12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Brokil

Not taking Silvyr's threat of boredom seriously would be the death of him.

Only a few days in the house was all it took for Silvyr to become a complete nuisance. Everything in the house had been touched and moved and tinkered with. Every time Brokil returned home, something was out of place. The elf kept up the act of calmness at first, no doubt to lower Brokil's guard he thought now. Those first few days the elf spent doing nothing but reading. A harmless activity, and Brokil was sure he had plenty of books to keep the boy busy for a few weeks at least. He was wrong. Gods, he was very wrong.

It wasn't just the misplaced items either. The blissful silence he'd gotten that night while cooking seemed to be the only reprieve the elf would allow him. Now, when Brokil would return home and finish putting everything back where it belonged, the elf would close his book and pester him constantly, most often while he was busy preparing their evening meals.

Every night, the boy would find a place to sit on the countertops, always in the way and asking endless questions. What was he making? How was he making it? What were the names of the spices he put in their stews? Were they different from the ones on the roasted meats? How long would they take to cook? The damn elf didn't know how to shut his mouth, but nothing he said was outwardly offensive, so Brokil tried to keep his patience in check. Still, it was wearing thin.

It almost made him miss the time during their travels where the elf would hide away in the tent and insist on saying nothing, not even to argue, no matter how Brokil teased him. At least then he'd been quiet.

Unable to bear it any longer, Brokil dressed for the day and stepped up to the elf who had been silently staring at his bookshelf. "Come with me."

Silvyr spun around to face him, eyes wide with disbelief, and a bright smile across his face. "Really?"

"Yes. I'm going to show you around Ghizol. You're under my supervision today," Brokil told him. "You've been behaving, so like I said before, you can go outside." A slight lie, behaving was a stretch since Silvyr was being a nuisance more than anything, but if going outside meant that peace would return to his home, it was worth it.

"Right, okay, let me brush my hair," Silvyr said, hurrying past him and snatching a comb on the way.

Brokil watched him, leaning against the door frame while Silvyr looked at himself in the mirror, pulling the comb through his golden hair. He took his time, pulling the knots from each strand until it fell perfectly over his shoulders. The smile on the elf's face couldn't be missed as it nearly took up his entire face.

Was the promise of sunlight truly that miraculous?

When Silvyr finished combing his hair, he tied it up once more with his green ribbon, a few strands falling loose in front of his face as he moved to adjust his clothes and make sure they were well enough to go out.

After the first day in Ghizol, Silvyr finally let Brokil give him clothing that fit properly. Though Brokil wouldn't have minded seeing the prince in his oversized clothing more often, he quite enjoyed how Silvyr sputtered and flushed when informed the clothing was originally made for a boy barely in his thirteenth year. Even still, the collar hung loosely off one shoulder and the elf was left constantly adjusting it.

The simple moss green tunic and warm brown trousers were nowhere near as extravagant as the clothing the prince wore before, but Brokil thought they suited him better. The pale silks, beautifully crafted as they were, washed him out and looked to drain the life from him. The earthen tones of his new linens, however, added a new life to his skin that wasn't there before, like fresh flowers beginning to sprout after a harsh winter.

When the elf spun away from the mirror, golden ponytail whipping around him, one wouldn't have guessed that weeks ago he'd been taken against his will. Something new replaced the fa?ade of confidence he'd been wearing when they first met, and Brokil struggled to find a word for it.

"Okay, I'm ready."

"Come, boy," Brokil said, leading him to the door after they slipped on their shoes. As they stepped into the sunlight, Brokil watched Silvyr out of the corner of his eye, sure that he would try to run.

Thankfully, Silvyr remained at his side, eyes closed as he inhaled the fresh air. He looked far more vibrant in the light of day, and Brokil wondered for a moment if the stories about elves needing sunlight to survive were true. Probably an old superstition, but the way the elf glowed in the sun's rising rays, he would have believed it if someone told him it was real. Brokil could swear when Silvyr opened his eyes, the sunlight shimmered and glowed within them.

