There was a reason Ophelia didn’t do family gatherings. 

Someone always died. 

And that someone was usually Ophelia. 

Being asked passive aggressive questions about her relationship status, her income, her future ambitions and the value of her assets all at the same time made her soul feel like it was dying a thousand deaths.

But every so often, someone actually died. 

Because elves. No other reason.

Ophelia didn’t know why it was, but elves were pretty much the most violent people in existence. That was a common misunderstanding from everyone else concerning the nature of elves. 

They only saw the tourist side of things. 

The speaking to trees, singing to flowers and making friends with bunnies side.

Because that part was true. Elves loved nature and nature’s little friends. Not Ophelia, since she wasn’t weird. But every other elf did. 

Except that all things worked on a scale. And that included how loving one could be. For every tree that was hugged, someone got stabbed. And if Ophelia had learned one thing from her time as a wide eyed, young and thoroughly cute child in the forests, it was how to stab people. 

As a result, Ophelia waited approximately zero seconds before drawing her blade. 

A chorus of silver met her. Gobsmacked faces staring at the cuteness of Duck A sitting like a fluffy white crown upon her head hardened. Because elves knew all too well the moment they entered the serious part of frown town. And in these alleys, the only way out was through a trail of blood and chopped off limbs.

“You said wait. I’m waiting. Who wants to know what happened to Uncle Booboo after too many lunchtime tequilas?”

The leader of this band of merry trespassers raised an eyebrow. 

“Everyone knows what happened to Uncle Booboo. They were still pulling paper-mâché from his mouth at the funeral.”

“Yeah, that was awful. I should have picked a different colour.”

Ophelia regarded the woman in front of her, appraising her features for a hint of recognition. Golden hair split into a ponytail. And green eyes which would go unseen in the midst of a forest. Utterly unmemorable.

A button nose though. That was different. Cute like hers.

“Cousins?” she queried.

“First cousins, once removed,” came the immediate, and quite unimpressed reply. “I’m Aleesa. We last met at Auntie Mildred’s baby shower.”

Ophelia instantly groaned.

If there was one, there was more. 

“All right, who else is related to me here?”

A generous smattering of hands instantly shot up. Still, the swords never lowered.

“Yevan,” said the guy with the least happiest frown. “I was Uncle Booboo’s stepson.”

“And I’m Candise,” said a younger woman, waving slightly. “I’m Lisbeth’s sister-in-law. Not your aunt Lisbeth. Your cousin Lisbeth.”

“Mia,” said another. “I don’t know how we’re related. But I’m pretty sure we are.” 

Ophelia studiously went through the names and faces.

She didn’t recall a single one.

“Oh, right. I remember now. Okay, fine. Any more?”

A guy in the corner nervously held up his hand.

“Yes?” said Ophelia, prompting him with a roll of her wrist.

“We met once at a birthday party. You stepped on my foot and broke it. I went into therapy. I was 7.”

Ophelia waited.

“And?”

“That’s all.”

Ophelia nodded.

Elves.

Everyone knew everyone. Mostly because they were all one big happy family.

“All right, fine. Everyone tangibly related to me, come to this side. You get to be stabbed first. Anybody traumatised by me as a child, step over there. You get one free stab at me, no more.”

“Nobody is stabbing anyone,” said the leader of this band, aka Ophelia’s first cousin, once removed.

“You’re holding your sword at me.”

“You’re holding your sword at all of us. So let’s all put our swords down and talk like civilised elves. Not least since you should be helping us. Why are you here, Snow Dancer?”

“I don’t think this is complicated. I’m literally just passing through to kill a dragon.” 

“That makes no sense. What dragon?”

“I forgot his name already, but he’s a sensitive cultural icon to Granholtz.” 

Ophelia received nothing but horrified looks in response.

“Valerian the Revered,” stated the woman who’d suggested everyone lower their swords, but still didn’t. “You want to kill the patron defender of Granholtz. An ancient gold dragon.”

“Oh, is he an ancient gold dragon?”

A finger promptly pointed at a banner on the wall. There, the black of Granholtz was marked by the silhouette of a golden dragon.

Ophelia blinked.

“That’s the dragon?”

“Yes. That’s the dragon. The one on every flag.”

“Hmm. You think if I kill the dragon they’ll replace the picture with me?”

