The Kingdom of Ash (Vdiimon and Sinful)

[Vdiimon]

Lady Eleanor, daughter of Count Alexander of Orin, gazed out of the glass panes of the balcony door. Watching the grey sky turn dark and the squares of glass slowly frost over, the perfect reflection of her mood. The warm fire at her back however, did nothing to alleviate the chill that had overtaken the room and her already shredded morale. He'd speak of treason, she knew he would. And it wouldn't be the first time, and more than likely not the last.

His Royal Majesty, Hector Meritaya, Sovereign ruler of Dentara, was a heartless, war mongering, anger infested, silver-toungued pestilent maggot who dared to call himself a man of gentility let alone royalty. As the second son of 4 children to a father known for the expansion of his kingdom Hector had never been a solid choice for the throne. Hector grew, forever jealous of his older brother, the Crown Prince Sebastian, who, being the eldest was favored as the future king. When Sebastian turned 17 and Hector 15, the King announced Sebastian's betrothal to the rumored diamond of Dentara a girl, still at the age of 10 hidden in the county of Orin along the northern coast called Eleanor. Seething with rage and the broiling jealousy Hector took the opportunity during a practice match with Sebastian and slew his brother. Several years passed before the King died and now as the eldest of the King's sons Hector took up the crown, and his brother's fiancee.

During Hector's reign the land plunged into misery, fed by the rising tax's and two failed attempts to expand the kingdom as his father had. A dark shadow loomed over the kingdom, despair, poverty, sickness and death plundered its way through the citizens. Despite the constant calls for help, the commoners were ignored, punished for their so called, 'crying wolf' by more taxes, imprisonment and on occasion, death. Over the past few years however a flame has grown, starting out as a candle, as the citizens became more despondant a few brave souls called out to their bretheren. Now the court faces a new threat, one that the King pushes to quell, but his choices only create more friction, and now that candle glows brighter than ever before.

Somewhere down the hallway a heavy door slammed shut, and the feeling of dread grew into a gnawing monster in the back of Eleanor's mind. Silently she prayed, lifting her gaze to the darkening sky, only to be answered by snowflakes that started to drift towards the ground. Almost too quietly the door to her suite creaked open, sending a tidal wave of shivers down her arms and back. The door clicked shut and the bolt slid into place. If it was anywhere near possible the rooms temperature plunged, flashing her mind back to the time when she and her brother had fallen through the ice of a frozen lake before being jerked back to the present as a colder, bony hand settled on the back of her neck," You look lovely my dear." Hector crooned against her earlobe. Slowly he slid his other hand down her arm and took her hand in his, turning her to face him. He was by no means handsome, skin and bones would be the only way to describe Hector, skin and bones with scars lining his face and loathing that bled through his expression, distorting his face even more.

" I did not see you at lunch Eleanor, I feared you might not fare well, so here I am to check on you. Only to find you staring out at the frozen trees." the last sentence was accented by the grazing of his fingers along her jawline, tilting her face up towards his. " I am quite well Your Majesty I was simply not hungry." He released her chin aggressively and turned stepping away from her and walked in a pacing fashion before stopping and tapping his chin," Oh yes, that reminds me, I overheard something today and I thought that perhaps you might shed some light on it." Her aqua gaze followed him as he walked and then spoke, fear invading her mind despite her stoic exterior. " How may I help you Your Majesty."

" Just this morning I overheard my Captain of the Guard issue an order that the City Guard patrols were to be cut in half. Now the funny thing is, is that I KNOW that I didn't approve of this measure. But, oh yes, the other thing I found funny was that the measure had been approved by my beautiful fiancee." he looked at her coldly and dropped his voice," Don't you dare lie to me." Without changing expression she nodded," I did approve this." What came next was entirely expected as stars dazzled her eyes and pain lanced across her cheek. " How DARE you approve this without my say so!" he shouted, towering over the 5'3" woman. Cowering she backed up, rattling the glass in the doors, as she bumped into them. " Hector, there's been no sign of movement and the weather is tak-" her attempt to convey her reasoning was cut short by a splash of red across her vision and the sound of thunks as her knees collapsed to the floor. " I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, do not talk back to me!" He grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her up, tossing her onto a chaise. As he progressed towards her his cold face morphed into a sneer, then a smirk, his hands went to his belt," All that energy to back talk...lets see just how much energy you have left."

