“The greatest battle of a man’s life is the one waged against his own desires. Do not give in to temptation, lest it take you body and soul.”
-Excerpt from ‘Ways of the Warrior’ by Sir Gwylhern the Stern, who famously drowned in a barrel of ale after a life of sobriety, circa 26,843 AC.
***
The boat trip was a lot less interesting than Alvanue thought it would be. There were no sea serpent attacks, nor ravaging pirates. Not even a single shark sighting.
She grew bored of moping around her cabin feeling sad after the second day and started poking around the ship shortly after. Snowball was her little shadow even though the poor creature was unsuited to life at sea. The troll’s little limbs wobbled and shook with fear whenever the ship lurched with a swell and, though a predator by nature, fled in terror from the seagulls that swooped and dove around the ship. Edhalan was the worst off by far: he couldn't eat anything without it eventually coming back up, violently, over the side of the boat.
“Don’t worry about your friend, my lady,” the captain, Silfene, told her after she bumped into Alvanue on her way back from checking on Edhalan on the second day of their voyage. “It gets better for most after the first few days.”
It did not, in fact, and he continued to be horribly ill for the entirety of the trip.
Silfene was a pretty Sea Elf with pale blue skin and pearlescent eyes. She was centuries older than Alvanue’s parents but had a strangely youthful energy about her. She seemed more amused than annoyed with Alvanue’s quirks and let her have free run of the ship.
The crew was mostly made up of Sea Elves out of Uethalduen, with the exception of one sour-faced Risillondi. Alvanue avoided the hateful High Elf after he threatened to toss Snowball overboard for ruining the fresh polish on the crew deck with her stubby claws.
Aside from the one outlier, the rest were friendly. They let Alvanue pester them and answered all her questions, of which there were many. The few times she'd ever sailed were under the watchful eye of her sire: a formal visit to the Lord and Lady of isolated Norendelith in the Night Sea and a supervised trip to the under-monastery at Quelanthirid, so she wanted to know everything. She asked how the ship worked, and what charms and spells were used by the Sea Elves to manipulate the wind.
They were reluctant to reveal much about their sea magic, but happy to teach her simple skills, like how to tie different knots and the way to predict a coming storm. When she tried to sneak a peek at the enchantments engraved into the ship’s masts that kept the sails filled with a gentle breeze with her magesight under the cover of night, she ended up curled up in her cabin with a splitting headache until early the next morning. She didn’t push any further than that and drank up what information they were willing to share.
When Edhalan was occupied with a fresh bout of seasickness or the crew too busy to entertain her, she focused on bonding her wand. She’d only gone through the process with wooden wands before, which took time themselves, but it was a completely different process with one made from mithril. The metal felt more alive to her than Silverwood ever had, probing her magic back as she laid the correct setting charms on it.
The process was time consuming and dull and strained her limited mana reserves. Once, getting impatient, she tried to rush a key spell and the backlash had nearly set her bed on fire. She had the distinct feeling the wand resented her for that particular incident, as for the next several days whatever binding ritual she was working on would collapse after a few minutes and she would have to start all over again. Struggling with frustration, she kept having to step away from it, only getting the binding done in fits and starts.
She tried practicing with it to limited success.
She could cast the most basic of spells, like lifting things or shooting off minor defensive curses, but anything greater and the wand locked up. It was as if the mana in the wand was sluggish and reluctant to obey her commands. Without a proper binding, she knew it would never reach its full potential.
It was the same with the Silverwood wands she used to fiddle with. No wand would work as intended without first taking time to tune its natural mana to its wielder's.
***
The waters were mild as milk until they passed from the Sea of Stars into the more turbulent White Ocean.
After that, the trip became a bit more interesting. Storms buffeted them daily, great waves as tall as the highest tower in Silthonduen swelling and crashing around the slender ship.
