The Chroniclers
Sister Elara established the documentation project in the settlement's largest structure—a hall that served as school during the day, meeting place in the evening.
Long tables were covered with parchment, ink, and quills. Scribes worked in shifts, recording testimonies from anyone willing to speak. Refugees described their journeys and what they'd found in Thornhaven. Former crusaders explained why they'd abandoned Crane. Church reformists articulated their theological disagreements. Common people simply told their stories.
Lioran observed from the doorway as an old woman dictated her account to a young scribe.
"...and when the bandits came, we had nowhere to run. My husband was too old to fight, my daughter too young. We prayed, but the Church never came. Then the Dragon Lord's people arrived—not soldiers, but builders. They drove off the bandits with fire, yes, but then they stayed. They helped us plant. They taught us to defend ourselves. My granddaughter eats now. She laughs. That's all I know about heresy—it feeds children when faith lets them starve."
The scribe wrote carefully, preserving every word. When the woman finished, he read it back to ensure accuracy, then had her mark it with her thumb-print—simple authentication that would be hard to dismiss as fabrication.
"How many testimonies do we have?" Lioran asked Elara.
"Forty-three so far," she replied, reviewing a stack of completed documents. "I'm aiming for two hundred before we start distributing. Enough that the sheer volume becomes undeniable."
"Will it work? Can words counter armies?"
"Words built the Church," Elara said. "Words can unmake it too. Or at least complicate its narrative enough that people question." She looked at him. "You understand that these testimonies will also include criticisms? People who benefited from what we've built but still fear you, still see the destruction you've caused?"
"Good," Lioran said. "If it's only praise, it sounds like propaganda. Truth includes complications."
A young man approached—one of Serra's former crusaders, his armor exchanged for simple work clothes. "Sister Elara, I'd like to give testimony. About what happened during my service under Crane. The villages we burned, the people we called heretics who were just... people. I need to say it. Put it in writing. Maybe it won't change anything, but silence feels like complicity."
Elara gestured to an empty seat. "Your voice matters. All voices matter. That's what we're proving."
....
The Merchant Circuit
Bjorn organized the distribution network with northern efficiency.
"We can't just send documents randomly," he explained to the council. "We need strategic placement. Merchant houses first—they have no loyalty to the Church, only to profit. If they see Thornhaven as stable trading partner, they'll spread word through their networks."
"Then nobles?" Kaelen asked.
"Select nobles. Those with independent power, who chafe under Church authority. We offer them evidence that there's an alternative model of governance." Bjorn pointed to names on his list. "Duke Aldren of the Eastern Territories. He's fought three border disputes with Church-backed neighbors. Count Thera, whose daughter was excommunicated for marrying outside approved bloodlines. These are people predisposed to question."
"What about other kingdoms?" Henrik asked.
"Eventually. But we start with fractures in this kingdom first. Create doubt at home before seeking allies abroad."
Renn studied the distribution map. "This is dangerous work. Crane's people will be watching. Anyone caught carrying these documents could be executed as conspirators."
"Then we don't use obvious couriers," Bjorn said. "We use merchant caravans, traveling performers, even beggars. People who move constantly but attract little scrutiny. The documents get hidden in legitimate cargo, distributed through seemingly innocent channels."
"You've done this before," Lioran observed.
Bjorn smiled. "The Frost Kingdoms survived Church crusades by being better at information warfare than our enemies. We learned to fight with truth when swords weren't enough."
...
Internal Tensions
Not everyone in Thornhaven supported the documentation campaign.
A group of refugees approached Lioran while he worked on fortifications—a delegation of sorts, their spokesman a lean man named Garrett who'd arrived two weeks ago from a burned village.
"Lord Dragon," Garrett began, the title awkward in his mouth. "We need to discuss this... testimony project."
"I'm listening," Lioran said, setting down his tools.
"Some of us are concerned. Writing down names, locations, detailed accounts—if Crane gets these documents, he'll know exactly who helped you. He'll know where we came from, who our families are. It's like creating a targeting list for the crusade."
The concern was valid. Lioran felt the ember pulse with frustration—another complication, another thing to worry about—but he breathed through it, using Evelina's techniques.
"You're right," he said. "That's a real risk. What do you suggest?"
Garrett seemed surprised by the acknowledgment. "We could... use codes? False names? Something that preserves the truth of what happened without exposing the vulnerable?"
"Elara," Lioran called. She approached, and he explained the concern.
"We could offer anonymity," she suggested. "Mark testimonies that people want included but without identifying details. 'A refugee from the eastern territories' instead of 'Garrett from Miller's Cross.' The substance matters more than the specific identity."
"Would that satisfy your concerns?" Lioran asked Garrett.
"It's something," the man admitted. "But there's another issue. Some people don't want their stories used at all. They came here for safety, not to become ammunition in someone else's war."
