Chương 30: Chapter 28

The Greenwood Mallorn the elf The anticipation of leaving again made the days drag on, but eventually the time came for the wedding and celebration. If he had run off on his own, then he'd never make it in time, and his obligations to his friend would be broken, so it was best that he simply bear the annoyance from being stuck in the Greenwood for the week. A week he could wait. A lifetime he could not. He was dressed in the minimal fineries that the maids tried to insist upon.

A set of fine black shoes, black trousers, long-sleeved and well-frilled white shirt, red vest, a long black coat, and the mantle-pelt of one of the lazy bears that made the Greenwood their home. It was the first bear he killed under Titania's instruction, its pelt turned into a sort of cloak to commemorate the moment. Something that he had to ask for- his family had suggested turning it into a rug or stuffed animal and both of those were awful ideas.

The maids had fretted about his addition of the cloak for a while, but he had been firm on it.

"A bold choice, going to a wedding wearing that old skin," Florella said with a smile and a little waved hand, looking like a statue draped in red silks.

"A very brave brother we have, don't we Rosalina?" Rosalina, wearing something like a battlefield skirt, corset, and bright green mantle, flickered her ears slightly awkwardly.

"The dwarves, I'm sure, will appreciate the look," she eventually replied. The hidden meaning was clear, 'because the elves do not'. He didn't bother to respond to either, maintaining a gaze with his old general tutor. A tall elven man with long straight hair pulled back and wearing fine silks over his thin frame. A set of tiny glasses were perched elegantly on the bridge of his nose, and his expression was impassive as ever.

"You'll miss several years of general education, should you leave again," he observed plainly. Yosen never had any real emotion on his face or in his tone that Rasil could ever observe. It was always dry and flat with him. The very picture of a bored scholar.

"I will," Rasil replied with an equally plain tone. He wasn't too worried about missing out on ancient history lessons from the man. Yosen nodded, reaching into his robes and pulling out a scroll, offering it to him.

"I've prepared a general reading course for self-study. It should cover the next decade of your learning- The next scroll will be provided upon request, in a decade's time." Rasil raised a brow, reaching up to take the scroll and taking a glance inside. Sure enough, the same robust general courses that he had been taking his whole life was inside, just as mind-numbing with its holistic thoroughness as any verbal lecture.

"... I could've gotten this at any time?" Rasil grumbled. Scrolling along revealed that the scroll was magically compressed in some manner, much longer than its physical bulk would imply.

"No. I did not write it until after you fled," Yosen refuted woodenly. Ten years of coursework written in a week or month at best? He wasn't blind to the effort on his behalf. Rasil closed his eyes.

"Thank you, Yosen." Yosen nodded.

"You will be tested on the content within when you come for the next scroll," he declared simply. A strong implication in the statement being that Rasil will, in fact, come back for the next scroll. …Once a decade wasn't too bad. He sighed and nodded.

"I can probably do that." He made no promise, not wanting to lock himself into any obligation, but Yosen merely inclined his head.

"That is all," he declared, before glancing around at the wedding party.

"Give my well-wishes to the Drachish couple." And with that, the scholarly elf turned and walked away, disappearing down the halls at a steady pace and leaving sight a few moments later. As annoying as Yosen's lethargic coursework pace was, Rasil found it hard to have any real negative feelings for the older elf.

"For one so full of fire and venom- Rasil is sweet when he tries to be!" Florella grinned, leaning over towards him.

"That Galen boy sent word the other day, you know? Said to send thanks for finally giving him the motivation to learn how to swim! Now what kind of heroism did you do while we weren't looking again?"

"Threw him in a pond," Rasil responded flatly, not bothering to look at her as he tucked the scroll into his own jacket pocket and hefted the giant golden axe again.

"... Pardon?" Florella asked, ears twitching.

"We are ready," Mother called out, descending from the second floor stairs in her fineries and flanked by servants.

