Completed Namesake

[Griffyn]

Griffyn froze as her arms wrapped around him, feeling her warmth acutely. And slowly, he returned the hug. He put his arms over her shoulders and held her close. He sighed, his chest expanding as he took air into his lungs.

"Hannah..."

Griffyn held the embrace silently for a long moment. He thought of home, of his sister. When was the last time he had held her like this? The Griffyn of his memories looked considerably younger than now. His scars, his severe hair. He almost didn't recognise himself. A feeling much akin to vertigo as he beheld his own past.

He had lost much, but he had gained a truly remarkable friend. Despite the anxious tremors of the night ahead, the mortal terror that his own life was on the line, the sick uncertainty in the people who claimed to have his best interests at heart... Despite it all, he was richer now than he had been before coming to this cursed city.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, Hannah. And you are good, too."

The sunlight caught on something reflective as it sank towards the horizon, glimmering through the window brightly.

"I don't truly know what that means, but I know it to be true. You've shown me your compassion for others, and your willingness to think deeply about the consequences of your actions. You are good. I hope you don't let anyone tell you differently."

A sound of clinking metal. Griffyn glanced at the glare of the window as something moved in the garden.

"But we should probably make a move."

He stepped away from her embrace, taking in the sight of her for a moment. Not human, certainly. Not elf, despite appearances. But authentically, unmistakably her.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand.

There was a window leading to the rear of the little house in his bedroom, and the latch gave way easily under a bit of brute force. Before Lady Sunderland had even raised her hand to knock harshly on the door of the building, Griffyn and Hahnah were away into the ever-darkening streets of Menura.

Towards food. Towards intel. And then, with a bit of luck, salvation.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

And you are good, too.

Coming from a person like Griffyn, such words truly meant a lot to Hahnah. In a gale of uncertainty it was as the thick trunk of a tree which she could hold onto for stability. There were many things that she pushed from her mind, postponing their proper consideration, but said consideration would come. It was inevitable--that much she knew. She felt it as a tremor in her blood, quivering the marrow of her bones. For now she could focus on the present and solely the present, but all that had transpired here in Menura--the reckoning thereof--would build to a point where it could no longer be ignored. That thinking deeply about the consequences of her actions, all of her actions, would be heard.

The clinking of metal.

Focus on the present. Now. And that was what was being heard in the present.

They did need to move. Before the slim margin of opportunity they had for rescuing the captive elves closed completely due to the ceaseless intervention of the human masters. Griffyn took her hand and she followed, stopping only for an incredibly brief moment where she had almost forgotten to swipe the novel from the table. She reached back, grabbed the book, and followed along with Griffyn through the window in his bedroom.

* * * * *​

Hahnah, at some point, took the lead and led them to where she had most recently made her refuge while alone in the city: the dead-end corner between the shops of the baker and the fletcher. When they had covertly escaped from the servants' quarters, it was about an hour or so before full dark would befall the city. An hour or so they could spend some portion of in the seclusion of the dead-end corner, safe from searching eyes looking for the Commander and the half-elf who also wore a blue armband and accompanied him. And with the full darkness they could make their way to the manor. Observe, as Griffyn had suggested. Such would be difficult with the lack of light (Hahnah, again, slightly lamenting the loss of her once good nightvision), but it would also be safe with said lack.

Hahnah had slipped her discarded shoes back on. Mild protection for her feet, but it was better than nothing, even if she still hated the smothering feel of the shoes constricting and choking her feet. Her book she hid behind an broken down, empty crate. Maybe she would have the opportunity to retrieve it. Maybe not. But she would need both hands free for what was to come, and so this was for the best. Her longing to know the end of a fictional story had to wait.

Griffyn had secured some food. From where Hahnah did not know, and she did not ask. If she had to find food, it would have involved stealing--which she was not good at--or killing--which she was good at. But neither was a viable option at this delicate juncture in time.

The dead-end corner was completely enshrouded by murky shadow by the already low, already retreating sun. Hahnah ate quietly. Until the curious urge to ask a particular question grew. Perhaps the question seemed to come from nowhere, but she asked it regardless. Quiet, her tone. Almost reverential with respect, "Griffyn. May you tell me of your home? May you tell me...of your family?"

Hahnah knew some about these things, the pieces she had gathered from Griffyn himself, from others, and as well from the letter which had set in motion this whole incredible and tumultuous series of events. She did in truth want to know more. But not just from her growing curiosity of the people around Griffyn, his own Kylindrielle, his own Elurdrith, his "siblings"--they who were birthed by the same mother and father, as foreign as that idea still was to Hahnah. She wanted to know because if the worst happened, if Hahnah had to keep her promise to Griffyn...

...then she wanted to tell his family the truth of all that happened in Menura.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn sat hunched forward where he sat on a wooden box in the confines of the alley. He held his simple meal of meagre slices of meat between rough, crusty bread in both hands. A soldier's meal, the basic rations of men at their posts. Griffyn had taken the detour to the long barracks building quietly and slowly, taking on the hunched shoulders of one who had every right to be there but no intention of standing out, and received the packages of stodgy food alongside other armsmen. His blue armband had been concealed in his pocket, and nobody had looked at him twice. He hadn't recognised a soul. More and more, it felt as though Menura was becoming a city of soldiers, a bristling maw of rusted steel blades with gums of worn leather. The banter of the men followed him, almost mockingly, to his rendezvous point with Hahnah.

The edges of his mouth tilted upwards slightly as he thought on his meal. Bread again. His mother would have had words to say about the starch-heavy diet of the last few days. And had he been drinking enough water? He looked up quickly when he realised that Hahnah was asking him a question, and blinked at the thought that she had been reading his mind. He smiled, leaning back as he answered.

"Happy to talk about my family," he said, "though I'll admit I'm not certain how much of my experience will need explanation. Alliria feels very familiar to me, but it must sound pretty odd to someone from the outside."

He stood, brushing crumbs from his jacket onto the paved floor, and stretched out his shoulders.

"My father's one of the Merchants Council, did I mention that? I suppose that makes him a little like the lord of this city. Where Alliria is much bigger than Menura, he does have to share his power with the other members of the council. And that's in addition to his primary duties as a businessman and trader..."

He trailed off, watching his companion's face. The soft contours of her expression made him reconsider his answer, turning it away from the politics of his House and towards the more intimate details of his home.

"Father and mother married young," he continued. His voice dropped slightly in tempo and volume as though cradling a precious, fragile thing. "My grandparents died of an illness when father was little, and he had to take on the mantle of the House much earlier than is usual. He's a busy man with a lot of responsibilities. Quiet...

"Mother is the same. Though she isn't a politican, the House needs a lot of work to continue moving and operating. Servants, cooks, clerks... But she did always find time for us. The House is her occupation, but taking care of us has always felt like why she works as hard as she does."

