Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, 20th Anniversary Ed. UE 2362
Syrdin tossed cladafrum guts to the shoth, watching them scrabble in a desperate struggle for the pieces. There was no order. No logic. Sometimes the same shoth snatched two in a row, and sometimes it was the smallest. Always, there was a fight.
The artificer and the servant of Cyalmara are near, Ath-togail said to zheir mind. The spirit had wandered to find them the day before and had confirmed Krid’s hopes: they were heading the same direction, and both alive. Not that zhe could share that information.
Zhe tossed an entrail and watched a slight, dark shoth snatch it from the claws of a larger, pink clepshoth. Fenn would be back soon. And he would have to face the fact that Gale knew zheir ethnicity. Oh joy.
It wouldn’t be a minute too soon, either. Gale was even more annoying when she moped. She hadn’t slept, only sulked, snapped, had meltdowns, and complained. At least when Fenn had been around, the girl was distracted from her “dire situation”–and especially from Syrdin. Even now, the girl sat curled up with her face in her arms, not quite crying, but not not crying.
Ferns nearby started to rustle, and the shoth grew nervous of the change. Krid turned, a hand on his sword. Gale plucked up her bow and stood.
Syrdin made a show of taking a ready stance, but, of course, it was the scrawny professor who burst out of the leaves. He was worse for wear, his clothes dirt-crusted and his eyes darkened with lack of rest.
“Fennorin!” Gale cried in her thick Etnfrandian accent. She abandoned the priceless artifact Syrdid had lent her and ran to him.
Syrdin pondered, as the elfman dropped his pack and opened his arms to her, at the way his name sounded different when spoken in the Etnfrandian accent. Feh-nor-een, lingering on een. Not the “Fin” zhe’d grown used to. It sounded wrong, even if it was the original pronunciation.
With an “Oh sun to my heart,” Gale collapsed against the unprepared guy, though he didn’t seem to mind much. He just wrapped her stiffly as she pressed her face against his chest–which made Syrdin realize how much taller Fenn was than most folk. Pretty much everyone but Night Elves and Gnomes were taller than Syrdin, and Gale was no exception. Yet Fenn towered over Gale. He had to bend to place his chin on her head.
Fenn’s betrothed burst into childish tears, and the guy still didn’t mind.
Gale started mumbling through her cries things like, “I feared you were dead,” and “I was so alone.” Fenn started petting her back–albeit awkwardly–and telling her it was “all right,” and “everything will be alright,” and “yes, I’m alright. I was never hurt badly.”
Pampered child. That’s why she’s soft. When a comrade died or was injured, you acknowledged their sacrifice and moved on, no matter what your personal affections were.
Hypocritical of you to think, isn’t it? Ath-togail noted.
Shut up, Syrdin shot back. I was weak then. Young.
You are young.
Not like that. Syrdin glared at the soft-bellied Etnfrandians.
You begin to sound like the Priestess of–
- NO. I don’t. Syrdin shoved away the conversation as Mell came stumbling through the brush.
“Well.” The woman panted as she took in the blubbering Gale and the camp and food. “Glad to see we’re all alive and together again.”
“Agreed.” Krid left the fire to clasp the woman by the forearm. She wasn’t sure of the gesture, but returned it as best she could. “Did you two have much trouble?” the Captain asked.
Suddenly, Gale melted down into the weeping puddle she’d been barely holding in, and her words to Fenn, all in Elvish, became impossible to ignore. “Ah, Fenn, it was awful! I thought it was bad that I’d never be welcome in Etnfrandia, but never knowing if I’d be back at all! And whether or not you lived, or were hurt! It was agony. And here I was, trapped in the Fae with those two! I’m sorry, Fenn, I know Krid’s your friend, but look. Look at Syrdin.”
Syrdin sniffled with indignation and waved. Zhe hadn’t bothered to replace zheir hood.
Fenn did look. Zhe was accustomed to him turning away. This time, he didn’t. He surveyed zheir face first, his gaze darting across white, curled mop atop zheir head, to the rosy-pink eyes, down thick brows and the marbled scars of zheir face. Then he glanced down, taking in what had been hidden by zheir cloak: a leather jerkin that squared zheir shoulders as it rested over a dark linen shirt. Syrdin squared zheir jaw and lifted zheir chin. Take it in, professor. Zhe would likely end up as a drawing in his notebook. Remember this face, this person. One day, he’d be including zhem in one of his editions of Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History.
