“Met halfway?” Orion repeated Argrave’s claims.

Argrave nodded. “I know your situation. Without you, this camp falls apart. Your blessings are the only thing keeping the vast majority of the people in this camp alive, and more come every day.” Argrave stepped closer. “But with this many people, things become more difficult with each new body. Even with spellcasters to create clean drinking water, food is a pressing concern in these wetlands. You have to dedicate your royal knights to hunting just to sustain this place… and even then, the creatures of the northwest aren’t the easiest to swallow.”

Argrave stepped just before Orion, staring up at his older brother. Orion pressed more, asking, “What will you do, then?”

“I’ll get what’s needed to justify action—to justify an expedition into the wetlands, where we can put an end to the swamp folks’ gods. I’ll set things in motion. All I need is help when the time comes.” Argrave held out his hand. “Focus on your duty. I will focus on mine.”

A normal person might question all of Argrave’s actions, his claims. Argrave had never before plainly stated the root cause of the land’s troubles to anyone besides his companions—not with the Veidimen, nor anywhere else. But Orion was far from normal.

Orion grasped Argrave’s hand. Argrave could still feel some intense heat from Orion’s earlier display. “The gods whisper true. The tallest trees grown sprout from the smallest seeds sewn. It seems you stand tall as testament to that.”

Argrave tried to parse his meaning, but Orion pulled him in and hugged him once more before he could ponder deeply. Argrave accepted it, knowing that refusal was not an option.

“A herd wanders if left alone for too long. I cannot let them go too astray. I must return to the people.” He patted Argrave’s shoulder, then released him. “Wait here. My knights will escort you to a room within the keep for you and my future sister-in-law, and a separate one for your companions. I will await your proof, Argrave. I hope for your sake you speak truly. Know that the gods do not like lies of such proportions… and I am the instrument to express their displeasure.”

After bowing to Anneliese respectfully, Orion left the room, closing the door behind him. Argrave watched the door, then glanced at Anneliese before finally turning to meet Magnus. The prince still stood there with arms crossed.

“So, l-l-l-little b-b-brother,” Magnus said, imitating a stutter. “What is this? Get a new set of eyes, a woman at your arms, and you think that the world will part for you?”

“Don’t act like you care. Go back to eating, drinking, and whoring yourself to an early grave,” Argrave waved his hand.

Magnus crossed his arms and grew silent. It seemed to finally be dawning on him that things had changed vastly from when Argrave had been ‘Argrave.’

“Can’t picture why you’re here. You’re a hedonist. You do what you want,” Argrave noted, stepping closer. “Someone like you has no place at the heart of a plague. Are you gathering information for the Bat, looking for a pretty penny? Heard rumors of something desirable, seeking to make it your own? Maybe you’re trying to use Orion as a cudgel for some scheme?”

The questions were many and largely unfounded, but with Anneliese’s presence, he hoped one of his wild guesses might bear fruit and draw a reaction from the taciturn prince.

Magnus stared up at Argrave. “And I should buy your ridiculous story of wanting to help Orion?”

“I don’t expect you to buy my story. Good thing for me, I’m not selling it to you,” Argrave shook his head. “It’s a waste of time talking to you. Go back to wandering, be a happy man. And if you don’t… well, don’t step on my toes. Might be I have to show you why I’m so confident all of the sudden.”

Prince Magnus scrutinized Argrave carefully. There was tension, and Argrave kept his focus on Magnus’ hands in case the man tried something. Argrave knew that, despite their relative equality in terms of magic ranking, Magnus had many, many enchanted items vested unto him by his father.

Even still, he was sure he could win. He partly wished Magnus would try something.

Magnus walked past Argrave, sparing one last glance at Anneliese before opening the door and leaving. Argrave let out a sigh of relief once the door had closed.

“Anger should not spur you so easily,” Anneliese said at once.

Argrave walked to the table and scanned the documents on it. They were mostly maps for the region, refusals of requests for supplies, and other such mundane things. Orion did nothing underhanded, so perhaps it was a waste of time.

After a time, Argrave lifted his head. “Magnus isn’t pivotal for anything. He doesn’t even travel with an escort of royal guards like most of the other princes. No danger, no use—why hold my tongue? It felt nice.”

“These things are only certainties in the world you knew,” she pointed out, walking closer. “Magnus may not be consigned to just that.”

Argrave’s next words caught. “You’re right,” he admitted. “There’s deeper meaning for his being here—has to be. Speaking of, did you…?”

She shook her head. “I gleaned nothing of his motivations. He and Orion are like opposites—if one is an explosion of light, the other is a gray slate. Magnus felt little—not anger, not happiness, not anything.”

Argrave nodded. “Yeah. The oldest and the youngest children of Felipe’s second queen, polar opposites.”

Anneliese stepped around Argrave to look at the documents herself. “Yet despite Magnus, everything went more or less as you expected. We will set the groundwork, and then Orion will…” she looked up at him. “What was it you said those weeks ago?”

“Putt the ball into the hole,” Argrave finished, shaking his head. “Golf, hah. Living in Berendar really puts into perspective how lavish the—”

A knock came at the door, cutting Argrave off. Soon after, the door was opened, and some of Orion’s Waxknights entered.

