by R K Lander
Fel’annár saw love in their eyes.
Irrational anger, the urge to leave before it could be confirmed, and he turned to Handir, affording him a curt bow, and as he passed Llyniel on the way to the door, their gazes met. He wanted to stop, ask if they were lovers, or perhaps glean the truth from her open gaze. But he didn’t, and with a somewhat stilted gait, he left, the two scrolls Handir had given him clutched a little too tightly in his hands.
Llyniel turned to Handir, eyebrows lifted in surprise, but there was a gleam in her eye that Handir could not ignore. She had been patient, just as he had asked of her, but she had sensed that this was what Handir had been waiting for, this discussion she had interrupted. It could not be avoided. He had tried, but she had been adamant. She wanted to know, and with no further excuses in his mind and the encouragement in his heart, he turned to her.
“Have lunch with me. There are things we must discuss.”
He saw the spark of satisfaction in her eyes. If only she knew just how much he was about to change her entire life.
Fel’annár walked from the Royal Palace, Idernon and Ramien silent at his back. He did not return to the barracks but to the plains beyond and a copse of trees Fel’annár often visited. They beckoned to him now, their reasons yet hidden from him. The song of the Nim’uán echoed softly in the mountains, but there were other whispers of some new knowledge that danced and giggled at him from just beyond his awareness. Damn Handir—for the news he had delivered and the loving gaze the prince had directed at the Silvan healer. Anger warred with deeply hidden emotions that clamoured at the doors of his conscious mind, feelings of family and love, all of them unfamiliar. He had told himself a thousand times that he didn’t care.
He was a fool, and Handir had surely seen that.
Fel’annár sat and rested his wrists on his knees, eyes following the red ball of fire as it sailed lower and lower and then caressed the jagged horizon. Of a sudden it seemed to accelerate, as if it could not wait to navigate the night and appear once more in the morning sky. His own life, he mused, was dipping below the horizon, vanishing before his eyes, careening almost out of control towards a new life he had yet to comprehend. What lay on the other side of night was, as yet, a mystery, just like what was written in the scrolls that lay heavily in his lap.
He didn’t have to open it.
He could just rip it all to pieces and walk away, returning to the life he knew.
He looked down at the one he knew was from King Thargodén, his father. It was time to face it, time to stop his absurd denial. He did care who his father was—he always had. He pulled the two ends of the parchment open and allowed his eyes to admire the well-penned letters, words he had never thought to read from a father he had always told himself was dead.
Fel’annár Ar Thargodén
Come to me as my son, a lord and in peace upon your return to Ea Uaré.
There is much to speak of, questions you will have and that I, in turn would ask you. The years between us lie heavy, ripe with grief and ignorance, and I ask only that you agree to sit with me, if only for a while so that we may speak . . . and perhaps understand.
I have asked your brother, Handir, and Lieutenant Lainon to assist you for the time that is left to you in the Motherland. Use it well, for upon your return there will be much joy but also much concern for what some believe you represent to your mother’s people. You must be ready.
I am told you are a warrior, have heard of your deeds at the Battle of Sen’uár. You wish to be a captain, as my own father was before me, before he was commander general. You carry the blood of kings, and yet I ask but one thing of you: that you come to me as my son, a lord and in peace upon your return. There will be no other impositions, Green Sun.
His father wanted to meet him, knew about what he had done, about his dreams. He had not expected it, or perhaps he had but had not dared believe it. He was strangely pleased, but he didn’t want to be.
The king asked for nothing, he said, only that Fel’annár should accept his position as lord and agree to meet him. But what did being a lord imply? He would need to ask Sontúr about that, but whatever it meant, he would only accept it if it didn’t interfere with his military career. But then, was he even free to reject it? He didn’t think so.
