They looked exhausted. Her stomach pinched in equal amounts guilt and irritation, but still she forced a hunk of bread into her mouth. They were alone in the hall—the five contestants, the Dragon, and her. She sat before them at a table, a prepared plate of bread and cheese for her breakfast. A bowl of water, a hunk of rock, a pinecone, a length of twine, and a ring with a house crest. She stared at the items, not sure what to think. After she finished chewing, she picked up the rock, “I will start with whoever brought this in.” Rowan stood and she beckoned him forward as the others left the room to wait outside.
She indicated that he should sit, and when he did she placed the rock in front of him, “Why a rock?”
“They are strong. Sturdy. Dependable,” he said, his neck and cheeks coloring.
“Yes, but often immovable,” she pointed out, “stuck in their ways.”
He leaned forward, as if sensing he was losing her interest, “But also can be chiseled into whatever form is desired.”
She smiled, pleased with his answer. “Yes it can.” After a moment she said, “Thank you. Please send the owner of the pinecone in.”
She set the rock aside. She hadn’t given Rowan enough credit. He was awkward and not particularly good with conversation, but he was smarter than she initially had given him credit for. Fen entered the room, bowing slightly before sitting in the chair she offered him. “Tell me about the pinecone.”
“They’re protective of that which matters most, but when they do open, they help spread seeds of the tree.”
She cocked her head, “How do you know so much about pinecones?”
He shrugged, “I find plants fascinating.”
She inclined her head. “Send in Richard Beven please.” She watched Fen leave with slight disappointment. She had loved playing with his sister as a girl, and still send her the occasional letter. Fen was quite like her, which made her like him, but his kind, open spirit would surely be affected by the stress of being the Dragon.
The younger Beven son entered the hall, his head high even though there were bags under his eyes. “Your ring?” she asked, picking up the silver ring and twisting it between her fingers.
“The ring of the house of Beven,” he agreed.
“Do you know what this says to me?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet. “This says that your house is all that matters to you. Your loyalty to them is absolute. Is that what you meant to portray?”
He shrugged, “I chose the ring because I think it shows my strengths. As one of the Beven heirs I can command our troops.” After a pause he added, “Whether my father wants to or not.” He scratched his chin, “I had hoped that you’d see the ring as my pledge of loyalty.”
She stared at him a long while, until he was uncomfortable and looked away. Finally she said, “Throughout the tournament you have surprised me. You are a great warrior, and I appreciate your calm, steady approach to dealing with both problems and people. But I’m still not sure who you are, and I think it is safe to say that you don’t know either. You’ve lived under the shadows of your father and brother so long, that I question who you are without them.” She paused, twisting his ring again in her fingers, “My battle will take me far from this land, where I will have no use for family connections. Who will you be then?” She held the ring out to him, and he took it back, staring blindly at the object.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
She nodded, “I cannot choose you as Dragon, though I do see the benefit of your family connections and am thankful for the loyalty you have offered me. I think you would be a valuable ally, but I would encourage you to find out who you are before pledging anything further to anyone.”
He closed his eyes, hand tightening around the ring. When he opened his eyes, he said, “I cannot pretend that I am not greatly disappointed. My father too…” but he stopped, as if realizing just how much he used his father to get by. “I will do as you say. Find myself.”
She smiled, “If you wish to do so outside your father’s estate, talk to Uthyr. He’ll have an idea of where you could go for a time. Please ask the owner of the twine to come in.” He nodded, standing, then bowing before leaving the room. Muirgen pursed her lips in thought, he really had reacted much better than she had thought.
Evan Macklin entered the room, bowing quickly before sitting in the chair before her. “I know you probably don’t understand why I chose the twine,” he said, twisting his hands together. “May I explain?” She nodded and he went on, “One thread by itself is easily broken, but when woven together the threads are strong. They can tie knots, lift heavy burdens.” He stumbled, his nerves getting the better of him, “I want to be the twine in your life, working to bring all people together to create a strong front against any obstacle.”
Muirgen nodded thoughtfully, examining the twine. Evan was good natured enough and a brilliant fighter, but he didn’t have the charisma for true leadership. “How would you feel being a part of that group of people?” she asked, watching him carefully.
His shoulders drooped, but he replied, “I am your servant, my Queen. Where ever you need me, I will be honored to obey.”
She smiled, asking him to send Artair in. She examined the bowl of water, trying to divine his meaning. That he was a necessary part of survival? That he was transparent? Artair entered the room, bowing before settling down in the chair. “Why water?”
He stared at the bowl, “Water is a patient tool. It’s powerful, but works best when patiently ebbing away at rock and stone, reshaping valleys, destroying or bringing life. It forges its own path, regardless of all obstacles, the only thing it listens to is the moon.”
“And I am the moon?” she asked, smiling.
He lowered his eyes, as if remembering who he was talking to, “You are the Queen.”
Muirgen nodded, disgusted at herself for saying such a ridiculous thing; she shoved it aside. “Please send the Dragon in. I will have the answer you all seek soon.” Uthyr entered the room, shutting the door with quiet emphasis behind him. He sat down in the chair the contestants had occupied.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded slowly, exhaustion hitting her. “Is everything in place for the ceremony?”
Uthyr nodded, his eyes sad. His fingers drifted to his side, “Thirty years I’ve had it in my keeping.” He lowered his fingers, “I wonder what will happen when it comes out. Will the illness creep in further? Or will I feel better, lifted from my burden?”
Muirgen placed her hand on his, though she could offer no words of comfort. She didn’t know what would happen, and it was too scary to imagine what it would be like for him…and for her to not have that bond any more. She felt almost sick, imagining sharing that bond with someone else, but it had to be done.
He stood, locking his hands behind his back, “I will see you after.”
She nodded, trying not to cry as he left her alone in the hall.
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