A certain dirt road in the capital outskirts cuts through grasslands graced by white-purple crocus with bright orange stamen and adorned in delicate primroses and enlivened by pink rhododendrons. It wound through lush valleys and curved to the tune of forest margins. It clung to a barren grey mountainside underneath low hanging branches of snow-smothered fir trees. Your car wobbled, threatened to topple off the narrow edge into the indigo lake, but the danger passed and you arrived at flatlands dotted with little sheds, white dwellings wearing brown brick hats, that watched sheep graze like fluffy clouds in a sea of green, not blue. Sunlight saturated your face like a mask of refreshing nutrients. Or, had you made adequate preparations, you would have worn a wide brimmed hat to fend off the sun. You raised the black vinyl roof of your car, a tiny red speck on the land, and puttered onward into a modest forest where undergrowth was scarce and trees grew thin.

You arrive at a charming town resting between a lake and towering mountains, clouds drifting low, last shreds of unevaporated mist shrouding foliage. You peer into shops offering generous views of goods stacked high behind window panes embellished with the store's name in big gold letters. Many shops sold candles, cured meats, and other knick knack baubles a town would require. You pass these quaint buildings embroidered with flowers and caught a glimpse of a steep staircase that led to the pier.

This must be the most gorgeous sight the town had to offer.

Then, you reached the plaza.

The Gold Sphere.

Legends claim a dragon and human, masters of the arts, formed in five years one day a glass sculpture of globe flowers, and once the last hammer fell upon the chisel, once the lava glass was tempered, and once the human and dragon took a moment to marvel, parted ways, leaving in their wake their greatest creation.

The Gold Sphere honored the Arsenian people, a people who fought the fiercest predators to a draw with what little technology they had compared to the rest of the world. The greatest triumph to emerge from the stalemate was not endless war but a treaty respecting both humans and dragons.

But here was not your destination, for you did not leave Alte and travel to this far off tourist town with just the clothes on your back for a vacation. You were here for work, and it was such important work.

The cobblestone path gave way to smooth asphalt ascending to a house on a hill. This home, a four story structure with manila walls and a black slated roof, made with efficiency in mind, was the Mordecai Residence. Generations of Mordecais were born, raised, left for the dwelling they owned in the city, then returned home for retirement. It was a Mordecai who designed this home and a Moredcai who saw it built.

A young man in blue uniform stopped you at the circular driveway; he was the valet. You gladly exit the hot car marinating your skin with help from your thick black coat more suited for wintry weather and cool stone cellars. Pain stung your thigh, the fabric chafing skin. As the valet drove away, a picturesque view improved your mood. The lake below sparkled like diamonds by the thousands had been thrown in. You open the door. A baker greeted you with butter and strawberry jam spread over fresh oven baked bread. That was what that aroma wafting into your nostrils reminded you of. Your childhood home had a similar tang, but without the stale beer odor your nose wrinkled at. The place had not changed in the five years since you last came. Your eyes settle on the black grandfather clock standing in the corner. Three, fifty-eight. Three, fifty-nine. Four.

Dong.

The lustrous silver pendulum swung back and forth and you, beneath the railing of the stairs, looking up between the bars, wondered where he was. You check your square wristwatch. This was the appointed time. He was always punctual. You begin to panic. He wasn't in the house. You rush outside searching frantically for any sign of him. None. You were about to go broadcast a telegram to the ASSR reporting the Prime Minister missing when you heard-

"Alter!" Elin Bonila waved, pedaling up the hill on a thin steel bicycle, a striped towel hanging out her wicker basket.

Elin Bonila. Chief Whip and second in command of the National Party. Alter squinted. Arwen, picnic basket with empty green bottles poking out between the two halves that closed it in one hand, towel slung over his shoulder and wobbling on his yellow bicycle, held up the other in greeting.

"Good afternoon!"

Put that hand back on that grip! Alter barked, in his mind. He held his tongue, knowing his voice would boom across town. Less than a few days since the attempted assassination and Arwen was riding a bike out in the open in perfect position for a second-rate sniper to pick him off.

This damn old man.

The two highest ranked party members were out and about with no protection. What made them so daring?

Elin flicked her copper bell, "Beautiful weather for a dip in the lake. You can swim through the whole thing in moments, and the sun shines bright enough you can see the bottom murk and mud and all the fish! They're very slippery."

Arwen lifted a leg over his seat.

He gave his bicycle to Alter, saying, "Pity you couldn't join us."

