Gallador had been summoned to the King's chambers, though what the king wished to discuss could go either way. He was to be punished, or Joras needed to discuss business. He hoped for the latter, always working hard to avoid the kings wrath, as has been the case since their years of adolescence. He walked down the long, narrow hallway leading to the King's Refuge, the name jokingly given to the King's private chambers, where he could discuss and ponder war tactics, write laws, or even read a good book. Gallador met with the small double doors at the end of the golden red carpet and knocked on the sturdy wood. Each panel chiseled into the dark mahogany detailed a king at his finest moment; Jorik crafting Elvenbane, Rorden taking his oath as the first ranger, and Joras challenging Ragnar for the throne, among others. A panel for Ragnar was missing however.

The panel's are for those with the heart of a lion, not those of a snake.

The doors pulled inside as Joras greeted Gallador. Gallador entered the room and sat in a chair across from the kings. In front of him on the square shaped table was the standard map of Jorden, with a hand drawn circle of the coast of Red River Bay. He assumed it to be the kingdom.

They exchanged pleasantries, but the King skipped small talk. "Gallador...I have no idea in all The Abyss as to what the castle is...or to whom it belongs. Or belonged, should I say. The sea is it's rightful owner now. My Queen says to let it be, my brother says to send it back to the depths..."

"What do you wish for your grace?"

Joras sat there in thought. "I want to know where it came from. And why now. How comes your team?"

"Well, your grace. I have selected the four rangers I wish to accompany me. They are the best of the best, and I have no doubt each of them will prove their mettle." Gallador placed down the piece of parchment with the names and information of the rangers. Joras examined it closely.

"You're taking the Stormwell boy? The lads done well to prove himself, but are you sure you want someone as green as he is out there with you?"

"We must make men out of boys somehow, your Grace."

Joras smirked. "As long as you make them into men and not fools." He waved his hand. "Take young Danticus and make him a man, if you so wish. Gods know we could use more of his kind." He turned his attention back to the list.

"I expected to see his name on there...no doubt Nolan sent word for you to do so."

Gallador nodded. "Aye...Siegfried Whitelocke shall join us on the journey."

Joras shook his head. "Nolan's still trying to make his boy something he's not...pity. Curse that man."

"My liege, you understand you are the king, yes? You don't have to give in to his demands."

Joras shook his head. "I don't give in to anyone's commands. There's a certain place a king must remember in this world. It is best to appease your enemies than to make war with them. While of course I doubt the Shadow King would have the crown declare war on Jorden if I had you remove his son from the Order, he is not without his benefits. Without his money, much of Jorden would just become an empty, ghost town-"

"As would the brothels, should Nolan ever decide for Seigfried to return home to Farrennhelm," Gallador quipped.

Joras chuckled. "Aye, that's just...the way of things." He lurched forward to take a sip of his wine, set his goblet down as he swallowed and resumed their conversation.

"That, and silver runs in my blood. My mother was Nolan's aunt...I do miss that dear woman."

Gallador nodded. "She was a fine Queen and a finer mother, your Grace."

Joras nodded. "So, how have you managed whomever else you wish to take?"

"Well, there is Magus Irving and his apprentice-"

"Which I am still not happy about," said Joras, interrupting the ranger. "You acted entirely without my consent, Thornshield. Had I not known you better, I'd have banished you."

There was a jest in his tone that kept Gallador from taking the threat entirely serious. Being the best friend of a king was both a curse and a blessing at times. "I apologize your grace, but Irving would only come if I had his apprentice fetched. Tytus will be back any day now."

"I doubt it, the trip there is half a bloody moon, and that's if you ride day and night."

"I know, my liege, but Tytus is loyal and efficient. He accomplishes his tasks to the letter."

Joras waved his hand. "All you rangers are. But let's not dwell on that. Is that all?"

Gallador nodded. "Yes, your grace. I believe we will function well and without problems. And your squadron will lead the expedition?"

Joras nodded. "Edwin is a good soldier, he will do well...though I fear he isn't as experienced as someone as the likes of you. He looks up to you, you know? Sure, he may be older, but he admires you for your work. Which he should. You're a capable warrior and a wise man. I'm happy to call you my friend." He stood from his grand wooden chair and hobbled to the window on his cane. His wound was still healing, and it ached with each small step. He stood there, overlooking the bay, mumbling to himself. He stared into the water, and finally at the kingdom. "What do you think awaits us within those walls, Gallador?"

"I do not know. I haven't even a clue. What could possibly survive submerged underneath the waters of Elrym?" he asked.

"Nothing good, Thornshield...I can't place my finger on it, but there's something about the castle that...frightens me. To think what could be in there...it darkens my heart."

"Do you wish to accompany us?" Gallador joked.

"Gods above, no. Not even if I was ten years younger," he said, scratching his graying beard.

"Yet you fight in battles against the Oathbreaker as if you were common infantry." He looked down at his thigh. "How fares your wound?"

