Chapter 2 - An Oath Renewed

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> *Sixteen Years Prior*
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Heavy plumes of smoke swirled into the sky rising from stoned chimneys below. The cobbled streets of Leuven were coated in a gleaming sheet of ice and a delicate white of snow filled rooftops above the Snow-Elven City. A low bell tolled in the distance, her dulcet chime echoing across the maze of empty alleys. At her beckon, white haired Elves began to pour into the streets by the dozen, their workday done at last. Many found their way home, tracing the paths they so often walked. Others to the local tavern. Here mired in drink and merriment, they had come to forget about the hardships that burdened their lives. Though this too, they did often speak of it for it was impossible to forget. They whispered of the coming winter and the inevitable freezing of the mountain pass. They whispered of the hunters struggling yield and of the hunger to come when the food stores would inevitably go bare.  As they whispered of these things, they drank away their sorrows. They drank till the kegs ran dry, then they would stumble home to sleep away their stupor and the worry that it silenced.

A young child stood outside the tavern, staring through the grime covered window. Whilst he could make out the chatter inside he did not fully grasp the sincerity of it. He feared it nonetheless.

At the beacon of a call from behing he let out sigh as he turned away from the window, waiting where he stood.

“Darius,” Talia breathed as she reached him. “So this is where you have been. No wonder why I haven't been able to find you. You're lucky I didn't go straight to father.” She grabbed his hand in hers, her delicate fingers wrapped around his small hand with ease. “I’ve been searching for you for the better part of an hour now. Come… we need to go. We’ve got class this evening and we are already late.”

She pulled him along, breaking into a run as his short legs struggled against her stride, slipping and sliding as she hurried him down one alley and into the next, her long white hair flowing freely behind.

They found their way into Leuven’s plaza, a great cobblestoned square that sat in the centre of the city. At the heart of it stood the largest building in all of Leuven, a magnificent structure carved of stone and marble. Three stone pillars jutted up from the earth before it, a façade that signified its importance to all that gazed upon it. To the right of her grand mahogany doors stood an impressive statue of a notable figure.

They scurried up the stone steps until they reached the huge double doors. Skidding to a halt, she stopped momentarily at the sculpture, placing a reverent hand on the base of the statue. Bowed her head, she whispered a few words of praise.

“Will i get a statue?” the child  asked.

“If you do something worthy enough of one brother.” she replied. “You’ve got big shoes to fill, you know that right. You will not end up in that tavern with the rest of those scoundrels, that's for sure. Right let's go in.” She made an effort to move the large doors. But with all her might the door would not budge.

“Damn it! It’s frozen over already!” she scowled, “Let’s see… We might be able to force it open with a good nudge. She gestured to the boy. “Okay, are you ready? On my count, we push together, okay?” three…two…one!” They thrust their bodies forward, struggling against the weight of the frozen door. With a resounding crack, the door gave way and the two stumbled inside, legs intertwining. With a hard thud they landed on the marble floor and let out a cackle.

“Talia, you’re late.” A chastising scorn came, the deep voice of a tall figure loomed down on them with a bemused look as he stared at the child. Darius swallowed at the sight of the rather odd oversized elf.

“You decided to come afterall then?” the stranger spoke a second time.

Talia quickly got to her feet before answering. “Darius just got a little lost,” she explained. “Found him at the tavern of all places.” She lifted the boy by the arm and straightened his tunic. “He gets nervous around strangers. Don’t you?”

The young boy’s lip quivered in response, but Talia gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “This is Galiron; You know him, hes uncle Andris’s son. he's studying here too."

"Why doesnt he have black hair?"

Galiron rolled his eyes. “You haven’t missed anything," he spoke sternly and turned on the spot beaconing the pair to follow. As they made their way deeper inside, Darius' eyes trailed to the great statues that lined the candle lit hallway. Figures from the past that were honoured for shaping the Snow Elven world and at the very end, the last statue before the great chamber was of a man who knew all too well.

