- The purple, the white and the green -
«Not in the most recent years, why?»
«Do you happen to remember when was the last time he visited?»
On the other side of the mirror, the white-haired elf tilted her head to side, looking genuinely confused by his question. «Four, maybe five years ago.»
Oromis nodded slowly, frowning, his eyes momentarily unfocused as he let his thoughts run. «And prior to that time?»
«What do you mean?»
«How were his visits prior to that time?» pushed Oromis. «Frequent? Was he excited to go?»
«At the beginning they were. Then, he started going less frequently, until he stopped altogether.»
«Oh? Why this?»
The elf shrugged. Despite her attempts to remain neutral, Oromis could see a vague impatience in her yellow eyes. It did not surprise him: in striking contrast with her previous behavior, Barsmid had not spoken much of Galbatorix after he had returned from the Spine, the last time when she had convinced the Council of the Elders to reunite. Oromis could not say that he approved, but he understood.
«I never asked, Oromis-elda. It's nothing unusual. Many human Riders tend to… outgrow their culture, after all. And Galbatorix-nur never gave me a reason to worry.»
Of course he didn't. Oromis' mind still darted back to all his interactions – calling them "conversations" would be a stretch – he had had with Galbatorix, and he couldn't help but think that even if there had been a reason to worry Galbatorix would have still not shown it. But still, it didn't mean that there had been one. Oromis refrained a sigh and smiled. «I see. Thank you for your time, Barsmid Svit-kona.»
Barsmid raised two fingers to her lips. «My pleasure, Oromis-elda,» she said, and a moment later her image shivered and disappeared from the mirror.
Oromis sighed, slipping in a chair close to the window. Glaedr's golden tail laid on the ground like a massive, armored snake as the dragon rested, half-circling the small hut with his body. Not a much useful conversation. How is–
Staring at the roof, Glaedr cut him off. Oromis could feel a vague sense of irritation in his thoughts. At least, he was the last time I checked.
The Crags were still mostly dark, but a streak of light was already emerging to color the eastern sky. Which meant another sleepless night for the human. Oromis didn't even bother to hope that Galbatorix might still fall asleep again and get a few hours of rest. Galbatorix just seemed unable to rest, sleep catching up to him only when his body couldn't hold on any longer, and he collapsed in exhaustion… only to ripped from that much needed rest as soon as his nightmares caught up to him.
He had woken up screaming that night. Just like the previous night. And the night before. And almost every night in the last period. The few nights it didn't happen, Oromis just suspected that it was because he didn't close his eyes at all. Nightmares had been a constant since he had met him, but the situation had massively worsened since… since the fairth.
Oromis pressed his lips in a thin line at the thought, and through their bond he felt Glaedr trying to push back an instinctive but mostly unhelpful "I told you so" before he could perceive it. Too late, Glaedr.
A flick of annoyance – and guilt – reached him from Glaedr. I said nothing, grumbled the dragon, and Oromis felt him rasping the ground with his claws.
A corner of Oromis' mouth curled in a tired smile. And I am grateful for that.
For a moment they both mused silently over what they had just heard, and over what they had talked about in the previous days. He could feel Glaedr's unspoken question.
Oromis' silver eyes instinctively darted towards the door of Galbatorix's room. I am still considering it, yes, he finally admitted. Certain things Barsmid said were encouraging.
On the other side of the hut, he perceived Glaedr lift his head and turn towards him, eyes burning as if the dragon could see him through the wood. His mind radiated annoyance.
I understand. But still – he has family, in Inzilbêth.
Glaedr said nothing, but from the back of Oromis' mind the memory of Galbatorix flinching at the mention of his home province jumped to his attention, recalled by the dragon. Glaedr's skepticism was wrapped around it like an invisible claw.
Relationships with humans are never easy, especially when the role to maintain them is in the hands of a someone who is barely more than a child, observed Oromis. It is not unheard of young human Riders drifting away from their loved ones, and never trying to reconcile out of fear of rejection. But sometimes fear is irrational – youth tends to catastrophize.
It doesn't matter what is rational and what is not – what he perceives, that is his reality.
