Dawn of a Legend

by R K Lander

  Handir had manoeuvred things in such a way that, whatever happened in the proclamation tomorrow, Fel’annár would be forced to make a political statement. He had walked into that trap himself, and although it had irked him at the time, now that he thought about it, it was not so bad. An impression had promptly turned into a suspicion. Damiel knew of the plan, and together with Handir, they were scheming to bring Fel’annár over to their side. Handir was his brother, but he was also a statesman, a good one. Everything he did was for his father’s realm, and Fel’annár did not doubt that he would do anything to safeguard it, even at his brother’s expense. Is that what Or’Talán had done? he asked himself and then scowled at the invading thought.

  And then his father’s words of conciliation replayed in his mind.

  Come to me as my son, he had said, even though the missive had not been signed. It would be for security reasons, thought Fel’annár, but then he wondered. Had it been because he did not know how to sign it? For what would he say? King Thargodén? Your father?

  “Father,” he tried, the word strange in his mouth, and he wondered if a day would ever come when such a simple word would leave his mouth, not in anger but in love.

  Looking up at a towering spruce, he sensed a presence high in the boughs. Only a Silvan would while away the time in a tree. With a nod at Galdith, he climbed, wondering which member of The Company it would be.

  He scurried up the bark, pulling himself skywards. He could see someone sitting against the central trunk, and he froze. It was too late to slink away, not that he wanted to, but he would not have interrupted her privacy had he known.

  “Healer?”

  A sudden rustle of cloth and then a waterfall of auburn hair as she looked downwards. “Warrior.”

  “Am I intruding?” he called back.

  “It is not my tree. Come up, Silvan.” She watched as he accommodated himself on a branch opposite hers, his long legs stretching out before him.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply.

  “Well then, two sleepless Silvans,” she smirked. “You are from Lan Taria?”

  “Yes, and before you say it, I know I don’t look Silvan.”

  “No. But you feel Silvan,” she said, and Fel’annár’s smile widened. No one had ever said that to him before.

  “And you?” asked Fel’annár.

  “Sen Garay.”

  “Ah. My friend Carodel is your countryman.”

  “Carodel? Surely he’s not here!”

  Fel’annár’s eyebrows arched, a soft smile on his face. “You know our Bard Warrior?”

  “Know him? He was the terror of our village. A naughty one, I tell you. He was never without a lover, using that lyre of his to lure his victims,” snorted Llyn, and Fel’annár laughed out loud.

  “That’s the one,” he said, briefly wondering if she, too, had been lured. “I am Fel’annár,” he added, feeling the need to introduce himself despite the stupidity of it. She surely knew who he was by now.

  “Llyniel.”

  Fel’annár watched as her gaze seemed to lose focus, as if she were remembering something. “You miss home,” he ventured.

  “I miss the Forest, but I was brought up in the city, at court,” she said somewhat sourly.

  “You didn’t enjoy it?”

  “I am Silvan. How could I? So few trees, so few friendly faces, always separated from my cousins in the Forest. It was sweet enough when I was a young child. I have no siblings, but I grew together with the king’s children. They are my brothers and sisters—Handir especially though.”

  Fel’annár tried his best not to show his confusion at her comment. The way Handir and Llyniel had looked at each other did not strike him as fraternal, and yet she had just suggested that was what she felt for the prince.

  He needed to know. He needed to be sure.

  One strong hand smoothed over the branch he sat upon, movements careful and rhythmic, and Llyniel’s eyes focussed on it. He pulled his hand back.

  “Sontúr says you arrived in the company of Pelagians,” said Fel’annár.

  “I spent the last ten years there, serving under Master Healer Tanor. I am preparing a theory on deciduous tree barks and their uses in the healing sciences.”

  Fel’annár’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve only ever used them to light campfires.”

  Llyniel smiled. “You’d be surprised; they can save lives.”

  “I believe you. Still, ten years in Pelagia is a long time. You must have family,” he said, leaning back against the trunk, trying his best not to seem overly interested in her reply.

