"Perhaps your decision was a bit... Rash?"

There was an uneasiness around the hall as Erdudvyl asked her question. Almost as soon as the words left her lips, her focus edged towards the steam floating its way through the grated floor keeping the room warm.

The stare from Loldirr was nowhere near as warm, her green eyes focusing angrily on Erdudvyl. "Rash? Am I to forgive conspirators and treasonous leeches of their transgressions? Allow those who stood to gain profit from the death of my family to walk free with their head held high. From Loldirr Wraithslayer to Loldirr the Forgiver, or perhaps Loldirr the Clueless?"

"Erdudvyl meant no offence, Loldirr, and she does not talk of forgiveness but the harshness of Kirken's sentence," Ethelston responded, sitting and stroking one of the wolfhounds left by his uncle Millendahl. The same wolfhound that almost took his hand were it not for Erdudvyl's intervention.

Loldirr's gaze turned to Ethelston, like two daggers eager to press into the flesh of a traitor. "And I never expected you to take Erdudvyl's side on something so trivial."

"Yet it is not trivial, is it? Kirken will live and die in agony, I want him to suffer, but the oubliette is brutal in its function." Ethelston responded.

"And it's called the oubliette so I can forget he existed. While I forget him, he can remember the day he looked down on me on the day of my execution, as he laughed at me and longed for my death. Today he longs for a different death, one that I won't give to him easily." Loldirr spoke bitterly, almost instantly taking her goblet of wine and holding it like a child with their favourite toy.

"Then execute him, leave him in the dungeon, just don't leave him to suffer in continuous agony for days on end as he gradually loses his mind, slowly dying of starvation and thirst," Erdudvyl begged.

Ethelston sighed in time of Erdudvyl's request, "I concur with Erdudvyl. He caused my family so much pain and agony, and while I want him to suffer, even this feels extreme."

Loldirr's face appeared to scrunch up even more as she dedicated her focus to the steam in the room. "The oubliette, to forget. I am not forgetting. You both are so eager to place me as Isovine's empress, yet I make a decision and you both whine at me. I appreciate your council, but ultimately the decisions rest with me."

Before Erdudvyl could react, Ethelston slowly raised his hand toward her, attempting to calm the situation. While Erdudvyl always had Loldirr's best interest at heart, she had quickly forgotten that Loldirr was now entering her nineteenth winter, and as such, decisions like these would be unfamiliar and testing for one so young.

"What's really bothering you, Loldirr? This doesn't appear to be about Kirken?" Ethelston asked.

There was silence in the room, as the focus descended on the frustrated redhead. The silence almost came as painful as the thought of Kirken being unable to sit, stand or lie down in a cramped hole deep in Ravenscourt's dungeon.

"You're sending me away!" Loldirr mumbled.

Erdudvyl leant forward as Loldirr spoke, "We're not sending you away."

"You're sending me away to marry some man who I've never met, who I have no idea what type of man he is! Any chance I have to find out who this man I must marry is, I am met with silence as the man you're sending me with is as dull as a practice sword."

While Ethelston chuckled at the comment about the Chevalier de Présage, his smile quickly dispersed as Loldirr glared at him.

"Loldirr, I understand your resentment," Erdudvyl responded, attempting to keep the peace, "yet you know that we don't have the forces to take your throne directly, the only way we can do it is with critical alliances."

A huff escaped Loldirr's lips, "You understand, do you?" she asked, more rhetorically than anything. "How would you understand when the two of you have each other? It is easy to sell me off as some cattle while you have your love."

The brief silence in the room was deafening, and the smile on Erdudvyl's face was disconcerting as her eyes did not share that same smile. "You think that is what is happening?"

"Erdudvyl," Ethelston attempted to calm her down, yet he knew it was in vane as the little elf stood to her feet.

"You think that we are selling you off while we have our love," Erdudvyl's voice became harsher with each word, "the love which is scorned at by the knights of Ravenscourt. They snigger behind our back, while Lord Renfry has the decency to scold us to our faces. However, I tire of how he keeps informing us about how inappropriate it is?"

Ethelston tried to calm her temper, yet the anger in her eyes was enough to see even Loldirr flinch.

