Year 457 of the Emperor, Phoenix 00|05, third year

Rain pelted the cobbled streets as the few pedestrians who braved the cold and wet ran from house to house, seeking shelter from the freezing droplets of water wherever they could. Perth was always a cold land, with the most frigid weather, but in winter it was unforgiving. The snow which had accumulated in the recent snowfall turned to slush at their feet as they ran. High above the city of Tremaine, within the halls of the Stone Keep, slumped in a chair with little regard for the discussion at hand, sat the Duke Ferris.

In the years since his rise to power, the Duke had had to come to terms with his Father's death, the disappearance of his mother, and then the realization of his brother's lies. It was not long after the vents of his father's death that Ferris discovered the truth of this mother, slain at the foot of his father's tomb and buried in an unmarked grave. He had sworn then to never speak with his brother again, and indeed Murtagh had remained in Glas Claddach, never travelling or sending word to Tremaine in the years since. Only the middle brother, Gildos, still remained in contact with the two. He had dedicated his life to the Gods, and as such traveled a lot between the major cities of the Perth Kingdom. Even their sister, Ula, had taken residence in Dunn, and as such as not been heard from in a long time, indulging in the matters of the court at the Perthian Capital with her wealthy husband. Through all this, Ferris had endured, but the suffering of the boredom of these meetings could drive even he to madness.

"And so the taxes on leather have been increased to accommodate the influx of trade; as I stated it would be foolish for the State not to profit from such trade." Finished Lord Greenwood, a rich man with several homes within Perth and a sizable pocket born from years as a shrewd businessman. He was the main driving force behind Crraickshire's economy, and indeed had a strong hold over the flow of Perth's economy. As such a powerful man, much of what he said at these meetings was taken as gospel. The others merely nodded while Ferris, growing more restless, shifted in his seat.

"Very well, we've cleared that off the agenda, unless anyone has any other points they'd like to bring up?" Asked Lord Penbaron, a large man who fancied himself governor of Tremaine, even when Ferris himself presided over the major matters. Ferris scowled at him as he waited in silence. "Excellent. Then there is only one matter left to discuss; the influx of Elven immigrants."

"They're not immigrants!" Objected Lord Garrowson, an elderly man who held the respect of many of the townspeople. "They are Perthian as much as you or I!"

"They are nomads and often leave our borders," Lord Penbaron pointed out."

"The wandering tribes are nomad, yes, but many of them were born in Perth, and hold their loyalties to the King! To call them immigrants is a stain on their honour." Lord Garrowson maintained.

"They are immigrants to this duchy then," Penbaron maintained, getting flustered.

"Let's not forget," Ferris spoke up at last, "That before Tremaine was founded, they walked these lands for centuries longer than men. The Snow elves are more native than we." His words brought Penbaron to a halt as he stumbled over the Duke's point. "Call them what you will," The Duke dismissed with a wave of his hand. "What do you suggest we do about the situation?"

"Well," Penbaron began, reshuffling his papers as he struggled to find his words. "The city does not have the resources to feed them."

"Imports from Mount Foliantos more than account as enough to feed the population," Lord Garrowson pointed out. "It is your blasted taxes which makes the food too expensive for them to purchase." He pointed at Lord Greenwood then, an accusing finger.

"I'd watch that finger if I were you," Greenwood replied, his calm demeanor barely slipping as he inspected his hands before him. "My finances are what supports most of Perth's greatest houses..." The threat hung in the air as silence fell.

"What do you propose?" Ferris asked Penbaron, drawing the conversation back on point.

"We issue them a command from his Lordship the Duke of Carrickshire to move on to greener pastures, as it were," Penbaron said simply.

"Out of the question!" Garrowson roared, standing. "Winter is coming, and these lands are about to become infested with creepers and all manner of foul monsters. How can you suggest such a thing?" Penbaron looked affronted, about to retort when Ferris spoke.

"Quiet, please Sean," He said, raising a calming hand at Lord Garrowson. Responding at once, the Lord bowed his head, taking his seat again.

"I am glad you see reason, my Lord," Penbaron began, but Ferris held up a hand.

"These lands were the traditional campsite for the snow elves long before we built our castles upon them," he began, "I will not force their migration further afield because our pockets are too shallow to feed them. Lord Greenwood?" The man turned to him, "See to it that sufficient resources are provided for the elven travelers to eat. Lord Garrowson, you shall assist me in offering them our hospitality. Lord Penbaron, see that my orders are outlines; the elves are to be given every hospitality awarded to any Perthian and offered space within our walls." Penbaron looked like he was about to argue, when Greenwood bowed his head.

"Very well, my lord," he said, smirking at Ferris. Ferris inwardly smiled to himself; he knew Greenwood was not a vindictive man, he only needed the praise of his prowess in order to be converted to one side or another, and placing him in charge of the quartermasters was where Lord Greenwood was most at home. Penbaron flushed as he struggled to contain his emotions. Ferris looked at him with cold eyes.

"Do it." He ordered. Penbaron bowed his head at last, before hurried from the room, followed slowly by Greenwood. As the door closed, Garrowson sighed heavily, turning to Ferris.

