Aryanne Levell

Elderstone, the capital city of Jorden

SIR GRAYSON LOOKED upon the Tower of Rorden, the great stone cylinder nearly two hundred feet in the air, and home to fiercest of men in all of Jorden. It's evident the Warrior King was its architect. A monument to war, an impenetrable fortress. Windows were scarce, and the only way in was through the front door, which was guarded by the most dangerous men in the world.

Amazing how King Rorden still lives...a legacy is the difference between life and death

And yet, at the same time, it harbored the most dangerous of criminals this kingdom has known. It was blasphemous for elvenkind to even be near such a testament to the ferocity of men.

Unless their heads were mounted on the wall

Aldrien came up to his side, shaking his head. "They are in there, Sir Grayson...do you wish to do this civilly?"

Sir Grayson nodded. "I have nothing but respect for Sir Baronstone and the Ranger Order..."

"Sir Baronstone was a known advocate for Elven restoration, may I remind you."

Sir Grayson faced Aldrien. "That doesn't mean he knew of their intentions, my Prince."

Aldrien nodded concedingly. "I suppose you're right. Care to find out? Should we ask the guards or let ourselves in?"

Sir Grayson smirked. "Not time to break the rules now, my Prince." He turned to the rest of his Kingsguard behind him. "Let's move men."

*****

Valyn gently snored in the corner of the Arch Rangers room, a mess of long black hair. He didn't get a chance to tie it into a ponytail this morning, having been rushed to the tower not too long ago.

From the other side of the room, Aryanne watched him sleep. They had their squabbles and little fights within the past few days, but as of now, he was all she had. And Gabrielen somewhat. Though Aryanne couldn't tell what to make of him.

He belonged to two different worlds, elf and man, caught in between. Was he like them? Elven? Could he wield the rare gift of magic? Could he live to be thousands of years old? He certainly had the elven build.

Slender, graceful, sharp features and silken hair...but his ears were closer to that of a man than an elf. Perhaps that is how he managed to pass as a man for so long. He was quiet too. Didn't say much, and when he did, he spoke so slow and softly you could hardly hear him. Like a timid, docile animal.

Shouting erupted from behind the door, loud and angry. Aryanne jumped to her feet, as did Gabrielen from one side of the room. Valyn awoke in his corner, rubbing his eyes and quickly scrambling up.

Aryanne turned to face Gabrielen. "What's going on?"

Gabrielen shook his head. "I'm, I'm not sure...doesn't sound good though."

The shouting got louder and closer, and what sounded like the stampeding of twenty men echoed through the room. Someone was coming for them.

Suddenly, the door burst open, a man standing in the doorway. A friendly man, as luck would have it. Cristomir eyed them up and down, panic in his eyes.

"What did you do!" He shouted at them. "What happened!"

Gabrielen's eyes grew wide, and he stuttered. "Sir Stormwell, we didn't, we didn't do anything, I don't know what you're talking about!"

Cristomir's nostrils flared. "The king is dead! And you are who they are blaming! They want your heads!"

Gabrielen's jaw hung open. "No, no, it wasn't us! I swear it, we would never harm the king!"

Cristomir stared them down, his breathing rapid but his mind unsure. He sighed and shook his head. "I know it wasn't you...but someone did. You need to get out of here, until we find out who, and clear your names."

"Where are we supposed to go?" Asked Aryanne, fear and worry filling her heart.

Cristomir shook his head. "I don't know, just far from here! North! Head north, somewhere quiet and out of the way. You know the Northlands, right Gabrielen?"

The half elf nodded. "Yes, yes I do." He felt fear creep into the back of throat, eight of it's legs scratching and clawing at the inside of him, spinning it's web and making it's home there. It was a feeling he was used to. It was a feeling he'd never escape.

The shouting was louder now, and the Kingsguard would be there any second, ready to spill elven blood, even if it were innocent.

"Shit," muttered Cristomir under his breath. He looked towards the elves."Here," he went to Tytus' desk and opened the top drawer. He grabbed three hefty coin purses full of gold and gave them to the three elves. "This should be enough to feed you for a few days and maybe buy some gear. I'm sure Tytus won't mind. Gabrielen?"

