Private Tales What Remains

[Avros]

Avelin - Town of Prim, The Bruised Backside

The sounds of laughter were few and far in between now, though once the Bruised Backside had been the very center of Prim. The tavern had been a roaring house of mirth and song, drawing in even the farmers from the outlands?

Now?

Now it was where you went to drown out the misery.

Every now and again someone summoned up the spirit to tell a joke, or the gleeman might recount a tale that was worth a chuckle, but no smile ever lasted long. Not in Avelin. Not in any of the Four Kingdoms.

It seemed a truth that was hard to shake, whether in public of private. The Emperor had ground them into shadows of themselves, quite literally in some cases. Tasks that had once been a simple few strokes of the pen were now an outrageous labor of hours. Fields had become fallow as they lay without proper care, villages had been abandoned as numbers had to be consolidated.

A rot lay within Avalin, and those who might have once resisted it seemed to be gone.

The door to the tavern creaked open, echoing over the gleeman's forlorn song. The sound of wet boots ringing out as the open door let in some of the torrential rain pouring down outside. Stepping inside was a man, over six feet tall, a cloak covering him and what appeared to be a large bundle of cloth strapped across his back. A few heads swiveled to peer at the figure, but no one really paid him any mind.

With just a single glance, the man stepped towards the tavern's bar. The innkeep raised his head, offering a suspicious eye. "Don't like no cloaks 'round here, Sir. Meaning no insult. We just want no trouble."

Boots came to a stop in front of the bar, a hand reaching up to pull away the hood of his cloak.

"Apologies." The man said, offering a smile despite his cloak dripping everywhere. "I need a room for the night."

He glanced over his shoulder. "And some news, if you have it."

The words were met with the raising of an eyebrow, the barkeep shaking his head as though he couldn't quite believe someone would ask a question like that anymore. "Room I can give you, comes with a meal too. News? Don't know what you might be wanting to know, same shit all over the last few years."

He said, slowly beginning to reach for some keys beneath the bar.

 

[Faelynwë]

"The fairest flower of chivalry to bloom in all the land,
The noblest of all the knights of Oban

Was Roland, Roland, King Alaric's sister's son,
Renowned through all the Abberesai lands for battles you have won.
In Council hear you Ganelon make plea to go to war,
To aid the rebel Alirians, against their rightful lords

Roland, Roland, you call this plan ill made,
But nonetheless does Alaric agree to send them aid.
The Allirian requests for you the post most perilous,
And willingly do you accept, as honour deems you must."​

She had lost track of what song she was on, what tavern she had managed to barter a bed with for the night in exchange for tales nobody really listened to anymore. They all blended into one now and had for the past ten years. Just keep moving, those were the last words her mother had whispered to her before sending her deep into those catacombs. She had never stopped listening to those words it seemed. The first years had been rough. Not many were willing to have her even if she offered to work; her eyes gave her heritage away and The Emperor had made it clear how much he loathed her kind. Her people.

The Gleemaiden shut the thought down.

She had no-one. She was no-one. Nothing but a simple Gleemaiden trying to make a living. She launched into the next verse of her song, her fingers gliding over the strings on her lyre.

"Roland, Roland, the rear guard you command,
With Oliver your loyal friend to ride at your right hand.
But at the Vale of the Spine your doom is now anigh,
The Dornites do hold the pass, and will not let you by.

Roland, Roland, you know now you're betrayed,
But in your heart is courage, and your voice is not dismayed.
Face ye now grim battle, take your shields and hold them high,
With honour we have lived our lives with honour we shall die."​

She didn't so much as look up when the door opened and another person entered. For this tavern, she knew it was busy. Busier than it had been in months because people wanted to hear her songs. Human gleeman were all well and good, but nothing could beat the Elves of Astoria when it came to storytelling. Even without their magic. It seemed after all these years the Emperor had finally stopped caring about the few of her people who remained so long as they stayed in their place. She, for one, was happy to oblige.

"Roland, Roland, sound your mighty horn.
Try to call the men back that rode out just yestermorn.
The king has heard you call afar, but he says nay,
Tis only our young Roland, out hunting on this day.

