The silent assemblage of elves stepped aside to let the young man through. He wore black. He always wore black. It was the best way to let the trim on his shirt show the unique blend of colors. Only he wore white, green, and silver together. Whispers followed him as he passed through them with a hand on a shoulder there, a clap on the back there, a handshake there. They all knew him. This was their hope, their last hope. This was the Starbringer.
He stood before them, his thumbs hooked into his belt before him.
“We will rise.” His voice was steady and calm, carrying through the room. “We will call our gods back from where they were banished. We will rescue our stolen kin.” His voice raised in volume and fervor. “We will not tolerate the yoke of English oppression. Eire is ours. Freedom. Is. Ours.” The crowd hung on his every word. His voice dropped again, serious and solemn. “If you would join me, come to the high seat of our ancestors, to the halls of the Red Branch.”
No elf alive was ignorant to what he meant, but few humans would know. It was the safest way, to keep the human king from getting word. Rórdán’s green eyes flashed with excitement and pride as the room let out a cheer. He glanced to the back, near the door and saw his mother smiling. Now they had their army.