Under Silfene’s deft hand, they always managed to escape unscathed. Whatever magic the elf used, it was strong. Alvanue was itching to get a peek at the captain’s driftwood staff but thought it would be rude to ask. That, and the incident with the masts was still fresh in her mind.
The fierce storm winds that harassed them also filled the sails to the brim, rocketing the ship across the White Ocean in just a handful of days. Edhalan was near tears when they caught sight of dry land, the gray cliffs of some mist shrouded island just off the coast of Westernesse rising up to greet them.
It was a few more days until they passed through the Bay of Seals into the calm, shallow waters of the Sweet Sea and, unfortunately for Snowball, that meant an increase in the ship’s population of seagulls. By the time they docked in Avalon later that week, the troll refused to step foot on the upper deck, traumatized deeply by the wretched sea birds, and Alvanue had to carry her out. She grunted with the weight of the creature and realized it must have been gorging itself on ship rations. Stepping out onto the upper deck, Snowball craddled in her arms, Alvanue felt her jaw drop.
The city before Alvanue was massive.
It rose steeply from the water’s edge, rows of houses and shops stacked on top of one another, layer after layer, until they disappeared into the fog and clouds that obscured the city’s peak.
The sheer size of it was a little overwhelming compared to the general calm and stillness of her homeland. Ships flying the colors of half a dozen nations crowded the port. The docks were teeming with representatives from every corner of Creation: humans, orcs, dwarves, a few ophidians, and even the rare elf, though none of them Moon Elves. She didn’t think she’d ever seen so many different peoples gathered in one place before.
A delegate from the embassy, a twitchy Wood Elf with a nervous smile who introduced himself as Londalis, met them at the docks with a carriage.
"Ah, Lady Alvanue, Sir Edhalan, hello, hello, a pleasure to meet you. Please, if you would care to rest in the carriage, I will see to your affects."
Alvanue, Edhalan and Snowball were ushered into the wooden contraption while Londalis went off to talk to Captain Silfene. She was surpised to see that the embassy employed human servants as she watched two human footmen coordinate with the ship's crew and began loading her things onto the carriage with practiced ease. After everything was settled, Londalis joined them and they set off from the docks. Edhalan still looked vaguely green from the rocking of the carriage while Londalis spoke and Snowball glared suspiciously at the skies through the window, wary of its dreaded enemy, but Alvanue couldn't tear he eyes away from the city-scape unfolding before them. The Wood Elf's words faded out as she watched more humans than she'd ever seen going about their daily business. The sheer number of people on the streets was overwhelming.
"I'm afraid Ambassador Olome is away at a conference in Cogayne," she heard Londalis explain. "I do apologize, but the Ambassador would like to assure your ladyship the two of will shall speak when he returns."
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She nodded idly as he continued to drone on.
The Concordian Embassy was situated high on Castle Hill, a district at the very heart of the city. The horses struggled with the weight of the carriage as they took switchback roads up the steep sides of Avalon’s slopes and Alvanue thought back on the elegance and power of her snow deer. Horses were poor substitutes for the Moon Elves’ chosen mounts and beasts of burden, but snow deer only thrived in the bitter cold. She mourned the fact that they would wither in the southern heat.
The embassy itself was beautiful in a very elven way, all tall, airy archways lit with crystals and magelights. Tree motifs were worked into anything that could feasibly be carved, painted or upholstered. Alvanue thought it clashed terribly with the human buildings arround it.
Londalis bustled them into the embassy's grand foyer where a great number of elves flitted about, some bowing in Alvanue's direction but most occupied with their work. A human woman with a worn face and gnarled hands curtseyed, her eyes lowered.
"Ah, here we are then. Lady Alvanue, this is where we part ways. Agatha will show you to your quarters and the servants will take care of the rest."
"This way, my lady."
Alvanue and Edhalan followed behind the woman as she led them through tall hallways and up a broad staircase.
The rooms assigned to Alvanue and Edhalan were on the second floor, across the corridor from one another. Both had a good view of the street below and the atrium at the heart of the embassy, an open space containing a lone Silverwood tree. She was surprised that a Silverwood could thrive so far from the Concord until she noticed the array laid into the pool of water at its roots.
