Chapter Sixty-Five

"I've been through the Shiverpeaks before." Coran chattered, "You'd think I'd be prepared for how cold it is."

"You can never be prepared for it." Devona replied, her closeness to his shoulder just as much out of affection as it was to keep warm. This was a true Shiverpeaks blizzard, without the beacon of a dwarven settlement to lend hope to tired, chilled bones.

However, while the dwarves were no longer around, the remains of their kingdom were, and it lent for a place to wait out the storm in relative shelter. Coran figured it was as good of a time and place as any to explain his next move.

Devona and her allies had sensed something was off about Coran, but most of them passed it off as emotional stress, knowing he was following the same path his brother had taken. But Devona suspected differently... and Aidan knew differently.

"Coran... I've been meaning to bring this up..." the ranger began, "I can't help but notice we are taking a rather northerly course, drifting off the easiest route to Kryta for the last couple of days. I can tell you aren't lost... so I am loathe to say we're heading to Kryta at this point."

Questioning glances turned Coran's way, and the exiled prince admitted, "Because we're not. Kryta's too politically unstable right now. Queen Salma is having a difficult transition as it is between establishing a proper base of power, along with the continued resistance of the White Mantle. The last thing Kryta needs is the son of the legendary King Doric appearing on its lands."

Gwen, assigned as the Ebon Vanguard's escort through the Shiverpeaks, had been quiet for much of the journey. Upon learning that the plans weren't what she had been told, the mesmer finally spoke up. "The Eye of the North will always be a haven for you! They haven't forgotten what you have done for Ascalon and Tyria, even if the king has!"

"And make the Eye of the North an even more enticing target for Charr warbands not led by Pyre Fierceshot?" Coran snorted. "Look at Grazz... even he's cringing at the idea. To take up residence at the Eye of the North would almost certainly result in outright civil war among the Charr."

Gwen huffed, "And that's a bad thing?"

Grazz had grown more accustomed to using his mechanical voice box, although he still wasn't keen on using it more than absolutely necessary. This was one of those times. "Myself, and Pyre's warband by extension, is currently honor bound to protect Coran and his descendants. Any Charr attack on them is considered an attack on us, and would quickly suck in every warband of fighting strength. A civil war among the Charr would rival your own Guild Wars in its severity and scope. And... considering what I personally know of the weapons of the Shamans still unused, resting within their covens and temples, it would likely rival the aftermath as well."

"Oh." Gwen squeaked. "That bad, huh?"

Finally Devona had her say, "So, if we aren't traveling for Kryta, where are we going?"

Coran turned his head to the northwest. "Roughly fifteen years ago, the historian Durmand set up a small archive for his knowledge tucked into Shiverpeaks, to prevent his works and findings from being seized and destroyed by the White Mantle. He's since been welcomed back in Kryta by the new queen, but he has kept and tried to maintain the repository as a haven for scholars anywhere they fear repression or as a neutral site for learned men and women to convene without the meddling influence of national boundaries."

He looked down, and gently poked the fire with a stick. "He's been trying to get someone to work as a permanent caretaker of the repository for some time... I suspect he won't protest me taking up the billet. That's where I am going. The rest of you, of course, would be relieved of any duties to me upon my arrival at that location."

Devona scoffed, and slid closer to her husband's side. "I'm certainly not here out of duty. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

Mhenlo and Cynn shared a silent conversation, then the lady spoke for the both of them, "We both kinda like the idea of somewhere free of political influence and bickering. Besides, we've followed Devona for nearly a decade now. Neither of us feel the need to break that habit."

"This is the sort of place that suits me." Aidan added, "Not some stuffy Krytan city. I find this option much more appealing."

Grazz didn't need to say anything. Nothing Coran would say or order was going to get the Charr to break his oath to Pyre and the Fierce clan.

Gwen, however, had a slightly different inclination, "My duty still lies with the Ebon Vanguard, but I am certain Captain Langmar will want to maintain some contact with the last surviving heir to the throne, so I will likely be ordered to check in when I am able."

"Well... that likely won't be an issue once I have concluded my business here." Coran stated cryptically. "Which actually brings me to that order of business, as there is one slight detour I wish to make before we move on."

Devona asked, "What is that?"

"I wish to visit the place where my brother died." Then after thinking, added, "His mortal life, I should say. It would be far too troublesome a detour to work our way to the Ring of Fire."

* * * * *

The Frost Gate had taken a beating to begin with during the flight of the Ascalon refugees. Time and winter had taken a further toll, to the point where much of the battleground was collapsed or blown over with snow and ice. Even the thick, imposing stone of the gate itself had broken in half... one part still hanging from now rusted chains... the other shattered rubble strewn about the valley floor.

But Devona wouldn't have needed any landmark to know where the elder prince had fallen. She knew that place in her bones... watching helplessly as Dagmar Stonepate's avalanche had trapped Rurik under a tree... a tree that now lied in two pieces, neatly cut down the middle, the edges burned from what must have been from Khilbron's undead resurrection of the man.

"I always said he was a damned fool... charging recklessly into any combat... causing no ends of grief to anyone damn stupid enough to follow him..." Coran began, betraying his deeply buried remorse for his brother's death with a mist of tears that escaped his efforts towards composure. "But he deserved better than to die here. I suppose, at the very least, he died how he lived; bravely and without regret."

He took a deep breath to gather himself, and took his spear from his back. "It's how Coran will die... without regret."

Devona didn't like the sound of that. "Dearest... what are you..."

"From this point on, Coran, son of Adelbern, prince of Ascalon, lives no longer. As far as the world will know, he joined his brother in death upon the Shiverpeaks."

Coran then jammed his spear into the icy ground, the crackle of static electricity momentarily kicking up a plume of steam before its owner released the weapon and stepped away.

"Now, I'm done." He said flatly, "I apologize for any delay."