Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 24/ Twenty-Four: Speeches and The Trees: Incomplete

The balcony on which Percival stood was little more than a stonework platform set upon a buttress in its current state, but Percival could envision it in its prime. For years he had heard stories about the College of the Teacher and the magic therein, but that magical residue had disappeared years before; destroyed in one fell swoop by their grandfather and his forces. Still, Percival thought to himself, there is more of value here than magic and memories. 

He turned back toward the door, looking at the four who stood in the shadow of its frame. "Join me, friends. The hour has come."

"The hour for what, Percival?" Metimafoa asked, bringing up the rear as the four stepped out behind The Eldest Prince of Meneltarma.

Canoelloestel was the one who answered. "I do believe this is an announcement and call to arms, little prince."

"Indeed it is," Percival confirmed, and then turned to face Faramaurea, as she drew closer to speak with him.

In spite of their having been on the run for nigh on a half-millennia, and their time together before that, Percival and Faramaureä were not as close as the two eldest of The Line had been to each other. It was because of this, not lack of loyalty, but lack of absolute understanding, that she was compelled to ask: "Are you sure about this, Percival?"

Percival smiled for the first time in a long time. "No, I am not. But I am resolute about it; if it counts for anything. I do not believe that I am going to be a decisive king, Faramaureä." He held his hands before him, observing every callous and burn scar on them. "These hands were not made to hold chains over the heads of our people." He raised his eyes back to hers and smiled once again. "No, these hands were made to serve and protect, and that is all they shall do."

He faced toward the decrepit railing, and the streets several units below. Then with a voice thundering, not with authority, but with righteousness, he cried out "People of The Skybridge!" He paused a moment, as the people below looked up at the elf shouting from the building in shock; the people of the Elyanme were not apt to talk to strangers, and one shouting from the skyline was some they viewed as in poor taste. However, it was a spectacle to behold, and so more people stepped out into the streets. Percival cleared his throat. "You may not recognise me in my current garb, but I know you. I lived in this city for several months, and the service and kindness shown to me then is something I will never forget." He paused again, to peruse the crowd before him, glancing over the faces of the guards and Kismul, as well as his fellow miners. "I admit, I lived under a pretense then, but no longer shall I hide my name and heritage."

There was confusion on the faces of the crowd, but Kismul had his eyes locked on the prince, and understanding dawned on his face. "Keep going, lad," he whispered, though inaudibly. "I told ye I'd stand wi' ye at the dawnin' o' the day, an' a'm a dwarf o' my word. I wi'nae stand alone, if my reasonin' is sound. Just keep going."

Before he had finished though, the prince had spoken again. "My name is Percival Estelondo, and I am a deposed Firisandorian Prince." Several faces lit up at the name, and taking that as a sign, he continued "Many years have passed, since we fled the death of our family at the hands of the Usurper, Gary Gygax, and many things have changed." A flutter ran through the crowd at the new Kings name, but Percival continued right over it. "He took everything from us: our family, our home, and," he said, sparing a glace at his sister, "some things I dare not speak of." He allowed a shudder to pass, and watched as it passed through the crowd as well. They are sypathetic, Percival. Do not lose them. "If we can, we shall make him pay for his crimes; not against the Law, for he has usurped it and warped it to his whim, but against his fellow fey beings."

The cool breeze was not what caused Faramurea to shudder, when her brother had spoken the name, but her eyes never left him. Together we stand, for Estelondo and forever. She planted her feet, and for a time, was resolute. And Gygax will fall.

Percival's words brought her back to reality. "This bastard of a lower-lord slaughtered our family, and yet, it could not satiate his bloodlust. He followed us to Drakoria, and slew the city with my Father's Troops, including the mayor, Charflesidek. He followed us to Le Elorean, and slew the Druid folk, who had lived in peace for hundreds of years; even going so far as to refuse our Grandfather's call to fight for Meneltarma, and Nimloth's call to fight for her revolutionary troops." He looked to his sister for support, but tears rolled down her cheeks, and it caused him to falter.

When Faramaurea saw this, she wiped her tears, and renewed her resolution. She locked away her feeling by repeating her mantra. And Gygax will fall. And Gygax will fall. The words on a cycle held back her tears, and she nodded to her brother.

Percival turned back to the crowd once more, "But the druids fought for Faramaurea and I. The last time they fought before that was when they were rallied by Julia the Teacher, but they fought for my sister and I. If nothing else convinces you, I pray that will. Because I am calling you to do the same thing. Fight for the Line of the Teacher. Fight for the Line of the Druids. And fight for those, who would bear the titles of Rightful King and Queen of Meneltarma. He has taken that opportunity away from my dearest sister, but you, the people of Aponar ar Quendië, can restore us, and tear down the most vile ruler in the land since Balchdor The Cruel." The High Fey in the crowd shivered at that, while some of the Low Fey averted their eyes from Percival. "I understand why he was given the throne, but he must pay for his wrongs. If you are willing, meet us in front of the gates of the Meneltarma in a fortnight and a sept past that, we will take back our Kingdom," he raised his hands out over the crowd in a gesture of unity, before concluding, "And Gygax will fall."

. . .

Ten minutes later, they were on their horses riding out of the gate and across the narrow bridge single file. Once again, Percival led, with the two young lovers inbetween, followed by the general, and Faramaureä bringing up the rear. When he reached the opposite hill, Percival wheeled his horse around to face the others who were following. I still cannot believe she is gone. He scanned the stoney slopes and the horizon of the world. I half-expect to see her face every time I turn around, but it seems I will only see Oroneminya again when I close my eyes. He closed his eyes, and memory flowed forth, not gushing, but ebbing, as for but a moment he remembered the days of innocence with her in the sandstone halls which had formed their home. And there was bliss in the memory, but also pain, as remembering was like reopening a wound in his mind and heart. And yet, I shall never cease to remember. He spared a glance at his remaining sister. Faramaureä may believe that being lost in the past is a waste of the present, but I disagree. It is only by remembering who we were that we can come to terms with who we are and what we've seen.