Others could be riders, but he would be a servant. Lawrence Longshanks ran down the cobblestone road, fleeing his pursuers. His long, brown hair was matted against his head. He sped around a corner. His brown slacks hugged his calves, drenched by a puddle he stepped in.

"Get back here, knave!" One of his pursuers shouted as he waved his fist. The street corners had afforded young Lawrence an edge as he made sharp turns. He'd gained this familiarity through his nigh constant presence in this questionable part of Tierm. This slum hugged the mountain Tierm sat nearest to. As the maritime hub expanded, this part fell into disrepute on mulitiple levels. The disreputable area provided migrants with cheap housing and shielded the crime which victimized them. His efforts at charity rarely endangered him, but today was different.

As he sprinted, Lawrene felt something brush against his mind. He paid it little heed as his attention gravitated only toward the present. Still, it lingered long enough for Lawrence to notice. A flash of memory reminded him of some old explanation of telepathy and magic. One shake of his head knocked the memory back into his subconscious as he refocused.

Almost there, Lawrence thought to himself. He could see the famous whitewashed inner-walls of Tierm draw closer in the distance. Danger still hung over him like the maw of a closing beast. The two men, still shouting, closed in. The guards, stationed around the next corner, would recognize him. Suddenly, a third man jumped out with a shout.

"Hah! Now, we've got you," the man declared with a sneer. Lawrence glanced about for an exit, dashing for an alley. He berated himself, as he realized he'd chosen a dead end. His three pursuers jeered at him as they backed him up against the very walls which he'd sought refuge from only minutes ago. He felt the embroidery of his grey tunic brush roughly against his back as he stood back against the stone.

"Aww," one sneered, "his Goodness is all alone."

"Where your faithful guard now?" the second demanded. Lawrence knew he meant Magnius. A family friend, the renowned swordsman had been hired by his father to watch over him for years.

"Gonna regret not learning to defend yourself now, runt!" the third threatened.

"Don't lay a hand on the Longshanks brat!" a female voice boomed, "at least, not until I say so." Eerie recognition pressed on Lawrence's mind, but he failed to place it with a name or face. "You're either brave or foolish to come here on your own. No one minded your magnanimity until you stuck your nose where you don't belong. We were just protecting people"

"That's what you call extortion?" Lawrence asked, straightening his back. He'd not be cowed so easily, especially when attacked for good works. "I came to stand up for those you protected." He'd regret his sarcasm and defiance. He raised his chin in challenge, then sank to the ground with an "Ugh!" One of the brutes winded him with a gut-punch. The pain kept his mind from noticing the reappearance of the earlier presence. It subtly wormed its way into his mind. The same brute hefted Lawrence up by his collar, and he felt the strain of the cloth.

Despite the hit, Lawrence had regained his breath quickly and felt invigorated. A current of strength poured through him. Undesired lectures from Magnius on self-defense flittered across his mind's eye. He shook his head. That was not his way he reminded himself. He would reason with them. Unnoticeably, the presence hummed disapproval.

"What is to be gained from this?" Lawrence's words received confused looks.

"Are you serious?" the voice came again, a masked woman stepping out from behind a corner. The mask was a simple one made of wood with only two eyes and a mouth curved in a static smile.

"Yes, what good does it do any of you?" Lawrence paused for a minute as he thought he actually had their attention, "All of you live in fear of judgement from the law and cause gratuitous suffering for others." The masked woman titled her head. Hoping the mannerism entailed thought and consideration, Lawrence gambled an offer. "If you four agree to help me in my outreach within this part of Tierm, I can secure full pardon's for each of you." One of the men appeared surprised, but it disappeared when the masked woman chuckled.

"You think we really have trouble with the law?" the woman's mask didn't cover her mouth and revealed her smirk. "After my boys teach you a lesson for interfering, we have a friend who will keep you nice and safe while our employer discusses your intrusive outreach with the council and your father.

"You may not have trouble with the law," a voice began, sounding like the rustle of leaves, "but you have trouble with me."

All eyes gazed upon the stranger. He wore clothes which seemed out of place for the setting. White robes with an expensive crimson, hooded cloak concealed the identity. Yet, Lawrence gaped, recognizing an inhuman trait: long white hair. It was an elf, or so Lawrence assumed. Yet, the voice didn't belong to any of the few he knew who lived in or regularly visited Tierm. Two of the brutes turned and jeered, but the masked woman sensed the trouble the interloper would be. She held up her hand, silencing them.

