He should have been interrogating prisoners. There were four of them. As more than one lieutenant had pointed out, he was not an expert in interrogation. His training was that of a soldier, not that of a questioner, and it was important that he know the difference. That he keep himself apart from all of this. That was what found him not in the hall of the iron bars but in the hall of the creaking wood.

There were many such chambers in a castle. Long, rectangular rooms of naked stone that held banners from bygone eras. When he was a boy, and Gerbold had brought him to this place, it had been difficult not to admire the banners. There was history woven into their fabric. He'd stared long after he was meant to. Gerbold had been forced to drag him away. Now they seemed merely old. On the verge of becoming threadbare. Ulbarich had no idea what the future held for him.

( The roots he had were being cut away, little by slow, it seemed. )

The walk into Faustben's capital was the hardest one she'd had to endure for a very long time. Those men guarding the entrance to the city itself knew her by sight but neither saluted. She didn't know if she were a Captain any longer but she felt naked without her uniform as she strode towards the castle with Onainat only a few steps behind her. It wasn't nearly as cold as the pass to get here and Onainat had shed a few of those jackets she'd been wearing. But kept the hat firmly on her head. There was only a light dusting here in the main capital. Eventually everything would be snowed in and men would push and shovel the snow around so that people could walk freely to and from places. Still everything was iced down. Icicles hung from shop signs and from rooftops. And the castle loomed in the distance with a fresh coating of snow on its higher towers.

( It looked like a picture. )

Buttoned up. That was what they used to call it, back in the old days. Ulbarich had heard more than one of the young men say something to signify that the sick, infirm and otherwise useless in a fight were secure in the bitch house. Just as the mayor had objected to the term, so did they. They seemed to think that being a soldier was something akin to being a knight. They prowled with their hands on the hilts of their swords and talked of dying honorably, of being remembered. Ulbarich was never more frightened than he was in these moments before the fight was on. Yet he knew that when the fight finally did come, hot blood would assassinate his nerves. There was no desire, nor need, for an honorable death here. In fact, the mute soldier hoped fervently that he might live. Which was strange in and of itself.

( That sensation had not come in quite some time. )

In the old days it was nothing to go on one inspection tour after another, visiting one of Faustben's villages and sharing a meal with the lord or duke or whomever before you went on to the next village. But in case Ulbarich hadn't heeded his previous reminders he had yet another. Things were different with royalty. They were ten strong, and every man in armor save Ithacles and Ulbarich. The Captain still wore his coat, complete with pauldrons that nearly covered his ears, done up against the brisk mountain air. Yet there was nothing to watch but the high gray stone which concealed a small city. That was the reason they were here, after all. There was a great deal of resettling being done by refugees from the south.

( In fact, he'd grown tired of hearing their stories. )

A sorrier lot of soldiers he'd never seen.

Ulbarich had been expecting strong-backed young morons too full of piss to think about their lack of vinegar. Instead it was a pair of old men who didn't even look up when he entered and some young, wiry fellow who looked as though he'd collapse under the weight of his uniform coat. Ulbarich had not commanded in a long enough time that he felt some slight nerve, somewhere in the back of his throat, giving him an ache that he could neither see nor address. How did you command men without a voice? How did you issue orders to be followed when you had no tongue to make those orders heard? The two old men did manage to find their feet when they realized they were not alone. Hand commands were fine for the heat of battle. But before?

( He saw no easy answers. )

Vedette didn't even know where to begin. She was standing in the mouth of his tent, what was left of her uniform was sitting on the table there inside of it. Torn to absolute shreds, save the jacket she hadn't been wearing. Ithacles must have retrieved it from her tent after everything happened as as for what was left of the rest.. well. That's what happened to clothes when you were forced to change while wearing them. The rule was to never wear anything you loved when there was a chance you might have to change form. It was a good rule, she hated losing nice things during a transformation.. her true form. She already missed it. It felt like years since she'd done such a thing, but it hadn't been. Just weeks. Before she'd come to Astarii.. before this whole mess..

( He was looking at her and she didn't know what she was going to tell him. )

They were in the foothills of the Central Mountains - not high enough for the cold to be painful yet, but high enough that Ilyien could feel the difference. Cold was to phoenix as mud was to fleshlings - wearying after a time, and difficult to shake. In the silver glow of the winter moon, it had been impossible to miss Sabev's discomfort. Surely, she couldn't have learned of how mountainous areas could drain their kind -- not after such a sheltered life as she'd led. She must have known, of course; she would have been taught at some point about the chill of other regions of Caeleste before she left her city walls. But knowing and knowing were two things entirely. The Guard still recalled - even after the Risings between now and then - the first time he spent the night in the mountains. He had done it alone.

