#iomyr

[ljwilder-blog]

a warlord’s tale, part 6.

While Baiden lay in the shadow of the mountains, it felt to those that were captive as though the mountains themselves were far darker than anything they had seen while still living in the lands of the humans. It could be in part due to the fact that the dungeons were specifically sequestered away from all light, small, individual cells built within a hall that snaked through a mountain. The only light that had come to them had been the flickering torch of a dungeon guard walking by some hours ago. Was it daylight outside, or was it night? Humans were bizarrely dependant upon the light of the sun and without it none of them had any idea of the passage of time.

“Do you think they will kill us?” No guard. No food. Nothing had come to them in what felt like a vast expanse of time and so it was the courier who spoke up in a shaken voice. While soldiers were trained to be prepared to die in the name of duty, the courier was aware of the possibility but still was a victim of the fear of death. Hard did he swallow when there was silence in response. Then it was the voice of the female knight from a few cells down that rose in speech.

“It is possible at least one of us will be killed if only to make a point.” While they had been escorted to the dungeon still in all the finery of their armor and attire they had departed from Baiden in, she had undone the buckles and allowed the majority of it to fall to the floor in a pile. No need to defend herself in a dungeon and she did not exactly sport armor for the sheer comfort of the aesthetic. “We came bearing a declaration of war. I would be quite floored if we were able to depart without some sort of malaise befalling us.”

Likely it was that if not for the bobbing of a torch down the hallway they would have continued their conversation but they were rent into silence. Even further was their silence when the long shadow cast as the corner was turned as not that of a guard but of a prince devoid of the near excessive fineries his family was known for. Light hair was drawn back into a low ponytail and the boots and pants seemed to be styled for riding. Additionally, he appeared quite anxious as he moved down the hallway.

“And what is a prince doing in the dungeon wing?” It was the brazen voice of the female knight as she rose from where she had seated herself in the small cell. A few strides forward and she was at the bars that made up the front and kept them from escape. It was to her that grey eyes first turned with their visage creased. “I would expect to see our own king here before we saw you.”

“Be thankful for my coming, human, else your friend would die.” A nod was made in the direction of the courier who started at the motion. Eyes grew wide as Iomyr walked past his cell to the woman who had spoken. “My father has begun to err in his age and by His word I will not see innocents die. Know my people do not desire war with Baiden but if it is a war your people call for, it is a war we will have to fight. But we do not desire it.”

Gloved hands curled against the bars of the elven prison before the woman raised her voice to be heard again. “Then why is it that your elves attacked a visiting noble of Vaira? Explain that to me if you so forsake this war.”

“My half-brother works in direct defiance of the king.” Silence fell over the woman for a moment as she did decide to merely listen. “Iolas is no crown prince of ours. He carries with him the title only out of farce and in defiance of our King Ionwhyn. He is a rebel--he fights against that which we believe in. He fights in defiance of peace which is all we seek.”

“Then what must be done is simple.”

When the gaze of the prince fixed upon the woman behind bars, the surprise upon his face was visible in the low glow of torchlight. A few paces forward as he held up the flame as though to investigate her more clearly, the shadows and marks of scars on her face evident. As the elf prince approached, however, she receded slightly. Nothing had yet made the prince a figure that could be trusted and so lingering near to him was not currently on her list of things to do.

“If you forsake the actions of Iolas so, then act against him. Join with humans to work as a united force.”

Not even had time been granted for the prince to respond before a shout came from one of the other cells. The man that spoke had been one of the knights tasked with escorting the courier and he could be heard pressing his weight against the bars of the cell. “His Majesty Rosenlied would never ally himself with the elves. Elfreda, you speak madness. He would sooner see them all slain than join with them against any force the Gods could call upon us.”

