Private All the King's Horses [Thurion]

[Alva Heavenshield]

Alva jolted at the sound of a voice, and she dropped the bag of oats she'd just lifted out of the saddle bag, the grain spilled at her feet. A chill settled over her as she turned to look for the source. The tattered form loomed at the edge of their protective circle – now reduced to burnt bits and small drifts of smoke. No, no, it can't be –

She stared in horror, unable to look away as the corpse-like creature advanced. Its foot crossed over the circle, visible bones and rotten sinew. Her eyes darted over her shoulder, towards the pair of horses that were now unsettled at her back. The shadow's words were carried on a foul wind. And it challenged her.

Alva drew her weapon, and held it out to keep the intruder at an arm (and short sword's) length. The Valkyri blood in her veins helped her stand firm. But her voice betrayed the fact that she was indeed frightened. "I-if you wish to speak," she said, her voice weaker than she'd hoped. "Then speak."

Her heel edged backwards as the creature continued to come nearer. Now close enough to see the gruesome detail of its appearance. Its flesh was pale and hued like moonlight, and there was exposed bones in the spots where the flesh had rotted. Alva's breath caught.

"Come no closer," she said, her foot sliding on a branch – taking her leg out from under her. Now, on the ground, Alva was all that stood between the walking corpse and her grandfather. Her panic would call to him – through the force – as she could not muster another word.

Thurion Heavenshield

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

Thurion snapped awake by Alva's cries for help through the Force, immediately flung to his feet as if shot from a cannon. In one fluid motion he'd reached for his sword, pulled it from its sheath, and brandished it for a decisive strike. Ahead he found a stanger clad in tattered rags stood over his terrified granddaughter, hand reaching out as if to grab her. With gritted teeth and the fury of a roused bear he thrust his blade forward as he came up behind the hooded creature, shoving it clean through its backside right up to the hilt.

Eyes went wide, staring in disbelief as what should have been a mortal blow barely seemed to affect the dark being, and in fact appeared to only annoy it. The elven blade had pierced right through its torso, sticking out the front a full meter or more! Instead, the creature spun around to snatch the sword from his hands, backhanding the baffled King in the process with surprising strength. With distance created between the two, the undead would proceed to reach behind itself to pull Anarion back out the way it had entered. Admiring its craftmanship, the sword let out a clank as it was then dropped at the feet of Thurion's feet.

Before the scrap had a chance to resume, the creature deigned to reveal itself by removing its hood. A face of pale, rotten flesh with bits of white bone where skin was missing completely, coupled with a pair of blue eyes glowing unnaturally within its hollow pits.

"I said, I am here to speak! And you will listen, King!" It pointed a skeletal digit at him, its teeth rattling with each word spoken. Gathering his sword off the ground, Thurion cautiously circled the undead until he was by Alva's side, pulling her to her feet.

"You are Vinterbound... and yet you speak! How is this possible?"

"Questions come later. I am here to deliver a message, O King. I prophesized that we would meet at this hour, and my divinations are never wrong. You may call me Dáinn. I was chosen by my kin, those cursed by undeath, to speak on their behalf."

Thurion looked to Alva, truly taken aback by the whole situation. Meeting the Vinterbound's otherworldly gaze once more, he proceeded to sheathe his blade as a token of trust, hesitant though it was. He motioned for Alva to do the same.

"Speak then, and I will listen."

Alva Heavenshield

 

[Dáinn Stormcaller]

With each of their guards slightly lowered, the three would sit around what remained of the campfire, now little more than smoldering embers on burnt-out logs. Dáinn on one side, King and grandchild on the other. As one would suppose, there was a heavy air of unease as the gruesome visage of the Vinterbound prophet divulged his reason for wishing to hold council.

"Before I begin, I wish it known I never intended to harm the girl. Rarely do my premonitions fail to account for additional presences, it was supposed to be only you. I was... curious."

Thurion raised an eyebrow, but did not speak up on this matter. He made sure to keep Alva close by, however.

"I imagine you came here looking to put an end to my kind crossing the river. I am here to tell you now that we have good cause to disturb the peace: We wish to be made whole again."

Thurion's eyes widened. "You mean..."

The self-proclaimed prophet lifted his skeletal hand off his knee, solemnly studying it before clarifying. "Yes... We wish to be set free of this curse. We want to be restored, to live anew. To grow old, and be granted access to the Golden Hall of the great hereafter. All this and more we've been denied for a thousand of your generations."

"Surely you must realise, what you're asking is--"

Dáinn snarled angrily. "Bah! Do not speak to me of impossibilities, manling! 7,000 years I have walked this earth, bound to excruciating servitude to an unseen force, made to commit horrific atrocities to former brothers, with no mind of my own! No voice with which to speak of our woes!"

