Chapter 2: A Legend Awakens . A Company of Strangers

_____The Legend Awakens_____

        Kimbal the Bruise was a b*****d of a boy. On the brink of his awakening into manhood one would surely take pity and forgive the young buck for his shortcomings. That seemed to never be the case for Kimbal, though. He looked to be an active boy. Surely, one always up to no good is a busy kind indeed. Average in height to most boys his age. Since his birth he has seen fourteen autumns. His hair dark brown and cow-licked every which way, the boy had high-spirited brown eyes to match his riotous nature. His Father always told him:

      “My boy you know why your eyes are so brown, don’t ya?” no matter how many times he asked and never got a reply he would pause for a moment as if to give his son a chance to answer. “It’s ‘cause you’re full of s**t, boy. Filled to the very top with it.”

      Then he would messy up his already unkempt head of hair and pop him in the hind quarters as the boy ran off to cause more trouble. But when your boy weaves such an amazing story, even though false, you can’t help but admire the raw creativity you had long put aside to become a working kind of man.

      Kimbal the Bruise got his name from the sole fact that he always seemed to be wearing one somewhere. It was not always because he was in a brawl with other boys, he was just naturally so… reckless.

      Tomorrow was the first moon of autumn. Kimbal would soon be considered by the rest of Haveran as a young man and no longer a boy. Soon he would be pressured by time to start getting his act together, that meant no more dicking around. The first moon of Autumn was also the celebration of Rovin, the night they give thanks to the patron of the Township, the reason they had a successful harvest and hunting year; the goofy, creepy elf on a rock that perched in the very center of Haveran. Rovin the elf, the living statue of a race that seemed to only exist otherwise in rumor or tale. Always on that damned rock. Always staring.

Many of the boys who are about to come of age are expected to accomplish one thing this night, a rite of passage only enforced by the adolescent. Tonight, Kimbal would meet up with Randi, Yoder, and a few of the other men-to-be in the center of town. They would each stare into the elves invariable black eyes and recite the old rhyme to Rovin. If they broke gaze with him even once many a boy fancied all sorts of terrible things could happen. Kimbal was maybe not the best in a staring contest but he had won a few in his day and he was more than confident that the scary old elf was not as hard to beat as Emberly Tadlow. That girl gave him the crazy creeps. Yes, it is true that he accidentally (intentionally) spilt water on her gown to break her stare and win that contest. He was clumsy, after all.

      The big boys all met at sunset behind the new Grenger Market House. A baker was usually willing to part with his stale sweet cakes when the shop closed. They would spoil their dinner while they ribbed and jibed each other before the street lanterns were lit and they had to go home. This evening there seemed to be a little tension in the air given off by the oldest of them. Most of the crew had at least thirteen to fifteen autumns on them.

      “Listen up Fin, Yoder, Handly and The Bruise,” the tallest of them started, “my older brothers have all done it. They say it’s all just kiddy stuff anyway, though they would also never stop calling us cowards if they knew we never followed through.” He stuffed another crusty sweet cake into his gob and spoke around the food in his mouth, “If something bad happens, if you do it wrong, or if nothing happens we still got to do it… tonight.”

      Kinbal the Bruise nudged the tall one as he swiped the last roll from the boy’s open hand, “Well, Randi… I don’t know. What about Vincent from a few autumns back? Vincent Nolan. They say that he broke gaze with the elf while reciting the chant and two days later…” He popped the stolen cake into his mouth and broke manners as well, “... a horse sat on him while he was re-shoeing it.”

      Randi, appalled only by the theft of his last baked good, nudged Kindal off balance. He tiptoed and teetered back to composure. “That was my last one, son of a b***h!”

      “Randi you can’t be saying those things!” A shorter and much younger in the group piped up “You know that is a trouble word….. Ouch!”

      Randi had the boy in a headlock like lightning. The younger boy’s face became immediately flushed in red. Whether from embarrassment or blood quickly rushing to his head, all the others found it quite entertaining.

      “And I would only be in TROUBLE... If you happened to TATTLE on me.” Randi retorted.

      “Alright, alright, Randi lay off your brother for a minute.” Another older boy interjected, this one looking to have enjoyed many a sweet cake in his time “Also what about Barry Collins from just a couple autumns back? He got trampled under by a four-horse carriage runnin’ cross the street chasing a neighbor’s cat. He is still alive, by gods, but he can’t even put on his own trousers without help from his mum.”

      Randi released his younger brother and settled back up against the market house wall. A brief silence fell over the group.

      “Well, Yoder, fellas, these things happen, with or without the elf. Anyway, men, like I already said: Any of you want to be known as a coward by your elders?... I would much rather be trampled by a thousand horses.”

      All the boys agreed. Cowardice was not an option given to those known as men. Each one of them would stare into Rovin’s abysmal eyes and recite the chant tonight or face embarrassment for the rest of their lives. The crew agreed to meet at the monument when the moon was at its peak.

      Kimbal was far from scared. Tonight he would face the elf and wake up the next day a man.

