Ties Unbroken

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Conceited Beauty, #d6bd31, solid, 10"]With the rise of the sun, feelings of dread and agony were brought to the forefront of the eldest Wittacre heiress' mind. Not even the golden touch of the sun's blinding rays could wake the beauty from her daze. She never spoke of her fears, nor her agonizing nightmares which left her paralyzed each and every year. Catherine had been forced to gain a certain adulthood the day her family had been slaughtered. She was only a child, as was her brutally beaten sister.

As such, each and every year she put on a brave face. No one was supposed to know her true identity. She would never let them see the pain it caused her to relive the horror, it was a weakness she wanted to be rid of in the world where only the strong prevailed.

Catherine stood from her previous seated position in the sill of one of the many high tower windows. Irritation was plain on her face. A small living area claimed the space around her, with windows on all sides to let in as much light as possible, as was a common Southern custom. There was no room higher unless a person ran halfway across the castle to another, taller spire. The sun brought a glow to the woman's face, making her shine like a goddess brought down from heaven to enlighten the blessed men of Earth. The rays glittered against the deep blue silks she wore, the closest color to black she held in her wardrobe. But in the light, it was hard to compare such a rich navy to anything so dark as black.

The Queen sat opposite of Catherine near the top of the stairs which spiraled around the room in a descending pile of white beams. Her elegance mirrored that of the Northern gem's, only in a tanned Southern image of grace. Neither of the women wore a decent expression on their face, the one's there being that of annoyance. Their matched feelings were for one man. A step son, and a betrothed.

William, what has gotten into you?

"What's taking him?" Catherine growled. "They found my little sister, damn her foolish nature for going out unchaperoned, and they found William with her. He should be here by now."

Catherine bit her thumb anxiously. Such an act was unbecoming of someone for her stature, but she couldn't help but be worried for the man. Not only him, but for herself. He put her future at risk by acting without thinking, and on behalf of none other than Ellara.

I am your betrothed. I am to be Queen. Why spend so much time worrying about where one fool has gone?

"Can you believe it? William, of all people, going out at the mere mention of Ellara's absence." Catherine hissed. Her anger was directed towards the man, and not the Queen in the room. Nevertheless, she apologized for her anger. "Forgive me, your grace, I can't help but be upset."[/fieldbox]

 

[Rambunctious]

[fieldbox="The Bewitching Queen, #FFFFF0, solid, 10"]A soft wind snuck into the Queen's solace, caressing her cheek gently, leaving a cold feeling. There was only little to no sound in the beginning. It was stark silence, only the soft southern wind blowing and the feint noise of courtyard ruckus. Amelia sat in almost perfect posture -- her back straight up replicating a ninety-degree angle, her dress exhibited no wrinkles, and her hands on the table. Her fingers fiddled around each other, her nails pressed against her soft flesh. A feeling of annoyance and anger ran through her body. She felt impatient. Her eldest step-son was running amok once more, what's worse? It was all for another woman. Sheer disappointed laced her calm expression. She reluctantly took the handle of her cup and slowly indulged herself in bittersweet tea. She hoped for sweet southern wine, but, she withdrew herself from exhibiting vulgar appearance. Especially in front of Catherine. Amelia felt embarrassed for feeling intimidated by a Northern girl.

Aging was never a favored feeling to any woman within the South; youth was beauty not elders. However, the Goddess Nevir, smiled upon her, allowing Amelia to age slowly and gracefully. Her fingertips grazed against the feint wrinkles on her cheek. As time passed the two by maidservants walked by retrieving dresses, replaced the cold tea, inquired about their current well-being. It grew repetitive.

Luckily Catherine had an outburst.

"What's taking him?"

"They found my little sister, damn her foolish nature for going out unchaperoned, and they found William with her. He should be here by now." Amelia kept in a little chuckle. It was surprising to see the elegant and collected Catherine irritable.

"Can you believe it? William, of all people, going out at the mere mention of Ellara's absence."

"Forgive me, your grace, I can't help but be upset." Catherine apologized. Amelia waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. "No apologies needed. He is your fiancé, I'm sure you're worried about him." Amelia cooed reassuringly.

Shortly after the door creaks softly. Quick to the sound, Amelia turns her head around to see a handmaiden and William. The boy had sweat on his body, specks of dirt, and a circular band of flora on his head. Amelia was quick to muster out a face of worrisome. To her fraud maternal senses, she stood up hurrying to William, draping her arms around him. "Thank the Goddess! You're fine!" She said in joy. She looked up at William with a thin smile -- only to be given with a half smile. She unlatched her arms and walked away to her seat, brushing off the wrinkles of her pristine red silk dress. Amelia gestured towards the seat between herself and Catherine. "Please."

William reluctantly sat between the two females, which made Amelia offended. The feeble actions made her quick to assume his feelings towards his step-mother. "My apologies. I'm not in the best of moods at the moment..."

A single pause.

"Mother? Could you possibly allow me to speak with Catherine?" He inquired so politely.

Amelia smiled, letting out a soft scoff. "Of course. I'll go to the gardens. Do send a handmaiden down to fetch me once your conversation is over. This is my room." She stood from her seat and walked gingerly towards the door, hesitant on leaving. Before her fingers touched the brass doorknob she looked back once more. It was too late to receive any acknowledgement as William turned his attention to Catherine. She left with only negative thoughts.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Conceited Beauty, #d6bd31, solid, 10"]Catherine stood, bowing her head politely out of habit as the matriarch of the Roivas lineage exited the room. If only she held William with such a high regard, then maybe she would have been able to better contain her anger. Painted on her face as thick as an actor on the stage, was anger and annoyance. He sat there unaware of the fire he'd started in her veins, based on his protective nature over the Wittacre's youngest child.

The blonde heiress leaned against the edge of the table and dropped her hand on its center to support herself. Pale fingers rapped against the smooth surface. She scowled. Even irritated, there was no denying her attractive nature. Much like a lioness, her demeanor was not to be challenged, but admired, and taken in as an image of strength and prowess. Her eyes were locked on her prey and she could feel the heat boiling up, rising, steaming, she was fuming. Until the silence was too much, and Catherine let out a burst of her aggression.

"How could you do this?" She asked in a rage. "In such a delicate situation, you left in search of one girl. One fool, who should have known better than to wander off. Instead, you go after her. What if it had been a trap? A lure to claim your life, so that some leech might worm his way to take my hand or that fool's? My family has two living members, and I'd like to keep it that way until I have children of my own. I'm sure your father feels the same about your own lineage, no? He wants it to continue. Not to be crushed."

Catherine whirled away in a huff. Without William as her true husband, or a child of her own, she felt threatened. It would have been easy to replace her with someone from another family without so much as a simple decree. Either that, or if anything happened to William, there would be no telling of her place according to the rich Southern kingdom. She wanted to stay at the pinnacle of luxury and perfection so long as it suited her needs. The Prince was a liability out of her control.

"Did you think before you stormed out? Honestly William, I'm disappointed in your behavior. You made me sick with worry." Her sour tone smoothed out until it was as soft as velvet, and just as alluring. Now that the steam had escaped, the woman was better able to keep a lid on her emotions. The outburst was done with, her negative emotions expressed.

Eventually she sat back down in a chair and began to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. Amelia had remained flawless in her worry, and Catherine was determined to be just as graceful if she could manage it. The woman, although her age had begun to show, was beautiful. A true Southern gem where Catherine was a drop of snow, melted by it's light. In time, the heiress told herself, she too would shine just as brilliantly.

"Speak quickly. I still have my idiotic sister to deal with next."[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Temperate Prince, #999999, solid, 10"]Grey eyes glanced at eyes of a lioness. They were locked on each other -- like two predators ready to attack. It was the animalistic senses the two reacted on. It was obvious she was angry, William didn't react to quickly to her change of positions. He sat up as his fingers curled up creating a fist. There was a feeling of relief that flowed in his veins, he was aware of what fueled her anger. There was not an apologetic word that hovered over his lips. He had nothing to be sorry for.

"How could you do this?" She was the first to attack. "In such a delicate situation, you left in search of one girl. One fool, who should have known better than to wander off. Instead, you go after her. What if it had been a trap? A lure to claim your life, so that some leech might worm his way to take my hand or that fool's? My family has two living members, and I'd like to keep it that way until I have children of my own. I'm sure your father feels the same about your own lineage, no? He wants it to continue. Not to be crushed." Catherine attacked him quickly and continued and continued. William inhaled deeply and exhaled softly. He kept his tranquility in his grasp, yet, it was in the cusp of slipping. He was appalled by Catherine, fool? She used the word fool to describe her only family.

He scoffed softly unable to find the words to describe how shocked he was. Thankfully, Catherine halted with her words and managed to speak without a hint of cruelty. William relaxed his muscles and leaned against the backing of the chair. "Did you think before you stormed out? Honestly William, I'm disappointed in your behavior. You made me sick with worry."

"I believe you shouldn't worry about me Catherine. My father has three sons, two more if I leave. You can marry either one." He stated bluntly. "You should also be more kinder to your sister..." He spoke softly. William was quick to protect Ellara, it was just too cruel. She was only praying in the temple of her Gods -- if only Catherine knew, she would certainly change her demeanor towards the situation. A moment has passed and Catherine spoke, which returned William to the reason why he visited her.

"Speak quickly. I still have my idiotic sister to deal with next."

