"It's official. By the king's decree, we're going to war," said Tytus. His head rested on his fist, which in turn rested on his chair's armrest. After the conclusion of the king's court meeting, the citizens marched from the courtroom, demanding to see the elves. The city guard immediately secured the king and attempted to quell the rioting crowd, the attempt was unsuccessful. The king was forced to spend the past two days holed up in Castle Elderstone.

Cristomir leaned forward in his chair opposite Tytus, wearing a gentle smirk. "You can't tell me it wasn't inevitable. I knew a war would come the second we stepped off the ship."

"Aye...we all did."

"What's to happen to us? Do not tell me we are shipping out, Jenna and I marry later this moon. I'd like to attend my own wedding."

"And you will. We're staying put. King wants us by his side during time of war."

Cristomir sighed. "Good. I did not want to leave her just yet."

Tytus chuckled. "Trust me, Cristomir, the furthest you'll go is the Wolveswood."

The window shattered as a rock flew into the room, interrupting their conversation. The splintered glass rained on the two rangers and freckled the ground.

"What the bloody-" shouted Tytus. He went to the window and peered outside. Hundreds of angry citizens formed a single, irrational mob. Crude signs gave the ranger insight as to their gathering. 'Kill the elves' read one sign. Another read 'Don't shame our ancestors'.

"Good gods...damn animals," said Cristomir, standing next to the ranger.

"No...just concerned citizens." Tytus' eyes followed the angry swarm of Jordens residents along the path all the way to the gates of Elderstone. A blockade had been built, a handful of city guardsmen trying desperately to fend off the raging citizens.

"We can't win a war if our own people are against us," said Cristomir.

"Aye...we'll never defeat the likes of Farrenhelm, Arnland and Jorden."

"I hope it doesn't come to that. How do we know the king will keep the elves alive?"

"We don't..." Tytus answered, "we can only hope."

"The abyss has already consumed our city. Maybe we can still save the world," said Cristomir.

Tytus smirked. "It will consume the world...it just starts here..."

Cristomir shook his head. "Maybe its not as bad as its made out to be."

"We'll get to find that out to ourselves" said Tytus grimly.

*****

Joras desire for his bed was almost as insatiable as a man's desire for water in the desert. He was as allowed little time for rest, and even less to see his family. His days were long and tiresome, as the echoes of war took shape in the parchments he received from neighboring villages and kingdoms. The sooner this war was to be won, the sooner he could return to his duties as a husband and father. He slowly strolled through the corridors, quick to give his body rest and rinse away the stress of today. The gentle torchlight painted the walls with an orange, fiery hue. The emblems and portraits of lions decorated the walls of Elderstone, as they had for centuries.

There was something admirable about the lion, something Joras always found himself thinking. Their courage, fearsome roar, and their undying loyalty left Joras content with their representation of the Freemane family. Joras indeed was a lion, in every level but physical.

As the king approached the doors to his chambers, the absence of his guard puzzled him. Their duty was performed throughout the day, always careful to guard the chambers of the king. His left chamber door was left slightly ajar. Joras instantly felt a sensation of worry. The past week had been eventful, and left him constantly paranoid. He slowly approached the door and calmly placed his palm against the flat, heavy wooden panel. He lightly pushed, sending the door open. The room was near dark, and a metallic scent lingered in the air. Joras gulped deeply.

It had been only earlier this day he stood by his wife, holding his son in his arms. He ran his fingers through the soft dark hair of his baby boy, as his wife rested on his shoulder. It was there he felt at peace.

"Victoria?" He called out, tearing himself away from the sweet visions of earlier this day. There was no response.

He took ginger steps as he approached his bed, the side of which his wife slept. He saw her, lying still, barely illuminated from the light outside his door. His foot had sunk into a thick liquid. He nearly felt himself faint as he realized the identity of the substance.

"Victoria..." he hoarsely whispered. He eerily reached for her shoulder, covered in the white fabric of her nightgown. His hand made light contact with her shoulder, soon evolving into a firm grip. He rolled her from her stomach to her side, and felt his heart grow heavy as his revelation sucked the breath straight from his lungs. A deep red gash ran along her throat, staining the white sheets with red pools. Joras stumbled backwards, unable to think or stand straight

"No...no, no, no! Victoria! No! Vic...Victoria! No...no..." he said in between sobs.

He took his queens lifeless cold hand into his, and held it against his face. His warm, salty tears ran down her pale skin, streaking her ghostly flesh. Blood had begun to flow from the bed to the floor, pooling around Joras' knees. He silently wept by the coffin that was once his bed. It was almost merciful when he felt the cool steel of a blade tear through his chest.