***

      The moon before the first of Autumn sat high in the brisk night sky. Handly, Yoder, Randi, and Kimbal stood almost frozen before the mystical elf that perched in the middle of the town square. Many tents and wagons were set up for tomorrow's festivities. An occasional street lantern broke up most of the darkness of night that surrounded Rovin’s stone perch. Yet some sort of darkness remained in the center. As if the elf was giving off a soft glow of anti-light. There was no reason to worry over the town guards breaking up the little gathering. After all, the town guards were boys once too. And, to many in the humble town of Haveran, tradition often took seniority over law.

      “Okay,” Started Handly, his long blonde hair braided for bedtime dangled down as they huddled together speaking in hushed tones. “Who goes first? That’s the question of the hour.”

      Kimbal immediately stood up. Breaking the facade of subtlety he spoke out in a deep and proud tone, “Me. I will go first. The sooner we get this done with, the sooner I can go to bed… I have chores in the morning.” In all honesty, Kimbal The Bruise did have chores in the morning, but if anything, he wished to get this whole thing over with in hopes it would calm the newfound anxiety he felt in the pit of his chest.

      “No surprise there,” Yoder spoke matter-of-factly, “Bruise is the first to rush in and the first to get hurt. Go ahead Kimbal, we will be watching.”

      Kimbal concealed a tight throat swallow and broke from the group. He slowly approached the living statue of Rovin from the side and watched as his profile came head-on with the elf. He averted his eyes up to the moon one last time as he crouched down to eye level with him. A deep breath was taken to calm his nerves and slowly he moved his vision from that of the gentle starry sky into the obsidian eyes of Rovin, the stoic patron of Haveran. The fear, he thought overcome by his sense of duty, suddenly struggled to come out. It was one thing to view the elf from afar but to almost be touching noses with him was a whole other experience. The eyes of one staring off into an unfathomable distance. One so far that it had come full circle and back to its point of origin. Kimbal needed to finish this quick, finish it without falter before he lost composure. So, he spoke, in an almost theatrical tone:

“Rovin, spark.

Eyes of dark.

Light grows dimmer

As you shimmer.

For our souls, for our sake

I command you now to come AWAKE!”

      The chant was complete. No harm done. He took a deep breath of cold air, closed his eyes and began to stand up. But as he stood and opened his eyes, the living statue of Haveran blinked. Starred up... at him! The world began to spin. This was it, he was sure to die. Kimbal arched back, losing his footing, and fainted to the cobbles under his feet.

      The elf stood, staring at the fainted boy for a second and then towards the boys that stood like statues themselves. “What… is this place… who are you all?” an old man’s voice came from the bearded child’s mouth.

      The boys ran screaming in all directions. The legend, Rovin, had risen from his slumber. Soon, all Haveran would follow suit brought awake by the shouts that traveled down each sleepy street and empty alley way.

***

      Irvon awoke. A human boy stared down at him for one moment then toppled back like a sack of potatoes. How peculiar, he mused. Then, quite slowly he began to look around him. The field he once exiled himself to was no longer there; instead there were clay shingled houses, wagons, large tents and lanterns. Did someone move him at some point without disturbing him? Or… Had he been so far gone for so long within himself that the world moved in around him? He caught a glimpse of three other human boys just a few leaps away from him. He breathed in the cold autumn air like a newborn takes its first gasp and then said, “What… is this place… who are you all?”

      The children ran screaming bloody-murder in different directions. None of them seemed concerned for their fainted comrade. Though much time had passed since he once stood, even walked, he rose to his feet with little effort, still holding the box to his chest.

      No use in taking off just yet, Irvon mused. It was only a matter of time before the frightened boys alerted the elder people of their village. They would come to see what the commotion was about and he would have a chance to get a few questions answered. Ones that came to mind seconds after his awakening.

      Half-awake townsmen, women and children shuffled their way to the square. They groaned and muttered the punishments such boys would get if this was all a prank. But when each one arrived at the center of the town all talking was replaced by gasps of awe. The patron elf had indeed removed himself from his place on the rock and now stood by its side, his wooden box tucked under his arm, practically naked (unless you consider a great beard clothing) and malnourished form exposed to the light of street lamps, lanterns, and the stellar lights above. The awe-inspired silence continued for what seemed like hours, yet was only mere minutes.

      “My boy!” came a shout from the crowd. A woman nearing the end of her summer years, brown hair in a bun for sleeping and dressed for bed, took a panicked move towards Kimbal. Poor Kimbal, he had bumped his head in the faint! Nothing serious, though, but it was sure to leave a mark!

      A man’s arm came around to still her, “Okay, Margrette, I’ll go get the boy.” It was Kimbal’s father. He stepped out of the circle of towns people, kneeled down and lifted the Bruise up over his shoulder. He did so without a single sign of embarrassment. He broke that habit long ago when Kimbal ran the age of five.

      “The boy’s just in shock, Margie dear, let’s get him home… he’ll be fine.”  

