Divine Alliances: Cleaning Up the Mess

This is another one where my DM and I are swapping sections on a piece of writing, so some of this is mine and some of it is his. I'm also dropping this in much bigger chunks than I usually do, because there's a lot of stuff here and it's all relevant to where the campaign is right now, so spacing it out doesn't seem like a good idea.

Verkander Stoneheart seated himself gracefully on one of the benches in the dining hall. Tavros was still a few steps behind him, and still striving with all his might to maintain some vague semblance of a last shred of dignity. The acolyte had, at least, gotten the message: he'd gathered three others and hurried off towards the storerooms. 

Anica and Werendril had somehow contrived to remain at Tavros' side, and he was grateful for the show of support -- and at the same time worried for them. If this somehow came to battle, they wouldn't stand a chance. Neither would he, of course, but he might at least be able to keep himself alive long enough for some sort of help to arrive. 

Tavros nudged Werendril with an elbow. "Beer," he said. "Beer, and two tankards." Anica nodded.

Werendril took one more look at the massive dwarf, and said quietly, "I'll make one of them a pitcher." Then he was gone, slipping silently through the onlookers.

Sister Tiva, herself a dwarf, was making a direct line for Tavros, bumping aside anyone who didn't move out of her way quickly enough. Tavros nodded to her when she when she was close enough to speak. "Careful, Your Majesty," the priestess said quietly. "That one's Stonekin, blessed by Belrab."

"Belrab's Avatar," Tavros answered, nodding to show he understood.

Tiva looked momentarily shocked; then she shook her head. "No, being Stonekin is different. They're something like the True Elves are to regular elves. If this one's an avatar as well..." She shook her head. "I'd better sit wi' you, then." 

Tavros had never heard Sister Tiva slip into an accent before; she must be badly shaken. He nodded, and she followed him to the table, seating herself on the bench a moment after he did. Anica held back, and seated herself at a table behind him. 

Verkander Stoneheart seated wasn't any less intimidating than he had been outside the gates of the temple. He looked up briefly as Werendril reappeared and leaned down to set a full pitcher of beer in front of him, and a tankard of beer in front of Tavros. "Ah, good," he rumbled, and picked the pitcher up as if it were an ordinary mug. He downed half of it, then set it back down on the table. 

To match him, Tavros raised his own tankard and took a swig. The beer was decent, but it was whatever they'd had available in the kitchens; the acolytes hadn't yet had a chance to bring up more and better. "Verkander Stoneheart," he said, "I bid you welcome." 

The massive dwarf grunted, studied him for a long moment, and then said grudgingly, "Ye invited me in fer beer, an' made certain there was plenty o' it. That's welcome enough." 

Tavros nodded, accepting that, and waited while the avatar took another massive swig, nearly draining the pitcher. 

"Indra's man thinks he owns you," said Verkander, studying Tavros narrowly, "or at least has right o' first refusal tae ye." 

Tavros shook his head. "We have one goal in common: preventing the Order of Secrets from resurrecting Vecna here in Midgard. Whatever Ezra Cardon might think, I owe him no debts." He was on firmer ground here, having thought through that much at least. 

"Ah," said Verkander. "Then ye-- Ah!" He paused, because Werendril had returned with a second pitcher of beer and a tankard for Sister Tiva. The True Elf paladin collected the empty pitcher and departed again. "Served by an elf, yet. I wouldn't hae thought their kind'd be welcome here." He shook his head, but he didn't seem displeased.

Tavros shrugged. "You were asking...?"

"Right, yes. I were askin' if that meant ye weren't plannin' tae leave the Temple o' the Elements to Indra alone... or tae raze the whole thing an' build yer own temple atop the ruins, as Ah've heard."

Tavros studied the taciturn dwarf. Direct, plain-spoken, plain-dealing. So... "I was," said Tavros. "I no longer am." He took a sip of his beer, reconsidered, and added a healthy swallow. "At some point, I expect to have to confront the necromancer-priest Durest. With him destroyed, the temple of the elements would be derelict: empty and mostly ruined. It seemed a prime spot to build something new." 

The avatar growled, and Tavros nodded. 

