Chapter 16

The Lords of the Isle Chapter 16: Narratives and Histories PART ONE

There was a time, once, when Evil was unheard of in the Isla. It was the First of Days, before Men awoke from the Sleeping Forest. The land was then stewarded by the Elves emerging from Beyond-the-Sea. Having come upon the Isle, they delighted in its lush woods and green fields as well as its deep rivers and clear shores. The Elves then decided to settle along the coasts, building their cities near to both land and sea. And fairest of all the Elfin cities was the Elfinhome, Elfinar of the graceful spires and sparkling lights.

At its height Elfinar was the crown and jewel of the Isla. There dwelt a great number of the First People in their white marble homes, taking pleasure in their wondrous gardens and pristine fountains. As there was peace all throughout the land, the Elves of Elfinar prospered, and the City was filled with fair maidens the mirth of playful Elf-children, for the Isle was then young and all things were fresh.

At the height of their days the Elves could have been the strongest and most terrible of warlords, for their arms were matched only with their valor. But this was not to be so, for they were a calm and peace-loving folk. But soldiery was present in the City: the flower of the Elfin race, clad in white livery and armed with their longbows, kept the order and tranquility of the kingdom. Moreover, culture and wisdom flourished in old Elfinar. Peace and prosperity, the likes of which are yet to be surpassed today, gave great understanding to the minds of the Elves, and always there walked among them the great loremasters, holding council with each other, uttering their ancient learned speech.

Anarion giggled. “Wise owdEwf! Wise owdEwf! Sitting in da white thwone! Wise owdEwf!” “Yoo always lisen to dat silly rhyme,” Isildur said. “Thewe no old Elf, Narion. All Elfsdown’t age.” “Thewe too, Isi! Yoo no lisen. Thewe is owdEwf an baby Ewf and Mama Ewf an Papa Ewf! Nawionwight! Wight, Mama?”

“Well...” bringing a finger to her pursed lips, the storyteller paused for a moment before answering, “What think you, Isildur, Anarion?” “Baby ewfsmus have Papa an Mama Ewf. An twuluv and pweettyEwfs.” “But thewe no old Elfs. Elfs big an strong and down’tgwow old.” “Yea, yea!” Anarion went on giggling. “Ewfspweetty.”

Well, yes, you are both right! The full Elves, even to this day, know not weariness and old age. Even the Half-Elves, who must in the end also grow old, keep their youth far longer than Men. But there was true love in the Elf City, yes. Elfinar was also known for its radiant maidens singing by the fountains or tending the gardens. The Elf-lords, too, were noble in bearing and fair of face. All in all, the Elfin Realm was a hallowed haven, untainted by the Evil that did not then exist.

The bliss and splendor of the Elfin race were attained through the efforts of the Council of Hallows. Four of them there were, sitting upon four beautiful thrones: leaders of the greatest and the wisest of all the Elves. Together they directed the Golden Age of all Elfindom, and all the doings and happenings throughout the Isla were in their knowledge.

Lore tells us that the Four were each in charge of four Hallows of Power, which in turn channeled all the powers in the Isla. Serena the Graceful kept Amrya, the Hallow of Water. Mirantha the Patient was the guardian of Venya, the Hallow of the Earth. Nalaithe the Ardent wielded Narya, the Hallow of Fire. And the Elf-King, Mirinos the Wise, was in charge of Raya, the chief of the Four, the Hallow of the Winds.

But as the long ages passed, one of the Four began to turn her heart away from the City and the Elves.

Anarion gasped. “B-bad... Ewf?” “...Yes, Anarion. ...Bad Elf.” “Scawy bad Ewf. No baaaadEwf.” The storyteller shook her head. “No, I suppose this is not yet the time for that story.”

“...And, If anything, your twin brother Isildur has already fallen into sleep.”

Anarion was chuckling again even as his Mama held him aloft; Isildur was already in his crib. “Isi always sweepy.” “And perhaps, now, little Anarion ought to be sleepy, too. It is well nigh mid-even, and there is still a long day ahead.”

“Of stowies?” “Yes. Of stories.” “’Kay. Nawion sleepy now.”

“Good even, Anarion, child. May sweet dreams visit thee.” “’Nawionluv Mama.” She planted a warm kiss on Anarion’s forehead. “And Mama loves you, too.”

