Soft sniffles by the entrance to his bedchamber had him awake and rising from his bed in but a moment. Owain bit back a yawn as he padded from his bedside to the trembling little girl that watched him mournfully. "Another nightmare, Tiche?" he asked softly as he knelt to gather her to his chest. She nodded into his shoulder, short arms clinging to his neck. Owain hummed. "Be not afeard, sweet girl, I am here."
"Tanks Wain." came her soft reply.
"Ever shall I protect you. No nightmare can stand against me." he said with low fervor, smile growing as she giggled. Owain settled his sheets over his little stowaway.
Those nights that Alecto performed other duties for their queen and left Tiche in his care were precious to him. Tiche was precious to him. This tiny life within his arms invoked in him a warm sense of fatherhood and family. That she was so adorable only made the feelings more potent. He'd taken to letting Tiche have the run of his office whilst her mother worked. She and the twins were better kept under his eye with how much mischief they raised in the palace.
It was hard for him to retain his image as a lordly knight when he had three hellions clambering all over him, but it mattered little as they had managed to wrap the golden rampart entire around their tiny fingers. He pressed a kiss to Tiche's hair of burnished gold. He hoped his own children would be as delightful as she, should he ever find a woman mad enough to marry him.
Owain shook his head to clear his mind. It did not surprise him that memories of Tiche would appear. Oswald had written to him that the girl had long dwell at mother's township. Despite his now complicated friendship with her mother, he still loved the girl quite dearly, a feeling that grew ever stronger with each returned moment. He urged Osgalath into a trot, eager to crest the rise that hid it from his view.
Mother's farm was untouched. The tranquil sight of it sat atop a low hill, proud and unblemished, above the small town before it brought warmth to his chest. With so many of his memories returned to him, a strange tension had been slowly gripping him with ever tightening strength.
At first, in the early days of his resurrection, he'd been, in truth, a different man. One who clung to the faint vestiges of a better life. A life that had not truly felt as his own. Now though, once more returned to his city and the home he'd grown up in, Owain felt almost whole. To everyone else all this tragedy and grief had had a century to cement. They had experienced it, lived through it, accepted it.
In his freshly restored mind, the height of the golden order was naught but a year removed. He could still vividly remember the lands as they had been, he could recall small conversations with his queen, with Alecto, the troop placements he'd been going over with Reginald. It seemed to him, after but a short darkness, his life had fallen apart and he was just now beginning to realize the absurdity of it all.
Ranni had been a doll? Rykard a snake? Radahn a rot addled beast! For decades had they lingered so, decades of pain and grief and wild desperation without him when it felt as only yesterday his family had been safe and sound. His last conversation with Rykard, an offer to join him on a hunt, flashed through his mind. His heart insisted such a talk had just happened, though his mind knew better. He could still taste the dinner he'd held with Godwyn on the night of their deaths. He frowned at the horror that periodically brushed against him. It had taken seeing Godwyn's revenant form to cast him into a long overdue bout of existentialism. His mind and body torn now between long lost past and freshly held present.
The changes he saw in Ranni, he'd overlooked them too swiftly. Of course she would behave so erratically, she'd been bodiless for a century! He forced himself to wrap his mind around his lost time. How changed would he be if he was left in half-death without his wife for such a span? Would he be able to calm himself so easily if he were suddenly once more given flesh? If Ranni were constantly in danger as he was, could he maintain any kind of equanimity?
He knew the answers, he would have handled it all much worse than she had. Owain knew the lengths he would have gone to restore her if he had been the one to remain, he knew there was nothing he would not have done. No trial he would not face, no rite he would not risk. He'd spent so long lamenting his absence, that he might have maintained order, but what if he would have caused even greater chaos instead in a mad effort to subvert her destined death?
Ranni had been a much more independent creature before his assassination. She had once been content to go about her own ways and wind them into his with a light hand. Owain supposed with magic like translocation, no time apart need be too long. She would oft come to him for only a short time before prancing once more unto Caria. Her reaching magic was the foremost reason she had allowed him to tarry in Leyndell for so very long.
His death had changed her greatly, the century since even more so. Ranni's temper had always been firey, but it now was tinged in a grasping panic. Her cool nature and calm cunning had been at the forefront. Not now, now i t was that cursed manic anger and spinning fear and it weighed on him. She spent most of her time at his side. Idling in his study conducting her own research, or fluttering about as he did his rounds.