“King Rosenlied cares for his people.” Elfreda’s voice was harsh and cold, begging no room for debate or errance. Brows creased above her eyes as she let her gaze linger upon the ethereal visage of the elf prince before her as she spoke to the man down the way. “Alliance with the Silatin Mountain Elves or not, if it would protect the people of Baiden, he would know it was the best choice to make. Though I feel King Ionwhyn may not be so willing. Pride and stubbornness can be the downfall of a king.”

“I know.” Quiet was the voice of the prince as he spoke with his head lowered. A frown was on his face as he drew away and reached into one of the pockets of the tunic he was clad in. “While I would not be opposed to what you suggest, I am afraid my father would not hear it. I have no power until the time at which he relinquishes his or dies and thus no ability to make decisions. But I can still do what I feel is right.”

Eyes widened as she heard the slide of metal on metal and the audible click as a key turned in the lock that held her prisoner. There was no creak as the door opened for the hinges were of a fine metal that never seemed to even show signs of decay. Apprehensive she was as her hands immediately moved for one of the shin guards of her armor--while she was without weapons, a solid hit in the head could still do a number due to the solidity of Baidenese iron. A raised hand stilled her for a moment as the prince moved away from the door. “I will see no blood spilt on Iolas’s cause in the castle which one day will be mine. He has brought enough trouble to us.” And methodically the prince moved down the line of cells where the Baidenese had been divided up one to two in each, the locks being turned and the doors being opened. The sound of armor being gathered and placed back on bodies was far louder than the opening of the doors had been but it was hard to do such things in silence.  Once each knight and the courier had found themselves prepared to disappear into the knight, the prince motioned to them.

Not a word was said as they followed the elf through the tunnels that seemed to twist and turn like serpentine beasts through the mountain. How a person was supposed to keep straight the paths was lost upon the humans that followed blindly. It was when a door that seemed to blend in with the wall opened that the elf bolted himself to his full height and cast his glance down the hallway that they had come from. Concern illustrated his face as the door was jerked open and the humans ushered towards the dirt hued door. “It is a chute. Just slide down and you will be released into the woods.”

“And how are we to find our way out from there? Your mountains are a maze to us.”

“An elf called Thrandir will find you. Do not move far from where you land or else he will not be able to find you if you become lost in the wolves. If you value your freedom, hurry.”

Amongst the humans suspicious glances were shared and frowns decorated the faces. But at this point were they captured, likely it would lead to their death. And not merely the death of one to make a point, but an execution of their full number. So by remaining here they banked upon a likely certain death and by escaping through the chute there was at least a chance that they would see Baiden again. Elfreda’s lips turned into a frown as she looked upon Iomyr. Then her voice rose in a hushed tone to him. “If your father is no longer valuable as a king and is no longer doing right for his country, it is time you see to it that he is dispatched.” Then her eyes moved to the darkness of the tunnel. The worst that could transpire was death, if they took the chance. Death was near certain if they remained where they stood. “Your Thrandir had best be a man of honesty.” Her hands gripped firmly to the sides of the door before she slid into it with her feet angled first, the clank of armor against the packed dirt audible. If anyone elves were around, then surely they would hear it. It seemed within a blink of the eye the elf prince had vanished out of the desire to save his own hide and so in turn the people of Baiden tossed their weight down the chute after Elfreda.

Not a single light offered any refuge to the fact that the tunnel seemed to stretch on for some time. Often it was that when Elfreda tumbled into a tree root so suit would follow those behind her with loud noises of pain and protest still not drowned out by armor striking against itself and the walls. Arms and feet would strike those around them and while usually landing in a massive pile with a great potential for broken bones would not be a much anticipated end but in this case even as the weight of the courier atop her caused her to groan before she was able to roll out of the way of the remaining cascade of units, she was glad to be in a place where at least the stars above gave some semblance of light through gnarled and knotted trees.

“Why,” grumbled one of the knights as he pulled himself to his feet, “in the name of Silas himself would they even have an emergency escape chute like that? Ridiculous. Even if the castle was under siege, wouldn’t you just leave the prisoners?”

