Before them stood a lonely mountain forged by human hands. Towering walls of the finest mortar and stone, with gates that strut out like a titan's hand, were reaching for them. The fear of Almar was a worthy thought, but the might of Lorlyn's Capitol was unrivaled.
Past its gaze was the foul stench of the humans that inhabited it, the dung-filled swamp that gathered the length of a hundred men, a reminder of how frail it truly was.
It was harvest season. The familiar scent of horse dung, fresh bread, spices, salted fish, and smoke. You could hear the clops of horses against the scattered stone and dirt ground; or perhaps the alarming bash of metal from a smithy's hammer.
You could hear the wheels of heavy carts bumping and grinding against the street, which was filled to the brim with grain, spices, apples, cabbages, and the shade of the towering homes. Guard patrols walked along past them; each member saluting the two brothers. It wasn't long until they reached the center of the great city; the citadel itself: the home of King Derek.
Carrion turned to Theodren, for since their arrival, he hadn't spoken a word.
"For a moment, I took you for this foul breeze. You've not said a peep." Carrion said playfully. "Aren't you the cheerful one?"
"What's to cheer?" Theodren pushed Carrion aside.
"Perhaps a few familiar faces might remind you." Zoran dug his elbow against Theodren's side.
Theodren paused on the great Keep's steps, a glare upwards to what appeared a dog in metal clothing.
"Ah, and the prodigal son returns; no less spent than the last!" Armand shouted.
Armand was speaking towards his side, as another had whispered in his ear, scurrying off into the keep.
"Still an unmarried man, I presume?" Theodren asked, climbing up to him.
Armand paused a mild scowl under his breath.
"No less than you, petty." Armand huffed.
"Pardon that I inquire, but why are you here?" Theodren forced a grin. "Did our Majesty run out of rats to upkeep his bed chambers?"
"That's enough, Theodren." Zoran pulled him aside, and signaled to the others. "Best keep your wit aside while we still have our heads."
"Who was that?" Carrion asked, catching the balding man off guard.
"Oh? Just a servant sent to signal your arrival."
With a turn, Armand's armored high guard uniform clanked a distinct screech.
"This way. The King heard what happened at Drakon. Take no heed for trivial introductions, much as the news is a pity."
They all stood and looked at him, where from their cheerful grins came to an overwhelming sense of dread; Drakon was gone, and what little joy they tried to paint over their pain would only briefly last.
"Let's run along, then." Armand looked towards them from a side angle, signaling his head forward. "The King doesn't seek favor to wait."
Theodren sighed with relief, head held high as he emitted his final remark before entering the palace gates.
"At least we're home."
_______________________________________
The doorway of the throne room was shut behind them, echoing and shaking the ground.
King Derek sat silently above his great throne, staring down at them as their entry met his ears. Across each side of the path to his throne was aligned with guards; or, particularly, the King's guard, all in garments of steel woven in linen with fine intricacy of a shining grey and white, embedded with the King's emblem.
"You." King Derek stood up with a slow, demeaning voice. "You've returned so late, and to what end?"
"We apologize, your Majesty. We've spent far too much on other affairs to rekindle the one that matters most: yours." Zoran said as they all bowed to their knees.
King Derek stepped off his throne with a violent rattle; the weight of a great beast in his every stride across the marbled floor. They bowed, but their hearts felt like running, trembling even.
"Do you mock me?" Derek asked with a demanding tone, the tensions between both parties growing ever firmer as the guards glanced toward their king.
Zoran began to shake, the others looking to him for guidance.
"Get up." Derek yanked Zoran's hand as he pulled him forward. "Forgo your bows and come with me."
Derek gathered them, walking to a room behind the throne, signaling his guards to remain at their posts as he grabbed a lantern from a nearby pillar.
"Is..is it safe to request a pardon, my King?" Zoran hesitated to ask, the echo of noise and wind rushed against them as the doorway was firmly shut behind.
"Yes, yes: speak." Derek guided them further through a dark and damp hallway of stone brick: dust and cobwebs alike.
"Where are you taking us?"
"This is King Eronahn's quarters; the first of my name. Some might call it a ruin, but I call it a story." Derek turned to look at Zoran once more, a stoic gaze that would leave most unsettled, especially in such a dark place. "It would be quaint to speak so empty of this place, boy."
With a somber pause, the others looked at one another silently: fists gripped.
"Are you well, my King?" Theodren bluntly asked. "Might I be so brave to recall, but aren't you known not to savor the past, as it's not been kind to you?"
They continued walking on footstep after footstep through the dark, but through each passing moment grew an emptiness of voice: it was as silent as could beyond their stride and voices.
"Pardon my brother, my King. He holds no ill intent." Zoran said with awkward haste.
King Derek stopped in his tracks, leading Carrion to bump into him, and then the others behind to swiftly follow. In the silence, King Derek opened another door, leading them to what seemed to be a relatively large and well-lit stone brick room as clean as could be: a stark contrast to the path prior.
