[r.] I know you will follow me until kingdom come [18+]

It perhaps shouldn't have come as any great surprise to the Eyraillian princess that Chara knew precisely about whom she was referring; her connection back in Eyraille. The Rigas family was close knit, and if, like she said, it was not only uncommon, but so atypical for a Rigas to ever leave the city, that it only stood to reason they would keep record of the ones who did. Despite that she'd never met her, Chara knew precisely who Alta was. And Vega wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing. "Yes. Grandmother Alta has resided in Eyraille for generations upon generations of the Sorde rule; and all the time, she has served as the resident librarian of the palace's archives. She is certainly clever, for having pulled the wool over everyone's eyes for so long. She... did mention Adalfieri." Vega hadn't been present for the peak of the former Rigas head's reign of terror, nor for his death, but despite his crimes, the Skyknight couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. 

"I... cannot say that I wish to deliver that information to her. The status of her family." She confessed, after a beat. "Grandmother Alta explained her decisions to me. That she did not leave because she did not love her family, but for the existential state of Rigas affairs and attitudes, and how hopeless it made her feel for Stella D'Mare. None of that is of any consequence at this point, of course, but she chose to live a quiet life among books and people who are not adept in magic. You can imagine she has already seen more death than she perhaps wishes, living in a nation that sat upon the laurels of war, where many people didn't live for a fraction of the time that she has. If she asks, then I will not lie. But I will tell her that Stella D'Mare sends it gratitude. She lent her assistance because she still cares."

As Chara explained the purpose of the two stones in her possession, one which was bequeathed to the Skyknight princess, Vega listened attentively and examined the peculiar tablet in her hands. The tips of her fingers tingled; it was an odd feeling, as if it were drawing energy from her.  It must have had to source its magic somewhere, even from those who were not magically adept. "This is a brilliant solution, Chara. I will keep this safe, and close, so that our contact may be frequent. I am sure I do not need to warn you to be cautious when you use it, here, lest you are intercepted by Mollengard."

Before they departed, the Eyraillian princess furrowed her brows curiously at the envoy who spoke in harsh, urgent whispers to the Rigas head. She didn't have to ask what that was about; and she didn't have to wait for Chara to explain. Precisely what she had suspected. "I anticipated our need to explain our presence." The red-haired Skyknight nodded. "And I've prepared for it. I have met Solveig, before, and she would recognize me, so I cannot be present for this discourse. One of my Skyknights--Nairee-- is already prepared to stand in my place as leader of this relief mission." She nodded to one of the knights who stood behind her; a tall woman, older than herself, whose posture naturally commanded attention. "She will meet with Solveig tomorrow. For anyone asking, we are here to foster and maintain our relationship with Stella D'Mare, and as such saw fit to check in and provide provisions following the chaos that involved the Serpent. I have no doubt our presence is inherently suspicious to them, but they cannot fault us for lending friendly aid; and anyway, it is no secret that Eyraille has worked hard over the past decade and some years to harbor favorable relations with neighboring nations. You can rely on us to diffuse tensions."

"I... want to go with you. I'd like nothing more, honestly." Elespeth sighed, as every one of their offers and reassurances dragged her closer to the unwise decision of saying 'yes'. Her voice sounded weaker with every argument she made. "I cannot leave Chara alone, here, to deal with what is transpiring. Deep down, I think it would break Alster's heart that I left, because it would be uncharacteristic of me. That, and I'd rather not face the dark mage's wrath when she returns... I've had enough trouble dealing with other peoples' magic. Besides... between Chara and some others, people have been devising plans to fight the Forbanne. None of them are entirely sane, but it's something. If you're curious, we can go find a seat somewhere and I'll tell you all about it. Because, frankly, I value your opinion more than my own secrecy."

"Is it all the same to you if I catch up on this tomorrow?" Vega suddenly asked. Just a moment ago, she'd looked fine, but weariness had suddenly smothered her like a blanket. She rested her fingers against her stomach. "I apologize; the day seems to have caught up to me. I think I'll retire for the evening."

Of course, concern lined Elespeth's face. "Are you well, Vega? I can send for someone if you need assistance."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. It's my own fault; I've spent the week preparing solely on ensuring that Haraldur and I could arrive and leave here, unscathed, and I've... admittedly been foregoing sleep." The corner of her mouth curled ever so slightly into a smile, but she did not elaborate. "I'll see you both early, tomorrow morning. We can stay long enough to tie up loose ends, but as soon as Nairee placates Solveig, we should take our leave."

Shortly after Vega took her graceful departure, Haraldur's face fell, becoming serious and apologetic. For a moment, the Atvanian warrior gave pause to worry that there was more bad news to come... and in a sense, there was. But what Haraldur confided did not shake Elespeth in the least. It helped that Alster had informed her of the the mercenary's past, back when they had resided in Tadasun's encampment with the Sybaia, one in particular who had put the wheels in motion for Haraldur to heal. But even if he had told her just now of his Forbanne past, without any prior knowledge on her part, it would not have changed anything. "I know, Haraldur. Alster told me." She began, in a voice that was neutral and calm. "It shocked me, at first, but not for long, to be very honest. I don't know the extensive details, but... some of Mollengard's secret defectors have informed me of the nature and creation of the Forbanne. Whatever happened to you, it was a path that you did not willingly choose. And look at you, now: you possess more human qualities than most of the Rigases in this cursed estate. So if you are expecting me to trust or to respect you less for what you were dealt in the past... forgive me, that I cannot see you as anything less than a friend."

Glancing at the tin of whisky, the former knight couldn't hide a smile. After the consequences of risking a drink with Chara, she had long since come to the conclusion that Haraldur was still, by far, her favorite person with which to partake of alcohol. "Let's go to the archives. It's always shielded with a spell of silence, apparently, due to some of the sensitive information some of its books contain. I'll retrieve a bottle of wine that I am sure Chara will not miss." She suggested. It was not as though sleep would visit her that night, anyway; it never did, on any night. "I'll inform you as to the plans that have been devised against Mollengard and the Forbanne, as well... and perhaps you can tell me which one is inherently the least mad. Although I am willing to bet the answer will be 'neither'."

Alster's recount of everything that he and others had suffered at the hands of Vitali Kristeva resounded in a way that she had not once considered. Of course, she had always taken each and every action that the foul necromancer had performed to harm people in favor of his own motives, but only to stack them against them and build her hatred so tall that she could not see over it. Yet, to listen to the unlikely good that had come of these actions... the side-effects that had built Alster into a stronger and more capable person, it really did offer a different, fresh perspective. Of course, he was right to note that none of that had been Vitali's intentions, but all that aside... it did not explain his odd behaviour toward Tivia. When she had spoken to him about Tivia's drastic change in mood, the dumbfounded, nearly naive response was not one she had been expecting. That he had not intentionally upset the star seer, but on the contrary, had been attempting to show her that he... cared. He, Vitali Kristeva, who thought of no one but himself, cared for someone. How this ever came to pass, she would likely never know... but, there was no mistaking the advantage of an improved individual.

"I suspected he was the reason Tivia was upset, so I confronted him about it," she informed Alster, as their horses trod at a steady pace. "Of course, I thought he had malicious intentions. Instead, it seems that he had been trying to advise her not to endanger herself for him because he cares... and Tivia took it in a different way, because as someone so young and yearning to be loved and accepted, the sort of attention he has been giving her doesn't appear to be the attention she wants from him. At least they seemed to have smoothed things over... and, honestly, if he did not care, he wouldn't have tried to atone for hurting her feelings. That this happened at all is still very foreign and farfetched, to me. But we cannot deny what we are seeing."

The dark mage did not take offense in any way to Alster's confession of what primarily motivated him on this trip--for, in many ways, she felt the same. After all, the Night Garden and its healing properties seemed to be the crux of what made Galeyn so important and noteworthy. In her eyes, she was not wrong to hope. "That is my thought, as well. Truth be told, I wouldn't have been half as motivated to find this place, were it not for what it can offer people. Imagine what it could do, if it could heal so profoundly... You might get your arm back. Tivia's face could be restored. And, gods forbid, Vitali could regain feeling and mobility in his arm. But I also wonder... if it can heal on a more profound level." She paused, her voice growing softer, as if she were afraid to be so hopeful. "If it could remove the toxic part of my magic that has threatened to drive me mad. Or to help Tivia weather the call of the stars... or, you. To quiet the voice of the Serpent, in your mind." Lilica shot an apologetic glance in his direction. "Vitali does not keep secrets well. But to be honest, I figured you were suffering something of the sort, from your behavior. Because it was similar to how I felt and behaved when the Serpent attempted to connect with me. If the Night Garden can heal us from the inside out, in ways more effective even than the methods of the Sybaia... all of this will be worth it. To see everyone recovered wholly, that is what I want. I only hope I am not setting my hopes too high, and risking disappointment..."

The riders at the back of the small procession had been silent for a good deal of time, as they rode into the waxing day. Despite how chilly temperature of the air, the day was mercifully clear and sunny, lending warmth that prevented them from losing feeling in their fingers and toes. Sigrid was not one to make idle conversation, particularly with people who were practically strangers to her (although the man called Alster had offered a pathway for friendship), but she had noticed that the woman with blonde hair and a burned face had remained relatively closed during this leg of their journey. She rode with her head down, appearing deep in troubled thoughts. Perhaps it was out of a sense of duty or mere curiosity, but Sigrid wondered if the girl cared for someone to lend an ear. Sometimes an unbiased almost-stranger was just what someone needed.

"Tivia--is it?" The Dawn warrior tried to recall the young woman's name, and by the way she looked up from her horse, as if startled out of a trance, she figured she must be right. "You've looked as though something has been on your mind since before we departed, this morning. I cannot say that I can help what ails you, but if you'd like an ear, I don't mind listening. Sometimes, getting thoughts off of our chest can lighten a burden."

At Vega's request to retire for the night, Haraldur was compelled to join her, if only to keep watch. If it was her impulse that saw her into Stella D'Mare, then what manner of troubles would she find when on her own? He gave her a sideways glance, but any suspicion wore off when he noticed the tired sheen in her eyes, and the bow of her stance as she clutched her stomach. Elespeth had voiced his concerns aloud, but she reassured them with a comment that almost wrenched a sly smile from him.

"Well, no one's stopping you now," he said pointedly. "Go on and make up for your lost sleep. I'll be along in a few hours, I'm sure."

After she left the council chambers, and Haraldur revealed his past associations with the organization that had surrounded Stella D'Mare, Elespeth reacted...predictably. Again, why would he think his bloodthirsty history would stymie her? Nowadays, it seemed as though he was the only person still affected by his image. Yet, his peers were so quick to accept him and never held him in contempt for his actions. Though he shouldn't be surprised that the kind and nonjudgmental Elespeth was among the retinue who saw beyond the never-washed blood of his sword, he still found it difficult to swallow her words. Why were they all so lenient? So willing to forgive? He had no choice, they said. But he did have a choice. He could have died. Surrendered. Allowed the brutal training methods of his masters to quash him until he ceased breath, and a heartbeat. It was his unwavering will to live that denied others the same right. For, every day that he survived, more succumbed to his blade. Who was he to reap souls, just to pay the hefty toll that life demanded he pay? Wouldn't it have been much simpler to give himself to the earth? To lay down his arms, and fade into nothing?

It didn't matter now, he thought. Those years were behind him. What did matter was the nature of his sword. Never would he harm an ally. Always would he protect, and fight alongside those who gave him the chance to become the person they believed him to be. And for that, he was again faced with those same two unerring choices: fight, or die.

No, he remedied. There was a third option. Live.

"Well," he said, still baffled, despite it all, "I..." he tried for a smile, "am honored you think I'm more human than the average Rigas. It's...not easy. To feel human, that is. On some days, I want to turn it off and resume the life of a killer for hire, not having to think or feel at all. But then I remember people like you, and Vega, and I know that...that it will get better. It will pass. So thank you," he bowed his head in a respectful dip. "It means a lot to hear that I, and others like me, are not lost causes. If there's hope for me...maybe they," he looked to the door, towards outside, "could also be reached. But that," he heaved a sigh, "is not what we have the luxury to worry about, right now. Lead the way to the archives. Let's hear of your mad, mad plans."

 They settled in a nook in the far corner of the archives, passing along his whisky flask and her wine bottle, as he filled her in on all that happened since they last spoke; how the Serpent almost fell on him shortly after he stormed the city in the guise of an Andalarian mercenary. How he encountered Vitali, and would have ended the accursed necromancer's life, if not for Tivia's interference. How he heard Mollengard's ship horns in the harbor and fled, but found Vega, who offered him an escape to Eyraille on her roc. How they'd reconciled their differences (though he left out the details of their reconciliation), and how he was tasked with training her brother, the king, to fight, in preparation for Mollengard's invasion.

He, of course, omitted the part where he and Tivia had shared a moment, in the rock outcroppings behind camp.

After he regaled her of his news, he listened to her speak of the plan as devised by a desperate Mollengardian healer whose daughter was taken into the Forbanne. He'd recruited the likes of an rakish shapeshifter, and an overeager girl possessed of dangerous and untamed magic, the very same who delivered the soil-inscribed message to Eyraille. And they were planning on...

He took one, two, three generous swigs of whisky.

"This...is far too mad for a sober mind to contemplate. So let me get this straight. You're planning on cornering Captain Solveig, who you suspect is Forbanne, to drug her with a mind-controlling draught that activates by fear? And once she's in this state, this healer is going to ask her for leadership over the Forbanne? And you agreed to all of this?" Again, he took another swig.

"The Forbanne won't listen to him, and that's if--I can't believe I'm saying this--that's if this entire plan makes it to its intended goal. You might be able to cause a little chaos in the interim, but other officers who report under Solveig will take charge and wrangle the Forbanne back into formation before you can even parade them down the thoroughfare. Are you sure this is a plan, and not a set-up, Elespeth?" He clamped a firm, steady hand on her shoulder, and squeezed it for her utmost attention. "Don't do it. A Mollengardian healer who works directly under Solveig, a proclaimed spy, and an unstable girl?" He shook his head. "The former could be delivering you straight to her. You've already made an enemy of this woman, and she knows your name and origins. Say what you will about breaking Alster's heart, but what will happen to it if you're dead?"

He drew her close by the shoulder, fierce-set green eyes staring into her own field of green. "Come to Eyraille, Elespeth. Whatever you're doing here is not worth it. The city is forfeit. It can't win like this. You don't have the numbers, or the allies. According to the king's reports, Andalari and Tadasun have fallen. And Eyraille can't yet afford to send you an army to engage. Even if they did, there's nowhere to put them! Mollengard has you surrounded. And if you're still not convinced of abandoning this plan...hells, I just had this talk with the king, before I left," he gave a growl of frustration. "If you can at all help it, do not get into hand-to-hand combat with a Forbanne. You facing Solveig...is suicide."

At Lilica's mention of the Serpent, Alster shot his head in her direction, his metal arm, all the while, thrumming against his lap. But at her explanation, he slumped into his mount with a defeated slouch.

"I was going to tell you...but I couldn't find the right time. You need to stay focused on finding Galeyn, and I thought that bringing it up the Serpent would dredge unwanted memories in you. I'm sorry you had to find out via Vitali, of all people." He shuddered. "But...don't worry about it. Its domain is in my mindscape, and in mine alone. I won't allow It to affect you, or anyone else." Like Elespeth, he thought. Even if I can't communicate with her, she's safe from It, at least.

"But as much as I'd love to give credence to the Night Garden and its legendary healing abilities, I...wouldn't get my hopes up, Lilica." His voice also grew soft, afraid that his doubts would upset her, as she'd seemed so willing to believe in the improbable. While he was living proof of the miracles that magic sometimes wrought, ridding the mind of an otherworldly entity, or the influence of an entire star-infested universe, or an integral part of one's chthonic magic, were not endeavors lauded by the power of healing. Because to heal was not to eradicate. Every procedure left scars. Even miracles. "There's no cure-all. Only relief. It's a nice dream, though. One that I'd like to see manifest. But personally...I think there's a higher chance of my arm growing back than there is the Serpent disappearing from my life for good. But," he conceded, "I'll attempt a more optimistic approach. It might do us good, even if it amounts to nothing."

As the afternoon wore on, Tivia fell into a more pensive state. She exhausted most of her receptiveness when she tried to replicate a conversation with Vitali, determined to at least sound more put-together than she had been over the past few days. But the efforts wore off after an hour, and soon, she reverted into silence--a silence she hadn't realized was unnatural, insofar as she...wasn't there.

She felt her body on the horse, the hard leather of the saddle as it brushed against her legs, the back and forth bounce, and the pressure of her fingers on the reins. The landscape rolled out before her, winter-dead and overcast. The chatter of her companions reached her ears, and the smell of the horse, like straw and metal, filled her nostrils. But she was elsewhere. Outside. Above, below. A low hum overtook the chatter heard by her corporeal body. The hum did not speak words, but she understood. It formulated into a picture. Dots of light, all flashing at the same frequency. She nodded along to the patterns. They soothed her. In them, she saw the familiar. Green eyes and a frozen fishing village. Blue eyes and a frozen fishing village. They overlapped. They saw the same, lived the same, experienced the same. But the bare branches of their tree extended, split away, and grew to opposite ends of the trunk. So wide and far apart. But at the top, they curved inward, like stag's antlers...eager to touch. To reconnect.

A loud voice plummeted her out of her trance. With a start, she almost fell off her saddle, but righted herself in time. Her head spun to seek the source of the interruption, to berate it, or to make it vanish, so she could return to her introspection. It was a comfort, to experience a vision that did not scream until her ears were bloody, or strobe flashes so violent, that she was ready to tear her eye from its socket. But this unwanted voice sounded like a star. Burrowing its way into her ear, determined in its quest for dominance over her deteriorating body.

But when she searched for the voice, she found it belonged to Sigrid, who was now riding beside her.

Slowly, the pieces came together. The branches of the tree. The green eyes, which she knew so well. The blue eyes, which were looking right at her.

"Yes," she said, in a revelatory crescendo. "Something was on my mind. ...You. And him. I...I know you said you didn't care about the origins of your birth, but I now understand why you seem so familiar to me. I know a relation of yours. A," she squinted, as if reading a name from a distant cloud, "cousin? I think you were close, as children. He had a tree necklace. A crippled sister. You used to play with her. I know him, Sigrid!" She began to laugh, half in glee and in sheer amusement. "This world...is so tightly tied, so closely wound. It's ludicrous! Madness. What are the odds that I should find you so soon after..." she trailed off, but the smile did not leave her face. "He calls himself Haraldur. And he saved my life," she motioned to the burned half of her face, "from this."

Soothed and reassured by the warmth of wine and whisky trickling down her throat, Elespeth found a good deal of catharsis in informing Haraldur of Atli's insane plan. The only thing worse than being holed up in a city surrounded by enemies, without anyone who she could really call a friend, was having to harbor the made secrets of people that she trusted even less than Chara. Vega and Haraldur's arrival, however brief, was such a blessing compared to what she had faced before. And despite the gravity of their conversation, which left Haraldur tense and concerned, she thought she might even be able to sleep for the remainder of the night.

"That, indeed, seems to be the plan." The Atvanian warrior confirmed with a nod, seeming far less concerned than the mercenary was, but that was likely due to the fact she had more than half of a bottle of deep, red wine coursing through her veins. Drunken apathy was such a beautiful, marvelous thing... "I didn't so much agree as accepted that they, and this city and everyone in it, are as good as dead if they try to go through with this plan and fail. I might not stand a chance winning against Solveig in battle, but I could leave a scratch. And according to Atli, that is all it should take in order to administer the drug that is supposed to allow us to control Solveig's mind...And he will go through with it, whether or not I help. He made that abundantly clear. The shapeshifter seems dedicated to the cause, as well. There's a chance that Mollengard has his sister hostage. If I have learned anything about people, it is that they can and will go made when people threaten their families. Atli and Hadwin are already there. But even if I disagreed... it is not the only madness stirring in this broken estate."

Casually taking the tin of whisky from him, Elespeth took a long swing before handing it back. Every sip made her care less and less about Mollengard, about Stella D'Mare, about her loneliness. It was easy to understand why it was so easy for people to become enamored of this feeling, to the point where it became dangerously habitual. "Teselin is a problem that no one has realized, yet. What's she's done here, since she so naively wandered in, has been benign. But the only reason she is here is because she fled from the last place she tried to make a home, because she unwittingly brought horror and destruction upon it. She has told me what she is capable of... and I believe her. And if it is true, then she could be the reason Stella D'Mare falls. And you want to know the worst part?" She slammed a hand down on the table, leaning in for emphasis. "Chara wants to use her against Mollengard. To sink their fleet of ships, or something equally as ridiculous. And the girl doesn't even care that she's being used; she's like some abandoned puppy looking for a master's acceptance. She will sink all of their ships, if Chara commands it. Not what I would have expected from Vitali Kristeva's sister, given what I know of Lilica." A pause, as she realized Haraldur wasn't yet in the know. "Oh--of course, you wouldn't know. Her name is Teselin Kristeva--she is Vitali's younger sister, though no relation to Lilica. She came here because she wants to find him, and is convinced that he will return." 

Resting her head in her hand, Elespeth stared absently off into the darkness of the archives, the room only lit by the occasional wall sconce. "I don't think it's a set-up; not entirely. The healer has been... open with me. He does not work for Mollengard through allegiance and loyalty, and he is no longer willing to let them use his daughter against him. I realize this plan is ludicrous, but what more could I do in Eyraille? I want to go back with you both, Haraldur. You... you have no idea how much I need to be around people like you, right now. Friends. People I know I can trust." She expelled a soft breath. "But I can't abandon this city... much though I'd honestly like to. But,"

She met Haraldur's eyes, mirroring their severity. "What you just told me now... Chara has to hear it. We can't win against Mollengard, so the best route of survival is evacuation. Tell her how futile it is. And we can work something more detailed out with the resonance stones. Because I am in full support of your suggestion, Haraldur, but you must realize how little power I have, here. And... I have to do something. Even if it is something completely mad."

That night, for all she was exhausted, Vega slept poorly. She would awaken every hour, on the hour, and couldn't seem to get comfortable. Even when Haraldur finally came to bed, much later in the evening, she could not find comfort enough to rest, he stomach twisted in knots of nausea that would come and go. It was the stress of the mission, she figured; knowing how dangerously close they were to Mollengard, how close Haraldur was to the people who had almost destroyed him. Anyone would feel sick, put in that situation, let alone having the foresight to realize that it might not be long before the conquering nation was upon Eyraille's doorstep. 

So the Eyraillian princess accepted what little rest she could find behind closed eyelids and a fully awakened mind, and when the sun crested the horizon, she was up and prepared to debrief her Skyknights before they were to speak with Captain Solveig. Her stomach was still turning in circles, but after chewing on some ginger root that the Skyknights always carried to prevent sickness while flying, it settled a little. Nairee and four other Skyknights were to meet Solveig down towards Mollengard's 'territory'; nowhere near the Rigas estate, thankfully, to ensure her safety and Haraldur's. After she was sure her knights were well informed as to what to say when questioned, she left them to their duty... and the princess partook of another duty, entirely.

When Vega dressed, that morning, it was not in her Skyknight attire. In fact, the clothes she had chosen--a simple, white tunic, beige slacks, and a grey, woolen shawl to keep out the morning chill--were as plain as those worn by the lesser privileged denizens of Stella D'Mare. And when she tied back her red hair, tucking it away into the shawl, she looked as ordinary as any citizen walking the streets. Which was precisely her intent, if she wanted to keep it under wraps that the princess of Eyraille was present in the city. Solveig had seen her; it was likely she would know her face, even with the trademark coppery Sorde hair tucked out of sight. Stealth was imperative, but all the same... she allowed herself to step out into the daylight of morning, and seek out Atli's tent. After a few quiet questions directed at a few Rigas servants, she had a good idea as to where to find the Mollengardian healer.

The tent was precisely where she thought she would find it. Vega didn't say a word, until she stepped inside and closed the tent flaps behind her. "Atli." She said, trying to get the healer's attention. She let down the hood of her shawl, her bright red, braided locks on full display. "I don't have long. I wanted to assure you that I have not forgotten my promise to you; about finding your daughter." The light-headedness and discomfort in her stomach still lingered, so she took a seat to stabilize herself, but otherwise made no comment on it. "I wondered if you can tell me where, in Mollengard, she is being kept. With it being preoccupied in its endeavor to absorb Stella D'Mare--and Eyraille, I'm sure--then now may be an optimal time to try and find her, while I can spare the resources."

The princess glanced sidelong at the dog who was asleep at the other side of the tent. She didn't remember the healer being in possession of a mutt, but it had been some time since they had last seen one another. "You're safe to tell me whatever you can," she added, her voice low, soft, so that their conversation could be kept private. "Captain Solveig is preoccupied speaking with my Skynights right now. I don't suppose she was happy with our arrival--which makes it all the more pertinent that we leave, today. I wanted to check in with you before we did that."

Lilica was not disappointed by Alster's appraisal of the Night Garden's potential. She knew so little of it; barely more than what her father had told her, and all else was mere speculation. But for everything she was doing to uncover Galeyn... leaving Stella D'Mare, and leaving Chara during a time when she needed her the most... she wanted it to be worth it. She wanted to be able to tell Chara that she had made a good decision, because look at what good Galeyn could offer to her people, as well. But the fact remained that she did not know truth from lie. How much her father was embellishing to motivate her to do his bidding, and how much he was keeping from her. Alster was right; some things could not be so easily healed. And she should not set herself up to expect it.

I wonder if at least it could heal what was broken when I awoke from near death... She wondered quietly, thinking about the nightmares that still haunted her. These nights, seeing her father in her dreams, had been a blissful reprise from the horrors that otherwise awaited her in her unconscious mind. Seeing Chara die by her hands, over and over again... could the Night Garden make that go away? Or would she be forced to endure those scars for the remainder of her life?

"I... I just want it to be worth it. Worth leaving Stella D'Mare and Chara... I don't want this to be a lie, Alster." The chthonic caster whispered, suddenly looking discouraged. "I'm afraid that it will be a lie. And if it is, I will never forgive myself for leaving Chara to handle the city, alone..."

