carebear

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The ever wandering spirit of Nóruiel lifted her head. Her anger and rage consumed her, and yet all stopped for a moment. Something had changed, a shift in what she knew. Someone was gone. Nóruiel found herself compelled to look towards the sky. There, the restless Queen watched as her great-grandfather's spirit rose into heavens she could never reach. Grief was all she felt for a moment, agonizing and painful grief. And then, nothing. The moment passed, and Nóruiel's gaze moved back to the shadowed forests she occupied. She hoped, at least, he would be afforded the rest that she would never receive.

PENNED IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, TWO THOUSAND AND THIRTY TWO ✦ • ───────────────────────────── • ✠ • ───────────────────────────── • ✦ ✦ MINISTERIO DE CULTURA ✦ ✦ • ───────────────────────────── • ✦ • ───────────────────────────── • ✦ INVITACIÓNS Á QUINCEAÑERA DUCAL ✦ Invitations to a Coming of Age ✦ ✦ • ───────────────────────────── • ✦ • ───────────────────────────── • ✦ By the grace of GOD, all throughout the Empire & beyond are invited to come gather and celebrate two beautiful souls. Lady Talia Sofia d’Asturia and Lady Marcela Augusta d’Asturia shall be brought forth and celebrated, so that their friends, family, and esteemed guests may bear witness to their coming of age. Though it shall be a day of celebration, it shall also be a day of reverence and reflection, as these two ladies take on the responsibility and demands of womanhood. The celebration shall take place within the city of San Carlo in the Duchy of Asturias. ✦ • ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── • ✦ ITINERARY Baptism Before the celebrations begin, guests shall be invited to take a moment of reflection and reverence for GOD. Lady Talia and Lady Marcela shall be baptized in the Santa Catalina in San Carlo, as is customary in Galecian tradition. Dancing & Revelry After the sacred rites have been completed, guests are welcome to make their way to the ballroom and feast tables, where delicious spreads of traditional Galecian food shall be provided. Guests may dance and mingle, and can participate in several other activities throughout the night. King of the Hill A contest of strength shall be held for all to participate, where one shall hold out above all others. The one who is able to balance upon a boat whilst fighting off opponents shall win a wondrous prize! (Free @Aeus artwork) Painting contest All are welcome to the gardens in San Carlo, where canvas and paint will be awaiting them. There, guests will compete for the title of best painting, and the winner will get a commission from Lady Marcela herself. (Free @TRINN artwork) ✦ • ───────────────────────────── • ✠ • ───────────────────────────── • ✦ Ave Glória, Ave Império Signed and sealed, O Infante Asturiano, Adrián Marcel de Asturia, Duke of Asturias, Count of San Adriano, Baron of Montero, Lord of Niseep A Marquesa, Talía Sofia de Asturia, Marquésa of Salia, Countess of San Carlo A Viscondesa, Marcela Augusta de Asturia, Viscountess of Banderas ✦ • ─────────────────────────── • ✠ •──────────────────────────── • ✦ ✠ POR DEUS, POLO PÁTRIA E O REI ✠ • ──────────────────────── • ✦ DO DESPACHO DO INFANTE ✦

happy gay everyone

A young Talia Sofia read the missive at her desk, looking out her window over the serene wilderness of the island. The survey was tucked neatly into her bookshelf, to be used for further reference.

Issued by the County of Anairgrid Atstana de Regne Petrère 168 With all the great changes taking place in the Commonwealth, and across the world, we must accept that it is not in the wizened minds of the past that we will find the shape of our future. The house of Reinhold has always believed that it is in the dreams of the youth that new ideas are forged, paths created, and bright tomorrows are carved. In times such as these, it is to our children we must turn, their minds unclouded by nostalgia and looking ever-forward. With the changing of the tides, so too will we adapt. As Countess Adelyn Isla retreats to care for her health, having left behind a long and treasured legacy, it is her chosen heir who will take her place. Capric Reinhold was adopted to the family at a young age, quickly proving himself as sharp-witted, brave, and steadfastly loyal. Despite struggles in his youth, he overcame each and every challenge, and completed his rite of passage in the Ailmere at the age of nineteen. He has served the Commonwealth for years as a soldier of the Swords of Saint Emma, and there is no doubt that his ambition and experience will lead the house of Reinhold into a brighter tomorrow. A painting of Capric Reinhold, circa 166 A.R.P. It is from this day forth that Capric Reinhold shall be known as the sole Baron of Raònoir, Viscount of Stormont, and Count of Anairgrid. These titles are passed onto him with the utmost confidence of his family, and with hope for the future. HER LADYSHIP, Annette Alexandra Reinhold Countess-Consort Emeritus of Anairgrid THE RIGHT HONORABLE, Capric Reinhold Count of Anairgrid, Viscount of Stormont, Baron of Raònoir

A gentle breeze rolled over the lush farmlands of the Petran countryside. The river bubbled peacefully. Birds sang throughout the capital. From the Seven Skies, Nóruiel smiled a bittersweet smile. The peace she had hoped for, only come to fruition through her death. Such a cruel irony.

