Timeless Narratives

In the tranquil embrace of the king's garden, Jhon and Lady Elsa found themselves lost in a tapestry of jokes and laughter, their voices carrying the melody of shared moments. The sun's warm embrace and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene backdrop to their exchange.

As their laughter began to subside, Lady Elsa's gaze held a glimmer of curiosity, a question that lingered in her eyes. "You know, Jhon," she began, her tone soft yet insistent, "there's a promise you made—a promise to tell me the story of why my mother wanted to execute you."

Jhon's expression softened, a mixture of fondness and understanding. He took a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, and then began to recount the tale. "It was a time of unrest, political intrigue, and shifting allegiances," he began, his voice carrying the weight of memories.

"Long time ago when The King Michael Gladrell was still alive. Sir Roderic Iceforge was the hand of the king. Jhon ..."

Elsa: "Wait, that was my uncle? The first time I heard that my uncle was the hand of the king."

"Jhon was a monster of the house of Vaultwoods. I always been a monster. Anyway, The Vaultwood was and still is the most powerful and rich house. My father helped Michael to crash the Cerberus. One day, Jhon—which is me—well, Jhon was tired of life in Narnia. He decided to go to Belgwater to relax a little. When he left Narnia, after one day he heard that the hand of the king is dead. Jhon continued his vacation to Belgwater. Two days in Belgwater, my sister sent me a crow holding a letter that I had to go to the North next month to meet them there. They wanted your father to be the hand of the king. So I went to the north."

Jhon's arrival in the North Freljord was a journey into a realm of breathtaking contrasts. The landscape stretched out before him, a tableau of rugged beauty that whispered of the passage of time. Snow-draped mountains stood tall and proud, their peaks piercing the skies like ancient sentinels guarding the secrets of the land. Rolling hills and valleys, adorned with a blanket of white, held the promise of hidden stories beneath their frozen surface. It was a place where nature's majesty painted a canvas of ice and snow, where silence and solitude wove together a tapestry of tranquil power.

In this land of stark beauty, Jhon found himself standing before a brothel—a place of contrast itself, nestled within the backdrop of the North Freljord's wild nature. The air was frigid, yet the glow from the brothel's windows spilled warmth and light onto the snowy ground.

As he stood there, the voices of others drifted to his ears. Edwardo Legolasa's name resonated in the air, carried by the voice of Bavdos the Bastard—an enigmatic figure who seemed to possess both authority and intrigue. Conversations ebbed and flowed, painting snippets of stories that spoke of a watcher in Belgwatera and tales of power.

Bavdos spoke of being a watcher, of holding a mantle of authority, and of the challenges that came with it. His uncle's words added layers to the narrative, speaking of the need to save Edwardo Legolasa—Elsa Legolasa's father—from the clutches of his guests.

It was in this moment that Jhon approached Bavdos, their paths converging near House Legolasa. His presence was acknowledged with a nod, and Jhon initiated a conversation that held the weight of curiosity and shared experience.

Bavdos: "What are you doing back there?"

Jhon: "Preparing for a night with your family? I've always wanted to see Freljord."

Bavdos: "You are Jhon Vaultwood, the queen's brother."

Jhon: "Greatest accomplishment."

Jhon: "You, you're Legolasa's bastard, aren't you?"

(Bavdos was disturbed by my words)

Jhon: "Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard though."

Bavdos: "Lord Edwardo is my father."

Jhon: "And Lady Legolasa is not your mother, making you a bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."

Bavdos: "What the hell do you know about being a bastard?"

Jhon: "All weak are bastards in their father's eyes."

Amid the warm glow of House Legolasa, the feast was in full swing—an atmosphere of celebration and camaraderie filled the air. Jhon found his place at the table, flanked by his brother Jaime and Queen Melissa. The flickering light from the candles cast a golden hue, dancing across their faces as they savored the hearty fare and shared laughter.

As the feast reached its crescendo, the air was charged with anticipation. A hush fell over the gathered guests, and all eyes turned toward Michael Gladrell—a figure of authority and leadership. His voice, clear and resonant, cut through the silence, and his words held the weight of importance.

"Tonight, amidst this gathering of friends and allies," Michael declared, his voice carrying a regal authority, "it is my pleasure to announce a decision that will shape the realm."

The room seemed to hold its breath as he continued, revealing the news that Edwardo Legolasa would be appointed as the New Hand of the King—a position that signified both trust and responsibility. Glasses were raised, and the crystal chalices clinked in a toast that celebrated the momentous news.

As the wine was poured, Jhon's fingers closed around the stem of his glass, a symbol of unity and shared purpose. The liquid sparkled like liquid rubies, reflecting the light that danced around them. The toast was met with smiles, and the guests raised their glasses to their lips, savoring the flavor and the significance of the moment.

The evening's festivities continued, laughter and conversations flowing freely. However, the revelry was momentarily interrupted as Michael Gladrell and Edwardo Legolasa rose from their seats, their expressions holding a sense of purpose.

