A Life Unknown... [IC]

Avark took careful steps to hide his pained breathing. The words of the Innkeeper had driven a jagged dagger into his heart but the loving, hopeful and protective words of his daughter, twisted the blade with a sadistic glee. He doubted that seeing the woman that had bore him a child would provide any soothing balm to the great hole, that had been ripped into his heart but it would get him away from Tomas before the bitter fellow could dive home any more blades.

"Aye" he said, gently lifting Tewgen from his knee and standing up slowly, "I had put more then one thought to seeing Cundrie again, when I learned our king was sending meself south again. Please daughter, lead on, I think we have many words to trade, your mother and I."

His big hands shifted his belt a little, making the arming sword at his waist slap against his thigh, in a slightly nervous gesture. The big knight wanted to grab the mug of ale on table and down it in one gulp, for the liquid courage it might provide (as it was a pale comparison to the dark, heavy brews of his homeland) but the need for a clear head kept his hands firmly on his belt. The chainmail he had yet to take off, suddenly seemed to weigh heavily on his broad shoulders, like the steel had turned to lead. Maybe it wasn't the most appropriate attire to hear when meeting an old lover but the metal tunic did seem safe and grounded in reality.

Cundrie of Cairns sat in her room, embroidering a new bodice for her daughter. ‘Ah, Teggy, such a big girl,” she sighed to herself. “Always outgrowing things. ‘Specially her bodices.” Cundrie herself was a smaller woman, of a more modest bosom. Her brown curls, once long and free like her daughter's were now, were tied up and hardly seen any more. She still had a pretty face, and probably always would, even into old age.

It was a small room she was in, only large enough to fit two beds, a chair and a nightstand. It used to have more floor space, before the second larger bed was added when Tegwen grew too tall to share the first with her mother. As small as it was, Cundrie had lived in Red Dragon for seventeen years and loved her little space. She had a passion for embroidery, and decorated every cushion and scrap of cloth to excess.

And as she always did when she stitched, she was singing to herself—and rather awfully. The middle-aged woman had always been tone-deaf, but loved to sing when she was by herself. Tegwen boasted a better singing voice, but her mother trumped her in her skill with a needle and thread.

Tegwen was leading her father Sir Avark through the hall, and flushed with embarrassment when she heard her mother’s awful singing through the door. She darted forth across the landing and quickly knocked on the door to interrupt her.

“Ma!” she called loudly. “I have a surprise fer you!”

“Come in dearie,” Cundrie called back distractedly, absorbed in a tricky part of her needlework.

Tegwen’s lips parted in an eager grin as she looked once at her knightly father, and then opened the door. She moved quick to the side, so that she could survey her mother’s reaction to the appearance of their guest.

Cundrie looked up and her body made a sudden jerk, causing her to jab the needle into the fleshy part of her thumb. She didn’t immediately notice, for all her thoughts went to the man before her. She knew instantly who he was, for he really hadn’t changed that much in eighteen years—not in the ways that mattered, at least. He still had that black hair, broad features, piercing eyes… it seemed only that he had grown even more massive and muscled. Her free hand flew to her chest, a shocked and cautionary gesture. He startled her, more than anything else.

Then, she jumped to her feet and finally felt the sting of the needle in her flesh. She pulled it out and dropped it with the rest of her embroidery work on the floor. Unthinkingly, she wiped the drop of blood on her skirt, and continued to stare at Avark—now noticing Tegwen, and her expectant expression. Cundrie’s eyes began to water, both from the needle stab and from this impromptu reunion. She felt like she had something in her throat, and it took her a few ‘ahems’ to clear it, and then a loud sniff to hold the tears back.

“Sir Avark,” she recited, a name that she could never forget. “Well… I… ahem.” And then her voice cracked with the threat of suppressed tears resurfacing. And then her question came forth, the one that was most important: “What has taken you so long to come back?”

Although his problems had not lessened in the least, Alexander found himself smiling as he neared the castle gates. There was no real reason for it, and he himself certainly did not feel very joyous at the moment. Somehow, slowly over the years, smiling had become a near unconscious reflex for him. Then again, perhaps the small hope of a meal was bigger than he’d originally thought.

Ignoring the scoffs of the guards standing there, he stepped into the castle grounds wondering where he should go first. It would’ve been a lot easier if he could ask the servants, or call out for the princess as he searched, but both options were more or less unavailable to him. As it was, he would have to search for his usual companions in silence, or so he thought.

