“Your companion has long been a dragon,” Galanör replied. “It would be more of a surprise if you told me you were staying in Namdhor.” The elf took a sip of his wine. “Do I even need to ask where you’re going?”
“Drakanan will have to wait,” Gideon told him. “Though Erador is my destination.”
Galanör raised an eyebrow. “What business do you have there if not in Drakanan?”
“The king and queen’s business,” Gideon answered, after waiting for a guest to pass them by. “Vighon and Inara have fears for Erador and I share them.”
“Fears?”
Gideon nodded gravely. “It was with fear that Alijah and Malliath held sway in the west. They killed anyone who opposed them and maintained order with an unnatural army. I can only imagine what’s happened there since the Reavers fell. There are good people in Erador, people just like those who call Illian home. They may need our help.”
“Then I would be the first to bid you safe travels,” Galanör offered, clasping his friend’s shoulder. “I would love to see Erador myself some day.”
Gideon laughed to himself. “You’re immortal, Galanör. Some day will come. It always does.”
Movement caught Galanör’s eye and turned him to Aenwyn and Reyna, both a vision to behold. “Forgive me, Gideon,” Reyna beseeched, “but might I steal Galanör away?”
Gideon gave a short bow of the head. “Who am I to protest so fair a queen?”
Reyna flashed him a smile before planting a light kiss on his cheek. Then, rather playfully, she linked her arms with Galanör and Aenwyn, placing herself between them, and made for the side door of the throne room.
“Are you enjoying yourselves?” she asked, as they weaved through the party.
“How could we not, your Grace?” Aenwyn replied. “’Tis such a happy day for all.”
“Quite,” Reyna agreed. “And the company?” she enquired.
“We are among the best,” Galanör declared. “We are surrounded by friends and friends who feel like family, your Grace.”
“And have you met any of the dignitaries from the other regions?” the queen went on, pausing while a servant opened the door for them.
“I have spoken with a few, your Grace,” Galanör admitted. “Though I am not the one they clamour to meet.”
“Indeed,” Reyna said knowingly, ushering them into the next chamber, where Nathaniel was already waiting for them. “Wealth and standing will always turn the heads of those who already have wealth and standing. For them politics can become something of a game. It is not a game for the masses, however. Reminding the powerful people of the world that peace is better for all requires…” The queen looked to her husband for assistance.
“The occasional smack around the head,” Nathaniel finished with a confident smile.
“Fortitude of character,” Reyna corrected, before joining the king. “And a tremendous amount of patience.”
“And stamina,” Nathaniel added.
Galanör took it all in and shared the same look of confusion with Aenwyn. “Your Grace?” he began inquisitively.
“We are old friends - you don’t need to call us that in here,” Reyna told him with an inviting smile. “Only in company.”
Galanör bowed his head in an effort to contain his own smile.
“It is an honour,” Aenwyn replied.
“Yes,” Galanör concurred. “And, in the spirit of friendship, I have to ask: what are we doing in here?” He gestured to the empty chamber, where the party could only be heard, not enjoyed.
“And,” Aenwyn added, “why the speech?”
Reyna and Nathaniel had the same excited expression. “We were going to do this earlier,” the king said, “but wedding plans and general meetings of every kind kept getting in the way.”
Reyna opened the lid of a small box, resting on the side table, and removed two items no bigger than her palm. “We have had these made for you both.”
Galanör accepted the token, as did Aenwyn, and inspected it nearer to the torchlight on the wall. The queen had handed them both an identical metallic pin that fastened to the join on the front of a cloak, just beneath the shoulder. Engraved on the pin was the sigil of house Sevari, an elven shield covered in the roots of a tree. Galanör ran his finger over the image, impressed with the craftsmanship but still none the wiser as to why he now possessed it.
“We have already informed Vighon and Inara,” Reyna explained. “We have only to tell them you accept.”
“Accept what?” Galanör asked.
Reyna beamed. “Your new positions as Ayda’s ambassadors.”
Galanör was stunned into silence.
Aenwyn gripped the ambassadorial pin with both hands. “Truly?”
“We could not take you from Illian,” Reyna said. “This is your home. But you did pledge your allegiance to us, and what folly it would be to miss the opportunity to have such skilled elves represent our interests in Illian.”
Galanör looked to Aenwyn as a growing and contented smile expanded across his face. He could see the answer in her eyes and knew it to be the same as his. As one, they said, “We accept.”
Reyna threw her hands up in joy and quickly embraced them both. Nathaniel hung back and repositioned a long box on the table. “That’s not all,” he informed, though he seemed to be speaking to his wife more than the new ambassadors.
“Of course,” Reyna responded quietly, moving to the large chest at the head of the chamber.
Nathaniel opened the thin box on the table. “We also had this made for you, Galanör.”
From the box, an exquisite scimitar was removed by the experienced hands of the old Graycoat. Its forging was in the style of the elves, making it a close replica to Stormweaver, though its pommel appeared to be that of an eagle’s head.
Nathaniel held it out with two hands. “For you.”
Galanör wrapped his fingers around the hilt and lifted the blade free. It was lighter than Stormweaver, lighter even than Guardian had been. Its edge was just as sharp though, and its balance was so fine that it could only have been made by elves.
“This is the work of my kin,” he observed.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said. “And, more so, the elven smith told
