"Don't feed the pixies."

-Public notice #13, posted in Paimpont Forest, date and author unknown.

***

After reporting the location of the troll camp back to Feolduen, Alvanue and Edhalan turned their snow deer southward.

The trip back to more civilized lands was a surprisingly quick one considering the amount of time it had taken them to hunt down the trolls. A day and a half of hard riding passed quickly with the two elves intermittently bickering and fretting over their new traveling companion.

They stopped only to water the deer and feed the pup their rations mixed with melted snow. Thankfully, it seemed to be old enough to take regular food as well as its mother’s milk. Unlike its rescuers, it was more than pleased to eat their stale hardtack.

For all his lecturing and whining, Edhalan came around to the creature, even holding it when Alvanue went off to prepare its food. She knew the elder elf had a soft spot somewhere underneath all that blustering and elven self-importance.

When the midnight sun was at its peak, nothing more than a suggestion of watery light on the horizon, the two elves finally spotted a great hall in the distance.

Silthonduen.

Home to Alvanue’s people since the beginning of Creation, if one believed the legends. The capitol of Endrillond and the first city of the Moon Elves.

It was a complex of elegant structures clustered above a black sand beach, looking out over a dim sea. The main hall was carved into the hill upon which it sat; columns of pale stone cut to mimic the trunks of Silverwood trees, crowned by a great dome of enchanted ice. Impossibly thin bridges connected high towers and wide pavilions cut into the rocky side of the hill, carved with depictions of heroes from ages passed and calligraphed with the flowing script of the Elders. All that ancient splendor was set aglow with the cold, white radiance of fixed magelights, hovering like captive stars amongst the many icy gardens and domes.

The place seemed otherworldly from afar, like something out of a dream. Even after all her years there, it was still a breathtaking sight and she paused to admire it.

Edhalan prodded her to action, impatient to get home and get clean, so they rode their mounts up the steep hill. Guards saw them not long after they crested the rise and they found the gates open in welcome by the time they had reached the outer walls.

“Welcome home, my lady,” said one of the guards as he took her mount’s reigns.

“How’s it hanging, Quelidrome,” said Alvanue, sliding off her mount in a decidedly unladylike fashion. She walked with the guard as he led the snow deer to the stables.

“Well, my lady, thank you.”

“Hey, I totally forgot, who won the thing, the-” she snapped her fingers, “-the thing? The duel?”

Before she'd gone off on her assignment, the gossip of the season concerned the love triangle brewing between three of the elves at court.

The last she’d heard, Uesildan the Baker had challenged Mithalene the Harpist to a duel over lovely Finnue’s hand in marriage. Mithalene had a much better hand at swordplay but to be completely honest, Alvanue would give anything to see Uesildan smack that smarmy little harpist off her high horse. She hadn't forgiven the harp player for the slight she'd paid Edhalan a decade and a half previous.

“Begging pardon, my lady, but there was no duel. The day after you rode out, Master Uesildan and Maid Mithalene made their peace and both took young Finnue’s hand in marriage.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, my lady, I dare not.”

“Well fuck.”

She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised as Elvish marriages tended to go that way. She only had to look at her parents to see proof of that.

Horny little bastards, she thought to herself.

“Indeed, my lady, I would think they had by now.”

She didn’t wait for Edhalan to see to his own steed and instead rushed off towards the main hall, throwing a hasty farewell over her shoulder to the guard.

If she managed to sneak the troll pup up to her rooms without her sire or one of his spies from seeing it, she might yet be able to keep it hidden until she got one of her dams on her side.

“Yes, hi, hello, ‘scuse me, coming through!” she said as she cut off a cluster of servants and courtiers from welcoming her back. They were hardly offended; they’d all had plenty of time to acclimate to her peculiarities.

The private quarters for the ruling family were at the top floor of the main hall, set deep in the east wing. She took the stairs three steps at a time, vaulting her way up at a blistering speed. One might worry for the small, defenseless creature swinging wildly in its sling as she ran. If one could read its mind, however, one would find that it was having the time of its life, its little fuzzy body wriggling in delight.

She skidded into the hallway leading to her private chambers, startling a servant so badly she nearly tossed the mop she held into the air. Speeding through an apology, she sidestepped the poor elf and pushed through the doorway to her bedroom.

After nearly two weeks of travel, she was finally back in the relative comfort of her own space. The door closed with a thud behind her and she slid to the floor with a sigh.

As she relaxed after her long journey, she unfastened the little troll from its sling and let it crawl around the room to explore. It looked even smaller in context to the cavernous space, tiny and pale against the flagstones. While it investigated the underside of her bed, she let her thoughts wander.

While she was happy to be back, she felt that same old claustrophobia creeping in againt. She was well aware that the missions handed down to her by her sire’s Captain of the Guard were simply to appease her restlessness. If all she did with her time was sit around and take lessons like elf children her age were supposed to, she would have gone mad ages ago. It was more than the dull tedium of court life, more than a simple urge to run around in the snow like Bjarmalander boys and girls.

