It doesn’t take long to pack. I don’t own many things.

“I’ve brought you more shirts,” Old Mary says.

Now it’s going to take a bit longer.

“Mary, I really think I have enough stuff,” I say.

“You’re going into unknown territory, Sir Ethan. It’s good to be prepared.”

The mountains aren’t exactly ‘unknown’. I mean everyone knows the goblins rule them, and while they may be reclusive, they aren’t hostile. I should be able to buy anything I’ve forgotten with the gold Lord Erriam gave me. But there’s no use arguing with Mary.

“Well, thanks for looking out for me. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”

Charles chuckles from the corner of my room.

“And what are you on about?” Mary asks him.

He lounges back in one of my chairs, a huge grin plastered on his face. “The boy is a fast learner, Mary. Knows better than to argue with you when you’ve made-up your mind.”

Old Mary turns full-around. “Argue? Why Sir Ethan and I never argue. We’re always on the same page. Isn’t that so, Ethan?”

They both look at me now and I wish I was like Angel and could just disappear out of sight whenever I choose. “Mary,” I begin. “I am happy to defer to you in many matters, including the number of shirts in my pack.”

Mary turns back to me. “You see, we agree, just as I told you.”

Charles points right back at her. “That’s not agreement. It’s just doing whatever you say. Same as I do.”

Mary puts her hands on her hips. “‘Same as you’? Charles you don’t even listen to me when I tell you to blow out the candles at night.”

“Now Mary, I’ll not go into that again. Like I told you last time –”

“Excuse me,” I interrupt, and race out the room.

Prophecy or not it sure seems strange the Maker didn’t pick Mary for this assignment. I’d like to see the sorceress try to take her down.

Hell, I’d like to see anybody try to stop Old Mary.

That includes myself of course which is why I’ve run outside in search of a less intimidating conversation.

The elven square is packed with people, many of whom are palace guards. Those who are normally inside are now under the suns above because their service is needed to assist with crowd control. Apparently word has gotten out that today is my departure date and it seems like all of Elfdom has decided to send me off. It’s sort of like Queen Elizabeth’s funeral, except that I’m still alive.

“Sir Ethan,” an elf shouts my name and I see him struggling with Dauntless. I hurry over to see what’s the matter.

“Thank you, sir,” the handler says. “I’m struggling to get him to calm down.”

“Ok, just give us a minute.”

I take the reins from the elf and he backs a few feet away.

“What is it, buddy?” I whisper to Dauntless.

“Sire, the elves have taken away my saddle.”

“Your saddle?” I ask, and feel confused.

Who cares about the freaking saddle.

“Sire, it’s the last connection I have to the other horses.”

“What other horses?” I look around. “You’re with horses right now. The elves given us two of their own steeds for Cyrus and Myran, as well as a pack donkey. Though I don’t know how you feel about donkeys.”

“I’m fine with donkeys, sire.”

“Ok….”

“But the saddle reminds me of Astria and of my fellow warhorses. We all had the same type of saddle and it serves as a reminder of where I came from and who I’ve lost.”

Woah. That’s intense.

But I guess it makes sense in a way. I mean I kept my stuffed animals long after I used them just cause they reminded me of my childhood. This is a lot more normal than that.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

I walk to the horse handler. “Do you have his old saddle? The one I rode in on?”

The elf pauses and thinks. “I believe so, sir. But it’s a bit battered after your battle in the Elder Wood. I thought you’d appreciate something newer.”

I smile at the elf. “Newer is not always better. Is it still functional?”

“Yes, functional, just not as….pretty, I guess.”

The elves and their appreciation of beauty: so inspiring but not always helpful.

“Please put the old saddle on my horse. I think you’ll find him easier to handle after that as well.”

The elf appears a little confused, but dutifully bows his head. “Of course, sir.”

I turn and give Dauntless a wink. The horse neighs in appreciation and I move away to speak with Cyrus and Myran, who both appear to be adjusting sacks on our pack donkey.

“It’s a lot of extra food,” Cyrus mumbles. “I hope it’s not too much for the donkey to carry.”

Myran sighs. “And most elven nobles would consider this austere.”

Cyrus raises an eyebrow. “Austere.”

