Hellboy III
by ShoshanaFlower
Please email shoshanaflower[at]yahoo[dot]com to request permissions.
Spoilers - Strong spoilers for Hellboy II
This story is an alternate-ending of the movieverse Hellboy.
"Avoid suspicion," had been King Nuada's only instruction. The elves did not often try to conceal their presence in his half of the world, but in Queen Nuala's territory - namely the cities - guile generally proved a more efficient tactic than power. As Mierles, homogenized by glamour, walked through veins of human traffic that pulsated throughout the city, she could not help but wonder at her queen's compassion for such creatures.
Cities seemed to exemplify humans' need for artificial order. Streets ran in mathematical grids, each bearing an ordered number from their counting system. Mierles knew enough of the race to understand that this organization grew out of a culture full of legends in which paths turned back on themselves, trees moved, and fairies vandalized road signs - all to confuse any human foolish enough to leave the safety of the city. What the humans didn't know was that such measures had been meant not as petty mischief, but as feeble attempts to remind them of their promise to respect the wild places.
A great change had occurred, though. King Balor was dead, and King Nuada had conceded to his sister's desire that new truces be formed. Now elves and all of what humanity termed "mythical creatures" were allowed in the cities, and humans – provided they did no harm– were allowed in the forests (as though they had ever considered it a boundary before). Trolls, goblins, and especially gremlins, seemed content to enter the human realm. The elves, for the most part, remained content to stay away.
212 was the number of the shop she needed. Another thing about cities she'd noticed - it was not enough for humans to assign everything a number; every number must be immediately visible. Should a number disappear, she had heard humans fell into mild panic. So Mierles saw, in large, bold, white numerals, the figure painted on the glass above the door, above the words "Used and Antiquarian Books."
She pushed through the door and a string of attached bells sounded. The shopkeeper, a wrinkled woman with stunted grey hair, looked up from behind the purchase counter.
"Can I help you find anything?"
Mierles shook her head. "Just browsing," she calmly recited the phrase a Troll merchant had taught her. Choosing an aisle with no patrons, she made her way toward the back, glancing at the titles intermittently to appear interested. In doing so, she saw the reason for her king's contempt for human literature. Think and Grow Rich!, The History of Sex, and Become Your Own Best Friend, testified to the short and shallow lives of the creatures who wrote and read them. And literacy was prized in their culture.
When she reached the back wall of the shop she found the prized books encased in glass. At least humans seemed to have a basic understanding that certain things of value should be protected, if only from grimy fingers and easy shoplifting. Looking through the glass, she was at first disappointed. None of the books were old enough. A century at best. Then, in the back of the case, she noticed a worn, hidebound manuscript with human and troll lettering. The case was locked. She looked down one of the aisle to the front of the store, in line of sight of the shopkeeper. In a moment, the woman caught her gaze, left her seat, and hurried down the aisle toward her.
"Yes miss? Find something?"
"There's one in the back, but I can't quite see it," Mierles said. Obediently, the woman produced a key ring from her pocket and preceded to open the case. With care, she removed the book in question.
"The pages in this one are flaky," she said apologetically. "And it's written in some kind of German dialect. But it does have a beautiful design, doesn't it?" She handed it to Mierles.
"How old is it?" she asked only to make the woman believe she was unfamiliar with the volume.
"Our expert said a little over two hundred years. It's our oldest text in the store. Do you collect?"
"Yes," she replied, unsure of exactly what the question meant, assuming it had to do with human hoarding. "What is the cost?"
"Seven-hundred."
Mierles turned it over in her hands, feigning deliberation for several moments. "I'll buy it."
- - -
Abandoning her guise as she dropped into the damp room, Mierles pulled the cellar door shut and waited. The room, a basement in a mostly abandoned building, served as a humble, but undisturbed meeting place. Thanks to the rotted stairway, the human heroin addicts stayed in the rooms above.
"You were successful?"
She turned at the king's voice. He wasn't visible: the sole, small window let in only a trickle of electric light from the street above. She held the book out, and felt him take it from her.
"Good." Here he leaned into the wan pool of light, opened the cover, and turned through the leaves.
"The pages deteriorate, but most of them are still in tact."
"We'll take it to a scribe. He'll have the tools to restore it."