King Derek stepped further ahead. The others, still confused and tense, looked at the place in awe of its beautiful features; a bath house with laminated white marble, four separate bedrooms with reinforced doorways, the sounds of a lute in the distance, and a long gold-plated wooden dining table with a colorful linen cloth placed towards the middle above it.
The King took a heavy stomp, a dance against the ground, and clapped three times with a joyful laugh.
"Servants!"
To that, every door beyond them; eight in total, was opened, and out came at least twenty others in garments distinct from their field of work. A few tailors, cooks, maids, a painter, and four bards.
Still confused, they all stood still without a word, though Carrion scratched his head as he glanced at the others.
"Your brother is right, Zoran. I'm no friend of the past." King Derek said with a jolly laugh.
"Welcome, my children. To remedy what had been lost, these quarters belong to you!" Derek spoke with excitement. "Savor it while you can. For tonight, you will be served a feast!"
The servants quickly grabbed their hands, but before heading further, they looked at each other one last time with a nod of contentment, as built up inside was curious excitement. They were paraded, surrounded by happy faces in a world that was quickly falling apart.
"I see no others as worthy of such an honor." Derek began, an accepting smile in such a dark time, turning to his servants with exuberance. "Shed their warrior garments, cleanse them, and grant royal gowns that befit their worth!"
As they were paraded to what seemed to be their separate rooms, Derek left them with one final remark, "tonight, and no less."
_______________________________________
Hours later, the ring of a roaring bell reached below the doorways of their bedroom chambers. Opening their doors, they were welcomed by the same servants from before, though the bards were gone.
Valora, taking the first step, was held back by a tailor servant.
"Wait, m'lady! Ye gown is uneven." An old servant woman came over to adjust her garments, followed by others behind her.
"Don't touch me!" Valora grunted, thrashing the servant away.
Startled, the servants behind her reluctantly pulled her back into the bedroom.
Theodren came out next. From his feet, he wore shining leather boots, a royal doublet with loose sleeves, and open space across his neck: for no tailor could find a set that fit. The top garments were blue and laminated with black lines and shapes; while scattered were valorous symbols of war. For trousers, they were a deep loosely-fitted black of rich linen. Atop his head was his golden mane; hair that shined like polished gold, braided into locks just above his forehead. His skin had been shed of its dirt and putrid musk: he was clean.
He hesitantly went further out while his servant tailor encouraged him to continue.
As he looked around, he seemed lost as to where the feast was but was not given the chance to ask, for the servant had already left him. He awkwardly stood silent, leaning against the stone brick wall of the room behind him, which was, well, decorated with young paint.
Next came Zoran; oddly content with his garments and treatment. He stood wearing even wider sleeves than his brother. He wore a surcoat that dragged against his feet as he stood, and his undershirt reached far below his waist. Just as for Theodren, nothing could truly fit. His straight dark brown hair was combed back, though a few strands of his bangs fell towards his then-cleaned face.
"Know what the bell was for?" Theodren turned to ask, still leaning against the wall.
Zoran shrugged his shoulders as he stared off at the busy servants, then glanced back to his brother with wide eyes.
"Wait! Get off the wall. You'll ruin you -" Zoran pulled Theodren towards the center of the room, turning behind to see a stained shirt.
Zoran just stood in silence, staring.
"What?" Theodren glanced his head over his shoulder.
"Oh, never mind." Zoran turned away with a sigh.
Another door was opened, and out came Carrion dressed in a gown with an array of colors; red, blue, purple, and yellow: each woven together intricately. From the top of his shoulders to the ends of his waist, he wore a mantle of deep purple, and a white pointed hat atop his head. He strutted out those chambers proudly, yet was unaware of how ridiculous he looked.
"Well, that was relaxing!" Carrion turned to the brothers, cheerful in his tone. "I can see why you favored this life over Drakon. They treat you like kings here."
The brothers stared at him, then at each other, and back again.
"What?" Carrion looked with worry.
With a pause, the final door was opened.
First came her legs, strutting out in fashionable attire of fancy heels tied to expensive white cloth straps across the tips of her ankles. Second came her hands; gentle white cloth gloves with the symbol of a flower on each as though cut onto it. Third, came her waist and chest; where dragging near to the ground was a soft blue and white dress with the same line shapes of flowers delicately placed all across it, almost shimmering in the room's candlelight. Then: her face. Her eyes were a shining blue in the dim light, innocent in its gaze, yet curious as it turned to look at their peering eyes. Her skin was covered in a lady's powder - as pure and pale as her gaze on a full moon night. Her hair was brushed and braided almost beyond recognition, as though it too had the sophistication to it, and it was half its length from before - reaching only the tips of her shoulders. Her hair was, however, held up in such a way to make it seem tall and distinguished in its shining brunette display atop her head, as though it was woven like a bird's nest.
