#ionwhyn

Arric took a deep breath through his nose for a moment as he closed his eyes, dark lashes resting momentarily against porcelain skin. He was not sure what he had initially expected the response to be, or if he had expected one in general. It was not as though he was not aware of the tumultuous nature of war even if it had only been through historical accounts and stories that he had dealt directly with it. When his eyes reopened, he read the letter aloud. At best it was a few lines of script written in a hand that was most assuredly not Mercurius’s when the content was considered.

“Your Majesty King Lander,” which was alone enough to confirm the fact that this was not penned by the hand of the king, as well as the particular looping writing. He couldn’t rightly claim that he had seen the man’s writing but he could not imagine it would look like that. “We would like to thank you for your concern regarding the Baidenese affairs. Your words of well-wishing will be delivered to the king upon his return. As of the writing of this letter, he rides to war. Continue to hold him highly in your thoughts and beg of the Sister Goddesses their blessing as he travels henceforth.

“We hope this letter finds you well. With highest regards, Zanil, Appointed Advisor to His Majesty King Mercurius Rosenlied of Baiden.”

Before either Arric or Tahvaen could speak, it twas the deep ton of Arandel who interrupted them. “It is to our advantage that none yet are seeking to intercept mail ment for the king, Arric, or else we would strongly run the risk of seeming to take a side.”

In his ears rang still the caution of the elven advisor: Do not make it seem as though a side has been taken. But the defiance still burned within him as he placed the letter down and inhaled deeply. It was quite unlike Arric to so staunchly oppose the orders of his advisor but deep was the frown on his face as he set the letter aside. “Arandel, I greatly value your advice, and so have I since I have been serving Vaira as king. But I do not understand why siding with our own spoken allies would in any way create a stain upon our reputation? You yourself were at the council and saw the means with which Iolas of the north spoke to us and the disrespect that was done. Our people are not fools and very few of the elves of Vaira possess ties to the Ceredi of the north. An expression of care for a fellow king of Liev is scarce something that should soil my reputation.”

“Most Vairan elves come from the south. You know, like you?” Tahvaen felt the need to interject as he watched the man bristle with a grin upon his face. Oh, there was always some selfish satisfaction when he got a reaction out of the stoic advisor. “And the units lead by Iolas attacked us. They attacked our king. So what the hell is with this neutrality business? We’ve hardly any trained soldiers of our own, true, but damn! We’ve got healers! Sending some of our folk out would probably help, and--”

“Do you want Vairans to die for a cause that is not ours?”

It was not shouted. It was not yelled. Volume was not even raised and yet with that single line it felt as though all the warmth in the room had been suctioned out with a single breath. Even the gaze of the king had dropped again to his breakfast as red brows narrowed hard over the half-elf’s blue eyes. So they had spoken of the harm involvement would do, but what of the good? That is when it was the voice of the blonde which rose as he pointedly looked across at the advisor before him.

“The good it will do is assisting in our alliance, Arandel. Pacifism has long been the lay of the land in Vaira, but here it will not do. We were attacked. Baidenese blood was spilt to protect us, dignitaries and delegates of Vaira, when they could have simply fended merely for themselves. Thanks to those knights we returned virtually unscathed.

“I do not have a doubt within my heart that should Vaira fall under attack, Baiden would ride to save us with no concern. So should we not offer the same?”

Though grey eyes did flash beneath furrowed brows, the advisor seemed to be genuinely thinking over the words. But then came the inhale and exhale that cued in the king to already know the answer. Thin drew the ruler’s lips as he watched the elf turn his back to where he and his comrade still sat at the breakfast table. Scarce ever did Arandel eat with them, preferring to start his days in his study save for when outlying events such as these transpired.

“I can admit when you are in the right and I am in the wrong.”

Rapidly did black lashes flutter against fair skin as the words rang in his mind. While there had been moments that Arandel came to admit his own errance in one way or another, rarely was it that they were so blunt.

“What are my orders, then, Arric? If we are to move units to Baiden for the sake of healing those that are injured?”