They passed through the small groups of homesteads as Brokil led Silvyr through Ghizol. A few of the residents continued their business as usual, paying no mind to the tiny elf beside him. However, most of them stopped their tasks and watched, whispering among themselves. If Silvyr noticed, he didn't show it, turning his head all around him to take in all the sights, much in the way he did when they were on horseback.

"The homes are made of the same wood from the trees that were cleared to build the settlement," Brokil found himself saying when Silvyr's eyes passed over the various homesteads.

"They're built quite well. How long have they been standing?" Silvyr asked, slowing his gait as he observed the homes.

He might have kept walking straight, had Brokil not grabbed his arm when he turned down another path. There was no resistance, though Silvyr had to jog slightly to keep up with Brokil's long strides. "Several hundred years," Brokil replied.

"What are those?" Silvyr asked, pointing in the direction of several smoke stacks on the south side of Ghizol.

"Our smithies. They were built in the same place to keep everything condensed," Brokil told him.

Silvyr's eyes flashed with understanding. "Ah, so that is the smell then? Molten iron?"

Brokil nodded. "Yes. The mines in the mountains provide us with various ore. Iron is the most common one we find in our mines, though there are other metals as well," he explained, turning Silvyr to face the eastern mountains and pointing out the houses built into the stone, much like his own. The only difference was the wooden structures that ran along the mountain side leading to the entrances of the mines. "When we mix the ores into alloys, we can make steel and other stronger metals. It provides most of our income."

"And you trade with the other orc cities?" Silvyr asked him, his eyes firmly set on the mines, watching the distant people moving through the scaffolding.

"We do. And others. At one time we traded with Athowen. Recent events have put a halt to that." Brokil watched Silvyr as he explained, looking for anything that might give away how he felt. With no walls to speak of, it was as though Brokil could see the wheels in his head turning to review what he was told.

"I see. The prices offered haven't been substantial, correct?" he asked, falling into the role of a prince, reminding Brokil of his stature and who exactly he was. "Father has been cutting the funds for goods like ores and alloys. He is prioritizing those with permits, compared to those with high prices."

"They haven't been, you're correct. We've been able to get by trading with others, and our mines are always filled with activity, but it grows harder every day," Brokil said, tucking away what Silvyr said to inform the Elders. Perhaps the knowledge that Ghizol wasn't being singled out would be beneficial to their negotiations.

"It makes sense now," Silvyr said, his lips twitching into the smallest smile. "Sometimes in your house I can hear odd noises. I feel like it must be from the mines."

"It's possible. I haven't noticed it before." A lie, as Brokil knew full well how the mining equipment echoed and vibrated through the homes built into the mountains, it had just never bothered him enough to complain.

"Really? It's so loud." Silvyr hummed, tapping his chin as he considered the possible reasons he might hear something that Brokil didn't. "You are away from the house quite often, and when you get back after sunset, the noises do stop."

"Ah, so perhaps you are losing your mind after all. Boredom must make you hallucinate." Brokil grinned, unable to stop himself from the teasing that seemed to come naturally in regards to this prince.

"Boredom does a lot to me, but it does not make me hallucinate," Silvyr protested, though the laugh following his words made the argument weak.

The sound confused him, and brought more attention to them than Brokil would have liked. Surely, judging by the quizzical looks on the faces of those around them, they all assumed their captive wouldn't be joyful. How could he be? Captured and unwilling, a prisoner stolen away from his home and people. Yet here he was, laughing as he walked alongside the chief who plotted his capture.

"You're right, but it does make you annoying," Brokil said, nudging Silvyr to keep walking when the elf slowed again.

"Does it?" Silvyr didn't seem to believe him, yet he was the one who warned Brokil of his fits of madness that boredom would bring on.

It was bait, and the way Silvyr's eyes twinkled when he glanced over at Brokil confirmed it. If he thought that Brokil wouldn't put him in his place simply because they were outside, then he was sorely mistaken.