      This all took place in one surreal event within the town square. An elf that was sure to have been forever crouched in one single spot had somehow just… got up and moved from it. The people of Haveran, in that moment, looked upon the father retrieving the boy in silence, almost as if that was the reason they had all gathered there in the first place. But in each of their minds they knew why they were there. Rovin… need anyone say more? But maybe if they all looked away for a short time and then looked back… There the elf stood, surely fit like a fly on s**t, and stared back at all of them. In that moment, someone did hear a mouse fart. Then a voice arose from the mouth of Rovin:

      “Who amongst you is the leader of your clan?”

Once again there was silence for none had ever imagined what Rovin sounded like. His voice cut through the crisp early morning air and seemed to echo off into the alleyways along the main street.

      Eventually, a man dressed in fine sleeping garments of silk stepped forward. He had seen at least sixty autumns, balding, with white bushy eyebrows to match a moustache that covered his lips.

      “I would be him, Lord Rovin. My name is Viceroy Morris Grail, I am head of Haveran, the town you have been sentinel to for autumns long passed. A couple hundred at least. We never realized, I mean we never expected… We welcome you… I am sure you have as many questions as I… Is there something you wish of us in this very moment of your return?”

       Rovin? Lord Rovin?  I wonder why they call me this? Doubtful any of them know my real name and those that would call me by it no longer think of me let alone need to speak it. I muse that correcting them now would bear little fruit. He looked around at the humans that gawked at him and shrugged. “Beet soup.” He replied

      “Beet…” Viceroy Morris Grail started (others could be heard whispering the same thing as if repeating it would make some sort of sense) “… soup?”

      “Yes,” the elf replied, “beet soup, and a quiet place for me to think.”

_____The Company of Strangers_____

      The Dreaming Elf Inn had been entirely evacuated aside from the staff, Viceroy Morris, Rovin… And a man. Those that knew his old name wanted his blood. Those that knew him by his new name admired the ethic and dependability of his craft. His name was Auron, simply just. He lacked a true title to familiar ties due to the essence of his past, and his raising. There were those who would have considered themselves solid and dangerous. Auron had to always be more solid, even more dangerous than them. It was required in his line of work. He sat in the far corner of the Dreaming Elf Inn. A short-pipe of local herbs billowed out its sweet and harsh aroma with the occasional toke and decorated his salt and pepper bearded face. He was dressed like a man who spent most of his days outside the comforts of urban living. Dressed in breathable dark cloth and travel-worn, feathered hide cloak. A clay red plainsman hat tilted forward on his head suggesting that he was in the middle of a mild nap or just resting his eyes. A long sword lay sheathed around his waist along with a dark oaken sap and steel knuckle duster. A boar spear leaned against the wall beside him and his travel bag. Each tool of his trade gave off the vibe that they had all been used not just frequently in their time but lethally. He watched as all other tenants were coaxed and bribed out of their lodging to elsewhere. Most travelers gave little protest as Viceroy Morris made his announcement of the elf, Rovin, and the compliance of his request for seclusion and soup. When the bulk of the guests had left, Viceroy Morris finally made his way over to the solitary man’s table.

      “Ella, Thomas,” he said looking back to the two remaining members of his staff, “please get some beet soup started for our honored guest and prepare his room.”

      The two went their separate ways as requested. Thomas made sure the elf was seated comfortably at the Inn’s finest banquet table before taking off towards the kitchen. The elf seemed to want to interject something for a moment and then relaxed in his chair, awkwardly. Human seats and tables seemed a bit oversized to his type. Ella scurried up the stairs. Viceroy Morris now turned his full attention back to the stranger in the corner that had silently refused to leave.

      “I do apologize for any inconvenience, sir mercenary, but I have requested for all who have roomed here to kindly relocate. I will gladly pay for any boarding of your choosing to ease any discomfort this might cause you…”

      “Then you are offering to pay for my room here? That is a kind offer Mayor Morris.” Auron interrupted between a toke of his pipe.

      “Well… that is not exactly what I was suggesting. If you would please find another Inn to stay at I will be sure to compensate you for the hardship. You see…” He looked over towards the elf seated on the far side of the banquet hall “Rovin…”

      “The elf?” almost patronizing.

      “… yes. The elf. He has requested a quiet place to compose himself after his arduous ordeal. It's not all too polite for people to be around talking, gawking, carrying on and what have you…”

      “Does it look like I am the kind to talk, gawk and what have you? As anyone observing would point out I believe you are the one doing just that. I sit here. I tend to mind my own, Mayor. And if you beg to differ then you dare to question the honor of my word. I care not that an elf is in this dining room.” He looked up then, tipping his hat up to show his one green eye (the other under dark wrapping). Smoke puffed up towards Viceroy Morris as if intentional. “I do care that you disturbed me while I was in the middle of deep thought. I suggest you take your own advice and leave those at peace as they are.”

      Viceroy Morris took a hasty and hard swallow and slowly backed away, not in fear but in customary apology. “You are indeed right, mercenary, it seems some people are capable of handling this all lightly. I am sorry if I lumped you in with the common folk. Please continue to stay here. I will be sure to have Thomas attend to you when he has finished Lord Rovin’s meal.”

      With that, Auron stared over at the front windows as if noticing something, then tipped his hat back down over his face and went back to ‘deep thinking.’

“Much appreciated, chief.”

