Thanks to all who reviewed - Abrahem, Grey, Seb and Keva! Now, to a long series of review responses...

Grey 37: I made it quite clear that Bodvar wasn't completely Bodvar right from the beginning. Oh, and Pressuring isn't complete mind control, so Bodvar and Thordan's first meeting, while intentional, wan't staged. Better a living coward than a dead hero indeed. I have to agree that a dead coward is downright horrible - if only the coward is well and truly dead. Oh, and please do 'take a break from writing and read some Jade'.

Abe 37: Battle isn't easy to write. It was never a strong point for me, so excuse me for writing everything poorly. Now, diplomacy is better - writing Becker and Sigrun's relationship is a pastime in writing. They do not like each other, as you can see. Young Thordan agreeing to a duel isn't one of his more level-headed moments, and you will have fun seeing how everything turns out.

Grey 38: Old Thordan is helping Arbert because he can't get a second chance to see his visions - he got thrown out. If Hersent teams up with Arbert, she gets to ask questions anyway. NARRATOR! A pity we won't see much of him anytime soon. One-scene wonders... Will Young Thordan become a monster though? Nice question...

Abe 38: Three questions! I got the idea from Wheel of Time's Finn, but without a price. 'How to Drop Exposition Without Being Annoying' states that the best way to deliver info to a reader is to deliver it to a character who knows nothing as well. Hence, you know everything about Bonding! Yay! Very detailed analysis about the futures, Abe! Oh, and you'll like Kelbert if he ever appears.

Keva 38: The NARRATOR deserves the ALLCAPS anyways. I took this idea from *remembers the spoilers* - none of your concern. Nice fella... what's he planning? Oh, and do try to guess a future, if any. All of them may come true, or none, remember?

Seb 38: Loamhedge! NARRATOR! Sable Quean reference! Yay! Yay! Yay! Though the Sable Quean wasn't even written at the time of most of TCTBU, but whatever. The NARRATOR was one to be loved, I see. After all, who doesn't like hammy exposition? The cliffhanger. Yep. Evil decision. Almost as evil as Old Thordan being killed off offpage. Though him being Emetselk means that this doesn't really matter. Again, Thordan's path is shrouded in mystery, so no spoilers for any of you. (Yeah, yeah. I'm not that open again.)

With significantly less ado than before...

Through the Gloom

KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA

It was way past dusk when Lorcan Stalwart stopped his brother from going into his rooms.

The siege was proceeding as usual. Becker Swalestrom was clearly not in his element, being forced to sit on the other side of the city walls. He had offered small forces as bait time and time again, while Alfyn was instructed not to close his jaws around the obvious trap.

Everything could go either way - until Egil's brother suddenly announced that he had accepted another contract, and coming to their rescue would be impossible. So much for trusting vermin.

This, in addition to the fact that a Crestworth was crowned King of Otharn, meant that the best outcome of the Dravain forces has been degraded from 'breaking Becker's siege' to 'wasting Lord Becker's time until the inevitable happens'. After all, even the great Queen Lorelei had to play by the rules, and Parma would remain at peace even if her head had to roll.

"Alfyn," Lorcan half-carried, half-dragged his brother to a comfortable chair that belonged to Thordan, his father, and his father who died at Balv. "Remember the project about betrothal to Bellamy Swalestrom?"

"Yes." Alfyn's paws curled around each other. "Why ask?"

"That project has been revived." With a simple sentence from Lorcan, the whole room fell into silence - a tense one, at that.

"You never asked me."

"Garmund wants it done, and I couldn't refuse! He's getting beaten back step by step, town by town, mile by mile!" Lorcan sighed. "We need peace."

"And you expect me to wed a maiden I met once, and one you know does not like me?" Alfyn got up. "You're ruining my life, you know that?"

"It's not-"

"In shambles!" Prancing around the room like a madbeast was more of a Thordan or Egil thing, but he found it quite fitting, considering the circumstances. "Torn apart! Destroyed!"

"Alfyn, listen to me!"

"Shredded! Crushed! Destroyed!" Finally stopping, he met his brother's gentle gaze with his own attempt at looking gentle. After all, he was his older (though wimpier) brother, but still the Skipper of Arnet. Proper respect had to be shown.

Another silence blanketed the room.

Finally, Alfyn piped up. "Do you think she's pretty?"

"Well…" Lorcan rubbed his ear. "She's not ugly…"

"But she's not pretty, is she?"

Lorcan shrugged. "She's a bit lacking in the ears department, but you'll like her well enough."

