"Don't make so much noise. You'll wake him up."

"I'm not making any noise. I'm only eating and shouldn't he be up by now anyway?" Caladon's voice seemed to be chewing through each word.

The clatter of plates ground through Andor's head and the two voices mingled with the languid haze of his dreamless sleep. He rolled around in his bed, burying his face deeper in his pillow, hoping to find a way back to blissful silence.

"He's going to be really late if he doesn't get up soon." Caladon insisted, swallowing bits of words that finally pierced Andor's lingering veil of drowsiness.

He forced his eyes open rather reluctantly and turned around in bed.

"What are you doing here?" Andor raised himself on his elbows and stared at Bergil and Caladon, who were both sitting at his table, food piled up in front of them, giving him their brightest smiles between taking sizeable bites.

"We brought you some bread!" Caladon waved a piece of it in the air.

"And cheese and eggs too, even picked some berries along the way," Bergil added, pointing at the plates on the table in front of him. "We thought that you might be hungry, since we didn't get to see you last night."

"Sorry we ate those pheasants without you yesterday," Caladon mumbled, an apologetic look on his face, as he shoved another piece of bread into his mouth.

Andor pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to organise his thoughts. "Why are you here so early? Come back later. I want to sleep." He let himself fall back into bed and stared at the ceiling, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Then his gaze drifted towards the window, sunlight streaming into the house and spilling onto the wooden floor like golden ribbons. In one leap he was out of bed.

"How late is it?"

Bergil carefully arranged several slices of cheese on top of his bread and shrugged. "It's not night anymore, as you can see." He tilted his head towards the window. "But it is not midday yet."

"What? Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" There was a streak of panic in Andor's voice as he rushed towards the wash basin opposite the kitchen.

"I wanted to, but Bergil thought that you might need some rest, so we decided to let you sleep," Caladon said sulkily from the table, the thick strands of his auburn hair gleaming in the sunlight, "but I see now that our efforts are not appreciated."

"No, that's not it, but I really do not want to be late today." Andor poured water from a carafe into the basin, hastily splashing his face with the refreshing liquid to rub away the last remnants of sleepiness.

"Aren't you finally going to tell us about your task?" Bergil inquired. "It's not like it is the greatest secret ever. Now that you have reported to the Council, sooner or later everyone is bound to know, but we would still rather hear it from you."

"Exactly! And Elia insists that she doesn't know anything, no matter how many times we asked her," Caladon chimed in.

"You mean, no matter how many times you annoyed her yesterday with your nosy questions." The disapproval in Bergil's voice was palpable.

Andor let out an audible sigh. "Elia speaks the truth. She doesn't know anything, because I have not told her anything." This was only half true, as she did know about the kiss, but he had to give her credit for not having caved in and for keeping this to herself.

With a few quick strokes Andor combed through his hair, glancing at the small round mirror hanging on top of the basin and it seemed to him that even the few hours of sleep had not been able to do away with the effects of yesterday's happenings. He gripped the edge of the basin, his gaze shifting to the image of his friends in the mirror.
Bergil was right of course. Eventually they would know and he had to agree that he would rather have them learn all the details from him and not by hearsay from someone else. Who knew how the reports might be twisted into something that wasn't even close to the truth anymore. They did deserve to know the truth, but he was not quite ready to delve into the darkness of his soul again so soon.

"The only thing you need to know is that it worked. The human is gone and Elysse is safe. There is nothing else to say." His answer came out harsher than what he had intended and his golden amber eyes stared at him with a frightening emptiness that made him tear his gaze away from his own reflection.

"It is just like Elia had feared. You would come back a changed elf and you did," Bergil said darkly, pushing away his plate while Caladon straightened himself in his seat, throwing an assessing glance at Andor.

"No, I didn't," Andor said, as he turned towards them. "I just don't have the time now. We can speak later."

He smoothed out some creases on his tunic, which looked a bit on the crumpled side after he had slept in it, but at least it saved him the time it would have taken him to get dressed.

"You said that also yesterday," Caladon countered, his disappointment barely veiled as he rose from his seat, while Andor broke into a hurried slalom through his house to collect his necessary belongings for the tournament.

"I promise that I will tell you everything, just not now," he said, picking up his quiver and strapping it to his back, his bow quickly following suit. "I need to get to that tournament. And I'll be busy afterwards too."

Bergil and Caladon exchanged baffled glances.

"Busy with what?" Caladon asked.

"I can't tell you that," Andor said evasively.

"What's all this secrecy business? How are we supposed to be your friends when you are keeping us out like that?" Bergil leaned back in his seat, throwing his hands in the air.

"It's complicated," was all Andor could think of as an answer.

"And who is this?" Caladon had strolled over to the small desk and was now holding up a piece of paper, scanning it with mild interest. "She looks pretty," he said, raising one suggestive eyebrow.

