Deldorn Dundragon: Tides of Denial

It was the seventh day of the week, and that meant rest from my many hours of study, memorization, and applicable cataloguing of ancient scrolls, reaching all the way back to the origin of the Elves down to the depths of the Infernals and beyond.

Typically, I would take a day such as this and hike to the Valley of Cloves for meditation, but this morning Mother was especially excitable. She insisted I follow her to the flowing waters where she usually met with Kyla to study the High Truth Scrolls, scrolls that she had obtained after her father’s death. They were sent to her by her mother in Tethyr by way of High Elf Qinren’s Messengers.

Reluctantly, I decided to visit the clearing.

It had been almost two years since I visited with Kyla and my mother in their secret place. And from what I understood, the clan was not too keen on her having these scrolls from Tethyr now. All Elves tend to praise Corellon Larethian, entrusting him with the protection and preservation of our traditions. Now that Mother had obtained the scrolls of her people, she was a threat to the minds and hearts of Battlecreek.

I could praise the High Truth in my own heart. Mother could even discuss the scrolls with Kyla in their own personal studies, but to teach against the power of Corellon Larethian’s blood, that which was shed in the battle with Gruumsh long ago, was unforgivable to most. Denying the very lifeblood that flowed through my veins, Mother was floating on driftwood in a vast sea of dangers.

I walked into the clearing, Kyla once again sat upon a stump, cross-legged, eyes closed in meditation. Mother was reading aloud from the scrolls while pacing slowly back and forth.

And then I saw it, there were six others there with them, all younger Elves, listening to the teachings, eyes wide at the sight of Mother’s humanity, her simplicity. They longed to hear the words of the scrolls.

I smiled. A few minutes passed in gentle timelessness, and then Mother stopped speaking. Kyla opened her eyes. The others began to mutter among themselves.

Mother smiled, looking up through the layers of leaves at day’s end, “This is where we cease our studies for the day. I will see you all again in seven turns of the sun.” Mother looked to me, “Son, you almost missed the reading.”

“I usually do, Mother. You know this is unwise,” I said sternly as the younger Elves passed me, eyes still bright with wonder.

“The High Truth must be heard.”

“I do not disagree, Mother. As far as evangelism, this surpasses all else. But much of the clan do not see this as refinement. They see it as a threat.”

Mother laughed, “Threat? I am simply reading.”

“I believe you. I trust you, but your one-on-one interactions with Kyla have suddenly become an outing on the Day of Rest,” I fidgeted, looking over my shoulder to see if everyone else had left the clearing for dinner.

“Trust in the High Truth. Why worry, son?”

She is naive, I thought to myself. Either naive, or purposely putting herself in danger.

“You do not understand what I mean,” I said in exasperation. “Be carful.” And then I heard a slight rustle of leaves above me. Flitting my eyes toward the sound, I saw Father’s boots. And suddenly there he was standing next to my mother.

“Cia, Deldorn is right. This must cease.” Father was speaking in an even tone, but I recognized the tense nature of his tongue. “Listen to our son. He may only have the breath of some odd twelve years, but his time with Delsios is proving to bring about wisdom.”

“Honey,” Mother took Father’s hand into her own. “Sarberos, look into my eyes. Do you see a threat?”

“Love can strike us blind, Cia.”

Mother stepped back an inch, a look of defeat on her face, but she trusted in the words of the High Truth, recanting, “Love shakes away the dusts of falsehood.”

“Be reasonable, wife.” Father’s tongue became more Elvish than Common, anger swelling up inside him. “These meetings must cease, or else the High Council will know that I do not stand by you. I can never fall under the whims of this High Truth. He degrades the beauty and promise of my culture and clan. He heaps trash upon the glory of Corellon Larethian. I have heard these words of yours — ”

Mother interrupted him, “Have you heard the words, though, Sarberos? Have you?”

Father kept still, and in Elvish he retorted, “Walker of time-imprisoned flesh, you preach what you do not know. You talk of love and development, but what do you know of sacrifice to the point of death? How can you speak of provision and protection whence by the blood of the slain my people were born?”

I had never heard my father speak so harshly about the difference between his people and my mother. “Father, please.”

He turned to me, “Deldorn, be still.” He walked a few feet away from my mother, and before leaving the clearing, he turned back to her, saying, “This stops today. Put the scrolls away. I never want to see them again.”