"Alexander."

It was rather unexpected when he heard his name being called just moments after going through the gate. He easily recognized the voice, especially since only 2 people in the castle called him by his first name anyway. Still, he was surprised that his friend was outside, almost as if he’d been expected despite the fact they’d never arranged to meet at a specific time.

“Shane, er, prince.” Alexander walked over to where the prince stood, wondering if his friend was in a good enough mood that he would allow himself to be called by name, minus his title. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you so close to the gate, and even more so alone. Did you need me for something?”

It wasn't long before Jazz managed to get out of the stream, soaking wet. She sighed and looked over at Midnight trying to figure out exactly how she was going to dry herself off. She didn't have a change of clothes and there was no way that she'd strip off to let the clothes dry. Anyone could be around and she certainly didn't want to be caught naked or even semi naked by others.

Looking around she couldn't hear anyone as she walked over to stroke Midnight. "Look at me. I'm soaking wet. We're going to have to go home..." She sighed. "Or maybe I can find some sun." She stated, looking around the clearing she was at. Moving to a lighter patch, she noticed the sun was shining down on, she figured she'd dry out easily enough there.

"All I wanted was to look at the stream and I just had to go and fall in it." She sighed. "I'm so silly, aren't I Midnight? How will I explain this to father?"

Emerald eyes fixated on Alexander, anger and relief sparking inside of them before, once more, fury crossed over Shane's face. "Where is Jazz, Alexander? Where? His fingers where curled into fists, anger evident within the tense lines of his body as he twisted around on his heel, stalking towards the stables, one hand beckoning Alexander to join him."We must find her." he muttered, as the stable boys got his horse ready, and he swung up and onto the great beast.

The young man’s eyes opened wide as his smile shrank a few noticeable notches. While he might have felt a little insulted that Shane’s question had seemed more like an accusation than an inquiry, the meaning behind the actual phrase was truly unexpected and had taken a moment to fully digest.

Jazz wasn’t in the castle, she hadn’t even informed her brother about her whereabouts. Indeed, if it weren’t out of his place to do so he would’ve made up his mind to sternly scold her about the dangers in Ayia and how the simple curiosity of a sheltered princess was hardly a good enough reason to risk venturing outside.

“Agreed.” Alexander sighed out in response, hesitating just a bit upon following his friend into the stables. With a somewhat apologetic look on his face, he asked one of the stable boys to get him a horse that was still being trained. Not yet a knight, and not deemed deserving of one yet, he did not have his own horse in the stables and had little desire to face the wrath of a knight should the borrowed horse so much as suffer a scratch.

Luckily the horse seemed to be even-tempered and allowed the stranger ready him without much hassle. After giving the stallion a grateful pat, he hoisted himself up on the saddle and followed the more ferocious rider and beast.

’Although…’ He silently pondered, ’It would be a lot more efficient to send out a search party instead of searching on our own. Perhaps Shane wanted to avoid causing a commotion? … No, he seems far to agitated to be able to think that far ahead.’

Being friends with the royal siblings, not to mention a devoted servant for the King, he too wanted to find Jazz as soon as possible. However, Alexander could not deny that a very small, much darker portion of him wouldn’t have cared if the princess had been caused harm. That tiny jealous piece buried deep within himself almost wished she had a small taste of how terrible Ayia could be, how he’d always thought it so unfair that she lived with such luxuries when his younger sister near her age had to face much worse on a near daily basis.

With a bitter smile he forcibly ordered himself to ignore those dark views and thought, ’Father, your son has become a terrible, bitter young man. Not only am I an enemy of the common public, I cannot be unconditionally loyal to my friends.’ He would apologize to Jazz when they found her, even if she would have no idea what he was sorry for. It was probably better, for both of them, that she wouldn't know anyway.

Lisa wasn’t the only one to hear the noise coming from a short ways down the stream, and the continual noise invoked the curiosity of the sickly seven year old Marissa, who (to Lisa’s horror) walked happily along the stream in search of the source. As Marissa emerged from the foliage near the soaked, yet finely dressed woman, Marissa could barely contain her excitement. Lisa on the other hand, who had emerged shortly after, was trying to swallow down a bought of panic. There was only one woman in Ayia that would have such obviously expensive and expertly tailored clothes; the Princess. And where there was the princess, there were guards, and that was big trouble.