He'd been brooding since their last discussion. Letting his anger towards her slowly simmer off. Compelling understanding in himself that he should have reached long ago. They'd barely shared more than a few words, but he made sure never to ask her from his side. It would not be fair. She had calmed greatly since then, even encouraged him to seek out his parents without her. Perhaps she too needed time alone to work through her thoughts. She was a different woman from his wife of eld, Owain needed to give her more time to adjust.
He patted Osgalath's neck, eyeing his mother's home. He wished to get his thoughts into at least a little more order before he saw his family, the ride from the city had not be near enough time. With a splayed hand and several swipes, he ordered the company of sentinels at his back to spread out and patrol the city.
Once he and Osgalath had reached the edge of the township, he kissed his steed on the snout. "Go unto mama's house, Osgalath. I shall see you soon." The horse butted against him softly before breaking out into a sprint towards the near fields, happy to race about before meeting his companion at their shared destination.
Owain turned towards the town, shaking out the tension in his shoulders. He was unarmored today, carrying only a short sword Ranni had gifted him centuries ago at his hip. Mother's town had always been sleepy, but before him now was a different beast. Much larger than when last he'd been here, more vibrant, abustle with many bright eyed peoples. Its prolonged stability and the safety his mother offered must be the cause.
Owain was happy at the change, throwing a cloak above his head in the hopes that none would notice him. His sentinels patrolling the streets would be distraction enough, if he were lucky. He noticed a few of the townsfolk watching him curiously, he sighed as he pulled his hood further down over his face.
It did not aid him in achieving anonymity overmuch, he stood head and shoulders above nigh every other, but at least none had yet to question him. He was walking through a large square when he heard the clattering of several objects falling at once and a surprised shout. He'd only had enough time to turn before a tall, muscled form barreled into his chest. So swift! His arms caught the woman as she bounced from him.
She babbled incoherently at him for several excited breaths before at last pausing enough to become intelligible. "Wain! Wain! Oh, Wain, you are here at last!" Tiche! It was his Tiche! He grinned down at her through a haze of sudden tears.
"Tiche." he choked. He brought her head to his chest once more, his trembling fingers clasping her to him tightly as he pressed his nose to her hair. She was safe and pristine and happy, what surging joy this was.
Her arms wrapped about his middle in a forceful ring as she began to laugh and cry in a single breath, "When Os came, he told me of whats - oh father- I missed you! I missed you so terribly, Wain!" Father she named him. His chest twinged at the title. To think he'd forgotten just how dear to him this darling girl was.
"And I you, precious one." he whispered. For a moment the screaming of the runes quieted and he breathed easier. Not all was lost. He must stay positive if he ever wished to see his lands shine once more more.
It was a barbed ache. The knowledge, the knowing he was so near, yet forced so far from her. Rennala could feel Radagon's magic, over-lit by Marika's, but still it was there. They were there, trapped within the tree.
What could ensnare and subdue a goddess? What held power enough to cage Marika? From the day of Owain's vision of the crucified queen, Rennala had given far too much thought to the eternal one. With the revelation from Ranni that Radagon too, resided within the tree, pieces fell into unfitting place.
Marika cared not for Radagon, why then would he be trapped beside her? Allies in some slight against whatever force had imprisoned her? Radagon was a man of utmost duty, so the thought was not so strange.
Owain's conversation with the woman Alecto had shed further light. Rennala too, held the suspicion that it was the fingers that had somehow brought Marika low, though it felt as though there was some other force at play. The finger's machinations, fueled by another's raw power. The mother of fingers that Owain had told her was his newest enemy? Perhaps.
Whatever it was had set in motion a scheme that had robbed both she and the eternal queen of a golden son. Godwyn and Owain were a warning and punishment, but for what slight? From whom? What had Marika been plotting before grief had stolen her wits?
Rennala's mind had been too long withered by then, she'd hardly taken what she thought as more cruel whispers to heart. Hardly noticed the passage of time, nor the slow crumbling of the fortress of her psyche. Had she been fully sane at Ranni and Owain's deaths, perhaps she would have sorted out this entire nightmare long passed.
Yet she had been a drooling dolt, so the lands had fallen. Rennala pinched her brow, trying not to allow the spiraling that threatened to loop once more. She stood from her desk, needing fresh air. "Moongrum." She called to her knight as she breezed passed the archway of the sprawling quarters Owain had arranged for her.