He paced slowly, aware that he would be needing his legs soon, and brushed at some scraps of wood on the ground with his boots.

"Robyn is my sister. Recently of age and eager to make her mark on the world. She'll be setting out on her own 'year-and-a-day' soon after I return. If I return, that is. Mother won't be willing to risk a second child to an adventure should I fall on this one, I'm sure."

Griffyn's warm smile faded slowly as he spoke, but suddenly returned a moment later. "She's always dreamed of studying at the college of Elbion. No doubt that's where she'll be spending all of her time. Hopefully it'll be in a good enough state to welcome her when the time comes.

"And Altyr you already know a little, from the letter? He's young and quiet, like his father, and enjoys reading most of all. He's afraid of horses," he added with a chuckle. "I've always gotten on well with the two of them. We see the world in the same way, the three of us. To our detriment, perhaps."

He hesitated, stuck on his own words, before continuing.

"It's nice to talk about them. They feel very far away, but in truth they are not so far at all. It will be a pleasure to see them again, some day soon. In fact, you're welcome to come and visit! Perhaps wait until I am there, but you will be well looked after regardless!"

He smiled widely, imagining Hahnah walking the corridors of House von Spurling. Her bare feet on the red carpet of the study, her wide eyes reflecting the firelight of the receiving room.

"Tell me about your parents," he urged once free of his reverie. "They sound like they were good people. I'd love to hear more."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah did have a certain face, a lack of understanding despite an earnest but futile attempt at it, that made those soft contours when Griffyn had begun with the politics of his House. She had been to Alliria--briefly--with Alden. And yet it was still an alien place, with workings beyond her reckoning occurring in the upper and more inaccessible levels of society. Intangible things all, consistently elusive to her understanding.

But he saw her mild struggling. Switched to what she wanted to hear.

She watched Griffyn pace as she sat on the ground of the dead-end corner between the shops. Sat and listened to him speak of his family. The marrying--a special kind of promise that her caretakers had made with each other--of his father and mother. The distance, so he implied, between his parents and himself and his siblings because of the things his parents had to do. His sister Robyn wanted to journey out into the wider world--would she discover things, both wonderful and frightening, as Hahnah had? His brother Altyr enjoyed reading, the reading of stories Hahnah assumed--did he know some that were very good, like The Romance of House Black?

(if they were in Strathford--Griffyn and Robyn and Altyr--would Hahnah have killed them too...?)

She pushed away the intrusive thought. Easier than before, that, because he said something which made Hahnah stiffen with surprise. Welcome to come and visit. She smiled in a perfunctorily polite manner at first, then with genuine warmth when he added perhaps wait until I am there. The implication behind that easing out the anxiousness of meeting (possibly alone) new and distant people in the gigantic heart of that alien place, Alliria. Yet despite that anxiousness, her resolve in that worst of all outcomes to travel to Alliria and tell those very people the truth remained.

He asked of her parents. Her caretakers. And her smile did not fade nor lose its warmth.

"They gave me the entirety of the world," she began. "Before they found me, all I knew was the Temple. But they carried my dying body from the Temple and I saw for the first time the light of the sun. I saw the sky and it was blue--a color I had not ever seen until that moment--and it stretched farther than I could imagine. I saw the trees of the forest and felt the wind, I saw other living things called animals and they made calls and sounds unheard of by my ears, I saw that water pooled in things called ponds and lakes and ran in things called streams and rivers and I did not need to lick thin trickles of it off of the Temple's stone walls anymore. Everything I thought I knew was so small and narrow...compared to what they showed me."

"It did not matter that I was not an elf. It did not matter that I had skin as black as night, eyes like the heart of a fire, nor the fibers of my Living Armor covering most of my body. They cared for me, and they loved me. This was their kindness."

In the remembering, her tone was more quietly joyous than it was solemn. "Kylindrielle and Elurdrith were rangers who managed the forest in the region of Fal'Edwein."

She paused at that, aware of how it would sound with Rathierel saying that he hailed from the same. Her mouth pulled long for a brief second. Then she continued.

"They patrolled the forests, keeping certain animals from becoming too populous or to keep hunters from other lands from overhunting them. It was a balance, Elurdrith told me. Sometimes...they were called upon for the defense of Fal'Edwein or other elven cities. They did not tell me very much about these times. Only that they needed to be away for a while, and that I needed to stay safe in the lodge."

"They were married, too, like your father and your mother. I knew even then, when I was younger, that it was a special promise for a special kind of love."

Then, specifically about each. "Kylindrielle was very affectionate. She would hug me everyday when I woke up and kiss me on the forehead every night before I rested. I liked the way she would sit me down and brush my hair, and she would hum and she would brush and I would become so relaxed that I often fell asleep in her lap for a short nap. She...would sometimes call me her child, even though she knew that I was not truly her child." Her face flushed. "I did not know of children and parents, how they truly related to one another, back then. But I would have been very happy to know that she thought that way of me."

"Elurdrith was supportive of my curiosities of the world. He would take me with him on short journeys from the lodge and into the deeper forests and he encouraged me to explore. There were things that I could not do--like reading--and things that I could do very well--like pathfinding--and he helped me become better at these. He had ceaselessly helped me with the very concept of speech and he taught me how to speak properly. The ways of Elvenkind he taught me, those of honesty and of compassion and of always keeping one's promises. He...did his best to prepare me for the larger, stranger world beyond the confines of the Temple, with what time he had."

When she was done, she took a long breath. Let it out slowly and gently.

Then, in the smallest tones of confession, she added in finality, "All that I do, and all that I have done, has been for their sake."

Because I, in my shock and in my grief, made a promise that I now know I should never have made.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn leaned back against the wall, enraptured by Hahnah's tale. He'd never heard her say so much before, nor express such a depth of emotion. It wasn't that he had doubted her ability to make herself heard, more that she had seemed to him a girl who said only what she needed to say.

It was clear to him now that the story of her parents was something that she needed to tell. It was clear that, as she herself had just said, their love for her was the crux upon which her life had turned. And he was very glad to have shared that with her.

But a question tickled the edges of his mind, and he could not ignore it.

"How did they feel about your faith?" he asked. "Were they followers of your god as well? I'll confess I don't know much about Elven religions..."

Clearly there were others who shared Hahnah's faith, enough to build a temple to the god they worshiped. Or rather, there had been. But Griffyn did not like considering the mysterious deity that Hahnah followed. Something about they way this strange god presented itself through her words, the way her eyes moved when she spoke of it, made him distinctly unsettled.

But then again, he was no scholar. The mysteries of the wider worlds were just that to him. Perhaps her god was just a local protector, eccentric but kindly.