Although she hadn't had any real expectations entering the conversation, what Tivia had to say to her shook Sigrid to the bone. The star seer had commented on her 'northern looks' when they had first met; had inquired into her origins, about which the Dawn Warrior could tell her nothing, because she didn't know. But now... it was as if something had clicked in the young woman's mind. Something revealed itself to her, and Sigrid was left hardly knowing what to say.

"I... I only have very vague memories of my home, Tivia. I am not sure that I can confirm or deny any of what you thought you saw." Sigrid spoke softly, unsure as to whether she really wanted to delve into the topic of a past that was little more than a ghost to her. "I was very young when my parents abandoned me in Braighdath. But I remember... my home was cold. Even in the summer, I recall that the mornings always required woolen blankets to keep warm. My family was close; even extended family. We spent a lot of time, together; worked together, grew together. Or, for me... played together, as I was so young. I had a friend. Maybe he was a cousin, or some relation... I cannot recall those details. He did have a sister; I didn't understand her behaviour as a child, but looking back, I realize that she hadn't developed properly."

If she thought hard enough, she could picture her home; a village, small, but tight-knit. She could almost recall the face of the little girl she would play with; could almost recall the caring face of her older brother, who looked out for that girl so fiercely. "One morning, without warning, my parents hauled me out of bed. We packed two horses, and we left, without saying goodbye to anyone. We traveled for... I cannot recall how long. Just that it was winter, and the weather was miserable. Then we arrived at Braighdath. One moment, I was holding my mother's hand; the next, she let go, and I couldn't find her. I never saw them, or any of my family again."

Sighing, she felt the ache of an old wound she'd just picked open. "You... you're sure you know him, though? You're sure it's the same person?" Part of her was desperate to hope; another part felt just as eager to stay away. She had established a life with the Dawn Legion; one that she loved, and among people for whom she cared, and cared for her. What would be the benefit of reconnecting with a ghost from the past? Maybe you will find a sense of the identity that you lost. A voice at the back of her mind suggested. You can belong to both the Dawn Legion and your birthplace. They are not mutually exclusive. "He... is he a hero? I suppose, to you, he must be, if he saved you. Do..." She cleared her throat, reconsidering the question, but only for a heartbeat. "Haraldur... was it? Do you know where he is, now...?"

Haraldur couldn't imbibe enough wine and whisky to still the city's ill portents, which thrummed around in his ribcage like a trapped insect. Something about the ruined Stella D'Mare seemed to stir madness in all its denizens, and by how Elespeth spoke, acted, and defended the plan in which she played a role, he worried that she, too, was losing her good sense.

"If you're not going to change your mind," he began, hearing the similar beat of his words, for they were almost verbatim what he spoke to Vega just a week ago, "then you're going to do this right. For one, I'll speak with Chara tomorrow. Evacuation is priority, but even beyond evacuation, we still need to find sanctuary for all these people. Outside the city is contested territory, and patrolled by Mollengardian soldiers. They need a distraction. Something to pull them back into Stella D'Mare. That's why, of all the plans that you do have," he banished the thought of his own madness prying itself to the surface, "...that Teselin girl... can she destroy their fleet? Mollengardians are master seafarers--at least those of East Mollengard. They can sense a rogue wave before it hits. It would have to be an instantaneous attack. Unnatural in its making. That's the only way to surprise them. The danger to their fleet would draw the other soldiers to the shore. Yes," he swished around the remaining contents of the whisky, "it will destroy this city, but look around. Not much else to salvage. And it'll only affect the lower terraces. As long as everyone can get to higher ground..."

He rubbed a hand to his temple and muttered something like a curse in another language. "But no. I'm not advocating for using that girl to toll damage on Mollengard. Saints knows she has enough trouble bearing a relation to that necromancer. But you do need a distraction. A big one. Something that I expect only magic-users can perform. Or," he looked to the ceiling, "rocs, and plenty of them."

"We'll discuss our options with Eyraille's king, and keep in touch through the resonance stone," he concluded, after a hurried swig of the wine. Only now was it starting to surge through him with a warm, pleasant fuzziness. "As for your own affairs--and since everyone wants to risk their damn lives like they can pull more out of storage--" he sighed in defeat. "You're going to take me to see this healer tomorrow, before I leave. If you're so convinced he can be trusted, then I'm going to talk to him, and insist I join in on this plan. Because you're going to need back-up when you face Solveig." He gave her an uncompromising glare, in case she protested. "I can blend in easily with the Forbanne. I'll have an easier time infiltrating. Maybe I can even attract her attention, and lead her to where you plan on ambushing her. I'll have to return to Eyraille first, but once we settle on a cogent strategy for aiding the city, I'll be coming right back." He lifted the dregs of his flask. "And I'll toast to that. You're all mad, but I'm no better, by my associations."

For over the course of the long week since his ill-fated meeting with Elespeth, Hadwin, and the straggler girl, Atli did nothing out of the usual. Though his tent was just outside the gates of the Rigas estate, nestled in a quiet area not frequented by foot traffic, it was still under Mollengard's watchful eye, and he felt, through the stirrings of canvas from inside, the movements of soldiers on patrol. They'd begun to suspect him, and made the appropriate arrangements to keep better control of the errant healer who cavorted more with Rigases than with his own countrymen and their interests. While he was always under suspect, it was no surprise that Solveig was beginning to predict his ulterior motives, and wanted to scare him into submission. They needed to act on their plans, and soon. But in the meantime, he toiled away with his tinctures and teas, and saw to D'Marians and Mollengardians both, tending to injuries and other ailments.

Under the dim light of a lantern, he hunched over his mortar and pestle, ready to pulverize a few herbs into a paste, when someone slipped into his tent, unannounced. Rising out of his chair in surprise, he bounded over to the woman. A D'Marian commoner, by the looks of her drab clothes.

"I'm sorry," he told the woman as he approached. "I'm not taking any patients right no--"

When she flipped back her hood, revealing those tell-tale copper locks and distinctly blue eyes, he faltered, his mouth hanging loose. "It's you," he said, not daring to speak her name out loud. The sleeping wolf in the corner flicked one yellow eye open, and watched them. "Why were you so foolhardy as to come here? He hissed in a whisper. "If Captain Solveig sees you..." He sputtered into the air. "All so you could tell me you're going to make good on your promise to find..."

At detecting the wobble to her feet and how she held her stomach, he pulled up his own chair for her to sit, but did not yet make any note of her condition, so overwhelmed was he by her unprecedented arrival. By now, the wolf was fully awake, and had lifted his head from the ground.

"Look, I appreciate that you're still committed to locating my...her," his words rounded the syllable with difficulty. "But it's futile for you. You're already in Mollengard's warpath. You can't afford to go on any excursions into the heart of their territory. It's against your country's best interests. Besides," he fetched his tea kettle, which had heated into a boil over the tent's small fire-pit, "nobody knows where the Forbanne train...except officers, and the Forbanne, themselves. And they're not likely to answer you, even if you asked nicely." He mixed some herbs into a ceramic mug and poured the steaming water inside. "All I can tell you is that she's in East Mollengard. Believe me, if I knew more, I'd be using every resource I have to free her. But," with a tsk, he shook his head, "you have to look after your own health, before you keep to any of your harebrained promises."

He handed her the mug of tea, and knelt before her chair. "You don't look well. May I?" With her permission, he felt at her throat, checked her tongue and tonsils, her pulse, heartbeat, and finally, her stomach. All the while, he asked her standard questions, inquiring about nausea, vomiting, back pain, or anything out of the usual, that she would not normally suffer. With soft, glowing hands, a healing pulse glided along her stomach. Sometimes, he'd press two fingers along the path of her uterus, and pause to listen. With a nod of confirmation, he stepped back, and returned to his feet.

"You're pregnant," he said, looking about as bewildered as she did, considering the fact that she had died. He remembered the conversation during their first and only meeting, back when he noted her erratic heartbeat and chilled skin. The wolf had joined them now, sitting on his haunches between Atli and Vega, looking to the princess with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He pressed his muzzle against the woman's stomach, and then yipped, as if in confirmation. "Not far along at all, but...there's a baby inside you, without a doubt. Maybe...two."

As Sigrid recalled, in the barest of details, her very vague memories from childhood, Tivia nodded vigorously, her smile broadening all the more. While she had accurately predicted events before, and in fact, had not yet been wrong with her insights, this was different. It was not a prophecy of ill-omen, or a strong sense of danger...or even some all-encompassing will of the stars. It was merely the story of two cousins, separated by circumstances and distance. And the Dawn Warrior's contributions only confirmed what she had seen in her visions.

"Yes! I saw a fishing village, rimed with frost. So far up north, that the summers never darkened, and the winters never saw light. An...island, I believe. And the sister. I saw her, too! She didn't make it," she frowned, knowing this from past stirrings that she'd detected from the mercenary...but she hadn't the gumption to ask him to clarify. "Shortly after you left, with your parents, he was taken. By Mollengard." The frown continued to pucker. Gone was the ebullience from moments ago. It was not a happy story, and she needed to act appropriately. "The entire island was taken by the conquering nation. Your parents saved you from their fate. From his fate. But," she opted for a hopeful spin, "he made it through. Despite what's happened to him, he's a hero to many. And formidable with a sword. Right now, he's in Eyraille." Wait. That did not sound right. The star, his star, was positioned at a different angle from where she'd observed it, before. As though she was looking at it from under a different sky...and a very familiar location.

"Stella D'Mare." Her entire body stiffened. "Why is he there? He left! I saw him leave! I..."

Hearing the commotion from the back, Alster clicked his horse towards Tivia and Sigrid. "Tivia? Are you having a--"

"He's there!" she almost shouted at him. "Haraldur's in Stella D'Mare. He returned. I...I don't know why, but..."

Alster shared in her dread, but focused his attention on calming Tivia, who looked on the verge of panic. "I know that Forbanne are there, but he's at the estate, I'm sure. Chara is keeping him safe. And," he lifted one side of his mouth into a smile, "he's probably sharing a drink with Elespeth."

She pointed an accusing finger at Alster. "You need to see what's going on over there! I'm catching glimpses now. It looks...it looks..." She waved frustrated hands into the air. "Much the same! But there's tension. It's churning, and it's building, and soon...something will snap."

Alster reached over to rest a steady hand over her arm, but she slapped it away. "I don't need comfort right now, Alster! I need you to contact Elespeth!"

"I..." I don't know if I can, he almost said, but stopped himself. "I'll try, Tivia. Tonight." He gave a sympathetic look to Sigrid. "I'll stay in back with her until we stop for camp. See if Lilica needs any help up front."

That evening, they made camp between a small clearing of trees, protected from the road, but nearby, in case they encountered any brigands or highwaymen and needed to escape. Tivia, curled before the fire with a number of blankets over her shoulders, sank into a manageable calm. Though by her blank stare and the occasional full-body shiver, she was still visibly shaken. Alster retired early, at her behest, in his task to reach Elespeth. But he doubted he'd have any luck. Even if he reopened communication between their dream states, and even if the Serpent stayed put, there was no guarantee that she was even asleep to heed his call. It had taken weeks just to contact her once. Either through suffering nightmares or no sleep at all, she might not even hear his call.

Elespeth, he drew lines over the white scratch in his metal palm, please be all right...

Tivia had since stopped tracking time after the fire died twice. The first time it puttered into cinders, she shot a revitalizing flame through her fingers, and reignited the kindling anew. But whether she stopped feeling cold, or no longer cared to feel cold, she allowed her heat-source to blotch into spirals of smoke. Up, up into the air it climbed, a signal to all in the area--if they could see between the dark of the bare trees. It didn't matter, she thought. If bandits did arrive, she could dispatch them with her magic. At least the exertion would awaken her from her fugue state--yet another one, in such a short amount of time. Was she cursed to not only see events of the past, present, and future, but to react to each one with the fervor of a wild, rabid animal? Was that part of Lyra Rigas' madness? Emotionally connect to each vision, until her family could no longer tolerate her outbursts and locked her away from the world? Perhaps her father...had the correct course of action. She was too unstable for Outside. Even among the likes of Lilica and Alster, who were far from well-adjusted individuals, she could not find her place.

She saw a dark figure join her beside the sputtering smoke of the fire. "Vitali," she said, in a small voice. "Is it late? Have you come to suggest I go to my tent and sleep? Sleep--so that I could see more visions?" She turned her luminous eye to the necromancer. Even in the darkness, she found his gaze. Sought it. Absorbed it. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for a change in consciousness, though it won't stop the deluge. I've been seeing them all day today, after I saw Haraldur in Stella D'Mare. And," she hugged the blankets closer to herself, "I also saw you. Something is coming for you, Vitali. Something bad. Something that even you can't skirt your way out of."

Elespeth nodded, recalling what had happened to Chara a week ago. What had happened to Cyprian; and who had managed to put distance between him and the new Rigas head before he could kill her. The Atvanian warrior's mouth pulled into a thin line and her eyes narrowed slightly. "Just the other week... Cyprian, one of the more powerful voices on the Rigas council, went mad and tried to kill Chara. She suffered severe burns on her hands, but her life was spared... because Teselin stepped in. I was not there to witness it, but according to spectators at the time, she commanded the wind with her will in the span of a second. Could have crushed the man with the force... but she pulled back just in time. So my concern is not that she couldn't sink Mollengard's fleet; she is a summoner by nature, so naturally energies are attracted to her and inclined to obey her. I would worry more that she will not be able to stop what she has started."

With a final sigh, the former knight downed what was left of the red wine, sufficiently drunk, but not enough to turn off the worry in her mind. "She already said she wants to help. And if we do not let her, then I have no doubt she will find some mad way to intervene, anyway. So if push comes to shove... she can be our distraction. But discussing evacuation plans with Chara is of the utmost importance. Leave the insanity of taking on Solveig and the Forbanne to those of us who can't think of anything better."

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when the mercenary insisted she take him to the healer the next day, to fill him in on the details of the plan. Of course, it sounded dangerous for him to step out into the daylight, with Mollengard so close by... and yet, she couldn't be happier that he chose to intervene. "Of course. Come with me tomorrow." Haraldur found no resistance from the Atvanian warrior. In fact, her shoulders seemed to droop in relief. "Perhaps it is mad of me to say this, at all, but having you involved makes all of this seem less crazy. You can get a feel for what Atli is planning. And if it sounds no better than a suicide mission for all of us, then make that call, and I will make sure he listens. Either we can make this work... or we can't, and we are back to planning all over again."

She clinked her wine against his whisky in a 'toast', she graced the mercenary with a tired smile. "I've missed your company, Haraldur. You make everything so much more tolerable."

"I know. Believe me, I have been informed and reminded again and again of the foolhardiness of me being here." Vega returned flatly, but was silently grateful that he offered her the chair. Perhaps she was coming down with something; as the winter gradually gave way to the thaw of spring, it wasn't uncommon for her to fall ill in relatively benign ways. "But Stella D'Mare called for aid, and I could not leave my Skyknights to explore an unknown situation. And... I have friends here, whom I did not know were alive or dead. My promise to you is not the only reason for my arrival, but it is one to which I intend to keep true."

Though embarrassed that whatever was ailing her was more obvious than she'd like it to be, the princess did not argue when Atli set to boil a kettle of water. Perhaps being in the company of a healer was the right place for her to be. "Even if East Mollengard is all you can tell me... it is something, even just for us to keep in mind. It will fall, Atli; eventually Mollengard will succumb to the cracks in its own infrastructure. All kingdoms of its sort do. Eyraille did." It did not make her proud to say it, but it was a reality that she faced daily, and was making strides to correct. "Between us and Stella D'Mare, maybe we can even hasten the process. I am not one to make empty promises. We will find your daughter. And we can be discreet when doing it."

Vega took the proffered mug of tea with gratitude, and sipped it experimentally. The flavor was not unpleasant on her tongue. "I haven't been sleeping well," was all she told the healer as an explanation for her ill-appearing condition, but he went ahead to examine her anyway. "You... already know what happened to me." She took a moment to remind him, in case he'd forgotten. "So do not expect everything you find to be as normal as it would appear on a more typical patient." In the past, he'd made note of her erratic heartbeat and the cool temperature of her skin, neither of which she figured had changed much in the weeks that had passed. That said, she did not know what he was expecting to find, though his hands and attention came to an intent focus on her stomach. Last night and over the morning, small periods of nausea had come and gone, but nothing that gave her any pause for concern, so she wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for--until he took a step back, and although bewildered, his face was set with certainty.

You're pregnant.

She swore she felt her heart stop, then and there. The mug of tea fell from Vega's hand, landing noisily on the ground, its contents sinking into the soil. "What?" Was the only word that her mouth could form, as a myriad of emotions battled for dominance in her wide, blue eyes: denial, disbelief, surprise, sadness, anger, fear, trepidation. Not the usual feelings an expecting mother might have, on learning there was life inside of her. As if to add insult to injury, the healer's mutt leaped up and pressed its nose to her abdomen, letting out a bark as if to confirm it was true. "No. You're wrong... you must be wrong." The princess breathed, her hands shaking. Her whole body shaking. "You know what happened to me, Atli. I can't get pregnant. My body shouldn't even be able to sustain my own life, let alone... let alone..." 

Vega couldn't even finish the thought. And what had he said? That there was a possibility it might not be one, but two developing lives inside of her? The princess got to her feet all too quickly and put a trembling hand to her head. She was going to faint. Or vomit. Or both. Or neither... she didn't know. Her vision had gone spotty, and everything looked and felt so far away, like she were standing outside her own body. "I... need to go." She said at last, her voice as unsteady as her body and emotions. Before he could protest that she shouldn't be going anywhere until the shock and panic subsided, the Eyraillian princess put up her hood, concealing her copper hair, and hurried out of the healer's tent on shaking legs. She didn't even notice Elespeth and Haraldur, who passed her just as they were making their way to the healer's tent, nor did they take notice of her in her peasant's garb.

"Atli." Elespeth announced their presence without bothering to request an audience. Haraldur and the Skyknights were leaving that day, as soon as Vega's delegates were finished speaking with Solveig. She wondered if that was where the Eyraillian princess was, right now; making preparations to depart as soon as they could, for everyone's safety. She hadn't seen the fiery-haired princess since last night, during their meeting with Chara. "I hope you have a moment, because we don't have much time. This is my friend, Haraldur; and he is going to be a part of your ludicrous plan, so sit down, hear him out, and tell him exactly what you told me. Haraldur," she nodded to her friend, "this is the healer I told you about. And..." She narrowed her eyes, not missing Hadwin's presence for even a second, and glared at the wolf. "this is the mutt that I mentioned. Go and make yourself presentable, Hadwin; and for the love of the gods, put clothes on. If we're all to be working together, Haraldur needs to see you to know you."

When Hadwin complied, followed by a low growl at her calling him a 'mutt', the former knight lowered her voice. "And... much though I hate myself to say this, we may have a job--a need--for Teselin's destructive abilities, if we want a hope in hell that any of this will work. So I hope you're willing to listen."

Tivia's ill prognosis of the future had everyone visibly shaken that night, including Lilica, who struggled to sleep (which was imperative in order for her to connect with her father for further directions and instructions). Perhaps the star seer should have taken a sort of pride in knowing how thoroughly the small party believed in her visions, but she seemed drained and overcome with anxiety over whatever it was she saw. Lilica so terribly wanted to ask after Chara's well-being: was she safe? Was she faring well, despite everything that her beloved city was crumbling around her? Though she never dared to speak it aloud, she envied Alster terribly for his blood connection with Elespeth. What she wouldn't give to be able to contact Chara so easily, even if only to hear a whisper of her voice on the wind... but she couldn't. And she didn't dare ask Tivia to reach out to the new Rigas head, knowing full well that the young woman already had far too much on her hands.

Of course, there was one person who did not seem perturbed. Whether or not Vitali had truly taken the star seer's cautions to heart was unclear, as he never showed any of the worry or trepidation on his face, unlike Alster and Lilica--and now, Sigrid, who was still shaken by the way Tivia had unraveled her past and connected it to the future so effortlessly. That night, after everyone else had retired for the evening, Vitali had given up after tossing and turning for hours and left his tent to check on Tivia. It came as no surprise that she was still awake, sitting by the fire, wrapped in blankets that likely did little to stave off the cold. Inviting the fresh, night air into his lungs, he took a seat next to her. "I could suggest sleep--it is what everyone else is doing, after all. But you're a grown woman and knows what is best for you. Myself, I was unable to sleep. I simply wondered if you wanted company."

He lent an ear to her ails and her concerns, not once flinching or reacting to what she had to say--even when she appeared to believe he was in dire danger. "You know, I don't think there has been a single point in my entire life where someone or someone has not been coming for me." The necromancer hazarded a small chuckle, resting his injured arm on his lap. It felt tired and sore, today, after he'd taken Sigrid's advice and sought to work it by lifting some moderately heavy provisions; he wasn't sure if it had made it better or worse. "I have done a lot of things, Tivia; I have a lot of enemies. But, I also have a knack for side-stepping them. I am willing to wager that if you'd had access to my star decades ago, you'd have been on alert for danger coming my way all the time. It doesn't stop; perhaps it never will. Not even if I can find a home in Galeyn."

With his good arm, Vitali rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not doubting your visions, Tivia. Perhaps something terrible is to befall Stella D'Mare, and you are the first to see it. But do not waste any concern on me. I've cheated death, time and again. Even with a bum arm, I can't be bested so easily. Let's keep our sights on Galeyn, for now, and once we are in a position to be of use to Stella D'Mare, we can brainstorm from there."

The next morning, Lilica was the first to awaken, her eyes bright and urgent. She was quick to rouse everyone, though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, and wouldn't take no for an answer. "One week. I know where we are going; I know how to find it." She explained, barging into Alster and Vitali's tent. The necromancer, who had only secured a few hours of sleep, growled in annoyance. "We can reach Galeyn in one week if we keep our stopping minimal. It's straight-forward, from here. The sooner we find it... the sooner we can refocus on Stella D'Mare."

"For once," Vitali sighed, sitting up stiffly, "you sound like you actually believe what you are saying. It's about time."

"Shut up and get moving, Vitali. Sigrid and Tivia are already putting away their tent." The dark mage murmured, though turned a softer gaze to Alster. "Were you successful in reaching Elespeth?" She asked him, in hopes that he maybe had news of Stella D'Mare... and, Chara, by virtue of that.

The following morning, Haraldur rose from his bed to see that Vega was already gone. He didn't question her whereabouts for long, before he was dressed and on his way to rendezvous with Elespeth. Foregoing his Skyknight uniform, he donned plain clothes and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. It was the typical garb of a shepherd, who populated the hills outside the city, but even with his plausible disguise, he still felt ridiculous, and hoped that Mollengard's soldiers would not think the same when he walked through their territory. Luckily, they did not meet any resistance (save for a peasant woman in a hurry), and when reached the Mollengardian healer's tent, they entered without invitation.

Atli was bent over a fallen mug of tea, and was in the process of setting it back on the table. But when he saw movement out of his periphery, he flew to his feet, startled by the intrusion. "You're bac--" He stopped his tongue, regarding Elespeth, instead, and an imposing figure with a hat that concealed his features. Brushing invisible dust off his robes, he beckoned them inside, though his eyes never left the strange man that Elespeth introduced as a friend.

"Excuse me, but I'm not so thrilled about your informing other people about our plan," he said, casting suspicious glances at 'Haraldur.' "The more are involved, the more we're at risk."

"You'll want my help," the man spoke up, removing his hat from his head. The structure of his facial muscles, the line of his nose and brow, the intensity of his light-colored eyes, the name that he offered...

"You're from the North?"

"Way north," he confirmed. "Little island called Astrador, but I suppose it's part of Mollengard now--as all things become, eventually."

"Huh." An intrigued voice piped up from behind Atli. Hadwin emerged from the corner with the hanging sheets, where his wolf form padded towards moments ago. He was dressed, but again wore no shoes, and his open tunic exposed his bare chest. With a violent crick, he tossed his head from side to side, filling the small tent-space with sickening cracks from his neck. "So that's what a Forbanne looks like when he's all unraveled. Very intriguing. Thanks for bringing this specimen of a man, Friendle--well, I guess I can't call you that, anymore! Small wonder; you have a friend!"

Already, Haraldur's face darkened into a glare. "I've been warned about your...'pleasant' company. Hadwin, was it?" He crossed his arms over his chest and straightened his shoulders. With those simple movements and his sudden change in demeanor, he transformed before Atli's eyes. He paled, and instinctively stepped away from the man. "I don't have the time to be pleasant, in return, or tactful, so I'll go out and say it. Yes, I was Forbanne. I'd calculate it was about ten years ago, but I can't be sure. I offer my services to your cause, because," he snorted, "you need it."

"Forbanne." Atli clutched the edge of the table, found the chair that Vega was sitting in earlier, and sat, his legs wobbling furiously. "You. You must be the friend the Skyknight Princess told me about. The one who 'broke' from their control," he said, in reverent whispers.

Haraldur raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"

"She was just here! She--" He paused. It was not his place to betray the confidentiality of his patient, so he revealed nothing of her pregnancy. It didn't look like it was something she'd planned, or even expected, from her expression. And who could blame her? Even he thought her body, once dead, was no longer capable of producing life. "She's agreed to help me find my daughter."

"Typical," he muttered. "So let's hear this plan of yours."

Atli waggled his head, too dumbfounded to speak words that even approached a modicum of intelligence.

Hadwin sidled close to Haraldur and elbowed his arm. "Looks like you have an admirer."

"Out with the plan," he said, ignoring the meddling wolf-man, who he already had the urge to punch.

With faltering speech, Atli detailed the plan as far as they had calculated. Find Solveig, corner her, project fear into her mind, and injure her with a weapon coated in the devil's draught. All the while, Haraldur maintained his unmoveable position, like a supporting pole in the center of the tent.

"That's not a plan. That's an idea." he shook his head, a disapproval that had stained Atli's cheeks a bright pink. Strangely, he was ashamed of disappointing the man who surmounted improbable odds and was living proof that Forbanne could be saved. "And how are you going to corner Solveig? Alone?"

Hadwin raised his hand. "I'm very persuasive."

