“The Third Untruth of Form lies in self-perception. You are not one person, but many.”
-Sage Lothene at the Tiantang Shan School, Shangdu, circa 25,928 AC
***
When Alvanue awoke the next morning, Nalendril’s lap had been replaced with a pillow, and a heavy blanket had been draped over her.
It's finally time.
She stayed there a moment, curled up into a ball on her bed. Those same emotions from the night before still raged within her: reluctance to go but the need to leave. After a few more minutes spent huddled under the blanket, she forced herself up. Lethargically, she roused herself from bed and put on one of her new dresses, plain gray silk with silver stars, and one of Sildathlene’s necklaces. She could change into something more appropriate for travel once the boat had taken off, but her dam insisted she at least look presentabey during her send-off.
There wasn't much to do after getting ready; most of her things had already been packed and whatever else she needed the servants would bring down to the docks after the meal was finished. She paced the room, looking at nothing and everything, anything to stall the inevitable before coming to a stop at her window.
The unlight of a winter’s day was just bright enough for her sharp if sleep-clouded eyes to pick out the procession coming through the gates from her tall window. It was more elves than the keep had hosted in many years, a ribbon of people moving up the hill from the low countryside with lanterns lighting their way. They'd come to bid her farewell. She stayed a moment longer at the window and gazed down on the only home she'd known for the past three decades. Silthonduen, in all its glory. Stars shone down on the ancient fortress, made resplendent in the dark with magelights and glowing ice.
She turned to her mirror before she left for the banquet hall. It showed a sad reflection. Crescent moons pressed into the skin under each of her eyes, dark against her pale skin, and her cheeks were still blotchy from crying. There wasn’t much she could do about that, so she left Snowball to a few extra hours of sleep and went to join her family for breakfast.
The meal was a mournful affair.
Alvanue picked at her food halfheartedly and found it impossible to hold a conversation with the lords and ladies that had come to see her off. Edhalan was equally quiet at the end of the table sitting with his sire, Githanduin's Captain of the Guard.
While her parents were more polite and held themselves with their usual dignity, their expressions were wooden and their eyes dull. It was little comfort to her that they felt just as poorly as she.
For all that she had wanted this, now that she was fully processing what it meant to leave, she almost regretted it.
Yes, it was a bit boring and yes, there was so much more to see out in the wider world, but here she had a family that loved her, friends, even a throne if she could prove herself worthy of it. She had everything she’d lacked in her previous life and only now, right before her imminent departure, was she realizing what she was walking away from.
As if hearing her thoughts, Nalendril caught her eye across the table and gave her an encouraging nod. Even if her dam did not understand her desire to leave, he still supported her. The sadness in her heart did not disappear, but it did lessen.
Her sire was doing the same; Githanduin had offered her this opportunity after all, a chance to see the world for herself even though he neither understood nor approved of her desire to do so.
Sildathlene supported her in her own subtle ways, though Alvanue was sure her haughty dam was more upset that she was traveling to a human kindgom to be educated by 'mortals' than the fact that she was traveling at all. She was a kind enough elf and loved Alvanue dearly, but she tended to look down on anyone who wasn't an elf. The idea of her only child mingling with what she considered to be her lessers did not make her happy in the slightest.
She let that understanding pass through her and felt better for it. Melancholy and, absurdly, nostalgia still sat heavy in her chest, but they were also tempered with the excitement she had first felt when imagining her life at St. Gildrin’s. It was a strange thing indeed to be homesick for a place she had not yet left.
Alvanue smiled at her dam and ate a determined bite of her food.
***
After the meal was finished, they made their way down to the shore.
She carried Snowball in her arms, flanked by her parents. The troll had yowled and shrieked when her sire ordered her to put it in a cage, already annoyed to have been awoke from its nap by Finue, so he’d let the troll go free if only to avoid a scene. Edhalan and his dam, followed closely behind her family, and then the rest. All of Silthonduen had come to see her off, as well distant friends and relations from across Endrillond; an endless tide of cousins and many times great grandparents and servants and courtiers and old vassals and her parents' friends. They flowed like a river from the city’s gates down to the wine dark sea.
A slender, white prowed ship waited for her at the docks.
Edhalan stepped on first after clasping arms with his dam and sharing a quiet word with a courtier Alvanue wasn’t familiar with. Crew began moving barrels and sacks from the platfrom. Necessary supplies in addition to her luggage were loaded onto the boat, much more quickly than she would have liked and then all too suddenly, it was time for her to go.
She turned to her parents to say goodbye. Sildathlene went first. The cold, elven beauty took her by her shoulders and frowned down at Alvanue, a daughter so unlike her in every way.
“You are a fool for this, child,” she said, but pulled her into a tight embrace all the same, sniffling. Before releasing her, the older elf tucked a final gift into Alvanue’s silvery braid, a hairpin with the runic name of the Fifth Elder etched into it. “For good fortune.”
Githanduin had cold, formal words of lordly advice for her, but he still gave her a warm smile and pulled her against his chest for a hug. Alvanue returned it fiercely and found she didn’t want to let go.
