” This was less like the calm negotiations of Zanil for this was the voice of the king again. He placed a hand flat upon the table and even leaned forward slightly. When it came to Mercurius, it was almost difficult to distinguish if his body language was intended to be threatening or if it was simply how he had always held himself: both were viable options. “One without the other is pointless.”
“If the negotiations come to terms, then yes. When the port is rebuilt, then the pathway will be reopened. In accordance with this agreement.
“However,” spoke the elven king, “you must keep in mind that we are within our rights to make similar demands. The hostilities of the trade routes between our mountains and the Black Forest were destroyed. Not by any singular force, but because we could not travel them without being attacked. These will be reopened, these will be protected however you see fit.”
“Baiden does not reach all the way to the black forest,” mentioned Zanil as he pushed argentine hair from his face, peering across at the elves. This was perhaps the first time that his hair had been moved in a way to make quite clear the jagged tips of his ears where they had been torn, and visibly the eyes of the knight did widen. But no remark was made, if only out of simple politeness. “We cannot be responsible for that which transpires beyond our boundaries.”
“As far as the reports that I have received can acknowledged, it is within the confines of Baiden that attacks upon our trading caravans transpired. I only ask that those ways be left clear and that there be some sort of impact upon attacking those that would travel through. Penalize them, and do not merely turn a blind eye as was done before.”
“The blind eye was only turned after you had already begun to stop adhering to the agreements on your side of the treaty--”
“King Rosenlied,” spoke Arric and immdiately there was a chill down the king’s spione. Once again, he was not Mercurius to Arric. He could not be. Not here, not now. “This is not time to place blame. No good will come of it. Please,” as he gestured towards him. “You must realize that he is speaking precicely what you would want to hear, that he desires all things that you do. The port be rebuilt and opened, and trade with the Ceredi and others with Liev.”
“You make the implication that I care for the Black Forest any more than I care for the mountains--”
“Mercurius,” came Zanil’s forceful voice from his side as the king was silenced. “This is not the time to focus upon our differences. This is the time to find the common round and move forth to peace. Still yourself.”
Tightly drawn were black brows as a heavy sigh came from him. It was true. His hands dug forth into the table before him and yet for a moment, he said nothing.
“I spoke out of kind. We will--grant this. Protection of Ceredi traders through Baidenese limits.” And at that, Arric did give a small smile in spite of himself.
They would not set out until the next morning. Initially, Brayden had been insistent upon riding to the north but seemed to allow his expression to soften when Abigail mentioned to him that Silvya was within these halls. So quick a departure would rob him of time with her, and one that looked upon the Captain could see that he had aged years in he months he had been gone. With any luck, this would merit peace. With any luck, he would not have to depart back to the front lines, as Maurice had after leaving Faeron and the other elven prisoners within the Gray Wing. It was under Abigail’s direct orders that it was seen to that Brayden would stay in the castle until well after they had departed to the Ceredi homeland. For a while this discussion left the waters quite murky with their elven confidant, but Arric’s volunteer to assume the role of prisoner should any errant behavior be shown by any on the side of Baiden quelled any sort of anxiety. As for what would become of Iolas…
Mercurius sat alone in the quiet of his throne room. The day had been far more drainig than one upon the battlefield and perhaps he had forgotten that during his months away. Abigail had excused herself due to feeling ill after dinner (such was the way of pregnancy, or so Mercurius had been told) and left the man alone with his thought. This was arguably dangerous and so the time spent alone was encroached upon the Arric as the arching doors opened with only the slightest creak of hinges. Arric’s entrances were scarce grandeur but, as the king managed to lift his head from where his gaze was pointedly upon his hands, this was an improvement over sneaking in through an escape path that very few knew of.
“Mercurius…”
“How did you find it?” Still were his fingers lazily laced, his body bent forward as his forearms rest near his knees, his hair falling in his face. He, too, had been aged by war. There was a considerably enough disparity of age between the Vairan and Baidenese king but for it to be highlighted as it was in this moment was almost unsettling. Mercurius had been involved firsthand in the first battles, the first war that any of Liev had known in many generations. Small scuffles had broken out, but nothing that called for the army that Baiden kept. And in hindsight, likely it was beneficial that they had kept the standing army that some had opposed. “How did you find the passage that only the Rosenlied family is to know about?” … And Zanil. But he was nigh upon considered a Rosenlied by this point in time, so long had he dwelt among them.
A hand lifted to readjust the draped fabric on the body of the Vairan for a moment before he spoke. He had changed since his journey through the unused tunnel, thankfully, lest he would likely be plucking the corpses of spiders or their offcast webs or any number of other unpleasantries. One his hand hung idle back at his side once more, he turned his attention to the seated king. “If only the family is to know of it, then perhaps you should attend to the servants. It was one of them that told me, though I would not give his name. I offered my word I would not do so seeing as he was quite worried he would fall upon punishment for knowing. I find that to be likely, so I hold my oath”
He was fully within a position where he could demand the knowledge, but he would not. His lips were pushed into a thin line but no verbal response came thither from them, his gaze not even moving from the fair blond before him. Two months was hardly enough time for grandeur changes to occur within an adult that was quite done with their growing, but the fact that Arric seemed still to shine with that youthful light almost made Mercurius’s heart clench with envy. Those hands that has readjusted the garb of his homeland upon him would not know the cut of war, if all things went well. And if for no other reason, he would not plummet the world into war as he would not wish that upon others.