And in that erroneous perception of reality he will remain entrapped, unless we help him. Familiar bonds are strong even among humans, and bring comfort. It is easier to accept comfort from your own family than it is from a stranger.
Glaedr snorted, unconvinced.
•
«You better be where I can't find you,» growled Morzan, angrily shaking his head to get sweaty strands of hair away from his face.
He cursed his teacher under his breath. Sweat drippling from his forehead and down his face and in his eyes, muscles burning, his whole body screamed in pain as he pushed himself up the steep rock wall. He still could not believe he was doing this – the old bastard better never find out what he had been willing to do for his coward ass.
He was up high. The trees under him looked like a bubbly, dark green sea, with other spikes similar to the one he was climbing breaking through the foliage like reefs in the ocean.
It was a hunting spot, that. It was where the dragons that called Ilirea their home came looking for food. Morzan didn't know how it was possible, but despite the number of dragons living in the surroundings the forest was always rich of prey animals, as if it didn't feel the impact of so many massive predators hunting in those trees. Even birds, quick to escape and shy as they were, kept soaring the sky as if there were no roaring dragons among them. He suspected it had something to do with the elves and their habit of singing for the nature, whatever that really meant. He had thought about asking the old bastard, actually, but the old bastard had the nerve-wrecking ability of pulling an hour-long lesson and dozens of scrolls to read out of any smallest question, and Morzan had never found himself longing for more homework enough to decide that his curiosity was worth it.
He pulled himself up on the jagged tip of the rock, panting. The breeze of the early morning brushed against him, fresh and blissful over his overheated limbs. Slowly, he rolled his shoulders to relax the muscles.
Despite the hour, he could already see a couple of dragons flying in the distance. Had the old bastards dignified them of their presence, Krovogon would have hunted at that hour as well. But for all their problems Kelda and Ofan at least knew the difference between discipline and sadism, and preferred to start their lessons at a more humane hour, and so Krovogon – lucky him – was still asleep.
And Morzan had some useful free time.
«Come on…» he groaned. «You have to be here.»
But they didn't seem to be there. Not for a long while. A few dragons came and left, but none looked like those he was waiting for. Purple. Yellow. Light green. Where were they? A yellow sparkle made his heart jump, but even from that distance he could see that this one was much bigger than the dragon he was looking for.
The lilac sky of the sunrise had already changed into a bright azure, and Morzan was starting to think that he would have to leave with nothing done, when a glint of purple glided from the sky in the distance, landing elegantly on one of the massive spikes of rock. Was it…?
Morzan's heart started beating faster, a rush of excitement ran across his body and without realizing he parted his lips in a wide grin. «OY!» he shouted on top of his lungs. «OY!»
The dragon didn't hear him and kept looking downwards, busy with finding a suitable prey.
Morzan's heart sunk. He moved a step forward, only to meet the end of the jagged tip of rock he was on. And the huge fall that awaited him behind that point. He cursed, his mind instinctively reaching out for Krovogon – still asleep, and so distant he could barely perceive him anyway. And even if he wasn't, Krovogon had eaten the day before, and the previous day as well to accompany him to that that place. Dragons didn't eat that often. Another flight to the forest was going to raise suspicions in their substitute teachers. It was better for him to stay behind and buy him time, they had decided. They should have thought this through better.
Another curse escaped his mouth. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to force his brain to think of a solution, and fast. Dragons didn't take that long to eat, and once they ate they didn't stick around.
He definitively should have thought this through better.
His eyes fell down the edge of the spike. He had enough energy to get down, despite his burning muscles. The horse he had "burrowed" was down there somewhere. He looked back on the purple dragon, who had half-spread the large wings and looked ready to jump. Morzan nodded to himself.
The dragon leapt from the rock in a sharp dive, and disappeared between the tree.
Morzan hissed a few words in the Ancient Language. And jumped.
The speed at which the spell sucked his energy almost cut his breath away, but pushed his fear under control. The tree-tops were coming towards him at impressive speed, despite the magic slowing down his fall. Morzan raised his arms to protect his face from the branches. He passed the foliage with a sound of broken twigs, fragments of wood scratching his legs and arms and nothing but a blur of green and brown around him and he pushed much of his remaining energy in the spell, throwing his hands forward to stop the fall.
