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Earendil
[x] / The Capture of Prince Earendil / Dekra Outskirts, Garnelia
[x] / Meeting the General / Dekra, Garnelia
[x] / Interrogation / Dekra, Garnelia
[x] / Odd Encounter / Dekra, Garnelia
[x] / General Questioning / Dekra, Garnelia

Lancaeriel and/or Caelamondorion
[x] / Catching Up / Dekra, Garnelia

Back in Makshim ...
[x] / Letter Chaos / Makshim, Shiezin

Daeron, Iorlas and/or Amir
[x] / Play Time! / Makshim, Shiezin

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 117 4A
Status: Early Spring

By the time Eärendil’s captors brought him to the palace, it was far closer to morning than midnight, and he was utterly exhausted. The soldiers didn’t seem to feel tired at all: their pace never changed, never slowed or faltered; and in an odd way, Eärendil couldn’t help but admire their ability. They must have been well trained, he mused.

Upon their arrival, he was brought to a cell, which, was unsurprising, was a disappointment. Still, he was grateful for two things: first, that it was above ground and had a window; and second, that they let him keep his cloak. It was rather chilly, as it was still very early Spring and the window had bars but no glass or shutters.

He wondered how long he would be in the cell before he would have a chance to defend himself against whatever charges were going to be brought against him, and what would happen to him afterwards. Even if he were released, he wouldn’t have the foggiest notion of where to go to find the others again. Kyrie had been very secretive about their destination. They had not gone in a straight line, and Kyrie’s chosen method to lose anyone who might have been following their trail had also served to confuse Eärendil, who had always been quite proud of his sense of direction.

Maybe if they returned his Elfstones …

After all, they wouldn’t have a use for them. They only worked for those to whom they were willingly given. He was sure that despite his lack of struggle, the way they’d been taken from his belt earlier that night would not have counted as him willingly handing them over.

His cell was not a large one, by any means, but it was a great improvement over the cell that he had been given in Amon Darthir. There, he had been forced to crouch the entire night; here at least he could pace – only about five steps at a time – and there was a stone bench built into the outside wall for him to sit or lie down on. The window was too far up for him to reach, even standing on his toes on the bench, so he gave up on trying to look outside and instead sat down.

He wanted desperately to sleep – his body craved sleep! – but he was too worried. He wondered if Lin and the others had noticed his absence yet, and if they had – or when they did – what they would do, how they would react. Would they come after him? Would they wait for him? Would they go on without him? And while he knew that Lin was strong and would hold herself together for the sake of the children, how would the children react? They had never been around before when he had been in trouble.

At one point he woke with a start and realized that he had fallen asleep sitting up on the bench, leaning against the wall. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but he had a gut feeling that it hadn’t been long. He sighed and rubbed one eye with the heel of his palm. He was so tired …

Then, just as the first light of morning began to shine in the window of his cell, high above his head, he heard a noise on the other side of his solid iron cell door. He stayed where he was. He didn’t want to make anyone coming in feel like he was trying to escape. He had to keep himself as safe as possible for when he got back to his family.

Slowly, his cell door opened, and three soldiers appeared in the doorway. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that they were some of the ones who had apprehended him the night before: two of the regular soldiers, and the one with lighter armour. In the light, he could see that the one man’s armour was more silver than gray, and he assumed that it had something to do with a different rank.

“On your feet,” ordered the man in silver armour. “It’s time for your interrogation.”

Eärendil nodded and rose slowly, and the two other men approached him and grabbed him by the arms. One of them held his hands behind his back while the other locked iron manacles around his wrists. Once he was secure, they marched him out of his cell and through the palace. He had no idea where they were going, but he did note that the further they went from his cell, the nicer the palace looked. At length, they arrived at a large set of double wooden doors, strengthened with iron. There were soldiers on either side of it, and after a brief conversation with the man in silver, they opened the doors for the small group.

