Valkyrie Profile:

Lenneth Novelization AU:

Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyrie Profile or any other tri-Ace properties. Please support the official release.

Chapter Fifteen:

Two Souls: Reconnected

"Did any of them remember much?"

"'Fraid not, Sheriff. Most of the caravan guards we've picked up doubt they'd be able to pick their attackers out in a crowd. That's only half the problem, though."

"I agree, Deputy. The Silver Saviors have covered their trail well. Keep searching the area in grids. They will have left some sign, even if you do not find one until you are much deeper into the wilderness."

"Yes, Milady! I'll tell the gents right now!"

"Dismissed."

With that, the deputy left with a salute, leaving the sheriff alone. The sheriff was a tall older woman, who stood overlooking the scene of The Silver Saviors' battle with the Lundberg slave-trading company and its hired mercenaries.

Agatha the Iron Lady of Gerabellum let out a "Tch" as she slowly walked past the remaining empty slave cages and the big piles of ash that were the burnt bodies of the fallen, which had already stopped smoldering by the time she and her men arrived.

The sheriff carried an impenetrable cold air of authority, and she had the scars to back up it. She wore a military-style uniform with black heeled boots paired with white pants, a black jacket with gold-trim along the lining, collar and sleeve cuffs was clasped shut over her chest, but hung open the rest of the way down, ending at her knees. Beneath the jacket was a puffy white shirt under a black vest, both of which were buttoned shut. Lastly, there was a golden badge pinned to the right breast of her jacket, designating her position as the Sheriff of Gerabellum's capital, enforcer of the law and the nobilities' will upon the people.

Her graying brown hair was tied back in the ponytail of a nobleman or military man. Agatha herself was a pale woman in her middle age with a terrible scar running down the left side of her face, starting over her eye, trailing down her cheek, and stopping at her collarbone. She wore an eye-patch over the damaged eye.

She heard heavy footsteps approaching at her running pace and turned on her heels to face a returning scout. He saluted and stood at attention when addressing her.

"We've located the missing slave wagons, Milady," he ordered.

"Good. Where and how did you locate them?" she inquired.

"Yes, Milady. They was empty, 'n' just sitting in the middle of a clearing at the end of a clear trail. 'Twas easy to find them…"

"Forget the wagons, then," the sheriff ordered.

"Sheriff?"

"Did I stutter?" she snapped coldly. "If you found the wagons easily, those ruffians allowed it. Do not get distracted following misdirection. Retrace your footsteps back to where to you picked up the trail and seek out likely spots where they could have split away from the wagons as you go. Even an organized band like the Silver Saviors will have trouble transporting and concealing over a hundred people so completely that no sign is left of their passing."

"At once, Milady," the scout said in a voice that begged for no harm to be done to his person.

"Good," Agatha answered coldly. "Dismissed."

She clicked her heeled boots together as she turned away from the frightened scout. As he practically fled from her, Agatha considered that many of The Silver Saviors' faces were reported to be uncovered. Yet interviewing the caravan drivers and guards had not wielded particularly detailed descriptions.

"Do you remember what any of them looked like?"

"…I dunno. Honestly, Milady, I was just tryin' not to get killed. There was so many of them, and 'tween all the dust, fighting, killing, and blood, I recall little of what they looked like."

Most of the interviews which followed went similarly, and most importantly, none of them knew what had become of the company's proprietor, Sir Reginald, himself. Some remembered a redhaired woman, or a bearded old man with a spear, or a pair of ridiculously strong young women, but the descriptions were all so general, it was near useless information. Many of the Saviors' did have their faces covered by hoods, so some of the survivors didn't even have a quick look at someone's face to go off of.

"Hmm…" the sheriff tapped her chin. "It would look suspicious to take the guards and drivers through Gerabellum just to see if they recognize anyone, and the people in the slums would not want them there."

She snorted. It'd have helped to identify The Silver Saviors if they hadn't been so thorough in burning all the dead before leaving. A corpse could be identified, which was of course why that rabble burned those they had to leave. She almost smirked at the brilliant simplicity of it. Even if the guards and drivers could describe those rebels, they were all likely outlaws operating out of the backdoor market, anyway. Additionally, there would be a thousand other citizens who resembled them throughout the city. Hidden in plain sight, an audacious tactic.

Galloping hooves approached her, and Sheriff Agatha turned as more of her Deputies returned.

"Sheriff Agatha, we've just finished another sweep," another of her Deputies rode out of the treeline and saluted her. "I believe we've finished rounding up survivors."

"Thank you, Deputy Ernst," Agatha replied. "In that case, our attentions must turn now to picking up the Silver Saviors' trail. Tell Deputies Alex and Hagen to cart the survivors to Gerabellum. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, Milady," Ernst complied. "When we examined the pyres, we saw no trace o' gear or weapons in the ash. I s'ppose that means the Saviors will be sellin' 'em on the backdoor market."

"Ah," Agatha nodded at Ernst. "Then also have Deputies Alex and Hagen put a notice out for illegally sold weapons belonging to the Lundberg Company. It may just lead us to our missing nobleman. Thank you, Deputy."

"Welcome, Sheriff," Ernst shrugged. "Wut about the rest o' the men and me?"

"I've already said. You and your men search until a path presents itself," Agatha instructed. "A twig broken under the foot of a passing person but missed in covering their trail. A footprint they overlooked. A small branch that got caught on someone's sleeve and snapped. Perhaps a bit of clothing ripped off by a thorn. There will be something, Deputy. No one covers their trail perfectly."

"Yes, Milady," Ernst saluted and left her.

Once alone, Agatha about-faced and bit her lip, feeling her anger rising in her throat.

"Too clever by any measure, Scarlet Swordsman," she muttered despite knowing those words could not reach him. "Too clever, indeed."


"Oh, we're stopping?" Jelanda asked.

She glanced down at the city below them wondering where they were. Lenneth hovered still, only moved about slightly by the wind. Jelanda and Belenus watched as Lenneth at first looked straight down and then took to slowly scanning the area below. Arngrim and Llewelyn did the same.

"Gerebellum, huh?" Arngrim muttered.

"Just now…" Lenneth haltingly thought.

She looked this way and that, trying to locate the familiar presence she'd detected. It was difficult among all the other human thoughts and feelings gathered together in a vast city.

"Something wrong, Lady Valkyrie?" Jelanda ventured the question.

"Sensing another einherjar?" Arngrim asked.

Lenneth hesitated to answer. The presence had certainly felt like a heroic soul, but it was not yet calling out in their dying moments, so it much more muted and difficult to track. Yet, the soul was calling out, yearningly.

"Like… like…" Lenneth could not determine what this kind longing was. "'Tis so hopelessly sad, though. Perhaps if I meditated."

"…I know not," she finally answered Arngrim's question. "I must focus a moment to determine what I felt."

Lenneth closed her eyes and let her feelings reach out to the soul she'd detected. She searched for a thread of fate, but no voice distinguished itself above the others. She considered moving on, but there was something so familiar about this presence. No warm, yet so sad. The draw to it was so strong, Lenneth could not help but begin descending almost as quickly as if she were falling.

"Wha… Whoa! Lady Valkyrie!" Jelanda yelped as they were all suddenly yanked downward without warning.

"Guess she did sense an einherjar," Arngrim shrugged.

"Lady Valkyrie…" Belenus was becoming concerned as the city grew bigger in their view. "Are we going to set down publicly?"

Lenneth blinked and realized their trajectory aimed them right at a busy street. The goddess changed direction, taking to the back alleys. After a moment, she found an empty one and plopped the group down in a cracked, uneven backstreet which hadn't felt the touch of a mason's tools in decades. Once on ground, Lenneth switched to a plain blue long skirt, a long-sleeved white blouse with a blue ribbon tied in a bow about the collar, and dark brown shoes with black socks.

"That should look normal enough," Lenneth looked her outfit over.

"Upper middle class," Belenus shrugged. "But you won't be mistaken for nobility dressed so."

"So, what are we hear for, Valkyrie?" Arngrim adjusted how his sword rested across his back and shoulders. "New recruit or enemy?"

Lenneth stared back blankly as she realized her einherjar still had no idea why they were in Gerabellum.

"I sense something," she answered plainly.

Then she turned and began walking in the direction of the downtown area. Arngrim tapped his sheath strap impatiently as they began following her.

"What's 'something'?" Arngrim asked.

"I sensed the resonance of human thought," the Valkyrie replied without stopping or turning to him.

"So, new pickup?" Arngrim guessed.

"Perhaps," Lenneth turned a corner.

Her subordinates paused at the bend, looking among themselves as they wondered why the goddess was suddenly being so vague. Receiving no answers from one another, they followed her. The group stepped out onto the cobblestone sidewalk and looked around at the city. Arngrim and Belenus stood on either side of Lenneth while Llewelyn and Jelanda brought up the rear.

As the mercenary and the princess took in the sights, they were both reminded of Artolia. The extensive stonework of the streets, walkways, and buildings all spoke of a kingdom once overflowing with wealth, except now, just like in Artolia, the architecture lacked its former luster. Many homes and businesses stood with vines and moss overtaking them with nary a hand been taken to cleaning them off. There was a fountain nearby from which no water flowed, standing in disrepair, covered in cracks, chips, and moss.

The city was at least partway to being bustling, with many people populating the streets in crowds. There were folk of so many types, few noticed a well-dressed middle-class woman with silver hair accompanied by what appeared to be two nobles and two commoners. The team of five received a few odd looks, but the passersby were too busy with their own lives to stop to ask. In fact, some people even seemed to be fleeing down the streets and many seemed anxious.

"What's all that shouting I hear in the distance?" Jelanda cupped a hand around her ear. "Is it a mob?"

As everyone stopped to listen, voices hollered en masse. It did sound like a riot.

"Doesn't sound close," Llewelyn said, and then gulped hard. "But it also doesn't sound like something I wanna get tangled up in."

Lenneth also glanced in the direction of the roaring collective.

"I sense anger," the goddess reported. "Hate, resentment, even some with murderous intent."

Belenus looked on, grimly.

"I see the situation here has not changed," the Lassen noble commented unhappily. "These thunderous voices in the distance will be none other than overworked, overtaxed commoners demanding fairer taxes on their wages and produce."

"They've taken to the streets several times over the years," Arngrim added. "The local military's been involved several times."

"Does the soul I sensed really live here?" Lenneth wondered. "Did I live here?"

Jelanda raised a brow as she listened to Belenus and Arngrim. "What's so wrong with just paying your taxes?"

"Nothing," Belenus tiredly muttered. "'Tis a necessity, but the nobles here in Gerabellum have raised them so much, the people don't have enough for themselves. Worse yet, if the commoners cannot pay in oth, compensation is found by other means."

"Like taking a portion of their crop instead of oth?" Jelanda asked.

"Or the nobles just seize the property… and put the owners on market as well," Belenus candidly said.