"Make for the waygate." Rasil opened the heavy oak doors of their home himself, not bothering to respond to Florella's request for clarification, and ignoring Rosalina's troubled gaze. His patience was simply exhausted for elves. Maybe in a few years. Maybe. — Erem Mallorn the elf The return to Erem was a thing of much bombast and applause, they were greeted on all sides by cheers from battered men and dwarves and trolls.

The town of Duram-Mandom looked to be almost flattened in a great many places, foundations in the process of being relaid and critical structures already almost finished being erected. The sublime speed at which their efforts were undertaken was marvelous to behold. The wedding party was a half-open thing, set up before the mighty gates of Erem itself and stretching as far as the lake before them in a kind of fairgrounds.

There were sellers and buyers about, with smells of quickly-cooked meals and sharp tangs of horse and saurian and humans and mountain-folk all around. There was laughter and song rising into the air from all directions, grounded by the undercurrent of mourning and low grumbles from hillish giants who sat among the fair in scattered spots and spoke in low tones with each other over dozens of meters or more. Rasil's attention was more thoroughly captured by a familiar face among the welcoming party.

"Rayne! Ahah!" Rasil laughed, waving a hand and ignoring the sudden sharp looks his accompanying elves gave him. He stepped forwards, flipping the axe around so that its head swung low near the ground in a distinctly unhostile manner. The trolls that had greeted them stepped aside simply enough, allowing him to approach his quarry. Rayne the Bastard, awkwardly and tiredly smiling next to his old horse and a drider that Rasil did not recognize. He glanced towards her once before disregarding her for the moment.

Rayne chuckled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"It's good to see that-" He was cut off as Rasil smashed his forehead against his, sending them both staggering back with bleeding foreheads. He grunted in pain as his hand shot forwards, gripping the Bastard by the ruffled collar and pulling their skulls together again, this time stopping them from separating.

"I met your mistress," Mallorn muttered in a low and stern tone, forehead pressing against the Bastard's and teeth grit.

"I heard that you left before the battle started." Titania had been helpful in outlining exactly what went on during those critical moments. His tone was almost accusatory, and just loud enough for Rayne alone to hear. Rayne hissed in pain for a moment, before chuckling morosely.

"She could see through my eyes," he whispered back, just as quietly. Rasil's ears flickered once. Rayne had left before the battle had begun, but that would be after he entrusted the compass to Titania that would let them find him, but… if his guess of the timeline was correct, before Malamadr had reached Erem for whatever she was planning on doing there with a bunch of golden coins in hand.

She was surprised by Titania's presence, which means that she didn't know, and if she could see through his eyes, then leaving would… leave her vulnerable to the sudden ambush. Rasil let go of the axe and pulled the Bastard into a firm, manly embrace.

"You're a Bastard, you know that?" he laughed, pounding his hand on Rayne's back. It was just like him- to save Rasil's life in such a selfish-seeming manner.

"It's a name," Rayne laughed back, returning the embrace before pulling away, smile dropping as he did. He kept a firm hand on Rasil's shoulder.

"I'll handle telling the Madam about Lucia-" Rasil shook his head firmly.

"Nay- I'll be with you for that. It's only proper," he declared firmly, giving the Bastard a sharp pat on the shoulder before finally pulling away completely. Rayne stared at him with inscrutable eyes, and Rasil just now noticed how one was blanked out and unfocused. Completely blind. Rayne smiled and shook his head ruefully.

"Aye- I suppose I can give you that. I owe you a whole lot more than something like that." Freedom from his Mistress. Rasil didn't imagine it was a very happy servitude.

"So am I to call you Mallorn still or-""Yeah that's fine. It's the name you know." Rasil nodded with a grin, before glancing at the awkward looking drider.

"... So…" He pointed a thumb at her.

"Who is this?" he asked, having a feeling he knew already.

"Hm? Oh that's a drider I met running down the road- I uh.. I threatened her into stopping so I could ask her what was going on," Rayne said, rubbing the back of his neck again.