  She stared back at him for a moment, and Fel’annár knew she had understood the underlying question. She was deciding whether to deflect it or answer it. “I am busy with my studies for now. It’s not easy to become Master Healer at my age, Fel’annár. It is a highly competitive thing to train under one of the great healers, and to work with Master Arané is a dream. There is little that could deter me from staying here, for a while at least.” Her eyes were drawn once more to Fel’annár’s hand, which was once more stroking over a branch. “I do wonder, though, what’s going on back home.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Fel’annár, a suspicion beginning to form in his mind.

  “Well, for one, I’ve heard a most unlikely tale, Fel’annár. You are Handir’s half-brother. If that news has permeated in the Forest, I can only imagine the scandal and hearsay that must be flying everywhere.”

  She was blunt in the purest of Silvan fashion, but she seemed to realise it had made him uncomfortable.

  “Just . . . ignore me,” she said with a rueful smile, even as she flapped one hand in front of her own face. “It’s no slight against you.”

  Fel’annár’s head cocked to one side, smiling at her antics. His suspicions were stronger now, and he wondered just how much Handir had told her, whether she knew about the plan. She was blunt in her Silvanness, but so was he.

  “What else has Prince Handir told you?”

  She shrugged. “He has told me who you are—that, and of Lainon’s death.”

  Fel’annár averted his gaze. He knew that she watched him, but he couldn’t hide his grief, and for some reason he did not feel the need to. He just hoped she would not press the issue.

  She did not.

  “I have missed this, being up here,” she said. “There are few trees in the Pelagian Isles, and here, thank Aria, we have this copse and the surrounding forests at least.”

  “It’s a small mercy to us Silvans. I’ve travelled the surrounding lands and found many wooded areas. But there’s nothing quite like the Deep Forest.” He smiled fondly, gaze turned inwards and to his memories of Ea Uaré. He had always wanted to travel to Ea Nanú and see the giant trees, but that, too, had been prohibited to him. His soft, nostalgic smile faltered, and he turned back to Llyniel, inexplicably glad that she seemed so at ease, so confident here in the heights.

  “We could take a trip to the forests of the Downlands, just be Silvan for one day,” said Fel’annár with his winning smile. She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Being Silvan implies many things, Warrior. Which one are you referring to?”

  “Whichever one you wish,” he said, smile widening. “I mean we could just sit in the trees, talk of trees, eat . . . in the trees, that sort of thing.”

  She snorted irreverently, and Fel’annár grinned back at her, glad she had not taken offence. He felt stupid—again— but he couldn’t help it. He was driven by his need to know how she felt about Handir, how she felt about him.

  “I am a good Silvan lad, Llyniel. My aunt taught me well.” It was half the truth, but he didn’t want to scare her away.

  “We should take Handir. The fool knows nothing of the Forest, all that he is prince of our lands.” Her eyes stared back at him, watching him for a reaction. She must have seen it, because she smirked back at him. She knew what he had meant by his comment about being Silvan, just as she knew he had no intention of inviting Ha
ndir.

  They talked then, of Handir’s and therefore Fel’annár’s imminent return to the Forest. He told her of the ambush on their way to Tar’eastór and then of his plans to take the test for Blade Master. She told him of her theories on deciduous tree barks and of her dreams of becoming Master Healer. They shared tales of childhood in the villages, of how she had wanted to spend more time there but had never been allowed to while he told her of how he had never been allowed to travel anywhere else. Their talk was easy and relaxed, amusing and empathic, interesting and so involving that they had become oblivious to the passage of time.

  “It’s cold, and I have duties tomorrow. I am pleased to have met you, Fel’annár of Lan Taria. You have brought the Forest back to my heart for tonight at least.”

  He smiled and then watched as she returned it, her eyes straying to his lips for just a moment before she turned and began to navigate the trunk. She stopped and looked up at him, a lop-sided grin on her face. “I will think about that outing. Being Silvan for a while does not sound so bad,” she said, and then she was gone. Fel’annár stared after her, his mind only slowly registering what she had just said. She had understood his meaning perfectly.