・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ ・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ Nóruiel’s footfalls crunched through the snow, her breath steady as she walked through the forest. The winter was bleak in this part of the continent, barely any other life stirred around her. Her coat was clung tight around her, as she knelt in the snow. Out of her bag, a trap was produced. It was set, waiting hungrily for an unsuspecting hare. The girl rose, shouldering her bag once more and beginning the trek back to her campsite. There, her brother waited. Bêlzagar. One step after another, crunch… crunch… crunch. The trees groaned in the cold winter wind, snow depositing upon her head as she made the agonizingly long journey back to warmth. Back to the safety of her brother. If all had gone well, there was hopefully dinner to be prepared. Perhaps he had caught a bird, or if they were lucky it would be a plump rabbit. She continued her trudge, the thought of food keeping her going. The campfire flickered in the distance, the warm embrace of her brother was near. All she needed was to keep going forward. One foot dragged after another, a silhouette could be seen. She moved faster, more eagerly. She needed that warmth, her lips were chapped and frozen, her hands frostbitten. She could make out a smile now. His gray eyes met her own. She was so close– The Princess awoke before she reached the campfire. She always awoke before reaching her brother. She looked around her room, the cold stone walls enveloping her, much different than the landscape of her dream. Nóruiel let out a sigh, slipping out of her bed. It still felt foreign to her, sleeping on a mattress instead of a bed of leaves, or her brother’s shoulder. The girl got dressed quietly, slipping out of her room in the palace. Through those deserted hallways, she walked quietly. The weight of her family’s legacy lined the walls. Portraits, sculptures, heirlooms. It felt too privileged to say how burdened she felt by it. As she left, she lingered by one sculpture for a moment longer than the others. Her father’s stoic face stared blankly back at her, much like it did in life. Nóruiel brushed past it, pushing it to the back of her mind. Out of the city she slipped, under the darkness of the night. The fifteen-year-old Princess took a deep breath as she lost herself through the Kingswood. The branches welcomed her and the leaves embraced her as she traversed through it, with relative ease. She had traveled this path often. The woods were a second home, after all. She reached a small clearing, one she frequented regularly. The wildflowers bent to her, welcoming her back. She made her camp, a simple fire and a blanket to sleep under. It was all she needed, all she wanted at this moment. From her bag, a tattered copy of a book was retrieved. It was stained, signed around the edges, in rather horrible condition. But she treated it with care, as if it was the most precious item in the world. She opened the flayed copy of the scrolls, flipping each page slowly. She remembered the day Bêlzagar had brought it back for her, the smile on his face was infectious. He had eagerly read her to sleep that night, and she had slept soundly for the first time during their whole journey. It was later she learned he had stolen the book, only to be able to read her to sleep at night, like their mother had before she left. The Princess flipped through the pages of the book, her own notes in the margins glinting in the light of the campfire. There were mundane comments, sometimes about the content of that particular page, or perhaps what she needed to complete that day. There were other notes sprinkled in throughout, however. “Mother used to read this verse to me at night, Belz reads it better though.” “Where is Bêlzagar? It’s cold and he’s not returned yet. I am hungry.” “I wonder if Father thinks of us, wherever he is. I hope he does.” “I know Bêlzagar starves to keep me fed. I must make sure he eats tonight.” “I wish they had never left.” Nóruiel’s gaze grew misty-eyed, reading the words her past self had jotted down. Looking at the writing, it was so clear just how young she had been. Her little hands had gripped a stick of charcoal tight and felt the need to write down all that had happened. If not, perhaps it had all been a dream, or it would be lost to time. She traced the words over the pages, watching the handwriting shift from a child to a teenager. The book was placed back in her bag, great care taken in preserving those fragile pages. She could not let the past slip through her fingers, not when everybody else had moved on. She must keep these memories alive. Nobody else would, it was her task to uphold. Nóruiel settled under her blanket, staring blankly up at the night sky above her. Her mind wandered, her thoughts warped. She felt herself drifting off, the familiar scent of a freshly put out campfire lulling her into fitful sleep. ・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ She huddled by a campfire with Bêlzagar, a few measly pieces of rabbit cooking on a stone slab. The girl didn’t know how long it had been since they had left. It felt like years, but it couldn’t have been more than a few months. Nóruiel watched her brother as he busied himself with work around their campsite. He had become much more accustomed to this life than she had, she still struggled with sleeping in the dirt and the feeling of hunger in the pit of her stomach. “Belz, food,” She called over her shoulder towards her twin. His footfalls hurried to her side as he sat down. Nóruiel handed him one piece of meat, keeping the smaller piece for herself. He frowned, snatching the piece from her and making her take the bigger piece. “You need it more than me,” Bêlzagar spoke, a line he said often. She had hoped to get away with it this time, but her brother’s keen eyes had caught her. She sighed, shaking her head. They ate silently, the weight of the day lingering on them heavily. They had stolen, sinned. It was for survival; this the Princess knew well. Yet… it