fter having sailed through a sea of grass for half a day, Meneldir was lost. He could've been barely a day's ride from his destination, or he could've already crossed it without even noticing the sign which explicitly stated so.

Not like it was his fault though, he was good at following marks, being able to tell two willows apart. But here there were neither trees nor terrain to track; all there was was a cobblestone road dividing the endless sea of green into two.

Looking back into the din of the western scion, he saw the ancient sun sink into the snow-capped mountains and night's shadow take over, it was beautiful, but he was still lost. Thankfully he would not get attacked here; he would see any beast approaching him from miles afar.

Fire, however, was something he had to fret about: these fields loomed dry to him, as if they had not felt the embrace of rain for months. What exactly would it take to light such a field of dry grass? What but a meagre spark gliding through the wind?

Then he heard it: a soothing hum, at first like the mating call of a basilisk, then the spell of a siren, and finally the sound of an accordion: Mey was not alone.

He looked for the source, at last seeing a flicker of pale light on the horizon, ever so slowly growing as his steed trot near, until at last turned to an array of lights, manes fluttering in the air, and distinguishable chatter in a noble language.

"Must be travellers," he thought, galloping forward. It was – four high-elves sat around a fire, feasting and singing. Two caravan guards next to them saw him approaching, raising the alarm.

"Well met, high-kin," Mey wished from afar, "I come in peace, may I retire by your fire?"

"If you wish you, woodland-kin!" a high-elf said, "come here, we have food and music."

Mey nodded, approaching them thereof. "Hail, high-kin, do you know where I may find the castle where Lord Vilyánur resides? I'm not used to open grasslands, and my eyes are poor at seeing great distances anyway."

"You passed it half a day ago."

"Damn it," he looked up in frustration, "I knew I was going the wrong way."

"It's okay, friend, time slows down as you walk these roads, the steppes of Alinor have oft been treacherous to woodlanders."

"I ought to do better anyway," said Mey, taking a piece of flatbread from his hand, biting into the somewhat dry yet sweet dough of the bread. "So can you pave the way for me?"

"As morning approaches, go south until you see an obelisk. Turn west of there, you'll reach his castle."

Mey nodded. "Thank you."

And so he sat there, his back resting along a wooden log, his legs crossed before the fires that roared before him, letting the other voices douse the sound of his thoughts. Dogs played around, feasting on scraps of bone and bread, the other elves sat in a semicircle, telling jokes and singing songs, yet others played their pipe organs.

...

"But I still wonder," another elf said to Mey, an aged gentleman, "what would a young wood-elf like yourself have to do with our lord the grand-centurion? Do you wish to enlist into his auxiliary corps?"

"He's . . . my friend," said Mey in a shy manner.

The elves looked at each other, "oh, we understand, wouldn't want to get into a grand-centurion's businesses, let alone the king's nephew. And he does plan to make his army able in all fields."

"As in?" questioned Mey.

"Well, Lord Vilyánur has always been a cavalryman, and an able wizard too, but he does lack proper light infantry, should you not count the javelins of his front-line soldiers."

"But their pavises are hard to penetrate anyway. Whilst ours break upon foes like water on rock, the high-elf lines stand as a wall."

"Sheer force does not win battles alone; an army without bowmen is like bread without yeast. Though able with a bow their cavalryman may be, their few numbers and heavy armour would reduce them to nigh useless in the skirmish."

"I do not believe they would be useless," said Mey, taking a sip of the tea.

"Oh, they would be, or at least much worse off. If you, my prince, can find a way to integrate your light infantrymen into his army, he will be much better off than he would be without."

"Agreed, for that-" he paused, "wait, how did you know I'm the prince?"

The elf laughed, "not your concern now, next time we meet, perhaps."

Mey took another sip of the tea, carefully this time.

"There is a cold war going on between two nations, and I have faith you and the lord can mend it, and reunite the once-powerful empire. Go to sleep now, prince."

"You know that now that you know who I am, I will not have a hint of sleep?"

The elf reclined back, "if I had to kill you, I'd have done it already. But do not worry, my life is for the state, and I am but a servant of it."

