Faramaureä slowly walked to the nearest window, but she did not see or hear anyone there. Looking back at her students, she said, "All of you wait here for a moment." She opened the window slowly and climbed out of it.

Once she had landed, she adjusted her dress and vest, then she looked toward the tree line to her left. Despite the rustling of the branches, she knew it was just the breeze. Looking back up at the window, she saw two Changeling children pop their heads out of the window after her. "What happened to: 'wait here for a moment?'" she teased, though she doubted they understood the satirical humour. Then she had an idea. "And make sure you all sign your artwork." That will show me their names.

Priding herself on what she perceived as cleverness, Faramaureä wandered toward the treeline, away from the walls of the city. As she did, she noticed areas of depression in the grass. Footprints, she thought to herself.

Following the trail, she wandered down through the trees, leaving her students unattended. The gentle breeze through the trees made the stroll more relaxing, but she could not completely relax, certainly without knowing who was nearby. Whom she had sensed.

She closed her eyes to see if she could still sense them, but whoever it was had gone by some means different than walking; alas they were no longer there. She turned and began walking back to her class but the thought never strayed far from her mind. I recognized that presence. I have felt it before.

. . .

The rest of the school day was uneventful, all in all. Well, except for the student who had thrown up in the recess due to eating an orange mushroom. "General rule of thumb:" Percival had told the child while Faramaureä cleaned up the mess. "If you do not know what the random plant is; do not eat said random plant."

The kid had nodded, but the level of attentiveness he showed to what Percival was saying made Faramaureä think that she would probably be cleaning up throw up tomorrow as well. Later, when she approached Percival, as he was smoking a pipe, she noticed an awful smell in the smoke. "What are you doing?"

"Smoking, clearly."

She looked at him like he was a moron. "When did you take up that bad habit?"

"Bad habit?" He answered in mock horror. "Our grandfather always said, 'Never trust someone who does not partake of the pipe; they are trying to hide something.'" He took a hit off of the pipe and started coughing voraciously.

She took the pipe and threw it out the window, but he was coughing too hard to yell at her. "What in the Thirteen Kingdoms are you smoking, Percival?"

Percival finally calmed down enough to spit out: "I have no idea, I just picked a couple of leaves off of a couple of trees and started smoking it in a pipe I found in my desk. I figured at least one of the trees had to be safe."

Faramaureä looked at him as though he was a moron again. I am beginning to think that might become a habit. "There are so many incredibly stupid things in what just came out of your mouth that I cannot even imagine as to where I should begin." Wiping her hand down her face in exasperation, she said, "How about I begin with the fact that we just dealt with a student getting sick from eating random plants, and you decided to smoke random plants. Are you kidding me, Percival?"

"In my defence, smoking and eating are entirely—"

"That was rhetorical. Second, you found the pipe in your desk?" He nodded, so she continued "Did you at least think to clean it before you put it in your mouth."

The abashed look on Percival's face was answer enough for her. "I am utterly unwilling to even touch on that any further than I already have. Thirdly, It only takes one poisonous leaf to kill you. The other fifteen could be perfectly safe but if you were to place Hemlock in there, it could kill you in an instant."

"I am beginning to think that this was a bad idea on my part."

"And while we are at it: why did you tell the students our real names? We need to be careful!"

"They are children, Faramaureä. They are not going to report us to Gygax."

"No, but they might mention it to their parents, who very well might sell us out."

"And why would they do that, Faramaureä?" Percival demanded, growing irritated at her berating his every action. "They harbour no animosity against us!"

"Are you really so foolish?" She asked in a cool level voice. Remain calm, she thought to herself, trying to regain control of her emotions. Taking a deep breath, she explained: "People have killed for centuries over gold, power, fear, and perhaps the most surprising, and yet the most common reason of all; love." She took another controlled breath, and continued "Harbouring animosity is rarely the reason for killing; no indeed, it is usually in cases of loving someone who has had something taken away from them, whether it be freedom, life, or," she concluded, giving him a knowing glance, "even virtue."