The room was a dining room of some sort: bigger than a regular dining room, he mused, but not so big or fancy as a banquet hall. Still, it did remind him a bit of the different palaces in which they had spent some time.

There was a long table that spanned most of the length of the hall, with chairs on each side of it, and one on each end. Only three places were taken: the seat at the far end of the table, occupied by a muscular dark elf with a scowling face, wearing light armour; a young man, neatly dressed, sitting very properly to his right; and a bald man with a tattoo on his forehead and only one arm, seated to his left.

When the soldiers brought Eärendil into the room, they stopped just inside and bowed low.

“My lord, said the man in silver, “we found this man last night, wandering in the forest to the south of the city. He is a foreigner, and was carrying weapons.”

Eärendil had a feeling it would be wise for him to show reverence to the man at the end of the table, and he bowed as well; and he had just bent forward when a deep voice commanded, “Bring him forth.”

Before he had a chance to stand up straight again, one of the soldiers shoved him forward and nearly made him stumble. Still he remained silent, simply observing his surroundings as he was marched towards the men.

He was brought to stand next to the man at the end of the table, and then the soldiers stepped back. He knelt on one knee and bowed his head respectfully and waited to be addressed, hoping that it would be the right thing to do.

He had to wait for quite some time, but at length the same deep voice asked, “What is your name?”

“My name is Eärendil Aldrich, my lord,” Eärendil answered confidently. “I am Prince of the Kingdom of the Southland Elves, which is found on the continent of the Four Lands.” After a pause, he dared to look up and added, “And may I know, my lord, whom I have the honour of addressing?”

A muscle twitched in the man’s forehead, but aside from that he didn’t seem to react to the request.

“Fool,” said the young man on the other side of Eärendil. “This is General Quileth Durnen, ruler of this country!”

Eärendil had suspected as much, but having his suspicions confirmed was far from reassuring. He had heard too much about the man. Still, there was nothing he could do but try to be as respectful as he could and hope that things would go smoothly.

“Forgive me, but I am new to the area and was simply passing through,” he said, bowing his head again.

“And yet to be so deep into our country, I find it impossible to believe that you have not yet discovered our law against civilians carrying weapons,” said the General in a tone that was, in Eärendil’s ears, haughty and at the same time, happy. “And yet when you were found, you had …” There was a pause as he looked to the men who had brought Eärendil in. “How many weapons?”

“Sword, dagger, bow, and though we found no sling he had some odd stones, my lord,” the soldier in silver reported.

“Stones with no sling.” The General sounded bored. “I wouldn’t count those as weapons, not without a sling. Still …”

There was another silence, and Eärendil didn’t dare look up. His heart was racing. What would happen to his Elfstones? Would they be tossed away as useless? His other weapons, he could replace; but those stones were irreplaceable.

“Well, Maravel, you have been rather quiet,” the General said suddenly, turning towards the bald, one-armed man. “What do you have to say on the matter? Is this prince important to us?”

Eärendil straightened slightly and looked at the man whom the General had addressed. What was this man to the General? Clearly someone of great importance.

The General was looking at him too, and Eärendil noted that despite the man’s position, he didn’t seem comfortable. There was a slight crease in his forehead that had a sheen to it, despite the lack of heat. Maravel closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly, as if he were thinking about something. It reminded Eärendil vaguely of something he had seen before, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

After a moment, the man raised his head again and shook it slightly. “He is a piece of the puzzle, my lord,” he said quietly, “and one of the last; but he is not the last. There is one more to come, the one who shall at last complete the puzzle.”

The General frowned. “Then what is this one?” he asked, jerking his thumb unceremoniously at Eärendil.

Maravel gazed at Eärendil, and Eärendil felt as if the man were peering into his soul. It was a rather uncomfortable sensation, but he had a sinking feeling that things were not going to be getting better for him.

