Brighteyes started from the beginning, in human language. Ulric didn’t know the significance of that, but surely it did have some, the kid could have far more fluently told his tale in his own people’s tongue, especially there in that hall that marked the seat of their power. Perhaps it was a tacit admission that he was in support of Ulric, an attempt to keep him in the loop. Unknown. All Ulric knew for sure was that the kid was standing up in front of his people, his inscrutable father, and telling them all that had happened to him since he had been taken. He was hanging in there like a champion.
Bravely, the boy spared himself nothing in describing his shame, the fate of his friend, and his capture. He detailed the beatings and delirious flight of the maybe poachers up to the Plateau, their whispered plans, thinking him unconscious or unable to hear them describing an intended course to circle away from Hunters that would soon converge. He told, as Ulric had told before, of the greedy and ill-fated attack on the wounded Greater beasts in the canopy and then Ulric's own ambush. Ulric noted that some of the warriors ever so slightly expressed approval at the description of that battle.
They should, it was apparently straight out of the Elven play book, having experienced Taipan's near identical tactics deployed against himself. Ulric stayed silent throughout except to offer the name of the beastkin warrior he'd dueled, Graus, who it would seem was the mercenary leader's, Vars' if he recalled correctly, brother. The owner of the very trident Ulric carried now. Many hushed whispers of approval met with that one's end. More and more, he was glad that he'd ended the lives of those men, despite the lifelong instillment of pacifistic tendencies of his old life. They were Mercenaries, killers of these woodland folk by their own claims. And they were willing to hurt kids. He hadn't got the root of the problem either, there was still this Vars character out there. Something to keep in mind that, there was at least one dangerous individual out there that would bear him a grudge personally when the events came out.
Brighteyes continued the story, describing his injuries, more serious than Ulric had known at the time, and his time in the glade recuperating. When he spoke to the room of the final end for the [Forest Lord] there was a general murmer of shock and more hushed discussion that Ulric couldn’t make out. The Lord of Iriel up on the dais took that bit of information and Ulric could damned near hear the gears turning between those long, pointed ears.
The golden haired youth came to their decision to return Brighteyes to Iriel and the journey. The journey back he mostly glossed over, in truth there hadn't been much to tell, it was only Ulric's naivete that had made it at all remarkable. Aside from the [Golden Heckler Monkey] that is. Brighteyes pulled its bisected pelt from his pack handing it to the warrior he'd called Idra, the scarred Guard captain who looked at it with satisfaction.
Then came the encounter with Taipan. This Brighteyes didn't gloss over at all. In a voice heavy with regret, he described events in perfect detail, more than Ulric could have managed, remarkable how you can take in details when you aren't running for your life. He told of their conversation, the specifics of which Ulric had not known at the time. He even narrated the heated conversation between the two, including Ulric's deliberately profane bamboozle.
That was more than a little awkward, for everybody, really, seeing how he was standing in front of her dad at the moment, who looked less than pleased about the entire situation. Taipan looked ready to jump out of the nearest window. Huh, her ears had turned dark red. So that's how Elves show embarrassment. One of the warriors coughed into her fist, stony gaze holding the rigid struggle of someone trying not to laugh. Several others were trading glances.
Then there was the attempted stabbing. At that the reserved humor in the warriors vanished. They glanced heavily towards her. Taipan sagged under the weight of her people's stares.
Ah, that's right, she had broken something called Guestright, and they said it with a capital ‘g’ too. Brighteyes had said that like it was law. The others in the room seemed to think it was too. Even Bald'rt turned his head slightly to level a disapproving gaze her way. He might as well have yelled. Things were going worse for Taipan.
Unrelenting, Brighteyes spoke his tale to completion sadness in his clear voice.
No one said a word. The Fae king of this land sat back in his throne to digest what he had heard.
