Godric and lómë walked silently toward the great hall, their steps echoing throughout the magical pathway. The chamber usually bustled with activity regardless of the time, but tonight, it was eerily quiet except for the chirping of birds and the rustling within the trees and bushes.
In the silence, the boy spent his time pondering what his trial would be. By his judgment, it was already two fortnights and a half since he first entered Mistveil Forest. Since then, he had been living under the hospitality of the elves. He ate alongside them, learned their culture, and was trained and looked after by only the best his hosts had to offer. There was a lingering thought in his mind that hopefully, all the borrowed time generously provided by his hosts would not be in vain. The boy was so lost in thought that he didn't notice that he had already outpaced the elven prince.
"Godric," lómë called out to him, stopping the boy in his tracks. "Something seems to be bothering you." Godric turned to the beauty of the forested chamber and focused his attention on the noises of nature in an attempt to distract himself from his doubts.
"Yes, there is. You've dedicated your time and been so kind to me, all of you. I'm simply afraid of failure."
lómë scoffed at the idea and closed the distance. "Nonsense. I've seen your progress during your time spent here. I believe in you. The others have faith in you. Anarórë, who despite her cold demeanor, believes that you can do it as well." Godric doubted the last part of the prince's words but was grateful to know that some supported him.
"Thanks, lómë," Godric replied sincerely as he turned to the prince. "Your kindness and hospitality are greatly appreciated. I want you to know that no matter the result of this trial, I am glad to have met you." He then extended his hand, which the prince accepted and shook without hesitation.
"You are welcome, friend. Now come, they are expecting us." lómë looked past Godric to which two soldiers were waiting for them already.
"My prince," one of the soldiers greeted the two. "My king Ithilien and the council are awaiting both of you inside." They then swung open the huge, intricately designed doors of the great hall to reveal the king seated on his wooden throne, surrounded by four individuals dressed in different colored robes, two on each side along with Anarórë, who was posted at one of the solid, stone pillars that held the hall up.
The boy and the elven prince walked toward the great wooden throne, their steps echoing throughout the hall. Godric looked at the individuals and felt immense pressure from all four of them. Druids? Godric thought to himself as he looked at the supposed council. No, they're something different. Their presence was strong and paled compared to the elven king's, but something was off.
Godric could feel their eyes focused on him and noticed the king had raised his eyebrow after a tense observation.
"You've improved, and in such a short time too. Well done." Ithilien complimented the boy. "Normally, it takes a few seasons of training to polish one's control over mana, but it seems to come naturally to you. Curious." the strange council members spoke to each other in hushed whispers after hearing the king's words.
Godric didn't know whether to feel happy or concerned with the statement, especially after hearing the last word and the murmurs between the council.
"I thank you, my children, for preparing him during his stay here. However, the time has come and the council has spoken. Godric, step forward." the elven king commanded Godric, to which the boy stepped forward.
"My king Ithilien," Godric knelt on one knee and began to speak his thoughts out loud. "Several moons have already passed since your great house became host to an outcast like me. And yet you've only shown nothing but kindness and service which I find myself not worthy to receive," he continued as the twins looked on. "I've learned many things and I want to prove not only to myself but also to all who've helped me, that I'm worthy of the gift of life you have provided." He concluded.
The king let out a smile. "You continue to surprise me mortal," Ithilien said. "Let him know of his fate." He turned towards the council. The four of them looked at each other, nodded in agreement, and then set their gaze on the boy.
"Godric of Rosetown." The four individuals spoke in unison in a powerful manner that rendered Godric unable to move. As expected, both the king and lómë were unaffected, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anarórë struggling for a moment. The boy strained and quickly focused his mana to regain control of his bodily movements, but was left helpless.
"You are found guilty of trespassing on hallowed ground." Two voices stood out from the four. "You are also found guilty of desecration." The other two voices continued. "The old gods have deemed to give you a second chance. Retrieve the tears of the crescent moon for House Alastrassa. Accomplish this task, and your sins will be absolved, mortal." They spoke in unison.
Godric looked on as the four beings began to change their appearance. The boy thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but their bodies appeared transparent by then. Eventually, the once, solid figures turned into floating, circular spirits. Wisps. Godric remembered lómë introducing them to him back in one of their sessions. No, these are no mere wisps. They circled him and shone in a colorful light. Godric was blinded because of the spectacle. Not long after, he regained his vision and could move again, noticing the king and the twins had already surrounded him.
