Mirandir stared at the young man that was chained to the floor. He had golden blond hair, bright blue eyes, a young face. Even in defeat Errealdir held his head high, steadily meeting Mirandir's gaze. 

     "Monster," he spat. "You're a disgrace to your own kind! An abomination and a traitor!"

     "And how does it make you feel that you look exactly like me?" Mirandir smiled. "Your father and I are identical twins. You have his face, and so do I. So sad for you, I must presume." 

     "What you do to yourself goes against everything in the natural order. You call yourself the Speaker of the Moon and yet you fight for Vhalak." Errealdir's eyes glinted in the torch light. "You're no elf." 

     "I have no love for my people, nephew." Mirandir slowly walked closer to him, his long white hair sweeping behind him. "They exiled me, left me for dead. I could have made the elves into the strongest race on Darin, but no. What I did to become stronger was evil to them." He knelt down in front of Errealdir. "Tell me, son of Erandir Thalasyn, why were you here in the First Keep? Since when do the elves fight alongside humans?" 

     Errealdir promptly spat in Mirandir's face. "I see no reason to tell you anything. You're just going to kill me either way." 

     The White General slowly wiped off the spit with his gloved hand. His eyes flashed. "My brother has reopened Thon- 

Thalasyn's borders to the world," he said slowly, gazing deeply into Errealdir's eyes. "He plans on joining forces with the humans of the Westfold and the dwarves of Nag Molhdur to fight the Dragonarmies. And he sent you, to the First Keep, to report on my doings here, and poor you couldn't escape when the fighting started." 

     Errealdir's eyes widened. "H-how do you know that?" he stammered. 

     Mirandir stood up. He smiled at him. "Ah, the perks of being heartless. I have my secrets. I have what I need from you, nephew." He placed his hand on the hilt of his curved blade and drew it. The sound of the steel being drawn from its sheath echoed through the room. 

     "I'll see you in hell!" Errealdir snarled. "You-" 

     The elf’s head fell to the floor. Blood spurted as his lifeless body went limp. The head rolled to Mirandir's feet. He looked at it before picking it up by Errealdir's blond hair, blood dripping from the neck. 

     He said nothing more. He blew out the torch in the room and walked silently away, carrying the bleeding head all the way back up to his chambers. 

     Sitting down at the desk, he took out a piece of parchment and a quill. In his fine and elegant handwriting, he wrote Dear brother, I hope this present finds you well. I promise to see you soon, in elven. 

     Malearyia stood over his shoulder as he wrote, peering down. "'This present'"? she read. "How is his son's head a present?" 

     Mirandir cast her a confused look before sprinkling salt on the parchment. "Since when you speak elven?" 

     "I have always spoke it. I am fluent in every language on the planet," she said in her motonous voice. She looked at Errealdir's head, placed in the wooden box on the desk. "He was so young. Who is his mother?" 

     "A whore named Servilla, who now sits on my throne." Mirandir's black eyebrows formed a v shape above his eyes. He scrolled up the letter and tied a ribbon around it. He threw it in the box and shut it. "She's a Sylvari commoner bitch. Errandir fell head over heels for her the second he saw her. She doesn't even have the Blessing of the Moon, and yet she claims to be its Speaker." Malearyia could hear the venom seeping from his words. He gestured to the box. "Give this to one of the scouts. Tell him to ride for Thon-Thalasyn. The borders are now open. He is to ensure that this will find my brother." 

     "Yes, my lord." Malearyia picked it up and went to do as instructed. 

     Mirandir remained sitting in the chair, his cheek resting in his hand. He looked outside. The sun was just beginning to return to its resting place beyond the horizon. The sky was painted with streaks of orange and purple. 

     He let out a deep sigh. Winter was here, and soon the Westfold would be blanketed in snow. Mirandir had always been especially fond of winter, especially once he no longer felt the cold, or heat. 

     He saw his dragon, Dormala, in the courtyard, scratching at the cobblestone with one of her claws. He smiled. He truly loved that dragon; his conversations with her was something he very much enjoyed. 

     Dormala wasn't a large dragon. In fact, she was the smallest of the five in Vhalak's armies. Her smaller size, however, was what made her so incredibly fast. She was like an arrow darting through the sky. She was the White Dragon of Vhalak's armies, hence Mirandir's title as the White General. Her scales were matched perfectly with the snow, and the membrane of her wings had streaks of baby blue and a pastel purple. Her big, reptilian eyes were bright blue. 

     Mirandir and Malearyia were the only two on the planet that spoke the dragon's language, at least as far as Mirandir knew. The dragons knew the common tongue, but could not speak it. The ability to communicate with them properly gave Mirandir an advantage that Vhalak did not have. The dragons only served him because they were told to by their god; but it was no secret that they hated their Dragonlords. 

     Except for Dormala. She would follow Mirandir anywhere, and he knew it. 

     The elf yawned. He told himself that when Malearyia returned that he would have her draw a bath for him. 

    ~*~

     The following morning, he stood in the courtyard of the First Keep with Malearyia and his second in command, Hjorma, his men lined up for the arrival of the Emperor. He had the top part of his hair pulled into a top knot, his swallowtail coat spotless. He held his hands behind his back. The brisk, winter wind gently blew through them below a cold, grey sky. 

     "Why didn't you tell us that Vhalok had told you not to attack the First Keep?" Hjorma asked the elf, huddling in his cloak. "You've put all of us into the path of his rage." 

     "No harm will come to you or the soldiers, Hjorma," Mirandir cooly replied, his gaze set on the horizon. There was a black speck in the distance. "Vhalak will come for me and me alone." 

