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Digimon: Idylls

storymasterb

Knight of RPGs
Digimon: Idylls

So this is something I haven't done for a while. I've had the seeds of this concept for some time, but it's only now that I've really developed it into a story I want to tell. A tale of gods and knights, of angels and nightmares. Of Digimon.

This story is set in a world akin to those presented in the Digimon Epics RPG series by my friend Kamotz, where Digimon have names, civilization and history. There are no humans in this world. The Digital World represented here is as much a creation of human computers as in any Digimon continuity, but that will not be as readily apparent as in those continuities.

This story contains violence, drinking of alcohol, some language, and some implied sexual situations.

With that said, let's begin.

Table of Contents:
Prologue: Uther
Chapter 1: Albion Divided

Prologue: Uther

Rain lashed the stones of Caerleon.

The downpour had lasted most of the day so far, choking out the sunlight with the sort of miserable gloom that was the staple of the island of Albion. Sure as the sea was wet and fire hot, Albion was misty and soaked with rain four-fifths of the time. The dark clouds were like a blanket draped across the province of Gwent, stretching across the fields, over the forest of Lord Ector's estate, and meeting the distant horizon.

From a window set in the wall of the castle's keep, a blue dragon-man watched the downpour. A horn of metal crested his snout, an X-shape of the same metal hue decorating his chest. White leathery wings sprouted from his shoulder blades and his tail left patterns in the dust as it swayed anxiously.

“Artorigus, come sit by the fire.” The ExVeemon at the window glanced away from the dark sky, seeing an odd figure even by the standards of their world. Seemingly part-bird, part-cat, the young man's lower half was swathed in red feathers, his talons gripping the stone. But from the waist up, white fur ran across his skin, two wings flowing out from the backs of his arms, and cat-like ears sprouting behind the visor that covered his eyes. “Watching the rain won't make your father return any sooner.”

Artorigus sighed, fixing the Silphymon with a look. “Easy for you to say, Cei. Your father never has to travel more than a few miles.”

“Ah, but my father is not lord protector of Gwent,” Cei laughed. “He is free to drink, feast and... enjoy women to his heart's content. Whereas yours must brave the miserable rains of Albion to address the ills of his banner-men at any hour of the day.”

Artorigus frowned. “Father takes his responsibilities seriously. He hasn't the time to do any of those things.”

The Silphymon moved over and gave Artorigus a brotherly pat on the shoulder. “And neither shall you, once you inherit his lands.

The ExVeemon recoiled. “That won't be for many years.”

Cei's smirk faltered, then returned redoubled. “You never know. There are whispers that Lord Caradoc is drumming up his banners to raid my father's lands. And that Lord Vortigern seeks an alliance with the Norsemen.”

Artorigus' eyes widened, then narrowed. “Where did you hear that sort of gossip? Even a villain such as Vortigern would not consort with the Norsemen.”

Cei waved a claw-tipped hand. “From places the good young princeling would not venture, naturally.” He turned his gaze to the rain. “Join me by the fire, Artorigus. Share some wine.”

Artorigus allowed the Silphymon to lead him away from the window with a last longing glance. He hoped to catch sight of his father's majestic silhouette sweeping through the rain, but no such sight greeted his eyes. Just the constant rain.

The fire roared in a great fireplace a floor below. Servants had laid out food for the pair on tables nearby, cuts of succulent meat, and plates of fruit plucked from Lord Ector's orchards. A bottle of wine from the same rested beside two glasses. Artorigus wondered idly just how Ector managed to grow the grapes in the murky conditions of Albion, but Cei was mindful to keep him from thinking, shoving a plate of meat in his direction.

“Where is your father?” the ExVeemon asked as he tried a cut, his fangs slicing the meat easily.

“At this time of day? This, but on a grander scale,” Cei laughed deeply, sampling a glass of wine. “Ah, father's orchard delivers in spades, as always.” He raised the glass. “To our fathers and the vineyards of Gwent!”

Artorigus couldn't hide a smile at that, offering a glass of his own to the toast.

“And I'm glad to hear them appreciated,” a hearty voice laughed. The two turned to see Lord Ector sweep into the room, a servant behind him with a plate of morsels no doubt salvaged from the feasting table for the lord's pleasure. Even with his tastes plain in his fattening belly, Ector cut a noble figure, his form coated in white feathers, a blue cloth slung at his side and a golden falcon as ever rested on his shoulder.

“Lord Ector,” Artorigus greeted, bowing his head.

“Father,” Cei said with him, bowing his own.

Ector laughed. “Come, boys, we are not at court today. Dispense with the miserable grovelling manners until Lord Uther returns from Ser Aurelius.”

“Aye, father,” his son chuckled.

Artorigus glanced down. “Lord Ector, my father has been a long while now. He is not normally this long to Ser Aurelius.”

Ector's mood darkened, as though the gloom outside the tower had crept into him. “Aye, my boy. Not normally, no. But from what little your father said, it was a serious matter that called him today.”

“What was it?” the ExVeemon asked, before he could stop himself.

Ector shook his head. “Better that you not know. It is your lord father's business.”

“But Artorigus is Lord Uther's son,” Cei cut in, receiving a look from both the ExVeemon and his father at that. “He is entitled to know of affairs of the realm, surely. One day they will be his affairs to arbitrate.”

“Do not let the wine go to your head, my son,” Ector replied sternly. “If Lord Uther wishes to discuss such matters with Lord Artorigus, then he will discuss them at his discretion. It is not my place to speak for him.” He paused, turned to the servant, and plucked a slice of meat from the plate she bore.

“I beg pardon,” the Silphymon murmured, averting his gaze. “I spoke out of turn.”

“You have my pardon,” Ector smiled as he turned back to them.

A knock sounded from the door, and it opened to reveal a warrior almost identical to Cei in appearance, bearing a breastplate with the falcon symbol of Lord Ector upon it. “My lords, I beg pardon for the intrusion, but Lord Uther has returned.”

Artorigus rose, his plate clattering to the tabletop. “Father is back?”

“He wishes to speak urgently with you and you alone, my lord,” the soldier said to Ector. “He brings ill tidings from Ser Aurelius, and awaits you in your study.”

Ector's expression darkened again. “I had hoped otherwise.” He looked at the two young men. “Please remain here while I speak with Lord Uther. I will ask that he be brief, my boy, I know you wish to speak with him.” He looked at Artorigus. “But I fear it may be a long discussion. You have the fire, and food, and wine, and you will have all three until we are finished.” He turned to the servant with the plate. “Leave those scraps for these gentlemen, and see to it that their glasses are filled and the fire kept burning while Lord Uther and I meet.”

