Two Nations' War

As dawn opens her curtains, morning light illuminates the scarred terrain of a once beautiful meadow. Once full of wonderfully happy animals, the meadow now holds captive thousands of decaying corpses wrought in awful positions- a testament to the battle they had fought just a few hours previous.

Sventhor Rorkovic, standing tall and muscles bulging from his summertime amor, admires his army's works as he strolls among the dead, looking for any signs of life or will to live. After almost two passes through the meadow's inclosure, Rorkovic decides to leave the rest to his men and head back home where he was most needed. However, a spot gleams in the distance, and upon closer inspection, Rorkovic easily recognizes the glimmer to be a temporary truce signal given off by the blade of his father's nemisis.

Savages... he says under his breath, If only I had brought my blade...

But something besides the glimmer catches his attention. As the commander from the nemisis nation sheathes his sword, Rorkovic notices an additional horse in the caravan. He quickly snatches up one of his field commander's scope and looks down the sights:

"A woman rides with them today," Rorkovic explains. Who is it and what are the circumstances? he thinks to himself upon returning the scope to the frazzled field commander.

As allies at this point in time, it was the obligation of the two presiding officers or nobility to step forward in terms to negotiate the temporary treaty and its current effects. Rorkovic slowly mounted his warhorse and rode towards the incoming king of his father's nemisis nation. He had in mind that the truce only covered this meadow for purposes of locating soldiers. However, he hadn't noticed that the woman rode up silently behind the nemisis king.​

Sitting on a pure white Arabian stallion, she gripped the reins of her horse and blinked as it moved closer to her fathers' horse. She swallowed as the scent of death reached her nose. The white cloak that covered her up glistened in the sunlight, representing a beacon of hope to the rest of the army despite the death of the first wave.

Her father, the king, raised his sword to signal the truce. He growled to himself as his adviser rode up next him, "My Lord... are you certain about this?" The kind nodded and looked over at his daughter, "Yes, I am." He knew his daughter held great power and, if he willed her to, she could kill the man who had decimated the first wave of his army.

"come!" He sheathed his sword and forced his steed forward, trotting forward with the arabian trailing close behind him. His adviser followed next to her, looking over to make sure she was ok riding despite her condition.


The trio came to a slow stop, the woman not very noticeable until her horse pulled out next to the king. It stayed a bit behind him but it was still out in the open, it's rider staring blankly ahead. Her eyes were dull in color, glazed over from her blindness.

The king glared over at his adversary, "Rorokvic," His hands tightened on the reins, his visible knuckles turning white from the pressure. He wanted to decapitate the boy at this moment, but he could not. Not yet.​

"To whom... or what... do I owe the pleasure?" Rorkovic asked in a sardonic tone. He could already tell that establishing a clear treaty would not be easy between the two of them, and quite frankly, he felt that the king had no reason to be here. But this was all before he saw the young lady pull up beside the king.

Sitting on her purest white stallion, her purest white cloak pulled around her shoulders and draped over her arms, this new woman (at least in Rorkovic's perspective) definitely attracted his attention. It was not the white that caused Rorkovic to stiffen to suddenly, though. Instead, it was the beauty that he had never seen before that caused Rorkovic's sudden withdrawl of breath and clenching of muscles. He thought he had caught her eyes, but her attention was pulled beyond him; he felt chilled as her eyes slowly swooped over his body and back again. Rorkovic couldn't quite place the feeling, but he knew she was special.

"Before you call your terms, king, I demand that you inform me of your counsel that you've brought with you," he barked at the king. This blatant disrespect towards the king was an effective tactic by which to throw the king off of his "cool" and catch the king with his foot in his mouth. Rorkovic felt the chill as he tried to gaze upon the woman again, his eyes drawn to hers. Her posture indicated a strong will and courage, but her distant stares and seemingly distraught body movements could be interpretted as preoccupation of a malevolent thought or idea. Rorkovic now knew she was to do something with the king's treaty, but he still could not place his tongue on it.​

His nostrils flared as Rorkovic made demand's just as he arrived. "I, King Malki Lemuel the First have brought my adviser," He motioned over to the lanky, bald-headed man on the horse to his his right. "and The Oracle," he looked over to the woman on his left, his eyes lingering as his features draw longer on his face. He did not want to claim her as his daughter, not infront of this ingrate. It would just be more of a reason to attack her on the spot.


