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a lovers tale, part 27.

The Vairan king was to be escorted to the throne room when the Rosenlied nobility were ready to see them. And when that was could genuinely be anyone’s guess. Part of the man was irritated profusely that he was not told immediately of the king’s arrival until it was relayed to him that Abigail was not, either. If it was not for the fact that servants gossiped, potentially he would remain still in the dark about it. There had to be a reason for it. At least, such was what the blonde told himself as he spoke with one of the knights to request audience with Mercurius. This could work in Abigail’s favor, after all. She was quite eager to be rid of the Vairan king based on her speech and mannerisms. She was indeed very weary of having been obligated to oversee such a high number of unexpected guests during her husband’s absence.

But Arric was none too pleased with the Baidenese king at the moment, and validly so. His brows were creased low over his eyes as he paced about the guest room. Zanil was gone. Mercurius was gone. All things had come to weigh upon the woman who months ago was just another miscellaneous noble in an Oranian court, and at that, a widow. To expect her to adapt without flaw or incident was indeed in err, and he knew that. But the kingdom would not look upon it as so. Into a chair did he find himself lowering his body in a weary way, for how much longer he was able to pace was truthfully up to debate. Frankly, he did not wish to be without energy when he went before the Baidenese king. Squaring against Mercurius was indeed never an expressly easy task. He was an exceptionally intimidating presence--but he could simply not allow that which Mercurius spoke of to transpire. For the Vairan king himself had elven blood within his veins and though his bloodline haled from the south, it was indeed elven blood still. Genocide and exile of a whole people was never a solution that should be turned to, as far as Arric was concerned.

And if Baiden should turn to it, the internal strife would result in another war. Though whether even the sum of the other countries could rise to face Baiden was debatable, for their treaties dictated that though they were separate countries, they functioned much like a singular one. Those outside of Baiden usually had a much smaller military forces if they indeed had formal militaria at all. It was only since Arric took the crown that Vaira saw fit to began to mount a force, and it was by no means comparable to that which Baiden had in either number or skill. The former had been gradually chipped away at by the repeated battles in the north for all knew that war was not without the toll of death, and yet still they would be a force to be reckoned with.

The council of kings would have to indeed meet once the war had come to an end to discuss the military across the continent once more. A monopoly upon military forces could be dangerous--especially when talk of genocide came around.

He had spoken with Davin before he had departed to Baiden, though the conversation was brief. The Ludanese healer had quite vehemently sworn that he would tell none other than His Majesty the King and his closest counsel of confidants. The fewer that knew of the king’s threats to the elves, the better for there was indeed a great number of elves in Liev residing outside of Baiden. These elves were the reason that the Vairan king had reacted as suddenly as he did. Primarily, he was known for being reasonably collected and logical. Gallivanting about on whims was not the way of Arric. And as much as there was a deep ache in his chest for Mercurius’s presence, so, too, was there a bitter taste in his throat knowing that this same man that he spoke candidly with and this same man that was one of few outside of his innermost circle to allow him to behave, if only ephemerally, as something other than a king. Mercurius saw him as a person as well as a ruler, and that took a heavy weight from the shoulders of the man who had been but a child when he was crowned.

Sometimes, he remembered that the story was very similar for Mercurius. They had not been far apart in age when they were crowned, though the Baidenese king did possess greater tenure given that his age was greater than that of the Vairan king. But they had been very differently raised, taught how to rule differently, and this was reflected now more than ever.

For the first time since the wedding, Arric would lay eyes upon Mercurius and for a moment he felt suddenly nauseous at the thought. Of course he had known about the wedding. And like some foolish child he had wept about it in his own throne room as though there had been so much as a fleeting fraction of a chance that something, anything could have worked out between the two kings. To call the dream baseless was not even correct. There was nothing within it that was even remotely feasible and yet perhaps he was foolish enough to let the feelings linger. But they were not important. They were not even second or third priority. There was nothing to them and they had to simply be cast aside, and this thought had to remain in the forefront as he raked his nails through his blonde hair. Facing Mercurius felt almost as though he were going before something that could single-handedly tear him down and kill him. But had not the Baidenese king himself urged him to stand tall, square his shoulders and his jaw, and never fidget? He had found himself fidgeting. He could not do this before Mercurius. He would not do this before Mercurius.

