The great hall of the Land of Shadow stood in solemn quiet beneath vaulted stone, torchlight wavering across iron pillars and blackened banners that bore the mark of my war host. My knights had gathered at my summons, helms tucked beneath their arms, armor still dusted with the memory of battle.
They expected command.
War, perhaps.
Judgment.
Another march beneath the banners of flame.
Instead, I stood upon the high dais in silence, the haft of my spear resting lightly against the stone. The serpents coiled about mine armor stirred faintly, scales whispering as they tasted the stillness that had settled upon the hall.
Long had these men ridden beneath my banner. They had seen cities burn at my command. They had watched the enemies of my mother impaled upon the pikes beyond these walls.
Thus when I spoke, they listened.
“My knights,” I began, my voice carrying through the chamber like the distant roll of storm, “ye have long stood beside me through war unending. Ye have marched where flame hath cleared the path before us, and ye have witnessed the judgment of those who dared oppose the will of my house.”
Helms lifted. Some shifted slightly where they stood, uncertain where such words might lead.
“For many years,” I continued, “this realm hath known but one truth—that Messmer the Impaler ruleth by flame and spear alone.”
The spear in my grasp struck the stone once.
A single deliberate sound echoed through the chamber.
“But the Lands Between are ever shifting,” I said slowly, my gaze passing over the gathered ranks. “And even a realm forged in war must one day know balance.”
Confusion flickered across a few faces. Others straightened instinctively.
I allowed the silence to deepen before speaking again.
“Mark this well.”
My voice lowered, gaining weight.
“The Land of Shadow standeth no longer without its Queen.”
The words fell across the chamber like drifting ash.
A murmur stirred among them before quickly dying away. Surprise lingered in their eyes. Some bowed their heads at once, though they had yet to behold the woman of whom I spoke.
I stepped forward from the dais, descending the stone steps with measured weight.
“This be no fragile court flower sent to soften mine hand,” I said, the faintest trace of pride threading through my voice. “Nor some timid offering meant to placate a warlord’s temper.”
My gaze turned slowly toward the shadowed corridor that opened into the hall beyond the pillars.
“She is flame as I am flame.”
The serpents along mine armor shifted again, their tongues flickering toward the darkness as though sensing the presence that approached.
Slowly, deliberately, I extended my hand toward the corridor.
“Ye shall speak no ill of her name,” I continued, my voice quieter now, though far more dangerous. “Ye shall show her the same loyalty ye have shown unto me.”
My eyes swept the hall once more.
“For she standeth not beneath my rule…”
A breath passed.
“But beside it.”
The chamber grew still.
Then, from the darkness of the corridor, movement.
I did not turn away.
“There she cometh now.”
My hand remained outstretched, waiting.
“Behold her well.”
My voice softened then, though its command did not lessen.
“For this is no longer the bride that was promised unto me.”
A faint pride stirred within my chest.
“This…”
A pause lingered in the air like gathering flame.
“…is my Heart’s truest Flame.”
My gaze returned to the knights who had followed me through war and shadow alike.
“Ye shall know this of her ere she stand before thee,” I say, my voice carrying through the hall. “Look well when she entereth this hall,” I say, voice low. “For thou shalt behold beauty such as few in these lands are granted sight of. Yet mistake it not for softness. The Pale Flame is as fair as she is terrible—She is Lady Elowen—whose spear hath felled warriors twice the measure of most men here assembled. Mark her well. For the strength thou hast followed in me… thou shalt soon behold in her.”
“Let the realm take heed… the Pale Flame standeth with me now, as mine own Beloved, and Queen.”