Nov 13, 2024
Study of a Linneus sketch from my ancient Teahouse art book #teahousecomic
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Study of a Linneus sketch from my ancient Teahouse art book #teahousecomic
a lovers tale, part 28.
He didn’t have a scent.
If it was not for the sound of his feet upon the ground as he moved, there would have genuinely been no way that the wolves would have been aware of his presence as none were on the alert. They had learned the cycle of the guard’s patrols by this point and knew that none would be passing by. Up did Yrain’s head lift first, for they had taken to sleeping in shifts--those of the Wolves’ Guild, at least, for Brayden still slept whenever he could find it, and the sleep he did find was fitful. All he desired was to return home to his wife and yet he suffered from the constant anxiety that he would not return or, worse, that he would return to more fighting. The nightmares brought back the sounds of the battlefield and so, leaning heavily upon empathy, they allowed him rest when they found it. It was not uncommon for the pups, as Gideon called them, to have nightmares for some time after they first received the bite and so they knew well that sleep, when it came, was quite treasured.
“You came.”
There was relief in her voice as she pulled herself to stand at the front of her cell. Gideon slept, for Gideon slept often since her arrival which had been three days ago. Three was the allotted time they had agreed to wait for Thrandir prior to opting to enact a different course of action and it was as though he knew it. With ease did keys slide into the locks of the cells before him and slowly open the small containment rooms in which the werewolves and singular human did dwell. When he came to Gideon, there was a frown upon his face.
“I’ve never seen a silversick werewolf before,” stated the engima that was the man who played all sides with the ease that one played a hand of cards. “And I’d rather not see it again.” There was great effort put forth in the fact that he undid and lifted the chains, heavy chains. Clearly no attention was made to keeping the state of near silence for they clattered noisily to the ground. Though the relief was not instant, it was visible upon the face of Gideon as he breathed in a deep breath as though prior his lungs did not properly fill. “Gideon, was it? You toed about after Abigail for some time looking a fierce beast and to see you like this…” his tongue clucked a bit but the werewolf was able to gather himself to his full height. Near on par were the two men yet there was still a weakness about Gideon--a term that was nearly an antonym, when it came to descriptors of the alpha of the Wolves’ guild.
It was a fleeting and ephemeral joy as the hands of Emirain did reach forward to cup his cheeks. The heirs upon his chin were more faded, greyer than they had been and it seemed as though there was more pepper hued strands within the thick, brown mane than there had been prior. This may have only been her projection of what she felt had been done to her mate, but she was happy to hold him again regardless. To feel those arms around her. Strength would return in kind, strength always returned: it was simply the type of man that he was. There was never any doubt in the mind of Emirain that he would be well, and when she was in those arms, she was even further reassured.
“I cannot leave them here, Emirain,” spoke the tired voice of the alpha, “but I cannot help them myself--”
“I will.”
It was Hagon who stepped forward once his own cell door released him. There was no shadow upon his face, nothing grim about him. “I have heard them as well. They have kept me awake--they are our kin if in nothing but the spirit and I do not like hearing them in pain. I see why Gideon will not leave them. I will not, either.”
Rumors did persist that there was a chance it would be Hagon who became alpha. It was in these moments that the reasoning shone through.
“Gideon need to return to the castle and rest to recoup. I will at least scout out the situation with the elvenkin--I cannot, will not promise their liberty. I will only promise my honest assessment of the situation. Their… they sounded pained. I worry for their well-being and I worry for their minds. They may be too far gone for us to save…” There was a frown that graced his features, but towards him was given a knowing nod. Gideon understood and based on his body language as he drew from his mate did express similar concerns.
“Yrain should go…”
“No,” as the northman interjected as politely as he could to his alpha, a hand raised with fingers loosely held up. “I would not endanger her or any others. Allow me the opportunity to put forth that which I can for the pack. I will save any that I am able and as for the rest…” as silence trailed over them. Silence that was broken as Brayden stepped forth with a deep frown upon his own features.
“Am I to truthfully believe you are able to make sense of the howls of animals, now? For Gideon to claim such things is one thing but… what are you.”
It was a smile upon the lips of Thrandir as a finger was placed to their lips before they began down the hall. “We will leave the northman to his business with the beasts and we will attend to our business at the castle. Brayden, should you still desire to know of Vitnir hall, I would advise asking your king. He awaits you at the castle.”
But it seemed even the luck of Thrandir could run dry. As they neared their goal they did find the escape route blocked not only by Drunel but by the King himself in the armor of his people with his head held high in regality. By and large when one in Liev thought elf they imagined plains elves, they imagined those like Thrandir. And he was of near excessive height by his people! Yet still there was before him taller elves yet with their regality about them and a good solid inches even over the tallest in their party.
And in the eyes of the King what shone more than anything else, than anger or even hatred, was hurt. It was as though looking upon them in that way pained him, though he said naught of it and cut his eyes from them quite quickly with his lips creased into a frown. His hand gripped to the blade fast at his hip and it seemed as though he would rather be angry, but there was some sadness there between him and Thrandir.
“Elindil,” spoke the king’s tone, “there is a fable among the Ceredi. It is of a fox, a trickster; he goes about and fools the lynx, the goat, and the bear cub into relinquishing their food to him. And he takes it and hides it, but not in a single place. He hides the food in so many places that when it comes that he is hungry, he cannot find the food, and it is winter and all things slumber. The fox dies in the cold and the seeds of the fruit he buried grow into trees and bushes to feed the lynx, the goat, and the bear. I had hoped among us, you were not the fox.
“Have I ever crossed you, Elindil? For if I have, I wish I could have rectified it before you betrayed us all.”
“Betrayal would imply loyalty, Your Graceful Majesty King Iowyr. I do not harbor that for any side of the war.”
“So you are the fox, and you have yourself spread so thin it would only eventually double upon you like a snake held by the tail--and I am wretched to be the one to have done this. I--”
“You yourself released Elfreda and her unit forth from their captivity and here you are scolding me for doing the same? These humans--”
“Do not stand before my face and pretend to be ignorant of what it is you are helping right now, Elindil. Only one of them is human and while humans may be more ignorant or worse, simply choose not to see, this is not the case for me. It never has been for I know what they are and I knew what they are the moment they came sniffing about with their noses low to the ground like the beasts that they are. They are a pack, or at least, the outliers of one. These are not humans, but animals.”