weighed on her mind greatly. Finally, it was her brother who broke the silence. “I do wonder when father will surface. This is most unlike him,” Bêlzagar’s silver gaze met her own, a small shake of the head given. “He has not done this, ever.” “I worry that something bad may have happened to him. But I can only pray that’s not so.” Nóruiel sighed. “What happens if he doesn’t return in another year? Or two? Or five? Would you return before that?” She asked Bêlzagar, worry evident in her voice. He paused, watching her for a moment. “If you wish to go home, you should. I am not sure that cold moonlit nights were the ones meant for you, nor this way of life,” His eyes searched her, that intense stare watching her every move. “For me, I have my own designs– I do. The open road and chill winds are a home to me in many ways. The people we have yet to meet or places we have yet to go.” Nóruiel’s head shook at that. “I refuse to return without you by my side. I’ll learn to live in these conditions, I am not leaving you alone out in the wilderness.” Her response was quick and stubborn, and perhaps partially a lie. She longed for a bed, it was true. But learning to live like this, it was easier than facing what was back home. “If you are to be here, your heart must be too along with it. I will make do. I do mean it.” His eyes connected with hers, a look of utmost seriousness in his gaze. He meant every word, though Nóruiel never doubted that. “We risk our lives daily, and now the lives of others. You were born into privilege, not this… peasantry.” Peasantry… the word rang through Nóruiel’s mind, a glance given to their surroundings. Mud beneath their boots, splattered over their clothes. Her usually meticulous braids a rat’s nest upon her head. Perhaps he was right– but Nóruiel was far too stubborn to ever admit it. “I mean it Belz, I’m not leaving you. Maybe I will change my mind later on, but right now my mind and heart is set on this. I don’t care if we must live like peasants for however long we need to,” She continued insisting, digging in her heels further. Bêlzagar’s gaze lingered for a few moments, as if studying her intently. Finally, he gave a small bob of the head. “Where and when you do– you must promise me, I will be the first to know.” “You will be, I promise that,” Nóruiel reassured quietly. Her brother let out a hum of approval, gaze shifting towards the campfire now. “I will return home, I think, when I’ve something to show for it. And, no sooner. A sobering truth for you,” the boy leaned back some, grabbing a stick from beside him. As the campfire’s flicker began to die down, he prodded at the crumbling logs. “I believe if father returned tomorrow, and made right of wrongs, I’d sooner depart again, perhaps until grandmother deigns he is fit to rule,” Nóruiel stayed quiet, letting him continue to speak. She was right in her assessment, Bêlzagar’s lips parted once more. “I have greater aspirations and aspersions to cast either forth unto the sky or banish from the realm. I do.” Nóruiel let out a sigh, stirring in her seat to turn her gaze upon the fire. “I understand that, I suppose. But I’m still staying with you, at least until father is back. I don’t particularly want to be in the city until he is back. After that, I don’t know,” her words were hesitant, yet her stubbornness could not allow herself to concede. “Friends to make, fights to hold, stories to bring back home. Our ancestors that we revere, of our blood, did not fear the roads. For me, I hope there are different boots to fill and paths to walk,” Bêlzagar continued speaking, letting the stick drop at his side. “I don’t want to have the same regrets our cousins have, that they didn’t share in the adventures their fathers did. I want to experience the world and learn all I can. Even if I have to sleep in the mud and hunt rabbits for food,” her voice rang with conviction, surprising even herself. Bêlzagar’s head rose, silver gaze finding hers. He offered a small nod, of both understanding and solidarity. His lips rose into a wisp of a smile. “Time and time and time. I would pray it passes if I did not savor these nights,” he spoke softly, his hand reaching for hers. “I do enjoy these simple nights, and these talks with you. I pray we never lose that, even when we eventually return home,” she said, taking his hand and giving it the tiniest of squeezes. Bêlzagar let go, though his gaze did not leave her. “The fork in the road that existed for we, was unmade when we took no turns. No, we only walked straight.” Her brother’s words echoed as the image around her warped and twisted, her consciousness taken captive as the memory faded around her. She fought to remain in the memory, in the company of her brother. She couldn’t wake up now, she couldn’t lose him again. Either through her own force of will or her unconscious mind, another memory slowly came to the surface, as if a veil was lifted before her eyes. ・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ The Princess’s hair whipped in the wind, those neat braids she carefully did becoming more frizzy by the second. They were five, standing atop a tower. Her twin sat on the railing while she leaned over it, silver eyes watching the clouds pass by. At moments like these, it was always easy to speak with Bêlzagar. “There is no shadow I cast which you are not fit to silhouette, sister. Forever and always,” The Prince spoke quietly, but with intensity. He meant every word he spoke, this was no exception. “Forever and always,” She repeated. They spoke of their dreams, their aspirations. Father had not left them yet. Mother had not abandoned them. They still had hope for their futures. “I wonder what the realm will look like when we are a bit older. Do you think we’ll see a war?” He asked her, his silver gaze falling on her. “I hope not. Wars are horrible,” Nóruiel spoke naively, but truthfully. After all, what did such a young child know of war and battle? Only the stories she heard, those tales of mass death yet immense bravery. “If a war came along, would you fight in