CCC2 - An Oath Renewed

Thick grey smoke swirled into the sky, great plumes that rose from the stacks below. The streets of Leuven were coated in a delicate sheet of ice, and the gleaming white of snow-filled rooftops seemed a bright promise of tomorrow, despite the clouds that loomed every lower over the Snow-Elves city.

A low bell tolled in the distance, her dulcet chime echoing across the maze of empty alleys. At her beckon, Elves began to pour into the streets by the dozens, their workday done at last. Many found their way home, tracing the paths they so often walked, mindless creatures with very little room for thoughts, save those of a hot meal and a warm bed, and a mug of mead besides. Others found their way to the local tavern, mired in drink and merriment, desperate to drown their sorrows, and to forget about the hardships that lay on the horizon. Though this, too, they did speak of, in the hushed tones of men wishing to subvert destiny, in darkened corners where the shadows gave them comfort to speak of the dark things waiting ahead.

They whispered of the coming winter, and the inevitable freezing of the pass. They whispered of hunters without prey, and food stores that ran dry. They whispered of the moments when they would go to bed hungry, their bellies aching and moaning, begging for a morsel, a scrap, a bit of something to quell their need. And as they whispered of these things, they drank away their sorrows. They drank till the kegs ran dry, then they stumbled home to sleep away the stupor and the worry that it silenced.

Darius stood outside the tavern, staring through the grime covered window. It was bright, and warm, and it called to him. He wiped away the bits of snow and ice that coated the windowpane, peering through to the other side.

“Darius,” he heard a shout. With a sigh he turned away from the tavern, waiting where he stood.

“Darius,” Talia breathed as she reached him. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you for the better part of an hour now!”

She grabbed his hand in hers, her delicate fingers wrapping around his small hand with ease. “We need to go. You’ve got class this eve and we’re already late.”

She pulled him along, breaking into a run. He struggled against her stride, slipping and sliding as she hurried him down one alley and into the next, white hair flowing wildly in the wind.

They found their way into Leuven’s plaza, a great cobblestoned square that sat directly in the center 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 the Statue of Dalzell, the legendary leader loved by so many in their city.

Talia pulled Darius along, skipping over the bits of ice that had wedged themselves between the stones, using her forward momentum to slide with ease through the square. They scurried up the shallow stone steps, until they reached the top. Skidding to a halt, she stopped momentarily at the sculpture, placing a reverent hand on the base of the statue. She bowed her head and whispered words of praise, her other hand curled into a fist over her heart.

“That’s our great grandfather,” she said to Darius when she had finished she promptly pulled him along. “You’ve got big shoes to fill, Darius,” she said with a puff. Making her way to the double doors that would grant them entrance; she pressed her palm against them, giving them a shove. They stood still, bereft of life, great gates that barred their arrival. She pushed harder on the heavy wooden doors, but there was no movement.

“They won’t budge,” she said, throwing her weight against the door with a scowl. “They must be frozen over already. Maybe if we give it a good nudge…we’ll have to go at the same time. Ready?” she asked. Darius nodded, pressing his palms against the smooth grains of wood.

“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, Talia breathless with laughter, Darius struggling to extricate himself from her grip.

“Talia, you’re late.” The deep voice rang out across the hall, bounding off the walls and echoing back at them. Darius turned to see an elegant looking Elf striding toward them. His face seemed severe, a stern look that told Darius he should brook no argument.

“Is this your brother?” the Elf asked, and Talia stood, brushing the ice and grime from her clothes.

“Yes, this is Darius,” she explained, and she lifted him by the arm and straightened his tunic. “He’s a bit nervous, aren’t you Darius?”

The young boy’s lip quivered in response, but Talia gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Darius, this is Galiron. He doesn’t want to be here any more than you do,” she joked.

“Not to worry, I suppose,” Galiron said with aplomb. “You haven’t missed anything of significance.” He stepped further into the grandeur of the hall and beckoned the pair to follow. As they made their way deeper inside, Darius was struck by the beauty of it all. Great statues lined the hallways, figures from the past that were honoured and remembered, Elves of history that had shaped their world. They ducked into a dimly lit hallway, and as they passed, Darius watched as the flickering flames cast shadows that danced to an unheard melody.

