“Forked tongue lash’d orkish steel
and Arder’s last stand at lon’ly Veil
was seen by manne and aelf and beast
til darkness fell from yond’r Aest.”
-‘Aulde Ricke Arder’ or ‘Old King Arthur’ attributed to Guy de Paimpont, circa 24,600 AC.
***
Her dams did not take the news of her surprise departure well.
After Nalendril and Sildathlene found out, every meal was a tense affair, full of shifting gazes and brooding silences. Her dams eased their barrage of reprimands after the first week but took any chance they could to plead with her to change her mind. The fights that ensued were followed by several days of peace before the cycle started all over again. Where they were upset with Alvanue, they were furious with her father. While she was going away practically unannounced, he was the one who’d arranged it all without their knowledge. She did not envy Githanduin’s position.
Alvanue could understand why they were so upset. Elves lived on a different time scale from humans; while one might look fully grown at twenty years of age, an elf wasn’t even considered a young adult until reaching at least their first century. From their perspective, it was like they were sending their toddler off to boarding school in a foreign country all by herself. Well, Edhalan was going with her, but that was hardly reassuring to the two distraught dams.
While she could understand how they felt, she wouldn’t change her plans. She couldn't stand the thought of remaining cooped up in Endrillond for a second longer than necessary.
It was a wonderful place to grow up, but she’d explored it many times in the years since her birth. She'd visited all the great elven families in their ethereal halls, seen the Bjarmalander refugees in their whalebone houses, climbed the great black peaks of the Amrothuilye, sailed the icy seas beyond the Edge of Night and visited the cloistered sages at Moonwatch where the stars seemed close enough to touch.
There was hardly a place in all the lands over which her family ruled that she had not visited at least once.
Endrillond was a magical land but even the most interesting place in the world grew tiresome after too long. That itch, that yearning that had grown stronger and stronger by the day after that moment of sudden clarity so long ago, finally had an outlet. She finally had a chance to explore the wider world and it would all start soon, at St.Gildrin’s.
***
Getting everything prepared in time was a challenge. Most of it fell to Alvanue and her sire as her dams refused to assist in protest of her leaving; coordinating with a ship and St. Gildrin’s administration to ensure she would arrive in time for the start of the semester, communicating with the staff at the Embassy and a thousand other little things.
The only part of the preparations her dams willingly involved themselves with was the commissioning of a new wardrobe. Her sire bemoaned the cost on top of everything else, but Sildathlene in particular insisted upon it. Alvanue was happy enough to take her old clothing with her to St. Gildrin’s, but her elegant dam refused to hear of it and Alvanue knew when to pick her battles.
The poor tailor and his apprentice worked themselves to the bone to finish the clothing in time for her departure. It was all beautifully made but most was done in very traditional Endrillondian style, all dresses in grey, white and purple silk, cut higher than usual and capes trimmed in velvet instead of the traditional fur to suit warmer climes. Her family crest, the sharp, stylized silhouette of the Evening Star, was picked out in silver thread on most of the pieces. It was all very unsubtle.
There was, of course, the question of what to do with the small trollpup that Alvanue had brought home on top of everything else. No troll pack, even those friendly to the Moon Elves, would take in a strange pup in the dead of winter. Her family was unwilling to take care of the creature themselves and her sire was certain it would be a catastrophe if she brought it with her, and so they argued over what must be done.
As with most things, Alvanue eventually persuaded her sire to see things her way. The pup, which she’d begun calling Snowball due to its white fur, would go with her to St. Gildrin’s.
More practically, her sire insisted that she brush up on her Common Tongue as well and hired a tutor to educate her on the basics of Lyonessean history. Knowing their child well, all three of her parents were more than a little concerned that she had the potential to cause a diplomatic disaster, especially if she went off to a country whose etiquette was completely unknown to her. She knew Common well enough to speak with the Bjarmalanders and the Northmen that came from across the sea in their long boats to trade, but she knew little of the Union that Lyonesse belonged to, let alone anything about the kingdom itself.
Elder Uruigith was tasked with correcting this oversight, to Alvanue’s immense displeasure.
He was a crotchety old monster and the only elf she’d ever seen that looked visibly old. Crow's feet and frown lines marred his fair skin, and he leaned heavily on his Silverwood staff as he stalked through the halls. She didn’t know his exact age, but among an eternally youthful people such as the elves, Uruigith stood out.
He was as ill-tempered as he was old, and he inflicted his bad moods on anyone unfortunate enough to spend time in his company. For the hours between the morning meal and noonday bell, that privilege was Alvanue’s.
