Embric was tired. In the months following Ermir’s death, existence in Elderkeep had somehow become even more of a nightmare than it already was. The worry and fear that constantly tugged at his heartstrings had increased exponentially now that Kasni was without Echo, Xanthe was - presumably - somewhere inside the Eldouir Estate, and Ermir’s two children, Mayda and Lolek, had been taken under his wing. And, though he refused to acknowledge it, without Ermir, the future had turned colorless and bleak.

Of the two of them, the tavern keeper had always held more faith in Zevran’s and Kezia’s well-being and success than Embric, and until their return or - more likely, the acceptance that they would never return - hope for a better future had rested on the shoulders of two men. Now, only Embric held the flame, and every time he remembered Hiram effortlessly cutting down his friend, it flickered. How could one man stand against the Eldouir? Perhaps he could try to bolster their numbers, but that in and of itself was a dangerous task that demanded perfection. Any mistake guaranteed death. Xanthe was the only one whom he would have trusted with the knowledge of what lay in his heart of hearts.

Regardless, many days still found Embric stopping by the Last Call for one reason or another. From a certain perspective, the tavern had changed entirely since Tribute. From a different perspective, it had, obviously, changed hands but remained more or less the same. The welcoming tavern-keeper who had a smile for everyone had been replaced, but armed with the extra rations he had earned them prior to his death, the establishment itself still provided brief respite from the horrors of Elderkeep. Embric could see that, even if he didn’t feel it himself. Mayda and Lolek liked it there. Eirwen was sometimes around. And people still gathered and talked. Even if he had no one with whom he could share what he heard, he listened all the same.

Old habits died hard.

If Zevran entered the tavern, he would see Aine first. The white gyrfalcon perched on the corner of the bar, surreptitiously eavesdropping and keeping watch while ostensibly holding her human’s seat while he briefly helped Elaxi with carrying a heavy box of supplies to storage. Unadulterated shock would ripple down her bond toward the man in the back room, prompting a concerned question from him. Her two word response would have him pausing in turn just after setting the box down. Then, forcing himself to move casually, he would head for the door and poke his head out to see for himself if Zevran had actually returned.

His gaze swept over his people as he neared the tavern. He was reminded again and again of just how bad the conditions were here, and how much he might stick out now. The months he had been within Nevermere had allowed him to gain more weight from eating properly, and more muscle from the training he had endured. He may even have spoken a bit more eloquently from his reading and writing lessons with Alys.

He would have to be careful to not allow those things to set him apart, so he wouldn't draw suspicion. That was just as deadly as a weapon in this city, and they were out of practice.

Upon reaching the tavern, he paused at the door and took a deep breath. He knew Ermir would be happy to see him, first and foremost. But then the disappointment would come, and he wasn't sure how he was going to bear the weight of it. Pushing aside the door, Zevran and Rune stepped into the tavern and were met with... nothing.

Ermir was not at his bar to greet them, but the white gyrfalcon he assumed as Embric's dyr was. Reminding himself once more of his need to blend in, he continued forward to take up a seat at the bar. Forcing an amiable smile to his face, he quietly ordered a drink while Rune curled up at his feet and reached out to Aine. 'Long time no see. Where is everyone?'

It was Zevran, and more than that, he looked good. Healthy, well-fed, and fit in a way that Embric had only felt but certainly not appeared after consuming some of Hiram’s blood. Against all odds, he must have made it to Nevermere, then, eaten their food and enjoyed their hospitality while he plead their case to the king. And now that he had returned, surely an army was soon to follow. Zevran wouldn’t have come back empty-handed. Embric might have thought the younger man had chased after an impossible dream by turning to Nevermere, but he never questioned Zevran’s dedication. He knew how much they needed help.

With a nod at Elaxi, Embric confirmed that she required nothing more of him before, forcing himself to walk with a casualness he did not feel, he returned to his seat at the bar. After running a hand down Aine’s feathers, he nodded at Zevran as if politely acknowledging a stranger, before turning and wrapping his hands around his abandoned drink, which still sat where he had left it.