"When I learned-""He ran right back here," the drider answered, looking rather haggard. Rasil nodded slowly, looking her up and down.

"... And you… followed?"

"I, uh-" She swallowed, reaching up to twirl her hair.

"I didn't want to be alone." That was an exceptionally cute thing to say. Rasil sighed and shook his head.

"I suppose you weren't actually planning on eating me, huh?" It was funny in retrospect, how these things turned out.

"That's actually kinda disappointing."

"Well, maybe one way- wait- why is that?!" She started with fiddling fingers before recoiling with a little baffled scrunch to her face. Her little creepy spider-mandiles fiddled around at her 'waist'. She almost sounded offended by the notion.

"Because Rasil here is a damn fool who likes the notion of fighting and killing against large monstrous things," Rayne declared sharply and loudly. Rasil laughed at the proclamation, but didn't disagree.

"You being a sweetheart under that monstrous devil-half ruins the fun!" The Bastard reached over and jabbed her in the stomach sharply, which she flinched and closed her arms around her torso protectively.

"Rasil is quite forgetful at times," Florella stated loudly and somewhat teasingly from behind him. Rasil's ears flattened out as he rolled his eyes.

"Baby brother doesn't realize that not everyone knows his cute little friends~""Hehe- Yeah Mallorn, why don't you introduce me to these lovely ladies~" Rayne said, stepping up and around, forehead still bleeding. He took up Florella's delicate hand like a proper knight, stopping low to place a delicate kiss.

"Here- I'll do the courtesy for him. I am Rayne, the Bastard, might I have the honor of knowing this vision of beauty's na-gah!" Rasil tripped him while he was bent low, lips pulled into a crooked grin as Rayne kissed the earth. Rayne growled as he pushed himself up from the ground, reaching out and shaking him by the collar.

"Hey now- what's the big idea!? I'm trying to score here!"

"With my sister?" Rasil growled back with a half-grin.

"I'm saving your life here- she'll kill you with these illness-inducing confectionaries of hers."

"H-hey!" Florella gasped. Rayne got a serious and sober look in one of his eyes, the other still blank and unresponsive. He glanced back and forth quickly between the two." Your sister?" he asked quickly for confirmation, then shuddered as Rasil nodded amusedly.

"I owe you my life, good friend." Rayne declared, patting him on the back. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The trolls around them boomed with laughter, as Florella looked like she had no idea what to think. Rosalina's brows were furrowed, and Mother's gaze was heavy. — Erem Mallorn the elf"I've much to thank you for, I've been informed." Greymill Dawain was about as dwarfish as Rasil could imagine any dwarf being.

A short, stout looking man wearing fine clothes, carrying an axe on his belt, and a fine steel cap on his head. There were little holes carved into the helmet for the horns to grow through- and Dawain's particular horns were curled once and then up. He had curly black hair, a well-braided and oiled beard, and looked every image of a polished Dwarven gentleman.

"Only one or two things were on purpose. The rest were incidental," Rasil refuted briefly, before his lips widened into a grin.

"I'll accept your thanks for them regardless, if it pleases you."

"It does." Dawain grunted with a sturdy nod, reaching out a calloused hand. Rasil took it and gripped it firmly, and they shook strongly on the matter.

"For the rescue of fair Dura- let it be known that you've made a friend for at least one lifetime."

"You're so stiff!" Dura complained at his side, giggling as she held her new husband's arm. Dawain coughed into his fist, looking the very part of a slightly abashed husband with an overeager wife.

"Instead of thanking him for me- thank him for killing Malamadr huh?!"

"You're more important than killing some dragon," Dawain declared, before his words seemed to catch up to him, and he did his best impression of a statue as his face went red. Dura gave a delighted, embarrassed giggle as she buried her face into his shoulder and shook her head around, knocking her horns against his back and arm. Rasil chuckled, head tilting to the side.