"The North..." He spoke the word as if it was forbidden. "The Layne family has taken control of the North, or, half of it. The rest of the half is being ruled over the Mountain Children. I believe the next Council meeting the Layne family will come to the South to represent the North." The Layne family, William was quite sure they despised the South. William remembered the Layne's family's slit eyes creating a glare over the South with its Northern winds. The one Winter that got colder and colder -- they brewed up a storm no other God could create. "I think you should go see the head of the Layne family. I'm sure they aren't aware of your being."

Anybody in the North have not a clue that the Whittacre's still draw breath.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Conceited Beauty, #d6bd31, solid, 10"]William's words were meant to be blunt, a cold reaction to her already icy tone. He spoke the truth. Even if William were to be harmed, there were still two male heirs to claim the Roivas name for their own. Although, Catherine wasn't so brazen as to admit she cared not which man she married. To save face, she put on a smile and bowed her head politely at his initial remark.

"The mountain tribes? That would explain why no one has gotten inside the castle then." Catherine chuckled to mask her fear.

The men of the North were strong, with a will formed of rock and stone, bold and thick enough to make it through the Northern winters each year. They honed their warring skills and fought mercilessly between clans and tribes, families who had allied for generations beyond the written history of men. No one leader had ever joined the tribes together, and thus, their ranks were significantly weaker due to the fragmented nature of their being. Besides, it was easier to keep a small group alive during the harsh snowy season of Winter.

"Brutes, all of them. They're no more cunning or clever than you or I, but it's in their blood to survive." Catherine explained. It was likely the Southern Prince knew little of the nature of the tribesmen. "Even the women are huge. All of them, massive beings. They live in the snow and survive off the hunt. My family saw to that hundreds of years ago, but it's a story for another time. To think, we don't have the strength to muster an attack on a few old hunters and crones..."

She waved her hand and rose in a flurry of golden locks. Did the man even care to hear her drone on about the North? She assumed not, and dismissed herself at his request.

It was common news in the South that the Wittacre's were alive, but to the head of the Layne family, it was just a rumor he'd heard a thousand times before. He was weary, old, and tiring of the false hopes such sweet words whispered into his ear. Only this time, there was a hint of truth to them. As he'd come into the masses of the South, there were the smallest of details which rang familiar in his head, even with his aged mind. The color of Ellara's hair, Catherine's grace and beauty, and the quick engagement to be between the eldest children.

He hadn't expected it to be true, not in the slightest.

There she was though. The spitting image of her mother, with long blonde hair that curled around her shoulders in a wreath of shimmering pride. She held her head high, as if she'd conquered the world already and held it in the palm of her hand. Proud of her title, proud of her name.

Still, even for a woman of the North, she would prove to be much colder than he remembered.[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Temperate Prince, #999999, solid, 10"]"Its not particularly a laughing matter..." He stated in an awkward tone. Unaware of the Northerner's tribal men were brutal, or so he have been told. The Southern tribes were usually nomads who would pass the Kingdom for rations; few started chaos and all kept their peace. The King despises the nomadic tribes, but the man was smart not to engage in brute contact. William only knew as much as the books in the castle's library offered him - the minuscule of knowledge he bore for the North made him abashed.

However, with Catherine he dared not to show such a weak side of him. The woman grew into something vicious, a mountain lion. A beastly animal with predatory eyes, it walks slowly as it inches its prey when it attacks it leaves a ghastly scene. The sweet feminine Catherine he once knew vanished as the young girl within her thawed in the South's blazing sun. William made no comment about Catherine's explanation pertaining the mountain tribes.

He was simply content with fables. There were no comments about the Layne's households, he assumed she disregarded the families status. Grey orbs looked at Catherine to see her in a daze. "Catherine." He leaned in closer to the woman snapping his fingers together. Once her attention was caught William leaned back against the chair. "Do you have nothing to say about the Layne's families status. The council of the four Kingdoms will be soon." He assumed.

The council meeting fluctuated throughout the course of the year. They meet once a year - recite the status of their Kingdom's, manage welfare, militia, and peace between Kingdoms. The North and Souths relationship is unknown currently. Empty disputes have yet to be settled and family technicalities kept the North and South from ever meeting on good terms. William remembered what his father told him, 'The sunlight of the Goddess can never reach the North - the heavens cannot extend to the depths of hell.'

His father spat upon the North, despised all inhabitants, yet managed to put on a sweet face for the Whittacre. He never pointed it out to either sibling. With no others words needed to be said William stood up smoothening the horrendous wrinkles on his clothes. The action made him appear more proper than he truly was. Before his leave, he looked back at Catherine with a forced smile. "You should be more gentle with Ellara. She's still heartbroken, now the most. It would be most appreciated if you could act like her sister for once." He left the room with a bow. William walked down the elongated hallway, he felt relieved to speak such words to Catherine. The blonde heiress seemed to have grown colder the year.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. The years grew tougher on him. Each time a second has past he was closer to the crown and farther from her.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Last True Northern Warrior, #eba45e, solid, 10"]In this distance were the tall spires of the Southern castle, a distant memory in the aging mind of Peter Layne from similar meetings of the four councils. The sun shined atop the tips of the tiled peaks and illuminated the white marble to make the structure appear heavenly. The country known for its luxuries never failed to impress even the sour Northern visitor. It remained the epitome of affluence and leisure, yet still had the iron grip of a ripened soldier to back up the seemingly lazed nature of the country.

Peter was a man of sixty years. He had a long, pointed face with a gray head of hair still growing atop his head, and pointed stubble around his chin. Constantly he looked as if he were surprised, with a high set brow and thin wiry hairs lining them. In truth, the man was rather bored. He'd lived a long life and had nothing more to give to the world. He lived through several wars, served as the advisor to the Wittacre King, and had joined the North after his passing. Peter Layne was old and had sons of his own to pass along his duties. His body was no longer able to fight, his mind had become forgetful, but he remained vigilant as an elder to his country. Always jovial and good natured, Peter had become an icon of survival to those who had been so terrorized by the massacre ten years previous. With three sons to his name, all grown men with their inheritance laid out in plain writing now that Peter had no desire to rule. The eldest had claim to the throne of the North in place of the deceased Wittacre King, and though he wore the crown with a humble demeanor, his personality was anything but. The second son remained a diplomat as he had long desired, and was in fact among the procession who traveled in Peter's company. The third son would inherit a keep, and be the military force the North so desperately needed.

Beneath him, his horse trotted slowly towards the outskirts of the city. The mare panted and huffed, tossing its mane every few steps to express an annoyance with the distance traveled. Peter's backside was sore and he was weary from the long ride from the North. Had it not been for the massive train he sported, carriages and gifts as well as soldiers and supplies to last the visit, the month long ride could have been shortened to no more than a single week. Alone, he was sure that with good speed the night would have concealed his leave, and the morning make way for his arrival.

He had no love for the Southern Kings and their graces, rather, he disliked them for their deceit and longstanding history with his own family. Roivas and Layne were not two names heard commonly together, and never in good relations. No one recalled when their feud began. It simply was. Like fire and ice, North and South remained distant towards one another throughout history. Through time though, they had been allies, when the Western name joined them briefly. The East simply stayed alone, their colonies spread out over a massive series of islands. The trivial matters of the main land were nothing to them.

"What do you think of it?" Peter turned to his second son, Bryant. A spry lad of only thirty years, he had plenty to learn and was always open to advice from his beloved father. He had inherited his mother's good looks, thank the Gods, but was otherwise a rather average individual compared to his brothers. Always quiet, and always thoughtful.

Bryant looked to his father with a knowing look in his eyes. He wasn't referring to the gleaming castle in the distance, or the ripe fruits that adorned the bountiful lands. Bryant had never ventured this far South, but even so, he still knew his father wouldn't bother to ask him what he thought of the rich lands.

"I'm wary of the news, as we all should be. But I wish with all my heart for it to be true. I consider them to be cousins, brothers and sisters if I were being honest. If they are indeed alive, as the reports have indicated, well... it hardly matters what I think then." Bryant responded. All the while his eyes remained focus on the destination ahead.

Peter grinned and nodded his head once in approval. "I agree. I swore to their father I'd keep them safe, long ago, and I haven't been doing a very good job. My eyes aren't what they used to be, and I simply cannot see this far South."

-​

The very second Peter stepped foot in the noble courtyard of the Roivas family he'd received strange looks. Many had heard his name, but didn't expect the fragile looking man before them. Some were surprised while others harbored looks of annoyance, even hatred. Even so, it was beyond them to act on their whims.

No familiar faces came to greet them. It was a sign which made the Lord fear for the worst. Where were the Northern supporters? Survivors? Was there anyone left who would stand up for the girls he prayed were alive?

Peter and his son were escorted through the halls. All around them it was quiet, save the sound of their boots against the stone. The soldier before them didn't say a word. He simply motioned them into a room with tall windows and lavish decor giving an elegant feel to the room. At the sight of a mound of fox fur, Peter's heart nearly skipped a beat.

She loved fox fur. Could it be? Is she really...
[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Ambitious King, #1f276e, solid, 10"]There was a distinct taste in his mouth when he last stepped foot on the Northern territory. The dark bricked castle was cascaded in a lovely white - it ushered a sense of purity. It was a taste of innocence. That taste has lost its novelty after a loss of life. Edgar could see the inhabitants of the North festooned in fur coats and thick clothes. It was unusual to see so many clothes on one body, it was a shock to his two sons. His late wife was always fond of the North. The Southern woman had an unconditional love for the cold. Edgar believed that woman was a queer of a human. Supposedly, the Northern people enjoyed her company than his. Edgar loathed the North, there was a sense of jealousy he had for the North. It swept up the woman he loved.

