What was there left to keep her here? The question had been running round Ainfean’s head in the weeks since Olindoir’s funeral. Her father had said that the elves all looked like ghosts compared to her, faded and ethereal, but she was the one who felt like a ghost; aside from her immediate family and Lisariel, no one would look at her. It was as if the mere act of acknowledging her existence would somehow cause the end of their world. She wasn’t sure if it was lingering resentment for her breaking ancient taboos, or if it was simply that they feared what her presence brought to mind? Or was it, according to a rumour that Lisariel had heard, that they thought that by wearing iron armour she had actually called the Blight down upon them? It seemed there were some who genuinely believed that.

Whatever the cause, it did not make Glyndoriel a welcoming place for her, but if that had been the only problem then it would hardly have bothered her - she had never been popular and her lack of popularity didn’t matter to her now. In fact, she might have welcome it if they had outright turned on her, at least then it would have demonstrated that they still had a spark of life left in them. As it was, the only feeling she received was a kind of detached ambivalence. Their lack of energy wore at her, and she could feel the threads of her composure getting frayed; it wasn’t that she was losing her temper, she had been a commanding officer too long to not have control over something so basic, more that she could feel herself becoming less patient, terser, even with those she loved.

“Are you going to leave again?” asked Lisariel, one day when they were sitting in her rooms reading together. Although she phrased it as a question, Ainfean had the impression that her old friend had already decided what the answer would be.

Looking up from her book, a text on elvish history, Ainfean rubbed at her temples and sighed. “I don’t know, honestly.” She looked out of Lisandriel’s window at the city that was currently partially obscured by a thin curtain of rain; she could see the roofs glistening far below. “I’ve missed Glyndoriel, and you naturally, but…” She groaned in exasperation. “I don’t know how to put it. It just doesn’t really feel like home any more. I’m afraid I lack the vocabulary to properly describe it.”

“Aw, poor soldier,” said Lisariel. “Does your hut in the woods feel more homely?”

“Hey! It’s a cabin, not a hut, and I’ll have you know it’s very comfortable. I’ve told you before that you’re welcome to come and visit at any time. It’s only a couple of days ride.”

Lisariel’s looked at Ainfean out of the corner of her eyes, shook her head and went back to her own book. “As you are well aware, I don’t get on with horses and I don’t like living off the land. I shall stick to the comforts of home and pine for you if I am unable to persuade you to stay.”

“Once again I find myself wondering if you’re truly an elf and not a changeling,” said Ainfean. “I have never seen another struggle so badly with either a mount or a bow.”

“My weapons of choice are words, my darling, and horses are insane and smelly.” She pouted. “I might summon up the courage to ride on one so that I can come and see you before you disappear to warm up your blacksmith’s bed.”

“Ah,” said Ainfean, flicking Lisariel on the nose, “if only I had possessed courage such as yours on the frontline then I might not have had to resort to such desperate measures.”

“So I wouldn’t have had you howling and puking in my apartment for half a year after that? I’d have joined up if I’d realised.”

“You complain about it but I think you enjoined having someone to look after, or maybe it was just having me trapped in your bedroom.” Ainfean raised her eyebrows at Lisariel.

“The idea of that is fun, and an idea I’ve dwelled on quite often, but I preferred it when you were making a different kind of scream.” Lisariel sighed. “That is an experience I had always hoped to revisit.”

“Lisariel…”

“I know, I know, but you have to admit it was fun.”

“I assume we’re no longer talking about when I was lying in there dying.”

“No, that was less fun,” said Lisariel, her smile fading. She took a deep breath. “Enough talk about that, please, those are not memories I cherish.”

“I do,” said Ainfean, smiling fondly at Lisariel who turned away with a huff of disgust.

“And now you’re deliberately trying to make me cry, is there no end to your willingness to torture me?”

“Apparently not.” Reaching across the table, Ainfean took Lisariel’s hand in her own. “Lisariel…”

“No, Ainfean, I haven’t changed my mind. As nice as Albert sounds…”

“Alfred.”

“...I’m not going to become mortal.” Lisariel clasped Ainfean’s hand tightly. “I’m sorry, I need the wind to blow for me, I can’t give that up. And I wouldn’t survive it anyway; I swear you died in my arms a dozen times when it was happening to you but you somehow clawed your way back to life again by sheer force of will. I don’t have that kind of tenacity or strength. No, I shall fade gracefully and stylishly away and I expect you to mourn for me like the bereaved lovers in those human stories you’re so ridiculously fond of.”

“Please don’t joke about it,” said Ainfean. “I don’t want to be standing alone mourning you.”

“Sorry, my love. You won’t be alone, you’ll have your blacksmith.” Lisariel stood and dragged Ainfean out of her seat. “Your father intends to see in the end with solemn dignity, I intend to dance until the end and I declare it my mission to empty as much of the palace’s wine cellars as I can. So in the spirit of that…” Lisariel gestured extravagantly with her free hand and soft, gentle music began to drift through the rooms. “You avoided dancing at your welcome home party, have you forgotten how to do it?”

“No, I remember, but I’m a bit out of practice. More used to sword-fighting stances.”

Lisariel pulled Ainfean closer. “It’ll all come back to you, just try not to break my toes or run me through.”

“Well I left my sword in my room. I didn’t think I’d have to defend my honour in here.”

Lisariel led them in time to the music as they swayed back and forth. “Ah, the well known virtuous soldier who stayed chaste for all those centuries.” She grinned at Ainfean. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you were blushing.”

“Shush.”

They danced around Lisariel’s apartment to the conjured music accompanied by the gentle drumming of the rain on the balcony outside, and for a while they could forget everything the future held.

The days flowed into one another, and they in turn became the turning of the gentle seasons. Ainfean watched them pass, and each sunrise she wondered if she should go back to her cabin, if she could face another day watching the people around her lose their colour. Even in the six short years she stayed in Glyndorial she could see signs, slight but noticeable, of the life draining away; Lanferean became less energetic in his sword practice, even when offered the chance to use Ainfean’s steel sword, and when she held out the sword, pommel first, his mother only scowled instead of furiously lambasting Ainfean; the king and queen became quieter, more thoughtful. Even Lisariel, vivacious and effervescent Lisariel, became a little more muted, though she still danced until the sun came up.

