As the sun was setting behind the distant hills that led towards Codrean, Leona strode through the royal gardens. Her long, white dress flowed gently behind her, catching the evening breeze as she walked. The last few rays of sunlight cast golden light on the dense clouds that coated the far-off Rhydian Mountains, making them glow like a dwarven mine.
"A beautiful evening, is it not?" she asked the two who accompanied her. Thorsen, and consequently Gwili, both accompanied her on her walk as her personal bodyguards. "Of course, your majesty. Though it may rain later this evening, as the incoming clouds from the Rhydian will be drawn this way as they follow the breeze," he noted. "For as educated as you are, Gwili, I occasionally find myself forgetting you were a bandit up there until a few, short months ago," she said, giving him a warm smile over her shoulder.
"Well, if you spend enough time anywhere, you learn to read the signs, your majesty. The Pass was always flooding, so my men and I used to position ourselves strategically on the rocks to avoid the dangerous flash floods," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Have any of your men ever been caught out by those floods before?" Thorsen asked, genuinely curious.
"Once, yes," Gwili replied distantly. "But it wasn't entirely his fault. If anything, it was mine," he continued. "How could that be?" Leona asked, genuinely curious. "We had been tracking some merchants for about three days. We figured out the route they were going to take, and the time that they were going to take it," he began to explain. "So you were just waiting for them to come by?" Thorsen asked.
"Yes and no. We'd set a trap for what was supposed to be a small caravan, but was, in reality, a twenty-cart caravan; nearly doubling its originally projected size," Gwili continued. "By the Graces, that is a large one. I've only ever heard of them getting as large as twelve before," Leona chimed in. "So had we, your majesty. But, for whatever fucking reason, there was another, smaller caravan that asked to tag along to the original that we were already tracking," he said, his tone growing a little darker.
"That smaller caravan had sent two of their carts to the front, as they assisted the scouts in searching for potential dangers and ended up springing the trap too early. The rain began to pour on top of us, and I decided we could adapt it and make it look like these caravans were merely stuck, not disabled. As we tried to adapt the already sprung trap, with our numbers already being spread so thinly, we didn't have anyone on overwatch for rockslides. The rest, as they say, is history," Gwili concluded with another, much heavier shrug.
"I-I'm sorry, Gwili. Were you close to this person?" Leona asked. "He was my cousin. Younger by about fifty years. He was outcast along with me and the others after a misunderstanding back in Caegwen, your majesty," he replied solemnly. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't really know what it's like to lose a family member," Leona said, trying her best to sound empathetic.
"I do," Thorsen chimed in, putting a large hand on Gwili's shoulder. "I lost my wife during the attack on Grundsvollr. She died in my arms. I'm not saying it's the same as losing a blood relative, but I understand your pain, even if only a little," Thorsen said, not giving any further details. "Thanks, big guy. I'm sorry to hear about your wife, though," Gwili said, putting his hand on Thorsen's gauntlet.
"It's been over forty years since she passed on, so I've grown accustomed to it. I know she's in a better place, and I'm sure that I will see her again eventually," he said plaintively. "Have you never sought to remarry, or at least have another partner?" Gwili asked. "I have, but it's a little difficult to maintain that while in the position I'm in," Thorsen shrugged. "Well, I'm sure Claire would be lucky to have you," Leona said teasingly. Thorsen's face was as white as a marble pillar. "I-I… uh… I'm satisfied just doing my duty," Thorsen chuckled nervously, scratching his cheek. "Rude," Leona said, snorting thickly as she was stifling a laugh.
"I haven't heard anyone snort like that since I was last in Caegwen, your majesty," Gwili said with a light-hearted chuckle. "You know what? I take back my earlier comment of you being educated. You clearly don't understand when you're not supposed to identify a woman's flaws," she said, lifting her chin and huffing through her nostrils. "Do all elves treat people like this? I've always wanted to visit Caegwen, mostly because Truls never let me, but now, I'm not so sure," she teased.
"N-no, your majesty," Gwili raised his hands placatingly. "I was merely making an observation I thought would be humorous. Please accept my humblest apology," he quickly replied with a bow. "Well, at least you're honest about it," she chuckled in response, knife-handing the top of his head gently.
I wonder how Bernar and Thoma are doing over there. It's been so long since they came through here that winter has nearly arrived. It would be nice to see them again, and see how much they've grown, she thought, smiling at the thought of Bernar's golden eyes.
A sharp, ice-cold breeze cut through the garden, as the three of them braced against the much colder air. "By the Graces, that wind is freezing," Leona said, crossing her arms against her body and hunching over to stay warm. Without wasting a second, Thorsen pulled off his bright red cape, and threw it around her, patting her lightly on the shoulders to make sure it was snugly secured.
"Th-thank you, Thorsen. Won't you be cold, though?" she asked, already feeling the warming effects of the cape. "I grew up with much harsher winters in Hjalfar. I'll be fine, your majesty," he said with a big, toothy smile across his bearded face. "However, I realize that you were not raised in such conditions, so it's probably best we go back inside," he suggested. "Y-yes, you're quite right," she said, immediately turning toward the entrance.
