Gwen smiled despite herself and indicated for him to go on, that she was far from offended.
“I went back to question them again, but they had vanished.Drugged the guards.”
Gwendolyn's breath caught, and a treacherous spark ignited.If Kellan doubted the story of Thor’s death, could that mean..?Hope flickered, unbidden and cruel, a siren's lure amid the storm.She crushed it swiftly.No.Hope is the traitor's ally.Thor is gone—accept it, or lose what remains.Aloud, she said only, "At this moment, that is of secondary importance.Aldrich arrives tomorrow."
Kellan nodded, his hand rubbing his jaw in thought."Aye.What say you, my queen?Muster the Silver at the gates?String the vipers from the battlements before they cross the threshold?"
She searched his face, seeking the fire of vengeance she felt coiling in her veins, but found only the grim calculus of command."And shatter the Ring in the doing?This so-called Council of protectors may be a sham to cover their real intent, but it is powerful nonetheless.Between them, they hold sway over large tracts of the kingdom, and more importantly, lay claim to hundreds, perhaps thousands of men.And we have no idea what other alliances they have forged.Strike now, and we invite civil war.We are weakened, Captain, but far, far from broken.One rash blow, however, and the kingdom splinters like dry tinder."
To her surprise, Kellan exhaled, leaning back with a nod that carried the weight of wisdom."Calm waters hide the deepest currents, as my old dame used to say.You're right—too firm a hand now, and we hand the traitors their chaos on a platter.Let them come, let them posture.But the prince..."His eyes softened, flint yielding to paternal steel."Guwayne must away.Tonight."
Gwendolyn exhaled a breath she had been unaware she had been holding."You read my mind, Kellan.Exile—for now.A quest to mend the Shield I'll proclaim at dawn.The faithful will murmur of Thorgrin's quest; the vipers will seethe but lack fangs without proof."She rose, crossing to the window."But persuading him...Guwayne's blood runs hot as his father's.He dreams of glory, not flight."
Kellan's laugh was a brief rumble, devoid of mirth."Aye, and argues like a highland storm.But he's MacGil to the marrow—duty will win, if love arms the blade.I'll ready the undercroft: provisions, destriers, a trusted band.By midnight, all will be ready."
She clasped his forearm, warrior to warrior, the Silver's oath sealing their pact."Go, then.And Kellan—watch the skies.Ravens fly both ways in these days."
He bowed, draining his goblet in salute, and departed with the silence of a shadow slipping into the night.Alone again, Gwendolyn turned to the hearth.Exile.It was a word and a course of action she was all too familiar with, and her decision echoed the flight from King's Court fifteen years past, when she had led her people through hellfire with Thorgrin at her side.Now, to send her son away when only weeks ago all had seemed so secure, so hopeful.So safe.And yet, what choice did she have?The alternative was a son's corpse on a dais, the Ring's heart carved out.Thousands dead.Forgive me, Thor,she whispered to the fire.Our legacy flees on a boy's shoulders.But he is strong.He must be.
The castle slumbered under the Harvest Moon's watchful gaze, its silver light gilding the corridors like frost on steel.Gwendolyn moved through them like a specter, gray gown whispering against stone.She ascended the eastern wing's spiral stair, past tapestries of ancient MacGil triumphs.Guwayne's chambers lay at the apex, a suite befitting the heir—antechamber for guards, solar for studies, bedchamber overlooking the training yards where he honed his skills by day.
A single lantern burned low in the antechamber, casting warm pools on the flagstones.The door to his solar stood ajar, spilling golden light and the faint scratch of quill on parchment.Gwendolyn paused, hand on the frame, steeling herself against the sight within, her son, bent over a small table, his shoulders hunched beneath a simple linen tunic, wavy blond hair falling like a curtain over his face.At fifteen, he was the echo of Thorgrin made flesh—tall, unyielding, with the subtle grace of her own lineage tempering his fire.
"Guwayne," she said softly, stepping into the light.
He startled, quill snapping mid-stroke, ink blotting the page like spilled blood."Mother?"His gray eyes lifted, shadowed with the weariness of sleepless nights, but brightening at her presence."The hour's late.Is it tomorrow’s council?”His brow darkened.“You haven’t changed your mind about me being there?”