She thought perhaps a hundred sentinels bumbling about her feet at all times was perhaps too protective, but Owain had long been deaf to her grievances. Especially after that imbecilic assassin had sauntered her way into the palace and almost laid him low. Rennala and Sellen had placed countless more protective wards and enchantments throughout the capital over the last few weeks. The work was tedious, but there would be no more veiled attempts.
Rennala's restlessness could not be assuaged by aimless wandering, she turned her procession of gold and silver to the throne pavilion and the sanctuary beyond. Rykard would need to be fully woken soon. She hoped that perhaps some greater amount of his memories would return in the while, but was not optimistic. The sting of that loss was one she could not dwell upon for now. She sighed.
The flowers of the last inner courtyard before the pavilion had become dear to her. She paused on her way for a few minutes to steady the heart that thrashed so treacherously in her chest. So much to be done, so much even her power could not complete without great effort. A silver lining that the roses were beautiful in the dusk light, she smiled sadly.
Moongrum's unhelmed face scowled at the Erd Tree. Heedless of the sentinels around them. Not that Owain's men would exchange anything but uneasy glances with the Carian commander, Rennala rolled her eyes at their antics.
The sentinels of the palace guard were the most ancient and decorated of their order, their devotion to the Erd tree and to Owain was unwavering and zealous. If their lord treated the Carian queen and her knights with respect and dignity, then they would as well, even if it chafed them. Rennala had been noting with amusement that the entirety of the nobility had fallen in line as well. Owain had apparently thrown a Lord Orlo down the pavilion stairs after one insult too many to King Morgott.
The queen crouched to smell another rose, this one a vibrant blue. It made her mind drift to her daughter, to her daughter's folly. Where had the girl of calculated patience gone? Of all her children, Ranni had taken after her the most, but her youngest's nature had become a twisted thing from the shattering wars. It made a dreadful kind of sense, their shared madness.
Ranni followed Owain around like a nervous hound, she clung to him with such panicked ferocity that Rennala was frankly surprised the man had yet to distance himself. These outbursts of rage and fear, these moments of whirling mania, they worried Rennala. At least she had convinced the girl to allow Owain to visit his parents unpestered, a heated argument for such a small thing.
She had hoped that her princess would settle into flesh by now, that the tumult of regaining a body would have released her. Oft, it seemed her child of eld had returned, but then a bump in the road would rattle her and send her careening. Rennala set a slow pace to the pavilion with a considering frown.
This nonsense with the assassin had been the final straw for Rennala. It was unbecoming of a princess of Caria to behave so…recklessly. She knew that the fear of her daughter, the deepest one, was her fault. That Owain would leave her just as Radagon had left Rennala, it was hardly the first time Ranni had confided such to her.
It gnawed at the Queen that her own mistakes would harm her child so. Wirra then that there was naught to do but offer council and comfort. Owain was the steadiest of pillars but even a small rebuke from him had Ranni in tears. It did not avail them that everytime Ranni lay down her worry and went from Wain's side, danger and death seemed to find the boy without fail.
Rennala would set to helping her daughter regain the independence and free spirited countenance of her past. She would set to a great many endeavors. She sighed as she reached the top of the grand staircase, so much to do.
"Moongrum, await me." She commanded softly, knowing the sentinels would heed her words as well. The sanctum of the Erd Tree was hardly a place one could hide, not with such a vast number of knights wheresoever one looked.
The air within the short passage was charged with the eternal one's mana, but it was stale. Radagon's too, lingered here, though it was muted as well. Her robes fluttered as she floated her way forward.
She'd already inspected the glowing enchantments with keen eye and careful spell. Sellen too had offered input, even Tricia. Rennala was faced with an uncomfortable truth.
She could try to dispel this barrier, but she was not sure if she would even succeed.
Marika's magic was powerful, but it seemed…odd. As if it were a river forced to flow in ways it was not meant to. There was some other force here, besides Marika's power and Radagon's sorcery. It made even Rennala hesitate, for she did not understand it and that alone was enough to unsettle her.