Maybe that was the emblematic root to his hatred for the North.

"King Edgar." A lanky servant dressed in the Souths colors entered. Edgar grunted before speaking. "Yes."

"Lord Layne is here with his son, Lord Bryant."

"The bloody Layne's..." He thought grimly. "I will be out in a moment," He spoke in a gruff tone. "Of course my Lord." The boy left. Edgar grew cautious towards the Layne. The beloved family of the North that met their folly - the loss of the great Whittacre king had the man mad in the cold. The Northern inhabitants hang by a fragile thread. There were false rumors spreading within the Kingdom of the Wittacre still breathing; that they supposedly laid eyes on the late King. The dead cannot speak, they have ascended to a higher world.

He rose from his seat exiting out to where he see's Reginald in attention. There was a slight discomfort in Reginald's motions. Edgar turned to whereas Reginald followed behind. "Where are the Northerners?" Edgar inquired. "They're in Solis room." Edgar gave a brief nod. Edgar has only encountered the Layne man once. He never spoke to the man, but he recalled seeing him once in the castle. Never had the genuine interest in others of the Northern council. Yet, he grew a hatred towards the Layne due to their upstanding position as the Watchers of the North. He assumed that the North was demolished and not a family had the courage to keep it standing. He underestimated Northern vitality and strength. He simply had to melt the Northern spirit - he broke King Wittacre's, the Layne family is nothing to him.

They stopped at a smooth wooden door with a sun decor. Before Edgar entered he whispered in Reginald's ear, "Keep Ellara away from the Layne man." Reginald furrowed his brow in confusion but quickly dispersed obliging to orders. With that, he entered the room. His eyes landed on the two Northern men - one aged man and another young. He mustered up a smile for the two men. However, his smile could not mask his hatred for the Layne's. He recalled the aged man's face to be a bit more youthful in the past. The only thing that was left of him was the sickly pallor of his skin that his son bore. "Lord Layne." Edgar bowed curtly. He circled around the table seating himself in front of the two men. When he circled his eye caught a glimpse of fox fur. The orange color made the origin of the fur apparent. He chuckled softly, "How long has it been since the fall of the North?"

His voice was condescending towards the two. "A decade? The time has slipped from my fingers like I sand. I can only remember grains of that night." The ambiance was tense. The air that surrounded them became palpable, almost suffocating to a mere spectator. "All I remember was that there were two young girls, one knight, a trainee, and a maidservant. They were all dirty and sweating from fleeing the North - but - I remember seeing blood. A pool of blood leaked from one of the girls necks. I assume one of the rebels got a hold of her." He recalled the horrendous night as if it was a myth. "But here they are, in my protection." He chuckled again. "Alas, that day has passed us by many years. I'm surprised of your early arrival, the council meeting is the day after tomorrow." He turned the corners of his lips into a mischievous smile. "Or do you wish to see the girls?"

There are ample of people who fled from the North to the South that wished to see the Whittacre descendants. There are still many who believe that they are all dead and that the sisters were simply frauds. It grew into a large controversy in which numerous people began to cause a small problem between the Northerners inhabiting the South. Though the problem has failed to reach into an outburst to be cared with. Edgar simply brushed it off his shoulders.

"I hope you plan not to stay too long for the day, the castle has been running amok with the upcoming wedding." He threw the words out. A servant entered the room perfectly with a tray of Southern sweets and sweet citrus tea. The aroma filled the room, suffocating Edgar's nostril with the smell of oranges. "Summon Lady Catherine," He ordered once the tea and sweets were settled on the table. The servant bowed to Edgar and the two Layne men.

The door shut gently which left the men in silence.[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Last True Northern Warrior, #eba45e, solid, 10"]Peter listened to Edgar, soaking in the hostile tone as he all but cursed the two Northern men who sat before him. His subtle undertone was not missed. From what he gathered, at least one of the girls was alive. No, Peter corrected himself, they both had to be alive. He couldn't accept that after all this time, all the rumors and whispers, that they were both gone from the world.

"Do not taunt me, being early." He scoffed. "The journey from my home in Morrin takes a week with a small entourage, I'd consider myself late, what with how long it took with my men. Though the trip is possible on one's own in much less time..." Peter waved his hand, dismissing the long journey as if his backside didn't ache.

Bryant peered to look at his father for a hint of advice, but was met with a stone slate. The younger man shifted the weight to his left leg and narrowed his eyes in suspicion of the Southern King. He didn't like the words being thrown out in the air. Blood? His protection? A wedding? The details needed further explanation, preferably from a more trusted tongue.

"I long searched for those girls." Peter spoke quietly. "Sent out parties to the mountains to search the tribal camps, checked the bodies left behind in the hope that I might find them, if only for closure. Now you mean to tell me that after ten years you had them this entire time? In your, as you would call it, protection? I trust, from one father to another, that if I found any of your sons I would make you well aware of the fact. I did not come for fear you would be angry at the accusations, but now I see that such apprehension was warranted. You would have turned me away, but not out of anger, but because you held them right under my nose."

It was a poor excuse, surely. Peter had ten years of opportunity to check the South himself, yet not once had he bothered to make the journey. A fact that embarrassed him greatly. Putting aside past grudges was too hard, even when it came to the girls he dared call his own family. With the sneak attack having happened the same night the girls went missing, Peter felt he couldn't trust anyone. As much as he wanted to come to search, would Edgar have let him? Most likely not. Invading the South would have meant the second coming of war.

"You're a shameful man." Peter's voice was still low. His eyes, so old and worn, lit up with hatred. "A poor excuse for a father."

Bryant moved to take a step between his father and Edgar, but was interrupted by the sound of an opening door.

"You wanted to see me, Ki-" Catherine paused. She didn't know what to make of the scene in front of her. Ten years separated her from the familiarity of the Layne family, and her eyes felt deceived. She took a step forward and touched the fur draped over Bryant's shoulders. He stood still while she examined his Northern attire. Thick pelts to keep warm for the journey, black leather in place of the armor he wanted to don. Two pairs of unbelieving eyes examined the gorgeous blonde as she draped her hands over Bryant - as if he wasn't there at all.

"Catherine?" Bryant whispered her name, and was met with a shocked expression. But there, in her eyes, was recognition.

"Bryant? Uncle Peter?" She turned from one man to the next. "You. You're here. But...why?"

"Child, don't ask questions." Peter's face broke out into a smile. Catherine responded just as gracefully, grinning from ear to ear, but it looked artificial still. The old man hardly cared in the moment. They embraced, Bryant watching awkwardly, and waiting for his turn to ruffle her hair.

"There's to be a council meeting. I guess no one told you we were invited." Peter explained into her golden locks. His eyes turned dark, glaring towards Edgar.

They keep much information from you, don't they?[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Ambitious King, #1f276e, solid, 10"]The two Lords fought with silver tongues and dark glares. Exchanged blows to their pride to see who will anger quickly. A jaguar would growl lowly as the lynx would conjure up a fighting face - the suns blade against the moons. There is never a winner between the two, both will collide into calamity. There was an icy tone that left the Layne's man's lips. It had not affected the sun's bright light so shall it not affected Edgar. He spoke those words in the North his last visit. The condescending words fell from the cold lips to the South. He wore a suit of arrogance and hid pride underneath his thick armor. He leaned against the backing of his seat with his hands clasped together placed on the table.

His eyes were on Peter Layne, but he was able to pick up the Layne's sons eyes watching him. Edgar didn't bother his time with the man's son. When Peter Layne begins to speak once more Edgar couldn't hold in the condescending scoff. The man's quiet and voice grew audible to Edgar's ears. "Lord Layne, I do believe I did you a favor. If I were to send them to Morrin my men will die along with those girls. Similar to what you said, the trip Morrin to here must've taken a little over a week." He retorted. "Along with those deranged tribal men those girls would be raped then used as hunting meat." He sighed and brushed off the cold tone that slipped from his tongue. "Lord Layne, you must think of me as a fool. Why in the name of the Goddess will I ever send two vulnerable girls to the North, after the fall of the Wittacre family?" He shook his head lightly as he chuckled supercilious towards the Northern family.

The discord between the two families vanished when the doors burst open. Simply for that moment when Catherine Wittacre entered. The grace she built crumbled gradually as the face of the past returns.

Too many interrupted words for anybody to truly speak. They could only hold each other in their arms. The intimate moment broke away as Edgar's eyes locked on with Layne's. A dark glare caught up with amused ones. There was a clear atmosphere of hatred that was yet known. He forced himself to appear the best in front of the girl. The Layne's presence brought his plan to thin ice. He felt anxious with the younger sister alone. He took no brusque actions, allowed the girl to intake all the memories. Seconds have passed and Edgar grunted softly to get the girls attention.

"Catherine, please sit." He gestured towards a seat between himself and the Layne's. "You've come early for a reason. Not simply because of a weeks-long trip Lord Layne. I'm sure you've heard the South's announcement of the Wittacre's." He shifted his body in his seat; his back straightened and his posture was perfected. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were to defy what I speak. I've heard many stories about the stubborn bull you maybe." He derides. "Now you see the eldest Wittacre, the heir to the throne. The fallen North has fallen into calamity with the tribes running amok. I'm sure you know how dangerous the capital of the North is. Far too dangerous, especially with the winter gingerly approaching." He sighed softly, saddened by the winters rage. "The tribes are clever and skillful in the winter but so are the royal families of the North." His tone grew more mischievous. It was a tone many Lords grew skeptic of.

