Private Tales The Lost Princess and The Exiled Prince

[Maeve]

"Me and my grandfather used to play all the time - not my crazy immortal one," her eyes flicked up at him then back down to the board with a smile as she set up her side of it. It was actually one of the few games that didn't upset her when she lost because she always learnt from it so it felt like there had been a point to playing it.

"I promise not to try and make you feel too bad when you lose," Mae put her hands in her lap when she was done setting up, scanning both sides of the board with keen eyes. "It would probably suck for you to lose to some 18 year old human, huh?"

 

[Arun]

He smiled at the jabbing words. "Well, I wouldn't want you to suffer any more injury."

Arun said, implying of course that any victory she might gain would be at his whim.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so, the games they played went back and forth. Maeve would win one, then Arun, and then they would trade back and forth where they would each lock one another into a stalemate. It was attack then counter-attack.

There was a flow to it, and Arun found himself drawn into the matches like nothing else.

 

[Maeve]

Maeve settled into the games pretty quickly, glad to be using her mind once again. It was like stretching a muscle that hadn't been used in weeks and she made a few glaring errors that won him the match to begin with, but soon the matches grew harder for both of them to win as they got into the flow of things.

She sat with her hands cupping her cheeks, staring at the board intently, as she tried to figure out what exactly her next move could be. There weren't many options that would result in a victory but she could at least cause him some pain on her way out. Mae moved a piece then leaned back.

"I think even my Grandpa would have had trouble beating you," there was genuine respect in her voice as she said it. He was a good player and had been entertaining her for hours now.

 

[Arun]

"My father told me this was a good way of gauging a person's skill in war." A frown touched his features as he observed this board. Unless she did something unexpected he would most likely win this round.

"He told a story of playing this with an Anirian general." He spoke almost listlessly, an odd emotional detachment. "During the second War. When they came to the Falwood and set their flames."

The second war had been one of death for the Elves. It was the first war where Vel Anir had it's Dreadlords, and they proved to be an incredibly fierce weapon. "He and the man played a single round for hours, apparently neither of them able to best the other."

 

[Maeve]

"Your father played games with the man he was fighting against?" Maeve sounded incredulous. That would never happen with her own people. War was like second nature to the tribes and there were no niceties until enough blood had been spilled to sate them. Then leaders would hug each other like they had always been brothers. When he moved his next counter she quirked a brow. It had left an opening her grandfather had taught her - a risky strategy but one that would lead her through his defences if he wasn't quick to retaliate. If he could even work out how best to retaliate without losing the rest of the board.

She made her move.

"That is not how things happen in my home," she stroked her cheek thoughtfully as she examined the board.

 

[Arun]

Arun watched the board carefully, taking it in for a few seconds. "He did."

The circumstances had not exactly been ordinary.

"At the time we had been losing the war, badly." It had very well been a wholesale slaughter, the ferocity and skill of the Dreadlords having been an utter shock. "This General, the one my father played against, seemed a man of honor."

From what his father said. "He had allowed my father to retrieve his dead more than once, and had even sent complements to him via messengers."

Rare for a Human, even more so for an Anirian.

"The game happened during a stalemate before a battle. They decided whomever won would have the day and retreat." It seemed comical now, impossible, but it had been meant to save lives.

After a few more seconds Arun placed another stone forward, moving it into a foolishly aggressive position.

 

[Maeve]

Maeve's lips twitched at his move and she swept him off the board in an intricate move.

"That sounds far more reasonable than civilised than it is back at home. The war only tends to stop when people get to the point they would rather be drinking than fighting. Or if the person who has started it dies," that was usually the quickest way to end a war. Or if the issue of the argument was someone resolved like land being won. Once an army had taken what they had wanted initially they tended to stop fighting and hunker down.

"Tensions run fast and hot but they cool down pretty quickly. I think the longest Wars our people have had are centuries ago now," before Liath had bound them all together. Now the Royal lines were all distantly related and the feeling of Kinship made the wars less harsh.

 

[Arun]

He frowned for a brief moment as she won the match, tucking the strategy into the back of his mind in case he ever saw it again.

"Our last war ended nearly two hundred years ago." Arun said. "I remember the day it ended."

There had been a lot of bitterness on both sides, a lot of people who had claimed that peace was a mistake. His father had been one of those people. "Many of us still remember the war itself."

Slowly Arun began to reset the board. "I wish it could all have been decided by that game."

It would have been easier.

