11 Chapter XI

With a bitter resolute, Pierre placed his quill to the side, 'This should go well with the knife ears.' He rolled up the parchment and had it sent out via his own black, large falcon to brave against the humidity and take it towards the North. The old croon emerged from the dark confines of his chambers, finding himself heading out into the back lawn. They placed several stone statues up in the memory of fallen Delafontaine members. He brought himself to overlook the valley that rolled out in hills and then straight plains as far as the eye can see. Beyond what he could see lie the recently renamed Haunted Forest and Black Lake. He is determined to fight back the Seal of Orcus that was seeping into his lands. His emerald hues shifted towards the bustling town below. They were just as normal as usual.

Pierre had his own Agents dispatched to keep the citizens in ignorant bliss, with a wind of peace and to veil the darkness away from them. He figured he would make an announcement if it were spreading faster than he can recount on. For an Old King, he saw all the shades of ugly and good faces of ruling on a throne. For him, it was all he'd known. Old Pierre ascended to the throne at just age twelve when his only parent—his father—died in the wars against the Elves. He harbored great resentment towards the spineless hippies in the North. His long, grown beard was split into two, braided to keep out of the way of his duties. He never shaved, finding himself to like his long, frail mop attached to his chin and face.

The King of Delafontaine was staring at the statue of his father for a while now, then he turned his back on him. Pierre felt like he did that in a sense of what his ancestors had fought for all these years. It was going against what he firmly believed in, but he felt this was a better approach to another century of a peaceful era. Pierre would have his peaceful state of mind once he joined the others in the afterlife. He walked away from the statue as birds flocked over ahead. The sounds of their songs ringing out as he made his way back into the castle;

To The Elven Empire,

I'm officially writing to you in the name of peace, though my ancestors are likely rolling in their graves as I put quill to the parchment. If it were my way, I would have never written this letter, but the King of my peoples' urges me to do so. King Alistair is still a young ruler, I can sense the great good-will he wishes to seek in these times. I'm an old King myself and I grow tired of seeing crying mothers and children of soldiers who might never return from the battle. You Elves have the upper-hand with your…unholy magic ability.

I'd rather keep communication short and curt, if possible. I am a man of being blunt and honest, do not be surprised when I plan on speaking at the summit. I hold an entire lifetime's worth of resentment towards your kind; you were the ones who took away my most precious parent figure—the only parent figure I had when I was but twelve harvest seasons.

I still strongly oppose this proposed "alignment" of yours. You are safe regarding King Alistair ruling over the human nations and not I. I cannot promise I will familiarize myself with you elves, but I will try my best to learn what you wish to exchange and help in prospering together.

Regards,

King Pierre Delafontaine.

—​

Riding on the back of a carriage, the young scholar made her way from the lands of the southern realm. She had a cloak drawn over her, she looked up at the skies to see ominous clouds rolling in. Sniffing the air to already find a gaianly smell up in the air. She rumbled in the back, with the snapping of her escort's yells over the carriage's loud wheels hitting the cobbled roads. Her luggage kept her enclosed and safe, she insisted on taking the back of a merchant's carriage towards her former home; the Lennox Kingdom. The young Princess had a lot happen to her throughout the years she's been staying at the College of Scholars and Scribes, making her wonder what her parents would think of her when they finally get to see her.

As the carriage made it through the lands, the merchant kept her company with small talk. Though he was no elite in the education department, he held local stories that kept Anastasia on her toes. The Merchant finally announced they were entering the sprawling Kingdom of Lennox. She pulled her black hood over her head, hiding her face from the crowds and people looking their way. The horses were near out of breath when they finally came up to the outside, golden gates that locked out them from the main Castle. They stationed guards at the front, one of them coming over to ask who it was and to state their business.

"Is my father so paranoid to not allow his only daughter into the castle?" Her voice rang out. Stopping the Merchant from answering the guard.

Anastasia produced an heirloom, her family's insignia on the end as it dangled in the air. The Guard ordered to open the gates to let them both through. The carriage wheeled on through the long, front lawn and towards the entrance of the castle. Once there, the Merchant got off to undo the back of the carriage and help the Princess down. A Butler emerged from the depths of the castle, he right away noted the Lennox symbol dangling around the cloaked individual's neck. The Butler ordered maids and other butlers to grab her luggage and to prepare her room.

"My Lady, will you follow me this way?" The Butler inquired, not wanting to upset her.

"I'm afraid I will need your guidance," Anastasia spoke, pulling her hood back to reveal a silver crown/mask of sorts, carefully crafted to shield half of her face. Her raven hair sprawled out in waves, lengthy pieces framed her face, and a loose braid that spilled down her back, stopping just before her waist.

"Forgive my rudeness, my Lady." He said as he held his arm out and guided her left hand to grip his arm.

"None taken, you are only doing your job." She retorts.

Anastasia is guided up the stairs and going through what feels like a maze of corridors before she's lead into a large, opulent room. The first thing she hears is a cry from her mother's familiar voice ring out.

"My baby girl!" Calliope rings out as she comes over, her arms wrapping around her daughter, and pulls back, "What has happened to your eyesight?"

It was a touchy subject she'd rather not bring up, "Let's talk about the summit, Mother. It has been far too long since I've graced the halls of the castle. Tell me of this Elora I hear of from the servant's mouths. Who is she?"

