Silevethiel (14 page)

«We are talking about me,»
Laegon reminded him after releasing the Guardian from his arms.
«Not you.»

«Would I ever do such a thing?»

The prince answered Brégen with silence as he teasingly lifted his left brow.

The lion feigned distress and shot Laegon a crestfallen glance.
«That is not the answer I expected.»

«Perhaps not, my friend. But it is accurate all the same.»

«How is she?»
Brégen asked after returning his gaze to Irewen.

«She is fully protected and is only resting. I will keep my wards in place until Silevethiel wakes and can form her own. For obvious reasons, her shields will be far more efficient and in tune with Irewen’s needs.»

«Aye,»
Brégen nodded.
«The Dame should wake shortly. I can begin to feel her emerging from the bowels of her beauty sleep.»

«You are incorrigible, my friend.»

«So you have mentioned on numerous occasions, though I cannot fathom why.»

The two companions watched as Irewen opened her eyes. She looked questioningly from the elf to the Guardian.

“You are fine,” Laegon reassured her, answering her unspoken question. “Recalling your ordeal triggered a reaction to the spirit’s evil. I had a similar experience before fighting the Drulaack. I have wards in place. None of us are in any danger.”

Nodding, Irewen tried to sit. Brégen swiftly pressed his muzzle against her chest, pinning her to the ground. She remained perfectly still as he proceeded to inspect her neck and face. His large black nose moved purposefully over her features, and she giggled as his soft fur and long whiskers brushed lightly against her skin.

After a few moments of his meticulous inspection, Brégen paused over her forehead, quickly pressing his enormous tongue squarely in the center of her brow. He slowly raised his head and glanced at Laegon. Nodding to the elf, he took a step back, as if to say, ‘I suppose you did an acceptable job. She is now free to rise.’

Taking Laegon’s hand, Irewen stood. “How are the two of you able to treat such a situation so lightheartedly?”

Laegon shrugged his shoulders. “It comes with practice I suppose.”

“That’s amazing,” she said, totally mystified.

Laegon placed the cloak around her slender shoulders. “Brégen provides all of the amazement. I am simply an accessory.”

She fastened the silver clasp around her neck. “At least you are an attractive accessory.”

Laegon kissed her lightly on the top of her head. “It is good to know I have something going for me.”

Irewen glanced towards Silevethiel. The Dame’s tail flapped against the ground as she stirred in her sleep. “I know you said we should rest tonight,” she said, “but I would prefer if we made some ground. I fear we have lingered here too long.”

“As long as we all feel rested enough, it is fine with me.”

«Aye,»
Brégen concurred.

“That is settled then,” Laegon replied. “I will start a fire and prepare a hearty evening meal. We will leave once Silevethiel wakes and has eaten.”

“No,” Irewen said slowly, shaking her head in disagreement.

“No?” he replied quizzically. “But it was your idea to leave.”

“Of course it was. That was not the problem with your statement.”

“Then what was?”

Irewen eyed him mischievously. “I will cook the meal.”

THE REMAINDER OF THE COMPANY’S JOURNEY TO Silverden passed by without incident. Irewen was completely unprepared for the insurmountable beauty and grandeur meeting her eyes when the home of the Wood Elves came into view. Sitting regally atop Nythrandiel, she gasped, staring at the city with her lips parted in awe. Not wanting to taint its perfection, she pulled on the large black stallion’s reins to bring him to a halt just outside the city, only vaguely aware of the others as they came to a stop around her.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to no one in particular, the amazement in her voice quite obvious.

Glancing at her from Silwen’s back, Laegon smiled with pride for his beloved home. “Aye,” he agreed, knowing that after the two hundred and thirty-nine long years of his life, his reaction at seeing the great elven city was still exactly the same as Irewen’s. No matter how many times one was fortunate to gaze at her artistry; they could never look upon Silverden without marveling at her sheer exquisiteness.

“Does one ever tire of her beauty?” Irewen asked, as if sensing his thoughts.

“No,” he replied, returning his gaze to the white city sparkling in the moonlight. “Nor would anyone ever want to.”

Silence descended upon the companions as woman, elf, and lions indulged in Silverden’s magnificent splendor.

Towering fir trees, larger than any Irewen had ever seen, soared majestically to the heavens. While at first glance they appeared to be simply covered in snow, closer inspection revealed that the thick long needles, as well as the bark on the trunks and branches, were as pure a white as Silevethiel’s fur. Covered in ice and snow, the trees sparkled brilliantly beneath the silver moon and stars twinkling in the night sky.

Cobblestone paths, the color of a light pewter and lined with silver lamp posts, meandered gracefully between the magnificent trees. The candlelight from the lanterns danced about the city, causing the ice crystals to shimmer even more radiantly. Large elegant houses constructed of the same luminous stone as the pathways were nestled between the expansive fir branches. Their roofs, thatched with the lengthy white needles from the trees, were adorned with a myriad of flowering vines that miraculously bloomed year round, even in the dead of winter.

