by R K Lander
“Fel’annár,” said Lainon.
“Thargodén?” repeated Fel’annár, before chuckling again. Anger was momentarily replaced by utter confusion, confusion so great Fel’annár did not know how to administer it.
“Fel’annár, your father is Thargodén.”
Silence.
“Child, you are the king's son, a son he had with a Silvan woman outside the bonds of royal marriage.”
“You are serious?” asked Fel’annár quietly, his brow furrowed and his head negating Lainon’s claims. The war that had been raging in his mind had stopped, as if both forces had frozen where they fought, a mere illustration in one of Idernon’s books.
“Think, Fel’annár. If you would only allow yourself to consider my words you will realise I speak the truth. I would not lie—not to you. Prince Handir knows the truth. It is why he was there that day you became a novice. He, too, could not believe what he had only just been told that very same day. His curiosity led him to seek you out, gainsay the truth, but he could not, for the resemblance is too great.”
Fel’annár’s mind was working once more and the transformation was quick. Round, shaking eyes turned down, narrowing dangerously, and his features hardened until they were ridges of pure, unyielding stone. His next words were spat into the cold air in front of Lainon’s face, dripping with contempt and wrath.
“How dare he,” he said quietly, head shaking in continuous negation.
Fel’annár took a step backwards and Lainon’s eyes widened in realization. He wanted to flee.
“Fel’annár—I have a story to tell you—please, will you not have it? Do not judge our king unfairly, not until you…”
But Fel’annár took yet another step backwards, his head negating the dawning truth as it sunk beneath his iron barriers. Turning his back on Lainon, he closed his eyes for a moment, and then he began to walk away. Idernon held out a hand towards him but was ignored. Fel’annár was striding away from The Company, from Lainon, from the cruel kiss of reality, one he had never wanted to face—still could not. His long strides became lighter until he was jogging, running and then sprinting over the land, to where he did not know: to Lan Taria, perhaps, and a childhood of innocence and ignorance—anywhere but here with Lainon’s pitying eyes and distressing words. Anguish fuelled his pumping heart, and his legs worked faster, silver locks streaming behind him, eyes watering in the cold dark of a life-changing night.
It was the last anyone saw of the Fel’annár of old. Much later, when he returned to camp, Green Sun would be utterly changed.
“We cannot leave him, Lainon.”
“No, we cannot, and yet he will not be receptive to us now, not until he comes to terms with the revelation.”
“Then we go after him and set a watch—I will not leave him alone after that,” began Ramien, his tone steadily rising.
“Peace, Ramien. I will go,” said Lainon, holding his palm towards the towering Silvan. “You must wait for his return and then cover for him. I will visit as soon as I may so that we can agree on a strategy. There is some time before we reach Tar’eastór, and I must inform my prince that the task is done.
“The task...” said Idernon, and Lainon saw the simmering anger underneath the barely schooled features. “How long have you been plotting and scheming, leaving him in the dark?”
“For as long as was necessary,” replied Lainon, his face stern. “Do not doubt I have his best interests at heart, Idernon.”
“And yet I must. I do not know you, Lainon. You ask of me a leap of faith.”
“Yes,” admitted Lainon. “I am Ari’atór—that will hardly surprise you. Faith is the reason for my existence.”
Idernon started and then simply nodded, eyes straying in the direction Fel’annár had taken before moving back to Lainon. “You will see him back safely, Ari’atór,” he said, eyes hard yet searching, and Lainon understood. Idernon was a wise child, and Lainon respected him for his loyalty to Fel’annár. He would be a good leader one day, he mused as he nodded and then jogged away.
Lainon finally sensed Fel’annár sitting high in a tree, and so he took up his silent watch on a perch a little lower down. He was Ari’atór, Spirit Warrior—chosen to either defend Valley from human trespassers or defend the elven spirit from the hardship of existence. He was empathic, his heart strong, more capable than others of overcoming the agony of a breaking heart, a lost soul. The blackness of his hair, the copper hue of his skin, his striking blue eyes said it was so, marked him as a Herder, a leader of the spirit.