Percival winced and averted his eyes from hers, knowing that she spoke of her own loss. "I am sorry, Faramaureä. I am sorry for everything I have done that has happened, and more so for everything you have suffered." He placed his hand against the door, his gaze downward at his feet.

"None of what I have suffered has been on your head, toronnya," she said quietly and comfortingly. "You have only ever protected me, except that time when I was 347, and you and Orónëminya beat me up with sticks."

"Well, I failed to do enough!" He punched the stone wall hard enough that it chipped, and drew blood on his knuckles. He punched it again, smearing it with blood as he syncopated his words with further punches. "Too much has been done under my watch!"

"Percival, stop!" Faramaureä cried in concern, grabbing his arm to try and stop him, but he shrugged her off.

"I was supposed to protect you! I was supposed to protect you all!" He hit the wall again, and the resounding crack told that he had broken at least one knuckle. He slid down the wall, coating the wall in his blood, as his shirt dragged through the mess he had left behind. "I had a duty to all of you," he said as Faramaureä took his hand in hers, and in one quick motion, pulled the broken knuckle back into place. He gasped in pain, wordless for a moment, which allowed her to run and gather supplies to bind the bone he had so callously snapped. When she returned, he was slumped against the wall where he had been, but he looked despondent. "It was the duty they gave me," he said, as though in explanation.

"Who gave you?" Faramaureä asked as she tied the two board she was using as a splint, to his hand.

"You already know, sister of mine, envinyanta ello estelondo. They were orders from mother and father when Orónëminya was born." He paused to rise. "'Remember, Percival, you are the oldest sibling; it falls on you to protect them, in their times of need.' Yet I let us split up. I let us all be hunted. I let Gygax harm you in ways that I dare not imagine." He took a deep breath and walked away toward his dormitory. "I had a duty to protect this family, and I failed." He said, before quietly shutting his bedroom door behind him and leaving his sister alone in the hallway

"Cursed be it all, Percival. Thousands of years together, and I still do not know everything about you," she muttered, before walking to his bedroom door and knocking on it gently.

. . .

Forgotten were Faramaureä's fears and concerns about discovery, yet they were far from paranoia. Though neither of them knew it, an elven corporal had entered the city with two companies, and orders from King Gary Gygax himself. Unfortunately for them, the Changelings were an inherently curious group of people, and their curiosity had led them to corrugate in the city square. "People of the Changeling law, you are hereby ordered to extradite any fugitives to the City of Meneltarma for questioning and potential retainment. Any information brought forth regarding fugitives to the Crown will be rewarded. Those believed to be harbouring information from the Crown shall be tried as traitors and dealt with as such."

He paused to gauge the reaction of the crowd, but a voice cried out "You have no power here. This city is protected as a sanctuary city, following the laws of the Council after the rule of King Nesbitt. You cannot harm us here."

"No?" The corporal asked mockingly. "Bring her forth," he ordered two of his men, and they stepped forward to do so, but the woman had approached of her own accord. "What is your name?" He demanded, his voice level but imperative.

"My name is Lochiel, sir. And you are?"

"I hardly believe that you are in a position to make demands," the man paused again, as was clearly his habit. These pauses appeared to be the result of him carefully considering what he said next, but she could not decide whether that was a sign of intelligence or stupidity. "But seeing as I am in a courteous mood, I shall answer. My name is Vice-Corporal Bannockburn, Fourth Infantry Division. Tell me, Lochiel; can you read the common tongue?"

"As well as any other, I suppose. Why do you ask, Corporal?"

"I would like you to read this, Lochiel, out loud to the rest of your people," he said, handing her a note signed by Gygax himself.