Could one truthfully fault Iowyr for what he had been taught? It was arguable; his hatred for humans was sizeable and yet he was willing to overlook such things and move forth. But as for the wolves that stood before him, they were as beasts. Mongrels. What the Ceredi believed of the origins of werewolves was in truth a mystery to the humans that dwelt in Baiden and it did not seem the king was in any mood for further cultural sharing. The fable of the fox was presumably more than enough--or the topic was a difficult one. There was truly no telling.
“You are an elf. It is bad enough that you help humans. But to help those beasts as well--”
“I am helping none by myself, in fact and in effect, Iowyr. I have helped all ‘sides’ in this fiasco so that I am on the winning with no sway held by whomever does emerge in victory among those who fell to the side. With Iolas I have cut ties for there is no chance of his victory. And so here I stand before you to let loose our ties, Iowyr, for there is no chance of victory for the Ceredi either. All you can now hope for is kind terms of defeat.”
Nausea wracked the form of the king for a moment at the proclamation: Elindil called Thrandir called Isadel (for he knew all the names held by the figure) had severed his ties with the elves. This ached deep within him for long had they at least an inkling of a professional relationship. One could scarce call it friendship but--“You have worked for forty years as an intelligence agent under my father and I. That is longer than this human has been alive and perhaps longer even some of the beasts around him. Yet you would forsake all of it as you simply think we are losing?”
There were only two of them. Two elves stood between six werewolves, a trained Baidenese knight, and a fragment of a living goddess. Yet Gideon was tired, all were unarmed save for Thrandir, and brawling with the very king would not end favorably. Deep into the lungs did the one who guised themselves as a plains elf draw air through their nose before eyes lifted and stared forward. “What do you stand to gain from keeping an alpha werewolf in shackles? What do you plan to do? Use him and Ser Brayden as leverage, as some sort of bargaining tool to see to it that you get what you want? What makes you think that simply having a few people that King Rosenlied may care about will give you any sway in the war?”
“Mercurius is a selfish man--” but the universal raised hand prompted the king to silence before the darker skinned elf did continue:
“Yes. He is a selfish man. You could hold his very wife captive and likely would he continue to mandate that all your people die or depart. You have no leverage. It falls entirely upon him and upon his people to change his mind. You haven’t a chance in the matter, I am quite pained to say. The fate of your people is out of your hands.”
“I will not accept it--”
“Send me to the castle. Hold Thrandir in my place.”
It was as though he had held his silence for too long. Brayden spoke as he stepped forward, his feet planted firmly upon the ground at his feet. Among them, it was he who had the nearest ties arguably to the king. And to liberate those kept in chains--
“If I can be a part of the deliberations of the king, perhaps I can sway him. Much like Mercurius, I gazed upon elves prior as cruelly amorphous. They were merely an enemy poised to attack. But under your rule, this needn’t be the case. I can see that. I gazed upon that in the honor of the knights that fell for you and in Ser Drunel as he did escort me forth and laid no further hurt to my men after our surrender. There is honor yet among elves. I will plead your case.”
“And you merely expect me to trust you--”
“I will go with him.” Eyes now turned towards the elven captain who had spoken for the first time since the conversation had begun. “I will see to it that what he speaks is truth… and perhaps speak with the king myself. He may take the word of a warrior over the word of a king. Should he even view me as a proper warrior.”
The hands of the one who had ministrated this entire concept clapped together as he spoke. “Fantastic. And I will go with--”
“The agreement was, Elindil,” as the king’s gaze was again upon the presumed negotiator, “that Brayden will travel southward to his homeland while you will take his place in the cell.”
“And I had so hoped you had forgotten that part.”
The wolves were again fast behind bars though the chains were removed. So truly the silver imbued chains had been to suspicion that they were werewolves--though how the Ceredi had known was indeed a mystery to anyone and everyone. It may be some sort of mysticism or just as likely within the court was someone that was one of the wolves himself. There was no proper way of knowing short of inquiring when there was a state of peace, should they all live to see it.
Elindil occupied Brayden’s former cell but it was then that the realization was made that there was one missing among the company that had traipsed forth to be turned over to the elves. Hagon was not visible in any of the cells nor as confirmed by Emirain was he verified to be in the vicinity. There had hardly been a din and yet it was distraction enough that he was able to disappear from their numbers and follow the sounds of those bound and kept in bondage beneath. And it did sound like beneath, as though an additional layer of earth separated the cells of the prisoners from whatever holding the elven werewolves were in.
It was indeed a blessing, it seemed, that they paid little attention to Hagon. His training from hunting in the north made it easier for him to quite simply vanish from where he was and move down the hell. Further blessed was he for the majority of knights were dispatched elsewhere, be they upon the battlefield or keeping an eye away from those called ‘the beasts.’ Hagon was right to worry of the fact that their minds may well be gone, that they may be feral wolves. Merely the notion triggered a sinking sensation within his chest and yet forward did he traipse through unlit and unfamiliar pathways. That they did not keep these ‘beasts’ visible to the common eye was not surprising…
And certainly the northern wolf found himself hoping they were merely like him and his pack and not something more frightful indeed. The beast’s soul was seen to have come from Silas himself. How it would react to one of elven blood could truly be anyone’s guess. Maybe it drove them instantaneously mad. Such was truthfully not impossible by any means…
They must have known he was coming. A howl raised forth from deep within the mountain, the howl that was the same one he had heard before. A howl that had woken him from slumber. There was fright in that howl more than there was ferality, a mournful sound that came forth from the depth of the maker’s voice. Indeed it was nigh implausible that a sound could raise the hairs on the back of his neck, but this did--it was almost likened to hearing a child crying in fright. Within him awoke instincts he was not prior aware of as he crouched and ducked beneath low-hanging ceilings to move forth on his trek.
The howling quieted as he came towards its source and were it not for the keen sense of smell that the man harbored now, likely he could have gotten lost. He knew not where the tributaries that split off from the main hall lead but he knew that he was following a strong scent and that his eyes adjusted quickly to the dark due to his own wolfish persuasion. Any others would have required light.
They were cells. But a hand upon them revealed the bars were of silver and yet still upon them were there marks. Teeth marks. But the silver bars caused less distress than what he saw when he looked within them.
One of the women on the other side cradled against her a child.
part 29.
read from the beginning.
a lovers tale, part 18.