When one of the knights came to his door nearly two hours after the initial request had been made to the king and queen of Baiden, the nerve was all but gone from the younger ruler. But to decline the audience would be an audacious affront to the king as a person and to Baiden as a whole, so he stilled his fidgeting and regathered himself to rise to the escort provided him. His men were, by and large, useless now. They were treated as honored guests and their king did dine with them in an exclusive dining hall, but they were not knights. Vaira did not have knights. A few in Oran and Meh’rok had and used the title still, but by and large for one to be a knight, they were Baidenese. This country produced the blood of knights; it trained them and honed their skill in a way no other country did. Steel and knights. Those were the pride and joy of the northern country. They were hailed as a militiary force for a valid reason--his own guards and those that were training to be Vairan knights paled in comparison to those of Baidenese birth.

Most would be intimidated by the statue of Silas that loomed in the back of the room and yet Arric found that the nerves within him churned primarily due to who was seated at his feet. In the throne of the king was Mercurius, garbed in finery that he was sure had not come from the battlefield by any means though there were accents of armor. And next to him, in the slightly smaller but nigh equally as grand queen’s throne, was Abigail. And she seemed to glow even though the light that came through was but a trickle due to the overcast nature. She was a queen there, radiant and shining, seated next to her king in the throne room where they were joined beneath the eyes of Silas himself. Here they ruled and here they belonged, and the petite king of the southern country felt like an interloper.

He could see in those brown eyes that the king almost wanted to smile at him but that his muscled seemed frozen in place. He was not to smile. There was nothing that they had any right to smile about in this conversation, for it was not one of a war won.

By the Goddesses, the Vairan king wished that this had transpired on better terms. But it had not. Blue eyes turned to the king and queen there, seated upon their throne, and for a moment none was willing to say anything. The sound of the heavy door closing behind him would have made him jump had not the creak of hinges prepared him for it. Jolting like a startled horse was not quite the impression that he had the desire to make.

“King Lander.” It was Abigail who broke the silence and it was frankly no surprise to the men seated in the room. “You traveled from Vaira to speak with King Mercurius and so, here is your opportunity. He has returned for the time being from the battlefield to attend to all business pertaining to the country. Speak, if it so suits you.”

Deep was the breath that filled the lungs of the younger king for a moment as he advanced a few cautious strides forward and bowed at the waist. Such was the custom in Vaira, though he knew well the Baidenese salute was what was prefered within these halls. Once he had risen properly, he spoke again. “Both a delegate of and one of the Four of my Council of Healers have reported threats of genocide against the northern elves of the Silatin Mountains,” stated the king of the south. There was no reason to attempt to dodge around the facts. All within the room were aware of what had been said and the motivation of those serving under D’vinyari to withdraw from battle. Truly, none could fault him. Not even the king who had initially called for genocide in the first place. “This would undoubtedly lead to strife within Liev as it is an overt abuse of force and power. As your ally, I discourage it. As a moral citizen of Liev, I discourage it. As a human, I discourage it. And most of all, as your friend, I encourage you to try and see reason.”

The light in the eyes of the king upon the throne flickered for a moment as they were downcast from the chasms of blue that did beseech him to reconsider his stance. An ultimatum. An absolute ultimatum was never the best idea for either side, for Mercurius did not desire to be painted as an erroneous king, or as an extremist. As much hope and faith as he did have with Zanil being the one to pen history, he was not one to simply bend a knee to that hope. It may well have been in vain, for if Zanil did not survive…

Such a thought made him swallow harder than normal and cast his gaze downward. If it was not Zanil who penned the history books, how could he know how he would be remembered and portrayed? The notion made him nervous for just a moment yet it scarce served to crack his exterior. There was not a care to be had based on his physical reaction alone… or the lack thereof.