He hit the ground abruptly, suddenly, arms and knees exploding in pain and for a moment his vision went black and he just lied there, heart racing.
Blinking involuntary tears of pain away he pushed himself up, stumbling, and had to hold onto a tree not to fall again. He threw his mind around in a wordless call and a few seconds later a brown horse trotted towards him, snorting softly.
«Go!» Morzan jumped on her back with a groan of pain, his mind still light and spinning and his limbs that protested any minimal movement. «Go! Go!»
The horse darted across the forest, guided by his mental directions and silent urgency. Ignoring the flashed of pain that darted across his body at every single movement of the animal, Morzan kept shooting looks above, all his senses tense to catch the sound of a dragon that was taking off. Luckily, the sound didn't come.
He fell, more than dismounting, when the horse tossed her head and stopped, her mind blurred with fear at the dangerous predator she was smelling. Grabbing onto her neck, Morzan closed his eyes for a moment to recatch himself.
The purple dragon was already looking into his direction when he emerged from the bushes, his amethyst eyes cautious but curious. He was bigger than Krovogon, but slimmer. His jaws were dirty with the blood of his prey, but closed and nonthreatening.
Morzan's heart was beating so furiously in his chest that he feared the dragon could hear it. It was the climbing and the magic – and the meeting an unknown dragon alone, in the middle of the forest, and without Krovogon. «Hello…?» he called, and cursed himself when his voice darted up in uncertainty, making it sound like half a question, almost.
The dragon didn't move a muscle.
Morzan took another step forward, and a bit of tension dissipated when once again there was not a sign of aggressivity or irritation. «Are you… I know it's weird, but I really need to speak to you,» he said, and closed his eyes for a moment, irritated with himself. What was the name of the dragon, again? His brain was refusing to work right.
The dragon arched his neck, raising his head a bit in a gesture that Morzan recognized as surprise, and smelled the air. Forgive me, human. Do I know you? asked the dragon. He remained politely at the edge of Morzan's conscience, barely brushing against his mental barriers, close enough to be heard, but not close enough to hear Morzan's thoughts or violate his mind.
«No. No, we never spoke. But I've been told that you can help me,» he said. «I'm Morzan.»
The dragon titled his head to the side, then lowered his head and blew on him, agitating his hair and exposing his slightly pointed ears. When he pulled back his pupils were enlarged. It is a pleasure to meet you, Morzan…?
Morzan blinked, for a moment at loss of what the dragon was expecting, then he remembered the formal costumes of the bonded dragons. «Krovogon. I am bonded to the dragon Krovogon,» he said, pushing towards the other mind an image of the red dragon for the purple to see. «And we train under Oromis of House Thrándurin and Glaedr, son of Nithring.»
…Allegedly train, he corrected himself bitterly but privately in his mind.
I am Styrktar'madr, and the Rider bonded to me is the elf Kialandì of Ília Fёon, the purple dragon answered without catching his bait. What do you need my help with, Morzan?
Morzan hesitated. So, it was now or never. At least, this Styrktar'madr sounded friendly enough. «I was looking for Enduriel-elda,» he blurted out. «I can't find him anywhere, and I heard that he's your teacher.»
His request seemed to catch Styrktar'madr off guard. And why are you looking for Enduriel-elda?
«I need to speak with a Councilor, and I know that Enduriel-elda lives close to Ilirea.»
That was a lie, or at least the reason he had given was. Krovogon and he had spent many days trying to have a clear idea of who was better approach, and the list they could choose from was freakishly short. Appearently the old bastard didn't have many friends, what a surprise. It didn't help that most of the oldest Riders, those who could have any type of connection to him, didn't live in Ilirea, but on Vroengard. And the younger Riders who did live in Ilirea… The few who had enough dignity not to seem ready to drop on a knee and propose any time he was nominated seemed to share his same amount of spears stuck in the ass. The others, they had not even bothered keep in consideration in the first place. Brom alone was more than enough, and thank you very much.