Ulric felt the tension like a physical thing. The death of the [Forest Lord] was as big a piece of news as anything else. He had a feeling like the Warriors wished they were doing something other than standing there. The ire directed his way was gone now. None doubted Brighteyes' recollection of events nor questioned his judgment. It would seem that Ulric wasn't the only one that thought he had a good head on his shoulders. The Taipan standing behind her father’s throne, notably, refused to look at anyone or to speak.
Finally, the Elven lord seemed to reach a decision.
"I have heard enough. Geyrt. You are stripped of your position of Hunter until I decide that you will not shame me further in the eyes of the world." He pronounced, his word the immutable law.
Taipan looked like she'd been ordered to the block. But Bald'rt was not done. Seems this had been a festering wound that the father of this beautiful and hateful creature was determined to see lanced. She had it coming, in his book.
Hang the fuck on, Ulric thought as the Iriel Chief continued, his deep voice filling the hall as he made his judgment. Despite his improved grasp on the language, he couldn’t follow this complexity. The expression on Taipan's face was good enough to know that, whatever was happening, it wasn't good for her.
"Pain has guided, and shielded, your actions for long enough. I did not interfere, I hoped you would not share my failings, my weaknesses, but, alas, this is not so. Too long have you allowed grief to rule and now it has ruled you to ruin. Your position is not enough, by all rights have your made your own life forfeit, yet, I, with weakness of mine own, cannot find it in me to take it." The Elf king declared.
"You have abandoned your post during war time. You have done a friend of our people harm. You have violated Guestright. You were defeated in even combat, spared, and still you continued to bring insult, against all propriety. You have only by the barest margin not told me a lie but, clearly, it was your intent to tell me no more than needed to bias my judgement against this benefactor of my son, your brother. In doing so I have treated them unfairly, on your words, in which I placed complete trust. I came within breaths of killing this man out of hand, which I find now would have been an injustice I would have carried to my own end. I will balance this appropriately and with greater mercy than you deserve, my daughter fairest. Ulric Einar [Lord of the Ancient Glade], I place my daughter Geyrt in your service as your Shadow. She will guard your person for the duration of your mortal life. I expect you will treat her with the dignity my son sees in you. Or else." the Judgement of the Lord of Iriel rang out across the petrified forms of those who heard it.
The dark skinned woman went utterly pale, the first sign of actual fear he’d seen in her. The rest of the room turned to stone. Ulric didn’t understand why until a few moments later.
Wide eyed, shocked, Brighteyes had to translate for him. As he did, Ulric couldn’t keep his own face from falling.
Oh gods, no, Ulric begged silently as the Elf king’s translated words pronounced two dooms. Nononononono you cannot do this to me, you cannot be serious, please, anything but this.
The longer it went on, the worse it got. It could never be said that the [Lord of the Deep Wood] was not a just man, or one with a strong sense for the ironic. The price for her attempts on his life was to be stripped of her former role in life, assigned to ensure its continuance. That also meant that Ulric would be forced to tolerate her presence, possibly forever. No wonder the both of them wore an expression like they'd been told they'd only be allowed to take scorpion baths forever.
Ulric tried desperately to save himself.
"Th..that is not necessary Lord Bald'rt! Your daughter erred, but your son has already taken responsibility for these events and I have left it behind out of respect for him. We are, ah, square. Um. As it were.”
They weren’t, but he’d tell any lie under the twinned suns if it got him rid of this awfulness. And that creature had the nerve to look unhappy, Ulric had his entire life in front of him! The very, utterly last thing he needed was to be saddled with such a menace to his peace.
Seeing no sign that the Elf Lord had seen reason, he continued, “There is no need for such extremes, an apology is good enough. I am well pleased enough to know that the truth of things is known to all and we have no grudge between us."
Brighteyes winced. Ulric hoped he wasn't doing something incredibly rude, however, there was no helping it. Please. Watcher. If you have any love, please don't let this happen he begged in his mind. Taipan, glared balefully at him.
Angrily the Elven ruler retorted in a tone that brooked no discussion.
