This was what the elven king had feared. The rigid, unwavering nature of the Baidenese king The fact that he was not willing to concede even slightly from his rigid ideas of what he wanted and what he felt was right. While there was the theory that one could scarcely shame a king for doing what he felt was right, the utter lack of consideration for the elves did not sit well upon the stomach of the Ceredi king. How were they supposed to move forward with peaceful communication if there was only the distinct feeling of animosity lingering there? Though the council was dismissed for the time being, there was the lingering weight and cloud upon his shoulders. It would reconvene and it would return to being the animosity and the tension of something stretched entirely too thin. From his blonde head had the circled been removed and he rested his face against the pale skin of his hands. The sigh was weighted and breathy through his nose and Drunel lingered near him with concern shining in his eyes.
His own nervous fidgeting came in the form of undoing the braid that was drawn over one shoulder and braiding it again, hands weaving the strands together with expert definition as he crossed the room. It had been deemed that while the Baidenese were here that the king was not to be unescorted. Today, that task was upon Drunel as it had been with his father before him. Once content with the rewoven braid, he allowed it to slide over his shoulder and rest down the middle of his back as he crossed the room towards Iowyr.
“Sir?”
“I was right to be afraid. To be wary, I suppose,” spoke the king finally, though the heels of his own hands muffled the tone. “Baiden is not a malleable young sapling. Baiden is a hard-barked oak that breaks only for the strongest winds.”
“But even a hardened oak knows to tilt its leaves ot the sun for the sake of it’s own survival, Iowyr.” Next to the king did he lower himself slowly, a hand placed between the shoulderblades of the man. Slightly did his hands curl into the fabric to offer some sort of physical reassurance, minimal as though it may be. “But that is a slower process than wrapping a new-grown vine along lattice work to allow it to grow. Surely you know this.”
“Can our people really suffer any more patience? This war has claimed many of our numbers, which were few to start with,” spoke the king with the sadness ringing true in his voice: he truly was mostly concerned with his people. Those that served him. They were mostly innocent in all this, save for those that had diverted from their prior ways and opted to follow Iolas. But part of him could not fault them, for they were hopeless, and they were afraid. They were perfectly within their rights to be so for the last hundred years had been a steady decline for the Ceredi. Ionwhyr was too rooted in the way he thought things should be, too rooted and stubborn to communicate and change. Not unlike the Baidenese king and yet Baiden had the sheer numbers to allow it to flourish, despite being as revolutionary as a stone. It was that stony nature that had allowed the country to stand as it did for as long as it had. “I am willing to bend to his whims, but a temporary peace is as good as no peace at all, Drunel. Surely I needn’t tell you that. If King Rosenlied remains resolute in his stubbornness…”
The sigh from elven lips was faint and one of concern as he drew the more lithe form of the king against him. It made sense, after all. Drunel was broader, stronger, trained in the intense work of swordplay and defense. He was absolutely the apex of knights among the elves. Iowyr was more learned in books and studies, in history, and in peacemaking. That is why their roles were as they were, even if the former king would have desired them reversed, at times. “I cannot speak as though I have great faith in the Rosenlied king, your graceful majesty,” as the gaze of the man was upon the flickering flame that was upon the table of the king. “But in his advisor and in the Vairan king, I do have faith. It seems Liev desires peace as well as we do, and the fact that it is a single stubborn king standing in their way… I feel it deeply that he will not emerge victorious, Iowyr. The setup of the council in Liev allows a greater system of checks and balances. I have never been one to speak ill of the humans, and your father, he resented me for that, at least, slightly… but their concepts are not all bad. Liev would not have allowed the genocide that he spoke of. The concept was one that even I will admit was somewhat frightening, but…” and a sigh came from him. “But, easily enough forgotten.”
Still did the king keep his head down, resting in his hands as he gave a small sigh. Blonde spilled around his face to obscure it not unlike a curtain, for it was neither braided nor pulled back in any sort of elaborate style. His father had done as much for council but Iowyr opted out of such things. The fine robes of blue and of silver were enough for him, distinguishing these days from days that were more simple and did not require any sort of decadence. “Easily forgotten, perhaps, for you. But those threatening words haunt me, still. I am afraid I may never be rid of them for all my days.”
“You exaggerate slightly, Iowyr. The memory may linger, but it will not haunt you. You are young yet, by standards of our people. Many more memories--and good ones, too--will see to removing such thoughts from your mind. The peace and trade with Liev will surely make such things more tolerable as we move forward with our lives. You merely need have faith. He will not forsake us now, as He has never forsaken us in the past.” In this way, elves and humans truly were not so disparate, though they may never indeed be aware of it. The same way that the people of Liev called upon their varied pantheon, so, too, did the elves call upon their God. It was true of all mortal beings. They desired the comfort and even the option of resigning themselves that something greater than them was in control. In that assumption, despite his fairly lacking knowledge of elves and their culture, the advisor to the Baidenese king had been right.
“Allow me a moment alone,” requested the king in a quiet voice, “and guard the door. It is the only way in and out of this room, as you are aware. I need a moment to think in silence and to pray and ask guidance. We need it now. Perhaps now more than we ever have.”
While he had been told not to leave the king by himself, one could not exactly trump the word of the king himself. A nod as the knight gathered himself and removed to the door to allow the king his privacy for the time being. He understood. Iowyr’s bond with the Holy was deeper than his own (and such was the reason for his kingship, for it was believed among the Ceredi that the king and his blood spoke most directly with their deity) and the need of privacy was well respected. Outside the door did the knight linger, and that was perfectly acceptable to him.
It was further into the evening than any had expected before the council was reconvened. Part of the difficulty had come from the fact that rounding everyone up had proved more arduous a task than they had initially thought. Then having them all mutually consent after the circus that had threatened to erupt at the end of the prior round of council proved tricky as well. When Iowyr and Drunel stepped into the room, Zanil and Arric were seated at the table already. Brayden and Mercurius were, for the moment, absent. Some of the decadence of apparel had been stripped--crowns, the fine embroidered outer robes, for first impressions had been made and they were moving to the point of true work to be done. It was the first time in many years but the argentine hair of the advisor was drawn away from his neck and into a high ponytail, spilling past his shoulders and seemingly accentuating the ears that had been so clearly torn.
“And does His Majesty Rosenlied intend to join us?”
“He asked for an interim moment to speak with Brayden before entering. I supposed a few moments was nothing to scoff at so long as it resulted in him being potentially more level headed.”
“That would be a benefit to us all, I do believe,” spoke the knight as he took his seat where he had been in the morning’s council. Iowyr made no verbal response as he joined them, his brows low. “I would hope he would have had more than ample time to regather his thoughts in a means that he felt beneficial to the goals of this council, but it seems I may have been wrong.”
“I would rather wait a few additional moments than risk him losing his temper. Is that something upon which we can by and large mutually agree?” Fair brows were still in a relaxed state, in contrast to the elven king’s. “I would hope so--”
“I merely do not want to waste my time waiting for him further…”
“Then do not.”
Up did heads lift as the doors open and it was the king himself who spoke those words. Brayden trailed a few steps behind him as the two entered the room with a steady pace. Mercurius took his seat while Brayden remained in the room with the knights, standing with the pride that being a Baidenese knight did entail. What he spoke of with Brayden was a mystery for another time, and none were quite in the humor to even jokingly ask.
“King Lander,” as he looked to his right, to where the blonde king of Vaira was seated. “I believe it is traditionally the role of the mediator to summarise where council stands.”
The mouth of the king hung slightly agape as Mercurius spoke so, though he did not comment about it. He would potentially inquire to that later, but in the current time, the duty of the mediator was as had been stated.
“Currently,” Arric began, summoning within him the familiar cadence to his voice used at council, “we are at an empasse as I have proposed more open communication between the Ceredi and the people of Liev by including Iowyr or his designated representative to attend councils with the kings of Liev. This is the point at which we opted for a recess as tensions began to make council unmanageable. The King of Baiden protested the presence of King Iowyr at councils as well as the appointment of dignitaries to serve as points of contact between Baiden and the Ceredi to improve relations.
“As far as the point that have been decided…” and so the king did recount what had been decided upon as far as the exchange of the prisoners and the opening of trade routes. Those were the things that had not been contested. But this, truthfully, was the turning point of peace. Especially any sort of long-term peace. Communication was essential, and if Mercurius was able to understand that, there may well be a chance. A solid one, at a long term peace.
“I will still not see the elves involved at councils of the kings of men. However,” as the hands motioned forward towards the elves who sat opposite him, “I am willing to conceded to emissaries.”
“As good as emissaries are and as glad as I am that there will be representation of my people among your government,” contested Iowyr, “I am only concerned that if it does not reach beyond Baiden, it may not harbor weight.”
“Are you saying that I and my country cannot be trusted to adhere to our own governing?”
Gently was the hand raised, a shake of the head. Iowyr knew he could not combat Mercurius head on, for such was a recipe for disaster. It was much like running headlong into a wall that hardened when it was struck--it would result in more injury than good. “Do not misunderstand that I do not trust you, King Rosenlied. Baiden is an outstanding country and well governed by a strong family. I have great respect for what the Rosenlieds have done, do not discredit that. However, the addition of parties not directly involved with the communications between the Ceredi and the people of Baiden is essential for many reasons. Much as we have Arric serving as a mediator and, by and by, he should side with you. Yet he does not, and offers an external opinion.”
“If I may suggest,” interjected Arric in the conversation for the moment, “the use of emissaries that are permitted to attend council with King Rosenlied. Such would offer representation of the Ceredi in the courts as well as communication between the Ceredi and the people of Baiden. A member of the Ceredi people would stand at council as a guest of Mercurius himself. Present, but not having as great a presence.”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. It was as though they were wary of saying anything for fear of overstepping certain bounds--for going too far, or not far enough. And, subconsciously, all were waiting for Mercurius to speak. Thus, it was no surprise when it was he that broke the silence, voice audible among all of them.
“Each kingdom is allowed no more than three representatives attending council. My concern is that one of those places would be occupied by the Ceredi and thus Baiden’s presence would be minimized.”
“This is easily rectified,” spoke Zanil as he turned his head to look at the king. No tension. No anger. Frankly, he was quite proud of the even cadence of his voice. It was not aggressive. It was not an argument. It was simply a statement, all the things that he had said. And Zanil genuinely felt proud of the change. The responsibility. “The Ceredi representative will not count against the number of Baidense agents that are permitted within the council. They will be a guest of Baiden, but not an agent thereto. I am sure, for the sake of continent-wide peace, the council will agree to this. It is but one additional person and with only minimal pull. I do not think it will be an ordeal.”
There was a moment of silence again, an expectant silence as those around did wait. Simply waited until it was finally Mercurius that spoke: “I see no qualm with this.”
“So our current agreements are as thus,” spoke Zanil, for it was he who would pen this as acting advisor to Baiden. “The exchange of all elven prisoners under Baidenese captive for all Baidenese prisoners under Ceredi captive; repair of the northern trading route within a reasonable time span and access of Baidenese merchants to it upon its full reinstatement; access to all trade routes through Baiden to allow the Ceredi trade with all of Liev; and, lastly, a minimum of one representative of the Ceredi and Baiden each that will meet on a regular basis to discuss the current state of politics between the two nations including the representative of the Ceredi attending the Lievan Councils when they are called unless otherwise decided by the representative of the Ceredi.”
