Responses:
Grey: Keep the headcanon. You thought of it, after all. Thordan? Plot armour? HAHAHAHAHAHA! No. Can't give anybeast an unfair advantage here, can I? Once again I have failed to allow my character to express emotion - but this time it is intentional. After all, denial is the first stage of trauma in most observed cases. What follows next is up for grabs. The wedding could be written better in the way that more words can be used, but I'm pretty satisfied how it turned out. The Crestworths will be focused on more in a sequel or three, and I have much regrets about my lack of focus here. Perhaps in the remaster... Oh, and Denebas had already lost.
Abe: Bodvar's one of those likeable douches. I was careless while writing him, though I am very, I mean very satisfied with how he turned out. As a rule, every time somebeast gets smug, you know something's going to turn wrong for him. Especially if that beast's an otter. Becker is no exception - the grave is no bar to an ex-brother's enmity, I suppose. Garmund being a total (CENSORED) is a big part of my writing. I mean, he's Jade's, and that's the way that she wanted to portray him. It isn't a matter of virginity here though - Altayras is really interested in securing the paternity of his first child. And no, Denebas isn't based on any real-life person.
Keva: As Cornflower once said in Redwall, there is no reason to be afraid to weep. Bellamy is too stressed to care, and this is quite a large dose of trauma, not to mention it being personal. To weep is to feel, and to feel is to be strong. Oh, and Bodvar won. Sorry about that...
Defender of the Realm
KALDOS, DRAVANIA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD
The travellers looked decidedly worse for wear. A change in the weather for the worse had made sure of that.
Becker looked from left to right. All the figures were drenched in rainwater.
There were three otters that were sent to capture his nephew, with the hedgehog somehow absent. Seven soldiers in Trielian garb, all sworn not to attempt an escape or cause trouble to their captors. One was dressed better than the others - Denebas Burelas, evidently. He was the only Boreller to be raised with the rapier instead of the spear.
The last figure in this group of eleven should be Thordan Swalestrom, called King of Dravania. He looked poorly. His jaw was mangled towards one side, and his fur was matted and unkempt.
"Ah, Lord Becker. Here is your nephew - oh, and a lot of other beasts as well."
"Good." Becker tried to show as little eagerness as possible. It was impolite to brag about a king, false as he may be, being in his possession, but Thordan was still kin. "You will receive your reward soon. You three may leave." The two non-royal otters and their murine companion quickly sprinted out of the hall, talking about what they would spend their gold on. The subject of Muir cider popped out quite a few times.
It was only after they had left that Becker rushed forward and hugged his nephew. "You aren't hurt, are you?" He tried to sound as gentle as possible. "Gates, say that you're not hurt!"
"I'm fine, uncle." Thordan's eyes lost much of his gleam. "Mostly. Aside from being crammed into a box, bound and gagged, and almost being tickled to death. No need to worry."
"Tickled?"
"I would rather not mention it." Contrary to Becker's previous interactions with him, Thordan seemed awfully terse.
Becker saw fit to turn to Denebas. "And you? What brings you here?"
"Chasing one of your beasts and losing a duel."
"Ah." Becker wanted to ask more, but that may be embarrassing for the squirrel. After all, a noble without a sense of pride is either no noble at all, or is named Thordan.
"What are you going to do with us then?" Becker turned to the speaker. Normally, he would have expected the ever curious Thordan to have asked, but this question came from the mouth of the squirrel, and not the otter. When Becker's eyes landed on Thordan's, he quickly looked away, muttering a pained whimper.
He was broken, and Becker was to blame.
"You'll see your friends soon. I promise." With that, he tried to walk away. He had a meeting to organise - a Swalestrom could never break his word.
AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL
Galen knelt in front of the long-dead lord. Garrion perished in his sleep last night, a mere hour before he was supposed to wait.
