Kindly edited by @CollinHarrison4

"Only two?" Serenity asked.

"Where is this army?" Sanlina added. "And did he not leave with three?"

Juno stood, her concerns of an awkward meeting with a princess fading as the shouts were repeated throughout the camp. The Answer was returning on horseback, without an army, and with only one other. "Something has gone wrong." Irrational anger grew in her belly as she imagined a princess treating Kelton with less than the respect he deserved.

"Mayhap nothing," Audria said. She looked at Serenity, who nodded her agreement. "They leave on foot and return on horses - a good sign. Best if we hear his words before we envision night terrors."

"Aye," Juno said, though she walked stiffly toward the south, smoothing her best skirt with its now forgotten stain. Serenity, Sanlina, and Audria marched behind her. Daphne surprised Juno by moving up alongside as if her support would add to what was to come. The scarred young one walked with visible pride. It had the strange effect of grounding Juno's imagination, allowing her to toss away the more outlandish thoughts. If Daphne could shake off the ills of her past, then so could Juno. Kelton returning was, in and of itself, a victory.

To Juno's surprise, it was not O'fan or Cory who rode next to Kelton. A man, as tall or taller than Kelton, was riding at his side atop a dappled gray horse. Their mounts slowed as they arrived, Kelton ignoring the shouted questions as his eyes scanned the camp. Juno was about to raise her hand when Kelton's eyes found her amongst the gathering crowd. He dismounted and handed the reins to his new companion, who took them without question. There was a seriousness in his steps as he ignored his army's requests and moved directly to Juno.

"Has something..." Juno began, then was silenced by the most welcoming of lips. Kelton wrapped his arms around her, his lips melding into her deliciously. Her imaginations of what-may-be dissipated as what-is was made clear. He missed her as much as she missed him. Her fingers combed into his woven locks and pulled him close as she feasted on his warmth.

It was the laughter that broke their embrace. Remarks better spoken in private were traveling amongst the army, urged on by Audria who found it a playful thing.

"I should have allowed you to come," Kelton said. His smile now possessed the unique quality that only appeared for Juno.

"Did it not go well?" Juno asked softly. Her curiosity was warring with her desire to let the world melt away so she could become a singularity with Kelton.

Kelton shook his head, his eyes never leaving her. "Yanda is all that I remember and more." He took her hand in his and turned to his confused army with a booming voice. "The Sorinnians are a day behind. They bring bows and the skill to use them, swords enough for all, and..." He faltered as his men, most with swords on their hips, became apparent to him. "Where did these blades come from?"

Juno laughed, having absorbed Kelton's glee. "Fingers said a door was left open. It seems the King's armory in Shunneer is now an empty husk."

"Where once we had a trickle of blades, we now have a flood," Kelton announced with pleasure. "And know this: the Queen travels with the Sorinnian army, and her heart is bound to the end of the Promise."

"The Queen?" Juno asked, her question barely a whisper in the din of cheers that followed Kelton's revelation.

"Aye, my love," Kelton said, turning back to her as if she were the only thing of importance. "It seems a wind pushes us, and we need but glide along to achieve our purpose."

"And who is this?" Juno asked, indicating the man Kelton had returned with who was now standing just behind them.

"Ahh," Kelton said, his eyes appearing to remember the rest of the world existed. He turned to include the man in their private space. "A dear friend, a brother from house Tarvakian. You have heard me speak of Filgot in the past."

"Your guard who became not your guard," Juno said as memories of Kelton's stories came to the fore. She moved forward to greet Filgot.

"Lady Juno," Filgot said as he bowed more deeply than Juno had ever seen anyone do before. "Word of you has traveled across the sea." He reached into his cloak and produced a shiny golden item, a trinket that seemed to catch Kelton off guard. "It has been requested that I present this to you if we were to meet." The stem of the item was grasped between two of his fingers, its size as large as his palm. "A gift from the ladies of house Tarvakian. Bellina, mistress of the house - Eveyin, mistress of the heart of the house - and Alliette, princess of the realm, wife and mother to the future of the house. It is a symbol of their welcome. If you desire a home, house Tarvakian's doors are forever open to you."