Marissa however, having only a short while again been told the story of the missing princess (her favorite) and now seeing the lady who very likely could be the princess from the story, ignored the dangers that had been permanently etched in most Ayian’s minds. With a bright smile, Marissa trotted up right up to the dipping wet princess.

“Marissa don’t!” Lisa hissed, making a grab for her arm to pull her back to the safety of the trees, but it was too late.

“Are you the princess from the story?!” Marissa asked, sitting next to the princess in the sunny patch with an expectant smile on her face, while Lisa approached much more cautiously while looking the clearing over as if to make sure there were no hidden guards.

Jazz was sitting quietly when suddenly she noticed three strangers, two of them female. One was only a little girl and she kind of smiled at that. The kid was cute. Jazz had to admit that she was confused about which story the little girl was on about as she didn't know that she was even in stories. Maybe there was just a generalisation of stories about princess' living in nice places.

"Yes, I guess I am." She told the little girl with a smile, having no idea what the story was. If she did know the story though, her answer would have most likely been different. "Is that your sister there?" Jazz asked curiously, wondering what the two girls were doing in the forest. She looked at the guy that had followed them a little more wary, not sure about him, but she stayed silent.

"What are you all doing out here?" She asked the little girl, enjoying talking to the youngster.

The horse turned bright intelligent eyes to the Lady de Volkan, clearly understanding all that had happened here.

Something passed between the woman and the stallion, maybe a quiet sort of understanding, maybe a reluctant sense of communication. Then as abruptly as it had started, the 'conversation' ended. The black steed dipped his head in a short jerky bow, and then arranged himself again with his rather large backside facing the front.

It wasn't as cold of a shun as it seemed to be. No, the horse had (as animals often do) sensed something that the human set could never feel. The other beasts in the stable felt the ripple too, and stamped or shook their heads as though to clear it.

Facing the trough, the onyx stallion suddenly felt very cold.

Something in the forest had been unjustly woken...

____________________________________________

The seasons were starting to change. Lush canopies of green were trickling leaf by leaf to gold and proud orange. The group of Knights would do well to make it up and out into Ayia before the week was finished. Not every evening would be this mild.

It was a stale, pallid sort of mildness, though. The sort of calm which made you double-take at waving branches, or jump at any crack in the bramble. As the sun slipped totally away, so did the innocent chatter of the forest fauna.

Twilight lengthened and soon a deep misty gloom settled over the forest. Flitting shadows did not stay him. Roark went on and on still. He padded quietly, no longer stopping to inspect the trail of damage. He seemed expectant of some sort of disruption.

Through the wisps of fog, something stirred. Roark waited to see what would unfold. Within seconds a young fallow doe picked her way from a tangle of briar.

She was a fine delicate thing with slender legs and wide baleful eyes. She picked her way across the clearing closer to the Knight until she was not but a stones throw away.

Her nose twitched madly with the curiosity. She blinked twice with long lashes and dipped her head low--

The mist flushed a bloody scarlet and the forest cried out! There was a hissing sound, a dull thud, and the hind crumpled into a heap.

She bled out onto the forest floor with a booming finality. Roark saw the quivering arrow buried in her throat and he looked up.

"Triss." He spoke, lifting his words to the canopy above, "The Witch at Cairns..."

The scarlet mist did not loosen its grip on the surroundings. She appeared first by her narrowed eyes. There was a sweeping and there she was now, sleep and serene in a devious sort of way--as most witches are.

No features were visible, for the Witch was not quite sentient. She kept her quiet company in the forest so often that it took a great deal of effort to unfold herself from the peaceful throbbing of roots branches and growing things.

"I had hoped for a better welcome than this." Roark said stiffly, taking in the dead hind.

A hand soft as moss and strong as a willow switch reached out and stroked the Knight on his cheek.

"We pass not with a shout, but with a whimper..." The Witch's voice was sickly sweet and would trap a man fast like pine sap if it could, "You are always welcome here."

Roark would not have it. He reached out and wrapped a fist around the Witch's wrist and tightened his grip. This time he did not grace her with his words but let his stern features do the talking.

She turned away with a sigh and the forest around them seemed to wilt. In her time she had done and seen so many things, and now she could hardly scrape herself a body to march the lands she used to rule. The Witch was often bored and not a little lonely.

