Endrea
Hartonville. It is a bittersweet place for Endrea. She grew up here, for a large part of her life it was all she knew, her parents never being ones for travel or adventure.
A quaint little village in a small valley in the middle of the expansive Ashben forest. The only reason it exists at all is so weary travellers on the King’s road can get a warm meal and a decent night's rest, one of very few such settlements in the famously stubborn forest. If they don’t mind a bit of a detour, that is.
It is also where she’d seen her mother for the last time, before she ran away. She can’t quite regret doing so, it is how she has Inalia after all, but that doesn’t stop the guilt she still feels.
Yet, as they cross the clear stream that cuts across the bottom of the valley and Hartonville comes into view, she can’t quite shake the feeling at the sight of it that tells her she is coming home.
“There it is! Beautiful place, really. I was thinking I might stay for a little while, enjoy the forest air before returning to the city.” Leroy proclaims jovially from the front of the cart.
Endrea frowns, “Forgive me, weren’t you supposed to deliver these tools somewhere?”
She sees the portly merchant shrug without turning around, “Bah, there’s no great rush.”
Deciding it really isn’t her place to question the man’s business, especially after his kindness, Endrea lets it go. He isn’t wrong, though, Hartonville really is something special. Only after seeing the world a bit has she grown to appreciate that fact.
Comely thatched-roofed homes blend with the greenery that refuses to be cut back, merging with the forest instead of standing apart from it. White chimney smoke rises into the darkening sky, the familiar smell of Marge’s bakery and the repetitive clunking of the old waterwheel reach Endrea and bring a nostalgic smile to her face.
She feels something cool and wet hit her nose and looks up to see the growing clouds, warning them of an incoming downpour by gently spitting the first droplets on their heads.
Pulling up her travel hood, she does the same for her daughter as Leroy hurries Daphne along. She glances to the side and sees Vindaruil unbothered, keeping apace though he could easily rush ahead.
Soon enough they roll into the village proper, Leroy stopping the cart just outside the Dreaming Donkey tavern. Predictably, the street is empty, but the sounds of merrymaking and conversation spill out of the closed shutters of the village’s one and only watering hole.
Rocking on a chair just under the Dreaming Donkey’s veranda is a familiar figure to Endrea, Reverand Clancy. An old, withering man with more years under his belt than wrinkles. That he has refused to croak doesn’t surprise her, nor does the sound of his deep snoring and the empty flagon by his feet.
“So, whereabouts are you?” Leroy asks, turning back around, his thinning hair flattened by the intensifying rain.
Endrea holds up her hands and stands up in the cart. “Thank you, Leroy, but you have been too kind already. We can make our own way from here, get yourself inside. And here…”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of coppers, “Your first round is on me. It isn’t much of a thank you, but I must insist.”
Reluctantly, he lets her drop them in his palm. “No thanks needed; the pleasure was all mine, I assure you. I shall toast to your good health!”
With that, Endrea helps her daughter down from the cart and the pair of them retrieve their luggage with groans of effort.
“Thank you, mister Leroy! Will we see you again?” Inalia asks as they move around the cart, doing her best to keep her trunk out of the mud and mostly failing.
“I certainly hope so, miss Inalia. I expect I’ll be here for a little while at least, so you know where to find me!” he says cheerily. “Farewell Endrea, Inalia, …Vindaruil. Have a most pleasant evening!”
As he sets Daphne trotting off round the corner, muttering something about ‘parking’, the mother and daughter wave him off.
Illuminated only by what seeps through the tavern shutters and door, left standing beside the disguised elf and his horse, who hadn’t yet dismounted, Endrea turns and looks up at him.
“So, would you like to come with us or…” she begins, unsure of how to continue.
“Oh please! Please can mister Vindaruil stay with us!” Inalia immediately interrupts before he can answer, tugging on her mother’s sleeve.
“He came out a coffin, he won’t have any money!” She adds with a proud look on her face as though her argument left no other choice.
Endrea sighs at her daughter’s words, giving her a look.
“It’s still up to Auntie Jemma, remember. And Vindaruil, for that matter.” She reminds Inalia, although she really can’t picture her goody-two-shoes sister turning away anyone on a rainy night.
With a silent, graceful movement Vindaruil dismounts his horse, making not so much of a splash as his boots land on the road that is quickly turning to mud.
He hasn’t yet raised his hood, uncaring of the rain that drips down his face and dampens his hair. Before answering he raises his face to the downpour, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath that seems to last forever. Not out of frustration, though, for he looks almost serene as he waits to answer.
It still leaves them shivering in the rain for just that little bit longer, however, so Endrea isn’t impressed. She wonders, not for the first time, just what is going on in the strange elf’s head. More and more she has been noticing differences between his behaviour and that of the elves she knew.
Nothing drastic, but one by one they added up to give Endrea the impression that Vindaruil must be quite far out of his time indeed.
He almost never smiles. Beyond his horse, animals seem to steer clear of him rather than delight in his presence. He doesn’t bother to accommodate his companions’ relative impatience, indulging in long pauses and slow, considered movements. And he holds very little curiosity into their lives as mortals, which had been one of the things Endrea found so striking about his people, and more than a little annoying.
“I will come with you.” He says eventually, lowering his head back to look down at the pair. “Lead the way.”
“Yes!” Inalia exclaims, jumping up excitedly and nearly dropping her trunk entirely in the mud.
Endrea nods, and watches as his horse nudges him in the shoulder from behind. Turning, he mutters to her in Elvish. “Thy can find shelter elsewhere, Arma, if the rain bothers thee so greatly.”
It has been some time since Endrea brushed up on the language, but she finds she understands it well enough still. One of the talents she is most proud of.
“My sister has a barn Arma can stay in, not far from the house.” She offers, and the elf’s head snaps round to look at her appraisingly.
Endrea then watches in amazement as the horse steps forward and nods its head towards her purposefully. Until now she has dismissed her daughters insistence that the thing was a unicorn in disguise, but at the display of intelligence she is not so sure. Lithandar believed they exist, so she does too.
Shaking her head of the strangeness she sets off into the darkness, taking her daughter’s hand in her own. The elf and his horse follow quickly beside them.
