3

"Presenting Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Alphwen and Her Highness, the Most Honorable Princess Melinn-ar Vasa," the heralds announced when Alphwen and Melinn arrived at the doors of the banquet hall. All eyes turned towards them and the attendees of the Victor's Ceremony split into two sides of the hall like how a certain sea named after a primary color was split by some Middle Eastern person who heard a series of voices in his head to eh... free his people. 

Melinn was completely clear that they were paying the necessary respects to her mother, being the future Queen of the Havens, and she let go of her mother's arm, allowing Alphwen to walk towards the head of the hall where the King and her father were, speaking to the other dignitaries. Once Alphwen had stopped walking, the crowds started to meld together, but each of them gave the young princess a polite nod as she passed by them. 

"Ah, the young Victor finally decides to appear," her father teased. Ainurion of the Havens had the stereotypical blond hair of the High Elves, complete with ethereal blue eyes and looked just like his cousin, the King. 

"Leave her be, cousin," the King tutted, hugging his niece. "No first-time competitor has ever won the Tournament. Melinn has done wonders."

"My mother in law threatened the rack for her should she fail, I believe," Ainurion added, patting his daughter on the head as she went to him. "Luckily, we trained day and night for three years for this event. It is welcoming to see the fruits of my labor fully realized."

The King only shook his head while Alphwen rolled her eyes. "My father only jests, Uncle," Melinn told him whilst winking at her father. Ainurion was known to be a man of many words, most of them humorous and nonsensical, but everyone knew that behind his eccentricities was a brilliant mind. It was true that he held no interest in the matters of state, but he was an engineer, a scientist, a scholar of the world before he was a prince of a nation. Yet as one born to the line of kings, he was adept in playing the game of ruling a great people. It came as naturally to him as it did his daughter. 

"Thank the Gods then that you have a highly competent student," Alphwen retorted. "And nobody gave me credit for nurturing said daughter?"

"You, woman, are impossible," Ainurion shot back. He would have continued his jest, but for the heralds announcing yet another arrival. 

"Presenting His Highness, Prince Aran-magol of the Avari!" 

As with Melinn, many greeted Aran-magol with a slightly bowed head as he passed by them. As court traditions would have it, he had to first greet the King and his family. 

"Your Majesty," he said as dipped into a low bow to the King. With Ainurion he clasped the Crown Prince's arm like a brother and proceeded to kiss Melinn and Alphwen's hands. 

"It is a sad day for the Havens indeed when both Victors are going to Baran-Mir," the King rued, addressing Aran-magol with a tip of his goblet. "I know of several who would kill to actually own your services."

Aran-magol thanked the King for his praise. "Your Majesty must know that I owe a debt to Empress Silmarwen," he explained. Now, children, I must explain what the Ithildain Empress had done. Five hundred years before this Tournament, the Avari were attacked by strange foe known as the Horde. No, they're not green-skinned and hulking as what you gamers would think, but they were tall and purple-skinned, and only operated in the dark of the night. These things multiplied like flies upon the battlefield because each and every one of them emitted spores onto the fresh corpses, turning the dead into one of them. "Without the bombs she had supplied us, we could not have won the battle with the Horde at any rate."

Bombs were an Ithildain invention since their ancestors used their discovery of gunpowder to create fireworks, the ever-industrious Ithildain used it to create the ultimate capital good - on to be used in the battlefield. It was the cold-hard truth that they had created a weapon so terrible in power, capable of destroying not only the undead Horde, but also all those made of flesh and bone. The Ithildain had used them to gain power through wartime commerce, by selling these weapons to their allies, and buying their allegiance when those allies could not afford them. It was effectively how Empress Silmarwen bought the services of a Prince, and how the Ithildain Empire gained what you would know as a U.S. Secretary of Defense. 

"So that is how you are to become the Duke of Arms," Melinn concluded, nudging Aran-magol with her elbow. "There would be soldiers who will kill one another for this post..."

"Are you just sore that although you tied with me in the same Tournament, I am to be your superior soon?" Aran-magol shot back teasingly. "I would have to be careful with my every move then. Who knows when you would have me poisoned or killed..."