He then seemed to physically stop himself, as if having to consciously suppress his feral state. Once settled down, he continued.

"Until that fateful night, when we marched on the capital. When your older brother broke the chains which bonded us to that slavish will. But after several lifetimes of servitude, suddenly being set free was so foreign a concept that most of us panicked, broken and..."

Now greatly intrigued, Thurion sat forward. "You were afraid."

Dáinn nodded, visibly ashamed. "Aye... afraid. We no longer had purpose, no leadership. Serving the Will was torture for the soul, but at least it was something to hold onto. Without that voice whispering in our ears, we descended into chaos. Now there is nothing for us to cling to, except the faint hope that we may be restored. Even if doing so entails our demise, at least we will perish as proud Valkyri."

The Vinterbound looked across to the pair, not knowing what else he could say to sway them.

"Will you help us, King Thurion?"

Arms crossed, Grandpa ended up turning to his grandchild. "What do you think, Alva?"

Alva Heavenshield

 

[Alva Heavenshield]

Alva continued to scoot backwards, moving away from the skeletal hand that seemed to grow ever closer. But then, Grandpa was there – Anarion held sure in his hands. Her eyes widened as the shining blade burst through the stranger's chest. But he did not fall.

A startled cry escaped Alva when Thurion Heavenshield was knocked back.

Though her grandfather appeared just as shocked, he was soon at her side and pulling her to stand. She drew a breath and let his steady presence influence her own. As Grandpa questioned the shadowy form, Alva's mind instantly began comparing the Vinterbound to the stories she'd heard.

She was torn from her thoughts when he – Dáinn – spoke. King. He'd addressed her grandfather as King. Her lips parted slightly. How could he know? The teen sat up, but remained still – stunned by the sight playing out before her. This Vinterbound was a messenger... a prophet. Alva straightened slightly, and she placed her short-sword back into the sheathe as well.

Next thing she knew, she was huddled around a campfire with grandpa and the Vinterbound. Alva watched quietly, her eyes on the Vinterbound's clothing – or what remained – for she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his wintry gaze or the flashes of white bone. But his words did find her ears, and she listened. Seven thousand years. Dáinn's voice echoed in her head as she tried to imagine his plight, a difficult feat.

When the fury was evident in his tone, Alva nestled just a bit closer to her grandfather's side.

However, her grandfather met the Vinterbound's words with...understanding.

Alva blinked when Grandpa asked her opinion. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and swallowed hard. "We should help them," she said, chancing a glance at Dáinn – meeting his glowing eyes momentarily before looking back to Grandpa. Alva had accepted her part in this, too. The task at hand boggled her mind, the enormity of the request. The force can heal, she reasoned, but even the force has limits.

"But... how?"

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

"Indeed," he added to Alva's prudent question as he turned back to the undead prophet. He was not so quick to trust this creature as to make a solemn promise of aid right here and now. This was all still very new to all parties. The King's brows furrowed.

"You must understand that everything you say is under heavy scrutiny. Your kind have hounded the living for ages, slaughtered tens of thousands over the course of millennia. I was at the Siege of Tháinbroek and saw first-hand the butchery committed against my people. Good men died simply defending what was theirs. My own father..."

The memory was still too painful to recount, forcing him to pace himself.

"We lost the greatest High King of our age to your savagery. I lost my father, a man I adored like no other. You have no idea what scars I still bear in my heart because of what you did."

Thurion stood and paced for a bit, unwilling to look upon such a grotesque visage as he could only see the face of his father's killer. Never before had he blamed an entire race of beings for the failings of the one, but where his own blood was concerned he found it increasingly difficult.

Though he did not witness it due to his back being turned, Dáinn observed the man from where he sat, and even attempted to show some sliver of sympathy despite his outward features not permitting it.

"I remember. Thrand Dawnbringer, a mortal king turned immortal god. Truly his virtue must have been beyond reproach. I am truly sorry for his sacrifice." Dáinn now too stood, but kept to his side of the campfire. "But you must understand; our wills were not our own back then. Only once the source of our corruption was shattered did we regain the ability to choose. Before then, I too was naught but a slave to its will. It was not by choice we lay siege to the capital that night."

The King's mane of gold shifted as his head tilted back, his gaze lifted towards the skies. The sun was rising, and by so doing his father's presence was felt invigorating the land.

"Your brother granted us the will to choose. Will you now grant us our wish to meet our gods? I would very much like to beg your father's forgiveness in person, one day..."

Only now did Thurion turn back to face the skeletal visage of the Prophet, renewed by the arrival of daylight.

"It is not so easy," he reiterated, however with a hint that he was willing to consider their options. He returned to Alva's side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders though his focus remained on Dáinn.