"The Roivas family will come together with the Wittacre family. Once the union between the two families is complete we shall reclaim the North." The words that spilled from Edgar's tongue was bitter to any Northern man who despised the South. Edgar was expectant of an enraged Layne - nothing more than a few curses and blasphemy. "I simply need your help along with the West. My men are built for the blazing sun and the intense heat. Their skin hardens to protect them from any weather - except - the cold. I've heard dreadful tales of the ruthless winter storm. The tales of cold nights that bring your bones to turn as fragile as ice." There was a grim tone in his voice. In spite of Edgar's boastfulness to his sturdy and robust military, he was well aware of their weakness.

No Southern man could handle the North. He remembered the lifeless tree's that barely clung to life, the slaughtered animals that were used for coats, and the cold flames. He could taste the cold on his lips. Brought his lips to tremble, crack, and bleed horrendously.

The ruthless cold will bring Edgar to his demise. He knows it.[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Last True Northern Warrior, #eba45e, solid, 10"]Peter Lane's smile waned once he heard the Summer King's voice fill the room once more. His sickly sweet voice, honeyed and enticing in the way it begged the Layne duo to turn their ear towards the sound, continued on about war and reclaiming the North. The older man wanted to shout curses, but bit his tongue in the presence of Catherine. They had much to discuss, years to recover in memories, and he wouldn't ruin their meeting with a sour voice.

"Edgar, do you know the story of Aedh and Ursa?" Peter finally felt comfortable enough to sit and tell a tale now that Catherine was nearby. He took a seat on a plush red footstool, his slight frame barely sunk into the fabric. The man only planned to stay for a moment, and not another second. "They're the beginning of the North, how we learned to suffer through Winters yet still call a stone fortress our home. Ursa taught us to be wary of strangers, and Aedh to cherish the ones we love. Through fire and ice, the North was born and given to our ancestors."

Once long ago, the Princess Ursa celebrated her eighteenth name day. It was on that day her father declared that only a man of noble spirit, and of love true, could take her hand in marriage and inherit the whole of the North. The King had battled long and hard to capture the rugged mountains of the North, and long had he basked in the glory of victory from his youth. It was not the snowy landscape it became, but a green valley filled with youth and potential.
His wife bore a single daughter, his Ursa, and died before she could give him a son. Little as he wanted to raffle away his daughter, he had to attempt to find a man worthy in title to take on the task of watching over what he had won. It was not an easy task, and there were many men who believed themselves to be capable of following in his steps.

Seasons passed, and many men came to try to win Ursa over. At first, she loved the attention, but soon realized it was only a ploy to win over her heart. The gems, the letters, perfumes and poetry, they all lost their charm and turned to trinkets upon trinkets the more men who came. None of them came for her hand, but for the land in her name. They wanted the North, they wanted the rich mountains filled with ore, and the long valleys ripe for planting. Ursa grew angry. She grew irritable. Her father worried that no one would meet the task.

He died before he would ever meet the man to follow him.

A decade passed, Ursa remained in her stone castle, but only a few men came to visit. More often than not, they wanted to see if the deal still stood. If a man of noble spirit, and of love true, could really melt the frozen Ursa's heart and rule the land of the North. Ursa cursed them. Any man who came on a dare, a bet, or a gamble, returned to his village with chills. Soon, the land began to freeze, white snow fell from the mountain tops and enveloped the North in it's first true Winter. One such Winter which continued for one hundred long years. The once rich lands dried up and froze over. The potential faded. Now, there was only ice and frost to inherit. It was Ursa's curse, many claimed. None of pure heart had come forth so she cursed the loveless land which had left her with nothing. No sons of her own, and no legacy but disappointment and loneliness. All she had wanted was love, but the reward just over her shoulder was too much, too great.

It was late in the third month of the year when Aedh tried his luck and traveled to Ursa's home. All who had once lived there had fled. The bargain struck by Ursa's father was not as tempting as it once was a century ago. No one had seen Ursa in decades, and doubted she was even alive. Aedh had learned of her through old paintings and legends. When he saw the girl, he mourned for her. She had been left to live a life of solitude in the barren heart of the North. He cared not for fame or riches, but was still a bit curious to see what was left in the ruins.

As he approached, a woman's voice called to him. But he didn't stop. She cursed the wanderer, and still he continued forward to see where she cried from. Alone in the throne room, Aedh found a beautiful statue of ice. A young woman, a icy blue shade in death, had her hand outstretched towards the man. She didn't move. She'd long been stuck in her stature. Aedh reached for her hand and grasped it firm, but was instantly turned to ice. Ursa wept for the man, and soon the land thawed, bringing forth Spring. Once the land had been freed of snow, Aedh too unthawed, and professed his captivation with Ursa's beauty.

It was the story of Spring, of love and a beginning in the North. Of Ursa's pain, and her curse of Winter. A winter Aedh loved, and had lived through only to meet Ursa.

"Only the man who wants the North for it's beauty, and not it's riches, will ever have her." Peter warned. "I love my country, and respect her for what she is. No one can claim her, not a man of Southern blood. Not a man who offers a deal as poor as yours. You want my men?"

He scoffed.

"You'd better have a better deal for me by the council meeting. I've no reason to aid you other than the sole fact you held my girls hostage for ten long years. I won't barter for those years, and I certainly won't give you a pass into the lands these girls are entitled. They will not be yours. Not like this."

The Layne family stood without a bow, and promptly exited without another word. Peter would not be insulted this way. His men knew their place in the North, and it needed no Master. They had managed for ten long years without a proper King and they weren't about to put a Southern man on the throne because of blood ties. Catherine was one of the North, yes, but her betrothed? Peter had yet to see the man, and doubted anything good would come of a pretty face from the Summer sun.[/fieldbox]

[fieldbox="The Kind Lady, #b84265, solid, 10"]"May I go to the gardens?" Ellara asked.

"No."

"The kitchens?" She sighed.

"No." Came the same dull reply from the Roivas house guard.

"Well where am I allowed to go?" Ellara pouted, much like a child.

"The King gave me instructions not to let you leave, and I'll not let you leave." The guard answered, not a hint of emotion in his voice. "Sincerest apologies Lady Ellara, but the King would like to keep you in his sights after today's stunt."

"You don't sound apologetic at all..." Ellara grumbled.

She slammed the door shut behind her and stalked to the long window just beside her bed. From there, she could see the gardens and imagine taking a stroll through them. It was a fine day, if she didn't think about the slaughter so many years ago. The weather was fair, and the wind just gentle enough to rustle her hair. She wanted to be back out in the fields with William, picking flowers and putting the past in it's place.

Her fingers gingerly stroked the scar around her neck.

Ellara sat at her desk and began to write a letter. There was little else she could do but wish to be elsewhere, so she tried to put her thoughts on paper to the one man she trusted. At least, the one man she trusted to break her out of her prison if she so needed it.

But, she didn't ask to be freed, and she didn't ask for a better view, no. Ellara penned her thoughts of the day and sealed the note with a small wax seal, a monogram of an E. In a vain attempt to reach the outside, she stepped back towards the door and opened it to face the guard.

"Excuse me, sir?" She poked her head around the large wooden frame.

"Lady Ellara, as I said before-"

"Would you please have someone deliver this letter to Prince William?" She handed the guard a small parcel, wrapped in the black ribbon she had earlier tied around her throat. It smelled faintly of lilac, and another sweet flower she couldn't name. Her favorite. William, she hoped, would recognize who it was from in an instant.

The guard took the letter and handed it to a secondary guardsman. Satisfied, Ellara shut herself again in her room and hoped that her books would take her to another world instead.

The Letter

William,​

​

Thank you for the time outside of these barren walls. I hope you aren't in too much trouble over my antics, and I promise I will take all the blame, so please don't make any lies for your father. It was my fault. I left without an escort and that was a mistake. After the announcement of our family, what transpired, I've been most confused and can't help but think it's impairing my thoughts and actions.​

​

That being said, I couldn't have had a better day knowing you were there to brighten it after my mourning. When I only wanted to pray, you stood silent and waited for me. You were the only one, and for that I am grateful, to have the time to pray for my family.​

​

Thank you. Long live William the Blessed! With your flower crown and blonde bride, the North is a lucky host.​

​

With Love,​

Ellara Wittacre​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Ambitious King, #1f276e, solid, 10"]Blood and Glory. The two main components that built the South. The two same components that will bring the North down if they do not comply. "No, I did not bother learning about Northern folk tales." He lied in a condescending tone.

He was familiar with Northern folk tales, too familiar with them. His first wife was too fond of them. She read some of them to his first-born and second. Edgar knew who Aedh and Ursa - the two lovers. Edgar didn't believe that love can conjure up a Kingdom nor could it run one. He learned that the first marriage, the second only made him scornful, and the third was only a pretty face. The South had its own strategy to build a strong Kingdom - Blood and Victory. The Southern folk tales never spoke about love, except for one story, however, that ended in a tragedy. A love that killed a man and tarnished a Goddesses name.

Was it their love that brought the Goddess to cry, to bring her to evaporate the life of all things, and left only the after colors of a beautiful Summer. Was then Fall emerged out of the Goddesses tears. A tale that was unspoken but was recalled as the Layne man told his. The North was benevolent and sweet; it left its kindness onto other Kingdoms. That everybody loved the North except for the South. Two opposing forces that will only form an undying storm. Yet, they will never know the consequences, too blinded by the desire to overpower the other.

Northern Gods against the Southern Goddess. The Winter beasts against the Summer creatures. Everybody spectates the two in battle, but they all eventually get bored and tire out.

