Morgan: (sitting in a puddle of tears) They love me! They really love me!
Chuchiru: Whatever gave you that idea?
Morgan: Do you have any idea how hard it is to get reviews in the D&D section!?
Chuchiru: Um--no?
Morgan: I feel needed, loved, appreciated!
Chuchiru: It'll pass.
Morgan: (wields large fish menacingly) Don't interrupt my fifteen minutes of fame, makeinu!
* * *
Drawing on his power, it took Illidian only a moment to reach his home, moving from the forest loam to a thick tree-branch miles away between one step and the next. Woven into the limbs of the ancient, giant oak was his home, nestled in the first fork, where the many primary branches split from the massive trunk. It was a modest, but large and roomy, house, with rope bridges spanning the distance from the main structure to several secondary rooms that hung on vines from the tree above.
Shifting the curious human child carefully, he placed his palm on the door, whose suddenly visible warding runes flared briefly, then faded. The network of thorny vines that covered the simple wooden door withdrew into the leafy frame, making way for the elven sorcerer to move into his home.
"It's about time you got home," said a voice from a nearby bookshelf as Illidian walked into the parlor. "I was almost ready to send out a search party."
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you arrogant little pustule," the fair one replied cheerfully. "You're not my nursemaid."
"No," the voice agreed, "I'm your better half. I can't afford to let you go lollygaging about as you please without supervision; you're reckless, so it's not the best way to preserve my own skin." With that, a sleek black cat leapt from a space between two books and landed on the floor silently, padding over to Illidian. It seated itself with royal demeanor at his feet, wrapping its tail around its front legs and giving him an expectant look through half-lidded, languid eyes.
"It's not for you, furball," the elf told his familiar tartly, shifting the human baby again. "It's a child, a foundling. I discovered him in the wreckage of a human's wagon after the orc attack. I'm keeping him, because he's too young to fend for himself."
The feline's eyes widened in horror, his slit pupils dilating to occlude his green-golden irises. "You've brought a squalling little curtain-climber into my home without even asking!?"
"Careful, Dhannathach. That description could fit you just as easily." Lightly, the elven sorcerer strode further into the house, back into the single bedroom that was his own. A window shuttered by cooperative leaves opened to admit the night air as he entered, looking about for a place to put the young one in his arms. In a flash of inspiration, he narrowed his eyes, causing the top drawer in the room's single clothes chest to pop open, its contents hurling themselves across the small space to his bed. The now-empty drawer was a convenient place to put the baby, who made no protest as he was gently lowered in.
Illidian squinted. "I suppose it will have to do until I can find something better, yes? A crib or rocker." The baby cooed in response, reaching insistently for his finger. The sorcerer indulgently obliged, handing over the digit, which the child immediately seized on and began to teeth on.
"Darling," Dhannathach muttered. He had followed Illidian into the bedchamber and hopped quietly up onto the chest so as to look into the human's drawer.
"Ka," the baby replied importantly, releasing the sorcerer's hand in favor of reaching for the familiar, who drew back in horror.
"Precocious," Illidian remarked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, gazing for a long moment out the window, watching the stars twinkle merrily as though mocking the predicament he had leapt into headfirst. "No suggestions, my ancestors?" he asked them sourly.
The stars said nothing. They almost never did.
He turned back to the baby, who had fallen nearly asleep in the few moments he had stopped watching. Dhannathach was leaning into the drawer, snuffling curiously at this creature that was invading his territory.
"That's a good way to get your whiskers pulled." With a grimace, the cat pulled away. "He's going to need a name."
"Pinkums," the black feline suggested immediately.
"Don't be a fool, Dhan. Something that means something, but a human name. If I raise him, he shall grow up among elves, and will need something to connect him to the world he must surely return to one day." Illidian sighed, a premonition settling heavily onto his slender shoulders. "When he learns that he will die long before anyone he knows has begun to age, he will have no choice but to force himself into the human world."
There was a long pause. Then, Dhannathach said, "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"They'll try to prevent it, you know."
"Yes."
"They'll try to take him away from you. A human has no place amongst elves."