(fade to black)

[Sinful]

Bright flames licked the dry wood greedily, sending a spray of sparks up in the air and out of the pit a few inches toward the older boy’s worn boots. Though he welcomed the heat it wasn’t enough to warm him up out in the cold with the snow blistering through the camp, sending shivers down anyone’s spine who encountered it. Closing his eyes, he cupped his hands and brought them up to his mouth, where he blew warm breath on the frozen skin. It did little to rise his freezing temperature. Dropping his hands he stepped away from the fire pit and began to walk across the grounds, hoping to reach the sleeping quarters where he could regain some feeling back into his body with an enclosed fire and rich, heavy blankets made of animals’ pelts, but instead a voice called out to him, causing him to reach a stop. He had not even made it halfway to the quarters. At first he didn’t turn around, hoping the source of the voice wouldn’t call again, so that he could make his escape out of the frigid wind and snow. Unfortunately it seemed to be important, because the voice and the call of his name came again, this time more urgent and hedged with impatience.

“Tybalt! Are ye deaf or ’wot? Ge’ ’yer scrawny ass over ’ere.”

A deep sigh left the rebel’s mouth, yet he managed to give a secret roll of his eyes. Alric Hogan looked and sounded like a brute, but to Fabian the threats were nothing but empty. Slowly, he turned around and looked at Hogan across the distance between them, their gazes meeting in a severe staring match. He didn’t look away, but Fabian put an end to it as he finally walked forward and stood before the guard. Hogan reminded Fabian as a miniature giant; he was over six feet, easily, maybe almost halfway to seven, and he was wide with layers of both muscle and fat covering his body. A long, dark grisly beard shrouded half of his face and thick, bushy eyebrows peaked above his small, bottomless pit-like eyes. Dirt was creased into his rough skin, and on his body scars, long-healed boils, and patches of hair covered every inch of him that wasn’t provided with the light armor the guards inside the camp wore. Most of those in the camp avoided looking or coming near to Hogan because of his daunting size and the way he spoke, but Fabian suspected it was also due to the vile stench that rolled off of Hogan’s body in vile waves. Either way, a midget of a giant fit his description well.

“Yes, Hogan? What is it now? I was just about to get some rest before the evening’s training.” Throughout the day, various training sessions were held for the rebels of the camp. It was always active in the camp, and never a dull minute ticked by. The Uprising was too busy for dull moments to sneak in. Even during late hours, when most of the camp was asleep, there was always someone out and about doing something; whether it were training, writing encoded letters, hunting out in the forest, taking care of the animals, or simply enjoying the presence of the night. During waking hours, there was scarcely time to take a moment to enjoy the day or weather itself; everyone’s focus in the Rebellion was on something else entirely. Say, bringing down the king and his demonized rulership, for example. For that was the spark to the fire of the Uprising.

When King Hector began his reign after the death of his father the kingdom of Dentara fell to a miserable ruin. The king’s ways were dark, twisted, malicious. The people of the land grew to fear and despise him, some taking the risk of standing up for their well-being, only to be imprisoned or executed for their right of free speech. The rise of taxes and bitterness of the king was only the beginning, and didn’t cease after the executions. The murders of innocent people continued and the high price of taxes steadily increased again. Dentara fell into poverty and anguish, a once great, proud land now drowned out with misery, disease, pain, and the evil the new ruler bathed in. Those that defied the king, but were careful not to show or speak it, shared secret whispers of a rebellion. The rebellion. The Rebellion—or Uprising—that Fabian was now apart of, and glad to be.

Curling his lips back to reveal yellowed, broken teeth, Hogan growled. “There is no time for rest, boy. Rarl Fenwick wants to see you before ’im.”

A shock of surprise went through Fabian. “He does?”

“Of course he does! Do ye think I stand round bellowing orders from the Admiral for not’in?”

“No, Hogan,” replied Fabian with a small shake of his head. His surprise hadn’t receded, however. Rarl Fenwick—the Admiral—the leader of the Rebellion—the one who started this uprising—wanted to see him.

[Vdiimon]

The room faded in and out, activity buzzing around Eleanor as she was slowly coming to. Though her surroundings were fuzzy and every little movement made her head spin like a top she could recognize a few blurry faces. What seemed like mere inches from her nose was her Ladies Maid, Moira and now coming into view was a man who very vaguely looked like the palace physician, she giggled to herself, sounded like him to. The somber faces turned into relieved smiles and from Moira and another...man, tears.
" Lord Cornwall, milord she's awake." Moira near shouted to someone out of Eleanor's view, heavy thunks and the rattle of plated boots and a grey haired angel leaned over her. He spoke his voice deep and familiar," Lass, Nora." she felt herself smile at the nickname but the smile faded faster than an arrow at 20 paces at his next question," Hector said you were attacked by rebels...he discovered you. Where did they go?"