"It does," Brokil confirmed and Silvyr let out another laugh, gentler this time.

They said nothing more as Brokil led Silvyr away from the homesteads and deeper into the city. Guiding him to the place he most wanted the elf to see, where the hard packed dirt transitioned into cobblestone, and the center most courtyard of the city was taken over by a massive circular pit. Silvyr's eyes widened as he laid eyes on it, all but rushing forward with the curiosity of a young child.

The wall around the pit was nearly Silvyr's height, just as much there to keep the fire from getting out, as it was to keep drunken revelers from falling in. A mistake none of them wanted to make. Poles lined the perimeter of the area, bare for now, but when the time came for the fires to be lit, banners and other decor would be hung from them to announce the reason for the celebration.

"This is where we make our connections," Brokil told him, leading Silvyr closer to the pyre. While empty now, when it was filled with firewood and set ablaze, it was a truly beautiful sight.

"Connections?" Silvyr repeated the word slowly, as though it was foreign on his tongue.

"Yes. When the fire is lit, we come here to feast and share among ourselves. It keeps us close to each other," he explained while Silvyr stepped away from him, examining a piece of iron coming out of the ground. "That's for roasting meats. For the feast."

"How often do you light the fire?" Silvyr asked, pressing his fingertips on the iron.

"As often as we like. We have a few days in the year that are major events worth celebrating, like the founding of Ghizol, but often we light it for any event we deem worthy of celebration, like a successful battle," Brokil explained.

The last time Brokil joined for the lighting of the pyre was the turning of seasons from summer to autumn. Dancing, music, and food filled Ghizol and her people, keeping them out until the embers went cold and the morning sun began to rise.

Silvyr didn't look at him, but his voice was pointed when he asked his next question. "Did you light this when you returned here with me?"

"We did. I didn't partake."

Silvyr turned to look at Brokil, a glimmer of hurt on his face that he quickly replaced with a strained smile. "Why didn't you join them?"

"The Elders believed that if I did not keep my eye on you the first night, that you would have used the celebration to escape," Brokil told him, wondering to himself how much of that was the truth and how much was the lie.

While he would have liked to join with his comrades and share in the feasting and drinking, another part of him, one that he didn't want to give too much thought to, wanted to be home that first night.

Silvyr returned to Brokil's side. "Your Elders are smart. I might have tried if I knew you were all busy getting drunk," Silvyr said, a teasing grin on his lips.

Rolling his eyes, Brokil turned Silvyr away from Ghizol's fire pit and led him down another dirt path. Silvyr followed with no complaint, but even so, Brokil kept his hand on the boy's back, guiding him down the streets as they moved through more homesteads. Brokil didn't feel the need to speak of them, and Silvyr didn't ask, but the elf's eyes still jumped from home to home with a keen interest. Taking in everything he could with what appeared to be a genuine curiosity.

It went against all of Brokil's expectations of the boy. He'd have thought the son of the Tyrant King would be disgusted by the simple way they lived in Ghizol. Might have thought he would be angry or frightened at the constant watching eyes of the orcs that followed their walk. Yet as always, this boy seemed to surprise him.

Brokil stopped when they approached the Council Chamber, giving the elf a moment to take in the large rounded walls and the old stone that marked its age against the test of time. Silvyr stared at the longhouse, throat bobbing as he swallowed, a sudden apprehension in the way he held himself, as if trying to make himself smaller without being too obvious. Brokil could guess why.

"Our Council Chamber," he said, though he doubted it needed to be said. "Below it is the dungeon. No light enters it, and it is currently empty of everything but the metal bars to hold whoever we put there."

Silvyr stiffened under his touch. "Did… Did you bring me out here to put me there?" Silvyr asked, not even trying to hide the way fear made his voice tremble, or how he took a single step back.

"When we entered Ghizol, you asked about it. I didn't answer then, I'm answering now," Brokil told him, finding his fingers curling into the fabric of Silvyr's linens, preparing to hold fast if he tried to run. "You will return with me to my home."