Not upon Arric. And not upon the yet unborn heir that would come to rule his kingdom. These were things he had realized being once more about people that were not entrenched in war. Looking upon Abigail and puon Arric, upon Brayden and the way his face had illuminated when he heard talk of Silvya. And for a moment, he recalled Faeron, their brief conversation within the confines of the Grey Wing. The way he had spoken of family, of the notion that the Ceredi wanted only to live their lives. That it was their former king that offered such staunch opposition to, well, peace. Old rivalries ran deep on both sides, and yet the cycle had to be broken somewhere. His battle-worn hands laced with his dark hair for a moment, pushing it from his face. “And you felt the need to encroach upon a private council because…?”
“The fate of all of Liev lingered within the talks therein. By all means I had intended to simply listen but I…”
“You felt the need to interject.”
The face of the younger king was shadowed for a moment before a heavy exhale through his nose before he spoke again. “I knew my involvement may indeed prompt action from you, Mercurius. That was why I interjected, why I came to Baiden seeking you. The tides were grim. Arandel spent much time dissuading me--”
“What else is new?”
“--yet in disregard of the words of my advisor, Mercurius, I saw to traveling here after Davin told me what he did. Your talk of genocide brought me here and the fact that I knew… I knew I could dissuade you. I felt, perhaps, if no one else….” and their eyes lingeres upon one another before it was Arric that turned away. “I apologize if this seemed manipulative. But if nothing else…”
“I care for my people,” began the king as his gaze was again affixed upon his hands, calloused by training and by battle. “Never once did the best outcome for my people leave my mind.”
“But would you not agree with me that you were quite carried away?” Forward strode the king, the sound of boots on the floor near echoing in the still quiet of the throne room. He could have reached for him and in fact there was some temptation to do so that lingered within him, but… he stilled himself. His fingers were lightly lifted, extended, but he stilled himself and drew in a single, almost shaken breath. “You were speaking of genocide. Of killing all those that would remain within the confines of Liev’s borders, Mercurius. People that have had naught to do with this war and do not dare say to me that they are involved as anyone solely given their race.” Such arguments or those like them had been frequent and, frankly, the Vairan king haad lost all patience fo them. “I apologize if my actions have been construed as… as manipulative, Mercurius. It was simply the only means by which I knew I could achieve that what I needed to.”
Of course Davin had been the one that carried the information to Arric. Seeing as the healer worked in close tandem with him, it was not surprise. “The war is all elves’, but also all humans’. None of us are free from the chains that had been shaken upon us. What you have done may ahve been manipulative, but you have proven your point.” Tight did the hands grip to the arms of the throne as he pushed to stand and behind him was he framed with the scarlet hue of the lining of the cape worn by his father and his father’s father, so on and so forth. It was one of the most telltale insignias of Baiden, alongside the King’s crown was it known to hold the eminence and the power. And in that moment, if only for that moment, Arric recalled the means by which his heart and lungs had seized when Mercurius entered the room for the first time at council and commanded all eyes upon him. He had a way of that. It had not changed or faded over the years. “If your singular intent in coming here was to change my mind then you have achieved it and may go--”
“That was not what I meant!” This was the first that the yonger king’s voice had risen and forward did he move again, the flat of his boots against the stairs that would lead him to the throne. His eyes and face were upturned to gaze at the visage of Mercurius that, with the added height, towered even further over him in that instance. And those brown eyes were upon his blue ones and he could feel his heartbeat from his chest down to his toes and he was aware of all things. The Arric that Mercurius had first met would have backed down immediately, but this king did not. His hands curled tight into fists and his brows knit fast over his eyes. “I have admired you, Mercurius, from youth and into the advent of adulthood. The proclamation of war shok me to my core for we are all kinsmen, men of Liev. I care for your citizens as I can only hope you care for mine--especially those that fight alongside you. It is no small feat. Perhaps I came to convince myself that the malady of madness had not indeed taken you. And if that is the case I came to try to bring you back from the brink if I could.
“But I have no intention of going ‘lest it is northwards with you. Though… I am surprised my plan worked,” as the voice seemed to waver, nearly fade. “Knowing the truth, now, I thought you would despise me.”
“I could have. I very well could have remained angry at you for things you cannot control, placed upon your head the blame of your parents. But you are a king of Liev, just as I am. And that merit at least minimal respect.”
Soft lips did part slightly as he seemed to ponder what the best response, if any, was to that statement. But his expression melded itself into a soft smile and even a laugh did come forth forth as the locked eyes were broken and his own were downcast, if only for a moment. A single laugh could do wonders to soften the air that had threatened to crush down upon them, and even Mercurius seemed unable to resist the urge to smile. Arric’s laugh as not what one would call particularly beautiful. It was not the light ringing of bells heard when one spoke of a lady’s chuckle in poetry. It was short, lower, but not quite a guffaw. Overall, it was Arric’s laugh. Something that Mercurius had not heard in a long time. “I can no more control the fact that I am king than I can that I have elf blood, Mercurius. You respect me as king but condemn my mother for being half-elf? That seems to lack a key element of logic, you know.” It was not mean. It was merely a gentle accent to the dichotomous though that was displayed by the king. Something that, honestly, few could get away with.