And yet Lainon had refused the call of Valley, just as surely as he had refused the call of the Spirit Herder. It was as if there were some other destiny reserved for him in Ea Uaré, one that had ripped him away from his soul mate over a century ago. She had not understood, and, by Aria, neither had he. She had left for Valley to serve under Commander Hobin, and Lainon had returned to the forest, alone. Their separation had left him wondering, hopelessly seeking to justify his actions, but all that had changed a year ago, when he had finally begun to suspect the nature of his duty.
Lainon felt the first tendrils of pity as they snaked upwards, dancing around his heart, and it was all he could do to stave them away. Fel’annár did not need that; he needed his understanding, and Lainon did understand. He knew the story better than most, and then Amareth had told him the rest, the part he had not known, the story of Fel’annár’s childhood in Lan Taria. Mockery had followed him throughout the years of his early youth, for he did not look like the other children and he had no father to speak of. Years of childish curiosity and unanswered questions were followed by hatred and denial and then partial acceptance of his illegitimacy at the cost of convincing himself that he did not care who his father had been. Yet it had all been strategy, a way to make his existence acceptable to his own mind. Lies, merciful lies, and it had torn at Lainon’s heart to watch Fel’annár’s made-up world disintegrate upon the wind like autumn leaves upon a sharp breeze. To Fel’annár’s mind, his father had abandoned him—he had been unwanted. What he had always feared was the truth.
Lainon breathed deeply and cocked his head upwards to where he knew Fel’annár sat, just a few branches higher.
“His intention was never to hurt you, Fel’annár,” he began softly, his back resting against the trunk, eyes turned sideways, wondering if the boy would acknowledge his presence.
He did not.
“The story is long and sad, but it is one that will help you understand.”
Silence.
“Our king loved your mother beyond all rational thought, and you are the consequence of that love, one that was meant to be and yet could never be.”
Lainon thought he heard a soft rustling, the only reaction to his words.
“Amareth remained silent all those years, never travelling with you because she loves you, Fel’annár. She gave her life to you, her sister’s son, so that you would grow up, safe. She could never tell you of your father because to do so might have revealed you to the outside world, a world that is imperfect, often times unfair, unjust, horrific even. Your existence would have meant political gain to some and could have been used against the rule of your father. You would have been a mere tool, used by one and all if there were something to be gained.”
The rustling became louder, and the green-brown figure of Fel’annár passed him by until he was on the ground below, his ample hood covering his silver locks and the face he wished to hide.
He did not run, though.
Lainon slipped to the ground and watched Fel’annár closely, studying his form. He was not hunched or deflated but stiff and tall, and when he turned his face to Lainon, the Ari’atór startled, breath catching in his throat. Green eyes shone too brightly, the colour of his irises swirling like pigment in a lazy stream—a strange mist gathering before them, mesmerizing Lainon and accelerating his pulse. There was something in that mist, something that called to his soul.
“I have been lied to all my life, Lai
non, by all the people that I ever cared about—even by you,” he said quietly. “Did Captain Turion know? Does the king know?” he asked, taking one step forward, and Lainon desperately tried not to step backwards. Fel’annár’s eyes were not natural, and his skin prickled, yet still, he held his ground.
“Turion knew because I told him, and yes, the king knows he has a Silvan son, one he thought resided in Valley with its mother. He was to be told the truth while we are abroad.”
Fel’annár turned, voice soft and distant. “I always wanted to serve our king, and through that service, our people. I swore fealty to Thargodén king with tears of joy in my eyes, and yet now those tears are of sorrow, frustration—disappointment. The one thing I asked of life was to be a warrior, and look what I have done. I have sworn loyalty to the very elf that abandoned me, left me to fend for myself, cared nothing for my life. The same elf that left me to grow fatherless, nameless...” His voice broke, and through the snaking mist, Lainon could see dark brows furrow. Then a strong and calloused archer’s hand reached out to the nearest tree and caressed the loose bark.