it?” “If the city was under attack, right now– who do you suggest would repel the threat?” Bêlzagar asked quietly, his fingers drumming against the railing. “Our uncles, the knights, the guards,” she replied. “Perhaps,” he hummed, turning to look out over the landscape below them. “We will see when the time comes. I have a feeling, but that is the way the realm works. When a real fight begins, myself included, we will see who from the turf attends.” “I would fight as well, to defend our home.” she said quickly. “I would be by your side, should that time come.” Bêlzagar turned back to Nóruiel, their gazes connecting once more. “I believe you,” he spoke softly, the look in his eyes one the Princess knew well. “Do you draw, sister?” “I’m afraid not. I’d rather write instead,” she was handed a notebook at that, her brother’s expression flickering into a soft smile. “Then, write. I think I will write you something. I might sing. I have not yet tried, but, from so far up– who but you could hear me,” that smile remained on his features, only growing as a lute was produced. Nóruiel met his smile, sitting upon the railing in anticipation for the performance. “A perfect time to try, then. Go on.” Bêlzagar adjusted his fingers on the lute strings, glancing at his sister. With a breath, he began to sing. His voice was soft, carrying gently over the quiet air. ♪ “A tune I recall from not long ago, A quiet hum from trees’ gentle tone– Wandering paths we’re both yet to know. When under the stars, we are not alone. And as we walk by the shore, Sister, you’ve shared in the tides we bore I’d keep this feeling, whatever may come, Through roads unknown, our promise of fun.” ♪ Bêlzagar’s finger stumbled upon the last note, but he grinned. He glanced at her to see her reaction, hoping his tune was well-received. Nóruiel could not help but break into a proud smile, applauding her brother as he finished the tune. “That was beautiful, Bêlzagar. I loved it!” She hummed, her smile stuck upon her lips as she spoke. His playful smile met hers, one of adoration and happiness. “I think I will work up the nerve to perform for the common folk soon enough,” he glanced down at his lute, a small tilt of the head given. “I will need a better lute.” “A better lute can be found, I am sure,” she said with a laugh. “All in due time. Seems, it cannot come soon enough, hm?” He paused, ever so quickly, before continuing. “Father says there is much work to do,” He turned, looking out over the landscape below them. “If there is anything I can do to help you and father, please tell me,” Such sentiments would change sooner than either of them would know. But for now, the illusion of her family had not been broken. “Between us, I have some calculations. Like, how one might angle a trebuchet. I estimate, your ballista bolt will go further than mine in this life– mine should not go too far.” Nóruiel’s entire body stiffened at those words, silver gaze stuck on her brother. “Mine should not go too far…” Nóruiel felt herself begin to be torn from the memory, beginning to claw at her mind to go back to it. To go back to her brother. She couldn’t leave him again, not again– “Mine should not go too far…” Did he know? He couldn’t have known, nobody could have predicted the events that followed. Nóruiel’s head spun as she fought to stay in her dreams, though it was to no avail. She felt herself ripped away, beginning to stir. ・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ Nóruiel awoke with a jolt, her late brother’s words echoing from her dreams. The morning light flickered across her face, the leaves above her blocking her from its full intensity. The trees swayed above her, a chill hitting her face as the wind floated through her little campsite. The Princess’ gray eyes opened, gazing up at the foliage above. God had abandoned her long ago, yet she felt a pull now. Perhaps a higher power, or perhaps simply twin intuition. She knew he was gone. Her twin was her everything, and he would not have left. She accepted his death. And yet… something tugged at her. Pulled at her to ride out into the wilderness once more. One last journey to find him. Nóruiel sat up, packing up her campsite. The campfire was stamped on a few times, the charred sticks scattered across the ground. Her bag was soon packed with her limited supplies, all she needed to live off the land for a few weeks. She hoped nobody would notice her absence, though that was unlikely. She needed to be quick. As she made to leave, a rustle sounded in the trees behind her. Then, another. Nóruiel’s entire body froze. A hand slowly reached for the sword on her belt, anticipating a bandit or a wild animal eager to make her lunch. If she was unlucky, perhaps it would be a darkspawn. The girl swiftly unsheathed her blade and spun around, pointing it towards whatever might be there. The figure, whatever it was, slipped through the trees, face unable to be made out. It looked to be a child, the stature and height much smaller than her own. Nóruiel’s sword lowered, but it was not sheathed. She instead began to press through the trees, following after the mysterious figure. It may be a trap, she thought as she made her way through the woods, the cold air gripping her cheeks. What if… no… it is not… it couldn’t be him, her mind wandered, trying to cling onto the memories of Bêlzagar as she continued onwards. She occasionally caught glimpses of the figure. A small hand here, a streak of brown hair there. Nóruiel’s heart pounded as she followed, trying not to cling to any hope. Hope was for fools, after all, it only led to disappointment. This was no different. The Princess emerged from the Kingswood just in time to see the child, she was sure of it now, bolting across the green meadows ahead. She felt this urge, this need to follow. She knew… there was something she was being led to. Against her better judgement, she persisted in her pursuit. Across the plains and forests, she followed. She camped along the way, the child lingering in the peripheral of her vision. She had made out more of