Roona led Davidor through the tall grass, down to the edge of a large lake. The position of the two moons, one above the other, made them look like a figure eight. Their reflection formed a broad, white strip across the surface of the water. From a distance it looked no more than light playing across ripples, but the closer you got, the more solid it appeared.

The party stepped off the grass verge onto the walkway. The chalky stone, covered in dust and dirt like any bridge, felt firm underfoot. It rose from the lake’s edge and levelled off before ending in a large archway at the lake’s centre.

As they approached the arch, accompanied by the sound of horses’ hooves and the breeze across the water, Carrick appeared through the archway.

“The Assembly has gathered.” He spoke brightly with hands on hips, as though he had personally convinced the Assembly to convene. In fact, he had nervously informed them of Davidor’s imminent arrival, and hurried back, overjoyed, when they didn’t blame him for failing to keep the Queen’s least favourite person out of The Vale. “They aren’t too pleased about it, but they’ll see you now.”

“Marvellous,” said Davidor. “Tell them I’ll be along shortly.”

Carrick’s face dropped. Nobody made the Assembly wait. “No, they’re ready for you.”

“I understand. But first I’ll see my boys.” He walked past a baffled Carrick.

Roona, still holding Davidor’s hand, followed. “Don’t worry, we won’t keep him long.”

Although a shimmering haze covered the archway, Davidor knew what lay beyond. He had entered The Vale many times. Entering didn’t pose a problem. On this special night, anyone who crossed the Moonlight Bridge had the right to enter. Leaving, on the other hand, required a blessing granted by one of the three Elders, which Davdor usually received the moment he arrived. They encouraged him to leave at his earliest convenience. The problem lay in the fact he always left alone.

Davidor passed through the archway, into a dank, dark tunnel. Glowing veins ran along the walls, producing light equivalent to a lantern turned down low.

The tunnel opened into the central hall, an enormous cavern, in the middle of which stood a number of wooden buildings. A market with merchants stalls teemed with life as people milled around, doing their shopping. An average day, if you happened to live in a village built inside a mountain. No one paid attention to the small group’s arrival.

Large, glowing boulders provided light, but Davidor still had to squint to see clearly. Passageways led in every direction—through one of these Roona guided him, leaving her horse with the soldiers. Merrick and Carrick looked to their captain for instructions. The Captain sent them to stable the horses and then slowly set off to inform the Assembly they would have to wait. He sighed. In peacetime, the chances of a quick death were few and far between.

The tunnel Roona had chosen could have easily accommodated a mounted rider, although that was forbidden except in emergencies. Pedestrians, however, walked in both directions and in great numbers. They stopped and stepped aside to let Roona pass, bowing their heads, their murmuring reflecting off the polished tunnel walls.

“It’s him.”

“He’s back.”

“Blasphemy.”

Down offshoots and up flights of stairs, they eventually came to double doors made of heavy timber. Roona pushed one side with her free hand and it swung open noiselessly. Inside, a fire burned in a large room. Rugs littered the floor around a circular bed, on which sat two young boys.

“Children, your father is here.” She finally let go of his hand.

Davidor’s stomach tightened. Would he see disappointment in their eyes? An absent father who had failed in his parental duties. Perhaps they wouldn’t even remember him.

The older boy, Gart, had black hair that matched neither of his parents, although his eyes unmistakably came from his mother and his wide mouth undeniably from his father. He leapt off the bed and came bounding forward, arms outstretched. 

“Daddy!” He threw his arms around Davidor’s waist.

The younger child, Fen, had the same sandy coloured hair as Roona, and a face that matched his brother’s in all but size. He followed Gart, but stopped short, hesitant to take the final step.

Davidor waddled closer, his eldest still stuck to his waist, picked up the younger and hugged him.

“How big you’ve grown. And so pale. Don’t they ever let you out in the fresh air? This whole place is a tomb for the living.” He turned to Roona, covered in children. “No offence.”

“The Elven think the sun is a curse,” said Gart, his voice muffled by Davidor’s stomach. “They’re all crazy. No offence, Mother.”

“No offence, Mummy,” said Fen, giggling.

Roona tried not to smile, but failed.

For the next hour, Davidor regaled them with stories of his exploits since his last visit. Battles with monsters and adventures to find lost treasures. The boys ooh’d and ah’d, and demanded details about the size of claws and number of horns. He produced two ornate knives from inside his cloak, and gave one to each as he told them about the tomb of an undead king from where the daggers had come. The boys inspected their gifts with large, delighted eyes.