The change was instant.
The softly-glowing green eyes flared suddenly, and Fel’annár threw his head back in a grimace of surprised pain, chest heaving as a groan was wrenched from his clenched jaw, hood falling back onto his shoulders.
“Fel’annár?” came Lainon’s shaky voice as he took an involuntary step backwards.
Hands curled into fists, and the thick, Ari locks Fel’annár always wore turned in the nascent breeze, not with it but against it, not back and forth but upwards and around his head, as if he floated in water, and Lainon’s skin crawled in dread, his blood frozen in his veins.
‘Do not run...’ Lainon begged to himself.
And he did not, even when the trees began to groan and creak and a strange wind howled through their swaying boughs, carrying westwards and to the Great Forest.
“What is that?” asked Ramien, head turning in the direction Fel’annár and Lainon had gone, eyes resting on the swaying trees.
“I don’t know,” answered Idernon as he, too, turned. “The trees dance in the stillness.”
Before either Ramien or Carodel could answer, the Wise Warrior was sprinting away. With a brief glance at each other, Ramien and Carodel followed until they skidded to a halt just in time to avoid crashing into Idernon’s back.
Lainon stood to one side, one arm extended towards them in a signal to stay back, but his eyes were riveted on Fel’annár who stood in the centre of the glade.
Light, air, and leaves swirled around him, and yet his hair did not move with it but upwards, snaking around his glowing green eyes. There was a slowness to the time that encased him, it seemed, and yet everything else was a whirlwind that wrapped his clothes around him, the same wind that travelled through the trees but did not touch those of The Company, and even if it had—they would not have noticed. Fel’annár was at the centre of a violent maelstrom of nature.
It was magic, deep and wise, powerful and unpredictable, mysterious in its purpose, terrifying to behold, and Lainon, for some unfathomable reason, despite his fear, despite his body that refused to move, thought it beautiful.
He had always known, he realised, always felt that power ripple beneath the layers of Fel’annár’s armour, had always known it came from the trees. His doubts were finally answered. He knew now why he had left Tar’eastór, why he had returned to the forest in spite of his heart.
Minutes later, the disturbance slowly began to peter out, and Fel’annár sat heavily upon the forest ground. His hand remained flat against the bark, and despite the wind that had whipped around him, his hair was not tussled at all. His expression, though, was absent even though the storm in his eyes still raged, the green of his irises moving unnaturally, still not settled after they had been set ablaze by some unseen force none of them could explain. It was another part of the puzzle, another clue as to the nature of the boy’s ability, of Lainon’s own part in the scheme of things, the reason he was here and not in Valley with his Ari brothers and sisters.
The Company had promised Lainon they would see Fel’annár safely back to camp, and then Lainon, in turn, had promised to seek them out the following day. They needed to decide on what to do once they reached Tar’eastór, for Lainon had assured them Fel’annár would not go unnoticed. Indeed, there was so much he needed to tell them of the political concerns, of the danger, of the need for discretion. If Lainon was to rely on their help, they needed to understand, yet now was not the time for complex explanations, and so he had found it within himself to leave, back to his tent and Prince Handir.
Ducking his head inside, the Ari found the prince awake, his body only partially visible in the weak light.
“Is it done?” he asked quietly.
Lainon approached his pallet and sat heavily, running an unsteady hand over his face. A curt nod was his only answer.
“And?” prompted Handir.
“Forgive me,” he answered with a rush of air. “It was not as I had imagined.”
“He is upset?” asked the prince.
“Of course he is!” hissed the Ari and then closed his glinting eyes, unwilling to apologise for his anger. “He was shocked, disbelieving.” Lainon did not mention the fury of the trees or the unnatural eyes in the dark.
Handir remained silent.
