Chapter 54: Normalizing Relations

“My Queen and King,” the royal herald announced in a loud, trembling voice. His brown eyes were wild and his milky skin even paler than usual. Shaking noticeably, his eyes kept flashing back to the six robed figures standing close to him. It was as if he wanted to be sure they were real and was terribly afraid they’d disappear when he glanced away.

Or maybe, that they’d consume him if he weren’t watching diligently.

The figures were passingly strange. They were all tall, each of them at least a head taller than the herald’s own five-foot, nine-inch frame. They each wore thin, pale, white robes with hoods pulled uniformly over their heads. The delicate, snowy robes seemed made of a single long cloth, belted at the waist and tightened by some unknown means at the throat. The gossamer material covered the figures completely, making them seem almost formless and ethereal.

They stood stiffly, with their heads bowed slightly, just enough to cast their features completely in shadow. Each of the figures had a billowing set of arms stretching down from their shoulders before bending in front of them and meeting in the middle. If there was a seam or join where the two sleeves met, it was lost in the convoluted folds and shadows of the white textile, making them seem to only have a single arm stretching from one shoulder, down around their torsos and then back up to meet at their other shoulder.

The overall effect of the joined arms and bowed heads was to present themselves as supplicants, standing respectfully and yet oddly resolutely at the far edge of the throne room. No stray thread jutted from their clothing. No stray hair traveled beyond their hood. The slight breeze in the hall seemed to avoid them entirely. They seemed strangely eternal and immoveable, as if they’d always stood precisely where they were – or, perhaps, that they’d stood and waited for the world to move beneath their feet to bring them to this point in space and time.

The timelessness of their pose was patient and they waited just inside the heavy, thick, twelve-foot tall, steel reinforced doors. To either side of those doors stood two fully armored knights of the realm, with long, deadly halberds held at parade rest in their hands. At the herald’s feet was a six-foot wide, red, wool carpet which bifurcated the large, stone room and ran from the door and terminated at the base of the raised, stone platform upon which stood the twin thrones of Wenland. Three steps led up from the carpet to the top of the platform, the steps blocked at the top by intricate, small, golden gates. The gates were attached to a small, gray, stone wall which surrounded the platform. Standing to either side of the stairs leading up to the throne were two more knights holding two more halberds. The thrones themselves, surmounting the raised platform, were made of a dark cherry wood and encrusted with jewels and gems of every size and hue.

As the High Queen of the Blood from whence all power in the kingdom was derived, Queen Synel IX sat on the slightly taller, left-hand throne, garbed in a knee-length, modest, light blue dress surmounted by the long, ermine cloak of her office. Upon her elegantly coifed red tresses, which rolled down her head in intricate curls and whorls, was a delicate crown of thin, interwoven gold tendrils ending in fine, exquisite leaves. The crown was inset with sapphires and topaz interspersed with flashing diamonds. Below the crown, her face held the customary aloofness it always held while dealing with affairs of state but anyone who knew her would have been able to see the unmistakable curiosity in her eyes and the faint disquiet on her features underlying that air of disinterest.

To the Queen’s right, High King Drace III sat upon the other throne. He wore a light silk shirt that matched the queen’s dress in color, buttoned all the way up to the collar, and his high-quality black trousers showed only a slight scuff at each of his knees from where he’d knelt to address Minor Princess Peli Wehran, his eight-year-old daughter with Queen Ulyn Hutal-Wehran. Just like the queen, he wore the ermine robes of state over his clothing and upon his short, peppered brown hair sat a circular rope of gold, the sapphires, topaz and diamonds matching the queen’s crown. His face held no aloofness but a look of concentrated concern. His brown eyes sparkled and the lips beneath his long, thin, regal nose were tight.

The throne room was fully twenty feet wide and twice that long, with colorful bunting and tapestries doing their best to brighten what would otherwise be a dull, drab room. There were colorful, stained-glass windows as well, but they hindered more than helped, the glass colors dulling the outside sunlight to a point where either candles or lanterns were constantly required. During court, the room was filled with comfortable, padded benches of a rich cherry color but outside of the audiences of court, more worn, oak benches were added and removed as they were needed. This had been a relatively light day, so only a small handful of benches were arrayed in front of the throne with three women and a young boy huddled together on one bench, two men seated on the opposite side, each on their own bench.