“I suppose now is the time to begin to nail down specifics,” spoke the voice of Drunel from across the table, his eyes steady upon Mercurius. He was nearly offput by how calm the Rosenlied king was being, but for the moment he opted to merely vouch that it was a positive sign. His hand lifted slightly before himself, palm cupped as he motioned slowly. “As for how often the emissaries will meat to discuss. And under what parameters…”
The council continued well into the evening and out of respect of customs, none took a meal while at the table. Once all the details were decided, once all things were done and they did call council to end--until the next day, when the final official decree of peace would be signed--the primary first thought was upon food. The Baidenese were served within their corridors in their own separate rooms. But it was Arric who appeared at Mercurius’s door, carrying what had been given to him as far as rations for dinner were concerned.
“I surprised you aren’t dining with Zanil, “spoke the younger king as he stepped into the room. An unoccupied seat became his as he looked around the rather simple decor. Elves were not elaborate, there were few trinkets and fewer prints; it seemed in the elven aesthete, much focus was placed upon the appearance of the person over the appearance of the nonhuman, the decorations.
“He asked to be left alone for the evening,” the Baidense man elaborated, before he gave a weary sigh. “It seemes we will have peace again. Even a few months of war has felt--heavy. Like an eternity, when life has been nothing but peace.”
The darker-skinned hand was upon the table and for a moment the eyes of a fairer blue merely lingered upon them. Not a word was said and yet there was no tension to the silence: the silence simply was. A soft, appreciatd lack of sound.
But Arric came to lightly place his hand over Mercurius’s and their eyes met. And finally the younger king gave a smile.
“We should be thankful that peace was so easily come by. That the elves would have council. That this war coste only as many lives as it did, and not more. Silas truly did watch over you and smile upon you, Mercurius. I am sure he would be proud.”
And all the Baidenese man managed was a small exhale, head hung slightly. “I would hope so.”
It only made sense that those who were here as representatives of Baiden were not allowed to walk freely about the halls. Instead any time that they so much as stepped beyond the bounds they were assigned and guarded into, they were escorted. The same number of nights, with Drunel included, were posted in the reclusive wing they were stationed in for the duration of their stay in the Ceredi halls. Which, with any genuine luck, would be brief for the sake of all parties involved. Drunel was not granted permission to be the escort save for the moment that the king himself or his advisor would step away. For Arric, who was a king as well but not the ruler of Baiden and thus a lesser tier of concern, he was escorted by another of the knights. They were not prisoners and thus allowed some range to roam and, seeing as he knew well that this would likely be his singularly instance that he would be within the Ceredi hall, he would like to see it. The reinforcements. The way the walls were carved and dug. His hands lingered on them, feeling the way the built walls formed over the mirrors that were meant to emulate windows, that reflected light. It was easier than having a grand number of torches everywhere, and a trick.
It was the elf that lingered by him that told him such things and the hands dropped from the well-shaped walls. “We were always told that the dwarves were a myth. Or that the elves killed the last of them.”
There was a faint laugh that came from beneath the helmed face. The manner by which the helmets rest upon them left the majority of their mouth visible though on the lower ranking knights it seemed that there was thin fabric placed to aid in obscuring the eyes. Arric could not tell if those eyes were upon him or not and such did allow him to be a bit--unsettled. Regardless, his hand dropped from the wall and he looked towards the elf with a brow piqued as he awaited a response.
“Fairy-tales. The dwarves were gone long before the Ceredi came--or so we were told. I was not here to recount it.” The former king had been quite old for an elf and so it was that many of the generation that had been involved in the Grand War were beginning to fade from life. What was told to the younger generation may or may not have been the truth, but they viewed it as such: just as the humans viewed their history. “It is not beyond imagination that perhaps a few lingered in the halls when the Ceredi arrived in the mountains, but I can assure you there was no massacre. No… genocide.”
The specific focus put upon the use of the word, the punctuation to the sentence made the blonde human wince slightly. It was a direct point at the actions of the Baidenese king that, though he quite strongly disapproved of, he was still associated with. But protesting his animosity towards the notion of genocide and exodus would be of no use here. There was no point in it, for it was likely the elf would not even believe him.
“... right,” came the young king’s voice before he fell silent again.
“They were real, though,” said the elven knight again as he saw the gaze of blue eyes upon the wall again, “that I know. It was not the elves that made this place. It took more than four hundred years to erect, I’m sure,” as his own fingers grazed over the walls. They were nearly blase to him, seeing as he had grown up surrounded by them. But to one who had never been inside the elven city, he could well see why they would cause such reactions. “They were here before we came and will likely stand after we are gone. The craftsmanship is that strong. They will likely stand as long as the mountain itself.”
Brows creased low over blue eyes again as he tried to wrap his mind around the concept. There was little that was written of dwarves outside of fairy tales and long-lost stories, true. Where they fell in as far as religion was a mystery, what their beliefs were. The legends that dealt with their existence mandated they primarily held oral traditions, or told stories through complex brickwork. Their own way of writing. He could not make any sense of how what was upon this wall could be stories but he was sure that someone that did not know to read would feel the same of the text they wrote in their books.
“I cannot imagine what it is like,” spoke the king as his gaze lifted up slightly to where the skylights were closed, blockaded out against the chill of snow and winter that could reach deep within the halls, “living without the sunlight during winter.”
“The skylights are blocked by snow regardless. We spend much time by firelight regardless of season… and having those skylights open only increase the likelihood it will get cold. We do little traveling once the first snow hits and mostly live off of our stores from the spring and fall before. It is a different lift than we lived in the northern country… at least, so I have been told.”
There was a momentary pause before the king turned to face the elf again. “I would suppose if this was the life you had always lived, then it would be strange to think of it any other way. After all--I’ve lived most of my life in a coastal country….” as his voice trailed off. It was then that one of the other knights approached out his their periphery and gave a nod. She was currently void of her helm as she looked across at the other elf before letting her eyes turn to Arric. Perhaps it was more obvious to them, but she knew. She knew, and she was fairly sure that the other knight was just as aware as she was of what Arric was. The fair hair was certainly reflective of elven blood and, from what little the Ceredi knew of the world beyond Baiden, it was very likely he carried blood of their kind within him. Likely the southern elves thought to be more distant relatives than anything. The exact kinship was unknown but it was presumed based on their similarities.
“Your presence has been requested back among the Baidenese. Dinner will be served shortly and you will eat only with the other humans.”
Arric was well aware of why such separations transpired but that did not keep him from frowning ever so slightly. Partly because there was within him the knowledge that it was very likely he would never have such an opportunity to make within the hallowed halls of the elven civilization. But the feeling of being borderline imprisoned in a certain area of their holdings did not sit well with him, but he was in no position to argue or make any sort of protest. They were within enemy territory and the fact they were not executed upon site was one that was to be respected. It was by both knights that he was escorted back and the knit brows above the eyes of the Baidenese king were upon him.
“Why are you so interested in their halls?”
They were sequestered off in their wing once more and Arric and Mercurius walked down along them. There was no secret exit, no way out in case of emergency down these ways. Dwarves were notorious (at least in lore and legend, for none of their history had been passed on to the humans) for secret tunnels and yet if there was one, not even Zanil could unearth it. Any suspicious looking brick or mirror, anything that may be used to hide something else--all of these were inspected, looked at intensely, and found to simply be there as part of visibility. There was no way to escape should things turn foul and Mercurius was worried of such. But such things were pushed to the back of his mind for the time being and engaging in conversation may well help it.
“The architecture, the way it is done--the means by which they are able to manipulate the light of only a few torches to illuminate as though daylight shines through. Facinating, really. But these halls were not made by elf hand, or so he told me.”
“Who told you?”
In that moment, Arric was aware he knew not a single elf knight’s name save for Drunel. He had opened his lips as though to offer a reply before a shake of the fair-haired head followed by a confirmation that he indeed did not know the name of the knight with whom he had spoken. His shoulders rose and fall. “The knight that escorted me out. I’m only upset that I was called back so soon--the council will be held tomorrow, and after that we will return to Baiden, if all goes well.”
“Things going well is not merely an option, Arric,” as the dark haired king lowered his eyes down to the blue ones that were lifted up to gaze at him. “It is the only outcome. We cannot let ourselves think otherwise. Are not the negotiation skills of that Lander family line one of their most renowned legacies?”
At first there was no response but silence from the more petite figure as his eyes cut away from the taller king. “I cannot vouch for my success insofar as battle negotiations go. My experience in such is sorely lacking. By and large any political debate I have found myself engaging in trade negotiations far more than anything of… such grand importance.” There was a waver, nerves in his voice that caused the king to still himself for a moment. And in that moment, that brief, fleeting moment he found himself seeing how far Arric had come. The way that he had shaken and trembled in worry and anxiety after the first council. The way he had indeed shrunk away from Mercurius when he entered the room bedecked in his dark armor and flanked by his knights. Arric had been only a child and even now, as his voice wavered, there was strength to it. He did not let the worry drown him as he lifted his head, though he cradled his elbows as he spoke: “But I know the importance that hinges on it, so I cannot let that fear get to me.” Then wide, blue eyes blinked up at him as the larger hand curled around his. Not necessarily amorous so much as it was a sign of solidarity.
“A lot depends on this.” Silence wrang out for just a moment ad he rethought his approach and spoke once more: “Peace depends on this. The only option is success. As I said, we cannot so much as entertain any others.”
“I am sure you understand why I am worried--” but the tight squeeze of the hand that the king did hold caused him to fall back to a momentary silence. The only light to be had anywhere was the reflection of flames dancing in the faux-windows that lined the halls to help illuminate in the winter’s darkness. “I am sure you can at least empathize with me. I am aware it was my own insistence that brought me to this council but I felt it was my role--I felt it was what I should do,” said the king as he withdrew himself slightly from Mercurius’s presence, the hand allowed to fall again to the Baidenese man’s side. “I do not think that is a point to disagree.”
“For what it is worth,” soon the hand came from resting momentarily at the elder king’s side to lay across the curve of the fairer man’s neck, a thumb along the soft jawline of the Vairan man, “I am glad you are here. If you had been with us at the initial meeting at the Circle of the Gods perhaps things would have gone differently.”
There was a deep breath as he placed his hand atop the larger one, the skin tones painting a contrast even in such dim light. There had once been tribes. Then there had been a unified country and now, there were many countries in a near confederacy of government. They were supposed to work together and this was likely the greatest visual of that since the Grand War had resulted in unification after the weakening that had allowed the near invasion of the Ceredi in the first place. Baiden had been the one to push them back with the aid of Ludanese healers and warriors of Meh’rok. (Such was the last instance of Meh’rok and Baiden working cohesively as the Rosenlied and Lios families were not known for their agreeable views. The Landers family had spent much of their time negating the tumultuous waters between the two when it came to the honestly infrequently councils. Times of peace had been, at least by human standards, reasonably long. This had allowed complacency. But when there was true danger like now, it had been Vaira that came to the aid of Baiden, though there were those that would question the motives of the Vairan king in granting it.
Duty was duty. Vaira was tasked always with keeping the peace under the Sister Goddesses and, when necessary, reigning in the War God’s at times excessive attitudes and demands. Arric, at least, thought that his duty was to help Baiden. And so he would.
“I will do what I can to help Baiden. Focusing upon the past, what could have been--there’s no point in it. We will move forward towards peace. That is our goal and we will achieve it.” And there was a smile up at the taller man, one that was reflected in kind.
“We will. But for now, we eat.”
