Ambling toward his manor, Tracou took care not to jostle the bird settled on his head. Pendaer had been reduced to a quivering, sweaty mess in her presence, so Tracou had taken it upon himself to bring the queen to Mirthal. If he hadn't, she might have pecked Pendaer's hat to shreds.
"So you're the queen?"
The bird gave him a single coo that could have meant anything.
"He's okay, you know. Mir— Uh, the prince."
This time, the bird made no sound. Tracou cringed inwardly—how could he have a conversation with someone who couldn't speak? She may not even understand Aodehsh, for all he knew.
As he approached his hill, Tracou caught sight of something that made him stop in his tracks. A crowd of people, all tall with flowing golden hair, had amassed in front of his manor. A number of horses and wagons had been left at the bottom of the hill, but a single four wheeled carriage, painted a searing red that laughed at the dull colors of the world around it, had been parked mere feet from his front door.
Elves. Here. Why? Had they already packed Mirthal away, ready to leave without Tracou or even Pendaer?
Tracou broke into a run, forgetting all about the bird. She toppled off of him, spreading her wings and forcing herself up before she hit the ground. He ran past the horses and elves gathered at the base of the hill and up the path. The elves went silent at his arrival, as though he was intruding. They all wore chain-mail over heavy red and blue cloth and an uncomfortable amount of them carried spears.
Most importantly, however, Mirthal was not among them. Maybe he still hadn't woken up. Swallowing hard, Tracou headed toward his manor, nearly reaching it, before an Elvish woman stepped in front of his door.
"Who are you?" she barked in Aodehsh.
"I own this place."
The woman's eyes narrowed. She pushed some strands of her wavy hair behind her ear, but otherwise did not move.
Baffled, Tracou blinked rapidly. Never had someone defied him entry into his manor like he was some kind of criminal.
"What is this? You appear in my village, on my property, and you won't let me into my own home?"
"We do not know you," she began, her voice clear as a bell. "So you may be holding the prince prisoner. If we let you inside, you may hurt him."
Prisoner! This woman had no idea what a Mirthal held prisoner looked like. Where had the other elves been in Dorssur? Even Pendaer had been little help at first! Tracou let out a heavy exhale, trying to get rid of some of the fury boiling in his gut.
"Look, he's not going to be happy when he hears about this."
This did not sway her. In fact, she hardly reacted—a twitch of her eyebrow being the only indication that she had even heard him.
Tracou grit his teeth. The bird landed on his head again and Tracou flinched, considering shaking his head hard enough to throw her off when an idea hit him. He peeled his right glove off and showed the woman the back of his hand, where Mirthal's blue glowed.
Despite her expression retaining a hard edge, the woman paled. She took a step to the side and bowed, her torso perpendicular with her body.
"My apologies."
With a huff, Tracou strode right to his bedroom where, sure enough, Mirthal managed to snooze the day away. The bird flew from him, landing on Mirthal's forehead. She pulled her head back before thrusting her beak down onto Mirthal's nose. The sudden pain tore Mirthal from his slumber.
"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.
Standing with his back straight and his head perfectly level with his body, Mirthal surveyed the crowd. Somehow he seemed to have gained a few inches in height. His demeanor, normally warm and open, had hardened, solidifying into something that loomed and judged. The reluctance from earlier had fled so far so quickly that Mirthal looked like a different person. Tracou struggled to keep from staring.
The dove landed on Mirthal's shoulder, its beady black eyes gazing out on the crowd with as much confidence and disdain as a bird could muster.
One elf near the front, the woman from before, lowered herself to the ground in a strange bow, her forehead resting against the dry grass. Nearly in unison, the other elves did the same. A series of Elvish words, clearly rehearsed, flowed from them.
Mirthal said a few, harsh Elvish sentences, causing the woman in front to quiver. His voice boomed down the hill.
"Stand, Keya. And speak in Aodehsh—not everyone here understands Elvish," Mirthal said.
The woman, Keya, stood and nodded, her eyes at Mirthal's feet.