Mother stood, head hung low, and whispered to herself, “The souls of all people are easily brought to flame, but by the still, whisper of a delicate wife, her husband can be brought to the Light.”

After that day, I never saw the scrolls again — at least not in the form of parchment.

Deldorn Dundragon: Declaration Day

In the second month of my tenth year of breath, I stood in the High Council Quarters next to two male Elves on my right and a female Elf to my left, this female Elf being my mother’s student Kyla Amastacia.

Kyla examined my palms from her peripheral vision, and surely she saw sweat forming. She gave a slight smirk. Composed at forty years of breath, she knew Declaration Day was something to be celebrated. On the other hand, I stood here at a weak ten years of breath, shaking in my boots for fear of being too young to make such a dedicated commitment to a mentor. At this moment, I longed for the days of study in my family cot, knowing now that my mother would no longer be my teacher, but someone else would take responsibility in teaching me about the wonders of the world.

I gulped and looked forward.

Before us sat the council upon their many thrones, High Elf Qinren’s throne (made of an even blend of onyx, iron ore, and lapis lazuli) rested in the center of the council on the elevated, glass expanse. To his right sat Huntmaster Virro on an alexandrite throne, and to Virro’s right sat the Head Healer Finenda on a throne of charoite. To the left of Qinren stood Delsios the Master of Scrolls, dressed in a long, elegant linen resembling the color of parchment. To Delsios’s left sat the Head Messenger Heiberos on a throne of hemimorphite, and to his left sat Warmaster Elris on a throne of rubies and steel.

Behind us, and encompassing the entirety of the Quarters, stood all two-hundred-twelve of the rest of Battlecreek awaiting to hear our declaration of counsel.

Delsios the Master of Scrolls stepped forward from High Elf Qinren’s side and began to recite the Scroll of Declaration in pure Elvish:

“As the morning breathes forth new provision, protection, and promise from Corellon Larethian, so does the inching forth of the seasonal shifts to spring. Reflecting the innocence of beginnings, like childhood, such a time as this is granted to the mothers of our clan: to teach, to instruct, to build up and nourish. But there comes another shift; there comes a blazing sun, a burning renewal and separation of self — autonomy. Who will these young Elves become when the lively springs change into long summers?”

Silence struck the crowd, and Delsios offered the clan time to reflect upon this question.

Again he spoke, “Summer — a chance to breathe fresh air, a chance to find liberty in life’s many swells of wind. There will be long days, my children. But those long days will reveal the gems within. As a gem needs its miner, so does a child, becoming an adult, need his counsel. As rays need the sun, so does a summer day provoke challenges. So, my children, who will you become during the long summer days? Dare to choose: Hunter, Healer, Warrior, Messenger, or, if you truly dare, Keeper of Scrolls? Step into the sun.”

Delsios stepped back to his place with the council.

Now, High Elf Qinren stood, bringing my anxiety back at full force. He spoke, “Daughter Kyla, what path do you seek?”

At ease Kyla answered, “High Elf Qinren, I seek the path of Messenger.”

“Very well. May the winds of this world never overtake you but sweep you back to the clan with a wealth of information.” Now Qinren turned to another, saying, “My son, Petren, what do you choose?”

The male Elf to my far right spoke up, “High Elf Qinren, I choose Warrior.”

“Very well. Let Corellon Larethian fill your mind with strategy and hope, and may you never turn to the path of destruction but rely upon the strength of his protection.” He relished in the oath, and then again spoke, “Lulamin, who do you long to become?”

The Elf to my direct right answered, “High Elf Qinren, I long to become a Hunter for the clan.”

Qinren responded, “Know that Corellon Larethian will never fail you, even if you fail to trap and gather for yourself. And see that these words touch your heart: ‘We never cease navigating the fallenness of this world.'”

The Hunters, my father included, all echoed these words, along with their new brother.

Qinren looked directly at me, “Little Deldorn, what road shall you travel?”

“High Elf Qinren, I choose to travel the road that will make me a Keeper of Scrolls,” I responded. Suddenly the crowd began to murmur, some laughed to themselves, and Qinren himself took to his throne.

Delsios stepped forward once again, “Are you sure, Deldorn? Have I heard correctly?”

The crowd continued to speak among themselves, and even the High Council looked to one another, unsure of how to take the information to heart and mind.