Slowly did the king come to lower himself back down to the throne that he had lifted himself from earlier. His expression was far softer than any had seen it for some time save for Abigail upon the news of his heir, and his eyes were turned upon Arric and no other. “To answer your question,” spoke the ebony-haired king, “I am not angry at you. Not for the circumstances of your birth, nor for your interjection into the council. You are a peacemaker. That is the role that Vaira has played for many years in our realms, and so it shall continue with you. You will ride with us to speak with the Ceredi of the north in their own hallowed halls and, there, again, serve as a liaison of peace. If nothing else, your presence will make them far more acceptable of the idea.” But there was still concern beneath sapphire eyes and such caused the head of the Baidenese king to tilt as though inquisitive to the cause of such. “What troubles you?”
“Iolas,” came the blonde’s voice, now shaken, but not edging into upset, “I am concerned for Iolas. What of him and his fate? If we leave in the morning...”
“He is a prisoner, Arric,” spoke the voice of the Baidenese king once more, with no errance, no waiver. “For an instance I did entertain the notion of perhaps having him travel with us and take part of the council, but his mind is made up. He is no leader. He has no place in a council that will decide the fate of a world that he will no longer be a part of. He has resigned himself to death, and so death I will give him. But not yet.”
Now there was worry and concern upon his face as he gaze forward towards the seated king. Such things were spoke so absolutely, as though they were nothing but reports of the weather. And it made his face contort. There were things of Baiden, of the way that Mercurius handled things that would never change and that would never quite sit well with Arric. And for a moment he did genuinely linger on making a statement as to the legitimacy but--“So you are going to execute him?”
Fingers laced again, arms resting upon his knees as he leaned forward slightly. “I considered it. He has released himself into our custody, even though he does regret it--he is ours to do with what we will. I have no intention of simply executing him.”
“Then what are your plans?” This was concern. It was clearly concern as his brows were tightened over his eyes. “I certainly would hope that you have discussed them with Zanil.”
“As of yet? I have not. Such was what I had planned to converse with him about only after the council was completed. There is enough worry upon his shoulders currently. I know not why, but his reaction to Thrandir being a captive in the north has weighed heavily upon him. I was not aware of any connection between them and yet…” There was a pause, the thought left hanging in the air. “I have a thought of what is the best route to deal with Iolas. Such has been on my mind nearly since this war began and yet when I am presented, I am not quite sure.”
Not quite sure. Those words were perhaps the most frightening ones that he had heard from Mercurius, but only because now he saw the king as fallible. It was easier when they were apart; things were almost simple when he was able to see only an image of Mercurius and assume he was something superhuman, as he had appeared before him in the first instance. Such was the way with people that were idolized--and to say that he did not at least somewhat idolize the Baidenese king would be in errance. His teeth drew his bottom lip between them as he seemed to wait for a response before he saw one was not coming. “Mercurius?”
“As far as for what I currently intend,” as it seemed that his name had prompted him to reconnect from his momentary lapse to his own mind, “I do not quite feel it advisable to speak of these plans with someone outside the council of Baiden.”
The frown had not yet faded from his face but he gave a nod. It was true--as much as all of Liev were indeed connected, certain affairs were best dealt with individually. There was something to do with respect, with individual autonomy among the countries. They were allies, but possessed different values and while the apex goal of all of Liev was the safety of its people, the way that it was achieved could vary. Oh, the younger king was curious, but he knew better than to inquire further. There was a point to which that separation should be respected, and Arric knew that. So at least he spoke in response, “I understand.”
Such was where the conversation could have easily ended. They could have departed from the throne room and yet they lingered; it seemed as though one of them was waiting for the other to prompt… something. The air itself seemed weighted with expectancy until the king did rise and draw near to him the blue-draped figure of the Vairan king in an embrace. Hands that had known little but the grip of sword and war (for one could hardly have expected him to be amorous with his wife for it seemed near always were they at odds since his return, and who could blame her?) for the last few months knew now an attempt at gentleness, at kindness. And for a moment the fair king did hesitate before his hands reached forth to wrap around the girth of Mercurius’s waste. And in that moment the two were as they were in their private meets: men, not kings. Those were the moments that were most valuable, if only for their brevity. For what they represented.
“You need not come to the council if you are afraid, Arric.” The words met his ear and made a chill dance along his spine, from base of his neck to his lower back. They were words of concern, genuine concern that he could feel throughout his body and so he swallowed, hard, and turned his eyes towards the other king as best he could.
“Vaira has served always as peacekeepers, as negotiators.” His own voice was soft, his gaze no longer trying to take in that of the king. His own grip loosened a bit and he slipped from the arms around him. Still to the forearms did he hold fast as he looked at Mercurius with resolve in his eyes. “I will leave with you in the morning. The duties and abilities of Vaira have not changed. I will stand by you at court as your ally and your friend, Mercurius.”
There were no children among the halls inhabited by the Wolves’ Guild and the reason for that was not a statute of banishment. The child in the elf’s arms as he approached the cell was presumably not of lycanthropic nature and yet the visage still near brought to him the sensation of a need to wince. It ached. Could it have been that she was turned after the birth of a child? By no means was this a newborn and yet it was held as though inevitably hers.