“Yes, my lord,” the servant curtseyed, moving cautiously around him as he strode from the room. She set the plate down beside the rest of the food, nimble despite her large paws. She was cat-like, covered in the same white fur as Cei's upper body.

Cei was smirking at her.

“I don't think I've seen you before,” the Silphymon said.

“Oh, my lord,” the Gatomon replied, bowing her head. “I do not mean to be rude, but I am sure that you have.”

“But I could never forget such a beautiful face,” Cei said, gently lifting her chin with a touch of his finger. As he did so, he winked at Artorigus. What was his friend up to?

Cei's eye opened and glanced at the door, before he had to look down to meet the Gatomon's gaze. The Silphymon's words echoed in Artorigus' head.

He is entitled to know of affairs of the realm, surely. One day they will be his affairs to arbitrate.”

Almost immediately he rebelled against the idea. No. If his father wished to tell him, then surely he would do so. It would be wrong to go and eavesdrop.

And yet Father had been so long with Ser Aurelius, and the news was apparently grim. Curiosity reared up like a dragon inside him, filling him with the insidious need to know. What matter was so important that Father had needed to immediately discuss it with Lord Ector, without so much as seeing his own son first?

As Cei said words to the Gatomon that Artorigus didn't process, the ExVeemon quietly crept around the pair. He heard something that sounded suspiciously like a kiss behind him as he slipped out of the door, but gave it no thought besides a silent thanks to Cei.

Lord Ector's study was only a few corridors away, but he feared at any moment that a servant might find him. If they caught him, surely Father would be furious. But perhaps they had been banished to duties elsewhere, for those corridors were silent and empty. Soon he found the door, etched with the falcon sigil and firmly shut.

Cei had once told Artorigus of eavesdropping on his father and important guests before. The door's wood was thick, but not thick enough to completely drown out conversations, the Silphymon had taken great pleasure in explaining. Now Artorigus hoped his friend's boast hadn't been as empty as some of the bold tales Cei had attempted.

As he rested an ear to the door, he found that that particular boast had been full of truth. Lord Ector's words came merely muffled to him.

“Ser Aurelius was certain it was the work of Lady Diana?”

“Quite,” his father replied, with his deep booming voice sounding deeper than ever. Ordinarily it was like a drum, but now it was like the roar of a storm. “The last man staggered in delirious and maddened by the nightmares he witnessed, but he was certain of that one detail. They had come upon Lady Diana bathing in the forest.”

There was a cold silence for enough time that Artorigus feared they knew he was there.

“What did she do?” Ector ventured hesitantly.

“The reports were... feverish. As can be expected,” Uther said. “He told Ser Aurelius that she gave the first few men the minds of beasts and made them hunt the group through the forest before tearing one another to pieces. Another man was compelled to rip out his eyes and tongue, so he could neither see her again nor tell others what he had seen. It was a horrific account.”

“Quite,” the Valkyrimon said shakily.

“The last man only just escaped her wrath, but expired of his wounds. She set his limbs against him, tried to make him strangle himself to death. He cut off an arm to escape and had to drag himself away.”

The cold silence descended again, absolute enough that Artorigus could hear his heartbeat. Lady Diana had done such things? One of the Olympians who ruled the world had committed such horrors on innocent men?

“What will you do?” Ector asked, in a tone that said he already knew.

“I shall go to Olympus,” Uther answered. “I shall call upon Lord Jupiter to punish Lady Diana for her vile crimes. And if he refuses, then I shall secede my lands from their authority. I shall not have my subjects terrorized so.”

A third patch of silence.

“If you do this, I fear I shall not see you alive again,” Ector murmured, so quietly that Artorigus could only just hear him through the door.

“Am I to let them trample upon my subjects with impunity?” Uther retorted. “To have my people tortured and slaughtered for a 'crime' so innocent as gazing upon Lady Diana without her clothes by accident? Would you have me tell Ser Aurelius such, Ector?”

“No!” Ector snapped, before catching himself and continuing more calmly. “But the Olympians do not take kindly to being questioned. In their eyes, their lordship is absolute.”

“Lordship is not a relationship of taking without giving,” Uther replied. “You know that as well as I. The subject obeys the lord. The lord provides for the subject. I think even Lord Jupiter can appreciate that it is common courtesy for lords to not drive men mad and have them kill themselves in such a fashion.” The words fell like stone slabs, spoken with a terrible finality. “Your counsel has been my saving grace often, friend, and I appreciate you for it. But I cannot compromise in the face of such an atrocity. Lady Diana shall be brought to justice, or the Olympians shall have no part in ruling my realm.”

Heart heavy, Artorigus staggered away from the door, rushing to turn the corner in case his father were to burst from the study.

Cei and the servant girl were gone when he burst back into the room with the great fire. Probably 'occupied' in some dark corner. But he had other thoughts on his mind that coiled and raged like the thunder he could now hear booming through the castle's stones. He sat and sipped weakly at the glass of wine he had left, trying to let it wash away his sudden fears.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened. His father strode in, looking like him but taller and by far more majestic. His blue-scaled form was clad in armor of black trimmed with white, red and gold, crimson wings folded behind his back. A golden crown gleamed atop his brow, the head of a dragon forged into his breastplate. The Imperialdramon Fighter Mode cut an imposing figure, suitable for the lord of the realm.

“My son,” Uther said in that booming voice, striding across the room and snatching Artorigus in his arms. Raindrops lingered on the surface of his armor, soaking against the ExVeemon's scales, but he clung to his father regardless. “I am sorry that I was so long and that I had to speak with Lord Ector before seeing you. Ser Aurelius handed me quite a puzzle, I am afraid.” He smiled and Artorigus tried to return it, but the words he had overheard killed even false amusement. “Is all well, Artorigus?”

“Of course, father,” he nodded as they drew apart.

Uther cast a puzzled glance around the room. “Ah. Where did Cei get to, the ruffian? I had hoped to see him too.”

Artorigus shrugged. “He left with a serving girl, I think. I was distracted by the food Lord Ector graciously provided.”

The Imperialdramon laughed heartily. “What a rascal he is. The spitting image of you at that age, aye, Ector?” Lord Ector had entered without Artorigus noticing.

“Aye,” Ector replied, and his smile was as feeble as Artorigus' own.

Uther looked between them. “Perhaps we ought to track the pair to their nest and see what Cei means to do without us.”