"Oh, indentured servitude?" Jelanda asked. "Father has a few of those working the castle."

Llewelyn gave her a faintly irked look for how casually she said that.

"I do not believe that is what Belenus refers to," Lenneth told her. "They are sold, correct?"

"Yes," Belenus was both uneasy and tense.

Jelanda's face fell. "Oh. I thought that only happened in Lassen and Yamato here in the Southwest region."

"Oh, no," Arngrim jumped in. "Dunno how, but Artolia's the outlier with its ban on slavery. Lassen, Gerabellum, and the other Southwestern settlements don't got a problem with it."

"Gerabellum at least has someone resisting it," Belenus said.

The ex-noble pointed back into the alley they came from, directing their attention to a marking on one of its walls.

"There. Someone's scribed the sign of the Silver Saviors," he explained.

Lenneth and the others looked where he directed, spotting an image chalked onto the bricks. What looked like a long braid of hair forming a circle around a sword overlain with a bouquet of flowers. Lenneth instinctively grabbed her own braid, noting the one in the graffiti was done in the same loose style as hers'. Below the sign was written:

"Break our chains."

"Ah, yeah, the Silver Saviors," Arngrim chuckled. "I've been hired to hunt them before."

Belenus gave him a chagrinned look.

"What?" Arngrim shrugged defensively. "I didn't find 'em."

"What are the Silver Saviors?" Jelanda asked.

As Belenus explained, Lenneth went back out onto the sidewalk. She closed her eyes and let her senses do their work, but it was like trying to pick up a scent in, well, a city.

"There is so much interference," Lenneth noted in frustration. "So many strong emotions and screaming thoughts. Something is amiss in this city, even if this is not the fault of an undead. This darkness is nearly the same."

Lenneth twisted her lips to the one side as she tried to sort it all out. The Valkyrie glanced up and noted the position of the sun.

"I have little time to spend on this. Maybe we should leave," she considered.

Llewelyn noticed their Valkyrie standing perfectly still while they listened to Belenus explain Gerabellum's plight.

"Something wrong, Lady Valkyrie?" he asked.

The goddess did not answer right away, so Llewelyn waited patiently. After a moment, she turned back to them, lightly scratching her cheek as she continued pondering.

"The presence I felt is still difficult to parse out," she said. "The ongoing struggle between the nobility and the commoners has clouded the entire city."

"Heh. No surprise there," Arngrim muttered. "This place is like the Citadel of Flame, always about to erupt."

Jelanda watched them, trying to process of all this new information, and not wanting to believe the nobility were mistreating the lower classes so. Belenus meanwhile gave Arngrim curious look.

"So did you hear of Gerabellum's woes at a pub?" he asked.

"Eh, I've done work down here," the large warrior shrugged.

That piqued Jelanda's interest.

"Really? What kind?" she asked.

Arngrim opened his mouth, but then realized the answer would probably not sit well with her, considering what she'd just learned about the mistreatment of the commoners.

"Eh…" he scratched the back of his head looking for a lie. "It was a few years back, but… It was just a gig guarding the old Gerabellum salt mines."

Belenus raised a brow, knowing that was a lie based on what he'd heard about mercenaries being hired to suppress protesting miners at those quarries around that time. Arngrim saw his gaze and smiled almost guiltily, like a boy caught with his hands in the sweets jar.

"In any event," Lenneth said. "I would like to have a look around. Belenus, if you would."

The Valkyrie pointed Northeast. Belenus nodded and stepped up to the curb, looking both ways. Once an approaching carriage passed through, he led the party across the street, roughly in the direction of the presence Lenneth had felt.

"I want to find you. I must know why I felt a connection to you, whoever you are," Lenneth silently vowed.


"Black coffee, the fickle mistress I can't live with, and can't live without."

As Lucien tip a sip from his mug, and he smoothed out his messy hair. As he walked over to the window, he noted unhappily how he'd overslept. It'd been a rough night's sleep, and he'd stayed up late working. It did not help that phantoms of his past often persisted in haunting his slumber.

"Platina…" he murmured.

He allowed himself a moment of silence for his Lost Lenore and held his coffee mug up in a toast to her.

"Sleep well, silver-haired angel," he said.

Then he took a deep drink of the black liquid. Feeling it waking him up, Lucien turned his mind to other things.

"That's what I get for taking inventory with Maximillian and Betty all night," he scolded himself. "I hop Barren and Claire were able to get a good price on the weapons and gear we salvaged from the slavers."

He pushed the windowpanes open and leaned on the frame with his elbows, staring out at the meager scenery before him. His home was one of a block of modest rentals off the main roads. They faced inwards instead of out, towards a small plaza at the center of the zone. Children played there while a food stand sold grilled meat to passing customers. Lucien could smell the cooking meat and coals from his window.

Knock, knock, knock.

Lucien turned towards the rapping at his door. He shut his window and then quickly went to answer the door. He stopped just inside it, setting his coffee down on a nearby counter and picked up his sword.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Mr. Lucien, 'tis us! We've brought your oth!" it was the voice of children he knew all too well.

Lucien smiled and set his sword down before unlocking his door. The instant he opened it a crack, sudden weight pressed against the wood.

"Ulp!" Lucien cried out as he was nearly knocked over under the collective weight of the children bursting into his house.

Three girls and two boys they were, all about 6-8. They were bouncing up and down excitedly chattering away all at once but saying different things, jumbling the news they bore. Lucien smiled as he closed the door behind them and held up a hand to quiet them.

"Steady on, little ones," he raised his voice to ensure he was heard. "One at a time. One at a time! Hey, hey! Bodil! What did I say about shoving? Help your little brother up, come on!"

"Sorry, Mr. Lucien," Bodil, the girl in question, apologized as she helped her brother up.

"I'm not the one you knocked over," Lucien stared at her sternly.

He nodded towards her brother.

"I'm sorry, Arne," she told the boy who had brown hair just like hers'.

"S'okay," the little boy pulled his arm free of his sisters' grasp.

"Now, then," Lucien gestured to another the girls, a red head. "Moja."

"Yes, Mr. Lucien," Moja eagerly grinned.

"I see you're carrying the bag," Lucien observed. "What were today's earnings."

Moja's eyes lit up and the biggest smile spread over her excited face. "Miss Claire and Mr. Barren sold everything you guys stole from the bad men for 12,572 oth in the backdoor market, Mr. Lucien! We's brought 150 of it just like your wanted. Look!"

The girl struggled to hold up the heavy bag of gold coins, so Lucien gently took it from her and weighed in his hands. It felt about right for 150 oth. He smiled.

"Good work, everyone," he praised.

He got down on knee, going eye level with the children. "And how are all the people we rescued doing today?"

"Oh!" one of the boys raised his hand. "I was in the west wing of the orphanage earlier helping take them some trays of clothes and good. They're alright! Got a good twenty of 'em askin' to join ye."

"A whole twenty?" Lucien exaggerated his amazement. "Nice. And about our… special guest in the orphanage cellar?"

"Cranky and trying to bribe Headmistress Dolce into letting him go," Bodil answered. "Miss Claire and Mr. Maximillian sorted him out."

"Well, you kids seem to have kept on top of everything," Lucien smiled.

"Are you gonna go see that mean ol' dwarf again?" Moja asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Of course," Lucien answered. "Ol' Eitri takes his fair share for the gear and the potions he makes, doesn't he?"

Lucien then thought of something. "Speaking of, since you five have done well, as a reward…"

He opened the bag, pulling out a small handful of coins for the children. "Alright, everyone, hold out your hands. Three for you, and you, and you, and you, and you."

The children cheered, hopping up and down in excitement. They knew exactly what they were going to spend it on. One by one, they bowed and thanked Mr. Lucien before he got the door for them. He smiled warmly as the youths dashed out into the street, and through a side street leading out of the little back square out front of Lucien's house.

Then the moment passed, and Lucien's face turned quite serious. He glanced back at the money on the table, knowing he had a big day ahead of him, with an expenditure to pay off. He grabbed his satchel and hid the bag of money in it. He shouldered the bag and grabbed his sword before taking to the streets. Lucien checked his surroundings as he traversed the little square of homes, but all he saw was his neighbors.

"Now to see how a dwarf about that special order and his brews," Lucien said as he was turned onto a road that'd take him to the quarry at the outskirts of town.

He walked easily, content none would recognize him as The Scarlet Swordsman, since he made sure to never wear too much red when he was just plain regular Lucien. Today, he had black workpants, a pair of dark shoes that fastened shut with straps and buckles, and a light gray button-down shirt with long sleeves and a charcoal-colored vest which he let hang open. Aside from the sword hanging from his belt, he was as unassuming in appearance as he could be.

Lucien still kept a keen eye out for trouble as he walked the streets, though not just for his own sake. Down there in the south side of town where the poor lived, money was scarce, crime was high, and the city guard rarely had a presence. Surrounding the slums clear from the Northwest to the Northeast were the business district and the rich side of town. Their homes and structures were tall compared to the ramshackle buildings in the slums, seemingly constructed with the intention of lording over them.

"They cast a long shadow, that's for sure," Lucien thought.


"Oi, that's the third time the bloomin' guard's passed by."

Neither Barren nor Rusty nor Maximillian looked at Betty as she spoke.

"Just act natural," Barren muttered in a low voice.

The three men sat on empty barrels left by the curbside of a pub, and she sat behind them, atop a stack of two barrels with her legs hanging over the side and slowly kicking. They each ate an apple while they waited. After a few minutes, Rusty looked around nervously, and then at Barren.

"So how long we gonna let our 'guest' stay?" his broad features were tense. "He's not exactly a convenient guest."

Barren and Maximillian were both thankful no one was likely listening to begin with.

"Ol' Reggie has a bed at the spare room for as long as Mr. Lucien says he does," Maximillian turned away, spitting out an apple seed.

He adjusted his purple bandanna on his head, sweeping stray graying hairs back under it.

"I don't like it," Betty spoke up again. "The whole town feels like it's ready for war. And there they go again."

The four Silver Saviors sat, looking natural as another garrison of the city passed them by without look.

"Well, yeah, Sir Reginald's gone missing," Barren muttered. He tossed his finished apple core away and clapped the bits and pieces off his hands. "They know The Silver Saviors brought him into the city, so they're gonna be following leads and rumors 'til they find him, or the Scarlet Swordsman gives him up."

"Let's just hope they don't turn it into a full raid against the lower class in the slums," Maximillian said. "They've wanted us all out of the way for a long time."

Before the conversation could continue, a heavyset older woman came into view.

"Ah, fine afternoon, boys and girl," she said.

They all noted the small leather sack hanging from her belt but said nothing.

"'Tis a fine day with the sun shinin' so," she untied the sack from her belt.

"That's the first line of the coded message," Barren realized.

"And it'll stay nice if it doesn't rain," he spoke his line.

