In Honor of IPST: The Rose Crown

[kidananubix]

In honor of International Pixel-Stained Technopeasants day, I offer this, the first 10,000 words or so of an original fiction piece. I hope that one day I'll get motivated enough to actually finish it. Plus do the re-write to get it out of the present tense and into the past tense, as I prefer that in my writing these days.

The Rose Crown

Prologue
Ill omens travel on good intentions and the kindest of ideals drive the darkest of actions. Be vigilant o'knight lest ye fall into suffering or worse, cause suffering to those you are sworn to protect.
- The teachings of Ovrish Thoplesk, Knight of the Order of the Flame

For a thousand years, Than Castle has stood by Hyste Lake. So familiar to the people of the lands of Whyrchuk, that they cannot imagine the landscape without that edifice of ivory and stone. A dozen spires twist up to reach into the sky; the tallest of these is an ivory-colored structure, built entirely from smooth marble - an amazing feat of engineering, harkening back to the age of miracles and the gods. The teachings of Poltak state that he himself, the greatest of all the gods, placed the Ivory Tower in this spot, a towering edifice of marble, which he then carved into the main tower of Than Castle. It is the most spectacular and beautiful buildings in a castle composed of spectacular and beautiful buildings.

As far as the people of Whyrchuk are concerned, Than Castle just is. As immutable and unchanging as the landscape around them, a permanent fixture of the land.

More importantly, it is the home of the king and the royal family. And it is home to the Order of the Flame.

The two most powerful entities in all of Whyrchuk. The King and the Order of the Flame.

One cannot exist without the other.

And when one has become rotten, the other shall fall.

Tonight Than Castle burns.

Great pillars of greasy black smoke billows from the parapets, soldiers fight on her walls and in the courtyards. The clang of metal sword against metal sword rings out, echoing from the walls of the keep. Signifying the end of the line of Than.

King Errith the Third stands in his chambers. His wife is laid on the bed behind him, her screams of pain echoing in the room, as the midwife says soothing things to her. Beside him stands a young member of the Order, one of the few who remained faithful to the King. His light brown hair is pulled tight into a braid, and his silver armor gleams in the flickering light of the tallow candles.

The screams of the Queen are suddenly drowned out by the wails of a newborn.

The midwife quickly wraps the child in swaddling clothes, and lays it on the Queen's breast. Then the old woman turns to the king. "Milord. Your child has been born."

Errith nods his head. "Thank you for your troubles on behalf of the royal family. May the gods protect you as you journey onwards."

"It is my pleasure and duty to serve, Milord."

Then the old woman hobbles away. The black robes which mark her as a nun of Rym whispering against the stone floor of the keep. Errith watches her for a moment longer, before turning towards the young Knight. "Jotham, will you do as I command?"

Jotham kneels before the king. "My life is yours to command."

"Then take my child to the Yislam Mountains. At the foot of the mountains is a monastery, within its walls you will find a monk named Gam. Take my child to him, and beg him that the King wishes him to raise the child. Tell him…tell him that Jamsen says it is time to pay for the berries."

"I will do as you command, Milord."

The king nods his head, and then pulls off his signet ring. The symbol of the Lordship over the land, and presses it into Jotham's hands. Then he removes a purse of gold coins and gives those over as well. "Stay in the region. One day, the King and the Order will rise again. Remember our rules until that day comes. And be prepared to help my child to become the ruler of Whyrchuk as destiny demands."

Jotham balls his fist, and places it over his heart as he bows his head. Errith walks past him, heading towards his wife, and Jotham stands following behind him. The king picks up his child, cradling the small being for a moment, before passing the child to the wet nurse. He then leans down and kisses his crying wife, and turns back to Jotham. "Follow."

The king steps past them, and Jotham and the nurse follow along, until they reach a blank section of wall. The king presses on one of the stones and it slides into the wall smoothly and silently. As it stops its receding into the wall, a small snickt sound occurs, and then the king pushes in a hidden doorway, revealing a curving stairwell leading into the dark depths of the castle.

He turns to Jotham and says, "This leads out of the castle and to the secondary stable at the edge of the town. Obey my last command, and take care my friend."

Jotham nods his head, and steps into the hidden passageway, quickly followed by the nurse. He then pushes the door shut, and it closes with another nearly silent snickt.

Then the king returns to his chambers, to find the Queen standing weakly, leaning heavily against her mage's staff. He holds his arm out to her, and she grasps it, and together they walk to the throne room. As they near, they can hear the booms of a battering ram being used against the door. A thunderous shaking sound, which rattles the armors which line the hallway.
Then they arrive. He helps the queen to settle into her throne, and pulls his sword. Another ear shattering boom and the door begins to buckle. Twisting around the massive oak beam being used to lock them.

Another boom and as they pull the ram away, the left leaf of the door goes with it.

King Errith the Third raises his sword high, and bellows the ancient war cry. "Slista pfirs salo-Poltak!"

A man adorned in armor steps through the gaping hold in the doorway. The emblem adorning the right shoulder of his breastplate is a sword, entwined by two snakes. The symbol of the Order of the Flame.

Errith glares at the newcomer, hate filling his eyes. "Why is the meaning of this betrayal, Losam?"

"The kingship is mine, as it should have always been."

Errith darts forward, as more warriors pour through the hole. As he lets out an inarticulate battle cry he wonders if Jotham was the last of the Order loyal to the crown. As his blade slams into Losam's, he decides that it doesn't matter. His child will reclaim the throne.

He sidesteps, and slams his blade into the stomach of a warrior, but before he can pull his sword out, he is struck. It is a glancing blow which does not damage his armor, but it is still powerful enough to spin him around, and drop him to the ground.

Losam plants a foot on his breastplate, and smiles down at him. He lifts his sword and shoves it into the armor, piercing Errith's heart.

Pain flashes through his mind, a burning agony demanding the sweet release of oblivion. He looks to the throne where his queen is. To find that she herself suffers from multiple stab wounds. He reaches out towards her, even as he feels his life's blood draining away.

His final thought is the fact that they never even got the chance to name his child.

Chapter One
The fields of day are rift,
The sepulcher night is nigh.
The King's bane rises,
The Lord's scepter to try.
 - The Book of Heth

His back hurts.