“That is exactly why the escape route is probably in the dungeon wing. If the castle fell under attack, it would likely be one of the last places that anyone would bother to go. But now…” as she turned to gaze at the chute as the final knight, their party numbering eight in total, landed with a heavy thud on the ground behind her, “we have a key element into their weakness when war comes to a head.”

After a period of prolonged silence, finally the courier who had carried the message spoke up with a frown on his face as he shook his head. “It was very, very risky of you to suggest he see to it that his father the king was ‘dispatched,’ as you so put it.” Frankly, she was surprised this was the first she was hearing of it as she readjusted her armor. “Do you understand the severity of what you said? What if…”

“We are already at war with the Silatin Mountain Elves. Should this mysterious Thrandir not show up to liberate us we are likely damned to wander forever in this infernal mountain pass. There is really nothing that could worsen the situation based on the fact that I was able to read those eyes of his and say aloud what he was thinking.”

Though no word was returned from the courier, his face remained in a frown as the men who had traveled with them saw fit to regroup. Loud was the howl of a wolf somewhere in the wood and abruptly it seemed that all were aware of the lack of weapons upon him. Cursing the name of the elf prince, the knight pulled from the nearest tree a branch of considerable size echoed by an obvious crack. “Our horses and weapons will simply have to stay here to rot, I suppose,” as she watched some of the men around her do the same. While a club of a tree branch was by no means the most sophisticated weapon, it was capable of landing a wallop alongside the cranium of a beast that leapt at them and giving them at least a chance of escape. The courier was handed a thick branch that was rent from one of the nearby trees and given a reassuring pat on the back from one of the knights in their little company as his face seemed to grow pale at another wolfish cry extending skyward. “I will wait no longer than dawn,” as her eyes lifted to peer through the canopy of leaves above them. Only a sliver of the moon was visible in the sky above them, shining only the faintest light upon the displaced people of Baiden in the Ceredi woods below. “It cannot be much past midnight, though I do not know if days or hours passed with us in those dungeons. We have little means by which to judge time without light…”

“You never lift your head to the stars, do you? Too busy looking at the shadows the sun casts on the ground. I’ve noticed that. Humans are always looking down.”

Raised was the club the instant the voice reached her ears as the figure was only an outline against the murky blackness of the trees. Hands were lifted in an act of surrender and to reveal the hands did not hold anything that could be seen as resembling a weapon. Still the club was braced with the same grip one would offer a mace as she peered through the night at the stranger. Then her voice raised audibly to order him to reveal his face.

This Thrandir was no mountain elf. While those that lived upon the peaks were fair of skin and hair, what met her eyes was a constitution far closer to her own. While her eyes narrowed she remained focused upon the stranger before him as he advanced a few steps forward. Nearer to her own height was he when compared to the elves of the mountains who mostly neared seven feet in their own height. She was shy of the six foot mark, herself. And for some reason she found a ripple of comfort at this; not so much that she lowered the wooden club, but enough that she did not feel the need to strike out in reflexive defense.

“I mean you no harm. Prince Iomyr alerted me to wait for those wearing dark skin and armor to fall from the chute and to lead them to the Circle of the Gods. The trek is a long one on foot, I warn you now.”

“So you are Thrandir?”

The mouth of the man across from her formed into a slight smile visible in the moonlight as he drew from beneath his cloak a necklace that contained a small feather carved of turquoise. Those who glimpsed it gave an audible sigh of relief for it was a known totem of one of the goddesses of Liev--this man was likely more a friend to them than any they had laid eyes upon since crossing into the mountains. A follower of Isa, likely with ties to the Oranian plains. The courier could have fainted from relief.

“That is the name Iomyr chooses to call me, yes. I have been through many a name in my time on this world so you may call me Thrandir for the sake of clarity. It is best not to move about the woods at night and so I’ve camp nearby. I apologize I do not exactly carry eight bedrolls with me in my travels…” as those dark eyes moved over the expanse of the party before him as his hands rest idly at his sides. “But you will find the dirts of the Ceredi Mountains to be hopefully enough on your back. If not, well…” as his eyes moved upwards and he lazily pointed, “I suggest a bed of leaves.”

