A/N: I know it's been forever since I've updated consistently. I'm working on an appendix of sorts so you don't have top reread all 50k odd pages. I'll link to it in future chapters.

The Tower

As the days, passed, Alfred fell into a new rhythm of life. He woke up when the smell of breakfast made its way up into his small room. After a few moments of blearily blinking, he dressed, and splashed some cool water from a small bucket on his face.

Downstairs, in the common room, he would eat breakfast with Feliciano, who pestered him mercilessly for every detail on his life with the gods. When Feliciano was called back to work, Alfred would either sit and talk with Antonio or wander around Albion. He stayed quiet for the most part, as Francis had suggested, but he found it hard not to ask questions about everything that went on.

He indulged himself a few times and learned what a well was and how to draw water from it, how to spin wool into yarn, and how to milk a goat. Despite his odd requests, the villagers seemed willing to show him, and expressed gratitude for any help he gave. It made him happy in a way he had never felt before. Sure, he missed flying. But there was different pleasure in drinking the creamy, fresh goat milk that couldn't be gained from using a magical present.

In the afternoons, he helped Antonio handle the money. Antonio was a kind man, and a good innkeeper, but he often had trouble staying focused. With Alfred there, they managed to keep mostly on task.

After dinner, Alfred played in the common room. He had never played so much, even when Francis was giving him lessons every day. He found himself improving faster than he ever had before. The people who frequented the common room enjoyed his playing and were never critical. Alfred even found that later in the evening, when the patrons had all had a few drinks, he could experiment and no one minded the odd discordant note. Except Lovino. But try as he might, Alfred could not get Feliciano's brother to like him.

This pattern had gone on for just under a fortnight when it was time for Alfred to visit Arthur again. He had explained his odd friendship with the daemon to Feliciano, who in turn told every one else who would listen.

As the sun began to set, Alfred set out for the moors with his lyre and a gift of bread and meat from Antonio. The town faded behind him as the grassy hills spilled out ahead. The ground was springy and muddy from last night's rain, though the evening sky promised to be clear.

Alfred walked up to the top of a nearby hill, growing frustrated by how slowly he moved. There was a warm breeze from the south, and Alfred longed to fly up into the darkening sky. He sighed as he trudged along the ground, wondering when Arthur would show up.

Worry started to prickle in the back of his mind as the sun sank below the western hills. Arthur should have appeared by now. He bit his lip. The last time he had seen Arthur was at Drachma, where he was wounded. Was he okay? Elizaveta had gone with him, but what if he was lying somewhere in the moors, alone and bleeding out?

Alfred broke into a run and shouted Arthur's name into the empty moor. If only he could fly. He could cover more ground and find his injured friend.

Images flashed through his mind as he ran. Arthur bleeding under some overhang. Arthur gasping for breath on the marshy ground. He was so preoccupied with his imagination that he didn't see the large patch of heather until he slipped on it. He landed with a thud.

There was a dry laugh from above him. Alfred scrambled to his feet and found Arthur staring at him his face trying to decide whether it was amused or exasperated. Without a second thought, Alfred launched himself at Arthur and hugged him tightly.

"You're alright!" he shouted.

Arthur squawked with surprise and tried to wiggle free.

"Let me go, you idiot. That hurts!"

Alfred let go quickly and looked Arthur over. He still moved stiffly, and he looked tired.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Alfred asked. "You look terrible."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well two weeks ago I was almost killed by a raving war goddess and then an idiotic human with no sense flew into me at top speed. So I think I have earned the right to look a little under the weather."

Alfred stared at the ground. "I though you were dying out there somewhere," he mumbled.

Arthur's expression softened for a moment. He looked away and frowned. "I'm a high daemon, Alfred. I'm rather hard to kill," he said, and hesitated before continuing. "I wasn't expecting you tonight. Or ever. I thought you'd have been killed for treason."

"Oh," Alfred said. "Well, they didn't."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Obviously. But come, if you're here you might as well play for me. I'll get a fire going."

Arthur set about getting a fire going while Alfred set out the food Antonio had given him and got his lyre ready. He played a couple of scales to warm up, and then when the fire was bright, he began playing in earnest. Arthur closed his eyes, visibly relaxing. A small smile appeared on his face.

Purple evening faded to true night, and the stars came out in force. After a while, Alfred paused and looked up at them with longing. Arthur broke the silence.

"You've gotten better since last time," he said, nodding towards Alfred's lyre.

Alfred grinned. "You think so?" he said. "I've been playing a lot recently. For Antonio." He described his arrangement with the innkeeper. Arthur nodded along.

"Antonio is a good man," he said, taking a bite of the bread. "He would take in all the refugees if he could. I'm sure tried and someone had to stop him."

Alfred chuckled. He could imagine that clearly. He chewed on some bread and meat, looking at the mass of stars. After a while, he found his voice and asked, "Could you tell me another one?"

Arthur frowned and then looked up. "Another constellation?"

"Yes."

