Nymfell

At the back of the room stood the most beautiful woman in all of the land, though if told that much she would fervently deny it. But Aelhan smiled, witnessing proof in the form of her graceful gesticulations as she entertained a room full of a dozen little Nym, gathered at small tables down the length of the classroom. Only arriving just a moment ago, Arith had yet to notice him, so he settled his back in against the opened door. The teacher was just beginning one of her notoriously entertaining history lectures on the Kingdom of Nymfell.

“…So can anyone tell me the name of this first great king?” Arith’s sky blue eyes scanned over the tops of her student’s heads. One eager nymling with pale skin and a shock of orange hair thrust his hand into the air and started shrieking for her to call on him. “Anold of course,” Arith smiled sweetly.

“King Elran was the first to climb over the Great Stone Wall and build Megarda!” Anold squealed excitedly.

“This is too easy for you, young one.” Arith giggled. “Maybe tomorrow you can teach this class?” At that, Anold shrunk back into his seat and shook his head meekly from side to side. “One day then, when I know you won’t be as shy. Moving on, yes, King Elran was the first to bring our people over the wall and lay eyes on this land that he named Nymfell, which is a notable achievement for sure. But I think the most important contribution Elran made was the idea to write down all of his stories so that one day little nymlings like you can learn from them.”

A tiny, even for Nym standards, little girl shot her tiny, little hand into the air and squeaked out, “What does contribution mean?”

“It means to give something back, Asta sweetie.” Arith turned her attention to her and explained. “Think of it this way, the earthworms in the gardens of Ygdrasil help us work the earth so food can grow, that’s their contribution to us. In return, we do our best to protect them from birds and other creatures that want to eat them. In the end, if we are successful, there will be more than enough food for both the kingdom and the worms.”

“Wasn’t King Elran the one who came up with all of those little kid stories?” Another student asked.

“You mean like Gilga the Troll?” Arith laughed. “Yes, in fact, he was. What do you know about the story of Gilga and Mesh?”

“Gilga and Mesh were brothers that lived in the forest. They were people like us. Then one day Gilga ate his brother and turned into a giant monster that sneaks around eating nymlings in the dark.” The boy continued.

“Do you believe that story, Aomeas?” Arith asked him.

“No way,” the boy crossed his arms. “Why would someone eat their own brother?”

“There are stranger things in this word, little one,” Arith said. “There could be some truth to those stories. For instance, we never found out who built the rock wall. The Great Scribe Guilhels wrote that even the giant Ygdrasil told King Dradriel that it was there before she was born. From the little that we know about giants, apparently they can live over one hundred years! That’s almost four times the oldest living Nym!”

There are stranger things indeed, such as this goddess who loves me, Aelhan could not help but think as he looked over his lover. She was truly passionate about her work, not only were Arith’s smooth, slender arms in motion, but her whole body. Her narrow, delicate shoulders bounced and squeezed the plentiful rounds of her breasts, which were unfortunately covered by a short sleeved dress made of hemp and dyed strawberry red. Thankfully, the dress hugged her slim waist and curvaceous hips perfectly and was cut off just below the knee to reveal a slimmer of the smooth length of her healthy, apricot colored legs. It also left her muscular back exposed, down which flowed a broad, single braid of sunlit blonde hair. From her smooth, peach shoulder blades protruded a pair of small, gossamer wings. They were much too small to be any use for flying, but Aelhan found them captivating nonetheless; insectile, with iridescent scales in shades of crimson over the fragile bones and orange in between. Winged Nym were still not exactly common in the kingdom, winged females even less so, and Aelhan spent much of his childhood defending Arith’s honor from neighborhood bullies.

“But who knows if giants are even real!” exclaimed Asta in her excited, high pitched voice.

Aomeas stood up and glared at the girl, “Giants are definitely real, my grandpa lived at the Black Hearth and he told me about all kinds of cool stuff they dug up!”