"...But that assumed that the elemental orders lacked the resources to rebuild their temples, and the clergy to staff them. Since you do intend to rebuild, I will simply build my planned temple elsewhere, and leave your temple to the Stone Cabal."

Verkander grunted. "Plainly spoken," he said, with a sort of grudging approval. "If'n ye were willin' tae support the Temple of Stone, I could be of great help in getting rid o' this upstart necromancer." 

Tavros hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I cannot. I fear I am already committed elsewhere. I am willing to acknowledge the worship of Belrab as a welcome addition to religious life of Sol Povos, and I might even be able to offer a small sum to help with the reconstruction of the temple, but I cannot offer ongoing support. And much of that will depend on how much of Sol Povos is left when I take back the throne, and how much will need to be rebuilt." 

The massive dwarf nodded slowly. "'Tis no whae I hoped to hear," he said, "but 'tis honest and fair."

Sister Tiva leaned in. "If ye wish tae avenge yerself on  the necromancer who tore down your temple, we would be happy tae offer assistance." She was playing the accent up deliberately this time, Tavros thought, matching the Avatar's tone to build an accord. She glanced at Tavros, who nodded: the Solari Hunters had been most dangerous as a team, and without their cleric the prospect of unseating the bear-queen went from suicidal to merely insanely difficult.

Verkander tilted his head to study her momentarily, then looked back at Tavros. "That... that, I will consider." Then he looked around the room. "For tonight... more beer!" 

Amun help me, Tavros thought. He didn't need more beer; he needed a couple of hours to think through everything that Vigo had said, and how to respond to it. But he also needed to keep the Avatar of Stone happy, and after the way today had gone a couple of beers would at least be a welcome relief. 

* * *

Three beers later, Tavros had left Verkander to drink with Anica and Sister Tiva, and set out for his cell -- where he'd hoped to come up with a gameplan. Things were on the edge of spinning out of control, and he needed to reassure all parties that no decisions had been made, and would not be made until after they’d all had fair and balanced negotiations. No, Tavros. Wrong word! Until after they’d all had fair and balanced… discussions. Yes, that’s better. It would buy some time, or rather he hoped it would buy time.

He still wasn't sure what he needed to do, but at least he had the beginnings of an idea. Now, however, he needed to check up on the Avatar of Stone, and...

Tavros paused outside the dining hall to straighten the expensive robes he’d changed into. Once he was convinced that he looked as kingly and composed as he could manage, he reached for the door handle, and stopped. The sound of bright, musical laughter poured from the other room. It was a female voice, dripping with enthusiasm. And it sounded like… Martini? What in the fuck?

It could be said that in the course of a typical week, Tavros might run into one, possibly two people as big as himself. As a general rule, he was almost always the biggest, strongest person in the room. Ever so often – maybe once or twice a year – he might meet someone larger, but it was a rarity. And yet, upon opening the door to the dining hall, he was confronted for the second time that day with a mountain of a man who was not only larger than Tavros, but made him look downright… skinny.

If Verkander was built like a house, this man was built like a marble statue. Actually, he made statues look puny. He had long, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and striking features. His huge, muscled legs flexed with each step, stretching his fine breeches to their limit and exposing every detail of his chiseled physique. He had, for his size, a tiny waist, which made his massively broad shoulders look even bigger. His white silk blouse was clearly custom tailored (nobody made shirts that big), and yet it still strained to contain his huge, well-defined muscles. The effect was such that he might as well not have been wearing a shirt at all, but in the interest of modesty he had also dawned a sleeveless vest, which hung open. Tavros highly doubted that it could be fastened closed across his watermelon-sized pecs. He was carrying, under each arm, a full-sized keg, as if they weighed nothing. All in all, he was breathtaking to behold, which explained why Martini was walking beside him, laughing and giggling, with both hands wrapped around a bicep several times larger around than she was.

“Oh, pardon me!” the newcome exclaimed, nearly running over the gaping Tavros, “I just saw a couple of the servers struggling to bring these kegs upstairs and thought I’d lend a hand! Is here good?” He looked back to one of the acolytes, who confirmed.

“Tavros!” Martini exclaimed, “Have you met Gaston? Oh, isn’t he wonderful?” She seemed ready to take him right there in the middle of the room.