Brenner was surprised he had not heard the shout from across the camp, as it were. Culver had departed him to speak with Maurice in the area he had claimed as his and as far as he could tell from the simple sound of quiet it had gone better than expected. Conversely, it was just as likely that Maurice had opted to simply brood about it. But when it came time to release the elves from the tree it was the captain himself who saw to it. The ropes were undone though the hands of the elves were still bound just as quickly as they had been the first time. It was only fair that they were permitted to have their hands before them instead of behind them for the sake of their balance as they rode the road to Castle Rosenlied alongside the knights of Baiden. A total of fifteen men were assigned to this task, helmed by Maurice who pointedly said nothing to the other captain during the period that the elves were being assisted onto horseback in front of the knights. Some had grumbled about the fact this was clearly bad luck, that they wanted nothing to do with the elven kind, but they were quickly quieted by Culver or Brenner when they spoke too loudly.
“Do not let harm come to them. Take them to the castle, confer with Zanil, and have them placed in the prison of the Gray Wing. Should it transpire that you are attacked along the way, kill them.” This made Culver lift his head to look at Brenner with furrowed brows--such seemed almost unlike him, but there was valid reason to it. Visibly, the fair-haired elf that had been the one with whom Brenner conversed stiffed at the notion before all the elves were blindfolded. It was really excessive for it was easy enough to navigate to the castle town, but they would indeed be lead there and it was best to keep their eyes from seeing all the paths in case they should be liberated and come to find themselves back among their kin. “Understood?”
This was the first that Maurice had spoken to him since the news was delivered and it was a curt acknowledgement that he would adhere to the orders placed before him. No joy in the statement, little to no respect, but it was an order that he would follow. An elf was not seated with him for he had blatantly refused it, passing the duty off to one of the others in the unit of men that would be riding with him. Brenner was in no humor to mince words and so he moved to depart until he heard the elven voice that called out to him.
“Captain. Captain Brenner, was it?”
He did not turn to look at the elf but did speak in response: “Yes?”
“Faeron. On the off chance any come to seek me out, I am Faeron. I am a knight. My brother serves as one as well and he may…”
It was as though the elf suddenly realized he was not sure why he was speaking so he nearly bit his tongue before twining his hands into the mane of the horse. But Brenner spoke. “I do not think it likely I will see your brother. But should any inquire as to Faeron, I will inform them that you are alive and in our keep. My own brother is a knight,” as his eye moved over the camp and his lips formed a slight frown. “So I understand.”
“What a touching moment,” he heard Maurice grumble before the horses were brought around into a formation and then began to ride off. There was no banner waved above them, nothing along the lines of glory that was carried into battle. This was simply a side mission and none of those assigned it were too overjoyed.
It seemed it was the sound of horse hooves that had roused Tahvaen from where he slept still beneath a makeshift coverage of a blanket propped up on sticks. Its purpose was primarily served by blockading the offense of the sun from the eyes of those that slept during the day which, likely, the captain would shortly get back to. Those eyes looked up at the captain shrouded in the early morning sun and did manage a smile. “How touching,” for his ears had awoken before his eyes had opened and so the half-elf offered a weary yawn in response, “getting a bonding moment with an elf. Don’t think Mercurius would be too happy to hear about that.”
Next to the roguish male did the captain come to sit, reaching down to draw off the boots that he wore. As of yet, he had not slept from the point he had awoken the morning prior and beneath his eye did lay that dark circle. It seemed as all things progressed less and less rest came to him but that was his genuine expectation. War wore a man down in many ways and the only reprieve he found was the occasional dreamless sleep. In his dreams, he dreamed still of the war around him. It did not chip away at him quite as it would have a man of lesser strength and yet still it was there, ever so on the back of his mind that people were indeed fighting and dying like beasts in the world around him. That may well be the last time he heard the name Faeron should it happen that they are ambushed on their way to Castle Rosenlied and therein were the elven prisoners killed.
It was easier to sleep without thinking of that.
“You know my secret, Tahvaen,” as he glanced over his right shoulder with his remaining eye. “It should be no surprise to you that I have a bit more empathy for the plight of the elves than most Baidenese men.” But there was no further discussion to be had as it came that Tahvaen’s head rest between Brenner’s shoulder blade the moment that the captain lay down alongside him. Sleep found them both and, for Brenner’s benefit, it was a dreamless one.
Brayden was plagued by the same dreams though he had no way of knowing that. Whereas his twin was able to by and large disregard that which came to him in the dead of night, Brayden had found he was not so lucky. It could have been the environment, locked away within this cell like a feral beast in a cage. It was true indeed that the dreams had come to him outside of the elven prison, but it was as though they were more vivid and heavier upon his shoulders at the current point. Conjecture could place this on the shoulders of the fact he was farther from his men, from the people he had come to know well. Gideon and Emirain were allies, yes, but they were not his units. He feared for them and could only pray to Silas that Elfreda had them well cared for in her own camp.
Emirain in her own cell nearest to the captain would hear nearly the very breath of the captain, labored in his slumber as he attempted to rest despite whatever ran through his mind. There was a deep pity within her for she knew how he must have clenched his fists and woken up quite suddenly based on how she head the movements. His situation was not wholly dissimilar from the first few moments that one of their pups did wake up from their first sleep after the bite. Nightmares came to them at times too and in the worst cases, loose memories of what they had done when they were bite-mad from the initial contact with a werewolf. She remembered. All the wolves remembered that first night as it kept them rooted to who they were before.
It was important for the wolves of Baiden to remember that they were human, once. That was what kept them from the beasts that went feral.
“They were merely dreams, Brayden.” Her voice caused the captain to start slightly for not only had he engaged in the assumption that she would be asleep but also that none would know of his dreams but his. Yet within him there was an inkling of relief if only for the fact he did not feel quite so alone as when he would wake up in the camp where most slumbered save for those on guard duty. “You are well. At least, as well as one can be when being held prisoner.”
Emirain was awake. Gideon, however, slept. He slept until there was the peeling sound of what sounded to the human captain as little more than a hound. Silatin Mastiffs were kept within the walls of Castle Rosenlied and he heard them quite frequently in the nights and evenings so the notion that elves had their own hounds was not one that roused concern in him. But in Gideon’s case, this woke him from where he was soundly dozing under the near drugged state of the silver chains. Blurred vision finally gave way as he blinked against the dim light, the only instance being the flickering flame that was placed down the hall. His night vision slowly cleared up as he heard the sound once more as the thick hairs on his forearms came to stand erect. While the captain heard the howls of animals, there was more to them than that to the Wolves of Vitnir Hall. Emirain’s head lifted as well as she moved towards the front of her cell.
