In which ASoIaF stops pretending to be a low fantasy setting when all the magic comes back, thanks to a misplaced demonically corrupted Silver dragon. Its lack will no longer be an issue for anyone. Or anything. Good does not always triumph over Evil. What has been lost can not always be reclaimed. What has been forgotten cannot always be remembered.

Some decay is irreversible.

Winter is coming, but it will not do so alone. If the world doesn't end in fire, salt or shadow first?

It will end in ice.


Golarion

Rust


"How bad was it?" Galfrey, queen of the crusader state of Mendev, swiftly strode down the corridors of the Cruciform Cathedral of Iomedae.

Unlike other monarchs, she did not rule from a castle or palace, but from a temple that doubled as a military base. All of Nerosyan was built the same way, function over form. The city was built in diamond shaped fortifications centered around the Cathedral for the sole purpose of making the districts easier to defend in the event of an attack. There were some flourishes. The white marble was red-veined, dark wood furnishing, plush red carpet, gold plated braziers, statues and candelabras, but for the most part, this was a place of worship and righteous purpose.

Galfrey prided herself on living similarly. Her full plate armor was richly furnished with brass embellishments, not gold to make it easier to replace. The darkened steel itself still had nicks, dents and scratches from battle, evidence of repairs by the blacksmith's hammer. She was without her full helmet, but what replaced it were the braids of her golden hair and her crown forged from plain steel.

"By far the worst case of demonic corruption we have ever seen."

He was a humble looking man, out of place walking just behind the queen of Mendev in her plate and crimson and Mendevian blue cloak. A farmer or woodswitch by trade from the look of him, with coarse clothing sparsely decorated with stitching and bird feathers. A lined, weather beaten human face under a mop of red-blond hair, but the warning growl of a dragon echoed from his throat and shivered across the high ceiling.

Galfrey turned slightly. "We?"

"We," Halaseliax rumbled.

That included the entire Silver dragon Collective and their combined centuries of experience with the demons of the Abyss and the corrupted land of the Worldwound.

She let out a slow breath and hiked up her shoulders. "Understood."

"Do you really?" The Gold dragon had a talent for asking condescending questions without quite sounding like he was.

"I understand enough," she said curtly. "A Tarnished Metallic dragon is akin to a fallen paladin. Terendelev lost her way."

"By the time I arrived to guide her back…" the Gold dragon hesitated. "I was ready to die trying. She was a Rift dragon of the Abyss in all but name. Her scales were midnight. That she is recognizable right now is testament to her strength."

In spite of herself and the subject, Galfrey smiled. "That's my girl."

"Do not reject her."

Galfrey stopped dead in her tracks. "You really think I would give up on fifty years just like that?"

Halaseliax looked at her placidly. The only evidence of his displeasure were his brown eyes had been replaced with twin orbs of pure gold. "Your goddess did."

Her stomach clenched. "...why?"

The Gold dragon looked away. "Our efforts in cleansing the corruption, of purification, were failures."

"But then…"

"She is recognizable. She is not cured," the elder dragon stressed. "The usual methods either did nothing, or the malady reacted so violently, I could have easily killed her had I persisted."

"She proved capable of driving Deskari's premier warlords from the battlefield only five years ago." Her lips pursed. "Perhaps it is not so surprising that the demons want her dead so badly."

The Gold ducked his head. "I am certain that would have also been an acceptable outcome."

That cryptic statement drew a frown from her.

She supposed a mad tarnished Silver dragon equal to a balor lord with intimate knowledge of the crusade's military could do a lot of damage before she was…put down.

That was how demons worked.

Dedicated to calculated misery.

"With an inability to rid her of this…curse," Galfrey settled on. It was not her fault. Never. "I take it you went the path of control instead."

"A chaotic form of evil cannot truly be controlled," Halaseliax said slowly. "Only denied. Or appeased."

Her stomach sank along with her heart. Terendelev put in the work. The effort, the hours and the service to be ordained as a cleric of Iomedae instead of relying on the power of her birthright. She could not imagine the Inheritor turning her back on any paladin, inquisitor or cleric of hers that denied the pull of the Abyss.

That left appeasement.

What pieces of herself Terendelev was capable of protecting against the caustic, ravenous hunger of the Abyss.

And what she could afford to lose.

"She is recognizable," the queen said dully.

"She is recognizable," the dragon repeated miserably. "Please. Do not reject her."

Galfrey breathed in, quick and sharp. 'My strength is not in my sword, but in my heart. If I lose my sword, I have lost a tool. If I betray my heart, I have died.'

Iomedae's decisions were her own and it was not for her to gainsay them. However, her paladins swore to always guard the honor of their comrades, to have faith in the best of them.

"I will not. I swear it."

Halaseliax studied her. Even in his humble guise, the full weight of his years and majesty still shone through.

He nodded. "This way."

The Gold led her to one of the small chapels sequestered away within the Cathedral near the barracks. It was a room meant for quiet contemplation and confession rather than grand sermons, attended by a single elderly veteran of the crusades. A warpriest perhaps, or an old paladin. It was in his stance and sharp salute when he saw her.