"No one you know." Andor quickly snatched the drawing from his hand to stuff it into the lowest drawer of his desk. "And stop going through my stuff! You know I don't like it when you poke your nose into everything."

"Ah, I get it. No wonder you feel a bit bad." Realisation dawned in Caladon's green eyes. "But she's only a human after all. Sooner or later they die anyway."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion!" Andor threw him a furious glare. This day didn't really start out very promising. He wasn't in the mood neither for Caladon's lighthearted jokes nor Bergil's overbearing concern with his wellbeing.

"I apologise. I didn't mean any offence." Caladon raised his hands in an appeasing gesture and backed away. "But you are in a sour mood today. There's no denying that." Grumbling he returned to the table, but it appeared that the appetite had deserted him.

"Where's Elia by the way?" Andor said, now that he was reminded of her. He had followed Caladon to the table, his eyes raking tentatively over the delicious contents spread out before him.

"She went to the training grounds already." Bergil took a sip from his cup.

"Just in case you would be late," Caladon added, back to his old teasing self.

Andor raised his eyebrows. "That is very provident of her."

"You know her, always on time, always perfect," Caladon remarked.

Bergil threw him a silencing glare, but Caladon only shrugged. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"Don't you want to eat anything?" Bergil pointed at the food, but Andor had already turned away towards the door without having taken a single bite.

"I'm not hungry," was Andor's only answer, although the grumbling in his stomach told a different story. He opened the door in a wide swing and was gone from the house.

"Wait!" He heard Bergil calling after him. "We're coming with you!"

Andor jumped down the steps, taking two at a time, allowing the freshness of the air to fill his lungs, and for once since yesterday things were finally beginning to look less glum. It was a clear autumn morning, the air crisp, but with a tinge of warmth like the faint memory of summer weaving through it. He even found himself looking forward to seeing his little brother again. Most likely Meril and Olear would be there too, since they rarely missed a chance to witness Tin showing his newly acquired skills and they surely would want to see with their own eyes that Andor had returned whole. Whole he might be indeed, but only outwardly, he thought to himself grimly.

In a matter of moments Caladon and Bergil were barging down the stairs behind him and Andor did not need to turn around to know that they probably had hastily wrapped some of the food to take it along for the walk towards the tournament. Perhaps it was time that he indeed filled them in about yesterday's events. They were his friends after all and if he could not trust them, then whom could he trust at all?

"I think I owe you an explanation," he said, once they had caught up with him and fallen into step beside him.

They nodded in unison and Andor took the piece of bread Bergil offered him, and then he began his recollections and didn't stop until the entrance to the training grounds came into sight ahead of them.

A myriad of voices both old and young, shrill and resonant, all fused into a cloud of excited clamour, greeted Andor, Bergil and Caladon upon their arrival at the royal training grounds. Usually these type of tournaments were only attended by the parents of his pupils, but today it seemed that everyone down to their third cousin once removed was here. Andor had the hunch this was most likely not due to the fact that all those present were very eager to witness the children's progress, but to get a good glimpse at their hero in the hope of picking up some random juicy bits about his task.

In the middle of the crowd he spotted Elia as she handed out orders like someone who expected them to be followed. She had efficiently recruited helpers to distribute bows and quivers, and began sorting the children into pairs for the tournament. Andor was indeed grateful to be able to rely on his friends and he now somewhat regretted his rudeness earlier this morning. Pushing away the dark clouds, he promised himself not to think of Serande's request for the duration of this tournament. With a renewed burst of energy he strode onto the training grounds, Caladon and Bergil in tow, and allowed himself to be swallowed by the jeering crowd.

"That is quite the turnout," Bergil remarked, when people waved at them from all sides.

"It's because you're famous now." The grin on Caladon's face was contagious and Andor could only shake his head in amusement as they passed faces both familiar and unknown.

Soon Bergil and Caladon had sauntered towards the nearest stalls of archery equipment, leaving Andor to having to answer nosy questions and receiving thank-yous that he still did not feel he deserved.

"Andor, there you are!" A melodious voice, clear and bright like birdsong, cut through the cluster of voices. With a smile he turned towards its source, glad to have an excuse to avoid the upcoming group of eager faces.

A lively lady, who bore the gracefulness of youth in her every step, wove her way through the throng of people that had formed around Andor. She was of relatively short and slender stature, thick chestnut coloured locks with purple flowers weaved into them, framing her oval shaped face that lit up with a heartfelt smile as she approached him with open arms. The terracotta coloured dress that was tied around her waist with a simple leather belt flowed loosely around her like autumn leaves in a soft breeze.

"Mother!" Andor said as he was pulled into a tight embrace that kindled a brief sensation of comfort in his chest. He closed his arms around her, the scent of herbs and fresh linen reminding him of carefree childhood days.

"I am so glad to see you alive and well." Her words were muffled into his tunic.

"Of course I am, what else did you expect?" He was beginning to think that everyone had doubted his abilities.