I asserted, “Yes, Master Delsios, you have heard correctly, and I have put the matter to much thought.” The crowd became unruly — as unruly as Elves can get in timelessness, that is.

High Elf Qinren hushed them by raising his right hand, and then he spoke from his throne as Delsios stepped aside. “Deldorn, you do understand that acceptance into the Keepers of Scrolls is extremely rare, so much so that few ever ask to join them?”

“I do, High Elf.” I tried my best not to let my anxiety show, but my brow began to sweat.

“And you know, if accepted, you will be dedicated to cataloguing, organizing, memorizing, and translating any and all scrolls unearthed across this vast land, as well as across the vast sea of time?”

“I do, High Elf.”

Head Healer Finenda could not keep silent any longer, “Not a single Half-Elf has ever been a member of the Keepers of Scrolls, High Elf Qinren.” She did not raise her voice; Elves rarely need to raise their voices.

Qinren turned his gaze upon Finenda. “Do you remember the days of old, when my father sat upon this throne, before the High Council formed? No, you do not, daughter Fay. Believe it or not, at one point, we did not keep the scrolls as well as we ought, and back then there was only one throne. Even in timelessness there must be change.”

The crowd began to murmur once again, but Qinren simply put his hand up to silence them a second time. “Little Deldorn Dundragon, do you know that you are choosing a difficult path, one of great vexation? There is no way out of it – only banishment or death. If accepted, you will become the sixth member of a well-entrusted faction in this clan, a faction who knows many secrets, more than I will dare to try and unearth. Do you wish to change your declaration?”

I drew in a quick breath, focusing like my father had taught me time and time again. I thought of my target, projecting forward into the future, trusting in my hopes and dreams to become a Keeper. As I let out a deep breath, I said, “I do not wish to change my declaration, High Elf.”

Qinren glanced over his shoulder, “Master of Scrolls, what do you say to this young one?”

Looking me up and down, Delsios said, “His willingness to step forward into the unknown intrigues me. However, I would trust him to work with none of my fellow Keepers.”

My heart sank.

“I will train you myself,” Delsios declared, and the crowd became a riot of confusion. I felt that I might sink to the floor.

High Elf Qinren raised his hand to the crowd, rising from his throne once again, and as each Elf hushed his own countenance, Qinren spoke directly to me, “Deldorn Dundragon, may your studies be efficient and effective. May your mind expand to that of wisdom and understanding. Keep the vault secure.”

Deldorn Dundragon: The Silver Dragon

As far as anyone could tell, it was a calm night in the village – a simple and peaceful night. There had been no raids; the hunt carried on as usual, early in the morning; the Healers carried on with their duties; and the Keepers of Scrolls did not leave their library from sunrise to sunset.

It was an uneventful night and not memorable at all – save for the story my mother told me right before my eyes went to rest for the night.

Mother stood at the edge of our tent’s entrance, looking up to the stars. Tonight she hummed a lullaby to herself and rested the palm of her right hand over her heart. She made a graceful turn toward me while I rested in my cot.

“Delly,” she spoke softly. “Have you ever wondered about your birthmark? Why should I be so unmoved by its strange nature?”

This took me off guard. “Mother, are you feeling alright?”

She looked at me with a smile. “I am unmoved by your birthmark because I have the same one. My father did before me, and so on until as far back as no one can specify.”

Mother pulled the collar of her loose, night blouse down, just to the point where I could see the top edge of her birthmark. It resembled mine – a blazing snowflake just above the heart.

I could not make sense of the feelings I had. Somehow I thought I should be afraid that we shared the same mark, but suddenly I felt more at peace, less like an outcast. As I had been getting older, this now being my ninth year of breath, it was obvious that I did not fully belong to Elf culture. Yes, I was growing up in the rites and rituals of Elves, but something about me seemed too human to the clan. The sharpest Elf feature about me was that I had the very same eyes as my father. And yet the older I became, the more like my mother it seemed I would become.

Touching the spot on my own chest, and filling with curiosity and anxiety, I asked, “Mother, what does it mean?”

She took in a deep breath, and sighed. She pulled a chair from our dining area and set it next to my cot.