"We wish no trouble with you," she stated bluntly, "Leave us to our quarry. We have legal authority to enact this arrest." Lawrence gaped with incredulity. He protested, but the man who restrained him quickly clamped down on his mouth.

"Then, we are at an impasse," the stranger said with a hint of mirth, "I also have legal authority delegated to me by his father, Jeod Longshanks. If there is a higher authority than a council member, tell me. Then, the town guard can be notified." The woman grimaced and pulled out a sword strapped to her belt as did her other cronies. "That's not a good idea." The three stood frozen as he lowered his hood. Piercing eyes, a shade of emerald, took in the group.

"Were not getting paid enough for this," yelled the man restraining Lawrence, "he's a damn elf."

"Doesn-" the woman suddenly fell silent as the elf muttered something intelligible to the criminals. Lawrence didn't understand it, but he recognized the sound of the ancient language. Suddenly, the three men each fell to the ground clutching their heads. Lawrence had not heard any words, but he suddenly felt something detach itself from his mind. Intuition pointed his gaze toward the elf. Nevertheless, it was not mistrust, but gratitude that Lawrence voiced first.

"Many thanks, master elf," Lawrence said before the traditional greeting, "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

"Atra esterní ono thelduin," the elf responded kindly, "If you would come with me, your father is waiting for you." Lawrence gave a sigh. The criminal interlopers had prevented him from completing his visit. He'd try again tomorrow, and it couldn't come quick enough. When he'd reached the elf, the four would-be assailants recovered from their invisible bonds. "Now, I suggest you don't linger here. I have reason to believe the city guard is come to investigate a disturbance here."

Their faces paled collectively, and the four made haste. Standing alone for a moment, Lawrence followed when the elf departed. Avoiding the puddle he'd stomped through earlier, Lawrence walked a few paces behind, eyeing the elf with suspicion. Finally, he broke the silence as a group of city guards passed in the direction they came from.

"Did you touch my mind?" Lawrence asked. The chainmail armor clinked on the warriors of Tierm as they marched past the group. The elf glanced at him with a mirthful grin on his face.

"Do you start every conversation like that, Rextugenos?" the elf asked sardonically, causing Lawrence to freeze. The stranger laughed.

"Please don't call me that," the young man said flatly as his tone soured, "I hate flattery." This made the elf pause for a moment and eye Lawrence with an implaccable face. The young man stood firm and lifted his head in slight defiance. "My name is Lawrence."

"You may call me argetlam," the elf spoke matter-of-factly. Lawrence noted the title of dragon rider and frowned at the refusal to share names. "I know you do not lack tact, as you displayed the greeting earlier. Now, your father waits for us."

Lawrence nodded curtly, silently berating himself for offending a rider (an elf no less!). He knew he'd hear it from his father later if the rider mentioned it at all. He resigned himself to his potential doom as they neared the white walls of Tierm proper. The slums wrapped around the western part of the city, stretching out into farmland. The gate they passed through was an older one, used mostly by the guards and upper class these days. The traffic they joined here paled in comparison to the chaos, which swirled in the city center.

"Welcome back, young Lawrence," said an elderly guard as they passed. A moment and they had passed under the gatehouse and it's iron portcullis. The street before them looked clean and the houses opulent. Upper-quarter. Lawrence's home sweet (excessive) home. The houses stood a space apart from each and showed their dweller's wealth. Lawrence hid his sense of disgust (with a hint of self-loathing).

"Young Longshanks?" said an elderly voice called from a nearby porch, "What shenanigans have you been up to today with the miry-folk?" Lawrence didn't dignify the question with a response. In silence, he and the "argetlam" continued forward. Since the near-complete destruction of Tierm almost 50 years ago, the rebuilding had unintentionally helped a noticeable class divide. His greatest pet peeve was the expectation everyone had of him because of his family's position. The upper crust of the naval capital expected him to be like them. The poor (among whom he labored) expected him to be like them.

