Elven Tales, Part Twenty
This is a continuation (and conclusion) of Elven Tales, Part Nineteen. The link is provided in case you need a refresher. If you're completely lost, click here to start from the beginning.
Okay, so I have a bit of a Mary Sue in the previous section of my story. But he's such a bit part (even more than most of the non-Elves), and it seemed perfectly natural, given the context.
As for the Epilogue below, I wrote the first draft of it on July 28, 2004. You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to finally post it, nearly two years later. And with no further ado...
Elven Tales, Part Twenty
Epilogue: Barkeep’s Story
I was thinking it was going to be a quiet night at the bar, when an Elven woman limped in through the door. She was dressed like a ghost-tattered clothing, a hood up over her head. (I could tell she was an Elf because her ears poofed out the sides of the hood) She was obviously completely wiped out, but she sat down at the bar like she owned the place and ordered a local variety mead. I poured her a drink, and was just about to ask her if she’d traveled all the way out to the middle of nowhere just to order one of our family recipe specialties-I didn’t think it was that famous, but it was a mighty tasty mead-when she took a swig, leaned back, and said, of all things, “It’s good to be home.”
I laughed. “I’m sorry, Miss, but have you taken a wrong turn? This here’s Northayven.”
She smiled a weary, knowing smile. “I know. I grew up here; lived with the Beekans and the Torrels.”
One of the older gents at the bar looked at her appraisingly. “Do you mean to tell us you’re… Luana?”
“I am,” she said, and took another swig.
The old man stood up, sobering up a drink or two as he did, and ran to the door. He yelled at a kid in the street: “Hey, boy! Go and fetch the elder! Tell him Luana’s back!”
Luana just drank her mead. I was surprised by how Human-like she gulped it down-my biggest complaint about traveling Elves is that they take up a chair all night and only get one glass. But as we waited thirty minutes for the elder to show up and she had barely sipped at her second pint, I decided that I was, in fact, dealing with an Elf. She asked a few questions about old Northayven families that nobody in the room could answer, but mostly just sat, shrugged off questions, and seemed to peaceably appreciate being in civilization-something else most Elves don’t do.
The Elder finally appeared in the doorway and Luana turned to look at him. I didn’t see her face, but I could hear the range of emotions in her voice when she said “You’re not-oh.”
The Elder took it in stride. “Are you Luana? I am Benjamin Shear, the current Elder of this town. May I see your pendant for a moment?”
Rather than taking it off, she simply pulled it out of her shirt and put it in his hands, still chained to her neck. The Elder glanced at the inscription, than looked at the very bottom of the pendant.
“D… S. Yes, this is the authentic pendant. It’s a good thing you didn’t write the bit about the carver’s initials in your book, Luana.”
She stared at him for a second. “My book?”
The Elder produced a book from the folds of his shirt and handed it to the rather startled woman. The title read ‘Elven Tales in a Human World, compiled by Luana Beekan, edited by Jaymark Malloy.’
Benjamin ignored her surprise. “We had a few imposters who didn’t think we could expect Elven women to be swindlers.”
Luana simply looked at the book cover for a while. Finally, she said, “Why would anyone want to pretend to be me?”
“Why, for the royalties, of course.” He slipped her a piece of paper I couldn’t get a look at. “Your story was a wide seller about two hundred years ago, and it still sells well in the Elven market. Mr. Malloy sent the royalties to Northayven, and we’ve been keeping them for when you returned.”
The paper was apparently a summary of her account. “This… is a lot of money,” Luana breathed.
“I’m sure you’ve had more than your share of adventures since you left us two hundred years ago…”
“Has it already been two hundred years?” said Luana.
“…And so we should probably get you somewhere where you can rest awhile…”
“I guess so…” said Luana, and she reached for her mug.
“…But if I may ask you one question… Did you ever find your brother?”
Luana’s eyes sought the bottom of the mug and she smiled a sad, but satisfied smile full of hidden Elven meaning.
“Yes… I did.”
The End
A little more than the usual "please leave comments": I would be eternally grateful to anyone who would be willing to actually go back and read the entire story, and leave constructive comments and criticisms. I plan on working on this draft throughout next semester, and maybe someday it'll be polished enough to try selling somewhere. At the very least, I hope this little story held enough promise to tickle some of your imaginations.
