Jolette held her breath for a reason that had nothing to do with the water under which they had just passed.
They were standing in the middle of a large cave—no, not a cave. This place was a hall in the face of the mountain, its walls caved into countless shapes, trees and flowers and animals. It was lit by a million finely-wrought lanterns, yellow and blue and orange and purple, and rich green plants grew from cracks in the walls, large leaves and strange flowers winding their way along the cave.
And then there were the archers.
Jolette had never seen an elf before, but at a single glance she knew these ones were elves. They looked just slightly too off to be human, though not like the Colorless did; they were simply a little too tall, a little too long-limbed and pointy-eared, their features a little too smooth to be human. Jolette could not decide if she found them beautiful or a little off-putting.
They did look intriguing, she had to give them that. Their hair and skin and eyes were of every color found in humans, but somehow more vibrant and intense; their garments were in shades of blue and gray and green, but the fabric shone and shimmered, catching the light of the lamps like the finest silk she had ever seen on traders' boats. They were all adorned with silver and gold, just like their smooth wooden bows and arrows.
Arrows that, unfortunately, were currently pointed at the group.
Jolette glanced at her companions. None of them moved. Edmian's face was still blank, though less vacant than earlier. Saryana's expression was a mixture of bafflement and doubt. Only Aithal still looked perfectly calm.
From the circle of elves one figure emerged, a tall young man—and young he truly looked, like a barely-grown human, not ageless like the other elves. "Strangers!" he declared in a voice that reminded Jolette of a clear stream in the mountains. "How do you know of this entrance, and what brought you here without permission?"
Jolette's eyes flitted to Aithal, and from the corner of her eye she saw Saryana doing the same. Aithal, however, only stared at the elf. Then he blinked a few times and furrowed his brow.
"I've seen you before," he said.
The elf looked a little put off by that, but he quickly lifted his head and tightened the draw on his bow. "Don't bluff," he declared. "I will not fall for that. Say who you are, or–"
"No, I do know you," Aithal cut him off. "I remember your face, Evariel."
The elf's composure slipped and vanished in a heartbeat. His mouth gaped open, his hands inadvertently lowering his bow.
"You–" he spluttered out. "How do you know my name?"
An amused grin spread over Aithal's face. "Don't you remember?" he said. "Of course, it's been some twenty years, I might have changed a little. I was only a teenager back then."
Squinting his eyes, the elf stared at him, the gears in his mind visibly working at full speed. Then his eyes grew to the size of saucers.
"Aithal?" he exclaimed. "It can't be...You're Aithal, aren't you?"
Aithal smiled. "So you do remember me, old friend!"
"I can't believe it!" Dropping his bow, Evariel made a grand gesture at them and burst out laughing. "I can't believe it! You've grown so old!"
Saryana clapped both hands over her mouth in a feeble attempt to hide her laughter. Aithal ran a self-conscious hand over his face. "I only aged at a normal human pace," he said almost sheepishly. "While I see you've barely changed, old friend."
Evariel abruptly stopped laughing. His cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed slightly pink.
"Only compared to you," he said. "Not my fault if you funny people grow old in the time it takes me to grow a few inches."
Aithal raised an eyebrow. Saryana stopped even trying to hide her amusement; she was looking at him as if she had seen his likes a million times over and knew responses like his by heart. What was going on in Edmian's head, Jolette still couldn't tell. He was still dripping wet from the waterfall like the rest of them, but unlike the others he barely seemed to notice.
"So," Evariel said, eyeing the group, "what brings you here? Who are all these people?"
Aithal smiled. "This lady is Saryana, a commander in the Jadirian Army and my bride. These two are Jolette of Rivertown and Edmian of the Colorless Land."
Evariel gazed at them both even as Jolette shifted awkwardly, unsure how to feel about the way Aithal had addressed her and Edmian, as if they were some kinds of nobles and not half-grown teenagers on the run. "Don't tell me," the elf said as his eyes grew round. "Are these your children?"
Saryana snorted again, and the circle of elves behind Evariel erupted into laughter. "How can they be their children when they all look nothing alike?" they shouted. "Evariel, you're so stupid!"
"Shut up– shut your mouths, please!" Evariel shouted back over his shoulder. "Have you never heard of foster-children?"
