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Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Epilogue pt 2

The crown had sat on King Malcom's brow for over a month and yet it still felt new. Never in his life had Malcom expected that he would become king but after the death of his sister and his brother's abdication the role fell to him by default. Unwilling and unable to stand aside the Wolf had stepped up and resolved to do his best. Life had changed for him virtually overnight and it had taken several weeks before he had enough footing in his new position to start making the kinds of changes he knew Lehsunia would need if it were to prosper.

From what Malcom remembered of his father's ruling council there were about a dozen chairs occupied by nobles, guild masters, members of the clergy, and professors from the University; King Hammond had believed in knowing all sides of an argument and so he pulled from various portions of Lehsunia's populace to provide him insight into the kingdom's needs. Using that as a benchmark, King Malcom went about putting together his own council of advisors, only he preferred to use his own idea of the kingdom's cross section.

The first meeting was a strange one and the majority of the day was spent with the King flexing every last diplomatic muscle in his body in an attempt to keep the peace. Wise men from the many tribes of The Free People acted more like cubs in their bickering over who should and should not have been present. It was something Malcom had expected since inviting the Jackals; few of The People were willing to work with the Bone Tribe-- until the King announced that they could cooperate or they could be excused from his presence.

Not only were there issues among the tribes people but several members of Lehsunia's own took offense to any 'Tribal Presence' whatsoever. Humorously enough (in a more satirical than actually laughable way) the same tactic served to keep the tradesmen, clergy, and scholars in line. Fortunately the King had help in managing the tradesmen thanks to Enarork, who was one of the most knowledgeable members of the Valley Tribe when it came to Lehsunia. The Clergy were kept in check by an initial visit from their Bishop, who blessed the gathering and encouraged peace and camaraderie to prevail over discord and dissent. Finally, with the University still in upheaval over a changing-of-the-guard, the scholars were willing to put up with being told 'to behave' for the sake of remaining relevant.

To say that things had gone well would have been a blatant lie but the King remained optimistic, mostly because they hadn't gone as poorly as they might have. He sat looking out of his bedroom window into the dark night beyond. Life had changed him in many ways since he'd last occupied the tower room; it had been over ten years and it felt far smaller than the last time he'd called the castle home. He knew part of that perception switch was because he had grown but even more than in a physical sense he had come to realize that the world was his home and so his little room was that much smaller a piece of it.

A slight raspy scraping caught the King's attention and brought him out of his self-reflection. He turned back to his room and saw that Berro was asleep on the round carpet in the center of the floor, legs kicking as he dreamed; the sound was from the claws on his paws brushing across the wicker basket placed up against the foot of his bed. Malcom's chuckle was enough to get the wolf's attention and, though he didn't bother raising his head, Berro's ears rotated toward him. "Uff."

The King closed the shutters to his window and moved back into the room. "Looks like the weight of rulership isn't keeping YOU awake, is it, Gut?"

The black wolf rolled onto his back and wormed his body back and forth, scratching his back against the carpet as he did so. "Uff."

Malcom smiled at that and took a seat on a sitting sofa. "Yea... didn't think so."

Berro rolled back over and stood up, padding over so he could lean sideways, practically falling against the King's thigh in an unspoken demand for physical attention. Malcom complied, reaching down to draw the claws of one paw through the wolf's coat, giving him a series of scritches. "Well, no matter what the future brings at least I know I have you here with me."

The wolf circled him once and then rose up onto his back-legs, placing his paws on Malcom's shoulders and bore him over with weight alone. The King laughed, tumbling back onto a sitting sofa and Berro climbed up with him or, more specifically ONTO him and flopped down, essentially pinning him. The command was clear enough in the action: Berro thought Malcom worried too much.

It was a simple enough thought for a wolf to have and the King envied his companion the viewpoint. Despite the fact that Berro had spent half a decade being soul bound to Malcom the wolf still was just a wolf... albeit, an intelligent, opinionated, and-- Berro's stomach growled-- and hungry one. "Alright, Gut-- get off me and we'll get you something to eat."

The Wolf obediently disengaged, springing off of the day bed (and King) and onto the floor. He circled once then sat down, facing Malcom. "Uff."

"I know. I know."

It was late in the evening but Malcom had no doubt that someone would respond to his call; he made his way over to the metal vocafone and pressed a small buzzer on it. A moment later the speaker clicked and a distorted voice greeted him. "Yes, your Majesty?"