And going higher in the ranks, they had discovered that there was not a single human Rider in the Council of the Elders, and there were only three Councilors except the old bastard who lived in a reachable distance. Krovogon and Morzan had focused on them – according to Krovogon, the chances of obtaining any useful information were almost none anyway, and stuck up per stuck up, at least they could speak to someone who had actually been in that room, while whatever happened with Galbatorix was happening. Two of them had sounded exactly like the old bastard, for the little he had managed to find out. But one had surprised him: the Councilor named Enduriel. He didn't seem very liked, at least among the elves. It had taken only a bit of questioning and eavesdropping to hear contempt and terms like "weak-willed", "overly-permissive" and "unable to demand respect" associated with that elf.
Which, from Morzan's experience, could be translated in human-speech as "not as anal as the rest of them" and "maybe doesn't make you want to punch him in the face after two minutes of conversation".
…Not that he could put it that way with Styrktar'madr.
If the dragon smelled the lie he didn't show it. A Councilor? he asked instead, sounding mildly worried. Something happened?
«No, I just think that… I need to ask him something.» Morzan grimaced internally. That was weak and unconvincing. He didn't want to give away much out of fear that the dragon could smell something off and refuse him help, but those evasive answers were a clear way to be refused help anyway. He sighed. «It's about my teacher, I need to ask him something about Oromis-elda. They're both Councilors, so maybe he can help me,» he said, remembering to add the honorific only at the last second.
Styrktar'madr raised his head, staring at him for a moment. Then he sat on his hider legs and repositioned the large wings on his back. A low thoughtful grumble sounded in his throat, and the dragon busied himself cleaning the blood from his maw.
Morzan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a vague sense of impatience growing in his stomach as the minutes stretched. Please, tell me that dragons bonded to elves don't behave like elves, he begged silently, shooting a quick glance at the sky. I don't have the whole–
Enduriel-elda says that he would be happy to talk to you whenever you want.
«Uh?» was the first thing that came out of his mouth. «You asked him?»
Styrktar'madr snorted, puffing white smoke from his nostrils. When he spoke there was a hint of amusement in his mental voice. Why, of course.
Morzan blinked, unable to wrap his mind around how easy it had been. «Thank you.»
Don't worry, said the dragon, puffing a line of white smoke from his nostrils. Enduriel-elda is always willing to help.
There was a weird warmness in Styrktar'madr's voice when he spoke about his teacher. For some reason, this made his guts twist in a very unpleasant sensation he couldn't quite identify. He couldn't imagine the old bastard being that available.
He clenched his jaw, suddenly wishing he was not so far away from Krovogon, and looked at the sky. «He said "whenever I want"? Are you sure?» he asked, locking his mismatched eyes with Styrktar'madr's amethyst gaze. «Can I ask you one last favor, then?»
The flight was less than pleasant. To be fair, it was easily the worst flight of his life.
Morzan bit back a curse when a new breeze caused Styrktar'madr to incline slightly to the right, and tightened his grip on the dorsal spike until his knuckles whitened.
Flying with another dragon was nothing like flying with Krovogon. Styrktar'madr was nothing like Krovogon. He was much slimmer. His muscles were different. His spikes were different. His wingbeat was different. His movements in the air were different. There was a strong sensation of… of uneasiness in being there. Every movement of the dragon felt weird. He felt like he could slip and fall at any minute, which a part of him knew was ridiculous, given what sort of mad flights he enjoyed with Krovogon, even bareback.
At least, he didn't seem the only one miserable. Miserable relief.
Styrktar'madr turned slightly to check on him, looking anxious. Are you well?
«Perfectly fine, don't worry,» answered Morzan. «This is not my first bareback flight, you know!»
Neither is mine! But when I am flying with Kialandì I can feel what is going on back there. You… I don't know if you are holding on, slipping, or even if you are still on my back!
«Don't worry, you'll hear it if I fall,» grinned Morzan, and even dared to free a hand to slap the dragon's shoulder.
They kept talking for the rest of the flight. It somewhat helped chase away the discomfort. The dragon landed in the middle of the trees, a spot that Morzan could not distinguish by anything from the rest of the forest. Maybe Krovogon would have been able to, in his place.