“Gaston…” Tavros mouthed dumbly.

“Well,” Martini said in a sultry voice, “you might know him by his nickname, Ironarms!” She squeezed his bicep playfully; it didn’t give an inch in her tiny hands. Gaston raised his other arm, flexed, and winked at her. She looked tremendously pleased.

The newcomer’s face lit up. “Wait, did you say Tavros? As in, King Tavros? Just the man I came to see! It’s an utter pleasure to meet you!” He grabbed Tavros’ hand and shook it vigorously, “A pleasure, a real honor! Name’s Gaston Galais, I’m actually from these parts originally. You must excuse me, I came in last night, but I was praying with the Abbess up until now. I hope you’ll pardon me for not presenting myself sooner, I know it’s poor form!”

Tavros’ mouth fell open, and he felt dizzy. Gaston Galais? THE Gaston Galais? He looked the massive man up and down. Yep, that’s him. It turned out Tavros knew exactly who he was: Gaston Galais, also known as Ironarms, also known as the mighty, world-renowned avatar of Amun. Tavros swayed on his feet, and looked around for Vigo -- not so much because he wanted the man's advice, but because it seemed impossible that another Avatar had shown up and Vigo wasn't here trying to manage him.

“Ah, there ya are, ya ‘majesty’!” It was said in a southern drawl, with the last word emphasized in a patronizing way. It was Marshall. “I just wanted to let ya know, that I took care of ya little problem.” He grinned and whispered conspiratorially, “Let’s just say our little buddy won’t be waking up anytime soon, or even tomorrow for that matter. I done ‘em real good, just like ya asked. He’s back in his room now, sleeping like a wee little baby.” Marshall patted Tavros on the shoulder and walked off, beer in hand. 

Well, that's one less thing I'lll have to deal with. Whatever happened next here, he was going to have to handle it on his own; he was surprised to find just how much of a relief that was. Very well... Tavros turned back to Gaston, but the man’s attention had shifted.

“Verkander?” Gaston exclaimed, “Verkander Stoneheart!? Well somebody pinch me, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Martini pinched him, and he had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. But a few batted eyelashes earned her quick forgiveness.

“Gaston,” Verkander nodded. He drained a pitcher of beer in three swallows and set it on the table, next to dozens of others, similarly empty.

“Why,” Gaston continued, “I haven’t seen you since the battle of Mill Valley!” He chuckled and grabbed a nearby tankard of his own, “I tell you, that was a story for the ages!”

“Why don’t you tell us, Gaston?” Martini purred. Her hands had not left his enormous bicep.

Gaston looked around the room, sensed that a small crowd had formed, and decided to regale them. He took a quick drink and leaned into the story, “Okay, there we were, just me and Verkander. We’d been sent east from Terranos to treat with this rebel group. Except the thing was, they didn’t want to talk, which they made clear by springing an ambush where the valley narrowed. By the time we managed to subdue the attackers on the ridge, the servants had been slaughtered and our wagons smashed.” He paused and looked around the room, giving the crowd a moment to ooh and ah at this terrible turn of events.

“Oh no, Gaston! I hope you weren’t hurt!” Martini stroked Gaston’s arm, as if looking for blemishes on his muscles. Luckily, she found none.

“No, I was okay, but we were in a predicament, because at that moment we heard the thundering of hooves coming from the east! You see, this was a problem, because we knew the town of Carris lay half a day’s march behind us, to the west.” As he spoke, he gestured in the air with his tankard to explain the location of the town relative to the attacking army. His other arm, most conspicuously and involuntarily surrendered to Martini, was entirely uninvolved in the illustration. “Verkander and I can hold our own, but this sounded like a hundred heavy horse. We knew some of them would ride right by us and sack the town. So I look at Verkander, and I say, ‘We’ve got to do something!’”

Verkander grunted in agreement, drained another tankard, and moved to the next. Tavros was starting to think they might need to bring up even more beer.

“So Verkander,” Gaston paused to take a swig, “you’ve met him, he’s a man of few words, he just looks me straight in the eye, does his grunt thing, and says, ‘Put the wagons there.’ I don’t quite understand, but he points to each side of the valley, and then I realize that it’s so narrow we can just clog it up. It turns out the rebels’ strategy to ambush us in the narrowest part of the valley would actually work to our advantage!”