It had been some time since Queen Jasmin, spouse of the Gen. 2 Heir Arthur Mercator, gave birth to twin boys, Isildur and Anarion.

Isildur, who was born some minutes earlier, was proclaimed as Gen. 3’s Heir apparent.

IsildurTelcontar Mercator 3/8/9/6/1 AnarionTelcontar Mercator 3/8/10/10/3

The two boys seemed at once to be both alike and unlike. Both shared their parents’ complexion, as well as their father’s brown hair and the Mercator green eyes. Both also shared a propensity for stubbornness, activity, and slapdash behavior. There were some marked differences, however.

The older, Isildur, appeared to have the makings of a leader, as were his father and grandfather before him. He had no difficulties endearing himself to his elders, especially to his father, the King. Isildur also proved to be precocious and quick to learn, focusing his energies on a single area until he has a firm grip on it. He was partial to developing his innate charisma, even at such a tender age.

Anarion, on the other hand, had more eclectic interests. He was as intelligent (if not more so) than his twin, true, but Anarion did not run a straight course. One day he would play with the wooden blocks; the other, with musical tunes, if not his toy horse. While he was as fond of people as Isildur was, Anarion was keen for solitude, preferring rather to shower his affections on a closer circle. He was the favorite of his mother, the Queen.

Also, the household found a trace of Jasmin’s Elfin bloodline in him. He had the Elves’ ears.

Despite their dissimilarities and their petty exchanges, Isildur and Anarion were fast friends, and would even set their different concerns aside to spend moments together. The brothers loved each other fiercely. Which was well, for it gave their parents some time to further the family’s welfare.

The family business was renamed the Royal Smithy, and soon began offering high-quality arms – which, of course, one could only buy after acquiring special permission. The Isla, after all, was in peace.

Likewise, the Petite Boutique was overhauled into the Royal Galleria, now featuring many priceless works of art both for sale and public display.

The businesses were successful in their own rights. Although, of course, one might argue that royal patronage helped a lot, too. **Credit and gratitude for the wonderful Sim Art goes to DocGirlP/dgjamie.

And with all the stocked gold and the revenue from both enterprises, the family was able to renovate the legacy house into a Camelot worthy of kings.

The renovated manor showcased a comfortable living room and a regal dining hall in its newly-added left and right wings, respectively. There was also the Great Hall (as seen in the earlier episodes) and a recently built underground crypt.

“We have found lifelong happiness. Well done!” “Yes, that is lovely, dear. But let us move on to the more important things.” And yes, my planned-yet-unplanned no-bolt-before-marriage Gen. 1 couple, Damian and his wife Marie. Seeing them together still makes me smile. But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.

“Gwampa!” “Yes, Grandpa! Well done, young one!” The founder, Damian, took to his role as grandparent even more naturally as a father, which is indeed saying something, given that he was a good father. Having retired from his illustrious career as a Hall of Famer, he spent his free time equally with the twins. He even managed to teach them one or two things, such as walking and talking.

Marie, the household matriarch, was still up to the usual household chores, such as cooking. She also took care of the children, helping them learn their skills (whenever Damian would forget hogging them). Also, she found a friend in her son’s wife, the Queen. In spite of her natural high lineage, Jasmin for her part proved amiable to the family, especially to her mother-in-law. The two often spent time in conversation and in womanly activities.

And Marie had begun painting the ruling generation’s portraits.

This is as shall be my legacy to them, Marie thought fondly even as she applied her practiced strokes upon the canvas. This is so that when... that day... comes, they shall not forget. But as she stepped back, allowing the streams of sunlight to shine upon her son Arthur’s solemn face, Marie could not but smile fondly. Why, how my children have grown!

Why, was it not just some time ago when Damian and I were young, debating on how to raise little Jeannie? Marie went on in her mind. I for one still think... but, ah. The damage had been done. She allowed herself a giggle. But just as it began, she stopped. Yes. Done. It is almost done.

“But why think of that now, anyway?” Marie softly told herself. She laughed a little – but it sounded hollow. “No, that thought must come later. Today is a good day. “In fact,” she added, applying another brushstroke, “It is perfect.”

The days passed, and in time the portraits were ready. “Verily, these are excellent, Mama,” Arthur pronounced enthusiastically upon seeing Marie’s masterpiece. “I shall have it set on display at once!”

