Chương 9

Teresa, Ardur of Greenwood Twenty Years Ago It was utterly improper for a servant to return before their master, and yet here she was, walking through the gateway of the manor. Accompanied by less than half of her fellow ardur, all of them stained in blood, mud, soot, and sweat. She felt as if she was in a dream, or nightmare rather, distant from herself. Her body was something she was observing more than operating, and her words were being said by some instinct rather than any conscious direction.

Her limbs were too heavy for her to move, and yet they refused to stay still and lay down, and in that way they carried her back home.

"You've returned," the lady of the house called out to them from the balcony overlooking the entrance. Lady Greenwood, golden hair splayed around her shoulders and bright eyes agleam in the evening shadows of their forested township.

"Does my husband play games? Whither hast he gone?" Teresa's lips opened on their own, but no words escaped them. She closed her mouth after a moment, ears hanging low and face stained with sweat and mud. None of her fellow ardur spoke up, and none of the tirdur, the house-maids, who watched the walls or gate of the manor made any exclamation.

"... Servant… where is Lord Greenwood?" The lady of the house dropped the game of words and wit, voice scandalously blunt and direct as worry began to build in her voice. She pulled herself over the railing and fell, landing upon the courtyard grounds and striding over to them. Her bright eyes were opened in an intense, demanding stare, and her ears were pulled back in alarm.

"... The siege of Erem has been broken, and the dragon repelled," Teresa's lips eventually mumbled out, her eyes staring ahead at the doorway of the manor, not looking at the lady of the house.

"The mountainfolk of Erem have offered thanks and rewards for the aid of the Greenwood host in driving back the dragon and shattering her army." Lady Greenwood's ears pulled back and up in uncertainty.

"... Is… Is Lord Greenwood among them, receiving their thanks? Were you sent from his side early?" An implied question as to whether or not they were being punished. Teresa certainly felt punished. Whipped and beaten and morose, unsure of where exactly she had failed, and what she could've done differently. She began to speak, only to choke up on her words again and hesitate. Her hand shook, balling into a fist, and angry tears began to build at the corner of her eyes. Lady Greenwood noticed this at once.

"... Where is Drasil?" she asked, a command with desperation building in its undertones. Her hands came forwards to grasp her by the shoulders, and Teresa's head fell forwards to hide her expression.

"Where is my love?" A pair of her fellow ardur came forwards with a humble box, slowly opening it to the lady of the house. Lady Greenwood slowly let go of her shoulders and reached over for the box, withdrawing the contents with shaking hands. A silver helmet and tattered green cloak.

"L-lord Greenwood did… did not survive the battle…" Teresa's mouth finally managed to formulate the dreadful words.

"He pressed forwards to drive the dragon back, and was devoured… The dragon escaped thereafter, and where she has gone we- we do not know." Worse than mere death. Consumption.

"... I… I would like to request an end to my service as fieldmaid, and begin duties as a housemaid, L-Lady Greenwood…" Teresa mumbled out, a horrible, wretched sense of hollowness in her gut. Lady Greenwood clutched the helmet and cloak to her breast, a distant expression settling over her features. Slowly, silently, tears began to fall down from long-lashed eyes. They traced down along fair cheeks and slipped off the edge of her chin. Lady Greenwood took several long moments to reply.

"... We will allow this…" the new master of House Greenwood declared, authority settling upon her delicate shoulders like an unwelcome paramour. Still clutching the helm and cloak, she turned and began to walk for the doors of the manor.

"... We… we will… be in our chambers…" Silently, fieldmaid and housemaid both watched the Lady Greenwood retreat back into the manor, crystal droplets descending in her wake. Teresa surprised herself when she felt a spike of jealousy, that Lady Greenwood could at least clutch the vestments of Lord Greenwood as she wept. The jealousy made her feel even more miserable.

— On the Road from Hoofcross to Erem Gravelbrook Dura, First Daughter of Clan Gravelbrook"There's a monastery some miles from here, along the road and a bit aways. They'll certainly offer a room to sleep within if we request one," the dark elf stated confidently the next day, ears straight up and stare focused upon Mallorn. Mallorn, for his part, was busy listening to something that neither herself or Rayne could hear.