his features now, a sharp jaw, dark bags under the eyes, a gaunt figure. This boy was starving. She left food on the edge of her campsites, but he never came near. He always stayed on the edge of her sight, never quite coming into focus. They journeyed north, the two of them. Silent companions as they walked the forests of Aevos. Nóruiel became accustomed to the boy’s company. She wondered, perhaps it was Bêlzagar leading her. Such thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind, though she could not deny the pull she felt towards this boy. After days of walking, the child stopped. She came to a halt as well, watching him. She could make him out fully now. His ragged clothes hung off him loosely, despite being in such a cold environment. His dark brown hair was long and tangled, like it had not been cut or washed in years. He turned around, finally facing the Princess. His silver eyes watched her– silver eyes… A smile was on his lips, not one of warmth or comfort, but of loss and longing. One of despair. A faint breeze picked up between them as Noruiel’s gaze met his. “Bêlzagar…” A whisper left her lips, finally saying aloud what she had known since this journey had begun. Her twin only watched her, that sorrowful smile lingering in his expression. He knew something she didn’t, she saw the look in his eyes. It was one she knew well, one he had given her often in life. It always seemed he was one step ahead. She advanced painstakingly slowly. It seemed she was weighed down with each step. Her gaze flickered around their surroundings as she moved forward. A small campsite, it had been years since anyone had been here. A long put out campfire was before her, the only remains being a few charred logs. Waterlogged supplies and a rotting backpack sat next to– A corpse. Nóruiel stared at a corpse. His body. She almost didn’t recognize him, but although his clothes were tattered she could not mistake them. His body had been ravaged by time and wild animals. The smell of rot hung in the air. Nóruiel sank to her knees, shocked gaze stuck upon the corpse. This cannot be real… I must be dreaming, she thought to herself, unable to say a word. Hot tears welled up, her vision blurring. All at once, she broke. A scream rang out through the forest, the girl’s agony echoing across the landscape. She had tried not to hold onto hope, but now her spirit had been shattered. Screams turned to sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks as her whole body shook. She had known, but seeing him like this, it was too much to bear. Yet, she could not stop looking at that corpse. Her body shook through her sobs, shaking hands reaching out towards him. The rot could not keep her away, however much it might try. Shadows warped around her, faces perhaps? No, all that mattered was Bêlzagar. Shaking hands took hold of her brother’s hand, the skin tight and bloated. It was… cold. So very cold. Another scream was ripped from her, agony hijacking her once more. It struck her then, holding his hand, just how small he truly was. His whole hand was barely as big as her palm, his height only half of hers. He was so young, he should not– they should not have been here. This should not have been his fate. Nóruiel let his hand drop, unable to bring herself to keep holding on. The shadows pressed in on her, around that campsite. This was her fault. She should have been the one to die. He was always the better of the two of them. And yet… fate was cruel. She closed her eyes, though it did not stop the tears from slipping down her face. She reached through her memory, desperately grasping at something pleasant. Something other than this cruel reality before her. Nóruiel opened her eyes, lips parting as she let in a breath. Her voice rose, not in mourning agony, but sorrowful song. ♪ “A tune I recall from not long ago, A quiet hum from trees’ gentle tone– Wandering paths only you came to know. When under the stars, I find myself alone. And as we walk by the shore, Brother, you’ve shared in the tides we bore I’d keep this feeling, whatever may come, Through roads unknown, you will never come home.” ♪ With a shuddering sob, her song concluded. The words lingered in the air as she felt frozen in time. Slowly, she heard movement behind her. The shadows swirled around her, yet this was a beacon of light. She knew, before she turned, that he was there. “Nóruiel.” His voice was not how she remembered it. It had the same shape, the same cadence, yet something about it was wrong. It was far too vast, too clear, as though it was no longer his voice alone. She took a shaky breath, slowly turning. Her knees dug into the mud, yet she could not care. “Bêlzagar…” Her silver gaze met his, a chill running up her spine. He looked exactly as she remembered him, just like that child that had traveled side by side with her on her journey here. Yet… he was somehow different, changed. It was not the glow of life that clung to him, but something else. Something after. “You look well,” he said, something in his gaze flickering. Sorrow, perhaps. “And you look exactly as you did the day you left me,” she replied, an unexpected steadiness coming over her voice. It did not match how she felt, her insides churning with each passing second. Another flicker flashed over his vision, though it was masked with a small sigh. His head tilted to the side, as though he had expected her words. “It was not my wish to leave you.” “And yet you did,” Nóruiel’s reply came out faster than she had time to think. An uncomfortable silence fell over the twins, neither eager to speak. “... you have lived well,” he said at last. “Better than I could have hoped. You have made friends. You have found joy, even in the wreckage of what was given to us.” His lips parted to continue, yet she spoke before he could. “Was it a choice?” Nóruiel’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “To leave me?” Bêlzagar’s gaze flickered. Though his mouth opened, no sound escaped. “It was not,” she said before a response came, shakily standing to her feet before him. She