Prologue 1: A Journey's Start

Sebastian - Road from Reinhurst to Conevico - Morning, 2 Pyrrendas Frostdawn, 1992 TGS

Some journey, Sebastian mused to himself. leaning against the rim of the basket and gazing into a sky washed clean by morning light. The journey carried Sebastian farther into the mortal world, though from within the basket it often seemed a poor adventure.

Propped against the woven rim, he gazed upon hills white with snow, forests without end, and roads that wound through the land until they vanished beneath the feet of distant mountains. Now and again some pilgrim would bend over the cradle, smiling broadly and speaking in those strange, gentle sounds grown folk reserved for children.

Especially the women.

Of all the pilgrims, it was the women who seemed most enchanted by the infants—fawning, cooing, and making soft faces that Sebastian found suffocating. Lady Vesna, at least, had bestowed names upon them. He was Sebastian, and the green-eyed child, his brother beside him, was Niall.

Sebastian wasn’t entirely sure what a brother was—only that this one had been beside him since the beginning. Niall cried often and was, at times, a little thick-headed, but Sebastian supposed he wasn’t in any position to judge.

Some bond had joined them before either drew breath beneath a mortal sky. The blue-haired woman of the silver fields had known them both, and had sent them into this colder realm for some purpose still hidden from him.

Since then, the world beyond the cradle had yielded few wonders. Yet its greatness troubled Sebastian. The forests alone seemed large enough to swallow all things, and the mountains upon the horizon stood farther away than any place had a right to be. Without Vesna, Cassius, and the travelers who tended them, neither child would have endured even one winter’s night.

From words spoken above the basket, Sebastian slowly gathered the name of the country through which they passed. It was called Lothar, a northern realm of Men lying between the green dominions of Elentárië to the west, the dwarven fortress-cities of Emberstone further north, the southern hills of Castillia, and the eastern lands of Romagnia.

He heard much concerning the Elves. They were said to be a fair and sharp-eared people, deeply learned in song and magic. Some dwelt beneath the eldest trees, others in halls under the sea, while stranger kindreds wore features like those of beasts. Sebastian understood little of this, but he listened closely whenever the matter arose.

The pilgrims often declared that faith began where sight failed. That only through believing does one begin to see. Sebastian would much rather have seen the Elves, regardless.

By noon the caravan came to Berkerstad, a small and cheerless settlement beneath a mantle of snow. Its cottages crouched closely together, while the inhabitants labored with shovels and brooms to clear their roofs and narrow paths.

The travelers had scarcely halted before word of Reinhurst reached the villagers. At the warning of a Templar, one frightened peasant abandoned his work and ran shouting for the elder. Doors opened along the lane, and alarm spread quickly from house to house. Men gathered near the wagons to question the soldiers, while mothers called their children indoors and barred the shutters.

The caravan remained only long enough to barter for provisions and deliver what warning it could.

Before their departure, Commander Reickart announced that they would reach a roadside inn by nightfall. It was called the Mother Bear’s Den, and the news brought such relief to the company that even the weariness of the road seemed briefly diminished.

As the wagons rolled onward, the pilgrims entertained the twins with songs, tales, and little marvels gathered from many lands. Merchants shared sweetmeats they could ill afford to spare. Penitents carved wooden toys from scraps. Old women sang half-remembered cradle songs, and wandering scholars argued cheerfully over which tune best pleased the children.

The caravan seemed to Sebastian like a village forever in motion. It arrived bearing trade, rumor, and life, and left behind some small measure of each.

Niall slept through much of it. Yet seeing his brother comfortable and asleep, Sebastian began to hope that the worst of their trials lay behind them. The cold remained cruel, and hunger was never far from the travelers’ thoughts, yet the wheels continued to turn. For the present, that was enough.

Night had already gathered beneath the trees when firelight appeared ahead.

The Mother Bear’s Den stood in a wooded hollow beside the road, larger and finer than most wayside houses. A great bonfire burned before its doors, sending sparks whirling high into the dark while weary travelers gathered close to its warmth. The inn could not shelter the whole company, but space was found beneath its roof for the leaders of the pilgrimage and those most sorely in need of rest.

Cassius and Vesna were given a table near the hearth. For the infants there was porridge softened with milk and morsels of bread soaked until tender. Their guardians received better fare: roasted fowl, browned onions, thick gravy, and warm loaves fresh from the oven.

A fiddler played near the fire.—his fiddle at first tentative, then bursting into a jubilant rhythm that set hands clapping and boots thudding on the floorboards. Waitresses and cooks wove between tables, balancing trays, tankards, and the clink of freely traded coin. Games of dice, cards, and cups sprawled across nearby tables; cheers of victory rose with groans of loss, each corner its own island of revelry.

To the children, it was as though their whole world had transformed from one of terror and sadness to mirth and glee.

Cassius and Vesna sat close enough to speak, though neither appeared inclined toward much conversation. The ease between them had been fashioned by shared labor and long acquaintance rather than tender attachment. They were content to eat in contemplation while song and merriment flowed around them.

The moment passes with the arrival of Ser Reickart, who takes a seat beside Cassius, one chain-mailed arm resting against the table’s edge. 

“I’ve spoken with some of the patrons and merchants here,” Reickart reports. “They’ve seen neither hide nor hair of anyone fleeing from the southern roads.” Cassius and Vesna’s attention returns, their awareness rekindled by his approach.

“Not even the bandits?” Vesna asks in surprise, setting her cutlery aside and dabbing a cloth to her lips. Cassius however looks glum with concern.

Reickart shakes his head. “Not even them, my lady — though that may work to our favor. They don’t seem bold enough to pillage without discrimination. Likely they’re living rough in the wilderness and won’t risk open confrontation the nearer we draw to Conevico."

“Surely they don’t expect Lothar’s nobility to let such lawlessness go unchallenged,” Cassius remarks, suspicion edging his tone.

Reickart tilts his head side to side. “Unfortunately, the news I’ve heard is unsurprising — renewed tensions between Lothar and the Elves along the western border. The nobility may be too distracted."

At that, Sebastian perks his head from the basket, glancing toward the discussion.

“Not this again,” Vesna huffs, irritation coloring her voice. The tone alone suggests a long and bitter history between Lothar and the Elves.

“I know little beyond tavern rumor,” Reickart continued, “but each side accuses the other of raids across the border. The Elves strike a frontier settlement, Lothar answers against one of theirs, and so the account grows longer.”

He reached for the cup set before him but did not drink.

“The dwarves of Mount Greifenberge are already deep in their war against the Drow Imperium beneath the mountains. The Lotharian lords fear that conflict may find its way upward into their own lands, even as they send men west against the Elves. Winter has stripped the countryside of soldiers and provisions alike.”

“And thus ... left the roads to wolves,” Cassius concludes.

“Some that walk upon two legs.” Reickart’s answer was grim. Vesna seems too deep in thought to answer, but Reickart takes a drought of wine before setting his cup down. “I however consider ourselves blessed to be on the right side of Lothar to avoid a border dispute — cursed to suffer the lax security it leaves behind.”

Vesna’s fingers tightened faintly around the stem of her cup, finally speaking her mind. “We cannot become entangled in their quarrels. Neustria has labored too long to gain the confidence of Elentárië. One ill-judged encounter in Lothar could undo much.” she says.

Cassius and Reickart both nod in agreement. “Well then,” Reickart says as he rises, pushing in his seat. “If that’s the plan, we should be up with the lark — ready for the final push toward the city. Good night to you both." 

“A blessed evening to you, Ser,” Cassius says, raising his tankard.
Vesna however rests her chin atop her folded hands, elbows propped on the table.

After Reickart departs, Vesna stares down at the table, and Cassius turns his gaze toward her. “You look like something weighs on your mind,” he observes softly. 

Vesna glances up at the monk, humming thoughtfully. “I don’t expect trouble before we cross into Romagnia. That’s not my worry — it’s what Lothar will become in the months ahead."

Cassius tilts his head. “You know, a pilgrimage is less about the destination and more about the faith practiced along the way. We might yet serve the people while we’re here, amidst these troubling times."

“True,” Vesna agrees, though her thoughts seem elsewhere. “I suppose I’m thinking of the consequences that follow such troubles.” She exhales, then gestures toward the portions of food remaining upon the table. “Come. Let us at least leave the table in better order than we found it.”

When the meal was done, Cassius summoned one of the serving women and asked after lodging. He sought a chamber away from the noisiest part of the inn, warm enough for the twins and private enough that they might sleep undisturbed.

The mistress of the house soon appeared: a broad, kindly woman with red cheeks and sleeves rolled above her elbows. Upon seeing the infants, she agreed without bargaining and offered them the use of the baths besides.

Cassius paid what was owed. For the first time since Reinhurst, a locked door and a warm bed awaited them. The road could claim them again with the morning. That night, they were permitted to rest.

Sebastian -- Conevico -- Midday, 4th Thalorian, Frostdawn, 1992 TGS

Three days had passed since the children first came beneath the open sky of that strange and measureless world. Since leaving Reinhurst, the caravan had travelled with uncommon haste. Its halts were brief and chosen with care: a hollow screened by pine, an abandoned shepherd’s fold, or some narrow vale where neither campfire nor canvas could readily be seen from the road.

Commander Reickart had scarcely rested. Riding his horse to-and-fro along the column, keeping himself informed of the scouts on horseback who surrounded the landscape.

The security of the caravan had turned a law-keeping force into a network of information and surveillance. Any disturbance amidst the horizon was to be quickly inspected and avoided. This would go on for quite some time until the caravan would catch a glimpse of it's destination, far in the outstretch of sight.

“There!” Alvar’s shout startled Sebastian from sleep.

The child stirred beneath the blankets and raised his head above the rim of the basket. That morning he and Niall shared a wagon with Cassius, Lady Vesna, and the Castillian carpenter, who sat upon the outer bench with one hand shading his eyes.

“Conevico!” Alvar cried. “At last! We'll be a stone's throw from Romagnia!”

Cassius leaned forward, peering past the driver. Vesna’s weariness lifted at once, though she concealed her relief better than Alvar. In the distance rose the walls of the city.

As the caravan rolled closer, Sebastian finally saw them—the towering, tree-high walls of gray stone, far grander than he could have imagined. To his childlike eyes, they looked less like walls and more like distant snow-capped mountains. Wooden palisades crowned the stonework, where guards stood watch, peering down at the arriving travelers.

East of the road lay a broad reach of water dividing the western marches of Lothar from the lands of Romagnia. It narrowed as it approached Conevico, where docks and quays crowded the banks beneath the city’s protection.

Ships of wood and sail moved upon the channel in both directions. Their masts rose like a leafless forest, crossed by ropes and spars in such number that the rigging seemed woven between them. Bells rang over the water. Sailors called from deck to quay, while gulls wheeled above the harbor and answered with harsher voices of their own.

Sebastian observed the scenery, until the wagon passed beneath the shadow of the gatehouse. From under and within the walls, the world became noise. Hooves struck stone. Wheels groaned in deep ruts. Traders shouted from beneath awnings, porters cursed beneath their burdens, and somewhere nearby a smith’s hammer rang without pause.

Yet it was not the clamor that first overcame him. It was the smell.

Smoke, dung, wet wool, fish, tannery vats, unwashed bodies, and the rank mud of the streets mingled beneath the walls until the air itself seemed spoiled. Sebastian recoiled into the basket. Beside him, Niall began to squirm and complain, his face gathering into a face of puckered disgust.

Cassius drew the covering nearer around the infants. “Ah,” he said, regarding the twins with sympathy, “this is your first city.”

Vesna glanced toward the street below. The snow had been trampled into brown slush. Every passing cart forced pedestrians toward the walls, and more than one passerby cursed as his horse sank to the fetlocks in foul refuse.

“At least we’re not walking through the muck of the streets,” Lady Vesna quipped, glancing toward Cassius.. “Did you make arrangements with a tavern?”

Cassius's hesitation, causing Vesna's eyes to narrow. “I had hoped the cathedral might receive us,” he continued. “Provided its guest chambers have not already been claimed by half the pilgrims in Lothar.”

“Your diligence inspires such confidence.” Vesna mockingly comments.
“A great deal has happened since we set out from Selenga.” Cassius retorts, shuffling uncomfortably.
“That is another way of saying you made none.” Alvar interjects with Cassius finally clenching his eyes shut in defeat.

Alvar laughed from the bench. Yet Cassius bore through it.
“If the cathedral cannot house us, I shall seek some other refuge.”

“You may stay with me at the castle,” Vesna said. “Lord Arco will not turn away a Neustrian envoy, even if a reminder of proper courtesy proves necessary.”

“I would advise against reminding him too forcefully.” Cassius warns.
“I possess other means than threats.” Vesna confidently remarks.
“That is what concerns me.” Cassius

Alvar looked back over his shoulder, as though surveying the urban surroundings. “There is always the poorhouse, padre. I'm sure they can find a somewhat cozy corner for you and the little ones. Surely one I could share with you.”

“Failing that, the poorhouse is always available,” Alvar chimed in, walking alongside the wagon. He’d clearly overheard their exchange. “A roof’s a roof, even if it’s not the finest one.”

Cassius looked to be considering it for the moment before Vesna's voice broke his train of thought.