"Heh- I'm glad to see you're getting along. It would be a shame to accomplish all that only for you to begrudge one another." Dawain nodded seriously at that.

"Our grandsires went through all the effort of arranging a good match, we'd be shaming them if we didn't do our best with it." A very responsible and mature way of going about it.

"He's liked me ever since I shoved him off an aqueduct," Dura confessed with a teasing grin. Dawain coughed into his fist again, and Rasil laughed.

"Right so- If there's anything Clan Greymill can do for you. I'll do my best to see it done, Master Elf," Dawain declared, clearly trying to change the topic. Rasil considered that for a moment, glancing around at all the wedding celebrations that were starting up.

"Well… I suppose there is one thing- Is that suit of Mala-scale armor ready for me yet?"

"There were some delays." Dawain shook his head regretfully.

"We only finished it three days ago, Elder Kells fell asleep in front of the inner forges and no one could get through for a few hours there."

"So it is done though?" Rasil asked for clarification, keenly aware of his family's gaze upon his shoulders a short distance away, within hearing range. It would take a bit of finesse to pull this off.

"Aye." Dawain nodded.

"After the wedding ceremony proper- and the dance I owe you. I'd like to put it on for the final stretch of the event." Rasil nodded with a grin.

"See how it feels on me, and all that. After that- one more thing once my armor is on me."

"Most certainly!" Dawain nodded eagerly. Then paused with furrowed brows.

"... Dance?" Dura collapsed into a fit of laughter, head buried against his shoulder. Rasil gave an amused grin. — The fitting chamber was enormous, as were all other mountain-folk chambers, on account of the need to fit the giants that stomped around within them. One such giant with long braided beard slung over his shoulders loomed over him as he stood before a polished sheet of silver and inspected himself.

The armor of Malamadr's scales were certainly something to behold, largely reddish-gold and fashioned in a distinctly dwarvish style. Sections of bone carved into plates that covered over mail and gambeson padding, with a coat of her scales that covered the torso, upper arms, and hung down in the fashion of an armored kilt. The pauldrons were spiraling horn, chiseled into shape and set over his shoulders, longer and higher on the right than the left. An inversion of Malamadr's own horn asymmetry.

His helmet was of sturdy construction, bone with a mounting at the top for a long whiplike decorative tail to dangle back. They had carved for him further a good hunting knife, a shield from one of her largest scales, a spare sword, and a bow of her horns.

"I'm impressed- I had thought my sizes would be hard to tell from how brief we interacted," Rasil confessed, turning around and evaluating himself from every angle. Most importantly, able to see that no other elves were in the chamber.

"Our fingers grow too large to fit the little ones," the smithing-giant said with a booming rumble.

"But our eyes never lose their grasp on detail. Lest we tread our grandchildren underfoot."

"It was quick work," a troll said almost bashfully, grumbling off to the side with a hammer on his belt and horns swooping low.

"Barely acceptable. Barely."

"We've the rest of her carcass preserved, hide and bone and sinew and fat all," another troll said with a grumble.

"If ever you need anything further rendered from it, come to us and name it, Slayer-Elf."

"If I ever think of something." Rasil grinned up at the troll with golden clasps around his horns.

"In the meanwhile, I'll leave her remains in your care." They gave a number of booming, rumbling, satisfied grunts at that.

"You said to Dawain- that there was another matter you needed handled," the Troll said with a raised brow. Rasil gave a cheeky grin. —"Wha- Mallorn!?" Rayne called out as he dashed through the darker sections of tent and festivities, rapidly approaching the man and his horse. The drider was there too, which he wasn't too terribly surprised by.

"Keep your voice down!" Mallorn declared, approaching the horse. He threw a pack of supplies and two bags of golden coins over the beast. He was smiling, helmet latched onto his belt as the loudest festivities took place in the distance. Giants booming and droning on about the ancient history of Malamadr or something as they readied to 'present' him. The secret being, of course, that Mallorn wasn't going to be presented. He was going to be well on his way out of here again. The favor he had asked for?