Three other figures were there as well - Dirk was there, trying to recall a single incident that the lord had done anything memorable for him. The other two were Ralos, crying his eyes out for the first time since Galen and he had met, and a mole that Galen had never met. Dirk had told him that this was Dagbert, Garrion's old tutor. He was silently weeping, groaning about arriving too late and how he could have saved him if Sleet was there to open a path, or something similar to it. The body would be delivered to Floret soon enough, and birds were sent both there and Kaldos, where his father was currently stationed.
"Gale?" Dirk voiced softly, and as gently as he could. Galen's friend had gained a few scars after the last time he was seen, and his voice seemed more muted now. He had seen much, and Galen had to doubt that Dirk liked what he had seen.
"Yes?"
"You've been kneeling here for the better half of an hour." Dirk shifted a knee over to his friend.
Seeing the obvious cue, the taller otter got up. Galen's face was not as scar-marked as the other otter's; but he had seen his own fair share of fighting. It was just that leading from the rear led to less chances of injury, and even then, a few arrows have streaked near.
"What do you want?" Galen crossed his paws.
"I would like to make a confession."
"What would that be?"
Dirk sighed. "I have a s-" He paused to cough. "A slight jealousy of you. You're friends with a lord, and I'm just… a soldier."
Galen put a paw on his friend's shoulder. "You're the best soldier, Dirk. Better than me, even. And I wasn't entirely honest about my past either."
Dirk nodded. "I figured that out. You never wanted to talk about it."
Garrion looked at the peaceful visage of Lord Garrion. He seemed more asleep than dead, but everybeast knew that that was not the case.
"I wanted to talk to Lord Garrion about this, but I never got that chance. Dirk?" Galen sighed, and took a deep breath. "My real name is Brink Rufeshodd."
"Brink?" Dirk hesitated. "Never knew a Brink."
"I don't remember much about my past though." Galen tapped his head. "I just remember a 'Keetch'... a friend. I can't remember how he was like. He was a squirrel or something… I must have banged my head."
"Where is he now?"
"Dead. A castle fell on him in a lightning storm. Sometimes I think I can still hear his voice." The otter knelt, overwhelmed with emotion. "Why? Why can I not remember anything?"
Dirk rushed forward and hugged his friend, lifting him up. "Don't worry, Gale. You still have me."
As Galen returned the gesture, he remembered the letter that Garrion had left for him. There is no time to waste on reminiscance.
LOAMHEDGE
Arbert got up from the ground. What he saw made him nauseous, and he was lucky not to have eaten anything just before he arrived.
Two pairs of eyes stared straight into his own. One was icy-blue, like the owner's favoured attack method. She carried with her a worried look and the knowledge the Narrator gave her.
The other was a playful set of green pupils, eager to experiment and gamble and play, and one who Arbert had seen before.
"Well… it seems that you're awake, little warrior." Thordan - no. Not Thordan anymore. Emetselk looked downwards at the mole with his signature smugness. "I trust you do not like what you saw, have you not?"
Arbert shook his head. Three visions of three futures, none of them being desirable outcomes, and he was dead in the one he found the slightest bit of happiness.
"Cheer up, Arbert. None of my visions came true." The otter laughed bitterly. "Can't believe that I got scammed by an incorporeal voice." He abruptly turned around, expecting a loud, booming 'I HEARD THAT' to erupt from the Loamhedge gorge. The otter offered a paw, which Arbert took, swinging himself up with the momentum.
"I thought your daughter and the black fox would have come by now, but it shall seem that I was mistaken." Arbert crossed his paws.
"Well.. Matoya thought that this place was open to all seers that could open a Pathway…" Emetselk slouched against a tree.
"Actually, this place is welcome to any vermin who comes with a woodlander, provided that one of them is a seer." The grey fox simply stated without batting an eye.
"Wait. What?" Arbert smirked as he saw the otter look downright surprised for the first time.
"It's what the Narrator says, anyway."
"Oh. He won't be wrong." Emetselk shifted into a relaxed stance while it was Hersent's turn to look agitated.