"Ware your words. I know you do not mean insult, but this treads close to a line I will not have crossed. My son is not responsible for the actions of his Elder kin. It is she who has treated her name as dirt to be trodden on. Since it holds so little value, she will learn its worth when it carries no weight.” He announced to the hall with finality.
“Geyrt, formerly Iriel, will serve as your personal protection, your left hand, and she will do so until the life she unjustly tried to end has, in spite of her very best efforts from this day forward, ended. This is my judgement. As her liege lord you are expected to provide for her life and a modicum of comforts as fits the Shadow of a Lord acknowledged by the All-Knowledge. This I have spoken and this will be done. To speak otherwise is to challenge my rule under my own roof and, even for one to whom I owe a debt, this I will not tolerate." Bald’rt Iriel spoke, and the law was written in this sylvan kingdom.
So, that was it then. FFFUUCK! Ulric yelled in his mind.
He'd already gotten away with impertinence bordering outright disrespect. Anything more and the Elf king would be forced to murder him for impinging on his authority. Godsdamnit there had to be a way out of this.
Brighteyes had done his duty to his friend too well; none in that room even remotely questioned the justice of the decision.
Ulric swallowed. He tried to keep his face neutral. Not a frown. Not a grimace. He very particularly did not look at the source of his anguish, else he'd be completely unable to carry the deceit. The only path forward was to go along, he plotted. He could evade later. It might mean never returning to Elven land though. There was a difference in refusing to be bullied and just throwing yourself into a woodchipper. One last chance. He'd see if he could walk back the punishment for not just killing Taipan into a reduced sentence, instead of a life of hateful glowering at his back.
"My apologies Lord Bald'rt, I did not mean to imply this. I will, of course, take my responsibilities towards your daughter seriously, and I thank you for offering her service. Such a skilled fighter would always be welcome at my side. I do wonder, is a lifetime bond truly warranted? Please excuse my ignorance, your son has done his best but I have lived in this world a bare half year and know next to nothing of the Elven kind, let alone intricacies of Iriel'en culture." He said with utmost deference, internally yammering incoherent curses on all Elf kind.
The serious expression turned light, the Elf lord was even faintly amused. Did he read minds? Ulric questioned, did he know how badly the Human before him wished only to be left in peace? Was this punishment for his snark earlier? Shit, he’d gone on talking, Ulric pulled himself together.
"Just so. And, please, you may use only my name, you have earned recognition as a friend of the Aes’r-Iriel’en for returning my son to me and taking up his care with such diligence. Call me Bald'rt. Lords of the land should discard formalities outside of high occasions.” And, just like that, the Elf king was speaking to him as if to an old friend, cheerfully ignorant of the destruction he’d just wrought.
“Human lives, are, and I do not mean this in any derogatory way, brief in comparison to the woodland peoples. My daughter has brought this upon herself and, should she survive her service, will be better for the experience. I am gladdened that our disagreements can be left behind without bloodshed. Now. You questioned, rightfully, the courtesy of my hall. I admit I was less than hospitable, forgive me. Especially you, Lumyt'seit, you have clearly been injured. As have you Ulric Glade Chief, I see you favor your left arm. Hopefully my daughter is not also responsible for this injury. Come, let us have nourishment. I will summon a healer to tend wounds while you tell me how it comes to pass that a Human should live in the Forest of the Forgotten."
Just like that, Brighteyes' dad bulldozed everybody in the room into lunch. Dinner. Whatever. Ulric was too busy trying to avoid an anxiety attack to care.
Elves dressed in functional shirts and pants of common coloration must have been the employees of the household. Food was brought out to the great tables. Bald'rt insisted Ulric sit to his right while Brighteyes sat to his left. Warriors rotated, alternating eating voraciously at the table and taking up guard duty. Taipan was clearly on the shitlist, she sat at the very end of the table, moving food around a plate and eating little.
Ulric felt like he was a stake, pounded into the ground to remain there forever. There was booze! Oh, thank all the gods in the heavens and all the demons in every hell that he didn’t have to take this sober.