The only point at which Drunel departed from his guard duty was during their dinner. A handful of elven knights was more than enough to attend to the fact that they would not try and make some sort of coup during their dinner. And it was in the elven throne room that he found Iowyr--the elven throne room now bedecked in new tapestries. While many were distracted with the war it seemed that, at least, the weavers had been kept reasonably busy. It was as though years had been peeled off of the room and Drunel was aware of the fact that at least some of the work had been done by the king himself. Ionwhyr never would have done such a thing, content to let things as they were rot. Change shook the former king to the core, animosity was what he thrived on, even placing it between his son and head knight.
“It looks quite nice, Your Graceful Majesty. And all this in my absence?”
The lips of the fair king as he lingered by the throne, enshrined in fine cloth and looking the regality of the king that he was. His face did not show the age of his father and so perhaps the hope lay in him, a younger king. Hope also lay in this council, for it had been consented to with some force and arm-twisting, in truth.
“I am sure you have seen their halls, Drunel,” came the king’s voice as his hands lingered idly on the arms of the throne. “My father was not one to attempt modernizations. We are both aware of that. The tapestries were left in ill repair, and the throne was not kept as it should have been. Not keeping the things that he should keep certainly seems to be one of his greatest selling points. But I hope that I am able to at least bring some good, even if time may be limited.”
To the side did Drunel’s head tip slightly as a frown painted his face. His helm was removed for the time being and placed on a table somewhere within the small room. It was not as expansive by any means as the one that was within Baiden, but even then the Baidenese hall had felt too large and almost… hollow. Within the throne room of the elves there were plans that wound around the wall, flourishing despite living only by firelight in the winter. Some were barren of their lives and yet some bloomed in deep greens: holly-like plants with sharp points upon their leaves and some even bearing berries. The tapestries were woven in hues of blues, whites, and silvers; far more reminiscent of their northern homeland than those used by his father. Initially the king had even been encouraged to dress in the hues of his father, but declined. Greens were not colors he felt strongly towards. His memories of youth were of ice and snow from a young age, of pulling the internal shutters back from skylights to see the faint glow of the sun through a few inches of white powder. As winter progressed, the weight of the snow would negate the sun’s rays, snuffing them out. Then he only saw them on the occasion he moved to one of the entries to gaze out at the open world. And there were some periods that the snow and ice was so high they were unable to leave the mountain until spring. Those were his memories, not the ones that were suggested by his father. “And it was not as though all these modifications were made in your absence, Drunel. We had begun before you had departed with Brayden. I… could not forsee having council in my father’s throne room.”
It was known by most that Iowyr and his father were never particularly close to one another. The added animosity forced between Drunel and Iowyr during the point that Ionwhyn did rule. There was a shared moment of silence between the two as Iowyr looked at him. “Much rides on this council, Dunel. I am sure that I needn’t tell you this.” And it was the truth. All that were aware of the fac that the meeting was happening was inclined to be well versed in the gravity of it. This alone could end the war. This alone could safe what little the Ceredi had left and, even, improve their lives.
This could truthfully be the change that Iolas had been hoping for, though he did not know it. Iolas, after all, remained sequestered away in the cell in Baiden.
“I am aware, Your Graceful Majesty,” spoke the knight as he moved back to the table, holding the golden helmet in his hands again. Hands traced over the edges, the rims, the workmanship that had gone into it. There were dents and dings now from what it had seen, and there had been some time since elven armor had seen any sort of battle. As his thumb moved over an indention that was above the lip of the top of the helmet, he exhaled slowly. “Everyone is aware this may well turn the tides of this war.”
“We cannot defeat them,” as hands slowly removed from where they lingered upon the throne and his eyes moved to gaze at the knight, head tilted ever so slightly to one side. “There is no hope to be had in being victorious in this battle. They’ve the better weapons, armor, horses--they’ve the greater numbers. I only hope that something has changed.”
“Things have already changed in our favor, Iowyr.” A hand came to rest on the shoulder of the king. “The Vairan king is with them, for the sake of negotiations. If nothing else, I believe he may keep Mercurius grounded.”
The Vairan king was to be escorted to the throne room when the Rosenlied nobility were ready to see them. And when that was could genuinely be anyone’s guess. Part of the man was irritated profusely that he was not told immediately of the king’s arrival until it was relayed to him that Abigail was not, either. If it was not for the fact that servants gossiped, potentially he would remain still in the dark about it. There had to be a reason for it. At least, such was what the blonde told himself as he spoke with one of the knights to request audience with Mercurius. This could work in Abigail’s favor, after all. She was quite eager to be rid of the Vairan king based on her speech and mannerisms. She was indeed very weary of having been obligated to oversee such a high number of unexpected guests during her husband’s absence.
But Arric was none too pleased with the Baidenese king at the moment, and validly so. His brows were creased low over his eyes as he paced about the guest room. Zanil was gone. Mercurius was gone. All things had come to weigh upon the woman who months ago was just another miscellaneous noble in an Oranian court, and at that, a widow. To expect her to adapt without flaw or incident was indeed in err, and he knew that. But the kingdom would not look upon it as so. Into a chair did he find himself lowering his body in a weary way, for how much longer he was able to pace was truthfully up to debate. Frankly, he did not wish to be without energy when he went before the Baidenese king. Squaring against Mercurius was indeed never an expressly easy task. He was an exceptionally intimidating presence--but he could simply not allow that which Mercurius spoke of to transpire. For the Vairan king himself had elven blood within his veins and though his bloodline haled from the south, it was indeed elven blood still. Genocide and exile of a whole people was never a solution that should be turned to, as far as Arric was concerned.
And if Baiden should turn to it, the internal strife would result in another war. Though whether even the sum of the other countries could rise to face Baiden was debatable, for their treaties dictated that though they were separate countries, they functioned much like a singular one. Those outside of Baiden usually had a much smaller military forces if they indeed had formal militaria at all. It was only since Arric took the crown that Vaira saw fit to began to mount a force, and it was by no means comparable to that which Baiden had in either number or skill. The former had been gradually chipped away at by the repeated battles in the north for all knew that war was not without the toll of death, and yet still they would be a force to be reckoned with.
The council of kings would have to indeed meet once the war had come to an end to discuss the military across the continent once more. A monopoly upon military forces could be dangerous--especially when talk of genocide came around.
He had spoken with Davin before he had departed to Baiden, though the conversation was brief. The Ludanese healer had quite vehemently sworn that he would tell none other than His Majesty the King and his closest counsel of confidants. The fewer that knew of the king’s threats to the elves, the better for there was indeed a great number of elves in Liev residing outside of Baiden. These elves were the reason that the Vairan king had reacted as suddenly as he did. Primarily, he was known for being reasonably collected and logical. Gallivanting about on whims was not the way of Arric. And as much as there was a deep ache in his chest for Mercurius’s presence, so, too, was there a bitter taste in his throat knowing that this same man that he spoke candidly with and this same man that was one of few outside of his innermost circle to allow him to behave, if only ephemerally, as something other than a king. Mercurius saw him as a person as well as a ruler, and that took a heavy weight from the shoulders of the man who had been but a child when he was crowned.
Sometimes, he remembered that the story was very similar for Mercurius. They had not been far apart in age when they were crowned, though the Baidenese king did possess greater tenure given that his age was greater than that of the Vairan king. But they had been very differently raised, taught how to rule differently, and this was reflected now more than ever.
For the first time since the wedding, Arric would lay eyes upon Mercurius and for a moment he felt suddenly nauseous at the thought. Of course he had known about the wedding. And like some foolish child he had wept about it in his own throne room as though there had been so much as a fleeting fraction of a chance that something, anything could have worked out between the two kings. To call the dream baseless was not even correct. There was nothing within it that was even remotely feasible and yet perhaps he was foolish enough to let the feelings linger. But they were not important. They were not even second or third priority. There was nothing to them and they had to simply be cast aside, and this thought had to remain in the forefront as he raked his nails through his blonde hair. Facing Mercurius felt almost as though he were going before something that could single-handedly tear him down and kill him. But had not the Baidenese king himself urged him to stand tall, square his shoulders and his jaw, and never fidget? He had found himself fidgeting. He could not do this before Mercurius. He would not do this before Mercurius.
When one of the knights came to his door nearly two hours after the initial request had been made to the king and queen of Baiden, the nerve was all but gone from the younger ruler. But to decline the audience would be an audacious affront to the king as a person and to Baiden as a whole, so he stilled his fidgeting and regathered himself to rise to the escort provided him. His men were, by and large, useless now. They were treated as honored guests and their king did dine with them in an exclusive dining hall, but they were not knights. Vaira did not have knights. A few in Oran and Meh’rok had and used the title still, but by and large for one to be a knight, they were Baidenese. This country produced the blood of knights; it trained them and honed their skill in a way no other country did. Steel and knights. Those were the pride and joy of the northern country. They were hailed as a militiary force for a valid reason--his own guards and those that were training to be Vairan knights paled in comparison to those of Baidenese birth.
Most would be intimidated by the statue of Silas that loomed in the back of the room and yet Arric found that the nerves within him churned primarily due to who was seated at his feet. In the throne of the king was Mercurius, garbed in finery that he was sure had not come from the battlefield by any means though there were accents of armor. And next to him, in the slightly smaller but nigh equally as grand queen’s throne, was Abigail. And she seemed to glow even though the light that came through was but a trickle due to the overcast nature. She was a queen there, radiant and shining, seated next to her king in the throne room where they were joined beneath the eyes of Silas himself. Here they ruled and here they belonged, and the petite king of the southern country felt like an interloper.
He could see in those brown eyes that the king almost wanted to smile at him but that his muscled seemed frozen in place. He was not to smile. There was nothing that they had any right to smile about in this conversation, for it was not one of a war won.
By the Goddesses, the Vairan king wished that this had transpired on better terms. But it had not. Blue eyes turned to the king and queen there, seated upon their throne, and for a moment none was willing to say anything. The sound of the heavy door closing behind him would have made him jump had not the creak of hinges prepared him for it. Jolting like a startled horse was not quite the impression that he had the desire to make.
“King Lander.” It was Abigail who broke the silence and it was frankly no surprise to the men seated in the room. “You traveled from Vaira to speak with King Mercurius and so, here is your opportunity. He has returned for the time being from the battlefield to attend to all business pertaining to the country. Speak, if it so suits you.”
Deep was the breath that filled the lungs of the younger king for a moment as he advanced a few cautious strides forward and bowed at the waist. Such was the custom in Vaira, though he knew well the Baidenese salute was what was prefered within these halls. Once he had risen properly, he spoke again. “Both a delegate of and one of the Four of my Council of Healers have reported threats of genocide against the northern elves of the Silatin Mountains,” stated the king of the south. There was no reason to attempt to dodge around the facts. All within the room were aware of what had been said and the motivation of those serving under D’vinyari to withdraw from battle. Truly, none could fault him. Not even the king who had initially called for genocide in the first place. “This would undoubtedly lead to strife within Liev as it is an overt abuse of force and power. As your ally, I discourage it. As a moral citizen of Liev, I discourage it. As a human, I discourage it. And most of all, as your friend, I encourage you to try and see reason.”
The light in the eyes of the king upon the throne flickered for a moment as they were downcast from the chasms of blue that did beseech him to reconsider his stance. An ultimatum. An absolute ultimatum was never the best idea for either side, for Mercurius did not desire to be painted as an erroneous king, or as an extremist. As much hope and faith as he did have with Zanil being the one to pen history, he was not one to simply bend a knee to that hope. It may well have been in vain, for if Zanil did not survive…
Such a thought made him swallow harder than normal and cast his gaze downward. If it was not Zanil who penned the history books, how could he know how he would be remembered and portrayed? The notion made him nervous for just a moment yet it scarce served to crack his exterior. There was not a care to be had based on his physical reaction alone… or the lack thereof.