“Okay children... One last exercise today,” A raspy voice drew eyes upwards at him as his words echoed throughout the great hall. The old and feeble looking Snow-Elf taking the class was dressed in a unique black tunic. In the glory days his words would have once reached a thousand ears. But now, he looked down upon but a mere two dozen of the city’s offspring. Standing up, he placed his hand out before them, palm upwards, he curled his fingers and focused his attention on his closed fist, pulling the heat from his body and forcing the flow of energy into his palm. A thin stream of smoke lifted from his hand, then white hot flames jutted up between the cracks of his fingers. Slowly, he unfurled his fist, and there stood an erratic little flame, one that sputtered and crackled and flickered before them. Spellbound, the children watched with glittering excitement reflected in their eyes. Most of them anyway...

“Now,” he said, clamping his fist tight and extinguishing the flame. “Now, once more before we finish up. I want each of you to get up and show me what level you are at. Show me your will of fire, the true power of alchemy.”

He watched with pride etched in his greying eyes as the next generation spread out before him and set to their task. So few were there left to teach he thought absentmindedly to a world losing its magic. Maybe it was frivolous to try and cling to the past but he could not abandon the ways of old. He of all people dressed with the pride of the Maesters black could not abandon the will of fire as he watched with a smile as his grandson struggled to get to grips with controlling his element, it was his first day afterall. There would be better days ahead he thought. That is what the old teacher yearned for.

“Is it story time yet?” One of the children asked, breathless with excitement as the elder snapped out of his trance.

“Yes, Maester. story time,” others chimed in, growing bored of their studies.

The Maester let the chaos stir for a few moments before holding up a hand to quell the chatter.

“I suppose we have done enough today to warrant a story or two,” he relented with a childlike glee. “But which tale should I tell?”

“Tell of the snow trolls or the mountain giants!”

“Tell us of the other Elves, the Wood-Elves!”

“Boring!” another child shouted. “I want to hear about Dwarves!”

“Alright, alright,” Dalzell hushed them with a wave of his hand. “Gather around and we will see what we can do,” he said in jest.

Galiron let out an audible moan, all too familiar with the routine. He caught Talia’s gaze and shrugged, Talia could only giggle back at the sight as Galiron awkwardly took a seat behind the other children.

Dalzell shuffled back in his seat folding his robes about him as he did so. As the students gathered round. The thrum of excitement running through the younger children was like a current as the chatter began again and yet despite this the elder could not help but notice Darius sitting off to the side, quietly observing the others.

“Come on Darius, get in closer” The elder asked kindly, ignoring the other children as he did. “It is only right that the newest student should be the one to choose the story and after all, you are no ordinary student, are you?”

A nervous expression flashed across the young boy’s face, and he wrung his hands together in trepidation.

Galiron nudged Darius from behind. “Make it a good one, eh.”

“Come now, Galiron, they are all good stories, are they not?” the Maester asked with a raised eyebrow. “I fondly remember a time when you too were eager to hear them.”

Galiron sighed. “Some are better than others,” he admitted. “But they’ve all lost their charm over the years of hearing them.”

The elder’s head rose and the smile that had adorned his face slipped from his lips, and something close to fury but not quite that flashed in his eyes. "Is that so Master Galati?" He said. "Perhaps if you weren’t such a slow witted fool you'd have finished your studies by now. A student with a beard that rivals my own. Now that is a story in itself.”

Galirondidnt know where to look.

“Your father, Andris shared the same thick head you have back when I taught him,” The elder remarked, though there was no humour in his words. “At least he had the presence of mind to keep his manners in check.”

Galiron shrugged once more, his affect bored and lifeless. “You speak to me as if I were a normal Elf,” he said, nonplussed. “When in truth I am not.”

"I will not hear any of that Galiron Galati. I raised your father as if he were of my own blood. You are one of us even if you think differently which I wish you wouldn’t. Now be silent or take yourself on home,” he said as he pointed towards the hallway at the back of the room. “Go and tell your father he isn’t a Snow-Elf and see what comes of it.”

Galiron did not flinch, nor decide to respond. He knew better than to disrespect the Maester out of fear of what his father would do. Instead his presence despite his daunting siz1e diminished whilst Darius again became the focus of the elder’s attention.

“Now, my boy,” he said again now in a calm manner. “What will it be?”