It was his usual habit, and she had grown bored of asking him what he was listening to after the dozenth time he replied with 'an unladen sparrow in that pine over there, see her?' The answer was always no, Dura could never see them. Neither could the man. The dark elf could, occasionally. The trees he was looking at were farther than a stone's toss away, and a sparrow was much too small and well-colored to be spotted in thickets and branches.

When asked how he knew they were unladen, he simply responded with a 'they move differently in the air, swifter' and a humorous smile implied a joke that she wasn't aware of, but she couldn't see where. She didn't know enough about sparrows to dispute that claim. It sounded reasonable enough to her ears, and that was good enough she supposed, even if the humorous smile was quite bothersome.

"It's up to Lady Dura, in the end. I'm merely her accompaniment." Mallorn shrugged off responsibility for making a decision and placed it squarely upon her shoulders in a most aggravating manner.

"By extension, Rayne and yourself are merely my accompaniment." The dark elf turned a fearsome stare upon her, ears up and eyes wide and focused, making Dura flinch back for a moment before finding the pride of the Dwarves somewhere in her gut. She straightened her back and glared at the dark elf.

"There's not a need to glare at me like that!" she protested with a scowl.

"I'm not glaring," the dark elf responded quickly.

"I'm staring, and waiting for you to come to a decision."

"Ah decision over what!?" Dura responded, raising one hand and chopping it at her.

"There's not a decision here, a-all you did was mention a monastery. I know entirely too little about it or whatever alternative there is to it to come to any sort of decision!"

"She's just being an elf, again." Mallorn cut off the dark elf before Lucia could respond, then ignored her offended huff.

"There is a monastery up the road. We can stop by and ask for shelter for the night, or simply sleep on the road again and ignore it. She is being a worryweed about nothing and is trying to bully us into choosing that first option."

"I am not being a 'worryweed'! Moreover, I'm a dark elf, not an elf!"

"All that means is that you have brown skin, dark elf."

"All I'm doing is making a good suggestion to aid our travel, little elf."

"Why wouldn't we ask for hospitality?" Dura interrupted their spat with furrowed brows.

"I- there's no harm to it, right?"

"Absolutely none, we'd be fools not to," the dark elf declared, raising her nose to the air.

"No harm to it, no. At worst we simply sleep upon the road again as we have been doing. At best we have shelter, beds, and company for the night." Mallorn agreed with a simple nod.

"Lucia is simply being bothersome and insistent about it."

"Eh, if we're spending the night at a Monastery, I'll go ahead and sleep outside." Rayne gave a shake of his head and pointed up.

"No harm to it, as was said, but I really prefer to sleep under open sky."

"Huh? You seemed fine sleeping in Madam's Inn," the dark elf questioned with a tilt of her ears.

"If you try to sleep out in the open in the city, you're just going to get robbed." The man shrugged carelessly.

"If it's in a Monastery, then it's safe enough. I like looking at the stars while I nod off."

"I'm sure the monks won't mind overmuch." Mallorn gave a little nod.

"At least you'll keep the stallion company."

"Pheh." The man let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

"I'm sure the old boy will appreciate that."

"How far away is this monastery, dark elf?" Dura asked, looking over to the caramel-skinned women staring fire into the back of Mallorn's head. Dura wasn't sure what exactly had triggered it this time. The dark elf glanced down at her, before pressing lips together and shrugging.

"Perhaps half a day? It was a quaint little place last I visited."

"And how long ago was that?" Mallorn asked dryly.

"Not long!" she snapped and huffed.

"Maybe uhh…" the dark elf trailed off, before reaching up to rub at her forehead.

"Maybe ten, twenty years ago?"

"I'll go ahead and assume it's been reduced to rubble since last you were there." Mallorn focused his gaze back on the road.

"Horrible monster attack, no survivors."

"You didn't even know about it before I mentioned it, little elf!" The dark elf was not amused.

"I think I heard about this place in Hoofcross, thirty dead, their remains staked and left outside the walls as a warning." The elf nodded confidently, a morose twinge to his voice.

"W-what? Really?!" Dura asked, stepping forwards with a worried furrow to her brow and grabbing Mallorn by the hip-plate again.

"T-that's terrible!"

"It is, isn't it? It's a good thing I'm lying, otherwise this would be a tragedy." The faint smile was clear even through his mask. She narrowed her eyes, looking up and trying to puzzle out what the point of that was.