The Layne man stood, he left with harsh words. Edgar watched the man walk out leaving in a distasteful way. He inhaled and exhaled, looked over at Catherine. The soft footsteps grew faint to his ears - the Northern men were too far to listen.

"Dear Catherine," He shifted his body facing towards her. He grunted before continuing. "Please tell Lord Layne to reconsider this,"

"I want to take back the North for you, to let the Wittacre name breath once again." He glorified their name again. "I cannot do that without the Layne families assistance. The North is unknown territory for only the Northern man can aid me."

"Please."

The begging Edgar was a rare thing. However, some say it's wise to never trust him in that state.[/fieldbox]
[fieldbox="The Temperate Prince, #999999, solid, 10"]The Summer sun was torturous. Lovely from afar, warm to the touch, but once you get tangled in her wisps you will become trapped.

The sun blazed against Williams body causing him to perspire. The three Roivas siblings were found in the courtyard - the swords clashed against each other with spite. The youngest of the three, Timothy arrogantly took down another guard. His blade was light and slender, different from his older brothers who held heavy and bulky swords. William observed his young half-brother from the heat. Allistar stood beside with William watching Timothy. William watched the swords picking up again and begun another round. His sword was safely inside his leather scabbard with the Roivas sigil etched onto the leather. His finger scratched the etched sigil; a circular halo that had the South's Goddess within the halo. His eyes were glued onto the swords clashing, but his thoughts drifted off elsewhere.

His thoughts were on Ellara.

He heard voices from the Queen court that Ellara was locked up in her room. He bit his lip, he knew it was because of him. His impetuous acts brought someone in great trouble. The thought brought him to turn his heels and walk underneath the shade. His body leaned against the brick walls with his arms crossed. He glanced up at the tower to find no one. William did not understand why he looked up, or what he expected to be there. Possibly a peculiar red-head watching them practice from afar. He sighed loud enough to catch the attention of his younger brother, Allistar. The younger prince leaned against the brick wall along William. William looked over at Allistar who kept silence for a second longer.

"I'm sure she's fine brother." Allistar's empathetic voice was unable to ease Williams stress. "How do you know? Father is no kind man, not with the crown at jeopardy." He pulled away from his calm disposition and grew aggressive. He stopped before he conjured a scene, he exhaled softly and returned to his original position. "You aren't the only crown lurking in the castle." Allistar chuckled dryly, departing with a hand on Williams' shoulder. His gray eyes watched his younger brother beginning to spar with a guard. He was left with his thoughts. They stuck onto him like a clingy child, always pestering him, it brought his benevolent side to shaken.

"Lord William?" A woman's voice called out.

He turned to see a slender maidservant with a parcel. He fixated his eyes on the parcel, examining it from afar. The parcel tied with a black ribbon. He was unable to pluck out where a black ribbon originated from. With a confused countenance, he took the parcel and bowed slightly. "Thank you." He didn't query the owner of the parcel. There was no thought or process, he simply untied the black ribbon. The parcel unrolled in front of his eyes. He notices the familiar handwriting and began to pray that she wasn't upset with him. There was a wave of relief that washed over him. The words have stated no dire trouble, yet, there was guilt that troubled him. She was still trapped in her room because of his foolish acts. William acted off, again. He walked into the castle - the prince had a thought to keep Ellara company.

It would be the perfect time to give the girl a proper apology. He walked up the staircases and entered the hallway. There were two unfamiliar voices that passed him. He looked behind him to see two men in winter clothing. The two men completely deviated from the norm in the South; thick clothing was a death wish. Their presence quickly disintegrated when the faint voices grew inaudible. William enclosed his curious thoughts and walked towards Ellara's bedroom door. There were two guards in front of her door with spears. William gave the two men a genuine smile. "Could I see LadyEllara?" He asked sweetly. A voice similar to his father - a bittersweetness that later leaves a horrendous aftertaste. The guards exchanged expressions of uncertainty.

"With all due respect Prince William, your father instructed us strict orders to not let Lady Ellara out." The guard spoke with caution, to not upset the young prince. "Could I simply speak with her? Only for a few minutes."

The guards exchanged looks one more time. "Five minutes Prince William." The guards stepped aside and opened the door. William quickly slipped in the room as the door closed behind him. After the door closed, the door caught the young prince's shirt. He didn't realize that once he attempted to take one step towards Ellara. "Damn..." He looked behind him to see his shirt caught. He looked up at Ellara with a goofy smile, he laughed softly to himself.

"Not very charming of myself," He admitted. "But, I didn't come here to make a fool of myself," He attempted to position himself to appear more mature than he was in that situation. "I came here to ask if you're okay. Are you okay? My father locked you in your room and I got worried."

"I always get worried..."
[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Kind Lady, #b84265, solid, 10"]At the sound of the door opening, Ellara swiveled from her seated position towards the entry way. Her skirts swayed after her as she raised herself ever so delicately out of her seat, eyes intent on seeing who it was who entered her room. She hoped her letter might be answered, even though it was unlikely anyone would be allowed inside. Ellara had never imagined Edgar's fury to be so intense at her leaving the grounds for a day. She'd done it before, many times in fact.

The only difference was that she had a high price on her head, now that everyone knew who she really was. Second daughter to the Wittacre name, last living heir. For a split second, she reasoned Edgar was right to be upset. Then her thoughts reverted to mourning, and she sighed in discontent. All she'd wanted to do was pray. Now she'd pay the price for her desire.

In through the door came Prince William, stoic and proper until he stumbled against the door. Her eyes lit up, a smile spread across her face as William caught himself. She caught herself chuckling at his frantic behavior, so intent on making sure Ellara was safe and sound that he didn't take the time to make sure he himself was in a ready position to walk through a door. Her airy laugh was the only noise after his genuine question.

"Of course I'm alright, how could anything be wrong when all I have to myself are books and a beautiful garden view?" Ellara teased. William had taken a glance at his shirt. She closed the short distance between them and took it upon herself to examine the small tear. Her small hands traced the side of his chest carefully, being sure not to touch his skin. "I'd hate to say you're anything but sweet, William, but you have indeed made a bit of a fool of yourself. Honestly, the door is rather heavy you know. You'll need to see a tailor." She laughed again, but this time raised her hand to hide her smile. Her gentle touch disappeared and she took a step back to give him a small bit of personal space.

It had only been a few days she'd been locked away in her room. Judging by William's fervor, it might have appeared she'd been locked away for half a year without a proper meal. Yet, it was what he said, he was worried about her. There was no denying that's what made Ellara's cheeks blush, and her lips turn up alongside her laughter. She was so happy to know that he was worried. He'd come so quickly to her side and without another thought but her. Ellara's stomach instantly filled with butterflies and her heart sped up, beating faster and faster.

"Of course I wish I weren't locked in here alone. Catherine is upset with me for troubling you. Mostly, I'm a bit bored. You're the first person to come and see me yet. It's funny, Maeve, Arlo, Duncan... not a one of them has come by. Strange really. I didn't realize your father was so angered by our outing." Ellara's brow wrinkled to mirror her frustration. Perhaps Edgar had banned them from seeing her? She shook her head and pushed the thought from her mind.

Ellara circled the skin just beneath her neck out of habit, grazing against her choice of choker, a thin band of white lace. There were questions she had, but she didn't want to bombard William with her mild curiosities just because she was bored. Soon enough, Edgar would let her out, she knew as much. Until then she'd have to make due with her new friends, the pages of old books coming on their tenth read.

"I'm so glad to see a familiar face, there hasn't been much time. What with my family name being revived, and your wedding, the council meeting coming... you and your brothers have been awfully busy. To see your face is a true pleasure. Thank you for being worried, but fear not, all I suffer from is boredom." Ellara smiled genuinely. In a bold attempt to extend her gratitude, she reached for his hand and clasped it in her own. Her heart beat wouldn't slow. She wouldn't deny the feelings she had for her childhood friend, he was family, her only family now that her blood relations were gone. William had been there from the beginning, and Ellara was sure she would see him near the end. She quickly squeezed their hands together before raising his closed fist to her lips, and in one fluid move she bowed her head, kissed the back of his hand, and let themselves disconnect.

In an attempt to lighten the air, she reverted to her earlier self, and teased him. She put on a smile and tried to hide how nervous she felt. "If only you hadn't made such a fool of yourself coming in, I might've thought you to be a charming Prince, coming to rescue me from my tower! Now I see it's the same boy who used to fumble with a sword as a child."

Oh if only. If only there were a Prince for me.[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Temperate Prince, #999999, solid, 10"]
Her sweet voice fluttered into his ears, like a butterfly. The honeyed tone brought a wave of relief when she reassured him of her safety. A big smile on her face brought him break down into a smile of his own. He sighed, "Well, I'm gl-" Before he could finish his sentence Ellara approached him suddenly. Small dainty fingers, ever so fragile, hovered over the tear that revealed his exposed chest. There were goosebumps that emerged on his tanned skin. He chuckled nervously at Ellara when she spoke again. "I cannot be the blame of my shirt," He had a goofy smile on. "The guards shut the door before I could completely enter," He said in a playful way. Their closeness vanished once she stepped back. He cannot deceive himself by telling himself that he was not disappointed when she broke the closeness.

He observed the perimeter of the room; pristine and a faint smell of floral. He recalled beginning in her room as an ignorant child. Not simply just him, Catherine and Allistar would join, constantly play games and chortle at silly quips. It was far simple back then. He needn't worry about his marriage, listen to Catherine fuss over impossible predicaments pertaining to the wedding, or his coronation. Everything moved in an endless rapid spiral. He felt overwhelmed by everything, that all he needed was someone to liberate the stress. He wanted to go back in time. He wanted to laugh at his brother stagger with a wooden sword, Catherine and Ellara's active imagination, and his mother's kindness.