Alfyn smiled. "Is she deaf or something?"

"Er… no."

"And how can you be so sure that I would like her?" The younger otter plopped right down into his chair.

Lorcan followed suit. "She's the best match in all of the Southern Realms! Look. If not for the fact that I am already married, I would probably go for her."

"You assume too much, brother." Alfyn shook his head. "I think you'll find we're not as similar as one might think. I, for one, do not judge a beast for their ears."

"Hey! That's a low blow!" Lorcan betrayed his emotion - a rare occurrence, and one that made Alfyn smirk. "There aren't a lot of ways to bring peace! We're being smashed on both fronts, so lie down with Bellamy and do the smashing yourself!" Shocked at what had just came out from his mouth, he coughed. "So as to speak."

"And if I don't?"

'Well… If I were you, I would just walk proudly to the altar, say your vows with honour, put the ring on the new Lady Stalwart's claw and flee the wedding feast."

"What? Can I do that?"

"Well… if you run away, or if Bellamy does, then it's your fault or hers. Triel and Southsward bear no responsibility." Lorcan stood up and sighed. "This does not mean that you should not at least try her out."

"Well…" Leaping to his footpaws, Alfyn was having none of that. "To put it kindly, no. My life is my own, and not controlled by any other! If anyone says that I belong to somebeast else like one of your vermin sl-"

The door to the sitting room slammed open, revealing a very worried weasel. "What happened?"

The two otters spoke in unison. "Nothing."

The vermin smiled nervously, fixing a slight tremble.. "Ah well. Becker had forwent another parley and is mounting an attack."

AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL

"No. No. This isn't happening!"

Galen wailed at the once proud body of Lord Garrion Swalestrom. The otterlord was dying, everybeast knew. It all had started well. The Trielians evaded a trap, only to leap headfirst into another one.

"It is happening, Snowpath, and you are powerless to stop it." Garrion's voice was rough and hoarse. After all, he had taken three arrows to the body, one of them piercing the stomach. There was little chance for survival, and what the best healers have done made his death a certainty instead of a 'mere' likelihood. They said it was left to Gariron to fight the infection back, but Garrion couldn't do any fighting. He had lost most of his will to live after both his brothers died in action.

"Then…" Galen shuddered. There was nobeast else in the room aside from the duo - Garrion couldn't stand the clamour of beasts trampling each other to see him.

"There's a letter left for you. Check my possessions after I have passed. It contains vital information, though there is one more thing I want you to know."

"What- what would that be, Lord Garrion?" The commander trembled. Many comrades of his have either perished against the foe, or have been permanently crippled, physically or mentally.

"I told you to just call me Garrion." The lord sighed and turned to his subordinate."After my passing, Thordan is due to inherit everything from Father." Thordan? The last time Galen had checked, Garrion's traitor cousin had declared himself King of Dravania, and had been missing for weeks. Just desserts for that act of perfidy.

"Make sure that does not happen. The boy is Trielian done to the very bones. Try not to kill him, but if he ever gets close to being Skipper or King, throw everything at him."

"I understand, Lo- Garrion." Holding back tears, Galen knelt in front of his superior, lord and friend for was was possibly the last time. "I swear by your brothers' souls that Thordan Swalestrom would not get what he wishes. I swear that no Trielian would dominate Southard any longer!"

"Very well. Thank you, Gale. Now leave me. I wish to rest."

BURELAS, DUCHY OF BURELAS KINGDOM OF TRIEL

Morag never imagined her wedding would be such a somber affair.

What she had expected was some grand ceremony in a shrine (probably the one in Arnet), with thunderous crowds clapping and cheering when the vows were exchanged, and probably a grand feast to top everything off.

This was soon proven not to be the case.

It was almost gloomy in Burelas, being a swamp and all. Rumours have said time and time again that the castle of Burelas and the town around it could float on the swamps, and even fly into the heavens if need arises. Of course, lowly peasants, being lowly peasants, can spread what rumours they can as long as treason is not involved.

Vega bought the dress materials on one of her trips to Arnet, and she sewed it with her own paws. Quite surprisingly, she was good at it, until she had to fit everything together. In the end, a servant's help was needed, and the thing barely fitted.

Swamps bred frogs, toads and lots and lots of bugs, so it is no wonder that this blasted land bred Altayras as well. Morag's ancestors clashed with his numerous times, and the marriage happened solely to patch that rift - and that only happened thanks to the intervention of High Queen Marla of Parma, with her son-in-law Erlend Swalestrom finishing what she started. Apparently, two duchies being constantly at war was a recipe for disaster regarding national unity. Duke Kestutas being Duke Kestutas, he readily accepted the peace offering. Morag's father being Morag's father, he readily accepted the peace offering - after quite the bribe.