Nalendril, perhaps sensing that saying too much would set her to openly weeping, simply took her hands in his.
“I wish you only happiness. Come home when you are ready,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.
It would be a point of pride, later, that she managed to say her goodbyes and step onto the boat with completely dry eyes. The tears would come later, she knew, when she was alone in her cabin.
With her parents and her people watching, faces as bright and ethereal as the stars in the sky, the boat shoved off into the deep, black waters of the Sea of Stars.
Alvanue stayed above deck for a long time, watching first her parents and then Silthonduen fade from sight, until all that was visible were the Amrothuilye in the distance, crowned by flickers of green and purple light, and the endless, black expanse of the midday sky.
***
While Alvanue sailed off toward new adventures on foreign shores, the procession that had seen her off dispersed.
Back in the icy halls and frozen gardens of Silthonduen, three parents mourned the absence of their child. An infant, in their eyes, not even a hundred years of age with little power of her own and fewer skills to protect her from the cruel whims of fate.
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They’d remained on the beach, black sand blowing in the wind, and watched until the boat had vanished onto the horizon before they made their way back to an imperceptibly emptier, quieter keep.
The private quarters of the Silthondrim family were void of servants for once, most having been given the day off after the flurry of activities that morning.
It was for the better, as the sound of angry voices rang out through the empty halls.
“You are a disgrace of a sire to allow her to venture out on her own, and to the savage mortal lands no less,” Sildathlene seethed. She said the word as if it were poisonous.
The elf’s normally lovely features, for which she was so well known, were twisted into a mask of rage and sorrow that gave even Githanduin pause. Rarely did she ever turn her ire upon her own family.
Nalendril put an arm around the angry elf in an attempt to sooth her.
“Come now, it does nothing but wound those you love to speak so harshly. And remember, our Alvanue has young Edhalan to keep her safe-”
Sildathlene scoffed and threw Nalendril’s arm off her.
“What, I’m now to take comfort in the thought of babes protecting babes? He’s hardly more grown than Alvanue!” she interrupted. She continued pacing the length of Githanduin’s study while the other two elves watched on.
Nalendril shot a glance at Githanduin, meeting his husband’s eye before inclining his head in their wife’s direction.
The three of them had been married a very long time, longer indeed than many mortal nations had existed, and so he understood Nalendril’s meaning well. It was simple enough.
Say something, Nalendril pled without words, explain yourself so that she might understand.
He had already explained himself in private the day Sildathlene and Nalendril had learned of their child’s decision to leave, and his hand in making her dream a reality. It was not a topic Githanduin liked to talk about, for though it was not quite what Sildathlene accused him of, it was a failure all the same.
All the rulers of the Concord of Elven Realms had failed, both their ancestors and their people, and that realization had been galling. It still was.
“My love, I have already told you my reasons for letting Alvanue attend St. Gildrin’s. Why must we continue to fight about this?” he asked tiredly.
Sildathlene stopped her pacing to twist on her heel and marched towards him, finger poking at him accusatorily.
“And what reasons might those be, hm? You’ve taken the Concord’s fear mongering for fact and sent Alvanue half a world away on mere hearsay,” she spat.
Her eyes blazed like two blue flames in her head and her white hair blew as if in a gentle breeze as untamed mana began to react to her mood. The magelight that lit the room flickered and shadows crept up the walls.
Finally, a hot flicker of his own anger ignited in Githanduin’s chest.
He was normally a calm and self-possessed elf, but he viewed his wife’s rage as unreasonable and felt color rise in his cheeks.
“Hearsay? You think I have not done everything I could to disprove the rumors? Sildathlene, I have seen the truth of what is happening with my own two eyes. I have been to the pits under the Valley of the Elders in Risillond and the Mountains of Fire in Udroniathe. The shackles grow weaker by the day. Even the Archivist has no knowledge of how to keep them from breaking free. Should that happen, it is safer by far for Alvanue in Lyonesse than it would be here. Are you being intentionally blind or has your unavas habit rotted your brain?”
“The Archivist,” Sildathlene sneered, a vein popping in her forehead. “She was yet ancient when the humans and every other squirming thing were still using sticks to hunt naked in the woods. That hag’s mad ramblings have turned all the little lords and ladies of the Concord to whimpering cowards and that was expected, the southern realms have always been weak. But this? You tell me that you believe these idiotic prophecies? I name you craven as well as a failure.”
“Enough!” said Nalendril, his voice raised. The sound of it was enough of a shock to give pause to both Sildathlene and Githanduin. Their husband was not known to shout, even when his emotions were high.
The shadows that had spread around the room lessened and the magelight above flickered back to life as Sildathlene backed down.
“That is quite enough from the two of you. Sildathlene, your words are too sharp by far, and you will regret them when your temper has cooled. Githanduin, it was unkind to mention unavas. You are intentionally baiting her. Desist. If neither of you can discuss things civilly, I will treat you like the children you insist upon being.”
Silvery smoke began pooling from Sildathlene’s palms, her features still dark with rage, as the light began to flicker again. Githanduin remained rigid, ready to take back up the argument. Nalendril sighed.