“I think they’d just kill you instead. Although it’s unlikely you’d survive a meeting with a centuries old ancient gold dragon.”

“Or maybe it's unlikely a centuries old ancient gold dragon will survive a meeting with me?”

A familiar, pained silence filled the air.

Finally, Ophelia’s first cousin, once removed lowered her sword. The rest dutifully followed. What replaced the blades were grimaces and knitted brows.

“Snow Dancer … Ophelia. There is no possible scenario that fate has deemed it proper to place you here for no other purpose than to pass through.” 

“You’re right. Fate didn't do that, my legs did. Fate dumped me in a forest filled with weirdos who sniffed too much saltleaf growing up. No offence.” 

“Saltleaf is the traditional ingredient to elven culture.” 

“I have no idea what that means. But I know it’s why you still get tourists despite killing half of them as intruders.” Ophelia waved off the next response. “In any event, I’m not interested. You can send my regards to all our aunties and uncles. I made it a point when I escaped … wait, is that the right word? Yeah, that’s the right word. I made it a point when I escaped to not bother with any big elven secrets.” 

In many ways, Ophelia considered it incredible.

How these guys didn't get tired of constantly plotting and planning was ridiculous. 

As the saying goes, when a tree fell in the woods and nobody was there to hear it, it was probably done by an elf. Each time something remotely shady happened in the world, an elf was probably responsible. 

And Ophelia only found it dull. 

“You have no idea what we’re doing,” came the reply, faster than Ophelia could roll her eyes. “Our cause is righteous.”

“Well, it’s not like anyone is going to admit to being the bad guys. Except me, since that’s sometimes fun. A lot of fun.”

“Ophelia, we are not here for fun. None of us are. We are furthering the cause of elvendom.”

“What elvendom? There’s no dom. We have no kingdom.” 

“We have a king.”

“We do?” 

“King Eucian of the Stars. I already said–”

“Wait, is he actually called that now, or are we still humouring him? Because that old bozo doesn’t constitute a king, but wrinkles in an old robe.” 

“... Snow Dancer. You can speak poorly of Uncle Booboo, but not His Majesty. He has held the elven tribes together for centuries where we would have splintered.” 

“He’s held it together with spit. Actual, literal spit. The way he talks is grim. Liquid flying everywhere. That isn’t commendable, it’s just gross.” 

Half the elves in the room looked appalled at that. The other half were proud. 

Again. Because elves. 

“Anyway, whatever that guy wants, I’m out of it. Seriously, I left so that I wouldn't have to deal with any of this furthering the cause of elvendom stuff. Humans are way more fun. They just want to get drunk.”

The wrinkled noses assaulted her in unison.

“Ophelia. It is a mark of shame that you chose to make your abode in Tirea.”

“That’s because you haven't seen my cottage. It’s small but cozy, with a pond, and a fireplace even though I never use it because cleaning it is a pain. But it looks great! More importantly, it has bricks. Beautiful, rain resistant bricks. Our tents look great, but they suck at holding out even the wind.”

“Agreed. Elves should strive for better. And that is what we’re doing.” 

“By playing a band of rogues inside a Granholtz fortress. Because let me tell you, whatever you’re doing, it’s not going to work. A thousand years of plotting and all I see is an uphill carriage now going in reverse. This doesn’t look like it has anything to do with reclaiming our corner of the Fae Realm.”

Before her, cousin #1 allowed her shoulders to fall, forcing herself to relax.

“It would be easier with your help,” she said simply. “The end of those thousand years of plotting have now come to fruition. All the pieces are placed, the actors in motion. What we have designed for centuries will now come to pass, and to have the Snow Dancer by our side would not only be prudent to our cause, it would be a message to us all. For the prodigal child to come home now would be a symbol to unite the last of the tribes. The family.”

“... The ones not enamoured by the spit?”

“There is no spit, Ophelia.” 

“Well, good for you that you were allowed personal space. But I’m going to pass. It’s nothing personal. I decline all shady groups which try to headhunt me.”

The silence which followed did more to chill the atmosphere than the raising of any sword could. Although that was still very much a possibility.

“Are you certain you won’t join us?”

“Absolutely. Now watch as I do the turning around while saying nothing thing. Because I’m literally just passing through. Look, watch as I open this door and consequently pass through.”