Darius whispered something, his words so soft and incomprehensible that no one could hear, not even the oversized boy that sat close behind.

“Locate your voice child,” The elder said, though not unkindly. “Shyness is an illness you must overcome. One day you will be Maester and when that day comes there will be no time for fear.”

Darius nodded, but his lips quivered and words wobbled as he forced them out. “Could you…could you tell us about the dragons?”

A surprised hush ran through those gathered, and the children waited with bated breath to hear the Maester’s response.  Even Galiron's neck twitched at the tease of hearing such a tale.

“Dragons?” Talia piped up. “You’ve never once spoken to me about the dragons. Have you been telling Darius stories that you’ve withheld from me?”

“I assure you dear I have done no such thing,” the Maester was quick to plead his innocence. “Darius,” he said, turning his attention to the young boy again. “Where did you hear of such beasts?”

“I…I saw them in a dream,” Darius explained.

Dalzell’s eyes lit up. “A dream?”

“Only I didn’t know what they were called…I asked some people around town and that's what they told me. They called me the little Dragoon. What’s a Dragoon?”

“Little Dragoon eh?” The boy's grandfather laughed and pondered his answer for a moment.

“He never tells stories about that era,” Galiron interjected, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I’ve tried to coax it from him before with no luck. It’s like there’s hex on him that prevents him from speaking of those days.”

“A hex... Do you mean like a curse?” Talia asked, sceptical.

“Don’t be such fools. I am under no such thing. It is just a story I have never felt the need to tell.”

“Your father was the hero of Leuven, the legendary Dragon rider.” Galiron proclaimed with the shadow of awe in his voice. “How could you be against telling such a heroic tale? Surely that would be your greatest story of them all, no?”

Dalzell thought for a moment, his eyes staring off into the distance. The story was indeed his magnum opus, his greatest tale. It was, after all, perhaps the most important story in their modern history. His heart ached at the thought however. “Yes,” he said softly. “I suppose I could tell you the story of Maester Darnell, the legendary Dragoon. My father, and of course the great grandfathe of Darius and Talia here.”

“What is a Dragoon?” One of the children asked.

“It is someone brave enough to conquer the heart of a dragon?” The old Elf revealed.

“Your father killed a dragon?” one of the children asked with a gasp.

“No," The old Elf laughed. "My father tamed a dragon.”

“A dragoon is another word for dragon rider. Isn't that right?” Galiron pushed.

“You are well versed on the subject Galiron. I assume your father has told you of the story?

“Bits and pieces. You know him, he doesnt like to talk much. He says its an old Alami tradition but beyond that he he says it's your story to tell.”

“Your father is one of a kind.” The elder smiled. “It fills me with pride to know that I raised him.”

“But why only now?” Galiron asked.

“Why what?”

“What's kept you from telling the story? I have been coming here for seven or eight years and not oncehave you spoke of dragons.”

A tear rolled down the elder’s cheek, but the feeble old elf quickly wiped it away with a flash of his hand. “As great a story as it may be… I have no idea how it ends,” he grinned, breaking into a spurt of laughter. “A tale after all is only as good as its final act.”

“Darnell recovered the healing waters that were stolen from the sacred spring that saved our race. Talia answered, her face shining with excitement.

“That is part of it,” Dalzell acknowledged. “But I throw it back to you my dear. What happened to the hero himself? I prefer to tell stories that do not leave minds to linger.”

“He made a noble sacrifice,” Galiron chimed. “So the next generation would not need to mourn their mothers. At least,” he said, shuffling in his seat. “That’s what my father has told me. Some heroes are born in the fires of tragedy whilst others are engulfed in it. Some do not get to come home as much as they deserve to. But this sacrifice is one that must be cherished forever by all those that would call this mountain their home.”

“Your father is a wonderful man, Galiron. Never forget that. He is a prime example of what to aspire to and in life... if you ever falter or doubt your place in this world. Think of him. He may not be a pure Snow-Elf in the full sense of the term, but nobody in this city embodies the Will of Fire more so than him. Not even I.”

The Maester straightened himself in his chair before speaking again, now with a brimming confidence. “This is the tale I’d like to call, the sealing of alchemy.”