"I suspected as much," Anarórë said as he helped Godric up. "In another way, they're giving you a death sentence." she continued as the boy was starting to get his bearings. "Tears of the crescent moon?" Godric asked the elves present as he shook off the effects of being paralyzed. What on earth does that even mean? He thought to himself.
"The tears of the Crescent Moon is our House's sacred relic," King Ithilien stepped in to explain. "It was lost centuries ago, back when my children were still very young." He continued as the trio looked on.
"They have no memory of what happened, and I shall spare you all the unnecessary details. All you need to know is that it is an important figure and also serves as a treasure to our House. However, it is being held by a foul creature, whose name I shall not speak in these halls." The king's demeanor changed near the end. Godric noticed that subtle shift in tone and immediately knew that this trial of his was personal, not just for him, but also for the king himself.
"...Understood," Godric replied in a respectful tone. As much as he wanted to know more, he felt it would be wise not to push his luck. "Give me time to prepare my things. I also need information on where I'll be going and an idea of what I'll be facing." Ithilien nodded in agreement. "I shall personally see to it that you're well prepared. Anarórë will inform and help prepare you for what lies ahead. lómë, I would like to discuss something with you."
The twins nodded in agreement and proceeded to follow their Father's request. Anarórë and Godric stepped out of the great hall, while lómë and King Ithilien stared at the mortal as he walked out, their piercing gaze making the hairs on Godric's arm stand.
"Where are we off to now?" Godric asked the elf as they strolled through the pathway.
"The forge. We must find something to help you survive this ordeal, or at least keep you alive longer than we expected." Her words were brutal and hurt like a stab to the heart, but Godric noticed no malice in her tone. In that instance, he thought that maybe what lómë said was right.
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The two maintained an awkward silence and traversed a good distance from the great hall before arriving in an elven forge found deep within the trees of the great chamber. It looked similar to human forges, but the weapons, armor, and tools were crafted with precision and beauty, pointing out the difference in talent and quality from your average smithy. The forge was adorned with a large crimson tree that Godric was unfamiliar with, and the sound of steel rang as they approached.
"Elmar!" Anarórë cried out. "You have a visitor." The noises stopped as the large tree rustled. Afterward, an elf leaped outwards from an opening and used the descending branches as footholds to head toward where the two were standing.
"You must be the mortal," the individual pointed to Godric with a pair of tongs. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance. My name is Elmar, and I am the forge master of Mistveil Forest." The elf wore a stained blacksmith's apron had a slightly larger frame and was more toned than his kind. He towered over Anarórë, who was already a few inches taller than Godric. Despite his size and the recent display he put on to greet them, he hardly broke a sweat and his breath was steady.
"I take it the council has decided on his trial?" he asked Anarórë, who nodded in response. "Since you're here, I presume you're in for something big. Not to worry, I have all the equipment you need right here," the elf turned towards a stone shed. "Give me a few minutes to prepare them for you." He then quickly moved at a speed that Godric found surprising for an individual of his size.
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The duo sat on two intertwined tree trunks so close to each other that they somewhat formed a makeshift bench and waited for Elmar to return. Not even a quarter of a minute had passed, and Godric could feel Anarórë was already eager to get this entire thing over with. Desperate for an answer, he stood up and faced the elf.
"Look, I get it--you hate me, and I am sorry for what happened at the glade," Anarórë raised an eyebrow after looking Godric in the eyes. "But at least give me a chance to make up for it. lómë and your father seem to have looked past it for now, so why can't you?" she sighed at his question as she plucked a single flower that had grown near the tree trunk. "You wouldn't understand anyway, so there's no point explaining myself," she replied. Her voice and demeanor were cold, but Godric had already gotten used to it.
It was quiet for a moment, but eventually, Godric spoke up to break the silence. "Fine then. What do I have to do to at least make up for it, seeing as you won't even try and talk to me?" the elf stared at him and thought about it for a moment.
"Try and get past this trial of yours, and I might give you an answer." She then gazed back at the flower in her hand.
That was enough for Godric. Well, this is better than nothing I guess. He thought to himself.
Right on cue, Elmar had returned to the forge, towing a selection of armor and weapons behind him. He knelt and then whispered to the ground a few words, which then caused a long wooden table to sprout from out of the ground.
"Here we are," he stopped in front of Godric and proudly presented his handicrafts after placing them on the table. "Only the finest elvish weapons and armor. Please feel free to choose whatever you like."