While he stared, Gale continued her snot-nosed ramble. “And I thought we would die when the cladafrum attacked. But I killed one, Fenn. I had too! And then I didn’t kill Syrdin, even though zhe’s the enemy, but I thought if zhe could help me survive long enough to find you…” The “find you” was almost inaudible against his shirt.
“Good, Gale, that’s good...” To his credit, Fenn made some attempt at pushing her away from him to speak to her eye to eye, like adults, but she clung to him tighter, shaking her head against him. “You’ve been very brave–” he tried to say.
No she hasn’t. Syrdin wasn’t sure how much more of this zhe could take.
“No! It’s not good!” Gale blubbered. “I just want to go somewhere normal and live the life we were supposed to have. No monsters or Night Elves.”
Fenn tensed, and for a second, his face twisted such that Syrdin thought he was going to be ill.
“I’m sorry, Gale,” he croaked out.
But the girl wasn’t done. “I’m so tired. Tired of danger and death. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Not of the beasts, or of the people. I mean, look, they’re–they’re cooking it! Fenn, they’re cooking–they’re going to eat it!” She finally stopped talking in favor of sobs.
Fenn sent a stricken glance to Syrdin. Clearly, he knew that he should have confronted this problem earlier. Then to zheir surprise, his body shook, too, as though he were the one sobbing, but without the tears. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly, making a sudden return to Allspeech. “This is my fault.”
Syrdin wasn’t sure who the apology was aimed toward.
“No, I’m only glad you’re alright.” It seemed as if Gale was trying to squeeze the guts out of Fenn with how she clamped with both arms.
His face contorted into a grimace. “I… Not that, Gale. You weren’t supposed to be here. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you–” Fenn wasn’t crying, exactly, but sob-like tremors kept shooting through him, as though he were trying not to. His face had gone flush with the effort. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. All of you. This wasn’t–I–I’m sorry.”
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Krid walked over, and, finding Fenn’s forearm behind Gale’s back, he squeezed it. “I second Gale. We’re all glad you’re alive–both of you. There’s no need to apologize.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Even though he squeezed Krid’s arm back, his words didn’t change, nor did they become more sensical. There was something he was trying to say with all those pathetic “I’m sorry’s,” but it wasn’t a simple sorriness.
“Really, Fenn, don’t apologize. It’s over now.” Mell patted his shoulder. Mell, in Syrdin’s opinion, should’ve known it was not at all over. She spoke Elvish with fluency; she’d heard all the nonsense Gale had spouted.
Fenn shook his head, racked again with another dry sob.
Syrdin stared at the strange moment: the human, the drakeman, and the she-elf huddled in support around the emotionally struggling adult man–elfman no less. He’s what? Two-hundred and twenty? Thirty? Pitiful.
At last, clarity struck. This was it. Though by wisdom, Mell should have been the group leader, and by strength, Krid; it was Fenn who had brought them together, and who could continue to do so. There was something about him that they loved.
Whatever it was, it was sorely stunted.
If this group is ever going to come together for a purpose… a sly smile crept across zheir face. Zhe knew, finally, exactly how to accomplish zheir goal. Zhe crossed zheir arms. It was only going to take a miracle to make it happen. So Syrdin set out to make a miracle.
“No.” zhe said curtly. “Let him apologize. And let him do it properly this time.”
“Syrdin!” Mell scolded.
“I’m serious. Let him. We don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.”
Fenn blinked at zhem through his glasses as another dry-sob shook him. Krid let go of his arm first, followed by Mell, who removed her hand from his shoulder. At last, Gale also stepped back, shooting Syrdin a scowl. She left her dainty fingers on his gangly arm, refusing to let go completely.
Fenn took deep breaths. It was clear that this wasn’t his first time being forced to compose himself, but he took a while. At last, he dropped into a half-bow–which Syrdin could only assume was an apologetic gesture to the Etnfrandians. “I want to apologize for my failure. I shouldn’t have asked any of you here whom I did, and I shouldn’t have let any of the other of you come. And with no plan, or a poor plan and no backup plan–our troubles are my fault. I–” He swallowed down another tremor. “I’m sorry, to every one of you. I’ll try to do better.”
“No, you’re going to do better.” Syrdin corrected. Actually, if one were ever going to apologize, it wasn’t half-bad. Not that Syrdin ever apologized.
“Syrdin!”
“No, Mell, zhe’s right. I am going to. However much good my best can do for us. I’ll see us home, if I can.” As he righted again, a lone tear streaked down his cheek, but he swiped it away. For the first time, he stood without that pathetic hunch in his back, and he turned his eyes fully to each of them.