Melinn chuckled. "The day I tried something so foolish would be the day I threw myself down a cliff," she replied. "Besides, who knows, one day it would be you who will report to me?"

However a deep silence followed those words from Melinn. They were in the Havens, and she was the daughter of the Crown Prince. There was a possibility that she would be the Queen somewhere in the far future. But now, she had slipped the chance that she might seek a higher office than that of the Ithildain Duke of Arms, which would mean that she would perhaps run for the office of Empress when her grandmother's term ended in 400 years' time... It was a reality that the world had not prepared for. 

"Well, the possibilities are endless, aren't they, who knows?" Ainurion said, dispelling the coming tension. "But I must say that it is a terrible waste that no Champion goes to the Havens this time around. We are in great need of new blood in our army."

"Nonsense, cousin, you are one of the greatest soldiers that we'll ever have!" the King retorted. 

"Sadly you know that my interests are not that of the state," Ainurion replied. "All I want to do is to find a good replacement and lie on the beach with a drink in hand all day."

Alphwen, tired of Ainurion's jests slapped him in the chest with the back of her hand and led him away. "You, my love, had too much to drink." Her husband had been dropping far too many non-subtle hints that he did not wish to inherit the throne in one night, placing an insurmountable amount of pressure onto both his cousin and his daughter. 

"Ah, you might be right," Ainurion replied, and motioned that he wished to be with excused with Alphwen, giving a bow to the King before he left to retire to a quiet corner of the hall. The King, on the other hand, had moved his attention to other guests, leaving Melinn with Aran-magol. 

"My lady, it seems that it is only you and me now," Aran-magol told Melinn, taking two goblets of white wine from the server's tray, and passing one of them to her. They shared a toast, and started to walk together, arm in arm. "You have done very well for yourself, Princess. You are loved and respected in the Empire and the Havens..."

"Please, spare me the details," Melinn replied, rolling her eyes. Her amethyst eyes scanned the room and whispered into his ear. "You did not tell me that you were the Prince of the Avari when we met last autumn. You said that you were just a scholar employed by Curon!"

Clearing his throat, Aran-magol replied, "I am a scholar... a scholar of statehood under the employ of my father, the King. You were not honest as well, Princess. You introduced yourself as an arms trader."

"Which was my ancestral profession," Melinn replied. "My mother's kin have always sold weapons."

"Thus we were both dishonest to one another," Aran-magol concluded, and proposed an arrangement to make their later days better. "Let us call a truce, Princess, and we shall start afresh." He offered her his hand and she shook it reluctantly. "There, was it so hard?"

"It was not," Melinn answered, a twinge of vehemence lacing her voice. "But remember, since we are starting afresh, everything should start in that manner."

Chapter 2

Alphwen, the Crown-Princess of the High Elves, had never been in place... amongst the Elves. They do not walk, they float, they do not talk, they sing, and the list went on and on. Her daughter, on the other hand, seemed well-adjusted among them, but then again, she had lived in the White Palace, in the Havens all throughout her childhood and was one with the Elves, because for all their peculiarities, the Elves loved children. Her daughter was the last daughter of the royal High Elven line in thousands of years, and that made her a total darling. She watched her daughter's handmaidens fawn over her as she donned the gown that she would wear to the Victor's Ceremony, a red one that covered her body up to her neck but without sleeves, cut to utter perfection - showing off what men of all races liked to see on a woman. It was a gown of Ithildain make, for Princess Melinn Vasa had made an Ithildain victory, not an Elven one. 

"Come, girls, let me do it," she told the maids, and they gracefully walked away, their heads lowered while greeting the wife of their Crown Prince. Her daughter waved them goodbye and turned back to her as she held the ties that held the internal corset of the gown close. "You were brilliant today, my dear. No one has ever beaten Aran-magol in the Tournament."