"I suppose you have played enough for now," Arthur said. He studied the sky. After a moment, he pointed to the west.

"The Tower," he said. Alfred leaned close to him so he could follow Arthur's pointing. He pointed out a set of six bright stars which made a sort of upside down T. "It's one of the most important constellations to travelers." He moved his finder along the line middle stars made, up until he pointed at a small blue star. "It points directly at the North Star, which is otherwise hard to spot."

Alfred nodded and found stared at the constellation. At least this one looked more like a tower than the last one had looked like a rabbit. He thought he would be able to locate it in the future.

"Does this one have a story too?" he asked.

Arthur nodded. "It's a very old story, and told all over the world. But it came from here. The north." He paused. "It's not a happy one."

"Tell me?" Alfred asked. Arthur nodded, staring into the fire. He was quiet for a few moments and the breathed deeply. When his spoke, his voice was soft and his words fell in a steady rhythm like a summer rainstorm.

"A long time ago, when the land was young, and the gods had only just stepped into the world, there was a kingdom called Lemuria on the northern sea.

"Now, Lemuria was a prosperous kingdom, and was ruled over by a compassionate king and a just queen. Of all the joys in their lives—hardworking subjects, loyal nobles, full coffers, overflowing granaries—their greatest was their daughter, whom they called Elaine.

"Elaine was a bright, but fragile child. Of good humor but often sickly. She delighted and worried the court in equal measures, for it would be tragic if the princess never lived to be crowned queen. Despite the best medicine and care the kingdom could provide, one day Elaine became sick with a fever. She burned beneath her blankets and cried out in her delirium.

"Fearing the worst, the king and queen called in the palace's priest, who would ask the gods to spare their daughter. The priest stayed by her side for three days and three nights, silent and eating only a little.

"Just as the kingdom's hope was fading, the king and queen were summoned by the priest. As the entered the room, a god they had never seen stood there, waiting.

"The god looked up at them, but his eyes were white and sightless. When he spoke, it was hardly a whisper.

"'Come when your hope is dying to offer some respite,' he croaked. 'I am Circalous, the god of prophecy, and I have seen the fate of your child. Away with your fear, for within this tower she will always be safe. But I come to not restore your hope but to give you a warning. Your daughter's fate exists within the tower. Should she leave it, she will die.' Without another word, he vanished. As the god had predicted, Elaine's fever broke soon after.

"As she grew older she left her sickliness behind. She proved a quick study and both her parents were sure she would lead Lemuria in prosperity.

"Despite Elaine's return to health and the promise she showed, the king and queen still worried. And so, on her fourteenth birthday, they took her aside to explain what the god had told them of her fate. She nodded gravely, thanked her parents for explaining and the kingdom went on with its business.

"Elaine took her limitations with grace. The tower was vast, and she never had a dearth of visitors. And the kingdom was happy.

"It all changed when a mysterious illness struck the kingdom. It started with reports of peasants and the rural landowners growing sick seemingly overnight, then people in the city. Soon even nobles were succumbing. The king and queen cared deeply for all their subjects and went out to help take food, water and medicine to those in need.

"Princess Elaine watched them leave, and for once, it was she who worried. Oh, how she wanted to follow them to her people. For a while, she received letters from the king and queen. They seemed in good health, and they provided counsel to their daughter who ruled in their absence.

"But one day, as Elaine feared, the letters stopped coming. She waited for weeks for any word of the king and queen. Finally, one day, a lonely man on a lonely horse rode into the tower courtyard. Elaine greeted him at the door, for he was an old friend of her parents.

"He bowed his head. 'Elaine,' he said sadly, but she raised her hand and silenced him.

"'They are gone, aren't they.'

"The man nodded. Elaine bowed her head in grief.

"'The kingdom is lost,' the man said. 'Our only hope is to wait until the sickness wanes.'

"Elaine nodded. For a while, nobles and surviving subjects went too and from the tower for grain, water, and to give Elaine what company they could. But as the year wore on, fewer and fewer people, regardless of rank appeared. Eventually, Elaine was left alone in the tower.

"Despite her history of illness, the god's words held true. Elaine never caught the mysterious disease that destroyed her kingdom. So she sat in her tower and watched the seasons pass. She watched snow cover the tower courtyard. She watched the first buds of spring peak through.

"It's unclear how long she stayed in the tower. Some say it was until the anniversary of the king and queens death, others say she lingered for years. But one day, she turned from the window. She walked, her footsteps echoing through the empty tower until she reached the gate she watched the king and queen disappear out of. She stepped onto the slight rise of the threshold and paused, looking at the sun.

"And she left the tower," Arthur concluded.

Alfred sat in silence for a moment. When it became clear that Arthur wasn't going to say anymore, he said, "And then what?"

Arthur frowned at him, then looked into the dying fire. His face glowed in the red of the embers. His eyes focused on something far away.

"She died," he said simply.

Alfred stared at Arthur for a moment, as if still waiting. When the words finally registered, Alfred frowned and said, "No. That can't be the end."