"I fear his head is getting too large for his boots," he said, turning his tired eyes to Ferris.

"Perhaps," Ferris admitted, "Racist he may be, but he's still useful. Don't worry; I won't let a usurper like him take Tremaine from me." They both rose to their feet.

"My Lord, a letter from Lady Liserett," he said, offering a parchment to Ferris. "The topic seemed...personal. I thought you should read it yourself without prying eyes." Ferris took the scroll silently and read. His cheeks began to burn as he thought of the maiden Rosaly. he remembered her, with fair golden hair and shapely visage. He shook himself as he remembered Lord Garrowson was present.

"Thank you Sean," he nodded to the lord. "I would also thank you if you kept this discreet."

"Always," He smiled. "I admire you, young Duke," he said as they both made to leave. "I admit, after your father I had definite doubts, you and your brothers have proven me wrong about your house. You bring honour to your father's name, more than he ever did." Ferris felt the familiar stab of regret and pain; no matter the passage of time, he feared, he would always remember that time with painful thoughts.

***

Ferris sat in the seat to the right of the large quarts throne as he watched the Elven leader, Fay'ha, approach. He was dignified, with a straight back and long, white hair that hid his pointed ears, but not his stream-lines features. His skin was pale, a common occurrence among the snow-elves, and he wore slim-fitting clothes, practical as much as fashionable, fashioned from cotton rather than animal hide. He bowed to the Duke as Ferris nodded in return.

"My friend and ally, I welcome you to my halls," Ferris smiled, raising his arm in a welcoming gesture.

"A warm welcome indeed," Fay'ha nodded, "Though my heritage forces me to admit my pain at seeing these hills transformed for the benefit of humanity." Silence fell through the hall as the nobles standing around the edge of the pillared throne room stared at the elf, caught off-guard by his bluntness. Ferris was the only one who laughed openly.

"I fault I am afraid I must admit to," he smiled, "It is true, these hills once held a rugged beauty, but even now I can still witness the marvel of the city walls, the wonder of the streets and of the lives that now reside here."

"I am afraid, dear duke, this is where we must disagree," The elf inclined his head slightly.

"Indeed, I think we must," Ferris nodded his agreement. "But I did not invite you here to discuss architecture," The duke stood as he stepped forward. "You and your people hold a greater claim on these lands than most. I invited you here to offer you shelter in this winter. We have space within our walls to protect you from the growing darkness, and we have supplies to feed you and keep you warm." The elf remained silent as he stared blankly at Ferris for a long moment. Then he stirred again, as if drawing himself from a deep thought.

"Your offer is most gracious, however we have little regard for such charities; we prefer to gather and make what we need from the world around us, and to pay our fair share for that we cannot make, than to accept such charity. As for making our home within your walls, I fear this city is already too full to sustain our people. That, in addition with our...reluctance to bar ourselves from the world by stone walls...I do not think my people will agree to reside within such a city." Even now, Ferris had to admit some sting of insult as he watched the elf for a moment.

"Very well," he nodded, stepped backward as Penbaron stood close by, agitated, and seemingly restraining himself from stepping in. "My offer of friendship still stands. If you require any assistance please do ask." Fay'ha bowed, before walking from them room. Penbaron hurried forward then, speaking in a hushed tone into Ferris' ear.

"We should chase them out of our lands before they become a blight on our city," he advised. Garrowson stood off to the side, and he and Ferris met eyes. Ferris drew away from Lord Penbaron, turning to view the man.

"I will not chase them away," he said simply. "Send word to Duchess Samaia; I would like her assistance in a matter of difficult diplomacy."

***

Ferris stood in his office, which was once his father's. He held a goblet in one hand as he watched the waters through the window, far below the castle walls, lapping the stone with an ever-present hunger for the mountain's shore. Behind him, the door rattled with a hidden fist.

"Enter," Ferris called. The door creaked open and Gildos slipped into the study, wrinkling his nose at the sight the dishes buried beneath scrolls.

"Wow, think someone needs a spring clean in here," he muttered. Ferris turned, frowning at him.

"Your bedroom has seen far worse days than this," he gestured to the room around him.

"Perhaps," Gildos admitted, gingerly lifted one scroll with a pen and inspecting the plate beneath, "But never as a world-renowned duke," Ferris let out a laugh.

"I suppose," Ferris nodded, turning back to the window and raising the giblet to his lips. Behind him, Gildos let out a low whistle.

"This the lass back in Wysteria?" He asked. Ferris turned and snatched the scroll from his hands.

"That's private!" Ferris yelled.

"So it would seem," Gildos raised his eyebrows as he leaned against the desk. "You gonna reply?" Ferris took a moment as he reread the scroll for the hundredth time. He offered his brother the bottle of wine, but Gildos declined.

"Sorry, forgot you were all holy and stuff," he teased.

"Don't try to dodge the question," Gildos asked, nodding to the letter. Ferris took a deep breath, and sighed loudly.

"I've been thinking of it." He answered at last. "You remember her? The doctor's daughter?"