“It is not that I do not see reason. I know well why the path that I have chosen may be remembered as wrong or extreme. But do you not agree that at times, extreme measures must be taken? Had they--the Silatin Mountain Elves--not felt the need to take extreme measures, this war would never have broken forth.”
“Davin told me well that which he heard from the elven king, King Rosenlied.” King Rosenlied. In this instance, Mercurius was not Mercurius. They addressed one another by titles, as kings.
If only because it kept it as impersonal as possible.
“Those factions that attacked us were not his men. They were rebels, those that had splintered off and stood to oppose the society as his father ran it. King Iowyr does not want that for his people and he truthfully seeks only peace. Yet you threaten his people? With exile? With murder? I fail to see where your totalitarian mindset holds any weight other than in your own mind.”
“Who is to say another faction will not splinter off as that headed by Iolas has--”
“And who is to say another one will?”
He did not shout. His voice was not stern. No, his voice was merely an even cadence as his eyes remained trained forward, gazing at those that met his and knowing well Abigail’s were upon him as well. Indeed he did stand squared and tall as he could be, though his statue had him squarely in the lesser when compared to the Baidenese king. The elven blood in him only added as much. While the elves of the Northlands were tall, those from the south--those that had come to filter through much of southern Liev--were not so great in stature. The Lander family was also fairly petit in and of themselves. Compared to the grandeur that was Rosenlied blood, it was no surprise that Arric often felt dwarfed by comparison, as though he stood at the foot of a mountain. And truthfully, this moment was by no means an exception. But he would not let the shadows of two mountains seated before him eclipse him, even though one of them did agree with his motivation, with his cause. He remained drawn up to his full height as his eyes focused forward at Mercurius with fire shining in those skylit eyes.
“You assume the worst of them. They are neither capable of more or less than human are. What if there was an uprising within Liev? Not even within Baiden. It could be with Meh’rok, or Ludan. And what if the elves of the Black Forest should take offense that it was elves you drove out? To say we know little of the Silatin Mountain Elves is true but we must keep in mind we know even less of the Elves of the Black Forest. We know not their numbers, nor their military. Of them, we know nothing. And you would wage war against elves as a whole? I cannot condone this behavior. I will not condone this behavior. Should you continue down this path, Mercurius, you risk--you risk loss of alliance among Liev. You risk another civil war in retaliation to what you have done.”
“With what military forces?”
Abigail’s own fingers curled against the arm of the throne in which she was seated, scratching against the finished texture as a sign of irritation. She grit her teeth for the moment, saying nothing for she knew what Mercurius stated was true. This was the first instance that those pupils set in light sapphire had widened as they peered forth at him and Abigail saw it, too. The realization that the words that came from the king were indeed right. There was not a military force in all of Baiden that could stand up to the one that was present in Baiden. So he grit his teeth and clenched his own fists, eyes cutting towards Abigail before his gaze was again upon Baiden’s head ruler.
“Do not speak as a manman any further, King Rosenlied. Would you turn your own blade and your own people against your allies? Against the people of Liev? It is one thing to engage in the dissonance of otherhood with the elven kind but with your allies? So many of Liev have elven blood--”
“You speak as though such knowledge should impact my judgement, King Lander. You know how I feel of those of elven blood. I do not desire nearness to them.”
“You speak so sourly of the elves yet you know not even what your advisor is! For too long has he lived to be a simple human. How do you delude yourself in his presence, King Rosenlied? Yet you scoff openly at my keeping company with a half-blooded elf. Do not think I was blind to it. In fact, you protested the aid of a half-elven healer when you were ill within the confines of my country--the same half-elven healer who came forth to demand that she and her healers be permitted to offer aid.” This was the first instance where the volume of his voice had begun to climb upward, though not to a shout. Merely a higher volume with his brows knit firmly low over his blue eyes. “You wronged her and yet she still pled your case and lead a high number of volunteer healers. One of which found his way into your good graces to the point you asked him to your counsel and this is how you repay us. By threatening genocide.”
“I never asked for your aid so to hold it over my head is scarcely reasonable. You are letting your emotions get the best of you.”
Forward did the younger king stride, his feet soon enough resting at the base of the two stairs that lead forthward, upward to where the thrones were set up. His chin was lifted now to look at the two of them as his lips were pursed into a thin line. While he would be endlessly thankful for some support from Abigail, indeed it served to seem that he would have none. Or all these things he had to say to the King of Baiden were merely rehashing of exactly what she had already said. Either was a feasible option. So the younger king took a deep inhale before he spoke again. “And I cannot be emotional at the talk of annihilation and exile of an entire race of people that have lived here for four-hundred years? Perhaps the Gods and Goddesses did not place them upon Liev as they did the other residents, but they are here. Many of them born here. And the vast majority of them completely innocent to anything you could pin upon them. So I will get emotion over the elven people. Over my people, for many Varians have elf family. Including me.”
This time, it was Mercurius’s eyes which widened. Any hope within Arric that he would be able to see past the fact there was elven blood within him crumbled before him as a window stricken by stone. Upon the king’s face was an expression that could be allocated as nothing other than disgust and perhaps even betrayal.
His mother, the Vairan queen, the husband to the departed king, lived still. But it was secret that she was half-elf, so it was best she linger in the shadows. By and large the ruling class of Liev were populated by long lines of humans and Vaira was no exception. Arric felt sick. Absolutely, abhorrently ill as he was looked at like some beast sniveling for scraps.
“And you hid this from me?”
“My mother was half-elf. She herself traveled from the south and my father loved her. She--”
“You deceived me--”
“If only for the ramifications it would cause! Vaira cares not if there is elf blood upon the throne but I am sure Baiden would have declared war upon us that instant if you were king!”
“Leave.”
“Mercurius--”
“Leave my sight and leave Baiden. Take will you all your damned healers. I should expect nothing but empathy for the elves from one with their blood.”
“Stop.”
She did not yell. In fact, her voice hardly rose from its normal cadence as she cut her eyes between the two of them. The woman was in no humor for a shouting match. “If I must intervene with my own two hands, this genocide will not transpire, Mercurius. King Lander, take your leave. We will reconvene after my husband has found his graces once more.”
Iowyr wept.
Drunel stood to the side of the throne in which his king was now seated as the man splayed his fingers across his face. Within him was the urge to reach forth and place a hand upon that shoulder bared by untied sleeping robes that slid from the skin but he was hesitant, knowing now that respect had to be paid duly.
“I desire nothing but peace and still he would have nothing but war and death. Where are we to go? The north is not our home. This is. If… if Father were here, perhaps…”
“Perhaps we truthfully would fight until our deaths, Your Graceful Majesty. We must simply have faith that He is watching us and that He will protect us from those that would kill us all. We can only pray and ask his guidance.”
“I am afraid he will not hear me. Not after what I have done.”
“Then I will pray for both of us.”
To his knees did the elven knight captain lower himself, head bowed forth as he rest it upon the knee of the king. And he, too, silently wept, for in this moment both knight and king felt all but forsaken by all things.
He had seen bloodshed over the racism between man and elf for most of his life. His fingers lingered over the gnarled scar upon his face that was caused by it, caused by a man who would not look upon him with any inkling of love or respect. No, Iolas was merely Elwynn’s mistake, as far as the deceased elven king was concerned. But he was poised now upon a stolen Baidenese warhorse and overlooking the camp that was helmed by Zanil. The advisor that had worked in close conjunction with Mercurius since childhood and for a moment, there was envy within him. There was jealousy that never in all his days had he had one that was so near to him--
Save one, whom he had alienated.
One who was now king.
Deep was the sigh that came from him as he turned his eyes away and cast them downward with his brows creased. It impacted him far more than he would have imagined. There was no going back to the Ceredi as there had not been that option presented to him before hand so it was not logical that the notion that his half brother was now king made his heart clench. Not logical beyond the fact that now both that shared his blood through his mother were crowned and he was poised at the cusp of what was a losing battle.
Alduin had been the nearest he had to Zanil. And yet none knew of the location of that elven advisor, for he had departed from the company of the half-blooded leader of the rebellion some time ago. Within Iolas’s chest did he fear the worst had happened but there was not enough manpower in all the mountains to drum up a search party that would be worth anything. Wandering aimlessly in the woods would do no one any sort of benefit.
His own numbers were few. They had been few to start with and like a chisel against stone so had the Baidenese knights chipped it further until there was little to nothing left to scrape and dig at. He was walking his men through a losing battle and of that he was completely aware; he had first begun this knowing it would be folly and that he would not win. He did not into. Alduin saw within him when his pride threatened to overtake him and that was when he lost the nearest thing he had to true support. His own pride prevented him from laying aside his bravado and confessin he was in err by thinking he could gain anything of this. Iolas had not begun this to gain anything, but to change things. To alter the way that they were. This weighed upon him for likely it knew it would cost his life.
But had he not changed things? At the end of the day, this war had brought about great change indeed. In that, he could rest assured that he had achieved his goal. For the first time since the ending of the Grand War had man and elf sat in a fairly civil council to discuss the country as it was. And though the final decision had not lead to peace, the mere fact that the discussion had transpired signaled change. That Mercurius was willing to even speak at an elven leader across the Circle of the Gods. Things had changed, and for the better. There was at least some sort of communication even if it had incurred threats of genocide.
Mercurius had been pulled from the battlefield for that, and with good reason. That much Iolas was aware of as such was why Zanil had stepped down from his grey stone tower to mingle among those that were usually beneath him. He knew not the truth of the matter or the origins of the seemingly ageless advisor (for what he had heard from tales and rumors was that Zanil was elder to any elf upon the continent currently) but he knew that for him to dirty his hands, things were major. Things had indeed changed from where they were, and he had been the one that had set such things in motion.
What remained still of his men slumbered through various headquarters. Their numbers were few to begin with and fewer were they now, outcasts and the offshoots that had wanted to make a difference. Some were dead now, in fact, many. And he had known a majority of them by name. That was the luxury of those that were tight knit among him. Those that radiated outward were strangers that marched under his impromptu banner that scarce was even flown. Tattered and red, tied to what was little more than a glorified stick and hoisted high. The Red Dawn, they called it, and beneath it had they once rallied.
The fire at the camp that was below the hill he poised his mount atop flickered in low light, the figure of someone walking about it and gesticulating wildly as he told some tale. It could have been truth. It could have been fiction. In the long run, campfire stories held no relevance in the scheme of things. They were alive and even in these moments did the humans manage to find something to speak of, to rejoice over. Something in which to find comfort.
There were half elves in the world that made him envious. They lived their lives as though there was nothing abnormal about them for, where they were, nothing was abnormal. As for him, Baidenese blood was in his veins mixing with that of the royal Ceredi blood. This was seen as vile; this made him repulsive. The fact it was a cross of two noble lines could well have been a step forward towards peace, but as far as the Baidenese and the Ceredi were concerned, that was not the case. He was a beast. And so he turned to lash out like one.