"W-what?!"

"That's a terrible joke," the dark elf declared.

"Pft." The man let out a tiny laugh.

"I'll have to remember that one, elf, it's good."

"Thank you for laughing, Rayne. If nobody had laughed I would've cried." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I-it was kinda funny." Dura averted her gaze, trying to make him feel a bit better for making a terrible joke.

"Lying is a terrible thing to do, Lady Dwarf," Mallorn said solemnly, reaching down to rub the top of her head with his hand. She, having gotten used to that sort of treatment from him, merely squinted up at him for the touch.

"A vile and terrible thing, please feel no need to lie to spare my heart, I'd mourn the loss of your innocence."

"You just lied," Dura pointed out.

"As part of some jest."

"Nuh-uh." He denied at once, childishly. She slapped at his hip. He simply let loose an exceptionally elvish chuckle. —"Sing us a song, elf," Rayne requested in a commanding sort of way later on the road, where the stones turned from sandstone to granite and the trees gave way to more open rolling plains.

"What manner of song, man?" Mallorn responded in an amused sort of manner.

"An Elven song, I reckon," Rayne chuffed back.

"And not a dark elf song, I already know what those are like, and they involve a hair too many screams for my liking."

"They do not involve screams, Bastard." Lucia glowered from the side.

"Stop lying to him. They're perfectly good songs."

"Then why don't you sing, dark elf? Prove me otherwise."

"Hmph. I think not, after you just insulted my kind in such a manner."

"That's because I called it right."

"Oh! I think I'd quite like to hear more of your music, Mallorn." Dura nodded vigorously, ignoring the bickering and focusing on her current guardian.

"That harp you used in the logging village, I enjoyed it immensely."

"Well, if the Lady requests it, I suppose I have to comply." Mallorn shook his head back and forth.

"Give me a moment to remember a good tune. There's a great many Elven songs, you know?"

"And how many of them are about frolicking in trees?" Rayne asked with a grin.

"Less than you'd think, but entirely too many," Mallorn answered swiftly. After a few moments of quiet, he nodded his head again and declared.

"Alright, I have a song. It's about the Elven homelands, which by legal tradition, are not allowed to have weather that is too unpleasant." Dura blinked, then her face scrunched up in befuddlement.

"What?" Lucia questioned with furrowed brows.

"I've never heard of that."

"Naturally, you're a dark elf." Mallorn dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"How would you even enforce such a law?" Rayne asked with a puzzled look of his own.

"Mages perhaps?"

"It's true! It's true!" Mallorns voice took on a jolly and musical lit. The smile could be hear in his voice, behind the wooden mask.

"The crown has made it clear! The weather must be perfect all year~""Ah, it's a song-" the dark elf began with a note of realization.

"Quiet!" Dura snapped at her with a pointed finger and glare, wanting to hear the singing clearly. Rolling tones with a light sort of sound to it, much unlike the deep booms of Dwarvish singing, the bone-shaking songs of the elders that echoed up and down the entire mountain for many miles around. The dark elf gave a little offended look, but stayed quiet and allowed the elf to keep going.

"A law was made some distant moons ago there. The seventh and eighth cannot be a firebrand~" he continued to sing, bringing up his fingers to start tapping on his wooden breastplate, making 'thunk' noises in time with some improvised melody.

"And there's a legal limit to the snow there, in El'enland~" His ears began to flick, in time to some other instrumentation that wasn't present.

"The winter is forbidden until the tenth. And exits third, the moment dawn has spanned~" He bent down and rustled her hair again, making her laugh and shove the hand away as he finished the stanza.

"By order summer lingers through the ninth, in El'enland~" He grabbed hold of her hands, stepping back and dragging her with him in an unexpected dance. She tried to not fumble over her steps, her hands engulfed in his and eyes wide at the sudden motion demanded of her.

"B-bwah-" she let out as she was twirled about on the cobbled road.

"I know it sounds a bit bizarre. But in El'enland, in El'enland. That's how conditions are~" Untroubled by her mild panic, the elf continued to sing, hands keeping her standing and going through the motions of the dance even as she failed to keep up with it.