"At ease." Galfrey waved him down.

The evening sun was spilling red light through the thin high windows, bathing the entire room in a bloody glow. The Inheritor's statue dominated the far wall of the small room. The regal woman in gold plated armor with a longsword boldly pointed at the sky and the other hand resting on a kite shield planted on the ground emblazoned with the radiant sword symbol was a familiar sight. There were a handful of small plain wooden pews and red cushions at the sides for kneeling.

Not far from the door in the back pew, a miserable figure was hunched over clasped pale hands.

"Terendelev," Halaseliax rumbled. "Your rhîsskha is here."

Galfrey startled. She knew that word. "Her what?"

The figure jerked in her seat, rasping. "My what?"

By the Inheritor, her girl sounded wretched. Galfrey gave Halaseliax a 'you will explain that later' look, unimpressed with his innocent smile, before she approached the pew.

Terendelev turned to face her.

Matted silver hair damp with sweat. Sallow pale skin. Deep blue eyes red-rimmed and hazy as if suffering through a high fever.

Halaseliax, as good as naming her Terendelev's mother, was instantly forgotten.

"Oh, Tee," Galfrey murmured, stepping forwards even as the silver dragon in human form cringed back.

She was trying to make herself as small as possible, Galfrey noted.

Not that it was very difficult.

Dark, dirty clothing that her human guise practically swam in, as if she had recently lost weight she did not have to lose. Her silver hair was dull and unevenly cut, missing in some places like locks had been yanked out at the roots leaving scabs behind. Her cheeks were sunken. The bags under her eyes looked more like bruises. Just sitting there on the pew, Galfrey could see tremors of exhaustion wrack her form.

"Your Majesty," Terendelev croaked. "You didn't have to - I mean - " She started to rise from the pew, to bow or curtsy because even half-dead, vulnerable to any stiff breeze, Silvers adored their manners.

"Forget protocol," Galfrey cut her short.

The dragon froze.

"In fact," Galfrey said. "I forbid you from standing on ceremony with me."

"I - I - I - In - in public and polite company, surely…?" Terendelev stammered. She licked her cracked lips, blue eyes darting around the small chapel as if looking for an escape.

It was a split second decision. "No."

The Silver cringed again.

"Really, you act as if it would kill you." Galfrey stepped forward carefully, as a druid would when approaching a frightened, hurt animal. "It's been almost a year. You were missed, dear one."

Terendelev shuddered. Her expression crumpled.

Galfrey slipped into the pew beside her. Slowly, gently, she wrapped an arm around Terendelev's thin shoulders. Those shoulders shook once.

Twice.

Then the girl all but collapsed into her side against the hard steel plate. Galfrey's free hand came up reflexively to cup the dragon's clammy cheek. The cold nose nuzzled into her palm as Galfrey hugged her closer, wishing she had the forethought to change out of her armor into something more comfortable.

"Allow me," Halaseliax murmured. In an understated show of strength, the Gold tore Galfrey's thick tangled cloak free from its steel fastenings and wrapped it around his student.

The girl felt like a baby bird in her arms. Shivering, weak and feverish.

The queen's heart broke.

"There we are," she murmured into the dirty silver hair. "There we are."

"You shouldn't have come," Terendelev murmured brokenly. "I couldn't - I failed. I'm not safe."

"Well, I don't know about that. I feel plenty safe right now."

Terendelev pressed closer. Her thin hands grasped at Galfrey's armor as if they were still tipped with razor claws. A sibilant hiss. Bared teeth scraped over her jugular. "Are you?"

Galfrey held herself still and relaxed. By her goddess' blessing, she could heal herself through a torn out throat.

She'd done it before.

"I believe you are capable, and more importantly, willing to control yourself." Her words came out evenly around the ball of ice in her stomach. "The dragon I know will settle for nothing less."

The Silver hissed again. "The dragon you knew died in a squalid cave on the border to the Worldwound."

"Did she?" Galfrey mused aloud. "Then I wonder why whoever it is I have right here bothered to try to warn me away." The dragon in her arms trembled. "Could it be that she doesn't want to hurt me?"

"But I do want to," Terendelev whispered.

Ah, Galfrey thought. She turned her head slightly, catching sight of golden eyes and a nod in her peripheral vision.

This was what Halaseliax meant.

Merely recognizable.

"And yet you still haven't."

"Don't tempt me!" The Silver's snarl shattered the peace of the chapel.

Out of the corner of her eye, Galfrey saw the attending cleric slowly rise from his seat. She held out a hand, halting him. Terendelev sniffed contemptuously, eyeing the man like he was a bloody steak she would love to tear apart.

But the dragon remained harmlessly curled into her side on a pew in a chapel devoted to Iomedae.

There was still hope.

Those dark blue eyes, the same shade as that of her father, the last prince of Mendev, looked up at her from under silver lashes.

Galfrey vividly remembered when that color was chosen.