Her skin had been jet black, she had said. And the old tales of the temples of his upbringing spoke with quiet terror of the 'Dark Ones'...

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah brought a straight hand up to her chin, open eyes blinking a couple of times, and then a warm smile crossed her features. The question was surprising, and the surprise was pleasant.

"No..." she started out slowly, recalling a niche topic that she had not thought of much at all for many years, "they were not followers of the God that I feel in my heart. I do not think that what I believe in is a religion. I do not think that it is the same as the widespread belief in the goddess called Astra and the other gods and goddess that accompany her."

She knew some of Astra from the suite of knowledge gained from Zael. Griffyn himself had even mentioned Celestialism. It was the most relevant comparison. The idea of organized religion was one of the many things relatively new to Hahnah, but she in her experience had not met anyone else who could be considered a follower or believer in the Dying God. And of this she was not even certain. She did not know the Dying God's true name, for the name 'Dying God' she had come up with on her own based solely on how the presence felt. Maybe others, if there were others, would feel Him the same way and come up the same or similar name--or maybe not.

What Hahnah did not know was that the last of the adherents of the Dying God had died out many years ago. She did not know that her human mother was the very last of these adherents, and that she had been blessed with an Immaculate pregnancy by the Dying God Himself and had died in childbirth and that Hahnah, unknowingly, had eaten her dead body to survive while locked in the Temple, as she had with all of the other corpses of the dead adherents.

And she did not know the true purpose the Dying God meant for her.

"I asked them about the Temple. They said that they did not know very much about it, what it was used for, or how I had come to be locked inside of it. I told them about the Dying God. I told them that I felt Him in my heart. They asked me some questions but...I do not think they ultimately believed me. Kylindrielle was very sad when first she heard me speak of the Dying God. She thought that I had imagined a friend because I was lonely when they would on occasion both have to go in defense of Fal'Edwein and Elvenkind, and because I was lonely that there were no other small ones--children--for me to play with. Elurdrith just said that the gods were important, yes, but that what I do, what we all do, on Arethil was more important."

And she thought of the captive elves, head raised and vaguely glancing off toward the general direction of the manor through the wall of the baker's shop and across the city. This for a moment. And then she looked back to Griffyn with a soft and satisfied expression, despite the very real danger of what lay ahead.

"I love the Dying God, and I feel that He loves me in return. But there is much wisdom in what Elurdrith said."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

He nodded slowly, looking down at the ground. What we do on Arethil was important, there was no denying that. And he felt his dark suspicion of this 'Dying God' start to fade as he remembered that he had inspired his ward to seek the salvation of the oppressed. Through violence, yes, but the intention seemed pure. And he clearly wasn't encouraging a wild frenzy from Hahnah - she had been willing to take his suggestions and follow his lead in their shared pursuit of justice through dialogue and information. If that was down to her god, then Griffyn felt he should be thanking him.

"It's clear your family loved you very much," he said after a moment's pause. "That's the sort of compassion one would hope for from any parent. And I'm sure they'd be very proud of you now, if they could see you."

He looked up at the darkening sky. Were the gods watching him now? Did they approve of what he was doing? He'd take their help, if they were amenable. It might require a miracle to emerge from tonight's encounter unscathed. If anyone's there, he prayed silently, even Hannah's Dying God, grant us aid. Please.

"Have you ever been back to the temple?" he asked. "It seems a shame that your god's place of worship should just sit there untended all this time. Maybe some of the communities in the nearby cities would be willing to pay a fund to restore it, if you could persuade them. Perhaps by telling them the Dying God helped you bring some of their number back from slavery at the hands of the Lord of Menura?"

In Alliria, it seemed every major and minor deity had a structure of some sort dedicated to them. All it took was a friend with enough gold and a small sliver of the great city could be bought in honour of the God of This or That. Griffyn wondered how the gods felt about sharing all that space with one another. He'd heard they were a jealous lot.

He glanced at the opening at the other end of the alley. He could hear a steady stream of people shifting themselves from daytime to nighttime, walking the paths that led them home or out to their nocturnal places of occupation. It would soon be time to move, once the calm of the late evening set in. And no prayer he could muster would give him more time to prepare himself.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Very proud of her. Hahnah hoped that to be the case, because here was another casualty of her old steadfast certainties that had fallen in the wake of her new doubts. She simply did not know if her caretakers would be proud of her or not. She had yet to work out her own resolution to the quiet war in her heart ever since walking among them, ever since being trapped in Menura, and ever since meeting Griffyn von Spurling of Alliria.

She shook her head.

"No, I have not been back to the Temple. It..."

Hahnah pursed her lips, thinking. She understood what Griffyn was saying about places of worship, especially so with the knowledge gained from Zael and of seeing churches more closely in settlements. The connection between the God she felt in her heart and the place of stone where her life began was a faint and obscure one. When she was smaller she did not associate the two at all. Because she loved the Dying God, but the Temple...

"...is a place that I fear. Maybe it is silly of me to still fear it. The door should still be open, so far as I know, but there was a time in which it was not. I thought...I thought that I was going to die in there. I was trapped in a locked room, my stomach hurt with hunger until it did not hurt anymore, and by then I no longer had the strength to move. I waited with my despair to starve to death."

Those captive elves. They were probably not starving, but they were also trapped in a locked room--Hahnah absolutely believed it to be so.

She put on a brave smile. "Maybe I should face my fear and return there. I could see it again with eyes that have seen more of the world."

There was, at least, an encouraging aspect to planning ahead like this. Like Griffyn saying that she was welcome to visit his family in Alliria, but to wait for him to be there. It was a way of boldly stating to the world that neither of them were dying tonight.

Hahnah finished the last few bites of the meat and the bread Griffyn had brought. The city was darkening with the imminent onset of night, but a quick thought presented itself to Hahnah's curiosity.

"Griffyn, when your 'year-and-a-day' journey is done, when your eyes have seen more of the world, do you think you will see your home the same? Are you afraid that you will see it differently?"

The Temple to Hahnah was a place of fear, but to Griffyn his home in Alliria was a place of love and family--akin to her caretakers' lodge. For Hahnah, change in seeing the Temple would almost certainly be good, but for Griffyn? What if the world--in coming in contact with things previously beyond his experience--changed the way he saw everything, his own home included?

It had happened to Hahnah. With the monster hunters killing her caretakers. And it also seemed to be happening again, with the revelations of walking among them.

She was intensely curious, leaning a bit forward as she sat and her eyes open and receptive, awaiting what he might say.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn's brow tensed with sorrow at her words.

"A place you fear... I see, that makes sense. That's a shame, but it makes sense."