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They then went on for a good amount of time in choosing what Godric would use for the trial. "Elmar, suit him with light armor. For a mortal, he is surprisingly quick on his feet. Mobility will suit him better."Anarórë provided a few words of insight and suggestions based on the combat training. Godric looked at her, surprised.
"Was that a compliment?" He asked with a wry smirk. "Be quiet." The elf responded, annoyed.
Elmar proceeded to one side of the table and picked up a set of elvish armor, fashioned with the shining scales of a creature Godric did not know of. "Here, try this on." The blacksmith assisted Godric and within a matter of minutes he was fully armored, and it was the perfect fit, no less.
"I thought it would be heavier," Godric pointed out to Elmar. "With the scales and all. What creature are these from, anyway?" He asked as he fiddled with the armor.
"Ice drakes," Elmar replied as he stopped to admire the armor. "Beautiful, aren't they? These are hard to come by these days, considering their kind are only native to Primera's northern regions, beyond the icy terrain, over and above the Echoing Mountains. If memory serves me correctly, these scales were brought back by King Ithielien after a visit to Dorfaldihr, a dwarf fortress boasting the most incredible defensive features, up in the north." He recounted.
Godric then looked at Elmar. "Uhh...I mean no offense," he started with a shaky tone, gaining the elf's attention. "But will this armor be enough?" He asked.
Before Elmar could answer, out of nowhere, an arrow quickly flew between the two, separating them and hitting Godric square in the chest area, right where his heart would be. The arrow, however, was stuck to the armor, easily blocking the pointed edge from piercing Godric. He lay flat on the ground and the two of them looked at Anarórë, who had her bow in hand.
"I guess that answers your question." She then turned to the blacksmith, who was also sweating from what he had seen. "Good work, Elmar. I expected nothing less from our forge master. Let's move on to your weapon now, shall we?" She returned and sat back on the tree trunk as if nothing had happened.
"Well then..." Elmar let out a nervous grunt. "Let's go on with your weapon. Pick your poison, don't be shy." He continued as he looked at Anarórë, bewildered by what happened.
Godric and the elf then spent a lengthy amount of time selecting his weapon, as Godric himself was unsure of what he should choose. During combat training, he was taught to use almost all the basic weapons available, ranging from a sword, a staff, a polearm, and even daggers, which resulted in little success. He could not tell if it was because of Anarórë's combat experience, but all the weapons he saw seemed mediocre in his hands.
He looked at Anarórë, who admired the flower she plucked earlier. "Got any suggestions for me?" He wanted her opinion on the matter, seeing as she was responsible for his combat training.
"Your weapon? Truthfully, I cannot provide any suggestions," she sighed. "I've already trained you with all the basic weapons. You can easily choose from any that are here in front of you, but your hesitance to take action hinders your progress and overall performance." The elf explained with a tone of disappointment as she looked up to the ceiling of the chamber, which provided them a view of the world outside the forest's magical veil.
"We've consumed too much time. Choose a weapon within an hour and meet me at the training grounds. We shall conduct our final sparring session. I will not hold back this time." She turned and began to walk and disappeared out of their sight.
"I wanted to ask something," Elmar whispered to Godric. "Why do I feel like the princess wants to kill you?" He looked at him dead in the eye. "I don't even know myself," he replied, scratching his head. "Well, if she says so, then can pick anything. Any one of these would be okay, right?" Godric asked as he began to pick up a polearm.
"If you want my opinion, perhaps it is not the weapon that's the problem here," Elmar replied as he leaned back on the stone wall of the forge. "She keeps on saying that you are hesitant. If I had to guess, is it because of something that had happened?" As if it was lightning, Godric quickly remembered the first time he took a life. A memory of Walter flashed in his mind, and Elmar knew his guess was right.
"I see. Something is bothering you. Come now, tell me the story--but make it quick. You only have an hour left."
The boy then went on and quickly narrated to Elmar his story before he ventured into the forest. The elf listened intently to every word, and never let Godric feel guilty or ashamed. Moments later, Godric finished his story and Elmar sat down to gather his thoughts.
"It is not easy to take a life Godric. I know that feeling as well, but you were not in the wrong at that time. You were acting out of self-defense." Elmar stood up and walked to the table where the weapons were. "I know Anarórë. She may not admit it but she considers you as a formidable force, brimming with potential. If you can move past this trauma of yours, then maybe you might have a chance of getting out of this alive." The elf then walked inside the forge, leaving Godric to himself.