“It has been,” Embric replied through Aine in lieu of immediately answering Zevran’s question. Though he didn’t know it, neither man had brought good news to the table, and the older of the pair was just as reluctant to share his misfortunes as his younger counterpart. Zevran had just returned home. Embric wanted to let him enjoy a few more moments of relative happiness before informing him of the tragedies he had missed. “You look well. How are you both? How was Nevermere?”

There was no answer offered to their question, and a pit of dread began to form in Zevran's stomach. He lifted his drink and took a long drink from it to keep his eyes from straying to study Embric's face.

'We're alive,' came the curt reply. 'And Nevermere was... certainly something. There is a lot we have to talk about. Where are Ermir and Luka?' Zevran had no way of knowing the group he had left behind was gone, and only the two men gathered at the bar were what remained. His gaze shifted through the tavern again, searching for the familiar faces one more time. He even chanced a glance at Embric's face, attempting to note anything of worth from the man's features.

Where are Ermir and Luka? Zevran refused to be dissuaded. With the amount of time that had passed since they’d last all seen each other, Embric couldn’t blame him. One would think that he would have become accustomed to bearing bad news, but no amount of practice ever made it easier. He paused again, this time for himself. Then, staring at the drink in his hands, he ripped off the bandage and said, “They’re gone.”

In the silence that followed, he couldn’t look at Zevran to see how he took the news. Like the pain of a fresh wound that had settled into a dull background throb, his own shock and pain had become bearable, and he selfishly didn’t want the other man’s reaction to jostle the heartache.

“At Tribute,” Embric began after some amount of time. Aine shared his words as gently as possible, but no tone of voice could ever stop the blow they dealt. “They accepted Luka as one of their own. That was the last we saw of her.” In a way, her silence almost hurt worse than Ermir’s death. Questions with answers he could never hope to learn rushed in to fill the void. Was she still alive? Had she started having second thoughts? Had they caught and imprisoned her? And on the worst nights, as impossible as it seemed: had she betrayed them?

“Ermir,” He continued with a quiet breath, “was killed two days later. By Hiram.” Briefly, his fingers clenched around his drink before he forced them to relax, though a faint tremble remained. And, because Embric didn’t dare trust anyone in Elderkeep, “There’s no one left but us.”

The two words that were his answer were also his undoing. It felt as if the floor dropped away and he was in a free fall. He barely registered the words that Rune continued to share, even through her own grief. His fingers tightening around his cup were the only indication that he was still listening at all.

His friends were gone, both by the hands of the Eldouir in one way or another. While he had been living a life of comfort in Nevermere, they had been suffering. Embric perhaps the most, as he had weathered the disappearance of their friends on his own. And where he had promised to bring help back, he had utterly failed.

He faintly recognized that tremors were coursing through his body as his mind came to terms with the fact that he would never see Ermir's kind smile or Luka's feisty one ever again. If he had stayed the course and remained in Dresmond to fight the Eldouir with them, would things have turned out differently?

A loud roaring was slowly filling his ears. He downed the rest of the drink in his cup and stood abruptly, marching for the exit. He couldn't remain in this place full of memories a second longer. Rune scrambled after him, her ears flicked back in distress, with not another word imparted to Aine.

Zevran’s silence as he processed the words was telling. In turn, Embric’s silent inability to make the knowledge any easier to bear was likely equally telling. But who was keeping count?

Not Zevran, as he marched out of the tavern undoubtedly propelled by the same visceral need to escape that had plagued the his seated companion so often in those early days.

Not Embric either, who remained at the bar with his fingers wrapped around the cup of ale. Zevran’s sudden movement had briefly set his heart racing, but now its pace calmed as its owner stared at his drink, alone once more.

Aine watched as the fox slipped out the door after the young man before addressing her human with a curt, “Well? Are you just going to sit there?”

What else can I say? Nothing is going to bring them back. Maybe he wants his space.

“Embric.” The word was stern, and the gyrfalcon turned to fix a piercing, dark-eyed stare on the man. “It has been half a year since he has seen anyone he knows, and he has just learned that he will never see two of the most important people in his life ever again. You may have had to deal with that knowledge on your own, but do not make him do the same.”