She released him from her embrace, her hands somewhat reluctant to let him go, and looked up to him. Despite the agelessness of her face, there was worry etched into her delicate features, her cheeks more hollow than what he remembered them, her full lips that were usually curved up into a smile, pressed tightly together as she eyed him carefully.

"Your father made me wait until today." Meril drew her brows together in a frown, pulling a loose thread from Andor's tunic. "He said not to deter you from the council meeting and I only had Tin's word to assure me that you were indeed all right. He thinks I worry too much," she added, lowering her voice as she threw a glance over her shoulder, seeing Olear approaching them, greeting people left and right as he slowly made his way through the crowd.

"You do indeed," Andor said, hoping to sound confident enough to dispel her concerns. "Everything went according to plan and the Council was pleased with the outcome."

"Yes, I have heard as much, but what about you?" She fixed him with her dark green eyes and it was difficult to deny her the truth. "Look at me and tell me that no harm has come to you."

"Of course not. Do I look harmed or injured to you?" he was quick to answer, sensing the direction this was heading.

"You are evading my question, Andor," Meril said, raising one eyebrow. "That dissonance in your heart," she narrowed her eyes, one hand placed over his chest, "it appears to have shifted."

"Shifted?" Andor motioned to pull away, but something in her gaze made him falter.

"It is as if a note has been added, but it's like nothing I have ever heard before."

"You are seeing things where there are none."

"I do not need to see to know what I can sense." She closed her eyes as if she were listening to an unheard melody. But before she could say something else, Olear had come up behind her to lay his hands on her shoulders. His thin lips stretched into a brief smile, softening his otherwise stern features.

"It is good to see you back, son," he said and there was honest relief in his grey eyes. "Your mother worries more than what is necessary, I believe."

Andor gave him a quick nod and even though his father might not admit it openly, it was clear he worried just as much. Olear was of average height, wiry and lean in a way that suggested that he hadn't spent his life just sitting around. He wore a dark grey tunic and matching trousers, which were his best. The long strands of his flaxen hair were tied with a leather band at the nape of his neck, making his determined jaw and rather large nose stand out even more.

"I only worry when worry is due," Meril said with a sideways glance at her husband and looking at Andor she added, "I fear that there are dangerous times ahead. Be careful." There was uneasiness in her voice and before Andor could respond, she had reached out for his hand, her grip unexpectedly tight. "Promise me."

"I will," he said, "but you do worry too much, father is right."

"We should let Andor now take care of his duties and not hold him back longer, now that you have assured yourself of his wellbeing."

Olear took Meril's hand, pulling it away from Andor, when the head of a flaxen haired boy suddenly popped up between Olear and Meril, narrow shoulders quickly following suit, until Tin stepped in front of Andor, bobbing up and down in excitement.

"Andor! Andor! Elia needs you to set up the targets with her! Which bows should we use today? Can I try my new arrows? How many rounds are we doing? And Elia says that I'm to compete against Nella, but I don't like her, because she's always talking and keeps standing too close and when I tell her to back off she runs to her parents to complain. Can't you pair me with someone else? Please!"

Tin navigated through the wave of his own words without so much as a pause, and only when he was done, did he inhale again, his face flushed in excitement. Andor observed his little brother's outburst with raised eyebrows, fighting back a grin.

"Slow down, Tin. You have quite a lot of questions, but I will try to answer them all: I'm coming to help with the targets. Just give me a moment. You can use your practice bow. And no, you won't be needing your new arrows. I have told you already that we will begin using them next week."

He crouched down until he was at eye level with Tin.

"Also I do not see why you don't want to be paired with Nella. She is the closest to your level of skill and a bit of competition won't harm you. Just use all your charm and ask her nicely to give you more space should she get too close."

Tin groaned, nibbling at his lower lip. "But she hates me! I know it. She constantly tells me how I should hold my bow and keeps correcting my stance." His shoulders sank and the look of childish despair had Andor fighting back another smile.

"She surely doesn't hate you and you should definitely listen to her advice, because she is right." Andor laid both hands on Tin's shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think she may even like you. That's why she keeps getting closer and gives you advice."

Tin stared at Andor, his eyes suddenly wide. "You really think so?"

Andor ruffled Tin's hair. "Yes, I do. Haven't you noticed how she looks at you?"

"N—no, I'm just... I haven't," he said, a pinkish hue colouring his cheeks, then a gleam awoke in his eyes. "Fine. I'll compete against Nella then." He nodded defiantly. "I'll show her that I can be better!" Tin clutched at his bow, standing taller than he had before.

"Good." Andor rose to his feet and straightened his tunic. "Off you go then. Tell Elia that I'll meet her at the targets. She can begin setting them at the usual distance. We will only be doing two rounds today, as I still have somewhere else to be afterwards."

Waving his bow at Andor, Tin left, jumping like a fawn in spring.

"I will see you later," Andor said to his parents, following his little brother through the crowd.