"Of course," Gildos nodded, "She was trailing you like a lost puppy." Ferris shot him a look which made Gildos laugh. "Okay, I'll shut up," he held up his hands defensively. Ferris proceeded to regard the letter again.

"I think...I'm gonna write her back..." He said at last. Gildos nodded.

"Good, I'm glad," Ferris looked at him, frowning. "Well, i didn't want you to grow up like old-man Cheavers! Poor bugger, I'd wager he had eyes for boys instead of women!" Ferris hit his brother with the letter.

"You're supposed to the be the priest here!" Gildos shrugged.

"A priest I may be, and as a priest I say to guard your heart," he gripped his younger sibling's shoulder then, "But as your brother, I say go get her!" Ferris took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

"Why are you here?" he asked at last.

"Samaia's here," Gildos shrugged. "She's waiting in the courtyard."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, throwing the scroll to the desk and hurrying from the room.

***

Birds fluttered from tree to tree as the short procession of horses trotted through the narrow gap between the hills. Ferris and Samaia paused beneath the boughs of an oak as Samaia dismounted.

"It would not be wise to arrive on horseback," she explained. Ferris followed her lead, as did the others, then led their horses along the road and out of the forest. Beneath the shadow of the late Regent's mansion, the elves had built a small camp at the edge of the woods. Samaia and Ferris left their steeds with the guards and made their way to the tent of the elders. After a short delay they were admitted. They entered to find four elves sitting before a small fire pit, all watching them with keen eyes. They bowed and took their seats before them. Fay'ha inclined his head, then spoke.

"Ferris, Samaia, we welcome you to our camp. What might the elves of the Reota tribe help you with this day?" he said, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"My kin," Samaia touched her hand to her head in a gesture of respect, then proceeded. "My friend Ferris has come to me with fears for your well-being. Winters in Perth are harsh times, and it is my understanding that you have declined the offer to reside within Tremaine's walls?"

"This is correct," One of the elders bowed her head, her long white hair falling over her shoulder in thin wisps. "We are elven, and we still remember our duty to the land. We cannot surround ourselves with such masonry as this Tremaine. A grand city by the standard of men, but for elves it is ill-suited." Ferris glanced at Samaia, the half-snow elf daughter of the late Duchess Sameria. Samaia had surrounded herself her entire life with the workings of men and the buildings of great cities, like Dunn and Frysthaemn. The elf seemed unperturbed however, and continued.

"I see. I am afraid my family and I have become a little more detached from the old ways that yourselves...A compromise then?" She turned to Ferris. "My dear Duke, would you allow the elven tribes to build their own homes here in the woods, close enough that if danger should arrive they can seek aid from Tremaine, yet still apart and independent?" Ferris' first thought was agreement, but he held his tongue, thinking of the political implications. Before any such construction could begin, he would need to assert that he was still the Duke of the lands, and as such above the elven elders.

"If it were agreeable with the tribe," Ferris began slowly, "It could be considered, with some discussion of course."

"Of course," Samaia nodded. "Would that be agreeable with the elders?" She turned back to the elves. They stood in silence for a long moment, barely moving, then Fay'ha nodded.

"It could be negotiated. Such an offer would be welcome by our tribes-people. Name your conditions." Ferris, slightly taken aback by the suddenness, thought swiftly.

"The town would remain under rule of Carrickshire, bound by our laws, and the laws of Perth as any settlement is." He began. "Furthermore, the town should have a representative present in the court of Tremaine. You would be subject to taxation as much as any other populations, and construction must be overseen by a representative of Tremaine's council." Samaia turned back to the elders.

"Of course, the Duke would not expect taxes in the form of beast or fowl, only in crops as per Elven tradition." She added. Ferris frowned, confused, he had never heard of elves being vegetarian before. The elders took a moment of silence, then Fay'ha nodded again.

"Further discussion will be required, but I feel this matter is agreeable. We will speak with our tribes-people and return to you by the end of the week." Samaia and Ferris bowed, then stepped out of the tent.

"Are elves vegetarian?" He asked.

"Most," Samaia nodded, "Some have become accustomed to eating meat in the human settlements, but the wandering tribes such as this one stick with tradition and do not eat meat, growing what they need from the earth." She explained as they led their horses back through the woods. When they were out of sight of the encampment, they mounted their horses again. "Be careful here, Ferris," Samaia warned, "Elves can be tricky politicians when they need to be. Do not try to restrain them too much or they will break you."

***

(Lore off)

An unexpected co-build, naturally created by Samaia, has begun just outside of Tremaine. It is an elven settlement built along a nice little river. I thought I would share the construction with folks. I've not actually built anything there yet, but I believe Arkelai and some guy called me? I don't know, Gompy knows them...

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"

Me Arkelai and Sam

_________________
Gimpy/The Italian Stallion

It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door, You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." -Bilbo Baggins

Duke of Kaine

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For the attention of his Dukeship, Ferris of Carrickshire,

Ave ally,

I am delighted to have provided assistance in your diplomatic crisis with the elven nomads, their people, my people, have a complex past and it gives me a significant amount of hope and trust that you sought out my council before acting or going solely off the words of your own court (of which some have dubious motives).

