The New World

"I wanted to broker an alliance....between Khalidor and Anansai." Tenanye said. Arkaelus didn't interrupt. Alliances were really half the purpose for the summit and he felt the majority of representatives knew it. He'd like an alliance between their nations. Anansai had a large untapped market ripe for the picking and their prime location could house naval bases too.

"More over, I wanted to propose a marriage...between myself, and Your Grace....I feel that with this union would be mutually beneficial." Arkaelus' train of thought immediately and blinked for a few seconds. He honestly hadn't expected a proposal to be made. His hand nervously reached out to rub the back of his neck as he thought of how to respond to the out of the blue question.

"An alliance would be a good start." Arkaelus began uncomfortably. "As for the your...proposal, I'd like to keep the idea on hold. We only just met and I hardly know anything about your kingdom or your people and I'm guessing that goes vice versa. I'll think about it though." He told her. "Honestly I hadn't expected a proposal so soon. You didn't even buy me a drink first." Arkaelus joked.





Dorian's attacks were working out wonderfully, his opponent could hardly withstand his blows. However, he was confused. He had expected more of Zexen. After all the prince was said to have an incredible magical capabilities by merchants who've passed through Valen Alus. It was also rumored that Zexen was much older than he was and thus more experienced. Dorian would believe what he could see with his own eyes, still he started to think that a counter might come up.

”Zexen, why aren’t you using your magic!! You’ve got loads of it I can feel it!! Use it and you’ll win!! Niven shouted. Dorian knew he was holding back, must have been for something big. ”You don’t understand! I can’t!! He frowned. Those words were strange. Why couldn't he? Was Dorian not worth it? Angry he spotted an opening when Zexen became distracted and took advantage of it. He dashed forward with a powerful tackle that would knock his opponent out of the ring. Dorian wanted the duel to be over so he could get to the bottom of why Zexen was holding back.

"An alliance would be a good start." His discomfort was not lost on her. Tenanye knew what was next. Cursing her Fae straightforwardness and braced herself for what was next. "As for the your...proposal, I'd like to keep the idea on hold. We only just met and I hardly know anything about your kingdom or your people and I'm guessing that goes vice versa. I'll think about it though." He said and Tenanye nodded. "Honestly I hadn't expected a proposal so soon. You didn't even buy me a drink first." He said and Tenanye frowned a moment but then smiled. She figured that was a mortal courting technique.

"I understand...." She said softly. "Honestly, I didn't know how all of this was going to go." She said brushing hair behind her ear. "Perhaps I was too forward, as I said, We Fae tend to speak our minds, consequences be damned." She said, and found herself feeling a bit slighted. She'd expected, while she would never admit such vanity, that any mortal man would jump at the chance to bed a Faery Queen much less marry one but she understand, like herself, his will was rarely his own, even if he wanted to, he had an entire people to look after and couldn't make such a decision rashly.
That being said, she didn't really know what to do next. This was an awkward situation for her, in more than one way, she was rarely told no, or put on hold, nor was she ever really wrong. She'd thought he'd agree to this, and she needed him to do it. No one else, Khalidor had the resources and the man power, she couldn't afford to lose out on such an opportunity, she was running out of time as it was.
Mercifully, another idea formed in her head and she gracefully took his arm as it had been before, walking with him down the garden walk "Perhaps Marriage was a little too ambitious," She said, patting his hand before smiling over at him somewhat cheekily. "So why don't we discuss an alliance....?" She said with a playful cock of her head. "Over that drink I owe you?"

Moloch raised an eyebrow at Akhil's invitation. It was obvious that Kallias wanted to accept it. He could tell that his brother was fighting the urge to squirm in his seat in his excitement, his face lit up in anticipation. Despite himself, Moloch smiled slightly. Kallias would ever be a child. It was at once a weakness and a strength. His brother would never be a good ruler. He was too soft-hearted for the tough decisions. He would much rather stand and fight than allow others fight to cover his retreat in the event of a lost battle and would fall for any sob story a criminal fed him to escape justice's sword. Yet, he loved and was loved in return by everyone he met.

"You are free to visit Ashkara as a gesture of our goodwill, Kallias. Cyurs, how would you feel about visiting Ashkara?"

"Oh, it's been a long time since I've been south of the Waking Sea and even longer since I've been to an Ashkaran wedding."

"There's a wedding?" Kallias asked.

"There might be. People are getting married all the time," Cyrus quipped lightly. Moloch raised his goblet to hide his expression as he returned his attention to the lovely Princess of Cinnabar. Her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink. He could not help but admire her smile. It was honest, a rare sight to behold when dealing with others at court.

"Yet you would brighten it all the same," he told her. As he spoke, a new song began to play, causing him to offer Aada his hand.

"Do you like to dance?"

"There's a wedding?" Kallias asked. Arim found himself liking this prince. He had managed to hold on to a youthful enthusiasm and an element of his naivety. Everything thus far had seemed to be a wonder to him. Not the makings of a king, but perhaps a useful man for a king to have by his side so he doesn't get too jaded with the affairs of the state.

"There might be. People are getting married all the time," Cyrus answered.

Arim gave a half laugh, "I'm sure if there is a wedding, it will be a grand affair." He said to the younger prince.

Aada raised an eyebrow at her brother. He was getting at something, she knew that much. He raised both of his in reply, hiding a smirk behind his goblet. His gaze moved pointedly to Moloch before looking back to Aada. She frowned, struggling to keep up with his mind. What did Moloch have to...Oh. Marriage to Moloch? Aada felt her cheeks burn at the implications that came with it. It took all her self control not to collapse her head into her hands. Dropping her brother's gaze, she looked past him for a moment, gathering her composure before returning her attention to the men around her. Moloch seemed to be mirroring her brother's behavior, as he too hid his face behind his goblet.

Moloch returned his attention to her. "Yet you would brighten it all the same," he said to her.

"You are kind to say so."