Silverwoods were emblematic of elf society, but they required massive amounts of mana to survive. The greater gathering circle worked into the tiles of the pool condensed and collected ambient mana from within a set distance. Now that she concentrated on it, she could feel the higher amount of mana in the air of the embassy as compared to the city. Whoever had built this place had constructed an artificial mana pool that supported the Silverwood and the elves of Avalon.
Attendants began to unpack their things and Alvanue started to feel like she was underfoot, so she looked for something else to do. Snowball had crawled up onto her bed and fallen asleep when they were first shown to their rooms, so she let the troll rest. The troll was still shaky from their final run-in with the seagulls.
She stepped across the hall to peek into Edhalan’s room. He was lounging loose-limbed by the window, watching the foot traffic go by.
“Hey, you wanna go check out the city?” she asked.
“Not really, but there’s no way in hells I’m going to let you go alone,” he sighed and got up from his chair.
Castle Hill, from what she could tell, was a wealthier district in Avalon, home to expensive shops and restaurants, mixed in with the private residences of merchant princes, knights and court mages. It certainly looked nicer than the neighborhoods she’d seen on the way up from the docks.
Alvanue was still a little taken aback by the sheer number of humans walking around. Even from her time on Earth, she couldn’t remember seeing so many.
Elves reproduced at a much slower rate than the mortal races, and as such their cities tended to be no bigger than a small town by human standards. Most were hardly more than a noble family, their courtiers, and their servants. Castle Hill was only one of many districts in Avalon, and yet it was a good three times larger than Silthonduen, itself the capitol and largest settlement of Endrillond.
The architecture was not what she had expected of a human city in a fantasy world. It looked more like some European tourist trap that rich people would go to on vacation on Earth, rather than the medieval rip-off she’d pictured in her head. It was all honey-colored stone and chalkboard signs outside of pricey looking cafes. The streets didn’t even smell like sewage, which upon further reflection was probably a good thing.
A girl no more than ten years old stood on a street corner, surrounded by buckets full of cut flowers. She wore a rough spun dress and stuck out among the finely dressed shopkeepers and
“Flowers! Fresh flowers, two copper a piece!”
Alvanue dragged Edhalan over, looking over the girl’s wares. There were varieties she'd never seen before, back home or on Earth; little bell shaped blossoms that glowed faintly with rosy light, pale blue flowers that chimed musicaly as they swayed in the breeze, roses that gave off a deep red mist.
“Two coppers per flower, miss,” The girl said as they approached. “Five for a bouqet."
"These are all so lovely," she said in Common, smiling. "What's your name?"
The girl squinted at her suspiciously.
"Lily, miss. Are you buying or not?"
Edhalan raised an eyebrow at her tone but Alvanue just laughed.
"I'll take two bouqets, please. Dealer's choice."
She elbowed Edhalan, who stood next to her with a frown on his face and his arms crossed tight over his chest. He pulled out ten copper coins stamped with the image of a lion, Lyonessean currency her father had given them in case of emergency, and went to give them to the little florist. She elbowed him harder and he rolled his eyes but complied. Exchanging the coppers for a single silver piece, he handed the coin over to Lily, whose jaw hung open.
"I-" the girl said, clutching the coin as if it would disappear.
"We don't have so many flowers in the north. They don't like the snow."
Lily's eyes flicked up and caught on Alvanue's ears, just poking out of her long silver hair. Her jaw dropped further. She scrambled to get the bouqets put together, wrapping them in paper and binding it all together with twine.
They left her that way, holding her silver coin that amounted to about fifty coppers tight in her little hand, staring after them as they made their way further up the street.
She stopped anywhere that peaked her interest.
A bakery that sold delicate little pastries served with clotted cream and fresh fruit, a jeweller with intricately cut gems and a general purpose magic store that specialized in blank spell tomes. Edhalan became more and more bogged down with boxes and bags and packages as they went, his frown deepening with every step they took.
