Asher took a breath and raised his chin an inch. “They are,” he confirmed.
Doran eyed him a moment longer, his heavy brow twitching in contemplation. “They’re not the only ones, are they?”
With great sorrow, the ranger shook his head.
In the hours, days, and even weeks that followed The Rebellion’s victory in The Vrost Mountains, there was little celebration to be had as they made the slow and arduous journey north. Those who had been hiding in The Black Wood emerged to join them in navigating across The White Vale, including Doran’s mother, Drelda.
Their only enemy now was winter itself.
Asher was no stranger to the harshness of the elements, especially so far north that The Vengoran Mountains dominated the horizon. For the first time in his life, however, he faced this winter from the comfort of the air, accompanied by a warming spell and Avandriell’s dreams for their future.
The pair would touch down every evening and enjoy the company of others over a meal. Sometimes they assisted in hunting down food to be dispersed through the camp. Mostly, Asher enjoyed being above the grief that permeated the once rebel forces. They all felt the sting of losing Athis and the rulers among them had yet to rise above their sorrow.
Reyna and Nathaniel were recovering quicker than Inara but, having spoken to them many times since leaving the mountains, Asher knew that they had started mourning the loss of their son long before his death. For Inara, her loss was still so raw.
A celebration is needed, Avandriell had opined several times along their journey. A great victory has been won, she would say. Evil has been vanquished. The efforts of the brave should not be idly put aside in favour of the keen loss felt by the few.
Time, Asher had replied. Something you haven’t had much of. But you’ll see. Take it from the man with a thousand years behind him. Time heals all.
I have no doubt, Avandriell had agreed. But the thousands of people beneath us require something to remind them.
Asher had tilted his head to catch one of her golden eyes. Remind them of what?
That they won, Avandriell had answered.
After a long journey, nearing three weeks, it seemed the people of Namdhor had heard the dragon. Avandriell took to the ground and walked alongside the horses and Warhogs to get in the middle of it. Having seen the large force approaching from some way, the people had gathered in the lower town and lined the main road that ran all the way up the centre of the city, ending at The Dragon Keep.
Trumpets blared, drums beat rhythmically, shakers filled with grain were rattled high in the air, and the music of three dozen lutes had their tunes carried in the breeze. The crowds cheered the victorious return of their king and their loved ones. Vighon, and even Inara, waved and smiled at the people as they rode up on their horses. Beyond the lower town, rising into the city proper, confetti seeds were thrown over them all in celebration.
Within the royal party, though slightly behind Vighon and Inara, Reyna and Nathaniel rode side by side with a small entourage of elves, including Faylen. The remaining elves marched in tight formation behind the human army, a spectacle for the humans of Namdhor. Further still were the dwarves of Dhenaheim, though their king and his mother journeyed through the city beside the Galfreys.
Wait until the dwarves make camp, Avandriell said. Then the party will really start!
Asher had to laugh at the thought - she was absolutely right. A group of children dashing between the parade caught the ranger’s eyes and he followed them to the side of the road. There, he noticed a great throng who simply stood staring at Avandriell, captured by her beauty.
My ferocity, the dragon corrected, picking up on his observation.
I don’t think they’ve ever seen a dragon as small as you, Asher quipped, careful to guard his amusement.
I am not small! Avandriell protested.
Only then did Asher laugh to himself and bring her in to the joke. You shall be mighty in both size and strength, young one!
Avandriell exhaled a sharp breath via her nostrils, displeased with the connotations that accompanied being young. I will not be young forever, she promised.
No, Asher agreed. But you’ll always be young to me, he added with an affectionate pat to her neck.
Ilargo’s shadow came over them both. The green dragon flew on ahead, his magnificent wings blowing snow from the rooftops.
A welcoming party greeted them all outside the main gates. It was only then, at the top of the capital city, that Asher realised the banner of the flaming sword was displayed throughout Namdhor, wiping away any trace of the black dragon sigil. It brought a rare smile to Asher’s face, one that spoke of hope for a future he didn’t often consider.
The afternoon, and what remained of the light, was taken up by the finer details of where everyone was sleeping and, thankfully, what celebrations were to be had. It was a moment for the dwarves to come into their own, a people who knew how to celebrate. The elves contributed, and even Reyna, who was slowly emerging from her shell, was able to advise on a few elements. Kegs of ale, beer, and wine were located throughout the city and distributed to places in need of good drink. Food had been sourced from other towns and cities after news of victory had spread, though much of it was directed to those in the lower town and the poorer districts in the city’s fringes.
As nightfall crept over Namdhor, it brought with it an ocean of stars to mark the occasion. Having avoided the various meetings taking place, and kept very much to the fringes of the keep, Asher found himself wandering out onto the northern ramparts.