“Ah, Alvar,” she said, turning toward the carpenter before the priest could reply. “Tomorrow I shall need help purchasing supplies. We require nails, wheel-pins, and a new crow-bar.”

“Several carts need attention. Axles, spokes, braces—small faults for now, but they will not remain small on the road to Latium. I can mend what I can without charge.” He gave her a shrewd look. “Though the merchants may become more reasonable if a noblewoman stands beside me.”

“I would prefer,” Cassius said, “that her rank not be proclaimed through every market square between here and Dogeia.”

Vesna however gave him a cool glance. “I know how to bargain without announcing my lineage.”

“You announced it to three customs officers in Sehlaria, to my recollection.” Cassius frowned with a quirked brow.
“They were being dishonest.” Vesna quipped.
“Oh certainly, because it was as if that sincerely mattered once they knew you could pay their ridiculous fees.” Cassius sighed.

Alvar’s grin widened between the exchange between the two.

The wagon jolted over a broken paving stone, and the basket shifted against Cassius’s knee. He steadied it quickly and looked down at the children. “Still,” Cassius said, his humor fading, “I may accept your offer of lodging. Whatever comfort can be found should be given to these two.”

He reached beneath the blanket and gently touched Niall’s side. The infant twisted away, then broke into a delighted laugh when Cassius repeated the gesture. Sebastian soon joined him, though with greater dignity. “I must report their discovery to the Temple,” Cassius continued. “The cathedral should possess parish correspondance, notices from the surrounding villages, and perhaps some records of Reinhurst.”

“And should their family be found?” Vesna asked.
“Then I remain until the matter is settled.” Cassius decided.

The words brought a brief quiet to the wagon. Cassius watched the children as he spoke again. “If their parents yet live, I will not place the boys in unfamiliar hands and ride away."

Vesna nodded. “I expected no less.” She looked ahead toward the rising streets. “But should you remain behind, you will bid me farewell properly. I detest meek goodbyes.”

Cassius placed one hand against his breast and bowed as deeply as the crowded wagon allowed.
“You have my solemn word, my lady.” He reassures.

“See that you remember it.” Vesna feigned a scoff and glances away from the humbling monk.

“I also gave my oath to return you to Lycaron. I do not intend to abandon that duty. Whatever delay awaits me here, I expect to rejoin the pilgrimage before you reach Latium.” Cassius reassures.

Alvar’s expression grew sober. “It would be sad to lose your company, padre.” He extended his hand across the bench. “But no decent man could fault you for staying on behalf of those little souls.”

Cassius clasped it firmly. “Hopefully I won’t be gone too long. I’ll miss your sailor stories—and your company,” Cassius chuckled, prompting a grin from Alvar.

The wagon rolled onward towards the great market square within the center of town. Above them, bells rang from the distant cathedral, their solemn voices rolling over rooftops, towers, and crowded quays.

Conevico assailed the senses from every quarter. From within the shelter of the basket, Sebastian could not escape its clamor. The wagon lurched over worn paving stones, passing beneath houses of timber and grey masonry that leaned so closely across the street that their upper floors seemed almost to meet. Lines of washing stretched between them, snapping in the morning breeze like bright leaves beneath a hard blue sky.

Voices rose from doorways, workshops, and open windows. A merchant raged over a shipment gone astray. A weary mistress called for the third time to an idle servant. Neighbors exchanged small-talk from balcony to balcony, while hammers, saws, and turning wheels lent their own unceasing measure to the din.

Everywhere there was movement. Everywhere there was some new experience or smell that accompanied it.

Smoke from cookfires mingled with dung, wet stone, brine from the harbor, curing hides, and strange spices borne inland from distant ships. Sebastian withdrew nearer to Niall, who had begun to fret beneath the blanket. The familiar warmth of his brother and Cassius’s hand seemed far safer than the bewildering world beyond the wicker rim.

A horse drew alongside the wagon, mounted upon it was Commander Reickart, riding straight-backed despite the weariness of the road, his gaze passing continually over the crowd.

“The caravan remains in Conevico for two days,” he announced. “At dawn thereafter, we take the road toward Latium. Beyond that city, the journey should prove kinder than our passage through Castillia.”

“One would hope so,” Vesna replied, “when we stand so near the cradle of human civilization.”
Several pilgrims within hearing laughed. Reickart merely smiled facing in the direction of Vesna as his horse cantered alongside her cart.

“You have served this company with diligence, courage, and more diligence than many who were appointed to the task,” he said. “On behalf of my men and the Order, you have our thanks.” He bowed his head from the saddle.

Vesna rose carefully within the moving wagon and gathered her cloak about her. “We remain a week from the city of Apostolica,” she answered. “Let us survive Conevico before we celebrate the road beyond it.”

By the time the wagons reached the appointed stables, grooms were already coming forward to take the horses. Harnesses were loosened, canvas coverings rolled back, and baggage lowered beneath the watch of the caravan guards.

Released from the close discipline of the road, the pilgrims scattered in twos and threes. Some sought inns and bathhouses; others hurried toward fountains, markets, shrines, and whatever marvels the city promised.

Cassius took up the basket in one arm and his walking staff in the other. He exchanged a few parting words with Alvar and Lady Vesna. Before leaving, Vesna bent over the children and drew the blanket more closely beneath their chins. Her fingers lingered near Sebastian’s cheek, though she said nothing. Yet the child watched her until the pressing of travelers carried her away.

“Come then,” Cassius murmured, speaking to the children knowing he might as well he is talking to himself. “We have a lot to do in this city, but first let's see if we can find out who you two belong to.” He left the stable court and passed beneath a broad stone arch.

The uproar of the outer market receded behind him, though Conevico did not become silent. Its voice merely changed. Here the streets were narrower and older. High towers rose in ordered tiers, their balconies enclosed by ironwork twisted into leaves, serpents, and flowering vines. Bridges of timber and stone spanned the alleys overhead, joining one house to another until the upper city seemed woven together above the heads of those who walked beneath it.

The paving had been hollowed by constant processions of feet, wheels, and iron-shod hooves. Damp gathered in every seam, and the passing carts had ground ash and mud into a dark sheen.

Children raced along the gutters with sticks for swords, shouting challenges at one another beneath the windows. A vendor beneath a striped awning cried the worth of smoked boar and dried pomegranates. Packhorses crowded the crossings, and handcarts groaned beneath bolts of cloth, casks of wine, baskets of fish, and cages filled with protesting fowl.

Above all sounded the cathedral bells. Their clamor rolled over Conevico at measured intervals, deep and unhurried, as though the city drew breath according to their tolling. An ease to Cassius who professed it made finding it all the more easier.

Sebastian peered above the basket’s edge. The white towers of the battlement walls reminded him dimly of the silver trees glimpsed in his dream, though these were wrought of ashen stone and blackened by weather. As they drew closer to the cathedral, statues of saints and kings stood upon the streets of the increasingly refined streets. Upon an arch they passed under, winged angelic children gazed down from alcoves, while grim beasts crouched beneath the roofs, pouring rainwater from open mouths into the channels below.

Upon one wall stood the image of a pilgrim saint bearing a lantern in one hand and a staff in the other. Leafless branches of ivy had climbed about him in green profusion, curling around his feet and shoulders as though the living vine had claimed him for its own.

Cassius turned into a wider avenue. There, beyond the roofs and crowded stalls, the Great Cathedral of AVO rose before them.

Its spires climbed like pale lances against the morning sky. Great windows of rose-coloured glass opened across the western face, each one kindled by the sun until it appeared to hold a furnace within. Vast buttresses sprang from the outer walls like the folded wings of some stone creature poised above the city.

Even before they reached the square, Sebastian caught the fragrance of incense and warm candle wax.

The plaza before the cathedral teemed with pilgrims, clerics, soldiers, and beggars. Priests in robes of cream swept the broad steps with bundles of straw. At the fountain, the outstretched figure of AVO stood above the flowing water, His face lifted toward the heavens while the poor gathered beneath His hands and murmured their prayers.

Templars in white mantles marked with crimson kept silent watch at the foot of the stair. Cassius halted, allowing himself time to look upon the cathedral. The weariness of the road remained upon him, yet something in his bearing altered. His shoulders straightened, and the hand that held his staff tightened with renewed purpose.

His gaze rested upon the great doors, where his steps began to stride up along the steps leading to the cathedrals portcullis. The vast oaken gates opened beneath his hand with a groan of iron and ancient timber. From within came warmth, golden light, and the mingled scent of incense, wax, and old stone.

The noise of Conevico diminished behind him. Bearing the two children within the basket close to his side, Cassius drew a slow breath, straightened his shoulders, crossed the threshold into the house of AVO.

Within the cathedral, the light took on another nature. The clear gold of morning gave way to hues of amber, crimson, and rose, falling through tall windows of painted glass. Saints, angels, and kings burned silently within them, their forms broken and remade upon the pillars and paving below. High overhead, the colours faded into the shadowed vaults, where even the eye could scarcely follow.

The air held the warmth of countless candles and the heavy sweetness of incense. Yet beneath those fragrances remained the colder breath of ancient stone. Silence was enforced within these halls, with traces of prayer whispered from some distant pew. Sandalled feet passed softly across the floor. Now and again came the faint clink of a censer-chain or the rustle of robes as an acolyte moved between the aisles.

Cassius remained for a moment within the narthex, the basket resting against his breast.

Before him stretched the central nave, long enough that the high altar appeared distant beneath its canopy of gilded wood. Great columns stood upon either side, carved in the likeness of winged sentinels whose folded hands rested upon the hilts of stone swords. Beneath his boots, mosaics of lapis, onyx, and mother-of-pearl formed sacred seals, constellations, and ancient signs devoted to AVO.

Above the crossing rose the painted dome. There the Firmament had been rendered in deep blue and beaten gold. At its heart stood the altar and seat of AVO, veiled in radiance and finery. Around it gathered twelve celestial figures of the Martyrs who herald the coming of the Christ, each bearing an emblem of virtue: a sword, a scroll, a balance, a crown, a scepter, and other signs left to the inspiration of it's artist.

Sebastian stirred beneath the blanket. His eyes wandered upward, following colours he could neither name nor understand. Niall also woke, though only long enough to blink at the distant lights before nestling closer to his brother. Perhaps neither child could discern the feeling of reverence within their hearts. Yet both became still.

Cassius bowed toward the altar. “In Your house,” he murmured, “grant us mercy, O Lord our God.”

He raised his head and turned toward the northern aisle. Beneath a low arch stood a narrow doorway bearing the words Domus Consilii. The Chapter House.

Beyond it, the splendour of the cathedral diminished. The passages were narrower, their walls undecorated save for plain crosses, memorial tablets, and shallow niches where small lamps burned. The stones beneath Cassius’s feet had been hollowed by generations of clerics walking the same path between prayer, study, and burial.

The distant choir continued its office, though here the song came muted through walls and corridors, scarcely more than a breath beneath the earth. Cassius had passed the first turning when a lone figure emerged from a side passage. The man wore a dark habit and had drawn his hood low against the chill.

“Ah—“Brother,” Cassius called. His voice remained quiet, yet it bore the accustomed authority of one long used to being heard within monastic walls.

The hooded man halted. Upon seeing the black robes of a prior and the basket carried in his arms, he approached at once.

“How may I help you, brother—?” The monk inquired.
“I am Cassius, Prior of Saint Noscrim in Lycaron. I travel with a Neustrian pilgrimage.”
At the name of the priory, the monk inclined his head. Cassius continued.
“I bring grave news from Reinhurst. The village has been destroyed.”

“Good heavens,” the hooded man gasped, recoiling. “Reinhurst? Was it… was it the Elves?”

“We do not know who was responsible. Our Templar scouts found signs that may point to deserters from Lothar’s armies. They might as readily have been brigands. Our company could not remain to pursue them.”

Cassius lifted the basket enough for the monk to see beneath the covering. “These children were found alive among the ruins.”

The brother stared down at Sebastian and Niall. “Merciful AVO.” His hand rose toward the sign of blessing but faltered before completing it.“They were alone?”

“So far as we could discover.” Cassius glanced along the passage. “I require access to the cathedral archives, particularly the parish rolls, notices of missing persons, and any correspondence received from Reinhurst or its neighbouring settlements. I shall also need to know whether survivors have reached Conevico.”

The monk gathered himself. “Such records fall beneath the keeping of the Ordo Luminary. No stranger may enter the archive without leave.”

“I am aware.” Cassius affirms.
“We will need to examine your seal and letters of office.” The monk insisted.
“You shall have them. Anything and everything is at your disposal.” Cassius insisted.

The brother nodded, visibly relieved to find a familiar procedure within so dreadful a matter. “The Terce prayers are nearly concluded. I will send word to Father Remigius. He oversees our congregation and can confirm your credentials.”

“My thanks.” Cassius expresses with lightened heart.

“There is a garden within the inner cloister,” the monk added. “You may wait there, if it pleases you. The children will find it quieter than these halls.”

“That would be most welcome.” Cassius insisted
The brother bowed.
“I am Brother Tybur. Come.”

He led Cassius beneath another modest arch and into a square court enclosed on every side by covered walks. The roofed cloisters stood upon short pillars worn smooth by rain and age. Lamps burned in iron sconces along the inner wall, their flames casting a restless glow across memorial stones and faded carvings.