had not realized how much taller she was, until she looked down at her twin brother. “It was not your choice. You were taken from me. We were supposed to have more time.” Hot tears fell freely once more, her voice choking with emotion. He smiled, but it was the kind of smile one wears when grief has long since carved its place inside the soul. “I have seen the road you would have walked had I stayed.” “And?” she spoke hastily, eager for an answer. “And you would have followed me to the grave,” he murmured. “In some strange, cruel way, I saved you by dying first. I did not know it then, but I know it now.” A sharp, breathless sound left her lips– half a laugh, more a sob. “And you are happy about this?” “I am relieved,” his voice rang out, a logical steadiness to it. Nóruiel stepped back from him as though struck. “You think yourself some sort of martyr? You think to have saved me from–” “No,” he said softly, cutting her off. Her words fell silent. “I think myself to be your wiser brother.” A tremor passed through her, her composure long forgotten as tears streamed down her cheeks. “That is not fair…” she whispered. Bêlzagar’s expression softened, though that look of grief lingered. “No. It is not. Nothing about our lives was.” A silence overtook them both, both long and aching. Then, he smiled– so faintly she might have imagined it. “Do you know? I can sing now.” She let out a broken breath. “All this time apart, that is what you wish to tell me?” She would laugh, if she was not so far in her own grief. “I always envied others for it,” he admitted. “And now I can do it, too.” There was no preparing for the sound that followed. It was him, and yet not– it was his voice, but not bound by the frailty of the body he once wore. It was clear and aching and vast, the kind of sound that did not merely settle in the ears but burrowed into the heart. It was the sound of love lost. Of time stolen. Of a twin brother who had never grown old. Nóruiel’s breath hitched in her throat. It was not the song he had sung so long ago, nor the song she had sung before his corpse. No… this song was beyond the bounds of her understanding. “You were loved,” he whispered, his voice raw with something vast and unspoken. “More than you know … more than you ever allowed yourself to believe.” Nóruiel squeezed her eyes shut. “You were loved. And you were mine.” “I still am,” he murmured. She felt his presence shift, as though the shadows and mist were pulling at him, unthreading him from the fabric of this place. “Nóruiel,” he said, soft as a breath. She took a step forward and reached for him, but there was nothing to hold. Only mist, and the distant echo of a song she would never hear again. And then– emptiness. “ … Belz,” she breathed, echoing a nickname she hadn’t said to his face… not for far too many years. A shiver ran through her, though there was no cold. “You speak in riddles… and yet you still insist to call me Nóruiel,” she said, tilting her head. His smile was familiar, but his voice was not. “It is what our father named you,” he murmured at last. Her prodding had gotten to him. “He does not matter here. It is only us,” she said, and though her voice was steady, it carried an ache that neither of them could deny. “I am with you still.” Bêlzagar sighed, tilting his head as though listening to something she could not hear. “Be careful of your friends, Nori.” She paused, gaze narrowing some. “You think I am unwise?” “I think you are loved,” he said. “And that is a dangerous thing.” A chill ran through her, though their surroundings remained otherwise quiet and still. “Must you speak so cryptically?” She murmured, shaking her head. “I must speak as I know,” he said simply. “The world as I see it. The way others cannot see it” A silence fell once more, the twins eyeing each other. Loss and agony in their silver gazes, yet utter love and devotion as well. “You gave me your world,” she whispered finally, the weight of their conversation settling deep in her soul. “ … and look how beautifully you painted that canvas…” His words echoed, whispers surrounding her mind as he was ripped away from her again. Those shadows that circled them dissipated, leaving only Nóruiel alone in that campsite. Next to Bêlzagar, though not in the way she wished to remember him. Nóruiel fell to her knees, the mud soaking through her dress. There she stayed, shock coursing through her body, for several hours. Her mind replayed the conversation thousands of times, analyzing every intricate detail, every word spoken, every movement. As day turned to night, Nóruiel finally stirred from her spot. Down she looked at that corpse before her. A linen blanket was taken out of her bag and wrapped around his body. Her tears had run out long ago, emotions jumbled as she carefully lifted her brother from the mud. Her arms shook as she lifted the body onto her horse, though if it was from the cold, the exhaustion, or the adrenaline, she did not know. Taking hold of the reins, she looked back at the campsite. Quickly, she stooped to pick up the half rotted backpack, wishing to preserve all the remains of her brother. A few rotted lines of rope, old food supplies. At the bottom lay a knife, rusted from the time spent in the wilderness. She stuffed the old supplies into her saddle bag. She took the reins of her horse, and began the long journey back. This time, it would be undertaken alone, with only the creaking wind and steady drumming of the horse’s hooves as her company. Slowly and steadily, she returned her brother back home, despite her desperate wishing that this had never come to pass. ・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ The years were not kind to the Princess. She was elevated to a Queen, though forced to always be a shadow in the background. War came, and her husband chose wrong. Consequences were to come, it was only inevitable. To fight against her family, such was horrible, sinful. She could not bear it, and yet she could not stand the terms imposed upon her by her own father. She felt abandoned, unappreciated, used. She