"So long as the sun don't get too warm," that was her second line.

"'Tis always hot here in the city," Barren closed off the coded exchange.

The woman then wordlessly walked past him, clutching the bag now. She passed it off to him while crossing in front of him, and then walked away without looking over her shoulder. Barren snuck the bag behind his back before she'd passed, leaving the exchange unseen by outsiders.

"Good day, and bless," the woman called over her shoulder.

"Good day, and bless," Barren answered.

Once the woman had been gone for a few minutes, they all got up, but did not walk away all together. Maximillian and Rusty went one way while Barren and Betty went the other.

"Be safe, Papa," Betty softly called to Maximillian as he departed.

Maximillian waved over his shoulder in response. "You, too, Bright Eyes."

Then, it was just Betty and Barren, and the jangling sack of he stuffed into the front of his trousers.

"Sounds like we still have plenty left over from buying more rations for the kids," Betty said.

"Yeah," Barren muttered. "I'll give this to Miss Dolce so she can pay for the upkeep of Granite Orphanage better."

"Shouldn't we ask Lucien first?" Betty looked at him with her emerald eyes. "I doubt he'd say no to giving it to the orphanage, but he is the boss."

Barren gave a "Nah," shaking his head. "If Lucien's got a problem with it, then he loves those kids less than he says he does."

"If you say so," Betty shrugged, deciding it was no skin off her back.

In response, Barren gave her a playful shove on the shoulder, which she returned. Then the two exchanged a chuckle as they kept walking.


"Hey, look, 'tis the fat ol' gerbil in the cellar!"

Sir Reginald snarled, turning toward the back wall of his cell to glare up at the little faces crowded around the barred windows near the ceiling.

"Begone from here, you little devils!" he shouted.

He waved them off with a dismissive arm, but that only made the children giggle more loudly. So, Reginald turned away, trying to ignore them. Then something struck the back of his head. It didn't hurt much, but it was the final insult. He spun around, shaking his fist and shouting at full volume at the children. He climbed onto the bed under one of the barred windows, attempting to reach for them, but the children just ran away, giggling and jeering. However, he was at last finally alone.

Minutes of shouting after them passed, and Reginald finally got the indignation out of his system. He stepped down from the bed onto the stone floor. He wandered over to one of the two wooden chairs at the dining table in the middle of the room and sat down. His cell was sparsely furnished, having only the bed and table. Reginald now wore a simple gray shirt and pants and found himself missing the lavish robes he wore as a free man.

Reginald had no idea why the cellar of a place which housed children had a cell like this.

"At least 'tis nothing like the dungeons back home," he had to admit.

It was true. As far as prison cells went, this wasn't bad. In fact, Reginald had thus far received the royal treatment. The Silver Saviors had taken reasonable care of him, including keeping his cell cleaned and the bandages over his wounds frequently changed. Reginald assumed they needed him alive to be ransomed, though he hadn't heard any details yet.

He looked towards the door with the small, barred window which was at eye level. It was the only other source of light aside from the barred windows near the ceiling behind him. He'd tried to look out through the little window in the door, which only wielded that his cell was at one end of a dead-end hallway. He was truly blind as to where he was in Gerabellum.

In the present, Reginald buried his face on the tabletop, wringing his hair in his fingers as he wondered how those simpleton commoners had managed to get one over on his men and hired mercenaries.

"Blast Rollo," he swore. "Should have never hired those men. Incompetent nitwits."

His reminiscing was stopped by the shuffles of footsteps coming from down the hall. He looked up and a golden glow shined through the little barred window at the door. It started dim and became gradually brighter as the footsteps grew louder. Then a shadow fell directly over the cell's window, blocking the light. There was a click. Reginald stayed in place and raised his hands, knowing better than to try approaching. He'd already learned the hard way the Silver Saviors were not gentle about shooing him from the door.

"So uncivilized," he'd thought.

The door slowly opened, revealing a bearded old man holding the keys. He still stood up straight, lacking the hunch of many elderlies. The glow shined from somewhere behind him, casting a shadow in the outline of his body across the room.

"Mr. Noah," Reginald stood and bowed, unable to break the habits of etiquette.

"Sir Reginald," the man answered.

Then Noah stepped aside, allowing a woman much younger than himself to step into the cell holding a tray of food with one hand. In the other, an oil lamp was clutched at waist height. The woman wore a long dark, sleeveless and strapless dress with splits down the sides of the skirt. Her blonde hair was tied in a braid which hung over her shoulder, and a sword hung from her sash belt. She was wrapped in a black cloak with a metal clasp around her neck.

"Lady Thalia," Reginald acknowledged her as well, albeit frostier.

"Down in the chair, hands on the table where I can see them," Thalia ordered.

Reginald obeyed without hesitation, having also learned the hard way the refined-looking Thalia packed a bigger wallop than she seemed capable of. So, he sat with his hands in view while Thalia set the covered platter down in front of him. The swordswoman uncovered his meal, revealing it to be plain roast chicken with boiled vegetables, and mashed potatoes. His silverware and a set of small cloth napkins were laid to the side.

"Truly a bountiful feast," Reginald dryly said.

"Well, if you don't want it…" Thalia began to pick it up.

"I never said anything of the sort!" Reginald protested.

Thalia smiled vindictively but stepped away again. "We'll be by to clean up after you're done. Enjoy, Sir Noble."

"I will, thank you," Reginald answered.

He really just wanted them to leave him alone, and they did. Thalia walked back to the door keeping him in view, and as soon as she was out, Noah closed and locked the door again. Reginald could hear them leaving through the hall again as he grabbed one of the white rags and tied it around his neck to serve as a handkerchief.

Outside, Thalia walked in pace as Noah led the way, not even bothering to look back at the cell door even once. Neither said a word, else risk their talk making its way back the cell's occupant. It wasn't until they had left the hallway and moved onto the main part of the cellar that either one spoke. It was a large room lined with crates and barrels full of spare clothes, food, drink, and other supplies, which either lined the walls or were lined up in rows throughout the room. Many of them were full. The empty ones were stacked in the corner waiting for a weekend crew to collect them.

The cold, dark underground level was lit only by the lamp Thalia carried, casting eerie shadows everywhere. Neither she nor Noah would normally give them more than a single glance, but the presence of the slave trader in their holding cell put them both more on edge. The stairwell leading back up to the first floor of the Granite Orphanage was now in view.

"That man," Noah's gruff voice rumbled in Thalia's ears. "Lucien and those other damn kids better know what they be doing. I wish they had never been brought him here. I don't like him being so close to the kids, or us. Headmistress Dolce wouldn't survive a trip to the Gerabellum prison if Sheriff Agatha found out. Dolce's really getting on in years, and likely too frail to still be handling this many kids. Yet you damn Silver Necklaces brought this into our orphanage."

"Ay, can't say I disagree," Thalia held the lamp higher for Noah. "But Mr. Lucien thinks we can still use 'im. The gods know for wut, the flabby dobber's useless far as I can tell."

Noah continued to think on their 'special guest' and worry began to line his features.

"Exactly how does Lucien plan to deal with Sir Reginald?" he asked.

Thalia smiled again.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, Mr. Noah," she assured. "Lucien's seeing Eitri about a means to ensure Lassen's Slave Merchant won't be bothering us, or anyone else, ever again."

Noah didn't know if that assuaged his concerns, but he spoke no more on it.


Lenneth came to a stop and began peering around the large city marketplace. There were streetside businesses all around them, with wares laid out on unrolled blankets, in pavilions, proper stores, and at auction being sold on an elevated stage which was surrounded by onlookers. Guards were also posted at several points, and carts and carriages rode through the market, going at moderated paces to avoid running over citizens.

"That presence I felt is near," she announced. "I felt their aura for just a moment."

"Any idea what we're looking for yet?" Arngrim asked.

"Not yet, but they are close," Lenneth replied.

"That's helpful," was Arngrim's drole comment.

"I must concentrate," Lenneth's words had a bite which shut him up.

Lenneth began walking roughly in the direction of the faint presence. Jelanda shrugged while Llewelyn rubbed the back of his head. They had no choice but to go along with it, so they followed her.

"She's very interested in pursuing this despite not knowing what it is. Strange," Belenus thought.

"There!" Lenneth thought triumphantly.

She'd managed to zero in on the thread she sought. It flickered in her view very faintly, but she could still follow it through the plaza. The Valkyrie was able to multitask and carefully made her way through the crowds. She stuck along the side as best she could to avoid the horse-drawn wagons as she followed the thread. It eventually brought her to a particularly large and boisterous mass of bodies at the other end of the market square. Lenneth stopped, observing the excited mob from the rear.

"No, not excited. Angry," Lenneth noted their shaking fists.

The crowd encompassed that entire side of the plaza, end-to-end. They also completely congested the road passing along that side of the market, as well as the opposite sidewalk. Lenneth looked at the large stone building across the way where they were concentrated. It appeared better maintained than the other structures. The main entrance was at the top of a flight of half-circle steps and flanked on either side by a pair of decorative trees with branches that hung over the steps and entrance to give shade on hot days.

"Office of Mayor Harald Boyd III," read a sign just outside the structure.

At the building's entrance, a man in a fancy green suit and a mayor's sash across his torso was trying to calm the riot. A rank of city guards was lined up at the base of the steps, trying their best to keep the protestors at bay, but they were just barely holding the line. The guards held up their spears level and thew their weight into it hoping to keep protestors back. There were more guards in the middle of the stairwell, also brandishing their weapons menacing and shouting for the mob to keep back, and finally bodyguards and a captain stood on either side of Mayor Boyd by the entrance.

The angry common folk with pitchforks and sticks waved their weapons around in the air, shouting threats to the mayor. There were so many voices speaking at once, it was impossible to single out what anyone was saying.

Lenneth turned from the scene, unwilling to become distracted by it. She began looking for another way out of the square, slowly making her way around the rear of the mob. Then she stopped.

"No, it feels like that soul is approaching this place," the goddess thought. She stopped and observed the situation with her einherjar. "I suppose I must keep my sixth sense focused if I am not to lose this opportunity."

Her einherjar took up position close behind her in case anything happened.


Lucien was traversing a backstreet when he overheard the mob. He stopped and listened, and managed to discern some words, "Stingy nobles"; "Lower taxes".

He squeezed his eyes shut, moaning, "Oh, no."

He knew what was happening right away. He turned from his intended trek, and ran towards the sound of thunder, intending to quiet it.


"Please, please," Mayor Boyd called, already red faced from raising his voice so much.

His graying red hair, beard, and mustache were all trimmed short and finely combed into place, although they were quickly becoming matted with sweat.

"I will hear you," Boyd cupped his hands around his mouth. "So, please, quiet down and speak one at a time! One at a time!"