She barely remembered anything, everything was fuzzy, except for a few very clear words that rebounded around her brain,' You tell anyone, and I mean anyone. Be prepared for the consequences.' Eleanor remained silent much to the disgruntled Master at Arms. Moira looked from Lord Cornwall to the other man who'd been crying along with the woman," Bryan don't just stand there like a ninny, make yourself useful, the man sniffled unceremoniously and exited the room exchanged a few words with two men outside. The way Moira talked to him one would think that she was the Captain of the Guard instead of Bryan, Lord Cornwall's nephew.

Raised voices and some slight commotion came from outside that brought the attention of everyone in the room followed by Hector barreling into the room, everyone except Lord Cornwall bowed or curtsied respectively. " My dearest Eleanor...oh my love you are awake I'm so relieved." Through the haze and fuzz the outline of Hector's face broke through and suddenly the world went dark.

Flashes of memories permeated the gloom in Eleanor's mind, pain, darkness, blood. Hector's mad twisted visage illuminated by the silver sky as he loomed over her. Choking, begging, pleading, then searing pain accompanied by a severe orange glow, finally black.

Everybody in the room was shocked as Eleanor seemed to pass out at the sight of Hector and then suddenly in a scramble and a shriek fell from the bed shouting," Please....no!" She pushed herself across the floor as far away as possible from the King who looked distraught. From Moira's perspective all she could see what the intense fear that the woman she served showed for His Majesty. Lord Cornwall however, saw Hector's face; and through the distress so public, he saw rage and insanity. His voice boomed through the quieting screams that had set Bryan and the guards posted at the door on edge," Your Majesty, might I suggest you visit later? She has just woken up and is in shock." Hector's rage seems to subside and he nodded before leaving the room in a huff.

Bryan closed the door as Lord Cornwall picked up the sobbing woman and set her gently on the bed, the physician shook his head, finding blood on the floor," All this commotion reopened one of the wounds. I'll have to dress it again..." Moira was shaking with fury," He did this..." Lord Cornwall nodded in agreement, and she continued," He lied, and...and... how long do you think this has been going on?" Cornwall shook his head," I don't know, but she canna' stay here." Silently, everyone agreed.

A week passed before Eleanor was fit enough to travel without the danger of reopening the wounds Hector had inflicted. Lord Cornwall, Bryan and Moira had planned over this week how best to get her out of the palace without the King's immediate notice. They decided that the best time would be in another three days they should be able to slip out, for Hector was to be held in meetings by his war advisers still holding his charade of 'the rebels did it.' They kept Eleanor from his sight, making excuses for her Highness.

Finally, when the time came and Eleanor was lucid enough, Moira dressed her in breeches and a wool shirt covered by a thick wool tunic and finally swung a thick black cloak around the woman's shoulders, plaiting Eleanor's hair before donning similiar clothes herself. Taking back passages and passing Bryan's most trusted guards Moira and Eleanor emerged from a secret door in the stables to both Bryan and Lord Cornwall who waited with three horses. Though the weather had taken a turn for the worse they had decided that they could waste no more time.

Cornwall assisted Eleanor into the saddle and hoisted himself up behind her, while he knew that she was one of the best riders he had the pleasure of knowing, she'd not be able to control the massive war steed on her own. Moira mounted Eleanor's mare and Bryan his own. He spoke quietly before pulling the hood over Eleanor's head, even with the fresh scars that streaked across one side of her face he would not risk anyone recognizing the Diamond of Dentara. " We all know where we are going, and the danger that we potentially face. It will be a week before we make it to Henry's estate maybe more if the weather stays this way. So stay close." with that he turned the horse and led the small party into the darkened landscape.

During their time of planning, Lord David Cornwall had mentioned his brother Baron Henry Cornwall, his estate was far enough away that it wouldn't seem to be the first place to look, and obscure. Henry Cornwall however, was one of the lesser nobles who called his allegiance with the rebellion, and that was something the Master of Arms counted on. With nothing ahead but snow and wind David noted that it would more than likely take more than the week the group had planned on to arrive at the Barony he knew that the roads and inns would be fraught with Rebels and more than likely someone somewhere would more than likely recognize Eleanor but the chance of a fight was far better than risking the woman who had used the penance granted her to assist the farmers of Orin when the drought of the previous summer hit them.

