“It’s not just the coming battle,” the elf said. “A new sense of unity has begun to spread among the children of the mountain. Since Qamnaran, there have been a few louder dwarves who believe they would replace their fallen king, but they have proven to be all talk and no action. None have stood up to lead.”
“I would say one has,” Aenwyn remarked knowingly.
“Indeed,” Galanör agreed.
“If begrudgingly,” Inara added, after catching on.
“Doran has had this thrust upon him,” Reyna observed, her tone suggesting a deeper level of understanding where the dwarf was concerned. “Yet he has faced every challenge in the name of his kin, even when it was them who challenged him. Doran might not want to be the king of Dhenaheim, but he is certainly the one they deserve.”
Inara reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. She was sure to put an apology in her eyes, there for Reyna to see. That was all it took to bring them back into harmony, their disagreement regarding Gideon and the Crissalith quickly forgotten. It wasn’t enough for her mother, however, who pulled her in and planted a soft kiss on her head.
“Doran as king,” Nathaniel said with a laugh. “He’s going to hate it.”
“Or perhaps,” Reyna was quick to reply, “he will come to appreciate the new power he wields and use it to serve his people with love and respect.”
The old knight held his wife’s gaze a moment longer, her words not lost on him. “Perhaps he will,” he said earnestly.
“I thought there would be a lot more celebrating,” Aenwyn commented. “Before the battle on The Moonlit Plains, the dwarves were behaving as if they had already won.”
“They’re waiting,” Gideon told her, arriving with a cup of ale in each hand. Before he could give one to Inara, her father swiped it from the old master’s grip.
“You’re flying tomorrow,” he reminded her with a wink. Inara gave a light groan through her amused smile.
“Waiting for what?” Aenwyn enquired.
“Their king,” Gideon said with a grin.
Before any discussion on the matter could begin, Vighon arrived with Sir Borin the Dread at his back. All but Reyna and Nathaniel responded to his presence with a courteous bow of the head.
“Good evening,” he greeted, his breath visible in the air.
“Your Grace,” Gideon replied, the hint of a question in his voice.
“I have been speaking with Doran,” Vighon explained. “The war isn’t even won yet and he’s concerned about a lasting alliance between Dhenaheim and Illian.”
“He is to be declared king then,” Nathaniel surmised.
Vighon appeared hesitant to answer. “Soon, I believe,” he said, his dark eyes glancing at Inara. “It is believed the dwarven force will fight with better morale if they are united under one banner and one king.”
“Can he not be challenged, your Grace?” Aenwyn asked.
“Who would challenge him?” Nathaniel questioned before the northman could reply. “Doran has freed thousands of his kin and defeated every foe he’s come up against. Not to mention the fact that he wields Andaljor. That weapon is legendary throughout all the clans.”
“As you say,” Gideon said. “And the prospect of ruling all of Dhenaheim would be enough to give anyone pause. There is unity now, but in the absence of foreign enemies, the cultural differences between the different clans will become apparent. Doran has a very long and difficult road ahead of him.”
Vighon simply nodded his head in overall agreement. “And he will have Illian to call upon should we be required.”
“Ayda too will come to his aid,” Reyna stated.
“He knows all that,” Asher said, emerging from the gathering crowds with a pipe between his teeth and Kassian behind him. “Tonight, he just needs his friends.”
“Agreed,” Nathaniel cheered heartily. “We should all have drinks for the occasion,” he added, looking to some of the passing dwarves who hefted a keg of beer between them.
As Faylen and Nemir arrived, Vighon used their collective greeting to discreetly lean in to Inara’s ear. He asked to steal her away for a moment, before the night’s activities truly began. She quickly agreed and he instructed Sir Borin to remain where he was.
Taken by the hand, Inara was happily led away from the throng and deeper into the woods. When the camp became imperceptible background noise, Vighon finally stopped and turned to face her.
“I think everyone knows about us,” Inara pointed out. “You could probably kiss me in front of them,” she added with a wry smile.
Vighon had a smile of his own, one that Inara couldn’t interpret the truth behind. As a question formed she felt Athis shrinking away in her mind.
Why are you going? she asked the dragon. They didn’t often separate without a cause.
This is a moment for just the two of you, Athis replied, one step ahead of Inara.
Instead of saying anything at all, Vighon maintained his smile and subsequently dropped to one knee. Inara felt her heart quicken and her breath get away from her. Before she knew it, her hand was in his.
“Inara,” he began confidently. “I have no token to offer you, and this is, perhaps, the last place a king would make a grand proposal. But I do have a promise.” The northman took a breath. “I have loved you for so long I can no longer recall a time I didn’t. With my word and my life I promise you that that will never fade. I will love you and honour you from now to my last breath.” Vighon’s hand tightened around hers. “Inara Galfrey, will you do me the honour of being my wife?”
There was an immediate answer behind her lips, desperate to be set free. Rather than let her thoughts give her pause, a hesitation in Vighon’s eyes, Inara withdrew into the sanctuary she shared with Athis, a place where time almost stood still. Sensing her disquiet, Athis re-formed the bridge of their bond and quickly joined her in the heavenly mountains of their own design.
Athis recovered her recent memories in an instant. That was very sweet, he opined.