Ainfean stood in the practice fields, where she fled to when the ache in her heart became too much and she needed to work her frustration off. The scarred and battered practice dummies stood in silent testimony to her bouts of rage. She faced one of them now, steel sword in hand, finding reassurance in its solid weight. Stilling herself, she looked at her target, picking the spots she would aim for. There was a moment’s pause and then she launched herself forwards, ducking and spinning beneath an imaginary swing at her head and then unleashing a flurry of blows at the dummy’s head and torso, ending in a determined effort to strike its head off. The sword made it a respectable distance through the hardened wood of the dummy’s neck, embedding itself deeply enough that it took her a few moments to wiggle it free. At least the strange smithing magic of the dwarves meant she didn’t have to sharpen the blade. She raised it up and examined the edge - as clean and sharp as the day the dwarven smith had handed it to her with something close to fear in his eyes.

They had never become accustomed to an elf asking for iron armour, from the moment she staggered through the vast doors of their mountain stronghold, fighting against the overwhelming presence of the vast mass of iron ore, and gave her order and her gold to the wide-eyed dwarven king, to the moment when the chief smith finally helped her place the helm over her head. She had always meant to go back and see them after she recovered but she never had; perhaps she would finally do it before she left this realm. If she really did leave.

“I think you beat it.”

Gysariel was approaching her across the damp grass, as composed and elegant as ever; Ainfean could not recall a time when her mother had ever looked anything but serene. Even when her daughter had staggered into their private rooms, hauling off armour and the skin that was burned on to it, blood pouring from hideous wounds, and collapsed to the floor, the look of horror on the queen’s face had lasted but a moment before it was replaced by quiet determination.

“The head is still attached,” said Ainfean, rolling her shoulders to ease the burn in the muscles. “It might yet launch a counterattack. Do you want to have a go?”

Gysariel  raised her hands as if she was trying to push away the very idea. “No thank you, Ainfean. I believe your sister inherited her aversion to those things from me.”

Ainfean shrugged, sheathed the sword, and then began doing some cooldown exercises, stretching out protesting muscles. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she said.

“Can a mother not just come and watch her daughter trying to destroy hapless pieces of wood?” said Gysariel.

Ainfean paused in her stretching for a moment to shoot her mother a sceptical look. “I have seen you on these practice fields twice in my entire life and those were only when Elanderiel was taking part in that archery competition.”

“I must have come and watched you at some point,” said Gysariel.

“If I remember correctly,” said Ainfean, straightening up from touching her toes, “you said that my enthusiasm for charging at people with a sword disturbed you.”

Gysariel winced as the memory returned to her. “Oh yes, now I remember. I used to watch from the windows in the upper levels so I could hide my eyes with my hands without anyone noticing.” She shuddered. “It wasn’t so much your enthusiasm for using the sword, it was more the way you didn’t seem to care at all if you got hurt. A mother does not like to see her daughter walk into the living room, grinning happily with blood pouring from a gash on her scalp.”

“Yes, but I won the fight. That’s the important bit.” Ainfean took a deep breath and let her muscles finally relax. “So, now that we’ve successfully avoided the subject for several minutes, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Must you always be so direct, Ainfean?”

“I’m afraid so.” Ainfean smiled. “Do you want to sit down and talk? I could do with a drink after that.”

Ainfean sipped at the glass of ice cold water and looked across the table at her mother. “Come on then. I know you’re not as blunt as everyone thinks I am but you don’t normally beat around the bush like this.” Anfean noticed a frown crease her mother’s face. “It means to talk about anything else in an attempt to avoid talking about the thing you actually want to talk about. It’s a human phrase.”

Gysariel laughed softly. “That is the thing I want to talk about, funnily enough.” She took a deep breath, looking down at the steaming cup of floral tea that was sitting on the table in front of her. “You said that the doorway back to the mortal realm would open soon.”

“Er, yes. At the end of the summer. Why do you bring that up?”

“You’ll be going through?”

Ainfean nodded, frowning. “Yes, I promised Alfred I’d come back through, but…”

“Good.”

Ainfean blinked. “Pardon?”

“Good. I think you should go as soon as you can,” said Gysariel. She swallowed heavily. “And I don’t think you should come back.”

Ainfean’s eyes widened, the knuckles of the hand holding the glass going white. “Mother?”

Gysariel avoided her daughter’s gaze. “I don’t want you to watch us as we decline. I can’t stand seeing the pain in your eyes, or seeing the truth of what’s happening reflected in them. I want you to remember us as we were - glorious, beautiful, arrogant, stupid, magnificent and foolish - not as some shambling echo of that. Please…” There were tears starting to run down her cheeks, and Ainfean could feel a burning in her own eyes. “I want you to go and build a life for yourself, Ainfean, far away from here. Find happiness and peace.”

“Mother…” The words choked off as Glysariel took her hand.

“We’ll give you a farewell party, something fitting for the elves’ greatest hero. And when you get to the human world, tell them about us, who we were, so that they remember us, even if it’s only as myths and legends.”

“I can’t just leave you," she insisted, even though those were the thoughts that had been running through her own mind.

“You most certainly can.” She jabbed a finger at Ainfean. “I know you what you’re like, you’ll keep trying to change things, people’s minds, or thinking you can somehow defeat the Blight. Don’t disagree,” she said as she noticed her daughter’s mouth open to speak. “Lisariel told me you’ve been reading nothing but history books and I know for a fact you’ve never cared in the slightest about that.”

Ainfean grumbled under her breath.

Gysariel patted her on the hand. “You won’t find anything in them anyway, I’ve read most of them myself, and my mother wrote a few.”

“But…”

“Think of it as a tactical retreat, general, if that makes you feel any better about it.”

“You’re asking a lot of me, mother,” said Ainfean.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone you ran away.”

Ainfean rubbed at her eyes with the knuckle of her thumb. “So first you try to kick me out of the realm and now you’re making fun of me?”

“I don’t like seeing my daughter unhappy.” Gysariel blew at the hot liquid in her cup and took a sip, sighing in satisfaction.

