Prologue

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“That’s far enough!” declared a figure atop an old granite watchtower. His garments blowing to the will of a mistral storm as he reached for his quiver. “You’re a long way from your border and yet you have found yourself here atop our mountain. Your life son. It must carry little value.”

The outsider removed his helm and could now feel the piercing gaze of a half dozen zealous archers looming overhead. He watched, cautiously assessing his situation as the traditional crimson and gold colours on the flag above flapped recklessly. The tension from the onlookers grew immensely until after a long felt pause, the outsider finally found his voice.

“Please... hear me out.” The man urged, his voice was weak as he motioned the guard’s attention to his quivering hand. His pinked rigid fingers reached within his quilted gambeson and pulled a parchment from an inner layer. “I’m but a messenger,” he pleaded.

“This message you bring, it spawns from the dribble of a tyrant?” The Guard spoke again. Angrily launching a warning shot that fell just short of the man’s foot.

“They are the King’s words... yes,” the man flinched; his words stammering and he waved the letter in the air.

“King?” The guard spat in disgust, again just missing the man who could only flinch. “Atholian dog. That banner isn't recognised here and nor is that King. Throw it to me, and I will decide whether it deems worthy to wipe my ass with.”

“It is addressed to Darnell Tassinari. I cannot stress the importance of this document.”

“I control this gate,” The elf growled impatiently. “And I care not for the writings of a perverse and twisted fascist and nor does our Maester! The Snow Elves' salutations extend no further. Take leave before I put you down like the dog you are.” He urged him on, raising his hand and motioning back from whence the outsider came, towards the setting sun

“Fine,” the man reluctantly replied, throwing the cylinder that encased the letter to the guard above. “You will be surprised by its contents.” Catching it, the guard removed and unravelled the scroll as he slowly glanced his wandering eye over the parchment noting several insignias. Most smudged from dampness, yet still very much distinguishable.

“What is this horseshit!?” the guard chuckled nervously. “It looks authentic, I’ll give you that,” He said looking back at the man. "But surely you don't expect me to believe in such a fabricated tale."

“What does it say?” A young boy stepped forward. His hair as black as coal.

The guard paused a moment before continuing, his voice now reached  a new altitude so all in the vicinity could hear.

“Apparently the Atholians have issued a peace treaty and apparently it has garnered the support of our allies in the south; including the men of Kona!”

“A treaty for Peace!?” The boy gasped.

“Yes,” the man answered, rubbing his hands together.

The guard pondered on the validity of the letter before he spoke again. “Tobias would never sign off on this. He would never agree to such a thing.”

“You are wrong. the mark of Kona is there, is it not?” The stranger argued.

“And are these the terms that...your King has put forward?” The guard read aloud. “For our immediate withdrawal?”

”It was Tobias that instigated this process. This fruitless war need not drag on any longer. Should the forces of the west stand down then King Mateusz insists Athol too will withdraw.”

“No!” The guard exclaimed in fury. “So we are to just forgive the injustices of the past? It won’t end this way! No, not when Mateusz still breathes. If you want peace. Bring me your King's head, not some fabricated lie.”

“The insignia of Leuven is the last needed to declare peace throughout the realm!” the outsider retorted, now matching the Elf for tone. “Do not allow year old grudges to taint the prospect of a new  peace!”

The guard, overwhelmed by the man’s remark, took a moment to react as his grip fastened around his bow and his clenched jaw on his narrow face bulged. He turned to the boy that stood beside him. “Boy, This promise of peace. Would it bring back your mother? Will it bring back my wife? With our healing spring gone, I could only listen to her cries of pain and helplessly watch on as life departed her still abled body.”

The boy’s head sank and he gave no answer.

The guard gritted his teeth as he handed the boy the letter. “I didn’t think so. There is no shame in it, only sadness. Tell me boy. What would be your answer?”

"We should send his head back to Athol as our reply.” the child voiced and the man's spine shivered at the coldness behind theyoung boys voice.

“A splendid idea, but alas the decision does not lie with you are I. Go get him.” He passed the scroll to the raven haired boy who simply nodded and nimbly sprung towards the ladder. Sliding down, he darted towards the gate of the city and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

“They will grow up in a different world than ours. What has happened to the maidens of Leuven is tragic, but we cannot change the past. We must build on our mistakes. We must,” The guard pleaded.

The guard turned back to the outsider. “Foundations must be strong and stable. The fact that this great city has stood tall on this very mountain, defiant to the gods is a testament to that. If what your saying is echoed by the will of the people of Athol, then surely it is from within that a solution first be sought. Saying sorry is not gonna cut it."

"Are you suggesting we usurp the King?"

"What if it is?"

"It would be a death sentence for any that would try."

“For years I have heard of the great champions that used to be forged in the Crucible of Athol. Now it only breeds cowardice. I should put you out of your misery here and now.”

“Let him be,” came a commanding voice as the guard turned to see the Maester looking on.

“You... you must be Darnell?” the man questioned, noting the renowned black garments of the Maester that distinguished his authority.

“Outsider, you say you need our insignia to bring peace to the land.” The Maester spoke.

“Yes,” the man uttered mercifully.

“Then it will be marked with our flame al-right,” the Maester exclaimed furiously. He held out the scroll and tightened his fist around it. A flame radiated from his hand that torched the scroll to a cinder. “That is the response of the Tassinari bloodline. If you want peace, seek refuge somewhere else, for you shall not find it within the walls of Athol."