But they only laughed even more, and Evariel flushed. "Anyway," he said over the sound of their laughter, trying and failing to play off his embarrassment. "Why are you here?"
In an instant Aithal sobered up, placing a hand on Edmian's shoulder and pushing him forward just as Saryana did the same with Jolette. "We bring two children on the run," he said. "They are being pursued by the Colorless, and one of them needs healing. Is your father still the king?"
Evariel nodded.
"Good," Aithal said. "If it's possible, we would like to speak to him."
~ ~ ~
Leaving the other elves behind to keep guarding the entrance, Evariel led them through the hall, up a steep, winding flight of stairs illuminated by more lanterns and out onto a wide, grassy court.
Jolette held her breath. Built into the side of the mountain was an entire gigantic city. Terraces above terraces had been hewn into the rock, spacious and perfectly flat, with intricate railings of stone and blossoming gardens beyond. Carpets of green grass stretched out before their feet, sprinkled with bushes and flowers that were still alive and summer-bright despite the oncoming winter. Climbing plants wound their way over terraces and railings, and each terrace was illuminated by the same colorful lanterns, which brightly led the way through doors and archways into the dwellings beyond.
Outside the sun was slowly setting, casting everything into a rose-colored light. From the dwellings came voices and snippets of song. Jolette did not understand what they were singing, but the tune put her at ease, as if she knew that nothing could happen as long as they were here.
Evariel smiled proudly. He must have seen her expression, because he bowed and motioned along the path that led up to the dwellings. "Welcome to our home."
Still speechless, they followed him past the grass and flowers and bushes across the court. Jolette could have sworn she saw a butterfly in passing. But before she could look closely and make sure, she was suddenly distracted by voices from above.
"What is that?" said someone almost directly over her head. "Guests? Look at that, humans, and four of them at once!"
"Humans?" shouted a second voice. "Why, you're right! Four of them, and two still children! Isn't that delightful?"
"Most incredibly marvelous!" exclaimed a third.
The three voices laughed, then they were joined by a fourth. "Why, isn't that Aithal? Sun and stars, he's grown so old!"
"You're right!" exclaimed another. "You blink twice, and suddenly he's all serious and grouchy and has a beard!"
"And the children they bring, they all look so malnourished! What have they been feeding these poor little ones?"
"The outside world must be cruel these days!"
"We must change that! Give them food and drink, and plenty to spare!"
"A feast! A feast! Prepare a whole feast!"
The call was quickly picked up by everyone, and by the time Evariel led them up another flight of stairs towards the terraces Jolette found at least two dozen elves leaning over the railings above their heads, staring at them in delight and amazement. Evariel looked a little embarrassed by the uproar. "We don't often get visitors here," he explained sheepishly.
"Don't apologize," Aithal replied with a laugh. "Let us thank your kind people for being so welcoming! A feast of food and drink is very much what we need."
Lightened up by Aithal's cheerfulness, Evariel began to talk, chattering on and on about everything that had happened in the time they had spent apart. Jolette only partly listened. There was much she did not understand, especially when Evariel began peppering his Common with words in a language she had never heard before.
When they reached the first terrace, the elves swept them along, leading them through the trees along a paved path, dozens of voices talking to them at once. Autumn leaves rustled under their feet as they went, but Jolette noted that many of the trees had not yet shed their leaves at all, standing there in their red and brown and yellow glory on the very edge of winter.
The elves took them through a giant archway into a passage under the mountain, carved to look like a giant forest of stone. More songs rang out ahead of them, closer and clearer now. Many of the elves running along them disappeared into side passages, chattering and singing, until it was only the travelers and Evariel and a small handful more.
They had just entered a spacious hall when a shout rang out, and Evariel gave a startled yelp seconds before he was jumped at by an elf-maiden and tackled with a hug.
"Wittle brother!" she squealed, almost crushing him in her arms. "Where have you been all day? I was so worried about you!" She wiped an obviously fake tear. "You have to tell me when you're staying out longer! What if you get washed away by the waterfall or eaten by ants?"
"Big sister," Evariel whimpered, struggling, "please let me go..."