In a low voice, she said, “Deldorn, as you know, my father and I did not get along. I am an exile in my father’s eyes. And I remain a Dundragon to the Elves, whether or not they acknowledge it with their mouths. I fear the traditionalism of the Elves is drowning out my human nature, and I also fear the pride of the Dundragons swelling deep within me, ready to burst. The harder I try to push that pride away, the more it longs to claw its way out.”

Her eyes watered at the corners.

“This morning I received word by Messenger that – ” Here she drew in a quick breath. In timelessness, everything seemed to go still, and suddenly when my mother spoke again, the world spun on its axis like it had since the beginning of time.

“Deldorn, your grandfather is dead.” She let a tear fall to the ground. I had nothing to say, no words of comfort. I had not known my grandfather; family, to me, was my mother and father. I had never seen such humanity since my first day of breath.

“Mother, will you be alright?”

“Son, I have the High Truth with me wherever I go, in any situation, at all times. I will carry on. We will carry on.” She found her footing again. “It has been almost ten years since I last spoke to my father, and I have missed him dearly. But I made my choice when I followed my whims to love Sarberos. I do not regret that, Delly. I do not.”

She breathed deep. “I only regret that I tried to suppress Father’s memory, that I allowed my bitterness to tarnish all the good times we shared. So, may I tell you a story? A story about the Silver Dragon; it’s one that my father always told me – every year on my day of breath he would spout out new, mystical details.”

“If that would make you happy, then I would love to hear the story of the Silver Dragon.”

She smiled, relishing in Dundragon pride.

“It all starts with the mark of the Silver Dragon. The blazing snowflake signifies a magic promise, promised to every generation of Dundragon blood, that the Dragon’s final heir would become a great adventurer, an adventurer who would cross the wildest seas, trek the driest lands, slaying beast after beast until total annihilation overtook the whole earth. Creating heap after heap of dead waste in his trail, the Silver Dragon’s heir was promised to be as pure as Death itself, never knowing love but only losing it and ripping it from everyone else’s grasp.”

Something childish grew within my mother and burst forth. Death? Annihiliation? Dragons? This does not sound like Mother, I thought.

She continued, “The heir of the Silver Dragon will be as cold as ice, even colder, freezing to the point that he burns everything in his wake. He will be all-consuming, but that’s where it ends. I want to tell you where it all began. Where did this mark come from?

“As you know, we Dundragons are Tethyrian. But if you know anything about Tethyr, you know that it’s home to a wide variety of people groups. Dundragon is a Chondathan name of origin, and it is all but forgotten. Few records remain. We have been farmers for such a long time, that no one dares to notice us; to others we are but lowly servants, hidden in the open fields. Hardly any Dundragons remain, but at one time we were mighty warriors, masters of daggers and swords, skilled in navigation and insight.

“Once long ago there was a Chondathan warrior by the name of Este Dundragon. She hiked the harsh lands of the barren Wealdath. After exhaustion from battle with an ancient beast, she came to rest in the shadow of what seemed to be a molten cavern. Exhausted she searched the land for fresh water, and after hours of search she found nothing. Scoping the land for several more hours, she gave up, headed back to where she had been, and found an opening in the molten cavern. She climbed in.

“In her state of delirium, she heard the tale-tell drip of water. She crept ever further into the darkness, still groping for hydration. Unbeknownst to her, this opening in the side of the molten cavern was home to the very beast with whom she had fought hours previously. And the beast was the Silver Dragon.

I felt my heart pitter-patter with excitement and childish dread.

“Son, one thing you must know about dragons: they are tricksters. The Silver Dragon had damaged her biologically, battering her with all the power he could muster. By driving her to thirst and depriving her of hydration in a barren land, he damaged her psychologically. He had taken everyone from her and slaughtered them, including her fiancé, giving her no hope of a family.

“Now, the Silver Dragon stood outside his molten cavern while she crept further toward the drip-drip-drip. Just outside the entryway, the trickster glowed an ethereal blue light. It overpowered his shimmering scales, and then it condensed his form, morphing him into another shape entirely – a human shape. After the light faded into the wind, there stood the Silver Dragon in the form of a man. But his eyes betrayed him. He calmly walked closer toward Este, whispering her name, calling to her that she would walk out of the darkness and meet him in the low-fading light of day.

“She walked toward him, hand clasped around her dagger, but once she made eye contact with him, she was under his control. He had impressed her with his beauty – a powerful and tempting beauty, an ethereal gift of the dragons. He worked his way into her mind, stealing every positive emotion from her very soul that he could manage to find. And he broke her spirit. In a second, the Silver Dragon was everything to Este Dundragon.

