Chapter 1: Queen Maria the Eternal

The doorbell was broken. Mel had noticed it the very first time she'd gone to work for the Martins, and even now, months later, it still wasn't fixed.

But then again, why would it be? A poor family with six children probably had a million other things to worry about - did have a million things to worry about. If anyone knew the travails of a large family, it was Mel.

With a sigh, she pounded on the door. Scattered shouts, the occasional child's laugh, and the sound of dozens of footsteps greeted her knock, and a moment later, the door wedged open, disclosing the small, narrow face of a child of 10, looking absurdly serious behind its pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Silently, Mel thanked whatever God was listening that this time, it had been one of the well-behaved ones.

"Hey, Gideon," she said, plastering a bright smile across her face. "It's me. Mel."

The boy scrutinized her for a moment, looking politely confused. "Melina. What a pleasant surprise," he said, the stilted formality of his words sounding adorably absurd in his childish treble. "However, you must know I'm too old for a babysitter."

"Oh, of course you are." He wasn't. "But you know, your parents really asked me over to look after all your brothers and sisters."

There was the sound of a horrified shriek from within the house, and Mel craned her neck to try to peer in, suddenly concerned. "Everything okay?"

Gideon shrugged, a million years of weariness in the gesture. "I think Gary just tried to eat a dog turd." He pulled the door wide. "Won't you come in?"

Mel had to stifle a snort as Gideon turned and began to walk into the house. Of course. Gary, who had just turned 3, had somehow still retained a fierce oral fixation which had led to an absolute moratorium on leaving anything toxic anywhere that his short little arms could reach it. Something like dog poop ending up in his mouth was practically inevitable.

A moment later, and the inevitability was confirmed, as Gary himself bounded out of the kitchen, a foul-smelling brown stain smeared across his mouth, which opened in a giggle as his harassed mother followed, brandishing a paper towel roll. She stopped when she saw Mel, a mortified expression crossing her face. That mortification did not extend to Gary, who rushed up to Mel with a literal shit-eating grin and declared, in the same tone that one would use when announcing a groundbreaking scientific discovery, "Poopy taste bad!"

Mel was spared the trouble of coming up with an answer, because Mrs. Martin pounced on Gary the instant he stood still. There was a moment of confused struggle, punctuated by protests from the child, and Mrs. Martin straightened up, holding a stained paper towel. Her nose twisted in disgust as she turned to a young girl of 8, who was curled up on the couch, reading a book, her small form swathed in black.

"Fia, throw this out for mommy."

The girl looked up in horror. "Ew."

"Ophelia Martin. Now." The tone – and use of the girl's full name - brooked no argument.

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Because I need to talk to Melina."

With pained slowness, Ophelia shut her book and walked over to her mother, who handed her the paper towel. Then, holding it as if it were a bomb, Ophelia sprinted for the kitchen, her steps punctuated by the wincing repetition, "Ew ew ew ew ewe w!"

Gary watched her go with wide-eyed pleasure.

"Fia touch poopy," he giggled.

Mrs. Martin snatched him up and gave Melina an impossibly tired look. "I'm so, so sorry about that, Melina. I hope none of it got on you."

Mel laughed. "Don't worry, Mrs. Martin. I know how to dodge Gary."

"I wish I did," Mrs. Martin sighed. "Can't thank you enough for looking after them so often. Between my shift and James' night school, it's all we can do to take care of them at all, most days."

"It's fine, Mrs. Martin. Really. I'm from a large family, too. I know how crazy it can get."

Mrs. Martin beamed – or came as close as she could, given how haggard she looked.

"And you, Melina?" she asked in a comforting voice. "How are you? Is everything okay at home? Maria holding up alright?"

It took a lot for Mel not to wince at the mention of her mother. "Mom's…holding it together."

Mrs. Martin nodded, apparently understanding the subtext. "I'm sure. I know things have been hard with your dad." Her nose wrinkled. "If I'd known he'd run off on your mom like that, I never would've named my eldest Godfrey."