That night, his questions kept him awake, and so he wandered into the deserted common room at the barracks and lit a single candle. He knew The Company had spoken amongst themselves, for they left him alone—even now as he sat at the empty table, the two scrolls sitting upon the scuffed surface. They knew the short of it, knew Handir had brought him news from a family he never thought to have, but Fel’annár could not yet bring himself to speak of it. With his heavy head propped against the palm of one hand, he turned his face to the window, watching as the stars floated across the sky, their path predictable, unlike his own. He was to be a lord, a warrior amongst princes and politicians that would stand against Lord Band’orán, Or’Talán’s brother. He could not fathom how it could be done, and yet Handir was adamant that he could play some part. It seemed an insurmountable feat, and he wondered if this was his duty or whether he was allowing himself to be lured into a web of intrigue he would do best to steer clear of.
He watched as the sun peaked over the jagged horizon. Its presence comforted him enough to step back and see his options more clearly. Fel’annár had seen Handir’s conviction; he knew the prince was risking his position, his favour at his father’s court in order to carry out his plan. As for this Lord Aradan, Fel’annár knew nothing of him at all, save that he was the king’s chief councillor, and as such would be a valuable ally. Now Captain Turion he did know and trusted him implicitly, as he had Lainon. They were in this plan, believed in it. Fel’annár believed in it—he was Silvan: how could he not see the merit of it? And yet Fel’annár could not see what he could possibly do to help.
Handir surely saw the circumstantial merits. He did, too. He was a son of the king, half Silvan, the fruit of Thargodén’s love of a Silvan woman who should have ruled at his side. Fel’annár was a representation of something Handir thought could be used, just as the Silvan people would use him, for had they not protected him for this very reason?
Fel’annár was shaking his head even as he pondered the question. He had always lived his life with one underlying ethic. Deserve what you have, earn what you own. Whatever you have and whatever you are, it should be because you have worked for it, you have merited it by your deeds, and not for “who you are.”
He could not reconcile that belief with what Handir was asking of him.
Fel’annár’s eyes landed on the as yet unread scroll, and a soft smile played around his lips. Turion.
Of all the things that had happened to Fel’annár in his admittedly short life, the coming of Turion was one of the best. He could not have had a better captain on his first patrol. It was thanks to Turion that Fel’annár had begun to understand himself, and that had changed everything—it had changed him irrevocably. Turion and his great friendship with Lainon . . . he would need to find the courage to sit and pen a letter to his captain, explain the circumstances of Lainon’s death, conjure words of comfort he was not sure he could find.
He pulled the scroll open and read, eyes sharp and gleaming. He smiled as The Company came to sit beside him, chairs scraping over the floor.
“Good news from home?” ventured Galadan.
“Personally, it is not bad, at least.”
“And that smile on your face?” pointed Ramien.
“Is for Turion. He is serving in the Inner Circle. He promised General Huren he would, in return for commanding my first patrol into the Forest. He balks at it, but I can tell he’s not discontent.” His smile faded. “I must now tell him that Lainon has gone—they were great friends, just like us, Ramien.”
They were silent for a moment. Only Idernon was brave enough to ask the question they had all been waiting to ask. “Fel’annár, tell us what the king says.”
&nb
sp; Green eyes darted to Idernon, and he was quiet for a moment. With a soft nod of his head, Fel’annár spoke for the first time about his father.
“He has publicly recognised me, has proclaimed me a lord.”
Galdith sucked in a breath. “How did your brother feel about that?” he asked, even before he had thought about it, and the eyes of The Company were upon him.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Our conversation was not easy, but I cannot say it was bad. Handir is conflicted, and I understand that. My mother inadvertently ruined his childhood.”
“As his grandfather ruined yours. Where’s the difference?” asked Galdith curtly.
“There’s none. That’s the point, Galdith. I cannot begrudge him his feelings against me, just as he does not begrudge mine. We understand each other, I think. We are both victims of the schemes of others.”
“Well then, that’s a weight off your shoulders, brother,” said Ramien, slapping Fel’annár on the knee. “You’ve not been exiled and now you’re a lord. It’ll all get better from here—you’ll see,” smiled the Silvan giant and Fel’annár smiled.