“You understand the mother tongue,” Vindaruil says, not asking but merely stating a fact.
“I learnt from he-who-shares-my-heart.” She replies in Elvish, her tongue not quite dextrous enough to give it the same justice as the elf does.
“Long did thy stay with mine kin?” he asks back over the pitter-patter of the now pouring rain.
“What are you saying?” Inalia interrupts innocently before her mother can answer.
“Vindaruil just asked how I speak his language. I was about to tell him I spent six years with his people after your father saved my life.” She explains to her daughter, squeezing her hand just a little bit tighter as she does so.
Inalia gawps up at her, and Endrea can just tell her daughter is about to spew forth a deluge of questions, questions she definitely doesn’t feel like answering in the cold, dark and rain.
“I’ll tell you everything soon, Songbird, once we get to Auntie Jemma’s,” she says with a gentle smile, which quickly becomes pained as she realises something.
“Once I explain all this to her first, that is.” She mutters under her breath.
“Your sister does not know?” Vindaruil asks with a raised eyebrow, looking faintly surprised. From what she understands about how close elven families are, Endrea can guess why.
She scoffs. “Jemma made her own assumptions about Inalia’s father, and at the time I wasn’t in the mood to correct her. Nor have I done since.”
There is a sharpness in her tone that surprises even herself, and she is reminded of why she only visits her sister every other year.
The elf cocks his head and frowns, looking remarkably confused. “I do not understand.”
Endrea opens her mouth to explain but is beaten by her daughter. “Auntie Jemma thinks my dad was a ‘one night stand.’”
Choking on her breath, Endrea stops and looks down at her daughter, scandalized. “Where did you hear such a thing!?” She demands, her voice rising in pitch at her shock.
Her daughter merely looks up at her innocently, “I heard her say it at grandad’s funeral. What does it mean?”
Looking between the nearly identical expression of confusion on both her eleven-year-old daughter and the gods-know-how-old elf made her want to burst out into laughter and tears at the same time.
She is not going to be the one to offer that explanation. A devious thought comes to mind, and Endrea decides it is only fair. “Why don’t you ask Auntie Jemma later?”
“Okay!” Inalia says happily, although the elf doesn’t look so easily mollified.
Desperate to change the subject, Endrea notices as they’re reaching the edge of the village centre. Her sister lives in their old family home by the lake, still a short walk away. Hartonville does not have streetlights like the city, and without the flickering flames of hearths filtering through the shutters of passing homes to light their way the path was dark.
And with the rain it would be treacherous indeed. “Vindaruil, is there any way you could please light the way?” She asks politely, knowing that most elves hold some proficiency in magic.
The aloof elf doesn’t acknowledge her request, but nevertheless a small, wisp-like ball of light pops into existence before them. It flitters about, vibrating and spinning in the air with a mind of its own, but sheds enough light to ensure they can see where they’re stepping.
“Thank you,” she says genuinely, before stepping forward once more, having more reason than ever to get to her sister’s quickly.
“Woah!” Inalia exclaims with awe, her eyes following the wisp like a cat's does a ball of yarn.
“Is magic so rare in this age that such a cantrip is worthy of awe?” Vindaruil asks with a frown.
Endrea answers for her daughter. “I wouldn’t call it ‘rare’, but we don’t often cross paths with those capable of it, and they’re usually too busy to show off to strangers.” She explains simply.
“Vindaruil said he’s going to teach me!” Inalia proclaims proudly as she swatted at the wisp of light only for it to shoot out of reach.
Endrea’s head slowly and menacingly turns to stare daggers at the elf. “Did he now?”
Appearing remarkably unfazed, Vindaruil meets her stare with one of his own. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, but it is Endrea who looks away first, sniffing dismissively into the night.
“I will talk with thee later, this is not decided.” She mutters in Elvish, utterly unwilling to argue the point within earshot of her daughter.
It is not an argument she alone can win with her daughter, a shameful truth but she knows her daughter and she knows her own weakness for her puppy-dog eyes.
Vindaruil hums noncommittally.
“That’s rude,” Inalia says, pouting and crossing her arms.
Endrea gives her daughter a pointed look. “Well, you’ll have to get Vindaruil to teach you Elvish too, then.”
The switch in Inalia’s mood is almost instant. “Oh, will you mister Vindaruil? Will you?”
The elf shoots Endrea a look that momentarily freezes her in place, sending shivers down her spine. But the sensation dissipates as he glances down to Inalia.
“Very well. I grow weary of conversing in this inelegant tongue.” He allows with a slight nod.
Inalia’s grin splits the night as Endrea finally spies the light pouring from the shutters of her childhood home. It isn’t half as large as some of the homes she’s seen in Athaca, but by the standards of Hartonville it is positively a mansion. Two whole stories and an adjacent barn, it is far more than they had needed as a family of four, a luxury bought and paid for by her own grandfather.
“There it is,” she mutters, a turbulent mix of nostalgia and resignation in her tone.
As they approach, the sounds of conversation and laughter spill out from the home into the night. Endrea hears her sister’s voice amongst them and her breath catches in her throat.
Very much not looking forward to the supremely awkward conversation to come, she gathers up her courage before balling up her fist and rapping her knuckles on the front door after a moment of hesitation.
“What could it be at this hour?” she hears her brother-in-law, Frederick, ask rhetorically.
Vindaruil’s magic light silently fizzles out and they are left once more cast in shadow.
A short moment later the wooden door swings inwards revealing a burly mountain of a man, complete with a bushy brown beard and hair down to his shoulders. His brown eyes squint into the darkness before widening in recognition as they fall on Endrea and Inalia, a welcoming smile growing on his face.
“Sister! Niece! And… company. Er… well, don’t just stand there. Come in! Come in! Let's get you out of the rain.” He says jovially, stepping aside to wave them into his home.
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You
You do not know what to expect of this human’s home, and yet still you are disappointed all the same.
This… village gave you a modicum of hope. In some, limited, ways it reminds you of home. Harmony with nature is a rare trait in the human settlements you remember, but Hartonville appears to you as one of the few outliers that manage it… at least so far as humanity can ever come to approaching true harmony.
