" Watch this."

- High Druid Heldir Oakheart before permanently turning himself into a tree. He remains a respected elder in the Caer Ffaraon Grove.

***

“You’re staying at the Concordian Embassy?”

The streets had grown quiet as the hour grew late, the daytime traffic replaced by the odd carriage and evening pedestrian. Vivienne stood alone and wide eyed at the front gate of the embassy. She’d traded her somewhat plain school uniform for a dark blue dress, matching cape and black leather gloves. She’d kept her pointed hat.

“Yeah. Pretty nice place, right?” said Alvanue.

Her desire to look nice had warred with her embarrassment at the idea of wearing a formal dress to a dive bar, so she'd compromised: she chose a black tunic with matching pants, and a purple velvet cloak. Simple, tasteful, but not too nice as to look over dressed.

Edhalan, of course, chose that instant to join them. He had heard that she was going out with Vivienne and her group of friends and had insisted on joining. ‘You’ll probably get in a brawl and get killed because you can’t fight for shit and then I’m gonna get killed by His Majesty for failing to protect you, so, I’m coming with.’

“Who’s she?” he asked in Elvish.

“Who’s he?” Vivienne asked.

“We talked about this earlier. Be nice!” She hissed.

He pursed his lips in annoyance but turned to look at Vivienne.

“You have the honor of addressing the Lady-” he began.

“Ahhhh bsshhhhh zip it!” she said and slapped a hand over her friend’s mouth. “I’m Alvanue, just Alvanue, and this is Edhalan. He goes by Eddie for short, isn’t that right, Eddie?”

Being the extremely petty elf that he was, Edhalan licked her palm in retaliation. She snatched it back with a sound of disgust and wiped off his spit with a corner of her cloak.

It wasn’t that she was trying to hide who she was, but at the same time, if her classmates realized that she was the heir potential to one of the realms of the Concord, things might get weird between them. Better they think she was the daughter of some courtier or Ambassador at first. It was a lost cause with the staff, her sire's name and title had been on all the forms she and Ragnell had gone over, but she wanted the opportunity to make genuine friends before news of her real identity spread around the school.

Vivienne’s narrowed eyes flicked between the two of them for a second before she spoke.

“…Right.” She said. “Well, the others should already be at the inn. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

They made their way down the street, drawing some strange looks from the few nighttime travelers they encountered. Even so close the embassy, few humans had ever seen an elf up close. Edhalan stared rudely back until Alvanue snapped at him in elvish.

Freezing fog had rolled in from the channel as the last lingering rays of the sunlight faded in the west. While Vivienne shivered against the chill, Alvanue felt energized. Edhalan seemed to feel the same, his step picking up a bit of a bounce as they set off into night-shrouded Avalon.

Following Vivienne, they traded the well-lit High Street of Castle Hill for the labyrinthine back alleys and side streets of Granton’s Peak. It was down one of these alleys, so narrow they had to walk single file to fit through, that they found the inn.

The Hangman looked half dilapidated from the outside, a narrow building squished between a row of shops and the wall separating the two districts from each other. The cartoonishly poor illustration of a man hanging from a rope was painted in white on a sign nailed out front, the only indication that this was indeed the Hangman Inn rather than some condemned townhouse. The narrow courtyard that the alley opened up into in front of it was overflowing with stinking trash.

Alvanue and Edhalan shared an apprehensive look but allowed themselves to be herded inside by their shivering guide.

It was hot and cramped within, but surprisingly clean considering.

Splintery but thoroughly scrubbed tables filled most of the open space of the main floor, which was covered in a layer of fresh reeds to soak up any spills, with a small, well-kept bar to the right-hand side. It was hardly packed with patrons but there were enough people for the small space to feel almost claustrophobic, if it were not for the high ceilings, lit by weak candle light and wall sconces. A stairwell shared wall space with the bar, leading up to the inn’s dark second story, where Alvanue assumed the bedrooms would be. From the back corner, a group of young patrons spotted Vivienne and waved her over.