Melinn sighed. "Is that why Grandmother hired him as the new Duke of Arms?" she asked her mother, taking a deep breath before the ties were tightened. She looked at the mirror and watched the curve of her breasts protrude further forwards from her garment and her waist getting smaller as her mother made a sharp tug on them. Elven women did not dress like Ithildain women. They preferred billowy gowns and bell-shaped sleeves that barely caressed the floor. Their fabrics were rich, but their richness could not be seen when the eye was laid on them but for a few seconds. The Ithildain use whatever fabrics they could find their hands on, but the drawing point of their garments was the workmanship. Stones could be embroidered onto the cloth, depicting flora or fauna. That night, Melinn wore a small silver dragon holding a pearl that spanned from the start of her neckline, just to the end of her torso. It was a sight that seemed relatively modest, but seemed to drive men wild, and that effect was the desired outcome. 

Alphwen crooked her shoulders up and shrugged. "You know that I do not share your eye for politics back home," she chastised her daughter. Alphwen rebelled against the notion of taking her mother's footsteps in pursuing a political life, and instead worked as a diplomat. That was how she was sent to the Havens, as an Imperial Ambassador, and how she met an Elven engineer trying to make some new-fangled siege-weapon, and then married him after a few centuries of courtship. "But... I have some idea that the Havens might have a hand in it."

Melinn turned around sharply, facing her mother when she heard those words. "Mother, are you serious?" she asked her mother, her face more shocked than surprised. Those words implied that the Kings of the High Elves and the Dark-Elves would seek to marry their children together. Those words implied a political marriage in the works, a practice unknown to the Elves, less so to the Ithildain. "I am but too young to marry!"

Bursting into laughter, Alphwen rapped her daughter on her head. "Nonsense, there was no talk of marriage at all, although it would be a greatly desired outcome," she told Melinn. "I doubt that your father and uncle would suffer you leaving them for another man anytime soon." She could remember that her husband was a man of strict composure, brooding and stormy in his disposition before the birth of their daughter. The King, on the other hand, had the weight of the world on his shoulders - his people had only recovered from a great and terrible war with the Dark Lord (who seemed to have either lost a nose or had taken the form of a giant flaming eyeball), and there was utterly silence in the Havens. The King became less sombre when Melinn, as a precocious toddler, started asking him what the pieces on his prized map of the world were, those of the various armies, strongholds and ships. Happily he taught her everything he knew, and she eagerly listened to his tale of warfare, trade and politics. 

"They would rather burn any man that comes close to me," Melinn retorted jokingly. Yet, for the past few centuries, Melinn had spent her days in the Ithildain Empire, pursuing a military career, and getting in touch with her Ithildain roots. But the King and the Crown-Prince had tolerated this slight separation, because Baran-Mir, the capital city of the Empire was only two day's ride from the Havens. She could go back any time she wanted. "But I am not of marriageable age yet."

"You turned 400 a few summers ago," Alphwen reminded her daughter, while mentally taking note of the list of lovers that her daughter had taken ever since coming of age in Baran-Mir. Living as a soldier, Alphwen was sure that the Elven noblewomen would have fainted when they realized that Melinn lived as a man would - being forever doused in drink and partners for bedsport, men and women alike. The Ithildain did not take virginity as a virtue anyways. They preferred virility and experience. Once their children came of age they were able to do whatever they wanted in the arts of love, so long as they did not rape or commit incest. "There is no need for you to get married yet, dear daughter, unless you so wish it."

Melinn shuddered at the thought. If she married an Elven gentleman, she would be forever tied to the bonds of marriage, and with the slightly patriarchal structure of Elven society, gave a face of ill-enjoyment. "I would run off to join the army in some human country if you even try to bring it up," she threatened as her mother clicked a bracelet onto her wrist. 

"They, my child, pay pittance to their soldiers, who are usually convicts, peasants who cannot afford to pay their taxes and the like," Alphwen chuckled, grounding her daughter's hypothetical threats once again. "You are a professional warrior, who cost the Ithildain government 100 000 silver coins to train and educate over a span of 200 years."