He had his own places that he would hesitate to step into, so soon into his year. A wooden room with paper walls, a street with lanterns of burnt umber... The streets of Dornoch would not welcome him so readily if he ever returned there. And of course, Hahnah's experience was far more grim, far darker than his. He counted it a miracle that Hahnah's faith had not faltered following her near death. It spoke of a powerful, resilient heart. Would he be willing to grant the gods his attention following such an experience?

"That would be very brave of you, if you decided to return," he said. "It is just a building, but memories are not to be cast aside casually. If you need a friend for when you return, I'd be honoured."

After all, he still aspired to see the world, to see things his peers in the metropolis had ever seen before. The abandoned temple of the Dying God certainly met that criteria. And regardless, he owed Hahnah that much and more. Her next question tied into his thoughts uncannily.

"Will I see the world differently when I return?" he replied. "I'm more afraid that I will not. To see things differently is the whole reason why I am here, why my father sent me out here. To build on my perspective and to take in the grander scale of the city, how it fits into the many moving parts of Arethil... If nothing else, being stuck in this city has accomplished that."

He sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall of the alley. "For better or worse, I'm seeing the way the world truly is out here."

He imagined himself several years from now, reading through the terms of a trade deal with Oban and wondering whether the lords council could really be trusted with their word. He supposed that was something to consider - would his newly-gained insight in fact hamper his ability to make objective, unconnected business decisions? Would he be able to put the people and economy of the city first, knowing what others were capable of? Knowing the sorts of shadows that lurked beneath the surface?

"Things will change..." he muttered to himself, suddenly distant.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah beamed when Griffyn offered to return with her to the Temple. Alone it would be a harrowing experience, but with a friend? With a friend it could be done with little dread. Fear was eminently surmountable when one was not alone.

His answer to her question of change was something that she did not expect. Where Hahnah generally wanted her view of the world to stay the same, it was the entire purpose of Griffyn's journey out from his home for his view to change. He wanted to see things differently. To see the world for what it truly was. And here a distinction that Hahnah had not been inclined toward even considering before. Her conviction was such that she had always held her particular view of the world as the truth. She could not conceive of elves as possibly cruel, or humans as possibly kind. Yet time and exposure had eroded enough of her conviction away for doubt to intercede.

For better or worse, I'm seeing the way the world truly is out here.

Hahnah just stared at him with a kind of mild awe. The similarity between them, in how that simple statement applied to both of them so cleanly, was arresting. They had come from distinct and separate beginnings and were arriving in the same place, traveled there on journeys that were different but on a path that was the same.

She stood up. Straightened her cloak and dusted off her pant legs. And she stepped toward Griffyn.

"Yes, I agree that things will change," she said, "because we will change them. Here in Menura we will free the captive elves held in that penthouse. I believe it to be so. They will tell us the truth of how they came to be here, and we will both see the way the world really is."

For better. Or worse.

"I will not lie. I am afraid." Then she smiled and held his hand briefly in both of hers. "But I am not alone, and neither are you."

It was all leading to this. It had to be.

"Yes, I am afraid. But I am ready."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

He squeezed her hands, his face lighting up with a wide smile. Her words, so simple stated, were enough to dislodge his dread for the distant future and replace them with a grim yet fiery anticipation.

Things will change, because we will change them.

And that was true. If he ever reached the place he imagined, where he sat at the expansive desk in his father's office with a nation's weight of gold at his back, he could change the way Alliria operated. He could deny leaders like Lord Sunderland important trade, could levy costs on deals that undercut the vulnerable, could make statements in the highest halls of all Arethil decrying the injustice he had seen here, now, on the dusty streets of Menura. He wondered if this was why his father had sent him out after all, to realise this simple fact. For the first time since the shame of Dornoch, Griffyn felt the need to write his father a letter.

But here and now he and Hahnah could make another change. They would reveal what was unseen and, if they had to, stand against it. Not with the weight of mercantile business, not with political pressure, but with empassioned words and force of arms. The sword at his belt had never felt as heavy, but his heart had lightened.

I am afraid, she said. But he was not. The gods play him for a fool, but he was even a little excited.

"I am ready too," he said aloud. "Let's get this done."

His grin did not falter.

---

Menura Manor stood at the pinnacle of the hilltop city, overlooking the streets far from the outer walls. Three storeys topped by polished slate, atop which Griffyn would no doubt have been able to see far over the canopy of the distant forest where the Order made their plans. If the siege came to it, the building would have provided a very effective last stand with its high outer walls, narrow front garden and small but dedicated garrison. But he imagined the fighting would never get this far. Either the soldiers at the wall would push those of the Order back sufficiently to end it, or they would be overrun in the streets. The latter, most likely.

Griffyn led the way down a side-street between the tall hedgework lining of a fanciful garden and the stone wall of the manor compound. They were entirely alone - even the lights of the grand buildings of the rich were dark as the night sky above them. The echo of their boots was far too loud against the paving beneath their feet. He walked with tall, tense shoulders like a stalking cat, though there was no strict need to do so. They hadn't broke any laws just yet.

But a second lap of the outer wall had revealed to him what he had been looking for - an old wooden door, heavy and dusty, built into the manor structure in decades past. The unassuming entrance was a common addition to any home in the Inner City of home, he knew - a servant's entrance for receiving sundry deliveries. As well as for a few other things, he was led to believe. He hoped those stories had been true, for his plan's sake.

They formed up beside the little entrance. Griffyn leaned close to the closed portal. He wondered if that was the sound of an active furnace he could hear a ways beyond the wood, the sizzle of a stovetop. He brushed down his jacket and tapped some of the dirt from his boots with a couple of light kicks against the paving, running a hand needlessly against his hair.

"You did so well the last time we had to play a role," he said to Hahnah as he rolled his shoulders in anticipation. "Leave this one to me. I'll provide the 'in', you follow. We stay to the shadows until we get a lay of the room, then find our way upwards. There should be a quieter set of stairs for the servants, so keep an eye out for that. After that..."

He grinned wryly and shrugged his shoulders, glancing at her with one hand raised, ready to knock upon the wooden door. "After that, we see where this night takes us."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Here is where the world stood or fell as it was for Hahnah, this Manor in which the elves of Fal'Edwein were held. Here, one Griffyn could undue the damage done by another Griffin.

Hahnah in equal parts grew in her anxiousness and eagerness as they made their observational laps about the perimeter of the Manor's walls. These walls within walls within yet more walls were not welcoming, to speak of it as charitably as was possible. Yet for as struck by dread as Hahnah was by these confines, the elves held within had to be more so. They had been held captive for years, according to Rathierel. Hahnah did not know how long she herself had been locked within the Temple, time during that dark and nascent portion of her life was a thing which eluded firm grasp, but she thought it easy to judge that these elves had been locked their cage for far longer than she.