As they stepped out of another shop onto the street, Alvanue's long ears twitched as something cut through the general noise to catch her attention. It sounded like someone was calling out her name. A moment later, her sharp hearing was able to cut through the hubbub of the street.
“My lady! My lady! Excuse me, Lady Alvanue? Excuse me!”
Alvanue and Edhalan turned to spy a red-faced human running up the hill after them. They looked at each other questioningly before she shrugged. Edhalan said nothing as they turned to wait for the wheezing man to catch up with them.
He was rather small, a good head shorter than Alvanue herself, with an awful gray bowl cut, glasses, thick mustache and what looked to Alvanue like the crest of St. Gildrin’s College pinned to his simple black robes: a dove holding a wand in one foot and a sword in the other. She remembered it from some of the correspondence left out on her sire’s desk.
Huffing and puffing, with sweat dripping down his tomato red face, the man came to a halt in front of them. The poor man tried to speak but ended up doubled over, his hands on his knees as he took in great, gulping breaths.
“My-” he wheezed, “my apologizes, Lady Alvanue. Just a moment.”
“Do you need to sit down or something? You don’t look so hot, man,” she said.
He looked about ready to keel over.
“On the contrary, I am quite warm, my lady. And no, thank you kindly, I just need to a moment,” he said with a shake of his head.
After a minute of gasping for air, it seemed the man would live. With a fortifying breath, he pulled himself up to the fullness of his meagre height and addressed the two Moon Elves wearily.
“Right,” he said, “Again, my apologies sir and lady. I reached the docks too late to properly welcome you. My name is Silban Kelibrig, Dean of Magical Studies and Professor of Divination at St. Gildrin’s College. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
He bowed deeply and almost tipped forward into the street.
Edhalan caught him by the shoulders and tilted him back as the man’s arms pinwheeled in the air to keep balance. Once he was upright again, he ran his hands down the front of his robes as if the straighten them and adjusted his skewed glasses. His already red cheeks flushed darker, this time with embarrassment rather than oxygen deprivation.
“Erm, thank you, Sir Elf, much appreciated,” he said, mustache wiggling.
Edhalan waved away the man’s thanks and pinned him with a questioning look.
“His Majesty made no mention of the college sending anyone to collect us at the docks. Why have you come?”
Alvanue sighed internally at her companion’s tone.
Unfortunately, he suffered the same superiority complex as her dam Sildathlene. He was always cold and standoffish when he talked with humans. Edhalan thought it made him sound authoritative and important, as befitting an elf, but in Alvanue’s opinion all it really did was make him look like a dick.
“Did he not?” the old man blinked large eyes made even larger by his thick glasses. “But- but I’m sure that I- well never mind, very likely a misunderstanding. On my part of course! However, there are several matters to attend to before classes start. If you would please follow me, Lady Alvanue, there’s a carriage waiting at the embassy to take us up to the college.”
Reluctantly, Alvanue followed Professor Kelibrig back to the embassy building. Exploring would have to wait until later.
Edhalan, having no interest in the proceedings and assured of her safety with Kelibrig at the college, begged off to go rest and deposit her new purchases in her room. He’d not had a proper night’s sleep since they left Endrillond, what with all the puking, so she couldn’t blame him.
The carriage awaiting them was of a rougher sort than the one that had picked her up at the docks, old wood and peeling paint, but it rode much more smoothly.
It was a short trip just a bit further up the hill from the embassy to the college campus.
The college itself was perched on a ledge just below the royal palace, tucked up against the palace’s fortifications at the highest point of the city. Heavy stone walls covered in ivy closed it off from the rest of Catle Hill, a massive gate the only way in and out. They passed through it, the general hustle and bustle of the city fading into relative peace and quiet.
Alvanue was greeted with her first sight of the institution that was to be her home for the next several years.