[Kransha]

Morgôs was visibly jolted by the High Priestess’ inquiry. This marked the third time this month that someone had asked him a particularly out-of-the-ordinary question; first Siamak about the Old Gods, his wife about his books, and now Zamara. Zamara, though, sounded as if here question would be doggedly asked, even if it was only an offhand query (Morgôs had guessed that that was the sort of person she was) and was asked with hidden intentions in mind. His look of strange obsession turned to mired adulation, Morgôs spoke, asking: “You mean their first coming to Pashtia, yes?” The phrasing had confused him as well. “Yes.” She calmly replied. Walking cautiously through the courtyard, he answered, stammering a bit.

“This is not an easy question to answer.” Zamara looked at him patiently as he stopped walking. “I have the time to hear it.”

Morgôs, sighing in defeat, was about to begin, when his tuft of an eyebrow rose delicately, as if he had had a very minor epiphany. “Did the Prince put you up to this?” Zamara shot him a strange look and shook her head. “No. Whatever do you mean?” Morgôs took a healthy, deep breath, saying, “Nothing, I suppose. Very well, I shall tell you what little I know. It has been a very long story since I have told my version of the story to anyone, especially a mortal.” He stood now, stock still, peering down at the pristine ground, and readied himself for brief oratory. Like the finest of speechmakers, he began.”

“The truth is, I may well have been there when it happened, but after a thousand years, one’s memory becomes hazy. I do remember a great many events that occurred during that time, but exact memories have all been blurred by time. It was the Elves who found mortal men beneath the pale slopes of the Red Mountains. They were most curious at the time, not as civilized as one might think. They had built many villages, and some towns, but were otherwise primitive. The Elves, my kindred, were at that time nomadic, and let themselves be allowed into sedentary mortal society, becoming part of the sovereign nation of Pashtia, just named and founded by a chieftain, who proclaimed himself a lord of men. Many tribes refused the rulership of the chieftain, but my kin accepted it and advised the King for years, becoming part of the society that swelled about them. They were revered by some, but hated by others, and, though the chieftain thought highly of them, or should I say, us, others whom he gave power did not. When the chieftain died, without leaving an heir, a dissolute one took his place and...” he trailed off dolefully, turning his eyes down again, “Well, you know the rest.”

“Yes,” Zamara replied with a cool demeanor, even though she knew how touchy a subject this might be for such an ancient Elf, “the Elves were enslaved.” Morgôs nodded, his features frozen stiff, “That is all in Pashtian history books, as are the annals of Pashtia’s chaotic origins. Why have you asked these questions? I am sure that you, in your wisdom, could have uncovered the answers without my help.” Again, Zamara replied with an air half-aloof, as if she was detached from his words, but still curious.

“Yes, I could have. But, General, could you tell me more?”

Morgôs spoke coldly. “What more do you need?” Zamara’s detachment ended instantly as she persaistently maneuvered. “Just more.” She said, emphasizing the word, “You say you were there, you must no more than just those bland facts. Many things about Pashtia’s history have been lost, but you stand before me, a living witness to events which most men have forgotten. This is information of great value, which has probably not remained intact over the hundreds of years. All I ask is that you shed some light on the matter. Surely-”

The Elven General cut her off suddenly, his face losing a shade of color as he did so.

“Fine, if you must know.” He seemed unable to ready for the speech, and was launched into it before he could stop himself. He felt his mouth moving, a words issuing from it, but he did not have time to consider them before they came out. “We were roaming the land, homeless and without food or shelter. Our kin, wise and strong, had gone from us to their doom, tantalized into leaving by a creature of which we no longer speak, who took them to the west. After that day, terrible storms blew down upon us from the sea, thunder from the heavens and quakes from the earth.” Slowly, he was becoming less himself, and again his eyes darkened vilely as he spoke, and his voice trembled, with either spite or anger. “Our troubles increased a hundred fold and we knew not why. We could no fathom why the world was changing so, and it hurt us deep within, for it was our world that was being rent asunder, perhaps by your precious Rhais indeed!” He snapped this at Zamara, who was unprepared as Morgôs’ presence swelled and became shadowy like the night. “The stars we loved were blotted from the sky and waves crashed against our homeland. We fled the paradise we had nurtured for so long, and all went into darkness. We were lost.”

He paused for barely a moment, becoming energetic in his speech, and Zamara hastened to pacify him. “I am sorry.” She said, but Morgôs was unaffected, instead replying with a spiteful bite. “You should be.” He cried out, “It is your fault!”

This completely disoriented Zamara. “How is it my fault, General?” Morgôs, his regal eyes narrowed like those of a desert predator, replied with icy rage filling him very slowly. “It is the fault of man!” he shot back, “The coming of mortals lost me my homeland and many of my brethren. It cost me my stars and my sky, replacing the beauty I knew with a vessel that, to mortals is called golden and sunny, but to me is no more than a celestial fraud.” He growled the words terribly, his face twisting into a snarling expression, “All because your God saw fit to make your creation a grand affair, and destroy my home as she made you.”

The High Priestess seemed both skeptical and concerned as she interjected. “How can you know this?”

“When we came to Pashtia, a primitive calendar had been created, so the mortals knew how much time had passed since their birth on the world. They were coeval to the disaster that took my home and my brothers, they had come into existence at that moment, or very shortly afterward if not then. Many of us refused to believe that one event had anything to do with the other, but I knew it was no coincidence. Either the thing who created mortals, in our image,” he added, angrily, “thought it would be best to destroy the old peoples before forging the new, or it was simply trying to issue grandiose fanfare about its creation. That is how it is your fault.”

As the last word died on his tongue, he relaxed, but, unlike before, did not stagger or collapse. He swayed slightly, and Zamara saw the change in him, his sudden fatigue and loss of wind, “I did not know, General.” She said, with possible genuine apology in her voice, but, as she moved towards Morgôs to help him (just as Arlomë had) he waved her off. “You could not have known.” He paused as he regained himself and looked towards her, now rueful, still weary, “Nobody knew. I have never told any mortal the truth.” He breathed distortedly, as if he was short of breath, half gasping for air, but Zamara was now too curious to see his discomfort. “Then why did you tell me?”

“I do not know.” Morgôs shook his head, coughing, but managed to settle himself. Zamara grasped his arm as he swayed more, but he instead took hers and leaned in towards her, whispering in a conspiratorial manner. “You see, when we came to Pashtia, we resolved to look our best for these newcomers, and take them under our wing, so we concealed the truth of our survival. They did not know we were lost and helpless, many of our kind slain by the elements. We did no many more things than they, so we could convince them that we were wise and powerful, from a mighty land from which we had left to seek the far horizon. They believed us willingly and we became lords among them. For millennia, the secret was kept, though some have been told. No noble or lord or king has ever learned the fact, for that tale holds darker truths as well, those that I cannot reveal to you, even after you know all this.” He released her arm, and stepped back weakly.

After another moment of breathing deeply, he had fully returned to normal, and stood stiffly up. It seemed as if he had never been anything other than what he was at the moment; serene and serious.

“Now then, I have a question for you. Why have you asked all these questions?”