Below the Peak (Sola)(23)
“We are aware of your service to protect us as the royal commander, and for that, we are forever grateful” the lord gave a slight bow then lifted his head. “Pardon your grace, but you are frequent absence from court affairs put you in an unfortunate position. The people need someone reliable and present always to hear them. Also with his Majesty in a sad state, our enemies may grow bold to sneak into the cities.” The high lord countered gaining confidence from few supporters nodding in the room.
What enemies? None of their foes had the guts to strike since he had hunted them to the brink of annihilation. Not even the rebels had the audacity.
Calemir almost scoffed. He was familiar with the lord’s conniving character. He found it absurd that Ivlisar would request the appointment of a new king so quickly and more so his father whom he had blatantly proclaimed as dead was in fact in a deep sleep. Other elders around him shifted awkwardly in their seats and chanced a glance at him. Calemir showed no emotion, his face unreadable. A mask he wore too well recently since he had ridden to his father’s house after receiving the upsetting news of his father’s sudden state. To keep order through the kingdom, he was forced to make more effort to hide his emotions and display nothing other than the authority, confidence, and collectiveness before the elders of the high houses. A tiny slip before the lords was unwanted and dangerous as he could very witness from the yapping high lord.
“For those-” whatever lord Ivlisar wanted to spew was cut short by the entrance of Val, the queen. Like the elders, Calemir squared his shoulders and stood up straight in the presence of the queen and watched her approach the throne gracefully. The queen sat on the throne, the elegant embellished gown she wore cascaded down her slender form and pooled at her feet. Her two sharp ears peaked out beneath her long, vibrant red hair that was adorned and held by a circlet allodia crown. They all rose, curtsying with one hand to the chest and bow of their heads. The queen tilted her head down in a bow, acknowledging them. Calemir and the elders took to their seats.
“Lord Ivlisar who is it you desire to sit on the throne?” the queen asked in ancient elvish tongue after the room went to a pinning silence. The tone of her voice was too kind for someone whose throne was being threatened that had Calemir taken aback. He hoped his mother’s vitality was not broken from caring for his ill father that she had no strength left to fight. If it happened to be, he vowed he would not easily hand over his father’s throne especially to the likes of the babbling elder.
Lord Ivlisar blinked at the unexpected question and the fact that the queen had heard him.
“We have yet to choose my queen,” the lord grinned, thinking his proposal was on the right path to be accepted. On the other hand, Calemir felt the annoyance that he had been feeling when the lord had begun to talk shifting to anger.
I should have seen this coming he told himself. He should have prepared himself for imminent threats and opposition. It hadn’t been more than four days since his father was ridden on his bed and oblivious to his surrounding and what transpired, still, here was one of his trusted counsel eyeing his throne. His mother’s calm voice brought his attention back to the ongoing talk.
“Lord Ivlisar who is Faerthurin?” the queen asked again.
“He is the forefather him who we descend from my queen” Lord Ivlisar snorted at the silly question rising quiet chuckles from other high lords. For an elder, he lacked manners. Every pure blood even a half-born elf was no stranger to Faethurin. From childbirth, the voice from the great one himself whispered in every bone marrow and echoed in the beating heart awakening the light spirit he had weaved before age began for an elf.
“What is the first call of an elf?” the queen asked. An amused expression shadowed lord Ivlisar face and stared at the queen like she had lost her wits and was crazy, at the same time other lords openly and stared at her strangely as they observed the unfolding conversation.
“I think the sudden illness of the king has affected you significantly. A rest would be suitable to replenish your spirit”. Lord Ivlisar replied in a jibing tone. “This is a suggestion from a lord who cares deeply for the queen of our great nation.”
I cannot watch this humiliation! Calemir’s jaw locked. A dark scowl loomed over his attractive face. He balled his hands into a fist and felt tendrils of heat climb down his legs and back up to his neck. His green eyes narrowed as he stood to intervene. Enough of this!
Tension strained the air in the room.
The queen sent a warning glance his way before he could do anything.
“What is the first call, lord Ivlisar?” the queen repeated her tone a blade and no longer polite.
“To follow dróttinn,” The lord replied after a swallow, a flustered look upon his features.
The queen’s eyes blazed from within to molten gold. Power shimmered within their depths.
“Who is dróttinn?” the elf queen demanded, her voice hard.
Every high lord in the grand hall tensed feeling the heated friction that had overtaken the calmer atmosphere that was present earlier. Calemir who was still standing, smirked, the charging emotions coming from the high lords rousing him. Fear, anger, excitement, anticipation, surprise, and sympathy slithered through him, mending energy to his muscles and quickening his heartbeat. It had been long since he was subjected to such strong emotions.
His irises began to darken to a richer color, his fingers twitched with a steady pulse, goosebumps breaking over his flesh. He clenched his fingers together, nails digging into his palms. It had also been long since he was in the presence of other, powerful high-elves other than himself.