Lochiel read the note to herself and then read it again out loud. "By order of King Gary Gygax of Meneltarma, I hereby issue a temporary revocation the Sanctuary Laws, until the Heirs of The Line of Estelondo are found and returned. I, as a result, acknowledge that I am giving my armies free rein on the sanctuary cities of Minh, The Castle of Chameleons, Esteltumbo, and Le Elyanme."

"Do you know what the best part about it is, Lochiel?" The corporal straightened his uniform smugly. "The moment my sentry reported seeing a male and female elf near this city, I sent a report to The King, and he told me that he would be on his way shortly; that he just had to make a stop near Mistaostirion to visit the Apothecary for supplies the Castle Apothecary needed. He will be teleporting in momentarily. "

As though summoned by the Corporal's words, a whirling purple vortex appeared behind him, and the Usurper stepped through and into the corporal's area. "Well, Corporal; you promised me the heirs, or at the very least, my wife. Where are they?"

"They were sighted around the city, your Majesty, and my spy went away undetected. There is no reason they should have run. We are interrogating the people as we speak."

Lochiel scoffed at his words and it caught Gary's attention. "And who are you, changeling?" he asked without malice, but the stare she returned was nothing short of hatred.

"My name is Lochiel, your majesty." The sneer on her face carried through to her voice, and Gygax was curious.

What have I done to make you hate me so, Lochiel? What have I done to earn your scorn? But these questions remained unasked. I will not be deterred from finding them, he thought to himself. "Tell me, Lochiel, have you seen any elves recently?"

"Besides yourself and your entourage? None except my people in form. Are you sure that the intelligence you received from your captain was entirely accurate? My people have been known to take the form of Monarchs before." With that, she lost structure, becoming a pile of grey goo, but Gygax knew what was happening. Before the Corporal could defend himself, Faramaureä stood before him. Or rather, Lochiel under her guise did.

The corporal was a blur, his fear evident on his face as he resettled behind her, knife at her throat. His voice was raspy in her ear, as he said, "Are you sure that's the story you want to go with, Heiress? I think you should reconsider your lie."

Lochiel was frozen with terror; taunting those who could bring about her death was a different thing entirely than being faced with it.

So in the end, it was not her voice which rang out, no, it was the voice from the crowd who had cried out "no, " when Bannockburn went to seize her. The voice of her son, Skye. "If you let her go, I will tell you where they are."

The corporal readjusted his grip nervously. "So you admit that they are here?"

"Aye, they are here," he confirmed. "Now just let her go."

"Not until you tell us where they are!"

Skye took a deep breath; despite his desire to keep his mother safe, which was predominantly born of a desire to see his sisters kept safe, he did not wish to betray the two Heirs of Meneltarma. But sometimes, you have no choice. I hope that someday, they understand that. "Out back, behind the city, there is an old school house, where a human named Julia taught our children the common tongue, in days of yore. They dwell inside of it; teaching our children art, math, history, and science."

Gygax, who had been sitting back watching with interest interrupted the corporal "How did they become teachers with no certifications?" He gestured, and the corporal released Lochiel, who fell to the ground in a heap.

"We believe in the importance of a willing heart. If someone offers to help, no matter how small the favour, we are duty bound to accept, because it is wrong to rebuke a helping hand or a willing heart."

"So, because they were willing," Gygax summarised, "you were willing to let them fill your children's heads with ideas? What if they had an ulterior motive? How could you tell that they were telling the truth?"

"We Changelings are face-changers; we understand how faces work. It is hard to lie to someone who can detect it based on the tick of a cheek muscle, or the flexing of an eye muscle."

Gygax nodded and gestured to the corporal to follow him, as he walked toward the city gate. "I may not approve of your methods, Bannockburn, but I must admit that they are effective. Ready your division and bar the gates. I want them to have no warning. We march in one hour."

"With what goals in mind, your majesty?"

"Capture or kill Percival, if he becomes too much, but Faramaureä must be captured alive. I would have my queen at my side; not in her crypt."

