Returning Home
Despite the ravages that occurred during the Sundering, the elven People slowly rebuilt. In time, they once again thrived upon the many and varied lands of what had once been Faerun. The old name remained, but it came to describe only one expanse of land.
Hundreds of elven communities were lost in the chaos and destruction of the Sundering; others were changed forever. The forest community of Sharlarion, however, was one of the few that survived nearly complete. These fortunate elves increased their number and spread into the surrounding forests and hills and lowlands, in time creating a kingdom which was known as Aryvandaar.
It was an age of powerful magic, and throughout Aryvandaar the towers of the High Magi dotted the land like buttercups upon a summer meadow. Many were the great works of magic that these mighty Circles created: weapons of war, statues of the gods that sang to greet the dawn or that danced in the starlight, gems that stored mighty spells. Perhaps the most powerful of all these works were the magical gates that linked the mainland communities to Evermeet.
Although most of the elves were content with their homes, Evermeet was always on their minds. The island homeland formed an enormous part of their elven identity, as well as each elf's personal destiny. "May you see Evermeet," was an oft-spoken blessing, for it wished the recipient a long mortal life which would end at a time and place of that elf's choice. Indeed, many elves made a pilgrimage to the elven island before answering the call to Arvandor.
Despite the importance of Evermeet in the hearts and minds of the People, the Council of Elders decreed that the time for actual settlement of the island had not yet come. There were other concerns that kept the elves fully occupied on the mainland.
At this time, the Gold elves wielded most of the power in Aryvandaar, though seats on the Council of Elders were held by worthy members of all the fair races of elves. These Gold rulers were proud of their kingdom's accomplishments, and eager to expand their territory so that the wonders of Aryvandaar could be increased and shared. What began as a grand vision, however, slowly degenerated into waves of brutal and bitter warfare.
For centuries, the Crown Wars ravaged the land from the northernmost forests to the sun-baked southlands. So vast and widespread was the destruction that Aryvandaar's continued glory-indeed, her very existence-began to seem less than certain.
Compounding the elves' woes, a new and powerful goddess had risen to power in the south, a dark goddess who seemed intent upon the utter destruction of the fair races of elves. On her command, the Ilythiiri began to press north in large numbers, creeping through tunnels and fissures that the Sundering had created in the depths beneath the surface world.
As the Ilythiiri moved into the heart of the hills and mountains, they were met with resistance by many of the dwarven clans who for untold centuries had labored to create order out of the chaos of their underground world. Long and bitter were the battles between these races, and many of the dwarves were slain. Some of the stout folk fled north, and sought a new home in the hills of Aryvandaar. These the elves welcomed, albeit cautiously. Aryvandaar had been badly weakened, and even dwarven allies were preferred to the fate that many of the Elders feared-the utter destruction of the ancient kingdom.
The time was ripe for Evermeet to become a realm, one to which the elves could escape if need be, a haven that they could readily defend. And so the Council chose several noble clans to begin the settlement of their elven homeland.
As all anticipated, House Durothil was the first to be selected. The lot fell also to two other powerful Gold elf clans, Evanara and Alenuath. Of the Moon elf houses, Amarillis, Moonflower, and Le'Quelle were chosen. It was the task of each individual house so honored to select those members who would go to Evermeet and those who would remain behind. Nor were these nobles the only elves so chosen: Each family brought servants from among the common folk, warriors taken for the most part from less-powerful clans who owed fealty to the great noble families, and a number of elves who possessed skills in various necessary crafts. Cobblers, coopers, gem smiths and hawk masters were as important to the island kingdom as the nobles who would govern and protect them.
After much debate, it was decided that Evermeet would be governed by its own Council of Elders. Each of the noble clans would have two seats. The head of the council was to be Keishara Amarillis, a High Mage who was accounted a worthy descendant of the famous Silver elf hero. Although many of the Gold elf families were disappointed that this honor did not fall to their house, most agreed that Keishara was the most suitable choice for the role of High Counselor-and the one most likely to be accepted by Gold and Silver elves alike.
On the appointed day, a large band of settlers-some two hundred elves-headed westward. They traveled lightly, taking necessities for the journey, as well as a number of unique, inherited items such as lore books, magical weapons, and fine musical instruments. The resources of Evermeet would provide that which they needed, and the elves were confident that they would soon build a city to rival any in Aryvandaar. Indeed, the island was not utterly devoid of elven presence. Wild elves had lived on Evermeet since the day of its creation, many centuries past. According to the priests of the Seldarine, the gods had ordained that it should be so. The forest elves would live in harmony with the land-and also attune the Weave to a uniquely elven cadence. The island required the presence of Gold and Silver elves to refine and structure that magic.
From one new moon to the next, the chosen elves traveled westward. Finally they heard the murmur of the sea, and they made their way south along a high and rock-strewn coast until a single enormous mountain loomed before them.
In this place, a plain nestled between two forests, was a fine deep water harbor. Sea-going elves often put in to land here, mooring their ships to undersea piers with the help of the merfolk and the Sea elves that lived along the coast.
The Aryvandaar elves looked with great interest upon the seaport. Unlike the cities of Aryvandaar, there was little to distinguish this place from the wilderness surrounding it. Indeed, for a wanderer who happened upon this place, there was nothing to see at all. But among the elves there were some who had traveled to the spring faire, and who knew how quickly a teeming marketplace could spring up in the shadow of the mountain. An ancient dwarven kingdom honeycombed the mountain, and halflings lived in the hills and forests beyond. Even a few human traders from the primitive tribes to the far north ventured down to the harbor marketplace when the worst of the ice flows melted from the sea. But it was high summer now, and even the ships that would carry them to Evermeet were hidden away in the sea caves to the south.
The elves didn't have to wait long for the first vessel to break the endless blue of sea and sky. Rolim Durothil watched with awe as the elven ship swept into the harbor. It was a graceful vessel fashioned of light wood, with a prow shaped like the head of a gigantic swan. The twin sails rose like wings over the curve of the rail; indeed the entire ship seemed poised as if to take flight.