"That's okay." Mel smiled as gently as she could. "I like your Godfrey much better. Where is he, by the way?"

Mrs. Martin opened her mouth to answer, but before she could…

"Rawwwwwr!" bellowed a boy's voice as the back door swung open. A moment later, and two half-naked boys stormed into the room. One looked to have smeared most of his body in lipstick, and was clutching a stuffed lion, while the other wore only a cheap Halloween mask that had been painted bright gold.

"I am Horaloo!" bellowed the boy clutching the stuffy. "I and my trusty pet Surrosh will destroy you, evil minion of Radgun!"

"No!" shouted the other boy. "You shall never defeat me, Horalu! The sorcerer king Radgun will always protect his loyal servant Goldmask!"

Mel looked up at Mrs. Martin quizzically. "Horaloo? Surrosh? Radgun?"

The older woman rolled her eyes. "James had the bright idea to show them Conan the Barbarian over the weekend and now they've made up their own version. I have to give them credit; it's at least creative. Horaloo is supposed to be a Barbarian Chief who carries a lion named Surrosh on his back 'because it's more badass.' Radgun is his archnemesis." She shook her head. "But 'Goldmask?' That one's new. Ray must've come up with it now that we got him that Halloween mask to paint."

Before Mel could answer, 'Horaloo' and 'Surrosh' had pinned 'Goldmask' to the couch, where he struggled and kicked for a moment before the "barbarian chief" stood up and declared triumphantly, "Another evildoer defeated by Horaloo!" He pounded his tiny chest. "WARRIOR!"

"Goldmask" pulled his namesake off, looking dejected. "Godfrey, when do I get to be Horaloo?"

Mel laughed and looked up at Mrs. Martin. "Sounds like you've got a pair of budding writers." She looked around. "And George? Where'd he get to?"

At the mention of George, Mrs. Martin's face fell. "George…well…George has been…quiet, lately. I think it's trouble at school. Yesterday, he came home covered in dirt and bruises. We have an appointment with his teacher tomorrow. Now it's all we can do to get him to say two words for us." She sighed. "He's up in their room, drawing."

There was the sound of a digitized musical tone from Mrs. Martin's pocket and she jumped. "Fu—fiddlesticks!" she finished lamely, looking at the children. "That's my cue to turn into a pumpkin. Sorry to have to rush out on you like this, Melina. I'm sure you can get everything under control. Your pay's on the kitchen counter."

Mel nodded. "That's okay, Mrs. Martin. I've got it til your husband gets home."

Mrs. Martin smiled broadly, then reached out and hugged Melina tightly for a moment before rushing out the door, leaving Melina alone with her five charges. As if to punctuate his mother's departure, Gary looked up at her with a confused look.

"Poopy?" he asked.

With a rueful chuckle, Mel picked the little boy up and cradled him. "No. No more poopy today, Gary." She turned to Godfrey and Raymond, who were still arguing over who got to be "Horaloo" and clapped her hands. "Godfrey! Either let your brother play the good guy for a bit, or play something else."

"Awww! But Mel, I'm Horaloo and he's Goldmask!"

Mel put down Gary, her hands moving to her hips in an instinctual gesture of command. "Then let Goldmask win a few rounds. After all, Radgun wouldn't be much of a villain if Horaloo beat his soldiers every time."

Hearing this, Godfrey stared at the floor for a minute before finally giving the most reluctant shrug a 9-year-old could manage. "Fiiiiine."

"Gideon—"

"Oh, don't worry about me, Melina, dear," Gideon chirped amicably, looking up from a few sheets of paper emblazoned with numbers. "I still haven't finished my homework."

Mel nodded, relieved that at least one of them could self-direct. "Good. Then in that case, Ophelia, can you watch Gary for a bit? I need to check in on George."

Ophelia gave the toddler a rueful look. "I'm not cleaning it up if he eats another—"

"Then you'd better make sure he doesn't."

Ophelia took the hint, because as Gary started to crawl towards the kitchen, she rushed over and snatched him up. Holding him tightly, she looked up at Mel, her face suddenly serious.