A new song began to play. This felt earthier, more at tune with the world than the music that came before. Moloch offered his hand to her, "Do you like to dance?"

"I do, Your Majesty," she said, placing her hand in his as he led her to the dance floor.

Moloch wasn't easy to impress, but this woman did and so effortlessly at that. There was no hesitation or awkwardness in her movements. She moved in sync with the music and with him and if he hadn't seen her expression when he explained the song to her, he'd have never known that this was the first time she danced to such a song. Despite himself, he felt his heart skip a beat at her touch. He admired her final spin with a grin.

"You dance well Your Majesty."

"You do as well," he told her. He bent down and kissed her hand, "You must be the most fascinating woman here, princess. Not many people can adapt so gracefully."

He signaled a servant to bring them both a drink, drinking half of his in under half a minute. It was quite a demanding song after all and he felt parched.

Nassau. The Kingdom of Thieves, some called it. Tytos could never find a book detailing its exact origins. The general view of most pirates and traders that made this place home was that it had first been settled by lowlife pirates and smugglers and Tytos had an easy time believing that. No known kingdom ever produced records of a colony in this area of the world nor had there been any efforts made in pacifying it. Of course, said pacification would be more trouble than it was worth. The island kingdom was unoccupiable and if it was destroyed, the scum of the world would congregate at some other hideaway. The kind of foolishness needed to attack Nassau would require a grand alliance of sorts to assure the crowned heads of the known world that their rivals took just as many losses as they did from a pirate war.

"Oi, Tytos! We are in port, I want my share of the spoils!"

The dwarf sighed. Neither Theon nor William were in sight. Typical. He glared at the overly muscled man walking over to him. As accountant, it was suspected that he had one of the keys to the cargo hold and the booty they had taken on their most recent voyage. That meant he had to deal with small-minded pirates while the cat was away.

"Perhaps you'd like to take it up with the Captain. She usually gives the word when distributing the goods of which you are owed... One shilling considering your most recent debt, Bartholomew," Tytos stated, using the man's full name. He honestly didn't deserve to be named for one of the most famous pirate captains of legend, but then, if life was fair, he wouldn't have been born a dwarf. He reached into his pouch and tossed the bigger man a coin.

"There. Never let it be said I don't care for my fellow crew members."

"I will cut off your tongue, dwarf," the man growled as he ran towards him. Big mistake, Tytos though. He easily stepped to the side and tripped him. It was unfortunate they were both standing at the edge of the ship. Bart fell into the water with a roar as the pirates around them erupted into laughter.

"You do as well," Moloch told her. He bent down and kissed her hand. Aada felt her cheeks warm again. Gods, she was acting like one of those giggling maids at court. He was just a man, she told herself. There were plenty others about. He was nothing special. Even though she told herself that, she knew it wasn't true. He wasn't just another man. Even without his titles, he would never be just another man.

"You must be the most fascinating woman here, princess. Not many people can adapt so gracefully."

Fascinating? She was not fascinating. The Fae, they were fascinating. They were creatures of magic. How could people not be fascinated by the Fae? She paled in comparison. She was not made to be fascinating, that had never been her purpose. And yet Moloch believed that she was.

"Adapting is the nature of court. But thank you, Your Majesty."

A servant came with drinks for both of them. Aada took hers, thanking the servant. She took a sip. She wasn't aware how dry her mouth had been until the liquid flooded her mouth. Moloch drained his drink. Aada smiled. There were so few airs with this man. The more time she spent with Moloch, the more she was looking forward to visiting Drake.

"Adapting is the nature of court. But thank you, Your Majesty."

Moloch grinned, raising his glass, "But for so many nobles and courtiers, adaptation is limited to silken words and shadowy intrigues. It is a limitation that leaves them unprepared for a situation outside their comfort zone. I would know. I frequently make use of surprises."

He wanted to get to know this woman more. There was something in her eyes, a spark that seemed to be fighting against something, perhaps past experiences or expectations and he indeed felt something. A connection, perhaps? It was thick and heady, like a haze brought on by a little too much wine. He smiled at her.

"Would you like to step outside. It is a clear night and I've always found the stars to be inspiring."

Robyn boarded the ship just as Bart went tumbling over the edge of the ship. William and Theon flanking her. She sighed. The whole crew was laughing ,except a very small one. "Tyros..." She called, her voice loud with little effort. "You're my accountant,so you know better than how expansive it can be to replace a member of the crew." She said and looked over at the pitiful swodden mess that climbed back aboard. She screwed up her lip, glaring at him then back at Tyros. "Make sure we budget for such an event." She said getting a wide eyed gasp from Bartholomew as she walked up to the top deck, to the helm.

"Men!" She called. "We have a new heading, West toward Khalidor." She called and the crew looked shocked. "There is a trade summit, everyone from here to Ashkara will be there to show their wares....and we are going to take it." She said, with a grand toss of her hands, her coat billowing out from behind her.

"But that's not just it. Eleanor will provide us with more weapons and we will need them. The Faeries are going to be there." She said and the crew went dead silent. " Yes... Anansai has finally opened viney gates and let their little pixies through." She said. " But , they aren't so delicate, they are strong, they aren't even human, so brace yourselves." She said. "Tyros, William, to my quarters, , the rest of you, go, drink, fuck, fight, we have a long journey ahead of us, there won't be much time for later.." she descended, making her way into the large quarters that was hers. She took a seat behind her large wooden desk and waited for the two to enter. She thought it amusing seeing the two standing together, William was the tallest man on her ship, which was saying quite a bit, she herself was 6 foot even, and William was at least a foot taller then her. He standing next to Tyros was almost comical.

"Firstly, we are going to need more men. We haven't enough for such a venture. Tyros, I need you to plan accordingly. I'll be searching for the men, William, I want to oversee the ship's careening, it hasn't been done in months, and we'll need to the extras nauts to get in and out." She told him and he nodded. "Aye, but...you really believe they'll be actual Fae there, like, Anansai Fae."