“He is the ointment that will draw the fly to us,” the man murmured; and though there was no hesitation in his voice, Eärendil thought he saw a strange look – regret? – on the bald man’s face. It lasted only for a moment, and then it was gone again.

He glanced at the General to see what his reaction would be, what fate would befall him. To his surprise, the General didn’t seem to care anymore. There was an almost bored expression on his face, and he waved one hand in Eärendil’s general direction.

“Take him back to his cell,” he ordered carelessly. “Light rations. I will speak with him later and find out if he has any information for us.”

Eärendil had no idea what the General was talking about, or why he wasn’t being let go, but he didn’t struggle as the armoured soldiers took him by the arms and brought him back to the same cell he had vacated such a short time ago.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 117 4A
Status: Early Spring

Two days passed before anyone came again to Eärendil’s cell, and in that time he received neither food nor drink. He spent the time dozing off and on whenever his hunger would let him, thinking about Lin and the children, and wondering just what was going on, what “puzzle” he was supposed to be a “piece” of, and what “fly” would be drawn here by him. The only thing he could think of was Lin and their traveling companions – why else would care about him, even if they knew about him? But what were they supposed to do here?

The only thing he could think of was Kyrie’s determination that they were going to end the General’s domination of the people. If the General knew about that, though, wouldn’t he have asked Eärendil about it directly? He didn’t understand … But if it was Lin or one of the children or Wren or Lancaeriel that the General was waiting on, why was he waiting for them? It couldn’t be Kyrie – Kyrie had been here before, so Eärendil couldn’t be a factor in getting her here.

He wished he understood. As things stood, the only thing he understood was that he couldn’t tell them anything about anything.

By the time Eärendil finally heard someone at his door again, he was exhausted and nauseous. He was lying on the bunk, and he turned his head to see who would come in. To his surprise, it was Maravel, the bald, one-armed man who had been the reason for his detainment. Eärendil didn’t have the energy to move, so he simply lay there and watched the man.

Maravel didn’t seem too inclined to do anything, either. He closed the door and leaned against it, his eyes focused on Eärendil. His face was expressionless, though he looked tired. For several minutes neither of them spoke, until at length Eärendil felt too irritated to keep silent.

“I really should thank you for arresting me,” he said darkly. “If you hadn’t, and had simply asked me questions, I might have actually felt it would be safe to answer. I’m told I’m far too trusting of people.” He glared at the man. “No fear of that here.”

Still Maravel said nothing, only watched Eärendil in silence.

“Wonderful accommodations,” Eärendil added. “Very homey. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a prison like this. That one was meant for creatures of Melkor, by the way. Though I have to admit, even they were fed at least once a day.”

There was a flicker of emotion in Maravel’s eyes, but as quickly as it had come up, it was gone. Eärendil’s anger drained away, replaced suddenly with curiosity. He sat up slowly, his muscles protesting with every move.

“Who are you?” he asked the man quietly. “I have this … odd feeling about you. Something … about you, I saw it the first time I saw you, too. You … you’re not a monster, not like the General, at least.”

This time, Maravel couldn’t hide the surprise that etched his features, and he spoke at last. “It has been a long time since anyone has said so to me. I am held in the same regard as him.” He hesitated a moment, then reached for a bag at his waist and held it out to Eärendil. “Here.”

Eärendil eyed the man distrustfully as he reached for the bag. Slowly, he opened it up, then peered inside. It was filled with food – bread, fruit, some cheese, and a small flask – and he looked at the man in surprise. He wondered if it was some kind of trick, but he was too hungry to care very much at the moment. He dumped the whole thing out onto his lap and started eating ravenously, barely tasting the food before he swallowed it down.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” Maravel cautioned him quietly.

Eärendil forced himself to slow down, but he couldn’t stop eating until he had eaten it all. Then he washed it down with the entire flask of water. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He was still hungry, but he no longer felt sick.

