"Ettinsmoor? Is that what we're calling it now?" Imira asked.
"Better than 'the northern lands the Ettins inhabit' don't you think?" Peter asked in return.
"I suppose it's catchy," she agreed. "So what do we do now?"
Peter looked around the room...
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IMIRA
The castle of Galma sits on the easter part of the island. Compared to other castles I've visited, it's not very impressive. That's not to say there's nothing to it, it's nice and airy and the views from up there are gorgeous, but it is also small and not very tall. The stone it's made of is the same colour as sand and the banners that hang from its walls and the flags that fly on its towers are green. Reaching it takes us about an hour, for the streets of Galma are very narrow and busy with merchants, peasants, children, travellers, beggars and soldiers. Curiously enough, the closer we get to the castle, the thicker the crowd gets. It is usually the other way around. As we ride through the streets I listen closely to what the peasants are talking about, realizing soon the reason behind all the commotion: they are here for very wedding we have come to stop.
At last, we reach the castle, but we find ourselves arriving too late.
There, standing on the balcony, smiling and waving at a cheering crowd while rose petals fly in the air, are Darren and Danielle.
We are too late. We are too late and she is now my family.
I feel my heart in my throat, racing as it does during battle, as my breaths become deeper and longer as I try to control my rushing emotions. I stare at them, the happy couple. I feel sick. I know Darren, I grew up with him and, sure, I was absent for a while, but I know him enough to know this is not like him. He would never get married and not invite us. Even if he was at odds with Dean, James, and me, he would at least invite his other cousins.
After a little while, Danielle spots me. She spots me and smiles smugly down at me and waves.
"This won't be easy," Peter whispers by my right.
"It won't," I agree. Darren looks very happy and, as I said before, I know him. He won't go without making a fuss. "But it has to be done,"
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Our bannerman, Lord Garit, has barely started reading the charges (Peter and I came up with more ideas as the S.H. came closer to dock and redacted a document) when Darren interrupts him.
"Under arrest?" Darren asks baffled. "For what charges?" He demands.
It doesn't seem like he's taking this very seriously.