Rolim's heart quickened with excitement. This was the adventure, the opportunity, for which he had waited his entire life. He was the third son of the Durothil patriarch, and as such did not stand to inherit position and power in Aryvandaar. What he possessed, he had earned for himself with his sword and by his wits. As a warrior, a survivor of the terrible Crown Wars, he was not without wealth and honor of his own. And now he who had fought to expand the kingdom of Aryvandaar was on his way to carving his own place from the wilderness of Evermeet.
Ever since the choice for High Councilor had been announced, Rolim had been quietly furious that this honor had fallen to a Silver elf. This title should have been his by right of birth and by virtue of his talents and accomplishments. A Durothil should rule in Evermeet. In Rolim's mind, it was that simple.
He cast a sidelong glance at Keishara Amarillis, who stood with her hands on her narrow hips and her eyes fixed on the approaching ship. She was not young-perhaps in her fifth or sixth century of life-but she was comely enough: slender and tall, with a direct gray-eyed gaze and the fiery locks characteristic of her clan. Hers were cropped short, and they clustered about her finely molded head in a tight cap of bright curls.
As he appraised the High Councilor, Rolim began to consider a possible side route to power. He had enjoyed in his travels the company of an impressive number of fair maidens, and he prided himself upon his skill in the fine art of wenching. This over-ripe beauty would fall into his hand all the faster for the time she'd spent upon the vine. She would be easy enough to conquer, and then to influence…
As if drawn by his musings, Keishara turned and looked directly into his intense and unguarded stare. Rolim suspected that his thoughts were written all too clearly upon his face. Well, little harm done, he thought, brushing aside his momentary touch of embarrassment. Although he had not meant to start his campaign for Keishara's favor in so blunt a manner, perhaps it was well to give her something to ponder during the sea voyage.
But Keishara did not flush or simper, as did the village maids whom Rolim had charmed by the score. If anything, she looked mildly amused.
Amused!
At that moment, Rolim Durothil declared war-a private and hidden war, but none the less serious. No elf of the Amarillis clan would lord it over him with impunity. He had thought to allow Keishara to retain her place of honor; that was simply out of the question now. He would rule, by whatever means came most readily to hand.
A tentative hand upon his sleeve shattered his dark thoughts. Rolim spun and stared down at his espoused wife, a nondescript, mouse-colored creature from some lesser branch of the Moonflower clan. She was a High Mage, supposedly, and since Rolim had little magical aptitude of his own to pass down to his children, his father had suggested that he take a wife whose strengths complimented his own. Even though she was not of the Gold elf people, Rolim had agreed because there was a certain wisdom in what his father suggested. If the Durothils of Evermeet were to grow in power and influence, they would need to breed magic into the line. Even so, if Rolim had seen the wench before he signed the papers of betrothal, he might not have been so quick to reach for the quill.
"My lord Rolim," she began in an apologetic tone.
"What is it, my lady-" He broke off suddenly, for his future wife's name nimbly avoided his tongue, so absorbed was he with his ambitions.
The elf woman flushed but did not comment on this lack. "Our escort is ready to ferry us to the ship," she said, gesturing to a small boat and the two Sea elves who awaited them at the oars.
Rolim's future wife smiled at the strange-looking elf who helped them aboard. "Our thanks, brother. You and your kinfolk are kind to see the People of Aryvandaar to our new home. If ever there comes a time when you require the services of a land-dwelling elf, please call upon our family. This is Rolim Durothil, who is to be my lord husband. And I," she said with a pointed glance at the Gold elf, "am the mage Ava Moonflower."
A smile twitched at the corner of Rolim's lips. Perhaps the wife foisted upon him by clan and council was not quite the mouse she appeared to be. Certainly she seemed to charm the Sea-elven servants. And she was not entirely without appeal, with her enormous grave, gray eyes and the abundant hair that was not quite silver, but rather the soft gray hue of a kitten's fur. Nor did she appear quite so colorless, with that slight flush of pique resting upon her cheeks.
Perhaps, mused Rolim Durothil as he gazed upon his future wife, this sea journey would be more interesting than he had anticipated.
The voyage to Evermeet was long, but the first handful of days passed by without incident. In fact, the elves of Aryvandaar had little to do. The ship was ably crewed by a large number of Sea elves who took turns tending the onboard duties and scouting ahead for danger in the sea below. Only the ship's captain was a land-dwelling elf, a Moon elf commoner whose name Rolim never bothered to learn.
For the most part, the future patriarch of Evermeet's Durothil clan spent his time making subtle liaisons with the other Gold elven families. These nobles devoted endless hours to drawing up plans for the city that they would build. Since Rolim's clan was the most prominent house among them, the others seemed willing enough to accept his lead and fall in line with his suggestions.
What Ava Moonflower did during the day, Rolim did not know or particularly care. At night, she took her revery belowdecks, in the company of the female travelers. There was little privacy aboard the ship, and Durothil knew that their time as husband and wife would not begin until they reached the elven homeland. What he did not expect, however, was the impatience he was beginning to feel whenever he caught a glimpse of his future wife's tiny form. Nor did he expect Ava's pale, serious face to intrude upon his revery and sweeten to find its way into his dreams of ambition and glory.
Late one night, Rolim was pulled from his revery by an unusual break in the lulling rhythm of the ship's movement. He sat upright, noting that although the ship pitched restlessly, there were no sounds of rain or wind.
Curious, he snatched up his cloak and sword belt, then climbed the ladder to the deck. A few tense and watchful deckhands stood at the rails, their faces grave and their webbed hands clutching ready weapons. A few of the Aryvandaar elves, still heavy-eyed from sleep, clustered together. It occurred to Rolim that these represented all the High Magi aboard ship. Among them was Ava, her mass of pale hair untied and blowing about her like a small storm cloud.
Rolim hurried over to the mages. He took his future wife's arm and drew her away from the others. "What is happening?" he demanded.