The half elf nodded. "Yes?"

"Before you head north, go to the town of Greensfield. It's near the Emerald Groves. My uncle Mason owns the stables there. He's a good man, and I'm sure he'll help you. Tell him I sent you, and here, give him this." He reached for the necklace around his neck, yanked it off, and dropped it in Gabrielens hand. It was a ring, simple and made of silver and engraved with flowers and the name Lydia. "This ring belonged to my mother, his sister. That's how he'll know I really sent you.

"Now, over by the bookcase is a secret exit, a means of escape for the Arch Ranger. Open it and get out of here. Now! Go!"

"Why don't you come with us?" Asked Valyn.

Cristomir shook his head. "I can't, trust me, it would only make matters worse for all of us. Now, go!"

"Thank you, Sir Stormwell," said Gabrielen.

Cristomir nodded. "Good luck to you. When all of this settles down, I'll come find you." He left the room and towards the shouting, quick to buy them more time.

The elves went to where Cristomir said the hidden entrance was. The lever was in the shape of a candlestick, and Gabrielen yanked it down. A small door disguised as stone swung open, and revealed a small, cramped stairwell. Gabrielen looked towards Aryanne. "Care to go first?"

Aryanne smirked at him. "Why me?"

"You can cast light. It would be nice to see where we're going."

*****

Seigfreid Whitelocke looked sadly at the last bit of meat he had left on his bone. The last bite he could manage to chew and swallow, and then the bone would be tossed away, stained red and dry, left for only the pigeons to pick at. Only pigeons were worthy of his leftovers nowadays. There were once times when even lords and dukes and thanes and nobles would be lucky to eat what he hadn't. And especially where he ate them, and off of what he had eaten them.

If she was willing

Oh how he missed his life. His once lavish residences and brothels were replaced with alley ways, sewers and the smell of horse shit. Gone was his gold, his girls and his wine. He used to smell of leather and perfume, now...he'd have to guess what animal's stable he slept in. Probably mule or goat.

He pulled out a small loaf of bread from his sack and chewed on it. It was stale, and there was mold growing on the back of it. Crumbs fell into his beard, and he'd consider eating them later. Or stealing another loaf of bread or lamb chop. Whichever was left unattended by the vendor.

He heard a noise from behind him, the clanging of something metallic, and turned quickly around. He heard muffled talking, somewhere close yet not visible. He dove behind a crate in the alleyway, desperate to avoid trouble. If there was one type of person thieves didn't mind stealing from, it was another thief. The crime was just, if both parties were criminals.

Suddenly, the porthole to the sewers came up, and beneath it, a head of blonde hair. Blue eyes scanned the area, and two scrawny arms pushed the metal disc off to the side. The boy hopped out, followed by two others with raven hair. And very large ears.

Seigfreid gasped, and gripped the sides of his crate. There they were, in the flesh. He had only heard of the rumors of them, but to see them...

They looked worried. They whispered and pointed in different directions. The blonde one seemed to be the leader. Siegfried knew his face....where had he seen him before?

The stowaway! What is he doing with the elves?

They were running from something, or someone particularly dangerous, especially if they were traversing through the sewers. The network of thieves and killers and other vile villains. He would have to capture them. They've caused quite the riot recently...handing them over to an angry mob of patriotic citizens would surely regain him some social relevance. Especially if they were criminals as he suspected.

He unsheathed a dagger from his hip, and held it tight in his fist. The two elves went to hide behind a building while the impostor looked towards the streets. Seigfreid took a deep breath. Now was his chance.

He rushed the blonde one, and the boy turned around in time see the blade come at his neck.

Seigfreid grabbed him and held the blade at his throat, slamming him up against the wall of some commoners dusty brick house. Gabrielen grunted and fought back unsuccessfully. If there was one thing Seigfreid found beneficial in his exile, it was his newfound strength he found surviving brawls and escapes from the undesirables of this city. The two breathed heavily, and locked eyes.

"You don't want to do this," said Gabrielen, gasping for breath under Seigfreid's grasp. There was a dare in his eyes, something Seigfreid would see in the knights he'd joust so long ago. The type they had right before he'd knock them off their horse, lodging splinters in their chest and blood in their throat.