"But how can I, Elmar?" Godric sounded defeated.
A cluttered, metal sound rang out of the forge. He looked up and saw Elmar looking at something in front of him. He followed his gaze, and his eyes widened. There lay in the pathway, was a bloodied sickle that Godric brought along with him.
"How...how did you come by this?" Godric asked as he thought the weapon was disposed of or was lost as he fell asleep.
"The guardians of the glade who found you brought it here for me to dispose of. I was planning on melting it, and reusing the metal but thought of nothing to create of it, so I left it there instead. It looks like I now have an idea after all." said the elf, smiling. "I now have the perfect weapon, or may I say...weapons, for you." He headed inside again and soon after, brought out a pair of curved blades.
Elmar provided a demonstration of what the swords could do. He lunged forward towards a positioned pile of wood that Godric assumed was being used for situations such as this. The elf stabbed forward, and the edges cut through the wood with ease. Continuing, he slashed the target using the outward side of the swords, which were also as sharp as the edges themselves, leaving clean marks on the area.
Godric stood in silence at the craftsmanship. The blades were curved but retained the sharpness and durability of any other weapon. Elmar looked back at Godric and smirked. He then crossed the two blades together, where the inward portion of the curved edge met one another, and in one swift motion, had decapitated the upper portion of the pile of wood. The elf then turned to Godric, who stood speechless at the performance.
"This will be your weapons. How do you like them?" He asked, handing the blades over.
"...I don't know what to say," Godric replied, somewhat speechless. "The way you demonstrated how to use these things; it was as if you were Death itself." Staring at the weapons, his hands shook with uncertainty. "Why wasn't this included when you brought out the weapons?" He asked Elmar.
"It is because they are an imperfect creation," Elmar answered, one that caught Godric off-guard. "They are a twin set of swords. They cannot be sheathed because of the irregular shape, and the sharpness of both edges poses a risk to the user. Elvish swordsmanship requires an evenly balanced combination of defense and offense, and this one unfortunately favors recklessness." he let out a disappointed sigh as Godric studied them even further.
"...Do they have a name?" he asked. "Yes, they do. I call them Death's Lament. For if this weapon ever sees combat, even Death itself would pray for the poor souls." Elmar replied as he looked at the swords. "They're not my best work, but they'll suit you nicely." He patted Godric on the shoulder as he walked past him.
"Hold on--I believe we've come to a conclusion that I hesitate when fighting, right? With all due respect, how is this going to help me?" Godric asked as Elmar began cleaning up.
"Because one small hesitation can either lead you to victory, or certain death. Simple as that," he replied as he stared at Godric. "Learn to forgive yourself Godric, and move on. Instead of looking at it simply as cold-blooded murder, also try to understand that it was also an essential lesson to be taught, especially to someone as innocent as you." Godric looked at him.
"And what lesson would that be?" he asked.
"It is that life is never easy, even for immortals such as us, and that even through death, we also allow ourselves to grow. That boy--Walter, now that he is gone, what will you do then?" Elmar asked him in return. "Will you continue to hide behind fear?" He stood and approached Godric. "Or will you soldier on the weight of taking one's life; understanding the fact that in our world, not everyone can be saved." The boy sat in silence for a good while, then stood up and looked Elmar in the eye. A quiet conversation happened between the two. No words were exchanged, but an understanding was reached.
"It seems that you are finally ready," the elf turned and began to head toward the shed. "Go, and may the old gods watch over you." he then ventured off, leaving Godric once again to himself.
Something changed within Godric at that moment. Although he had yet to fully comprehend what he had learned, his gut feeling told him that it was a good thing, and that was enough evidence for him to trust in what he could do. He looked at the twin swords in his hands and positioned them towards each other so that the inner curves would combine to form a circular shape. Immediately, they combined into one singular being and radiated a faint glow.
Godric hovered his hand over the center, which had formed a full moon upon closer inspection. The weapon hovered over his hand. He then placed it over his head towards his back, and surprisingly the weapon stuck as if an invisible sheath were holding it up. Not my greatest creation, eh? Godric chuckled at Elmar's words.
He looked at the ceiling and realized it was getting dark. Anarórë, he thought to himself as he began to run off toward where she was. On most occasions, he dreaded their training but on this particular day, Godric was now somewhat eager to teach the elf a lesson or two. Of course, he knew he wouldn't win but by this point in time, he had nothing else left to lose.