“And that was your idea for cheering me up?” Ainfean shook her head. “I can see you’ve been spending too much time with Lisariel.”

They sat for a time without speaking until Ainfean had finished her water. “I need a bath after training,” she said, standing and stretching up her arms towards the ceiling.

“And will you do what I suggested?” Gysariel looked at her daughter with a fond but determined expression on her face.

“I’ll think about it, mother. I’m not making any promises.”

“I could make it a royal decree, you know,” said Gysariel.

“You once made it a royal decree that I couldn’t climb the tall tree in the orchard. That lasted a morning.”

“Wilful child,” grumbled Gysariel. “You almost broke your arm.”

“Almost is the important word. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

Gysariel shook her head. “You’d think of everyone, a queen would have obedient children. How did I end up with you?”

Ainfean kissed Gysariel on the cheek and walked out of the room, leaving her mother to quietly finish her tea.

(author’s note: seem to be contradicting myself here, does she want to go or not? First drafts and all that.)

They danced and sang and laughed beneath the moon, smiles bright yet brittle, and spoke of old times and shared stories, their revelry echoed in the streets below, a celebration that filled the city with light and music. At the heart of the party, Ainfean laughed and joked and tried to stop her heart from breaking; it had never felt more fragile and less like iron. It felt like there was a fist clenching in the centre of her chest.

She danced with her father, listened to her mother and sister gossip, told Lanferean stories about famous battles she had been part of, did everything but think about tomorrow.

She laughed at a joke of Lisariel’s, clinging to the laughter as if it could somehow save her from drowning. Standing alone against a thousand trolls would have been preferable to this, she thought, at least that I can understand. She could feel the edges of her smile cracking but she refused to let it fade.

Lisariel, of course, had decreed that this party would be a celebration of their glorious past, and a gesture of defiance towards the future. In keeping with her assertion that she would face the end with style, she was wearing a shimmering, sheer, figure-hugging dress of glittering white with a plunging neckline that Ainfean was having a hard time ignoring. She half suspected that her friend had worn it just to distract her. Ainfean tried to imagine what Alfred’s expression would look like if she wore a similar dress when she passed through the doorway; the effect wouldn’t be quite the same - her body was built for swinging swords and holding shields, not filling out a dress like that - but she thought it would probably still leave him speechless.

Ainfean’s own dress, green and velvet, was a good deal more modest, leaving very little in the way of bare skin, much to Lanferean’s disappointment - he wanted to look at his aunt’s scars and get her to tell him how she got each one.

“Ainfean, no moping,” said Lisariel, nudging Ainfean with her elbow. The two of them were taking a break from the dancing, sitting on a generously cushioned couch that had been brought out on to the terrace.

“I wasn’t!” protested Ainfean. “I was thinking about your dress, actually.”

“Oh really?” Lisariel all but purred the words. “Tell me more.”

“Settle down,” said Ainfean, shaking her head at her friend’s suggestive smirk. “You’ll wear yourself out before midnight.”

“You underestimate your opponent, general. I have reserves you cannot conceive of.”

Ainfean rolled her eyes. “I had not realised we were at war. Do I need to armour up and get my sword?”

Lisariel sniffed dismissively. “That dress is armour enough. Could you not have found something a little more daring?”

“It is comfortable and not too restrictive,” said Ainfean. “And I happen to think it looks nice.”

“It’s no fun.” Lisariel pouted. “Even a slit up the side for your leg would be better than nothing.”

“Fine,” said Ainfean with a heavy sigh. She reached into her left sleeve and pulled out a dagger, which she twirled expertly between her fingers, and then she sliced a slit into the skirt of her dress from the mid-thigh region down to the hem. “Better?” The dagger vanished back up inside the dress’s sleeve.

“A dagger?” Lisariel closed her eyes in despair. “There are times when I genuinely do not believe you.”

“I always have at least three or four knives with me,” said Ainfean. “Force of habit.” She looked at Lisariel’s expression. “Well I don’t want to end up without a weapon, you never know when I might need one. Or when I might need to do some emergency tailoring.”

“It is at least an improvement,” said Lisariel, reaching out and flicking aside the newly altered skirt to reveal Ainfean’s leg. “The world deserves to see your terrifyingly toned calf muscles, complete with extra decoration.” She stroked a long faded scar that ran across the back of the muscle.

“That one hurt. Ended up crawling back off the battlefield on my hands and knees. That was one of my earliest battles.”

“Ah, the sweet memories,” said Lisariel. “Did any of them not hurt?”

Ainfean shrugged. “You’d be surprised. If you’re in the heat of battle and your heart’s pounding then you might not notice all kinds of terrible injuries. It’s just afterwards, when everything’s calmed down, that you notice there’s a hole in your chest and half your arm’s hanging off.” She smiled at a memory. “I remember once, after a fight with some orcs, I was standing looking over the battlefield, reviewing casualties with Olindoir, when he looked down, frowned, and then looked me in the eye and said ‘I can see your ribs’. I had a vicious slash across the side of my chest and a couple of my ribs were sticking out. That was a strange moment.”

“Strange wouldn’t have been my choice of word,” said Lisariel, fanning her face with her hand. “I remember that scar, though; if you followed it up it led you to a very fun place!”

“Lisariel!”

“I should write a thank you note to that orc.”

“Ha. I’m afraid he’s not around to read it any more; creating your path to happiness cost him dearly.”

“Then I shall offer up my thanks to the moon, or whatever it is the orcs look to.” She sighed. “Are you sure I can’t explore it one last time?” She held up a placating hand at Ainfean’s expression. “I know, I know, you have your blacksmith, I was joking. Half-joking, anyway.”

Ainfean’s expression softened and she took Lisariel’s hand. “Are you sure you could do it even if I said yes? After the last time…”

“Please don’t remind me. The memory of your illness was still too fresh.” A night of prospective passion that was instead transformed into Lisariel sobbing herself to sleep in Ainfean’s arms. “I may never forgive you for making such a mess of me. But now,” she looked into Ainfean’s eyes and smiled, “for the last time?”

Ainfean felt the fist around her heart clench a little tighter as Lisariel voiced the thing they were all so carefully not talking about. “I thought you were trying to get me to leave, not tempt me to stay,” she said, trying not to notice how difficult it was to speak all of a sudden.