“No, leave them to it for now, I say,” the Valkyrimon replied. “I shall speak with my boy about it later, Lord Uther. It is un-”

“-becoming?” Uther finished. “Oh, Ector, the stories I could share with young Artorigus, were I so inclined.” He looked back at Artorigus. “But perhaps another time. I have to leave again, I am afraid.”

He tried hard to feign surprise even though he already knew. “Again? But why? Where?”

His father sighed. “Nowhere exciting, I am afraid. This puzzle Aurelius handed me is going to need some help to resolve and that help lies far from here.”

A continent away, in fact. In Rome, at the pinnacle of Mount Olympus where the gods held their court.

“Lord Ector shall look after you while I am gone,” Uther continued. “He will treat you as his own, as he has done before in my times of need.” He looked at his old friend with a warm, weary smile, then back at his son. “Do not dwell on my absence, my boy. You are almost a man and you have many other matters at hand. One day, you will inherit my title and Gwent with it. The ways of knighthood beckon. The affairs of state are not far behind, and behind them both is the most perilous matter of all.” He chuckled at his own pretension. “The matter of women, though perhaps the young ruffian Cei can be of assistance there.”

That got a chuckle out of Lord Ector. “I shall endeavor to make young Artorigus feel as though you never left, Lord Uther.”

“I would not expect otherwise,” the Imperialdramon said, rising. “I must leave at once, for my journey is long and hard, and I must make speed. But I will return, Artorigus. And when I do, we can put Aurelius' grim matter firmly behind us.” He embraced Artorigus again, holding him close for just a moment too long.

Was he afraid, as Artorigus was afraid?

Before the ExVeemon could say anything, before he could confess that he had overheard the conversation in the study, Uther was gone.

Ector moved across the room to take a seat beside Artorigus. He refilled the ExVeemon's glass, then filled his own and raised it for a toast. Artorigus halfheartedly reciprocated.

“I know it's hard to see him leave so soon, my boy,” Ector sighed. “But trust me, he would not do so unless he had to. He misses you dearly when his duties call him away from Caerleon.”

Artorigus nodded.

“He will be home in time, perhaps not as soon as you would like, but he will be,” the Valkyrimon said with a smile. “Your father would fight an army of Norsemen to come home to you if he had to. And he'd win too, believe me.”

“I do,” he murmured. The overheard words echoed in his head, Ector's own words about the Olympians.

“Chin up, Artorigus,” Ector said warmly. “Now, shall we go see where my son ran off to with this serving girl?”

Artorigus forced a smile and a nod.

---

A month passed. The rain gave way to the sun for a few days at a time, banishing the oppressive gloom for just enough time for Artorigus and Cei to enjoy the sunlight. They were drilled mercilessly by Uther's armory sergeant, a rugged old Paildramon who had lost fingers to a Norsemen raid long ago and saw the fine weather as an excuse to work his charges harder. But when Ector bade the man to give them leave, they lost themselves in the forests, drank until they emerged from bed in the mornings with monstrous headaches, and Cei tried to teach Artorigus the art of women.

The latter was as vexing as Uther had promised.

Artorigus almost forgot the conversation he had overheard. Surely the Olympians would see reason. Surely they would concede Lady Diana to his father and see that justice was done. His fears were foolish, born out of worry for his father.

The sun was setting on the last day before a month became a month and a day. They wandered back towards the castle, Cei's arm slung around the shoulders of a girl he had met in the forest. Her scales were the same blue as Artorigus' own and a similar horn crested her brow, but light crimson and orange armor coated her body and she lacked wings. The Silphymon and Flamedramon shared kisses as the trio made their way towards the walls to escape the approaching gloom.

The first sign Artorigus had that something was amiss came when he heard the scream. It was a woman's scream, full of pain and despair. He, Cei and the girl exchanged glances and broke into a run, drawn by curiosity and the urge to help.

The Knightmon guards were not at their posts as the three drew close, pulled away from where they would normally flank the gate and creeping inward.

“You there,” Cei called as they ran up. “What's happening? Is someone hurt?”

The guards turned and their gazes found Artorigus. Their faces paled, their eyes widening in fear and pain and dread. He felt like his stomach had become a pit and their emotions were being slowly poured in.

“Answer me!” Cei snapped. “My father is the acting lord of Caerleon in Lord Uther's absence and I demand-”

“Cei.”

Lord Ector stepped out past the guards, who dropped to their knees instinctively, and perhaps to escape Artorigus' gaze. The Valkyrimon, normally so jovial and full of life, looked gaunt and haunted. He couldn't take his eyes off of Artorigus.

“Father?” Cei asked, sounding more frightened than Artorigus could remember.

“Take the girl and... go to your chamber,” Ector said, as though he wasn't fully thinking. For a lord's son such as Cei to be found with a commoner girl in his chamber would be unthinkable. “I will find you later and explain. But Artorigus... Artorigus must hear first.”

Cei looked between them as though his mind was racing at the speed of a lightning bolt. His mouth hung slightly open and his skin was pale beneath his fur and feathers. “Father... is...”

“Go!” Ector cried, his voice wavering. Cei snapped his mouth shut and hurried past, leading the Flamedramon behind him. Artorigus stared after him for a moment, then looked into Ector's face.

“Is it... about Father?” Artorigus whispered.

Ector weakly nodded. He waved a hand and the guards dispersed, heading out of earshot. The Valkyrimon was silent, struggling to compose himself. “A messenger just arrived from Olympus.”

Artorigus wasn't thinking that Ector might find it odd that he didn't question that location. “What did they tell you?”

“Your... your father went to Olympus,” Ector admitted. “Lady Diana had slaughtered several of Ser Aurelius's men. Lord Uther...” He was almost sobbing, only just holding together. “Lord Uther refused to let her get away with it. He wanted to see her brought to heel and punished.”

Artorigus stared, feeling immediately where Ector was heading.

“He went before the Olympians and made his case,” the Valkyrimon whispered. “He, by all accounts, made a passionate plea, one that would have swayed the hearts of any mortal man.” He bowed his head, but Artorigus could see the tears escaping his eyes. “But the Olympians were not swayed. Lord Jupiter rejected his plea, said that it was not for gods to concern themselves with the feelings of mortal men.”

But Father wouldn't have accepted that.

“Your father challenged him. He stood up and declared that if he would not find justice for his murdered subjects on Olympus, then Olympus would play no part in his realm. That he would not recognize a lord who did not understand that lordship comes with obligations.”

And Lord Jupiter, proud as he was known to be, would not have taken such words.

“Your father was killed,” Ector admitted, tears falling from his cheeks. “Lord Jupiter struck him down upon the floor of the throne room. Smote him with lightning for his 'insolence'.”

