This story came from something I was voluntold for, and is a loose concept from Liamfaoisídhe, who asked for something in the fantasy realm with elves and some enemies to lovers elements.

I found it couldn't really be done well as a short, especially with my writing style, so it turned into something far longer than intended, and with no prompting beyond the initial concept it probably ended up being something more towards my liking than theirs.

I defaulted to the elves I know and based pretty much everything on Tolkien, including a lot of the language. I don't promise there won't be inaccuracies though, so if something seems hinky it probably is.

I don't often delve into fantasy like this, but I hope you enjoy reading it.

Don't forget to review!

Thank you for reading, much love!


"Open the gates!" The cry went up from the wooden ramparts surrounding Aurdolen. Gavin sighed in relief as he watched the heavy wooden doors swing inwards, granting him entry to Edraith Naer, or Lower Town. The dirt path was dry and worn, as it always was during the spring. Grasslands thick with daisies and wildflowers covered the sloping hillsides for miles, except where the earth had been tilled for crops, which were already growing in fast. Potatoes, carrots, turnips, parsnips, cabbages, and all sorts of hardy crops. They needed to be hardy in these parts. The winters were harsh and the autumns long. Spring and summer barely seemed to arrive and they were over. Even now, his faded gambeson and cloak offered little warmth against the chill of early spring.

It was a fine day, at least. A bright sun, blue skies, and fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily on a non-existent breeze. From the snort his horse let out as she walked towards the gate, Gavin knew she was pleased to be home. He climbed down as they approached, patting her neck and leading her to the waiting stable boy, who grinned as he took in his well-travelled clothes and windswept hair. He'd been on the road for over a month, scouting the surrounding hills by order of the king. There was no better ranger in all of Ivanndór. Gavin was gifted with stealth, excellent vision, and practiced tracking skills. He also had a keen sense of danger and an affinity for animals.

"Many thanks, Pip." The young boy took the reins and held on as Gavin's horse snorted and scraped the earth, pulling at the reins. Gavin hushed her, laying a gentle hand on her snout. She was a difficult beast for others to manage, but relented at Gavin's touch. "Easy, Tegil Nîn…Get her fed and watered." Tegil's glossy tail whipped back and forth, her chestnut coat shining in the sun. The saddle on her back was worn and heavy after so long on the road, and Gavin knew she'd be much happier when she was free and fed.

"Yes-Sir, Master Reed." Gavin scoffed and ruffled Pip's hair as he pulled on the reins. He was no one's master. If it were his choice, he would hold no rank or office. Unfortunately, his lineage and skill had worked against him in that regard. Though he was not a lord, his recently discovered lineage had brought him some position. It was a position he would have gained with hard work eventually; instead, it had been handed over on a silver platter. The guard inside the gate looked him over as he stepped through, recognising him instantly by the metal broach on his cloak. Elvish silver. The finest in the land. Only those with the king's favour were given such honours. His ears might also have given him away, had they not been carefully hidden beneath his messy hair. The length of his shoulder blades, he kept it loosely tied in a low tail and arranged it so the tips of his ears were hidden from view.

"How was the expedition?" Gavin's grave expression must have spoken for him.

"I must see the king." No more was needed. With a nod, the guard let him get on his way. It was a fair trek through Edraith Naer. Here were the houses of the poor folk, an area Gavin was intimately familiar with as he'd grown up there. Sleeping in gutters, scrounging for scraps, making himself useful where he could to earn a few coins. He and his brother had a hard life during their early years. He tried not to think of it now. They had both developed skills and chosen their paths in life. Running through the busy streets, Gavin paused only long enough to press a bronze coin into the hand of a passing street urchin.

He was allowed through the locked gateway into Canadh, Midtown, where the merchants and those better off lived. His own dwelling was here. The smallest he could find and the closest to Edraith Naer. Despite his position, he didn't want to be far from his people. Those who'd raised him and helped him along the way. Shopkeepers hailed him as he passed, but he had no time to pause and share the news. The king had to know. Had he the time, he might have stopped at home to bathe and change into something lighter and more formal, but he was somewhat used to the mail on his chest by now. He barely felt it as he raced through the fine cobbled streets.