Malcom kept his request simple. "Two steaks-- one raw, one rare."

The attendant had become accustomed to the request and only asked for one point of clarification. "Fire-kissed, sire?"

The palace used some of the University provided cook stoves and in Malcom's opinion it simply didn't do meat justice; he preferred his cooked over a fire. "Yes. Thank you, Errol."

"My pleasure, your Highness."

The King hadn't recalled ever seeing the Bull at the castle during his visits over the years but he was an excellent attendant and obviously knew the tasks assigned to him well; one thing that took a lot of getting used to was being surrounded by so many new faces. Among the tribes most settlements were scarcely two hundred strong and so it was no great matter getting to know people but he constantly had to remind himself that Graddin had a population nearly 1000 times as great.

He pressed the button to turn off the vocafone and looked back to Berro, who was sitting expectantly right in front of him, entire body completely still except for the very tip of his tail which twitched back and forth with excitement. A few seconds later and both the King and his companion were rolling around on the ground pawing, kicking, and biting at one another. No, it was not exactly an upper class past time and Malcom's evening wear was being torn enough that it would soon resemble his tribal wear but he was willing to accept it as par for the course when it came to a quality play session.

Berro ultimately ended on the floor with all four legs pressing up against Malcom's chest to keep him at bay; it was a tactic the wolf used often when he was at a disadvantage and usually allowed him to turn things around but what truly put the King at a loss was the knock at the door. Malcom glanced toward it and that's when Berro's locked legs loosened and he quickly squirmed out from beneath Wild-Wolf and rolled up to a standing position before leaping on him in vengeance with a playful snarl of utter puppy-style doom. "Rar!"

A muffled voice spoke through the wood, the words in The People's Tongue coming through clearly despite the fact that Berro was gnawing on the side of Malcom's face. "Would you like me to find a willow branch for Berro, Wild-Wolf?"

Willow branches were common among The People when it came to training animal bond-mates. King Malcom gave Berro's head a little shove. "Alright, that's enough, Gut."

Berro complied, but not before nipping at Malcom's ear once more. The King raised his voice to his visitor, responding in kind. "No. We were just passing the time, Friend Gift-of-the-Earth. Enter. Please."

The Bear had been gone from Graddin for over a week; he'd been recalled to his village and Malcom made him promise to let him know when he returned. The door opened and Enarork stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him once he did so. He addressed the Wolf in Lehsunian. "I apologize for not being able to attend the last council session. Ja'ir found me in the hallway and explained the events to me."

The King sat down in the armchair next to his desk and motioned for the Bear to likewise be seated; Enarork chose a bench. Despite seeing the change immediately he still spent several moments inspecting the advisor from the Valley Tribe. Enarork stared back at him, saying nothing. Malcom eventually held out his paw and the Bear obediently placed a long staff of oak into it. Only once the King had the staff did he acknowledge it in the People's Tongue. "Congratulations... Shaman."

Enarork said nothing until Malcom had used a thumb claw to etch a mark into the wood and then bowed his head. "I had hoped that you would not see this with the wrong eyes, Friend Wild-Wolf."

King Malcom smiled, returning the staff to the Bear, his mark of approval carved into it. "Of course not, Friend Gift-of-the-Earth. I would be honored to have a Shaman as an advisor."

Enarork accepted his staff back, head still bowed. "Thank you, Great Chieftain."

There was no word in The Free People's tongue for 'King' but, following Enarork's example, the many Tribes of Lehsunia's east had taken to calling him the Great Chieftain-- the Chief of Chiefs. He was the first King of Lehsunia to understand them and respect them as a people and so they gave him the same in return.

They were not part of Lehsunia and they would likely never be but, at the same time, he was part of them and the place on Enarork's Shaman's Staff left for his mark helped him realize something very important: yes, he was King Malcom, but was still Wild-Wolf. The Free People would not follow a King, but they willingly acknowledged the Great Chieftain. Gathering the Tribes wasn't the greatest achievement of a King of Lehsunia but Malcom had never planned on being great. Aside from that, he reminded himself, his rule was still new-- he had time.