Roona said very little other than gentle admonishments when the boys tried to re-enact various fights with their father, wrestling each other off the bed into a heap on the floor. Davidor could feel her eyes drinking it all in. It made him sure his choice to come here, to put his plan into action, was the right one.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Roona. They’re both so big and strong.” He squeezed his sons into his chest. “What a wonderful mother, eh boys? We just need a little sister for you and we’ll be all set.” He locked eyes with Roona as he said it.

Heat rose in her cheeks and she looked away. “D--don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Oh, I think that’s five points to me,” said Davidor with a grin.

“Five points for what?” asked Gart.

“Well, you see, your mother likes to pretend she’s always in control and unflusterable. When she’s holding a sword, nothing can distract her. So, when I get her face a little red, that’s worth at least five points. If you keep score, then you can tell who’s winning in a relationship.”

“Are you winning, Daddy?” asked Fen.

“Definitely. I’m way ahead.”

“Oh, please,” said Roona. “Don’t fill their heads with such nonsense. Boys, ignore everything said by your father. Always.”

Gart, released himself from Davidor’s embrace and crawled across the bed to his mother.

His face smoothed out and his smiling eyes softened. “I’m glad you’re my mother. If I could choose anyone in the world to be my mother, I would choose you. Always.”

Roona’s face flushed a deep crimson and tears welled up in her eyes at the sincerity of her son’s declaration.

Gart raised his hands triumphantly, his sincere expression gleefully abandoned. “Five points to me!”

“A ten pointer, at least,” said Davidor, genuinely impressed. “Nicely done, son.”

Roona buried her face in her hands, rubbing her cheeks as though trying to chase away the colour. “Ugh, I tried so hard to raise them to not be like you. How could I have failed so miserably?”

“What are you talking about?” said Davidor. “You’ve done a fantastic job. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Another hour passed. The roughhousing got a little less intense, the cuddling a little more. Davidor had fought huge beasts and fearsome warriors in his time—sometimes the battles had lasted days—but these two boys had exhausted him. He would have quite happily fallen into a deep slumber. As Roona eased the sleepy boys off their prone father, there was a knock at the door. More of a repeated thump.

Roona rose from the bed and pulled the two sides of the door open. The Captain stood there, now dressed in full armour. Behind him, a dozen Elven stood to attention, all dressed for battle, hands on sword hilts.

“We’re here to escort you to the Assembly,” said the Captain, wearily. “I’d appreciate it if you could come with us, Davidor. Please.”

Davidor lifted his head. “Of course. We were just about to make our move.”

The soldiers escorted them through less crowded tunnels, reserved for those with special permission, eventually ending up back at the main hall. The crowds had disappeared leaving the marketplace deserted of even merchants. Gart held his mother’s hand, yawning. Davidor carried Fen in his arms, fast asleep.

“Do you actually think this time will be any different?” Roona asked as they walked.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“It will be different,” said Davidor.

“You have a plan?”

“I do.”

Davidor’s words filled Roona with trepidation. She had seen his plans enacted many times, and they all tended to have a similar outcome.

“Can you promise me there will be no bloodshed?”

“I can promise you none of my blood will be shed.”

The soldiers ahead and behind them gripped their weapons tighter as they marched.

Once the group passed through the main hall, they quickly reached the huge metal doors of the Assembly. The doors opened and their escort peeled away to allow them to enter alone.

Inside, three thrones dominated one wall. The backs rose to almost the ceiling, merging with the rock wall. These were the Seats of Power, one each for the three Elders who ruled the Elven. 

In the left chair sat Car Nor, bald but heavily bearded and glaring hard. The intensity of his gaze increased with every visit, or so it seemed to Davidor.

In the right hand chair sat Queen Lyr, resplendent as ever. She was Roona’s mother, and her gaze never changed as far as Davidor could tell. Extreme hostility from the day he first met her.

Nobody occupied the middle chair, the same as every visit, other than Davidor’s first.

All around the chamber, simple wooden benches formed a semicircle, filled with almost every Elven in The Vale. Once word had spread that the Saviour of the World had returned to make demands of the Assembly, everyone had left what they were doing to watch. The Elven, like anyone else, enjoyed seeing people struggle against overwhelming odds, preferably from a seat with a good view.

Heads turned as Davidor walked in with his family. He smiled and waved at random people, who averted their gaze, no doubt mortified that others might think they sympathised with him. He could feel Roona roll her eyes behind him. 

In the centre of the chamber was the Seat of the People, a square block of stone, roughly hewed with no marks or engravings, where the person speaking to the Assembly sat and made their request. The simplicity of the stone seat represented humility, but Davidor considered it a way for the Elders to boost their own self-importance.

He turned and handed his sleeping son to Roona. She took Gart in her arms and backed onto the bench behind her, which immediately cleared of its previous occupants. Fen snuggled in next to her as Gart raised his head, blinking. He appeared somewhat confused by the change of surrounding, until he found his father’s grin. He returned it, and then spun around and made himself comfortable in his mother’s lap.