Like many Silvers, Terendelev had defaulted to silver for her eye color. Unlike many Silvers, the girl quickly realized and cared that meeting her gaze was difficult for the lesser races. The predatory draconic instinct that kept her from being mistaken for a celestial-blooded silver haired Aasimar instead was not helped by the unnaturally bright color of her eyes.

The dragon had awkwardly asked for permission to use the same shade of blue as Galfrey's own.

She denied it, of course.

Half in jest and half out of a desire to see what the dragon would come up with.

When it was her father's eyes staring back at her from a hesitantly smug face, Galfrey realized what Terendelev had really been asking permission for.

Silver dragons. Silver eyes.

Dragons themselves were separated into subtypes by color.

It was too late to allow her the use of Galfrey's deep sapphire eyes, but she could, and did, explicitly allow her to keep her resemblance to the Mendevian royal family.

Terendelev's eyes dropped.

"Someone once told me, a wise and kind Silver dragon, actually, perhaps you know of her," the queen said lightly to Terendelev's watery, weak laugh. "That we crusaders were beautiful."

The Silver groaned and shrunk in age old embarrassment as the Gold snorted softly.

"I remember that." Halaseliax teased.

Terendelev muttered something unintelligible.

"That even amidst our suffering, our loss and despair…we held onto hope. We gave our all for our loved ones, for the world. Out of compassion, out of duty, we continued on."

"Duty is not enough," her dragon murmured. "Compassion, sympathy, affection, all of it burns away. Just rage," she growled. "And hate."

"Then do not think of it as your duty," Galfrey offered. "Just don't let the demons win."

The Silver went still.

"...yeeeessss." The eerie keening sound crawled up Galfrey's spine. "I do not have to care." The dragon rolled the words in her mouth, savoring them. "But that is no reason to let them have what they want."

"Do good," Halaseliax's deep voice tentatively ventured with the air of someone hesitantly reminding another of something. "And it will not matter."

If she was to be honest, redemption through sheer spite was not the worst idea Galfrey had ever heard.

Or proposed.

"I will try," Terendelev said in a small voice. Then she cleared her throat. "But not because I was ordered to."

In spite of herself, Galfrey had to smother a smile. "I do not recall making it an order, merely a suggestion."

"Because I want to."

"Of course."

The Silver grumbled a little. "...I'll kill you last."

"And voluntarily put yourself at the back of the line of all the demons that want to kill me first?"

"Good point," Terendelev muttered sleepily.

Halaseliax's exasperated stare bored into the side of her head.

Yes, she should probably aim to not make things worse.

"I will not give up on you," Galfrey murmured gently. "So do not give up on yourself."

Terendelev's breath hitched.

Choked.

There were no tears.

The sun set and the light from the windows to the chapel darkened and died as they sat together. The old cleric lit the candles with murmured prayers to the Inheritor, the Light of the Sword, the Lady of Valor. She could repeat those prayers in her sleep.

She likely could repeat them while dead.

Barely audible, came a guilty whisper, "You remember your oath to Iomedae?"

"Always."

Galfrey smiled in bittersweet nostalgia.

It was strange, sometimes.

To remember that there were noble houses in Mendev that prided themselves on generational worship of Iomedae.

When she herself had been alive for longer than Iomedae has even been a goddess.

"No matter how arduous, no matter how dark the skies, no matter how much blood flows from my wounds, I shall stand with you."

It was almost a bedtime story.

A bedtime story of a young queen's faith and conviction, among the first to take up the banner of Aroden's heir amidst the shattered promises. Back when the Age of Lost Omens and broken fate had begun, when the Worldwound had just opened, but she still believed. Saw victory against the demons of the Abyss on the horizon.

"We shall fight for our loved ones and our friends, for the right to live and die free. We shall do everything we possibly can, and after that, we shall begin to do the impossible."

That had been some seventy years ago.

"...and if the hour should come when our arms can no longer raise our swords, our bodies will become a shield for those who still have the strength to fight. I, Galfrey, Queen of Mendev, swear this to you."

Over the years, familiar faces changed. Grew older, wrinkled and gray before finally becoming absent, replaced by new faces that became familiar.

Then grew older, wrinkled.

She stayed the same.

"This I vow," she whispered.

Galfrey was one hundred and thirty four years old with all the strength and vigor of herself at twenty three. Her life is prolonged by powerful, expensive magics as a crutch, to keep Iomedae's chosen paladin at the head of the crusade movement. Every close companion, comrade in arms, friend, family that stood with her on the battlefield when the Herald of Iomedae blessed her was long, long gone.

So great was the need, that the simple fact that humans were not meant to live forever was disregarded.

It was lonely.

Her faith remained.

And a Silver dragon.

There was a slight tug on her armor.

"Again?" Was a quiet, childish plea.

The queen of Mendev rested her cheek against the top of the silver gilt head. "No matter how arduous, no matter how dark the skies…"

It was in the middle of her third recitation when she realized Terendelev had fallen asleep. As always, Terendelev looked painfully young asleep. Even as a dragon, her tendency to curl into a ball meant stumbling upon her was more adorable than intimidating. Her thin frame swaddled in Galfrey's thick cloak and bird's nest of silver hair was the image of a tired child.