      Viceroy looked over his shoulder in the direction that Auron had glanced. Haveran citizens and travelers alike were mashed up against the windows like starving orphans in front of a bakery display. Lamp light moved about outside, casting collective or disembodied shadows onto the Inn floor. The disgruntled Mayor strode up to the door, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

     

***

The township of humble Haveran! A place where no one ever seems to be in a hurry. Especially on a strange night like tonight. It’s always easy to pick out a visitor, they are the ones walking as if they had a purpose; like they had someplace to be. Maybe the visitor is not, in their own sense, in a rush. They have just arrived in town. Traveling days and nights worth can drive any humble person to look for proper lodging. A room with a bed, maybe even a bath, and clean clothes… Or maybe a visitor following the gentle tug of destiny, like a soft siren’s song. Walking like one did have purpose, though they could not honestly divulge its nature if asked. Not like anyone was inclined to, anyhow.

      Avah Adalyn was indeed this stranger come to Haveran. At the age of twenty-two she was more than capable for fending for herself. After leaving the home of her childhood and recently passed mother she took with her two things aside her travel bag: A letter that had been read so many times it resembled tissue cloth more than parchment and, most importantly, her wayward father’s Golden and Ivory hand sickle. A precious family heirloom she had pilfered from his pack on the last night she ever saw him. So many summers ago. Every passing of the year she would pray that he would come back for it as if it was insurance of his return. It was so very important to him. She was so very important to him… or maybe not? He never did return… For her or the family heirloom. Sometimes she wondered if he had finally grown too old to come see her one last time. Other times, she wondered if something dreadful, just awful, happened to him forever halting his homecoming. Yet, on most occasions of late, she considered that he had moved on from her. That he finally fell into place back in his true home. With his true family. That he wanted nothing to do with her any more.

      Avah stood taller than most men. A view more athletic than thin or shapely. Her years living off the Eastern Forests of Ninoa formed her into a more hardy and beautiful proportion of endurance and strength. A body and mind accustomed to hunting its food and struggling to bend the will of nature around them. Even with this being said, many would see her and swear she was a specimen of elegance and softness. She held herself in perfect posture like the ease of a bird taking wing to the air. She seemed to glide swiftly down the street as opposed to the average way one walked or composed themselves.

Her beauty was not just found in her pink cherry blossom lips, her silver/blue eyes, strong jaw line and soft chin. The truest form of her beauty was found in the sweet, warm, aura that covered every inch of her being. A beauty that called for one to look upon it, yet only once. Not in awe or admiration but in respect. Respect that something so simply beautiful need not demand more attention than it's worth. And to someone better traveled than the locals of Haveran, a respect for someone who clearly had the blood of the Kinfolk running through her veins.  Her raven black hair was long. So long, in fact, she had never cut it. She kept it in a braid looped around her left shoulder like a small length of rope.

For someone of her breed she was dressed in rags but to the common folk of Haveran she was (in respects to the wear and tear of travel) garbed quite well. Homespun cloths and leathers dyed the darkest shades of browns, greens, and blacks. Colors of the forest floor in twilight hours.

      She had walked into a bizarre setting.  Some townsfolk, even at this late hour of the night, walked about the neighborhoods under lantern and lamp light. All of them still in their sleeping garments. Most of them seemingly too occupied with silent, yet, excited conversation to notice her gentle movement in the night shadowed streets. She moved down the softly lit main street of Haveran, mind set on a warm bed and some hot food. Though she passed by the pajamaed townspeople out and about so late, Avah did not take note of this on her trek further towards the center of town. That was until she came close to a crowding of people outside the lantern lit front door and extended lawn of what looked to be an Inn.

She was all the sudden relieved and anxious at once. As she moved in closer to the crowd she noticed one man that stood above them. Hands extended out in an act of welcoming and pacifying. Thick, bushy, white eyebrows to match the moustache that draped over his mouth. He began to speak and she moved in closer to hear him.“Men, ladies, we might all be in awe of this glorious occasion. I would be lying if I told you I too am not beside myself with many thoughts and emotions… But, good people. My fair and humble people of Haveran I ask that you show restraint in your gawking!” He started to raise his voice and looked back in almost an apologetic flinch towards the Inn doorway. “Keep in mind that this elf we have not just built our town, and even our traditions, around deserves the same respect and privacy that any other individual would require of us. It is never polite to gawk at a guest you have for dinner as much as it is embarrassing to be staring into my windows with no discretion. Adults and children alike!” he caught himself raising his voice again slowly in volume and quieted back down to a hush. “… so, please. Go to your homes, go about your day like the others that know better. And shame on you all for making fools of yourselves to such a distinguished guest.”

Then, like he was scaring away vermin birds, he used his hands in a sweeping motion and walked the crowd out into a broken half circle. The half circle soon dissolved into small groups of mumbling townsfolk, then a couple here or there sharing mutters of silent protest or excuses, then the last of the stragglers; the ones that thought a final soft fit would get them somewhere with him. Eventually he almost met paths with Avah. He took sight of her for a moment and smiled warmly at seeing someone so pleasant. He noticed then she was not from Haveran and cleared his throat.