There were some cheers and toasts in the room to this new development, and Gaston paused to let it soak in.

“The plan was simple,” Gaston continued, “one wagon on the left –“ he pointed with his tankard, “one on the right, and Verkander Stoneheart standing in the middle. My job was to stay behind him and clean up anyone who got past.”

Gaston pretended to be done, and drank his beer. Finally, someone cracked and prompted him in just the manner he was hoping for: “Well? Did it work?”

Gaston nodded, “Better than I could have possibly hoped. Other than needing someone to lift the wagons,” he flexed his arm, “it turns out I wasn’t even needed. Not a single attacker made it past Verkander.”

Someone exclaimed from the crowd, “He stopped all hundred horse, by himself!?”

Gaston looked surprised, “A hundred!? Heavens no, it only sounded like a hundred. It turned out to be a thousand!” Gasps of astonishment coursed through the room. Gaston looked at Verkander and raised his tankard in salute, “And that, my friends, is one of the many legends of Verkander Stoneheart.”

The room erupted in applause and cheers.

“To Verkander!”

“A thousand men? Did you hear him, a thousand to one! By himself!”

“To Gaston!”

“To Gaston and Verkander!”

“To Gaston and Verkander! And to Amun and Belrab!”

“Huzzah!”

Ruin appeared next to King Tavros, who was standing largely forgotten at the edge of the room, unmoved from where he entered. He looked around bewildered, “What in the actual hell is going on? I heard there was another Avatar and came to check on you, but–"

“We’re toasting Verkander Stoneheart, who held off a thousand heavy horse in the battle of Mill Valley… by himself,” Tavros explained, “but he needed someone to help him form a chokepoint by lifting entire wagons with his bare hands, which is where Gaston Galais, avatar of Amun comes in. So we’re toasting him as well.”

“And Martini?” Ruin asked, looking to where she had sat next to Gaston at one of the tables. She was practically in his lap and her hands were wandering shamelessly, without the slightest care for the avatar’s notions of propriety.

Tavros shrugged his shoulders, “Martini worships in her own way. It was like this when I came in.”

Ruin nodded his head several times, as if taking all the information in. Then he disappeared.

Tavros looked to the empty spot where his friend had been, shrugged again, and left the room. Might as well get some sleep, he thought to himself. He needed to talk to Gaston and Verkander alone, and it was clear that the former would not be separated from Martini this night, nor would the latter be separated from his beer. Perhaps I could get some nice, quiet reading in…

“Tavros! Tavros!” Sacha was practically running down the hall. Leira was holding his hand and skipping behind him with her skirts hiked up. “Is it true!? Gaston Galais is here!? Iron-arms himself!?”

Tavros pointed a thumb over his shoulder, “Dining hall.”

“C’mon, Leira! This way! You’ve got to meet him, you’ll think he’s just grand!” He dashed passed Tavros without another word.

Tavros shrugged, and kept walking.

“Tavros!” Eva this time.

“Dining hall… but she didn’t look interested in sharing!” That last part was called down the hallway after her as she retreated out of sight.

Tavros shrugged, and kept walking.

“And that’s why I can’t wear closed toe shoes anymore. You see right there, that big knob on my second toe…”

“Ahem, yes, but back to the matter of a temple for The Lady…”

As he walked by the open door, Tavros saw Geddy had his foot up on the table, showing it to the two negotiators from the church of Demeter.

Tavros shrugged, and kept walking.

As he turned the corner, a gaggle of young acolytes – all female – rushed past him, whispering to each other. They didn’t seem to even notice their king.

Tavros shrugged, kept walking, and came to his chambers.

“Tavros?”

“Dining –“ Tavros turned and stopped. It was Lady Emilianne Fontaine, his mother, “Oh, I assumed…”

“That I was another admirer, looking for Gaston?”

“Um, actually? Yes.”

Lady Fontaine chuckled, “Well, he is a very pretty man, I’ll give him that. And his muscles –“

“Mother, please.”

“Sorry,” she gestured at the door, “Shall we? You know Dante doesn’t want us to be seen interacting in public without all the proper pomp and circumstance.”