Yrain, Einar, and Egil had been correct. They had indeed smelled the scent of werewolves in the north though it was nearly impossible to trace as it was very faded. Likely it was that it had been months since whatever had created the scent had been through and so by and large it was dismissed as perhaps having been one of their own wandering north into the mountains. That was not the case. Those were not the howls of beasts in the more traditional sense. Both the leaders of Vitnir Hall were aware of that though the captain himself was oblivious. Most humans could not tell the difference between the howl of a werewolf and the howl of any other dog and that was likely for the better, in the long run.
Low and long were the howls, unlike the one that the alpha of the hall had let out hours prior. This howl was not in response to them. While howls were not so articulate as language and served a more broad spectrum among werewolves, they could tell this was not a good howl. Howling was instinctive by werewolves and so there was little likelihood that the meaning would be extraneously divergence between ‘human’ werewolves and ‘elven’ werewolves. This was a howl of sadness and mourning. It was possible one of their kin had died for shortly after the first howl came another one and Emirain felt her heart drop in response.
“It seems you woke the hounds, Gideon,” spoke the captain who had recently awoken from his own slumber. But it was not Gideon who offered a response and in lieu it was his mate who spoke as she attempted to still the heckles that were raised upon her.
“Gideon…” the comment from Brayden was all but ignored as the woman pressed herself against the wall of her own cell. “Did you hear them?”
“Of course I did,” came the tired voice before there was the sound of chains shifting. They could be broken. There had to be a way that he could shed this weight from his body and move more freely, regain his energy. His feet pressed against the bar that sat between the cuffs that encircled his wrist to no avail. If he were at full strength, maybe. But now… “And it seems to me that they must treat their hounds worse than dirt for such a cry to be elicited. That did not sound like a happy howl, to me.”
“So you can speak to dogs?” It seemed as though Brayden were at least attempting some sort of means to keep spirits up a bit, but the air around him was grim. Quickly did he realized that such conjecture was out of place as he simply frowned again. “I was under the assumption that elves were nearer and kinder to creatures of the earth than humans. That is at least how the stories go.”
There was the sound of chains rattling as with great labor it was that Gideon came to push himself to stand. To merely lew the silver sap his energy was not acceptable. “Stories also tell that dwarves taught Baidenese humans the art of the craft. Honestly.” Crashing the chains against the walls did little to loosen them but he did not simply lay himself down again. Those howls had brought forth in him a strength he knew was fleeting, a rush of adrenaline that was fleeting. If nothing else, the ruckus would get the guards over. “You cannot believe all the stories. I do not talk to dogs, as it were, but I have spent much time in the woods and forests around Vitnir Hall and have come to understand the howls of wolves as though it is some sort of language. Those are mournful howls. Likely one of their own is sick or dead.”
But the conversation was diverted as it was Emirain who spoke, interjecting herself into the conversation she had idled in for a moment. “Gideon. Do not waste your time or energy. I do not think those chains will be easily broken nor is there much point in breaking them other than rousing the guards. Just rest. You are still not completely well.”
Frustration in the form of sound came from where Gideon lingered, then there was the rattling noise of the chains dragging against the wall as he sunk back down with a laborious breath. He felt tired. There was truthfully no mincing it that the chains drained him, the weight and the silver alike. It was not so severe as in old tales where supposedly silver would burn a werewolf’s very skin but it did leave him weakened. Even at full strength, breaking silver chains was out of the question. But that did not exactly keep the man from trying.
“Keep it down,” came one of the guard’s voiced from down the hall. It seemed they had little interest in doing much but audibly shouting in the direction of the rattling chains of the werewolf. “It is not as though you could get out of the cell anyway, even if you managed to get the chains undone.” Which, naturally, he wouldn’t. The chains were silver and his strength was low and while perhaps, perhaps at his strongest he could bend the links out enough to liberate himself, that was not an option now. And any notion of using his lycanthropic abilities was discarded immediately. The silver kept him from being able to utilize them. Werewolves were beasts created by Silas but the legends state that he used silver collars to control them from going completely feral. Since then, silver had been used to keep werewolves under control--in this instance, in chains. “You’ve woken the dogs.”
They were not dogs. Gideon felt a genuine sickness in his stomach from the fact that this guard did indeed refer to them as dogs. Were they truthfully aware of what caused those howls? If that was the case, it made things all the less palatable and pushed it towards the realm of disgusting. Gideon knew well what those howls were and they were not the howls of mourning dogs. But he just grit his teeth and tried to shake off where the chains lay on him in all but the most mandatory of places. Adrenaline was slowly beginning to ebb from him and as he rest his forehead upon the stone floors that were before his feet, a prayer was sent up to Silas himself asking for help. If there werewolves were his creation, after all, should not he help those of elven descent? Racism came primarily from the span of time after the war and not from the Gods themselves. Bigotry was not religiously sanctified for no teaching spoke of elves--some interpreted that to mean that they should not exist in the world, others simply that another pantheon somewhere had created them. Lievan gods were numerous already, who was there to say there were not yet more?
That was when he spoke after he lifted his head from prayer. “I can promise you now that those creatures do not deserve to be in whatever cage you have them in.” There was conviction to that voice, accusation. In that moment Brayden was quite pleased to be on their side, seeing as having that voice speaking to him was by no means ideal. “But I guess that is really no business of mine.”
The guard didn’t response. IT was likely he had walked away or deemed that the marginal discourse was simply not worth his time. It didn’t matter. The nightmare that had woken Brayden was gone now and still there was a haze of exhaustion over him. He lay back upon the hay bedding upon the floor (for all their grandeur in the main halls of this mountain abode, they could not give their prisoners so much as a thin bedroll?) and sought to find the reprieve of slumber once again. But the conversation continued on under the assumption he was asleep, though they were not absolutely direct about their meanings. After all, it was difficult if not impossible to know and understand exactly what the elves did and did not know about the creatures that were in the prisons below.
“Do you think these are the ones Yrain spoke of, Gideon?”
“It is possible. They are not of Baiden. Of that, I am sure.” Those of Vitnir Hall signaled one another with a particular howl, and that was not it. It was the howl that had come from the alpha as he came to cry out and inform their units on the outside that they were captured. “But for him to speak of them so churns my stomach.”
“He may well not know. After all, many do not.”
“I have a feeling he does know, Emirain. And it makes me sick.”
As much as Brayden had the inclination to make an inquiry as to what they referred to knowing, he knew himself that it was likely a good idea to keep his mouth shut.
part 19.
read from the beginning.
a lovers tale, part 6.
“Do you think that is why he has been a recluse as of late?”