"The rain may never fall till after sundown. By eight the morning fog must disappear~" Eventually, it was too much, and she tripped over her own tangled feet. She closed her eyes as she tipped over, anticipating the fall to come. The fall never did come, as strong hands caught her before she dropped completely, by the hand and the lower back. Suspended, half-tipped-over, she cracked open her eyes.

One hand held above her head, the other worriedly pulled into her chest, and the tips of her heels barely touching the graveled road. Green eyes smiled down at her, through the eye holes of a wooden mask. Long blond hair fell down to tickle her face and neck.

"It's true I must contend, not more delightful sands, for happily-ever-aftering than there- in- El'en-land~" She wasn't sure whether to laugh from the sudden thrill or be angry at the elf-handling of her person, so she simply decided to be a little dazed instead. He laughed merrily, standing her up straight and performing an exaggerated bow, first to herself and then to their two-person audience. She coughed, brushing herself down and glaring at the elf.

"Swinging me about like that- I'm betrothed, you know!?"

"You're smiling, you know?" His ears waggled down at her. Upon realizing that, she tried to force herself to frown, but found that she could only giggle into her hands.

"Y-you- hehe- H-horrible elf!" She was failing to be mad at the sudden fun.

"I'll make up with your betrothed, and ask him for a dance too, how about that?" Mallorn offered with a hand raised, palm facing upwards. Briefly, she pictured the elf and her betrothed performing a dance, and found the image marvelously amusing. She huffed, raising a nose to the air.

"Very well! I shall allow this!" She put on her best gruffish tone when declaring her approval, before letting out another giggle.

"I believe I see the chimney-smoke of the monastery now, if your wild affair is quite finished with."

"My affairs are quite civilized, I'll have you know," Mallorn promptly countered.

"You're an elf," Rayne pointed out.

"This is true." Mallon shook his head in faux-sorrow. —"I was told this was a monastery, but it's truly more of a small town in my eyes, Master Monk," Mallorn commented to the brown-robed man leading them through a modestly cobbled road up towards the granite and sandstone church at the top of the hill. Rayne had been allowed to head off towards the stables with his horse, but Dura and Lucia accompanied Mallorn to receive the hospitality of the faithful.

"Oh, no need to lay such titles upon me, Master Elf," The monk, a grown man with bushy eyebrows and a head shaved bald, replied simply.

"I'm but a humble friar. The only one deserving of a proper title is the abbot Ingram, and he'll be too humble to accept it at face."

"Much like yourself then, Master Friar?" Mallorn teased. The friar chuckled at that.

"Yes, I suppose like myself." He nodded, before tilting his head and bringing the previous topic back.

"And yes, the Lecten Abbey is quite the humble jewel. It's difficult to avoid taking too much pride in working these lands and halls." The little smile on his face emphasized the point, and the wistful gaze cast over the sloping hillside reinforced it further. The Abbey was built around a central church, which took the place of a traditional keep, flanked by two boxlike buildings that surrounded inner courtyards and connected to either side of the church proper.

The church was granite, and the walls were sandstone, of newer construction. This great central structure was in turn surrounded by gardens of bright and aromatic flowers, vineyards, and the buzzing of honeybees. This was surrounded by a low sandstone wall, which was only barely built up enough to impede small attackers and wild animals. This section was in turn surrounded by a number of buildings, mostly of wood and clay brick, interspersed with fruit trees and statuettes and tiny shrines.

The most notable of which was half-built over the gentle river flowing besides the hill, down from the mountains and towards a distant pond. These buildings were surrounded in turn by another wall, this being of clay brick and raised earth, and again only just tall enough to ward away man-sized attackers.

This gave way to fields full of sheep and henhouses and pens for merrily snorting hogs, with fences of woven wicker and wood and nails, and the occasional modest farmhouse in the distance tending to fields of wheat and potatoes and onions and gourds and so on.

"I think I've heard of this Abbey," Dura declared with furrowed brows.

"Lecten. The name is familiar."

"Ah, perhaps. We trade away a great deal of our excess goods, wines and honeys and such. It keeps us busied and funds the maintenance and expansion of the churchgrounds." The monk chuckled.

"Though we're best known for our cheeses, I think."

"That's right!" Dura stated with a look of realization.

"My uncle brought home some of your cheese, one time in autumn, and it was delightful!"

"Ah, that's very good to hear!" He smiled down at her.