"So you return to Ayia..." She said quietly, "And you have come back to get your glaive."

Roark gave a short nod, releasing the Witch. She faded back into the mist a little, swallowed, and stepped forth again.

"I don't have it anymore." The Witch said with a polished sort of bitterness, "I gave it to the last of the Milandeaux."

"Ah." A shadow crossed Roark's face, "So it is all true then. Hmm..."

A full minute of silence passed. Roark spent these seconds studying the dead doe at his feet. She couldn't have been more than four years old--eyes glassy and dull, mouth open with her tongue lolling out.

"She is a young thing, but wiser than her years," The Witch at Cairns shifted again, and for a wild moment Roark thought she was speaking of the deer instead of the Milandeaux, "She lives at the end of the shallow glen. Sir Miles Elrik Roark, are you as brave and as strong as the stories claim?"

Roark tore his gaze from the corpse, "There are many stories. I am one man."

"What makes you want to take back that cursed weapon?" The trees creaked and moaned above them as the Witch shuddered, "You left it here on good advice. It will only bring you pain and trial."

"I need to end somewhere, don't I?"

She swayed like an olive branch, weary and ready to slip back into her haven.

"You'd be surprised what you can live with." The Witch whispered and was gone.

The garnet fog swept itself away in a moment leaving nothing but the usual eventide aura.

All at once the doe suddenly lunged to it's feet--alive and unharmed! She bleated in terror at her ordeal and whirled at once scampering from the clearing. She leaped high on the last jump, easily clearing a fallen tree.

Roark took two deep breaths and shook his head. He could still hear the hind crashing through the forest.

There was no echo from the Witch besides the flight of the doe. Without thinking, Roark gathered his strength and took off after the deer.

She lead him on a dizzying chase through the forest--up down and around. Her terrified groans seemed to beckon him onward. While he was not concentrating on catching flashes of felt in the dark, Roark could swear he saw the pale eyes of Triss from the corner of his vision. The Witch was watching.

He did not stumble even when he met the other side of the glen. The doe was far ahead by now (for no man can keep up with a frightened deer) and Roark let the chase go, evening out into a loping stride. He was fit and had hardly broken a sweat, though at the moment his bones felt a tiredness that was not connected to body. Roark was now very steadily in the thick of the forest.

A light up ahead drew him closer. Sure of his footing the whole way, Roark fought his way up the glen until he saw the quiet little hut. It was tucked into the side of the hill, and a lone candle burned in the window.

So there she was, the last of the Milandeaux, and probably the end of him. If the others knew....

Roark reached behind him and tightened his scarf, making ready to call on the woman. He cleared his throat and not for the first time wished he were someone else.

IN Sandrine Milandeaux



The words resounding in her mind over and over again. This poem, her mother taught her when she was just a young child - afraid of the darkness, afraid of such trivial things. Back then, her worst fears were not even close to what she felt in this now diminished state of pride and injustice. A cursed wound left open by the years of fear and anger, a deep sitting empathy crushed into her soul. Sitting by a small window in her hut, the last of the Milandeaux - Sandrine, wrapped up in a dark cloak - staring out of the narrow window as if she was expecting someones arrival.

The hut she lived in was nothing elaborate, the wall in the back was shimmering in tones of cold Grey and black - from the stone of the cliff it was build in. The rest of hut was made out of timber and earthwork - giving it a very dark brown undertone. There was a small bed, a table, chair and one shelf filled with books of all kinds. The lone candle - the only source of light was placed by the table near the window and next to it sat Sandrine. Emerald eyes watching the forest she knew like the back of her hand, though something was different this very night.

It wasn't the thick fog crawling its way through the forest nor was it the stars, which were twinkling like she had never seen before. It was an undeniable, uneasy feeling she felt deep within her being. Though she couldn't quite place it, after all these years what could cause her to feel this way. The Witch of Cairns had told her a thousand times before - that one day she would be free of the shackles her mere being carried.

Her eyes drifting away from the window, they settled upon something she had given her for safe keeping. The Glaive, which the Witch had entrusted her with many years ago. There was something odd about it, she swore she could hear its faint calling for it's master. The soft features of the woman turned into a fearsome frown. Could it be that one of that brood was on his way in search of that cursed weapon which... She had stopped herself from going any further with her thoughts.