Such had been how he had lost the nearest thing to family he had known. Iowyr had been distanced from him but perhaps that had resulted in being easier for the both of them. Now Iowyr would rule and Iolas was beyond redemption, he knew that. He had bent the knee to the fact that he would be beyond redemption once all of this had come to a head. The Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn would dissolve without a leader as radical as he and maybe, just maybe, those that lived still could return to their life and claim they did not agree with the concepts, that it was wrong. Somehow. The thought that they may all be executed made him queasy and yet he could not see that of the one man who had shown him kindness. (This was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, in a way, seeing as Alduin and others had shown him kindness. But as far as family? It had been the once Prince now King who had been all he truly had. His mother was but a ghost under the former king of the elves and she would not have stood to defend her mistake either way.
None had come out with him on this particular day. This excursion he had made singularly and without informing those he was with. It was easier if they did not know.
His remaining within this triage (if one could even refer to it as such, for his side was so vastly outnumbered on both opposing fronts) would only cause more death and bloodshed. The man could care less about the fact that Baidenese blood was spilt, though in these moments of recollection he was indeed aware that they were people just as the elves were. While he followed the same god as the Ceredi, there was no idea of manifest destiny, no concept that they’d a right to the land of the Baidenese. Perhaps that was why he had not made an attempt to push any further.
It was time to lay down his arms, and he knew it. To remove a key factor such as himself from the playing field would perhaps open up the route to a clearer victory for Baiden. There was no use even toying with the notion that the elves had a chance at emerging over the Baidenese. They were more tightly trained, more skilled in that which they adhered to, more well equipped and with better weapons than the elves to the north. It was much was turning a trained war hound upon a irritated cat. It was not that the hound would come away without so much an an incision upon him, but the hound would survive and the cat would not. Herein were the Ceredi the cats at the feet of a towering Silatin mastif. For the cat, it was easiest at that point to acquiesce to the demands of the hound. And so he would.
Little resistance was made as he dismounted and walked towards the camp once he was but a short walk away. He carried with him no outward sign of surrender but when weapons were drawn upon him his remained within its sheath, no effort made to even go for it. Within his eyes was a resignation that Zanil knew the moment he looked upon it.
“Many have died for you, Iolas. There is truly no repentance for death.”
His hands were lashed behind his back with cord that was likely once used to twine together cording or barrels for it was harsh upon his skin, but there was nothing left in him to fight back. Whether Alduin would look upon him with a frown or pride for the fact he could kneel when he was wrong was not something he would ever know. And of Iowyr. How would he feel of the fact that Iolas came to bend a knee to Zanil and turned himself over? It was all he could do to contribute to peace, at this point. And peace was what his end goal was--peace, and a better life for the elves. In hopes of perhaps, just maybe, there may once be a life for people like him.
“I know there is no repentance and I do not seek it. I merely seek an end to the senselessness that this is. I am sure upon that we can agree.”
“You are conceited if you are under the impression that your death alone will bring peace. This is more than you. It has spiraled to something much larger, something far more grand--and yet you think your death will be more than a ripple in the ocean. Why is that?”
“I--”
“The removal of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn is ineffective at this point. War exists between humans and elves regardless of whether you are in it or not.”
“If Mercurius kills me, he wins.”
Those eyes of pitch widened slightly as they heard those words, though his brows tightened slightly as he processed them. There was Rosenlied blood within this half-elf yet and both were quite aware of that. These words seemed to almost serve as a reminder to it. Those of Rosenlied blood were inclined to wanting to be victorious thus the statement of the leader of the rebellion was not in err: if Mercurius kills me, he wins. It was, after all, Iolas who had begun this entire ordeal. Such a victory would elevate the humans further. But did the humans need further elevation? Deep was the frown that creased the ageless face of the advisor as he looked upon the leader who had handed himself over. If Mercurius kills me, he wins. Mercurius did not need another win. There had not been a single battle that one could rightfully say surmounted in the victory of the elves and so it may well be folly to bring forth Iolas to Mercurius at this point. So the advisor merely jerked his head. “I have no intention of taking you to Mercurius. He is my king and to he and his family am I ever loyal and yet I know that another victory will only bloat his judgement further. He had threatened genocide because of you, Prince Iolas--”
“Damned be that title,” as the half-elf spat at the feet of the advisor and anger colored a prior somber expression, “for I have no claim to any throne as my brothers do. I am no Prince. I believe I have said as much before.”
“You are the cause of this war but your death may only make it worse at this point,” interjected the advisor as he stepped forth, a hand laid flat as he motioned quite aggressively forward. “I have no right to sentence you. I am no judge nor am I a king. But I can tell you this much: your death at this point is not what we need. But your rebellion may disband with you not available to them and so, Iolas, I proclaim you as a prisoner of war. I will take you before the king when I deem fit.”
“Death is too kind a punishment for what I have done--”
“Were it my decision you would live for centuries to see the ramification of this war that you hath wrought upon the world, Iolas. But the gods have a plan and so I place my faith in them as it goes now: I follow them as I make these decisions. You are of no use to us when you are dead.”
“And it is He who told me to yield myself to you. What of when our gods conflict?”
Around the twine did the fingers of the advisor come to tighten, gripping fast as he pushed the half-elf forward. “We are upon the soil of my gods and I know well their song and their voice. My gods trump yours in this instance. Not only because this is their land but because I am the one who holds the ropes and so I am he who has final say.”
A smirk illuminated the face of the advisor as he spoke and that was wherein the one of Ceredi blood knew well that he was poised upon the losing side. There was no arguing with the fact he was now disarmed and bound. The victory was on the side of the humans once more, though Zanil was no human but an agent thereto. Down did his head drop as he made a muffled noise of acquiescence before two of the knights did lead him away.
But troubled brewed within eyes of pitch. What was he to do with Iolas now? How would this conflict eventually come to an ultimate end? He could not rightly place it together and he heard naught from as far as the gods were concerned. Asking them yielded only slight silence much to his irritation. It was known not to Iolas but only to Thrandir who exactly Zanil was and so to not hear a response from the gods was irritating, but not troubling. Often he was told to solve his own problems because he was able, because he was strong enough, but damned if he did not like the option of deferring to a different power every once in awhile. But that option was blank. It was silent, and it made him furrow his brows as he ran a hand through his hair. She may well have known what to do. She may have been able to offer him some sort of advice. But none knew where she was. Not even the one that was a part of her.
“And what am I to do with him?” mused the advisor under his breath as his gaze turned to look at where Iolas was bound fast and kept under close guard. Everything upon him that could be used as a weapon had been shucked thereto, taken from him--much of it was the superior Baidenese craft. It had likely been taken from the corpses of their soldiers, so it was only right that it returned gain to the hands of the Baidenese. Into the supplies did those weapons go and so he was left with naught. It was almost pathetic in a way, seeing him bound, unarmed. Was this really the man that roused a rebellion? “Have I no help in all this world?”
Rare were the moments that the advisor was cognitively aware of the otherness that he possessed, that he was not one of the humans that he served. One would think that all it would take was a glimpse in the mirror to see as much. His hair was argentine. His once pointed ears were torn and jagged. Why he had never bothered to change shape and alleviate suspicion was an inquiry upon him made by Silas himself once or twice in the rare moments they communed. But had Zanil not brought enough bad into the world? Why add to it the notion of being a liar?
It was not a falsity when Zanil stated that he did not lie. He had his own ways of spinning the truth in an angle but never did he openly lie, merely leaving things vague and amorphous, leaving them open to questioning. But he did not lie.
While Zanil did fret, Iolas came to sleep. His indecision of his next move had kept him awake many restless nights looking upon those that he surrounded himself with, those that were considered his inner circle in a way. And now for the first time all things were out of his hands and he was able to find some rest. Bound still, with hands in his lap, wearing the clothes he had ridden forth in. But sleep blessedly came to him under the vigilant eyes of Baidenese knights. Undeniably, it was the best sleep that he had had in months.
Brayden certainly had not had a proper bath since he went to war. That was inevitable, for few and far between were the rivers and luxuries like soap and towels were not ones brought along when they departed for the border. Cleanliness came in rare spurts when they were near open and running water, able to use clothes to wipe dirt from their faces. That had not been for a good week and so the grit and grime had built up over Brayden’s face. It seemed almost as though elves were harder to get dirty for he had yet to see one with so much as dirt under their nails despite living in these halls. Or maybe they had a more rigid societal structure--he had no idea if he lay eyes upon the aristocracy or the common people. It was very possible that those in lower walks of life were not so inclined to the cleanliness that was put forth by those that he currently walked among. While there was curiosity there, there was a lack of genuine intent to find out. There was reasonable doubt that he would even have the opportunity to go exploring the elven underground, anyway.
“You cannot be unattended,” stated Drunel as Brayden was was lead through and elaborately decorated hall towards what he assumed was likely a guest room for royalty--judging by the dust that had accumulated upon the decorum. It was clear that it was not often that the elves had guests. From what Brayden could deduce, while humans tended to have smatterings of nobility and minor nobles, this did not appear to be the case for the elves.
Or maybe it had been once and was no longer, due to dwindling population. He was inclined to believe that their numbers were very low, given what he saw with his own eyes and what the folk of Vitnir Hall had described to him. As for what their numbers had been like before, he had little basis for comparison--it had been some time since they followed accordance with the treaty and reported their estimated population. A plague could well have seized them during that interim and reduced their numbers… or, just as likely, they guised themselves to make their numbers look more diminutive than they were, in all truth. There was no way to be able to discern as much.
“You may undress behind the curtain, if need be.”
The bathing room had an in-ground tub as opposed to the ones that were more common in Baiden, the bowl-shaped claw-footed tubs. Those that were less well off still frequented the river for there was little space in their homes and great effort came along with hauling water and heating it if a family was not lucky enough to have a well. If there was not a well upon their land, Brayden was quite sure they would not have the tub that the only infrequently used. Silvya preferred bathing in the rivers, especially once she found out she was pregnant. Something about it being more natural.
“I’ve been traveling for months with a band of men,” as the human captain’s hands reached behind his back to seize the fabric of the woven tunic that was upon his frame, “and you act as though I have the reserved nature of some court maid.”
A fine effort was made by the captain of the elves to steel his expression but for a moment it cracked into a look of amusement. Just as readily, though, he cut his eyes away and cleared his throat with a low sound as thought to disguise his reaction.
The unkempt clothes, the same ones he had been wearing for some time as a change of clothing was a luxury when on the battlefield for months, were cast off with ease. Each movement seemed fluid and perhaps even calculated, with languid movements that showed the grace that was trained into him. But it was not the same grace as the elves. There was a strength and power to it, throughout it. It was a different grace then the elves and one that Drunel let his eyes linger on for a moment. In honesty, this was the nearest he had been to a human in some long time and it let his mind assess the differences between man and elf in this singular moment, seeing the way those muscles pulled beneath the tanned and scarred skin. But out of respect his eyes were cast away when the pants were slipped over the musculature below the waist. It was removed, offcast. His face only turned forth when there was the sound of water as the man submerged himself. There was a mutual respect for the notion of common decency, after all. It was often assumed the elves were more stringent about the visualization of the physical body than the humans were, in their slightly more liberated mindsets. Slightly therein, being the key word. Baiden was one of the more reserved cultures, but amongst men on the battlefield maintaining such things was completely asinine. And in all honesty, the knight found himself quite content to bathe for the first time in so long.
Next to the tub was placed a small tray on arms level with the lip of the white marble, but he would inspect that further in a moment. His first attention as submerging himself completely within the heated waters. For about a second he was able to pretend he was being treated as a guest in lieu of a prisoner as he was within the waters with his eyes closed. They had even gone so far as to heat the water for him! This truthfully was miles away from bathing in cold rivers by the light of the stars. In a way, that had it’s own charm. But a hot bath did wonders from the muscles.