“So giants are real but trolls can’t be real?” Arith interjected. “The most important lesson I can teach you kids is to have an open mind.” The teacher tapped the crown of her radiantly golden head. “It’s important to be accepting of whatever you come across in life. This world is big and much of it is still unexplored. It goes far beyond Nymfell, and hardly anyone knows what’s waiting for us out there in the Meadows…” Finally, her eyes caught sight of Aelhan, dark and handsome in the doorway.

When their eyes locked onto each other’s, Arith could hardly contain the joy that threatened to burst from her skin and out of her dress. Instead, she managed to rein it into a dazzling smile and a clearing of her throat. “Anold, sweetie, could you run next door and ask Miss Becha to look over you all for a little while?”

The young, redheaded nymling traced Arith’s gaze to where Aelhan stood, smiling. “Wow, is that a real soldier??” At this, the whole class’s attention was immediately focused on the cloak adorned stranger in the doorway.

“Yes, everybody,” Arith’s joy was seeping through her defenses. “This is Mister Aelhan who I told you all so much about. Go say hello!”

“Woah, wait a minute! Watch the sword!” Aelhan tried to shout but was lost amongst the torrent of ecstatic children who jumped and climbed on him and bombarded him with questions, tugging on his fingers and clothing.

“How long does it take to walk from one end of the wall to the other?”

“Have you ever explored the Meadows?”

“Can you do magic?”

“Have you ever seen a troll?”

“Children!” An authoritative voice rang out from behind Aelhan’s inky cloak and a slightly older, much shorter woman walked around the excited group of little Nym. “Give this young man some space, he just got back from a long journey and came straight here to see Miss Arith.”

“Oooooh, are they in love?” The little girl named Asta peeped happily.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we are,” Arith strode over, unable to contain it any longer, and grabbed Aelhan’s wrist to pull him away from the grasping little hands of the children. “So be good nymlings for me and listen to Miss Becha.” Against the protest of her students, Arith dragged Aelhan from their clutches and around the older woman, whispering a quick thank you as she did.

The newly reunited couple’s laughter mingled with the thuds of their footfalls and the gentle clink of Aelhan’s sword as they hurried down the wooden hallway hand in hand. Arith tugged her man around a corner, pushed him up against the wall and leaned upwards to give him a long, passionate kiss. After releasing Aelhan’s lips from her grasp, Arith began to cry, finally away from the nosey eyes of the other teachers that were surely peeking out from around their doorways. But they weren’t tears of fear or sorrow; they were long, throaty sobs of joy and relief. Still, Aelhan took her chin in a palm rougher than she remembered and pulled her eyes up to face his.

With compliments to the summer sun, Aelhan’s skin was a much deeper, almost brown shade of peach. His hair was also curly like hers, but half the length and as jet black as the space in between the stars. Those were the same that she remembered, however the year spent away from the city changed her lover in many other ways.

Unlike the budding young nym that left Beorhtmund a year ago, this Aelhan was built of lean, wiry muscle and stood an easy head taller than Arith, who was nearly as tall as most fully grown male nym. A raw, pink, still healing scar was slashed all the way from underneath his right eye, down his hard cheekbone and muscular throat, into the folds of his shirt. His clothing was plain, brown, rough looking hemp; boots of hardened wormhide covered his feet. A silvery breastplate gleamed across his chest, even in the low light, and at the base of his throat, securing the inky black cloak across his broad shoulders, sat an intricately carved silver and opal brooch that marked him as a bonafide Knight of Noracre, the military order founded by the Great King Dradriel at the height of his rule. It was very fine for certain; sparkles of light were buried just underneath the surface of the flawlessly smooth metal, which was formed into the likeness of two, feminine looking hands cupping the gemstone.

But her favorite thing about his appearance were the eyes that so intensely stared into her own at this moment; pale grey, nearly translucent, they seemed to take on the color of whatever happened to be around them. Thankfully, those were unchanged. “Don’t cry,” Aelhan smiled crookedly, she sighed her relief internally, his smile was the same she remembered too. “I told you, I’d come back no matter what.”