“Strangers,” came a voice as though strained when one in a cell down the way brought herself forth and spoke to him, eyes glinting with the familiar shine of his own guild, “are not permitted down here. Though I suppose the guard is too scarce to turn you away… but you…” and her pointed ears lifted slightly, the muscles in her face tensing with the action. “You do not smell like them.”
“Do you not know the smell of your own when it is upwind?” It was the mournful howls that had alerted Gideon initially to the existence of these captive elves and yet there scent was undeniably discernable as their own. They were werewolves, just as he was. Just as al those he took companionship with in the hall. A slight tilt of his head as the dim light illuminated that which made his eyes unlike simple human eyes, that which granted him the night vision. Scarce could he see her, but he could see that she lifted her head just slightly as though offput by it. The elf who cradled the child said nothing and offered no response. “I know what you are. We heard you cries. The pain. What do they do to you here?”
For a moment the response was silence and Hagon took this as a prompt for him to slowly walk towards where he saw the other elf, the one that had spoken to him. In the dim light could he see that her face was thin but not gaunt, that her features were lithe. She was Ceredi for sure as even he found himself having to tilt his gaze to look at her. Northmen were taller than the people of Baiden and the elves were taller yet. Deep was the frown he made out on her features as she peered down at him from beneath knit brows. But soon did the expression soften and her fingers even reached from between the bars, a hand extending forth as though to touch him. “We were hunters. Meat cannot be bred within the mountains, not that which can be shot. They tell stories of beasts in the woods. They tell our families we died. That there are no corpses. And they throw us here as though we committed mortal crimes. This is not a malady that was inflicted upon us in the North, where He watched, so say the priests. This is not something with which they will meddle. So they will not kill us. They will grant us nothing. Some go mad when they are bitten by the Beast and disappear to the woods. They claw and scratch and become the wolf themself. But we tried to come home, and it was a mistake. All of us… one at a time. Some of us had families. Some...”
“Children?”
His eyes moved towards the cell he had seen at first and he saw the grim shadow upon the eyes of the werewolf who spun the tale. “His father was killed by the beast on the hunt. His mother, bitten. I am sure that they told any other relatives something along him being placed into proper care. Maybe even one of the nurses. But no. He is with his mother.”
The shoulders stiff beneath thick fur from a beast hunted to the north sagged slightly as there was some clarification of relief. Elven werewolves could not have children any more than their human compatriots could, but for the child to suffer for the parent--for something the parent had not even done in err. They were locked away like murderers… which, Hagon had to confess, they could be. They could tear asunder flesh and bone when the urge came to them, if they did not know how to control it. Could elves control it? Their sensibilities were hailed by and large as more delicate, their attunement with nature greater. At least, those were the stories that he heard in the North. They may be wrong. He knew little of elves and had less to do with them. They merely did not cross paths. Trade was long disparate between the Northmen and the elves that dwelled within the snowy continent to the north. Their culture was as much a mystery to him as to any other.
“Do you come to mock us?”
His eyes were again upon her and he noted that she had asked it quite genuinely. It was perhaps that which prompted the ache within his chest more so than anything else. Had it been asked in face or jest then it would not have made his own expression drop so, and yet… she meant it. He could only imagine that others came, what few did come, to mock the caged beasts. What the knights and guards may have said to her was a mystery to him and he daren’t ask, but he could hardly fathom that they were granted the respect he and his guildmates were granted. They were a renowned guild of fighters--not, prisoners. And these prisoners had done nothing wrong. These prisoners were victims, and the notion made his heart ache and his stomach churn.
“Do you?”
“I have come to help you.”
It was her expressions turn to drop, though it was less of a drop and more of a full blankening--it was as thought there was nothing there, not for that moment. Just forward did she satare before within her she found the ability to parrot that word: “Help…? None come to us to help. We are abominations to them, beasts.”
“We were all bitten. We all have the same affliction as you and yet we are not beasts. We are not abominations. The God of Baiden, he is represented by a wolf. Their stories say it is his gift. I cannot tell you what I rightly believe of it, because I have my own faith to follow, but this is not an affliction to the north. You know that as well as I do.”
“Would a righteous deity inflict this upon his people?”
“I told you I cannot tell you what I believe of it. I do not know what my teachings say of it, for it is not something that transpires often enough in the north for there to be a belief, or tales of it. But it is not a crime. It is not something you should suffer needlessly for. You should not be imprisoned for it.”
“You tell us what we know,” spoke the mother, finally, her own eyes lifting. But there was almost nervousness in him as he did not turn to look at her. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We were attacked by a beast and now we are like that beast. If anything, this is an omen from Him. that the elves do not belong here, and that we will become like the humans…”
“And what is so bad to become like the humans? We do not imprison our werewolves. And Their children. He would have a life in Baiden… or, at least, a chance of it.”
Such a response was perhaps dagger-tongued, more than it really needed to be, but the point was relayed in that conversation. There was silence. No response came forth from her in that moment and his attention was once more upon the one who had spoken to him initially.
“My leader… Gideon Whitemane. He serves as an alpha to a full pack of werewolves, most of whom are from Baiden but.. Others from part of Liev. It was he who heard your howls. Howls that the human in his company mistook for hounds. I can only assume that is what they tell others that hear you. Hounds. But you are not. Neither hound nor abomination. No more beast than the men who are out on the battlefield slaying one another like animals. We all have a beast inside of us, be we elves or humans or werewolves or any combination of these. He wants to help you.”
