Chapter One -Valerien's Cross

 

The shouts of the other elwyn echoed harshly in Valerien's gracefully tapered ears almost as painfully as the rocks pelting him, his arms covering his head while his strong but lean posture was hunched over in defense. 

Elwyn was the Elven people's words for adult males whereas elwyne were females much as boys and girls were called elwyg (el-weg) and elwi (el-wee); then wives were called elwyse (el-wīs) and husbands elwys (el-wes), and respectively, male leaders were elduwyn (el-doo-wen), and female leaders elduwin (el-doo-ween). 

Most of the elves tormenting the other were black haired elwyn, the leader of the mob brunette, while the elf being attacked had locks of auburn which rivulets of blood dyed a deeper shade of red.  The colour of his hair gave him away as an elf of mixed and not pure woodland blood, which was not uncommon, though many Ariandor Llelduar prided themselves on being pure Mytharian, or woodland elf.  The mountain elves had red, strawberry blonde, auburn, or reddish brown hair, so it was assumed his father had been a mountain elf.   Valerien's intensely green eyes were very Mytharian on the other hand.  Both people were fair skinned, though the mountain folk, the Mythbienae, were even paler.  In Mephais where these woodland elves lived, their nation was called Ariandor Llelduar, which meant elven watchers of the wood.  Their territory included most of Sqaith Anendor, the Black Sea Country of eastern Mephais, wherever it was forested, not including the coastal areas of the Anuaen, the sea elves.  The mountain lake city of Anundaen, named Lakeguard, was their capital and the greatest elven city in Mephais, where their high elders Gilgallius of the Ariandor and Thallis Anrillus of the Anuaen nation resided. 

It was unfortunate for the elves of Sqaith Anendor that their country lie between the Westfold of men and the Eastfold of Demons, who were bitter enemies which had been at war for thousands of years.  In effect the elves were all too often dragged into conflicts to defend their own lands and people from the Black Pike legions of the east, and sometimes even from the Westfold men, who would trespass on elven lands to join their enemy in battle.  The Mythaen nations kept out of it whenever possible and attended to their own but war was war and forced men, elves, demons and all the races of people alike to choose sides.

Just across the Mephais eastern border lie Andoreth, a vast desert country separated from Mephais by a rugged mountain range, river and lake which marked the westernmost territory of the Black Pike, ruled over by a frightfully powerful Lich King named Hesstromeph, whose immense black tower stood on a foundation of rock at the center of a small lake within a ring of mountains called the Black Wall.  Joining to the south were the Dead Mountains, where the Maelvannor, Goblin and Dragonkin allies of Hesstromeph dwelled in caverns few men or elves had ever entered and left unscathed or alive.  Then, to the west stretching into Mephais, was the Dragon's Jaw range and even further west into the Black Sea country the Silver Horn Mountains thrust up their peaks, which connected to the vast Elfstone range.  Sqaith Anendor was a country covered over with primeval forests and treacherous mountain ranges which few but the elves could navigate without getting lost, injured or killed by the savage side of that beautiful wilderness.  The ancient trees and mountains alike often towered so high above the landscape that their crowns were lost from sight.  Even the dense carpets of moss, the stands of laurels and fern thickets were frequently ancient in that wilderland.  That was their godsend; the land was well fortified by the mountains and vast ancient woodlands which the Ariandor and some Hessrhaen, the elven horse-lords of the South, called home. 

"Get out of the village.  We don't want thee here!" The brunette haired elwyn leading the rabble howled just before he struck the younger elf a blow with a rock large enough to seriously damage him if his arm had not shielded his brainpan from the stone. 

"Monster!!" a beautiful but fiery elwyne shouted before throwing a stone which struck his rib cage. 