She crossed to him, drawing a stool close, her hand finding his in a grip that was both motherly and firm."The council can wait.We must speak of painful choices."
He searched her face, the quill forgotten, a flicker of unease crossing his features—the same boyish vulnerability that had melted her heart when he first gripped a wooden blade."The dreams worsen," he confessed, voice low as if the walls might eavesdrop."Last night, I saw him mother.Wounded, aye, there was blood on the snow, much blood, but he was alive.He was calling my name.'The Ring burned on my finger, hot as forge-fire.It's a summons, and not from the grave."
Gwendolyn's breath hitched, the missive's chill warring with the warmth of his words.The spark Kellan had unwittingly fanned roared now.But she stamped it down."Dreams are the gods' riddles, my lion.They guide but deceive.Your father...he would bid you live, not chase phantoms."
Guwayne's jaw set."Phantoms?The Ring doesn't lie, Mother.It's his voice—urgent, fading.If I ride north—"
"No."The word cracked like a whip, sharper than intended.She softened it, cupping his face, thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone—high and proud, like her own."Not north.Not yet.Listen, Guwayne.I hold proof of treachery deeper than beasts or breaches.Aldrich and his council—they come tomorrow not for words, but for blood.Yours."
His eyes widened, storm-gray flashing with disbelief, then fury—a blaze that lit the chamber like dawn's first spear."Aldrich?That simpering fox?I am not scared of him!"
Gwendolyn gave a humorless smile and gripped her son's hand tighter."I know you are not, but this is not about being afraid, it is about doing the right thing for the Ring.We cannot afford an all-out confrontation.If you are in our midst and they attempt to take you by force or more underhand measures, we would be forced to repel those measures.It could lead to a skirmish, but most likely more.Civil war."
Guwayne surged to his feet, chair scraping like a snarl, his hand wrenching free."Flee?Like a craven sheep in the night?No, Mother—I am the heir.I have shown my abilities.I have proven I am every bit a man as anyone else!I stay, I fight.Let Aldrich come—my blade thirsts for justice."
The words struck her like arrows.She rose too, matching his height, her silver hair a cascade of moonlight against his gold."And die before you have even started your story?For what—glory's hollow song?Duty is not the fool's charge, Guwayne.It's the survivor who rebuilds.I led exiles through torments I can barely bring myself to recall.Your father quested alone to claim his crown and to rebuild this land.Now you—our last light—must endure.Sometimes we must take one step backwards in order to advance three more.That is the wise thing to do.It is also the bravest."
He paced, a caged lion, fists clenched."What of you, Mother?If their eyes are on the throne, they will not stop if I am not to be found.They will turn their attentions to you.They'll kill you next, or worse.I abandon you to that?"
Tears pricked her eyes, hot and unbidden, the dam of queenly steel cracking under a mother's love.She seized his arms, nails digging crescents into his sleeves, voice breaking like surf on rock."Abandon?Gods, boy, this is love's cruelest forge!I send you forth not from weakness, but from the marrow-deep fear of a world without my son.The Ring needs a MacGil heart beating strong, not stilled on a traitor's whim.Stay, and you doom us both.Go, and you honor us.You will return as a king unbowed.To a kingdom that has not been torn asunder by its own people turning the alleyways and streets crimson with each other’s blood."
Guwayne's fury faltered, gray eyes glistening, anger yielding to anguish, duty warring with the boy's raw loyalty.He pulled her into an embrace, fierce and trembling, enveloping her like a shield.“How can I leave you Mother?With Father gone.”
She clung to him, inhaling his familiar scent, her tears dampening his tunic."Because you must.For the legacy we built—the peace your father died to preserve, the strength I wield to hold it.Promise me, Guwayne.On the Ring's oath, on Thorgrin's sword: live.Return.And when you do, we'll burn their webs to ash together."
He drew back, searching her face, the fire in his eyes dampening to embers.Slowly, he nodded, the weight of worlds settling on his shoulders."I promise.For you.For him.But if the north calls true...I'll answer, Mother.And bring him home."
She kissed his forehead, a benediction fierce as any spell."Then go, my lion.The undercroft waits—Kellan has arranged everything.Dawn may bring serpents, but night grants wings."
Guwayne gathered his cloak and paused at the door, turning for one last gaze—mother and son, forged in fire, parted by it."I love you," he whispered, voice thick.
