To Make a Hero

"There weren't always dragons in the valley."

Huge moss-colored eyes set in a round face gazed up at him in awe. "No?"

"No." He replied carefully. "They arrived a few years ago, unexpectedly. They settled by the lake."

The tiredness was settling in. He had been fighting it for weeks. There was no time for tiredness and no time for distress. Myra had made her point clear as she'd packed her things the night before. This was her duty. Arden had no right to hold her from that.

Arden Nithali was tall and thin, with a wide flat nose and long dense hair. His daughter, a youngling of barely 15 years was already threatening to have inherited his build. His nose as well. Everything else was of her mother. Even the directness with which she phrased her questions.

"Was it a momma and ‘er babies?"

"We all assumed that, but your mother wasn't so sure. She said there has been too much devastation for it to be a mother and her hatchlings.”

“Devastation?”

“They…erm…” He considered for a moment, then cleared his throat. “They broke...a lot of things.”

To a wood elf, 15 years was too young to be confronted by such weighty topics. Humans grew quickly, and 15 years would have made her nearly an adult. Wood elves, however, aged like trees; slowly and gracefully. He watched his daughter carefully as she thought. He had been waiting for signs of distress, but none came. Her little face was screwed up in concentration, flickering in the silvery magelight of their hearth.

"Tha’s why she had to go." She said, finally.

Arden nodded very slowly.

Still no tears from the little girl. Instead, she gave a very wise nod and recited the words that the elders had taught all the younglings of the village. "It is our duty to observe, record, and protect."

"Aye." He replied, his own eyes sparkling, unable to hide his pride. "Very good, Vera."

"Why are yeh sad?" She asked, those bright wide eyes squinting suddenly.

"Because," he began carefully. "I'm not sure if your mother will return."

"Oh." She considered this for a moment. Then came the inevitable. "Why not?"

Perhaps this was why there were no tears. She could not comprehend.

"Dragons are very dangerous creatures, Vera. They're powerful beings of ancient magic. The very laws of nature bend to their will."

"But mums a dragon expert." Vera pointed out patiently.

Arden stared down at her, caught off by how simple the world was through his daughter's eyes. Her mother was very much the same. There was very little time for silly "what if" questions in her world. Something either was, or it wasn't.

"Aye." He said finally. "If anyone could do it, she could."

-----

"But they’re not supposed to BE there!" Arden cried, slamming his fist down on the twisting wood that had been shaped into a surface. The elders around him winced and made sounds of distaste. He did not care.

To the village, he was "Arden the Wise" and "Arden the Patient." However, they had been speaking for over an hour, and his patience had long since run out. 200 years of life had taught him that while there was much swept away by the sands of time, some things could be stolen in a matter of seconds. Life was fragile. His wife, although destined to live many centuries more, was not indestructible. The elders had forgotten.

He surveyed them in their comfortable chairs. They sat before a great table, upon which the forest had been remade in miniature. There was their village - identifiable by the massive trees decorated with ladders and bridges that made their homes. He could even make out the elves there, going about their days. Of course there was also the forest, identifiable by the slightly smaller trees and little recreations of the creatures that lived there. Then to the far west of the village lay an area of the table that had once held a great lake nestled against the Thunder Mountains. Now instead, there was a blanket of black fog that had encroached much of the table. They did not know the layout of the land anymore.

"They have corrupted and killed every living thing within the valley. We know this from the hawks we sent. But we've also sent out our best scouts to investigate this new threat. It is a fortnight's journey there and back. They left two months ago. They ought to have returned." He shook his head vigorously, sending a few leaves and twigs flying from his honey-colored braids. The antlers atop his head which designated him chief and record keeper were teetering dangerously. "We need help!"

"For over three millennia our kind have defended this forest without outside help." Croaked the eldest council member, Ebbon. "We will not expose ourselves to the outside world now, brother."

"No," Arden spat, bitterly. "Instead you will abandon the western wood to creatures that are clearly evil."

"We have received no evidence to suggest evil, brother." Said a woman with silver streaking her black hair. This was sister Lilah.

"I think six missing rangers and druids suggests mal-intent." He began pacing the room as he attempted to rein in his frustration.

"Unless it was a different cause altogether." Pipped up the youngest on the council.

"We need help, Arion!"

"We need more information." Replied Ebbon, sagely.

"Then we must send more scouts." Arion leaned forward as he made his suggestion to his elder, instead of Arden.

Rage licked at Arden's insides. He ceased his pacing and stepped forward to press both of his palms into the table in front of Arion, frightening one of the enchanted forest deer in the process. His hands passed through the illusion of the trees and met the cool wooden surface. Arion turned, surprised. Arden looked at him, hard. "I'm not risking another soul." He growled.

"Then it is done." Said, sister Lilah.

The other three in the room turned to look at her, surprised.

"We cannot risk the exposure of our village to humans.” She continued with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"But-"

"And, wisely, as Village Chief and Record Keeper, you cannot risk the loss of more rangers and druids. I think this is wise, as we do not know the extent of the threat we face."