At the moment, her hide out might have been jeopardized - being found out would be the last thing she needed. Her eyes still resting upon the weapon she begged for it to silence its call. Though knowing its history that was very unlikely to happen - it would rather see her dead than living free. Once more her eyes hit the ground beneath her feet, the pounding of her heart - the rushing heat of her own blood making her feel dizzy and sick. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to calm herself down.

Eyes shot open when she heard it - a man calling out her name, this was it - it was either make or break and she was sure she wouldn't go down without putting up a fight. If he had that crystal, she would be sentenced to death the moment she showed herself, but she was tired. Tired of it all, her existence was only tainted by sadness and solitude. She inhaled deeply before hastily looking out of the window, exhaling sharply with what sounded like a bitter sigh.

It really seemed like the time had come, the Glaive sounded as if it was almost screaming now, squinting her eyes slightly she picked it up from the wall it was hanging from. The hood of the cloak resting just above her eyes, throwing a dark shadow upon her face - Glaive in hand she stepped out of her home. Slowly walking around the small ponds, she was a good few meters away from the mountain of a man.

Her words calm and sharp, "What do you seek stranger?" she was standing upright, hidden away by the cloak - if she could get away, he wouldn't be able to recognize her. Planning her escape as she stood there, the aura surrounding the man she knew of so very well.

'Oh ... he is one of them ... the ones who were the solemn reason of my kinds demise' ...her eyes settling upon the man, fierce yet unbroken - she would show him and the rest of his kind what the Milandeaux were made of.

Whispers followed the Lady de Volkan as she gave herself up into the forests' embrace. The whispers turned to groans; night had fallen like an axe and there was no going back.

The forest had a tendency to take the simple and make it wild. No, the 'whispers' were really just the wind in the leaves and the 'groans' were the creaking branches swaying on high. Murky Blackness had a taste for the fantastical. Cairns suddenly seemed a more rollicking and dangerous place.

Shadows loomed and the moon grinned wickedly down--this could not be explained by reason. The silver dollar in the sky really bore an expression of malice. The gloom conspired and the upended trees and gouged wounds were made more daunting, full of little snickering horrors.

The horrors followed the Lady de Volkan, muttering to themselves about her posture, her stature, her apparent equilibrium. They feared her sharp shiny blade as though knowing that the second it would be drawn, the polished steel would be a harsh enough glint to send them scurrying.

In her quiet travelings, the Lady came upon a liquid pool of moonlight. This time a young royal stag stepped out from his safe cover. He was a proud-looking beast, but this was as well because he bore a head of antlers that would have made any man proud.

Deer are normally frightful creatures. This stag walked right up to the Lady de Volkan without hardly a care in the world, tossing his head and seeming to question her with his haughty eyes.

"Who wanders in my wood?"

The lurking fog whirled to scarlet, and blasted past the Lady. The voice had come from beyond, and the stag gave a bellow of fear and made to charge out of the clearing in the way that he came, but his proud hoof caught in a hidden trap. The metal sang with it's purpose and the stag went down with a bleat of pain.

As the stag thrashed another shape strolled softly from the woods. It was a tall man with unusually bright eyes dressed in doeskin and shouldering a great axe.

"I am the Woodsman!" He said, lumbering to the deer and ending its misery in one fell swoop, "And you are in my forest."

This was the Witch at Cairn's more usual disguises. She did not know who this strange woman was, or if she brought ill to both the Milandeaux, but the days had passed since she would descend in a savage cloud and simply slay, kill, hack. No. As mentioned before, the Witch was very bored and not a little lonely.

The Woodsman--or the Witch, rather, took a seat on an old stump. He slammed his axe down into the ground and looked up at the Lady, those bright pale unnerving eyes flashing.

"Tell me a story..." The Woodsman asked.

________________________________________

Roark's slate-gray eyes glittered as he saw the slender shape stepping towards him. She bore a familiar silhouette in her hands. It was his glaive, his accursed weapon of legend. The bitter blade glinted in the moonlight; but the Ayian runes shone with their bright piercing red as though it knew it's master was near.

"I am Sir Miles Elrik Roark of Kre'ya, and I seek Sandrine, the last of the Milandeaux." He rasped.

The darkness hid her well. Roark stood at his usual parade rest: Hands clasped behind his back, feet spread nigh shoulder width apart. His eyes were straight forward and he did not blink. Let her strike him down. He would deserve it.

