Duendewood: Reclaiming Annon, Part Five

Caegar watched the world shift around him and shivered. "I never get used to that," he said, releasing his grasp on Darvinin's hand. The woman who'd first approached him had come with them; if anybody else had followed, they'd come on their own. Not that it mattered; the Bloodhunter was deep in enemy territory, and very much at the mercy of his hosts. 

They were in a camp in the forest. This was Duendewood; it could have been anywhere. From the way the light changed, he thought they'd moved east, but that did little to narrow down a specific location. "Over here," said Darvinin. 

A couple of armed elves, one a true elf only a little younger than Darvinin himself and the other an older regular elf, stopped what they were doing, rose, and approached. Each had a wolf with him, but neither offered any hostile words or gestures. They were just... there. 

"This way," said Darvinin, and led him into one of the larger tents. 

"Ah--" Caegar hesitated as he stepped inside, "Is this...?"

The interior of the tent was well-appointed to the point of a broad wooden desk and bookshelves that looked like they had no business being more or less outdoors like this, and that was leaving aside the carpets and hangings that almost completely disguised the fact that this was a tent. 

The true elf who turned to face them wore a double-scimitar on his back, but held a quill in one hand and a book in the other; he'd been pacing. His lean, elvish features were unfamiliar, but under the circumstances he nearly had to be--

"Majesty," said Darvinin, "This is Caegar. He is in charge of the remnants of Duke Lamont's forces, and wishes to bargain for a way to leave Duendewood with his soldiers."

"Ah--" Caegar said helplessly. He looked at Darvinin. "I-- that is-- should I bow, or...?"

Darvinin shrugged one shoulder. "Some display of respect would not be out of place."

Caegar decided that simply bowing wasn't enough, and dropped to one knee. "Your Majesty."

The Elvish king looked amused. "Caegar."

What in the hells do I say now??? Caegar drew a deep breath, swallowed, and shook out his hands. "Ah. Forgive me. I am not as well prepared as I thought I was."

The True King nodded. "Continue." He was speaking Common with the ease and familiarity of someone who'd been raised with it. That was good, because Caegar's grasp of Elvish was nothing more than functional. Still...

"T'an alvoreth ivoth li," he said slowly. I beg you to let us depart. I plead with you to let us leave. I ask that you release us. Elvish was a fluid language, and the precise meaning depended on tone and context. He hoped he'd come close enough. 

The True King smiled faintly. "Well said. And in return...?"

Caegar paused to think, then realized that his brain was frozen and made himself speak anyway. "If we try to fight our way out, we'll all die. The shadows take our people in the night. But we'll still do some harm, kill some of your troops, and... I'm hoping you've had enough of that. Let us walk out, and my men will harm no one else. Hells, I'll have them apologize to every elf they meet on the way. Let me go with them, and I'll do it myself. Or hold me here, try me for my crimes, and execute me as an example of the new king's justice." He swallowed, knowing that he was asking to die. "Your Darvinin called me one of Lamont's butchers, and looking back I don't think he's wrong." 

Kneeling before an Elvish king, Caegar made himself raise his chin and meet the elf's eyes. If he was going to die here, he could at least do it with a modicum of dignity. 

The king paused a moment, studying him. "You would die for your soldiers?"

"They're not even mine, really," Caegar told him. "I'm not a leader. I'm just the most senior officer left standing. I don't command troops."

"And yet you're here, trying to negotiate a cease-fire." Mythrandil -- yes, that was the name -- tilted his head, unreadable expression focused entirely on Caegar. "That looks like leadership to me." He paused, and Caegar decided that this was definitely the time to keep his mouth shut. 

"Will you swear yourself to me, Caegar Bloodhunter? Will you atone for what you have done by entering my service?"

Caegar settled back, aghast. "What? I-- Your Majesty--"

"This is the price of your life," said the True King. "You will spend the rest of it serving me, as part of the King's Own. Do it honorably, and you will retire with a comfortable stipend. Do it not, and you will be executed for your crimes. The choice is yours."

Caegar knelt there, staring up at the elvish king and realizing just what a shallow, petty, preening pretender Lamont had been. He swallowed. The things he had done in the service of that man, the things he'd thought necessary... "I will serve you," he said slowly. "Not to save my life. Just to have this chance to atone."

Mythrandril swept the saber from his back, approached, and laid the edge alongside Caegar's neck. "Caegar Bloodhunter, you are now one of the King's Own. You report to Darvinin, and your first assignment is to help him get the last of Duke Lamont's troops out of Duendewood without incident."

Still kneeling, Caegar bowed. "It will be done, Majesty."