That did not appease the mob or get them to act in an orderly fashion. As Mayor Boyd looked out on the angry faces, he felt the pressure. He also already knew why these people had gathered and were closing in for.

"Greedy blighter! Ye've taken so much, we don't got any oth for ourselves!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"Yer thugs came into my vineyard and took half me grapes!" a woman cried.

The mayor leaned close to the guard captain standing next to him. "Where is the Sheriff? I sent someone to fetch her an hour ago."

"She is still investigating the disappearance of Sir Reginald and the slaves from his caravan, Milord," the captain said. "The messenger boy will return with people from her office, but who can tell when they will arrive? Mayor, I must insist you prioritize your own safety."

The mayor glanced at him with indignant anger. "You are suggesting that you men cannot manage this rabble? Sound the horn and call more over."

"That might upset the commoners more," the captain responded. "Milord, this could get ugly quickly. I must recommend you go back inside and use the cellar exit to flee."


"So many people," Jelanda was in awe. "They've all been over taxed by the nobles?"

"Likely so," Lenneth was disgusted.

She gestured to the mayor. "'Tis unsightly for those with power to take advantage of those under them so."

Arngrim gave her a bemused look, thinking that was a rich statement coming from someone who served Odin so fervently.

Not far away, Lucien stepped around a corner the next block over from the mayor's office and beheld the situation. The entire street ahead of him was jammed with protesting commoners. His heart sank when he saw them, knowing what the consequences might be.

"Oh, no," he muttered with worry.

Lucien looked around with a look of grim determination. Spotting a way through, he took off in a full dash.

Back on the steps of the mayor's office, Boyd ignored the captain, and stepped toward the edge of the platform, giving the crowd his best smile.

"How certainly we can be reasona…" an apple flew up from the crowd and beaned Boyd in the forehead.

"We don't want reasonable! We want our money!" the thrower shouted.

Boyd stumbled back and almost fell, only remaining on his feet because the guard captain caught and steadied him. Now Boyd was snarling.

"That is it, I want them all…" His words died in his throats as the mob began to push past his guards, prompting a squeal from the official. "Oh, no, they're coming for me!"

Then someone dropped from the limb of one of the nearby decorative trees, landing among the guards and mayor. The guard captain finally pushed his employer back and planted himself between the assailant and their mark. The guards closed around the man and quickly apprehended him. The man gave them no trouble. He simply held up his hands in surrender as he was hauled before the mayor.

"'Tis Lucien!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"Let him go! Let him speak!" another cried.

From the back of the onlooking crowd, Lenneth looked at the brave hay-haired young man who'd dared to get so close to the mayor in this situation. Even from there, she could see just make out his round, boyish features and striking blue eyes. Her eyes widened with realization as her sixth sense kicked in, showing her that the thread of fate she'd followed was his.

She took a step forward but stopped. The Valkyrie looked around, grimacing in frustration. She wanted to assume Valkyrie form and vanish to hover near the man, unseen, until she had a better opportunity to approach him. However, there were simply too many people around for her to disappear without notice.

"This is why I have always hated crowds," she thought.

Lenneth pointed Lucien out to her einherjar. "'Tis him. That's the soul I felt."

Belenus pondered this, as he watched Lucien on the steps with the others.

"It makes sense for the Slum Guard's captain to be slated for Valhalla," he thought.

"Is he about to die?" Jelanda asked.

"No," Lenneth answered. "Not today."

Arngrim just looked at her in the corner of his eye, wondering what she wasn't telling them. He lightly shrugged, uncaring.

"Ugh, all these politics bore me," Arngrim muttered.

He settled into a nearby bench, caring not at the consternated look Belenus gave him. Instead, Arngrim looked at their Valkyrie again and noticed how intently she watched the young man as he spoke with the mayor.

"She's lookin' at him just like Lamia looked at Grey when they first met," Arngrim thought at first with a wistful half-grin.

It also confused him and made him a bit curious.

"She couldn't be smitten by that guy, could she? Nah," he thought.

Yet, Lenneth's eyes followed every move Lucien made, even from the back of the crowd.

"You know who that Lucien guy is?" Llewelyn asked Belenus.

"Indeed, I've heard the name Lucien passed around Gerabellum and even Lassen a fair bit," Belenus said. "He and his followers are heroes to the common folk in the southern region. The city guard does not go into the slums to maintain law and order, so this Lucien formed the Slum Guard to do it."


"Lucien?" Boyd balked angrily. "I knew you and your band of miscreants were trouble, but to dare making an attempt on my life?!"

"No, Mayor Boyd," Lucien politely bowed as best he could despite having both arms restrained. "I am here to save the life of everyone here, including yours'."

Boyd scoffed, but then Lucien looked him dead in the eye. "Let me speak with them. They trust me, Lord Mayor."

Boyd narrowed his eyes, but the captain leaned in and spoke. "Milord, I think it would be prudent to let him try. Please, if it will calm this rabble down."

The mayor glared at him but looking out onto a sea of protestors who wanted blood, he relented.

"Release him," Boyd ordered.

When the guards let go of Lucien's arms, the mayor leaned in close, threateningly. "You best not make me regret this, boy."

Lucien only nodded in response before turning to the crowd with his own arms raised.

"Good people!" he descended halfway down the stairs, making gestures for them to quiet down. "Please, please, I pray you!"

As Lucien called for them to calm down, the crowd gradually lowered their voices and began listening to him.

"'Tis Lucien, quiet all ye! Let him speak," an older woman in the crowd ordered.

"The leader of the Slum Guard!" someone else shouted.

"The same," Lucien confirmed. "For two years now, The Slum Guard has kept the needy of this city safe from those who would harm them. I appear here before you now as a mediator, so please, do not let violence rule the day. I know your woes, sirs and madams."

With the crowd gone silent to hear him, Lucien kept going, "However, 'tis the lord mayor who must hear of your troubles. You have every right to be angry and to make your grievances known, but this is not the way. Please, let us gather peacefully and orderly to talk. Now…"

Lucien paused, looking around. "Who will be the first to voice their grievances? What has brought you here today before the mayor with such anger?"

"Ay!" one man within the sea of faces raised his hand.

Lucien pointed to the man as other hands went up, singling him out as the first who would speak.

"Come forward and speak," Lucien called. "Please, let him through."

The people in the crowd made as much of a path for the man as possible until he found his way to the front. He was a man somewhere in thirties, possessing skin tanned by years of working outside and hair that was bleached from being under the sun's warmth.

"Ay, Milords, I came 'here 'cause the Sheriff's men come and taken every bit o' oth me family's earned sellin' our vegetables at the market," he said. "We can't even afford t' buy lumber to repair the fence and barn, and we barely got enough to feed our wee ones. My arse ass has been snufflin' at the grass I'm so hungry!"

"That's wha' happened to me fam, too!" a washer woman shouted. "No sooner did I get paid me weekly oth for cleanin' MIlady's sheets did most of it get taken. Now I can just feed me babes while I live off leftovers at Milady's kitchen."

"We come t' ask if we can just keep a bit more fer ourselves," someone called. "We earned that oth!"

Yeah!" any number of protectors shouted, and began chanting, "Give us our oth, give us our oth!"

"Everyone, please!" Lucien shouted. "Please, I pray you!"

Boyd grumbled as his glare bore holes in Lucien's back. He observed Lucien's ability to command these commoners and get them to cooperate as he never could. Boyd felt insulted that they listened to this wretch and not him. This nobody who just wandered into town one day some years ago. He was their mayor, and that demanded respect.

"What quality does Lucien possess that we lack?" Boyd asked bitterly.

Lucien raised his arms as he frantically tried to get the crowd to quiet down.

"Orderly! Orderly now," Lucien shouted. "There's no need to shout all at once. Now, please, let us continue."

The crowd gradually became more orderly again as Lucien regained center stage. One by one, he took more testimonies, but really, it all came down to the same root problem. The Sheriff's men were basically robbing the people blind on behalf of the nobles. Money paid for jobs they worked were just taken back. Of course, Lucien and Mayor Boyd already knew all this.

After several accounts, Lucien finally turned to Mayor Boyd, crossing his arms firmly. The official regarded the young man, coolly as he folded his hands behind his back.

"I believe their stories speak for themselves, Milord," Lucien announced loudly enough for the gallery to hear. "What will it be? The people have spoken, and they demand their hard-earned wages not be taken from them in an act of legally sanctioned theft. These people will not be able to survive, let alone continue to loyally serve you if they cannot purchase necessities and keep themselves alive."

Beneath his seeming impartiality, the mayor was fuming at these demands.

"This matter will not go away if you choose to ignore it," Lucien told him. "The people of Gerabellum have shown you that they will not tolerate this treatment any longer. Thus, you will do well to take this matter seriously."

Then Lucien added in a quieter voice only those on the steps could hear. "What happens now is up to you, Lord Mayor."

Boyd's hazel eyes met Lucien's unrelenting blues for a moment before the city's leader looked out onto the crowd. He had to admit, he was in a bit of spot and needed to buy himself time. So, he put on his best smile and raised his hands.

"Good people of Gerabellum. Loyal servants, maids, washers, and gardeners alike," Boyd said. "I will be holding council with the city's nobles within the week. I will make this tax matter top priority, and a solution that works out for all parties involved will be sorted out. I only ask…"

The mayor bowed in faux humility. "That you will forgive me for this beastly oversight in time."

That did not get much of a response from the crowd. From the back, Arngrim rolled his eyes, knowing what a load that was. Jelanda watched with interest.

"This is just like three years ago during the drought. Remember when my father addressed our subjects just like that, Arngrim?" she spoke enthusiastically. "He diverted supplies meant for the knights to the people."

While Jelanda swelled with pride, fondly remembering how her father solved a crisis, Arngrim snorted.

"That how he told you it happened?" was Arngrim's unfavorable response.

Jelanda scrutinized his words and tone. "Are you vilifying my father again?"

"Those supplies were spoiling before King Josh even sent them," Arngrim growled. "No one could eat that shit by the time it got to us common folk."

Jelanda puffed up. "Bu-but the food shortage ended! There's no proof my father threw spoiled food at our subjects. 'Tis mere conjecture!"

"It ended because Captain Lawson ended it," Arngrim firmly stated. "I'd know. I was one of the guys he hired to rob a Villnore outpost to get fresh food to the Artolian people."

"What…?" Jelanda was speechless.

She looked toward the mayor again. "So, that means…"

"Mayor Boyd ain't gonna do shit," Arngrim said.


Seeing the crowd still discontented, Lucien stepped in again.

He turned to the crowd. "There you have it, good people. Your plights have been noted and the mayor promises swift action."

Lucien paused, allowing himself a moment to think, "I doubt anything will be done, so it will fall to The Silver Saviors again. I best get these people out of here before the city guard arrives and they're put to the sword."

He drew breath and continued, "Thus, I must request you all return to your homes and livelihoods for now. Know the Slum Guard is with you and will assist in making your suffering heard. So, please, go home. Take care of your children and your elders."

