The Princes

“Tylineus wait!” Came a cry down the gorgeous hall with bright light shining through the window panes that acted as the roof’s skylight into this section of the hall.

“I’m not waiting anymore Torta! Either come with me to Midgard or stay here and waste even more time with these welps!” The young elf yelled back to his older brother, storming down the long section of hallway to the palace gardens. Well palace is a bit of a exaggeration in this instance, the two elven brothers resided in the largest tree in Ljósálfheim which acted as their grandfather’s palace in a way when he decided to act as King of Álfheimr after being gifted it. Very similar to a certain god’s kingdom and palace that shall not be mentioned of course; the older brother, Torta, finally caught Tylineus’ by the shoulder and gave him a firm tug on his dark robe to get him to stop storming through the servants which was creating quite a mess of shattered glass and ceramics. “For the last time! We should at least discuss this with Father. You know how he feels about us galivanting through the world of men like we have been.”

“You’ve never seemed to mind Father’s opinion of our little excursions? Why so worried now?” Tylineus giving his brother a pondering look, catching on to whatever was making his brother so nervous, “Has he threatened to take your women away again? For the love of Frey, brother! You have a wife and plenty of whores in the camp to do with as you please! You don’t need some stupid harem!”

Torta punches his brother on the shoulder, hard as needed which only moved his brother a little, “Silence yourself! That is none of your damned business! I’m worried Father will try and send someone after us again Tylineus.” As Torta says this, he leans into his brother’s ear to whisper it wasn’t safe amongst the servants and to find camp by the river to discuss this further. The younger brother nodded knowingly and flashed from his spot in the hall and seemed to leave nothing behind, as was the way of the Dark Prince or at least that has been the new nickname the kingdom has given him of late. As Torta sighs and rubs his brow, he hears someone behind him give a heavy sigh of frustration, “Sooner or later, he is going to get you killed nephew. You know this right?”

Torta took a deep breath and turned, “Auntie Freyja! What a pleasant surprise! Is Grandfather home or is he still wandering for that new love?” As Torta speaks of this love, he spits on the ground as if to rid himself of some horrible taste.

The beautiful young woman laughs, her reddish blonde hair bouncing in an oddly hypnotic way as her cherry red lips give a small grin, “You know the price he must pay. He hasn’t left that damned chair but he has his attendant going with his sword.”

Torta’s eyes go wide, “He gave the sword to that little messenger? What was he thinking!”

Freyja began her laugh again, entrancing the men and even the women around her, “You know he isn’t right now.”

Torta snorted to himself then composed himself again, “Where is Father?”

Freyja shrugged, “I don’t live here remember, nephew. Find him yourself.” She begins to walk past and knocks into her nephew’s shoulder then giving him a wink as she struts to Norn’s know where. Torta sighs and proceeds to find his Father in the only place he could think of in this moment of urgency, the Grand Library or in other words Father’s Study room. As Torta blinks, he reappears in the middle of five book cases more than likely a mile high each and a few feet wide just leaving enough room to walk between. The study had always been his Father’s pride and joy, much like his eldest son was his Father’s pride but his brother their father’s joy to reasons lost on Torta anymore.

“Father! I’ve returned with news!” Torta bellowed in the empty Study. “Father! Please! I don’t know what else to do!” As Torta bellowed that last plea, his father appeared in front of him as if he’d been standing there the whole time.

“Hello, Son.”

“Father, Tylineus plans a last ditch effort into Midgard and he just won’t see reason! Why can’t we just deal with him already!” Torta pleaded to his father with utmost fear and uncertainty.

“Like we dealt with the dark elves? He is your brother, you sniveling coward.” Father proclaimed. The elf was older than time itself it seems at times but others he seemed as strong and powerful as he was thousands of years ago when the dark elves demanded his death to appease their grotesque urges. “We will save him or die trying.”

“Yes well it isn’t your life on the line.” Torta remarked coldly to his father. “All we’ve done is push him further, if we keep this up than I doubt he will ever stop or even want to anymore. I can’t keep doing this.”