As the sun finished setting behind the distant hills, the clouds had also made their way to Coltend, laying down a thin sheet of snow that coated the stone walkways and streets like confectionary sugar on a cake. Smoke could be seen rising from numerous chimneys across the city that glowed a soft orange in the night, as fireplaces were being lit to keep the residents warm.
Down one of the many, empty torchlit streets, a pair of hooded figures walked abreast. Their figures, distorted by their attire, blended in nearly perfectly with their surroundings. A drunken man with a thick, scraggly beard and a bottle of some unidentifiable liquor stumbled out of a tavern and into the street. His clothes, while still in decent shape for a commoner, were soaked around the neck with the smell of alcohol.
"H-hey, watch where y-your walking," he said, stumbling into the pair. Some of the fluid from his dark, glass bottle leaked out, and landed on one of their blackened boots. "Am I th-that drunk, or are you made of liquor?" the drunken man said, trying to focus his eyes on the dropped liquid. He could see it on the ground, but it was distorted by the imagery that passed through the boots.
"We have no quarrel with you, drunkard, but if you wish to live, you will step aside," the first hooded figure spoke, his baritone voice inlaid with a thick, unidentifiable accent. The drunkard looked up, only to find a pair of sanguine eyes glaring back at him. The snow on the cloak just barely outlined the stranger's figure, forcing the drunkard to focus intensely.
"W-well, if you say so. I'd r-recommend you to go to the apothe… apugh…" the drunkard tried to respond, but ended up vomiting on the floor, lightly splashing the stranger's boots. "N-now look at w-what you made me do, pink-eyes! Those damned cloaks of y-yours keep fucking with my vision," he slurred, wiping the sick off his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
"Step aside, now," the voice commanded. As soon as the command was given, the drunkard stood straight up, eyes locked straight ahead, and took two, wooden steps to the right, letting the figures pass.
"We should have just taken the rooftops like I'd suggested," the second, unsoiled figure said quietly in a thin, raspy voice. "I told you we can't, Jesra. They're not solid enough to hold our weight, and they're going to be looking in places they'd expect assassins to come from," the baritone voice replied.
"Fine, Nizaam, but don't blame me if they spot us from too far out," Jesra replied in a hiss. "They won't notice anything's wrong until we're very close, and by that time, we'll make sure they saw nothing," Nizaam said, pushing past the drunkard.
As the pair approached the gate, they noticed the guardsmen near the front entrance weren't quite paying attention, spending most of their focus on keeping warm.
"It's colder than a Hjalfarian tit out here," the taller of the pair said, his teeth chattering rapidly. "I just wish we could've grabbed our cloaks. Wasn't expecting the weather to get this bad this quickly," the shorter one said, his pale, blue lips barely able to move.
The taller guard tore his cape from his shoulders. While it wasn't as grandiose as Thorsen's, it still signified that his rank was above that of a regular foot-soldier. He wrapped the smaller one in it, and made sure to cover his head. "Here, Deme, you take this," he said, patting the shorter guard's head. Just behind him, Deme noticed a shimmer moving past them. "Sergeant, there's something here," Deme said quietly. The sergeant looked around him curiously.
"I don't see anything, Deme," he replied with a shrug. "I swear, Sergeant, I'm not lying, look!" Deme lurched, grabbing his superior by the shoulders and turning him in the direction of what he saw. "Footprints?" the sergeant said quietly, noting the fresh imprints in the snow. "Deme, what did you s…." his voice cut short as blood began to spurt from his mouth. "Sergeant!" Deme called out, his eyes opening wide. Even though his body was nearly frozen, he mustered the strength to hold up the larger man.
"Somebody, hel-..." Deme's voice cut out similarly to his superior's as he looked down to his bloodied hands. Out of the shuddering, dim light, Nizaam stepped toward the pair, making sure that no further sounds would be made, his scarlet eyes burrowing into the sergeant's.
"You took too long, Jesra," he said, pushing his blade deeper into the sergeant's neck before ripping it out. "You were in my way," Jesra responded, her raspy voice nearly lost in the wind as she did the same to Deme.
"That still doesn't excuse your tardiness. Zari will not be pleased if this mission fails and you're the one to blame. Now, focus," Nizaam said, his voice low but carrying a heavy aura as he verified the life had left the pair's eyes. Jesra hissed, but fell in closely behind Nizaam as they made their way into the palace.
Meanwhile, Claire was drawing a steaming hot bath for Leona. The deep, blue bath with its golden rim emitted a cloud of steam that greatly reduced the visibility within the bathroom. "Your majesty, the bath is prepared!" Claire called out, dropping in a few rose petals. "I'll be right there," Leona responded from the other room.
I wonder if Thorsen will be available tonight. Ooh, I can almost taste the wine he'd gently pour for me as he whispers sweet nothings into my ears, Claire thought, bringing a grin to her puffy, rosy-cheeked face as she giggled with excitement.