"Hmph!" He weakly exclaimed. He felt the head of his assassin come close to his ear, resting in his shoulder.

"Forgive me, my brother. I never wished to have sought these circumstances...but you left me no choice. I cannot let you destroy this world our ancestors have slaved to build. For this, I am sorry. May you find peace in death," said the voice of Aldrien.

He withdrew the dagger from the cavity that centered in Joras' chest. The king sat silently on his knees, eyes a blank canvas as his questions would never come to be answered. He slowly swayed back on forth as the strength needed to keep himself upright faded by the second. Darkness crept in on Joras vision as the life that once filled him left him like water pouring from a vase. He slumped backwards, his back connecting with the floor, sending his crown from his head and into a puddle of blood.

Aldrien left the side of the king's body and went to the crown that centered in the blood of the queen. He picked it up gingerly, and wiped it clean with a white handkerchief. He looked upon the golden headwear with a yearning desire, one he always had, but never felt conceivable.

Bayer emerged, clothed from the shadows, his white hair tied in a ponytail. He took out his own handkerchief and held out his hand, awaiting the return of the dagger from Aldrien. "Now what? Am I supposed to kneel to you?"

Aldrien tossed the dagger that ended the the life of the king to the awaiting hand of the squadron member. "Not yet...we have done a noble thing this night, Sir Bayer."

Bayer took the bloodied dagger in his hand and ran it through the handkerchief, reddening the white cloth. "Ain't nothing noble about killing a woman in her sleep." He uncapped his flask of whiskey and drank deeply.

"A few lives ended to save many...Joras was going to tear the world apart."

Bayer took another drink from his flask, and smirked. "The world's been tearing itself apart long before tonight, Aldrien. We're just...hurrying things along..." He sheathed his dagger but kept his flask handy, awaiting to wet his lips with the concoction that could ease the guilt he so carried.

"Think you can save the world, Aldrien? So did Joras...now look at him." He nodded to the corpse of the king and wore an expression of remorse. "Good luck." He shook his head and left the tomb of the royal family, eager to refill his flask.

"You know what must be done with the dagger?" Aldrien called after Bayer, quick to ensure the success of their plan.

"Aye," said Bayer as he left into the orange glowing hallway, quick to forget the deeds he committed tonight.

Aldrien frowned as Bayer exited. It was a long process Aldrien underwent to convince himself of the necessity of tonight's actions, but he felt it right in his heart. He stood silently in the room, surrounded by the tainted blood he had spilled. Tainted it was, as was it necessary. Joras' visions of preserving the elves wers futile, as were Aldriens attempts to convince him so. Their survival would only divide an already split world even more so. Aldrien wouldn't allow it.

Kill one man, save countless.

The thoughts and perverted fantasies of his future reign had already settled in Aldriens mind. It was only after the deed was done did Aldrien truly realize what he had done. His brother was dead, the last of his family, gone in his attempt to save the world. An attempt he had to prove triumphant, less he wished to lose his dignified sanity. He forced his muscle to move him from the center of the royal bed chambers to the castles hallway.

Aldrien collected himself and regained his composure. He took several deep breaths, slowing the thumping drum in his chest with each exhale. The next step in his plan was the most crucial, or Joras' death will have been in vain.

The unity of the world and it's people will happen...and I will be its orchestrator

Perhaps the elves were a blessing, even if it be in the most intricate of disguises. Aldrien had much love for his brother, but at the bottom of every man's heart was a love for power. The only difference between him and a king was that a king realized it.

As Aldrien sauntered down the hallways of the castle he now considered his own, his fantasies had run rampant through his mid. The cries of love from the people of Jorden, the admiration of the kings and queens for his acts of heroism. His name will not be forgotten, and will be held in the highest regard in the history that will follow.

Aldrien was so far lost in his daydreams he hadn't realized he stood in front of the throne that once seated his brother. A moment years in the making now to be enacted by a simple gesture. Aldren slowly approached the grand throne, his feet making soft, silent contact among the red grand carpet. He approached the throne his father once ruled from, now awaiting the seating of its future ruler.

He turned around, facing the section meant for the royal audience. He slowly descended to the throne, placing his hand on the armrest, the other still holding the crown of the fallen King Joras. He sat firmly, exhaling as he did so. He took the crown in his hand and held it carefully, as if it were fragile to the touch. He looked at the crown with such lust, tracing every jewel embedded in the ancient gold. He held the crown above his head, and set it, fitted and adjusted nicely. His hands went to the armrests of the throne as he gazed upon the royal courtroom, his eyes a blank stare.

Jorden is now mine to rule, as is the rest of the world.

*****

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