At the centre lay the garden.

Winter had stripped it of much of its colour, yet careful hands had preserved what they could. Beds of sage, feverfew, and dark-leaved winter herbs had been covered with straw. Young evergreens stood wrapped in coarse cloth against the frost, while thorny branches rose from wooden frames awaiting spring. Near a small stone well, several pale blossoms endured beneath glass bells, frail but living.

Cassius took shelter beneath the cloister and lowered the basket onto a stone bench beside him. “There now,” he said. “A more colorful corner of the world.”

To Sebastian, the garden was yet another wondrous view to behold. This strange world was still too new for him to distinguish the marvelous from the commonplace. Gardens that dwelt within monastery walls. Towers that sing with bells. Stone statues of beasts that crouch above streets, melting snow dripping from their mouths.

To Sebastian everything was strange only once.

Brother Tybur withdrew, leaving them to the muted warmth of the lamps and the cold breath descending from the open sky.

Before long, the singing within the cathedral drew to its end. The final note lingered behind the walls, diminished slowly, and was gone. Sebastian had begun to drift once more toward sleep when a nearby door opened upon protesting hinges.

Two men entered the cloister. The elder wore the black robes of the common Temple clergy, though the wool was finer than Cassius’s travelling habit and fastened at the throat with a silver clasp. His brown hair had receded from a broad brow, and his face bore the pinched severity of one accustomed to weighing requests he had no wish to grant.

The second man was neither a priest nor a common guard. He wore darkened leather reinforced with small plates, subdued enough to pass unnoticed beneath a cloak. No bright steel or heraldic device marked his allegiance. A sword hung at his hip, and a narrow dagger rested upon the opposite side. His eyes had already examined Cassius, the exits, and the basket before either man spoke.

The robed cleric approached. “Brother Cassius, was it?”
Cassius stood into attention. “Father Remigius, I presume.”
“You presume correctly.”
Cassius inclined his head. “I am grateful that you have come so promptly.”
“Yes, naturally.” Remigius waved one hand, as though gratitude were an inconvenience best set aside. “Brother Tybur has given me some account of Reinhurst. He tells me you seek the use of Temple records and perhaps further assistance from the Ordo Luminary.”

“That is so.” Cassius drew the basket nearer. “These children were found within the village after the attack. We discovered no surviving kin, nor any mark by which their household might be known. Our caravan could not remain while armed men were believed to be at large.”

Remigius looked into the cradle. The impatience left his face. “Only these two?”
“Yes.” Cassius affirms.
“By the blood of the martyrs.” The priest’s gaze lingered upon the infants. “These are dark days indeed, when there is more kindness in winter than in Men.”

Cassius allowed the words before expressing his intention. “I hoped that some warning or petition may have reached Conevico before us,” he said. “A refugee, a relative, a merchant who knew the village—anything that might lead us to their parents.”

Remigius folded his hands within his sleeves. “This is news to myself. Yet Conevico receives a great many messages, and not all are brought first to the Chapter House.” He turned toward the silent figure beside him. “Brother Algier?”

The gaunt armoured man stepped forward. His face betrayed neither surprise nor pity.

The man called Algier was lean and pale, with the spare frame of one long accustomed to privation. There was nothing frail in him. Hardship had pared away whatever was unnecessary, leaving behind a quiet strength of sinew and will. His face bore the severity of an ascetic, though the sword at his side proclaimed vows of another kind.

One hand rose to his narrow chin.

For a moment he regarded the children openly. Then his gaze fell to the flagstones and wandered beyond Cassius toward the winter garden, where the pale blossoms trembled beneath their glass coverings.

“Brother Algier?” Remigius prompted.

The agent returned his attention to them, as if his thoughts were finally in order, or at the very least willing to set them down.

“This is the first word I have heard of Reinhurst being attacked,” he said. His voice was low and even, revealing little of the thoughts behind it. “Had any number of survivors reached another settlement, some report should already have come to Conevico—whether through the garrison, the south roads, or the lord’s messengers.”

“No.” The word escaped Cassius scarcely above a breath.

His hand tightened around the wicker handle. Until that moment, some part of him had believed that the lack of news surrounding Reinhurst arose only from the haste of their departure. He had imagined fugitives hidden in the forests, wounded villagers sheltered upon distant farms, or grieving parents already travelling north in search of the children.

Algier raised one hand. “Reports reach us each day, many of them are perhaps delayed by snow or misdirection. The Ordo Luminary never sleeps, or so our brethren are fond of claiming. My own records may hold nothing this morning, but the my network has ears in every parish between here and the southern border.” Algiers paused, glancing toward the basket. “Do they have names?”

“No. At least… none that I know of,” Cassius admitted. “We found them in a hollowed signpost before dawn—no note or any real clues to their parentage, only a basket and a pair of blankets to keep them warm.”

His hands settled upon his belt, and one thumb passed absently over the cracked leather. Something altered in his expression as he looked down upon the twins: not tenderness, precisely, but the shadow of an older remembrance. It vanished before Cassius could rightly discern it.

“I will make no promise I cannot keep,” Algier said. “We shall search the rolls for missing children and question those who have lately entered the city from the south. Notices can be sent to the neighbouring parishes, tollhouses, and every town crier within our jurisdiction.”

“And Reinhurst itself?” Cassius asked.

“That must be examined by someone else.” Algier glanced toward Remigius. "While we serve the church, we are not an arm of the law. No doubt Grand Prince Ulrich will require warning, as will Duke Rubhert Arco. Marauders capable of destroying an entire village cannot be permitted to vanish into the woods. If they took prisoners, those captives may yet live. If any of the guilty are seized, their testimony may reveal what happened—and why.”

As Cassius nods, looking downcast, Algier's gaze once more drifted to the children. A faint frown shadowing his face as a slight scowl tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“It is more than I was able to do.” Cassius laments.
“It is what remains to be done.” Algier’s words held no comfort, but neither did they contain reproach.

Remigius folded his hands across his stomach. “Have faith, Brother Cassius. You have fulfilled your duty admirably, both to the Church and to your new charges.”

Cassius rose and inclined his head. “My thanks, Father. Yet I fear I must ask another kindness.” Remigius’s brows lifted slightly. “Is there lodging within the cathedral for myself and the children? Only until the morning of Umbrasin—or sooner, should word of their family arrive.”

“Ah, your pilgrimage is still on the move—to the Apostolica?” Remigius asked with a thoughtful hum. Cassius nodded.

Remigius drew a slow breath. “I regret that our guest cells are filled. Winter has brought pilgrims, beggars, and the sick through every door we possess. Some sleep already in the refectory, and what beds we have in our guesthouse is already taken.” His apology seemed genuine, though there was no uncertainty in the answer.

“Still, you will not be forgotten. Should nothing be discovered before your departure, the Luminary will forward any report to the cathedral authorities in Latium. From there it may follow you along the pilgrim road.”

“That would ease my mind.” Cassius expresses with affirmation.

Algier had already turned halfway toward the passage. “Then there is little cause for delay,” he said. “I must gather men and warn the local villages, we'll also need to secure Reinhurst and make sure it doesn't become a haven for any more undesireables. Duke Arco must hear of this from the Ordo Luminary before rumor reaches his court in some less useful form.”

He bowed briefly to Remigius. “With your leave, Father.”
“A moment, Brother Algier.” Cassius stepped forward before the agent could depart. Algier halted and looked back. “You're headed towards the castle?”
“I am.” Algiers quipped.
“A friend among the Neustrian company has offered me lodging there. Lady Vesna may be able to vouch for me before the duke’s household. Might the children and I accompany you?” Cassius requests.

Algier’s eyes passed once more over the basket, then back unto Cassius.
“I see no reason to refuse.” He turned toward the corridor. “Come, then. Duke Arco keeps men waiting when it pleases him. We need not return the courtesy.”

Cassius gathered the basket securely into his arms and took up his stave.

He offered Father Remigius a final bow before following Algier from the garden. The agent moved swiftly through the cloister, his darkened armour scarcely sounding beneath his cloak. Cassius was forced to lengthen his stride to remain beside him. Behind them, the pale flowers endured beneath the open winter sky.

Cassius -- Conevico -- Midday, 4th Thalorian, Frostdawn, 1992 TGS

The walk to Conevico Castle was not a long one, though Cassius soon found himself missing the wagon. The cobbles struck hard beneath his boots, and every few paces the road yielded to some puddle of black slush through which carts, horses, and countless feet had passed before him. Mud clung heavily to the hem of his robe. With the basket supported against one hip and his stave in the opposite hand, he followed Algier from the cathedral quarter and into the market streets beyond.

The city was alive with its denizens bustling to and through. Houses of timber and plaster crowded around the square, their upper storeys leaning outward above the stalls. From windows and narrow balconies hung winter herbs, drying linen, cages of doves, and painted signs proclaiming the trades practised beneath them.

The people moved in restless currents between the vendors. Housewives inspected cabbages beneath awnings powdered with snow. Sailors bargained loudly over salted and cured meat. Apprentices hurried through the press with baskets balanced upon their shoulders, while merchants extolled the worth of their wares with such passion that one might have mistaken the sale of a pair of boots for the settling of a royal inheritance.

Near the centre of the square, an auctioneer stood upon a cask and called for bids upon shipments of Castillian wine. A gathering had formed around him, blocking half the passage.

Algier slipped through them without apology. Cassius followed less easily.

“So,” the Luminary agent said, turning sideways to avoid a farmer carrying two struggling geese, from what I’ve gathered about your caravan,” Algier began, sidestepping a cluster of gawkers fixated on an auctioneer. “You were on pilgrimage to the city of Sehlaris—from Lycaron, yes? You’ve come a long way, Prior.”

Cassius nodded. “We have already completed the greater part of our pilgrimage. We journey homeward now, though the road appears determined to delay us at every opportunity.”

A slight smile touched Cassius’s face. “Yet I would not trade the journey for anything. I travelled among the Saharim, crossed the Fares Channel, stood within the Sepulchre of Solomon, and was received at the table of the Silver Sultan.”

Algier glanced toward him. “You dined with Sultan Asakar of Sehlaria?”
“For an evening.” Cassius clarified.
“And lived to speak of it. I reckon you'll do just fine with Duke Arco.” Algiers expressed. “Hm,” he grunted thoughtfully. “Were I ever given the time for proper travel, I’d be tempted to go myself.”

Cassius breathed deeply. “I had hoped to remain in Sehlaris another month,” he continued. “Its libraries alone might occupy a man for half his life.”

“What prevented you?” Algiers looked at him sidelong.
“The jizyah rose each week with almost miraculous regularity.” Cassius admitted.
“That sounds less like taxation than ransom.” Algiers gave a quiet grunt that might have been amusement. “If my duties ever allowed proper travel, I might wish to see those lands.”

They passed beneath a row of coloured awnings where spice sellers had laid out open trays of saffron, pepper, cloves, and powdered roots. Their mingled fragrance briefly overcame the harsher smells of the street.

Eventually they left the market behind. The press of bodies diminished, and the street broadened as it climbed toward the castle precinct. Ahead rose a second wall within the greater defences of Conevico, enclosing the seat of House Arco.

The stronghold stood upon a low rise at the city’s heart. Its battlements and walls were squat and broad, built less for beauty than endurance, though later generations had softened their severity with balconies, carved windows, and steep roofs tiled in dark blue slate.

A moat encircled the inner ward, fed by channels drawn from the river. The water moved steadily beneath a wide stone bridge before disappearing through an iron grate and winding eastward again toward the sea. Thin plates of ice gathered along the banks, breaking and turning slowly in the current.

As Cassius and Algier began to cross, a frightened whimper rose from the basket. Sebastian had drawn himself away from the side nearest the water. Niall stirred beside him, his mouth twisting in uncertainty as the rush beneath the bridge grew louder.

“Oh dear, a moment, please!” Cassius said. Algier halted as the Prior lowered the basket carefully upon the stone parapet and drew back the covering. “Oh, heavens,” he murmured. “Do not tell me you are hungry again.”

Niall answered with a small, aggrieved sound. Cassius examined the children and found no cause for alarm. Sebastian’s blue eyes were fixed upon the narrow openings between the bridge stones, where the dark water flashed below.

“Ah.” Cassius followed his gaze. “So that is the matter.” He rested one hand upon the child’s chest. “You have survived fire, winter, and the Lord knows what else. A little water will not have you.” Sebastian appeared unconvinced. “Unless it is the height you dislike.” Cassius observes his theory aloud.

Algiers waited a few steps away, watching without impatience. Cassius tucked the blankets more securely around the twins and lifted the basket over the rim of the basket.

“There. You need not look.” Cassius assured, resuming the crossing, holding them close against his side until the noise of the current softened behind the heavier tread of guards upon the walls.

The gatehouse of Conevico Castle stood before them. Its arch was deep and shadowed, with narrow murder-holes visible in the stonework above. A raised portcullis hung beneath the ceiling, its iron teeth dark with age. To Cassius it resembled the open jaw of some sleeping beast—one that might awaken at the first sign of treachery and close upon all beneath it.