Our people's traditional claim to the lands have been honoured, and in the name of progress have been included as honourary citizens of Carrickshire, afforded all protections as a result. This is the hallmark of this grand Empire, all those who wish to be a productive part of it are welcome, with all races given equal footing. Our allies in the East with the Gathered Races of Hermertia are a shining example of this.

While it is true that I have been surrounded by a great deal of the traditions of the world of Men, I am fully aware of my heritage and there are a sizeable portion of the native Aethen, or Snow Elves in Dawnstar who are part of our community.

Take heed, peoples of the Empire who hear of this deed, in the name of progress and fairness for all, this is an example of how we can work together and achieve peaceful solutions.

Your friend and ally
- Samaia of House Almandine, Dawnstar.


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_________________
Petra Ravnikaar of The Veil

Year 458 of the Emperor, Phoenix 00|05, fourth year

His father's steed trotted calmly through the tall grass of the savanna of Wysteria. Great acacias loomed over them, sheltering them from the heat of the mid-day sun. The heavy diamond armour soon had the horse panting, it was not a young horse by any means, and soon Ferris paused to remove the armour and tie it into a bundle, which he strapped to the saddle bags behind him, along with his own greaves, chest piece, and helm He did not know why he insisted on carting such heavy armour with him whenever he visited such hot climates, but then he always thankful for having them close by when monsters could strike at any moment. He kept the diamond blade by his side at all times.

Much of his attire he had inherited from his father, as the new Count of Tremaine, and has his elder brothers declined them, with Murtagh already possessing his own armour and weapon and Gildos being a priest with little need of military garb. The horse too had been his father's, Kerberos, a name few understood the meaning of in these days, not even Ferris knew the logic behind it. Though old, it was a noble beast, and had never failed Ferris yet. They continued their journey and soon crossed the bridge into the small town of Chester-le-ford.

After several months of bickering with elves and humans and struggling with the quandary of the elven settlement, now named as Sidh Glen, he had finally decided to reply to the young Miss Rosaly's letter from Wysteria. Unable to find the words he wanted in a letter, he had taken his brother's council and decided to travel to Chester-le-ford himself and ask her father's blessing.

It did not take long to find him; once the town healer he now owned a wealthy mine of lapis lazuli and was well known by the locals. He found the man sitting before his desk in his office, having been admitted by a servant.

"Master Collins..." Ferris called. There was no response. Slowly he stepped forward, frowning as he walked around the table to see the man's face. His eyes were shut and there was some drool on his lower chin, and upon the table there stood a mug, emanating the stench of stale mead. "Master Collins!" He raised his voice slightly. Still no response. He reached out a tentative hand, then leapt with fright as the man jerked awake, turning to his with wide eyes. He blinked several times, smacking his lips loudly as if trying to rid himself of a horrible taste.

"Do I know you?" he asked, frowning.

"No, dear sir, you do not," Ferris said, slowing his breathing and calming his racing heart. "My name is Ferris, of the house Felandrison. I wondered if I might..."

"Not the Duke Ferris?" Collins asked, his frown deepening.

"Aye, he," Ferris nodded once. The man leapt from his chair, bowing low before the Duke.

"Please, forgive my laziness," Collins begged, hurriedly sweeping his desk clear of scrolls and throwing the mug onto a nearby bookshelf out fot eh way.

"Not at all, you are a busy man," Ferris eyed the tankard, then smiled as he offered a chair. "Please, forgive me this intrusion, but I have a matter I wish to discuss with you, and I would think it best to discuss in person,"

"Certainly, sir," Collins nodded, wiping his face with a sleeve and hurriedly sitting opposite him. "Though I don't know how much help I can be, you'd be better speaking with La...Miss Liserett." He caught himself over the words. Ferris took little notice.

"I am afraid it is only you who can help me...you see, I have a request," he fidgeted with his gloves then, scrunching them in his hands before he carefully placed then on the desk and placed his hands flat on the table top. "My dear sir, I have come to inquire, if it is not so bold for me to do so...for your daughter's hand." Collins blinked twice.

"Rosaly? My Rosaly?" He asked.

"I promise you would care for her, in Tremaine she would he housed in the castle itself. She would be well fed and protected." He spoke quickly, hurriedly trying to allay any fears the man might have. "I have several horses and many lands, as well as a wealthy inheritance."

"My Rosaly?" He asked. "You would take her, from here?"

"Only with your blessing, sir," Ferris said quickly, panic rising in him. "I would never do anything to compromise her honour..." he began, but the man interrupted him.

"You have it!" He said loudly, standing. "Please, have her hand, take her from here and keep her safe from..." he stumbled again on his words, as if trying not to say too much. "My boy, I would be delighted to have my daughter wed a man of your prestige." Ferris broke into a wide grin, forgetting the oddities of the man before him.

"That is fantastic news!" he said, standing. They embraced warmly, laughing as Master Collins hurried them both to the door.

"Come, let us inform her of this news. She will be delighted!"