Calliope guides her daughter onto a plush seat, and pushes a cup of tea into her dainty hands, taking her own to sit right beside her. While the announcement of Anastasia's return makes its way throughout the Kingdom, it reaches the ear of her father and brothers in the Kingdom. This sends Archie and young Lorcan racing against one another through the town, pushing each other as they finally burst through the front entrance and both yell out at once,

"Anastasia!"

The King hears his eldest and youngest from the front foyer, dismisses it as he turns back to his own letter in response to Blaric;

Dearest New Ally,

Thank you. I hope to return the same kindness you've shown just in my letter. I will send permissible orders to let them through without further delay. Though some Knights of Gaia will accompany them if you don't mind.

I believe my kin might be much larger than yours. I hope I can meet them all under more familiar settings to their own will. My sister-in-law is very much the same, though she's wedding soon to Colby Beaumont and inherits the throne whenever King Pierre passes—I hope not for a long time. Which brings up the topic of King Delafontaine. Has he written to you yet? I shan't pressure him to write to you sooner than the summit can come—he's had a rough upbringing. Pierre has sat atop his throne since twelve harvest seasons. I hope you can understand his reluctance and…bold words of honesty he might exchange over a letter or in person. The only parent figure he had was killed in the War of Elves on the borders and was forced to grow up fairly quickly.

He's interrupted by Anastasia being guided into his study, which causes him to drop his quill and look at her. His eyes soften in sadness at the state she's in, "My, how you've grown." His fatherly voice atoned. He was most protective of his daughter and he wept for the first time when she went away to the south.

Alistair rose and embraced her. Without knowing it, Anastasia started crying as she embraced him back, the silent tears rolling from out underneath the half-mask she wore. Alistair wiped them away, he kissed the top of her head, "It is good to see you back in my arms, my dear daughter."

"I…I…" Anastasia's voice broke, she started crying in her father's arms again, finding them on the ground of his study as he tried to comfort her. He started singing her favorite childhood tune, rocking her back and forth in his arms. They remained like that for a while, him comforting his only daughter in his arms and she grows quiet while remembering the comfort of her father's arms and tunes.

They were always the closest in terms of bonds; the strongest with his daughter. Memories flipped through her head like her fingers gracing through an ancient book, the echoes of her father's laughter ringing throughout her ears. Flashes of memory, those in faint that she could recall of being the happiest in her life were with her family. Anastasia went through a long and enduring hardship. With her father no longer being there to soften the critical marks from her teachers, she'd learn to internalize her feelings. She grew into one of the more well-known scholar students; she excelled in her studies even now, as she had to learn through the words of another's sight. Her mind was as sharp as ever, losing her eyesight was just one of many things she'd lose while at the College.

All the pent-up feelings over the years came crawling back. The floodgate broke open once she was back in her father's embrace. She felt asphyxiated, her words nowhere to be found, but her silent tears were all that Alistair needed to know that his daughter went through a hard journey to become the person she is today. When her favorite tune died out, he resorted to stroking her silky, raven hair that fell around her shoulders like a waterfall. The rocking never subsiding as she reluctantly pulled back from her father's hug.

"I'm proud of you, my daughter. No words need to express the hardship you endured while in the South. Your tears are all that I need to know. Did you have a shock when you learned your brother would be married soon?" He says.

She sniffles, nodding her head, and laughs out her nerves, "Look at me, I've become a puddle in your arms, Father."

There were knocks on the door, Alistair helped his Princess to her feet. He made her look presentable while he went to open the door. In the frame were his two sons, "Anastasia, I believe your brothers wish to reminisce with you."

Archie stood there, the light in his eyes was as bright as the ones shining in his brother's. Before he could even speak, his twin turned around to reveal her wearing a mask, "Hello, my dear brothers. I apologize for being away for so long, but I promise…I've returned for the moment. Why don't we exchange stories in the salon?"

Archie's smile fell. He felt a twinge of sadness in his heart for his dear sister - even more so as he was her twin. "Can you see, dear sister?" He had to ask, not out of curiosity, though he was wondering what happened to her, out of respect and to see if he had to guide her.

She shakes her head, "I've lost my sight, I'm afraid. But don't worry, I can still picture your ugly mug in my mind." She joked, lightening the mood.

"Ha-ha! She called you ugly! Ana!" Lorcan raced in, a small 'oof!' coming from Ana as his arms embraced her around the waist. He was still growing and still smaller than his sister.

Her hands find their way around his shoulders, returning the hug, "Let me guide you to the salon. There's much to tell, dear sister." Archie says as he makes his way over.

Ana can tell her twin has grown in the last years since they've seen each other in person. She locked her arms around his enormous forearm, "You've grown, haven't you? Not at all the small stump you used to be when we were in our adolescence." She remarked.

A smile graced his lips again, "And you're still a stump, yourself."

Alistair watched as three out of seven children disappeared back out into the corridor. His fatherly heart growing fond and full of love at that moment. He shut his door and returned to the letter;

My dear daughter has returned from the South. I should mention this before the summit. It seems she's lost her sight. Do not be afraid when you see her, she will likely sport a mask of sorts. It's a touchy subject I dare not ask as to make her familiar again in her former home.

Congratulations on your newborn grandchild.

And I've retrieved your books, I've been reading the Lynlore Lineage since this morning. I've only stopped in the middle to write this letter. And again, I apologize for the brief letter yesterday. I hope you find our grand game of horse racing and gladiator arena's entertaining. Though the latter can be rather brutal, we only use it as a source of entertainment for those willing to risk their hide—we pay the winners an enormous sum for braving death in the face.

To Our Future,

King Lennox