Elven Oath

Chapter 1

Aodhan

S parks crackle from the fire in front of me, its light casting dancing shadows on the ground as my friends sit close to its warmth with me. My mind wanders, far from the laughter of Falkor and Drago.

Their voices tease, jabbing with the familiar barbs of friendship, but I don’t have it in me to respond after arguing with the council for the past month.

It took so much out of me, arguing my side. Why should I take a wife that I do not want just because some old text says that I should?

“Hey, maybe she’ll be the first ugly elf in all of history,” Falkor snickers. “Imagine, our prince saddled with a round little boulder of an elf. Can you imagine the look on his face when he finally sees her?”

Drago chimes in with a deep chuckle. “And tiny! Far too small to handle the needs of a dragon. She won’t know what to do when she sees what she’s marrying.” He says as he grabs himself.

More laughter explodes from them both, louder this time, but I barely react with more than a snort in their direction.

My eyes remain on the flames, watching them dance in the night, as my thoughts remember the war. The war that cost us everything, cost me everything. The entire reason I’m sitting here in the middle of the woods with these two, bound to a fate I never wanted.

The war between the Dragons and the Elves has raged for centuries. Our ancestors, who were once allies, became sworn enemies.

Blood had soaked the earth for so long that neither side even remembered the cause. But we dragons, proud and strong, refused to bend. The skies once belonged to us, and we believed they always should.

But the elves... they were sneaky and cunning. We had underestimated them once, their magic, their persistence.

While we relied on brute strength, they used the land, the elements and their sorcery to slowly wear us down.

For every city we burned, they rebuilt just as quickly. For every battle we won, we lost three more. And so the council of Elders made the choice to end the war in the only way possible. Through marriage. Binding our two peoples in a way that swords and fire never could.

And that’s where I come in. Aodhan, prince of the dragons, betrothed to an elf I’ve never seen.

I’ve rolled it all around in my head so many times these last few months trying to figure out why the elves gave in so easily to such a peace offering. Surely it’s a ruse of some kind.

They’re up to something, they have to be and I refuse to allow my people to pay the price.

“Bet she’s got the ears of a bat and the teeth of a—”

“I get it,” I say, my voice low but firm, cutting off Drago’s jest. They fall silent for a moment, surprised by my outburst.

I don’t usually break my silence when they’re on a roll. But I’m tired of hearing about the woman in question. The woman that I will be forced to live with for the rest of my life.

An elf bride that is nothing but a political pawn, sent to forge peace between two ancient enemies.

I’ve heard the stories of elven beauty my whole life. The ethereal grace of their women, how they move like whispers through the forest. I’ve always wondered just how much of it is true.

But what do I care about any of it? This marriage isn’t about love, or even desire. It’s about survival.

Our people are on the brink of extinction. The last dragon city fell years ago, and now most live like nomads, scattered across the wilds. The rest are all living in the mountains surrounding my home. The great Sky Castle.

Even here, in this moment of peace, I can feel the tension in the air. We’re not used to being the weaker side. My blood burns with the knowledge that we are the ones who had to concede. We’re the ones who need saving. From the very ones who have been killing us!

And this elf woman, whoever she is, is part of the solution. Her fate, like mine, was decided long before she ever had a say.

Even knowing that, I will find it extremely hard to look at her as anything but the enemy.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky, Aodhan,” Falkor tries again, his voice less mocking.”

Maybe.

I breathe deeply, feeling the weight of Falkor’s words settle onto my shoulders. “Maybe she’ll surprise you,” he says, as if beauty could undo generations of hatred. I seriously doubt it.

My life has been shaped by decisions made in war rooms and on battlefields long before either of us were born.

Still, she is a mystery. Maybe she’ll be nothing like the cold, sharp-edged memories I hold of her people.

The elves I’ve known were nothing like the legends that say they’re graceful and wise. They were swift, ruthless killers that had no mercy.