Mey pondered on this for a while, looking up at the stars, tightening a piece of meat between his teeth. It took him an hour to fall asleep, only after he made sure everyone else was asleep too. "Oh divines, what have I gotten myself into?"

*****

The sun was at her highest, the sapphire sky contrasting the emerald plains, when at the horizon he saw piercing the aqueous seas of the horizon a castle, its banners fluttering in the high wind. Vilyánur's castle was humble yet elegant: two lone hills in the middle of an open field, one a barracks for his retinue and servants, and the other a manor where he resided. A meagre village surrounded his property; or rather the state's property as the denizens would have it.

"Halt there," a guard stopped him, "what business brings a wood-elf here?"

Mey veiled his eerie visage, "I seek an audience with his lordship, Vilyánur Sarmäcil."

"He is not available right now, come back tomorrow if you will, or stay in the tavern."

"I cannot, I have to meet him right now, 'tis an urgent bidding."

"Should you not have a decree from the head of state, I shall offer my utmost sympathies but not a passage in."

"Decree from the head, nay, but this:" he pulled out the gold coin Vil gave him, "aye."

The guard inspected the coin, "oh, forgive me, for I mistook you for a rabble-rouser. Please follow me; the lord has been expecting you."

"Sweet," said Mey, following the guard in. He dismounted his horse in the stable below the barracks, and followed on foot.

A walkway and a bridge later, he passed underneath Vil's castle gates, and into the tower where he resided, only to be stopped by a guard.

"Forgive me, for I cannot let you inside armed."

Mey showed him Vilyánur's coin. "Still not," said the guard, "his lordship has a strict 'no weapons' policy when it comes to his private chambers."

"No weapons?" thought Mey, giving up his sabre and dagger, "he's strange."

"Follow me in," said the guard, leading him to Vil's chambers.

...

Through the dark chamber he moved up, ending at the door to the chambers of Vilyánur. He was going to knock, but from inside he could hear whispers, which made him stop thereof.

"I did not ask them to die for me, don't blame me for their deaths, I am not responsible. No! It couldn't go any other way."

Who was in there? Was he with someone? Being interrogated? Questions poured in, and finally he knocked.

"It's open."

Mey opened the door, Vil was still sitting on his bed, his hands clutching his black mane, concealing those watery blue eyes that life had wearied. One glance and he recognized Mey, though he was anonymous save for copper hands and the fire-red curls that dappled out of his hood.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" asked Vil.

"Vil, are you well? I heard voices from outside."

"Oh no, don't mind those," said Vil, rising up. "Anyway, welcome to my home. Forgive me for not giving you a princely welcome, as you can see, I do not prefer to flaunt my wealth. I'd rather display the trophies and souvenirs of victory rather than those bought by tax money."

"Trophies that do not include weapons?" asked Mey, "how come?"

"Well, let's just say I get . . . urges," he said in a hesitant manner, Mey's concern rising with every word of it.

"Why?"

"Well, let's not talk about it now, what news do you bring?"

"I shall not disclose until you tell me what ails you."

Vil sighed in frustration, "it is nothing to be concerned about, tell me first your news."

Mey sighed, "I have news of the enemy. They seem to be gathering in the wilderness."

Vil looked at him in excitement, "that is good news, how far from here?"

"But a couple leagues, should our path favour us."

Vil nodded, "go on, what about them?"

Mey took off his cloak and placed it on the nearby couch. "There are reports of multiple meteor strikes in the area, the forest around the spot have withered away, as if heralding something fell," Vil approached close to him, "we need to-"

Vil grabbed him and kissed, leaning his head in and pushing against Mey's, suckling on his soft lips, grabbing his hand by the arm and back tight. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Mey whispered back to him.

They held together, touching foreheads. "Let us leave now," said Mey, "we need to get there as fast as possible."

"Very well," said Vil, calling for his guard to bring in his arms and armour, tying his hair up into a ponytail. "Here are your weapons, wait for me to don my armour on, I shall give you my fastest steed."