"Is it okay if I come look in on George, too? I don't like how sad he is."

The unexpected show of empathy from the usually sullen girl made a grin spread across Mel's face. "Of course. But if you're coming, I'll hold Gary. Easier to keep an eye on him that way."

Nod. "Okay."

"Okay."

Mel took Gary in her arms and then mounted the stairs, leading Ophelia behind her. Once they reached the upper landing, they made their way to a door near the end of the hall, painted bright blue unlike the rest, which made up the six Martin kids' combined bedroom. Cautiously, Mel knocked on it and, hearing no answer, entered.

No sooner was she inside than she found herself caught in the intense blue gaze of George Martin. It had always stunned Mel that a boy just barely past his seventh birthday could have eyes quite so tired, or so soulful as George's. When he was older, that kind of poignancy would give him mystery and even an air of danger, but right now, it only made Mel's heart sting, knowing the reason for its existence. George was frail, and scrawny, and preferred his markers and paper to flesh and blood people, which made him a constant target for bullying now that he was in grade school. It was a struggle which Mel, who'd been bullied both by her many older siblings, and by other children, could empathize with all too well.

"Hey, George," she said kindly. "Your mom left me in charge for the night. Just wanted to be sure you knew I was here."

George didn't answer. Neither did his eyes stray from her. Mel looked down and spotted a crayon clutched in his hand and a marked paper underneath it. She smiled.

"You drawing something?"

Nod.

"Can I see?"

Shrug. Which in George's tongue meant "yes." Slowly, Mel approached and looked down at the paper. What met her eyes was a surprisingly deft drawing – at least, for a seven-year-old - of an animal that looked like a cross between a horse and a goat. Which is to say, it had a horse's legs, and a horse's head, but also had two massive ram's horns sprouting from that same head.

"Did you draw that yourself?"

Nod.

"Wow. It's really good. Particularly the shading. Does he have a name?"

For a long moment, only silence answered. Then, softly, George's reedy, piping tremble answered.

"…Torrent."

Mel looked up at him, surprised that a seven-year-old who was fond of speaking in single sentences, if not single words, knew such an advanced term. "Torrent, huh? Why's he called that?"

George shrugged. "It's like a storm." He pointed at the creature's hooves. "These sound like thunder when he runs." A pause. "I wish I could run that fast. Then I could get away."

"Get away?" Mel gave him a concerned look. "Get away from who?"

No answer.

"George, what happened?"

A long silence. "They ruined my drawings."

"Who?"

"Other kids. They chased me and knocked me down. Then they threw all my drawings in the dirt." A ragged breath. "I worked on them for weeks. Now they're ruined."

Knowing what an act of trust it was to say this, Mel had the urge to kneel down and hug him. But to her surprise, Ophelia walked forward and hugged him first. Mel cocked her head. Ophelia usually ignored her brothers. What had gotten into her?

George seemed as surprised as she was, but he also didn't seem to mind. He relaxed into the hug.

"Eff them," said Ophelia, ever a model of bluntness, which made Melina snort back her laughter. "Who did it, George?"

"Darren," said George through her arms.

"Oh, eff Darren. He tried to do that to one of my dolls last week. Kick him in the nuts, next time."

"…Okay." Pause. "Thanks, Fia."

Ophelia released him and gave her younger brother a proprietary look. "You feel warm," she said. "Do you feel sick?"

George shrugged. "No, I feel okay." Pause. "Thanks. For the hug."

Ophelia grinned for a moment, before seeming to remember her usual sullenness. "Um, you're welcome," she said awkwardly. "Or, you know, whatever. I guess."

It wasn't a convincing performance, and Mel could tell that not even George was fooled, because he smiled for the first time since she'd seen him.

"Yeah," he said knowingly. "Okay. Whatever."

Ophelia looked up at Mel. "Can we go downstairs and play Barbies now?"

Mel looked at George. "That depends. Are you okay with that, George?"

George nodded, turning back to his horse-goat thing. "Fine. I want to finish Torrent anyway."

