Side Story 3.8: Millhaven's Recovery, Griz and Hela
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The Price of Survival
The battle that devastated Millhaven had ended, but its aftermath lingered like smoke that refused to disperse. Death permeated the mountain hold in ways both literal and metaphorical. Bodies awaited burial in organized rows, covered with whatever cloth could be spared. Mourning families gathered in clusters throughout the territory, their grief a constant undercurrent to the more practical work of reconstruction.
August and those with him contributed to recovery efforts in ways that extended beyond the immediate rescue operation. While others focused on rebuilding damaged structures or treating wounded survivors, he turned his attention to an often-overlooked resource: the beast materials from the thousands of Carrion-Scuttlers that had been killed during the battle and subsequent pursuit.
Lord Hugo had already presented August with the Boss-rank Ratprowler's mana core as partial payment for his intervention. The crystallized essence of the massive creature's power represented significant value, both as crafting material and as magical component. But August had insisted that everything else should be given to Millhaven for processing and sale.
"Your territory needs resources for recovery," August had explained when Hugo protested the generosity. "The chitin armor alone could be fashioned into protective gear worth substantial coin. The organs have alchemical applications. Even the fur and claws can be sold to craftspeople. This represents perhaps tens of thousands of gold coins in potential revenue, if processed and marketed correctly."
Hugo had accepted with gratitude that bordered on shame. His territory was indeed desperate for resources. The attack had destroyed food stores, damaged critical infrastructure, and killed or injured hundreds of his most productive citizens. The sudden influx of raw materials provided breathing room that might otherwise not exist.
But August's assistance didn't stop at material donation. During their private conversations in the castle's great hall, he had proposed a comprehensive economic revitalization strategy that demonstrated understanding far beyond his sixteen years.
"Your grace," August had said, gesturing to a hastily drawn map of the region, "Millhaven's proximity to Shadowfen Forest is typically viewed as a liability. But it could become your greatest asset. No other territory in the Kingdom of Ogind has such ready access to high-quality beast materials. The resources that threaten you could also enrich you, if properly leveraged."
He outlined a three-part plan with the precision of a seasoned merchant:
First, establish Millhaven as a primary distribution center for beast materials throughout the kingdom. The old trade routes that had fallen into disuse were already showing signs of revival thanks to improved safety measures. Merchants who had avoided the dangerous paths were cautiously returning. This trend could be accelerated by offering unique products unavailable elsewhere.
"Gremory City and other major population centers have constant demand for beast components," August explained. "Alchemists need organs for potions. Craftspeople require hides and bones for armor and weapons. Mages purchase mana cores for enchanting. Currently, these materials travel circuitous routes from distant territories. You could cut that supply chain in half by providing local access to superior quality goods."
Second, use the beast material trade to forge strategic alliances and secure military support. This was the delicate part, requiring diplomatic finesse to avoid openly defying the Kingdom of Ogind while still pursuing Millhaven's survival interests.
"Trade agreements can include provisions for military assistance," August suggested carefully. "A city like Gremory might provide mercenary troops or even loan professional soldiers in exchange for preferential pricing on beast materials. You're not purchasing an army directly, which would raise questions about your loyalty to the crown. You're simply establishing mutual defense arrangements with trading partners. Perfectly legitimate under the kingdom's laws."
Third, attract professional beast hunters to establish permanent operations in Millhaven. The constant threat from Shadowfen meant the territory would never lack for targets. Hunters could profit tremendously while simultaneously strengthening the territory's defensive capabilities.
"Offer favorable terms," August advised. "Reduced taxes on their earnings, free or cheap lodging, first rights to certain hunting grounds. In return, they serve as auxiliary forces during major incursions. It's a mercenary arrangement dressed as economic incentive. The crown can't object to you encouraging business development."
Lord Hugo had listened with growing amazement. The plan was brilliant in its simplicity: transform Millhaven's greatest weakness into its primary strength, using market forces and economic incentives to achieve what military might and political loyalty had failed to secure.