"Then they don't have to participate," Lioran said simply. "No one's forced. This only works if people choose to speak. Coerced testimony is worthless."
Garrett relaxed slightly. "Good. That's... good. Some of the new arrivals, they're scared. They've seen what happens when you resist the Church. They need to know they can just exist here without being conscripted into ideology."
"They can," Lioran assured him. "Thornhaven isn't a crusade in the opposite direction. It's just a place trying to let people live in peace."
"Is it though?" another refugee spoke up—a woman whose face bore burn scars. "Because from where I stand, we're building toward war. Training fighters, fortifying walls, gathering intelligence. That's not peace. That's preparation."
"You're right again," Lioran said. "We're preparing because Crane won't leave us alone. But there's a difference between preparing to defend and actively seeking conquest. We'll fight if we must, but we'd prefer not to."
"And if Crane offers peace? If he says he'll leave us alone if you surrender yourself?"
The ember flared hot. Lioran's hands clenched. Every instinct screamed that he wouldn't—couldn't—bow to Crane's ultimatum.
But he'd learned something in the north. Something about power and sacrifice and what leadership actually meant.
"Then the council will decide," he said quietly. "Not me alone. If they determine that my surrender saves enough lives, I'll honor that decision."
Silence fell over the group. The woman with burn scars stepped closer, studying his face.
"You'd actually do it? Give yourself over to execution?"
"I don't want to," Lioran admitted. "The part of me that's fire wants to burn anyone who suggests it. But the part that's trying to be more than fire... yes. If it's genuinely the right choice, I'll do it."
The delegation left, not entirely satisfied but somewhat reassured. Mira had been nearby, listening. She approached once they'd gone.
"You meant that," she said. "About surrendering if the council decided."
"Yes."
"That terrifies me," Mira said. "But also makes me proud. The boy who burned Ashvale would never have considered it. The man you're becoming might actually survive what's coming."
...
The Letters
By week's end, the first documents were ready for distribution.
Bjorn oversaw their packaging—rolled parchments sealed with wax, marked only with a simple flame symbol that had become Thornhaven's unofficial emblem. Each package contained multiple testimonies, carefully selected to present diverse perspectives.
A merchant caravan departed south, carrying textiles and grain. Hidden among the legitimate cargo were fifty document packages, destined for guild houses across three provinces.
A traveling theater troupe left west, their wagons loaded with costumes and props. Sewn into the lining of their costume trunks were another thirty packages.
A group of supposed pilgrims headed east, walking staffs hollow and filled with rolled documents.
"It's begun," Bjorn said as the last group departed. "Within two weeks, copies will be circulating through merchant networks. Within a month, nobles will be reading them. Within two months, word will reach the High Conclave itself."
"And then?" Kaelen asked.
"Then we see if truth has any power against certainty," Bjorn replied. "Or if we've just made ourselves more visible targets."
....
A Message from the North
That evening, a rider arrived bearing northern colors—a Frost Guard messenger, half-frozen from rapid travel through winter passes that should have been impassable.
She delivered a sealed letter to Lioran, marked with Evelina's personal seal—a snowflake rendered in silver wax.
Lioran opened it with trembling hands:
*Lioran,*
*Word has reached us of the spring crusade. Ten thousand soldiers is no idle threat. The Frost Kingdoms have faced such numbers before, and we survived by being smarter, more mobile, and more vicious than our enemies expected.*
*I'm sending Valdis with two hundred Frost Guard. They'll arrive before first thaw. This isn't charity—they're there to protect our trading interests. But they're also there because you matter to me, and I don't invest in people who die stupidly.*
*The council idea is good. The documentation campaign is brilliant. But you'll need more than words and seven people making decisions. You'll need surprise, and leverage, and the willingness to do things Crane won't expect.*
*I've sent detailed intelligence about Church military doctrine, their likely strategies, their command structure. Use it. And remember—ice defeats fire by accepting its energy and giving it nowhere productive to go. Find a way to make Crane's strength work against him.*
*Don't die. I still intend to visit in spring, and it would be inconvenient if you weren't there.*
*— E*
Lioran read it twice, then held it to his chest, feeling the ember pulse with something warmer than battle-heat. She'd sent help. Not just resources, but personal investment. Recognition that what happened here mattered beyond trade agreements.
"Good news?" Mira asked, seeing his expression.
"Very good news," Lioran said. "Two hundred northern soldiers before spring. And someone who believes we can actually win."
"Do you believe it?"
Lioran looked around Thornhaven—at people working together despite differences, at children playing in snow, at structures built by former enemies cooperating. At testimonies being written that might change minds, might shift the narrative, might prove that alternatives to crusades existed.
"Yes," he said. "For the first time since this started, I actually believe we have a chance."
The ember pulsed in agreement, steady and purposeful.
Winter was ending.
Spring, and everything it would bring, waited just beyond the thaw.