Hero

Robert blinked in surprise as the elf kissed him, full on the lips.
Damn, he hadn't expected that. He was disturbed and confused. But what
disturbed him most was that it hadn't disturbed him as much as he'd
imagined it would. The he-elf gave him a slight smile and stepped back.
Carta tugged on his tunic.

"It's a form of welcome, like shaking hands or bowing," the dwarf
hissed. Robert gave the elf a weak smile.

"Do I kiss him?" he whispered back.

"No, that's a breach of courtesy."

A slender she-elf was rapidly speaking what sounded like nonsense to
Robert's ear into the he-elf's. Robert felt both amused and sympathetic
as the he-elf's face fell and a look of panic crossed it. The he-elf's
ears turned scarlet.

"She just told him that that's not a human custom?" he guessed. Carta
nodded. "Tell them that I don't take offence when it's not meant. Or
the nearest equivalent that pans out in elvish."

He listened as Carta lilted and tilted his way through the short
sentence, enjoy the elvish language merely for the way it sounded. The
he-elf looked so immensely grateful that a stray thought that had been
floating at the back of Robert's mind for a while was brought to the
fore.

"How old is he? Roughly?"

"Oh, a couple of thousand years, probably. Actually, maybe less."

Robert swallowed, he hadn't realised his adversary was quite so old.
"So, the human equivalent?"

"Oh, about sixteen. Elves mature very slowly, well, they live very
slowly really. Adolescence lasts about five hundred years. And they
never actually reach old age, not as humans and dwarves know it."

"Five hundred years of wild hormones? I knew I felt sorry for the kid."
Robert smiled inwardly at the thought of his own children. He hoped
he'd be home long before they hit puberty, though perhaps leaving once
it had set in would be a good idea.

The he-elf extended a hand, and Robert stared at it blankly for a
moment, before realising what he was supposed to do. He grasped it
firmly and shook the proffered limb, smiling. The he-elf gave him a
lopsided grin in return. A thought struck Robert as he released the
he-elf's hand. Never taking his eyes off the he-elf's face, who was
still smiling, but in a rather stricken way, Robert turned to
Carta.

"You, and that lady, go over there. Take the she-elf and go and have
nice natter over how poor me and elf's grasp of protocol and etiquette
is, or whatever you aids do when you get together." The look on Carta's
face almost made Robert change his mind, but he persevered. "I want to
talk to this kid alone. I don't want to be interrupted every few
minutes because some long dead king decided that diplomacy was a
vocabulary dance."

Carta sighed. He spoke to the elves in their language. The she-elf
frowned, but the he-elf nodded enthusiastically, until he saw his
companion's face. But eventually, the aids walked over to the fountain.
Robert placed a hand on the he-elf's shoulder and turned him away,
gesturing that they should walk together along the vine covered
pathways.

"Tree la dee otto?" he asked. The look on the he-elf's face told him
that he'd mucked up the pronunciation. Suddenly understanding dawned on
the elf's effeminate features.

"I speak your tongue not bad," the elf ventured.

"Great. It appears I speaks yours very bad. What did I say?"

"Pig mother tree dancer. It seemed an insult."

"I'll bet it did. Sorry."

"I do not take offence when it is not meant." The elf grinned suddenly.
"We equal on mistakes now, no?"

Robert chuckled. "What is your name?"

"Deoto."

"Tree dancer? No wonder what I said seemed an insult. I'm Robert
d'Orhn. You're the youngest son of the king?"

"We do not call my father king. But to you, yes. Third son."

"So you'll be saving the kingdom, huh?"

"I understand you not." The elf, no Deoto, had on that strained look he
did so well. Robert smiled, glancing around the honeysuckle-entwined
walkway that circled the massive tree trunk.

"In human tales, if a king had three sons, when ever the kingdom is in
peril it is the youngest, third, son that saves it once his brothers
have failed."

"I see. What happens to the brothers?"

"They die in most stories, or get changed into something by a
wizard."

Deoto nodded thoughtfully. "I do not wish for the kingdom to be
imperilled. My brothers do not deserve those fates."

"You speak my language a lot better than I thought."

"Yes. I study much. I agree about hormones. It is not good." As if to
emphasise his point, Deoto tripped over his own feet and would have
gone sprawling if Robert hadn't caught him.

