They stood outside of their cottage on the outskirts of Strom, despite the storm that had worsened overhead. Water as cold as ice fell heavily upon the once exuberantly colorful garden, though it was a sullen stage for departure. The father, who still towered over his son, was proud of him despite his quirks and strange obsession for mechanics, something for which he could not relate. In truth, he was a man, though his father could not forget the more simple days when he cradled the same child in his arms.
"I must do this for our nation." His thick beard displayed gray streaks, though he commanded a strong presence.
"Why you, father?! Why can't any of the others do this? There are so many willing to help!"
The boy resisted the idea of his absence. His latest loss tore at his heart; still fresh were his memories of the day the Arathor soldiers came to their cottage with grim news of his brother. They spoke of capture instead of a glorious death, which guaranteed a most cruel and unusual end. The father smiled, despite the boy's frustration. With his mother's illness having taken her long ago, his father's absence would mean his independence. The old man knew he was ready for this.
"The elves have taken a special interest in me, along with many others, my son. I have a duty to these people, and to our own and Thoradin himself who counts on our magic." He placed a hand to lightly grip his son's shoulder, bowing down to speak face to face as a gesture of respect. Firmly he spoke, "You mustn't fear for me, son. We are Arathor, now. I will stand strong against those who wish us harm, as I know you would would for me..."
He knew nothing could change his father's mind, and the young man could not control his grief any longer now. Hot tears built within his eyes and streaked down as he blinked. His father continued with a proud grin and hope ringing in his deep voice,
"...And I will come back, with a hundred troll skulls and with victory for our people! But until then, we can never live in peace." He released his grip and stood tall again. "Do you understand now, Serjazul, why I must go?"
The young man still wished for him to not leave, though he couldn't deny his father of his duty. He nodded, fearing his voice would falter should he speak. Their hair and clothes were soaked now, and they knew it was time to part. They embraced a final time and remained silent. Serjazul wanted to say something as the magi turned away; his mind fumbled to find the right words. To be safe, that he loved him. Yet, nothing was said. Only the rain and distant thunder could be heard as the young man watched the figure become smaller and smaller in the distance.