Embric closed his eyes. Aine was right, he knew, but Zevran’s pain promised to unearth Embric’s own, and he was just so—

Before he could change his mind, he downed the rest of his glass and pushed himself up from the bar. Aine hopped onto the extended arm before settling on his shoulder when he transferred her there as they both made their way toward the exit. Once outside, the gyrfalcon took to the sky, peering around for their wayward companions so she could point Embric in the right direction.

The only direction Zevran could think to go in his distressed state was back to the empty wagon he had just emerged from. There was no where else that would feel safe here. Not anymore.

Rune trotted quickly next to him, attempting to sort through her own grief while also figuring out how to calm her human. That had always been her job, to help keep Zevran's wild emotions in line. But at this moment, she couldn't find any comforting words to offer him either.

They didn't draw more than a fleeting glance of pity from other Dresmondi milling about. They were used to seeing people in distress for one reason or another. Zevran made it to the first wheel of what was now his wagon before the wave of guilt and grief he'd been running from overtook him, and he fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands, sobs racking his body. Rune curled up tightly next to him, unable to do anything but whine quietly.

Aine quickly spotted Zevran and Rune, and Embric followed the distressed man back to an unfamiliar wagon at a distance. His own grief, which had been hammered into a numb acceptance over the months, felt distinctly at odds with the display of raw agony of the fresh wound Ermir’s and Luka’s losses had inflicted on Zevran’s heart. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two, but when he watched his friend collapse to the ground, he moved forward to try.

“Zevran,” He said quietly, using his own voice as he rested a hand on the man’s back. A glance up at Aine had her flying low to check that the wagon beside them was empty. It was, and that was good enough for him. Pain and distress might not have been unusual to see in Elderkeep, but that didn’t mean the city had to bear witness to Zevran’s all the same. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” Though devoid of meaningless platitudes, the words came patient and coaxing.

Embric would attempt to urge the other man to his feet and, if successful, lead him the final few steps to the wagon. He would open the door for Zevran, Rune, and Aine before, with a final glance around, stepping inside himself and closing the door behind them. If Zevran seemed amenable, he would try to get him to sit against one of the walls before settling down, feeling every bit his age and then some, beside him in a companionable silence. He wouldn’t make him, but whenever Zevran wanted to, Embric would be there.

There was a hand at his back and a familiar voice in his ear. It was all he was able to register, and it wasn't until Rune got to her feet and began nudging him with her nose that he was able to be roused to his feet. He let Embric, for that was the only person it could be, guide him inside the wagon.

Once inside, he slid to the floor, back against the wall, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He hugged them tightly, resting his forehead against them. Standing from the ground had allowed the body-shaking sobs to stop and now tears simply fell freely down his face, dropping into his lap. Rune sat next to him, leaning into his leg.

The silence fell like a heavy blanket, only disturbed by Zevran's periodic sniffling in Embric and Aine remained quiet. It was not long before Zevran was able to think again, but he truly did not know what to say. Nothing he had to tell Embric would make their situation any better.

Finally he raised his head, allowing it to fall back against the wall as he stared up at the ceiling. "They say they will help us, but I don't know when they will come," he whispered, the first words he had spoken out loud since arriving back in the city.

While Zevran wrestled with what to say, Embric silently did the same as he listened to the sounds of his friend’s grief taper into longer stretches of silence. No words could ever suffice for losses such as these. Although anything he said felt inadequate, complete silence also seemed too indifferent. In the race to find their respective words, Zevran won.

At first, hope blossomed in Embric like a burst of sunlight that broke through in a perpetually stormy sky, but the warm reprieve was as ephemeral as one as well. Bleakness rushed in quickly as the light faded once more. The Dresmondi closed his eyes. Nevermere would help them, but Zevran didn’t know when. Embric hadn’t thought it possible, but here lay something even more excruciating than the mystery that had surrounded the younger man’s Hail Mary quest: a dream partially realized. The eventual promise of aid, but no knowledge as to when it would arrive.

