In the lounge, Aethion was standing near the bar at attention, though his head was bowed. Drayven was speaking sternly to him.
"I understand that your position was difficult last night. But never, ever drop your sword in battle! To do it once is bad enough, but to drop it three times? I have said it to Cas'Va, I will say it to you. Magic alone is not enough to carry the day in close combat! If you can ambush an enemy with a band of mages and rain thunder on them from above then a weapon is not needed. But when you are surrounded by enemies, or forming part of a battle line you cannot afford to neglect your guard!"
"I understand, Father. I am sorry."
"Do not apologise. Just remember it, and do not do it again. Furthermore, I want you to put some more effort into practicing Restoration magic. You may never wish to follow the path of a healer, but any High Elf who marches to war should know enough to heal his own wounds quickly in an emergency. A better knowledge of how to reset your arm last night may have allowed you to press the attack and claim victory at the vital moment."
"Yes FAther. I will."
"Good, good. Aside from all that, well done. You fought bravely. You just need to stop neglecting your defences, that is all. You are not some Orc who can bludgeon his enemies to death with their own soldiers while shrugging off spear-wounds to the skull."
Aethion chuckled slightly at this, and Drayven smiled, clapping him on the shoulder before walking away towards the couches near to Erica.