The years have gone by and a laden weight developed.

"She is?" He queried with a worried tone. "Maybe I should speak with her, it is my fault." The feeling of guilt relapsed once again. He shook his head as he pushed the negative thoughts in the back of his mind. "M-maybe," He paused for a moment to recollect himself. "Maybe my father is worried about you. The three kingdoms are coming to the South and they all know you and your sister are alive, and they're all anxious to see you probably." He shrugged his shoulders. It was a plausible assumption, many Kingdom monarchs were intrigued with the Northern heirs. He couldn't blame them, but this newly found thought had him protective over the Wittacre siblings. A protective side of him that differs from his father, and not greed it was out of love.

A soft voice spoke out again. William looked up at Ellara and smiled. Her words were always kind towards him, it never missed a sweet beat. Her words soothed him, she brought out the past, she made him feel happy. At the first sentence, he already had something to say hovering over his lips. She continued and the last sentence made him chuckle softly. The whiff of humor made him smile bigger, a smile that showed his set of teeth. However, that smiled quickly vanished. Dainty hands took hold of his hands. They felt soft yet they looked fragile, like thin glass. He didn't want to make a move, he was too scared that he'll break her hands. His hands felt oddly too large for her's - they were big and the callous made the texture of his skin rough. There was a soft shade of pink that was powdered on his cheeks. The pink color was not apparent unless one looked closely.

The abrupt action had his heartbeat quicken and his breathing grew heavier. He felt sheepish as if the confident prince he was degraded to the boy he was before. Her effect on him was a revelation. It made him review his feelings towards Ellara, but those thoughts disintegrated when his hand was brought close to her lips. She bowed at him furthering his embarrassment. It didn't process in his head immediately when her soft lips pressed against the back of his hand. He felt overwhelmed with a sickly sweet emotion. The emotion lasted even after she departed from his side. His heartbeat raced, cheeks were colored with a gentle pink, the words he wished to say brought his lips to tremble. William shook his head, pushed back his emotions.

He mustered out a smile and a nervous chuckle. he rubbed the back of his neck looking around the room; he was out of character. Ellara began to lighten the mood, which brought him at ease. His heart was unsettled and his hands shook. He inhaled serenity and exhaled his skittish emotions.

"I was," His voice squeaked, which made him timider. He cleared his throat loudly before speaking again. "I meant was, I don't recall fumbling." He chuckled. William walked towards a shelf of books bounded by leather. He grew interest in a familiar tome. He plucked out the book and began to peruse the contents. It was a book filled with Southern tales and myths. He smiled reminiscing at his childhood. Most of the stories ended in tragedies, but the few that ended in contentment was unforgettable. He looked back at Ellara and smiled, gestured towards her by lifting the book slightly. "I remember this book. I remember accompanying my mother to her readings to Catherine."

Within the Roivas Castle, there was a ruckus with the maidservants and servants. Young William watched everybody running back and forth in the Lux room. He was a curious young boy and walked towards the room. Before he could touch the door a maidservant burst the door open. At that moment, he caught a glance at one girl, a pretty blonde. The door shut quickly. The pneumatic air pushed back his dirty blonde hair. The maidservant looked down at him with furrowed brows expressing her anger.

"Prince William, you are not allowed near this door!" She carefully led the boy away from the door. Her push was rather rushed, he looked back in hopes that the door was open. When the maidservant reached a safe distance William rolled his eyes. He looked back once more before walking back to the courtyard. William walked further away from the east wing. The closer he got to the intersection, the closer he got to three strangers. He raised his brow - his curiosity blossomed at this age. They spoke with the head maid with concerned expressions. Followed behind the head maid was a healer. The concerned expressions had him worried. Grey orbs watched them speak with such urgency, till the head maid pointed him out.

"My prince!" She gesticulated melodramatically at him. He walked up towards the group hesitantly; he felt guilty for deterring their serious conversation to him. "Could you please fetch your mother to go to the Lux room?" The head maid asked sweetly. "Okay." He responded. "Thank you!" He looked at the three strangers, they were uninterested with the young prince. He quickly walked away from the group. The break of anxious and fear in the group returned. William walked away from the east wing and entered the west wing. The west wing was illuminated with the suns ray and bright hallway decor. Calamity faded as he walked into the West wing. He would catch a few servants or maidservants rushing down the west wing into the east wing.

His curiosity burned a whole in him. The unsatisfied feeling killed him.

Further down the west wing, he stopped at a door guarded by two men. He smiled at the two and the doors opened widely. Inside, his mother was there. She lingered outside her bedroom balcony, watching the ruckus in the courtyard. William walked out into the balcony beside his mother. His eyes looked down at the courtyard, where his younger brother Allistar began his combat training. "He's doing well for a beginner. You must be wary William for your younger brother may strike you down." She chuckled jokingly. "A jest," He stated. "Allistar is incapable of beating me," He arrogantly spoke. "I've already slain him, I can do it again." He waved his hand dismissively. His mother simply scoffed softly with a sarcastic smile.

"Mother?" He caught his mother's attention. "Why is there a blonde girl in the Lux room? Isn't that room used for special guests?" He looked at his hesitant mother. "Right, it must be time." She waved away the question and turned her heels towards the room. William furrowed his brow in confusion, following his mother back into the room. He watched her fuss over at the bookshelves, plucking out a red leather bound book. The Song of Sole, a book filled with Southern folk tales and myths, most tragic, few jovial. He recalled his mother reading him the tales when he was a toddler. "Mother?" He inquired for her attention.

She stopped and sighed softly, "Your father said I mustn't tell," She glanced around her surroundings then fixated her eyes on him. "Come with me to my reading," She said. He was confused, but he was never the son to question his mother. He followed behind her, curious. It was thought provoking; who were those people? Who was in the lux room? Was she a cousin? An important person in the South? He kept those questions lodged inside his head as he walked towards the Lux room. His mother turned the gold doorknob slowly, which released sparks of sunlight into the hallway. Inside there were soft sounds of plates clattering and maidservants exchanging words.

He entered behind his mother closing the door behind him softly. William looked over at the blonde girl nestled in silk sheets. His jaw unhinged leaving his mouth hanging. It was Catherine, the girl from the North. "How are you, Catherine?" His mother would ask kindly. Catherine responded with a refined tone that lifted the seriousness the maidservant secreted. "Today William decided to visit." His mother said. "C-Catherine?" William inquired.

"Now, now, that is not a proper greeting." His mother scolded. "Oh," He shook his head softly, letting the dirty blonde hair bounce. "Morning Lady Catherine." He bowed at the girl. "That's better." His mother complimented in a pleased tone. "Now, let us begin with the tale of Jaemar and Faimal,"

That time he was unable to take his eyes off of Catherine. He noticed the small bandages that concealed small scratches and feared the other wounds that she bore. Then Ellara came to mind, he wondered if she was within the castle and if she was, where was she?

The memories overflowed William with happiness, which gently placed him in a happy mood. "But strangely, she would never let me accompany her when it was your turn for a reading." He furrowed his brows in confusion but reverted them in their natural state. "I suppose you were a special one."[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Kind Lady, #b84265, solid, 10"]That was right, Ellara gasped at her own ignorance. The North was coming to visit, for the first time in ten years. That would mean The Layne family would descend from their fortress and head South. It was a fragile peace between the North and South, one that could be lit up in smoke at the mere mention of war. Her presence, as well as Catherine's, was crucial to the council's successful meeting. Without the two surviving heiresses, the North was likely to once again turn to their hermit ways and revert to ignoring the other Nations out of distrust. How could anyone blame the Layne's? They lost their King, and not a word was ever uttered about who launched the attack, the blame set on brutes and barbarians.

William snapped Ellara back to attention, in his hands an elegant tome gifted to Ellara from William's own mother. The red script had faded some over time, but was still legible in its reading. The Song of Sole.

"That book and the one you remember are truly one in the same." Ellara walked slowly towards the Prince and shifted the book from his hands and into hers. Casually, she began to flip through the tragic stories, unable to settle on anything in particular. "Your mother gave it to me, as a present one year. She told me she'd never seen anyone so excited to listen to tales of tragedy and woe, with equal enjoyment as the pleasurable tales of heroes and champions."

Truth be told, it took several readings for Ellara to remember any of the stories in full detail. Most times when she was read to, she blacked in and out of consciousness. It was difficult to recount exactly how long Ellara had been bedridden when she first came to the South. She was able to tell the time by the readings, night after night a new story, even if she only heard bits and pieces. Quickly, she had learned to love those fragments, able to piece together a story to tell herself when the end seemed near.

Ellara gave a pained smile. "Special... I wish I could say that was the truth. Catherine was more equipped to handle company, whereas I wouldn't have even remembered your face."

Her eyes grew wide, panicked, as the pain set in. It was the worst part of her day, when the head nurse came to change her bandages and the fresh cut was given oxygen of it's own to breath a new life. The wound bled fresh again as she tossed and turned. A sturdy pair of arms was enough to hold down the child, but she trashed under the weight and cried out for her deceased mother. Maeve stood in the corner with her hand over her mouth, tears budded in her eyes. Duncan was ever stern as he held Ellara in place. Though his eyes whispered an apology.

"Hold still Lady Ellara, is will make it easier!" The nurse beckoned.

