Chapter Text
Hardangr had just sat down to eat in the commissary of the Silver Temple of Drangyr Eis Gaard, when the novice came running up, messenger baldric flapping with her sudden arrival. “Ser Hardangr, your presence has been requested in the Orrery.”
He finished his mouthful and grabbed up the bap and a hunk of the cheese and ate as he followed her across the hall and through winding corridors to the main bulk of the temple. The Orrery was the teaching room overlooking the main training plaza, and over his years, Hardangr had been there many times. His grandsire was the Vox Draconis for the whole of the Order in Eis Gaard, and Hardangr only saw him on occasion, usually from a distance. To be summoned to the Orrery the night before a larger group embarked on a journey was unprecedented, especially as Hardangr himself was not a member of the diplomatic party.
“Come in, Hardy,” his grandsire’s secretary opened the door and Hardangr entered the lamplit room. “I won’t need you till later, Aldred.” The clerk bowed and departed in silence. “I had wanted to see you before this; I apologise it has taken me so long.”
Unprecedented indeed! Apologies in this chamber usually came from him to the disciplinarians of their Order! “Ser Vox,” Hardangr answered, “I am the least of the Servants. No apology is warranted.”
“Ja, well,” his grandsire rumbled, and then faced away, considering the map on the wall. “You had wanted to go along on this envoy.”
Handangr nodded, “Ja, I did. I was refused.”
“You were. And at the time, it was for the best. But now...” Hardangr had to still the sudden pulse of hope in his heart. His grandsire turned away from the map and faced him, “I have had... guidance, and while you will not join the mission, you are to pack and ready yourself for a journey.”
Hardangr raised his head and met his grandsire’s gaze, and the lamplight caught a deep gleam in the old dragonborn’s eye. “You will shadow the envoy group, scout ahead and take care of any threats, and support them should they require it. If they do not need you, you are not to be seen. Am I clear?”
“Jawohl,” Hardangr answered eagerly.
“Now, it is of utmost importance that our communiques get to the city. You,” he paused again, and made careful eye contact with the young warrior standing before him, “You are my ace in the hole. Versteht?”
“Ja, Ser Vox!” Hardangr could not contain his grin, “Danke!”
“Don’t thank me yet. This is likely to be a long and hard journey, and I fear you will need all your skills.”
Hardangr closed his mouth and exercised his self-control to rein in his enthusiasm. The head of his Order was not done yet.
“Now, come here.” He beckoned Hardangr over to the far wall, where hung banners, standards captured on battlefields and other such trophies of the glorious history of their Order. Hardangr joined him looking over the display. “I thought it was too soon for you, but I cannot ignore the guidance I am given.”
With that cryptic remark, he bent low and rapped a series of knocks on the bottom ledge of the display case. A hidden tray released and slid a few claw-widths open. The old dragon slid a claw tip into the gap and pulled the tray open, and Hardangr’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of a greatsword, laid on the silver silk within.
“Forseti.” His grandsire rumbled, “The Presider. You know this sword, you know the stories.” Hardangr nodded, not trusting his voice. “Now it is time for her to learn you, as she learned your mother, and me, before.”
His grandsire lifted the greatsword reverently from the tray, his gnarled claws dry on the silvered blade and leather wrapped hilt, and turned to face his grandson. “Hardangr, you know I never expected much of you. As a child you were a trial, and I had no hope that you would find the Path.”
Hardangr acknowledged the truth of this with a small grimace.
The Vox continued, “But you have come around. With the guidance of our divine Sire, and the tempering of your years in the Order, I have... respect for you now. I cannot hesitate in my duty. I do not think you will hesitate in yours.”
Hardangr’s chest lifted with these few quiet words, more praise from his respected grandsire than he ever thought he would hear. He accepted the burden of the storied weapon and with it, the tasks now set before him.
As the young warrior strode away down the corridor to ready himself for his secretive mission, his grandsire watched him go, a silent prayer on his lips.