Sniffing the air in front of her, the vixen leapt to her footpaws. "Beasts are approaching. Many beasts. All vermin, I think. They smell!"
Within a second, the otter vanished from sight, the vixen alongside him. Arbert decided that it would be a good idea to put a Veil over himself as well.
Before a single minute had even passed, a trio of vermin had wandered into the clearing. By the looks of the tattoos on their faces, they were clearly Juska, geared up for the collection of weapons. Arbert tensed as he recalled that Finnbarr and Fatch were still strapped to his back.
"I smell somethin' weird." A ferret sniffed at the air like Hersent had just done. "Steel. Real good steel - the best."
"Narn woul' want dat." A fox stepped up. "Good weapons are hard ter come by. Can't let Sedjow get all the glory!"
"It's in dis direction!" The ferret rushed forward towards Arbert, who cut him down in a single stroke, Finnbarr in his paw. The vermin's head toppled onto the earth.
'What- get him!" The fox could only go one step towards the now visible mole before he was in turn cut down by a suddenly appearing otter. The third beast, a rat, could only gasp as his chest got blown open by a lance of ice.
"We should go now," the vixen said as coolly as she could, opening a pathway to the Rift.
"Agreed." Arbert was the first to step through.
MAUPERT, KINGDOM OF VALNAIN
Arn has had dinner with two lords as of this moment, and he could say for sure that he liked the former more.
Corrado was the typical woodlander. Brave, dashing, chivalrous - everything that Arn aspired to be. Well… he did have a couple of illegitimate children floating around Triel, but the point is that he settled down after marriage.
Renart, however, was the vermin archetype. Born and molded into what he is now by extraordinary hedonism. He was never to pass away an opportunity for more wine, nor the embrace (and perhaps more) from a maid. In addition, his sense of pride was overblown, and that was what Arn despised most of all.
But his troops needed the pay, and now here he was, dining with one of the worst lords ever to live. At least the wine was good.
"So… what is your next move, Lord Renart?" The weasel asked as he put a piece of woodpigeon into his mouth.
The fox wiped his mouth. "Well… thank you for escorting me here, Sir Arn." Renart had responded to the news of his knighthood by laughing aloud. For him, gaining honour was an alien concept - why bother understanding? "King Guillame is dead. Isangrim made sure of that." Seeing Arn's subtle nod, the boisterous fox continued. "Now I would like to plop myself cosy on the Valnainer throne - but I think you know that, do you not?"
Arn nodded once more. "You have indeed told me so. Though many beasts would try to bar your way, you are determined to be a king, whatever the cost."
If Renart detected the passive aggression in Arn's tone, he did not give any response. "That's where you come in, Arn Skulason." Seeing Arn's surprise, the fox grinned.
"You see, due to your peasant upbringing, you shouldn't really have an idea how it works. Valnainers elect their king from a collection of nobles, and who gets the most votes wins. Simple and clean!"
"And what exactly do you want me to do with the Southpaws?"
"Well, to walk into Valnain and threaten everybeast to vote for me, of course! Why do you need so much time getting everything?"
Arn had heard enough. "I may unmake beasts, and topple kings, but I will not make a king out of a beast without honour of any kind. You will not use me for this."
Renart nodded while his glare faded. Being angry at a beast who was trained in killing since a child was not a good idea, as honourable as he may claim to be, is a bad idea. "I see. Then I shall have to think of something else." He rubbed his chin as he shook his head, having been under the influence of too much alcohol. "You may leave my service now - I trust you have been paid prior to this day."
Arn nodded, and hurried out of the fox's castle with his band. He had a father to meet, and a brother to rescue.
FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD
Ellisiv figured that Bellamy had been slipping under a dark cloud. Her friend had lost a brother and another, then a mother, and finally her last brother. It would be better if Ellisiv had stayed away from her for a while, but King Gideon had other plans for her.
