Theodren's eyes woke to a cold breeze. With rope tying him to a bed, he quickly ripped them apart without any struggle. An open door flung around back and forth. Voices speaking softly (but not softly enough to cut out his interest) were only a room's distance away.

"Zerethian hordes are everywhere, and our numbers dwindle each passing day." A deep yet quiet voice muttered in the dark.

"So what if that's the case? This man we just captured could change that!" Another shouted softly in a more feminine voice, assuming it being a woman.

There was a faint light surrounding them, as for what seemed to be a dying fire was keeping their faces vaguely understood. He recognized them from when he was captured.

"Had you all forgotten? He's been on the run for treason, and only months before that expelled from the King's service. Who knows what he might do to us!" The more masculine one spoke.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like a say in all this." Theodren barged into their little debate without their awareness. He was right in between them.

They all stood up, gathering their weapons, pointing directly at him.

"Look, I appreciate the compliments, but I really don't have any time to play with children." Theodren sighed. "You need to keep your doors shut; could wake an unwanted guest right under your noses." He smiled gently, grabbing his things which they kept poorly hidden in the storage room.

"Wh-who are you?" The masculine one stuttered completely in shock.

"Why, you said it yourself, didn't you? What more is there to say?" He packed his things into the sack he originally brought along.

He made his way out of the building connected to a cave beside a mountain range. It was dark out. Stars were like actors and the sky a stage. Before taking his last step out of the camp, he was whacked against his forehead by yet another fist.
_______________________________________

Valora's bed was no longer a place of comfort or safety. Within every glance was an abundant pain. It wasn't able to be brought to rest by wrapping it in cloth or warm soup to the tongue; yet somehow she still ached in her heart a greater force than her own suffering....

"Gettin' cold out, miss." An Eyru servant girl made her way passed the entry to the room, gently closing the door behind her. "Best tighty up." She walked to the window in hopes of shutting it quickly, but Valora detested in demanding it remain the same.

"Come now, miss. Don't ya know you's too sick to fly?" She shut the door, cutting out the roaring winter winds.

"Ye food, miss." She smiled, gently handing the tray with vegetable soup and soft/warm/seasoned bread, steaming as Valora held it.

The servant girl stared patiently waiting for her to eat, as it was politely commanded by Aran Sadorian, Valora's father, to keep her healthy and get well. Each morning, Valora was urgent to know if her father had found a cure. She only knew ideas as to what caused it.

Valora just looked back with a blank expression, leaving the whole moment awkward, though the hints were obvious as to why she did it.

The window blew open yet again, causing the servant girl to rush to the window to shut it, but it wouldn't remain the way she placed it. It constantly blew open after closing.

The girl sighed, "...Not now...." She hesitated to remain there.

Valora gently threw the tray aside. Unconsciously, Valora made two slow steps on her bare feet across the cold floor with hope to help the girl, but she collapsed.

The window blew open to the sound of quick and loud footsteps running to pick up Valora. Although already more frail in comparison to all other members of Drakon, she was like a human walking stick, completely unable to help herself.

The noise was like a siren. The servant girl tried lifting Valora to no avail. Valora was tall for an Eyru, at five feet, while others stood as low as three, the servant girl being only half way to four.

Loud footsteps ran towards the main doorway; Aran had made his way in.

"Am sorry. Truly!" The servant girl begged beneath his feet as though in fear of a swift and merciless fate reach her. "Hadn't known what I did until-" Aran placed a finger at the tip of her lip.

"All is well. Rest." He smiled warmly.

The girl thanked him repetitively as she ran out the door with the echoing of her footsteps quickly fading into the windy early winter night. The window nearly thrust open yet again for what seemed like a constant loop.

Without her being able to fight back, Aran had lifted her up at the upper part of her arms. He placed her back in the bed and added his sword: a finely crafted, single edged blade with vivid detail on the dragon skin sheath in which it was kept. It was held within a steal hinge, which hadn't been used since Valora was a child.

He smiled at her; a common appearance from him, but for some reason, that one in particular felt oddly placed. Not a single word came out of his mouth despite Valora being well prepared to fire back: only a stare.