"You would make a fine lord yourself, August," Hugo said when the presentation concluded. "I've seen your combat prowess, but this is the first time I've witnessed your strategic mind applied to economics and diplomacy. Your village is fortunate to have you."
August had deflected the compliment with characteristic modesty. But he wasn't finished.
"There's one more element to consider, your grace," he said, his tone shifting to something more tentative. "This is speculation about the future, not a firm proposal. But when Maya Village eventually emerges from isolation and engages with the broader world, we would be interested in using Millhaven as a primary distributor for our own beast materials and finished products."
Hugo's eyes had widened. He knew August's village possessed unusual capabilities. The fact that they could field Team One, that they had access to Beast Lords like Aetherwing, (Buford misspoke and overshared) that they maintained sophisticated infrastructure in complete isolation, all suggested resources and organization far beyond typical frontier settlements.
"But wouldn't that arrangement disadvantage you?" Hugo asked carefully. "You've given me valuable strategic advice. This proposal seems to benefit Millhaven far more than Maya Village. What do you gain?"
August smiled, though something dark flickered behind his expression. "We gain legitimacy, your grace. When we emerge from isolation, we'll need established trade relationships and diplomatic connections. Having Millhaven as a verified trading partner provides credibility we couldn't easily obtain otherwise. It strengthens our alliance, which has value beyond simple economics. And we would still profit substantially from the arrangement."
He paused, his next words carrying unusual weight. "There are reasons my village remains isolated. Reasons rooted in past tragedies and ongoing threats. We're not ready to face the consequences of revealing ourselves to the wider world. Not yet. But when that day comes, we'll need friends and allies we can trust absolutely. Millhaven has earned that trust."
Hugo saw something shift in August's face as he spoke: a flash of old pain, carefully buried but never truly healed. The young man's eyes seemed to focus on something distant, something only he could see. Whatever had driven Maya Village into isolation had left scars that went beyond the physical.
*Something terrible happened to him,* Hugo realized. *To his village, to his people. Something that taught him the world could not be trusted.*
He didn't press for details. Some wounds were too deep to probe casually. Instead, he offered reassurance: "As written in the scroll I gave you, Millhaven will aid Maya Village no matter the need. You have my word as lord and as a man who owes you his family's lives. Whatever drove you into isolation, whatever threats you face, you won't face them alone when the time comes."
August's expression cleared, gratitude replacing the shadow of remembered trauma. "Thank you, your grace. That means more than I can express."
Their conversation concluded shortly afterward. August excused himself from the great hall and went to rejoin the Finn Household at the inn, leaving Lord Hugo to contemplate the future his young ally had helped sketch out.
*That boy carries burdens no sixteen-year-old should bear,* Hugo thought. *He's seen things, survived things, that would break most adults. Yet he uses that experience to help others rather than withdrawing into bitterness. Maya Village is fortunate indeed. And so is Millhaven, to call them friends.*
---
Through Children's Eyes
While the adults grappled with economics, politics, and the grim arithmetic of survival, two small children experienced Millhaven through entirely different perspectives.
Griz Peerce, age three, and his sister Hela Peerce, age two, knew nothing of beast attacks or diplomatic strategy. Their world consisted of immediate sensations: bright colors, interesting sounds, new tastes, the thrill of movement. The horrors that had traumatized Millhaven's adults were carefully hidden from their innocent eyes.
Red and Theresa had been meticulous about shielding their youngest children from the worst aftermath. When they traveled through damaged sections of the territory, Griz and Hela rode on their parents' shoulders with hands gently covering their eyes. "Let's play a game," Theresa would say in her soothing voice. "Close your eyes and count to ten." By the time they opened them again, the bodies and blood had been left behind.
The children's memories of Millhaven would be entirely different from the reality their parents had witnessed. They would remember adventure, not tragedy. Wonder, not horror.