“Children, please, focus,” the Maester said, shaking his head wearily. “The things you learn today could very well save your life someday. Now, watch me.”

He motioned the handful of children to gather close to him. They formed a hapless half-circle around him, and he placed his hand out before them, palm upwards, fingers curled into a fist.

“You must always act with intention,” he explained for the third time that day. “And never out of reaction. Defensive alchemy, unless expressly taught, can be more dangerous than any sword or bow.” He 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, and Maester Dalzell’s lips lifted in the ghost of a smile.

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

He watched with merriment in his grey eyes as his students spread out before him and set to their task. So few were left to teach, he thought absentmindedly as he watched them work. Once the splendor of their hall was home to hundred of students, but as the years passed, fewer and fewer children had come to learn. Now, they were but a handful, and his duties as Maester seemed almost frivolous. Yet his time as Maester of Leuven had been the honour of his life; to be their leader, to guide the next generation of Elves and to shape the city had been the cornerstone of his upbringing. It was his destiny, as it was his father’s before him, as it was for all of the Tassinari bloodline. Soon too, it would be for little Darius, he thought as he watched his grandson peeking inside his own enclosed fist.

“Your brother seems to be having some trouble, Tal,” he leaned close to her ear and whispered. Talia turned to glance at her brother, then slapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle.

“He’ll get there, Grandfather,” she whispered back with a grin.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long,” he muttered, and he moved on, his footsteps punctuated by the choking laughter of his granddaughter.

When he had seen half a dozen little flames burst sadly into life, then gutter and die, he clapped his hands together.

“Is it story time, Maester Dalzell?” Talia asked, breathless with excitement.

“Yes, Maester, story time,” the others chanted, their voices clamouring over one another, a cacophony of exhilaration and anticipation. He let the chaos rumble only moments before holding up a hand to quell them.

“I suppose I could tell you all a story,” he relented with a childlike glee. “But which story should I tell?”

“Tell of the snow trolls! No, no…the Mountain Giants!”

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

“Dwarves!” another child shouted above the din. “I want to hear about Dwarves!”

“Alright, alright,” Dalzell quieted them with a wave of his hand. “Gather round me and we’ll pick a tale.”

Galiron rolled his eyes, all too familiar with the routine. He caught Talia’s eye and shrugged, finding his place among the children.

Dalzell shuffled his way to the stone dais and sat gingerly, folding his black Maester’s robes about him as he did so. As the students milled in around him, the thrum of excitement running through the younger children was like a current. The elder noticed Darius sitting off to the side, quietly observing the others.

“And what story would you like to hear, Darius?” Maester Dalzell asked kindly, silencing the other children as he did. It was only right that the newest student should be the one to choose a story and after all, this was no ordinary student.

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

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

“Come now, Galiron, they are all good stories, are they not?” the Maester asked with a raised eyebrow.

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

Dalzell’s face turned dark. “Our stories keep our history alive, Master Galati. Perhaps if you weren’t such a slow witted fool, you’d have heard the stories less by finishing your studies earlier. A student with a beard that rivals my own,” he remarked, though there was no humour in his words. “Your father Andris shared the same thick head you have back when I taught him. Though at least he had the presence of mind to keep his manners.”

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. You are one of us, even if you think differently which I wish you wouldn’t. My dear boy, you are a Snow-Elf. Galiron hung his head with a sigh. The Maester gave a tight smile. "Now be silent or take yourself on home,” he said, gesturing towards the doors at the back of the room. “Go and tell your father he isn’t a Snow-Elf and see what comes of it.” I’ll have no more interruptions in this class.”

The Maester returned his attention to Darius. “Well, my boy,” he said again now in a calmly manner. “What will it be?”

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

“You must speak up,” Dalzell said, though not unkindly. “Conquer the fear you feel in this moment. One day you will be Maester, and when that day comes there will be no time for fear.”

Darius nodded, though his lip quivered as he stammered out his reply. “Could you…could you tell us about dragons?”

A surprised hush ran through those gathered, and the children waited with bated breath to hear the Maester’s response.