Then Lucien descended the steps, walking past the guards and into the crowd. He walked straight towards someone he'd spotted in the mob. It was none other than a seemingly unassuming old woman, but all who knew her also knew she was anything but.

"Bedelia," Lucien greeted.

"Ay," the aged archer replied. "Good speech, but…"

"No time for that," he leaned and whispered in her ear. "Spread the word. Tell everyone to just go home until midnight tonight. They are to gather at the abandoned Marley & Marley mint. We'll work this out for ourselves."

Then Lucien sharply turned away, approaching the front of the mayor's office again. He could hear the instructions he gave Bedelia spreading but gave no indication he heard.

When he'd returned to the front of the crowd, people were already beginning to disperse while others relayed his instructions. It was gradual at first, but soon it began picking up speed.

"Well, Lord Mayor," Lucien stuck his hands into his pockets. "I hope that this outcome pleases you."

"It does," Boyd responded. "This experience has been… most enlightening. Yes, most enlightening. I see now that something must be done."

He mostly suppressed a resentful look directed at Lucien. "I know exactly what must be done."

Lucien caught the faintly sinister tone.

"I best be scarce in the downtown area for a while," he thought.

Boyd turned away, speaking to his guards for a moment. Then, he turned to Lucien again.

"It was very good of you… to…" when he looked down at the street again, Lucien was already done.

"How rude," Boyd rested his hands on his hips, mustache twitching in irritation.

The mayor then watched as the crowd dispersed, so obedient and meek before Lucien, but not him.

"Worry not, commoners," Boyd vowed. "The other nobles and I will remind you why you obey us, and not rabble like Lucien and his band of ingrates. I swear to it."


"This is our chance. Do not lose him."

Lenneth stepped forward into the scattering crowd, determined to get to that young man before he left. She quickly began having trouble doing so. With everyone beginning to move at once, she was basically pushing against the tide, and with so many taller than her, she could not see where she was going. She could still see the faint, flickering thread leading her on, though. She stayed the course as best she could despite having to squeeze herself through so many packed bodies, and even got stopped entirely a few times. The smell did not help, either.

The goddess wrinkled her nose at the body odors she picked up, and when a man covered in too much cologne passed, she had to suppress a sneeze. Then she came upon two men standing almost back-to-black.

"Excuse me, please," she said to them.

They stepped apart, letting her through. Lenneth moved into the open on the other side of the mass of bodies. She shoulders sagged forward ever so slightly in relief before she righted her posture again. The air still contained a mixture of unwashed bodies, barnyard animals, and even fecal matter out in open, but it was only overwhelming while among them.

Her relief was short lived. She had reached the other side, but Lucien was gone. She looked around, and quickly found his thread again. The Valkyrie took off again, heading left from the mayor's office, and past quite a few businesses as she tailed Lucien.

It led the Valkyrie around a corner to the right a couple more blocks over. When she turned, Lenneth saw something then that made her freeze. Before her were empty cages at a closed slave market. Lenneth didn't know why, but the sight of them squeezed at her heart like an invisible hand grasped it in its fingers. It was the same sensation she'd felt at the Weeping Lily meadow. She grasped her chest with both hands.

Lenneth did not know why she even briefly felt fear at the sight of them. It had been something primal she could not explain. Her rational mind thought of the poor souls that would one day be packed in there like animals and shown off like livestock for sale before leering eyes, robbing them of basic human dignities. Arngrim rounded the corner behind her and spotted the Valkyrie staring at the cages. She seemed on edge. For the life of him, Arngrim couldn't figure why.

"Get ahold of yourself, Lenneth. They are but empty pens," she told herself.

After she'd taken a few calming breaths and composed herself, Arngrim decided to make his presence known.

"There you are," he greeted as though he'd just arrived.

She turned with an almost alarmed look as he came up next to her.

"Could have stayed closer, you know," he chided.

"Oh, did… did he not see? Thank Odin," her whirling mind managed to put together.

"Apologies," she mumbled almost bashfully.

Arngrim also pretended not to see that.

"You think your boyfriend came through here?" he looked past cages at the other businesses beyond.

Lenneth gave him a sour look but moved on. "Perhaps."

Arngrim observed her, noting the goddess looked a lot better than she did a moment ago, and his teasing had further distracted her.

"Ah, there they are," Belenus called out from behind them.

The goddess and the warrior watched the other three approach.

"Ugh," Jelanda waved her hand in front of her nose. "I never want to smell that many people up close again."

Llewelyn suddenly felt self-conscious, and discreetly took a quick sniff of his armpit.

"What? That just natural people scent," Arngrim smirked at her. "Take a good whiff."

Jelanda made a face, which just prompted a laugh from him.

Lenneth turned towards the closed slave market again, grimacing with condemnation at them. Right away, the arrivals could see something was wrong.

"Repugnant custom," she rasped aloud unintentionally.

"The slave market?" Jelanda asked.

"Yes," Lenneth answered. "Utterly barbaric. To think humans would devalue each other so."

Arngrim gave her a dubious look.

"But it's okay to make the slain fight in your war?" he thought.

Lenneth caught his look, and guardedly asked, "Something bothers thee?"

Arngrim shrugged. "Eh, not much. I guess I don't see much difference between owning a slave and owning einherjar."

Jelanda slapped her forehead while Belenus and Llewelyn both had the weary look of those who knew another heated debate was coming. Lenneth looked at Arngrim as though he'd backhanded her across the face.

"I beg your pardon," she voiced her offense. "Choosing einherjar is nothing like buying a slave."

"Nothing alike?" Arngrim was almost amused at her denial. "We have to follow every order dished out by the gods, or be punished. We're expected to die a second death for Odin and we don't get anything for it."

"You dwell in the Golden Hall and are allowed to eat at the table of heroes," Lenneth countered.

"In life, I had a house, a brother, my own money, and the choice to live how I wanted," Arngrim argued back. "In death, I sleep in the barracks, own nothing, can make no choices of my own, but hey, that's okay, I get to eat at a 'humans only' table and hang out in a human's only part of the training grounds."

Lenneth was beside herself fuming in the upmost irritation.

"Such nonsense," Lenneth haughtily shot back. "Of course, you have a choice. I've not made a single one of you come with me. Additionally, you all knew what joining me entailed."

"Um…" Jelanda stopped herself.

"What it is?" Lenneth tried not to snap at her.

"Well, there's Llewelyn," the princess said.

"Hey," the archer held up his hands. "I'd rather be here than still at the bottom of the sea, feeling sorry for myself."

Lenneth found herself unable to speak, staring at Llewelyn. She still remembered the life that was meant to be for him, but had been snatched away by a fault in reality.

"Our other choice is Niflheim, so do we really have one?" Arngrim asked. "We can go with you or get stuck in a frozen wasteland forever with the Queen of Mean and her demons."

Llewelyn winced at the mention of Niflheim. As did Lenneth. As much as she hated to admit it, that last comment hit hard, but she wasn't about to back down. She blustered for a moment before finding her words again.

"Well, what choice have I?" Lenneth demanded. "The Nine Realms hang in the balance, especially right now. If we fail, Yggdrasil will wither and die along with every world held in its branches. You are all a crucial part of maintaining peace and sanity across the Nine Realms."

Yet, even as she spoke, she knew she was not disproving Arngrim's claim, but was simply covering it with the importance of their duties. Try as she did, she could not dismiss the seed of doubt in her heart. She mentally began trying to stamp it down and pressed on.

"I do not have the luxury of being able to prioritize the wishes of my einherjar over the mission," Lenneth stated. "So… So, the two are nothing alike. Slaves are forcefully uprooted from their lives and made to serve the cruel whims of their masters to pointless ends. An einherjar's life is already ended when I arrive to offer you the chance to be a part of something greater than all of us."

Although she stood proud, deep down Lenneth knew the difference was a matter of semantics.

So, she decided to change the subject. "But enough distractions from our objective. I would like to speak to this Lucien alone. Given his position in being at odds with the nobility, a group of armed warriors may make him unforthcoming."

The Valkyrie held out her hand, producing a small brown bag. "Here."

Arngrim took it, and it jangled like coins. It also felt like oth in his hand.

"Cash?" he asked.

"I believe it will be for the best if I see to this matter, myself," Lenneth said. "Enjoy an afternoon's leave being among your fellow humanity again. I will come collect you when I've finished. Now if you'll excuse me."

"Wait, Lady…!" Jelanda held a hand to stop her.

Alas, Lenneth vanished, leaving nothing behind except a flurry of feathers which scattered everywhere. As soon as the white plumes had either fallen to the earth or been blown away, Belenus gave Arngrim a displeased look.

"Well done," was his sardonic statement.

"You knew she was upset. You'd better apologize when she gets back," Jelanda said.

"Why? Little Miss High-And-Mighty was awful quick to judge us humans when the gods ain't any different," Arngrim stubbornly shot back.

As for Llewelyn, he was too deep in his thoughts to pay attention to the argument happening around him. He fixated on how Niflheim would have likely been his final resting place as per his intended fate to return home peacefully. He then thought of how Millia was due to go there and how he'd never be reunited with her, even in the afterlife. She'd be in the foggy land of Hel while he fought the good fight in Valhalla, and all just because he got lucky.

"That's… not fair," Llewelyn thought.

"Bah!" Arngrim waved a dismissive arm at Jelanda and turned away from her.

When he did, he faced the slave cages again. This gave Arngrim a pause. He had to admit he was still surprised by Valkyrie's outburst as he looked the confines over, himself. He had wondered why the very sight of them had seemed to trigger something primal within her.

"Valkyrie's seen way worse than a slave market in her long life. I don't get it," Arngrim puzzled over this conundrum.

As he mulled it over, Arngrim recalled how Llewelyn had referred to the Valkyries as "ghosts within the Sacred Writs" as opposed to the overabundance of material about the other gods. To Arngrim, many of those accounts often came across as embellishments in their sheer grandiose nature.

It all seemed to imply the Valkyries were considered very low within the ranks of the Aesir Pantheon even though their role was arguably one of the most important. The other Aesir commanded armies of lower gods, einherjar, fairies, and elves, leading them into glorious battle against other factions of celestial beings. Even the noncombatant Aesir oversaw some aspect of nature or reality itself and had countless scriptures centered on them. Then there were Valkyries, Valhalla's glorified little recruitments officers, working busily everyday, endlessly. Meanwhile Arngrim had seen other Aesir lounging around the golden hall without a care in the worlds. Not Lenneth, though. He'd never seen Lenneth not hard at work. Yet, their Lady Valkyrie and her sister were nearly invisible as far as their holy books were concerned.

This caused Arngrim to have a thought he hadn't before.

"Is she… not free, either?" the words weren't even a whisper on his lips.