"We have... come," He was struggling with his words- struggling with recognizing his defeat. However, he did not want to walk away with his tail between his legs, "To discuss a truce." His adviser took out a few pieces of parchment, unrolling one of them and sticking his quill into a small bottle of ink. He readied the quill pen and looked up, waiting for someone to speak.

Blinking slowly, her visible world a haze of energy and whispers, she could feel him... looking at her. Her eyes moved from where she was looking, some distant thing, and turned them until she felt his. She did not blink as she stared at him, the hazy color a faint blue painted over white. Her horse huffed and moved its weight onto the other hoof and her eyes blinked.​

An Oracle...? You've got to be kidding me. Rorkovic thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers in nervousness.

Realizing the assumed powers of an Oracle, he quickly averted his eyes from her and stopped all thinking whatsoever. He had been caught with his guard down about the Oracle. He wanted to imagine what she was like, who she really was, but he promptly pushed those thoughts away as quickly as possible. It took him a while to become used to this fashion of control, especially when trying to decide upon the ramifications of the truce.

He seemed distant and preoccupied. "...Erm...What exactly did you have in mind, King Lemuel?" But Rorkovic paid no attention to the king's offerings of peacetime; his attention was once again solely upon the Oracle and her reactions to what he thought and said. He let go of holding in his thoughts- he wanted to know what she thought of them, and as her face revealed all of her opinions, Rorkovic could, to a degree, figure out who she was.

He started to now ask questions: Do you have relation to the king? he thought clearly enough so that she couldn't miss the question. He even now brought his eyes over to hers to let her know he was talking to her. He had become so caught up in the Oracle's reactions that he had missed about a fourth of the conversation he and the king were supposed to be having.

To be quite honest with himself, he was enthralled. Rorkovic no longer cared what the king said; he was mystified by her control of mind and abilities as an Oracle. However, once the draft of the treaty had been written, Rorkovic made sure he read over it at least twice to check for loopholes. To his surprise, however, the treaty was completely two sided.

Wow, he really means business this time... Rorkovic's stressed muscled relaxed with this seemingly flawless solution to the battle. While still exhausted from countless nights without sleep and in command of a large army, Rorkovic was still able to sign off on the truce, when he suddenly noticed a tiny clause at the bottom of the page. While signing, he strained and squinted his eyes to fully read the clause.

"And I must do what now...?" He said, pointing to the almost invisible clause.​

As the two man went on with each other, determining the boundaries of their truce ad the adviser scribbled away a draft, the Oracle watched him. Her eyes were glued to him the entire time, even as she listened to the King's grueling speech and the adviser's lanky blurbs of characteristical sounds equivalent to a man who wanted to stick his opinion in everyone's face- but he could not because it was not his place. So, he made that slight "mHM" sound he always made when he agreed with something.

But when she heard this man try to speak to her, her lips curled into a slight smile, her eyes lighting up. It had been a long time since anyone tried to speak to her this way, though she was not exposed to other people very often. She decided to give him an answer. The Oracle was known for never lying and even though it may hurt the King in the end, she told him the truth.

Yes.

Her horse grunted and lifted his head, chewing on the mouthpiece of his bridle. Her hands moved up along his mane, stroking at his soft skin underneath the long white hair. Calming the creature, she leaned back into her previous position, letting her eyes drift away from Rorkovic.


"The clause states that you, your military and all of your people will stay out of our country and all of its domains!" The King was very serious about the security of his citizens- plus he didn't want any of Rorkovics' kind getting anywhere near his daughter.​

Goosebumps rode up and down Rorkovic's spine, even in this blistering heat, as he received an answer from the Oracle. His heart raced as if adrenaline had been administered to him through the words of the Oracle. He smiled back at her and focused upon her once again, only to see she had averted her gaze.

