Page 108 of Shattered Crown

Thomas was now fully engaged, royal posture momentarily forgotten as he leaned closer to examine the documents. “These appear authentic, but how did they survive the purge you describe?”

Agnes smiled, a hint of her old mischief breaking through her weakness. “Some of us have very long memories, Your Majesty. And very deep hiding places.”

She gestured to a section of script that pulsed gently with embedded magic. “Look here. The magical provisions for shared defense. Guardian spells woven into human fortifications. Human steel reinforcing forest boundaries.”

“This section describes joint training protocols,” Nathaniel observed, pointing to another fragment. “Human soldiers and forest defenders learning each other's methods.”

“Which sounds remarkably like what we're proposing now,” Silas added pointedly.

Lady Evangeline, who had been listening silently, finally spoke. “I remember my grandfather mentioning strange markings on the castle's eastern foundations. Symbols that no human mason would have carved.”

“Protective wards,” Agnes confirmed. “Part of the Concordat's implementation. They likely still function, though weakened by centuries of neglect.”

Thomas sat back, absorbing this revelation. The politics of the situation were clearly running through his mind—the advantages of validating their current alliance through historical precedent, the challenges of contradicting established history, the opportunity to position himself not as a revolutionary but as a restorer of ancient traditions.

“These documents,” he said carefully, “could they be authenticated by court scholars?”

Agnes fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Is truth only truth when your scholars confirm it, King Thomas? Or do you have eyes to see the evidence before you?”

The challenge hung in the air. Silas held his breath, recognizing this as a pivotal moment. His father loathed being cornered, yet Agnes had offered him a way to accept the alliance while saving face—by framing it as a return to historical practice rather than a new concession.

Thomas surprised them all by reaching out to touch one of the fragments with unexpected gentleness. “My grandfather spoke of strange dreams,” he said quietly. “Dreams where the castle walls sang to him on stormy nights. The royal physicians prescribed remedies for hallucinations.” A faint, almost wistful expression crossed his face. “I had similar dreams as a boy. I learned not to mention them.”

The vulnerability in this admission stunned Silas. He'd never heard his father speak of dreams or childhood, let alone in such a personal manner.

“The wards,” Thorne explained, his cosmic voice gentling. “They resonate during storms, seeking to reconnect with forest magic. Your bloodline would be sensitive to them, especially in sleep.”

Thomas withdrew his hand, royal composure returning like a shield. “I will have these... historical accounts... reviewed discreetly. If they prove consistent with other evidence?—”

“They are truth, regardless of what your scholars conclude,” Agnes interrupted. “But yes, examine them. You'll find traces of the old alliances throughout your kingdom, hidden in plain sight.” Her strength was clearly fading, her brief surge of energy waning. “Stone remembers. Trees remember. Blood remembers, even when minds choose to forget.”

“The point,” Briar added, supporting Agnes as she leaned back, exhausted from the exchange, “is that we've done this before. Worked together. Protected each other. It's not some crazy new idea.”

“Indeed,” Thomas acknowledged, his diplomatic training reasserting itself. “Historical precedent would make the current alliance more... palatable... to certain factions.”

“Politics,” Agnes muttered, eyes closing with fatigue. “Always reducing truth to advantage.”

“That is the nature of governance,” Thomas replied, not without a hint of self-awareness. “Finding advantage in necessity, and necessity in advantage.”

Agnes's eyes opened briefly, fixing the king with one last penetrating look. “Just remember, Your Majesty—the drought came to both realms. The blight threatened both peoples. And now the Shadowblight makes no distinction between human and guardian. The patterns repeat for those wise enough to recognize them.”

With that, she allowed Briar and Lyra to help her to a more comfortable position, her strength spent but her purpose accomplished. The ancient documents remained on the stone between the negotiating parties, physical evidence of a shared history both sides had chosen to forget.

Thomas studied the fragments a moment longer, then looked up at Silas with an expression his son couldn't quite decipher—something between reassessment and recognition.

“It seems,” the king said carefully, “that we have more shared history than current records suggest.”

“It seems,” Silas replied equally carefully, “that the past might have lessons for our present.”

For a brief moment, father and son found themselves unexpectedly aligned—not in perfect agreement, but in mutual acknowledgment of a truth neither had fully grasped before. It wasn't reconciliation, but it was a foundation upon which something might eventually be built.

The negotiations continued with new context, ancient history informing present necessity. Agnes dozed nearby, her intervention having shifted the conversation's very framework. The treaties she had preserved became reference points, their provisions examined for relevance to current challenges. What had begun as contentious debate evolved into something more collaborative—still cautious, still measured, but with growing potential.

And throughout, Silas watched his father gradually engage with this new information, the king's natural skepticism balanced by political pragmatism and, perhaps, by something deeper: the faint echo of childhood dreams where castle walls sang during storms, a long-buried connection to magic he had spent decades denying.

The morning stretched into afternoon as they hammered out details. Resource sharing, joint defense strategies, integrated command structures, each point negotiated with careful precision. Kai and Briar worked together on strategic maps, their unlikely friendship embodying the alliance's potential. Elena and Lyra coordinated supply lines, finding common ground in practical necessities.

Throughout the discussions, Silas watched his father carefully. Thomas remained reserved, but something had changed in his approach. He listened more than he spoke, his questions becoming less confrontational and more exploratory. When Thorne explained a particularly complex aspect of forest magic, Thomas didn't dismiss it but asked for clarification. Small shifts, but meaningful.

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