“May I present Tryl’or’fall-on...,” the herald tried but the guttural clicks tangled on his tongue. His pale skin began to redden in embarrassment as he tripped over the long, involved name.

The lead figure standing closest to the herald separated the arms of the robe, revealing a distinct seam that had been hidden previously. Once separated, the figure reached out the long, thin, delicate hand revealed from the robe’s arm and placed it on the herald’s arm, squeezing gently. The herald, startled, looked down at the perfectly manicured, pale hand and drew back the barest fraction of an inch in alarm. The fingers on the hand were much longer than normal and they ended in a rounded point. The fingernails were tinged green instead of the normal pink and the hand was thinner than could be expected from the average human.

This was explained when the figure used their other hand to pull the robe’s hood off slowly, in a motion that appeared rehearsed to the point of formality. The woman had a graceful oval face surmounting a long, thin neck. Her face was surrounded by a flowing sea of long, pale, silvery hair that seemed to almost glow in the candlelight. Unusually large, blue eyes peered from beneath a subtly rounded forehead. Beneath those soft eyes was a long, delicate nose leading to thin, almost non-existent lips and beneath the lips was a soft, rounded point of a chin. Most startling of all was her skin, which was a pale, light green color instead of the rosy hues of humans.

“Our names and language are difficult for human tongues.” The voice was light and airy with an almost musical intonation. The words rolled from the lips, the foreign accent making them only marginally difficult to interpret. “Please introduce me as Tryl San, ambassador of the Elven court.”

The gasp in the room was audible as the bench occupants turned with universally wide eyes. The two men half-stood before dropping back down and one of the women pulled the boy to her side tightly. Even the guards’ hands tightened on their halberds.

Elves were a rarity in Wenland, to the point where nearly the entirety of all the inhabitants of the realm had never encountered them. Thus, they became more fiction than reality, relegated to tall tales or, more often, dark, spooky stories filled with villainy and treason. As time passed, much like dragons, they became the antagonists of stories meant to instruct children on being ‘good’: “be a good boy or girl or the elves will steal you and replace you with your fetch!”

Finally overcoming his awe, the herald started again. “M-m-my Queen and King,” he stuttered slightly, his voice ebbing and flowing even as he strove to be loud enough to be heard. “May I present Tryl San, ambassador of the Elven court.”

Like the rest of their subjects, Queen Synel and King Drace were surprised at the appearance of the ambassador and the five robed figures behind her. While the queen knew the elves were more real than myth, she also knew the elves were an extremely reclusive race. History told her they were seen only infrequently but always travelling in small groups of two or, at most, three. She herself could remember meeting elves but once, over fifteen years ago at her coronation. An elven party of three had brought a gift for her – a gemmed and exquisitely filigreed silver set that she still used at state dinners.

King Drace had never met an elf. The closest he came were reports from seaside markets in Wenland’s major ports such as Cava, Dunber, Memtown, Glouster, Alwyn or Finley. The sightings were infrequent at best, a small group of elves being reported only once or perhaps twice a year. He frowned as he recalled a report from earlier in the year; a group of four elves had been reported in the market in Alwyn – or maybe it had been Cava. It had been the largest reported group in decades.

The peoples’ gasps turned to muttering as the commoners seated on the worn oaken benches turned to each other and started talking, each keeping a wayward eye on the elves. As frequently happens when a small group starts talking, the sound rose as they tried talking over one another.

“Silence!” Queen Synel commanded. Her eyes, a hint of steel flashing within, fell on the small audience in the gallery. The loud conversations were rude, not only to herself, which she could tolerate, but even more to the elves, which she could not.

When the gallery grew silent, she turned her attention back to the strange group, the faint note of curiosity once again creeping over her features. “You may approach, ambassador Tryl San.”