Desperation filled Embric. Were they simply to wait until help arrived? How long could they wait? Zevran had undoubtedly impressed upon Nevermere’s king the tenuous desperation of their situation, and Embric, perhaps foolishly, had thought that if Zevran were to even return to Elderkeep, it would be with an army on his heels. But now— now— The Eldouir had grown as restless and dangerous as ever. What would still remain of Dresmond once Nevermere finally arrived?

Shoving aside the despair as best he could, Embric let out a breath. Indefinite survival in Elderkeep was nothing new, he tried reasoning with himself; less than an hour ago, he had accepted such a future as inevitable. “That is more than we have hoped for in months,” He said finally, through their dyrs, attempting to focus on the fleeting light even as it disappeared from view. Embric took another breath. “Zevran, Rune.” Turning his head, he looked at the other man. “We are glad you’re back, truly. We only wish it was under better circumstances.”

The silence that followed his words was damning, and he closed his eyes, allowing the failure of it all to seep into his bones and settle. He could offer Embric no justice for Ermir's death, and no way for them to discover what had happened to Luca. All he had was a grain of hope that perhaps one day, someone else would come save them.

That just wasn't good enough. His head was still tilted back, resting against the wagon as if it was too heavy for him to hold up anymore as Embric seemed to reconcile with that miniscule amount of hope. Zevran couldn't face it, couldn't face his only remaining friend here, and kept his eyes closed as Rune responded for them.

'Despite the circumstances, it is nice to be back in Dresmond instead of Nevermere.' It was an incredibly sad truth, that at the end of it all they still found more comfort in this hellish city than that of Nevermere with all of its finery and riches. 'I'm sure you're curious of what has all happened since we left.'

With that, Rune launchd into their tale, from arriving and meeting the King, to all of their meetings with the military officers. She told them about their training and the reading and writing lessons they put Zevran through. She spoke of Nevermere itself and its strange customs and stuffy politics, how they had such wealth but only for those they considered privileged enough to have it. And she told them of the disaster that was the ball and how they had then been essentially kicked out of the kingdom, even with the King's word of still sending aid.

Rune paused to let all of the information sink in, before saying, 'They control Coheed and Cambria now because they also asked for Nevermere's aid against the Eldouir. They had to pledge themselves to the kingdom in order to receive their aid. They will expect the same of us.'

Embric found the tale they told of Nevermere nearly incomprehensible, not for complexity but for how utterly foreign the distant kingdom sounded. Reading and writing lessons, as if Zevran were somehow inadequate for knowing how to do neither, despite having lived his entire life illiterate. A strict adherence to words and politics - but more than that, the willingness to allow them to become intangible barriers that prevented those who were able from helping those who were not.

As he listened and thought about it, some of what Zevran said sounded painfully familiar. Men who commanded others, who held the lives of supposedly lesser individuals in their hands because of some title. A massive disparity of wealth and a steadfast maintenance of the systems that perpetuated it.

What was the difference, truly, between a castle and an estate? Both had walls. Both housed monsters who feasted, who threw extravagant balls or lived in luxury, all the while turning a blind eye to the poverty that languished on their doorstep.

Rune’s final message had his disgust condensing into something cold. Hiram Eldouir, too, had only helped Embric because it gave him Xan. By accepting Nevermere’s aid, they would be trading two queens for one king.

What choice did they have?

Embric knew they couldn’t continue to live under the Eldouir’s thumb. He let out a breath. “If that is what they will expect, we can work with that.” The words came slowly, thoughtfully, as he began turning the problem over in his mind. To hear that, even after everything, they would still find themselves beholden to another power was— He took another breath. “Forewarned is forearmed. We need them to fight the Eldouir for us, but we know what they will ask of us in return.“ They would be able to prepare for what came next. For the fight that came next.

“You said so yourself: Nevermere is many days away. They can’t keep all of their soldiers in Dresmond. We’ll take back our freedom when only the stragglers are left, and the rest of them won’t find out until it’s too late.” As if it would ever be that simple or easy, but even the mere suggestion of a plan was better than nothing. A long pause, then he returned to the primary problem staring all of them in the face: “Of course, that is contingent upon their aid reaching us in time.”