For a moment, they stood in silence; Nuada turning the pages, and Mierles waiting. Finally she asked, "Shall I precede your majesty to the council to announce your arrival?"
"No." He closed the book and looked at her. In the weak, white light, his skin fairly glowed. "We'll surprise them."
- - -
"I hope you can get away," Abe said hopefully, still holding out the pair of tickets. "I've been meaning to take you for the past two years, but it's madness trying to get seats. Now, though ... I thought we could celebrate with this."
Nuala took the tickets and looked at the date. "Yes," she said, smiling. "I believe I can make the arrangements."
Abe's shoulders relaxed some as he straightened his back. "Excellent. I do hope it's worth the wait and expectation. You have no idea what I had to do to get a hold of these."
"Nothing to compromising, I hope." She looked at him affectionately. "This is a cultural dance?"
"Yes, something like that. You've probably heard of the story. It's about a little girl who receives a soldier doll as a Christmas gift, falls asleep, and has a fantastic dream about traveling with him to a kingdom where all the holiday sweets dance for her."
The smile warmed her face again. "I've come to appreciate that about humans. They celebrate their naivete."
"Yes, it is a redeeming - " Abe stopped, his mood dropping rapidly to match hers. "Nuala?"
The queen's gaze had instantly become distant and worried. She stretched her fingers as though preparing to feel her way through a dark room. Abe unconsciously mirrored her.
"What is it?" He asked, though he was sure he already knew.
"My brother ... he's coming here."
Discretely, Abe swallowed his disappointment. For the past several days, Nuala had been aware of her twin's presence in the Northeastern United States, but Abe had hoped, foolishly, that he would go back to his domain in the Eastern hemisphere without troubling the Elven council. "I suppose you should greet him?"
"Yes," she said, mentally returning to the room they were in. "Here." She handed him back the tickets. "Save these. And ..." she faltered, unwilling to finish her sentence, "perhaps you should stay with your friends for a time?"
"Oh, of course," he replied quickly, trying to seem insouciant about the matter. He knew, as well as Nuala, that it would be better for both of them if he disappeared for a few days, and he didn't want her to feel guilty for suggesting it.
Abe took the tickets. "Are you sure you'll be alright? Will he -"
"It will be fine," she said, nodding and trying to smile. "Excuse me now. I have to call the council."
With a brief, reciprocated kiss, she glided out of the antechamber, leaving him alone. Sighing, Abe looked down at the ballet tickets. The date was three days from now, and though he had no idea what King Nuada wanted, he doubted it could be satisfactorily disputed in that time.
- - -
The Chamberlain did a poor job of hiding his anxiety at seeing the king. Nuada ignored his stammering entirely, turning his sword and knife over to Mierles, who wordlessly accepted them and stood at attention as he entered the great hall.
Inside, the queen rose deliberately from her throne and smiled at him. "We welcome you back, Brother. Will you take your place?" At this, she gestured to the vacant throne to her right, a replica of the one in which she sat.
The throne was entirely symbolic. A visual representation of the divided crown. "I come with a gift, Sister." Here Nuada revealed the book. Nuala waited calmly at the dias as he approached and handed it to her.
"Our final record. What they've been asking for."
Nuala glanced down at the book, then back to her twin, curious at the spectacle he made out of something that could have been sent to her by messenger. The book was a record, some six hundred years old, of the legendary war and following truce. Many of the human rulers steadfastly denied that such an agreement had ever existed, and therefore that they were in any way obligated to partake in a new contract of peace between the races. Then, five months ago, the Elven Council and United Nations had reached a compromise. If the Council could produce ten separate, written accounts from ten distinct human cultures, the U. N. would consider it an historical fact, and proceed from there. The book in Nuala's hands provided the tenth account.
"It will take time yet for Humans to authenticate this, my brother. Surely you need not have troubled yourself to deliver it personally." But as she spoke, she realized why he had traveled to the Western Council. He believed his presence could intimidate the humans' time-consuming process.
Nuada disregarded her remark, and addressed the court. "Your queen has advocated diplomacy with the humans. We have compromised with them, and done what they demanded. Now we will see if they can abide by their new promise, or if that too is so easily forgotten." He felt Nuala's repressed resentment and looked down to her. "Come, Sister," he said, stepping a pace backward toward the identical thrones. "Let us show the humans that we can play by the rules of their games and still be the victors."