And so, not so long after they'd made camp and finished their meal, not so long after most had bedded down for the night, Ilyien drew Sabev silently to his side. As he suspected, she was burning too hotly, overcompensating for the weather around them. It was better, he told her without words, to keep a lower, more stable temperature -- which cost less to them and still provided some measure of relief. She would learn it for herself soon enough. For just then, however, he set his arm around her and shared his warmth. As intimate as the gesture seemed, for Ilyien it was an extension only of duty, of honor. He could not allow her to suffer needlessly. Sabev seemed to understand, or perhaps it was just exhaustion -- but whatever the cause, she'd dropped into a grateful curl against his side and into sleep almost immediately.

His was the second watch of the night. There were enough warriors in the party that it was not necessary for him to take any other shifts, and the rotating schedule allowed a full night's sleep between watch nights. Ilyien could have chosen to take a few hours rest before his shift began, but tonight felt... different. As the moon crept higher in its orbit, then began its shift toward the opposite horizon, a tugging presence grew in his mind. He could not place what it was -- but it was terribly familiar, even for its faintness. He turned the sensation over and over again, examining it as a child would examine a puzzle - with equal amounts of frustration. But the awareness would not be named before the appropriate time. Only after the barren branches all but obscured the moon overhead did Ilyien understand what the feeling meant.

They - he and Sabev - were not alone.

The eagerness that swelled in his chest at the recognition of his own kind was nearly enough to push him to his feet. Were Sabev not sleeping soundly beside him, he would have moved, would have saddled and rode out to meet the approaching phoenix. As the minutes ticked by, he could finally make out the number of them - four, to be exact, all males. And all, he realized minutes later, Guards. They were his brothers. And from the as-of-yet tenuous connections he made with them through this distance, he understood their intent: they had come to find him. Him alone.

That got him on his feet. He was grinning as Sabev lifted her head. "Do you feel them?" he asked her silently. But he could see from her expression that she did. Offering his hand, he helped her stand before he turned toward the closest elven guard. "Four men approach from the south," he said. "They are colleagues of mine."

The elf seemed ready to argue, but in that very moment a short-range scout ran on silent feet to the Thunderbolt in front of the Guard. His news was the same - four soldiers riding with intent toward the camp. As the Thunderbolt turned to look at Ilyien with an expression that read, How did you know that?, Ilyien himself found questions of his own. How did the four know his location? Ilyien had long ago ceased reporting to the Praetor. And why now did they come looking for him? There could be only one answer: one of the Guards was an Ascendant -- if not a Psion.

"I'll go out to meet them," Ilyien said. But even as the words left his mouth, the sure and steady sound of hooves on rocky ground sounded at the far end of camp. Odd indeed that they would ride with such urgency in the night. His initial excitement had quickly faded. Something was amiss. He had never before been sought out - not even at The Breaking.

Ilyien turned on his heel and started immediately for the other side of camp. Their side of camp.

Vedette was a soldier of Faustben, a private guard to the King, or to his family. Without Ithunvel being alive she has been jostled for years between the remaining members of the family. But Ithacles was somewhat her constant companion. They had been, and were friends. But after his antics in Astarii Vedette had felt like an alien beside him. She was angry for the way he'd treated her, or rather, spoke to her in front of Vata. It was if she was some common dog, to be ordered around like that. She knew he had every right, as Prince of Faustben, to order her around in such a way but he just didn't normally. She wasn't a human soldier, she wasn't even an elf like those Thunderbolts.. so used to orders that were probably yelled in the heat of battle. She was a Dragon. No man commanded a Dragon. Sometimes she forgot about that, sometimes she honestly saw herself as just a human..

But she wasn't. And she could not ignore it now. Not with Koe there. Koe was a dragon too. Koe was.. more than just that. He was something else to her. Something deep and meaningful that she hadn't thought about in so long. She wanted to find him alone, or go somewhere so they could be alone. It had been quite awhile since she'd seen him, but he'd never been too far from her thoughts. At least, not when she had time to think of her other life. That of Iluq. Her father was also at the front of her thoughts when she thought of herself as a dragon. He'd always told her to be proud, and strong. To be brave and bold. To never kill without mercy, but to never allow herself to be killed. Their blood too precious to spill. What was she now? Was she Vedette? Or Iluq? A servant or the master?

She had been.. serving for so long. She owed a debt to Faustben. She owed hr life to that country, which she did love as it was still shadowed by the mountains which were once her home. She still owed them that, but for how long? How long could she ignore what she really was? How long could she keep it from those that mattered to her so much? Was that why it bothered her? That Ithacles had ordered her around when she.. when he'd..

( The fire she'd carefully made was dying again. )

Orc blood reeked.

