My Boots

[Royal Blood]

My boots crunch across the leaves fallen from the trees in piles around the temple grounds beneath Myon. Scattered and fallen like the leaves are the bodies of my kin. The stench of death and thick smell of coppery blood fills my nose as we proceed towards the Mythal, I struggle to take it all in. As we move, my eyes come to rest upon a fallen archer, his body lifeless and blood soaked.

I stare at the body swallowing uselessly at a rock lodged in my throat. I am thankful for the mask around my nose and mouth it hides my look of horror, though I am certain my eyes alone say enough. As I stand and stare I feel the gaze of my still living kin resting on me. I stuff my emotions away and look at them. They look to me for strength, they look to me for leadership.

This attack is not entirely a surprise to me. This is the price we pay for being bold, for not being submissive and reclusive. For not turning a blind eye, for reaching out from our floating city. I know these Dhaerrow and their human master. Many of them, scores of them, have died at Myon’s hands. I know my kins swords did plunge into the vile heart of their leader. But for all the carnage we wrought against them, it has not been enough. I shuffle where I stand, looking amongst the kin whose eyes rest upon me.

I am glad no one speaks, for if they did I would be forced to try once again to swallow the boulder in my throat. Instead, in response to their gaze, I raise my chin in an imperialistic manner, in defiance of the carnage before us. They seem to accept this gesture and we move on. As we begin again to move towards the Mythal I harden my heart so I do not weep.

When I first came to this Island I had no intention of being Coronal. Much less, in fact, I was afraid to travel to Myon, fearful because of the long years I had spent amongst the younger races that I had somehow sullied my elven heritage and made me unworthy. After being encouraged by a ranger now long gone to seek my people out in Myon I did so. I had never imagined I would end up as their leader. Ruler of a floating city, one of the last perhaps in all the world.

How far I have come from those early days. It was an attack much like this one years ago that turned my passions into an inferno that demanded I pursue the title of Coronal. Myon needed a leader, one who was bold, who would not sit idle. Who was not content with the current way of things. Many think I pursue this path to satisfy my ego, but it is not the case. Do they think I desire the ire of Assassins? To be alone in reverie, to endure the twisted nature of the politicians on this island? I even lost my lover the night I chose to lead my kin instead of being with him in his moment of need.

I am the child of a pair of wanderer Moon Elves, my blood is not the blood of kings and queens nor champions and heroes. Who am I in all of this? Clothed in noble greens trimmed in royal golds I suddenly feel as if I am a child and the armour I wear is far too big for me.

I let out a low growl to myself, annoyed at the doubt that clouds my mind. I am the Coronal I remind myself.

We reach the Mythal and all the while I am assailed by speedy hin constantly delivering updates and reports on the moving army that has fled to the ocean. I proceed with some haste into the Mythal disappearing into its divine light and as I appear on the other side the sweet smell of life and fresh air fills my nose. Standing before me are the same guards as always standing vigilantly in their protection of the city.

“They did not breach the city” I murmur to myself, relief rushing over me in a wave as my shoulders slump downwards as if they had just been relieved of some great weight. Behind me, the group of kin, and outsiders that came to Myon’s aid begin to enter the city.

It will be some hours before I have time to mourn and rest. There are politics to settle, battle plans to be made, and reports to listen to. The next hours shall be long. “Coronal!” shouts a half elven scout as he runs towards me. I turn to face him, and the growing number of people gathering before me.

…

Some days after the attack, after many long meetings and a vigil to honor the fallen kin who died that day I am at last alone. I stand on the edge of Myon overlooking the vast forests. It’s night time, the full moon looms over the land its silvery glow illuminating the treetops for miles. As I look across the trees I grip at a new symbol that rests around my neck. A small pendant of a weeping eye, the symbol of Vandria Gilmadrith, lady steelheart, lady of grief and war.

“Vandria… Daughter of Correllon, do you hear me?” I say, speaking softly as I stand alone lingering on the edge of the floating city the wind whipping my blue hair about as it ebbs and flows.

“I need your strength. The strength to-” I pause. It is not just the Underdark who Myon is in conflict with, but many others as well. Those who should be friends. “I need your strength to fight these wars, but not only to wage war, but to have the courage to find peace.” I say.

“I look across the domain of my people and I know that beyond it lies many enemies, many who have lost their way, many who need to be guided back home. I am sorry to you, because I know you feel the bite of every blade that breaks the flesh of elves and I fear that this conflict with the depths and with the surface has only just begun.”

“Give me the vigilance, Vandria, lady steelheart, give me compassion but most of all give me the determination not to falter from my path, that path, set before me by our father.”

My eyes fall downcast as a wave of sorrow washes over me. A few wet tears roll from my eyes, down my cheek and drop from my chin to fall through the sky to the earth below. I am overcome with the idea of the challenge that lies before my people.

“My kin would die before they surrender their ideals, Vandria. I pray that if it is death we face that we are welcomed with open arms in Avrandor. What is this life, even given our long years in comparison to the eternity we shall spend in that place? I know my kin will deserve their place in our final home.”

I fall quiet.

Around me the wind blows and beneath me I hear the quiet chirping of crickets and calls of birds. I feel the cool light of the moon across my skin and smell the sweet air rising from the lush forests beneath me. I suck in a long breath, and exhale. And with my breath that departs my lungs so to do my fears and doubts.

I open my eyes and raise my head, my hands falling to my sides. My chin raises imperialistically. As my doubts fall aside I am restored with a sense of duty, pride, and passion. I know that the path I walk is the one my god’s favor. In their divine presence I find my strength.