The Ears of the Elves
By Asso
Chapter One
I ask amends, my friends.
I know, I know very well that a lot of slop bubbles in the pots of my kitchen.
"The Empire's Destiny", "In the Hall of the Mountain King", "Similitudes", "Ineluctable".
I would do well to continue with these stories, especially with those that are waiting longest.
Oh I'll do it, my friends. I swear. I will do it.
But ... please ... try to understand me.
An imperious order echoed in my mind. "WRITE THIS!" And I had to obey.
Please, my friends, forgive your poor Asso.
And, above all, try to read this story. It seems to me rather intriguing.
Only, a little advice. Of course, you can also read this story without knowing "In the Hall of The Mountain King" (which, moreover, is work in progress). However, much of what is present in this story finds its reason for being in that other, in "In the Hall of the Mountain King."
Your devoted servant Asso prays you to keep that in mind.
The Ears of the Elves
Chapter One
How beautiful was the sun, which was going down, over there, behind the hills carpeted with green.
How lukewarm was the air, and mild, and fragrant, in the quiet sweetness of eventide.
And what a melancholy, those empty battlements.
And those crenellated towers, deserted and abandoned.
In ruin.
The Princess shook her head, making flutter her beautiful jet-black mane, partially collected on her prideful head, and the long gilded earrings dangling from the lobes of her delicate ears, protruding with their thin and long tips from among the soft and convoluted spirals of her long hair, drooping on either side of her visage, sweet and beautiful and proud, and on her well shapely bare shoulders.
She sighed.
She shook her head again.
She straightened up, watching, from above the tumbledown crenellation of the bastion from which she was looking out, the distant sun, which, little by little, was surrendering to the night.
The night.
The end of the day.
The end of the light.
The darkness.
"Ashayam."
Trip shook himself from his blissful lounging on the couch. Hum. It had lasted for too long. His ineffable sweet half had stopped reading and had turned toward him and now was recalling back him to duty.
And for some reason, obscure, maybe, but after all not too much in the light of the messes, to want to be moderate, they had just passed through, he did not like much the actual kind of duty he sensed he had to perform.
Damn! But why the hell had she buried herself in the study of the myths and legends of Humans? And so determinedly? Oh well, this last was a foolish question, obviously. And in what other way could she behave? This was exactly the way own of her in whatever she did. Just as at that moment, because he knew well that that recall on her part implied some kind of explanation she would require him to provide her with, in regard with her new mania.
She was fascinated by the dark myths that surrounded the past of Earth and also of Vulcan.
But above of Earth.
Holy cow! Was it not enough what they had had to endure with that damn King?
Of course, she had a very logical explanation. There was to doubt about that? She said that the experience - okay, let's say so! - through which they had been forced to pass had awakened her dormant but still present scientific interest about the myths and, moreover and above all, that she... - but fancy that! - ...that she did not want them two to be caught unprepared if any of those obscure legends had decided to beat down on them, revealing itself to be anything but a mere legend.
The ordeal they had had to bear with the Bannerdas and with the King, she said, had to be a teaching to them.
Okay. Agreed.
But he, to be honest, didn't share her interest about myths and legends, not to say the enthusiasm, a little suspect in truth, she showed to nurture for them and he was not so sure that things were exactly as she said.
Oh, mind you! She never lied. Almost never. But... well, she undeniably had a certain propensity and an incontrovertible mastery in presenting things to the others... and to herself… in a certain way, in the way, that is, most logical, which meant subtly convincing and, let's face it, subtly... manipulative.
And it was invariably him to have to pay the expenses! Even before than her! And - do we want to say it? - more and worse than her.
Oh sure, she too, definitely. She too always ended up invariably into trouble, trouble - well, yes, and she herself admitted it, although with gritted teeth - from which, sooner or later, and not without some... difficulty, it was up to him to pull out both.
She said he was a magnet for the troubles, but - come on! - she was the mirror of what it was him, that's to say that the troubles were a magnet for her. And, in addition, she, wanting to talk with moderation, tried her best to come within range of this magnet, not to say that she had the goddamned vice to dive headlong into hot water.
Oh yeah, wanting to give a closer look, the girl was damn similar to him.
Trip had to smile.
The two of them were really made for each other.
The fact remained, though. At least, he didn't go doggedly in search for troubles; it was the troubles which constantly put themselves in hunt for him!
For her, it wasn't precisely so. She was... an active part in the search for troubles!
Some proof? Well, was she or wasn't she, by chance, the one who had insisted to accompany him on the damn world where they had found the King? Oh, with all the best and most logical reasons in the universe, nothing to say, and undeniably pushed by the love she had for him and by her concern for him, nothing to say even on this. But, in the end, you could not really say that her course of action, so logically and obstinately pursued, had proved to be exactly the best.