Tavros nodded and quickly led her into his chambers. He chose a chair by the fire and poured himself another much-needed drink, “So what brings you to the temple?”

Emilianne grinned, “In truth, Gaston. I was meeting with him and the Abbess earlier.”

Tavros rolled his eyes, “So am I to barter and deal with my own mother church for support as well?”

“I don’t think he’s here for the same reason as the others. Gaston made it very clear that he would be leaving in a few days. I think the church might have heard about some of the other petitioners, and decided it was high time to pay you a visit themselves.”

Tavros swirled his wine, “Someone to take a measure of me?”

“I believe so. And maybe to provide some guidance as well.”

“Guidance!” Tavros groaned and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, “Guidance is something I could surely use right now.  I thought I was dealing with adults who might be persuaded to see reason, but instead I seem to be saddled with a bunch of selfish toddlers.”

“Tavros,” a hint of her old, motherly chiding crept into her voice, “This is rulership. It’s not pretty.”

“I hoped there could be peace,” Tavros said regretfully, sloshing the wine around in his glass, “I hoped I could mend relations between elves and men.”

Lady Fontaine was silent.

Tavros leaned back and closed his eyes again, “Everybody seems to know what I should do. Fine, spit it out. What do you think I should do?”

“Make the best deals you can, secure the best allies you can. Winning the throne is more important than anything else, for if you fail…” she trailed off.

Tavros considered her words for several minutes in silence. “So… when it’s all done, I’ve made deals, sold off favors, and chosen sides… Am I, at that point, any different than my uncle? Or any of his predecessors? Haven’t I just picked up the thread and continued sewing the same pattern that’s been woven for centuries?”

Lady Fontaine looked down at her hands, “This is why you must choose your allies carefully.”

“This…” Tavros shook his head, “there must be a way to find allies who will support my goals. I cannot simply choose the strongest or those who offer most, else I'll be struggling against them for whole of my reign.”

"I wish you luck in that." His mother gave him a sympathetic look, nodded ever so slightly, and rose, “My liege, it is late and I must retire.” She curtseyed neatly, barely looking him in the eye, and left the room. When she left, Tavros threw his glass across the room and swore. Small wonder his mother had foresworn her place in the succession; if he'd had any sense, he'd have done the same. Still... she was correct that if he didn't manage to take the throne, nothing else that he hoped to accomplish would matter.

The next morning Tavros went the dining hall very early, hoping to avoid the crowds of people he didn’t want to talk to. To his surprise, Gaston Galais was already sitting at a table, cutting up sausages with surprisingly refined manners.

“Your majesty!” Gaston said, “Please, honor me.” He gestured to the spot across from him. Tavros had no choice but to sit.

“Sir Galais, the honor is ours. How long will you be staying with us?”

“Oh?” Gaston blotted his mouth with a napkin and swallowed, “Actually, I’ll be leaving today.”

“Today?” Tavros was shocked. He had expected another protracted negotiation.

“Yes, I’m heading up to Chuva Norte. We have many new followers up there, and I plan to spend all spring, when the Partidos are in full swing. When all the people are together is the best time to spread the word of our good lord.”

“Of course,” Tavros nodded. He’d heard of the migratory Partidos, where people gathered to celebrate the spring before moving back to their homes for the summer, but knew little else. In truth, he knew little beyond the boundaries of Sol Povos. It reminded him of how painfully ignorant he was. “I’d hoped you might lend your arm to our cause.”

“No,” Gaston said quickly, “our lord has already favored someone in this conflict. I merely came to meet you for myself, and –“

“To give me some advice,” Tavros finished.

Gaston stopped eating for a moment and looked at Tavros seriously, “If necessary, but I’m not sure it’s needed.”

Tavros rolled his eyes, “If you say so. All these deals and negotiations, I’m in over my head. And I've only a very few people I can trust to guide me.”

Gaston shrugged and continued eating, “You’re over-complicating things.”

“Am I?” Tavros felt slightly offended.

“Brother,” Gaston said, “in a great battle, in the thick of it, what do you do?”

