He had been asked many times what it was like to serve under the great Artur Hawking, Artur the High King, Artur the Great, ruler of all the lands west of the Spine of the World.
Most of the times, he would shrug, and say what he said to them all. "You have me confused with someone else." If that was not enough to dissuade them, then he had two options. In more polite company, it was usually enough to force a smile, and repeat again, amicably, that they were mistaken. In a place as dingy as the Ten Rings, he could get away with sweeping back his cloak, revealing the ivory handle of the dagger he always kept by his side. Of course, he was always the gentleman, and would flash them a winning smile as they backed away.
But there was something different about this one. A girl, maybe twenty years his junior, barely tall enough to rival his height in his chair. She was not a child, or she wouldn't be doing in a hole like this. She certainly was not one of the serving girls, they knew by now not to ask him that question. No, she was something else entirely. Her shoulder-length hair shone like gold in the dim light of the Ten Rings' common room.
He had been minding his own business, nursing the same drink he had ordered ever since he sat down. Wine. From Kharendor. All it took was a sip to sour his mood. The land will be done for when the grapes turn bad in Kharendor. It was an old saying, something he had heard many times before. Well, he was not so sure about that first part, but he was certainly sure about that latter. Why they thought it was acceptable to cart this swill so far North was beyond him.
But, whatever they had done to the wine down in Kharendor, it was enough to get him thinking. It was something small, but it was the symptom of a greater problem. A problem he had felt in the past few months, through the stories he heard and the things he had experienced. But his train of thought was derailed when the golden-haired girl approached his table.
"What was it like?" She asked. He looked up from his drink, and saw that she did not belong in a place like this.
"What was what like?" He asked in return, settling back in his chair to the creak of wood. He eyed her up and down.
"Serving?"
"Serving?"
"Under Hawkwing."
He leaned towards her, resting an arm across his table. Tilting his head so his words were for her and for her only, he said, "There are a hundred and one other men who could tell you what it was like to serve under Hawkwing, girl. Light, a thousand. What do you think you'll hear from me that you haven't already heard from them?"
"I've heard the stories. There isn't a person alive who hasn't," she said. "But I'm not interested in stories. They so often stand leagues apart from the truth." She said, matter-of-factly.
"Girl, short of Hawkwing being the Creator made flesh, you can believe what they have to say. The stories about him are true enough." There was something strange about her. The way she spoke maybe. Insistent. But, also guarded. As if she was probing him.
"I'm not interested in 'true enough'," she said. Without asking she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down at his table.
He crossed his arms over his chest, and settled back into his chair. Around him, the common room carried on its drunken revelry. One of the commoners was getting married tomorrow. And the raucous din was loud enough to make even a normal conversation quiet.
"A sense of admiration I hear? Respect?"
"A sense of being able to see what's in front of my bloody eyes."
"I see."
"Look, girl—" He began.
"Elleran."
The name was enough to throw him off-balance, only for a second. Elleran? "I don't care what your name is," he responded quickly, waving her off. Light, if even her name's tripping you up... No. She was not 'tripping him up'.
"But names are so important, are they not?"
"Only when attached to important people."
"But surely does one's name not matter in cementing their importance?" She shot back.
"Artur could have been named a thousand different names, and it would not have made a hair's difference in his importance." He said, stabbing a finger in her direction.
"So you know, Artur?" She asked, the corners of her mouth twitching in a smile.
"Hawkwing," he responded as he cursed himself mentally. She was good. But that was only the first skirmish.
"So," she said, after a moment of silence, "you knew him?"
"Of course I know him. Don't we all?"
"Yes, but you called him by his first name," she said, faking a frown of confusion, but at this point, he thought it safe to assume that everything she was doing was a ruse.
"A common mistake."
"Even I don't call him by his first name."
"Even?" He had caught her mistake, but... No, there was no satisfaction in that one. It was too obvious, too careless. She wanted him to have that. "So, you know him then?"
"Don't we all?" She said, with a devilish smile. It made her eyes twinkle in the light.
His mind was racing. Close to Artur. Status beneath him. Holds the man in reverance... Elleran? He shook his head. "The Light help you and your father." He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. Channeling all his bite into his words, he hissed, "Has he told you your arrogance will cost you, girl?"
She smiled a smug smile.
He settled back into his chair.
"Your father know you're here?"
"Why do you think I'm here?"
"If he wants to talk, he can come himself. Until then," he stood up abruptly, the sound of his chair scraping back lost in the din of the common room. "Until then, you tell him he can burn." He snatched up his wine, and finished it in a single gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he slammed the cup back onto the table, before turning and walking away.
Stepping through the door and into the cold, bitter night of the sleepy city of Toryaga, as far east as he could go in Basharande. The cold did not bother him, not anymore.
But, nevertheless, he felt like pulling his cloak tighter around himself.
Though sources that survived to this era are scarce, especially those regarding Hawkwing himself, we were fortunate enough to recover this one. This manuscript, unlike all the others we have found, finally corroborate the accounts we have within the Thirteenth Depository! It wasn't much, only a scrap of a scrap of the original text, but it was more than enough.
Finally, the name! And not a variation, not something passable, something that could be construed to mean the same thing, but the true name! Written exactly as recorded in the Secret Histories.
It was found in a basement, in a village visited by the Dragon Reborn, some time after his face appeared over Falme. Funny, that the fortune of his ta'veren nature would extend to even the Browns of the Tower library. Even more so, that such fortune would remain intact even after Tarmon Gaidon.
The new Amyrlin was gracious enough to afford me some time away from the Tower to continue my research. It was not easy, convincing her to let me go, especially so soon after The Last Battle. I think, in the end, she merely let me go because she had more important things to worry about than the whereabouts of one of the Tower librarians.
But once I bring this back to her, she will see that it was all worth it! To find something like this, so long after its time... It is not much, certainly, but it proves a point of contention amongst many of the other Browns. And I will have been the one to find it!
Light! Hawkwing's secret general!
Extract from the journal of Alysella Tendar,
c. 1002 NE