As Théoden Rivolat slams the hoe into the ground once again, dragging it towards him, creating a thin furrow of tilled dirt, that is the thought which runs through his head.

His back hurts.

Whether it is from the slightly hunched position he has to take while handling the tool, or just the fact of using the tool itself he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t particularly care. He straightens his back, and looks around the farm lands. It is his father’s farm, a mere hectare of land on the outskirts of civilization. The sun shines down hard on the field. It is a brown, dusty plot of land, having already been turned over at least once, the grass that had taken root over the mild winter ripped out. A final corner of the field is in the process of being prepared for the spring planting, by a young man, barely into adulthood. He is dressed in the simple clothes of a farmer. A tough cotton pair of pants, dyed black, a lighter cotton shirt, a slight beige color, with strings as fasteners from the sternum to his neck which is currently untied and loosened. A leather jerkin is draped over him, the closures of the jerkin unfastened as well.

He gazes off in the distance, there at almost the edge of the horizon he can make out the hazy blue form of the Yislam Mountains, and once more must push back the urge to go and climb those frozen peaks.

He is a simple farmer. Not an adventurer. Not a mage or a warrior. His lot in life is to till these fields and maybe one day marry a woman as simple as he himself is. His father’s ire would be great, if the old man realized that Théoden even felt the urge to go off gallivanting around the countryside.

Hunching over again, he raises his hoe and slams it back into the ground, pulling it towards him, ripping apart the earth. And he sighs.

He knows that he should be elsewhere, that he should be doing something else. It is a knowledge that rests deep in his heart, one which calls to him every night as he dreams. That he should be someone else; not just a simple farmer who works his father’s plot of land.

Finally he finishes the row he is working, and glances up at the sun. Nodding his head as he realizes that it has reached its zenith and it is now time for his midday meal. Théoden wipes his hands on the leather jerkin he wears over his tunic, and then walks back to the low wall which separates the field from the road.

It is a stone wall, which comes up to Théoden's knees, and stretches the length of the road, as far to the east and the west as Théoden can travel in a single day. He settles himself atop it, and picks up his satchel of food, enjoying the grainy texture of the rye bread, and the smoky flavor of the cheese.

Then he hears the sound of thunder. Frowning he looks up into the expanse of blue sky and does not see a cloud within sight. He scratches at the thin growth of hair on his face and takes another bite of the cheese.

As he chews, he realizes that the thunder seems to grow louder. Then he realizes what the sound really is. Horses.
He looks to the west and can make out the cloud of dust which a horse a full gallop throws up on the dirt road before him.
A rider flashes past him. A blur of red and green robes, atop a black horse. Théoden frowns as he turns to watch the rider galloping on.

A flicker of wood flies past his face and Théoden watches as the arrow strikes true. The horse cries out, and stumbles, spilling the rider to the ground. He stands up, from the wall, looking that way, watching the person struggling to get free of the horse.

Two more horses gallop up, pulling to a halt just short of the downed horse. The new comers are dressed in armor. Shining cuirasses of steel and gold. Frowning, he picks up his hoe and walks towards where the horse lays, its whimpers of pain sounding loud in the stillness of the day. The clank of the warriors getting off their horses sends a jolt of fear and yearning through him.

He hears the men’s laughter, the unruly sound of thugs, and Théoden frowns for a second. He looks between the two men, at the first rider, and sees a young girl, maybe his own age, huddled against the wall which adorns the far side of the road.
Her blonde hair has been pulled from its intricate braids and hangs unruly around her, giving her the appearance of having a halo. Fear is etched on her face, and shines brightly in her eyes.

That fear calls at him. It tells him that he must intervene in this tableau. That if he does not then he would never forgive himself. That his life would be over, long before it had even truly begun.

Then one of the warriors, reaches down with his armored gauntlet, and grabs the girl’s hair, pulling her up to a standing position. Her yelp of pain echoes throughout the fields, and anger erupts in Théoden's heart.

A rage like he had never before felt. A burning deep in his chest, crying out, demanding he give into the irrational thoughts the short scream evokes in him.

Silently, he slips up and over the wall, his leather boots silent on the dirt and stones of the road. He hefts his hoe, and with a small grunt, slams it into the neck of the warrior who holds the girl’s hair.

The man cries out in pain and surprise, dropping the blonde, his hand going to the wound on his neck as Théoden rips the hoe away. Before the warrior has the chance to do anything else, Théoden slams it against the man’s head, jabbing the pointed blade deep into the skull with a sickening crunch. He pulls the hoe out as the man collapses, the coppery smell of blood hanging thick on the air.

With the sound of metal on metal, the other warrior has his sword out, and Théoden's mouth drops open as the blade ignites into flames.

Théoden eyes flicker from the blade to the crest painted on the right of the armor. A sword entwined by two snakes.

The seal of the Order of the Flame.

The king’s protectors.

Théoden almost drops the hoe, but as the man advances, decides that it would be best to fight back. He ducks under the warrior’s first slash of the blade, and then jabs forward with his hoe.

The warrior knocks the hoe away with his sword, the power of the blow almost enough to knock Théoden down.

The gauntlet slamming against his face is enough to send him sprawling to the ground.

The warrior sneers down at him. “You should know better than to involve yourself in the King’s affairs, boy.”

Théoden raises his hoe, and the warrior’s flaming sword slices in, cutting away the head of the tool, igniting the wood handle. The warrior raises his sword over his head and Théoden lunges forward, shoving the handle of the hoe into the thin space between breastplate and belt.

The warrior doubles over in pain, dropping his sword, clutching at the thin shaft of wood which sticks out of his stomach. Théoden scrambles over and picks up the sword. In a single fluid movement, he stands and strikes - slamming the sword into warrior’s forehead with a crunch.

The smell of burning hair drifts to his nose and Théoden lets go of the sword hilt. The warrior falls over dead, as Théoden looks down at his hands. The anger and rage which drove him, fades away, flickering to dull embers in his heart, leaving him cold and empty feeling.

He looks over at the girl, noting that her eyes, huge orbs the color of the sky are locked onto him. He holds his hand out towards her, a gesture of assistance.

“My name is Théoden, what’s yours?”

The blonde girl reaches out and grasps his hand, and Théoden can feel everything. It is as he had been blindfolded his entire life, and someone had just yanked the fold away on a bright summer day. Knowledge and feelings, all of existence flashes through him, and he gasps.