Now, if I can only click "Post entry"...
Okay, so I have a bit of a Mary Sue in the previous section of my story. But he's such a bit part (even more than most of the non-Elves), and it seemed perfectly natural, given the context.
As for the Epilogue below, I wrote the first draft of it on July 28, 2004. You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to finally post it, nearly two years later. And with no further ado...
Elven Tales, Part Twenty
Epilogue: Barkeep’s Story
I was thinking it was going to be a quiet night at the bar, when an Elven woman limped in through the door. She was dressed like a ghost-tattered clothing, a hood up over her head. (I could tell she was an Elf because her ears poofed out the sides of the hood) She was obviously completely wiped out, but she sat down at the bar like she owned the place and ordered a local variety mead. I poured her a drink, and was just about to ask her if she’d traveled all the way out to the middle of nowhere just to order one of our family recipe specialties-I didn’t think it was that famous, but it was a mighty tasty mead-when she took a swig, leaned back, and said, of all things, “It’s good to be home.”
I laughed. “I’m sorry, Miss, but have you taken a wrong turn? This here’s Northayven.”
She smiled a weary, knowing smile. “I know. I grew up here; lived with the Beekans and the Torrels.”
One of the older gents at the bar looked at her appraisingly. “Do you mean to tell us you’re… Luana?”
“I am,” she said, and took another swig.
The old man stood up, sobering up a drink or two as he did, and ran to the door. He yelled at a kid in the street: “Hey, boy! Go and fetch the elder! Tell him Luana’s back!”
Luana just drank her mead. I was surprised by how Human-like she gulped it down-my biggest complaint about traveling Elves is that they take up a chair all night and only get one glass. But as we waited thirty minutes for the elder to show up and she had barely sipped at her second pint, I decided that I was, in fact, dealing with an Elf. She asked a few questions about old Northayven families that nobody in the room could answer, but mostly just sat, shrugged off questions, and seemed to peaceably appreciate being in civilization-something else most Elves don’t do.
The Elder finally appeared in the doorway and Luana turned to look at him. I didn’t see her face, but I could hear the range of emotions in her voice when she said “You’re not-oh.”
The Elder took it in stride. “Are you Luana? I am Benjamin Shear, the current Elder of this town. May I see your pendant for a moment?”
Rather than taking it off, she simply pulled it out of her shirt and put it in his hands, still chained to her neck. The Elder glanced at the inscription, than looked at the very bottom of the pendant.
“D… S. Yes, this is the authentic pendant. It’s a good thing you didn’t write the bit about the carver’s initials in your book, Luana.”
She stared at him for a second. “My book?”
The Elder produced a book from the folds of his shirt and handed it to the rather startled woman. The title read ‘Elven Tales in a Human World, compiled by Luana Beekan, edited by Jaymark Malloy.’
Benjamin ignored her surprise. “We had a few imposters who didn’t think we could expect Elven women to be swindlers.”
Luana simply looked at the book cover for a while. Finally, she said, “Why would anyone want to pretend to be me?”
“Why, for the royalties, of course.” He slipped her a piece of paper I couldn’t get a look at. “Your story was a wide seller about two hundred years ago, and it still sells well in the Elven market. Mr. Malloy sent the royalties to Northayven, and we’ve been keeping them for when you returned.”
The paper was apparently a summary of her account. “This… is a lot of money,” Luana breathed.
“I’m sure you’ve had more than your share of adventures since you left us two hundred years ago…”
“Has it already been two hundred years?” said Luana.
“…And so we should probably get you somewhere where you can rest awhile…”
“I guess so…” said Luana, and she reached for her mug.
“…But if I may ask you one question… Did you ever find your brother?”
Luana’s eyes sought the bottom of the mug and she smiled a sad, but satisfied smile full of hidden Elven meaning.
“Yes… I did.”
The End
A little more than the usual "please leave comments": I would be eternally grateful to anyone who would be willing to actually go back and read the entire story, and leave constructive comments and criticisms. I plan on working on this draft throughout next semester, and maybe someday it'll be polished enough to try selling somewhere. At the very least, I hope this little story held enough promise to tickle some of your imaginations.
Now, if I can only click "Post entry"...