He looked at the cages again, beginning to feel the first pangs of remorse for lumping their Valkyrie in with the other gods.

"So," Jelanda asked Belenus. "You think there's something wrong with this Lucien fellow? His soul must have resonated with Lady Valkyrie for a reason."

Arngrim turned, listening in as well.

"That is a very good question," Belenus answered thoughtfully.

Both he and the princess regarded Llewelyn, wondering if another fault in the threads of fate was at play.


Clink, clack, clink, clack!

"Wearisome drudgery! Those blasted kids better appreciate this!"

From within a cave in a rock quarry, the clangs of metal on metal echoed out, accompanied by the hoarse grumblings of the dweller within. Light and smoke both drifted out through the cave mouth. Under the cavern roof, a simple living space had been arranged, with a bed, dining table, and all the essentials for living. Wooden supports had been set up, keeping the cave's roof up where it wouldn't harm its host. In the back right corner of the cavern was an anvil and a blazing forge. The owner this humble abode was hunched over the anvil, hammering away as a nearly finished item that'd been commissioned.

The figure hard at work was short, roughly the height of a ten-year-old child, but none would ever mistake him for one. He was shaped like a square, with a thick torso and limbs, each of which possessed a lot of strength. His round head seemed a bit too big for his body, sitting on his shoulders apparently lacking a neck. All his features seemed large even on his oversized head. He had large bulging eyes which allowed him to see in the dark, a massive nose which could track as well as any hound, and big ears as heightened as a bat's. His long, thick dark hair was had been shaven along the sides in a Temple Cut, and it was tied back in a series of braids along the back to keep it from his shoulders and face. His long dark beard also hung in twin braids, kept more manageable while he worked. The other thing of note about the small man was that his skin was olive colored.

No human was this man, but a dwarf, one of the hill folk. Eitri was his name, and he was a recluse who lived apart from both his people and the humans of Gerabellum for reasons he'd never bothered to tell anyone. He'd simply taken up residence in the city's abandoned rock quarry near the entrance of the abandoned mine and none argued, because it was out of everyone's way. Basically, the only time anyone went to see Eitri was when they needed something expertly made, but his services weren't cheap. He was a dwarf, one of the expert craftsmen of the Nine Realms, and as such, his asking price could be quite daunting.

None knew why he hadn't moved out of the cave into fancier dwelling yet. Most wrote him off as an eccentric for living as he did despite the riches he had to possess after years of being Gerabellum's top blacksmith and alchemist.

Eitri straightened, and leaned back, working out the kinks in his spine, which let out of a series of satisfying crunches. He let out relieved moans as he felt his vertebrae pop out of their stiffened state. He'd just finished his latest order. Eitri looked down proudly at the freshly minted weapon laying across his anvil and picked it up, gripping its handle in both hands.

"Sharpest, sturdiest ax as ever I forged," there was pride in his voice. "Put this in the hand of that Ingrid girl, and not even the iron bars of a prison will stand up to it."

He turned and carried it over to one of many large metal trunks he'd set into the floor.

"Open, will ya?" he commanded.

The lid whined open, and Eitri knew at once it was going to need an oiling. First, though, he set the new weapon down in it before ordering the chest to close. It obeyed, and with a series of clicks, locked itself up so tight, even the most skilled thief and lockpicker would be at work for months trying to get it open. Assuming Eitri's traps did not kill them first.

"Jus' about time to check on that boy's other order," the dwarf said.

Eitri then went over a table with extensive alchemic equipment set up. There on one of its ends was a glass bottle with a side pipe held in a legged stand over a burner, which was an invention of Eitri's design. It was identical to a Bunsen Burner. The orange liquid bubbled inside the bottle and rose, draining out of the side pipe and into a beaker Eitri had set up below its nozzle. The liquid had filled the vial three-fourths full.

"By the Norns, 'tis done," he happily uttered.

Eitri grabbed what appeared to be a gas mask and long, thick gloves and put them on. The mask itself fully incased his head with a thick hood. After adorning the protective gear, he cut off the natural gas from the mines blow which fed the burner's flame by turning a knob on the side. The flame died and he moved the raised stand away from it. He then corked both the side pipe of the bottle and the vial of orange liquid before setting the latter in a beaker rack.

He stepped away from the table before pulling the mask and gloves off.

"Now then," Eitri said. "That boy should be here with me oth soon."

"Sooner than you'd think."

Eitri looked toward the mouth of the cave with a start, but there was only the lone figure standing there, leaned against one of its sides.

"Lucien, my boy!" Eitri greeted. "Just in time. I've finished your orders."

Lucien chuckled. "You looked like I'd just rode in here on a bear."

"Oi, don't even jest about that," Eitri grumbled as he approached his visitor.

"Why not?" Lucien asked playfully. "No better way to pinch you if you hadn't completed my orders on time."

"Alright, just get in 'ere," Eitri grumbled.

"Easy now," Lucien said.

The dwarf took the young man by the arm and pulled him across the threshold into the cave. Everyone who knew Eitri knew not to try going in without the dwarf's assistance. The traps were deactivated by the presence of their master.

When They approached the chemistry table, the dwarf held up the vial with the orange liquid, showing it to his buyer.

"One solution to your rich man in the cellar problem, as promised," Eitri explained.

Lucien eyed the concoction a bit warily. "'Tis not going to kill him, right? I only need him to forget a few days' worth of captivity."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that," Eitri grinned cleverly. "He'll live, and he'll not remember a thing."

Eitri placed it back in the rack and motioned for Lucien to follow him over to the enchanted trunk he put the ax in.

"Open up!" Eitri ordered it.

A series of clicks, and the lid flipped upwards, revealing the various gear being stored with it, piled neatly inside. The dwarf produced the new ax for Ingrid and showed it Lucien.

"Well, here she be," Eitri proudly presented it.

Lucien looked over the intricate handiwork of the double-headed ax. Runes and spells for enchantment had been carved into its surface. He recognized Unbreaking and Ever-Sharp among them, but others were a mystery to him.

"I made this masterpiece keen-edged. Ingrid will rejoice in its sharpness, but of course…" Eitri flashed Lucien a prideful smile as he walked past the young man.

"But of course what?" Lucien curiously followed the dwarf with his eyes, turning as when the dwarf stepped past him.

Eitri stopped by his old anvil sitting against the wall, collecting cobwebs and dust. The old smithing tool was worn, dented, cracked, and rusted through. However, it was about to be of one final use.

"But of course," Eitri spoke, finishing his thought. "What good is a weapon's cutting edge unless the steel is hard and true?"

He raised the ax high. Lucien took an alarmed, jerking step towards him, but Eitri was quick and slammed the side of ax head against the rusted anvil. Sparks flew, but nary a piece broke off. When he turned to Lucien to show off the ax again, it had suffered no scratch, dent, or crack from the demonstration.

"Now let me show how you'll be liberating folk in the future!"

He swung the ax down on the anvil again, this time with the blade facing down. It cut clean through the anvil, splitting the retired smithing tool down the middle. Lucien stared dumbly with his jaw slack out of sheer astonishment. The dwarf proudly rested the weapon on his shoulder.

"Ay, lad, your days of picking the cage wagon locks are over now that you have ol' Eitri's Metal-Biter!" he guffawed.

Lucien began to smile, and reached into his satchel, producing the bag of oth. "I felt almost bad for bringing extra when it could have been used for the orphanage, but that ax is worth every coin. You have outdone yourself, smithy."

Eitri smiled and nodded. "Many thanks, my boy. Now then, lad, let me tell ya how to use that potion on ol' Sir Re-GEE-nold."


"Ugh, that Arngrim. I hope he appreciates 'tis only his combat prowess which keeps him from being more trouble than he's worth."

Lenneth hugged herself as a breeze blew through the city street, chilling her a bit. As she walked, a pout was upon her face. That last conversation with the Heavy Warrior still bothered her. She'd nearly forgotten why she came to this city until she passed the same dried-up fountain they saw when they first arrived. Lenneth paused, staring with almost fascination as she realized she'd retraced her foots back to the beginning. Her shoulders sagged.

"Blast it," she thought angrily. "I walked myself farther away. Ugh, I cannot believe I let myself get so flustered in front of them. 'Tis not like me. Why'd I let him get to me like that?"

Lenneth began to concentrate, hoping to get back on the trail. Few noticed the woman standing among them near the fountain as they went about their day. Those who did simply assumed she was in prayer.

While Lenneth was concentrating, another woman, one with radiant red hair also walked that street, and she seemed to be no happier about her own circumstances.

Claire ran her hand with her red hair, straightening it out as she made her way back towards Granite Orphanage. She glanced here and there at some of the passing persons, observing and analyzing them. Her face twisted in displeasure when she spotted no one who looked well off.

"Just great, no rich folk about to pickpocket," she thought. "Bet I could barely lift any oth off these losers."

As she stopped on the other side of the fountain from Lenneth, she put one boot up on its stone outer ring.

"Forget this, guess I'm going home. I hope Lucien's finished with that dwarf, and I better not catch him looking at that keepsake when he's with me again," she thought unhappily.

As she turned away, she caught sight of Lenneth. The redhead stopped, and looked more closely. Across from her was a young woman who matched Lucien's description of his dearly departed friend, Platina. Claire stared unbelievingly at Lenneth's hair, trying to wrap her head around how there were two women in Midgard with such a unique hair color, and even in a braid, too.

"Is that…? It couldn't be," Claire thought.

Then her face morphed into a deep scowl of jealousy that burned from deep in her core. Claire remembered a recent conversation on the topic of Platina she'd had with Lucien all too well. They were both at his house, eating a dinner he'd prepared with her help. They'd been chatting when something must have made him think of Platina. One minute, Claire turned her back, setting the dishes off to one side of the table, and then the next, she caught him taking a peek of the lock of that girl's hair he always kept in his pocket.

"Hey," Claire said loudly, forcing him to remember she was still in the room.

On cue, the young swordsman hid it back in his pocket, and looked at her, trying to smile like nothing was the matter. However, Claire wasn't going to let him off the hook just yet.

"So, what was she like?" Claire asked, almost aggressively. "Was she beautiful?"

She dared him to get overly sentimental while courting her.

"Don't be foolish," he'd chided. "She was barely 14."

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "I guess she was kinda cute… but… she…"

He thought, and nodded, as if confirming something with himself before looking at her.

"Yes, she would have been beautiful," he said.

"Hmm," Claire hummed in a voice hard as stone.

Lucien saw this was heading nowhere good and seemed to be trying to walk it back.

"Hey, she basically looked like any other girl that age," he hastily added, and gave the fakest of shrugs. "But…"

He stopped himself.

"But?" Claire prompted but didn't know why.

Lucien did not want to keep going, but Claire was pressing him for more. "It was mostly her hair that stuck out."

His expression turned wistfully as he thought of it. "It was silver, and when the light struck it, her silver locks shimmered like a sapphire. It was beautiful."