Then her hand slips out of his, and he is once more blindfolded, stuck in the simple shell of his body.

He blinks twice, and focuses once more on the girl as she brushes away the dirt and wrinkles from her red and green robes.
“My name is Illyana Lothyrm. Thank you for saving me.”

Théoden nods his head tersely before replying, “Why were they chasing you?”

He watches her from the corner of his eyes, noting the way she chews slightly on her lower lip as she considers how best to answer his question. He can feel a grin tugging at his lips, as he considers how cute she is doing that. Finally her reply breaks into his train of thought. “They sought to return me to the castle. “I’m…I’m on a mission for the Princess.”
“The Princess sent you out by yourself?”

She shakes her head, her hair swishing around her face slightly. “No. I was sent out with another of the Princess’ bodyguards. One of the Order killed her two days ago.”

Théoden looks up at the sky, then down the road, in the direction from which she had ridden from. He frowns slightly at the hill on the horizon. “I’m sorry for the death, but we should get off the road now.”

The girl looks down the road, and nods her head; Théoden crosses the wall, and helps Illyana over as well. Then he grabs the remains of his lunch and sets off back to the small village which is his home.

The pair walks in a comfortable silence and Théoden takes to time to look her over. He notes such details as the stitching on her dress, and the fact that she wears boots rather than the soft-soled moccasins of most of the girls who live in his small town.

After a half-hour of walking, the pair finally arrives at Théoden's home. As they step into the small courtyard, he sees his father sitting in the chair where he receives visitors. Jotham Rivolat appears to be in his mid-sixties, with iron-grey hair cut short and close to the scalp, and a deeply lined face, with intelligent eyes, shining a soft brown. He is dressed in the same rustic garb which Théoden himself wears - sturdy cotton pants and tunic, and even sturdier leather boots that end just below the knees.  As Illyana steps into the courtyard, Jotham stands, his eyes flickering over the way that Illyana is dressed, and then his attention turns to Théoden.

"You should be out in the fields, son."

"I know father. But I felt it best to escort this lady here. She was assaulted by a group of vagabonds and they killed her horse."
From the corner of his eye, he can see Illyana stiffen slightly at the slight change of events which Théoden describes and to his surprise, his father does not call him on the fabrication. The older man just scratches his chin silently apparently lost in thought.

Finally he focuses on her again. "We can't offer much besides our hospitality, and a roof to sleep under this evening."
Illyana nods her head. "That is more than enough good sir."

Jotham grunts in reply, and turns to Théoden. "Show her where she can sleep and get cleaned up. Then return to the fields. It needs to be tilled prior to dinner."

"Yes sir."

He gestures to Illyana, and steps past Jotham and into the house, quickly giving her a tour, showing her to the guest quarters. He watches her as she looks around the simple room, and turns back to him smiling. She leans forward and places a quick peck on his cheek. "Thank you for everything, Théoden."

Théoden can feel a blush rising up on his cheeks and he bows at the waist. "It was my pleasure, milady."

He turns from her, pulling the door closed as he leaves the room. Then he walks out the door, and begins the hike back to the field.

Chapter Two
Fealty to the Throne is the highest honor. As a Knight of the Order, it is your greatest calling to lay down your life for the throne. But it is your very life's blood to serve justice for the Land.
- The teachings of Ovrish Thoplesk, Knight of the Order of the Flame

Jotham watches as Théoden walks down the road, heading back to the fields. He can hear the door behind him open, and assumes it is the girl.

He turns in his seat slightly, and looks at her, she stands there in the doorway, staring at him, an odd expression on her face. After a moment of tense silence, she speaks. "You were once part of the Order weren't you?"

He frowns, unsure how to answer. "Ancient history, girl. That was a lifetime ago."

"Is it?"

Jotham grunts in reply.

"I heard a story once."

"Is it story time already?"

She chuckles slightly. "Yes, it is. The story I heard concerns King Errith."

"You best watch your mouth child. You know it is against the law to mention him."

"Very well, Jotham. But this king I heard about once - it is said that his queen bore a child. And that child still lives."

Jotham glances towards her. "That wasn't a very good story, child."

Illyana shrugs her shoulders. A simple, graceful movement. "I never was very good at telling stories. Be they truth of fiction."

Jotham focuses on her fully. "And pray tell do you want from me, child?"

She looks at him, and Jotham is taken aback by the vibrancy of her eyes. They are the crystal blue of a true b'nik'dova. One who walks the spirit realm. He fuzzes his mind, as he was taught during his training, and allows a smirk to come to his face as she frowns slightly.

Finally she replies. "What does anyone want? I want the truth. And the return of justice to the land."

Jotham looks closer at the girl, a scowl crossing his features. "That's twice that you've uttered treasonous words in my presence. Either you're very dumb, or you're certain that you've found someone willing to help you." He barks a laugh. "I like that look on your face, child. Outraged naivety is quite compelling on you."

She twists her head away, the braid of her hair whipping around her with the force of the movement. He chuckles again, and turns his attention back to the path which leads to and from his simple home.

"So…tell me why you left Than Castle."

He hears her sigh slightly. "I was in service to the Princess. One of her higness' royal protectors. One day, we were reading through the accounts of the revolt, when we discovered that a nun of Rym was visiting the castle. Yet no account of an infant is recorded in the rolls of the dead. And that was the day you left the Order."

He grunts in reply, focusing on something in the distance on the road. He leans forward, staring intently down the road. Then he turns to Illyana. "Who else knows of this trip?"

"I came with Rigel, another of the Princess's protectors, and the Princess herself knew of our journey. Why?"

"Get inside. In the first room, there is a silver ball on a shelf. Twist that ball a quarter-turn towards the sun, and the shelves will open, revealing stairs leading down. Go there now."

"What?"

"Now, child! Before it is too late."

Illyana jumps up and does as she is told, rushing back into the door. Jotham turns once more towards the road, the small cloud of dust of rushing horses larger and growing ever closer.

He leans back in his seat, picking up his mug of ale, taking a long draught before sitting the cup back down.

Minutes pass, as Jotham watches the cloud, as it slowly resolves itself into a group of horses and their riders. Jotham stands as the riders pull to a stop in the courtyard of his home. Their silver armor gleaming in the bright light of the afternoon sun. Each of their cuirasses adorned with the blood-red sigil of the Order of the Flame. The one in lead wears a black cape with gold trim and a knotted tassel on the left shoulders. The signs of a commander of the Order.