The squirrelking was never one to emulate his royal ancestors. He was already celebrating winning the war under his auspices, while doing absolutely nothing for 'his' victory. Ellisiv reckoned he couldn't even blow his nose without an advisor.
No raging could bring Garrion back from the dead though. Ellisiv thought as him as a mere friend at best. He would much rather bring a book into bed than with her, and he would rather perform one of his legendary discourses than just talking to her like a normal otter.
In a way, he was still better than his brothers, but he was not an otter a maid would marry for love. Despite that, he loved her still. He just could not express his emotions well enough for her - just like both of his male cousins.
"Bellamy?" Ellisiv crawled through the door to her room.
"I don't really want to talk…" The ottermaid moaned. Her eyes were red and tired from crying, and she clung on to what happiness she could possess - to no avail.
"King Gideon sent me here to tell you something." Bellamy looked at her former sister in-law. He wants you to marry Lord Alfyn Stalwart."
A very short silence followed, followed without interlude by a screech by Bellamy.
"He can't do that! I… not now!"
"He wants a Trielian otter under his fold." Ellisiv was never the rational one in the duo, but she had to pick up the role. "If you marry him, the two Otterguards would be bound together by blood, and war will not happen again!"
Bellamy said nothing as Ellisiv knelt beside her. "That is what Garrion would want," the older otter gently said.
"But that's not what I want!" The younger ottermaid stood up. "Alfyn's just some Trielian clodhopper that just wants me to bear his son!" Then she decided that she would say words that have never before been spoken in Southsward. "I'm calling a tournament. And nobeast will stop me doing that!"
KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA
It did not take long for Egil to realise something was up.
Becker's tone was all too confident in his letter, despite his defeat in his assault a few days earlier - if it could even be called that. The Dravanians received few casualties, though admittedly the Southards did as well.
He did mention that Triel was in no position to help Alfyn though - Avrank was a testament to that. The road to Arnet lay wide open, and Ralos would just march his army through before King Garmund could do anything.
If Egil was lucky, the General would free all the slaves he could get their paws on. After all, what better way was there to damage the Trielian economy, and get a good deal of support in the process? It could cut Parman support from Triel, but that would be better than leading the entirety of the Southard force here to Kaldos.
It only took a few more moments before the weasel understood the otterlord's tone.
Thordan was in his paws, and anything could happen.
In a moment, Alfyn and Lady Sigrun rushed to Egil's side, no doubt attracted by his scream. They did manage to stop themselves from doing the same, and immediately headed to Lord Strandsor, leaving Egil alone in his thoughts. Thordan, a prisoner. His father had asked him to keep him safe, and now he has been leashed by his kin.
Once he has been transported back to Floret… Egil shuddered at what would happen to him. Locked up for the rest of his miserable life? Having his eyes put out, never to gaze upon a pretty maid ever again? Learning what happens after the head is separated from the body the hard way? There was no way that Thordan could just walk out of the grasp of the Southards.
And then all verminkind would be doomed.
Egil slapped the part of him that thought that. Thordan's brother Corrado was still alive, judging by Arn's return letter to Egil, and was inclined to using vermin as a force for good. Lorelei would stand yet despite her son being taken out, but she would trust in vermin still, considering the fox by her side.
But there was still hope.
He put down everything, and ran for the exit, almost knocking down a few servants along the way, earning him a few angry looks. Panting with every breath, the vermin nearly crumbled into a heap when he reached Lord Alfyn, cloaked in emissary white from head to toeclaw.
"I'll go with you. I'll see Thordan with you, even if that would be the last thing I do."
A/N: Short chapter here!
And so A Realm Reborn slowly but surely ends. Very few real life wars end in one big battle, but slowly fizzle out like a can of Coca Cola left in the air for too long. No Mentos this time. This one should end in a treaty and a tournament - if nothing seery happens.
Chapter 42 (Within) will be up on 15/16 January! And happy new year!