Fabric was drawn about him as he turned his back to them, moving through the wood with little issue though there was no path to be seen. A few paces before he stopped, acutely aware of the fact that there was not the sound behind him of his armored cohorts keeping pace. Up did his brow arch as he cast a glance over his shoulder before jerking his head. “What chance have you to find your way out without a guide? I’d say very little. You took only main roads through on horseback to find the castle. I am afraid there are no such main roads in the wood.”

“Why is a convert of Issa working for the Silatin Mountain Elves?” Though Elfreda and many of the others that populated Baiden knew that those that occupied the mountains to their north prefered to be called by their ancestral name, it was almost a point of pride to be disrespectful to them. Her eyes observed even through the ink of night that the expression visibly seemed to fall when she made the statement regardless of the fact that genuine consequence may indeed lay in alienating this particular man of elf blood.

His head again faced forward and from him came a sigh. “You make an assumption that I work for the Ceredi, and in that you are wrong. I do no work for them under any tab. Iomyr merely happened to know who to reach out for when he needed a job with some semblance of stealth done much to your luck. No coin is changing hands for this and so it is not really work so much as it is a favor. So knowing that, you can come with me or not. It is no real concern of mine. At least you have a chance if you follow me, right?”

Between Elfreda and the others in the company a glance was shared before a nod made her decision for her. Weary was the sigh as she let from her hand drop the club. Elves did not believe in dealing much harm to the creatures and with any luck, she would not need it. Her surprise was surmountable when she found that her blade was tossed to her and she seized the familiar leather sheath with ease.

“Consider it a gift. You might need it. There’s a war going on, after all.”

part 7.

read from the beginning.

[ljwilder-blog]

a warlord’s tale, part 2.

Bowed was the head as the three middle fingers of the man who served under the king ran from brow to brow. It was once held as a method of application of war paint. In ancient times in the far north, they would don paint of various colors before seeking a hunt. Gradually, it came to be done when the hunt was the humans who dwelt on the other side of the mountains and dared step upon the toes of the elves in the east. So too was it used now by the Ceredi who dwelt in their own halls of stone woven into tree-specked cliffsides and high mountains. With that motion, he needn’t inquire as to the trifolded paper in the hand of the one who had come from the human settlements. The escort given to the Baidenese communicated the intent wordlessly and mostly unknown to those that flanked him.

Empty was the seat in which Alduin once sat. His return from his defection to serve the rebel half-blood Iolas had never come to fruition as exhaustion reached the aging elf before he saw home again. While in truth it was somewhere in the mountains that the elf advisor had found his final resting place, the weary king had no means by which to know his formerly faithful advisor had departed from the bastard child’s side. His wife had eventually been forgiven for the trespass that had created Iolas and yet now the elven king was having second thoughts.

Ionwhyn sat there, draped in earthen tones of greys and greens, head bowed slightly as the bridge of his nose was pinched. Already he knew what the humans were here for and yet out of respect and circumstance he rose. Impressive was the man’s height for the legends of those of the purest high elven bloodline nearly reaching seven feet in height were seen to be true. The courier before him was shy even of six feet.

“What message do you bear, courier?”

For humans, so long a life was hardly imaginable. The slight wrinkles upon the face of the king in his hall of trees and stone and the accents of white-grey within his platinum hair revealed that he was no elf in the prime of his life. To his left was seated his queen and to his right the full blooded prince of he and the wife he had wed more years ago than a human could even consider living. Truly they were majestic beings in the finery they dressed themselves in, their ethereal nature making the man unable to speak before he was urged forward.

