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Hate drives the hearts of many, but which race shall prevail in the end? |
| [Introduction] The War of The Races In the city of Aldarion, both men and elves have been able to live together for ages in peace, despite their differences. But over the past years, some of those born into the city have left it, not willing to live with those they believe inferior or unworthy. Of those who fled, some found land of their own and created a small village that would only welcome their own kind. Others joined distant cities, and few even took over vast kingdoms and became their rulers, instilling all their beliefs in those who chose to live there. In Rathidral, some of the men from Aldarion formed a kindgom of their own. A kingdom where elves are both hated and tortured. In Valdea is where many elves from Aldarion fled, and there, they too rule a city, one where all men are despised. Although many left Aldarion, it is still the largest kingdom in existence. For years it has been peaceful there, but war has been brewing between Rathidral and Valdea. Now in anger, both cities are calling upon those in Aldarion of their race to come and help them win this war. They call for them to prove once and for all, which race shall prevail. The leaders of Aldarion, who are both men and elves, do not believe that one race must win. They believe in peace. But the people of the city will soon choose sides. Will they side with Rathidral? Or perhaps, Valdea? Or will some stay loyal to Aldarion and hope for peace? At a time when new leaders shall be stepping up in all three cities, this war must be ended before it is too late. * ~ * The Characters * ~ * Heir to Aldarion: Valändil ~ Aiken4LOTR  Heir to Valdea: Lady Methien ~ Professor Q  Heir to Rathidral: Teron Ecklord SeVer ~ teronism Traveler/Aldarion Negotiator: Celerean Elentári Elvenstar ~ elenath Rathidral Spy: Keandre ~ White Tiger Aldarion Aid/Freeing Elves in Rathidral: Aarestell Vanya ~ Kat Sorry, this cf is full! Character Descriptions: Heir to Aldarion: Aiken4LOTR  Name~ Valändil Age~ 3,927 yrs (looks about 22) Gender~ Male Race~ Elf Location~ Mainly in Valdea, often visits Aldarion. Appearance~ Valändil is tall and lean, and has light silvery-blue eyes that are incredibly charming. He also has dark brown hair, which takes on an unusually, golden look in the right light. His complexion is also unique, for it is darker than that of most elves. He has slight remains of a scar on his right cheekbone, though there are a few bigger and more noticeable scars on his back. But they have mostly been treated and healed so they would fade away. Personality~ Valändil has mixed emotions about men. He was once sent to Rathidral by King Donovan of Aldarion. He was to speak with Rathidral’s leaders about a compromise of peace, but instead, the men there brutally tortured him. He escaped, and took refuge in Valdea, where he now lives. The elves living there have always treated him with understanding and respect, so it is where he feels most comfortable. Despite that incident, he is fairly welcoming towards others, and because of that incident, he is very determined. Right now he is also having trouble accepting his fate as Aldarion’s heir. Weapons~ He prefers to use his bow and mithril arrows, but owns a set of twin blades, and an Elven crafted sword, which has been passed down through many generations of his family. And though his medium build would make his strength seem predictable, he is surprisingly strong and resilient. Many believe he possesses secret powers passed down by his Elven mother, Queen Saraei. Description~ Valändil has a very noble quality about him, yet at the same time, you can tell there is a side to him that is vulnerable and confused. Though, it is very hard to see underneath his dark hair, dazzling eyes, and seemingly perfect smile. Other~ Valändil's mother is Queen Saraei of Aldarion. Saraei is Elven and is the the wife of King Donovan, who is human. King Donovan in actuality is Valändil's biological father, but this is a fact that has been kept secret from the young heir. It is a secret that could get him killed in Valdea if found out. Valändil is the only one to have ever escaped a torturing session in Rathidral, and is both admired and despised because of this. ***** Heir to Valdea: Professor Q Name: Lady Methien of the Anthiril Clan Age: 4,500 yrs (looks 21-22) Gender: Female Race: Elven Location: Valdea- she's the Heir Appearance: Methien is the lily white, Elven beauty of Valdea. She is tall and lithe, with a feminine body and a willowy build. Long-limbed and curvy, with pale skin that shines almost golden in sunlight. Ebony black hair falls in waves to her waist and she leaves it loose but for two braids that tie in the middle (over her ear- think elf in LotR). Large, bright blue eyes are the exact color as the clear sky on a summer day and they always sparkle beautifully. Perfect features- clasically beautiful, with a straight nose and full lips, and perfectly porportionate features, sharp bone structure and perfect skin. She's just breathtakingly gorgeous. Personality: For all her appearance of perfection, Methien is a fiery she-elf. She doesn't let being a female get in the way of getting things done, so she is learned in more than just history and crocheting. That doesn't mean she isn't kind, which she is, or friendly, which she definitely is. She is the one to make people laugh with her and at her, no matter what she has to do to make that happen. Definitely not your average, noble she-elf. She also has a habit of doing things just to shock people, and doesn't really like following the rules. However, if she must, she will force herself to act like a lady. Weapons: Like I said, Methien knows about more than history and crocheting. This includes weaponry. Her mother disapproves, so her father secretly gives her fighting lessons. Currently, she can use a double-handed broadsword, a long sword, sai, a katana, etc. Basically, any blade will do. She hasn't gotten to the bow and arrow thing, but her own practice has made her a decent archer. Description: There is a very noble look about her, especially because she always wears a form fitting, flowing dress with flowers in her hair and a serene smile on her face. Unless she's training, of course. When she does that, she borrows some pants, a white shirt, and some boots from her friend, Lleyton. Other: She is the Heir to the Anthiril fortune from her mother, and Valdea's throne from her father. The