“It is not that I do not see reason. I know well why the path that I have chosen may be remembered as wrong or extreme. But do you not agree that at times, extreme measures must be taken? Had they--the Silatin Mountain Elves--not felt the need to take extreme measures, this war would never have broken forth.”

“Davin told me well that which he heard from the elven king, King Rosenlied.” King Rosenlied. In this instance, Mercurius was not Mercurius. They addressed one another by titles, as kings.

If only because it kept it as impersonal as possible.

“Those factions that attacked us were not his men. They were rebels, those that had splintered off and stood to oppose the society as his father ran it. King Iowyr does not want that for his people and he truthfully seeks only peace. Yet you threaten his people? With exile? With murder? I fail to see where your totalitarian mindset holds any weight other than in your own mind.”

“Who is to say another faction will not splinter off as that headed by Iolas has--”

“And who is to say another one will?”

He did not shout. His voice was not stern. No, his voice was merely an even cadence as his eyes remained trained forward, gazing at those that met his and knowing well Abigail’s were upon him as well. Indeed he did stand squared and tall as he could be, though his statue had him squarely in the lesser when compared to the Baidenese king. The elven blood in him only added as much. While the elves of the Northlands were tall, those from the south--those that had come to filter through much of southern Liev--were not so great in stature. The Lander family was also fairly petit in and of themselves. Compared to the grandeur that was Rosenlied blood, it was no surprise that Arric often felt dwarfed by comparison, as though he stood at the foot of a mountain. And truthfully, this moment was by no means an exception. But he would not let the shadows of two mountains seated before him eclipse him, even though one of them did agree with his motivation, with his cause. He remained drawn up to his full height as his eyes focused forward at Mercurius with fire shining in those skylit eyes.

“You assume the worst of them. They are neither capable of more or less than human are. What if there was an uprising within Liev? Not even within Baiden. It could be with Meh’rok, or Ludan. And what if the elves of the Black Forest should take offense that it was elves you drove out? To say we know little of the Silatin Mountain Elves is true but we must keep in mind we know even less of the Elves of the Black Forest. We know not their numbers, nor their military. Of them, we know nothing. And you would wage war against elves as a whole? I cannot condone this behavior. I will not condone this behavior. Should you continue down this path, Mercurius, you risk--you risk loss of alliance among Liev. You risk another civil war in retaliation to what you have done.”

“With what military forces?”

Abigail’s own fingers curled against the arm of the throne in which she was seated, scratching against the finished texture as a sign of irritation. She grit her teeth for the moment, saying nothing for she knew what Mercurius stated was true. This was the first instance that those pupils set in light sapphire had widened as they peered forth at him and Abigail saw it, too. The realization that the words that came from the king were indeed right. There was not a military force in all of Baiden that could stand up to the one that was present in Baiden. So he grit his teeth and clenched his own fists, eyes cutting towards Abigail before his gaze was again upon Baiden’s head ruler.

“Do not speak as a manman any further, King Rosenlied. Would you turn your own blade and your own people against your allies? Against the people of Liev? It is one thing to engage in the dissonance of otherhood with the elven kind but with your allies? So many of Liev have elven blood--”

“You speak as though such knowledge should impact my judgement, King Lander. You know how I feel of those of elven blood. I do not desire nearness to them.”

“You speak so sourly of the elves yet you know not even what your advisor is! For too long has he lived to be a simple human. How do you delude yourself in his presence, King Rosenlied? Yet you scoff openly at my keeping company with a half-blooded elf. Do not think I was blind to it. In fact, you protested the aid of a half-elven healer when you were ill within the confines of my country--the same half-elven healer who came forth to demand that she and her healers be permitted to offer aid.” This was the first instance where the volume of his voice had begun to climb upward, though not to a shout. Merely a higher volume with his brows knit firmly low over his blue eyes. “You wronged her and yet she still pled your case and lead a high number of volunteer healers. One of which found his way into your good graces to the point you asked him to your counsel and this is how you repay us. By threatening genocide.”