The North Cemetery of Lords awaited, a place where the past intertwined with the present, where the legacies of those who came before bore witness to the forging of a new chapter.

The North Cemetery of Lords unfolded before Edwardo Legolasa and King Michael like a realm of solemn beauty, a place where time seemed to stand still and the echoes of history whispered through the air. As they walked the cobbled pathways, the statues of the fallen stood like sentinels, each one a frozen moment in time, a tribute to lives once lived and legacies that endured.

The air held a quiet reverence, punctuated by the soft rustle of wind through leaves and the distant call of a night bird. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the scene, illuminating the statues that lined the pathways like silent guardians. Each statue bore the likeness of the departed, their features carved in intricate detail, capturing their essence in stone.

The statues were positioned in various poses—some depicted in moments of victory and glory, their forms strong and defiant. Others were frozen in quiet reflection, their faces carrying the weight of wisdom and experience. As Edwardo and Michael walked, they passed figures of lords, warriors, and leaders who had once shaped the destiny of the North Freljord.

Amidst the statues, small altars adorned with candles and flowers had been placed, offerings of remembrance and respect. The soft flicker of candlelight cast dancing shadows across the stone figures, creating an ethereal ambiance that felt almost otherworldly.

As they walked, Edwardo and Michael engaged in a conversation that echoed through the hallowed silence of the cemetery. Their words seemed to carry extra weight in this space—a space where the past was palpable, and the memories of those who had come before lingered in the very stones beneath their feet.

Edwardo: "Tell me about Roderic Iceforge."

Michael: "One minute, he was fine, and then it burned right through him. Whatever it was. I loved that man."

Edwardo: "We both did."

Michael: "He never had to teach you much but me, you remember me at 16? All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was, what?"

Edwardo: "Aye."

Michael: "Don't look at me like that. It's not his fault. I didn't listen."

Edwardo: "Hahahaha."

Michael: "I need you, Edwardo, down at the Royal Capital, not up here where you're no damn use to anybody. Lord Edwardo, I would name you the Hand of the King."

Edwardo: [kneeling] "I'm not worthy of the honor."

Michael: "I'm not trying to honor you. I'm trying to get you to run my kingdom while I indulge in feasting, revelry, and all the excesses. Damn it, Edwardo, stand up."

[Edwardo rises]

Michael: "You aided me in securing the Crown, now aid me in upholding it. We were destined to govern side by side. If fate had allowed, our families might have been united through blood. Well, it's not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter. Let our houses merge in alliance."

The cobbled path led Edwardo Legolasa and King Michael to a statue that stood apart from the others, a figure that held a special place in both their hearts—a memorial to Edwardo's sister, and for Michael, a tribute to a love that had once blossomed.

The statue was a work of artistry, capturing the essence of Edwardo's sister in her prime

Her features were delicate yet strong, a testament to her grace and spirit. The sculptor had captured the curve of her smile, the twinkle in her eyes, and the way her hair cascaded like a waterfall—a reminder of the beauty and life she had brought to the world.

For King Michael, the statue held a deeper significance. It represented a love that had burned brightly, a love that had been tested by circumstances beyond their control. He gazed upon the statue with a mixture of nostalgia and reverence, memories of stolen moments and whispered promises flooding back.

Edwardo's gaze held a mixture of pride and sorrow, his hand resting gently on the stone base. He had lost his sister, a connection that could never be replaced, yet her memory lived on in the stone before them.

"Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Michael said, his voice carrying a blend of fondness and melancholy. "She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her."

Edwardo's expression softened as he looked at the statue, his thoughts a complex blend of emotions. "She was my sister," he mused, his voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and admiration. "This is where she belongs."

Michael: She belonged with me. In my dreams. I kill him every night.

Edwardo: It's done. You. Grace Cerberus are gone.

Michael: Not all of them.

John was and still always a curious person. As he was walking in the corridors of the castle, he suddenly found his ears to a conversation between Edwardo and Michael.

Michael: There are wars to fight, women to marry. You never had the chance to be young.

Edwardo: I recall a few chances... (smiling and laughing)

Michael: Hahahahahaha. There was that one, what was her name? That common girl of yours? Becca with the great big tits. You could bury your face in...

Edwardo: Bessie. She was one of yours.

Michael: Bessie. Thank the gods for Bessie and her tits. Yours was uh Elena. No, no. You told me once. Uh Merryl, you're a bastard's mother.

Edwardo: (his smile fades away) Wylla.

Michael: That's it. Must have been a rare wench to make Lord Edwardo forget his honor. You never told me what she looked like?

Edwardo: Nor will I...

Michael: We were at war. None of us knew if we were gonna go back home again. You're too hard on yourself. You always have been. I swear if I weren't your king, you'd have hit me already.

Edwardo: Worst thing about your coronation, I'll never get to hit you again.