“She worshipped him on the spot. She fell in love with him. And right there in the cave, the Silver Dragon had his way with Este. The love she felt for him was impure; it was wrong. Under the power of his cruel, cold temptation, everything of Este Dundragon was burned away. She became pregnant after the encounter, and he left, never to be seen again. The Silver Dragon had an heir in their son, and Este was left to the shadows, writhing in agony from a broken heart.

“From her broken heart emerged the mark – the blazing snowflake above her heart. And now the same blood flows through our veins, carrying the mark with it.”

Deldorn Dundragon: The Hunt

My father whispered to me in Elvish, “Son, Deldorn, it’s time for the hunt.” He shook me gently in my cot.

I knew this time would come, just before the morning larks would sing their sweet sunrise melodies, signaling the dawning of a new day. In years past, the songs of the morning larks had lulled me awake, but this morning, I would rush out of my tent before the morning larks would even open their eyes.

“Put on your hunting gear. I will be outside the tent when you are ready.” Father left the tent.

I struggled to climb out of my cot, plopping to the ground. In the dim light, I found my hunting boots set upon a low-set, birch dresser. The boots were a special pair that Mother had bought from the cobbler; attached to the buckles was a note in cursive: “Have fun, Sweetie! If this be the High Truth’s will, let it be so.”

I pulled on my camouflage pantaloons and hunter’s shirt to match, found in the upper drawer of the same dresser. This matching set was snug but not too snug – for care of dangers from over-heating. Some of the most well-known Elves throughout the seven closest clans had made this apparel especially. They shimmered in a way only noticeable to other Hunter Elves. After admiring the shine, I slid my boots on my feet, laced them, and buckled them, ready to join my father.

On this day, in my eighth year of breath, it was time to join my father on his daily Hunter’s ritual. For Elves in Battlecreek, the High Elf offers Elves of twenty years of breath a chance to test the wilds in an event called The Wild Rite. And at forty years of breath, an Elf declares his counsel – whether it be Hunter, Warrior, Keeper of Scrolls, Healer, or Messenger – formally to the entire clan. The Wild Rite provides an opportunity for a young Elf to see the wilds, to make a more informed decision on whether or not he would want to hunt for the clan until his dying day. But High Elf Qinren made an exception in my case, seeing that I was aging rather quickly.

I made my way through the tent’s doorway, and my father stood in the stark darkness. Smiling he patted me on the back, “You look good, son. Now we shall meet the others at the Fountain.”

We arrived at the center’s natural, freshwater fountain. There I noticed twenty-six adult males, two adult females, High Elf Qinren, and two young Elves.

When Qinren saw me, he gave a flick of his wrist, motioning me to stand beside himself and the other young ones.

“Go on, son. The High Elf calls you,” whispered Father.

I walked over to High Elf Qinren, and once I got there, he rested his thin, pale hand upon my shoulder, turning me around to face the gathering. He made a sweeping projection to the Hunters’ crowd.

“Before you all stands The Wild Rite, embodied in these three young Elves,” I felt a little uncomfortable, knowing that the two Elves standing next to me had twelve years of experience ahead of me. I also felt queasy because no one in the village had ever referred to me as Elf, not since my very first breath. The High Elf continued, “Whatever path these three may take, I hope this hunt reminds you all: we never cease navigating the fallenness of this world.”

The others echoed, “We never cease navigating the fallenness of this world.”

“Now, whether North, West, East, or South,” Qinren said, “Trust in the Protector and Preserver of life. Trust in Corellon Larethian. May he never fail to bring you food, reveal the waters, and grant you shelter on your travels. May he bring you home to hidden valleys, even when the paths become overgrown, even when secrets seem too dark to reveal. Know that he will not fail you, even if you fail to trap and gather for yourself. This is my blessing for you three standing here with me. Now, I give over reign to Huntmaster Virro.” Qinren gave each of us a low nod before he made his way back toward the throne room.

Virro spoke up, “The rest of the morning will pass as usual. We are losing precious darkness. Young ones, be with your fathers. Fathers, instruct your children.”