Before Dalzell could open his mouth to speak however he was interrupted as the two large wooden doors that barred the great hall swung open. Howling winds raced through the hall extinguishing many of the candles throughout the room as through the door strode two hooded figures and quickly they wrestled the doors shut behind them with a panting effort. As the doors clamped shut with a resounding thud, the silence that filled the hall seemed oppressive.

“Who enters, Dalzell spoke. slightly panicked as he rose of his chair in anticipation.”

The two strangers made their way towards the group, removing layers of snow-clad cloak and cloth in their stride. The taller of the two removed his hood, and Darius could see he was a sharp faced man with a heavy brow, his blond hair woven in a tight plait behind his head. The second followed did the same revealing long blond curls tucked away neatly at the base of her neck. Darius thought she looked too soft to be an Elf, her cheeks too rounded and her skin too pink.

“I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion Master Tassinari,” the man spoke, his words coming in ragged gasps.

“Nonsense,” the elder replied as he rushed forward to greet the two stranger, bowing his head as he did so. “Prince Hadrian, Princess Geraldine. This is a surprise to say the least.

Confused, the children stared at the newcomers, unsure of what to think. It was not often that Leuven saw visitors. Even merchants and traders were a scarce breed to the mountain these days, and it was evident to all that sat amonst that room these were no mere merchants. Galiron, who had been slumped in his chair, scurried to his feet for a better view of the rare sight of a visitor, and to get a closer look at the man who had a scabbard attached to his belt.

“We didn’t mean to startle you,” The Princess spoke, holding a gloved hand to her chest. She breathed into her gloves in a feeble attempt to shake off the chill that clung to her pinked fingers.

Darius watched on in confusion. He had never seen an Elf act in such a way. He knew from stories that the Silver Mountain upon which they lived was rife with cold, and yet he had never bothered him. Snow-Elves remained somewhat impervious to that climate, and it had never occurred to him before that others might suffer a different fate.

“It has been some years since I last laid eyes on you Princess.” The Maester replied with a smile. He placed a frail hand on hers and removed her gloves. Laying her hands between his own, Quickly the teacher restored warmth to her fingers, and the relief she felt was palpable. “You have not aged a day, bless that royal blood of yours.”

“Thank you Dalzell,'' she smiled. “It has been too long.”

“I fear I was not aware of your impending arrival and so embarrassingly have prepared nothing in advance,” Dalzell apologised.

The Prince shook his head. “You honour us Master but worry not. Bread and water will do us fine. Though, a little heat above all would be welcomed. Hadrian said with a sarcastic grin. “I did send a raven in advance but I fear the stubborn bird may have objected to the ascent.”

“A wise decision I would imagine,” Dalzell laughed. “But to make such a perilous trip, you have courage to spare. All is well in Kona, I hope?”

“All is well,” The Princess nodded, her voice reassuring, but the hint of sadness in her eyes that Dalzell knew all too well. She was withholding something the old Elf thought. “Father was to make the journey himself some time ago, but there were pressing matters that arose which has hindered his movement.”

“How is my old friend?” the Maester asked, his face drawn in concern. “Has Athol drawn arms?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Must it always be something treacherous that brings us together?”

Dalzell gave a sad smile. “In these trying times, it seems bleak at every turn.”

“Well, we do bring news,” Hadrian interrupted. “Though not of that kind.”

From inside his chainmail he withdrew a cream coloured scroll, sealed with a wax of brilliant blue and stamped with the Royal crest of Kona which he passed to the Maester. Slipping his fingers beneath the folds, Dalzell broke the seal and unravelled the letter and began to read it aloud.

“To my friends, the Snow Elves of the Silver Mountains.

Having learnt of the severe conditions the winter months have forced your race to endure. I have since longed for a way that the men of Kona could help. Though I cannot stop the snow from falling nor thwart the relentless winds, I can however provide a settlement for you to dwell in, during these harsh and more uncertain times. The abandoned Garrison north of the Alpine forest is being prepared as you read this. Providing you agree, my men will aid in the relocation. I hereby declare the region of Alpine and the Northern Reaches are to be relinquished to the Tassinari family. Though the beauty of the Alpine Forest does not equate to that of Elvish Glades I hope this gesture of goodwill from Man to Snow-Elf is sufficient and that we can continue to forge the oath between our two races.