“Thank you for making time to see us,” said Queen Lyr, not sounding the least bit appreciative.

“My pleasure,” said Davidor, pointedly ignoring the nature of her remark. “How have you been? Good, I hope.” The tightening of her jaw warmed Davidor’s heart.

“You realise the Assembly’s time is precious and not something to treat lightly?” The Queen asked, her patience already running thin.

Davidor looked across to the other chair. Car Nor had his legs crossed, his elbow on his knee and his chin balanced on the heel of his palm. He had once treated Davidor as a welcome guest, but even his tolerance had waned over time.

“That time I saved the world,” said Davidor. “It was some time ago, so I don’t know if you still remember—not only the human world but also the Elven world, the whole world—ringing any bells?”

The Queen closed her eyes and took a breath. “We remember it well, and are eternally grateful, Saviour of the World.” The way she said it didn’t sound like a commendation.

“Good. Just checking. Anyway, as I recall, I believe I was told that as a mark of gratitude I would be granted the right to an audience in front of the Assembly as and when I pleased. If memory serves, it was Tas himself who passed down that edict.” He casually waved a hand at the empty middle chair.

The occupants of the chairs on either side stiffened at the informal use of the revered Elder’s name.

“As far as I know, there were no restrictions. No requirements for being punctual. But it has been a while since my last visit, has Tas’s command been rescinded in my absence?”

“Of course not,” said Queen Lyr. “We are at your disposal, as always.”

“That’s a relief. For a moment I feared my presence had become an imposition.” He tried not to sound too gleeful, but judging by the Queen’s tormented reaction he had failed, as usual.

“You know, Davidor,” said Car Nor, his chin slipping so his cheek slid into his palm, “we all know what you’re here to ask, and you know full well what the response will be.”

“Not this time,” said Davidor. “Today I am not here to make a request, I am here to make an offer. Two, in fact. Whichever option you choose, I am confident this will be the last time I grace this rather uncomfortable lump of rock.”

Car Not sat up, transferring his hand into a beard-stroking motion. “Really?”

A long-lived race, the Elven suffered greatly from boredom. Something new always caught their attention.

“Yes. The time has come for us to part ways. I intend to leave here tonight and never return. Something I think we can all look forward to.”

Queen Lyr leaned forward. “What is this... offer?”

“Option one.” Davidor raised a finger. “I will face in combat any Elven of your choice. If I am defeated, since I won’t be returning from the afterlife, problem solved. If, however, I am victorious, then my wife and children will be allowed to leave with me.”

“I accept the challenge!”

All heads turned towards the voice. A few benches behind Roona stood a giant figure, heavily muscled with a determined expression on his face. Davidor had never seen him before, but he looked like a worthy adversary. 

“Sit down, Bellerin,” said Roona, her eyes still facing front.

“But I—”

“Sit down. You aren’t qualified.”

The volunteer retook his seat in less than voluntary fashion.

Davidor faced front once more. “What say you? Could be quite diverting, right?”

“Firstly,” said Queen Lyr, “she isn’t your wife. There has never been a ceremony. And there never will be.”

Davidor pulled his arm back in a sweeping motion. “If I can draw your attention to the two handsome young men sitting with your daughter. I feel they are all the ceremony necessary. But there is no need to argue the point. However you wish to view our union, she is mine and I am hers. Nothing will change that.”

The Queen leaned back in her chair and took a moment to compose herself. “And what if the Elven champion we choose for this duel is Lady Roona, herself?” 

“Mother!” cried out Roona.

“He said he would fight anyone. Why not the greatest warrior ever born to the Elven?” The Queen’s grimace slipped into a menacing smile.

“That,” said Davidor, “would be perfect.”

The Queen’s grimace returned. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, Roo would yield to me immediately and we’d be on our way within the hour.”

“Ha!” The Queen shook her head. “Wife or not, she is still Roona Set Neer, first warrior of the Elven Horde. She carries the pride of our people on her shoulders. The Elf Without Mercy yields to no one.” Her fist banged down on the stone arm of her chair.

Davidor once again swung his arm out behind him. “The existence of these two young gentlemen would suggest she has yielded to me at least twice, wouldn’t you say?”

The Queen’s pale, white face flushed a deep red.

“Five points,” called out a small voice from behind. Davidor stifled a laugh.

“Of course, if you do not wish to take up this offer, then there is always option number two.” Davidor raised two fingers.

“Which is?” asked Car Nor.

Davidor’s smile fell away and showed his true face, the one he reserved for his enemies. “I will take my family with me and kill anyone who tries to stop me.”