had been a Queen, capable of anything. And yet now… she was to be reduced. Truth be told, she cared not for the titles. Her words had come to bite her. Her alliances fell through. But, nothing had gone right her whole life. Why should it be different now? Nóruiel walked through the dark streets of Vallagne, the flicker of her little lantern the only guiding source of light. She was not dressed in her usual garb, a simple robe made from undyed linen masked her status and a similarly plain hood obscured her features. At this time of year, the cold pressed in on the river city, the thick fog obscured as fall slipped into winter. Her boot slipped against the mud of the streets, each footstep ringing out into the silent city. The woman slipped through the alleyways and roads, desperate to not be seen. She sped past the tavern, the bakery, the stalls along the side of the square. As she reached the Church, she hesitated. She had always been a pious woman, that had not changed in her years. Slowly the doors to the Abbey were pushed open, a few creaks ringing out into the cold air of the night. The Queen walked down the aisle, the same aisle she had walked dressed head to toe in white. Now she stumbled through it, cold hands shaking as she knelt before the altar. A shaky breath was taken, cold hands fumbling for the Lorraine she wore around her neck. “O’ Lord, I humbly come before you, seeking protection. Not for me, but for my children, my husband, for they need such guidance. Guidance I cannot give them. Keep them safe, while they wake and while they sleep. Protect them from evils seen and unseen. Help them find their place in this cruel world. Please, O’ GOD, please…” The woman continued kneeling after her prayer was said, a silent sob leaving her lips. For all the hardship she had faced, she had never felt such hopelessness. The war was brutal, her people were just as hopeless as her. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps her life was simply cursed. Whatever it was, she could not bear it any longer. Nóruiel rose to her feet, silently moving out of the Abbey. A new conviction flooded her mind, her steps quickening as she walked down the steps from the Church and moved further through the city. She knew what must happen, she knew her place in this now, perhaps more clearly than ever before. She reached the gates, fumbling with her keys at the doors out of the city. “Maman?” A voice sounded behind her, making her blood run cold. She slowly turned towards her son, sorrow in her gaze. “My dear… what are you doing out here? It is far too cold…” her voice trailed off as she went to Alexander, kneeling before him. “I couldn’t sleep maman, I wanted to follow,” his hands grasped for hers, though she was unable to provide him with much warmth. “Alexander, go back to the palace, go my love,” she tried to usher him away, but he only hugged her legs tight. “No maman, I want to come with you. Where are you going?” he asked, muffled by his face pressed against her dress. Nóruiel’s lip wavered, he could not follow where she went. “For a walk, my dear. Just a walk. You will see me again, I promise. My Alexander… my Bêlzagar,” she scooped up her boy, holding him tight. She listened to their shared heartbeats, closing her eyes tight and trying to ward off her tears. “I will always be with you, my love. I love you and your siblings with all my heart, I promise… I promise…” Slowly, she relinquished the boy, placing him back on the ground. Her second-born, he had been born with such spirit. She had named him after her brother for that reason. “Go back to bed, my dear.” Young Alexander watched her for several moments, an intense stare she recalled from a time long past. Finally, he nodded. “I love you, maman,” he smiled, an innocent smile that did not understand the struggle that would come ahead. Nóruiel lifted her cloak from her shoulders, the bitter cold seeping through her dress. It did not matter to her. Instead, she wrapped the cloak around the shoulders of Alexander Belzagar, a sorrowful smile on her face. The boy’s smile persisted as he turned and ran off into the city. The woman let out a sigh, turning back to the gates of the city. Through the doors she slipped, finding herself walking down the road to the water’s edge. She took in a breath, the cold fresh air stinging her nostrils. Her hands shook intensely, the cold seeping through her skin and freezing her at her very core. Nóruiel reached the entrance to Chambery, the city’s usual lively atmosphere having grown damp and cold this late in the night. Her boots clicked against the wet stones as she made her way down to the docks. Shadows seemed to swirl around her, pressing against her every movement. The fog grew thicker, obscuring her vision. Until finally, she could see the water. The river flowed fast today, the raging water thick with white foam and rapids. The river grew temperamental in these months, when water flowed freely down the cliffs and into the waiting arms of churning water. “Nóruiel…” The voice jolted her from her mind and she turned abruptly, for she recognized it clearly. “Bêlzagar…” the woman responded, a deep sorrow ringing out in her voice. He looked like the last she had seen him. Small and vulnerable. A little boy who was never given the chance to grow old. The two eyed each other for seconds, though it felt like an eternity. Nóruiel’s silver gaze shone with tears, Bêlzagar’s shone with wisdom. “I am rectifying mistakes, brother,” she broke the silence first, watching him. “I know,” he answered simply, as though he had always known. His lips curled into a small smile, though it was not one of joy. It was of bittersweet sorrow, it was of long lost secrets and mistakes that knew no end. “I am sorry…” the now elder sister said longingly, not taking her eyes off her twin. The boy before her only shook his head. “No, you are not,” his voice echoed, resonating around her as though a chorus sang. The shadows around them slowly encroached, until Nóruiel could see nothing but his silver eyes piercing through her own. And