The small group bowed all at once, synchronized perfectly, though the queen could see no given command. Then, also as one, again synchronized perfectly, they began walking up the long, red carpet, their movements graceful with slow, measured steps. When they reached a few feet from the stairs leading up, they stopped.

Tryl San noted a reproving quality to the eyes of the queen and king. She worried a moment, her thoughts searching back to the human protocols of the kingdom of Wenland, inscribed in the dry, dusty tomes of the Great Library. Humans were a chaotic bunch, and each group seemed to require its own rituals and protocols which, likely due to their ephemeral lives, changed frequently even within the same region.

Tryl was very detail oriented, a necessary quality in an elven ambassador where not following specific protocols could ruin a relationship and, in certain cases, possibly get an ambassador killed. She ran through her list again: they had waited to be announced, uncovered their heads, bowed to the monarch, approached with dignity and stopped a good distance from the throne. What had they missed...?

It came to her, and she ground her teeth in embarrassment. She’d uncovered her head. Her retinue had not.

<Remove your hoods!> She broadcast to the other five women in her party.

She received startled exclamations in her mind, but the other women obeyed instantly. In the same unity they’d done everything else, they raised their hands and pulled back their hoods.

The six looked remarkably similar. Each had oval faces, but there were differences in sizes and shapes. Each face was surrounded by white hair, though the hair was of different lengths and styled differently. Each had blue eyes, though the distance between their eyes and the size of their eyes likewise differed. Noses were similar but not the same, each of the noses could best be described as thin and delicate but their widths and lengths varied. The greatest variation came in the women’s lips. They were a hodge-podge of widths and thicknesses, ranging from barely an inch or so to several inches wide, and near human thickness to being almost non-existent.

Queen Synel looked from one face to the next. If these were humans, she’d have sworn they were sisters. Elves, though, often looked the same to human eyes. Their features were so similar to humans and yet profoundly unfamiliar, at a level she’d never seen in Dwarf, Halfling or Keffling. Those races seemed almost more or less human, with certain variations in size and delicacy. Even the orcs, in a certain light, could pass for human. These, however, while humanoid, could never pass for human. Their eyes were just a bit too large, their noses just a bit too long, their skin green instead of pink. As they stood there, she was struck by how this was different. How elves were a completely foreign race.

“We are honored by your presence, Ambassador, though it does fill us with a certain amount of curiosity,” Queen Synel announced, sitting forward slightly in her throne. “What could possibly bring the reclusive elves to visit with us?”

“Our elders teach us that, like with a garden, a relationship occasionally requires some attention in order to make it flourish,” Tryl San replied, her voice flowing musically. It was evident the common tongue was foreign to Tryl San’s lips, but the words flowed across her tongue quickly and easily. “Even though your kingdom is far from our borders, still do we value it as a stalwart trade companion. As such, our elders have directed me to meet with you in the hopes we can better link our two lands. In this way, we can establish better, more profitable, trade opportunities.”

“So, you want to renegotiate the trade agreement we already have in place?” King Drace asked pointedly. Foreign policy, such as trade agreements, fell completely in his purview. The Elven trade agreement currently in place was near four decades old and had been negotiated late in the reign of his mother-in-law.

“Not at all, your Majesty,” the elven woman said deferentially, her head bowing slightly. “Rather, we are hoping to increase its scope and the scope of our friendship. As I mentioned, your kingdom lies far from our land, but we’ve begun normalizing relations with all of our trade partners down through this region. We’re hoping we might establish an embassy here, as we have done with other lands, to provide us a permanent place we can use as a hub in your kingdom. From this hub, we hope we can receive and house our trade delegations – and send them on to even further destinations.”

<I thought we were here to investigate the extreme release of arcane energy we detected here?> Tryl San heard within her mind.

<We hope to achieve two purposes with a single visit, dear granddaughter, > she replied, mind to mind. <The humans, however, only need to know of one of our purposes. Magic has been outlawed here and calling attention to our... ‘investigation’ ... would be unwise.>

<But..., > her granddaughter started again before Tryl San interrupted her.