"Your highness, her majesty the Dowager Queen has entrusted me to arrange a rescue party. Today we finally have arrived. We have brought a carriage for you—the biggest we could—so you may travel in the best conditions we can provide. We also have other transportation for any items you need to bring with you, so please do not hesitate to use it."
"Do you intend to leave now?"
"As soon as possible, your highness."
"What about Pendaer?" Tracou asked.
"That is up to his highness. Pendaer has failed in his dutyvby allowing the prince to travel farther away from the Elven Kingdom after reaching him."
Mirthal waved a hand dismissively. "He comes with."
Keya bowed. "As his highness wishes. He will face the Dowager Queen's punishment for his insubordination."
Perhaps a week or two ago, Tracou would have strutted about the place wearing the most smug grin a dezmek could muster at this news. Now, though, the corners of his lips pulled down.
"What kind of punishment?" he asked, turning toward Mirthal.
Mirthal shrugged, his royal front slipping. "I don't know... It could be anything."
"Even death?"
"I'm sure I could make a case for him and this will blow over."
"I'll help."
Stunned to silence, Mirthal stared at Tracou as if he had just started speaking perfect Winlean.
Tracou flushed. "Don't look at me like that! I already punished him for what he did... and he helped Ergakan. He's helping right now, actually."
"If you think I'm surprised, I can't wait to see Pendaer's face when he sees you defend him. He won't know how to handle it."
Keya, having been poised to strike during a lull in the conversation, interrupted them.
"Shall we find him, your highness?"
"Not now. We will leave tomorrow morning."
"Your highness, her majesty has insisted on bringing you home as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning is unacceptable."
"To whom? Her majesty is not the one traveling. We leave tomorrow morning."
"...Understood, your highness."
"In addition, two more will join us. First, there is a human man, a Winlean, we will bring to the capital of Aodehn. Treat him with caution, but with respect. He was involved in an attack on this village mere days ago and, while we intend to free him, we must still be careful."
Whispers swept through the crowd.
"Our second guest bears my mark, as you know already. Step forward, Tr— Lord Vartanian."
After a quick glance at Mirthal, Tracou took a single step, unwilling to find himself in the midst of the throng of elves for a second time today. Each towered over him. Before their eyes had passed over him with indifference or suspicion, but now they watched him with curiosity.
"You will address him as Lord Vartanian and you will treat him as you treat me. Any orders from him carry almost as much weight as mine do because—..." Here he hesitated, letting out a short breath through his nose. He inhaled, his chest puffing out a bit, and spoke again, his voice full of authority. "Because not only does he bear my mark, but he also bears the title of the Prince's Consort."
Prince's.
Consort.
Tracou's face heated all at once, reaching his ears and neck. For reasons that Tracou would never fully understand, Mirthal had announced their relationship not only to a section of his subjects, but to his mother. His mother, the dove, had tightened her grip on Mirthal's shoulder. Her claws, meager as they were, nonetheless cut through Mirthal's robe. Mirthal did not flinch.
Disapproval radiating off of her, Keya looked down her nose at Tracou.
"Your highness... He cannot bear children."
"You think I am not aware? Remember your position, Keya. You have no right to question any decision of mine."
"You are correct, your highness—I have no right. But her majesty does."
"I will discuss this with her once able."
"Understood, your highness."
Mirthal turned to Tracou and, once he had, his face softened.
"Well, Prince's Consort," he said, smiling like a child offering the object of their affections a daisy they had found. "Do you have any requests?"
Still reeling, Tracou said nothing for nearly a minute. Prince's Consort. Prince's Consort...
A request? What would he possibly ask for? What could fifty elves give him?
Tracou jolted.
"Mirthal! Do you think some of these elves could remain here? To... to help with Winlea?"
Mirthal paused a moment, thinking, before shifting his royal attention back to Keya and the others.