Accepting a tankard with a mumbled “Many thanks.” In his poor Elvish, he downed it quickly, ignoring the burn that promised potency.
He’d been trapped by this grinning Elf using a chain made of clever obligation. Now he had to find a loophole. Quickly.
Now that the tension was gone, the Elf Lord played the part of a loquacious and gracious host. Ulric found him to be, not just pleasant, but even engaging. Like an older Brighteyes. And that one had been correct, they even had a similar sense of humor. As the booze settled into him, he may have indulged in one or three more of those, Ulric lost some of his normal inhibition when being in a crowded room of strangers. Actually, he lost most of his normal inhibitions, as Brighteyes and his father told stories, wove tales of wonder and, occasionally, Ulric could feel when he was being prodded and played the game of finding places to throw needles with this Elven Lord. Both scored points but Ulric would admit defeat. His adversary was too strong, too experienced. In a twist that beggared his imagination he found himself liking this father of Brighteyes and Taipan.
Now the trap closed completely. He was done. The meal came to a close but nobody left.
What started as a rather sedate dinner got out of hand. Quickly. Word had gotten around that Brighteyes had returned safely. While most of the citizens of this land were gone, the fortress, palace, thing that was this place was jam packed. Warriors mostly. But a healthy smattering of important folk who had wanted to remain active in the defense of their homeland and all the people that made up the infrastructure of the place were still there.
More elves showed up. The original set of warriors, Bald'rt's bodyguards, apparently, took up their positions and others joined the festivities. Cheers at their young lord's survival were taken up. Kegs were tapped. Elven liquor was as vicious as their disposition towards prisoners. None would be taken, all must perish.
Somehow the room filled without Ulric noticing. Extra tables were hauled in and the cooks took this chance to perform miracles. In the course of trading barbs with the Elven Lord of Iriel, Ulric had been prompted to retell the story of his killing of the [Forest Lord]. Bald'rt, disbelieving, had demanded a showing of the magic that could slay the ancient terror. Ulric, much drunker than he thought he was, obliged. They got a large melon, the name of which was lost to time , and Ulric overcharged a [Voltaic Grip] that covered half the room in exploded fruit. Lightning dancing between his hands the room roared out cheering at the fall of the old beast that had taken many an Elven Hunter on the borders of the Plateau.
Not to be outdone in his own realm, and, most definitely also inebriated, Bald'rt demonstrated some kind of brilliant red moon fire that completely atomized a brother melon, painting all within arms-reach in fruit, to which the room roared again.
More Drinks were passed around and foods unlike anything Ulric had eaten before were consumed. Elves cheered and danced. And they were all beautiful. Every godsdamned one of them.
Someone tended Ulric's arm. A glowing hand, probably less blurry than it had appeared, washed heat through his forearm and, just a few minutes later, the limb was completely free of pain. For that matter the small cuts, the hole in his hand that had already almost healed, shrapnel wounds, all of it was gone. Ulric was pretty sure he kissed the elf who did it. He actually didn't even remember if it was a man or woman. Didn't matter, he didn't hurt, at all, for the first time in weeks.
Brighteyes told the tale of their fight with the [Heckler monkey] pack to a rapt crowd, acting out his part of the battle with a roaring hearth behind him casting dancing shadows as he gestured, cut, dodged, and slashed. Lord Bald'rt was so proud he swept his son in an embrace, exclaiming at his "Magnificent golden son" and the two wept tears.
Ulric blacked out after that. He woke in a bed that was soft enough to convince himself of the existence of gods, outside his meeting of one. His tongue was coated with velvet and there was a throbbing tiredness that bespoke a mighty hangover. The room around him was unfamiliar. So was the naked elf beside him. She snored lightly and Ulric took the opportunity to reflect that, other than almost dying a bunch of times, his life in Varda was the most amazing thing that could have ever happened to him.
Now, if only he could escape this sylvan insane asylum minus one malignantly hostile serpent.