“I am, but I’m afraid my heart’s rebelling.”

“Oh, Lisariel…” First love, only true love before Alfred, I swear you will tear my heart in half.

“Unfair of me isn’t it?”

“Monstrously. I forgive you.” Ainfean looked at her companion, the way her hair glowed and her eyes gleamed in the soft lamplight. An unshed tear hung like a diamond on the lip of her eyelid. “Dance with me.”
That made Lisariel blink in surprise, which sent the tear rolling down her cheek. “You’re asking me to dance? Normally I have to physically drag you out of your seat to get you up there.”

“Special occasion,” said Ainfean, standing up and pulling Lisariel up after her. They moved close to one another, swaying to the music, and Ainfean found herself clinging tightly to Lisariel.

“Feels like you’re hanging on for dear life,” whispered Lisariel.

“I am.” But not tightly enough, she thought. If anything she clasped Lisariel even tighter.

“If you were this clingy before going into battle I’m amazed you ended up with a name as intimidating as Ironheart.”

Ainfean leaned her head against Lisariel’s shoulder and laughed softly. “No. We didn’t really do pre-battle dancing, and I didn’t feel the need to give my lieutenants bear hugs. I knew I had a home to come back to, that I had you to come back to.”

“I’ll still be here as long as you need me to be, even if it’s only as a ghost.”

“Lisariel!” Ainfean lifted her head up and glared at her dance partner. “I swear you’re more morbid than most of the soldiers I served with.”

“I mean it, Ainfean. I’ll be here.”

“I give up.”

“Lying on my bed, surrounded by rose petals, waiting for you to come and take me away from all this.”

Ainfean kissed her, smothering the last few words with a firm but gentle press of her lips against Lisariel’s; both of them kept pace with the dance without missing a step. After a few moments she pulled back. “Is that enough to make you stop talking?”

“It’s not a bad start,” said Lisariel. “I don’t think your blacksmith would appreciate it; if those human stories you love so much are anything to go by they can be quite possessive.”

Ainfean smiled. “If he’d heard you talking he would understand completely. And he knows we’re different. I told him about you and me. He said you sounded...interesting.” Her smile took on a hint of a challenge. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to come and see him? He’s got a really big…”

This time is was Lisariel who initiated the kiss, somewhat more forcefully than Ainfean, taking her hand away from Ainfean’s waist and putting it on her neck, pulling them together. Ainfean made no attempt to disengage; Lisariel tasted as she had the first time they’d ever kiseed - Ainfean’s first real kiss - two thousand years earlier. Although the time when she’d thought they’d become life partners had passed, it was a taste that Ainfean never wanted to forget; the press of her lips, the tentative push of her tongue, all things she wanted to linger in her memory until the end of her days. But even the idea of remembering brought to her mind the reason why she would have to remember it, that she would likely never feel them again.

Was there ever anything more bittersweet than that kiss, she wondered, was there ever anything that held such a mix of joy and sorrow?

They danced in one another’s arms until the party began to fade. Ainfean locked her arms around Lisariel; if they could just keep dancing then the party wouldn’t end, she wouldn’t have to leave, everything would be all right.

Lisariel put her hands on Ainfean’s shoulders. “You have to let go.”

“Make me,” said Ainfean, not meeting Lisariel’s eyes.

Before Lisariel could reply, a hand tapped Ainfean on her shoulder. “My darling daughter, if you squeeze her any tighter you’re going to break her ribs,” said Algariad.

Ainfean glared at him over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that I know exactly how much pressure is needed to break someone’s ribs.”

“And that is all a father could ever wish for from his daughter,” he responded with a broad smile. “Will you not relinquish your hold long enough to give him a hug?”

Ainfean stepped back from Lisariel and put her arms around her father. “I would keep this night going forever,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“And had I the power I would grant your wish,” he replied, smoothing her hair down with his hand.

Gysariel, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, placed a hand on Ainfean’s arm, guiding it around so that it enveloped her own slender shoulders.

Ainfean crushed them tightly to her, though not as tightly as she had been grasping Lisariel - she wouldn’t forgive herself for leaving bruises on her mother on this of all nights. No words were spoken; none were needed. Once she had reluctantly released them, it was Elanderiel and Lanferean’s turn. Elanderiel was openly crying as she buried her face in the crook of Ainfean’s neck. “Who am I supposed to get annoyed at now?” she says, her words barely discernible.

“I’ve taught Lanferean plenty of bad habits,” replied Ainfean, smiling even as the tears fell. “Lanferean, I want you to promise to keep practicing with your sword and doing foolhardy things so that ooof.” She grunted as Elanderiel jabbed her in the side.

“I forgot how obnoxious you can be.”

“That is what older sisters are for.”

The party is over, midnight has been and gone, and Ainfean and Lisariel stand together on the balcony of Lisariel’s chambers, looking out over the city where some of the revelries still continue. Part of Ainfean wanted to go and join them but she doubts her presence would be welcome; they have got used to her being there, these last few years, but they still look at her with unfriendly eyes.

“I don’t want to leave,” said Ainfean after they had stood in silence for a while. Her voice was quiet, almost despairing in a way that would have shocked the elves she had commanded.

“And I wish you could stay here,” said Lisariel, “but I know that in the end it’s for the best if you go. I would rather you have your last memory of me be a night like this than have you remember me dwindling away, and I would rather have the memory of this to sustain me, and to know that you’re out there living your life, than have you watch me disappear.”

“I would make each moment last a lifetime,” said Ainfean.

“And leave your blacksmith wondering where his elf-queen has gone?” Lisariel smiled. “I can’t have that, I need someone there to look after you when I can’t any more.”

“I’m not queen.”

Lisariel ignored Ainfean’s snarled response with an understanding smile. “You will be. Sorry, I’ll drop it.”

“You just like the idea of bedding a queen,” said Ainfean.

Lisariel stepped closer to Ainfean. “I’m fine with my warrior princess.”

“Ha! I’m not wearing a crown for you.”

A frown creased Lisariel’s brow. “I had forgotten you had one of those, I haven’t seen it in ages.”

