Chapter Text
Marpha Castle was eerily silent.
Jamke, youngest prince of the royal court of Verdane, sighed in exasperation. His entire family, suddenly committed to aggressing one of the most powerful nations in Jugdral, and they didn't even have the decency to station troops at one of their key strongholds? Word had arrived, days ago, that a Grannvale force had not only routed their invasion force in Yngvi, but had invaded and seized Verdane's own Evans Castle in retaliation. What were his brothers even doing?
As Jamke wandered the castle halls, though, he began to feel unnerved. Why wasn't anyone on patrol? Why was the castle so dirty?
…No sign of Munnir anywhere. Jamke shook his head. Where was that oaf of a brother?
Clang! Jamke flinched at the sudden sound… Was something happening in the dungeon? That was where they were keeping Edain, that noblewoman that his brothers kidnapped… He drew his bow and cautiously approached.
“Who goes there?” he called out.
He suddenly found himself face to face with two women. He recognized Edain, but not the grimy-looking lavender-haired woman clutching a magical tome, eyeing him down with a cold, ethereal expression. She raised her hand almost robotically toward Jamke, but Edain suddenly called out, “Deirdre, wait!”
“...Who is this man, Edain?” the woman apparently named Deirdre asked. Her voice sounded brittle and awkward, like it would give at any moment.
Edain raised an eyebrow. “He’s… he’s your prince, Deirdre. Prince Jamke of Verdane, youngest son of King Batur.”
Deirdre did not lower her arm. “One of the people who… kidnapped you.”
“No, he was different! He opposed the invasion of Grannvale and returned to the capital to petition my release.” Edain turned to face Jamke and bowed politely. “It is good to see you again, sir, even in these unfortunate circumstances…”
“...Likewise.” Jamke lowered his weapon. “Edain of Yngvi, His Majesty refused to hear my plea… but if I am honest, I still do not understand what my family is attempting to accomplish here. After the past years we’ve spent establishing ties with Duchy Yngvi, fostering peace between Verdane and Grannvale… why throw that all away? Against my orders, I returned here to free you… although I see that you have managed without me.”
Edain nodded. “All the same, I am grateful, Prince Jamke.”
“Hmph.” Deirdre crossed her arms around her tome. Though no longer threatening to cast magic at him, she was still glaring at Jamke.
He averted his eyes. “My apologies, Edain of Yngvi, but… this woman, here. You said I was her prince?”
“Yes. She is a maiden of the Spirit Forest. We’ve known each other since we were children…”
“When I found out she was here, I had to do something…” Deirdre suddenly started coughing.
“Oh, dear…” Edain looked at Deirdre with concern in her eyes. “Deirdre, you don’t have to strain your voice. I can do the talking for now.”
“Urgh… it’s… fine…” Deirdre managed to say between coughs.
“I see,” Jamke said. “If you do not mind me asking, how did a noble of Grannvale and a… Verdanite commoner become so acquainted?”
Edain’s cheeks flushed. “It’s a long story. Doesn’t matter. Listen, Prince Jamke, if I am free to leave…”
“Ah, yes. You must be wanting to return to Grannvale now, of course.” He stared absentmindedly at the castle wall. “I will not impede you. Rather, I should be returning to the capital to–”
“Wait.” Deirdre cleared her throat. Speaking softer than earlier, she said, “If you want to help… can you take us out of Verdane?”
“Oh! That’s true.” Edain nodded. “I heard that Prince Cimbaeth is currently preparing an army to retake Evans after Grannvale seized it in retaliation for my abduction. I… understand that your brothers have been obstinate about breaking our nations’ treaty, but I’m sure that it is not too late to broker peace again before more of our countrymen lose their lives needlessly. If you are able to speak to Prince Cimbaeth…”
Jamke sighed, considering their request for a moment. “I think that he would sooner turn his weapon on me than swallow his pride. …And yet, I suppose this is the least I can do for you, Edain of Yngvi. Maybe I’ll be able to figure out where that blasted Munnir ran off to as well…”
A strange silence filled the room. Deirdre covered up a cough. Before Jamke could speak, Edain suddenly said, “Before we go, there was another prisoner in the dungeon…”
“I promise to never forget your kindness, my prince! I’ll never steal again!”
“You have already thanked me enough, Dew.”
The four of them – Deirdre, Edain of Yngvi, Dew, and Jamke – had begun the trek to Genoa from Marpha, where, most likely, Cimbaeth was preparing the counter-assault on Evans. And Dew, the young boy who had been imprisoned for thievery that Jamke had pardoned at Lady Edain’s request, had spent most of it incessantly bothering Jamke. At least the boy was in good spirits…
Deirdre suddenly broke her silence. “Jamke.”
He flinched. “Yes?”