“Thank y-”

Maravel shook his head sharply, cutting him off. “Quiet,” he muttered, holding his hand out for the bag. “This is worth my life – and yours. Now listen.” He lowered his voice. “You’re going to be questioned. Probably tortured. I’ll do what I can, but even my advice isn’t always followed. But whatever happens, you must not tell them anything.”

Eärendil’s eyes narrowed. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Good, good.” Maravel seemed distracted by something. His gaze shifted to the wall of the cell and he didn’t seem to be listening. Eärendil watched him. It was as if the man was in another world all of a sudden: his eyes seemed to glaze over, and then he fell against the door. Eärendil didn’t know what to do, and he froze.

But almost as soon as his strange behaviour began, it was over. His eyes cleared, he straightened up, and he looked back at Eärendil. There was wonder in his eyes now.

“Are you all right?” Eärendil asked hesitantly.

Maravel nodded slowly, then shook his head and blinked slowly. “Yes … yes. Excuse me. I will bring more food when I can.”

And with that, he knocked on the door and was let out, and again Eärendil was left on his own.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 117 4A
Status: Early Spring

“It’s really a pity about Prince Eärendil,” Coriander/Caelamondorion murmured to Lancaeriel as they left the room where the prince and his family were staying. Once the door was closed behind him, he reached for Lancaeriel’s hand. “I really don’t think it matters how much rest he gets, he’s never going to be the same as he used to be.”

“At least he’s alive, and he’s going to recover most of his senses,” Lancaeriel replied softly, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked. As tall as she was, he was taller, and she did not have to bend her neck too far. “It’s amazing he’s recovered as much as he has. You saw him. What the General did to him. He was a-”

She cut herself off and bit her lip to keep from finishing the sentence. As horrible as the General had been, he had been her husband’s father figure for twenty nine years, and she had to respect that, if nothing else.

Coriander smiled and finished the sentence for her. “Monster?” he suggested. “Maniac? Murderer?”

He put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. “I appreciate your concern, but trust me, you needn’t hold yourself back where he’s concerned. Stole me when I was three days old, murdered my grandfather, imprisoned my mother … all because he thought I would be useful to him, remember that?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It brought us together again, though. I have to be grateful to him for that.”

“I’d have found you eventually,” Lancaeriel smiled up at him. She reached up and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “Though I have to admit, I don’t know if I’d have recognized you without sensing you. You look so different now … dark elven.”

He chuckled. “Like the last time you were reborn. Though admittedly, half light and half white elven is a lot closer to light elven than dark elven is.” He winked at her. “Do you like it?”

Lancaeriel giggled girlishly. “I do. You may not look like you, but you most certainly are you. And you by any appearance are most certainly a sight to behold.”

“Oh?” He grinned and tickled her ribs, making her squeal. “I must say, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Stop it!” Lancaeriel chided him, blushing. “Come on, we’re not alone.” She glanced around at the guards who lined the hall, and though none of them were looking at the couple, she had the feeling that some of them were trying a little too hard not to smile. She looked back at her husband. “Where are we going, anyway? Weren’t we going to try for a few more hours’ sleep?”

“Are you tired?” He arched one eyebrow at her, and she shook her head slowly.

“I suppose not,” she admitted. “Still …”

He smiled at her. “I thought a nice walk around the grounds … we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday, what with taking over the castle and the city … the palace isn’t much, but Maravel and I did make sure that at least the courtyard is worth spending some time in.”

“Even at this time of year?” Lancaeriel was impressed. “Winter’s barely ended.”

“It’s been a few weeks.” He chuckled again. “Not much there, perhaps, but there are a few flowers popping up. Could always change that.”

Lancaeriel turned to him, alarmed. “Coriander, no,” she said in a hushed tone. “You promised …”

He sighed, then smiled at her and stroked her cheek softly. “It feels so strange to be called that again,” he murmured. “I know Caelamondorion is a bit long, but I’ve kind of gotten used to Cael. Nice and short.”