They were stuck in place, awestruck by her sight. Not once had they seen her that way.
"Could you stop staring?" Valora stomped forward; the servants scattering both directions behind her. "Well, what now? Where's the banquet?"
"I...uh...I believe it will be held at the King's throne room." Theodren struggled to say as he turned to the others, "shall we depart?"
_______________________________________
"The feast of autumn's harvest?" Theodren asked with a sigh, "so, it was never about us?"
Dining on a plate with chops of a hog; peas, and white bread loaf with a dab of spiced dips, Zoran replied, "This isn't our first time. It's only been a year."
They were standing in the King's courtroom surrounded by the roaring noise of a large crowd of nobles; entire families gathered. The same four bards stood at the center; atop a circular purple and red carpet with woven symbols of golden flowers. You could hear the singing of a lute-like gently passing stream, fiddle with the cry of an angel, and drums rattling like the gallop of stallions. All that was left was the taste of a fitting song. The king, standing in front of his throne, raised a shining gold chalice of wine, signaling the bards to begin.
I can not tell where the light fell
Looking on to the storm, the lives in the swarm
Of flame as it rose, and smolder as it froze
To the love once held, of a plot that did brew
So I journey to now, to look to my vow
To a world in a new age, tugging at a cage
Of a child led astray, that I fear won't see the day
For what I must dream is nothing to redeem
The rhythm struck cheer among the crowd, and it quickly grew louder.
Zoran turned to Theodren, who then turned to the others.
"Is this not the ballad sparked from the last rebellion? Of King Rickard's fall at the hands of his subjects?" Zoran asked, his eyebrows lowered.
"It's not peculiar. There have been comedic plays at funerals. This is no different." Theodren replied, in a loud cheerful voice as he swayed his legs to the beat of the song as he ate.
"It's...abnormal," Zoran said softly, a slight sense of nervousness in his tone.
"Must I stomp their way and call them 'traitors of your sense of comfort'? It's just a song." Theodren tugged Zoran's shoulder, his breath mildly stained with a scent of wine. "Be like Carrion. Enjoy the moment; live a little."
Zoran paused, looking at his brother chanting along, who was lost in the moment with another gulp of wine. With a sigh, Zoran looked at the marble floor and then at the crowd around him. He was standing alone, right at the center of the room. Crowds were dancing and cheering, and the music only grew louder; deafening any cry of concern he could muster. Theodren was dancing away with noble ladies, all giggling and stroking his golden locks. Looking around, he noticed that Valora wasn't there.
_______________________________________
Screech; the slide of old polished wood rubbing against each other. The muffled noise of energetic music and laughing voices could be heard from the left, distant in its call. A soft pale hand was placed on something in the dim light. Grabbing a small candle, the image became clearer.
It was Valora; eyes peering into an unfamiliar wardrobe. She had her hand placed on a dresser drawer, and inside were various trinkets. Digging her hand in the drawer, she grabbed onto a small blade; wooden, but treated with care. Further in, she found a piece of parchment and a small book. On the parchment was a drawing; a group of six faceless figures gathered around a dining table; a royal feast resting atop well-woven cloth. Two of the figures were rather small, likely children, sitting on the far left end; one with short hair and another with long hair. In the middle was a taller figure; long hair fell across their shoulders. To the right was a figure of similar height; shorter hair and a more defined physique. To the furthest right sat two figures with crowns; one with a feminine appearance and hair held atop their head, similar to Valora's, and the other sitting at the end of the table with long hair and a strong physique: towering over all the others.
Lastly, she found a small toy doll made of crudely woven cloth, likely by a child. She held it close in hand, staring at it in the dim light as it stared back; both empty of all expression.
Screech!
The sound of wood crackled as light peered inside; blinding a lantern.
"Oh! Pardon my curiosity, your Majesty." Valora hesitantly said, awkwardly standing in place while squinting, suppressing her fear from the sudden intrusion.
"You're not harming anyone, dear." An older woman said; a crown atop their grayish hair that vaguely covered their wrinkles. "You're here. That's what matters."
"I apologize, your Majesty! I shouldn't have snuck away!" Valora bowed her head in reverence, a slightly raised voice. "It won't happen again."
"No, it won't." The queen gently grasped the doll from her hand, placing it back in the drawer. "Some secrets should be left as they were, as knowing the truth will only cause pain."
There was a brief pause, and only the vague noise from the feast beyond could be heard.
"I, um...what brings you here, your Majesty?" Valora began to stutter.
"Oh, dear, there's no need to trifle me with fruitless titles. Call me Lena, and we'll leave it at that." Lena patted the side of her cheek with a gentle, slightly wrinkled smile. "But, to tell you the truth, there is something you should know."
"W-what is it?" Valora starred in slight curiosity, yet still timid.
