Chương 28: Chapter 26

The Greenwood Mallorn the elf He had been rehearsing this in his head as he approached, logically working through what he was going to say and why he was going to say it. He clearly remembered thinking strongly about this as he had been walking, remembered the concentration and weariness, remembered how he almost ran into a wall a few times because of both. And now, sitting down across the table, he had completely forgotten how he was going to start.

It had somehow slipped out of his mind while he wasn't looking, and now he was left empty handed at the metaphorical lectern. The curse of speech rehearsal strikes at the most unfortunate times. Silently, his mother poured tea from the pot into another cup. A flawlessly smooth motion that left an ideal amount of splash without spilling a drop, an impressively developed and completely worthless skill. She pushed it over to him without a word, clearly offering a drink to him.

He stared at it for a few moments, annoyed with himself. Eventually, he sighed and reached over to take up the cup, holding it in his right hand with the pinky out.

"I had prepared a speech before this, of what I was going to say, but now I find my pocket empty of words." He took a sip as his mother quietly replied.

"You are young." The tone was forgiving, as if he was a toddler on a stage and nervously playing some part in a theater production for an understanding interviewer. Which made his right eye twitch in an irritated manner.

'Child actors have horrible lives, don't you know? They go insane and shave their heads before overdosing on pills. You don't want me to end up like that, do you?' He sipped the tea. Sure enough, it was delicious beyond easy description. A perfectly refreshing but still sweet and light beverage, suitable for any occasion that required tea to be drunk. Calming, energizing, and an entirely pleasant experience that soothed his nerves slightly.

"I'll avoid airing grievances," he prefaced in a decisive manner.

"Are your personal reasons for flight not grievances?" his mother immediately pointed out, tone both blunt and gentle, like an inflatable sledgehammer.

"I have many aspects of elven society I find bothersome, and I have many memories of aggravating trivialities," he immediately clarified with a scowl and furrowed brow.

"Speaking in a general sense of the things I find bothersome is different from wording specific grudges- the first is potentially constructive, the second is not."

"... And you have many of these grudges?" she asked gently.

"I just declared that I wouldn't speak of them." He spoke in a pointed manner, another twitch of irritation flashing over his face, ears folded back.

"Don't ignore my stated intent like it's unimportant- that's infuriating." His fingers hurt. He glanced down at them to see the tips pressed hard enough around the handle of the tea cup to turn pale-white. He stopped himself, pulling back and forcing another long inhale and exhale before continuing.

"That brings me to the foremost thing I find intolerable about elves- the seeming inability any of them have for taking my word as honest truth."

"You do not care for the games of word and wit."

"I'd care for them if they ever stopped!" he almost snarled, teacup shaking violently in his hand- he stopped just before it started to spill. With great and deliberate care, he placed the cup down before continuing.

"It never stops," he started, then stopped again, then forced himself to continue.

"Every single sentence pregnant with secondary and tertiary meanings- every word of opinion or ideal needing to be mirrored- every line of dialogue needing to be translated to find out what the speaker was actually trying to say- it's- It's exhausting," he hissed out, fingers pressed together.

"Why would I want to waste this much effort to get anywhere in communication?! I ask for an opinion on… sugared fruit or something equally mundane and receive a riddle in return!" He waved his hand in a sharp manner.

"I didn't ask for a riddle! I asked for your opinion! Why am I being forced to solve you if I want a conversation?!"

"Because it is good for the mind to be at work." He restrained his instinctual reaction to the explanation, closing his eyes and breathing slowly through his nose. Eventually, once he was calm again, he opened his eyes and replied.

"I know - I know that elves do it for a reason- I'm not an idiot." He dropped his hand down to the table top.

"Elves clearly have a grand time playing this game- and that's wonderful and I'm glad for them- I don't care for it, not enough to have it be the default means of communication." He shook his head.

"The things I find bothersome about elves doesn't imply objective errors with elven society- it clearly works well enough if it's lasted all the thousands of years we have history on- its merely the things I found personally aggrieving to participate in."

"... And they are not grievances?" He let his head slam into the table, hot, fresh pain bloomed in his skull. He stayed there for a few long moments longer, admiring the craftselfship and cool surface for some time. Then he pulled his head back up. Sure enough, his forehead was sticky-wet, and there was a fresh splatter of red against the table. His mother's eyes were minutely widened. The first actual change in expression he had ever seen from her.

There was a kind of spiteful satisfaction at having managed that, a satisfaction that was drowning beneath rolling waves of familiar irritants.

"Please stop ignoring my words like that. It's a trait very common to elves, and one that drives me to fits." He made sure his voice was level, calm, and very professional as he repeated his words yet again.

"Airing overly emotional grievances and grudges has never improved much of anything- how I feel isn't particularly relevant."

"Your feelings are the reason that you fled!" Mother finally showed some emotion, leaning forwards a tad with slightly firmer tone than normal.