I remember the night they swept through our stronghold like a wave of silver fire. I was only a boy, barely of age to join the fight.

My father stood tall with his wings spread wide, roaring commands as our warriors took to the skies blocking out the light of the sun. We were certain of victory. We always were. Too bad that we’d been wrong.

The elves had something new that night. Some dark magic or forgotten power that bound our wings, grounding us to our feet.

One moment we were soaring across the sky and the next we were falling. Crashing into the earth, completely helpless. They came with blades and with arrows that burned with a blue fire that we’d never seen before.

My father fell, not from the sky, but in the dirt with a resounding thud, surrounded by his warriors.

The memory of his roar echoes in my dreams, the sound of his last breath mingling with the cries of our people as we retreated from the field.

That was the night everything changed. We never regained our strength after that. Some never regained their ability to take flight again.

The Elves’ magic grew stronger, their influence spread, and my people became fewer, our numbers dwindling with each passing year. Less and less babies are being born. More and more dragons are becoming infertile.

That’s why this marriage exists. To stop the bleeding. To bring an end to the centuries of violence and hatred.

To hopefully appease the Gods so they allow us to have children of our own again. But I wonder, even now, if such a union can truly change anything. What if me and this elf woman don’t have any children?

I glance across the fire at Drago and Falkor, my oldest friends, their broad faces lit by the flames.

Falkor still has that easy smirk, as if everything in the world is a joke to be laughed at, while Drago’s massive frame hunches forward, his golden eyes gleaming with unspoken thoughts.

I know them as well as I know myself. We’ve survived battles together, the loss of a huge amount of our homeland, the fall of our kin. Yet here we are, sitting around a fire, pretending this marriage will solve all our problems.

I know they don’t believe it any more than I do. They know the war left scars too deep to be healed by a single treaty or a wedding between strangers.

They laugh and tease me about this elf bride, because what else is there? It’s easier to joke than to face the truth of what we’ve lost.

A distant sound pulls me from my thoughts and I scan the darkness around us, opening my dragon sight to see within the darkness but nothing moves.

This forest is ancient, and filled with creatures far older than either elves or dragons. I find some comfort in that. No matter how great our wars, how fierce our hatred, the world around us continues.

But as I sit here in the shadow of all that’s been, I wonder what will be left for our people. I’ve been trained for war my entire life. I know no other way to live.

I’ve been told that our survival depends on our strength and on our willingness to fight for every scrap of land, every breath of air.

Yet, here I am, on my way to marry into the bloodline of those who sought to take that very breath away from us.

Will I hate her when I see her? Will I see the faces of the elves who killed my father, who burned our homes, and left our people scattered? Or will she be something else entirely—something beyond the war that has shaped us all?

The fire crackles again, louder this time as Drago tosses another log into the flames. He glances at me, his eyes searching mine, though neither of us says anything.

Maybe he sees the weight of my thoughts, or maybe he’s lost on his own. I’ve never asked him how much he remembers of the war, of what we once were. Perhaps it’s better that way. We all carry our ghosts differently.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of ghosts this elf bride carries. What stories haunt her dreams? Does she fear the flames of my people like we do the cold magic of her kin? Does she resent this union as much as I do? Or has she, too, been taught that this is the only way forward?

I’ll find out soon enough. And when I do, I’ll have to decide whether to embrace this future—or to continue carrying the fire of the past within me.

Falkor leans back, resting his hands behind his head. "So, Aodhan," he starts, dragging my name out in a way that makes Drago smirk, "why don't you tell us again about that ancient prophecy? You know, the one about dragons being bound to elves in the old days. I still can’t wrap my head around that part where we supposedly needed them to have children."

I sigh, knowing full well he remembers. I’ve told them the story before, but Falkor loves to hear it. Mostly so he can make some crude joke at the end.

I’ll still tell him anyway. The story, after all, is part of our legacy, and it weighs on me as I prepare to fulfill its ancient promise.

"It’s not a prophecy," I say quietly, my eyes still on the fire. "It’s history."