“But how? The guard with the keys does not come often. What food we get, it’s slid through the bars. I do not know even if he carries the keys...”
A few small steps forward and the blonde werewolf came to kneel himself before the door that held the speaker captive. “None have taught you of your gifts. Your prowess. You can use your abilities to help yourself. I smell the keys--and I smell the one that held him. It has been within the past few weeks he has unlocked your cell, yes?”
Likely it was because of the simple way that he had found himself bitten, the fact he had been brought into the pack nigh on instantly since the bite had taken its hold, had left him dumb to the notion of having to fumble about and discover lycanthropy. He could not imagine having to learn how to be a werewolf… let alone attempting to do so from within a confined cell. And how many were there in the woods? It was more likely than not that the howls, the scents that Yrain and the brothers had cited within the northern forests were not the scents of these wolves. He could not fathom that the taskmasters would release them from these cages to run about in the woods. Even the Guild had hunts upon the occasion to allow pent up energies to release considerably, to let the beasts run for those moments and keep mounting tensions at bay… for tensions could, and would, mount. Infighting was rare but did happen and the hunts were in place to prevent that, and so had been since the one who had been alpha before Gideon. Hagon did not much know or need to know the history prior to that and, frankly, he only knew as much as he did because he happened to overhear it in conversation.
“Can you trace his scent?”
It may in fact be in err that he assumed all wolves would have essentially the same abilities but the notion that the concept of enhanced abilities had not even crossed the mind of these cages wolves caused him to lift his head and quirk his brow quite visibly. His lips were painted in a frown as he righted himself to look up at the eyes that peered down at him as though what he did was wholly foreign and strange. “It is one of many abilities that is sharpened by the bite.” Not the gift. Not the curse. They knew not what it was and did not desire to place a name upon it, but it was indeed something that was and something that was inevitable, for them. Merely a part of their fate as werewolves. “But you never were able to learn that, were you?”
He had not expected a response and so he was not offended when he did not receive one. Merely did he turn his head and give a small frown. “It will be dangerous, but I will find the key. I will get you out. This… this is not the fate that anyone deserves who has committed no crime.”
And then there was a softness, a gentleness that spoke. It was the tone of the mother, though her eyes were still upon the slumbering child she cradled against her. And she spoke the words slowly. “Thank you.”
Mercurius never failed to surprise her, and this time it was for the positive. But she was not sure it was of his singular volition. There had been relative silence between him and Arric and she was not sure if she was concerned or pleased with the concept--they did not even speak positively of one another. In fact, they scarce spoke and avoided one another. When Arric approached her one evening after a few days had passed since their debacle with the king, she saw sadness in his eyes. It shone faintly and caused her lips to downturn as he looked up at her.
“I am to depart tomorrow,” he said to her as they walked down the hallway that was unoccupied by any others, “and I am to return home.”
Her eyes were only upon him for a moment before she gazed forward again and continued alongside him down the hall. “A council has been called, has it not? Surely you do not think me a fool.”
He did not smile. If nothing else, his expression remained as neutral as he could manage, though it almost threatened to relay…. something. Anything. A blank slate had to have been better than whatever he would communicate with his face. When he made no verbal response, the queen spoke again, seeing as silence did neither of them any favors. “You would carry to the other countries the fact that my husband threatened genocide upon the Ceredi. And you cannot think that this is something best kept secret?” Silence met her once more as she continued. “You cannot think that there is still something we can do to change his mind?”
“I do not know how to plea with him further, Abigail. I do not know what else to do but call upon others that may hold greater sway than I do--Kings that have rules longer, and…”
“And you think for some reason the fact they have ruled longer will merit greater respect? I knew that you knew little of my husband, Arric, but I suppose you know even less than I took you for initially. He is a prideful man and thinks his way the best way of all things. And his respect is not based upon age but merit; he sees little merit in kings that do not know how to rule. Did he think they would be useful involved, I swear to you the messages sent to other rules would not have been so curt as they were. There would have been requests for aid, requests for something. Yet he takes all things upon his own shoulders both out of pride and out of a sense of superiority.” By a window did the woman stall and an extended hand of ivory came to prompt the king of the same, the king draped in loose periwinkle blue and accented in gold. To her did he offer contrast, the woman clad in rich scarlets illuminated by the light of a setting sun. It was growing late, after all, and the days were shorter in winter. “You will only raise paranoia. I swear to Silas himself, to Issa, to the sister goddesses you pray to, this genocide will not happen. I will not permit it. I have a significant amount of power. Do you forget that I am the queen of Baiden? Do you forget the power that I hold?”
There was something in her voice that made the small hairs on the back of his neck raise and a bit of ice linger down his spine. She did have power. How she would utilize it--he could not say. “But the ultimate power is still the king’s. His word can trump all.”
“Do you think he would dare enact this ultimate power? Before he does anything so garish, so stupid, then I can swear to you that I will drag Zanil back from the battlefield with my own two hands if I must. I cannot see him, of all people, allowing this to happen. And if Mercurius will listen to anyone, it will be him.”
Light were the footfalls of the younger king against the floor was he came to stand before her, meeting those blue eyes with his own. So widely disparate were the tints around their pupils, but they locked. “And if Mercurius will not listen to Zanil?”
