Bloodwind looked up at the citadel and smiled wryly. Since there was no longer a need for a Guardian of the Stone, the people had no-one to turn to for guidance and leadership. As one of the 'heroes of Ildar', the people had naturally begun turning to him - for small things at first, but eventually for larger matters regarding the running of the citadel. Some of the more influential houses had recognized this fact, and realized that if they were to show their support for him, and instate him fully, then he would be likely to grant them special favours. Bloodwind grimaced at the thought. Here he was, a lowly Watcher, rocketed by sheer twists of fate to the highest standing on the entire planet of Linthor. He refused to call himself 'ruler', however. The houses had proclaimed him so, but Bloodwind never used the term himself. The heads of the houses had declared that he should be instated in the towers at the centre of the citadel, once repaired after the vicious battle that had raged there. Bloodwind liked the towers-they reminded him of his old friend, Raven, but he missed the wildness of the mountains. He was currently out on his daily trek, supposedly to check on the Watchers stationed near the border, but mainly it was just an exucse to get away from the hustle of the citadel for a while. He remembered the last time he had stood on this spot, just below the secret tunnel, with the wind on his back, stirring the blue flowers in the meadow before him. Then, the sun had risen blood-red, turning the white stone of the citadel to a terrible hue. But now it rose as it should do, pale and clear, and the white walls suddenly began to glow golden as the flag unfurled and the trumpets sounded to herald the coming of day. Thoughts crossed his mind as he thought back to those terrible days, full of fear and doubt, but one face, and one thought stayed with him. The thought was that of a legend which told of a powerful being who so loved Ildar that the Lords made him into a breeze so he could pass through each world after his death, forever touching and seeing the things he loved. Bloodwind often thought he heard her voice in the wind, and wondered if there was some truth to the legend. ~Either that, or I'm going crazy.~ He shook his head, as if to clear it, but still the face the memories had brought up lingered with him. ~Ah, Maitharne. I wonder if you torment Viathon like this so?~

Valdrac woke slowly to the sound of the of the wind and trumpets on Linthor in Elthon Druis. He slowly moved from his bed and got ready for the day ahead. He slowly strapped his swords to his side and walked outside to greet the day. He looked out on to the plateau as the memories flooded his mind mind of the fight between Maitharne and Al-Mexeth. He shook his head trying to clear it. Now Maitharne's funeral played in his head, the grandest funeral he had ever seen. When is turn to say something came up instead of dropping a flower on her coffin he drooped two sets of dog tags and said "Say hi to them for me Maitharne, after saying that he swore he heard "I will" in the wind. Valdrac looked around the city and saw everything was as it should be, peaceful, untouched by Arxmorians "Thank the Lord for that." He paused a moment "No, Thank Maitharne for that."