Playing Barbies with Ophelia was, of course, far from the only thing that Melina did for the next few hours. She also had to adjudicate more than a few battles between 'Horaloo' and 'Goldmask,' and when Gideon accidentally knocked a pen to the ground in the midst of grabbing one of his textbooks, she had to quickly intervene before Gary could try to swallow it. However, these moments of frantic peacekeeping were child's play when compared to one particular conversation that Ophelia initiated after staring sullenly at one of her Barbies for an uncomfortably long time.

"Melina?"

Mel looked over at her. "Yes, Fia?"

"Why do moms and dads fight?"

Mel froze, as the question bit her heart. "Are your mom and dad fighting, Fia?"

Ophelia frowned. "Sometimes. It's usually not that bad, but last night…" She shook her head. "I was afraid."

"And what were you afraid of?"

Ophelia looked up at Mel with shining eyes. "I was afraid that daddy might leave."

The words struck a painful chord of empathy deep in Mel's heart. "I doubt that, Fia. I know your dad. He loves you very much."

"It didn't feel like it," Ophelia said softly. "It felt like he and mommy hated each other. They were yelling so loud."

Mel had to stop herself from flinching at the mention of yelling, as a painful sentence seared its way across her brain.

"Get the hell out, Godfrey!" Her mother's voice shrieked. "Get the hell out and never come back. I don't want you. I don't even want to know you. This is what I think of our goddamn joke of a marriage, Godfrey!"

The furious blonde form of Maria Eldin pulled a gold ring from her finger and threw it into the kitchen sink, where she prodded it into the garbage disposal. A moment later, and she'd turned this on, producing the awful sound of shrieking metal.

"Melina?"

Mel forced the memory down and tried to give Ophelia a comforting look.

"Sometimes…" she said slowly. "Sometimes, moms and dads don't know how to love each other, Fia. But they usually figure it out." She looked away. "Usually."

"Are you crazy?" bellowed Godfrey Eldin, rushing over to switch off the garbage disposal. "I paid for that, Maria! I pay for everything: for you, our kids, even those fucking psychopaths your lesbo whore—"

"Oh, don't you dare talk to me about whores, not after what you did with half the women at your fucking video game company. I'm surprised you haven't been sued yet for how you treat them."

"At least I provide, Maria," Godfrey growled. "And at least my women don't have psychotic children from schtupping half a cellblock."

"What Renee did before we met is none of your business."

"Yes, it fucking is, when the result is traumatizing my kids. Godwin still hasn't spoken since Renee's freak of a daughter tried to cut him. The girl's a lunatic, Maria, a lunatic! I should've pressed charges. You should've pressed charges."

"I've told Renee to get Annie therapy."

"Greeeeat. Sitting in a room talking about her feelings for a week, that'll keep that psycho's hands off knives. And let's not forget her brothers, Donny and Dickwad—"

"Richard."

"Richard. Riiiight. The one who dresses like Marilyn Manson and likes to put live snakes down his classmates' shirts."

"You're right, Godfrey, fuck me for caring about troubled kids."

"Yeah, actually, when they can hurt our kids! Look at Godwin! Look at how Don broke Malenia's arm last year!"

"You bastard." Maria's voice was brittle. "You're bringing up Malenia now? When it hasn't even been a month since—"

"Melina!"

Mel felt a pair of arms wrap around her neck, and looked down in surprise as her reverie broke. Mel looked round to see Ophelia clutching her, looking frightened.

"Fia!" she said, surprised. "What's wrong?"

Ophelia looked down. "You looked sad. I don't want you to be sad. It scares me."