* * * * * *

There had been a great disconnect within Lehsunia when it came to the Church; the desires of the few took hold over the institution as they sought to build their own base of strength. The goal of the disloyal Inquisitors-- Arlowe didn't know, and perhaps that truth died with Ignus since the only Inquisitor to surrender had been shipped off to Menzyl and everyone in the Church knew that a seditionist among the clergy was not treated kindly. As it was, Arlowe had once thought that would be his fate, but the recent weeks had changed his views on the matter.

Father Arlowe had spent nearly half of his life as a Monk who had been pressed into service of the Church with little choice in the matter; it made sense then that he was still uncertain in his new position as a High Priest in Newport's recently 'renovated' cathedral. Despite his discomfort in the sudden promotion he never let that show as he held sermon, provided blessings, and catered to the needs of his followers. Being appointed as the High Priest of a large town's center for worship was a great honor by any account, but more so for a Raccoon Dog who, only five weeks previous had been wanted as a heretic.

In truth, being a High Priest wasn't anything Arlowe had ever expected and it wasn't what he considered to be a dream to be accomplished in life and yet finally being allowed to deliver sermons, lead prayer, and guide the faithful was a calling he'd answered somewhere along the way... and, while it had labeled him as a seditionist previously he suddenly found himself being praised and lauded. The priests placed in his charge by the Bishop proved to be open and understanding in their desire to learn Arlowe's way of doing things which, surprisingly, was exactly what the Bishop desired.

Bishop Wiesen was something of a mystery but it was one Arlowe was content to leave left unsolved. He was a kind Dragon, and both oddly humble and outgoing at the same time. His son, Kesst attended him throughout the visit and, while few members of the clergy were privy to the truth behind the attack on the Cathedral Father Arlowe was one of the few who was taken aside and told everything-- far more 'everything' than the Raccoon Dog ever knew existed.

It had been an awkward moment, especially when both father and son parted their tunics and revealed the mechanisms within their bodies that gave them locomotion. Father Arlowe learned at that time what there was to know about True Dragons, the Menzylian Church, and, probably most importantly, that things would be changing. Bishop Wiesen concluded the conversation by providing the Raccoon Dog a golden signet ring topped with a small gear. "You will be a part of that change."

Bishop Wiesen had left the following day, but Kesst remained in Newport for another week to assist the High Priest with instilling a new purpose in the Church and challenging any resistance to the changes. Some of the clergy took longer to come around but, ultimately only a few were unable to come to an accord in marrying their points of view with the prevailing Truth as Father Arlowe sought to teach it. It was ultimately in the teachings of Seveliss, a True Dragon who had assumed the name 'Fulgaré' some centuries ago that the Raccoon Dog was ultimately successful.

Father Arlowe sat in his study, finger drawn across the spine of The Divine Record. He didn't need to open it to the bookmark to know what was written on that page. "Seveliss, 14:10. Two sets of eyes will know two Truths, and four sets Four. And so long as only one set of eyes is there, one may know Truth."

It was a guide of sorts to understanding. Truth was an illusion and only by selecting which truth to follow could men ever agree on anything. Bishop Wiesen had told him about Fulgaré... about his Brother and about himself. That was his Truth, and one that was meant for the High Priest's ears alone.

The heavy thoughts weighed on him as he caressed the front cover of the book but a sound outside his study caught his attention and drew his mind back to the present, especially when it was punctuated by a soft 'shh'. Father Arlowe didn't even need to hear anything more to know who was just outside his quarters. "You don't have to linger, Cruffington... you know that."

The door knob turned and Arlowe's son entered. Since the chaos in Newport had settled down Cruff had found reentry into both the University and the Church. Father Arlowe had made it a point in fact to open the Church to members of the University of Progressive Thought who remained loyal to the divine despite the Church turning its back on them due to their desire for knowledge. Cruff, who had been one of the few lucky enough to maintain status within the Chruch and take classes at the University was placed as a liaison to work as an intermediary.

His son entered into the study with his ever-present Stallion companion just one step behind. Cruff was wearing a modified Acolyte's sash over an altered Scholar's tunic and britches with a Water Science sash crossing over it. Having written a dissertation on the life saving methods he'd employed during his work with the injured at the Cathedral, Cruff was something of a hot commodity. The University had immediately welcomed him back and hadn't hesitated when Father Arlowe presented them with his proposal. Arlowe's eyes lingered on Cruff's companion's chest; the scar wasn't visible through his shirt and vest but the Raccoon Dog knew it was there. His eyes then trailed down to where the big Horse's hand was holding onto his son's paw. God worked in mysterious ways.

