The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Thirty Three

"Ugh!" He sat up, forcing the bird to tumble into his lap. The weight caught his attention and he opened his eyes, staring at his mother's bird in disbelief.

So the bird pecked him again, this time going for his stomach.

He pleaded something in Elvish, at which point the bird cooed once.

"Mirthal, there's a crowd of elves outside. I'm guessing they're here to take you home."

Holding his head in his hands, Mirthal let out a groan. "They came to us..."

"They almost didn't let me inside. I had to take my glove off, it was ridiculous!"

"Really?" Mirthal pulled his hands away from his face, a small smile pulling at his lips. "So my mark was useful."

Seeing Mirthal's satisfaction at the fact that his gift had finally come in handy, Tracou felt some of his anger leave his body.

"It was. I expect it'll be useful as long as we're around elves."

Mirthal nodded, the smile slipping off his face. For nearly a minute, he sat without saying a word, his eyes distant.

Even Tracou could hear the din of the elves outside. They spoke in a boisterous Elvish, though about what Tracou didn't know.

"I have to go speak to them, don't I?" he asked, his voice small.

"...I think so. Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't tried to break in."

"I wish I didn't have to."

Whatever lay in the Elven Kingdom had been bad enough that Mirthal had traveled all the way through the Kingdom and out into Aodehn. At least half a year had passed and, while Tracou had wanted to return to Dezmer, Mirthal still didn't want to go home.

Tracou moved over to the bed, sat down on it, and took Mirthal's hand.

"I'll be with you. Even in the Elven Kingdom, I'll be there, too."

That was the most he could do, really. Mirthal had no choice in the matter—the elves only had one prince and, without him, their country could descend into chaos. He couldn't hide in Dezmer for the rest of life, especially considering the Winlean threat. No, everyone benefited, even Mirthal, from his return to the Elven Kingdom.

Mirthal patted Tracou's hand and left the bed, heading towards the clothes he had worn on his arrival into Shalen.

"What do you think I would have been if I hadn't been born a prince?" he asked as he pulled on his robes.

"What would you have liked to have been?"

"Maybe... a farmer. I could have lived in a little village like this one." Mirthal turned toward him, smiling. "Maybe I could have been one of your villagers."

"Then you'd be a dezmek."

"That's no problem. ...Well, except that I'd be shorter than you."

Tracou laughed. "I can't even imagine that."

The dove, all but forgotten on the bed, let out a clipped coo, as if to chastise them for wasting time. Mirthal grimaced and sped up his movements.

Dragging his feet over to the entrance of Tracou's manor, Mirthal stared at the ground. His demeanor reminded Tracou of the Mirthal in the Frosted Castle's dungeon. Though well fed and in less danger, he looked as defeated. Mirthal stood at the door for a moment, inhaling deeply, before he exited. Tracou trotted after him.

The elves outside stopped their conversations, stunned, when they saw Mirthal. A beat passed and they scrambled to assemble in front of him, though at a slight distance. Hushed, they watched him, their eyes wide. Perhaps some of them had never seen their prince before today. Tracou hadn't been able to tell how many there were before, but at minimum fifty elves had gathered on his hill, not counting Mirthal.