Without a word, a sensation like a fine, cool mist filled the room and settled over his husband and wife. Slowly, by increments, the two of them backed off. If Sildathlene was known for her beauty, Nalendril was known for his magical skill.
Sildathlene was still fuming but seemed adequately calm. She moved away from her two husbands to stare out the window at the expanse of the sea. She made a show of crossing her arms sticking her nose in the air, but she did not lash out with her barbed tongue again.
Githanduin, too, seemed properly embarrassed by his outburst and awkwardly shifted from foot to foot, very much like the child Nalendril accused him of being.
“Good,” said Nalendril, “now, Sildathlene, even if you do not believe in the rumors spreading throughout the realms, can you at least agree that our husband thought he was acting in the best interests of our child?”
“Nale, you cannot seriously take his side in this-” she began to say.
“Ah ah ah!” he interrupted smoothly with a waggling finger. “I do not at all condone his actions, dearest. It was extremely inappropriate of him to make the offer he did to Alvanue without consulting us beforehand.”
His cold silver eyes flashed to the elf in question when he began to protest. Githanduin, wisely, chose to shut his mouth before he found himself in further trouble.
“I asked a question, dearest, please do me the curtesy of responding,” said Nalendril.
Sildathlene’s scowl deepened but she relented.
“Fine! If he truly believes the nonsense he’s spouting, I suppose I can see how he thought he was protecting her, but-”
“Thank you, dearest, that’s all,” the silver haired elf cut off what was sure to be another tirade. “Now, Githanduin. Can you understand the gravity of the mistake you made in assuming that you could send our child away from home without first speaking to the two elves that slaved over her creation? The two elves in all the world who poured their hearts and souls and mana into her very being? Can you understand Sildathlene’s ire and mine?”
Githanduin gulped.
Unlike their wife, the silver eyed elf before him was slow to anger, but once he was, his wrath was like a force of nature. It was what initially had drawn he and Sildathlene to Nalendril when they were all much younger but he also didn’t know how to deal with him when he was like that.
Even being Lord of Silthonduen and High Lord of Endrillond in his own right, Githanduin suddenly felt very small and powerless under his husband’s stern gaze. From over Nalendril’s shoulder he could see Sildathlene lips quirk into a smug smirk as she watched.
“I- yes, of course I understand why you might feel upset about that, however, I-” He began to say but faltered as the he felt the pressure in the room change. Gone was the previous calming mist.
It was the feeling one might get when sensing an approaching thunderstorm, a subtle thrum almost too quiet to hear and the pricking of the hairs on the back of one’s neck. Cold sweat beading on the Lord of Silthonduen’s forehead froze as the temperature grew even more freezing.
“Upset? No, husband, you mistake me.” Nalendril came closer to him. “I am not upset. I am furious.”
One of the magelights faltered and then shattered. Githanduin took an instinctive half-step back before catching the action and forcing himself to stand tall. Sildathlene looked positively delighted by the scene unfolding before her as she watched from the sidelines.
Nalendril stopped a hand’s breadth from Githanduin, his face tilted up to look at him.
It felt like an eternity, the unfamiliar thing that had moments ago been his sweet husband staring at him with steely eyes, the scent of ozone heavy in the frigid air between them. The aura being pushed out by Nalendril’s magic was a ferocious thing. Githanduin felt as if he was sitting in judgement before some terrible god of storms and darkness and shivered despite himself.
“But, what’s done is done,” said Nalendril suddenly, clapping his hands together and turning away so that his sweet-smelling hair flicked Githanduin in the face. “Now all we can do is pray to the Elders for her safety and happiness. I do hope she’ll come visit during the summer holiday.”
Just like that, the elf was back to normal. The cold, terrible creature he had shifted into was gone. The room was no longer so oppressively cold, and it was full of light once more. Githanduin breathed a sigh of relief.
“Indeed,” he said weakly.
“I still think you foolish, husband, for your hand in this but it does…assuage some of my anger to see that our sweet Nalendril can still put the fear of the Elders in you. When it’s needed,” said Sildathlene with sly amusement.
Githanduin shot a glare at his wife but cleared his throat to speak.
“Truly, I never meant for my actions to cause you such distress. For that, I apologize. Being that as it may, I still stand by my actions. Alvanue is safest as far away from these lands as possible. At least we may keep an eye on her while she stays at the Embassy.”
“Let’s not repeat ourselves, my loves, we were doing so well,” Nalendril said, bringing a hand up to massage his temples.
“As you please,” Sildathlene said airily and moved to leave.
“Sildathlene, a moment.” Githanduin held up a hand to stop her.
She cocked an eyebrow at him, lovely face still sour with her poor mood.
“Yes?”
“I know you both believe what I have told you to be false. I pray that you are right, and I am wrong, though I have seen the truth of it. At night, as I lay in bed, I can feel the truth of it. I fear for our family, Sildathlene, and I fear for Endrillond and all the people of the Concord,” He said. “The dragons are awakening, and when they do, our world will burn.”