Ainfean blushed, a rare sight indeed. “I, er, well I couldn’t my hands on enough cash to pay the dwarves for the armour, so…”

“Ainfean Sárnait, you didn’t!” Lisariel’s eyes were wide with shock and glinting with mischief.

“I was desperate! I also cleaned out a fair portion of the family’s heirlooms from the vaults if you want the truth.”

“I wish I had known about this side of your personality before. We could have had some fun!”

Ainfean narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper in Lisariel’s ear. “I still haven’t entirely discounted the possibility of trying my hand at kidnapping.”

Lisariel patted her on the cheek. “As tempting as the prospect of being your damsel in distress might be, I think I’ll have to say no to that one, although I might be willing to temporarily entertain the idea for the rest of the night. Speaking of the night...” Lisariel pulled Ainfean’s head down and kissed her briefly. “Let us not waste any more of it worrying about things we cannot change and make the best of the time we have.”

There was a rustling sound, making Ainfean look down to see Lisariel’s dress pooling on the floor around her feet. “How was that staying on while we were dancing?” she asked, putting her hands on Lisariel’s bare waist.

The other elf rolled her eyes dramatically. “May the moon save me from the ridiculous practicality of soldiers. Do I need to steal one of your knives to cut you out of that thing or are you going to take it off voluntarily?”

They fell together on to the bed, the green dress left crumpled on the floor, along with the three sheathed knives that Ainfean had strapped to her wrists and thigh, and now there was nothing between them but the knowledge that the night would not last forever. Limbs tangled in a desperate knot, kissing one another hungrily, not with passion so much as with longing, as if they could convince each other that they lived in a different time and place where things were not as they are.

Ainfean let the kiss linger for a time, then pulled back and delicately laid her lips against Lisariel’s collarbone. When she stopped and raised her gaze up, Lisariel was smiling down at her. She stiffened suddenly as she felt a gentle touch on her left side, just below the rib cage; Lisariel’s fingers tracing a circle on the bare skin.

“Always handy when there’s a guide.” The fingers began to move slowly up, following a pathway carved into Ainfean’s side more than a thousand years ago, until they reached the end of the scar, just below the swell of Ainfean’s breast. “I’m glad that orc stopped when he did, however.”

“I didn’t give him any choice,” breathed Ainfean, kissing Lisariel’s neck as the featherlight touch of her fingers danced across sensitive skin, and then the tiniest tweak with elegant fingernails drew forth a hiss.

“I told you,” said Lisariel, shooting Ainfean a warning look from beneath half-closed eyes, “I don’t want to waste any time.”

Ainfean smiled at the note of challenge in Lisariel’s voice, then wrapped her legs tightly around her lovers thigh and pulled her into an almost savage, bruising kiss. There was nothing tentative in the way their tongues met, or in the way that Lisariel pulled Ainfean deeper into the embrace, fingers digging into hardened shoulder muscles. They moved together, sharing an urgent rhythm that echoed their need, letting instinct and memory guide their bodies without hesitation or restraint; they had explored one another’s limits a long, long time ago and each understood how to make the other’s heart pound and her muscles tense.

Ainfean’s breath became more ragged and she found that she was trying to press as much of her body against Lisariel’s as she could, as if she wanted to experience as much as possible, to touch every available part of Lisariel that she could and remember the sensation. And Lisariel seemed to share the same hunger, clamping her lips to Ainfean’s with a desperate moan and a sharp tightening of her legs around Ainfean’s own.

Experienced fingers, some calloused and scarred, others smooth and delicate, mapped out the curves and clefts of their quiveringly tense bodies, making hearts pound, muscles tense and breath hitch in their throats.

There was a moment of stillness, a brief, tension-filled pause like a wave just about to break on a shore, and then the wave came crashing down, dragging down with it all of the fragile walls that Ainfean had built to keep her emotions at bay. She was swept away in the tumult, crying out in pain and ecstasy, tears streaming from her eyes, and she could feel Lisariel shuddering in her arms, and then anything resembling conscious thought was ripped away.

They lay still and quiet but for their laboured breathing, still wrapped around each other, cheeks still wet from shared tears. The brief moment of animal joy had stripped away all their delusions and left only sorrow in its wake. Miles away, in the ruins lurking in the woods, the doorway was starting to open as the moon of the mortal world began to cast its shadow over the standing stones. Ainfean thought about Alfred, her distant man of iron, and the elf tangled up in her arms, and wished with all her heart that she could think of a way to bring the two worlds together, to stop all that she had been up until now being ripped away by a creeping, gentle apocalypse.

No salvation presented itself, no last minute rescue plan plucked out of thin air, and no stirring speech that could rouse weary defenders for a last, desperate effort that would pull victory from the jaws of defeat.

Lisariel shifted in her arms and ran a finger down Ainfean’s tear-streaked face. “Thinking of this will keep a smile on my face even when all around has gone to dust,” she whispered. “Will you tell your blacksmith?”

Ainfean nodded. “I will describe it to him in intimate detail and then ask him if he thinks he can do better.” She smiled at Lisariel, looking into the lovely green (?) eyes that she knew so well. “He likes a challenge.” She looked away again and the smile faded. “I don’t want to go,” she repeated.

“And yet you will, because you must, because that is what you always do whether you want to or not. It is why even as this world slips away, and we are all slowly forgotten, all the elves and dwarves and orcs and trolls will still remember who the Ironheart was.” Lisariel reached up and tilted Ainfean’s face back down so she that could see Lisariel’s smile. “And some of us will remember with our eyes rolling back in our heads and our hearts pounding.”

That brought the smile back to Ainfean’s lips. “Not that many, I’ll have you know. I wasn’t that prolific a lover, no matter what the rumours in the lower ranks suggested. It was never a fast way to get a promotion either, despite what they thought.”

“You might have had more volunteers if you had made that official policy.”

“And I would have been too tired to do any fighting.”

“You could have tried it on the trolls, they might have given up much more quickly.”

Ainfean laughed softly. “Have you ever actually seen a troll?” she asked.

“I have, actually, I was in the crowd at the official surrender ceremony,” replied Lisariel. “You did look at me but the state you were in I’m not sure you were really in the room at all.”