The course of his tutelage lasted less than a month, but those three weeks might as well have been a lifetime as far as she was concerned. He drilled her on the useless histories of kingdoms younger than some of his wrinkles, tested her memory on the names of Lyonessean noble families, their heirs, the seemingly nonexistent differences in culture between the many human kingdoms and more besides. When she answered incorrectly, he wacked her across the back of her head none too gently with his staff. When she answered correctly, he would scowl and say something disparaging before moving on to some new topic.
Complaining to her parents did nothing. They treated the elf with wary respect and told her to do exactly as he said.
She tried to pay attention during his lessons, if only to avoid the beatings, and some of them managed to stick. She learned that Lyonesse was one of four allied kingdoms in what was known as the United Kingdoms of Albion, comprising the human countries west of the Ash Mountains and east of the White Ocean. Long ago, they’d all been one land ruled over by the ancient King Arthur Pendragon.
The name sounded familiar, but Alvanue couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d heard it before.
According to Uruigith, Arthur’s many children began a war of succession after their father’s death, splintering the Old Kingdom of Albion into a hundred petty chiefdoms and warring clans. The constant state of war between the Pendragon heirs and their descendants lasted for centuries, ravaging the continent for nearly a millenium.
The current king of Lyonesse, His Royal Majesty Loholt Lionheart, claimed direct descent from the Pendragon dynasty through Arthur’s son of the same name.
“Hardly impressive,” Uruigith croaked. “There’s at least a thousand bastard lordlings and petty kings who claim the same. Even an orcish warlord. Hah! Imagine that.”
Over time, the splinter factions of Old Albion were consolidated into the powerful kingdoms of Cogayne and Tir Derwydd in the north, Westernesse along the White Ocean and Lyonesse by the Ash Mountains, with the unaffiliated nations of Reynes and Ys to the south.
The original foundation the U.K.A. was built upon began nearly three centuries beforehand, with an uneasy alliance between Cogayne, Westernesse and Lyonesse. The three kingdoms came together to better defend against the Orcish raiding parties that were coming from east over the mountains to plunder war torn Albion. After several crusades to reclaim the human lands invaded by the orcs in the shadow of the Ash Mountains, the Union was proven militarily, as well as economically, successful. Tir Derwydd joined the Union half a century after the orcs were successfully pushed back at the mountain pass of Hoga’s Folley.
“And why was that, girl?” Uruigith asked, raising his staff slightly.
“Uh, um, because that opened the overland trade routes to the east? And Tir Derwydd needed cheap goods for their campaign against the Northern Goblin tribes?” Alvanue said, cringing against the expected blow.
Her teacher’s mouth pinch into a scowl but he lowered his staff.
"Acceptable. Now, demonstrate for me the proper way to greet the second son of a duke in the Reynish fashion."
***
Uruigith also tutored her in magic, in between history and etiquette lessons.
Her magic lessons had previously been taught by both Sildathlene and Nalendril, but her sire wanted her to receive a more formal education on the matter before going off to school. In this, the ancient elf was uncharacteristically patient. There were no rude words or blows from his staff, just simple encouragement when she succeeded and polite correction when she failed. He took painstaking care to walk her through the many exercises and forms a young elf needed to know in order to build up their mana reserves.
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“It’s like any other muscle,” he said. “You must exercise it to ensure it grows strong.”
From him, she learned proper mana manipulation as well as the beginnings of channeling, or how to circulate mana through her body.
With those building blocks, he told her, she could one day use channeling to heal wounds and amplify her abilities. That was, however, at the expense of years and years of practice. He gave her one of his personal books on the technique needed. It was an impossibly old text written by one of her foredams, the Honored Yisendril herself. He made her swear that she would study it alongside her regular classes a St. Gildrin’s, which she did. She had no doubt the old elf would cross the White Ocean to give her a thrashing if he even suspected that she was slacking off.
Though it was difficult, she worked furiously through his lessons, enduring his abuses, all with the knowledge that before the month was through, she would be free. Off and away, on an adventure across the ocean to lands unknown in a world that was still such a wonderful mystery.
After her lessons, when she was alone but for Snowball, she wondered what St. Gildrin’s would be like. What would the people there be like, what about the classes?
Her only experience with institutions of higher education had been an underfunded community college during the 90s. There was little chance it could be worse than that.
She hoped.
Her sire had explained to her that it was one of the largest institutions of learning on the continent that catered to many students, from as far away as Shangdu to as near as the southern Elven Realms. Most of its student body trained to be knights or other military positions while a smaller number learned the mystical arts. Alvanue was to be counted among that number.