“Yes, it is lovely, our thanks, Madame—” “I have told you once and I shall tell you again, Jasmin, child.” Marie was aware, as she admitted even to herself, that she was doing her daughter-in-law an injustice with titles by calling her ‘child’. The half-Elfin Queen, after all, was much older than she was. But it was the principle of the matter, Marie told herself. “One more mention of ‘Madame’ and—” “I am sorry. I meant to say, our thanks, Mama.”

“It is nothing, my dear child.” Just how old was she? Marie wondered. And perhaps she would live on even after my son— And Marie realized how much blessed she and her husband were. They, at the least, would not see their children... “It has been my pleasure, with such a beautiful subject and all.” Taken aback by the compliment, Jasmin took a moment before she could again express her gratitude.

“Mark that well, Arthur, son,” Marie spoke to her firstborn male now. “Such a perfect wife only comes — if it does, mind — once a lifetime. Cherish her, child.” Arthur was puzzled by his Mama’s solemn statement, but he nonetheless nodded. “Of— of course, Mama.”

And Damian said, “Yes, my son. Love your wife and your children and be proud of them all.” Drawing his —fhis! — Heir into a tight embrace, he added “I love you, and am so so proud of you, in truth. You must know that.” Shivers ran King Arthur’s spine. “Are you saying farewell, Papa? Is it—?” “Oh, no. Merely, senility is a dangerous thing, indeed. Now run off and go about your business, child.”

“How I hate having to lie to my little Heir,” Damian confided to his dear wife after the royal couple had gone. “It leave a sick and bitter taste on the palate.” “Hmm.” “Ha! But they are a wonderful couple, the Elf-King bless them.” “Indeed.”

“Now, come to think of it, I remember the night we first met.” “Yes. You were not doing a particularly excellent job in making a first impression, I recall.” “Ah, but I had you at the mention of the theater, you must admit.” “No, not really.”

“I am scared.” “As am I. Happy — very happy — but... I am afraid, too.” “A big and strong man such as yourself? You surely jest.” “Marie, my love? Will you hold my hand?” “Of— of course.”

“Now, do not let go. Not until it is time.”

So passed Damian and Marie Mercator, founder and wife. To where did their joyous and fulfilled souls go this tale does not and cannot tell.

Damian Mercator 3/8/5/6/3 LTW: Hall of Famer (done) Marie Belle-Mercator 8/3/3/7/4 LTW: Graduate three children (done) Requiescat in pacem

“Zane...” Zane Labouis stopped between a mouthful of choice pork chop. “...Yes, Mama?” “Eat up, my dear. You are getting rather thin.” He fancied that his new Mama twinked at him before feeding herself daintily with knife and fork.

Zane supposed that he could get any happier in these days. While he was by no means neglected by Sister Clara at the Meridia Orphanage, he had never, prior to his assimilation into the Labouis household, never seen large rooms filled with books and fine furniture and harpsichords and all sorts of nice things. Also, having a complete set of parents was a novel and pleasant experience. He had someone to read him books in the mornings...

...and even in the evenings as he would go to sleep.

“So the officers went up the Admiral’s manor. And then the Admiral said, ‘At ease.’ ‘Sir! An enemy craft has been sighted offshore!’ the newcomer officer said. ‘orders, sir?’” If he wanted to, he could play with the most beautiful and the most enjoyable (and not to mention most expensive) toys.

...or, as his new Mama promised, he could invite friends over to play.

“Hi, Zane!” Of course Tina, his friend from the Orphanage, was frequently invited.

“Master Zane wishes you to know that you are most welcome in the Labouis Manor.” “Whoa, Zane! A butler?” Zane stopped in the middle of greeting his ‘new’ cousin, Eowyn, and nodded. “Oh, don’t mind the grand gestures, Tina. Butler’s just like that.” At your service, mademoiselle.”

“Heeey!” Zane’s best friend Hyperion chimed in as they all entered the cool shade of the house. “Why, Zane, this is the life! Why, your house looks much bigger than the King’s palace!” “Why, ‘Perion, have you been there before?” Tina jabbed. “Er...” But to Zane, Tina mouthed, “It does look bigger!”

Besides entertaining his friends, Zane also had the chance to meet some of the more... well... interesting members of his adoptive family. “What do you mean, Aunt Jeannie? What does ‘home run’ have to do with Tina and I?” “I... I do not know, either. He made me say it.” “He... who?”