Last night, Alter tried to leave his office, but couldn't. Something obstructed his door and when he cracked it open wide enough to stick his head out- Thump. Cardboard boxes piled in front of his door. The top box had toppled, dumping everything onto the floor. He found a note taped to the side of a box, telling him to sort and sign these documents in two days, love, from A.M and E.B. Alter threw the note on the ground, fuming. But he took in the boxes and sat at his desk toiling well into the next morning.

And so, seeing such audacity, flaunting their fun outing in his ragged face, enraged him. Had he known, he wouldn't have come anyways because this entire situation was ridiculous.

Has Arwen gone senile?

He crushed the handle while maintaining somewhat of a smile. "I missed the invitation."

Elin pulled her large shawl, knitted in the pattern of leaves, tighter around her. She had to take care not to get the cloth caught in the wheel spokes. Alter's jawline clenched tight as he stared at Arwen, the latter avoiding him either oblivious of the intense anger directed at him or found the whole situation amusing. She knew it was time to take her leave and let Arwen fend for himself. Alter's large dark purple shadows under his eyes reminded her of the darkest, sweetest grapes. Clearly he was sleep deprived and in no mood for Arwen's lighthearted behavior.

Alter really finished all that work. Is he stupid, or what? That work wasn't for him.

Of course, they didn't elaborate whose work it was, so it might as well have been his. Elin hid her smirk. The hot ground seared her bare feet as she hobbled into the house's guest room on the first floor to change.

Alter spun to Arwen. He wore a simple white shirt and...swim trunks. This was unsightly. The white cotton was damp from water that fell from strands of hair Arwen no doubt slicked back neatly to maintain an air of neatness. Arwen destroyed his loafers with his wet feet. Alter seized him by the arm and marched him to the house.

"In broad daylight, in the sight of anyone who needed only to look, and without any guards, you go for a swim?"

He released Arwen, exhaustion dulling that spike of anger, "This is unbecoming of a Prime Minister."

"Look around you, Alter, you forget where you are. This is the safest place in all of Arseny. We are protected."

Alter looked to where he pointed, to the distant grove of trees by the waterfront. He sharpened his sight. A clump of butterflies flew in a clearing and danced in the smattering of sunlight that filtered through the leaves. Lepi Dracoptera. Below them lay a half eaten deer. The Flesh Gorgers. Butterflies gnawed at the rotting flesh, tearing at strips of muscles that clung to the bone until their tiny fangs snapped the strings and the meat vanished into their bellies. Then, realizing a stranger observed their feeding, scattered from the deer. Alter snarled. The butterflies returned to a tranquil state and resumed devouring. A few flew away, their beautiful wings flapping serenely.

"It seems the defenders share the same sense of urgency as their master."

"No Mordecai has been assassinated on this land." Arwen wrung his hair with the towel, "Besides, I've only a few days left to enjoy myself before the first guards are sent from their training."

Alter opened the door. His rage flared again. He did not have the key to open it in the first place.

Unlocked! Someone could have gotten inside and wreaked havoc.

"Don't come in," he hissed, "Here." He rummaged through a drawer and tossed a fresh towel over the doormat.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Thank you." Arwen stepped out his shoes and dried his feet. Alter threw more thick white towels at him.

Arwen noticed the tension in Alter's face. "You forget I am human. I must indulge myself in worldly pleasures. You should as well."

"Perhaps-"

"I have swim trunks your size."

"Not on the day of an important meeting with Elin and other important figures in business and politics, beginning in just a few hours."

Arwen, as of late, had been acting strange, constantly embarrassing Alter in private. He was worried Arwen may exhibit this behavior in Parliament. Alter could only hope his conduct was just bouts of senility. Arwen was very old. Of course, there had been no incidents, but with Arwen, Alter never knew what he was thinking and what he would next do. He bit his lip. After all these years he still did not have a grasp on who Arwen was, did not understand him, may never understand him. All Alter could do was ensure Arwen never understood him as well, so neither had the advantage over the other, so neither could predict what the other would next do. And Alter should know better. Arwen may be acting this way to confuse him. Alter would not fall for it. He knew better than anyone what Arwen was capable of. Soon, he will discover what Alter is capable of.

Arwen sighed, "It is a party, not a meeting. You confuse the two. I assure you, Alter, there is a difference. Shouldn't you know? You've been to more of the former than I have."

"Mhm."

Arwen drifted to the kitchen. "I stashed a beer here. I need a drink."

Alter plucked the bottle out of his hand and steered him away, "You've had enough, and you will have more than enough once the party begins. Drink that alcohol instead, you paid for it."

"The government paid for it."

Alter looked to the ceiling, "Same thing. Go change."

Arwen muttered, "Alter, Alter, Alter," as he went up the creaking wooden stairs.