Myran tightens a strap on the donkey. “When I first came to court I was stunned at how much food was just wasted, left uneaten at the table every night. The nobility take it as some kind of privilege of their class: to waste food.”

Cyrus grunts. “Such a behavior shows a lack of gratitude to the Maker.”

“To the Maker? What about the farmers who cultivated it? Or the cooks who prepared it? Things just magically appear for elven nobles; they have no understanding or appreciation of how much work goes into providing it.”

“That’s quite an accusation,” I interject. “Do they deserve it?”

Both men turn to me. Myran grimaces. “Excuse me, Sir Ethan. I’m still overly focused on the faults of others it seems.”

I clasp him on the shoulder. “Or still focused on your own. And it’s just Ethan, ok? You’ve said your apologies. Things can be normal again, alright?”

Myran nods gratefully and I turn to the cleric.

“How are you getting on Cyrus? Save any souls today?”

The cleric smiles. “I’m sad to report that the elves are beyond saving, Ethan.”

“Oh, that’s just so witty,” Myran replies.

I grin. “Well, onto greener pastures then. Maybe you’ll have better luck with the goblins.”

Both men laugh.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I believe the goblins are the last realm that needs a missionary,” says Myran.

“Yes,” agrees Cyrus. “Their devotion to the Maker is generally strong.”

“Basically, they’re fanatics,” Myran says.

Cyrus scowls. “Is everyone devoted to the Maker a fanatic, Myran?”

The elf shakes his head. “Of course not. But if the Maker told a goblin to jump off a cliff he wouldn’t bother to ask if he’d survive the fall.”

Cyrus crosses his arms. “The Maker would never ask the goblin to jump if he wouldn’t survive it.”

I hold-up my hands between them. “Alright. Alright. I get the point: the goblins are super religious and maybe a little crazy about it. We all have our quirks. Hopefully they just believe my story and let us into the tower.”

Cyrus is still looking at Myran. “If they believe our story we won’t have a problem.”

“Yeah,” agrees Myran. “If they believe you won’t have to worry about getting to the tower. They’ll probably just gift it to you, along with half of their kingdom if you want it.”

I take a step back. “I’m not looking to rule any Kingdom.”

Cyrus nods. “Good. I’d be worried if you were.”

There is a light hand on my shoulder, a soft touch that I hardly notice. “Do you have a minute?”

I turn and Luna is smiling shyly at me. She must feel a little awkward, interrupting the male conversation, and Myran looks away quickly after a perfunctory nod in her direction. Still, she stands her ground, just smiling at me.

“Princess Lunestra,” says the cleric, “for you I’m sure he can spare the rest of the day.”

Luna giggles. “Thank you, Vicar, but I know how busy you all are and will only require a few minutes.”

I ascent to her request, if with less rhetorical flourish than Cyrus, and follow the Princess away from all the commotion. She leads me around to the back of the palace where there is a bit more privacy.

She turns to me and reaches behind her neck. “Take this,” she says, undoing her necklace, “to remember me.”

I hold my hand out and she drops the silver chain into my palm. In the middle is a purple stone. The hue is deep and entrancing and as I gaze into it, and I feel like the color is moving inside, swirling like a kaleidoscope.

“This stone,” I mumble. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Isn’t it amazing?”

I look-up at her. “I can’t take this from you.”

She closes my fingers around it. “No, you must. I want you to remember me.”

“Well, I always remember hot girls so you should be ok.”

Crap! I said the quiet part out loud.

She giggles. “There are lots of beautiful women in the world, Ethan.”

Are there really? Do you have their numbers?

“But thank you,” she continues, “for the compliment.”

I rub my forehead, not sure of what to say. “Ugh, look, Luna, maybe I should have said something earlier. It’s just with everything going on, and the situation with Myran, and the awkward breakfast at the palace, and I didn’t even know if you liked me, and then you said we should be friends, I wasn’t –”

“Ethan,” the princess is still smiling but her voice is firmer. “Will you just take the necklace?”

I sigh, certain that I’m blundering away another opportunity. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Now we should probably get back to your friends.”

Cyrus and Myran? Are they my friends? Not yet, but maybe they will be. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.