“Eowyn, your Mama is quite... unusual. “Yes, she is, isn’t she? That is just what she usually is. Wait... usually unusual? Come to think of it, now, chess is not as complicated as people say it is.”

But at the end of the day, after seeing off all his friends, new and old, Zane could not feel but a little of ennui. Unlike in the Orphanage, there was not much people around in his new home.

Zane found the would-be coming of a new babe — a sibling! — most welcome. “Hallo, there!” he would address Ysabel’s slowly but surely growing belly. “Mama says that once you are born and I become your big brother, I would have to take good care of you, too. So here, I am practicing now. Are you well in there? Come out soon, will you not?”

And soon enough, young Cirdan, Heir apparent to the Labouis leadership, was born.

Cirdan soon was doted upon by the rest of the family. Zane, for his part, was only too thrilled to have a brother to play with, something which Cirdan, of course, also found fun.

Some time after that, Ysabel bore another babe, a beautiful little girl, which she named Luthien.

“Oh no, Lu! Where did big brother Zane go? He is gone!” “Heehee!” Now the Labouises could not be any happier. ...

“Well, here we are. Home!”

For the past week, the newlyweds Roland and Cecilia had been vacationing in the tropical island of Twikkii. It came rather as a surprise for the bride, for they had in fact not planned for an adventure, let alone one spent in a small but beautiful villa at the heart of the isle.

It was a memorable break, all in all. They befriended the warm locals...

...enjoyed the island’s natural volcanic hot springs...

...participated in the many leisurely and cultural activities at the beach...

...and spent a wonderful time together.

Also, lovely souvenirs were available for the very affordable price of 100 seashell pieces (the local currency, equal to 10 copper pieces) apiece. It was a typically good, relaxing, and predictable vacation...

...for the most part. Singing ghost pirates, swindlers in an odd assortment of costumes, and vaguely familiar witch doctors also came with the package. And, soon enough, it was time to go home.

Only, going home was also a surprise in itself.

“Well?” Roland breathed at last, gazing proudly at their — his and hers and their children’s, and their children’s children — new manor. “What do you think of it?” “It is lovely, Roland, but,” Cecilia paused. True, the Ivory Manor was beautiful, but even in its current empty state, its very grandeur would mean expenses. “How did you afford— how do we maintain this place?”

“Oh, worry not,” Roland said in his characteristic cheer. “The maintenance is well within my upkeep, thanks to my recent promotion.” Yes, LTW to be Professional Party Guest is achieved! The next LTW, though... Yeaaaah.

“Also, I know people who know people who in turn loaned me the sum required for this house.”

And, actually... “A transfer of... twelve hundred gold pieces, sir? I am sorry, but Twikkii Island government regulations—” “Ah, is that so? How... regrettable. But mayhaps I may speak to your employer regarding this matter. Pray tell me your name again. Zeeshan, is it not?” “...Er... that would not be really necessary, sir, no. The transfer will go through charmingly, I guarantee.”

“...So all we need now is to actually fill this house with furniture, and all will be well!” Roland concluded in an enthusiastic tone. “A house of our own! Imagine! Well?” Cecilia smiled. “That would indeed be something.”

And so, Roland began working on filling the Ivory Manor with household necessities and luxuries. Through his labors the Ivory Manor grew less empty and more full of life every day.

And, now that we mention, life, Cecilia, for her part, gave birth to a healthy son, which they named Severus.

Severus Valois* 8/9/10/7/1 *Roland’s line shall henceforth adopt the Gen. 2 House name as surname

And the home at Ivory Manor was complete. ...

At the Faithful’s Haven... “It is done at last,” Arthur King said upon his golden throne, bringing his fist down to emphasize finality. “The last of the Xianxi warlords have surrendered. The persecution of the gypsies is ended. And the bane of our family, the Black Count, is yet to stir trouble — if, indeed, he can. We have brought peace and prosperity into the Isla.”

And indeed, peace and prosperity seemed the way of the ruling Mercator family. After the passing of the illustrious founder Damian and his dutiful wife, Marie, the Queen Jasmin gave birth to a pale but otherwise healthy little girl. They named her Galadriel.

Galadriel Telcontar Mercator 3/8/10/10/3

It was as if Galadriel brought back all that seem to have been lost with the death of the founders. Despite her occasional outbursts, her love for mirth and her charm attracted everyone to her.