Artorigus stumbled back, his world spinning around him. Even prepared for the blow, it shattered him, leaving him reeling with horror.

“Father is dead?” The words spilled out before he could catch them, punched from his mind by the shock of Ector's words.

Ector nodded weakly, and reached out to clutch him close. It seemed like he needed the embrace as much as he thought Artorigus needed it.

“Aye,” the Valkyrimon whispered bitterly. “He went to his death. I tried to tell him. I tried.” He was sobbing. “And I failed.”

Artorigus clung to him.

“I... I...” Ector murmured. “I will look after you. Uther would have wanted that. I will provide for your mother too.” He paused for a long while. “I will not be as good a father as he was... I know...”

Artorigus shook his head. “Father would have trusted no one else,” he whispered. He knew that his father had loved Ector like a brother. Surely it was true that if someone else had to raise Artorigus, Ector would have been first in line in Uther's eyes.

“Aye.” It was weak and broken-sounding.

They stood there as clouds drifted in from the horizon, as the wails of grief from within the castle rang out around them, and as the sun dipped down below the edge of the world. The world moved on, uncaring as the Olympian who had murdered his father for daring to so much as question him.

Buried deep under grief, pain and sorrow, a spark of anger lit.
 
Last edited:

Griff4815

No. 1 Grovyle Fan
Awesome work! You already heard some of my thoughts about this, but I think this was a strong start to your story. I like both Artorigus and Cei as characters so far. Their friendship feels natural, befitting of childhood friends. Both their fathers feel like real characters too. I also like the way you brought out their emotions in those scenes before and after Uther left.

You did a good job with the worldbuilding. It slotted into the story pretty smoothly, and it wasn't overbearing, while still being enough to get a good idea of what's going on.

I'll be interested to find out more about the Olympians and what their motivations are.

I'm looking forward to reading more and seeing where the two go from here.
 

storymasterb

Knight of RPGs
Chapter 1: Albion Divided

Rain fell beyond the castle's walls, thunder booming across the heavens. The lightning strikes sent distorted shadows through the great stained glass window at the chapel's end, tossing bizarre jagged shades around the room for an instant with each flash.

Unfazed by the storm, Artorigus knelt in silent prayer before the chapel's altar. He was alone on this stormy morning, his knights manning the walls and garrisons, his servants attending their duties, Caerleon and the surrounding land hard at work despite the tempest.

Fifteen years had passed since the day that Jupiter had murdered his father before the thrones atop Olympus. Now Artorigus resembled his father in almost every aspect, the same lithe blue-scaled form, the same black armor with the same red, white and gold trim. The same crimson wings folded like a cape against his back as he knelt with clawed hands clasped in prayer. The same crown atop his brow. Little separated them now besides the lack of war scars upon his scales.

He looked up at the stained glass. It depicted a great tree attended by choirs of angels. Yggdrasil. The world's parent. Creator and nurturer of all. Many worshiped the Olympians, aided by the twelve's seizing of names and titles from foreign gods to ease their conquests into the empire. Jupiter's list of such was long since beyond counting, the very identities of his former enemies added to his own just as the gold of their former people was poured into the empire's coffers. But proud Albion did not bow to intermediaries. Though the Olympians claimed that those who worshiped them worshiped Yggdrasil by proxy, the people of Albion had never accepted that state of affairs. Their chapels were dedicated to Yggdrasil alone, silent though the world-tree might be in comparison to the bloody acts of the twelve who claimed to represent it.

For just a moment he pictured his father's death, as he had done many a time in the past fifteen years, but he swiftly forced it aside. It was another father he mourned this bleak day. Lord Ector had passed, taken by what the physician had dubbed 'a disease of excess'. The term still made him smile despite the solemn surroundings. Ector had found it amusing on his deathbed, his laugh before the gallows, as it were.

The doors behind Artorigus creaked open and heavy footfalls advanced. He knew them as well as his own, even though their owner had changed as much as he had. Cei, Ser Cei, stopped just behind him, and Artorigus slowly left his prayer to look.

White armor gleamed, trimmed in gold, and beneath it were scales in a light purple hue. Talon-like spikes decorated the edges of Cei's plate, ornate rubies shining in his palms. Forward-facing horns flanked a dragon's face, his friend's eyes the same red hue but tempered by the passage of years. Wings like Artorigus's hung behind Cei, their lower edges frayed. The Dynasmon knelt.

“I beg pardon,” Cei said. His voice was deeper and stronger, having gained a rumble that made him almost sound like Uther at times. “I know you still mourn my father, Artorigus. But an emissary comes from across Albion, and she is impatient to see you.”

Artorigus slowly rose. His body felt cold, for he had been at prayer in the chapel the whole night. Some would call that mourning excessive, he knew. Even Cei had not mourned so long. But Cei mourned only a single father, while Artorigus found himself mourning two by the cruelty of coincidence.

At least, he hoped it coincidence.

“Are you certain she is not merely eager to bed you?” he jested as he stood. Cei's smirk returned from where it had hidden behind the demands of rank and the Dynasmon stood.

“Am I to take that as my liege's endorsement, Artorigus?” They shared a laugh that would probably have stirred the chapel's priest into a scandalized outrage had he been present. But both of them knew that Lord Ector would have only smiled at the sight of them joking so, as he had done so often in life. Perhaps he was watching them from a perch in the branches of Yggdrasil.

The laughter felt good, but Artorigus let it pass. “What tidings does our emissary bring, and from whom does she come to us?”

Cei shrugged as they walked, leaving the chapel and finding themselves in a vast corridor. Caerleon had been built for the proportions of dragons, for the Pendragon line often lived up to that name and took the shape of large, mighty drakes. Shrunk in stature but enhanced in power, Artorigus's current form could have fit six times side-by-side in this corridor.

“She would only give her tidings to you,” the Dynasmon explained. “Apparently she came seeking the response of the liege of Gwent and not 'his childhood friend on whom he has showered unearned titles'.”

Artorigus's eyes narrowed. “I suspect Lord Urien of Rheged has sent our guest.”

“I had the same suspicion,” Cei chuckled. “You don't need to take offense on my behalf.”

“If she is an emissary, then regardless of who her master is and what they think of me and you, she ought to keep such thoughts to herself,” the Imperialdramon muttered. They reached the end of the corridor after a few more paces, a great set of double doors barring their path. The sigil of Uther was carved into the doors, a mighty dragon roaring as a comet arced over it. The sight of it made Artorigus smile. The seal of Pendragon reminded him of his father explaining it to him.

