This was what the elven king had feared. The rigid, unwavering nature of the Baidenese king The fact that he was not willing to concede even slightly from his rigid ideas of what he wanted and what he felt was right. While there was the theory that one could scarcely shame a king for doing what he felt was right, the utter lack of consideration for the elves did not sit well upon the stomach of the Ceredi king. How were they supposed to move forward with peaceful communication if there was only the distinct feeling of animosity lingering there? Though the council was dismissed for the time being, there was the lingering weight and cloud upon his shoulders. It would reconvene and it would return to being the animosity and the tension of something stretched entirely too thin. From his blonde head had the circled been removed and he rested his face against the pale skin of his hands. The sigh was weighted and breathy through his nose and Drunel lingered near him with concern shining in his eyes.
His own nervous fidgeting came in the form of undoing the braid that was drawn over one shoulder and braiding it again, hands weaving the strands together with expert definition as he crossed the room. It had been deemed that while the Baidenese were here that the king was not to be unescorted. Today, that task was upon Drunel as it had been with his father before him. Once content with the rewoven braid, he allowed it to slide over his shoulder and rest down the middle of his back as he crossed the room towards Iowyr.
“Sir?”
“I was right to be afraid. To be wary, I suppose,” spoke the king finally, though the heels of his own hands muffled the tone. “Baiden is not a malleable young sapling. Baiden is a hard-barked oak that breaks only for the strongest winds.”
“But even a hardened oak knows to tilt its leaves ot the sun for the sake of it’s own survival, Iowyr.” Next to the king did he lower himself slowly, a hand placed between the shoulderblades of the man. Slightly did his hands curl into the fabric to offer some sort of physical reassurance, minimal as though it may be. “But that is a slower process than wrapping a new-grown vine along lattice work to allow it to grow. Surely you know this.”
“Can our people really suffer any more patience? This war has claimed many of our numbers, which were few to start with,” spoke the king with the sadness ringing true in his voice: he truly was mostly concerned with his people. Those that served him. They were mostly innocent in all this, save for those that had diverted from their prior ways and opted to follow Iolas. But part of him could not fault them, for they were hopeless, and they were afraid. They were perfectly within their rights to be so for the last hundred years had been a steady decline for the Ceredi. Ionwhyr was too rooted in the way he thought things should be, too rooted and stubborn to communicate and change. Not unlike the Baidenese king and yet Baiden had the sheer numbers to allow it to flourish, despite being as revolutionary as a stone. It was that stony nature that had allowed the country to stand as it did for as long as it had. “I am willing to bend to his whims, but a temporary peace is as good as no peace at all, Drunel. Surely I needn’t tell you that. If King Rosenlied remains resolute in his stubbornness…”
The sigh from elven lips was faint and one of concern as he drew the more lithe form of the king against him. It made sense, after all. Drunel was broader, stronger, trained in the intense work of swordplay and defense. He was absolutely the apex of knights among the elves. Iowyr was more learned in books and studies, in history, and in peacemaking. That is why their roles were as they were, even if the former king would have desired them reversed, at times. “I cannot speak as though I have great faith in the Rosenlied king, your graceful majesty,” as the gaze of the man was upon the flickering flame that was upon the table of the king. “But in his advisor and in the Vairan king, I do have faith. It seems Liev desires peace as well as we do, and the fact that it is a single stubborn king standing in their way… I feel it deeply that he will not emerge victorious, Iowyr. The setup of the council in Liev allows a greater system of checks and balances. I have never been one to speak ill of the humans, and your father, he resented me for that, at least, slightly… but their concepts are not all bad. Liev would not have allowed the genocide that he spoke of. The concept was one that even I will admit was somewhat frightening, but…” and a sigh came from him. “But, easily enough forgotten.”
Still did the king keep his head down, resting in his hands as he gave a small sigh. Blonde spilled around his face to obscure it not unlike a curtain, for it was neither braided nor pulled back in any sort of elaborate style. His father had done as much for council but Iowyr opted out of such things. The fine robes of blue and of silver were enough for him, distinguishing these days from days that were more simple and did not require any sort of decadence. “Easily forgotten, perhaps, for you. But those threatening words haunt me, still. I am afraid I may never be rid of them for all my days.”
“You exaggerate slightly, Iowyr. The memory may linger, but it will not haunt you. You are young yet, by standards of our people. Many more memories--and good ones, too--will see to removing such thoughts from your mind. The peace and trade with Liev will surely make such things more tolerable as we move forward with our lives. You merely need have faith. He will not forsake us now, as He has never forsaken us in the past.” In this way, elves and humans truly were not so disparate, though they may never indeed be aware of it. The same way that the people of Liev called upon their varied pantheon, so, too, did the elves call upon their God. It was true of all mortal beings. They desired the comfort and even the option of resigning themselves that something greater than them was in control. In that assumption, despite his fairly lacking knowledge of elves and their culture, the advisor to the Baidenese king had been right.
“Allow me a moment alone,” requested the king in a quiet voice, “and guard the door. It is the only way in and out of this room, as you are aware. I need a moment to think in silence and to pray and ask guidance. We need it now. Perhaps now more than we ever have.”
While he had been told not to leave the king by himself, one could not exactly trump the word of the king himself. A nod as the knight gathered himself and removed to the door to allow the king his privacy for the time being. He understood. Iowyr’s bond with the Holy was deeper than his own (and such was the reason for his kingship, for it was believed among the Ceredi that the king and his blood spoke most directly with their deity) and the need of privacy was well respected. Outside the door did the knight linger, and that was perfectly acceptable to him.
It was further into the evening than any had expected before the council was reconvened. Part of the difficulty had come from the fact that rounding everyone up had proved more arduous a task than they had initially thought. Then having them all mutually consent after the circus that had threatened to erupt at the end of the prior round of council proved tricky as well. When Iowyr and Drunel stepped into the room, Zanil and Arric were seated at the table already. Brayden and Mercurius were, for the moment, absent. Some of the decadence of apparel had been stripped--crowns, the fine embroidered outer robes, for first impressions had been made and they were moving to the point of true work to be done. It was the first time in many years but the argentine hair of the advisor was drawn away from his neck and into a high ponytail, spilling past his shoulders and seemingly accentuating the ears that had been so clearly torn.
“And does His Majesty Rosenlied intend to join us?”
“He asked for an interim moment to speak with Brayden before entering. I supposed a few moments was nothing to scoff at so long as it resulted in him being potentially more level headed.”
“That would be a benefit to us all, I do believe,” spoke the knight as he took his seat where he had been in the morning’s council. Iowyr made no verbal response as he joined them, his brows low. “I would hope he would have had more than ample time to regather his thoughts in a means that he felt beneficial to the goals of this council, but it seems I may have been wrong.”
“I would rather wait a few additional moments than risk him losing his temper. Is that something upon which we can by and large mutually agree?” Fair brows were still in a relaxed state, in contrast to the elven king’s. “I would hope so--”
“I merely do not want to waste my time waiting for him further…”
“Then do not.”
Up did heads lift as the doors open and it was the king himself who spoke those words. Brayden trailed a few steps behind him as the two entered the room with a steady pace. Mercurius took his seat while Brayden remained in the room with the knights, standing with the pride that being a Baidenese knight did entail. What he spoke of with Brayden was a mystery for another time, and none were quite in the humor to even jokingly ask.
“King Lander,” as he looked to his right, to where the blonde king of Vaira was seated. “I believe it is traditionally the role of the mediator to summarise where council stands.”
The mouth of the king hung slightly agape as Mercurius spoke so, though he did not comment about it. He would potentially inquire to that later, but in the current time, the duty of the mediator was as had been stated.
“Currently,” Arric began, summoning within him the familiar cadence to his voice used at council, “we are at an empasse as I have proposed more open communication between the Ceredi and the people of Liev by including Iowyr or his designated representative to attend councils with the kings of Liev. This is the point at which we opted for a recess as tensions began to make council unmanageable. The King of Baiden protested the presence of King Iowyr at councils as well as the appointment of dignitaries to serve as points of contact between Baiden and the Ceredi to improve relations.
“As far as the point that have been decided…” and so the king did recount what had been decided upon as far as the exchange of the prisoners and the opening of trade routes. Those were the things that had not been contested. But this, truthfully, was the turning point of peace. Especially any sort of long-term peace. Communication was essential, and if Mercurius was able to understand that, there may well be a chance. A solid one, at a long term peace.
“I will still not see the elves involved at councils of the kings of men. However,” as the hands motioned forward towards the elves who sat opposite him, “I am willing to conceded to emissaries.”
“As good as emissaries are and as glad as I am that there will be representation of my people among your government,” contested Iowyr, “I am only concerned that if it does not reach beyond Baiden, it may not harbor weight.”
“Are you saying that I and my country cannot be trusted to adhere to our own governing?”
Gently was the hand raised, a shake of the head. Iowyr knew he could not combat Mercurius head on, for such was a recipe for disaster. It was much like running headlong into a wall that hardened when it was struck--it would result in more injury than good. “Do not misunderstand that I do not trust you, King Rosenlied. Baiden is an outstanding country and well governed by a strong family. I have great respect for what the Rosenlieds have done, do not discredit that. However, the addition of parties not directly involved with the communications between the Ceredi and the people of Baiden is essential for many reasons. Much as we have Arric serving as a mediator and, by and by, he should side with you. Yet he does not, and offers an external opinion.”
“If I may suggest,” interjected Arric in the conversation for the moment, “the use of emissaries that are permitted to attend council with King Rosenlied. Such would offer representation of the Ceredi in the courts as well as communication between the Ceredi and the people of Baiden. A member of the Ceredi people would stand at council as a guest of Mercurius himself. Present, but not having as great a presence.”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. It was as though they were wary of saying anything for fear of overstepping certain bounds--for going too far, or not far enough. And, subconsciously, all were waiting for Mercurius to speak. Thus, it was no surprise when it was he that broke the silence, voice audible among all of them.
