To write books is not what elves do. It's a human thing. If we feel the urge to write something down we do so in 'ice' for we live long enough to see, that time is harder on parchment than it is on us. Moreover there is no great need to write things down amongst my race. The possibility to draw on memories that reach back a hundred years or more does quite away with it. Remembering things is a way to keep our minds busy. And we know that what has been is well preserved in what is now - that what we are, is also what we have been and what we will be.
The writings that we do on the Dancing Pillars of the Windswept Northern Planes are just an art form really. We use our beautiful elaborate script to decorate those spires and arches of our few meeting places. The material we use to form the Dancing Pillars isn't really 'ice', but there is no fitting human word for it. �Air and water that are compressed by magic into something even harder and longer lasting than stone?' I guess I stay with �ice'. Of course there is an elfin word for it, but I have decided to write this book in the human script and tongue. It seems more fitting for something that is a human costume anyway.
And it should scandalize my elfin companions even more. I have to admit this was my main intention, when I set my mind on writing a book. I kept those entries in my travel-journal mostly up for show when we started our journey south to the Borderlands. As I should have expected it failed to annoy my companions half as much as I had hoped. At least they didn't let it show and just ignored my industrious scribbling and self-important posing at the campfires. That somehow took the edge of it and the entries dwindled down to stupid notes. Therefore I leave those first attempts aside now as I start my book anew.
This night we arrived at the Borderland Inn where we are supposed to meet a human merchant. The Fair Folk, as the mortals call my race, are avoiding contact with the humans as much as possible. But there is something those mortals have which is of great value to us.
Silver.
The hills and mountains of the Borderlands are rich with this fair metal and the humans know the art of winning it from the body of the earth. In exchange for the silver we trade fine leathers, furs, amber and works of art carved out of bone. The bothersome thing about this trade is that some of us have to leave our lands in the north and travel to the places where the mortals dwell. Thus the Inns of the Borderlands are turning into the centers of the elfin-human trade. They're the last posts of mortal habitation in the far north.
These Inns are small compared to the high and winding spires of the Dancing Pillars and they are built out of wood, resting on a basement of stone. My companions were reluctant to enter this crude building, but without a minimum of contact it is rather difficult to carry out the trade. So we took up our station at the Inn to wait for the merchant. And there the new reason for writing this book came in, wearing green sleeves.
To take more than a fleeting interest in humans is not what elves do. It has been like this ever since Fimbulan Dancercoldheart. Therefore, in honour of the elf, who was the first and last to love a mortal, I decided to name this book 'The Book of Fimbulan.'
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The door to the tavern room of the Borderland Inn opened, letting in a gust of stiff night wind. It stirred the warm, smelly air that brought dancing shadows to the rough stonewall by swinging the lamps on their iron hinges. Some heads turned to the entrance with annoyed expressions and ready to snap an impatient, 'Shut it, will ye!' but the words died on their lips and silence fell upon the room like a shroud. The tall, pale creature that stood in the doorway gazed coldly down its nose at the assembled humans, meeting the collective stare. Although the trade between the Fair Folk of the north and the humans was increasing lately, an elf was still far from being a common sight even in the Borderlands. Flimsy strands of long, dun-colored hair whipped around the finely, sculptured face and the lean shoulders. He was clad in a loosely falling tunic, held by a girdle slung around his slim hips, breeches and laced boots, all made of soft, Fair Leather, adorned with feathers, beads and some elaborate embroidery.
Annoyed, yet stooping elegantly beneath the too low doorframe, the elf entered the tavern, to be followed by four more of his folk. The silence grew very uncomfortable and some of the mortal guests started to shift nervously on their benches. Compared to the frosty presence of the five elves the night chill that continued to seep into the room was just a minor distraction. Finally the landlady who had held court behind the bar shook off her stupor and approached the elves with a low humble bow.
"B-be welcome, fair Lairds 'n' Ladies. What an honour ye're visitn' mi tavern."