Alter crushed the bottle. Splinters lodged in his skin. He curled his hand into a fist, squeezing the shards into his palm, pushing the glass deeper until skin swallowed the slivers. Blood welled out the wounds and mixed with the popping bubbles flowing down the drain.

I must not forget. He is my enemy.

He let the water flow and tossed the glass away not a moment too soon. Elin left the guest room. She'd changed into loose brown pants and a woolen vest colored like stained glass, reds and blues and greens swirling in no particular pattern, in a specific pattern the more you looked, no, there were no patterns, were there? Alter's head pounded like someone beat it with a brick. Or flower pot. That trip to Dorabella's office set off a bout of harsh headaches. Injuries inflicted by dragons healed slower. Alter cleared his throat in a way suggesting Elin should explain herself.

"So?"

"Arwen invited me to come early and join him at the lake. I could not refuse the offer, and I'm glad I didn't."

"The telegram I received was not clear in expressing the intentions of its sender, or senders."

A grin took hold of her face and shook her stoic expression. "Alright! I concede, a bit nasty, what we did, but we got a laugh out of it."

"So it was you! Pushing all that work on me."

Elin laughed.

"Harming a person's health is no laughing matter, Elin."

She cackled even harder, and Arwen hurried down to ask what was so funny. Elin answered and Arwen began to snicker. Alter wished he saved that beer. He could've squeezed their rat heads into that narrow bottlehead and sealed it. Their little paws would scratch at the glass, crinkled whiskers quivering with fear as oxygen vanished from their little lungs, and they'd lie at the bottom, dead, round little tummies bulging with beer. Arwen and Elin pushed Alter to the door.

The teasing has to stop.

"Learn to laugh, Alter." Elin said, "And learn when to push work onto subordinates. Learn how to do as little work as possible but still have a grasp on what's happening. That's an important skill in and of itself."

Arwen agreed, "A part of leading is about dividing work as best as you can between the people. Everyone belongs if they have a part to play. If you work strictly alone, I'm afraid I'll see your casket before you see mine."

Alter ignored them, "Where are we going to have our meeting?"

Elin pointed at the lake, "Outside!"

And Arwen and Elin briskly walked on the path that snaked around the lake. Alter begrudgingly followed, the fresh air and exercise waking him somewhat. They went along the shaded stretch of dirt road and trampled the undergrowth scattered at their feet. Trees, from lakeshore to mountain top, were pines, an entirely different ecosystem from trees by the town, tall beech and stout oak with leaves tinted yellow and orange, the first hints of fall. Rumor had it that the Mordecais planted the pine swathe centuries before, and that their favorite sanctuary was not their home nor their town, but a cast iron bench that looked out across the waters. These whispers gave rise to a poet's endearing quote.

"You will find the Mordecais by the evergreen pines."

Arwen motioned for them to sit and Elin promptly sat. Alter chose to stand, and Arwen stood as well.

"Will you stay for the party, Elin? I'm pleasantly surprised you accepted my invitation for today's celebration. You usually say one's youth should not be wasted on tedious trivialities."

Elin lifted one leg over the other. "I can say the same of you, Arwen."

"You flatter me."

"There are parties I can miss, and there are parties I cannot. This is the latter. We both work hard-" Alter coughed at this- "And this party, to me, is more work than fun. To you, however, it may be a party, it may be fun."

Arwen nodded, "This is an old man's excitement."

"Besides," Elin crowed, "I get to sleep in the Mordecai house! Few have received this honor."

Alter pointed at her, "You're what? There's only one guest-room. Where am I to sleep?"

"I've prepared the couch," Arwen snickered.

Alter pushed him away, "Very funny."

"In terms of our kind of fun, Alter, I can introduce you to a bar I like in the capital. You can buy me a few rounds in return."

"No."

Elin sighed, "You're young and handsome, you're the one who should be enjoying your youth. Find a lover, flirt," She poked her face with her fingers, "Smile, you may be out of practice. A scowl woos no one."

"Alter scowls when he isn't in the company of others. He'll have my wrinkles soon." Arwen slapped Alter's back, "Then you'll woo no one but a tree."

The two roared and Arwen had to sit down.

These two. Alter didn't mind the mockery because he had participated in it, satirizing Arwen and Elin, and they ridiculed him and each other. Then, they formed an alliance.

"He's ten years younger, but I would approve of your union."

Elin's mouth fell open, "You cannot possibly mean that."

"Oh, I am serious."

Elin glanced at Alter. He looked like he ingested poison and was in the throes of immense pain trying to vomit. No, no, Arwen could not mean this. He was hinting at something else, an opportunity to mess with Alter, that was it. Elin was more than willing to be his accomplice. She hid her grin behind a sniff and whipped her black braid over her shoulder.