They turned down a corner street and made for a two-story house of a dark oak shade. This house had been purchased by his grandfather who helped finance part of the rebuilding after gaining his merchant as a successful merchant. Despite his frustration with life circumstances, Lawrence still felt the oaken chalet meant home. It helped that his father never let the wealth go to his head, courtesy of his grandfather. His father often compared him to grandpa Christoff. They stepped up to the door and Lawrence held his breath. He'd disobeyed his father by sneaking off this morning, in addition to the now offended elven rider. He wrapped his knuckles against the worn wood and waited. A servant answered with a grin moments later.

"Welcome home, master Lawrence!" the youth nodded with a nervous grin. The servants always used that greeting despite his many protests. They were ushered in and directed to the dining area. The foyer was as it always had been: bright with sunlit windows and its floor blanketed with Surdan carpet. A wide, open archway let them into the feasting hall where two men sat speaking with his father Jeod. Their footsteps thumped on the wood as they approached.

"Ah, my missing son has been found once more," Jeod declared politely, "Returned from another misadventure in the lower town by the looks of it."

"Hello, father," Lawrence started, glancing down momentarily at his mud-caked slacks, "I'm-"

"-Going to meet our other two guests," Jeod finished for his son. Lawrence mutely nodded at the implication of later chastisement. "You remember Captain Baldwin, right?"

"Yes, sir," Lawrence said warmly, smiling wide. The large Surdan man stood to greet Lawrence properly. He stepped over and reached out his hand.

"Last time I saw you, lad, you were only as tall as my waist," Lawrence smiled genuinely at the man's words. He did so as the man's bear paw of a hand grasped his own. He squeezed back tightly trying to lessen the crushing grip, but that only encouraged the man. "Has a good grip, Jeod." His father smiled displaying his pride which lay beneath his frustration with Lawrence's disobedience. "From what I hear you're not afraid to get your hands dirty." Jeod cleared his throat, so he could introduce the second stranger.

Now that they were making eye contact, Lawrence wanted to jump. The man wore a robe of Surdan yellow and an odd mask that covered his whole face. They start at each other a moment before Lawrence's father gave his name. Yet, in that moment, Lawrence had felt a chill run down his spine. He would dismiss it a moment later, but for a moment, Lawrence wanted the man out of his family's house.

"This is the mage Arzud. A high-ranking member of the Surdan court," Lawrence gave a nod of his head a formal greeting, but the wizard remained implacable and silent. The young Longshanks felt like a prey being sized up by a predator. He felt a familiar presence brush his mind and glanced at the elf. He saw a similar discomfort, but defiance stood in place of fear. He had but a moment to wonder how he knew this as the elf's face revealed nothing. Then, Captain Baldwin spoke up again.

"Please excuse the eccentricity of my companion," Baldwin said apologetically, "He's a man of few words."

"Thinking before speaking makes for a wise man," Jeod said with approval, stroking his beard. Lawrence felt the word 'wise' sounded too benevolent. Cunning or conniving fit better if the earlier impression proved true. The moment this thought sounded in his mind Lawrence's brow furrowed visibly. A part of him agreed with this sentiment, but the thought itself felt foreign to him. Besides, he did not want to judge unjustly. Confusion rippled through the mind of the young Longshanks before disappearing. Before his own confusion had a time to form, Jeod broke Lawrence's reverie.

"Did you hear me, son?" Jeod asked. The note of impatience told Lawrence he'd zoned out for a sometime.

"Sorry, father," Lawrence said politely, "I had something on my mind."

"We can talk about that and other things," Jeod said with mild emphasis, "this evening after I've returned. Head Councilwoman Glinda requests a formal introduction to our guests before the choosing ceremony."

"I shall stay here then?" Lawrence asked. That had been the original plan.

"Until Magnius returns," Jeod said, "He's downstairs preparing to visit a friend who arrived with the Varden."

"I thought he had the day off?" Lawrence questioned.

"He does, technically," Jeod said, "Still, he agreed to have you accompany him when he observes the choosing ceremony. This year will be different." Lawrence nodded, hiding the glum mood which sagged his shoulders slightly. Each year he'd snuck out on Magnius' day off. The trouble he'd found himself in this year proceeded similar events last year. "Until then, you must entertain our remaining guest."

"Yes, father," Lawrence said. He felt both resolute and resigned. His father had him entertain guests before, and it increased as he grew older. In another year, Lawrence knew his father would put him to full time work co-running the family business. The business heir-apparent didn't feel unequipped, but his time would be more divided, his personal involvement in outreach diminished.