Gideon had been busied with the duty of selecting those wolves that would travel with them. The majority of Emirain’s obligations for the preparation had been done, and upon her had Abigail called--this was a discussion she likely would have had with Gideon, but she was a wise enough woman to have seen her err. She had no intention of further stirring rumors, at this point. Servants would talk regardless of what she did, indeed, but there was a point at which she was merely stoking a flame that need be extinguished. So that was her goal. It was within the throne room that the woman did come to her, closing the door as it was gestured to.
“Zanil. I know he passed by you and Gideon in the halls. He often uses that path to go to the Grey Wing.”
“Why has he spent so much time there?” came the inquiry of the werewolf as she moved to stand before the queen’s throne. She did not kneel. She did not profess any sort of extraneous loyalty or love to the woman before her, for her loyalty was sworn--and that was the end of that. There was hardly any reason to push it beyond that point. She was loyal and Abigail knew well her loyalty, even if she did not tag around after the queen like one of the Silatin Mastiffs that came to slumber at her feet. (Not that Emirain was one to name names.)
For a moment there was no response from the queen as she did let her chin come to rest in the cup of her hand, a frown on her painted lips. Her hand maidens were quite adamant about the fact that she should always look her best, though she balked at the amount of time they insisted on spending upon painting her eyes and lips when none but the servants and other occupants of the castle would see her. Did Mercurius’s attendants spend so much time on his appearance before he simply lingered about the castle? The woman was inclined to think not. “I do not know why he goes so often to the Grey Wing. I believe it is possible that he seeks solitude. Times of war may weigh heavy upon him. But even when he is not in solitude I find his actions… bizarre.”
The werewolf did pace forward a few steps, coming to seat herself on the stairs that did lead to the elevated location of the thrones themselves. Two of them, as always, until a child was twelve. That was when the child would begin to sit in court; the child that Abigail carried within her. To say Emirain did not feel at least a bit of envy would be incorrect, but she scarce voiced it. She did not envy the life of the queen by any means, but to have a child…
“He stated to me that he would share with me a truth, but did rescind the offer when I saw fit to inquire as to what the truth was at a later point. About his origins. What he is.”
“He’s not human, nor is he an elf, Your Majesty,” as Emirain placed her elbows upon her knees and did interweave her fingers, gazing straightly forward at the closed doors. “By and large anything I can see I can smell, and I can figure what it is. That is but one of our many skills, I’m sure you’re aware of. But him? I smell... “ And her lips rolled for a moment before settling in a flat line. “I smell void. Nothingness. If I were blind I would still know that people stood around me, but with Zanil, there is nothing. No scent but the occasional, lingering smell of…” though her thoughts seemed to trail off, fading into the horizon before Abigail prompted her to continue. “A smell of death. But not the rotting scent of the dying. The smell of one who did pass quietly, peacefully. It is a restful scent that brings forth the idea of going home to our deities. Such a smell is hard to describe without having first smelled it. I did not know what it was until I was told of it.”
Neither human, nor elf, nor werewolf. Certainly not a dwarf. The mystery that was the Baidenese advisor seemed to plague Abigail more than she liked to admit recently, seeing that there was little else to distract her mind with. She could retire to the library and read novels of history and of Baidenese stories, but what good was knowing history when they were quite literally changing it now? This was indeed the first war in some four-hundred years, and it was quite a major event. And she had taken for granted the idea that someone was writing it. Zanil served as their historical scribe and if he was reclusive… perhaps he merely wrote alone. She knew little of him outside of what he had shown to her, and this seemed almost to be a different man.
Part of her was concerned for him. Part of her was concerned for herself, quite frankly.
Zanil was a mysterious figure and this sudden shift in demeanor was reasonably something that would come to worry her. He was pledged to be the most loyal and yet it was difficult to come across him unless called, and she was not sure why.
“I apologize for keeping you,” as the queen did rise, meriting a mirror of such action from the werewolf who was seated upon the stairs, “as I am sure you and Gideon have many repairs to see to. I merely wanted an additional perspective upon the actions of the advisor. There were other things she was sure Emirain should be doing, and so she slowly stepped down from the throne. The two women were reasonably near in height as they came to stand upon the floor of the throne room and shared a glance with one another. “Travel safe to the north and may Silas himself be with you.”
It was the queen who advanced a few steps forward before the werewolf did speak again, a slight smile upon her face. “May I ask an Oranian woman for the blessing of Issa as well? I hear she smiles upon travel. I will take the Baidenese Queen’s blessing from Silas.”
And for a moment did the woman stop, lingering there. And her own lips formed a smile. “Then go with the blessing of Issa herself, and may she guard your travels and have them be swift.”
Those blessings were held in mind as Emirain did return to the section of the castle that was primarily occupied by those of Vitnir Hall. Who knows what the rooms had been used for in times of peace, for never had they, in her own recollection, spent so much time within the walls of the castle as they since the outbreak of the war. They had their own impromptu dining hall, though for the time being it was called forth as an assembly hall, and as she neared it did she hear Gideon’s voice ring out. Not immediately did she enter, lingering for a short time on the opposite side of the door.
“This is not about strength,” came his voice in something that neared a growl. Likely it was that he was in the midst of picking those that would travel north with them and there was some strife therein to be had. “This is about cunning and speed, and--”
“Then why are you going?” It was an audacious bark from one of the obviously irritated men in the number. A bark that was countered by an obvious growl as Gideon rose from his seat.
“Because I am the alpha. I am the leader of this pack and you all follow me. Supposedly out of your own loyalty but with such questions being thrown around I may find myself wondering.”
Immediately did the pup step down from that statement. Likely it was that they were all quite weary of being boxed up like errant animals. A vast majority of them had taken to sparring on the training grounds now vacated by the knights that more oft used them, given that now those knights were experiencing the realities of war. But even that could grow tiring, boring, monotonous. At Vitnir Hall, fighting was encouraged to keep the mind strong wherever it was fit. There were grand hunts, chases. There was no pacing and dragging of feet. Always there was something going on that lets the beasts exert the energy within them.
Such was not feasible in a castle. Servants had a tendency to get quite frightened when two werewolves did brawl idly in the hallway as they saw nothing friendly about it. Especially when blood was wrought forth from them. More than one of the servants had screamed and dropped his platter of food which, reasonably, the two brawlers had helped clean up after profusely apologizing that it was merely how things were at Vitnir Hall. There was quite a disparity between how it was there and how it was here which did lead to some growing pains. So needless to say, much as a caged wolf, these wolves were beginning to pace and grow anxious. No wonder many of them were leaping at the opportunity to travel to the north.
“Yrain will be coming with us. The brothers Einar and Egil will be the others. Out group will be no more than five, and that is the final word on the matter. Depending upon what information comes from the north, we will react accordingly.