“We cannot permit you to leave. We’re sworn to secrecy until this task is complete.”

“Great! Well, I’m not.”

“And that’s a problem. If you won’t aid us, then we can’t abide you simply leaving.”

Ophelia tilted her head and smiled. Duck B flapped in her arms while Duck A watched with curiosity. 

“Oh? It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone … well, no that’s a lie. But I’m not going to tell anyone soon. You go do your thing and I'll go do mine. And mine is exiting this door. And if something accidentally blocks my way, I’m going to accidentally stab someone.”

“There are twelve of us.”

“Thirteen. You guys are terrible at hiding. I see you with the bow in the closet.”

For a moment, only a din of stares met Ophelia as she edged towards the door. A sound broken only by the distant shouts and cries in the background. The daily trundling of a fortress unaware of a disturbance at its very heart.

And then–a sigh.

“I apologise.” At last, the sword opposite Ophelia was removed entirely and placed in its sheath. “That was unsightly. Yet had you known of our purpose, you would understand our hesitancy against unnecessary disturbances. You may go.”

“–Aleesa? Captain? The king …”

“She may go. The Snow Dancer will do what she must. Even one who has estranged herself still furthers our cause in her own way. We shall not draw blades against our own sister. Not now. We stand united, more than ever.”

Then, Ophelia was offered a bow–complete with a swirly arm gesture.

A ceremonial sign of respect. And so all others followed suit. An elegant action to account for her title and the fact her sword was a lot sharper than theirs.

To the wave of sudden deference, Ophelia responded in only the way she could.

She cringed.

All of a sudden, memories of her childhood came flooding back. Those were dark days, filled with elven stuff. Ceremonial stuff. And that involved a lot of swirly arm gestures, bowing and dancing.  

Still, Ophelia gave a smile and did the same. 

No matter how long she was freed from the forests, doing the elven swirly bowing thing was as engrained in her as the ability to be mildly annoying to everyone around her. 

She also didn’t trust the show of consideration in the slightest.

After all, more than speaking to trees, flowers and themselves, elven society involved a lot of violence.

Few people saw it. Elves cared about their image. And since image was just about murdering everyone who glimpsed a different image to what elves wanted to put on, it generally meant a lot of murdering.

For each elven maiden dancing, frolicking and writing bad poetry in the forests for a bedazzled tourist, there was a different elven maiden chopping off the limbs of another tourist because they’d accidentally peeked at her sneezing in a way that wasn’t really cute.

Thus, as Ophelia turned around to face the door, she didn’t hesitate to pluck the knife from the same handle she was still expected to turn … before lobbing it into the mass of wine barrels to the side. 

Thwunk.

The sound of contact was followed immediately by Ophelia diving to the floor, her arms shielding Duck B and Duck A flapping down to shield Ophelia as she waited for the explosion to occur. 

Several seconds later, she was still waiting.

“What … What are you doing?”

Above her, a very wide-eyed and thoroughly alarmed woman looked down at her with confusion. In the corner, a trickle of wine dribbled down from the barrels.

Ophelia blinked.

“Weren’t you about to backstab me?”

“What?”

“You know, after doing the elegant elf act. I figured you’d jump me while I wasn’t looking.”

“No.

“Oh. Nevermind, then.”

The woman, now above, regarded the damaged barrels staining the carpet with a sliver of maroon. Her jaw was slack. As were the jaws of the entire audience present.

“Why did you just throw the knife at the wine?”

“I thought they were explosives.” 

“What … What do you mean you thought they were explosives?”

“Well, I saw the way you were rolling them suspiciously. I figured they had to be explosives. After all, just look at you guys.”

“... Snow Dancer, did you just try to blow us up?”

Ophelia responded by slowly getting back to her feet.

She brushed down a knee while holding Duck B under her free arm. Duck A acrobatically remained sat upon her head as though she were a nest of eggs.

“There are lots of ways I can answer that, but none which won’t end in you guys being mad. So let’s make up some ground rules. No hits below the belt, no teeth and absolutely no tugging on the hair. Agreed?”

A dozen faces screwed in shock and extreme indignation looked at her–just before drawing their swords again.

The next moment, a room filled with very angry elves leapt at her.