Roland, Roland, sound your horn again.
Meanwhile the battle rages in the valley and the glen.
Again the King has heard your call. Again the traitor lies,
And none shall come to aid you, since your peril he denies."​

 

[Avros]

At first Avros hadn't noticed it, the song which rang through the room. It had simply been drowned out by the noise. Soft murmurs of conversation, the splash of raindrops against windows, the sound of the tavern kitchens. All of it had added to the caucophany, but with a second of peace came a moment to focus.

He heard that song then, for the first time.

The soft trill of the Astorian's voice, the unmistakable flow of her words. It flooded memories to the front of his mind. A time before his imprisonment. Before his torture. Before everything had gone to shit.

Avros could remember the last time he had heard words like those. It was before he'd lost everything. Before everything had been taken.

"Ser? Ser?"​

The Innkeeper tapped the counter, the motion echoing out in the small common room. Avros eyes snapping open. "Sorry."

He said, drawing in a breath, taking the mans attention.

"Ten, was it?" For a brief moment the once future king looked down into the small purse that sat within his hand. A meager few coins remained from what he had managed to steal from the soldiers he'd ambushed on the road. They had been ill-prepared after five years of peace, and it seemed paid even worse.

He plucked a few of the coins free, and then slid them over. "I'll take a table, too, a meal."

Avros said, adding another coin. The Innkeeper smiled eagerly, nodding as he scraped the wayward Prince's meager earnings off the counter. Directing him to a table just to the left of the small stage where the Gleemaiden stood.

 

[Faelynwë]

" Roland, Roland, Sound your final blast,
As one by one your men at arms die fighting in the pass.
And last of all is Oliver by swordsmen overthrown,
And you of all the Obanese knights now stand alone.

Roland, Roland, oh black the day you died.
Your comrades slain around you and your sword there by your side.
They found you on a hilltop with your face turned to the foe,
And never has there been a day of such great woe.

Roland, Roland, your name will live in song,
Whenever brave men take up arms to right a grievous wrong.

The fairest flower of chivalry to bloom in all the land,
And the noblest of all the knights of Oban."​

The last note of the song seemed to reverberate around the room. She knew everyone was listening whether it was with half an ear or their full attention. She could feel it. Another girl from long ago would have once felt it in her blood. The phantom only felt the echo of it. The memory. There was a splattering of applause as she hopped off her stall and gave a little bow.

Seven songs. She'd done seven songs, her parched mouth told her. Conversation filled the empty void her song left behind and she said not another word as she strode from the stage for the bar to get herself an ale.

 

[Avros]

The songs ended, and so the small miseries crept back into the room.

It was an almost palpable feeling. Men and women turning back towards one another, starting a conversation about how half their harvest had grown fallow or how the cow wasn't eating enough to get any milk. No one brought up an ounce of joy, not while the music wasn't playing.

The little village of Prim did not lack for it's moments of mirth, not even now, but on this night the misery of it all was almost palpable.

Perhaps because their Prince was among them.

Perhaps because the man who had failed them all those many years ago stood in their midst. Maybe the ancient fates wanted to show him what he had wrought, what his failure had lead to.

By the time he received his meal, Avros found that all semblance of hunger had fled him. He sat quietly, chewing the same piece of bread he had been for quite some time. Fingers drawing back and forth over the back of his knuckles.

He'd failed them.

All of them.

 

[Faelynwë]

"I didn't think your kind drank ale," the barmaid said with a cheery chuckle as she slid the mug across the bar. The Gleemaiden only stared at her as her fingers curled around the rim.

"What kind is that?" The barmaids smile faltered at the coldness in that tone. She glanced first to her pointed ears then to her eyes. Damning purple eyes ringed in gold. The girl swallowed turning an ashen shade of grey when she seemed to realise her mistake.

"Nothing," the girl muttered and scurried off to the kitchens with some half hearted excuse to check on cook. When she reappeared a moment later with the newcomers food she didn't so much as glance at the Gleemaiden as she hurried over to the dejected Prince.

In the void that the girl she had been had left behind, Fae might have felt bad. There was barely any joy nowadays and she had deliberately tried to snuff out that girls smile. Had hated it. Hated her and her ability to smile. She shoved the guilt down. Down to the pit where she had shoved everything else that hurt then sealed it shut by taking a swig of the ale. One drink, just one, then she'd do another set.

 

[Avros]

His fingers tapped against the table.