“I assume you are not from here, Welcome to Haveran,” the gruff, fine dressed, man started. “My name is Viceroy Morris Grail, this is my town and… those.” He dismissed with a hand swipe towards the way behind her “… are my townspeople. I am glad you have come and we look forward to any goods or services we can offer each other while you are here. I do ask that you go to another Inn, I am afraid The Dreaming Elf is closed to the public now. Nothing horrible, mind you, but sensitive nonetheless. May I suggest another fine, almost equally nice, place for you to stay? Just down the east side of this main square you will find the Silver Chair.”

Avah nodded and looked him in the eyes the entire time. He seemed nervous, maybe stressed or tired. “Did I hear you mention something about an elf, here?”

Viceroy Morris cleared his throat a tad and looked off to one side for a moment. Taking in a deep breath he looked back towards her. “Yes, it is true. The elf Rovin that has sat upon the rock in that square, there, has broken from his spell… Or whatever it was. That elf was on that rock hundreds of years before we ever came here to start this town. As curious as this all may seem I ask that you remain respectful while you are here and carry on with your business as usual…”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out two silver bars. “This will cover two days, one night, at the Silver Chair. Once again welcome to our humble town, I am very busy and must be off to attend to… things. Good day miss.” He bowed his head low to her and headed back towards the doorway of The Dreaming Elf. Where one, wide awake now, was said to be inside.

Avah hefted the two silver bars in her hand lightly for a second and pocketed them. I could go stay at the Silver Chair free of cost…. Or… She fancied, I could keep the two bars and sneak into the Dreaming Elf… With a wild nature like Avah’s, curiosity offered a constant source of entertainment and joy to her life. She always found thrill thriving in silence and would surely cause zero alarm. She would get the sleep, food and bath she wanted. And she would see this elf with her own eyes. Even in the Eastern woods of Ninoa she had never seen elf folk with her own eyes. Heard stories, maybe, but never seen one. Or spoken with one. A small ember of excitement grew in her chest where there was once fatigue and hunger. She followed the Viceroy’s directions off towards the Silver Chair but decided to take a detour. And then a quiet stroll back around and to the rear alleyway of the Dreaming Elf Inn. There she made her entrance. Like the soft gust that blew she quietly shimmied up to the nearest opened window and floated in.

As convenient as any sneak would hope, the room was empty; all tenants were asked to leave after all. A hot bath was already drawn in the tub, poor sucker got moved out before they could enjoy any of the amenities offered. And some fresh bread and fruits were placed on a platter atop a small table and chair set across from the bed. ‘A want to discover the unknown is always rewarded’, she found herself quoting her father. She soaked her aching muscles, she fed her hunger and finally rested her body in heavy slumber.

***

      Back downstairs, Auron silently observed the elf from across the banquet room. This, Rovin, was indeed of the elven race. It was satisfyingly comical to see him seated in the grandest large chair at the grandest large banquet hall table. Only the top half of his head was visible. A wooden box sat on the table, slightly taller than the top of his head.  Soft golden-brown hair, ear tips that tapered off at a thin point, and two large childlike eyes boasting of charcoal black peered out across the table, outside a window of the Inn. There was a stillness that took over the room for a fraction of a moment and then the elf shimmied down off the grand chair, reached up to retrieve the wooden box, and walked over towards a table a few steps closer to the mercenary. Auron kept his hat low and avoided any direct observation as Rovin seemed more pleased with the new table and set of chairs. They were shorter, one of the tables used in the far corner of the Dreaming Elf for seating children of visiting patrons.

At closer observation, Auron realized the reclusive race of the elfkind truly did boast agelessness. Not only was Rovin in proportion to a child but also bore the face of one as well. No wrinkle of age or stress marred its ancient face. Clothed only in a golden-brown beard that he carried bunched up in one arm… It was in many ways so comical that even Auron had trouble controlling a soft chuckle of bizarre amusement. He succeeded.

A swinging door to the Inn’s kitchen hurried open and Thomas emerged carrying a steaming bowl. He walked, first, to the grand banquet table but noticed with visible surprise that the elf was no longer seated there. He moved his head around until he noticed the elf. He was now seated at one of the children’s tables on the opposite side of where he first sat. Vapors wafted the room as a bewildered Thomas and the soup advanced towards the table. The smell was sweet, bitter, earthy. Auron slowed his breathing and toked his short-pipe to clear the air of that horrid beet smell. Auron allowed his eye to stray up towards the two where Thomas had placed the bowl down and stood for a second. Rovin stared up at him as if at a loss of what to say. Then the Innkeep spoke up:

“Here’s your beet soup, Lord Rovin,” he started almost apologetically in tone. “we do not have much a demand for the soup… but I did have a recipe my grandpap kept for it. Was a favorite of his…” He paused for a second hoping the elf would try his first bite and be pleased with it.