His focused snapped at the king's message and forceful delievery. While this was an effective way to end the war, he still had questions about the Oracle. His eyes darted back to hers- he looked for a reaction or a solution.

Blank. She knew it was coming.

Rorkovic took the document back, this time combing for some adversarial, contradicting clause to what the king had stated. "Not even for commerce or trade?" he asked, still rifiling through the document. His words were pathetic and weak, and any versed man would have taken advantage of this situation if they had not just lost a major battle. Rorkovic could feel himself straining again, tensing up. His brow began to bead with sweat again, and where he once felt weightless, he now felt even moreso burdened by the weight.

Now Rorkovic was challenged with his own judgment: Would his father approve of the truce, in either form? Both King Lemuel and King H'venti hated each other in such a passion that neither would want to see the day, at least in their reign of power, where their two nations were united upon one or more treaties. However, Rorkovic knew of his father's frustrations with the army and how many civilians were being harmed in the mixture. A decision had to be made.​

"If you wish to commence any kind of trade with our nation, you must send us a plea that lists every merchant, every material that will be traded, all of their belongings they shall bring with them and their routes. From there, they will be escorted by a troupe from our militia." So, in essence, the traders would be hammered for details and then brought through the nation like they were criminals. High-end merchants would either be offended by the slight of distrust, or grateful for the potential protection. Anyone else would be grateful for any business they could forgo.

While he wished to send his own militia with his people's merchants, he could not risk losing any more soldiers. Plus, with Rorkovic's merchants coming to Lemuel's nation, his own merchants would no longer need to travel. They could trade with the merchants that had come into the nation. In his eyes, everyone won.

She could feel him looking at her again. He was such a curious one for being so brutal on the battle field. She also noticed his fire for their verbal battle had gone out. It was like he was taking every hit with a nod and a scribble of the pen. Odd.

This treaty saddens you.

Her statement was also a bit of a question. She could see it in him, her eyes looking at him again, some form of remorse was lingering inside of him.​

Rorkovic understood the treaty, thinking it somewhat fair and reasonable. He added a quick nod and scribbled upon his parchment for notes, all of which had been blank before. He had no comment nor retort for the king, which probably surprised him.

My father will not like this, he thought to himself, completely forgetting that the Oracle was nearby. I musn't let this pass.

"I speak for our merchants when I say none of them will want to trade under those conditions. Firstly, it's a hassle! That paperwork will take years for you to examine and file. Furthermore, your militia will not have the documents that you've verified when our merchants arrive, leading to a massacre and pillage of our inventory. How do you expect to trade under such circumstances? Like it or not, we're the only country around that would actually help you profit from your resources."

While he felt empowered from his monologue, he felt detatched; Rorkovic spoke his father's words, not his own feelings. He wanted both nations to finally cooperate, but he realized that, under these circumstances, neither king would be willing to give up his autonomous control of his respective nation.

He looked back to the Oracle now, realizing that she was studying him. Her thought came to him now. You're right: it does. I haven't spoken what I want to happen. I'm sure you've already figured this out, though. Rorkovic now awaited a response from King Lemuel and his advisor while his thoughts trailed off like the seemingly endless horizon in the East.​

The Oracle nodded slightly. She did know how he felt about this, she could see it. She could see him struggling with his own identity. He had to give up his own opinions to make someone else happy. She understood this on a personal level but she did not admit this to him.

"If your merchants refuse to trade with us, they will lose money. Your country will fall to poverty faster than you can blink! As you may know, trading is not a main source of income for my people- it is more of a way to get rid of our trash." He was being spiteful now, grinning maliciously as he threw around words like poison tipped daggers, "Your merchants will agree to and adhere by this treaty- or they will become poor, your country will become desolate and you will crumble under the pressure of my militia!"

He did not plan to attack them any time soon, but if they did begin to wither, he would not hold back. He would crush them the first moment he was given.