Haraldur turned his steely glare to him. "Do you know what else is persuasive? A sword. In your gut."

"We haven't thought that far ahead," Atli admitted, running a nervous hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"I'll say." He locked eyes with Hadwin again. "What reconnaissance have you done? Have you memorized the patrols? Followed Solveig through her day-to-day affairs? Know where she sleeps? If she's ever been found alone? These are the pertinent questions to ask, and if you don't know the answers, then you'll never proceed."

"She shits alone," he offered. "She's regular. Healthy stools. Enviable technique."

He blew out a sigh. "Find out more relevant information."

"Don't worry," his eyes took on a lantern-like glow. "I"m getting some relevant information right now."

"Atli." The healer stiffened in his chair. "You do know that if you can convince Solveig to transfer leadership of the Forbanne to you, there's a high chance they won't acknowledge you?"

"It's enough just to disrupt their order for a time."

"And do you know the officers in the chain of command? For the Forbanne unit?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll have to kill them."

Atli balked. "There's nine officers in total. The likelihood of gathering them all into one room--

"--So it's only now that you're understanding the futility of this 'plan'?" Haraldur shifted on one foot, the only other movement he'd made since he stepped into the tent, with the exception of his neck, which pivoted from person to person. "Even with your mind-link established, chances are high that the Forbanne will gravitate towards the next in command. The more you limit their opportunities, the more likely they'll herd to you--or to no one at all. You want chaos unleashed? You remove the masters from the Forbanne." He plucked his hat from the table. "I've overstayed my welcome, but I'll keep in touch. Don't make any moves until then. But when we're all ready, Elespeth will inform me, and I'll return to help with Solveig's capture."

Atli pushed from the chair, still unsteady on his feet. "Thank you for agreeing to aid us." He bowed his head. "I won't hide my wonder in knowing that people like you exist. People who've...freed themselves of the Forbanne, through sheer force of will."

At that, Haraldur's features softened. "I still struggle. Every day. I won't lie about that. But I will say that there is hope for your daughter, especially if she's still young."

"She'll be eleven. Four years gone." His eyes moistened. "Almost to the day."

"...The crater. At Soderstrom," he said, after a few beats of silence. "I was of the Central Mollengard Forbanne, but I remember training there. The location might have changed since then, but it's a lead."

Without thinking, Atli launched towards the former Forbanne and clutched his hands, giving them hearty, oscillating pumps. "Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything, really. I can't even express--"

"--It's fine." Haraldur managed a smile. "But in the meantime...work out the kinks of your plan. Like I said, I'll keep in touch." And with a nod of farewell to the healer, and to Hadwin (who slapped him on the back and practically howled in his ear), he and Elespeth left the tent, and wended their way back to the Rigas estate.

Once they were returned to the relative safety of the grounds, Haraldur relaxed his gait, and rubbed two fingers to his temples. "Now that I've experienced a sliver of what you're dealing with, I don't envy you at all. And now...I need another drink."

"It's different, this time," Tivia whispered, but she doubted Vitali would take heed, not from lack of believing her, but because he thought the rules did not apply to him. Why would he think otherwise, when he so expertly navigated himself through many stormy seas without so much as a droplet of water spilling on his well-tailored coat? And though she wished she were wrong, that he would avert disaster, as his bold assurances declaimed, she could not help but think the worst for him. And for Stella D'Mare. And for herself.

Maybe I bring this upon others, she thought, darkly. I'm not predicting bad outcomes. I'm creating them.

If that were the case...

"If you're so certain of your evasive tactics, then...I'll believe you. I've yet to be wrong with my gut feelings, visions, and spoken prophecies, but," a near-manic laugh ringed from her mouth, "there's always a first time. You'll keep breaking that wheel of fate, Vitali."

Please may I be right about that, at least...

Not only was Alster unsuccessful in reaching Elespeth, he was unsuccessful in reaching everyone to whose dreams he'd traveled. He tried Chara, Vega, even Haraldur, but all he received was empty space. The void, the yawning, primordial chasm, without so much as a star to light the way.

And always overseeing his process, was the Serpent.

He awoke in his tent, so tired, he could scarcely haul himself upright. Pain bloomed tenfold in his arm, and his stomach twisted with a ferocity that only dry heaving would settle.

When he was well enough to join the others outside for breakfast, he drank only tea, and then committed himself to dismantling the camp, pitting himself in competition against Vitali to see who was the most capable with their arm-induced handicap. Despite the physical discomfort, it was all that would keep him distracted--until Lilica posed the dreaded question.

"...No. Nothing. I even tried Chara." He kept his defeated eyes lowered to the ground. "I'll...I'll try again tonight."

Though morale had seen a minor boost, all thanks to Lilica's positive news of Galeyn, Alster could not share in the relief that crossed the faces of the others. And as the long days of travel wore on, his health continued to deteriorate. His arm was in so much pain, that even the needles that Sigrid administered at night provided little reprieve. Burdened with a weak stomach from birth, it had flared to such levels of intensity, that he was able to eat little more than a bite per meal. And even then, his stomach continued to empty out its meagre contents. Soon, his pain was so immense, that he partook in the use of his medicinal drugs with more regularity, sometimes to the point of stupor. Scratches, too, appeared on his throat, which he found himself picking, gouging, and allowing to bleed, without any healing magic to relieve the sting. It was a welcome pain. A controlled pain.

And every night, he'd try again. Try for Elespeth. For Chara. For anyone else who would hear his desperate cries. Every night yielded the same results, and the overwhelming failure shook him into panicked attacks, until exhaustion shunted him into uneasy sleep.

The Serpent greeted him. It was his constant companion, now. A glitter of black scales. The only stars he'd seen, lately. Reflective and false, mirrors of a grotesque world that this ancient entity represented.

Overwhelming yourself, It said, with a hiss. Cannot handle. Disease. Killing you. Killing...Will die. Magic...slowly building back up. Destroy...like before.

"...Fine. I concede. In the end...you've always been in control of my actions. Of me. So take me." He opened his folded hand, palm upward. It shivered and shook, like a leaf in a gale. "I give in. ...I give up."

I'm sorry, Elespeth. That I wasn't strong enough...in your absence.

The Serpent forked Its black-tar tongue and gurgled, as if in glee. You cast...ritual. Now.

Alster nodded numbly, and climbed to his feet. A dagger appeared in one flesh hand, and it sliced through the skin of another hand, equal in its flesh and blood.

It was the only thing he'd succeeded in doing that week. Binding the Serpent anew...to him. And as promised...he received power. Resilience. The stamina to surmount his ailments, to perform his magic without seizing in fits, or collapsing into an unresponsive heap. To extend his life. To be of use to those who relied on him. To lift his burden on others, so he could stack it on his shoulders alone.

And all it took...was his soul.

The next day, he awoke, feeling refreshed. The pain in his arm was virtually nonexistent. His stomach--never better. He ate a full breakfast, and wanted seconds. The color returned to his face, its natural sun-kissed sheen rounding out his cheeks, and bringing much-needed light to his blue-green eyes. He packed his tent with little trouble, and mounted his horse without a flinch or a sickening lurch. His heartbeat was steady, and his magic flowed, unimpeded, through his system, ready to operate at his discretion. He could cast spells all day and never tire or weaken.

...And yet, he felt dead inside.

Although Vega had long since informed Atli that of her acquaintance with a rehabilitated and reformed Forbanne, the healer's shock and amazement were palpable. Elespeth had expected dire resistance from Mollengardian doctor, at the involvement of yet another person--and, sure enough, there had been resistance, but it dwindled as soon as Haraldur introduced himself, and that resistance was replaced by awe. This is what hope for his daughter looked like, she realized, and stood back to let Haraldur take in the information he needed to hear, and to give his two cents on the issue. Needless to say, he was no more impressed with the so-called "plan" hearing it from Atli than he had been hearing it from her, just the other night. She couldn't agree more with his appraisal that it was little more than an "idea"; and Atli needed to hear this.

The former knight dragged a hand down her face, almost herself embarrassed for the the healer and his shape-shifter accomplice. They really hadn't thought any of this through. "This is precisely why I brought Haraldur in to appraise this nefarious plot." She pointed out, pointing a finger at Atli. "Because you are too consumed by grief from the state your daughter must be in, and too obsessed with the fantasy of taking down Solveig and assuming control of her Forbanne soldiers that you are missing important details. And you," she turned that finger on Hadwin, "are a reckless adrenaline junkie who prefers to be putting himself at risk. And I am willing to bet that even if I were to confront Solveig in the privacy of her lavatory, she would still best me while taking a shit. So if I'm going to be involved, if I'm going to nick her with the tip of my blade, then I need more reassurance than this."

As Haraldur went on to explain that rendering Captain Solveig out of commission would do no good in their endeavor to reroute Forabnne loyalty to him, her shackles raised at the mention that they would be required to dispose of the other officers in her chain of command--and that there were nine of them.

She swore audibly. "Nine. So we have to take out nine soldiers, all who are formidable enough to control the Forbanne... I am going to need help. We are going to need all the help we can get. Understand? In fact..." She paused, hardly able to believe what she was about to suggest. "...we need Chara in on this. And Teselin. Because if we're going to turn this idea in to a plan, it is bigger than three--bigger than four people. Either we do this right, or we don't do it at all."

As Haraldur bid them goodbye, with Atli expressing the utmost gratitude for Haraldur's help, and the hope that he gave him. Just before they left the tent, Elespeth turned back to Atli, and the sardonic glare faded from her eyes. "What did you mean when you said that Vega agreed to help you find her daughter? She's not mentioned anything of the sort to me... or to Haraldur, for that matter. And if she hasn't so much confided in her lover, then that makes me understandably worried."

But the healer would not go into detail about his conversation with Vega, so the Atvanian warrior let it drop, and left Atli to his tasks. Elespeth followed Haraldur back to the Rigas estate, a small grin forming on her lips. "So now you understand why I am absolutely losing my mind, here." She chuckled to spite herself. "Unfortunately, even a good, stiff drink isn't enough to bring relief. Especially around that wretched mutt." Her mouth and tone soured at the thought of Hadwin. "I think we can trust Atli. Hadwin is another matter, entirely; I must always keep him in my peripheral vision. He has the ability to see the fears people harbor at their core, and to turn it on them. He did it to Cyprian Rigas, enough that it drove the man insane, and he attacked Chara. He hasn't dared to pull such a stunt on me, yet, but he... knows about my brother. Knows that I feel isolated and alone here because I cannot reach Alster. I don't trust him, and you shouldn't, either. But I'll keep you apprised at how this ludicrous plan unfolds. For now..." She puffed a breath of air from her chest. "We need to talk to Chara. Advise her of the plan, get her involved. Discuss the possibility of using Teselin as a... distraction."

She hated the word; hated that she felt like she was using the young woman just as readily as Chara was. But she also knew that Teselin would have no trouble agreeing; in fact, the girl was probably be eager and excited to be of further help. And that was what bothered her the most.

They tracked down Chara in the Rigas estates not long after leaving Atli's tent, and debriefed her on what they had spoken about with the healer. How their plan to redirect the loyalty of the Forbanne, paired with Chara's desire to have Teselin sink their precious fleets of ships could work well in tandem... and how their success was likely contingent on cooperating and putting both of these wild ideas to the best use that they could possibly be. Of course, the Rigas head was not enamored of the idea at first... but she agreed to keep in contact through the resonance stones, to further develop details, as well as the eventual (and inevitable) evacuation of the city. No sooner did they finish, that Vega entered the war room, looking pale and shaken, yet determined, and... flammable. The fire in her Sword blood, for once, did not seem to be subdued, and even the Skyknights that trailed in her wake gave her a wide berth. "Chara." She greeted the Rigas caster with a nod of her head. "My Skyknights have spoken with Captain Solveig and alleviated any tensions... for but. But it is of the utmost importance that we leave, now you your provisions have been unpacked and distributed. Mollengard makes no secret of their displeasure with us being here."

Before the Skyknight could turn and leave to prepare the rocs for flight again, Elespeth--against her better judgement, giving the tense air that surrounded the Skyknight--approached Vega. "Vega. Haraldur and I spoke with Atli, today."

Whatever color was left in the princess's face was gone in a second, and her blue eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You what?" Her voice, hardly more than a breath, sounded strained. Panicked.

Not at all what the Atvanian warrior expected as a response, so she went on the clarify, gently. "He told us that you agreed to help him find his daughter. I'm not going to try to stop you--that's not my place. But... you should have let us know. We could help. Haraldur is familiar with the Forbanne camps in Mollengard; when all is said and done, and we've significantly weakened Mollengard as a threat, this is something we could pursue.

The breath that she had been holding in her lungs escaped Vega in a rush. She looked... relieved. Elespeth furrowed her brows. Relieved about what? What, exactly, had rendered her in such an unstable mood. "My apologies. I should have told you. With everything that transpired the last time I set foot in this city, it slipped my mind." The Eyraillian princess hazarded a smile, but it looked strained. "As always, I value your friendship and camaraderie, Elespeth. This isn't the last time you'll see us, and we will keep in touch through the resonance stones."

With a final nod, she left behind her Skyknights, eager to ready the rocs and fly away. Still taken aback by her uncharacteristically erratic behaviour, the Atvanain warrior watched her back until she disappeared. Then, she turned to Haraldur. "I wish I were going with you. Though it seems your princess has enough to worry about, let alone another passenger... and I'm rooted here, by promise, anyway." Clasping Haraldur's hand, she sighed her reluctance to say goodbye. "Thank you. For everything. Especially for this diversion from... from myself."

Heeding Lilica's advice, the small party of five traveled quickly throughout the next week, and rested very little, hardly stopping for 10 hours at a time (including the time that it took to set up and tear down camp). The cold and fatigue was beginning to wear on everyone. Vitali, though he would never say anything pertaining to his own health or well-being, was looking increasingly run-down, with his injured arm showing no signs of improvement. Sigrid, who held strong due to her upbringing as a warrior, had shadows beneath her pale, blue eyes, and even keeping herself upright on her horse seemed to be a chore. Tivia, who had not been able to let go of her visions, had remained reserved, and even the dark mage herself was struggling to stay alert with how little sleep she had been getting.

And yet, Alster looked... better. There was more color to his skin, he had more energy than Lilica had seen in for as long as she had known him. Something had happened, that much was evident, but she didn't feel it was her place to ask just what had transpired, or whether it had to do with the Serpent. If it was something that he thought worthy of sharing, then surely, he would  choose to share it of his own accord. She worried, of course, but they were so close to their destination, so close to uncovering the truth... she could only deal with one trouble at a time. Perhaps, when they reached Galeyn, then and only then would they find the time and space to recuperate.

Lilica would know what she was looking for when she saw it; then, and only then, could she give the definite signal that they were to stop. That they had come upon the entrance, what locked the city down, for which only she had the key. That landmark came in the form of an enormous tree; one that her father had shown her in her dreams. Though it somehow managed to blend in with the surrounding forest, something about the majesty of its size was breath-taking. The dark mage pulled her horse to a stop as soon as she saw it. "Stop. Here... this is it. This is it." Dismounting, she hurried on frantic feet over the giant tree, which looked big enough to itself be hollowed and made into a cabin. It's bark was rough and weathered from the winter, like any other tree, but something was different about it. Something her father had shown her in her dreams. She circled the trunk, searching up and down, looking for it.

"Something missing?" Carefully, Vitali dismounted his horse, and made his way over to the enormous tree. "Or are we simply to ask this tree nicely to let us into Galeyn? You're sure this is the one?"

"I'd not be mistaken about something like this." Lilica said, defense heavy in her voice. "The bark should be smooth, somewhere. Like it has been sanded down, into the shape of a..."

And that was when she saw it. Towards the very base of the drunk, the darkness of the bark gave way to paler, smoother skin. Up close, it was not difficult to discern that it mimicked the shape of a right hand. "This is it. What my father showed me in my dream..." Excited, but also suddenly very uncertain, the chthonic caster's dark eyes looked up at her four comrades. "This is how we unlock Galeyn. Somebody, hand me a knife."

Sigrid passed Lilica a dagger she'd pulled from her boot, and offered a reverent nod. "Your blood spoke to our tree in Braighdath, daughter of Theomyr. Let it restore your city."

Passing the sharp point of the blade over her palm, Lilica didn't even flinch as the blood welled upon the hand that was already so scarred, the original lines in her soft flesh were practically non-existent. But as she watched the dark red bead to the surface and pool in her hand, she hesitated, her face falling. "...I'm afraid." She spoke at last, and looked at each and every one of the people who had accompanied her on this arduous journey. Who had endured frostbite and fatigue and threats to their lives just to be here with her. "What if this isn't what we expect? What if I've been lied to, and it's a trap? I could be putting all of your lives in danger... all I have to go on is what I was told by a stranger in a series of dreams. I... I don't know what to do."

Of all the people to step up as reassurance, Vitali moved away from his steed, and rested his good hand on his hip. "You're right. All you have as a reference is what you were shown in dreams to which none of us were privy; well, except Alster, to an extent. This good very well be a trap, though Braighdath seemed convinced that it had merit. But even if it is..." For once, the necromancer's smile was not snide or smug. It was... oddly friendly. Reassuring. "It was our decision to be here--each and every one of us. So if we go down in this endeavor, then it is no fault but our own. Though... I daresay, I have a good feeling about this. You know my nature, well, and I for one am not eager to put myself in undo danger. We've come far, together, for this very reason... so, together, let's see it through."

It was as if, in that moment alone, the bad blood and the shadows that wrote the siblings' history not relevant. As if something akin to forgiveness put aside those dark ails, for the sake of saving a city to which they were both connected. Hesitating just a moment more, Lilica pressed her bloody palm to the tree's tiny section of smooth bark, with her brother's hand covering her own. Sure enough, her fingers fit, as if the shape had been meant for her hand all along.

At first, nothing happened. But as soon as what sounded like a crack of thunder shook the sky and the earth, everything began to change... literally.

Scrambling back, her palm still dripping with blood, Lilica hurried toward her group of comrades as they compressed into a tight circle. Snow and frost began to melt off of the trees and the ground, as if the earth was heating up at a rapid pace. Dead leaves made way for new buds, and leaves without trees were suddenly flush with greenery and flora. Grass sprouted where, moments before, their feet had trod dirt and mud. 

But that was not what took the dark mage's breath away. Small trees, stumps, and stones began to change. They morphed and shifted like clay, the glamour that had been hiding their true form melting away as quickly as the frost. People... they were people. Hunched over, lying on the ground, some slumped against trees. Many were dressed in long, white coats trimmed with silver, as if they had been woven through with moonlight... and the magic did not stop there. Beyond the enormous tree, other flora, which had looked to be dead trees and brush, began to shift into magnificent pieces of architecture. An ivory palace with tall, tapered pillars began to form in the distance, and beyond it, homes and safeholds, all which looked so pristine and untouched it made Lilica wonder if all she was seeing was an illusion. And that was when it hit her.

"...this is the Night Garden." With many of the other trees that had given the appearance of a forested area now transformed into living, breathing people (had they really been in stasis for this long...?), it was obvious now that they stood in the center of a brilliant courtyard. It was beautiful in a way that she couldn't quite describe; wild, yet contained. Brimming with energy and potential, as the rest of the kingdom of Galeyn unfolded around it. It truly was the heart of kingdom.

Newly awakened from a spell that had left them in stasis for well over a century, the people of Galeyn stood on shaky legs and sought one another for comfort. Hugging, crying, confused and relieved, all at once. Some of them looked on at the small party of strangers in awe, none of whom were dressed as though they were part of the kingdom. None chose to approach, save for a young man with dark hair and dark eyes. Similar to Lilica, yet not with enough to resemblance to appear as a relation. "...are you a Tenebris?" He breathed, the sheer material of his silver-white robes over his tunic wrinkled and torn with the passing of the years. "He said... he told us a Tenebris would bring us back. Bring... Galeyn back. What... what is your name?"

Lilica's throat felt so dry that she wondered if she would be able to speak at all. Not daring to move from the comforting proximity of her companions, she replied. "Lilica... I'm Lilica. Tenebris."

In all of the confusion, all of the fear and the awe and the excitement as the kingdom of Galeyn was restored, one tree, one flower, one person at a time, nobody had noticed that in the transition, one of the original party of five had fallen. One had not clustered with the group, but instead lay on the other side of the enormous tree at the center of the night garden. Blood seeping from wounds all over his body that had not been there moments ago, soaking through and staining his clothes, Vitali lay pale, limp, and unconscious, before a garden that was known and revered for its ability to heal.

Together, Haraldur and Elespeth traversed the wide lawns where the rocs had roosted for the night. Now, Skyknights were milling about their avian mounts, grooming glossy golden feathers and preparing the saddles for departure. If Vega had seen the Mollengardian healer shortly before they did...he wondered if she'd returned, yet.

"I saw the way he looked at me," Haraldur removed the hat from his head, as he walked alongside Elespeth. "A dissecting stare. Whatever that mongrel saw, it seemed to satisfy him. An 'unraveled' Forbanne, he said." A shudder threatened to race down his spine, but he maintained his composure. "Watch after him, Elespeth. As you know, I made a risky move, going with you to see Atli. I've little doubt that the healer has malicious intentions, but he's also been weakened by grief, and is wont to make bad decisions that can lead to everyone's undoing. But Hadwin," he picked at the frayed edges of his hat, "is feral, and unpredictable. He seems the type to find favor in any outcome. And with his uncanny abilities, and what he now knows about me," his composure cracked, to reveal the slight furrow of his brow, "...watch out for him. If he steps out of line, if he says a word to Mollengard about me and who I am...we'll need to kill him."

Later, they met with Chara at her villa. Haraldur introduced himself, to which she responded with a glib, "I know who you are," and invited him inside. As they seated at her decorative table, he revealed himself as a former Forbanne soldier. How many times had he confessed his past affiliations in the last day alone? He'd never have thought he'd be so liberal with information that, months ago, would have taken extensive torture or the threat of his loved ones to admit. And, like the wolf-man, Chara's eyes took on a dissecting sheen. She tucked her hands, still burn-scared from Cyprian's attack, beneath her chin and leaned forward with an intrigued look. A specimen, indeed.

Elespeth and Haraldur took turns discussing the 'plans' they'd made with the Mollengardian healer. At first, she was livid at the Atvanian warrior from withholding her underhanded dealings with dangerous company, but as Haraldur began listing estimates, including the ships to soldier radio, the percentage of Forbanne, and the overall numbers that were milling about her city, his down-to-earth perspective brought some gravity back into their discourse. This was the truth, she thought, as her fingers steepled over her mouth. Any strategy we enact from here on out...is lunacy. But we cannot do anything to expunge those vast numbers by sitting around and imagining our options all day.

So she agreed. She agreed to tie in both plans. As unanimously decided, Teselin would summon a vast tidal wave that would do lasting damage to their fleet and ideally crash the ships into the cliffsides and the terraced mountain of the city. Before that, she would give the call to evacuate, into the tunnels of the former Serpent den. No matter the result of their attempted Forbanne acquisition, they would go through with the other two phases of the plan. As for where to evacuate...

"I've sent a runner through the tunnels," she explained. "He has been apprenticing with Lysander, so he can shroud himself and pass through the Mollengard barricades undetected. I've sent him to appeal to our benefactors who reside in the outlying territories between Andalari and Tadasun. We've had many, in secret, funding our operations during the war for our independence. I am certain we can convince a few of vast wealth and influence to house our refugees until we can find," she hesitated, "...more long-term accommodations. I've given our runner the additional task to contact The Fallow Islands and Ilandria, in a request to send ships to rendezvous with us in established safe harbors outside the city. The Fallow Islands have always been receptive to us, so I am certain they will comply, and allow us sanctuary for a time. As for Ilandria...we do not have a closely established rapport, but they despise Mollengard. They might lend aid out of spite for the conquering nation."

She flicked her eyes to Haraldur. "We need a generous amount of soldiers to protect our diaspora from Mollengardian attack. Once we emerge outside the city gates, we'll be left utterly vulnerable. If your healer can acquire these Forbanne soldiers for us, we will have gained quite an asset. All the same, I will not wait for them. The moment Teselin triggers her summoning abilities, I am going to evacuate my people. This means," she pointed to Elespeth, "if you are not here in time, I will close and lock the Rigas gates...and I will leave you behind. Both of you. Once the gates are sealed, there is no passing through, unless you are a Rigas. This will ensure our estate's protection while we are away. Mollengard will /not/ be privy to our secrets."

Several hours later, Chara accompanied Elespeth and Haraldur (who was back in his Skyknight uniform) to the roc-populated lawn, where they reconvened with Vega and the rest of the small supply unit. The Skyknight commander summarized the meeting with Solveig. The Forbanne captain was 'appreciative' of their loyalties to Stella D'Mare, but had assured the Eyraillian in charge that their aid was not necessary, and in the future, would be perceived as a grave insult to Mollengard's pride. The threat hung in the air, as thick as cotton, and everyone knew what Solveig meant. If Eyraille overstepped, Mollengard would retaliate.

With a bow and a firm handshake, Chara left Vega to attend to her Skyknights and their rocs. All that remained was Elespeth. Vega had already stormed off after...why was she so upset about their visit to Atli? Was her arrangement with the healer supposed to be a secret? Something she was deliberately hiding from him, as a means of protection, whilst she ran out and performed another impulsive act, damning herself, and him, in the process?

But...that didn't seem true, either.

He looked away from Vega's retreating form and faced Elespeth. With a smile, he received her clasped hand, pulled her in close and patted her on the back. "I won't be gone long, Elespeth. I'll see you out of here myself. We've watched each other's backs, before--so I won't leave you behind." He released her, and took a step back. "Give that wolf-man a punch for me. And keep ever vigilant." And with a nod of farewell, he turned to join the other retreating Skyknights as they mounted their rocs. Since he was traveling with Vega, he stepped into the stirrups, swung his legs around the saddle behind her, and secured his arms around her waist.

"You could have told me about Atli," he whispered into her ear, though his tone was not accusatory or angry. "I know it's your impulse, but you're not in this alone anymore. I won't let Mollengard cow me into submission for a moment more. I won't stand to the side, and let others fight while I hide, just because I'm too afraid to stand up for the injustices that were done to me. I won't let others have their lives destroyed by them. I'm with you, Vega--so let me help you."