"No!" Ellara cried. She was fearful, in pain, and didn't want to have to go through the agonizing ordeal again. "Just leave it I-I'm fine! Go away!"

By the time her bandages were changed, Ellara was too weak to do anything else but sit with her eyes closed. Bedridden, it was where she thought she'd stay for the rest of her days. The only thing that changed where the stories told to her. She looked forward to those. They never hurt her.

"I'm not surprised no one said anything. Even now, the common folk here regard it as a rumor." Ellara murmured to herself. She turned to face William with the same pained look as before, her voice a solemn whisper. "When we arrived here, everyone thought... the head nurse, the healers, even Catherine, everyone thought I wouldn't make it. They thought I might die. I could barely stay conscious long enough to have a reading, and so company was simply out of the question. It was meant to be kept secret that I-"

"Prince William!" A loud bang accompanied the call. "It has been long enough, your father's orders still stand, you had your time."

Ellara clutched the book to her chest and darted her eyes away from William's gray orbs. She'd been interrupted, and now felt too nervous to continue her own tale of woe. As much as she wanted to share the story of how she came about the ragged scar on her neck, she couldn't bear to bother William, of all people, with the recollection of her memories. She reached up, and grasped at the skin beneath her white choker.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything to worry you." Ellara shook her head in dismissal, red locks hiding the embarrassment on her face as tears threatened to redden her eyes. "Perhaps another time, I can- Or maybe- I'm sorry."

Do you really want to know how I earned this cursed scar? My shame, my pain, the only thing I have left of my home.[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Temperate Prince, #999999, solid, 10"]There was a dry chuckle that left his lips. The atmosphere seemed to dim into melancholy. He assumed it was just him, maybe the sudden change in tone. The heavyweight the book rested on his hands gradually fled. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked over the pages. They were turned quickly, only able to catch a few words and names. He looked at Ellara and chuckled in surprise. "Do you?" He asked. "The Southern tales are not enjoyed by any other person other than a Southern. The dark tragedy and carnage in stories. I find myself hating them here and there." The South, tragic.

There was the occasional triumphant story about a hero, or how the town was saved by the hero. William was never intrigued by victorious hero's or stories about dead hero's. There were other stories, the East held stories about mythical creatures within the sea, West held love stories between Mother Nature and Humans, and the North held stories about love and loyalty. He came to the conclusion that the South was vile.

He looked at Ellara and watched how her expression changed. A pained expression that brought his upturn smile to fade into a frown. His brows furrowed in confusion with the sudden change in emotions. He didn't inquire from the girl yet, she spoke before he could let the words out of his lips. He was confused by her words, they didn't make any sense. He simply assumed that Ellara was just given extra attention due to her young age. Catherine was indeed old enough to handle herself alone with maidservants. He believed his assumptions were correct, but today he could be proven wrong. He stepped back for a bit. Her words only confused him more. It pushed him further into the dark.

It was a pitch black, was this confusion? To be in the dark? William would never know, there was always light that shined. His gray orbs looked at her blue eyes. Her blue orbs spoke with sadness. What's wrong? He wanted to ask her, but the question was stuck in his mind. She spoke again, about healers, maidservants, a commotion. He remembered a room that the head maidservant and the healer emerged out of, exchanged dire news with the three strangers. He didn't know what she was speaking about. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know either way. On her last words, he jumped when the doors banged loudly.

He turned to the door, "I-I will be there!" He yelled. He turned back to Ellara, but the girl seemed too far from his reach. She began to stutter apologies.

"Ellara, no, no, it's fine. It's just that," Before he could finish his sentence the guard banged their fist against the door, again. He looked back and sighed exasperatedly. "I must go," He said solemnly. He bowed his head lowly at the woman. "Good-bye, Lady Ellara." He turned his heels and opened the door. He gave both guards an intense glare. He walked into the hallway not turning his head back in Ellara's room. He was unable to shake the feeling that he missed out on something important.

Walking down the elongated hallway, he asked softly in his breath, "What are you hiding Ellara?" The hallways resonated his loud footsteps. As he walked his thoughts were disrupted by a servant. "Prince William," The servant looked relieved to see him. "Yes?" William inquired further. "Your father wants you to prepare for the council meeting. You will make your appearance this year." The servant stated.

His face dropped. He attempted to pick up a response but failed. In the end, he nodded his head and the servant left. A new question arose, Father, what are you thinking?[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Conceited Beauty, #d6bd31, solid, 10"]Since William and Ellara's private meeting, five long days had passed. Technically, the council was late. Unforeseen storms had delayed the Eastern ships which bore the son of the King and his advisor. Everyone was on edge, the North and South had nothing to discuss. Five days and nights left them with plenty of fighting words, sour in their mouths. War seemed the inevitable solution to solve their disputes, but no one dared utter the word. It was too costly.

Catherine had gotten over her irritation with Ellara, finding that such an emotion was petty to feel over a small incident. When it came down to the matter, she herself should've gone along to pray with her younger sister, but it seemed utterly unimportant compared to the sudden announcement of their identities. Although it seemed as if Catherine was constantly disappointed with Ellara, she wouldn't deny that she adored her baby sister. Blood was blood. They were the last of a generation, and Catherine couldn't bear to see harm befall Ellara. This complicated emotional stress often put a strain on their personal relationship, making the sisters seem more distant than they really were.

Since the day Ellara had been confined to her room, they'd patched things up again. Ellara was in a good mood sitting alongside her sister, albeit Catherine could feel the aura of anxiety that shrouded her. The red head was fiddling with the ribbon around her neck, a nervous tick. Catherine stretched her slender hand and took hold of her sister's, an attempt to calm her. They had plenty to be worry about, and the council meeting was certainly not the time for it. They sat at the head of a long table inside a private lounge, representing the literal North side of the room. Only Peter Layne and his son sat beside them.

"Ellara, all will be well. Don't worry so much." Catherine whispered in her sister's ear. "Remember how happy you were moments ago? Uncle Layne has come to visit, after all this time."

"I understand, but Catherine..." Ellara huffed. Catherine gave a squeeze of her hand as her baby sister ranted under her breath. "Everyone is keeping secrets from me, I don't like this. First the announcement, your marriage, the council, now Uncle Layne? Yes, I was excited, but I'm starting to feel like no one trusts me."

The East had found their way to the Southern capital and the tensions were near the tipping point between the North and South. They'd never been allies to begin with. On one end sat the Wittacre and Layne families, and far on the other sat the Roivas family. The heavy atmosphere clashed with the East and West forced to sit victim between them. At the East end, Graham Farshire, and his father's advisor, Bartholomew Baxter, sat quietly among the private council. They had little to say, politics disinterested the East for the most part. Among the West were members of the Ambrose family left over from the gallant ball.

Catherine eyed up the room. She could talk her way into getting what she wanted, that much she knew. Peter Layne was a family friend who would do anything to see his beloved girls back on the throne. He'd advised their father once, and would serve Catherine without a question. Convincing him to aid Edgar in taking Great Kaehr would be nothing more than a wave of her hand and a few simple words of question. With such reputable friends at her side, it wouldn't be long before Catherine could see the snowy North again.

"You wouldn't be here if no one trusted you, baby sister." Catherine cooed. "We're to discuss what's to happen of our home, and we alone will be able to approve whether we fight, and who will fight by our side. Edgar will see to it, you will see soon."

Ellara pulled her hand away from Catherine and went back to nervously fidgeting with the ribbon around her neck. Peter Layne leaned to whisper something in her ear, and she seemed to calm at his words, but her hands never lied. They toyed and toyed with the silky tie at her neck, never ceasing to keep her emotions at bay. Catherine shifted in her seat and moved her eyes away from her little sister. The room around her was filled with a different kind of anxiety. Distrust and the unknown filled the air between members of the council, many eyes fell on Edgar as they awaited his voice to begin the discussion. He had invited the nations there, and he alone would announce the reason for their reunion, though it was painfully clear.

The council hinged on the testimony of two grown women, once two terrified children who had fled their home under the cover of darkness only to find themselves falling into the gracious Southern territory. To piece together the tale of misery was only one objective of the council meeting.

Who would control the North, and how had it ended up in ruin to begin with?[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Skeptical Knight, #808080, solid, 10"]All four nations were united once more. The West, a strong agriculture Kingdom that flourished in food and wealth; known for their unbreakable connections with Mother Nature. The East, a naval Kingdom that was located on a floating island; strong seamen, forged by the strong waves and salt. The North, the robust stronghold of the deathly cold; famous for their endurance and loyalty.

Reginald stood behind the King as he scanned the room with a skeptic's eye. With all four nations together, it was tempting for any assassin to strike. Tonight the castle's guards heightened, more patrols, even in vacant rooms. The castle was a large target and he was to protect it.

He was adorned in Southern armor; the golden glow accentuated the copper color of his armor, his sandy hair was styled neatly as always, on his right arm was his helmet. The helmet was mostly covered, leaving only a slit for vision. His scabbard was secured at his waist, his hand was wrapped around the handle of his sword. His fist clenched around the handle, popped veins on his hands. Reginald felt anxious and protective. He looked at the table to notice everybody dressed in their best.

No other nation has brought their Queen's, not even the South. Only the King and three princes were accounted for on the table. Though it was addressed more than once that females are not allowed to indulge in politics. Women had their dirty tricks, thus, the council has decided to leave the females out of the council. However, this year is special. The fallen nation, the North, have only females to represent them. The Layne family was the representative for Lord Wittacre, but with the girls alive they may take his spot.