Morzan slipped down from Styrktar'madr's back, welcoming the return of his feet on the ground. «Thank you.»
Morzan had never been that far from Ilirea, not on the ground, at least. The forest was thick and shadowy. As they walked, many animals peeked at them, fearless of the purple dragon. A doe behind a tree. A couple of hares standing on their hind legs. As sparrow flew down, circling for a moment Styrktar'madr's head before landing on one of his horns.
When Styrktar'madr stopped, at first Morzan could not see what was so special about the place where he had guided him. Until his eyes caught something, something that he could not really understand what it was, at the beginning, then he looked better at it and it was a door, a wooden door in what had looked to him like a huge rock covered in dark green moss.
Morzan tilted his head to the side, trying to make a sense of what he was seeing. It was a house, but at the same time it wasn't like anything he had ever seen. He could see openings too circular not to be windows, and he could see trees leaning towards… fusing with the walls. No, the fused trees were the walls.
Morzan blinked. Are you seeing this? he reached out to Krovogon out of habit, but his thought went nowhere. Morzan frowned, disappointed.
Styrktar'madr's voice pulled him back from his pouting. Enduriel-elda has his own chambers in the High Palace, but he prefers here. And we prefer it as well.
Morzan's eyebrows darted up. «You live here?»
Yes.
«You mean…» he looked around. «Here, as in inside that house with your teacher?»
Not me or Svàss, of course. But Kialandì and Birger do, said the dragon, amused, and shot him a look with a large amethyst eye. Is it so incredible to you?
Well, this surely explained why despite days of searching they couldn't find any of them in Ilirea, even if… Morzan shot the purple dragon a weirded look, horror creeping inside him as he imagined despite himself how it would be to live in a house in the middle of nowhere with Brom and the old bastard, and the window in his room in the High Palace popped up in his mind like a very attractive way out. «Yes.»
Styrktar'madr let out a draconic chuckle, and before Morzan could say anything he gestured with his head toward the door of the weird tree-house.
There was an elf, there, dressed in white robes. His hair was also white, and his skin paler than that of any human or elf Morzan had ever met. He looked like a ghost, thought Morzan, strikingly light as he was in the dim-light of the forest. The absolute silence with which he moved towards them did nothing ease that impression.
«You must be Morzan,» he said, his voice soft and tranquil, and extended his right hand. «I am Enduriel, of the Council of the Elders. It's a pleasure to meet you.»
«I… My pleasure, Enduriel-elda,» he stammered. Even the eyes of the elf were white, with a light pinkish pupil in the middle. A shiver ran down his spine, and it took him a moment longer than it was polite to stop staring at the elf and bring his attention to the offered hand and shake it.
«Styrktar'madr informed me that you wish to speak with me.»
«…Yes,» he said, frowning slightly as the elf's hand slipped away from his. «Please.»
There was something weird about that elf. As if he was doing something he shouldn't, or not doing something he should, but Morzan could not put his finger on what, exactly… If only Krovogon was there. Krovogon was good at those things, so much better than him.
Enduriel nodded, a faint smile on his lips. Then he turned to Morzan's right. «Why don't you start reading and comparing The Deed of Gëda and The tale of Angvar?» he said, and Morzan flinched, realizing that there was someone else there with them. Another elf, with black hair tied in a long braid, was less than a few feet away from him. Styrktar'madr had lowered his head against the chest of the elf, and the latter's arms were wrapped around his snout. A little further, in the trees, Morzan could see a stocky yellow dragon and a red-headed human guy older than him.
The elf turned his attention to Enduriel without letting go of the dragon. «Of course, Ebrithil.»
Styrktar'madr looked at him with a large amethyst eye from above his Rider's arm. Don't dance around what you want to know. I know what humans think of elves, but Enduriel-elda doesn't like those games either.
«Did you have breakfast?»
Morzan, who was observing the interior of Enduriel's weird house, forced himself to turn his attention away from the ceiling, that looked like thousands of branches twisted and fused together, with white flowers growing on them. «Yes,» he lied, caught by surprise by the weird question.