Back in the square, Lochiel had revived and was reprimanding her son. "How could you?" She demanded in a hushed voice, as some of the soldiers walked by. "You would seek to help the man who used your father as fodder to fall beneath the magic of the Royal Line?"

"No, Mother, I would not. I would, however, seek to save your life when you risk it with your inability to keep your mouth shut." Skye sat down in exasperation.

"What was I supposed to do; let you die?"

"If necessary, yes. I do not fear death, but I do fear having to live out the last of my days under the rule of the man who happily brought about your father's demise."

"He did not kill him, Mother! If anyone, the blame falls on the line of Estelondo, because they struck the killing blow!" Skye sighed and took yet another deep breath. "Look, I am not proud of my betraying them, but I will not allow another of our lineage to be slaughtered for their cause. I did what I had to do."

"Then you will do what you 'have to do' again, You must go and warn them."

"How am I supposed to do that? The Usurper has locked down the city; there is no way to reach them."

"There is one," she said cryptically. "You could always go through the crypts."

"On my way." I have to do something to fix this, Skye thought to himself, as he ran out of the door and down toward the place where his father lay in eternal sleep.

. . .

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock on the door of the school, and Faramaureä rose to answer it. What did we do wrong now? She opened the heavy wooden door, and there stood a foul-smelling, and energy deprived Skye.

"Hello, Skye. How may I help you?"

Skye gasped for air, and managed to say "Gygax... knows... on his way... in the city now."

It did not take Faramaureä long to catch Skye's meaning. "Percival!" She shouted his name, and the panic in her tone woke him from his slumber instantly; he was on his feet moments later.

"What is wrong, Orónënya? Who died?" He heard rummaging in her bedroom and found her there, hurriedly packing her bag.

"The Usurper is in the city! We have to flee now."

Percival was moving in an instant, his hands grabbing clothing and moments and sticking them into bags. As she packed up her last package, she ran out of the room calling out, "I am going to go ready our horse; finish packing and meet me outside!"

We have a horse? Percival thought, placing his journal and a small spell tome into his bag, before tightening the drawstrings. When he got outside, the horse was still in the stable, and Faramaureä was chanting on the ground, her eyes once again glowing white. All around them, trees were sprouting up and growing into each other, branches breaking off as the trunks grew. The trees rumbled and cracked, and then began to form together into a singular wall made of oak, ash and maple trees. Then, just as it had begun, it stopped, Faramaureä clutching her head in pain, with tears running down her face.

"Oh, they are in such pain! I can feel their agony! They are screaming for help, but I know that we need the barrier."

"Why do we need the barrier?"

"We cannot leave! The horse is chained and I do not have the key!" The fear in her voice was growing as every second that passed brought her one moment closer to confronting her husband.

The thunking of axes on the tree right outside of the front door let them know how close their adversaries were. Percival looked at her stressed out beyond belief before crying out "Narman!" His hands burst into blue-green flames and he ran over to the stable, leaving the flaming remnant of his finger splint behind him as he flew.

When he finally reached the stable and grabbed onto the chain at its wall junction. The chain began to redden, and as it began to bend under its own weight, he pulled out his grandfather's Cobalt sword and sliced through the chain. The horse ran out of the stables and into the tree ring, but with nowhere to go, it was very quickly caught by Faramaureä.

"Lower the trees and ride off!" Percival ordered, his green-blue flames reflected in his eyes. "I'll catch up in a moment, but I need to buy us some time!"

"I'm not leaving you!" She cried out, mounting the horse and facing it toward the back of the tree line.

With a spell in each hand, Percival shouted a spell code blasting a hole in the tree wall, and with another cast, striking the horse in its rump with a small lightning bolt. The horse, much like the lightning, bolted, Faramaureä was sent flying out of the tree wall, shouting his name after her.

She tried to stop the horse, but the horse refused, and all she could do was look back in horror as Percival began casting spells at the men coming through the trees. "Percival!" she cried, as the horse carried her onward under bough and branch, and away from her brother's fate.