Chapter 6 Chapter 6
In her dream, the Sylvanae Archive glowed with amber light, dust motes dancing like tiny stars in the shafts of afternoon sun that streamed through the high windows. Patrina sat cross-legged on a cushioned window seat, a stack of ancient tomes balanced precariously beside her, while across the alcove, Aldergon Graniel's silver hair caught the light as he gestured with elegant hands, recounting tales of his youth among the Wood Elves. His glasses perched forgotten at the end of his nose, and for once, the Grand Librarian's customary aloofness had melted away like spring frost, replaced by warmth.
"You wouldn't believe the state of me," Aldergon said, laughter softening the refined edges of his voice. "Barely a century old, covered head to toe in purple berry juice because I'd insisted on harvesting the nightberries myself rather than asking for help."
Patrina smiled, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Did the Wood Elves laugh at you?"
"Laugh? They practically howled." Aldergon removed his glasses, polishing them with one of his golden sashes. "The Wood Elven Matriarch, who was terrifying even on her kindest days, took one look at me and declared I'd finally found my true calling as a walking wine press."
His laughter echoed through the library, a sound so rare that Patrina found herself treasuring it.
Aldergon wore white robes today, trimmed with the gold that marked his status among the High Elves. Unlike his usual severe appearance during official library hours, his hair was loose around his shoulders, wavy strands catching the late afternoon light like spun silver. When he leaned forward to emphasize a point, Patrina caught the scent of parchment and cedar that seemed as much a part of him as his scholarly demeanor.
"The Greenways were different then," he continued, his eyes distant with memory. "Less insular, more willing to exchange knowledge. I spent forty years studying their herbal lore, though half that time was spent convincing them I wouldn't poison myself with improper preparations."
Patrina laughed, imagining a younger Aldergon, still ancient by human standards, fumbling with unfamiliar plants. She found it endearing how this usually composed elf could speak so freely about his missteps. When he looked directly at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, she quickly glanced down at her notes, hoping the warmth in her cheeks wasn't visible.
"Did you ever visit their tree cities?"
"Indeed," he nodded, straightening to his full, impressive height as he crossed to a shelf. "Their architecture reflects their philosophy to be always growing, never complete."
He returned with a leather-bound volume, its spine cracked with age and use. "This contains detailed accounts of the eastern groves. Including illustrations of their canopy dwellings that date back three centuries."
Patrina opened the book carefully, inhaling the distinctive scent of aged paper and preserved ink. The pages contained delicate sketches of dwellings that seemed to grow from the trees themselves, with spiraling staircases and platforms suspended by living branches.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, tracing a finger above, never touching, the intricate drawings.
"The Wood Elves understand beauty differently than we do," Aldergon said, settling beside her on the window seat. The cushion dipped under his weight, shifting her slightly closer to him. "They find it in impermanence, in adaptation. Their structures are meant to change with the seasons, unlike our structures built to last civilizations."
He reached across her to turn the page, his sleeve brushing against her arm. Patrina held her breath, hyperaware of his proximity.
"These are their gathering halls," he continued, pointing to a series of illustrations showing open platforms with retractable canopies made of woven leaves. "Where they hold their seasonal festivals. You might witness their summer equinox celebrations if your timing is fortunate."
Patrina nodded, trying to focus on the academic information rather than the way Aldergon's hair fell forward when he leaned over the book, or how his voice dropped to a gentler register when speaking of things he found beautiful.
"I've prepared several volumes for your journey," he said, gesturing to a stack of books on a nearby table. "Each addresses a different aspect of Wood Elven culture that might prove relevant to your research."
He rose and brought the stack to her, placing each book before her with reverent hands. The top volume was bound in green leather with silver lettering that caught the light.
"This one contains their recent history, the last two centuries. They've become more isolationist since the Flight of Men. The Wood Elves will receive you cautiously, but not with hostility."
Patrina accepted the books, stacking them neatly beside her. "Thank you, Grand Librarian. This will be invaluable for my sabbatical research."
"Aldergon," he corrected gently. "We've moved beyond formalities, I should think."
Patrina blushed, nodding. "Aldergon."
His name felt intimate on her tongue, a small privilege she hadn't expected when she'd first approached the famously aloof High Elf for assistance with her research proposal.
"Remember," he continued, gathering more volumes into a neat pile, "the Wood Elves respect directness. They have little patience for the elaborate courtesies of High Elven society." A smile tugged at his lips. "When a Wood Elf asks what you think of their mead, they actually want your honest opinion, not a diplomatic one."
"Unlike the High Elves?" Patrina asked with a small smile.
"Unlike us indeed," he admitted. "We prefer politeness to honesty in many cases. The Wood Elves find that dishonest. Learn to be blunt without being rude, and you'll earn their respect quickly."
Patrina made a mental note, already composing passages for her research journals. The cultural contrasts between elven societies fascinated her—how beings with such similar lifespans could develop such different social norms.
Aldergon's expression grew serious suddenly, his brow furrowing. "I must warn you again about venturing too close to Dark Elven territories," he said, his voice losing its warm reminiscence. "The borders are well-marked.”
"I have no intention of entering Nidelvia," Patrina assured him, though the mysterious Dark Elves had always intrigued her academically.
"Good." Aldergon's gaze was intense, concern evident in his eyes. "They view humans differently than we do. Since the Flight of Men, their fascination has only grown. They consider humans rare treasures to be... collected."
A chill ran through Patrina despite the warm sunlight bathing the library.
"They would see you as particularly valuable: a scholar, educated, clearly intelligent." He spoke carefully, as if weighing each word. "They would not harm you physically, but they would never let you leave. Their concept of ownership is... absolute."
Patrina swallowed, nodding. "I'll stay well within the Greenways," she promised.
Aldergon's expression softened again. "Good. I expect you to return with a completed manuscript worthy of our archives." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "And perhaps with stories of your own misadventures to share."
The dream-Aldergon smiled at her then, a rare full smile that transformed his scholarly features into something breathtaking. Patrina wanted to preserve this moment, to keep this version of him. A warm, open, safe, and almost fond memory.
But even in dreams, perfect moments don't last. The golden light of the library began to blur at the edges, and Aldergon's voice seemed to come from farther away. Patrina tried to hold onto the dream, to remain in the warmth and safety of the Sylvanae Archive with Aldergon's stories and smile, but darkness was encroaching from the corners of her consciousness, and with it came a distant, uncomfortable awareness that something was very wrong.