I once was to do battle with a Norsemen host,” the Imperialdramon recalled, resting his Veemon son on his knee. “The odds were grim. They outnumbered us and the terrain gave us no advantage. Some wanted to retreat, to seek shelter within the walls of Caerleon, but if we were to do so, we would leave the Norsemen to plunder the lands of my subjects. I would not allow that. On the eve of battle, a mighty comet passed through the sky overhead, and a traveling seer interpreted it to mean that our victory would be so great and terrible so as to cow the Norsemen for a generation.”

I had the comet emblazoned upon my standard as we charged into battle at the dawn. And through strength of arms and courage, we broke their backs, flung them into the sea, and as the seer said, they have not dared to touch the realm of Uther Pendragon since. I resolved to always carry that comet with me as a reminder to all I face of what my men and I accomplished that day.”

With that smile, Artorigus opened the great doors, striding into the room as though he wore his father's shadow like a cloak.

The room was the great hall of Caerleon, a vast expanse of mighty stone and roaring fires. Servants bustled, stoking the flames, cooking food for the day's meals atop them, and attending to the chamber. They were mostly dragon and bird Digimon, the joint legacy of Uther and Ector represented in the castle they had often shared. Tables were laid out in three rows down the hall, such that all who joined the feast need only look to the left or right to see the throne placed at its end.

Uther Pendragon's throne, and his father's before it. Artorigus's throne now. Carved from stone with the heads of dragons for armrests, its back sculpted to resemble a dragon's wings. It was uncomfortable to sit upon, deliberately so. Let other nations and lords take their padded seats and soothing recliners, his father had said once. The Pendragon line would sit upon cold hard stone and make themselves as unyielding as that stone in honor, in duty and in battle.

It was before the stone throne that the emissary waited. She knelt as he approached, a bird-woman with jet black feathers. Her armor was a deep purple and two swords were held in red scabbards at her hips. As he took his seat in the cold throne and she looked up, her red eyes met his blue. Cei took his place to the side of the throne, just off of the plinth that raised it a foot off the floor.

“Lord Artorigus,” the Karatenmon said, bowing her head.

“To whom do I speak?” Artorigus replied. He had spoken this conversation so many times since he had come of age and fully inherited his father's titles and lands, yet every time he felt uneasy.

“Morfydd, daughter of Lord Urien,” she answered.

“And what tidings does Lord Urien have, that he would send his own daughter to deliver them?” It was an oddity. Ordinarily a messenger bird would have been used, but for Urien to use his daughter as a messenger suggested that this was of vital importance.

Her gaze slipped over to Cei. “Tidings that would be best spoken to your ears only, my lord.”

“Ser Cei is my right hand,” Artorigus retorted, allowing a frosty edge to grace his words. “He is my seneschal and I trust him to the last. Any words you would speak to me, he may hear as well, Morfydd, daughter of Urien.”

The Karatenmon lowered her head a fraction of an inch. “As you wish. But does Lord Artorigus also allow his household servants to hear every word an emissary brings to his attention?” His grip on the throne's armrests tightened.

“No, of course,” he said, and called for the servants to leave. “We are alone. Rise, and let us hear what your father wishes us to know.”

Morfydd rose, keeping her head slightly bowed. “My lord father has tidings from Thanet, my lord.” Artorigus frowned slightly. Thanet. Now there was a troubled realm. The Norsemen wrestled with Lord Vortimer for control of it, for Vortimer's father Vortigern had been both a villain and stupid enough to consort with the Norse. For the past five years, Vortimer had ruled over a divided realm, his armies only just enough to contain the Norsemen.

He tried to contain his concern. “Does Lord Vortimer have need of more troops?” Vortimer had sent such requests before, and he had honored them as best he could, but the neighboring lords had their eyes on Gwent, and he could not compromise the realm's safety even for a cause as worthy as Vortimer's.

Morfydd fixed him with a look. “Lord Vortimer is dead.” He stared at her, disbelieving. Vortimer was young, still in his prime. And last he had heard from Thanet, the Norsemen had been contained on an island off the shore. How could Vortimer have perished?

“How?” The question sounded too desperate, he knew, but he could not understand it.

“Poisoned,” Morfydd answered. “From what accounts my father has heard, at least. Some whisper it was his father's consort who slipped it into his wine.” Artorigus's frown grew. “The Norsemen breached the defenses made against them, and Vortigern,” she made to spit in disgust, but Artorigus shook his head, “I beg pardon, my lord. Vortigern has claimed the throne of Thanet. He stands with the Norsemen.”

“The Norsemen have blades to his back,” Cei muttered. “The stupid bastard.” Artorigus agreed with that sentiment. The tale went that Vortigern, lacking in men, had tried to hire Norsemen as mercenaries to bolster his ranks. He had then acquiesced to their request that they bring more of their kin across the sea to fight for him, upon which they executed many of his knights and made him into a puppet ruler when he begged to be spared. It was that which had prompted Vortimer to overthrow his father.

“Regardless of the details, Thanet has fallen to the Norse,” Morfydd said. “And my lord father has heard that their chieftain, Cerdic, wishes to march a path of fire and blood across Albion to your lands, my lord.”

“To my lands?” Artorigus murmured. “Albion is far from Thanet and he would need to march through several realms of greater wealth and status to reach Gwent.” Outside, the thunder rumbled.

“Wealth and status are nothing before honor, it seems” the Karatenmon replied. “He seeks to avenge defeat, by all accounts.”

Artorigus gave an understanding nod. “My father's victory. I see.”

“How many men does this Cerdic have?” Cei rumbled. Morfydd glanced at him, then back to Argorigus.

“It is impossible to say, for we hear more longships arrive at the ports of Thanet by the day. And none can say for certain how many Norsemen inhabit the frozen lands.”

Artorigus pondered for a moment. “Did your father send you merely to give me omens of doom, or to offer his support in the face of a threat to Albion, lady Morfydd?"

She bristled. “My father thought it a courtesy to allow you to prepare your men for the Norse advance.”

“And yet he has not seen fit to send knights to stand with us when the battle is joined,” Cei retorted. “Nor swords to bolster us. Did you fly ahead of his forces, my lady, or is your warning all the help we shall see from Lord Urien?”

Morfydd glared at him. “My lord father has his own realm to attend, Ser. And if your lord there is the equal of his own lord father, surely a rabble of Norsemen shall be no problem.”

Cei took a step forward, but Artorigus stopped him with a raised hand and spoke. “Does it not concern Lord Urien that should I fall, should this Cerdic achieve the vengeance he seeks, that the Norse will then murder and pillage their way across Albion?”

