When we get up the next day, we’re immediately hustled out of camp. Apparently the General didn’t want everyone to know what happened, so he got us up way before the crack of dawn to get us out. We travel for nearly a month longer, in which we get to know the guards pretty well. Faladel keeps up the pretense the entire time, except late at night when any of our guards who aren’t asleep are on duty. Then is the time that we truly talk about things. It’s a bit nerve wracking to have to continuously play such roles, but I try to think about it as practice for how it will work in the castle.
Since Faladel has to put up a persona of the arrogant prince all the time, and Briareth has to act like his guard, it’s up to me to get close to the other dwarves. Not an easy task, since to them I’m a traitor. But a month is a month, and I eventually get some of them to crack when they ask me why exactly I went and helped the elves. I was eating lunch with them, because it would break cover if I was always eating with Faladel and Briareth. But when they first addressed me after two weeks of hanging out with them constantly, I nearly dropped my spoon in my stew.
After explaining what exactly I’d overheard my commander saying that caused me to go to the elves, I watched the other dwarves' faces morph into different expressions. Some looked baffled, others stunned, and some suspicious. Over the next week however, they all grew to accept it, and some even asked for more details, like how we hoped to make peace. I felt a little guilty, lying to them about the fake little superweapon that Briareth and Faladel cooked up, but it certainly seemed to convince them that our cause might have a chance.
We can see Abahak’s customary smog clouds when we’re still hours away, the view of the city itself still blocked by the rolling hills. The sorcery the church uses to protect the city keeps the dust from the burnt coal trapped in the nearby atmosphere, poisoning more than a few districts. Of course, the palace itself is kept clean, but the rest of the city suffers from the lack of light and fresh air. Once we enter the smog, almost all of us, our guards included, break out into coughing fits. It’s been years since I’ve been here, and getting used to the foul air again isn’t easy. I can’t believe some guards actually enjoy the stuff. It takes Briareth the longest to get over his coughing fit, he’s still not over it by the time we enter the city proper. One of the guards attempts to comfort him.
“Just hold on, buddy.” The guy, I’m surprised to realize that I never learned his name, says. “The palace air is cleaner. Once we get there, you’ll be able to breathe all proper again.” As another guard, this one named Jagin, nods with his friend, I realize just how comfortable these dwarfs got after I opened up to them about some of my experiences with elves. It’s like they never realized, like I’d never realized before that long ago day, that elves are people too.
When we arrive in the city proper, our procession through the streets is less than welcome. The high cobblestone houses and walls loom over us, making me feel trapped after all those weeks of rolling hills and endless forests. The citizens are no more friendly than their city. They shut up as our guard of soldiers come close, but break into hushed conversations as soon as we pass. I can guess what they’re talking about. For most of them, this is probably their first time seeing elves, and here are two right in the middle of their city!
The castle is impressive as it was when I first saw it, high stone walls, far taller than any of the buildings around them. Dwarven guards are constantly watching the gate and barring almost all traffic in and out of the official grounds. Certain merchants are allowed in, maybe a few nobles visiting from their town houses, but no peasant gets past them. The gate opens easily for us though, Faladel riding through, tall and proud, like he does this everyday, his coughing fit long gone. As soon as we cross the stone wall, the noise of the marketplace is distinctly muted. Although we’re in the very heart of the bustling, smog-filled city, sunlight burns down on us and bright green grass flourishes alongside the cobblestone paths to the separate buildings that make up the castle. It's a far cry from the dusty, crowded roads right outside where there’s not a blade of grass in sight. Our group of guards leads us along the largest route, right towards the main section of the castle, where the nobles stay, the feasts are held, and the king has his audiences.
Off to our right, I see young soldiers practicing outside the guardhouse, and feel almost disconnected from reality. It wasn’t too long ago that I was also stuck doing drills for hours on end before patrolling uselessly the rest of the day. Things look a little different now that I’m an outsider– the captain more strict, the movements more urgent– but I suppose times have changed a little. It has been a decade since I was here, finishing up my training to be shipped to the front lines. But, with only a little imagination, I can still see myself among them, endlessly drilling movements. It doesn’t feel real, that I’m here now, walking down this path, risking my life for the opposite of what I trained for, two elves at my side instead of dead at my feet. It was my own choices that led me here, but looking back at my younger self, I almost can’t believe how far I’ve come.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t even fully realize that we had dismounted and stabled our horses until we’ve already passed through the large bronze doors leading to the antechamber of the Great hall. Glancing forward, into the Great Hall itself, I can see that there isn’t a feast going on, but that doesn't mean the room isn’t busy. The King and some of the nobles are pouring over paperwork. Servants are constantly going to-and-fro fetching documents or delivering news. As soon as we step foot inside with our retinue of guards the announcer– who’d probably been handed a slip of paper revealing our identities without me noticing, shouts.