Lost in thought when the barmaid flounced back to his table, eager to escape Faelynwë's wrath, Avros barely noticed her.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" She said in a chipper tone, her plight moments ago apparently forgotten in the presence of the handsome stranger. The Prince looked up at her for a brief moment, noting that for the brief second at least, she had a spark of joy in her eye.

"No, that's alright." He said, offering a smile. Then glancing at the Gleemaiden. "What was that?"

Avros asked, apparently having seen the exchange out of the corner of his eye. "Did she upset you?"

The Barmaid smiled, her expression softening as though gladdened by his caring words.

"No no!" She said with a shake of her head. "Think I upset her, more like, she's one of them..."

Her words trailed off. "I shouldn't say, it's other people's business. Not mine."

 

[Faelynwë]

Before the Prince could even open his mouth the barmaid ploughed on, clearly too excited to divulge the information before being asked for it.

"She's a Nyárë Elf! I read about them eyes, but I never saw them before. Not until she turned up yesterday asking for a room in exchange for her services here," her voice was low but not low enough for the men at the table closest to them had also now turned their attention to the elf sat at the bar finishing her ale. Perhaps it was the red rims or shadows under them which made a person not want to look directly into her eyes and had thus saved her from total recognition so far, but murmurs broke out as folk began to look a little harder now.

"I heard stories of them. I didn't think they drank - certainly not the amount she does," there was something like pity on the girls face as she glanced over her shoulder. The Gleemaiden set down her mug and wiped the foam from her mouth then made to stand. The barmaid seemed to remember herself. "Anyways, it's not like they're illegal I suppose, and it's nice to have decent music in here for a change," murmurs of agreement broke out and she swept to the next table, no doubt to gossip more.

She knew people were murmuring about her. Knew that stupid girl couldn't keep her mouth shut, but no fear or anger shone in those dead eyes as she stalked back to the chair on the raised platform. Let them talk. Let them wonder. The gleemaiden didn't care as long as they tossed her their coins. She took up her position, strummed a few notes, and began to sing again.

"When I see the lark beating
Its wings in joy against the rays of the sun
That it forgets itself and lets itself fall
Because of the sweetness that comes to its heart,
Alas! Such great envy then overwhelms me
Of all those whom I see rejoicing,
I wonder that my heart, at that moment,
Does not melt from desire.

Alas! How much I thought I knew
About love, and how little I know,
Because I cannot keep myself from loving
The one from whom I will gain nothing.
She has all my heart, and my soul,
And herself and the whole world;
And when she left, nothing remained
But desire and a longing heart."​

 

[Avros]

Avros leaned back as the song began to ring out within the tavern. His head turned away from the girl that had been talking to, attention about the elvin woman who tuned the air of music. There was a sombre sort of resenment that bloomed within him as he listened. Not for the woman who sang, no, perhaps he was the only one here who did not hate her kind.

His hatred was for those days now passed. Those whom he could no longer find, but so wanted desperately to see again. The hope within him was fleeting, as much as he hated to admit it. His fight would never be lost, not to him, but as he walked his lands once more and met his people...the concern could not be quivered from him mind.

Perhaps that made him weak.

Still, as she sang her song, his eyes closed. He allowed himself some semblance of a moment.

It didn't last long of course. One could not simply quiet the mind nor still the sounds of anxiety. In a strange sort of way, his time upon the rack had been almost less of a torture. It seemed now as though he were constantly standing at the edge of a cliff.

Any decision he made could have been wrong. Most of them already had been. "I think I need my room."

Avros said, more to himself than the woman who was still lingering at his side. A meloncholie had struck him, for a fleeting moment at least. He was not broken, but after what he had seen, he was not entirely sure where he would begin anew.

 

[Faelynwë]

"O' course mister, right this way mister," the maid flashed him a smile and bobbed her head, gesturing towards the stairs. "One of the nicer ones, has a lovely view right out over the gardens. I planted the roses out there you know..." On the maid chattered seeming content to carry the conversation herself rather than wait for any reply or input from him.

The Gleemaiden watched then go through the waves of her slightly dishevelled hair though she never missed a beat. Her song came to an end and dutifully the room clapped and shouted out other requests. She let her mind drift until a particular title caught her fickle attention and bent her instrument to play the well known tune. The rest of the night continued on the same; request and song, request and song. She stayed until the last drunken patron stumbled up to beds, plucking aimlessly at her strings and lost in her own memories.