"Perhaps, then," Erdudvyl continued, "we could take our love to my people, oh yes, if it wasn't for my exile and the shame that I have brought to my people. Perhaps I can compound that shame by sleeping with an inferior race?"

"Erdudvyl," Ethelston commented, eager to restrain Erdudvyl's flowing anger.

"Oh, and let's not forget that in no more than sixty winters, Ethelston will have passed, and I will get to spend the next several hundred contemplating on our love and what it all meant. So, Loldirr," Erdudvyl continued, her voice full of spite and venom, "perhaps I would trade my love for your betrothal in an instant just to avoid the emotional turmoil that it causes my every sleepless night. I bid you both farewell!"

Before either Ethelston or Loldirr could interject, the little elf had turned around and briskly headed for the exit. Despite her flowing anger, she still managed to gracefully exit the room leaving the humans to their steam and their thoughts.

Loldirr took to looking at Ethelston, regret clinging to her heart. "I'm sorry, I hadn't thought."

Ethelston rubbed his trimmed beard, "It's ok. It has been a trying time for us both. Love is not a concept that either of us would have thought to be possible, that was until ours started flowing. Now we are both blessed and cursed by it."

Loldirr stood to her feet, "I should go and apologise."

Ethelston raised his hand, encouraging the fiery huntress to take her seat once more. "I would recommend against that action. Erdudvyl is full of grace and poise, yet when her anger flows, I would prefer to stand in the sea of sorrows to fight the Manticore once more than to endure her wrath."

Ethelston took another gulp from his goblet, savouring the taste of the ruby red wine that slooshed within it. "We do not take this decision lightly, Loldirr, and if we felt there was a better way, I can assure you, we would embrace it. An alliance with Ruvia is essential to retake Lionmane. Ruvia can never win this war, nor can Ravenscourt, but together, we may stand a chance. Then there's what happens after, Isovine and Ruvia standing together could encourage the other realms to stand beside us against this army of the dead. I'm sorry Loldirr, but this has to be done."

Loldirr slumped into her chair. Was she angry because of the need to marry a man she never met, or was it because she knew that it was her only option? During her life in Greenhaven, she resented every day because of how restrictive it was and how it provided little to no adventure. The thought that she was destined for greater things excited and scared her somewhat and now she could potentially become one of the most powerful women in the twelve realms of men. Yet the more she understood her destiny, the more she realised it was as equally restrictive as her dull existence in the quaint little village of Greenhaven.

Loldirr was expected to perform actions and duties that were for the good of the realm and marriage was one of those key duties.

Perhaps she didn't fully comprehend her destiny, that her role in life was to be conscripted into a life of servitude. With all the power in the world that she had at her fingertips, destiny and the people that she served would always dictate her actions and her responsibilities.

"My worry is more of your trek to Ruvia," Ethelston commented, breaking Loldirr's conflicting and frustrating thoughts. "You have to travel the breadth of Isovine where Emperor Arnaud's spies reside everywhere. Many moon cycles will pass, and the snows will have melted by the time you reach the Ruvian capital. It is a long and arduous journey, and yet I can not send men with you to protect you, as it is imperative that we avoid raising suspicion. It is a massive risk sending you there, one I would feel a lot happier if I stood alongside you."

"You are needed here, that I understand. Perhaps Hrok Thjodoflsson can accompany me. His company I welcome, and I trust his axe to protect me." Loldirr commented, her anger subsiding after Erdudvyl's outburst, but her anxiety remained.

"I feel that may not be possible. With you not here, I need someone to assist me in maintaining our alliance with the Fæordic. Without them, the usurper would crush us with ease." Ethelston responded.

Loldirr remained glum as she once again took to staring at the steam-bellowing grate.

Ethelston could see her disappointment and felt guilty about how he was delivering more and more bad news for her. "I will discuss with him," he responded, hoping to ease the tense feeling in the room, "I can not promise Hrok, but I'm sure we can have someone else appropriate to accompany you. Now go rest Loldirr Wraithslayer, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.

Loldirr smiled as Ethelston mentioned her illustrious moniker, "That name brings out envy, doesn't it?"

Ethelston smiled, "Manticore Hunter is immense, but Wraithslayer, that is otherworldly, of cause I envy it!"