Abruptly, as it seemed, the elf-maiden caught a glimpse of Evariel's companions, and abruptly she let go of him to smile cheerily at the group. "Oh, so this is why!" she exclaimed. "Are you the guests Evariel brought up here? Please forgive my little brother for the troubles he doubtlessly caused you."
"Don't– Don't worry about it," Aithal replied with a lopsided smile. "He caused us no troubles at all."
"He didn't? Evariel, that's a first! I'm so proud of you!"
Evariel scowled and made a very rude gesture at his sister's back. Saryana stifled a laugh as the elf-maiden glanced at her in question before turning towards Aithal. "By the way," she said, "is it true what people are saying, that you are the same Aithal of Elodia who has stayed with us before?"
Aithal smiled and bowed. "It's a pleasure to see I've been remembered, my lady. Raimoriel, was it?"
The elf-maiden laughed. "So you remembered us too, even though you've grown so old in these twenty years," she said. "Tell me, what brings the Prince of Elodia back to us after all these years?"
Jolette nearly choked on air. "Prince? So that's why–?"
"I'll explain later," Aithal replied. "For now, may we speak to your father? We are in need of help and advice."
Raimoriel seemed to think for a moment, then her smile turned apologetic. "I am sorry," she said. "He's currently occupied, but he will join you and us at the dinner table. Can it wait until then?"
Aithal, Saryana and Jolette all glanced at Edmian. He seemed to have become a little less transparent since passing under the waterfall, but he still looked unstable. There was no telling when it would become bad again.
"It can wait," he said. The others blinked in surprise. There had been no indication that he was listening.
Aithal looked at him for a moment longer, then at Jolette, who frowned but sighed and nodded. If the elvish waterfall had helped him, then so might elvish food and drinks. Besides, they were all hungry.
"Very well," Aithal said with a sigh. "We will wait that long. For the time being, I think we'd be very content with a bath."
~ ~ ~
And so they gathered into the great hall again later, now illuminated with what looked like fireflies on top of all the lanterns, even though firefly season was long over. A great table had been raised, laden with the most delicious and wonderful things, surrounded by elves of all ages, laughing and talking and singing at will, waving cheerfully and pointing when the guests came in. Jolette caught several comments about how different they looked after a wash. But before she could think about it, her eyes landed on a figure at the table, and she forgot about the rest.
At the head of the table stood a tall, silver-haired elf. His face was ageless and beautiful in a grave, melancholy way, his eyes a deep blue-green like the ocean itself, his forehead crowned by a single circlet as silver as his hair. He looked timeless and yet ancient, like someone who had lived through many joys and sorrows even though he lacked the wrinkles a long life would engrave on a human face. Wisdom lay in his features, and from his stature radiated a quiet power like that of a century-old tree.
"Behold Talirion," Aithal whispered, "the King of the North-Elves."
From beside the king Evariel grinned at them. Next to him sat Raimoriel and another elf-maiden who looked too much like them both not to be their sister; on the other side of the king sat a lady who could only be the queen. Slowly the king turned towards them, and the hall grew quiet.
"Welcome, my friends," he said in a rich but clear voice, "to our city."
Aithal bowed low. "Thank you for the hospitality, my lord."
"There is no need for you, son of the Queen of Elodia, to bow before me like this," replied the king. "Old friends to me are those of your house, and you, my son's friend, in particular. Join me instead at this table, you and your companions, and eat to your heart's content while you speak to me, as my daughter said you desired."
Aithal straightened up, smiling. "Thank you," he said, "though I do not know if our business is something to be discussed at a–"
"By all means," said a voice from the end of the hall, "discuss your business."
Aithal and Saryana stood straight as arrows, and even the elves rose. Into the hall came an old woman, silver-haired with weathered skin that might be very tanned or naturally brown, clad in garments that appeared gray until they changed hue depending on the light that struck them. Her gnarled hand held a walking-stick with a strangely shaped handle.
"Lisha," Saryana whispered under her breath. "That's her, isn't it?"
"Yes, General Saryana of the Western Company of the League of Jadiria, that is me all right," said the old lady, even though she stood halfway across the hall. "Save your awe for later. For now—" she raised her eyebrow—"hurry up and sit down so we can discuss what you truly came here to say."