"Don't walk in front of me... I may not follow
Don't walk behind me... I may not lead
Walk beside me... just be my friend." - Albert Camus

The sunlight streams in slowly, playing between the lines of the windows, creeping into every corner of my library.

My eyes scan the sentence in the book in front of me over and over again. Yet, still having no idea what it says my eyes pass over it fleetingly for the thousandth time.

From nowhere a book is hurled to wards my head, hitting me squarely against my forehead.

My head jerks up, eyes glaring at the thrower of the book.

"What the fuck, Atarah! You cannot throw things at me when you desire to do so!"

The playful expression on her face turns into a glare immediately. "Can you tell me what the sentence said that you just read?"

My eyes narrow as I try to recall even the title of the book in front of me.

She jumps up, the hem of her violet dress cascading to the floor. "No, you can't, moron, because I've been looking at you daydreaming for the past hour. And it looks ugly. "

Shaking my head, I admit defeat. "I'm sure it can only be called daydreaming when the thoughts are pleasant."

"You are such a loghead. You know, you perpetuate your own misery." She twirls around three times, ber dressing graciously dragging behind her until all I can see is a whirlwind of purple. "You are like this: a dog continuously chasing its own tail, inflicting pain upon itself when you finally catch it."

"Wow. I thought you were my friend. That is what you told me a long time ago."

Recalling that memory allows me to immediately forgive her violation of my trust.

The smell of warm milk fills the room, making me feel like that child who once had loving parents.

I look up to see Atarah, the bearer of knowledge approaching me with two clay mugs. Her purple hair has been done in an elaborate braid with wild flowers intricately woven into it.

Unsure whether she is approaching me, yet knowing that there is no one else here, I still glance behind me. It is odd that this Ancient, who is only a distant acquaintance, is coming towards me.

I've attended a lot of meetings with her, but the Council and the Ancients have never been friends. The unforgiving reality is that the Ancients resent us for taking over from them and we like to think that we are better than them - less cruel and more fair.

With a heavy heart I push myself out of the chair. I came here to be left alone with my dark thoughts. "I was just leaving."

Not deterred by my obvious lie, she walks closer and holds out one of the mugs. "You are in need of a friend, Khairrim Cadeyrn."

Seeing my hesitation when reaching for it, she gives me a warm smile. "I made it for you. It even has some poppy milk in it."

I should avoid offending her, but now, knowing why the milk smelled so inviting, I also know that I cannot drink it.

Seeing my further hesitation, she pushes the mug under my nose. "Just take it. I really want to drink my milk and I can't do so with only one hand."

Even though her argument isn't valid, I graciously accept her kindness.

A triumphant smile crosses her petite face. "Now sit down and drink it."

Facing the stern resolution on her face, I have no choice but to obey her command. I fold my legs as I sit down on the thick carpet.

"Good," the Keeper of Knowledge says approvingly. Mirroring me, she takes her seat.

Trying to make her believe that I am enjoying the milk, I hold it close, my hands encircling its warmth.

"I have noticed that you come here quite a lot," she says after a long sip, milk still staining her upper lip.

With the temptation to drink the milk growing, I opt to rather place it on the floor in front of me. "I have never seen you."

"I am sure you can also choose to be seen and choose to not be seen," she says with a wisdom that doesn't suit her youthful face.

My answer is a silent nod.

"You don't have a library of your own?"

"No, why would I?"

She holds her thoughts to herself for a moment before answering, her face lighting up with excitement when she finally shares her idea with me. "I can help you to build one. I think you need something to focus on, other than whatever is obviously haunting you."

I study her before carefully choosing an answer. "Sometimes I wish that things between our people could be different. I think we can learn a lot from each other. And we could have some friends who won't die before us."

A pain, both sharp and vague erupts in my chest, causing me to suck my breath in and clutch the edges of the table in front of me. The dull ache throbbing from the center of my chest grows and grows until my arms go numb. My head jerks up, seeing my reflected discomfort in my friend's eyes.

"Khairrim? What's wrong? You look like you've just died."

The feeling of loss grows more intense, unexpectedly taking me back to the only other day I've felt this: that day. The rush of memories, usually only kept at bay with sheer willpower, crashes into me, smothering me until I feel like I am dying.