I found Father in the crowd, and he gave me the details. We would be traveling North with six others, so we took to the wilds just beyond the High Council Quarters. I would not be using any weapons myself, but I was instructed to pay close attention to everything done by the older Elves.

Amidst our crew was a single female who took to traveling on my left. She looked younger than the rest. Another was the Huntmaster, who kept closest to my right. My father, of course, led me through the foliage at the center of our crew. Farthest north was the oldest Hunter, and furthest south was, as I understood, his son. And then there were twins further out, on the wings of our crew.

“Take to the trees!” called the eldest in Elvish. In a flash, the Elves disappeared with a lunge into the second layer of foliage above us. I was left standing on my own.

Father called down in Common, “Climb the tree.”

He offered no other advice, but I grabbed for the lowest limb, reaching with my right hand. I could not reach it, but to my surprise, once I determined to jump, I was a few feet off the ground, my right hand managing to get the limb this time. I kicked off the midsection of the tree, and tried to mimic what I had seen, in a flash, what my father and the others had done. I took no rest, lunging from one branch to the next highest branch, until I saw my father just above me. He reached down, took my hand, and pulled me up to his level.

“A little slow, but you managed.” He chuckled. “Imagine if you had a bow and some arrows. Tough go. Now, to get you up to speed on today’s hunt. For the past week, I have been trailing a stag – sixteen point. From this minute on, we won’t see the other hunters until we return to the village. This is solo work for the whole, do you understand that?” I gave a quick nod. “Three things to remember when you’re on the hunt: your senses are your greatest asset, but senses are also your target’s greatest asset, especially because survival in the wild depends so heavily upon them. We do not kill unless we plan to eat what we kill; the only other exception is protection of self or family. And, lastly, all food we get is a gift from Corellon Larethian. Follow.”

Father jumped to the next layer of trees, and I followed. Then, he jumped straight across to another tree. He made it look so easy, but I stopped dead in my tracks. “Son,” he shouted back to me in Common, “Follow.”

I jumped. The wind whistled in my ears, and I let out my left hand. I missed a branch with my grasp, but I struck a lower branch with my foot, fell forward, and clung to it, shaking all over.

“Get up, son. Climb to me. Try again. We have miles to go, so there will be plenty of opportunity to succeed.” He leapt to another tree, and then another. Soon I thought I would not see him again, but I dashed like my life depended on it.

Panting, I now caught up to Father, hunkered in a tree over a clearing. It seemed that hours had passed, and the sun was already shining through the trees. “Still a little too slow, but I forgive you, for being so young.” Father chuckled to himself and gave me a nudge. “Here’s where I’ve tracked the stag up until today. Tell me if you see any sign of him.”

“Uhhhh,” I let out a sigh of exasperation. and wiped sweat from my eyes. “I don’t see anything. What am I looking for?”

“Remember the first saying,” Father now spoke in Elvish. “Let the senses Corellon Larethian granted to you on the day of your first breath be your strongest asset. Close your eyes, Deldorn. Focus on the preservation of your soul. Breathe in, breathe out.” Father grew ever more still as I continued to breathe. “What do you hear? Tell me, and do not assume anything, but take it all as it is.”

“Okay,” I breathed out again, and taking in another breath, I said, “I hear the wind. I hear the leaves shaking behind us. I hear a river to our right.”

“How do you know it’s a river? No assumptions.”

“Okay.” Annoyed at the rigorous nature of this exercise and the never-ending movement from before, I collected myself as best I could.  “I hear flowing water to our right. And I hear creatures in flight above us. I hear chirping below us. I hear a rattle somewhere to our left.”

“Well done. Now, open your eyes. What do you see?”

“Okay, I see a wild wheat field in front of us, rays shining through the clouds. Below us I see no ground but layers of freshly, fallen leaves.”

“Look to your right now, focus a mile or so up.”

I squinted, and my sight became focused like that of an Elf. “A small river!” I almost leapt forward to the next tree in sight.

Father sat me down on the branch. “Correct, that is where the stag comes to refresh himself this time every day. But remember, just because you were right, does not mean you should rely on assumptions in the future.”

Then, I heard a rustle in the wild wheat. I jerked on the limb, and Father hushed me. “Be still, Deldorn.”

There he was – the stag.