“Well for my part,” Mell began, “you couldn’t have kept me from coming. I’d have killed you for not telling me you found the Faeworld. My clergy has been searching for it since the order was founded. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“You warned me fairly,” Krid said. “But your plans need work. We’ll work on it together.”
“You did try to tell me to go home.” Gale said. She was the only one not meeting his gaze, though she lingered nearest.
Mell and Krid turned to Syrdin in expectation. “What? It’s like I said at first: I happen to want to be here. He’s got nothing to apologize to me for.”
“Then why’d you make him apologize?” Gale snapped.
Syrdin pointed at Fenn and, without a lie on zheir tongue, said simply, “Results.” Then zhe turned away and resumed tossing guts to the shoth. Sure, zhe didn’t understand Fenn’s guilt, or the affection they all had for the guy. He had no confidence, few practical capabilities, and was extremely dense, especially for someone so “smart.” But he loved them–his friends. And they felt the same. That, zhe could work with, even without understanding it.
“But Fenn, what about the Night Elf?” Gale was whispering to Fenn about Syrdin.
Zhe continued tossing guts, one ear turned toward the conversation.
“Gale… this is going to be hard for you to understand.”
Syrdin forgot their scraps and turned. Fenn had his hands gripping the sides of Gale’s shoulders, his head lowered.
“Fenn… you… you didn’t know, did you?”
“Syrdin… well, there’s these escapees, like Krid explained before, who had been slaves to the dwarves. Some of them make their way into Brikhvarnn while others–”
“NO! Fenn, how could let zhem into Etnfrandia?” Gale tried to step away.
Fenn gripped her tighter. “Wait, Gale, I didn’t let zhem. Zhe crossed the barrier. Zhe… whatever zhe does want, it has nothing to do with the gods of the Night Elves. Zhe isn’t associated, or zhe couldn’t cross.”
“The ‘gods of?’ Fenn, it doesn’t matter! Zhe’s a national enemy!”
“Maybe as declared by your nation because of an ancient war, but realistically they aren’t all–”
Gale gasped at “your nation,” and Fenn’s face went stark white with regret as her expression widened with shock.
“What… which nation do you mean?” She asked slowly.
“Gale, I–I–I” His thumb pressed into her shoulder so hard it looked painful.
“The Wood Elves, Fenn, or Etnfrandia?”
Syrdin frowned. At least she admits she’s a Wood Elf.
He took a breath and spoke carefully. “Either one, Gale. Either would make enemies with all Night Elves on account of yes, a majority of them, but not every one. As a Wood Elf, You of all Etnfrandians should be able to understand that there are exceptions–”
Gale’s glare was as sharp as a blade, but her voice when she cut in was mucosal. “I should understand? Fenn, this is a national betrayal. And the secret is a betrayal to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest,.
Syrdin’s tidbit dropped from zheir hand prematurely. Fenn… was defending zhem. To his own betrothed. And to the detriment of… whatever their real relationship was. Something between friends and lovers, it seemed. He clearly didn’t consider himself Etnfrandian in allegiance, and had implied as much to Gale.
Interesting. Useful, even.
“There’s exceptions to every rule. Ask any scientist, mage, historian–anyone who studies. Even in mathematics.”
“I’m NOT interested in what a scientist says, but what my betrothed does! Or, in this case, doesn’t!” Gale turned her hands to fists and threw them down to her sides. “Were you even going to tell me?! About Syrdin? About any of this?!”
She paused for an answer, but none came. Fenn may as well have been frozen in ice.
Syrdin held in a snort. Real smooth, man.
Gale filled the silence with her whines. “What did you think would happen when you returned to Etnfrandia from the Fae–if I hadn’t followed? That I would just… ‘understand?’ Accept everything when you got back because it was you asked me to? Frosts, Fenn, we’ll be exiles for even coming here, won’t we?! Was I supposed to follow you into exile?!” She growled a girlish groan and shoved him back, away from her.
Fenn didn’t reach for her. He just took her shove with his head down, barely glancing up to watch her go.
“It’s like I don’t even know you!” Gale spun to wail at him before she fled for the tent.
Fenn’s hands hung at his sides, and he pulled them to his elbows as if cold. He glanced at Syrdin, and zhe realized zhe was gawking at him. He defended me to his betrothed, and he doesn't even know my intentions. He just… did. Zhe sent him an appreciative nod. That miracle zhe needed had just become much, much easier.