"Steed? Our destination is leagues away and the path is unfit for any hoof or claw . . . no stag will trek the terrain, let alone a steed."

"Can you fly?" asked Vil, leaving the room, "if not, then a western warhorse is our best hope."

Vilyánur waited for a while for Meneldir to join him at the stairs but there was no sign of him. "Mey?" he called out but received no answer. He stepped back into his room to see it empty, Meneldir had already left.

"What?" Vilyánur walked around in question before looking down the balcony, and there he saw the wood-elven prince – using his cloak as great, black wings – gliding down the tower with great speed, heeding not the sunlight, nor the wind. The evening breeze but increased his speed to that of a falcon.

Vil drew a long sigh as he looked onto the elven prince escaping via the sky route, yet there was a smile on his face. Meneldir almost had disappeared from Vilyánur's line of sight by going around the tower but Vilyánur bothered not to follow him.

*****

Meneldir smirked with the thought that he had outrun Vilyánur, and on the other hand he felt annoyed because he had to wait until Vilyánur had joined him. Using his cloak he flew over the long grasslands, farms and barrens of the southern lands before landing atop a tall cliff by a high-elven outpost that overlooked the forests by the Green Mountains. He landed there and with speed and wrapped his cloak about himself before continuing on the path.

"From next time onwards, tell me your destination before flying off," Vilyánur appeared from beside the tower catching Meneldir by surprise.

"Vil!" laughed Mey, "how did you come here?"

"You landed right next to a pylon," answered Vil, pointing to an obelisk beside the tower.

"Oh," Mey looked down awkwardly. Vil laughed, tightening the strap of his conical helm. "I guess I should have researched about high-elves a bit. But don't worry, you'll find no pylons where we are to go."

"We have pylons throughout the land, even in your forests, which is why anyone with the appropriate knowledge can warp into and out of anywhere anytime regardless of distance."

"Creep..." scoffed Mey. "Why do you disclose this to me?"

"Eh, you'd have found out soon anyway," replied Vil.

"Catch me now!" said Mey before grabbing his cloak again and flying into the wilderness as fast as he could. Twisting more times than necessary and taking an unnecessarily long path he fled into the heart of the forest until the winds broke their alliance with him.

In a moment of confusion, Meneldir lost control and dropped into the forest as fast as a ballista bolt. He was taken by fear and panic, and perhaps was close to wounding himself. Falling through the dense file of trees, his fall was slowed down and cloak torn away. He closed his eyes in panic; thinking he would land upon the forest floor, but Vil caught him before he could.

...

"But . . . how?" he asked.

"Pylons," answered Vilyánur with a bright smile, caressing Mey around in his arms. "There are three things, Prince Meneldir, which you never underestimate: the strength of goblins in large numbers, the anger of a dwarven zealot, and the usefulness of additional pylons."

"Oh well," said Meneldir as he climbed down, "I guess..."

"You've yet to know me, prince. I mean, I hope it doesn't count as flaunting, but this lion has more to him than what meets the eye."

"You're a little cub," Mey teased him, "nowhere near as grand as you think you are."

Vil pouted, "if I'm a cub, then you're a newborn kitten."

"I guess I'm alright with being called so," Mey laughed, "a kitten and a lion cub: two peas in a pod, two comrades in a contubernium."

"Why do you keep calling me comrade?"

"Because . . . isn't that the term for 'brother-in-arm' in Alímar?"

"Ah yes, it does, but said in that tone, it means chamber mate."

"Ah, then I was right, in both ways," said Mey, letting out a laugh. "I mean, sure we aren't 'comrades' in the other way so far, but we just need to spend a night together where nobody can bother us, then we'll-"

"Hush!" Vil stopped him, "do you sense that?"

Mey sniffed the wind, picking up an eerie smell in the air. "Oh, yes . . . I smell it too."

And they were right, they knew it: something was coming towards them. "Hide," said Mey, climbing a tree where he melded into the shadows.

Vilyánur pounced into nearby bushes, blending into the dark greens, his eyes gleaming like sapphires. Both of them sat with their blades drawn and spells charged, waiting for what was to come.