then—nothing. Only the rush of the wind and the churning of the river behind her. Splash, the Queen jumped into the shallows of the river, the icy cold water seeping through her boots. The temperature shocked her, making her freeze for a moment. The water swirled around her legs, pushing her out further into the river. Slowly, Nóruiel began to wade out into the water. First, it reached her ankles, then her knees, then her torso. “I am coming, brother…” The shivering violently overtook her body, twitching and spasming as the cold water soaked through her. Her wet clothes weighed upon her heavily. Each movement felt as though a thousand needles pierced her skin. Her head slipped below water as she gasped for air, though she did not fight the violent current of the river. She let it carry her, her lungs burning for air. Images flashed before her as the current pulled at her. Skipping stones with Sigmar. Argelion and Daisy’s marriage, happening without her there. Ardirnien hugging her tight after a bull’s eye. Iuliwen crying in her arms. Her father’s disapproving scowl across the meeting table. Her mother’s masked face. Her beautiful children, who must live with her sins just as she lived with her own family’s mistakes. Her husband, whom she loved far too much to ever tell of these plans. Forgive me, she thought. If tears could fall, they would. But the river was relentless. GOD, forgive me, please. Perhaps she had been wrong, perhaps she should not have. Panic filled her body, she kicked, trying to reach the surface. But it was too late, far too late for anyone to save her, much less herself. Nóruiel gasped for air, though she only found water. Her consciousness slipped further. Her body ragdolled through the raging river, banging against the dirt and rocks, an overwhelming light filling the river as she was swept away. The light persisted as the river quieted, a winged figure stooped over the bank to lift up the woman. At least she would not be forgotten in this life. At least... ・・・・✧・☽・✧ — ✧・ ☾・✧・・・・ The sun shone through the canopy of trees above, leaving a pattern across the ground. Nóruiel knelt upon the dirt, producing a familiar trap from her bag. She set it carefully, hoping it may catch an unsuspecting hare for supper. The woman stood with a grunt. This work seemed a lot easier in her youth, there was no doubt about that. The leaves above rustled with a light breeze. Summer was always the best season for hunting. Nóruiel turned from the trap, beginning a pleasant walk back to her campsite. There, her brother waited. Bêlzagar. She hoped he had been successful in his hunt today, perhaps a plump rabbit or fish would be upon the campfire. The campfire’s smoke was seen first, then the man tending to it. He looked up as she approached, silver eyes meeting. A smile creased his face, his weathered hands putting down his work to greet Nóruiel. “Sister!” He called, quick to pull her into a tight embrace. She hugged him back, savoring the embrace like always. “I’ve caught a perfect rabbit today, come sit.” Bêlzagar pulled back, leading her to the stumps around the campfire. The twins sat side by side, laughter and chatter echoing around their little campsite. They recounted their daily chores, Bêlzagar joked about the intense chase he had had with tonight’s supper. Nóruiel laughed, telling her brother about her time setting traps and her excursion to the nearby creek. Slowly, the sun slipped over the horizon. The siblings settled into their nightly routine, the fire dutifully burning all the while. Peace settled over the valley, and as the reunited twins slept, that campfire did burn forevermore.

The Queen gasped in horror upon reading the missive delivered to her desk, and penned a response in return. A RESPONSE TO THE MASON'S GRUDGE Penned by Atstana de Regne Petrère 166 Hail, good Þráinn, I deeply apologize for any offense taken from the removal of your mark. I am forever grateful you helped me build the road and archway that day, it taught me a valuable lesson of asking for help and leaning on others for support. I did not approve of the mark's removal at all, for it is rather harmless in my opinion, and had no knowledge of its removal as well. I thank you for bringing this to my attention. I hope the person who removed it had good intentions, though I do not know who did it. I invite you to come to Vallagne and meet with my husband and I in person, where we might speak about funding a restoration of the mark and the mina compensation you mentioned in your missive. I shall send you a bird to find a time that suits us all. I wish to resolve this matter in a civil way, for I greatly appreciate you and your presence within the Commonwealth. GOD be with you, HER ROYAL MAJESTY, Nóruiel I, Queen of the Petra, Princess of Abrana, Marquise de Val d'Estenou, Duchess of Valfleur, Countess of Brasca, Moere, Temesch, and Torm Marian, Viscountess of Mies, Baroness of Eagle's Peak, Garmont, Hrenthorn, Vallagne-en-Petra, Resmore, and Wittenbach, Protector of the Meadows, and Defender of Liberty

Calla von Theonus watched the swarm of soldiers surround her, barge into her home, and capture her kin. In her old and addled mind, she thought it must be Veletz back from the dead, here to take her arm just as they had taken her husband's so many years ago. She wondered how he would react, were he still here. Perhaps she would die here, and finally be reunited with her Theoderic. The old woman was snapped out of her thoughts as she was grabbed and bound, forced into the courtyard with the others. How awful this war is, she pondered while handing out cookies to the soldiers who treated her with care. Her home was set on fire as she was escorted out. Perhaps it was just like Veletz. But more likely it was another horror, one she did not wish to see to its full fruition.

Queen Nóruiel smiled bittersweetly as she read the Bishop's words, sitting in her room within Vallagne's palace. "I fear this will do naught to the Church, nor Anorhil's ambitions. Nevertheless, I pray they will see reason... and quickly."