Festival （Part 2）
Rowena's heart skipped a beat when she realized Gareth had been standing behind her all along.
It had been a very long time since she had made herself up and worn a gown. She felt unusually awkward and embarrassed.
As she turned to face him, Gareth remained rooted in place, his eyes fixed on her with an unreadable expression-
one that made her feel peculiarly shy.
"You're awfully quiet, Gareth," she managed, voice softer than she intended. "Are you alright?"
Gareth blinked, as if waking from a dream.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward, forcing a smile. "Of course," he said, though something in his voice betrayed him.
Zephyrah's eyes lingered on Rowena, her voice barely above a whisper. "You look just like our lost elven kin," she said, smile fading. "It's almost as if a ghost stands before me."
"Why did they leave?" The Dissolver asked curiously.
Zephyrah shifted uneasily, her face looking pained, "They left because they did not agree with the actions of the late king, Elynmar Lormath, Jhas'tir's father."
"What did he do?" The boy pressed again, curiously.
"He extorted the governor of Goldhaven by raising the tax to travel the road in the forest. The governor had no choice. The road was their best trade route."
"But the people of Goldhaven don't even know of your existence." Gareth pointed out.
"No. They don't." Zephyrah admitted, "The terms of our treaty require the leadership of Goldhaven to keep our existence a secret. It is a safeguard, so that we are not run out of our homeland like our centaur kin in the plains."
"So the elves just left? Over a tax?" Rowena asked.
Zephyrah's breath shuddered. "Yes and no. They believed King Elynmar's greed poisoned the forest, choking the Ancient Power. He cared for nothing but gold—not even his own son." Her words hung in the air, heavy and sad.
"But there are still some elves here. They were at the healing grove." The Dissolver pointed out, cocking his head in confusion.
"Yes." Zephyrah nodded slowly, the sadness deepening, "A few elves remained, claiming their loyalty to the king, but in his anger and disgrace, Elynmar enslaved them. It was a reminder to anyone who would dare question his authority again. They have remained slaves ever since."
"Why doesn't Jhas'tir set them free?"
"The council and nobles like their slaves. He wouldn't dare risk upsetting the council." She answered, growing visibly uncomfortable at the questions.
The Dissolver opened his mouth to ask her why Jhas'tir was afraid of the council, but she changed the subject abruptly,
"We should be on our way." She forced an eager smile on her face and quickly began to lead the group toward the festival.
Gareth and Rowena exchanged uneasy glances before following her to the festivities.
At the far end of the forest, sprawling clearings unfolded like emerald carpets, sunlight spilling in golden shafts through the leafy canopy above.
Dozens of tables groaned with fresh fruit, vegetables, olives, nuts, and flagons of wine so red it gleamed like spilled rubies. Elves in tattered rags moved silently, their hands a blur as they refilled goblets and swept crumbs away.
All around the feasting tables, a merry riot of forest creatures twirled and leaped in time with the music. Minstrels perched atop mossy stones and tree stumps.
Their fingers danced across harps, lutes, flutes, and drums, weaving a tapestry of lively melodies that shimmered in the warm air.
Beyond the revelry, a crowd pressed eagerly around a wide, open field where the soldiers stretched and limbered up in the sun as they prepared to compete in the grand games. Anticipation crackled in the air like distant thunder.
"We should greet the king first!" Zephyrah yelled over the excitement all around her.
Then she took them to a tent where the king sat with other fauns, elegantly dressed and sipping wine. Rowena recognized these faun from the trial the day before and assumed they were the council members.
Their merry faces dropped when the group arrived, all except Jhas'tir, who strangely lit up upon seeing Zephyrah approach.
Zephyrah bowed before the king, then said, "My King, your guests have arrived."
Rowena dipped into a practiced curtsy, her movements fluid and assured. Beside her, Gareth and the Dissolver stood awkwardly, oblivious to the ritual.
A hush rippled through the nobles as their eyes slid over them—judgment sharp and silent, their disdain settling like a chill in the air.
"Thank you, Zephyrah." He smiled at her, then regarded the others. "I trust you find the accommodations to your liking?"
"Sure." Gareth blurted, crossing his arms. "Once you get past the rats and ghosts, it really isn't so bad."
Rowena's eyes widened, and the nobles recoiled, several of them clutching their chests or gasping in shock.
Jhas'tir's gaze remained calm, cold, and a smirk curled on his lips, "Gareth, I'm glad to see you've fully recovered your strength after your little... tumble." His eyes were fiery, challenging, "I'd almost forgotten how fragile humans are."
Gareth's cheeks burned beneath Rowena's gaze.
Jhas'tir was baiting him, clearly in control.
Refusing to give Jhas'tir the satisfaction, Gareth bit back his retort, forcing down both his pride and the anger simmering inside.
Seemingly satisfied with Gareth's response, Jhas'tir continued,
"If you hurry, you might still be able to watch the first round of the games. It begins with the stone toss."