“I bring word,” though suddenly the idea of war with these beings seemed ill palatable as the grey eyes of the queen looked into his, “from His Majesty King Mercurius Lafayette Rosenlied of Baiden. I was told to deliver it to you and to none other.” But in spite of orders he had spoken to the escort of the importance of what was contained within that envelope, else he would not have been permitted in by the masked guard. He had noticed that--many of the people armed with weapons that played the role of guards hid their face behind a mask. The courier had no way of knowing this, but those that flanked Iolas in the council had done the same. “The seal is unbroken so you can attest.”

“Iomyr. To me.” It was the prince who rose at the prompting, a methodical movement as he bowed his head to his father the king, crossing the stone floors in a few strides as a hand extended to the courier. The rings upon the offered hand were few but were suitably bedecked in woven patterns in the gold and gemstones mined from the very mountains. Baiden had a near monopoly upon the steel veins in the area but as for the gold and precious gems, those were deep in the mountains and in the hands of the elves. It would be of great benefit should they again be exposed to trade and yet currently it served little purpose. What little trade transpired was with those to the north and they were far more interested in what Baiden had to trade than the gold and jewels of the elves in the mountains. Gold did not make the best weaponry, after all.

Softer was the tone of the prince when he noticed they eyes of the courier were distracted by the glint of gold and gems upon his fingers. Even compared to the Baidenese king, Ionwhyn was soft spoken. The cultural disparity was evident as the gentle reminder from the prince resulted in the folded and sealed declaration of war being handed over. Fear was alight in the human’s eyes for just a moment as the weight of the fact that he may well be killed for carrying the message sunk into him. The entire journey up the mountainside had scarce instilled that in him and yet the utterly emotionless expression upon the face of the king before him did little to belie one way or the other any plot of destruction that the elvish mind could be scheming. Always the Baidenese had hated the elves and always it had been assumed to be reciprocal but insofar he had been treated with general respect. The undertaking was one he had well known may cost him his life.

It seemed every human breath was held in the room, for all knew what was contained within. Only two of the escorts that had accompanied him had been allowed while the rest were detained in a separate hall. Paranoia lead to the assumption that detained could be skewed to be synonymous with dispatched and so his escort home would be significantly less than it had been when he had departed from the city of Baiden. With any luck, that would not be the  case.

“War…”

It was slow that the lips formed the word that seemed almost foreign upon the elvish tongue that formed them. Liev had generally rested at peace since the elves had been driven back into their mountains, even if the relationships between them and Baiden had been strained. The deeply ingrained racism created the xenophobic sensation of fear as he waited for the order to be handed down that the messenger would be killed. But instead, the king merely seated himself on the throne again and gave a faint sigh.

“An attack of my people upon the men of Baiden…” Only snippets were read aloud as eyes of diamond sky moved over the letter penned in the hand of the Baidenese advisor. Such was one of many services that he provided, really. “I ordered no such attack. We in the mountains are pleased to leave well enough alone. This declaration of war is not upon my people.”

“You know well the nature of the attack, Elven King.” Harsh was the voice of the Baidenese knight as she stepped forward, the hands of the elf guards within the room going reflexively towards their own blades. “It was from Prince Iolas and his men.” Baiden was shockingly unaware of the political discourse attended to in the mountains to the north and yet it did not take explicit knowledge to be aware of the fact that Iolas had no true claim to the throne of elf or man. Cursed he was to have been born between two worlds and both societies dictated that a bastard had no claim lest there was no other heir to ascend the throne. The existence of Mercurius and Iomyr sullied any claim he could have imagined.

Slightly the head of the king tilted forward as the letter was placed in his lap. “If it is a war that Baiden desires, then it is was war that Baiden will have. Seize them. Take them to the dungeons.”

It was scarce worth the resistance required to fight back against the elves as they moved forward. Weapons were removed from the humans, the Baidenese steel being drawn from the hilts at the hip of the knights that flanked the courier. The man’s own dagger was taken readily and the much taller elves seized those of Baidenese heritage. Loud were the sounds as weaponry clattered to the floors before the men were escorted to the dungeons--likely to join those that had been separated from them before.

