Miya Mayflower...Stay beautiful

Chapter 10...

Sorry that it's been soooo long since I updated, but I've been a little...busy.... anyway, I've got 3/4 more chapters to type up after this one so I hope u forgive me ;) 

this one is a bit of a filler tbh-it sort of helps to explain the bit to come so that's why its a little bit random :) xx

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Chapter 10...

-Veaken Valley, ten or more miles into the forest, north of Kamune-

‘Quiet now! Quiet please!’ after a few failed attempts, the man slumped, resignedly back into his chair. The chair was carved from a single tree trunk, the grain of the Cale tree wove slowly upwards and would tower above the head of a standing man. The old man who sat in it, however, seemed to have less power than the chair itself. His greying hair was unkempt and his face was deep with wrinkles and lines of worry and stress.

A young man stepped forwards. He had been standing quietly beside the older man’s chair. ‘Excuse me, if I am interrupting anything, but I believe there are those here who actually wish to accomplish something with the time they have left.’ He had not spoken loud, but it still echoed through the room. In the hall, there was a long table, which ran across the width of one side of the hall, with benches at half the height of it, all carved neatly and expertly.

These benches were crammed full of men. All of different heights, all in different clothing, all different hairstyles. You name it, no man would be equal to his neighbour. The only thing they now have in common is that not one of them had moved since the young man opened his mouth. They all sat facing the old man, eyes alert and eras pricked. Some were glancing occasionally at the younger man. None recognised the newcomer. He had rich brown hair, which was cut to a length that could be considered as long and not short. His eyes radiated power and wisdom, despite his age. Though none of them knew it, this man’s name was Gildor Songmaker.

The older man smiled gratefully in his direction then turned and peered out over the heads of the watching crowd.

‘The King has made a mistake. He has cast out those who are gifted. He has made a mistake. We know this and the rebels know this, but the rebels are going the wrong way about changing his mind. That is why we are here. You do not know each other, perhaps you are each one-another’s enemy, but what will we be in ten year’s time? If the King kills or imprisons all those who oppose him, the kingdom will be a sad place indeed. If any surrounding countries decide we are a danger to them we will stand no chance whatsoever. They all have those who are gifted not only within their armies, but also within their royal families and closest advisors. The King does not seem to realize this, but the rebels have no chance of getting their way.’

‘Lord Meyol, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you plan on changing his mind about us? We have all joined you trusting that you can lead us against the King.’ The blonde-haired man had stood up and was leaning against the long table, to see properly over the heads of those directly in front of him—he was not a tall man.

Gildor spoke up. ‘If it is a battle you wanted why did you not join the rebels? This is a camp of safety, for those who want to retreat from the war, not join one.’ His face was set. The blonde man sat down and did not reply.

Meyol continued. ‘Gildor is quite right. This is a camp of refuge, not a war camp, but I do not think we can stay here, unprotected forever.  However, I do not want to lead you into a war. We must find an alternative route to success. However, I am unsure, as yet of what that route will entail. That is why I need everyone here to come up with some ideas. My brain is no longer as young as it once was, so suggestions will be greatly appreciated.’ Gildor did not show his surprise at how the older man had just admitted his greatest weakness to about fifty men who are most likely to betray him. This guy’s brain really could do with a bit of a helping hand, Songmaker thought.

The men all separated off into their own conversations and the fire in the hearth grew bright. Gildor sighed, looked at Meyol and stepped away and out of the door. Musicians had appeared and serving girls were dealing out drinks. Outside it was quiet. He was surrounded by the small roundhouses that made up the camp. Really, it is not a camp. It is more of a village.  He started towards edge of the valley after slowly heaving himself over the ridge that lines the top of the valley; he strode off into the surrounding trees. Turning back he was, yet again, amazed at how the contents of the valley were completely un-noticeable from the top.

The Gilded hall, where all ceremonies, parties and meetings are held, was the first non-temporary building to be built and if any other building rises above the chimney, it has to be pulled down immediately if the buildings were any higher, they would be visible from a mile off and the illusion would be ruined. The men who reside in the valley are those who are trying to escape the war, or simply do not agree with the morals of either side. Most do not even know why the war was started and any who are not magically gifted must be smuggled here, as they cannot make the journey on their own. This is because of the best-held defence in the whole war so far-the stream. Perhaps the only reason why the King’s men had not yet found the valley yet. The stream makes the swimmer dream deeply, which results in drowning. Only those who are gifted and know how to prevent the deep sleep can pass through the waters unharmed. Anyone else who wishes to get to the valley from the outside world must come from the rebel side of the kingdom or have the help of a well-skilled person. The stream flows through a small enchanted clearing just beyond the most northerly village in the kingdom-Kamune. After crossing the stream it takes about half a day to reach Veaken Valley and the Gilded hall-if you know where you’re going, that is.

Gildor sighed and wondered off into the trees. He knew that the camp needed a new leader, yet he did not know where to find one. He only knew that Meyol was not as young as he used to be and that his strategies could be-at best-a little...dodgy.

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couldn;'t come up with a better word ther but hey!  :D hope u enjoyed if u can think of any improvements or if u've got any questions don't hesitate to comment :D Thanks for reading :) xx