“Each kingdom is allowed no more than three representatives attending council. My concern is that one of those places would be occupied by the Ceredi and thus Baiden’s presence would be minimized.”
“This is easily rectified,” spoke Zanil as he turned his head to look at the king. No tension. No anger. Frankly, he was quite proud of the even cadence of his voice. It was not aggressive. It was not an argument. It was simply a statement, all the things that he had said. And Zanil genuinely felt proud of the change. The responsibility. “The Ceredi representative will not count against the number of Baidense agents that are permitted within the council. They will be a guest of Baiden, but not an agent thereto. I am sure, for the sake of continent-wide peace, the council will agree to this. It is but one additional person and with only minimal pull. I do not think it will be an ordeal.”
There was a moment of silence again, an expectant silence as those around did wait. Simply waited until it was finally Mercurius that spoke: “I see no qualm with this.”
“So our current agreements are as thus,” spoke Zanil, for it was he who would pen this as acting advisor to Baiden. “The exchange of all elven prisoners under Baidenese captive for all Baidenese prisoners under Ceredi captive; repair of the northern trading route within a reasonable time span and access of Baidenese merchants to it upon its full reinstatement; access to all trade routes through Baiden to allow the Ceredi trade with all of Liev; and, lastly, a minimum of one representative of the Ceredi and Baiden each that will meet on a regular basis to discuss the current state of politics between the two nations including the representative of the Ceredi attending the Lievan Councils when they are called unless otherwise decided by the representative of the Ceredi.”
“I suppose now is the time to begin to nail down specifics,” spoke the voice of Drunel from across the table, his eyes steady upon Mercurius. He was nearly offput by how calm the Rosenlied king was being, but for the moment he opted to merely vouch that it was a positive sign. His hand lifted slightly before himself, palm cupped as he motioned slowly. “As for how often the emissaries will meat to discuss. And under what parameters…”
The council continued well into the evening and out of respect of customs, none took a meal while at the table. Once all the details were decided, once all things were done and they did call council to end--until the next day, when the final official decree of peace would be signed--the primary first thought was upon food. The Baidenese were served within their corridors in their own separate rooms. But it was Arric who appeared at Mercurius’s door, carrying what had been given to him as far as rations for dinner were concerned.
“I surprised you aren’t dining with Zanil, “spoke the younger king as he stepped into the room. An unoccupied seat became his as he looked around the rather simple decor. Elves were not elaborate, there were few trinkets and fewer prints; it seemed in the elven aesthete, much focus was placed upon the appearance of the person over the appearance of the nonhuman, the decorations.
“He asked to be left alone for the evening,” the Baidense man elaborated, before he gave a weary sigh. “It seemes we will have peace again. Even a few months of war has felt--heavy. Like an eternity, when life has been nothing but peace.”
The darker-skinned hand was upon the table and for a moment the eyes of a fairer blue merely lingered upon them. Not a word was said and yet there was no tension to the silence: the silence simply was. A soft, appreciatd lack of sound.
But Arric came to lightly place his hand over Mercurius’s and their eyes met. And finally the younger king gave a smile.
“We should be thankful that peace was so easily come by. That the elves would have council. That this war coste only as many lives as it did, and not more. Silas truly did watch over you and smile upon you, Mercurius. I am sure he would be proud.”
And all the Baidenese man managed was a small exhale, head hung slightly. “I would hope so.”
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The Vairan king was to be escorted to the throne room when the Rosenlied nobility were ready to see them. And when that was could genuinely be anyone’s guess. Part of the man was irritated profusely that he was not told immediately of the king’s arrival until it was relayed to him that Abigail was not, either. If it was not for the fact that servants gossiped, potentially he would remain still in the dark about it. There had to be a reason for it. At least, such was what the blonde told himself as he spoke with one of the knights to request audience with Mercurius. This could work in Abigail’s favor, after all. She was quite eager to be rid of the Vairan king based on her speech and mannerisms. She was indeed very weary of having been obligated to oversee such a high number of unexpected guests during her husband’s absence.
But Arric was none too pleased with the Baidenese king at the moment, and validly so. His brows were creased low over his eyes as he paced about the guest room. Zanil was gone. Mercurius was gone. All things had come to weigh upon the woman who months ago was just another miscellaneous noble in an Oranian court, and at that, a widow. To expect her to adapt without flaw or incident was indeed in err, and he knew that. But the kingdom would not look upon it as so. Into a chair did he find himself lowering his body in a weary way, for how much longer he was able to pace was truthfully up to debate. Frankly, he did not wish to be without energy when he went before the Baidenese king. Squaring against Mercurius was indeed never an expressly easy task. He was an exceptionally intimidating presence--but he could simply not allow that which Mercurius spoke of to transpire. For the Vairan king himself had elven blood within his veins and though his bloodline haled from the south, it was indeed elven blood still. Genocide and exile of a whole people was never a solution that should be turned to, as far as Arric was concerned.
And if Baiden should turn to it, the internal strife would result in another war. Though whether even the sum of the other countries could rise to face Baiden was debatable, for their treaties dictated that though they were separate countries, they functioned much like a singular one. Those outside of Baiden usually had a much smaller military forces if they indeed had formal militaria at all. It was only since Arric took the crown that Vaira saw fit to began to mount a force, and it was by no means comparable to that which Baiden had in either number or skill. The former had been gradually chipped away at by the repeated battles in the north for all knew that war was not without the toll of death, and yet still they would be a force to be reckoned with.
The council of kings would have to indeed meet once the war had come to an end to discuss the military across the continent once more. A monopoly upon military forces could be dangerous--especially when talk of genocide came around.
He had spoken with Davin before he had departed to Baiden, though the conversation was brief. The Ludanese healer had quite vehemently sworn that he would tell none other than His Majesty the King and his closest counsel of confidants. The fewer that knew of the king’s threats to the elves, the better for there was indeed a great number of elves in Liev residing outside of Baiden. These elves were the reason that the Vairan king had reacted as suddenly as he did. Primarily, he was known for being reasonably collected and logical. Gallivanting about on whims was not the way of Arric. And as much as there was a deep ache in his chest for Mercurius’s presence, so, too, was there a bitter taste in his throat knowing that this same man that he spoke candidly with and this same man that was one of few outside of his innermost circle to allow him to behave, if only ephemerally, as something other than a king. Mercurius saw him as a person as well as a ruler, and that took a heavy weight from the shoulders of the man who had been but a child when he was crowned.
Sometimes, he remembered that the story was very similar for Mercurius. They had not been far apart in age when they were crowned, though the Baidenese king did possess greater tenure given that his age was greater than that of the Vairan king. But they had been very differently raised, taught how to rule differently, and this was reflected now more than ever.
For the first time since the wedding, Arric would lay eyes upon Mercurius and for a moment he felt suddenly nauseous at the thought. Of course he had known about the wedding. And like some foolish child he had wept about it in his own throne room as though there had been so much as a fleeting fraction of a chance that something, anything could have worked out between the two kings. To call the dream baseless was not even correct. There was nothing within it that was even remotely feasible and yet perhaps he was foolish enough to let the feelings linger. But they were not important. They were not even second or third priority. There was nothing to them and they had to simply be cast aside, and this thought had to remain in the forefront as he raked his nails through his blonde hair. Facing Mercurius felt almost as though he were going before something that could single-handedly tear him down and kill him. But had not the Baidenese king himself urged him to stand tall, square his shoulders and his jaw, and never fidget? He had found himself fidgeting. He could not do this before Mercurius. He would not do this before Mercurius.
When one of the knights came to his door nearly two hours after the initial request had been made to the king and queen of Baiden, the nerve was all but gone from the younger ruler. But to decline the audience would be an audacious affront to the king as a person and to Baiden as a whole, so he stilled his fidgeting and regathered himself to rise to the escort provided him. His men were, by and large, useless now. They were treated as honored guests and their king did dine with them in an exclusive dining hall, but they were not knights. Vaira did not have knights. A few in Oran and Meh’rok had and used the title still, but by and large for one to be a knight, they were Baidenese. This country produced the blood of knights; it trained them and honed their skill in a way no other country did. Steel and knights. Those were the pride and joy of the northern country. They were hailed as a militiary force for a valid reason--his own guards and those that were training to be Vairan knights paled in comparison to those of Baidenese birth.
Most would be intimidated by the statue of Silas that loomed in the back of the room and yet Arric found that the nerves within him churned primarily due to who was seated at his feet. In the throne of the king was Mercurius, garbed in finery that he was sure had not come from the battlefield by any means though there were accents of armor. And next to him, in the slightly smaller but nigh equally as grand queen’s throne, was Abigail. And she seemed to glow even though the light that came through was but a trickle due to the overcast nature. She was a queen there, radiant and shining, seated next to her king in the throne room where they were joined beneath the eyes of Silas himself. Here they ruled and here they belonged, and the petite king of the southern country felt like an interloper.
He could see in those brown eyes that the king almost wanted to smile at him but that his muscled seemed frozen in place. He was not to smile. There was nothing that they had any right to smile about in this conversation, for it was not one of a war won.
By the Goddesses, the Vairan king wished that this had transpired on better terms. But it had not. Blue eyes turned to the king and queen there, seated upon their throne, and for a moment none was willing to say anything. The sound of the heavy door closing behind him would have made him jump had not the creak of hinges prepared him for it. Jolting like a startled horse was not quite the impression that he had the desire to make.
“King Lander.” It was Abigail who broke the silence and it was frankly no surprise to the men seated in the room. “You traveled from Vaira to speak with King Mercurius and so, here is your opportunity. He has returned for the time being from the battlefield to attend to all business pertaining to the country. Speak, if it so suits you.”