But the Dying God had led her here for a reason. She was even coming to believe that she had met Griffyn--an extraordinary human like none other she had seen--for a reason. Of sacred things she was the savior. She could be. In Elyr-Morath she had helped to save many of Elvenkind, but in Strathford she had failed to do so. And she prayed that Menura was more like the former than the latter.

It was Hahnah's first intention to simply attempt entry through the front gates. Such was often her way, to be direct. But Griffyn found a better way inside, one that was smaller and would not have as much attention on it. Into this mindset she positioned herself: I am stepping onto dangerous ground now, and I must not falter nor fail.

Beside the servant's entrance they stood. Poised. Faint sound on the other side of the door.

Griffyn spoke, and Hahnah was attentive.

"I will do my best to complement whatever role that you play," she said. She took in a breath, realizing the need to be quick-witted. Both in playing off of Griffyn, but also in knowing if and when to use her sorcery. "I will tug on your sleeve if I see the stairs you have mentioned."

She couldn't help but to share Griffyn's grin. It was not a gesture that she partook in often, but with Griffyn here, smiling, grinning, being with her, her dread shrank and shriveled away, and there was naught but the readiness to do good in the world. As she had always wished.

"I shall be right behind you."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn smiled at Hahnah, took a deep breath, and knocked hard on the servant's entrance door.

It was long moments before they received a response. A quiet shuffling beyond the wood, a hesitant clink of the bolt, what might have been a murmured question... And then, in the silence of the evening, the door to the manor opened to them.

The servant was a matronly woman, perhaps of an age with Griffyn's own mother. She stood low, shoulders hunched and hair tied back tight with a gauze net. The slight redness around her eyes spoke of fatigue. It was late, after all. Those eyes watched Griffyn with open suspicion, narrowed and steely.

"Wha'?"

Griffyn was ready. He opened up his expression with a wide smile and leant against the side of the door - a man with every reason to be here. He peered over the top of the servant's head and into the gloom of the little chamber beyond, a dusty half-room with old tools and disused crates.

"Evening," he greeted. "Is Sara ready?"

The servant blinked but stood a little straighter, and there was the clear glimmer of recognition in the brown of her eyes.

"Sara?" she asked.

"She asked me to meet her here tonight," he replied. "We, um... I had some things to talk with her about."

Griffyn allowed a faint blush to come to his cheeks. The woman, in return, granted him an exasperated sigh as she stood up to her full height.

"Oh, love." She shook her head, frowning down at her shoes. "I warned that girl. I told her not to mess around with boys' hearts, I did tell her. And now this."

Another sigh, and the door opened a fraction more as the servant-woman leaned against it. "Listen, son, don't take this all personal. Sara has a lot of love to give, you see, and girls like that get a little restless unless you give them plenty of attention."

He tilted his head to one side. "What... what do you mean?"

"She's gone, love." Her expression was one of genuine sympathy. "Ran from the city not so long ago with someone else. Another soldiery-looking lad. I told her it was dangerous, those raiders outside the walls don't much care for young love. But she'd not listen to me."

Griffyn shook his head slowly. "No... That's not... She said she would wait for me. We'd leave the war together and find a new..."

He let the hand rest on his arm as the servant approached.

"I am sorry, love. I was the same when I was her age. Don't take it personal, I'm sure you're a lovely lad."

She smiled, and he put on a brave face for her as he brought a hand down to his wand.

"Thank you..."

A light touch at her temple and a quick breath of heavy, sluggish syllables. She slipped, eyes flickering, and fell under the dense blanket of his enchantment. He caught the sleeping servant in his arms and advanced, glancing at Hahnah over one shoulder as they entered.

The kitchen was small, dimly lit. Fresh herbs hung over a long worktable and a cooking furnace was built into one of the walls. A younger woman, the only occupant, looked up in surprise as he entered.

"Help! She just collapsed suddenly!"

The servant rushed forward with visible concern, and Griffyn let her take the older woman onto a nearby stool.

"I'll get some water."

The servant looked up at him with wide eyes. "Hey, hold on!"

"I'll be back in a moment, I've been here before!"

Shielding Hahnah with his silhouette, he moved out into the corridor. And just like that, they were in.

Griffyn looked around the narrow confines of the servant corridors of Menura Manor. "Time to get to work."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Griffyn had spoken so casually that, for a moment, Hahnah herself was deceived and thought that he was here to meet the woman named Sara--details of how she had come back from the Order's encampment not dissuading this notion. Brief, Hahnah's bout of being fooled, but it spoke to Griffyn's ability to assume a role and to assume it well.

They talked, Griffyn and the older servant woman, and Hahnah waited and did not draw attention to herself. Hers would have been the way of violence if she had been doing this alone--just as she had told Griffyn. She was certainly far better now at dealing with unfamiliar things, with social situations which inevitably arose while walking in settlements of any kind, but she did not think she was good enough to do the things that Griffyn could do. Yet here, in the manor, there would perhaps be a mixture. The way of violence alone would not be enough, and the way of pretense alone would not be enough. And so, for the sake of the elves, it was good that Hahnah and Griffyn were together. Together they could overcome the challenge. Hahnah believed this. She had to believe this.

Griffyn put his fingers to the servant's temple, and she seemed to die by the mere touch. Seemed, but not quite, as there was still a light but steady rise and fall of the woman's chest. Oh. That was interesting. Hahnah's magic was good for one thing and one thing only. What Griffyn had done was far more suitable to their purpose at present. It furthered their pretense.

And allowed them to slip in, leaving the other servant to deal with the "collapse" of the older servant, instead of leaving a body and the screaming of an alarmed human.

Hahnah moved like a shadow with Griffyn, keeping sight of him through her peripheral, matching his motions with her own. But then came the servant's corridors after the kitchen, and they were like the claustrophobic tunnels of a confined cavern. Hahnah had to suppress her nerves in walking down here, so close were the walls that she could not go shoulder-to-shoulder with Griffyn but had to go behind him and slightly off to his side. Unbeknownst to her, the corridors ringed all of the grander, wider, more expansive and elegant rooms of the manor, their purpose to keep the servants cleanly from view and to allow said servants to stay out of view while moving throughout the manor.

Eventually, ahead and to the left near an upcoming corner, there was a staircase. Griffyn likely saw it, but Hahnah tugged on the back of his sleeve anyway. And she was going to point--

--when a man clad in fine plate armor stepped from the staircase and into the servant's corridor. His pace was languid, but he maintained a steady vigilance in his demeanor. The armored man slowly glanced toward his right, toward them both, expecting to see one of the servants and instead seeing them.