There was a soft grunt coming from the King. Reginald stepped back as Edgar stood from his seat. "Welcome," Edgar greeted everybody with a lively voice. The King's sickly sweet tone differed from his usual tone. "Today we are blessed to have the Wittacre daughters with us!" The King gesticulated towards the sisters. The whole introduction felt too grand for Reginald. He shifted the weight on his legs, feeling more uncomfortable. He needed to roam around the castle, ensure the safety of everyone - council meetings brought him to become antsy.

"Today, we have a new problem that has risen over the years," The King started. "The North has been vanquished by its own blood - the savages have come and gone. Pillaged and created a massacre, disrupting peace to our brothers of the North." The Norths current dilemma, tragedy, that was what Reginald thought of it. "I have not entered the North in a decade, only horrific stories," The King sighed solemnly. "But with the Layne family here, maybe they could clarify for us outsiders what the North has become." The malicious content was hidden under such an amiable tone.

Reginald knew Edgar for years and was able to decipher the man. He was not kind, not generous, and no longer loving. Nevertheless, Edgar was Reginald's king, and he will follow the devil till the ends of the Earth. A loyal bound that every knight must follow. He prayed that the years later that William will become a kind but strong King; to serve someone worth serving for.

The doorknob slowly turned, which caught Reginald's attention quickly. The high-strung knight faced the door swiftly to see a young guard with their hand on their swords handle. Reginald walked away from the table towards the guard. "Well?" Reginald asked. "We found a window open on the West wing of the castle," The guard stated nervously. "Though, those footprints came to a halt in the middle of the hallway," The guard's voice grew timider. "There could be a trespasser in the castle." Those dire words penetrated Reginald's tranquility, bringing calamity to his world.

"Tell the guards to patrol every nook and cranny of the castle. Tell the Luna guards to stay outside and the solis guards to have men in every single floor." Reginald ordered. "Make sure that whoever snuck in is sedated and brought to me." The guarded nodded and ran off outside.

Reginald knew that this night was not going to end well.[/fieldbox]

 

[Lillian Gray]

[fieldbox="The Last True Northern Warrior, #eba45e, solid, 10"]Even in such an unforgiving state of affairs, a council with an old enemy, Peter Layne felt comfortable enough to wear a simple embroidered tunic to the meeting of the four nations with nothing more than a wrap of black bear fur at his waist, trousers covering his legs and the start of his fur lined boots. Bryant on the other hand, donned full mail. Beautiful iron armor with silver trim, heavy but effective in battle. There was an odd blueish hue mixed into the armor, an effect of Northern iron. A snowy owl was engraved into the chest to represent his lineage. Mimicking Sir Reginald, his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ever wary if the situation were to become less favorable.

"The stories you've heard are not that far off." Bryant explained. He flourished his hand around the table, implicating any and all tales of the North were most likely true. Faces around the table turned grim. "Pillaging, rape, cities have been razed since the North spiraled out of control. It may be a great advantage for defense, but only when you are on the inside fighting out. The barbarians have rallied themselves around a single tribe, the Crach Crows, but it's still very much a flawed alliance.

"The Crows came to power ten years ago under mysterious circumstances. We've tried to investigate, but nothing ever comes of it. All we get in return from our interrogations are rumors and whispered words that there would be an opportune moment to attack, and indeed as we all know, that precise moment led to the downfall of an empire.

"So, the current state of affairs?" Bryant leaned back in his seat and let out a frustrated sigh accompanied by a shake of his head. "Shit. Morrin has turned to the new capital, no one has seen Great Kaehr with their own eyes in a few years now. Brutes have pushed back the borders and made it impossible to venture any further North back into Wittacre territory. For those unfamiliar with the land, there are only two routes to Great Kaehr from the South, and one is through Morrin, from the Southwest. There is a path going South as well, but in recent years it has become nearly impassable. Mountains divide the North and West, thick forests line the entire coastline, and there are ravines deep into the Earth. We know not where the brutes keep coming from, but it's taken all of our combined forces through the last Northern families to keep them at bay."

Peter and Bryant looked uncomfortable to admit they were at such a disadvantage. It was the most they were willing to give up without some kind of information or aid in return. They still had their suspicions about what driving force had given the brutes their power. It was all too strange, and all too frustrating.

"We have our suspicions someone is supplying the clans, these barbarians, with armor and weaponry. Or at least they had done so at one point. Raiding parties have discovered hordes of well crafted chest plates and steel blades, yet they were not forged of Northern steel. Northern steel, Bryant if you would-" The Layne son pulled his sword partway out of its sheathe, standing to reveal a pale blue glow about the iron. "Appears blue. Our iron has a cold glow."

Bryant sheathed his blade but continued to stand. The silent son of the Layne family appeared more intimidating when he stood, his stature broad and thick, his eyes cold and demanding.

"What of the bridge?" Catherine inquired. "The tower defense between Morrin and Great Kaehr, the ravine is too great there, it's impossible to pass. The bridge itself only allows three, four riders abreast."

"We are still in control of the bridge thankfully." Peter replied with great relief. "But they have found ways of passing in other areas. The forests still hold small paths, but we are not willing to release that information. You and I can discuss that matter in more detail, later and in private."

The Layne's looked to each other, silently asking if there was more to be said, or if they'd revealed too much. With a simple and subtle nod, they remained tight lipped and said nothing else about the defenses of the last bits of the North.

"Now, Edgar, I am quite curious as to why you only just now revealed that my girls had been in your care." Peter asked accusingly. "After all, ten years is a long time, and rather coincidental the more I ponder it. Catherine and Ellara are of a good age to marry, and there's already one wedding arranged. I am not here to spark a new feud but I can't help but be curious as to your questionable timing."

If Edgar wanted to play games with his twisted tongue, Peter would play along. He'd go to war for his family, if the conditions were right and Edgar's answer unsatisfactory. It was as if Edgar had kidnapped the girls for ten long years to win them over with the sick facade of a Southern life. Peter wouldn't stand to allow his behavior to go without punishment. That is, if he was right about his accusation.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Cain]

[fieldbox="The Ambitious King, #1f276e, solid, 10"]Their situation was far worse than Edgar had anticipated. The once great defense the North was known for had withered once the mastermind of it had fallen. Each word that resonated through the Layne men's voices has surprised him even further. Despite, Edgar's stoic disposition, he released hold of his usual countenance and had a surprised expression drawn on his face. It was the first that all council members had fallen into silence - only the words of the North were spoken. There was a civil war going in the North and the barbarians are victorious.

The news was certainly a surprise. It was Morrin a simple road to return to the South, not a capital. The Great Kaehr soon to fade into another legend along with the Wittacre bloodline. The Layne family was not at the strongest nor was any family in the North. The savages were much more populated and well-equipped with someone stocking their weapons. Edgar leaned back against his chair, his hand rubbed his chin with only thoughts of how to steal the North. He felt pity towards the North, however, that had not transfigured his emotions towards the North.

The revelations have yet to come to a halt. The Layne men brought out a sword to the table. He heard the sound of Reginald's sword gradually being unsheathed. The metal reverberated a silvery sound that was sensitive to listen too. Edgar gesticulated the knight to ease his anxiety, but Edgar could not lie to himself, for a moment he thought the Layne was going to slain him there. The sword was unsheathed carefully. Gingerly the sword was revealed to have a pale blue glow. It was certainly the first time Edgar has seen this peculiar glow. The craftsmanship was unfamiliar and the pale blue glow made deciphering, which region it originated from much more strenuous.

He grew silent as his thoughts kept his mind awake. He focused his attention towards the Farshire son, a serious face, stone-cold, never had he had a smile formed on his lips. The East was skeptical towards all nations. The young Graham Farshire had a look in his eyes, the same look that his father had - boredom concealed with a stern expression. The Ambrose family had solemn expressions that elongated their face. Edgar looked away, refusing to spend most his time observing the other nations.

It was Peter Layne's voice that grabbed his attention. Edgar brushed off the man's pessimism. "Back then, the North has just encountered its first major loss. The barbarians are littered everywhere in the North, almost engulfed the nation. They have taken over the Great Kaehr and gingerly taking over Morrin," He cleared his throat before continuing. "And you truly believe I would send the last Wittacre blood to such a dangerous place?"

"No, I couldn't risk it. It was too risky then and it's too risky now. The only way these girls will be safe is under the protection of the capital, Vecuria." His hand brought up gestures to create a much more grand sentence. "Their existence now known to the South, they're in much greater danger. With the Layne's families current struggles in the North," He sighed softly. "It pains me to say this but, you are not fit to protect these girls." There was spite in his tone. His response brought the other two nations to be curious as well.

"Why the marriage?" The Eastern boy asked. "You have never loved the North, why all of a sudden?" The young man continued to persist on the matter. "Do you plan to make the North your's after the marriage?" Graham scoffed in amusement. "The North cannot be taken by just the Southern militia," Edgar began to grow animosity towards the Farshire boy; he wished his father was here, quiet and secluded. "You would require all of our help; you need our help to increase your military, the Ambrose to aid you with food rations and cloth, and the only people who truly knows the North is the Layne family. So, what shall we gain if we help you attain the North?" Graham leaned back against his seat with his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face.

Edgar felt uncomfortable - he felt frozen, paralyzed, unable to emit an answer to Graham's inquiries.

"My father has no ulterior motives. He did what needed to be done, all he wants is the North to regain its glorious reign. The marriage is to simply keep the South and North from another feud." Edgar turned to see William. There was a wave of relief that drowned him, it kept his heartbeat at ease.[/fieldbox]