Galanör waited until the old knight was looking at him. “It is the way of things… your Grace.”
Nathaniel’s expression soured with a hint of amusement behind it. “You were supposed to be on my side.”
The elven ranger raised his hands in mock surrender. “Any elf with half a head of sense knows to always side with their queen.”
Reyna wore a smug smile before turning serious again. “You speak of lacking skill but I hear there are dwarves and elves walking about the camp who should be walking hand in hand with Death.”
“I did what I could, your Grace,” Galanör replied, humbly. “The effects aren’t wide spread yet, but every healer is complaining of a… disruption in their magic.”
The queen made an expression of agreement. “It is among the hardest of spells to weave.”
Galanör looked to his left, though he couldn’t see the Drake. “How fairs Adan’Karth?” he asked. “Has he spoken yet?”
Reyna shook her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. Gideon and Kassian are with him.”
The elven ranger nodded, disturbed by the lack of news. “And Asher? Has he returned with Doran yet?”
“No,” Nathaniel answered this time. “Though I am keen to see both again.”
“There is little in the wilds that could trouble a pair like that,” Galanör reasoned. “Though I do not envy their task. I will count Russell Maybury as one of humanity’s best for all my long days on this earth.”
“The casualties in this war will live in our hearts for eternity,” Reyna uttered, before sipping her water.
Galanör shared the shadow that overcame the queen’s face, for he too thought of Adilandra Sevari in that moment and his heart sank all the further. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice on the verge of trembling. “Before you now, I would like to reiterate my condolences and beg not only for your forgiveness, but for the opportunity to serve you and, perhaps, elevate myself in your eyes once more.”
Reyna couldn’t hide the pain that stirred in her. “Galanör…”
“I was reckless,” he continued. “Queen Adilandra would never have entered the tower with so few if she hadn’t been trying to save me. I put her in that position.” Galanör slid off his stool and took a knee beside the fire. “I am so sorry, your Grace.”
Reyna reached out and lifted his head with a gentle finger under his jaw. “Faylen has recounted events for me. My mother commanded them to leave her. She knew exactly what she was doing. Like you, she chose her own path. Facing Alijah was inevitable.” Galanör made to speak but the queen hushed him. “I would not have you carry this guilt for eternity. My mother counted you as a good friend and an honourable elf. She was always proud to have fought by your side.
“So,” Reyna said, her tone firming up, “in regard to this debt you speak of: there is none. My court - the entire elven nation - would be a better place with Galanör Reveeri in service to it, but I would not have you assume such a position out of guilt or some presumed debt. If you wish to really serve us and our people, you must desire it in your heart.”
With tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, Galanör removed Stormweaver, his one and only scimitar, and planted it tip first in the ground. His grip firm and head lowered, he vowed in elvish, “I, Galanör of house Reveeri, pledge myself and my sword to the house of Galfrey, the bloodline of Sevari, and the kingdom of Ayda.”
Reyna gave the elf a broad grin and instructed him to rise. Then she told him to take his seat again and finish his food and drink. “I have no official position for you yet,” she went on to explain. “Though I do have one in mind. For now, however, I would like you to work alongside Faylen as you have been doing. She remains your superior; her word to be counted as my own.”
Galanör bowed his head again. “I understand, your Grace. And thank you for accepting me into your kingdom.”
“It is good to have you back in the fold,” the queen affirmed. “I promise you, no matter what is to come, I will never command you with the ill will of my father. He took advantage of your skills with a blade - perhaps it is us who should be asking for your forgiveness,” she posed.
“Never, your Grace,” Galanör assured.
“I am more interested in your mind, your perspective,” Reyna specified.
“You’ve certainly seen and done a lot,” Nathaniel pointed out.
Truly humbled, Galanör nodded in appreciation. “Thank you for the promise, your Grace.” The elf swallowed a mouthful of bread and cleared his throat, unsure whether this was the right environment to make his enquiry. “Has there ever been any word of your father, your Grace? Of King Elym?”
Reyna glanced at Nathaniel, though the meanings behind their expressions were known only to husband and wife. “Not long before The Ash War,” Reyna disclosed, “before King Vighon tasked us with investigating Valatos, we had some time to ourselves. I had been curious for some years as to what had become of him. It took time and a lot of leg work up and down the east coast, but we finally found him.”
“His journey out of Velia was simple,” Nathaniel began. “After Adilandra exiled him, he took to The Selk Road and headed north. It seems he didn’t stop until he passed through Longdale and into The Lonely Wastes, as far north as Illian goes.”
“It was the tales coming out of Longdale that ultimately led us to him,” Reyna continued. “They spoke of a man from the north - not something you hear people in Longdale talk of. They said he came every few months to trade fish for materials and supplies. This might not seem extraordinary, but they said he had been coming