<Peace, sona, > she thought firmly, using a familiar term of affection for her granddaughter. <We can discuss this later when I’m not so pre-occupied. The human common tongue is difficult, and I need all my faculties to ensure I make no error.>

<Forgive me, atana, > her granddaughter replied deferentially, using her own affectionate term in response.

Tryl began to smile at the familiar term of respect and admiration her granddaughter used. She caught herself before it went too far, returning her face to the completely impassive mask she’d worn before.

Queen Synel looked to her first husband, her expressive eyes and raised brows an unasked question. King Drace returned the look with pursed lips and a speculative expression. He lifted his shoulders in a minute shrug and the queen responded with the most miniscule of nods.

“Negotiations of this kind can take some time to complete,” King Drace replied with an inquiring, probing tone. “It can sometimes take months to reach an agreement. Your peoples’ visits to our shores have always been brief. Are you planning an extended stay?”

“Allow me to be ... frank ... your majesty,” Tryl said carefully. “My people have always been ... ill at ease ... around other races. For this reason, we tend to stay within our borders, with only the most adventurous of us journeying forth for trade and exploration. Our elders, however, feel the encroaching tide of humans, dwarves, halflings and kefflings most keenly. Even the orcs, once thought to be nearly extinct, have repopulated to close to their former numbers. Our policy of isolationism cannot easily withstand this encroachment, so our elders have begun to take steps to curry relationships with the other races. My clan has been tasked with interfacing with numerous lands with which we already have associations in the hope these agreements can be expanded to our mutual benefit. As such, my retinue and I can stay for as long as required.”

“Thank you for your candor, ambassador,” King Drace replied, sitting back in his throne. His lips were again pursed as he looked over the group in front of him speculatively. “Have you already engaged rooms for your stay?”

“We’ve just arrived in your great city, your majesty,” the ambassador replied deferentially. “We could not be sure our presence would be ... welcome ... or that you’d be receptive to our offer. As such, we came straight here. Our pack animals are currently in your stables.”

King Drace nodded. “I’d like to offer accommodations in the castle. It will make it somewhat easier for us to meet and discuss this opportunity.”

“You are too kind, your majesty,” Tryl replied. “However, as I mentioned, my people are uneasy amongst other races. It might be best if we secured our own lodging in the city.”

King Drace glanced at Queen Synel, but her look was impassive. Turning back to the ambassador’s party, he waved his hand negligently. “Nonsense. Our east wing is completely empty. We could let you use it exclusively for the length of your stay. It would be a great honor if you would accept our hospitality and as our guests, we can give you the run of the public areas of the castle. Perhaps this would give each of us the opportunity to acclimate to the other. If you’re going to establish an embassy here, it would be best if humans and elves came to know one another.”

Tryl found herself backed into a diplomatic corner. To turn down the Queen and King’s benevolence at this stage could have dire consequences to the negotiations to come. “We would be most honored to accept your offer, your majesty.”

“Excellent,” King Drace smiled. He glanced over at Queen Synel who was smiling as well. “I’ll have your pack animals taken care of and your belongings brought to your quarters.”

“Kital,” Queen Synel called behind her. A young man dressed in white silk shirt and dark brown trousers rushed forward immediately. He had a blue tabard over his shoulders, and the Queen’s seal was stitched onto the tabard in yellow thread. “Call the chamberlain and have her take our guests to the east wing. Tell her to ensure they are well provided for.”

“At once, your majesty,” the young man bowed and hurried off.

“I look forward to getting to know your people, Ambassador San,” the queen smiled.

“As do I, your majesty,” the ambassador bowed, clearly interpreting the dismissal. The others in her party bowed a fraction of a second after her. Then, as one, they turned and walked gracefully back down the hall.

<I’m not sure I can stand their smell for so long, atana.> The ambassador heard whispered in her mind. The thought was flavored with a tinge of disgust.