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"

Beautifully written as always =)

_________________
Lady Liserett of the House O'Kleefe
Countess of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria
Deputy Minister of Hermertian History
Appointed Minister of Wysterian Architecture

-----------------------------------
Letter to Lady Rosaly, Duchess of Carrickshire, Perth

Dearest Rosaly, first of all, please accept my congratulations regarding your recent union to the Duke of Carrickshire. I hope your travel to Lord Ferris’ holdings was uneventful and agreeable.

I wish I could have been present to the wedding, but I’m afraid it was simply not possible as building the crypt for my mother’s burial proves more of a challenge than anticipated. While digging the main chamber, the workers discovered a vast cavern underneath the site, filled with andesite and, unfortunately, undeads. It shall have to be cleared out and reinforced before the crypt is finished.

But enough with this chattering, my concerns are not the reason of this letter. Dearest Rosaly, I am afraid this missive brings you but grim news. You probably wonder why your father did not attend your wedding as planned. Mr Collins was a stubborn man, and although I insisted to provide him with a better, sure footed mount, he still undertook the voyage with the old pack mule he’s had for over two decades.

He was found by a messenger, he never even made it to Gallen. It is believed that they fell in a ravine, the mule was trapped and probably kicked Mr Collins to death in its panic. The beast was still alive when they were found, although in poor condition. For your father, unfortunately, it was already too late.

He was cremated, as is tradition, and his ashes buried in Chester-le-Ford's new cemetery.

I am sorry that you learn this terrible event in such a way, I would have come myself in person were I not dealing with my mother’s crypt. I share your pain, believe me I know how heartbreaking it is to lose a parent, even though the circumstances are different.

Of course, you are now inheriting of your father's possessions including the house and the mine. Please find the title deeds annexed to this document.

Should you need anything, know that the O’Kleefe House will always be there to support you and the House of Felandrison.

Kind regards,

Miss Liserett of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria
------------------------------------------------

_________________
Lady Liserett of the House O'Kleefe
Countess of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria
Deputy Minister of Hermertian History
Appointed Minister of Wysterian Architecture

Year 458 of the Emperor, Phoenix 00|05, fourth year

A soft, summer's breeze wafted over the green fields of the Ilminite coast as the troupe of horses followed the well-worn path. Duke Ferris with his new bride, Rosaly, rode side-by-side with Ferris brother, Gildos behind them. They had left Innean that morning and, as the sun reached it's zenith, they climbed over the last hill to see the small, ruined remains of Gu h'ard Carraig, the old town now left as rubble in the shadow of the mountain.

"What is this place?" Rosaly asked as they approached the low stone wall.

"A terrible memory," Ferris said simply. Gildos smiled at his brother's unhappy mood, then elaborated for the young bride.

"This is Gu H-ard Carraig, an old settlement founded by the Duchess Sameria. It was ambushed and raided by bandits, and when the Perthian cavalry besieged the town to recapture it, they were ambushed by creepers who destroyed the town."

"That's awful," Rosaly gasped.

"Truly," Gildos nodded, "It is also the birthplace of our father, Felandris. His parents are unnamed, but he fled the town when the bandits first attack, riding on the back of an ass to Innean where he was taken in by our late Uncle Robert.

"He must have been a kind man to look after a child like that," Rosaly commented.

"Uncle Robert was the best," Ferris sighed heavily. "He visited as much as he could, but he had his own family to support as well. Father never gave him the credit he deserved, not really."

"So, do you have cousins then?" Rosaly asked.

"Aye, I suppose you could call them that," Gildos laughed. "Robert's kin and we were never all that close. We never stayed in Innean, and they never visited. I dare say I wouldn't know them if they slapped me in the face," Gildos chuckled. Rosaly let out a light laugh as well as Ferris continued riding through the ruins, his face unchanged. They rode beneath the boughs of the tall spruces and then up the old staircase Felandris had carved into the mountainside, cresting the climb to see the gatehouse standing opposite the gorge. They crossed the bridge and beneath the portcullis and were met by three men, a boy, and a woman carrying a babe. As they approached they all bowed. Ferris dismounted and approached.

"Rise," He said stiffly. They did. Ferris surveyed the man before him, the tallest of them, with shoulder length brown hair and a long coat, a rapier at his side. He looked as if he were ready to jump onto a sailing ship more than welcome a dignitary. Ferris sighed. "Ten years and you wear that old coat still?" The man smirked as Ferris broke into a wide grin. The men embraced and Gildos let out a sigh of relief. The woman smiled as Ferris kissed her cheeks, then turned to the boy.

"You must be Helori," He asked. The boy nodded, then bowed again.

"Well he didn't get his manners from you," Gildos called from the horse. Murtagh and Rosaly laughed as the boy turned red, straightening.

"Pay them no heed," Ferris said, kneeling before the boy. I brought you something," He reached into the satchel by his side and drew a small wooden horse, intricately carved and stunningly lifelike. "It is from the elves of Sidhglen." The boy took it and thanked Ferris quietly, before retreating behind his mother.

"And who is this?" Ferris asked, rising to inspect the child in her arms.