The adviser snickered to himself and looked on to the Prince Rorkovic, waiting for him to agree. No one expected him to say "no" due to the fact that he wasn't in much of a position. But, if he did, they did not feel he could hurt them despite the short distance they kept. That was why she was there.​

Rorkovic understood her nod. He now placed his full attention towards King Lemuel, with one more thought given to the Oracle: Do not worry, I approach the king to whisper, not to attack.

And now he stated it outloud for both the king and his advisor to hear, "I will now approach the king in order to speak in silence. I will not attack." Rorkovic waited as the king looked around at the two of his counsel and then back to him. Remaining on his horse, Rorkovic pulled closer to the king, side by side, in order to whisper in his ear. He carefully leaned over his horse and placed a hand upon the neck of the king's horse to balance himself.

"Listen, king, I'm not here to push my own thoughts," his voice was quiet but grave. "My father's thoughts are what I speak, and I'm offering you insight into what I believe." Rorkovic waited for a reply; a nod is what he received. "I know what you're doing, and I respect your concern for your people. Don't spread yourself too thin, though. Once you start using your own militia to guard our merchants, you will have written your own will; King H'venti will use the remnants of his army and all of his militia to crush you and your nation while you worry about transporting our merchants."

Rorkovic backed away now, returning to his original spot about three paces away from the 3 of them. Back into his father's character, he retorted to the king's last statement with an elongated and painful "No."

He looked again to the Oracle. His patience was tried and shot; his mind numbed by halfwit treaty attempts. Rorkovic's thoughts scattered, leaving behind a desolate template of his mind for the Oracle's personal use. He slouched over and dismounted his horse, tethering it to the burnt stump by its reins.

I have a feeling this might take awhile.​

King Lemuel appeared flustered and waited for one of the two besides him to say something about Rorkovic's mentioning. He paused, his features softening when the Oracles words echoed inside of him.

Perhaps you should lighten your request? Let the traders through. Some malevolence goes a long way.

He reached up and stroked his chin, soon smoothing out his mustache, "Very well... I will be lenient with this treaty. Your merchants may travel through our land without escort- but they must still comply with the paperwork." Yes, it would be a hassle but there would be no reason to question the merchants coming through their nation as long as they were honest. It was just another form of security.

His adviser immediately began to rewrite the treaty, frowning at the changes being made. However, he couldn't say anything about it. He just sat there and boiled inwardly.

The Oracle looked at the prince now, smiling with a genuine air. She had heard what he'd saw and she saw him a bit differently, more definite in her opinion. He was sweet, truly sweet.
​

Rorkovic offered a smile to the Oracle, but quickly retracted it. He didn't want to attract attention to the fact that they were conversing, nor did he want to feel like an idiot for smiling at a blind person. Thank you, he finally willed his mind to say. I now offer myself or my services in consolidation of my debt. He looked up for a reaction, but he couldn't quite get a read on the Oracle's face.

It was beginning to become dusk, and the four of them still remained out in the meadow. Rorkovic's remaining squadron leaders had long since left for home. He stood next to his horse in meditation, mulling over the events of today and their possible consequences when news reached home. He feared his father's rage and hated the period he must wait in order to find out if he had done right or wrong in his father's eyes. Rorkovic extended his hand towards the advisor, offering to read what he had so far.

He skimmed the passages, reading them to himself and mentally taking note of the parts with which he still had questions and problems. All of them could see he was drained, though- even simple gestures like a signature became elongated tasks for him to complete, like a mission in a war. The document was daunting, and he'd rather not recite it to his father, but it must be done.

"I've read, confirmed, and agreed to the above listed ramifications to this specific treaty. My signature can be found at the bottom; once your signature is applied, the treaty will become active and stay so until breach of treaty has been established." His voice now sounded apathetic and robotic. It was obvious the day was taxing upon every aspect of his character.