"So what will we do?!" Demanded Arden, although some part of him already knew and dreaded the answer.

"The council will discuss the matter further. You will return to managing the archives and training the younglings. We need to consult all the material on dragons we have. Send it to us, and we will meet again in 30 days." She turned to her colleagues and with a flick of her wrist, the vines that had twisted into place over the entrance to the meeting house began to writhe and pull away.

This was Ardens cue to leave. His eyes narrowed upon them as they leaned their heads together and began speaking and hushed tones. He knew they would now ignore him. Cursing under his breath, the man stepped out to the dirt path to find his daughter waiting for him. Her resemblance to her mother was suddenly a knife digging into his chest. Her hair was the same wiry texture. Her skin was the same darkened copper with flushed cheeks. She took one look at his face and tears suddenly began to well in those huge eyes. Now she could comprehend.

Arden lifted her into his arms and began his path through the homes woven from trees and illuminated with warm glowing orbs of light. Usually, someone would come running to him with village business or questions about a strange creature they had seen while gathering herbs that day, but they knew.

They all knew that the best scout and dragon expert they had would likely never return. What's more: they knew he could do nothing about it. His feet carried him past the ornate growths of flowers and branches that shaped the many homes and libraries that constituted the Village of Nithali. He moved away from the unusually large trees and began making his way toward their smaller cousins. He walked with his daughter for some time, his eyes accustomed to the dark and his body accustomed to the forest. Finally, they came to a clearing.

The path they were on gave way to a wide creek and on their side was an ancient stump. He gently placed his daughter down upon the stump and got down on one knee, watching her carefully. Her little body was still shaking with tears, but she had balled her fists and begun rubbing her eyes fiercely.

“You can cry.” He said, gently. “It’s alright to cry.”

“Why won’t they help?!” She demanded, her tiny voice cutting through him.

“They cannot. Not yet.”

"Did you tell them about the dream?!" She demanded.

"Of course I did." He said carefully. "They know of my magic, so they know of your potential and what a dream like that could mean."

“Then why won't they send someone?"

He pressed a hand into the tight curls of her hair and leaned so that his forehead was against hers in an attempt to comfort himself as much as her. “Because Vera…we must think beyond ourselves. We must think of the village.”

“Momma’s part of the village!” She cried indignantly, pulling away from him.

“We would have to turn to outside help.” He said, hating himself for the words.

“So we should get help!”

“We will. Eventually. It is dangerous to bring outsiders here.”

Her tears had ceased. She stared up at him fiercely, her eyebrows knitted together. He took a steadying breath, and pressed on, willing himself to understand so that his daughter might as well.

“We are the only elves of our kind for thousands of acres.” He said softly. “There are some human villages and some other kinds of elves. However, they may…” He considered his words carefully, before changing tactics suddenly. “There is great evil, in this world, Vera Nithali. One day, hopefully, many years from now, you will come to face it. While our goal is to protect the entire forest of Nithali from this evil, our priority is to protect ourselves.”

She stared at him, and he could read nothing in her. Her anger was gone. Her sadness was gone. It was a strange silence that had washed over her. A gentle breeze lifted through the trees, scattering leaves at their feet and the little girl closed her eyes. He did the same, and felt the knot in his chest begin to ease. Serene magic, he thought to himself.

The air was thick with it, here. It was like standing in the middle of a warm pool of water. It was as if the forest itself reached out to them, gently pulling their pain from them. It was the magic that guided their village and the creatures of their home. It came naturally to her, as it had to him. It seemed she had sensed it even before he had. The two shared a long meditative silence, letting the ancient magic wash over them.

When Arden opened his eyes, he found his daughter staring at him quite calmly. Her face was still puffy, and her expression uncharacteristically stern. He wondered how long ago she had withdrawn from the magic. He tilted his head at her, silently inviting her to share what the magic had shown her.

“I don’t get it.”

An involuntary smile cracked his face, and he nodded.

“I’m prolly’ too young.” She added.

He nodded again.

“Will we honor her?”

A lump formed in his throat. This was good. This meant he had not overindulged in the magic. “We will honor her, and all of those who have not returned. But we must allow more time to pass.”

Vera inched toward the edge of the large stump she was perched upon, and slid down. She then shifted her weight slightly causing her overly-long tunic to drag across the ground. It was her mothers. Had been her mothers.

“We will honor them every day.” She said wisely, before moving past him and making her way toward the village.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over Arden as he watched his daughter begin to walk away. He wanted to collapse into his hammock and sleep for a thousand years. The wave of grief that had overwhelmed him that morning upon hearing his daughter's dream had washed away. He was now a hollow shell. He shook that feeling away. The hollowness was a danger of the magic. Perhaps he had overindulged.

“Vera?” He called.

The little girl stopped and turned.

“When you’re older, I will explain everything.”

Vera tilted her head to the side. “When I’m older, you won’t have to.” And with that, she turned away and continued toward home.