As they descended the spiral stairs, Gwendolyn's mind raced.With Thorgrin gone, governance fell squarely on her shoulders.She had shared the burden with him these past years, their partnership a blend of his druidic intuition and her strategic acumen.But though those years had not been easy, building and construction projects would never be as fraught as the immediate and horrific dangers and perils they had faced in the past.
Now, alone, she would manage the court's intrigues, as well as the sudden, unfamiliar fear her people faced about their future—and their present.Was the sudden failure of the Shield a one off anomaly?Was it a harbinger of what was to come?
One thing she did know was that life would never be the same again for those in the Ring.They had assumed that their safety was guaranteed.
That guarantee had been ripped out from under them.Even if the Shield is not breached again, the thought that it may be will forever be in the minds of her people.
The council chamber was abuzz when she entered, the long oak table surrounded by a mix of familiar faces and newer advisors.Godfrey sat at one end, his once-jovial demeanor tempered by years of counsel; beside him was Aberthol, the ancient scholar, his white beard trailing like a scroll of forgotten lore.Steffen, the former hunchbacked servant who had risen to captain of the guard, stood rigidly by the door.Other nobles—lords from the rebuilt provinces—murmured among themselves, their festival finery now seeming out of place.
Gwendolyn took her seat at the head, her presence commanding silence."The King rides north to mend what is broken," she announced, her voice steady."In his absence, we fortify.Reports from the borders?"
Steffen stepped forward, unrolling a parchment."Scouts confirm the initial breach sealed itself, my Queen, but patrols have sighted tracks—beast prints heading south through the woods.No further incursions, but villagers near the breach report livestock missing, fields trampled."
“No reports from elsewhere in the kingdom?”
Her question was met with silence and shaking heads.
“The absence of reports does not necessarily mean there have not been other breaches.News may not have reached us yet, or…”
“There is no one left to relay the news,” a noble finished for her in a solemn tone.
Murmurs rippled through the room.
“Send scouts out to all corners of the kingdom, we need to know what danger we are in.”
Godfrey leaned in."The people whisper of omens, sister.Bards already twist tales of the Blood Lord's return.We must quell panic—perhaps resume a scaled festival?Ale and song to distract?"
Gwendolyn considered it.Godfrey's instincts for the common folk were sharp, honed from his tavern days."A wise suggestion.Organize modest feasts in the squares—bread, wine, music.But no excess.Remind them of our strength.If they see we are not concerned, it may calm the more nervous.But at the same time, we must not be seen to be feasting and merrymaking while our people are coming to harm, and our King is riding towards danger."
She turned to Aberthol."Scholar, delve into the archives.Seek precedents for Shield failures.Ancient wards, forgotten spells—anything that might explain this."
Aberthol nodded, his quill scratching notes."The old texts speak of fluctuations tied to druidic imbalances.The Sorcerer's Ring, worn by young Guwayne...perhaps its power wanes with his youth?"
Gwendolyn's heart tightened at the mention of her son.Guwayne, with his father's eyes and her determination, bore the weight of that ring—a relic of immense power.Thorgrin had entrusted it to him, believing it would guide his destiny.But if the Shield's breach was linked to Guwayne's untapped potential...No, she pushed the thought aside."Investigate discreetly.No rumors about the heir."
The meeting dragged on, decisions flowing like a river: increased patrols along the canyon, especially the bridges, reinforcements to outlying villages.Gwendolyn navigated it all with the precision of a chess master.If Thorgrin's quest failed, or the crack widened, inviting more and more hordes into their sanctuary, they had to be as ready as they could be.
As the council adjourned, Gwendolyn rose, her mind turning to Guwayne.Thorgrin had left him with a charge: protect the hearth.But she knew her son's heart—restless, troubled further by his dreams.She needed to see him, to gauge his spirit."Lireal, where is the prince?"
"The training grounds, my Queen."
Gwendolyn nodded."I shall observe.Unannounced."
The training grounds, on the city's eastern edge, were a hive of activity despite the halted festival.The breach had imparted a new fervor to their activities, especially seeing one of their own chosen for such a high profile mission.Apprentices clashed with wooden swords, arrows thunked into targets, and shouts of exertion filled the air.Gwendolyn approached from a shaded alcove, her presence masked by a simple cloak.She spotted Guwayne immediately—tall for his fifteen years, his blond hair matted with sweat, his gray eyes focused as he sparred with Sir Eldric.The old knight pressed him hard, his blade a blur, but Guwayne parried with grace, his movements echoing Thorgrin's fluidity.
Yet something was off.Guwayne's strikes lacked their usual fire; he hesitated, pulling blows that could have disarmed his mentor.Eldric noticed too, barking, "Focus, boy!Your father's shadow is long, but you cast your own!"
Guwayne disarmed Eldric with a twist, but his victory was hollow, his shoulders slumping as he helped the knight up.Gwendolyn's heart ached.The breach's news, Thorgrin's departure, Aiden's selection—she knew how heavily it all weighed on him.She watched as he moved to archery, his arrows hitting the target's edge but not the center.Lila, the quick-witted apprentice, teased him gently, but Guwayne's smile was forced.
As the session ended, Gwendolyn slipped away, heading to the scholars' wing where Guwayne attended his more academic lessons.She needed deeper insight.First, she sought Master Thorne, the philosophy teacher—a wiry man with ink-stained fingers and a mind like a labyrinth.He was in his study, surrounded by tomes on ethics and kingship.
"Master Thorne," Gwendolyn said, entering."A word on my son."
Thorne bowed, gesturing to a seat.He considered his words for a few seconds, his hands steepled beneath his chin."My Queen.Prince Guwayne is a keen student—quick to grasp theories of ideal forms and the principles of moral virtues.He debates with passion, questions the nature of justice and rule."
"But?"Gwendolyn prompted, sensing the hesitation.
Thorne sighed."He lacks confidence in his own voice.He cites your deeds, the King's quests, but doubts his place.'How can I philosophize on leadership,' he says, 'when I've led no one?'Untapped potential simmers, but fear of inadequacy dams it."
