Having said goodbye to her father several hours ago, and her mother before that, Elya walked alone for the last time, at least for a while. The throne room was grand, beautiful, the hall elegant and pristine. Usually, some gathering of people were there, a warm crowd of familiar faces. All were gone. Nobles and servants, soldiers and commoners, even the mice that sometimes scurried along the walls seemed to have vacated the premises. Passing next through the council chambers, she knelt by the fireplace, and grazed her fingers over the mantel face, tracing down to the hearth. Turning her palm over, gazing at her ash covered skin, she realized this was the first time a fire had not been blazing, warming the room. Without it, a harsh breeze found its way through bloated crack in the walls, stifling the room with a chill. Standing again, Elya hurried out, to her personal chambers.

As the kingdom had rushed evacuation, Elya knew it would be a long while before she could live in her accustomed luxury again. A clouded mirror, crooked now as it had fallen, reflected a foreign image back to her. A long cloak shrouded her figure, beneath which she wore a linen dress, surcoat, and chaperon. The dull, drab colors seemed to almost blend into her now dark brown hair, which laid in messy curls over her shoulders. Just a week ago, on her nameday, she had worn her then golden hair in braids snaking around her head, a long dress of twenty layers, the color of a blooming rose in the first days of spring. Now, the only tell of her noble birth was the retention of all her teeth.

A few minutes later, the case containing her musical instruments tucked under her arm, her other hand resting on a staff, Elya approached the stables. Beneath her skirt, pinned to her flimsy petticoat, she had smuggled her favorite golden tiara. Trying not to think about anything at all, as every possible thought was upsetting, she readied her horse's saddle. Nimerya felt a sympathetic bond to her rider, and so whinnied to convey her uneasiness. Elya responded with a gentle melody, vocalizing on a neutral syllable as she climbed onto the mare, who calmed after a moment of listening to the quiet song. After fastening her instrument case to the saddle, Elya rode Nimerya towards the caravan.

Upon arriving by the caravan, Elya spotted those who had already assembled, and took her position at the back of the caravan. Even though she knew that none of the common folk would recognize her face, that even the nobility she had faced daily might have issue unless they were quite perceptive, as it was without any cosmetic improvement, and looked so different framed by her now dark hair, she still felt the nauseous seed of anxiety blooming in her mind. Elya knew that upon someone recognizing her, word would escape one way or another, and any one of many enemy forces would attempt to take her as a hostage. If that were to happen, she was less worried of her own safety, and more concerned with what might happen to those whose lives were not worth any gold to those who had it. A shiver ran down her spine, as she lowered her chaperon, letting the hood shroud her face in shadow. Her song for her horse fell to silence.

Lea would be her name now, for at least as long as she could maintain her façade as just another citizen seeking refuge. Raising her hand to her chest, she felt the slight, imperceptible indentation of the scroll marked with her father's seal. A grim smile came to her face, as she realized she had only that to prove her identity. That tiny piece of parchment was the one thing the could save her upon reaching refuge, while at the same time, its contents could kill her. With a small glance over her shoulder, she wondered where her father was. Erasing the thought from her head after a moment's consideration, she turned back to face the caravan, still trying to remain inconspicuous to the others as they passed.