Deep was the breath that filled the lungs of the younger king for a moment as he advanced a few cautious strides forward and bowed at the waist. Such was the custom in Vaira, though he knew well the Baidenese salute was what was prefered within these halls. Once he had risen properly, he spoke again. “Both a delegate of and one of the Four of my Council of Healers have reported threats of genocide against the northern elves of the Silatin Mountains,” stated the king of the south. There was no reason to attempt to dodge around the facts. All within the room were aware of what had been said and the motivation of those serving under D’vinyari to withdraw from battle. Truly, none could fault him. Not even the king who had initially called for genocide in the first place. “This would undoubtedly lead to strife within Liev as it is an overt abuse of force and power. As your ally, I discourage it. As a moral citizen of Liev, I discourage it. As a human, I discourage it. And most of all, as your friend, I encourage you to try and see reason.”
The light in the eyes of the king upon the throne flickered for a moment as they were downcast from the chasms of blue that did beseech him to reconsider his stance. An ultimatum. An absolute ultimatum was never the best idea for either side, for Mercurius did not desire to be painted as an erroneous king, or as an extremist. As much hope and faith as he did have with Zanil being the one to pen history, he was not one to simply bend a knee to that hope. It may well have been in vain, for if Zanil did not survive…
Such a thought made him swallow harder than normal and cast his gaze downward. If it was not Zanil who penned the history books, how could he know how he would be remembered and portrayed? The notion made him nervous for just a moment yet it scarce served to crack his exterior. There was not a care to be had based on his physical reaction alone… or the lack thereof.
“It is not that I do not see reason. I know well why the path that I have chosen may be remembered as wrong or extreme. But do you not agree that at times, extreme measures must be taken? Had they--the Silatin Mountain Elves--not felt the need to take extreme measures, this war would never have broken forth.”
“Davin told me well that which he heard from the elven king, King Rosenlied.” King Rosenlied. In this instance, Mercurius was not Mercurius. They addressed one another by titles, as kings.
If only because it kept it as impersonal as possible.
“Those factions that attacked us were not his men. They were rebels, those that had splintered off and stood to oppose the society as his father ran it. King Iowyr does not want that for his people and he truthfully seeks only peace. Yet you threaten his people? With exile? With murder? I fail to see where your totalitarian mindset holds any weight other than in your own mind.”
“Who is to say another faction will not splinter off as that headed by Iolas has--”
“And who is to say another one will?”
He did not shout. His voice was not stern. No, his voice was merely an even cadence as his eyes remained trained forward, gazing at those that met his and knowing well Abigail’s were upon him as well. Indeed he did stand squared and tall as he could be, though his statue had him squarely in the lesser when compared to the Baidenese king. The elven blood in him only added as much. While the elves of the Northlands were tall, those from the south--those that had come to filter through much of southern Liev--were not so great in stature. The Lander family was also fairly petit in and of themselves. Compared to the grandeur that was Rosenlied blood, it was no surprise that Arric often felt dwarfed by comparison, as though he stood at the foot of a mountain. And truthfully, this moment was by no means an exception. But he would not let the shadows of two mountains seated before him eclipse him, even though one of them did agree with his motivation, with his cause. He remained drawn up to his full height as his eyes focused forward at Mercurius with fire shining in those skylit eyes.
“You assume the worst of them. They are neither capable of more or less than human are. What if there was an uprising within Liev? Not even within Baiden. It could be with Meh’rok, or Ludan. And what if the elves of the Black Forest should take offense that it was elves you drove out? To say we know little of the Silatin Mountain Elves is true but we must keep in mind we know even less of the Elves of the Black Forest. We know not their numbers, nor their military. Of them, we know nothing. And you would wage war against elves as a whole? I cannot condone this behavior. I will not condone this behavior. Should you continue down this path, Mercurius, you risk--you risk loss of alliance among Liev. You risk another civil war in retaliation to what you have done.”
“With what military forces?”
Abigail’s own fingers curled against the arm of the throne in which she was seated, scratching against the finished texture as a sign of irritation. She grit her teeth for the moment, saying nothing for she knew what Mercurius stated was true. This was the first instance that those pupils set in light sapphire had widened as they peered forth at him and Abigail saw it, too. The realization that the words that came from the king were indeed right. There was not a military force in all of Baiden that could stand up to the one that was present in Baiden. So he grit his teeth and clenched his own fists, eyes cutting towards Abigail before his gaze was again upon Baiden’s head ruler.
“Do not speak as a manman any further, King Rosenlied. Would you turn your own blade and your own people against your allies? Against the people of Liev? It is one thing to engage in the dissonance of otherhood with the elven kind but with your allies? So many of Liev have elven blood--”
“You speak as though such knowledge should impact my judgement, King Lander. You know how I feel of those of elven blood. I do not desire nearness to them.”
“You speak so sourly of the elves yet you know not even what your advisor is! For too long has he lived to be a simple human. How do you delude yourself in his presence, King Rosenlied? Yet you scoff openly at my keeping company with a half-blooded elf. Do not think I was blind to it. In fact, you protested the aid of a half-elven healer when you were ill within the confines of my country--the same half-elven healer who came forth to demand that she and her healers be permitted to offer aid.” This was the first instance where the volume of his voice had begun to climb upward, though not to a shout. Merely a higher volume with his brows knit firmly low over his blue eyes. “You wronged her and yet she still pled your case and lead a high number of volunteer healers. One of which found his way into your good graces to the point you asked him to your counsel and this is how you repay us. By threatening genocide.”
“I never asked for your aid so to hold it over my head is scarcely reasonable. You are letting your emotions get the best of you.”
Forward did the younger king stride, his feet soon enough resting at the base of the two stairs that lead forthward, upward to where the thrones were set up. His chin was lifted now to look at the two of them as his lips were pursed into a thin line. While he would be endlessly thankful for some support from Abigail, indeed it served to seem that he would have none. Or all these things he had to say to the King of Baiden were merely rehashing of exactly what she had already said. Either was a feasible option. So the younger king took a deep inhale before he spoke again. “And I cannot be emotional at the talk of annihilation and exile of an entire race of people that have lived here for four-hundred years? Perhaps the Gods and Goddesses did not place them upon Liev as they did the other residents, but they are here. Many of them born here. And the vast majority of them completely innocent to anything you could pin upon them. So I will get emotion over the elven people. Over my people, for many Varians have elf family. Including me.”
This time, it was Mercurius’s eyes which widened. Any hope within Arric that he would be able to see past the fact there was elven blood within him crumbled before him as a window stricken by stone. Upon the king’s face was an expression that could be allocated as nothing other than disgust and perhaps even betrayal.
His mother, the Vairan queen, the husband to the departed king, lived still. But it was secret that she was half-elf, so it was best she linger in the shadows. By and large the ruling class of Liev were populated by long lines of humans and Vaira was no exception. Arric felt sick. Absolutely, abhorrently ill as he was looked at like some beast sniveling for scraps.
“And you hid this from me?”
“My mother was half-elf. She herself traveled from the south and my father loved her. She--”
“You deceived me--”
“If only for the ramifications it would cause! Vaira cares not if there is elf blood upon the throne but I am sure Baiden would have declared war upon us that instant if you were king!”
“Leave.”
“Mercurius--”
“Leave my sight and leave Baiden. Take will you all your damned healers. I should expect nothing but empathy for the elves from one with their blood.”
“Stop.”
She did not yell. In fact, her voice hardly rose from its normal cadence as she cut her eyes between the two of them. The woman was in no humor for a shouting match. “If I must intervene with my own two hands, this genocide will not transpire, Mercurius. King Lander, take your leave. We will reconvene after my husband has found his graces once more.”
Iowyr wept.
Drunel stood to the side of the throne in which his king was now seated as the man splayed his fingers across his face. Within him was the urge to reach forth and place a hand upon that shoulder bared by untied sleeping robes that slid from the skin but he was hesitant, knowing now that respect had to be paid duly.
“I desire nothing but peace and still he would have nothing but war and death. Where are we to go? The north is not our home. This is. If… if Father were here, perhaps…”
“Perhaps we truthfully would fight until our deaths, Your Graceful Majesty. We must simply have faith that He is watching us and that He will protect us from those that would kill us all. We can only pray and ask his guidance.”
“I am afraid he will not hear me. Not after what I have done.”
“Then I will pray for both of us.”
To his knees did the elven knight captain lower himself, head bowed forth as he rest it upon the knee of the king. And he, too, silently wept, for in this moment both knight and king felt all but forsaken by all things.
He had seen bloodshed over the racism between man and elf for most of his life. His fingers lingered over the gnarled scar upon his face that was caused by it, caused by a man who would not look upon him with any inkling of love or respect. No, Iolas was merely Elwynn’s mistake, as far as the deceased elven king was concerned. But he was poised now upon a stolen Baidenese warhorse and overlooking the camp that was helmed by Zanil. The advisor that had worked in close conjunction with Mercurius since childhood and for a moment, there was envy within him. There was jealousy that never in all his days had he had one that was so near to him--
Save one, whom he had alienated.
One who was now king.
Deep was the sigh that came from him as he turned his eyes away and cast them downward with his brows creased. It impacted him far more than he would have imagined. There was no going back to the Ceredi as there had not been that option presented to him before hand so it was not logical that the notion that his half brother was now king made his heart clench. Not logical beyond the fact that now both that shared his blood through his mother were crowned and he was poised at the cusp of what was a losing battle.
Alduin had been the nearest he had to Zanil. And yet none knew of the location of that elven advisor, for he had departed from the company of the half-blooded leader of the rebellion some time ago. Within Iolas’s chest did he fear the worst had happened but there was not enough manpower in all the mountains to drum up a search party that would be worth anything. Wandering aimlessly in the woods would do no one any sort of benefit.
His own numbers were few. They had been few to start with and like a chisel against stone so had the Baidenese knights chipped it further until there was little to nothing left to scrape and dig at. He was walking his men through a losing battle and of that he was completely aware; he had first begun this knowing it would be folly and that he would not win. He did not into. Alduin saw within him when his pride threatened to overtake him and that was when he lost the nearest thing he had to true support. His own pride prevented him from laying aside his bravado and confessin he was in err by thinking he could gain anything of this. Iolas had not begun this to gain anything, but to change things. To alter the way that they were. This weighed upon him for likely it knew it would cost his life.