It had begun when she was ten.

The first years of her life were hazy and uneventful, most of them spent in the heavy security of Silthonduen's nursery. She hardly interracted with a living soul other than her immediate family while the delicate magics involved with her birth settled. It was only in her tenth year that she was introduced to life in Silthonduen. It was then she met her first human.

Visiting Bjarmalanders had come to court to offer tribute to her father, as thanks for their use of elven lands and the protection Lord Githanduin and his vassals provided. It was the first time she had ever seen a human before and she had marveled at them. Those strange people, who looked so like yet so unlike Alvanue and her family. That strange spark of recognition when she looked into the eyes of some stern-faced foreigner, blonde beard twisted into intricate braids and freckles marring his windburned face.

That was what broke the barrier on her memories.

She remembered that this was not the first life she had ever lived. There was once another place that she had called home, another name she had been known by; Earth. Timothy. It came slowly at first, but faster the more she managed to remember. Over the years, as she’d grown older and the details of her time on Earth became clearer, the great walls of Silthoduen had begun to feel less like a home and more like a cage.

This was her second chance, her second life, and she had to ask herself: do I want to spend it locked away from the world?

A knock at her door startled her out of thought. She jumped up from the floor, eyes darting around the room yet failing to locate her erstwhile troll. She prayed under her breath that it might remain hidden and looked to see who was there.

The newly wed Finnue, marriage tattoo visibly fresh on his collar bone, stood outside.

“I apologize for the intrusion, my lady, but his majesty requests your presence in his study,” said Finnue.

“Right now? Can it wait?” she asked. She was still grimy from the trip and there was troll fur all over her armor.

“His majesty did not specify an exact time, but if I were in your position, my lady, I would not keep his majesty waiting. He seemed…not in the best of moods.”

Well, isn’t that ominous.

“Guess it can’t be helped. You said he’s in his study?”

She thought about the probability that he had heard about the pup, but reassured herself it wasn't likely.

“Yes, I believe so, my lady,” said Finnue.

“Cool, thanks.”

She made sure the door closed behind her as she stepped into the hall. It would be a disaster if the troll pup got out unsupervised, especially if she was already in trouble.

Pausing beside him, she turned to address the petit elf.

“And hey, congrats on the wedding. Don’t let them wear you out too much.”

She was gifted with the sight of Finnue’s cheeks flushing several shades darker than their usual lilac before she was off to see her sire.

As she had previously said.

Horny bastards.

***

“Enter,” called a deep voice, muffled by the heavy wooden door.

Pushing open the massive doors, she stepped into her sire’s chambers. They were expansive, as was to be expected of the head of one of the Great Houses of the Concord and the ruler of a realm, but hardly ostentatious. Beautifully built but stripped of unnecessary ornamentation, the rooms were much like the lord who kept them.

Said lord, His Majesty High Lord Githanduin of Silthonduen, sat with his back to Alvanue, bent over his writing desk. Stacks of parchment and official looking scrolls rose up on either side of him, spilling out onto the floor around him. It was the only part of her sire’s chambers that wasn’t neat and tidy.

“I shall be with you in a moment, child. Please be seated,” he said and waved a hand vaguely behind his back.

She looked around for a chair or stool to sit on and, finding none, balanced awkwardly on the edge of a squat table. It groaned under her weight but held, so she figured it would have to do.

Her sire spent the next several minutes finishing his work before finally turning to her. At 513 years of age, he prided himself on not looking a day over 150. With his black hair, ashen gray skin and sharp features, he looked nothing like his daughter with the sole exception being their eyes. His and hers were both matching shades of darkest violet.

He was using those same eyes that so resembled her own to stare at her, silent and judging. She fidgeted a bit on her perch, from discomfort that was physical as much as it was emotional. Despite being well into her third decade, he had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if she were a newly hatched elf all over again. That, and the table was very uncomfortable.

“You, uh, wanted to talk to me? Sire?” She spoke simply to break the interminable silence between them. He reacted to the sound of her voice as if being roused from deep thought.

“Hmm, yes. Yes, child, I did.” He said, and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth before frowning. “I take it you were successful on your mission?”

“Yeah, it was nothing a little Silthondrim charm couldn’t handle. We took them both out easy.”

Alvanue struck a pose, flexing her arms and almost tipping off the table. Githanduin said nothing.

She deflated and folded her hands in her lap. There was a faint chill to the air that set all the fine hairs on her arms to standing. The look on her sire’s face and the strained silence between them set her on edge.

Why did he ask about that?

He would have been informed that she and Edhalan had returned without injury the moment they’d been spotted on her family’s estates, aside from the fact that she sat before him intact. Any important details of the mission would have been relayed to him later, or passed on to one of his advisors. It felt like he was trying to build up to something.

