Page 55 of The Last Dragon

The Shadow sneered, baring sharp fangs. “The Council is concerned, Tariel Elenion. You seem to be straying from your duty by consorting with mercenaries and savages. I am merely a spectator, but they… they are growing impatient.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying! That dragon—”

“No, you don’t know what you’re doing. The creature is a threat and must be eliminated. Your name carries great significance, son of Councilor Elrohir Elenion. If you were to fail… or change your mind, the Council will show no mercy.”

“What do you want—”

“Do not stray from your task. Today, I am alone. That may change.”

Before Tariel could reply, the Shadow recited a dark magic incantation. Before his eyes, the Dark Elf’s body began to dry out, mummifying in a matter of seconds until only an empty husk remained.

Tariel hadn’t realized he’d attracted an audience. Cassian and the others had arrived, but he didn’t see them. He stared at the corpse, his expression neutral, but the air began to crackle around him. The rage he felt at this betrayal was palpable. His magic weighed down the atmosphere; the wind picked up. With a single glance, the husk burst into flames. Blinding blue flames reduced the carcass to ashes in an instant. This fire, a reflection of his anger, was alarmingly precise: it didn’t burn a single blade of grass around it.

Once the dust had settled, Tariel turned around and began walking without a word. He walked for a long time, until he came upon a small river. There, he sank down into the moss and broke down in tears.

It had been weeks since he’d seen another of his kind. And his first interaction had been a threat from his own kingdom and from his own father. Elrohir thought only of his legacy, and Tariel realized that he was not that legacy; he was merely a variable, a threat to the integrity of the very name Elrohir himself had once proudly borne.

His frail body shook with sobs as Brynjar, who had caught up with him, rubbed his back in a reassuring gesture. He could no longer remain in denial: it was either the dragon or him. But he could not bring himself to exterminate an entire species.

So it would be the dragon… That resolution struck him like a dagger. He was rushing toward his grave, and his executioner might well be an elf sent to finish the job.

Footsteps echoed. Slow, steady, firm. They contrasted with the murmur of the water, and the elf’s inner turmoil. Tariel flinched slightly as he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Tariel.”

Cassian spoke his name like a caress. He gently brushed a strand of white hair behind his ear, his fingers barely grazing him as he did so. The elf didn’t want to cry in front of him; showing his emotions was a weakness… But he no longer had the strength to lie.

“You knew, didn’t you?” whispered the mercenary.

It was a rhetorical question. Cassian crouched down, took hold of his wrists, and forced him to face him. Tariel let his hands rest in the alchemist’s, his body yielding all too easily to his will, but he refused to meet his gaze.

How could he? And worse still: how could he look into the eyes of a man so devoted to the cause of the dragons, when his own people demanded their blood?

“Look at me.”

The voice was firm, yet free of violence. Tariel finally raised his emerald eyes, but stopped at the mercenary’s chest, reluctant to hold his gaze.

“Tariel, look at me.”

The sudden shift to such a gentle tone sent a jolt of surprise through him, forcing the elf to look up. He found only a well of empathy and compassion.

“You have every right to cry. You’ll do what you must, but no elf—no being, powerful or not—will strike a fatal blow against you as long as I’m alive. No one, do you hear me? Whether they come from Caelendor or elsewhere.”

The elf had tried to stifle his sobs, but he couldn’t stop his tears from flowing, nor his chest from heaving from time to time in silent, trembling sobs.

He felt pathetic standing before this man who remained so composed, but he didn’t voice that. Instead, he listened to him, only half-believing his words, a look of despair on his face…

…before simply throwing himself into Cassian’s arms.

He wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face against his broad shoulder, seeking comfort as he confessed through his sobs:

“I don’t want to kill the dragon…” the elf whispered against his skin, his voice breaking. “I don’t even want to try. But my options are limited to dying at the dragon’s hands, dying at the hands of my own people, or dying at the hands of another kingdom… Whatever I do, the outcome seems to be the same. I’m scared, Cassian…”

He tightened his embrace, burying his face deeper, refusing to let go of the only anchor he had left in this world that had turned hostile.

Cassian

He is so pretty when he cries.