"Some days ago, a group of Winlean humans entered Dezmer with the intent to slaughter the dezmek that live here. This village, Ergakan, was the first target. The dezmek, aided by Pendaer and myself, managed to... to drive back the force. We have one man captured, as I mentioned before, but the fight has left him. Apparently most, if not all, of those men had been forced into the attack. Regardless. The dezmek here, including Lord Vartanian, have sheltered me for the winter. Lord Vartanian in particular has aided me since my arrival in Shalen and even helped free me from a Winlean dungeon."
Keya's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, we have heard this story from the two human women you allowed into the country. So Lord Vartanian is that dezmek."
"That is correct. To show Lord Vartanian our gratitude, perhaps ten of you will remain here to assist the dezmek in case of a subsequent attack. I intend to do more to help Dezmer, or at least repel the Winleans, but those who are first chosen will receive significantly increased salaries."
Ten. Ten against one hundred, let alone one thousand or more, amounted to little, but it would be much more than nothing. Like Pendaer's help, perhaps it would bolster Ergakan's morale.
"Your highness, ten of us? That's—!"
"Keya. Her majesty has not raised any objections."
True enough, the dove on Mirthal's shoulder had calmed. She stood, her feet relaxed, but she often peered over at Tracou.
Swallowing hard, Keya nodded.
"Now then." Mirthal took Tracou's right hand with both of his. "Tracou. Go and tell Serpouhi and the others about what will happen. Try and keep Pendaer there for now. I'll sort things out here. Then, tomorrow morning, we'll leave." Another smile bloomed on his face. "We'll leave and when we get to the palace, I'll give you so much Elvish silk that you'll never have to wear anything else."
"Elvish silk!"
For a moment, all Tracou could do was try to envision what an entire outfit made of Elvish silk looked like, but he couldn't. The best fabric one could get in Shalen came from Winlea—elves had no need to trade with the rest of the continent. But Tracou would get as much as he wanted.
Tracou coughed, catching himself.
"Will you be okay?"
"You said it yourself, earlier. Unlike before... you'll be with me. Just seeing you in the Frosted Castle invigorated me, you know."
"Are you sure you're not confusing me with the food?"
Mirthal frowned. "I'm certain! I've never felt like that about anyone or anything else. Only you."
"Only you," Tracou echoed, heart racing.
The crowd of elves still watched them, though even they realized that they shouldn't considering the way many of them now stared at their feet. Not to mention the dove! Tracou bit the inside of his cheek.
"Okay, I'm going!" he said, taking his hand from Mirthal.
"Okay."
Tracou sped away, finally free of the overwhelming Elvish presence. He made his way back to the village, occasionally turning back to stare at his hill. His home. His Ergakan. Spring hadn't arrived in full force and traces of gray lingered, traces that may never leave. His village had gone generations without battle—disease, famine, and taxes had been the only threats, but those could not be defeated by a paltry amount of farmers. The air, normally sweet with growth, would forever have a faint, iron tang as the killed Winleans returned to the earth.
But it was still his Ergakan. Generations of Vartanians, going back to the first tales of King Avak and his mastery of the land and unification of the various dezmek tribes, had lived here. Their bones rested somewhere below the Winleans and Tracou was supposed to join them, one day.
A strange void opened around his stomach.
He would leave tomorrow. He would leave, with Mirthal, and that was something to be celebrated. He was the Prince's Consort and he would live in luxury, in a palace, sleeping in a prince's bed! Most importantly, he would live with Mirthal, share a bed with him, share meals with him... He would live as a pauper if it meant being with Mirthal.
Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see his home again. Perhaps he would stay in the Elven Kingdom for the rest of his life. Perhaps he would learn Elvish and forget Dezmerian entirely.
But perhaps by doing this, he would save Ergakan.
He stopped in his tracks, halfway between his manor and Serpouhi's new home. They would leave tomorrow. He had until then to change his mind, to remain in his manor and never deal with elves again if he so chose.
To do so, he would have to part with Mirthal. Unacceptable.
So Tracou continued down into the village, silently rehearsing what he would say. Truthfully, little changed.
His decision had been made long ago.