“My memories of that day are a bit of a blur, it’s true.”

Lisariel took a deep breath and rested her head on Ainfean’s shoulder, then ran her finger down the centre of Ainfean’s chest, between her breasts and down the line that separated the hard ridges of her stomach muscles. She stopped halfway down and started idly tracing the shape of the individual muscles.

“There isn’t much of the night left,” said Ainfean. Out of the window she could see that the sky at the horizon was already starting to lighten; it felt like a betrayal.

“There’s enough,” said Lisariel, and let her fingers resumed their downward journey.

The skies overhead were grey as Ainfean rode away from the palace. Face hidden by the hood of her cloak, she didn’t meet the curious gazes of the pedestrians who were out on the street and she didn’t look back. Everything that had needed saying had been said the previous night, and all the tears had been shed; all that had been left today was the agony of parting and Ainfean had felt no need to prolong that pain any longer that she had to. Goodbyes said with thick tongues and heavy hearts and a last, lingering kiss from Lisariel, which had almost been enough to break her resolve, and then Ainfean had mounted her horse and ridden out of the palace gates.

She drank in the sights, sounds and smells of the city as she passed; the place she had been born, and the place she had fought so hard to defend, and now she turned her back on it and rode towards the forest and a mortal world that nothing of this land beyond myths and fairy tales. She pulled up her horse just before the road disappeared into the crowded trees and finally looked back at the spires that glittered where they were struck by the few rays of light that pierced the clouds overhead.

Were they still watching, she wondered. Was Lisariel standing on her jealously guarded balcony watching her? They would be able to see her if they chose, there was magic that could enhance sight. She smiled at the city and made her horse rear up, its front hooves pawing at the air. It danced for a second on its hind legs as she laughed and then she let it drop back to the earth and have its head. Dirt exploded from beneath its feet as it launched itself into a furious gallop, Ainfean crouched low in the saddle as she left Glyndorial behind.

The forest she rode through did not feel like the one she had seen when she had walked this path in the opposite direction. There was even less life to it now, and the once proud trees were snarled up in tangled vines and thorny briars, much like the ones she had seen carpeting land wholly taken over by the Blight. The invading plants had even encroached on to the road in places, forcing Ainfean to dismount and hack her way through with her sword. The dwarves who had forged it would no doubt have been aghast at the way she was using the tool they had made but there was no better tool than the steel blade at cutting through the tough branches; the vegetation of faery was no more fond of the iron’s touch than the elves were. For all that, it was still tough going, although in a way Ainfean was grateful for the opportunity to take her anger out on something tangible.

When she finally arrived at the cabin, a little over two days later, she discovered that the vines had attempted to invade that as well, pushing in one of the windows and coiling around the legs of her bed, they had also pushed through some of the shingles on the roof but not to any great degree. One thing they had stayed well clear of, however, was the chest underneath the bed; the aura of the iron armour within was enough to discourage even the most virulent plant life. She hacked away the worst of them, enough to allow her to make a fire in the hearth and sleep on the bed, the rest she didn’t care about - she had no plans to stay here any longer than a night. After tonight she would camp near the doorway.

Sitting on the bed, she pulled out the chest and stared at it for a moment; should she take it with her? After a moment’s thought she pushed the chest back under the bed. There would be no need of iron armour in the mortal world. From what she had seen, swords were not really in common use any more. She would take her own blade, her knives, and her bow, with her, if only to keep her skills sharp; some habits were far too deeply embedded to overcome.

She spread her gear out on the bed, making sure everything was in it’s proper place and in good order; the soldier’s routine, almost automatic to her now. Except...she cursed under her breath, reluctant to break the solemn quiet that blanketed the forest; two of her knives were missing. She’d given one to Lanferean - as long as he promised not to tell his mother until she was out of the realm - but another one was absent. She must have lost it in Lisariel’s apartment; the two of them had not taken much care when they removing Ainfean’s green dress or the sheaths that were strapped to her body.

For a moment, a very brief, tempting moment, she thought about riding back to Glyndorial to retrieve it. She chuckled sadly; no, Ainfean, try not to be too pathetic if you can help it, she told herself. Lisariel could keep it as a souvenir, as long as she was careful with it; she could just imagine her friend and lover not realising as she touched the steel and roundly cursing Ainfean.

She cleared up her gear, stowing it in her pack, and then stretched out on her bed, using her cloak as a blanket. Sleep had not come easy to her the last couple of nights, with long hours spent staring up into darkness and the few snatched hours of slumber filled with painful dreams, and this night was no different.

Ainfean woke with a start just before dawn. In her dream she had been lying with Lisariel but her lover was cold and immobile, her skin turned to stone beneath Ainfean’s fingers, and then the figure crumbled away. It was all too fresh and raw at the moment. Give it time, and the presence of Alfred, and she would be all right. She stoked the fire to make a cup of Alfred’s tea from the carefully rationed stash that she had carried with her, which she had finally persuaded her family and Lisariel to try - none of them had particularly enjoyed the experience, although Ainfean had taken a great deal of pleasure from the expressions on their faces.

The thought of Alfred lifted her spirits, bringing a faint smile to her lips. Oh, how she would have loved to show him Glyndorial in all its splendour but faery was not a realm that was welcoming for humans. Still, she liked to imagine him trying to work out how the towers had been built; and, if she were being honest, she would have liked to show him off to Lisariel, and show her off to him. It occurred to her that, as painful as things were, she was lucky to have loved two such people in her life, and to have been loved by them in return.

“Perhaps you are not so tragic after all, general Glassheart,” she muttered to herself with a wry chuckle.

When it came time to leave the cabin, she barely spared it a backwards glance. It had only ever really been a place to stay, never truly a home. The horse was harder to say goodbye to; she was a good and faithful companion, like all the elven-trained horses were, and Ainfean was loathe to send her back to Glyndorial. It couldn’t be helped, however, and Ainfean didn’t want to keep her any longer than necessary lest the vines and briars block the road once again. She would find her way back on her own without trouble so Ainfean gave her a hearty meal, slipped a note to Lisariel, warning her of the knife that may be lurking in her rooms, into the otherwise empty saddlebags and sent the horse galloping on its way.