Hahnah, remembering a line from The Romance of House Black, kept both her hands now on Griffyn's sleeve in an urgent manner and spoke as if she'd not even noticed the estate guard at all. "We are going to be sooo late!"

Now.

For Griffyn to play off of her.

And to see if the guard even believed them.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

They would have to move with haste. The unconscious servant would keep the other busy for some time, held in place by unwillingness to abandon a colleague (he hoped), but the distraction would not last forever. Getting water was not an activity that would save them for long.

But now this. Griffyn eyed the newcomer, both his thick mail and his questioning eyes glinting in the lantern light. A nice set of gear for one so far from the action, he considered. And this narrow corridor was not an ideal battlefield - their numerical advantage counted little when they could not take advantage of it. The armour would also make setting an enchantment on his enemy problematic.

But for a wonder, it was Hahnah who presented a non-combative resolution to their plight. The guard glanced at the protesting young half-elf, and then up at Griffyn. The pieces moved in Griffyn's head, whirring and connecting, but ultimately there was simply not enough on which to build a convincing complete tale. He would have to guess, and gamble.

Griffyn put a hand on Hahnah's back, pushing her gently towards the stairs beyond the mailed guard.

"Yes, I'm well aware," he said with a frown, following on behind her with a hurried step. "Perhaps if you hadn't taken so long choosing dinner..."

They reached the soldier, a steel wall before them. Closer and closer. And then, by the force of their evident urgency, the man stepped to the side to let them pass. His mouth set strangely, a tight line taught with unspoken questions. As Griffyn passed him by, he reached out a gauntleted hand and gripped the taller man's arm.

"Hey," he said quietly, leaning close.

Griffyn, tensing, eyed him questioningly.

"She's not... I mean, she didn't come from..." The guard stuttered, uncertain with his words as though specific elements of his vocabulary had been sealed and he was having to work around them.

"She's not what?" Griffyn asked, genuinely curious. The other man's brow was a solid line across his forehead, low above his eyes, in an expression of bewilderment and, to his alarm, mild disgust.

After a moment, the guard replied. "They've not been here that long, have they?"

Griffyn was torn. Here was an insider, a source of valuable information. He knew something, or at least suspected something, that might assist their continued mission. But then again, time was short. Resigned to his choice, Griffyn tugged against the man's grip.

"Not my place to ask, is it?" he replied with theatrical gruffness.

The guard's expression softened, and he nodded. "I hear that," he said. "Have a good night."

"And you." He wasted no time ushering Hahnah up the steps. Heavy metallic steps resounded away behind them.

They were able to climb two storeys before the steps ended in a simple wooden door of polished wood. On the other side, a much wider corridor decked in red and gold paint and gilding. A dark rug covered the floor, and in alcoves to the sides stood tall tables holding ceramic bowls, vases and stone busts of stern-looking humans. Griffyn closed the door behind them.

"We're here," he said needlessly. "Now to find the right door."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah hid her intent to call upon her sorcery, to kill if need be, behind a cheerful expression. Purposefully aloof of the guard and his presence, as if he were not a concern and that she had every right to be here in this manor and walking through these servants' corridors. She went ahead of Griffyn when guided to do so and walked a step or two past the guard, seemingly without a care in the world other than the stated "fact" that she and Griffyn were going to be late.

Then the guard stopped Griffyn.

Hahnah stopped. A brief flash of a deadly cold expression when her face was turned from both of the men, and then that pretend cheerfulness when she faced about to observe with good temperament what was the matter.

They spoke. Few words each, back and forth. The guard seemed to think that Hahnah was someone that she was not, and Griffyn stoked this notion. The guard's belief was settled, chiseled into stone with the right responses from Griffyn. And, inwardly, Hahnah was relieved. They would not need to put themselves in danger and be forced to kill...yet.

Up the stairs. Hahnah pushed open the door of polished wood (thinking that polish gave the wood quite the odd and unnatural sheen). This corridor now was not as barren and drab as the previous one. The busts of the humans were something of a small shock for Hahnah to see; though she had seen statues before, these evoked in a distant way a collection of decapitated heads whether or not they were carved from stone. She put aside her thoughts on the busts.

The right door.

The right door.

She thought for a moment. There could be other humans, other guards, behind any of those doors. There could be or there might not be--they just didn't know. But behind one of them had to be the captive elves, held in the place called the penthouse. They could open each and every door (if they were not locked), but that might invite the direct attention of those potential other humans and guards inside.

But maybe they did not need to open every door.

She leaned closer to Griffyn, looked up to him, and said in a low and secretive tone, "I could speak in Elvish at each door. I could do so in a manner that is casual, speaking as if I am having a simple conversation, and this may not draw attention to us. But I will make my plea to the elves, and if they hear they may respond."

Perhaps those of the manor were used to hearing Elvish spoken up here, and think nothing of it. Hahnah hoped so, and she hoped further that none of the humans spoke it. But this was one idea to find the door beyond which were the captive elves.

She awaited Griffyn's opinion. He might consider some risks to this idea that she had not, or he might consent to it and this would be their chance.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn walked with her up the corridor, turning at the junction and peering down. A maid with an armful of laundry closed one of many doors behind her and strode purposefully away down an adjoining passage a stretch ahead of them. Including that one, he noticed, there were at least seven doorways on this wing of the upper floor alone. A couple sported silverwork plaques signifying bathing chambers - he hoped they wouldn't find their quarry in there. The others were unadorned. It was clear that to those who were meant to be here, the directions were obvious without signage. He frowned.

"It's as good a plan as any," he remarked at Hahnah's suggestion. "It's possible the residents of the manor also speak a bit of Elvish, though. Make it a little obscure if you do say anything."

They made their way up the carpet, past the side passage and towards the end of the corridor. A small south-facing window was set into the wall before him, between the two final doorways. Soft moonlight filtered through, and Griffyn glanced out at the city below them.

He was struck by the way the roofs of the buildings seemed to slot together, forming a city-sized slate platform of uneven ups and downs. The paths between the homes, warehouses and stalls were nearly invisible from this height. Somewhere to his right, the main gates of the city were no doubt awaiting the coming sunrise. Beyond, the elves prepared for the end of the war. Griffyn was suddenly unsettled by a bout of vertigo, and he rested his hand on the pane before him to steady himself. The city and even the surrounding lands were filled with individuals whose names and faces he did not know, but who would be affected by what they were doing here and now. A spoken word, a cast arm, a drawn weapon, and lives would change. This, too, was no doubt how his father felt on a regular basis, but to Griffyn it was still unfamiliar, still threatened his heart with shaking.

He looked down at motion at the manor's entrance far below. A small procession had arrived, led by a woman in a thick cloak. It was the stance that gave away Lady Sunderland more than her appearance as she strode to the doors, sharing heated words with the two guards on duty. A shaken head. Then the men with her moved forwards, and the door of the house was flung open.