Signed, King Tobias of Kona.

Dalzell, finished with the reading, lingered  his gaze upon the signature that looped on the bottom of the page pondering for a bit before giving his response. “This is a generous offering but one we could not possibly accept.”

“Father predicted such a gracious response and therefore I have been ordered not to take no for an answer.” Hadrian said, rubbing at the stubble on his sharply cut jaw.

“Is that so?” Dalzell asked, brow arched in reply.

“I’m afraid it is, yes,” Gearldine replied. “Indeed, we have instructions from our father not to return until we’ve seen you safely away from this place. And I rather hope you accept quickly,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I do dislike this cold.”

“Well, I could never sentence you to a life atop the mountain,” the Maester shook his head, tucking the letter inside his tunic. “It is not a kind place to those that are not immune to its effects.”

“That I remember all too well,” Hadrian grimaced. “Though, in those days it was somewhat tolerable. I do not know how Andris sticks to this forsaken place.”

Dalzell, hesitant in reply, finally spoke. “This forsaken place is our home, Hadrian but I digress. Time has not been kind to us and the days ahead look darker still.”

“You simply must say yes then.” Geraldine chimed, looping her arm through his with affection. “Father will forever blame himself for what happened years ago. It plays on his mind constantly. You must accept the offer if not for yourself, then for my fathers peace of mind.”

The Maester scoffed. “Tobias cannot possibly be held accountable for what the Atholians did to us. On the contrary, we owe your father a great debt for driving the enemy back from our lands and for the kindness he has extended to us to this very day.”

Hadrian had a look around the room and to the faces of the children within. "The time has come, my friend," he said.

The elder spared a glance at the children, many of whom had long ago lost interest in the newcomers, and were once more bickering amongst themselves. He let out a defeated sigh “I would rather not gamble with these precious lives if it could be prevented. That being said, I cannot make such a decision without first addressing my people. Many here have never left the city gates, nor once considered descending the mountain even during the darkest of times. Young Galiron there,” he said, nodding towards the older boy who sat, cross quite obviously eavesdropping. “His mother is expecting in a matter of weeks and due to make the pilgrimage to the Elvish Glades. How do I explain that to Andris. So you see what a delicate predicament this could be.”

“A second child, after a first born son. Isn’t that impossible, Dalzell?” The Princess quizzed.

“Normally yes... but.”

“WIthout a doubt that's a Galati alright.” Hadrian said with excitement in his voice.

“Yes,” Dalzell remarked with a knowing smirk. “He takes after his father, in more ways than one.”

“It looks as though he escaped his father’s infamous black hair. Probably for the best,” Hadrian said in jest, sizing the boy up. “Can he wield a blade?”

“Exceptionally well indeed,” the Maester replied. “If he showed as much talent and promise with alchemy as he did with a blade, suffice it to say he would be my finest student.”

“High praise for sure,” Hadrian remarked, once again rubbing at his jaw. “But then again I would expect no less for an offspring of the black-snow. Galiron, was it?” He say motioning to the half elf. “ Come here, boy!”

Galiron hesitated for only a moment before he lumbered over. Standing in the shadow of the Prince, the boy didn’t seem quite so tall now. He had always loomed over others in the city, an unfortunate consequence of his lineage, but standing next to the human made him feel halfway normal.

“I hear you can swing a sword,” the Prince said. “An unconventional weapon for an Elf, wouldn’t you say?”

“My father says there is no such thing as an unconventional weapon if it works.” Galiron said cooley, his words were sharp, a biting retort to a question he resented.

“He sounds like quite the character, your father.” said the Princess.

“If you knew him; you wouldn’t make such comments so hastily.” Galiron gnarled bitterly.

“Ah, like father, like son, eh boy?” Hadrian remarked as the Prince, Princess and Maester of the Snow-Elves indulged in a laugh.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Galiron asked, venom in his voice. “Are you mocking me?”

