The Eagle's Flight

Early next day, a procession left the Temple. From the Hall of Holies, the highfather and ten Templars walked out, descending down the stairs to the square. Already, some people had gathered to witness the first part of the day's ceremony, and the crowd would only grow in size over the next hours.

The highfather continued walking until he reached the eastern edge of the city, where the Mihtea flowed from the Wyrmpeak to fall into the city. Here lay the burial chamber of the dragonborn from Sigvard to Sighelm, the last high king.

The old priest rested for a while; the journey had already been a long one for his knees, and the same distance awaited going back. Finally, he entered the Crypt of Kings alone. In the middle, alone, lay the stone coffin for Sigvard, resting for more than a thousand years. Along the edges in ascending rows, all his descendants of the House of Adal could be found. With weary steps, Septimus walked up the spiralling ramp until he reached the latest additions.

Upon the lid of his coffin, a carving of Sighelm had been made. In his stone hands lay the Dragon Crown. Once intended for Sigmar, who lay buried in the next alcove, it had waited for three years to be retrieved.

Carefully, the priest extended his hands to pull the crown. It had once been a helmet meant for battle. Made from sea-steel, the patterns resembled the scales of a wyrm; the wings flowed down to protect the sides, while the body and head of the drake had been carved into the top.

Prize in hand, Septimus descended to the ground and left the crypt. Outside, his Templars gathered around him to open the path back to the Temple through the gathering crowd. The closer they came to the heart of the city, the more people stood to catch a glimpse of the Dragon Crown. At times, the knights had to push or wait briefly, but at length, they made it back.

Alone, the highfather entered the Hall of Holies. He moved to the other end, approaching the altar of the Alfather. A square slab, it had a row of carvings around the sides, depicting tall warriors doing battle. On the top was only a pair of hands reaching upwards in supplication. The space from one set of fingers to the other just allowed for the crown to be inserted. Cautiously, the priest lowered the precious item down until the stone hands held it in their grasp.

~~~~

"Come on! We should have left long ago, we'll never find a good spot!" Kate pulled on Egil's sleeve as they tried to push through the crowds on the Temple square.

"We could have just stayed at the castle, we could see them leave," Egil protested as he was being dragged along.

"I want to see the actual ceremony, obviously," replied his companion with annoyance. "Couldn't you get some of the kingthanes to clear a place for us? You're the King's Quill and all."

"That's not how it works," the scribe scoffed. "They can't harm me, but that doesn't mean they'll do me any favours."

"So what's even the point?"

"It does mean that if you hit me, I can get them to hit you," Egil told her smugly, to which she elbowed him. "Ow!"

"Go on, then, I'm waiting."

"Be glad none of them are around," he mumbled.

They finally stopped some hundred yards from the Temple, as close to the stairs as they could get. All around them, the people stood packed. "I guess this will do," Kate conceded. "How long until they get here, do you think?"

"Not too long, I guess. I saw some of the thanes getting ready in the courtyard when we left."

Kate clapped her hands in excitement. "I can't wait to see the queen! All the queens!"

"You'll have to wait, they probably haven't left the Citadel yet. And like I said, you could have seen them all from the tower."

Kate elbowed him again.

~~~~

The procession began from the southern courtyard of the Citadel. They did not travel by carriage; not a horse was in sight. When approaching the Temple, the only proper way was to do so on foot. Every kingthane stood assembled in a hollow square. The king of Adalrik, soon to be high king, stood near the front with Lady Jana of Alcázar by his side, holding his hand. The jarls and marshals of Adalrik followed, along with the king's few relatives. The other kings and queens of Adalmearc had already left to take their place.

Led by Alaric, the kingthanes set into motion, and their charges followed inside the protective shell. Once outside the Citadel, rows of Order soldiers kept the Arnsweg clear and the citizens at bay. As the royal couple appeared, the crowd exploded with emotions. Cries and outbursts came as a deafening cacophony, and the recipients could do nothing but continue walking, throwing smiles and waves at either side.