Michael: Trust me. That's not the worst thing (he gives him a paper).

Edwardo: (reads the paper) The Lyanna Cerberus has wed some horse lord. God! What of it? Should we send her a wedding gift?

Michael: A knife. Perhaps a good sharp one and a bold man to wield it.

Edwardo: She's a little more than a child.

Michael: Soon enough, that child will spread her legs and start breeding.

Edwardo: Tell me we're not speaking of this.

Michael: Oh, it's unspeakable to you. What her father did to your family, that was unspeakable. What Rag Cerberus did to your sister, the woman I loved. I'll kill every Cerberus I get my hands on.

Edwardo: You can't get your hands on this one, can you?

Michael: It's called Dromo. It said he has 100,000 men in his hold.

Edwardo: Even a million. Horse lords are no threat to the realm. As long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea, they have no ships, Michael.

Michael: There are still those in the six kingdoms who call me usurper. The Cerberus girl crosses with a horse lord at her back, the scum will join him.

Edwardo: She will not cross. And if by chance she does, we'll throw her back into the sea.

Michael: There's a war coming, Ed. I don't know when, I don't know who we'll be fighting, but it's coming...

One week after attending the small council meeting, John left the North and returned to his previous location. However, upon his departure, a shocking incident occurred: Bavdos, an important figure in the realm, was found murdered. The circumstances surrounding his death were mysterious and unsettling, leading to a wave of uncertainty and tension throughout the kingdom.

In the midst of this turmoil, Lady Elisar Legolasa, a prominent and influential individual, accused John of being responsible for Bavdos' murder. The accusation sent shockwaves through the court and the realm at large, as John had recently been a member of the small council and was known to have a connection with the deceased.

The accusation against John was met with a mixture of disbelief, suspicion, and concern. Many questioned the motives behind the accusation and the lack of evidence that supported it. Those who knew John personally found it difficult to believe that he could be involved in such a heinous act, given his previous character and actions.

Upon hearing of Bavdos' death, John felt a deep sense of sorrow and responsibility. He immediately returned to the North to pay his respects and offer his condolences to Bavdos' family and the people of the region. He wanted to show them that he was truly sorry for what had transpired and to join them in their mourning.

As he arrived in the North, however, he was surprised to find that the once bustling place seemed eerily empty. The streets were quiet, and there was a noticeable absence of the usual activity and presence of the people. John's heart sank as he realized that something was amiss.

Seeking answers, he eventually encountered Lord Edward, who seemed to be the only person present. John expressed his condolences to Edward, explaining his genuine remorse for Bavdos' death and the events that had unfolded. He hoped to find solace in sharing his feelings and paying his respects.

John then inquired about Lady Elisar Legolasa, as he had heard that she had accused him of Bavdos' murder. To his surprise, Edward responded that Elisar was sleeping. This response struck John as odd, considering the gravity of the situation. Nonetheless, he respected the need for rest during such troubling times and decided to wait.

Exhausted from his travels and determined to reach the capital to clear his name, John decided to return to the capital city. However, the journey between Freljord and Narnia was a long and arduous one, spanning at least two weeks of travel. Along the way, John made a stop at a hotel to rest and gather his strength before continuing his journey.

As he entered the hotel, John noticed that it was bustling with people. The lobby was filled with travelers from various walks of life, all seeking respite and shelter along their own journeys. The air was thick with conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of activity.

John approached the front desk to inquire about a room.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, full up every room."

John: Men can sleep in the stable. As for myself, I don't require a large room.

Hostess: Surely, my Lord, we have nothing.

John: Is there nothing I can do? (hits a gold coin on the table)

A sellsword: You can have my room.

John: Now, there's a clever man.

John to the hostess: You can manage food. I trust you're in dine with me.

A singer came to John: The Lord of Vaultwood. Nice. I uh entertain you while you eat. Can see your father's victory at the capital.

John: Nothing would more likely ruin my supper (he turned his head to be surprised) Lady Legolasa. What an unexpected pleasure. I was sorry to miss you at Freljord.

Lady Elisar: I was still Elisar Gully. The last time I stayed here (she points her finger at one of the sitters) You, sir. Is that the black bat I see embroidered on your coat?

The Lord: Yes, it is, my Lady.

Lady Elisar: And his lady was a true and honest friend to my father, Lord HOA Gully of RiverRun.

The Lord: Yes.

Lady Elisar: (she points her finger at another one of the sitters) The red stallion was always a welcome sight at River Run. My father counts Jonas Bracken amongst his oldest and most loyal bannerman.

The Second Lord: A Lord is honored by his trust.

John: I envy your father, all his fine friends, Lady Elisar, but don't quite see the purpose of this.

Lady Elisar: This man came into my house as a guest and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of 18 in the name of King Michael and the good lords you serve. I call upon you to seize him and help me return to Freljord, to await the King's justice.