"Hail, Knights. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We are searching for a pair who ran from their service to the Princess. Taking a number of valuables with them."

Jotham raises an eyebrow, looking between the warriors. "Six of the order to chase after a pair of simple thieves?"

The commander's eyes narrow, and a scowl appears on his face. "Watch your tongue, peasant. You are talking to a member of the Order of the Flame."

"I know exactly who I'm talking to, Commander. And I know exactly what my rights are in regard to your behavior."

The commander pulls his sword, and it ignites in the clear air. A burning brand that once stood for justice.

Jotham takes a step closer, a sneer pulling his features slightly. "You would pull your sword against an unarmed old man?  And you call yourself a Knight of the Order. Kor Tyris - you're a disgrace to that sigil and all that it stands for."

The commander's eyes widens, as he realizes that Jotham knows his name. He leans forward slightly, getting a better look at Jotham, and recognition dawns in his face. "Jotham? Jotham Rivolat? Ha! We all thought you were dead, traitor. How much the better for me that you aren't. Now I can kill you."

Jotham barks a short, sharp laugh. "I was never a traitor. I stayed true to the King and the throne. You though, you're as arrogant and foolhardy as ever."

Then without warning, Kor shoves his blade through Jotham's stomach. Giving it a twist, he yanks the blade out, the smoldering wound is blackened and deep, and Jotham collapses to his knees, his hands grabbing at his belly. With a grunt, he collapses fully into the dust.

Kor's grin is cold and malicious, and with a laugh he says, "There, one less traitor for us to deal with." He turns to his soldiers, and begins issuing orders. "Jon, Reg, search the house. Gil, Jythim search the barns and outlying buildings."

The four warriors salute, and rush to do as they were bid, and Kor leans down beside Jotham. His lips are still twisted into a cold smile, as he grabs Jotham's hair, yanking the old man's head up.

"Aren't you going to grovel? Beg for your life?"

Jotham spits a dollop of blood from his mouth into Kor's face, and Kor replies by slamming his gauntleted hand into Jotham's jaw. A flare of pain blossoms across his face and jaw, and he crumples to the ground once again. Kor stands, and kicks Jotham in the stomach, right atop the sword wound.

Chapter Three
When the Western Sky turns the color of blood, beware, for it is a sign from Poltak that ill comes your way. The Blood Sky is both a blessing, and a curse. For it provides forewarning of trouble, but trouble enough to bring a Blood Sky is dire indeed.
- The Rise and Fall of Than.

Théoden looks towards the setting sun, hefting his tools to his shoulder. He wipes his brow, and begins his journey home. He steps off the field and onto the road, once more glancing towards the sky, its blood-red coloring sending a chill through his frame. Growing up, his father had always said that that particular shade of sky was an ill omen. A sign of danger to one and all.

Initially, as a young boy, Théoden had assumed his father meant a supernatural portent, a sign from the gods themselves about evil things were afoot, and vile plans had been hatched. As he aged, and learned more weather-lore, he realized that it was a natural symbol of adverse weather. A sign of a bad winter storm, and the freezing rains and sleet which accompanied them.

Yet, this is the start of summer. The Feast of Poltak at the summer solstice had not even occurred.

As he watches the blood-red slowly shift to a deep purple, he once again wonders if the gods are sending a message.
He laughs to himself, and shakes his head as he starts up the road. Silently mocking himself at his own foolishness, he turns his thoughts to a much more interesting concept, the girl who dropped into his life at the end of the midday meal. He wonders what drove her on, why she fled the Princess' service. And why those knights were chasing her.

Mulling over the girl, he continues on towards his home. He rounds the final bend, and notices the yard in disarray. The door broken and hanging off its hinges, the courtyard's ornamental plants ripped up by horse hoofs, and there in the dust, the broken body of his father.

"Father!"

He darts forward, sliding to a stop beside his father's broken and bloodied form. He gingerly touches his father's face, and starts when his father's eyes flutter open.

"Take…girl…Yislam Monastery. Speak to Gam…the once…king. Take my armor…bring honor back to Than."

"Shh…don't talk dad, save your strength."

His father shakes his head. "My time..up." He raises his arm weakly, and places it upon Théoden's shoulder. "I…love…"

Théoden lets out an inarticulate cry of grief as the light goes out from his father's eyes. He presses his tear streaked face into Jotham's bloody shirt, sobbing slightly as he gives vent to his anguish.

He hears a click, and rolls away from Jotham's body, coming up in a combat crouch, as he turns towards the door. Standing there, a look of horror on her face is Illyana. He glances back towards the road, and the dark night out beyond the house. The warm summer evening gone in Théoden's soul, replaced by a cold like winter breeze.

He stands, and grabs her shoulders, dragging her back into the house. As soon as he is back in the house, he turns on the girl, and his breath catches as he stares at the bright blue orbs of her eyes. He gives his head a quick shakes, before he asks, "What happened?"

With fear in her eyes, she glances out at the dark night, and then back at him. "I was speaking with Jotham in the courtyard when he ordered me into hiding behind the shelves. I stayed for hours there, and ventured out when I thought night would have fallen."

Théoden turns away, stepping further into the house, brushing past her brusquely. He walks into his father's study, staring at the open stairwell which is usually hidden behind the shelving. He steps down into the dark, walking into the room which his father kept hidden, not sharing it with any of his friends or business partners. Jotham had only shown it to Théoden a few years ago.

Yet the first day he met the girl he sends her down here to hide from whoever killed his father.

He walks down the steps, and comes to a set of rooms at the bottom. He opens the doors directly in front o him, revealing a small square room beyond. After he lights the torches which line the room, he turns back to the center, staring at the suit of armor which stands at the center of the room. Its silver hide gleams golden in the yellow torch light, the red sigil of the Order of the Flame adorns the right breast, while a tassel hangs from the left shoulder, the series of intricate knots indicating the rank which his father had achieved prior to leaving the Order. A black cape hangs limply from the shoulders of the armor; the corners of the cape are connected together by a thin gold chain. He turns towards the wall noticing the series of weapons adorned there. A twinned sword, which is slightly different from the ones which the warriors used earlier in the day, a dagger, and a long shaft of wood, with metal caps on each end.

