“With respect, father, I believe we would do best to return to our prior business.” Interjected Adilar beside Tanil gently, reminding the two lords of their obligation. 

“Yes, of course, my boy!” Replied Tanil heartily, grinning with a flush of embarrassment at his son’s gentle chastisement, “How rude of me! I’m sure Master Barator is eager to get on with our plans.” 

For the duration of the time spent out on the veranda the conversation consisted of proposals for the event, which Barator would relay back to the high lord of his own land, who would in turn confer with his fellow Olaniri lords near and far as to whether or not the venture was in agreement to their accords. Barator was himself growing quite receptive to the idea, believing that Lord Tanil’s vision was one born of genuine desire for good and that it held the potential for achieving true and total peace from shore to shore.

The more he sat and listened to the words of Tanil and his wise son, the fonder he grew of the Dunyar and their ways, curious to see and know more of them with each passing instant. After nearly two hours of imbibing Rukir and sharing tales, both tall and veritable, a servant of Lord Tanil’s house arrived to inform them that it was time for dinner, an invitation which the three companions were more than delighted to accept, as politics and the exchange of lore seemed to have worked up an appetite in them. 

Seated at a large, long table in an open roofed dining room, which was of course expertly designed and of the same ivory marble making as the rest of the villa, the three of them had been joined by the rest of Lord Tanil’s seven sons, who were no less splendid in their appearance than their younger brother or father. Sitting on either side of Barator was Vanos Nefyilu and his twin, Halion Nefyilimon, who Tanil explained to be four years older than Adilar, who was himself dining at his father’s left on the other side of the table. In Barator’s eyes, they did not favor their father but rather their mother in both the color of their hair and complexion, yet they possessed the skillful conversive qualities of their father. To his right past Vanos sat Ergaland Nefyilfin, the next in the age succession, a quiet yet cheery lad who despite being his mother’s namesake bore far more resemblance to his father, though he maintained his mother's eyes, which lit up with curiosity each time Barator spoke. The seat at the other end of the table remained empty, he observed, believing that this was perhaps the assigned place of the Lady of Din Serenth, who had yet to make an appearance. 

Next to the empty seat at the other side of the table were the third and second oldest sons, Merenwär Nefyilgond, who was, oddly enough, black of hair and quietest of all, followed by Ilaris Nefyildorn, a young man who was far from quiet, his laughter loudest and his smile winsome as a fox’s; like his mother, he possessed hair of deep red and brown entangled together in a manner that was pleasing to behold. And last but certainly not least was the eldest and proudest of all the princelings called Serenös Nefyilir, who sat directly across from Barator. He was perhaps fairest of all, his hair red as mulled wine, complexion golden and his features sharp as a blade yet it was his eyes that resonated with Barator the most. As he silently looked upon him from across the table, the eyes of Serenös appeared to flicker beneath the lamp light above, which made it difficult to distinguish their hue. Though nothing in his face conveyed any hostility or severity, Barator felt a pang of unexplained discomfort as the recipient of their gaze, the kindly smile on the Dunyar’s face seeming to him manufactured, contradicted by the strange fire in his eyes.

 His air was that of a king’s rather than a prince’s, his head held up highest of all, his posture and bearing implicative of his station as the eldest, thus making him, in his own sight, anyway, deserving of the greatest respect. Perhaps, thought Barator, he feels he should be the honored guest at the table rather than I. Realizing that he was being rude by staring, he turned his eyes back to Tanil, who was sat back with chin in his hand as he balanced his elbow on the arm of the chair, listening to a humorous story from Ilaris with a warm smile on his face, engrossed with practiced yet no less fatherly  attentiveness. Just as Ilaris was about to give what was the punchline of the jest, a voice, one of the servants it seemed, suddenly announced the arrival of Lady Ergulan, an announcement that brought Lord Tanil out of his son’s story and his seat, nearly knocking it over in his sudden excitement. Following suit, Barator and the princelings rose respectfully as the Lady of Din Serenth entered their midst, followed closely by two of her attendants. 

In the present moment, at last allowed a closer glimpse of her, Barator counted her to be twice as beautiful as before, the fullness of her beauty known to him as she stood before them. She had changed into a gown of light and dark blue, its making befitting of her royal status, and her hair, even longer and shimmering in person, was slightly concealed by a matching veil that reached the hem of her gown. Her face was of the same complexion as Serenös’ and her features so smooth and delicate she may as well have been one of her husband’s creations. Her eyes, which in the light appeared to be of a silver hue, were reminiscent of starlight, shining even more brilliantly as she offered those gathered a dazzling smile. It was not difficult to see how such beauty had inspired Lord Tanil so greatly he had created the city of Din Serenth itself as a monument to her loveliness, as Barator came to realize that indeed the magnificence he had witnessed upon his arrival could be no less than a homage paid to a much deserving muse. 