The journey itself had been their first great excitement. Riding on the Great Peregrine Eagles, those massive birds whose backs were broader than most horses, had been simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. Griz had squealed with delight when they first took flight, his tiny hands gripping his mother's clothing as the ground fell away beneath them. Hela had been more cautious initially, her face pressed against her father's chest. But gradually, as the flight smoothed out and she realized she was safe, she had peeked out to watch the world slide by below.
"Big bird!" Griz had shouted, pointing at Kirpy with the unselfconscious enthusiasm of toddlers everywhere. "Big big bird!"
"Yes, sweetheart," Theresa had replied, smiling despite her own concerns about the journey's purpose. "Very big bird. His name is Kirpy."
"Kirpy!" Griz repeated, delighted by the sound of the word. "Kirpy big!"
Flying had been unlike anything the children had experienced before. The sensation of movement without walking, of height without climbing, of wind rushing past while remaining secure in their parents' arms. It had imprinted on their young minds as something magical, something wonderful. They would remember this journey for years, long after the specific details faded.
Millhaven itself, despite the damage, had offered endless fascination. The mountain hold was carved directly inside the mountain, creating a vertical city that climbed hundreds of feet up the mountainside. Stairs, ramps and elevators connected different levels, creating a three-dimensional maze that seemed designed to entertain curious children.
Griz and Hela had explored everywhere their parents allowed, their short legs carrying them on adventures that felt epic despite covering only modest distances. The inn where they stayed had smooth wooden floors perfect for sliding across in stocking feet. The common room had a massive fireplace that drew them like moths, its warmth and dancing flames endlessly captivating. The kitchens smelled of wonderful things they couldn't quite identify, mysterious scents that promised future delights.
"What dat?" Hela asked approximately every thirty seconds, pointing at something new with the persistence only toddlers could maintain.
"That's a kettle," someone would explain.
"Ket-toh," Hela would repeat carefully, adding the word to her growing vocabulary.
"What dat?"
"That's a cleaver."
"Clea-buh."
The process repeated infinitely, the adults around them displaying remarkable patience as they identified and named hundreds of objects. This was how children learned, after all: through relentless questioning and repetition. The Finn Household, accustomed to Griz and Hela's presence, had become experts at fielding their constant inquiries.
The children's vocabularies were still limited, their pronunciation adorable in its imprecision. "Mama" and "Papa" came out clearly enough. "Adam" and "Isabel," their older siblings, had been simplified to "Ah-dam" and "Issa." The rest of the Finn Household received similarly modified names.
August, their honorary uncle and the de facto leader of the household despite his youth, had become "Ancwle" in their toddler dialect. August found this endlessly amusing and had taken to introducing himself that way when the children were present. "Hello, I'm Ancwle," he would say with perfect seriousness, much to everyone else's amusement.
Erik became "Air-ee." Betty became "Bet." Bren became "Ben" (which confused Master Ben Flameswrath on the rare occasions the wizard visited and heard them calling for "Ben" only to have a teenager appear). Angeline became "Ange." The linguistic simplifications followed patterns only the children understood, resistant to correction because the sounds made sense to their developing speech centers.
But what the adults said didn't matter much to Griz and Hela. They were too busy experiencing everything with the intensity unique to early childhood, when every sensation is new and therefore fascinating.
The hot springs attached to the inn had been a particular revelation. The children had never experienced anything quite like it: water that was warm, no, hot enough to create steam, but pleasant rather than painful. They had splashed and played under careful supervision, delighted by how the water made their skin tingle and their muscles relax.
"Bubbles!" Griz shouted, pointing at the rising steam with wet hands.
"Not quite bubbles, little one," Red corrected gently. "That's steam. It's what happens when water gets very hot."
"Steam," Griz repeated dutifully, though whether he understood the distinction from bubbles was questionable.
The food in Millhaven had been different from Maya Village's fare, offering new flavors that the children approached with toddler caution: suspicious at first, then enthusiastically accepting if the taste met approval. Hela had discovered a particular fondness for sweet bread with honey, demanding "more bread" with increasing insistence until Theresa had to gently explain that too much sweet food would make her stomach hurt.