Robyn nodded. " I do, they won't like the fool ones here that just like to fuck men and women into a coma, these are from the source..." She said. Casey ran his hand down his face. " Alright then, I start earlier tomorrow." He said and ducked out of the quarters, leaving her alone with Tryos.

''Are you frightened?''

Arya's voice was uncharacteristically soft and somber. Jon turned to her as he strapped Long Claw to his hip. She was standing by the window, looking out onto the courtyard of Winterfell as Mance Rayder was walked in chains to where he was to be executed.

''I'd be lying if I said I wasn't.''

Jon answered earnestly. Arya turned to look at him, he noticed the subtle wetness around her eyes.

''What if you can't do it?''

''I have to, there's no one else."

Jon replied , his voice tender but firm. Arya turned to look back out the second floor window. Mance had been dragged up onto the chopping block and put to his knees. There was a crowd in front of him, all shouting and cursing. Some were even throwing things.

"I heard, in The South, Kings have headsmen whose job it is to execute people so the King doesn't have to."

"We're not in The South."

Jon said in a suprisingly fatherly tone as he appeared behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"You remember what father always told us. Starks are of The North and in The North the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, our way is the old way."



Arya turned, tears in her eyes and leapt into Jons arms embracing him in a tender hug. He left Arya in the room, he knew she would watch from the window but she didn't need to watch any closer, or listen. No good would come from her hearing his blade cleave Mance Rayders neck, listen as his Valyrian steel blade seperated the bone from the meat nor the sound of his head roll across the floor. Jon walked with purpose, his jaw set in determination. He'd never executed someone before. He'd killed men surely, as many as tried to kill him but this was different.

The crowd was loud, not a mob but near to one, hurling insult and cruel jape at the condemned prisoner awaiting Jons blade. Mance Rayder, the so called King of The Wildlings had thrown The North into turmoil for the past three years. Countless lives had been lost, hold fasts had been burned and the majority of the royal family was now buried in the crypt beneath Winterfell. Robb and his half sister Claras loss still stung the worst since he was unable to recover their bodies after they were tossed out into the open ocean to drown. Jon remembered them, he remembered his mother who Mance had beheaded. He remembered Bran and Rickon who Mance had hung over the walls of the keep meant to safeguard them. He remembered Sansa who died in the fire set to the tower she was hiding in and his father who lost his head as his mother had. He remembered them all and for them would see justice done.

Mance hardly seemed the imposing Wildling ruler now, huddled over a wooden block holding back tears. He wore a sack shirt and was shackled in irons. His bald head seemed to steam as the light snow fall touced his scalp. Jon loomed over him before he drew Long Claw and rested its point in the wooden deck.

"Mance Rayder, you have been charged with two counts of regicide. The murders of Lord Robb Stark, the young lords Bran and Rickon Stark, the Ladies Sansa Stark and Clara Snow and for waging war upon the realm. You have been found guilty of all crimes therefore I, Jon Stark, King of the North, of the First Men and protector of The Realm hereby sentence you to die. Have you any last words."

To his credit Mance never wept. He turned his head as to look Jon in the eye.

"Strike true boy, or I'll come back and haunt ye."



Jon struck true, there would be no ghost of Mance Rayder. With that last death the war was officially done, The North could breath a sigh of relief and Jon would have to figure out just what it meant to be king. First thing he was to do was the last thing he wanted to do, leave Winterfell. When the war first broke out three years ago he'd reached out to his old friend Dorian Ursuul. His father hadn't wanted to ask for foreign aid figuring The North should handle their own problems but Jon had been grateful for his friends speedy response. Three ships of a dozen of Khalidors finest arrived on Northern shores within a fort night. It was because of the Khalidorian forces that his sister Arya had survived the war. Recently Jon had heard of a trade summit Khalidor was hosting and this proved the optimum time to step onto the global forum as the ruler of The North, build new alliances and persoanlly escort the men and women Khalidor had sent them home.

The sea was calm on his passage to Khalidor, the cold winds of the North grew all the more bitter above the waves. A Southerner would have no doubt taken the entire voyage below deck to avoid the icy sea spray, Jon found it bracing and inviting. Growing up in The North one respects the cold but doesn't fear it, its like an old friend that is never late but sometimes can wear out its welcome. Jon especially as he flexed his hand beneath his soft, leather gloves. He had discovered the power of his gift during the war, The Hand of Winter it was called. One in a thousand Starks have it, the ability to wield winter as a weapon. Jon grew up afraid of it but never truly experienced what it could do. Not until the war, not until the Wildlings came for his home. He tapped into his power and used it to it's full potential and with it, he won the war.

Jon clenched his fist, chasing away horrors of what he had done with his gift during the war. The war was done and he had to remember that. He was going to friends, he was going to allies and peace and good tidings. The war was done, it was over.

"Your Grace?"

Jon turned to the sound of a woman's voice, familiar and friendly.

"Lagertha."

Jon said in greeting to the Khalidorian woman who'd grown to be a close and trusted friend over the past three years. She smiled and took hold of one of the rigging lines as she stared out across the sea, toward her home.

"After all this time, coming home, I was starting to think I would never leave The North."

Jon chuckled and ran his fingers through his obsidian hair.

"Glad my home was hospitable."

He said in jest. She smiled wryly.

"You know what I meant, The North is beautiful in it's classical way but Khalidor. Its a fusion of old traditions and the path to the future. King Acaelus wants Khalidor to be more than just a frozen kingdom that has been around since the dawn of time and Prince Dorian ensures we do not forget where we came from. It's like no other place in the world."

Jon nodded slowly as his eyes began to make out the tops of towers through the sea fog.

"Well as someone from one of those frozen kingdoms that has been around since the dawn of time I'm grateful to have friends in Khalidor, both new and old."

He said, turning to her and outstretching his hand.