“Then I will stop him. I am not some queen that will bend under the weight of her crown, Arric. I am new yet to the throne, perhaps, by some standards. But I will not simply stand aside as the man that I wed destroys a nation, for this will destroy Baiden. Liev will not rest idle while this goes on. If word spreads to Ludan, then I am quite sure their emissaries to the Black Forest will involve the elves of the woods. We know little of the Ceredi. We know less of the elves within the wood. They could well have dragons concealed in there, for all we know.” And based on the things she had learned since coming to Baiden? In the wake of the existence of werewolves, dragons would not be the most surprising thing. Within the top ten, yes. But the most? That would probably be hearing Mercurius admit he was wrong without the mandate of additional prompting. Dragons were more believable than that. Somehow, the king had seemingly convinced himself that genocide was not only an answer but the answer.
And within here there was an inkling of anxiety of the chance that even Zanil would not sway the mind of the ruler. Yet she refused to let that show, even as she slowly turned her eyes to gaze at the sinking sun. Pink tendrils had prior reached through the sky and now they were receding, only a dim glow on the horizon. She had been trained and taught not to show her worry, or her anxiety. She knew better. She had to know better. That was simply the way it was and the way she had been raised. So her back was straight and her head was held high as she watched the blackness of night eek over Baiden. “It is not worth starting a civil war in addition to Baiden’s war. Surely you understand that.”
The frown upon the fact that had the most lingering amount of youth of the rulers creased the brow. “I feel only as though the other kings in Liev have a right to know…”
By all means, the woman had a right to frown. But she did not. She could have cast her frigidly scathing eyes upon him for the brashness and stupidity that may well have cast all of the continent into another war, but she didn’t. Merely did she exhale a weary sigh as her attention was finally removed from the darkening sky. She knew not how long she stood there by that window, only that as she blinked it seemed the deep velvet was populated now with diamonds that hung far above them. And it was the same sky she had gazed upon when she was in Meh’rok and Oran. The same sky the elves in the forest looked upon as well as the ones that covered the sky that the mountains reached towards. “Do you not think that those of Meh’rok would use it as an excuse to oppose Baiden? They are not on good terms. The royal families…”
“I should leave, regardless,” as the body language of the king slowly began to shift his weight and close his physical body language off. His arms went across, he placed his palms to cradle his elbows and he heaved a sigh. “I have little involvement anymore and I only impose--”
“You have men in this war as do we,” spoke Abigail as she began to move away from him with slow, methodical steps. Past him did she brush as he lifted his gaze to follow her. “With you, we may well break Mercurius’s defenses. I saw him beginning to bend under your gaze. I would ask you remain as my guest until we have settled this.” Then she stilled for a moment: “And if you would resist, I would strongly advise you rethink… seeing as you departing to a council would indeed result in a civil war, and I will not have that.”
Only a few more strides forward before she heard the response: “Then I will stay.”
It was not only Arric who had been recalled to the throne room but Abigail as well, and as the two glimpsed one another as they made their way down the hall towards the large, arching doors they did both hesitate. It had been nearly an afterthought to call his wife to the impromptu council as well and as much as she did within her harbor the desire to think that her husband would not at any point direct any sort of malicious intent, the concept he may well be pitting them against one another sat queasy upon her stomach. She said nothing, though, entering the throne room as the guards did open it to see her husband not seated but lingering near the massive feet of Silas himself, eclipsed by the shadow of the wolf that was between the large sculpted boots. Not a word was exchanged among the three until the doors were closed and the door on the other side barred. The sound visibly made Arric start slightly but the fact they faced only the red-lined cape of ceremonies that was donned by the king saved him the potential of ridicule for being jumpy. Everything felt unsettling at the current impasse and that was why he was more alert to such things than normal.
It was only once the doors were barred (which seemed almost a little more theatric than it needed to be, in all honesty) and their privacy assured that Mercurius moved away from the feet of his patron and stepped towards them. He did not seat himself in the throne and even came to stand opposite where they lingered in the lower area of the room, paces away from the stairs that elevated the thrones from the rest of the room. Not unlike Silas was he in that he opted to keep an even gaze with those he spoke to when such was possible. This was no exception as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other--it was the nearest to fidgeting that Arric had ever seen of him and he made a note to comment on that when it felt more appropriate. In other words, no time soon.
“There are elves within the walls of Baiden for the first time that I have ever known. Zanil could likely recount the last occurrence, but in all fairness we cannot call upon him.” A bizarre way to begin the conversation, but it was a way nonetheless. “I have spoken with them. The numbers in the north are few, from what I can gather--but they would still be better if they returned north from which they had came.”
Abigail’s hands clenched into fists. She was foolish indeed to think anything had gotten through that thick skull but to her surprise it was the voice of Arric that rang clear in protest, his voice filling the room. Not so as Mercurius’s own voice did, by any means, but there was still the sound that reverberated amongst them and eliminated any inclination to silence that they may have had. Blonde brows were knit low over those blue eyes and the head of short-cropped goldenrod locks shook with disagreement. “Stop it. You know well what you speak will turn everyone against Baiden. Is that what you would desire? A civil war? I--”
“With what forces?”