"Yes!" he shot back immediately, scowling and glaring.

"The reason that I left- left and not any other thing! Because I'm mature enough to not be a child about these things!"

"Not a child?!" she shot back, eyebrows pulling a fractional measure closer.

"You flee from home, running off chasing some chivalric fantasy, and declare yourself mature!"

"Because I recognized that this wasn't for me!" he almost roared, slamming a hand on the table.

"I removed myself from the situation! I did not stay and whine and complain and moan about the unfairness of it all! I did not sulk and brood! I did not demand that all of Elvenkind conform to what I'm comfortable with! I left! I left without a word and with a weeklong headstart! I left with just enough supplies to see me off! I did not have unreasonable demands, I did not take unreasonable wealth with me, I did not make a dramatic show of my exit for attention!" He pushed up from the table and threw his hands out.

"I simply left! Because that's what an adult does!"

"Why do you insist on being an adult- you're a childe!" Lady Greenwood's own voice picked up, pushing herself up from the table in a quick and elegant motion, almost matching his outraged stature.

"That!" Rasil pointed at her sharply and snarled.

"That fucking response is why! I'm twenty- my growth is done physically! I'm going to have this same body for the next thousand years!" He threw his hands up.

"You're saying I'm going to have to deal with this kind of condescension for the next eighty years- at minimum?! Absolutely not!" This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"A magnificent sign of maturity- the childe is yelling that they are not a childe!" she yelled back, ears pulling back a tad. It was the first time he had seen an expression on her face other than placid. Genuine frustration with a deeply sarcastic bent.

"How utterly convincing! Truly we should have hoisted duties upon your shoulders already- our son is clearly ready for war!" The room was silent for a very long time.

"This is why I simply left, without a word," he began slowly, watching his mother's face slowly force itself back into a more neutral countenance.

"Because nothing I say will ever be heard. Not for decades more- decades that I refuse to wait in this place."

"Why?" The slightly choked tone surprised him for a moment. He supposed it made sense, that she was getting just as upset as he was. She was simply too practiced at hiding it. He finally remembered what he was planning on saying.

"Because I don't have the patience." He sighed out, shaking his head and finally dropping his gaze.

"Not of or for elves. For this lethargic pace of life." He turned his head to the side and looked out the windows, through the images of Amarami and out to the township beyond it.

"That's the long and short of it, I suppose. It all comes back to that. I'm told I can be a child for a century and all I see is decades of sops I can fold talking down to me for not knowing as much useless trivia and gossip." He waved a hand out, gesturing towards the view again.

"I get told that I have a century in a well-warded sanctuary and all I see is a prison full of people I can't stand." He dropped his hand.

"I get told about the word games that everyone else is playing, and what fun they are, and all I see is a barrier in front of every conversation." He was silent for a moment, then scrunched up his face and shook his head.

"No- I didn't even get told! It took me ten or fifteen years to figure out what anyone actually meant whenever they were speaking. Not one elf sat down and explained all the rules to me!"

"... You learn it by doing, childe."

"I don't want to play Mao for every conversation!" he hissed. She stared at him, eyebrows pulling together slightly.

"... Mao?" He stared back, brain slowly catching up with what he said. Eventually he shook his head.

"A card game, the only rule that new players are allowed to be told is that they cannot be told the rules- I learned of it on the road," he lied with a tired shake of his head.

"It's not important."

"... Will you tell us of it? Your time on the road?" He signed, plopping down in the chair again, and throwing back the cooled cup of tea.

"Later, perhaps, but I haven't finished my explanation."

"Of why you cannot stay." She spoke bluntly.

"Yes," he replied in an equally blunt manner. Slowly, his mother lowered herself into her chair again, gaze still fixed upon him. Something vaguely akin to sorrow and frustration accented her eyes. He matched the gaze for a time, before commenting blandly.

"I didn't expect anyone to care much- when I left," he admitted, leaning back in the chair.

"So I confess- all this drama has ambushed me."

"Why did you think we would not care?" She asked immediately, a watery sheen in her eyes. No tears, not nearly enough for tears, but just enough to see some kind of feeling from the statuesque elf.

"I-" He tossed his hands up in a helpless shrug.

"I didn't think we interacted enough to justify a strong emotional response! I figured you cared- at least in some manner- otherwise you would've simply tossed me out on the streets or left me in the woods, but I didn't think my absence would be overly burdensome- you had three heirs already, and we only ever interact seasonally."

"We are with you nearly every day, Rasil," she leaned forwards, lips pulling down and eyebrows pressed together. He stared at her in a baffled manner, eventually just letting his eyebrows raise.

"... Are you going to explain- because I have no idea how that sentence makes sense."

"Our lesser self sleeps on your scalp!" She brought her own hands up, revealing a mildly bewildered expression.