"It was him!"

He turns towards the doorway again, and sees Illyana standing there, her golden hair seems to shine in the torchlight, her clothes themselves giving her an ethereal appearance in the flickering light.

"What was him?"

"He was a knight of the Order. The one and only knight who did not participate in the revolt.  The only one who could know about the heir of the last king."

Théoden looks at her, a frown etching his features. "What in the name of Heth are you talking about?"

"I..." She looks around the room, her own face twisting in concentration and confusion. Then she focuses on Théoden again. "I came searching for the true king. The son of Errith the Third."

Without replying, he pulls the cuirass off the dummy and straps it over his linen tunic. Tightening the armor down, he adds on the remaining pieces. Then he straps on the sword and the dagger, situating them correctly on his hips. Finally he wraps the cape around his shoulder, allowing it to hang properly. Finally he turns back to Illyana as he pulls the staff from the metal clips which hold it to the wall.

"Now, what's this about the son of the king?"

"During the revolt, there are references to a nun of Rym being in Than Castle. And that was the night which your father disappeared from his service to the Order of the Flame."

"So that was what father always spoke of. Now come."

Illyana looks at him, cocking her head to the side slightly. "Where are we going?"

"To a monastery in the Yislam Mountains. My guess is that those who killed my father are the same as those who chase you.  Solving your quest, will give me the chance to avenge my father."

Théoden looks at Illyana, expecting the beautiful maiden to give him a lecture or comment on his desire for revenge. When he sees nothing but grim understanding in her eyes, he nods his head and walks back into his father's study. He grabs a small purse of coins, and looks around the room. Lowering his head again, he goes to the kitchen and packs a few loaves of bread and cheese and summer sausages into a small bag.

Illyana follows him as he gathers the things he will need for the journey. He exits the house through the back door, bypassing the courtyard and his father's body which still lays there. He enters the barn, and saddles two horses, and puts his packs of food on a third.

Taking the horses' reins he leads them back around to the front of the house, and then passes the strips of leather to Illyana. Without speaking, he walks around to the side of the house, to a small lean-to filled with firewood. He gathers a large pile of the wood, and ample kindling.

Then he steps once more into the courtyard, and picks up his father's body. He solemnly carries the body to the pyre he built, and reverently lays his father's mortal remains on the stack of wood. He then takes his father's purse from his belt and the satchel from inside his father's jerkin.

Wiping away a tear, Théoden pulls a piece of flint from a pouch on the back of his belt, and sparks a fire. He takes a step backwards as the fire takes hold, growing hotter and higher.  As he watches the flames dance and lick at his father's body, he feels the tears begin to slide down his face.

He lifts his voice, singing the ancient funeral song, ushering his father's soul into the safekeeping of Heth's hands on the smoke of the funeral pyre.
“Tryspt'hum rig vert a'westave
Hos qw'estki bys Heth
Yvolu saloźai de respo
Ri'gulst'iva beöąq salo-Heth”

As the clear timber of his voice falls from the night air, he bows his head. A stillness falls upon the earth, the only sound is the crackle of the flames.

He turns away, and mounts his horse, Illyana following his lead. Théoden glances once more at the bonfire, then with a cluck turns his mount away from the house he grew up in, and heads down the road and towards the Yislam Mountains.

Chapter Four
Through the bright fields of day, through the darkest of night,
Good falters to evil's delight.
Yet in a room that is dark, in the absence of the light,
Witness a single candle's might.
- The Book of Heth

Her name is Laurith, and she is hunting for her dinner. The Yislam Mountains where she has been raised is harsh scrub lands interspersed with patches of woods, threading with brooks and streams. Laurith is currently on the mountain side above the monastery where she has lived her entire life.

She steps through the undergrowth silently. Her passage marked by the merest whisper of moving leaves against leather breeches and linen tunic. Dark brown hair is pulled tight, and twinned around strips of leather to form a long braid. Brown eyes dart around the ground, picking up sights of an animal's passage.

Finding the path she was searching for, she looks up to see a deer, a young doe, drinking from a still brook. She lifts her bow, and slips an arrow from the quiver at her side. Notching the arrow, she draws back the gutstring, aiming down the arrow's shaft. She releases the string, and the arrow shoots out striking the deer.

The deer bleats in pain, and tries to jump over the brook, crashing to the ground instead.

Laurith grins happily, stepping out of the woods into the thin glade which houses the stream. She hunkers down by the deer, noting that its side is still rising and lowering in labored breathing. She draws her knife and with a quick gesture slashes the animal's neck.

Exhaling slowly as the animal finally dies, she whispers a short prayer to Githänŷ, the goddess of the wild places of the Land. Which the Yislam Mountains most assuredly qualify as.

Bending down, she begins to clean the animal. First she skins it, slicing away the flesh, and then spreads it out upon the ground. Then she begins cutting away the choicest pieces of meat, laying them out. Finally, she cuts out the animal's tongue, eyes and heart. She searches around for a flat rock, and finding it, builds a small fire underneath it. She lays out the tongue, eyes and heart on the rock, and hunkers to her haunches as the smell of cooking meat wafts up to the sky.

Under her breath, she whispers the prayer she was taught for when she has had a successful hunt. A blessing to the woods and those spirits who live within them, a pray of thanksgiving to Githänŷ for the spoils of the hunt.

Tying the deer's skin into a bundle, she hefts it over her shoulder, the muscles of her arms straining slightly under the heavy load of meat. Turning from the now smoldering remains of her makeshift alter, she starts back down the mountain, choosing her steps carefully.

A half hour later, she turns a bend, and comes into sight of the monastery. A low, long building, pushed right up against the side of the mountain, hiding the fact that most of the monastery itself is carved into the mountain side, surrounded by a tall fence. A wooden porch surrounds the building, benches and small tables are situated randomly through out the porch. Between the porch and the wooden fence is a courtyard separated into three distinct zones. The furthest right is a training field, mainly consisting of a large round circle of sand, and a set of targets and training dummies off to the side, beneath a lean-to built against the mountain. The far left section is a vegetable garden, neat orderly rows of plants. The center, and by far largest section, consists primarily of a small lake and stream which runs down the mountain from that lake. Wrapping around the lake, and over the stream is an ornamental garden. One specifically designed as a meditation exercise, focusing on the trails of Poltak as he fought against the Dark Ones who once controlled the world.

