Shadow of the West

[Firefoot]

Siamak, utterly confounded by the General’s behavior, stared at the repentant figure kneeling before him. Clearly the topic of the foreign Elves was a much more sensitive subject that he had realized. Morgôs had been the General of the Pashtian army for many generations; outbursts like this must be rare, or even singular. No one was acting themselves with the Emissary’s visit and strange tidings. Though still shaken, Siamak realized that the General was still a powerful ally.

“Yes, General, I forgive you. But, please, do try to contain yourself - I really have told you all I know. The Emissary spoke very little of these times long past,” said Siamak hesitantly.

“Thank you, my Prince,” said Morgôs, rising slowly back to his couch. Siamak could still see traces of desire of the knowledge written on the General’s face, controlled though it was. He almost wished he did have more information to offer. Judging by the General’s actions, Siamak knew the General had more than idle curiosity of the distant Elves. Just what it was, Siamak wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask. He decided the best course of action would be simply to change the subject and let the episode pass. His own questions had been more or less answered, even if the answers had left him less clear than he had hoped.

“I am sure you did not come to discuss such ancient knowledge," said Siamak with a slight grin. "Why is it, then?" In truth, Siamak already had a few ideas, but he did not enjoy guessing games. He had always preferred to jump straight to the heart of the matter, rather than bandy words about. Direct questions gave people less room to wiggle out, especially those who would give an answer yet evade the true intent of the question. It was not always necessary, but it had become habit. Siamak looked in curiosity toward the General, waiting for a response.