Anthirils are the most powerful Elven family aside from the Aldarion royal family, and they are extremely rich. When Methien inherits all the money, and the throne, she will be extremely important and influential...so she's got all these guys trying to marry her. However, she's holding out for love. ***** Heir to Rathidral: teronism Name~ Teron Ecklord Silvius Le’nemnon, is his true name. His assumed name is Teron Ecklord SeVer. Age~ 20-ish Gender~ Male Race~ Human (Half Dark Elf) Location~ His mother is queen of Rathidral, but has been on her deathbed for the last 2 months. Appearance~ Teron isn’t tall, but not short enough that a look from his coal black eyes wouldn’t send shivers down your spine. He isn’t muscular, but is much less scrawny than his weaker, younger brother. His whole appearance is that of one tainted by evil by being surrounded by only that. His face is slightly scarred, but is barely noticeable behind his slightly long black/brown hair. He was once lost in the wilderness and attacked by a band of rogues, and there is a long scar across his shoulder which daily reminds him of the ordeal. Teron’s ears and hair are odd. His ears are longer than most peoples, and his hair seems a bit too golden, when everyone in his family before his mother has had jet-black hair, his is somewhat tinted with golden blond. Personality~ Teron is cold and unfeeling towards most things. As a child he witnessed horrible things, and was told to either forget them or learn to ignore it. Instead, he chose to ignore everything. He and his brother are both acknowledged scholars of Rathidral, although his brother is more of a bookworm than he. Once he was out on a walk with his horse, Alkin, and was attacked by a group of bandits. When guards of the castle found him lying next to the gate, bruised and beaten, but none for the worse, he was immediately taken into the castle. When he recovered, he swore that an elf had saved him, and this somewhat lightened his hate of elves, but only somewhat. His feelings towards elfin folk remain mostly the same: They deserve no more consideration than anyone else. Teron plans, upon becoming king, to also be the executionist of Rathidral. Weapons~ As a scholar, Teron has delved deep into the ‘Royael Lybrarae’ and has studied forbidden texts: Texts which no one has laid eyes upon since the years of the War Of Nine Races. These texts mostly lie in Common Speech, but the most interesting are in either Dark Elven or, the harder to decipher, Balrog Speech, a dark and arcane language not uttered since the Dark Ages. Teron prides himself to be a avid speaker of Balrogian, and has deciphered many texts of dark and arcane magics, which he uses as his specialty in combat. He has used his knowledge in such arcane arts to thus embody his sword, Myzandial, and its sheath with horrible powers. He has almost no equal in battle once his sword is drawn. Description~ Teron appears to have no weakness. His cold and unfeeling nature seems indomitable, and his gaze is that of pure terror. Few can look upon his face without seeing their worst nightmares come to life in it. He is feared in Lower Rathidral, hated by the richer people in Rathidral (also known as Upper Rathidral or Rich Mans Land), where he has constantly been putting people into their places when they tried to gain more power, and again, he is feared and loved as Prince Teron The Dark in and around the Castle grounds. His only companions are his horse and brother. All his old friends left Rathidral for the placid land of Aldarion, hoping to get away from the senseless hate of elves in Rathidral. Other~ Teron’s history is known only to him, his mother, his brother, Helbe, and older sister who lives now in Aldarion. His mother has basically disowned his sister, and he has heard naught of her since he was a very young child. He and his sister are strange in complexion and mind, making them both somewhat alike. The one thing they share in common is they are both half elven. Their mother, when young, had secretly married an elf named Silvius Le’nemnon Jevenoa K’levnah, who she told Teron was now dead. The matter was presumed to be through, and that if Teron or his sister mentioned it to anyone, they would be cursed and would lose any respect he or she had in Rathidral. His sister cared naught of this, but promised upon their father’s grave she would say nothing. Teron said nothing, and secretly thinks that his father is still alive, protecting him in the darkness, which explains how he escaped the rogues when he was younger. All he knows of his father is that he is of the race of Dark or Fallen Elves of a far away place. He wishes mostly to go out into the world, and perhaps visit his estranged sister, but his mother forbid it. His mother is now on her deathbed and has marked Teron her heir. ***** Traveler/Aldarion Negotiator: elenath Name: Celerean Elentári Elvenstar Age: 682 years old. Race: Half Elf, half human; yet her Elfishness shines through. Location: She is visiting all of the cities; she usually stays at an inn in either Aldarion, or even Valdea. Appearance: Has long, raven hair, bronzed skin, and dark gray-blue eyes, similar to Aragorn’s eyes. Is of medium height and has a lithe figure. Wears mostly dark blues and grays; when staying in a nice place, she wears elegant dresses of burgundy and smoke blue. Wears a wooden whistle as well as the Elvenstar necklace around her neck, a symbol of her immortality and also of unknown power. (No, she’s not some sort of conjurer of spells.) Personality: Quiet, yet a burning thirst for adventure; shy, yet speaks her mind; is a tree-hugger; very self-sufficient; stubborn; believes in freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of contentment. A free spirit. She knows she stands out from the rest in everything. Weapons: Her sword she inherited from Isildur’s brother; she calls it the Umbar; a bow with a quiver of silver arrows; two Ristas (silver, flat, curved, metal missiles—kind of like a boomerang); two knives, one concealed byher side, the other in her boot. Other: Celerean is my LOTR fanfic character. Even though she is from distant lands, she has come to see about the hostility between the people and cities. She travels a lot and stays from city to city, depending on her mood. She’s trying to play peacemaker here. Has a white magnificent steed, Varda. ***** Rathidral Spy: White Tiger Name: Keandre Age: 3, 931 Gender: Male Race: Cabrel/Dravyl Location: Valdea Appearance: Long thick white hair which falls to his mid-back that