Dawn of a Legend

by R K Lander

  Fel’annár did not recognise himself at all, for a lord stared back at him in the full-length mirror, a lord the likes of which he had never seen. But Fel’annár was a warrior. He felt bare without his leather vambraces and his pauldron, his chest protection and his harnesses.

  Handir had been busy, he realised, had clearly given much thought to these designs—designs he had never seen before. He briefly wondered where they came from. A spark of resentment towards Handir washed over him, for forcing the issue, an issue he knew Fel’annár had yet to accept, but even so, the result was strangely pleasing. He would have done this himself, given the chance, for this attire was beautiful—political statement though it was. The form-fitting tunic reached down to his booted calves, and the front was slit up past his knees. One sleeve reached down past his wrist while the other was cut at the shoulder, revealing his Master Archer band and the strong muscles of his arm. Over his bare forearm was a skilfully-crafted bracer running from elbow to wrist. It was Alpine in its military opulence, Silvan in its masculine allure. Alpine and Silvan, just like himself: an open challenge to the Alpine purists back home.

  He felt comfortable.

  An attendant had been sent to braid his hair, and he had asked him to braid it in the way Galadan had once shown him: Silvan side braids, a central Alpine braid, and the Ari locks gathered around his crown in honour of Lainon. Amareth would be proud, he smirked. But Lainon would have rendered a better result. Something swam over his vision, and he blinked to clear whatever it was that had collected there. It was not the first time it had happened to him recently and he thought he would ask Sontúr about it. Had he been looking in the mirror, he would have seen a wisp of blue pass over his right eye.

  Three knocks on the door and Handir entered, decked finely as a prince of Ea Uaré, and upon his head was a golden headdress, woven into his hair at the sides. Fel’annár straightened and then bowed.

  Handir’s eyes travelled the length of his half-brother, reticent, perhaps, to admit that he cut a fine form indeed.

  “Is my appearance to your satisfaction, my prince?”

  Handir had been trained in the art of subtlety and his face remained devoid of emotion as he observed the results of his research on Silvan history. His eyes ran over the braids in Fel’annár’s hair, understanding their meaning, and then he saw the Master band on a strong arm, an arm that had killed many Deviants in service to his realm and Tar’eastór. A wave of admiration hit him unexpectedly, and he quelled it, gave it no importance beyond that of a job well done.

  “It is. Come.”

  No sooner had they left the room than Fel’annár realised The Company had not yet left. Instead they stood chatting and laughing and then turned to prince and warrior—only to fall utterly silent, as if they had been caught stealing nut cakes. They had surely thought to tease Fel’annár in his finery, but now that he was before them, all thoughts of childish banter scattered. All they could do was stare on as the brothers left, bound for the king’s council chambers. It was the last time they would see Fel’annár as a simple warrior. When next they met, they would owe him deference as a lord of Ea Uaré.

  As they continued towards the council chambers, Handir watched as all those they passed stopped to stare while others bowed in respect. But it was when they came to stand upon the threshold of the council chambers that Handir’s skin tingled and the true weight of his brother’s presence slammed into him, taking him completely by surprise, as if a blindfold had been ripped from his eyes, eyes that had not wanted to see, to admit just how much Fel’annár looked like Or’Talán, how much his presence affected those around him, for they stared openly, unashamedly, even those who had been trained to hide their thoughts. It wasn’t just his similarity to Or’Talán, though. It was his compelling presence, his commanding essence. There was a surety about him, something magnetic that drew others to him. Was this what Lainon had seen in him?

  “Prince Handir of Ea Uaré, Warrior Fel’annár of Ea Uaré.” A powerful voice rang out over the din, and the heavy doors banged shut behind them. The path towards the king’s throne began to open before them, but the people moved too slowly. Lords and ladies, councillors and advisors lingered before them, eyes on Fel’annár’s face, his hair, and the odd fashion of his clothes. Those further behind moved from one side to another for a better look at the new lord, and for a moment, Handir did not envy his half-brother at all. He turned his head to read his expression, but it was not as he had suspected. There was no distress, no anger, no challenge in his eyes. What Handir saw was not a boy overwhelmed by his circumstances; he saw a warrior lord, powerful and proud.