The flowers were unlike any Irewen had ever seen. Somewhat similar to a rose, they were much larger and featured long, wide petals with frilled ends that reminded her of the finest lace. Despite only having the light from the moon and lanterns to illuminate the way, she could still see the colors of the flowers perfectly. The most delicate shades of blue and violet imaginable, they embellished the houses and buildings like icing on top of a cake.

Irewen let her mind wander to the comparatively drab features of Dargon and realized that the most impressive aspect of Silverden was that everything was perfect. There was absolutely nothing out of place. Nothing was run down or showed any signs of deterioration. Not a single flower was brown or wilted. Not one needle on any of the trees varied even slightly from the pure white of the others. Every lantern hanging from the silver posts flickered with the same vibrant intensity. There was not a stone that was chipped or a window that was cracked. No crumbled pieces of paper or discarded scraps of food dotted the streets, and there was not a single beggar trundling through the city.

“How is this even possible?” Irewen whispered.

“How is what possible?”

Irewen started, not realizing she’d actually spoken the words aloud. “The perfection,” she answered, turning her attention to Laegon. “Nothing varies. Nothing is askew.”

“That, my dear Irewen, is the magic of the elves.”

“But there is not even the slightest hint of deprivation. Are there no poor or homeless?”

Laegon cocked his head, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

It was Irewen’s turn to look baffled. “You mean you do not understand what it means for someone to not have enough money to purchase a house or buy food to eat?” she asked incredulously.

The elf shook his head. “The wealth and power of Silverden lies not with coin, but with its people. Everyone has a purpose within the community. We all work together as one to ensure the beauty of our home is maintained and preserved for generations to come. Money was fabricated by the world of men. The elves have no use for it. We never have. It causes people to become greedy and lust for more power than they need or deserve.

“With no class system, everyone is equal. Everyone is treated fairly and with the same amount of reverence and respect, myself and my father included. We do not expect special treatment, and we do not receive it. I acknowledge those I meet the same way they acknowledge me. There is none in all of Mistwood who is less fortunate than another. Everyone has what they need to live comfortably. No one is ever left to suffer on their own. We are many, but we are one. We always have been. And we always will be.”

“But without money, how does one purchase a home to live in or clothes to wear?”

“I said we were many, which is true. But compared to kingdoms of men, elven communities are small. We live for hundreds of thousands of years. The desire is not as strong for elves to reproduce as frequently as men, nor is it practical. In peaceful times, we may lose only one or two members of the community per year. If we did not keep our birth numbers relatively equal to that of the deaths, we would have outgrown the entire land of Vaelinel centuries ago.

“As a result, we are an extremely tight-knit community and forever bound by our insurmountable love for one another. It is through that love for each other, and for our home, that we are able to survive. Each of us is gifted in different areas. Some are able to make exquisite clothing and some are able to grow even the most stubborn crops as easily as they can breathe. For some, their gift is carpentry, and for others it is forging the weapons vital to our warriors. For still others, their contribution to the community may simply be tending our beloved belfir trees that are the heart of our home. Once elflings’ gifts are discovered, they are nurtured and allowed to grow until they are masters of their arts.

“Because each one works to perfect their gift and better the community, when someone is in need of something, it is simply given to them. No one is ever asked for payment, nor is any expected. I am free to walk into a penndryn and take vegetables to use for my evening meal without leaving anything in return because I serve that shopkeeper every day of my life by protecting her, her family, and our community. Subsequently, the elf tending that same penndryn can walk into another and choose a new dress or cloak without leaving any form of payment because she provides food for dozens of elves each day.

“It is in this way that our community succeeds. When a couple weds and needs a home of their own, one is built. When someone falls ill and needs medical attention, it is given to them. When an elfling wants to learn how to speak and read the tongue of men, they are taught. In one way or another, everyone gives, and everyone receives.”

“What of purchasing or trading with other kingdoms?”

Laegon shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “We are completely self-sufficient as a society. We produce and manufacture everything our people may require. There is no need to buy goods or materials from other nations, even those of our elven kin.”

“It seems impossible,” Irewen responded in wide-eyed fascination, “but also amazing and extremely rewarding. The sense of friendship and support must be extraordinary to experience.”

“Well,” Laegon replied with a smile, “what say we enter the city so you can see for yourself? My father is expecting us, and as I am sure he has informed the whole of Silverden, I suspect there is quite a feast awaiting your arrival.”

Irewen’s eyes sparkled like jewels twinkling in candlelight. “That sounds lovely!”

Laegon grinned. “Then follow me, dear Irewen, and prepare yourself for the grand hospitality of the Wood Elves.”

Irewen gaped at her surroundings as she was led through Lord Brandir’s grand home. Much larger than the others in Silverden, it was easy to pick out as belonging to the royal family. She’d been quick to point out to Laegon that it was hardly equal to the other homes, nor was it fair that the Lord’s home seemed to be the only exception to the rule of balance in the society. It certainly looked as though Lord Brandir and his family were receiving special treatment.