As the chaotic din became a memory and the humans were lead through the arched doorway, it was the son who turned to the father. Not yet had he seated himself since retrieving the wax-sealed envelope and a frown graced his features. Slow was the hand that reached across his chest to rest by his collarbone before it drew into a fist and moved across his chest. Formal and ceremonious were the movements with a certain reverence even as father addressed son. “Do you not think it rash,” as his hand came to rest by his side again, the length of the sleeves of the robes used for ceremony and presentation nearly gracing along the floor. His father was dressed marginally more conservatively by comparison for he was the one tasked with far more standing and moving in these events than his son. His son was garbed simply to look good, “to take prisoner the courier? It is a human saying indeed but does it not state to ‘not shoot the messenger’ or such wording? He was only carrying…” But the familiar motion of the hand lifted with fingers splayed silence the prince, eliciting a bow as he seated himself once more beside his father. Ionwhyn’s rule was more absolute with the absence of his advisor who had defected to serve Iolas and so there was no median between him and his son who often disagreed. None but the queen, and her political prowess and power was near laughable. It was quite amazing that she had not been beheaded for treason after her liaisons with Alden Rosenlied, resulting in the birth of Prince Iolas. Had she not insisted it had not been consensual, she likely would have been killed. Never, however, did the king believe her. They had taken to sleeping at opposite ends of the royal wing of their mountainside castle since that day.

“We stand no chance against Baiden.” It was the unspoken term that all in the room already knew. Those guards who lingered bowed their heads for defeat was imminent within the declaration of war. “Iolas has damned us all.”

“Father.” The voice was nearly downtrodden with the sadness evident in it as grey eyes clouded with concern. “Speak with the King of Baiden. It has been long since you have traveled to the lands of the humans and so perhaps he will hear you as Valentin did not. Mercurius was good enough a man to tell us of his declaration, perhaps…”

Slow were the movements as the king rose and immediately the prince knew he had acted in err. Low bowed the head curtained by platinum hair without the signature silver that sequestered his father as one of an older age. “Forgive me.”

“Do not speak of men as good in my presence, Iomyr. I will hear no talk of it. Already they have us cornered into these mountains and they proclaim war upon us. Do they intend to destroy us all?”

Within him was the urge to plead with this nonsense that his father was stating and yet he did not. The king’s rule could be assessed only by an advisor and none was present here. A prince’s place was to stand in his father’s shadow until such a time that he could ascend to it. It was likely that Iomyr was too young to understand the gravity of the situation that had transpired so long ago between Valentin and Ionwhyn but he was not in a position to question it. So much as a glance down his nose was enough to alert him of that.

Meek was the voice that spoke from the leftmost throne in which was seated the shamed woman. Rarely dared she to raise her voice and speak in the presence of the king but this was the one exception despite the knowledge she would likely be struck down for having a clear bias. Youth was no excuse for her when the tryst had transpired nor was it now. But she spoke, causing her son to lift his head with an expression of fear upon him.

“Mercurius is not Valentin. He is wise and he is just. He would not want to kill us for we have nothing he desires. He only wants the safety of his people.”

“Quite. You lay with his father and so wish to protect him out of your own guile. I will hear no further word from either of you.” Eyes were alight now with the swirling storm upon the horizon as he looked to the guards that were still in the throne room. Anger painted his expression before he spoke again with his attention upon those who stood at attention facing him. “See to it the one who bore the message is executed.”

“Father!” Hands were upon the arms of the throne as the son rose to his feet. An inch or so shy of the sovereign king he was but his protested volume made up for the lack of height. “I will not allow this! The courier has only followed the words of his king and you would damn him to die? This is unprecedented. I will not stand for it. I will not--”

“Then be seated for it. He has chosen me as ruler until such a time as I die and His word is what governs us all.” The ring upon the left middle finger was the symbol of that. A gem of starlight, it was called, glowing even in the darkest of nights and bestowed upon those chosen by the divine himself to rule. Only by death could it pass from one to another and so upon Ionwhyn’s death it would pass to Iomyr and thither to his son, should the bloodline continue. And with war threatening to delve spindly fingers into the mountainous region, it was not likely that would be the case. “Would you stand before me and through me question Him?”

