Rúnya gazed down at the man kneeling before her. It was late and the fire in the Great Hall had almost completely flickered out. The last time she'd been awoken from her slumber she'd been seventeen years old and they told her that her mother had died. But that was years ago, and at twenty-three Rúnya was far from the terrified child she had once been. Her blue-green eyes hardened like steel, and dressed in her elegantly square-cut white dress, the queen looked a force to be reckoned with.

"There've been an increasing number of bandit raids on our borders Majesty." The emissary explained. "The people have seen their homes and fields destroyed, livelihoods gone in a single night." He bowed lower. "We beg you for aid."

"Sir Kennard." The queen's voice too had lost all childishness. It had a hard edge a leader developed over time yes, but it was more out of necessity when dealing with harsh matters than bitterness and strife. "Send as many men as you can spare to the outlying villages and provide aid: guards, food, clean water and healers as well." Her eyes turned back to the man. "Please, stand." The man rose but kept his head bent. "Sir Kennard and I will provide your village enough to help you survive and get your feet back on the ground. Then they will root these bandits from the woods."

"Thank you Majesty." The villager was practically trembling in relief. "I only wish there was something our humble village could do for you…"

"Protecting my people if my duty." Rúnya told him. "Seeing these bandits brought to justice is well enough for me." She smiled. "Now, I know you must be very weary. Someone will see you well fed and shown to a clean bed to rest for the night. Be assured that soon you're village will once more be yours."

When the villager was gone, and it was just Sir Kennard and Rúnya remaining in the Great Hall, the queen slumped against her throne and brought and hand to her forehead to try and assuage the throbbing that had begun. "That's the third attack in the last three months." She murmured. "What doesn't make sense is this: we restore the villages, send aid and there's been no repeat attacks."

"Do you suppose that these bandits are just causing destruction as they move on? No target, just to cause destruction where they can?" Sir Kennard hated seeing his queen distressed. She, as her mother before, her sincerely loved and cared for her people. She hated the fact that there would always be instances she couldn't help prevent terrible things from befalling them. "Don't fret little flame; we'll find them."

"I've seen things in the stars." Rúnya said. "A branch prophecy…" She traced her finger against her knee. "Neither branch is clear, but there are so many choices, so my lines to follow…like the cracks in a broken mirror." She shuddered. "Impossible to see them all."

"How long has this been bothering you?" Sir Kennard asked, concerned.

"Around the time the first news of the raids reached our ears." Rúnya admitted. "Each attack brings this enemy closer to our borders, and worse they are an enemy that seems to have no endgame other than destruction." She rubbed her throbbing temples.

"You should go to bed Majesty." Kennard suggested.

"It's already near dawn, no use trying to fight the rising sun." Rúnya sighed. "I'll take my breakfast in my chambers and try to mediate on a solution." She said decisively. "Perhaps maybe I can narrow the paths before me down to a more manageable number."

"Something else is distracting you." Kennard said. He'd known Rúnya since she'd been a baby, he had served her mother the late Queen Seraphina Arwen with fierce loyalty…he was the only one Rúnya trusted with all her heart and was free to speak his mind to her so freely. "Have the flames been giving you nightmares?"

"They've been calling out to me, tugging like an impatient child on their mother's hand. My kingdom has seen peace and prosperity these last five years…but my heart is telling me that something is not right."

"All will become clear in time." Kennard reassured her. "After you won your throne back from the usurper, you have enjoyed five good years of peace and prosperity. And you love your people. It is completely natural for you as a ruler to feel anxiety over these outlaws. But as we've proved in the past, the children of Rheged have spirits not easily broken." He smiled at her kindly. "And I am sure there is another reason you are fretting."

Rúnya looked down at her stomach and smiled. She'd been married for almost a year now, the son of one of the greater lords who'd helped her win back her throne. Her husband was still fast asleep, she hadn't wanted to wake him with her troubles. For five years she had been the last Arwen, but in six months time that would no longer be true.

Rúnya returned to her chambers some time after she finished speaking with Sir Kennard and the small garrison she was sending to aid the villager. Ronan, her husband was slumbering peacefully on his side of the bed. She nodded to the hearth in her room and instantly a fire sprung to life. Her power had grown considerably during the last few years, and thankfully she had honed it for good. When the winters came, Rúnya's magic stretched itself and seeped into every home within the walls of Rheged, ensuring no one froze. Her magic also protected the fields and allowed for a longer growing season to improve the harvest year after year.

Ingis, the flame spirit that she was contracted with shuddered with power and settled back in to her spirit comfortably. The two were bonded for life, hearth and flame, and as the years passed their bond only grew stronger. He seeped through the pores in her skin and curled like a kitten in Rúnya's lap, power vibrating to emit a soft purring sound. Ignis was blue-green, like Rúnya's eyes and where a stranger would only see a wild ball of flame, Rúnya only saw a dear old friend nestled like a pet in her lap.

Rúnya stared down at the flame and whispered, "Lígdraca ácýðan!" The flames danced, reflecting back in her identically colored eyes. The harder she concentrated, the clearer the vision became. Rúnya let her mind slip away and completely became lost in the images swirling before her, trying to shift through what was real and what were only shards of memory until finally realization settled in her stomach like a hot coal.

"Morgana."