Like Valerien; they were all attractive people, for elves were just that, a beautiful people with feline qualities reaching back to the big cats they had evolved from.  Indeed on Morashtar, the world they called home, the big cats and cat-monkeys inhabiting the wilderness areas, and the cave and deep forest dwelling goblins, were distant relatives of the highly evolved Mythaen and the subterranean Maelvannor.  Mythaen were what the native elves of Morashtar were called, and albino Maelvannor were what had became of a large group of elves ages ago who had grown too jaded and been driven underground.  Men called them gothelves, which meant land-under elves.  Indeed in An Morendor there was a vast underground kingdom called Landunder where many Maelvannor lived. 

This was not the first time Valerien had been ambushed by his own kind in the village nor scorned by them, nor would it be the last, and he was beginning to realize that this might be the last time he could come home again.

Valerien had been singled out from the day he had returned from his most fateful of all journeys to become something which many of his people felt threatened by because of what he now represented.  They saw him as the face of corruption, deception and heartlessness, and all else which they feared and loathed the most.  Like most kinds of people, elves were imperfect in their mental design.  How could such a beautiful young elwyn, such a kind hearted elwyn, and such a virtuous elwyn be so feared and likewise hated?  It was because he was the product of vampirism, the forced siring by a powerful Astraeus vampire, a first generation primogen no less.  That made Valerien capable of vast power, and it also meant he was now tied by blood to the one who made him, and would be marked by all who knew what he was as one of Acheron's legions.  Valerien neither wanted power or to have ties to Acheron, the vast underworld kingdom of spirits, demons, devils, dark fallen, and what most would call monsters. 

Valerien was a foundling who had been raised by a wise elf with a serene heart; much as his mother had died giving birth to him.   His name was Sauramas and he was an Anorian priest.  Anoria was the northern isle of the white halls where elves went when they passed beyond the physical world.  Some in the village believed Valerien's mother Aloneu had died because Valerien was born under the sign of the wolf during a comet phase, and that he was cursed.  This meant that the constellation representing the wolf god was at its zenith when he was born.  To make matters worse the Wolf comet had also been visible in the sky when he was born.  Indeed it was the comet called Peremus which had been named after a fallen Mythaen paragon who when he died became a comet who forever chased through the heavens seeking his lost virtue, for the comet had appeared when the legendary elf had died.  Peremus the Wolf he had been called, and he was father of the Maelvannor, the deep elves which occupied caverns.  There was some small truth in the accusation that Valerien had been born cursed which Valerien was yet unaware of.  He had not known his father or who he was.  Sauramas alone knew who his father was and had not found the appropriate time to divulge the truth to Valerien.

Sauramas had never let himself grow so jaded that he could not open his mind and heart to the truth, but he also knew there was a time and place for some knowledge.  The Mythaen believed that to let your self become corrupted by fear, evil, self-deception, doubt or other destructive feelings and ideals was to become jaded, whereas in youth it was simply called folly to be foolish.  The difference was in knowing better.   Anorian disciples dedicated themselves to virtue with the strong idea that being self-righteous and to give in to absolute belief in the unknown were traps which led one on the path of becoming jaded.  They held that it was good to have ideas, and dangerous to deal in absolutes.  Ideas could evolve and change whereas 'belief' tended to be more difficult to separate sound acumen from.  Valerien had been raised on the precepts of his foster father and his order, and felt these elwyn who tormented him should know better and responded to their violent attack with words. 

"Have ye grown so jaded that ye would call someone who has never done anyone any harm a monster and do violence on them?  What have I done to thee or to anyone?" 

"Ye killed thy beloved mother with thy tainted blood!" the persecuting mob's best friend Aldyss yelled and hurled another rock which Valerien deflected with his bruised and bloody arm. 

"I don't know why she died but I did not wish it!" the gentle hearted elf's voice cracked as he answered to the accusations he truly had no answers for. 

"Even if that were true ye drink our blood, thy own people's blood to survive!  Ye're a vampire and vampires are infectious parasites created to serve the dark kingdom!" 

"If what ye say is true then why is the great king of our people allied with the very vampire which sired me?!" Valerien retaliated only to fuel their violence. 

"Ye defend him?  Defend the outland monster which ripped thy virtue and elven blood from thee?!" the older elf fumed. 

