The Lord of Brightness and his wife, helping their people towards victory. They are valiant, and tired. Whey are they in charge? This Lord was described as The Chosen One. But wait…there is another…
Troop movements, supply lines, command tents, ambassadors, maps, speeches, and the meetings: tactical meetings, strategy meetings, diplomacy meetings, war table meetings, morale meetings, staff meetings.
Drakinor Jevinson, Lord of Brightness, was tired.
It’s not that he didn’t understand the need for all this. He did. He was in charge. Destiny had placed him here, and he would lead these people to glory and victory, as all the signs had predicted, but still, he was tired.
He was so young when it all began, when the old wizard found him in his mother’s hovel, and showed him how his life aligned with the destined fate of the chosen one, convinced him that he was his people’s hero returned. In those days, it had all been adventure and romance. Drakinor looked over at his wife, his princess, the one bright ray of light that still shone out of all of this drudgery. He caught her eye, and she smiled wearily at him from over several cook fires, where she was helping bandage a soldier injured in the latest skirmish with the forces of The Old One.
Even when sad and overworked, her smile still lit a small flame in his heart. Years ago, she had ignited in him a furnace of youthful passion, but in his middle years now, this small, bright, more sustainable flame was preferable. He wished the two of them had more time to just sit and chat, and drink honeyed tea. Her days were no less busy than his own. She helped out in the cook tent, she administered to wounded soldiers, she met with the camp followers on a nightly basis to make sure they were in line and well-treated by the men, and a thousand other small things.
Her attention was called back to what she was doing then, and Drakinor realized that he had stopped listening to Commander Talyn entirely. The tall man was going on about the intelligence gathered from the latest forays into enemy territory, and Drakinor was finding it difficult to care.
Then he saw the small troupe of travelers, and he gasped. Commander Talyn stopped droning on, and turned to see what Drakinor was looking at. “Is something the matter, sir?”
“Who is that?” Drakinor asked, pointing at the young man leading the small group.
“New recruits, I believe, sir.” Talyn answered. “We brought on several young people at the last village.”
“What village?”
“Ferndi, Sir.” Talyn turned back to look down at Drakinor. “Isn’t that your home village, sir?”
Under the sigils of ancient Ferndi Temple…
“It is.” Drakinor said.
“Do you recognize the boy, Sir?”
“In a way, perhaps.” He dared not get his hopes up as he stepped around his commander and headed directly for the young man. The youth tensed up visibly when he saw Drakinor coming.
“My liege…” the boy began, but Drakinor cut him off.
“What is your name, son?”
“Dafin, Sir.” he said, clearly nervous.
“Dafin what?”
“Dafin Jacubson”
…will be born D–, son of J–…
“And your mother?” Drakinor asked
“My mother?”
“What does she do back in the village?”
“She’s a seamstress, sir.”
… to a woman who makes things whole again…
“That mark on your cheek, which looks like the crest of the Southern Barony, where did it come from?”
“An accident with a cookpot when I was a babe.”
He will bear the mark of a foreign land on his face.
Drakinor touched his own face, upon which a clear birthmark looked much like the flag of distant Sarrsburgh. “And your dog,” he asked, “Where did you come by it?”
“I found it near death, trapped in an old latrine pit when I was a boy.” Dafin said, reaching down to scratch the dog’s head with dirty fingernails.
He will pull a hound from a pit of filth…
Drakinor’s own dog, whom he had rescued from a well, died of age many years past.
The youth was getting bolder and clearer with his answers, but no less confused. He raised an eyebrow and looked to his other companion, a young woman in clothes too nice for the village of Ferndi.
“Young lady,” Drakinor turned to her, “What’s your name?”
She looked no less puzzled, but what else could she do, being questioned thus by the Lord of Brightness himself. She answered with a curtsey, “Viscountess Gertrue of Millinor, milord.”
“And how did you come to be in this young man’s company?” Drakinor asked.
She looked at Dafin before answering. “He rescued me from a small lake in which I had been bathing without knowing there were alligators about, and I have followed him since.”
…and a fine lady from the jaws of a dragon.
Drakinor glanced briefly at his wife again, whom he had carried from a Wyvern’s nest once upon a time. He did not catch her eye this time.
“Your other companions,” Drakinor gestured to the bald man, and the woman in black standing behind Dafin. “They carry a sword which once slew a hateful demon, and a ring from a fallen family?”
The two looked at each other. The bald man fingered something on a chain around his neck, and the young woman dropped her hand to rest on the hilt of her sword.
“Yes…” Dafin said carefully.
His companions will carry the sword which once slew a hateful demon, and the ring of a fallen family.
Drakinor nodded solemnly, and seemed to consider the small group for a moment. Commander Talyn, whom Drakinor had completely forgotten was even by his side, spoke up then finally. “Sir, you can’t possibly be thinking of… of…”
“I can.” Drakinor said simply, then without ceremony, he lifted the golden circlet from his head, and handed it over to the youth.
When the final battle comes against The Old One, he will lead us to victory and freedom.
“This is yours, I think.” he said. The young man stared, wide-eyed at the circlet, but didn’t move.
He will be called Lord of Brightness.
Drakinor cleared his throat and tried again, “Lord of Brightness!” he made the words loud, so that those milling around them stopped to watch and listen. He dropped himself to one knee, still holding the circlet out. Someone gasped. “Long have we waited for your leadership and council. I have held this post only in waiting for your arrival!”
Tentatively, red-faced, Dafin took the circlet from Drakinor’s hands and lifted it up to his own brow. Drakinor stood, and grabbed the young man by the shoulders, drawing him close. “It’s a heavy job,” Drakinor whispered to him, “Just do what your advisors think is best unless they’re wrong, which they are sometimes.” He released Dafin from the embrace, and took a step back. The whole little group looked like they weren’t sure if this was a trick.
Drakinor turned to Talyn. “Commander, give the rest of your report to Dafin. He’s your boss now.”
Talyn was still sputtering when Drakinor walked away. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife the good news.
END