“Took ya long enough!” said a red-haired boy with a thick scar across the bridge of his nose.

“Vee!” gleefully shouted what looked like a small hairy girl.

At second glance, the girl appeared to be a dwarf. Her eyes and nose barely peaked up over the edge of the table, but she waved her hands excitedly when she saw the girl in the witch hat.

“Here, grab some of those chairs, we’ll scoot over to make room,” said the last of the three.

She towered over her two companions, broad shoulders thick with muscle and her skin a pale shade of green.

An orc, Alvanue realized with interest.

The three of them were drunk or well on their way to it going by the many empty mugs littering the table.

They snatched a few chairs from an unoccupied table and the orc waved a barmaid over to order another round of drinks. The dwarf was insistent that they catch up and egged Vivienne on to drain her first mug in one go.

As Vivienne worked her way through introductions, the dwarf, Thisby, stood on her chair in order to snag the red head, Adair’s, ale.

She was in the same class as Vivienne, a second year in the Mage Program. Adair, the human, was in the Knight Program, a second year as well. He reclaimed his drink with a shout and chugged it down indignantly. Thisby swayed where she stood and pointed at the foam mustache left on his upper lip with a shriek of laughter.

Ula, who Vivienne explained was a half-orc, seemed to be the most sober of the group, regardless of the fact that she was drinking straight from her own personal pitcher. She was also the odd one out in that she was the only third year of the group.

The group spent a while just chatting amongst themselves.

Alvanue happy enough to listen while the four friends discussed the end of the summer session, gossiping about people she didn’t know and complaining about courses she had yet to take. Eventually, after the four had their fill of school drama, talk turned to Alvanue herself.

“So, Alvanue, huh? What kind of snooty name is that?” Adair grumbled after a lull in the conversation.

Alvanue was saved from figuring out how exactly to respond to that by the dwarf.

“Shut up,” Thisby interjected before turning to her. While everyone talked, she’d climbed up from her chair to sit crossed legged on the tabletop, still a head shorter than everyone else even with the boost in height. “So, which one of the realms are you from?”

Alvanue had never seen a dwarf in person before and, while she didn’t want to seem rude, could not help staring just a little.

Thisby had a lot of energy for such a tiny thing, big dark eyes shiny and intent as she stared back at Alvanue with equal curiosity. The dwarf probably stood no higher than two feet. She was wearing long sleeves and pants but from what Alvanue could see, it looked as if she were covered from head to toe in curly brown hair but for her palms and face. The tuft of hair on her chin was braided and the little bell tied to the end tinkled whenever she moved. Her ears were pointed like Alvanue’s but stubbier, shaped more like leaves than the long blade-like ears of the elves. Thisby looked very much like a stuffed animal Alvanue had as a little kid, and she had the strangest urge to reach out and squeeze the dwarf in a bear hug.

She resisted, of course, but the urge was there.

“I’m from Endrillond, way up north past the Sea of Stars,” she said.

“Oooh, a Moon Elf, huh? Never met one of them before,” said Thisby.

“Met many elves, have you?” asked Ula with a grin.

“Well, not lots, but a couple Light Elves come by the workshops in Hrogaaz at least once a year,” the dwarf explained.

“Why?” asked Vivienne.

Alvanue was curious herself. She knew little about the Light Elves, that subterranean people who stayed locked away in their university cities. Outside of the Bjarmalander refugees who called Endrillond home, she'd never heard of other elves tolerating the presence of mortal races, let alone actively collaborating with them.

“There’s a bunch of research projects they work on with the guilds. I can’t remember his name, but one of them stayed with my moms and I for a month or two while he and my parents pitched one of their inventions to the Council. Nice guy, real quiet though.”

“I thought Dwarves were pretty protective of their inventions,” said Ula.

Alvanue noted that she’d drained a second pitcher by herself while everyone was talking.

