Chapter Text
The Valley of Flowers, known as Dol Blathanna in the language of the elves, fully lived up to its name at this time of year. The meadows resembled a green patchwork quilt dotted with purple clover, white daisies, and lilac forget-me-nots. However, their beauty was eclipsed by a single "Daisy" in the shade of a lone birch tree on a hillock — a woman named Francesca Findabair. This nickname was well deserved, for compared to all the other women on the continent, she resembled a capricious, bright flower brought from afar ans planted in a flowerbed, in contrast to bouquets of simple bluebells.
But neither her lovely, sweet face nor the dark blond hair that fell onto her dress could soften the harsh, almost cruel coldness of her azure eyes. The tall, slender elf gazed with a keen, calculating eye at her domain — a kingdom that had come to her at the cost of betrayal and plenty of blood on her hands.
Not long ago, the emperor from the south had crushed the resistance of the local feudal lords, seized these lands, and immediately ceded the Valley of Flowers to Francesca. He could be sure of her loyalty, because he knew how much the sorceress wanted to take hold of this quiet haven for her elven people, which she would never have been able to get from the northern rulers. He knew, and therefore set his price for their deal...
"How long are you going to admire the view?" Francesca Findabair asked, turning her head toward another elf standing a little lower on the hillside. "Or is it not the landscape that interests you so much?"
Without making a sound, he climbed up the hill and bowed to the ground, as was proper before a monarch, his long hair falling from his temples, revealing sharp ears like hers. Only the grace inherent in all pure-blooded elves allowed him to hide the blush that appeared on his cheeks. Francesca knew the effect her appearance had on men and preferred to remind him immediately that there was no time for nonsense.
"The elves are returning from the mountains, where they had previously hidden from humans, Your Majesty. We are counting them meticulously, but we have only managed to find a few dozen pairs of reproductive age. Even if we assume that all of them will soon engage in procreation," said the advisor and paused briefly. "Every one counts now. Perhaps we should urgently summon the Scoia'tael here and end their guerrilla war. After all, they have already succeeded. We have a new home.
The sorceress waved her hand imperiously.
"Our mission now is to revive the culture of our people. To lay down our swords and take up spindles, bricks, and books. Those who have long been accustomed to living by robbery and murder will not help us in this," queen of Dol Blathanna said cynically.
The corners of her pretty mouth were turned down in a menacing expression, and her eyes flashed like steel.
"It is you who want to condemn them to survival instead of life, Your Majesty," the advisor objected quietly.
Francesca narrowed her eyes. Then she exhaled heavily and looked again at the virgin, untouched nature of the land.
Now there was a new sadness and thoughtfulness in her gaze. The fact was that, no matter how much she wanted to see all the pure-blooded elves home right now, the emperor of the south himself insisted on continuing the guerrilla raids of the Scoia'tael, who were avenging for years of oppression by humans. He needed a tactical advantage. Before, the sorceress would have made such a small sacrifice for the future of an entire people without hesitation, but now that she was not just a sorceress in pursuit of influence, but a queen, the fate of all her subjects rested on her shoulders. Her thoughts involuntarily turned to the person who could fully understand the weight of her burden if she were now by her side. Francesca remembered Tissaia de Vries, her old friend. In fact, more than a friend.
They grew closer while working together on the mystery of the Elder Blood, trying to find the genes for unique magical talent that had been passed down from the elves to the human dynasty. Of course, Francesca, being a noble elf and having access to the knowledge of her ancestors, participated in the research and provided invaluable information to the other sorceresses.
Tissaya de Vrie was one of the most educated and powerful magicians of her time. As the rector of the magic academy, she possessed enormous erudition and extensive interdisciplinary knowledge, which found application in their unprecedented undertaking. Tissaia immediately impressed Francesca with her maturity and demeanor. In fact, despite her apparent youth, common to all magic users, this woman had managed to train and nurture more than one generation of students. Francesca, thanks to the natural longevity of her people, was also much older than she appeared.
Long story short, the two women hit it off quite quickly and began to socialize outside of work. In their conversations, they touched on their views on life and politics, which, as it turned out, differed. Taught by her father and the bitter experience of oppressed elves, Francesca believed in strength and that prosperity comes to those who are determined enough to get it. Tissaia, on the other hand, surprised her with her broad-mindedness. The sorceress was firmly convinced that everyone in the world deserved their place under the sun, and that her duty as a possessor of magical power was to bring light to all peoples, without taking sides, remaining neutral.
Their arguments lasted for hours, but (as was often the case in the relationship between these two races) the human woman was the first to sense the electric tension lurking beneath the surface of seemingly dividing them sea of irresolvable contradictions. Tissaia was distinguished by a truly fanatical perfectionism, which partly explained her success in the field of scholarship. That is why she quickly became interested in Francesca's perfect, flawless beauty. It all began with innocent gestures, which the elf, sexually passive by nature, did not attach any importance to at first: stroking her dark golden hair, small touches on her shoulders, and her slender figure under her green dress... No matter how inexperienced Francesca was in such matters, she could not help but notice the insistent glances her companion was giving her. And, noticing this, she herself caught Tissaia's hand, which was once again reaching for her body, and placed it where bare skin was visible from under her clothes. By that moment, the human magician had already won her interest.
Despite her fresh, youthful skin and generally pleasant appearance, Tissaia de Vries was inferior to many of their sorceress friends in charm and self-presentation. The sharp features of her face were only emphasized by her strict hairstyles and restrained makeup. She made up for her visible shortcomings with persistence and ardor that one would not expect from the always reserved and dignified archmagister of magic. Francesca was amused and fascinated by this change when, hidden from others eyes and alone with her, Tissaia impatiently was pulling down her dress to free her slender, beautiful body and press herself against her. They were both quite tall women, so the magician could kiss Francesca, with her impressive height, common among her people, without standing on tiptoe, and she took advantage of this, pinning her somewhere in a corner and not letting her get away.
"Someone might come in," said the elf, her stunning snow-white smile betraying her own excitement.
"I've cast a spell. They won't get anywhere near," replied her friend, eagerly exploring every curve in front of her with her hands, her fingers feeling the firm ribs and pelvic bones protruding slightly under her palms, tracing the soft flat belly in a circle with her fingertips.
"That's exactly how they'll suspect something's wrong," Francesca laughed, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and burying her nose in the archmage's neck, succumbing to her assertiveness.
The elf was intoxicated by the scent of ambergris emanating from her: perhaps Tissaia did know something about seduction after all. Francesca remembered forever the first time she felt the softness of her moist lips. At that moment, all disagreements were forgotten, and only the desire remained, an incessant high-pitched cry somewhere in her consciousness, crowding out all other thoughts. She couldn't say then that she had fallen in love with that person, but she had definitely fallen in love with the taste of Tissaia's tongue, with the hands that groped her buttocks, with the breath that mingled with hers, with the eyes that looked deep into hers, with the pleasant scent that made her relax and forget where she was.
Now, many years later, Francesca Findabair once again wished that Tissaia de Vries was standing next to her. The elven queen wanted the human sorceress to tell her how to bear such a huge burden of responsibility, how to make everyone happy and remain neutral, without taking sides. And she dreamed of being embraced by those arms again, of feeling the warmth of another's body seeping through the fabric of her clothes, leaving no room for worries and stress. All these dreams were in vain. Tissaia de Vries had taken her own life less than a month ago.