  She was interested in him.

  But the shadow of doubt still lingered in his mind. She had known Handir since they were children, and Fel’annár had not missed that look of complicity when Llyniel and Handir’s gazes had locked. He had seen love, and for all that he tried, he could not shake the idea that Llyniel and Handir were lovers, or perhaps had been at one time. But then Llyniel had not rejected Fel’annár’s proposal and he did not think she would play Handir for a fool.

  Still, she had a dream, just as Fel’annár did. She wanted to become Master Healer; he wanted to be a Silvan captain. She would stay in Tar’eastór while he returned with Handir to a conflicted forest. He laughed at himself, shaking his head at his own stupidity. What was he thinking? He had proposed a Silvan fling in the trees and she had suggested she might be interested. There was nothing more to it, and here he was musing over the fact that they would soon part ways.

  Still, he would tread carefully. Handir might be interested in her, and perhaps even Llyniel did not realise it. He tried to imagine what a relationship between her and the prince would mean in the Forest, the way Handir had painted it to him. Aria forbid he held feelings for a Silvan commoner. The Alpine purists would surely not allow it, and if Fel’annár had things his way, neither would he.

  Six

  Warrior Lord

  “Appearances can give a first impression that is difficult to change. Only a remarkable word or a remarkable elf can change them. Handir knew this and played it to his advantage. He had put much thought into his brother’s attire . . . and none at all into his feelings.”

  The Silvan Chronicles, Book V. Marhené.

  “I’ll be gone all day, brothers. I won’t see you until we retire,” said Fel’annár as he stood before the hearth in his rooms, his sleeping breaches hanging low off his waist, damp hair slowly drying.

  “So when do you get your fancy clothes?” asked Ramien.

  “I already have them. Prince Handir is adamant I present myself in the proper fashion.” He cast his eyes over The Company, daring them to poke fun at his expense.

  “Just—don’t let him manicure your hands, Fel’annár,” pleaded Galdith. “You’re a warrior—you’re supposed to have hands like crunchy leaves and nails as black as squirrel droppings.”

  “I’ll have no say in the matter, Galdith. I’m a puppet in the hands of our prince.”

  “So you are saying, Galdith, that a warrior may not have a manicure because then he will not be a warrior?” asked Idernon.

  Galdith turned to the Wise Warrior and held his challenging gaze with one of his own. “Yes—that is exactly what I am saying.”

  Idernon’s eyebrow arched acutely, but he said no more. Instead he turned to Fel’annár. “I wouldn’t miss our Fel’annár all lordly in his finery,” he smirked, eyes glittering.

  “You’ll have to make do with the end result,” said Fel’annár. “Go, and enjoy your day,” he added with a smile. “And your evening.” He smirked at Carodel, who sat polishing his boots. He knew Idernon would fret about who would guard him, but the truth was, Fel’annár needed time to himself—to think.

  Idernon nodded. “You’ll stay inside, with Sontúr and Gor’sadén?”

  “I will,” he said, and then watched as they filed out of the door. He turned back to the fire, relishing its warmth on his bare skin, but someone was returning.

  “Fel’annár.” It was Handir, surely come to ensure that he was preparing himself in the proper fashion. He did not expect to hear Llyniel’s voice.

  “Have a care, soldier. Half-naked warrior lords are highly coveted around these parts,” she drawled. He could almost hear the smirk on her face and he turned, trying and failing to mask his surprise even though his own lips curled upwards.

  He bowed at Handir and then turned to face her. “I am quite capable of protecting myself,” he answered with a smirk, eyes roving over her form.

  She no longer wore the straight, black robes of the healers but a simple yet elegant blue dress that accentuated her body, her auburn hair half up and half down, accentuating her long, naked neck of smooth, creamy skin. His fingers tingled at the thought of ghosting his way from her ear and downwards . . .

  “Fel’annár.”

  He snapped from his imaginings and looked at Handir. His own smirk vanished in the wake of the prince’s darkening gaze.

  He was jealous.