She smiles, as she sees Thaddeus standing in the courtyard, on the narrow bridge which crosses the stream that comes from the lake. Even at this distance, she can make out the simple linen tunic and breeches which are his custom to wear. His jet black hair is long, and worn as a knot atop his head. She can't see them, but she knows his pale blue eyes, will be staring intently into the depths of the small lake. She continues down the path, humming one of the chants which the monks insisted that she learn as she grew up.

Another quarter hour passes, and she finds herself walking through the arched gateway into the courtyard. A few meters ahead, Thaddeus still stands on the bridge, staring into the lake, as if he's contemplating something serious. She walks closer, the bridge creaking as she steps onto it. She shifts her weight, smiling as the creak grows a bit louder.

Throughout it all, Thaddeus continues staring into the water, lost to the world in whatever thoughts have captured his attention.

She laughs to herself as she takes another step towards him, coughing slightly, even as she bumps into him.
Startled, he spins around, his eyes growing wide as he sees her standing mere centimeters from him. "Huh? Oh! Uhm…good morning, Laurith."

She smiles sweetly for him, and quickly flickers her eyelashes. "Good morning, Thaddeus."

"Can I take that?"

Her smile grows larger as she passes over the package of meat, and together the pair head towards the monastery's kitchen As they walk through the courtyard, and up the wooden steps which lead into the monastery proper, Laurith asks a question, which she knows she will probably not receive a satisfactory answer to. "What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular."

She laughs, a rich sound which echoes in the hallway as they step into the ancient building. "You were surely focused intently on nothing in particular."

He chuckles in reply. "I suppose you're correct. I was just thinking about destiny." She notices his furtive glance in her direction. "Do you believe in destiny?"

She thinks for a moment, absently tugging at the braid of her hair where it hangs over her shoulder - not quite certain how to answer. After a dozen steps, she lowers her head. "Yes. Yes I do."

"So you believe that we each have some task that we must accomplish? That we are all on a predetermined course of events which we must carry out - the execution of which is beyond our control to start or stop?"

She tilts her head to the side slightly, looking at him. "Well…yes. Yes I do. I believe that the gods exist, and that they plan out our lives from beginning to end to assist in their battles against the Dark Ones."

They enter the kitchen, and Thaddeus places the package of meat on the large table, as one of the monks unwraps the package and begins preparing the meat for the evening meal. They both bow slightly to the monk who ignores them as he continues his preparations. The pair turns from the room, having long ago grown used to the silence of the monks. They exit the kitchen, and once more start walking through the halls, exploring the depths of the monastery the same way they have for their entire lives.

"So what brought up all these questions about destiny?"

Thaddeus lets out a small rueful laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Just something Master Gam spoke to me this morning."
They take another dozen steps, before she grabs his hand. "So?"

"So?"

"You're infuriating, Thaddeus! What did Master Gam say?"

He chuckles again.

Then Master Gam's solemn baritone sounds from behind them. "Master Gam merely spoke of the future, and the need to fight for what rightfully belongs to oneself."

The pair spins around to see the ancient monk standing behind them - a wistful grin tugging at one corner of his mouth, his bald head gleaming slightly in the light of the oil lamps hanging from sconces of the walls. His brown robes flow around him and his eyes twinkle with amusement. The two bow at the waist, a sign of respect for the man who, though he was father to neither of them, effectively raised them here at the monastery.

Laurith can feel a blush coloring her cheeks as she straightens. "Forgive me, Master Gam. I meant no disrespect."

The old monk smiles kindly at her. "Fear not, little one. I know why you pestered young Thaddeus so. Now if you will both follow me."

With that said, Gam turns and sedately walks through the halls, finally arriving at his small cell. He pushes open the heavy wooden door and steps into the room. A sense of peace, a feeling which Laurith has always associated with Gam's room, settles over her, filling her soul. She closes her eyes, and takes a moment to just drink in the serenity which fills the room.
She opens to see Thaddeus and Gam sitting at two of the four settings of the table. She steps forward and slides into a third seat between the two men, and leans back, wondering why the old monk has brought them here to his quarters. Her wait for an answer is not long.

"Have either of you heard the story of the fall of Than?"

Laurith glances at Thaddeus for a moment, wondering where this is going. The Fall of Than is one of the earliest stories that everyone in Whyrchuk learns. It is a tale as old as Whyrchuk itself.

Thaddeus answers, "We have, Master Gam."

Gam nods his head a few times. "Yes, yes. I know…but bear with me as I tell you again."

The old man settles deeper into his chair, and leans his head back, closing his eyes, as if he is searching his memory. After a moment, he speaks once again. "In the days before Whyrchuk, during the days of miracles and when the gods themselves walked the earth, and great Poltak lived within the Ivory Spire of Than Castle, the whole world was united under Poltak's banner. Peace ruled the land, and there was no famine and no disease and the Dark Ones had not been seen nor heard from in ages. It was a glorious and golden age. Then Athyun, the darkest of the Dark Ones, whispered in man's ear saying 'you do not need Poltak.' and 'tell Poltak to return to the Great Forest.' In their arrogance, man spoke out to the gods, telling them to leave the Land. Such betrayal hurt Poltak to the quick, and he took his hand of protection away from the Land. Immediately, dark forces came from the South and the East overtaking the Land, shredding Than into parts, until only Whyrchuk, the heart of Than, remained. Saddened, Poltak looked out on the land, and finally saw Athyun's hand in man's discontent. In that heartbeat, Poltak decided that man must rule for himself, until the day that he learns vigilance against the whisperings of Athyun. He searched, and searched until he found the sons of the loudest of the men that called for Poltak to leave Than. He stretched out his hand, and pulled a tree from the earth. The tree he passed to the younger of the brothers, and said, 'This is the Scepter of Justice. With it, I demand that you rule wisely.' Then he stretched out his hand once more, and plucked a rose bush, and fashioned a crown out of it. He placed the crown on the younger brother's head and said. 'This is the crown of Than. Feel the barbs which remind you to rule justly.' Next he stretched out his hand and picked up a mountain, and from it fashioned a set of armor. This he placed on the elder brother's body, and said, 'You are the protector of the Land. Remember your sacred duty and always put others before yourself.' The final thing Poltak did was - stretch his hand forth and plucked a bit of the sun away, and fashioned from it a flaming sword. This he also gave to the elder brother. 'Let the light, always guide you.' Then Poltak looked between them and smiled upon them, gesturing to Than Castle. 'Your home King of Than. Your home, Knight of the Order of the Flame.' Then Poltak turned away, and walked towards the east and the Great Forest."

