The Army of Amrath lay down their swords and spears. Set to work to raise up the fortress of Ethalden greater and more beautiful than before. Its walls are gold and mage glass. Its towers rise gleaming in the sun. Its gates are carved of white marble. Its chambers are adorned with silk and fur and gems. Throne rooms, banqueting halls, pleasure gardens, crystal fountains, orchards that will soon be sweet with ripe fruit. A temple of gold. A temple of iron. A tomb of onyx. A spire of pearl and silver. Red banners caught high in the morning breeze.
On the feast day of Year’s Renewal, with thick snow falling, the king returns to His home. He rides in through the main gateway and His people cheer Him. He smiles at them and His eyes shine with love. He stands in the throne room of His ancestor Amrath to be crowned. The clear ringing of silver trumpets. The peal of bells. The clash of bronze swords. The very stones themselves seem to sing. He raises His sword and it runs with white fire. The ruby in its hilt flashes brighter than the sun. His face is radiant. His voice trembles with happiness as He speaks.
‘The king is returned to Ethalden! The glory of Ethalden is restored! The treachery of Illyr is avenged!’
A thousand thousand voices roar out in triumph, ‘All hail Marith Altrersyr! King Ruin! King of Shadows! King of Dust! Amrath returned to us! Death! Death! Death!’