But had he not changed things? At the end of the day, this war had brought about great change indeed. In that, he could rest assured that he had achieved his goal. For the first time since the ending of the Grand War had man and elf sat in a fairly civil council to discuss the country as it was. And though the final decision had not lead to peace, the mere fact that the discussion had transpired signaled change. That Mercurius was willing to even speak at an elven leader across the Circle of the Gods. Things had changed, and for the better. There was at least some sort of communication even if it had incurred threats of genocide.
Mercurius had been pulled from the battlefield for that, and with good reason. That much Iolas was aware of as such was why Zanil had stepped down from his grey stone tower to mingle among those that were usually beneath him. He knew not the truth of the matter or the origins of the seemingly ageless advisor (for what he had heard from tales and rumors was that Zanil was elder to any elf upon the continent currently) but he knew that for him to dirty his hands, things were major. Things had indeed changed from where they were, and he had been the one that had set such things in motion.
What remained still of his men slumbered through various headquarters. Their numbers were few to begin with and fewer were they now, outcasts and the offshoots that had wanted to make a difference. Some were dead now, in fact, many. And he had known a majority of them by name. That was the luxury of those that were tight knit among him. Those that radiated outward were strangers that marched under his impromptu banner that scarce was even flown. Tattered and red, tied to what was little more than a glorified stick and hoisted high. The Red Dawn, they called it, and beneath it had they once rallied.
The fire at the camp that was below the hill he poised his mount atop flickered in low light, the figure of someone walking about it and gesticulating wildly as he told some tale. It could have been truth. It could have been fiction. In the long run, campfire stories held no relevance in the scheme of things. They were alive and even in these moments did the humans manage to find something to speak of, to rejoice over. Something in which to find comfort.
There were half elves in the world that made him envious. They lived their lives as though there was nothing abnormal about them for, where they were, nothing was abnormal. As for him, Baidenese blood was in his veins mixing with that of the royal Ceredi blood. This was seen as vile; this made him repulsive. The fact it was a cross of two noble lines could well have been a step forward towards peace, but as far as the Baidenese and the Ceredi were concerned, that was not the case. He was a beast. And so he turned to lash out like one.
Such had been how he had lost the nearest thing to family he had known. Iowyr had been distanced from him but perhaps that had resulted in being easier for the both of them. Now Iowyr would rule and Iolas was beyond redemption, he knew that. He had bent the knee to the fact that he would be beyond redemption once all of this had come to a head. The Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn would dissolve without a leader as radical as he and maybe, just maybe, those that lived still could return to their life and claim they did not agree with the concepts, that it was wrong. Somehow. The thought that they may all be executed made him queasy and yet he could not see that of the one man who had shown him kindness. (This was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, in a way, seeing as Alduin and others had shown him kindness. But as far as family? It had been the once Prince now King who had been all he truly had. His mother was but a ghost under the former king of the elves and she would not have stood to defend her mistake either way.
None had come out with him on this particular day. This excursion he had made singularly and without informing those he was with. It was easier if they did not know.
His remaining within this triage (if one could even refer to it as such, for his side was so vastly outnumbered on both opposing fronts) would only cause more death and bloodshed. The man could care less about the fact that Baidenese blood was spilt, though in these moments of recollection he was indeed aware that they were people just as the elves were. While he followed the same god as the Ceredi, there was no idea of manifest destiny, no concept that they’d a right to the land of the Baidenese. Perhaps that was why he had not made an attempt to push any further.
It was time to lay down his arms, and he knew it. To remove a key factor such as himself from the playing field would perhaps open up the route to a clearer victory for Baiden. There was no use even toying with the notion that the elves had a chance at emerging over the Baidenese. They were more tightly trained, more skilled in that which they adhered to, more well equipped and with better weapons than the elves to the north. It was much was turning a trained war hound upon a irritated cat. It was not that the hound would come away without so much an an incision upon him, but the hound would survive and the cat would not. Herein were the Ceredi the cats at the feet of a towering Silatin mastif. For the cat, it was easiest at that point to acquiesce to the demands of the hound. And so he would.
Little resistance was made as he dismounted and walked towards the camp once he was but a short walk away. He carried with him no outward sign of surrender but when weapons were drawn upon him his remained within its sheath, no effort made to even go for it. Within his eyes was a resignation that Zanil knew the moment he looked upon it.
“Many have died for you, Iolas. There is truly no repentance for death.”
His hands were lashed behind his back with cord that was likely once used to twine together cording or barrels for it was harsh upon his skin, but there was nothing left in him to fight back. Whether Alduin would look upon him with a frown or pride for the fact he could kneel when he was wrong was not something he would ever know. And of Iowyr. How would he feel of the fact that Iolas came to bend a knee to Zanil and turned himself over? It was all he could do to contribute to peace, at this point. And peace was what his end goal was--peace, and a better life for the elves. In hopes of perhaps, just maybe, there may once be a life for people like him.
“I know there is no repentance and I do not seek it. I merely seek an end to the senselessness that this is. I am sure upon that we can agree.”
“You are conceited if you are under the impression that your death alone will bring peace. This is more than you. It has spiraled to something much larger, something far more grand--and yet you think your death will be more than a ripple in the ocean. Why is that?”
“I--”
“The removal of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Dawn is ineffective at this point. War exists between humans and elves regardless of whether you are in it or not.”
“If Mercurius kills me, he wins.”
Those eyes of pitch widened slightly as they heard those words, though his brows tightened slightly as he processed them. There was Rosenlied blood within this half-elf yet and both were quite aware of that. These words seemed to almost serve as a reminder to it. Those of Rosenlied blood were inclined to wanting to be victorious thus the statement of the leader of the rebellion was not in err: if Mercurius kills me, he wins. It was, after all, Iolas who had begun this entire ordeal. Such a victory would elevate the humans further. But did the humans need further elevation? Deep was the frown that creased the ageless face of the advisor as he looked upon the leader who had handed himself over. If Mercurius kills me, he wins. Mercurius did not need another win. There had not been a single battle that one could rightfully say surmounted in the victory of the elves and so it may well be folly to bring forth Iolas to Mercurius at this point. So the advisor merely jerked his head. “I have no intention of taking you to Mercurius. He is my king and to he and his family am I ever loyal and yet I know that another victory will only bloat his judgement further. He had threatened genocide because of you, Prince Iolas--”
“Damned be that title,” as the half-elf spat at the feet of the advisor and anger colored a prior somber expression, “for I have no claim to any throne as my brothers do. I am no Prince. I believe I have said as much before.”
“You are the cause of this war but your death may only make it worse at this point,” interjected the advisor as he stepped forth, a hand laid flat as he motioned quite aggressively forward. “I have no right to sentence you. I am no judge nor am I a king. But I can tell you this much: your death at this point is not what we need. But your rebellion may disband with you not available to them and so, Iolas, I proclaim you as a prisoner of war. I will take you before the king when I deem fit.”
“Death is too kind a punishment for what I have done--”
“Were it my decision you would live for centuries to see the ramification of this war that you hath wrought upon the world, Iolas. But the gods have a plan and so I place my faith in them as it goes now: I follow them as I make these decisions. You are of no use to us when you are dead.”
“And it is He who told me to yield myself to you. What of when our gods conflict?”
Around the twine did the fingers of the advisor come to tighten, gripping fast as he pushed the half-elf forward. “We are upon the soil of my gods and I know well their song and their voice. My gods trump yours in this instance. Not only because this is their land but because I am the one who holds the ropes and so I am he who has final say.”
A smirk illuminated the face of the advisor as he spoke and that was wherein the one of Ceredi blood knew well that he was poised upon the losing side. There was no arguing with the fact he was now disarmed and bound. The victory was on the side of the humans once more, though Zanil was no human but an agent thereto. Down did his head drop as he made a muffled noise of acquiescence before two of the knights did lead him away.
But troubled brewed within eyes of pitch. What was he to do with Iolas now? How would this conflict eventually come to an ultimate end? He could not rightly place it together and he heard naught from as far as the gods were concerned. Asking them yielded only slight silence much to his irritation. It was known not to Iolas but only to Thrandir who exactly Zanil was and so to not hear a response from the gods was irritating, but not troubling. Often he was told to solve his own problems because he was able, because he was strong enough, but damned if he did not like the option of deferring to a different power every once in awhile. But that option was blank. It was silent, and it made him furrow his brows as he ran a hand through his hair. She may well have known what to do. She may have been able to offer him some sort of advice. But none knew where she was. Not even the one that was a part of her.
“And what am I to do with him?” mused the advisor under his breath as his gaze turned to look at where Iolas was bound fast and kept under close guard. Everything upon him that could be used as a weapon had been shucked thereto, taken from him--much of it was the superior Baidenese craft. It had likely been taken from the corpses of their soldiers, so it was only right that it returned gain to the hands of the Baidenese. Into the supplies did those weapons go and so he was left with naught. It was almost pathetic in a way, seeing him bound, unarmed. Was this really the man that roused a rebellion? “Have I no help in all this world?”
Rare were the moments that the advisor was cognitively aware of the otherness that he possessed, that he was not one of the humans that he served. One would think that all it would take was a glimpse in the mirror to see as much. His hair was argentine. His once pointed ears were torn and jagged. Why he had never bothered to change shape and alleviate suspicion was an inquiry upon him made by Silas himself once or twice in the rare moments they communed. But had Zanil not brought enough bad into the world? Why add to it the notion of being a liar?
It was not a falsity when Zanil stated that he did not lie. He had his own ways of spinning the truth in an angle but never did he openly lie, merely leaving things vague and amorphous, leaving them open to questioning. But he did not lie.
While Zanil did fret, Iolas came to sleep. His indecision of his next move had kept him awake many restless nights looking upon those that he surrounded himself with, those that were considered his inner circle in a way. And now for the first time all things were out of his hands and he was able to find some rest. Bound still, with hands in his lap, wearing the clothes he had ridden forth in. But sleep blessedly came to him under the vigilant eyes of Baidenese knights. Undeniably, it was the best sleep that he had had in months.