Soldiers looked down from the battlements. Their tabards bore the arms of House Arco: a silver sword entwined with grapevines and flowering leaves upon a field of deep navy. The emblem appeared also upon the shields hung beside the gate and upon the long banners descending from the corner towers.

“Hold there!” The challenge came from above. Just as readily, Algiers drew back his cloak enough to reveal the insignia of the Ordo Luminary, fastened at his shoulder. The sentry leaned over the parapet, recognised it, and called an order into the gatehouse.

Chains clattered within the walls. The portcullis rose another span, groaning as though displeased by the labour, and the guards waved them onward. Within lay a broad outer court.

Winter had left the castle gardens bare. Leafless trees stood along the cleared paths, their dark branches raised against the pale sky. Snow remained in the corners of the yard and along the low hedges, though servants had shoveled and swept the main ways clean. The slush bore the marks of many boots, cartwheels, and iron-shod hooves.

Soldiers crossed between the armoury, stables, and barracks in ordered companies. Above them, patrols moved along the parapets, their silhouettes appearing and vanishing behind the crenellations. Stone stairways climbed the inner walls in sharp turns, joining the courtyard to the watchtowers overhead. Nothing in the place was merely ornamental. The gardens, galleries, and noble chambers had all been raised within a fortress built first to withstand war.

Cassius turned the basket outward slightly. “This little ones,” he told the twins, “is a castle.” Sebastian peered from beneath the blanket. “The lord of these lands dwells here, together with his household, his councillors, his knights, his servants, and rather more soldiers than any sensible man would wish to feed.” Niall blinked up at a passing standard. “They govern Conevico from these halls.”

They crossed beneath the shadow of the keep. Before them rose the principal hall of House Arco, its façade more elegant than the defences surrounding it. Tall windows broke the grey stone at measured intervals, and carved vines ran around their arches in imitation of the family crest. A wide stair climbed toward a pair of ebony doors reinforced by iron bands.

The entrance was nearly half as tall as the gatehouse arch. Unlike the outer portcullis, it had been fashioned chiefly to impress. Scenes of harvest, warfare, and judgment had been carved into the dark wood, each figure rendered with such detail that Cassius could distinguish the grapes upon the vines and the links upon the knights’ mail.

He had reached the foot of the steps when Algiers lifted one gloved hand.

“Wait here, Prior Cassius,” Algiers instructed. Cassius stopped as Algiers looked toward the doors. “Clergyman or not, my business here is official. Let me test the waters before you start appealing to Duke Arco’s hospitality.”

Cassius released a grateful breath. “That would be greatly appreciated.”

Algier gave him a brief nod and continued upward. The great doors opened only far enough to admit him. A servant in the dark blue livery of House Arco exchanged several quiet words with the agent before standing aside. Algier passed within as the doors closed behind him with a low and weighty thud.

Cassius remained at the foot of the stair, alone save for the children and the many unfamiliar eyes moving about the courtyard. He shifted the basket to his other arm. “Well,” he murmured, looking down at Sebastian and Niall, “we have been denied a monastery, we'll probably be denied a seat at a Duke's table as well. Perhaps a stay at the poorhouse is in order?" 

Sebastian and Niall stared solemnly back at him with Niall angling his head to side as if in curioisty. Cassius could only sigh. “Yes. I also preferred the tavern.” He grumbles.

Left alone in the courtyard, Cassius turned his attention to the walls around him. Conevico Castle possessed nearly the breadth of a small village. Barracks, workshops, stables, storehouses, kitchens, and lesser halls crowded within its defences, all enclosed beneath towers stout enough to endure bombardment. Whatever comforts later generations had added, the place had not first been raised for pageantry, for its purpose was clearly for war. The thought stirred an old recollection.

The Banner Wars, Cassius mused.

There could be little doubt of it. Conevico had once been a Romagnian settlement, a fortified city upon the western reach of their dominion, built to sustain the armies that marched westward during the great wars against the Elves. From these roads men, horses, provisions, and engines of siege had once passed into Lothar when half of Balandaria seemed poised to fall beneath one banner or another.

The old Empire that erected this fortress had long since broken apart. Conevico had since become a Lotharian city, and its lands tethered to the Lotharian nobility, to the allegiance of the Crown of Nüren. Yet Romagnia remained in the masonry of this time-tested castle. It would seem that empires died more readily than their stones

Nearly half an hour passed before the great doors opened again and Algiers emerges alone.
“Duke Rubhert Arco will receive you shortly, you may enter.” He announces.
Cassius rose from the low wall where he had been resting. “That sounds promising.”
Yet Algier’s expression suggested otherwise. “I would not be so sure of that.”
Cassius frowned. “What has happened?”
“The duke is occupied with an unexpected ... complication.” Algiers professes, a glance of his eyes pointed over his shoulders back inside the foyer of the castle.
“A complication?” Cassius immediately glanced toward the inside of the keep. “It is not Lady Vesna, I hope.

“Yes... and no,” Algiers replied cryptically, his expression darkening as he glanced back towards Cassius.  A complication? Just what awaited inside that they were about to walk into? Cassius could only wonder, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Wonderful, I suppose” he muttered with a resigned sigh.

If there was one thing Cassius had no patience for, it was becoming entangled in the games of secular lords—power, pride, and politics. Whatever awaited within those walls, it was one thing for nobility to be in a foul temper; it was quite another to beg their charity while caught in the shadow of their grievances.

The doors parted before them with a deep groan, opened by two guards stationed within that permited their entrance. Beyond the threshold lay a broad receiving hall sunk several steps below the entrance. After the bleak severity of the outer fortifications, its richness came almost as a surprise.

Banners of dark indigo descended from the walls, their borders worked with threads of muted gold. Upon each appeared the arms of House Arco: a silver sword entwined by a flowering grapevine. Oak tables stood in measured rows beside high-backed chairs and benches, their surfaces darkened by generations of wax and careful polishing.

There was wealth here, but little ostentation. Everything seemed chosen to remind a visitor of age rather than abundance. Glass-fronted cabinets and stone pedestals displayed the inheritance of the ducal house: old helms scarred by battle, ceremonial blades, vellum charters bearing seals brown with age, cups of chased silver, and bronze likenesses of stern-faced ancestors whose names Cassius did not know. There were bronze busts of former lords—all arranged with precision for the eyes of petitioners awaiting their audience with the ruling house.

High windows admitted the pale winter sun. Their panes had misted along the edges, and cold shafts of light fell across the floor in broken patterns. Cassius had scarcely descended the final step when voices reached him from deeper within the keep.

Someone was arguing. One voice belonged to a man and carried the deep impatience of authority accustomed to obedience. The other was sharper, more feminine, controlled but unwilling to yield. Cassius stopped in his observance towards the new information. The sounds made the two children in his basket stir, shrinking deeper beneath their blankets, their small faces hidden from the cold swell of conflict.

The quarrel rose again beyond the doors ahead, indistinct in words but unmistakable in temper. Algiers glances back to Cassius. “The complication,” he murmured.

“So I gathered. I just pray that Vesna is not having us sleep outside the walls of this city tonight.” Cassius sighed and rubs an idle thumb against his temple.

Two household guards opened the inner doors, revealing the ducal hall beyond.

The throne room of Conevico was larger than Cassius had expected. Its vaulted ceiling rose upon ancient ribs of dark oak, lacquered nearly black with age. Along those beams craftsmen had carved scenes of harvest and war: vineyard workers bearing laden baskets, knights raising cups after battle, hunters returning beneath autumn boughs, and armored riders carrying the sword-and-vine standard of House Arco.

Tall windows lined the southern wall. Their coloured panes cast pools of red, green, and amber across the polished flagstones, so that those who crossed the chamber seemed briefly clothed in shifting hues.

At the far end rose the ducal seat upon five shallow steps. The throne itself was fashioned from dark walnut. Vines curled along its arms and climbed the high back, every leaf and cluster of grapes rendered with patient detail. An indigo carpet descended from the dais toward a low iron rail separating the lord’s place from those who came before him.

Behind the throne, two stairways curved upward toward the private galleries. Between them hung the immense banner of House Arco, its silver sword gleaming beneath embroidered leaves.

The walls told older stories. Reliefs carved into the stone depicted Conevico as it had been through the centuries: first a Romagnian fortress beside the water, then a city besieged beneath rival standards, and finally a Lotharian possession whose gates stood crowned with the arms of its new masters.

Cassius studied one scene as he passed. Romagnian legionaries marched beneath eagles upon one side. Lotharian knights advanced beneath crowned banners upon the other. Between them, almost lost beneath the carving of spears and horses, were Elven figures retreating toward the trees.

History, he thought, though he could not be sure of which age this was made. Lothar was twice-made into a vassal of Romagnia, each time their rebellion was successful. The stubborness of these Lotharians was deeply ingrained, indeed.

The hall smelled faintly of beeswax, vellum, extinguished incense, and the lingering smoke of the hearths. Iron candelabra climbed the walls like thorned vines. Above hung a great bronze chandelier wrought in the shape of entwining branches, dark and unlit beneath the rafters.

Advisers and household officers waited within a recessed gallery beside the dais. Guards stood among them, motionless save for the occasional movement of an eye toward the strangers entering the chamber.

Cassius became suddenly conscious of the mud upon his boots and quietly kicked it to an unseen corner before rejoining Algiers.

Then Cassius looked toward the throne. Duke Rubhert Arco was a broad and heavy man, though not one who appeared softened by comfort. A circlet set with jade and amethyst rested upon his brow. His beard had been shaped into a thick goatee, carefully maintained beneath a mouth presently drawn in displeasure. A spreading baldness had overtaken the crown of his head, despite the valiant efforts of shoulder-length hair combed across it.

His clothing was unexpectedly subdued: layered wool and brown velvet beneath a mantle of white wolf fur that spread across his shoulders. Three figures stood before him. Cassius recognized one immediately. The Lady Vesna. She stood somewhat apart from the two other figures, composed and watchful, her expression giving away little of what had already transpired.

The other two were strangers. Both possessed hair of a vivid green. The eldest was a woman, tall and slender, clothed in travelling garments of emerald and silver. A divided cloak of deep green velvet fell from her shoulders, revealing beneath it a fitted tunic of excellent workmanship. Her hair had been gathered into a long tail behind her head, falling nearly to the waist.

Beside her stood a child. The girl had not yet have approached womanhood. Her own green hair hung loose around her shoulders, though her clothing bore little resemblance to the elegance of her companion. She wore a coarse brown winter coat, plain trousers, and boots marked by long travel. The garments seemed almost deliberately humble beside those of the elder woman.

Cassius might have wondered at their origins only a moment longer. Then the taller stranger turned her head. He saw her ears. Long, tapered, unmistakable. Elves, Cassius concluded. Wood Elves, unless his limited knowledge deceived him.

Cassius slowed. Only a few days ago had he written of Lothar’s old grievances against their kind. Reickart had spoken of fresh violence upon the western frontier. Men whispered that Elven raiders had crossed the marches, while Lotharian levies gathered beneath their lords. Yet here, in the heart of a Lotharian fortress, stood an Elven noblewoman before the duke’s throne.

And judging by the clamour that stirred on despite Cassius’s arrival, she was no welcome guest.

“You expect me to offer you hospitality, elf?!” bellowed the man who could only be Duke Ruberht Arco. His hand closed upon the arm of his throne. “Hospitality—while your kin stalk our western lands, seize my people into bondage, and leave behind naught but burning ruins and bloodied tragedies?!”

“Herr Arco, this is—” Vesna began, but the duke raised a hand to interrupt her protests. For several heartbeats no one spoke. The stillness seemed to gather beneath the rafters, broken only by the faint hiss of the brazier beside the dais.

Then the Elven woman stepped forward. “Duke Arco, the Dawn Elves are not amongst my people.” Her voice was low and carefully governed. “I am an ambassador of the Wood Elves to the Kingdom of Neustria. My company was attacked while crossing Lothar on the road toward the Romagnian frontier. Those who survived were scattered and in-so-far, unaccounted for.”

Her hand settled gently upon the shoulder of the girl beside her. “I ask no privilege beyond one night beneath your protection. At the first safe opportunity, we shall continue westward and trouble your household no further.”

Arco’s fingers drummed once against the carved walnut as Cassius listened from the doorway. Neustria? That awakened his curiosity despite himself. What business had a Wood Elven ambassador with a kingdom so far from their own forests? More strangely still, why cross Lothar when relations between Elf and Man had grown so bitter?

Arco appeared to share the question, though not Cassius’s restraint.

“You simply had to come through Lothar? No ship would take you around our borders? There simply wasn't a better form of passage?” he asked, voice sharp with incredulity. “For an ambassador, you seem woefully unaware—or worse, contemptuously dismissive—of how your kind is received here.”

Arco straightened his stance from within his throne, eyes narrowed.

“You speak as though these troubles begin and end at the hands and feet of the Dawn Elves. But we both know that is not so.” He rose from his seat upon the throne and cast his glare, fresh and hot upon the elven petitioner.

“The High Elves command the whole of Elentárië, and the whole of Elven-kind bend to their authority, secular and within their Chantry. In this past year alone I have received more reports of raids than I possess fingers with which to count them. Crofts burned. Herds driven away. Men slain upon roads they have walked since childhood.”

His eyes narrowed upon her. “Tell me, Ambassador: if a human kingdom committed such acts against Elven settlements, how long would your queens counsel patience?”