“And you’re avoiding the issue,” Lancaeriel frowned at him. “You do remember the vow we made? No more tampering with nature.”

He sighed, then nodded. “Yes. No more. I promise – again.”

“Good.” Lancaeriel smiled and kissed him warmly. “Now behave.” She winked at him. “Cael.”

He chuckled, and the two of them headed out to the courtyard between the two residential wings. As promised, the grass was green and there were some early flowers growing, some of them even blooming. The sky was clear, the sun shining, and the palace walls blocked the wind, which made it quite warm.

“The banners have changed,” Lancaeriel noted, looking at the palace walls. She looked higher and saw that the flags were different, too: a white dragon on a red field, where the previous day there had been a back raven on a gold field.

Cael glanced up at it. “Yes. The Ruavia family flag. Mari’s family. Maravel said he found them one day in the storage room, and he washed them and has been keeping them in good condition since. I think he was looking forward to this day as much as anyone.”

He leaned down and plucked a pale lavender flower from its stem. When he straightened, he tucked it into Lancaeriel’s hair. “There.” He smiled lovingly at her and took her hand again. “Now. It’s been a long time. What have you been up to since we were last together?”

Lancaeriel exhaled slowly. “Well, a good portion of it has to do directly with your death,” she began softly. “Would it pain you too much to speak of it?”

“With you by my side, nothing can pain me.” His words were warm, filled with his love for her, and Lancaeriel knew that he was sincere. She smiled and continued her story.

“You remember the twin dragons, Iorlas and Ioreth,” she murmured, glancing up at him. When he nodded grimly, she went on. “After Ioreth killed you this last time, Iorlas came to see me. In elven form, not as a dragon. You wouldn’t have recognized her, she was … so very different from we first ran into her.”

“As in, she didn’t try to kill you this time,” Cael said dryly.

Lancaeriel smiled. “No. On the contrary, she asked me for help in stopping Ioreth from doing any more harm. I used a binding spell on them – you remember the one we used on those two druids way back when?”

“The partners who specialized in fire and water?” Cael asked.

“Yes,” Lancaeriel giggled. “So that the one who liked playing with fire couldn’t use it unless his partner was nearby.” She grew more serious, though she was still smiling. “I started with that, but expanded on it. It was new to me and I wasn’t sure it would work – but it did. I bound their shifting abilities, so that as long as Iorlas was in elven form, Ioreth was also bound to it.”

Cael was impressed. “Very nice.”

“Thank you. I also added a second spell, while I was at it.” She smiled mischievously. “A rebounding spell. Any physical harm that Ioreth attempted to do to someone – unless in self-defence – would rebound back on her.”

Cael let out a low whistle. “Impressive. I’ve never heard of that before.”

Lancaeriel grinned. “Yes, well. I’ve never needed it before. It’s something I experimented with a bit before we met.” She sighed. “There were some druids I could have used it on. Probably should have.”

“Hey, what happened to learning from our mistakes without complaining about them?” Cael frowned at her. “That is a very bad habit of yours. We can’t change the past.” He hugged her tightly, until she sighed again and relaxed, and then he smiled at her. “So. You put the spell on the dragon twins. What then?”

Lancaeriel looked up at him. “I helped them find a place to live, and then I searched for you. I looked everywhere in the Four Lands, I even made pretenses to speak with the various rulers for the chance to sense whether or not you might have been being held in their prisons. I helped people who needed it. I spent some time, off and on, with Elarinya … I could talk to her in a way that neither of us could talk to anyone else.”

“I know that feeling,” Cael murmured. “She must be lonely here, not even being able to tell people where she’s from.”

“Not since her husband died, no,” Lancaeriel agreed. “It’s amazing how happy she is despite everything.”

“She’s hoping her husband will find her then, someday?” He couldn’t imagine staying in one place and waiting to be found. Not with his memories intact. “If our positions had been reversed, I couldn’t have rested, not knowing you were out there somewhere.”