"We were with you on most of your fishing-days! We went with Titania to follow your path! We greeted you as you awoke in a pool of that dragon's blood!" It took a few seconds before he figured out what she was talking about. He recoiled slightly.

"Your familiar?"

"What else, childe?!"

"... Your familiar is a fairy, mother," he replied with a slow and unsure tone.

"A fairy that acts nothing like you. Fairies are not elves." The first expression of open bewilderment he had ever seen from her bloomed to life on his mother's face. She stared at him for a few seconds longer, then slowly replied.

"... What do you think a familiar is, Rasil?" He was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that his information may be faulty.

"A creature that a mage forms a mutualistic magical bond with." She stared at him for a few seconds more.

"... Teg is a branching of our soul, given shape and flesh. A fragment of our greater being, akin to an independent limb." He blinked. Teg, the excitable fairy nanny that sleeps on his head, was apparently just a secondary body for his mother.

"Why doesn't she act anything like you?" he asked with a puzzled expression.

"Because we are Lady Greenwood, and Teg is not." His ears flattened. The Game of Word and Wit. A society wide chicken fight based on maintaining composure and figuring out what the other person was actually saying before they figured out what you were saying. He just learned a new rule. Social Standing influences how much you're obligated to play along.

"Last time I asked about familiars, my tutor told me it would be covered fifty years from now and refused to explain further," he commented bitterly.

"Sure would have been nice to know the specifics earlier- for instance- when I had asked about it."

"A student needs context for-""No the fuck I didn't," he interrupted with a frown, nodding towards her.

"You literally just explained it. Plainly. There was no need for a fifty year delay to get the required context to understand that." She did not counter that observation, ears drooping slightly.

"I don't understand why there's so many pointless delays and checkpoints to information." He pushed up and started pacing.

"I ask a question and get told that I'll be told the answer decades later- that's too long for me to care about it anymore! If I don't need to know immediately, I'm not going to hold onto the desire to learn for that long. Why would I care about a question I asked fifty years ago?"

"Because it was important enough to ask the first time."

"It's clearly not important enough for any of the supposed adults to decide I need to know about it," he replied with an annoyed glare before pointing at the statue in the middle of town.

"I didn't know that was my father- all I knew was that it was an Elven hero named Drasil. No one told me anything else when I asked- So I naturally presumed it wasn't important to know! If no one wants to tell me, I'm not going to waste the time and effort holding onto the curiosity for the decades it takes for elves to stop meandering around my question!"

"How do you explain to a child that his father died before he was a year old?"

"I don't know- like that, mayhaps?" He rolled his hand.

"I don't need the grisly detail- just telling me that my father died when I was young and that the big statue in the middle of town is him would've been enough."

"We-" his mother started, before stopping again. Her face scrunched up, and her head tilted forwards.

"We-" She tried a few more times to start a sentence, before she fell silent, staring down at the table. Tiny tears built up at the corners of her eyes. Rasil stared, then sighed and stepped over, placing a hand on his mother's shoulder and rubbing gently. She reached up and placed a hand over his and stayed silent for a time.

"It's fine," he muttered.

"There's no point in me getting upset about it now, of all times."

"... No- you- you should have been t-told. It's just… Fresh in our hearts." The Lady of Greenwood sounded downright pitiful, staring down at the table. She raised a hand to rub delicately at her eyes. His lips pressed together, and his lips pulled down into a weary frown. Twenty years wasn't enough for elves to get over the death of a friend, according to Teresa. He supposed it wasn't nearly enough time to get over the death of a long term lover either. Twenty years to waste on mourning.

A child could be born, raised, and grow into a man in that time. Rasil knew, because it had happened to him, apparently.

"... What are your other reasons, Rasil…?" It was hard to maintain anger at a woman who sounded so morose. He decided to skip his other critiques of elven culture, his heart wasn't in it at the moment.

"I spoke my first prayer, before I threw myself at the dragon," Rasil started to explain, rubbing a thumb against her neck.

"To Amarami."

"... did you? You never prayed at the festivals."

"I didn't have anything worth bothering a goddess over," he explained with a frown.

"What would I ask for- that her chosen people stop irritating me? That I catch a very big fish tomorrow? That someone answers one of my idle questions? I have all my basic needs taken care of already- asking anything more would be ungrateful."

"There's nothing a mother loves more than helping her children," his mother softly replied. The implication was obvious. He took a moment to continue.

"I prayed to her before throwing myself at the dragon- and I prayed for victory. In exchange for victory, I'd do something for her in turn- planning to ask a priest of her church what I should do. By luck or favor, she answered, and I dreamed of an angel while I laid in the dragon's blood."

"... An angel?"

"She told my prayer had been answered, victory had been granted, and that my promised service was now expected of me." His mother continued to stiffen up as he spoke.

"... What did she command of you?" Rasil answered bluntly.

"Find the Chosen Heroine- and aid her against the Demon Queen."