“...My prince. Apologies.” Deirdre did not turn to face him. Jamke was unsure whether she was apologizing for not using his title or for startling him. “Why… do you rule?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have… always wondered. Why does the royal family rule Verdane?”
Jamke was caught off guard. “...My father is the king because his father was, and he was king because his father was, and so on.”
“...but… are all your family naturally born leaders?”
He thought to himself. “...No. My brothers struggle to earn the respect of our people.”
“Then… why do you rule Verdane?” Deirdre asked again. Jamke was surprised to realize that she truly was asking only out of a sense of curiosity, but he was even more startled to realize that he didn't know the answer either.
The four walked in silence for a while before Jamke finally responded, “I suppose that's the way it's always been.”
Deirdre did not respond immediately either. “I guess that makes… sense,” she said eventually.
What a peculiar individual. Jamke had never thought too hard about this sort of thing before.
“...Do you want to rule?” Deirdre suddenly asked.
Jamke thought for a moment. “...I do.”
“Why?”
“...This land, our Verdane, is a beautiful place. The sound of the wind, the smell of the trees and the earth… but more than that, Verdane is its people. The people who gather at the castle town marketplace. The people who toil to maintain our bountiful lands, who feed us all. The people who refuge from their past in our most remote forests.” He nodded at Deirdre. “All of these people… It would be an honor to lead them. To do right by them.
“I've accepted that my lot in life wouldn't be nearly so grand, though. Both Munnir and Cimbaeth are in line to the throne before me. It’s likely that I will simply inherit the lordship of Evans, should we reclaim it. It is not so glamorous, having to handle foreign affairs with both Grannvale and Agustria, but it is something that must be done. A noble duty.”
Deirdre stayed silent for a moment. “…I see. For what it's worth… I think you'll do well.”
“...Thank you.” How strange, to speak so candidly to a commoner like this… though, he supposed, a resident of the spirit forest could hardly be described as “common”.
“We’re nearly there,” Deirdre said quietly.
“Yes.” Jamke nodded. The silhouette of Genoa Castle became clearer as they approached, as did the legion of soldiers, Jamke able to spot Cimbaeth at its helm.
As the four approached, Cimbaeth made a face between a grin and grimace as he recognized his younger brother. “Well, well, well, Jamke! Freeing our hostage now, I see?”
“Brother.” Jamke said curtly. “I am hoping you will allow us passage back into Grannvale. There must be a way to avert further fighting and have Evans returned to us peacefully.”
“Look, Jamke,” Cimbaeth began. “I disagree with Prince Munnir’s, ah… let’s call it “philandering” – as much as the next man, but this isn’t an opportunity we can pass up. While Grannvale is out warmongering, we have a chance to take vast swathes of land that Verdane has only dreamed of having. I can’t have you making peace with them now.”
“But the treaty!” Jamke protested. “Regardless of how ‘easy’ it would be, we cannot break our agreements so easily like this! Our people are NOT barbarians!”
“You don’t get it, do you, little brother? To them –” Cimbaeth gestured at Edain, who guiltily looked away, “ – we are always going to be barbarians. There is nothing we can do to appease them. They are always going to look down on our people – unless we show them that we are more than equals.”
“That’s… that’s not true,” Jamke stammered. “There has to be a better way.”
Cimbaeth sighed. “Either way, it’s too late now after Munnir’s little stunt. If we back off now, Grannvale will surely demand reparations from us that we cannot afford. Verdane would be destroyed all the same. We have no choice now but to commit to this.”
“I hear you, brother, and yet… I cannot bring myself to justify this senseless war.”
“I see you are not going to back down.” Cimbaeth shook his head. “Brother, Edain of Yngvi, I truly hate to do this. Men: kill them all.”
Jamke stood slack-jawed in disbelief. How could Cimbaeth order the deaths of a child, two women, and his own brother so callously? And the soldiers… Jamke spotted familiar faces in Cimbaeth’s squadron, men he knew the names of, and yet they all so readily trained their axes and bows onto the four of them.
They were about to die. They were completely outnumbered, and if they tried to run, the archers would make short work of them. They were about to die!
“I… don’t think we have a choice, Edain,” Deirdre said almost inaudibly, raising her arm.
Edain, seemingly unfazed by the soldiers in front of them, sighed. “I was hoping we could avoid this. Deirdre, if you would?”
The tome Deirdre clutched suddenly flashed a brilliant green, circular sigils orbiting her outstretched hand. Jamke stared in awe and horror as a pillar of light erupted from the ground beneath the soldiers, expanding to engulf every single one. Cimbaeth himself turned toward the light, seemingly too shocked to escape, whatever last words he was trying to say eclipsed by a deafening, unearthly roar as the pillar flared outward and consumed him as well. The pillar blazed a few moments longer before dissipating, revealing nothing left of Cimbaeth and his men but piles of ash, nothing left of even weapons or armor but unrecognizable slag.