Rovin glanced down at the soup for a second and then glanced back up at Thomas. Then Thomas slowly nodded to acknowledge the elf’s gaze and then he looked into the bowl of soup with horror shadowing his face. “Oh, my Lord, a dead fly! It has…”

“Stop addressing me like that, please. I am far from being anyone's lord.” He interrupted. A bearded child speaking to a grown man like a child. “and as for the dead fly…” The elf slowly brought his small finger down into the bowl and held aloft the motionless specimen from his soup. In the blink of an eye the seemingly dead fly took aggravated wing away from the two of them and came to land on Auron’s table. Where it remained, almost motionless. “It was not dead it’s wings were just wet, see? Thank you for the soup. Please, leave me in peace I have much on my mind. I will see myself to the room you have given me the key to. Good night.”

“Good… good night Lo… Master Rovin. Once again apologies for the fly. I can get you another bowl… Mayhaps you require something else?... Oh, dear…” He continued to stammer as he was nodded away softly by the bearded youngling.

“That is all, Thank you Thomas…” He almost felt bad for the people of Haveran. These people that placed so much blind homage and trust into an elf they did not truly know. Whatever stories or superstitions they had constructed about him thus far were irreversible. And it was determined then that trying to persuade these people of anything: his true nature, his past, ties, and even name, were futile at best.

Rovin watched as Thomas went back through the swinging door of the kitchen and as Ella returned from upstairs to join him. Then he moved the wooden box across from him and turned his attention to the beet soup before him. Medium slices of gold and red beet floated in an amber broth. He placed the spoon given to him into the soup and brought out a smaller of the slices and some liquid. He gently blew on the serving and took a long and sharp sip of the broth. His expression never changed, nothing gave hint to him either liking or disliking the soup… Staring at the box across from him, he slowly opened his mouth and took the entire beet slice into his mouth. As he chewed, once again, he showed neither favor nor disgust.

“Its… Missing something…” He mumbled towards his imaginary companion (the box) “Not sure what though…” The elf took another spoonful of the soup and swished it around to clear his mouth of any remaining pieces of stewed beet. “can’t seem to put my finger on it though…” Then the elf looked straight in the direction of the only other patron of the Dreaming Elf Inn and spoke in his direction.

“Listen, good man, I am aware both of us enjoy our seclusion as a precious commodity. But if you have not heard I have been…. Away, for so long now that I fear my taste buds have some catching up to do. I wonder could you give this a taste and tell me what you think?”

Auron placed the clay red plainsman hat square on his head and looked with his one eye towards the honored and celebrated elf of Haveran. He let out a slight, annoyed, sigh. Not from the elf’s request but because he had finally burned through all the herb packed into his pipe. He patted the ashen contents onto a small tray littered with crumbs and cloth napkin and set to repacking his short-pipe from a small satchel from somewhere beneath his feathered hide cloak.

Not looking up from his task he simply replied, “No, I’d rather not.” Then he paused to pull out a match stick and gazed back up at the dark eyes of Rovin. “Thanks, anyway.” A large pillar of smoke shot out of the short-pipe from the first toke and it mixed with the tendrils that escaped Auron’s half opened mouth and nostrils.

Then followed silence, with the occasional slurping sounds produced from Rovin as he continued to mull over his soup and its contents. Auron occasionally casted his good eye at the elf. Rovin continued to make long, sharp, slurping sounds with each spoonful brought to his mouth. He stared at Auron with a deadpan expression. Then Auron broke the silence once again.

“So, Rovin, was it? My name is Auron. Just Auron,” he started, “do you come here often?”

Auron watched a slight, soft, smile animate the elf’s thick golden-brown beard. Rovin took another high-pitched sip of his soup and placed the spoon down beside the bowl. “Often enough to be famous. Unconscious enough to not know why.” He then picked up the bowl and finished off the last of the beet soup.

“And you?” the elf asked back

“Not one to traipse around any place for too long, though my reputation tends to stick around long after I leave most.”

They both allowed a short space of silence to come back between them as they assessed each other. The Viceroy could occasionally be heard outside still encouraging the gawkers to go about their own business. Eventually the shine of lamp light and commotion outside faded off. Outside the window Auron noticed that only the Mayor and a tall, beautiful, woman remained. Viceroy dug into his pocket for something and gave it to her then turned around and headed back towards the Inn. He entered slowly and when the door had closed he leaned his back up against it and lifted closed eyes heavenward as if to make silent prayer. Then he looked toward where he had last left Rovin the patron elf of Haveran, noticed he was no longer there and moved his eyes over to the two men that now sat two tables across from each other.

“I beg your pardon, mercenary, but have you broken the trust I had placed in you to leave this man in peace?”

      Auron continued to gaze at the elf in stoic repose “He came over to me,” He started “Asked me if I would try his soup.”

      “Yes,” Roven chimed in, “I did decide to speak with him of my own free will.” Two coal black eyes moved to gaze at the Mayor. “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Viceroy Morris Grail. If you please, we were in the middle of private conversation…”

      The troubled Morris paused for a moment, uncomfortably, then nodded in agreement and quietly made his way back into the kitchen to join his employees. Before stepping all the way in through the door he looked back to add one last thing. “If you require anything else, Lord Rovin, anything at all please, do not hesitate to ask.”

      “Are you as good as you put yourself on to be, mercenary?” Rovin asked.

      “Please, your lordship,” his sarcasm evident, “I am a man of the world. Though I am known by many, in good and bad respects mind you, I will also be one that dies alone in the wilderness like the beast that I am.”