"The ship is under attack," she murmured, paying him scant heed. Her troubled gaze lingered upon the grim-faced spellcasters. "We stand ready to form a Circle if need be. You must let me return to the others-I am Center."
"You?"
The disbelief in his voice brought a flame to Ava's cheeks. Her chin lifted as she met his eyes. "Yes, I. This would not be my first battle, though I am certain that also surprises you." Her ire faded instantly and her attention returned to the cluster of mages. "Alas, the magi can attack only if the enemy breaks though our defenses and strikes the ship itself! I only wish there was something we could do now to aid the sea folk who fight for us!"
"They are paid well for their efforts," Rolim noted. "And it seems to me there is little you could do to affect a battle you cannot see. Save your magic to aid those for whom it was intended, Lady Mage, and don't waste time or thought upon those two-legged fish."
Ava's eyes kindled with wrath. Her hand flashed forward and slapped Rolim squarely in the face with a force that snapped his head painfully to one side. Before he could think better of it, Rolim's warrior instincts took over and he struck back.
He never got close. The tiny female caught his wrist with both hands and spoke a single terse word. The next instant, Rolim, a seasoned Gold elf warrior, was flat on his back on the hard wood of the deck and his future wife's knee was pressed hard at his throat.
"The next words you say against any of the People will be the last you utter," Ava informed him in a soft, even tone. "All of those upon this ship were chosen by lot, under the eyes of the gods, and we each have a purpose and a destiny. But you will not bring the turmoil and destruction of the Crown Wars to this new land, this I swear before all the gods! If you try, I will fight you at every turn, my lord."
And then she was gone. Rolim scrambled to his feet and scanned the deck with furtive eyes. No one, it seemed, had noticed his humiliation at the hands of his as-yet unclaimed wife. All were intent upon dragging aboard the wounded Sea elves who had floated to the moonlit surface.
Near the far rail, Ava knelt at the side of a dying female warrior, her pale hands trying in vain to hold together the gaping folds of the sea woman's death wound. Tears spilled down the mage's cheeks, but her voice was strong and calming as she sang the ancient prayers that guided the warrior's soul to Arvandor, the home of all elves, just as Evermeet must be.
As Rolim watched the Silver elf mage at her selfless, hearfelt labors, he felt a sudden wrenching pain, as if something broke free from around his heart. Warmth and light flowed in, bringing a peace that he had never known he lacked.
Without hesitation, Rolim reached into his bag for the healing potion that every warrior of Aryvandaar carried, his last and personal salvation in the event of battle gone awry. He went to Ava and handed her the priceless vial.
"For our people," he said softly.
For just an instant, her gaze clung to his, but in that brief time Rolim saw in her gray eyes the measure of what he might become. It was a very different image from that which his ambitions had fashioned, but he was nonetheless content.
And at that moment, though many days would yet pass before he walked upon its shores, Rolim Durothil truly came home to Evermeet.
The goddess Lloth was in a quandary. For centuries she had preyed upon the elves of Aber-toril, and had found it to be an occupation much to her liking.
Lloth seldom remembered that she had once called the god Vhaeraun her son. Now he was merely a rival. As for Eilistraee, Lloth never wasted a thought upon the girl one way or another. The Dark Maiden lived much as she had in long-ago Arvandor: She'd taken to the forest, where by all accounts she squandered her scant store of godly magic in aid of lost travelers and elven hunters.
Lloth preferred the burgeoning cities of southern Faerun, where turmoil and intrigue bred like lice. She was also growing fond of the dark and twisted tunnels that seemed fashioned for the express purpose of hoarding treasure, staging ambush, and engaging in other delightful clandestine activities. After the dulling sameness of the Abyss, the simmering conflict between the Ilythiiri and Corellon's fair-skinned children was a bracing tonic. The Crown Wars had been a source of dark joy. All things considered, Lloth had not been as happy for millennia.
She was of mixed mind, however, concerning the matter of the Sundering. The mortal body of Ka'Narlist had been swept away by the terrible floods, and the wondrous city of Atorrnash reduced to legend. Lloth did not mourn the loss of her consort, for she had long ago tired of him. Males, she concluded, were not worth the bother. She did not regret the loss of Ka'Narlist's person, though she rued the loss of that wondrous vest of Sea elven magic. There was the possibility that Ka'Narlist had managed to capture his own essence in one of his dark pearls. Lloth did not like the idea that the final fate of the malevolent, ambitious entity was not altogether certain.
Other effects of the Sundering also brought mixed emotions to the goddess. On the one hand, it had destroyed many of her worshipers. Yet for each of her elves that had tumbled into the sea or been crushed by falling stone, at least three of Vhaeraun's followers had perished. Lloth reigned supreme among the dark elves' gods.
Thus was victory won on any battlefield, as Lloth knew well. The last few centuries had left her with considerable expertise in the art and practice of elven warfare.
So intriguing was this new hobby that she had abandoned altogether her ancient craft of weaving enchanted tapestries. Living beings made more interesting threads for her looms, and the ever changing webs they wove were infinitely more appealing to the dark goddess than the well-ordered destinies she had once fashioned and fostered for her dark elven charges. Her time in the Abyss had given her a taste for chaos.
She was not pleased, however, about this matter of an elven homeland. Lloth might be barred from Arvandor, but there was no place upon this world that she would suffer to remain beyond the grasping hands of her dark followers.
Yet try as she might, Lloth could devise no way to strike against the island. She herself was barred from Evermeet as surely as she was from Arvandor; the same magical barriers that protected the Sacred Forest of Olympus from evil gods also warded the elven island.
This angered Lloth, for it was but one more insult to come from the hands of Corellon Larethian. The dark goddess vowed that, in time, she would find a way to destroy Evermeet. This goal became a focus, a receptacle for all her ancient animosity toward the elven god.