Alas, the cramped, messy confines of this ‘home’ follow the same miserable, claustrophobic conventions of all human architecture. No space to move, to breathe, insulated from the world around it.
You suppose it makes them feel ‘safe’, with their roaring fire, pelted rugs and cushioned furniture. An illusion that they stand apart from the chaos and savagery of nature, that they somehow rise above it.
Not that you necessarily agree with your people’s philosophy of melding with and pacifying nature either, you know there is no taming the untameable, but at least their homes allow one to stretch without bumping into some wall or nick-nack.
And so you stand awkwardly by the shutters, just behind Endrea and Inalia as they lounge upon a cushioned armchair in front of you. Before the three of you is her sister’s family, her husband and twin boys that are several years younger than Inalia, making themselves comfortable on the sofas and rug next to the wood-burning fire.
You hear Arma trotting off on her own accord outside to find shelter, and turn your attention to the new humans. Still in your disguise, there have yet to be any questions beyond pleasantries and introductions that you allowed Endrea to take the brunt of. Her sister, Jemma, is busy producing hot beverages in the other room, an offer of which you declined with a firm shake of your head.
Her brother, who introduced himself as ‘Fred’, keeps glancing suspiciously over the shoulders of the girls and in your direction. You meet his gaze unflinchingly, recognising that though he stands just a little shorter than you he outweighs you considerably, and not because of fat.
Not that he is a threat, there is far more strength in your form than meets the eye and you sincerely doubt his size matches your conditioning. Even putting aside your arcane… enhancements.
His sons appear too distracted with Inalia’s story about your journey here, specifically the part regarding the ‘clumsy’ rogues, to pay you any attention.
You notice Endrea shuffling restlessly in the chair and hear her elevated heartbeat beneath the noise of her daughter’s storytelling. She is nervous, you realise.
This… distance you sense between her and her sister confuses you. With your siblings there was no anxiety or tip-toeing around them. You were always perfectly honest and open, without exception... until you weren’t.
Until they broke faith with you, and were your brothers and sisters no longer.
All but one, at least.
The point is, you were either siblings or enemies, never a mix of the two. Eternity is far too long to keep secrets and grudges between loved ones.
Just another example of the pathetic squabbles that make the lesser races… well, lesser.
Shortly enough, this ‘Jemma’ returns with a steaming mug in each hand. Like her sister, she sports fiery red hair, but that is where the similarities end. Whereas Endrea lets her hair flow free and wild, in great need of a brush, Jemma has hers in a smart ponytail tied neatly behind her head. Whilst Endrea is tall, relatively, and athletic her sister is nearly a head shorter and merely skinny.
But the sharpest difference to your eye is how they hold themselves. Endrea, as you have come to notice, lounges, skips and leans. She doesn’t hold herself too seriously and allows herself to just move. But this sister of hers is reserved, she holds her back straight and her chin up, keeping her arms tight to her body and is cautious of every movement.
“Here you go my dear,” she says kindly, smiling softly as she hands the beverage to Inalia, “nice cup of tea. Should warm you right up.”
Inalia takes it with a ‘thanks’ muffled by lips immediately latching onto the edge of the mug, sounding more like “mmnks.”
“And one for you Drea,” she adds as she hands the other mug to her sister, her smile becoming more pained.
Quickly, she looks up to you. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? A cup of warm milk? Even just some water?”
You very much dislike repeating yourself, and so just level a glare at the woman. Her eyes glance meaningfully down at her sister and then roll in exasperation.
“So!” she starts as she goes to sit primly besides her husband, her own nervousness betrayed by her fiddling of the golden band around one of her fingers. “To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure, or perhaps we missed your letter?”
Her smile is wide, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Ah, well. It’s a long story but it starts with Inalia’s dad…” Endrea begins with a nervous laugh.
“Would that be this gentleman here?” her sister interrupts, making your nose twitch in disgust.
Shaking her head, Endrea tries to continue. “Err… no, though he is involved as well. As I was saying…”
But she is stopped once more as Jemma scoffs, “Honestly, Drea.” Her tone not unlike that of a disappointed mother.
“Perhaps,” you say coldly, “this will go faster if you stop interrupting.”
The fire flickers as though struck by a gust of wind and it momentarily darkens the room at your irritation. You see Jemma suppressing a shiver as she risks a glance in your direction.
“Quite,” she mutters reservedly.
Endrea clears her throat to dispel the awkwardness you perceive but do not feel. “Right. So, erm, this might sound a little far-fetched, but you’re going to have to hear me out. I promise you that all of it is the truth. Do you remember when I ran away?”
Jemma nods, muttering “How could I forget?” under her breath.
“Well, I managed fine for a while, working my way around the kingdom and a bit beyond, joined the circus for a little bit if you can believe it, until… until it wasn’t fine.” As Endrea speaks you notice her holding more tightly to the warmth of her beverage, and her sister’s eyes soften at the sight.
“You… never said where you went,” Jemma comments quietly, her tone losing the judgemental air it had but a moment before.
“I, well, me and some friends fell in with a group of adventurers. Said they’d be happy to escort us through a rough spot. Harfenfell, if you’ve heard of it, only way from Tordon to Salarr if you want to avoid the swamps. Of course, they had their own business there so we’d have to take a little detour. Would still be quicker, and cheaper, than taking a ship so we agreed. Didn’t expect them to get themselves ki… hurt.” Endrea glances down at the children as she stops herself from blurting out the fates of her erstwhile escorts.
“Anyway, we ended up stranded. Harfenfell isn’t… it isn’t a safe place to go unprotected. Long story short I ended up on my own, lost, and neck-deep in shi… trouble I couldn’t dig myself out of. Then… well, then I was rescued by a group of… err… a group of elves.” As she speaks she loses more and more confidence until she is practically whispering, and looks to be physically bracing herself against her sister’s incoming denial.
Jemma’s eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, her head jutting forward as she replies. “Pardon?”
You can see where this is going and decide not to inflict it on yourself any longer than you need to. With a thought, you drop your disguise and make a point of snapping your fingers and drying your wet hair instantly.
Fred immediately scrambles to his feet in shock, caught in the ‘fight’ part of flight or fight before he takes a moment to think and get a hold of himself. “What the…!”