Brayden certainly had not had a proper bath since he went to war. That was inevitable, for few and far between were the rivers and luxuries like soap and towels were not ones brought along when they departed for the border. Cleanliness came in rare spurts when they were near open and running water, able to use clothes to wipe dirt from their faces. That had not been for a good week and so the grit and grime had built up over Brayden’s face. It seemed almost as though elves were harder to get dirty for he had yet to see one with so much as dirt under their nails despite living in these halls. Or maybe they had a more rigid societal structure--he had no idea if he lay eyes upon the aristocracy or the common people. It was very possible that those in lower walks of life were not so inclined to the cleanliness that was put forth by those that he currently walked among. While there was curiosity there, there was a lack of genuine intent to find out. There was reasonable doubt that he would even have the opportunity to go exploring the elven underground, anyway.
“You cannot be unattended,” stated Drunel as Brayden was was lead through and elaborately decorated hall towards what he assumed was likely a guest room for royalty--judging by the dust that had accumulated upon the decorum. It was clear that it was not often that the elves had guests. From what Brayden could deduce, while humans tended to have smatterings of nobility and minor nobles, this did not appear to be the case for the elves.
Or maybe it had been once and was no longer, due to dwindling population. He was inclined to believe that their numbers were very low, given what he saw with his own eyes and what the folk of Vitnir Hall had described to him. As for what their numbers had been like before, he had little basis for comparison--it had been some time since they followed accordance with the treaty and reported their estimated population. A plague could well have seized them during that interim and reduced their numbers… or, just as likely, they guised themselves to make their numbers look more diminutive than they were, in all truth. There was no way to be able to discern as much.
“You may undress behind the curtain, if need be.”
The bathing room had an in-ground tub as opposed to the ones that were more common in Baiden, the bowl-shaped claw-footed tubs. Those that were less well off still frequented the river for there was little space in their homes and great effort came along with hauling water and heating it if a family was not lucky enough to have a well. If there was not a well upon their land, Brayden was quite sure they would not have the tub that the only infrequently used. Silvya preferred bathing in the rivers, especially once she found out she was pregnant. Something about it being more natural.
“I’ve been traveling for months with a band of men,” as the human captain’s hands reached behind his back to seize the fabric of the woven tunic that was upon his frame, “and you act as though I have the reserved nature of some court maid.”
A fine effort was made by the captain of the elves to steel his expression but for a moment it cracked into a look of amusement. Just as readily, though, he cut his eyes away and cleared his throat with a low sound as thought to disguise his reaction.
The unkempt clothes, the same ones he had been wearing for some time as a change of clothing was a luxury when on the battlefield for months, were cast off with ease. Each movement seemed fluid and perhaps even calculated, with languid movements that showed the grace that was trained into him. But it was not the same grace as the elves. There was a strength and power to it, throughout it. It was a different grace then the elves and one that Drunel let his eyes linger on for a moment. In honesty, this was the nearest he had been to a human in some long time and it let his mind assess the differences between man and elf in this singular moment, seeing the way those muscles pulled beneath the tanned and scarred skin. But out of respect his eyes were cast away when the pants were slipped over the musculature below the waist. It was removed, offcast. His face only turned forth when there was the sound of water as the man submerged himself. There was a mutual respect for the notion of common decency, after all. It was often assumed the elves were more stringent about the visualization of the physical body than the humans were, in their slightly more liberated mindsets. Slightly therein, being the key word. Baiden was one of the more reserved cultures, but amongst men on the battlefield maintaining such things was completely asinine. And in all honesty, the knight found himself quite content to bathe for the first time in so long.
Next to the tub was placed a small tray on arms level with the lip of the white marble, but he would inspect that further in a moment. His first attention as submerging himself completely within the heated waters. For about a second he was able to pretend he was being treated as a guest in lieu of a prisoner as he was within the waters with his eyes closed. They had even gone so far as to heat the water for him! This truthfully was miles away from bathing in cold rivers by the light of the stars. In a way, that had it’s own charm. But a hot bath did wonders from the muscles.
Once cleaned by the aid of the elven soaps that were placed on the tray next to him, he lifted himself from the bath and took the towel that was left by the side for him, drying first his hair then the rest of his body. Drunel had remained for the sake of observation as he was assigned, but little conversation had happened.
The clothes given to Brayden were not his own, and why for any reason should he have expected them to be? What he was garbed in was not fine enough to meet the king of the elves. What was offered to him were fine fabrics of elven make, the shirt wrapping closed in the front and resting just above his knee and trimmed in gold, the pants a solid brown and even boots made of fine leather. Such fine things were scarce ever offered him for while he was attending councils with Mercurius. By and large, he was a knight. He was expected to appear in armor.
Short hair was still slightly damp as he finished dressing and looked across at Drunel. Passive had been the elf’s eyes upon him for the moment until it seemed he was prepared to leave after running a silver comb through his hair again. “I would be inclined to say my brethren still in their cell did not get such treatment,” voice the knight as he came to stand alongside the elven captain. By nature it was that elves were taller than humans, so it was no surprise to him that there was a disparity that lay between the two of them. The plains elves were shorter than the Ceredi, for he had noticed that while tall for a human or plains elf, he was relatively on the short side compared to these elves. Drunel could be no less than six and a half feet tall, and that was a conservative estimate.
That was also likely why the clothing was a bit long and loose upon him. He had a feeling the shirt’s intentions were to meet mid-thigh, at best. On someone not quite so tall as an average elf, this was not the case.
“So I suppose that I must go before your king looking like this and after I will be thrown back into my clothes and treated again as a prisoner.” It was a reasonable assumption. He was, after all, being treated fairly well as far as prisoners go. He was bathed and clothed. A low gurgle of his stomach was the only inclination there was another need not being met.
“That will be at His Graceful Majesty Ionwyr’s behest,” spoke the captain as they moved through the halls. With the gleaming of light from the plants above (at least, he assumed them to be plants) and the open nature of the hall, it was indeed hard to forget that they were not in a normal building. Such was designated only by the lack of windows that allowed him to see outside and to feel the true sun. How often, he wondered, did those that dwelt within these halls step outside and see the sun? How did they live? The culture was so vastly different than what he was used to, living among the humans. But this did not seem the time to ask. He was not sure if there would ever be a time to ask, though he found it irritating that he may carry these questions forever about the peculiarities of these dwarf-made halls. At least, if the legends are true.
“And why am I to be brought before the king when Gideon and Emirain are left in their cells?” Naturally, this was on the assumptive side. But it was an inquiry that needed to be made.
“Your Gideon and Emirain have appeared before His Graceful Majesty already,” as he lifted his head as the brunette elf did give the explanation, “when they first arrived. They claimed to be messengers at the gate, carried talk of peace. We knew they were liars from the start. His Graceful Majesty had spoken already with your king… so what their true motivation is, I could not discern and they could not tell us. They are spies, and we know it. But they are of value for…” but there was silence that his voice trailed into, nothing but quiet and that made Brayden raise his voice in inquiry.
“For…?”
“It is no business of yours and likely I have said too much already,” as he cut himself quite short. For the rest of their walk, there was naught but silence.
The throne room lay behind doors inlaid with ornate glasswork. It was not necessarily stained for there was no color, but veins of metal that wove into the glass and branched off. The work was beautiful--but so was most elven work, he had noticed. There were great craftsmen in the north and it seemed a shame that there was no route of trade, not a single connection to be had between them. And as those doors opened, he frowned.
Grandeur was to be had indeed for there were woven tapestries in lieu of paintings of prior rulers upon the wall. He supposed most elves had come during the Grand War and there had not been enough lifetimes to fill a gallery like those that hung in the halls of Castle Rosenlied. But the tapestries showed some wear upon close inspection, some loose threads. They were likely heirlooms that had come from the north still, for in them the ground was white and not green. The centered one, the one that hung behind the seated king of elven kind, was a white and blue backdrop emblazoned with the visage of a unicorn on its hind legs. Their emblem, he could only assume. Or perhaps once it had been.
“You are Captain of the Baidenese Military, correct?” There was a venom, a viperous bite that came to the words and it caused the frown to deepen. To his full height did he hold himself, straight and rigid as though he were in armor still. There was no quarter to be had for not representing himself as best he was able before foreign dignitaries, be they friend or foe. “Captain Brayden, son of Clarent, Assistant Head Knight?”
“That is what I am called.”
The thrones on either side of him were empty. With the prince now crowned king so it was that there was no place for the former queen at the councils anymore. Ellwynn would be a specter in the halls until her death as was her fate as the wife of the prior king. There were certainly worse fates to befall her, but there was almost guilt in her son’s eyes when they had spoken of it. She had more experience in courtly manners than he did, after all. But so all things did come to fall to him, and so he accepted them as such.
“I am under the impression that the existance of an Assistant Head Knight designates the existence of a Head Knight, Brayden. Where is he?”
“In all fairness, your highness, this is not information I am currently at liberty to dispose. For the good and safety of the people of Baiden as well as himself, the Head Knight’s identity has been kept a mystery since the title was given to him. I am under orders to keep it so.” The mein of the king could have broken a lesser man. Brayden was not aware of it but it had scarce been that long since he stood, shaken, before Mercurius. Attempting talks of peace. A king had to be hardened, and so had the hardening begun for Iowyr.
“Then call him back from the battlefield! He is in no state to be there!”
Zanil trailed on the heels of the Vairan king as they moved through the halls towards the throne room where Abigail did reside. There had been no warning, no foreword, there had been nothing that had delineated that they would be soon seeing the presence of Arric Lander, King of Vaira, attended by his advisor and only a few armed men. The small army, it seemed, that Vaira was beginning to build up was in fact going well enough that these men at least looked the part. They were taken to the knight’s quarters for their own stay and Zanil had every intent to show Arric to the guest quarters for visiting nobles. That is, until the talk had turned to demanding to know Mercurius’s location.