"But good!" Hela protested, her face tragic at the injustice of limited honey bread.
"Yes, it's good," Theresa agreed. "That's why we save some for tomorrow, so you can enjoy it again."
This logic made no sense to a two-year-old operating on immediate gratification principles, but Hela accepted it with the resigned air of someone who understood that adults made arbitrary rules that must be endured.
Throughout their stay, Red and Theresa had maintained constant vigilance, ensuring their youngest children remained cocooned in innocence. The other household members had assisted without need for explicit instruction. When Griz wandered toward a section of the inn where some wounded soldiers were being treated by Theressa and the rest, Erik had smoothly intercepted him and redirected his attention to something else. When Hela started to ask about the sad-looking people they passed in the streets, Angeline had engaged her in a game that distracted from the question.
It was a conspiracy of protection, undertaken by every adult simultaneously. These children would have time enough later in life to learn about death and suffering. For now, they deserved to exist in a world where the worst things were limited honey bread and early bedtimes.
The journey home had been even more exciting than the journey to Millhaven, because now the children knew what to expect and could anticipate the experience. They had chattered endlessly during the flight, pointing at clouds and birds and the landscape far below, narrating their observations in streams of toddler consciousness that adults found simultaneously exhausting and charming.
"Big tree! See big tree! Tree tree tree! Mama, tree! Bird! Bird flying! More bird! Cloud! Cloud like... like..." Griz struggled to find comparison, his limited vocabulary failing him. "Like fluffy!"
"Yes, clouds are fluffy," Theresa agreed, adjusting her grip on her son as Kirpy banked through a gentle turn. "Very fluffy."
"Fluffy cloud!" Griz announced with satisfaction, having successfully categorized the phenomenon.
Hela, for her part, had spent much of the return flight napping against her father's chest, the gentle rocking of flight and the warmth of his body creating perfect conditions for sleep. She would wake periodically, look around with drowsy confusion, then drift off again with the boneless relaxation only children and very drunk adults could achieve.
When they finally arrived back at Maya Village and landed in the familiar surroundings of home, both children had been thoroughly exhausted but happy. They had experienced more novelty in a few days than most of their young lives combined. The memories would blur and fade over time, details lost to the imperfect nature of toddler recollection. But something would remain: a sense that the world was vast and full of wonders, that adventures awaited beyond their valley home, that life held possibilities they couldn't yet imagine.
"Home!" Griz shouted as he recognized the village walls, his voice carrying triumph as if he had personally navigated them back to safety. "Home home home!"
"Yes, baby," Red said, his voice rough with emotion he couldn't quite name. Gratitude, perhaps, that his children could experience joy rather than trauma. Relief that they remained innocent despite the horrors they had unknowingly skirted. "We're home."
As the Finn Household dismounted and began unloading their travel gear, life in Maya Village continued its rhythms. Children played in the streets despite the winter cold. Smoke rose from chimneys as families prepared evening meals. The routine activities of a community going about its business, unaware of the diplomatic shifts and economic strategies that had been set in motion in a distant mountain hold.
Griz and Hela would grow up in this village, protected and nurtured by the extended family that surrounded them. They would eventually learn about the dangers that lurked beyond the walls, about the struggles their parents and neighbors had endured to create this safe haven. They would discover the truth about isolation and the reasons behind it.
But not yet. Not today. Today, they were simply children who had ridden on giant eagles and seen new places, whose biggest concerns were whether there would be honey bread for dessert and how long until bedtime.
And that, the adults reflected as they watched them run laughing toward the Finn Household's door, was exactly as it should be.
Childhood was short enough already. Let them have this time of innocence, this period where the world consisted of wonders rather than threats. Let them build memories of adventure and safety, of family and home, of a community that loved them enough to shield them from horrors they didn't need to carry.
They would grow up soon enough. The weight of the world would settle on their shoulders eventually, as it did for everyone.
But not today.
Today, they were just Griz and Hela, age three and two, home from their first great adventure and ready for dinner.
And that was enough.