Juno could not stop the tears that insisted on emerging as she reached for the gift. A rose, impossibly constructed from leaves of what could only be metal. Golden detail so delicate it looked to have been grown. It was proud and beautiful, not wilted like the brand on her arm. "I..." Juno began before more tears betrayed the words she failed to assemble.

"It is a brooch, my lady," Filgot said with an unrelenting smile. "It is meant to be mounted by the pin, just below the shoulder." He tapped his breast to indicate the position.

"Let me," Kelton said. He took it from her and carefully affixed it above her breast. He stood in front of her as he worked, giving her time to recover. She had never met the women of Kelton's past and felt unworthy of such kindness. She knew the gift was as much for Kelton's benefit as hers, yet it spoke loudly of his words about her to them. A reminder that it was a kiss that bonded them so powerfully and still held fast to this day. It was all too wonderful to have potent friends she had never met and to be offered a home that was not a nighthouse.

"There," Kelton said, stepping back to admire his work. "Beauty on beauty."

Juno turned toward Serenity to display the brooch, as she thought was expected. It was then the dam broke, for there was water filling Serenity's eyes, mirrored in those of Sanlina and Audria as well. They knew Juno's heart and saw the deeper meaning as she did.

Only Daphne's emotions were in check. She stood wide-eyed staring at the broach, her marred face displaying awe as she whispered, "a queen."

Juno smiled through her tears and turned to Filgot. "It is the finest thing I have ever been gifted." She pulled his head down and kissed his forehead. "I thank you."

Filgot wiped his eyes as if dust had irritated them. "I will convey your appreciation, my lady."

"The entire armory?" King Gregory growled. Inside, he was jubilant at the prowess of his son. Outside, anger was displayed in a most unflattering way. He knew it made him look weak, as if he was losing a war that had yet to begin.

"Aye, sire," the captain said, taking a step back. Gregory could almost smell the fear of retribution growing in the man. "It was traitors, to be sure. The guards charged with its care have absconded, though I have been assured they will be found." Diverting blame - the last bastion of the weak-minded.

Gregory turned his back on the captain and sighed loudly. He fought a growing prideful smile that was trying to instill itself. "What of the other two armories?" he asked with gravel in his voice.

"Intact, sire," the captain replied. "At least, at last word."

Gregory spun back at the man with dramatic intensity. "At last word? Your overwhelming confidence weakens the very ground you walk upon." An idea ignited in his mind as he played the angry sovereign. If a son needs arms, then it is the father's duty to supply them. He jabbed his finger toward the captain's face. "You will send men and wagons to empty those armories and bring the weapons here." He stabbed toward the ground with his finger, adding a firmness that disallowed dissent. "Mayhap the whole army will succeed where you have failed. I will not have this...this...usurper growing strong because of the likes of you!"

"Aye, sire," the captain said. He made to leave, then turned back thinking himself not dismissed. Gregory grunted and waved him away. The captain fled.

Verdi entered the command tent with a slight bow of his head. Gregory silently acknowledged the greeting, then used his eyes to question the loyalty of the guards who stood outside.

"Handpicked, sire, true to the truth," Verdi said, though his voice was low. There were many ears moving about the camp and not all could be tracked.

"The Answer has emptied an armory," Gregory said. Verdi nodded, an indication that he had heard. Like Striker, Verdi now owned the King's trust. It was not an indication of the man's character but out of necessity. Verdi already knew too much, and Gregory needed well-placed confidants to smooth what was sure to be a difficult time. If the man was false, it was too late now.

"He moves forward relentlessly," Verdi said.

"Aye," Gregory said, then smiled his pride. "He has a stubborn streak."

"He has the Goddess in him," Verdi agreed, then seriousness invaded his face. "A rider has come. The Queen travels here with many of your household."

"Here?" Gregory had already informed Verdi of most friend and foe, though Luran's place in things was still kept dark to all but Striker.

"Aye, sire," Verdi replied. "Captain Norgainen escorts them. I think it does not bode well."

Gregory closed his eyes and reached up, his hand absently squeezing his lips as he thought. That odious woman was nothing but a tool, and he knew Magna'est was deploying it for a reason. It did not take long for him to calculate the most possible of rationales. War was an easy excuse for faux death and the taking of a white robe. The Queen was coming to choose the successor and smooth the transition.