“And would you ride out there to fetch him yourself, your highness?” came the irked tone of Zanil as he did take a few long strides to stand before the king and block his advance to the throne room. A deep frown was upon his lips as he peered down at the Vairan ruler that had saw to making such a needless scene. “You come a-riding with no calling and present yourself here demanding audience with a king who I am sure you are well aware is not available as he rides to battle with his men. When he is not here, you call for him to be fetched from the front lines, Arric. What troubles you so that you cannot speak to me of it?”
There was a deep frown upon the face of the ruler as he gave a shake of his head. “Linnus told me of what Davin heard when they convened at the Circle of the Gods. I am sure Davin himself told you of what was said. The talk of genocide. Of driving a whole people out. This is no answer and should Mercurius take it, I cannot rightly continue to ally Vaira with Baiden. I am sure Oran and Ludan will likely feel the same--much of the continent will. You cannot, as his advisor, allow him to continue upon this plan, Zanil. Not in any good faith. Not as his advisor.”
“And I will deal with it in my own way. You have no reason to become involved--”
“I damned well have a right to be involved when my people were involved. When it was my healer that heard these things. When I still have healers that are upon the other two fronts of this battle. And when we have a peace treaty among all the countries and one speaks of genocide? He may only have spoken of the Ceredi elves, but how can you feel safe? You are no human.”
“I am no elf and this is no concern of yours.” These words were delivered with a harsh weight that could indeed have crushed someone, but the king remained resolute before him, unwavering as he pointedly looked into those pitch eyes with his own lighter blue ones. There was no happiness to be had within them, no comfort. There seemed to be only storms behind sky blue eyes. “I will deal with Mercurius as his advisor. I do not need to be advised as to my own position, King Lander.”
“Then let it be known I will be remaining here until I can speak to Mercurius,” was the demand laid flat before him with a motion of his hand. “This is my verbal agreement. My contract. My word. My men and I will remain within this castle until I speak with the King of Baiden, Mercurius Rosenlied, and I will not be swayed otherwise.”
More guests. Nearly could the advisor hear the words within his mind from the queen. She was weary of the coming and going of people, and this would be no different. That was partly why Zanil had hoped against hope that it would be a simple enough action to merely send them off and not have to involve her. But Arric had made it clear he would not simply be brushed off. The advisor’s mouth had opened to speak again but it was as though Abigail was summoned by his thoughts of her wellbeing. Before the argentine man was granted the opportunity to speak it was she who did come to interject herself, standing beside the silenced advisor.
“King Lander. We were not expecting you.” And with this statement her eyes cut towards Zanil and he felt his blood chill for a moment. “How can we be of assistance?”
“I will allow Zanil to fill you in on any details he would deem necessary, Queen Rosenlied,” though the first time he spoke those words he did almost feel them burn his tongue. A hard swallow. What right had he to protest? She was beautiful, radiant before him. She looked every part of a Baidenese queen though his heart did ache to think that she was married to Mercurius.
He avoided thinking of what he had or, rather, did not have. It was nothing. It was a dalliance. It was nothing.
“I am here to speak to King Rosenlied. I intend to stay as long as is necessary for such to be a possibility.”
Mercurius could count on a single hand the number of times he had been in this place and it always felt the same--there was a surreal power to it. The legends spoke of once when the Gods themselves had used this place for council and ever since it had been land deemed above the strife of mortals, even those so long-lived as the elves. Here, all ground was neutral. Even those who did not believe in the pantheon worshipped by all of Liev had to admit there was a bizarre energy about the place.
The stone table in the center of the almost too perfectly round clearing--hence the name, the Circle of the Gods--never seemed to crack or age, nor was their moss that grew upon it. This was the same place that Arric had met with Iolas in a bastardized attempt to falsify negotiation with Baiden. There was nothing that he could rightfully have offered them for he was no prince, he had no title, he had nothing but the claim that he was a bastard. And not even a bastard of the king--a bastard of the queen. The fact that he was raised by the elves had little to do with it. He was no representative of theirs and that was quite clear, even if they were not completely sure how the two sects did seem to interact. War had been proclaimed of all elves and so it was enacted.
It was sheepish, the manner in which the messenger had initially come to return to him. Gone was the bravado and at whose hand Mercurius could not discern--but it was gone. They were placed upon a more even playing field. ‘He will meet you in a week’s time at your Circle of the Gods,’ had stated the messenger, ‘and there he will speak with you.’
Likely it was that Mercurius and his humans were nearer in proximity to the Circle and so they were the first that had arrived. It was an hour out from sunrise, at most. The forest was quiet and Mercurius could not recall if this was how it always was or merely because many creatures slept still--or because they avoided the strange feeling of the place entirely. It was indeed hard to tell with such things.
But out of politeness they were not kept waiting long. While the human king had left his horses with an attendant outside of the woods for the thickness of the trees did make horseback travel more difficult than it needed to be. Around him were his knights, including Elfreda, and yet with him had come the healer from Vaira who served as the head healer to those dispatched to his unit. An additional smattering of knights had made the pilgrimage as well, though it had been a long one from their location. But they were not to let their king go it alone. Such would likely result in an increased risk of ambush or death--though legends tell quite boldly that any who spilled blood in the Circle of the Gods did not live to tell the tale of it.
The horses of the elves were bred more thin, more lithe. They were not broad like the warhorses and this only confirmed that when Iolas did ride to him it was on stolen Baidenese beasts. Slowly did they pick their way through the underbrush as though they were dainty as deer--their legs long and willowy with manes braided to keep them from being in the way. And they were bedecked in fabrics of green and silver, the colors of the Ceredi Elven Royalty, from what Mercurius had been told.
And stop the white horse was the man he assumed was crowned king.
While he was able to look upon Iolas and see himself, in Iowyr he saw only elf. His hair was long and the hue of spun gold and while those around him did conceal their face and wear dark colors, he appeared in silvers and whites. This was the first time in all his days that Mercurius had set his eyes upon elven royalty and he did truly feel like he gazed upon someone that had stepped from one of the stories he was told of mythical times, time of dragons and grand heroes that were simply too good to be real. Iowyr had no business in reality so much as he belonged in those stories, dismounting with a poised grace that no human, not even one trained to move in such a way, could emulate. The silks pooled around him like moonlight as he advanced forward, and to his right stood an elfin knight in armor of silver. This knight was unlike any that Mercurius had seen upon the battlefield. Surely, this knight was of superior status for the silver armor upon him was more intricate than the soldiers slain in the field. That was one of many reasons the Baidenese king did avoid anything resembling grandeur armor, anything that would call to him excess attention. But in this moment did the human feel plain, in his plain armor and his plain clothing beneath him. In this moment did he feel dwarfed by the grandeur of the elves of high blood that stood across from him.
“Your Graceful Majesty King Mercurius Lafayette Rosenlied.” It was directly at the king that he looked, those eyes trained with ease upon the face that did hold familiarity--not from having ever in their lives seen one another, no, but due to the fact that in Mercurius’s face, Iowyr was able to look upon the face of the half-elf he had called brother for so much of his life. And that almost caused his eyes to soften. “I know it is you for I see him in you.”
“Prince Iolas--” but the moment he used that term, there was a hand raised to him. And for a moment, there seemed to be sadness in those eyes with his head tilted slightly. The hand was raised in the same manner to draw silence as it was done in Baiden and this made the king’s lips crease visibly. The fact that the same hand motion was used was enough to set him on edge. Had it been the elves that developed it, or the humans?
And with that grace did it fall. It almost felt as though the king across from him did act the part more than these actions were genuine. Such caused black brows to crease over dark brown eyes--a foil to the lighter colors of the king across from him. And for just a second was he reminded of Arric in those gentle motions, in those ways--just for a moment.
“Iolas is my half-brother as he is yours, but he… he is no more a prince to my people than he is to yours. I have my suspicions that it was he who attacked the noble you cited in your proclamation of war, not my own people.” What was his voice? The way he spoke? It nearly troubled him to hear such eloquence, but he did not interrupt. He allowed the elfin king to keep speaking with the mute knight beside him. Though that did not specifically mean he had not noticed that Iowyr had come with only a single knight, for while on the human side of the table there were nigh upon six men. Had he been the one to be over prepared, or was the other king only making a play at being less armed? “But my father was not one to contest the proclamation and you left little room to. It is the truth that my father, His Departed Graceful Majesty Ionwhyn of an Uncontested Line of Royals, did not favor your people. But I am not my father, and that is why I wished to speak with you here.
“Iolas and his people are a threat both to elvenkind and to your people, but their numbers are few. It would benefit us mutually to be rid of him, I feel. He opposes both you and the order among my people and I believe much that he contested, I can rectify.”
That was then Mercurius finally did speak, stepping forth to the table at the center. “I care little of elven politics. Agreements made with your kind seem to fall by the wayside within a few mortal lifetimes as if you think we will merely turn a blind eye to it, King Iowyr.” No long title. No Graceful Majesty. The elf before him was merely a king as he was, and there was little interest he had in hailing him as anything else. “I only want my people protected without fear of your people attacking us. And regardless of what you may proclaim, Iolas is an elf of the Silatin Mountains. Iolas is still a part of your people.”
“I do not want the Ceredi to die any more than you desire the death of your men and women on the battlefield at our hands, King Rosenlied,” as the elf’s voice did waver for a moment. Mercurius was not happy and there was a thunder in the voice of the human that caused him recollection of the anger expressed in his father’s own. But his father was dead and gone and he could not allow the weight of what that man had done to him drown him for the rest of his time. He was to be king and so he had to stand tall--and he would. “I feel as though a cessation of this war is beneficial. Neither of us have anything to gain from it. It has been months now that we have been fighting and there is no benefit to be had of my people…”
But the warlord king did speak again, jaw squared. “The benefit of my people is your vacating the mountains, King Iowyr. The coming of the elves to our shores has brought nothing but strife. We have lost the northmost trading port and so now our allies in Northmen must trek a many-days voyage in a roundabout fashion when before it took only a brief time. You stand between us and our allies and yet you speak to me of peace.