So few knew of her graces and gifts, but he and the woman he had recently sworn to save shared a few secrets of their own. One was that he had been teaching her to fight with a short sword and a bow. The second, well, Admiral Fenwick would soon receive a caravan via Henry Cornwall of armor and weapons from an anonymous donor, with only a note that revealed the words. ' In good grace, protect.' a gift from a woman who despised seeing the land she was suppose to rule bathed in the misery.

[Sinful]

The Admiral’s tent was located on the other side of the camp, away from the animals and crowdedness of the rebels, and closer to the dense woods. Fabian’s shadow stretched out when he neared the fire pit, and disappeared altogether when he walked past and was out of range from the fire’s dark, golden light. Around him he could hear the nocturnal sounds of the night, comforting and familiar to his ears, surrounding the place he called home. On the western side of the camp were the training grounds; dummies and targets were lined up for practice, swords and bows and arrows, crossbows and daggers and maces put away in safekeeping until the next day. The eastern held the stables, corral and pens for the animals, which consisted of a few cows, several horses for the rebels, sheep and goats, a pig and chickens. It was like a miniature farm, although the smell that the wind carried could convince someone otherwise. Finally, the southern half of the camp contained the sleeping quarters for the rebels, both housing men and women and, though not surprisingly, even a few children. Everything from the people to his small, cramped room to the animals he helped take care of, the forest he went out to hunt for food and clothing, and the training he effortlessly put all his strength in, said home in his mind. The rebel camp had been his home for the past few years now, and he considered the people as family, even if some of them he found to be sketchy, or vice versa. This was where he was meant to be, and what he was meant to be doing. In fact, it had been his home from the very beginning; for he had partaken in the act of birthing the Uprising.

Sir Francis Tybalt, Fabian’s father, had been apart of the high knights of Dentara to the former ruler of the kingdom before King Hector’s reign. He’d been prided among others, admired and envied, surrounded with the aura of one of the greatest knight’s ever to have roamed the land on foot and horseback, and to have fought for its freedom and grace. Until, one day, when he gave in to his desires and began to string a web of lies. According to the story his father had told him, he had met a low class woman—a peasant—out in the villages one day and, upon seeing her, it had been love at first sight. His father’s words rang through his head of when he’d first seen Katrina, Fabian’s mother. “Her hair, as soft as silk and pale as flaxen, gleamed in autumn’s sunlight. Her porcelain skin, smooth and flawless, promised me nights of tender caresses. And her eyes—her eyes, my dear boy, the eyes she gifted you with—were as dark and glowing as the ember’s of a dying fire. As bright and of the same shade as a wild cat’s searching, knowing gaze while prowling through the tall grasses on a hunt. And as gentle and intelligent as a watchful doe’s, looking out for her young.” As soon as their eyes locked and he greeted the young woman, Sir Francis and peasant Katrina Lightwood fell in love. The following winter, after months of meeting in secret and exchanging whispers, holding hands and sharing shadows in the night’s throes of passion, Fabian was born.

It was surprising that his father managed to keep his forbidden relationship with Katrina hidden for so long. When it was finally revealed Fabian’s mother had him taken away to safekeeping so he would not be discovered, while she ran, letting the knights follow her in a maze until, finally, she was captured and slaughtered in front of Francis by Sir Peyton, who just happened to be Francis’ brother. It had almost killed Francis, more so than the punishment he was given. While his father was stripped of his honor as a high knight and spent his days living in the underground cells of the castle, Fabian was raised by his grandparents—his mother’s parents. They raised him with love and affection, providing the best they could, during the years his father spent in punishment. In that time period Francis heard rumors in the underground of the king’s sons, considerably the youngest, Hector, and his curiosity grew. He never got to see the boy, only his older brother Sebastian, the next in line for the throne. So when he heard the grave, shocking news of Prince Sebastian’s ‘accidental and unfortunate’ death, Francis Tybalt grew curious and uncertain. Just before the death of the present king he was released from the cells and was able to return to his duties—no longer as a high knight, but a knight nevertheless—it was around then that he met a peculiar man with a fierceness in his eyes and a natural knack for leadership. This man was the first to utter the words of a rebellion—a true rebellion—and the first man to have ever succeeded. That man had been Rarl Fenwick.