"I think I am not meant to return to the castle," Gregory whispered to Verdi. "This war is my last duty - it is the end game for me in the Brethren's eyes." There was a rap on the tent near the entrance, likely a slap from the flat of a hand. Verdi raised his finger to his lips to indicate new ears were close. Gregory could hear footsteps and muted conversation passing the tent. They waited in silence until two raps indicated the threat had passed.

"Come winter, Norgainen will wear the crown," Gregory added.

"Nay," Verdi disagreed. "The Answer will wear it." He spoke with an intensity that harbored no doubt. For a moment, Gregory thought the Brethren were the least of his worries. Verdi seemed to imply that the current wearer was only borrowing it, and nothing would stop Verdi from seeing it to the proper head. Verdi must have realized the nature of his tone and smiled. "I assume it is your desire as well, sire."

"How many hold your views?" Gregory asked.

Verdi shrugged. "Half, mayhap more. If you called for it, many more. These daily tales of the falsity of the Answer are drummed into us to the point of disbelief. One only denies with such vehemence that which he knows is true." He shrugged again. "Still, there are some who see the Goddess in the Brethren, and the lies sit well with them. Others seek coin and care not for the plight of the chosen or the cursed."

"Do you doubt my word?" Gregory asked.

"Nay."

"Then know this: I vow to put the crown on my son's head or die in the attempt," Gregory said.

Verdi smiled and bowed. "My life is yours in that pursuit, your Majesty." It was rare to see true loyalty not bound by fear. Or perhaps it was bound by a fear of continuity. It mattered not for the time of trust was upon the King.

"Purge the King's guard of all who do not share your view," Gregory ordered. "Do so quickly, for on the morrow you travel to the Answer to request a negotiation. You will not inform him of his lineage, for that is my task alone. Say what you must to assure him the meeting will be held in good faith. He will assuredly desire a different venue, but here it must be for all eyes to see. Whatever other measures he desires, whomever he chooses to join, so be it."

"How will I find him?" Verdi asked, his commitment unwavering.

"Striker will lead you near, then I suspect you need but call for him as my envoy," Gregory said. "You will be brought to him, mayhap dragged, bound, and gagged, but my stubborn blood runs in his veins - he will demand to know my purpose."

"And what purpose would convince him to come?"

"Mayhap fewer lives lost," Gregory thought out loud. "Tell him that many innocents may die if rules are not set for the coming conflict. Mayhap I bring word from the Brethren, some terms he may find to his liking. Say anything to get him to attend." He held up his palm and smiled. "Do not claim the promise will be offered, for he takes heads for that. I need yours on your shoulders for what is to come."

"Aye," Verdi agreed, nodding. "And what will be the true negotiation?"

Gregory put his hand on Verdi's shoulder. "You will see it yourself, for you will be there."

Rolic's nose sensed something savory, though his stomach was indifferent to it. As the light found its way past his eyelids, he grimaced. Another day had dawned with him in it. Or was he lumbering through more of the same day? It had all begun to run together between bouts of consciousness while his body lingered on well past its time. At least the pain had fled, along with most other sensations. It was a bad sign his sense of smell had returned. Strength of any kind was now an obstacle to the final sinless sleep he craved.

"You have peed yourself," a voice said. There was a tempo to the words that indicated a man not of Aragonia. Perhaps Kelton had gathered another brother to his side.

"Aye," Rolic said. "Death comes, friend, and it is never pleasant - leave me to it." He blinked his eyes to force them to adjust to the light.

"Your friend, I am not," the voice said. A large man at first blinding glance. "Nor are you the man I expected. First King, I am told. You do not do your statue justice."

The words surprised Rolic. Only a Masocrate would label him the First King. If he was not a Brother, then he must have crossed the sea. "You came with the Sorinnians," Rolic reasoned. "Kelton has returned."

"Aye," the man said. "I have been given broth for you. They tell me it will give you strength."

"Leave me," Rolic said, his hand almost ignoring his desire to wave the man away. He realized he did not care what the man had to say. Only final sleep held any value for him and at the moment it seemed painfully far away.