This fact, eh yeah, this fact... she did not put it among the teachings that the two of them, and most importantly she, just she - let's admit even this, come on - were supposed to draw from that damn affair.
Well... - He took a slight breath - … okay. All true. However… well, however, frankly, his were only silly apprehensions. This was to be said. Merely foolish apprehensions without real substance, except for… for his concern for her. But... well... after all... oh well, after all... she did not know, or maybe she knew perfectly and did not say it openly, being her the Vulcan female she was… but she... well, yes... she was under his protection. Was she his woman or wasn't? She was. Consequently, she was under his protection. Full stop.
But what was there to protect her, in this case? Nothing. Nothing well-defined, indeed not even merely defined.
Yeah. Simple flimsy apprehensions. All in all, to want to well see, she was doing nothing more than engage in something that she liked. And that was not all bad. She needed to distract her mind from the recent events.
What kind of danger could there be in what she was doing?
None. Sure. NONE.
Mh, yeah.
And nevertheless...
Well yes, well... even with all his good will, he did not manage to convince himself that her current obsession could reveal itself as perfectly innocuous. Idiotic, this. Undoubtedly.
However... better to let sleeping a sleeping dog.
Illogical adage. Not at all vulcan.
Damn wise, though.
But T'Pol… eh… T'Pol was T'Pol.
Was there, by any chance, even a single woman, in all the Universe - no, in all the Universes - more stubborn than her?
Rhetorical question.
Hard, very hard, to convey his concern to his headstrong sweetie. Impossible, in fact. And then, by what means? In what way? How could he counter her iron vulcan logic with the inconsistency of his human instincts? He could try, okay. But even if he had wanted to impose himself, at the very moment in which she had looked at him with that gaze that she was capable of showing him, and only him - that gaze... sweet, almost of a little girl, of a little girl who asks, who prays - how the hell would he done to oppose resistance?
Oh well. No matter how it was - he sat up on the sofa - she was his T'Pol. And aside from the fact that he knew that, with her, all resistance was futile, it was also true that, for him - even amid more or less expressed grumblings - her every wish or penchant were something that he could not but satisfy and pander.
She was his T'Pol! This could not be forgotten!
His!
His woman.
And a man, a man worthy of the name and a man in love even only an infinitesimal than how much he was in love with T'Pol, can not fail to satisfy every desire, every wish, every fancy, every impulse, every urge, as much as absurd and... well, yes ... maybe even dangerous, that his woman can have.
Damn! Sometimes he would have liked to be what he was not.
A wee bit of malice, perhaps, wouldn't hurt.
But... but what the hell was he thinking?
Being bad?
Him?
With T'Pol?
His T'Pol?
But had he become crazy?
The events with the King had left their mark, evidently.
And not only on him.
T'Pol's interest on the myths and legends was not merely scientific, or, even less, precautionary.
There was something more.
Difficult to define.
But there was something more.
Oh well.
To hell.
Duty called.
The wistful look of the Princess wandered all around, on the fields, once orderly and manicured, surrounding the run-down castle, getting lost far away.
On the distant trees, which thickened far away, in the large forest, once majestic and festive.
And now grim.
Threatening.
On the hills, away on the horizon, which were slowly becoming darker in the declining of light.
Soon the darkness of the night would have swallowed everything.
Such as it had happened to the peoples of all the breeds having her same blood, reduced in gangs, in dispersed maniples, or, in the best of situations, in miserable realms living, secluded and segregated and remote, in the melancholic remembrance of the glorious past grandeur, without leaders and without kings, destined to be lost in the darkness of time.
Such as it was happening to her own people.
Who had remained?
She.
The Last Princess.
Who would never find her Prince.
"Honey?"
She had not gotten annoyed because he had not been ready to respond to her call, which was at all unusual for her. Indeed in the time he had hesitated to respond to her, she had started to read again, in practice as oblivious of having called him. Gosh! It had to be really gripping, that reading!
Recalled to active life by his voice, she stopped reading one more time and turned back toward him.
"Ashayam…"
Mh, too low, her voice. And too quiet.
And not at all reassuring, that look of her. It was the look of the T'Pol to the best of her performances. Namely of the T'Pol perfectly ready to tuck herself - and him - into the worst troubles.
Trip tried not to show his more than understandable apprehension. Only he knew how much T'Pol - in her blissful and innocent vulcanity - could be... hazardous.
"Yes, Hon?"
"Ashayam, what can you tell me of the Elves?
