Just a thought I had a year or so ago... Just a thought... I doubt I'll continue this though... I have a second chapter already written so I'll post that soon... Please review! Sorry that the story is so difficult to read through... choppy writing, I know... I'm not entirely sure how to fix it though...

Giver of Roses


The day began in a brilliant explosion of blue and pink, bathing the Palace of Mirh in a brilliant light. It brought no smile to Gytha's face. She was in Drion for business and loathing every minute of it. Tourists now vastly outnumbered the Drionnians and routinely flooded the palace wall with their 'oohs' and 'ahhs'. Local merchants were certain to be peddling their goods to the large mass of sightseers, the scum. She scowled at the whole affair, Why revel in what will be lost? Stupid.

Gytha leaned against the wall and let gravity drag her down to the street, appearing to all the world a weary old woman. With carefully scarred hands she pulled her thick woolen coat around her. Watching the gate with the attention of a hawk. Many a beggar lined the Palace wall. So who would notice her?

The Palace of Mirh truly was magnificent. She could see the outermost tower gaurd from where she sat, and if she positioned herself just right she would be nigh impossible to spot. Perfect

A troupe of Minstrels decided to begin their act feet from Gytha-- forcing her to inhabit a secluded spot next to a blind elven beggar. She pulled a thin blue peice of paper out of her satchel. Dragon's hide makes the best paper, for once a mark was made nothing could remove it--the ink neither fading or wearing away in time. It was on this that Gytha had chosen to draw her map of Drion, the layout of the Palace of Mirh if possible, as well as any strategic fallacies she knew of. It wasn't necessary for her to wander about the twisted back alleys of Drion. . . she knew it by heart, even after all those years away.

Gytha chuckled humorlessly, and the elven beggar answered with the clanging of empty tins, adding a dry chuckle of his own. Gytha ignored him, continuing her map of the city. She doubted the blundering oaf Aweirgan could handle an attack without the extra details she was adding. The thought of him attempting to do so without her aid nearly forced the shadow of a smile to grace her face. Almost. She had little to smile about these days. . .

King Dallin had grown cocky in his power and only stationed his soldiers on the Mirh's watchtowers and Drion's East and West Gates. It was with great ease that Gytha left the walled city. She had mapped out everything and, most importantly, she had found the weakness of the 'great' Mirh and it's looming Drion. She figured it wouldn't be long till Drion fell, and when that happened, Gytha would finally be avenged.

Drion meant nothing to Gytha, afterall, what good had its people ever done for her? A ghost of a smile appeared when she thought of the elves' reactions when the Mirh fell and Aweirgan of Tael took over. They won't mock me then, Gytha thought, twisting the fabric of her cloak till it tore neatly in two. The woman startled slightly and looked down at the ruined cloth, and for the first time in many years, Gytha finally allowed herself a smile, a small one at that, but a smile nonetheless.

Glad to do my part. She let her ruined cloak fall into the street. Just then, she felt the sharp sting of a stone hitting her cheek. Gytha cried out in anger, and unaware of the stares she was drawing grabbed the staff from the beggar and truncheoned the cloak into the mud, shouting wordlessly the entire time. The boy who had thrown the stone was hiding behind the beggar, frightened. Gytha met his gaze and smiled. The boy ran off. Oh just wait... Just wait, glad to do my part, and with that thought Gytha stepped into the crowd, chuckling at the accursed fate of the little boy and the people of Drion.