“I never asked for your aid so to hold it over my head is scarcely reasonable. You are letting your emotions get the best of you.”

Forward did the younger king stride, his feet soon enough resting at the base of the two stairs that lead forthward, upward to where the thrones were set up. His chin was lifted now to look at the two of them as his lips were pursed into a thin line. While he would be endlessly thankful for some support from Abigail, indeed it served to seem that he would have none. Or all these things he had to say to the King of Baiden were merely rehashing of exactly what she had already said. Either was a feasible option. So the younger king took a deep inhale before he spoke again. “And I cannot be emotional at the talk of annihilation and exile of an entire race of people that have lived here for four-hundred years? Perhaps the Gods and Goddesses did not place them upon Liev as they did the other residents, but they are here. Many of them born here. And the vast majority of them completely innocent to anything you could pin upon them. So I will get emotion over the elven people. Over my people, for many Varians have elf family. Including me.”

This time, it was Mercurius’s eyes which widened. Any hope within Arric that he would be able to see past the fact there was elven blood within him crumbled before him as a window stricken by stone. Upon the king’s face was an expression that could be allocated as nothing other than disgust and perhaps even betrayal.

His mother, the Vairan queen, the husband to the departed king, lived still. But it was secret that she was half-elf, so it was best she linger in the shadows. By and large the ruling class of Liev were populated by long lines of humans and Vaira was no exception. Arric felt sick. Absolutely, abhorrently ill as he was looked at like some beast sniveling for scraps.

“And you hid this from me?”

“My mother was half-elf. She herself traveled from the south and my father loved her. She--”

“You deceived me--”

“If only for the ramifications it would cause! Vaira cares not if there is elf blood upon the throne but I am sure Baiden would have declared war upon us that instant if you were king!”

“Leave.”

“Mercurius--”

“Leave my sight and leave Baiden. Take will you all your damned healers. I should expect nothing but empathy for the elves from one with their blood.”

“Stop.”

She did not yell. In fact, her voice hardly rose from its normal cadence as she cut her eyes between the two of them. The woman was in no humor for a shouting match. “If I must intervene with my own two hands, this genocide will not transpire, Mercurius. King Lander, take your leave. We will reconvene after my husband has found his graces once more.”

Iowyr wept.

Drunel stood to the side of the throne in which his king was now seated as the man splayed his fingers across his face. Within him was the urge to reach forth and place a hand upon that shoulder bared by untied sleeping robes that slid from the skin but he was hesitant, knowing now that respect had to be paid duly.

“I desire nothing but peace and still he would have nothing but war and death. Where are we to go? The north is not our home. This is. If… if Father were here, perhaps…”

“Perhaps we truthfully would fight until our deaths, Your Graceful Majesty. We must simply have faith that He is watching us and that He will protect us from those that would kill us all. We can only pray and ask his guidance.”

“I am afraid he will not hear me. Not after what I have done.”

“Then I will pray for both of us.”

To his knees did the elven knight captain lower himself, head bowed forth as he rest it upon the knee of the king. And he, too, silently wept, for in this moment both knight and king felt all but forsaken by all things.

He had seen bloodshed over the racism between man and elf for most of his life. His fingers lingered over the gnarled scar upon his face that was caused by it, caused by a man who would not look upon him with any inkling of love or respect. No, Iolas was merely Elwynn’s mistake, as far as the deceased elven king was concerned. But he was poised now upon a stolen Baidenese warhorse and overlooking the camp that was helmed by Zanil. The advisor that had worked in close conjunction with Mercurius since childhood and for a moment, there was envy within him. There was jealousy that never in all his days had he had one that was so near to him--

Save one, whom he had alienated.