"The… Elves?"
So, he was not mistaken. T'Pol, his goddam and obstinate better half, had got lost in another of the myths of Earth. Damn! She would have done well to meditate, rather than spend the evenings reading all that junk!
But hadn't she had enough?
A vulcan female had to meditate in the evening! Not devote herself to the study of the legends and myths of Earth!
Or, if she just did not want to meditate... well... there was something else she could do in order... ahem... in order to distract herself. Together with him.
But she was T'Pol. His T'Pol.
His most beloved T'Pol.
Therefore...
Mh, and okay.
"I do not know much of the Elves, Hon."
"No?"
"No. I can tell you that they are fantasy figures of European folklore, especially in northern Europe, although, to tell the truth, something similar to the Elves is a little everywhere on Earth."
"Yeah, I too have noticed this."
Trip smiled. "Impossible that something can escape your observation, Hon."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow, trying in this way to divert his attention from the blush - or rather from the green - that she felt was colouring her cheeks, in hearing his compliment.
"Thank you. But I fail to catch their deepest essence."
Trip got up from the sofa. He approached her, who was sitting at the computer, half turned to this, half turned to him.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
"What do you mean, sweetie?"
T'Pol looked up at him.
"I do not understand their relationship with Humans. Sometimes they seem to be friends, sometimes seem to be enemies."
Trip nodded. "I see."
He sat up on the edge of the console, making dangle his leg.
He crossed his arms over his chest looking thoughtfully at T'Pol, who was staring at him intently.
"I'm certainly not an expert, darling, but..."
T'Pol took gently his a hand.
"You know a lot of things, Ashayam, even if you do not boast about this."
Trip smiled, half pleased, half embarrassed. "Thanks, babe." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, with regard to your question..."
"Yes?"
"Well, honey, my impression is that it is not proper to say that the Elves are enemies or friends to the Humans, but rather that it would more right to say that Humans are... well, yes... fundamentally their adversaries. Not to say true enemies. They, though. Not the Elves."
A shadow passed over T'Pol's face. Trip noticed it perfectly, but said nothing.
"Explain yourself, Ashayam."
Trip concentrated.
"Well, the Elves are beautiful and proud creatures, magical and strong, equipped with long life, perhaps even immortal. Some of them are elusive and solitary beings, but many, truly many of them, live in splendid and powerful kingdoms, dream kingdoms. Whereas Humans..."
Trip smiled forcedly.
"There is enough to arouse the Humans' envy, isn't it? A defamatory envy; and bad; and destructive. Even wicked. Maybe, in appearance, Humans can also show themselves as their friends; however, deep down..."
His forced smile turned into a sombre grin.
"You know perfectly well, my love, that Humans are not exactly the epitome of virtue."
Her hand gripped strongly his. Her voice resounded even harsh.
"Ashayam! Stop it! Humans do not... you do not... you do not have anything to do with the King!"
"Yeah, sure." Trip sneered again, bitterly. "No longer. And hopefully never again."
T'Pol stood up. She came close near him. She hugged him. She kissed him.
"You are my Trip, T'hai'la." It was a sigh on his lips. "Purely and merely my Trip."
Trip squeezed T'Pol tightly to him.
It took time, but then, at last, he released her from his embrace.
She reluctantly pulled away from him.
She sat back down at the computer, her head bowed, hands in her lap.
Trip watched her.
She was uncomfortable. Or, even more, she looked...
Yes, he could not be mistaken with her, he would be mistaken with her never again, and this irrespective of the Bond. What now bound them to each other was something even stronger than the Bond, stronger even than a bond of love. It was something that you could not even define and that it was even difficult to think that there might be.
She looked as in the throes of some sort... some sort of inner turmoil. An upheaval. A profound bewilderment.
That piece, that stuff she was reading... that text, or that document or that digital recording or the devil knew what it was, which seemed to absorb her so intensely...
Trip stepped very near to her, practically on top of her. He placed again a hand on her shoulder, delicately. Gently.
Gingerly.
T'Pol grabbed almost violently his hand.
She looked up to him.
Those eyes... her marvellous dark-green eyes...
Why the hell they appeared so disquieted? Shaken. Even dismayed, it would come to him to say.
Trip squeezed her hand.
"Hon..."
In a very soft voice. And low.
"Hon, why are you so interested in the Elves?"
She hesitated. Her eyes danced, troubled.
Then finally she made up her mind to talk.
"It is due to their ears, Trip."
The Princess abruptly straightened her pretty head.
As faint and far away, the cry had not escaped her sensitive ears.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
TBC
What do you think, my friends?
Is it intriguing?