Mel smiled, understanding. Ophelia's strangely caring behavior toward her brother, and now toward Mel herself, made sense, now. The girl was trying desperately to nurture away any and all signs of sadness, because that was what she wanted someone to do for her. It was obvious that whatever their parents had fought about the night before had scared her far more than the others, who either hadn't taken notice, or simply were doing a better job of hiding it. Either way, it was obvious that Ophelia needed a distraction, and possibly her siblings needed one, as well. Something that would give them the possibility of escape. But what? For a moment, Mel was lost as to what to do, but then slowly, the memory of George and his drawing of "Torrent," the weird goat horse, entered her mind, along with an idea. Her eyes flicked to the digital clock underneath the TV: 8 o'clock. It was early, but reasonable. Particularly since Mel had the funny idea that what she was about to do might take longer than normal.

"Fia," she said to the little girl, "can you go tell George it's story time?"

Ophelia blinked. "Story time?" she said. "But it's so early. I'm not tired."

"That's because tonight's story is going to be new, and…well, a bit longer."

"Ooooooh!" Ophelia's face split into a wide grin. "That sounds cool!"

"I hope it will be." Mel nodded toward the staircase. "Go on. Get George."

As Ophelia scampered off, Mel let her eyes trail around the room, trying to find anything that might offer inspiration for what she was about to do. At first, nothing presented itself: at least, not until her eyes strayed out the window and caught sight of the shadow of a great, gnarled tree in the Martins' backyard. It was too dark and foggy to make out much about the tree itself, and yet the porch light did manage to illuminate a great carpet of fallen, golden leaves beneath it. Looking at it, Melina faintly recalled a moment from her middle school years, before things had gotten bad between mom and dad, when her father had taken her into his study and read to her from a book of Norse myths that he and his studio had been using as inspiration for a game.

There'd been a tree like that in one of the stories: Yggdrasil, the world tree. Though, Melina thought ruefully, that was probably too complicated a name for these kids, Gideon notwithstanding. However, she also remembered that the spirit of the earth had been named Erda. So maybe, if she took the idea of the world tree, and made it the earth tree, it'd be the…

"…The Erdtree," she murmured. "And it's from…"

Another look out the window. "A place across the fog. Somewhere neither here, nor there, but…between. Yes. That sounds good."

The sound of two pairs of footfalls interrupted her thoughts, and Mel looked up to see Ophelia coming down the stairs, with George in tow. Well, now or never. She stood up and clapped her hands.

"Everyone!" she said. "I think it's story time."

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, Gideon spoke.

"But Melina, my dear, it's only eight," he said. "And I haven't memorized all the Roman emperors yet!"

Melina raised her eyebrows. "Do you have a test on them, or something?"

"No, I just like to know."

"Well, how far have you gotten?"

"Up to Marcus Aurelius."

"Know-it-all," muttered Ray from behind his golden Halloween mask.

"Ray, stop it," Mel said quickly before turning back to Gideon. "I think the rest can wait until tomorrow, Gideon. Because tonight's story is special."

In spite of himself, Gideon looked interested, though still skeptical. "Special how?"

Mel smiled mysteriously. "Well, for starters, none of you have heard it before."

Ray and Godfrey looked sideways at each other. "Well, does it have barbarians?"

"Maybe."

"And sorcerer kings?"

"Maybe."

Ophelia pulled a face. "Ew. It's a boy story? With blood, and death?" she rolled her eyes. "Why can't the stories be about someone who stops people from dying for once?"

Mel couldn't help grinning. "That's a great idea, actually, Fia. But how do they stop people from dying? Maybe…" her grin turned impish. "By hugging them?"

Ophelia's face split into a broad smile. "Yeah! Like, if someone's dying, the person comes to their bed, and hugs them, and then they don't die! Like a friend."

"Or a companion?" Mel suggested helpfully. "A companion who comes to you on your deathbed and save syou?"

Ophelia nodded happily. "Yeah! Wait…" Her eyes went wide. "You mean there's someone like that in the story?"

Mel nodded. "There is now. And not only that. There's a horse…well, not a horse, exactly. A steed. Named Torrent."

It was George's turn for his eyes to go wide. "Like my drawing?"

Mel's smile widened. "Yes. Like your drawing."

The other children were starting to look interested, but Gideon still didn't seem convinced.

"This sounds like a story for babies," he said scathingly. "I'd much rather learn about the Roman emperors, thank you."