"It was your mother's." He struggled to say, exiting the room with quickness in his step.
_______________________________________

Theodren's eyes were opened after being loosened from the binding of a tightly woven cloth. A group of at least eight men gathered around him. He remained trapped in a hut, the same hut as prior, with only an open door spreading rays of morning light to his tired and poorly adjusted eyes. Everything beyond his face were forcefully kept to a wooden chair. He could hardly move. Even with the strength that he had, he just couldn't get out.

"This is your last chance. What do you know about the enemy that could give us an advantage?" The more feminine male's voice sounded in demands to him.

Theodren spat between the young man's toes.

The feminine male was ready to throw a punch, but their leader, the Greymer, gripped the boy's right wrist to douse it.

"We're on the same side." The Greymer man approached, like the might of a bear shifted to the innocence of a child.

"Did you stop the boy's punch so you could do it yourself? Get creative. Your threats are nothing new." Theodren continued to sit on the tiny wooden chair hardly, keeping him up by its size.

The man angered at the thought, gripping his fist in hesitation to do just as he presumed.

"Swing a fist at a wounded man, and they'll bite back. You're better than this, Adrian." A girl's voice, who's at the time was unfamiliar to Theodren; but as he starred into the morning light to see a peasant girl of beauty, he knew it was her.

"Selena?" His eyes widened.

"Leave us." She commanded in an elegant and calm voice. They did as she wished, though one of them, the more masculine voice from before, joked back.

"What, so you can get beneath him? To paggle at your lustful display?" He laughed as the Greymer man pushed him further to the front of the group as they shut the door.

Theodren sat for a pause, and Selena sighed, looking to the entrance.

"Should I be the first to undress?" Theodren spoke with a smug look, resting his back against the chair.

She turned to him, taking two silent steps his way.

"I'm their leader, Theodren."

Theodren's eyes widened, head shaking.

"Pardon, m'lady." He bowed with closed eyes.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself." she spoke quickly, almost in mockery, and stepped again, hand against the side of his face. "If we weren't here, I'd consider it; if envy would befall the rest to stand where you stood."

"What?" His eyes widened.

"The thing about men is; they're simple. Grant them a taste of what they want, and they'll follow you to the ends of the world. Do it well enough and they'll last far beyond when it runs out." She grinned. "I'm not a leader, Theodren. I'm the want."

Theodren pondered in thought, hand against his chin.

"Then what do I want?"

Selena scoffed, and then went out the door.

"Walk with me."

Theodren grinned, and then followed.
_______________________________________

Through the streets of Iron Haven, Carrion had returned for the last time to a place he thought he'd never see again. The image caught on in a dream prior to it. His hopes were that it was a sign that he may have found one of the two brothers.

The moment his horse galloped its first steps in the main gate, something in the air felt like breath was held in a choke-hold. The picture of happy faces dining and Haylan's continuous persistence into love interests were no longer present. The homes were vacant; just a dead silence like that of Ashfield, free of all emotion.

His horse was startled at the sight of many bodies laying with scattered limbs, coated by a thin sheet of ice on every piece of exposed skin.

It was horrific, with every street filled with the same lifeless bodies; all with the same thoughts, thoughts of a time when grass was a warm green. Thoughts of seeds desperate for light; a peaceful stream and chirping birds: only a glimpse of dreams never to be seen.

"Don't worry, boy. The dead can only harm us in tales." He patted the horse as it continued to walk nervously through the crowds of emptiness.

For some reason he had a feeling something was calling him back to the castle keep: like whispers in the wind.

He opened the gates of the great halls in the keep, hoping at least someone was still alive, but he was welcomed yet again with the silence of hundreds dead.

His breath aggressively soared through the wind. He jumped off the horse just as he did prior, but this time, as he led the horse by its lead and took off his helmet of Drakon; a hug of cold surrounded him. His face was consumed in stinging pain by skin and breath, for the fires were already burnt out. The cold made the royal halls its home, and the wind its guests of honor as the door was kept open.