"I couldn't have saved my home without you Lagertha. You personally saved my sisters life and without your forces bolstering ours I fear the war may have ended with a much differently."

She shook his hand but only laughed.

"Oh I don't know Jon, I'm sure you still would have won... eventually."

They shared a laugh before Lagertha fell silent, the towers of her homeland coming into view more clearly now. He could hear bells in the distance heralding their arrival. He wondered what Dorian would make of his three ships returning after three years. Khalidor didn't even know the war was over, or that Jon was King.

"Jon?..."

She said softly, her voice hesitant. Jon turned curiously as Lagertha seemed to look out at her home as if saying goodbye to a loved one.

"What would you say if I told you I'd like to stay on, as part of your royal guard... permanently. I know your Kingsguard isn't fully assembled yet and you and I have fought together, bled together. Some of my best memories are of trying to keep your head firmly in place atop your shoulders. I'm an only child of long dead parents, I have no husband, no children. I live to fight and in you I have found someone I would not only fight for but die for."

Jon was honestly at a loss for words. Since meeting Lagertha she'd often spoke of little else but home, about Khalidor and all its wonders. To hear she wanted to return to The North with him, serve as his Kingsguard was a shock to say the least but also an honor.

"I can think of no one I'd rather have watching my back but... you're not my soldier to order. I'll have to talk with Dorian."

"Thank you, Jon."

He nodded and she was off, to prepare for landing as Khalidor seemed to do the same. The docks were nearing now and he could make out ferry hands preparing to receive the Khalidorian transport vessels. Jon smiled softly as he headed toward the gangplank to greet his old friends. As the ship was tied to it's mooring even from this distance Jon could hear music playing, beautiful music that whispered promises of strong drinks, good company and rich food. As he walked by the gang plank Lagertha shadowed him, ever the guardian, even here. It felt good to have someone watching his back since he decided to leave Ghost at home with Arya.

"Is there some sort of celebration going on?"

Jon asked.

"It must be a festival for Nysos from the sounds of it, always fun. There's more drinking, food, sex and dancing than you'd know what to do with Your Grace. Oh and it's a masquerade ball, you'll need a mask."

"Where would I get one of those?"

Lagertha pointed out a long line of stalls leading up the docks and into the street.

"During festival times mask sellers arrive in force, look there!"

Jon and Lagertha stopped at a particular stall where a man was selling animal masks, one in particular caught his eyes. He almost laughed at the irony.

"A white wolf."

Lagertha said as Jon picked up the decorative piece. It was really quite beautiful and reminded him of his life long companion.

"Perfect."

Jon said with a smile before paying the man and heading to where Lagertha had directed should house the festivities.

"Oh no, no, no, no ye don't. Flint I told ye yer now welcome here n'more. I"

The punch came as a suprise to the old barkeep, Robb wasn't really sure why though, he should have expected it. The sucker punch floored the old who tried to stop Robb from entering the tavern. When the barkeep hit the floor the patrons already well into their drinks let up a roar of laughter as Robb stepped over the moaning man in pain as he clutched his jaw. Robb took a seat at the bar and grabbed one of the many bottles over the counter. The barkeep ran out, leaving Robb to drink in peace. It wasn't long however until that peace was interupted.

"You Flint?"

A voice, thick and deep came from behind him. Robb growled under his breath as he knocked back the nearly empty bottle of rum.

"Whose asking?"

Robb grunted in return. Four men in total took up positions around Robb, all armed, all agents of the queen of Nassua.

"Eleanor Guthrie."

The big man said with a cruel smile.

"See this is Eleanor Guthries island, and Eleanor Guthrie-"

"Fuck Eleanor Guthrie, fuck this island, and fuck you."

Robb snapped with an angry snarl. There was a still, eerie calm in the tavern, Robb sniffed the air and could smell the blood to come. Robb moved first, spinning in his chair with his pistol in hand. He fired into the big man's belly who dropped to the floor with a smoking whole in his gut. The three men surged at Robb who dove out of his chair to avoid the bullet aimed for his head. Robb rose in a roll and hurled a boarding axe through the air that buried itself in one mans face before he drew his cutlass and engaged the last two pirates. It was almost laughably easy how he took their lives. He drove the assualt on the two men, which took them by surprise. He opened ones throat with the tip of his sword before he drove the length of his blade in the last mans heart.

Robb ripped his blade free and let the body dropp. He took several deep, snarling breaths before turning to the rest of the tavern patrons. They all knew, they'd all seen and now there was no where he could hide from Guthrie. Given that, he was done hiding. Robb looted the bodies for what valuables they had before he walked off out of the tavern. As he stalked through the streets towards Guthries place. Those he past gave him space, most didn't know who he was. Some knew the tale of Flint, the mad man from the beach, others just saw a dangerous looking man with long curly unkept hair, a wild ginger beard and soiled, tattered clothes.

He reached Eleanors place quickly, the men knew who he was quickly. He entered to a slew of pistols and blades being drawn. Robb growled but put up his hands in surrendor.

"Easy lads, the Mrs called for me so I came."

They disarmed him and sat him at the bar to wait. Robb busied himself with strong drink as he waited. Scanning the room there were pirates from every major earner on Nassua here. The Revenge, The Sandsnake, The Green Arrow, The Scarlet Speedster and all the rest. Every ship worth knowing was represented in the patrons here. No wonder why Eleanor owned this island. Everyone who was anyone owed up to her and she allowed them to earn in return putting her squarely on the throne of Nassua.

As he waited something caught Robb's eyes. Olive skin, a head of curls, the perfect sway of her hips and a curvy frame. She passed and he reached out pulling her into his lap.

"Where you headed love?"

He barely got the words out before his bearded jaw dropped and he froze at the eyes staring back at him.

No sooner had Bartholomew tumbled off the deck than a familiar, commanding voice washed over the deck. "Tytos..." The Crimson Lady called out to him, "You're my accountant,so you know better than how expansive it can be to replace a member of the crew."