Hearing him talk so affectionately about her like that made Claire feel self-conscious about her own short-cut red hair. Sure, it was a deep, rich shade, but it could never compete with a long mane that shined like a jewel under the sunlight.

"That dolt," Claire in the present thought bitterly. "He still loves her after all these years."

Even as she glared fiery anger at Lenneth, there was some part of her that still tried to rein it in.

"That's a completely different person," she told herself. "The only thing that's the same is the color of her hair. I mean, the girl he spoke of. She's dead."

Claire tore herself away from the silver-maned woman and started to walk away. Then the clouds parted, and its light shined down onto the city street. The ginger woman caught view of the woman's hair under the rays of light, and beheld it was indeed, shining like a sapphire. Something bitter bubbled up deep within Claire, and before she even knew it…

A sudden jolt of pain shot through Lenneth's back, making her cry out and instinctively jump. Having been dragged out of her meditation, she was momentarily disoriented. The Valkyrie clutched the sore spot in the middle of her back, rubbing it as she spun around. She spotted a woman with short red hair fleeing the scene swiftly.

Lenneth noticed a little stone rolling around on the ground at her feet and realized what'd happened. Scowling, she looked where the other woman had disappeared to, having half a mind to pursue that mortal and teach her a lesson about throwing rocks at strangers she'd unlikely ever forget.

"Oh, dear, was that Claire?" a soft yet strained voice cooed from behind Lenneth.


Claire ran the length of the back alley, cursing herself.

"What am I doing?" she scolded herself. "I got all jealous over some stranger? This is pathetic!"

She dipped into a nearby abandoned building, hoping to lose anyone that might be pursuing her over she'd just done.


"Oh, dear, was that Claire?"

The goddess turned and was greeted by an elderly woman holding a basket of various foods in one hand. She walked with a cane and wore a charcoal-colored dress with lighter gray sleeves and a violet babushka. She looked at Lenneth with concern in her eyes as she set down the basket.

"Oh? Uh… Good afternoon. Elder," Lenneth bowed respectfully.

"And to you," the elder shuffled forward. "Are you badly harmed, dear?"

The old woman reached out, placing a gentle hand on Lenneth's arm.

"The rock Claire pitched at you was decent sized. You should have that looked at as soon as possible. The orphanage I run is not far off. We have supplies for treating an injury," she said. "Please, do come along, young lady."

"Oh, that will not be necessary," Lenneth replied, both pleasantly and awkwardly. "I am fine. Truly."

The old woman seemed unconvinced. "No need to pretend, and I insist. I practically raised that girl and failed utterly I can see. At least let me make it up to you."

Lenneth wanted to refuse, but as she watched the old woman try to bend down to retrieve the basket, the goddess saw she was having a considerable amount of trouble. The old woman even had to straighten up again, clutching her own back painfully.

"That aged body has so many aches of its own, yet she still desires to help me," The Valkyrie thought.

In the choice between continuing to look for that Lucien fellow and assisting this old woman, Lenneth decided on the spot what was more important.

"I will accompany you," she relented.

She walked up and picked up the basket much more easily than the old woman. "But on the condition, you let me help you with this."

The old woman laughed. "'Tis much appreciated, but you best take it easy. Please, allow me to carry that in case Claire's rock hit your spine."

Then the old woman stubbornly took the basket back. Lenneth had to admit the elder was having a much easier time of it now that she did not have to bend over for it.

"'Tis not too hard on you?" the goddess asked.

"Nay," the elder answered. "Now then, my name is Dolce, at your service."

Lenneth opened her mouth but stopped herself. After thinking for a moment, she remembered the alias Belenus had given her.

"I'm Brunhilde, I am very pleased to meet you," she said.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Brunhilde," Dolce smiled.


"Seems you were right, dearie."

Dolce turned away from Lenneth, carrying the box of medical supplies under her arm. None of them had been used, as there was only the faintest hint of a bruise upon the silvermane's back. While the old woman put the bandages and ointments back in their trunk, Lenneth drew her corset shut again, before retying it. She stood facing the wall, baring only her back to any onlookers who entered Dolce's office. Her white button-down shirt was folded on the desk next to her, where it was easy to reach. Lenneth grabbed it and began the process of rebuttoning it before tucking it back under her skirt.

"Well, thank the gods you're going to be alright," Dolce sounded relieved.

She shut the trunk and then straightened out whilst smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes. Lenneth was just finishing making herself presentable again as Dolce approached her again.

"I do hope you will forgive that child," the orphanage's headmistress said. "I don't know what could have come over her."

Dolce looked on melancholically. Lenneth observed the old woman's secondhand embarrassment and felt for her.

"There was no harm done," the Valkyrie assured her. "Think no more on it, please."

In all honesty, Claire was quickly fading as a priority to be concerned about.

"Headmistress! Headmistress!" a child suddenly called from the other side of the door.

"Oh, do come in," Dolce called in her faint voice.

A small boy of about seven sprinted in excitedly. "Auntie Dolce, look who's back already!"

"Gregor, how many times I have to told you about running in the halls?" Dolce reprimanded him.

Gregor hung his head and mumbled a barely hearable, "Sorry."

"Now, who has returned?" Dolce asked.

"Mr. Lucien!"

Lenneth looked to the door, almost not believing who walked in behind the child. Yet it was Lucien who stepped into the room. He bore a satchel and a cloth-covered ax over his shoulder while wearing a charming smile on his face. Now the moment had come, and Lenneth found herself unable to do anything but stare, getting lost in his deep blue eyes. Whether because of his familiarity of his face, or some form of pull to him, time stood still for her.

Lucien hadn't noticed her standing behind Dolce yet as he waved to the orphanage's matron.

Lucien turned to Gregor. "Thanks for letting me in, Greg. You don't need to stick around and watch us boring old people talk."

Gregor smiled, displaying his missing baby teeth, as he loudly answered: "Thanks, Mr. Lucien!"

Then the boy sped out of the room.

"Gregor!" Dolce sternly called after him, but the door had already swung shut.

"Sorry!" the boy called from the other side.

Lucien looked away, trying to hide his amusement as Dolce threw up her hands, muttering "Children."

"How are you today, Headmistress?" he greeted. "The fellas should have dropped by with today's earnings by now. I do hope you've received them."

"Oh, yes, Barren and some others came by with it earlier. There was even extra left over," Dolce answered. "Thank you for your generosity."

"Think nothing of it," Lucien humbly answered.

"Well, here is something we can think of," Dolce said. "While I was out buying some groceries we're short on, something happened."

Then she stepped aside, gesturing to Lenneth. Lucien finally noticed the woman standing in the back of the room. He made a strangled sound deep in his throat when he got a look at her.

"This young woman is named Brunhilde, and she…" Dolce stopped when she saw she no longer had Lucien's attention.

Lenneth curtsied in greeting while Lucien still made that odd noise, gaping at her, eyes taking in her porcelain-like skin, deep blue eyes like his own, and that silver mane of hair tied in a long braid which trailed the length of her torso as it hung over her shoulder.

"Platina?" his mind rang. "No, impossible. Not Platina! But she's like a twin sister of hers'!"

Now it was his turn to be frozen in place as Lenneth approached him, walking with the pois of a noblewomen, hands folded in her lap as she neared.

"Whaaaa…?" Lucien blurted out, somewhat finding his voice.

Dolce thought his reaction strange, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Lucien, however, was still staring slack-jawed, which made Lenneth giggle almost inaudibly. She covered her mouth to hide it with a light blush. Dolce gave Lucien a stern look and lightly jabbed him in the leg with her cane.

"Don't drool so in the presence of a young woman," she reprimanded.

Lucien's mouth snapped shut and he covered it, flushing. Lenneth's smile widened.

"It is good to meet you, Lucien," Lenneth said.

Lucien's lips moved despite him uttering nothing until he was able to shake the shock off.

"I, erm, Milady!" He dropped to a knee, taking her hand gently in his own and kissed it.

Surprise registered on Lenneth's face, and her cheeks rosy again. Lucien sat there on one knee, questioning why he'd just done that when a simple bow and a "Hello" would have sufficed. He stood back up and their eyes met. In all that time, he had not released her hand, and she had not pulled it away.

"It… pleases me to meet you, as well, Lady Brunhilde," Lucien's voice was shaky.

This was the moment. Lenneth had so much to ask this man, but her mind had gone blank as her mind was awash with so many thoughts and emotions, she could not keep up with them.

On the sideline, Dolce began to feel as though she were intruding on lovers reunited.

"How may I, er, we assist you, Milady? What brings you to our humble side of town?" Lucien spoke in a soft, subdued tone.

The question brought Lenneth's mind back to the present.

"That's right," she thought as the spell was broken. "I have questions for this man."

"I brought her here," but Dolce spoke first. "Earlier today, Claire… hit her with a rock."

Lucien whirled around, facing Dolce in surprise, but still kept hold on Lenneth's hand. Lenneth did not appreciate being beaten to the punch and cast a faintly annoyed look on the old woman.

"Claire?" Lucien yelped. "Claire did that?"

Dolce nodded, uttering a silent "Yes". Lucien stared off out the window but wasn't really looking through it.

"That's not like her…" he mumbled. "Why would she…?"

Then he looked at Lenneth again and remembered his recent conversation with the redhead as well. He felt the pit of his stomach fall. He gave Lenneth a contrite look.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said. "Claire is just a bit…"

Lucien paused, realizing he had no reasonable excuse for her beaning someone in the back with a rock. He struggled, tilting his head this way and that before looking at Lenneth uneasily again.

"She's just a bit… you know?" he settled on, despite knowing how dull-headed it sounded.

"Not remotely," Lenneth thought.

"I think I might," was the answer she decided to give, indulging him with a smile.

"Oh, well, thank you for understanding," Lucien replied.

"That's about enough of this I am going to watch," Dolce decided.

"Lucien, dear," the headmistress said. "I must go help Noah prepare dinner for the children. Perhaps Brunhilde will stay for the meal?"

She looked to Lenneth as she offered. "Lucien would be more than willing to show you around while you wait."

"Oh, um…" Lucien looked between them. "Would this please you? We could walk… chat?"

Lenneth considered it but knew it wouldn't be fair to her einherjar if she dined while they roamed the streets. Besides, a moment alone to talk with Lucien was all she really wanted.

"Unfortunately, I can't. I arrived with a group, and they're waiting for me," she admitted.

"Oh, that's a shame. I'd have liked to speak some more and perhaps introduced you to Claire properly, so you could sort this out," Lucien answered.

"You and I can speak some more," Lenneth quickly added.

On the sideline, Dolce noted how eager 'Brunhilde' was to speak with Lucien. She also noticed how Lucien perked right up.

"In fact, I've never seen so much life in him," the headmistress thought.