  He recognised the blood of princes.

  Handir walked towards the dais, feeling Fel’annár’s bare shoulder close to his. Strange that he should feel proud to present his reluctant brother at Vorn’asté’s court. But the fleeting thought was ruthlessly quashed as they came to stand before the steps that led to the king’s stone throne. To one side stood Commanders Gor’sadén and Pan’assár, magnificent in their shining armour. Both were Kah masters, but only one of them bore the purple sash that said it was so. On the other side stood Lord Damiel with Prince Sontúr and then Lady Llyniel who waited for Handir to join her.

  The king rose and accepted a scroll from Damiel’s jewelled hands and, with a cursory glance at his guests, he began the day’s proceedings.

  “My ladies, lords and councillors, it is my duty as king to read the words of my fellow ruler, Thargodén Ar Or’Talán of Ea Uaré. I read, literally, his decree, to be read before his own ruling council during the celebration of the first Forest Summit.”

  Fel’annár scowled. He had never heard of a Forest Summit, and for some reason his eyes slipped towards Llyniel. She too was confused, he realised. Something had happened in their homeland, some political event they had no knowledge of.

  “I, Thargodén, son of Or’Talán, second king of Ea Uaré do proclaim that Fel’annár of Lan Taria is my son, born of Lássira of Abiren’á, daughter of Zendár Ari’atór.

  There were murmurs of shock, but Fel’annár heard none of them. His mother was the daughter of an Ari’atór, he was the grandson of an Ari’atór . . .

  “Also do I proclaim that Fel’annár of Lan Taria is named Lord of Ea Uaré, his rights and privileges to be debated at High Court.”

  Vorn’asté lowered the scroll and fixed his eyes on Fel’annár. “Fel’annár of Lan Taria, do you accept this honour from your king?”

  He could not speak, and his eyes slipped once more to Llyniel, who was staring back at him. It was not pity in her eyes but empathy. She felt for him, had seen his shock, and he wanted to reach out, touch her, but instead he stood riveted, eyes moving to Handir beside her, but in the prince’s eyes, all he saw was silent expectation.

  “I do.” The words had slipped past him, and he suddenly wanted to pull them back, but he couldn’t. He had done exactly what Damiel had asked of him. He had swum with the tide and could no longer turn back.

  “I, Vorn’asté Ar Caren’ár, seventh king of Tar’eastór, proclaim that this here is Lord Fel’annár Ar Thargodén. Be he welcomed in our realm.”

  A mighty thump of a staff against the floor echoed around them, and slowly, voices began to rise. Fel’annár let out a rush of air and looked around—for anyone to anchor himself. He found Sontúr, who was walking towards him, eyes searching and perhaps understanding.

  “You didn’t know?” he murmured.

  Fel’annár shook his head, still in shock at the revelation.

  The prince’s sparkling grey eyes searched and found Prince Handir, but no words crossed his lips. They weren’t necessary.

  Censure, confusion, dislike.

  “Come, away from this crowd and to somewhere quiet.”

  Fel’annár simply nodded, but his passage to the now opened door was blocked by Handir and Llyniel.

  Sontúr stiffened. “Have you not done enough, Prince Handir?”

  “I have done my duty.�
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  “A prince has a duty to his own heart, Handir; where is yours?”

  “I didn’t know he was ignorant of his origins.”

  “You could have asked. He didn’t even know who his father was until just months past. Had you cared, you would have suspected.”

  Handir stared back at Sontúr, jaw tightening, but with Llyniel’s hand on his back he stepped to one side and then watched as a silent Fel’annár left with a fuming prince, and just behind them were the commanders. Pan’assár nodded at his prince, but Gor’sadén stared at him with cold blue eyes as he passed.

  “It was not my intention, Llyniel.”

  There was censure in her eyes, but there was something else, too, and Handir did not like it.

