Heir of the Dragon

A House Divided

Already in a state of confusion, I walked into the small meeting room, only to have my heart lurch when I was met with the cold stare of the general. He stood in front of his seat at the head of the table, his hands resting on the oak surface. Beside him, on the furthest side of the table, sat the beady-eyed elf that I recognized from the day I'd attended the counsel, only now she was dressed much more plainly. Ezra brushed past me and settled himself in the chair next to her. Aywa had taken the seat next to the general and across from the presiding elf, and Fennec sat beside her. A heavy feeling settled in my stomach as I realized the only seat left was at the foot of the table, directly opposite the imposing stare of the general. I took a deep breath and tentatively slipped into the empty chair. General Four, still standing, continued to glare at me, long enough to make the other, seemingly invisible occupants of the room shift uncomfortably. My mind was now an even messier pit of confusion and panic. I was scrambling through memories, trying to find somewhere I could have gone wrong. Except for the encounter last night in the hall, which he had seemingly brushed off, I continued to come up empty.

"Thank you for coming," The presiding elf began, Though the general was obviously ignoring her completely. His entire focus was on me. " The general said it was a matter of great import--"

The general abruptly raised his hand, silencing her mid-statement. 

Another moment of extremely uncomfortable silence passed before Fennec spoke.

"Do the scouts have news of Tyrelle, sir?"

Ezra, who'd been staring intently at the table, answered for him.

"The scouts have yet to return, Fennec," He said quietly, as if knowing the general had no intention of diverting his attention.

What in the seven realms had I done?

"Is there other news? Perhaps the movement of enemy troo--" began Aywa.

"That is NOT--," The general bellowed, slamming his fist down in front of her and causing the room to jump in their seats," --why you were called."

The room was silent as every eye was turned to look at the man's hardened expression. I could feel my entire being longing to shrink into my chair. I hadn't the vaguest idea of what I'd done, but still rootless guilt clutched at my stomach, and my heart beat so loudly in my chest, I was sure the room was echoing with it. 

"She," The general growled, pointing one sword hardened finger at me and turning his glare on Aywa, "Is not who you say she is."

Aywa swallowed and shot a desperate glance in my direction. It wasn't only me who was terrified by this supposedly legendary man.

"Sir, I don't underst---" She started, but again the general cut her off.

"Who is she?!" He roared, pressing his face nearer hers.

Aywa opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. 

The general sighed, dropping his hand. He straightened out and let both arms fall to his sides.

"You don't understand," He said, suddenly putting off a false aura of cool collectness, "so let me explain how I know you've lied."

" First; Why would the bloody ghere, no matter how dim-witted, lock up a simple Aristethian girl in  the Vel Meyth Fortress?"

He paused and turned his grisly gaze on each of the three of us in turn.

"Second,” he went on, “She prowls around the citadel at night. Armed."

At this Fennec shot me a questioning glance. I could do nothing but grimace in reply. 

"Thirdly;" he continued, " She makes my blood curdle in my veins. Do you know how many ghere I've fought in my day? Hundreds. Thousands. The fates have bathed me in their blood. Never do I feel that in my soul except when one of them--" His voice had become a low growl,"--Is near."