She could attempt to destroy it, dismantle all the winding layers of spelled thorns and glittering barrier. Her pride as a scholar was ceaseless in its need for supremacy. But would she succeed? Some ancient malevolence here gave her irritating pause. To even put forth the attempt would cost her greatly, and be of nigh impossible skill, but if there was even the slightest chance she could save her husband…
Her haunting question was if she should mettle with this force she did not comprehend. To try and open the way was one thing, but she could not see the wards and enchantments that lay beyond. The Erd Tree was unstudied mysticism to her, it was not a known quantity and that was damning. Should she break down this barrier, what if it slew her husband in its lashing wrath? What if some trap awaited that she could not sense? There were too many unknowns beyond this glowing wall of despised gold. Her hands were forced to loathful idle, in this effort at least. She would need to wait until Owain came forth with knowledge she could not seek herself.
"Hello, my dear. I am returned." She whispered softly, hand to spell. She knew he could not hear her, but still it was salving to speak a love so long denied.
"To mine arms wouldst thee return?" She questioned, voice small, "Shouldst I set thee free, wouldst thou seek me? The wrath and the hurt linger but so too dost mine love." The mewling pitch of her wonderings made her sneer. Rennala ignored the fatted tears that rolled from tightly shut eyes. "Our children are yet in disarray, beloved. They needst their father, I-I needst mine husband." And so she would name him. What was hardly two centuries apart to millennia together? She should have opened his letters, should have read them, should have-
Soft palm shifted to balled fist, her teeth bared in half-held fury. "To silver must ye turn, away from gold, away from her. To me, Radagon. I shall set ye free, but I canst not bear thy absence from mine side." she pounded upon the sizzling spell, "Traitor! Leal-hound! Forgiven. Ye wouldst be forgiven if but explanation ye couldst give!"
Her fingers twitched, the magic to attempt to break the barrier readied at their tips. Answers were so close, she could touch them! The Queen pulled back instead, scowling at the glowing ward.
She wiped angrily at her face, annoyed at her loss of composure. No, she could hardly fault Ranni for such slip ups if she could not control her own temper. She turned from the object of her consternation with a huff. So much to be done.
That he was warm both comforted and infuriated her. That his flesh lived, oh it was maddening! Fortissax bit back a roar, but only just. Her Godwyn lived and yet he did not and there lay all her pain.
What a fate, what a dreadful fate to linger so. To dwell in the depths with her hate and her longing and her misery for so long and so alone. What a foul fate she held.
Her whelps and theirs too were naught but stolen dust. Her mate was naught but a twitching mound of twisting flesh and she remained. Here she remained hale and hearty and hateful. Lo did she hate.
She hated the Carian princess for her foolish nativity. She hated the Black Knives for their unquestioning service. She hated Owain for his failure, she hated Marika for her blindness and Malekith for his scentless nose. Above all, with a searing, scathing intensity that she could bear only at the edge of her ken, she hated herself. That she knew this hate bound her to those she blamed with empathy was yet another reason for rage.
Fortissax had failed first. Against humans? Against her lessers? Against the fingers? Such disgrace was despicable. Fortissax had failed and she hated herself beyond all mercy. She rested her head against her lord's side, the steady beat of his blood calming her rising wrath.
She had fled that night, knowing to battle the knives as a dragon would only doom her lord in the rubble. Terrified too, was she for their children. Her fears for his death and theirs had been proven true and yet she lived.
Her eyes tracked far Siluria, who had become a most needed and stalwart friend over their many shared years. The woman widdled a small horse, unhelmed and brow furrowed in a twin to her nephew's.
Fortissax frowned at the thought of the highlord. She had blamed him for so long, she did not know if she could stop. Perhaps if he succeeded where she had failed, Fortissax could begin to heal, despite the loss of her children.
New breath were the lands finding, new fervor and vigor and direction. All at the Lord of the Golden Rampart's return. Fortissax was finding it hard to maintain any kind of patience. Given how dogged Owain was, the man would not rest until all had been righted and the golden order was restored. It was only a matter of time.
The thought of her Godwyn sat upon the elden throne filled her with a tilted mourning. Was that still what he would desire? What she did? Mother Marika had oft discussed Godwyn's ascension, if cryptic as to the time frame. Did Fortissax still wish to be queen?
They would need to succeed in restoring Godwyn first. The palpable might and cutting tongue of the Carian Queen sparked small hope within Fortissax. Surely if there was one who could divert this dark fate of her's, it was she who had repelled even the golden monarch.
It had been long enough of their studying without update, she decided, she would seek the glintstones.