Heading in the opposite direction, Ainfean set off into the forest. It was a day and a half’s walk to the ruins ordinarily, but the vines had found their way here as well, an insidious invasion that she took great pleasure in destroying wherever she could. It slowed her progress, however, meaning that it was just over two days after she set off, just as the sun was setting, that she cut through a tangle of briars and stumbled out into the clearing containing the ruins, weary to the bone, her arms aching.

“Got soft living back in the city,” she grumbled to the forest at large. “Too much dancing, not enough training.”

Making her way through the tumble-down ruins, the remains of something even more ancient than the elves as far as Ainfean knew, she approached the doorway, or at least the spot where the doorway would appear though there was no sign of it yet. Not knowing how long it would be before the conditions would be right for the doorway there was nothing left for Ainfean to do but build a fire and wait.

Time rolled by and the sky turned dark above her, the stars coming out and twinkling. Ainfean stared up at them, following the familiar patterns of the constellations that had been above her for all of her life. It seemed like such a little thing but it would be strange and unsettling knowing that she would not look up to see them any more. The stars of the mortal world were similar, but the shapes were different, alien; they seemed to shine brighter as well.

She felt a flash of anger, something that had become a familiar sensation, at the unfairness of it all. This world, with all its beauty and life and history, disappearing before her eyes, taking with it even the stars. How could it have happened, she asked herself for the umpteenth time. She thought that maybe, if she could just understand the cause, the loss might not cut so deep, but she seemed no closer to finding an answer than she had been when she had first set eyes on the small patch of brown vines and briars almost a thousand years earlier.

It was hours later when something jerked Ainfean awake. The night air was still and the forest surrounding the clearing was silent, and the only light came from the stars above and the glowing embers of her campfire. Something had disturbed her sleep and, unusually these days, it wasn’t a nightmare. She threw off the cloak she had wrapped herself in and stood, sheathed sword held in one hand, her other resting on the pommel, and then she looked around the ruins, searching for the source of the disturbance. There was nothing, all was quiet, except something was grating against her instincts, a feeling she never ignored. There, a shimmering in the air, barely visible in the low light even to an elf’s eyes.

Letting the sword drop back next to her makeshift bed she moved closer to it, smiling in anticipation; even though she could tell that the doorway wasn’t yet open, and likely wouldn’t be for several days on her side of this strange breach, it was still possible to see through to the other side if you were standing in the right place. Knowing this, Alfred sometimes visited the standing stones in the nights before the moon was completely full so that he could see Ainfean. To her, he barely moved, the slow, creeping movements of a growing tree; to him, she twitched and darted like a mayfly, a barely visible blur of motion. It was a sweet torture they inflicted upon themselves, fuelling their own impatience to the point that when the doorway did finally open, Ainfean came hurtling through and knocked Alfred to the ground with the impact of her kiss.

Ainfean had already half-decided that she was going to get Alfred to make love to her straight away; there was an urgent need in her for close, intimate contact with something solid.

She stoked up her campfire, feeding it some of the store of dry wood she had set aside until the small space in the ruins she had occupied was filled with an orange glow. With the extra light, the nascent doorway was easy to see - an ellipse of rippling darkness three handspans wide and six long. Peering closer, Ainfean could almost make out the moon lit standing stones of the mortal realm, their shapes distorted and wavering as if they lay at the bottom of a deep pool of water.

There was no sign of Alfred yet, but she knew that it might easily take many hours of time on her side of the doorway for him to walk the short distance from his cottage to the standing stones. She had no choice but to be patient, although the calm expression she painted on her face was betrayed by the quick, steady drumming of her fingers against her thigh.

“Are you just going to stand here for hours?” Ainfean asked herself. “Idiot.” Still, she waited a little while longer before sitting back down next to her fire; she stayed facing the doorway, however, her eyes trained on the patch of shimmering darkness even as she tore off a small piece of the fruit-filled bread that her mother had given her before she left. It had lost some of its softness but it was still flavourful and chewing on it gave her something to do besides staring. Ainfean was a firm believer that with enough willpower you could accomplish almost anything, but no amount of willing was going to make Alfred appear on the other side of the doorway any sooner.

It was like the heavy lull that filled the time when she was waiting for a battle to start; a pregnant pause laced with possibilities, though the resolution of this pause promised to be a lot more pleasant than the blood-soaked fury of a battlefield.

Movement caught her eye, a shadow shifting in the picture displayed in the doorway. Ainfean stood and walked up to the floating portal, peering inside. Slowly, inch by tortuous inch, the edge of an arm, wrapped in the sleeve of what she presumed to be a light-coloured shirt, appeared to her. Alfred always tried to wear a white, or at least pale shirt to help her pick him out in the darkness of the forest.

It was infuriating, watching him slowly drift into view. She had accused him of moving deliberately slowly just to make it worse, an accusation he vehemently denied, albeit with a mischievous glint in his eye. His face began to drift into view, starting with a tantalising glimpse of the side of the strong jaw that she knew so well; she had traced its shape with her fingers so many times that it was etched into her memory, the rasping feel of his beard so coarse compared to that of the elven men she had lain with. Finally, Alfred’s eye appeared, familiar wrinkles in the corner of his eye that matched the upturn at the edge of his mouth. No matter how much he denied it he definitely enjoyed tormenting her, at least a little.

At last, after an hour of watching him slowly appear, Ainfean could finally see all of Alfred grinning back at her. She tried to stay as still as possible so that he could see more than just a coloured blur.

Oh Lisariel, I wish you could meet him, you’d be head over heels, thought Ainfean, drinking in the details of his face; the strong cheekbones, the dark brows and hair, the eyes that were gleaming with reflected moonlight. My man of iron.

His eyes flicked to the side and his head began to slowly turn, making Ainfean frown. He rarely looked away during the brief time when he could see through the doorway; it did not last long on his side, as opposed to the half-day that it lasted in the realm of faery. A frown now creased Alfred’s brow, mirroring Ainfean’s and his mouth started to move; there was someone else there and Alfred was speaking to them.