For a moment did those blue eyes close again and a nod was given. Upon those lips was a bright smile before he spoke, “Call upon Shedal. She will know those who are the best healers. Recruit only those who are willing to help Baiden; I do not want this to seem forced or like an obligation, merely something people choose to do of their own will.”

“They ride towards the north border. Reports say that the eastern front… has been all but wiped out by Iolas’s units.”

The paper within the hand of the elf king did crumble as he listened to the report of the scout whose mask was drawn down beneath his lips so he could speak of what he knew. “I myself cannot verify the latter. Maeir has not returned and he was the one who gave me such information, so it could indeed be a false assumption. It is he you will have to ask for that information, my lord and king.”

To be so brazenly made a fool of. His own units could not even waylay those knights that were sanctioned upon their borders and the legion that followed after the bastard could. Back did the scout step before a waved hand dismissed him and his attention set to turn to his son who had mutely listened to the words.

“Iolas’s units have wiped out the Baidenese knights on the eastern front. Use that weakness to lead men into Baiden.”

Though his body bristled visibly, fright chilled his blood and advised against attempting to speak wisdom against Ionwhyn. It would be met with the gratitude of striking a rock against a mountain, though in this case it was most likely the rock was a boulder that would roll back upon the one that tried to press it against the mountain. No logic would his father hear and thus there was no point in trying to put it forth. Had Iomyr not already been imbued with bitterness towards his father then certainly this war would have consecrated it.

The words spoken in exchange with the female knight still lingered in the back of his mind. Should things continue as his father desired them, no good would come to the elves. Not eternally long for this world was Ionwhyn and yet pride would not allow him to step down and allow the title of king to fall to his son. Such was a situation even reflected in humans, for the decisions made by a current king would impact the next king when they were factored in so late in life. Slightly did the jaw of the prince steel, though, as he continued listening.

“I will not deal with this continued incompetence. Find Iolas and kill him.”

Had he bitten his tongue any longer, he was quite assured that he would puncture it and that iron would fill his senses. The urge to rise was quelled but he did grip hard to the arms of the throne in which he was seated as he took a deep inhale through his nose.

“Do you not think that we have made efforts to do so, my Father and my King?” came the voice of the prince though low slung was his head. Around his face draped the blonde hair for which the Ceredi were so known. “Prior to the declaration of war, such was the focus of our scouts, of our men. But it seemed no sooner had we managed to find a location that he was using as a roost than he had moved himself elsewhere. It is fruitless. It is like trying to bare-handed catch an eel.”

Through grit teeth did he hear his father’s voice: “Then find and kill his informant.”

The possibility that within the ranks of their own men there was one who played as an agent for Iolas was not a thought that was new or revolutionary. In fact, if he recalled correctly, it was one that he had suggested some time ago, only for his very father to protest that such disloyalty was not possible for Ceredi elves. And now? His own teeth were still clenched and he did not speak as Ionwhyn continued saying whatever it was he felt the need to say.

“Of course, my father and my king.”

But then the teeth were unclenched and he heard a laugh. This caused him to lift his head with a thin brow arched as he gazed at his father. Naturally, these councils were scarce held alone. By the door did linger a smattering of knights in their elven armor and their golden platinum hair lying over the plates upon their shoulders and chests. Among them did Iowyr recognize the eagle eyes of Drunel, the elf who stood as head of the elven army. And were those piercing eyes not visible, the dark hue to the hair worn often in a thick braid down his back would have given him away the moment that he turned his back. The mere presence of Drunel was enough to raise the ire of Iowyr, which was frankly already constantly raised given the current situation.

“Do you think I would place such a task in the hands of my incompetent son? The very one who allowed the prisoners to escape?” The particular accent upon the word allowed was enough to make his skin crawl. Already had he dealt quite ad nauseum with the accusation that he was traitorous and that he had allowed them to go free out of defiance. Both of these were things that he had openly protested but was in no real mood to attempt to clear his name of. Even in his defiance, Iowyr did not want to openly feel himself as a liar. He had acquiesced that the escape of the prisoners had been under his watch and from that point would not move further towards a confession. “This task is not for you, Iowyr. You will remain here to keep guard of the castle. Durel will be the one to seek out the informant.”