Valerien was then pelted by so many stones that he could neither think of a response much less articulate a defense and instead stood from the place he had been sitting the entire time, taking their abuse in hopes of reasoning with them, to flee.  As he did so; he ran smack into the sturdy frame of a taller elf with silver streaked black hair and eyes such a pale shade of green they seemed to glow.  It was Sauramas, Valerien's father.  One of his arms coiled his son protectively, likewise shrouding him in the mantle of his dark green robes, the edges trimmed with light brown ivy vines, the Mythaen symbol for endurance, while the other arm thrust out with palm flush against the air to halt the rabble which came charging after his son.  Valerien recognized the healing life force Sauramas focused on him and surrendered himself to his father's soothing embrace.

"What is this?!" he shouted with such commanding authority as stopped the others dead in their tracks.  "Ye would offend me again by abusing my good son, thy clan brother?!" he accused them and watched as they swapped looks with each other.  "Ye claim no respect for me by tormenting and harming my son!"

"Save that… he is not really thy son, is he?" Mordavu, the gang leader had the nerve to point out.

Sauramas frowned.  "Have ye grown so jaded in thy youth to say such a thing, Mordavu?  Blood does not make a son.  Love and devotion make a father and a son.  Was the eldest of us all Peremus not raised by a wolf and call that wolf father?"

Mordavu scoffed.  "And he grew so jaded that he rejected the sun and his own people to become the father of the Maelvannor, the most corrupt elves ever to live," the youth pointed out.

"There is much can be learned from his tale young elwyn, and great was he still despite his corruption.  Judge not others, Mordavu, lest ye be judged and follow in Peremus the Wolf's great shadow."

"I do not choose thy religion, elder, and find it impossible not to judge.  If a fruit is rotten I judge it to be rotten."

"And yet ye will neither judge thyself by thy own actions nor see that rotting fruit yields wine," Sauramas indicated.

"Ye stand in judgment of me now," Mordavu accused, nearly snarling.

"Ye confuse an attempt to reason and mentor with judgment, Mordavu.  I understand well enough were thy violence comes from.  Like most violence it comes from fear.  I wonder, Mordavu, if ye have the courage to face the truth."

"And what truth would that be?" the far younger elf knew he would regret asking.

"That where corruption hides itself in unlikely places, so too doth virtue.  Valerien hath a heart the honorable aspire towards.  It does not matter that he was redefined as a vampire out of no fault or choice of his own.  It does not matter that he must drink the blood of elves and men to survive.  If he could drink the blood of animals he would, but he is not among those noswar who can."  Noswar was the Esurian word for elven vampire, Esurian a language of the elves.  "What's important is that his heart is as pure as ever it was before, and that he strives never to harm or judge others," Sauramas spoke as the arch priest he was.

"He chose it by electing to travel into dangerous lands beyond Mephais and his homeland.  And where harm is concerned?  Let him go hungry awhile and see who he does not harm.  His blood runs black as his notorious maker's and we will see him grow jaded beyond all salvation," Mordavu ascertained sternly. 

Sauramas stared at the younger elf a moment then shook his head slowly.  "Ye prove his fault with rationalization and that is a devil's tool which will not change who he is, young Mordavu.  Never thee forget that though reason is good, blind and excessive reason excuses wrong and confuses what is right.  Danger hides all around us, in our own country and woodlands as well.  Ye think Nasgul and other dangerous kinds do not stalk our lands?  What of Dark Home in the South?  Is it not a castle of vampires in a kingdom of vampires, which our people overlook because they cause us no trouble?  Ye are intelligent; Think Mordavu.  Valerien shall not grow jaded else he is persecuted because of what he has become until it breaks him," Sauramus contended.  "I wonder if shadows can take his heart even then."   