 

[Avros]

He was chasing echoes.

The realization had struck him as he'd laid wallowing in his own misery. The things that he had wanted, the world that he had fought for...it was already gone. Things were not as they had been before he'd taken. He wasn't fighting to keep that last flickering flame still burning.

It had already gone out.

That fact alone was enough to shatter most, it had shattered most. He saw it in his people now. How they reacted to things. The slow melancholic state that had sat within the tavern even as the songs continued to pale out.

What little joy there was to be found had been in the bottom of a barrel or hint of something better. Hope had been taken and strangled, thrown to the side under the boots of those who now ruled above. Avros knew his mistake. He had been looking for the light. Looking for a way to find his way back to those who might still hold.

He hadn't understood that he shouldn't have been looking for a light, but instead he'd need make a spark.

The door silently shutting behind him, Avros hefted his back. Shifting the weight as he moved out into the quiet common room, now bereft of conversation but still carrying the soft echo of a tune as the gleemaid played in her despair.

 

[Faelynwë]

The elf sat in the pool of moonlight that spilled through the inns front windows. Her fingers idly played across the strings, never quite making contact though she seemed to have no trouble hearing the melody they should have made. Her eyes were closed, face turned towards the light, lost in thoughts of the past and the memories the songs brought back. She had tried over the years to shut them down. She had stripped away everything of that old life until she was a shell that could barely remember her own name. But the songs always brought what she tried to shut out back to her.

Words have power, faeling, a woman's voice whispered in her mind. You must never forget that.

Her heart ached with sorrow and she opened her eyes to banish the wraiths that clawed at her mind. She was startled to see the young man standing there and in her startlement her fingers thrummed the strings aloud.

 

[Avros]

The sound carried through the commons, an echo of the song that she had played that day. A reminder of the sorrow that has crept towards his heart as he'd listened to the call of her voice and the beauty of her instrument. For a moment he found himself stuck in place, boots glued to the floor in a second born of awkwardness. ”I'm sorry.”

Avros said finally, taking the final step into the common room.

“I had no intention of interrupting your solitude.” A few drunkards lay passed out upon the tables, but not even the greatest magics could wake them from their stupor. ”I'll not tarry long.”

He gave the Elf an awkward smile, and then began to make his way across the room. Dodging the man passed out on the floor, it did not take Avros long to reach the rotted front door. His hand pressed against the ancient handle, noting that in her malaise the Innkeeper had not even bothered to lock it.

For a brief moment he seemed to hesitate, his lips pressing to a thin line before he looked over towards the elf. ”It was a beautiful song you sang today.”

There had been more than a few of course, but by the look in his eyes and his next words she would know which he meant.

”Not many remember it.” Avros offered, the sadness apparent in his tone.

 

[Faelynwë]

The gleemaiden didn't take her unusual purple eyes off the strange traveller as he picked his way across the room towards the door. Whispers crept into her mind and she refrained from glancing to the satchel sat at her feet where the collection of contraband hid. Occasionally they would stir in the presence of a Story worth following but never to such an extent at this stranger. It made her nervous.

At his words she gave a slow blink.

"Not many know them at all," she rasped, her voice tender from the hours of singing and hard liquor. Her head cocked to one side in a gesture that betrayed she wasn't human. "You have been There."

Home.

 

[Avros]

Avros’ eyes flicked ever so slightly, catching sight of what lay beneath the locks of her hair. His expression remained completely blank for just a moment, a strange sort of twist of emotions running through him as he remembered the last of her kind that he had met.

Lost.

It was a strange sort of sensation, being back here and having his failure thrown at him so swift and so often. His fingers curled as he took a deep breath. There was no use in facing those memories, but the gleemaid summoned them all the same. Avros knew he couldn't shake the past, but bringing forth the pain was never easy. The Prince's head slowly tilting in a nod.

”I have.” He said solemnly. ”A long time ago.”

The words didn't need saying of course, but they were like a guard. Protection from the sorrow. ”I-”

His lips snapped shut, realizing he was about to apologize.

The words would have opened up a can of worms. A hundred questions were already coming, he could see it in her eyes. Trouble was, the more he answered, the more he put everyone in this room in danger.

