The time had come.<br/><br/>It was a time no guardian ever wanted to face, a circumstance so close to failure as to be nearly synonymous.  Gamundereil's charge was in danger.<br/><br/>The woman was in mortal danger, and the fate of so many others was joined to hers.  If she died, so would they.  And others were joined to them, in an impossibly massive web of lives all woven together, centered on her.  Khalida<em>had</em>to stay alive.<br/><br/>However, Gamundereil had reached the end of his resources as he was, and yet too much remained to chance.  The invisible hands of the guardian angel could only do so much; such were the limits of the divine in the mortal world, ensuring that he and his kind remained a long-forgotten legend in the minds of the races.  Most races, at least.  Surely the Irealians still believed.<br/><br/>The humans, on the other hand, were oblivious to him.  The angels' magic allowed them to bend the light, diffuse it, reflect it, cast it away into shadows, and so remain out of sight by anyone.  The ease with which they handled both the light and the shadow could only be matched by one other race; even the Irealians lacked that proficiency.  This was how Gamundereil had functioned for many years... He was a non-presence, watching and nudging events in the right directions to guide Khalida to her destiny, to protect her from harm.  It was his life.  But, being a shadow often hampered his efforts.<br/><br/>And now it made them all but impossible.  Desperate measures had to be taken.  Gamundereil was no longer a shadow; he walked with all the grace of his kind, the tall man towering over most others as he passed them on the approach to the citadel.  Standing just over seven feet tall was oddity enough, but his pale golden hair shone in the light, and his fair skin stood out as well.  He had long since lost the slender build of his homeland, as most of his kind did once they left, though he was still not a wide man.  He would have been gangly really, were it not for the strength and surety of his step and manner.  As it was, he seemed a giant.<br/><br/>No one would recognize him here.  If the Gatekeeper willed it so, no one would doubt his story, either.  There was nothing for it, regardless.  Too many lives depended on what happened here, in the kingdom of Fereshard.  Nodding politely to the wide-eyed guards, Gamundereil paused at the steps of the citadel.  "May Deril favor you with her smiles this day.  My name is Gamun, and I have come from Irelki.  I request an audience with the King."  They stood stock-still for a long moment, before glancing at each other, shouldering their pikes.  So they were not suspicious then, only confused, Gamundereil thought to himself, and smiled.  He knew he looked the part, in the finest garments he could find on the continent, soft velvety material in a blue so dark as to be black, white lace peeking out of the cuffs, and a wide, flat, white collar.  His pants ended just below his knees, with white leggings running the rest of the way down to his finely polished black shoes.  It was hardly the kind of attire he was accustomed to, but it suited his ruse, and the King would surely expect full formal wear when granting an audience.  He could change soon enough.<br/><br/>"Right away, Sir!" one of the guardsmen exclaimed in a clipped tone, rushing inside to no doubt give the message to another man, who would give it to another man, and so on until the King was told.  Given that expectation, Gamun was surprised at how soon the guardsman returned to usher him inside, and even more surprised to see the King himself waiting to greet him.<em>Perhaps I underestimated how effective posing as an Irealian would be,</em>he mused to himself.<br/><br/>Stepping forward, Gamundereil stooped into the bow of the angels, a simple thing with little flourish.  He merely bent forward and rose.  For a moment he questioned whether he should have given a more appropriate bow, but that concern was brushed aside.  Surely the man had never seen an Irealian bow, and if so, not more than once.<br/><br/>"Greetings, your Majesty.  You honor me by coming to greet me in person, and I thank you.  My name is Gamun.  It has been a long journey."  Gamun did his best to seem pleasant, but he loomed over the royal, who adjusted his robes and cleared his throat.  He seemed... sad, was the only word for it, though it was buried.  The angel doubted most men could have spotted it.<br/><br/>"It would be foolish of me not to greet an emissary of the Divine ones myself, would it not?  Whether good or ill, any reason for your presence requires my attention, and I would rather you have it sooner than later," the King said.  The man clearly wasted little time.  "You are welcome in Fereshard, Gamun, though I fear you bring ill tidings.  I trust you are aware of Lerin and her ambitions?  If you would follow me, I believe we can find seats while we speak."  He turned then as he spoke, and Gamun did follow.<br/><br/>"Oh yes, Lerin's ambitions are well known indeed.  We feel that it is necessary to stop them where they now stand, rather than wait until they reach our home with any greater momentum."  And so his cover had been set.  Would the people believe that the Irealians were actively interested in human conflicts?  It was a stretch.  Best to tie it back to their own well-being, which he had done.<br/><br/>"Hmph.  A wise idea," the King answered, nodding thoughtfully as they walked.  "So what do you intend to do, then?  Will we have an army of Irealians marching with us?  I can't imagine that so."<br/><br/>"Oh... no, your Majesty.  As you might imagine, it is a difficult thing to amass a handful of those who want to leave Irelki at all, much less who want to go and fight.  An army is out of the question.  And we are even less eager to be overtly given to human causes... We can only support, I'm afraid, and for the moment, it is only me."  Gamun ducked his head as they entered what seemed to be a small sitting room.  Servants followed in behind with a tray and a pitcher, offering wine.  The King beckoned for a cup, and the angel took one as well, though he only held it.<br/><br/>The man took a long draught of the cool drink, brushing his moustache as he moved to sit on a wide chair.  "Well then, what support do you offer?  I see no weapon at your side.  Your magic can do many things, I am sure, but it would be helpful to me and mine if we knew what we could expect from you."<br/><br/>Nodding, Gamun sat down carefully on a long chaise and thumbed the rim of his flared-mouth cup.  "I offer my magic, as well you suspect.  But I offer it to train.  Your daughter, the Princess, has extreme potential.  I will be at your service, to do as you require, given that it does not interfere with my obligations to Irelki, and I will instruct your daughter."  Gamun paused briefly, watching the King to see how he reacted.  There was nothing to judge.  "You will not defeat Lerin without magic, your Majesty.  They shun it, so it is their weakness, and your advantage.  Surely a man of such wits in battle can understand that."<br/><br/>The royal took another long drink of his wine, and nodded.  "You speak truly.  But we are not helpless in that regard.  Our Champion's Riders are well-equipped in the magical arts," he stated with a scoff.  Gamun worked hard to maintain a serious expression.  Only a pair of those Riders could handle magic in any way that approached passable, though the pair was competent enough.  If they could have protected Khalida effectively, then there would have been no need for Gamundereil to be here, now.  The King gave him no mind anyway, or seemed not to.  "We could likely handle things on our own.  What will we owe you if we accept your aid, Gamun?  I will not pull my kingdom from the flames only to put it in chains."<br/><br/>Gamun smiled.  "You owe us nothing.  I give you my word on it.  And Irelki will not even acknowledge me, much less make any demands on you.  We only wish to avoid fighting Lerin any closer than here.  I am your man, your Majesty."  Standing to his full height, Gamundereil offered the King his hand, and after a long moment and a longer sigh, the King reached out and took his forearm in a tight grip.<br/><br/>"So you are, then.  Welcome to Fereshard, Gamun."