"He will be tormented…" Mordavu assured.  "As he lives in Mephais he will be.  Dark Home is a house of Mephais Vampires, who have no ties to Acheron.  But are they not evil?  Even in An Morendor where King Corlian of our people has foolishly allied his kingdom with that cursed outland king of the undying, nasgul are hated, feared, mistrusted and hunted.  He shall become so jaded that not even the folk of Peremus will have him among their own,  for what else can he become but corrupt, when in Mephais his kind are never tolerated beyond the eastern territory of the pike's lich king?  Dark Home is the single exception and only because we do not bother to expose them to Westfold men.  Valerien is a blood drinking fiend.  That is where his journey to An Morendor landed him.  Nothing can change that.  He is fit for Acheron alone and perhaps he should go back to An Morendor."  Mordavu spoke his own belief harshly.

Valerien gently tugged himself free of his father's arm and robes then swiveled to face Mordavu.  All the cuts and bruises on his body, limbs and head were gone though the blood which had run its course remained.  "I have always been a far traveler whose eyes, ears and heart see for his people, whose fingers are stained with the ink of what I have seen, but if I have no home here anymore, than I shall never know a place I can call home.  If my own people cannot accept me for being attacked and changed by a demon possessed vampire, and it has been proven that Lord Decasey was possessed, then I shall find acceptance no where and be forced to deceive others by hiding what I am.  Sauramas warned me that revealing what I am to the village would bring hard consequences, but I chose not to hide, not to deceive.  I thought… my people could understand… could accept me despite what I have become."

Mordavu shook his head.  "Possession can almost never be proven, Valerien.  His supporters believe he was possessed.  The majority on the other hand does not believe it, and for that reason his kingdom is torn by war.  Possession is too easy a defense against the unspeakable acts he committed under claim of demonic control.  He forced women to bear his trueborn spawn, he sired others by force, crimes his own kind carry a death penalty for, he murdered, he plotted, he deceived, he assaulted and he abused.  His reign of terror in Seumir was so terrible that reports reached us overseas here in Mephais almost as it became known.  That is the blood which fills thy body now, the blood which drives thee.  How ye can defend that monster is beyond me, but it speaks to the corrupting force pulsing in thy veins.  And if he was possessed, then the demon which tainted him surely tainted thee.  Ye may not be a monster yet, but ye will be, and by thy blood ye are hopelessly bound to thy maker.  It is inevitable, a force of nature, of chaos, of Acheron and the Morning Star ye cannot vanquish.  Ye really think ye can fight all that and remain true to thyself?"

"I do… I know I can," Valerien pledged with firm resolve.

Mordavu shook his head.  "Then ye are a fool," he said and looked to the priest he had once held in such high esteem.  "And so are thee for believing in him."

Sauramas folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips.  "Ye certainly have an affinity for the word fool, Mordavu, for one so young," the arch priest pointed out.  "The wisest of all elduwyn and ancient king of the greatest Llelduaraen city ever sculpted is a fool, the legendary vampire king of honor is a liar, the sensible and gentle youth Valerien is a fool, and I, the village high priest and arch wizard, whose age is over a thousand am a fool.  But of course, we elders and all who support and esteem us are all wrong and Mordavu is right."  Sauramas mocked him in tones that were practically blithe, but there was an underlying edge which betrayed his anger.  Sauramas never claimed to be perfect or dead inside. 

"Perhaps where it concerns Valerien I am right," Mordavu said with gravity.

Sauramas narrowed his pale green eyes on the elwyn who he felt was behaving more like an elwyg.  "Are ye out to murder him, are thee?  Ye injured him badly!"

"Of course not, we mean to drive him from the village," Mordavu answered honestly then he turned and walked away; hence those who had supported his cruel folly followed after the young elven warrior.