      “I wish to hire your services.” The elf stated bluntly

      “For how long?”

      “As long as it takes.”

      “As long as it takes to do what?”

      “Accomplish the task set before me.”

      Auron chuckled heartily and leaned back in his wooden chair, bringing his feet up onto the table in front of him. “A ‘need to know basis’ kind of job, eh?” he mused “and how much are you willing to pay?”

      The elf looked back at the violence-weathered man before him with unwavering eyes. In that moment Auron noticed the true ancient wisdom and power this godling possessed. “I am willing to pay all expenses on our journey and as much monetary or material compensation as you require after your job is done.”

      “Got anything to offer up front?” he asked as if trying to still haggle for something he was already keen to buy into.

      “No. But over my conscious years I have amassed large sums of wealth that I have lain buried or hidden about this country and others. Like a squirrel before hibernation. I am sure many have still yet to be uncovered or plundered.”

      The elf was far from a trickster. Auron knew the true nature of elves, aside from the majority of misconception from the human folk in this era. He had encountered one long ago when he was much younger and worked for someone else. Before the desertion of his fealty. They were an honest sort, to a fault. They never broke a promise made. But none would ever bother mingling with humankind like this elf, Rovin, had done.

      “Okay,” decided Auron. “Fancy that I was actually just relaxing here, just earlier, contemplating retirement from my craft. I may be old but I have not quite a feeling to lay back and let the earth take me just yet. And of all things an elf requesting the accompaniment of a human… I am intrigued to say the least. Ask no prying questions of me and I will return the courtesy… Sure, I will take your job offer.”

      Auron arose from his table and began to make his way up the stairs and to the Inn’s rooms above.

      The voice of the elf rose to follow the man in his retreat towards the stairs, upward. “It is a good idea to turn in now, I plan to leave this town by the breaking of first light, before the townspeople decide to place me back on my rock to perch for another century.”

      “See you then, elf.” With that Auron retired to his quarters.

      Without as much as a word to the Viceroy Morris, or the staff that remained, Rovin got up from the children’s dining table and headed for his room upstairs. Not because he was tired. But to finally bathe off the dirty passage of time and ponder where to begin searching for this Dream Serpent that had awakened him. Bade him to seek him out and right an age-old wrong that still haunted the very core of his being.

      He reached the door to his lodging and paused before placing the key into its lock. On the other side of the door, in his room, emanated the presence of life. Though the essence of this life form held great power far beneath; like that of a latent volcano, it was faint and calm. Something about that energy felt familiar, reminded of the realm of his goddess Ninuea. A pang of homesickness rose up inside of him. Yet, he felt no harmful or negative energies attached to the energy of life on the other side of the door. Curious, indeed, that Auron would have crept into my room. I can sense his energy down the hallway though. This can not be him. All the rooms had been emptied to make space for my stay here… And I fail to remember having any enemies who would lie in wait for me to awaken just to do me harm…

      He silently placed his hand upon the locked door and, as if by magics unknown, it silently unlatched and he crept inside. There, laying in the bed that was supposed to be his, was a Kinfolk woman. Nude, aside from the coverage of sheets that draped over her haphazardly. She was fast asleep, seemingly as dead to the world as he had been earlier that night. His bath had not only been used for her to bathe and launder but was now soiled and cold. The fresh bread and fruit that had been placed upon the table across from the bed was but the remainder of crumbs, pits, cores and stems. The window to the room lay wide open, the woman’s clothes draped outside it to dry. He ignored the sleeping invader and made his way over to the open air. He stared out into the night sky, up at the zodiacs that had changed over the time of his resting. He looked back to the memories of his past trying to dig up anything that sounded familiar to that of Dream Serpents and Rhun. He watched the dark curtain of night as it was pulled back like a purple sheet by the sun and it began to peek over the horizon, much like he peered over the grand banquet table downstairs earlier. His hand lay on the box of Ubis’ bones upon the window sill.

An ancient memory came rushing back to him like a summer wind to his bare chest: Ubis was an elf of the second fold. One that was created by the goddess Ninuea with a little more faults than those of the first fold, like Irvon. They were imparted less Rhun than the first ones as well. Ninuea, the goddess of vitality and fertility; the mother of the forest. She gave a piece of herself, of her great Rhun, to each of her creations. Each creature of the forests, each sprout and each tree were like tiny cups. Each filled with a little serving of the massive cask of Rhun know sincerely to her subjects as Ninuea. The very brim of her power spilled into the first of her children, the elves. Irvon was lucky enough the be one of her first vessels and was given the power to mend, to renew. From his very conception he revered and respected this power as the Goddess herself did. Then the second fold was created and even greater in number they were to the first. Elves that still looked as children no matter how the autumns passed. They spoke the same, laughed the same, and loved the same but they were blessed with less of their mother’s Rhun. Ubis could also mend things well but it was more of his ability to assist in a process already enacted by nature itself. He could help something or someone along toward good favor in health, but he could not just immediately heal a gaping, gushing, wound like Irvon could. They had both found easy partnership and camaraderie in each other’s powers.