Joras gazed down at his leg. "I've suffered worse from Victoria. Ragnar and I had something in common, I suppose. We both grew a little rusty on the battlefield."

"I imagine you'll retire from storming the battlefield now then, yes?"

Joras chuckled. "The Freemanes have long been warriors before rulers. Tradition says if a King isn't willing to fight and die for his own causes, then why should his men? There's wisdom in those old traditions, Sir Thornshield."

"Wisdom from men of a different time, your Grace. Jorden was much more unruly then than it is now, all those years ago."

"Wisdom forged from hard learned lessons...and should we forget the lessons learned of the past, we'll doom ourselves to learn them all over again, Gallador."

Silence followed his words. Gallador wasn't used to hearing his first name spoken from the lips of the King, even for as long as they've known each other. He had always been Sir Thornshield, so much so that he had forgotten what it was like to be Gallador.

Joras stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Something troubles me about his return, the Oathbreaker...seventeen years that monster roamed free, seventeen years my family went unavenged. And seventeen years later, he returns with an army. And there was not a word from anyone."

"I've wondered the same, your grace. But messages can't be delivered by dead men."

Joras sighed. "Still...I do not like it."

"He lies dead on the battlefield now, your grace. The Oathbreaker shall plague you no more."

Joras grunted. "That bastard has plagued me enough for two lifetimes. What he did to my sister, what he did to Aldrien...but I suppose some good did come from it, even if it is the thinnest of silver linings."

He turned and faced Gallador. "Do you remember our days in Arnland? When we were young, and I ran away from Jorden, mad at my mother and father? I was just a lad, only fifteen. I met you in the stables, and you were tending to your Knight brother's horse? And as I asked you where I could find some wine, you tripped and fell into a pile of horse shit?"

Gallador was just a squire then, for his older brother Gareth Thornshield. The Iron Rose, they called him. Not a knight in Sylvetria could best him, on the battlefield or in a tourney. His brother taught him the ways of the sword and the shield, and even the more intricate and mysterious ways of how to love to a woman.

*****

"Listen Gally," as Gareth called him, as they sat inside a roaring, warm tavern with mugs of ale in their hands, "it's fairly simple...you take your little thorn there," he said, pointing between his legs, "and just stick it in her little rose! Its simple, boy!"

Gallador was barely fourteen at the time, Gareth six years older. The entire night, Gallador had been awestruck by the bar maidens young helper, a girl with fiery red hair, no older than he could've been. She had smiled at him every time she caught him looking, her teeth small and glistening white. Gareth noticed, and felt it his brotherly duty to help deflower young Gally.

"Just ask her what her name is, and tell her we're off to win a big fortune in the Glennendale Tourney. Women love knights."

"But I'm no knight, Gareth, not yet..."

Gareth smiled deviously. "Is that right?" He stood from his chair, stumbling drunkenly and nearly tripping over himself, and made a show of gathering everyone's attention. "If I could have all of your attention please! This boy, nay, this man here," he pointed with a drunk finger to Gally, who was as red as a cherry on his bar stool, "has served me faithfully as a squire for many years...and it is my sworn-" he paused and burped violently, miraculously keeping down the vomit that brewed at the bottom of his tight throat, "my sworn duty and obligation to reward such service." He spun on his heel to face Gallador, and just managed to keep on his feet. "Kneel, Gallador of the family Thornshield," Gareth drew his sword from his waist, and held the blade before him.

Gallador left his stool and knelt, a mix of emotions, amused, bewildered, confused, but most of all nervous that Gareth might accidentally chop his head off.

Gareth placed the blade upon his left shoulder. "I, Gareth Thornshield, first of my name, Knight of Arnland and heir to the Rosewood, dub thee Sir Gallador Thornshield, a knight of Arnland, and warrior of the Four Kingdoms. Rise, Sir."

Gallador rose, a smile plastered on his face. Pride surged through his nerves, as he found a new level of confidence he never knew existed. The red haired barmaid had watched the entire event, a finger twirled in her hair and her lips in a grin. She smiled at him as he caught her gaze, and Gallador went to her with a strong back and that smile still lingering. That night, they had talked for hours, and she finally took him up to her room upstairs.

The next morning, Gallador saddled their horses as Gareth still lay in bed with two women he'd met that night. It was then the white, golden maned horse trotted up to the stable, a young, brown haired lad atop. He wore a great red cape, and fancy attire for a simple traveler. He had the air of someone who had never once fetched his own food, and the expression to match. He dismounted his fine steed, and walked his horse over to the stables.

"Stable boy, keep her in the shade, she doesn't like the sun. Make sure she gets plenty of water as well. She's had a long day."

Gallador scoffed. "I'm no stable boy, I'm a knight."

The young man laughed, and looked Gallador up and down. "Seems knights are made straight from their mothers bellies."

Gallador ignored him, and turned his attention back to his and his brother's horses. The young man cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, it's been a long ride, and I haven't had company or a hot meal in almost a moon. Whats your name? Perhaps we could share a bottle of wine while I stay here." He held his hand out, awaiting a handshake.

