L
LunarLavendula
Guest
Original poster
Poles had been raised and decorated with ribbon; fabric draped from tree branches. The hillside was littered with makeshift shacks and tent-like structures that had been raised in an afternoon for its inhabitants. Many tribes were present for this ethereal occasion, some out of fearful curiosity, others out of unabashed relief for the end of the Elf Wars. Some had travelled for days with few supplies; over hills, through rivers and snowy plains, to send the Chief's daughter off on her way.
Nobody envied her. So few had ever returned from fairyland; and those who had rarely returned home to their own time. When she went, she would be unlikely to return, married off to those bastard faefolk. There had been murmurings on those long, long journeys murmurings of how deep of a shame it was to lose the fine princess to those cruel heathen creatures. Few would send their daughters in her place.
"It's your duty." Declared her father, echoing his private thoughts as they travelled by simple carriage to the site of his goodbyes. They would be there soon, he knew, and his heart wrenched at what was to become of this memorable day.
It was as if he was saying it more to prove it to himself then to remind her.
He looked toward his most beloved daughter. Draenir was a bulky man of few words, young for a Chief but feared for his tactical prowess. He was a mass of bronzed muscle and fading battle scars, now hidden under his ornate formal clothing. His long brown hair and beard were braided this day, his simple crown – a band of metal – sitting round his head as always. His face, though young, showed age beyond his years, but his bright eyes shone through at her as he leaned forward and took her hands in his.
"You have ended this war. Not your brothers or our warriors or any of our swords and bows. He asked for your hand, I could not have said no." He spoke slowly and with sincerity, a slither of pain hidden in his tone. If only there had been more he could have done; some other way to end this.
Her father had agonized over the decision for days. Their villages were right on the border of elfland; all the tactics in the world could not have protected all their territories from the war that followed. In the end they had retreated mountain-ward to stave off the invasion. When the peace treaty had been announced they had returned to their homeland where their ancestors had lived and died. Though a great rebuilding effort was needed and many houses had been destroyed, the land trampled to mud, it was a joyous occasion indeed to return to their sacred home, if bittersweet.
Though his expression was stern and hard, as always, his eyes almost pleaded: just say no to this, and it will be done. Just give me a sign this is not the destiny of your choosing. Perhaps there was still some other way…