"Thus, I am working for the government, am I not?" Melinn answered sweetly. With one last look, Alphwen considered her daughter ready and summoned the handmaiden to bring Melinn's shoes in. They were made of velvet and had thick heels that rose up to four inches in height, making the women who wore them appear much taller than they were, a particularly useful item when one was going to be in the company of Elves. 

"You will work for those who need you," Alphwen answered, finally handing her daughter's jeweled dagger, an Ithildain symbol that she was a Sentinel - a royal serving in the army. "And now, you are needed in the Victor's ceremony."

Melinn nodded and took her mother's arm, silently thankful that the banquet hall was very near to her chambers. It was a plague to be a woman, no matter how free she was, for she would always be a slave to footwear that made them look so beautiful and elegant, but would pain her feet more than they served her aesthetically.

Chapter 1

The sun was high in the sky, and the autumn wind blew gently over the makeshift stage where two warriors, armed to the teeth in an assortment of wooden weapons, were locked in a duel, surrounded by thousands of spectators, cheering either one they favored. One of them was a tall being, an Elf with dark hair and eyes of emerald, green like the leaves of the forests from whence he had hailed, and the other, an Ithildain Princess - by the looks of her amethyst eyes, sporting hair of sparkling gold, bound in a warrior's braid worn only by those who had proven themselves in battle. 

"You fight well, Princess," the Elf told the Ithildain woman after parrying a horizontal blow that could have hewed his head from his neck if they were using real weapons. Her cry was fierce and her gaze poison. This woman was one who was not only accustomed to carnage - she was used to it. 

"And so do you, my Lord," she replied, raising her wooden shield so as to deflect the Elf's strike from above. She knew that she could not match him in brute force, and from her earlier ideas to trick him with the use of acrobatics, she knew that he could see through mere theatrics. This one was an opponent that could only be conquered by the sheer use of wit and speed, traits that she knew that he lacked not. While waiting for him to recover from such an energy-consuming blow, she raised her shield once more, but at the same time, angled her sword in a manner that its path was concealed by the shield. Once again, he attacked, this time from the side, and was blocked by her shield, only to have his hand struck by the wooden blade that she held.

The Elf only chuckled. "You are clever indeed to use your shield as a deception," he added, taking her by the wrist of her sword-hand and flinging her onto the ground. It was not an elegant move, characteristic of his people, but it was enough to bring her to the floor. "You are fast, but you think lightly of your opponents. You think that your speed is your advantage, but strength, when properly applied, can stop even the fastest of creatures."

"You talk too much," she spat, rolling her eyes as she ran up one of the poles that defined the combat area and launched herself into the air, plunging her sword towards him with a high guard. He, on the other hand, swung his sword from below, thus meeting her attack in mid-air. It was a spectacle that caused the audience to gasp. They had never seen such a thing before, and apparently, so didn't he. 

He knew that he had wasted too much time wondering how she could have matched his attack, and jumped backwards to launch another strike, but before he could have done anything, the bell rang. Neither of them had been able to make their opponent submit - the duel had ended with a tie. The spectators cheered and shouted. It was a match that would not be open to their eyes in many generations to come. 

"Congratulations, Princess," the Elf said to the Ithildain woman, offering his hand for her to shake, a gesture that she took willingly and without hesitation. "I was speaking the truth when I said that you fought well."

"And to you, my Lord," she answered with a glint in her amethyst eyes. "But it seems that I have broken your winning-streak."

"An incredible feat for a newcomer in this Tournament," the Elf praised. "Your parents and uncle must be very proud of you."

She looked over to the stands where the audience were, and there, right at the front row, occupying the three chairs of the highest honor, the King, the Crown-Princess and Crown-Princess of the High Elves were cheering for a most beloved fighter. Just looking at her father raining down praises upon his daughter and her mother's elegant but proud smile brought much joy to her face, and she bowed to them before waving to them excitedly. 