As morning spanned into afternoon, the companions came across a broad tree in the center of a forest, which featured nondescript rocks, shrubs, and bramble. A pathway for the horses had long vanished, and they'd been traveling off-road, further into unknown territory. The tree was expansive, and Tivia had never seen anything of its like in all her life. Granted, she had never left the controlled comforts of Stella D'Mare, except to fight in a war. The city of gardens and flowers were tended to with magic, urged to grow at unique angles, or unnatural shades of colors, or even with little lights twinkling from inside the heavenly blooms. They cultivated willowy wisterias and high-reaching cypress, but no cypress spanned the height of the tree which stood like a silent sentinel in the forest's center. And though it was but a tree, she could not help but feel like...it was passing judgment on them all.

She hugged her body, aware that the shivers were stemming not from the cold, but from within. Though she felt no hostilities aimed at her, or at Lilica, who proceeded to slice her open palm with Sigrid's proffered dagger, she sawed at her bottom lip with worry. Something bad would happen, but it was vague, its intents hidden like a closed blossom--or a closed kingdom. She peered through the tree, past the tree, desperate to unlock its answers. Would this place inflict harm? Was a life about to become forfeit?

But Lilica was determined to see her task to its completion, even when her doubts found their voice. She was meant for this destiny; her star told her so. This was meant to happen, and whatever collateral damage was to occur, was also meant to happen. Therefore, she didn't have it in her to respond to Lilica and her need for reassurance with concern, or trepidation. Isn't this what they struggled to find for over a month? The sum of their labors, the impossible place that even she wasn't sure existed?

And as if in response to her inner thoughts...

"I know this place exists," added Alster, who positioned his horse on the other side of Lilica. "Maybe that makes me impressionable; easily fooled. It's how a certain Serpent charmed me, after all," and continues to 'charm' me. "But I was there with you, in Theomyr's dream. And if my people skills are better than my creature skills...he's genuine. If this were all a trap, would it have been so elaborate? Winning over a neighboring city, sending a series of instructions through dreams? Involving a small cadre of people through a series of trials? An elaborate plan of entrapment that relies on people crazy enough to heed his instructions, which he can pass to only one person? That's not a very sound plan at all. Yet...here we are. If anything is to happen," he sat a little more upright in his saddle, and his prosthetic arm came to life with an ease he hadn't experienced since being in Elespeth's company, "I'll take care of it."

With the support of her companions backing her decision, Lilica pressed her bloodied hand on the tree...and a whirl of things happened at once.

Sounds collected and whipped around their ears. A peal of thunder, a low vibration, the howling of wind, despite their feeling no wind, or seeing any lightning. Snow slid off branches, melting instantly on the ground. The blanketing white of the forest shriveled, and yielded to bright green stalks, that rose into the sky, and opened their vast, white petals to the world. Buildings also emerged from the ground: out from stones, from bushes, from trees. They, too, grew like plants, conforming with a wild precision only nature could create. And though they were not there moments ago, they looked as if they belonged; all gentle curves and climbing stairs. But most miraculous, was how people transformed. Where once were rocks and small, stunted trees, appeared hunched forms, swaddled in silvery white. They were...alive. They all took a collective deep breath, awaking, as they were, from a century-long slumber. As expected, they appeared confused, distraught, and uncertain. But they /were/ denizens of Galeyn. And surrounding them...

Was the Night Garden.

Despite the living nightmare of the last few days, Alster smiled, moved by the awe and majesty of Galeyn and its gradual revival. "I've...never seen anything like this, before. And I doubt I ever will, again. Did we...enter a dream? Or death?"

It was real. Tentatively, he reached out to touch a flower. Its velvety petals seemed to soothe the remnants of his tattered soul, which now belonged to the Serpent...and not to his lover. But it reached him, sang to him, just like the rose in Theomyr's dream interpretation of the Night Garden.

He released the flower and nodded, his eyes moistening. "It's...beautiful," he whispered, afraid that by speaking at full volume, his voice would sully the delicate structure of the garden. "I...needed to see this. For myself, too." Tears, unbidden, streamed down his face. "I really did."

But his much-needed peace and serenity was interrupted by a scream. It, like the peal of thunder, vibrated in his bones, counter to the healing vibrations of the garden. He half expected the sorceress, Locque to appear out of that introduction, but when he turned, it was Tivia, who was running towards...him. Dismounting from his horse, Alster met her halfway, stopping her in both steel and flesh arms.

"What happened?"

She was disconsolate, but still, she managed to glare at him with the pierce of her gray eye. "You. You're Serpent-blessed now! You have the power to save him!"

"Who?" He looked around, and realized...Vitali was not among them.

She grabbed his good arm and pulled him with her, around the expansive girth of the tree and to the other side, where the necromancer rested at its base, unconscious...and covered in wounds.

Alster hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" came Tivia's aggrieved cry.

"It...punished him," he said, in baffled appraisal. "The Night Garden. The energies surrounding him...are malevolent. The tree, the grasses, the plants...are doing him harm."

"Then remove him from the harm!"

Still, he hesitated. Wasn't this what the necromancer deserved? For all the harm he'd willingly inflicted on others? On Vega, who lost her roc, and an essential connection to the life he'd initially disrupted from the grave? On Lilica, who struggled, even now, to put aside their past contentions? On himself, who almost lost much more than his life, but his very being? Who nearly killed Elespeth while in the mad throes of his perfect dream? Didn't he deserve all that befell him, and more?

...I can't make that call.

With a sigh, he knelt before the necromancer, and first checked his pulse. "Odd."

"What?" Tivia demanded. "What's odd?"

"These wounds should be killing him, but his pulse and breathing are stable. A slow heart-beat and steady breathing, like he's asleep. Or," he frowned, "been put to sleep."

"Assess that later! Just heal him, so we can move him!"

Alster pulled open the necromancer's coat, and flinched. The wounds were jagged and messy, as though he'd been ripped apart by thorns. And they were everywhere, from shoulder, to torso, to leg. He hovered his left hand over one in particular, and let the magic flow from him. It released, unimpeded. No developing fatigue or sickness in his gut. Just the hum of healing energy, which stitched up the wound, and the subsequent wounds, with all the smoothness of spreading butter on bread.

Tivia called over Sigrid, who, curious, had wandered over to the other side of the tree with them. "Help us carry him to a horse!"

But as they hauled him, with care, from the ground to his steed, Alster noticed that the jagged wounds slowly began to open and bleed anew.

So Mollengard had made their stance (as well as their transparency) very clear, Vega had learned when Nairee had explained what Solveig had imparted. There was nothing about it that didn't reveal a threat; should Eyraille return to Stella D'Mare, then they would become a target, sooner than they were perhaps prepared to be. It was a good thing, then, that Chara had provided her with the resonance stone. If they could not be actively present, at least they now had a more secure means of communication that did not risk exposure, or exhaustion on the part of Teselin or Grandmother Alta. Whatever their next plan of action, the seaside city would be on its own, left to whatever devices it could arrange without Eyraille present. And on their end, Eyraille could only do their best to perhaps beseech the aid of a neighboring kingdom, Ilandria, who had made it clear long ago that they did not hold Mollengard in high regard.

For now, it was up in the air, but there was no more time to discuss or deliberate options; and she had a sour feeling that if the Skyknights were not gone before evening fell that day, Mollengard's 'pride' might take a devastating turn for the worst, and the Skyknights would feel it in the form of brutality.

As she prepared her roc for flight, her chest still tight when it came to grooming and prepping an avian that wasn't Aeriel, she heard a familiar set of heavy footsteps from behind her. After she mounted, Haraldur took a seat at her back and secured his hands around her waist, a motion that should have provided comfort, not fear. And yet, inside, she panicked. What if he can feel it? What if he can tell? What did Atli tell him? Whatever he had to say, the princess's blood pounded in her ears with raw trepidation. It only eased, ever so slightly, when he questioned her about the promise that she had made to the Mollengardian healer. "I spoke with Atli on the topic of his daughter some time ago, Haraldur. You... we weren't in communication, at the time." A time she'd rather not recall, despite that they had both recovered from their mutual hurt, and had come back all the stronger for it. "And it didn't occur to me, again, until Stella D'Mar called for aid. I remembered I'd made a promise to him, because he doesn't wish to be under Mollengard's control, either. It hadn't occurred to me that you could help. But I won't go any further with it, without commiserating with you... even if we can manage to save one little girl from life as a Forbanne, it will be worth it. But..."

The Skyknight commander glanced over her shoulder, meeting Haraldur's eyes through his helmet. "In turn, I'd also like you know why it is you and Elespeth were speaking with Atli. And why it was pertinent to inform Chara on the matter. I will be open with you, if you can promise to return that. We must all be playing the same tune, if we wish to succeed in sparing Stella D'Mare and our friends from the cruelty of the conquering nation."

On the long flight home, Haraldur made good on his agreement, and explained from the very beginning. He explained what Elespeth had planned, and what he had suggested to improve the plan (or at least, make it slightly less ludicrous), and finally what they had established with Chara, involving Teselin, the girl who had managed to reach out to Eyraille for help on Stella D'Mare's behalf. Naturally, none of it sat well with her; then again, right now, nothing did, as her guts felt as though they were tied in a knot. When they stopped briefly to rest, in order to feed and provide the rocs with water, however, she could not hold back her displeasure. "So you are going to stand among the Forbanne--you are going to challenge Solveig--and hope to come out alive? All of this, after you berated me for wanting to return to Stella D'Mare to merely check on the well-being of my friends?" Naturally, there was fire in her eyes, but... her agitation was disproportionate, to what was expected and typical of the Eyraillian princess. Anyone who knew her well, who knew her temper, would have been able to tell that something beneath the surface had already primed her mood.

"I know I cannot talk you out of it any more than you could talk me out of my role in this upcoming war," she said at last, pacing, itching to get back to the skies, to get home, to get... away. Just for a little while. "But I think it goes without saying that if you die, willingly putting yourself in that amount of danger... I don't know that I'll be able to forgive you."

The remainder of the trip back was silent and tense. It was well into the night, nearing the early hours of the morning when the fleet of Skyknights arrived safely back in Eyraille, everyone accounted for and no one harmed. Caris was still awake, having waited for their arrival with bated breath, and seemed to release the air in his lungs in a rush when Vega and Haraldur dismounted. "What news do you bring from Stella D'Mare?" The young king asked, helping the two off of their mount. "How are they faring? I don't imagine there was much you could have done in the short amount of time you were there."

"There is a lot of information to impart, Caris. Have the grace to allow us time to sleep and get our thoughts together. We can reconvene tomorrow." Without another word to her brother, Vega made for the palace, carrying her helmet under her arm, her stride decidedly fast. Like she wanted to get away, quickly. Caris's face was a mask of confusion and frustration, not for Vega's words, but how they were imparted. It wasn't like her to use such a tone with him; at least, not in light of these circumstances.

"Dare I ask what transpired to put her in such a mood?" He asked Haraldur, brows furrowed. Bus his hard expression softened, taking in the exhaustion on the mercenary's face. "I suppose flying all day will constitute that sort of an attitude. Go and get some rest. I'd like you see you and Vega in the war room after breakfast, first thing tomorrow morning."

Vega wasn't to be found in the stables with the rocs, or in her chambers when Haraldur made to retire for the evening. Rather, she had stolen away to the small room adjacent to her chambers, one containing a large, white, marble bath tub and wash basin. The water was kept warm by embers beneath the cold marble, stoked and smoldering. Steam rose from the water, and the Skyknight's skin was already pink with warmth, yet she still shivered. It might have been easy to assume, based on how she'd struggled with maintaining a manageable body temperature since her resurrection, that she was trying to warm herself from the inside out. What wasn't as obvious was the anxiety that accompanied Atli's words to her, that day: you're pregnant. 

She didn't have to look up to know it was Haraldur when the door to her bathing room opened. She pressed a sigh from her chest, her breath stirring the mist that rose from the water. "I'm sorry. I'm exhausted... and beyond worried. For Eyraille and for Stella D'Mare." For us. For a life that doesn't even exist, yet. "But you don't deserve to take the brunt of it... you should get some rest, Haraldur. You deserve it."

"Lilica... Tenebris." The young man who addressed her spoke her name with reverence. Before she had a chance to react, he had taken her bloody hand in his own, and knelt. "The hand that has saved this kingdom... we have slept, under this spell, for too long. It couldn't protect all of us. Not the elderly, the infirm... many have succumbed to merciless time. We do not have the numbers that we used to have. But we are here. Because of you."

The dark mage was, understandably, speechless. Speechless in light of what she was surrounded by--a garden, blooming and healthy and fresh, and beyond it, a city that had not existed just moments ago. Confused people, crying people, relieved people, who all looked to her as if she was some kind of saint. I'm not. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to be here... I don't deserve your thanks. She had so many questions, so much that she wanted--that she needed--to know, but these people had hardly had a handful of moments to re-experience their lives. All of them were so vulnerable and disoriented, and looking to her as if she had all of the answers, as if she knew how to resuscitate this kingdom...

There was no time to be overwhelmed, and no time to take in the beauty that surrounded her. A piercing scream drew her attention (and everyone else's) back to the tree that now forever bore her bloody handprint. Behind it, laying in a heap at its base, lay Vitali--unconscious, with red lifeblood pouring from mysterious wounds. Tivia was at his side in seconds, followed by Sigrid, but the sight of her fallen brother left Lilica rooted in place. She understood the look in Alster's eyes, understood his words: this was judgement, of the divine sort. And regardless of how any of them felt for the necromancer and his uncharacteristic change of heart, which had come of late, Vitali had not passed.

The denizens of Galeyn, some not yet fully awake, others still struggling to gain their footing, were also understandably shaken by the turn of events. Yet none moved to lend a hand. "Theomyr Tenebris instructed the Garden to protect us against lethal intruders." A woman with pale hair commented. She, too, was dressed in silver-white robes, and had a knowing calmness to her dark eyes, despite that it appeared she was still shaking the aftereffects of the spell they'd all been under. "The Garden has detected that man as a threat. This is not a cause for concern; leave well enough alone. It is doing its job, and the kingdom is not in any way prepared to face a threat..."

"He's my brother." Lilica informed them, without any emotion. Just pure fact. "He is... by virtue of that, also a Tenebris... I do not understand why the Night Garden would attack him. Like me, this is his home... by blood."

"His blood does not exempt him from the Garden's judgment." The young man who had originally spoken to her explained, though his soft voice carried apology. "It isn't for us to question... not when we have been in stasis for so long."

"If I have revived this Garden, and this city, then it is for me to question." Maybe she would regret this. Maybe it was best to let justice take its course, and allow Vitali to sink into the very death that he had imposed on so many other people. But that... that was not her call. If their efforts failed, and he still died, then that was that, and she would not question the wheel of fate. But without so much as trying... they'd be no better than the necromancer, and the deeds that had made him. Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "We have to get him out of the Garden. Sigrid--can you lift him?"

The Dawn Warrior had no difficulty hoisting the unconscious man onto a horse, after Alster had closed his wounds... but just as quickly as they'd mended, they opened again, bleeding anew. It was uncanny to watch and turned her stomach. "The wounds won't close," the blonde warrior commented, stepping away with Vitali's blood on her clothes when he was secure upon a horse.

"You must take him out of the Garden. To the outskirts of the kingdom." The man who had spoken to Lilica commented, although he seemed uncertain about lending aid to someone the Garden had condemned. "It will be some hours, even by horse at a quick pace. I can lead you there. If..." He turned to Lilica, and the look in his eyes made it clear he was torn between the Garden's will and her own. "If you believe this is the the right decision, My Lady. You've saved us; I trust the Garden's judgement. But... I must also trust yours."

"Then help us." Lilica declared, looking to Sigrid as she mounted the horse upon which Vitali's unconscious form was slumped, holding him at the waist to keep him from falling. "Can you ascertain he does not fall?"

"I've done this before." The Dawn Warrior assured her with a nod. "Lilica, stay with the people who need you. We will see to the care of your... brother." It was the first time that Sigrid was learning of Vitali's relation to Lilica, and the expression written on her face indicated she was not happy that they had withheld that information. He had looked to be a relation, certainly, but not nearly so close. "Rest assured he will be in good hands."

As much as she did not want to standby while one of her dedicated party was in critical condition, Sigrid was right. There were too many people surrounding her, now, too many people looking to her for guidance and reassurance that she was not sure she could give. There was no room for her to worry for Vitali; her friends would worry on her behalf. With a sigh and a nod, she watched them ride off, led by the young man who had offered to help. Turning her attention to the rest gathering crowd, people with tired and frightened eyes, some still crying and clasping one another for support, she let out a defeated sigh. "I want to help you. All of you. But first, you must help me... tell me about this Garden. About Galeyn. Have patience with me... because I need to learn just what it is I have awakened."

The last remaining hours of daylight had faded over the horizon by the time Vitali was brought to an empty cabin. It was not a proper infirmary, for those were all located near the Night Garden, so the best that they had to make due was a bed, warn water, and some old sheets that they tore up to bandage the necromancer's bleeding torso. No matter how many passes Alster's healing hands made over Vitali's wounds, they would reopen just moments later, and it was not worth the Rigas caster's energy to keep up the futile task. "Why will his wounds not remain closed?" Sigrid asked the white-clad man who had led them to the very border of the kingdom; as far from the Garden's reach as possible, without venturing outside Galeyn entirely. "You said we are beyond the Night Garden's range of effect. Should he not be awakening? Be healing?"

"I cannot say what it is the Night Garden inflicted on him; it is just as much a mystery to me. I'm sorry." Pausing, he took in the blonde warrior's garb for the first time, and his eyes shone with understanding. "You are of the Dawn Legion... I'm sorry I did not notice before." He offered a shallow bow. "Thank you for what you and yours have done to protect our kingdom, even it the days while it slept."

"You may thank me by offering us insight into how to help our comrade." She nodded at Vitali's prone form on the small bed. "I realize your kingdom has only been awake and aware for not yet a day, but there must be something that can be done for this man."

The young man dragged his teeth along his lower lip and furrowed his brows, striving for an answer that he knew he did not have. At last, he could only hang his head in shame. "The best I can do is consult with the other Gardeners--the caretakers of the Night Garden. Many have been nurturing it for longer than I have. They may be able to provide the answers that you need."

With only that promise to part with, he left the three companions to look over their unconscious comrade as he made for the heart of the kingdom. The cabin was small, with only one bed, meaning that the rest of them would have to settle for laying blankets upon the floor. But they had managed to get a fire started in the hearth, and it hadn't taken long for the air to grow warm and comfortable. "He is still stable, despite his wounds." Sigrid commented, regularly checking the unconscious man's pulse and breathing. "It does not seem as though his life is in immediate danger... if the Garden seeks to punish him, then quick death would not be appropriate. We still have time to find a solution." Her words were for Tivia alone; Tivia, who seemed more distraught over the fallen man's condition than anyone else, for whatever strange, sentimental reason.

She only hoped that they had made the right call... and that saving the life of a man who had been deemed a danger and a threat to the kingdom that they had only recently uncovered and awakened would not reduce this long journey to a tragic failure.

During their rest at the halfway point between Stella D'Mare and Eyraille, and after Haraldur explained the details of Atli's plan, and Chara's annex to that plan, he wasn't surprised to see Vega's reaction. Already, she was in a foul mood that morning, the reasons of which he could only guess were due to Mollengard. His sudden involvement, which would pit him against the conquering nation rather intimately, couldn't possibly sit well with Vega, and she expressed as much to him. As he knelt by the side of a burbling stream, refilling his water canteen and washing his face with a cool splash, he listened to her concerns, for they were not without reason.

"I know I'm at fault here, too," he said, wiping his face dry with a clean rag. "I wanted us to stay as far away from Mollengard, and delegate from within the safe confines of the palace. I wanted no active part...but all that changed when we landed in Stella D'Mare. When I saw for myself the vast number of soldiers flooding the city. When I saw Elespeth, forced to face the brunt of this without a trusted companion at her side. The Rigases are unprepared, and are grasping at miracles and any plan that sounds marginally successful, however ill-conceived. They're desperate, Vega, and they need hope. That's when I realized," he tucked the rag into the looping of his belt, "that I have to help. I'm one of their best options. I know Mollengard; I know the Forbanne. I can fight like a Forbanne. And I have plenty of experience gathering groups of people and leading them out of dangerous territories. All I can do in Eyraille is voice my opinions in the war room and be a tutor to your brother. But I'm a soldier. My place is on the front, fighting. And you know as well as I," he slid both hands over her arms in a gentle caress, "that I don't so easily die. So I won't."

Don't be so sure, a voice inside of him mocked. You remained alive for so long because you avoided Mollengard and the Forbanne.

It was true. Though he played against Mollengard many a time, when he was leading refugees out of the country and returning to collect more, he was always just out of their reach. They never caught him, never saw him, because he knew how to be cautious and methodical. If the dangers were too great, he delayed the trips until he could ensure the best possible crossing. Nevermind that the last trip across Eyraille's mountains ended in disaster...But even he was a victim of bad decisions. Like playing an active role in Stella D'Mare. Throwing himself in a face-to-face situation with a Forbanne captain. Trusting in a distraught healer and a spy for Mollengard. Had Vega rubbed off on him? Was he making the right choice? Of course he wasn't. But somehow, he convinced himself it was the best choice--for Stella D'Mare and for Eyraille.

And some promises never died. Be her shield in place of me. It was what Alster told him in a dream. The call to action that delivered him back to Tadasun's camp. Back to Vega. Although the Rigas caster relieved him of that duty, he still felt responsible...in protecting Elespeth.

When they returned to Eyraille late that evening, Caris hardly waited until they dismounted the rocs before throwing himself on them with questions of news and updates on Stella D'Mare. But Vega rushed along into the warmth of the palace, terse and uncompromising in her responses. He couldn't really blame her, but he still looked after her retreating form, mouth folding into a frown.

"We don't have a lot of promising news to impart, your Majesty. The visit to the city has been hard on us, both. I'll fill you in on the details tomorrow, in the war room. Until then, I think we can all use some rest." With a bow, he excused himself, and made for the roc stables to help the other Skyknights in whatever tasks that he, as a novice, could do. When he entered Vega's chambers that evening and saw that she was absent, it didn't take him long to locate her whereabouts. He heard the dripping of water next door, and entered after a tentative knock to alert her of his arrival. Sitting on the lip of the tub, not caring that his trousers began to soak through, he watched Vega, so small, like she shrank in the steaming water to half her size.

"So am I, Vega," he said, reaching into the water and finding her hand. "And my decisions can't be easy on you. I didn't consult you beforehand, when I should have. I'm putting myself in untold danger, a danger you've fought so hard to save me from. This is risky. I know that it is. But," he gave her hand a tender squeeze, "we'll make it through." He rose from the lip of the tub, back to his full height. "I'll leave you to your bath. You deserve relaxation, too. And time to de-stress. I'll be in bed--to keep you warm, whenever you join."

That morning, after breakfast, Haraldur made an appearance in the war room. Still exhausted from last night, which provided him precious few hours of sleep, and not enough to replenish all that he lost over the last few days, he was prompt in his arrival, and forthright with his information--however unpopular his information. He detailed the meeting with Chara, the gift of the resonance stones, and the "strategy" they decided upon. A strategy which depended, in part, on him engaging with the Forbanne Captain, on rallying a sizable contingent of such soldiers to follow an unprepared Mollengardian healer, and assisting in a mass evacuation before a magically-created sea-storm was to ravage the city's shores.

"It's not finalized," he assured the young king, who he anticipated would not receive the news well. "Everything is in its infancy. But we have the resonance stones, so we can make amendments with the Rigas Head as we see fit." He purposely kept detail of his involvement minimal. He wanted to relay that his part was inconsequential, and he would abort at the first sign of bodily danger. "It's up to you to decide which role you'd like Eyraille to play, but Chara has mentioned need of a supply unit for the evacuees. It's the safest course of action for us. We'd only be providing support for Stella D'Mare, and not acting in overt aggression against Mollengard."

Once they secured Vitali on the horse, with Sigrid holding him erect in her arms, Tivia and Alster mounted their own steeds. Before they made their hasty departure, Alster turned to Lilica. "I'll do what I can to help him. Even if he doesn't deserve it. We'll be back whenever we can. Or at the very least, I will. It doesn't look like Vitali will ever be able to return here, and," he looked over his shoulder at Tivia, who opened her mouth in preparation to scream at him to hurry, "I think she plans to stay with him...if he makes it."

With a nod of farewell, he steered his horse to where the white-robed man awaited their gathering. Positioning himself beside Sigrid, for better ease of healing on the go, they took off, away from the Night Garden and the mysterious warmth surrounding it. The farther they traveled from its miraculous beauty and aura of peace, the more his heart sank. It was all too good to last. But as he promised Lilica, he would return. Even if she had matters handled on her own, he wanted to return. To know the Night Garden, to understand its properties, to surround himself with a beauty that was severely lacking in his life...

But maybe when I return, he thought, the Night Garden will judge me as a threat, for attempting to save Vitali. And I'll be next. It'll sense my Serpent soul, and exterminate me.

They set a grueling pace for their exodus from the Night Garden, stopping only so that Alster could heal Vitali's wounds. Though it was futile, as his body would tear open without indication of accepting the slightest bit of healing, it at least prevented him from bleeding out in full--and from bleeding all over Sigrid.

When they reached an uninhabited cabin at the edge of Galeyn, they relocated him to a bed. Though the interior showed signs of wear, with yellowed sheets and a faint musty smell, it was, Alster assumed, in the same condition as before the kingdom sundered into slumber. After they collected firewood, lit the hearth ablaze, heated water in the cast-iron pot, filled the basin, and gathered clean rags, Alster healed the necromancer's wounds for the umpteenth time, and cleaned the blood off his skin. Not like it mattered, but he wanted to maintain as sanitary a work-space as possible.

Taking in the conversation between the Galeyn Gardener and Sigrid, Alster sat beside the necromancer, placed a hand on the necromancer's forehead, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He'd succeeded in breaching minds before, barring his recent attempts to contact his loved ones. But with the acquisition of the Serpent's stamina, perhaps it was possible to delve deeper, without exhausting himself.