 

[Maeve]

Mae hadn't meant for the game to bring up miserable memories for him. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched him reset the board, wondering what she could say to take his mind off of it. She had never been good at the talking aspect to her subjects, not about the emotional things anyway. Dealing with crisis' and arguments? Fine. Working out how to comfort someone when they had lost a loved one?

Well her technique of taking them on a ride wouldn't work in her current state.

"I used to paint my set of figures," she blurted out suddenly. "Every time my grandpa visited - my favourite was when I stuck whittled figurines on the tokens in the shape of unicorn heads," she flashed him a smile even as her cheeks heated somewhat.

 

[Arun]

Arun blinked for a second.

He hadn't expected the sudden outburst, and he couldn't help but cock his head in confusion. "Would you...like me to get you some painting supplies?"

The Elf asked slowly.

There was no doubt the following Week would be a rather droll one, if she needed something else to entertain her he didn't mind crafting her a few brushed an procuring pigments. Though why she'd brought it up now he had no idea.

"I have not whittled in some time, but I am sure i could make figurines." Arun offered.

 

[Maeve]

Maeve returned his blink with one of her own.

"I mean..." she wouldn't say no if he wanted to do that for her. It would definitely pass the time and she found a lot of peace when she set up a canvas and lost herself in the colours and strokes. "If it's not too much hassle. I don't know how far you are from markets up here," or maybe creating paints was one of the many things he had learnt over the years. That would definitely be interesting to watch him do.

"I was just trying to take your mind off something that clearly upsets you..." Mae cleared her throat and picked up one of the tokens to make her first move.

 

[Arun]

"Ah." Arun said slowly in understanding. Humans were very strange. "Thank you, the thought is appreciated."

He placed down his own token without really much thought.

"My mother used to say that unpleasant memories were as important as the pleasant ones." Arun frowned a moment, staring at the board.

"They should not be at the forefront, but there." He glanced up at Maeve finally. "Acknowledged and used as a lesson."

He believed he had learned lessons from the war, that was why he was here. "I will get you some supplies."

Though they wouldn't come from a market.

 

[Maeve]

Elves were weird.

Maeve didn't meet his eyes as he spoke choosing to focus instead on the board in front of her. Or, at least, she tried to. Her body was still tingling with embarrassment. She carefully moved a token going for a different technique this time.

"I know, but..." how did she say this gently? "It is just... you've seemed quite... sad... the last day and a bit," she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. "I understand me sitting here looking like this probably isn't bringing up the nicest memories so I just... wanted... to...." she bit her lip.

Gods. maybe she would suck up the pain and suggest a ride.

 

[Arun]

He smiled at her softly, resisting the urge to reach out and pat her knee in what he knew would have been a comforting gesture ordinarily. "I thank you for that, I truly do."

How did he put this?

"I am a...sad individual." Arun frowned a moment, and then continued. "There is a reason I am exiled, Maeve, and it is not just because I didn't want to be a Prince."

He offered her an uneasy smile. "I have...appreciated your company. Truly."

The Elf found the words surprisingly difficult.

"You do not need to worry about cheering me up." He continued. "Your presence is more than enough."

 

[Maeve]

Maeve nodded slowly then bit down on her bottom lip. The game forgotten.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Perhaps that was what he needed, to vent it to someone. "How long have you actually been on your own?" she asked suddenly, realising she didn't actually know. He spoke of centuries like they were mere years not vast amounts of time she would have no way of understanding. Not unless whatever had been done to her by the Fae meant age didn't come like it did to others. She had never considered the thought she might end up like Liath before; the deal had said no natural cause would kill her and what was more natural than old age?

The thought made her oddly panicky.

 

[Arun]

"One hundred and thirteen years, Six months, twelve days." He recounted it, of course, that had been the number before her arrival.

He didn't count the druid as the man had never actually stepped foot inside of his home. Thankfully.

"Not that I counted." Arun said with a smirk. "There is not really much to speak of."

That wasn't exactly the truth. "I fought in the last Elven war at the behest of my father. There something within me...grew."

Lips thinned.

"A piece of me that I could not remove." He looked around. "That is why I have spent the last century here."

 

[Maeve]

Maeve stared at him with wide eyes. It was growing dark outside and the firelight seemed to only make her eyes brighter as it cast her tribal tattoos into shadows. Over a hundred years... alone. She couldn't imagine... But he brushed it off like she might a single week. What he said next however was far more interesting.