"Coming through! I have news for the king!" The guards of Gwaernost, Upper Town, were also used to Gavin streaking through, and the bronze gate was already flung wide by the time he reached it. Here was where the lords and ladies lived. Their stone houses were cleaner, the paved streets neater, and the people were dressed in finery that those in Edraith Naer could only dream of. Fine silks and cottons of blue, purple, and burgundy made with the finest dyes from far-off lands. Though unsightly to their eyes, the people of Gwaernost were also well acquainted with Gavin and his lack of manners. They stepped aside as he came hurtling through, else they'd be bowled over like common street urchins. "I must see the king! Immediately! Is court in session? Is he there?"

Gavin doubled over to catch his breath. He was a young man, and running in chain-mail was no issue for him, but the trek from Edraith Naer to the castle steps was a long one. The guards at the lower steps paused, letting Gavin untie his waterskin and take a deep draught. He was breathing hard, heart pounding from the run, and there was sweat upon his brow and a few loose strands of hair had fallen free to stick to his cheeks. To come to the king in such a dishevelled state must mean things were dire indeed. Gavin had court clothes when the occasion called for it, and yet he had foregone such graces to get there that much faster.

"He is. Come this way. Let it be known Gavin Reed returns with urgent news for the king!" The cry echoed up the steps, passing from guard to guard until it reached the stone castle itself. Taking a breath, Gavin pushed on up the steps, barely pausing to look over his shoulder at the city sprawling down the hillside below. His eyes passed over the distant forest, a dark feeling welling in the pit of his stomach. The fine mahogany doors were already thrown wide when he reached them, the bronze supports and bolts shining in the sun. He nodded his thanks to the guards as he passed, walking quickly and trying to calm his breathing.

"The ranger, Gavin Reed, Sire." The soft voice of the king's advisor announced him as his steps scraped and echoed in the hall. Two long tables lined the path to the throne, most of the seats empty for now. There was little court business that day, and the king was alone with his advisors, who had stopped talking as Gavin entered. Gavin didn't look at them as he passed. He knew what many of them thought. That he had no business standing in the halls of men, that he had bought his position unfairly by blood. One of his station and descent should never be allowed so close to the king's ear.

"What news from Tauren Ennor?" the king asked, for that was what Gavin had been sent to assess. There had been rumblings of movement in the distant mountains. Dark tidings. Travellers attacked or taken on the roads. Gavin was almost relieved as he dropped to one knee at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne, where the old king sat with his advisor at his side. The king was old indeed, but still had perhaps a decade left before time caught up with him. He had two good sons, both decorated soldiers willing to defend their land. His advisor was a learned man, but perhaps a little young for his current station. Gavin would have liked a few more winters on his brow before he was given such governance, but it was not his place to comment on the ways of court.

"Bad tidings, Sire. I travelled along the forest paths and found a great sickness. The Black Forest is ever encroaching, infecting the woods bordering Lóteva. Trees are dying, the animals are turning, and dark creatures haunt the shadows. Orcs, trolls, and even wargs. The road through The Black Forest is taken, closing off trade with the eastern cities." There was a deep grumble that swept through the empty hall. None doubted Gavin's word, for he had proven himself many times over. Gavin remained on his knee and waited, listening to the buzz as the king and his young advisor talked. Some older members of the court joined in as well, forming a plan of some sort. They either needed to drive out those darker powers or find a way to contain them. Enough of the road needed to be cleared to allow for trade. The only other option was to pass through the mountains, a far longer and more treacherous route.

"What are their numbers? Have you any idea?" Gavin looked up at the question to find the young advisor waiting anxiously. Of course, Gavin had been thorough in his reconnaissance. Pulling a worn and crumpled parchment from his breast, he unfolded it to show a map of the great forests surrounding Ivanndór. With a wave of his hand, the advisor had a table brought before the throne and Gavin was allowed to approach. Spreading out the map, he ran his fingers over the various paths marked along the forest at the base of the mountains.

"The trolls are few, but have been seen encroaching into Lóteva Forest here, along the mountain's edge." That was no surprise. Trolls usually lived in the mountains, so if they were going to encroach anywhere, it would be there. "I saw one come as low as the elms here, but they cannot stray too far from their caves." Moving on, Gavin teased his fingers along the trade route. "The orcs are the main problem. I'm not sure what they're planning, but they number in the hundreds. My guess is that they are planning a strike, possibly on the villages lining our borders. Cuilen, Cennastir, and Angtir are particularly vulnerable, sitting so close to the treeline. That means their ultimate aim will be to strike here, at Aurdolen. Why, I cannot say, but they are cavorting with wargs. The wargs are not so great in number yet, but they are growing." That would be a problem. Wargs were vicious beasts, more than able to take down a good rider.

