Ch. 1: Meeting of the Houses

Hayward Alekzander brought his horse to a stop as they crested the last small rise before the official border with the Elven kingdom of Treiaul. The youngest son of King Domaric of Aasleagh and second-youngest child, he was fourth in line for the throne; unless disaster struck, he was unlikely to get much of anything when his father passed. His choices to secure a future was the clergy or the army, and that hadn't been a difficult decision. Now in his mid-twenties, he was a fearsome warrior, standing a shade over six feet and two hundred pounds. He wasn't the traditional brick wall of a soldier, but built for speed as much as strength. He had limited usefulness to his father, but apparently dignitary was a role he could play.

He was not a man of soft features; rather, a strong brow and jaw with high cheekbones, together with hair on the border between dark brown and black. It was clear where his ancestry originated. His complexion wasn't as tanned as that of the other soldiers, but he was still clearly a desert creature. Rather than the usually deep brown eyes of his people and family line, however, his were a vibrant emerald green. They narrowed for a moment as he looked ahead to the bridge that signified the border crossing. On the other side was a small welcoming party that he assumed would simply escort them to the next major city, or perhaps all the way to the Elven capitol.

"Master Dantares," the Prince said, glancing to his side at the older man whose dark hair was streaked with silver. "Looks like they're expecting us." He slowly raised his eyes from the river crossing to the mountains beyond, covered in thick forests. He had never officially visited the Elven lands, though he had discreetly crossed the border a handful of times while scouting. The dense woodland felt at once welcoming—plenty of places to hide—and alien. His home was one of grasslands and deserts, with the occasional oasis providing a burst of green against the sandy backdrop. As he surveyed the road ahead, he wondered how well their horses would take to the steeper ground.

"They'd better be. They invited us, after all," the old man replied. Edmund Dantares was some thirty years older than the Prince and had become his tutor and guardian shortly after the young prince was born. He'd gone from a man Hayward looked up to, to one he could meet eye to eye, both literally and figuratively. They'd developed a relationship that felt that felt far more parental than Hayward's toward the king and queen. "Last chance to change your mind," Dantares remarked, chuckling.

"Bah! I've always wanted to see Treiaul, I don't care what my mother says. Everything I've heard suggests that it is beautiful." There was a slightly darker twinkle in Hayward's eye as he spurred the horse onward, and the rest of his entourage followed down the hill, toward the elves. Dantares simply shook his head; he couldn't stop the Prince from riding into a trap, but he could at least be there to ensure that he survived.

Behind them were another half-dozen men on horseback. The only other picked by Hayward to accompany him was Deker Ambrogio, the Prince's best friend, who had begged to come along. He was a fairly typical tall, dark, and handsome type, but matched with a certain self-aware goofiness. Though he lacked Hayward's martial prowess and quick wit, Deker made up for it by appearing more earnest and innocent than was necessarily the case. You knew when Hayward was up to something; Deker surprised you with the realization.

The sun was still low in the sky, having risen at most an hour before. This was deliberate; the Prince's party had made camp near the border crossing and set up early the prior evening so that they could avoid stopping in the Elves' land; unless something stopped them, they would reach the Elven capitol in time for dinner.

On the horizon, atop pure white horses, the five person welcoming party had ridden to meet the prince. They had thought it best to meet them and guide them the rest of the way. For someone unfamiliar with the territory, some paths seemed obscured. In fact, several of the forest trails were intentionally difficult to locate to keep unwanted visitors out. The veil of Ivy and moss could easily be lifted to reveal a worn down pattern in the undergrowth where many horses' hooves had beaten it down over the years. Without some help, however, they might wander aimlessly.

Leading the pack was Elissiana Sylvari, first princess of Treiaul. Her parents had tasked her, along with several guardsmen, to meet the men on their way into the city. Moon-white skin and silken gold hair were in stark contrast to the visitors arriving that day. Elissiana was the eldest of four children born to King Cyrus and Queen Ariadne Sylvari. Her siblings were not far behind her in age: Khol, her brother, was 18, Aeris, her sister, was 17, and the twins Amelie and Adrian were 12. Elissiana herself was nearly twenty.

"Good day," she called out to the men in a shared tongue. Though each had their own languages and dialects, there was a mostly shared vernacular for both.

Price Hayward caught sight of the elves shortly before they were close enough to speak. He nodded toward the princess and looked at Dantares. "That one. Elissi-something, right?"

"Princess Elissiana Sylvari," the older man corrected him. "Assuming they sent the oldest. Otherwise it might be Aeris. But I wouldn't expect that."

"Great. Any chance I call her Princess Sylvari and get away with it?"

"It wouldn't be normal, but I don't suppose they would be too offended," Dantares answered with a laugh. "They might see it as impolite, but perhaps no worse than getting her name wrong. Just call her Elissiana and apologize if you're wrong."

"Fine, fine," the prince replied, smiling. He looked over at the elves as they approached. White skin, white horses. Does the sun not shine up in the mountains, or does it simply not bother them? His gaze met the princess's as she spoke.

"Good day," he replied. "Princess Elassiana Sylvari, I presume?"

Nope, got it wrong. Nicely done.

"I am Prince Hayward Alekzander. I should thank you for your house's gracious invitation to visit." He smiled politely and waited to see how badly he had screwed up. Beside him, Dantares was doing his best to look put together and not at all worried. It mostly worked.

"El-ih-sianna," she responded, trying not to sound too out off by his mispronunciation. "My parents sent my companions and I to greet you this day and help you find your way back to the palace. Unfamiliar travelers can become lost in these woods," she said, turning the horse back toward the way they had come, but not before she studied him for a moment. Her ice-blue eyes focused on the man, and at once she felt something... odd. Perhaps it was only that he was a foreigner, and their people shared a great deal of prejudice regarding the neighboring race. Yes. That's all it is. She tried to convince herself.

"Pay no mind to the men with me. They are guards for both your safety and mine. Though bandits are rare, wild animals are not, and should they come at the horses, it would be a treacherous journey to make on foot..." she explained, nodding to the four men who looked like carbon copies of one another: all in light chain mail armor with with white blonde hair and pale green eyes. They even all had the same point to their nose that seemed to curl up at the tip like their ears. They were a strange sight to the humans but common fair to the Elves—the plainest of soldiers.

Elissiana, however, wore a hunter green tunic slit up to her hips with golden embroidery that sparkled in the now midday sun, and matching leggings with leather boots underneath. The outfit was more for utility than fashion, giving her more room and ease to maneuver. However, it still was quite a striking against her pale skin, and it denoted well her royal bloodline. Her long blonde hair sat in a ponytail atop her head, yet still reached down to her waist.

Though considered a beauty among her people, it was not just her beauty that was known. She was an anomaly of a princess, quite tough, and unlike her sisters, she enjoyed hunting as much as dancing and could protect herself. She was a straightforward person with a task to do and minced no words and wasted no time leading the men back on their five-hour journey.

No formalities, just a 'hello' and we're on our way. That's... kinda nice.

The young prince smiled faintly, thinking about the pointless pomp that would have surrounded such an event at home. There would have been greetings and introductions and pronouncements and maybe even music before they started moving again.

There was an interesting contrast between the elves and their human counterparts. His men wouldn't dream of wearing chain mail while riding in the desert. The weight and particularly the extra warmth would be brutal. The prince's guards were armed with sword and shield and bow, but not armored. Rather than the bright colors of the princess's garb, they all wore white or pale gray with a few scarlet ribbons of the Alekzander family.

Darker skin and lighter clothes, lighter skin and darker clothes... Hayward thought. The sun, it seemed, had opposite effects on each.