She’d been afraid Laegon would take offense to her observations, but on the contrary, he simply smiled and acknowledged that although it might seem that way at first glance, it had been built this way out of necessity, not out of greed.

“Even a society that prides itself on equality and fair treatment needs a ruler,” he explained. “There will not always be times of peace. Harmony will be threatened both from without as well as from within. After the Divide, when the other three races departed and the Wood Elves remained in Silverden, they were neither too proud nor too confident to realize they would need a leader. There needed to be someone they could look to in times of danger or uncertainty who would make decisions to benefit Mistwood and protect its people.”

Lord Brandir’s mother, Lady Amina, was elected the first ruler of the Wood Elves, and her home was subsequently built. Because of the need for enough space to hold Council meetings and entertain guests, as well as a library to house the historical and familial archives and precious collection of books, the royal home was indeed grander in space, but not in quality. Laegon was adamant that Irewen could walk into any home in Silverden and see the same types of outstanding and expertly crafted furnishings as those on display in Lord Brandir’s home. The same carpenters displayed the same detailed furniture for everyone to choose from. Every elf took pride in their work. Though an exact piece was not created repeatedly, no one, no matter their art, would dream of creating anything that did not have the same unparalleled quality and design as everything else.

Admittedly, Irewen forgot all concerns of inequality when Laegon began to lead her through the home. The furniture, expertly crafted from the white wood of the belfir trees, featured carved designs of the trees themselves as well as the same floral vines adorning the houses. Gleaming silver candelabras and wall sconces of varying shapes and sizes held perfectly formed candles colored the palest blue Irewen had ever seen. Rich dark blue curtains framed the large arched windows. The heavy fabric, embellished with flowers embroidered in silver thread, was pulled to either side of the glass to let in the soft moonlight. Fine hand woven rugs in blues, greens, and violets adorned the gray stone floors. Large tapestries, as well as intricate paintings, decorated the light green walls.

Everywhere Irewen looked, she saw the most delightful ornaments. A marvelous collection of statues, vases, figurines, epergnes, and mirrors made the royal home feel welcoming and inviting; yet, as she continued to follow Laegon through the stately rooms, she was terrified of accidentally bumping into something and knocking it to the floor.

“Do not worry,” Laegon told her with a smile, sensing her trepidation. “Though we have not had many foreign visitors, every single one of them has walked just as gingerly through these rooms, terrified they would ruin something by simply glancing in its direction. There is such a thing as being too careful for your own good. Just act naturally. Though, I have to admit, the last time something was broken by a guest, they were acting quite naturally.”

“Who was it?” Irewen asked, carefully stepping around a beautifully carved belfir pedestal displaying an ornate silver basket.

“Brégen,” Laegon answered with a wink. “He broke my father’s favorite porcelain teapot.”

“Aye, indeed he did,” boomed a jovial voice. “Which is why as long as I am the Lord of Silverden, Guardians— especially that feisty one of yours—are never again allowed inside these walls.”

Irewen turned to see a tall elf who, for all intents and purposes, looked like a slightly older version of Laegon. His straight dark brown hair fell just below his shoulders, framing his slender, heart-shaped face. Deep brown eyes twinkled at her as his long legs closed the distance between them.

“Many welcomes, Princess Irewen,” he said after taking her hand in greeting and kissing her ring. “I am Brandir Elendell, Lord of the Wood Elves. I am honored to have you in my home. You are invited to stay within the safety of these walls as long as you desire. What is mine is yours.”

Irewen curtsied deeply. “Thank you, Lord Brandir. Your hospitality and kindness mean more to me than I can say.”

“There will be no bowing to me, my lady. None of my kinsmen are expected to do such a thing, and neither are you. We consider each one of us as equals. Myself included.”

“In that case, Lord Brandir, I ask that you do the same to me. In light of recent events, I no longer consider myself a royal daughter of Dargon. Please, simply call me Irewen.”

“Very well, Irewen.” Brandir smiled, releasing her hand. “It is refreshing to meet someone outside the elven kingdom who understands and respects our belief of equality and tolerance of one another. Come, follow me to the banquet hall. A good number of my people refused to delay the celebration of your arrival. They have organized a rather splendid feast to welcome you into our home.”

“How splendid!” Irewen followed Lord Brandir through the large white double doors. She stopped dead in her tracks at the wondrous sight that met her eyes. Directly in the center of the hall, decorated much the same as the rest of the home, was an enormous rectangular white belfir table; it was almost twice the size of the one in Dargon’s castle. Approximately six feet wide and forty feet long, it could easily accommodate between forty and fifty people; though, at the moment, the coordinating white chairs were placed around the perimeter of the room. The table was laden from end to end with a myriad of tantalizing hors d’oeuvres, tea sandwiches, canapés, and desserts.

Looking about the room, Irewen immediately understood Laegon’s earlier claim that the house had been built this large out of necessity. She could not even begin to estimate the number of elves who congregated in the hall. All of them turned as one towards the entrance when Laegon gently nudged her into the room.