Brighteyes started from the beginning, in human language. Ulric didn’t know the significance of that, but surely it did have some, the kid could have far more fluently told his tale in his own people’s tongue, especially there in that hall that marked the seat of their power. Perhaps it was a tacit admission that he was in support of Ulric, an attempt to keep him in the loop. Unknown. All Ulric knew for sure was that the kid was standing up in front of his people, his inscrutable father, and telling them all that had happened to him since he had been taken. He was hanging in there like a champion.
Bravely, the boy spared himself nothing in describing his shame, the fate of his friend, and his capture. He detailed the beatings and delirious flight of the maybe poachers up to the Plateau, their whispered plans, thinking him unconscious or unable to hear them describing an intended course to circle away from Hunters that would soon converge. He told, as Ulric had told before, of the greedy and ill-fated attack on the wounded Greater beasts in the canopy and then Ulric's own ambush. Ulric noted that some of the warriors ever so slightly expressed approval at the description of that battle.
They should, it was apparently straight out of the Elven play book, having experienced Taipan's near identical tactics deployed against himself. Ulric stayed silent throughout except to offer the name of the beastkin warrior he'd dueled, Graus, who it would seem was the mercenary leader's, Vars' if he recalled correctly, brother. The owner of the very trident Ulric carried now. Many hushed whispers of approval met with that one's end. More and more, he was glad that he'd ended the lives of those men, despite the lifelong instillment of pacifistic tendencies of his old life. They were Mercenaries, killers of these woodland folk by their own claims. And they were willing to hurt kids. He hadn't got the root of the problem either, there was still this Vars character out there. Something to keep in mind that, there was at least one dangerous individual out there that would bear him a grudge personally when the events came out.
Brighteyes continued the story, describing his injuries, more serious than Ulric had known at the time, and his time in the glade recuperating. When he spoke to the room of the final end for the [Forest Lord] there was a general murmer of shock and more hushed discussion that Ulric couldn’t make out. The Lord of Iriel up on the dais took that bit of information and Ulric could damned near hear the gears turning between those long, pointed ears.
The golden haired youth came to their decision to return Brighteyes to Iriel and the journey. The journey back he mostly glossed over, in truth there hadn't been much to tell, it was only Ulric's naivete that had made it at all remarkable. Aside from the [Golden Heckler Monkey] that is. Brighteyes pulled its bisected pelt from his pack handing it to the warrior he'd called Idra, the scarred Guard captain who looked at it with satisfaction.
Then came the encounter with Taipan. This Brighteyes didn't gloss over at all. In a voice heavy with regret, he described events in perfect detail, more than Ulric could have managed, remarkable how you can take in details when you aren't running for your life. He told of their conversation, the specifics of which Ulric had not known at the time. He even narrated the heated conversation between the two, including Ulric's deliberately profane bamboozle.
That was more than a little awkward, for everybody, really, seeing how he was standing in front of her dad at the moment, who looked less than pleased about the entire situation. Taipan looked ready to jump out of the nearest window. Huh, her ears had turned dark red. So that's how Elves show embarrassment. One of the warriors coughed into her fist, stony gaze holding the rigid struggle of someone trying not to laugh. Several others were trading glances.
Then there was the attempted stabbing. At that the reserved humor in the warriors vanished. They glanced heavily towards her. Taipan sagged under the weight of her people's stares.
Ah, that's right, she had broken something called Guestright, and they said it with a capital ‘g’ too. Brighteyes had said that like it was law. The others in the room seemed to think it was too. Even Bald'rt turned his head slightly to level a disapproving gaze her way. He might as well have yelled. Things were going worse for Taipan.
Unrelenting, Brighteyes spoke his tale to completion sadness in his clear voice.
No one said a word. The Fae king of this land sat back in his throne to digest what he had heard.