"Would you be willing to walk me to the main gate?" Lenneth requested of Lucien. "I am so sorry to cut this short, but they're expecting me."

"Very well. Lucien, please escort Miss Brunhilde," Dolce said. "I bid you adieu, young lady. 'Tis been a pleasure speaking with you. Such a pity you couldn't join us for dinner. I think Lucien would have liked that."

"Headmistress!" Lucien blushed.

Dolce let out a series of rough, almost coughing chuckles in response.

"Well, I'm off. Take care," Dolce left them.

Lucien's face remained red hot even after the matron had left them.

"Well, then," Lenneth said. "Lead on, if you would."

"Oh, of course," Lucien answered. "Right this way. Just let me take your…"

It was then he noticed he had never actually let go of her hand. He looked down, letting his hair hide some of his face while Lenneth giggled in amusement. He finally let go and went to the door. He unshouldered his satchel and the wrapped-up weapon, leaning them against the wall beside the door before opening it for her.

"After you," he motioned.

"Thank you," Lenneth passed through into the hall.

Lenneth heard the door click shut behind her as her eyes scanned the halls. Although she heard children and various adults, none were around, and she could feel their presence at least a few rooms away. The perfect opportunity.

"The front gate was this way," Lucien pointed them left from the door and took the lead.

The Valkyrie followed him, staring at him keenly as they walked.

"Alright," Lenneth told herself and took a silent, but deep breath.

"When you first saw me, you looked almost like you'd seen a ghost," the words seemed to creep up on Lucien.

His posture became rigid in response.

"Oh, that," he looked over his shoulder at her. "You just… remind of someone I once knew. Long ago."

"Really?" Lenneth asked curiously. "In what way?"

Lucien divided his gaze between looking where he was going and her while he considered how to answer. He really didn't want to talk about it, but he also couldn't be rude to this stranger, especially after his girlfriend struck her with a rock.

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in it," he thought.

"It's the hair," he said.

His eyes trailed down her braid. "I've only ever seen one other person with hair which looked like it was mined from the mountains and was somehow given, uh, hair form."

"Really?" Lenneth stroked her braid lightly. "I've yet to meet anyone with hair like mine as well. I thought I was the only one."

She wasn't lying, either. Even the other gods didn't have hair like hers'. Among them, Odin and Eir were the closest, but their gray hairs were more akin to those of the human elderly.

"She even wore it in a braid just like that," Lucien was still mystified at their resemblance.

As he looked at her again, he decided to venture a question. "Have you ever heard of Coriander Village?"

"Yes, of course," Lenneth answered. "'Tis a small village far to the North on this side of the Artolian mountains, far out in the wilderness. It is the only sign of civilization left along the entire Northern coast, regardless of which side of the mountains you are."

"Civilization, huh?" Lucien thought drearily. "I wonder exactly how civilized it was."

"That's the one," he answered. "She and I used to live there, back when… I… lived there."

Lenneth caught how his voice strangled as he spoke of this.

"Coriander is so near that Weeping Lily Meadow where I found that girl's grave," she noted.

"You are quite a ways from home, Lucien," the Valkyrie muttered. "Journeying so far south… You crossed the entire breadth of Villnore and traveled past both Artolia and Lassen just to come here."

"I am home," Lucien answered firmly, almost bitterly.

Lenneth was surprised by the severity of the response, and fell out of step with him for a couple paces. Lucien mentally cursed himself for saying so much more than he'd intended to. There was just something about referring to Coriander Village as 'home' which put the venom in his proverbial fangs.

He softened his tone this time, "Sorry. It's just that… There's nothing in Coriander for me now."

"No, forgive me," Lenneth insisted. "I asked you a question you are clearly not comfortable answering."

"Eh, truth be told, that was almost six years ago," Lucien said. "The past is the past."

It wasn't difficult for Lenneth to begin putting the pieces together. She again recalled the makeshift grave in the flower field, but Lenneth refrained from mentioning it. Her human alias 'Brunhilde' would have no reason to have ever seen it. There was only one question she could ask, and that was the girl's name.

"Looks like we're here," Lucien stopped at the main entrance and opened the door for her.

"Thank you," she dipped in a very light bow before crossing the threshold onto the front veranda.

She turned to him with her question as he shut the door.

"So, you arrived with a group?" Lucien beat her to it. He looked at her intently.

"Yes, I… I'm a receptionist for a representative of East Lassen Spices," Lenneth figured Belenus wouldn't mind her stealing another of his cover stories. "We're here on business."

"As in, the late Lord Belenus's company?" Lucien was now curious.

"Yes," Lenneth answered plainly. "With Lord Belenus's passing, there has been much to do for everyone."

"Not surprise there," Lucien commented. "Poor man died without an heir. I'm sure every relative and business partner will be circling around, wanting to take a bite of his company."

Lenneth noticed he seemed vaguely sad about it.

"You mourn Lord Belenus?" she asked.

"Of course," Lucien said.

He stepped off the veranda onto the lawn of the orphanage with Lenneth in tow.

"Lord Belenus was one of the few nobles in both Lassen and Gerabellum who didn't take his employees for granted," Lucien shoved his hands into the pockets as he spoke.

Once they were hallway across the somewhat overgrown lawn, Lucien began fishing for the keys from a pouch hanging from his belt.

"Yes, working with Lord Belenus has always been a delight," Lenneth said.

"Sorry it came to such an abrupt end," Lucien gave her empathetic look.

As they reached the gate, he unlocked it for her.

"You've all come to Gerabellum at a very bad time, I'm afraid," Lucien said grimly. "Tempers are high everywhere right now."

"I noticed," Lenneth replied.

Lucien looked out at the sparsely populated street outside the gate and then gave Lenneth a serious look. "A girl like you should not be wandering the streets alone at this time. Allow me to escort you back to your group."

"Oh, that will not be necessary," Lenneth assured him. "Girls like me are tougher than we appear."

"All the same," Lucien insisted. He tapped the sword on his belt. "You're unarmed in a mean town. It's the least I can do after my girlfriend decided to act like an overgrown child."

Lenneth was torn. It was another opportunity to ask him the name of the girl he lost, but she'd also kept her einherjar waiting longer than she should have. Then, almost as if to make the decision for her, a figure approached them from one of the side yards of the orphanage.

"Hey, Lucien!" a man with a dark cowlick called. "You get those packages? They're both supposed to come in today."

"Yeah, they're both in the headmistress's office," Lucien answered.

"Good. The sooner we can…" the other man seemed to lose his train of thought as soon as he laid eyes on Lenneth. He gave her a crooked smile she supposed was meant to be charming.

"Well, hello, Milady. How did someone so fair find her way to this hobble?" he said.

"Barren," Lucien said sharply. His displeasure at his right-hand man making a pass at her was transparent.

Yet, Lucien wondered why he was so bothered by it. He was in a relationship with Claire and only knew this woman's name, but nothing else about her. Nothing he'd done since walking into Dolce's office made sense, even to himself. Especially to himself, actually.

He motioned to Lenneth. "This is Brunhilde. I was just about to escort her back to the business district."

Barren blinked and then leaned back, furrowing his brow. "Business district?"

"Long story," Lucien answered. "I'll explain when I return."

"Return?" now it was Barren's turn to be cross. "Lucien, we've got things to do. Ol' Reggie, our special guest…"

Barren was speaking through his teeth be then. "You know the one. He's waiting for his package."

"Well, it must wait," Lucien insisted.

"Actually," Lenneth pretended to see someone through the bars of the gate. "I think I see some of my party on the other side of that overpass."

Lucien looked, and there were indeed people of perusing a little pocket of the thrift market.

Lenneth turned to Lucien with another curtsy and a smile. "Thank you for the offer. Truly."

"You're welcome," Lucien said, staring deeply into her eyes.

Barren looked from one to the other, wondering if his friend had been bewitched somehow.

"I shan't keep you any longer," Lenneth left through the gate.

She turned and smiled at Lucien was last time, uttering a "Bless" in parting.

"Bless," Lucien called in return.

He leaned against the fence as he watched her leave, unable to tear his eyes away. Behind him, Barren watched him, half-incredulous, and half-amused.

"He's got it bad. Poor Claire," he thought.

He walked up beside Lucien, tapping him on the shoulder. The other man looked at him.

"So, care to explain?" Barren asked.

"I don't think I can," Lucien answered earnestly.

"In that case, if it's not too much to ask you to tear yourself away, we have business to attend to," Barren restated, stressing his words.

Lucien nodded fainted after one more look at the departing woman. Then he shut and locked the gate. He turned from the world outside, following Barren.

"Alright, here's how Eitri says to use it…" he began.

Unseen by both men, Lenneth walked a long trek of disappointment. Fate had not smiled in her attempts to untangle her missing memories. Lucien evidently had obligations, and so did she. As soon as she could, Lenneth dipped into an alcove. She looked around, ensuring that she was alone. However, instead of disappearing in a flurry of feathers right away, Lenneth stood and thought.

"I know him, somehow. That Lucien. Am I the girl from Coriander? I… know not yet."

She despondently stared at the wall, still torn over what she should have done. Then she attempted to push the metaphorical scale and told herself:

"The die was cast. I chose to leave. I must return to them. I should have never left my einherjar alone."

After assuring herself it had to be this way, she disappeared, leaving fluttering feathers floating around in her wake.


"As much as I've enjoyed being back in human civilization, I do hope Lady Valkyrie returns soon."

Belenus stepped down from some nearby stairs after making that statement.

"No argument here," Jelanda concurred.

She looked up from where she sat at a nearby bench catching up with her spellcasting studies. The open spell book sat in her lap, with the pages turned to the section about Great Magic. Meanwhile Arngrim ran through a sword drill some distance away in an uninhabited open space. They weren't invisible, which left them wondering why the city guard hadn't confronted him yet.

Llewelyn plopped down on the bench next to Jelanda. He glanced over at the market, and chuckled.

"I didn't mind buying some street side sweets again," the archer said. "They don't seem to make those up in Valhalla."

Before his comrades could respond, a pressure entered the air, alerting them that something very powerful was approaching. In a moment, it mostly faded and Lenneth appeared from around a corner.

"Well, look who's back," Arngrim commented.

They gathered around her as she neared.

"Did you sort the matter of that young man?" Belenus asked.

"For the time being, anyway," Lenneth answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arngrim all but demanded.

"It means we may have to return another day," Lenneth answered.

She looked around at the surrounding city. "The heart of this city has done dark and crushes the souls of the people who dwell here. 'Tis a perfect breeding ground for undead, and I believe that may have called me here as much as that young man, Lucien."

"So, we will be checking on Gerabellum from time to time?" Jelanda asked.

"Yes," Lenneth answered. She looked skyward. "In the meantime, we have other business to attend to. Come, my einherjar. Battle awaits in the north."

Then, while no one was looking, the party of five vanished, and feathers scattered around again.