“Hagon will be in charge while I am gone.” And his eyes did move towards the named one. There were a few that were in the running to become alpha when time came for Gideon to pass the title, and among them was Hagon. Hagon was tall, broad of shoulders, built much like Gideon himself. But Hagon was originally a Northman, having been bitten during a trade expedition and by all means his family thought him dead. There was some grumbling that the next alpha should be Baidenese, as the last two had been… and no one really bothered to keep tabs any further back than that. So there were a few grumbled at the fact that the blond man was the one who would be in charge in the absence of Gideon--grumbles that notably silenced when there was a low growl in his chest. “And so help me I will hear none of you bothering Her Majesty or the staff or you will regret it.” It was not a threat. With Gideon, never was it a threat so much as it was a blanket statement of fact as he furrowed his brows at those that were around him. Specifically, any who had put up protest. “Hagon will report directly to me upon my return from the north. And you, all of you, will report directly to Hagon in my absence. Understood? His word will have the same absolute as mine.”
This did not leave room for protest. And this was also the moment at which the eyes of the alpha wolf did turn to the left as the door opened and Emirain entered. At such, the room was silenced. She was known to be more vicious and less tolerant than Gideon so none dared bare fang in her presence. The two did work well together, inevitably. There was a series of checks and balances that exicted between them that made them work.
“Yrain. Einar. Egil. The three of you will come with us to speak privately. As for the rest of you? Behave.”
As soon as she had entered did she and Gideon take their exit with the three aforementioned behind them. While Einar and Egil were tall and broad, sons of a woodsman and initially going to take up that trade, Yrain was more petite and lithe. She was also western, hailing from Chea. The brothers were born of Baiden, much as Gideon was.
It was in what was likely a private dinner hall for most guests, as Baidenese folk seemed to only have larger gatherings when something called for it, that was instead used as a private meeting room did the five wolves come to sit. The brothers hefted themselves onto the sturdy table as there were only three seats to be had, occupied by the pack leaders and the youngest in the group. It was a communication of respect.
“We will confide in you and only you,” spoke Emirain as she looked among the triad of wolves before her, “what it is that drives us to the north. We have received rumors of the death of the elven king. In this wake, we are to find out who is serving as king, interim or crown; we are to find out as much as we can. We are to guise ourselves and go among the elves.”
Low was the voice of one of the male wolves in the room, his hand reaching up to push back dishwater blonde hair from his face. “Go among the elves? Yrain and Emirain, sure, but I don’t think Gideon or us will pass as elves. They’re pretty willowy, from what I heard.” And so did the other laugh a faint guffaw of amusement.
“We are not going to infiltrate them. We are going to find their camps, their outskirts. We are going to listen to what they have to say there, for that is the information that will be more important to us. If we can get near to the elven capital, so be it. I highly down we will be the only werewolf that the elves have ever seen, for the mountains howl at night.”
Suddenly there was a frown upon the one who had initially made the comment, the suddenly tangible thought that there were indeed werewolves on the outside of Vitnir Hall that may not be and likely were not friendly sitting heavy upon his stomach. “You do not think these are elven werewolves, do you?”
“What difference would it make,” as Emirain leaned forward in her seat with her brows furrowed visibly, “if they are elven werewolves or human werewolves? They are not friendly either way. They are our enemies.”
The mentality that the enemies were just that, faceless, was a major role in war. Not only was it told to all the knights of Baiden but for those that fought alongside them as well. There was a frown on those lips before Emirain did speak again.
“It is easiest to think of them that way, Egil. Unless you want to have the regret upon your hands, and I would not labor that on anyone.”
Down was her head lowered as though in respect or penance for what she had done. It was not as though she or Gideon had completely clean hands, and they had gone without the advantage of being able to see their perceived foe as faceless beasts and amalgamous enemies. Part of their duty as alphas was recruiting those that could be brought into Vitnir Hall and ending the lives of those who caved in to the bestial side. These were not faceless enemies in a group. These were individuals that very often had tokens of those they loved: they had with them rings, necklaces, jewelry. Some even asked for their wedding rings to be returned to their partners.
That was a request that was never completed for many of them.
“So think of the elves as your enemies. Think of any werewolves we see to the north as that: as enemies. They are not people and you cannot think of them as that. Wipe those thoughts from your mind. We said the same thing to those men that were went to the west. Never did we intend to get mixed up in this war, but it is our as as much as it is anyone’s. You three are chosen because you can keep this information quiet. And we will leave at sundown.”
There were various factors that had indeed gone into the decision of the ones that would be involved in this escapade. Five was a small number and had to be carefully selected. Rightfully, one or the other of the mated pair could have remained back and served to oversee the werewolves that remained, but that was not voted to be the best method. They would both go.
Emirain would rather Gideon be with her and vice versa. It was very likely to be dangerous and at the loss of a partner, it was very possible for a wolf to mourn itself to death. The same was true of werewolves, and Gideon himself had seen it.
Death could seem so far away in war until one was finally involved in it. And for a group that had initially been chomping at the bit moments ago, there was a strange solemnity that had settled over their room. Likely it was not the same in the hall where the others remained gathered. They were not faced with the reality of it, nor were they aware that upon the outcome of this scouting mission they may be faced with it as well. But time would tell that. The death of the king would potentially change many things--or nothing. It was difficult to make such a decision at this point.
“Emirain and I will see to provisions,” as Gideon stood from where he was. “Garb yourself in dark colors as best you can. Be aware we may not come back.”
Yrain, who, like Egil’s brother, had been silent for the duration of the conversation, finally spoke. And her voice was soft while possessing a similar firmness to the way Emirain spoke. The younger werewolf was her chosen protege, though Gideon as of yet had no such relationship. The Whitemane before him had taken him under wig but he was slowly growing old and had yet to take such a relationship. It worried some of the pack, but few would mention it if only to stave off the pride of the pack.
“You have told all of us that Vitnir Hall was established long ago to serve Baiden, as we are Silas’s wolves. Is this not what we are doing? Even at the cost of our lives. Should we fall…”
“We will find Silas in his hall of champions.” Einar spoke, prompting Gideon to turn and look at him with a spark in his eyes.
“If we go down, we’re not doing it without a fight, you know.”
part 7.
read from the beginning.
a lovers tale, part 3.
“Did he not call me here to be your watch dog? Your hound? And yet he turns around and speaks it as though it is such a lowly thing...”