“My lords.” She greeted with a graceful bow of her head, “Forgive my interruption of your repast."

 Barator stood almost dumbly as he allowed his boyish fascination to return, his gaze shifting away reluctantly to see the expression of Lord Tanil, who stood vexed in place as if he had been turned to stone by her mere presence. Tanil’s face caused the lamps hanging above to dim by its light, as not just the sun but the moon and stars combined were seeping from his features as he looked upon her with so much longing Barator felt his own face flush from ear to ear. No doubt he is envisioning some newer albeit greater way in which to pay her homage, he thought sportively. Remembering himself, Tanil, expression still alight with his ardor, moved to go to her so swiftly he was there in a half blink of an eye. 

“My lady.” He greeted softly, heatedly as he took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips before kneeling and pressing his brow to them, a traditional greeting between husband and wife amongst their kind. 

Looking down into her face as he rose, the tall lord spoke once more, his voice slightly quivering as it had earlier on the terrace.

 “Too many hours have I spent without your light!” He murmured, just loud enough for the others to hear. 

Though her expression and reaction to being with her husband again was far more subdued, Barator noted that Lady Ergulan’s silver eyes shone even brighter in the closeness she shared with Lord Tanil and her face was flushed with both excitement and timidity at his display.

 Gently, she replied, “Too many have I been deprived of yours, husband.”

 Despite undoubtedly desiring to remain tethered beneath her adoring husband’s gaze, she recalled her courtesies and with a silent nod she allowed him to lead her to her place at the vacant end of the table. Before she sat down she noticed Barator, a stranger to her still. 

“I fear you have not introduced me to your honored guest, my lord.” She scolded gently, her gaze fixed upon Barator with interest. 

“Ah, yes, of course, forgive me, my friend, forgive me!” Tanil apologized with horror at his own horrendous manners, immediately breaking from his lovelorn trance at her correction and becoming once again the gracious host as he gave a formal introduction, “Lord Barator Vendalar, may I present my wife, Ergulan Anwëlyon, the High Lady of Din Serenth.”

 “My lady!” Greeted Barator forgivingly, offering a bow of his head as she bowed her own in acknowledgement of him. 

“Lord Barator, I am honored by your presence. The renown of your house proceeds you. I welcome you to Din Serenth not as a stranger but as a friend. The hospitality of our city is yours!” Replied Lady Ergulan with what he felt to be genuine affability, her smile like that of an old friend’s, which reassured Barator. 

 “You are too kind, my lady.” He said, touching his hand to his heart as a show of appreciation of her words. 

Sitting down next to her namesake Ergaland, she released Tanil’s hand as he moved to return to his own seat at the other head of the table, she smiled lovingly at her children and spoke to them briefly in Dunyari Olanu, Barator only capable of understanding a few words due to the slight difference between his people’s tongue, Ada Olanu, and the dialect of his hosts. There was no impoliteness directed towards him in her conversation with them, the short exchange consisting of motherly inquiries into her sons’ activities which were answered with varied answers from the princelings. Barator listened intently, noting with deep appreciation how there were smatterings of Caryanin, the ancient language of Nefya, the Heavenly Hall of Tanri, intermingled with the Olanu words he himself understood. 

The reason that there existed mere smatterings instead of their proceeding to speak fully in Caryanin is due to the fact that the fullness of such language was not only unknown to the Dunyar and other beings but forbidden to them. Being the sons and daughters of the Dusuli, the Dunyar, like their fallen fathers and mothers, were deprived of their understanding of the ancient speech, as it had been twisted and distorted by the Great and Terrible songster, Aslar, the proudest and most foul traitor to Tanri and his divine will. With time and atonement, both Dusuli and Dunyar had come to knowledge of and were granted increasing understanding of the ancient, sacred words, though it would never be known to them in its entirety until they passed from the world and into Nefya itself. 

 “Vendalar….was your father called Baros?” Lady Ergulan’s soft voice, directed to him, brought his musings to a brusque end. 

Realizing she was asking a question, he quickly responded. 

 “Yes, my lady.” He said, hoping she did not think he was disinterested in her query. 

 “I met him once when he visited my father in Elaquenna. You are his very likeness!”  She remarked affectionately, her compliment reminding him of her advanced age compared to his own, the thought of her having known his father before him strange and unnatural.