is normally put back carelessly in a ponytail. Very pale skin that almost looks white. Dark amethyst eyes that seem to stand out on his muscular face. Clean shaven. He stands at about 6 foot in height with much muscle. Handsome in a very weird sort of way. He holds a very strange quality to him that no one seems to be able to put their finger on. Personality: On the outside, Keandre seems to be a very nice guy. He demands respect of all he works with and stikes fear into those who don't. He is a very determined person and will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He is kind to those around him and sticks up for those with which injustices have been played on. He is very wise. On the inside is a hidden agenda. Keandre is blinded by his pride and lets revenge rule his life. Inside he is a little dark and morbid, but very intellegent. NO ONE knows of his plan against the elves except his superiors in Rathidral. Weapons: Keandre has twin silver blades, bows and a long white staff- he wields all with perfection as he has been training all his life on how to fight. He is also very skilled without using any weapons. Desciption: Keandre is very convincing. His posture seems to hold no secret to him. One can tell by the way he holds himself that he is a man of honor and no one has been able to prove that wrong. Just by him walking in the room he holds the air of one with great military skills. He usually wears tunics that are off white, but occasionally black ones marked with black cloaks. Other: Keandre's family was killed when he was no older then five. Because of this he knows very little of his heritage. He does know that his mother was a Cabrel and his father a Dravyl (a very odd pairing indeed). After this he began fending for himself- that is until a man and woman found him half dead. They took him in and began raising him as their son- as a human son. They explained to him about how the elves raided his village and killed his parents. This began fueling a rage within Keandre for all elves. His mother began to teach him the way of elven life. She prepared him as best she could to take on an elven appearance so that he could break into the elven world and become a spy to destroy them. *After this, Keandre left for Aldarion nearly ten years later, being only in his mid-teens. It was then that he met Valandil, forming somewhat of a friendship with the elf- unknown to Valandil what Keandre's real motives were. Nearly two thousand years later, Keandre moved to Valdea to get himself ready for what he had been training for all his life- revenge. (In Valandil's mind, Keandre is still his best friend- he has no clue what Keandre is up to, neither does anyone else except Teron) Race Explanation- Cabrel: A race of people (which nearly look like a mix of elves and humans) known to fight with honor and skill. They're very kind and brave. Both men and women are generally known for their long white hair and light eyes (normally light blue or grey), but variations have been known to occur. They are a peaceful race unless provoked. None pointed ears. They are warriors till the end. Dravyl: Usually known for having dark hair, dark eyes and pointed ears with a pale complexion. Generally, women have very long hair and the males keep it shoulder length or shorter. They are more focused civilization wise, but turn out to be the fiercest warriors if needed. They are generally cynical or realistic in nature. Very intune with animals and creation. ***** Aldarion Aid/Freeing Elves in Rathidral: lanthiriel06 Name~ Aarestell Vanya Age~ 1,721. Appears to be 18-22. Gender~ Female Race~ Immortal. Exact race is unknown. Location~ Rathidral Appearance~ Aarestell stands at 5'7" tall. Her build is lithe and feminine. She is very fit, but not overly muscular, and is very strong for her small frame. Her hair is a dark blonde, falling to her lower back in waves. Her eyes are dark emerald-green, holding a bold intensity. They are slightly almond-shaped and lined with long, dark lashes. Her complexion is very light naturally, only slightly tanned by the sun. Her features are soft and attractive, with full lips and a sweet smile. Thinly drawn dragons are tattooed around her right ankle and her left wrist. A small scar runs along her left cheekbone. Personality~ Aarestell has a somewhat dark, challenging personality. She is quiet and untrusting, though generally a merciful person. She will rarely warm up to anyone. She is very honest, independent and seemingly fearless. She is an honorable woman, who is extremely intelligent and able to read people amazingly well. She is a very strong person with a quick temper. She tends to be cynical and a bit harsh, simply because she has seen so much. It is not wise to underestimate her. Weapons~ She carries an assortment of blades and has mastered every one of them. She carries two thin, light, and amazingly strong swords. They are kept in scabbards strapped to her back. They are very intricately designed with vines and runes etched into the hilts and blades. Random daggers are hidden along her belt line. Two are concealed in each boot. All are easily accessible and often used. They are very well made and kept razor sharp. She also carries a long bow and quiver. Using these only when her enemy is too far away to be able to accurately throw a dagger. Her attacks are based on speed and agility, as opposed to strength only. With blades she is unmatched. She is an expert. Description~ Aarestell is able to take on a character and master it to the point of perfection. She can read and understand people amazingly well. She wears very dark colors, blood red and black are not uncommon. She wears whatever she is able to move freely in. This generally means long pants and a long sleeve shirt. Other~ Aarestell was hired by King Donovan (of Aldarion) to lead and train a small group of men. They trained in Aldarion for a year and have recently been placed in Rathidral to free as many elves from being tortured as possible. ***** All additions in third person please. Thank-you. |