But there was something in it that seemed off to Idernon. There was more, he realised, more to that first conversation between brothers that Fel’annár had not said. He hid something, as surely as Idernon was wise. It was not the shock of being proclaimed a lord nor the bewilderment of reading his father’s words for the first time; it was not even the song from the trees. There was something about his friend, as if he struggled to understand something.
Idernon knew Fel’annár better than most. It was not the first time he had kept things to himself. He did it when he didn’t understand something. He would chew on the puzzle for as long as it took, and only when he was ready would he share it. Handir had said something to Fel’annár, something that even now was distracting him.
It will all get better from here, Ramien had said, and Idernon dearly wanted to believe him. But belief was not Idernon’s strong point, and the mists of doubt and suspicion descended upon him like an overly-heavy blanket on a hot summer’s night.
Five
Becoming
“The child with a thousand questions had gone with that last sunset, and in his place stood a young warrior lord, poised upon the cusp of dawn. It was the dawn of discovery, of his own understanding of a world that was taking shape before him—in spite of him.”
The Alpine Chronicles. Cor’hidén.
“Fel’annár.” A deep, commanding voice none could confuse. The Company made to stand from the breakfast table and salute, but Gor’sadén held up his hand. Breakfast was sacred, and Lord Damiel beside him agreed. The commander general and chief councillor took a seat in front of Fel’annár and observed him for a while.
“You look tired,” said Gor’sadén.
Fel’annár studied the commander’s face for a moment, eyes momentarily straying to Lord Damiel before answering. “Sleep eluded me.”
Gor’sadén arched a brow and then leaned forward with the intention of asking Fel’annár a question, but he was already speaking.
“I have spoken with Prince Handir,” said The Silvan, a challenge in his eyes, but Gor’sadén’s face was utterly straight even though his eyes danced from one side to another. “You already knew, I assume.” The hint of sarcasm was not lost on the commander.
“We did,” said Damiel softly. He cast his eyes around the table and then back to Fel’annár, cocking his head towards the door.
“I will be at the Sentinel, brothers,” said Fel’annár. The Company nodded, watching as he left with the two lords.
“There are things he has not told us,” stated Galadan, and Idernon turned to meet the lieutenant’s stony countenance.
“I know. And I wager it has to do with his conversation with our prince.”
“He holds back, Idernon. I can see it in his eyes. He struggles with something.”
The Wise Warrior considered Galadan’s words, but he said nothing. His own observations had been confirmed by Galadan, the oldest and one of the wisest amongst them. There was something new in Fel’annár’s eyes, something neither of them recognised.
“Why didn’t you tell me before I left?” asked Fel’annár. Gor’sadén could see he was uncomfortable in the presence of Damiel. He did not know the councillor at all and certainly would not trust him.
“The missives arrived shortly before you rode back out on patrol. There were messages for my king—hence the news was made known only to his closest collaborators. It was not our place to tell you.”
“And Prince Handir saw fit to leave me out of it. Why that surprises me is perplexing,” muttered Fel’annár as the three walked along the garden path.
“He is just as conflicted about everything as you are, Fel’annár. I believe he needed time to think, to accept, just as you do now, I wager,” said Damiel.
Fel’annár said nothing, and Gor’sadén knew he wouldn’t comment on that. Damiel was close to Handir, and Fel’annár would perhaps think his words would make it back to the prince.
“Your father accepts you, gives you his name,” ventured Gor’sadén.
“Yes,” was the only answer he received. It wasn’t enough.
“Well, does he say anything else?”
Fel’annár shot him an exasperated look. “I am to report to him no sooner we arrive in Ea Uaré. He says I have nothing to fear, that I will be welcomed.”
Gor’sadén nodded slowly, sparing a fleeting glance at Damiel; getting Fel’annár to speak of the missives was like gleaning water from an autumn leaf. Under different circumstances he would have spoken privately with his young friend, but Damiel’s presence was necessary.