“We will find them. We will call upon what we have and the sheer numbers of the people of Liev can overtake you because we will not permit tyranny, Mercurius! Listen to yourself. Step outside of your own for but an instance and hear the words you say: that place is not their home. They are not returning. You and driving them from their land and from their cities, and for what? Your own selfish paranoia. There was peace between you…”
“In the same way there is peace between two wolves that have appeased their fight and yet know they cannot live in harmony,” attempted the Baidenese king by way of rebuttal but he saw the slender digits of Arric’s hand raise to urge him into silence. Forward did the more diminutive king step towards the raven haired ruler with his face creased. Wrinkles would form upon his brow before it was all over, and he knew it. “Arric--”
“The wolf that bared his teeth to you is dead and he has given forth the way to a wolf that seeks only peace with your pack. Still you gnash your teeth at him like an animal. I have seen dogs that show more compassion than you do.” This was a blatant insult and yet there was not so much as a flinch from the Baidenese king at the words. Abigail’s eyes flickered between the two of them and she was wise enough to know that insults and emotional appeals were not going to provide anything resembling progress with Mercurius. Empathy seemed to be lacking therein for he could not find it within himself to seemingly find the likeness between him and the elven king when it came to their people. Her own lips were in a downturn as she listened to the two continue for a moment before she interjected.
“I have stated already my intents. I will not allow you to continue speaking of genocide and forced mass exodus, Marcurius. You deserved to be remembered as greater than that, as does all of Baiden. I will unseat you from the throne myself if that is what it takes to prevent this blight upon the very name of a country that is equally mine as it is yours.”
“You have no right--”
“I carry the next ruler of Baiden within my own body. I have as much right as you for I am by marriage a Rosenlied. Do you contest this? It is you who took the vows in this very place that you stand. And now you would push against me; you would balk and push back against me. This is your child I carry. This is your heir, your future ruler. Do you not care of the legacy that you will leave behind? Or, even, the world that you will leave behind for your child? Your future ruler?”
“Zanil will see to it that the legacy is shaped--”
“You cannot simply change the truth,” retorted the woman with her brows creased down low and her hand gesturing in a flat motion. “They will remember it. Those that are alive today will remember the truth. Time may skew it and the words etched into books may have some sway upon how you will be remember but you cannot skew the truth of things, Mercurius. You cannot simply act as though there will be no immediate ramifications. There will be. Arric stands before you speaking of them and I cannot think that he is not firmly in the right. We may be the militaristic branch of Liev but all pieces must fit well and turn or else nothing will function. For us to go malicious would bring upon us only negative--and I will not permit that. I will not stand for that, Mercurius. I will stand against you if I must and take your very throne.”
It was a threat. There was no sugar coating it nor could it be sweetened and have any impact upon the king whatsoever. She knew it.
“I will not permit it.”
The words were harsh and cold and even the hardened king felt the grip of ice around his spine at their finality. Attempts at appealing to emotion had failed. It was time she appealed to his pride. “You will be remembered as a failure of a king. As the weakest in a long line of weak rulers who caved to their pride and their impulse. Is that truly how you want to be remembered? Is it? I would not think so; i would think you better. But should you stand to prove me wrong…”
He felt it. On the back of his neck did prickle the hairs of anxiety and of worry though he remained mute and said not a word. Paranoia was seeping into his mind, for the notion that the elven king happened to die at just the right moment for these two sto stand before him and speak of there merits of Iowyr--
“And what of if the elves have lied to us? What if we have all been deceived? Why do you stand before me and speak of the goodness of this new elven king that you have not even looked up? He speaks of bias,” as the accusing fingers and eyes turned to Arric who, in turn, replied with a frown and yet no verbal reconnaissance, “for he has in him their blood. But you, human as much as I--my own wife would stand to sabotage me…”
“It is not so much that I am sabotaging you as I am saving a country you would drive into the ground like a nag on her last leg behind a plow heavier than she can carry,” spoke the queen as she moved towards her king now. Arric lingered still, his eyes cast away. If nothing else, he was adept at knowing when it was not his place to speak. “And what if Zanil does not return? Do you forget that he is on the front lines? There is just as likely a chance that he will not return as any other man, Mercurius. Then who will pen your favorable history? Who will paint you as a figure worth remembering and not a madman and a zealot? I am aware of the fact that the Rosenlied family has leaned upon him for many a year but he is just as fallible as any of us.”
Her voice could have cracked and faltered and revealed to him that she did not believe what she was saying, but with great difficulty did she manage to steady it. In these moments, even if what she spoke was a bold faced lie she was aware she had to speak it with twice the strength and conviction of a man with her head held high--she was a ruler of Baiden as much as he was, whether or not he opted to believe it. His own pride and stubbornness seemed to lean towards rebuking her role as long as he was able, the concept that the magnanimous weight of his own rule was solely upon his own shoulders. When he did not respond, the queen raised her voice again.
“You would alienate not only your people but the people of Liev and the elves that you would wrong. Is this truly something you can afford? Is this something anyone can afford to do? This will cause a civil war, Mercurius. And that is how you will be remembered.” His pride. It was the open target upon which she had honed her arrows and now they flew free. “Have we not lost enough lives in this battle that is growing pointless? King Iowyr does not desire this war. The war is solely by an uninvolved third party--it could well have simply been the work of an elven rebellion had they not involved King Lander. Your involvement could have been avoided, but here we stand. Iolas stands to be our enemy and Iowyr our ally and yet you speak still of driving him from these lands.