Valerien and Sauramas stood in silence for a span of time which stretched into the forest surrounding them.  Where the branches bloomed out from the massive trunks of giant trees, level platforms were built which as decks supported the houses of the elves, each fitted around the branches and or trunks which held them up high above the ground.  The architecture was both simple and elegant, with arching frames of wood which the arrangement of each tree made unique.  The weight of the structures and the shapes which anchored them to the branches as windows held the houses firmly in place without any harm to the trees.  The keeps which housed the royal families, the arcane retinues, and universities on the other hand were carved out of the natural hollows of ancient trees where chambers and curling stairwells ascended the interior of their enormous trunks, like ligneous high rise towers.  The elves simultaneously kept the living part of these trees healthy while inhabiting the hollows they turned into beautiful and comfortable living quarters, often many stories high.  The wood they used to build with was deadfall after the teachings of the father god the Morning Star.  As the trees grew, the homes were adjusted by steaming the frames and supports and shaping them to accommodate that growth, their homes ever changing and evolving like the elves which lived in them.  Indeed the trees and their often ancient dwellings grew as one together.  Some however, like Mordavu, were slower to evolve, just as some trees grew so slowly it was hard to say if they grew at all. 

The Mythaen dedicated themselves to the Morning Star's principles, whose living proxy occasioned to reside on the world of his true personification's design in the form of a flawlessly attractive humanoid who assumed various aliases and… more divine forms at will.  As his proxies came and went, the Morning Star as a deity ever remained the lord of Acheron and guardian of Morashtar.  As they worshipped the Morning Star as their father, they also worshipped the mother god Leviathan, who was the Lord of Arcadia, and as they followed the Morning Star's principles of nature and logic, they followed Leviathan's standards of spirit and virtue. 

Valerien's emotions swelled so violently within him that tears welled up in his eyes and he turned towards the uninhabited reaches of that vast forest so that his back was to Sauramas.  At length he felt the weight of his father's hand settle against his shoulder.

"The consequences I had warned thee of have come to bear," he spoke regretfully.  "There are times when deception is a lesser evil, I fear."

Valerien's chest shuddered and he wiped the tears away on the pale-green sleeve of his soft moleskin tunic (actually woven of a plant fiber that was as soft as mole skin), the tunic darkening in a tie-dye gradient from breast to hem to pine-green.  When he had pulled himself together, he pivoted to face the ancient elwyn who had raised him.  "A lesser evil for me perhaps… but not for them," he determined.  Sauramas smiled to hear his son speak so unselfishly.  "I don't understand, dah… how they can revere the Morning Star and yet scorn him so to damn me for being placed in his path?"

"Because he, like all gods, is dangerous, Valerien," Sauramas led his son down a lovely path to a shimmering stream.  "Wash up," he urged, "Ye will feel better." As his son took his advice and knelt by the stream to cleanse the blood from his skin, Sauramas continued to counsel Valerien.  "As folk have little regard for insects, are we beneath the gods.  We walk in the shadow of titans as spiders walk in our shadows.  As emotion oft opposes logic, so the Morning Star is opposed by Leviathan, the two forever interlocked in the struggle between their contradictory yet necessary natures.  The Morning Star is shadow and darkness, his kingdom a vast underworld, the surface above either wasteland, desert or shallow seas, and what forests there are, are so ancient and dark, they are like caves themselves formed within great twisted boughs,; and they believe it is in his shadow ye walk now."

"Is it true?" Valerien asked quietly.

Sauramas raised his brow.  "Do ye want it to be?"

Valerien shook his head.  "Absolutely not."

"Then it shan't be.  Whose shadow would ye walk in, Valerien?" the elder then posed.

"My own heart's shadow," Valerien answered easily.

A faint smile etched the wizard's lips.  "Ye are wise for thy age, dear son.  Come, let us stroll," he beckoned and led the way down the path deeper into the forest away from the village, speaking as they progressed.  "What ye become in spirit and mind is completely within thy grasp to control, if ye have the strength and courage to overcome all which shall strive to make thee deviate from thy chosen paths.  The same holds true of us all.  I even have it on good authority that not all who reside in Acheron itself are corrupt.  Perhaps like so many things concerning Acheron and other netherworlds, much of what we are led to believe is a myth.  Perhaps Acheron is not unlike other worlds, only its environment happens to be a harsh one which shapes its inhabitants like any harsh climate can," he imagined.