Cruff inclined his head. "The University asked me to bring you some of the newest batch."

Despite the doubt many members of both institutions had in the beginning both the Church and University managed to find peace and inclusion far easier than the nay-sayers had thought. The Fire Science interest in making 'the best sacramental wine ever' was one of the most prominent items used to prove the point. "Thank you, Cruffington. I assume the Monks are helping to unload it?"

Cruff smiled. "Almost all of it."

His son held up a bottle, his own gear ring glinting in the study's candle light. The Mechanists had been one of the Church's biggest kept secrets... and one that ultimately outgrew the organization, even threatening to overthrow it. Strange, Arlowe realized, that he once stood on the opposite side of the battlefield fighting against the men who wore such rings and suddenly he had been chosen to help correct the past mistakes by reinventing what it meant to be a force of change. He smiled as he accepted the bottle from Cruff. The older Raccoon Dog turned to address the Stallion. "Join us, Kane, won't you, please?"

The Horse bowed his head respectfully. "Of course, Father."

Kane spoke with the respect due to Arlowe's station but to the three in the room there was an understanding that the word meant more than his position in the Church; the Stallion had barely left Cruff's side since he'd been healed and there was more to their relationship than a guardsman protecting a Church Scholar. The High Priest pulled out three small goblets while Cruff carefully uncorked the bottle. He accepted it from his son and carefully poured the drink. "To what shall we toast?"

Kane accepted his goblet. "Lehsunia? The Univrsity? The Church?"

Cruff picked his up as well before turning to his father. "This is sacramental wine... shouldn't we test it out properly?"

Arlowe chuckled, lowering the bottle before taking his goblet in paw. "And what way is that?"

"Would you lead us in a prayer?"

Father Arlowe lowered his head and heard the rustling of cloth and fur as the others did the same. "Blessed be Lord God, Divine Giver of Life, and All-Knowing Designer of Creation, please hear our prayer. We lift our glasses in honor of your vision for us and give thanks to you for what we have accomplished in our lives and what we yet have to accomplish. With your guidance, your aid, and your blessing, we look forward to what will be and ask that you give us the strength, wisdom, and grace to be the change we wish to see."

He remained silent for several long moments; Cruff and Kane spoke in unison with him for his next word. "Amen."

Arlowe took a sip from his goblet and slowly lowered it, gazing across the desk to his guests and let out a sigh; Kane and Cruff's muzzles were pressed against one another's. It was one of many changes the High Priest had seen and, thankfully, he had the strength and grace to acknowledge it, even if his son and the Stallion didn't have the Wisdom to be a little more discreet. Smiling, the older Raccoon Dog provided them a casual reminder. "The wine is in your chalices, not on one anothers' lips."

Chuckles were shared by all-- as was more wine.

* * * * * *

Runs-on-Air had spent long enough among the Stone Tribe that it had taken awhile for him to settle back into his old life-- not that he did so completely. He had been a full grown Buck for several years and, according to his tribe's tradition could have moved out of his parent's home any time after his antlers sprouted but there had been something about having family near that gave him comfort, and so he had delayed. Upon returning to the Yew Tribe after his long journey, however, he did not go back to them.

He remained the Yew Tribe's most prominent messenger and a skilled woodsman and, as such, he elected to build his own tent. Several days passed as he gathered the leather to tan and the branches to shape. Most homes were built by an entire family and, if not, at least by the pair who would share it, but Runs-on-Air didn't feel the need to ask for help from his family and the lover he had was not a part of his people, and so he took on the task alone.

Runs-on-Air crafted his new home with care and focus. He undertook the project willfully and with devotion, stopping only when his body required it of him. It took him two phases of the moon but when his tent was complete it was exactly as he'd envisioned it with nothing excluded and no short cut taken. It was easily the size of his parents', which had been made to house two adults and their four children.

Runs-on-Air wanted something that would allow for storage and guests but, more than that, would provide ample space for Rhys Barlow to stay true to his promise. For nine days and nine nights Runs-on-Air tended to his home alone. Just before noon on the tenth day, the Rat arrived; the promise had been kept. It was all the young Buck could do to keep from crying as his lover faced him with a smile and announced almost perfectly in the People's Tongue. "Oani, Ulit'Amih."