Anything else I should know? How do I contact you, or is this it? he marveled at the Oracle. He knew their time together was coming to an end; he needed to open up a route both figuratively and literally in order to converse with her once again, especially not under these circumstances.​

The adviser took the parchment and handed it to the king along with a quill pen. King Lemuel signed it, dotting the page at the end of his swift scribbled and gave the parchment back to the adviser, "Very well. We are done here." He nodded to Rorkovic and turned his horse around, trotting back to his army with the adviser following suit immediately.

The Oracle looked to the Prince as the King left and she told him,

This should be the last time we ever see each other.

She gripped the reins of her stallion as its head lifted and it turned around.

You may send me parchment via avian.

She had a meditation area somewhere on the castle grounds. It was surrounded by ivory pillars and beautiful greenery, many breeds of birds gathering there during the day time and even during the night. She could send and receive letters from the birds from time to time, though doing so was rare. She was not opposed to keeping an open line with him this way, though they would have to be careful.

Her horse started forward, following after the kings' stallion as it was trained to do.​

Rorkovic watched them until they became distant blurs in his eyes. He slowly untied the horse from its tethering point and clambered onto the tired creature. He urged the horse to go forward, and the horse lurched foward like an unoiled machine gear. The horse tripped over the water-sodden meadow ground. Or was it blood? Nevermind. he thought. I don't want to know.

Rorkovic gave the horse special praise and took great caution in route and terrain choice; he knew that the horse was as down and fried as he, so pushing it to its limits would have no use. The two of them inched home in 9 hours, and Rorkovic slipped into the castle to sleep while the horse-caretaker quickly tended to the exhausted horse. Its horseshoes were almost deformed enough around his hoof to cause permanent bonding; that whole situation could have spelt disaster for the reliable horse.

Rorkovic woke up in the later evening, deciding to wait to send the Oracle a letter until tomorrow morning, where she might directly receive it instead of running the risk of someone else opening it. He went to bed thinking about what he should say to the Oracle, hoping that maybe she might catch the slightest hint of his thoughts that night, in her dreams or otherwise.

He felt like he needed to talk to her, as if it were mandatory. His body temperature rose when thinking about her, and his spine ached for a quick track of goosebumps to run along or around. He was almost experiencing those feelings just thinking about her.​

The two stallions and the one gelding hurried back to the army. Once they had all regrouped, the king demanded that they head back home. The ride was long but it is not without chatter. Many of the soldiers were cheering and grinning ear to ear as they felt they had won. Though, those who did not show such joy were skimming over their sorrow. Many had lost friends, brothers, cousins, and even fathers. A few had even lost a son in the battle. They knew that, in the end, their comrades had fallen for good cause but they could not drive themselves into the ocean of celebration that met them at their home city.


Large gates rivaling that of Alexandria opened as they approached, ribbons and an explosion of cheers met them.

The king and his aide rode in with a carriage behind them. Inside was the Oracle, and many new this. She had been stowed away shortly after arriving back at the campsite. Her stallion pulled the carriage without a handler; the horses eyes set on the back of the kings' horse.

Soldiers surrounded her carriage and escorted her forward with the king, soon arriving at their home. They helped her out and took her horse to the stables.

"My dear Acacia! We have done it!" The King approached the Oracle and grasped her into a loving and excited hug. As he drew away, he smiled down at her and rubbed his cheek with his thumb, "I am so proud of you!" He took her hands and led her into the castle, "We must celebrate our victory!"

She smiled subtly and put her hand ontop of his, Father, I am very tired. Perhaps I could join you in celebration another time?

Her father, the King, was obviously upset by this. But when he saw her face and how exhausted she looked- he could not deny her rest, "Very well. Please, rest yourself as long as you need."

Thank you. The Oracle drew away from him and walked forward, soon followed by a guard to her bedroom.​

The cracked window inside Rorkovic's room let in a cool draft on this summer night, its coldness like a splash of water on his bare skin. He slept on top of his covers, avoiding keeping any body heat to himself. Sweat beadded on his skin, rolling slowly down the sides of his body, evaporating as it should to help cool him off. Each toss and turn added to his already sleep-deprived exhaustion.