“Be calm, Galiron,” Dalzell commanded. “The Prince has done no such thing.”

“We have crossed paths before, your father and I. As it happens, we have crossed blades as well.”

At the prince’s words Galiron’s brows shot up in surprise.

Hadrian nodded. “Indeed, your father was the first to leave a mark on me.” Shrugging out of his outermost layer of chainmail, he slipped open his tunic and pulled out his arm. There, on his elbow, lay the mottled and jagged skin of a years’ old scar. “I apologise, young sir, if I’ve caused any offence,” the Prince said, stuffing his arm back inside the tunic and replacing his mail. “Then again, I did not expect such a bite from a cub back then either. If you truly are your father's son then I’d be well to avoid such an encounter again. This scar, if nothing else, should serve as a reminder to that.”

Placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, he withdrew the blade from its scabbard and held it out for the boy to see. Galiron’s eyes lit up at the sight of the blade. It was as long as his arm and as thick as a man’s hand. Its handle was as white as the snow that choked the city, and its edge was just as deadly.

"You like it?" The Princess asked gesturing for him to hold it.

“It’s beautiful” Galiron uttered in awe as the Prince let it fall into the young half-elfs hands and watched as his fingers curled instinctively around the hilt to pull it to him. He looked down at the blade in wonder, pondering if it was the finest piece of metal he had ever laid eyes on and answered both questions with a resounding yes. “It’s much prettier than the dull one I train with,”

“I can’t promise that this sword will never dull but it will never lose its edge. It is made from the grandest materials found in Lucere and forged by the Alami using ancient techniques lost to us. You will struggle to find a more perfected weapon in all the realm.”

“Forged by the Alami?” Dalzell reiterated. “So, its value knows no bounds.”

“A valuable sword in the wrong hands is just a pretty piece of metal. A sword’s true value comes not from the blade, but from the person who wields it,” the Prince countered. “Would you not agree, Galiron?” But his words fell on deaf ears as Galiron moved to any empty space and began hacking and slashing at the air.

Giving up, Hadrian turned back to the elder. “Have you always possessed this blade?” the Maester asked with intrigue. “Though I was never one for swordplay, I've long heard of the fabled weapons forged in Mount Falaj, but never did think I would set eyes on one.”

“It was gifted to my father many moons ago at the time of my birth. Only recently has my father passed it to me.” The Prince sighed. “In our current climate, it’s doubtful such a weapon will ever be forged again.

“Its edge reminds me of how these Mountains once shone during the summer months.” Dalzell gave a nostalgic smile. “I pray for the day that the silver mountains will shine with its brilliance once more. I fear however, I’ll not be around to see it. The Maester's eyes shifted back to the dispersed children who still lingered within the great hall.

"Until those days return,” Gearldine said, squeezing the elders hand gently. ”Let Kona carry some of your burden."

Dalzell smiled. “Enough about the ramblings of an old fool. Galiron!” he called, and the boy stopped mid slice. “Stop messing about and ring the bell. It is high time you children departed. Talia, please take Darius home and be a dear and fetch your father.”

“But what about the Dragons, Maester?” a child complained.

The Maesters face softened. “Another time, I'm afraid.” He dismissed the children with a wave.

“Dragons, Master?” Hadrian asked with a raised brow. “We haven't seen the likes of them in ages.”

Whatever the Maester might have said was cut short by the sauntering frame of Galiron as he breached their ranks.

“Your sword, Prince Hadrian,” Galiron spoke properly with a respectful bow, holding the sword by the blade and extending the handle toward him.

Yet the Prince hesitated. “Master,” he said, his voice curious. “Would it be improper of me to give this boy a parting gift?”

Dalzell suppressed a smile. “Not if you feel he is worthy of it.”

Hadrian gently pressed the sword back toward Galiron, whose fingers trembled as once more clasped the hilt.

“Then I wish for him to keep it,” the Prince said warmly.

“But...but isn't this sword important to you?” Galiron stammered.

“So you were listening.” The Princess jested.

A swordmaster must be able to do both. Galiron said confidently.

