The Following is a small portion of a much larger story in the making, a fantasy of epic scale called The Dark World.
No one in any age had ever disputed the fact that elves were generally a civilized and respectable people. But that is not to discount that there have been some among them, as many would attest, who were of a more mischievous and unfavorable nature. One such elf was in his youth one of the most ill-behaved creatures to be found in all the land. It had come to be agreed among the populace of Dralindor that the young Lasgaleth was ‘a sore tooth at the back of the mouth’ which had to be treated or plucked out – him and his equally impish counterpart, Vealys, the daughter of his mother’s brother, with whom he spent most of his time. Vealys was his only cousin to the best of his knowledge and his closest friend. Since they were around the same adolescent age of eleven, and were likened to the same interests, they got along very well, but much to the chagrin of their neighbors. The two cousins would get in all sorts of trouble, to the point where the adults would call them little sprites. “Lasgaleth, you bothersome sprite!” they would say. “Your father and mother should have you whipped.” Of course, the cousins did not regard engaging in hoaxes to be the matter of such spritehood, but rather a fun pastime and usual for the youth of their kind. In fact, their misbehavior had become so notorious that any general hospitality from the populace was restrained, and the two were not allowed a foot on someone else’s property.
They loved to play in the trees and twist the other elflings’ arms to play with them, even when the others were not quite in the mood. It was when they made too much of a raucous in the town square that they caused the most grief to the general public, or in one of the bakeries and when they would occasionally steal a fruit from a stall at the market. They knew better, of course; an elf was born with natural sensible instincts. But in their own juvenile way they did these things out of sheer enjoyment, almost out of spite or suppression of the real world, in order to retain their youth. They knew by the faces of their elders that the outside world was dark, and that one day they would have to face it.
They knew one day they would have to grow up.
Not allowed then to play their tricks on the populace too often without finding abundant trouble, the cousins bided their time at their favorite spot in the city: a little grove of trees near the west wall not unlike a garden or orchard. They found themselves there most days, and it became to them a little world of their own where they could be anything they liked.
“Lasgaleth!” Vealys called to her cousin one day from the top of the tree which, they pretended, was the mast of their mighty warship at sea. “We need to turn further west.”
“Yes, Captain,” he replied in a dull tone due to her adamancy in being captain, and not a very good one at that. He rotated the coil of branches that they had twisted into the ship’s wheel.
“If we’re to get to shore in one piece, we have to avoid the ships that are awaiting us straight ahead.” She was always so proper when she spoke.
“If we hadn’t stolen the port-owner’s money, we wouldn’t have this problem, you know.” Lasgaleth fished out a couple coins from his pocket, small wooden circlets that were hanging under the canopy of a trader’s stall which they had ‘borrowed’ on their adventures, and gazed at them curiously.
“Just go with it. Who’s the captain here?”
Lasgaleth grumbled, dropped the coins back in his pocket, and turned the coil of branches.
“That’s better,” she called, holding up her hands and squinting as though peering through a telescope. “I don’t think they notice us now.”
Playfully, and with a little mischievous smile, Lasgaleth dropped the branches, grabbed hold of the trunk of the tree, which was not very wide, and shook it as hard as he could. “Oh no!” yelled he. “They’ve seen us! They’re loosing arrows upon us!”
Vealys grasped the branch on which she sat so as not to fall. “Lasgaleth, no! What are you doing?” A sudden excessive tug made her hands slip and her body collapsed onto the branch. She slid from the security of the branch and dropped, dangling only by her hands. Lasgaleth let go immediately. She was only a few yards from the ground, and so he did not panic, but he was afraid he might have gone a little too far.
“I can’t hold on…” she uttered in her panic.
“Don’t worry, I’ll climb up and grab you,” he said, planting his foot on the first branch.
Her scream was indication that it was too late. The rumbling and rustling of a few branches told him she was on her way down. He jumped forward and extended his arms, and though it hurt him considerably, she dropped into his grasp, and her fall was largely cushioned.
Lasgaleth groaned as they came to their feet, his back a bit sore. Vaelys appeared unharmed but for a couple scratches on her arms.
“What did you do that for?” she threw at him with as vile a look as she could conjure.
As he stretched his back, he said through his cringing, “It was all good fun.”
“You could have killed me.” She wiped the dirt from her clothes and noticed the blood on her arms. “Now look, I should have these cleaned. We need to return home.”
“But it’s hardly midday,” he protested.
“So what? Do you want me to bleed all over you?”
Lasgaleth surrendered to her obstinate nature, and slowly they made their way out of the park and into the streets.
Of a sudden, the pleasant smell of nature was supplanted by the horrid stench of dirt and sweat of the sort that one gives out after a long day of construction work. There in the streets, to Lasgaleth’s youthful mind, was the epitome of hypocrisy, since nothing about it was either civilized or respectable beside the daily toil of hard labor. He would have referred to the bustle thereabouts as “lively”, but it was not so much full of life as full of the inevitable adulteration of life, like an animal that has played too long in the mires. A great bleakness of gray characterized every corner. The cobblestone streets were beginning to fill in with weeds. In a way, on a more positive note, the streets lent themselves to the perfect playground for their antics.