Father pulled his bow from his side, angled his body, in his crouched position, toward the stag, swiftly pulled an arrow from behind him, nocked it, held steady, and began speaking to me in Elvish, “Son, aim for the heart. It rests just below the crux of the neck. See the heart; strike the heart. But the key is in your breath, because the breath maintains the senses, and the one sense needed here is sight. All else fades away but your eye, the nock, and the heart. For a split moment, time becomes timeless. Release the arrow when you release the breath, and all you know is the last beat of a beast’s heart.”

He breathed in, pulling the bow taut, and breathing out, he released the arrow, following through to the death of the wild stag. There it dropped to the ground: no struggle, no pain. No heart beat.

Deldorn Dundragon: How They Met

Some time in my seventh year of breath, our clan held a feast under the light of the moon in the open Valley of Cloves. Tonight was opportune in the High Elf’s opinion because a mass of falling stars were promised to pass through the night sky.

So High Elf Qinren gathered all the wanderers and Messengers back home for this event; the Keepers of Scrolls sent word to other hidden villages, bargaining for the most sacred texts, making sure to find the most perfect poems across the realms for recitation; the Hunters provided the most illustrious meal I had seen since my breath day, made complete by imported delicacies from as many nations as were known.

A pyre had been set afire in the center of the valley, and the Healers set the outer rim of the valley aglow by their mysterious, azul magics. Drums, pipes, lyres, and a vast variety of instruments brought home by wandering musicians filled the night air with their foreign tunes. Stories were told to the children, stories of magnificent beasts, the likes of which few eyes had seen.

Mother and her students had choreographed several dance routines for this special occasion, and while the elder Elves looked on with pride at their sons and daughters, I looked on at her with the same pride in my heart.

Now I sat at the fire next to Father, gorging himself on a hog’s head, and the final dance concluded. Mother, now exasperated from her dance, cozied up to my right side.

“What did you think, Delly?” Mother’s eyes were wide, the blaze reflecting off her blue eyes.

“I loved it!”

“Would you want to do that someday? Be a Warrior? Protect the village from outlanders and threats?”

Father interceded with a laugh as he responded in Common, “Cia, don’t put those thoughts into his head. He’s going to be a Hunter like his father! Isn’t that right, Deldorn? You want to learn the bow? Traps? The art of patience and capture, only relying on the providence of Corellon Larethian?”

Mother looked Father directly in the eyes with a wide smile, “Yes, but his father wasn’t always a Hunter, was he?”

“And his mother wasn’t always a Dancer of Swords, was she?” Father looked up to the moon, his eyes now reflecting silver and echoing a green of dew. He muttered in Elvish, “Here we go again.”

Mother interjected, “Yes, here we go again.” I knew a story was coming. “Delly, did we ever tell you how we met?”

I let out a chuckle as Father sat quite still, but I could see a glint of joy in his face as well. “Tell me! Tell me!”

Mother got close in order to whisper the same secret she always told when starting this story, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Delly. All Elves look the same – to human eyes, that is.” She spoke up again, only for effect. Father had heard her, of course, with his keen Hunter’s sense. “There I was with my father, minding my own business, moving the piglets to their new habitat for the week just like every other Sunday, when I looked up into the blazing heat. What do I see? Not an empty road, but walking along the dirt path is an Elf.”

“And what did I see?” Father asked in Common. He began to let a smile loose, which is a lot for an Elf. He said in Elvish, “I saw what all Elves see when they look upon the countenance of a human. That is, I saw lack of refinement. But by sheer grace, she was in fact covered in the slop of pig.”

Mother continued in Common, “It was only a glimpse of him, but that glimpse would stay on the backside of my eyelids for the rest of my life. And then rumors spread through Tethyr of the wandering Elf, a storyteller who had journeyed as far North as the Siever Marches, as far East as Golden Water. My family hungered for stories, being as proud and self-sustaining as Tethyrians are, we never left Tethyr. So, my mom, dad, and I took a trip to the center of the city to see the storyteller.”

Father spoke up, “I remember that day in time, the one that made it worth leaving timelessness. I was telling the story of, I believe, a horde of overgrown elks in the deserts of Mulhorand?” Mother gave a nod and a smile. “But I stopped. And, you know, it takes a lot to break an Elf’s concentration. Cia knew the importance of conservatism, probably her family values flowing forth. Her pale sun dress blowing in the breeze of southern Tethyr, her dirty blonde hair doing just the same, her eyes struck me with sincerity. Her beauty juxtaposed the duty which had been revealed before on the dirt path to the city. From that moment I was hers.”