Valerien's green eyes brightened.  "Perhaps I shall travel there one day and find out for myself and to Arcadia as well."

Sauramus shook his head.  "Only the dead or claimed travel to either of those realms unless they were born there," He reminded his son.

"I wish Anoria to welcome me…" Valerien stated quietly.

"The Paragons and Divines of Anoria do not judge those who can find their way to the radiant isles," Sauramas promised him, and Valerien's hope shone sweetly in his smile.

"And withstand the trials through the frozen passages," Valerien remembered.

"Yes, which is part of thy spirit finding its way to Anoria," Sauramas added.

"Is it true that in the outland worlds that Gods and netherworlds are only figments of wishful thinking and imaginations?" the elf inquired unexpectedly of his father and elder.

Sauramas looked at his son with subtle surprise.  "Where did thee hear that?"

"It was in The Book of Origins…"

"Ah, a sacred book under lock and key which thee stole a look at, eh?  Valerien, how many times have I told thee…"

"Is it true or not, father?"

Sauramas sighed.  "It is true of some worlds."  His son's thirst for knowledge and his thieving tendencies worried him sometimes.  He never stole anything to keep… not that Sauramas knew of anyway, because Valerien only ever actually stole from those who made themselves known as enemies; bandits, goblins and the like which ambushed people on the road or as they traveled.

"But not of ours?"

"No… In this world, the gods are powerful beings, and the netherworlds are as real as the denizens which inhabit them."

"Have ye ever seen a god?" the young noswar asked. 

"Once, a long time ago… Or perhaps many times without knowing it."

"Who was it?"

"I… Valerien, it is best I do not speak of it."

"Why?"

"To speak his name in any familiar manner may invite his attention…"

"So it’s a male deity… What was he like?"

"Confident, he had the kind of confidence which the wise simply do not challenge.  He was also wickedly intelligent, cunning, frightfully insightful, and dangerous.  Also candid, very candid," he described.

"Was it… the Morning Star?" Valerien guessed, drawing from his father's description and cross referencing with all he had read of the Morning Star.

"It was…" Sauramas admitted with a slight edge of aggravation.

"He revealed himself to thee then?" Valerien was somewhat stunned that he may have.

"Yes." And because Sauramas wanted to protect his son from the dangers in the world, he decided to share something more.  "He wanted to claim me, Val, to have my soul and my will at his beck, and he was very persuasive."

"But ye said no," Valerien hoped.

"I refused his offer, yes." His father assured him.  "I would not be here had I accepted," he added with gravity.

"Many claim he is deceptive, is that also true?" Valerien sought a deeper knowledge.

"He is at once truthful and deceptive, often tricking his enemies or those he wishes to claim into deceiving themselves.  Many fall prey to such machinations as the wise take heed of and beware.  He rarely lies, perhaps he never does.  He doesn't have to."

His gaze then lowered from the treetops he found himself gazing up at to settle on his beautiful auburn haired son.  He truly was the handsomest elf in the village and talented as well.  Valerien was a little over fifty but Mythaen regarded any age under one-hundred as quite young.  He appeared to be in his mid-twenties which was how old he had been when he had 'come of age' and stopped advancing in years.  Over time; injuries, exhaustion, stress and even excessive use of the arcane could add years to an elf's appearance, all depending on the various unusual conditions.  Elves were otherwise ageless, but quite mortal in that they could succumb to disease (although resistant to it) and injury.  Sauramas for instance appeared to be in his mid to late forties when in fact he was almost fifteen-hundred years old.   Had he not delved so deeply in the paths of wizardry and chaos that he commanded, or risked his life for his people so many times, he might still look twenty, the age he had been when he had come of age.

As Sauramas regarded his son he wondered if Mordavu was not jealous of Valerien and taking out his frustrations on him.  Many of the elwyne in the village desired him and some of them still did despite his altered state.  Valerien was also very intelligent and talented.