Once cleaned by the aid of the elven soaps that were placed on the tray next to him, he lifted himself from the bath and took the towel that was left by the side for him, drying first his hair then the rest of his body. Drunel had remained for the sake of observation as he was assigned, but little conversation had happened.
The clothes given to Brayden were not his own, and why for any reason should he have expected them to be? What he was garbed in was not fine enough to meet the king of the elves. What was offered to him were fine fabrics of elven make, the shirt wrapping closed in the front and resting just above his knee and trimmed in gold, the pants a solid brown and even boots made of fine leather. Such fine things were scarce ever offered him for while he was attending councils with Mercurius. By and large, he was a knight. He was expected to appear in armor.
Short hair was still slightly damp as he finished dressing and looked across at Drunel. Passive had been the elf’s eyes upon him for the moment until it seemed he was prepared to leave after running a silver comb through his hair again. “I would be inclined to say my brethren still in their cell did not get such treatment,” voice the knight as he came to stand alongside the elven captain. By nature it was that elves were taller than humans, so it was no surprise to him that there was a disparity that lay between the two of them. The plains elves were shorter than the Ceredi, for he had noticed that while tall for a human or plains elf, he was relatively on the short side compared to these elves. Drunel could be no less than six and a half feet tall, and that was a conservative estimate.
That was also likely why the clothing was a bit long and loose upon him. He had a feeling the shirt’s intentions were to meet mid-thigh, at best. On someone not quite so tall as an average elf, this was not the case.
“So I suppose that I must go before your king looking like this and after I will be thrown back into my clothes and treated again as a prisoner.” It was a reasonable assumption. He was, after all, being treated fairly well as far as prisoners go. He was bathed and clothed. A low gurgle of his stomach was the only inclination there was another need not being met.
“That will be at His Graceful Majesty Ionwyr’s behest,” spoke the captain as they moved through the halls. With the gleaming of light from the plants above (at least, he assumed them to be plants) and the open nature of the hall, it was indeed hard to forget that they were not in a normal building. Such was designated only by the lack of windows that allowed him to see outside and to feel the true sun. How often, he wondered, did those that dwelt within these halls step outside and see the sun? How did they live? The culture was so vastly different than what he was used to, living among the humans. But this did not seem the time to ask. He was not sure if there would ever be a time to ask, though he found it irritating that he may carry these questions forever about the peculiarities of these dwarf-made halls. At least, if the legends are true.
“And why am I to be brought before the king when Gideon and Emirain are left in their cells?” Naturally, this was on the assumptive side. But it was an inquiry that needed to be made.
“Your Gideon and Emirain have appeared before His Graceful Majesty already,” as he lifted his head as the brunette elf did give the explanation, “when they first arrived. They claimed to be messengers at the gate, carried talk of peace. We knew they were liars from the start. His Graceful Majesty had spoken already with your king… so what their true motivation is, I could not discern and they could not tell us. They are spies, and we know it. But they are of value for…” but there was silence that his voice trailed into, nothing but quiet and that made Brayden raise his voice in inquiry.
“For…?”
“It is no business of yours and likely I have said too much already,” as he cut himself quite short. For the rest of their walk, there was naught but silence.
The throne room lay behind doors inlaid with ornate glasswork. It was not necessarily stained for there was no color, but veins of metal that wove into the glass and branched off. The work was beautiful--but so was most elven work, he had noticed. There were great craftsmen in the north and it seemed a shame that there was no route of trade, not a single connection to be had between them. And as those doors opened, he frowned.
Grandeur was to be had indeed for there were woven tapestries in lieu of paintings of prior rulers upon the wall. He supposed most elves had come during the Grand War and there had not been enough lifetimes to fill a gallery like those that hung in the halls of Castle Rosenlied. But the tapestries showed some wear upon close inspection, some loose threads. They were likely heirlooms that had come from the north still, for in them the ground was white and not green. The centered one, the one that hung behind the seated king of elven kind, was a white and blue backdrop emblazoned with the visage of a unicorn on its hind legs. Their emblem, he could only assume. Or perhaps once it had been.
“You are Captain of the Baidenese Military, correct?” There was a venom, a viperous bite that came to the words and it caused the frown to deepen. To his full height did he hold himself, straight and rigid as though he were in armor still. There was no quarter to be had for not representing himself as best he was able before foreign dignitaries, be they friend or foe. “Captain Brayden, son of Clarent, Assistant Head Knight?”
“That is what I am called.”
The thrones on either side of him were empty. With the prince now crowned king so it was that there was no place for the former queen at the councils anymore. Ellwynn would be a specter in the halls until her death as was her fate as the wife of the prior king. There were certainly worse fates to befall her, but there was almost guilt in her son’s eyes when they had spoken of it. She had more experience in courtly manners than he did, after all. But so all things did come to fall to him, and so he accepted them as such.
“I am under the impression that the existance of an Assistant Head Knight designates the existence of a Head Knight, Brayden. Where is he?”
“In all fairness, your highness, this is not information I am currently at liberty to dispose. For the good and safety of the people of Baiden as well as himself, the Head Knight’s identity has been kept a mystery since the title was given to him. I am under orders to keep it so.” The mein of the king could have broken a lesser man. Brayden was not aware of it but it had scarce been that long since he stood, shaken, before Mercurius. Attempting talks of peace. A king had to be hardened, and so had the hardening begun for Iowyr.
“Then call him back from the battlefield! He is in no state to be there!”
Zanil trailed on the heels of the Vairan king as they moved through the halls towards the throne room where Abigail did reside. There had been no warning, no foreword, there had been nothing that had delineated that they would be soon seeing the presence of Arric Lander, King of Vaira, attended by his advisor and only a few armed men. The small army, it seemed, that Vaira was beginning to build up was in fact going well enough that these men at least looked the part. They were taken to the knight’s quarters for their own stay and Zanil had every intent to show Arric to the guest quarters for visiting nobles. That is, until the talk had turned to demanding to know Mercurius’s location.
“And would you ride out there to fetch him yourself, your highness?” came the irked tone of Zanil as he did take a few long strides to stand before the king and block his advance to the throne room. A deep frown was upon his lips as he peered down at the Vairan ruler that had saw to making such a needless scene. “You come a-riding with no calling and present yourself here demanding audience with a king who I am sure you are well aware is not available as he rides to battle with his men. When he is not here, you call for him to be fetched from the front lines, Arric. What troubles you so that you cannot speak to me of it?”
There was a deep frown upon the face of the ruler as he gave a shake of his head. “Linnus told me of what Davin heard when they convened at the Circle of the Gods. I am sure Davin himself told you of what was said. The talk of genocide. Of driving a whole people out. This is no answer and should Mercurius take it, I cannot rightly continue to ally Vaira with Baiden. I am sure Oran and Ludan will likely feel the same--much of the continent will. You cannot, as his advisor, allow him to continue upon this plan, Zanil. Not in any good faith. Not as his advisor.”
“And I will deal with it in my own way. You have no reason to become involved--”
“I damned well have a right to be involved when my people were involved. When it was my healer that heard these things. When I still have healers that are upon the other two fronts of this battle. And when we have a peace treaty among all the countries and one speaks of genocide? He may only have spoken of the Ceredi elves, but how can you feel safe? You are no human.”
“I am no elf and this is no concern of yours.” These words were delivered with a harsh weight that could indeed have crushed someone, but the king remained resolute before him, unwavering as he pointedly looked into those pitch eyes with his own lighter blue ones. There was no happiness to be had within them, no comfort. There seemed to be only storms behind sky blue eyes. “I will deal with Mercurius as his advisor. I do not need to be advised as to my own position, King Lander.”
“Then let it be known I will be remaining here until I can speak to Mercurius,” was the demand laid flat before him with a motion of his hand. “This is my verbal agreement. My contract. My word. My men and I will remain within this castle until I speak with the King of Baiden, Mercurius Rosenlied, and I will not be swayed otherwise.”
More guests. Nearly could the advisor hear the words within his mind from the queen. She was weary of the coming and going of people, and this would be no different. That was partly why Zanil had hoped against hope that it would be a simple enough action to merely send them off and not have to involve her. But Arric had made it clear he would not simply be brushed off. The advisor’s mouth had opened to speak again but it was as though Abigail was summoned by his thoughts of her wellbeing. Before the argentine man was granted the opportunity to speak it was she who did come to interject herself, standing beside the silenced advisor.
“King Lander. We were not expecting you.” And with this statement her eyes cut towards Zanil and he felt his blood chill for a moment. “How can we be of assistance?”
“I will allow Zanil to fill you in on any details he would deem necessary, Queen Rosenlied,” though the first time he spoke those words he did almost feel them burn his tongue. A hard swallow. What right had he to protest? She was beautiful, radiant before him. She looked every part of a Baidenese queen though his heart did ache to think that she was married to Mercurius.
He avoided thinking of what he had or, rather, did not have. It was nothing. It was a dalliance. It was nothing.
“I am here to speak to King Rosenlied. I intend to stay as long as is necessary for such to be a possibility.”
The instructions had been clear: kill as few as possible and capture the captain of the squadron. That was why they had attacked under the guise of night and merely tried to pick off those on watch duty from a distance, but such had not rendered them successful. With him, Drunel had brought perhaps a hundred men and that was a major drain upon the resources of the army that was already thin. It was at best an equivocal number that remained at the castle and so ill protected a castle was indeed dangerous. It was not as though they had any legitimate fear of the Baidenese moving north to ransack them, but prior to the elf captain’s departure it had been made clear that Baidenese had made it to their halls--supposedly, simply a messenger. But when could one trust the enemy?
Originally, Iowyr had stated the order was to wipe out the eastern front as much as possible in effort to minimize the border strength. Upon reflection and council from Drunel (given that the two of them had managed to pinpoint the fact that it was Ionwhyn who had pitted them against one another to create such bad feelings) it was decided that this would only further exacerbate a bad situation. They had to work in coordination and therein found it surprisingly less difficult than they had prior expected. So they had agreed there would be as little bloodshed as possible… but it seemed that the humans had an opposite opinion of that. The number of losses was very likely the same on each side and naturally, this was more devastating to the elves.
“Wait.”
It was the voice of the captain that sounded out. The captain there, astride a horse and wearing only chainmail over the tunic and pants he slept in. The bedraggled captain, tired, with hair untamed and dirt streaked over his face; the captain who was likely just happy to have had a moment to rest. As Drunel gazed upon him there was a frown on his face and he realized that he, by comparison, was a spoiled captain. Most of his duty had been scouting. It had kept him close to home. And for a moment he felt utterly dwarfed by the devotion of this one captain, this man who stood out before him and managed to call his men to a halt with a resounding tone. A tone that could have echoed from the very mountains itself. This was a true captain and for a moment did the elf feel the disparity between them. Drunel had yet to see the battle for what it was. Perhaps scouting. Perhaps a small part of it. But this captain ate and slept among the men that were losing their lives.
He wondered if the units of Iolas’s rebellion even had captains. Were they like this man before him, or were they like him? Working remotely? Slowly the spear was lowered as he gazed across the slowly abiding fighting around him at this captain who held his hands high. And then it was this captain who dropped his weapons with neither complaint or protest. He gripped only the bridle of the horse before him as he spoke.
“If you came for me, then I will come willingly. Spare my men. No more need to die here if it is not your death they seek but my compliance. Just allow me to speak to my men.”