Jemma freezes in place, her eyes caught in a state of widened shock. You can practically hear the gears turning around in her head.
Their twins, much like Inalia had, stare up in open-mouthed awe.
Endrea glances back around and gives you a small, almost imperceptible, nod of appreciation. Then she clears her throat and addresses the room once more.
“Like I said… elves. I get that this comes as a… surprise, but this isn’t even the worst bit.” She jokes half-heartedly, letting out a strangled laugh that is shared by absolutely no-one else.
Slowly, Fred lowers himself back down to his seat, placing a comforting hand on the arm of his wife without so much as glancing away from you or even blinking.
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Jemma seems to shake off the shock and slowly nods for her sister to continue, her words failing her.
“Well, it turns out they like their privacy, once they patched me up they weren’t keen on me leaving and telling everyone about them. So they gave me a choice, I could go back with them to their people and either stay or allow them to remove the memories from my head before leaving. At the time I was, well, happy to be alive for a start, but I wasn’t too keen on being kept prisoner by a bunch of beings straight out of fairytales. I fully intended on leaving, and after everything all I wanted was to come back home and see you, Mum and Dad again. Things… they, err, didn’t go to plan. One of the elves that rescued me, Lithandar, well, he and I got to talking. One thing led to another and by the time we reached his people I, err, had a reason to stay, so to speak.” As she speaks she doesn’t seem capable of just sitting still; fidgeting and scratching her neck, sending nervous glances over towards her sister.
Said woman just stares blankly back at Endrea, nodding along in silence without interrupting.
“Then,” Endrea clears her throat, “then we got… well, I guess you could say… it was really…”
“Drea.” Jemma utters firmly as her sister’s words fail her, apparently overcoming her own disbelief just to get Endrea to spit it out.
“We got married. Elves don’t really… there wasn’t much of a ceremony.” She finally says with an apologetic tone.
Her sister keeps nodding, despite the fact Endrea has stopped speaking, with an unreadable expression on her face as she refuses to meet Endrea’s gaze.
Fred, however, does not seem so otherwise distracted. Pointing a finger at Endrea and then over to Inalia. “So, then… is…?”
“Yup!” the half-breed in question says with a wide smile, clambering to her feet alongside her cousins. “I only found out a few days ago as well. See, Vindaruil woke up from this coffin in the museum and he saw it straight away, but then Mum said we had to come here so here we are!”
His bushy eyebrows climbed in disbelief, only for his gaze to pan over to Endrea who gives him a slight nod at his questioning look, somehow making his eyebrows rise even higher.
“Anything else?” he asks jokingly, no doubt trying to dissipate the heavy tension that the still-nodding Jemma is leaking into the room.
Endrea is facing away from you, but you can still tell as she winces awkwardly at the question. “Yeeeaaah. So it turns out there is some kind of prophecy surrounding my daughter, which is why we had to leave and why Inalia had to be hidden. I… I would have told you if I could, Jem, but… it's….”
“You got married?” Jemma eventually asks, rhetorically, cutting the tension like a knife with a shrill tone that is far from friendly. “And you didn’t invite us?”
“Jem! I was… we were…” Endrea splutters on in an almost whining tone, but her sister doesn’t let her finish.
Standing up with a huff, Jemma turns up her nose at her sister. “I have nothing more to say to you until you apologise.” Her expression then softens as she looks down at Inalia. “Inalia dear, you can stay in the twin’s bedroom with your mother, they can stay in with us for now. Would you like another tea?”
A very confused looking Inalia merely nods, and Jemma turns on her heels and storms off back into the other room.
Frank gives the three of you an apologetic look. “Don’t worry, she’ll come round… eventually. She just needs to cool off a bit. I really would recommend that apology.”
Endrea collapses back into the seat with a groan, in the manner of a woman twenty years her junior. “yeah… I know.”
So oddly engrossed in attempting to comprehend the ‘intricacies’ of human relationships, you almost ignore the two, near-identical, black-haired boys that sneak up to you whilst Inalia is distracted by her auntie.
“Are you really an elf?”
“Was that magic?”
They ask at exactly the same time, stupid grins upon their round faces.
You keep down a groan, considering just walking back out into the rain. That is, until Inalia notices them and rushes to your aid. “Will! Sam! You only get one answer so you have to ask better questions!”
…Or maybe not. She seems to have, incorrectly, assumed you’d be happy to humour the twins as you do her. It does at least seem to momentarily stop them, reverting to them whispering furiously in one another’s ears as they consider what to ask.
“Do we get an answer each?” one of them, you know not which, asks.
“No,” you say dryly, “and that’s your answer.”
The twins then descend into arguing over whose fault that was, and you begin to daydream about just blowing up the entire town. Already you get the impression the next few years are going to be some of the longest of your life.
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Jemma
Jemma cannot believe the gall of her sister. No, that isn’t true. She can well believe it, she grew up with the damn woman after all. She supposes she just doesn’t want to believe that Endrea has been back for around a decade and in all that time hasn’t said two words to her, her own sister, about elves or marriage or prophecies.
Not that she thinks her sister is lying, although she has certainly considered it. Endrea is, and was, many things, but dishonest is not one of them.
…and sure, maybe she hasn’t given Endrea a chance to explain why yet, thinking about it. There might be a reasonable explanation, maybe, but she’s already stormed off now so she isn’t going back in to give her infuriating sister the satisfaction, at least not until she’s gotten her niece’s tea.
Admittedly, it isn’t hard to guess why she hadn’t invited her estranged sister and parents to her elven wedding halfway across the Kingdom.
Putting on the kettle, Jemma silently broods as she tries to wrap her head around the fact that Endrea is married, and that there is a pointy-eared man standing in her living room. Opening one of the cupboards she decides to get herself something stronger than a cup of tea.
As she’s pouring the red wine into her glass, she stops at about half full as usual. Then she considers the conversation she’s going to have with Endrea when she goes back in, and she decides to fill it to the brim instead.
Taking a quick gulp of the, relatively local, vintage Jemma sighs heavily and takes in a deep breath to calm herself like Mum always told her. In their youth, as the elder, she’d always found herself digging her sister out of trouble or trying to stop her from getting into it in the first place.