The Buck reached out and rested a hand on the Rat's shoulder. "Oani, Eyara."

Rhys surprised him by pulling him close for a kiss, and only once their muzzles parted did the Priest question it. "One of these days you'll have to explain that word to me."

A smile spread across Runs-on-Air's muzzle, and he gladly spent the next two days SHOWING him.

Rhys, as it turned out, had spent their time apart helping the Men of Symbol of the Stone Tribe in their village of Newport. Once everything had quieted down he had told his elders that he was going to serve their god by living in the Yew Tribe. It didn't all make sense to Runs-on-Air but the expectation that the Rat would be staying with him for two summers or longer was all the explanation he required.

Runs-on-Air spent his days at his task, sometimes going as far to the North West as the Stone Tribe village of Graddin and sometimes as far South East as the Grass Tribe. On the long journeys he ran with everything he had, practically flying through the forest and across the grass lands at a pace few in any tribe could match. There were times he would be gone for two days at once but that was only for the longest journeys when three days of travel were expected in each direction. He saw time away from Rhys as an enemy and he fought it with his entire being.

During the days Runs-on-Air was working nearby or away for most of the light hours Rhys Barlow would spend his time teaching the people of the Yew Tribe about letters and numbers. He shared stories of his people with them and told them about his god. In return the people of the Yew Tribe taught him of their ways, their stories, and about their love and worship of the spirits. Morning-Mist, the village shaman took a special interest in him, and they spent most of Rhys' free time together. It only made sense that Runs-on-Air's mother would take an interest in his lover.

The weeks passed quickly-- slower when they were apart, but Runs-on-Air cherished the time they had together and reveled in the changes that started to show in the Rat. Rhys' Stone-Tribe figure began to slowly give way as he became more accustomed to the life among The People. While he was still of a healthy weight the plumpest portions of him also started showing signs of the muscle that was more fitting for a man of the tribes and Runs-on-Air was pleased to see that he took a more active role in the Yew Tribe's daily activities.

A physical change wasn't all that had taken hold of his Eyara; there was a lightness to the Rat's step-- a lessening of a load for his spirit that caused Rhys to smile a little more often and laugh at less provocation. Runs-on-Air had often heard Morning-Mist tell him that the Stone Tribe had lost the way of the spirits and that weighed heavily on their souls but if he had not seen the change in Rhys Barlow himself he never truly would have understood. The biggest change, however, came as the season passed and the winds grew colder. Their tent never gave up its warmth and so, as they settled down for the night and doffed their cold weather clothing it was all the more obvious when Runs-on-Air caught sight of the necklace hanging from the Rat's neck.

The metal gleamed in the firelight as a stark contrast against Rhys' chest fur and the Buck stepped closer, reaching out a hand to run his fingers across his Eyara's body and gently pull the necklace away. He offered his question in The People's tongue. "You are not waiting for me to remind you any longer?"

Rhys responded likewise, his grasp of the language improving so could have answered more eloquently, but chose one single word instead. "No."

Runs-on-Air smiled. "What changed?"

The Rat smiled as well, stepping closer to press his paw against the Buck's chest. "I did."

Runs-on-Air slid a hand behind Rhys and pulled at the cord above his whip-like tail, undoing the bow that kept his trousers tied around his waist. "How did you change? You once said that the necklace brought you pain."

His Eyara's paw touched him gently on the cheek and spoke softly even as his other paw pulled away the knot at the front of Runs-on-Air's loincloth. Rhys returned to his own language. "I learned what 'Eyara' means."

The Buck shivered slightly when the Rat's paw moved somewhere much more intimate and he responded by giving Rhys's rump a soft squeeze. "...and?"

Rhys Barlow stepped forward, pressing his body to Runs-on-Air's as he whispered softly, his pronunciation perfect. "Nah kin seh alaa, fes tiin, Ulit Amah."

Runs-on-Air gasped when he felt his lover's paw encircle his flesh and pin it against the Rat's own, and barely managed to get the one word question out before gasping again when Rhys nibbled at his ear; "Ehn?"

Rhys had always been very careful about what he spoke, especially when it was in The People's Tongue. He was as particular and as precise as he could be and refused to say anything until he understood what it meant. The Rat replied to Runs-on-Air's one word question with a simple response. "You: my Eyara."