“Yeah, with humans. No offense Vee, Addie, but your people just aren’t gear heads. Ula...well, you know what they say about orcs. Light Elves? They live and breathe machinery, their minds are jammed full of cogs and wheels just as much as Dwarves’ are, and unlike humans they don’t get greedy with their trade marks.”

Vivienne and Ula shrugged the insult off, mild as it was, but Adair’s forehead wrinkled in displeasure.

"What are you doing in Avalon, Alvanue?" Ula spoke for the first time that evening and Alvanue jumped in her seat. The half-orc had a surprisingly deep, brassy voice for a girl, even one as tall as she.

"Oh, I'll be a first year at St. Gildrin's, part of the Mage Program with Vivienne and Thisby," she answered.

Thisby scrunched up her nose, looking incredulous.

"Really? In Avalon? Look, don't get me wrong, the city's nice enough and the school is definitely top tier, at least when it comes to tall folk standards, but wouldn't Endrillond be a better place to learn magic? You've got those, those, gah I can't remember what they're called. Vee, what's that term for smart old people who understand the meaning of life or whatever-"

"Sages," the human supplied, taking a smooth sip from her mug.

"Sages! That's it! Wouldn't you be better off learning from one of them? I heard the north is full of those."

The sages of Quelanthirid were some of the wisest beings in Creation, mage scholars who dedicated their entire lives to unraveling the mysteries of life and the world around them. They were also some of the most dull and self important academics Alvanue had ever met. The thought of apprenticing under one of them or, Elders forbid, Uruigith for the next few decades was enough to make her feel ill. Alvanue thanked the Elders Githanduin had never forced that hell upon her and kept her education to simpler matters.

She floundered in the face of Thisby's curious gaze, and looked to Edhalan for support. He stared back, looking bored and tired. There'd be no help from him. She licked her lips nervously and tried to string together a cover story.

I really should have thought of this earlier.

"I guess, uh, good ol' dad wanted me to go out an see the world before I start training to take over the family business. Y'know, venture out on my own, sow my wild oats, stuff like that."

The table seemed to accept the answer for what it was. Alvanue was just about to congratulate herself on her quick thinking when the dwarf opened her mouth once more.

“So if that's the case,” Thisby continued, intent little face turning to Alvanue's side. “What’s with Mr. Tall, Dark and Silent?”

Alvanue froze.

Edhalan looked nonchalant as four pairs of eyes swiveled to fix on him, but Alvanue could tell he was uncomfortable from the tight line of his lips. Either that, or he was still getting over being sea-sick for two weeks straight.

Out of all of them, he looked the most out of place in the rugged inn.

Instead of dressing down like she had, he wore his usual chain mail and a hood with her family crest on the back. With a short sword at his hip, he looked more ready for battle than a night out on the town.

“He’s my childhood friend,” Alvanue said, sweating.

It's not technically a lie.

Edhalan gave her a look as if to say, really?

“I am Lady Alvanue’s sworn guard,” he said and moved his foot away as she went to step on it under the table.

That garnered a few raised eyebrows.

“Oooh, so you’re from one of the great families, then? Haven’t heard of normal elves needing a bodyguard,” said Thisby, tapping her chin. “Strange, though. I didn’t think elven nobility let their kids out of their sight for anything.”

Alvanue felt her shoulders edge up around her ears as Thisby and Vivienne pressed in. Ula watched, grinning into her pitcher.

Well, she thought, at least they don’t know which family I belong to. And with that, she had an idea for a new cover story.

"Kinda, not really. It's a whole thing involving an affair and a goat, but I won't get into it. Suffice to say, we're not definitely not in the High Lord's good graces. My sire pulled some strings to get me a place here in the hopes that I'd...distinguish myself and impress the High Lord enough to get our old estates back."

“That’s why you’re staying at the embassy.” Realization dawned on Vivienne’s pretty face, already flushed with alcohol.

“What embassy?” asked Adair.

His eyes were glazed and his cheeks near as pink as Vivienne’s.

“You know, the Concordian Embassy? Big fancy building, like, just down the road from school, ‘s got a bunch of elves going in and out all the time?”