'Dour' did not even begin to describe him. He was pretty much in love with his spear - his literalspear - Morag would have found it normal if it were his other one, though no sane beast would be so clingy with Heavensward. Gates, he even sleeps with the thing!

Morag had approached both Altayras and his siblings when they came for the first time to Deilart. All three were curious about everything (well, Morag's ancestors have not been swamp savages), and she and Vega built up a friendship that seemed to get stronger with time. The other two never responded to her charms - Denebas was too shy, while Altayras saw them as superficial, whatever that meant.

Guess who was she going to be stuck with for the rest of her life?

"Keep your composure, Morag." Vega's voice chirped up. She was her shadow, of sorts. While Morag had been the smiling face, ready to charm a guest into the home, Vega was the one who did all the planning beforepaw. "Altayras is just as nervous as you. He's probably just hiding it."

"Well, with his spear in his paw, he can fight off a dozen foes, but he's nervous with a girl?" Morag guffawed. "A weird beast indeed!"

"You must not say that in the ceremony, my lady." Vega's face was usually stone-cold like her younger brother, or panicky like a certain Thordan Swalestrom who she met in Arnet three seasons ago. But now, she seemed merry, overjoyed, even. Well, her brother is going to be wedded to her greatest friend, mismatched they might be, so why not be happy now? Vega continued. "King Garmund is watching, and Queen Bertrada as well."

Morag gasped. If King Garmund was a roaring flame, his wife were smouldering embers. Mind compared to her husband, but trampling on her won't be a good idea. "Queen Bertrada? Isn't she going to be staying at Arnet looking after her son?"

The younger squirrel shook her head. "Looks like she's changed her plans."

000000000000000

THE NORTHLANDS, THE WATERSHARD

Fandaniel watched impassively as he was led to a seat in the tent. Swivelling his whole body around, the stoat sat down, with Igeyorhm the pine marten alongside him. She had never been stable, male or female, woodlander or vermin, but this form would serve as a healthy dose of humility that, he hoped, would last until her dying day - just in time to get reborn again.

Not that Fandaniel appreciated his own change. Emetselk would like to experiment on the properties if woodlander and vermin, and the gap between them. The ex-otter could have found himself honoured to be the first to bridge it, though he was more irritated by the whole idea. By virtue of being stronger and taller, is new body was more sorted to combat than his old, and he has sacrificed his ability to swim fast for an 'advanced rate of terrestrial locomotion'. If not for the stench, it would be the perfect warrior body, and even that could be solved with regular bathing.

"He will come soon." The red fox nodded at the odd pair, and rushed out of the tent. By the manner of which he walked signified an impatient nature, either of the fox or his master, whom the pair knew.

"Why here?" Fandaniel turned his head to his partner. The marten had done nothing but whine about the dirt, the poor roads, and having to stay up to take her watch half the night. The last of the three has been solved by Igeyorhm healing his fatigue, though that made her more tired, and thus more irascible. "Why here? And not Southsward, or Triel, or Parma?"

Fandaniel did not even turn his gaze away from his surroundings. It was a rudimentary tent, alright, built by rudimentary hordevermin. This one had a map of the Northlands in the centre of a table, signifying that it was needed somehow - and the presence of a cartographer. "Triel and Parma, according to Emetselk's knowledge, do not exist in this plane. As for Southsward, if is under the grip of a wildcat warlord with immunity to your Conjuration, and two of us will not be enough to deal with him."

Igeyorhm looked at the black stoat with a disapproving stare "We could still stir up trouble by-"

"Not happening." Fandaniel was tempted to slap her right in the face like he did to Lorelei, but he would not let his anger loose on this pitiful wretch. "Small increases in chaos are just as important as large ones." That was what Emetselk had told me, anyway.

Astral and Umbral Aether could be harvested from any death, but violent deaths provide more of it. If this world has to be cast into the Void, a burst of both kinds of magic has to be used. A shattered shard is rejoined to the Source, and the Ward's plans can truly begin.

"Besides, Emetselk has proof that one of three 'keys' is to be born here." Seeing the other vermin's stare go from agitated to confused brought a bit of satisfaction to the stoat. "Do not look at me in that manner - I have no idea what he means by that. I only know that they are like protagonists in one of those novels - one who is preserved by good fortune and nothing else."