The little menace she had been, the only reason she was ever not grounded was because Jemma always stepped in. It wasn't like she hadn't gotten mad at her sister because of it, but she always tried to help regardless.
And the fact that the Drea she knew, who had always come running to big Jem whenever she got into said trouble, hasn’t said a word to her of whatever this is, stings more than just a bit.
By the time the kettle is whining once more she has regained her composure. Mum would have scolded her for losing it like that, but under the circumstances Jemma can’t honestly say she could have reacted any differently.
Pouring the tea, Jemma braces herself and stalks back into the living room. Her sister sits up straight immediately from where she had been slouching, Fred gives her a knowing look and that creepy elf doesn’t look like he’s moved a muscle from the corner.
She can’t quite put her finger on it, but the man just feels cold. Jemma remembers a man who stopped in the Dreaming Donkey once, he’d had a rough look about him, and a sword at his waist that looked well used. He felt the same, and had a very similar gleam in his eye that unnerved her then and does so now also.
Tearing her eyes away from the pale monolith, she walks over and carefully hands her niece her second mug of tea. “Be careful dear, it’s hot.”
Already she can see her little sister’s face reflected back at her in Inalia. Different hair and different eyes, but there is that faintly mischievous curl to her lips and the freckles on her cheeks that are so familiar.
She does feel a little bad about having a go at Endrea in front of her daughter, especially when the poor girl said she’d only found out about these revelations a few days a go as well. A shock for anyone, never mind a child.
Jemma goes to sit back down by her husband, and gives him a look that communicates far more than she can with words. “Could you put the boys to bed dear?”
“Nooooo!”
“Muuuum! We’re not tired!”
They immediately whine, but are silenced by a motherly glare that tells them that now really isn’t the time.
Fred gives her a quick peck on the cheek before standing up. “Right you two. Last one up has to sleep next to my smelly feet!”
Her twins share a look, and then they’re immediately scrambling over one another, and the furniture, to get upstairs the fastest. Despite herself, Jemma can’t stop the small upturn in her lip as Fred goes chasing after them.
“Listen, Jem, I’m sorry. I really couldn’t have… you know, invited you. We were.. really far away in a secret elven hideout protected by… magic. I probably could have told you though, I just…” Endrea immediately starts once Fred and the boys are upstairs.
Jemma holds up her hand to stop her sister and she takes a sip from her wine. “Ok.”
“…ok?” Endrea repeats dumbly.
“Ok.” Confirms Jemma, “for now, at least. You were saying something about a prophecy and hiding my niece?”
She does note that, out of the corner of her eye, the elf seems to lean in just a tiny bit closer at her question.
Clearing her throat, Endrea blinks heavily. “Errr… yeah. Yes. The prophecy.”
She then looks over to a very attentive Inalia, nursing her beverage as the steam rose, untouched before her face, and she sighs. “So it turns out half-elves aren’t very common, and when I got pregnant Lithandar and I were called to speak with the elven Queen, or their equivalent of a Queen at least. Then some… ah… elf ghosts, a man and a woman, appeared and said that Inalia was the subject of a prophecy. In Torish I think it’d translate to something like this; ‘A child of seconds; of the age they live, of the chances they give, and the choices that they will unfurl. From fair father and mortal, will unlock dreamer’s portal and destroy he who corrupted the world.’”
Silence, as all those who hear it, including the three sets of ears Jemma just knows are waiting at the top of the stairs, take the time to try and divine its meaning.
Predictably, Jemma is absolutely clueless, breaking the silence first after but a few heartbeats. “I’m sorry Drea, but what in the gods names does that even mean?... and why does it rhyme if you heard it in the elf language?”
But her sister just shrugs, “I’m… not really sure myself. All they really said was that ‘he who corrupted the world’ is someone very bad who also knows of this prophecy and that it would put Inalia in terrible danger if she stayed with them, or any elves for that matter. As for the rhyming… that happens more often than you’d think.”
Jemma very pointedly looks over to the elf standing behind Endrea. “So… does he not count?”
Her sister opens her mouth to answer, but pauses when no words come forth and turns around to send a questioning glance over at her elf companion.
Said elf sighs before speaking. “My people may not have been forthcoming with their reasons, but I do believe I understand them. There is a… call one feels in their blood towards others of our kind once we reach a certain maturity. If this foe is an elf of great age then locating a concentration of our people would be no great challenge, and one can assume this foe means harm to them. The girl, being only a half-breed, is far harder to detect. I stood before her and almost missed it myself. If they, for whatever reason, believe themselves vulnerable to this foe, and further believe that she will be instrumental in this foe’s future downfall, then hiding her away from them appears logical. I do not jeopardise this, for I have since learned how to hide myself from such methods of detection.”
Jemma nods along, most of it going over her head but what she does grasp seems to make sense, if true. Her sister, however, does not appear so mollified.
“But then… why come with us? If it is so easy to find your people then surely you don’t need to wait?” she asks suspiciously.
The elf peers down at her with a faintly condescending look. “If my people are indeed being hunted, or at least tracked, by this foe then one would expect them to take measures against being so easily found. Evidently, they do not have full confidence in these measures, but you must think so highly of me that my abilities match up to ‘he who corrupted the world.’”
Her sister looks abashed as she nods, “Right… sorry.”
“My apologies…” Jemma interrupts, “but ‘wait’ for what, exactly?”
Endrea looks back on over to her with a sad gleam in her eyes. “They said they’ll return for Endrea when she comes of age and is old enough to learn. Vindaruil has asked to wait with us until such a time so he can return to his people.”
“Oh…” is all Jemma can think to say in reply.
Inalia, who has been silent and listening intently up until this moment, finally chimes in as she looks up at the elf. “What’s the ‘dreamer’s portal’.”
Looking down at her, Jemma notices a frown climb onto the sharp features of his face. “I suspect it refers to the barrier placed around Faenor, the realm of dreams, separating it from this one. A curious claim that you, of all beings, would ‘unlock’ it, but prophecies are fickle and unpredictable things.”