"It's Derek. He's changed." Lena paused, a long sigh as she stared towards the then-closed dresser drawer. "Sending those brothers away nearly broke him. Then, when the news came that they would return, he was overjoyed. However, that was before he knew -"
Lena began to shake, a slight sniffle with the sound of water droplets tapping against the floor.
"Is everything.. alright?" Valora peered her head over her side.
"Almar." Lena shook more, her voice filled with weight.
With a soft sniffle and a handkerchief wiped across her face, Lena grabbed Valora's hand; taking her outside the room, still shaking, and without a word. Confused, Valora began to repeatedly ask what was wrong.
They kept walking, reaching the other end of the main hall outside the bed chambers; dark as could be with all the previous candlelight blown out. Then, they stood in front of an aged doorway, facing the opposite of the one they were last in.
"What's this?" Valora asked with hesitation, still timid.
"Help me, will you?" Lena began grabbing the latch to open it, but to no avail.
She started pushing her frail shoulder against the door with a repeated grunt, but Valora held her back: grabbing against her waist.
"I'll do it, I'll do it!" Valora spoke with sudden concern. "Please, don't hurt yourself."
Valora gently moved the disillusioned queen towards the right and then positioned herself.
A loud thud, like a crackle of aged wood, was heard: echoing across the room. The door was opened, and out came a strong gust of web and dust. Staring at each other with a pause, their noses filled in the unwelcome company, Valora signaled her hand towards the door.
"Your lead." Valora bowed her head, her hand placed upward against her mouth as Lena held a handkerchief against hers.
Lena walked in, holding her lantern up high, near her face.
Lena took one last look from outside and then closed the doorway behind them. The room became pitch black, at least beyond her lantern. You could only vaguely make out the walls around them; stone brick entirely bare of paint: unlike the walls outside. It was just...blank, and to some extent, cracked and discolored, smelling vaguely of dirt.
"W-why are we in here?" Valora asked, both confused and nervous, for Lena wasn't far from being a stranger.
Lena gently brushed cobwebs with her feet, vaguely revealing something. Crouching down, she faced the light against it. It was another doorway; reaching only halfway up the wall, with steps leading down to the unknown.
Lena then turned to leave the room, looking both ways as she departed.
Still lost, Valora quickly followed her.
"Wait!"
"Soften your tone, dear. This is not a matter to speak lightly." Lena stopped in her tracks, walking over to Valora with her eyes peering to the left and right. "Is there anyone you trust?"
Valora just stood there; startled, and unable to answer.
Lena began hastening away.
"What?" Valora raised her voice.
"Find them!" Lena replied with equal strength, arriving close to her ear for a whisper. "And be vigilant. Nothing happened here."
_______________________________________
The banquet was still glowing through the night. Theodren took a rest against one of the many marble pillars, dizzy from the noise and wine he consumed: blissfully unaware.
Abruptly, he was met with a firm punch to the shoulder; entirely unnoticed by the large and noisy crowd of nobles and officers.
"Pardon." Came a gentle voice in his left ear; quiet yet firm and oddly familiar.
"I beg your -" Theodren turned to his left. "You!"
"Where's Carrion and your brother?" Valora asked abrasively.
"Oh! I-I.. grant me a moment?" Theodren stumbled in his words.
Valora briefly sighed with closed eyes as he gulped wine.
"Yes, what say you?"
"By the wake of this hour, I couldn't wager a more stunning beauty."
Valora was startled, then turned her back to him.
"And to you an unsavory drunk." Valora scoffed, grabbing his wrist with an abrupt tug. "Let's find the others."
"Others?" Theodren asked as she dragged him by his lower arm forward. "Do I trouble you?"
Valora turned back with a pause, composing herself as she stared at his well-managed features.
"I, uh." She blushed, but with a clenched fist, dragged him on beyond the dining hall.
They searched and searched, but to no end. Out of all the time spent; she only gained frustration and greater concern, for despite holding to Theodren like a leash to a dog: she was alone. She had no choice; they had to gather outside the banquet hall.
_______________________________________
"Did I ever tell you how Carrion and I first met?" Theodren asked in a slurred voice. "Or perhaps to how I gained the favor of the King?"
"Another time, Theodren. A gift for then: not now." Valora sighed.
"I'd wager no greater tale, m'lady, but perhaps I'll find its rival here."
She stopped, looking around her surroundings; a darkened corridor lit only by the moonlight to their left and a lantern in hand to their right. She could feel his breath creep against the back of her neck, and she quickly released her hand: looking at him in the dark.
"Theodren, why do you pursue me like a brothel whore?" Valora gripped her hands against Theodren's soft face, pushing against the sides of his head just below his ears, for she couldn't reach any higher. "Drakon is gone, Sven is gone. Your brother and Carrion could be next, yet you treat it like it's nothing."
Theodren just stood there in his daze.
"Right, I forgot. You're drunk." Valora's sigh became an aggravated growl, and she punched his chest, reaching with a grip against his broad shoulders. "Please, just grant me the normal you, I beg."