“Herr Arco,” Eirina said more firmly, clenching a fist while the child at her side clung to her tunic, “the Sehlarians of the south are sworn enemies of my people. To sail their waters is to risk slavery or death by their pirates. As for the Emberstone passes, winter has rendered them oceans of ice. Our appointment is not with your lordship, but with the Neustrian crown. I do not condone these attacks upon your people—nor does the crown I serve. Queen Marvhen Galadhrî of the Wood Elves has long labored to bridge our divides through the Council of Queens. But I do not—cannot—speak for the others.”

A thunderous slam of Arco’s fist into the throne’s armrest shattered the silence of the room.

“And that, right there, is the whole damn problem with your kind!” Ruberht snarled, pointing a trembling finger at Eirina. “You speak as though your voice bears the weight of promise—but those who share your nation, your kindred, your bloodlines make liars of you all!"

Arco turned from his throne, pacing to a brazier that smoldered near the dais, staring into its flames with hands clasped behind his back.

“The Wood Elves do not speak for all elves, do they?” he scoffed. “Curious. Curious indeed. And yet... when it matters most, your kind either act too late—or not at all. Ever it seemed your kind profited off our misery well before the Banner Wars, the years of enslavement, the massacres—where were your councils and queens then? Too eager to to join the side of your brethren, and complicit as you preach their neutrality, still as then, even so today.”

He turned back, eyes flashing with cold fury as the Wood Elf’s gaze fell to the floor. His anger had risen, though his voice did not break into shouting again. That restraint lent it a harder edge.

“You come here, hiding behind treaties and assurances, each spoken as though it binds the whole of Elvenkind. Then another host crosses the border, and we are told that those Elves are not your Elves.”

“The High Elves still raid our western border settlements. The Dawn Elves descend like wraiths and leave only corpses behind. You may speak of peace, Ambassador—but you still serve beneath the banner of Elentárië, and bear the same blood as them. You may call yourselves Wood Elves, Dawn Elves, High Elves, or whatever distinction pleases your courts and your friends. The peasant whose children lies dead beside a burnt field will hear only one word.”

He turned away from the dias and made his way back to his seat of appointment, settling heavily into the throne his eyes return back to Eirina along with a simple resounding accusation.

“Elf.” 

Eirina stood motionless. The little girl had pressed close against her side.

Cassius watched the ambassador’s face. There was anger there, certainly, but beneath it lay something wearier. She had heard these accusations before. Perhaps not just from Ruberht Arco, nor within Lothar, but often enough that none came as a surprise.

The duke drew a long breath with the weight of judgment about to pass. “And so, by my mercy, I will not have you imprisoned nor ransomed back to your queen. Yet you shall find no hospitality within these walls. Sleep in the taverns, as others do. This audience is concluded.”

He waved a dismissive hand—firm, final. The noble’s voice, though low, carried a controlled fury that could have cracked stone. Vesna, her brow furrowed with concern, stepped forward at last.

“Herr Arco! There are no rooms available in the tavern, I have already inquired. The pilgrimage traffic and winter refugees have filled nearly every respectable house in the city. They have nowhere else to go.”

Eirina drew her child closer.

“And even if they did,” Vesna continued, “you know perfectly well what may happen if word spreads through the streets that an Elven envoy has been turned out of the castle tonight.”

Arco’s mouth hardened. “Then they may lodge wherever Conevico’s rats find shelter.”

“Herr Arco!” Vesna's own anger was slowly beginning to surface.

“The sewers, the stables, the trees outside the city walls,” Arco snapped, his palm striking the armrest of his throne. “I care not. If she fears the anger of my people, she might consider why that anger exists. My judgment is—"

Cassius felt the compulsion in his chest, whatever sense or reflex guided him, it did so through a polite throat-clearing that cut through the tension. Although now it had ultimately caused all eyes to rest on the monk. Anxiously, Cassius stepped forward past Vesna and the elven pair.

Every face turned toward him. Algier closed his eyes for the briefest moment. Vesna could only gawk and stare. Eirina looked toward the stranger in black robes. Even the Elven child peered around her guardian to see what sort of man had chosen that particular instant to make himself known.

Upon the throne, Duke Arco regarded Cassius as though only now discovering an especially inconvenient stain upon his floor. Cassius immediately felt regret that he possesses a throat and a conscience in this moment.

“. . . And who in the bloody hells are you?” Duke Arco demanded sharply. “Only the brave—or the utterly foolish—interrupt my courtly proceedings. Monk, pilgrim, or otherwise.”

“I have been accused of both, Your Grace." Cassius admits before bowing his head. "I am Prior Cassius of St. Noscrim’s Priory in Lycaron, in company with Lady Vesna here,” Cassius said. At the mention of her name, Arco inclined his eyes toward the Neustrian noblewoman before returning his attention to Cassius.

“I heard only the latter part of your dispute, and therefore beg pardon if I speak beyond my knowledge. Yet, since hospitality is already in question, I would humbly ask that whatever shelter you might extend to myself and these children be granted also to your Elven guests."

The chamber seemed to grow colder upont he request he made. Duke Rubhert’s expression soured. He leaned heavily upon one arm of his throne and stroked his beard, regarding Cassius with the slow disbelief reserved for men who had either failed to understand a warning or deliberately ignored it.

Even Vesna looked uncertain whether she wished to associate with him, let alone encourage him.
Eirina said nothing. The girl at her side drew nearer beneath the folds of her cloak.

“It seems you have neglected more than the latter half of this conversation, Prior,” Arco said at last. “You appear to have neglected to account over our well-known history.” Cassius remained still as the Duke continued.

“Lothar is no sanctuary for Elves who owe neither allegiance to this realm nor obedience to Grand Prince Ulrich. This woman enters my country while her kindred spill Lotharian blood upon the western marches. She is a heretic to your clergy, and likely a spy for the Elven Council of Queens. Under what delusion do you presume I should tolerate her presence within my city, let alone beneath my roof?"

Cassius lowered his chin. “None, Your Grace.”
That answer seemed to surprise the Duke, even the Ambassador looked shaken by that answer, most likely out of fear of where this was leading.

“I claim no understanding of every grievance between Lothar and Elentárië. I have neither lived upon your frontier nor buried your dead.” Cassius proclaims as he glanced briefly toward Eirina. “But if I heard correctly, the Ambassador does not come here with protections solely from Elentárië. She travels so with the blessing and friendship of the Royal House of Neustria.”

Arco’s eyes narrowed at this as Cassius continues on.

“Neustria’s friendship with Elentárië may differ from Lothar’s. If harm should come to an ambassador bound for King Castor’s court after sanctuary was denied her here, the quarrel would no longer belong solely to Elves and Lotharians.”

A faint stirring passed among the advisers gathered in the shadowed alcove and Arco noticed it.

“The King of Neustria sits very comfortably beyond these borders,” he replied. “He does not wake each morning with worry of reports of Elven raiders. If Castor values this woman so highly, perhaps he may compensate Conevico for the privilege of protecting her.”

Cassius did not waver. “Let us, for the sake of disccussion say this form of ransom was put forth before King Castor. My concern would not be over compensation.”

“No?” Arco asked.
Cassius chose his next words carefully. “It would be with Grand Prince Ulrich.”

The duke’s hand ceased moving through his beard. “And what,” he asked slowly, “has my prince to do with whom I permit beneath my roof? Why would he care whether these two elves live or die? This is not his court, it is mine. And even if it were, we are in agreement of our elven neighbours."

“Perhaps you are right, Herr Arco.” Cassius allowed a heartbeat to pass. “Unless, that is, your refusal prevents an embassy from reaching Neustria.”

The displeasure upon Arco’s face sharpened. Cassius continued before courage deserted him Cassius drew in a steady breath, meeting the duke’s gaze from the foot of the throne's steps.

“If the Ambassador vanishes upon Lotharian soil, Elentárië will not inquire first whether some element within Lothar acted independently. Nor will Neustria. They will hear that an envoy travelling toward King Castor’s court sought protection within Grand Prince Ulrich’s dominion and was refused.”

Arco could only scoff. “You think to threaten me with foreign opinion?”
Cassius stood“I warn only that men seldom wait for truth before assigning blame.”

Arco leaned backward. “And why should Ulrich care what Elentárië thinks? We already contend with their raiders, their kidnappers, their sun-maddened zealots from on high. There are enough villains in this affair to furnish a hundred tragedies, Father Cassius. It wouldn’t surprise me if the next guest carried a declaration of war from Ulrich himself.””

He gestured toward Eirina. “If war comes, Father, it will not be Neustrian armies landing upon my shores.”

Cassius hesitated. There lay the weakness in his appeal, and he knew it. Arco saw it also.

“To speak plainly,” the duke continued, “what Neustria desires concerning the Elves is Neustria’s concern. Lothar will not purchase another man’s diplomacy with the blood of its own people.”

He had scarcely finished when hurried footsteps sounded beyond the chamber. The doors opened.

A messenger entered beneath the watch of the household guard and crossed directly toward Algier. His cloak was wet along the hem, and melting snow darkened his boots. Without ceremony he offered a folded missive bearing a small wax seal. Algier took it into his hands and broke the seal. His eyes passed quickly over the writing.

Once. Then once more again. Cassius saw the change in him. The Luminary agent asked the courier something too softly for those near the throne to hear. Upon receiving his answer, Algier drew several coins from his purse and pressed them into the man’s hand.

The messenger bowed and withdrew. Algier folded the letter and placed it within his satchel before approaching the Duke. “Forgive me, Lord-Duke.”

Duke closed his eyes in growing irritation. “Father Algier, I have a bloody Elf, a Neustrian noblewoman, and now a monk preaching statecraft before my throne. Unless the cathedral has caught fire, I would dearly prefer that whatever calamity you carry wait its turn."

“It may concern the matter already before you.” Algiers insisted, and though Arco seemed quite stubborn, he was at the very least thoughtful there seemed to be more going on than what was initially assumed.

Algier turned to the Ambassador. “Your name is, Lady Eirina Gladeleaf. Yes?” The ambassador stiffened and nodded to his inquiry. Cassius noticed immediately that Algier had not been given her name during their entrance.

But of course he would know it. The Ordo Luminary existed precisely for such knowledge. Its agents travelled beneath clerical robes, merchants’ cloaks, and diplomatic seals, all in clandestine service to the Temple. Little of consequence crossed Balandaria without eventually finding its way into one of their ledgers.

Algier regarded Eirina carefully. “You said your entourage was attacked.”
“Yes.” she confirmed.
“By whom?” Algiers pressed.
The woman hesitated. “I cannot say with certainty.”
“Tell me what you saw.” He insisted.

Eirina drew a slow breath. “Lotharian soldiers.”
The hall stirred and Arco’s face changed at once. “They wore black and red,” Eirina continued, “and bore the eagle of Grand Prince Ulrich. They demanded everything we owned and when we refused they attacked us.”

“Impossible,” the duke said.
“I know what I saw!” Eirina pleaded!
“Continue, please” Algier told her.

Eirina's hand found the little girl’s shoulder. “They stopped our company upon the road and demanded payment for passage. They called it a toll, though they carried no writ and showed no authority beyond their weapons.”

Her voice remained controlled, but the effort now showed. “We paid. They demanded more.”
The child beside her lowered her eyes. “When we refused, they attacked.”
Algier’s expression gave nothing away. “How many were amongst this band?”
“I could not count them once the fighting began. Enough to overcome our security detail.” Eirina explained.

“Did they have mounts? Horses?” Algeirs pressed his interrogation.
“I saw two men on horseback, during my encounter, if there was more I do not know.” Eirina notes.
“Did you see their arms and armour? Regular equipment?” Algiers noted aloud.
“Yes. Though their armour was kept together rather poorly.”
“Officers?”
“One gave orders. Whether he held any lawful rank, I cannot know.”
Algier watched her another moment. “And did they take prisoners?”

Eirina’s composure faltered. “I do not know, when they brandished their weapons, my daughter and I were bidden to flee." Her fingers closed around the child’s shoulder, perhaps more firmly than she intended. “I simply cannot know.”

Algier asked nothing further, instead he turned toward the throne. “Herr Arco, I believe there is now sufficient cause to suspect a connection between this ambush and Reinhurst.”

The duke stared at him. “What connection?”

“Prior Cassius’s caravan found evidence of armed men operating south of Conevico. Their Templar scouts believed them deserters. Lady Gladeleaf describes soldiers wearing the Grand Prince's colours while extorting travellers without writ or lawful authority. And if these events couincide with one another, these marauders do not act out of some zeal of patriotism.”

Algier rested one hand upon his belt. “Either Grand Prince Ulrich has soldiers committing robbery beneath his own standard—which I find unlikely—or someone is using the Lotharian Eagle as camouflage, commiting acts of disgrace in his majesty's name.”

The portly lord gripped his beard, visibly agitated. Cassius stepped forward, adding his attribution to Algier's. “Commander Reickart examined the village himself. He can testify to what his scouts found.”

“That will not be necessary yet.” The duke spoke more quietly now. He rubbed his beard, though the motion had lost its earlier confidence. “My marshal will investigate. Riders will be sent south, and every garrison between Conevico and Reinhurst will account for its men.”

