After all the tension of the Queens' council to determine the new Territory Queen, after all the safety logistics of the ceremony anointing Safiya, it had seemed like they had reached a calm. But it proved only to be the calm before the storm, the civil war that swept them up like a sudden sand storm, blinding the eyes with its fierceness and flaying skin from bone.

It was hard to be entirely sure you'd counted all the sides in the war. One group was hailing Illyria as the rightful Queen, claiming the vote had been rigged. Another group declared for the last Queen's niece. But there were other groups, with more obscured motives and allegiances.

Safiya realized at last that there was some shadowy force behind all this, pulling the puppet strings, instigating further violence. Knowing it, she still couldn't find the source. It was too important to meet the battles with her people. She bowed to her escort's wisdom, staying at the back for the most part, concentrating on using her Gray to shield her people as much as she could, always knowing she would drain it further after the battle as she was inevitably drawn to the tents of the wounded, giving of herself to heal her troops.

Which is how, though Safiya's forces won skirmish after skirmish, battle after battle, they wore her down. The real strike came when the Gray was drained and the Sapphire low. They had found every day for the last four, and frequently before that. And now a massive army swept down on them.

Suffice to say, it did not go well. The fighting ringed them in so that there was no safe place. Those who survived the bloodbath that stained that valley of sand and rock red with blood, remembered one sight in particular. At some point their Queen was wounded, her escort lost or slain. She wandered the battlefield, a sword in her hand, her Sapphire Jewel glowing dimly, her eyes shining fiercely. As she walked, she dripped blood from her open wounds onto the sands. But where her men saw her, saw the fierce determination in her eyes, they rallied and fought on, fought to save her, fought to save Pruul which even now she watered with a Queen's blood.

Some, late in the day, saw her stagger, fall to one knee before rising again and staggering on.

They won the day, if it could be called winning. They had kept the battle from moving over the crest into the fragile farm land that lay beyond. Sparing the crops and the farmers had been high among Safiya's goals. She almost would have ceded this civil war to spare the Land if only there had been one clear opponent to cede to. Almost. The ground here was scorched and warped from all the Jeweled strength slung between the Blood on both sides, and the rest of it was wet with blood. Of the original army, only a fraction survived.

They found, incongruously, the Queen's shoes. And they found the sword she had wielded. But they never found her. There was a bleak knowledge that she had lost too much blood to live, blood poured out onto the sands.

Indeed, a season later anyone who returned to that desert valley would have found a meandering ribbon of flourishing plants—vibrant desert flowers and healing herbs—criss-crossing the valley floor. It was the path the Queen had walked. It was the trail of a Queen's blood spilled onto the sands, that had this last gift to acknowledge the gift of a Queen.

Battle was what Ellyndariel was made for, what flowed in his veins and fueled his efforts. He was not afraid to fight, he did it so well, after all. Against all odds, the Warlord Prince didn’t flinch back but stood by his Lady as he’d promised. Hell... it was about time they got some action, some resolve. Even the overwhelming numbers of their opponents didn’t sour his mood, dry, prepared and willing with a small wicked smile flickering in his piercing blue eyes, the delicate eyebrow arched in taunting sarcasm towards his enemies.

And so he fought – tooth and nail -, pouring the blood of his adversaries onto the golden sand of the territory that he now considered home. Ellyndariel slashed, hacked but also took blows, bled and yes... eventually he, too, fell. His Green had been shattered, the Purple Dusk was on the brink of destruction, his body was broken and pierced by arrows and wounds. But at the very least, as his vision blurred, the last thing he saw was the determined – though exhausted – features of his Queen, still standing, still struggling, still alive... He hoped there would be another to stand by her side, to take the blows aimed at her frail form, to destroy her enemies, to soothe her pain.

„Why should I love the Queen more than I love you, Mother?” The white-haired boy with intense blue eyes looked at his mother, a graceful Dea Al Mon Healer who brushed the long strands of her son affectionately. „Because when you love the Queen, you will love everything she cares for,” Helyanwë smiled warmly as she placed a kiss on his smooth forehead. “The land, the landens, the Blood. It matters not if you love her as a witch but if you do, you need to give her your everything,” The boy frowned, not understanding back then for he was too young to know of the kind of love his mother spoke of at the time.

Now, at the dusk of his life, Ellyndariel finally realized the meaning behind the wistful words by the lovely Dea Al Mon witch and the male had no regrets. When she had accepted it, he’d given Safiya everything – his affection, protection, service and wisdom. It was only fitting that before it all was over, he’d also give his life for the one Queen he’d loved and respected through his brief and fierce life. A smile crawled onto his lips, a pleased, smug, happy expression of finding an answer to a question to which he’d sought results to throughout his entire existence.

Before life escaped his battered form, he gathered what strength there was in his birthright jewel, a burst of Purple Dusk exploding from him, burning and reckless but also self-destructive. When the noise died, the light in his eyes was out forever.