Enduriel nodded, and started putting various things on the table. Tea, seed cake, biscuits, buns, and other things. «I could cook you something, if you prefer.»
«I'm… I'm fine.»
«Let me know if you need something else.»
Morzan nodded and slipped in the chair in front of the elf, a part of his mind instinctively and pointlessly reaching for Krovogon.
Morzan closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing a curse and the urge to rub his face with his hands. Instead, he took a biscuit, just to buy some time while he tried to get his thoughts in order.
«…Do you know Oromis-elda?» he blurted out – perfect, of all the ways he could have started that discourse… At least this Councilor Enduriel had the good taste not to raise an eyebrow like the old bastard did in front of the sheer stupidity of his question. Morzan took it as a good sign.
«I do, Oromis Svit-madr and I have known each other for quite some time.»
«He left Ilirea.»
Enduriel nodded. «I know.»
Morzan hesitated, drumming his fingers against his tight. His instinct was telling him to beat around the bush and try to get the elf to disclose the informations he needed with some trick. His mind was screaming at him that there was no way he could play a Councilor alone. «Where did he go?»
The question seemed to catch the elf by surprise. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he stared right at him for a long moment. Then, much to Morzan's surprise, he frowned.
A sound outside the house caught Morzan's attention. A sound he knew well: a very large dragon landing. He shot a look outside the window and discovered that his view was blocked by shiny green scales, so light that they were almost white. They moved, and a huge white eye entered the frame of the window, staring at them.
«What have you been told?»
Morzan's head whipped back at Enduriel. «Nothing,» he said flatly, trying, with little success, not to let his resentment slip into his tone.
«Can you elaborate, please?»
«Elaborate what?» snapped back Morzan before he could bite his tongue. Hands on his tights, he clenched his fists under the table. «He literally said nothing,» he added in a calmer tone. «He said he had a meeting with the Council of the Elders and Vrael-elda. He left and didn't return and we didn't hear from him again.»
Enduriel just looked at him, his lips slightly parted and a weird expression on his face, as if he had just received a very sad new. «I'm sorry,» he whispered.
Morzan shifted in his chair. He leaned forward to take another biscuit just to have an excuse to avert his eyes from the elf. «What happened?»
Enduriel's eyes fell on the table, and for a moment he looked lost in his thoughts. When he spoke, he did so in the Ancient Language. «When the Council of the Elder Riders reunites, it is for discussing matters that concern the entire Order; it is no place for private matters, and for the wishes of individuals. What happened that day was a first – both in the reason that brought us all to reunite, and… in the outcome.»
Morzan frowned, barely refraining from pushing the elf to keep talking.
«Oromis… has been the most important voice in the decisions that have been taken that day,» said Enduriel, his eyes directed somewhere behind Morzan's left shoulder. «Decisions that recognized him as the most suited to handle a very peculiar situation.»
«Wait – he chose to leave? Or he was told to leave?»
Enduriel's eyes darted on him for a moment, then on the unblinking eye that was staring at them through the window before returning on Morzan. «Oromis' voice has been the most important in deciding what actions were to be taken.»
The biscuit got crushed in Morzan's hand. It took him all his self-control not to punch the table.
Enduriel lowered his eyes. «Morzan,» he called, his tone calm and shooting, but hesitant. «I am sure that–»
«Where is he?» growled Morzan, this time not even trying to control the anger in his voice.
There was a moment of silence, then Enduriel looked up at him. «I don't know.»
Morzan's fist crushed on the table. Plates clinked and tea spilled from the cups. Something fell on the floor. «Is he at least planning on coming back?»
Another moment of silence followed, this time longer. «Oromis and Glaedr are dutiful teachers, who won't–»
«You know what?» Morzan slammed his hands on the table. He jumped on his feet, the sound of the chair falling on the floor barely strong enough for him to hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. «You are all saying the same things! All of you! Do you think we are stupid? How da–!» he bit his tongue. Barely. He closed his eyes, forcing a shaky deep breath in his lungs, and slowly closed his hands into fists against the table.