As ceremony dictated, the victors of the Tournament were to present themselves to the front of the dais where they would meet with not only the King of the High Elves, but also the other heads of states, leaders of not only their respective races, but also territories. You see, the sole purpose of the Tournament was to seek out the cream of the crop in those proficient in the martial arts in order to fill the top military positions of their respective lands when they returned. It was also a show of each nation's military prowess at a glance, for the competitors were announced not only by their names, but also by their military rank should they have any. 

"Presenting the victors of the Tournament: Princess Melinn-ar Vasa of the Havens and Baran-Mir, and the most gracious Lord Aran-magol Curonion, Prince of the Avari!" shouted the Master of Ceremonies, who presented the Ithildain woman and the Elf to the audience. Children of various races ran up to the stage to give the victors garlands of flowers to be worn around their necks. 

"What position awaits you at the Havens?" Aran-Magol, the Elf asked the Ithildain woman, Melinn. It was common knowledge that she was third in line to the throne of the Havens, but there was also rumor that she was pursuing a career in the Ithildain military. Like Melinn, he had been trained to inherit something more than the family profession - they were trained to inherit an entire nation, down to the very last child. 

Melinn chuckled and shook her head. "It was implied that I would ascend to the position of Captain of the Sentinels if I obtain certain... desirable results on this venture," she whispered into Aran-magol's ear. "My father has held all the portfolios of importance in the Havens, and I would have nothing left to do to occupy my time."

"It is a great calling, to control half the Ithildain Army," Aran-magol said with a smile on the corner of his eye. 

"What is your promised prize, my Lord?" Melinn asked him. "You are already the Prince of the Avari, what more need you achieve?"

"A stint in the Imperial Army as you have been given, fair Lady," Aran-magol answered. "I seek to command the other half."

At that moment of time, Melinn's eyes widened. The post of the Duke of Arms, at that time in the Ithildain Administration was open to all. There had been news that the Empress of the Ithildain had her eye on a foreign candidate, whose name was kept secret to those who were not in the Senate. It was one of the Empress' constitutional rights, to elect two of the four Imperial Offices so long it had been approved by the Senate. 

"Imagine, us being colleagues," Aran-magol continued. He was only being humble, whether by design or with sincerity. It was common knowledge that the Captain of the Sentinels was subordinate to the Duke of Arms along with the Captain of the Imperial Army. 

"I would not give it up for the world," Melinn replied, wondering whether or not she liked this foreign prince who soon would be her boss. His coming to the Imperial Army was not a precedent case, but somehow, she could not shake away the fact that his appointment served a higher purpose in the course of things. She kept such thoughts to herself, and faced her family who were fast approaching her. She would deal with it in the near future. Not now.

---

Prologue

This is not tale about an orphaned child living under the stairs, nor it is about the struggle of a band of ragged warriors off to destroy a highly mobile weapon of mass destruction. It is, however, a tale of a land where the grass is green and the girls are pretty, in a relatively long time ago, on a galaxy approximately far from ours.

It begins on Midsummer's Day, not under a hole where a spelunking pseudo-Human species resided, on the side of a mountain. A great palace was carved out of the mountain's side, and it housed the ruling house of the Ithildain Empire - the Children of Ithilwen, a House so powerful they commanded half of the nation's trade volume. The Ithildain Imperial House numbered half the Empire's population, but they lived as commoners, with no special rights - only sumptuouary  laws during festive seasons, where they could only wear a certain shade of purple and gold together in one outfit. You see, their eyes - those true-born Children of Ithilwen - are purple. 

On this Midsummer's Day, another child was born of the Imperial House, a daughter with purple eyes so dark they were of amethyst, but her ears, ah, her ears were different than those of her cousins', they were slightly pointed. She was a half-Elf you see, her father was the Crown-Prince of the High Elves, heir to his cousin's throne. She was a daughter born to kings and queens, the grand-daughter of Emperors and Empresses, thus born to greatness, and of greatness. 

Thus to Prince Ainurion and Princess Alphwen she was born - Melinn Vasa of the High Elves and the Ithildain. She would soon be the Empress of the Ithildain Empire, and also the Commander of the Elven armies after that. Ah, sit down with me and let an old woman tell you a tale that JRR Tolkien most likely forgot.