Absent

Augustus 31, Year 358

The ceremonial trumpets blared the first notes of a familiar tune. From her bedroom window, Princess Maeve Saoirse watched a parade of creatures from the fairy and elf kingdoms make their way into the palace halls. This wasn’t the first time she saw such a crowd; there was one every fifty years to mark the crowning of a new Fairy Queen. She sighed audibly at the thought of what was looming beyond the horizon.

“What’s wrong, Princess?” Vaska questioned as she ran a brush through the strands of Maeve’s long lilac hair. The brush grazed the princess’s silky, peachy wings, earning a huff of irritation. Vaska only chuckled in response. “Why do you sound so upset?”

Maeve pursed her lips, tasting the berry salve the maid dabbed there to ‘freshen her the rosy hue’. “It… it’s just nerves, I guess.”

“Mhm,” Vaska hums dismissively as if she didn’t completely believe her answer. “You’re thinking about Eric, aren’t you?”

Maeve inhaled sharply before releasing her breath as if she was rolling a boulder off her shoulders. “When am I never thinking about Eric?”

The maid abruptly halted. She set the brush on the vanity stool next to Maeve before rifling through a box of glittery accessories; clips and ribbons and pins in pastel colors and mismatched sizes. Nimbly, Vaska slipped the accessories through the crevices in the princess’s hair, her set of sky blue wings fluttering behind her.

“He’s in a better place now,” Vaska comforted, squeezing Maeve’s shoulder as she set a barrette in place. The diamond on it glowed underneath the sunlight, flickering brightly.

“I know,” Maeve responded, eyes drifting back to the parade an absent elf should’ve been a part of.

☆

Julius 5, Year 358

During the final battle against the humans, Maeve had told Eric to stay in the camps.

“Why?” Eric demanded, sounding affronted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Eric, just… just look at you!” Maeve used her sediment-coated and scratch-decorated hands to refer to the mess peppering her friend’s features. A cast was wrapped around his right knee, crimson seeping through the bandages. His left arm rested uncomfortably in a khaki sling, bare and dotted in shades of blue and purple. She didn’t miss the wince that flashed across his features when he tried to stand up, eyes squinting. “You’re in no shape to fight. Get back there.”

“No,” Eric shook his head, leaning downwards to grab his sword in its scabbard. Maeve found a tooth sinking into the flesh of her mouth as she comprehended the pain contorting in his facial muscles. “Eve… let me fight with you. If you die, all your people will mourn the death of the fairy princess. Nobody will care if I die; I’m just another elf warrior.”

Maeve felt her tear ducts burn as she swallowed his words. She ignored the soft feeling that unfolded at the use of her nickname. She shook her head frantically, eyelids damming the liquid in. “I’ll care,” she confesses, voice cracking.

Eric’s breath was trembling. “Your life is worth more than mine.”

Before Maeve could tell him no, that his soul was just as significant as hers, made of gold despite not being born into royalty, a crash resounded from outside their tent. It was soon accompanied by a cacophony of screams and shouts that chilled Maeve’s spine. She whipped her head around to order Eric to stay put, but the spot he was standing in was filled with air.

No no no.

Maeve dashed out of the tent so fast the flaps had no time to caress the top of her head. Her wings fluttered wildly behind her, scattering magenta glitter in its wake—an opposite to the battlefield around her. As she soared above the battle, she watched elves shoot arrows that punctured through human chests and female warriors hacking fairies’ wings off their backs. Shuddering, Maeve ducked and swooped to avoid flying weaponry as she scanned the fighters for Eric.

Please let him be safe.

Sending her prayer to the Maker, Maeve landed ungracefully to the ground and knocked out a human fighter harassing a female fairy. She thanked the princess profusely before returning her focus to the battle around her. Maeve continued to aid her fellow fairies and elves, her keen eyes continuing to search for her best friend.

Maeve found Eric Moondew near the conclusion of the battle. The fairy and elf armies were able to push the human forces back, forcing them to retreat to the fortified city of Kerju, the capital of the human kingdom. Maeve rushed to the front lines, slashing and whacking at the soldiers who tried to push her back.

She had to find Eric. She needed to.

Though her wings were tired and one had nasty cuts, Maeve was able to take to the air and zoom above the clashing armies. She landed in the abandoned palace of Kerju, littered with human and elf and fairy bodies alike. Swallowing her repugnance, Maeve bolted into the structure with fear of what she may find.

Humans have never welcomed the existence of fairies and elves for as long as they’ve existed, so this was the first time she had set foot in the marble corridors. The walls and ceilings were painted with figures of cherubs and chivalrous knights. Maeve spotted a particular scene of a human knight stabbing an elf through his chest, the tip of the sword making its way through the elf’s body. As the elf’s fearful expression contorted into Eric’s countenance, Maeve leaped through the air faster, her throbbing wings adding to her speed.