Gallador softened, and took the young man's hand. "I'm Gallador, but my brother calls me Gally."

The young man smiled. "Pleasure, Sir Gally. My name is Joras."

Gallador turned back to finish tending to the horse.

It was then he tripped and fell into the pile of horse shit.

*****

"Aye, your Grace. I remember," Gallador said, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"Oh, stop it with the 'your grace' titles. You've known me for twenty-something damn years! And damned all of them were!" Joras said.

Gallador smiled softly. What he'd give to relive that time once more.

Joras craned and stretched his neck, sore from sleeping odd. "Ah, those were the days, before I wore this damn crown. It was never meant for me, you know? It was meant for my eldest brother, Collen. He would have made a fine king."

Gallador remembered Collen Freemane, and he remembered him fondly. He had met him only a handful of times, the first when he left for Jorden with young Prince Joras. He was tall and handsome, and hardly a man, just a few years older than Joras and he. He had a love for the blade and a short temper, and most men of the sort didn't live long and happy lives.

The last Gallador had seen Collen Freemane was when he fought Ragnar Oathbreaker in the throne room after the Oathbreaker dueled and killed Varrus Freemane, Joras and Collens father. Gallador had never seen a man so angry, so fierce. He sobbed as they dueled, but he was no match for Ragnar. He remembered the cries and pleas of Queen Emmaline as she watched her son die at the hands of the Oathbreaker. He imagined it was a small mercy for her when Ragnar slit her throat.

Gallador nodded. "He would have, but you have made a fine one as well. Your people have great respect for you."

Joras waves his hand. "Yes, I'm sure they all say they do, they would never say otherwise unless they were behind closed doors. I'm sure even my queen has an ill word or two to say about me."

"And how is Victoria? Seems your child is faring well in the womb."

Joras nodded slowly, and Gallador could see there was pain in his eyes. "Faring better than the others....after the last miscarriage, she wouldn't let me touch her for a whole year, Gallador. A whole damn year!" He sighed, and dropped his head in his hands.

Galladors frowned with sympathy. The burden of carrying the royal heir was never an easy task, but after three miscarriages within the past seven years, Gallador couldn't even begin to manage how either of them felt. It must have been a horrible feeling.

"And after August," Joras continued, "After August passed from that terrible cough, she almost didn't want to try for another. He was only seven...he was far too young."

Gallador remembered the night Prince August Freemane passed. He had never seen the King so broken, huddled over his son as he lay in his bed, choking to death on his cough. Gallador was sure that night the Gods above had long left them to their fates.

"August was a fine young boy. He would have grown to be much like his father," was all Gallador could manage to say.

Joras chuckled over his grief. "Gods, I hope not. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. We're the last of our name, Aldrien and I. There isn't another Freemane out there. Aldrien has yet to take a wife, my own wife, well..." he sighed. "We've done it unto ourselves."

"Some things were out of your control, my King."

"And others were. The Freemanes have turned to battle to solve their problems for as long as we've sat the throne. And look what it has done to us."

"You can change that, Joras," urged Gallador.

Joras shook his head. "My father tried to. He was a man of the quill, not the sword...and it left him dead. He never wanted the crown...and neither did I. Neither of us were meant for it."

"But you came back for it, all those years ago," Gallador reminded him.

Joras shook his head. "I came back to avenge my family, to save my brother, and I did, and I would do it a thousand times over. But when they put that crown on my head, I just accepted it. And when they married me to Victoria Granmund, I accepted it. And when the Gods took my only son from me..." he stopped, and Gallador could see his eyes were glossy with tears. Joras Freemane was a man he admired, but not a man he envied.

"I felt the same way when I lost Diana," Gallador said after a brief silence. "And even after all this time she's been gone, I still can't bring myself to love another woman."

Joras let out a deep breath. "We're fools, Lord Thornshield, you and I. We should have stayed in Arnland all those years ago."

There were some days Gallador wished they had, but there were many days he was thankful they didn't. He wouldn't have met Diana if they stayed in Arnland, and he wouldn't have had his sweet daughter either. "I suppose we'll never know what could have been, your grace."

Joras gave a halfhearted smile. "I suppose you're right, Sir Thornshield." He smacked his lips, and patted Gallador's shoulder. "Well old friend, off with you. I have to...write some laws or something, and I have a damned meeting with my Royal Squadron soon. Go and get yourself something to eat. I'll speak with you later."

Gallador stood and bowed, out of respect and friendship. "Goodbye, Joras." Gallador left the king's chambers, and Joras went back to sipping his wine. Before he left, he studied the panels on the doors once more as he closed them. What would his panel be of should he ever become a king? Would he see himself embarking on his journey to the kingdom in the water? Slaying that damned griffon all those years ago? Or maybe something that hasn't happened yet? He was amused by the idea, and left the door behind him. Not even in his fantasies would he be a king. His place is that of a ranger and it always will be.

*****

(Thanks for reading, and I'd love to know what you think! Sound off in the comments! Your feedback is always appreciated!)