The King of Dornhaven

Dornhaven was a kingdom unlike Lorien, despite technically being under Lorien's rule. Unlike the tyranny that had plagued Lorien under King Caedric, Dornhaven had remained a beacon of prosperity and order. The Greystone family had ruled for 367 years, and under their leadership, Dornhaven had become the heart of trade and commerce for humanity.

It was a kingdom of wealth, home to the finest knights ever trained, and its citizens lived in peace. At the head of this kingdom stood King Thalvion Greystone, the 121st monarch of the Greystone lineage—a just and wise ruler.

Once, Thalvion had been a close friend of King Aldric, the fallen ruler of Lorien. He had fought beside Aldric in the war against the Dark King Zordrak, and when Aldric perished, Thalvion mourned deeply. But the greatest wound came not from his friend's death, but from what followed: King Caedric severed trade routes between Lorien and Dornhaven, isolating the kingdom for his own selfish gain.

Thalvion had resented Caedric ever since. He knew a war between their kingdoms would devastate their people, so he refrained from conflict. But his patience had limits.

---

Aerion and Aerendil rode swiftly through Dornhaven's bustling city center. Unlike Lorien's capital, which had grown cold and lifeless under Caedric's rule, Dornhaven was full of life. The streets were clean, the buildings were pristine, and most importantly, the people were happy.

Even in their urgency, Aerion and Aerendil couldn't help but notice how different this place felt. But their focus quickly returned to their mission—they had to meet the king immediately.

As they maneuvered through the market district, disaster struck.

Crash!

Their horses collided with a merchant's cart, sending fresh fruit scattering across the cobblestone streets. Apples, pears, and oranges rolled in every direction, startling passersby.

Aerion reacted instantly. He leaped off his horse and began picking up the fallen fruit. Aerendil, though impatient, sighed and helped him.

A crowd formed around them, curious rather than hostile. The merchant, an elderly man with a gentle smile, didn't seem angry.

"Ah, no harm done," the merchant chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Just be more careful next time, eh?"

Aerion bowed slightly. "Forgive us, sir. We are in a great hurry. We must speak with the King."

The moment the words "the King" left Aerion's lips, the merchant's expression changed. He quickly stepped aside, lowering his head in silent respect.

Aerion frowned. "What—"

A deep voice came from behind him.

"Then speak. I am listening."

Aerion and Aerendil froze. Slowly, they turned around, their hands instinctively moving toward their swords—until they saw who was standing before them.

King Thalvion Greystone himself.

The ruler of Dornhaven stood before them, tall and broad-shouldered, his long iron-gray hair tied loosely behind his back. His piercing blue eyes studied them with quiet authority, and his regal cloak billowed slightly in the evening breeze.

For a moment, neither Aerion nor Aerendil could speak, They had ridden with haste to reach his palace, yet here he was—standing in the middle of the marketplace like an ordinary.

Aerion and Aerendil turned back toward King Thalvion Greystone, offering him a respectful salute. The king had asked them to explain their sudden arrival, but Aerendil spoke first, his voice firm.

"Your Majesty, this is not a discussion we should have in front of the people. If they learn of the approaching threat, it will only spread panic."

Thalvion studied Aerendil for a moment before nodding. "I understand. Follow me to the royal hall."

With a swift motion, the king turned and strode toward the palace, his royal guards forming a protective formation around him. Aerion and Aerendil exchanged glances before following, their boots echoing across the grand stone corridors of Dornhaven's castle.

---

Seated upon his throne of black iron and silver, King Thalvion listened intently as Aerion delivered Veynor's pleased for reinforcements.

Once seated, Thalvion looked at them intently. "Speak. Why have you come to Dornhaven?"

"The Orc hordes are moving," Aerion said, his voice carrying urgency. "They are coming for Blackmoor. But they are not just heading east—another army is advancing on Dornhaven. We estimate they will arrive in two days at most."

Aerendil stepped forward, adding, "If Blackmoor falls, Lorien will fall. And if Lorien falls, all of humanity will follow. We have no allies left—the dwarves and elves have abandoned us because of King Caedric's betrayal. We stand alone unless you fight with us."

At this, one of Thalvion's knights, a stern-faced commander, scoffed.

"Why should Dornhaven fight for a kingdom that severed all ties with us?" the knight asked coldly.

Aerion's gaze hardened. "Because this is not about King Caedric. This is about survival. If Blackmoor falls, the Orcs will march here next. You know this as well as I do."

Aerendil nodded. "You may hate Caedric, but you do not hate humanity. If we do not stand together now, there will be nothing left to protect."

Silence hung in the air as Thalvion closed his eyes, deep in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of his decision.

"You are right. I despise Caedric, but I do not hate Lorien. I will not let my old friend Aldric's kingdom perish because of his foolish advisor."

He turned to his most trusted commander, Veldric, and gave a single, firm order.

"Prepare five thousand soldiers. They leave for Blackmoor immediately."

Veldric bowed and left without hesitation. Thalvion then turned to another officer.

"Send scouts to Ironhold Forest. I want to know every move the Orcs make."

The room erupted into movement as the king's men carried out their orders.

Aerion and Aerendil stepped forward, placing their fists over their chests in respect and gratitude.

"Thank you, Your Majesty,"Aerion said.

But before they could leave, Thalvion raised a hand.

"You will stay in Dornhaven," he said. "If I send my men to war, I want you here to help me prepare my own defenses. That is the price of my aid."

Aerion hesitated. "But—"

Thalvion cut him off with a sharp glare. "Do not insult Veynor by suggesting he cannot hold Blackmoor without you. You will remain here. That is final."

Aerendil glanced at Aerion and gave a slight nod. They both understood.

"We accept, Your Majesty," Aerion said.

---

That night, five thousand knights of Dornhaven rode out, their armor gleaming under the moonlight. At their lead was General Theron Grim, a seasoned warrior renowned for his tactical brilliance.

Aerion and Aerendil stood atop the great stone walls of Dornhaven, watching as the army rode toward Blackmoor.

Before they left, Aerion pulled Theron aside.

"Tell General Veynor that we cannot return," he said. "King Thalvion has commanded us to remain in Dornhaven to prepare its defenses."

Theron gave a small nod. "Understood. I will deliver your message."

---

As the sound of hoofbeats faded, Aerendil exhaled sharply.

"This war will begin within a day and a half," he said. "Standing here won't help. We must begin preparing the city's defenses."

Aerion remained silent for a moment, still staring at the army. Then he spoke, almost to himself.

"What if Thalvion had refused us? Would humanity still have a chance?"

Aerendil turned to him, his gaze firm. "That doesn't matter now. The reality is before us—Thalvion has chosen to fight. That is enough."

Aerion let out a small, weary smile.

"You're right. Let's get to work."

With that, the two knights left the wall and descended into Dornhaven's city, where preparations for the battle to come had already begun.