“Yes, I know, but darling you have to realize that not everyone is like us,” she pointed out, giggling. “She is content simply to wait.” She linked her arm with his and tugged him towards a fallen log so that they could sit. “So that’s most of what I did. The past few years have been a bit more adventurous, since I met the Aldrich family. They were traveling with Iorlas, believe it or not.”

Cael blinked. “I’m not sure I do. How did that come about? Where was Ioreth?”

Lancaeriel smiled and leaned against him. “Now that’s … quite a story.” She took a deep breath and began to tell what she knew of what had happened: how she’d run into Iorlas and the others in New Kaliningrad; how they’d invited her to travel with them in search of Coriander; the trip to the Aldrich plantation in the Southland; and Iorlas’ decision to end things with her sister so that she could be made a true elf.

“And you changed her.” He stared at her, partially doubtfully, partially in awe.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Yes.”

He shook his head incredulously. “Unbelievable. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Come, now, you know there’s very little that isn’t possible.” Lancaeriel smiled sadly at him. “What is there that we haven’t attempted? Given the necessary time and preparation, there’s not much we can’t do.”

Cael nodded thoughtfully. “So she’s now as elven as we are.”

Lancaeriel pursed her lips and looked up at Cael. “I … think so?” she guessed. “I don’t know, to be honest. I can’t discern any differences between us and her, but … we may never know.”

“Wait, can’t?” He blinked at her. “Present? You still see her?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention?” Lancaeriel looked up at her husband innocently. “The man she married – Daeron. He’s Prince Eärendil’s brother. They’re waiting for us back in Shiezin.”

Cael was struck speechless, and he gawked at his wife incredulously.

Lancaeriel reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear. “Do you want to meet her?”

Cael’s expression froze for a moment, and then it slowly changed to a look of indecision. It was something he wasn’t sure about. “Lan, she killed me. Twice.”

“Only once, it was Ioreth the second time and Iorlas stopped her from killing me next,” she pointed out. “And she isn’t what she was. She’s the gentlest soul there is now.”

“Does she even have a soul?” He pushed himself to his feet and started pacing. “That’s something even you can’t do, Lan, no matter how much you’d like to think you can.”

“Hey,” Lancaeriel protested, “that’s not fair. I never pretended to give her a soul. That’s one of the mysteries we were never able to fathom. I never tried. But in body and in heart, she is an elf, and she is a good and kind person. What she did as a dragon – who she was as a dragon, when first we ran into her – that’s far in the past, that’s no longer who she is.”

Her husband ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of agitation. “And that’s what you’ve been doing all these years.”

“Helping people.” She rose and took his hands in her own, and held them close to her chest to stop him from pulling at his hair. “Cael. Coriander. Please. Give her a chance.”

He looked into her eyes, hesitant to believe her yet finding himself wanting to, and not only because it was her. He could see how badly she wanted him to believe her, too, and at last he sighed and lowered his gaze.

“Alright,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers and slipping his arms around her to hold her close. “I’ll give her a chance.”

Lancaeriel smiled and hugged him tightly. “Thank you.”

Location: Makshim outskirts, Shiezin, Arkandia
Year: 117 4A
Status: Late Summer

Miyuki and Andarien had taken Shoneah and Eron to the city for clothes and supplies, and Andarien had taken only Ponydash with him, leaving his other Pokémon behind at the camp. Daeron had gone off for a bit of hunting, and Iorlas was keeping an eye on Amir while she worked on sewing some winter clothes for him. She was next to their tent, and Amir was only a few paces away from her, sitting on a blanket. Andarien’s old building blocks were on the blanket around him, a donation from Andarien since he didn’t see himself using them again, unless he was really bored – which wasn’t likely, what with all the work he was doing.

Amir picked up one of the blocks and held it up to Iorlas. She smiled warmly at him. “Tower building?” she asked him brightly.