One who was now king.

Deep was the sigh that came from him as he turned his eyes away and cast them downward with his brows creased. It impacted him far more than he would have imagined. There was no going back to the Ceredi as there had not been that option presented to him before hand so it was not logical that the notion that his half brother was now king made his heart clench. Not logical beyond the fact that now both that shared his blood through his mother were crowned and he was poised at the cusp of what was a losing battle.

Alduin had been the nearest he had to Zanil. And yet none knew of the location of that elven advisor, for he had departed from the company of the half-blooded leader of the rebellion some time ago. Within Iolas’s chest did he fear the worst had happened but there was not enough manpower in all the mountains to drum up a search party that would be worth anything. Wandering aimlessly in the woods would do no one any sort of benefit.

His own numbers were few. They had been few to start with and like a chisel against stone so had the Baidenese knights chipped it further until there was little to nothing left to scrape and dig at. He was walking his men through a losing battle and of that he was completely aware; he had first begun this knowing it would be folly and that he would not win. He did not into. Alduin saw within him when his pride threatened to overtake him and that was when he lost the nearest thing he had to true support. His own pride prevented him from laying aside his bravado and confessin he was in err by thinking he could gain anything of this. Iolas had not begun this to gain anything, but to change things. To alter the way that they were. This weighed upon him for likely it knew it would cost his life.

But had he not changed things? At the end of the day, this war had brought about great change indeed. In that, he could rest assured that he had achieved his goal. For the first time since the ending of the Grand War had man and elf sat in a fairly civil council to discuss the country as it was. And though the final decision had not lead to peace, the mere fact that the discussion had transpired signaled change. That Mercurius was willing to even speak at an elven leader across the Circle of the Gods. Things had changed, and for the better. There was at least some sort of communication even if it had incurred threats of genocide.

Mercurius had been pulled from the battlefield for that, and with good reason. That much Iolas was aware of as such was why Zanil had stepped down from his grey stone tower to mingle among those that were usually beneath him. He knew not the truth of the matter or the origins of the seemingly ageless advisor (for what he had heard from tales and rumors was that Zanil was elder to any elf upon the continent currently) but he knew that for him to dirty his hands, things were major. Things had indeed changed from where they were, and he had been the one that had set such things in motion.

What remained still of his men slumbered through various headquarters. Their numbers were few to begin with and fewer were they now, outcasts and the offshoots that had wanted to make a difference. Some were dead now, in fact, many. And he had known a majority of them by name. That was the luxury of those that were tight knit among him. Those that radiated outward were strangers that marched under his impromptu banner that scarce was even flown. Tattered and red, tied to what was little more than a glorified stick and hoisted high. The Red Dawn, they called it, and beneath it had they once rallied.

The fire at the camp that was below the hill he poised his mount atop flickered in low light, the figure of someone walking about it and gesticulating wildly as he told some tale. It could have been truth. It could have been fiction. In the long run, campfire stories held no relevance in the scheme of things. They were alive and even in these moments did the humans manage to find something to speak of, to rejoice over. Something in which to find comfort.

There were half elves in the world that made him envious. They lived their lives as though there was nothing abnormal about them for, where they were, nothing was abnormal. As for him, Baidenese blood was in his veins mixing with that of the royal Ceredi blood. This was seen as vile; this made him repulsive. The fact it was a cross of two noble lines could well have been a step forward towards peace, but as far as the Baidenese and the Ceredi were concerned, that was not the case. He was a beast. And so he turned to lash out like one.