Narrowed were those eyes as he gazed upon his father before he forced his visage to relax. His muscles were forced to find some sort of relief and deep was the inhale followed by the exhale as he cut his eyes from his father to Durel. He and the head knight had hardly harbored friendly feelings towards one another. Near was it to jealous that Iowyr felt for the praise that was lavished upon the elf man who was in all ways, according to his father, superior to he. And now, Ionwhyn was placing in Durel faith that he had openly denied his son, and before the very eyes of the child that he bore. But in this instance, he would not remain silent. His voice rose again before the armored elf had so much as an opportunity to speak aloud in regards to the current state of affairs.

“So you would have the greatest of all your men remain here when he is needed as a leader upon the front lines of battle, my father and my king? Is that truly what you feel is wise?”

For a moment the prince was braced for the impact that never came to him. Usually such audacious speech would have been met by a firm slap across his face but such proved not to be the case as when he opened his eyes he saw only the strong profile of his father looking at Durel. Likely this was the first time that Iowyr could state that his father had openly made any inclination that he listened to the words that his son had said. The moment could have been bittersweet, but it was not. A hundred years ago, something like this could well have changed the course of this relationship. But not now. Too often did he stir upon the words that Elfreda had left him with before his departure. Already he had committed the errance of even entertaining the thought of killion Ionwhyn so the crown would fall to him alongside the decisions. The decisions that he would have to live with… assuming, that is, that he did live. The concept of dying in war was a very real one.

“Then you will remain,” as he felt his father’s frigid eyes upon him. While it had been an act of protest and defiance, even the king of elves could not deny when a point had solid logic behind it. His best knight remaining in a space that had little to no chance of being attacked did seem to be a waste to him. “And you are to be tasked with finding the informant, Iowyr. Know that I will not tolerate further failure from you.”

It was as though every nerve in his body was aflame the moment that he was aware all eyes were upon him. Even the knights that flanked their leader seemed to be fixated upon him with the same damning doubt that his father looked at him with. Iowyr had never been the child that the king had wanted and at no point in his life had he been made to believe otherwise. Too old was he and far too late in his days was it to have any grandeur or redemption in his father’s eyes. Even if he did manage to find the informant, his father would manage to praise someone else for the task that he saw to. That was perhaps the most bitter of tastes upon his tongue, yet he said nothing and kept the thought to himself.

“Is that understood?”

Whether it was a second or a minute or even longer that passed as he stood there in his mute array he could not rightly decipher. But as the breath he did not know he was holding slowly was released from his lungs his body bent stiffly at his waist in what was essentially a half-bow. Too weary was he of throwing himself at the feet of the man. Weary of dealing with the disdain of his father since his very childhood. Too much like his mother he had always been called, too much like the woman that he could not rid himself of, for the sake of propriety. Too much like the mother that had been beaten into a near permanent silence by her husband.

“Of course, my father and my king.”

It was with that confirmation that he would inevitably bend a knee to what was asked of him that the king saw fit to take his departure. Alongside him were the knights who had stood at the side of Durel, and yet the latter remained for a moment. Alone in the room were Iowyr and Durel now, and up did the gauntlet clad hands lift to remove the light helmet from his head. Down furrowed those brows far darker than the ones upon the prince’s face as their eyes came to meet. Grey and brown. The two were about as disparate in physical appearance as Ceredi could be.

“Audacious.”

Though there was favoritism of Durel from Ionwhyn, there was still the severe difference in rank. It was not as though the head knight would be punished for any percieved misgivings against the prince and so he was allowed to, essentially, behave as he saw fit.

“Excuse me?”

“You cannot even follow orders,” as he was met with a view of the golden ribbon woven into the thick plait down the back of the warrior’s back. “How is it that you, of all people, expect to find the traitor?”

part 21.

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.