"Yeah, yeah," Falkor waves a hand. "History, prophecy, whatever. Just tell me."

I shift my weight, leaning forward and clasping my hands together. The fire flickers between us, and for a moment, I feel the pull of the past, as if the story is already here, sitting with us by the fire.

"In the beginning," I start, "dragons and elves were not enemies. They lived together in harmony—two ancient races, each with their own gifts. The elves had their magic, their connection to the land, while we dragons had our strength, our flight, and our fire. But there was one thing dragons could not do on their own."

Falkor raises an eyebrow, always the skeptic. "Have children?"

I nod. "Yes. Back then, it was said that dragons could only reproduce with the help of the elves’ magic. The bond between a dragon and an elf was sacred. It wasn’t just a marriage; it was a merging of souls. Only when the two races were bound together could new life be created—half-dragon, half-elf offspring, children with the power of both races."

Drago shifts in his seat, his deep voice rumbling out. "So... without them, we would have died out?"

I nod again, my eyes fixed on the fire as it snaps and pops. "Exactly. The elves’ magic made it possible for us to survive, to thrive. And so, for a time, there was peace between our people. Every dragon had an elf counterpart, a partner bound by more than just flesh, a partner bound by the soul."

Falkor, who had been unusually silent during this part, leans in. "But what happened? If we were all cozy with the elves back then, what changed?"

I look up at him, feeling the weight of the answer, the same answer that has haunted our people for generations.

"Greed. Power. The same things that always destroy peace. Some of the elves began to see the bond as an opportunity to control the dragons, to wield their power for themselves. They thought that by controlling the birth of dragons, they could control the dragons themselves. The council of Elders in the old world didn’t take kindly to that. They broke the bonds. The dragons withdrew, severing their ties to the elves. And that was when the wars began."

Falkor whistles low, shaking his head. "So, we needed them to survive, but they tried to own us. Classic."

Drago lets out a long breath, his expression hard. "And now we’re going back to the old ways, marrying them again, trying to bring about what? More half-breeds to save us from extinction?"

I shrug. "It’s not exactly the same. We’re not bound by magic anymore—at least, not the way we were. This marriage is a political arrangement, nothing more. But it’s based on those ancient ties, on the hope that maybe, by reconnecting with the elves, we can find a way forward. Maybe even a way to restore our numbers. It’s not magic, but it’s the only chance we’ve got."

Falkor chuckles again, but it’s softer this time. "Still, it's hard to believe we were ever bound to them like that. Elves and dragons, tied by the soul. Sounds like something out of a bard’s song."

"Doesn’t change that it’s true," I mutter, my voice more distant now. "It’s in the old books, Falkor. It’s who we were. And now..." I trail off, staring into the fire again. "Now we have to decide who we’re going to be."

The fire crackles in the silence that follows. Falkor and Drago seem content to let the story sink in, though I know the questions they won’t ask aloud.

How much of that history is repeating? How much of what’s happening now is just another cycle in our long, bloody history with the elves?

And when I meet my new bride, will we be bound in the same way? Bound by soul, by fate, by the legacy of our people? Or will we just be two strangers, thrown together by the decisions of those who came before us?

The ancient book says the soul bond is permanent, unbreakable once made until we die. But in all this time, I’ve never seen it. Not in my lifetime, not in anyone I know. Those old ways are long gone—aren’t they?

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of the flames on my skin. Bound by soul, tied to an elf. It seems impossible.

And yet... Here I am.

“Just because it’s in a book, doesn’t make it true.” Falkor says with a raised brow.

I don’t comment as I turn my eyes back to the fires glow. I’ve got to admit, the same thought has crossed my mind a million times. Honestly, I’ve never questioned it until a few weeks ago when my mother said something about things never being exactly as they seem when I was on a rant about the elves starting the war over greed.

When I asked her what she meant all she’d say was our ancient texts were written by our own people. Not by someone who had no ties either way.

It’s something to think about.