Anneliese held her finger up to the air, and her Starsparrow settled atop it as a perch. Argrave looked out where he could see the dust clouds left by the retreating army.
“I think they head to Rovostar’s fiefdom,” Anneliese guessed. “Whitefields. I remember seeing it on the map.”
Argrave nodded. “It’s a poorly defended place, considering it’s both newly constructed and in central Vasquer. But... they still have Enrico of Monticci. And Nikoletta, Mina, those two…?”
“I saw naught of them,” Anneliese shook her head as the bird walked down her wrist, up her arm, and to her shoulder. She reached into her pockets and retrieved some black seeds, feeding the golden Starsparrow.
Argrave sighed. “I’ll tell Elenore to—”
“Tell me what?” a familiar woman’s voice called out.
Argrave turned his head to see Elenore return. He waved to her and greeted, “Sister.” As he watched her, he followed up with, “Are you alright? Look a little…”
Elenore shook her head. “My head is burning. This pain won’t go away anytime soon, I think. I can barely think.”
Argrave shifted on his feet and said guiltily, “I am thankful you did that, you know. You’re the only reason this worked.”
“Levin and Felipe are dead,” Elenore said, locking eyes with him. “They… fell.”
Argrave took a deep breath in surprise. He looked off to the scenery, soaking in the atmosphere for a moment as he processed this information. Reluctantly, he admitted, “Tell you the truth… I’m relieved. What a blessing. I was dreading dancing around that issue with Orion.”
Elenore joined him in looking out across the land. “It’s a net benefit to us. Rovostar’s primary driving force for maintaining cohesion in his ranks just crumbled. He has a lot of personal charisma, but not enough to send his men to their deaths against an overwhelming force with no cause.”
“I’d agree,” Argrave nodded. He could tell she didn’t wish to linger on the subject of Levin and Felipe. “Rovostar in Heroes of Berendar had been a Felipe loyalist, too. After his death, he was still firmly on the Vasquer camp, however. Now…”
“With Sumner having offered his aid, I see nothing preventing the whole of the south from joining us. The north is under Quadreign’s reign, and by extension yours… though I do wonder how firm their grip is. Either way, any weakness they might have can be remedied, and we already have their spellcasters regardless. Durran and Melanie are subjugating the rest of Atrus, and I see no reason why they would have trouble. You, as king, have a great deal of personal fame: the plague, the battle at Castle Cookpot, and now here. Once things settle at the Tower of the Gray Owl…” Elenore looked back to the city. “We’ve won. The only problem, as I see it, is that Duke Enrico is held captive.”
“We were just talking about that,” Argrave nodded. “Do you have any ideas?”
“Widespread pamphlets, delivered to Whitefields by bird,” Elenore nodded slowly. “If Duke Rovostar’s head is delivered to us, Duke Enrico is released, and they surrender to the crown, their treason will not be punished by death.”
Argrave looked at her, raising a brow.
“What?” she asked. “It’s inevitable. Would you trust Rovostar to stand at the same table with people like Reinhardt, Enrico, or Sumner? He stood by Felipe despite everything. He stood by Felipe because of everything,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion. “He would never have changed. He couldn’t have changed. He was indoctrinated, and he believed all he did was justified. It’s no use thinking about it, dwelling on it.”
Her appearance presently reminded Argrave of how she had been in moments past. He felt compelled to put his hand on her shoulder and say, “I agree with you. Don’t get worked up. And don’t think this is your responsibility alone. I took on this role—I have to stomach the uncomfortable truths, too.”
Elenore closed her eyes. Her lower lip trembled, and she nodded. “You’re right.”
Argrave bit his lip musingly, then suggested, “We can’t deal with this today. There are more pressing things. Why don’t you get some sleep? You’ve been running about, straining your mind, and riding on horseback for days, now. You need some rest.”
“I have things to do,” Elenore shook her head.
“Your king commands you to sleep,” he pointed his finger at her face, then pushed her nose. “I can finish things up around Dirracha. Got enough talent at hand to fill the whole city. I command thee, sleep. Do not make me say it thrice.”
As Anneliese nodded to show her support, Elenore stared at him blankly. “I would lay down on the ground here as a joke, but I’m much too sore.” She sighed. “Fine. Fine, Your Ever Gracious Majesty, sovereign of all Vasquer. I will heed your command,” she amended.
Argrave smiled. Then, he hugged her.
“You always do this after battles,” she noted dryly, yet did not rebuff him.
“Don’t ever think you’re alone,” he told her, clutching her head with his hand. She seemed small and fragile after today’s events. Maybe she always had been. “You’ll only be alone if you want to be. And even then, I’ll still pester you.”
She pulled away. “You’ll have to talk to Orion,” she reminded him. “And… you’ll need to know about Levin and Felipe, by consequence.”
#####
“You sure you’re okay to walk?” Argrave asked Galamon. They were in a simple stone home that had been lent to Galamon as he recovered. They all stood about in a dining room, planning things out. The owners of the home were staying with relatives who’d lost family.
