It is here that Zannith Daltorea paced nervously in front of the massive ivory doors that led to the hall of the governing council. He knew he would have to tread carefully if he wanted them to hear him out.
After all, he was an exile. And his mother was not going to go easy on him just because they share the same blood. In fact, she would do everything in her power to make sure the others knew she had nothing to do with his being here.
Zannith shook his head with the disgust of his situation. His mother being queen, would garner him no leniency in his quest to regain his honor. Nor would it make the council members forget what he had happened, especially Duran Melroth. Even though his son had known full well what the risks were when the two of them set out together to recover the Dragons Heart.
It wasn’t Zannith fault; their search forced them to cross paths with the ogre known as BellHammer. Nor was it his fault that fool Dorleth, failed to run when he had the chance.
But the law is clear. No member of a great house may ever leave a fellow member behind, even in the face of death. They Weren’t really family anyways. That slut of a sister to Dorleth just managed to weasel her way into marrying his brother last year. A union his mother should never have allowed. Their noble blood should not be soiled by the likes of house Melroth.
He knew his mother only allowed it because of house Melroth’s spy network. They may be a dirty blooded house, but no one could deny their methods were most effective.
He was still mulling over his exile when the guard that is always present at a council meeting opened the door and motioned him inside.
He passed through the ivory door and made his way through the lesser nobles in attendance, who always gathered for the excitement of a council meeting. They may work together in the light of this chamber, but it was no secret outside of here. They all had their own agendas and secret dealings.
His mother was no exception to this, he thought as he smiled a little to himself. She was a cunning one, his mother. Ascending to the throne by the sheer will of her desire to raise her own houses' standings after the death of king Glousmer. Who managed to outlive his usefulness a long time ago.
The official word is he was killed by a rogue DokalFae, while out hunting. But everyone suspected Esmerelda had more than a small part in his untimely death. Though none were brave enough to accuse her of it.
Zannith stood before the copious row of grand ivory chairs that stretched out to each side of the throne. The ruling monarch was always the first to enter, followed by the rest of the council members. Upon seeing him standing there, his mother’s eyes narrowed but quickly recovered to hide her surprise.
The other council members then joined her in taking their seats. But only after the queen had taken hers.
Each one looked at him with disgust and aberration.
For in DokalFae eyes, there is no lower being than an exile. Even the Faespawn that lurks in the hidden tunnels around their great city held a higher place in the scheme of things. And they were generally killed on sight.
Duran Melroth was the first to speak, but not before spitting onto the floor in an open sign of disgust.
“What is this rubbish doing here? His very presence is an offense to me!” He shouted at the crowd.
“I’ll see whoever let him in is flogged and stripped of their title.” He said, turning back towards the council.
“Quiet down, Duran, we all know he probably snuck in. And since he is here, we might as well hear the exile out.” Zannith’s mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“After all, he does risk death by coming here, so surely it must be for a good reason.” She said, shooting a stabbing look at Zannith.
“It is mother, Err I mean your majesty.” He did not miss the narrowing of her eyes again. He knew calling her mother would stir the pot some, but he couldn’t help himself.
He bowed low, and upon rising, reached under his robe to retrieve something. Only to be stopped by the royal guards quickly, notching arrows and pointing their deadly tips towards his head.
He quickly withdrew his hand from his robe and produced only a scroll. The council all leaned forward a bit, including his mother — all with curious looks crossing their faces as they waited for an explanation.
DokalFae Coveted power above all else, both as individuals and as a people. That power more times than not, took the shape of magic that had been lost to the ages. And they worshiped it, almost like a god.
DokalFae were the first to take the form of elves and because of this. They hold a widespread belief among themselves that they should be the rightful keepers of elder magic. An idea they will pursue with unmatched desire.
Zannith held the scroll aloft for a few moments more, letting everyone around him get a good look at it. When he knew he had their full attention, he tucked the scroll back into his robe and began to speak.
“As everyone here is aware, I was exiled because of my part in a quest to retrieve an ancient power.” Before he could continue, Duran Melroth leaped to his feet.
“You were exiled because you left my son to die alone!” He shouted, spitting again, this time towards Zannith. Who merely stepped to the side and continued with his speech.
“That quest was a failure for many reasons. The primary one being we were ill-prepared for the trials it presented. However, since my exile, I have devoted myself to finding a way to complete that quest. I now have put into motion a plan that will successfully do just that.” Zannith did not miss the look his mother shot him. It made his blood run cold and warned him he had better not embarrass her.
Acting as if he did not see it, he continued.
“Once this plan is complete, I will not only have regained my honor; I will trade this power for the return of my rightful place in Luna’Dwell.
“Rightful place? Your rightful place is beneath my boot dog!” Duran shouted, raising his fist in anger.
“Enough! Duran, you will remain quiet through the rest of this meeting, or you will be removed from chambers.”
The look of astonishment and anger Duran shot the queen said what he was thinking. But the councilor was smart enough to know she wasn’t bluffing, so, grudgingly, he sat down again.
His posture threatened to make Zannith smile openly, but he too was smart enough to know he shouldn’t mock a council member in a chamber meeting.
So instead, he resumed his speech, though now with a slight hint of amusement in his voice.
“I will recover the Dragon’s Heart and bring it to the council. We all know what that would mean for us. The DokalFae, who masters the power of the heart, masters the SkyFae themselves. The dragons will have no choice but to answer our calls. And, to do our bidding.” After a moment of Zannith’s words sinking in, it was the queen who spoke up.
“We do not even know if that legend is true. For all, we know the Dragon’s Heart could be no more than an expensive piece of jewelry.” Even as she said this, the way she leaned forward onto the railing that separated the council seats from the minor nobles. Gave away her curiosity.
“That is why I’ve brought this scroll,” Zannith said as he removed it once more from his robes.
“On its parchment is the personal journal of Delanore Daltorea. Our ancestor, and the one that created the heart.
Esmerelda could not hide her growing curiosity or the admiration she felt for her son's resourcefulness.
“Where did you get that scroll?” She asked excitedly.
“From the LunaFae archives.” He answered with a coy smile. “I may be an exile, but I am not without my resources.” He responded with a somewhat over-embellished bow.