What faced him was a wall. Darker than black. Writhing in miasma, like viscous, drooling vines. Beyond, he heard plaintive shouts of agony, pleas for mercy, a leaky drip, drip, drip, an ongoing scraping sound...then silence. When he dared to near the wall of vines, they reared up and launched at him to attack.

Alster snapped his eyes open and removed his hand, his link, from the necromancer. When he came to, the Galeyn man was gone, having ridden off to search for more Gardeners like him. As he took a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Tivia looked to him expectantly.

"Well? What did you see?"

"He's...under a dream curse. But it's not like the one he placed on me. This one is killing him...but slowly. I still don't know the nature of the wounds that won't heal, but maybe it's to ensure he suffers as much pain as possible. Because...the dream he's locked inside right now...is not a pleasant one."

Tivia paled. "I knew this was going to happen," she muttered. "I warned him, and he waved me off. But my warning...it wasn't specific enough. If only I said something before Lilica pressed her hand to the tree. I knew it was going to happen...and yet I said nothing." Her eye flooded with tears. "It's my fault. I have this ability to prevent disaster, and what do I do with it?"

"It's still not the end," Alster said, locking Tivia's gaze. "You never sensed his death, did you? And you can see his star, right?"

"N-no." Her voice was small. "I didn't sense his death. But my connection to his star isn't as strong as with our family. Or," she hesitated, "with Haraldur. So 'disastrous circumstance' could very well end up as 'death.'"

Alster leaned back on the bed's headboard, running another hand to close up Vitali's opening wounds. "I've delved into minds, but only to those with whom I'm connected...and usually with the help of a Sybaian healer. And this is more complex than a Sybaian ritual. It will be tricky, but--"

"--You have to succeed," she told him, taking his good arm in a fierce grip. "You have the skill, and now, the stamina. And," she swallowed, "I'll go in there with you."

He balked. "It's too dangerous for--"

"--And you want to shoulder this alone? For a man you despise?" She scoffed. "I'll need to be there to keep you in line. It may help, to have a comforting presence in there for him."

"It's...true," he admitted, with a sigh of defeat. "I daresay your presence would help. And with the blood bond you forged with him, he's unable to hurt you. The oath may not hold in such a vast, unpredictable chamber that is his subconscious, but it's something, at least. And...you can see his star. It could lead us right to the core of his soul. Together," he looked at the prone, vulnerable, breakable man before them, "we might stand a chance."

"So then," she gave a determined nod, "let's do this."

It was difficult to remain cross with Haraldur when, for one, the man was so forthcoming with apologies and promises to be there for her, no matter his decisions, and for another... he was not what stirred the anxiety at the pit of her gut. He didn't deserve the brunt of her frustration, because her frustration--at its core--was not his fault. Not entirely. Yet for now, to let him think that the stressors driving Eyraille and Stella D'Mare were eating away at her, was safe. Anything to deflect suspicion of what was really on her mind.

"I'll join you soon," the Skyknight promised him, watching the steam rise from the water. But it wasn't until over an hour later, when the embers beneath the marble had died down, the water had cooled, and the skin at her fingertips had wrinkled, that she finally left the bath, and curled up next to the mercenary in bed, her damp hair leaving her pillow wet and chilled throughout the night.

Neither of them shirked Caris's request to meet with him early the next morning, despite that both mercenary and Skyknight felt and looked beyond exhausted. Vega decided to forego breakfast, with her stomach turning circles just as violently as it had the other day (and now, the nausea made sense to her), so she spent the time dressing and preparing herself to look more alert when she met with her brother in the war room, alongside Haraldur. Since the mercenary knew more than she did, given the plans he had formed with Chara and Elespeth, Vega stood back and let him explain the majority of what they'd learned in Stella D'Mare. Meanwhile, she stood to the side and breathed slowly, deeply through her nausea, trying not to come across as too disconnected from the conversation. Caris took in the information carefully, which seemed to be giving him a headache, judging by the way he massaged his temples. When Haraldur finished, a long sigh left the young king's lungs, and he looked rather hopelessly down at the vast table in front of him.

"So any further blatant aid from Eyraille will ignite Mollengard's fire." He mused, rubbing the back of his neck. "So our presence in aiding evacuees will have to be the last time that Mollengard lays eyes upon us. There is going to be no hiding when we send an entire fleet of rocs to carry people to safety. In the interim... those stones that the Rigases have provided us with will be useful. This might be our best chance to undermine Mollengard before they have a chance to find a front on us. For now... we'll hold back, and communicate with Stella D'Mare on the sly. Plan from there."

Vega was genuinely surprised--and impressed--at her younger brother's decision on the matter... but it was not without an air of concern. What had happened to the young man who, just a week ago, had been so determined to take on the Forbanne single-handedly? "We'll heed your decision, then," the Skyknight agreed, with a nod. "We have the resonance stone, if you wish to have it in your possession."

"Stella D'Mare's point of contact with us have been through you two." The young king pointed out, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "So far, your advice and knowledge has been sound. It doesn't make sense to hand the reins over to me if the Rigases are comfortable communicating with you; I don't know them the way you do."

"You're Eyraille's king, though. Don't think we don't seek and value your input. You need to make the call." But the young king was already packing up the map sprawled across the table and preparing to leave. Something had shifted in him, though she couldn't be sure of what it was, or why it had happened. 

"I know, Vega. I know my place, now. Bring me the choices, and I will make the call, appropriately for the situation. It's the only impact I'm able to make, isn't it?" Tucking the folded map under his arm, he nodded at the two warriors before him. "With all due respect--you both look like hell. Go back to bed and get some rest. Update me with any news from Stella D'Mare and the Rigases." He left, then, without another word. Without arguing his right to fight on the front lines; without debating the logistics of Eyraille's involvement. It was the first time in a while that Vega had witnessed her brother's fire dampened to glowing embers, and... needless to say, it gave her pause for worry. Where would Eyraille's fierce and fearless king, be, if and when they did face war?

While Sigrid was conversing with the young Gardener, for whom she did feel a twinge of sympathy (he hadn't been free of the kingdom's spell for more than four hours, and already he was being tasked with helping to save the life of a man whom it went against his intuition to help), she hadn't realized what Alster had been doing, hovered over the unconscious form of the pale, dark-haired man. When suddenly he snapped out of what had appeared to be some sort of trance, his hands shaking and the glint of fear and unease in his eyes, she furrowed her brows.

"Whatever you are doing--don't." Perhaps it was an unpopular opinion; and by the glare she received from Tivia, she had a feeling she was not wrong in that appraisal. "You don't understand the force you're tampering with: neither do I, fully, but having been briefed in Galeyn's history, the Night Garden isn't to be reckoned with. Whatever it has chosen to do to this man likely won't be so easily unraveled by counter magic; in fact, you might just end up hurting yourself, instead. Give it some time; let the Gardener return with viable information before you jump head-first into something that might well be bigger and more aggressive than you imagined."

Fortunately, Alster seemed apt to listen, especially since Vitali's wounds, though they continued to bleed and rendered the man deathly pale, had not made a significant difference in his vital signs. As the hours passed, occupied with rinsing and reapplying bandages to keep the bleeding at bay, the necromancer's heartbeat and breathing remained steady. Whatever he was suffering in his state of magically induced sleep, though it might have been torturous and agonizing, he remained alive. The advice had not sat well with Tivia, however. She had taken a seat on the edge of the bed, having taken the unconscious man's uninjured hand in both of her own. As if she hoped that the contact was one that he would recognize, through the layers of his consciousness, and bring him some modicum of comfort. Whether or not it made a difference remained unseen, but it was enough to make her feel as though she could be there for him, when nothing else was possible. Much to Sigrid longed to ask questions about the man, Haraldur, whom Tivia claimed to be a relation of hers... now was not the time. She she doubted the seer would answer, even if she had a moment to spare for it.

Nor a handful of hours later, after they had washed Vitali's bandages and redressed his wounds numerous times, night had fallen, and the sound of two steeds approaching the cabin came to an abrupt stop. And in walked Lilica, along with the Gardener with whom Sigrid had been speaking earlier. The surprise on everyone's face was palpable. "How did you manage to arrive so quickly?" The warrior asked the dark mage, who made her way to Vitali's bed, concerned to see that there had been no improvement in his condition. "You should be working on navigating this--your kingdom."

"I did. I spent hours getting to know it, and I will spend hours more. But this is a more trying issue, at the moment." Lilica frowned at the way the bandages soaked up more free-flowing blood from wounds that for some reason would not close. "Teren, here, explained to me that travel is much more efficient in the evening. Galeyn-bred horses travel at an uncannily fast pace by night. I made it here from the Night Garden in just a matter of moments... and I'm glad to see that none of you have attempted anything drastic. Teren, tell them what you told me."

The young Gardener nodded, folding his hands in front of him. "I spoke with my kin, and it was as I suspected; there is no way to lift the curse that the Night Garden has placed on this man. Only can the hand of the one who ordered the curse lift it, and any interference can result in injury or... or death. So  I cannot step in to recommend that you help this man--"

"But there are no repercussions if I'm the one to do it. Not if the Garden, the curse, recognizes me." She leveled her eyes at the young Gardener. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Well... yes. To the best of my knowledge, you should not be hurt. And... perhaps, nor should your companions, in your company. But it is still a very real risk that you are taking." Teren said, his voice small. "No one has ever questioned or defied motives and judgment of the Night Garden, before. We just got our kingdom back. What you're doing... please understand why it does not sit well with me. But it is beyond me to deny you help..."

Lilica placed a hand on his shoulder. Though younger than her, he was far taller, and it felt strange to comfort someone so superior in height. "You will need to trust us. I did not awaken this city expecting it to attack the people who helped me find it; and I cannot sit here and accept that fate for them." Glancing at Alster, a mutual understanding came upon them when they locked eyes. "I know what you're thinking; I know what we have to do. With me in your company, we should be able to avoid the curse's wrath to at least assess the state of his mind... to find him. I cannot believe that I am doing this, for everything that he has done to... to so many others." She blew air from between her lips. "But his fate is not ours to decide--nor is it the Night Garden's."

Casting a look over her shoulder at Sigrid and Teren, Lilica told them, "Keep an eye on us. If it looks bad... then pull us out of it. Sigrid, I realize it is a lot of pressure, but you must make that call, if you can."

Indeed, the Dawn Warrior appeared uncomfortable at the thought of deciding when enough was enough and that it was imperative to pull them back. But she understood her task, and nodded. "Understood."

The three companions surrounding Vitali's slowly dying body, Lilica reached for Tivia and Alster's hands. "Don't break contact physically," she cautioned them, seeking understanding in their gaze. "We must fool the Garden into thinking that you are both an extension of myself, or else the curse could see you as invasive and strike you down, as well. Alster." She nodded to the Rigas caster, who had the most experience and expertise in entering minds. "Help us to get inside his mind. To find out what is happening to his... soul. Your experience in this technique is superior to my own... with your help, I think we can be successful."

So with Alster's hand on Vitali's forehead, Tivia's reassuring presence, the protection of Lilica's company, they concentrated and reached into the sleeping necromancer's mind. Just like Alster had experienced before, they first encountered a wall; black, writhing, menacing. One made, by the looks of it, of dark vines and thorns. The temperature was frigid and menacing; and every possible warning not to approach made itself known. Drawing a shaky breath, Lilica took a chance and, with the others behind her, drew nearer the writhing wall of thorns and vines. They seemed to shift uncomfortably in response. "You'll let us pass--and you will not attack." The dark mage commanded, as if she were speaking to a well-trained guard dog. "You will let us pass!" 

There was a beat of silence, when nothing happened at all. Then, as if the vines had taken a moment to consider the request, and realized that they had no choice but to obey in the presence of Galeyn's commanding Tenebris caretaker, they parted. But what lay beyond was equally as black and as cold; like a void, impossible to navigate.

But the sounds--the cries--gave a good indication as to core of the necromancer's suffering. "Vitali?" Lilica called, but it was to no avail; he likely could not hear himself over his own screams. "To hell with this guessing... Alster, Tivia, can you create light? We'll never find him in the dark."

Tivia, with bright flame-like tendrils at her fingertips, managed to illuminate the surrounding area. And, indeed, what they saw resembled the Night Garden... if the beautiful, healing Garden were a nightmare. The trees and flora were dark, menacing, some crawling like serpents. And as they moved, vines and branches and weeds reached for them, only stopping short of actually touching them, protected as they were by the presence of the one person the Night Garden could not harm. With a visual before them, it made it much easier to follow her brother's voice. The cries, the agony, grew louder... and that's when they saw it. Saw him.

Trapped against the very tree that had allowed Lilica to unlock and awaken the Night Garden and its kingdom from its spell, Vitali writhed and fought against vicious vines, thorns, and branches. But they did not just have him restrained and nicked; worse, they had impaled him. Through his chest his arms, his legs, his shoulders, his torso... as if he had been grotesquely sewn into the tree. And yet, futile as it might have been, he struggled and fought against the hold. He would not be taken with without a fight. But... it was obvious that the fight was a losing one. The more he fought, the tighter, more vicious the forest held him... It shed a good deal of clarity on the wounds that would not heal. 

In a panic, Tivia was the first to call his name, to get his attention. Momentarily, he stopped his struggling. "Tivia?" He called, his voice hoarse and full of disbelief. He struggled to turn his head to see her, but on closer inspection, thorny vines had stretched across his eyes, creating cascades of what looked like bloody tears down his cheeks. With what little mobility his good hand had, he reached in the direction of her voice, and his bloody fingers came into contact with her own. The smallest amount of tension drained from his injured shoulders. "You need to leave. You shouldn't be here." He hissed, desperation and fear thick in his voice. "I should have listened to you--it's too late for me, now. But not for you. Leave, before this place claims you, too--"

"We're not leaving without you, you ungrateful bastard." Lilica snapped and stalked forward. She grabbed a hold of one of the vines that had impaled his shoulder. "I've put the rest of this kingdom on hold to help you. You are damn well going to wake up." Gritting her teeth against the thorns that bit into her palm, she pulled, and pulled, and pulled until her own blood streamed down her wrist... but the vine would not budge. As if it was locked in place. If anything, it only pulled itself tighter, and the necromancer let out an exhausted groan.

"Why won't it budge?" The chthonic caster asked aloud, to no one in particular. She continued to pull. "I am the chosen Tenebris; I liberated you, and I am commanding you right now. Release him! That is my will, that is my order!" Lilica shouted at the Garden--or at the curse that had taken the Garden's form. But it would not yield.

"You're wasting your time. This curse won't lift for you."

That voice... Letting go of the vine, blood dripping from her bloody palms, Lilica and her party turned to meet the form of a tall man with inky black hair, just like her own. Her face darkened, as the calm figure of her father, Theomyr Tenebris, stood back and watched the workings of the very curse he had intended to trigger, should Vitali step into this domain. "Release him, now!" Lilica demanded, jabbing a bloody finger in his direction. "You got what you wanted--I did what you wanted. So you will release Vitali from this curse. He's done nothing wrong."

"On the contrary, he has done plenty wrong, in his exceedingly long lifetime. Did I not advise you to come alone?" Theomyr's dark eyes were too cold, too logical. His arms folded serenely in front of him, unmoved by the awful sight of his own flesh and blood suffering at the hands of this curse. "I told you that Vitali would never set foot in the Night Garden. It was a necessary failsafe; whether or not he is as changed a man as you believe, I could not take this risk."

"He is your son!" Lilica spat, unsure where her anger was coming from: the fact that he would not release Vitali, or that he did not seem to care for how he was making him suffer. How he believed wholly in what he had done, how he stood by his decision. "I had my own failsafe. I bound him by blood oathe not to bring harm to any of us, or to this kingdom. I thought ahead; for all he has done that is left in his shadow, this is unnecessary and cruel. And you..." She curled her fingers into a fist, and blood dripped from the closed palm. "You've guided me here. I did what you asked, and I've asked nothing in return. So now I am asking you this: release him. If the circumstances of his deeds take his life, then that is for fate to decide... but not you. You do not get to make that decision."

Haraldur bore witness to Caris' attitude change over the next few days. After his reasonable, yet uninspired response from their last meeting in the war room, the young king kept himself sparse and isolated, as though to withdraw his authority, and relinquish it over to them. As per his request, they kept the resonance stone in their possession, and tested it out, to ascertain that it worked. Sure enough, they heard Chara's voice filter through the cracked green surface, and she affirmed that she heard the two of them with the same amount of clarity.

But neither Stella D'Mare nor Eyraille had much to offer in terms of strategy, over those barren few days that were so bereft of ideas, or creative angles. It didn't help matters that Vega, like her brother, was more taciturn and distant than before. At night, she'd walk into her chambers long after he'd retired, still damp from her now-routine baths, and fall asleep pressed to his back. They hadn't gotten intimate since before they left for Stella D'Mare, but he didn't belabor the point. All he could do was be supportive and available for her, during whatever crisis of the mind she was facing. Whether he was the cause, or if it was something greater than him, it was beyond his abilities to alleviate her pain--much as he wished for the solution.

If he could not help her, or serve her in any way, then he would give her much-needed space. But perhaps it was not too late...for her brother.

The next evening, he appeared uninvited in the war room, where he expected the king to be standing around, consulting maps or documents and flipping through other important statements sent by neighboring kingdoms: reports on Mollengard or any of its projected movements. He announced his arrival and bowed before stepping through the threshold of the door.

"Tomorrow," he said, with finality. "Meet me at the training grounds tomorrow, first thing. You've been idle too long, your Majesty. To be a formidable fighter, you can't forgo any practice. I expect you to be there. If not...then I doubt there will be a second invitation."

With a salute, he left the chambers, and went off to bed.

The next morning, Haraldur arrived at the training grounds, surprised to see that Caris was already there before him. That was a good sign, he thought. He greeted the Sorde sibling cordially, and walked straight to the small armory at the far end of the grounds. "You won't be needing you full armor, your Majesty," he said, himself only wearing bracers and some light shoulder pads. "Or a sword." He skirted past the shelves that were stocked floor to ceiling with swords of every length and size, and stopped before a smaller corner that was filled with daggers. After testing a handful, determining their weight, balance, and versatility, he took them over to Caris, and led him to a targeting ring, a hay-bale painted in red circles.

"I told you that next time we trained, I would not be teaching you anything I learned from the Forbanne," he said, wedging a dagger between his thumb and forefinger. "I find this will be more useful for you to learn. Flexibility in battle--that's far more important than brute force and uncontrolled violence. As I've said before, your best stance against a Forbanne is keeping your distance, and fighting with range in mind. Using your wits, instead of your strength. So..."

Rearing back his hand, he threw the dagger with an expert flick. Only, it did not hit the target. The blade, with a shunk, buried itself to the hilt within the painted line. He took the next dagger, and threw it, which aligned next to the first dagger. On and on he threw, until he ran out of daggers. Arranged on the hay-bale, following the contours of red paint, was a circle of daggers, all evenly spaced together. The target, however, remained untouched.

"It's not about your target," he explained, observing his handiwork. "It's about creative strategy. Hitting around your enemy. Deliberate movements, with the aim to confuse, and to corral them into a corner. Also," he gave a light shrug, "it doesn't hurt to develop a new skill. We're not bound to any one way of doing things. The sword alone is not your destiny, and neither is it mine. In fact..."

He turned to Caris, and his expression become sly and playful. "I took a stint as a knife-thrower in a traveling circus. Granted, it wasn't a long run. But while there, I developed an affinity for knife-throwing. I saw it as something lighthearted, enjoyable...maybe because I associated it with an audience, and not with mindless carnage. To this day, I've never killed by throwing a knife. Never had the urge to. It's one of the only things the Forbanne didn't beat into me." He strode towards the target and pulled the daggers out from the painted circle. "Stand here." He pointed in front of the hay-bale, his smile widening, and taking on a mischievous sheen. "I want to see if I still have it in me. To throw daggers around you, like during my circus days. Don't worry...I've never injured anyone doing this. For your trouble, I'll teach you how to do it, too."

Heeding Sigrid's warning, Alster did not proceed. Despite Tivia's protests, he shook his head and tended only to Vitali's wounds, but dared not touch his mind until they could hear a more expert opinion on the matter. Although she continued to argue, even Tivia understood that they didn't have sufficient information. They knew nothing about the Night Garden. In fact, she thought it was a bastion of healing, and not something with the capacity to cause so much untold damage.

Fortunately, they did not have to wait long for relief (though it felt like weeks for the sun to dip below the horizon). When the door to the cabin opened, the same Gardener from before walked in, with Lilica in tow. She was quick to explain the baffling speed in which she'd traveled, and in any other circumstance, Alster would find the night-riding Galeyn horses an intriguing subject, but the attention quickly returned to Vitali, and his dire condition.

When it was decided that the three of them would enter the tortured man's mind, Tivia and Alster linked hands with Lilica, in preparation for the harrowing journey. "I can't believe I'm doing this, either," Alster said, with a slow shake of his head. "If saving this man is what ends up killing me, then I'll know who's truly the idiot, in the end."

"And if you let him die...you'd never forgive yourself," Tivia retorted. "No matter what he'd done to you...or to any of us. You, who couldn't even kill the Serpent and bonded with it, instead?"

"Now is not the time," he hissed, eyes darkening with a severity that threw even Tivia aback.

Resting his good hand upon Vitali's forehead, as before, Alster closed his eyes and centered his concentration on where the man had retreated. To what dark depths did he hide? With Tivia's guidance, he saw the star, his star, almost as bleak as night, but radiating with the faintest of glows. And then they were there, standing before the towering heights of the slime-covered vines and serrated thorns. They slithered like a susurrus, in conspiratorial hushes. Writhing towards them, ready to claim three more as their victims.

But they halted and retreated at the command of their new Tenebris master, leaving a narrow pathway through which to enter. With tentative steps, they squeezed through the void-like darkness, until Tivia raised her palm and flickered forth a light of etherea to guide the way.

She gasped.

It was a gruesome sight. Vitali was strung up by too many vines to count, run through and lashed in every possible fashion. They constricted, they punctured flesh and tore themselves through to the other side. Like a fly trapped in a spider's web, he hung, suspended, sucked dry by those spindly leg-like vines. The picture...reminded her of when she encountered his star for the first time. It was hairy thing, engorged and pulsating, surrounded by all its acquisitions, its victims. They faded and died, while he enlarged, and brightened. A cold, white, calculating light. Only now, it was the opposite. He was in the center, still, but the spiders surrounded him. His victims, biting back, injecting him with the harm that he'd done them. Some would say it was poetic. But she...screamed his name, and ran to his side.

"No!" She clutched his hand, and raised her head to meet his eyes...only to see that they were scraped bloody, and bleeding in muddy streaks across his face. "We're here to get you out, Vitali," she said, tightening her hold on his hand. "Your star never told me that this would be your end. This is not how you die!"

But try as they might, they could not untangle Vitali from the mess of vines that had him so pinned and twisted, like an insect on the wall.

And that was when another voice spoke up in the dark. A man. Lilica's father. Vitali's father. Theomyr Tenebris, the one responsible for the entire mad journey. "So this is your doing," she said, in an enraged whisper. "You did this. You--"

"--I understand," Alster interjected, with a hook to his tone that suggested Tivia keep silent. "He's done many wrongs in his long life. Unspeakable things. I am one of his victims, as is Lilica--but we are both willing to show mercy. And if you are looking to punish those who have done wrong, then you should have punished me, too. I shared my blood with a Serpent that rampaged a city and ended countless lives. Without my interference, it wouldn't have happened. And now I share my soul with the same beast, condoning Its crimes by virtue of our bond. Why am I not punished?"

"Your own daughter," Tivia spoke up, despite Alster's pointed look, "the one you're so determined to have run your kingdom...what has she done, in her life? What innocent lives has she ended? What blood drips on her hands, the very hands that pressed against your tree, and revived your precious Galeyn? Is it not tainted blood, then, that flows through the Night Garden? How is she exonerated for her crimes? So spare me your judgment," she spat. "It was never about judgement. Judgment is impartial; you, on the other hand, pick and choose who you like--nevermind the good that he's done, too."

It was almost night and day, the Caris who had first "greeted" Haraldur on his arrival in Eyraille, and the Caris who now bade him and Vega to do what suited them best. Gone were the jibes at the mercenary for his relationship with his sister (it really wasn't a secret anymore, even if neither one of them acknowledged their intimacy openly), and the demands that the former Forbanne train him to fight Mollengard's best. Perhaps a large part of it showed for his maturity; but more than that, was the potential that he had given up on something in himself. It wasn't that he tried to wear it on his sleeve, but it had caught the attention of the mercenary, who, one evening, declared that they would be training the next morning.

Not asked--declared. With the threat that if he did not turn up on the morrow, that the man would likely never train with him again. Since Haraldur left before he could question him (and because he was curious as to what the man had in mind), the young king did make a point to rise early the next morning, and beat Haraldur to the training grounds. It took him by surprise when the man, unlike him, was barely bedecked in any armor. "Tell me what you're playing at, Haraldur." He demanded, arms folded and one brow arched in suspicion. "I told you not to waste your time on me. If you should be advising anyone, then coordinate with Vega to inform the Skyknights. They are adept with bows as well as lances, now; my sword won't make a difference."

But it was a sword that Haraldur sought. Caris watched with curiosity as the mercenary selected a handful of daggers, and proceeded, one by one, to throw them at a target marked on a hay bale (one often used for archery practice). But none of them hot their mark... and it wasn't until after the first few throws that the young king realized that that had been Haraldur's intent, all along. "You mean to teach me the ways of throwing knives, Haraldur?" He asked sardonically. "Because if this is some thinly-veiled insinuation that I am better of running away with the circus... do not consider me amused."

He hesitated at the request to stand at the center of the target, suddenly very suspicious of Haraldur's intentions. "So if I cannot be your punching bag, then I'll be your target practice--is that it?" Not that it would be a particularly bright move on his part to harm the king of Eyraille, and his gut feeling told him that that was not really the intent behind this invitation. "All right; I'll oblige you this once. Though if you so much as fracture a hair on my arm, then this is over."