  “I do not want your pity, Llyniel,” he ground out, and she turned to face him.

  “And yet you have it.”

  She left his side and Handir was alone amongst the crowd of Alpine councillors. Alone as he had been since Lainon died.

  Alone.

  Fel’annár was walking, striding through the hallways, unaware of those who stared after him and Sontúr. Was this connection to the Ari’atór a reason why he had this skill with the trees? And did Zendár still live? Did he have Silvan family in the Deep Forest apart from Amareth? And if he did, why had they never visited? Had that, too, been deemed dangerous?

  “Where are you going, Fel’annár?”

  “Away, anywhere but in there.”

  They were outside, walking briskly along the pathways that led past the Inner Circle and then skirted around the training grounds. Not even the sparring warriors were enough to draw Fel’annár’s eyes away from the path ahead of him, and soon they were in the more remote areas of the public gardens. Fel’annár’s steps slowed until he stopped and turned to face Sontúr.

  “My mother was from Abiren’á, she was the daughter of an Ari’atór. My grandfather’s name is, or was, Zendár. I wonder if he, too, is dead.”

  Sontúr sighed heavily. “You knew none of that. It is unfortunate indeed that your brother did not see fit to check with you before that decree was read; indeed I must wonder if Thargodén did not ask him to do so. It seems callous.”

  “Callous, yes. But then he is a prince on a mission. Why did I expect anything else?”

  “Because he is your brother. It is logical to assume he would feel something for you.”

  “Well, he doesn’t. Better for me. I don’t need a brother; I don’t need a father.”

  “But you want them all the same.” A deep, husky voice that was not Sontúr—and both elves turned to Llyniel.

  “You do not know me, my lady,” said Fel’annár. “You don’t know what I want and what I do not.” His tone was far from the one he had used the previous night up in the trees when they had talked and laughed.

  “I do not mean to offend, Lord Fel’annár. But you are ignoring the truth, and you do not need me to tell you this.”

  “Then why tell me at all?”

  “Fel’annár, I come on behalf of one I have loved my entire life . . .”

  “You would come in defence of him? Because he is your lover, your what?”

  Her countenance changed so suddenly that Fel’annár bit his tongue and watched as she walked towards him.

  “You do not know me at all, my lord.”

  Fel’annár recognised his own words to her just moments before, and he nodded slowly in apology.

  “You come on behalf of one you love,” began Sontúr. “But he has not even the slightest of consideration for his own brother. He kept those messages from their rightful owner, he did not bother to tell him he has family somewhere in the Forest. This prince that you love is a frozen block of ice.”

  “Sontúr,” said Fel’annár, turning to his friend and placing a hand on his forearm. “Give me a moment, will you?”

  Sontúr’s glittering eyes moved from Fel’annár to Llyniel, and then he nodded curtly.

  “I will be nearby.”

  “Thank you,” said Fel’annár, watching as his friend turned to leave, not before pinning the Silvan healer with a look that brooked no argument. She, however, simply stared back at Sontúr defiantly before turning to Fel’annár.

  “Handir assumed that you knew.”

  “He never bothered to think about it.”

  “No, and for that he is sorry.”

  “Then why is he not here?”

  “Because to come to you, now, would be tantamount to acknowledging you as a brother, not in words but in deeds. He is not ready for that, and I wager you aren’t either.”

  “And I never will be, if he does not show me his heart.”

  “Has he seen yours, Fel’annár?”

  “No. I have hidden that from him. But then it is not me asking him to trust me.”

  She said nothing. Fel’annár didn’t want to be angry in her presence, and his steely gaze softened.

  “I apologise. It’s just . . . a delicate subject, that’s all.”

  “I know a little of your story, Fel’annár, and I think perhaps that I understand in some small way.”

  Fel’annár turned expectant eyes on her. He had assumed that Handir would have spoken to Llyniel, but just how much of his private life had the prince revealed to this woman, a stranger to him?

  “I can only imagine that, for someone who never had a family, every last detail of who you are is important. You know so little.”

