A busy rush of elves moving about and a myriad of voices greeted Andor and Elia upon their arrival. The whole realm seemed to be on their feet, expecting with anxiousness the return of what they hoped would be their hero. The vast expanse of their underground home lay now hidden in the twilight of the early evening, but of course Andor did not need his eyes to see what he knew like the back of his hand. The unaware visitor would have been truly amazed at the fact that it was nothing like a damp and dark hole or a stuffy cave, which one might have expected to see, but much more like a lofty place of ethereal beauty where magic lay heavy in the air.

Their world, the Realm of Elysse, was a perfect image of the upper world, the sun, moon and stars illuminating the enchanted dome just like they did above. Nature changed with the passing of the seasons, the colourful raiment of autumn now clothing everything in muted shades of ochre and terracotta. This dense forest with its majestic trees, tall and strong, their treetops hidden in the descending darkness, was where many of his kin had made homes for themselves, although there were some that had taken a liking to building houses and huts on the forest floor.

These wooden houses with a simple beauty were scattered throughout the forest and in some clearings they stood huddled together in small clusters. Lively markets blossomed in those villages, for the elves were very skilled in many crafts and delighted in trading their own creations for other beautiful things. Andor himself had spent his childhood in one of those busy villages and had only recently taken to prefer the solitude of the trees, which were more lofty and less crowded. He could not tell why it had pulled him away, but an undefined heaviness had taken hold of his heart, which seemed easier to bear in loneliness than in company.

A river ran through the forest Ilaros from the North, cutting through the centre of it, meandering leisurely through the dense vegetation until it decided to abruptly curve westwards, as if it wished to leave the forest behind on the fastest route. The elves called it Oros and in the days of autumn it gleamed like liquid amber beneath the golden canopy of the trees. Although the elves might not be a people very much drawn to the waters, they had learned how to use its powers and gifts to their advantage long ago. They had built barges and rafts to navigate it and they had come to value the fish that populated the river in abundance as a welcome variety on their menu.

Beyond the borders of the woods lay the grasslands, the Plains of Ardan, so wide they appeared like a sea of green when the spring breeze flitted across the endless expanse. They stretched far towards the South and were their main hunting grounds after the woods themselves. It was there where Andor had spent a good many summers of his adolescence roaming around with his best friends, far away from the ever observant eyes of his foster-parents.

Jagged and bleak loomed the Mountains of Kendar, which clung like an iron band to the forest, the high ridges in the North sloping gradually towards the West, not quite wanting to be separated from the dense greenery. The elves were not overly fond of those grey peaks that remained veiled in ominous clouds for most of the time, as if they had some dark secret to hide, and strange creatures were said to lurk in a net of caves underneath. It was a region that could turn from friendly to hostile in the blink of an eye and only very brave or very foolish souls ever ventured alone into those unforgiving heights. Some adventurous ones though have dared to explore the lands westwards, crossing the lower mountain passes, and way beyond where the fabled Emerald Sea murmured in an ever seductive tune of foreign lands that only a few had seen with their own eyes.

As if the mountains were not intimidating enough, the Marshes of Tharûn in the East were a place most of his people gave a wide berth. Although the elves, due to their sharpened senses, could navigate the swamps with relative ease, they found them rather daunting, for there was a sadness emanating from their muddled brown bogs which was said to capture the souls of those passing through, turning them into dark and twisted reflections of themselves. They also called them Swamps of Sadness, but only in hushed voices, for fear of being laughed at as fearful or superstitious.

Still, sometimes one could not be entirely sure of the location of any of those places, as the forest itself turned ever so slowly like a giant cartwheel in the midst of its more or less hostile surroundings. It was another powerful enchantment to ensure the safety of their woods, which had been in effect since as long as Andor could remember, throwing the unaware intruder off course with an ease that he found quite satisfying.

But at this very moment Andor was not concerned about what lay beyond the woods and a smile softened his angular features when a spindly flaxen haired boy of about half his own size broke through the crowd, waving his arms excitedly and shouting at the top of his lungs: "Andor! Andor! You are back!"

