Alfialys walked alone on the worn paths of Melaquenya. The sun would be rising soon. The ancient forest was silent, except for the chirping of rousing birds in the foliage above. The trunks of the trees glimmered with flecks of gold and silver in the predawn shadows. His boots shone with dew from the lush grass, but his footsteps made no sound. A cool breeze carrying the green scent of the forest brushed his cheeks and stirred his long, white braids against his shoulders.
The Light Elf allowed his mind to roam as he walked. He had found himself making these early morning journeys increasingly often over the past several days. He had tried to deny the reason behind his growing restlessness, but he knew he couldn’t hide from it much longer.
Today is the day everything changes.
He hoped he was wrong, but something deep inside him told him otherwise. He wished he could say it was the prodding of the Quenya, but his connection to the source of the elves’ magic had never been a strong one. He knew he was meant to do something important with his life, but unlike most Light Elves, he had very little idea what that thing was. He had flashes of insight from time to time, but they were rarely about anything of consequence.
Alfialys knew his lack of connection disconcerted Iadrawyn. The Ruling Lady of the Light Elves had held both he and his sister after they had been born, guiding their souls to the Quenya, yet his sister’s connection had always been the stronger of the two. This in itself was not unusual. Some elves simply had a stronger bond with the Quenya than others. But Alfialys was different. He had silver eyes—a color that had not changed since his birth nearly a thousand years ago. No other Light Elf had ever been marked in such a way. No one knew what it meant, but his eyes were not the only thing that set him apart...
His pointed ears twitched, his thoughts scattering. He heard no sign of approach, but he knew someone was coming. He felt another presence approaching, as familiar to him as his own. He stopped walking and waited.
“Alfialys!” Eransinta’s melodic voice drifted toward him as she approached. She sounded slightly out of breath. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for almost half an hour.”
Alfialys gave his sister a smile of apology as he took in her disheveled appearance. Her golden skin, long, white hair, and angular features were a mirror of his own, but unlike his neat braids, hers were coming undone. She still wore her filmy, blue nightgown, and her feet were bare.
“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
He felt a twinge of guilt. If he hadn’t been so busy brooding, he would have noticed her presence sooner.
“You’ve been making that a habit lately,” she said, pinning him with her deep, blue gaze. “It’s the wedding, isn’t it?”
Alfialys shrugged. “I just have a lot on my mind. What are you doing wandering the forest? Today is the big day, and you’re a complete mess! Your feet are all wet.”
Eransinta waved off his concern. “There will be plenty of time for me to clean up before the ceremony. I wanted to talk to you before everyone else is awake.”
“About what?” Alfialys kept his tone light. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
Not that he would blame her... Wedding ceremonies were uncommon among the elves. When two elves (or sometimes more, if former Wild Elves were involved) decided to become mates, they simply moved in together. But marrying into the ruling family was another story.
“Of course not!” His sister swatted at him. “I know I am meant to be with Curuadil. I have always known it. The Quenya wants us together.”
“Are you worried about fitting in with his family?” Alfialys said with a sly smile. “His parents are the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya.”
“No. Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir have been very kind to me, and his sister even helped me with my dress. They have all made me feel welcome.”
“Not too welcome, I hope,” Alfialys said. “I don’t want you expecting me to fawn all over you every time you come visit once you are part of the ruling family, my lady.” He made an exaggerated bow.
Eransinta rolled her eyes. “You know they aren’t like that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show me a bit of respect.” She raised her chin for a moment before abandoning the pose with a sigh. “Oh, Alfialys...”
“What is it?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, her tension flowing through him to mingle with his own.
“It’s just—” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing will be the same after today, will it?”
Alfialys drew her closer, knowing exactly what she meant. They were the only twins to be born among the elves. No one else could understand the bond they shared, or how deep it went. They had always been a pair—Alfialys wandering the wood with Eransinta trailing behind him. Even though he usually took the lead, he took comfort in her constant presence, and her confidence in her own purpose. No one knew why they had been born together, but Alfialys did not regret it. Even when his sister’s clinginess annoyed him, he remembered that without Eransinta, he would be lost and alone.
“We will still be just as close,” he said, forcing himself to put on a brave face. “Curuadil and I are good friends. He understands better than most what our connection means. He isn’t the jealous type to try to come between us.”
Eransinta looked up at him, her deep-blue eyes shining with tears. “Maybe I should ask him if you can come live with us—”
Alfialys shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
As tempting as the suggestion was, the last thing he wanted was to be a hanger-on, who created tension between the newly married couple.
“It’s not as if you are going to live somewhere far away,” he said. “We can still see each other every day. Besides, I think Curuadil might want to spend time with you engaging in activities that are, ah, less than brotherly.”
Eransinta chuckled, her cheeks flushing. “You might be right. Perhaps it would be a little awkward to have you living with us. The Quenya knows, I’ve stumbled across your trysts a time or two.” She shuddered. “I’m still trying to forget.”
Alfialys gave her an affronted look. “That’s different.”
Eransinta raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“You’re my sister. You’re not supposed to be interested in those kinds of activities, as far as I’m concerned.”
Eransinta gave him an arch look. “From what I saw, your partners seemed to be enjoying themselves. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Of course they were enjoying it.” Alfialys rolled his eyes. “They were with me.”
“We’re twins, remember? If you really do have a special knack for the four-legged frolic, chances are I do, too.”
“Stop,” Alfialys pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought. “Just... stop.”
“You started it.” Eransinta was smiling now. “Perhaps I should have Curuadil give you his opinions on my theory.” She smirked. “He has firsthand experience.”
“I give up!” Now it was Alfialys’s turn to shudder. “Curuadil can keep his opinions to himself. I don’t want to know.”
Eransinta stuck her tongue out at him. “Prude.”
Alfialys uttered a startled chuckle. “Feeling better?”
His twin sighed. “Yes. Thank you. Just promise me you’ll always be here when I need you.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
A prickle traveled down Alfialys’s spine. He did his best to ignore it.
“I promise. Now go get ready for your wedding.” He gave her a gentle push. “You’re an absolute mess. I love you, but I’m not going to make myself look a fright just so you can look good by comparison. I do have a certain image to maintain.”
Eransinta punched him in the arm before running off between the trees, her white braids drifting behind her like a writhing cloud. Alfialys watched her go. His sense of foreboding had not left him. The Quenya gave him no insight, only a vague feeling of tension building somewhere in the distance, like a coming storm.
Change was coming—he was sure of it.