At first, he feigned nonchalance, standing in front of the target with his arms folded. But when the first dagger came sailing past his face, embedding itself just a half inch from his ear, that disinterested front fell away. "Did it occur to you that maybe using me to see if your talent for this is still sharp might not be a wise idea?" Each and every time a knife sailed so dangerously close to his body, he was unable not to flinch, his heart racing and his palms growing sweaty. But at last, the final knife left Haraldur's hands, finding its place in the hay bale between the opening in his legs. That alone was enough to make the color drain from his skin.

"Was that really necessary?" He hissed, grabbing that particular knife by the hilt and pointing it at Haraldur. "People have gotten a night in a cell for less than that. You're lucky I am not in a foul mood, mercenary." For a moment, it appeared as though Caris had had enough that he would storm away, unimpressed and aggravated with this colossal waste of his time, having done no training at all. But holding the dagger in his hand, feeling its weight, and its potential... maybe Haraldur was right. He had mastered the sword to a formidable degree; but what did he have in terms of long range combat? There wasn't enough brute force in all of Eyraille to fell the Forbanne. Maybe his point about flexibility held some merit. "...I'd admit, it's entertaining to watch. And foreseeable as a useful skill." The corner of his mouth tugged into a mischievous grin. "Do you get to stand at the target while I practice?"

Having succeeded in engaging him in something new, along with lifting the young king's spirits a bit, the two spent the next few hours playing with knives (literally). Caris, while nowhere near as skilled with these weapons as he was his sword, did display something of an aptitude for them. He had a good eye and relatively good aim which, with some practice, could be honed even further. Though his skill was not NEARLY adept enough to convince the mercenary to let him throw knives around him (at least, not quite). At one point, Vega rounded the corner, her Skyknight helmet tucked under her arm, looking as though she had just returned from a flight. Jovially, he waved her over. "Vega. Did you know that your beloved mercenary is skilled at throwing knives? He offered to teach me; what do you think, am I more apt for the circus than to rule a kingdom?"

Vega paused in step, turning her attention to her brother and the mercenary, the former who looked... well, more alive than he had in weeks. It put a smile on her face. "If you are enjoying yourself, then who is to say you cannot be a king and a clown?" She joked, offering a nod and a shy smile to Haraldur. Such had been the sum of her interactions with him, lately; shy, uncertain. Afraid to ask too much, only drawing near him at night, when he slept, when she took some small comfort in his presence next to her, in bed. They hadn't spoken much since returning from Stella D'Mare; there hadn't been much to say. And the secret that was drowning her, choking her, wouldn't provide words. "I can tell you right now that Eyraille's king needs to be skilled in different areas. Take advantage of what Haraldur can teach you."

She continued on her way, then, looking as though she had run out of words and encouragement; and long since that she had run out of steam. Caris watched her disappear, and his smile waned. "Has she seemed different sine returning from Stella D'Mare?" He asked the mercenary, twirling one of the throwing knives in his hand. "Did something happen? Have the two of you had a lover's quarrel?" While it was partially intended as a joke, he did wonder if the two of them had had clashing words, as he could not foresee any other reason for his sister to be so... off. War was not a trigger for her, nor were the events unfolding in Stella D'Mare. To pass it off as the stress of impending war and political tensions just did not seem right. 

Turning back to the target, he let loose the knife in his hand. It found its mark at the center. "I won't tell you what to do. But I will tell you that if I know my sister, she played hide-and-seek to the extreme. She wouldn't emerge if you gave up; she'd stay hidden until you found her. I always figured she did that just to annoy me." He wrinkled his nose. "But she hasn't change much, in that regard. I appreciate what you're doing for me, and I'll admit, I haven't been feeling myself since I realized I'm of no use to anyone with my sword. But I am also not afraid to voice my discontent; Vega has never been quite so forthright. Talk to her, see if she'll get it off her chest. Besides, I'll need her assistance, planning for our festival of Equinox. Spring is approaching, and we prepare early to encourage it to arrive early. She has always taken it upon herself to see to the morale of the people; and they could use a good boost of morale, now more than ever."

Even in light of the accusations being thrown his way, Theomyr Tenebris did not appear fazed or shaken. Though... it was not something he had been expecting, from his own daughter, let alone her comrades, who shouldn't have accompanied her in the first place; not when he had instructed her to find Galeyn alone. Of course, he could not fault her for her defiance, and he'd expected no less of a daughter whom he had practically abandoned; one who had struggled with the world and herself for so very long, that ending her own life had been an appealing option for more than once. Yes, for that, the former king of Galeyn did harbor a sense of guilt, particularly knowing what he had been through, and that he had only managed to reach in her in nick of time, before her own curse had taken her life. 

But for this ragtag team of "friends"... really, they were little more than a nuisance, playing at matters that did not--that should not--concern them. And that they stood, defending a man who not only did not deserve their support, but who had hurt them for his own selfish gains... it was confusing. It was a headache. He imagined he'd have one, were he capable of feeling pain in this non-corporeal form.

He listened to the diatribe of the young woman with a burnt face, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't get a word in. To her accusations against his own daughter... who, oddly enough, did not refute any of it. In fact... she agreed. "She's right." She said, looking from Tivia back to her father. "She is entirely right. You did not wish for Vitali to set foot in this place, and yet... you have no qualms about my presence here? Are you in any way aware of my past? That people have died at my hands, including my own parents? My mother and my step-father?" Lilica took a bold step forward until she was face to face with her biological father. "There is blood on my hands. Blood of people who deserved it, and the blood of those who did not. Because I grew up surrounded by darkness, just like Vitali. Just like him, I navigated my way through my life by the easiest means possible, at the expense of others. I managed to change--but not without help, and time, and patience. Clearly, you see that, or else I wouldn't be here. But what of Vitali? Why is it 'too late' for him? I agreed that he accompany us, contingent on his good behaviour, and he has behaved. And he does not deserve what is happening to him, now. So if you are going to be Judgment," she took a step back and spread her arms. "Then judge all of us. Myself, Alster, and Tivia, as well as Vitali."

Theomyr just shook his head. "You misunderstand. I am not Judgement, Lilica; nor do I intend to be. I prepared that this kingdom be safe from Vitali, knowing his nature the way I do; I had to protect my kingdom against corruption. I did not succeed in thwarting Locque, not entirely. But I would not let the Night Garden fall to someone who has lived a life full of cruel intentions, even if of late, he has oh so miraculously decided to turn over a new leaf. I told you to come alone; I cautioned you against bringing Vitali. Do not accuse me of lacking in my due diligence."

"You know what strikes me as particularly hypocritical? That you care for this kingdom--for the Night Garden. But you do not allot the same love or care for people." Lilica seethed, pressing her lips firmly together. "And after everything that we, as a party, have done to uncover this kingdom for which you care so much--this is how you repay us. So if you won't see this is a moral mercy, then I hope you will look at it as a transaction. We've given you your kingdom back. We put ourselves at risk, to do so. And in return," she pointed over her shoulder, at Vitali, painfully suspended and restricted by vicious vines and thorns. "you will lift this curse. Or we will leave Galeyn, open and vulnerable and defenseless in its awakening, to see to its own protection."

At last, something seemed to hit a nerve in Theomyr's eyes. They narrowed on Lilica. "You are not a cruel person, Lilica. Not by nature. Do not make me be wrong about you."

"You don't know me." The dark mage challenged, her lips curling into a smirk. "You don't know anything about me. I command darkness. And I can be as cruel or as merciful as I choose to be--as can you, I imagine. So what do you choose, father? Mercy or cruelty? Because whatever your decision, I will mirror it in my own way."

Silence followed her ultimatum. Theomyr Tenebris stood, still and rigid, his mouth a thin line and his dark eyes glinting with displeasure. "My greatest regret is not knowing you, Lilica. You are a daughter I'd like to have raised. To have sheltered from how the world has hurt you." He said nothing more. Suddenly, a loud thud sounded from behind them, and Vitali, freed from the vines that tormented him, lay in a heap on the ground. Bleeding from his wounds, unable to find the strength to push himself upright. Tivia was already at his side, unable to do more than remain a comforting presence, but it was enough to draw his attention to something other than the pain. When Lilica turned back, her father had disappeared.

"It's over." Lilica breathed, and rushed to Vitali's side, along with Alster. "Vitali, you need to wake up from this."

But the necromancer, weak and drained and exhausted, could hardly form words, let alone force himself awake. Frowning, Lilica looked around at the dark shadow-version of the Garden, how its vines still writhed... "I'm ending this." She said, with a note of finality, and for the first time in a long time, she summoned that dark fire that resided at her core, its dark, violet flames ever waiting at her bidding. And in seconds, the entire garden erupted, burning, smoking, withering from the toxic darkness she'd unleashed...

They all awoke with a gasp, sweating from the heat of the dark fire that had incinerated the dream that had held Vitali hostage. But they were all safe--including the necromancer, himself. His wounds still bled, and he had yet to come to, but whatever sleep he found was dreamless. A reprieve from what he had been suffering under Theomyr's curse. A some point, during their excursion into the depths of his mind, Tivia's hand had found his, leaving their fingers entwined. 

Sigrid and the Gardener, Teren, were on alert the second everyone broke from their trance. "Did it work?" The Dawn warrior asked, eyes falling of Vitali. "His wounds still bleed..."

At Lilica and Tivia's request, Alster, once more, attempted to mend the angry, torn flesh that had resulted from Theomyr's curse. But this time, the wounds wouldn't even close. Lilica frowned and turned to Teren. "Why can't he heal?"

"It must be residual from the curse; I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you more." The young Gardener explained, looking hopeless and exhausted. Overwhelmed with a burden he'd never expected to take on so early, particularly not after just rising from the dregs of a spell, himself... "There hasn't been time to take a census of the kingdom's population, but I can return to the stronghold and ask after any physicians. The Night Garden will not heal him, so I am afraid we cannot resort to its prowess..."

"Then let us make haste. I will travel with you." Sigrid volunteered, sympathetic to the young man's plight. "We'll send word for help. Keep an eye on your comrade, in the meantime."

The Dawn Warrior left with the Gardener, then, and upon the black-as-night steed, they were gone in seconds. Lilica had not been exaggerating the speed at which the horses of Gaelyn were able to travel, at night. "Did... we do the right thing?" She asked Alster, who looked just as weary and pale-faced as she was, after that ordeal. Tivia had not let go of the necromancer's hand. "Saving his life, after all he has done? Under other circumstances, I... I don't know that I would have. But what he said to Tivia..." She glanced at the star seer, who was murmuring encouragements for the still-unconscious (but no longer cursed) Vitali. "He was dying, but he didn't care to be saved. He spoke for her safety... I never thought I would hear myself saying this, but I think he's changed. Caught in the throes of a curse like that... he hadn't the capacity for manipulation."

It took a little cajoling, but Haraldur managed to convince the King of Eyraille to stand before a hay-bale while he prepared to throw a series of daggers in his direction. He's either impressionable, brave, or he trusts me that much, he thought, almost touched that Caris might think so highly of him.

"The circus uses blunt-edged weapons," he said, testing the tips of the daggers that he'd spread out like a pack of cards in his hand. "These...are a little sharp," he teased, with a sideways smirk. "Whenever you feel like you're in danger, your Majesty, feel free to step away. The safe word is 'Killjoy.'" Then, with a helpless shrug, he added, "All part of the act, of course. I had a script to memorize and everything. The random things that I remember."

Positioning himself farther back from where he initially practiced his knife-throwing technique, he hollered a warning to the king before rearing back and lobbing the first dagger just inches shy of Caris' head. "You won't," he reassured the Sorde boy. "If almost killing you in a sparring session didn't land me in the dungeons, I'd say I'm pretty safe from imprisonment. Of course...I'll gladly take whatever punishment you see fit for me, your Majesty...but I am the one with the knives right now. So you should hold off on your condemnations."

He continued his knife-throwing act, the steel blades whirling a few revolutions in the air before making their mark beside Caris' arms, then his legs, and lastly, the coup de grace--right between the crown jewels, themselves.

"Oh, that was entirely necessary. The crowd loves the 'money shot," he said, grinning, when the king, a little woozy on his feet, stepped away from the hay-bale and wandered out of the firing range. "I'll give you a chance. You'll have your revenge, I promise. But first, we have to work on the basics."

First, he didn't think the young king would oblige in the frivolity of engaging in such a pastime, but when he saw him pull a dagger from a hay-bale and consent to the training, they began a more earnest practice of the art. They used the following hours working on the proper stance and determining when to hold the knife by the blade, versus when to hold it by the hilt. "What I like about throwing daggers," he'd said, in the midst of their training, "is that it's a great transition from the sword. The make and construction of one is similar, just on a smaller scale. Think of it as supplementary practice, or a different form of swordplay. You have a good grasp on throwing, already." He gave an approving nod to the dagger that sank into the bullseye. "So it looks like you have an affinity for it, already."

At the conclusion of their practice, they were joined by Vega, who offered her own commentary on where the king's true talents lay. "At this rate, you could be your own court jester," Haraldur said, joining the banter. "You'd never have to hire one again." He exchanged a smile to Vega, but hers was...wan. Conservative. Uncertain and...lost. His eyes crinkled with concern, but she was gone before he could even bid her farewell.

"She has," he admitted, packing away the daggers and slotting them through the appropriate shelves. "But no, we haven't. Not really, anyway. I've assumed she's still upset about my role in Stella D'Mare's dubious plans." Returning his last dagger to the shelf, he brushed his hands together, which were coated with dust and bits of hay. "I'll see you here for training tomorrow, if your schedule allows. And I'll see to Vega in the meantime. If this Equinox festival is of such great import to the morale of your people, then I'm sure she'll play her part in helping you organize the event. Me, though?" He elected for a chuckle. "I'll just stick to swordplay and knife-throwing on my end. That's what I'm good at. And you...you'll find what you're good at, too, your Majesty. You might already have, and don't even know it yet."

Haraldur caught Vega during a rare moment where she was alone in her chambers, moments before leaving for her routine night-time bath. "Vega," he said, waving her over to the table near the hearth. He poured some wine into two goblets, and offered her one in his outstretched hand. "I'd really like your company tonight, if you can spare it. Nothing too painful...unless my company has been painful for you, lately." He defused the situation with a self-deprecating smile. "Tell me about this Equinox Festival. Your brother made mention of it to me today. He says you'll need to make preparations soon. I'd be more than happy to offer my services...but as I've told him," he scrunched up his face, "I don't think I'd be too much help, unless you need guards stationed for the evening. Morale is low, it seems, and not just across the kingdom." He reached for her hand, and warmed its chilled digits beneath his palm. "What do you need, Vega? Have you been feeling ill? Does," his eyes darted to her chest, where the necromancer's dreaded rune-scar was etched, concealed but always there, "it have anything to do...with that?"

The quarrel between father and daughter was of a level that Alster wasn't comfortable in interrupting. He edged over to Tivia instead, whose mouth was open, her tongue pressed against her lips, as if yearning to say more--but he placed a placating hand on her shoulder. "Let them talk it out," he muttered. "We can only say so much. He's more apt to listen to her, than us."

Sure enough, Lilica had succeeded in swaying the once-king of Galeyn to break the curse. One moment, Vitali was suspended in a cord-work of vines, the next, his body was almost crushed between Alster and Tivia as they struggled to hold him upright.

"Let's get you home." She wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulder, while Alster did the same on Vitali's other side. Together, they half-dragged, half-walked him over to Lilica, who shot angry violent flames in the direction whence they came, and razed the garden of thorns and curses into dust and cinders. And within the foul-smelling smoke, they closed in tight against each other...and awoke, safe and accounted for in the small infirmary cabin. Vitali, though unconscious, felt...stable. Released from his burden. Clearer of mind. The spiders ceased their crawling; the vines had all been eradicated. Vitali was saved. And yet...when Alster ran a hand over his grisly wounds, none of them had stitched closed, as they had before.

"What's happening?" Tivia looked to Alster, who, confused, attempted a second, third, and fourth time.

"It's not my magic," he said, and as if to test the theory, drew an experimental flame of etherea out from his palm. "It's the curse." He nodded in confirmation to the Gardener--Teren. "Some kind of holdover. I don't know if I can do much more for him, Tivia. I'm sorry."

When Sigrid left with Teren, whisked away into the night by the famed steeds of Galeyn, Tivia clutched Vitali's hand, the only part of his body that seemed untouched by attack. "What's...what's the use?" Her voice was calm, but shaky. "To be all-seeing, or to be all-powerful...if we can't even break or prevent a curse that was caused by plants, of all things!" She sputtered the word as if it were a curse. "Plants! The stars would surely laugh. Something so breakable, so fragile, so easily influenced and manipulated. This...inconsequential thing within the broader scope of this infinite, infinite universe. So...twisted in design, by the humans who claim to be their stewards...Makes me want to burn the whole garden down, myself." She clenched her free hand into a fist. "If this is the gift of the almighty Night Garden, this most precious place that was so necessary to protect, that an entire kingdom and its people had to sleep along with it, then I want no part in its healing."

Alster looked across from her, surprised at her response. "You would forgo the healing of your face because you're angry at what Theomyr did? He was controlling the garden, Tivia. He was the one responsible for all these drastic decisions. But the Night Garden itself...we don't understand it, yet. Give yourself some time. It's too soon to decry and condemn, without knowing all the facts."

"I know that it's dangerous!"

"So am I," he muttered, and the way in which he spoke those words caught her off guard for the second time that day. He stood up from the bed, and wandered over to the far corner of the cabin, in search for more sheets to use and tear as makeshift bandages. They were going to need plenty for Vitali, whose open wounds and free-flowing blood would soil even an extra-absorbent cloth in hours. As he rummaged through their limited supplies, Lilica approached him from behind, calling attention to the part that they played in rescuing the necromancer from a fate most deserved. He shook his head, a slow side-to-side, as he piled small, folded sheets over his prosthetic arm in neat stacks.

"I saw a life that needed saving, Lilica. Whether it was or was not the right thing...I don't know. But I question that, nowadays. Wrong...right... You and me can both sympathize with someone like Vitali--because we see ourselves in him. Even if it's just an ounce, an ounce is all that it takes to make that connection. I imagined myself there." He cast unseeing eyes out towards the darkened window ahead of him. "Trapped in those vines, screaming for release, screaming for an end to the torment. It could have been me in that position. Or you. In a way...we've been there, before. Our own versions of hell. That's why I knew I couldn't leave him to that fate. And Tivia," he saw her in the reflection of the window, tending to the trickling blood of Vitali's wounds with a damp cloth, "it wouldn't have been fair to her. Not when she's been a consistently good influence on your brother. She brings it out in him. That spark. Proof that there's a good person in there, no matter how reprehensible he is to people like us."

"So...I'll help her to keep him alive, and hope that we see more upward growth out of him. I'm still striving to be a healer one day." He blew out a sigh, as if doubting this future for himself. "So I have to be impartial--to believe that every life is worth saving." He brushed a hand over the folded sheets, envisioning them as the petals he caressed earlier that day. "I'd like to see the good again, Lilica. The Night Garden...as I saw it upon first entrance. I want to go back to that time when I felt only peace...and not the cursed darkness which attacked Vitali. But that's too naive of me. There's no such thing as purity. No light without the dark, and vice versa. I doubt I'll be able to view it in that way again. But it's for the best. I need to keep realistic expectations. Not everything can be a miracle, after all."

He dipped his head in apology. "I'm sorry. You don't need to hear any of that. But on a more pressing matter," he cocked his head towards Vitali, "what are we going to do about him? It's unsafe for him to return to the Night Garden. Galeyn can't be in a stable condition right now, after awakening from its long slumber. I imagine you'll have to travel around and see to this kingdom's needs. But...it doesn't look like he'll be able to go anywhere, for a while."

"Oh, not so fast, my barbarian friend." The young king's mouth drew into a grin. "No one abstains from celebrating the Equinox. It has been the single greatest festival all year round for hundreds and hundreds of years. Since Eyraille's winters are so harsh, it became tradition to celebrate spring at the first sing of thaw, to coax it into pushing winter out of its turn. Everyone celebrates; call it superstition, but collective hope and exuberance has yet to fail us, and we're blessed with good crops and fair weather every year, as a result, so we'll not fix what isn't broken. Not to mention, you are not exempt from those in need of a good boost of morale.  To make a long story short: this isn't negotiable, and I will see you, there. You could be a good source of entertainment, with your knife throwing skills. I might even be able to have a jester costume make to your stature... yes, I like how this is coming together. I'll make mention of it to Vega later, after you've talked her out of her bad mood."

Giving the mercenary a "playful" nudge in the ribs with his elbow, he added, rather slyly, "Don't think you can get away with throwing a knife between my legs without seeing consequences. I look forward to your jubilant participation at Equinox."

During the day--as with all other days--Vega busied herself with practically and any every matter than came up. Keeping busy was the key to her sanity, as it stood: she wouldn't dwell on the crucial secret that was developing in her womb, second by second, hour by hour, day by day, if there were other matters to tend to. Namely, she oversaw the training of the Skyknights, and their progress with wielding arrows as opposed to lances. She checked in occasionally with Chara, who had little news to impart, but at least it kept them up to date with the happenings in their respective areas. Once--just once, during a moment of despairing weakness--she considered picking up the stone and asking for Elespeth. Someone to serve as a means to alleviate her of the burden of her secret. The Atvanian warrior, with her steady morals and unflinching camaraderie, was about the only person to whom she could think to confide. Someone safe, someone who would keep her secret close to her heart unless she gave the blessing to share it. And she came so close, so close to asking for contact with the former Atvanian knight... but instead, her cowardice had won out, and she'd simply engaged in a brief conversation with Chara over a few details pertaining to Stella D'Mare's evacuation. After that, the stone's glow dimmed and went silent, and she couldn't bring herself to activate it again, asking after Elespeth. It would seem too suspicious... and for all she had respect for Chara Rigas, this was something that the fiery blonde woman did not need to know.

So she had developed the habit of stewing in the bath for hours before sleeping. As if the steam and the heat from the water would melt the anxiety and trepidation out of her pores; as if she could find some semblance of relaxation. But that was not her reality... Not when, each and every night, she would stand naked before the wall length mirror, one hand on her stomach, wondering just how long it would be before her secret would out itself. Especially when Haraldur would more than likely be the first to know.

Today had been like any other. Though it brought her a brief moment of joy to see a genuine smile on her brother's face, though it melted her heart all over again to see how strongly Haraldur's presence was influencing the young king in a new way, those moments were themselves fleeting... and she did not see either of them again that day. Not until much later on, when she was about to prepare for her bath. But it seemed as though the mercenary (who must have caught on to her new routine) eons ago could no longer turn a blind eye to it. She found Haraldur sitting at the table at the heart, sipping on a goblet of wine. He called her over, offering her her own goblet, which she graciously accepted, but made no move to drink. Not when her stomach continued to churn. "Of course, Haraldur." She said, showing him a warm smile. "Your company is never painful... I'm so sorry if I've given you that impression."

Taking a seat across from him, the Skyknight fell silent and listened to him voice his concerns. Her heart sank; all this time, she had thought that Haraldur was so preoccupied with Caris or helping to coordinate Eyraillian military measures should they see themselves in battle, it hadn't occurred to her just how bothered he was by her absence. How hurt he felt, or how worried he had been... She hadn't been careful enough. "I'm fine. I promise you, I'm not ill." She informed him, resting her other chilly hand atop his own. Always so warm, reassuring. "There... has been a lot of my mind, is all. So much, in fact, that I cannot believe I've overlooked the celebration of Equinox. When was the first thaw? The dates should have been set already."

Perfect. This was the perfect diversion--for Haraldur, from his concerns about her, to her own concerns about her secret. It would give her more than enough to think about. Something other to worry about. "Festivities typically span for a week, but the final day is the peak of celebration. It encompasses all of Eyraille; throughout the villages and markets, even the palace participates. People are welcome to come and dance the evening away, regardless of their social standing... though that part is quite new, only implemented since my father passed. People are still warming up to the idea of actually being welcome in the palace. But--there is no talking your way out of it. Everyone participates." Her grin and words mirrored those of her brother's from earlier. "We have guards and sentries to do their job. Your job will to be making merry, just like everyone else. I'll make sure of it, if it's the last thing I do."

Leaning across the table, she put down her untouched goblet, and stole a kiss. "I'm going to take a bath. You're welcome to come and join me... there is most definitely enough room for the two of us." Alongside the mischief playing in her pale eyes was something warm, helpless. Longing. "I've been in need of your company for a while, now. Oblige me, and... maybe I'll see to it that your attendance at the Equinox festival is not too painful."

Tivia's sorrow and frustration, though it was expected and not unfounded, still gave Lilica pause to wonder if she was imagining all of this. That Vitali had a redeemable side to him, no matter how small. That someone openly cared for him, and he cared in return. In many ways, it struck her as more bizarre than the fact a kingdom and people had appeared before her eyes. But all of this was, in fact, very real: the kingdom, the Night Garden, Vitali's critical condition and Tivia's feeling toward that... and Theomyr Tenebris. Her father. All astonishingly, painfully real...

"Alster is right." She said to Tivia, who cursed the Night Garden and this kingdom with every inch of her being. Personally, the dark mage took no offense; she had no emotional ties to this place, or to the man who had brought her here. But, like Alster, she could see this situation for what it was. "This is not the Night Garden's doing; it is all my father. He used the Night Garden as a tool... to perform the same awful things which he wanted to prevent Locque from performing." There was no hiding the acid in her voice. Hypocritical bastard, she seethed, hoping that in some way, on some plane, her father could hear her curses. You turned your sanctuary of healing into a weapon; the very thing you wanted it not to be... "I understand that this is precisely why he saw fit to hide it; to protect this place, to keep the Garden from falling into corrupt hands, if it is capable of triggering a curse. But... it does not make it right. And there is no excuse for what he has done... to his own damned son."

Ever level-headed in a crisis, the chthonic caster heard Alster out, and what he said couldn't be more true. That perhaps the reason they saw fit to sympathize with the wretched necromancer was because... in some ways, they weren't so different. Everyone standing in the room--save for Tivia, who oddly sympathized the most--had done horrible things at one point in their life. And all of them, Tivia included, were dangerous. "The world truly needs more people with your point of view, I think," Lilica commented with a weary sigh. "You seem like someone destined to be a healer. I daresay I am not as merciful a person as you are; and I struggle to empathize with someone who has ruined so many lives... but you're right. Tivia is bringing out the best in him. And he had damn well better appreciate it when he wakes up."