"How do the games work?" Rowena asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.
"There are five games where each participant must compete. The champion from each game will face off in a tournament where they will fight one-on-one with staffs, working their way through each champion until only one remains, the winner."
"What are the games?" The Dissolver asked excitedly, already trying to see over the crowd.
"Well, you know of the stone toss, then there is the sled pull, the rope war, the log run, and finally archery.
" Jhas'tir prattled, almost seeming bored, "It is all very exciting.
You are welcome to roam here. Enjoy yourselves.
But I warn you," His voice dropped low and his expression serious, "If you cause any trouble or disturb the festivities in any way, you will dearly regret it. "
The outsiders could tell by the look in his eye that he was deadly serious.
As they moved away, Zephyrah began to follow them, but Jhas'tir stopped her, taking her hand in his.
His expression softened immediately, and he spoke to her gently,
"Zephyrah, you do not have to follow them here... Stay for a while..."
As Rowena was walking away, she noticed Zephyrah discreetly slip her hand out of his.
She subtly shied away, responding, "Yes, My Lord, of course."
The trio wove through the excited crowds to the edge of the field. As they approached, the forest creatures gasped and shrank back.
Finding a spot beneath a tree, they settled onto the thick roots protruding from the earth. Nearby, soldiers awaited their turn—stretching, sharing wine, loud and animated.
In the field, fauns took turns hefting a heavy boulder into a sling, straining to lift it before spinning and hurling it across the distance. The crowd cheered with every throw.
"How do they decide the winner?" The Dissolver asked brimming with excitement.
Gareth, having seen and competed in many of these types of games, explained, "The one who tosses the boulder the furthest will win."
Rowena watched intently, "How are they able to sling those boulders?" She asked in awe, "They look so heavy."
Gareth's eyes lingered on Rowena, noticing the way her face lit up with awe. His fingers curled into a fist as a hot spike of envy stabbed at him.
Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out, louder and more brazen than he intended. "It isn't so hard, Rowena. It is more about the form than the strength."
Overhearing Gareth's remark, a couple of soldiers turned to him, doubtful and smug.
One of the soldiers mockingly responded, "What would you know about it, two-legs? It isn't as if you could do it."
Gareth laughed heartily at the disbelief on the faun's face. "I have hefted heavier boulders than that, my friend." He said, waving his hand as if it were nothing.
Suddenly, a familiar face joined the conversation. It was Quindarr, the commander.
"So, this is where the hot air is blowing in from. Some creatures never learn their place, do they?" He said, crossing his arms and looking distastefully down at Gareth.
Gareth's playful smile vanished, replaced by a hard scowl. Quindarr—the brute who'd beaten him all the way through the forest to Nytheris.
He had a score to settle with this one.
Gareth stood, rage swelling in his chest as he stepped toward Quindarr. The faun stood far taller and broader, dwarfing Gareth in size, but that didn't stop him.
"If you would like to teach me again, I'd be open. Except this time, maybe you could try doing it without binding me first." Gareth's eyes blazed, his challenge sounding more like a threat.
Quindarr scoffed, "You can't be serious."
"As death." Gareth seethed through gritted teeth.
Rowena and the Dissolver watched the tension escalate, growing more and more panicked with each word that was spoken.
Rowena glanced nervously over her shoulder towards the King, who hadn't yet noticed the heated argument.
"If you want to fight me," Quindarr said, "Prove you're worthy." His lips curled, smug.
"What?" Gareth asked, confused, "How?"
"Join the tournament." He answered.
Rowena quickly stood and pulled Gareth aside, whispering desperately, "Gareth, remember what the King warned. Do not cause a scene."
Gareth hesitated, her warning echoing in his mind.
It had been years since he'd competed in anything. He kept up his training,
somewhat,
but the wilds had a way of wearing a man down.
What if he wasn't strong enough anymore?
He would face ridicule and humiliation if he refused.
His pulse quickened.
He thought of Rowena watching the contest, eyes shining with awe.
Would she look at him like that?
Gareth turned to Quindarr.
With chest puffed and eyes ablaze, he said, "I accept your challenge."
Quindarr smiled with a vicious grin, then he gestured towards the field, "Right this way." He said coldly.
"Gareth!" Rowena exclaimed, wide-eyed in panic.
"You're really going to compete?' The Dissolver exclaimed, hardly able to contain his excitement.
Gareth smiled broadly at the boy, then struggled to remove the restrictive linen shirt from his back. His muscles rippled under his battle-scarred skin.
Rowena blushed as he handed her the shirt, saying,
"Hold onto this for me."
Then he turned and followed Quindarr towards the field, limbering up as he walked.
While the Dissolver jumped around excitedly, Rowena stood speechless.
All she could do was pray Gareth's defiance wouldn't bring the king's wrath crashing down on them.
But already, the crowd was beginning to stir, eyes hungry for the spectacle—
she had a sinking feeling that something very bad was about to happen.