Seigfreid grunted and smiled. "You're running from something, boy. And I have you now."

From the corner of his eyes, Gabrielen saw Valyn come up close, but quiet. He was graceful, sneaking like a cat, his palms frosty and ready. He nodded to Gabrielen.

Gabrielen locked eyes with Seigfreid. "Aren't we all running from something? That's what you did. You ran...you filthy coward. And it cost you everything."

Seigfreid pressed the tip if his dagger into Gabrielens neck, and just punctured his skin enough to make him bleed. "Watch your mouth, son of a fucking whore."

Gabrielen shot eyes at Valyn and raised his eyebrows. Valyn nodded and brought his palm up, an icicle flying from his vein.

The sharp piece of ice struck Seigfreid in his shoulder, and he dropped his dagger, his head thrown back in pain. Gabrielen pushed him off, and Valyn grabbed him by the back of his neck, ice pulsing from his finger tips, freezing Seigfreid's neck almost completely through. He was going to kill him.

"Stop!" shouted Gabrielen.

Valyn looked at him with puzzled eyes. "Why? He tried to kill you!"

Gabrielen nodded. "I know. But he may be of use to us."

Seigfreid could hardly move or breath, but his eyes wandered around frantically, his gaze attached to the skies He tried to speak, even make some noise if he could with his frozen tongue. "Ugh...ugghh!"

Gabrielen shook his head. "Unfreeze him."

Valyn looked at him with uncertain eyes, and at Seigfreid with disdain. This man he called Seigfreid was rank like a cursed one, and covered in blood and dirt. How he could be of any help to anyone was beyond Valyn. He was grimy and wiry, but he did manage to subdue Gabrielen. Not an impressive feat, but perhaps there was some strength to him. Maybe he would be of some use. This land was Gabrielen's, and his word was best.

Valyn placed his fingertips to Seigfreid's neck, and sucked the ice away, his neck red and raw, icy and clammy.

Seigfreid gasped, and sucked down a deep breath of air, coughing and rubbing his neck.

He looked at Valyn with wild, fearful eyes. "What...what, what, what are you? Gods above."

Aryanne came up behind Valyn, and stared at Seigfreid like she would an unfamiliar creature, curious and dissective. The man stared back at her, shaking, his eyes wide and filled with fear. She felt as if she was staring into her own eyes. He was afraid. Of her, Valyn, perhaps he'd even come to fear Gabrielen. In a strange way, it comforted her, knowing how much she and her brother frightened him...perhaps all men would come to feel this way.

She noticed Gabrielen's throat still bleeding from the knife wound. She went to him and placed two fingers on his neck, golden wisps and strands flowing from her fingers, closing the wound and drying his blood. Gabrielen thanked her, and cleared his throat.

Aryanne knelt next to Seigfreid, the former ranger completely docile and bewildered. She looked him up and down, and nodded. "Do you know of the place they call North, man?"

Seigfreid nodded uneasily. He was all too familiar with the snowy lands He once called home. He felt penetrated by her golden eyes, and her hair, black as coal, was braided over her shoulder. A creature of such disarming beauty, yet so immensely powerful. He would do anything she asked of him.

Aryanne nodded, as if she could hear his thoughts. "Good. You're taking us there."

*****

Tytus slammed his palms on his desk, his teeth gritted and his patience wearing thin.

"You can not just come in here and start throwing around accusations with no tangible evidence! I will not have it, not when this Tower is under my command!"

Aldrien snorted, and waved over two guardsmen, Nathyn and Carrick, to bring over the evidence he had collected earlier. He reached into the leather bag and pulled out the dagger, its blade covered in dried, maroon flakes of blood.

The prince tossed it in the desk, and the blade nearly knicked Tytus' fingers. It would've, had not the ranger yanked his fingers up before the dagger had the chance. "Are you mad, man?"

Aldrien licked his lips, and let out a sigh. "Am I mad, no, but it seems your elven friends were. To slay the king that swore to protect them, well, if that's not the definition of insanity, well then, I don't-"

Tytus leaned forward over his desk, his palms flat on the table, sneering almost like a rabid dog. "Hear my words, my Prince!" He stared at Aldrien with hard eyes, searching his face for a tell, for anything. He knew this man to be a snake. He's lived among men like him all his life. "The elves are not these wicked beasts. There is no logic to be made from them murdering the king!"

