"I do so like Niljden." - Prince Dirk-Jan Van Niljveld when asked why he would serve the crown so loyally.

The eyes on the spindly old frame of the Duchess Hekket Zelderloo stared blankly into the goblet of wine in front of her. It was her favorite, amethyst, of course. However, this was a very special vintage, one she carried with her everywhere. Her attendants ensured she never traveled anywhere without it. It was, of course, of the year she married Prince Aart Biljvank, brother to the king. It had aged quite well, she could tell by the aroma from when she first uncorked it. She swirled the dark liquid and paused, pressing the cold metal to her lips. She glanced her eyes to the tri-folded piece of parchment that lay on the end table to her left; the contents of which should have brought tears to her eyes.

To the Lady Duchess Hekket Zelderloo,

It is the solemn duty, as your King and Emperor, to inform you that your sons perished valiantly at the Battle of Jacque's Triangle. They were found in each other's arms. I pray this message reaches you in good health, and that you and I might finally have a proper audience as we discuss your terms of surrender.

Emperor Phillipe Desramaux of the Desravank Empire

My terms of surrender. She thought to herself. The scent of the liquid in her goblet filled her sinuses, it was everything she needed. Dry, with a touch of sugary sweet. One sip was all she would need to feel again, to feel alive and bring back the flooding of memories, good and bad. An entire life, decades more than many other's she had known. She had lived through four monarchies, shed no tears at the burial of her husband of thirty years, and simply welled up in her eyes at the news that she would never again see her sons. The liquid in the goblet stared mockingly at the woman. Her reflection, a haggard spindly appearance. A skeleton with a soft veneer of human flesh, and alcoholism.

She allowed the liquid to pierce the vail of her lips, its taste being equal to that of the aroma, if not more. She could feel the saliva pouring forth from the inside of her cheeks, absorbing the delightful liquid as she swallowed intently, allowing her pallet to take in all of the flavors available to it. Grapes, of course, a hint of apple... no, peach. Yes, it was clear the pit of peaches and plums had been used in this batch. Though, that could also have come from the final flavor to hit her pallet - the arsenic she had added after allowing the bottle to properly aerate. Delightful. She closed her eyes and envisioned the orchard hands plucking all of these fruits, just before they were fully ripe to grant this concoction the slightest amount of tart to counter the sweet. She allowed a grin to cross her face as she placed the goblet next to the letter. It would be shameful, even in death, if they found her having spilled her drink. Already she could feel the drink doing its work. She lost feeling in her legs from the knees down; slowly a tingling sensation flowed up her flows until she felt nothing from the waste down. She leaned back on the chair, closed her eyes slowly as images flashed before her in her minds eye. Hein's first steps. Rikkert's first words. When Hein was first diagnosed, how terribly he coughed, and how terrified she had been. But he survived, he survived for twice as long as they had said he would. She thought of her grandchildren, of Koen, the one who might still survive all of this by virtue of the fact his mother kept him from his father. A sad reality, one she wished she could have changed, but her husband was the one who had made the decision; by the time he had passed, the damage had already been done.

Her last thoughts drifted away as the visage of her sons came into full view. Grown, aged, wise, and strong in spite of everything - in spite of everything she had put them through. Was I always so bitter? She thought to herself. Or had my life simply necessitated such a demeanor. Perhaps the gods will tell me when I meet them. She let out a deep exhalation, and would never fill her lungs again.

Banners of azure and green fluttered in the wind, the colors of House Van Niljveld hanging down from the walls of Niljden. This was to be expected, of course; what was not, however, was black rose on a field of gold per pale with a gold rose on a field of black which was the banner of House Desravank which hung from just above the gates of the city. Equally as surprising was the entourage which seemed to be awaiting the approach of Phillipe and the Desravank forces. Duke Dirk-Jan Van Niljveld, seated atop a brindle mare, wearing his family colors proudly on a light linen tunic and trousers, slowly road up to meet the head of the army before his city. Seated on Marius, who had been freshly cleaned, was King Phillipe Desramaux, and beside him was none other than Empress Jolijn Bijlvank. The two monarchs gave each other a confused look, shrugged, and trotted forward to meet with the Duke between the city and their forces. Dirk-Jan bowed at the waste as the two approached.