Jemma observes as her niece seems to grow only more giddy at her own obvious confusion. “Is ‘unlocking’ it a good thing or a bad thing?”
This time she notices a very un-subtle shift in the elf’s expression, his jaw clamping shut and the muscles bulging as his red eyes move away from Inalia. “Enough questions for today. You, ‘Jemma’, tell me where I may meditate in peace. I require only shelter from this rain.”
“Err… if you don’t need a bed you can stay wherever, there’s enough room for the rest of us upstairs.” She answers hesitantly, and the elf strolls out through the door to the kitchen and the rest of the downstairs without so much as a nod.
Glancing curiously, and a little irritated, at her sister she asks, “is he always like that?”
The twin shrugs she gets from mother and daughter tell her its going to be a long… she holds on to that thought and snaps back to Endrea.
“How long did you say you needed to stay again?” she asks, dreading the answer she thinks she might already know.
The familiar sheepish, guilty smile Endrea sends her reminds Jemma of every time in their childhood her sister had created some fresh chaos and came to her to break the news to their parents. “Well, now that you mention it…”
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You
It is no great challenge to uncover the meaning behind the half-breed’s prophecy. Whatever foe faces your people in this time, considering that free civilizations exist at all, is undoubtedly pitiable compared to the threat you still pose.
‘He who corrupted the world’ is quite obviously you, but you are not concerned in the slightest. Half of those that fell beneath your mace had seemingly been prophesied to destroy you, mere words hold no sway over your fate. Not anymore.
When the half-breed grows to become a challenge worth addressing, you will deal with the threat swiftly and mercilessly as you have always done. Nipping such a thing in the bud now seems like a waste, both of effort and opportunity.
It only further goes to prove you were wise to stick with the girl. It hardly seems likely that she can grow into a serious threat beneath your watchful eye, and the thought that you will be the one training her to begin with holds a certain poetry to it that agrees with you.
The other part of the prophecy, however, you find rather more concerning. Your works are not so protected from fate as you yourself are, and so you debate ditching this whole project to ensure the integrity of the barrier.
A waste of the effort you have already invested, and you would be sacrificing the perfect scenario to give you the answers you entered stasis to acquire. But despite your confidence in your abilities, you are not blind to the very real threat posed by that which you locked away oh so long ago.
But you do not rush into decisions when you are unsure, and the girl is easily at least a century away from the capability to cause such disruptions. You spend the night meditating upon it in what you assume is the pantry, and by the time you sense the sun has risen you have acquired a strange craving for sustenance beyond simple roots and mushrooms. But no progress on a satisfying solution to this conundrum beyond just keeping an eye on the girl.
Stretching away the minor aches and pains after so long sitting still, you look around with a discerning eye and take stock of this paltry pantry. It is no great treasure trove, and certainly none of it is worthy enough to grace your tongue.
Perhaps, then, it is time to go on a supply run with Arma to acquire some proper food. Come to think of it, you would do well to gather some spell components too. Your old stashes were all depleted before you entered stasis, even if they hadn't then they would surely have been raided or ruined by time. You stopped bothering about replenishing them near the end, there were none left to challenge you after all.
As you begin strolling towards the door, you stop to acknowledge the half-breed asleep on the sofa in the living room. Frowning, you hear the heartbeats of all the others still upstairs and sound asleep. She must have come down at some point during the night.
You note her heartbeat suddenly rise and can tell she is about to wake. You can probably slink away before her eyes open without so much as a sound, but you do not run from little girls so you wait.
Her eyelids flitter and she groans as they open, unfocused at first her eyes quickly find you standing with your arms crossed by the door.
She hectically sits up, throwing off her blanket, clearing the stray hairs from her face and wiping away some of the drool from her chin. “Err… good morning.”
“I have seen better,” you reply, wondering why you do.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asks, a pathetically nervous note to her voice as she scratches the sleep from her eyes.
Raising an eyebrow, you consider answering. Perhaps… this could be a learning opportunity, if the girl is to be your student. Long-lived though you may be, you still see the value in economy of action.
“Get up, you are coming with me.” You tell her, pointedly answering nothing.
Immediately her face shifts into an obscenely bright smile, and she jumps up clapping her hands in excitement. “Where are we going? Do I need to bring anything? Should I… wait, I should probably ask Mum.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “We will return before they wake up. The clothes you are in are fine. Go on now.”
And as she instantly folds and skips towards the front door you weave a spell to make sure that you do, keeping the other occupants of the house asleep. You are especially subtle about it just in case the girl really is sensitive to the arcane.
As you follow her out with barely a delay, she appears none the wiser. In the daylight, the rear end of Hartonville proves as comely as it had in greyscale. It is a sunny morning with nary a cloud in the sky, the rain clouds long since having passed. The light sparkles off the lake behind Jemma’s home, expansive enough that there are visible waves on its surface.
Pursing your lips, you let out a low whistle and call Arma. It isn’t a moment before she’s trotting out from the barn and heading your way. Inalia tries and fails to muffle a squeal of delight at her appearance.
“Are we going on Arma?” she looks up at you hopefully.
“Patience, youngling. Let that be my first lesson to you. Questions are well and good, but oftentimes the answers reveal themselves if you give them time. Do not ask me anything that you cannot discover for yourself, for I will not answer.” You say as your companion stops alongside you, snorting and shaking her head angrily.
Placing a placating hand on her head, you mutter in her ear. “Thy should not be surprised by the inferiority of human shelters, I shalt rectify the issue before the rainfall next. If thy is finished complaining, I bid thee ferry us to Starfall Orchard.”
Inalia at least appears to have silenced, although perhaps only because she is staring at your interaction with Arma in awe. Her wide emerald eyes don’t leave your mount as she turns and begins to glow a vibrant silver as she channels her innate magic. Before you opens a familiar circular portal, big enough to ride through atop Arma, its edges a thin silver string separating the fabric of one realm from another.
What was once a sight out towards the forest is now a glimpse into a far older community of trees. Though to compare the pines of the realm of mortals to the meteoric oaks of Titania, the realm of stars, is a true insult. They may grow not half as tall, but their roots held together the fabric of the realm itself. Possessing bark of meteoric iron, from behind which leaked the same light of the stars themselves, they grew the finest fruits in all the realms.