Theodren stood still, reaching out his hand toward her in silence. She pushed him away, turning her head to take a long breath, then felt her sides being wrapped around. Shocked, she turned her head to see Theodren's empty eyes staring back at her.
He grew closer, arms gripped further around her, like a tree's branches shading away the howling wind and rain. It felt like sunlight warming one's spirit in the cold. She felt alone, yet comforted from all her worries, like a sense of peace cradled her every breath. It was beyond her knowledge at the time; but she soon noticed a warmth drip down the back of her neck, shivering arms in the embrace.
For a moment she let him continue to hold in place, but she then turned towards his watering eyes, wiping his tears with her glove. They'd return and leave but always remain. She took a moment to consider; staring at his rare vulnerability as she continued to hold him firmly.
"I lost that far too long ago, I'm afraid." His muffled voice said, a feeling of vibration on her shoulder.
Her eyes widened; her mouth opened to speak, but out came nothing.
"I just...I just hope that I'll find it again." Theodren spoke, voice no longer muffled.
He grabbed his head, and ground his teeth with a loud grunt, losing balance.
"It's alright, it's alright, I'm here." Valora slowly said, still holding him firmly in her arms.
Theodren didn't say another word, releasing from their embrace as he took one trembling step past her.
"Well?" Theodren asked with a humble smile. "Shall we depart?"
She smiled the same back, running up beside him to continue.
_______________________________________
The cold air had grown on them, but the dead silence was all but enduring. All they could do was collect their thoughts, and in the dark, what could be left that was tame? Stomp after stomp on solid ground, the ringing of splashing puddles. It felt like hours had gone by, trapped in a labyrinth of damp stone corridors.
"My memory is... clouded." Theodren placed his fingers against his brow.
"I appreciate your addition to the obvious." Valora sighed.
"No, no. Listen." Theodren grunted back, a slur with his words. "I must know so I shan't repeat it."
Valora paused.
"Well, whatever it was; for now, it's just our secret."
Valora bumped against his shoulder, walking forward as he stood still in thought.
"Could you heed my request?" His voice raised.
"No."
"Valora!"
She held a subtle grin on her face.
"Oh, there you are." A familiar voice said, though where was uncertain, as it was nearly pitch black beyond the candlelight.
Valora, lantern in hand stopped in her tracks. Theodren bumped against her from behind as they looked toward the voice.
"Zoran?" Valora asked, concerned yet demanding. "What happened?"
"I came searching for you, but got lost in these blasted corridors, and then my candle blew out." The young voice carried a thud, likely falling from a stone arch. "I have no doubt I'd find my way back, but..."
Theodren went further ahead, accidentally slipping over something below.
"Seven hells!" Theodren was angered as he stumbled to the ground.
"That would be Carrion; the reason I'm here." Zoran sighed
"Drunk?" Valora asked.
"Drunk."
_______________________________________
Step after step in those dastardly corridors, they felt a weight pushing against them. The music, laughing, cheering, courting: all of it. It was a relief, for before it was the debilitating scratching of Carrion's leather boots against the stone floor: led by the hand of Theodren. While the two sober members; Zoran and Valora, had little interest in banquets, that sound alone brought a skip to their stride with abundant relief!
"Before we arrive, I must inquire," Zoran said, stopping in his tracks.
"Yes?" Valora asked.
"I feel a certain bitterness to this place." Zoran paused, changing his voice to a whisper as he went close to their ears. "Why would the King host this occasion in such tribulation? Is it morale he seeks, or something more?"
They continued walking, a brief pause without a word. Valora stopped abruptly with her left hand held against her chin, and her right with the guiding lantern: the others behind her.
"I too must admit something." Valora said, turning to Zoran, who then turned to her.
A bright light shined before them, like piercing blades against their tired eyes; and with it came the roaring sounds of the banquet.
"Wine!" Theodren said in a raised, yet slurred, voice; running and stumbling forward while dragging Carrion behind. "Give me wine!"
"Theodren!" Zoran shouted, running up behind him as the blinding light of the banquet met their faces; squinting eyes and a hand to shade their approach as he glanced over to her. "Tell me later."
Valora ran alongside him, a sigh as she met that broad doorway.
_______________________________________
The banquet was lavish as ever; the lights and sounds ever blinding, like they lashed out to bite them. Many nobles seemed to glow with tainted side glances and unsavory mumbles at each given step. Zoran and Valora kept their arms close to themselves.
"Where could he have gone?" Zoran raised his voice, a grunt to his tone.
Valora walked beside him without a word; only the words hidden in her then lowered eyebrows, arms tucked against her chest, and head held down.
"You alright?" Zoran asked, stopping in his tracks, but she continued past him.