"Eirnin," she replied, showing him the babe. "She was born only two moons ago. We had not had time to tell you,"

"And what a blessing she is to find here," Gildos smiled, dismounting his own steed and approaching. He too kissed the woman on both cheeks. "Saoirse," he smiled at her. "It has been too long,"

"It has been two years!" She smiled back, "You told me you were going to fetch milk for this own's breakfast and you never came back." she nodded to Helori.

"The farmers here had no milk," he shrugged, "I had to go all the way to Tremaine to find a cow with some udders. By the time I got it back to you it would've spoiled!" She laughed again as Ferris returned to Rosaly, helping his dismount and presenting her to them.

"This is Rosaly," he explained as she curtseyed, "My bride," Saoirse returned the gesture as Murtagh removed his cap, bowing before reaching forward and taking her hand.

"Such beauty should never be concealed with a bow," he said softly. She blushed a deep red as Gildos laughed.

"Always the smooth talker," He smiled, then gestured at the guards. "Take those horses to the stables." He ordered. They nodded and led the steeds away. Ferris watched his new horse be led away. Kerberos, his father's horse, had been taken just after his marriage to Rosaly. An illness had swept through his body and within a week he was left destitute. By the grace of King Scrios III, Ferris had just received that new steed from the stables at Dunn. It was a white horse, with a dappled grey back concealed by the heavy saddle, but it was a strong beast, easily an equal of Kerberos.

"Come, let me show you Glas Claddach," Murtagh said, turning and leading them after the horses through the farmlands, Gildos by his side. Saoirse and Rosaly walked together behind him with Ferris behind them and the two well dressed men behind him. They were advisers of Murtagh, nothing more. As they reached the stables Rosaly gasped at the sight of the greats tone bridge. She ran tot eh wall and gripped the stone with both hands, her eyes ranging over the far shore, the white sails visible beyond the docks, the great trebuchets capable of sinking a ship in a single strike, the sprawling city beneath them, but most of all the castle, rising out of the far mountain like a sleeping lion, the great tower looming over everything. It was so very different from Tremaine, a city laid out over such a vast area it was impossible to see it all from one point, but this...it was almost overwhelming for her. Ferris placed a hand on his side and she whipped around to see him.

"Your father built this?"

"He began it," he nodded. "Everything between here and the castle. Most of the city and the castle beyond the great hall was built by Murtagh."

"And Mother," Murtagh added. "She had a large hand in the design of the upper city."

"Naturally," Gildos added, standing on their other side. "Yes this is Glas Claddach, one of the greatest port cities in the North of Perth. From here, goods travel all throughout Valtoros. And Murtagh runs it all."

"When I have time," Murtagh sighed heavily. Saoirse placed a hand on his shoulder and he touched it gently. "Would you like to see the upper city? That is what you came to see was it not?"

"Actually I just came to review work in general," Ferris shrugged, "But we have traveled far, I think we could do with a rest for now. Tomorrow we can begin the review."

"Of course, but I must press you on that; I'm planning work on the western walls but I need your advice before I set the plans into motion."

"Very well, I'll review them tomorrow evening." Ferris nodded. Murtgah smiled as he led them across the stone bridge.

"This way to the castle then,"

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"

Year 458 of the Emperor, Phoenix 00|05, fourth year

Ferris pushed open the door to his bed chamber and stepped inside. The room was dark, with only a single candle lit by the bedside. At the window, Rosaly sat facing the scene before her; the bay before Glas Claddach and the merchant vessels docked there. She was still and silent as he entered.

"Work has begun on the main road in the upper city," Ferris began, brushing his hands together. "When that is done we can begin construction of the new houses up there. I'm implementing the similar design as in Dunn to hopefully give this city a bit more class y'know, the lower streets are too cramped and..." he paused, noticing her unmoving form. "Darling what's wrong?" He approached her swiftly, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was cool to the touch. She said not a word, but lifted her hand with the letter from Liserett O'Kleefe in it. Ferris took it and read.

As he finished he placed the letter carefully on the table beside them, them placed both hands on her shoulders gently holding her.

"Your father..." he breathed. Her shoulders began to shake and she doubled over in fresh tears. He swept around her and held her in his arms as she cried her grief into the evening air. After a long while she fell asleep in his arms, exhausted by the force of her emotions. He carried her to the bed and laid her there, before hurrying to the council chambers above the throne room. There he found Murtagh, still pouring over paperwork even as the moon shone through the tall stained glass. As he approached, Murtagh instantly knew his brother was shaken.

"What is it? What has happened?" Ferris lifted the letter and placed it in his brother's hand.

"It's Rosaly's father," he explained. "He's dead. By the date on the letter it was several months ago."

"How did it take this long for the letter to get here?" Murtagh asked.

"It was addressed to Tremaine. It must have arrived just after we left." Ferris explained. "Rosaly is asleep just now, poor thing cried herself to sleep tonight."

"You're worried she will want to go there, to see her father's grave?"

"Not only that," Ferris indicated on the letter, "The mine left to her. You've seen those scrolls the criers are taking across Hermertia. She's drawing attention to herself is Liserett. I'm worried, with so many immigrants, Rosaly may lose her inheritance."