“Oh, it does, my lord,” she confirmed. “But my lord father will settle that problem at the time it comes. Your realm will be saved.”

Artorigus gripped the throne's right armrest hard enough that he thought the stone might crack. So was that Urien's game? “Tell me, my lady, does your father presume to put his petty ambitions above the protection of Albion?”

“I do not understand your meaning, my lord.”

“I am thankful for your warning,” he said. “For I had not heard of Vortimer's death. But if your father thinks to circle my realm and snatch up its carcass for his own should I perish against the Norsemen, then once the battle is over and I have broken the Norse, and when Cerdic lies dead at my feet, then I shall turn my attention to Rheged.”

Morfydd laughed and Cei stalked forward a step. “Do you think yourself your lord father, Lord Artorigus? Do you think you command the respect he commanded until he squandered it by trying to tell a storm to sit meekly and behave?”

Artorigus stood.

“You are nothing in the eyes of other lords,” the Karatenmon said. “A mere boy still, without wife, without victories, without prestige. If you die, the Pendragon line dies with you, and what an ignominious ending that would be. A father cut down by Lord Jupiter for his honorable stupidity, and a son killed desperately trying to emulate his father's lost glory.”

Cei stormed toward her. “You overstep your bounds, emissary-”

“Cei.” Artorigus's voice was cold and hard as the throne.

The Dynasmon stopped, turned to him and knelt. “I beg forgiveness, my lord.”

Artorigus nodded to him, granting the pardon, then turned back to Morfydd. Her red eyes met his blue unflinchingly. “If you wish to sit and sling insults at me, at my father, then begone, Morfydd, daughter of Urien. I have far better uses for my time than to listen to a tirade I have heard a thousand times before. You speak as though the revelation that the other lords think little of me is a crippling one.”

“Then you understand,” she laughed. “If only your father had not gotten himself killed. Perhaps he could have saved your realm, as he did before. But you?” She looked him up and down disdainfully. “Not you, I think.” Cei looked as though he wished to spring from where he knelt and silence her, but a glance from Artorigus locked him in place. “Your hound there looks as though he wants to tear out my throat. You would not dare harm a messenger, would you? Nor the daughter of a fellow lord?”

The Imperialdramon glared at her. “I am insulted that you would insinuate such a thing. No. I will not break the demands of honor, nor would I harm you even were you not a messenger. I am not such a lord as your father, who answers mockery by having tongues ripped out.” The jab worked, her eyes narrowed.

“I shall take my leave, Lord Artorigus,” she snapped, voice dripping with poison. “I am certain you have important things to do. Such as kneel in your chapel and pray, while the Norsemen come to take your head, burn your lands and torment your people.” With that, the bird-woman turned and swept away, not bothering to wait for an escort.

“Make sure Lady Morfydd finds the exit,” Artorigus said to Cei. “I would not want her to find herself lost in the maze-like halls of Caerleon.” The words were deliberately loud enough for her to hear, and she stopped with a tensing of her pose that spoke of irritation.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said coldly, turning back and inclining her head. Artorigus stared after her as Cei led her away, the Dynasmon's gleaming white armor a stark contrast with her raven-black feathers. He sat back on his cold hard throne, claw-points gripping the armrests, and did not move until Cei returned a short while later.

“You look like you want to become part of that damn throne,” his friend said with a chuckle.

“At times, I wish I could,” Artorigus muttered. “I'm trying to understand why Urien would bother to send an emissary. I would have heard of a Norse host coming this way long before it arrived even without it.”

“He wants to gloat, evidently,” Cei said. “That's why he sent his whelp to laugh at you.”

The Imperialdramon nodded. It was a thought that had occurred to him. What he knew of Urien certainly agreed that he would do such a thing. “He can wait. Firstly, I want to verify that he is correct about this Cerdic and that it is not some feint to open us for attack by the men of Rheged.”

“If Vortimer has been slain, then we should receive pleas for aid from every neighbour to Thanet,” Cei noted. “Do we answer them?”

Artorigus turned it over. “If we march to aid my fellow lords, we open Gwent to a move by Urien. I have little wish to rout the Norse and drive them back across the sea only to come back and have to siege this place to tear it from Urien's grip.”

“We need to assess whether Urien is actually plotting to sweep in, or if that is some kind of bluff.”

“You think Urien would bluff such a thing?” the dragon mused. “No. I think it is his ploy. Let us die on the blades of the Norse and sweep in, positioning himself as savior of Gwent. He could finally claim these lands for his own and all without the need to siege the castles and sack the towns.”

Cei nodded. “Then what are we to do? Sit in Caerleon and wait for the Norse to come to us?” The pair considered. “Surely our duty is to the realms between Thanet and us, even with Urien cackling at our back.”

“My father would not abandon them,” Artorigus said. For a moment, he almost considered adding “But I am not my father.” A father cut down for his honorable stupidity, Morfydd had said. Would marching the armies of Gwent across Albion to face the Norse in the field while Urien eyed Gwent be honorable stupidity too? “Fetch me a map, Cei.”

The Dynasmon nodded and left the room, returning a few moments later with a scroll. He unfurled it and laid it on the floor, causing the map drawn on it to glow electric blue and be projected in magnified form on the air above for them to study. Gwent was to the west of Albion, wedged between the ocean in the west, Rheged to the north, Cameliard to the south and Gaunnes to the east. Thanet lay at the island's eastern edge, with the coast of the Norse lands just at the edge of the map. Venta, the seat of the Olympians in Albion, blazed like a star in the south. Artorigus gazed over the map, reading more names. Lothian, Astolat, many more.

“To reach us, the Norse have to march through the rest of Thanet, depending on what state Vortimer left it in, Gaul here, and then Gaunnes,” Cei said, drawing a line with his claw across the map.

“I can see that,” Artorigus chuckled, before letting his expression become dour once more. “They would have to bypass Venta.”

“They always bypass Venta,” Cei replied. “The Norse know better than most that to hammer against a legion is pointless. At best, you'll call down Lord Mars or Lady Minerva on top of you.” Mars and Minerva. God and goddess of war, both responsible for maintaining the Olympians' armies. There were more fearsome Olympians, but most enemies of the empire would meet their end at the swords of those two.

“Aye,” he agreed. “No matter their aim, Venta will not factor into it.” He swept a hand over the map. “Which only leaves the entire rest of Albion for them to plunder and burn.”

“That it does,” the Dynasmon agreed. He folded his arms across his chest, staring across the map. “I may have a thought.”

“Speak it,” Artorigus replied. “I am in need of suggestions right now.”

