Description
Written from the perspective of Prince Vaereth of Thalan’dor, dated 12 AU.
Contents
The Fall of Prince Vaereth of Thalan’dor
They tell the story wrong. They always do. They make it sound like a fairytale. A human knight, a gentle princess, a noble rise to power. They sing songs of unity and hope, like the world bent itself into something better. They never tell you what it cost. They never tell you about me.
I am—was—Prince Vaereth, son of the King of Thalan’dor. Before the Council of Roots took the throne. Back when we had a king. Back when we had pride.
I loved her. Aelira Vaelion. Daughter of the king of Vel Rau’dan. She was everything our people had forgotten how to be. My father saw the opportunity—a union to bring the forests together. Control. No more outsiders. No more humans creeping into lands they didn’t understand. It should have been me.
But then he came. A human from Brackenmill of all fucking places. King Caelen Thorne—though he wasn’t a king then. Just a man with a sword. She chose him. It makes something inside you rot.
When the old king of Vel Rau’dan died, we marched. From the depths of Thalan’dor, we brought rangers who moved like ghosts and beasts that answered our call. I carved my way through their lines, searching for him. We met in the middle of it all. He wasn’t stronger than me. He wasn’t faster. But he had a people behind him. Even the elves. Even her.
We fought, and for a moment, I had him. And then I hesitated. Just for a second, because I saw her watching. That was enough. His blade found me. Clean. Final. As I fell, I remember thinking one thing: “How the fuck did a human win?”
They pushed us back and broke what we had left. They say this was the beginning of unity. Maybe. But if you ask me? It was the day the elves lost something they’ll never get back. And if the forest still remembers… I wonder if it hates him for it.
Recovered from the personal war journal of Prince Vaereth, found beneath the roots of a deadwood giant outside Thalan’dor