Author's Note: This is occurring simultaneously to Chapter One.

Orónëminya's heart was racing in her chest, as she, holding young Metimafoa in front of her on the horse, rode to the South-west.

Metimafoa stared up at her, his blue eyes scanning every inch of her face. "When are we going home, Orónënya." He was slowly picking up the language, but he was only four human years old. Still, Metimafoa had learned much of the tongues of men and elves, in his last four years of life, because he had the mental capacities of the elves, which were highly advanced.

"I do not know, Arimeldaminë." Orónëminya replied, calling her brother dearest one, to keep him calm. "We may not go back at all." She glanced around in anticipation, nervousness setting into her very bones, as she scanned the horizon for hostile individuals.

She slowly directed the horse off of the road, looking back to the still visible towers of her childhood home, and a feeling of loss set over her heart. A tear rolled down her cheek, as Orónëminya accepted the fact that she would probably never see her homeland again.

She did not give up hope entirely however. Inside of her, a battle raged, her strength and hope barely holding back her thoughts of depravity and depression.

"Orónëminya, issënar toronnya, ar orónënya?" Metimafoa asked, observing the tears running down her face, but unsure on how to respond to them. "Nar cuina?"

Orónëminya wiped her tears from her eyes, and cleared her throat. "They are alive, Metimafoa, or at least they were 20 minutes ago." She said, in response to his question. "As to where they are, and where they are going, I do not know. We decided not to tell each other, in case one of us got captured, and was..." She was about to say tortured, but she reconsidered when she saw how scared, and confused Metimafoa was. "...interrogated. The Line Of Estelondo, must go on, at all costs, Arimeldaminë."

Metimafoa gulped, trying, and failing miserably, to cover up his fear. "Where are we going then, Orónënya? What destination do you have in mind?"

"There is a city, or rather, a watch, to the South, known as Moinatarminas. It is a old abandoned watch tower, where we should be safe and secure, at least for a time. It was actually left to ruin during the war of our Grandfather, when our Aunt's namesake rebelled against the Oligarchy of the Council, but that is a story for another time." Orónëminya smiled at her brother, who seemed to be hanging onto ever word she said. "I was unaware that history entertained you so, Metimafoa. Perhaps, we should find you a school tutor to teach you."

Metimafoa shook his head, his eyes certain in their memory. "It is not that I like history, it is that I like his story. Grandfather used to tell the best stories, before he..." Metimafoa's voice trailed off, realising how painful his words were for his sister. "Sorry, Orónëminya. I did not wish to cause emotional harm. Please forgive me."

Orónëminya turned around on the horse, and smiled at him. "There is nothing to forgive, Metimafoa. He was your grandfather as well. You have a right to talk about him."

Metimafoa nodded, his youthful, hopeful eyes taking in the surrounding terrain, with a natural curiosity that made the very woods seem more alive. "I now comprehend why our mother and sister loved the woods so much, Orónëminya. They are chaotic, and that is their beauty. They cannot be controlled, Orónëminya, and they are truly free. That is what the woods gave our mother and sister. Freedom, and therefore peace."

Orónëminya glanced at her brother curiously, before leading the horse on through the woods.

. . .

Metimafoa awoke a short time later, laying on the ground, on the banks of a frigid stream in the woods, with the horse grazing nearby. Orónëminya was nowhere to be seen, so Metimafoa, looking to be all of four, drew his rapier, and began to investigate.

"Put down the sword, Metimafoa, and come here. I am glad to see that you are awake." A male voice said from behind him.

Metimafoa whirled around, his sword at the ready, as he stared at a old elven man, dressed in a purple robes, and a elderly elven woman, dressed in black robes. In front of them, the wizened man waved his hand, and a small fire appeared before him, as Metimafoa recognised them.
"Grandpa! Grandma! What are you doing here?"

Herievamornie smiled, as Metimafoa lowered his sword. "My dear boy, we have been living here since your father died. After his death, I was loathe to live in the City any longer. Herulepilin here, was not against the idea, so we left."

Metimafoa breathed a sigh of relief, and exclaimed, "Then we are safe! Orónëminya and I can stay here with you, and we will be protected from Gygax and his forces."

"I am afraid that is not an option, Metimafoa." Herulepilin grimaced. "Gygax knows where we are, and he will be coming to claim us any day now."

At this moment, Metimafoa noticed that Orónëminya had returned, with a bundle of firewood. "The two of you could come with us! We could defeat Gygax together."