As Loldirr stood to her feet, Ethelston rest his hand on his heart, nodding his head to his empress. Loldirr had started to become accustomed to the signs of respect that people showed her everywhere she went, but from Ethelston it always felt alien. Yet, while she found it uncomfortable, she knew to discourage it was futile.

As her slippered feet scurried along the stony floor, her thoughts were not of sleep, but of the journey tomorrow. Travelling with a Ruvian Chevalier and a Fæordic warrior would undoubtedly prove problematic. Loldirr needed someone capable, and wise but ultimately trustworthy, and without Hrok or Ethelston to fill that void, there was perhaps only one other man that completed those requirements. A man, that if Ethelston or Erdudvyl knew what she was planning, would be actively discouraging, and likely forbid her from accomplishing. He was a man she needed to be ready to travel with at a moment's notice.

***

The cold was bitter, and the snows flurried down sporadically, but the mood in the Ravenscourt square was far more sombre.

The Chevalier De Présage had already taken to his horse, a speckled white and musty brown Palfrey. His mood soured as he waited for the Empress of Isovine to accompany him on the dreadfully long journey. He nodded as Loldirr entered the courtyard in her hunting gear and an almost charcoal grey heavy jacket lined with white bushy wolf fur. She responded in kind, knowing that he did it out of habit rather than out of respect.

As Loldirr approached the horse designated for her journey, she could sense it was slightly uneasy. Its beautiful black silky fur reminded her of the horse Ethelston rode when they first met as it charged down the Death Wraith, the Shadow. Its reflective dark irises watched in anticipation as Loldirr removed her glove to place her hand on its contradictory soft and coarse fur.

A tingling sensation ached its way up Loldirr's fingers as they brushed the horse for the first time. Closing her eyes, something in her ached in anxiety and as she concentrated on the feeling, Loldirr knew that feeling was not her own, but of the magnificent creature that she was interacting with.

Never before had she experienced such feelings, emotions that felt equally alien to her but as if they were her own. Removing her hand caused the feeling to fade almost instantly, but it brought satisfaction to her knowing her powers in the sphere of life were evolving.

She desired the feeling once more like it was some sort of narcotic, yet her thoughts were distracted the moment the disgruntled voice of Hrok Thjodoflsson echoed throughout the courtyard along with Ethelston and one other she initially did not fully recognise. Looking up, she spotted the chiselled angry features of Sigurd Halfhand, a man she generally detested greatly.

Her rage took over, causing her to briskly walk up to the three seasoned warriors, "What is this?"

"Your other escort," Hrok responded, even more bluntly than Loldirr's initial question.

Loldirr's face was one of thunder as the Halfhand smiled nonchalantly toward her, his hands resting effortlessly on his two axes strapped to his side.

"Escort? Him?" Loldirr reacted poorly, "you jest?"

"Hrok never jests," Sigurd Halfhand responded, "the man is as sour as overripe grapes."

Ignoring his taunt, Hrok remained focused on Loldirr, "Would I be able to accompany you on your journey, I would, however, I am needed here to keep the peace between Ravenscourt and the tribes. Sigurd Halfhand is an ass, but he will serve you well my lady."

"Did I hear a compliment? Today is a bizarre one." Sigurd smiled behind his carefully knotted long golden beard.

"I can not stand this man!" Loldirr reacted.

"None of us can," Hrok retorted, "but I need my best man by your side."

Sigurd looked toward Hrok, his blue eyes bitter and angry, "I am not your man, Hrok Thjodoflsson."

"It's settled, Loldirr," Ethelston interjected, "Sigurd Halfhand is to accompany and protect you to Ruvia. Hrok trusts him, therefore I trust him and you should too."

While everything in her body screamed to argue the point, Loldirr knew that their logic was sound, and arguing would come across as if she was some sort of petulant child. Instead, she turned, briskly walking and expertly climbing onto her midnight black horse.

Sigurd followed, smiling antagonistically toward his charge. Climbing onto his creamy white horse, he turned to see a final horse, riderless, behind him. "Who's horse is that?"

All focus was on the final horse, one equally as black as Loldirr's.

"Someone that I have chosen to escort me to Ruvia too," Loldirr commented, a wry smile appearing on her face.