“You remind me of him so much. Indeed you truly are your father's son, which makes parting with it all the easier. The sword is yours. May you find the strength to use it to protect those who cannot defend themselves.

The bell tolled, on and on, as it had for the past twenty minutes and rang out across the city. Dalzell, sitting atop his granite chair, watched as Leuvens citizens poured into the hall, cramming themselves into whatever free space they could find. Still more trickled in, until at las the bell was silent and there was hardly enough room to close the grand doors.

“I've just heard the news,” came the voice of the Maester’s son, Damani, as he ascended the steps and took his place at his father's side. Choosing not to sit, he stood towering over his father. His muscle and defined physique was evidence that he had spent a lifetime training. His weathered face was the very image of his father's, save for the receding hairline and the dark shadows that lived beneath the Maesters eyes.

“And what are your thoughts?” Dalzell asked as he stared out at the crowd.

“Can it be done?” Damani urged, his voice stern yet peppered with doubt.

“Must it be done is the question I need an answer to.” spoke the black haired, squarish headed Half-Elf Andris bellowed with his thick voice as he made his presence known. “There is more to fear beyond the walls Maester than the weather.” If Damani was considered someone of a stocky build for a Snow-Elf then to an outsider, Andris could only be compared to a giant.

“We are not helpless Andris!” The Maester said assertively. “Besides, who would dare stand in our path with you at our side?”

“Are you suggesting we move our entire people?” Damani asked.

“My son... Climate change is happening before our very eyes. We need to be cautious at this time. These peaks could easily become our tomb. Surely you can see this?”

“What of the weak and vulnerable? Andris replied. "There is no denying that this city is a husk of what it once was, but it still offers us refuge from the dangers outside.”

“Andris has a point,” Damani responded unsteadily. “The Alpine garrison will not afford us the same protection that we have here. The logistics alone in migrating an entire city, our entire way of life is daunting in itself. It’s not something we should do on a whim.”

“Nor is this an idea that has come without thought,” Dalzell proclaimed, steel in his voice as he made an effort to get off his chair.

Silence followed and then a ripple of unease as the Elves in the crowd growing impatient murmured with discontent. Damani looked at his father, and for the first time he realised just how frail his father was and yet there was a fire in his fathers eyes that he had never seen before. He placed a hand on the fathers elbow and urged him to sit back down.

“Are you alright?” Damani asked.

“I'm just a bit shaken but it will pass.” The elder replied.

“I don’t mean to put doubt in your mind. Andris spoke again. “But has it really come to this?”

“I believe it has Andris and in my fear I have turned a blind eye to it for far too long. I thought I was showing strength in my resilience, but I was being naive. Perhaps now more than ever do I finally understand my father’s will of fire. I thought my days as Maester were nearing its end, and yet, here I’m faced with the biggest speech I’ve ever had to make, yet for some time now, one I knew has to be done.

“You don’t think the situation will ever improve, do you?” Andris questioned. "We will ever return?"

“It was with such doubts that led us to where we are today,” Dalzell said. “In my foolishness I believed that time would heal this land. That our patience would bring us mercy and our endurance would be our salvation. I was wrong on all three counts. The summer past was colder than any winter period of which you two grew up in. That Is a scary thought is it not? Something is not right in our world. I refuse to believe that this change in the climate is natural."

Andris was about to reply but no words came from his mouth.

“You and your son are the only ones here who can feel the cold in your bones and yet you do not complain. Your stubbornness has rubbed off on Galiron but with a daughter on the way. Can you really put her through that?”

Andris' silence was deafening.

“Tell me. Did you ask Tobias for the land?” Damani questioned.

“Of course I didn’t. Not directly at least, I couldn’t. I wanted to, yes but... But he has done so much for us already.” The Maester quickly shot back. At least this way, it was his choice. There are some in Kona that do not share the King's sense of generosity, especially to us.”

“And you know this how?” Andris asked.

“Tobias told me as such. There are whispers within the senate that the King has asserted to us one too many favours and that we are a burden constantly syphoning valuable resources from them and stealing what is rightfully theirs. I cannot say that I begrudge them their feelings, for in part they are right. We have taken far more from Kona than we can possibly repay. This can and will only fuel that notion.”