With careful movements, she shifted the girl off her pauldron onto her legs. Her fingers picked through the knots and tangles of silver hair.

"Thank you," Halaseliax said, heartfelt. "She thought her friends had abandoned her to suffer and perish."

"We did not want to leave her. We just all wanted her to get better," Galfrey murmured, working through a matted clump of silver hair.

"I thought of bringing her to the azata first," Halaseliax admitted.

Galfrey raised two incredulous eyebrows. "That would have gotten one or both of them killed."

Her first cousin Countess Brenhild Arendae had seen something in the angel of Elysium all those decades ago, but in her experience, Braganon was best in very small doses with at least three days minimum before repeat exposure.

"I am aware," the Gold deadpanned. "We will depart in the morning - "

"Back to that cave?" Galfrey interrupted. "Let her stay here. The royal wing is private enough - "

"Not for a dragon throwing a tantrum," Halaseliax said. "The minute she begins to feel overly burdened with a human form, she will shed it and if I should need to stop her…"

Galfrey stifled a sigh.

Her first impulse was to insist and hope for the best, but her sense won out. It had taken nearly a year after that demon ambush for Terendelev to 'only' threaten Galfrey's life. Dueling dragons in her capital city would be a disaster.

"Look at her," she said softly instead, carding through the silver hair. "She's exhausted."

"Our hearing is impeccable. Her lair and coin bed is far from here," the Gold said warmly. "She would still have trouble sleeping, if she did not feel safe."

There was an almost painful twinge in her chest.

"I will have rooms prepared in the royal wing anyway," Galfrey found herself saying. "For when she returns."

When.

Not if.

"As is your right."

"As her mother?" Galfrey laughed coarsely. She strangled her own voice when Terendelev stirred and kept quiet until she settled. "She is at least eight times my age."

Halaseliax bowed his head. "That means much less than you think."

"Yes, I know." She could only agree. A hundred year old elf was an adolescent. A hundred year old dwarf was middle aged. A hundred year old human should have one foot in the grave. "Sometimes she is almost a thousand and sometimes she is almost twelve."

Confident, regal and poised woman when in her element.

An anxious, awkward mess of a teenager when she wasn't.

"The first time I saw her, she was in the main hall, looking as if she wanted to collect my crusaders, their armor, boots and all."

"I had to keep her from wandering off before she actually managed to enlist," Halaseliax reminisced fondly. "She didn't even notice I was holding the back of her collar."

He hadn't even needed to look, Galfrey remembered. As soon as Terendelev started to move, fixated on some curiousity, a weathered claw had already been snagging her shirt.

"I called her child then." 'Dear one' was a compromise. "I still feel that impulse whenever she is being irritatingly Silver."

"I am guilty of that one as well. Constantly." The Gold sighed. "For the exact same reason."

"Which is ridiculous, as I know she has had children of her own."

Halaseliax let out a long, drawn out sigh of resignation in response. "Teenage rebellion."

Galfrey blinked. Weren't true dragons considered full adults at two centuries? "At five hundred?"

"Yes."

She snorted. "Well, we do have our fair share of encounters with headstrong Silvers. Sevalros - " The Gold winced and she bit her tongue. "If it is any consolation, the Silver Collective reported no sign of him recently."

Silver dragons were reclusive and isolationist as a rule. She has heard it said that Silvers in a territory could be 'neighbors' with another Silver they will only set eyes on once a decade at the local meet up. The Mendevian population of Silvers waged their own war against the demonic hordes of the Abyss, understanding how vital Mendev's struggle was to the safety of the rest of the world.

A concept many of the bordering nations failed to grasp in favor of their own petty politics.

If she tried to run her crusader state the same way the Silvers governed their own, her army would rebel as one.

And they would be right to.

The sheer perfectionism she only received glimpses of from Terendelev boggled the mind. Mentors were assigned to younger dragons efficiently with signups, negotiations and numbered tables. Detailed, yet concise military reports on their efforts were submitted on time, every time with a precision she could set her clock to. Shift length measured in weeks of hyper vigilance and little rest or food. A dragon 'officer' and a dragon 'grunt' were divided only by responsibility. No difference in pay, privilege or luxury. Internal report cycles that expected one hundred percent participation with a recent referendum to make mating less burdensome to bolster their numbers.

To be a Silver dragon was to be meticulous, thorough and driven.

That did not make them callous or uncaring.

Every so often, news crossed her desk of the great lengths a Silver dragon went to for the sake of their friends. Right here in Nerosyan, under the watchful eyes of senior clerics of Iomedae were Silver dragon hatcheries. Part of their agreement with their nominal allies was keeping their young safe, even as their parents fought the demonic hordes. There were losses, even among their mighty comrades. So far, five had died in attempts to bring Terendelev's wayward sworn brother and fellow student of Halaeliax, the Silver dragon Sevalros back from the Worldwound.

No egg ever went unaccounted for.