The golden flag embroidered with the Uprising’s insignia—a red, charging lion, its jaws parted in a roar—snapped in the wind. Standing before the Admiral’s tent Fabian wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, exhaling a breath and watched it form a white cloud before vanishing in the atmosphere. He had never been inside the Admiral’s tent; in fact, the Admiral had never spoken to him before, despite the blood he shared with his father who’d formed a bond with Rarl Fenwick. Another shiver wracked Fabian’s body and he swallowed, hard, hoping it would dislodge the lump of nerves in his throat. Without waiting another moment to freeze outside the tent or let Hogan catch him delaying orders, he stepped forward and pushed the tent’s shuddering flaps out of his way. Inside the tent it was red and gold and brown, soft and hard, warm and cold. The material of the tent was red, interwoven with gold, and the furniture was made out of rich wood from the trees the vast forest provided. Chairs and tables were placed throughout the space, the tabletops cluttered with tin mugs and plates, cloths and papers, skins and quills and more. A simple bed with thick animal pets resided in the corner of the tent, and on the eastward side was where Fenwick’s fine armor waited to be worn for battle. And there, in the middle of the tent, was a large oaken table with a map spread over its surface and figures displaying the armies of enemies and allies dotting the face of it. Surrounding the table were eight rebels, both men and women. Unlike other armies, the Rebellion did not exclude women from joining their ranks—especially when it came to war. They were welcomed with open arms and given nods of respect. Immediately Fabian recognized one of them, her long, dark hair swept back beautifully while her matching eyes trailed over the map. She reached out a slender arm and pointed at something, her lips moving as sure words met the ears of the group. She had a pleasant voice, one that could be used fiercely in a raid, softly in a song, hushed in a lover’s tale, confident in a debate. Lylia curled an escaped lock of hair behind her ear, not pausing in her statement, and Fabian was momentarily distracted by her until something flashed in the corner of his vision and his gaze flitted away.

Covered in a long coat made of a grizzly’s pelt, woolen trousers and a rugged tunic, Admiral Fenwick crossed his arms and watched Lylia curiously, his eyes narrowed and his expression thoughtful. Seeing him like this Fabian felt a rush of awe go through his system, and he was momentarily dumbstruck. There was a handsome quality to Rarl Fenwick’s features that was hard to not notice. His hair, now darkened by candlelight and the gloom of the tent, usually gleamed auburn and set off his deep green eyes. The set of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose was average for a male, and his attractive mouth was mostly hidden by his beard, which was in the opposite condition of Hogan’s. Despite being out in a rebel camp the leader of the Uprising and its followers—most of them, anyway—knew that hygiene was a factor to be taken into account of. Also, the rebel leader’s build was strong and determined, his tall stance shouting authority. Just by looking at him, anyone would know that a bloodline for rulership ran through his veins.

For a moment Fabian forgot why he’d come here, lost in the sight of the Admiral and those before him around the table, when Lylia finished speaking and raised her head, her eyes briefly darting over to where Fabian stood and away—then back again in a double take. “Fabian?” she said, her visage surprised.

Slowly, and in sync, everyone else turned their heads in his direction. Now feeling small and foolish Fabian had the urge to hunch his shoulders and retreat to the safety outside of the tent, but he had come here because Rarl Fenwick had wanted him to come. And that was what mattered. As if reading his thoughts the Admiral put his hands behind his back, clasped them, and made his way around the table and the rebels and steadily walked toward him. Resisting the urge to swallow Fabian dipped his head respectfully, and then raised his chin, hoping his face looked neutral and not waxy with nervousness. Coming to a halt before him, Admiral Fenwick regarded him pensively for what seemed like several long minutes, before he spoke in a voice that belonged to someone on a throne, or at the head of an army. Not a rebellion. “You’re Tybalt’s boy. Francis’s.” A thick eyebrow rose quizzically.

Even though it hadn’t been a question it took Fabian a moment to realize that Admiral Fenwick was waiting for a response. “Yes,” he replied hastily. “I am. Fabian Tybalt, sir.” In a way it seemed silly, informing this man of his name, since he had been here since the start. But he didn’t dare question the Rebellion leader on it.

Fenwick nodded. “Of course you are. I’ve been watching you. Doing your duties regularly, partaking adequately in your training, helping out around camp. Even before I knew about you; your father spoke of you all the time.” A wistful tone entered his eyes and his tone, and Fabian’s throat tightened. “Although we all have an equal share in the rebellion, some of us are more skilled in combat. And based on my notes on you, I think it is time you become included in our ranks. What do you say?”

Blinking, Fabian said nothing at first. Then, “Er . . . I’m not quite sure what you mean, sir.”