“You should be more careful,” Vaelys grumbled after a lengthy silence. They passed into the bustling mass of traders and homeless, all the while she carried a puckered face and a scowl. He realized she was quite upset, but he could not understand why. In his mind, he was only acting on the genuine possibility that those defending ships had spotted their own and so began assaulting them. But she, he thought, was angry that the story did not go her way. But what did she-elves know?
Nevertheless, he recalled the reprimanding charge of his father, to place the care of others before his own. And so, though it pained his self-esteem, he held her back, turning her towards him.
“Vaelys, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shaken the tree. I’m sorry you were hurt.”
She stood still a moment, pursing her lips, and nodded. “Well,” she said finally, “we should get back.”
Lasgaleth was a foolish elfling. A part of him was glad he apologized, but the hurt of his pride was too great to ignore. He did not like that Vaelys had taken advantage of him like that.
They carried on down the street toward their homes, but halted when the center of the road was cleared for the passing of a contingent of warriors. The children were only half their size, crumbs to the stalwart warriors of Barasel. Vaelys moved out of the way before Lasgaleth did, and one of the soldiers pushed past him.
“Out of the way, young one!” he growled.
Despite the outward stateliness of the warriors, to which he owed a morsel of respect, Lasgaleth resented them for their haughtiness and disregard for the poorer crowd of which he was a part. Perhaps his aversion was the product of fear, for every time they passed, he would cower at one’s hateful glower or his egotistic disposition. He did so then, having been shoved against his cousin at the edge of the street. He lowered his head at the sharp glare of the stout elf, for he did not want to meet eyes with any of them.
But then his name was called from down the street, and he looked up to see his own father drawing near. While dressed in similar brown militaristic garb and armed with his sword, yet his father’s airs were distinct from the rest. He strolled up to the pair of youths and grabbed hold of Lasgaleth’s shoulders. His face was stern, yet dignified, and his eyes swelled with tenderness. “Lasgaleth, why are you in the streets and not in the park?”
Before he could respond, the warrior who had shoved him returned with all pompousness. “Dandaron, you ought to keep better care of your son. He shouldn’t be out in the middle of the streets.”
“Be on your way, Beldaris. The only harm done was against my son.”
“Your position in the palace does not give you credence to reprimand me.”
His father stood up straight and tightly gripped the hilt of his sword at his waist, though showing no sign of anger. “As I said, be on your way.”
The warrior once more scowled at the two youths, then left in a huff and rejoined his contingent.
Dandaron knelt before Lasgaleth again and rubbed his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, Lasgaleth. Now let’s get you two home.”
They made their way to the modest house of Lasgaleth’s father, and Vaelys’ cuts were cleaned and bandaged. Lasgaleth was scolded for his irresponsibility, but his father reassured him afterward, in his extraordinary manner which was strict but not unkind, that he rebuked him for his own good.
“Now go and see your cousin out,” said he when they were finished.
Lasgaleth did as he was told, and brought Vaelys to the door.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he asked.
Her answer followed a slow inhale and a cold contemplative look. “I suppose. But only if you’re truly sorry for what you did.”
“I am,” he said, a little too quickly.
“Well, tomorrow then.” And with that she left their house by the road, for her own was not far.
He shut the door and returned to his parents, who had begun to prepare supper in the gallery. There his father invited him to help cut the vegetables, and he immediately took up the job. With one quick glance at his father’s face, he perceived his uncompromising look. Those eyes pierced his soul, first from disappointment, and then more so from compassion. There were many things of which he was afraid, but disappointing his father was the greatest of them. Or perhaps, the greatest of his fears was of losing him.
It was heartbreaking, then, that after a week his father informed his mother and him that he was going away for a time. He said that he and a few of his comrades were to sail the Royal Sea in search of a treasure that was hidden at the Island of Light. Lasgaleth had only heard of terrible things that happened at sea: great storms, giant sea creatures that have attacked and wrecked whole ships, deathly currents, and attacks from pirates of the North. He pleaded for him to stay, but he would not. His mother also was not fond of the idea, but Dandaron insisted, promising to return.
And so that evening they gathered in front of their house to say their goodbyes. Vaelys and her mother were there as well. The warrior kissed the cheek of his wife, which was moistened by her tears, and expressed his love to her.
Lasgaleth was the last to whom his father gave his farewell before heading off. He bent over him compassionately. “Take care of your mother now, Lasgaleth. I will return before too long.” He wiped away a tear from his son’s face, and added, “Do not be afraid.”
Then he left them, carrying a bundle of provisions and his sword. He looked less like the strong warrior that he was, and more like a browbeaten vagabond who had been refused lodging. Lasgaleth was burning inside, hating to see him go, and though the words of his father would be imprinted on his soul, at that moment a great fear took hold that he would never look upon that noble face again.