Such had been how he had lost the nearest thing to family he had known. Iowyr had been distanced from him but perhaps that had resulted in being easier for the both of them. Now Iowyr would rule and Iolas was beyond redemption, he knew that. He had bent the knee to the fact that he would be beyond redemption once all of this had come to a head. The Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn would dissolve without a leader as radical as he and maybe, just maybe, those that lived still could return to their life and claim they did not agree with the concepts, that it was wrong. Somehow. The thought that they may all be executed made him queasy and yet he could not see that of the one man who had shown him kindness. (This was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, in a way, seeing as Alduin and others had shown him kindness. But as far as family? It had been the once Prince now King who had been all he truly had. His mother was but a ghost under the former king of the elves and she would not have stood to defend her mistake either way.

None had come out with him on this particular day. This excursion he had made singularly and without informing those he was with. It was easier if they did not know.

His remaining within this triage (if one could even refer to it as such, for his side was so vastly outnumbered on both opposing fronts) would only cause more death and bloodshed. The man could care less about the fact that Baidenese blood was spilt, though in these moments of recollection he was indeed aware that they were people just as the elves were. While he followed the same god as the Ceredi, there was no idea of manifest destiny, no concept that they’d a right to the land of the Baidenese. Perhaps that was why he had not made an attempt to push any further.

It was time to lay down his arms, and he knew it. To remove a key factor such as himself from the playing field would perhaps open up the route to a clearer victory for Baiden. There was no use even toying with the notion that the elves had a chance at emerging over the Baidenese. They were more tightly trained, more skilled in that which they adhered to, more well equipped and with better weapons than the elves to the north. It was much was turning a trained war hound upon a irritated cat. It was not that the hound would come away without so much an an incision upon him, but the hound would survive and the cat would not. Herein were the Ceredi the cats at the feet of a towering Silatin mastif. For the cat, it was easiest at that point to acquiesce to the demands of the hound. And so he would.

Little resistance was made as he dismounted and walked towards the camp once he was but a short walk away. He carried with him no outward sign of surrender but when weapons were drawn upon him his remained within its sheath, no effort made to even go for it. Within his eyes was a resignation that Zanil knew the moment he looked upon it.

“Many have died for you, Iolas. There is truly no repentance for death.”

His hands were lashed behind his back with cord that was likely once used to twine together cording or barrels for it was harsh upon his skin, but there was nothing left in him to fight back. Whether Alduin would look upon him with a frown or pride for the fact he could kneel when he was wrong was not something he would ever know. And of Iowyr. How would he feel of the fact that Iolas came to bend a knee to Zanil and turned himself over? It was all he could do to contribute to peace, at this point. And peace was what his end goal was--peace, and a better life for the elves. In hopes of perhaps, just maybe, there may once be a life for people like him.

“I know there is no repentance and I do not seek it. I merely seek an end to the senselessness that this is. I am sure upon that we can agree.”

“You are conceited if you are under the impression that your death alone will bring peace. This is more than you. It has spiraled to something much larger, something far more grand--and yet you think your death will be more than a ripple in the ocean. Why is that?”

“I--”

“The removal of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn is ineffective at this point. War exists between humans and elves regardless of whether you are in it or not.”

“If Mercurius kills me, he wins.”

Those eyes of pitch widened slightly as they heard those words, though his brows tightened slightly as he processed them. There was Rosenlied blood within this half-elf yet and both were quite aware of that. These words seemed to almost serve as a reminder to it. Those of Rosenlied blood were inclined to wanting to be victorious thus the statement of the leader of the rebellion was not in err: if Mercurius kills me, he wins. It was, after all, Iolas who had begun this entire ordeal. Such a victory would elevate the humans further. But did the humans need further elevation? Deep was the frown that creased the ageless face of the advisor as he looked upon the leader who had handed himself over. If Mercurius kills me, he wins. Mercurius did not need another win. There had not been a single battle that one could rightfully say surmounted in the victory of the elves and so it may well be folly to bring forth Iolas to Mercurius at this point. So the advisor merely jerked his head. “I have no intention of taking you to Mercurius. He is my king and to he and his family am I ever loyal and yet I know that another victory will only bloat his judgement further. He had threatened genocide because of you, Prince Iolas--”

“Damned be that title,” as the half-elf spat at the feet of the advisor and anger colored a prior somber expression, “for I have no claim to any throne as my brothers do. I am no Prince. I believe I have said as much before.”