One of the elves, acknowledged the meekly mumbled greeting only with a slight inclination of his head. The haughty silence of the immortal visitors almost put the landlady at a loss, but then she turned hurriedly and let her sharp gaze sweep through the room. The table in the corner at the back of the inn was occupied by three mercenaries in their colorful outfits.
"Seri, clear up that table there. Don' tarry, gel!" she shouted at the maid and prayed that there wouldn't be any trouble.
The maid, a slip of a girl, managed to stop gaping at the elves and quickly scurried to the mercenary's table. There was some muttering from the freebooters, but even they were subdued by the presence of the Fair Folk and grudgingly gave up their place for the promise of a mug of the best ale. Relieved the landlady turned back to the elves with a hesitant inviting gesture. "If that pleases ye, Fair Lairds'n'Ladies."
Another condescending nod.
With sweat beading her forehead she led the way through the tavern room and then shooed away Seri who tried to quickly wipe spilled ale from the battered wooden surface of the table. "If ye mae sit doun, Fair Lairds 'n' Ladies. An' wad d'yer want t' be served. We've gaed broth 'n' ale an' Ian could put some chickens on the spit."
At first it seemed like the elves wouldn't bother to answer her. They slid onto the benches, having some trouble folding their long-limb bodies to sit on furniture that wasn't made to suit elfin proportions. Still the maneuvering to find a slightly comfortable position wasn't awkward, but a display of fluid grace. Finally the Fair Folk had settled down under the gazes of all the tavern guests. Their spokesman, probably the only one of them who understood the human tongue, fixed the landlady with eyes that looked like liquid silver.
"We just want water." he told her calmly in a lilting, melodic elfin accent.
The landlady looked offended, her mouth thinning, but she nodded and turned away.
"Excuse me, woman." It was a different voice that stopped the landlady.
"Aye, Fair Laird?" she asked, hoping she was really addressing a Lord and not a Lady. You never knew with the Fair Folk. But the alien, androgynous face of the silver haired elf, which had spoken to her, had something male to it.
"I would like some of the broth 'n' ale." He ordered, carefully mouthing the last words and thus imitating the borderland accent. There was cold silence from the other four elves, nothing betraying a reaction, just a slight air of disapproval.
The landlady nodded quickly. "Ah... aye, I'll gaed ye some, Fair Laird." With that she backed away towards the bar to see to the orders herself.
Joanathos Talaionidou leaned back and noted with satisfaction that he had found a way to sit quite comfortably on the bench, half-sliding beneath the table. Thus his knee was pressed against Hylasander's thigh who had taken the place opposite him. Tables like that weren't part of elfin furniture. The Fair Folk ate lounging on the ground, their meals put on small daises. Though the human concept had interesting possibilities, Joanathos decided, as he stretched his leg further and brushed it along Hylasander's, all unseen. The dark haired elf-his hair almost the color of golden honey, which was the darkest members of the Fair Folk got-shot him a startled gaze. Obviously he wasn't quite certain about the origin of the touch. A nasty smile tugged at one corner of Joanathos' sweeping mouth, Hylasander's confusion amusing him. It seemed to confirm Hylasander's suspicion, but still he let his hand slide unobtrusively under the table and along his own thigh till it met the other elf's knee. His fingertips traced over it for a moment, feeling the soft leather and fine embroidery of Joanathos' breeches, recognizing it. Searching he looked into Joanathos' icy-blue eyes, his fingers lingering on his knee for a moment. But then he drew back his hand and stretched his legs thus breaking the contact.
"You really want to eat that human dish you've ordered?" Hylasander asked softly in the elfin tongue.
"Yes. I'm interested." Joanathos answered calmly. The rest of their companions seemed not to have noticed the exchange of touches beneath the table. Fascinated, he wondered if the humans also took advantage of their furniture like that.
"Don't expect our sympathy when you're sick." Laertessian said coldly. His delicate nostrils flared slightly and he clearly tried to breathe shallowly, so as not to have to inhale much of the stench in the tavern room.