He attached his lead to one of the posts and requested that the horse remain there. He slowly entered the doors hoping to find someone or something but was exposed to what he would never meet eye to eye again.

Lena, queen of Lorlyn and the last protector of the kingdom, dangled by her dress. Her skin had stained a pasty white, almost grey. She only wore undergarments; clothes ripped not as though others did it to mock her, but by her own hand: a dagger coated with shredded cloth.

He slammed the door with a silent scream, and with it, a book had fallen by his feet.

Opening it, he went on searching for the last page.

It's over..it couldn't be done... Children raised their spirit at my sight, hoping I would lead them to a better light; but before them, only death and sadness came, and all I could do was watch.... I have failed you, Alicia. I let your son watch as his family fell to jealous nobles, and let you die sickly without even tending to your grave. Derek, I could not avenge you, let alone our children. The doors are banging their way down, and only screams await what's beyond it.. I didn't want it to end like this...

This is the last goodbye.

~Lena Kriger

The paper was stained by wet droplets, and he held it tight to him.

"Well, that does it." he muttered, taking the book with him.

He made his way back out, surrounded by corpses

By horseback, he made his way out the abandoned fortress, left with but a thought "who was Alicia?".
_______________________________________

Far north, beyond the frozen sea and ports of Greymeria, Steffen had led Sven on a road far too cold for horses to tread. Even when both of them were Greymer, and their bodies covered in many layers of fur and cloth, Sven could barely handle the cold during their route north.

"Y-you s-sur-sure this is-is the right way?...." Sven remarked in a shivering manner, plundering the snow out of each step like a drunk in a sea storm.

"Ask that question again. See what 'appens." Steffen turned to him, pointing his swaying glass covered lantern in the cold wind.

"W-what if-if there's b-ba-bandits?" Sven replied, so disabled that his body was becoming brittle.

"Not in this storm."

"Wh-what about b-bears?! W-wolves?!"

"Shut it. We're 'ere." Steffen pointed with his hand.

Steffen gave a number of knocks against a door --- held in place at the head of a cave. The pattern went as follows; two quick knocks, five slow knocks, then a pause, and another knock.

The door was opened and was greeted by a nearly eight foot man covered in a thick layer of fur.

"This is not how ye welcome guests!" Steffen turned his head to signal the man away, reacting with a disgusted remark. "Have ye no shame?"

It was not fur.

The being pointed to a separate room, a room filled with scattered voices.

Yet another door was opened, and they were greeted by a near hundred prying eyes.

"Yarren sentari un!" One called without so much as a grin, meaning "welcome honored one".

No good came of the rest, however. Many began to mock them in Greymeric. After all, to speak the tongue of Lorlyn is to speak the tongue of the enemy, a memory of the past war.

"Is this the one you call Sven Raedenson, the last of the Coldcloaks?" The leader of the crowd stood up, being the only one to greet them.

Sven slowly walked back to the previous door, forcing Steffen to retrieve him for a proper introduction.

Upon realizing he was the supposed last heir of the Coldcloaks, the entire crowd laughed in a drunken state. Sven's heart sunk.

Sven left the doors and headed to the first room, attempting to exit the main door, demanding aggressively to force the previously nude Greymer out of his way, which made the tall hairy beast of a man sad.

When Sven opened the entry door, winds of snow and ice paraded his skin immediately, nearly causing him to collapse. Steffen grabbed the door quickly, shutting it behind him as he brought Sven back on his feet.

"Sven, ye need to gain courage. A'nt the time to be what yer past made ye become." Steffen held on to Sven's left shoulder with his right hand. "Ye see them? They don't fear ye, they don't love ye, and they certainly don't care to hear what ya need to say, but ya gotta fight it."

Sven, in what will he did have, aimed to face the storm if it meant escaping the crowd.

"Aye, if it favors ye, then leave! Yur cowardice wull only lest ye so long in the storm."

"And there it is again! You demand too great for a crippled man!" Sven put his hood back on and headed towards the snow outside, shivering and barely breathing the moment he left.

Although the door was mostly closed, Sven could here him, his heart unruly from his bitterness.

