The forest was slowly recovering from the scars it bore, and its people - what remained of the forest tribe - stood alert once again, this time with nervous anticipation instead of desperation.
News about Prince George's imminent arrival had already reached the camp.
Luenor stood near a grove of ash trees, the cool, morning breeze lightly tousling his hair back. He couldn't contain the joy on his face. He smiled, a smile he rarely ever got to wear.
"George is coming," he whispered. "He is really coming..."
"Are you sure he is someone we can trust?" Hera whispered beside him, with her arms crossed.
Luenor turned to her, and his face was aglow, "Of course, George... he is my best friend. He would never betray me."
Hera watched him for a moment longer, and then she let out a little sigh and smiled, "Then I can believe you. Just this once."
Not far away, Thalanar stood near Telmar and the other elders, and they quietly stood surveying the outer ridges of the glade. His expression was serious.
"He is a prince", Telmar muttered, "and that makes me uneasy."
Thalanar nodded slightly, "But Luenor trusts him. That must count for something." But Thalanar remained gazing at the horizon.
The hours passed with a gnawing slowness, until finally—hoofbeats.
Gold-armored riders emerged from the tree line, a regal procession led by none other than Sir Albrecht Valen.
Behind him, atop a white horse, rode a boy not much older than Luenor, with blond hair tousled by the wind and a cocky grin spread across his face.
"George!" Luenor shouted.
The prince's grin widened. "You didn't die!"
He leapt from his horse before it had even stopped and ran toward Luenor. The two embraced like brothers lost in a storm, laughter and disbelief mixing in their voices.
"You idiot," George said, gripping Luenor's shoulders. "You had me worried."
"You're the idiot. What are you even doing here?" Luenor asked, still stunned.
George winked. "Cut a deal with my old man. Promised not to stir up too much trouble and gave up some royal benefits if he let me come and help you."
He gestured to Sir Albrecht, who stepped forward and produced a scroll.
"This is for you," Albrecht said, handing it to Hera.
Hera took it cautiously, breaking the seal in her yazata-like way, and read the content carefully. She began to let her shoulders go, and looked up, letting out a soft breath of relief.
"It says... Arhenius Sureva has been declared to be a traitor," she said slowly, "His title of Duke is nullified. But me and my brother, Luenor and I, are acquitted. We are not fugitives any longer, but we are not nobles either."
There was silence.
Luenor looked down. "So… Sureva is not real anymore."
George placed a hand on his shoulder. "It is only a title, Luenor. You are still you."
Luenor nodded, and then looked up again. "But really why are you here, George? How did you find me?"
George gave a half-shrug. "A few days ago, Albrecht heard some gossip from a travelling mage—something about elves near Fort Gelran. I don't think it was a stretch to guess you might be with them. So we went to check out the rumors. And what do we find? The two runaway Surevas, among the woodsfolk."
"I'm glad you did," Luenor said. "More than you know."
"I can take you back to the capital. You will be safe. As long as you stay near me, no one will touch you."
But it was Luenor's gaze that wandered. His attention had shifted to the faces of the bedraggled elves: Faren's arm was bandaged, Thalanar's face showed weariness, Lyssari was seated quietly with some of the younger ones, looking at him like a child looking at a toy being taken away from him.
"We're not going back," he said.
George blinked. "You're... not?"
"We're going to settle. In a village on the edge of the forest. It's not much, but it can be home."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm asking you to not raise a fuss," Luenor stated gently. "Please."
George hesitated, and then exhaled. "Fine. But I'm still helping, let me tell you that."
"You already have. You came. That was enough."
"Not enough for me."
Luenor considered for a moment and turned back to Liz's other tribesmen.
"The tribe needs help. We have nothing. No food. No weapons. No golds."
He turned back to George. "We need arrows. We need bows. We need swords. Shields. Mana stones, maybe, and maybe a little bit of coin to settle down."
But it was Luenor's gaze that wandered. His attention had shifted to the faces of the bedraggled elves: Faren's arm was bandaged, Thalanar's face showed weariness, Lyssari was seated quietly with some of the younger ones.
"We're not going back," he said.
George blinked. "You're... not?"
"We're going to settle. In a village on the edge of the forest. It's not much, but it can be home."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm asking you to not raise a fuss," Luenor stated gently. "Please."
George hesitated, and then exhaled. "Fine. But I'm still helping, let me tell you that."
"You already have. You came. That was enough."
"Not enough for me."
Luenor considered for a moment and turned back to Liz's other tribesmen.
"The tribe needs help. We have nothing. No food. No weapons. No golds."
He turned back to George. "We need arrows. We need bows. We need swords. Shields. Mana stones, maybe, and maybe a little bit of coin to settle down."