"That, I'm afraid, will never happen."

"I'm curious to know why," Arwen said.

Elin grimaced, "Just look at him."

What was that supposed to mean!

"You don't like a handsome, intelligent man?" Alter asked, indignant.

"I do, just not you. You think you're handsome?" She smirked.

"What was that? You smiled, I saw you smile as you wounded my pride."

Arwen howled, mopping his eyes with a handkerchief, "If you don't have a chance with Elin, you don't have a chance with anyone good."

"I have high standards."

Alter snapped. "Is this your way to insinuate I should find someone to wed?"

He snatched a pinecone off the ground and crushed it, sap smearing his hand. "Shut up. Both of you. I'll throw you into the lake. I'll throw the damn lake at you!"

Elin, clutching the benchrest, said, "All-alright, for what reason did you summon me, Arwen?"

"There is a mutiny in the party."

That wiped the smile off her face. "No."

Arwen slowly dipped his chin, "Yes."

"Who would dare?"

Alter, residue anger fueling him, cracked a pine cone under his boot, "Dorabella Campagna and Elias Casteel."

"That's...an interesting partnership. The scholar and the screwup. The professor and the heir to corruption."

Alter asked, "Have you any ideas on how to crush them?"

"A few, but I'll need more time. Our usual contingency plans may not work against this pair."

Arwen raised his hand, "I have an idea."

"What is it?"

He leaned forward. "There is a certain bill being drawn up that Elias Casteel wishes to pass. We shall crush it to draw the battle lines. The people shall then choose which side to support."

"No," Elin glared at Arwen, "That law protects railroad workers. Parliament's reputation is tarnished if we kill it."

"—-------------------------------"

"Ah." Elin pressed her fist against her mouth, "I see." Her eyes flicked to Alter, "Diabolical."

"Very."

Elin kicked the air and leapt off the bench, body buzzing with adrenaline, "I will check our party members and isolate the traitor, that is my part to play. I cannot wait to see him executed."

Arwen stood, "Ms. Bonila, what could I do if you were not here?"

She shook his hand, "A lot, but not as much."

Arwen said, watching her distant figure disappear over the ridge of the hill, "I cannot control a willing Parliament without her. It was a joyous day indeed, the day I met Elin. We are similar in all the best ways. Before the day you succeed me comes, you must find yourself an Elin Bonila. You could still woo her if you tinker with your mannerisms here and there."

"You heard her. Elin does not see me in a romantic light."

"But you admit you could have-" Alter walked away. He checked his watch. Arwen followed, matching his long strides.

"Your father would be delighted to see you in a meaningful relationship. When Wilamar brought me news of your older brother's engagement, he rushed towards me with such enthusiasm the ASSR nearly shot him down. You're the second of three children, it is your turn to find love."

Crisp pine air cleared Alter's sinuses of anger, though he felt a sneeze itching his nose.

"What Edwin does does not concern you, Alter. My family's matters are mine. I would like it very much if you refrain from commenting on my personal life."

Arwen walked backwards, hands clasped behind his back. His green waistcoat, worn over a white shirt, matched the forest behind him. Alter swore Arwen had an eye on his neck. Arwen stepped over a small log anybody else would've tripped over and avoided slippery gravel and large stones.

"My protege is gaining prestige and power. Even if you've no thoughts on marriage, why not volunteer at an orphanage? Perhaps that might spark your fatherhood instincts. When I was a young lad-"

Alter broke into a run. He ran for the sake of running. There was something about these woods and this lake that tempered the fire forging his heart. But he had no one to share this place, these feelings with, not anymore. Steam rose from the forge as sorrow flooded it. Alter ran. He ran and ran and the world became a blur until he remembered to breathe. His thigh ached. He limped like a wolf that had its flesh shredded and bone cracked in the metal jaws of a hunter's trap.

"Alter!"

Arwen, spurred by concern, hurried to him.

Alter used his sleeve to wipe his eyes before he faced Arwen. "You killed the one person I truly loved." His arm dropped to his side. "You have no right to talk to me about family."

They walked up the hill, not a word spoken to each other, and paused on the incline among yellow flowers bumblebees bumbled among, and composed themselves. Only Alter could speak to Arwen with such disdain, such disrespect, and not provoke his anger because somehow, no matter what Alter did, no matter what he said, Arwen would never bat an eye of disapproval. Only Alter. The air released a pent-up breath.

"Do you think everyone we invited will come? We thinned their ranks quite a bit."

"If they are not corrupt, they will come. If they want to live, they will come," Arwen said.

As if on cue, grey clouds of car exhaust crawled out the forest towards the town. The first guests had arrived.

"The mice are falling over themselves to please the cat."