She was considering copying their rotations for mental health herself -

No egg…

"...she introduced herself only as being of Apsu's line all those years ago," Galfrey realized. At the time, she had been thoroughly distracted by the 'rogue' Silver wishing to enlist and fight with the crusaders instead of with her own kind. "That is not typical of Silvers, is it? Not with their record keeping and pride."

The Gold dragon smiled. "Perhaps."

There are no orphan Silver dragons.

Galfrey traced the shell of Terendelev's ear. "Who is she?"

"Whoever she makes of herself."

Her lips pursed. That was not an answer. "I see."

The Gold held out cupped hands in surrender, but said nothing else.

She changed the subject. "It would be for the best if the tale of a corrupted Silver dragon overcoming her trials to regain her former purity was the one told."

If she could learn to control, or at least to suppress her curse…

No one else needs ever know.

It would be a private matter between Terendelev and the goddess, Iomedae then.

"And I will remove her from the front lines."

"Your generals will not be pleased," the elder dragon rumbled. It was not a warning. It sounded more like he was curious.

"I find myself not giving a damn what will please my generals," Galfrey scoffed. "The same reasoning they used on me to keep me safe applies to her now. We cannot risk the conqueror of the balor lord, the Storm King."

She was safe now. And must be kept safe.

They had already almost lost her once.

This must be a taste of what dragons feel, Galfrey thought. To feel both possessive and protective almost beyond reason, ready to bare her teeth before the gods themselves, all for the sake of the hurt hatchling huddled underneath her wings.

Kenabres. The fortress she saved a decade ago would be ideal.

Terendelev was already fond of the city and its people were fond of her. They kept a broken claw of hers in their Estrod Museum, celebrated as a hero of the crusades and invited her to attend their festival parades as a guest of honor.

The Fourth Crusade was a disaster. She could admit that.

A decades-long slog of attrition accomplishing nothing she bollocked up from the start that soon the Church of Iomedae would call an official end to.

Their Silver dragon's victory over Khorramzadeh, the Storm King, the only spot of hope. Morale was a resource like food or water and it was running dangerously low. A triumphant return of their hero would lift spirits.

Terendelev would feel obligated and it would be for her own good.

A military promotion was dead in the water. An excommunicated paladin or cleric was to be court-martialed, not promoted. Even if any agreed to waive the need for a trial in recognition of her great deeds, it would saddle her with too much responsibility too quickly.

There were spare noble titles.

There was one she was thinking of.

The legalities would be… complicated.

But not impossible.

If none of the Silvers could be bothered to claim her, then Mendev would.

Halaselix looked at her dubiously, but his lips twitched in amusement. He must have plucked the thought from the surface of her mind. Now she knew where Terendelev picked up that habit from. "My apologies, but, good luck getting her to agree to that."

"Headstrong Silvers, yes, I know. Don't fret."

Galfrey smiled softly down at the mess of silver hair on her lap.

"I will think of something."


That had been fifteen years ago.


"Thank you, all of you. I expect to see you all tomorrow, but in the meantime, you may take your leave."

"With all due respect, appointing this - "

"Viscount Thalun." Queen Galfrey's voice turned to cold steel. "You are dismissed."

She watched the various members of her staff and council file out of the room dominated by the crude long table. It had taken three knights to bring this monstrosity in and she still wasn't sure who decided she needed it, but it was here covered with her campaign map and reports.

One of those reports was picked up by a delicate hand.

"Prepare yourself," the dark orange haired aasimar lightly said. "You will be hearing a hundred variations of 'Galfrey, why' for some time yet."

"All of you."

"The royal advisor has been duly dismissed," Opaline said calmly as she continued organizing the reports on the table before her.

In the low light, the crimson tracks that ran from her molten eyes looked bloody and one could easily see how the Emberkin excelled in Cheliax where her other celestial blooded kin were persecuted as threats. Fallen angels made for a significant number of Devils.

"Do you intend to throw out a friend as well?"

"I am…not in the mood for your games, Opal."

"I know," she said softly. "That is why I am staying."

Something hot burned behind her eyes and Galfrey lowered them.

The abandoned inn still stunk of smoke and blood.

Kenabres was in ruins. It would take years before the city resembled what it had been. The inn itself was half a building, a mostly intact northern section facing the outer wall of the defenses of the fortress city with the southern half crushed by a large chunk of what must have been the roof of the Gray Garrison. The local churches and temples were either thoroughly desecrated by their short term demonic inhabitants, or infirmaries and beds for refugees and crusaders. Galfrey turned down the invitation to use the church of Shelyn, the goddess of beauty, from a shell shocked Sosiel Vaenic, the last surviving member of the local chapter.

He would have to prepare his brothers and sisters in faith for burial. She had no wish to impose upon that.

Not when she wished she was able to do the same.

She looked tired, she supposed. They had just completed a forced march to Kenabres from Nerosyan as soon as the news came in of the attack, so looking tired was excusable. She had been right in the thick of it with each band of fleeing refugees her forces intercepted, cutting bandages and healing until her gift burnt out only to do it again the next day. She kept her hair in neat braids and her armor shined.