”Thank you, for the songs.” Avros said, turning to go.

 

[Faelynwë]

It didn't mean anything. It shouldn't have meant anything. Many humans had been to the Isles to glean wisdom or for guidance. He could have been any one of many visitors who now pretended that they had not once treated her kind with reverence and respect. Yet the books did not react to just anyone for whatever mothers told their children to bring them comfort, not every persons story did matter.

The gleemaiden watched him in silence with those piercing violet eyes as he turned to the door.

She didn't need to close her eyes to see the crossroads that appeared before her. She could feel it deep in her skin like an uncomfortable itch, her magic desperate for release, to follow this stranger on his journey to glean some of his story from him. Her fingers curled into her palm to stifle the urge to reach for her satchel. That was no longer her life, it was another persons. She was nothing. Nobody.

She tipped her chin in farewell and lowered her gaze to her instrument.

 

[Avros]

Not wanting to be caught by any word or suggestions, Avros made for the day at a near run. Moving just slow enough to not look as though he were outright fleeing. By the time he was half-way to the door though, a noise echoed from the streets outside.

He caught it first, being closest, and almost as soon as he heard it his stomach dropped.

His feet came to a stop, fingers immediately, swiftly, hooked on the canvas strap of his satchel. Pulling it free from over his shoulder and tossing it beneath one of the nearby tables. Almost seamlessly he snapped up one of the half drunk mugs of ale nearby, drawing the hood of his cloak over his head before practically throwing himself onto one of the benches. Laying himself down as though he were passed out from drink.

The gleemaid would watch this madness, surely with a spike of a dozen questions. All of which were seamlessly answered as the door was suddenly thrown open to the sound of half a dozen tromping boots. Men dressed in heavy mail, with swords on their waists, stepping into the tavern. Their eyes containing the casual malice which seemed so common in the men who had contended to serve the enemy. “WAKEY WAKEY!”

One of them shouted, his voice grating like steel on stone. His men fanning out as they quickly began to spread through the Inn.

 

[Faelynwë]

The gleemaiden froze as the soldiers swept in to the tavern. Memories of another moonless night many years ago rose unbidden in her minds eye. The same gruff shouts, the heat of a fire as a thousand books were set alight, the sight of a woman's head rolling from her shoulder's... She sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her cloak which she had slung across a nearby bench. In one swift movement she had it about her shoulders and the satchel over her shoulder, hidden beneath the folds of the fabric. Technically her kind were not outlawed from these lands. The few that had survived the Great Purge and the following genocides had been granted clemency, but it was well known how little liked they were by the new Emperor. She did not want to end up the subject of their attention for cruel it would be.

She attempted to slip behind the bar and towards the kitchen as the men busied themselves hauling drunkards to their feet and peering into cloaks but found her way barred by men who had entered from the back. As she turned to flee another way a hand caught her upper arm and wrenched her forward then pushed her hood back.

"Well lookey what we got 'ere," the man sneered then spat when he saw her eyes. "Fuckin' pointed ears. What are you doing out of your little reservation?"

The books. The books. The books.

If they found those books on her they would kill her. She tried to urge her face to remain blank and kept her eyes focused on the man they seemed to unnerve.

"I am a Gleemaiden, I travel--" her words were cut off as the man's back hand snapped her head backwards, leaving behind an angry red welt across her cheek.

 

[Avros]

Avros did his best not to cringe as he heard the loud crack of the guardsman's hand against the gleemaiden’s cheek. The sound of the strike was something he was all too familiar with. Having spent what felt like an age in the dungeons, the Prince was no stranger to beatings and torture. It seemed that the Guards out here were no different than the men in there.

“Quiet!” The man hissed at the Elf, the harsh rebuke coming with little patience.

“I didn't ask you to speak.” A cruelty clung to the man's voice. Not the harsh whip of an overlord, but the sound of a petty crook who had been given an inch of power. The sort of man who would have taken advantage in any situation, but relished especially doing it in this one. Here was a world where he had strength, where a rat like him could hold authority. He was going to enjoy it. “Did, I, knife -ear?”