Following her ahead, Zoran noticed something from his side. There he stood, his blonde mane a lightly coated mess over his royal doublet; with half-drunk nobles laughing at him stumbling his way to a nearby servant: seeking wine. Then, with a gulp of said wine, he bumped into none other than Armand Malrick, spilling what remained against his doublet-coated chest.
Armand roared with immense anger, winding for a backhand against Theodren's face.
"You blasted barg! Had you not enough relief staining my reputation?" With a grunt and closed eyes, Armand turned away from Theodren; wiping the stain with his overcoat as nearby nobles laughed with their slurred expressions.
By then, Zoran had already made his way towards them; though Valora was standing still from which he came: staring blank beyond.
"My apologies, Sir Armand of house Malrick." Zoran grabbed Theodren's hand, pulling him away as he dropped his brass goblet to the floor. "I'll be sure to remedy this defile in due time."
"Might you remind me of what your brother said," Armand turned to Zoran, a sudden smile emerging from his once irritated expression, "of being a kisser to those above?"
Zoran's eyes lit up, his cheeks coated with a blush. Theodren was resting in his arms.
"Relieve it; it's the harvest season. Best we deprive our ill intent," Armand rubbed a piece of cloth against the stain, then staring in thought, "for now, at least."
"I...I believe I must depart." Zoran took a step back, glancing behind.
"Before you do, allow me to be brief." Armand began in a softened voice, looking to his sides.
"Speak." Theodren stood up with half-open eyes.
Armand turned away, a stutter in his voice.
"I've missed our little battles."
"That all?" Theodren scoffed back.
Armand stood still; not a voice to be muttered, not a head to turn, nor legs to carry him. He gripped his fist firmly.
"Yes, I'm afraid," he said with a pause, walking away into the fade of the crowd.
Zoran looked down at his brother as he lay in his arms, a raised eyebrow without a smile to bear his own.
They paced away towards Valora.
_______________________________________
Time quickly passed. It was dark, with only the moon painting the room. Valora's pale skin shimmered against it; her finger placed against the side of her head, and her eyes heavy. Her head and ears were ringing, and every memory was clouded.
The only thing that struck her mind was that of Queen Lena staring from across the banquet hall, a smile on her slightly wrinkled face.
Gathering her thoughts, she arose with a crack against wood and cloth: she was in bed.
The room was quiet; only the sounds of snoring and the autumn night winds creeping against the window, gently nipping her bare skin. Like any night, she closed her eyes again, but before her mind could take hold, she heard a crash outside the bedroom. She opened her eyes, turning to the door with a racing heart.
At this hour of the night? Surely it must be rats!
Her eyes lit up.
Queen Lena!
Her breathing became heavy at the thought.
There were no options; she had to approach the door to listen.
With a long sigh, she gently slipped out of her linen blanket, placing her bare feet on the cold stone floor: a shiver against her chest. She crouched to the doorway, placing her ear against it.
There it was again, a loud crash, but that time...followed by a whisper.
Her eyes widened, a hand gripped; for the whisper didn't come from the bedrooms.
She couldn't make it out, but she knew that the only way to hear it would mean opening the door, and her hand was shaking at the thought.
With a long sigh and closed eyes, she pulled the latch, a gentle creek as it opened; out into the pitch black, lit only by the vague moonlight behind her.
There it was again!
"I will only say it once more. Bind their mouths, and slice their throats if they wake." The voice was clear, and with it she strode off with soft footsteps to the next bedroom, opening it.
Inside sat Zoran by a desk; an ink pen in hand, and a candle by his side.
Without a word, she grabbed Zoran's hand with a finger over her lip, whispering in his ear, "you were right, wake the others. They're here, and I know how we'll survive it."
Zoran just stood there, shocked yet alert, and nodded his head.
They each took to separate rooms; Zoran to Carrion, and Valora to Theodren.
She bent over, pulled out her hand, and rubbed against the side of his face, shaking him gently yet repeatedly.
He woke with a slow growl, hand on his forehead and eyes shut. He carried his back upward.
"Theodren." She whispered, her voice driven in haste.
"Yes?" He continued to growl, his eyes closed.
"Are you well?"
"I was until you woke me." He opened his eyes with a squint, looking to the night sky and then back to her. "What?"
"We must leave."
Theodren stood up, squinting out the window.
"It's dusk. Any act now is no less bound to one's bedside." He fell to his pillow again, closing his eyes.
She huffed, grabbing his sides to pull him up.
He heard it, the whispers in the dark. Without a thought, he stood up; grabbing what he could.
"There is no way out! They guard the exit!" Carrion whispered in a panic, pointing at the entry door.
At that moment, the door's latch crackled, pushed against it as though it was intended to open. It appeared to be locked, and from there came a thundering bang: the fist of angry men.
"Follow me." Valora whispered back, carrying a lantern in hand.
The others nodded.
She led them to the hidden passage. She thrust her shoulder against it, leading them into the old dusty room.