Ulric felt the tension like a physical thing. The death of the [Forest Lord] was as big a piece of news as anything else. He had a feeling like the Warriors wished they were doing something other than standing there. The ire directed his way was gone now. None doubted Brighteyes' recollection of events nor questioned his judgment. It would seem that Ulric wasn't the only one that thought he had a good head on his shoulders. The Taipan standing behind her father’s throne, notably, refused to look at anyone or to speak.
Finally, the Elven lord seemed to reach a decision.
"I have heard enough. Geyrt. You are stripped of your position of Hunter until I decide that you will not shame me further in the eyes of the world." He pronounced, his word the immutable law.
Taipan looked like she'd been ordered to the block. But Bald'rt was not done. Seems this had been a festering wound that the father of this beautiful and hateful creature was determined to see lanced. She had it coming, in his book.
Hang the fuck on, Ulric thought as the Iriel Chief continued, his deep voice filling the hall as he made his judgment. Despite his improved grasp on the language, he couldn’t follow this complexity. The expression on Taipan's face was good enough to know that, whatever was happening, it wasn't good for her.
"Pain has guided, and shielded, your actions for long enough. I did not interfere, I hoped you would not share my failings, my weaknesses, but, alas, this is not so. Too long have you allowed grief to rule and now it has ruled you to ruin. Your position is not enough, by all rights have your made your own life forfeit, yet, I, with weakness of mine own, cannot find it in me to take it." The Elf king declared.
"You have abandoned your post during war time. You have done a friend of our people harm. You have violated Guestright. You were defeated in even combat, spared, and still you continued to bring insult, against all propriety. You have only by the barest margin not told me a lie but, clearly, it was your intent to tell me no more than needed to bias my judgement against this benefactor of my son, your brother. In doing so I have treated them unfairly, on your words, in which I placed complete trust. I came within breaths of killing this man out of hand, which I find now would have been an injustice I would have carried to my own end. I will balance this appropriately and with greater mercy than you deserve, my daughter fairest. Ulric Einar [Lord of the Ancient Glade], I place my daughter Geyrt in your service as your Shadow. She will guard your person for the duration of your mortal life. I expect you will treat her with the dignity my son sees in you. Or else." the Judgement of the Lord of Iriel rang out across the petrified forms of those who heard it.
The dark skinned woman went utterly pale, the first sign of actual fear he’d seen in her. The rest of the room turned to stone. Ulric didn’t understand why until a few moments later.
Wide eyed, shocked, Brighteyes had to translate for him. As he did, Ulric couldn’t keep his own face from falling.
Oh gods, no, Ulric begged silently as the Elf king’s translated words pronounced two dooms. Nononononono you cannot do this to me, you cannot be serious, please, anything but this.
The longer it went on, the worse it got. It could never be said that the [Lord of the Deep Wood] was not a just man, or one with a strong sense for the ironic. The price for her attempts on his life was to be stripped of her former role in life, assigned to ensure its continuance. That also meant that Ulric would be forced to tolerate her presence, possibly forever. No wonder the both of them wore an expression like they'd been told they'd only be allowed to take scorpion baths forever.
Ulric tried desperately to save himself.
"Th..that is not necessary Lord Bald'rt! Your daughter erred, but your son has already taken responsibility for these events and I have left it behind out of respect for him. We are, ah, square. Um. As it were.”
They weren’t, but he’d tell any lie under the twinned suns if it got him rid of this awfulness. And that creature had the nerve to look unhappy, Ulric had his entire life in front of him! The very, utterly last thing he needed was to be saddled with such a menace to his peace.
Seeing no sign that the Elf Lord had seen reason, he continued, “There is no need for such extremes, an apology is good enough. I am well pleased enough to know that the truth of things is known to all and we have no grudge between us."
Brighteyes winced. Ulric hoped he wasn't doing something incredibly rude, however, there was no helping it. Please. Watcher. If you have any love, please don't let this happen he begged in his mind. Taipan, glared balefully at him.
Angrily the Elven ruler retorted in a tone that brooked no discussion.