     "He'll have your head on a pike." Hjorma shuddered. "But I suppose I should thank you for the promotion when you die."

     Mirandir cast him a sideways glance but said nothing. The black speck in the sky was getting larger. He reached into one of his inner pockets and withdrew a flask. He took a large drink from it. 

     "Is now a really good time to be drinking?" Hjorma cast him a slightly disgusted glance. 

     "I'm about to get thrown around like a ragdoll by a man the size of a mountain." Mirandir tightened the hair tie in his hair. "Seems like the perfect time for me," he replied. "Tomorrow I will be departing from here and traveling to Esyn. The White Army will remain here and hold the First Keep. Dormala will remain here as well." He took another drink before putting the flask away. The black speck now had the shape of a large dragon. He looked to Malearyia. "Including you, my lady."

     Hjorma gave him an incredulous look. "You won't be going anywhere, general, if the Emperor cuts your head off. And even if he doesn't, you stick out like a sore thumb anywhere." He gestured at the elf. "Not many men in the Westfold have long white hair and skin the color of snow. Not even elves. Not to mention that shit on your face."

     "I'm coming with you." Malearyia stepped closer to Mirandir. "I go where you go."

     "No dear, you are staying here." Mirandir fixed her with a stern eye. "Like Hjorma said, I stick out enough as it is. Don't really need a girl with the same hair and purple eyes following me around, now do I? Besides, I need you here. I'll tell you more later, dear. For now just keep your mouth shut, please." He took another long drink from his flask before putting it away. 

     The dragon was close now. Xarxies. Emperor Vhalak's personal dragon, the largest and greatest of the five. Ebony scales with golden membranes and firey eyes flashed in the daylight. Xarxies was so large one could ride a horse into his mouth and down his throat, although the horse and its rider would never be making it back out. 

     The dragon landed next to Dormala in the field beyond the gates. The ground shook as it did, the force of its beating wings blasting the soldiers in the courtyard with cold air. A single man wearing a horned helmet slid off Xarxies' back. The man approached the gates, and the soldiers knelt at his coming. 

     Emperor Vhalak. He had traveled alone, as he always did. A giant of a man that stood a full head and shoulders above the 6"5 Mirandir, Vhalak's biceps were larger than the elf’s head. He approached the three, his red cloak billowing out behind him. He wore red dragonscale armor, and a horned helmet to match. 

     Mirandir slowly knelt with Hjormond and Malearyia. "Your grace, I'm happy that you have arrived so early." The elf’s words were dripping with sarcasm. "I-"

     "I need to cut out that goddamn tongue of yours." The Emperor's voice resonated through his metal helmet. He came to a stop in front of Mirandir. "I've forgotten how annoying your fucking accent is." 

     Mirandir's eyes narrowed from where he knelt. He said nothing, staring at Vhalak's boots. The tension in the courtyard rised to an unbearable high. Malearyia stared at Mirandir, her face as cold as everyone else's. 

     "Nothing to say now?" Vhalak's deep voice broke the tense silence. The Emperor abruptly raised his armored boot and kicked Mirandir square in the chest. The elf fell backwards, a small, painful gasp escaping his lips. 

     Mirandir swore vehemtly in elven. Malearyia's eyes widened at his words. He was back on his feet in an instant. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. 

     Vhalak was on him in a flash. The giant of a man gripped Mirandir's slender neck and raised him off the ground as if he weighed nothing more than a small child. "I thought I specifically told you not to attack the First Keep. You disobeyed a direct order, Thalasyn." 

     Mirandir's hands gripped Vhalak's wrist, his legs twitching. His pale skin began to turn red. Hjorma snickered from where he still knelt next to Malearyia. 

     Vhalak's grip tightened. "I told you to turn your men to the east. I need your men in the Eastlands, in the fight against the damned fae! And now because of this little party you've had, my forces are stretched too fucking thin, because of you. The Blue and Red armies cannot take the entirety of the Eastlands on their own!"

     "If we did not strike now before winter covers the mountains in snow, we would have run out of time before spring came," Mirandir choked out. His hand fell from Vhalak's grasp and went to his blade once again. "The Elven King has opened the borders and is negotiating an allied force with the humans and dwarves of the Westfold. If we waited until spring, we would not have a chance, even with the dragons!"

     Vhalak grabbed the hand that was reaching for the elf’s sword. He threw Mirandir on the ground and grabbed his hair, forcing him to his knees. He drew Mirandir's own blade and held it to his throat. 

     The Emperor stared deeply into Mirandir's hate-filled eyes through the depths of his helmet. He pressed the elvish blade hard against the elf’s pale throat, ever so slightly drawing it across the skin. A ring of blood appeared on Mirandir's throat. 

     "Vhal verna denla," Mirandir whispered. His eyes stared into the eyes of Vhalak's helmet, piercing the dark eyes behind it.

     Vhalak chuckled. He threw Mirandir to the ground and tossed his sword next to him. The blade fell to the stone ground with a loud clang.

     The Emperor removed his horned helmet. "If I had seen an ounce of fear in your eyes I would have snapped your neck and fed your body to Xarxies, you little bastard."

     Mirandir's hand ever so lightly touched his throat. He looked at the blood on his fingers and slowly stood up.  He could feel Malearyia's eyes upon him. He picked up his sword and returned it to its sheath. "I do not fear death, your grace," he said in a small voice. 

     Vhalak's dark brown eyes turned to him, his long black beard hiding his face. "No, Mirandir, twin of Errandir Thalasyn. You don't fear death. But you do fear pain." He chuckled. "I'm staying here tonight. Take me to a room, and there me and you will have a little talk."