There were only two conditions to her long-term attendance of St. Gildrin’s College; firstly, she must live at the Embassy during her time at the school, and secondly, she must enroll in the Mage Program. She would be excused from most duties associated with her position at the Embassy as she was mostly an honorary diplomat and she could choose her focus within the program, but those two points were non-negotiable.
They were easy concessions to make for two important reasons: a room at the Embassy was bound to be leagues better than campus housing and she had already been planning to pursue magic during her time at the college.
The final days before her departure were spent focusing on refining her mana consumption with Uruigith, bickering with her dams and going over supply lists with her sire.
Any free time she had was spent riding out along the beach with Edhalan or playing with the quickly growing Snowball. She went to some of the places she liked best, just to visit them one last time. A sea cave she'd found with Sildathlene, which she'd dubbed ‘the Blowhole’, the ruins of an old watch tower half devoured by an advancing glacier, a sheltered dale to the west where hoar blossoms grew even during the long night of winter. If she completed a program at St. Gildrin’s, she would not be back here for a total of four years, perhaps longer if she impressed a teacher enough to take her on for an apprenticeship.
On her last night home, her dam Nalendril came to her chambers.
“May I come in?” he asked from the hall, muffled voice coming from behind the door.
“Sure.” she said, readying herself for another lecture.
Her dam entered the room, looking for all the world like a moth made man. Or elf in this case. Of all her parents, she most resembled Nalendril; pale, delicate features, long silver-white hair, and ears as long and sharp as daggers. They could be twins but for the difference in their eyes and height. Alvanue had her sire’s dark violet eyes and her other dam Sildathlene’s well-formed figure, whereas Nalendril was silver eyed, tall and bird boned.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I child?” he asked hesitantly. Alvanue looked down at the book in her lap and shook her head. She had been reviewing one of the books on Uruigith’s recommended reading list, a treatise on modern courtly manners in Albion, though it was less a recommendation than it was a requirement. Even though his final lesson had been days before, he had given her several more tomes for further reading on her trip.
“Nope. Was just about to call it quits, actually. What’s up?”
Nalendril came to sit at the foot of her bed before speaking. “I wished to talk to you once more before you left and no-”, he raised his hand to forestall any comment from her, “-I will not try to dissuade you from the path you’ve chosen. Your mind seems set on this course and I’d not have us part on bad terms tomorrow.”
Alvanue was pleased though skeptical at hearing this. The last time she and Nalendril had been alone together was the only time the elf had ever raised his voice at her. After weeks of trying to cajole and guilt her into staying, they had gotten into a very high-spirited discussion. The two had left each other in angry tears.
“And if you will not stay here, in the safety of your ancestors’ lands, then I must ensure that you can protect yourself,” He continued.
Her dam reached one hand into a fold in his robes and withdrew a slim box. He handed it to her, and she turned it over to inspect it.
It was made of smooth wood, black and shiny with lacquer and little metal hinges along its sides. On its lid was stamped her family crest in white paint. She ran a finger over it before giving her dam a questioning look.
“Open it,” he nudged.
She did as she was told and, upon seeing what was contained within, did her absolute best not to drop it. Nested inside was one of the few true wands she had ever seen. Silverwood was better than the common wood she had seen human mages craft their wands from, but like all lesser wands, they were quick to burn out and temperamental in untrained hands. Such was the capricious nature of wood and the trees it came from. This wand, however, was 12 inches of pure, unadorned mithril. Invisible to the naked eye, her mage sight drank in the spiderweb of enchantments and spells worked into the metal, gossamer thin but unbreakable to any but a master mage.
Reverently, with shaking hands, she pulled it free of the box and tested its weight. Wider at the base and tapered slightly towards the tip, with a white gemstone set seamlessly in its handle, it was perfectly balanced. Its reflected opalescent light and scattered faint rainbows around the room. It was a piece of art as much as it was a powerful magical weapon.
She turned wide eyes on a pleased Nalendril.
“White mithril body with a star metal core. The ley stone is moonstone, my preferred mineral for greater workings. I commissioned it after Sildathlene and I began to prepare for your birth. It was meant to be a gift for when we celebrated your first century, but I think it best you have it now,” he explained to his still gob smacked child.
“It’s…I- don’t really know what to say,” she said.
“Then say nothing. I only hope that it serves you well.”