“You are the cause of this war but your death may only make it worse at this point,” interjected the advisor as he stepped forth, a hand laid flat as he motioned quite aggressively forward. “I have no right to sentence you. I am no judge nor am I a king. But I can tell you this much: your death at this point is not what we need. But your rebellion may disband with you not available to them and so, Iolas, I proclaim you as a prisoner of war. I will take you before the king when I deem fit.”

“Death is too kind a punishment for what I have done--”

“Were it my decision you would live for centuries to see the ramification of this war that you hath wrought upon the world, Iolas. But the gods have a plan and so I place my faith in them as it goes now: I follow them as I make these decisions. You are of no use to us when you are dead.”

“And it is He who told me to yield myself to you. What of when our gods conflict?”

Around the twine did the fingers of the advisor come to tighten, gripping fast as he pushed the half-elf forward. “We are upon the soil of my gods and I know well their song and their voice. My gods trump yours in this instance. Not only because this is their land but because I am the one who holds the ropes and so I am he who has final say.”

A smirk illuminated the face of the advisor as he spoke and that was wherein the one of Ceredi blood knew well that he was poised upon the losing side. There was no arguing with the fact he was now disarmed and bound. The victory was on the side of the humans once more, though Zanil was no human but an agent thereto. Down did his head drop as he made a muffled noise of acquiescence before two of the knights did lead him away.

But troubled brewed within eyes of pitch. What was he to do with Iolas now? How would this conflict eventually come to an ultimate end? He could not rightly place it together and he heard naught from as far as the gods were concerned. Asking them yielded only slight silence much to his irritation. It was known not to Iolas but only to Thrandir who exactly Zanil was and so to not hear a response from the gods was irritating, but not troubling. Often he was told to solve his own problems because he was able, because he was strong enough, but damned if he did not like the option of deferring to a different power every once in awhile. But that option was blank. It was silent, and it made him furrow his brows as he ran a hand through his hair. She may well have known what to do. She may have been able to offer him some sort of advice. But none knew where she was. Not even the one that was a part of her.

“And what am I to do with him?” mused the advisor under his breath as his gaze turned to look at where Iolas was bound fast and kept under close guard. Everything upon him that could be used as a weapon had been shucked thereto, taken from him--much of it was the superior Baidenese craft. It had likely been taken from the corpses of their soldiers, so it was only right that it returned gain to the hands of the Baidenese. Into the supplies did those weapons go and so he was left with naught. It was almost pathetic in a way, seeing him bound, unarmed. Was this really the man that roused a rebellion? “Have I no help in all this world?”

Rare were the moments that the advisor was cognitively aware of the otherness that he possessed, that he was not one of the humans that he served. One would think that all it would take was a glimpse in the mirror to see as much. His hair was argentine. His once pointed ears were torn and jagged. Why he had never bothered to change shape and alleviate suspicion was an inquiry upon him made by Silas himself once or twice in the rare moments they communed. But had Zanil not brought enough bad into the world? Why add to it the notion of being a liar?

It was not a falsity when Zanil stated that he did not lie. He had his own ways of spinning the truth in an angle but never did he openly lie, merely leaving things vague and amorphous, leaving them open to questioning. But he did not lie.

While Zanil did fret, Iolas came to sleep. His indecision of his next move had kept him awake many restless nights looking upon those that he surrounded himself with, those that were considered his inner circle in a way. And now for the first time all things were out of his hands and he was able to find some rest. Bound still, with hands in his lap, wearing the clothes he had ridden forth in. But sleep blessedly came to him under the vigilant eyes of Baidenese knights. Undeniably, it was the best sleep that he had had in months.

read from the beginning.

part 28.

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