Chapter 6

An innumerable number of weeks had passed since the attack. Historians called it the Great Fire of Arün. The few surviving soldiers were arrested and executed under different charges, the sole survivor being Commander Xirrhul. Nobody had noticed the roster of names didn't add up when everyone was executed. They had missed another soldier. Saxe.

The High Council wanted to question Xirrhul personally, though his death was imminent as well. Sellion noticed while carrying Laverne and Valka back to the castle that Laverne's pulse was still faint, not gone. The Council figured he deserved a chance to regain his life.

Sellion had carried the Elf Prince on his back to the castle after the Great Fire because Prince Laverne's body was the only one who had the slightest bit of warmth to it. Only to meet with the coldness of the aftermath that had affected the prince's bedroom. An uninhabitable place was visible from the doorway, everything Laverne ever loved turned to ash, the same with his father's room. Left in shambles and uncertainty, Sellion put the somewhat living prince in a spare bedchamber.

Jericho sat next to Laverne's curtained bed in the new room with Khaleesi on his lap. Laverne's skin was extraordinarily pale. Their elder brother was comatose with no signs of waking. Khaleesi played with a doll that Jericho had sewn to look like their deceased father. He had been hesitant to explain to a five year old that their father had died and wasn't coming back. He had told her, "Father is going to look a little different from now on." Thankfully, she seemed content with Jericho's words.

In the streets of Arün, the elves had been cleaning the ruins. Some of the citizens lost family members and held funerals as well. There weren't many dead elves in the fray. Among the deceased, they discovered the body of Taergyn Rochambeaux, alone and with an expression of pure fear frozen on his face from his final moments. His hair had been cut short. They knew his cause of death but would be unable to identify a culprit with all the commotion during the Great Fire. Moria stayed silent when given word that they'd come across her father's corpse.

Ten days after the Great Fire, the High Council held a funeral in memory of Valka in the city, the three princelings unattending. Jericho did not think it wise if he had been the only to show up, as Laverne was unconscious and Khaleesi wouldn't understand. One of the Council members stood next to the pyre, holding a torch and saying a eulogy, the other seven including Sellion around the pyre, ready to light it on cue.

"Today, we say goodbye to our beloved king, Valka Ingerman, as he has been taken from us. We hope that he has taken his rightful place in Valhalla as he will certainly be missed by his country and his children. It is unfortunate that we have to bid farewell to a loving father, friend, and leader." The man standing before the masses turned to the rest of the Council. That was their prompt to light up the body.

And a brother. Sellion lit up his deceased ruler's body before any of the other members could and the event became somber. He watched as Valka's body melted in the cleansing flames.

Sellion's eyes filled with tears and they began to stream down his face like rainfall. He didn't bother wiping them off. For once, he felt sad enough to cry without guilt. Those who weren't paying attention to the High Council wouldn't have noticed it. Most of the people of Arün were witnessing Valka burn. They saw his bones turn to ash. And it'd be a story for generations to come.

A long time ago, on a day filled with sunshine, Valka had promised Sellion they'd go to hell together.

Sellion really didn't know what it'd meant when Valka had told him that. Everybody, even him, had only known Valka as the kindest person—someone who never let his blood boil. Valka had done things previous High Kings could only dream of and he was still only a child when he had accomplished those things.

"Be at peace, son of Odin and blood of Elaran," another Council Member chimed in. The crowds watching felt their hearts fill with sorrow upon hearing those words.

They buried what was left of Valka's body, his bones, in the Arünian graveyard and one could say they buried Laverne's heart in the ground along with him. Afterwards, the High Council made plans to erect a statue in King Valka's memory in the city square. He was a great man, the man who brought their country out of the dark ages. Everybody agreed he deserved a grand commemoration at the very least.

Whether it was the same day as Valka's funeral or a few days later—nobody remembered. But on that day, Moria entered the room Laverne, Jericho and Khaleesi were in, ready to give news to her son who had yet to be stricken by a blade. The room was different from Laverne's childhood room. There was practically nothing personal of his there.

"Elf Nugget, the High Council wants to talk to you."

Prince Jericho wanted to crawl under a rock every time he heard his mother's nickname for his brother and him. Laverne always hated it, and Jericho was beginning to hate it.

"I already told them I won't be their king."

"Why not just see what they have to say now?" Moria suggested, taking Khaleesi from him and sitting on the bed. They looked at Laverne together. Laverne had been cleaned, bandaged and laid down nude, with the blankets covering him.

"Fine." Jericho headed towards the room where the Council had always congregated. Jericho stopped outside Laverne's bedroom door and told one of the guards, "Watch her. Let no harm come to my sister." The guard nodded and took a place in the room near the wall. Moria sighed loudly. Jericho had his reasons to be apprehensive when leaving Khaleesi with Moria. He'd already had one sibling taken out, he didn't need another.