The sun began to rise, peeking out over the horizon as the mist of the morning rain began to fade away. The land of the great kingdom was covered in dew and sparkled as the renewed sunlight streamed over the vast city. The citizens of Aldarion were beginning to wake, while life had already been stirring within the palace of King Donovan. Strategies were being planned in the council room, and as talk of the impending war between Rathidral and Valdea began, it could be heard in every nook and cranny in the palace, and in every corner of the city. Those in Aldarion knew of what was to come; a war that had to be stopped. “What has been done to prevent the torturing of elves in Rathidral?” A noble inquired, clearly presenting his dislike of the violence. “Aarestell Vanya and some troops have been training here for the past year,” King Donovan explained. “They are stationed in Rathidral now, and are doing everything they can to save the elves there.” “Very well,” another official spoke. “What then of the rising tension between Valdea and Rathidral? Has either side contacted our city?” “Rathidral has sent messengers asking for my support,” The king, a human, announced to the others in the room. Then motioning to his Elven wife, he continued, “And Valdea has been pursuing the allegiance and aid of Queen Saraei. Truth be told, we do not want any part in feeding the flame of this war; we only wish to help put it out.” “Should we start talks about a peace treaty then, sire?” An advisor asked, concern deep in his voice. “Perhaps that could end all of this nonsense.” “A piece of parchment will not end this war,” Saraei spoke softly, though her voice was filled with authority. “The most that a peace treaty could result in is the postponement of this war. And if we succeed in that, what then shall we do with our added time?” “But we should at least attempt to talk things out with Valdea and Rathidral,” another insisted. “Otherwise, we condemn ourselves to starting a war.” “We feel that that this war is already in the beginning stages,” Saraei retorted. “Nevertheless, we have sent a negotiator, Celerean Elentári Elvenstar, to visit both cities and suggest a compromise of some sort. Though we understand that compromise is the best policy, we must be prepared for the worst.” “The hate is embedded too deep for this war to be resolved peacefully or with words,” Donovan added. “Both Valdea and Rathidral have made that all too clear. Lady Methien will soon take over as ruler of Valdea, and she is not one to back down.” “Teron Ecklord SeVer is also not a force that can be easily reckoned with,” a scholar chimed in. “He, too, will soon be fulfilling his role as heir, especially with the decline of his mother’s health coming to an end.” “The time of new leaders has come,” a noble asserted. “It is time that Prince Valändil return home.” “That is easier said than done, my friends,” Saraei said calmly as she placed her hand upon her husband’s in comfort. “I will set up a meeting with my son, and we shall discuss his permanent return. Though, I cannot make any promises. You all watched him grow up here, and I’m sure you all know of his stubborn side.” There was a weak murmur of laughter as the crowd of Aldarion officials were dismissed from the council room. * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * It was midday and the sun was shining, casting a shimmering glow upon the city of Valdea. Though it paled in comparison to the vast kingdom of Aldarion, the city of elves appeared to be beautiful, despite the hatred of humans that filled the air. The lifestyle in the city, however, greatly differed from that of Aldarion. In Valdea, life was focused on the rule of Elves, and the citizens lived a strict lifestyle, set to make sure everyone living there shared the same beliefs. For those that did not share the same disgust for humans were exiled from the city. There was, of course, one exception to this rule; one elf was allowed to remain in Valdea regardless of his undecided feelings towards humans. “Valändil, I hear you are being summoned to Aldarion,” one of the stable boys spoke as the prince tended to his horse. “They say you are being summoned to take over the throne.” Chuckling slightly to himself, Valändil turned towards the young elf and replied, “I have not received word of why I am being summoned; though, what they say may not be so far from the truth. So, I see you are interested in the politics of this world. What else have you heard as of late?” “I’ve heard that Valdea and Rathidral are going to go to war. And it’s rumored that Aldarion is hoping that you will help find a way to stop the war from going too far,” the stable boy mused as Valändil continued preparing his horse. “Is that what you plan on doing?” Valändil halted and hung his head down in thought. “I do not know what I am doing at the moment.” Then turning to the Elven boy, he added, “But I’ll be sure to let you know when I figure it out.” The stable boy flashed a warm smiled as he walked Valändil’s horse out from the stable. “Good luck,” he said softly as Valändil got onto the horse. Then, handing him the reins, he continued, “Please do everything you can to keep this war from happening.” At this, Valändil felt himself choke up a bit, so he just nodded in reply. Then he readied the reins of his horse and was off on his way to Aldarion. |
| The wind picked up, shooting through the small open window and tossing the captain's papers across the room. She stood and closed the shutters, locking them shut as quietly as she could. Half of her team lay sleeping in the same small room, the other half had been sent out. For the first time she remained behind while they worked, and couldn't find sleep until they returned. Aarestell kneel beside the papers, brushing them into a pile and replacing them on the small table. "Aarestell?" Came Ausaith's deep voice through the thin door. He was the second in command, the one leading the group that had gone out that night. She quickly move over the door, pulling a thin piece of fabric over her nose and mouth in attempt to hide her features from anyone that could be watching. She push open the small door, rushing forward at the sight of Ausaith. On his arm was another of the group, a young man called Anarion, who showed talent beyond his years. 2 arrows were in his back, and though he was conscious, he was unable to stand. Blood soaked through Ausaith's shirt, where a blade had been drawn across his shoulder and down his left arm. Aarestell pulled Anarion's arm over her shoulder, helping Ausaith pull him into the small room. "Get up!" She called sternly to the others, who rose quickly at the sight of their companions. Aarestell set Ausaith in a small chair, leaning down to his eye level. "Where are the others?" She asked, her heart beating quickly, dreading the answer. "Dead," He coughed between his quickly drawn breaths, "It was a, a trap. We had no hope. They killed the elves also. They were dead when we arrived." he said. Aarestell stumbled back. The others had heard Ausaith's explanation, and all stopped; frozen in their grief. "I will go to the king," Aarestell spoke in a whisper, "And bring the news to their families." She pull her hood over her hair, her face still covered. "Move out of here quickly, they will have followed you. I will return in a few days." Aarestell said, gathering what few things she needed and slipping out the back door. Aarestell rode through the large gates and into the city of Aldarion. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sorry it took so long. I've been swamped with school and work.  thank for not skipping me Becky. |