Beyond this, Lawrence's heart stung at the knowledge he'd failed to keep a promise. His new friend wouldn't be able to attend his last opportunity at being chosen by a dragon. The bitter irony of his attendance was not lost on Lawrence, but all this introspection did not breach the mask his father taught him to wear in formal settings. With his day mapped out, Lawrence soon bid his father and their two Surdan guests farewell.

"Well," Magnius began, a few minutes after his employer left, "I take it you've caused more trouble this year?" Lawrence opened his mouth to apologize, but Magnius waved his right hand dismissively. "I take it as providence. A few years more, and you'll have missed the choosing for a decade." Lawrence shifted uncomfortably in his dining room seat at the thought. His sleeves brushed against the polished wooden surface.

"That's your fault really," Lawrence said redirecting the conversation, "it started with you and your books."

"Guilty," Magnius said, lifting his left hand from the bronze-like pommel of his sword, "I'll and head out, so as to not distract you more than I have from your guest." Lawrence nodded, wished and him well on his visit. As Magnius turned to leave, a word from their so far silent guest stirred a childhood curiosity.

"Give your friend my regards," the elven rider said. In the seven years Magnius had guarded Lawrence, the swordsman for hire had always mentioned his friend enigmatically. His unanswered questions still hung in the air when Magnius left with a warm, knowing smile. After his boots padded across the dinning room and foyer floors, Magnius shut the door behind him with a slight thump. Now alone with the elf. Magnius stood and straightened his shoulders. Time to entertain.

"I wanted to thank you again for earlier," Lawrence started, "and if you're willing, I'd like to know who I am thanking." The elf, who seemed completely relaxed, gave what appeared to be a wry smile. He sat back in his chair before speaking.

"You may yet call me ebrithil," Lawrence nodded stiffly, betraying his irritation to the perceptive elf.

"Should I ring for the servant to bring some refreshments?" Lawrence asked redirecting the conversation and leaving behind his continued frustration.

"Has not your father given them the day off?"

"Mostly, they work this day in shifts to permit each to attend a part of the ceremony. Is there any topic which you'd like? Perhaps something of history or of the choosing ceremony? You could educate me, and I would relish an opportunity to learn." Lawrence waited for a response, but the elf sat their in thoughtful repose. With his frustration set aside, Lawrence strove to genuinely engage with the guest. He enjoyed history, and this might be a rare opportunity. The elf's chair creaked slightly as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table.

"You speak true, but I have curiosity same as you," Lawrence now tilted his head, confused, "If I share some history with you, will you share some of yourself with me?"

"Very well," Lawrence responded with a mix of confusion and excitement. Annoyances aside, young Longshanks typically enjoyed speaking with the few elves who resided in Tierm. Long lives and long memories meant long stories. Lawrence's itch of curiosity would be scratched after all.

"I was there," the rider began, "when Vrael dueled Galbatorix the Treacherous…"

Vrael lay across from his dragon atop a batter stone tower. Dragon fire choked the air over the once beautiful capital of Doru Araeba. Screeches and roars echoed through the darkened skies as dragons fought and died. The shouts of riders could be heard through the chaos. He lay there, propped up on his elbows , wondering how they'd fallen so far.

'Vrael,' Umaroth rumbled wearily, 'ready yourself. The oath-breaker comes.' Then, in a stunt Vrael had seen no rider achieve, a figure jumped from the black behemoth above. As Shurikan embattled a proud, sapphire dragoness, Vrael screamed as pain racked his body. A blade pierced his (Umaroth's) neck. He gasped in between his breathless shouts as he felt the traitor's blade through the bond. As his dragon's consciousness faded, a surge of power came to Vrael from his partner of heart and mind. Rage. Justice. Revenge. Victory. These goals stood before him. This would end here.

*Oath-breaker,* Vrael yelled in the ancient lanugage, feeling the strength of his fallen brother, *your reign ends here.*

"Vrael," Galbatorix called back with a savage smile, "you die today, oh greatest of the hypocrites."