There was a growl to the voice of the werewolf leader of Vitnir Hall as they moved through the hallways together towards a secondary council room. It had come to play the role as something of a war room, where oft Abigail did find herself taking up residence to gaze at maps and battle plans that were only loosely filled out by the scouts that reported to her with various information. Sometimes it conflicted. That was where she placed the pawn chess markers tied with a red string. And the black king chess piece stood at the last presumed location that Mercurius was known to be at, and by him was a white rook. Davin. Various pieces of black and white symbolized different things and different people (for the two black knights were Brenner and Brayden and placed accordingly) across the drawn landscape that lay before her. In a way, it was her own, personal game.
But in the end, war was no game.
The white king was lifted from its rather aimless place in the mountains as she came to hold it in her hand. Scarce had she bothered to place a name to the king of the Silatin Mountain Elves, but now she supposed she had to. Would his son take the throne instantly, she wondered? Very little had come to her of the elven queen, even from Zanil. She could only assume the woman had scant power at best, especially in light of having dallied alongside the late King Alden. That was, after all a rather heafty cause towards the war as it did come to play out.
“You are a dog of war, as far as this is concerned, I am afraid. We all are. We are but tools of something bigger than us, and something that we are trying to keep isolated. Much like using a tourniquet to keep blood from flowing freely from an opened wound. Our troops serve as the cut-off point for a wound that could hemorrhage the nation. Or it could very well just be a minor incision. There really is no knowing and that is why we are belting as it is. We’re all tools of war. You merely happen to be a hound among us.”
It seemed that after some thought, after raising the chess piece to her lips and letting it linger there in a pensive pose, she came to place it down upon the mountain where it was. “They will likely crown a new king. This we know. And this will likely not change our tactics until we have some sort of interaction directly with this new king.”
Down were thick brows knit as it seemed he was the only one that had taken offense at being called a hound at being accused of pawing at the door. Well aware was he and most others within the castle of the rumors as he was supposedly always at the heel of Abigail. But this was his duty. He served as a protector of the Rosenlied family and had the stages been reversed, had it been the king who remained behind and he was tasked with guarding, he was sure not even the most gossipy of the servants would see fit to make so much as a singular remark. Within him did it elicit a low grumble of a growl that did cause her attention to move from the war table that she lingered idly by.
“If he so offended you with his words, speak to him about it. Do not let petty annoyances consume you. That is the last thing that we need when we are already weakened. If Baiden is to be victorious, then we need to be strong upon the home front as well. You are tasked as my bodyguard and he is tasked still as my advisor. Adversity between the two of you will not serve us well in the long run. Would you have me call him in here?”
“With all due respect, Abigail, if you called him in here I’m reasonably sure I would gnash my teeth and threaten to rip the rest of his jagged ears off. At the least.”
Down into a frown did her lips come to crease as she heard the words that were accented by the gravely cadence she knew signaled the irritation of the werewolf. Had he acted such before? She could not be completely sure because she had not known the signals of lycanthropy to look for in and of the man. Or maybe he was merely more lax about externalizing them now she was aware of the truth of his origins and existence. He did act somewhat different when they spoke in private as opposed to when they were before a group or audience, but, she had to admit, did not most people? But at her deep frown, he knew he had erred. Perhaps the jab at Zanil was too low or maybe she was just not in the mood to put up with such nonsense as bickering in and of her people. She had tried to eloquent about it, but that scolding gaze did do more than her words.
Away from her did he move his gaze for a moment as he walked to stand opposite her at the improptu war table and place his hands at the edge of the map. “It is best we simply remain apart from each other. Though based on his frequent absences to do whatever it is that he claims ot be doing, such will not be an issue.”
This was a jab that again brought her brows to visibly narrow though he did not lift his head to see the expression. He seemed quite intent on looking down at the cartography of the mountains that lay just behind his fingertips on the table.
“They will chose a new ruler for sure, though how this new ruler will view the war could be in our favor or against. From the intelligence we have, the elves are not a wholly united party--”
“And should this animosity continue to grow between the leader of Vitnir Hall and my advisor, then not for much longer will the forces of Baiden be.”
In this instance, one could have indeed heard a drop of a pin through the war room. But the werewolf did manage a lingering smirk and even went so far as to give a chuckle to the woman as he lifted her head to gaze at the brow-furrowed face. “I am merely pissed off that an errant comment was made in my direction, Abigail. Do not think that I will truly rip off his ears and start some sort of civil war--he has far more influence here than I do, and we value one another far more than that. Like any two people, we will disagree and bicker.
“I am apprehensive of his lack of involvement after the healers have left us, but he himself has professed his distaste for war and the chaos that it does bring. I cannot blame him. None rightly enjoy war, I wouldn’t think…” and again his gazed moved down to look at the layout of chess pieces on the map. “Isn’t there something a little more reasonable to use?”
“It has been many hundred of years since the last war, Gideon. We weren’t exactly prepared with monuments for a war table and I do apologize for that.”
Up did his eyes cut for just a moment to see the smile upon that face and the tension did seem to finally ease off and the held breath was released from both sets of lungs as they let their attention turn to manners more pressing than minor bickerings. And that is what it was--minor bickering. “Good enough. You are right, though,” as he served to push off the war table and stand at his full height, even pacing idly over towards the window. He carried himself with that grace, that feral poise that did command the room in its own unique way, the way that was wholly different than the way Mercurius did command his space, or even the way that she commanded hers. “That we can make no moves without finding out what it is that this king will do moving forward…”
“Let me go.”
The door had opened and it was Emirain that did stand there in the doorway with a sketch of frustration upon her visage. Likely, she was just as annoyed as Gideon to be away from where they felt they were truly needed. On the battlefield. To her did her mate’s eyes turn as his brows lowered and he could only wonder how long she had been trailing after them, or how long she had been outside. Her stance was resolute, though, as he looked upon her.
“Emirain?”
“Let me travel to the northern mountains to find information on their political space. We are wolves. We are bred of the mountains themselves.”
“Emirain--” though he was silenced by the pale, graceful hand of Abigail and there was a part of the queen that did know there were more motivations than mere boredom. From a queen to an alpha did the gaze linger for a moment as the two women looked at one another with expressions unchanging. And it was the queen who was the first to break gaze, her silent moment of acquiescence to the request. But Gideon stepped forward, around the rectangular table and nearer to where his mate stood within the room. “I will not let you go alone.”
“And so she will not go alone, Gideon. You are to go with her. Take no more than three others from your hall and go north to find what you can. Bring back information.”