He ran up to Andor, his child sized bow slung around his back bouncing with every step, almost tripping over his own feet, and then he wrapped his skinny arms tightly around the bigger elf's waist. Andor closed his own arms around the small shape, stroking the little boy's hair with one hand.

"Of course I am back Tin. Why wouldn't I?"

"Some don't come back," was the muffled answer as Tin buried his nose in Andor's tunic as if he wanted to make sure that it was really him and not a ghost.

"Well, I did and I am quite all right," Andor said with slight amusement at the boy's display of affection. "I would never abandon my little brother now, would I?" he teased Tin, who apparently had to gather all his strength not to cry in front of the older elves.

"Someone is happy to see you," said Elia, who had observed the warm welcome with a growing smile on her face. To Andor's relief she seemed to have forgotten her earlier sour mood and she even gave him a friendly wink. "I see some more coming our way," she whispered, pointing her chin towards the left side of the crowd and Andor's gaze was drawn to two familiar faces approaching them.

"We tried to hold him back, but you know how attached he is to you," called an athletic, chestnut-haired elf, waving his hand in an apologetic gesture as he dug his way from the sidelines towards Andor. He was dressed in a similar fashion as Andor, his dark green tunic tight across his broad chest. He seemed to have come directly from a hunt, his quiver nearly empty and two fine specimens of pheasants dangling over his shoulder. He reached for the belt of the boy's tunic to separate him from Andor, but Tin seemed intent on having it his own way.

"Let him be, Bergil. I don't mind," Andor said and then Bergil let go of the boy and patted Andor on the shoulder instead, giving him an appreciative nod.

"I am glad to see you well, my friend," Bergil said and then the elf who had been following him closely behind chimed in "You must tell us everything about it," pointing a finger at Andor and adding in a conspiratorial tone "and no skipping of the interesting details! I know that you like to keep the best to yourself, but I don't want to worm out everything from you!"

This elf was of slightly slimmer build than Bergil, but no less tall, and more graceful in his movements, his auburn hair cascading in thick strands down to the middle of his back. His bright green eyes were alight with anticipation, his good-natured face brimming with barely contained delight. Bergil shot him a reprimanding glance when he came to stand beside them. "Caladon, this is not the moment for your sensationalist needs. Andor just got back and the Council is expecting him. We will get our chance later, isn't that so?" he asked Andor, his eyebrows raised expectantly and holding up the pheasants in an inviting gesture.

Andor nodded slowly, his jaw tight, and as much as he was glad to see his friends, he was not really looking forward to having to divulge every single detail of his deed. He knew that he was supposed to feel proud, but he couldn't, all he could feel was tainted. His gaze travelled for a moment to the other side of the crowd. There were not only favourable faces among the onlookers. Andor knew well enough that some of the older elves from renowned families had decidedly felt snubbed by the fact that he had been chosen for this mission. In their eyes he was too young and inexperienced and above all of obscure parentage, and although they might not have voiced it openly, some had clearly been expecting him to fail. Even now that he had come back in what was obviously a triumphant return, he could feel the lingering resentment in their eyes. But he did not wish to spoil this moment for himself, as he had enough to battle with his own demons. He did not need to add the poison of their envy to his concoction of guilt.

"Was she beautiful?" Tin suddenly piped up and when the boy's clear grey eyes met his own, a bittersweet smile quirked around the corners of Andor's mouth and he only said: "Yes."

"You mustn't linger any longer, Andor!" Elia's determined voice tore him from his thoughts that were drifting once again to Rose. He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath and only when she nudged him in the side and cocked her eyebrows at him, did he finally move and free himself from his little brother's tight grip.

"Yes, yes, I am well aware of that. No need to be impatient. The elders will learn soon enough." But despite his reluctance to present his report, he knew that Elia was right as per usual, and so he bade them all farewell in hopes of getting this over with as fast as possible. He wished for nothing more than to return to the solitude of his home, so he could sleep to forget.