The elf exhaled, muscles loosening. "Oh," he mumbled almost bashfully as he looked away from Brokil. "So, um… What is the Council Chamber, and who are the Elders?"

"The Council Chamber is where we do everything that relates to the prosperity of Ghizol. Trading contracts, farming plans, building plans, meetings with ambassadors." As Brokil answered, Silvyr slowly lifted his head to look at him, and though there were still hints of apprehension on his face, his body relaxed and Brokil no longer worried that he would bolt.

"And the Elders?"

"Members of our community that have reached their ninetieth year. They're wise, and have many lifetimes of experience, so we call on them to help make the hard decisions. When something is put to a vote, they make it, and if there is a tie, I am the one to break it." Brokil didn't know why he was explaining all this to someone who probably didn't care, but the way the elf listened, nodding his head to show his understanding, and for once not interrupting, made Brokil continue regardless. "I have plans one day to join them."

"You'll have to wait a while," Silvyr said with a small chuckle and Brokil couldn't help but smile at the jest, "but it sounds worth waiting for. It's nothing like anything we have in Athowen."

"I imagine the Tyrant King has no use for councils and whatnot," Brokil agreed.

Silvyr shook his head. "There is a council, but it's more of a formality. They provide Father with reports, and offer their advice, as little good as that does," he said, though his tone had fallen flat. "Their advice is more or less whatever they know Father would want to hear. It's an echo chamber for his own ideas. Do your Elders disagree with you?"

"All the time," Brokil said, earning a small laugh from Silvyr, "but that's why they're there. We discuss the matter and, if needed, take a vote."

"A vote…" Silvyr hummed, tilting his head to one side. "That sounds nice."

"It is. Come now, I have one more thing to show you," Brokil said, leading Silvyr away from the longhouse.

The further away they got from the Council Chamber, the more Silvyr seemed to relax and breathe easier.

Brokil couldn't blame him for that. The promise of dark cells wasn't meant to bring comfort, but the elf needed to know that if he tried to run or do anything to bring harm to Brokil or his people, there would be nothing Brokil could do to avoid putting him below the earth. Seeing how the sun brought life into him, and the ability to walk in it made him glow as though he were touched by the magic of the land itself, going beneath the ground would drain whatever life he had until there was nothing left.

If Brokil was being honest with himself, the boy didn't need to go into the cells anyways. Making the point might have been a bit extreme, considering that even Silvyr's self-proclaimed bouts of bored madness didn't do anything other than make him an annoyance, but he seemed to get the message.

Leaving the outer city limits, Brokil brought Silvyr past the farmsteads and to the place where he knew the elf would thrive. On another day, he would show the farms to the prince as they passed, but right now Brokil had something else in mind. Maybe it was guilt for scaring him in front of the Council Chamber, but more so he believed it was a gesture of good faith.

As they crested the last hill, leaving the city behind them, Brokil turned just in time to see Silvyr's reaction, satisfaction curling low in his belly when the elf's eyes widened and his mouth dropped in awe.

Before them, the rolling meadows of Ghizol spread across the plains in the valley below the mountain. The sprawling hues of every color wildflower billowed in the light breeze, the flowers bending and bowing like waves in the ocean. In the coming weeks, the flowers would wither for the winter months, not to return till spring, but right now they glistened in the sun and radiated pure beauty. Ghizol could be called many things, known for its mines and warriors, but its beauty could not be denied.

Just as he'd thought, Silvyr was entranced with the sight before him. The elf took a single step forward, reaching up to grab at Brokil's forearm as though trying to stop himself from running into the fields. Maybe it was foolish, but Brokil would have let him. He couldn't help the feeling that Silvyr would have returned to his home with him at the end of the day, rather than try and run. The trust in that thought concerned him.

"It's beautiful," Silvyr said, breathless and gentle, squeezing Brokil's arm.

"Yes," Brokil agreed, though his gaze was steady on the elf glimmering in sunlight.