All men turned frantically as the sound of scraping chainmail of a soldier entered the courtyard, almost as instantly as the soldier entered with another man by his side, the sound of steel on leather could be heard as swords were drawn from their scabbards.

"Loldirr, are you mad?" Ethelston reacted angrily as he pointed his sword at the man whose cloaked head remained downcast and focused on the ground he stepped on.

As Ethelston spoke, the white eyes of the undead Sir Gervais Vanderbilt focused directly on the duke of Ravenscourt. His posture appeared as if it was ready to strike like a viper. He stopped abruptly, motionless, causing the soldier beside him to feel on edge and as weapons were raised toward the infamous spy master and elite swordsman, the whole scenario appeared as if it would require a small match to explode into pure pandemonium.

"Sheath your weapons!" Loldirr called with unfamiliar authority.

Despite the order, there was hesitancy to obey. Ethelston was the first to reluctantly slam his sword back into his scabbard causing the others to follow. Almost instantly the former mercenary marched angrily up to the horse on which Loldirr sat upon.

"This is far too dangerous, I can not allow this to happen. You are far too important for the likes of him to accompany you on this mission," Ethelston pleaded.

Loldirr leant down so her words could be heard clearly by him and no other. "Yet you would have me travel with a Ruvian Chevalier that we nothing about and a Fæordic warlord who is a drunkard and chauvinist. I can not expect you to understand my reasoning, for the bond that this Death Wraith has to me is supernatural. I trust him with my life."

Ethelston grabbed a hold of her hand, squeezing it forcefully, "Yes, this is your life we are talking about. Nothing in this world is more important. I can not, in good conscience, agree to this."

Removing her hand from Ethelston's grip, Loldirr sat upright once more, "I do not need you to agree, I need you to accept."

A small amount of pride touched the Duke of Ravenscourt as he realised that Loldirr was taking her first real steps to lead with certainty. She was young, sometimes impetuous, but had what it took to become the Empress that the empire wanted and needed.

"So be it, I do not like this, but I trust your judgement," Ethelston responded, knowing to convince Loldirr otherwise would be foolhardy. "However, I can not give him a weapon for this journey."

Loldirr smiled, "Thank you, Ethelston."

Sir Gervais Vanderbilt took his first steps away from the guard accompanying him, his steps calculated and precise. His white, lifeless eyes appeared to focus on Ethelston, yet not with malice or contempt, but with deep consideration and thought. "Lord Darke," he said nodding in respect to the man who would want nothing better than to end his existence.

With the final escort climbing aboard his steed, Loldirr looked around the courtyard, before returning to Ethelston. A sadness appeared to creep onto her, "Erdudvyl?"

Ethelston shook his head.

The sadness, mixed with anger tormenting her mind made things for Loldirr unclear. Why would Erdudvyl let the words from the night before cause this situation to fester? Loldirr wanted to dismount her horse and go to her mentor, but she was the Empress of Isovine, it was not her place to apologise to Erdudvyl or anyone for that matter, and the elf's contempt was inappropriate, to say the least.

"Is there anything you wish for me to say to her?" Ethelston asked.

"No!" Loldirr responded abruptly. "Let us go, we have a long journey ahead. Thank you Ethelston, for everything, you have been a good friend."

Ethelston smiled, patting the midnight black horse that Loldirr sat upon, "As have you my fiery redhead, send word on your arrival to Ruvia. Know that Ravenscourt is in good hands."

With a smile and a nod, Loldirr encouraged the horse to slowly take its first steps forward. As the courtyard echoed of sixteen hooves clopping on the stone ground, the journey to Ruvia had begun.

As the four travellers, the Ruvian known as the Chevalier de Présage, the Fæordic known as the Halfhand, the Empress known as the Wraithslayer and the Death Wraith known as the Widow Maker carefully made their way out from beyond the walls of Ravenscourt, Loldirr knew a new adventure had begun, but as her eyes returned to the Ravenscourt keep behind her, a tinge of regret forced its way to the forefront of her mind.

She didn't know what was going to happen in the next few months, but a horrible feeling crept into her mind. That the words of anger toward her elven mentor and friend, the hostility and resentment that each of them showed, was perhaps the last interaction that the two friends would ever share.