Steeled was the expression of the prince as he turned away and mute was the voice of the queen. Absolute was the rule of the king and when the statement of execution was made, the guards bowed and took their own exit. This was not the pleasure of those that were left behind, for as the door closed the cold ice of fear filled the veins of the prince. Too oft as of late had he been outspoken against his father and as he heard his name come in a low rumble from the man who was seated now in the center throne he felt his muscles tighten.

“You defy me not only in front of our people but in front of those of Baiden who already think us lower than the dirt upon their feet. Betrayal must run in the blood you received from your mother for never has one of my line so openly displayed this audacity to those in charge.” Degradation was only the first drop in a torrent that was to come, so with the wizened nature of one who had battened down before and oncoming typhoon more than once, the head of the prince was bowed. “My own wife betrays me by bedding one of our greatest enemy and you stand here speaking of how they do not deserve death. They have declared war upon us. By declaring war upon us they have declared war upon Him, and am I to simply stand aside as that happens?”

Humans, it was reasoned, knew not the full power of the singular divine worshipped in the north. Their pantheon was seen as hedonistic and so the elves had assumed Liev would be far more easily taken than it was. A lack of a unified god would make them week. However, it was during the Grand War that the few elves that had already begun to interlope upon the primarily human continent had raised their fists and found themselves driven back like herd beasts to a few isolated spots. Minor outposts of elves speckled the map of Liev, but as for major ones, there were only two. The Silatin Mountains and the Black Forest. Amongst the remaining elves, the Black Forest was hailed as the Sheyin Forest. Power had not been seized from the humans and while some elves integrated into the culture of the humans and other elves (for Liev was flanked on three sides by elvish civilizations, standing as a beacon of humanity), those of the Ceredi and those of the Sheyin stood resolute in their old ways.

Ionwhyn feared it would end with him.

“You cannot allow the old ways to die due to your infatuation with humans. This is how this problem was caused--”

“Father and King,” spoke the voice of the prince in that pleading tone once more, beseeching the man as both and not merely either or. “I’ve no infatuation with the humans of Baiden. I am my mother’s child, yes, but you cannot punish me for the wrongs she committed against you and Him after my birth. I had no say. I’ve no love for the humans, merely the knowledge that humans change far faster than those blessed with His gift of long life, and…”

And so it came in the form he expected, a strike across the face. “There is no redemption for humans,” as the graceful form of the heir to the mountain realm crumbled to the floor. When he was younger, his mother once would move to his aid. Now he was an adult and all the decision he made were his own there was no such grace of a mother’s love--and given the things that the mother had done, her right to protect the child she bore could be seen as minimal. Fingers touched the place on his face where the ring had struck that swelled almost immediately. No bruise would ever be left upon the skin as fair as milk for that was specifically how the elf king struck.

“Those who act in defiance of Him are to be smote and as one through whom He speaks I will hear no more of you. Be silent and still. Your reign will come. Do not try to take mine from me.”

An ache ran through his jaw as he was sure the stone had struck the a tooth through the cushion of a cheek. Only once had enough damage been done to be viewed externally to the prince and yet such should not be said of his half brother.

“Silence yourself or you will come to look as the bastard child.”

Fingers lingered along the corner of his lips, recalling the jagged scar upon Iolas’s face the last time eyes had been laid upon him. Whispers had been done that it was the world of the king, but never before had Iomyr believed it. But as he came to prostrate himself before the king with the diadem across his forehead nearly striking the floor, he knew it. And he feared his father more than ever.

“Yes, my Father and my King.”

part 3.

read from the beginning.