Nessalir the Red

The high and mighty of Elven society mingled in the Queen's court as they awaited the results of the hunt. The Bright Moon hung outside the windows, suspended in the sky, the light of the world's magic engulfing Lansa as she continued her endless and futile struggles to break free of the stars' prison.

Iarius, out of place, stood near the corner of the ballroom, a glass of blue wine in his hands. The flavor was strong and sweet, though he found the accompanying fog weaker than the wines of Remura. The scholar took another sip, and watched as the tall and alien creatures of this realm drank and made merry among themselves. On the far end of the chamber, Queen Eldorith sat upon a throne and received guest after guest, welcoming each one and laughing along to whatever jests they made.

In another corner, a group of elves played instruments he had never seen before. Two looked to be variations of the lyre, though they curved and bent in ways that seemed almost impossible. One blew a horn that split into a myriad other horns. Regardless of the strangeness of their instruments, the music they produced was beautiful; soft, yet full of energy. In the center of the ballroom, Elves danced. Their bodies moved to the rhythm of the music, twisted and gyrated around one another. The more Iarius watched, the more drawn in he was to the display.

"It is oft said that we are a more graceful people than humans," a woman spoke into his ear.

Iarius started, for he had been so absorbed in the sight of the dance that he hadn't noticed her approach. He turned to find himself looking up into the dark eyes of Lady Sahar ly'Gwinwyd, sister to the prince of the House of Vines. Her skin was dusky in the way of the Anadeshu peoples who lived in the deserts to the East of Remura, and her hair, a deep crimson that called the mind the darkest of roses, fell about her shoulders in ringlets. White and yellow flowers dotted those curls, and red vines grew over her golden dress. She smiled at him with lips painted dark, and there was something hungry in that smile.

"I have not had the pleasure," Iarius managed, finding his voice. The Elf's proportions were not human. She was taller than most men, and her arms were too long, her eyes too large. Yet he could not deny that there was something alluring about these beings who called themselves the ailefari. His eyes were drawn to the ways in which her clothing clung to her lithe body. "I am Iarius ex Maritoris, scholar of the Remuran Acadaemium." He bowed in the Remuran custom, and hoped that it would suffice.

"How charming," laughed Lady Sahar. "I am Lady Sahar ly'Gwinwyd, though I am sure your host has already identified each noble present to you. Still, I find names easily slip my mind unless they are accompanied by face and voice. My brother rules over the House of Vines, and our hunter even now seeks the Questing Beast, as does your companion."

"I wish them both luck," said Iarius, taking another sip of wine.

Lady Sahar's eyes sparkled. "As do I. Nessalir the Red is famed even among our people. But how is it that a scholar comes to travel with the famed half-dragon? Surely, it must be quite the tale."

Iarius felt a heat rise up in his cheeks, and was mildly surprised to realize he was flushed. "It is not so great a story. She took a job from Remura, and I was assigned to observe and record her actions. After, we agreed to continue the arrangement."

"I see, and do you record all of her actions, young scholar?"

He recalled that time in Paeliig, how at Caelus Pass, he had watched as Nessalir tore through a Centuria of Remuran soldiers, how he had chosen not to record the truth of the bloodshed, and had instead reported that his countrymen had been slain in battle with the bandits that resided in the pass.

"I record what I deem important."

The Elven noblewoman laughed. "Do not all writers?" she asked, and from the way her eyes sparkled, Iarius wondered if she somehow knew of his duplicity in Paeliig.

"And what of you, my Lady?" Iarius asked, as much to change the subject as out of genuine curiosity. "Are you enjoying this gala?"

"Nay," she said with a sigh. "The others here are more interested in playing politics. Each lesser house bets on a major house to be the victor of the Hunt, and seeks to curry favor. Even now, the Princes and Princesses cut deals with one another as they each plan out their own future for our people. And look: the Queen watches it all with a smile, for she knows that we all dance in accordance to the song she plays. No matter the outcome of the Hunt, whether the House of Vines, Flowers, or Branches emerges triumphant, Eldorith shall remain our queen. Her position is the most secure of us all, for she has reigned over the Elves since the dawn of our people, and none dare to move against her will."

Understanding came to Iarius. "I suppose for you, such must seem stagnant," he said. "Though I confess, from a Remuran perspective, the Elven state of affairs seems remarkably utopian. Many are the emperors who have been usurped or assassinated, and many are the imperial families that have held the throne. Even our current ruler, Blessed Majesty, Emperor Tysus IV, took the throne only after the bloody slaughter of his half-brother."

"It was my understanding, Remuran, that your people do not speak of the violent truths of your rulers."

"Only where enemies might hear us, my Lady."

At that, she laughed. "That you believe yourself free of enemies in this Court is endearing. Come, I would like to walk with you. Will you accompany me to the Queen's garden? Flowers grow there completely alien to your Waragar."

Her words were an invitation, and a second invitation sat veiled beneath them. Iarius found himself eager to accept both, for the lithe and long body of the Elven woman held a special allure, and he found himself yearning to see more of it. "I look forward to experiencing these flowers of yours, my Lady."

As they took their leave together, Iarius noted a handful of Elves watching with no small amount of curiosity. He caught the eye of the queen, who smiled with amusement as the two left for their tryst.