Hearing how is expectations about the Night Garden had been crushed as quickly as they formed, Lilica shouldered a twinge of sadness, seeing how Alster's face fell. And with that, she could empathize. "Anything pure is never pure forever. We are all corrupted at some point... purity doesn't exist in a tainted world. But..." She placed a tentative hand on his arm. "Don't disown the Garden so quickly. I know it's strange of me to say, because I am no more connected to it than you are, but... you want to be a healer. Regardless of how it triggered that curse on Vitali, it is still a place of healing. I felt it, for the short amount of time I was there. You felt, it, too. I know you did. And your arm..." She nodded to the metal prosthetic contraption. "

Sparing one more glance at Vitali, bleeding and unconscious, yet stable on the bed, Lilica considered their options... and it was true that it didn't appear as though the necromancer could leave anytime soon in his condition. "It seems he will likely have to remain here until he is able to leave of his own accord... but this does not mean that you all should be tied here. Alster..." Lilica pressed her lips together, considering her words, before going on. "You must try and contact Elespeth. Or Chara. Or anyone in Stella D'Mare... tell them that we are safe. And if it is safe to return... then you should. With your family. Just as Sigrid should return to hers, in Braighdath. This..." She spread her arms, indicating something much bigger than she was. "This is, somehow, my problem. By blood and birthright and the unlucky chance that my father happened to find me, after all this time. This burden was never meant for any of you. I... I want to leave. I want to--I will see Chara, again. But I can't, just yet. These people, here... so many of them, confused and afraid and not knowing what to expect. They're looking to me like I have the answers, and I don't. I don't know what I am doing here, or what my father expects of me. And until I can give them an answer... it doesn't feel right to leave."

Watching Tivia, and the way she fussed over the necromancer, wrapping and rewrapping his wounds, soaking up blood with rags before it could stain the bedding further, she unleashed a sigh that sagged her shoulders. "It is up to you, what you'd like to do. I don't know how easy it will be to convince Tivia, but I can promise that I will see to it that Vitali gets the help that he needs--whatever Galeyn might be able to offer. Which still remains to be seen, considering how heavily they rely on the Night Garden for its healing purposes. But, for tonight, I'll see that you all have a room."

When at least Sigrid and Teren return, with two physicians in tow, she instructed the young Gardener (whom she thanked profusely for his unyielding help) to see to it that her friends had accommodations for the evening. Alster and Sigrid gratefully accepted, of course, but Tivia was determined not to leave Vitali's side. "Tivia, he'll be cared for. I promise." The chthonic caster tried to convince her. "You can stay nearby, if you like. Come back in the morning, when you are well-rested... I imagine if he were awake, Vitali would be telling you the same thing and chiding you for worrying at all."

He wanted to believe her reassurance of fair health. To overlook her pale complexion, or the fact that she appeared...smaller, to him. Like she was diminishing, or fading into transparency. Perhaps she was, in a bid to join Aeriel, who awaited her on the other side. Although she'd been afflicted by death-echoes ever since the necromancer exacted his debt and had taken something from her newly offered life, she seemed...worse. But she did not want to discuss it. Not with him, anyway. He, who'd never forget the harrowing process of her death and rebirth? Who, he feared, might still pass her that look, on occasion? That look of loss, or of to-be-lost? The one she never wanted to see from him? Of course she didn't want to discuss such a sore subject. But if not with him...did she have anyone in whom to confide?

Only I know what she's been through in this kingdom. But if she can't, or won't talk to me...

He would not press the subject. It would be hypocritical of him, considering how close-minded he'd been in sharing his own past-mistakes, history, and anxieties--of which there were many to reveal, still.

"It would be my first time celebrating the Equinox in Eyraille," he said, humoring her in her desire to focus on the subject, and all its distracting sub-topics. "My route to and from the mountains would start in late Spring, and end in early Autumn. But Mollengard had their own version of festivities, in the villages of Central. They'd pass around sweet bread and chase each other around with switches, offerings from the trees, who shed their dead branches to make room for the new. They never hit each other hard. Just one smart crack, for good luck." He imitated the gesture with the flick of his wrist. "I'd watch from my vantage point. I never went down there, myself. I was content just to observe. Which--speaking of..."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in his chair. "I'll be doing my job...standing to the side and remaining unseen. Your brother has it in for me, and I want no part in his schemes." At Vega's cajoling tone, he presented her with an exaggerated frown. "If he even thinks about ordering me to don a jester's costume and parade around the ballroom, throwing knives for entertainment, then I guarantee one of those knives will end up lodged firmly between his legs. No missing this time. My new residency in the dungeons will be well worth it." Though he remained immobile in his chair, his feigned grumpiness wore off once Vega swung over to his side, planting him a kiss...and a promise that he couldn't refuse.

"It's a big sacrifice for me to stand up right now, Vega. You really choose the most inconvenient times to engage me," he teased. Uncrossing his arms, he made to stand. "But you leave me no choice. Not with an offer like that. For--don't let my stint in the circus fool you. I am not one for making merry. So if I must suffer with you in the tub, so be it." He held her by the waist, and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. "When are you ever going to take me to the hot springs, Vega? I'm still awaiting that invitation, you know. There's only so many times we can squeeze into small spaces before we'll inevitably end up stuck," he winked, "without any hope of pulling ourselves out."

The following day, after his "tub-time" with Vega and knife-throwing lesson with Caris, Haraldur had cleared enough time in his ever-tightening schedule to make a visit he'd been meaning to make, since he returned from Stella D'Mare. And since he had a good hour or two before his training with the Skyknights, his footfalls echoed down the palace corridors, towards the library.

The Rigas matron was there, as predicted, flitting about the bookshelves with an energy that belied her age. She manipulated heavy tomes as if they were minor nuisances, and was able to reach and bend with minimal trouble. The librarian kept herself busy and in good health, an enviable trait he wished he'd retain, should he ever make it to old age.

"Grandmother Alta." He said, in a low voice, so as not to startle her. Though he suspected she was already aware of his company. Standing before her, he swept into a cordial bow. "Do you need any assistance? It looks like you have it handled, but I've been known to make a very efficient work-horse. And, a built-in ladder. All in one."

That seemed to entice the woman with the short stature. As instructed, he picked up a few heavy volumes and positioned them on an upper shelf, arranged, he hoped, in alphabetical order.

"I meant to speak with you upon our return from Stella D'Mare," he said, wiping the accumulated dust off the shelves, which cascaded in a spray, all over his trousers. "There were a few things we learned about your family. Your immediate family. It's up to you if you want to know of their individual fates. If not," he stepped down from the shelf, "maybe you can tell me of Vega's fate. What you said to me, days before we left for Stella D'Mare...what did you mean by that? Is there anything that you sensed...anything that I should know about?"

Once he transferred the sheets and clothes from one end of the room to the other, for ease of use beside Vitali's bed, Alster took the wash basin from the table. The water inside was already the color of rust and mud, and was in dire need of cleaning. "Sometimes--many times--I wish I didn't care so much," he admitted. He opened the front door to empty the dirty water-basin. "It's not an easy path. It's exhausting. Now I know why Sybaian healers don't make it past their prime. The strain of their technique is a burden with a price too hefty to pay. It's not sustainable in the long-term. Maybe that's why this life is so determined to strike me dead, in the way of the Sybaia. Because the world doesn't wish to heal. But," he looked to the white scratch on his prosthetic hand, "I have a fail-safe now. To keep my promises, I had to surrender my own morals. It couldn't have come at a better time for Vitali," he said, with a humorless smirk. "If I didn't form my own pact with darkness, maybe I wouldn't have looked upon the necromancer with even the slightest dram of a damn."

After scrubbing the basin clean with a cloth and water, he filled it to the halfway point and returned it to its table. "No. I don't want to disown it. Not yet. Because, like you, I need to believe that it can be a sanctuary. I need to feel those energies again. That it could heal me. And I'm not just talking about my arm. But if it could put the mind at ease--I think we could all use something like that, right now."

At Lilica's mention of Elespeth, Alster closed his metal fingers over the white scar, and nodded blearily. "I'll try again tonight. I daresay I might be able to reach her, this time. I'll ask her how Stella D'Mare is faring. If the situation is dire, I might have to return. But," he slipped a comforting hand over Lilica's arm, "I'd be hesitant to leave you here, with limited means of support. Not like I could provide much support, but...what you're dealing with is overwhelming for anyone to handle on their own. I'll stay if I can, Lilica. Besides...if I returned without you," he laughed, in spite of himself, "Chara would lop off my other arm."

"I'm not leaving, either," chimed Tivia, who was still cleaning the neverending gush of Vitali's wounds. "There's nothing for me in Stella D'Mare. Just a broken home and a broken family. I'm staying here, in Galeyn. And," she remained at Vitali's bedside, showing no signs of movement, even when the healers swept through the front door to offer their services, "I'm staying at this cabin tonight, too. He might need me," she said, in a drowned whisper. "No matter what he says, or how much he chides me. I'll deal with those repercussions when he awakens, but as it stands, I won't leave him here with strange people."

Alster shot an apologetic look at the "strange people," then turned back to Lilica. "You won't change her mind," he sighed. "It's stubborn Rigas pride. We'll bring you a pillow," he called over to Tivia. "And some blankets. If you're going to stay here all night, you might as well be comfortable."

And, heeding Lilica's offer, he and Sigrid departed with Teren the Gardener, who guided them to a small inn that was down the road from the cabin. More of a residence than an inn, the owners welcomed their guests and opened the adjoining room, a modest arrangement lined with several beds. Alster thanked them for the short-notice accommodations and, as he settled in his bed, closed his eyes...

And thought of Elespeth.

The field returned in his mind's eye. The grasses rippled and danced in the breeze, which tickled at his feet and pushed the hair back from his forehead. As he surveyed the area, it appeared as he had left it, before the Serpent disrupted the peaceful idyll with Its abyssal girth.

He found the wisteria tree that acted as the sanctuary's center, but he did not see her there. "Elespeth!" His voice carried over the breeze. He made it so. Through the winds, he would locate her. They'd blow past the sanctuary, wisp themselves into the cracks of her nightmares...and they would sing to her. He would sing to her. Amplified by the wind, the melody would carry, and entice her to follow, past the veil of her subconscious...and into their shared space.

And there she appeared, diaphanous and ghost-like before him. But in moments, she was opaque, and whole, and there. It was her. The woman he'd tried so desperately to contact for the past week. So driven to find her, to ascertain her well-being, that he had...surrendered himself to the Serpent.

"Elespeth." He stopped singing, and wasted no time in scooping her into his arms. His eyes were overbright. "I'm sorry, El. I'm sorry for breaking our connection. But it's open, again. We're open to each other. It should be easier for us, now. I...took care of my problem," he said, enigmatically. "We're safe. We found Galeyn. It exists. Are you safe? What's happening in Stella D'Mare?" He pulled from her embrace, but held her at arm's length, refusing to break their physical contact. Even if they were only in Dream, it meant everything to "touch" her. To keep her close, in case she faded. "Tivia sensed that Haraldur was there last week. She also sensed something...wrong in Stella D'Mare. She said there's tension building....that it's about to snap." He searched her eyes. "Tell me what's going on."

Like a wraith returning to the dark from whence it came, Grandmother Alta had stolen away to her library as soon as it was clear she was no longer needed to contact Stella D'Mare, nor to interpret the identity of any messengers. It wasn't that Vega hadn't though to speak with the woman at some point in time on her return; it was that she didn't know what to say to her, and had, as such, refrained from delivering her the message pertaining to her family's well-being. Fortunately, the solitary, introverted keeper of the archives took no offense. After all, she had left Stella D'Mare to put distance between herself and all of the turmoil that the city seemed to stir up for itself... and she was more than aware that the Eyraillian princess might have something more pressing o her mind.

She hadn't expected that the hero of the refugees would find his way to her library, however, and was taken rather by surprise that sunny afternoon that he set foot in the grand archives without his princess in tow. "Ah. Haraldur--is that it? I fear my ability to remember names is yet one of many casualties caused by my age." The old woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and took a moment to consider his help. The offer rather came out of the blue, but... it was no less genuine. "So you've come to aid an old lady to perform the daunting task of putting away books?" He paused, as if considering a moment, running her fingers along the impressed title of a tome in her hand. "Might be a rather difficult task for you, too, if you're illiterate." Though it was possible she hit a sore spot, the commented was not at all intended to be malicious. It was merely that Grandmother Alta, having been an avid tutor of the illiterate in the past, could spot one with even her poor vision. By the way they held and interacted with books in her hand (and the fact he was holding one upside-down), it was more obvious than people like him would have perhaps liked.

"I suppose a job is done faster with four hands than two. Here," she nodded to a shelf just above her head. "This should sit as the twelfth book from the left."

She left the books on higher shelves for him to address (and took a small amount of pride over the next few hours, when he began to learn the ordinal place of the letters of the alphabet just from helping her), while tackling the lower shelves on her own. Between the two of them, the task moved along quickly, in spite of the daunting pile of books that needed to find their place on the shelves. When he offered news of her family from Stella D'Mare, her mouth drew into a rather thin line. "Now, what made you think it would be polite to go there and ask after an old deserter's family?" She asked, seeming the tiniest bit miffed... but even moreso, she was curious. And in a way... hopeful. Dangerously hopeful. "Well, what is done, is done. What is it you have learned, young man?"

Haraldur began to go into detail about what Chara had said to him and Vega; the news that Vega hadn't the heart to break to her, herself. That her children her dead, having fought heroically in the war against Andalari (a war that Alta had seen coming before she'd ever left Stella D'Mare; it was imminent, really). And that her husband, Adalfieri, had not only died, as well, but that he had planned to make use of the Serpent--that monstrous beast that dwelt beneath the foundation of the fair city--a tool in that very war. To sacrifice lives, and parts of the city itself, because the end justified the means...

The archive keeper did not react in expression. But her movements slowed, considerably, as she reached for books and replaced them in their perspective spots. As if time had slowed for her. "My husband... has always been ambitious. But when I knew him, he was not like... that. Not so extreme." She explained, as if to try and preserve a favorable memory of the man she had loved, and then left. "He loved the city with all of his being. This was where we differed... I thought that it needed to change; he did not agree. I never once thought that he... that he would earn the name of a criminal. And my children... they died heroes, you say? Then at least their names and memories will be carried on. Perhaps, over the years, they did learn a bit about sacrifice..."

There was no mistaking that the news had saddened the librarian. To know for a fact that she was now alone, without any family left. Did she have grandchildren? He had not mentioned it; and she was too afraid of the answer to ask. "Rigases are only permitted one child in their lifetime... That I ended up with two, for my own purposeful negligence of preventing having any more, only put more distance between me and the city's values. I did not think that it would matter to Stella D'Mare that I left; that they have appeared to keep record of my desertion astounds me. But... perhaps it was for the better. Otherwise, I might well have shared in my husband's and children's fates... and I cannot venture to guess the person that I would be, today, had I not left when I did."

Haraldur had not asked for any of that information; but he left a listening ear, for the old woman to get the sentiments off of her chest. She seemed no happier, for it, but on the bright side, did seem rather relieved. After the mercenary let her have her say, however, he changed the subject to what he had really come to talk to her about--at least, she suspected as much. The archivist pressed her lips into a thin line and brushed her long, white hair over her shoulder. "I don't know why you think me a seer, young man." She commented, straightening her posture, which was sore from kneeling to put away books. "I might be a Rigas, but I have never been a particularly powerful one. My expertise is in glamour and illusion, to be very honest. I am no Star Seer and I do not see futures in clarity, if that is what you are asking me."

But she knew well that that was not what Haraldur was asking.; and she could not give him an answer. "There is a lot that I sense in the run of a day, Haraldur. Most of it I feel is not worth taking into consideration; I'm an old woman, and grossly out of touch with my magic and intuition." It wasn't a lie, though she knew well it also wasn't what he had come to hear. At last, she turned to the mercenary, fixing her pale eyes on him. "There is nothing that I can tell you about your princess, I'm afraid. Not only because I myself am not certain of what I know and I don't know, but also because I am not certain what she has made you aware of, or how much she herself knows. And far be it from me to divulge what a woman might be keeping secret. It is not my story to tell."

Picking up the books again, she offered a reassuring smile, nonetheless. "But if you ask me, I would not worry about our dear princess. She has always been able to take care of herself; and when she feels comfortable and secure in what she knows, I am certain that she will confide in you. After all... there are few here that I believe she feels she can talk to."

With a final nod of dismissal, she added, "Thank you for your help. If and when miss Vega Sorde decides to confide... I'd be more than happy to speak with the both of you."

"I've gone my entire life alone, Alster. To be left alone now would be no different." She tried to offer a reassuring smile. "This isn't your burden to bear, and as you've said, Stella D'Mare might be in need of you more than I am. But... if you do happen to return without me..." Her voice softened, and she looked down at the tips of her boots. "Please tell Chara I will come back to her. I promised I would; death itself can't overrule that promise. I don't... please don't let her give up on me?"

Looking over her shoulder at Tivia, who made her decision firm and known to everyone in the room, the chthonic caster expelled a quiet sigh and nodded. There was no arguing with a young Rigas who had a stubborn dedication to a man whom it was still up in the air whether or not was better off dead. But she had not missed the horror on Tivia's face, seeing Vitali strung up and impaled by the vines, the way she had taken his hand and not let go... Perhaps remaining by his side was more of a comfort for her, than for the necromancer. "As you will, Tivia." She agreed with a nod. "We'll send for blankets so that you can be comfortable. I'm sure Vitali would appreciate knowing you stayed for him, even if he disagrees that you should forego rest for his sake."

A nearby home was more than happy to welcome the heroes of their kingdom to sleep in their house for the evening. The owners, a couple who looked to be around Lysander's age (in maturity) even offered their only bed to the travelers. Sigrid insisted that Alster take it, to rest his overburdened shoulder from the weight of his prosthetic arm, and just as easily fell asleep on the floor, with a blanket and pillow. Teren had insisted that Lilica return with him to the heart of the kingdom, which she frankly couldn't refuse, knowing the desperation the people of Galeyn felt. It was awkward and uncomfortable return alone, without anyone to call a friend, but she promised the small party that she would return early the next morning. That evening, in a large, ornate bedroom that felt as alien and foreign as the rest of this strange kingdom. That night, sleep did not find her.

Lilica was not the only one who had difficulty falling asleep, that evening. After hours of tossing and turning, Elespeth finally found sleep... but what lay in wait for her was the very reason she avoided sleep as much as possible. She saw her brother: it was the same, every time. A dream that began with her and Farran riding the countryside innocently, smiling and conversing as if they had never been at odds. Then the sky would darken, and her horse would throw her off its back. When she found her bearings and sat up, again, Farran's horse would be gone... but her brother, dead at the gallows with a rope around his neck, remained. Unmoving, dead eyes staring at her in accusation. Her hands were sticky with blood that wasn't her own... 

She screamed; she wept. She looked around helplessly, calling for aid, but there was no reply. Until... until...

That voice. She knew that voice; she would know it from miles and miles away. It was faint, at first, like an echo of her imagination, but it grow louder, clearer... "Alster... Alster, is that you?"

She heard him, but she did not see him. Just the horrific image of her dead brother before her... "Where are you." She whispered back, closing her eyes tightly. "Come back to me. Wherever you are, come back to me..."

When she opened her eyes again, a familiar wisteria tree was the first thing she saw. So different from the tainted meadow that had claimed her brother's life. This place was... calm. She had been here, before, but not in a very, very long time...

And there he was. Alster: alive and real. Before she could say anything, he rushed her and took her into his arms. A low sob wrenched from her throat, and the tears she'd been holding in for what seemed like a millennia came rushing out. He was here--they were here, together. The connection had mended. "Where have you been..." She wept against his shoulder. "I've been reaching out to you, and you didn't answer. I've wanted to reach you for so long..." Relief won out against the anger she felt towards his severing their connection. Whatever had convinced him to reinstate it, she couldn't care less about the details. What mattered was that they were together.

So they had found Galeyn--and they were safe, all of them. This fool's errand of Lilica's had held some merit, after all. How far had they traveled? What had they encountered... and had there been a cost? She had so many questions, but none were as important as imparting the state of Stella D'Mare. So she went ahead and answered. "Alster, you must listen to me. Do not return to Stella D'Mare: wherever you are, now, stay. Keep safe. The city is about to enter a state of crisis, with Mollengard's looming threat." She gripped his forearms and met his eyes, so that he could see the severity of her warning for himself. "We have a plan--but it is not foolproof, and Chara is still arranging the means to have the city evacuated so that its denizens don't go up in smoke, should all go wrong. I've been speaking with a defector from Mollengard, and a former Mollengardian spy, who no longer cares for their threats. We managed to reach out to Eyraille for help; Haraldur is going to step up to our plan. The Skyknights are going to see to it that the rocs can help carry the people here to safety. I... I don't have time to explain it all, in detail. But we plan to turn the loyalty of the Forbanne soldiers in our favor."

She would not tell him how she was involved, or what the plan entailed. There was nothing that he could do, at his distance, and no sense in having him worry any further. "I'll say it again: tell Tivia and Lilica that you cannot return to Stella D'Mare. Ask the people of Galeyn if they can harbor some of the people of Stella D'Mare, in the interim. Things are bad, but they are only going to get worse. And now that I can reach you again... we can keep in touch. Coordinate. For now, stay put, and inform the others. We are safe, for the moment, so there is no reason to worry. And we have allies. But, Alster..."

The Atvanian warrior drew him closer, her grey-green eyes shining with longing and loneliness. Betraying how much she missed him, and the toll it was taking on her. "Whatever place the Serpent still might have in your life--I don't care. Do not shut me out of this issue. Let me help. We can figure it out together."

Unfortunately, as all dreams were, this was short-lived, and there wasn't even time for a proper good-bye. When Alster awoke, Sigrid was already wide awake, speaking with the woman of the house, who had taken note of her curiously wrapped blade. Of course, the Dawn Warrior did her best to deflect interest from the weapon that could kill non-wielders on contact. Seeing Alster awake, she found her opportunity for an out. "Good--you're awake." She sighed, looking relieved. "It is late in the morning; we should return to Tivia to see how she is faring. And how Vitali is faring, for that matter. Lilica might already be waiting for us."

Though he never had the opportunity to learn and did not know his own limitations, Haraldur was of the firm belief that he was too stupid to read. For years, he saw literacy as a sign of privilege, a separation between the ruling elite and the peasant class. Without knowledge that could be discovered in books, the disenfranchised, ones without the means to flee their oppressors, would remain subjugated. But he also believed that he was past the point of learning. The young refugees were of a flexible age, their minds still developing and absorbent. He, however, who placed all his skills in combat, survival, tactics and swordplay, felt he'd already squandered all his mental and physical capabilities, and thus could not learn something that was so different from his pool of established talents.

While he was able to identify certain letters of the alphabet, at least in terms of how they appeared chronologically, it was a far cry from reading. But, for the job he tasked himself to complete, he was able to manage. It was primarily muscle-work, climbing, and arranging, all labors a brute of his selective intelligence could accomplish with ease. However, while running his fingers over the raised letters and feeling the heft of so many unread words in his hands, he began to consider that maybe he was retaining some knowledge--secondhand though it was.

After divulging, but with care, the details that Chara had shared during the meeting in Stella D'Mare, he listened to the Rigas librarian react in the expected way: with a sense of loss. Though it was with detachment, as one would expect, having not seen her family in over two centuries, the sadness in her features was palpable. "That must have been nigh difficult to do," he said, with uncertainty, in case Alta had only expected an audience and not a response to her troubles. "Leaving behind your children. I know you had your reasons, and I can't judge you in light of all that I've done. Who knows? If I ever had children...what kind of father would I be? Would I be like my own, a miserly drunk who couldn't even take care of himself? Would I leave them behind, too, if it was to protect them...from me?"

Realizing he spoke his own doubts aloud, he muttered an apology and busied himself with another book. But when Grandmother Alta addressed his question, and gave a rather...secretive reply, Haraldur pursed his lips, his suspicion mounting, instead of receding--the exact opposite effect of what he'd expected. He didn't believe her answer. He couldn't place why, but certain things didn't add up. Why now did she seem so unwilling to make revelations about Vega, when two weeks before, was quite liberal in revealing a mere supposition of hers? The three of them...Not safe...

She was tired that day, he told himself. What are you doing here, hassling an old woman for information she doesn't want to share?

"Of course. You're right. My apologies for bothering you over such nonsense." He gave a reverent bow. "At the very least, I hope I was of some use to you in your archiving. And though this part comes unsolicited," he scratched the side of his nose, "you should consider connecting with the Rigases, again. I don't know what this upcoming war with Mollengard will do to their numbers, but they've lost nearly half of their people in just the last few months. And if this evacuation goes sour," he hesitated, "there might be even fewer, in the end. I know that's not what you'd like to hear, but I'm not going to withhold the grim reality of our current situation. It looks bad for them. But," he took a retreating step backwards, "I'll take my leave now. I don't want to cause any more upset than I have, by being here."

Excusing himself, he turned around, and headed out of the cavernous library and its shelves of books so numerous, that even if he were blessed with a literate mind, he could not read in five lifetimes, let alone one.

But as he walked the halls of the palace, his mind churned. Grandmother Alta, with her sudden cagey behavior that ran counter to their previous interactions, had given herself away. She knew what weighed on Vega. Probably even before the Skyknight princess was aware. For, it wasn't until Stella D'Mare that she began behaving so oddly. In fact--it was after she spoke with Atli. A healer. And the woman who rushed away from his tent, in apparent distress? Vega. "She was just here," he remembered the man saying, shortly after arriving with Elespeth.

Three of them. Three of them. It was a phrase that was doomed to repeat in his head, until he unlocked the truth.

But could it be? Was she--?

He daren't think the word, or speak the word aloud. The implications were far too great, and the possibility...unlikely. She'd said so, herself. This was all speculation on his end. Best not to jump to conclusions. When she was ready, she would tell him. Whatever the truth...