"Oh, please tell me you are not leaving so early that you forget to say goodbye to your best friend?" A man with long white hair narrowed his eyes and turned his lips to a slight smile. "Keandre!" Valandil grinned as he jumped from his horse and hugged his old friend. "I thought you were traveling on the east?" "I was, until I found out that you were leaving." Keandre answered. "I certainly could not forget you. But I must ask why you are heading to Aldarion so quickly?" "I have been called by my mother- I am not sure why, but I must leave right away." Keandre grinned. "Please say hello to her for me." "I will, I promise." Valandil stated as he mounted his horse again. "We will talk more later, I assure you." "We will." Keandre knocked upon the wooden doors. His amethyst eyes settled upon the corridor as he waited for the chambers to open. Finally, the door did open- from behind the wooden latch stood a woman with a very noble look to her. Her long black hair fell loose over her shoulders. "Commander Keandre, please, come in." Keandre bowed his head. "Lady Methien." "Is it time already?" She questioned as she looked at him. "It is I am afraid." He stated with stature and noticed how beautiful the Princess looked in her dress. He was dressed in his own fine clothes, a pure white tunic rimmed in silver- his hair was pulled back neatly (for once) in a ponytail that lingered on his back. "Your father and mother await your presence." Lady Methien nodded. Her father had called a gathering- a gathering of noble importance though Keandre was not quite sure what it was about. She grabbed her escourt's arm and he began walking her out of her room. "How are you today?" Keandre asked when he noticed Methien fingering her dress. "I am fine." She answered with prestige. Keandre shook his head as he laid his swords (he had worn them to show his rank and for design) down upon the table in his room. He lived in the castle with the Princess, that is except when he was traveling on business. His reason for being at the ball was over, he had escourted the Princess and hovered around the guests for a little while before disappearing into his room. He hated fancy get-togethers and really did not care what the purpose of the ball was for. Furthermore, he detested living around these elves. He had hoped to change this soon. According to him they were all spoiled brats in need of a rude awakening, an awakening that he would soon give them. ________________ *I hope this addy is okay with everyone... if its not please feel free to delete it.* |
| Lady Methien sat in the grand ballroom watching the gathering of Valdea's most powerful and prestigious Elves through heavy-lidded eyes. Women in silks and satins of all colors twirled before her while the men took turns to leave the high table to dance with one or two at a time. Her father, the High King of Valdea, spoke there, planning for the upcoming war with Rathidral, his dark features nearly identical with those of his daughter. The Queen, Methien's mother Danae, sat listening to the conversation, a sombre expression on her fair face. "Destestable humans!" Methien perked up, her ears training on the conversation of two provincial noblewomen. "Torturing our kind in Rathidral! They have no true goodness in them, that is for sure!" Methien smiled mischievously. "Oh really? And our torturing humans outside the city walls...our banishment of anyone even thought to support humans...that is goodness, hmm?" The two elves stared, open-mouthed in blatant surprise, at the Princess. One of them coughed and shifted her eyes quickly. "I beg your pardon, m'lady, but surely it is different." "You must be right, Lady Livinia. Destestable humans indeed!" Methien stood and, getting a nod from her mother, led herself from the ballroom quickly, searching for Keandre. She pulled her hair free from its ties and proceeded to his chambers. "Keandre! Please let me in before I explode!" Methien knocked on the chamber door, pulling the gloves from her arms and glancing down the corridors, watching for uncomers. After a moment, the door opened and Keandre stood, smiling at the entrance. "What is it, Princess? Something wrong?" Methien walked into the room and plopped on one of the setees. "Oh, yes! That whole ball is what's wrong! Political subterfuge, propaganda, hurtful jargon! It's too much to bear." "I am sorry, my Princess," Keandre replied, pouring Methien a glass of wine. She took it and sipped for a moment, deep in thought. "Have you ever met a human, Keandre?" Keandre started and blinked several times, clearly caught off guard. "Why...no...I haven't. Any reason for your asking, Princess?" "Because I've never met one, either. Mother and Father are so determined to start this war, and I shall be forced to follow in their path...and I've never even MET a human. How do I know they're despicable?! It's what I've been taught my whole life, but I don't know! I've never even met one...and I'm supposed to order our soldiers to fight them...it's not right! And it's not fair!" Putting her glass down on the side table, Methien burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, look at me...crying. I'm not supposed to cry. A Princess of Valdea should not cry and yet here I am." Looking up, Methien smiled through her tears. "You must think me a spoiled brat, Keandre, to be complaining about my situation. But it's harder than it looks. People assume that being the ruler, you actually get to lead. But it isn't true! I am held sway by the opinions of the people...and I'm to be Queen within the month..." Methien stopped and sighed. "I am to be Queen within the month...and I will be forced to send Valdea to war." |