“An envoy from General Wigbert,” His voice falters, but he quickly continues “With Elven diplomats–” I can almost hear every eye turn in our direction at the word ‘Elven’ and gulp nervously “Prince Faladel Mithrandir, his Guard Briareth Herbalar, and their Guide Balderk Ungart.”
“You have Royal Permission to approach!” One of the advisors near the king shouts back. Our group moves closer, and the dwarves who accompanied us here fall into a kneeling position, right hands over their hearts, soldiers expressing their loyalty to the crown. I instinctively move to join them, but Briareth elbows me gently, causing me to hesitate. He and Faladel aren’t kneeling. Of course not, they don’t owe the dwarven King fealty, they would be demeaning themselves if they kneeled. I gulp nervously. If I kneel, I might embarrass them. If I don’t– well what? It feels odd not to kneel, as that was part of my etiquette training in the castle. But I’m a traitor now, outed in front of the entire court because of that stupid announcer, nobody actually expects me to adhere to the rules anymore.
Faladel dips into a perfunctory bow, deep enough to show respect, but quick enough to show that it was just that. Respect for the King's position, nothing more. Briareth follows suit, and I attempt to mimic it, growing hot at the ears as I imagine the stares and whispers. But once I stand back up, straight and stiff as a board, I take a chance to do something I’ve always wanted. I look straight at the royal family and observe them while Faladel begins talking. The King, Reginald Gewalt, is old. Very old. Probably the oldest looking person I’ve ever seen. His hair, what remains of it, is pure white, and his skin appears to be nothing but wrinkles, but his eyes are still clear, cold and sharp enough to cut oneself on. I find myself quickly glancing away, but his voice draws me back. It’s colder than ice, and far more grating. He’s questioning Faladel, and where I would falter and stutter, I watch the prince keep his cool, responding calmly to the King’s implied threats. This feels surreal.
Just weeks ago, the prince was terrified of this. I was terrified of this. But nothing has happened. Things appear to, in fact, be going rather well. The King and his ministers are studying us, slight frowns on their faces, as if they’re actually believing our story of the elves having a similar weapon to the Scourger. Nobody has called for our execution yet. Faladel and the king are conversing directly, not quite peer to peer since the king remains seated, but close enough. Briareth and I haven’t said anything, aren’t expected to say anything. So, working up my courage, I glance over at the next member of the royal family, the Queen, Friedalein Gewalt, who’s sitting at the opposite end of the table. She’s not even paying us any attention, fiddling with one of her bracelets. Her eyes are vacant, and it’s almost like she isn’t entirely present, not that she could change the outcome of this meeting much even if she was. I’d heard rumors her health declined after the assassination of her daughter, but I’d always assumed it was her physical, not her mental health. I must have been wrong, because even though she’s obviously healthy enough to be at the meeting of officials, she’s not fully here. I allow my eyes to flicker back towards the King’s side of the table, to land on the single heir to the dwarven throne.
The Dwarf Prince, Yaluda Gewalt, is every bit as handsome as I always heard. His beard is neat and trimmed to a point, his black hair a shiny wavy mass halting just below his shoulders. His eyebrows are thin but highlight his clever golden eyes which are sharp, but at the same time somehow soft. His long straight nose, likely never broken in his life, ends right before a pair of full lips, stained a deep red from the liquor in his cup. He is so handsome I almost want to call him pretty. My eyes flicker up to his again, and I lock gazes with him. His lips curve into a small grin and he raises his glass slightly in my direction, almost like he’s toasting me. I feel my ears redden and quickly glance away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. I think I hear a soft chuckle from his direction, and then realize that during the time I’ve been observing the prince, the room has fallen into silence.