Ever the solitary gentleman, Roark broke his stoic pose in favor of an explanation.

"Triss sent me." He coughed mightily, nearly falling back to his clipped, irregular speed, "To get. My glaive."

Roark swallowed painfully. He kept his back stiff as a ramrod--the Death Faced no matter the situation. He raised his hands to the Milandeux.

"I am unarmed."

IN Sandrine Milandeaux

The rich greens of the forest reflecting themselves within the tragedy stricken eyes of the sorceress of the Elements. Her ethereal gaze wandering over the man, whose arrival she had anticipated long ago - he was here to claim back what was rightfully his. The witch of Cairns had proclaimed this fateful event many decades ago, though some had come in search of this Glaive but most did not part with their lives. Their intentions weren't good nor bad - but neither did she approve of them. Of course they would start to fight her, but the Milandeaux were not feared without reason by every other magical being.

Their abilities over the realm of the essence of life, dug deep craters of fear, hate and jealousy amongst other like minded beings. So much, as they were betrayed by most; hated by all and given up into the hands of those who knew their weaknesses within a matter of seconds. The Milandeaux once were a proud clan of mages who protected the world from evil by keeping the natural balance. But the seeds of the darkness were planted among some of their very own - tainting the name their people wore proudly for centuries and many millennia.

Irreplaceable damage was done by those who used their supreme powers to rule over this world, influencing great kings and destroying peaceful lands. Only a few defected to the path of shadows, but it was enough for them - the entire clan - to become hunted out of fear; they were being chased as though they were wild animals and slaughtered as such. Their pride and powers taken by the crystal - all that would be left was an empty shell harnessing nothing but a ghost of the former self.

Emerging out of her thoughts, she focused her entire concentration upon the man who stood there - unarmed. He definitely was of the brood, baring the genetic traits which brought forth doom upon her own kin. The man mentioned Triss - the witch never showed herself to strangers unless she believed their intentions were not harmful towards her or her forest. A weak smile tucking on the corners of her full lips, yet hidden away by the cloak of shadows - she was cautious enough not to expose too much of herself.


"I am Sir Miles Elrik Roark of Kre'ya, and I seek Sandrine, the last of the Milandeaux."

Those words were echoing in her mind, thundering their way through her entire being, the last - yes the last but who did she had to thank for that. Was it him? Sandrine shook her head slightly - freeing herself of those unwise thoughts which had plagued her mind. She knew her judgment was biased - but the witch always knew the answers to her questions and she trusted Triss blindly with her heart, mind and soul.

"I see, you have come to claim your weapon - but what leaves you under the impression that I would hand you this blood stainted piece of sorrow, which indeed is carrying the grief of an entire clan?"

Anger tightening the grip she had around the Glaive, yet her voice was steady, calm and light as the wind would carry a melody as sweet as the freedom it longed for.

"Sir Roark of Kre'ya - I believe you can imagine what I am capable of and you know without the crystal you will not be able to catch or defeat me." she paused for a moment searching for the right words as many thoughts kept racing through her mind, unable to clear her conscious of those she went on.

"The witch send you because she thought you would be able to help me find what I seek and in return ..." the wind, fog and trees changing in their mood - a cold breeze swayed through the two of them. Sandrine hammered the Glaive into the ground next to her, letting go of it she took a few steps back - a hand stretched out motioning for the man to get his weapon.

" ... you may take your weapon - but only if you accept my proposal will you be able leave this place alive." her words only barely audible, as if the wind itself was carrying her hushed words to the ear of whom they were meant for.

"Take me with you" ... short and sharp - more in a commanding manner than anything else, this wasn't a plea.

The dense fog to their feet slowly disappearing into nothingness - the forest, each and every living - breathing organism was now silently watching the scene which was about to unfold.

Marissa’s eyes lit up when Jazz admitted to being the princess from the story, and the little girl gave a squeal of delight. Lisa on the other hand, was much more wary, and highly doubted the princess even knew who she’d admitted to being. She did however feel comfortable enough to approach to a more conversational distance, but unlike Marissa, did not sit down.

“And they let you leave the palace?! You escaped?! Are you going home to your real father in Ilena!” Marissa asked rapidly, but had to stop a moment, as she broke out once again in violent coughs. Lisa crouched down next to Marissa and massaged around her shoulder blades to help sooth the pain. Marissa didn’t stop for long however, before eagerly answering the princess’s question.