The man said with a sickening grin. Reaching out and grabbing the gleemaiden's face. His fingers heavy and covered in scars. The beds of his fingernails caked with what appeared to be blood and dirt. “Luckily we ain't here for your ilk, girlie. Always making trouble, your sort.”

A sneer crossed the man's features.

“Godwin! Stop playing with the elf and help us look!” Another of the guards shouted at the man who'd been groping at Faelynwë, the group of men clearly searching for someone in specific. Two of them headed into the back of the Inn, their shouting quickly waking those who had requested themselves within their rooms. Two others continued to rouse the drunkards, one now moving towards Avros.

As he stepped close, the glint of a knife flashed beneath the table. Avros' fingers drawing the slim blade from the hem of his boot. Preparing it as the soldier stepped closer and closer.

 

[Faelynwë]

Many moons ago such treatment would have brought her to tears and made her beg for kindness, charity, mercy. Not anymore. The years had been cruel and she had learnt the hard way that the people of this land would turn on her for little more than because they could. So instead of tears or pleas she stared coldly back at the man who held her face a moment longer in his bruising grip as if debating whether it was worth disobeying an order to feel a touch more powerful. In the end he seemed to decide not getting a reaction - not even anger - was too dull to be worth his time. With a grunt he released her with a little more force than was necessary. The gleemaiden stumbled back, catching herself on the edge of the bar.

The men had begun to cause enough noise that the innkeeper had appeared, pulling on his dressing gown.

"Oi! You have no right to be in 'ere causing such a fuss! I pay my taxes, I know my rights."

"Shut it old man, have you seen a gentleman that matches this?" the man who had called her aggressor away pulled out a folded bit of parchment. When he opened it up it revealed a sketched impression of a young man. A young man who... The gleemaiden's eyes flicked towards Avros just as the light caught the edge of his blade.

 

[Avros]

Every muscle in his body tensed. Avros knew that as soon as he killed one of these men, he would have to kill them all.

There were only four of them, which was good, and none were wearing plate. The numbers most certainly weren't in his favor, but he was a good fighter even after his years away. One he could catch by surprise, another he could take down during the shock of the first. It would be the last two which would give him trouble. The one standing all the way near the gleemaiden over all.

A slow breath drew into the Prince's lungs.

The soft patter of boots hitting the ground near him sounded out. The ticking of his own personal clock, a countdown for when he had to fight. “Get up you lout, need to take a lo-”

They would be the last words the man had a chance to speak. Before he finished, Avros lashed out. He moved like a viper, sitting up on the bench and driving the thin silver blade directly under the soldiers jaw. A bloody gurgle escaped his throat, eyes growing wide with shock, but it was already too late for him. The blade slipped free, his body tumbled back, and from his belt was plucked a knife. The blade went spinning over the length of a table, then buried itself in a second soldier.

By the time Avros stood, two men were dead, the third came running. Quickly drawing the sword from his belt to lash out at the wayward Prince. His blade swiped once, then a second time before the delinquent Prince grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. Drawing the man into an embrace and putting the bloody knife to his throat.

”Drop your sword!” Avros said, whirling around with his new hostage to face the final guard.

”Drop your sword.” He repeated. ”Or this man dies next.”

–

 

[Faelynwë]

As soon as the light caught the edge of Avros' blade, the Gleemaiden threw herself behind the bar. The soldier who had only a moment before been inches from her face with murder in his eyes, lunged after her on instinct more than any real evidence the pair were working together. The Gleemaiden was quicker though and escaped his meaty fist, putting the whole length of the bar between herself and her would-be jailor.

"When I get my hands on you--" the man's snarled threat was cut off by Avros' shout, forcing him to turn his attention away from her to the very man they had been hunting for. Only when the guard set eyes on wanted man did the Gleemaiden think she understood the word hatred. She took a backwards step towards the doorway to the kitchen, attempting to keep both guards and the strange man who her books sung to in her line of sight.

 

[Avros]

The hatred was nothing new for Avros.

For him, the look was one he had endured near every day of his capture. For these people, the soldiers and quizzlings who had sided with the enemy, he was a representation of lives they should not have. Under this new order they had money, comfort, authority. Without it they were nothing but rotted souls. Most would have been criminals and thugs, even if some claimed to still have honor even know.