There were, however, other matters that absorbed Lloth's immediate attention. The dark elves had been driven below ground. There was new territory to conquer, new magic to learn. The descendants of Ka'Narlist and Lloth were now called drow, and they were as evil and fearsome a people as Lloth could have desired. In time, they would become powerful enough to emerge from their dark world and reclaim the whole of Aber-toril. In time, the drow would bring about the utter destruction of Corellon's children upon the mainland. When that was accomplished, when the elves of Evermeet stood utterly alone, it would be a small matter for her followers to invade and overtake the island, no matter how enchanted it might be. Yes, Lloth had much to accomplish in the warrens and caverns of the great Underdark.
In the meanwhile, Lloth needed an agent to work on her behalf on the surface world. The Ilythiiri raiders who had pressed into the far north often brought back tales of barbarian tribes of humans-fearful warriors who worshiped totem beasts-and oftentimes of the Beast Lord who commanded them. It seemed that Malar, her old acquaintance, was beginning to enjoy a bright turn of fortune.
Perhaps, Lloth mused, it was time to pay a visit to the Great Hunter, and to light once again the fire of vengeance in his heart. Let him spend his strength and his efforts on bedeviling the "elven homeland" while she occupied herself elsewhere.
And why not? Provided that she prodded him in the right direction, Malar was resourceful enough to do justice to the task. Lloth had little fear that the Beast Lord would complete the task and steal her moment of vengeance, for though he had grown in cunning and strength since his attack upon Corellon, Malar definitely lacked the power to challenge alone the forces of the Seldarine.
Even so, a few centuries of torment at the hands ol tne Beast Lord would make the eventual conquest of Evermeet all the easier. 3rd day of Ches, 1368 DR
To Danilo Thann, beloved nephew of my beloved Khelben, does Laeral Silverhand Arunsun send fond greetings.
Dan, my love! Thank you for your letter, and for the wonderfully silly ballad you composed for me. You will never know how gladly I welcomed every foolish line, for my visit to Evermeet has not otherwise been filled with mirth.
Do not misunderstand me-I consider myself fortunate to be among the handful of humans allowed on Evermeet. You know, of course, of my long-standing friendship with Evermeet's queen. Nor am I the only one of the Seven Sisters who has had dealings with Queen Amlaruil. My sister Dove's son was fostered here, kept safe from the many who would harm him to strike at Dove. He was raised in the ways of the elven folk, and is now living in peace and honor as a ranger in the wilds near Shadowdale. What you do not know is that my own child also found a haven on the elven island.
I wish I could have seen your face as you read that last line. You did not know I had a child, I suppose. Very few people do. I thought it would be better so. What I did not anticipate-and should have-was that my wild and beautiful Maura would find a way to thrust herself into general knowledge. That she did so unwittingly makes the situation all the more difficult.
But I am putting the tail before the teeth. I shall start again, this time at the beginning.
You know my story better than most. For many years I traveled with the adventuring party known as the Nine. We found an artifact, the Crown of Horns, and I in my pride decided that my powers of will and magic were sufficient to counter the evil I sensed within it. I wore the Crown, and it claimed me as its own. Years went by, terrible years during which I lost Laeral and became the Wild Woman, the Witch of the North. I remember little of those years, which in many ways is a blessing. But there were things lost to me that I would give centuries of my life to recall. One of these is Maura.
I do not remember her begetting. I cannot tell you who her father was, nor do I remember the months that I carried her. Of her birth, I can tell you little more. All I recall is a terrible storm outside my cave, a soothing voice nearby, and the fierce piping cries of a baby whose face I cannot recall. My sister Dove found me in travail and tended me, and then took the babe to Evermeet for protection and fosterage. In my terrible madness, I could not care for her, and no one on Faerun dared to do so. No one knew what influence the Crown of Horns might have had on this poor babe. Such was the legacy I gave my child.
But Maura thrived on Evermeet. Any taint she might have taken from the evil artifact was cleansed by the healing magic of that fair land. She grew up fierce and wild as any forest elf, yet always and entirely her own person. Among the elves, she stands out like a scarlet rose among snowdrops-vivid and startling in her bright beauty. She did not inherit the silver hair common to me and my sisters; she is as dark as I am fair, and even more exotic in appearance. There is no telling what Maura's sire might have been. Her pale bronze skin and lavish curves suggest southern blood, her sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes hint at elven ancestry-although that she might as well have gotten from me. She has, I blush to confess, a bit of my own vanity and love of drama. Maura is often flamboyant in her ways and her dress. Other than her love of swordcraft-she is a notable fighter-she has little in common with the elves. In fact, I had traveled to Evermeet this time with the thought to bring her home at last, now that she is a woman grown.
To my dismay, I found that my restless and impatient Maura no longer wished to leave. She has fallen in love with an elf-an elf whose name and rank decree that nothing but grief can come of their union. You have come to know this elf of late through your letters: Lamruil, Prince of Evermeet.
I need not tell you how ill content Queen Amlaruil is with this news. You know full well that she lost her best-loved daughter, Amnestria, to the love of a human. For many years, the queen refused to acknowledge the existence of Amnestria's half-elven daughter. Even now, while she privately speaks well of Arilyn, she does not and cannot acknowledge your wife as her kin, nor can she allow her upon the elven island. The elves of Evermeet, particularly the Gold elves, would see Arilyn's presence as a terrible threat to all they hold dear-all the more so, for her royal blood. Do not for a moment think that my personal friendship with the queen, or my status as Elf-friend, or even the fact that I am numbered among the Chosen of Mystra make my daughter an acceptable mate for a prince of Evermeet. Maura would bear him half-elven children, and that would be accounted a tragedy.
In your letter, you asked me to give you some insight into why the elves shun those of mixed blood. This is a difficult question, but the answer says much about the nature and the minds of Evermeet's elves.
You love a half-elf, so you have seen something of the grief common to these beings who live between two worlds. So also have I, for my mother was half-elven. So desperate was she for a place of her own, that she joyfully surrendered herself as avatar to Mystra that her children might become-like herself-something both more and less than human.