“This is no longer indeed about something so simple as your rogue half-brother attacking diplomats of Vaira. There will be no certainty of peace as long as your elves linger upon this shore. The more that die on the battlefield, the fewer you have to fret over removing from here. This is not a war that will result in more treaties for your people to break. This is an ultimatum: leave from the lands begotten to humans by the gods themselves, or suffer for it.”
Davin stood quite slack-jawed beside the Baidenese king, his eyes cutting from him to the elven man who somehow managed to appear quite nonplussed by the whole ordeal. At least, at a glance. Further inspection did reveal that those bright eyes did tremble slightly with unseen anxiety and perhaps, maybe, within the depth of Mercurius’s humanity could he recall the fright of being crowned king. But it was not his place to speak of it. It was not his place to interject. He was merely a witness from another country and while there was some involvement and bias, the king of Baiden had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to hold his tongue.
“Liev is the home to my people as much as it is yours, King Rosenlied,” came the tone of the elf, now lower, dropped. The captain next to him did grip tighter to the blade that his hand had previously only rested idle upon and so in kind did the men on the human side of the Circle of the Gods brandish their own. Neither did draw, but the intent was there--and it was know the elves were at the disadvantage. And Drunel’s response was to release his grip upon the gilded hip, though the same could not be said of the humans. So much for the notion of a peaceful council. But the humans would not go out of their way to spill blood at a site revered as holy; it was sacrilegious. “Many of the people in our cities were born here and are not expatriates of the north. I was born here, just as you were. This is my home. These mountains. My people want to live in peace.”
“If your people did desire peace so, likely they should have thought of that before breaking our treaties more than once. Before attacking our people. Iolas may not be your prince, your ruler. But he is indeed one of your people and you should take responsibility for it.”
“He is as much your people as he is mine when you gaze upon his parentage, King Rosenlied. His mother is my mother. His father is your father. It is simply that he was carried to term in our kingdom and herein raised that you see him as ‘our people.’”
“And had he been born in Baiden he would have been killed before he could grow and cause such catastrophe!”
“Your Majesty!”
There was only so far an extent to which Davin would keep his mouth shut, and the talks of completely ejecting and entire race seemed to drag across that line. Throughout much of Liev did the elves intermingle with the humans and there was minimal conflict. By and large, it seemed to be only the Baidenese and the Ceredi that did clash. Both were quite militant about their beliefs and so they could be seen as two storms crashing headlong to create a hurricane. But one storm was going to win out eventually, and Mercurius would not entertain the thought that it may not be his.
None the less, David did interject himself to stand between the two storms, metaphorically. Should he be taken in the crossfire he did hope that his years of devout service to Rzael would land him some preferential treatment in the afterlife.
“Vaira did not send aid under the illusion that this was an act of complete annihilation and I will not hear of that. Should you seek to lose the support of Liev…”
“You speak as though any other than Arric did offer support in the first place. When I spoke to the King of Oran years ago, years before this conflict did come to a head, he turned his face away from me and would offer no aid. The Ludanese king has said nothing, sent no word. Only Vaira has bothered to send aid. So I do not fear losing the support of this continent. It was never there in the first place.”
“Was there not in motion,” resonated the voice of the captain for the first time since the humans had arrived, “a treaty that united all of Liev as a confederation? The countries operate with separate governments… but in times of turmoil would come together? Perhaps those who studied human history have mentioned such in err of the truth, but if not--”
“Be still,” spoke the even tone of Iowyr and so did Drunel fall silent, standing at attention. His face did well to express he was not by mandate pleased with the motion in any way, shape, or form, but he accepted it none the less. “It is not our position to judge the way the humans handle themselves.
“But we will not vacate this land, as it is our home, King Rosenlied. I was hoping we could indeed unite together and come to find peace against Iolas, for it is he who is our enemy, not one another. I want nothing but peace. I cannot undo that which was done under my father. I will not stand here and claim to want to atone for the wrongs committed by my people before my birth. That is unfair of you to ask of me. I cannot atone for what I did not do. I can only change what will happen as we move forward, Mercurius.”
“As if I would trust the word of an elf. The only ending that I will take is for you to leave these shores.” It was not a shout. It was not a threat. It was not a tome that communicated any sort of animosity but it was a low statement of fact that crawled along the spine of the elven king who did stand on the opposite side of the stone table. Neither king had placed their hands upon it. There was a respect about the stone, about the strength of the stone. There was something that urged none to place hand upon it in this moment, even as others had. Perhaps in times of peace it could be touched. He could recall his father having touched it during the one time they had come here--merely to show Mercurius, not so much to debate or to hold council. But now neither king could come to touch it. Not in good faith.
There was no budging the human. There was no moving Mercurius from what he had determined to be his path and so the ivory visage of the elf downturned into a frown and he cast his gaze away. His movements were calculate, his visage demure. Ethereal. There was something oddly spiritual about the elf king in this moment, though he was as much flesh and blood as Mercurius. “Then there will be no hope of peace. We will continue fighting until King Rosenlied has come to his senses. I want only peace. I am willing to work towards that.”
“And will you say the same in ten years? Twenty years? How am I to trust you after it was your people that did attack my people when moving through agreed upon trade routes? We never showed animosity when the situation was reversed--” but it was Drunel that spoke, his clenched teeth visible beneath the helmet that he wore as he found his hand gripping again to the gilded hilt of the blade.
“You may say what you see as truth, Mercurius, but I ask you not to blatantly lie before our new king. There were many times that our elves were attacked by your humans. I am not implying it was a sanctified action by your father or whoever did rule before him, but you cannot discredit them as having never transpired. I will not hear it. I was on one such convoy--and it was on one such that one of my men came to lose an eye to an archer. Do not think we are dumb to savagery of humans at times.” There was a coldness to that final sentence. It was not an accusation but a statement: humans were capable of savagery. They had enacted it upon those deemed their foes. The numbers in the north had never fully bloomed to what they could have been--but Drunel could never say such things. Instead, they were kept to himself. To silence.
“There will be no peace found here,” stated the human king as he turned his back. “This was will continue.”
“If that is what you wish, Your Graceful Majesty King Rosenlied.”
“It is what will be, whether I wish it or not, King Iowyr.”
The eastern camp had successfully relocated and been either damnedly or blessedly devoid of conflict for the most part. This lead to great debate between Elfreda and Brayden as to whether they should remain or relocate--it was possible that the singular reason they were not being attacked was due to the fact that they were too far from anything that merited defense. But being too near to what would merit defense, Elfreda had vehemently argued, would only draw danger to the citizens. But they did not good lingering on the outskirts.
“Our men are anxious, Elfreda, and rightly so,” he spoke to her as she was across the table, gazing down at the map. “I feel it as well. There is an unease. There is no place for peace in war and this is too close to peace for most of us. Surely you understand. I am not sure this was the best place for our camp.”
But her hand, calloused and worn as his own was, came to point at their exact location upon the map that was before them. “The point we are at was chosen due to its advantages and you, Brayden, agreed that it was the best move. I am not sure wherein this notion that we are in a bad spot is. We know of a path the elves used to use that came around this way…” as he hand traced along the loosely drawn path through the mountains and just to the west of where she had indicated their camp was, “that it is likely they will travel again under the banner of war. We…”
“Used to, Elfreda. Given that the past hundred years we have had little to do with the Silatin Mountain Elves, we can hardly rely upon conjecture of what they used to do. Wouldn’t you agree? After all,” as his own hands moved to trace the former trade route from the west of Baiden, through the mountains, and to the shore. “One-hundred years ago, we used to use this trade route to travel north and trade with the Northmen. But it is not as though we intend to travel those roads again any time soon, or use that port.”
A nod as Elfreda had to rightfully acknowledge that his point was valid: they were working under the assumption that age-old pathways would still be used. Part of the bargaining process was the assumption that elves may not abandon old paths as easily as humans would, given that they lived longer--perhaps that process was slowed as well. But that did not appear to be the truth. Attacks came sporadically and not through any known paths, as far as Brayden could trace on the map. In short, they had no idea of what their enemies next move would be, and there was little that they could do about it. So as he kept his gaze on the map, he frowned.
“How do you think we should proceed, Elfreda? I ask your honest opinion. Our current location may well leave a gap here,” as his hand traced down the path from an eastern mountain towards where there was indeed Baidenese population. “Our current camp does risk this. But there is also the possibility that they could move through where we are now should we relocate.”
Up did her hand reach as she pushed back short brown hair from her face and paced a bit away from the map. Her breath entered through her nose and came out of parted lips, prompting the captain to right himself as he looked at her with brows knit. What was this response, and how was he supposed to take it? But then it was that she saw to speak. “We’ve at least eight hundred and fifty men at our disposal. The last battle seemed to enforce that their numbers are few. I propose we split the camps. You take half of the men, and I remain here with the the remainder.”
“Elfreda.” There was a lowness to the captain’s voice as he spoke, his hands on the table before him even as he came to stand upright. “Do you not worry that such would be spreading too little butter over too much bread?”
“I would rather have a weak wall that spanned the entirety of a pasture than have a strong wall that did not enclose that which needed to be enclosed. At least if a weak fence is broken, then the rest of the fence knows it.”
It was not as though they could simply erect a wall spanning one side of the border to the other. That was not a feasible option nor was it one that anyone would be interested in. A wall of soldiers was just as impossible, seeing as their numbers were great but not that great, and they were divided over three. Had division into three even been the greatest of ideas? But it was too late to second-guess their initial tactics now.
Though Elfreda’s back was turned to him, his gaze was levied upon her as he pondered her words. There was validity to both statement. What if the elves kept their greatest numbers in reserve? What if it was merely a large scouting party? The pivotal point of this entire was to be numbers, it seemed, and so it was that there was an uncertainty to be had for they had no idea since the violation of their treaty what numbers in the north did look like.