Amir smiled and stretched his arm out further, as if he was trying to hand the block to Iorlas. She giggled softly at him. She wanted to finish his clothes – winter wasn’t as far off as she might like to think, after all – and she couldn’t spend all of her time playing with Amir, as much as she would like to. Instead of setting her sewing aside, she reached out with one foot and gently knocked the block from Amir’s grasp.

The boy’s eyes lit up and he clapped his hands together excitedly, though he was still as silent as the day Iorlas had found him. He reached for the block again, but it was just out of his reach, and he had to crawl to reach it. Just when he was about to touch it, he was pounced on from behind by Kaede. Half his size and twice his weight, the playful Pokémon sent him sprawling, and still the only sound that escaped him was a hiccup of surprise.

“Careful, Kaede,” Iorlas cautioned the Leafeon. “He’s just little.”

It had been well over half a year since they’d arrived in Makshim, and Amir was recovering very well, but nonetheless at only a year and a half old, he was still very young and unbalanced, and she didn’t want him to get hurt.

He wasn’t hurt, though, and he sat up again and smiled, delighted that Kaede wanted to play with him. He held his hands out to her, and Kaede crouched down, preparing to pounce again. She landed in his lap, again knocking Amir over, and this time he fell backwards on the blanket, his fists closed tightly on Kaede’s fur and one of the sprouts growing out of her legs. This time though, he let out a squeal of laughter, the pure and innocent laughter that only a child could produce.

Iorlas froze, and tears sprang to her eyes. It was the first sound of any sort that Amir had made since they’d found him.

Meanwhile, Kaede was nuzzling Amir’s face, purring in a rather cat-like manner. Amir was still giggling, and he let go of the Pokémon and instead wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her.

Iorlas couldn’t help herself. She set her sewing aside and moved quietly to sit on the blanket beside Amir and Kaede.

By that time, Kaede had escaped Amir’s grasp, and she darted away from him, just out of his reach but staying on the blanket. Amir turned over so that he was on his hands and knees, and then pushed himself to his feet. He turned towards Kaede, a playful yet determined gleam in his eye. The Pokémon looked at him, her body half-turned away, poised to flee, her leafy tail flicking back and forth.

For a moment, the two eyed each other, and then Amir grinned and ran at Kaede. She waited until he was almost upon her before she jumped over him, landing gracefully behind him, and nipped at his clothes, teasing him.

Again Amir squealed, and he tried to turn around as quickly as she had jumped over him, but he lost his balance and fell to the blanket. Kaede was on him immediately, again nuzzling Amir’s cheeks, and again Amir began to giggle.

His laugh was infectious, and Iorlas began to giggle as well. “Well, I can see you’ve made a new friend, Amir,” she said cheerfully, carefully picking up her son and setting him on her lap.

He beamed up at her, then pointed at Kaede and giggled again.

Iorlas chuckled softly. “Come here, Kaede,” she murmured, holding one hand invitingly towards the Leafeon.

Without any need for further invitation, Kaede leapt gracefully into Iorlas’s lap. She put her front paws on Amir’s legs, then put her head on her paws and looked up at him.

“What do you think, Amir?” Iorlas grinned at her son. “You like playing with Kaede?”

Amir looked up at Iorlas and clapped his hands excitedly, his pale green eyes shining brightly. Iorlas laughed and looked at Kaede.

“And you?” she grinned. “You like playing with Amir?”

Kaede yipped and pawed at Amir’s hand playfully.

Iorlas giggled. “Then I hope Andarien will let you play together often,” she said warmly. She patted Kaede on the head, then pressed a kiss to Amir’s forehead and slid both of them back to the blanket. As much as she wanted to play with the both of them, she had work to do, and she was getting enough pleasure out of watching the two interact together.

By the time she returned to her sewing, Amir was already chasing Kaede around the blanket once more, giggling and laughing in sheer pleasure.