"Supernatural good luck, huh?" Igeyorhm tensed. "That's a boatload of s- superstition!"

Fandaniel finally acknowledged the presence of the smaller vermin for the first time. "You are the first vermin to use Conjuration, and amongst the first ten to use it properly from our world, and we are in an alternate dimension. Nothing is superstition anymore."

The marten snarled. "Call me vermin once more, and I will-"

Heavy pawsteps quickly strangled what threat Igeyorhm was planning on making. The beast creating them was tall - only about two claws taller than Fandaniel, but for Igeyorhm he seemed to reach up into the clouds. His gray fur and long muzzle reminded Fandaniel who he was - a wolf from the Lands of Ice and Snow. A lesser beast would have trembled in fear, or have lost control over his bowels. But Fandaniel was of the Ward. Displays of wanton fear were far beneath him.

Besides, he had come prepared. He had information from previous scouting trips, and had a Conjurer - a virtual wizard, so as to speak - on his side. Well, he had to stop her from killing him with a well-placed knife throw every twenty minutes, but she is still on her side. Otherwise, she might just get her second shot at life bitterly (not to mention brutally) revoked.

"You must be Bertvar." It only took a split second before Fandaniel regretting putting his footpaw directly inside the wolf's mouth. He was never the most diplomatic of beasts - even Thordan would laugh at him once the stoat can tell him what had happened here.

The wolf took no offense. "And you are…"

"Call us Doga and Unei," Igeyorhm smirked, putting a paw on a full goblet as Fandaniel did the same. It wasn't a lie. After all, it was a request, and not a statement.

"We are warriors from… how to put it...foreign lands who lend their blades for the less skilled and courageous, or in your case for those who can offer gold." Fandaniel could only hope that this Bertvar beast was receptive to his plea, or Igeyorhm would have to Pressure him.

"What would you have we do for you?"

Igeyorhm chose to ignore the question. "You have a problem with shrews, as I recall?"

If Bertvar was supposed to be surprised, he hid his expressions well. "Correct. And just how did you know that, Unei?"

Fandaniel recalled standing in the wolf's camp for hours on straight, moving slowly lest the Veil wears off. He decided to let Igeyorhm do the talking. "We happen to know a lot, wolf." She took a sip from her goblet. "And you happen to know little. Still, we are moved to help you, gold or no gold, but you had better pay us.."

The stoat nodded. "Two hundred silvers for every battle we fight in."

"One hundred and half that," Bertvar countered, smiling. "With another five for each slave taken in battle."

Igeyorhm shook her head. "We aren't taking woodlander prisoners. Another two for each kill?"

Bertvar nodded. "Consider it done." He downed his goblet's contents in a single gulp, while Fandaniel sipped lightly. "We'll be in action within days. Gear up."

As Bertvar turned to leave with his fox in tow, Igeyorhm frantically produced a small pathway, presumably to the Rift, and spat her wine within, leaving it to fall for all eternity.

The marten snorted. "Couldn't even serve us good stuff."

"Ah, well." Fandaniel sighed. "This is one step of a great scheme. And by the end of it, this iteration of the Northlands will be thrown into chaos. If Bertvar wins by any way, we might just have to turn against him at any given moment. On the other paw, if those shrews triumph over their enemy, then we are here to stop them."

"And the Northlands will be hurtled into disorder, the likes nobeast have seen before." Igeyorhm reached out one paw, and the fox from before, clearly leading against the tent but a second ago, hurtled in. Though he could not sense it, Fandaniel could say that Conjuration was being embraced. After all, the fox couldn't even move in his current state. despite nothing visible tying him up.

"Ah, so the wolf mistrusts us already." Igeyorhm smiled, and even Fandaniel couldn't help but shudder. "No matter." She must have done something, for at that moment the fox collapsed, his eyes tired, and he wandered out of the tent as if nothing had happened.

"That wasn't as easy as I had hoped, but Emetselk did tell me about Pressuring. That fox will be loyal to us if need arises."

What would Thordan say about all this? Sowing chaos, destroying worlds, just for the pursuit of a mad dream? Fandaniel failed to hold back a slight grin.

"The earth is fertile, and the seeds well sown. Now we let this shard's beasts water them, and they shall reap salvation far more than what this world has known."

A/N: Surprise, surprise! Welcome to the Watershard, everyone! Credits to Seb for giving me permission to use his world, as well as Bertvar and Furgly!

ARR enters into its final phases now, and I hope you like it! A nice holiday gift, if it please you.

Chapter 40 (Thunderer) will be up on 25/26 December!