I plucked a single blade of grass from the soil.

To others, it was little more than a weed in the background. To me, it was a lifelong resident of my kingdom. And as something which had grown and made its home here, it was privy to more rights than the highest of foreign dignitaries. 

And these elves were not them.

I studied the grass, my keen eyes scanning for imperfections as an audience of tearful faces waited.

They held their hearts in their mouths, their prayers as loud as my sweet humming. I paid them little heed. If I didn’t care for the sniffles of my servants as I examined their cuffs, I most certainly didn’t care for the whimpering of litterers as I went over their cleaning. 

After several moments, I obliged with a nod of satisfaction.

“Very well. This is acceptable.” 

At once, a chorus of relief filled the still air. 

Elves with their hands red from the filthy rags in their hands collapsed to their knees, their fine hair blotchy with sweat as all the weight of their contrition felled them at last.

I offered a gentle smile towards the assembled hoodlums.

“Yes. You did well. Now, you may begin scrubbing.”

The silence which greeted me was total. A moment later, an elf at the back decided to faint. I wasn’t certain why. It seemed a strange posture to scrub in.

Then, a single voice spoke up amidst the welling tears.

“But … But didn’t you just say it was acceptable?”

“I did. And if I were to decide that I no longer possessed standards, I would accept this as the end of your tuition. Fortunately, I’m an excellent educator. And so are my expectations.”

“But–”

“Precisely. To be acceptable is to be average. And under my instruction, you shall become exemplary. Until I see the reflection of my smile upon the grass, I do not consider this task complete. Now–you may begin scrubbing.”

Slowly, one by one, the sound of whimpers filled the air …. followed by the sound of rags scrubbing against the grass. 

A cacophony of music as sweet as any philharmonic to play in the Royal Arc Theatre. And yet as I stood with my arms crossed and expectations high, all I had to offer was my disappointment at the venue for this orchestra of contrition.

The cedars grew thick and fast here, their branches swaying merrily in the knowledge that their destiny was to become a new combined tea table, chair and bookshelf set the moment I returned to the Royal Villa and petitioned for a new lumbermill. 

A warm scene, yet far away. 

Almost as far as the garden of pavilions I’d left behind.

“Coppelia.”

“Yes?”

“How far are we from the illegal encampment?”

“2.6 miles.”

I let out a quiet groan.

“2.6 miles,” I repeated after her. “Is … Is this normal for their frivolities to extend to a length as great as the cake for my 9th birthday? This is absurd. No celebration they hold can be as great as those held in my honour.”

“I think this is considered modest. There aren’t too many of them here, after all.”

“M-Modest?! Are you saying that each time a band of elves dances in my kingdom, they leave their disturbances for miles in each direction?”

“Yup! But if it makes you feel any better, normal elves do tidy. Eventually. Sometimes. We have a few in the library. Work comes at the end of the day for them, but they still do it.”

I wrinkled my nose at the assembled vagrants.

“Then perhaps those elves would be willing to share why so many of their kind are traipsing around my kingdom while reeking of misdeeds.”

Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub.

In answer, the sound of their frantic efforts immediately increased, eyes hard on the grass as they sought to avoid my focus. Somewhere, a foot kicked out, knocking away a rag and slowing a compatriot down. 

I nodded. 

Nothing raised efficiency like unfriendly competition.

Even so, I required answers. This was hardly the time to shy away from my maiden’s gaze. Normally, this wasn’t a problem. There was an order to things, and interrogating goons came never–so long as there was someone more qualified to answer.

A problem, then.

Because that required me conversing with elven nobility. A punishment on its own. But even more so given that this one was currently the finest scrubber available. 

Scrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrubscrub~

Without requiring any cajoling, the elven count swept entire carpets of grass clean of all impurities. 

Using the sweat dribbling from his own chin to wet each individual blade of grass, not even a speck of dirt remained as a sheen of luminous green was left in his wake.

I nodded.

1/10.

Excellent work. 

But disgusting. 