As soon as the man rounded on Avros the edge of his dagger bit ever so slightly into his captives throat. ”Walk out of here now, you both li-”

“Shut up you incessant little rat!” The man shouted, cutting Avros off before he could finish. “They should have stuck you the moment you were in chains.”

He snarled, seemingly forgetting the elf entirely within his rage and stepping forward. “I'll be sure to correct that mistake, and when I do, I'll be showered with gold and riches the likes that filth can't even imagine.”

The man pointed to Avros’ captive, and in that moment the lost Prince knew the hostage was worth less than nothing to his companion. A quick flick of the wrist was all that was required to dispatch him, and then Avros launched himself forward in a sudden flurry of motion.

Surprise flickered over the soldiers face, having believed in the myth of the good prince and clearly not expecting the brutality of slaying a hostage. The second of shock was all the Prince needed, the soldiers guard was batted aside, and with a heavy tackle Avros threw him to the floor. His dagger plunged into the the man's side, but he resisted all the same. Shouting and throttling the Prince in his dying rage. “YOU THINK THAT BLOOD AND PRIVILEGE WILL PROTECT YOU NOW!?”

The thug shouted even as he kicked and punched at Avros. Not really fighting but simply thrashing. Grabbing and attempting to slam the Prince's head directly into the floor. A loud thus echoing out as he succeeded.

“Your family died by his will! Your nation died by his will!” The soldier taunted, laughing as he threw Avros off him and to the side, dagger still stuck within his flesh. “Now you'll die too.”

 

[Faelynwë]

The Gleemaiden blinked.

Every vile word of hatred the guard shouted brought into sharper focus the face of a boy. A boy from a story.

Once Upon a Time there was a Princess, a Princess who loved her nation very much. One day a Prince from another realm came to visit. The Queen told the Princess to go play the Prince whilst she spoke to the boys father, a King. The Princess showed the Prince her favourite place,: the library. She showed him their most sacred and beloved magic, the power to enter any story, to live a thousand lives...
No, not a story. A memory.

The elf stared, dazed, as the guard advanced on the boy - now a man grown - and slid the knife from his own flesh with evil intent written across his cruel smile. The Gleemaiden didn't think. She reached into that part of her that had died on that fateful day with the rest of her family and struck. Magic was outlawed. For many it was impossible to use with the odd curse surrounding these lands. But curses were born from stories. They belonged to her people as much as fairytales.

The guard froze and looked down at the golden sword protruding from his chest with a mix of horror and surprise. Blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth and he tried to turn, to see who had killed him though deep down he knew, but with a ragged breath he collapsed before he could set eyes on her. The golden blade dissipated back into the tiny sunbeams it had been created from in the book she had drawn it from. The wound it left behind sizzled as though she had driven a hot poker through his flesh.

Once Upon a Time there was a Princess...

Faelynwë could only stare, her bloodied hands shaking and still clasped together as though she still held the story blades hilt.

 

[Avros]

Avros lay on the ground, frozen, reeling, his head buzzing with agony and his vision hazy.

Yet through it all, he still knew what he saw.

The bright flickering lights of sunlight burst from the blade that had killed the man who'd meant a knife for his throat. It had happened in an instant, and within the span of a breath the Prince had been saved. Dull aches throbbed along his body, bruises and cuts from where he had been thrashed and thrown to the floor.

But none of them mattered.

His hand shot up, grabbing one of the heavy benches nearby. Pain lancing through his ribs as he pulled himself up and to his feet. The corpse of the soldier falling to the side with a loud racket, his mail and sword tumbling to the floor.

Avros turned as he stood, his eyes flickering over the room for a brief moment until they landed upon the Gleemaiden.

Only then to notice the other pair of eyes in the room; The Innkeeper.

There was no time for questions. No time to ask what had just happened nor who she truly was. There was a hint of a memory, something within the back of his mind that spoke of those songs and a time long passed. A library, a memory that had been forgotten among the turmoil of so many years.

He knew there was no time for any of it. Breaking from his stupor, the Prince immediately began to stalk forward. "We have to go."

The Prince called to the Gleemaiden. Grabbing his pack from the ground as he made his way towards the elven woman. His stomach in a thousand knots as he kept himself from sputtering the foolish questions which under prying eyes would only put them in more danger.

"Come on." He urged her, never speaking what he wanted to say. Never stopping.

Stopping would get them killed.