The first forty years of Valerien's life had been dedicated to the study of languages, history, geography, math, herbalism, woodcraft, the arcane (he was a wizard and chaosian like his father) and in physical disciplines which included elven martial arts, riding (horses, lombra, stags and dragons), and various other disciplines.  He had then occupied the later ten years with travel, journeys which he had chronicled.  He had embarked first to all the countries of Mephais, exploring his own country as well, then gone into the neighboring country of Andoreth, which Arthomir (the Eastfold) bordered, and thereafter he went abroad to every continent in Morashtar; beginning with his own western hemisphere to explore first the volcanic Isles of Valzaer and Anundor, then by the intrepid channel of the Anmethseti Whirlpool and Dangerous Shoals he voyaged to the jungle continent of Arithendor, the arctic pole of Avenmarch, the temperate land of Morganth, the southern pole of Dhamhas; then he sailed into the Eastern Hemisphere to visit the sub arctic continent of Elorendor, then pushed north to An Morendor which was both tropical and temperate.  Valerien had stayed two years on each continent, and had only the eastern Islands of Cheron and Taipang to journey to still, but the attack in Morendor which had changed his life forever, sent him home before he could sail to those two little known isles.  Valerien had only just returned from An Morendor two months ago. 

"Ye must learn to deceive, Valerien, ye must." Sauramas went on to say as his son stood up, fresh and clean, but for the bloodstains on his clothes, his hair wet where he had washed the blood from his deep auburn braids and loose locks.  Valerien's hair was quite long.  "The truth is good and well for an elf, but not for a nasgul.  Ye must accept this and learn to lie and lie well.  There is no shame in it when it is not meant to harm or mislead for nefarious reasons.  For thee falsehood shall simply be a tool for survival."

As Sauramas feared Valerien shook his head.  "If I… let the fears of others alter my convictions, where will it end?  If I give up truth today what shall I be required to surrender tomorrow?  …My vow never to kill, my vow never to judge blindly, my vow never to betray an oath?  What honor shall I sacrifice to make my life easier?  I cannot, father… not for life or happiness or even hope, pay tribute to my life with an offering of truth."

"Truth is over rated," Sauramas scoffed.

Valerien laughed.  "That may be true but my heart wishes me to be truthful, always."

Sauramas heaved a great sigh and draped an arm round his son's shoulder as they walked.  "Shall ye be embarking on another adventure soon, aloneuyn?" the later the male tense for beloved or dear.

Valerien nodded.  "Yes… I must find a way to prove to the village that they can trust me.  I understand their reservations… I really do, but surely, in time, they will see how little I have actually changed."

Sauramas shook his head slowly.  "I don't know, Val.  Will ye place thyself in disappointment's path only for it to run right into thee?  Many in the village, many Mythaen for that matter, share the same belief; that vampires, demons and even goblins among others are inherently evil.  Beliefs are hard to change… That is why our order heeds the principle of denying absolutes.  There is also the matter of thy birth… our people refuse to forget the signs ye were born under and have always been disturbed by it.  When ye were attacked and brutally sired, our people saw it as the final sign.  Ye have heard their accusations, Val, they think Peremus has branded thee with the mark of the wolf.  And… there is something else, Valerien, something which I was certain I alone knew of, but I am not so sure anymore.  Mordavu said something which hinted of him knowing…"

Valerien's lean figure had stopped dead and stood stiffly as Sauramas swiveled to face him.  "What father…?  What do ye know?"

"It… concerns thy father…"

Valerien shook his head, confused.  "Thee…?"

"No… thy blood father," Sauramas replied then watched as his son turned two shades of pale, whereof he helped him to sit down on a large fallen tree where he sat beside him.

"Ye know who he is… Ye have known the entire time…" Valerien breathed the words thinly.

"Yes," Sauramas admitted to his sharp minded son.

"Is he… dead?" was the first question to pop into the young elf's tangled mind.

"Not that I know of… He was still alive when ye were born. He saw thee a few times in secret, and then decided ye would be better off if he severed himself from thee completely.  He loved thy mother and married her in utmost secrecy.  He had neither had the courage nor will to see her suffer our people's judgment of her if it was known that she not only consorted with a Maelvannor, but had also married him and bore him a child."