It seemed like a test, but Tavros was in no mood to back down, “I assess the position of my troops and rally their morale –“

“No,” Gaston cut him off, “you’re in the middle of a big, bloody battle, surrounded by hollering friends and foes, no idea which is which. What do you do? What do you really do in that situation?”

“Oh,” Tavros said slowly, “I look for the most dangerous enemy I can see, and I kill him.”

“And then?”

“And then I kill the next one.”

Gaston nodded his head, “Exactly, and so on, and so on, until there are no enemies left. Then you survey the field to see what remains, and start picking up the pieces.”

“Of course,” Tavros said, “but I don’t see –“

“It’s the same,” Gaston said simply gesturing around him, “this is all the same. You kill one enemy, and then the next, and when it’s done, only then do you survey the field.”

“Are you saying,” Tavros began slowly, “that I should just take the best deals I can to defeat my enemies? Because that seems to be the advice everyone is giving me, and it seems remarkably short-sighted.”

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t over-complicated things. You know, when I became our lord’s avatar, I communed with him. He showed me what it was like being mortal, versus being a god. We are such transient beings, brother – here for the blink of an eye, before being replaced by the next generation. If you could see things as he does, as he showed me for that brief second, you would understand how utterly insignificant some of these decisions are, like a drop of water in the ocean of time.” He waved his fork at Tavros, with a sausage hanging on the end, “And you wouldn’t worry so much.”

“You think I should accept your buddy Verkander’s proposal?” Tavros asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No, no, that’s for you to decide. He’s a solid fighter, but not without his flaws. And I don’t think you’ll have any shortage of suitors vying for alliances with the future king. Your only concern should be winning the battle right in front of you. The future doesn’t matter unless you win the throne.”

Tavros nodded his head. Somehow, advice from a fellow warrior resonated with him easily. “I guess I see your point. In a way, it’s no different than a battlefield. The goal is to stay alive, and you take it one step at a time.”

“Precisely,” Gaston smiled wide, “that is the way of our lord’s work, and why he’s so encouraging and accepting. We are transient creatures, living in the moment, and all he asks is that we do what good we can in the moment, one act at a time, in whatever way we can.”

“Thank you,” Tavros said gravely, “your coming here has truly lifted my spirits. It was perhaps…” he smiled, “exactly what I needed.”

Gaston wiped his mouth one last time, “Glad to be of service, brother. I will pray for you.” He stood and swung his leg over the bench slowly, as if it pained him greatly.

“Are you okay!?” Tavros asked, bolting to his feet.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. It’s just that…” he looked at Tavros sheepishly, “it’s just that your friend, Madame D’wintlither…”

“So that’s why you’re up so early!” Tavros exclaimed.

“Yes, well, if you see her…” he winced as he bent to scoop up his scabbard and backpack, lying by the door, “do give her my regards. Goodbye, brother.”

Tavros watched the avatar of Amun walk out the door and chuckled. He laughed for a long time, and by the time others started filing into the dining hall, tears were running down his cheeks.

Dante Alighieri was one of the people entering the hall and rushed to Tavros, “My liege, are you okay? Have you… lost your wits?”

“No,” Tavros gasped in between laughs, “no, I’m fine. I’m great actually.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and caught his breath, “I’m better than great, Dante. The best I’ve felt in weeks. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Dante said, puzzled.

“Now,” Tavros stood decisively, “Let’s get moving.”

“Moving where, your majesty? What are we going to do?”

Tavros stopped at the door and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. One step at a time.” Then he strode out of the room, chuckling to himself some more at Dante’s gaping expression.

* * *

"Ah," said Mythandril, looking up from his book. "What brings you to the library, Your Majesty?" 

"In truth, I came to find you," said Tavros. "Do you mind?" 

"Not at all, Highness," said Mythrandil, straightening. He re-rolled the scroll he'd been reading and set it aside. "What is it you wish of me?"

Tavros regarded him for a moment. "Well," he said, "I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of difficulty, and I don't see any way to get out of it without your help."

Mythrandril looked surprised. "Truly? I admit, it would please me to be doing something useful, though I hope you'll forgive my suspicion in asking you to explain in detail before I make any promises. As entertaining as it has been to attend Your Majesty's strategy sessions, I have never in my life met so many people so thoroughly opposed to hearing me speak."