“Fel’annár, I see your hesitation. I know you know more than you say, and that is all right. You can trust us . . . I hope you know that,” coaxed Damiel.
Fel’annár nodded, even tried to muster a smile, but it was stilted and Damiel returned it. Trust was to be earned, not requested—this Gor’sadén knew. Damiel was underestimating Fel’annár, and Fel’annár had sensed that. It was a small mercy that the reason for Damiel’s presence was finally made known.
“Fel’annár,” began Damiel carefully. “Protocol dictates that Tar’eastór should formally recognise you as a lord, as the son of King Thargodén. To that end King Vorn’asté requires your presence in the council chambers tomorrow, when he will read your father’s decree. There are sundry matters of protocol that you must know, arrangements for your attire and living quarters, and . . .”
“My living quarters? I am a warrior, my lord; my place is at the barracks.”
“Not any more, Fel’annár. Lords do not reside at the barracks.”
Fel’annár stopped and turned to Damiel. “And why not? If they’re warriors, wherefore this preference? I’m a lord through the dictates of others. I do not choose this. I wish to stay at the barracks.”
“You can’t,” said Damiel simply, stepping towards Fel’annár and looking into the boy’s unnerving green eyes. He cocked his head to one side, a gesture Gor’sadén had seen many times. Damiel did it when he was reconsidering his tactics. “You cannot change our rules simply because you do not like them. Debate them if you will—I personally would enjoy the challenge—but for now you must reside in the palace. There are reasons, Fel’annár, circumstances that will arise that you cannot foresee. You must trust those older and wiser than yourself to guide you.” He gestured to the path, and the three were walking once more.
“All this is new to you,” continued Damiel. “Your life is being changed by the will of others; I can see your resistance, how you struggle to maintain control, to find your own path forwards. I will help you with whatever you may need, and I know Prince Handir will do likewise, but for now, Fel’annár, go with it; do not swim against an incoming tide.”
Fel’annár scowled at the imagery and then nodded slowly. But he was a warrior—he could not help but fight for what he thought was right, no matter the odds.
Still it was clear to him that he could not go against King Thargodén’s wishes, as clear as Damiel’s veiled order that he should reside at the palace.
“I just need to straighten things out in my own mind, my lord. You have had an entire month to ponder the questions pertaining to my heritage. I have had one day, strange though that may be, given I am the protagonist. Those older and wiser than me must realise it is not quite enough. I have decisions to take, things to consider. I accept your counsel, my lords, but I am my own elf. I, too, have expectations, dreams I have never renounced and never will.”
Damiel reminded Gor’sadén of Sontúr just then, for one brow rode high on his forehead. The councillor had not expected Fel’annár’s sarcasm, and the commander was secretly glad that his young friend had surprised the old fox.
“Then I am sure this is all a question of negotiation; life often is, Fel’annár. I will see you after lunch to brief you on the ceremony.”
Fel’annár bowed and then startled when Damiel returned it with a soft, knowing smile, and when he was gone, Fel’annár turned to Gor’sadén.
“He is . . . intense,” he said, and Gor’sadén chuckled.
“Yes, that is one way of putting it. He skewers you with those shrewd eyes and reads into your very soul. He underestimated you, I think, but be careful you do not underestimate him. He is a master of the art of politics, Fel’annár, a true asset to our king. Handir is lucky to have him as his mentor.”
Fel’annár nodded and then started once more on the path, Gor’sadén watching him from the corner of his eye. He realised that he felt proud. The boy had stood his ground as a warrior would before Damiel’s onslaught but so too had he listened. It was time Fel’annár was rewarded with something he did want.
“I have news.”
Fel’annár half turned his head to Gor’sadén. “More?”
“Yes, but this is good news, Fel’annár. I have secured for you a test . . . with Pan’assár. If you pass it, he will allow you to become my apprentice in the Kal’hamén’Ar.”