Joanathos raised a sardonic eyebrow at the silver-eyed elf. "It looks more like you'll be the one in the need for sympathy."
Snorting his contempt, Laertessian observed the room and the humans, who filled it.
"Filthy." he muttered.
Joanathos had to agree to this, but didn't do so out loud.
Carefully balancing a wooden tray with five mugs and a bowl the serving girl returned, accompanied by the landlady. "Fair Lairds 'n'Ladies, yer orders..." the woman tried to announce reverently, while Seri put them on the table in front of the elves. Her hands trembled with awe and she dared not look up at the immortals from so very close, but backed away again, gaze averted after she had accomplished her task. Their leader Laertessian slightly inclined his head in acknowledgment, and to let the humans know that their presence was no longer wanted. But the landlady hesitated, turning expectantly to Joanathos. "I... I hope the broth'll be t'yer likin', Fair Laird."
"I will let you know." Joanathos told her, taking the wooden bowl with its steaming sluggish contents. It didn't smell too bad, although it was hard to recognize any of the small lumps that floated to the surface. Covering his slight reluctance to take a sip of the broth, Joanathos first blew on it and gently swiveled it in the bowl. His companions observed him with slight interest, especially Hylasander, while Laertessian turned his head away with an expression of disgust. Carefully Joanathos lifted the bowl to his lips and took a small gulp. Warmth filled his mouth and ran down his throat. He had to chew something soft of which he thought it might have been some kind of root. It all had been cooked very long it seemed and didn't really taste of much. The landlady's relief that the immortal didn't spit the broth back into the bowl was obvious and as Joanathos gave her a slight nod she retreated with a smile.
"What does it taste like?" Hylasander wanted to know as Joanathos took another sip. The others showed no sign of curiosity.
"It's... not bad." With a challenging gaze he offered the bowl to Hylasander "You want to try it? It's nicely warm."
The other elf hesitated, but then shook his head not trusting the sluggish looking broth.
Joanathos suppressed a sigh and took the bowl back. "Anyone else? Laertessian?" This got him a soft snarl from their leader. As he took another gulp of the broth, it tasted better, the amusement about Laertessian's contempt adding flavor to it.
While Joanathos slowly drank his human dish his attention turned to the mortals in the tavern room. They had started to eat, drink, and talk again though the elf sensed that the presence of the Fair Folk subdued them somewhat. Awe and reverence hung in the air as thick as the oily smoke of the lanterns. Joanathos studied their strange faces and their hard abrupt gestures as they talked with each other. Over the rim of his mug he caught sight of a young human, who had just entered the room from behind the bar. The bright green sleeves that flared out from beneath his sleeveless jerkin had captured Joanathos' attention. With lazy interest he observed the young mortal. Even for human standards he seemed not tall, but stocky. A boy or youth, considered the elf, not yet fully grown, if he was any judge.
Suddenly the boy looked the elves' way and Joanathos was met with an intense gaze from beneath frowning eyebrows and heavy dark locks that fell into the youth's forehead. Joanathos felt some fascination as he compared the boy's face to Hylasander's, whom sat with his back to the bar and was just right beside the young mortal in Joanathos' line of sight. Nothing of the elf's sharp and haughty beauty could be found in the boy's features. His cheeks were rounded and his lips full, especially the lower-lip. They almost looked swollen in contrast to Hylasander's thin lips and sweeping mouth, and the cheeks seemed plump lacking the elegance of high sculptured cheekbones. Hylasander had pulled the fine long strands of his hair back out of his forehead and away from his temples to show the beautiful, softly curving indentions. The human's heavy locks covered his temples as well as his forehead, hiding this sign of beauty. Nor did the human posses the grace of elongated tapering limbs, but his throat, chest, arms, and legs consisted of rounded, swelling forms that flew one into the other.