“What,” Jamke said, “the hell?”
Jamke had never seen anything like this. Not even Sandima’s dark magic “miracles” came anywhere close to the raw power that Deirdre had just so casually inflicted upon his brother’s army.
This was no mere woman… This was a monster.
“I… did not mean to take your brother as well,” Deirdre said softly. Though they had already taken temporary refuge in Genoa castle to restock on supplies, Jamke swore he could still see traces of green light fading from Deirdre's fingers.
“No, you saved our lives. I… I cannot believe my own brother would so brazenly order our deaths like that.” Jamke’s fingers gripped tightly around his bow. “I just… I just need to know. Who are you?”
“What do you mean by that, Prince Jamke?” Edain said, a hint of unease in her voice.
Jamke hesitated. “With the gift of magic granted to you that strongly, surely the blood of one of the Crusaders runs in your veins?” Suddenly, he jolted with realization. “Or, as a scion of the Spirit Forest, you possess the–”
Deirdre spun on her heel. Jamke recoiled instinctively as the frail-looking woman suddenly stepped right up to him. He felt small before her as she glared daggers through him. “My prince. Know that I am… privileged. I hail from the Forest, yes, but I do not carry Maera’s fell gift… if that is what you insinuate.”
“I-I understand, Deirdre,” Jamke stammered. “I only–”
“I have lived in the Forest my whole life… but my mother. The elders told me she came from outside… before she gave up breath as I was born. So, no... I do not share in Maera's burden. I… am a normal woman of no note.” Satisfied that her point had been made, Deirdre turned away from him.
“Oh, dear…” Edain looked concerned at both of them. Jamke wondered idly if she understood the “Listen, Prince Jamke, about your brothers…”
“‘Brothers’, huh…” Jamke massaged his head with his free hand. “Am I to take it that Munnir shared the same fate?”
Edain startled for a moment before nodding silently. “Jamke…”
Jamke sighed. “I can tell that Deirdre means no harm. I think I would have done the same if I were her… To have that magic and not use it to defend yourself and aid those you care about would be foolish. I just… what am I going to tell Father?”
Around a minute passed in silence. “I… apologize,” Deirdre eventually said hesitantly. She did seem remorseful. “I… truly did not wish to cause trouble for you.”
Suddenly, her gaze snapped onto something. “Wait. Do you hear that?”
“What?” Edain said. “I didn't hear anything.”
“Listen.”
Jamke strained, trying to focus. Suddenly, he heard it too – a faint sound coming from below.
“What is that?” Jamke asked.
Deirdre stared intensely at the floor. “I… think it is a crying child.”
“By the gods…” Jamke sighed. “Why are both of my brothers keeping kids in their dungeons?”
“We should free them!” Dew said.
Jamke nodded. “Should we..?” He trailed off as he noticed that Deirdre had already stormed off toward the stairs.
“You're not one of Cimbaeth’s lot, are you?”
“No…” Deirdre crouched down as best she could to the child’s height, wobbling slightly as she struggled to find a comfortable position to balance in. “He is dead. …My name is Deirdre.”
“I don’t think Miss Deirdre knows how to speak to children,” Dew whispered in Jamke’s ear. Though he waved the boy away, Jamke couldn’t help but agree.
“That… that means Auntie Ayra doesn’t have to fight any more! Cimbaeth forced her to fight ‘cause he had me…”
“Ayra?” Deirdre asked. She looked uncertainly back at the others.
“I don’t believe Prince Cimbaeth’s squadron had any women in it,” Edain noted. “...Hang on. The name Ayra rings a bell. Child, what is your name?”
“Shannan…” The young boy shivered. “I’m Shannan, the prince of Isaach…”
“Isaach…” Deirdre repeated. “That isn’t near here, is it?”
“No,” Jamke said. “Isaach is all the way east, on the other side of Jugdral. Our countries’ relations have been brief but cordial… unlike with Grannvale.” He stared pointedly at Edain.
“While I disagree with all-out war with Isaach, it is undeniable that they attacked sacred ground-”
“Edain, wait,” Deirdre said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. “We can… discuss that later, or something…. If Shannan’s aunt wasn't… you know… then where is she?”
Something suddenly occurred to Jamke. “If I know Cimbaeth, he probably sent Ayra ahead first to keep Grannvale busy while his army marched.”
Edain gasped. “She might be facing the Grannvale army alone?”
“Then… what are we waiting for?” Deirdre turned and walked straight out of the dungeon, her frayed and faded dress billowing dramatically, and a timid-looking Shannan following closely at her heels.
Jamke felt Dew pull at his shirt. He turned to his side to see the boy gesture behind them, where Edain and Shannan were fussing over Deirdre several steps away from the two.
