Kingdom of the Elves
Eladalindëa had been Aisling’s home for eighty years, a place both majestic and magical, shrouded in mystery and suffused with a mind-numbing calm. Cursed to dwell within its enchanting confines for nearly two more centuries, Aisling often pondered how her father, the Elven King, had endured the passage of time. He, too, was slowly approaching Enlightenment, with a mere two decades remaining in the realm of mortals.
I could use some enlightenment right now, she thought, brushing aside the persistent pixies attempting to capture her attention with their glitters and buzzing wings. Such annoying little pieces of bird guano.
Aisling pondered the idea of testing her newly discovered magic on the pixies. The ability to fly must be so exhilarating. However, before she could make up her mind, a twig snapped just to her right side. Her pointy ears twitched as she relied on her keen senses to discern any further movements. Hearing nothing, she swiftly made a beeline for the enormous elelm tree a few feet in front of her, running to its side and turning to face the direction from which the sound had come.
The princess stood still, a watchful frown creasing her brow. All she saw were vines curled around trees and stalks, and the undergrowth where the pixies had teased her just moments ago. The mischievous creatures were now absent, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still playing tricks on her. An exasperated gasp escaped her lips as she finally relaxed her poise.
“It’s not like we are in any danger,” She said to herself, repeating the mantra her father often chanted whenever the queen suggested that they were too relaxed in the face of the unknown.
Aisling did not share her father’s sentiments. She felt as frustrated as her mother regarding the false sense of safety they lived in. Suddenly, a loud and unexpected voice snapped her out of her lucid thoughts.
“Boo!” Came a voice from behind her.
Her reaction was nothing like she had trained herself for. Instead of facing her assailant head-on, she scrambled forward and tumbled onto the wet, grassy ground.
“Ah!” a familiar voice rejoiced, sending a shiver of trepidation through her. “I got you!”
It was her friend, Faolán, whom she preferred to address by the meaning of his name. “Little Wolf!” she exclaimed at the top of her voice. Birds perched on nearby branches took flight in haste and fright.
“Uh-huh,” Faolán replied, his voice betraying the realization that he knew he was in trouble.
Aisling rose to her feet, brushing the grass stuck to her knees off her pants. Once done, she turned to face him, and in his hands was a bouquet of flowers. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. His past error was quickly forgotten as she stepped close to her endearing friend.
“Dragonroses!” she exclaimed, beholding the flowers’ large, velvety petals with a gradient of colors reminiscent of burning flames — deep reds, oranges, and golds. The edges of the petals were marked with delicate serrations resembling dragon scales, and the clusters of elongated stamens in the center of each bulb of the flower resembled miniature dragon claws. The flowers had a subtle iridescence that gave them an otherworldly glow. “Where did you get them?” she asked, bending down to inhale their unique and captivating fragrance, which evoked a mix of exotic spices, warm amber, and a hint of smokiness, adding to their mystical allure.
“I found them near the caves in the hills just north of here,” Faolán replied. “I heard a dragon had taken one of the caves for its lair, and I went in search of it to hear what knowledge it held. Unfortunately, it wasn’t around. But I got these, a testament to its presence.” He chuckled. “I knew you’d like them…”
“Like?” Aisling looked up, her expression of surprise replaced by annoyance once again. “I love them!”
Faolán beamed at her. “I knew they would be the perfect gift for you,” He said. “Do you know what dragonroses represent?” He asked.
He knew a lot of things. He was always reading. So did her father. Wizards read all the time. All she ever did was practice shooting arrows from her elelm bow.
“No,” She shook her head. “What do they represent? Dragons? Or Summer?”
Faolán looked like he wanted to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, but he held himself back, and rightly so because he was so close to finding an arrow stuck to his arm. She was not with her bow, but she could summon it faster than he could weave the signs for any spell.
“No,” He whispered gently, “my princess.” She loved it whenever anyone called her that. “They represent bravery and resilience, qualities which I see whenever I look at you.”
She felt her face grow warmer, goosebumps rising all over her skin. The breeze seemed to embrace her just before making the dragonroses dance in Faolán’s hands.
“Thank you,” She muttered, taking the flowers and cradling them.
What would a brave dragon do in my position? She asked herself.