Illidian glanced at his familiar, eyes flashing. "Neither do I." He moved to the small bedside table, picking up the only book in his home that was not on a shelf, a collection of human children's stories. For many minutes he gazed at it, boring into its battered, faded cover with his half- mad eyes. Those eyes closed as he decided what he would do, and the book flew open in his hand, its pages turning rapidly, stopping at random in the middle of some chapter close to the end.
The elf looked at the illumination on the page, at the name of the hero slaying the dragon in the aging picture. "Lorimer. He shall be Lorimer."
"Lorimaer," his feline companion agreed, misinterpreting. "A good elvish name."
"Human," he corrected absently. He shut the book. "And Argot. Lorimer Argot, because humans must have surnames."
"Like the common tongue, you mean?"
"Like the jewel. Argots, those eyes are, reflecting what will be, and what may be, and what is now. Lorimer Argot." The name sounded fitting as he tried it, and he nodded, satisfied. He set his book down and stepped back to Lorimer's drawer. "Hello, Lorimer Argot, son of unknown humans, ward of Illidian, who was once of the House of Peridruin."
The child opened his luminous blue-green eyes. "Da," he replied sleepily, lifting a hand towards Illidian. The sorcerer assumed an expression of wonder, clasping the tiny hand in his own. His tattoos lit with a sapphire glow in response to the power that only now did he sense pulsing in those small fingers. His eyes widened.
"Your blood is truly my blood, even if your flesh is not my flesh," he said in awe. "The essence of the silver dragon runs through you; you shine with it! How did I not see?"
Dhannathach looked at him sharply. "He is a sorcerer?"
"He will be. And he will not be Lorimer Argot, a name which gives no credit to those great ancestors whom he will never know." He laid his free hand on the sleepy babe's forehead in a silent benediction. "He will be Draco. Draco Lorimer Argot, son of Illidian Peridruin. My son."
Draco cooed and went back to sleep.
"Sooner than life comes the morn, son of my blood," Illidian whispered, smiling slightly. Leaning down to kiss the child lightly, he murmured, "Ú i vethed nâ i onnad. You shall see."
Softly, as Dhannathach looked on without comment, Illidian began to sing an elvish lullaby.
Chuchiru: Whatever gave you that idea?
Morgan: Do you have any idea how hard it is to get reviews in the D&D section!?
Chuchiru: Um--no?
Morgan: I feel needed, loved, appreciated!
Chuchiru: It'll pass.
Morgan: (wields large fish menacingly) Don't interrupt my fifteen minutes of fame, makeinu!
* * *
Drawing on his power, it took Illidian only a moment to reach his home, moving from the forest loam to a thick tree-branch miles away between one step and the next. Woven into the limbs of the ancient, giant oak was his home, nestled in the first fork, where the many primary branches split from the massive trunk. It was a modest, but large and roomy, house, with rope bridges spanning the distance from the main structure to several secondary rooms that hung on vines from the tree above.
Shifting the curious human child carefully, he placed his palm on the door, whose suddenly visible warding runes flared briefly, then faded. The network of thorny vines that covered the simple wooden door withdrew into the leafy frame, making way for the elven sorcerer to move into his home.
"It's about time you got home," said a voice from a nearby bookshelf as Illidian walked into the parlor. "I was almost ready to send out a search party."
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you arrogant little pustule," the fair one replied cheerfully. "You're not my nursemaid."
"No," the voice agreed, "I'm your better half. I can't afford to let you go lollygaging about as you please without supervision; you're reckless, so it's not the best way to preserve my own skin." With that, a sleek black cat leapt from a space between two books and landed on the floor silently, padding over to Illidian. It seated itself with royal demeanor at his feet, wrapping its tail around its front legs and giving him an expectant look through half-lidded, languid eyes.
"It's not for you, furball," the elf told his familiar tartly, shifting the human baby again. "It's a child, a foundling. I discovered him in the wreckage of a human's wagon after the orc attack. I'm keeping him, because he's too young to fend for himself."
The feline's eyes widened in horror, his slit pupils dilating to occlude his green-golden irises. "You've brought a squalling little curtain-climber into my home without even asking!?"