*Your dragon's death was upon your own heads,* Vrael rebuked, *and every death you've caused since then!*

"You claim to be protectors," Galbatorix spat, "Yet, beasts like the urgals roam the hills and forests. You claim to have the best interests of all at heart, but elves look arrogantly down at the other races, proud in your vain magic." By now, they stood a few meters apart blades at the ready. Vrael guardedly stretched out his consciousness and felt the might of dragonkind's free remnant link with him. He sensed the tortured and bent minds which empowered his foe. A unanimous vow from the merged minds would set them free.

Then began a duel unparalleled in history as spell flew and blades clashed. On the immaterial plane of consciousness, dragons, disembodied as they were, fought once more. Galbatorix fought with the vigor of youth, dark magics, and the rage of a mad dragon(s). Vrael utilized the wisdom of age, the resolve of a just cause, and his knowledge of the ancient language to match the oath-breaker blow for blow. If any were to look at the tower, lights flashed when spells manifested. The very swords they wielded looked as sabers of light.

"You will taste the grief and madness I have, elf," the oath breaker spat as he found himself slowly reaching his limit. Despite their torturous enslavement, Galbatorix's dragons lacked the resolve and indignation Vrael's allies held.

After another bout, time slowed as Vrael raised his blade. He saw into the oath-breaker's eyes and saw unimaginable despair and grief. The other half of his heart was missing. Yet, before Vrael could hesitate, he noticed the other side of the coin. Madness aimed to make everyone share his suffering. Umaroth's pain and rage flooded him from an unimaginable distance and Islingr, Vrael's sword, removed the oath-breaker's head.

"After that the tide of battle turned against the forsworn," the rider said, summarizing the rest, "and I assume you know the rest."

"Yes," Lawrence said, bittersweetly, "it kept evil at bay." Despite the evident benefit Galbatorix's death brought about, Lawrence felt a twinge of sorrow.

"What bothers you?" The elf asked, noting Lawrence's slightly furrowed brow.

"I feel sorrow for the tragedy that befell the dark rider," Lawrence said before sensing… anger(?) from the elf. Yet, the elf looked completely at ease, even nodded sympathetically.

"The former leader of the riders felt the same."

"I don't think I could've done what he did though," Lawrence admitted softly. This made the elf raise his eye brows.

"You would spare him and grant the chance for extended suffering?" young Longshanks winced at the wording of the elf's question.

"I just don't think I could bring myself to end another person's life," Lawrence lifted his cowed head to face the elf, "Life is too precious." The elf rose from the table and turned toward the window. Lawrence saw a distant look come over the normally stoic elf.

"You are willing to die," the elf said evenly, "but what about when others need you to live?" Silence hung in the air as Lawrence stood there stumped. "What of city guards or dragon riders? They live by the sword for the benefit of others. Are the lives they take more precious than the ones they protect." The youth leaned back in his chair, taking in the odd turn their conversation took.

"Is there a particular interest you have in my particular views?" Lawrence said attempting a redirect. His chair creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. The implications dug into his heart. It cried no but found itself against trapped.

"You did promise to share something of yourself if I indulged you," the elf said matter-of-factly, "I will only ask one more question. Do you think you could hold such an ethic if you stood in a similar position?"

"May I never face-" Lawrence began reflexively. Yet, the pause he took allowed some small voice inside to answer, Yes. There had to be another way. "Yes… I could- I would do that!" Lawrence stood, but then flushed as he realized it.

"Feel no shame," the elf said warmly, "I disagree, but I do not dismiss your words… or your conviction." For the first time since their meeting, Lawrence felt open to the elf. A pause ensued as the elf resumed his seat, a companionable silence. Only the scuffing of the chair on the wooden floor sounded in the room. "On a related note, do you plan to participate in the ceremony or merely attend?"

"I will only be attending."

"Not tempting fate, then?" the elf asked with bemused smirk. Why did he smirk? Elves didn't lack emotion, but stoicism and manner reigned supreme. This elf showed more facial expressions than all other elves in Tierm combined. Setting these thoughts aside, the question itself made Lawrence frown.

"I said I would find another way if in that position," Lawrence replied firmly, "I'll participate this year to prove it." The elf smiled but that inflamed Lawrence more. He did not feel indignant or angry. He felt daring.

Author's Note:

I've posted several failed fics, and an innumerable number of ideas have come and gone. Thankfully, time and discipline have yield something worth presenting. A keen and kind soul, Brightwatcher, has beta-read the first several chapters. However, I am looking for another beta-reader. Send a private message if interested.