The king wore a black tunic with a silver dragon upon it. The warm day did not require a cloak; nor did he wear anything on his head. Not yet. While his countenance seemed stern in nature, it relaxed into a smile every now and then. Next to him, the lady was clad in a green, flowing dress with long sleeves, stitched with patterns in silver thread. Her black hair, braided elaborately, had been crowned with a garland of purple bellflowers. Wearing the garments of Rihimil and the garbs of Austre, they walked to the Temple.

Crossing the square, they approached the holy building. The vassal kings and queens had arrived before them and stood dispersed on the Temple stairs. Three to the right side, three to the left, all of them on a different step. Each wore the colours of their realm and stood alone, though their personal guards were nearby, some paces behind.

As the couple walked onto the first step, occupied by King Brión to their right, the highlander knelt. "The Mountain bows before the Dragon of Adalrik," he spoke.

With a few more paces, they reached the step with Queen Theodora to their left. She also knelt. "The Heath bows before the Dragon of Adalrik."

In this manner, they continued, pausing when they came to a step where a royal stood. "The Dale bows before the Dragon of Adalrik."

"The River bows before the Dragon of Adalrik."

"The Sea bows before the Dragon of Adalrik."

"The Forest bows before the Dragon of Adalrik."

At last, they reached the top of the stairs. In front of the Temple entrance waited the highfather, Caradoc Whitesark, and Templars. The pair stopped before the high priest of all the holy orders, who stood between the pillars of the entry.

"The crown of Sigvard rests in the hands of the gods," Septimus declared. "Let the atheling enter and prove that the gods find him worthy."

The old priest stepped aside. Brand released Jana's hand to enter the Temple alone. Sunlight fell in from above, caught by mirrors to fill the Hall of Holies. Ahead, upon the altar of the Alfather, the Dragon Crown glittered in response.

Brand advanced past the statues of the gods in their alcoves until he stood before the altar. His eyes came to rest on the great imagery upon the wall behind, depicting Rihimil slaying the black wyrm. "Thank you," Brand whispered to the dark-clad knight, though his words drowned in the silence of the hall.

He knelt before the altar, leaning forward to let his brow rest against the edge of the stone. His lips moved, mumbling inaudible words before he rose. With careful, but assured movements, he extended his hands towards the crown. If the gods did not find him worthy, they would not release it to his grip.

As his fingers closed around the helmet once worn by Sigvard, it willingly followed. He turned around and walked out of the hall, holding the crown between his fingers. Once he reached the entrance, he raised it into the air for all to see. As the crowd roared in delight, he lowered his arms, gave it to the highfather, and knelt.

"You have received the blessing of Sigvard." The priest raised the crown once.

"You have received the blessing of the tribes." He raised it twice.

"You have received the blessing of the gods." He raised it thrice.

"I crown you Sigvard the Second of the House of Adal." Carefully, the highfather lowered the crown unto the atheling's head. "Rise as High King of Adalmearc, the Dragon of Adalrik. Never shall you bow before another again."

As bid, Brand rose. He turned towards the square, allowing the people a glimpse of his coronated head. It did not last long; moving back to face the Temple again, he removed the crown. It was a helmet, meant for battle, hiding his face. He placed it in the highfather's care, who accepted it and stepped back.

Instead, Caradoc Whitesark took Septimus' place, and Jana returned to stand next to Brand once more. With a broad smile, the whiterobe prepared to perform the same ceremony for the king as he had done for Brand's parents more than twenty years ago.

"Adalbrand of the House of Adal, son to Arngrim of House Arnling, known as King Sigvard the Second of Adalrik, is it your own will to enter this marriage?" he asked.

"It is."

"Jana of House al-Saqr, daughter to Karim of that house, and royal lady of Alcázar, is it your own will to enter this marriage?"