He gave Captain Robyn Sheva a courtly bow in acquiesce, a leftover from his days as a Valyrian nobleman.

"As you decree, milady."

"Make sure we budget for such an event."

The brute gasped in betrayal. Oh, he had managed to climb back aboard, hadn't he. It was a pity that they were in harbor. Tytos grinned at the fearsome beauty, making a show of rolling a single shilling across his knuckles.

"I will at once, Captain. I'd even be willing to put a little of my own coin into it."

He watched impassively as she declared their new target for all to hear. He even clapped as she managed to billow her cloak behind her. Piracy was at least a quarter theater and the masses ate it up and why shouldn't they? It was the only theater most of them would ever see. He followed Robyn into her quarters, raising an eyebrow at William standing next to him. Gods, he could tell that she found them standing side by side amusing. He listened thoughtfully as she laid out her orders for them. William soon left, leaving Tytos and Robyn alone. Again, Tytos rolled the shilling across his knuckle.

"The promise of the riches that await them should satisfy any men you hire. If we should fail, however, we will not have the coin to satisfy them..."

Doubtless, she knew these facts already, but he felt the need to warn her anyway. Tytos was many things, but he was not the treacherous dwarf his countrymen made him out to be.

"I have one request. I would have us avoid harming the Drake Royal Family. The Sea Vultures are unusually loyal to the current king and provoking their fleet would not be wise. In addition, Moloch is the only one keeping my scheming sister and my mad, former king contained."

He pocketed his coin. He laughed bitterly.

"In a fairer world, we would be cutting his head off and my sister..." he paused, feeling conflicted. He did not know what he would do if he met his sister again. He took out his flask of wine and took a gulp before raising it before his captain.

"To our most audacious raid in years."



The gardens were lush and green, even this far north. The plants were different, more hardy in order to survive the frozen tundra that was Khalidor, but they were beautiful nonetheless. They paled in comparison to the stars above them. The moon was less than a quarter full and the stars seemed to engulf them in ethereal, silver light. He took a moment to admire the woman standing beside him.

"It's beautiful." She murmured, her voice low and filled with awe. He could not help but smile.

"As are you," he told her honestly. How long had it been since he had been with someone where his actions and words held no ulterior motive. He was used to battle whether it be on the battlefield or in court, but here, as the moon made Aada's skin and hair shine like that of a goddess', he drifted in peaceful silence.

"As are you," Moloch said. His tone was that of a man stating a fact. Aada looked at him from the corner of her eye before she dropped her gaze downward. She turned her hands over one another. This never happened. She never blushed from a compliment. She never stuttered over her words. Quite simply, a man had never had this impact on her before. But then, she had never met a man quite like Moloch.

A stray lock of hair fell in Aada's face. She pushed the lock back behind her ear, "Thank you."

She looked back up at the stars. Her gaze flickered across the constellations. Alfvaldr had his shield raised as he did every night. Across the sky was Alfgautr with his sword raised, the two brothers prepared for battle. Aada pointed to Alfvaldr's constellation, "Our people tell stories about the stars. That is Alfvaldr and that one," she pointed to the cluster of stars across the sky, "is his brother Alfgautr. Alfvaldr is our patron of war and honour, while Alfgautr is the patron of war and vengeance. They are two sides of the same coin.

"The story goes that a rival chieftain killed Alfgautr's wife after a feud between the two tribes. Understandably, Alfgautr sought a swift revenge on the chieftain for murdering his wife. Sensing that his brother's actions would lead to an escalation, Alfvaldr refused to raise his sword in aggression, deciding instead to defend his family while Alfgautr headed out. Alfgautr found his vengeance and returned home. This time, the chieftain murdered Alfgautr's daughter and once again Alfvaldr stayed to defend his family while Alfgautr wished for the chieftain to suffer his pain. The bloodshed escalated until finally the chieftain killed Alfgautr.

"Alfvaldr despaired at the bloodshed. Seeing how Alfgautr's actions had lead to his own death, Alfvaldr sought only to defend his people. The years passed and a new chieftan sought to reignite the blood feud between their people. Rather than attacking the people, he insulted Alfvaldr's honour, claiming that his weakness had meant Alfgautr had died. Alfvaldr answered the taunts by challenging the chieftain to a duel, with the promise that regardless of the outcome, there would be no retribution from either side. Alfvaldr won the duel and returned home to peace, never seeking war but only defending what was his. Perhaps, had the brother's acted together, the bloodshed could have been avoided."

Aada caught herself and let out a small laugh, "Forgive me," she said, turning to Moloch, "I doubt you came to hear fanciful tales about starry warriors."

Moloch allowed Aada to speak, pondering her story for a few moments. The themes of the story were familiar and Moloch admitted as much as he spoke, saying, "No. I enjoyed the tale. Drake has two war gods as well: Bellona, goddess of war and strategy, and Styx, god of war and brutality. I'd admit that neither of them are as sympathetic as the twin chieftains, however. Bellona values rationality and peace, but if slighted, she will not cease seeking to avenge herself until she is satisfied, even if it takes centuries and your yourself are long dead. Styx is almost preferable. He has no subtlety and if he is somehow stopped, you are home free."

He paused for a moment, as if in deep thought.

"Our gods are all too human, I think, but they care. They are passionate, like us. We do whatever it takes to protect what we love through peace or war."

As he was about to speak more, Kallias chose that moment to appear, his face already ensconced in gold and blue. Moloch could recognize the runes inscribed upon it. As always, Kallias honored Lila, the goddess of love.

"Moloch, the masquerade is starting. I got your mask here," he said excitedly, offering him his mask. Fittingly, it was a crimson and gold one shaped like that of a dragon. Moloch smirked.

"Cyrus designed it, didn't he?"

"He thought you'd like it."