Let him out a side-entrance, distract the elves for a period while he got away, and tell his mother he intended to visit the Greenwood every few years anyways. Rayne had a sort of bleary-eyed look to him, tankard in one hand and a fried dough snack in the other. The drider was looking far more energetic in the night, eyes aglow and skittering around in unnerving ways in the darkness.

"We'll be going now, I'll be cashing in whatever favors you feel you owe me for this." Mallorn waved a casual hand, offering a fresh apple to the horse as a peace offering. Another thing asked for from the mountainfolk.

"But we've no time to waste and a Chosen Heroine to help!" Rayne stared for a few seconds longer, before sighing and pushing up from the bags of flour he was sitting upon.

"Alright- alright. I owe you this much, at least." He chuckled, quickly getting to work to ready the horse and then beginning a quiet but quick walk towards the edge of the fairgrounds. Trolls loomed in the distance, lanterns suspended from their horns as they scoured for unwanted visitors. Mallorn waved at them as they passed by.

"So what's your name, fat spider?" Mallorn asked with a teasing grin.

"I-i'm not fat!" the drider wailed.

"It's Dordi," Rayne answered with a laugh, the moons shining down on them as they made distance between themselves and the unstoppable tones of the giants.

"A silly name, I know."

"It's not a silly name- a-and what did you mean about the Chosen Heroine?!"

"Haven't you heard?" Mallorn threw an amused glance back at her.

"I've got a Quest from Amarami herself now."

"Wait, what?" Rayne startled.

"I'll explain along the way." Mallorn waved him off, hefting the great golden axe over his shoulders.

"Now- tell me, how many babies are you and Dordi here going to have? What are their names going to be?"

"What?" Rayne startled again.

"Seven," Dordi answered with a teasing smile, shoulders losing tension by the moment.

"What?!" Rayne echoed, louder, looking very lost.

"Keep your voice down, you fool!" Mallorn laughed. And in that manner, the three of them slipped off into the night. — Yosen, Royal Instructor Ten Years Ago There is nothing more important than the education of a young elf. A society of the uneducated was no society at all, and that was doubly important for the children of Amarami with their long lives.

A principle that he had felt strongly about for as long as his memory stretched back, though he could no longer remember the specific impetus that led him to develop it. The basic education, learning to speak and walk and talk and the like, were usually covered by servants of the household. More advanced education fell to learned men as himself. Yosen had educated five fine young elves thus far, and each had grown up to be well-appointed and successful.

No student was truly the same, but he was experienced enough to be comfortably confident in his abilities. When it came to him that Lord Greenwood, one of the five princes of the north, had a son, Yosen set aside a decade in his schedule to wait to start educating the boy when he was old enough to speak. He offered his services in advance by courier, and after a brief interview with the current master of the house, was chosen from among the handful of candidates.

Lord Greenwood had ended up dying in the intervening years, and worse, being consumed. Death and rebirth were a mere half-century away, a temporary separation from loved ones, but to be devoured was a permanent end. Tragedies like that were rare, but unfortunately, not unheard of. Yosen made sure to send his sincere condolences when he had received the news. The boy named Rasil looked to be a fine sort, from Yosen's initial observations.

The child of ten was still immature in form, a young sapling that had yet to grow into a mature body. It'd be another ten or twenty years before he reached an adult's frame, and another seventy or eighty years past that for him to achieve full maturity. At least, that was the normal pace of elves.

"Greetings. As of today, I will be your instructor." He made sure to be careful in his exact verbiage. His mana was simply so much greater and richer, his words so much weightier, and to misspeak would be to inflict an unwarranted curse. Teachers had the privilege and burden of education, and were thus exempt from the normal obfuscation and implication that allowed older elves and younger elves to interact safely.

The boy looked up at him with an evaluating expression, taking in Yosen's appearance with a long, slow sweep of his gaze. He shared his hair and eyes with his mother, bright golden locks and shining emerald orbs. One ear twitched lethargically. Then, the boy smiled and nodded, reaching out a hand.