“Yes,” the knight-commander responded simply, picking up his gauntlet from the table in the dining room. His armor was badly damaged. It had been bent in many places to the point where some of it had to be bent back into place to fit. Still, he was fine. His regeneration still worked overtime, even despite his vampirism being banished. Certain parties present—namely, Sumner—weren’t privy to that.
“There is such a thing as working too hard,” Vasilisa noted, eyes, darting around the stone house as though it might cave in. “You tackled that thing off the mountain road. Probably saved all of our lives.”
“Traugott lives,” Galamon disagreed as he slid the gauntlet on firmly. “Until I change that… I will follow His Majesty.”
Argrave sighed. “I miss you calling me Silvaden, somewhat.” He pounded the man’s shoulder with his fist. “Thanks, friend. As much as I hate to admit it… I do need your help.”
“He’s a lucky man, surviving that fall with only wounds that could be healed by magic,” Duke Sumner noted.
“Luck had no part,” Anneliese shook her head. “Galamon is strong.”
Sumner looked at her, seeming a bit disconcerted at her presence. Back when they first spoke, they’d had no times for introductions… but now the duke knew his company and knew their relations to Argrave. He hadn’t protested yet, but it was obvious he wasn’t exactly jumping for joy that the knight-commander and the king’s future queen were both elven.
“I had a proposition for Your Majesty,” Sumner changed the subject, turning his gaze to Argrave. “I’d like to propose a summit between your people and all those of the south, here in Dirracha.”
Argrave walked up to the table and tapped his finger against it, testing it. Content it was steady, he sat atop it. “A summit?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Sumner nodded. “Consisting of all nobles at the rank of count or above, to discuss what happens after this war—no, rather, how Your Majesty intends to rule his kingdom. I’ve heard rumors of parliament and other such things, but…”
Argrave crossed his arms and looked to Anneliese. She brooked no protest, so he faced Sumner and said, “You’re getting a bit ahead of things. Rovostar still runs free. I have a plan to deal with that, but it’s still in the development phase.”
“The people of the south are uncertain about the future,” the duke shrugged his shoulders. “Holding this could officiate support and guarantee flawless cooperation in catching that bastard.”
“And guarantee some nice rewards,” Argrave smiled. “Well… considering how many of your men died against that thing, I think it’s only just that they be rewarded.”
“I won’t deny many will probably posture for land in central Vasquer. Not the margrave, certainly, but others,” Sumner nodded.
Argrave pulled back the silver bracer on his wrist and scratched it fiercely. “There’s going to be some news in a few days. It’s going to… change the field rather significantly,” he alluded vaguely. “I do think this summit is necessary. But I’d like to wait for certain information to come to light. And given Leopold’s age, he can’t exactly arrive quickly.”
“Leopold?” Sumner furrowed his brows.
“The leader of Relize,” Argrave said. “He’s well over a hundred. But come to think of it… he might not be the oldest there,” Argrave realized. “But now I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s still a lot to do vis-à-vis restoring order to this city. And I definitely can’t manage that alone.”
Duke Sumner nodded. “I’m glad to have been wrong about you, Your Majesty.”
“Hopefully I’ll hear a lot of people say that,” Argrave nodded as he stood up off the table.
#####
The duties of re-establishing order in the city were not small. Housing had to be provided not only for those displaced by the battle, but to the soldiers. Argrave, Anneliese, Galamon, Vasilisa, and Sumner spent a great deal of time working on this. Fortunately the populace were cooperative, as the soldiers in the city weren’t conquering invaders but rather people who’d saved them from the monstrosity of darkness that came down from the palace.
Rumors abounded. Some of them reached Argrave’s ears—some said that shadow monster was King Felipe III himself, and that Argrave had known about the demon that had possessed his father the whole time. Rumors on the opposite end existed, too. Argrave had spawned this demon himself, apparently. Regardless, no one mounted a resistance. Orion’s Waxknights, even though fiercely diminished after attempting to aid Orion in the battle against the Shadowlander, still helped facilitate ease of transition and distribution of supplies. By the time that was finished, it was well past midday. But another task awaited him. Namely… greeting Orion, who had recovered from his wounds.
#####
Argrave’s hand hovered near a heavy wooden door. He clenched his fingers into a fist and then slackened them time and time again, taking deep breaths all the while. He glanced backwards where Galamon and Anneliese stood by as silent, if impatient, support. Argrave rolled his shoulders, and then as if he was jumping into cold water, hastily knocked thrice on the door.
Instead of a vocal response, the door opened. Argrave looked up at the man beyond—not something he was used to doing—where Prince Orion stood in an ill-fitting cloth robe.
“Brother,” Orion greeted. “I…”
“You looked healed,” Argrave said optimistically. He very nearly asked if he could come inside but lost himself in indecision as he wondered if a king was supposed to ask if he could enter. Royal etiquette was foreign to him.
“There is much to talk about,” Orion nodded. “What happened here. What happens next. And most importantly… why you are in my brother’s body,” his meaty finger pressed against Argrave’s chest. “Our ancestral matriarch informed me of the truth of things.”
I don’t want to be in this body right now, Argrave rued. Without other options, though, all he could do was nod and enter inside Orion’s recovery room in the Dragon Palace.
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