That, of course, being the reason a gate to said realm now stands before you. “Follow, youngling. Nought beyond will harm you, so long as you hold no ill intent for anything within.”
Amusingly enough, that has always been a simple feat to accomplish. Its denizens care little for raw emotion, only premeditated action. But you must admit that not even you could fool them if indeed you desired to.
Fortunately, harvesting sustenance from the realm’s many delights is not considered ‘harm’.
With Arma at your back, you stroll inside, the half-breed hot on your heels.
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Inalia
Around when the portal swirls shut behind her, Inalia begins to worry maybe it isn’t the best idea to go running off with Vindaruil without so much as a word.
She is distracted from her worries, however, as her eyes rise from the strange blue grass, up the roots of the glowing trees and then up and above the horizon. No blue sky, white clouds or blinding sun awaits her, rather a night sky of unfathomable clarity. Not just glinting pale stars in the dark, but colour. Clouds of red and purple and green set amongst shining orbs of yellow, blue and white of endless numbers. The void between is overpowered by that which fills it, illuminating the ground no more than the full moon but with such variety it makes Inalia’s heart skip a single beat.
“Where are we?” she asks breathlessly. Only after does she think about Vindaruil’s first lesson, but concludes after a moment that she can’t rightly find out without asking.
“It is called the Starfall Orchard. As you may have surmised, we are no longer in Mortus, the realm of mortals. Wander, and observe. I will find you when it is time to leave.” The pale elf says distractedly, before muttering something in his melodic language to Arma and patiently stalking off.
“Wait!” Inalia says in alarm, chasing after him and catching up easily enough, causing him to stop and look down at her with a frown on his sharp features.
“Listen well, youngling, for I do not enjoy repeating myself. If you are to be my student, you must place your trust in me. If I tell you to do something, do it, if I tell you I shall do something, have faith that I will. I shall not leave you behind, so go.” He explains with a peculiar look in his crimson eyes that Inalia has yet to see, but which puts her at a degree of ease.
“Yes mister Vindaruil,” she replies, chastened. Then the elf turns and sets off once more.
As Inalia turns around she finds the unicorn has disappeared from her sight. Looking down the regular rows of alien oak trees she sees not a hint of her radiant white coat. Her courage fails her, yet when she glances back she finds Vindaruil is similarly gone.
Alone, albeit in such an awesome place, she feels a shiver of uncertainty go through her. Doubt, in herself and in Vindaruil's trust in her. What if she did bear ‘ill will’ and didn’t know it? What lurked behind the silvery bark of this twilight-cast forest to punish her if she did?
But she takes in a deep breath, remembering that she is supposed to be a heroine, and pushes the fear back. It is effort to bring the smile back to her face, but once it appears she finds it impossible to wipe away once more as she allows the incredible beauty surrounding her to fill her thoughts.
Humming a calming tune, one her mum always likes, she begins to skip along the darkly coloured grass. She wonders why it is blue and not green, she wonders how trees can be made of metal, she wonders why the sky looks so strange, and she wonders what those navy blue and white-speckled apples that hang from the glowing branches too high to reach taste like.
It feels not unlike being in a dream, she thinks, so otherworldly and full of… well, wonder. Except she can feel the blades of grass tickling her bare feet that she forgot to cover with her shoes, and the roughness of the strange bark on her fingers as she runs them across the trunks.
She knows she is not dreaming when her fingertip catches on a sharp corner between two sections of bark, from where the thrumming light originates in narrow, shifting rays. Letting out a quiet yelp of pain, she brings the finger to her mouth to suck away the drop of blood that is brought forth.
“Are you alright?” a soft, kindly voice sounds out from behind her that is clearly not Vindaruil.
This time she really does shriek loudly in startled reaction, spinning around to get her eyes on its source. But in doing so she trips over one of the roots of the tree she has just cut herself upon and feels her balance abandon her.
Yet the anticipated thud and pain of impact never comes, instead she feels a warm, yet gentle, grip around her wrist holding her just above the ground such that the grass tickles her neck.
Focusing her vision, Inalia looks and sees a… girl? Perhaps her age, with impossibly straight hair the colour of the void above them and eyes of a mesmerizing purple hue, she stands dressed in a simple white robe that hangs loosely around her wrists as she holds Inalia.
“Forgive me, for intruding upon your person, but I did not wish for you to come to harm.” She says with a sincerely apologetic look upon her face, so genuine it almost makes Inalia burst into tears for a reason she can’t quite comprehend.
Allowing herself to be pulled to her feet, the strange girl releases Inalia and steps back, her hands disappearing into the sleeves of the opposite arms leaving her child-like face as the only skin visible.
“Who are you?” Inalia asks nervously, although she finds no fear in her heart for this stranger. Not like with Vindaruil, whom she had briefly worried at first might be dangerous, this stranger she just knows wouldn’t ever harm her.
The girl cocks her head. “My true name would not be kind upon you ears, but I would be pleased to be called Azrael.”
“Err… nice to meet you Azreal. My name's Inalia!” she replies, a little unsure at the strange answer but quickly becoming excited at meeting a local. At least, she assumes the girl is a local.
“Are you from here?” she asks, rather than assuming. Her mother always says that’s rude.
Azrael smiles at her again, a gesture that fills Inalia’s heart with warmth. “Indeed, I was born of this orchard and now it is my great honour to tend to it. Inalia, may I ask of you a question?”
Inalia grins cheekily, not quite sure what overcomes her when she says, “Yes, was that your question?”
The strange girl laughs, and at the sound Inalia witnesses a shower of shooting stars fly above her, flashing the orchard with light and bringing a tear of pure joy to her eye. “No, it was not. May I ask of you two more questions then?”
So overwhelmed by the sensation of Azrael’s mirth, it is all she can do to nod.
“He whom you entered this place with, are you with him of your own free will? Answer honestly, no harm can come to you in this place. I promise you this.” Azrael says with a serious, and strangely pitying, look in her gaze.