“You can and you will, boy!” Father yelled as his light gray eyes turned a shocking silver that showed he would burn the light into any who opposed his will. “I did not spend the last thousand years making sure you two had everything you needed to become the greatest princes in the Nine Worlds just to see it squandered and thrown into the frozen lakes of Midgard because the two of you decided to turn dark!”

“I was never dark, Father, and you know it! Tylineus had always been jealous of me! It just took my light to finally shine forth for it to get worse!” Torta yelled back at his father. His own eyes beginning to turn silver as well though he knew he shouldn’t be as angry with his father, especially now with how Tylineus was acting of late.

“Enough!” Father roared, ending the argument with a sigh as he took his seat which magically appeared behind him. “You know I only worry for you and your brother, Torta. I don’t want either of you to walk this path.”

”I never wanted to! You made me! Keep track of my brother and make sure he doesn’t get himself killed!” Torta grew furious at his father of accusing him of wanting to go with his brother to that backwater world.

“And yet you still take just as much gold, sell as many humans, and play as many pranks as he does!” Father began to point out. “I may be losing my vision but I am no fool. I can still see what goes on even out there.”

Torta could only look down at his shoes which have become dirty and covered in blood though Torta tried to clean them off but some drops just will not come off. Even the servants he’s known his whole life haven’t been able to clean his old clothes of the blood from the raids. As though reading his mind, his father uttered quietly, “You will forever be sullied by the blood you’ve spilt. That is not our way for a reason, you’ve crossed a line that can only be repaid in blood in kind.”

“Father, please.” Torta quietly uttered as well, “I did as you asked and followed my brother and did my best to keep from sullying the House of Qwai. I can’t help the stubbornness of my brother.”

Father shot up and became red in the face in an instant, “You absolutely could have done anything else! You fed his delusions and went with him to the world of Men yet you dare say you couldn’t have stopped him!”

“And how was I supposed to, Father!? Kill him? Maim him? Break enough bones so he could not think of leaving Alfheim again and then break his bones after they healed? I will not torture my brother like that, I swore an oath!”

“You’re first oath is to the kingdom of Alfheim and the First House from which you and your brother were born from! You are the Princes of Alfheim!”

“We are young, Father! We are meant to make mistakes, yes?”

“No!” his father slammed his foot into the floor, a grand marble of almost many different colors that reflect from the ever shining light above. That reflected light seems to shatter as the shadows around his father crowd around him but he quickly dispels them with a quick breath and a shaky sigh as he sits back down in his chair. The chair an old piece of cherrywood, carved by some of the greatest hands in Alfheim specifically for he who presides over Alfheim when the True King is gone, the First Son of Frey, Qwai Qwailashon, Father of the Twin Princes of Light.

“Father, please. I beg of you. Give me this last chance to bring our House home.” Torta pleaded to his father, getting down to his knees before his father who he has revered for as long as he’s lived. “I believe this is to be the last outing to the world of men, then I will bring them home and we can live as we did. I swear to you, Father.”

Qwai takes a breath and sighs, jostling the young elf’s hair as he smiles a bit, “I’ve never been able to stay mad at you, son. I’m sorry for my outburst but you know I only fear for your brother and you. Not to mention all your relatives and sons. Bring them home, my boy. We cannot afford for this to continue.”

Torta nodded as Qwai pats his shoulder, a bright light shines from where the father touches the son’s shoulder and a warmth comes over Torta. “I will, Father. I won’t let you down.”

Quickly, Torta rushes out of the Study as Qwai sighs again. Only this time more with resignation and sadness as the eons begin to show on his face; he turns towards the nearest window and sees himself along with a hooded figure behind him. “Please don’t take my sons from me. You’ve taken enough.”

“I’ve only taken what is owed. I swear your sons will become great just not in the way you expect.” A sly grin crosses the strangers face as the hood lifts just enough to show a single glowing eye of light. Then just as quickly as the stranger was there, he was gone as if he had left with the wind or he was never there in the first place.