It was also possible, though they prayed it was not the case, that the Northelves who lived across the mountains from the Northmen had allied with their southern kin. They would come with ships and weapons. And that was the last thing that they needed.
“If we could send word to the Northmen,” thought the captain aloud as his lips were visible in something of a frown, “we could claim this war nearly won. They could advance from the north and drive them south. Northmen live among mountains…”
“This does not have bearing upon the immediate decision at hand, Brayden. What shall we do? Remain as we are or divide in two for the sake of coverage?” This was part of the reason he knew that himself and Elreda would be more harmonious than he and Errol had been, as far as captainship was concerned. They saw very much on even planes and she was certainly the ambitious type to keep all things moving forward. And he was glad for that. “You know where I fall on the spectrum of decision. But you are the head of the eastern camp, and so the ultimatum falls to you.”
For a moment, Brayden let his head fall. He assumed in the west that Brenner felt similar weight and could only ponder over how that impacted him. Brenner was always the more meek of the two and so he did feel concern for him when faced with war. But there was little he could do. There was little anyone could do. For this was war and Brayden was cognizant of the blood that now stained his hands--and he could only wonder, was Brenner the same?
It was upon those hands that his gaze was trained before he gave a small nod. “We will split the unit in half. You will lead those that will travel west and I will remain here.” Partly because those that traveled had a higher chance of being attacked, and he knew it. And Brayden was slowly beginning to fear war. The death of Errol had shaken him, and it had shaken him deep. But it was war. People would die. Yet the mantra never made it easier when he thought of having to inform Errol’s widow of his passing. He only prayed she would take it better than he initially had.
Not seeing his body would make it either easier or harder on her. There was really no telling.
“Assuming you agree.”
“It was my idea, Brayden,” as she managed to look at him with a small smile on her lips. “Why would I disagree after you’ve given in to my demands?”
“I am a married man, Elfreda. I know when to concess and when to argue. This is for the best.” And even in these dark moments were they able to find humor as he returned her smile. “But we are not to make a move until tomorrow. Allow one more day of rest for the men that will be traveling west without them having to worry of it. You will make the decision on who shall go and who shall stay in the way you see fit. By volunteers, by numbers, by who is standing nearest the rock--however you see fit. But allow them one more day of our seperate peace.”
He was king, now.
The weight of it was heavy upon his shoulders as he thought of it: all of this was now his. And for a moment did he regret his actions. He regretted the belladonna that he had slipped slowly into his father’s food when the servants turned a blind eye. For now they were at war, and now he was crowned king in the middle of all of it and it was upon his head. But his father would have just kept at the war. More elven lives would have been lost. But as he sat there in the throne that his father had only just vacated due to his death--he frowned. He frowned, and his fingers shook, and his body felt numb. No longer was his mother a queen but the mother of the king. Her political power was even less than it had been when her husband had been the ruler, and that was known. She was but a shadow, now, to be away in the background. And his queen would soon occupy her throne.
But they had spoken candidly, though it was only once. It was after his coronation. And he remembered the sadness in her eyes as she apologized for this. For birthing him to the former king. For all things--and especially for the birth of his half-brother. “Iolas has brought nothing but grief,” he heard her say with sadness, words that a mother should never say of her child. “I apologize that he was born, Iowyr. I apologize that it is in his wake that you must clean up. I apologize that you were born to your father, and that you have become king in a war that is not your own.”
“I will end the war, mother,” he had assured her. But now he was not so sure. What if the King of Baiden would not be reasoned with? Unification against Iolas would be ideal, but… some part of him did not desire it. He did not want to kill his brother. They had once been friends, in childhood. He remembered it. Both boys were raised by nannies primarily, as that was the way it was done. The mother had minimal to do with the nurturing in noble elven families as--presumably--she was to be busy with politics. But never had Queen Ellwynn had much to do with politics, even in his childhood. She would sit and read to Iolas when he was young, and often would Iowyr linger about. By that time, he was too old for stories.
But half-humans did grow faster than elves did. Soon enough was Iolas nearly as tall as he and they would go riding through the woods, as brothers did. But that was when it began.
That was when Iowyr began to scold Iolas for minor things, including being seen with the prince, herein reference Iowyr. So slowly their brotherhood slipped away from them, only having stolen moments together until even that was changed forever.
It was Iolas who had moved to the elven king to confront him of it. Much as he remembered the conversation with his mother, he could almost recall verbatim what had been said. Elves were, after all, granted notoriously good memory.
“You punish me for what Ellwynn did, and that is not fair! I am not the one who wed you and then lay with a man!”
“You are a bastard child and a blight upon our family! You should never have been born. Had they not known Ellwynn was with child I would have killed you upon birth.”
“I have done nothing to you to deserve this, Father!”
“Do not dare call me by that name!”
It was silence that came after. Though perhaps silence was not the term. There was a scuffle and he knew that it had grown physical. But the he heard the screaming. It was Iolas’s voice and it shot through him like a jolt of lightning, though something of it simply did not sound right. There was something strange.
It was Iowyr who rushed him to a healer and used his leverage as prince to have the cut that went from the corner of his lips near to the very back of his jaw sewn up. If it was not for him--likely it was that he would have simply been lead to bleed out. The prince had disagreed with his father on many points and it was his defense of Iolas that drove between them that which would keep them forever apart. The mere fact the was born of Ellwynn had planted the seeds. It was no secret that Ionwhyn and Ellwynn were not happy in their marriage and that it was solely for the sake of politics and the creation of heirs. There was no love to be had between them, but a tolerance. Many had hoped that the birth of the prince would bring them nearer, but it only served to drive them further apart. When Alden did appear for the sake of pleading diplomacy and spent among the elves two weeks, he was kind to her. And Alden was known for being charming. Though she may have tried to shuffle it off as rape, any that saw them interacting outside of court knew better. She was smitten with him and, though he was married himself, they spent much time together. It did not take excessive investigation to realize that, when Ellwynn began to show with child a few months after Alden had departed, that it was not his. The birth of a dark-skinned half-elf only served to confirm that.
“That man is not my father,” he recalled Iolas nearly growling at him, “and you are not my brother.”
“Your Majesty.”
Up did his head lift as it was naturally the elf who his father had so favored, so wished to be his son, Captain Drunel of the Elven Squadron who walked in. To say that Drunel was aghast at the quite sudden death of the king was an understatement: herein aghast did transform easily to suspicious. It had happened too suddenly to be natural, but with Iowyr as king, there was little that could be done. The favor of the old elf king had waned, after all, especially as the war tasked what few numbers the Ceredi did have.
That did not mean the captain had to be happy about it.
“The messenger has returned unaccompanied. Would you speak with him?”
Such prompted irritation to outrule the emotional torrent that the king was going through as he rose slowly from his throne. Still within him was the blood of his father and at moments there was fright, genuine fright, that it would come to a boiling point within him and cause ruination as it had within his father. And when he felt the anger in him, he knew it.
He knew his father’s blood could and would boil in his veins so he forced himself to cut his eyes from Drunel and take a deep inhale.
“Bring him in.” The voice that radiated from within him sounded eerily unfamiliar--like it was not his own voice that spoke but the very tone of the remembrance of his father. And it deeply unsettled him as he furrowed his brows. But Drunel merely offered him a bow of his head before departing to bring in the scout that had spoken with Mercurius. The new crowned king remained standing as the man still garbed in the navy clothing was brought in, flanked by Drunel and another soldier.
“Your Graceful Majesty,” as before the king did the messenger quickly prostrate himself and it was clear there was fear in him. The same fear that he recalled in those that came before his father. The same fear he remembered in the screams of Iolas that he heard from the other room so long ago. “The human king would not come and did threaten me with death. A compromise was offered and to you I carry the very words of King Mercurius Rosenlied of the Humans if you will hear them. I only beg your forgiveness. I will carry back the word you give to me, Your Graceful Majesty. I plead only that you forgive that he acted in defiance of me. I did all I could to get this message back to you.”
The frown on the king’s face did serve to deepen, as though the groveling only served to worsen the situation. This would not be in err, for he was not particularly pleased of the whole ordeal--in fact, he found he disliked it. Greatly. It made him feel like his father, and that was the last thing that he did desire. His fist was balled at his side and as he cut his eyes to Drunel, he lifted it quickly. Much of the elvish communication continued to be in gestures, in motions. This prompted the Elven captain to seize the back of navy fabric and haul the messenger to his feet as he continued to offer muffled pleas.
Iowyr had seen this before. He had seen messenger and servants and even those of high blood grovel before his father. And he knew not if he desired as much for himself or not. “Tell me what the demands were of King Rosenlied of Baiden.”
“He said you are to pick a time and day to meet in the Circle of the Gods, your highness. He will speak to you only on even terms.”
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“This arrived for you, from Baiden.” Arandel’s voice was tinged with disappointment as he offered the letter that had come through a courier to the king who sat at his breakfast table. Across from him was the omnipresent fiery red hair of Tahvaen, who seemed to be making short work of the spread of beef and eggs before him. Arched was a brow from the roguish visage as he saw the poise with which the wax seal of the Rosenlied family was hinged loose and the letter unfolded. It carried all the finesse and grace of the overdone movements when Mercurius removed his cape for council. While Tahvaen certainly considered Arric his best friend, some of the things that nobility had to do would always continue to be overdone and off putting. For a moment his attention was again upon his food until he saw the hand of his king rise from the table and rest over his mouth. It was an expression of… shock? Concern? He could not make much out of those blue eyes for the time being, and so it was fit that he swallow the food in his mouth before speaking. He didn’t want to seem too much like an animal, after all. A certain grace was expected even of him since he came to live in the castle instead of on the streets where he had grown up.
Even his keen half-elf eyes could not make out the writing from across the table, though he got a glimpse of black ink that seemed rather short. “What’s it say?” was the inquiry after a mouthful of eggs had been swallowed.
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?”