The helmed visage of the elven knight did lower in a nod as he saw the Baidenese horse upon which the captain was mounted turn to look at the men of the field. His had lowered their blades. All had stopped fighting and there was an eerie quiet across the whole field.
“Travel to Elfreda’s camp. The location she is going is upon the map. Do not tell her that I have gone with the Elves. If you must, tell her we were separated in a battle and the men went with me and we are lost. I fear she would try to march upon the mountains. Go to Elfreda. Reunite with her people. Leave by sunrise so the journey will be safe.”
“And you are indeed the captain of the Baidenese camp?” The elf’s voice kept with the tone he had issued prior, no anger, no irritation, nothing. He spoke in that even tone that elves seemed to be known for--that near monotone.
“I am. I am Brayden, son of Clarent, assistant to the Head Knight of Baiden and confidant of the King Himself. I offer you my surrender on the condition that my men are allowed their freedom to unite with our other camp.”
The horse beneath the elf resituated itself at the tugging upon the reins. Deep was the frown beneath the helmet, but if he resisted--if he resisted, there was fear that more of his men would die. In good faith, he could not commit to that. So a nod signified that the request was granted as Brayden moved to be alongside the elven captain. There was no search, no demand that he prove he had no weapons for within the heart of Drunel he was aware that this was not a man that would operate in errance of what was good for his people. And what was good for his people was laying down his arms and allowing himself to be taken as a willing captive.
In the same situation, the elven captain was not quite sure of how he would react. Would he surrender so? Would he attempt to fight, even when there was no chance of winning? For a moment the notion sat heavy on his chest before a clucking of his tongue ordered his horse to move again. The humans regathered themselves as the elves withdrew and began to depart, and as they rode away already there was talk among the humans of who should serve as interim leader. There was an efficiency in and of the Baidenese knights that he was not sure he could vouch for within his own units. Maybe the Baidenese men were indeed superior to them in that aspect.
But, what others?
“Why captive instead of dead?”
They had ridden for some time in general silence before Drunel heard the man speak next to him, his attention turning to the human captain with brows raised beneath the helmet. For a moment his response was silence before he came to speak and answer the inquiry. “Because you are no good to us dead. From a dead man we can get nothing. No information. No intelligence. And a dead man offers us no leverage. Baidenese captives are more useful to us at this current time than Baidenese corpses.”
Captives. This would indicate they already had at least one captive and that made the captain of men frown as his horse kept pace alongside Drunel’s. The elf did not bother to look; he had little interest in knowing the expression. He could assume it quite well from where he sat atop his own mount. Then it was Brayden who spoke again.
“Captives would denotate that I am not the only one.” And he was not. But for a moment the elf seemed on the fence about telling him such--but they still had a solid ninety men in their unit and he was encircled by them. Anything he would do would only result in his own death, and he was sure that was not the final goal being sought after. “Who else is there?”
“You will see soon enough.”
It was not as though Drunel had taken much interest in the captives. Gideon and Emirain had merely been done away with, placed in the cells for whatever may come next. It was at the discretion of the king, not his captain, what happened to those captive. He could only believe that they would be leverage in this upcoming battle debates, the attempts at cessation.
Iowyr did not want war. He wanted peace and the opportunity to rebuild his country from what it was becoming under his father. Tolerance would be taught for, by and large, save for those that had followed the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn, there was little to no animosity to be had against the humans by most elves. Many now did not remember the Grand War during which the elves had migrated from the north and knew only the stories of it, given the passage of time did claim elf lives as well as it did humans… just at a more languid pace. Iowyr himself was not old enough to have been born in the north lands and neither was Drunel. Both were birthed upon the shores of Liev, in the land that was called by humans the Silatin Mountains. The Ceredi referred to them as such: the Ceredi Mountains.
Ceredi was a name, a given name to the elves in the north. And the name literally translated to Child of God. In this way were the mountains unique, with differing names referring to differing gods based on who called upon them.
Few men of Baiden had gazed upon the mountains as near as Brayden would find himself. At first, there were very few signs of life and he did not look upon cities or towns. But it was tucked away, hidden as a well-kept secret. These halls, legends would state, were crafted not by the elves but by the dwarves and by the time the Ceredi, the Children of God, had come to them, they were vacant. That was the way the elves would recant it: that the halls were barren and empty as though an entire race of people had merely up and left one day. Humans tell a variant tale where what few dwarves had remained upon the ships docking to the north were slaughtered at the hands of the elves. Any who may be aged enough to recall the truth seemed reluctant to confirm either tale--but the craftsmanship was not, by nature, elven.
The entry to the town within the mountain was concealed by a thick growth of vines. It was no door, but an archway guised by the greenery. It presented a contrast to the harsh walls of stone that he had seen during all his days in Baiden, and even a vast contrast to the open air breezeways of Oran and the white marble of Vaira. Moving through the arch felt as though the warhorse he was on had transcended reality and found himself in a fairytale for the decorum inside the mountain was beautiful. Over what seemed to be a grotto did they pass almost instantly upon entering the archway, a bridge erected of shining metal carved to resemble the leaves that bloomed from the plants all around them. He could only assume enough light made it in still to allow them to thrive--or there was something else entirely at play. Forest spirits? Given the sensation of the supernatural that crawled up his spine from the moment he was taken within, nothing would surprise him.
Upon crossing the bridge the horses were taken from them, though his Baidenese-bred mount seemed to take offense to being within a mountain. They calmed the animal reasonably so and did take it off to the same stables that the elven horses were held at. It was not the horse who was the prisoner, after all. The same attendant that took Drunel’s horse also took the helm upon his head, likely serving as a personal attendant to the elven army captain.
“You are to have an audience with His Graceful Majesty King Iowyr upon his learning you are in his kingdom,” continued the captain. Though the helm was sent off, the remainder of the armor was in tact as they moved through the high-arching halls decorated with plants that seemed to give off their own light, bell-shaped, hanging from the wall. “Until then, you are to be detained in the cells with the other Baidenese prisoners.”
With a nod of his head, face now revealed, Brayden found himself seized by two other who had traveled with them and lingered in their shadow as they moved through the open spaces. Little time was allotted to him to gaze at the lighting that gleamed on the ceiling, cross-hatched gold that seemed to give off a glow similar to daylight or even fire, but he did not struggle. He had agreed to come along without complaint for the sake of his men, to allow them to get to their safety. After all, their many lives were worth far more than his.
His main concern in that moment as he felt himself be gripped and steered away was only that he felt the fear of not returning to Silvya. Of his child growing up with no father and saddling Silvya with the weight of raising a Baidenese child in Baiden when she herself was still strongly attached to the north. Perhaps, he wondered, if he did not return, she would go back there. To her family. They did speak with her on the occasions they passed through for trade, so he would think they were at least on good terms.
The hall that contained the cells was not as lit as the main entry hall and there were next to none that milled about within it. Two guards were posted by the entrance and to those escorting Brayden did they offer a nod.
“Would you have him near the other Baidenese prisoners?”
Brayden would not be aware of it, but there was a delineation. These same cells were used for those among the elven kind that did commit crimes against their people, but it seemed they were notably separating the two. And for a moment the captain’s brows knit as he pondered just how many Baidenese prisoners there were within these walls. The problem with war was that communication was near nonexistant at times and so he had no way of knowing how many had been taken or from where. All he could do was wait to potentially see.
“But him near them. Keep the Baidenese prisoners together, and redouble the guards if you feel it necessary.” This was a bluff. Brayden had no way of knowing it was a bluff, but it was a bluff. Their numbers were thin and they could not even spare the additional four men that would be necessary to redouble the guards… and it was not likely that the Baidenese would be able to break out. Elfreda had only come to be liberated by Iowyr’s good graces in attempt to communicate with the Baidenese king an idea of nonaggression. And clearly, such had gone astray. While the human captain had no way of knowing it, even when Brenner and his unit had been captive, it was with aid that they had found their way out. Breaking out of elven prisons without someone inside was almost impossible and that much, Brayden did know.
What Brayden did not know was the identity of those in the cells next to them until he heard their voice. And one of them was a voice he would probably know even if he was deaf, though it sounded slightly more weary than he had ever heard it before.
“Well, look what the elves dragged in.”
“Gideon? Gideon Whitemane? You of all people are their prisoner?”
“Not only him.”
Gideon and Emirain were in the cells next to him and the man found himself slightly floored. Insofar as he was aware, the Wolves Guild had yet to become involved in the scuffle between Baiden and the elves, but it seemed he was ill-informed of that decision as well. It was difficult to keep the frontline informed of what was going on, for the risk attested to messengers was great and even then there was no way of being completely sure that the message would reach where it was going. With so many uncertainties in the air, there was little to nothing that could be done. It was better not to take the gamble of someone’s life. That was likely why until now he had no knowledge of Vitnir Hall’s involvement in the war.
“And how is it that the leaders of the greatest fighter’s guild in all of Liev have found themselves captured by our enemies?” It was best to make light of it if he could, he supposed. The cell was dark. The main halls had been alight with those bizarre, glowing plants (he assumed they he likely predated the elves’ arrival, if old tales were true) but such was not the case for these dark halls. Brayden could only reason that it was partly a tactical advantage. If dwarves had spent all their time underground, they would be used to the dark. And it was known that elven night vision far surpassed that of the humans.
Weary was the sigh that came from the woman in the cell next to his. At least, that was what the sound would lead him to believe: it sounded nearer than Gideon’s weaker tone. “Would you believe we essentially walked in? I was under the impression that my mate had a plan in mind and yet here we are. So whatever plan he had concocted seems to have done a wonderful job at falling through.”
Then the response came from further away, where he had to assume Gideon’s cell was. “I told you, my plan was to get inside. So in that way… you cannot rightly say that I did not succeed in my plan. However, I did not plan on the cells being our final location. I was hoping to at least have the advantage of snooping and yet here we are. Though, I have an idea of how to reach out to our pups outside.”
There was a frown in Emirain’s face, though none saw it but her. It was Brayden who chimed in the inquiry: “How?”
Mercurius could count on a single hand the number of times he had been in this place and it always felt the same--there was a surreal power to it. The legends spoke of once when the Gods themselves had used this place for council and ever since it had been land deemed above the strife of mortals, even those so long-lived as the elves. Here, all ground was neutral. Even those who did not believe in the pantheon worshipped by all of Liev had to admit there was a bizarre energy about the place.
The stone table in the center of the almost too perfectly round clearing--hence the name, the Circle of the Gods--never seemed to crack or age, nor was their moss that grew upon it. This was the same place that Arric had met with Iolas in a bastardized attempt to falsify negotiation with Baiden. There was nothing that he could rightfully have offered them for he was no prince, he had no title, he had nothing but the claim that he was a bastard. And not even a bastard of the king--a bastard of the queen. The fact that he was raised by the elves had little to do with it. He was no representative of theirs and that was quite clear, even if they were not completely sure how the two sects did seem to interact. War had been proclaimed of all elves and so it was enacted.
It was sheepish, the manner in which the messenger had initially come to return to him. Gone was the bravado and at whose hand Mercurius could not discern--but it was gone. They were placed upon a more even playing field. ‘He will meet you in a week’s time at your Circle of the Gods,’ had stated the messenger, ‘and there he will speak with you.’
Likely it was that Mercurius and his humans were nearer in proximity to the Circle and so they were the first that had arrived. It was an hour out from sunrise, at most. The forest was quiet and Mercurius could not recall if this was how it always was or merely because many creatures slept still--or because they avoided the strange feeling of the place entirely. It was indeed hard to tell with such things.