Astoundingly, with the help of Rayne and within another few weeks, Sheylian had managed to not only make friends but also find herself fairly successful regarding her Healing Craft. A shame, actually, but good for her.
She was called upon, and despite her foreigness trusted and recommended.
The last weeks had passed by and turned the shy healer into a friendly, smiling person actually finding joy in living again.

She was not unaware, however, regarding the political situation, hearing news and rumors alike from Rayne and those she healed, brew potions for, was contracted. Still, most people she knew where restless and yet not unconcerned, everyone confident that the new Healer Queen would soon be able to find a stable position and settle the Territory.

It came as an utter surprise as suddenly a vast army marched over the capital and the territory, a civil war breaking out, a slaughter in its masses.
Sheylian at first was tempted to just take wing and flight - the way she always did in her life, when met with a sheer unbearable challenge.

But then, she would have to leave the children behind. She had just spent a week in an orphanage, helping and assisting in any way she could. The children were frightened and unfortunately right in the center of the fray.
She just could not leave those behind. Could not! Would not!
The healer found some courage this day, she never even suspected she had and instead of fleeing, she stayed.

Once the fighting came closer - so close, that she could hear the screams and clashing of blades, the healer within her urged to run and help any wounded, it took all her willpower to stay with the children.
Everyone was deeply afraid, scared, the air smelled as if there were fires nearby and all around them, Sheylian felt lighter Jewel Powers give out, burn away, like lights in the darkness flickering and dieing.

Trying to find a saver place for the children, Sheylian ran toward the nearest Altar -just three houses down. A priestess and two young children inmidst of their Birthright Ceremonies were huddled within the house. "Priestess, Do you have a cellar?" Sheylian burst out in haste as she stood in the door. As if having forgotten about it, the priestess' eyes lit up and she nodded.

"Hide there, then, I'll bring some children to hide as well!" Sheylian ordered, stunned about her own ferocity. Not even expecting an answer, she turned back around and dashed back toward the orphanage.

The children huddled around her, clinging toward her when she told them she had found a place with a cellar.
"We'll go there and hide so you'll stay safe." She assured them and appointed two of the eldest children to lead the way to the Dark Sanctuary. She would be the last.

When for a moment, the fighting noises seemed to subside a little, Sheylian herded the children out. They ran and scrambled as fast as they could.
They reached the gates. The children raced through them, safe one. A little girl suddenly stopped midstep and started to scream "My brother! My brother is still in there! He's hiding in the wardrobe!" She screamed and cried and refused to go another step.

"Mother Night!" Sheylian startled, stared between the orphanage and the street back and forth. On the one end of it, the fighting had picked up again, blasts of Jewel power scorging people and buildings alike. The Eyrien shivered. "Go Marlies!" She told the girl, shivering "I'll get your brother! GO!"

With a sob, the girl finally ran after the other children. The gate closed behind her and the healer turned back, flapped her wings and more leaped than ran toward the Orphanage.
She did manage to get into the house.
She also managed to find the missing boy. A toddler, barely able to walk. She hosted him to her hips, even managed soothing noises as he clung to her.

For a moment, she wondered where the two witches were, normally taking care of the children.
But then, from the top floor she heard the scream of a woman and slapping and hitting noises. Someone else was in the orphanage. Could she save her?
Shey sent a probe upward. Her jewels brimming when she felt a much darker power within the house. She would have no chance. Tears streemed down her cheeks and she tore herself away. How did someone get into the Orphanage? Back door?

She could not afford to investigate or care. No time. She turned back and once again leaped outside, miraculously managing to get toward the Sanctuary. She pushed the gates open, pushed the boy through them, when a scream tore her attention away "SHEEEYYYYY" she heard a woman scream and she turned, pushing the toddler ungently inside the yard with one hand. His sister would find him inside, she was sure. Her eyes were searching for the one screaming her name.

Up in the window, she saw her. The witch caring for the children - for the infants of the orphanage. Leaning out the window, holding a bundle out of it. Wailing. The witch was bleeding severely from her arm and head, saoking the bundle red.
Sheylian took wing. She flew toward the window, grasped the bundle the moment the witch collapsed, and Sheylian saw a sword in her back and a male standing outside, staring at her. Crying out, Sheylian turned, crying herself, sobbing about one more friend she had just lost. She pressed the bundle to her breast. A babe, too young to understand what was going on.

Time seemed to stop. She tried to flap her wings furiously, to gain speed and knew, the Sanctuary was close now, she would manage, she fiercely hoped, pressing the bundle still to her breast. The baby had stopped crying at least, whether it was horror or exhaustion, Shey could not tell this moment. She arrived the gate about to open them once again.
Something hit her from behind. Power burnt through her and in an agonizing crash, she felt her Rose Jewel shatter. The Healer fell to her knees, crying out. The babe fell out of her arms. Another sourge of power hit her. Her birthright burnt bright and was gone. Pain. In falling, all she could do was wrapping her wings around the babe, hoping at least the little Prince would survive the war. Her mind went black as another attack hit her.