  “And now you know as much as I, Lady Llyniel.” He should have been angry at her for delving into his personal affairs, for presuming she would be welcomed to do so. But he could not express anger because, strangely, he did not feel it, not towards her at least.

  “I do understand you a little, Fel’annár. You and I have much in common.”

  “How so?” asked Fel’annár with a frown.

  “Silvan mother, Alpine father . . .”

  Fel’annár started. He had not expected that. To look at her dark features, her accent, and her open ways, she was pure Silvan, the exact opposite of himself. He was momentarily distracted by the highlights of autumn hues in her soft hair.

  “You look Silvan,” murmured Fel’annár, and she smiled.

  “And you look Alpine. Is that why they call you The Silvan?” smiled the healer and Fel’annár could not stop his traitorous mouth from spreading into a smile of his own.

  “That is the short of it.” His smile turned lop-sided. His anger was gone; it wasn’t important.

  Llyniel’s smile widened, and a sparkle came to her eye. “You know, I have known Handir since I was a babe. I was raised at court with the royal family, as you know. They are the siblings I never had. Handir and I share a singular friendship, Fel’annár. We know each other so well, love each other so well, not as soul mates do but as twins perhaps; as Prince Rinon is to Princess Maeneth.”

  Fel’annár stood searching her eyes and found only truth behind them. But a question begged to be asked, and he was in no mood to ignore it. “And does Handir feel the same? How can you be sure he does not harbour feelings for you?”

  Her eyes lingered on Fel’annár, and then her gaze turned to the side. “You have my word, Fel’annár. His love for me is that of a brother, and it is fierce.” She smiled sadly. “Perhaps you will see in Handir what I do, one day. Perhaps you, too, will call him brother.”

  “He doesn’t want that, Llyniel. His intentions with regards to me are not those of a sibling.”

  “He wants you to help him, help us in this cause, yes. Handir wants this for our country, Turion seconds it, and blessed Lainon started it all. And as for Aradan, he is my father.” She watched him register the information before continuing. “Do not undermine our intentions, Fel’annár. It is no small thing that we set out to achieve, and while we do it, who is to say that you and Handir cannot come to better understand each other?”

  “Tell me truthfully,” said Fel’annár, “has Handir sent you to help garner my acceptance? Is that the sum of your interest in me?” There
was a sadness about him, a gleam of despair in his eyes he had not been able to mask.

  “No. No, Fel’annár. Why would you assume my actions are about Handir? They are my actions, my beliefs, everyone else be damned. I left my home, my beautiful forests because every day was torture to me, watching my people suffer discrimination and mockery, watching my mother bear the snickers of those pompous Alpine ladies. Not once did she fight back, Fel’annár, not once did my father, Lord Chief Councillor, put them in their place. This plan will succeed, or I will leave Ea Uaré forever. But these are not the reasons why I am here, Fel’annár.”

  Fel’annár stood wide-eyed, watching the fiery Silvan woman whose passion for the Forest ran deep. She was not here on Handir’s behest. She was not here to persuade him to join them in this plan.

  “Then why? Why are you here?”

  She stared back at him, and Fel’annár saw her hesitation. She seemed to be searching, perhaps to conjure a lie, but no, it was not deviance he saw in her eyes. It was confusion.

  “I just . . . I don’t want you to think badly of Handir, Fel’annár.”

  He watched her, standing so close he could reach out and kiss her if he so desired, and he did desire it. He felt his body lean forwards, begging his mind to give in and take what he wanted. His eyes wandered over her face, and for a moment he wondered what it was that made her irresistible to him. This was no simple desire for pleasure; there was something deep in his soul that pulled at him, like a strong wind high in the boughs. He was moving in spite of himself—he was losing control.

  He blinked.

  “I . . . I will see you later at the king’s table, Lady Llyniel.” He bowed, his gaze intense, almost commanding, and then he was gone, and as he strode back to the palace, his mind raced far ahead of his feet. She was a distraction to him, another reason for him to lose control, another reason not to want to leave Tar’eastór . . . because she would be here.