“He has been denied the truth all his life, Handir. Whatever he expected his father to be, whoever he thought he would be—it was never this. That the one elf he had chosen to serve with a purpose I have rarely seen would be his father, a father that abandoned him before he was born—it is irony in its purest form, a cruel paradox. I expected his shock, his anger even, but I did not expect to witness his vulnerability. I understand now, I think,” he whispered, his mind taking him back to the early days when he had first met Fel’annár. The boy had hidden himself behind a mask of friendly banter, witty retort, and an adequate effort during training. Now he knew the wherefore of it, the reason why he hid his emotions, trained in secret. It was not modesty; it was a futile attempt to feel normal.
But he wasn’t normal, and Fel’annár knew it.
“We have not thought on what to say when he is recognised,” said Handir. “When I saw him in the tent earlier, it was my grandfather staring back at me, Lainon. It is uncanny, and where we are headed, there will be no doubt at all in their minds as to his heritage. Indeed, we are absurdly lucky Pan’assár was distracted by his stomach yesterday. And then there are my cousins, our cousins—and I do not need to remind you of Commander General Gor’sadén and his relation to Pan’assár, to Or’Talán himself.”
“I know,” said Lainon. “I thought perhaps we could keep the boy cloaked, speak to King Vorn’asté on our arrival. Be honest with him, tell him this information has not yet transcended in Ea Uaré—I am sure he would keep our best interests at heart as an ally of our nation.”
“Perhaps, yet relations between Ea Uaré and Tar’eastór have long been neglected. We should not expect too much in the way of help from their leaders. We will need time to ascertain their political situation and ensure they will not hinder us in our plans.”
“And yet we have little choice in the matter,” said Lainon. “We should tell Pan’assár though—we need him on our side.”
“Wait, Lainon—wait for tomorrow at least. Let us both speak again before we take this any further. Pan’assár is unpredictable in these things. Or’Talán was as a brother to him and Gor’sadén, and while I am not familiar with the latter, I do have a measure of Pan’assár. He may not be sympathetic to the boy.”
Lainon nodded thoughtfully and then moved to his corner of the tent, unbuckling his weapons.
“You have done well. That must not have been easy,” murmured Handir.
Lainon stared back at his charge, his eyes steady and his jaw set in chiselled stone.
“It was not.”
Even as he said the words Lainon wondered if the prince had the sli
ghtest inkling of just how hard it had been, but of course, the Ari knew that he could not know. It was bad enough that he had rocked the boy’s world, and Handir could very well imagine that aspect. It was the consequences of that knowledge, the power that had been unleashed, unsuspected and unchecked that had frightened Lainon to the core.
He would remain silent on the matter, though, for Fel’annár’s situation was complex enough, dangerous enough without adding the presence of magic, if that was what it was.
No, he mused to himself. Not magic—just the laws of nature, and yet to one untrained, there really was no difference at all.
The inky darkness of a moonless night gave way to the deep hues of the sun’s sluggish awakening, colours turning from black to grey and then blue. Not quite dawn, yet Fel’annár, Idernon, Ramien, and Carodel sat awake and in silence.
Fel’annár’s dream had haunted him the entire night, over and over again as if it tried and failed to explain something he could not grasp.
‘I am Fel’annár—I am the forest.’
The lady inside the tree remained a mystery, but at least now, part of his dream had been unravelled. It was no green-eyed demon he had seen his entire life, eyes ablaze: it was himself. It terrified him, this strangeness, the transformation he had had no control over, and yet Lainon’s words had instilled an even greater fear.
‘You are Thargodén’s son.’
Even now, Fel’annár could not bring himself to say the name of his father, had barely been able to say it in his own mind. It was absurd, and a part of him still could not grasp the truth, not entirely.
There must be some mistake.
Yet Lainon would not have told him unless he was sure. Indeed, it all fit, and he thought back to the day they had returned from the north with Lainon and Turion. An elf had hailed him as ‘lord,’ and Turion had sent him to the outskirts with Lainon when, by rights, he should have marched into the city. He remembered the guard at the barracks, and the way he had looked at him, as if he recognised him. And then there was Narosén the Spirit Herder and his cryptic words: ‘You are ours.’ Finally, he remembered Amareth’s unyielding silence. She had been protecting him.