“Our Holiness has instructed us to assign you and your companions a room,” the knight said.

#####

The northwestern wetlands were a late-game area in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ always. Everything deep in this foggy wasteland was monstrously dangerous. Though putting an end to the plague took place relatively early in the main quest, that was only because the player had help. Orion and the Waxknights facilitated things. It was the reverse of an escort quest.

The issue still stood, though, of the proof that Argrave needed to get. It seemed a fundamentally unqualifiable claim—the only logical way to prove this conspiracy of his was to put an end to it. Considering the danger of the wetlands, that proved to be an impossible task. The last of the swamp folk occupied the fortress deepest within the vast wetlands. They couldn’t go without help. Of course, ending the plague alone was possible, theoretically… but realistically? He didn’t care to see any of his companions dead.

Even still, there was another way. The gods of the swamp folk were not united in this spread of the plague.

“You need no time to prepare?” Galamon questioned.

“You want to stick around and prepare? Really?” Argrave questioned. “The last thing I need is intense scrutiny from Orion. A tribal from the deep south, two snow elves, one of whom is suffering from a certain bloodborne condition, and me?” Argrave shook his head at once. “We establish our presence. We set out to handle our part before we get entangled, and we finish this as quick as we can. I’ve already delayed enough.”

“Not even a day’s rest,” Durran adjusted his pack. “And you’re sure we can leave our things there?”

“No one can get past the Waxknights, save perhaps B-rank or higher mages, and they’ll be guarding the keep constantly. Orion is… unique, certainly, but he’s not a petty thief. He’s not even a grand thief,” Argrave assured. “Do you think I’m fond of the idea of risking all our books, our horses? I wouldn’t do this without certainty.”

Durran nodded and shrugged. “Fine. I guess they might weigh us down when we’re sieging a god.”

“’God’ is a loose term. It doesn’t denote anything special about anyone. Cultists can worship a man, declare him a god—he becomes a god, ostensibly, but is he really that powerful?” Argrave explained, seeking to soften the impact of the word. “All we fight is a unique existence. And I assure you—we’re capable of this much.” Argrave clenched his hands tight.

Anneliese opened her eyes, and her Starsparrow landed on his shoulder. “I think I’ve routed out a good path. I marked the trees with my bird—I’ll tell you what to look for.”

Argrave nodded, then pulled his boots and gloves a little tighter.

With Argrave leading, their party of four pushed into the vast wetlands beyond Orion’s makeshift camp. The only to see them leave were the few refugees up so early in the dawn. The place was still mostly frozen, and all of the four of them could see their breath in the air. Even still, they moved onwards into the frozen-over wastes ahead.

#####

“You’re sure that his eyes were black and gold?” Mina of Veden questioned, sitting behind a desk. Her resplendent golden hair had grown a fair bit longer, descending past her shoulders. She had tired eyes, but it seemed to dim her focus none.

“Aye, milady,” a knight bearing Veden’s heraldry—a white hare—bowed. He held his helmet beneath the crook of his arm.

She tapped her finger on the desk. “And he mentioned me, specifically?” she sought to confirm, to which the knight nodded. She leaned back in the chair, thinking. After a time, she questioned, “His body—what did he look like? Was he skinny?”

The knight licked his lips, then adjusted the helmet beneath his arm nervously. “He was a great and imposing man—I am afraid he wore a thick gray duster, so it was difficult to perceive his exact stature. He had midnight black hair. Beyond that, I told milady—his eyes were black and gold. I place him as a mage, lady Mina.”

Mina looked dissatisfied. Eventually, she leaned in and questioned, “Did he travel with anyone?”

“He rode away from a group of three. The distance was great, and it was difficult to—”

“Did any among them have white hair?” Mina pressed, leaning further forth on her elbows.

“As I recall… yes, there was one. Though, it was… I question if it was not a shawl, or a cowl, milady, so long it was.”

Mina fell into a silence, once again falling back into the chair. She pushed her feet against the edge of the desk, balancing on two legs of the chair as she swayed back and forth. She gazed out the window where she could see the refugee camps. She didn’t look content with any of the knight’s answers, which very clearly made the knight uncomfortable.

She released her foot from the desk, and the chair balancing on two legs clashed to the ground with a loud noise. She fixed the knight with her golden-eyed glare, then commanded, “Fetch other knights that were on guard duty that day. Inquire about this party—get more details.”

The knight looked happy to simply be given orders. He placed his fist to his heart and bowed. “At once, milady.”

As he made to leave, Mina called out, “Wait.” The knight paused, turning. “If you run into any of the castle’s stable workers, have them prepare a horse for me to go out. Just in case.”

The knight stepped back into the room. “Go out, lady Mina? Your father, he—”

“I solved his trade crisis for him. He never showed any interest in his ninth child before—why should he protect me now? If I wish to go out, I will go out. Do as I say,” she finished, waving the knight away with her small hands. The knight left hastily. It was only once he was a great distance away did Mina sigh.

“Gods be damned…”