Maeve arrived in front of two askew double oak doors with golden handles. Peeking in, she took in the rows of pews and the golden throne on the opposite end of the hall. However, it wasn’t the sleeping man on the throne that attracted her attention (he could be dead, she isn’t sure) or the littered bodies around the room (she swore she spotted some familiar faces), but the sparring duo on the snaky blood-red carpet below their feet.

Eric was in a tense battle with a masked soldier donning a cape. He was easily identified as human from his round ears and the lack of wings. His sword clashed with Eric’s skillfully, causing the elf to sweat buckets. Maeve felt her heart drop into her stomach. She’s never met anyone who could match Eric’s swordsmanship before.

The masked figure was the first to spot Maeve. Though half his face was covered in a black mask, she saw the shock and agony that filled in his eyes. He kicked an already wounded Eric down to the ground, crushing his ribs. Eric, caught off guard by the sudden physical attack, groaned and fell limp under the force of his opponent’s leather boot.

“Eric!” Maeve exclaims, but she couldn’t rush to his aid as the figure started attacking her. She pulled out her sword swiftly to defend herself, feeling her composure wither at the sound of her friend’s pained groans and her opponent’s wild, anguished eyes.

“Your people,” he panted, bringing his sword roughly down to Maeve’s shoulder. She parried it hurriedly, hardly flinching when the iron ran through her cheek and formed a scarlet line. It burned like fire, but Maeve merely pursed her lips and ignored the sting. “Your people… killed my father.”

Maeve instantly recognized him as Prince Uriel of Man. She used her wings to avoid another attack, her focus slipping thanks to this new revelation.

“You humans started this war!” Maeve cries, bringing her sword up in time to avoid another attack from Uriel.

“Did you think we had a choice?” Uriel snapped. “You fairies and elves have magical powers that always threaten the existence of humans. They have an advantage over our race.”

With a resentful shove, he kicked Maeve down with a tough leather boot. She rolled to the side when she landed, narrowly avoiding Uriel’s sharp blade threatening to sink into her stomach. She watched as his beady black eyes, filled with so much hate, sear right through her soul before life suddenly drained out of them. Stunned, Maeve looked down to where black blood dripped to the ground from a hole in his stomach. Prince Uriel was pulled towards the floor by gravity, dead.

The fairy princess looked up to see Eric’s slanted posture, a blade hanging limply from his left hand. He looked up and grinned at her as his sword slipped from his fingers, followed soon by his legs.

As quick as a fox, Maeve leaped forward and caught Eric in her arms. She carried him away from the human corpse and laid him on one of the blood-stained pews, her eyes caught the sleeping man on the throne.

“That’s… that’s King Damon,” Eric pants, his brow glistening with sweat. “H-he’s dead… Jasper killed him.”

Maeve didn’t bother to ask him what happened to Jasper; his voice told her everything. She whipped her head to face Eric with confusion, wondering why he sounded so weak. Her breath caught in her throat like a fly in a web when she saw a gaping wound in the center of his chest, a job that could only have been done by Uriel’s iron sword.

At that moment, every cell in Maeve’s body began screeching a lamenting wail. Iron was an element humans were able to manipulate to their selfish uses. Though they delight in continuously complaining about their lack of magical abilities, they were the only race who were able to touch iron without getting burned. It was a powerful asset—and still, they complained about the magic-born fairies and elves.

Maeve was jolted out of her furious thoughts when Eric’s fingers squeezed her palm. He was looking up at her with a smile on his expression, drawn over in melancholy and relief. His eyes were shut as if he had no more energy to keep them open.

“The war’s over, Eve. The king and his prince are dead.”

She knew she should feel happy, but Maeve was feeling anything but joy. How could she celebrate the end of a gruesome period if her best friend was no longer going to be by her side?

Eric reached up to brush Maeve’s split cheek, sending shudders down her body. “I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he mutters, his touch warming Maeve’s stone-cold senses. “You’ll rule with fairness. I know that.” Pressing one last kiss to the back of her hand, he muttered. “Be happy.”

When his hand glided out of hers, Maeve sobbed into her deceased best friend’s chest.

☆

Februarius 28, Year 338

She was almost eight years old when she first met Eric.

It wasn’t uncommon for elves to visit the Fairy Kingdom. The two races were close and shared many common things, including the paranoia about Man’s discovery of iron. Decades before the start of the Great War, just a day before Maeve’s eighth birthday, the Council of the Elves visited the Fairy Kingdom. She was too young to remember what they were meeting about specifically, but she suspected that it had something to do with the circulating rumors of an uprising from Man.

Maeve waited in the council hall with her mother, the queen at that time, during the first hours of the discussion, but quickly grew bored; she barely understood anything that was being said. The queen noticed that her daughter was falling asleep and encouraged her to leave the hall and play outside. Her wings fluttered excitedly as she stumble-flew through the door.