"Someone needs to go inspect the mine," Murtagh nodded.

"And manage it and look after it. Wysteria isn't exactly next door is it? It's not like a trip to Dawnstar!" Ferris sat heavily on a chair, running a finger over his lips. "I can't go all that way just for one mine!"

"What of Rosaly?" Murtagh asked. "Undoubtedly she would want to visit the grave herself.

"Some day yes, but no time soon," Ferris said severely. "I forbid it, not in her condition..." He paused for a moment as Murtagh's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Her condition?" He asked. Ferris nodded as he placed his hands together diplomatically. "She is with child?" Ferris nodded again.

"A journey like that could kill them both," Ferris said quietly.

"Even traveling from Tremaine to here was dangerous," Murtagh objected. "Though now I understand why you went overland instead of through the Nether. By the God's I would never have let Saoirse in that cursed place while pregnant."

"It was by her own insistence I bring her." Ferris explained. "She wanted to meet you and Saoirse. I wish now I had left her there."

"Would you rather she were alone at a time like this?" Murtagh asked. Ferris shook his head.

"No," The sat in silence for a long minute.

"Who will you send to inspect the mine?"

"I don't know," Ferris shrugged. "A part of me hoped you might..."

"Me?" Murtagh laughed. "I'm forty-six Ferris! The Governor of Glas Claddach!" I'm too old to go traipsing across the world like that! Saoirse would kill us both if we suggested it." Ferris nodded. "What of Ula?" He suggested.

"Ula doesn't know anything about mines," Ferris dismissed.

"But her family does," Murtagh pressed. "The House of Carnoustie is a wealthy family in Dunn. You could hire one of them to investigate this for you."

"Hire?" Ferris asked. Murtagh laughed bitterly.

"You are a Duke aren't you?" Ferris nodded. "Then ask them if one of them will go to Chester le-ford and investigate this mine. If it is worth the effort, you could then see if they will be willing to manage the mine for a salary." Ferris thought on it for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll send the missive in the morning."

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"

Sir Ferris, son of Felandris, Duke of Carrickshire,

Duke Ferris,

The House of Caroustie, having received your request for a detailed analysis of Duchess Rosaly's recently inherited lapis lazuli mine, myself and Master Timothy Smith, Chief Mine Foreman of Glas Claddach, are now ready to present to you our findings, which are listed below.

The mine is extensive, well reinforced and safe. Air vents and safety exits are present and deemed sufficient. The mine contains several veins of high quality lapis lazuli; the ore presents no trace of white calcite and very little golden pyrite.

Upon arrival, the mine was boarded and presented no sign of recent activity. Upon examination the ledger showed sloppy record keeping for the last few years, but no suspicious elements or patterns were found. The last entry is by Miss O’Kleefe, and describes the measures taken to close the mine. The date is consistent with the date on the letter sent to Duchess Rosaly.

Mayor O’Kleefe agrees that the mine belongs to Duchess Rosaly and this without question, and she assures us that we need not to worry about settlers claiming anything that isn’t theirs.

Mayor O'Kleefe is favorably disposed to assist us with the reopening of the mine as its current idleness benefits no one. She has already provided us with the details of what she considers to be a mutually beneficial trade agreement regarding the mined ore, as lapis lazuli is central to many artisans’ trade in Chester-le-Ford. I have included the document with this report for Duchess Rosaly's perusal.

Your friend and loyal petitioner,

Murdoch Carnoustie

_________________
Lady Liserett of the House O'Kleefe
Countess of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria
Deputy Minister of Hermertian History
Appointed Minister of Wysterian Architecture

Year 459 of the Emperor, Phoenix 00|05, sixth year

The ship pulled into port and two tall, strong men leaped from its hull, bearing mooring ropes to tie it to the docks. Once secured, the gangplank was lowered and Gildos stepped down onto the port of Tremaine, holding the thick cloak about his shoulders to protect him from the chill evening air. He marched from the ship up the stairs and across the gardens of Tremaine to the Council chambers. There, he found Ferris in his office, pouring over reports from the south of Carrickshire. AS he walked in Ferris nodded once to acknowledge him.

"You're back so soon?"

"There isn't much to report," Gildos shrugged, handing over his completed scroll. "The ports around Aberdeen loche are running low on food supplies, medicine, blankets, livestock, the only thing they're not low on is stone."

"This winter is starving us." Ferris shook his head. "How could we not prepare for this? How could a winter strike so soon and wipe out half our crop!"

"We need to negotiate trade with Glas Claddach," Gildos suggested, but Ferris shook his head, indicating a letter on his desk.

"The north was hit worse than us. I just got a missive from the Carnousties requesting aid in feeding Dunn's workforce." He shook his head. "We'll need to ration what we do have," he said at last. "And despite it all, King Scrios holds his wedding."

"Quite," Gildos sighed heavily. "They must have food in reserve to hold a feast like that?"