<It will be challenging, > Tryl replied to her granddaughter. <We must remember it is not their fault, however. Their blood is less thermally regulatory than ours. The current theory amongst the great minds is that this deficiency has caused their bodies to evolve certain glands which excrete a liquid over their skin when they become overheated. The cooling nature of this liquid assists in keeping them at the correct temperature.>

<This liquid smells so badly?> her granddaughter asked.

<Not in and of itself, > Tryl replied. <It is largely odorless in most humans, though this can depend on their diet. However, the liquid is a breeding ground for certain noxious bacteria. It is the bacteria you smell, not the liquid which they call ‘sweat’.>

She shuddered lightly. <They seem inordinately proud of this ‘sweat’, though I do not understand the context.>

<I agree with Alia’ii’tryl’somer’s concerns, > a new mind interjected.

<We agreed to use the human-short versions of our names, Voryn, > Tryl reproached the woman.

<I did not think it mattered while we speak en’cameral, excellency, > Voryn replied. The thought came through with a hint of confusion.

<All things matter, Voryn, > Tryl reproved. <As we train our minds, so our speech shall follow. If we are free with our names en’cameral, we are more likely to use them when spoken aloud.>

<As you did with the herald, > yet another mind interjected. There was a hint of mischief flavoring the thought.

<That was a calculated maneuver, Debor, > Tryl replied. Debor was always mischievous. She would bear supervision. <Using my true name and allowing the herald to mangle it provided just the token of alien quality I needed to put them off balance.>

<You were masterful, excellency, > another mind weighed in. The thought was filled with a hint of worry and a touch of contemplation. <They fenced us in, however. How are we to look for the arcane eruption if we are guests in the palace?>

<I’ll tend to that during my first opportunity, Byr, > the ambassador explained with just a hint of reproach. <I plan to couch it as an expedition to better understand the people of their kingdom or something similar. Your impatience is most peculiar, however. It’s almost ... well ... human.>

Byr glanced at the ambassador with a pained expression flitting over her face. <Apologies, excellency. I admit I am eager to distance myself from the human odor. You did not, however, have to insult me.>

<No insult was intended, > Tryl replied. There was a vague sense of amusement within her thought. <We are, after all, amongst humans.>

<No reason to accuse us of acting as humans, > Byr responded. Her thought, too, was tinged with a wry amusement.

Tryl waited a heartbeat, then sent her thought out to the lone mind which hadn’t offered a thought.

<Nothing to add, Kiva?> Tryl offered with wry amusement.

<No, > Kiva thought, an impish chuckle tingeing her thoughts. <Everything that needed to be discussed has been discussed. I find no real value in conversing with no purpose.>

The six elves were greeted outside the chamber by a short, stout woman of indeterminate years. Her short, brown hair held no gray, but her face showed wrinkles around her brown eyes and thick lips. Her nose was thick and wide between pudgy cheeks with a slight, natural blush which gave her a natural jolly look. She wore a simple, homespun dress of deep green with ornate, white lace around the collar, hem and cuffs. The dress ended just below her knees showing off her strong calves and ending in soft leather shoes upon her feet.

“I am Mirella Agount, the Queen’s Chamberlain,” she said with a welcoming smile. “If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms in the eastern wing.”

<They seem to be rather efficient, > Voryn remarked with some surprise. <I expected to sit for a few hours while accommodations were readied.>

“Thank you, goodwoman Agount,” Tryl replied with a deferential nod of her head.

<Remember, their lives are ephemeral - short and fleeting, > Tryl explained to Voryn. <They are, therefore, constantly in a rush. If you keep that in mind, if might provide some insight into dealing with them.>

The stout chamberlain led them through a long hallway. She stopped briefly at a crossed hallway and pointed down the hallway on the right. “This hall leads to the kitchen and dining area. As guests of the Queen, you are more than welcome to eat in the great hall – down this hallway and to your right. Several servants are employed around the clock to cater to those within the castle should they find themselves hungry at odd hours. The Queen’s Hall is also down that hallway but is considered off-limits without an invitation from the Queen or King. If you are invited, a page or herald will come to gather you and your party.”