"We're running out of time," he muttered.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Make it a little obscure. There the balance would have to be struck. Hahnah puzzled over it, bringing a lightly curled fist to her chin, thinking for a solid moment after they had traversed the carpet and reached the other end of the corridor.

Too obscure, and the elves might not answer at all, and they would have to fall back on trying every door in turn. Too obvious, and if there were any humans who spoke fluent Elvish--or perhaps even some Elvish--would catch on and it would be as if they had kicked open the doors anyway.

Hahnah was ready and willing for that contingency, for the resident humans to become alarmed and for the armored men called guards to become alerted. Recent doubt or no, much of her life had been spent in preparation for it--slaying. Yet she knew well that all the preparation in the world could not surmount sheer numbers. The longer this stayed quiet, the more that she and Griffyn were as ghosts in the night, the better their chances to save the elves and their chances of their own survival.

She heard Griffyn say in a low voice that they were running out of time. He had been peering out the window.

Hahnah looked back up and said quietly, "I think I have something now that I can try."

She started to walk then, close to the doors, speaking her Elvish aloud and in a calm and casual manner as she did, as if in conversation with a friend. "I would like to go on a walk...oh, not just outside of this manor, but outside of the city again...yes, I know, the war, but would it not be nice to go on a walk...I think it would be good to taste the fresh air, to be among the trees again, to have that freedom...but we are trapped, I know, I know, the war...we are trapped inside these walls...but those walks were nice, and maybe we can all be free to walk where we please again soon...it is just a very nice night for it..."

Some repetition. Necessary, as she went from door to door, as only portions of her "conversation" would be picked up while moving from one to the next. She made a lap of the corridor, speaking her gambit as she did, and came back around to Griffyn by the window at the end of it.

Now to see. If there was some manner of response, from the elves or perhaps not from the elves, or no response at all.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

There was an eye at the ajar door second from the left by Griffyn's reckoning. Blue, like a summer's sky, but across it a sheen of grey that spoke of age beyond knowing. The face was pale, and above it the dark hair had strands of silver like shooting stars in a sunlit sky. The same low brow of the elf Rathierel hung above, taut and twisted in surprise as it peered from a doorway barely open.

"Child..." came a voice like tempered steel, singing like a drawn blade in its native Elvish, "...you should not be here."

Griffyn turned at the whispered voice and saw Hahnah's closeness to the speaker. He remained back, aware that his presence would only cause complications. His pricked his ears, listening instead for the telltale sounds of chain and leather that would signal reinforcements.

"This is not place for one so young," the voice continued. "Evidently you are not native to the city. You would perhaps be from the Falwood? Return there, along with any word you bring. Return before you are swept up in matters that do not concern you."

Griffyn understood only fragments, quietly spoken as they were, but frowned at the meaning he garnered from the tone. He detected simmering frustration, a touch of fear. In truth, he had been expecting the lordly countenance of an elf at home in the lap of luxury, that their true challenge would be talk down a group who had received everything they could want at the cost of recognition. This... resignation was another missing piece of the puzzle.

He turned and glanced from the window. He fancied he could see lights in the distant west, a host preparing for the dawn's engagement at the city gates. They had time before the inevitable, more than he hoped they would need, but still it felt like the sand in the timer was almost depleted.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah stopped pointedly when she heard the reply in Elvish. The tone she did not register at first, this swept under the rush of quiet excitement. She turned and faced the ajar door, coming close but aware of coming too close. She did not want to give the elves cause for suspicion or alarm when both she and Griffyn, though unknown to them, had naught but good intentions.

As Hahnah stood close to the ajar door and regarded its blue-eyed occupant, her hopeful excitement took a hit. You should not be here, said the elf. It could have been concern for Hahnah's wellbeing but, as the tone of speaker's voice came at last to register, this much like the slow sinking of feet into an awful patch of mud, the words were not. They were words of admonition if anything.

Hahnah listened further. Her smile, genuine when she had initially turned about upon hearing the words in Elvish, became fragile and tenuous as more was spoken. She blinked. Trying to understand, trying to make sense of this, trying mostly to reckon how she had expected this to transpire with what was happening before her now.

Even though the elf had curtly told her to leave, to return back to Falwood, still Hahnah made her plea. Yet the hope which she steadfastly clung to was as a thin ball of glass ringed over its entire circumference with white, jagged cracks.

She held a hand to her chest. "I do not mean you harm. My name is Hahnah, and his name is Griffyn." Perhaps unwittingly inviting those possible complications by making his presence known, by nodding toward him. "We can free all of you, this war can be done, and then you could return to Falwood with me. There is not much time. Please, we wish only to help."

And though her eyes may have shimmered with that earnest resolve, still, at their edges, that fragility.

The dreadful anticipation that this would not go as she had so strongly thought it would.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

The elf was quiet as Hahnah spoke, his head emerging briefly to cast an unreadable eye at Griffyn. The clink of cutlery emerged from within the room. Now visible was lush red on the walls, a framed tapesty of some ancient origin, and an open window letting in the evening breeze. Slowly, the elf receded. He looked down at Hahnah with a forlorn shake of his head.

"You have come... all this way?" He peered upwards, seemingly at the lantern on the ceiling of the corridor but in truth beyond it. His dim eyes reflected eternity. "Your dedication to your cause is to be commended, child, truly. We... appreciate the care you have demonstrated by your presence. I assume my brother has instigated this escapade?"

There was a shuffling of fabric from deeper into the room, a resonant thud of carpetted wood and a soft sigh as another occupant moved themselves towards the door. The elf frowned but otherwise ignored the noise, brushing his hand down his silk dressing gown.

"It is inconsquential," he continued. "Return to the woods and please, do not speak of meeting us here. Our conversation will come to nothing. Please inform my brother that we were not to be found in the city. If you are able... please encourage him to cease this foolish war and leave the city in peace."

"Who's this, Rath?" The second occupant made himself known, a fair-haired elf with dark rings around his hazel eyes. He grinned without mirth as he leant against the older elf, his chest bare and lower body dressed for sleep. His breath held the scent of wine. "A guest, come to sample of the legendary hospitality of the lord of the city?"

Rathanon, brother of Rathierel, placed a kindly hand on his compatriot's shoulder and eased him away from the door. There were whispered words between them before he returned to Hahnah.

"Thank you, child," he said tiredly, "and good night."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

It felt as though a knife had been slipped between her ribs and slowly driven into her chest.

This was the one thing that she had been certain about. The one thing that she believed above all of the turmoil here in Menura. She had experienced doubt of the highest order, but in this one matter she had felt none. This was the foundation, the bedrock, that was supposed to stand firm even as all the things above cracked and crumbled.