“Oh no! Lisa’s not my sister! She doesn’t have a mommy or daddy either, none of us do, so we made our own family!” Marissa explained enthusiastically with a bright smile, her excitement over meeting her literary heroine evident. “We live in the old stable by the market and-!” Marissa said, but Lisa cut her off quickly by clearing her throat, and she got the hint to not say any more, so instead moved onto the other question.

“We came to take a bath!” Marissa said brightly. “I get to have my hair clean again!” Marissa said giggling.

Avark couldn't help but smile a little when Cundrie's singing assaulted his ears. He remembered that voice, singing out something different that night, all those many long years ago. When Tegwen opened the door, he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, like some blacksmith trapped in fast forwards. One part of him wanted to just jump into he nearest room, leaving his daughter to display an empty hallway to her mother and just hid away. Another part wanted to draw his sword and charge into this, just like any other battle and these warring parts left him standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

"I...well" said the big knight, stroking and tugging on his beard with one big paw, "I had a lot of work to get done in the north. There wasn't much of a chance to ride this far south, Cundrie."

With a final tug on the great black beard, he ducked into the room and pushed the door closed behind him. His massive bulk seemed to fill the small room, as the big knight rolled his shoulders and took several long breaths. Those blue eyes then settled on the mother of his child, as he plopped down on the larger of the two beds with a sigh.

"I would have come" said Avark, with a sad smile, "If I had known or I would have sent you coin each year but I was called away too soon. The wild men and bandits of the north will never leave the goodly folk there alone in peace. It is with only the most dire quest that I've been ordered south again. Indeed, if...."

The knight trailed off, thinking of just what might happen if the quest was to meet with success. War would come to the borderlands, to say the very least. Armies would march over fertile fields and into enemy towns, for rape and pillage. Anyone left behind in their path would be better off dead, before they were forced to provide comfort for occupying troops or were 'convinced' to give up the location of any treasures or valuables they or their fellow townsfolk had hidden away.

"I fear we'll be followed home" he said in a softer voice, as he drew out a purse of silver, "I want you and Tewgen ready to come with us, when I return. Buy horses, food and divided skirts. It is the least I can do."

Jazz realised that she must have the wrong princess as her home was here with her father and not in Ilena. She smiled at the young girl, a sad smile. Knowing she was going to ruin the girls excitement, but she needed to know the truth. Jazz wasn't the Princess of Ilena.

"Actually, I snuck out this morning while everyone slept. I'll have to head home soon so I don't get caught out. I'm not the Princess of Ilena though so I'm not going there. I'm Ayia's Princess. This is my home." She added, giving a happier smile, glad to be here. Though her face turned to a concerned look when she saw that the young girl was having a coughing fit. "Is she okay? Should we take her to a doctor?" Jazz asked.

When everything appeared to be fine and the girl started talking again, Jazz sighed in relief. "That's nice of you to take her in, Lisa." Jazz told her. "It's nice that she has someone to watch over her. And a bath is always a lovely thing."

Though Marissa had heard what the princess was saying, the excited seven year old was not listening. Marissa had already got it in her mind that this was the Ilena’s missing princess, and it would take more that polite denial to chance it for her. Instead, she turned her attention to the wild flowers in the clearing, and picked a few before handing them to the princess.

Lisa, though noticeably uncomfortable with the situation, conversed with the princess. “It’s not so much me taking her in as it is a group of us staying together. It’s easier to survive that way.” Lisa explained. “We went to the doctor this morning, and the best he could do was some healing paste and caution rest. We’re hoping she’ll make a full recovery.” Lisa said more quietly this time as Marissa twiddled with the flowers, as she didn’t want the young girl to hear.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon shattered however, as a well dressed, clean shaven, and undoubtedly royal looking man came riding into the clearing and jumped down next to Jazz. Likewise, Lisa was up on her feet and jumped away slightly, pulling Marissa away with her. Her own green eyes snapped to attention and highly alert at the presentation of highest danger. The Ayian Prince. This was the first time she’d been in such close proximity, but she’d seen him from afar enough times to know him on sight. What startled her the most however, was his eyes; not the anger and fear, but the fact they looked so startlingly similar to hers.