Arco looked toward Algier. “If deserters are using Ulrich’s colours, I want names.”
“As do I.” Algiers insisted. “They are certainly dead men in any case. The law is clear, both by Crown and by our Church.”

Arco’s gaze returned to the Elves. For the first time there was uncertainty behind his anger. Eirina stood with one arm about the girl, waiting.

Algier stepped nearer the balustrade. “There remains another consideration, Lord-Duke.”
The Duke gave him a tired glare. “The Lord God give me strength ...” he mutters.

“Regardless of the personal vendettas between your nations, Lothar and Elentárië remain signatories to the Divine Alliance. Whatever enmity exists between them, those obligations of cooperation have not been dissolved.”

“I require no lesson in treaty law from you. And it can be preached just as much to the bloody elves!”
Duke Arco barks.
“Then consider it a reminder.” Algiers insisted.
"A reminder!?" Arco jeered before he pointed toward his own eye. “Shall I remind you of scripture, Algiers? Eye for eye. Tooth for tooth. My people understand those words very well.”

“Scripture also commands discernment in your judgement,” Cassius interjected, reinforcing Algiers's point. “And judgment requires knowing whose eye you mean to take.”

Arco’s stare sharpened. Before he could respond, Vesna moved to Eirina’s side. “Herr Arco.” Her manner had lost its earlier irritation. She spoke now with the restraint now that she was able to stand her position with the grounds conceded on Cassius and Algiers's efforts. “You said that Neustria’s dealings with the Elves are no concern of Lothar. In ordinary times, perhaps they would not be.”

She folded her hands before her. “These are not ordinary times. If Lothar cannot restrain attacks carried out beneath its own colours, Grand Prince Ulrich will face questions from more than Elentárië. The Divine Alliance will demand answers. Neustria would be the least of your concerns of foreign influence.”

Eirina glanced toward her. Vesna continued. “It is not to say we are not sympathetic toward your plight, for the same pressure must be placed upon the Elves where they have broken faith. I have never asked for an indulgence in their crimes.”

Her gaze moved briefly toward the ambassador before returning to Rubhert Arco.

“But King Castor hopes that Neustria may serve where old enemies cannot yet speak plainly to one another. If there remains even the smallest road toward reconciliation, we should not close it here.”

Rubhert sank farther into his throne. “You speak now for your king?”
“I speak of his hopes.” Vesna states simply.
“That was not my question. Yes, or no?” Duke Arco demanded.
Vesna held his gaze. “Then yes.”

Something passed across the duke’s face at that answer. Cassius saw the perfect opportunity before him. “Your Grace, whatever happened at Reinhurst may indeed prove the work of men acting without lawful command. Yet until the truth is known, the deed will wear whatever colours those against you will deem it to be.”

Arco looked at him wearily. Cassius raised his hands, palms open. “Our own scriptures speak on this, to those entrusted with authority: Do not domineer over those given into your charge, but become an example unto the flock.”

“And if I might be so bold, in this case: Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

The duke raised his hand. "Enough of your prattling and preaching, all of you." Cassius stopped immediately and took a step back along with Algiers.

Rubhert looked first toward Algiers. Then Vesna, then Cassius. At last his eyes settled upon Eirina Gladeleaf. “You have acquired a remarkable number of advocates in a remarkably short span of time. Hmph.”

Eirina did not answer, watching as Arco contemplated in silence upon his throne. Eventually the duke leaned forward, ready to issue a verdict.

“Very well.” The words seemed dragged from him. “By the grace of AVO—or by the damned persistence of His servants—you and the girl may remain within Conevico Castle until safe passage from Lothar can be arranged.”

The child visibly relaxed. However, Eirina did not. Almost immediately Rubhert pointed toward her to establish a reminder of his own. “Do not mistake the necessity of my hospitality for welcome.”

“I would never presume to.” Eirina insisted.

Arco continued, to establish his conditions. “If I discover that you have lied concerning your purpose, the fate of your escort, or the attack upon your company, my mercy ends. Should I discover even the faintest trace of deceit or malice from you or your child, I will take your dominant hands as recompense. You and your child both.”

He turned to Cassius. “As for you, Prior, will naturally share in that responsibility and consequence. “You will lodge here as requested. You will also see that our ambassador remembers whose walls protect her. Should your virtuous counsel prove as valuable as you believe it to be, I suggest you offer it freely and often to our good ambassador—for both your sake.”

“Of course, Herr Arco,” Cassius said, bowing respectfully. Vesna, Eirina, and the child followed suit. ... Well, this was a tenuous position Cassius found himself as he gulped, keeping his gaze to the carpeted stone floor.

With a weary grunt, Duke Arco rose from his throne and descended the five steps of the dais. “Your accommodations shall be prepared in the guest wing,” he said curtly. “Remain here. The chamberlain will escort you shortly.”

He turned to Cassius and Algiers. “Father Algiers, I want a full account of these deserters—and of what befell Reinhurst. Prior Cassius, we will speak again later this evening.”

"Y- ... Yes, Your Grace." Cassius manages with another bow of his form.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Algier replied. The Ordo Luminary agent rested a hand briefly upon Cassius’s shoulder as he passed, a gesture that might have been reassurance or warning. Then he followed the duke toward a narrow door set beside the throne.

Before Arco could fully depart, the small elven child smoothed away from her guardian's hand and positioned herself in front of everyone. “Thank you, Duke Arco!” chirped the little elven girl, her voice sweet and small.

The duke stopped the moment he heard her voice. For the briefest instant his shoulders stiffened. He did not turn, but there was evidence enough something registered inside of him. He then continued through the doorway, which closed behind him with a heavy thud.

Eirina released a breath she had plainly been holding. “That might have ended rather differently,” she said aloud before her gaze settled upon Cassius, curiosity mingled with suspicion. “Why did you do it?”

Cassius blinked having turned his gaze to the ambassador, seeing her eyes locked directly upon him. “Forgive me, do what?”

“Speak for us.” She drew her daughter close again. “You owe neither of us anything. Why wager your own safety upon strangers?”

Cassius opened his mouth yet it was Vesna who answered first. “Oh no, this one’s with me. He’s part of my pilgrimage caravan.” she said. “A bit of a wet mop when it comes to common sense—but a good soul nonetheless.”

Cassius frowned. “That seems unnecessarily—”
“Put the basket down.” Vesna suddenly demanded.
He stopped with a look of surprise on his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“You will, in due time. The basket, Cassius. Put it down.” Vesna commanded.

Something in her voice advised immediate obedience. And so Cassius lowered the basket holding Sebastian and Niall carefully onto the floor. The moment his hands were free, Vesna seized him by the back of the neck and drew him several paces aside.

“You miserable lout! I had it under control! You’ve enough to worry about without sticking your neck—well, now your hand—out for others!” Vesna snapped, gesturing sharply toward the children. “What good will you be to them if you lose that hand and spend the rest of the journey on the mend!?”

Cassius looked suitably chastened—brows raised, expression apologetic—but still tried to defend himself. “I only meant to help! I was well within my confidence to leverage this to our favor.”

Vesna’s glare deepened, and her grip on his neck tightened. Cassius, stubborn as ever, tried again.
“I do sit beside your husband's table in managing his lands. I have picked up a thing or two about how nobles think.”

Vesna's glare or grip doesn't relent in the slightest "That very well may be true. But you're not at my husband's table. You're not even in on his lands. It doesn't matter what form of authority the Temple might have here, you are still within my entourage and what you do under my authority, reflects upon me. So if we take this to it's logical conclussion," She reasons. "it would reflect upon you better that you defer to me before doing something stupid like that again."

Cassius considered this. “That's ... fair enough. More than reasonable.”

“It was reasonable long before you put your hand to wager, you dunce.” Vesna sighed, releasing him at last, crossing her arms and glaring with residual frustration. When Cassius turned back to the elves, he found them watching—confused, the child faintly amused. Drawing a steady breath, he addressed Eirina directly.

“As I was about to say…” Cassius straightened his robes. “Our species and beliefs might differ. Our peoples have not always treated one another kindly. But we inhabit the same world.” His expression sobered. “At the very least where my motivations are concerned, there is cruelty around us already. I saw no reason to add more where it might be prevented.”

Eirina relaxed her hold on her child and offered Cassius a faint smile. “I am an ambassador; I'll have you know. I’ve learned how to conduct myself among humans, though perhaps not in Lothar ... for obvious reasons. Truthfully, we came here as a last resort. A snowstorm is coming—we were near the Romagnian border, but we traveled five days without rest to avoid being caught in it.”

“A snowstorm?” Vesna asked, brow raised.

Eirina nodded and glanced toward one of the high windows. “It is forming already and headed our way.” Cassius followed her gaze. The daylight beyond remained pale and clear.

“You can tell?” Cassius asked.

“I can see the frost gathering in the western air.” Her voice carried the quiet certainty of one discussing something plainly visible. “The winds are folding eastward. By nightfall the high roads will begin to close. By tomorrow, perhaps sooner, the storm will cross much of the border country.”

Vesna frowned, considering her own journey might be halted by this news. “That would explain your haste.”

“We travelled five days with little rest.” Eirina’s hand rested upon her daughter’s shoulder. “We dared not be caught in open country, by either our pursuers or any of the locals. We were east-bound toward the border but, Herr Arco’s patrol found Magdaliel and me upon the road and brought us here for questioning. And the rest, you've already saw.”

At once the child groaned. “I hate that name.”
Eirina closed her eyes. “Magdaliel.”
“I do!” The girl folded her arms. "You know how I feel about it! It sounds like some puffed up silly princess nonsense."

 Her outburst drew laughter from the basket Cassius stood beside, earning her a few curious glances. “Oh! I didn’t know human monks could have children!” the elven girl said, skipping over to peer into the basket. She knelt, eyes wide with delight. “Awh—haha! They’re adorable!”

Niall had begun waving both hands, delighted by the sudden noise. Sebastian joined him with a broad, toothless grin.

“Oh no, child—priory monks cannot have children,” Eirina corrected gently. Then, glancing up at Cassius with a raised brow, she added, “They… aren’t yours, surely?”

Vesna’s frustration had clearly passed. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, likely finding great humor in Cassius's prospects as a monk siring children.

“No—but that’s yet to be decided,” Cassius replied, setting the basket beside her. “Perhaps over dinner, I can explain their situation in full.”

The girl—Magdaliel, as she’d been called—continued playing with the twins, her elven name a clear mark of noble birth, though she seemed far less fond of it.

From behind the throne, a well-dressed man descended the steps, a ring of keys jingling as he approached, inspecting each as though taking silent inventory of their purpose.

“Madam Vesna, Lady Eirina... and you are?” he inquired politely.

“Prior Cassius of Lycaron,” the monk replied, clasping his hands behind his back with a courteous nod.

"Yes, yes, quite," said the jacketed man. "Your quarters have been arranged. I am Liebehrt, Chamberlain of Conevico Castle. Duke Arco will host dinner within the hour. I would advise brushing up on proper dining etiquette before being seated at his table."

These people certainly think highly of themselves, Cassius mused privately. Meanwhile, Niall and Sebastian were too busy giggling at the elven child’s playful tickling to care for such formalities. For now, it seemed they would enjoy the castle’s comforts.

"If you don’t mind, our maidservants can tend to the children," Liebehrt added. "They will, of course, be provided proper food and care."

The elven child looked poised to protest, but Eirina chuckled and stepped to her side.

"Come now," Eirina said gently. "The grown-ups have grown-up things to discuss. You’d only be bored sitting through it. Can we trust you to look after little Sebastian and Niall?"

"...I... guess," the elven girl conceded reluctantly. "Which one is which again?" she asked, kneeling beside the basket.

Vesna knelt down beside beside Magdaliel and pointed to Niall. "This one—the green-eyed boy with the white hair—is Niall," she explained.

"But he’s human. Why does he have an elven name?" Magdaliel asked curiously.

"Who’s to say for sure whether they’re human or half-elven?" Vesna replied. "They were found in a basket by the roadside—we don’t know who their parents were."

"They can’t be half-elves. Their ears aren’t even slightly pointed," the girl protested.

"Sometimes, little leaf," Eirina chimed gently, "half-elves develop their ears later in life. Some look human until adolescence, others appear fully elven until age catches up with them. It’s not always obvious."

"Oh," the girl murmured, nodding in thought.

"And this one is Sebastian," Vesna added, pointing to the younger child.

"Niall aaand Sebastian! Got it," the elven child declared brightly.

"You said you disliked your name—Magdaliel, was it?" Vesna asked. "‘Tower of Starlight.’ That’s... quite a name. It is fit for a princess. What did you want your name to be?"

"Mmm, my friends call me Magirou for short," she said proudly, grinning.

"Ma-gi-rou," Vesna repeated slowly. "That’s not elven. That’s... almost nonsense," she laughed softly.

"It’s easier on the tongue—and easier to remember!" Magirou insisted, hands on her hips. "I don’t care for... for... sophesim- sophimist-..." She fumbled until her face lit up. "Sophistry!" she exclaimed in humorous triumph over her recollection of the word in the common tongue.

Magirou. The name she had chosen for herself. Cassius couldn’t help but smile. Eirina looked on—half helpless, half amused—as her daughter so completely rejected her carefully chosen name.