Laurith looks at Thaddeus for a moment, and then turns her attention towards Gam once more. Finally, her curiosity gets the better of her. "Master Gam, why tell us that story again tonight?"

Gam chuckles slightly. "Because it has bearings on the future. It is the story of the Fall of Than yes, but more importantly, it is the story of the rise of the first king of Whyrchuk. In ages past, the King was recognized as the one who wore the Rose Crown and welded the Scepter of Justice. Yet, those two symbols were lost, and this was fashioned in its stead." On the table Gam lays down a ring, with a raised signet, a series of roses braided into a crown.

Thaddeus leans forward slightly, looking at the ornate ring. He looks up at Gam as he asks, "Is that the King's Signet?"

Gam silently nods his head.

Laurith frowns slightly. "Does this mean that you're the king?"

Gam laughs. "No, Little One. I could be considered a regent of sorts, for I raised the true King." Then Gam focuses fully on Thaddeus. "The king must return."

Thaddeus shakes his head. "I'm not a king. I'm just a simple scholar. I've never even been in a fight before."

"And that is my failing in your education. Yet, I fear that soon, you shall more than make up for that lack in your training."

Thaddeus makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, and then says, "I do not wish to fight."

Gam's eyebrow shoots up, and a sardonic smile appears on his face. As if he is subject to some tidbit of knowledge which escapes both of the young adults. After a moment of the amused smile, he replies, "No sane being desires to fight. Yet every follower of Poltak knows that at some point fighting may be required, regardless of whether the being wishes to or not."

"Not I!" exclaims Thaddeus, anger giving his face a reddish ting. "I will not fight, I can think of nothing that would force me to."
"Fine words - for a time of peace. Yet we do not live in a time of peace."

Thaddeus makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and pushes away from the table. Standing, he turns and storms from the room, his anger shattering the serenity which Laurith had felt within the monk's room.

Gam sighs, and seems to deflate slightly in his chair, the lines of his face, showing his age for the first time in Laurith's memory. She looks away from her foster father, turning her attention to the Royal Signet. She picks up the ring, holding it carefully in her hands, admiring the workmanship of the raised rose as it rests above the ring of gold. Finally she looks at Gam and asks, "What happened to the scepter and the crown that they had to create this ring?"

"That knowledge is as lost as the objects themselves. Though some stories tell that they were thrown into the Western Sea, and others tell us that Athyun took them to Mount Retam."

"Why did you push Thaddeus so?"

Gam laughs, a full bellied sound, which does much to dispel the aura of anger which Thaddeus had left behind when he left. Finally, his laughter slides to mirthful chuckles, and his eyes open up, the amusement still shining in them. "Not a half-hour ago, you yourself were pushing him so."

She grins for her foster-father. "But that's me. I can do that."

Chapter Five
"Woe to me! Woe to the Land! Than has fallen. That great and beautiful city, spoiled by the machinations of Athyun. For this I curse thee, Athyun. On the day of regeneration, a scion of those you turned against me, shall rise up, and smite thee; know this, thou deceiver, ye Lord of Lies, know this and fear - hear the prophecy of Poltak as I speak thy doom.
- The Rise and Fall of Than

A splendid feast is spread out on the table before him. The centerpiece a whole pig, an early apple shoved into its mouth during the roasting. Surrounding it are a dozen different vegetables, and numerous settings of fruits. As Losam Polviratta steps into the great dining hall of the Ivory Tower, he inhales deeply - savoring the scents of the meal that has been prepared for him. He stands taller, the steel of his breastplate shining in the bright light of the torches which line the walls and the candles which hang from the chandeliers. His purple cape hangs about him, laying limp against his back in the still air of the dining hall. His gaze flickers between the court, lingering benelevontly on those who have curried his favor, and turning to a scowl for a moment longer on those who have done something to displease the Regent of Whyrchuk.

Annoyance flickers over his features as he once more remembers that he is still considered just the Regent of the Land. That because his accursed brother had already spirited away the royal signet that he could not be named King. That that singular title would have to remain vacant until the signet had been found.

He settles into his place at the table, and from a side door enters Princess Lorranna, his one and only daughter. Her raven hair is piled high atop her head, and she is dressed in a long flowing, green gown. He sees the sparkle of her crown, a flash of silver fire weaved into the black tresses of her hair. She moves with the grace of a warrior born, and behind her trail two of her attendants. They are dressed in simple red dresses, the rustic charm of their outfits hiding the deadly nature of their profession.

Lorranna settles into the seat next to him, and as she does, the band begins to play, and those granted the privilege of dining with the royal family begin to eat. Losam allows the sounds of dining, and the murmur of hushed voices to fill the chamber, a backdrop which winds itself through and above the music. He turns to his daughter.

"What word from those you sent out to discover the truth of these rumors of a king?"

She looks at him, for a moment he sees a flash of anger in her eyes, and then as fast as it appeared, it disappears. In her soft voice, she replies, "You would know best, father. After all, you sent a ride of the Knights out after them."

It takes all his skills that he has learned as a politician over the course of his life to keep the shock from his face. He wants to gape at his daughter in wide-mouthed awe at her knowledge of the Knights riding after her servants. He had thought he had hidden their leaving better than that.

What he does do is smiles slightly. "As ever, daughter of mine, you surprise me."

She smiles sweetly at him, and Losam has to wonder if she is even now plotting to overthrow him, and take the throne for herself.

His food taster sets a plate of food before him, and Losam plucks a piece of the sliced pig from the pile on his plate and shoves it into his mouth. As he chews, he turns back to his daughter and says, "What other insight into forbidden history have you gleaned from studying the tellings of the Revolt?"

She gives him another of those sweet smiles. "I have nothing else to add, Father."

Losam nods his head. "Very well, but now we shall have some entertainment."

He gestures with his hand to one of the guards stationed at the door. He allows a grin to come to his lips as the guard ducks through the door, from beside him, his daughter asks, "What sort of entertainment is that, Father?"