This caused his head to quite readily jerk towards her with his jaw squared visibly in a look of distaste for these orders. But who was he to growl at her? He may be the Head of Vitnir Hall, but this woman was the queen of all Baiden. Trumping him was an understatement. But he did not step down as he let his eyes move from one to the other. “I was tasked with guarding Queen Abigail and that is what I will do--”
“And you will guard me by going north to investigate what is awry in the mountains. Is that not clear? Whatever orders you are given are overridden by me as of this moment, Gideon. You and Emirain are to take no more than three of your men and travel to the Silatin Mountains and get as near to the royal court as possible. Report back with what you hear.”
She was undeniably and indisputably right. The only word that could trump the Queen was the King’s and it was only to the north that he would find Mercurius. By that point, he would be too far removed to have the luxury of caring for orders of being sent home. The protestations were useless and so was the energy put forth upon them and so he merely gave a bow of his head as he turned his head from her. Oh, the eyes that had looked upon her with such unceasing loyalty upon their first meeting had come to find a bit of defiance. Lingering around her may well have granted him some sort of power complex for his word was more often than not backed by hers and in a way, extracting himself from that may do him way. Calloused fingers ran through that dark brown hair peppered with grey and he gave a nod. And once more with a smile on his face and obedience in his eyes did he turn to gaze forth towards the Queen of all Baiden. “Of course, your majesty. When do we leave?”
“At nightfall. Unless you have a protestat?”
“Nightfall is when we are at our best, your majesty. We will not disappoint you.”
With that did the two serve to depart from the war room but the queen remained behind. Towards one of the tertiary doors that lead elsewhere did her attention turn as she moved to open it and find precisely what she knew would be on the other side: Zanil. And the fact of the matter was that neither of them looked honestly surprised to see the other.
“It is for the best, your highness. They will serve better on the front lines and Emirain did lament to me that Gideon was quite pleased to be nipping at your heels, as it were.”
“Gideon was also quite happy to rip off your ears for making comments about him being a dog and yet you persist. Are you trying to poke and prod at him and irritate him more?”
“I am trying to keep a potentially bad situation from escalating to a certainly bad situation, Abigail, and I know he is out of earshot by now. He looks at you with a fierce devotion that worries me, in all honesty, it is best he is removed for the sake of you and for Emirain.”
“Do not think I am a fool to the way he looked at me.”
“Do not think I am a fool for the fact that I am well aware you encouraged it.”
Her back was shortly to him as she moved towards the war table and oh he could near feel her irritation. But rightly, who could blame her? She was a woman just married left alone and Gideon did lavish attention upon her and dote likely far more than her husband had. And while she did genuinely worry for him and pray to Silas nigh daily for the safe return of not only Mercurius but all men and women that had moved to the front. Yet confiding in someone that did not have a direct connection to Mercurius, someone who had drawn himself towards her with a protective ferocity as though she were a fine jewel or mound of most precious treasure, had come to help her. But deep within her was some trickle of what may well have indeed been spite for she recalled one of the earliest conversations with Mercurius revolving around the notion of her taking a lover. The chance had come up with Gideon. She took him privately to break their fast as well as into her chambers as though it were naught, and so the rumors did spread. Yet it seemed unfair for her to allow her husband back into this castle with rumors of her infidelity around. That may well be how some things in court did operate but she frankly saw little merit or meaning to it. She would not allow her court to be so.
“The decision was mine. They will serve us best as spies to the north. We have more than enough knights around and it is though all of the folk of Vitnir Hall are forsaking us. Only their heads. This is the best decision…”
And to her did he turn his eyes with his arms folded across his chest: “Did at any point I refute that this was the best decision?”
“What is it you were going to tell me?”
So simple the statement but so poignant was it that the tension that had finally lifted from the room did serve to blanket it once more. Immediately did the advisor keen in to the fact she was referring the truth, whatever truth had had intended to tell her before. It was a truth that he had in all his years working in Baiden not yet been willing to share this yet but there was something about the climate that almost mandated that he reveal something to her to gain her trust. There was indeed a worry within him that he had managed to lose it one way or another and that was not beneficial to either of them. Likely it was the time spent away from the war table and his avoidance of talking about it, but upon his mind was a storm that he did not desire to share. War weighed heavy upon him even though he did not even ride out and, quite frankly, never would. He had made it clear that was not something that he was interested in and had essentially sworn not to do.
“I am afraid it would only complicate things, Abigail. We should truthfully focus upon tactics…” And past her did he stride to come and drop his gaze at the table, at the pieces that lay beneath his gaze. “We have only an approximation of locations, so what we can really do from our point is…”
“Essentially nothing. You are avoiding the question, Zanil.”
Forward did the male slightly lean with his hands splayed upon the table and his hair around his face. It was worn down, completely down, and she could see jagged ear tips just barely visible through argentine hair. Had she noticed them before? They looked as though they had been bitten, or torn.
“What are you, Zanil?”
It was the inquiry he had been breated with countless times. Those born in Baiden nobility did come to steadily disregard it, paying no mind and wanting even less to do with it. But those that came in from outside were more adamant about it. Georgiana had been so when she had become Queen of Baiden and so it seemed that Abigail would follow in her footprints. Too closely, as far as the preference of the advisor was concerned. But Georgiana was easily shaken: such would likely not be the case for Abigail. Had he not chosen her for that very reason? The tenacity that she had? But when it was turned on him, it came to be a negative thing and it caused him to frown deeply.
“If I told you, it would not change anything. The situation would remain as it is. Is this not the very negation, the very reason that we can trust Thrandir regardless of his siding or origins? Because knowing will not change things. And so I ask you to be generous and apply such logic to my history, to my being. I am no human, and you are wise enough to know that. I have no second thoughts in confirming that.”
“So you are an elf.”
He could not fault her for such an assumption but he did right himself and allow the moonlight hair to fall around his visage again as he trained it forward. Then his dark eyes did close. “I am not an elf, either, Abigail. Nor am I a werewolf, as I am sure that will be your next inquiry.”
“Tell me what you are, Zanil.”
And to her did black eyes turn, though they were not black. Within those eyes around those pupils--for this was the first time she had seen his eyes as anything but a matte black where iris and pupil should be--was the very light of the stars themselves and when she looked upon them she felt as though she literally could not breath or move or even tear her eyes from them. And as soon as she did see them did they seem to fade into the flat black she was used to gazing upon when she spoke with the advisor and the world did form around her once more.
“I am what you could never imagine and what you would never believe, Abigail. Do you still want the truth, or was the enough to sate you?”
part 4.
read from the beginning.