But here it was. These elves were not captives at all. Or, they were so in love with their captivity so as to render it all but meaningless.

Hahnah just absently eyed the other elf who appeared and leaned against the one he had called Rath. Hers was an expression of abject disbelief. She was stunned, her body frigid and her words congealed in her throat and stuck there.

A look to Griffyn, as if her pleading eyes alone could imbue him with the power to right all that was wrong.

Rathanon thanked her. Said good night.

And all Hahnah could do was meagerly lift her hand, reaching faintly toward the elf, and to say meekly, "Wait..."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

As the door slowly closed and Hahnah's big eyes turned to him, Griffyn surged forward, overcome with a sudden anger. He stood over Hahnah and push the door against Rathanon, forcing him back. With his other hand on the door frame, his large build filling the space, he loomed towards the elf.

"You are aware that there are people out there dying for you?" he demanded, voice low but insistant. "You are aware that there is blood being spilt for you and your friends out there in the streets? And you're alright to leave things as they are, did I translate that correctly?"

The elf stood back, aghast and pale, before visibly composing himself. His Common was clipped and regal, fraught with restrained rage and pride.

"What my brother chooses to do is his affair, human," Rathanon intoned. "We did not send men to battle, that is entirely his doing. If you take umbridge with the loss of life, address it to the one who ordered it."

Griffyn leaned closer, his chest against the back of Hahnah's head. "But you could prevent this! One word from you and your brother would back off - tell me if I am mistaken! What in the name of the Gods could possibly hold you back from just talking to your family and ending this war?"

A seething silence met them as Rathanon stared him down. Griffyn held his composure. He felt heat on his face as their wills collided, generating friction in the space between them. His grip on the door frame tightened.

And then Rathanon sighed.

"It is not a thing that I would expect a human and a child to understand. It is a thing of those who have lived long, long lives and have much, much more ahead of them. My explanations will certainly sound foolish to your ears, so I shall save my breath and your time. If you are capable of trusting one such as I, who you have only just met, trust me on this. The price is worth the silence."

Griffyn faltered against the elf's grief. Beyond, in the room, a single sniff.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah felt more than heard or saw Griffyn coming forward, his demand of the elf powerful--more powerful than any that Hahnah could have made in that moment--even with the need for quiet. Still she stood, stunned, as something of a small observation came into her thoughts: that she was physically between Griffyn and Rathanon, and figuratively so between good and...

What? What was Rathanon by her lights now? Was he cruel, for allowing this all to happen as Griffyn had said? Was he apathetic? Elves were dying, dying for his sake, and he did not seem to care; he did not want to leave this room (which was not locked at all) and rejoin Elvenkind, rejoin his own family. He had a family. They who cared for him and loved him. In this he was so fortunate and yet he was rejecting them. It was beyond what Hahnah could comprehend.

Whatever Rathanon was...she knew...that it was not good.

The fingers of Hahnah's right hand flexed in a subtle motion. She shifted her foot to be in the jamb of the door. Where she had faltered, Griffyn had stepped in. Where he faltered, she would step in. There was no anger (yet) in her tone nor expression. More than anything else she was despondent from this utter reversal of how this had gone, her worldview inevitably slipping from her grasp even as she clutched for it so.

"I want you to tell me," she said. "I do not want you to save your breath, I want you to tell me."

Her mouth a thin, quivering frown. Brow curled in dismay.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Rathanon was ghostly pale as he took in Griffyn, and then Hahnah. His eyes lingered on hers, wide and fearful. His hand came up to the door to steady himself. And then he breathed out.

"The truth..." he said in that breath. "The truth. You wish to hear it so badly that you... you would..."

Booted feet on the stairs. Griffyn turned to eye the way they had come, but knew this was it. There was no escape from this - he would need to plan his excuse. But then Rathanon stepped forward and to one side, revealing the room beyond.

"Come, then," he whispered, not meeting their eyes.

Griffyn did not need telling twice. With a hand on Hahnah's shoulder he moved into the chamber and stepped behind the door. He took in the large bed, sheets rumpled and unmade, and the thick armchairs beside an unlit fireplace. Rathanon's fair associate slumped heavily in one of these, eyes on the newcomers with dark suspicion. Griffyn stepped to the wall behind the door alongside Hahnah, and held his breath.

A collection of individuals could be heard making their way up the corridor. The door before him shifted slightly as Rathanon moved his balance.

"Ah, Lady Sunderland," said the elf with genuine warmth. "So late to be out, and with such a company."

"Rathanon, I do hope we did not disturb you," came the unmistakable voice of the lady of the city. It sounded as if she were smiling. "We've had a spot of bother with a couple of our soldiers and they may have made it as far as the manor. You haven't seen anyone strange or suspicious tonight? Or heard anything?"

The elf chuckled melodiously. "It sounds as if you are party to an exciting evening! I have not seen who you are looking for, I'm afraid. Ethriellan and I shall keep our ears pricked for anything out of the ordinary, however."

"Please do," replied Sunderland with a sigh. "They are spreading some rather unpleasant rumours about the war. Not maliciously, you understand, simply misguided. We would just like a word with them before they do any more damage. Is Ethriellan well?"

"Too well, I am afraid," Rathanon laughed. "Working off a hangover."

Griffyn turned and caught the eye of the elf in question, who stared back caustically.

"And the rest of your friends?" the lady asked.

"The workshop. They could not sleep and decided to get some further work done."

There was a pause, a little intake of breath, as though Rathanon was to say more. But instead it was Lady Sunderland who broke the silence.

"That is very generous of them. Please remind them not to work too hard. Their comfort is our highest priority."

"Of course. Have a good night, Eloise."

The door remained open for a few moments after the party left the vicinity. Rathanon sealed the chamber slowly, face drawn, and turned to look at Hahnah and Griffyn.

"You should have a seat, if you intend to stay," he said, gesturing at the free armchair. He himself moved to the bed and took a heavy seat.

Griffyn nodded for Hahnah to take the chair and leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "Why did you do that?" he asked. "You surely do not trust us more than your employer."

Rathanon chuckled mirthlessly. "'Employer'. You have some insight to call her so. And in truth I am not certain why I would hear your story before turning you in. Perhaps I feel the need to share our plight with a neutral party, and to hear your reaction, before I can sleep soundly tonight."

"The telling will kill us..." came a slurred voice from Ethriellan. His head was slumped to one side and his eyes were closed. "Leave it alone, or we shall die for this..."

Rathanon looked at his feet. "No. They are insistent. And I am... I am nearing the end of my wits. But... you will need to help me. Tell me where to start." He looked up at Hahnah, eyes fierce. "Where do I begin?"

Hahnah