In frustration, he lept from the bed and stormed down the hallway to his bathroom. Damn, he cursed silently in his head, This day had more of a toll on me than I had previously thought. He turned the creaky, wooden knob clockwise to release the lukewarm water from its reservoire deep within the castle. Relatively, the water seemed cold on Rorkovic's abnormally hot face and body. He splashed the liquid sweet upon his entire self before deciding to return to his room, not even caring to dry-off.

However, Rorkovic's insomnia decided otherwise; he turned into his study, which was noticably cooler than his sleeping quarters. Pulling his chair behind him, he sat down uneasily, straining the muscles he had exhausted from today's warfare. After locating parchment and his only quill, he slowly inked the quill and moved it over the parchment. His mind raced, forgetting to even address the letter; he scrambled down a few uneven lines of useless small talk before he realized his error.

Rorkovic crushed the parchment and tossed it into his trash bin. Resupplying himself with parchment, he began to ink his quill again, this time remembering to address the letter to none other than the Oracle herself.

Oracle,

It just now occurs to me I haven't properly asked of your name. What do people refer to you as, the Oracle or your given name?

Rorkovic's eyes strained upon the parchment and his own handwriting, relaying to his brain what had already been said so that he would not become repetitive.

What happened between us? I've never before become so enamoured of any woman, especially not those of which who are related to my father's arch nemisis.

He trailed off now, simply admiring his own memory of how beautiful she was. After accidentally inking his face with the up-turned quill, he resumed writing:

Were you with the king for the majority of the battle? I feel like he has hidden you until now. Why so?

His questions continued. So many questions to be answered, so little parchment on which to write. Rorkovic was now remembering the moments they had while in each other's presence, the feeling he had obtained while their eyes caught.

When you looked at me, I could only stare back. I could only wish you would see, although I appreciated the connection we shared anyway. It was surreal in all aspects.

He couldn't figure a good finish to the letter. He almost forgot to sign it before folding it into an envelope shape for delivery.

Signed,
Sventhor Rorkovic

"Shit." Rorkovic had completely forgotten how he would relay his message to the Oracle, as she was blind. He tore through his belongings, looking for the encyclopedia of Braille he had once received as a gift for his cancelled wedding. "There we go..."

He marvelled at the enormous book, containing almost every letter, word, phrase, or other various linguistics in Braille and their respective translations. The encyclopedia also contained two more sections, translating into French and Italian.

It took him 5 hours, but he completely translated his letter into a Braille essay, complete with a return address in Braille. He felt along the rigid bumps he'd made with the quill on the reverse side of the parchment, trying to decipher the arcane language by feel.

A few moments later, he retrieved his most trusted pigeon, the biggest of all the mail carriers with a small white stripe on top of his head trailing down to the tip of his beak. The bird actually looked like it was the fastest and most efficient of them all. He tied the carefully rolled and sealed parchment to the pigeon's leg, releasing his pigeon just Southeast of where he wanted it to fly; it had a problem staying on course.​

The guard brought her to her bedroom without a word, opening the door for her and shutting it after she entered. He stood by on the outside, staying at his post the entire night. As for the Oracle, she exhaled an exhausted breath and sank into herself, reaching up to remove the jewelry and set it down on the table to the side of her room. She continued to derobe herself, walking through an archway and slowly sank into a large tub that had already been filled with water.

She let herself soak for some time, washing herself up before getting out and drying off before redressing into a sheer nightgown. She brushed out her hair on her way to her lavish bed, setting down the brush on the nightstand and hoisting herself up onto of the mattress and it's thick blankets. The Oracle bundled up underneath them and rest against her pillow, faded eyes closing slowly as she lifted into the dream world.

Even as she slept, she was awake. She walked on the sky over the world and watched the quiet night. There was not much going on outside the celebration inside of the castle. The city was a bit celebratory but it was still tame. Ascending higher into the clouds, she flew across the sky until she came upon the opposing kingdom. It was much quieter and darker than her own. Resting her chin on her hands, she watched as a bird flew out beneath her.