“I have sat in the Senate myself,” Damani spoke. “I have heard the jeers of those that speak such things, the new Lord of Sovos loudest among them but such words do not reach the King. Tobias is a good man, and a better King. But for all his generosity he is not a soft man. He does not merely give things with the expectation of something in return. Beyond anything, he is a man bound by his sense of honour. Truly a hero of our times."

“With that in mind Damani, we can not turn down such an offer.” The Maester asserted.

“You sound as if your mind has been made up long ago,” Andris said bluntly.

“It’s not what I think. It’s whether the people will listen to a senile old fool,” he admitted loudly.

“Then I will listen,” The giant smiled. “As a student of alchemy, I have no right in ignoring your plea but you really should have spoken sooner. You may be the Maester, but you do not need to bear such a weight on your shoulders.”

“Thank you Andris. Convincing you was atop my worries. I assure you a safe dwelling will be in place for your wife and I shall see to it personally that she has her own carriage to cause as little inconvenience as we can.”

“You have not led me astray thus far,” Andris smiled.

“How bad do you think it will get?” Damani asked?

Dalzell shook his head, white hair flowing about his shoulders. “It is impossible to tell, he sighed.” Strange events are unfolding even as we speak; a thick fog hangs over Falaj, storms and quakes barrage the lands to the south. If any of these were to occur on their own, one could dismiss them without much thought. But to occur in tandem, well…I’m afraid it is telling of a great darkness that is stretching across this land that goes beyond what is happening here. All of which I fear there can be only one explanation.”

“The Great Alchemy Stone?” Damani surmised.

Dalzell nodded. “The Alchemy Stone,” he agreed his voice trembling. “And to the power that lies sealed within. The power my father failed to protect.”

“You are in no shape to address the people” Damani said. “Shall I speak on your behalf?”

It was clear that Dalzell feared what was to come, but in his grey eyes was the iron of resolve. “No,” he said, struggling to his feet. It is a Maester’s duty not to waver in his darkest hour. Though, my plight is trivial when compared to the great challenges that our ancestors faced.” The elder paused for a breath. “My health has not yet failed me so I must carry out my duties. I however doubt I will have the strength needed to lead the Snow-Elves into this new age. My son. This will be my last oration as Maester. The time has come to pass the torch."

“Father—” Damani began, but Dalzell waved his words away with a flick of his hand and advanced towards the altar garnering the attention from the crowd below.

“My dearest friends,” Dalzell said, moving forward to address the crowd. “I thank you for coming here tonight, at an hour so late. Your willingness to stand behind me all these years has been humbling, and an honour. I ask that you show your faith in my words one last time, as they shall be my last as your Maester.”

A ripple of whispers passed through the throng, faces long with disbelief.

Dalzell held his hands up to silence the crowd.

“In the coming days, my son Damani shall take up the mantle of Maester. He is more than prepared for this task and so I ask you now, to take that same love and faith you’ve held for me, and bestow it upon my son, though I leave him with a great burden which brings me to the real reason I’ve gathered you all here tonight.”

Contemplating his words, his eyes fell over the faces watching him and to the sorrow in them. “It pains me to say it but Leuven is no longer a dwelling that we the Snow-Elves can call home. For generations we have called these peaks our home, but now, nature is claiming this mountain back and if we do not act, we too shall succumb to it.

We have faced many adversities together. We have suffered great hardships, great loss and even greater sorrow. Those old enough will remember the time of the great depression and those still young should wish to never see such days return.  So as I stand before you today, I implore you to listen to my final caveat as your leader. I cannot simply make you get up and leave. Leuven is your home, and so it shall remain your home if you choose not to abandon it. That is a choice each and every one of you has to make. But let me remind you that It’s always been in our temperament to endure and for us to do so; we must leave these peaks, for we must endure.”

As Dalzell stared out at the crowd, he watched, and one by one the Elves before him raised their fists. Buried deep within them were the flickering flames of fire, each one burning brighter than the last. He gazed across the crowd and to the sea of flames. His eyes were wet and shining at their mutual sign of their agreement. A historic gesture he had not seen in many years.