I am accepted on Evermeet, but only because my elven heritage is not apparent-lost, perhaps, beneath the mantle of Chosen of Mystra. For love of me, Amlaruil accepted Dove's child and mine in fosterage, but only with the understanding that their elven blood would be a matter of deepest secrecy.
Let me tell you the story of how Amlaruil and I first met. It was in revery-that elven state of wakeful dreaming that is more restful than sleep. As a child, I often went into revery. It was not so much a nap for me as an adventure. Even then, the silver fires of Mystra burned bright within me, and I was able to do things that no fully human mage can accomplish. In revery, I often slipped into the Weave itself, and I sensed the beings who make up its warp and weft. Most of these were elven, of course-human mages use the Weave, but elves are a part of it in ways that no human can fully understand.
On one such journey, I met Amlaruil. Now, understand that Amlaruil's tie to the Seldarine is as strong as mine to Mystra. She was surprised to meet a child in revery, astonished that one so young possessed so much power. We met often after that first time, and became closer than sisters before ever we set eyes upon each other.
I remember my first trip to Evermeet. Amlaruil sent me an elfrune, a ring that would enable me to travel to Evermeet with a thought. I will never forget the look of utter befuddlement on her face when she beheld me for the first time.
You know what she saw-a girl taller than most men but slight of form, with silver-green eyes and an abundance of silver hair. I am different from most women, perhaps, but I am recognizably a human woman. For the first and last time, I saw the future Queen of All Elves utterly lose her composure.
"You are N'Tel-Quess!" she blurted out, charmingly referring to me as a "Not Person."
"I am Laeral," I responded. In my mind, that was all and enough. I am as I am, and cannot be otherwise.
She nodded as if she heard and dimly followed my unspoken reasoning. "But you travel the Weave. You speak Elvish!"
"My mother was half-elven," I told her, by way of explanation for the latter feat.
Her face immediately arranged itself into a polite mask. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said with great feeling.
I burst out laughing-I could not help it. Her tone was precisely that used by any well-bred person when told of some personal tragedy or family disgrace. Thus did Amlaruil regard half-elves. She still does, I suppose, and in this she is typical of Evermeet's elves.
What, then, am I to do with my Maura? She is as stubborn and headstrong as I am, which does not bode well for her-or for that matter, for Evermeet. What will occur if Lamruil should be called upon to take the throne? None of the elves, especially the Gold elf clans, would accept Maura as queen. In truth, they would be unlikely to accept Lamruil with or without Maura. Like his love, he is "too human."
Dan, my friend, I fear greatly for the People of Evermeet. Their splendid isolation is a delicate and fragile thing. Like you, I fear that it cannot long endure. Change is inexorable, inevitable. Given time, the waves will wear away the strongest rock. The elves, for all their wisdom and despite their long lives, do not fully understand this. Perhaps a union between Lamruil and Maura would force them to see what is all around them.
Or perhaps it will only speed what many elves fear most of all-the end of Evermeet, the twilight of the elves.
Oh, Dan, I wish I knew. And while I'm in the business of wishing, I wish I could have kept my baby Maura, I wish I had raised her myself away from this seemingly inviolate but fragile island. I wish that I had taken her away sooner, before her wild beauty caught Lamruil's eye. And I wish you were here, to tell me stories and sing me silly songs and make me laugh as you always do.
I fear that my letter has done little to answer your questions. But perhaps my story has cast some light on the character of Evermeet. The elves created Evermeet because they wish to remain what they are. But their history is a constant struggle between those who cling to ancient traditions, and those whose bold innovations have shaped Evermeet. Even the monarchy was once a radical idea. There are still those who consider it so, and who secretly long for the return of the ancient council. Thus it continues-the battle between constancy and change.
You will see this thread running through all of elven history. Nowhere is it more apparent than on Evermeet. And nowhere is it more flagrantly confronted than in the person of a half-elf. Start there, then, to understand the nature of this land.
I will return to Waterdeep soon-without Maura, I fear. In the meanwhile, kiss your uncle Khelben for me. It will irritate him, and thus amuse you. This, I hope, will help put you in the proper frame of mind to sing me into better humor. Speaking of which, be prepared to do your best-and your worst. After my time here, I feel in dire need of a rousing rendition of "Sune and the Satyr." Indeed, I could emulate the revels described therein, and not fully blunt the edge of my current despair. Tell me-do you think Khelben might be persuaded to participate? No, I didn't think so either.
With fondest regards, Laeral
Prelude
The Fall of Twilight
13th day of Mirtul, 1369 DR
Prince Lamruil sauntered into the vast hall where his mother held court, well aware of the many pairs of disapproving eyes that followed him.
He had not been long in Evermeet-at Queen Amlaruil's insistence, he had taken to the mainland on an adventure for which he had little heart. The time away had been more eventful, the task given him more compelling, than he had anticipated. Yet his mother's hope-that Lamruil's absence might dim the passion that he shared with Maura-had been unrealized. At least the queen had the satisfaction of knowing that she had kept word of it from spreading. The gods would bear witness that Lamruil had done enough already to scandalize the court.
Since his arrival he had managed to further tarnish his reputation. Seemingly at whim, he'd decided to take up the study of magic. As a student at the Towers, he had managed to antagonize a number of powerful Gold elf families. What none of these nobles realized was that he did so deliberately. In his travels, Lamruil had observed that some Gold elves on the mainland held onto traditional, extremist views. He thought it wise to make some effort to ferret out any on Evermeet that might be allied with these extremists. Those who seemed most offended by the Moon elf prince's antics were likely suspects and worthy of closer, more subtle scrutiny.
Queen Amlaruil knew of Lamruil's tactics, and she did not approve. For that matter, she approved of little that Lamruil had to do or say these days. He knew with grim certainly that she would not relish the news that he must give her, and that she would forbid him from doing what he had already decided must be done.
The prince strode to the dais and went down on one knee before his mother's throne.