"They're importing most of it from greater Valyria." Ferris explained. He hated not being at the wedding, but with this starvation he could hardly be spared from Tremaine, and with Rosaly... "I need to compose a response to Carnoustie asking for aid in return." Ferris brushed the scroll aside as he turned to another report from his fort in the south of Carrickshire.

"How fairs Rosaly?" Gildos asked. Ferris paused for a moment and Gildos instantly regretted asking.

"This report from the elves indicate their settlements in the west did not suffer too badly," Ferris said, lifting the scroll. "Will you meet with them and discuss trade terms?"

"Of course," Gildos bowed, taking the report. "What can we give away?"

"We have wool, and I still have lots of clay from our last shipment from the Mesa desert." Ferris explained. "Failing that, offer wood. Our lumber stores will have to suffice." Gildos nodded, then turned to leave but paused, his hand on the door as Ferris spoke again.

"She's getting worse, brother," he said quietly. "Since she lost the child...it's as if it has aged her greatly." Gildos tapped the door with a finger before turning.

"I'll leave the day after tomorrow, if you need me I'll be at the Dragon's Eyerie," he paused. "You should get some sleep."

***

Ferris stalked up the winding stares to his bedchamber, located at the peak of the northern tower. In recent months he had taken to sleeping in the north wing instead, leaving Rosaly to her sorrows, but he thought it was time for his bi-monthly visit. He reached the top of the stairs and climbed the ladder to the bedchamber. Before the writing desk Rosaly sat, quill in hand as she wrote on a parchment. She seemed not to notice him enter. He moved quietly toward her, his eyes roaming over the dimly lit room, piles of dishes and half eaten food littering the tables around her. He paused behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened.

"Why?" She asked, barely breathing as he carefully placed the quill upon the parchment.

"Why?" Ferris repeated as he read over the letter she was writing. "I am you husband. Why would I not visit you?" Her hand shook as he spoke. "Why would you write this?" He asked, indicating the parchment. Her body shook now, though with anger or sorrow he could not tell.

"I write to our son," she replied. "Our son who died before he could be a part of this world."

"Our son is dead." Ferris said calmly.

"Our son was beautiful!" She yelled, standing now, grabbing the parchment and shoving it in his face. He tried to grab it, but it fell to the floor, alongside the countless other letters she had written him. She stalked the room, her hands about her face as if trying to block out an unpleasant sound "Our son was to be the crowning glory of my life! And now he lies in a grave!" She rasped, her body shaking as she turned back to him, her hands contorting and her arms moving as if to coddle a babe. "I held him in my arms...he was so still..." Her lower lips trembled as Ferris marched toward her, gripping her arms.

"But I'm still here," he said forcefully. "I still love you! Please do not forget me!" He pleaded with her, but her eyes were hollow as she stared back at him. "Why won't you see you?" HE asked, his own voice rising now.

"You...you never wanted him," She accused. "You brought this upon us!" he words turned venomous and she lashed out. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them to her chest.

"Enough!" he yelled throwing her from him. She hit the ground, her skirt splayed about her legs as she shook, sobbing uncontrollably into the ground. Just then a voice came from the ladder.

"Sire,"

"What is it?" Ferris yelled, turning with fury in his voice to face the man; a servant, nothing more.

"My lord, I have news from Strathceard, from Duchess Samaia."

"Send it to my office you insolent..."

"She said it was urgent you read it at once," the servant spoke over him. breathing hard, Ferris snatched it from his hand and read. As his eyes moved down the parchment his anger subsided, replaced with sorrow, loss, and then anger once again.

"Balls." he swore, lowering the parchment. "You read this?" he asked the servant, who shook his head.

"No my lord, the messenger just arrived downstairs. I brought it straight here." Ferris breathed heavily, then looked at the parchment again. "What is happening to the world?" He asked. "First Celestine, now Scrios..." He handed it to the servant. "Have this letter duplicated and posted through Carrickshire. Let all of Perth know the sorrow of this moment, for King Scrios is dead." The servant bowed, taking the letter. "And ready my horse, I leave at once for Strathceard."

"My lord, it is nightfall," the servant objected. Ferris stared at him. The sobbing from behind him struck a chord and he rolled his eye, turning to his wife.

"Will you please shut up!" He yelled, stepped toward her again. She dragged herself up on a chair. "I can't hear myself think with your wailing all the time!" She stared at him, her face crumpled in fatigue and grief. He walked toward her, gripping her shoulder again firmly. "I'm going to Strathceard. When I get back, I expect you to have pulled yourself together. You are a Duchess and I expect you to remember that!" He shook her roughly as he released her, then turned back to the servant. "I told you already; ready my horse!"

"You mourn a King more than your own son," Rosaly said, her voice filled with disdain. He turned back to her, glaring.

"Scrios has been King since before my father was born. He has ruled Perth for decades and in his absence the throne will be in chaos. Duchess Samaia will need all the help she can get to maintain control over the government and prevent the throne from being threatened further. As a Duke, I remember my place and my responsibilities to my Kingdom."

"And what of your responsibilities as a husband?" Rosaly asked, her head held high.

"I was a Duke long before I was a husband," he growled.

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"