Well, Robyn was never one to lend you a shoulder to cry on, Tytos thought wryly as he nursed his drink. He had found a few suitable lads on the way to the tavern. Soon enough, he saw Robyn leading a new lad out the tavern, presumably to put him through his paces. Interesting... He seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place his face.

"Did we ever sail with him before? No, Robyn wouldn't be testing him then. Perhaps he was in Valyria at one point? I will have to keep an eye on him. It's better to observe and say nothing than look like the fool."

He took a nother swig of his drink. He missed fine wines, but the piss they served at this place numbed the senses just as well. He pondered on what he would do when they attacked the summit. He was hungry for information and as chaotic as a pirate raid was, there was still opportunity to gather information. Perhaps Robyn would be amenable to taking hostages?

Regardless, he had nothing to do but sit, drink, and think. He was remarkably good at all three of those things. He watched a woman storm off. She had been talking to the new lad, hadn't see? That was Max, he noted thoughtfully. Now, how did she know him?

He raised his drink as she passed, not caring if she saw him or not. If she spoke to him, he might be able to ask her a few questions about their new recruit. If she didn't, then he was content to drink in solitude.

"Oh don't mind me, I'm told I brood too much." Dorian flashed a grin. Girly locks? Moody and northern? It was Jon. No other northerner would go as a mysterious loner at a festival except him. "I've come here to see an old friend. A friend that I owe a great debt to, a debt I can't even begin to repay....It's good to see you Dorian."

Dorian slapped Jon's hand away and embraced him in a strong hug. "It's been a long time!" He happily exclaimed as he let go. Honestly he was set back. He expected a letter from Ned before they would arrive, but surprises were welcomed. "I take it this means you won? Did you kill Mance? By Khali I wish I could see his head roll. He rebels against the Starks using wildlings, of all people!? Did you know some crossed the border and attacked our forts? Guess they thought they were yours. Captured one named Styr, savage tried biting me while we fought. I can send him to you if you'd like." Dorian took a breath. He hadn't meant to bombard Jon with so many questions, it was just that he hadn't seen him in so long. Jon was taller and more filled out, even the beard was fuller.

"So where's the rest of the brood?" He asked looking around. "I bet Robb wreaks of mead by now! Is Sansa here?! I have a dress that I got from a campaign in the colonies for her, has the feathers of peacock." Then he saw the look in Jon's eyes, something was wrong. "Jon...Where are the others?"

"What? I'm not a whore, I don't have a price, and I'm not going to fuck you, so what do you want?"

Tytos raised a small hand, as if to grasp his heart. He grinned at her in mock hurt, "You wound me, madame, to think so lowly of me. I merely noticed an altercation you had with a soon-to-be member of my captain's crew. That is, if he passes her interview. Luckily, she seems to like strong, fierce men such as he if I am any judge of her behavior."

He took a swig of his drink, watching her reaction to his words. Any reaction to suggested romantic or lust-filled interest could give him some idea about her relationship with the man and, truthfully, he was bored. He did not feel like paying whores to be interested in him tonight so he had nothing but his mind and cheap liquor to pass the time.

"You are Max, are you not? I've seen you with our lovely Queen of Thieves. I hope she treats you well."

A frown, a look, those were enough to put a few pieces into place within Tytos' mind. She had some concern about his soon-to-be crewmate. Whether it was out of jealousy or concern for his well-being, he could not tell, though he did get a reaction from her when he spoke of Eleanor. Perhaps the rumors were true? He filed those suspicions away for future use. It was not a confirmation, but it did indicate a bond of some sort, professional or personal. Slowly, he raised his drink to his lips.

"What do I want? There is a lot that I want, but there is only one thing you could provide me: information on the man that has caught Captain Robyn's attention at the moment. Who is he? Should I be concerned about him? If things take a turn for the worse, do I have a reason to risk my neck for his? Should I be afraid he will stab me in my sleep over an apple?"

He grinned at her.

"I take a keen interest in those I travel with."

Dorian led Jon back toward the festivities, the thrill and excitement from defeating the bear energizing the Khalidorian general immensely. Jon seemed couldn't see it, like a raven lost in a snow storm, he was blind to whatever it was that gave his friend such enjoyment out of the contest or even this festivul. It took a matter of seconds to realize that it wasn't Dorian with the problem but him. Jon couldn't allow himself to be happy, it was as if he'd forgotten how. Every time the thought of a smile would touch his mind, or a laugh would bubble up he'd see them, the faces of all the people he'd lost and the hurt was still as fresh as the day he'd recieved each raven. Seperated the Starks were weak, his father had been wrong to split them up. He'd forgotten this wisdom he had told Jon and Robb when they were boys and had been fighting in the larder. In a bid to instil the strength of family Eddard Stark had told his sons"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." The wolves had been alone and the wolves nearly all died.

Jon slowed to a halt, his mind robbing him of any joy he may have garnered from the nights festivities as Dorian walked on unaware that his friend was no longer with him. He drank, and laughed and made merry. Jon only wanted solitude. He turned to leave, a mind to head back out into the snow on his own when a sound reached is ears. A song that whispered of the far east, of sand dunes and long forgotten ruins, of magic hidden deep beneath the shifting sands and an ever burning sun. Jon followed the source of the music, making his way through party goers who were all hidden behind masks. His feet moved as if on their own merit, not his to command but given purpose trhough the melodic rythim of the song. It wasn't until he reached the source did he finally stop.

It was the girl with the purple mask, the one he'd seen in the snow, the one with the foreign accent. She stood before the whole of the room playing her song with her violin and for the first time since he'd lost them Jon wasn't thinking about his family. He wasn't thinking about how much he missed them or how much it hurt losing them. There was only the violin, the song and the girl. Her music filled is mind and he saw only her. Her head of curls, her dark skin kissed by the sun, the swaing of her hips as she played her instrument. Then the music stopped and he was brought back to the world around him as if the spell had been broken. She pulled the voilin away from her chin and the people clapped but Jon stood silent, his eyes watching hers.