Tavros blinked. Oh, crap. All this time, and...? "I thought you were staying silent out of... I don't know, actually. Some desire not to interfere in the affairs of Sol Povos, perhaps. I hadn't realized. I apologize, I should have called on you directly."

Mythrandril shook his head sadly. "Kings don't apologize, Your Majesty." 

Tavros said, "This one does. But that's part of the problem, it seems."

Mythrandil just waited. 

"You know -- or perhaps you don't; I may have been naive in this matter, too -- that I intend for you to become King in Duendewood." He swallowed. "I haven't spoken much of it, because it hasn't seemed safe to mention, especially before I've managed to claim the throne."

"Ah," said Mythrandril. "I had wondered why you were keeping me here, or to put it more politely why you had permitted me to remain."

Tavros chuckled. "I had hoped to reunite the realm, but after all this I don't believe that's possible. The point was driven home to me rather forcefully by the reaction to my stated intention to build a temple complex to be the center of worship in Sol Povos. I had hoped that the gods could be satisfied with official recognition and token monetary and political support, and had planned to include temples to Amun, Demeter, Helios, Artemis... and Corellon Larethian."

Mythrandril blinked, and Tavros thought that this time he'd actually surprised him. After a moment to royal elf shook his head sadly and said, "Dearest Gods, man. Nobody would be satisfied with that. Not the gods, not their worshippers, not your subjects."

"In my defense," said Tavros, "that was very much the idea."

Mythrandril looked thoughtful. "You planned to play them off against each other." 

Tavros gave a slight shrug. "Balance them against each other, but yes." 

He was well aware at this point that nobody was going to see it that way, but Mythrandil's pensive expression only deepened. "I can almost see it. No true primacy for anyone, but enough recognition that they could all comfortably grow their followers. It would never have worked, though. Even leaving aside the recent war and the current political mood, you've name the three primary gods of the Covenant of Amun, then added one from the Covenant of Nepthys and another who belongs to no Covenant at all."

Tavros nodded. "And who fathered a race which far too many of my people have come to see as our hereditary enemies," he said miserably. 

There was a momentary pause. "So," said Mythrandril. "Do you want me to tell you how I suspect Vigo intends to get you out of this? Or would you prefer to tell me yourself?"

Tavros quirked a grin. "Why don't you tell me? It would be nice to have someone besides Vigo acting mysterious and knowledgeable for once. And if you're wrong, perhaps your solution will be better than his."

Mythrandil sniffed, amused. "Very well. Vigo will want the Avatar of Demeter on your side, and he likely believes that you must show some deference to Helios to retain the loyalty of the Solari and the nobles. He's very likely correct on both accounts. He's probably irritated that your commitment to Amun doesn't provide more in the way of resources, though having a temple full of loyal priests and paladins is no small thing. So he will want you to limit your commitment of the coin of the realm -- and the associated recognition and political influence -- to the three gods who belong to same Covenant and can therefore be expected to stand together. He will want you get everything you can in exchange for... permitting me to take up a crown for Duendewood, but at this point if I am willing to take over the care and funding of Corellon and Artemis then he would consider that a fair return, especially given that you intend to do this anyway."

Tavros coughed quietly. "I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't turn the whole kingdom over to you," he said. "You're rather a lot better at this than I am."

Mythrandril shrugged and stood. "I was raised for this, trained for this, for all of my childhood. You'll get there, Your Majesty, especially as you get better-established and more familiar with it. And to answer the question you didn't ask: Yes, I'm willing to do what you need. I'd have supported the Temple of Corellon anyway, and Artemis is well-loved among the elves. In fact..." he considered for a moment, then said: "I will also pledge to make formal alliance with Sol Povos -- not just to end the war, but to make a pact of mutual protection for our two nations once the current troubles are resolved. That should ease your way with the Whisperer, at least in some small measure."

"An alliance would be most welcome," Tavros admitted. "You should know that Ruin, Martini, and Marshall Mercy will be traveling north in a few days, to assist the Resistance and slay the false king Lamont. Very likely they will weaken the priests of Appollyon in the process. That should help clear the way for your return."