Mother blushed, “From that moment, I was convinced I was his. But my father was not convinced. I remember my father and I had many arguments, my mother standing on the sidelines trying to console me when he would lash out. I was ready to leave my home in search of adventure, and Sarberos Liaimion was offering it. It was my time to leave.”

“But like your mother has said,” Father interjected, looking down at me. “Tethyrians are proud. Jaden Dundragon had been farming his whole life, his father before him, his father before him. And, in his mind, your mother would remain in Tethyr, farming the land as they all had before her.”

“I did not want that life,” Mother sighed. “And he couldn’t handle it. For months Sarberos worked with me and my father. Father begrudgingly payed him for his services. On rest days, I would take trips to the city to sell vegetation, and that would give your father a chance to share more stories. And then one day, my father gave me an ultimatum: family or the elf.”

“Obviously, here we are,” Father laughed. “We left, never looking back. We travelled almost nonstop to get to Battlecreek. It took some convincing, but High Elf Qinren agreed to marry us, after he realized the importance of a woman trained in the Dancing of Swords. Nine months after our wedding, there you were, breathing in our arms.”

Someone exclaimed from behind us, “Falling stars!”

We looked up, huddled together, as celestial blazes passed the lingering sources of light.

Deldorn Dundragon: The High Truth

The sun shown through the lowest layers of the canopy and through our family tent to strike my cheek roundabout the ninth hour, warming the flesh under my left eye. If nature had a wake-up call, it was this, and I trusted it every morning. But something about this morning was different. I could not rest my hand upon the source of ambiguity.

On this day, in the eighth month, in my sixth year of breath, I jumped out of my cot with joy, searching for my mother, knowing that my father would just be getting back from his hunting raid. I did not find her in our little tent, and so I made my way to the center of our clan’s hidden village, where she usually taught the younger Elves how to dance with swords.

But instead of finding her there, I found only an elder Elf, one of the Healers of our clan.

“Little Deldorn, where is your mother?” She mused in our Elvish dialect, looking down at me through her sharp eyes.

“I do not know, Healer. Mother is not in our tent, and neither is she here. These are the only places I know to look.”

“Take my hand; we will find her together.” She reached out a thin, pale hand. To a human’s eye, all Elves look the same, but to my eyes, I could tell that this Elf had very gentle and controlled hands – even among Elves. She was well practiced in her career; most Elves in our village were.

Together we roamed from the High Council Quarters, once known to be the Throne Room, all the way to the clan’s tents and back again. But we did not find Mother, so I began to worry. As I was at my sixth year of breath, I began to cry, weep, and wail.

As we made our way along the eastern border of our village, the Healer could not console me properly, being an Elf and all. Even the most gentle of Elves find it hard to console. Timelessness breeds a sense of passiveness toward natural, human-like outbursts of emotion.

And then I heard my mother’s melodic voice as she ran out of the wilderness, getting ever closer to me, only to sweep me up into her arms. “Deldorn, my little Delly. It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” She whispered to me in Common, as the Healer looked at her appalled. But my mother, being human herself, did not notice. Mother had no keen sense of the slight emotions revealed by Elves.

From the viewpoint of the Elves, Mother was a skilled dancer of swords, and that was her purpose among the clan – to teach the younger Elves how to protect the clan in case of upheaval.

From my mother’s viewpoint, she was here to be the best wife to my father and the most free-spirited human she could possibly become.

“Delly,” she put me down on the soft undergrowth and knelt down to me, “Would you like to join me and my student today in the wilderness? We’re taking a rest day. And we thought going out to the wilderness would be fun and relaxing.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mother turned to the Healer, “Thank you for watching over him.”

The Healer gave a nod and turned back North. We, however, went into the wilderness. And we hiked a little way from our village but not outside of protection, stopping at a small flow of water.

Mother smiled at her student, who was sitting cross-legged on a stump, and then back at me, “Delly, have I ever told you about the High Truth?”

I shook my head, and my ears perked up at the name.

Mother, then, began to speak of the ever-flowing Light, the Life Force that creates and gives and breathes and hopes and preserves. And that was the day I became a believer of the High Truth. Both Mother’s student and I were changed forever at the mention of the High Truth’s name.

Rest indeed.