Patiently he replied, “Us.” He gestured toward those behind him, still surrounding the table. “You will become more included in our discussions on the enemy, your training will become more intense, and you’ll be sent out for more than just errands. You have promise, boy. I like what I see. You’re just like your father, with your mother’s courage and spark.”

This time the tightness in his throat was more severe, and Fabian had to close his eyes. His inhale of breath was shaky, and when his eyelids fluttered open, his vision blurred for half a second before everything went still again. Admiral Fenwick waited calmly for his answer, while the others seemed to be leaning forward, curious for his response. Though held back, Fabian could see the beginning of excitement in Lylia’s eyes. This is what Father wanted. I’m finally getting my place. But why now? Why did Admiral Fenwick wait so long to confront me? He frowned at these thoughts, but pushed them aside to reconsider later. Clenching his hands into fists he straightened his spine and looked directly into Rarl Fenwick’s eyes, for their heights were evenly matched. “Yes,” he said. “I’m ready to join your ranks.”

A slight smile curled the Admiral’s lips, though his eyes were what gave his response away. They were gleaming with pride. “Excellent.”

[Vdiimon]

The snow pounded against the 4 huddled figures on the 3 horses, trudging through the thick white layer of pure cold. Above them the sky remained dark and the continuous snowfall helped absolutely nothing. The figure huddled against Lorn Cornwall shivered, he hunched his shoulder forward to block most of the wind. The group had been travelling for at least 12 hours, and the lack of stopping had gotten them quite a distance from the keep, besides that the absent soldiers had him both relieved and on edge.

Slowly a light came into view some ways ahead, the first inn he had hoped, despite the worry over being followed the weather did not permit the group to travel off of the road. When the party arrived at the Inn Moira dismounted as Cornwall had instructed her too before they left the keep and entered, arranging for a private room and two rooms for the night. When Moira reappared and gave the all clear Cornwall slid from the horse and assisted Eleanor. Leaving the horses to the stable boy before entering the near empty Inn. The Inn was on the road between the villages of Hampton and Sherfolk two very small nondescript towns with nothing but farmers and hunters.

In the private room they were finally able to take off the hoods and cloaks, allowing them to dry and warm by the fire as the Innkeeper brought the group some stew, taking a second to stare at the woman with severe scars before Cornwall stepped into his view and pushed a tip into the older man's hands and practically shoving him out the door. Moira plyed Eleanor to eat, who obeyed without a word, kneeling before Eleanor, Cornwall looked at the woman severely," Nora..lass, listen. We are going to my brother's house, do you remember?" the question was answered with a slight nod," Good, ye listen well then, in the morning we start out again, I'd like to see you on your horse if ye can manage." she didn't openly respond. She sort of stared at the edge of her bowl, fiddling with the spoon. Cornwall sighed and stood, helping himself to his share of the stew," Moira you and Eleanor get some rest, we set out at dawn." Moira nodded and helped Eleanor upstairs.

Looking out over the town that the keep stood over was a mixed feeling. The clear blue sky and colorful fields bombarded the senses with the overwhelming summer-ness. However the town itself sat in gloom, Hector had just announced a tax increase and yesterday executed a family who had housed rebels. Crossing her arms over her chest she turned away from the town and leaned against the stone, wrinkling her nose. A familiar male voice echoed from the room," Ye only git tha' expression when ye are thinkin, Lass what's on yer mind?"

" David, you have to stop doing that, you'll give me a heart attack." she laughed, his expression quieted her and she turned around again, setting her palms on the warm rail. " I want to help them....I don't know how but this oppression of Hector's has to stop, soon the rebellion will overrun us. I can't expect them to know that I'm on their side..."
" That's a dangerous thing to admit lass, that you side with the rebels..." he noted, joining her outside.
" I know, but I trust you David, I do." she looked at him," How can I help them?"

A brief opening in the blizzard flooded Eleanor and Moira's room with moonlight, startling Eleanor out of her sleep, she sat up in bed and brushed the hair from her eyes. Staring out of the window as if recalling the dream. Gingerly she touched her cheek and the bold slash-like scars that permanently marred her face. Sliding out of the bed she approached the window, allowing the blue-white light to wash over her. Reminding her of another simple memory, this one not so recent.

Soft voices came through the partly closed door, and ever curious Eleanor abandoned her governess for a moment to listen. She recognized the voice, her father, talking to either a trusted friend or speaking to Eleanor's younger brother," If someone cannot stand up for themselves, how can they stand up for others."

Staring out at the crescent moon, Eleanor made a vow, to herself and to the citizens that ' Hector will see his last day as King bleeding from the foot of his throne.'