“So I've been told, my lady.” He said with a fond smile at the memory of his father, whom he wished were at his side now. 

“And your mother….was she not called Endarë?” Further inquired Ergulan as a servant filled her glass with what appeared to be red wine. 

 “Indeed, she was!” Answered Barator, amazed at her recollection, for his mother had died not long after his birth, which was many years now. 

Nodding thoughtfully, Ergulan spoke again. 

 “A fairer lady I have yet to look upon, Lord Barator. She was light itself. Her memory lives  in your eyes, don’t you agree, husband?” Her inclusion of Lord Tanil in her compliment of Barator’s late mother prompted the High Lord to offer his regards eagerly. 

“Yes, of course! I remember Lady Endarë well. A most fair and noble lady she was.” Tanil added fondly before taking a long sip from his goblet. 

“Thank you, my lord and lady.” Replied Barator, “I am glad to know that we are not entirely unknown to your fair kind.”

 “It is unlikely that we Dunyar should forget our mortal kin of the East and North.” 

Replied Tanil warmly, setting his goblet down with a soft thud, "After all, it was the aid of the Olaniri that brought Aslar and his forces to their knees. We owe much to your kind!” 

While he could not argue with this statement, Barator felt he should return the compliment with one of his own on behalf of his kin.

“Perhaps, Lord Tanil.” He began slowly, “yet were it not for your father, Lord Carulo Nefyilon, Aslar’s beasts and monsters might still rain terror down upon us all.”

Chuckling deeply, Tanil’s eyes twinkled with the memory of his father, of whom he was exceedingly proud.

 “Ah, yes, my father’s Dragon Song. Music so great in its power that it tamed the children of Arath and lulled them into a dreamless slumber beneath the earth forever. I must admit that I am sometimes envious of his skill, yet I do not envy him the chance to face down a dragon.” Mused the High Lord with a nostalgic air, the last part about the dragon bringing forth soft laughter from his sons, who had doubtless heard the song far too many times. Barator had been fond of the ballad all his life, counting it among his favorites. He wondered aloud if Lord Tanil might grace him with a performance of it sometime later that evening. 

“If my Lord Barator can forgive my unworthy voice, I would be honored!” He replied without hesitation, Barator knowing full well his self deprecation was mere politeness, as  Lord Tanil’s own skill for song was known to many, so much so he was considered equal to his late father in talent. 

True to his word, sometime after dinner, when they had all adjourned to the solar that had served as the meeting place between strangers just hours before, the Lord of Din Serenth, aided by a harp of magnificent making wrought from Tanil’s own hands, sang of his father’s triumph and the salvation of all Tyir Olan. He played and sang with such vitality that Barator felt himself being transported between past and present, many times feeling as if he himself were the clever Carulo standing down the fearsome dragons and wolfmen atop the Great Mount. At one point Tanil’s sons joined in his singing of various chords, their own voices strong and beautiful yet not nearly so effortless as their father’s. Not far from Barator sat Ergulan silently, her eyes ever on her husband, watching and listening with delight, a smile ever on her face. It was a sight that reminded him once again of his own wife, whom he longed to return to at the end of his business here; much like Lord Tanil’s family Barator, his wife and daughters spent their evenings under the stars at home, though they shared stories as opposed to songs and attempted to count the stars over their heads. 

In his increasingly dreamy state of mind, he looked up at the night sky and whether it was merely the effects of Rukir or fatigue he swore all the same that the stars above danced to the music of Tanil’s song, their light more brilliant than he’d ever seen them, forming into the shapes of dragons and their slayers doing battle together on a midnight field. He was so transfixed by the celestial minuet that he did notice sometime later that the music had ended, only being made aware of this by Tanil’s voice speaking to him. 

“The starlight over Dunyarë is beyond comparison, is it not, Lord Barator?” 

Blushing in slight embarrassment at becoming distracted rather than remaining an attentive listener, he politely replied, “It is, my lord, especially when it is accompanied by such excellent music. I could have sworn the stars themselves waltzed to your song.” 

Tanil smiled proudly at this compliment, a curious glint in his eye. 

“You flatter me, my friend, yet I fear you give my abilities far too much credit.” He responded heartily. 

Not long after it was time for all present to retire for the night, at which point Barator realized he was quite tired and desired to find the nearest cot on which to lay for the night. After he wished his hosts goodnight, he allowed himself to be led to a bedchamber that had been prepared for him ahead of his arrival, having no trouble whatsoever dozing off once he found his bed. That night he dreamed of his own family, his wife and daughters dancing beneath a dome of stars while music played  from a distant harp and dragons and knights chasing one another around the pale golden moon that loomed above.