"Your majesty and your majesty. What an honor it is for you both to grace my city with your presence. I, your humble servant, greet you." Jolijn was the first to speak after an awkward silence.

"Thank you, Dirk-Jan. I must admit, however, that you have caught us off guard. We are taken aback by this greeting." Raising himself back up straight with a smirk across his face, the young duke responded with a little too much eagerness.

"I had thought you might find this strange. However, in truth, it is not strange at all. I have received word ahead of your arrival. Rikkert is dead, as is Thierry. The war is over, is it not? I am prepared to swear my oath of fealty."

"You aided our enemies." Jolijn said.

"I think you will find my father and brother were the two who aided your enemies, and, as I recall, they were dispatched very early on in this conflict."

"And what, exactly, would you say you were doing between their deaths and now?" Phillipe asked, his expression rather unamused at the display being put on before he and his wife.

"Reluctantly providing housing to those who would otherwise kill me and replace me. They are no longer here, and in fact, they are no longer alive. House Van Niljveld is prepared to begin the healing of our Empire by being the first of the former lords to swear oaths for the next twenty five generations."

"Only twenty five?" Jolijn raised her eyebrow, which only caused Dirk-Jan's smirk to grow.

"I will pledge my fealty and that of House Van Niljveld until cataclysm wipes us all from this world and to the next. For as many generations that there are between now and then. You will find that I and my descendants shall be some of the most loyal vassals to have the honor of calling you King and Queen."

"Such loyalty is to be commended, Dirk-Jan. We of course accept your oath of loyalty and pledge of fealty. The time will come soon for you to properly take the oaths. May I ask, though, why is it you shall be so loyal to us?" Phillipe leaned forward on his saddle as he asked this, truly curious of the answer from the eccentric lord before him.

"I do so love Niljden, and what sort of lord would I be to my people if I did not seek peace and prosperity for them? The war is over, you have won. The time has come to piece ourselves back together and heal the wounds we have brought down on ourselves."

"Very well, and I agree with your sentiments. Do you still house, unwillingly of course, those would deny our claims to the throne and seek our deaths?" Jolijn asked her new and exceedingly loyal vassal.

"I can honestly say that I do not. I do, mind you, know of whom you specifically ask for. Prince Louis Desramaux is here in my entourage, shall I call him forth?" Phillipe perked up at this, a chill running down his back.

"Yes. Yes, I wish to see my cousin."

"And what of my aunt? The Duchess Zelderloo?" Dirk-Jan turned and gave a signal to those behind him, another rider, clad in black and gold, slowly approached.

"I am afraid the Duchess Zelderloo has died. When news of her son's deaths reached her, she took her own life. I had her body placed in a coffin and sent it to her family at Castle Zelderloo that it might be interred there with her ancestors, as is her Houses custom." Jolijn's eyes turned sullen as she looked to the back of her horses neck.

"That was good of you. Thank you. Though it disheartens me to learn of her death, I am gladdened that she will rest with the rest of the Silver Dragons." The other rider strode up beside Dirk-Jan and to his right. The young prince was thinner than Phillipe had remembered, his hair having grown more disheveled along with that of his appearance, something his father would have never abided.

"Cousin. How do you fair?" Phillipe asked, attempting to make eye contact with Louis who refused to look up.

"I fair... I fair well, cousin. I have enjoyed my time her in Niljden."

"Are you ready to return home?"

"And where is that? Desramaux Castle? How many of us still live, cousin?"

"More than your father thought would, and less than any of us had wanted. Mathi lives, as does Renault. That is all." Louis inhaled deeply and looked up with watery eyes.

"My father got what he wanted, then. He was the last Desramaux."

"House Desramaux lives on through you, Mathi, and Renault. Mathi will rule over the Desramaux Principality. But, yes. The Desramaux Dynasty is gone, and something greater has grown in its place. I would like for you to be a part of it." A tear fell from Louis' left eye and slowly descended down his cheek and off his chin.

"I would like that. Yes. Thank you, cousin." And so, the healing begins. The young king thought to himself.

"Ah, my king and queen. I was wondering how my cousin, Lowie faired. I have not received any word."

"He was carried off by a giant eagle during his retreat." Dirk-Jan raised an eyebrow at this.

"Unfortunate."