Aldrien missed the days when Joras' love life were his biggest concerns. This castle, these elves, they've certainly made of mess of things. They cost Joras his sanity, and this new Arch Ranger was just another thorn in his side, another advocate for war.

"Sir Baronstone, if you are hiding the elves, somewhere," he gestured around the room with his hands, "somewhere within this Tower, underneath it, we will find them. We will tear this Tower down brick," Aldrien placed his palms on the table, just across from Tytus, "by," he inched closer to the Arch Ranger, each of them glaring, "brick."

They shared a glare, each waiting for the other to confess something, but before either of the could, Aldrien whisked himself away.

"And when we do find them, Sir Baronstone," Aldrien continued, "you'll be punished for treason...harboring fugitives and enemies of the crown."

Tytus sent books, parcels and papers from the table flying across the room, anger and fury doing their dance, and making him their puppet. He went to Aldrien quickly, who stood their calmly as Tytus gripped his throat with his strong hand, shoving him against the wall, Aldrien grunting as his head made impact with the stone.

Sir Grayson drew his sword, ready to diffuse the situation.

"Sir Baronstone!" Shouted Sir Grayson, "unhand the Prince! This instant!"

Tytus' fingers tightened, and Aldrien grunted as he struggled to breath. The Arch Ranger trembled with anger, and he felt the leash to his wrath loosening with each passing second.

"Ranger!" Shouted Sir Grayson once more. "I will not warn you again!"

Tytus relented, and let Aldrien go, storming back to his table.

Aldrien gasped, and cuddled his throat in his hand, taking short and steady breaths. He cleared his throat, and stretched his neck. He knew this man was hiding something, he knew the elves were here, and he would find them, and he would kill them.

"Would you like for us to apprehend him, Prince Aldrien?" Asked Sir Grayson.

Aldrien shook his head. "That's quite alright, Sir Grayson." He looked at Tytus with scolding eyes. "That's quite the temper you have there, ranger." His neck was red and printed with Tytus' fingers. "You're very passionate about these elves, aren't you?"

Tytus regained his composure, and did his best to keep his anger at bay. His temper always got the best of him, his older brother would say. It was useful in battle, but not in times of negotiation.

"I'm passionate about about my people, my country, and my men. Some of my men, warriors I called brothers, died so that these young elves be given a chance to live. I won't let their deaths go in vain."

Sir Grayson stepped in. "And while that is noble of you, Sir Baronstone, your king is dead. I'm sure you had love for Joras Freemane as you did your men, yes?"

Tytus snickered. "Of course, guardsman."

Sir Grayson nodded. "And his murderers are still at large. Ranger, the evidence points to the elves. That dagger there," he pointed to the bloodied weapon laying on the table, "was found in their room, hidden under a pillow."

Tytus shook his head. Their story hardly held itself up. "So they sneak into the king's room, pass all his guards, slit his and the queens throats and sneak back to theirs, hide the blade under their pillow, and peacefully fall back to sleep? There's no logic to be made from that story. You're a smarter man than that, Sir Grayson."

Sir Grayson turned to Aldrien, his face unsure and his eyes curious. "He speaks with sense, my Prince."

Aldrien shook his head. "We've heard the tales of elvenkind, Sir Baronstone. Their tricks of deceit and their dark magic. Anything is possible to them."

"Old tales spun by men of great prejudice, Prince Aldrien. Until you meet them, you have no opinion of them to form," said Tytus.

Aldrien clenched his jaw. I have underestimated you, Sir Baronstone. You're smarter than you let on

"This is not over, Sir Baronstone. I'll leave you to your Order for now, but I will return at this same time tomorrow. If the elves are not here, bound and gagged and ready to be turned over, I'm sure the Royal Squadron will find an Arch Ranger more suited for the position. Good day, sir."

And with his threat made, Aldrien left, confident the Ranger wouldn't let creatures of a fairytale ruin his career. He would have the elves' heads on spikes and a crown upon his head.

And that pig headed ranger will not stand in my way