"I know it's in here.. somewhere!" Valora became sporadic, glancing inside and out as the banging echoed with fury behind them.
She brushed away cobwebs and dust, finding a small passage downward.
"There!" She rushed down it with ease, climbing into what seemed to be a dark and abandoned tunnel, drowned in old cobwebs and dust from the ceiling to the floor.
Zoran came next, hardly more trouble than her, and than Carrion. As soon as Theodren made his way towards the crevice, the entry door was battered to the ground!
He rushed down in a panic, cutting his back against old rugged bricks as the stampede of more than a dozen footsteps flooded the main hall.
With a bash against the old stone passage, they pulled themselves past the cobwebs, one after the other as the walls grew ever tighter against them.
"This was her plan all along! I'm such a fool for not realizing!" Valora spoke in a scattered tone.
"But why here, why now?" Theodren asked with agitation, their footsteps echoing loudly.
"If we don't escape this tunnel, we'll find that answer," Zoran replied. "Now hurry!"
Step after step in what seemed an endless rush, wearing nothing more than nightgowns and boots; they saw a vague light peer out into the distance. A ray of hope overtook them, but only for a moment. A light came from behind; a voice that carried loud footsteps.
Step after step, their legs crying in pain; the light beyond became ever clearer. A wooden door was shattered open by their running force.
They collapsed to the ground. Bruises, cuts, and sweat coated their wounded bodies, for they stumbled down a three-foot ledge toward the street. Valora's lantern was shattered. With their legs shaking, they persisted onward; without a weapon in hand, or armor to protect themselves. The voices grew louder behind them.
"Let none of them escape!" They heard. "We can't allow them to take the upper hand!"
They continued down the streets, the air around them biting against their skin; reaching closer, and closer, to the west gate.
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They arrived, calling for the guards to let them through, exhaustion drowning their voices. They signaled above them in silence, and then they heard voices from the ceiling above them.
"Captain, a group calls for passage." A young voice said.
"At this hour?" The captain replied, looking down the wall with a yawn, and then his eyes lit up. "Aye! It's the bloody brothers! Mighty sight, that!"
He turned to the guard.
"Let 'em pass."
"Sir!" The guard bowed, then made haste away from him.
The gates were opened, and off they went; guided by a path lit only by the full moon's gaze.
Running became numb, their hearts, their spirits, their legs; nothing but the bite of the wind to their bare skin, and strangle to their throats. The wet ground sunk beneath them, and the sky was stained in mist.
"It's gone," Theodren spoke in a hastened breath. "There's nothing to turn to now."
"Abandon the thought." Zoran quickly replied. "It's our only choice."
"Where are we headed?" Carrion asked with a shout, for their footsteps drowned the sounds of the night.
"To the mountainside!" Zoran shouted.
Fog covered the skies, with the moon reflecting against the open fields and wetlands all around them. Even in the thick of the night, they could see the trees not far in the horizon, growing ever closer.
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Without a single light to guide them, they rushed through a labyrinth of trees. The pitch black slashed against their skin; branches splintering and biting. They scattered about, hastening as far as they could before their breath caved in, then hid in ditches. Just when they thought they made it, the light behind was swift to meet them.
"We know you're in there." One of the guards shouted.
"Don't deter them. Let them come out freely." Armand replied.
He quietly approached them. They could hear his feet crackling against the fallen twigs and leaves. A lantern was held in hand. He knelt, placing his hand against the underbrush.
"Set the torches alight. The mountains have already stuck their dew." He turned as he got up. "Find them."
Countless footsteps scattered their way, each glowing bright in the shade of the woods.
Zoran could hear them only a few feet above. Dirt began falling on his head when suddenly, he slipped downward and deeper into the ditch where he ended up trapped in a large hole. He got up with clenched eyes, gnashed teeth, mud staining his skin from head to toe, and a fowl musk in his nose.
"Over here!" Their muffled voice called. "We found one!"
With a grunt, Zoran felt his heart beating against his head, and as much as he wished to move: he couldn't.
With closed eyes, he faced his fate openly, with only the sound of footsteps bound to his ears.
Then, the ground above collapsed; cloaking his wounded body in dirt. Gasping with squinted eyes, the entrance became dark, for a shadow fell from above. A loud thud crashed against him, and there he felt warmth seep onto him. He knew without even taking a whiff; of blood, the red stain of a dead man.
Whistles cut through the air above, and that single thud spread to dozens.
"It's an ambush!" Armand's muffled voice called. "Make haste to the fields!"
Many footsteps scattered about with haste as the screams of soldiers echoed in the woods; the crashing of leaves roaring through the night.
The whistles grew into a chorus, singing a song of death with the cries of dying men; thump after thump, and with the last thump crashing down into the crumbled leaves of the forest floor: silence.
Only the sound of the wind was heard; that of footsteps crawling into their hearts, seeping between their garments.