"You are seldom in council, my son," she said in a voice that betrayed no hint of the curiosity that Lamruil knew she must feel. "Have you given up on the study of magic, then, to learn something of governance?"
"Not exactly," he said ruefully. "In truth, I must speak to you on a personal matter. A matter of considerable delicacy."
He saw the almost imperceptible flicker of her eyelids-for the wondrously controlled Amlaruil, that was tantamount to a shriek of panic. She clearly thought, as he meant her to, that this had to do with his forbidden relationship with Maura.
The queen politely but briskly cleared the council room. When they were alone, she turned a grim face to her errant son.
"Please do not tell me that another half-elven bastard is about to sully the Moonflower line," she said coldly.
"That would be a tragedy indeed," he returned with equal warmth. "May the gods bear witness to the fortitude with which we endure the disgrace brought upon us by half-breed bastards-such as my sister's daughter Arilyn."
Amlaruil sighed. She and Lamruil had sparred over this matter many times. Never had they come to a resolution. Never would they.
"Amnestria's daughter has served the People well," the queen admitted. "That does not give you license to increase the number of half-elves!"
"Content yourself, then, in knowing that I have not," Lamruil said grimly. "The news I bear you is of far more serious nature."
The queen's expression hinted that she doubted this.
In response, Lamruil handed her a letter. "This is from Arilyn's husband, whom I call not only nephew, but friend. He is human, but he writes the language well."
Amlaruil skimmed the elegant Elvish script. She looked up sharply. "Kymil Nimesin has slipped away from his Harper jailers! How is that possible?"
Lamruil grimaced. "Kymil Nimesin has powerful allies, unexpected ones. The sages say that Lloth and Malar once made an alliance against the People, though they hate each other nearly as much as they hate the children of Corellon. It appears that they might have done so again."
The queen's face paled to the color of new snow. "He should have been tried on Evermeet. This would never have happened!"
"On this, we agree."
"Where is he now?"
"The Harpers do not know."
"Has he elven allies still? You have been looking for them under every bed in Evermeet."
"A few, although none on Evermeet-at least, none that I could pinpoint with certainty," Lamruil said. "On the mainland, definitely. There are also other troubling alliances. In the past, Kymil has done business with the Zhentarim. He struck a bargain with the wizards of Thay. To what end, we can only imagine."
"Yes," the queen said softly. Her eyes filled with a sorrow and loss that the passing of decades had not diminished. "I know all too well the cost of Kymil Nimesin's ambitions."
The young prince felt suddenly awkward in the presence of such immense grief. But he placed his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes. "I will find the traitor, this I swear. One way or another, I will bring him back to Evermeet to stand trial."
A chill passed through Amlaruil at these words, like a portent of heartache yet to come. "How will you find him when the Harpers cannot?"
The prince smiled grimly. "I know Kymil Nimesin. I know what he needs, and where he must go to find it. Ambitions like his need the support of vast wealth. He and I took a fortune that rivals a red dragon's hoard from the elven ruins. Kymil has hidden it, and will try to retrieve it. I will go there and confront him."
"He might expect you to do this."
"Of course he will," Lamruil agreed. "And he will set a trap for me. He will not expect that I will anticipate this trap, and walk into it of my own will."
Amlaruil stared at her son. "Why would you do this?"
"Kymil Nimesin has little regard for any Silver elf, and holds me in utter contempt," the prince said candidly. "He expects me to run bumbling into his traps in defense of queen and country. What he does not expect, however, is a bumbling prince who offers himself as an ally."
A small, startled cry escaped from the queen's mouth. "You cannot!"
Lamruil winced. "Have you so little regard for me? I would not truly ally myself with the traitor who killed my father and my sister."
"I never thought you would. Yet I cannot allow this ruse. If you do this thing, you will never rule Evermeet after me!"
"I never expected to," Lamruil retorted. "Ilyrana is the heir to the throne, and well loved by the people. Since I am not burdened by their regard, I am free to take such risks on their behalf. Let me learn of Kymil's plan, and undo it from within. I must," he said earnestly when the queen began to protest. "Do you think that a single elf, however powerful, would dare act alone? If he endeavors to complete the task he has started, be assured that it will be with the backing of powerful allies. And such alliances often set complex events in motion-events that might well continue with or without Kymil Nimesin. No, I think we must know more."
The queen's eyes searched his face as if she might find there an argument to refute his words. Finally she sighed, defeated.
"There is truth, even wisdom, in what you say. Yet I wish there was another who could take up this task!"
"You fear I am not suited?"
"No," she said softly, sadly. "You alone on all of Evermeet are suited for it. No one else has your knowledge of our foe. It is a terrible burden, I think."
"But a needed one," he said.
Amlaruil was silent for a long moment. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes, it is."
"I may go, then?" he said in surprise.
To his astonishment, a genuine if somewhat wry smile curved his mother's lips. "Would you have stayed, had I forbidden you?"
"No," he admitted.
The queen laughed briefly, then her face turned wistful. "You are much like your sister, Amnestria. I did not trust her to do what was best for herself and her People. Permit me to learn from my mistakes."
The implication of her words moved Lamruil deeply. "Are you saying that you trust me in this?"
Amlaruil looked surprised. "Of course I do. Did you not know that? I have always trusted you. Despite your mischief, there is much of your father in you."
The prince dropped to one knee and took both of her hands in his. "Then trust me until the end of this, I beg you. Trust me when your councilors tell you that you should not, when your own senses insist that you must not!"
"Bring Kymil Nimesin to me," the queen said softly.
Lamruil nodded softly. The seeming non sequitur told him that his mother understood what he intended to do. The risk was enormous, and Amlaruil was no doubt right in saying that even if he succeeded, he would never be accepted as Evermeet's king. In his mind, that was a small enough price to pay.
"By your leave, then, I will begin."
The queen nodded, then reached out and framed her youngest child's face with her hands. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "You are Zaor's son indeed," she said softly. "What a king you would have made!"
