eneldir was not accustomed to the openness of the garden, albeit he liked the pristine spirit of it. Having grown up in untamed woodlands, such an artificial glade was an alien concept to him, yet an interesting one.

He watched as butterflies danced over the blue and yellow flowers, hearkening to the bubbling fountains and chirping sparrows, mingled with the melody of distant harps.

Sitting on a bench by the fountain, he had his face buried in a book, not reading, but merely shielding his face from the outside world as his mind went astray into the great blues. A plethora of thoughts entered and exited his little mind, most of curiosity, some of fear, and others wonder.

His quest was clear to him: stay out of unwanted attention as much as possible – the words of his father, a man severely distrustful of the high-elves.

But maybe his father was being too concerned; these people were not that different from his own. His father's paranoia merely aided his shyness, but he was fed up. For a week he had done nothing more than dwell in the royal apartment and spend his free time in the garden.

"Maybe I should try chatting with some of the younglings," he told himself, "they might like me and accept me as their friend."

"But I'm a wood-elf, one of the forest-folks, how would they take it?" his shier self spoke out, "and what would father think of it? Would he like me chatting to a high-elf?"

Young Meneldir was conflicted; he was too shy to initiate a conversation. The torrent of thoughts swirled around him, drowning him in hypothesis. "Ah well," he muttered under his breath, deafened by the clamour of thoughts.

"Are you lost?" a voice asked out of the blue.

He jumped in shock, nearly falling to the ground. His first instinct was to go for his non-existent dagger, and second to be relieved for its absence.

...

As he returned to his senses, he glanced at the little shadow before him: a fledgling, no older than Meneldir's ninety-four years, finely garbed in blue-gold attire, his silky black hair fluttering in the wind like a flag; his eyes sparkled blue as if two bolts of lightning bounced within two finely carved sapphires – it was unlike anything Meneldir had seen before.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he extended his hand, trying to help Meneldir up. "I just saw you sitting idle and looking around, and I thought you were lost or something. I'm sorry, I'll just go."

"No! No! No! Please stay!" Meneldir sat up and took a deep look at the high-elf's face. For half a minute they stared at each other, no words shared.

Something about him threw Meneldir off: he had oft heard of high-elven damsels and of their unmatched grace, but whereas their glamour had no effect on him, the boy's mere gaze was enough to render him speechless.

"Oh, damn it. Where are my manners," the high-elf bowed, "Vilyánur Sarmäcil, at your service."

"Meneldir Fionhen at yours," Meneldir stood up and bowed back, "you have a wondrous name."

"Thank you, you too," said Vilyánur, "although more appropriately, my name in your language would be Lindrúin Lúthmegil. Feel free to call me by either."

"I like Vilyánur more, and you call me Mey, everyone else does anyway."

"And you can shorten my name to Vil," Vilyánur replied.

"Alright," Mey looked at him, running his amber eyes up and down his figure. The two of them stood staring at each other for a while, awash in morning light and awkward silence, both of them too shy to start a conversation.

"Shall we take a walk through the garden?" suggested Vil.

"As you say," Mey replied, turning to Vil's side, and so they started to walk.

*****

The garden was fairly desolate at this time of day, with most of the senators and patricians being busy in the court or in the field. At a distance two senators strolled through, chatting ever so softly. Praetorian Guards walked about, their eyes blue and grey swinging left and right, seemingly ignoring the two as they walked on closely.

"You're the prince, right?" asked Vil at length.

"Yeah, the only son and heir of King Arvedui, heir to the throne of the Forest Kingdom, et cetera et cetera . . . and you?"

"I'm the king's nephew; my father was king before him."

Meneldir gave him a stunned glance, "wait, so are you..."

"The only known son of Eldärion? Aye, that'd be me."

Suddenly Mey was out of words, he was chatting with possibly the only living son of a fabled hero who had saved their world. He didn't know what to say.

"Do not fear. For all other purposes, I'm just a regular high-elf youngling, a shy friendless bloke who struggles to live up to people's expectations, and often fails."

"I-I..." Mey tried to speak but he felt like the gods tied his tongue into a knot, "I'm sorry for what happened to your father; his sacrifice was really brave, nothing like I had ever seen before."