She was on the edge of falling apart, keeping herself together by keeping herself busy.

"You remember my interview, I hope," Opal continued, slightly teasing. "I was hoping for a minor courtier position, only to walk into an office with the queen herself."

Galfrey closed her eyes.

"You talked a dragon into going to a sewing circle," Opal quoted. "It was a brilliant idea, she enjoys it and that look you are giving me right now, yes, that one. I like that about you."

"How would you like to advise me in matters of state…" Galfrey murmured, finishing the small tale.

It had caused a small scandal in Nerosyan, as nearly every one of her decisions did nowadays. A former Chelaxian noble, from that kingdom of Devils, premier advisor to Mendev's crown? To many, it seemed a sudden, rash decision. As far as she was concerned, Opaline was still being evaluated and tested ten years later. She did not know when her plans and ideas began to span the next decade instead of the next year.

The queen Opal was meant to learn how to advise was not herself.

A gentle hand landed on her shoulder.

"What hurts?" Opal said simply. "When it shouldn't?"

Without her permission, Galfrey's mouth creaked open like a rusted hinge. "...why them?"

"You haven't even met them."

And yet, she hated them already.

They could be a saint, a true god sent gift of generosity and selflessness with angel wings sprouting from their fucking back and it wouldn't change a godsdamned thing!

Opal clasped her hands together in front of her. "Why them…and not you?"

"I would have understood if it was me!"

It felt like she swallowed glass shards. Galfrey swayed in place, suddenly exhausted beyond belief. She slowly sank into her seat as if saying those words aloud had taken something more than air from her lungs to say.

"Do you have any idea - " she cut herself off because Opaline always had some idea. "I don't understand."

Her mouth worked. The walls seemed to be closing in.

"I do not understand. She blessed me a century ago. I have led four crusades in her name, was the first to take up her banner as Aroden's heir and it was this random nobody that was given immense power -" She held up a single finger high in the air. "Which they still have! By the way! Performing a great bloody miracle blowing to roof off the Gray Garrison, taking back the city from the demons, a complete and utter rout mere days after it fell - "

Her voice broke.

Just days. A little over a week after Terendelev's head was separated from her neck, Iomedae saw fit to intervene.

Too late.

The shine to Terendelev's scales returned with laborious effort, support and a rather frivolous anti-brooding reptiles law she did not regret. The day Iomedae rejected the dragon for the second time was the day Galfrey saw exactly what it would take for the noble creature to finally give up.

For her best to never be good enough.

She did not wish to think that Iomedae left Terendelev, who tried so godsdamned hard, to die…

But it was difficult.

"What is this, Opal?" Galfrey looked up with one hand raised and a flash of golden, healing light surrounding it. "I am still her paladin. What does that even mean now? What did I miss? Where did I fall short? How did I fail?"

She could have understood if her goddess chose the only individual that could possibly compete with a Silver dragon.

She chose neither.

Galfrey now knew exactly how Terendelev felt that day.

She did not know if it would be better or worse if the hero of Kenabres hadn't actually been chosen by Iomedae at all.

"Alas, I do not have an answer for you," Opal admitted sadly. "Only such questions will poison you, if you let them."

"I don't - " Galfrey looked down at the table and with deliberate movements, petulantly shoved one of the report stacks off the table. The sheaves of paper fluttered to the ground. "I don't - " Her voice broke again and she could only hoarsely rasp, "They took her body, Opal."

She couldn't even give her dragon a dignified burial.

She'd give her crown and throne both for just a chance to say goodbye.

It felt just like losing her father in Sarkoris all over again:

'Here's a new impossible crisis you have to fix, oh and, your family was just messily reduced by one and you didn't have a lot of them to begin with.

Congratulations.'

A depressed kind of silence permeated the borrowed room.

The demons must have dragged it away to who knows what damnation. If she was fortunate, the dragon was being displayed as a trophy. If she wasn't, they found a way to desecrate her sacrifice even from beyond the grave.

"It should have been her," Galfrey finally said. "She should have been here, in this room, accepting the position of Knight-Commander of the Fifth Crusade."

Terendelev would have thanked her for the responsibility with thinly veiled panic in her eyes, but she would have done wonderfully.

That - was her girl.

"That was the plan," Opaline said softly.

Demons lived to ruin those.

"There is a celebration planned in the Defender's Heart inn," Opaline offered. "Perhaps it would be best if you attended, instead of being holed up in here."

"Put on a brave face?" Galfrey's lips twisted unhappily.

"I was thinking in disguise, actually," the rogue admitted with a demonstrative twirl of her hand, displaying and then vanishing a gold coin. "Sit in a corner with a mug of terrible beer and simply watch your people rejoice."

That…did not sound too bad.

If she drank enough, putting on that brave face might even be possible.

"And then afterwards." Opal looked at her with large black eyes. "You will sit down with other parents who have lost a child to the crusades."

That was it.