"An dàrna anam?" she paused, realising she didn't know the word for it in Common Tongue. Frustration flittered across her face for just a moment. "Like a... how you call them," she drummed her fingers on the table. "Werewolf? No. Not Werewolf. Like a... a second... soul...? Another presence?"

 

[Arun]

Arun considered for a moment, slowly shaking his head. "No, that is not accurate. Though perhaps an apt comparison."

His fingers came together, slowly filtering between themselves.

"It is not another entity, not a demon or a curse." It had taken him decades to come to terms with that. Originally he had thought it was something he could cure, something that could be gotten rid of. "It is me."

He frowned. "Something deep within."

Beyond that he could not explain it.

 

[Maeve]

Another flash of irritation and she nodded a little more stubbornly.

"Yes, An dàrna anam," she breathed out through clenched teeth. The language barrier was a hard one for her to overcome when it was on such an important topic. It was so much harder to come across as the level intelligence she actually was when she couldn't get the sentences right. After a moment more of frustrated thinking she stood up and found a piece of parchment and a pen.

"In my people, there is a belief," she sat down this time right next to him, her irritation overriding her fear as she pushed the board out of the way and drew a picture of a person. "Souls have layers, most people only access this level," she coloured it in. "But a few," she coloured in further down in a different method of shading so he could see the difference between the two. "It does not feel... like you because we are not meant to be able to access it," she pointed to the first section. "But also like it is you. Does this make sense?" she looked up at him intently.

 

[Arun]

Arun stared at the drawing for a few moments. A frown touched his face, but then he slowly nodded in confirmation. "Yes."

That was as good an explanation as any.

"Once, I feared it." It would be a lie to say that he still did. There had been days here in his exile that he had embraced it, pulled it to him. He remembered what it had felt like. There had been an utter serenity in just letting go. "Now..."

He trailed off. "I fear only what it may do to others."

That was why he had stayed here, that was why he wanted to go after the Tribals. He did not fear what he might to do them.

 

[Maeve]

Maeve actually fell back onto the floor with a loud groan of relief when he agreed he understood. It was exhausting. Maybe in another hundred years she would be able to speak the Common Tongue as easily as he seemed to be able to. She threw one arm dramatically across her eyes. Now how did she get across the rest of what she understood about it to him?

"The only way that it becomes whole in the legends is to embrace it. I think the best way in this tongue to say it is Make A Deal," she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "Grandfather may be able to explain this better to you than I can," Mae admitted after a while.

"I do not have the right words."

 

[Arun]

He frowned.

"Making a deal with myself." Arun played around with the thought for a moment, for he knew that was essentially what it was.

Lips pursed, and then shook his head. Perhaps she was right in that it was the only way, but right now the thought was as appealing as sticking his hand into a cauldron of molten fire. There were too many risks involved.

Especially while she was here and no one else was.

"I will consider this." He told her softly. "For now however...I will keep it where it has been for the last decades."

For her benefit.

 

[Maeve]

Maeve peaked up at him as she moved her arm.

"You're so serious. Are all elves like this?" they had been in the camp, though a little more feral than Arun was. Well. A lot more feral. She had seen one of them slice open anothers throat for some sort of tiny miscommunication. After a moment she realised how close she was to him and rolled back to her feet with effort to return to her side of the table, leaving him with her sketch.

"Even in someones own cabin you would be drinking and sharing stories about this or that, do elves not do this?" she cocked her head to the side as she pulled her blanket back around her.

 

[Arun]

"Rarely." Arun said with a shrug. "We're a reserved people."

He was not quite sure why this was, perhaps just the nature of their being. His lips pursed for a few moments and he decided to offer her a branch. "If it's drink you would like, I have something we could share."

Standing up, Arun walked over to a nearby cabinet with odd glass panels in it's front.

When he opened it up several tall jars were revealed. All of them had stoppers on them, though it appeared they had gone untouched for centuries. He plucked one off the shelf.

"Oosqua." He said as he put the jar on the table and went to go retrieve two cups.

 

[Maeve]

The last time she had had a drink was a stolen bit of wine one of the other slaves had managed to procure. It had been like heaven in a cup after the dirty water she had been drinking. Mae watched therefore in curiosity as he went to the cabinet and fetched back a bottle for them to share. As he went to get the cups she picked it up and turned it over in her hands slowly, taking out the stopper and giving it a sniff.

She blinked twice at the smells that rose up.

"An elvish drink?" it didn't smell like anything they had on the Isle and the word sounded similar to a noise an animal in distress might make.