Joanathos realized that he had no problems noting all this. The clothes the boy wore were cut so tightly to his body that the shape of his limbs could be seen almost as well as if he had been naked. The sand colored jerkin had a very low neckline, the V-shape reaching down to his waist, thus revealing much of the green shirt beneath. Across it the jerkin's lacing making a criss-cross pattern, holding the wide neckline together and pulling the cloth tightly against the human's sturdy torso. With the jerkin not reaching down over the boy's hips, one could see that the breeches fitted very snugly even at his buttocks and crotch. One of the legs was green like the sleeves that first had caught Joanathos' attention, the other was divided, and one side brown the other sand-colored. It reminded the elf a bit of the mercenary's colorful garments, though those had more volume, didn't hug their bodies so tightly and strange slits covered them, through which cloths of different colors flashed out. This way the freebooters looked more ragged and tattered than the boy - or anyone else in the tavern.
Above the neckline of the youth's shirt still showed a bit of his chest, revealing dusky skin. His face, too, seemed a shade darker than that of the other humans in the inn - not to mention the perfect ivory complexion of the Fair Folk.
Joanathos realized that the youth's gaze had turned into a glare beneath his open examination. Sullen rage was an emotion seldom found with the immortals and the force of the boy's stare surprised him. But then the young human pushed abruptly away from the bar and walked into the room, heading away from the elves' table.
"Joanathos?" Just a shade of concern colored Hylasander's voice.
"Yes?" He answered absently, his eyes following the boy, then turning to his companion, one eyebrow raised inquiringly. "If you finally decided you'll dare to taste that broth I'll have to disappoint you." He put the empty bowl down on the table.
Hylasander clacked his tongue in disapproval. "Don't go hunting snow hens!" he rejected the bait. "You know I wasn't referring to that. What did you stare at, Joanathos?"
Touching his chin lightly with his fingertips Joanathos apologized to the other elf. "I observed a young human." he told him calmly and turned his attention back to the boy. Hylasander and the others followed his gaze.
The youth's way through the room didn't seem to have an actual aim. But as he passed by the mercenary's table, one of the freebooters grinned at him and grabbed his wrist, making him stop. The elves winced at the roughness of that intimate touch.
"How rude!" Laertessian uttered disgusted and the two hunters, Calerenios and Silvassandra, looked away totally taken aback.
"I think for the humans it is not special to touch one's wrist or temples." Hylasander tried to put into consideration though he looked affronted as well. Absently Joanathos nodded while he observed the young human's reaction with interest. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to jerk free, but then he let himself be pulled on the man's lap. Confused Joanathos raised an eyebrow while he watched the green-sleeved arms coming up around the mercenary's neck in an embrace. Suddenly the elf started to laugh, his laughter ringing clear and true above the underlying noise of the tavern room.
"At a Borderland Inn
I met with a bonny maid.
She had stockings o' green
and I soon had her well paid,
for she sold me good ale
that for sure wasn't stale.
Oh, you know what I mean!
At a Borderland Inn
her brother a sweet lad
with sleeves o' bright green
thought I hadn't enough yet.
My mug he refilled
'till my thirst was all stilled
at that Borderland Inn."
After Joanathos' beautiful, melodic voice had faded, complete silence filled the tavern. All stared at the elf, who had just sung a bawdy song like some artful ballad.
"Now I know what this song means. It's not about ale after all." he explained calmly, not the least unsettled by the attention he had drawn. Out of the corner of his eyes he noted his companions' embarrassment with satisfaction. Joanathos locked his gaze with the youth's on the freebooter's lap, who stared aghast at him. "Green sleeves show that you offer your favors at lovemaking in exchange for money. Is that right?" he inquired with cold interest.
With a soft snarl the youth struggled up onto his feet, rage and humiliation burning in his dark eyes. "Na t' ye, elf!" He spat the last word like an insult. The youth's anger hit Joanathos quite unexpected, just like the other occupants of the room.
"Thev!" the Landlady called out in shock, then she turned to the elves. "I'm sae sorry, Fair Lairds 'n' Ladies. He's just a hotheaded lad. He didn' mean no disrespect."