“Dragons?” Talia piped up. “You’ve never once spoken to me about dragons. Grandfather, have you been telling Darius stories that you have held from me?” The offended look on her face made Dalzell smile.

“I assure you, dear Talia, I have done no such thing. Darius,” he said, turning his attention to the young boy. “Where did you hear of such a thing?”

“I…I had a dream about them,” Darius explained. “Only I didn’t know what they were called…I asked around the city and the others kept calling them dragons or dragoons. I can’t remember which one.”

The Maester kept his face a mask. Young Darius dreaming of dragons? A coincidence, he was sure. The elder scratched his head and pondered. Still…

“He never tells stories about that era,” Galiron interjected. “I’ve tried to coax it from him before. He won’t budge. It’s like there’s hex on him that prevents him speaking of those days.”

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

“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,” Galiron proclaimed, 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. He could tell the story. It was, after all, perhaps the most important story in their modern history. His heart ached at the thought however, and yet he nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “I suppose I could tell you the story of Maester Darnell, the Legendary Dragoon. My father, and Darius and Talia’s Great-Grandfather.”

“Why only now?” Galiron asked.

A tear rolled down the elder’s cheek, but the feeble old elf quickly wiped it away with a flash of his hand. “Because I have no idea how it ends”, he grinned, breaking into a spurt of laughter. “A story needs a conclusion.” A ripple of disbelief and yearning rolled through the children, and he laughed as he tried to quiet them.

“Tell me, children, what do you know of Maester Darnell’s story?”

“He recovered the healing waters 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 mind to linger. A tale is only as good as its final act.”

“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 told me. He told me that some heroes are born in the fires of tragedy and do not get to come home as much as they deserve to... but that his sacrifice must be cherished forever by all those that would call this mountain their home.”

The Maester nodded. “Your father is a wonderful man Galiron, A prime example of what to aspire to.” The Maester straightened himself in his chair and gestured to the children to him before again speaking with a brimming confidence. “This is the tale I’d like to call, the sealing of alchemy.”

Just as the children scooted closer, the great doors that barred them from the swirling storm beyond thrust open. Howling winds raced through the hall, carrying white flurries on their wings.

Through the door strode two figures clad in white, and they wrestled the doors shut behind them with panting effort. As the doors clamped shut with a resounding thud, the silence that filled the hall seemed oppressive.

The strangers made their way towards the group, removing layers of snow-clad cloak and cloth. 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 shorter of the two revealed herself, her long blond curls tucked away neatly at the base of her skull. Darius thought she looked too soft to be an Elf, her cheeks too rounded, her skin too pink.

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

“Nonsense,” Dalzell replied as he rushed forward to greet the two, bowing his head as he did so. “Prince Hadrian, you are a sight for tired eyes.

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 these were no mere merchants.

“We didn’t mean to startle you,” she replied, holding a gloved hand to her chest. She breathed into her gloves, trying to shake off the chill that clung to her bones.

Darius watched in bemusement. 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 felt it. Snow-Elves remained impervious to the 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,” Dalzell commented with a smile. He placed a frail hand on hers and removed her gloves. Laying her hands between his own, Dalzell quickly restored warmth to her fingers, and the relief she felt was palpable. “You have not aged a day, bless that blood of yours. Hadrian.

“I fear I was not aware of your coming, and so I have prepared nothing in advance,” Dalzell apologized.

The Prince shook his head. “You honour us Master Tassinari, but that will not be necessary. Bread and water will do us nicely, and some heat, if you’ve a mind,” he said with a sardonic grin. Hadrian removed his gloves and placed his hands between Dalzell’s, a soft pink colour returning to them at once.

The Maester gestured to the children to relight the candles that had fallen dark. Many of their flames had been extinguished with the arrival of the outsiders, and now they sprang to life, little orange fires flickering, their gentle glow illuminating the walls in a dim pallor.

“We’ve left our men with your oul gatekeeper,” Hadrian supplied. “I hope they’ll be alright.”

“As do I,” Dalzell joked, though a current of truth ran beneath his words. “The great men of Kona are always welcomed to Leuven.”