She thought back to the wording of Finnue’s summons and the chill worsened. Her sire rarely acted like this with her but for the few occasions when she did something to truly upset him, like when she set Lord Galastir’s robes on fire or when she broke his favorite hunting horn. The incident with the hunting horn had been completely accidental and as for Galastir, well...he was a dick.

Thinking fast, she decided to employ a strategy guaranteed to work that she’d used since her infancy. That is, she began to whine.

“Is this about the troll pup? Edhalan, that snitch, he tattled didn’t he? I promise I was gonna ask your permission to keep it, Dad, honest, but I kinda got sidetracked. You’ve got to see it, though, it’s so cute, please can I keep it, please please please-“

For a moment, the older elf looked genuinely caught off guard, ruining his previous air of solemnity. He held up a hand to stop her mid-sentence before shaking his head in confusion.

“Troll? What are you- no, on second thought, I very much doubt I want to know.” Clearing his throat, he seemed attempt to fix the young elf with a more serious look. “No, Alvanue, this has nothing to do with whatever pet you’ve brought home with you. And for the last time, desist in calling me ‘dad’, I am your sire.”

Githanduin sighed and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking old and tired. “No, I wanted to speak with you of Lyonesse.”

It was Alvanue’s turn to look confused.

“Lyonesse?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Are you familiar with it?” her sire probed.

“Well…” she trailed off in thought, finger tapping her chin. “I know it’s a part of the U.K.A., it’s a monarchy, it’s got a bunch of humans, not too many elves. Pretty good ale, I guess, but personally I prefer the stuff that comes out of Hyperborea. Those guys really don’t mess around-”

“Yes, thank you. That’s about as much as I expected.” Her sire interrupted with another sigh. “Have you never heard of the academy at Avalon? St. Gildrin’s, I believe it’s called.”

Alvanue looked at her sire as if he had grown another head. Why was he asking her about schools entire continents away from Silthonduen?

“Dad- Sire, what’s this all about? Really. Because if it’s alright with you, I’d really like to take a bath or something because, don’t know if you’ve smelled me, but I reek.” She pretended not to see her sire’s nose wrinkle as he took a surreptitious sniff. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been able to wash for the past few days, most of the hot springs were to the west of where she and Edhalan had been tracking.

“I suppose I should get to the heart of the matter and let you go about your…business,” He said, none too subtly bringing up a sleeve to cover his nose.

“I bring up the topic of St. Gildrin’s Academy for a rather complex reason. The Concord has maintained an embassy in several U.K.A. member states, including Lyonesse, for the past several decades. It has shown to be an invaluable sort of proving grounds for young elves aspiring to higher office, whilst simultaneously maintaining good relations with the human nations in the near east. In fact, the child of Queen Yanarisil has made great connections during his time at our embassy in Breakstrand and impressed his Queen Mother’s vassals so much that it seems certain he will be selected to ascend the throne once she resigns. That is all to say that they are a great asset to the Concord and much needed in these times of unrest in the mortal lands. In relation to the embassy in Avalon, St. Gildrin’s College has proven an equally important tool in promoting goodwill between elves and humans. Thus, the matter at hand.”

Only an elf could say the words ‘get to the heart of the matter’ and then follow them with a paragraph of meaningless exposition before getting to the actual point, she thought to herself, then remembered Edhalan.

Well, maybe just the older elves.

“At the last summit,” he continued, “it was made known that several positions will soon be available at the embassy in Avalon, coinciding with the commencement of courses at St. Gildrin’s in a month and a half.”

“Okay. What’s that got to do with me?” she asked.

She loved her sire, but sometimes he truly was the most long-winded elf she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

“I know you desire greatly to travel, so I’ve reserved two of the available positions. That is to say, are you inclined to go to Avalon?” he asked.

A moment passed between them before Alvanue rocketed up and off the table.

“Wait, what?!”

“I am asking, child, if you would like to attend St. Gildrin’s whilst serving your house and your people in an ambassadorial fashion. You wouldn’t be alone, Edhalan would go with you as your guard, and the staff would watch over you as well.”

This was most certainly a shock. In her thirty odd years in Creation, she’d tried everything to convince her sire, and dams, to let her travel.

What was the use in being reincarnated into a fantasy world if you didn’t get to experience it?

They’d refused her outright each and every time, sending her on largely ceremonial missions to satisfy her wanderlust. She would’ve accepted simply taking a trip to the southern isles to see the realms of the Wood Elves and High Elves, but this was more than she’d dared to hope for. It was impossible to focus on why her sire was offering something so anathema to his previous position when she was so happy at the idea of going.

Before she could stop herself, Alvanue vaulted forward and into Githanduin’s lap, wrapping him in an almost painfully tight hug. “Yes! Yes yes yes yes! I’ll go, I accept!”

Slightly stilted in his actions, the older elf brought up his hand to pat his progeny’s shoulder.

“Good,” he said, a sad smile splitting his lips, “then I shall begin preparations. And child?”

“Hmm?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Please take a bath. Immediately.”