But out of politeness they were not kept waiting long. While the human king had left his horses with an attendant outside of the woods for the thickness of the trees did make horseback travel more difficult than it needed to be. Around him were his knights, including Elfreda, and yet with him had come the healer from Vaira who served as the head healer to those dispatched to his unit. An additional smattering of knights had made the pilgrimage as well, though it had been a long one from their location. But they were not to let their king go it alone. Such would likely result in an increased risk of ambush or death--though legends tell quite boldly that any who spilled blood in the Circle of the Gods did not live to tell the tale of it.
The horses of the elves were bred more thin, more lithe. They were not broad like the warhorses and this only confirmed that when Iolas did ride to him it was on stolen Baidenese beasts. Slowly did they pick their way through the underbrush as though they were dainty as deer--their legs long and willowy with manes braided to keep them from being in the way. And they were bedecked in fabrics of green and silver, the colors of the Ceredi Elven Royalty, from what Mercurius had been told.
And stop the white horse was the man he assumed was crowned king.
While he was able to look upon Iolas and see himself, in Iowyr he saw only elf. His hair was long and the hue of spun gold and while those around him did conceal their face and wear dark colors, he appeared in silvers and whites. This was the first time in all his days that Mercurius had set his eyes upon elven royalty and he did truly feel like he gazed upon someone that had stepped from one of the stories he was told of mythical times, time of dragons and grand heroes that were simply too good to be real. Iowyr had no business in reality so much as he belonged in those stories, dismounting with a poised grace that no human, not even one trained to move in such a way, could emulate. The silks pooled around him like moonlight as he advanced forward, and to his right stood an elfin knight in armor of silver. This knight was unlike any that Mercurius had seen upon the battlefield. Surely, this knight was of superior status for the silver armor upon him was more intricate than the soldiers slain in the field. That was one of many reasons the Baidenese king did avoid anything resembling grandeur armor, anything that would call to him excess attention. But in this moment did the human feel plain, in his plain armor and his plain clothing beneath him. In this moment did he feel dwarfed by the grandeur of the elves of high blood that stood across from him.
“Your Graceful Majesty King Mercurius Lafayette Rosenlied.” It was directly at the king that he looked, those eyes trained with ease upon the face that did hold familiarity--not from having ever in their lives seen one another, no, but due to the fact that in Mercurius’s face, Iowyr was able to look upon the face of the half-elf he had called brother for so much of his life. And that almost caused his eyes to soften. “I know it is you for I see him in you.”
“Prince Iolas--” but the moment he used that term, there was a hand raised to him. And for a moment, there seemed to be sadness in those eyes with his head tilted slightly. The hand was raised in the same manner to draw silence as it was done in Baiden and this made the king’s lips crease visibly. The fact that the same hand motion was used was enough to set him on edge. Had it been the elves that developed it, or the humans?
And with that grace did it fall. It almost felt as though the king across from him did act the part more than these actions were genuine. Such caused black brows to crease over dark brown eyes--a foil to the lighter colors of the king across from him. And for just a second was he reminded of Arric in those gentle motions, in those ways--just for a moment.
“Iolas is my half-brother as he is yours, but he… he is no more a prince to my people than he is to yours. I have my suspicions that it was he who attacked the noble you cited in your proclamation of war, not my own people.” What was his voice? The way he spoke? It nearly troubled him to hear such eloquence, but he did not interrupt. He allowed the elfin king to keep speaking with the mute knight beside him. Though that did not specifically mean he had not noticed that Iowyr had come with only a single knight, for while on the human side of the table there were nigh upon six men. Had he been the one to be over prepared, or was the other king only making a play at being less armed? “But my father was not one to contest the proclamation and you left little room to. It is the truth that my father, His Departed Graceful Majesty Ionwhyn of an Uncontested Line of Royals, did not favor your people. But I am not my father, and that is why I wished to speak with you here.
“Iolas and his people are a threat both to elvenkind and to your people, but their numbers are few. It would benefit us mutually to be rid of him, I feel. He opposes both you and the order among my people and I believe much that he contested, I can rectify.”
That was then Mercurius finally did speak, stepping forth to the table at the center. “I care little of elven politics. Agreements made with your kind seem to fall by the wayside within a few mortal lifetimes as if you think we will merely turn a blind eye to it, King Iowyr.” No long title. No Graceful Majesty. The elf before him was merely a king as he was, and there was little interest he had in hailing him as anything else. “I only want my people protected without fear of your people attacking us. And regardless of what you may proclaim, Iolas is an elf of the Silatin Mountains. Iolas is still a part of your people.”
“I do not want the Ceredi to die any more than you desire the death of your men and women on the battlefield at our hands, King Rosenlied,” as the elf’s voice did waver for a moment. Mercurius was not happy and there was a thunder in the voice of the human that caused him recollection of the anger expressed in his father’s own. But his father was dead and gone and he could not allow the weight of what that man had done to him drown him for the rest of his time. He was to be king and so he had to stand tall--and he would. “I feel as though a cessation of this war is beneficial. Neither of us have anything to gain from it. It has been months now that we have been fighting and there is no benefit to be had of my people…”
But the warlord king did speak again, jaw squared. “The benefit of my people is your vacating the mountains, King Iowyr. The coming of the elves to our shores has brought nothing but strife. We have lost the northmost trading port and so now our allies in Northmen must trek a many-days voyage in a roundabout fashion when before it took only a brief time. You stand between us and our allies and yet you speak to me of peace.
“This is no longer indeed about something so simple as your rogue half-brother attacking diplomats of Vaira. There will be no certainty of peace as long as your elves linger upon this shore. The more that die on the battlefield, the fewer you have to fret over removing from here. This is not a war that will result in more treaties for your people to break. This is an ultimatum: leave from the lands begotten to humans by the gods themselves, or suffer for it.”
Davin stood quite slack-jawed beside the Baidenese king, his eyes cutting from him to the elven man who somehow managed to appear quite nonplussed by the whole ordeal. At least, at a glance. Further inspection did reveal that those bright eyes did tremble slightly with unseen anxiety and perhaps, maybe, within the depth of Mercurius’s humanity could he recall the fright of being crowned king. But it was not his place to speak of it. It was not his place to interject. He was merely a witness from another country and while there was some involvement and bias, the king of Baiden had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to hold his tongue.
“Liev is the home to my people as much as it is yours, King Rosenlied,” came the tone of the elf, now lower, dropped. The captain next to him did grip tighter to the blade that his hand had previously only rested idle upon and so in kind did the men on the human side of the Circle of the Gods brandish their own. Neither did draw, but the intent was there--and it was know the elves were at the disadvantage. And Drunel’s response was to release his grip upon the gilded hip, though the same could not be said of the humans. So much for the notion of a peaceful council. But the humans would not go out of their way to spill blood at a site revered as holy; it was sacrilegious. “Many of the people in our cities were born here and are not expatriates of the north. I was born here, just as you were. This is my home. These mountains. My people want to live in peace.”
“If your people did desire peace so, likely they should have thought of that before breaking our treaties more than once. Before attacking our people. Iolas may not be your prince, your ruler. But he is indeed one of your people and you should take responsibility for it.”
“He is as much your people as he is mine when you gaze upon his parentage, King Rosenlied. His mother is my mother. His father is your father. It is simply that he was carried to term in our kingdom and herein raised that you see him as ‘our people.’”
“And had he been born in Baiden he would have been killed before he could grow and cause such catastrophe!”
“Your Majesty!”
There was only so far an extent to which Davin would keep his mouth shut, and the talks of completely ejecting and entire race seemed to drag across that line. Throughout much of Liev did the elves intermingle with the humans and there was minimal conflict. By and large, it seemed to be only the Baidenese and the Ceredi that did clash. Both were quite militant about their beliefs and so they could be seen as two storms crashing headlong to create a hurricane. But one storm was going to win out eventually, and Mercurius would not entertain the thought that it may not be his.
None the less, David did interject himself to stand between the two storms, metaphorically. Should he be taken in the crossfire he did hope that his years of devout service to Rzael would land him some preferential treatment in the afterlife.
“Vaira did not send aid under the illusion that this was an act of complete annihilation and I will not hear of that. Should you seek to lose the support of Liev…”
“You speak as though any other than Arric did offer support in the first place. When I spoke to the King of Oran years ago, years before this conflict did come to a head, he turned his face away from me and would offer no aid. The Ludanese king has said nothing, sent no word. Only Vaira has bothered to send aid. So I do not fear losing the support of this continent. It was never there in the first place.”
“Was there not in motion,” resonated the voice of the captain for the first time since the humans had arrived, “a treaty that united all of Liev as a confederation? The countries operate with separate governments… but in times of turmoil would come together? Perhaps those who studied human history have mentioned such in err of the truth, but if not--”
“Be still,” spoke the even tone of Iowyr and so did Drunel fall silent, standing at attention. His face did well to express he was not by mandate pleased with the motion in any way, shape, or form, but he accepted it none the less. “It is not our position to judge the way the humans handle themselves.
“But we will not vacate this land, as it is our home, King Rosenlied. I was hoping we could indeed unite together and come to find peace against Iolas, for it is he who is our enemy, not one another. I want nothing but peace. I cannot undo that which was done under my father. I will not stand here and claim to want to atone for the wrongs committed by my people before my birth. That is unfair of you to ask of me. I cannot atone for what I did not do. I can only change what will happen as we move forward, Mercurius.”
“As if I would trust the word of an elf. The only ending that I will take is for you to leave these shores.” It was not a shout. It was not a threat. It was not a tome that communicated any sort of animosity but it was a low statement of fact that crawled along the spine of the elven king who did stand on the opposite side of the stone table. Neither king had placed their hands upon it. There was a respect about the stone, about the strength of the stone. There was something that urged none to place hand upon it in this moment, even as others had. Perhaps in times of peace it could be touched. He could recall his father having touched it during the one time they had come here--merely to show Mercurius, not so much to debate or to hold council. But now neither king could come to touch it. Not in good faith.
There was no budging the human. There was no moving Mercurius from what he had determined to be his path and so the ivory visage of the elf downturned into a frown and he cast his gaze away. His movements were calculate, his visage demure. Ethereal. There was something oddly spiritual about the elf king in this moment, though he was as much flesh and blood as Mercurius. “Then there will be no hope of peace. We will continue fighting until King Rosenlied has come to his senses. I want only peace. I am willing to work towards that.”
“And will you say the same in ten years? Twenty years? How am I to trust you after it was your people that did attack my people when moving through agreed upon trade routes? We never showed animosity when the situation was reversed--” but it was Drunel that spoke, his clenched teeth visible beneath the helmet that he wore as he found his hand gripping again to the gilded hilt of the blade.
“You may say what you see as truth, Mercurius, but I ask you not to blatantly lie before our new king. There were many times that our elves were attacked by your humans. I am not implying it was a sanctified action by your father or whoever did rule before him, but you cannot discredit them as having never transpired. I will not hear it. I was on one such convoy--and it was on one such that one of my men came to lose an eye to an archer. Do not think we are dumb to savagery of humans at times.” There was a coldness to that final sentence. It was not an accusation but a statement: humans were capable of savagery. They had enacted it upon those deemed their foes. The numbers in the north had never fully bloomed to what they could have been--but Drunel could never say such things. Instead, they were kept to himself. To silence.
“There will be no peace found here,” stated the human king as he turned his back. “This was will continue.”
“If that is what you wish, Your Graceful Majesty King Rosenlied.”
“It is what will be, whether I wish it or not, King Iowyr.”
