His body swayed gently with the minor motions of his new mount, as it slowly picked its way along the trail, the hoofbeats muffled by the damp earth and spring growth spreading its tendrils along the ground. The mocking jays, as well as chirps of at least four other types of birds, echoed through the mixed shadows and sun-sprayed clearings under the ancient forest, interspersed with the clops and thuds of the other horses. While he had been this way several times before, and played among the trees with his friends often not far from here, the terrain appeared to have morphed to his youthful eyes, when he tore his eyes away from his companions. A surfeit of emotions surrounded this new journey, excitement quickly overcoming the sadness of the departure from his home this morning.
This morning, his father had gifted him with a long sword, well crafted by his father’s own hand. “It was supposed to be for your sixteenth name day, but a few months early won’t hurt, and every Malethlal should have a blade as they move out into the world,” Lethroia had said.
“A good bow is always a benefit too,” his mother had countered, offering up a shining long bow of yew, oiled to perfection. A perfectly crafted quiver displaying the lilies and clover of the combined houses of Malethlal and Corianeal accompanied the gift. “Your sister is going to be quite annoyed that she was not here to see you go, Elyrienne. Perhaps she will visit you soon.” Elyrienne missed the glance Tyrelia shot his father as he hugged his mother tightly in farewell.
As he contemplated the farewells of the morning, he quietly studied his surroundings, and surreptitiously, or so he thought, studied the rest of the party with whom he traveled. Every once in awhile, one of three scouts would drop into sight as they visually checked in with the rest of the group. Their horses trailed at the end of the group, but the scouts themselves ran quickly across the terrain through which they traveled. Two other soldiers traveled slightly ahead of him, while one more guided the small train of scouts’ horses. At any other time, any one of the scouts or soldiers would have intrigued him. While not an unheard of sight in his home village of Derehdel, and there were obviously plenty of individuals in any community who served in local militias, or were handy with magic and various weapons, the dedicated scouts and soldiers who served under royal command were another story and he was awed by their skills. At the same time, he absolutely knew in his heart that with the additional training, he could easily perform such duties. What his youthful eyes missed were the truly hidden glances that the other soldiers cast at him.
His attention continuously returned to the older elf who rode beside him. The golden blonde hair and bronzed skin were certainly not overwhelmingly noteworthy by themselves, but the grace in which the knight rode, laden with golden hued scale mail which sparkled when rays of sunshine bathed him in their glow, could not help but attract such attention. He could not believe that he was riding next to Prince Darthoradan Kelenth, sixth prince of Calethria, the mightiest kingdom of Yasa Nalore, and Protector of the Kingdom, commanding officer of the elite Royal Guardsmen. Not only was he riding next to him, but he was on his way to foster in his house! He hadn’t really believed some of the stories, even those in the family histories, in which his father had fostered together with Darthoradan years ago with his great-uncle Geralanth.
The knight shifted slightly in his saddle to look again at his new charge. Although unaware of his scrutiny, the young elf bore himself well, riding easily astride his horse with a natural grace as if born to the saddle. Darthoradan had been surprised by the request to foster Elyrienne. Lethroia knew that fostering at the courts could be a dangerous request, and not one to undertake lightly. Not necessarily physically, but overwhelming and bitter at times in all other aspects. Especially since Lethroia had not really known he was coming to visit. Yes, an open invitation extended yearly, but his duties seemed to consume more and more of his time, and he rationalized awayhis failures to visit by the occasional visit when Lethroia came to the capital for special projects as were suited to one of the foremost craftsman of magical enhancements in building construction. The knight chuckled to himself, and mentally scolded himself to at least be truthful in his own thoughts. Nonetheless, it had been before Elyrienne’s birth since he had visited Lethroia intentionally, and he had finally determined that a few days out of this most recent trip could be directed towards re-acquainting himself with his old friend. He certainly did not arrive expecting to foster a child at court, and had not been able to find a reason to tell him no, although he was uncertain that Tyrelia approved. While that had cast a slight pall on the reunion and activities of the week’s visit, the child certainly seemed eager to move ahead, and he was of an age with Shinelian, and many of their studies could be shared, and perhaps even give Shinelian a non-court friend, a true treasure to her as Lethroia had been to him over the years.
Watching Elyrienne out of the corner of his eye, however, forced him to acknowledge, to himself at least, that all of that was only a fragment of the reason why he had agreed. The silver hair combined with the bronze skin shouted to the world the primary reason, and if that wasn’t enough, the blue pupils that shown from within the golden and coppery hues of the iris would have provided even the most dimwitted of individuals the right clues. Such combinations gave visual reference to the influence of the Valar, and the potential for great power. Bringing him to court was going to be exponentially greater in difficulty for the child than fostering elsewhere, but at the same time it would allow Darthoradan to provide the correct influence as well. An Eventide elf as a foster at court would, at the very least, be entertaining.
“Elyrienne,” spoke the prince at his side, breaking the silence that had filled most of the morning. “It is a lengthy journey to the capital and we have several stops to make along the way. Kyrelian, “and he nodded towards the soldier in the rear, “served as the master of arms for House Kerenth for a long time. He even trained your father and I once upon a time, although he despaired that either of us would ever be able to spar adequately, let alone survive for long in combat.” Smiling back at the older elf, Darthoradan continued, “We both saw you spar, but only with the practice blades similar to your long sword. While Kyrelian no longer serves as master of arms, he has agreed to train you, beginning tonight, and from now on. He may very well assign you to study with other masters at times, but he will be your primary teacher of weaponry. It would be wise not to disappoint him.”
“Yes, of course, my prince,” Elyrienne responded eagerly.
“That, as difficult as it may be, will probably be the least of your worries in regards to your studies,” continued the golden-haired elf. “There are a multitude of opportunities for study, but I have been thinking that eventually you can potentially receive the training of a Royal Guardsmen, and if successful, perhaps even serve as one of my junior aides in the future, at least if that happens to interest you before your fostering ends.” Ignoring the bright look of interest that crossed the young elf’s face, Darthoradan continued on, “Of course, the rest of your studies can not be ignored, and you will share most of those with Shinelian, my daughter.
As they slowly rode towards their next destination, the prince questioned Elyrienne on a variety of different topics, patiently surveying the extent of his current knowledge across the breadth of the realm of Yasa Nalore.
Last Dreams 