"With Maura as my queen?" he teased. Amlaruil grimaced. "I suppose you could not resist that; even so, you should have made an effort. Go then, and make your farewells."
The young prince rose and bowed deeply. He turned and strode from the palace. He claimed his moon-horse from the groom who held its bridle, and then rode swiftly toward Ruith. In the forests just south of that fortress city he would find his love.
No other place on Evermeet suited Maura as well. Maura had been fostered by the forest elves of Eagle Hills, but now that she was a grown woman, she lived alone in the forested peninsula north of Leuthilspar, in a small chamber in the heart of a living tree. The rocky coast, the curtain of snow-crested mountains that framed the forest, echoed the wildness of her own nature. The proximity of Ruith, a fortress city that housed the heart of the elven military, provided her with sparring partners when she wished a match-which was often. Even in a society of champions, she was seldom defeated.
She looked up expectantly as Lamruil entered her home. "What have you learned? Can you stop this foolish charade among the city folk yet?"
During his time in Leuthilspar, Lamruil had insinuated himself into the confidences of certain Gold elves and given them to know that he was impatient to assume the throne. He had implied that he was eager to see his mother step down, hinted that he might be willing to facilitate the same end by other means. Maura knew these things, and had railed against them in terms that made Amlaruil's disapproval seem a pale thing.
"I learned a few things," he said vaguely. "At the moment, they are of minor importance. I must leave Evermeet at once."
He showed her the letter, and told her what he planned to do. He steeled himself for the girl's fury. Maura did not disappoint him.
"Why must you take the trouble and risk to bring this Kymil Nimesin back to Evermeet? Kill him outright, and have done with it. By all the gods-he killed your father! The right of vengeance is yours."
For a moment, Lamruil was honestly tempted to do as she urged. "But I am not the only one who has suffered loss. This matter is for the People to judge. I can best serve them by delivering the traitor to their judgment. I must also bide my time, and do what I can to uncover other threats to the throne."
The elf maid's glare faded, pushed aside by dawning apprehension. "You're starting to sound like a king," she said, her tone wavering between jest and worry.
A huge grin split Lamruil's face. "There are several thousand elves on this island who would be happy to dispute that with you," he said without rancor.
"Still, it is possible."
Lamruil shrugged, puzzled by her uncharacteristic gravity. "I am a prince. In theory, yes, it is possible. But Ilyrana is much loved, and will probably take the throne. Even if she declines, it is likely that an elf from another noble house would be chosen over an untried youth."
"Perhaps to act as regent in your stead," Maura persisted. "The result would be delayed, but it would be the same for all that!"
The prince took her hands in his. "What is this about, really?"
Her eyes were fierce when they met his; even so, twin tears glistened in their emerald depths. "A king will need a queen. A proper queen."
For a moment, Lamruil was at a loss for words. He knew the truth behind Maura's words; even if the nobles accepted him as their king, they would certainly insist that he take one of their own to reign with him. They would not countenance a wild thing like Maura on the throne of Evermeet, not even if she were fully elven. Nor, he realized, would she be long content in the moonstone palace of Leuthilspar.
The prince longed to wipe the silvery tracks from Maura's cheeks, but he knew with the sure wisdom of love that she would not thank him for acknowledging her tears.
"Wait here," he said suddenly. Turning from her, he ducked out of the tree and sprinted off into the forest. In moments he found what he sought-wild laurel. A few flowers still clung to the plant, filling the air with a heady fragrance. He cut a few of the woody vines with his knife and hurriedly fashioned them into a circlet. The result fell far short of symmetry, but it would serve.
He returned to the girl and placed the crown of leaves and flowers on her head. "You are the queen of my heart," he said softly. "While you live, I will take no other."
"And why should you? You've already taken all the others," she retorted.
Lamruil lifted one brow. "Is it seemly to bring up my youthful exploits on this our wedding day? I think not-we are long past such discussions."
She crossed her arms and glared at him. "I will not wed you."
Lamruil grinned. Placing a finger under her chin, he raised her stubborn face to his. "Too late," he said lightly. "You just did."
"But-"
The elf stilled her protests with a kiss. Maura stiffened but did not pull away. After a moment her arms twined around his neck, and she returned his kiss with an urgency that bordered on desperation.
Finally the prince eased out of her embrace. "It is past time. I must go."
Maura nodded. She walked with him to the forest's edge. She watched as he descended the steep path to the harbor, and kept watching until Lamruil's ship was little more than a golden dot on the far horizon. She watched with eyes misted with grief born not only of loss, but understanding.
For the first time, she realized the truth of her love. Lamruil was meant to be a king-it was a role he was growing into, though in ways that few of Evermeet's elves might recognize. The day would come when he would be ready. And on that day, she would lose him to Evermeet.
"Long live Queen Amlaruil," she whispered with a fervor that had nothing to do with her genuine respect for Evermeet's monarch.
More than two years passed before Lamruil returned to the island. To the elves, this was no great time, but every day, every moment of it weighed heavily upon Maura. She had a task to do. She and Lamruil were one in their purpose, and she did her part with a determination that bemused her elven instructors. She threw herself into sword practice with a fervor that rivaled that of the most dedicated bladesinger. She did so, not only because she was a fighter at heart and because she loved the dance of battle, but because she, unlike the elves, fully expected a war to come.
And so she trained for it, watched for it, lived for it. Even so, when it came, she was unprepared.
They were all unprepared, the proud elves of Evermeet. The threat came from the place they least expected, from an enemy that all assumed was too far removed for concern. From Below they came-the unthinkable. The drow.
The attack came on the northernmost shore of the island. Throughout the long autumn night, the tunnels below the ancient ruins of Craulnober Keep echoed with the clash of weapons and the faint, instinctive cries that even the bravest of warriors could not hold back when a blade sank home. But the sounds had faded into grim silence, sure proof that the first battle was nearly over.
Was nearly lost.