One day a much younger and presumptuous race known as the Humans were conducting hunts within the outer forests. Ninuea protected and loved all her creations but after the great struggle between all gods in the third age, treaties were enacted that allowed such races, as the humans, to partake of the bounties that Ninuea had created. Within reason. Humans were not permitted to journey for a hunt too far into her domain without consequence. This day a hunter did travel in just close enough to her boundary and placed a magnificent shot into a grand stud of a deer. The deer, in desperation and shock, fled onto the protected side of the forest, but it was too late. The hunter made fast retreat knowing he shan't enter the protected lands to retrieve his trophy. Ubis and Irvon watched in horror as the mortal wound to the creature's heart had finally claimed it as the last of its life blood ran out onto the soft mossy ground. They had both been too far away to reach their Rhun out in time but it took only a couple breaths to get to their knees, down beside the deer and place hands upon it. Irvon felt but a faint, cooling, ember left like the remainder of singed wick after the candle has been blown out. Before the eyeblink that the deer’s life was ultimately extinguished, they desperately extended their Rhun out from their bodies and into the ‘dead’ animal. Ubis assisted in maintaining its current state while Irvon began to reseal and reconstruct the damaged tissue around the arrow. As the wound began its regeneration the arrow was slowly pushed out until it lay upon the ground, covered in blood. The body was repaired, its condition still stable, yet… It’s ashing ember… It was struggling to let go.

No! Irvon sent more of his Rhune out into the poor woodland creature, more than he had ever used to fix or mend a damaged body. He enveloped it with his Rhun till only a small drop remained and kept it all tethered outside of him. Live, damn you, LIVE! Was that thought loud in his head or was he actually shouting it? He was giving so much of himself, it began to hurt, as if he too would soon join the deer in death. And then it happened, a segment of fire touched the deer’s smoke and its flame of life was rekindled in the blink of an eye. Ubis and Irvon beamed triumphantly at each other.

Back in the Inn, outside of Rovin’s reminiscent fantasies, he felt himself smile slightly. He watched the sun begin to rise like watching the corners of Ubis’ lips curl up into a smile and then to a full-toothed grin.

Eventually the sleeping intruder awoke, alarm and embarrassment of equal sorts brought her about to full alertness. The elf she had fancied to catch a glimpse of was in her room. He looked like a child with pointed ears gazing out at the window in silence. Not once did he turn around as she stirred from the bed, cautiously, almost secretively.

      “What...” She started. “are you doing in my…”

      “My room?” the elf finished, his faint smile of the past rushing back to where it was summoned from.  He gathered up the clothes she had hung out in the window sill and extended them out behind himself without breaking his gaze from the ruby and gold horizon. “I was really hoping for a bath and even an early morning breakfast of bread and fruits but I noticed that someone else decided to take advantage of those comforts for me.”

      Without reply, wrapped in a sheet from the bed, she scurried over to Rovin’s extended arm and snatched up her clothing. Her feelings of bashfulness soon subsided when she determined that an elf man did not find human women all that more interesting than the males of the species. According to the local lore that she had always been told, elves were never all to keen on wearing clothing themselves. Also, that elves were more keen on trickery than ogling at human women. Yet, this elf did not seem like much of a trickster type, though unarguably nude. Her long-placed superstitions bid her to still observe him with caution.

      “Decent?” he asked in an almost impatient tone.

      “Enough,” she replied as she took the leathers from the side of the bedpost and placed them on over her dark cloth travel clothing.

      “Though one would think it quite rude for a complete stranger to be sneaking into their room. Eating their food, using their hot bath and sleeping in their bed. I will assume that you needed it more than I.”

      “I…” The woman started,still recovering all her possessions as if ready to leave in an instant. “I meant no disrespect or ill will, I promise. I have traveled long and cared only for my own needs. I was sure that this Inn was evacuated and the chances of this being your room… well.” She paused and shrugged. “at the time slim to none. Though I see otherwise now… Please, I ask of you one thing, do not cause alarm. I will leave out the window as I came…” she began to glide towards the open window and expected the elf to move aside but he did not. She stopped, dead, and looked down at him. The elf seemed to stare at her in his deadpan fashion. A segment of stillness broken by the low to sharp grumble that sounded from the pit of her stomach.

      “On the contrary,” the elf interjected giving a glance at her lower abdomen as if expecting a monster to leap out of it at any moment. “No need for alarm…” he trailed off rolling his hand as if expecting for her to reply with something.

      “Avah,” she said “Avah Adalyn…”

      “People of this town call me Rovin. Charmed, I’m sure.” He replied “No need for alarm Avah. You are but a guest that I was expecting to come visit me. Come, let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast. Since a shameless snoop seems to have snatched up all mine sometime in the night.”

      She watched him tuck his wooden box under one arm, grab up his long beard, and walk to the door to open it for her. He stood and waited for her to follow. She was beside herself in reaction to his behavior about everything that had recently transpired, and with a short sigh she wound up the length of her dark hair around her shoulder, her pack around the other and stepped out into the hallway of the Dreaming Elf and down into the banquet hall for breakfast.