The Dying Light: Latveria

A Day In The Monarch City

A/N: It occurs to me I haven't helped with the pronunciation of any of the names or words I put out there in this story. So, without further adue.

Eowyn: Ee-yaw-win (emphasis on the ee and win sounds, with the 'aw' sound coming quicker)

Regis: Reh-Jeez

Bazz: Like "Bat but with Z"

Rowanda: Roe-wand-uh

Brennus: Brenn-us

Pyrno: Peer-no (meaning Father and of fire)

Quier: Key-eer (meaning daughter of air I adore)

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Ajihad sighed, running his weathered dark hands across his temples. It was mid day, and the leader of the Varden didn't feel quite as fierce as he had upon taking over leadership from Brom, the Rider of Saphira the few years prior. He had once walked into the role with a sense of confidence and duty, but in reality he himself had never led a large community before, let alone the entirety of a rebellion force. While their forces were growing in number every day, they had no where near the power needed to do their intended purpose-challenge Galbatorix-and the growth of population within the Varden proved a huge headache resource wise. Every time even he himself had sourced and portioned out food to feed the population, it seemed even more were added to their numbers, and their stay in the dwarves' home grew less and less welcome with every request for more resources.

Now, the average Varden recruit was an average of two stone underweight, which not only made Ajihad look unprepared as a leader from simple care of his people to political wise in the meeting rooms, but also left the population more vulnerable to attack. Warriors and even common folk here had expressed willingness to fight, but two stones of weight on average meant two stones less of muscle on average, and the Mad King's army was, at minimum, well fed. Hunger being normalized also meant a new headache had arrived for the leader-thievery among their communities. This was a much larger issue, and hard to control. The easiest thing to do would be to find and execute the thieves or remove limbs in punishment, but that would undoubtedly cause uproar as that was exactly the type of leadership the majority of the population had joined the Varden to escape.

And that damned dragon egg the courier, Arya, was ferrying around refused to hatch. The Varden needed more than what could be provided with simple human leadership to keep everyone in check and stay civilized. They needed a dragon, at the very least a show of power and hope to quiet the unrest.

"Pyrno?" Ajihad looked up to see his twelve year old daughter, Nasuada, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes from the doorway of his study. Immediately his expression softened. In their native language, men were referred to as "of fire" and women were referred to as "of air". The word for father was essentially a mix of the word "Pyrax" (meaning 'of fire") and the male honorific of 'no'.

"Come, little Quier," Ajihad called, and when the little girl clambered onto his lap he wrapped his arms around her. "Your Pyrno has a lot of work to do"

The child cuddled closer. "You always have work to do," came the complaint. A light smile creased Ajihad's beard. "Ahh, but you need me to be busy, little one, while you sneak into the soldier training grounds and learn things that only little boys should."

Immediately, Nasuada's small form stiffened and a small gasp escaped her. Ajihad chuckled. "I know everything you do, daughter."

However, their conversation was interrupted by a small messenger boy running to the doorway. "Sir!" the boy greeted with a small boy.

"What is it?"

"Galbatorix has sent a battalion that has begun to cross the Haradac desert!"

Ajihad's eyes narrowed as his growing old heart skipped a beat.