"Your Grace," said the aged Elven woman without turning or hearing a spoken word, the very gravity of the room had seemed to change. "Thank you for seeing me."
"I would find it hard not to answer and urgent summons from you, youngling," rumbled a voice like mountain roots. The elf turned towards the voice.
"It has been many an era since anyone could call me youngling, Your Grace." Her many-lined face broke open with a smile from emotions now centuries old. She gazed up adoringly at the huge golden shape as he squeezed into the Hall of Records. After navigating the door Rutilisincendiaxx cocked his old head to one side, there was a sharp echoing crack as his neck again moved as he intended.
"That is perhaps true, Elebenna, but I reserve the right, I believe I am entitled," he paused, "by heritage and by experience, yes?"
"Yes, Your Grace," again she smiled at ancient memories, "You are entitled."
"What is it you have found?" He laid his claw open before her and she stepped in, her white robes a whisper along the floor. He raised her up and sat her on his shoulder her long, silver braid trailed her in her flight. She faced the configuration of multi colored crystals on the south wall of the huge chamber and waving her hands she spoke words that were ancient to both of them. Lights bloomed in the crystals and images began to appear on the wall.
"One of my searchers found this new pattern, Your grace, in Khorvaire, the region now called The Demon Wastes. It appeared etched in some ancient standing stones." An image of a menhir appeared, covered with the curving graceful runes that had intrigued the dragons for age upon age. "Now look at the same rune pattern appearing in this lava flow. And then on this Hobgoblin ruin. And then, oddly, in this painting by that so-called, 'mad' prophet in Cyre, the blind one that I spoke to you about? I believe these marks constitute a pattern that we have been looking for."
"I see," said the dragon, "and what do you think it means?"
"I believe it's a key. Look at this piece of undecipherable coutal journal from the Age of Demons." It appeared on the wall. There was silence.
"So then," whispered the ancient gold, "What have we here?"
"You see it then, Ruti?" she asked in a schoolgirl voice, decorum forgotten. "The Ancient Flame of Darkness-Spawn of Traitor and Mother, shall rise and fall twice, and then rise a third time." The dragon took over.
"A third time to grasp the heart of Siberys and lift himself above all powers, bending even the Word of the Progenitors to his will?' By Bahamut's silky beard, that can't be right!" This time the voice shook the hall.
"Wait, Your Grace, there is more. 'Unless he be opposed by broken powers from the Contagion Kingdom, the blackened iron scavengers, Khyber will open….' There's no more."
"There doesn't need to be anymore, youngling! Have you had a vision of this? When does it occur?"
"I know not, Your Grace." She lowered her head. "It must be after the birth of whatever the Contagion Kingdom is, that term appears repeatedly the last few decades. What is a 'black iron scavenger?"
"Black iron is what the dwarves call steel. That particular rune configuration for 'scavenger' is referring to a bird, a raven I think. What do you suggest we do youngling?" he lowered her to the ground. She stepped out and turn to face him, in a moment he was a golden clothed elf, ancient in years, but full of life.
"I suggest we wait for this Contagion Kingdom, and then watch for 'steel scavenger birds.' What do you think?"
"I think you are correct, and we should hold our findings close to us. There is no need for the 'Eyes' to know, nor the Order. I will inform our contacts in the Chamber. Keep your best long term searchers on it."
"Will I see you tonight?" she asked tentatively, "it's been a long time since you visited, Your Grace." She bowed her head, blushing.
"Yes, my love. You will."
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