Herievamornie shook her head sadly, her rare dark hair swishing in front of her blue eyes. "Your grandfather and I have already discussed this, my child. We will wait for Gygax, and die by his sword, and his sword alone." Metimafoa began to argue, but she held up her hand to stop him, while Orónëminya looked on, already having had this discussion with them. "You are young, Metimafoa, being born merely a decade or so ago, so this memory will not stay with you for long, but we are old. We have lived to see the birth of our children, and our children's children. We have outlived all of our children, and our apprentices's children. Only our grandchildren remain, and we do not wish to outlive them."

Orónëminya was unable to contain herself any longer. "That is so selfish! Your grandchildren stand before you, begging you for your help, and you choose to die, based on not wanting to outlive us? It is irrational! It is--"

Herulepilin stopped her by taking her hand in his. "My dear, we would be of no advantage to you. We are not youthful wizards, able to fight an entire army. We are old, grey politicians, and absolved ones at that."

He scooped up some dirt and put it into hers. "Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be a farmer, but my master raised me for politics. When Saironelloistya came into power at the end of the Great War, I promised my fellow councillor and my wife that I would build a farm with her, and live there for the rest of our lives. However, Saironelloistya insisted that we live inside the city with him and his wife, Aranellevanima. We agreed, for his sake, and for a time, my dream was forgotten."

"After his death, and our son's, we moved outside the city, and my dream - after twelve thousand years - came to fruition."

He glanced back at his hut before continuing. "I waited so long to live on this land, that to me, there is no greater honour than to die on it with my wife. I will stay, my children, until death separates me from my wife and my land. I hope, after how you were raised, you can respect that."

During Herulepilin's speech, his voice never rose above a whisper and his tone was not reprimanding. He was simply a wise, grey-haired man, explaining his choice to young children who he loved, and who loved him back.

After his soliloquy, the children could not meet his gaze, as tears slowly flowed down both of their cheeks. Herievamornie embraced the two of them, saying: "You can stay for tonight, and tomorrow night, but after that, you must leave. Gygax will not take long, to come for us, so if you wait any longer than that, you will be in danger of being caught."

Orónëminya nodded, but Metimafoa had cried himself into a deep, comforting sleep, in his grandmother's arms.

. . .

A day had passed, when, Herulepilin was out gathering wood, and he heard horses approaching. "We were too greedy with our time." He stammered, casting a spell, which in turn opened a portal to the cabin, and stepping through it.

When he reached the other side, he scrambled to grab the heirs, and brought them to a large maple tree. "Hurry and Fly, piawilin, your foes are upon you. Wait until an hour after sunset to come down, if they are gone."

A tear slid down Metimafoa's youthful face, as he realised that he would never see his grandparents again. "I do not want you to die." He wept quietly, his words barely audible above the sounds of approaching hooves.

Herulepilin shushed him, and commanded him: "Do not weep for us, Metimafoa, for Death is neither evil, or final. Mourning is acceptable, but many more people will service you, with their last breath, and more friends and family will die, that you may live. They will not regret this, so you will not regret their passing. This is my final test," Herulepilin stated with a smile. " and I will pass it, no matter the personal cost. You have my love, dearest ones. Now, fly, little birds, and live. Live for those you love."

With that, the two siblings climbed the tree, Orónëminya helping her brother with the ascent, until they reached the top of the tree, and from their vantage point, watched as Herulepilin and Herievamornie met with the citadel guards, of Meneltarma.

. . .

Herulepilin walked over to the guards, as three of them drew back their bows, and one of the men in the front held up his gloved hand.

When the Captain raised his hand, Herievamornie smiled and asked, "Alla, General Luinëcalima. How many we be of service to you?"

Luinëcalima took off his helmet, and mask, a frown crossing his face. "You know why I have come, Mellonnya. We have been friends for nearly a millenia, so I am not in support of this order, nor do I believe that it is true, but nonetheless, I must follow it. Herievamornie, and Herulepilin, by order of the King Gary Gygax of Meneltarma, first of his name, I hereby charge you with Treason, Attempted Regicide, and place you under arrest, in the name of The King of Meneltarma. You will be called upon for any evidence on the Heirs to the Line Of Estelondo, and if you cooperate, you will be set free."

"You know me better than that, Luinëcalima." Herulepilin responded, his normally happy and carefree expression, had changed into one of remorse. "I would rather die than betray those I love, and besides, we both know that not only was I not involved, in the attempt to kill Gygax, but that he would not release me anyway." He glanced back at the house, before he halsed the General. "If I am going to die, I would die here, Mellonnya. Do me a service, and kill me, then burn my corpse and bury my ashes on the back field. Will you do this for me?"