"Been there, done that. At least you get to stay young looking. I'm not
yet forty and already going grey."

"Grey is natural among my kind. And it suits you." Deoto's ears flushed
bright red, and Robert noticed with interest that this was the only
part of the elf's face that changed colour. No wonder the elves in the
city wore hoods, if they were as given to embarrassment as this
one.

When Robert had arrived in the elvish city-state, his whole opinion and
preconceptions of elves were turned on their heads. Elves rarely ate
meat, this Robert had already known, but he found to his distaste that
when they did they preferred they food to be living. He wasn't sure he
could stand another oyster. He also found that elves did not come into
existence, well, old. Wise, experienced, god-like. They even got drunk,
he discovered to his delight, even if it was on wine.

In Robert's home city, the few elves that there were were sober
creatures, worn down by centuries of pain and despair, of millennia of
war and strife. They came to give their advice to the 'mortals'. And
they were primarily male. Robert had to keep reminding himself that he
was a married man, each time some slender elf-maid glance shyly over at
him.

Deoto looked strained again. "My father," he began, then stopped. He
gave Robert a pleading look, which Robert purposely pretended not to
understand. "My father," Deoto began again, looking downright
miserable, "he will wonder where we have gotten to. He may be
stern."

"You're right, we should be getting back." Robert gave into his pity.
There was something in this young he-elf that reminded him of the
youthful version of himself, pushed into situations he'd rather avoid,
lonely despite being surrounded by so many people. Rhiannon had solved
that, and he could only hope that Deoto would meet someone as
understanding and caring as his own wife.

He paused for a moment and looked out over the slender railing to gaze
over the elvish city. It was huge, even if you could hardly see any of
it. The houses were built on platforms, suspended by slender ropes from
the trees. When the wind blew they swayed precariously.

"You find our city beautiful?" Deoto stood next to him.

"Very. It's so very different from home."

"I wish I could see your home. It must be very great."

"It is large."

"That is not what I meant. To have so many heroes come from such a
place, yourself included, it must be a wondrous place."

"No. Just, well, big. The more people, the more chance a hero is born.
But don't deceive yourself, kid. Heroes don't exist."

"You are a hero. They sing of you."

"They sing how bad I am at diplomacy, hey? They mention how bad I am at
languages? They ever tell you I didn't want to do any of it?"

"You were, um, unwilling? But, it was such a great adventure."

"No. It was such a great story. I lost friends, I lost family, I lost a
fair bit of myself." He noted the elf's puzzled expression. "Sometimes
I don't know who I am any more. Not Rob of Parsons Street, I know
that."

Deoto leant back on the railing, unafraid of its delicacy. He studied
Robert's face carefully. He noted each line and wrinkle, each grey
hair, the laughter lines, the frown lines, the scars, and the eyes. The
storm coloured eyes the bards sung of. They'd captured his heart with
those songs, tales of bravery, stories of swords and sorcery, words of
great deeds. They'd never mentioned the pain that he saw now, it those
depthless eyes. When he had heard the Robert d'Orhn was coming, he had
begged his father to receive their honoured guest. He suddenly realised
that he had no idea why the fabled hero had even come.

"Might I return with you, to your city?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, if that is what you want." Robert looked gratified, to the
elf's eyes.

"It is. You can not comprehend how much it is. I do not believe you
when you say there are no heroes."

"You should."

"No. All people have the potential to be heroes, when put in the right
situation. It is not destiny, or fate, or two elder brothers that make
a hero. It is when an ordinary person is placed unwilling into a
situation, and it brings out a part of them they never knew, for better
or worse, and they have a chance to affect the path of the future, the
path that the rest of the world and it's people will travel."

"I wish I had your faith. In my mind, everyone affects the future,
merely by being. But yes, you are right. A hero is an ordinary
person."

"So I may come?" Deoto cursed the betraying tremor in his voice. He
wanted this so much."

"Didn't we already cover that? Of course. I suppose you will need your
fathers consent." Overcome with emotion, Deoto grabbed the more
stockily built human and hugged him to his chest. He kissed the greying
hair before releasing the bemused man.

"Sorry," he said bashfully. Robert grinned.

"My kids will love you. They always wanted to meet an elf."