She could feel the mana running through the wand, enough to cast a hundred, perhaps two hundred spells of a lesser magnitude before it would need to be recharged. Even then, if she understood the enchantments on it, it would pull ambient mana from the air around it and refill over time. It would never burn out, never fail her like the cheap wands she made on her own or the silver staves favored by her sire’s guard. To elves, burnout was a matter of life and death. For human mages, made of flesh and blood as they were, manaburn for them at the least meant fatigue and at the worst meant minor injuries or damaged casting capabilities. For Elves, it was not so.
Unlike the mortal races, Elves were made entirely of mana, their souls sheathed in spell flesh forged in the strange wombs of their Silverwood trees. For them, manaburn could very well mean death. As elves grew older, the small amount of mana inherited from their parents took on a life of its own and grew just like a living thing. The oldest of the elves had monstrously high mana reserves, demigods with the power they accumulated over their long lives. As a young elf, however, Alvanue’s mana reserves were a fraction of her elders. Should she find herself in a situation where she used too much of her own mana, the consequences could be dire. Having a wand such as this, one with enough of its own power to take on Uruigith, was a potential lifesaver. For this benefit alone, it was priceless.
“You must know that Sildathlene and I are in no way trying to hold you back out of spite. We simply worry for your safety,” Nalendril said, interrupting her worshipful inspection of the wand, and reached out for her free hand. “Please believe me when I say that we love you very much, and even if we do not agree with what you and your sire are doing, we wish you only happiness.”
Unbidden, tears came to Alvanue’s eyes. Even when they had been alive, her original family had never been all that affectionate with her. It was hard, even after so many years, to have it offered so freely without being caught off guard.
“I do, mom. I love you guys too,” she said, and meant it deeply.
Nalendril rolled his eyes, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “You always use that silly human phrase. But nevermind, just don't call Sildathlene that. She was very cross the last time.”
A chuckle bubbled up in Alvanue’s chest as she imagined the look only Sildathlene’s face when she had called her mom for the first time. The sight and sound of it only set Nalendril to laughing as well and soon they were both giggling, heads leaned close together. A parent and their child, enjoying a final happy moment in each other’s company.
They shared a quiet moment as their laughter died down. Alvanue set the wand back in its box and wiped a sleeve over her eyes. Unlike with her sire or even her other dam, she felt completely at ease with Nalendril. He was calm and kind and it only occurred to her in that instant how much she would miss him once she was gone.
The levity had eased but a sense of peace settled over them. She took the opportunity to shuffle over to her dam and lay her head in his lap. He used his free hand, the fingers of his other hand still entwined with hers, to card through her hair. The small knots she had allowed to accumulate during the afternoon she had spent racing with Edhalan were untangled without any of the comments Sildathlene would have had for her appearance or Githanduin’s remonstrations to look more ladylike in front of the court.
From its nest in the corner of the room, Snowball snorted in its sleep and shifted into a more comfortable position. As her dam’s quick fingers unknotted snarls of silver, Alvanue felt tears threaten once more and then spill over. Hot droplets slid down her face to darken her dam’s robes.
“You guys know I’m not doing this to get away from you, right? It’s just- I can’t breath here anymore, I feel like if I don’t go now I’ll never get out and I’ll just grow old and die here,” she said.
Her dam clicked his tongue.
“It will be many millenia before you meet your death if I have anything to say about it,” Nalendril said drily.
“Come on, I’m being serious!”
Her dam paused. He brought his hands to her face and cupped her cheeks, thumbs wiping away her tears.
“I know, child. I know.”
“Elders, I feel like an idiot for being sad. This is what I’ve wanted forever, so why am I crying! So stupid,” she managed to say, swallowing around the lump in her throat.
Nalendril sighed softly and went back to work on her hair. Now untangled, he began to twine it all into a heavy braid.
“It’s normal to feel the way that you do. Many feel a certain melancholia or even fear upon receiving that which they have chased after for so long. How do you think I felt when you were born?” he asked.
Alvanue wiggled around to better look up at Nalendril, eyes red and nose runny. “You were sad when I was born?”
The silver eyed elf let out a laugh like the pealing of a bell.
“No, sweetling, I was incredibly happy. But also equally terrified. Terrified of making a mistake, of seeing you come to harm, of a thousand different things that never came to pass. Being a parent is no easy thing.”
He looked to see the consternation still plain on her face and sighed.
“What I am trying to say is that change is never easy, even- no, especially when it is welcomed. New things can be scary, but that does not make them necessarily bad. If sadness and fear is what you feel in this moment, it means nothing other than that you are a young elf about to leave home for the first time in your life. You are justifiably nervous. Let yourself feel those things, Alvanue. Let yourself cry,” he said.
And so she did.