Arthur glared. "It is," he said stubbornly.

Alfred stood and crossed his arms, glaring back at Arthur. "Well," he said. "How did she die? Did she die immediately? Did she get sick? Did she just drop dead?"

Arthur turned away. "It doesn't matter."

Alfred's face flushed red and angry heat prickled on his neck. "Doesn't matter?" he shouted. "Of course it matters! What happened to Elaine? Why couldn't she leave? It doesn't make any sense. The sickness had probably passed. She wasn't cursed or anything. She should have been able to leave! It's not fair!"

Arthur waited for Alfred to finish shouting. When he seemed to have calmed a little, Arthur said, "It doesn't matter because that's not the point of the story."

"Then what is the point?" Alfred demanded.

Arthur's eyes snapped up to Alfred's, glinting with impatience. "Well, it's a story," he said. "It didn't actually happen. There was no Princess Elaine, or if there was, she died with the sickness. The point is what the story says about life."

"And what does it say? That princesses are going to die if they leave their tower?"

"No," Arthur snapped. "You're thinking far too literally. It means a couple things. That there are fates worse than death, like being trapped and alone. That fate cannot be denied."

"I don't like it," Alfred said. "Why couldn't she leave?"

"It was her fate to die when she left the tower," Arthur repeated.

"But why?"

Arthur shrugged. "It's a common theme in old stories—The Hawk and the Harpist, The Two Lovers, The Lonely Queen—fate is a fact of life, just as the seasons or night and day. It doesn't matter why, just that it is."

Alfred threw himself on the ground and glowered at the fire. "I'll make up a different ending," he said. He cleared his throat. "She stepped out of the tower and journeyed far and wide, living happily ever after."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then made a gagging noise. "That's a terrible ending," he said.

"Better than yours. It's a happy ending."

"Not all stories should have a happy ending," Arthur said.

"Why not? I like happy endings," Alfred said.

"Because life doesn't always have happy endings."

"Maybe if we kept trying hard enough—"

Arthur held up a hand. He looked at Alfred with something like pity. "Enough," he said. "I do not wish to argue any more."

They sat in silence for a long while. Arthur stirred the coals back to life. The firelight cast eerie shadows around them, flashes of yellow and orange licking through the darkness around them. The wind shifted, bringing a slight chill.

Alfred looked out over the moors. He couldn't make out the geography anymore, just dark hills that seemed to be shifting in the fickle firelight. He hugged himself, trying to free his mind from the story Arthur had told him. Elaine's face, which Alfred had so vividly imagined, stared at him through glassy, dead eyes as she collapsed inexplicably one step outside the tower.

Alfred was roused from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. Arthur offered him some bread, and bade him play more music. Out of obstinacy, Alfred chose the happiest stories he could, and he knew many. If he noticed, though, Arthur didn't say anything.

Eventually, Alfred began to yawn. He got to his feet and started packing up his lyre.

"Are you going somewhere?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah."

"You usually sleep outside when you come to play for me."

"I know," Alfred said. "But I've got a bed waiting at Antonio's. So why sleep out?"

Arthur nodded. He rose beside Alfred and shuffled awkwardly for a moment. Alfred didn't notice. Finally he spoke.

"It's rather dark."

"Yeah," Alfred said absently.

"I don't suppose you want help getting back?" Arthur said.

Alfred shrugged. "I could probably get back by myself."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?" he asked with a small smile. "If I recall you can barely find your way out of a hole. Even if you had a map."

Alfred gave an irritated snort and was about to protest when he paused. Then, looking at the ground he gave a small chuckle.

"You've got a point," he said, and then started laughing in earnest. "Lead the way."

The two walked along companionably, chatting mostly about Albion and the people in it. Arthur was well acquainted with Antonio, but he didn't know Feliciano or Lovino.

"So they came with Antonio from Drachma?" Arthur asked.

"Sort of the other way around," Alfred said. "Antonio came with them when Lovino and Feliciano had to leave."

Alfred stopped for a moment, lost in thought. Arthur halted, waiting. After a moment, Alfred spoke.

"Feliciano was banished for his interest in a being called She Who Sleeps Below," Alfred began. Arthur frowned.

"Do you know anything about her?" Alfred asked. When Arthur didn't answer, he pressed. "Feliciano said that the daemons know her as Mother."

Arthur went rigid. His face was masked by darkness so Alfred could not read his expression.

They stood in silence for a long moment, until finally Arthur spoke.

"Do not ask me about her. Ever," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "Albion is visible from the top of the hill. You won't get lost now."

Alfred blinked in confusion, but Arthur was already gone.

"Arthur?" Alfred called into the night. He got no reply.

As Arthur had promised, soon the shadows of Albion appeared, revealed by the faint light coming from Antonio's tavern. He made his way back, much more slowly now that he lacked Arthur's guidance. As he stumbled, he worried about his friend. He couldn't tell if he was angry, scared, or sad, but he wished he had never mentioned She Who Sleeps Below.