“You,” I said, clicking my fingers towards the nobleman. “You may cease in your contrition for as long as it takes to speak five words or fewer. Why do armed elves plot in what is soon to become the kingdom’s premier furniture showcase?”

The count paused in his trials, blinking as sweat burned his vision.

Even so, as his gaze briefly swept over the pearly garden of green nurtured by his hands, his lips broke into a smile of supreme satisfaction.

I rolled my eyes.

Ugh. Not even nobility. But elven nobility. Even while they were crawling on the ground, they still wore the guise of victors sat upon whatever straw bales they considered as thrones.

“Eucian of the Stars,” he answered, his voice calm despite the stress of his workload.

I raised my hands in exasperation.

“And what is that? A new species of rodent?”

The count shook his head. I wished he didn’t. Wig or not, it was like a golden spaniel flinging mud everywhere. Except this was sweat. 

I gave it a moment’s thought.

0/10. A rating downgrade. Truly grim.

“Eucian of the Stars is no rodent. He is an archdruid of ancient power whose wisdom was gleaned from pages no elves should read. Once a pariah on the fringes, he is now our ruler, appearing from the mist with a crown thought long lost. And he has captured the elves with a promise to right the wrongs of history. Harken to the coming clouds, adventurer. He would see all this land drowned in his ambitions if it was to raise a single monument in his name. The doom of your kingdom is at hand. For he is the Elven King. And he is here.”

I raised both hands to my mouth.

“An Elven King … is here?”

“Yes.” The count creased his brows, nodding in seriousness. “With all his designs and his dark mind. Even amongst the archdruids, he is famed, known to dabble in texts buried deep in the earth.”

I reached out, holding onto Coppelia’s arm as I felt my knees begin to tremble.

An Elven King … in my fair kingdom …

Horror filled every morsel of my soul, drying my lips as my gaze saw into a future where no flowers bloomed. A vision of bleakness met me, fields filled with ashes and all the colours of the world stripped bare from the earth, leaving only shades of smoke and embers upon its palette.

It was my worst nightmares come to life.

An Elven King.

I … I was mistaken.

This … Whatever of the Stars … he was no rodent.

He was far worse than that.

Rodents consumed everything they came across. 

But elves?

Elves were perennial litterers. Whimsical merrymakers with no regard to tomorrow.

An Elven King with all his retinue … just what kind of utter trash heap was that going to leave behind?!

Furnishings piling on our beaches! Food as high as the mountain tops! Bonfires in every garden!

I peered around me, my eyes wide with fretting dread. A single band of elves had caused rubbish to be strewn in a 2.6 mile radius.

My father’s personal staff numbered in the countless thousands, as all who resided in the kingdom were his servants. If this Elven King had an equivalent number of retainers at his disposal, then that meant the amount of discarded rubbish I could expect to cover my flowers was … 

Why, it was … it was … numbers.

My kingdom … my orchard … it was imperilled!

“Finger,” I said at once, raising mine for emphasis. “Point.”

The count blinked, his serious demeanour giving way to confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Point. Where is he? Where is this–”

“Eucian of the Stars.”

“Whoever! I will send him a welcoming gift to ensure he knows exactly what cordiality he can expect for choosing my kingdom to plot in! … Coppelia, find me a mailbox!”

“Okie~ what if I can’t find a mailbox?”

“Can you make me a mailbox?”

“Sure!”

As my loyal handmaiden promptly began collecting twigs from the ground, the elven count looked at us both with nothing short of bewilderment.

“Are you … going to send him a letter?”

“No. I’m going to send him a mailbox.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, I admit that I, too, have little idea how Coppelia is going to fashion a mailbox from the resources around us. Even so, she’s quite talented in these things. I’ve no doubt she’ll manage it.”

The count blinked, opened his mouth to response, then thought better of it.

Eventually, he gave a curt nod.

“I see … am I to understand that you intend to meet with the Elven King?”

“No. I will take a leisurely stroll. And should any cockroaches coincidentally appear in my path, I will swat them with the sole of my boot.”

“That, I believe, isn’t wise.”

“I know. My soles will need scrubbing for days. Be that as it may, a point needs to be made.”

