Frayawnan's Tonic

Frayawnan's breath was shallow and quick. Small droplets of dew hung against the pale skin of her forehead and on the exposed skin of her slender wrists.

"It is not cooling her," the Brunh-Elder sighed.

For a week now he had watched the Elf Queen suffer. Spiraling down from the once bright light of the forest into the feather light waif that lay upon the cool, morning dew of the healing circle in the Doe Clearing of the Lorien Glades.

Only one little week ago she had been dancing at the mid-summer festival and held court with representatives of the Delairer Clan from beyond the Misty Mountains. Now she would die if he couldn't cure her and to do that he needed to understand what ailed her.

"Fenwias," he called his assistant to him. "Are the Delairer departed yet?"

"No, Master," the slender, dark haired youth responded. "They have been waiting to contest a blood oath with Kranmyer."

The Bruhn-Elder met the lad's gaze and they exchanged a look which communicated that both their minds turned on the same point; the Delairer might be waiting a long time.

Kranmyer was the best Lore-Elder Frayawnan's Clan produced in over a hundred years. He was young by elven standards but by seventy-four had already contested the Will of Iron (and won), the Treaty of Brigg (averting war), and famously extracted the Blood Oath of Wyndamere from the fairies which meant the forest's magical future was all but ensured. If the Delairer were set on their intent to extract themselves from the blood oath it was no wonder they hadn't left when the festival had ended. It was a situation which the Bruhn-Elder was now thankful for.

"Good. Arrange for them to dine with us tonight, Fenwias. We need to know what happened in the Festival Hall."

Fenwias gave a look that suggested that Kranmyer was more likely to lose his next case than the Delairer were to assist them, but he held his tongue and nodded to his Master.

"Fight, Lady," the Bruhn-Elder whispered to the queen and bade her servant to refresh the dew cloth against her skin. "I will not allow you to suffer."

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Fenwias was surprised to see Kranmyer at the dinner, along with the Shaymanger, the leader of the Delairer delegation, but he was in no doubt that the Bruhn-Elder knew what he was doing. Sure enough the grey-haired elf came out of the dining tent an hour or so later with his eyes bright with knowledge and a smile across his face.

"Take this to the Queen," he instructed, handing a small, blue phial of transparent liquid to Fenwias, before he turned back to the tent and called over his shoulder, "Three drops on her tongue now and two more at nightfall."

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He knew better than to ask the Bruhn-Elder what had happened and, to be truthful, he was as happy as the rest of the community just to have Queen Frayawnan restored in health and back on the Yew Throne. His patience paid off and over supper on the third day of her recovery the Bruhn-Elder invited him to listen to the story.

"The Delairer had attended the mid-summer festival as a precursor to marriage talks between the two clans. An ancient blood oath that had reached a time of fulfillment. Our Lady had a destiny other than the Shaymanger's wife and, with the help of her lover, had poisoned herself with a rare mixture of Hathanberries and Orathorns."

At this point the older Elf stopped to watch his apprentice carefully and was rewarded by a look of realisation which spread across his sharp features.

"Untraceable when mixed in exactly the right proportions but similar symptoms to at least a dozen other conditions where the patient is comatose. Very clever."

"Yes, it fooled me." The Bruhn-Elder's expression darkened for an instant.

"No doubt, as soon as the Delairer had left it had been the plan to give the ante-dote to the Queen and put off the marriage for another year. When the delegation failed to go and the marital blood oath was contested by them, well, it seemed a near impossible situation for the Queen's accomplice to rouse her without rousing suspision or losing credibility as the victim of the broken oath."

"Then how did Kranmayer abslove us from the oath?"

"Ah, by absolving the Delairer from their part by agreeing to wed the Queen."

"What, the Lore-Elder, himself? But what of her lover?" Fenwias asked, "She will still want to be with her lover. Won't she be angry?"

The old Elf chuckled. "Think now, boy. Where did I get the knowledge of her sickness from and the anti-dote so readily? Oh, yes, Kranmayer is a very clever Elf indeed and will make a fitting consort for his Lady."

Leaving the young apprentice to work the finer points out for himself, the Bruhn-Elder replaced the blue phial that the Queen's lover had given him. He looked out at the Festival Hall where plans were already on the way for a mid-season wedding. The trees were filled with soft music and the scent of honey-rose and he smiled at the thought of a royal marriage made perfect with true love at it's core.

(901)