When he reopened his eyes, he found Enduriel looking at him with a pained expression in his white-pinkish eyes. «You are right,» he said softly, with disarming simplicity. «I'm sorry.»
He didn't care – what did it even mean. Still, for some reason he found himself waiting for the elf to keep talking.
«I know it will anger you. I know it is not fair. I understand,» Enduriel leaned towards him. «But I cannot tell you more than I already did. I wish I could. But even us Councilors are bound to silence by many things, and left in ignorance of many others. You are asking me things I sincerely do not know. I'm so sorry.»
Morzan let his head fall down. Slowly, anger left his body, and he felt nothing but exhaustion. He did not realize that Enduriel had moved until he was right by his side, but he didn't bother looking at him.
«You shouldn't be going through this. If I can help any other way…»
Morzan sighed and shook his head.
Morzan was staring at the shiny light scales in front of him, hands grabbing the front part of the saddle, when the dragon touched his mind and spoke.
Do you know where are written the secrets of our present?
Morzan flinched and stared at the back of the dragon's head, but the ancient dragon kept flying silently, elegantly, his long and serpentine body gliding with elegance through the air. It was the first time he had spoken to him, having used Enduriel to communicate when he offered to fly him back to Ilirea, and his voice – whispering and cold and eerie – sent a chill down his spine. «What?» was the only thing he managed to say.
Gjalda's light green wings shimmered white as he beat them. Thud. In the past.
«...What?»
A large, thin eye looked back at him. What do you know of the past of our Order?
Morzan shifted on the saddle, uncomfortable under Gjalda's white gaze. He suddenly wished Enduriel had not stayed behind.
Do you know what was the dirt Anurin and Maerr left behind themselves? Do you know of your teacher's early years?
And with that, the dragon slipped away from his conscience.
Morzan hesitated. «I know he's from Luthivíra, a city close to the Tüdosten. At twenty he was chosen by Glaedr as his Rider, then he did… what Vrael wanted before…» his voice drifted out, as he thought about what he was saying. The old bastard's early years – what had he done for Vrael? «But wha–»
Morzan! Where are you?
Krovogon's voice almost made him jump out of his skin – and out of Gjalda's saddle. He had not realized how close they were getting to Ilirea. I'm almost back, he said, welcoming the sensation of being able to feel his dragon again. There were too many things to explain, things he himself did not understand, so he deepened the bond between them as much as he could and let Krovogon perceive his memories.
Krovogon remained silent for a moment, emanating a mixture of emotions as he felt what Morzan had lived. He felt the dragon focusing on certain parts of his conversations with Enduriel, and his attention perked up when he listened to what Gjalda had said. But he brought up nothing. I'll meet you outside Ilirea, we're almost late for the lesson, he said instead.
And Morzan felt him taking off.
End of the chapter
Author's notes:
So… I know most of you are perplexed now. But. We know basically nothing of the Forsworn – and of Enduriel we know only that he was an elf, that he was considered overly permissive, that he was not meant for leadership and that his dragon was more cunning than him. Nothing else is known about him. I made a few character studies for the Forsworn for another fanfiction I am planning, and I like the idea of one of them being a Councilor (come on, I doubt a bunch of young Riders managed to wreck the Order). And I also wanted to use them at least a bit in a context in which their mental health didn't go down the drain.
Enduriel here is… pretty pissed with Oromis. He has a submissive, shy nature so it is difficult to see, especially because Morzan's observational skills are not the best (he's a pissed off teen and 99% of his self-control was unviable this chapter), and all he can see is that this conversation "went nowhere". But we'll see more in the next chapter, of this. Don't worry. He's a very different kind of elf and teacher.
Gjalda, Enduriel's dragon, is… eh.
Dream Plane: Yes, I know… Hopefully things will get better, sooner or later.
Flameis: Thank you! This means a lot to me. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!
dasbiest: Thank you so much!
I hope you liked this chapter. Thank you to all those who are still Following/Liking this story despite my unforgivable delay. Sometimes writer's block just kick me in the butt, but I will finish it, I promise.
…So, guys. This is it for the fifth chapter! Alla prossima!