Smiling to herself when she saw the letter, she reached out to it. The tip of her finger touched on the white line that stretched across the top of its body. She told it where to go; how to get to her, and rest her chin back onto her hands.

Refusing to spy on the world that night, she kept adrift the clouds until morning came and her eyes closed, returning her to her body.

Stirring briefly, her eyes opened. She could feel the warmth of the sunrise peaking in through the separation in her long curtains that hung over her window. She got up, dressing herself in an appropriate morning attire, brushing her hair out and garnishing herself in gold jewelry. Once she was dressed, she walked over to the window and opened the curtains, smiling to the feel of the sun.



The Oracle walked out into her favorite place, smiling as she heard the birds chirping from atop marble pillars with greenery growing lavishly at their bases. She walked to the center of it and sat down on a marble bench, smiling even more as the avian life hovered down to her and perched themselves onto her body.

She knew she would see that bird soon enough and waited for its arrival.​

Rorkovic generally liked to get at least 3 hours of sleep a night, and as of late, this was normal. However, last night, just a few hours ago, he was not able to sleep in the slightest. He began to wonder if more than his insomnia was to blame.

The effects of more than 3 days of straight battle, physical exhaustion, and no sleep certainly showed themselves in Rorkovic's appearance today: he was sluggish, unkempt, and looked like he had been severly beaten and tortured for months on end. Some of his own advisors and servants began to worry.

Nevertheless, he pushed onwards through the day; small, mundane tasks culminated in one hell of a meeting with his father. He dreaded it all day, being unprepared in both presentation and mental stability. When he finally was called to see the King, though, he stiffened and held himself high as his father had taught him to do to preserve honor and integrity, even in times where he was feeling sick or down.

"My King," he bowed, flinching in pain, "You requested to see me?"

"Yes, Rorkovic. We have much to discuss. Please sit." The King looked aged by worry and temper; his face furrowed inward even when he was in a state of content. The King had always been known for his exceptional vitality: something was obviously wrong today. "I've heard from your field commanders that you were requested to sign a treaty under...his circumstances. I need you to explain those to me."
The king's voice dipped and hissed at the word, acting as if even referring to him were unholy.

Rorkovic took in a deep breath. Again, he flinched; the King's office was bitterly cold and the air stabbed at his lungs like tiny icecicles. He began to relay the entirety of last night's events, leaving out any mention of the Oracle or the opposing king's advisor. He wanted his father to believe that the situation was brief, and that Rorkovic was able to handle it without conflict or sudden uprise.

At the conclusion of his memory, though, the King looked past Rorkovic. He wore the face of understanding, but something else was wrong though.

"I've always been at war with Lemuel, and now we're not even to be in contact..." he sounded remiss, almost sad that the two of them wouldn't fight for dominance. "Please leave me to my studies, Sventhor. I cannot discuss this any longer." Tears ran down the wrinkled, leathery face, pooling at his chin and dropping down upon his equally dry and wrinkled hand. Rorkovic could no longer tell if the King was supremely happy or extremely sad that the event took place.

He retired to his room though and fumbled around with more parchment, aiming to move it into his study for more nights like the one before. When is that damn bird going to get back? he thought impatiently. His want for contact with the Oracle was becoming overwhelming- the connections he believed they had in the meadow were popping up in random moments of memory recall, turning any normal event or task into a hurried and rushed mess. He grew anxious, and the very feel of this emotion surprised him as he had never been anxious before.

Rorkovic abruptly called for his servant, who came running and panting in at the sudden alarm. "Yes, my sire?" the servant responded through catching his breath.

"Bring me my night riding cloak, and tell the horse-keeper that I will be needing my black stallion at dusk, in exactly 4 hours." With the command and the sound of Rorkovic's precision in his voice, the servant clambered down the hallway, running for the wardrobe and stables.