"Careful, Dhannathach. That description could fit you just as easily." Lightly, the elven sorcerer strode further into the house, back into the single bedroom that was his own. A window shuttered by cooperative leaves opened to admit the night air as he entered, looking about for a place to put the young one in his arms. In a flash of inspiration, he narrowed his eyes, causing the top drawer in the room's single clothes chest to pop open, its contents hurling themselves across the small space to his bed. The now-empty drawer was a convenient place to put the baby, who made no protest as he was gently lowered in.
Illidian squinted. "I suppose it will have to do until I can find something better, yes? A crib or rocker." The baby cooed in response, reaching insistently for his finger. The sorcerer indulgently obliged, handing over the digit, which the child immediately seized on and began to teeth on.
"Darling," Dhannathach muttered. He had followed Illidian into the bedchamber and hopped quietly up onto the chest so as to look into the human's drawer.
"Ka," the baby replied importantly, releasing the sorcerer's hand in favor of reaching for the familiar, who drew back in horror.
"Precocious," Illidian remarked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, gazing for a long moment out the window, watching the stars twinkle merrily as though mocking the predicament he had leapt into headfirst. "No suggestions, my ancestors?" he asked them sourly.
The stars said nothing. They almost never did.
He turned back to the baby, who had fallen nearly asleep in the few moments he had stopped watching. Dhannathach was leaning into the drawer, snuffling curiously at this creature that was invading his territory.
"That's a good way to get your whiskers pulled." With a grimace, the cat pulled away. "He's going to need a name."
"Pinkums," the black feline suggested immediately.
"Don't be a fool, Dhan. Something that means something, but a human name. If I raise him, he shall grow up among elves, and will need something to connect him to the world he must surely return to one day." Illidian sighed, a premonition settling heavily onto his slender shoulders. "When he learns that he will die long before anyone he knows has begun to age, he will have no choice but to force himself into the human world."
There was a long pause. Then, Dhannathach said, "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"They'll try to prevent it, you know."
"Yes."
"They'll try to take him away from you. A human has no place amongst elves."
Illidian glanced at his familiar, eyes flashing. "Neither do I." He moved to the small bedside table, picking up the only book in his home that was not on a shelf, a collection of human children's stories. For many minutes he gazed at it, boring into its battered, faded cover with his half- mad eyes. Those eyes closed as he decided what he would do, and the book flew open in his hand, its pages turning rapidly, stopping at random in the middle of some chapter close to the end.
The elf looked at the illumination on the page, at the name of the hero slaying the dragon in the aging picture. "Lorimer. He shall be Lorimer."
"Lorimaer," his feline companion agreed, misinterpreting. "A good elvish name."
"Human," he corrected absently. He shut the book. "And Argot. Lorimer Argot, because humans must have surnames."
"Like the common tongue, you mean?"
"Like the jewel. Argots, those eyes are, reflecting what will be, and what may be, and what is now. Lorimer Argot." The name sounded fitting as he tried it, and he nodded, satisfied. He set his book down and stepped back to Lorimer's drawer. "Hello, Lorimer Argot, son of unknown humans, ward of Illidian, who was once of the House of Peridruin."
The child opened his luminous blue-green eyes. "Da," he replied sleepily, lifting a hand towards Illidian. The sorcerer assumed an expression of wonder, clasping the tiny hand in his own. His tattoos lit with a sapphire glow in response to the power that only now did he sense pulsing in those small fingers. His eyes widened.
"Your blood is truly my blood, even if your flesh is not my flesh," he said in awe. "The essence of the silver dragon runs through you; you shine with it! How did I not see?"
Dhannathach looked at him sharply. "He is a sorcerer?"
"He will be. And he will not be Lorimer Argot, a name which gives no credit to those great ancestors whom he will never know." He laid his free hand on the sleepy babe's forehead in a silent benediction. "He will be Draco. Draco Lorimer Argot, son of Illidian Peridruin. My son."
Draco cooed and went back to sleep.
"Sooner than life comes the morn, son of my blood," Illidian whispered, smiling slightly. Leaning down to kiss the child lightly, he murmured, "Ú i vethed nâ i onnad. You shall see."
Softly, as Dhannathach looked on without comment, Illidian began to sing an elvish lullaby.