"Ware your words. I know you do not mean insult, but this treads close to a line I will not have crossed. My son is not responsible for the actions of his Elder kin. It is she who has treated her name as dirt to be trodden on. Since it holds so little value, she will learn its worth when it carries no weight.” He announced to the hall with finality.
“Geyrt, formerly Iriel, will serve as your personal protection, your left hand, and she will do so until the life she unjustly tried to end has, in spite of her very best efforts from this day forward, ended. This is my judgement. As her liege lord you are expected to provide for her life and a modicum of comforts as fits the Shadow of a Lord acknowledged by the All-Knowledge. This I have spoken and this will be done. To speak otherwise is to challenge my rule under my own roof and, even for one to whom I owe a debt, this I will not tolerate." Bald’rt Iriel spoke, and the law was written in this sylvan kingdom.
So, that was it then. FFFUUCK! Ulric yelled in his mind.
He'd already gotten away with impertinence bordering outright disrespect. Anything more and the Elf king would be forced to murder him for impinging on his authority. Godsdamnit there had to be a way out of this.
Brighteyes had done his duty to his friend too well; none in that room even remotely questioned the justice of the decision.
Ulric swallowed. He tried to keep his face neutral. Not a frown. Not a grimace. He very particularly did not look at the source of his anguish, else he'd be completely unable to carry the deceit. The only path forward was to go along, he plotted. He could evade later. It might mean never returning to Elven land though. There was a difference in refusing to be bullied and just throwing yourself into a woodchipper. One last chance. He'd see if he could walk back the punishment for not just killing Taipan into a reduced sentence, instead of a life of hateful glowering at his back.
"My apologies Lord Bald'rt, I did not mean to imply this. I will, of course, take my responsibilities towards your daughter seriously, and I thank you for offering her service. Such a skilled fighter would always be welcome at my side. I do wonder, is a lifetime bond truly warranted? Please excuse my ignorance, your son has done his best but I have lived in this world a bare half year and know next to nothing of the Elven kind, let alone intricacies of Iriel'en culture." He said with utmost deference, internally yammering incoherent curses on all Elf kind.
The serious expression turned light, the Elf lord was even faintly amused. Did he read minds? Ulric questioned, did he know how badly the Human before him wished only to be left in peace? Was this punishment for his snark earlier? Shit, he’d gone on talking, Ulric pulled himself together.
"Just so. And, please, you may use only my name, you have earned recognition as a friend of the Aes’r-Iriel’en for returning my son to me and taking up his care with such diligence. Call me Bald'rt. Lords of the land should discard formalities outside of high occasions.” And, just like that, the Elf king was speaking to him as if to an old friend, cheerfully ignorant of the destruction he’d just wrought.
“Human lives, are, and I do not mean this in any derogatory way, brief in comparison to the woodland peoples. My daughter has brought this upon herself and, should she survive her service, will be better for the experience. I am gladdened that our disagreements can be left behind without bloodshed. Now. You questioned, rightfully, the courtesy of my hall. I admit I was less than hospitable, forgive me. Especially you, Lumyt'seit, you have clearly been injured. As have you Ulric Glade Chief, I see you favor your left arm. Hopefully my daughter is not also responsible for this injury. Come, let us have nourishment. I will summon a healer to tend wounds while you tell me how it comes to pass that a Human should live in the Forest of the Forgotten."
Just like that, Brighteyes' dad bulldozed everybody in the room into lunch. Dinner. Whatever. Ulric was too busy trying to avoid an anxiety attack to care.
Elves dressed in functional shirts and pants of common coloration must have been the employees of the household. Food was brought out to the great tables. Bald'rt insisted Ulric sit to his right while Brighteyes sat to his left. Warriors rotated, alternating eating voraciously at the table and taking up guard duty. Taipan was clearly on the shitlist, she sat at the very end of the table, moving food around a plate and eating little.
Ulric felt like he was a stake, pounded into the ground to remain there forever. There was booze! Oh, thank all the gods in the heavens and all the demons in every hell that he didn’t have to take this sober.