"I'm Rasil- nice to meet you, teacher." Yosen raised one brow, then slowly reached out to take the much smaller hand and shake it up and down.

"Indeed. I have the privilege and responsibility of being your instructor for as long as you require one. The standard curriculum will take ninety years, concluding on your one-hundredth day of birth if followed exactingly." The pair of them sat on identical mats on a stone patio, overlooking a modest pond of brightly colored fish and a well-groomed garden that surrounded it. A series of black scrolls, a set of writing utensils, and a large basin of clear water with golden lettering carved in the side.

"Ninety years…" the boy replied with a combination of awe and dread. It was an intimidating figure to hear for a boy of only ten years.

"... What will you be teaching me, to take so long?"

"My lessons will cover the subjects of language and writing, reasoning and rhetoric, mathematics and arithmetic, the sciences and medicine, and an introductory course in magic, geomancy, and astronomy." Yosen nodded gently.

"There will be additional lessons about the basics of administration, the crafts, proper exercises, husbandry, leadership, music and song, horsemanship, sailing and rigging, archery, swordsmanship, woodscraft and economics." The boy stared at him, silently, brows raising higher and higher as he continued to list the subjects they would cover together.

"... Just the basics, huh?" the boy replied with a delightfully refined sarcasm for his age.

"Further education will need to be sought once you reach adulthood, if that is your desire." Yosen nodded in agreement, making the boy pause and give him another evaluating glance. Yosen reached forwards and tapped the side of the water basin, letting a trace of his mana flow into the object and filling the water with opaque smoke.

"Shall we begin?"

"Woah- what is that?" the boy asked excitedly, leaning forwards at the swirl of smoke in the fluid. This is where the first lesson began, patience.

"It is a viewing basin. They will be covered in detail at a later point."

"... How much later?" the boy asked, looking up from the basin and raising a brow at him.

"If your learning pace is in accordance with expectations, viewing basins will be covered in roughly thirty years," Yosen replied, anticipating a fit from the child on the other side of the basin from him. Promisingly, the boy did not burst into complaints, instead his face scrunched up and he leaned back.

"Oh. And you- you can't just explain it briefly now?" Rasil asked, raising one hand and wiggling it slightly.

"No." Yosen shook his head.

"You must learn patience." It was critical to cultivate patience from a very early age in elves. They were blessed with very long lives, and very long memories, and recklessness could easily result in early deaths or long, lingering regrets. No matter how much the boy whined and begged, the pace of the lessons could be no faster, lest Yosen spoil his development and prepare his student for early death by doing something foolish and risky.

Children oft had tantrums early on, but as soon as they learned that tantrums would give them nothing, they'd start to learn the patience required of elves. Very promisingly, the boy did not begin a tantrum, he merely stared for a few long, silent moments before letting out a long sigh.

"Alright. What's the first lesson then?" He was already learning it. Yosen nodded and gestured at the basin, which began to swirl into distinct shapes.

"The earliest records we possess are known as the Beaewnian Tablets, which are held in the protection of Great Lady Ara'aranel, Cano of Life. They describe the creation of all things as we know it."

"Her name is 'Ara'aranel'?" the boy asked with no small amount of skeptic amusement, though what the joke was, Yosen couldn't detect.

"She will be covered in detail in roughly ten years." The boy's smile slipped from his face.

"... okay."

"The initial lines have been scored out by ancient sabotage. The third line is where legible text begins, and it is as follows. You may wish to take notes as we progress." Yosen helpfully handed over a scroll and writing utensils, and then began. The boy looked at both with a little scowl on his face.

"I see."

"-divided by his hand. Illonda set the boundary around his work, and of real and unreal, and Amarami danced over the black waters to her- the next line is fragmentary- pleasure." Yosen began to recite and the boy began to duly take notes. A very promising beginning, only frustrations and no fits.