Time flowed in its circular river, the ebb and flow beating with the pulses of the world. As time was measured, Ost-in-Edhil had little left. He had followers here who would not betray him, he knew every alleyway, every secret room. And he knew their hearts. Time would pass and they would create that which he required, the artefacts that would draw elven strength and power and meld it with the deep-lying energies of the world, the endless pools that lay here, beyond the mountains, beside the sea. And they would be his. And once they were his, it would be time to look across the narrow, encircling ocean to the West.

He watched the mithril chain that lay across his palm, alive with fire-bright diamonds, letting it slide back and forth, almost dropping, flicked back up at the last moment like a cold, glittering whip, light glancing off fiery points, scattering across the room like ash sparks. One of the laws of power was knowledge: know your enemy, know your objective, know your resources. The resource once bound by this chain had fled, unsettled by something… by what? The darkness lurking within? The loss of control, control that had been given up voluntarily, glorying in the submission, the pain, the ecstasy? A small piece in a giant board game, diamond-girded, its value had rested in the effect that its loss, its turning, would have on the king across the board – across the board, beyond the mountains, beside the sea. 

But there had been – something. A resource, yes, but there had been a drawing closer, a place beyond the fear where he was welcomed. Life held few welcomes for his true face. His mind drew pictures: graceful, dark haired, amber eyed, awaiting his pleasure in the reception hall, reclining flushed and laughing with wine in the dining room, silent and pliable in the sleeping place, those eyes vast, dark, hungering. More than an acolyte, almost – almost a concubine, a place of ease in a dry, harsh clime. 

But time flowed in its circular river, the ebb and flow beating with the pulses of the world. Nothing static, all things transient. The plan to counter the king would work, or not, but it was beyond his control now. The one he had called Sinque was gone. Pleasures were fleeting, amusements rare. The work would go on without them.

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