Adair’s face twisted.

“Oh. That embassy.”

“Do you have a problem with the Concord, human?” asked Edhalan imperiously.

“No. I just think it’s a stupid country full of stupid elves,” said the red-haired boy. To add insult to injury, he let out a belch in Edhalan’s face and laughed.

Alvanue shot a nervous glance at her friend.

He was doing an exceptionally good job of not reacting with violence, considering his view of humans. A muscle working in his clenched jaw as he wiped Adair’s spittle off his face was the only sign of his agitation. Thisby started scolding Adair while the other two girls stared wide eyed at the elves, as if waiting to see what they would do.

“Uh,” Alvanue said, trying to think of a way to deescalate the situation. And that is when the situation grew worse.

“Don’t tell me whadda do! Lemme go!” Adair shouted over Thisby’s remonstrations.

“Sorry about him, he didn’t mean it. He’s just a nasty drunk,” Vivienne laughed lamely.

Adair swept an accusatory finger at his friends.

“Just ‘cause you lot wanna cozy up to these tree fuckers doesn’t mean I gotta. I mean, what’s so good about elves anyway? They think they’re so much better than us mortals, but they’re not! They caused the Sundering an’ they’re the reason Albion fell apart, that’s what my da says. I mean, they’re not even born normal and they don’t die normal, neither. They’re just like demons when you think on it!”

Edhalan reacted instantly to that, all pretense at calm cast aside.

The force with which he stood sent his chair skidding back to slam into a neighboring table, sending the occupant to let out an outraged cry as their drinks tipped over. They quieted down when they saw the look on Edhalan’s face.

Rage.

The rest of the group sat in shocked silence, both at Adair’s words and the fury that lit Edhalan’s eyes with cold fire.

“Child, you’re either very brave or very stupid.” He said, voice gone flat and deadly. “As I’m sure the ale is somewhat to blame, I’ll give you two choices: apologize, now, and I’ll deign to forget this...unpleasantness. Or taste my steel.”

“Fugg you, stupid knife ear! I ain’t apologizing for shit,” slurred Adair.

Thisby and Vivienne gasped as the boy went to lunge at Edhalan over the table. Ula reached forward and pushed him back into his chair with a hard shove while the other two girls started yelling at him.

“Then I challenge you to an honor duel, boy,” said Edhalan, hand tightening on the pommel of his sword.

“Edhalan, come on. He’s drunk and like a third your age, just let it go dude,”Alvanue said.

“I can’t. Didn’t you hear him? I gave him the chance to apologize and he threw it in my face. No. The only thing these savages understand is violence.” He tugged himself free of her hand, which she’d reached out to take hold of his sword arm.

“He’s just some stupid kid who’s blitzed out of his mind!” she argued.

While she was trying to talk her friend down, Vivienne and the others were doing the same with Adair. It didn’t seem to be working. He managed to slip loose of Ula’s grasp and pull free the bastard sword at his hip.

“Bring it on, elf, I could take you any day a the week.”

“Addie, don’t be an idiot! Ula, grab him before he makes an ass of himself again!” Thisby was frantically hopping up and down on the table.

“No can do,” Ula shook her head, heavy shoulders slumping with regret. “He already accepted the challenge. It would be shameful to intervene, no matter how much I want to.”

Edhalan nodded in her direction, grudgingly respectful.

At that point they had drawn the attention of most of the Hangman’s patrons, most of which got up to follow Edhalan and Adair as the two headed out into the street.

Alvanue was slower to join the rest, pushing up out of her chair once the Hangman was mostly empty with a sigh.

This, she thought, is gonna be brutal.

When she stepped outside, she saw that the crowd had formed a loose semi-circle around the boys in the tight space in front of the inn. Adair was noticeably unsteady on his feet, swaying under the influence of the half dozen mugs of ale sloshing around in his stomach.