“I’m just so happy!” Arith cried out on a fresh sob and squeezed her cheek against the coolness of the breastplate. “You have no idea how much I missed you, dear Aelhan.”

“Nor you, I,” he beamed. “I hope that I made you proud, my love. I’m a proper knight now just like your honorable father wanted me to be.”

“No one is more proud of you than I am,” Arith confessed, gazing up at him and gently tracing the scar underneath her lover’s eye. “Please tell me, what did this to you?”

“It was a mantis,” he told her, “out in the forest.”

She stopped touching his face and leaned back to glare at him sternly in the eyes, “And what became of this mantis?”

“Its head hangs over my fire place,” he smiled down at her wickedly and threw in a wink with his wounded right eye. They both burst out laughing, but in a few seconds, Arith burst out crying once more and buried her face into Aelhan’s breastplate. Tears rolled over the sheen of the metal. “I swear on Ygdrasil that I’m fine, my love,” he said softly and ran a hand down her braid.

“…Is this real steel?” Arith mumbled against the armor.

“Of course it’s real,” He chuckled and pecked her forehead with his lips, she smelled of strawberries, which he knew was her favorite. “I am truly sorry for the delay, but I am sure the children kept you busy.”

“Oh, the nymlings have been great.” She told him. “It’s sad to see how fast they grow, speaking of; you have grown formidable up there, my dear.”

Aelhan gave a hearty guffaw and held his lover at arm’s length, “Of course, the Knights of Noracre are the most formidable nym in all of Nymfell.” He smiled, “but don’t worry, I’m still your scrawny Aelhan at heart. And speaking of how children grow, we have much to discuss. Maybe where no one is listening...”

She heard a giggle around the corner and in two long, angry strides she closed the gap.
“In the name of Ygdrasil, Becha!?” Aelhan stepped to his lover’s side, laughing heartily. The children squealed in unison and retreated back down the hallway while the older Nym stood there, beaming like a lighthouse.

“Sorry, sorry,” she bowed her head and started to back away from the couple slowly. In a few steps, she stood and looked between Arith’s face, which became nearly as red as her dress, and Aelhan’s smile of amusement. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Ver Aelhan.”

“Not at all, my dear Becha,” he nodded her head and put an arm around his speechless counterpart, smiling brightly. “It wasn’t that long ago we were little ones, I know how persistent they can be.”

“You’re very understanding, my gratitude,” Becha said before looking into Arith’s eyes and mouthing “He’s gorgeous.” She looked back at the smiling knight and curtsied. “Well, I must be getting back to my students, you young ones be safe out there.”

“Always,” Aelhan said and took Arith’s hand before walking back around the corner for several paces. He stopped and threw open the door at his side, a fixture of wood built into the smooth, cool stone. The noonday sun was bright and hot when they stepped out of the dim corridor and onto the wooden walkway built into the side of the Sill. It stretched along the steep, rock cliff, in between the ground and the overhang of roots and grass that did nothing to block the sun but marked the beginning of Upper Nymfell. To their other side, the bustling city of Beorhtmund sprawled out in the daylight. As they walked, they could see the pebbled streets packed with people going about their business in between thatched, steeped roofs. If you didn’t know better, Aelhan thought, it would be impossible to tell that this city once burned only one lifetime ago. “So I see your studies went well,” he wrapped an arm around Arith’s shoulders and pulled her against his ribcage.

“They did,” she confirmed. “It was great to see another city and Ygdrasil is beautiful at every season. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad when I got home.” Aelhan nodded and gazed out over their city.

The buildings of Beorhtmund spanned a generous distance from the base of the Sill before being cut off by the skeletons of the wall that was apparently being commissioned by Araert, the current Lord of the city. “I’m not the only thing that’s changed; I hardly recognized this place when I got here.”