Mythrandril chuckled and shook his head. "Trouble does seem to find them," he observed. "I can work with that, especially if I can make contact with the Resistance."

"The mages should be able to handle that," Tavros said. "They can even send you north, when you're ready... Your Majesty."

* * *

Tavros stopped in mid-stride as he approached Vigo’s chambers, for he heard sounds of agony coming from within. A servant rushed out of the room with a full bucket of… something. Marshall was right behind him.

“Oh, there ya are, ‘your majesty’” Marshall said, “I was just checkin on our little guy.”

A violent retching sound came from Vigo’s room.

Tavros looked at Marshall with a sense of mild alarm, “Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Marshall said easily, “He just fine. A little poison is good for the body, that’s what I always say!”

Another retch came from within, and another servant rushed by with a full bucket.

“Shouldn’t he have done that last night!?” Tavros asked, his concern growing.

“Oh, no,” Marshall said emphatically, “O' course not. He wanted to, o’ course, but I saved his gentle soul.”

“What do you mean?” Tavros glared at Marshall. The man either didn’t notice or was unfazed.

“I just reminded him how it important it was to keep all that poison inside yer body!”

“Thanks a lot, Marshall.”

“Oh, don’t you even mention it, Mr. Majesty, I’m just happy to spread the joy of Artem-hiss.” He clapped Tavros on the back and floated off, his chubby, emaciated legs dragging behind him like a pair of vestigial tails, and his actual tail swishing through the air.

Realizing that Vigo would not be of any use this day, Tavros chuckled and continued walking. He’d thought to bring the man up to speed on Verkander Stoneheart and Gaston Iron-Arms, but that could wait. And it'll do Vigo good to have some decisions made without his input. When he reached the main hall, he bumped into Sister Tiva.

“Your majesty, I was looking for you!” Tiva said.

“And I for you,” Tavros replied, “I was going to speak with Verkander again.”

Tiva looked down at her feet as if she’d done something wrong, “You can’t, your majesty. He’s… he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Tavros asked.

“Yes, he left very early this morning.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I happened to come across him as he was marching out the front door. He didn’t tell anybody or announce it. I’m not sure he even slept last night. He just drank, and drank, and said nothing other than grunting from time to time. Then he got up and left before first light.”

“He didn’t say anything?” Tavros asked, astonished.

“I… I asked him if he wanted me to give you a message,” Tiva said.

“And?”

“He said no.”

“He refused?”

“Actually,” Tiva said slowly, “I think that was the message. Just that one word.”

“I see,” Tavros said, “So he didn’t seem too pleased, I take it?”

“No.”

"Is he angry, do you think?"

“Your majesty, if I may, I do not think you need to fear Verkander Stoneheart as an enemy.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I don’t think so, at least not really.”

Tavros put his hands on his hips, “What does that mean?”

“Well, it seems to me he feels you have dishonored him, by refusing support after their temple was destroyed. So, he may, in the future, demand that his honor be satisfied in some way, as is their custom. But I do not think he will truly stand against you as an enemy.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Tavros ventured.

Tiva winced, “Well, it depends. He may ask you for money, or there might be a token attack on a border town, or…”

“Or?”

“Well, just don’t go drinking at any dwarven bars in the future. That would be best.” Tiva nodded her head, as if the last advice were the best.

Tavros shook his head, “Okay, thank you, Sister Tiva. Now, if you please, I must consult with my advisors.”

Tiva managed the best curtsey a dwarf could, and hustled off down the hall to attend her daily duties. In truth, it didn’t sound so bad to Tavros. He wasn’t supposed to go to bars anyway.

“Tavros!” the gravelly, irreverent voice of Ezra Cardon echoed down the hall. He had actually come inside. Apparently the departure of Verkander Stoneheart was quite meaningful to him, although he still looked around at the walls like a caged animal planning its escape, “I have information on that rat bastard, Vecna!” He spat on the floor and Tavros glared at him.

“Perhaps,” Tavros said diplomatically, looking at the soiled tiles and the trail of water behind Cardon, “it would be best to talk outside.”

As they walked to the garden, Tavros sent for Geddy, Eva, and Leira, who joined them a few moments later.

“All right, so these bastards were in Wellfort, right…”