There was sadness in her eyes and disgust, there was anger there also. He knew it as soon as he saw it, the pain behind her eyes. She hated this place, she hated being amongst all these people, he knew it because so did he. Jon blinked and looked away, ashamed of staring. He sighed as he made his way through the crowd and out into the chill air of the night. He needed that air now more than ever, even still her song playing in his mind.

After attempting to insert a little more liveliness into current events she’d moved back from the prince and taken a more relaxed pose near the local establishment that had been helping him to drown whatever he was he’d been trying to drown in his little bubble of solitude from earlier. At first she simply watched the young man, admiring his features and build; sizing him up for want of a better word while she gently sipped her seemingly endless glass of wine. She glanced down after a rather long gulp of the sweet liquid to see it gently rising again and turned to her staff which had the decency to look sheepish. Rolling her eyes she lightly stroked the metal and wooden surface affectionately before turning back to the strangely silent man whose company she was apparently sharing for all the attention he seemed to be paying her or the world in general.

She glanced around the square they found themselves in, noting that the others who had been watching the duel as well as those who had been sparring seemed to readying themselves to depart following the appearance of another of the Anansai which would make her suggestion somewhat moot. Resigned to the fact the pair of them may as well follow as the others disappeared from sight she stood and made her way to where her companion stood watching events, though given the depth of the current interactions with the prince she didn’t know how she could survive a moment apart. The thought made her almost chuckle to herself as it was the nearest modicum of entertainment she’d had for a little while now. As she opened her mouth to speak he turned to her; skin pale and eyes wide while lips parted in a silent scream.

She started and moved backward, her brow furrowed in confusion as her glass fell to the floor and circling up around her staff before it shattered on the stone floor. She couldn’t see what was causing him such distress but the fear and pain was emanating from him like a tidal wave that seemed to almost overwhelm her senses. She almost cried out, to give voice to the suffering he clearly could not. There seemed to be a faint redness around his neck, a thin barely perceptible line than formed a perfect ring all the way round.

”Skandar?” She whispered, her voice now quiet and strained as she reached out towards him. The air around them seemed unusually thick, with an odd taste to it. It was almost as if something was feeling at the world around it, trying best to judge what it was seeing. Fiona pulled back, her movement was sluggish for a moment as if she was moving through treacle before she flinched as if burned and gripped her staff tightly uncertain as to what she was experiencing.

”Oh, he has a name does he? I think he might have been fun for you, pity I had to go and spoil that.” As the mysterious voice stopped it was as if a pressure unknown to Fiona had just been lifted and Skandar dropped with a sickening thud to the ground. Or at least his body did, his severed head however now rested in the armoured palm of a towering figure in rune covered plate mail. The runes themselves flared almost bright enough to blind, growing stronger as the stranger closed in on the Kythiannaian. She could feel a faint tremble begin coursing through her body as fear threatened to overwhelm her, but as she stared she knew this figure, or at least the armour it wore. It was as if she had just been drenched in ice cold water as the realisation stole over her, the age old runes and forgotten script carved into the metal were part of her childhood, her culture, her family.

”You’re a witch, Fionnagal and you’ll burn for it.” The figure snarled at her at it approached, hand out stretched towards her staff. The runes were glowing brighter by the second and starting to twist and distort. As the armoured gauntlets clasped themselves around the staff in a firm grim the armour itself seemed to be bubbling on the surface as it began to fulgurate with sparks the colour of magic incarnate accompanied by flickering flames that scorched the metal.

”Like you burned the others, little one.” Fiona was rooted like a little child, unsure what it was she faced as the magical storm that their proximity had brought into being raged around her with its fury directed squarely at the attacker who seemed to be shrugging it off as if it was simply a light shower.

”Leave me be fiend!” she cried out in response, her own grasp on the staff tightening as her other hand wrapped around the shaft and pulled it towards her. It was as if a weight had been tipped on a set of scales sending the armoured warrior flying backwards the clawed fingers of the gauntlets scrabbling as they tried digging into the stone to slow their momentum moments before the figure crashed into the wall of the palace.

Fiona’s eyes flared like gleaming sapphires as she advanced on the prone figure, her body wreathed in the same magical fire that had begun warping her opponent ”I don’t care what you think you know but I’m not the one who’s going to burn.” Her voice was relatively calm but there was a darker edge to it that was tinged with hysteria, which was made all the worse by the laughter that answered her from the fallen warrior. ”I knew you were trouble the day you were born, but the laws forbid infanticide don’t they? And of course after that you were safe till you came of age, by which time we’d already lost. Still it would have been so easy till end you then, but I’ll just have to settle for destroying you now, little one.”

The figure stood, its armour already cracking slightly from the strain of absorbing so much magic. The armour had been designed to serve the mage-hunters of Kythianna to ensure they could bring to task any that broke the ancient covenants of magic but even they had limits that could be broken. Shards of ice were condensing in front of Fiona before shooting through the air and shattering against the magically resistant armour, with each impact creating a ripple of energy across the surface. Magic was bleeding from Fiona in a tidal wave that was doing its best to wound or kill the armoured figure, but despite the punishment it was receiving and the fact it was starting to break they were still weathering the assault with an almost infuriating ease.

”Who. Are. You?” With each word she punctuated it with smashing another spear of ice into her opponent with the last one shattering across the helmet in a flare of discharged magic as the runes around the gorget flared and melted. A momentary howl of pain erupted from the figure as they crashed down onto their knees in the heart of the crater Fiona’s assault was carving out. The energy of the armour was pulsating as it tried to compensate for the damage it was receiving while steam poured off and out from them. As the mist began to fade as it drifted away to fill the rest of the courtyard Fiona stared disbelieving at the grinning smile of the woman who stood before her, visibly paling as recognition set in.

”Seen a ghost have you?” Despite her ragged breathing and degrading armour her grin seemed to get even wider as she took in her suffering.