"It is."

The priest gestured for the couple to raise their hands into the air. Taking a piece of charcoal from his pocket, he drew a rune on the back of each hand. The mark signalled the number one and the symbol for unity. "Today, you enter a union before the gods," he proclaimed with his bellow-like voice. He followed this by retrieving two pieces of string. He tied one around each of their wrists and wove the ends together. "Twain, yet united into one," he spoke and pulled on the woven ends until the strings broke free from their wrists. Turning their hands around, he placed the twine inside their palms and closed their hands around it. "May the gods bless your union, as they have blessed the Realms. Under the eyes of the dragon, the raven, the bull, the horse, the bear, the hart, and the eagle, I declare you wed."

The royal pair bowed their heads to the priest before they turned around to face the crowd once more. Taking hold of Jana's hand with his, Brand raised his other to greet his people, who responded with unbridled joy. Adalmearc had a high king, and Adalrik had a queen.

~~~~

While the celebrations began, Godfrey waited in the highfather's cell. He had watched the ceremony from afar, making his way into the Temple once it ended. The dust of the road lay on his cloak and old hat; his walking staff rested against the wall.

Septimus entered, closing and bolting the door behind him. "Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"Too pompous for me," Godfrey replied with a glint in his eye before his expression grew serious. "It's time." He rose up from the bed he sat on; using one hand, he easily moved it aside. He pulled the rug underneath away as well, revealing the hatch below.

From his robes, Septimus dug out the symbol of the highfather, hanging in a chain around his neck. He leaned down to insert the seven-pointed star into the hatch, unlocking it. "There we are. Should I leave it unlocked?"

Godfrey smiled wryly. "If need be, I'll find a way, locked or not." He took a breath. "Farewell, old friend. Many times we have said this, but I think this will be the last one."

Septimus embraced the wanderer. "I hope we meet again in a place without farewells."

"Perhaps we just might." With another smile, Godfrey pulled the hatch open to reveal the stairs.

"Do you require a candle?"

He shook his head. "I know the way." With a last look at Septimus, the wanderer stepped down, pulling the hatch to close after him.

He descended into the black pit. As he walked down the stairs, his hand extended to run along the carvings on the walls. Darkness hid the figures of Elves fighting dragons, the flight of Dwarves, and the coming of the tribes of Saelnar until the battle of Valmark and the first victory against the Godking. Those who carved the figures were long gone. There would be no record in stone of the second battle of Valmark, of the final victory against the black wyrm; it would live in the memory of Men, as they chose to remember it.

Finally, Godfrey reached the antechamber. The tree shivered its leaves at his arrival. On the other side, weak light could be seen along the edges of the door without handle that sat in the cave wall. It struggled to illuminate the vault, giving faint shape to the tree that grew without earth, water, or sun.

Casting his hat aside, Godfrey did the same with his cloak. He unbuckled his belt that still had a sword of sea-steel tied to it, carefully placing the weapon against the wall where another blade already rested. His boots and socks followed. Barefoot in his tunic, Godfrey finally walked forward.

As he passed the tree, he extended one hand to brush through its leaves. Crossing the chamber, he stood before the door that could not be opened. With slow breaths, the wanderer placed one hand on the wooden planks. As he retracted his arm, the door followed.

Sunlight streamed in. Beyond, Godfrey saw a wide meadow that stretched to the horizon. An ashen tree rose so tall, its crown disappeared into the sky. In the distance, underneath the shade, people could be seen. Some played games, others music accompanied by song. A woman in a flowing, green dress stitched with silver danced on bare feet in the grass.

The music came to an abrupt halt, and the people turned to look in the traveller's direction. The dancer ceased her elegant movements, almost losing the garland in her hair. Taking a deep breath, the wanderer crossed the threshold into the meadow. With every step, his tunic turned black, adorned by silver threads in the shape of a drake. Behind him, the door slammed shut.