| "Is she-- ...Well, Vidàr?" Teron said to his handservant as he awoke. "She beckons you forth. I fear that she has very little time." Was the quiet reply. Teron stretched and walked into the patch of sunlight coming from the window. He looked out upon the castle grounds where people walked here and there. "They look to be somewhat ignorant of their freedom, do they not Vidár?" Teron chuckled to himself. "That will soon change." He walked out into the main hallway where his attendants were waiting. As he stepped out they bombarded him with questions and news. "Your mother is soon to go, I fear." Said one. "She has called you to her to accept your inheritance." Another chirped as they turned a corner and barely missed ramming into a girl carrying a large bundle. "Your sister has arrived by horse to visit your mother." Teron slowed his pace to a stop, and turned to look at the attendant. "My-- sister? The gaurds let her in? How did she get past the Oblis?" "The Oblis was once her pet, if you remember, and the gaurds were under orders to allow her this once. She was entering the castle when I was walking to your door. She should be in your mothers' chambers." Teron nodded and took his cape from the hands of the attendant behind him, then walked off to his mothers bedside. ~ (busy, g2g so cant write more than this -,- sry) |
“What can I do for you, Lady Celerean?” he asked, walking over to pour himself some wine. He indicated if I would like one but I politely shook my head. “It’s...it’s about this upcoming war,” Celerean said, walking behind a chair and gripping it. “Since you are Lord Teron's right hand man, I was hoping you could persuade him to discuss matters with--” Vidàr suddenly laughed. “I see what you are saying. As much as I would love to help you, Lady Celerean, I’m afraid I cannot really help you after all.” “So you are just going to stand there and do nothing? Vidàr, there are lives at stake! People from both sides will die because of this unsettled abhorrence. You cannot just do nothing.” He took a few long strides towards her and stopped from inches from her face. He leaned down until Celerean could see the deep wrinkles around his eyes. “If it comes to it, I can do nothing,” he spat out, then took a long swallow from his wine. “I see no reason why I should make peace with a pointy-eared creature of evil.” Celerean burned with anger and her eyes flashed at him. “They do not associate with evil. Have you ever even known an Elf?” “I don’t need to. I know how they are. I see how they curse our race. They may be gifted with immortality and everything, but they don’t possess the strength and power of Men. Which is why they shall lose this war.” “There doesn’t have to be a war. Why not negotiate and discuss it in a diplomatic way? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Rathidral started this war...” Vidàr spun around and grabbed Celerean by the shoulder. “What are you saying, Half-one? That we Men are barbaric and bloodthirsty? Only Elves think of that, and it’s obvious to see which side you have chosen.” He pushed her towards the door and she caught hold of the doorknob. “Get out of my sight and don’t come around here again! Your diplomacy is of no use here. I can see that you loathe Men as well as your counterparts. For being a Half-One, I would think you would choose wisely. Obviously, I was wrong. Good bye, Lady Celerean. See you on the battlefield.” He opened the door for her, pushed her out, and then closed it. Celerean straightened her clothes and pushed her hair out of her face. “Well, that went well,” she said, making her way to the courtyard. She needed to find her horse, as well as someone with listening ears and an open mind. -------------------------------------------------  This has been edited. So...re-read it! |
The sky was a fiery red in color as the sun began to set. The cit of Aldarion looked radiant as the last rays of the sun beamed off its gleaming, stone walls. The village was full of people, bartering and working, and children playing in the courtyards. The young prince sat upon his horse with the stunning view of his home laid out before him. It was like entering another world. The atmosphere of the city was so much different than that of Valdea. It was as if a weight had been pulled off from his shoulders, and the tension that had been burdening him had lessened. It still remained, though, for it would always be with him. Now, though, it was a different burden that swelled inside of him. He had taken refuge in Valdea after escaping torture in Rathidral. But that was not why he remained there. A hate he had never known dwelled within him, keeping him from returning to his rightful home. But that hate encompassed a secret, one that could cost him his life if he did not return to the safety of Aldarion. Just then, the young prince heard the ringing of trumpets in the distance. They had spotted him, sitting there, and now they were awaiting his arrival. Taking a deep breath, Valändil prepared to face the cause of the hatred inside him. ------------- “Prince Valändil, it is good to see you again,” were the many greetings he received as he led his horse through the parade of villagers. Children danced and played through the streets as the men and women of Aldarion celebrated the arrival of their prince. Elves and men harmoniously sung and smiled, hooking arms as brothers. The sight relieved Valändil at first, but he soon felt a slight distaste at this spectacle of unity. “Thank-you….but no thank-you,” He replied as humbly as he could to the numerous offerings and gifts sent his way. “It’s quite alright. I do not need any welcoming presents.” “Why of course you do!” came a deep, booming voice. Valändil looked ahead and saw a large man heading his way. The man had thick hands the size of sausages, and Valändil feared nothing more than having those hands wrap around and pull him into an embrace. He also had a round belly, plump face, black hair, and a greasy black beard. A cherub smile was spread across his rosy cheeks as approached the heir. “Prince Valändil, you mother did well. It’s good to have you back!” Valändil tried to smile and respond politely, but his words were soon smothered by the man’s broad chest. Finally, the man let go and Valändil took a moment to breathe. Just then, the man whistled and two young boys came over. “They shall take care of your horse, your majesty. Come, everyone is waiting for you inside.” Valändil nodded, but waited a few moments before following the man. He was a bit afraid to walk too closely behind him. As he was being led towards the palace, Valändil looked back towards the two boys. They were stable boys, just like the elf in Valdea. They looked the same, none appearing better than