“We have all these lords,” Cei noted. “Urien here,” he pointed to Rheged, “Leodegrance,” he pointed to Cameliard, “Bedrawd,” his claw turned to Gaunnes, “Lot,” to Lothian, “Ban,” to Gaul, “and Margh here.” He finally pointed to the southwestern tip of the island, where Margh's tiny realm was trapped between Cameliard and the ocean. “We may expect pleas for aid from Lot, perhaps the governor in Venta should Cerdic veer even slightly southward, and from Pellinore here.” He pointed to Corbenic, the land north of Thanet, and Artorigus nodded. “Why not, once we are certain that Cerdic poses as much as a threat as Urien says, send word to all the lords in Albion to propose an alliance against the Norse?”

Artorigus weighed it. “You think they would accept?”

“The Norsemen are a common enemy,” his friend answered. “As little respect as Urien evidently has for you if his daughter feels free to mock you, the other lords may still answer your call. Urien would surely not try to take Gwent if he risked you bringing down the assembled wrath of all the other lords on his head in return.”

The Imperialdramon nodded. “It is a good plan. Urien would not be so foolish.” He paused. “But I hope you're right about the other lords. Morfydd felt differently about their respect for me, for my father.”

“Morfydd was a crow sent to peck you with jibes,” Cei retorted. “I would not listen to her.” He placed his hand on Artorigus' shoulder in his brotherly manner. “Chin up, Artorigus. If my father were still here, he would tell you the same.”

Artorigus bowed his head. “I know. And yet without him, I feel lost. Ever since Father...”

Cei's grip tightened. “I'm here. I may not be my father's equal in many respects. Not as wise. Not as knowledgeable. Far less able to devour my own weight at the banquet table.” He chuckled and his quip stole a smile from Artorigus. “But I am as loyal as he was. I will advise you, support you and fight beside you. You are like my brother, Artorigus.”

“And you like mine,” the Imperialdramon said softly, turning to face him fully as Cei released his shoulder. “You have been there, always.”

Cei smiled. “I will send for the other lords.”

“I will write the letters personally,” Artorigus said. “It will carry more weight if I do so.”

The Dynasmon nodded. “In that case, I will make sure the servants are not slacking in their duties. If you need me, send for me, and I will be with you.”

The black-armored dragon nodded. “I shall.” Cei bowed his head and turned, striding away with those mighty footfalls. He had grown so much, Artorigus reflected, and yet he never seemed to stop being the boy who had seduced a servant merely to allow Artorigus to eavesdrop on their fathers all those years ago. That thought made him smile, before the weight of the letters he was to write fell on him. He did not often communicate with the other lords. Urien was as snidely hostile as his daughter had been. The others all felt intimidating, older than him, wiser than him. He had received their condolences after his father's deaths, letters and gifts and promises of aid that he hoped would still be honored. But he had not often spoken with them, only when territory was disputed or when trade needed the words of lords to ease its passage.

He lingered before the cold hard throne for a moment, as though wishing for his father's presence to reach across the abyss of time and bestow strength upon him. Then he strode from the hall, heading for his father's study.

-

Time passed. Rain and storm dominated the heavens and farmers feared for their crops. He held a hunt in the forest to find deer and boar for his subjects, carrying back the mighty carcass of a fearsome boar across his shoulders to Cei's cheers and applause. And one by one, the messenger birds swooped in.

All the letters said the same thing in different words. That his idea had some merit, but that each lord could not spare troops. Urien had somehow developed a separate group of Norsemen raiding his lands, which Cei had immediately scoffed at as a bare-faced lie. Lot too struggled with the Norse in his realm at the cold northern tip of Albion, something Artorigus was far more inclined to believe. Margh warred with Anguish, lord of the smaller isle to Albion's west (upon hearing that, Cei had crumpled the letter in disgust and pointedly asked if Margh might prefer to fight a war on two fronts should the rest of Gwent fall). Ban was open but his troops were already engaged at the border. Pellinore said much the same. Artorigus had grudgingly sent a message to Venta, for despite his feelings about the Olympians, the garrison nonetheless deserved his aid as fellow men of Albion. Their orders were to hold the city and nothing else, and none dared disobey Mars.

“Mars could break Cerdic over his knee and wipe out his host in an afternoon if he felt like it,” Cei muttered after reading that letter.

Artorigus nodded sagely. “Aye.” He reached for the next letter, already knowing the gist of what it would say. Sure enough, lord Bedrawd welcomed the idea, but only if that aid was for his own realm. “Do none of them understand that no one realm can stand against Cerdic?”

“Probably not,” Cei muttered. “Otherwise we'd be reading very different letters.”

Artorigus drummed his claws on the surface of his desk, his wings twitching in irritation. “Most of the lords are either already fighting-”

“Imaginary enemies in one case,” Cei chuckled grimly.

“Or they are open, but can only accept troops coming to them, not their troops moving to join an alliance,” he finished. “Or they will not 'follow the lead of the green boy-lord'.” He cast a scathing glare at the letter from lord Maleagant of Gorre.

“As if Maleagant is any less green,” Cei rumbled in laughter. “I hear he considers beating a score of women to be his bloodying, the coward.”

Artorigus nodded. “Cruel and pitiful he might be, but he commands men that we urgently need. All of the lords do. Gwent and either Gaul or Corbenic alone cannot stand against Cerdic's horde.”

“They probably hope that we will try,” the Dynasmon replied, his tone turning grim. “Bleed the Norsemen for them and let them sweep in and claim victory.”

The Imperialdramon didn't answer, staring across the sea of parchment. He felt crushing dread. He had hoped that the lords would rally to this cause, but even in the face of Cerdic's mighty invasion, still they clung to their politics and disdained him.

Cei took a seat on the other side of the desk. “A message arrived from our scouts as well. Cerdic is definitely marching his host to break the lines at Gaul and push towards Gwent. And from what they have overheard, he is certainly seeking to prove himself by avenging the defeat your father dealt the Norse.”

“Aye,” Artorigus said morosely. “And he may well do so.” Cei reached across the desk to grip his shoulder, but Artorigus pushed his chair back out of reach. “I... I want to save my people. If Cerdic wins, even assuming the other lords are letting us die to claim Gwent and the glory of victory, how many of our people will suffer and die before the Norse are scattered? How many homes burned? How many children killed? How many women-”

Cei rose like a tower. He strolled around the desk with those mighty steps and clasped a hand onto his lord's shoulder forcefully. His claws scraped on the black armor. “Artorigus. Urien already seeks to undermine you. Cerdic seeks to defeat you. Do not lose the battle before the lines have even been drawn!” Artorigus stared up into his eyes, seeing Cei's anger born of concern. It burned like a fire, fed by the brotherly love they shared. “You wish to save your people. You are a far, far greater man than those lords who would pick at your realm like carrion birds.”