Even after having changed clothing, even after having covertly changed forms briefly to burn all traces off his skin, Ilyien could still smell the stuff on him. It hung as a miasma in the air around him - and the other warriors who marched with him up the mountain pass. They were not, as he had learned, Prince Ithacles' men. After having heard the tale, Ilyien selfishly found himself grateful for being turned away from a city rife with such dishonor. Still, the soldiers of this Lord Ilúvatar Voronwé had proven themselves valorous and capable. They lost but one of the refugees at the beginning of the skirmish; the thirty-three others were still shaken, but unharmed.

( Ilyien was not certain he could have claimed the same. )

"I'm sure it's all very tragic," said the elven guard at Terestai's south gate. "It always is. But refugees still cannot pass into the city."

There was a short pause. Behind the phoenix came the sound of a rasping, wretched cough. Ilyien's gloved hands tightened at his sides. Leather creaked. The exhaustion, the hopelessness, the fear that wafted off the sad group behind him was a constant reminder of his duty. Defend the helpless. Shelter the weak. Protect those who have need. There were only thirty four of them. Thirty four were brave enough to leave their dying village behind them in the hopes of escaping the creeping sickness of the Deadlands. Thirty four who had trusted in Ilyien, Sabev, and Shine to take them to a place where they could start over. Now they stood at the gates of that place, only to find it barred. Anger rose sunset-bright over him.

"I'm sure," Ilyien said at last, gritting the words carefully and distinctly through his teeth. "That an arrangement can be reached. If I might speak with your superior." It was ignoble to think of running the guard through --

The elven guard looked down his aquiline elven nose and smiled without mirth. "He's occupied, I'm afraid."

"I'll wait."

"You will go."


( Ilyien waited. )

They were lost in a sea of identical curtains, shielding boxes that contained nonsense, and Ilúvatar was starting to feel the hot blood in his arms dying down. A cloak that covered his wounds - for the most part - was a good thing. But there was no one on their feet here. How many had the Drow killed searching for their target? Who was their target? Was Dravath even alive? He could not make himself leave the boxes to go and seize more of the Thunderbolts - a large number of military persons filing into the theater, however dutifully, would not be met with enthusiasm. By anyone, including himself. They were all of them grim in their silence as they stalked those corridors, ignoring the well-hidden torches that cast half-moons of orange light onto the corridor floor. He had the lead, and the responsibility, axes hanging in his hands and well-hidden by the cloak around his shoulders. Staring with anxious eyes at anything that moved, wild eyes, the eyes of a Sylvan stalking its prey through miles of jungle.

( There were fewer places to hide. )

Ilúvatar strode across the plaza with the determination of a fool. Or a knight. He did not know which he was playing tonight, and which the other fellow would be. Only that he was here. That plaza - which was larger than the house itself, he thought - was laid out in wide stone wedges that radiated outward from a fountain. Always a fountain. So the plaza itself was a large circle, which served as a reproduction of the sky. Each star was meticulously recreated with etched gold and covered in good solid glass, with lines to connect the constellations. A fairly new contrivance. The children came here to play games in the spring, and in the summer, running with their feet bare to be Leironuoth the Lion or Stardriel the Priestess, the Magic-Hunter Ralthia or the goddess Lorien herself. Tonight there were no children in the grand constellation of stone, treading lightly over back lit glass and shrunken stars. Tonight it was only the rich and the well-known that frequented the plaza in numbers, the furs of the winter months traded for light capes of summer and the sun. Ilúvatar might have been impressed with the display, ordinarily.

( Tonight he was only annoyed. )

Vedette left early in the morning, before the sun had rose in order to better prepare for what was about to happen. She had no idea how Etain would actually react to Ithacles being here again, or if Etain was as fond of the prince as he claimed she was. She enjoyed the last cool breezes of the night before the first rays of light stretched across the sky. It was then that she actually turned towards the inn in which Ithacles had stayed the night. Would he ask today if he could also stay with Etain? Or did he prefer the inn? Vedette wished they had a mountain home or something, anything, to get away from the heat of the plains. She was going to convince Etain, one of these days, to make them go to a river or something to find 'evidence' or that her memory needed refreshing.

( Something cold would have felt nice. )

While the dinner had been a bit awkward, now at least Vedette had a better idea what was going on. As well as a connection with Illuvatar. Something she hadn't suspected someone like him to share with her. There was a sadness in the Elf that was familiar to her. Not only because Ithunvel had passed on, as had his king. But because of the breaking. She might not have told him the truth about her heritage, but she had told him as much as she could without revealing her secret. It was more than most people got out of her, and more than she willingly told others who had been closer to her. For whatever reason, the bitter wine, or the pleasant company, she now felt more relaxed and hoped he trusted her more.

( Now it was the waiting game. )