“You speak your flawed logic not only to me but to King Lander. Would you speak it to your people? Do you truly believe your own words?”
Did he? To step out for a moment, to think. It made him grit his teeth a bit as he tried to step back but stilled himself. To retreat from his wife would offer no sort of benefit at the point. Abigail was right. Arric was right. It was he who stood in the eclipse of his own wrongdoing and so did frown deep as he even went so far as to give a shake of his head.
“My decision is made--”
“Only within your own mind.”
“Would you have me recend that which I said to the king?”
This was when it was Arric who spoke up, head lifted from where he had allowed it to hang for just a moment. Both of them were intimidating. Even Abigail’s presence commanded a room in a way his own could not and frankly he could and would confess that he often felt as though there was something lacking within him when he stood in the shadow that Mercurius cast--and now, in the one that his wife put forth. But there were moments when his own light had to shine as it was uniquely his.
“We are both indeed rulers, Mercurius, and so I am sure you understand that when a decision changes, it is only fair and only right to be informed of it.” This was not the most power statement. It did not shake the ground or change the earth beneath their very feet. But he drew in a deep breath and steeled his resolve as he continued speaking. “The longer you decide to keep up this idea of genocide, of exile, more people die. Both your knights and the elven knights as well as my healers who remain in the field. Surely you have not forgotten them.” It would have been easy to. He had been removed from the battlefield and now was no longer confronting visually the deaths of his people. But for him to so easily let go the fact that people died out there. People not too unlike himself and people that were very much like the elf he had spoken to, the weaver who had taken up arms in a likely futile attempt to protect what he saw as his life. But the expression remained rooted as it was, prompting the woman to continue. “I will not allow it. Nor will King Lander or King Lios or King Daien. Would not King Lios delight in a reason to unseat you? Would you give him that luxury of having a reason?”
By this point she may well have been grasping at straws, but it was a difficult notion to merely let go. Any appeal. An appeal to emotion had not worked. Pride was still her singular best bet insofar as moving Mercurius from his steadfast position.
“They do not have the strength--”
“An anthill can destroy a rat that stumbles upon it through numbers alone,” emphasized the queen as she stilled her voice. If she allowed it to escalate, there was the risk of this metamorphosing into a shouting match which would do no one any sort of favors. Arric’s presence in the room was, as far as she cared, an added tactic to dissuade her husband from any escalated form of aggression. “Do you forget such things in these moments? I am afraid of what will become of Baiden should the rest of Liev unite against us. The Grand War transpired as it did only because all nations were separated--they were divided and stood united against the force of the elves that did come from the north. Since then we have had peace, but an internal schism would bring forth another war.”
“To continue fighting for peace will do nothing. It will only hurt those on all sides and it will bring forth more and more hate, Mercurius. War does not breed peace but unease and animosity. Genocide will only make it worse. For the sake of all people within Liev, you must end it. None of us can but you.” These were the words of King Lander as eyes did turn to him when his voice finally rose among them. Until that point, his quiet had been fairly relative. But he spoke now, and he commanded audience upon the floor. “I have not yet called council of the other kings, but it would not bode well if I carried with them news of a presume genocide. All those within my power that possess this knowledge have been sworn to secrecy--from my advisor to Davin who stood by you at the council. Not so much as a whisper will escape. That is, unless you decide to move forth with such madness.” A pause was given. There was time there should either of the Baidenese ruler desire to speak but when there was naught but silence upon the Vairan man’s shoulder was the weight of articulation once more. “There is nothing for you to gain but more lost lives should you press forward with this action, Mercurius. Is that what you truly desire? More of your countrymen, dead. More of your people. Those that you swore before Silas himself and all gods gazing upon you to do right by and protect. And now you stand to betray that oath not only to your people but to your gods. If the ramifications upon this life are not enough to frighten you, keep in mind that I cannot see Silas welcoming into his hall a man who acted openly in defiance of that which is right and that which is by his oath. This war began to protect your people, not to destroy. Do not forget your motivation.”
“My motivation was to rid ourselves of the threat to the north.”
“You lie to yourself and to those that stand before you.” The words came from the lips of the other Lievan king before she herself could speak them, and so to him did she pass the moment of respect and, arguably, conquest. “This was was proclaimed to find a steady peace and to protect Liev from the Ceredi. It began because an attack was mounted upon your ally. The peace before was uneasy as Iolas gained momentum and the Ceredi demanded greater privacy but that is more telling of what is transpired in the north than it is of anything even loosely related to yourself and your country. You claim animosity towards the Ceredi themselves but they have done little to wrong you. They have only attacked as you marched upon their borders. Their new king, their Iowyr, he spoke to you of peace and you spat back with venom and hate. I would like to think those are not the ideals practiced in Baiden but I can vouch surely that they are not Vairan ideals. Or Lievan ideals. This is why I cannot see them being Baidenese ideals. I do not want to think that of my sister country.”
“I am not only under attack by my enemies but also by my allies,” came the voice of the king as he retreated a step or two. His gaze was downcast and his head hung slightly. “I seek only a permanent end to a problem--”
“An entire race of people is not a problem. The change between the former and current king may well be knight and day. Call back your men and take council with the king. I can nearly promise you that they will not pursue. If their numbers are as lack as you have been lead to believe, I will happily say they had no desire to hurl themselves into the flames.”