“This… this is nothing,” Deirdre said, breathing heavily. The group had been traveling for days, now, at much brisker pace than they had moved from Marpha to Genoa, hoping that they would be able to intercept Shannan’s aunt wherever Cimbaeth had ordered her to hold position before Grannvale did. All of them felt the fatigue from traveling so quickly, but it was clear that Deirdre, despite being perhaps the most driven of them, was struggling the hardest. “We must hurry. Don't… worry about me.”
“But Miss Deirdre, how can we not?” Shannan replied. The princeling looked wide-eyed at Deirdre, who he’d latched onto after being rescued, much like Dew did to Jamke.
“Deirdre, I know you wish to return Prince Shannan to his aunt, but you have limits, too,” Edain said gently, wiping sweat from her brow. “It's going to be alright.”
Deirdre looked away from her for a moment. “You don't know that.” She looked to Jamke and Dew, who the three had just caught up to. “What are you… waiting for?”
“We go together,” Jamke said. “You're the one who… defeated Genoa’s lord. Ayra of Isaach will be grateful to meet you.”
Deirdre huffed in response, but protested no longer.
Dew squinted into the distance. “Something’s happening up ahead.”
The boy was right – as they approached, from the silhouettes on the horizon emerged the sight of a lone Isaachian swordswoman facing down a legion of Grannvalan cavalry, horses gaudily decorated with gilded armor and sparkling gemstones. Jamke noted a hesitance to approach in the faces of the Grannvalan soldiers – aside from their blue-haired leader, who matched the woman’s intensity with a steely expression, none seemed particularly eager to come within striking distance of her blade.
“Do none of you curs dare to challenge me?” Ayra shouted. “Hear me: if your whole army will stand between me and Isaach’s future, then I will cut each and every one of you down!”
The blue-haired paladin stared down at her. “Hmph. We don’t have time for this. Our fight is not with Isaach, but Verdane. But if you are so willing to throw away your life, then–”
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the earth, deafeningly loud. Jamke watched the Grannvalan knights and Ayra alike turn toward the sound, toward Deirdre, once again glowing with eerie power.
“Stop…” Deirdre’s voice trembled with harshness as she struggled to project it. “Edain and Shannan are free... They’re here. Don’t fight any more.”
“What?!” Ayra turned her back fully on the Grannvalans and bolted straight at Deirdre. Jamke tensed, reaching for his bow, but relaxed as he saw Ayra’s sword fall to the ground as she threw her arms around Shannan, the young prince shocked at the impact. Meanwhile, he watched as Edain approached one of the knights, a green-haired young man with a bow, who dismounted and repeatedly bowed deeply to the cleric as she waved her hands in a bit of a panic, trying to calm him down.
As he looked around, Jamke sighed with relief. It had come at the cost of the lives of his brothers, and he was sure that when he returned to Verdane castle, he and his father would have to await the fallout of their kingdom’s actions, but he was certain that with Ynvgi’s ambassador returned safely and willingly, at the very least Verdane would not face destruction.
The presence of the Isaachian heir in Verdane was a bit of a hassle, yes; as he watched Ayra grasping a severely confused Deirdre’s hand and declaring what Jamke vaguely heard as some sort of oath or promise, he knew that he would not find it in himself to send the prince and his aunt elsewhere, even if it would attract Grannvale’s ire. But, at the very least, there was the option of asking the two to hide in the Spirit Forest, where they would likely not face scrutiny for the immediate future. Perhaps they would be glad to be in the presence of Shannan’s savior.
As his thoughts turned to Deirdre, however, he suddenly noticed something in her demeanor shift. She was no longer paying attention to the noblewoman in front of her, but was instead staring past, at the gilded white horse and its blue-haired rider – the fearless knight lord that had stood at the forefront of the Grannvalan army. And to Jamke’s surprise, he was looking straight back at her. Was this “woman of no note” familiar with yet another Grannvale noble? No, he thought – neither seemed to recognize the other, nor called out the other’s name – but something was clearly happening between the two of them anyway.
The two had intensely locked eyes. Jamke tried to place Deirdre’s expression – she didn’t seem angry, nor fearful, as far as he could tell. The rider leapt down from his steed and shuffled, almost as if bewitched, toward her, and though she remained still, she continued to meet his gaze. A strange, primal fear erupted in Jamke’s chest as he realized that Deirdre’s face was full of curiosity, intense and almost hungry in a way he had not seen before.
There was no way for Jamke, now Verdane’s only prince, to realize what had just occurred. He didn’t know that the destinies of all present at this near-battlefield had been sealed by this meeting of chance. For centuries, the masses will imagine what transpired, scholars poring over every word of every written source documenting the repercussions of this fateful day to try to understand the motivations and feelings of everyone involved, but it would have been impossible for Jamke to even fathom that. And yet, some part of him felt, deeply, that everything had just changed – that he had just borne witness to the beginning of history.