the other. The elf in Valdea just had pointy ears. But surely, that did not mean superiority. What then drew the line? The young prince thought. What makes one race superior to the other? He turned his head to face forward again and was met by two silvery-blue eyes, just like his own. “My son,” Queen Saraei spoke gently as she leaned in. He bowed, lowering his head in respect. “I am pleased to see you,” she added before kissing his forehead. She then slowly pulled away and set her hand upon his. “Come, we are to have a meeting. Yours is not the only important arrival that has occurred this day.” Valändil walked into the council room where smatterings of noble folk were discussing the recent issues. The young prince’s presence was quickly acknowledged as all talking immediately ceased. Valändil looked around the room. Everyone was there. Aarestell Vanya was there, the troop leader sent to save elves in Rathidral. Valändil had met her once when Valdea invited her for a visit. Queen Danae insisted in helping pay for any extra supplies needed to save her people. Of course, when they learned that Aarestell worked with humans, the offer was soon ended. Celerean Elvenstar was also present, but Valändil only knew her by name. She was known for her negotiation skills, which had turned the tide in many wars. Only time would tell if she would be able to work her magic this time. “Come, your seat is open,” Saraei said, pointing ahead. Valändil began to walk alongside his mother. He casually glanced around the room, soaking in the sights that he had missed all these years. Rows of chairs were set out, and they were all filled with royal family, villagers, and noble men. He then turned his gaze forward, and when he did, he came to an abrupt halt. King Donovan sat in his throne. Two open seats on each side of him. One belonged to his mother, and the other was obviously for him. Valändil felt the eyes of everyone in the room sear into his skin. They did not know what he did, and they could not. He took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure. His mother looked at him nervously; a deep concern was etched into her eyes. Valändil nodded and rested his hand upon hers to comfort her. He then continued walking to his seat. Queen Saraei took her seat, and Valändil took his. Then the meeting commenced. No words were exchanged between father and son. Everyone seemed to notice this, but no one dared point it out. “Lord Breregrin, you may begin,” King Donovan spoke. A man then stood up from his seat; it was the large man from before. “It seems we have three important matters to discuss. Aarestell Vanya, the troop leader has returned with some vital news about our efforts to rescue elves from the torture in Rathidral. She will be sharing information about the mission that was recently initiated. Along with this, Lady Elvenstar has returned from her trip to Rathidral. It seems she was not able to speak with Lord Teron, but she did talk with Vidàr, Teron’s hand servant and right hand man. She will be reporting how that meeting went in tonight’s meeting as well.” Breregrin then paused, and as if he had given permission, whispers began to spread across the council room. Donovan and Saraei sat patiently waiting, not responding to the masses of whispers. Valändil followed their lead and kept quiet. Breregrin then began again. “First off, let’s start with the introduction of a very important guest. Guest! What am I saying? It’s our very own prince, and now he’s home. He’s no guest. Everyone welcome back Prince Valändil!” A thunderous applause arose and Valändil was shocked. Had he been that greatly missed? He felt a hand push at his shoulder. Valändil looked at his mother and understood. He sighed as he stood and waved to the crowd. His mother then gave him another nudge. “Thank-you all,” he spoke, his voice resonating both dignity and authority. For a second, Valändil did not recognize his own voice. He had not spoken in front of the public for so long, nor had he fulfilled any duties as prince, not since his futile mission to Rathidral. “It is good to be back home.” He added. More applause followed, and as everyone sat beaming at the presence of their prince, Valändil felt the heaviness of that word sink in. He was home after all. He then sat down as Breregrin took over the floor once more. “You were great,” Saraei whispered proudly to her son. “It’s like you were never even gone.” Valändil smiled at his mother, grateful for her kindness. He did not deserve for her to treat him so well, not after he had abandoned her, and yet she still did. Smiling, he leaned forward and whispered back, “By the way, Keandre says hello.” Saraei kissed her boy on the forehead before sitting back up with a lovely smile upon her face. “And now…,” Breregrin’s voice bellowed throughout the halls, “Aarestell Vanya has the floor." |
Aarestell sat silently as the others spoke, determining exactly how she should present her news. The color had drained from her face as she gathered her words in her mind before allowing them to come from her mouth. She would admit to those that had trusted her that she had failed. That she had sent her men into a trap and because of it nearly half of them were dead. "And now..." Breregrin said glancing to her, "Aarestell Vanya has the floor." The young woman allowed a sad smile to move across her features as she thanked him. She began quietly; her voice as serious as it had ever been, "I regret to inform the council that the cause to which I have been assigned has suffered a major loss. The three elven leaders that we had hoped to rescue were killed, and the men I sent to retrieve them found themselves in a trap. Only two returned of the six I sent. The first, my second in command, carries a wound that could potentially take his left arm. The other returned with two arrows in his back. It is questionable still whether he will survive." "Were your men positive they were not followed?" King Donovan asked. "We are very careful your Highness, and if we are not positive, we have several places among the city walls to lead those who do attempt to follow. Still, to ensure our safety the remaining members are in the process of relocating. I will inform the council when we stop again." "And what of those men who died? What of their families?" Queen Saraei questioned, her face showing her concern. "I have already informed their families of their deaths, though I was unable to give any detail for our safety's sake." "This is alarming news." Donovan spoke sternly, wringing his hands. "My regrets are overwhelming, but we have no way to foresee such things. I come before the council with a request that I believe will prevent further harm." "Very well." "I ask that my men be returned to their families for a time. This has weighed heavily on us all and when minds are not clear we again risk loss. A season is all I ask for them." "And what will happen in their absence?" "I request three others to replace the seven that go. I do not believe there will be a need for more than that." "I imagine you wish to choose them yourself?" The king asked. "If your majesty will allow." "Then choose them and return to the others." She bowed low, excusing herself and moving quickly out of the council room. |