He placed an arm around the Princess Gearldin, steering her towards the dais. “To make such a perilous trip, you have courage to spare. All is well in Kona, I hope?”

“All is well,” she nodded, her voice reassuring, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes that Dalzell knew all too well. She was withholding something “Father was to make the journey himself some time ago, but there were pressing matters that arose and he dispatched us as his envoy.”

“Is Tobias well?” the Maester asked, his face drawn in concern. “Has Athol drawn arms?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Gearldin said, placing a warm hand on his own. “Must it always be something treacherous that brings us together?”

Dalzell gave a sad smile. “In these isolating times, it seems more and more that the only news to reach us is the treacherous kind.”

“Well, we do bring news,” Hadrian interrupted. “Though I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”

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 Elf is suffice and that we can continue to forge the oath between our two races.''

Signed, King Tobias Levant of Kona.

Dalzell, finished with the reading, his eyes lingered upon the signature that looped on the bottom of the page pondering for a bit before giving his response. “This is a generous offering.”

“Yes, 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,” Gearldin replied, biting her lip. “Indeed, we have instructions from our father not to return until we’ve seen you safely there. And I rather hope you accept quickly,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I do dislike the 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 affects.”

“That I remember all too well,” Hadrian grimaced. “Though, in those days it was somewhat tolerable. I do not know how Andris sticks it up here in this forsaken place. So you see it would be in our best interest to help you along as quickly as possible. I You should have asked for help earlier.”

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,” Geraldin 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.

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.

The elder spared a glance for the children, many of whom had long ago lost interest in the newcomers, and were once more blabbering on amongst themselves. He heard the word Dragon arise once or twice, and it put a smile to his lips as 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, 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-legged and eavesdropping. “His mother is expecting in a matter of weeks and due to make the pilgrim to the Elvish Glades. So you see what a delicate predicament this could be.”

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

“Normally yes... but.”

“What did you say the boy's name was? The Prince interrupted.

“Galiron,” The elder confirmed. “There’s something familiar about him isn’t there...”

“Galiron…Galati?” Hadrian asked, mouth curled downward in a frown.

“Yes,” Dalzell remarked with a knowing smirk. “He does quite take after Andris, in more ways than one.”

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

“Quite well indeed,” the Maester replied. “If he showed as much talent and promise with alchemy as he does 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? 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?”

Galiron regarded him with a cool expression. “My father says there is no such thing as an unconventional weapon if it works.” His words were sharp, a biting retort to a question he resented.

“By the sounds of it, he seems like quite the character, your father.” Gearldin surmised.

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

“Ah, like father, like son, eh boy?” Hadrian remarked, clapping the boy on the back.

“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 apologize, young sir, if I’ve caused any offense,” 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 child 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 child 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 Elf’s 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 was it 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,” he added, turning away from the three of them, he raised his arm and began to slash at the air.

“That blade will never dull nor lose its charm. 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 perfect weapon.”

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

“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 Dalzell. “Have you always possessed this blade?” the Maester asked with intrigue. “I've long heard of the fabled weapons forged in Mount Falaj, but never did I dare believe I would set eyes on one. Though I was never one for swordplay.”

“It was a gift given to my father many moons ago at the time of my birth. A way to honour the bearing of an heir,” he sighed. “In our current climate, it’s doubtful such a weapon will ever be forged again. The Alami forges have long gone cold and their secrets lost to time.

Dalzell smiled. “I know too well the feeling. He paused briefly. “Its edge reminds me of how these Mountains once shined during the summer months.” Dalzell sighed again. “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 that it. The Maester’s' eyes shifted back to the dispersed children who still lingered in the great hall.

"Until those days return,” Gearldin 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 dropped the sword with a clatter. “Stop messing about and ring the bell. It is high time you children departed. Talia, my dear, please take Darius home and be a dear and fetch your father.”

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

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

“Dragons, Maester?” 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,” he said with a bow, holding the sword by the blade and extending the handle toward him.

Yet Hadrian 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 you to keep this, Master Galati,” the Prince said warmly.

“But...but isn't this sword important to you?” Galiron stammered, cradling the blade in his arms

“So you where listening.” The Princess jested.

A sword master must be able to do both. Galiron said confidently.