Zoran covered his mouth, his heart punching against his chest as the smell of blood stuck to his breath, then dirt to his throat.
He heard the crunch of leaves not far above.
A light peered down, making him blinded, and with it came footsteps squishing against the wet ground. There was a vague sight of a figure standing tall above him; that of an unfamiliar banner of thrice black lines.
His eyes and mouth had widened, but not a word could compete with the sight before him.
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There they hid, hearts beating like a drum, eyes tainted with the fire of the sun, and their mouths choked shut: it was Zoran!
They were held back, watching as his injured body was pulled out of a muddy ditch like that of a child falling down a cliff: their hands were ever so slightly out of reach.
The figures did not say a word, but as he was carried out of the hole, his wounded body, with eyes barely open with a cloak of mud, and a body shivering from the cold, was then thrashed and pummeled to the ground! Five enveloped him, kicking and throwing what remained against nearby branches as his echoing screams fell to muffled silence, eyes and body empty of all things with hope.
All Theodren and the others could do was watch, and as much as they wished to cry, to turn away, to cower: they couldn't. Like being forced to stare at a fire, the blinding light scorched their very soul.
The flames a dozen had left as true as their march, vanishing to the singing trees of autumn.
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"He's..." Valora began, Carrion tapping her shoulder with a bleak stare.
The light of morning filled like loose cracks to the stark trees. You could hear the pitch of chirping in the wind or the crunch of gravel as they gathered up a mountainside: the only peace to it all. Their hearts ached, their spirits drained, as though every step carried the weight of a hundred dying souls.
Valora sighed with closed eyes, turning to Theodren.
"Can I at least ask where we're heading?"
"Far as we can," Carrion replied, making her turn to him.
"We can't hold it off forever, Theodren."
"Just long enough." Theodren muffled.
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They found their way deep into the mountain's edge, finding a small cave to call their own. By nightfall was gathered an array of food, firewood, and grass bedding.
Valora graced Theodren's shoulder, yet he did not attempt to welcome it. Carrion gently pulled her away.
"Your brother is strong, Theodren. He once mistook you for an eyru infant, hands bound to you as if you were his father." Carrion began. "Yet there that little boy went; from a bolt through the skull of a barg, to the robes of a High Guard noble. He will survive this. Of that, I am certain."
"You done?" Theodren asked, voice frail.
Carrion shut his eyes, with a heavy breath.
"Yes, I'm done."
"Then, what now?" Theodren turned to them.
"Well... Zoran had the blade. I fear he brought it with him, but if not, there's a chance it's still in the Capitol." Valora said softly, hesitant to speak.
"Then we must depart!" Theodren quickly spoke.
"No, Theodren. It's far too great a risk." Carrion stood up.
"Then we can't save Zoran and we can't get the blade?" Theodren bolted to Carrion, grabbing and lifting him. "What can we do? What, in the seven hells, can we do? Wait a decade and hope the world doesn't burn?"
Carrion began to quiver, and Theodren's eyes widened, placing him on the ground with a thud, and then rushed out of the cave.
"Theodren!" Valora screamed with haste to meet him, but only to see him huffing by the entrance, weighted breaths that seemed to choke his very soul. "There's still Sven, Drew, Steffen, or even Aran if we must."
Theodren gnashed his teeth.
"Not enough! Sven doesn't want our company any more than Steffen or Drew. Aran might have armies, but we're fugitives now. He'll just take you away, and then ransom the rest of us to Lorlyn. There's no escaping this!"
"Guaren." Carrion caught up, catching his breath, and then Theodren turned to him. "Guaren knows Almar better than we ever could. He'll know what to do."
Theodren began to calm, his grip loosened, and he slowly opened his eyes, turning to Carrion.
"And how can we know? He's a N'Farr! To him, we might as well be children gazing to the sky, desperate to quench what little abounds of our hubris."
Carrion walked closer, eyes closed with a painful sigh.
"You don't know that, and Zoran wouldn't want you to give up that chance."
Theodren gripped his fist, and with a turn, he released it.
"You're right." Theodren said softly, and then raised it to a shout, "so why are we still here?"
He bolted to the cave entrance.
"Not yet!" Valora hastened to embrace him, shaking.
Theodren sighed, turning to return the favor, a sense of warmth.
"Morning, and no later."
Carrion slowly nodded back.
"Now, let's head inside; it's bloody cold out."
As they went in, Theodren looked to the entrance once more; smiling, if only for a moment.
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Night had passed by, and as they heard birds begin to chirp in the early morning glow, they got up to leave, packed with nothing but scraps, yet a sense of hope carried through their every step
Taking one look out of the cave, a spear tip gently thrust in front of them, blocking their leave.
"Take them away." A voice said, a faded figure in the shrouded light.
A sense of weight overcame them, that little strand of hope gone with the wind. Unable to speak a word, they fell to the ground, surrounded by a great multitude of soldiers.