"Drew passed so that ah might abide, to fight what he hadn't." Steffen sat in one of the entry room chairs, contemplating with one hand against his mouth, and the other held against the chair's right arm.

Sven paused as he stood. The cold attempted constantly to sneak past his scarf that covered his lower face, and through the hood from above it.

"Ne'er a time in the past did we spot a good day. Both our folk were taken from us, just as ye." Sven remained silent at that remark, still in place. "Without ye, lad, we can dae nothin'. The road destined for ye may as well be gone."

The door rattled from the winds, for it was shut, and no one had left.
_______________________________________

The bells began to ring in the tallest tower of Lorlyn. The Capitol itself held thousands gathered below its shaking and violent clanging. Among it was murmuring voices. The voices swallowed all other sounds when walking through it. With no trade, the winter already taking its hold on the land, and stockpiles raided by bandits, there was no place left.

The last ruler was killed in the siege of Iron Haven: Queen Lena. Generals and commanders that served her either fled to other countries, died fighting for her cause, or had by then fallen into the service of Almar. Only a few demanded their death than to serve him, and it appeared most took his offer.

The bell abruptly stopped ringing, something that occurred only prior to a leader's approach to speak.

The crowd met just beyond the entry of the throne room, with steps leading downwards from it. It was morning, for the sun had just then set its mark on the horizon. For once the sky wasn't grey.

The throne doorway was opened, and there stood Almar taking each step like a city burned below it. Derek often had his guardsmen beside him in his counsel to the common folk, but not Almar. Almar ignored all warnings from his commanders and generals, walking down the steps alone. Everyone was silent, perpetually in fear for the decision they made. They returned to the gateway conquered by hell.

"Do you strike me now for what I intend, or for what I've done to bring myself here?" Almar spoke loudly to the crowd, silencing all manners of murmuring and threats.

It was only temporary. Some began to bring hateful remarks to slander his name. Had they not been unarmed, spoiled food would surround him.

"I see you stand before me. Your eyes fear it, and your hearts like shattered glass." Almar stood closer to the crowd, walking further down the steps and looking towards all of them. "This world brings kingdoms from ashes, and to ashes out of the greatest, yet it does not see what best become of the one we stand in now." He looked into the eyes of one member of the crowd.

He continued walking further in, and Carrion had to look away, heart pounding and sweat all over the moment they were only a few steps apart. It was only arrows inches from their mark.

"You believed in tyranny; of monarchies for thousands of years that isolated themselves from the people who supported them."

The crowd began to bicker again, though keeping a safe distance from him.

"The unknown is your battleground, yet you deny what is known. You fight a war that was already won."

More anger was met with each word.

"Unlike those of your past, I do not desire a golden age. The best is temporary, but I will hold to that age for eternity!"

Carrion walked further away in the crowd, bumping into another cloaked being from head to toe. They made no eye contact, but the being stood in place afterward, then faded into the crowd. Carrion's heart began to call out, his body tense.

"Your legs cripple into ruin. Your pride in your fallen kingdom like a single grain of sand among waves. You've been blinded!"

Almar walked back to the steps, standing above them all. The crowd wasn't certain as to which side they should be supporting. They argued quietly among themselves.

"Power, freedom, recognition, happiness. I wish it upon you all!"

He opened up his arms, welcoming the crowd to join beside him.

"The north belongs to us, now; or to those who stay loyal to me!" He raised his voice even louder, causing those even a mile beyond to hear his voice. "You stand at a precipice, and winter has only just begun...."

"Take heed by these words! Fathom well within your hearts, for upon the horizon are peasants that can become rulers! A land where the unjust rulers fall to the lowest among them!" The crowd went silent again.

"Speak true! Is this not what was destined for you? A place where all people have a chance, and the only fear is of your own end?"

Almar slowly walked back to the king's court. He looked into each person's eyes as he continued forward. Before closing the doorway, however, came an uproar of shouts and cheering. Clapping and singing dotted the landscape. Almar turned to meet it with a raised hand and smile.

Carrion trembled before it, eager yet weary to flee, knowing well that before him was no longer his kingdom.