Something in the back of her throat painfully snapped and then hot tears were searing their way down her face. A wail rattled in her chest at finally, finally hearing someone acknowledge what she had lost. Not a curiosity, a noble figurehead, a quaint friend or a - an irrational ill-conceived ploy to silence the opposition. What need did an immortal ruler have of an heir?

She helped raise that girl, damn it! It was a child's right to inherit after their parents.

She was supposed to be safe.

A gentle hand rested on her armored shoulder.

"I watched you two for ten years," Opal whispered. "I know what I saw. And I am so sorry."

"It was preposterous when her mentor said it." The words tumbled out like broken slag from a shattered furnace. "Absurd. Then it was almost reasonable, accepted."

"Then it was familiar," Opal said. "Comfortable with no need to put it into words."

And now there were no words left.

"I don't even have a body," Galfrey whispered.

Now there were no words left.


"Ah, Soot! Come back - !" The shingle under her foot gave way, her knee collided painfully with the edge of the roof and Ember had a moment of thinking, 'Well, that's not very fair. I'm an elf' as she tipped backwards.

"Whoa there!"

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the rooftop of the Defender's Heart Inn. Ember blinked a few times, patted herself down and smiled up at her new friend.

"Thank you for saving me, Butterfly Mister!"

"Butterfly Mister," her friend echoed with a familiar quirk at the corner of his mouth. "That's a new one."

"You have butterfly wings," Ember said. Maybe he didn't know about them? "They are very pretty."

"Why, thank you," he said and Ember clapped as he turned to show them off. He had two really big wings pointed up and four smaller ones pointing down, just like a butterfly. They shined blue and purple and green in the moonlight and seemed to sparkle in time to the music pulsing through the roof under their feet.

Speaking of feet… "And you have fuzzy feet!"

"Paws," he corrected her gently. "Like a lion. Rawr!" And like a very silly person, made claw motions with his very humanoid hands.

"And tall ears," Ember told him. "Like mine!"

"Ayup. Bet you noticed the tail too."

"I didn't," she admitted sadly. "But I noticed it now! It's also fuzzy! And really short, can you make it bigger?"

"Ouch," the man muttered.

"I did notice your hair," she offered, feeling bad for hurting his feelings. "It's pretty too." Purple like jewelry. His tail really was short though, a bob really, like a bunny rabbit's. Her new friend had bright blue eyes that matched his blue clothes, but his belt was green. He had feathers and a flute hanging from it that she pointed at. "Do you play?"

"I wouldn't carry it around if I didn't," the nameless kind stranger said with that quirk to his mouth again.

Ember gasped, finally placing the smile. "I know that smile! You look like one of my new friends! He has a fancy title, so maybe you know him too?"

"If the title is 'Count' then you've got it the wrong way around," the man said. "I don't look like him, he looks like me."

Ember's felt her eyes grow big. "Are you his dad?"

"Add a great and then a grand in front of that, kid." Then the man frowned. "Or was it two greats? Three? It might be three. When was the Second Crusade again? Shit." Then he frowned harder. "You didn't hear me say that last word."

"It's okay," Ember reassured him. "You don't have to be sorry. I heard a lot worse on the streets."

"...oddly enough, that does not make me feel better."

"Oh." Ember muttered. "That doesn't seem to make anyone feel better."

"Wonder why…" he said in a funny, slow tone of voice she heard other adults use a lot.

"I wonder why too," Ember said solemnly.

The man palmed his face. "Note to self: Absolutely no sarcasm."

"Why not?"

"How about you tell me what you are doing climbing up on top of roofs?"

"Oh!" Ember turned quickly, only saved by taking another fall by the quick hand on her collar. "Well, Soot led me up here. She usually does that when someone needs my help, but…" Ember squinted, but not even her eyes could locate the bundle of black feathers. "But she seems to have gone off somewhere without me."

"The crow, huh?" The man seemed sad.

"She'll come back."

"She will," he said confidently. Ember knew that already, but it was nice of him to say it too. "Here. Take a seat - away from the edge, thank you - and I'll keep you company until Soot, was it? Until she comes back for you."

It didn't matter who or what he was, really, but he kind of looked like one of those angels her dad told her about. The outsiders from Good planes that came down to the Material one to help, just because they wanted to, when the gods couldn't or wouldn't do anything. She wasn't too sure about asking them for blessings or sending them prayers, because if you wouldn't ask a kind stranger on the street to bless you, why ask it of them? Isn't that what they were?

Kind strangers?

Ember had a sneaking suspicion that he was who Soot wanted her to help and he looked kind of sad, even when smiling, so she wanted to help him too.

He was really silly though.

"Instead!" The elf looking man with lion paws and butterfly wings cried out, jumping up to his feet. "She would only spit on him if he were on fire because he grew up a prick with some weird crush on her uptight queen mother. They're, like, second cousins or something. Who does that? Gross!"

Ember squinted up at her friend. "But you want your grandkid to marry your friend and they'd still be cousins too. How is that different?"

The nameless man sputtered. "Well, I mean, it's like this, it would be kinda sorta, but no, it's way different because she's adopted?"

Ember squinted further.