Reinforcements came from Ruith's Lightspear Keep and from the lonely strongholds of the Eagle Hills. Maura came with them, to stand beside the elves who had raised and trained her.
The defenders struggled to regain the ancient castle from the dark-elven invaders that poured forth like seething, deadly lava from the depths of the stone. The approach of dawn brought a turn in the tide of battle, for as the drow began to fall back in anticipation of the coming light, the elves managed to breach the ancient curtain wall of the keep. With renewed ferocity, the elves took the battle to the dark elves who held the castle. Many dark bodies lay amid the fallen of Evermeet. With the coming of dawn, the surviving drow withdrew to the tunnels from whence they had come.
Too soon, the proud elves counted their victory. Following the command of Shonassir Durothil, they pursued. Nearly all the elves abandoned their positions on the cliffs and hills beyond the castle and came into the abandoned keep, determined to pursue and destroy the invaders.
No sooner had they entered the walls, however, than the doors swung shut behind them and sealed so completely that gates and walls seemed to have been melted into a single, unbroken expanse of stone.
A cloud of darkness settled over the castle, shrouding the elven fighters in an impenetrable mist and a chilling aura of pure evil.
Into this darkness the drow returned, silent and invisible, armed with terrible weapons and confusing magic. Here and there pinpricks of red light darted about like malevolent will’o'wisps. Those elves who took these to be the drow's heat-sensitive eyes found, in giving chase, that they followed an illusion. Their reward was invariably an invisible dagger in the spine, and a faint burst of mocking laughter-music as beautiful and terrible as the faerie bells of the Unseelie courts.
The elves fought on amid the darkness and despair. They fought bravely and well, but they died all the same.
A few of the warriors managed to find their way into the tunnels. These pursued the drow back toward the island of Tilrith, through tunnels that hundreds of years of dark elven work and magic had reopened.
And in the darkness they died, for in the tunnels beyond the keep lurked the only two creatures that were perhaps even more feared than the drow. One of these, a beautiful dark elven female, shrieked with elation each time one of Corellon Larethian's children perished.
Lloth had come at last to Evermeet. Though magic barred her from setting foot upon the island itself, the tunnels below were hers to command.
No such strictures were placed upon the creature with her, a terrible thing that resembled nothing so much as a gigantic, three-legged cockroach. The monster surged toward the keep. Its probing snout swept along the tunnel walls, and the ironhard maw churned busily as the creature chiseled through the stone to make way for its bulk. Nearly as large as a dragon and covered with impenetrable armor, the monster was one that was all too familiar to many of Evermeet's elves.
Malar's creature, the Ityak-Ortheel, had followed Lloth from her home on the Abyss. Finally, the Beastlord and the Queen of Spiders had found a way to unite their strengths in a strike against Evermeet. The dreaded elf-eater needed a gate from the Abyss and Lloth had been able to provide one.
The elf-eater surged upward, exploding from the stone floor of the keep. Scores of tentacles probed the air, testing for the airborne taste of nearby prey. The creature was relentless, devouring both living and dead elves until the keep was silent and empty. With the speed of a galloping horse, the creature plunged into the ancient wall. The stone shattered, sending a cloud of dust and rubble hurtling out of the blackness that encircled the castle and threatened to engulf all of Evermeet.
One warrior survived-the only one whose blood was not sufficiently elven to call to the elf-eater. Alone, Maura watched in despair as the elf-eater turned away from the keep, heading south with a linear intensity that even a crow's flight could not match. Maura could guess all too well its destination, and its intent.
The monster was heading for Corellon's grave, the nearest elven settlement-not coincidentally, one of the seats of Evermeet's power. Many of the most powerful clerics came together to study and pray, to cast clerical magic to aid the People here and now, and to contemplate the wonders that awaited them in the realms of Arvandor. There, amid the temples of Corellon's Grove, the elf-eater would once again feed.
This was horror enough, but one more thought added the extra measure of urgency needed to tear Maura from her exhaustion and despair: The Princess Ilyrana, a priestess of the goddess Angharradh, made her home in the Grove.
A shrilling cry burst from Maura's lips, a shriek that to human ears would have been indistinguishable from an eagle's call. Maura, who had been raised among the Eagle Hills, knew of the giant birds and had heard the elves call them many times. Never had she summoned them, never had she ridden one. She wasn't certain she could succeed at either. It would not be the first time, however, that an untried warrior had ridden such a steed into battle.
She had not long to wait. An enormous bird dropped from the sky with unnerving silence, coming to rest on a pile of rubble that the elf-eater had left behind when it crashed through the keep. The eagle was as large as a war-horse, and beautiful. The slanting rays of the rising sun turned its feathers to gold. It was also fearsome, with a hooked beak larger than Maura's head, and talons the size of the dagger she carried.
The bird cocked its head in inquisition. "Who you? What want?" it demanded in a shrill voice.
Maura's chin came up proudly. "I am Maura of Evermeet, wife to Prince Lamruil and daughter by marriage to King Zaor. Take me into battle, as your ancestor once took the king. Evermeet's need is greater now than it was then-greater than ever it was."
"You not elf," the eagle observed.
"No. But then, neither are you. Do you fight less fiercely for your home, because of this?"
Her answer seemed to please the bird. The eagle spread its wings, until the golden feathers nearly spanned the bloodstained courtyard.
"Up, up," it urged her impatiently. "Get on back, hold tight. We show how fierce we the not-elves fight for Evermeet home!"
Book Three
Constancy and Change
"Some legends say that Evermeet is a piece of Arvandor descended to the mortal world. Some consider it a bridge between the worlds, a place where the line between the mortal and the divine blurs. To some, it is merely a prize to be won. But this much is clear to all: from the day of its creation, Evermeet became the ancient homeland of Faerun's People. This is not a simple matter to understand or explain, but when has truth ever been utterly devoid of paradox?"
– Excerpt from a letter from Elasha Evanara,
Priestess of Labelas, Keeper of the Queen's Library