With a sardonic expression Joanathos observed the youth, who had slightly lowered his head, but his hands were clenched into fists and his chest heaved. "Hot-headed." He said thoughtfully. After all fire was a human element and it seemed quite strong in Thev. "How amusing you think I'd like to buy your favors. But excuse me for interrupting you, Lord Greensleeves." The calm voice carried subtle scorn and the boy clearly had to struggle to keep a grip on his temper.
"Yes, pretty-one, get back to where you left off!" As the mercenary reached for him Thev shook his hand off. But then he tore his gaze away from the elf and slid back on the man's lap. With sullen determination he started to kiss him, hands still clenched into fists as he wrapped his arms around the freebooter again. The man obviously enjoyed Thev's attitude, bending the youth's head back, to plunder his mouth.
Interested, Joanathos watched it before he sensed his companion's disapproval and turned to face them. Cold gazes met him. Joanathos lifted one eyebrow and gave them a crooked smile. "Curious costumes those humans have, don't you think so?"
"It's disgusting!" Laertessian hissed.
Hylasander nodded, nostrils flared. "Yes, that song had no melodies to it whatsoever and the words are so crude!"
"I was referring to the boy and the man." corrected Laertessian icily.
Joanathos had to suppress an amused chuckle. "I know, Hylasander. Their songs aren't very artful, but you know some of the Fimbulan ballads deliberately picked up motives and inspirations from human songs and melodies." he reminded the bard, who nodded reluctantly.
"That's right." Hylasander conceded. "But I don't think this song was made by anyone very skilled in the arts of music, not even for a human. And anyway those songs which inspired some of the Fimbulan ballads were often elfish influenced human lyrics to start with."
Their discussion was interrupted by a dismissive flip of Laertessian's hand. "This human song at least is just as crude in his allusions and as disgusting as is the deed it is referring to!"
Thoughtfully Joanathos' gaze returned to the table of the mercenaries. A husky skinned shoulder was revealed, as the freebooter pulled back the boy's half-opened jerkin and green-sleeved shirt. With obvious lust the mercenary kissed the shoulder and then muzzled the youth's neck, while he clasped and kneaded the naked flesh with his strong broad hand. Thev had his dark eyes half-closed, hidden under the thick fringe of his lashes. His hands had vanished into the front of the mercenary's shirt and he shifted on the man's lap, straddling him. This caused a lecherous grunt from the freebooter and his hand rubbed over the boy's thigh, back to his butt, groping it. He pressed Thev still closer, while he seemed to whisper something into the youth's ear.
It held some fascination for Joanathos that they didn't mind giving this display of lust in the full tavern room. He knew that the humans were more prudish about being naked than were his own folk. But an elfin couple wouldn't share such intimacy in public. Elves sought for solitude in all of their doings. This love for solitude was so strong that it actually was hard for them to bear each other's company even at the rare times that they bonded with a lover. Joanathos hesitated, putting the fact in consideration that what happened here clearly was no love bonding. It made his curiosity grow for he couldn't tell if the boy felt lust while being touched and returning the intimate touches. After all the man didn't force him to do anything. But it was hard for the elf to imagine that anyone would renounce the "freedom-of-no-name" and bear the most intimate company with someone else for money. But then again company seemed what the humans preferred, so perhaps for them this wasn't so appalling a thing to do. And perhaps the human's tendency to huddle and cluster together stretched even to lovemaking. Still, Thev had seemed angry when the mercenary first stopped him to make him stay with him.
While he watched the two mortals suddenly got up. The freebooter said something to his companions that made them laugh coarsely, but the elf noticed Thev's sullen gaze. With his arm wrapped around the youth's shoulders the man left his table and they walked to the staircase at the back of the tavern room. Joanathos' gaze followed the pair as they descended the steps and then vanished out of sight. So humans didn't go all the way in public.
End of Chapter One
| Part 2 | | 