“Selective hearing I would hazard to guess Princess,” Dalzell supplied at a glance from Gearldin. “I have found in my time as Maester that many boys his age have it.”

“You truly are your father's son,” the Prince said quietly. “Which makes parting with it all the easier. The sword is yours, use it well, and may you use it to protect those who cannot.

The bell tolled, on and on, as it had for the past twenty minutes. Its pealing cry rang out across the city, drawing her citizens in from every corner and every crevice. Dalzell sat atop his chair, watching as they poured into the hall, cramming themselves into whatever free space they could find. Still more trickled in, entering the fray, so that by the time the bell was silent, there was hardly 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 lifetime training. His weathered face the very image of his father's, save for the receding hairline and the dark shadows that lived beneath his father's eyes.

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

“Can it be done?” Damani asked, the gleam of worry in his eyes, his voice stern yet peppered with doubt.

“Must it be done is the question I need an answer to.” the black haired square headed, Andris bellowed as he made his presence known. “There is more to fear beyond the walls than the weather.” If Damani was considered someone of sturdy build for a Snow Elf then to an outsider Andris could only be compared to a giant as he inched above what was considered normal and that too of Damani.

“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 careful these peaks don’t become our tomb. Surely you can see this.”

“What of the weak and vulnerable? There is no denying that this city is a husk of what it once was, but it offers us protection still.

“Andris has a point,” Damani responded unsteadily. “The alpine garrison will not afford us the same security that we have here. The logistics alone in migrating an entire city, a 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 of his chair.

Silence followed and then a ripple of unease as the Elves in the crowed growing impatient murmured with discontent. Dalzell looked to his son, and for the first time Damani realized just how old his father was. His eyes were sunken, hollow bits of blue that held the ghosts of a time Damani had never known. He placed a hand on his father's elbow, and urged him to sit back down.

“Are you alright?” Damani asked.

”I don’t mean to put doubt in your mind,” Andris continued helping Dalzell back to his seat. Leaving the mountain has crossed my mind before but to think. Has it really come to this?”

“I believe it has Andris and in my fear have turned a blind eye to it for far too long. I thought I was showing strength in my resilience. But upon reflection the strength I see how wrong I was. Perhaps now more than ever do I finally understand my father’s will of fire. I thought my days of 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 had to be done.

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

“It was with such a belief that we have arrived at this fork in the road,” 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 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?”

Andris was about to reply but no words came out.

“You and your son are the only one here who can feel the cold in your bones. Your stubbornness has rubbed off on Galiron but with a daughter on the way. Do you really want to put her through that?”

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

“Of course I didn’t. Not directly, 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 Kings sense of generosity.

“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, that we are a burden, siphoning 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 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 Levant is a good man, and a better King. But for all his generosity he is not a soft man. Beyond anything, he is a man bound by his sense of honour. Truly, he is a hero of our times.

“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. “Something is not right in our world. I refuse to believe that this change in the climate is natural.”

“Then I will listen,” The giant smiled. “As your past student, I have no right in ignoring your plea. I haven’t lost hope in you just yet but you really should have spoken sooner. You may be the Maester, but you do not need to bear such 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 us 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. Strange events are unfolding even as we speak; a thick fog hangs over Falaj, storms and quakes barrage the lands to the south. Fiends were these 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 that land that goes beyond what is happening here. All of which I fear there can be only one explanation.”

“The great alchemy stone?”

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

“Father, you look shaken,” Damani said, stricken with concern. “Shall I address the people on your behalf?”

Dalzell’s face paled visibly, but in his grey eyes was the iron of resolve. “No,” he said, struggling to his feet. It is a Maester’s duty not waver in his darkest hour. Though, my plight is trivial when compared to the great challenges my ancestors faced.”Damani, the elder paused for a breath. Whilst my health has not yet failed me. I doubt I will have the strength needed in the days to come. This will be my last oration as Maester.

“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. I can think of no one better prepared for this task, no one more willing, and no one with more love in his heart for the people of Leuven. 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.”

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 off 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. Even as 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. 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, eyes wet and shining. It was a time-honoured sign of their agreement, one that had not been seen in many years.