"My skills involve the mending of ailments and restoration of the spirit. I spent a great many years as a young man honing my craft, but what you suggest is different. Resurrecting dead tissue, tampering with long lost souls... it reeks of Necromancy. An art I am not privy to given its... ill nature."

Dáinn's unnatural gaze fell upon the young girl by the King's side. Perhaps it was her presence which quelled his first instinct to demand that they make a pledge here and now, for no such demand came. He was ready to resign himself to his fate. To that of his kind. But the King continued after some pause.

"I require time to think this over. I cannot make the pledge to help, but neither will I turn down your request until I have investigated every option."

Again the King rose, this time bringing his granddaughter with him. He extended his gloved hand.

"This I do swear to you, Speaker of the Dead."

Dáinn approached carefully, as an animal would a stranger. Stepping around the fireplace to the sound of grinding bones, the Vinterbound looked between the two living before extending his own hand, and the two grasped arms as in the way of an accord reached and settled. On his end, Thurion felt the lack of muscle and an incredible chill in the palm of his hand, whereas Dáinn could not feel anything at all through his boney digits.

"I will lead my people back across the river, where we await word from you," he pledged in return, before unexpectedly bowing his head in reverence. "...My King." Thurion let go, stunned by this act. Dáinn's eyes turned skywards.

"I must away. The light of the sun is to us as burning hellfire. The shadows is where we dwell. Find us there."

He took his leave of the two, pulling his black hood over his face as he stepped into the woods, seemingly disappearing altogether. For a time, Thurion knew not what to say or do. The whole situation had rendered him speechless.

Alva Heavenshield

 

[Alva Heavenshield]

Alva's blue eyes continued to flicker back and forth between the Vinterbound and her grandfather. And she felt each side – the pain they carried. However, that of Thurion was felt most keenly by his granddaughter. Her heart ached for him, and she sought to be the balm to make it all better – if she could. Her gaze fell to watch her grandfather's pacing boots for a long moment; the footprints left behind seemed… uncertain.

When Dáinn spoke again, Alva fixed him in a watchful gaze.

She was feeling quite protective of grandpa. But the Vinterbound's words were tame, almost gentle as he spoke of Thrand Dawnbringer. She'd never met him, but she'd heard stories. Alva bowed her head slightly. It felt a bit like eavesdropping for some reason. The words had never truly been meant for her ears. Still, she heard them and took them to heart just the same.

As she looked up, her gaze met that of Dáinn. This time, Alva didn't look away. Rather, she looked as deep as she could dare, searching for any hint of a soul within those strange eyes. She felt her grandpa's arm wrap her shoulders and stood with him. She offered a nod to the Vinterbound.

Then, like the shadow fades – he was gone.

"Goodbye," Alva whispered, a bit too late.

Of course, Alva knew that Grandpa would need time to dwell on this issue. But curiosity pulled at her. "Grandpa," she said, turning slightly to look up at him. "What will you do?"

Thurion Heavenshield​

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

The voice of his grandchild snapped him out of his frozen state, his mind still not fully able to grasp their strange encounter just now. He pulled Alva in for a warm hug, caressing her brown locks.

"I am not sure," he replied. "Reanimation... Necromancy... These are not powers the Jedi have ever sought to harness. To bring what's dead usually requires a sacrifice. A life for a life. This is not the way of the Light Side of the Force."

Right then and there he thought of something. Someone he had not seen since... His eyes turned to the south and east briefly as he thought of her.

"You ready to head back, little one," he asked as he looked down into her eyes, offering a comforting smile. For what it was worth, he believed that this Dáinn's plea was heartfelt, if such a thing were possible for an undead. He'd always been a good reader of people by studying their eyes, yet that unnatural glare of the Vinterbound Prophet was unlike any other.

In quick succession, they'd gathered their things and stowed them upon their steeds, now calmed since the stranger's disappearance and the coming of day. Alva offering them treats probably helped too.

As Thurion helped his granddaughter up into the saddle, knowing full well by now she no longer needed such assistance, he looked up at her with absolute adoration. He took her by the hand, kissing it.

"You've conducted yourself so well throughout this ordeal, Alva. I am so very proud of you." There was a hint of sadness behind his words, as he now realized she was no longer a child. Even his grandchildren were growing up one by one, and proud as he was to see them develop and come into their own, just as it was with his children he could not help but mourn the loss of innocence afforded during childhood.

A pain only parents could relate to, he supposed.

"Let's go home," he added before getting on his horse. "You lead, I follow," he then offered one last challenge, and given what they'd experienced thus far finding their way out of these woods should prove a comparatively simple task. It was also a way to signal that she was ready to make her way in the world.

Alva Heavenshield