The Exiled King

The queen was a short elf—but average for a human, and she stood a head shorter than Dethemina. She wore a long and loose sleeveless dress embroidered with fall flowers and had an antler headband holding back her long auburn locks that cascaded down her back. Mossy green eyes were framed by coppery lashes and a red powdery eyeliner and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. A bronze crown graced her brow, decorated with fall trees and flowers in a similar design to Dethemina’s.

Aira halted in front of her captives and spun, asking, “Hey, did I do that right?”

Aira looked back at her staff expectantly, and an elderly elf dressed in a neat black suit nodded his head.

She grinned and her previously regal appearance was all but ruined as her child-like personality shone to the surface.

“In that case,” She said, turning to face the captives caught up in her vines, “What shall I do with these… trespassers?”

The elderly elf suggested mildly, “Perhaps, your highness, you might consider letting them go home? Or question their motives in coming here?”

She scowled, “Send these children back to their parents. Galion, deal with them!”

The elderly elf, Galion, nodded and mumbled a few words in Ovaal. Shackles materialised and fell to the ground with a thud, glowing faintly for a brief moment.

Smoothly, he levitated them and had them securely lock the wrists of the captives.

He quietly requested the queen to remove the vines, which she did with a huff and left soon after, her rat following.

The instant the door slammed shut, Galion directed his hawk-like gaze at Eryna.

“Princess, you should know better than to smuggle in humans to Silvardor. Explain yourself,” He reprimanded her sternly.

Under his withering gaze, Eryna wilted a little and looked away, muttering an apology and explanation.

“I know… I’m sorry, Galion, but they wear the same circlet as great-uncle Jaron! If they really are the new guardians, this explains everything! Of course I had to help them,” She explained.

Galion’s feathery eyebrows rose and he slipped his long fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a monocle, which he squinted into as he peered at the circlet on Jason's forehead.

“By Mother, you’re right!” He exclaimed.

“Um… sir? Would you kindly release me and my companions?” Jason asked, his palms sweating.

Galion frowned at the boy, but released the shackles and said, “You are very important people. Are you all guardians? No,” He answered himself, then pointed to Jason, Haverik and Altein, “Those with circlets, please follow me.”

Leus asked, “What about the rest of us?”

Galion barely spared him a glance and waved airily with his hand, “Stay here. If you leave, the guards will shoot you down before you can run ten paces.”

The group was quickly separated, although glances were made at Altein’s newfound status as one of the guardians. The dwarf had worn a hooded cloak most of his journey on the boat and none had been able to see his face.

The door slammed shut in their faces and they were left in total silence.

Leus broke that stillness and asked, "What in the name of Pelos is going on?!"

<--<< >>-->

Galion marched them through the city at a crazy pace, clearly not intending to let them tour the city and see the sights. Haverik quickened his steps to catch up to the elderly elf’s unmatched pace.

“Where are we going?” Haverik asked, and Galion replied, “To meet your great-uncle, Jaron. Afterwards, you alone will be undergoing the purification ceremony so you can regain your rightful place as a son of winter, your highness.”

Without any further explanation, Galion increased his pace further and led them to the far outskirts of town, out past the city walls to the woods just out beyond.

The woods were menacing in the evening, the dark branches inviting them further into the inky shadows. Gnarly, twisted branches overhead shivered in the light evening breeze and the leaves rustled. Galion led them further into the woods until they eventually reached a secluded clearing in the centre of the forest. There, illuminated by slivers of silvery moonlight, stood a tower. It was tall and only a single window was to be seen along the front face, sitting right at the top. Magenta curtains fluttered and yellow candlelight leaked from the window.

There, Galion stopped and uttered a word in Ovaal, then, very softly, he muttered, "Jaron."

His voice was amplified a hundred times and boomed over the distance, making the companions groan and cover their ears.

Only a moment passed before a face appeared at the window, blotting out the light. He scanned the people below and upon identifying Galion, he swung one foot, then the other, out of the window before dropping a terrifying height. Landing nimbly like a cat, Jaron dusted off his hands and strutted over like he had not just jumped off a window ledge from the top of a massive tower.

Galion uttered another whispered word and a bright orb of light appeared at his mouth for a moment before floating up and hovering above his head.

In the light, Jaron's face was revealed. He had short cropped and wavy silvery hair like Haverik's and bangs trimmed slightly above the eyes. Jaron wore a simple deep green tunic with few embellishments, save an elaborate brooch pinned to the middle of his collar, and long boots trimmed with silver embroidery.

His blue eyes locked onto Haverik and he sauntered up to the bewildered half-elf, saying, "Hello, dear nephew of mine. I am Jaron of the Aegivyl royal house and the former silver guardian."

How am I to tell him that I can’t speak Ovaal? Haverik wondered.

Galion came to the rescue, muttering a quick explanation of Haverik’s inability to reply, gesturing to his ears. Jaron nodded and re-introduced himself in Common, then his gaze swept up—to the silver circlet that adorned Haverik's brow—and he sighed.

"You are the new one, huh? I pity you, but I also envy you. You have been granted a great gift—use it well."

Haverik swallowed, his throat dry, and asked, "You envy me? Aren't you the former guardian? Why would you envy me? Everything I have is something you also have."

A pained look crossed Jaron's face and he said quietly, "I envy you because you have taken what used to be mine. There may not be more than a single guardian of each kingdom at a time. When you awoke your powers, I lost mine."

His hand shifted and he brushed his bangs back, revealing his forehead. A large scar circled his head as if an iron ring, heated in a brazier until it glowed, had been clamped to his forehead and held there as the flesh beneath it burned away. Imprinted on him forever, was the mark of that which he had lost—the circlet, mark of the guardians.