Rorkovic wished beyond belief that the pigeon would return before he left. The act in itself may alter his course, which at the moment, was currently undecided.​

While sitting in place, birds walking along her body and chirping as she pet them, another bird came into their view. It was not native to the area but it would still go unnoticed. She felt it near her and lifted her arm up, smiling as it hovered down and landed on her forearm. She reached over and took the letter from it, kissing it on the top of its beak and letting it up walk up her arm and to her shoulder. The Oracle opened the letter and felt braille under her fingertips. Her fingers danced across the pages, reading the letter Prince Rorkovic sent her. He has asked for her name and some details about the battle from the day before.

Thinking over how she would respond to this, she soon stood up. The birds flew off of her and kept around the scenery for the time being. She walked back inside , tucking the letter away into her clothing so as not to draw attention to it. She walked down the hallway, guards saluting her as she passed them at their posts. Before long, she went up a set of stairs and made her way to her bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door tight behind her and found her desk. The Oracle sat down and began to write back to him.

You may call my by my name, Acacia, if you wish.

She shared the same name as King Leumuel's daughter! Perhaps... they were the same person?

She continued writing:

As for our connection, I can not define it with certainty. My presence has many different effects on people. Part of why my father brought me to the battle,

Her letter practically confessed her blood relation and her identity.

was because of this effect I have on others. I also warned him about my visions. I knew the battle would not favor him and he wished me present for the negotiation. He wanted me to change your mind.

In all honesty, he is too dense to see that you want peace more than he does.

She frowned as she thought about what she wrote and how true it was. Her father stopped fighting for peace a long time ago- now it was some kind of competition. Ever since... Her body felt heavier as the thoughts weighed down on her. She put her hand to her forehead and leaned on her elbows on her desk.

Breathing slowly, pulling herself back together, she sat back up and continued writing.

He kept me safe and hidden for the battle- I was only needed for the negotiation.

Unsure of what else to say to him, she finished her letter.

Your bird is beautiful. I hope to see it again.

Acacia.​

Streetlamps cast dancing shadows around Rorkovic and his horse as night began to fall. Only the light of lamps and fires within houses illuminated the cobble road leading through the town, as the sky was overcast. Not a single star shone through the thick cloud cover.

But, that's just how he wanted it. Throwing on his cloak, Rorkovic mounted his horse swiftly and checked his saddlebags. Once he was sure everything was in place, he gently nudged the horse forward until he was out of the town. Then, he gunned the horse to its full potential, moving silently like shadows across the hilly landscape. The black cloak and black stallion concealed him from any normal viewpoint, as only shining light could penetrate his camoflage now. Rorkovic custom-made horseshoe cushions for this specific ride, and it seemed to be working just fine; not a "clip" or "clop" could be heard from the now galloping horse.

He pushed the horse onwards, aiming for his destination, which he wasn't completely sure about in the first place. Rorkovic figured he had to head for the capitol city to find the Oracle since she had stated she was related to the king. Only one obstacle stood in his way now, though. Looming ominously in the dark distance, the border gate stood tall and barely seen from where he was now; only the small flicker of flame from inside the lantern grazed the white-stone wall.

"C'mon, Roy," he said to his stallion, "we're almost there."

He slowed his horse as they approached the gate from the far left side to avoid being seen. He dismounted quickly and efficiently tied the rope to a nearby tree to prevent his horse from walking into the light and revealing himself. Rorkovic moved slyly about the wall, ducking under the gatekeeper's office window and diving around the corner. Now that he proved he could do it, he needed to now untie his horse and create a distraction so the horse and he could get away safely.

After successfully crossing the gate again, he called his horse with a small whistle. The nervous horse whinied and reared it self upwards, causing a racket. When it shot across the border, Rorkovic knew he was stuck, and the horse continued to gallop further into the abyssmal distance. But, before he could come even close to thinking of a plot to escape, a blunt pain struck him in the back of the head, knocking him nose-in-the-dirt unconcious.

Two burly men dragged Rorkovic's limp corpse to a small cell on the inside of the gatehouse. When he woke up, he realized where he was:

Lemuel's Prison​