  “I know you two have met, although not formally,” said Handir with practised calm. “Lady Llyniel of Sen Garay, this is Lord Fel’annár of Lan Taria.”

  “My lady,” said Fel’annár with a bow. He had not realised she was a noble. Not so incompatible with Handir, he mused. His eyes darted around for a shirt to cover himself, and Llyniel smiled a naughty smile. Fel’annár could not help the twitch of his lips at her audacity, in spite of Handir’s visible irritation.

  “Forgive me, I was not expecting company,” he said.

  “Well, I am sure Llyniel has seen it all before,” said Handir somewhat curtly, but there was a gleam in his eyes and Fel’annár wanted to scowl at him.

  “Listen to me, Fel’annár,” began the prince, his tone that of a superior to his servant. “Take your time dressing, be mindful of what you represent. Today you become a lord of my father’s realm—you become a lord of Ea Uaré. That privilege comes with duties.”

  “I understand my duty, my prince.”

  “Good. I am aware you find this tedious, that you would rather be elsewhere with the warriors.”

  “You have already explained I have no choice in the matter, my prince. If it is the will of my king, I will obey.”

  “It is. However, it would be desirable that you, too, saw the merit in this.”

  Fel’annár knew what “this” meant. Handir was pushing him to accept his part in this grand plan, and his eyes slipped to Llyniel. But she simply stared back at him and Fel’annár knew that she knew, that Handir had told her. But then why wouldn’t he? She was special to him, Fel’annár could see it in the prince’s glittering eyes, hear it in his imperious words, feel it almost as a tangible barrier he wove around her. He was protecting her, he mused, protecting her from him. And then another thought pushed its way to the fore. Was she trying to seduce him to help Handir garner his acceptance of the plan?

  Fel’annár remained silent and Handir turned to Llyniel with a gesture. “We will leave you to prepare.”

  Fel’annár bowed, eyes lingering thoughtfully on the noble healer as she walked out the door. Once they were gone, he turned back to the fire, alone with his thoughts of politics, of duty, of his attraction to a woman Handir did not want him to have, a woman that perhaps was playing him, luring him into a plan he was not convinced he should accept.

  “You fancy him,” said Handir as they walked down the corridor
and back to his suite to await the summons from the king. “Have a care, Llyn. He is a warrior.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Handir. From what I’ve heard and seen, everyone fancies him, but that doesn’t mean I want to marry him, does it?”

  “No,” said Handir. “So what do you want to do with him?” He turned to meet her squarely. He had not meant for it to sound funny, but to Llyniel it had, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation of her Silvan humour. She swiped him across the shoulder, laughing as he batted her hand away. The prince played along with her mischief, but she had not missed his anger. It was something she would need to address with him, for although she did not take kindly to it, she knew it was born of love for her.

  But Handir’s question stubbornly remained in her mind. What did she want to do with Fel’annár? She smirked. Handir was right, she did fancy him; it was hard not to, and a thrill of excitement coursed through her body at the thought of his proposal to be Silvan. But Handir was also right in that Fel’annár was a warrior. Should she allow herself to feel anything more for him, that fact might well bring heartache, even grief, something that would interfere with her plans of becoming Master Healer, of helping Handir with Lainon’s plan.

  Lainon’s plan, she mused. She herself had readily accepted to help in whatever capacity she could, and she failed to understand why any Silvan would not. She had seen the honour stone in Fel’annár’s hair, had heard how the others referred to him as The Silvan. It was not because he did not understand the merits of it. She could see that he did. His resistance came from somewhere else, perhaps from his feelings towards Handir, a half-brother he would see as the reason his mother was denied her soulmate, the reason for her absence.

  Llyniel and Handir had once kissed, and then both had said it had not felt right. Llyniel briefly toyed with the idea that Handir had lied, that perhaps he had said that to help her reject him. But it was a fleeting idea, because Llyniel knew Handir better than anyone else. His was not the love of a suitor; it was not unrequited love. It was the fierce love of a brother who would never be satisfied with Llyniel’s choice, especially if that choice was his half-brother—one he had yet to accept.