He glances at her. "You'll see."

Turning his attention back to the door, his grin grows wider as both leafs of the door swing open, and a trio of Knights come in, their armor shining in the lights of the room. The one in vanguard walks in a timely fashion, a clip to his steps and a smug smile on his lips. The pair behind him drags something hidden from view by the vanguard Knight. As the group comes to a stop in front of them, the vanguard steps aside, revealing a man in burgundy tunic, and black pants. His features are hidden by a simple burlap bag, its rough brown texture in stark contrast to the more complex and smoother textures of his clothing.
The vanguard rips the burlap sack away and Losam suppresses a laugh as Lorranna gasps in shock. He slowly turns to his daughter, and sees the shock on her face, noticing that she has lifted slightly up out of her seat. "What ails you, Lorranna?"

She turns towards him, the umbrage coloring her face red, as her mouth opens and closes a few times. Finally she seems to gain control over herself, and glares at her father. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What is wrong daughter? This ruffian was caught and spoke of forbidden history."

"But…"

"You know the punishment for such utterances, daughter. Is there something you wish to say here in the midst of the Court?"

He watches as his daughter grinds his teeth, the anger and hate evident in her eyes, "Speak up, daughter. Do you wish to speak in defense of this…. man?"

Lorranna speaks through clenched teeth. "No, Father. I do not."

Losam smiles and turns back to the Knights. "Coerce the truth from him."

The first Knight bows his head, and slams his fist against the side of the man's head. A spray of blood and teeth erupts from the man, while the other two knights hold him upright.

Losam looks around at the other guests to the dinner, noting the quiet, pensive looks which adorn all of their faces. He raises his voice, so that all can hear. "This is the price for speaking of the forbidden past. Remember it well."

He then gestures once more to the lead knight, and settles back in his chair to watch him beat the man to death.

Chapter Six
Silence can serve both good and ill, and one often does not know which is served best by it, until long after the immediate ramifications of silence are forgotten.
- The Book of Heth

As the knights drag Rigel's lifeless body away, Lorranna pushes the uneaten remnants of her meal away. Anger and hate seethe through her, and her only desire is to unsheathe the dagger she carries strapped to her ankle and slam it into her father's chest.

Her ire is directed at everything. Her father for creating this situation, the laws of the Land for ensuring that she could not speak out against Rigel's death. And for the ignoble way for such a noble man as Rigel to die.

She stands without looking at her father. Not trusting herself to do so. "I will take my leave now, Father."

She can feel his smile on her and suppresses a shudder. "I will see you on the morrow, Princess."

She looks back at her father, and bows her head. Then strides from the dining hall, her jaw clenched tightly in her anger. Behind her she can hear the soft claps of her attendants’ boots on the polished stone of the tower. She arrives at her quarters and pushes open the door, throwing herself on the bed, crumpling the ornate dress which her station deems she should wear.

The attendant who has been with her the longest, since they were both young girls, comes forward. She sits on the bed beside Lorranna, placing a gentle hand on the princess’s back.

When she speaks, her voice is lyrical, and soothing. “Rigel understood the risks of his undertaking, Milady. Do not grieve for his sacrifice. Be grateful that Illyana is still out there. That she is still searching for the King.”

Lorranna lifts her head, to look at her friend. “I know, Tissa. I know. Yet, I cannot forget that it was my words and my command that compelled him forward. He would not have gone out on that errand, were it not for me.”

“What else can we do, Milady?”

Lorranna sits up on her bed, a light appearing in her eyes. “I can do what I should have done when I first learned of the Forbidden History. I should go forth myself to find the true King.”

“Milday! You cannot do that!”

“Enough. My mind is set. Send Tyr to the stables to ready horses for you and me. Together we will ride to see if we can find both Illyana and the true King.”

A look of worry settles on Tissa’s face as she stands to carry out Lorranna’s command. Lorranna watches her leave the room, and then stands, going over to her wardrobe. She quickly strips from the ornate dress which she wears, and digs to find suitable traveling clothes.

She dresses in a pair of sturdy cotton slacks, and is buttoning up the heavy linen tunic as Tissa returns.

“The horses are being prepared, Milday.”

“Thank you, Tissa.”

Lorranna scrubs her face with her hands, and then walks to another wardrobe. She opens this one, and pulls out her sword. Sliding the weapon from its leather scabbard she admires the cold gleam of the steel, and the solid weight in her hand. It is a family heirloom. Legend has it that it was handed down from Rym herself to her mother's mother's mother's mother.
“Milady?”

Lorranna looks at her. “Yes. Tissa?”

“You believe we will need weapons?”

Lorranna bows her head slightly, her lips drawing to a thin, tight line. Then she nods her head twice in quick succession. “Yes, I do believe we will need weapons. Are you prepared for the journey?”

“No, Milady.”

“Then go and prepare. We will depart as soon as you return here.”

Without another word, Tissa leaves the room, and for a moment, Lorranna wonders if she should take her friend with her. Though Tissa hides it well, there is no doubt in Lorranna’s mind that she is terrified. That her faithful servant has agreed to accompany her, only because she cannot imagine not doing as Lorranna commands.

She straps the sword to her waist, and walks around the room to grow accustomed to the extra weight. About ten minutes later, Tissa returns. A simple brown satchel thrown over one shoulder, and an array of long knives belted at the small of her back. Fear and grief war still on her face.

"Are you still intent on doing this, Milady?"

Lorranna nods her head slowly. "Yes, Tissa. I'm afraid. Fearful of what my father may do when he discovers we have ran, yet this I need to do." She takes a few steps closer, and places her hands on her friend's shoulders. "You have been my playmate and confidante for as many years as I can remember. I love you as if you were my sister. Know this, you do not need to come with me."

Tissa bows her head slightly, a smile flickering over her features. "I know that, Milady. I happily accompany you on this task."
Lorranna smiles with a brightness that she does not truly feel. "Wonderful! Now let us be off."

With that said, she spins from Tissa and hurries to the door. Pushing it open silently, and peering out into the hall to ensure that none of the guards are patrolling the halls outside her chambers. Seeing no one, she steps out into the hall, Tissa following quietly behind her. They scurry from shadow to shadow, darting down the hallways seeking to escape the palace without being spotted by any of the Knights loyal to Lorranna's father.