Just then, the western corridor door opened, and Liebehrt reentered, flanked by two maidservants.

"The ladies of the house will attend to the children. Count Rubehrt Arco extends his invitation to the rest of you for dinner," Liebehrt announced in a tone as pompous as it was practiced, casting a sweeping glance over the group.

"Well then, Magirou," Vesna said, crouching beside the girl. "Can I count on you?"

"You can! Promise!" Magirou affirmed brightly, grinning as she carefully hefted the basket into her arms. The maidservants gently escorted her away, leaving the others to follow Liebehrt deeper into the castle.

Sebastian -- Castle Conevico -- Night, 4th Thalorian, Frostdawn, 1992 TGS

Evening settled quietly over Conevico Castle.

Beyond its walls the storm gathered strength, whitening roofs and battlements beneath a veil of wind-driven snow. Yet within the guest chambers there was warmth enough, and the turmoil of courts, borders, and murdered villages seemed for a little while very far away.

The room given to Magirou and the children was spacious by the measure of ordinary travellers, though plainly furnished. Two narrow beds stood against opposite walls, each bearing a cotton mattress and clean linen. Near the door rested a writing desk scarcely large enough for a ledger and candle, while a modest table occupied the farther end of the chamber beside the hearth.

To Magirou, it was more than sufficient. For the first time since Reinhurst, Sebastian found himself free of the wicker basket without Cassius or Vesna hovering nearby to rescue him from every uncertain movement.

He crawled slowly across one of the beds, pressing his palms into the coarse weave of the sheet. The cloth yielded beneath his weight, soft in a way the roads, wagons, and wooden benches of the past few days had never been.

Magirou presided as guardian over Sebastian and Niall that night. It was the first time Sebastian had been granted freedom from the basket without Cassius or Vesna hovering anxiously over him, worrying at every move. The toddler crawled across the bed’s surface on hands and knees, feeling the coarse but comforting fabric beneath his palms. What a fine feeling this was—simple yet delightful. With a soft sigh, Sebastian collapsed into the linen sheets, letting mirthful comfort wash through him.

Niall, on the other hand, was brimming with energy. Once freed from his confines, he rolled and giggled with abandon, his laughter echoing against the stone walls. Curious, Sebastian lifted his head slightly to see what delighted him—only to find Magirou at play, tickling his brother’s feet and moving his arms as if to make him dance.

Magirou was a cheerful, playful soul, filling the evening with light and laughter while the grown-ups—Cassius, Vesna, and Eirina—were away at dinner, lost in their serious conversations and important affairs. Whatever those entailed mattered little now. Magirou had set herself a more ambitious task: coaxing intelligible words from her young charges.

"My name is Magirou!" she declared with dramatic flair, kneeling beside them. "Mah-gee-roh! Try to say it—either of you! Maaaaah?"

She stretched the syllables out in exaggerated tones, brimming with hopeful encouragement. But to the infants’ undeveloped minds, her efforts were not understood as instruction but as play—joyful, musical, and nurturing. The meaning of her words escaped them, yet the affection behind them was taken in delight.

“Maaaaah.” Magirou insisted only for Niall to look at her with a smile. Magirou’s eyes widened hopefully. “Yes! Come now. Maaaaah.”

Niall opened his mouth only to laugh, accompanied by a wet bubbling noise. Despite this, Magirou gasped, exclaiming all the while; “That was nearly it!”

It was most certainly not.

Sebastian, for his part, found his attention drifting toward the window. There, beyond the glass panes, the dark night sky came alive with the shimmer of falling snow. Tiny crystals danced and scattered through the wind as the storm crept quietly over the city. He scooted beneath the window, sitting close to watch the drifting flakes in awe.

"Ohhh, you like the snow, huh?" Magirou said, gently setting Niall down so he could wobble about on his own. She slid beside Sebastian, her voice soft and affectionate. "It’s very pretty… but it can be cold and dangerous if we let it in, you know."

Dangerous? Sebastian wondered. True, it was cold… but here, inside this room, it was warm—safe, comforting. That was the logic he settled on, as best a toddler’s mind could manage.

After watching the snow for a while, Magirou rose from her knees and clasped the wooden window panels shut. Well, if it was dangerous, it was dangerous, Sebastian reasoned.

"It’s going to get even colder as the night goes on, so..." Magirou mused. "How about a story?" she coaxed, as Sebastian and Niall tilted their heads curiously.

"Alright, but first," she whispered, lowering her voice as though in reverence to the hush outside, "we’re making a fort." Niall squealed with delight, kicking his feet, while Sebastian blinked curiously from his spot near the window.

Magirou fetched two fire pokers from the hearth and took the pillows from the head of the bed, propping the pokers upright like makeshift support beams. Draping the blankets over them, she squinted at her handiwork with a grin of approval. Spotting a basket of herbs on a nearby shelf, she tucked it under her arm and crawled into the newly fashioned bed-fort, carefully securing the blanket’s edges to allow more room inside.

Once satisfied it could fit them all, she lifted the blanket flap. “Come on, little lords,” she called softly, patting the mattress-padded floor.

Both boys crawled inside—Sebastian cautiously, Niall with a wild flail of limbs. Giggling, they settled beneath the canopy. Magirou adjusted their bedding, placing a folded pillow between them.

“There,” she said with a warm smile. “Now it’s official—The Lords of the Bed-fort!”
She pulled a small bundle of dried clover and thyme from the herb basket and began twisting the stems into little woven rings.

“What sort of story suits this occasion for such gracious hosts?” she asked aloud. The boys didn’t understand all her words, but her voice was a spell in itself, tantalizing their attention.

Magirou tapped one finger against her cheek. “A tale of knights? Dragons? A wicked witch?” She frowned. “Hmm, no, too ordinary.” Then her eyes brightened. “Ah!" She perked up before she drew the blanket closer around all three of them.

“I know just the story for you both.” Her voice softened. “This is an old story. My mother told it to me when I was little.” She paused the moment she uttered her last word. “Well, Little-er.”

Outside, the wind swept snow against the shuttered window. Within the small fortress of blankets and pillows, Magirou leaned nearer to her two solemn listeners, beginning without hesitation.

“Long ago, before the world’s first snowfall, the stars lamented their loneliness. And so, Elthariel, the Twilight-Singer—the elven goddess of the moon and stars— wept from on high. From her silver tears was born the Moon-Weaver, a great spider spirit—older than the trees, wiser than the owls.”

Sebastian watched her lips move, eyes wide with wonder. Niall reached for one of the thyme rings with sticky fingers, and Magirou gently batted his hand away. "Hey! No eating the royal regalia." She says with a playful tone causing Niall to giggle and laugh as he took a swipe back at her. She continues her story as she continued to craft her circlet of thyme.

“Each night, the Moon-Weaver walks the world, weaving dreams from threads of star-silver and placing them in the hair of sleeping children—so that the celestials might visit the dreamworlds of those who slumber beneath their gaze. Not all children, only to those who remain gentle—even when the world is not.”

She crowned Sebastian with a braided ring of thyme. He touched it with his small fingers, blinking up at her in awe. “And only those who still believe that wondrous things may be found.” For a moment her smile faded. “Grown folk forget that rather easily.”

Sebastian looks upon Magirou as she beamed with a smile. “That’s for you, my dream prince.” Her voice softened, slowed to a whisper.

Then she brightened again and crowned Niall. He squealed and immediately tried to seize the wreath. “Ah come on, what kind of king is tries to eat their own crown, silly!” Niall laughed as Magirou tried to wrestle the crown on his head.

When the crowns on their heads were all settled, Sebastian had begun to lean against her side. The warmth of the hearth reached faintly through the blankets, and the little shelter smelled of thyme, linen, and smoke. Magirou continued her story.

“And when the night is deepest, and the wind howls just so, you might hear her weaving—click-click, stitch-stitch—soft as moth wings…”

Niall yawned, stretching like a kitten before flopping onto his back, thumb half in his mouth. Then—Magirou gasped. Niall had rolled too far. His shoulder struck the side of the little fort. One of the blankets sagged. The iron poker supporting it slipped against the bedframe. The whole structure leaned into it's own collapse.

“Niall—!!!” With a soft crash, half the fortress sunk.
Blankets folded inward as the supporting pillows rolled to the floor. Magirou dove through the linen, pulling the blanket down with her, landing with a soft grunt. The fire pokers clattered to the stone. Sebastian could only watch—frozen.

Then came the crying. Moments later, Magirou reemerged, lifting a sniffling Niall back onto the bed.
“Oh—oh, little bird.” Her face had gone pale. She sat quickly upon the bed and examined him with anxious hands. “Let me see.”

Niall wailed, tears already streaming down his cheeks. Magirou checked his head, then his arms and legs. “Only a bump.” She released a breath. “You frightened me more than you hurt yourself.”

Sebastian crawled toward them, though now with considerably greater respect for the edge of the bed. He had learned that while the ground was dependable. It was the absence of ground that was not.

But Niall kept crying—big, watery sobs streaking down his red cheeks. Magirou rocked him gently. “There now.” She coo's in a failed attempt to soothe Niall's frantic fright. “Well,” she murmured softly, “there’s always a way to fix this.”

She sat Niall upright, cradling him in her lap. Then, closing her eyes, she raised her hands—palms open, fingers poised. The air shifted—something subtle, like static brushing the skin or wind whispering through leaves.

Sebastian had felt it too—in the fine hairs of his arms, a faint hum. Not wind, not warmth… something older. Primal. Instinctive.

Magirou’s eyes opened, shimmering with an amber glow. Her expression tightened in concentration.

“Nestalë.” Magirou declared—like a command.

From the tips of her fingers to her palm’s center, a soft cyan light gathered. It swirled into a faintly glowing sphere—dim, yet pulsing, like living fog. The light drifted toward Niall, encircling him. His pained expression softened—from sadness, to confusion… to wonder.

To Sebastian, it was mesmerizing. What was this strange light? Where did it come from? Was it helping him? Calming him? Could he ever do something like that?

The door creaked open. A maidservant entered, startled. “Is everything alright?”

Magirou gave a calm nod, accompanied by a reassuring hum. “Poor Niall took a tumble. Nothing a simple salve cantrip couldn’t fix.”

The maid exhaled in relief. “Shall we take over from here? You don’t have to watch two children alone—not at your age.”

“Oh no, it’s a pleasure,” Magirou replied brightly. “I used to do this all the time with my cousins. Humans are just… more energetic.” Her playful remark earned a chuckle from the maid and another servant lingering by the door.

What captivated Sebastian most, though, was that magic—the way it danced at her fingertips and worked. Niall, tear-streaked but unharmed, was already giggling again.

Could I do that too? Sebastian asks himself.

Sebastian raised his hands, pointing his small fingers at Niall. He babbled in imitation—trying to recreate the spell, to summon something. But nothing happened.

Magirou giggled at his attempts. “Ah! Hahaha! Are you trying to cast magic? Oh, you precious thing.” She cooed, smoothing his hair. “Even elven children can’t use magic this young—and you’re human.”

Wait—what does that mean? Sebastian panicked inwardly. Does that mean I’ll never be able to do it? Ever? A swell of frustration rose inside him, tears pricking at his eyes. Before they could spill, a soft hand came to rest on his head—Magirou’s hand—gently stroking.

“You have to learn the words, just like everyone else,” she said kindly. “But you can’t speak yet. Not yet, anyway.” She met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief and encouragement. “But I can teach you, if you’d like. Is that what you want?”

Sebastian didn’t know how to explain what he felt—only that he needed to learn it. Not the words. Not yet. But the power behind them: the ability to comfort, to heal—like she had.

Just as he reached toward her, a loud grumble echoed through the room—not from him, but from Magirou. She looked down and sighed, hands over her belly. Niall burst into laughter at the sound, the tension of moments ago forgotten. Even Sebastian let out a small laugh.

Magirou smiled sheepishly. “Alright, that’s enough excitement for one night.” Rising, she stretched. “Time for you two to sleep—and for me to get some supper.” She glanced toward the maid. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer now.”

“Of course. We’ll see them tucked in.” The maid smiled warmly.

Magirou leaned in, tickling the boys beneath their chins, then softly stroked their hair—one after the other. “Goodnight, little lords,”

The maids gathered the children, settling them on the mattress as they retrieved the fire pokers and tucked the boys gently beneath the bed’s linens. Warmth returned, the weight of the blankets a soft shield against the night.

Sebastian, nestled beside his soothed, sleep-heavy brother, exhaled deeply. Sleep again. And tomorrow—? Tomorrow, he would try again. There was still so much to learn—and somewhere deep inside, he knew his chance would come.

Sebastian -- Castle Conevico -- Morning, 6th Umbrasin, Frostdawn, 1992 TGS

Early morning came, and the tight-knit group that Sebastian had accompanied since his first days in this world was packing to leave the castle. Before he and his brother Niall knew it, they had been returned to the familiar warm prison of their blanketed basket, ready to set off once more into the world.

The storm had spent itself sometime before dawn.

By morning, Conevico's streets were filled yet another layer of frost, albeit a much leaner proportion than the day before. Snow covered the roofs, the battlements and the surrounding countryside in an unbroken mantle of white, softening every hard edge of stone and timber. The black clouds that had tormented the town through the night were retreating eastward, leaving behind a pale winter sky touched faintly with blue.