"I'll see about bringing some out then, a little sample is within the spirit of hospitality taught by the All-Mother."

"And certainly not a chance to boast, is it?" Lucia gave a coy grin to the friar.

"Perhaps only a little, Lady Dark Elf, I'll have to ask forgiveness for it." The friar grinned back. They reached the stone steps of the church.

"You just missed evening mass, though I make no presumptions about your attendance. Many are more private with their faiths."

"I wouldn't mind attending the next one, if you'll allow it, though I can't say I'll be much for actually participating," Mallorn requested, walking in through the doors after the friar.

"I've never attended a proper mass before, the Elven rituals of my home are more like festivals, seasonal."

"Allow it? I think it would be quite wrong of me to forbid it!" The friar laughed, leading them through the sort of entry-hall to the left, towards what seemed to be a set of dormitories that opened up to the courtyard.

"We'll welcome your presence, certainly, and ask only that you be polite during the proceedings."

"I can certainly oblige that. Though I must ask, if you have cheeses here, then surely you have milk too. Yes?"

"We do, much in the cellars and well chilled."

"Might I steal one jar from you? I happen to enjoy the taste of milk greatly, and it's been a week or so since I've had any."

"Strange to request a thievery, friend!" The friar chuckled.

"I can certainly bring a jarful up to you, though I ask you return the jar afterwards."

"That I can do."

"Here, a room for you gentlefolk," the friar declared, reaching a door and swinging it open, allowing them to see within.

"I can have a spare mat brought up, as there's only two beds. We've had a number of folk, mostly dwarves, pass through from Erem asking for hospitality already. I'm afraid most of the rooms are already full."

"That'll be fine, thank you. Myself and Lucia can share." Mallorn waved the matter off, ignoring the sudden sharp-angles of the dark elf's ears at that.

"Lady Dura here is betrothed, after all, it wouldn't be right to force her into cot or with another." Dura hummed at that, walking into the modest room and looking around. There was a window looking over the courtyard and the room was warm in the summer air. Other than that, there wasn't much else to consider.

"Ah, I see, I see!" The friar nodded, then smiled.

"One moment, I'll go get some supper and cheese brought to you. I'll come by to tell you when morning mass begins, if you wish."

"Yes please, thank you for your help, Master Friar."

"The All-Mother's love should be shared, Master Elf." The friar smiled, waving a hand and walking away.

"We'll share, hm?" The dark elf gave something in between a stern and flustered look.

"I'll ask you no funny business happens while I'm in the same room." Dura declared with a waggled finger.

"Good enough of him that he's not making you sleep on the floor, dark elf!"

"I'll ask that you don't put your feet on me, I'm expecting them to be absolutely frigid." Mallorn commented, walking over to the window and looking out, before frowning. He pulled back, and furrowed his brows.

"... Dura, this Abbey was famed for their cheese, yes?"

"I believe so."

"... Do dwarves grow hooves, perchance? Or just horns?" Dura blinked, before pulling back and giving him a confused look. She walked over to the window, before pulling herself up a tad and leaning on her elbows to look out into the courtyard. There was a woman out there. Little horns on the sides of her head, hooves in place of her feet, and dressed in similar brown robes as the friar.

She hummed happily as she groomed the gardens, pulling out errant weeds and repacking the soil and occasionally giggling at little bees buzzing about her. Most notable was how her figure strained the robes, bust and hip just a hair too much for the garment, and the little hole cut in the back to allow a little whiplike tail with fluff at the end to hang out.

"That's a huldra, I reckon," Dura declared.

"Dwarves don't grow hooves or tails like that."

"I see." Mallorn nodded, crossing his arms.

"I saw and heard no cow pastures." Dura furrowed her brows at him. Behind them, Lucia fell into a coughing fit. No cows, but famed for their cheese…? She tried to remember what the Lecten cheese tasted like, but could only remember 'delicious'.

"Goat cheese, do you reckon?" she suggested.

"I saw some sheep, I think." Mallorn tilted his head.

"... I'm exceedingly curious about what their dairy actually tastes like now. I imagine it quite different from Elven dairy." Lucia's coughing fit intensified. Dura hadn't known that elves had pastures. She supposed that made sense, most people would if they wanted cheese. And everyone wanted cheese, it was simply delicious.