Edhalan, however, slipped into an easy battle stance. His feet planted firmly apart and legs sturdy, the perfect picture of a duelist at his prime. Unlike his opponent, he’d had nothing to drink since they’d left Silthonduen. He bowed only as low as courtesy demanded before snapping upright, sword already in hand. Adair, Alvanue noted, did not return the gesture, struggling to unsheathe his sword.

Managing to yank it free, Adair gave his sword, an ugly length of pitted steal, a cocky twirl.

The swing went wide as he fumbled it in the air clumsily, nearly dropping it. Several laughs drifted out of the crowd, making Adair’s face purple in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

“Shaddap!” he roared.

Edhalan stared at him calmly as he stalked around the perimeter of their impromptu dueling grounds. His blade caught the dim light that filtered down through the rooftops into the alley, the elvish metal shining eerily under the moon. They continued like that for a tense moment until Adair sneered and rushed forward.

He jabbed at Edhalan, but aimed too high to do any real damage even if he had struck true. Edhalan ducked easily out of the way and slashed at the human boy’s free arm. Steel cut easily through the rough weave of Adair’s shirt with a sound like tearing flesh. The boy jolted back. Old instincts trained into him cut through the drunken haze at the first sign of real danger. He looked down at his ruined sleeve blankly before turning angry eyes on Edhalan, who stood tensed and ready several feet away.

Making a hacking sound deep in his throat, Adair spat to the side and lifted his sword once more. This time, however, Edhalan took the lead. Dropping into a low crouch, the elf kicked off the damp cobblestone and came at Adair like a shot.

The boy, caught off guard, scrabbled back as he moved his sword up in an attempt to parry Edhalan’s coming blow.

The elf struck once, twice, thrice, hitting hard. His third swipe was strong enough to force Adair’s weapon out of his hand. The sword went skidding along the cobblestone until it disappeared into shadow. Adair stared after it and tripped in a clumsy attempt to go after it.

Edhalan stepped into his path.

All his previous swagger gone, the human fell back on his palms with a grunt. Edhalan’s sword flicked forward to point at him as the audience shouted out in alarm. No one who frequented that part of town was stranger to a little bloodshed, but few had come out that night expecting to see someone die.

And Edhalan had murder in his eyes.

Vivienne tried to go to Adair, but Ula held her back. The half-orc shook her head once and Vivienne relented miserably. Thisby was pinned under the half-orc’s other arm, pounding futilely against green muscle and pleading for Edhalan to stop.

With a quick motion of his hand, Edhalan swung his sword with blinding speed down straight at Adair’s head. Thisby yelped, but the boy remained dead silent, his eyes scrunched shut against what he believed to be his certain end.

Death never came, however, and he spent a moment like that before cautiously opening first one and then both of his eyes.

Edhalan had not gone for the delicate hollow of his throat, or his unprotected armpit, both of which would have easily killed him. He had ignored all the inebriated human’s obvious weak spots in favor of Adair’s nose.

With the expertise of a master, the elf had cut only deep enough to open a thin red line tracing over the bridge of the boy’s nose, perfectly echoing the faded scar already running across it. Adair’s face, which had been nearly as red as his hair before the duel began, went white as blood beaded along the cut.

“Yield,” Edhalan commanded as he stared down at his felled opponent, leveling his blade between the boy’s eyes.

Adair nodded jerkily, going crossed-eyes as he stared at the razor-sharp elven steel centimeters away from his face. Edhalan stepped back and wiped his weapon clean as Ula came over to haul her friend off the filthy ground. Thisby and Vivienne rushed forward as the crowd began to disperse.

Edhalan put a hand on her shoulder and jerked his head in the direction of the alley.

“Come on, Alvanue. It’s time to go,” he said.

She nodded hesitantly, looking back towards the inn.

Vivienne knelt next to Adair while the girl’s other two friends fretted over the shaken boy. They ignored the two elves watching them. A sigh escaped Alvanue’s lips.

This is gonna make things so awkward at school, she thought glumly. And to think, I’d just made a new friend here.

She fell in line behind Edhalan as they retraced their steps back to the embassy. It was a long and silent walk home.