Mel arched an eyebrow. "What about the Norse gods?"

Gideon rolled his eyes. "I already know all of them. There's Odin, sometimes called Allfather, or Bragi, or Forni, or Gagnraor, Herjan, Kjalarr, Ofnir, Sigmundr…"

"Okay, okay," said Melina, putting up her hands in mock surrender. "Your choice. But are you sure you don't want to hear the first few lines before you make up your mind?"

For a moment, Gideon looked conflicted. Then, with a shrug that was clearly intended to be magnanimous, he sat cross-legged and gave her an arch look.

"I suppose Marcus Aurelius' heir can wait for a few minutes."

And like that, Mel knew she had them.

"Alright," she said. "Then I guess I'd better not waste any time."

And, as she looked from one child's face to the other, the shape of a story started to form. Once more, her eyes found the tree outside, and she started.

"The fallen leaves tell a story," she intoned, trying for the kind of portentousness that a Gandalf or a Dumbledore would use when speaking. Then she stopped. A story of what? The answer came with the phantom, painful memory of a ring tossed into a kitchen sink. A ring that had belonged to a couple named Godfrey and Maria Eldin.

"The great Eldin Ring," she said, the slightest note of pain entering her voice, "was shattered in our home, across the fog, the Lands Between. Now, Queen Mar—"

Her voice hitched on her mother's name, and she coughed before amending, "Queen Marika the Eternal is nowhere to be found. And…"

Godwin still hasn't spoken since Renee's freak of a daughter tried to cut him!

"…in the night of the black knives, Godwyn the Golden was first to perish. Soon, Marika's offspring, demigods all, claimed the shards of the Elden Ring. The mad taint of their newfound strength created the…"

Screeching metal.

"…the Shattering. A war from which no lord arose. A war leading to abandonment by…"

She paused. It was probably too heavy to say 'abandonment by God,' even if it was how she felt about what had happened to her family.

"…by the Greater Will," she finished lamely.

The children looked sideways at each other, clearly skeptical

"This story doesn't sound very happy," said Ophelia. "The Queen destroyed her ring and now all her kids are fighting? That just sounds like real life."

"Yeah," said Ray mutinously. "Where are the good guys?"

"Ah," said Mel lightly. "I was just getting to them. The good guys are called the…"

She thought of George mentioning how his drawings had been ruined after they were thrown in the dirt.

"…the Tarnished. They were dead once, but now they've been reborn so that they can try to save the world. And their names are…"

She turned to Godfrey. "Hoarah Loux, chieftain of the badlands."

Delight spread across the little boy's face. Mel let the sight propel her onward as she turned her eyes to Raymond.

"The ever-brilliant Goldmask!"

"I'm in the story?!" gasped Raymond. And Ophelia, realizing she was next, stared at Mel, wide-eyed.

"Fia, the Deathbed Companion!"

Ophelia's mouth formed an "oh" of shocked pleasure. Mel went on.

"The loathsome Dung Eater!"

"Poopy!" Gary cooed, clapping his hands.

"And, Sir Gideon…" Odin, Allfather, Bragi, "…Ofnir! The All-knowing!"

"No way," Gideon breathed. But Mel had already turned to George. Unlike the others, he didn't look excited, or pleased. He just looked down at his toes.

"It's okay, Melina," he said. "I don't want to be in it anyway."

Mel knelt down and pulled his face up to look into hers. "And one other," she said softly, "a Tarnished of no renown, who grace would again bless."

George turned away. "No," he said bitterly. "I'm not strong enough."

"George." His eyes strayed back to hers, and though her next words were part of the story, their true message was a plea for trust. "Cross the fog to the Lands Between."

George stared back at her, too surprised to answer. Slowly, he jerked his head up and down once, and then looked away again. "Whatever."

Knowing this was the best she could get right then, Mel stood up and looked at the six children. "Together, they will stand before the Eldin Ring," she intoned gravely, "and one would become the Eldin Lord!"

And just like that, the kids were hooked.