"If only I could," the man said. "You smell foul, and Kelton's words of the Promise have ruined the history I once revered. Alas, I have a debt to pay, and you are my only good road to that end. So I will stay, and you will hear my words." He chuckled. "Not that you possess the ability to stop me."

"Debt?" Rolic asked. "Who are you?" His eyes opened fully to a big man sitting cross-legged, a steaming mug in his hand. His old self recognized the confident bearing of a soldier.

"Filgot," the man replied. "I am, or was, a guard in house Tarvakian. In truth, the definition of me has changed much in the last few years, due greatly to Kelton and your progeny, the current King Victalica."

"The debt?" Rolic repeated. Filgot was a slight bit less annoying than he was a moment ago.

"Gambling - it is not a skill I have conquered."

"Coin, or the lack of, has no interest to me," Rolic said. He began to close his eyes again. He realized not even words from his greatest-of-grandsons mattered anymore, be he king or not. In truth, Filgot will most likely heap more shame on the First King if he were to return with what he has seen.

"I was told my words would have great value to you." Filgot sighed. "Alas, my duty is clear, and your listening was not a requirement. So ignore me or sleep if you must, but live a moment longer for my lack of coin does interest me."

"I care not for words of kingdoms and intrigue any longer," Rolic said, closing his eyes in hopes they would never reopen.

"So be it," Filgot said. "I am entrusted to tell you all I know of Yelvin Tarvakian, son of Zello Tarvakian and Alliette Victalica Tarvakian. I have had a chance to practice some, so it should not bore you too..."

"A boy?" Rolic asked, his eyes flying open. He realized he had been wrong, for a new eternity made itself known - one not fraught with death, lies, and boredom. His end was tantalizingly near, and it surprised him that not all desire had fled. There was something he was still greedy for.

"Aye," Filgot replied with some amazement. "He is well-loved and at the age when he knows so and uses it to stretch his limits."

Something of a chuckle emerged from Rolic's throat as he struggled to sit up against his tree. Filgot set down the broth and helped. Once situated, Rolic signaled for the broth, which Filgot retrieved for him. Rolic took a sip, mainly to force his body to wake so he would not miss a word.

"Whatever your debt, I will claim it fulfilled," Rolic said, signaling for Filgot to continue.

Happiness, something Rolic thought had long vacated the world, seeped into him as Filgot related the antics of Yelvin's young life - the joy of his parents, the doting of the grandparents, and all those caught in the periphery. He could almost see some of his arrogance at work in the boy, yet a family was smoothing out the edges. Rolic tried to think back to his boyhood, attempting to see a mirrored image of himself in Yelvin. It brought back memories of his mother and father. They had almost been forgotten - one of the great sins of seeking immortality, for who needs a before if there will always be a tomorrow.

"That is all I remember," Filgot said as the sun sank to find the horizon. It had all ended too soon, yet the tales were numerous and pleasing beyond Rolic's expectations.

Rolic smiled at Filgot. "Joyous words, I must say. Tell the one who sent you that you know of my journal of this place. I worded this land as unending heaven, though now I see it as unending uselessness. He is aware of these words and will know I gave them to you. Your debt no longer weighs upon you."

"I thank you, though it is odd you see stories of one descendent as worthy of such value. You must have many upon many scattered about. There are whole houses that claim your lineage. Do they not rate as Yelvin, for he is not destined for the throne either?"

Rolic coughed as he tried to laugh. It was painful, yet Rolic could not hide his delight of the man not seeing the value of the words. The simplistic ignorance of one who has yet to live a single life was amusing.

"I do not have their stories," Rolic said, once he was able to regain his air. "It is the words of what you have seen that I value... and Yelvin's youth." He smiled. "The boy's regrets live only in a moment, unlike mine which fester like unclean wounds. A fresh life yet to be molded, not the poor one I have sculpted. Do you not see? Your words give meaning to the final breaths I take, making the ones before them seem less useless. He is a symbol of my true eternity."

"Kelton told me you are difficult to hate," Filgot said, shaking his head. The gesture looked to be a mixture of disgust and surrender. He likely had a better opinion of Rolic than Rolic did. Perhaps he had a strong pull with Kelton.