“The Isle has always set things right,” Arthur went on. “Have we not studied the old stories properly?”

“Every time darkness seemed on the verge of triumph, every time evil threatened to stretch out his hand and extinguish all hope....”

“A leader always would emerge — the noble knight upon his steed gallops into the story, and the clouds break.”

“Always the night gives way before the burst of early morning dawn.”

“Again and again the story of the Isla thus wrote itself: victory after every defeat, peace after every war.”

“And now, peace. The flowers are in bloom and the very air is singing. We have set a new age of law and order throughout the land, evil has failed, and we shall begin a new story.”

But Jasmin, as though pained, closed her eyes and, in her low voice — that voice which had always recalled centuries of earth and wind and water, and joy and hope and pain — replied, “Nay, my lord. There is no telling whether our bliss will last. We may yet have to feel the burden of history’s circle. Keep watch, Arthur. You have to be stronger than the stories. Do not let those blind you.”

After she had said this, though, two gypsies entered the Great Hall and began addressing Arthur. “Hail, Arthur King and Jasmin Queen,” the first, Anya, began. But in her voice was the tone of worry and hesitation.

“Oooh, the King Arthur is hot!” the other suddenly said, fanning herself. “Not now, Darliya. This is an urgent matter!” The gypsy named Anya buried her face in her hand. “How Nimaya puts up with you, I understand not.”

“Please, my friends, do speak,” Arthur enjoined the two. “Be not timid. Your counsel is much welcome.”

But in spite of the King’s pleasant words, Anya still found it hard to continue. “Well... Majesties... this is a complicated matter... where do I begin...”

“The Great Mother had a prophecy,” Darliya simply said. “We believe it may be about your two sons.” Arthur exclaimed, “Prophecy!” Recalling how the prophecy brought him and his wife together, he added, “Go on, what is this about?” Darliya nodded. “Hear, then, O King and Queen:

“Hail, ye Heir, Son of the Kings! First light you are, and the stronger. Darkness looms again, but take heart: Midnight ever yields before the dawn. To you is given the better destiny: Mount to glen, plain to Sea All shall bow before your throne.

“But as for the other— As the one waxes, you shall wane A sickly pale hue— and then, no more. Should all seem bright, ware: A bolt shall cleave through your night. To you is given a bitter destiny: The sepulcher shall be your first kiss.”

“I... I really am sorry, milady... I... I...” “Hush, Anya. This is not your fault. What of the Mother? Does she say anything else?” “...Even she is perplexed. But one thing is certain: the prophecy is an ominous one.”

“... The sepulcher shall be your first kiss.”

“...That does not bode well. Danger is in store for my children. But which one? And what must be done?” To that Anya replied, “You know better than I. ...If anything, there is She. ...She might be of help.” “I rather hoped it would not come down to that.” Jasmin breathed heavily. “But we shall see.”

“I knew you would be here.” “And I knew you would come looking for me.” “...Alas, yes. We know far too many things.”

“Look at all around us,” Arthur spoke. “Peace. The flowers are in bloom and the very air is singing. It is a fair day. Fair.” “And you would rather all to be turbulent and groaning?” To that Arthur grumbled, “Yes, I wish that.” In that low and bitter tone, he continued, “I wish there is storm and lightning, fire and brimstone.”

“I would not have you begrudging the entire Isla for your ire and disconsolation, Arthur... ...had these feelings not also been mine.” It was a while before anyone spoke again. “It is not fair,” Arthur said at length. “We have striven and we have fought for the Isla’s peace — but why must we not have our own?”

“Aie, milord, whoever said that life was fair? Sorrow and pain is the lot of Men and Elves.” “And in the midst of all our glory and splendor, too.” Both allowed themselves a hollow laugh. “That is why they always say that the Powers that Be are the saddest of all. They carry all the world’s burden, and in spite of their strength they could not overcome it.”

“Not fully.” “No. Not fully. But we shall overcome this one, Artie. ...What ever happens, we shall.”

Credits: Thanks to profbutters (The Squeaky Clean Legacy) and peasant007 (The Devereaux Legacy) for the loan of Cecil and Cecilia Goodytwoshoes, and Zane Devereaux. Part II, that is, Chapter 17, shall come soon.

Chapter 16

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Chapter 16