| Keandre sighed. Even though he did not like the elves he was not completely heartless. He sat down next to Methien and took a deep breath. "Then do not send them." "As if that would work! They would never listen to me, I have no choice in the matter, Keandre." She cried. "A Queen's job is not to lead her people in what they think is best, but in what is best for them. Maybe Rathidral would listen if you were to speak to them?" He offered. "What good would talking do? We have sent envoy after envoy, no one will take heed to them." "What if I go?" "You? But why would you-" Keandre lifted Methien's face and gently wiped away a falling tear from her cheek. "Perhaps they would listen to me since I am not an elf?" "But you were raised by elves, were you not? Would they not know the difference?" She questioned. "You worry too much My princess." He stood and then turned to look at her. "I promise I will come back safely." "If you go, I am going with you." She said bluntly. Keandre narrowed his eyes. "But if they know you are the heir to Valdea-" "I do not care, these are my people Keandre, if I do not protect them who will?" Keandre huffed slightly to himself. Having Methien come along would only complicate things, however, he also knew he could not change her mind once it was made. So, he finally gave in. "Fine, but I am not responsible for what happens to you. I will protect you, but I am not being blamed for this." "I will take responsibility for my own actions." She stated. "Then we shall leave in the morning, make sure you are ready, for if you are not I am leaving without you." He then walked out of his room and left Methien to herself. He walked down the hall until he found a young servant boy. "Go to Aldarion and tell Prince Valandil that I am heading to Rathidral to talk the superiors there into stopping the war. Tell him that Lady Night goes with me on her own will. He will know whom I speak of. Tell no one else this, do you hear me?" "Yes my lord, I shall leave right away." "Do so, be on your way." |
| Methien slipped into her room and lit a candle with a wave of her hand; only the Elves of the Royal Line could manipulate manna and, then, only very little- the art had long been lost. The Heir to Valdea had a little more talent than most, and longed to rediscover the ways of her people and use them to heal the fissures between the races. Only she and Valändil truly had the best interests of all people- elven or human- wanting to end the war and finally allow peace to reign. Lord Teron, Heir to Rathidral, was said to be cruel to all, whether of his own kind or of the Elven race; he would be no help. The only hope for Valdea was to beg Aldarion to act as peacekeepers; not to go to Rathidral and put Teron in charge. "Oh Keandre, your need for revenge has made you impatient to return to those whom you believe your ally. You've let yourself go, my friend." Methien didn't know when she had figured out that Keandre was not what he professed himself to be; she could not fathom how she had woken in a cold sweat one night, clutching her chest and knowing that Keandre was the spy everyone knew Rathidral had within Valdea's borders. She hadn't told anyone, not even Valändil, but always took care to guard herself around the elf-like creature who believed himself a man. She would allow Keandre to go to Teron, but the Lady Methien would not be going with him. Before she split from him and headed for Aldarion, Methien would ensure that Keandre gave some very nice news to the Rathidrans; not necessarily true, but news nonetheless. Methien had never let on that she knew Keandre was solicitous to the humans; as far as Keandre knew, Methien still trusted him implicitly. And Valändil really did. That is why Methien needed to get to Aldarion. If Valändil didn't know what Keandre was capable of, and what Teron would do (not just to elves, but his own kind, as well), Aldarion could come under attack. Teron's evil knew no bounds. The butcher of Rathidral had killed too many of his own people and encouraged the slaughter of thousands of Elves. Valdeans might despise humans, but their leaders never actively took part in the killings and certainly never killed an elf to get a human spy. It was despicable. It was evil and, as Methien had supposed, Keandre was all apart of it; had condoned it and sent information to Rathidral to facilitate it. Methien had never felt more betrayed by anyone- this was a man she had come to regard and love as a true friend, one with her at every step. Keandre had listened to her rantings and advised her on situations that no one else could boast knowledge of. He, alone, knew Lady Methien as she really was. And he was headed to Rathidral to "talk Teron out of the war". "You are a traitor, Keandre. To life and liberty and love." Methien took out a pack and threw some clothing into it, taking care to choose durable outfits and supplies that would last in a trek through the woods. "To freedom from fear." There was a knock on the door and a servant slipped in a moment later. "M'lady. Lord Keandre wishes me to tell you that he has procured some food and tack, as well as horses for your journey in the morning. Valändil has also been sent a messenger, telling him of the situation." Methien smiled and nodded. "Thank you. And will you report to the Lord Keandre that I thank him, as well?" The servant nodded, bowed, and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Methien took care to speak no more the rest of the night, should Keandre ever decide to come up to her room and listen at doors, or plant servants. She didn't know what he did, had never asked, had never even let on that anythign was amiss- she couldn't afford to let him know. Lord Teron would be the concequence. |
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