A cold knot of fear coiled around her stomach; muscles tensed, responding to instincts that had kept her alive through countless battles. She denied them, refusing to believe that there was any need for those violent intuitions in this place, and yet without even realising what she was doing, she had reached down and picked up her sword once more.

“Run,” she muttered under her breath as heart began to beat faster.

Alfred was starting to gesture with his arm now, moving as if he was trapped in honey.

“Why aren’t you running, you stupid, naive fool?” She pushed the hand that wasn’t clutching the sword against the window, feeling it push back against her hand. There was no way through.

Something else entered the view, the back of someone’s right arm; whoever it was was dressed in dark clothes so Ainfean could see little of them beyond a silhouette.

“Move!” she shouted, shattering the quiet of the ruins despite knowing how futile it was. How can you not feel it?

The figure, and she thought it was a man, raised the arm she could see, but there didn’t appear to be anything in his hand. Alfred was responding, empty hands held outwards, his smile friendly and open. Ainfean snarled and punched the portal; it was like hitting a thick mattress that absorbed all of the force she threw at it.

A flash of blinding light emanated from the man’s hand, then faded gradually. Was that magic? It couldn’t have been, there wasn’t any in the mortal realms, at least not any more. And then a black flower bloomed on Alfred’s shirt, just over his stomach, and all other thought was driven from Ainfean’s mind.

She screamed out a denial, hurling herself at the half-formed doorway as if she could force her way through. There had been no weapon - no sword or dagger, no crossbow - but she had seen blood by the light of the moon too many times to not know what she was looking at. A confused look slowly replaced Alfred’s smile as his body began to realise that it had suffered a trauma of some kind.

The stranger’s hand flashed again and again, a further five times in total, the light briefly illuminating Alfred as he stumbled backwards, the whole front of his shirt stained the same colour as the night behind him.

“No! Please, no!” cried Ainfean, screaming in rage and frustration. All of her strength, all of the centuries of training and fighting, was for naught as she pounded against the immovable barrier again and again. She did not dare use the sword, for fear that the iron’s touch would somehow destroy the doorway, so she let it fall and used both fists, howling in her helplessness. She could only watch as Alfred toppled slowly to the ground, like one of the great trees in the forest around her collapsing, his expression still confused. Then his eyes met hers, and there was no pain in them, nor anger, only sadness and pity.

Unable to find a way to push through, unwilling to look away, Ainfean could only watch as the stranger slowly walked over to Alfred and crouched down. “Get away from him!” she shrieked, but her words went unheard and unheeded. The man, his features still lost in shadow, started rooting around in Alfred’s pockets, but finding nothing, he moved his fingers up to the thin chain that gleamed around the wounded man’s neck. He pulled out the pendant she had given to Alfred during her last visit (author’s note: forgot to write this scene in the opening chapter), examined it for a moment, then casually snapped the chain and pocketed it.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” screamed Ainfean. “Please, just leave him alone.” The image started to fade as the moon of the mortal realm moved away and Alfred was still staring at her, so close but so very far away. “Alfred…” she whispered.

The stranger turned slightly, and for a moment Ainfean could see his face. She burned it into her mind; the shaved head, the narrow eyebrows, a nose that had been broken a number of times and had a scar running horizontally across the bridge, the thin, cruel lips.

“I am going to find you,” she vowed, spitting each word, her voice low and venomous, “no matter where you go, I will find you.”

If the man was in any way aware that he had just made an enemy he showed no sign of it. Instead, he straightened up, dusted himself down, nudged the still figure of Alfred with his foot and then walked off, out of Ainfean’s sight. Only Alfred was left in the stone circle, still looking at Ainfean through half-closed eyes. All her strength drained away and she slumped forwards, hands resting against the firm barrier of the doorway, and stared back into his eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her eyes burned but she didn’t notice, all that mattered was Alfred.

As slowly and as obviously as she could, she mouthed “I love you”. Her last sight of him as the doorway faded completely was the smile on his face, and then there was nothing but the ancient ruins and the crackling of her fire. She slumped forwards on to her knees, her fingers digging into the soft soil as the sobs engulfed her body.

“You damned idiot,” she whispered as the quakes subsided. “Why didn’t you run?”

She stayed like that, numbed and bereft of strength, until the sky began to lighten with the arrival of the dawn. Red-rimmed eyes looked up to watch the blue-pink fingers stretching up from the horizon; there were no more tears, however, she was hollow inside, dried out, empty but for the dull, throbbing ache in her chest.

To think she had dared believe that she might yet find peace and happiness. She cursed herself for a fool; even Juliet would look on her with pity for her romantic naivete. Wincing as she stood, her muscles and joints stiff, Ainfean tried to order her mind and focus on what to do next, forcing herself to try and think clearly with all the hard-won discipline of a lifetime’s soldiering.

The doorway would not open for a few days in her realm - just one day in the mortal world - but the wait she faced now was not filled with gleeful anticipation. For a moment, her discipline broke and she wanted nothing more than to run as fast as she could back to Glyndorial, back to Lisariel to find some small measure of comfort as her world collapsed around her, but that would mean losing the man’s - the killer’s, for she knew enough of wounds to know that Alfred would not be there when the doorway reopened - trail disappear, and letting him get away, his filthy fingers wrapped around the pendant she had poured all her love into making. Her will reasserted itself; that was not a price she was willing to pay. She could not save her realm, her people, Lisariel, and now she was powerless to save Alfred even as he lay dying a mere shadow’s width away, but she could get the pendant back. It was a strange, small thing to focus on but what else did she have left?

She briefly considered going back to get her armour from the cabin but dismissed the idea; she had not seen much of Alfred’s world beyond his cottage and bits of the village in which he lived - had lived - but she’d seen enough to know that full suits of armour would stand out. This was a hunt, not a march to war, speed and stealth were the better tactics.

So she would wait, and train, and bring back the part of herself that she had so badly wanted to leave behind.

She ate some of the food she had left, stretched out her muscles and then drew her sword with a metallic hiss that echoed around the ruins.

What had that troll chieftain said when he surrendered? “Knew we never win, Ironheart too hard to kill.” Ainfean stared at her reflection in the shining steel for a moment then twirled it twice. Maybe the old troll had been more right than he realised.