"Orcs rarely move in such numbers without orders. Whom do they serve?" It was another man of the court who'd asked. He was older, with a balding head, a fine blue tunic, and many rings upon his fat fingers. Gavin turned to him with a small bow, though his expression was grave. That was the great mystery.

"On that I cannot speak. They are well armed, but the only symbol I can discern is one I do not know." Turning over the map, Gavin pulled out a thin stick of coal, the very stick he had been using to mark the map as he travelled. With a few rough strokes, he drew a crude looking black bird, like a raven, with a jagged serpent tongue. A flurry of murmurs ran through the hall as the older man stepped closer. He took the map with a look of disbelief, his dark eyes haunted.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes…The crest was embossed on each breastplate and painted on every shield." A dark feeling welled in the pit of Gavin's stomach as the chatter increased. The only person as clueless as he was seemed to be the young advisor, who met Gavin's eye with an uncertain air.

"It is the mark of Ravenwere. Long ago, their forces were pushed back to the Eastern Wastes. Their ilk have not been seen here for almost five hundred years!" It must have been a dark time indeed for Ravenwere to hold such sway over orcs. To have an army of such numbers meant they must have been biding their time, and to have made it so close to their borders meant they had help. It didn't bode well for the lands beyond. Is that why trade has lessened of late? They'd thought it might be because of trouble on the roads, but could it be wilful?

"Gavin, you have done well to bring us this…Go now and take some rest. I may have need of you before the week is out." Gavin bowed low to the king and accepted his dismissal with grace. Planning for war was not his strong suit. He was a ranger, a scout. One that blended into the shadows to gather intel. He could fight, of course, but he was better at information gathering or assassination. His aim with a bow was excellent, and he could shoot over great distances with the right weapon.

Leaving the court to decide their fate, Gavin stepped out into the sun and sighed. Coming home usually made him feel light, like his troubles were over. Coming home that day, knowing what lurked on the edge of their borders, left him feeling cold and heavy. Shaking it off, Gavin made his way down the castle steps and back to Canadh. The only proper remedy was a bath and a hearty meal. At the bottom of Canadh, down a small path to the right of the gate, on the second floor, with a view of Edraith Naer and the land beyond, was his home.

Though the smallest he could find, it had a spacious parlour, a pantry, a bathroom, and two bedrooms, the smallest of which he used to store his travel supplies. Armour, mail, weaponry, rolls of bedding, bags and satchels, cloaks, and leathers littered the small space. There were also chests. Crates of trinkets brought home to trade and sell when he needed the coin. It was here he stopped first to unload his armour and travel gear. The last of his food was returned to the pantry, and he lit a fire to heat the water.

In his bathroom was a sizable wooden bath that looked a lot like a barrel. Pulling a wooden lever made the water flow, and Gavin was soon partially submerged in tepid water. Sitting back on the shoddy wooden bench, he could finally think that it was good to be home. The water was not so hot that it steamed the small room, but it was enough to warm him through. He washed thoroughly with the simple creamy bar of soap he owned. He was lucky to afford such luxuries. It wasn't something he could have bought before. One of the many good things about Canadh. Having his own toilet was also a boon, and it even flushed. He'd never seen anything like it before moving to Canadh.

Drying off with a fine cotton towel, he found some new clothes. His travel clothes were all dark browns and greys to blend with the shadows, but his city clothes were softer colours. Beige, cream, and green. The colours of Canadh. Green showed that one could afford some dyed fabric and wearing light colours like beige and cream meant one did not expect to get dirty. In Edraith Naer, the poor folk made do with grubby whites or dark blacks and browns. Many worked out in the fields beyond where the farmers lived, or manned the breweries and mills on the edge of the farmland. Once dressed, he set about fixing his tangled hair. Though a great bane to his patience, he didn't dare cut it above his shoulders. Keeping it short would draw attention to his pointed ears, inspiring awe or questions. He had patience for neither. At least when it was long, he could tie it back and cover the pointed tips that came from his mother's blood.

Having been away, there was little to eat in the house, so Gavin headed for The Elm Tree, the local tavern that was open most of the day and night. He was no stranger to this place, and the barman soon had him settled at a quiet table with a tankard of ale, a bowl of hearty cabbage stew, and a thick cut of bread with a wedge of cheese. Gavin sighed in relief and closed his eyes as he sat back in his chair, taking up the darkest corner away from the window. Somewhere he could watch without being watched. It was hard to believe that darkness was stirring so close, and yet the tavern remained so peaceful.