Lord Cathal Faolahn's men were already herding the protesters to the sides of the road to let King Aidan's procession through. All the while, Daud's fingers never left the cool hilt of his ancestral sword.

The discordant clamor of the people rattled his eardrums, their voices shouting in high crescendos filled with poison. Their tongues leaked with venom, spitting scornful jeers at their direction. Daud watched them warily as they made their way through the path. His fingers curled tighter over his sword, turning his knuckles white with the force of his grip. The soft flesh of his lower lip slid underneath his upper incisors- the only thing keeping him from spewing out curses of his own at the masses.

How dare they, he thought. Something dark and wrathful stirred within his chest, rearing its head at the anarchy. How could they say such disgusting things to their king?

If Daud had his way, he would have wanted to pull his blade out of its scabbard, if only to boast to these insolent people how sharp a blade forged in the fabled Iron Mill could be. Yet, he could do no such thing. Not when his king, the only person who deserved to be angry, was showing such incredible restraint. Daud found his gaze tearing away from the toxic masses to the silver-haired paragon that rode in front of him. A surge of admiration washed over him, taming the dark beast that had awakened in the depths of his heart.

King Aidan rode with his head held high in the air, his face a sculpture of dignity and authority despite the insults that were flung at him. He was the calm amidst the storm, unshakeable like a mountain in a hurricane as he rode on his skewbald through the battering rain of spite. Part of Daud dreaded the moment when that mask of perfect stoicism would break. There had to be something that boiled underneath those icy crystals of his eyes, a fury that was ready to be unleashed.

Of course, it never came, and his fears were unfounded. This is why he is the king, Daud silently told himself. Only a king could show such incredible restraint.

These thoughts quelled the broth of anger that churned inside him. His gaze slid back to the sides of the road, where men clad in silver were shoving back the furious demonstrators. They were having loud altercations, only adding fuel into the already-raging fire.

"Tell that witch-lover's son to send them away!" a man bringing a tall wooden sign hollered. He was trying to push past a man under Faolahn's service, wrestling futilely.

"We will not accept another king of freaks!" another jeered. That brought howls of mocking laughter from the crowd.

After what seemed like an unbearable eternity of riding through the shame, they finally arrived at an expansive fortress constructed of stone. Its structure shared the geometrical design of the rest of the town's architecture, comprising mostly of rectangular shapes. The walls were gray in hue, like the coat of the vargs that became the symbol of House Faolahn. It was fitting then, Daud thought, that the nobles should make the foreboding keep into their abode.

Lord Cathal Faolahn came to greet them, accompanied by the young lord Conall. All Faolahns were gaunt, Daud knew, but Lord Cathal was practically a wizened scarecrow of a man. He was ghastly thin, with pale limbs as frail as the branches of a dead tree. Dark pits indented the sides of his cheeks. His skin was like bleached parchment stretched thin over his bones, with deep-set wrinkles that marred his features. Wispy gray whiskers hung underneath his nose. The hair on his head- perhaps once dark like that of his son's- had turned ashen and receded towards the back of his head, leaving the front half of his head bare.

The thieran was almost worried for the walking corpse of a man. It looked as if the slightest passing zephyr might be enough to reduce him to a pile of dust.

"King Aidan," he rasped, bowing towards the young king. Lord Conall did the same, though Daud saw his dark eyes meet Jonathan's for a split second. King Aidan returned the gesture with a brief nod of his head.

"Faolahn. I see you are doing a fantastic job of keeping things under control."

There was no rising nor falling of his intonation, yet Daud could feel the sarcasm dripping from his voice. The barest hint of a wry smile flashed onto the king's face. Lord Cathal flinched under the weight of his words. His dark, sunken eyes searched the ground, as if some answer to the king's remark were inscribed upon the cobblestones.

"My most profound apologies, my King, for making you come all the way to Glein," the shriveled lord finally said. "Right as you are busy with your wedding preparations, as well."

This only served to earn him a sour glare from the young king. Daud frowned slightly as he stole a glance towards Jonathan. The half-calaian man returned his gaze with a confused frown on his own gentle features. Even though the king had obviously attempted to hide his reaction, the two of them had noticed the abrupt shift in his expression when Daud had brought up his impending marriage. It seemed that the topic of nuptials disturbed a sore spot in the young man. Yet, he could not imagine why it would elicit such a negative response.

There was no time for Daud to ponder upon this, as he had gotten used to over the past few hectic days. Lord Cathal Faolahn had begun to lead Aidan into the fortress, leaving his men to lead their horses into the stables. Daud dismounted his with some reluctance. He had developed a fondness for his mare, and seeing her be led away by a stranger caused him some... concern.

He mentally slapped himself. Don't be ridiculous, the Sword chastised himself. It's not as if they're leading her to slaughter or anything.

Adjusting his belt, he followed his king into the gloomy domicile of the Faolahns.