Inalia cocks her head in confusion, but her brow refuses to furrow and her smile fails to dim in the slightest. “Vindaruil? Of course! I can’t believe he took me here, it's so cool! I mean, he didn’t tell me where we were going if that’s what you mean? But I walked in myself. Wait… are we not supposed to be here, I’m…”
Azrael holds up a calming hand, stopping Inalia’s apologies before they can even begin. “No, Inalia, you are perfectly welcome here. So terribly few are our visitors, your presence brings warmth to my heart. Please do not apologise, it pains me that you might think you need to.”
“Ok, sor…” Inalia starts, only just stopping herself from apologising.
She then observes as Azrael’s gaze loses focus and climbs upwards to the mesmerizing heavens. “Vindaruil…” Inalia just about hears her whispering to herself.
Following the girl’s gaze, Inalia’s own eyes once more land on one of the peculiar fruits growing on the mysterious oaks.
“Your people might call them ‘Yggdran apples’. Not truly apples, as you might know them, and yet they take the same form. One of life’s little rhymes. They are a favourite of his, I believe. You may try one if you like. They are quite delightful.” Azrael explains, breaking from her reverie with another achingly genuine smile.
Curiosity mingles with guilt behind Inalia’s eyes, “I couldn’t… they’re yours…”
“Inalia,” Azrael says with a pointed look, “all fruit is meant to be eaten, and I have no compunctions with sharing.”
As she speaks, the apple falls from its branch and lands silently in her hands. She holds it out for Inalia to take, and in doing so gives her a much closer look at the fruit.
The skin of the apple is not merely the navy blue colour she had first thought, but a tapestry of similar colours that seem to gently shift giving the apple a peculiar sense of depth. Those white speckles she now sees are tiny, sparkling stars that slowly orbit what would be the core of the apple around the skin.
It doesn’t look like it should be edible, and yet something about it is so enticing. Reaching out for it, Inalia looks one last time to Azrael for confirmation. The girl nods eagerly and Inalia picks up the apple.
It is cool between her fingers, a little denser than a normal apple but otherwise remarkably similar. It is with hesitancy that she brings it to her mouth and takes a bite.
Flavours that she cannot even begin to describe fill her mouth, the skin parting easily beneath her teeth and tickle her tongue with something fiercely, but not sickeningly, sweet. She simply can’t stop herself from taking another bite, and another, and another.
By the time she is left with nothing but a trio of slightly glowing silver seeds and a metallic stalk, her belly feels entirely totally satisfied. Rather than craving another immediately, she instead finds herself looking forward to when she is hungry enough to enjoy another one, a rather unique thought where Inalia is concerned.
But as she looks up and takes stock of her surroundings she realises sadly that she is alone once more.
“Inalia,” the familiar voice of the elf calls out from behind her, “I see you have discovered the pleasures of this realm. I have what I need, it is time to go.”
Inalia looks around desperately for Azrael as Vindaruil whistles for Arma, feeling the urge to say goodbye to the strange, but very kind, girl. She hasn’t even thanked her for the apple.
“Where did she go?” she asks, certain Vindaruil will know.
The elf turns to her strangely, “Who?”
“Azrael, the girl,” Inalia explains, looking pleadingly up at the elf.
Vindaruil’s right eyebrow nearly touches his hairline. “…Azrael. You spoke with Azrael?”
His voice holds a measured disbelief that sounds entirely out of place coming from his usually stoic self.
Inalia smiles happily, “you know her? Did you see?”
“…we are acquainted. And Azrael is not seen unless she wishes to be.” He mutters quietly.
Her shoulders slumping, Inalia can only say “Oh…”
Something seems to come over Vindaruil then, a softness in his face that is quickly hidden as he turns it to the sky.
“This is her orchard. All that is said within, she can hear. If she is listening.” He says curtly.
This mollifies Inalia, somewhat, and she looks around as though expecting to see the girl. She feels a little silly as she speaks aloud, “um… thanks for the apples, and for stopping me from falling… goodbye.”
She then opens her hand and looks down at the three seeds in her palm, feeling a strange thrumming from them.
“The seeds of a meteoric oak. A rare thing indeed. It is said they only create nine in their entire lives. Most of their fruit are barren.” Vindaruil comments, his eyes now firmly on her prize.
“Do… do you want them?” Inalia asks, remembering that he went looking for things and thinking that these might be one of them.
The pale elf cocks his head, and is silent for a time as he gives Inalia an appreciative look. “… they would be useless to me. Keep them, and do with them as you will.”
Just then, the unicorn appears from behind one of the metallic trees, and Inalia knows they’re about to leave.
Inalia thinks of a question, and takes a moment to think about if she needs to ask. But they’re going imminently, so she thinks she does. “Mr Vindaruil. Who is Azrael?”
Arma opens another portal to Auntie Jemma’s home, and just before he steps through Vindaruil glances down at Inalia with an almost playful look. “She is a great many things and possesses a great many names. To answer such a question totally would be no simple feat. But to give a response I believe you may find most meaningful; she is the last, and perhaps the greatest, of the Arch-Angels of Titania.”
With that, he steps through the portal, and a shocked Inalia is a step behind. When Arma follows them through, the silver ring disappears into nothingness.
----------------------------------------
Azrael
Watching the destroyer and his steed leave with the girl, Azrael lets out a sigh of relief. Memories of her brothers and sisters falling in battle torment her vision, their screams echoing in her ears. After so long she feels the familiar ringing of fury in her heart, but she allows it only a single heartbeat to fester before forcing it to slip away in her breath.
Vindaruil…
She thinks perhaps she won’t tell the new gods about this. Not yet. Not after she observed that, oh so fragile, beat of something beyond the monster that destroyed that name.
Beyond the monster that destroyed her friend.
A glimmer of hope blooms in her heart, and she nurtures it as one must nurture all good things. Small, and weak, and pitiful though it feels against the fires of her rage, it will grow and become so much more.
To begin to hope once more feels odd, hauntingly unfamiliar. Yet it is as though the weight of a thousand suns just lifted from her shoulders.
“You are welcome, Inalia. Good luck.” She says with a sad smile at the place they just disappeared from.
Her form shifts and blurs until she appears as a grown woman once more. Vibrant, white-feathered wings sprout from her back and she propels herself up and away into the endless, shifting tapestry of the heavens above.