I barely register Atarah's slow and determined move towards me before she harshly puts her hands on my shoulders. "Gehem, ini ana," she whispers to me in the old language. "What is wrong, friend?"

There is no use in lying to Atarah, who is one of the very few people who truly know the most about me. "I'm not sure, but I need to get to ArBrae immediately." Even though I have no idea why, I know that this sudden shattering ache can originate from only one place.

Closing the book in front of me, I take my leave. "Apologies, old friend, for having to hurry off."

As I make my way to the door, grabbing my cloak, Atarah follows my lead.

"I'll accompany you this time," she says as she ties hers.

"That is not needed."

"It was stated, not asked."

Knowing when I have no chance of winning a battle, I merely shake my head.

"Lead the way, Water-boy."

I clasp her hand. Within seconds we arrive in ArBrae and with no time to waste, I chose to appear as close to the palace as politely possible. Anything closer could be considered a declaration of war.

Atarah pauses, drinking in the forest unfolding in the distance. With a heavy sigh she hurries to my side.

She hasn't been here since I took over. Perhaps that is the reason why we have been able to build a friendship despite all our differences: we both have the forest in our blood.

Knowing that she is recalling all the memories of her youth, from a time that I can't even fathom, and her knowing my distress, we approach the palace in silent camaraderie.

The surprised elves at the entrance barely manage to bow before we enter the courtyard. Eoghan suspiciously waits at the bottom of his staircase, pretending to be busy before noticing me.

"My Lord, how unexpected!"

"Cut the crap, Eoghan! You've been waiting here for me. Why, though, that is what I want to know."

His guilt is apparent as he avoids direct eye contacet. "Come with me where the silence will be ours," he says indicating the obvious stares of normally disinterested elves.

The uncomfortable, violent silence grows as he leads me to the same place where I bestowed my trust on him: the stone chamer.

As the door closes with a soft thud, I explode.

"I begged you one thing," I erupt when he has led us to the silence of the stone chamber.

"You begged from me what wasn't mine to grant."

My fingers dig into the palms of my clenched fists. "She is your daughter! Do you not want what is best for her?"

Eoghan's calm face and sincere face angers me even more.

"What is the best and what is perceived as such are rarely the same."

"If I wanted your opinion or advice I would have asked."

"And yet you brought me that gift a little more than a millennium ago because you thought that I would best care for her. And that is what I will continue to do for my daughter until she is able to decide for herself."

"Dammit Eoghan. How can I argue against that?"

"You cannot."

The arrogant smirk taking root on his face tempts my anger to lash out, but instead I clench my fists even tighter.

"That does not mean that you are correct nor forgiven. You have breached my confidence and overstepped your authority, Elderlight."

His tensed shoulders relax somewhat. "I would rather have you livid than have Laelia compromised. You can't deny her what you cannot deny yourself."

The careful construction of composure crumbles away upon hearing his lst words. "That is enough! Not a word more! I expect you to leave no stone nor leaf unturned, no corner of Ligtland unsearched, no city unscathed and no diplomatic relationship untouched until you have found her and returned her here!"

And then Eoghan dares my patience the last time: "To marry Strongwind? I will not! But should that alliance be cancelled, then I will comply."

"Eoghan Elderlight! You cannot bargain on behalf of what is not yours!" My voice echoes through the chamber, dangerously teetering on the edge of violence

Eoghan's voice, filled not with hot rage, but with cold disdain calmly overcomes the echo of my own. "And you cannot decide the future of Ligtland as you please! The time is coming closer and closer when all will tumble. My legacy will cease to be. Your memory will be wiped from this land. And all that will remain is that which has already stood through ages."

Upon hearing his unforgiving prophecy, a shiver passes down my spine.

A small hand is placed on my arm. Looking at Atarah, I realise that I have completely forgotten about her presence.

Her violet eyes turn towards Eoghan with calculated certainty. A slow nod accompanies her words as she tugs my sleeve. "Although this was not meant to be spoken, Khairrim is a bull's arse blinded by his heart's allegiances. I will drag him back to his house myself and drown him in liquor so that he can stop playing at determining a future already determined years ago."