"Tha-" Vil was caught off guard, "I don't know whether to say thank you or it's okay, but don't worry about it. And . . . I hope you understand."

Finally, someone as shy as me, thought Meneldir, a feeling of peace overtaking him. "It must've been a great loss for you, no? To learn about your father, the high-king . . . fallen in battle?"

"Not very much, for I was still in the womb then," said Vil, "although I wish I could've met him."

Mey lowered his head in sadness, such a terrible tragedy to grow up an orphan.

"I lost my mother too during the war," said Mey, "and I still recall those days of joy, although I was but twenty then."

"Oh, sorry," Vil put his hand on his shoulder, "I didn't know . . . such a tragedy."

"Do not grieve," said Mey, "for they are not truly dead for as long as their memory lives on."

Vil gave him a vibrant smile, "so you are here on your father's errands?"

"Aye, he was here to discuss something about trade, I think. Or maybe not, I don't exactly remember. Not like he tells me everything there is to know. Not like I can blame him for that, he's a busy man. Eh . . . what about you? Haven't seen you around here before, I think."

"That's probably because I don't stay in the palace, I bide my time in the academy, like every other high-elven lad who hopes to secure a place in the legion, and earn his rank amongst the valorous. I've come here for the holidays."

"You seem ambitious," Mey smiled at him, "walking your father's footsteps maybe."

"Yes, I am. Guess that's how blood works?"

"You seem bright enough," Mey said, his eyes going up and down Vil's figure.

"I'd agree, but that would be flaunting, which I am against," Vil joked. "Despite being strong, honourable, courageous, intelligent, wise, mystical, noble, wealthy, merciful . . . I never flaunt, never!"

Mey laughed. "You should add 'funny' to the list, Vil."

Vil smiled back, his teeth glowing bright, his head lowered towards the ground.

Mey took a deep look, shyly watching his dimples flush red. The feeling was strange; something which made the boy who hissed back upon meagre-most contact at peace with a stranger resting his hand on his shoulder.

...

"Your friends must enjoy your company, Vil."

"Uh, yeah..." Vil looked right, "only if I had friends."

"Wait, you don't have any friends?" asked Mey.

"No, not really. Although that's mostly me wishing to keep a low profile, occasionally chatting with one or the other so as to not skip out on all the fun. But most of the time I keep to my company. Although that might be because I guess I haven't found the perfect person yet."

Mey looked at him shyly, he had something in mind, even though he was too shy to say it out loud. Fie, this is my only chance, he told himself. "Uh . . . perfect person as in?"

Vil gave him a glance, "a friend, maybe someone who will not mind my peculiar nature, someone who will not say I'm weird and try to alienate me."

Mey had a moment of reflection, they both were the same.

"I think you found that someone," said Mey, "for I do not mind, as long as you don't either."

Vil gave him a smile much more vibrant than ever before, but soon it faded into despair. "But we're different people. You come from the Woodland Realm, and I have an academy to attend."

"Does that mean we won't get time together?"

"Well, not really, but I think we can find a common place to meet, maybe somewhere not too far from either of our homes."

"Where do you study again?"

"Aldurri, we are rarely allowed to leave the campus save in groups, although in two centuries I may be able to move out and live in a castle of my own, with my own retinue and thanes."

"Excellent," Mey smiled, "we can meet at Angdor then, it's hardly half a day's ride."

"Excellent indeed," Vil complied, "we can-"

Mey hinted him to halt, giving a glance behind – his father was approaching them. "Damn it, my father's here. I don't think he'll take you chatting with me very gladly."

"Why not? You're socialising at least, which is better than doing nothing."

"I wasn't supposed to," he replied, "my father has a deep distrust for high-elves."

"Oh, that's bad – and so much unlike you."

"Shh, please pretend for a moment that you do not know me."

Vil gave him a nod, slipping a small book out of the knapsack he had slung on his shoulder, one which Mey somehow never saw. Burying his head down into the book, Vil's face went dark as he turned to a different angle, his body gleaming translucent. "All yours, see you later."

Mey gave him a slight smile, turning towards his father who was approaching him in haste. He did his best to give a slight somewhat-silly smile, standing there like an idiot until his father signalled him to come towards him.

"What is it, father?" he approached him, trying his best to be the obedient son he was expected to be.

"We'll be leaving before sunset, go pack your things."