”I killed you myself. You’re supposed to be dead.” Fiona growled through gritted teeth her staff raised and wary, already she could feel a weariness as her magic was being deflected. She knew she could break the wards placed on most mage hunter armour but this suit was something more than that.

”Well you killed one of us, but what’s the old saying about the Hydra? Shame there isn’t two of me or this would be over by now.” As the woman paused for breath Fiona threw a ball of molten fire that cracked the floor, ripping up the stone and adding even greater mass to the raw sphere before it cannoned into her.

The ball of lava rolled over and enveloped her in its tight embrace before cooling to solid rock as the fire winked out. I moments however the rock was being criss-crossed with patterns of runes that mirrored those on her armour and began to crack the through till she pushed the two halves of her prison apart using and stepped into the warm air. ”Close, very close. But I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, clearly.” She smiled and gestured around them. ”I want you to suffer before I do to you want you did to our sister. I want the nations of our world to fear you and blame you. And they will little one, oh they will.”

As she finished speaking she lifted a small glass orb between fore finger and thumb and winking once at Fiona tossed it as high as she could. Fiona’s eyes flickered skywards to follow it for a moment before her attention returned to her sister, or rather where her sister had been, now there was only empty air. High above them the orb continued to rise but within a mist was beginning to form till its once clear surface was obscured. Then Fiona felt it, a prickling sensation in her gut and she stared with horror at the tumbling sphere inching ever closer to the apex of its flight.

An invisible wave spread out from the orb, wrapping itself around every nook and cranny of the capital city within a miles radius. It was seemingly harmless, and it was. Unless your blood carried the taint of magic in any of its myriad forms, then it was something else entirely. As the wave passed through the folk of Khalidor it drained a portion of their magical energies, sapping them and tainting what it left with a malady of suffering. As the sphere started its decent the mist withdrew in the space of a heartbeat taking with it the magic it had drained with the subtlety of a meat-hook.

The ‘witch’ of Kythianna screamed, panic finally taking hold of her completely as she turned to run her staff vibrating in her hands. When the sphere neared the ground the magic contained within erupted in a roar of colour and sound that threw Fiona from her feet, shards of glass and stone crashing into her in the shockwave. The palace of Khalidor however looked like half of it had simply ceased to exist as the orb ripped through it, creating a magical vortex that annihilated everything it touched and then winked out of existence.

Aada stepped back when Kallias arrived. He held a mask out to Moloch, "Moloch, the masquerade is starting. I got your mask here."

"Cyrus designed it, didn't he?"

"He thought you'd like it."

"You should go ahead. I'll look for my brother. I'm sure I'll find you in the crowds Your Majesty."

Aada curtseyed to Kallias and Moloch before taking her leave. She retraced her steps to the hall they had been gathering in. She lingered by the door, searching the room for her brother. From what she could see, Arim had retired elsewhere. "He's in his quarters Your Highness," one of their footman arrived at her elbow.

"Where are they?" She asked.

"I'd be happy to escort you," the young man offered. Aada nodded her agreement and followed the footman through the Citadel. He stopped outside Arim's quarters. "These are his quarters, Your Highness."

"Thank you."

The footman bowed and left Aada. Aada knocked on Arim's door and waited for him to answer. When he opened the door, Aada noticed that Arim had already changed his clothes. "Ah, I take it you won't be joining us at the masquerade?" she asked.

Arim looked down at himself, "No, I won't be. The journey has tired me too much for the revelries. But you go, enjoy yourself. You deserve it." Arim placed a kiss on Aada's forehead. "Your rooms are next door, I made sure of it."

"Rest well."

---

Aada checked her mask was in place. Even though everyone's faces were covered, she was sure she could find King Moloch in the crowd. All around her, people were dancing with abandon. The smell of food and alcohol was heavy in the air. Music and laughter echoed through the streets. A crowd seemed to be gathering.

In the centre of the crowd, Khalidor's general was fighting a bear. This was definitely something new. Bear fights weren't something that happened in Cinnabar. To fight the bear without weapons seemed suicidal, but the general carried an air of cockiness about him, a self-assurance in his victory. Aada shook her head and turned away from the fight. She spotted Moloch's mask a little way away. Thankful for familiar company, Aada weaved through the crowd to Moloch's side. "I thought I'd lost you for a moment."

As the celebration continued, Aada felt a sense of unease growing. She instinctively moved closer to Moloch. She felt magic being used behind her when she was knocked off her feet. Moloch fell over her, protecting her from the worst of the blast. Aada pulled her mask off. Her ears were ringing from the blast. The breath had been knocked from her. She gasped for breath. She looked up at what remained of the Citadel. Oh Gods no. She felt panic rising in her chest.

"Aada, are you alright?!"

She nodded, "I think so." She rose to her feet shakily. "Arim's in there."



In his quarters, Arim woke in a cold sweat. He was tangled in the sheets. He kicked them off and stumbled to the window. There was a mist stretching out across the sky. This didn't look like a normal mist though, the colour was off. The air was humming with magic. He felt weak. He needed Aada. He should have gone with her. She would know what to do. She always did.

The mist began to recede. The magic grew stronger and darker. He tried to push against the air to form a shield around himself, but his magic was weakened. He felt panic wrap itself around him. He threw himself under the desk, wrapping an arm around his head and trying to form a small barrier around him with the free hand. A weak barrier formed, but the pain he felt was agonising.

The blast tore through the Citadel. Arim was thrown forward. He bounced off the floor. The pain was instant as his head smacked the stone floor. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He gingerly pressed a hand against his ear. There was a thin trickle of blood. His head was of more concern. He could feel something hot and wet trickling through his hair. He no doubt had broken bones. His leg definitely if the sharp pain was anything to go by.

While he waited for help to arrive, questions chased each other. Who would do this? Was this Sphex's doing? He was the only one that made sense at that moment in time. Valyria? Their absence was noticeable. Arim fought to keep his eyes open while he waited for someone to find him.