The interior of the place did not have a much better ambience as its exterior. If anything, it looked as if it would have housed a family of yildeans better than a house of noble thierans. The hallways were narrow- almost confining- and were lit by candles mounted upon the walls. Their orange lights casted the men's shadows across the corridors, each one taller than their owners. Daud's shadow seemed to loom above him, taunting him for his diminutive stature. Portraits of the Faolahn ancestors hung on both sides of the corridor, watching them with their varg-like eyes.

Two large wooden doors stood at the end of the corridor. The giant head of a varg was painted over both of the doors, split halfway in perfect symmetry by the small gap between both doors. A small knot formed within Daud's throat as he stared closely into the piercing eyes of the painting. There was both something beautiful and monstrous about the artistic depiction, bringing to life the terrible ferocity of the now-endangered creature. He found it almost entrancing to look at, being a lover of art himself.

Lord Conall pushed open the gigantic doors with a rumbling groan, almost as if it was so ancient that the mere effort of swinging open was putting a toll on its hinges. The chamber that laid behind those doors was much more spacious than the narrow hallways. Wrought iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, providing the room with brighter lighting. A large circular ebony table was placed in the center of the room, atop a rug made of what suspiciously looked like a giant badger's skin. On the wall at the back end of the chamber was the preserved head of a swine. Ivory tusks protruded from the top of its snout, curving backwards towards its forehead.

There were only twelve seats around the round table, and seven were already occupied. Daud realized that Sir Brendan Ahlonn and the rest of the men that had come with them awaited outside the chamber. There were only three representatives of each party involved, and it went without saying that the King would have to be accompanied by the Sword and the Shield.

The first one to stand up among those who were present was a woman of indiscernible age. Her tanned face glowed with timeless beauty, her angular eyebrows shielding a pair of intelligent olive eyes. Waves of white gold crowned her head, sitting just above her ears. She smiled courteously when King Aidan entered the chamber, dipping her body into a graceful bow.

"Your Grace," she trilled, like the sweet voice of a nightingale. "I am Eleanora, leader of the Coven... or what remains of it, at least."

She waved her hand towards a young man sitting next to her, who promptly got up from his seat. A woman sitting next to him did the same. The young man did not look very noteworthy in comparison to Eleanora, with his plain brown hair and eyes that matched it. Rather, Daud's attention was pulled towards the fair young woman. Everything about her looked extraordinary, starting from her butter-colored irises to her multihued locks. Her hair fell all the way to her lower back, white as snow on its top and black as the ebony tables on its undersides. A streak of red flashed against the white of her hair.

That was not even the most extraordinary thing about her appearance. It was the feathers: the singed feathers that covered her blackened arms. Jonathan, too, was staring at her with his mouth slightly agape, as the realization of what she truly was dawned on him.

That girl was a calaian- an ornith calaian.

"This is Yves, one of the best among us," Eleanora introduced, drawing all attention back to her. "And that is Cerise, his... familiar."

"Your Grace," Yves said, rather timidly. He gave an awkward bow, which Cerise followed.

When three Coven ambassadors sat down, a man rose opposite to them. He was impressively tall, making Daud feel like a hyrrean in comparison. Vibrant, multicolored robes wrapped loosely around him, contrasting his dark pigmentation. His head was completely shaved, reflecting the candlelight as smoothly as a glass sphere. He bowed solemnly towards King Aidan.

"Your Grace," he boomed, his voice a deep bass. "I am Amade, here to speak on behalf of my people of Yhlifa."

He gestured towards two others who sat beside him. They both shared the same complexion as Amade, though both were shorter than him. Even though they were of a different gender, their faces were the spitting image of each other. The woman had curly charcoal hair that swept wildly around her head. Both looked scrawnier than Amade, but Daud could see the blaze within their dark eyes. The two were fighters- they'd seen war and destruction... and they survived.

"The twins are Zote and Zoya- fierce defenders of the people of Yhlifa." The two bowed in perfect unison, a gesture which Aidan returned.

A loud rapping upon wood drew their attention towards the round table, their eyesights trained on the slender fingers that stood out against the ebony as starkly as hoarfrost. Lady Catriona Faolahn had not bothered with the common courtesy of standing up to address everyone, choosing to rest her angular chin upon her left hand.

"Are we done here?" Catriona asked, briskly. "I believe we have much more important matters to discuss."

Aidan moved in quick strides towards the table taking his place among the small assembly. Daud exchanged another glance with Jonathan, before moving to occupy the seat next to the king. Aidan's icy eyes met Catriona's without hesitation.

"Right then," he spoke, unfazed by the lady's brusque manner. "Let us begin with this conference."

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Chapter Writer: VeryBigMess

AN: Writer's Block has murdered my brain and taken control of what's left of its system. Fear not, the rebellion is trying their hardest to continue coming up with new, fresh chapters every week! So, what did you think of this chapter? Is it lacking in any way? Do leave your thoughts and feedback, so that the rebellion can stand strong against the dreadful dictatorship of the Writer's Block!

Anyways, the characters Eleanora, Yves, and Cerise belong to my good friend Vienli1014 ! My biggest thanks for their conception, and you can expect to be seeing more of them! (And psst, see if you can catch any other references within this chapter >:) )