Valerien's eyes leapt on him beneath a shock knitted brow.  "Maelvannor…?"

"Yes, thy father is a Maelvannor out of the old mountain blood line of Peremus himself, the Vauxes.  Thy father is Malgedar Vaux of the Arithendor deep elves and himself dwelled for some years among the Elfstone Maelvannor."

"Malgedar…" Valerien uttered.  No elf lived that had not heard that name.  He then echoed more of what he heard.  "Deep elves…" the younger elf's voice was dazed.

"Yes, the true meaning for Maelvannor.  Many believe it means dark or wicked elf when it simply means landunder or deep elf.  Fate has seen to entangle thee with legendary figures in both power and authority.  The fates must certainly have a plan for thee, Val."

"For me…?  A simple historian whom warriors sing is a coward?"

Sauramas scoffed.  "Ye are anything but simple, son and thy courage so forceful that it scares me. Do not confuse the will not to kill with cowardice.  The warriors who accuse thee of that are foolish and cannot see the truth."

"I know I am not a coward, father, but others do see me that way."

"Others shall see thee many ways because ye are unique in so many of thy facets.  Do not let it distract or dismay thee."

"I will try not to, father… now about my other father… he is the grandson of Peremus?"

"Yes, son of Mordemus Vaux, Regent of Elfstone's kingdom down under," Sauramas revealed quietly.

Valerien stared at his father a long while then shook his head and gazed off into the darkening forest as the night songs began to fill the air around them.  It had a quieting effect on Valerien's snarled spirit.   "The cruel overlord of the Black March and enemy of our people is my father…" He shook his head again as if unbelieving.  "So… my hair and skin is the colour his might have been had he still been an elf of the mountain vales rather than its caverns."

"Indeed," Sauramas confirmed.  "But judge him not, Valerien else ye have walked in his place.  His is a hard land which shapes harsh leaders, and he inherited the yoke of being our enemy as his father did before him.  He did take strides to make peace, but neither all of his people nor ours wanted peace and incidents occurred which made it impossible.  I knew thy mother and she could not have loved an elwyn who had no heart."

"If he had a heart, why then did he leave her to die alone and abandon me?" the elven younger wished to know, his tones wounded.

"Ye are having trouble untangling thy emotions from thy logic, I see," his father observed.  "I expected ye might.  It is most understandable, but Valerien… love is the most illogical of all emotions.  It laughs at right and wrong and defies them both to attain the object of its desire.  An Ariandor and Maelvannor fell in love and all the rest fell from their grasp.  They wanted to make it work, they tried to make it work, but theirs was a love that was never meant to be.  It may have been for the sole purpose of creating thee.  Ye are the gift their union was destined to give the world.  He deserted thee to give thee the only chance ye could have at happiness, and he gave thee that for half a century.  Even Mordavu is not so cruel as not to recognize that Maelvannor blood is not necessarily doomed blood.  Ye are not the first Ariandor born of their pool."  This Sauramas knew from personal experience, much as his father had been half Netherelf.  Sauramas was not even pure Mythaen, which accounted for why he had never become the village Elduwyn.

"What makes thee sure he knows?"

"He mentioned that not even the people of Peremus would have thee.  All elves know that Maelvannor never accept landover elves among them, never. And there was something in his tones… Trust me, he knows.  And if he knows, others know."

"How can they know?"

"Some may have seen him sneaking into the village to see her… or her sneaking away to rendezvous with him."

"I understand… The truth vies always to rise to the surface, no matter how many distractions or how clever the deceptions it is buried beneath."

"One of many wise quotes from the chronicles of Peremus as spoken by his son and enemy Haembhar," Sauramas recognized.  

"As Mordavu has made it known that he knows… My departure from our fair home cannot wait then… I must leave immediately… and… and never return to stay…"

"I am afraid so," Sauramas established sadly and Valerien fell against his father weeping, overcome by his sorrow.