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 Hues, 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
rince 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, m
ore 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.”
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