“Indeed,” Arith giggled, “our little dale is becoming a proper city, with a wall and everything! How exciting!”

“It is exciting,” Aelhan agreed. “But what is driving them to build a wall now of all times?”

Arith’s gorgeous blue eyes widened. “Oh you have no idea! Obviously, Arith.” She muttered to herself. “Well, a couple of months ago, these people from the Black Hearth showed up and the word on the grapevine is that they were strolling around the streets warning people about a mischief of mice roaming out from under the ruins and into the grasslands, claiming the rodents had taken half of their troop. People were fighting about it for days, some even wanted to execute them for their sacrilege, but most of the townsfolk were worried enough so eventually Lord Araert heard them out.”

“Black Hearthers, eh?”Aelhan looked out over the wall and the narrow tips of the short grass on the other side. Gianstead could ever presently be seen in the distance, he knew the base of the structure was far below the horizon. Once the cottage of a giant named Ygdrasil, it was now a hallowed ground. It burned along with Beorhtmund during the Decadian War and was currently a colossal tomb, no one but members of the Black Hearth dared to venture into the haunted site.

This is the time of day where the sun cast its light the brightest on the terrible, blackened face of the old dwelling, Aelhan could even make out the twisting plants and other hardy weeds that were beginning to retake the charcoal towers and burnt earth marking the bottom edge of the kingdom. At the outskirts of this city, it would be about a two day walk to actually get there. Despite that, it always felt oppressively close, like a gloomy and charred mountain that decided when the sun would rise over its collapsing roof. Arith always found it romantic and mysterious, Aelhan simply called it creepy. He found the idea of even going there ludicrous, yet alone trying to carve out a civilization amidst the ashes and spirits of the dead. That was a job for more adventurous Nym than he.

Finally, they came to a fork in the pathway. The choice to their left led upwards along the cliff, which would bring them to the frontier of Upper Nymfell, a few villages along the edge of the Sill. They chose the path to the right which gently sloped down and into the city proper.

It would take a full grown Nym maybe a half day to walk from one end of Beorhtmund to the other. Its streets were packed down with shards of a rough, dark stone and held together with dried, pale pink Kuwhi gum. Most of its buildings were made of dark red bricks of clay and were sealed with the same gum, a relatively new construction technique applied in the hopes of preventing a spark into an inferno situation such as the one during the Decadian War, so far, so good. However, a few original, wooden buildings remained; Arith's family home being one of them. It was to this that they came to now, at the end of its own little road at the western edge of the city. Grass was growing in patches along the sides of the road, offering a minute amount of shade to a grateful yet wary Aelhan. Shortly, they came to the house made of whittled sticks and cracking white clay.

“Wow, this place has changed a little too,” Aelhan observed.

“I know. I haven’t gotten around to landscaping.” Arith confessed. “The school allows me so little time and coin that I just sort of let it go, but I don’t really mind it. It’s good shade, if anything.”

“You’re right,” Aelhan nodded. “I still don’t like it. Aren’t you worried about bugs?”

“Not really,” Arith shrugged. “Definitely not now since you’re back. Even if some did wander over here, you shouldn’t have a problem keeping them at bay, right?”

Aelhan grumbled. “I’m still going to get rid of it as soon as possible.”

“Do whatever makes you happy,” Arith sighed. “Typical men. I don’t care about any of that right now.” She grabbed the waist of his trousers and yanked with surprising force. “I’ve been waiting for ages for you to come home and here you finally are, we can talk about everything else later.” She leaned in close and whispered up at him, “I thought you wanted to discuss things that grow…”

Aelhan raised an eyebrow and proceeded to lift his lady into his arms. “You’re right, I do. And we have a lot to talk about, so let’s make haste.”

“Hopefully not too much haste..”

Aelhan chuckled. “Never. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment too, you know.” He assured her and started walking towards their childhood home with Arith in his arms.