Artorigus gave a slow nod. “Aye,” he said softly. His gaze fell upon one of the letters, the one stamped with the seal of the Olympians. Mount Olympus itself was represented in the seal, a triangle ringed by a crown of laurel wreathes. “Mars could break them in an afternoon...” he murmured thoughtfully.

Cei glanced between Artorigus and the letter. “Have you thought of something?”

Artorigus pondered, even as the shadows of the past gathered in his mind. He remembered clinging to Lord Ector that day as he heard of his father's death. And again he imagined it. His father, brave, noble, denouncing the Olympians on the marble floor of their throne room. Jupiter towering above him on the marble throne, cruel, callous, thundering hatred. The lightning striking and his father burning into atoms.

His fist clenched tight, his claws scraping on the palm of his hand.

“There is one more lord we might beseech,” he said, deathly quiet.

Cei's gaze locked on his face, the Dynasmon's eyes widening. “Do you mean...?”

“Olympus,” Artorigus confirmed. “The soldiers at Venta will not move without the command of their lords Mars and Minerva.”

“Aye,” Cei murmured.

“I will go to Olympus,” he said hesitantly. “I will seek an audience with one of them. If I can convince them to lend their aid, to defend this far corner of their empire, then we might prevail. And if I march into battle with the legions of Rome at my side, then the other lords may be cowed into submission.”

“Or they may view you as a traitor who clings to power by embracing his father's murderer,” the Dynasmon said uncertainly. “I do not like this idea, Artorigus. For all we know, Jupiter may kill you just as he killed your father.”

“The alternative is Cerdic butchering us in the field and burning Gwent to the ground,” the Imperialdramon said softly. “He has tens of thousands to his name. What have we? Seven thousand? If pleading to my father's murderer for aid is the only way to save my people, then my pride is nothing, Cei.”

“And what does your life mean?!” Cei cried. “If you die, your family name dies with you, Artorigus. And what will your men do without you?”

Artorigus was silent for a short while. “Fight, I suppose. What else is there if I fail?”

“My father failed to convince yours,” his friend retorted. “I will not repeat that failure, Artorigus.”

“You must,” the Imperialdramon answered. “This is our only chance, Cei. I have exhausted every other option.” He swept a hand across the letters, emphasizing the scale of rejection they had received. “Jupiter is proud and cruel, but there are voices of reason atop Olympus. Minerva considered killing my father pointless and stupid, by all accounts. She has always seen far more than her brethren, and if I could only speak with her and impress upon her the threat we face-”

“Then she may reject you as well,” Cei replied, mirroring the sweeping hand gesture. “What reason have any of them to care about us, save that we are 'theirs'.” He looked like he wanted to spit in disgust at that.

“Even if all that waits in Rome is my death or another rejection, I have to try,” Artorigus murmured. He stared into Cei's eyes, and the Dynasmon was forced to look down. “I will not see my men butchered in the field and my subjects made the playthings of the Norse without trying every last path that avoids that terrible fate. My father would have done the same. And his father before him.” He paused. “I am no Pendragon if I do not try, Cei. For my peoples' sake.”

Cei visibly struggled with it. Artorigus could see the division in the Dynasmon, his love for the man he considered brother grappling with the grim knowledge that the Olympians were the only salvation left to him. Finally, Cei nodded. “Then all I can do is pray,” he said quietly. “And prepare as best I can.”

Artorigus hesitantly reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I know you're afraid, Cei, that this path leads to my death. But my life means nothing in the face of this. What am I compared to everyone who will suffer and die if the Norse are not stopped?”

The Dynasmon was solemn. “Your father would be proud.”

He should have felt something warm at that sentiment, but all it did was stir that same vision of Jupiter killing his father. Was it because he was now treading those same footsteps? Following the path that had taken Uther to his death on that marble floor? What choice did he have? He had exhausted his other options, save facing the Norsemen alone, which was a battle he was sure could not be won. It might be a heroic death, a noble death, an honorable death, fit for the bards to sing for many a century. But in the aftermath of that honorable death, the only sound would be the screams of his people as the Norsemen ravaged them. No. Even if he had to face Jupiter on that marble floor where his father had died, he would do it to spare the people of Gwent that terrible destiny.

As his father would have done.

“I will leave for Rome at first light,” he said, for the day was coming to a close. “While I am gone, prepare the men for battle. Make ready to face the Norse, for you may have to fight before I return.” He turned to the map. “See if we can face them on a battlefield where the terrain favors us. It may not do much good, but it will be something.”

Cei nodded grimly. “W may bleed Cerdic of a few more men at least.”

Artorigus turned back to him. He didn't want to leave Cei with this burden. It was cruel to do so. But the Olympians would only scoff at a messenger, he was sure. A messenger would be chained in their bureaucracy for too long, even if Minerva were sympathetic enough to lend her aid. But a lord, even one as small as he, could stir her attention and cut through the parchment barriers that would otherwise impede his plea.

“I... I am sorry,” he murmured. “To leave you with this burden. To abandon you.”

“You are not abandoning me,” Cei retorted. “Artorigus, what you are going to do is far harder than what you are leaving me with. You go to the city where your father died, to bargain with the ones who killed him. I cannot imagine how difficult that must be, and you are courageous to do it.” He rested both mighty hands on the Imperialdramon's shoulders. “And may you argue Jupiter into submission and come with a legion at your back to hurl Cerdic into the sea, as your father did.”

As his father had. But his father had not needed to go grovelling to the gods of Olympus for help to do it.

“Aye,” he nodded. “Wait for me, Cei. I will return, one way or another. If nothing else I will fight beside you.”

“I hope so,” Cei said, and smiled. “A good lord cannot well miss such a great battle, now.” Artorigus smiled and forced a chuckle. “I will see you off at the dawn.”

Artorigus pulled his friend, his brother, into an embrace. “I will be glad to have you bidding me farewell.”

Cei's arms tightened around him. “I will not fail you while you are gone. Gwent will be ready, I swear.”

They parted. “I know,” Artorigus said softly. “I only hope I will be as prepared as you and Gwent.” He slowly turned away and walked, heading for the chapel. He knew he should go to find sleep, for the journey to Rome would be long, but he needed to pray. He wished for guidance, from his father, from Ector, from Yggdrasil. Anything that might give him strength when he had to argue for his peoples' survival to the gods themselves.
 
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