It could be nothing. Nothing at all. And yet...why am I holding my breath? Is it dread? Is it...hope?

He closed his fingers over the spot where his necklace used to rest, feeling the phantom press of metal on his palm.

I don't know...

He wanted to keep her in his arms. They were safe. Safe, and together, in this timeless place. The world could keep on spinning, but beneath the brilliant purple petals of the wisteria tree, they lived in a painting. Still. Unmoving. Even the wind had ceased. And as she'd sobbed in his arms, a few tears of his own had welled up beneath his lids.

"At first, I closed you off," he said, shame wavering in his words. "But I still felt you...I could feel you reaching out for me. So then I tried to reach back. You were locked away in nightmares, El. And I didn't have the stamina to find you. To pull you out, and to bring you here." He rested his right hand, which was of flesh and bone, against the back of her head, and stroked her hair. "I made myself sick in the search, but I didn't give up. Until...I did." He lowered his gaze to his feet, but did not elaborate.

"But now...that won't happen. I have you now, El. As long as you find a way to sleep at night, I'll guide you to this place. The nightmares won't touch you, here." He tilted her head forward and kissed her brow. "I won't let them."

He gave her some physical space as he listened to her warnings about Stella D'Mare. His shoulders stiffened; and though it was a dream, he could feel his mouth going dry. "When do you intend on initiating this plan? I can ride out there, Elespeth. If I do some hard riding, I could get there in two weeks." If your arm allows such hard riding, he thought, looking forlornly at the offending appendage, which was still camouflaged to appear whole, and organic. "Or, since Eyraille has agreed to aid Stella D'Mare, they can send a roc to Galeyn...or to Braighdath, at least. I'll return, El. I-I'll," he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes growing more frantic with each word, "I have to do something. Gods, Elespeth, I shouldn't have left. I didn't predict it would escalate to this point! I'm sorry. I...I'll make it right. I'll inform Lilica and the others. We'll organize an evacuation route for everyone. But I can't stay behind while you--"

And then he was in her arms again, snug and protected, in the way only Elespeth Tameris could provide. He closed his eyes, and eased out the tension in his lungs. "It's already done. The Serpent and me, we--"

He awoke before he could finish. Dazed, he lay in bed, staring up at the low ceilings that even he, with his short stature, could reach while standing. There was so much more to tell her! So much that she still needed to say. About Stella D'Mare. About Mollengard. The details of the plan. Eyraille's involvement. The defector and the spy. What role she played in all this. Knowing Elespeth...it was a dangerous one.

"It's my fault," he whispered, slowly rising from the bed and nursing the pains in his metal appendage. "I told her to get involved. To watch Mollengard and Chara. But I didn't..."

He paused in his self-talk, when he noticed Sigrid and their gracious hostess talking amongst themselves. When the Dawn Warrior turned to address him, he bobbed a weary nod and burrowed out from beneath his sheets. "I didn't mean to sleep that long," he said apologetically. "Give me a few moments to prepare." And, seeing how the woman of the house seemed inordinately interested in Gaolithe and its conspicuous wrappings, Alster yawned, and made a show of moving his prosthetic arm across his face, in hopes of rerouting her curiosities.

They arrived at the cabin not an hour later. Lilica was inside, along with the healers that had arrived late last night and, of course, Tivia--who, by her drooping, bloodshot eye, did not appear to have slept. Vitali was still in the same condition in which they left him: unconscious, and bleeding from wounds that would not heal.

Alster did not wait for pleasantries before offering his report. "I made contact with Elespeth last night," he said. Tivia leaned forward, attentive. As did Lilica. He cleared his throat. "They're going to evacuate the city. That's why Haraldur was in Stella D'Mare. He's lending his aid, along with Eyraille. They're," he tried to keep a level tone, "attempting to turn the Forbanne against Mollengard, of all things. I don't know when this evacuation is to take place, but I need her to give me more information, so I can assist in any way possible. She's requested that Galeyn harbor any D'Marians they can. Perhaps Braighdath can, too." He looked askance to Sigrid, beseeching. "It's geographically closer to Stella D'Mare, and easier to reach. This evacuation...I don't know how they're going to accomplish such a feat. Not with their numbers. Even with Eyraille's alliance. I'll try to contact Vega or Haraldur, see if I could learn more. Or if they could send a roc here, and fly me to Stella D'Mare. I won't act now; Elespeth wants us all to stay away from the city. But they're going to need all the help they can get...and I could give them that help." At Lilica's worried expression, he added, hurriedly, "they're safe, for now. Chara is safe."

"A bother?" Grandmother Alta chuckled and shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. You just saved me hours' worth of work and labor that would have been hell on my ancient bones. Your company and your help are both appreciated, let me assure you. Besides..." Her eyes swept over the large, empty library; always in near pristine condition for the lack of traffic it carried. "It gets lonely in here. Books are such good company, but they cannot replace a nice conversation."

She considered, for a moment, his advice with regard to returning to Stella D'Mare, and the idea made the old woman go quiet, contemplative. "I always knew the city would run itself into the ground, one way or another." Her comment held no pride, though; instead, it was despondent. "You cannot flaunt your luxury and your power for as long as Stella D'Mare has without attracting attention from unwanted peoples. I knew that Andalari would become a problem long, long ago; they dismissed my ideas and conspiratorial flights of fancy. Though... if I am being very honest with myself, I had planned to return, one day. Even if only to visit, if not to stay. I am not sure that the Rigases would have the time and patience for the likes of me: a lesser-born Rigas with limited magical capabilities, who broke the rules and deserted the city. I am less than the dirt under their feet. Yet, still..." Her eyes looked faraway, for a moment. Like her mind was somewhere else entirely, other than on the current moment. "I had, one day, hoped to go back... in hopes that things have changed."

Before the mercenary could take his leave, the archivist reached out and places a frail hand on his arm. "Thank you, young man. For all of your help today, and... for your information. I am sorry that I cannot be of more help to you." The corner of her mouth curled into a faint grin. "I am no seer, as I said, but given what I know, I do foresee happiness for you in the future... if we survive all of this."

Later that day, after Haraldur had informed the Skyknights in tactics of going on the offense toward Forbanne soldiers, the Skyknight princess sought him out, for the first time in over a week. Their tryst the other night had managed to set her mind at ease, however temporarily. She was no showing yet, and still had time to deliberate how best to inform him on the potentially radical changes that were to come in their lives... but for now, she did not want to avoid him out of fear for what he might say or think. She wanted--needed--him in her life. That constant pillar of support, and one who hadn't many friends in this strange kingdom that was not his own. Just because he was coming through to her obstinate brother was no real reassurance, given that Caris's temper could change his mood (and his mind) at the drop of a hat. Not to mention, for all he teased Haraldur about what was expected of him during the festival of Equinox, there was no telling whether what he said was serious, or all in good humor... so it was no wonder the mercenary had reservations about partaking in the celebrations.

And, just the other night, he had reminded her of a promise that she had yet to fulfill. Perhaps now was the time: when there was little to be done in aiding Stella D'Mare, given what little developments had occurred on their end, and before things became increasingly more complicated.

She found him just outside of the palace, near the stables, following his session with her Skyknights. Though she approached him with a smile, the soldier appeared worryingly weary and troubled; very different from the playful and passionate side that he had shown her last night, during their mutual bath. "Haraldur. Is everything all right?" She searched his face, concerned for the worry that lined it. It was enough to almost make her reconsider her offer, but... if he felt overwhelmed by Caris and what she had asked him to do for the Skyknights to help prepare them for imminent war, then maybe this was just what he needed. What they both needed.

"Come on. You've done enough work, today. I've been thinking... about what you said, last night. About the promise I made you." Taking him by the hand, she led him away from the stables, and toward the courtyard, where they could have a mite more privacy. "I never did take you to the hot springs in the mountains. Now, while the air is still crisp, is the best time to enjoy them. Our summers are often as hot as our winters are cold, so you won't want to be anywhere near them in a few months' time. What do you say we take the remainder of the day, and the night, for ourselves? I..." She paused, looking down at the toes of her boots. "I haven't been fair to you, lately. Keeping to myself because there's been too much on my mind. Let me make it up to you; we can even hunt mountain elk, if you'd like. I've been trying to get myself accustomed to eating meat, again." Her lips curled into a smile. "Why not start now?"

Sigrid lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I wasn't going to wake you. Not when you so desperately seemed to need rest." She informed him, just happy to have an excuse to turn away from the conversation that was hedging towards Gaolithe, which was wrapped and strapped to her back. "I'll be waiting outside the door."

Fortunately, Alster was able to redirect the interest of the woman of the house, from Gaolithe to his prosthetic arm, which he went on to explain to her to sate her curiosity. But he saw fit to cut it short, knowing that time was of the essence, and that he needed to reconvene with Lilica and Tivia to fill them in on what he had learned. Together, he and the Dawn Warrior made it to the cabin where Vitali still lay, unconscious and in questionable condition. It came as no surprise to any of them that Tivia hadn't slept well; neither had Lilica, for that matter, dark circles drawn under her eyes as dark as the kohl that she had once allowed Chara to apply to her face, in a sweet but futile attempt to show her that she was 'beautiful'. The physicians who had attended Vitali both looked utterly world-weary, and informed the small party that they would stitch up the cleaner cuts on the necromancer's body, but that the crude, messier once would likely need to be cauterized to prevent him from losing any more blood. "It is embarrassing, to have to resort to such an archaic technique," one of them commented, in an air of frustration and defeat, "but I assume that this man's life is worth more than preventing scars."

"The Night Garden clearly isn't an option for him, so do whatever you can." Lilica told them, and they nodded obediently. Though she felt far from any form of the leader that these people required (or expected her to be), she had certainly assumed the authoritative air of one, in light of the crisis that they faced. No one had seen fit to question her, yet; perhaps they simply hadn't been awake for long enough. 

No sooner did she instruct the healers that Alster divulged what he had learned the night before--from Elespeth. Relief dawned on the faces of Lilica and Tivia, and had Sigrid known the significance of this woman called Elespeth, she might have felt it, as well. "How in all creation do they think they can manage to make the Forbanne loyal to them?" The chthonic mage breathed, not really expecting an answer. "To evacuate the whole city... and then what? Leave Stella D'Mare to those brutes? What insanity..."

"Braighdath will be more than happy to help." Sigrid pitched in, looking pensive. "We are a large city. We will have to inform its inhabitants, but it has always had a fairly positive-neutral relationship with Stella D'Mare. The Dawn Legion will undoubtedly be more than willing to help. I can return and inform Roen immediately, should you see benefit in that."

"Honestly, that may not be a bad idea." Lilica agreed, an idea alight in her eyes. "Travel by night, and Galeyn's steeds can carry to at an astonishingly fast pace. You'd be there in no more than a few hours. But it's only morning; let's see what this place has to offer in terms of refuge." Turning to Tivia, she offered a sympathetic gaze. "You are welcome to come with us, Tivia. It might be good for you to eat something; but the choice is entirely yours, if you'd prefer to stay with Vitali."

They departed as soon as Tivia had made her decision. Unfortunately, the outskirts of of the kingdom were sparse with regard to people. Some had returned to their homes, but many were left empty; entirely untouched. Lilica wondered at the reason for that--wondered where everyone must be--but the answer came as fast as she let it cross her mind. "I'm afraid if you are looking for guidance out here, you may not find it. Many of our elderly inhabited this area; few survived the longevity of the spell." A tall woman, older in age with dark hair streaked with silver, emerged from behind them. She bore the white and silver robes that Lilica had come to associate with the Night Garden's Gardeners. "I am sorry it took me so long to reach you; I traveled by day, this morning, and our steeds are most useful when night falls. My name is Senyiah. I knew your father, once." Her eyes fell on Lilica. "I would like to offer my services to you, in whatever way I can help."

The bewilderment of last evening had long since dissipated in light of Vitali's health, and now the pressing matters in Stella D'Mare. The Tenebris daughter did not hesitate to accept. "You say that your elderly did not survive the Sleep... what can you tell me of Galeyn's population, now?"

Out of the blue, the question was an odd one, but the woman called Senyiah put thought into it. "I cannot say for certain. But if I had to guess; two thirds of our people emerged from the Sleep with life to spare."

"Then there is room." Lilica mused aloud. "Senyiah, is it? We have come from Stella D'Mare, weeks away into the south. Currently, the city is in danger, and will be evacuating. We need a safe place for its denizens to stay in the interim; if Galeyn has room to spare, then I would like offer it as sanctuary."

Senyiah did not react outright, but surprise and confusion flickered in her intelligent eyes. "You are a Tenebris; you awoke this kingdom. Ultimately, that decision is yours..." However, she did not sound entirely happy to declare it. "But how soon do you expect us to prepare for evacuees? I beg you, bear in mind that Galeyn has not fallen back into its rhythms, and it will be some time until it does. Families have been torn apart; the Garden is in disarray, such that our Gardeners haven't slept since they Awoke yesterday, tending its needs. We are not a kingdom to refuse aid, but do consider our limitations."

"I am neither stupid, nor heartless." Lilica countered, her voice posing a challenge that Senyiah appeared not to want to entertain. "I won't begin to try and understand what you must have endured as a kingdom; what it must be like to awaken to only two thirds of your population alive. But I have a commitment to the people who have helped me, just as much as I do to your people, in need of help. If you want to be useful to us, then I would like you to show us what you can of the kingdom. Once we know what we are working with, we can then make plans to move forward."

"Braighdath will also welcome evacuees," Sigrid added, stuck between feeling sympathetic to Galeyn's plight, while also knowing the dire need for aid that Stella D'Mare faced. This seemed to placate Senyiah, but only slightly.

Though not entirely happy with the burden that the new Tenebris leader envisioned to place upon the newly awakened kingdom, Senyiah realized that in offering her help, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Her only response was a solemn nod. "Mount your horses," she instructed the small party. "It will be slow going by daylight."

After a few hours of riding, Lilica was able to confirm that, by the number of empty houses and sadly broken families, there would be room for at least some of Stella D'Mare's denizens. As a kingdom, Galeyn was in and of itself not particularly large, yet at the same time, appeared spacious due to the dwindled population. "I do not know what numbers your Stella D'Mare holds, or what condition they might be in on arriving, here," Senyiah declared, when at last they reached the heart of the kingdom again: the palace, which enclosed the formidable night garden. The edifice itself, white and reflecting sunlight, was round, resembling something of a crown. The Night Garden's last defense, Lilica realized, were anyone of ill will to set foot in the city. She imagined at one point, it must have been heavily guarded. "The Garden should return to itself soon enough, but you should know that it can take time to heal. It all depends on its condition, at the time, and the skills of the Gardener to help direct the healing."

"Actually... the nature of the Garden is something that interests me. Something I feel I should know." She responded, looking sidelong at Alster, whom she realized needed to get to know the Garden and its properties the most. "Especially considering what it has done to my brother. A place that should heal, finding the means to almost take a life..."

"The Night Garden is not responsible for what happened to your brother." Senyiah suppressed a weary sigh. "It exacted a curse that Theomyr had set to take place should our kingdom be threatened."

"A curse on his own son." Replied Lilica, who did not disguise the bitterness and disgust in her tone. "One whom he didn't even know--like me."

But the tall woman only shook her head and took a step back. "I'm sorry, but if you are hedging me to bear ill will to our once king, I cannot. Not for what he did to save this kingdom and all its people... he loved it. Loved us."

The chthonic caster had difficulty believing the sentiment, but she let the topic drop. Theomyr was not here, right now; and talking down about the leader that they had all known and respect was not a good means of building trust and morale. "Might we see the Garden?" She reiterated, dropping her father from the topic of interest. "Is it safe?"

"Of course. You are free to explore it, as you please. My Gardeners can answer your questions, but do bear in mind that they are busy and working beyond their means to restore this place of healing." But before she stepped aside to allow them entry through the palace, she added, her eyes solely on Sigrid, "I trust anyone in the presence of the bearer of Gaolithe." Quick on her feet, she was gone before Sigrid had a chance to realize that, at some point during their horseback travel, the sword on her back had become unraveled, displaying the deadly weapon for precisely what it was.

Since leaving the library and Grandmother Alta, Haraldur could not stop obsessing over Vega's purported secret. What ifs crept in his head. A host of scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. What did it mean for someone who had died, to bear children? Were they even children, he wondered? Or spirits of the deceased, using her womb as a portal to manifest into a half-formed, mindless, demonic construct? Or, if they were a result of the union between them, would they starve by lack of proper incubation? Vega was always so chilled, so in need of a warming touch. She had so little of her own to dispense. Could they survive long, at all? Especially...if she was having twins?

Having. That, of course, was assuming that she wanted to have them. Though she had expressed her desire to have a family with him, it was for his sake. For his satisfaction. She didn't have a strong opinion, either way. And what were reassurances in the face of reality? If she really were...pregnant, then it wouldn't matter what she promised. What mattered was what she wanted to do with that information. Keep...or dispose.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He was operating on wild conjectures. Running unconfirmed conclusions in his head. There was no proof beyond his own observations. And while he could ask her for the truth...he didn't know if he was prepared to hear it, yet.

It was hard to concentrate, when he arrived at the training grounds to a gathering of Skyknights. He kept his instruction brief, as his mind had trouble grasping even the simplest of words and concepts. Lecturing little, he threw them into drills with longbows and crossbows. For now, they practiced with moving targets on the ground while they shot from elevated platforms, but in the coming days, they'd take to the skies, and implement the practice with new complications to consider: wind resistance, drag, roc movements, distance, weather conditions, and terrain. He was no expert archer, and trusted that they were excellent shots on a mount. All his teachings had amounted to was how to keep out of a Forbanne's lethality range, and how to take full advantage of roc-mounted combat. If only they still had contact with the nation of Tadasun, he thought. Dropping explosives from up above would grant them a solid advantage. Dropping anything from that height, in fact, would achieve some favorable results.

But he hadn't much time to mull over amendments to his strategies, when, just as he was clearing his mind from earlier, Vega made herself known. He was not expecting her to show. After all, it was /he/ who had trouble keeping track of her movements and whereabouts, over the days since their return from Stella D'Mare.

"Vega," he said, trying to keep a straight face--or a smile. But he fluctuated between the two states of being, and evidently, it showed. "Yes, everything's fine." He forced his attention on her eyes, though they yearned to drift, to catch sight of her stomach. Though it wouldn't have mattered. She wouldn't be showing this early on, and even if she was, the amount of layers she wore acted as a deterrent towards his curiosity. "I'm tired, is all." It was true. He was tired. But it was a different sort of tired. He wanted to stop thinking for a time. To while away the evening with a bottle of wine. Alone. Contemplative of nothing but his own existence.

He was half-poised, already looking for an opportunity to excuse himself from her presence, but in hearing her request, he paused. It was an earnest offer, one that he would have been glad to accept only a day ago. Back when he was ignorant of her pain, of the true cause of her suffering.

"Oh. That. I was just giving you a hard time. We don't have to go anywhere at all." He looked at their linked hands, themselves so close...to her womb. He saw it in his periphery. Concealed. Hidden. But within his reach. It might have been too soon to feel a heartbeat, but if he angled his fingers just right...could it be possible?

"Do we really have the luxury to skip off, even if it's for a day?" He almost crushed her hand, in a bid to keep it warm. Circulated. Incubated. "I...don't think the king would approve. And he's already beginning to tolerate me, I think. I wouldn't want to sour his mood and throw all my good progress by taking an impromptu trip. Nor would I want to waste an entire elk if you're only going to nibble at the bones. So..." He hesitated, seeing the dejection forming in her eyes. The self-conscious shuffle of her feet. Now that he had a better idea of what she was facing...it didn't mean she had to face it, alone. And with a sigh, he reconsidered his words.

"Is this something you want to do? Don't worry about me in this moment. What do you want, right now? Because I'll do it. If you want to go to the hot springs and hunt elk, then we will. But you don't have to do it for me." Especially if it affects your pregnancy...

Lilica, understandably, was frustrated by the evacuation plan, and he, too, had his own quibbles about the order. The likelihood of success, of removing the remaining population of Stella D'Mare, which rested in the thousands and comprised mostly of the elderly and infirm, was so slim as to be improbable. And with nowhere close for the evacuees to relocate, they would remain stranded in the open, and likely pursued by Mollengard. But if this was a plan instituted by Chara (and if so, it was to be assumed that she eliminated her most vocal of detractors), she'd rather die than surrender her people to yet another occupying power. Alster considered it risky, even foolhardy. It was best to operate under the guise of cooperation towards Mollengard, in his opinion. Allow them to believe they were in control, while in secret, forging a number of alliances that were willing to stand against the conquering nation.

Unfortunately, there were precious few who were willing to antagonize a country that easily dwarfed all others in population, size, resources, and armies. And while Stella D'Mare waited for support, they'd stew under Mollengard's "peaceful" absorption of the city, and inevitably become an annex for the second time in history. They were truly in a difficult position. No wonder why Chara and the other D'Marians were finding creative, albeit reckless, strategies for fending off their northern aggressors.

"I don't know how they expect to evacuate and to win over Forbanne support," Alster said, with a flustered shake of his head. "That's why I need to be there when this all takes form. I'll trust that Chara has thought this through--or at least has thought about the consequences of failure. But she looks ready to go down fighting than surrender in full." He rubbed his chin with his thumb. "She may be abandoning the city, but not the Rigas estate. The spell-form that comprises the estate was able to deflect the Serpent's attacks. In activation, it will be able to resist Mollengardian advance--even by Forbanne. Our spell-form was created and enforced by thousands of years of blood magic, and even a magically-resistant army has no defense against such an ancient and innate channel of power. The city--or part of it--will remain untouched."

Alster turned to Sigrid, who confirmed Braighdath's willingness to host Stella D'Mare's evacuated citizens. "I know it's sudden, but if you can appeal to Roen, even if it's to welcome only a fraction of our citizens, it will make a marked difference. As for these steeds of yours," he focused his attention on the head Gardener by the name of Senyiah, "how do they work? Do they have a range outside of Galeyn and Braighdath? Could one conceivably ride one down to Stella D'Mare under cover of night? How many have you bred, and how many would you be willing to lend to the cause? As I see it," he did a few silent calculations in his head, "there are about five thousand evacuees in Stella D'Mare. About half, I'd estimate, are elderly, infirm, and children."

By then, they'd departed the cottage and were exploring the countryside of Galeyn by horse. Tivia elected to stay behind, still adamant about her proximity to Vitali, in case he awakened. "If they're going to cauterize his wounds, he'll need a friendly face," she insisted, jutting her chin at them in defiance. So, they left her behind for the second time in two days. He knew that Tivia could hold her own if she ever encountered danger, but wasn't too comfortable abandoning her in a foreign environment, either. While these Galeyn subjects seemed content in their acceptance of Lilica as their new sovereign, Alster found it hard to believe that there wouldn't be some dissent among the citizenry. For all he knew, unrest spread all across the small and depopulated nation. And Tivia, alone among these 'strange people,' as she claimed, could be unsafe.

"Galeyn does not need to take them all; I understand," Alster continued. "But if split between Braighdath, it won't be too huge of a burden on your people and resources. I know it's too much to ask this early on, when you've only just awakened. But we wouldn't be beseeching your assistance at all if the situation wasn't so dire. And if you need further incentive," Alster tried for a placating smile, "the majority of D'Marians possess magic, and are exemplary gardeners. Our city is known...once known," he amended, the mirth fading from his eyes, "for the terraced gardens, a multi-tiered swath that runs the length of the city. One of the most beautiful, and impressive wonders of the continent. So...I'm sure they can lend their assistance, and expertise, in tending the garden, if you need extra hands."

By then, they approached the white palace, dazzling in the sunlight; an impressively round structure, open to the center of Galeyn like a cracked egg. He gave himself time to marvel upon the construction, and the /what/ that it entailed. The Night Garden, as it had appeared to them yesterday, was there, an entanglement of growth, in blooms of the same dazzling white. He caught the aroma in the distance, sweet, fragrant, and altering, as, when he took a breath, that same peaceable aura from the last encounter had returned, to smooth out the cracks of his soul, which had threatened to spread and break open into fissures.

The closer they reached the Garden's epicenter, the warmer it felt. It was a pleasant warmth, sunny and rejuvenating. Moments later, he was shedding his winter outerwear, too toasty to maintain his layers.

"So the Night Garden was never meant to be used in the manner by which your late king fashioned it?" He shared a doubtful glance with Lilica, also disconcerted by the resounding praise for a ruler who threatened to compromise the integrity of a healing sanctuary, just so he could attack his son, unprovoked. "But if it has the capability to enact curses, it is, by its core, not a healing garden. It is a medicinal and magical curiosity, with a strong healing focus. But pure, it is not. Maybe it once was, but not anymore." But he let the subject evaporate, and with the head Gardener's permission, entered the enclosed space. The stately tree, where the necromancer's body was found punctured and bleeding, seemed like the connector which linked every shrub, flower, and plant of the Garden together, in an underground network of roots. That was one of the questions he asked an available Gardener as he explored the alien flora: "How is this garden connected? Is it all one life-form?"

Everything was so overlarge. Trees with fruit half the size of his body. Flowers that opened up, to reveal another, differently-colored flower inside. Corkscrew leaves, down which streams of water slid, and emptied out into limpid pools of glacial blue. It all paled to his own imagination, which, even in a dream sanctuary devised for himself and Elespeth, drew only upon what existed, and was modeled mostly from Stella D'Mare's gardens. And as fanciful and extraordinary as they were, they still served a place in reality. The Night Garden, however...was an entity all of its own.

He continued to ask his questions as he made his rounds. "Why is it called the Night Garden? Are its specific healing effects only harvested, or seen, by night? Does it grow by the light of the moon, rather than the sun? And what are the specifics of its healing prowess? Could it," he cradled his prosthetic arm, "grow back what's no longer there? Or diminish chronic pain? And is there a way to bottle its essence, and use it in conjunction with magical healing practices, for a more effective treatment? And," he gazed at a gnarled tree, festooned with silver-white leaves, "is this the only Night Garden in the known world? Is it a naturally-occurring sanctum, or a result of mankind's tampering with powerful magic?"