His shoulders slumped. "Okay, look kid, do not come at me with the logic. I will fight you."

She clapped her hands over her mouth with a small gasp. She didn't want to fight! "Sorry!"

"It's alright," he said indulgently. "You didn't know."

"I understand though!" She kicked out a leg and listened to the strains of music that had grown more chaotic and whimsical rather than any known melody the longer time went by. "You were just trying to look out for your friend, but it didn't work out."

"Yeah," he said softly. "It didn't work out at all."

"I'm sorry," she apologized again. "I'm not helping at all, am I? I'm just making you sadder."

"You're helping," he said. "Trust me. You are. If you weren't here, I'd just be brooding like a loser up here."

"You're not a loser for feeling sad about your friend," Ember said, frowning. "It's good to care. Sometimes caring means we get hurt, but we have to keep caring so that we don't hurt others."

His eyes shined wetly. "I'm - I'm being a jerk and Tee would have already rearranged my gut with her bony elbows…my name is Braganon."

"I'm Ember!"

"Nice to meet you, Ember," Braganon murmured gently.

"You lost her," Ember ventured, because she had the sinking feeling that his friend wasn't just hurt or missing or too busy and they hadn't seen each other in a long time. "Was it when the demons attacked?"

"Right at the fucking start!" He spat over the side of the roof.

It was a familiar story.

A lot of her friends were gone too. They were homeless, like her. So no basements to hide in or guards to protect them or horses to run away on. She still doesn't know how Soot guided her through the back alleys without getting caught, but it meant she could help others.

So she did.

"And it's weird, because we're friends." He said it in a strange tone that echoed in her ears with a hand over his heart. "And, get this - wait, you don't know what an Aeon is, do you?"

Ember shook her head.

"Uh, right," he said, thrown. "They are like - you know those knights that patrol the streets to keep them safe?"

"Oh!" She smiled. "I know them! They keep the shops safe by chasing away all the 'riffraff' or take money when they think no one is looking so they can do their jobs properly and I'm not supposed to ever talk to one of them with the funny helmet and to run away really fast if he tried."

Braganon stared at her.

"You help," he said slowly. "You do help, but talking to you is also fucking depressing."

Ember pouted. "I'm not trying to be…"

"I know, just - " He palmed his face again.

"Not all of them are like that, though! Some of them were really nice and gave out food and medicine on their patrols. One time -" Ember leaned in close and motioned for Braganon to share in the secret. He obligingly moved closer. "One time one of them offered to adopt me and everyone said she was a princess!"

Braganon's eyes closed like he was tired. "Did she have silver hair?"

Ember blinked up at him. "So she really was a princess?"

"Technically."

She hated that word. Was it yes or no?

"I don't know why she offered. I'm nothing special."

"It was for nice and not-so-nice reasons." That didn't explain anything at all! "She wanted to do something good for you."

"But I'm an elf," Ember protested. "So I don't get sick and don't need to eat as much as the other kids do. They needed her more."

"And that's the not-so-nice part. She's - was working on it, but as an elf, you live longer. Just like dragons."

Ember thought this over, tumbling it around in her head. "The other kids needed her more then."

"Probably."

"But I would need her for longer?"

"That's right," Braganon said softly.

"I feel bad now," Ember admitted. "She was fighting with herself and it looked like it hurt lots. It scared me and I was doing fine on the streets, so I said no." She tucked her knees up to her chest. "I could have helped her get better."

"It's not a good thing that you stayed on the street," Braganon said. "But you saying no was helping. It's not the kid's job to support the parent. It's supposed to be the other way around."

"But - "

"No buts."

"You said it first," she muttered and he laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that ended suddenly like they felt too guilty or sad to continue. She didn't know what to do about that, but just scooted closer.

"Are you looking for an aeon to help you?" She asked after they sat in silence for a good long while, so long, her butt was getting a little cold and numb. "The special knights?" Ember guessed.

"Special knights who serve this…thing waaay out in space who really likes order and really doesn't like it when things down here get fucked - fuck, I need to stop swearing - get messed up."

"Like demons everywhere?"

"Like fffffreaking demons everywhere!" He crossed his arms. "One problem, there have been freaking demons everywhere for over a hundred years already."

"My dad said I was born the year the Worldwound opened, so that meant I was meant to help." Ember's smile dimmed. "He died though. The crusaders got mixed up and thought we were bad."

"That would be where you got those burns." Braganon said in a strangled tone of voice.

Ember smiled down at the ropy scars that ran up and down her legs and arms and her missing fingers. "A kind knight got me off the pyre, so it's okay."

"It's not, Ember. It's really not." He turned away. "Anyway, Aeons fix crap happening that isn't supposed to happen. Over a hundred year old problem called 'the Worldwound,' no Aeons. Anywhere. So what I'm trying to figure out is why the everloving fuck - "

He flung out an arm towards the center of Kenabres, where the market square used to be.

A Silver dragon died there.

"After a fucking century, did an Aeon only decide to show up after Terendelev died?"

He kicked at the roof.

"And what the fuck did it do?"