Though she’s lived in the palace for her whole life, its massive scale was still difficult for her young mind to comprehend. Already she was lost trying to find her way to the palace gardens, relying on passing maids and guards to guide her in the right direction.

After an epoch, she finally reached her destination. Flying just a little so that her toes still brushed the ground, Maeve propelled herself at a steady rhythm. She was unable to hover too high thanks to her unsteady, growing wings, but it didn’t stop her from performing backflips in the air. She jumped onto piles of leaves and picked flowers, earning scowls and giggles from the gardeners. One wrinkly fairy waved her shovel at Maeve, chiding her to stop plucking the adolescent blooms.

Eventually, she settled on a warm green hill overlooking the palace. Maeve carefully arranged her dress to cover her legs as she played with a grasshopper, trying to convince it to jump onto the blade of grass she held in her hands. It took her a ridiculous amount of time to get the grasshopper to do what she wanted, and when it finally did make its way onto the blade of grass, it hopped away at a screech from afar that made Maeve’s shoulders jump.

“Jasper!” Maeve stood up to assess the commotion, confused at the unfamiliar pitch. She gasped when she spotted a group of teenage elf boys sprinting from the opposite direction of a younger elfling, who was panting like his lungs were malfunctioning and stumbling every few steps. The boy tripped and crashed to the ground while the other elves laughed, dashing past Maeve and leaving their friend behind.

Confused and curious, Maeve jogged her way to the elf boy. He was sniffling as he tried to get up, rubbing dirt and grass off his shirt and pants.

“Why’d they leave you behind?” She questioned, earning a yelp.

“You scared me!” the boy screeched, relaxing as he realized it was just a girl. His eyes broadened as he took in her wings. “O-oh, you’re a fairy.”

“Yup!” Maeve nodded ecstatically. She puffed her chest out like a balloon. “I’m a princess fairy!”

The boy gasped and bowed so low his torso nearly touched his thighs. “What an honor! My elf friends and I came here to train with some of the fairy soldiers, but it's break time and we’re playing tag…” He sighed with irritation. “They always leave me behind because I’m the smallest and they run faster.”

Maeve looked around for the other elf boys, but they were long gone. She turned back to the boy in front of her.

“Would you like to play with me instead?” She offered.

He gasped. “Really?” When she nodded, he bowed once more and nearly knocked his head against his legs. Elves are so flexible, Maeve watched in awe.

She took the boy to the fountain in the middle of the garden, telling him the story of the first Fairy Queen who lived in the ocean with the mermaids. He told her how he was the youngest of the elf boys sent for military training because of his knack for swordsmanship. He taught her how to do the cartwheel and she tried to carry him into the air but failed, resulting in the duo falling over in a pile of limbs and laughter. When the instructor chased after them to call him back for training, Maeve hid the boy in the palace grounds’ various nooks and crannies.

They continued to goof around until the sun started sinking the horizon. The fireflies have awoken, decorating the air with tiny stars. The elf boy fiddled with the clips on Maeve’s locks, unwinding them and messing her hair into a broomstick.

“I just realized,” Maeve muttered as she attempted to neaten the tangled strands. “You haven’t told me your name.”

The boy paused before bursting a guffaw, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Whoops,” he chuckled. “To be fair, I don’t know your name either.”

Maeve flushed before joining his giggles. “I’m Maeve Saoirse,” she said. “Princess Maeve Saoirse.” She corrected hastily.

The elf released a snort, earning a vigorous nudge. “I’m Eric Moondew.”

Her heart fluttered. “That’s… a really pretty name.”

“Thank you,” Eric laughs, ruffling Maeve’s already disastrous hairdo. “Eve… can I call you Eve?” She merely nodded, a smile blooming at the term of endearment. “I… I had fun with you today and I… I’m going back to the Elf Kingdom tomorrow morning. I don’t know when I’ll be returning here, but… I don’t want to stop being friends with you.”

Maeve abruptly pivoted her body so that she was facing Eric in a heartbeat. “This is what we can do,” she said, slapping her hand on his knees to punctuate her point. “Whenever you come to the Fairy Kingdom, sneak into the palace and find me. If I ever end up in the Elf Kingdom, I’ll search all the villages until I find you.”

Eric gulps. “Will it work?”

“It will!” Maeve’s head bobbed up and down like the fish in the ponds. She stumbled to her feet and brought Eric up with her, keeping her fingers laced through his. “We’re best friends; nothing will separate us!”

The fairy princess ran down the hill with the elf boy tagging behind, their vigorous laughter echoing throughout the evening sky. Under the setting sun, gleaming with the bioluminescence of the fireflies, two newly formed friends return to the Fairy Palace without a thought about the future.