Within the castle courtyard, however, there was already movement.

Stable hands worked between the wagons, checking harnesses and brushing frost from the backs of restless horses. Wheels groaned beneath fresh loads. Leather straps creaked as they were tightened. Drivers exchanged quiet words while merchants counted sacks and crates for what was likely the third time that morning.

Beyond the open gatehouse waited the snow-covered road south. Vesna stood beneath the overhang of the inner hall, wrapped heavily in wool and fur, watching the preparations with her hand clasping a ledger and the other hand pointing to its written contents. Her eyes followed every movement with the particular suspicion of someone who believed a caravan could never truly be ready until it had already survived the journey.

“You have enough grain and rye?” she called. One of the drivers looked back from his wagon.
“Yes, my lady.” He called out. "Just picked it up this morning."
“Firewood?”
“Yes.”
“Lamp oil?”
“Yes.”
“Fish netting and tackle?”

The man paused almost about ready to carry on with the same repetition of affirmation, yet it looked like that would be an uninformed miscalculation. Vesna narrowed her eyes at the hesitation causing the the driver to sigh and climb back down.

Magirou covered her mouth to hide a laugh when Eirina noticed. “Do not antagonize them, little leaf.”
“I didn't say anything!” The elf-child insisted.
“Dear, if your thoughts were any quieter, the fish under the ice could still hear it.” Eirina observed aloud while Magirou smiled beneath the edge of her hood.

The young elf stood beside her mother near the waiting caravan, a bow and quiver secured beneath her travelling cloak. Snow clung to the leather of her boots and dusted the shoulders of her mantle. Beside her, Eirina appeared considerably less amused. The Wood Elf envoy had traded much of the finery appropriate to her station for clothing suited to the road. There was little about her appearance now that immediately suggested nobility or diplomatic office, much less of elven influence.

Cassius approached them slowly from the direction leading to the main entrance of the castle. Both of his hands supported a large wicker basket against his chest. Inside were the two children.

Layers of wool had been folded around them until only their faces remained visible beneath the blankets. Sebastian was awake, staring upward with wide, bright blue eyes at the unfamiliar world beyond the basket. Niall had somehow managed to sleep through nearly everything, his tiny face half buried against the blankets.

Cassius looked down. “How,” he murmured, “on earth can something small eat so much. Goodness gracious me.” The monk eventually stopped beside Magirou and Eirina watching as Vesna was barking orders and trying to whip the caravan into shape. "She's claws out today, isn't she?"

"It's rather jarring to see a human woman give such orders with that kind of tone." Eirina expressed.

"Well, she's nobility, she's got that right, for good or for ill." Cassius anxiously chuckles.

Magirou marches over and leaned over the basket wherein Sebastian reached toward her. Magirou offered him one her finger. His small hand closed around it immediately. Her expression softened. “There you are. How's the little prince doing this morning?” She asked causing Sebastian to giggle aloud.

Eirina watched her daughter for a moment before looking toward Cassius. “Still no word?”
Cassius shook his head. "They only recently cleared the couriers permission to travel, so the Luminary are out collecting information as we speak. Algiers wasn't even at the temple when I arrived, they said he was personally investigating the Reinhurst incident."

Eirina's face looked like that of worry as she looked out towards the city walls of Conevico. "Do you intend to stay here, to investigate as well?"

"I thought I would but—" Cassius voiced before sighing. "No. I've been given almost every reassurance that whatever I could find here, I wouldn't be able to help much by my own self. The best I can do is to build whatever life for them I can, in the event the worst happened. Father Remigius also said he would forward any findings to me. I also have my duty to Vesna." He reasoned aloud with Eirina nodding in her own understanding.

"That you do!" Vesna shouted as she crossed the courtyard toward them. "Good to see you're tagging along with us then, if there is one thing I need, it's a Romagnian-born Priest."

"We're headed into Romagnia?" Magirou gasped. "I've always been curious about them! Great architects, scholars, even the gladiators, arenas and-"

"Hush, little one, we're not going to be staying there long." Eirina insisted, causing Magirou to pout.

"We're headed to Latium, it's the last stop on the pilgrimage before we take ship to Lycaron. From there, we can leave you at the front gates of the King and your troubles will be over." Vesna explained with a confident smile and a hand on her hip.

"Latium? I'm not entirely sure how welcome an elf would be there, given I am a heretic. I will most likely need to stay at our embassy there." Eirina reasons.

"We've actually already have arrangements there." Vesna informs, looking assured of herself. "Neustria's Archbishop, Cardinal Julien has a palace we will stay for the duration of our visit and until we leave. If you're to be a member of King Castor's court, he's obligated to let you stay."

Eirina didn't look entirely convinced but if Vesna was under the same roof, she looked a bit more assured. "I'm no theologian so ..." She looks towards Cassius. "I might need you to make sure I don't speak out of turn, or even better, speak for me."

"Of course. I did that once already, and this time I'll be in my element." Cassius chirps with renewed enthusiasm causing Eirina to give a warm smile.

"Maybe the cathedrals will be even better than Conevico's!" Magirou burst with excitement causing Eirina to pat her palm upon her head and ruffle her hair.

News of the departure had managed to conjure the portly, balding Lord of Conevico from his seclusion along with his ward and heir, Ser Henrik. Duke Rubehrt descended into the courtyard accompanied by Ser Heinrik and several members of the household guard.

The Duke wore no ceremonial mantle that morning. Instead, he had dressed plainly for the cold in a fur-lined cloak secured at the shoulder by the clasp of his house. The storm and the long hours surrounding it had left faint signs of fatigue beneath his eyes, though his posture remained as straight as ever. Ser Heinrik walked beside him in a heavy riding cloak thrown over his armour. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they approached.

Cassius lowered his head respectfully, along with everyone in the group.
“Your Grace.”
Rubehrt approached with a hand and digits combing his beard. "So it is decided then."
Cassius nodded. “We will be taking the road to Latium. The pass ought to remain passable while the weather holds.”

Rubehrt glanced toward the cloud splotched grey sky. “A generous interpretation of passable.”

“Then I shall pray the Almighty proves more generous than the roads.” Cassius reasons with a slight smile. A quiet laugh escaped the Duke.

His gaze fell toward the basket. Niall remained sound asleep while Sebastian stared back at him. Rubehrt leaned slightly closer. “And what of these two?”
“I've determined they aught come with us.” Cassius answers.
“I assumed as much.” The Duke studied the infants for a moment. “But this is likely for the best, there is nothing for them to return to, if the village has been burned down.”

Cassius's expression changed to that of sorrow.

"Fret not, Father Cassius." Ser Heinrik tries to brighten the conversation. "I'll be leading the garrison to search the entire thicket of the duchy. If I find anything, yours will be the first letter we send."

"We also have the good fortune to be coordinating with the Ordo Luminary as well." Rubehrt nods. "There won't be a stone overlooked."

"I'll have to settle my heart on such dedications. Thank you." Cassius accepts.
"Thank you as well, for your courtesy and hospitality, Duke Rubehrt." Eirina expresses with a bow of her head. Rubehrt was trying to keep a straight professional face as he fought back a heart-warming smile.

"Yes well, this gathering has been quite illuminating and with very interesting companions it would seem." Rubehrt retorts, his eyes angling towards Vesna who kept a knowing smile upon her expression. "I only hope that the wishes and services of my house have been fully conveyed and to everyone's satisfaction."

Cassius was confused at the gesture towards Vesna who said nothing but closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes, it has." Cassius said, returning his eyes to Rubehrt.

"Well then, let's not stand on ceremony, let alone this blasted cold." He gestures his hands for everyone to gather as the caravan stopped their work and took off their hats and bowed their heads towards their host. Cassius and Vesna bowed their heads as well with Eirina and Magirou doing the same upon seeing the whole of the group follow in synchronization.

"May the blessings of the Lord God, Lothar and good virtue see your road an easy path." Henrik enchants before straightening to a stand. 

"To grander days and grander years still." Rubehrt expresses as he mirrored Henrik's motions. "Do take care of yourselves on the road."

"Thank you both. Lord Rubehrt, Lord Henrik." Vesna ceremoniously voiced. "Hopefully next we meet shall be under my shared hospitality." She chuckles as the group said their farewells.

The caravan would make their way towards the city, pulling the carts through the cobblestone streets and bridge over the moat that washed through the divide of the castle and the city.

Once beyond earshot of the castle gates, Magirou declared, “It was obviously my good manners and winning smile that changed his heart,” smoothing her hair back over her pointed ears with mock grace. Eirina and the others gave a half-hearted chuckle, amused despite themselves.

The burghers and members of the city garrison shoveled, pitched, and hauled snow by the wagonload from the urban walls. Yet no matter how white and clean the city appeared beneath its wintry shroud, the stench and grime beneath it still lingered.

“Well, no sense waiting,” Cassius declared, drawing his cloak tighter. “Let’s set out and get going before it decides to snow again."

Vesna nodded reassuringly, and together the group wound through the narrow streets and snow-choked alleys toward the eastern gate.

The sun was just beginning to rise along the horizon when they arrived. The caravan was gathering at the gatehouse—Templar knights saddling their horses, loading equipment into carts, and aiding pilgrims with their belongings. Commander Reickart, the Templar leader, was moving on foot among the travelers, helm beneath one arm, issuing orders with brisk efficiency. His close-cropped hair showed the remnants of a dirty-blond hue beneath a dusting of frost.

“AVO be praised,” Reickart greeted with a dry smile. “Glad to see you weren’t snowed in.”
“I take it the children will be coming with us then?” he added, glancing at the basket Cassius carried.

“To the Apostolica, yes,” Cassius confirmed. “From there... I’ll remain for a month before seeking passage to Lycaron.”

A hint of sorrow passed over Reickart’s face. Vesna touched her own jawline thoughtfully, falling silent.
“It’s in the hands of Lord AVO,” Reickart said solemnly, placing an armored hand on Cassius’s shoulder. “And yours.” The weight of those words needed no further explanation.

“We’ll have new company,” Vesna offered, changing the subject. She turned, gesturing toward Eirina and Magirou as they stepped forward.

“Elves?” Reickart raised an eyebrow. While his tone was pointed, it lacked any real hostility. “Though I suppose it natural an elf might find reason enough to leave Lothar these days.”

“Would our presence be a problem, Commander?” Eirina asked calmly, keeping an arm around her daughter.

“Only two more mouths to feed, by my reckoning,” Reickart said with a shrug. “But elves and humans have a... rocky history. And the Apostolica is the sacred seat of the Temple clergy.” He paused, giving her a measured look. “I can get you there, but—”

“We have an embassy,” Eirina assured him. “Despite the disagreements between our Chantry and the Temple. Once I reach it, I’ll no longer be a burden to your company.”

“…Fair enough,” Reickart said, conceding the point. “Regardless, you’ll be protected on the road as if you were among our ordained faithful.” He struck his breastplate with a closed fist and lowered his head respectfully.

“Eirina can help clear the snow with her magic,” Vesna added. “That might ease some of the tensions around her presence—if it gets us moving faster.”

“I won’t pretend we don’t need the help,” Reickart said, chuckling as he fitted his helm over his head. “We’re moving within the half-hour. If she can clear the road ahead, it’ll be most appreciated. Until then.” With that, he strode off to rally the caravan’s vanguard.

“He was rather amenable,” Eirina observed, while Magirou glanced in awe at the armored knights around them.

Cassius snorted, resting a hand on the basket. “Vesna’s influence, no doubt.”

“Laugh it up, prior,” Vesna said with mock irritation, tossing her hand in his direction. “It’ll likely be a month’s journey—weather permitting—before we reach Latium.” She pinched her brow, recalling the route. “Three settlements on the way, if I remember right. The last is Roccia.”

“Better Romagnia than Lothar,” Magirou said with a confident grin, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “They say it’s the more elegant side of human culture.”

“Wait until you see Neustria,” Cassius added, trying to impress her. “Our knights, our tourneys, our beautiful countryside—it’s the jewel of mankind.”

“For certain!” Vesna agreed, hoisting herself into one of the wagons with a helping hand from Cassius. “Neustria is the finest of the human kingdoms—and soon, the crown jewel of the world.”

Magirou was helped up into the wagon, while Eirina remained behind, standing at street level beside the wheel. “I’ll move ahead with the vanguard to melt some snow,” she said to her daughter. “Stay with Vesna and Cassius, all right?”

“Sure thing, Mother!” Magirou chirped, waving as Eirina turned and marched off toward the city gates.

And soon, the wagons creaked into motion. Wheels grinding through slush, hooves striking cobblestones, the caravan began its long treck from Conevico and back into the wilderness.

There was more to see. More to explore. Roccia lay ahead.

It was a shame, Sebastian thought—or would have, had he known—how little he’d seen of Conevico: a chapel, a few streets, three rooms in a castle. He experienced the mirth and merriment of the castle staff, the warm shell of castle walls amidst the cold, the wonders of magic. He could not yet walk. He could not yet speak. But some part of him already longed to roam freely, as the caravan did. He already held the goal to be able to perform the magic he witnessed Magirou 

One day he'll be able to do these things.

One day.