Accepting a tankard with a mumbled “Many thanks.” In his poor Elvish, he downed it quickly, ignoring the burn that promised potency.
He’d been trapped by this grinning Elf using a chain made of clever obligation. Now he had to find a loophole. Quickly.
Now that the tension was gone, the Elf Lord played the part of a loquacious and gracious host. Ulric found him to be, not just pleasant, but even engaging. Like an older Brighteyes. And that one had been correct, they even had a similar sense of humor. As the booze settled into him, he may have indulged in one or three more of those, Ulric lost some of his normal inhibition when being in a crowded room of strangers. Actually, he lost most of his normal inhibitions, as Brighteyes and his father told stories, wove tales of wonder and, occasionally, Ulric could feel when he was being prodded and played the game of finding places to throw needles with this Elven Lord. Both scored points but Ulric would admit defeat. His adversary was too strong, too experienced. In a twist that beggared his imagination he found himself liking this father of Brighteyes and Taipan.
Now the trap closed completely. He was done. The meal came to a close but nobody left.
What started as a rather sedate dinner got out of hand. Quickly. Word had gotten around that Brighteyes had returned safely. While most of the citizens of this land were gone, the fortress, palace, thing that was this place was jam packed. Warriors mostly. But a healthy smattering of important folk who had wanted to remain active in the defense of their homeland and all the people that made up the infrastructure of the place were still there.
More elves showed up. The original set of warriors, Bald'rt's bodyguards, apparently, took up their positions and others joined the festivities. Cheers at their young lord's survival were taken up. Kegs were tapped. Elven liquor was as vicious as their disposition towards prisoners. None would be taken, all must perish.
Somehow the room filled without Ulric noticing. Extra tables were hauled in and the cooks took this chance to perform miracles. In the course of trading barbs with the Elven Lord of Iriel, Ulric had been prompted to retell the story of his killing of the [Forest Lord]. Bald'rt, disbelieving, had demanded a showing of the magic that could slay the ancient terror. Ulric, much drunker than he thought he was, obliged. They got a large melon, the name of which was lost to time , and Ulric overcharged a [Voltaic Grip] that covered half the room in exploded fruit. Lightning dancing between his hands the room roared out cheering at the fall of the old beast that had taken many an Elven Hunter on the borders of the Plateau.
Not to be outdone in his own realm, and, most definitely also inebriated, Bald'rt demonstrated some kind of brilliant red moon fire that completely atomized a brother melon, painting all within arms-reach in fruit, to which the room roared again.
More Drinks were passed around and foods unlike anything Ulric had eaten before were consumed. Elves cheered and danced. And they were all beautiful. Every godsdamned one of them.
Someone tended Ulric's arm. A glowing hand, probably less blurry than it had appeared, washed heat through his forearm and, just a few minutes later, the limb was completely free of pain. For that matter the small cuts, the hole in his hand that had already almost healed, shrapnel wounds, all of it was gone. Ulric was pretty sure he kissed the elf who did it. He actually didn't even remember if it was a man or woman. Didn't matter, he didn't hurt, at all, for the first time in weeks.
Brighteyes told the tale of their fight with the [Heckler monkey] pack to a rapt crowd, acting out his part of the battle with a roaring hearth behind him casting dancing shadows as he gestured, cut, dodged, and slashed. Lord Bald'rt was so proud he swept his son in an embrace, exclaiming at his "Magnificent golden son" and the two wept tears.
Ulric blacked out after that. He woke in a bed that was soft enough to convince himself of the existence of gods, outside his meeting of one. His tongue was coated with velvet and there was a throbbing tiredness that bespoke a mighty hangover. The room around him was unfamiliar. So was the naked elf beside him. She snored lightly and Ulric took the opportunity to reflect that, other than almost dying a bunch of times, his life in Varda was the most amazing thing that could have ever happened to him.
Now, if only he could escape this sylvan insane asylum minus one malignantly hostile serpent.