"What of your wife, Herulepilin? Surely she would rather that you lived?"

Herievamornie shook her head sadly. "I would share my husband's fate, if I could. I will not betray my grandchildren, especially after The False King raped one of them, when she was little more than a girl. Kill us, and be done with it, Luinëcalima."

"Please do not make me do this." He insisted, raising his six fingered right hand up to give the signal.

Herulepilin stepped forward, and his hands burst into flames. "I will not be taken back to be executed by that coward. KILL ME!"

Luinëcalima lowered his hand slowly, before asking for one of the crossbows. "Let he who casts a man's fate, carry it out himself." Luinëcalima raised the crossbows, and aimed in on Herulepilin.

"You are a man of honour, my old friend." Luinëcalima said, as he pulled the trigger, and the bolt struck Herulepilin in his right eye, killing him instantly.

Metimafoa almost shouted out, but Orónëminya covered his mouth with her hand, though her own tears silently flowed. Luinëcalima reloaded the crossbows, as Herievamornie pressed one last kiss to her husband's brow. "Let them live." She said, immediately before the bolt hit her in her left eye, and she fell to the ground, with her husband in both life, and death.

Luinëcalima gestured to his soldiers, tears in his eyes, and they carried the bodies into the cabin. He held out a hand, and cast, "narellolegwath." The two corpses burst into flames, and within a short period of time, the entire house was engulfed in red and orange fire.

As Luinëcalima walked over and mounted his horse, one of the nearby men asked, "Should we look for the children? They may be nearby." Luinëcalima did not look at the guard, but instead the gazed through the fire filled window of his old friend's home.

"No," he answered, his voice hoarse, and his eyes closed to hold back the tears behind them. "We have done enough evil for one day."

. . .

From their high vantage point, Orónëminya, and Metimafoa watched as the riders rode away, and as their grandparent's house burned down into nothing but as, and dust. They had watched the group talk, although they could not hear what was said, and then they had watched the bandit leader shoot, first their grandfather, and then their grandmother, before burning their corpses.

Yet they obeyed their last order, to stay in the tree, until sundown, as though it had been a vow so sacred that their souls depended on it. When the last of the sunlight faded from the sky, having cast its red and orange sunset on the Western side of the world, the two children clambered down, and slowly walked towards their loved ones' remains.

As they entered the darkened remains of the hut, they could see greys, blacks, and white, from the ash that covered anything. It was nearly impossible to know what anything was, or rather, had been, because the fire had burned so hot that the very stones in the foundation of the house, had begun to melt.

Metimafoa collapsed to his knees, his eyes focusing through the smoke on two charred skeletons, that held each other's hands in the end. Orónëminya saw what her younger brother saw, and exclaimed, "No! Metimafoa, do not look! The night is dark, but their death is not the end!"

Orónëminya covered his eyes, and led him outside of the tent. They had no horse, no gold, and no allies, as they journeyed out into the world, seeking a place where they could once again, be safe.

Dear Readers,
First and foremost, I would like to thank you all for continuing on this journey with me, as it is not obligatory. I know my writing style is not the greatest, so for you to continue struggling through it.
Secondly, I have finally figured out how to dedicate a chapter, after taking ten minutes to look it up on the internet. Shameless plug to Google, although they are not paying me, so I'm liable to get sued for it. Anyway, this discovery means that I will now be dedicating each chapter to a reader who comments and assist me, whether it be with a joke, a reference, a compliment, a recommendation, or even a insult, I will be picking a reader to dedicate it to. This is not for publicity, as anyone of you would know, if you had any idea how little of a social life I have, but simply to credit the Readers, for making it this far with me.
Thirdly, I apologise for this chapter being late once again, because I am apparently bad at commitment, but fantastic at finding a reason to procrastinate. I am sorry I am a awful person.
Fourthly, I hope you enjoyed this Orónëminya and Metimafoa chapter, as that is how the chapters will now go, until further notice. Percival is technically the Main Character, but as the novel's title suggests, it actually follows the line of Estelondo, which all four children are part of, so it holds to reason that it would follow all four of them.
Fifthly, I completely wrote this chapter to correct a plot hole in the three part one shot. I apologise for that, but it needed to be done.
I think that is about it, so have a great (insert time period following the moment you read this,) and I hope you will continue forward with me.
Sincerely,
Isaiah Joel Oakley Le Istya

Post Script: I got my permit today, so that was fun, although it was in part why this chapter was late. Terribly sorry about that.