“A point I’ve little doubt is quite sharp. I’ve seen your sword. It is … well, frankly, horrifying. But Eucian of the Stars is no common druid. He is an archdruid. And he has delved into magic long before you saw the first leaves fall. No matter how fast you swing your blade, it matters little against the armour he can conjure, for he wields the power of the earth itself.”

“Excellent. He should be well accustomed to it after I use my boot of authority, then.”

The count pursed his lips in hesitation. His hands absentmindedly began to scrub.

I nodded. His road to redemption would be long. But it had begun.

“I don’t think I made myself quite clear. The Elven King is a–”

“Stop.” I held up my hand. “Is this flea responsible for the disorder which plagues this region?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“Wonderful. That’s all I need to know. Which way may I find him?”

The count simply gawked like a confused goldfish.

“Do you, uh, not wish to know why he’s here? His motives?”

“Please. The only reason I’m not continuously rolling my eyes at that is because I don’t wish to fall on this grass after the certain vertigo that would occur.”

“I assure you the grass is very–”

“Suffice to say, I do not care who this Elven King is. I do not care for what dull designs for this kingdom he possesses. And I do not care that it’s more practical to measure my foot size than to simply buy every pair of slippers and see which ones fit. I’ve far more important matters to deal with. Each second I’m not commissioning a stack of goose feather pillows from the Summer Kingdoms is a second I’m falling down the priority list. Does knowing what this King of Littering has planned help to prevent that?”

The count paused for several seconds.

“No.”

“Then there is your answer.”

“... I see. It’s simply that, well, most adventurers at least wish to know the reason their opponent does what they’re doing. There’s the possibility of the information being pertinent to helping them defeat said opponents. It might be important.”

“The inner workings of slugs is not important. Only that given an infinite amount of time, they all end up in my begonias. They are a scourge and I shall see each one removed, beginning with this self-proclaimed monarch of yours. Now, please point.”

The elven count blinked in response.

Then, after several moments, he pointed … north or south. One of them.

“There are elven ruins, long looted in the heart of the forest. He’s claimed his abode there.”

I didn’t bother hiding my groan.

Ruins. 

Of course. Because plotting from a well-lit manor with a working reception was too civilised.

Ugh. It was one thing to undermine my kingdom. It was another to do so from a hovel of dirt and dust. Here was a foe with the originality of a freshly dug potato.

… Still, this was also an unexpected boon. 

After all, if he was already in a place of ruins, then I couldn’t be scolded by my mother for any incidental damage which occurred!

Why … I couldn’t be blamed for what was already destroyed! … Right?

“Very well. I shall diplomatically evict this unwelcome visitor. In the meanwhile, you shall all clean.”

At once, tears freshly dripped down reddened cheeks. 

The count swallowed a gulp. But even so, he looked upon his carpet of unmarred green with a note of mismatched pride.

“I see … and what are we cleaning?”

“Everything.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean, ‘everything’?”

“I mean what I mean. Everything which enters your eyes shall need cleaning. Whether it be the grass, the trees or the distant mountains, I expect it to be cleaned.”

“That … I’m sorry, but if you could be a bit more spec–”

“You may begin now. And ensure not a single speck is missed. I shall return to judge the work.”

With a nod to stamp down my wishes, I turned either north or south. Maybe east. 

However, before I went to settle the matter of deporting a foreign monarch, I turned my attention to the only one silent.

A perpetually stunned pixie flying beside me.

She manually closed her open mouth with her hands, then raised them in the air.

“You. Pixie.”

“That’s my name. Pixie.”

“Excellent. I require you to deliver a word of warning to the Loerstadt Gate.”

“A warning? Ah, you mean concerning all this stuff about an elven archdruid king, some miscellaneous plotting and all this scary stuff you should probably be asking about but you’re not?”

“Hm? No, not at all.”

“Oh, right. Then what should I warn about?”

I looked at the framework of a mailbox Coppelia had built. She flattened and folded it several times until it became a convenient cube. 

Then, I raised a hand to my lips and smiled.

“Ohohoho … about falling objects in the area.”