Location: Monthaven.
Timeline: Sixth Age, Year 52, Early Spring.
Who could have ever imagined that the God of Death would be taken down—or even momentarily delayed—by a simple, sappy Love Story? I don’t think I’ll ever come to grips with the absurdity of it all. And yet here I am, having to tell you more about Emcorae’s pathetic romantic life. The ultimate irony is that this isn’t even the love story that ultimately does me in! Oh well, let’s just get on with it.
Throughout the remainder of the Spring, Emcorae had but one purpose—to win the heart of Lynsy Finch. Despite fancying himself a brave Azora, our warrior didn’t have the courage to go right up to his dream girl and profess his love openly. Instead, he convinced himself to take a “more tactical approach”: Observe, then Act. (Read: Stalk, then Panic.)
The Sentinel of Sentiment
Fresh aromatic breezes, warm sun, and the chirping of pathetic birds provided a nauseating backdrop to this calm country day. Emcorae, using the abundant foliage of a mighty oak, concealed himself as he spied over the thick, six-foot masonry walls that surrounded the Finch estate, a plot of land that measured nearly 800 acres. Merrill Finch had later carved out a ten-acre residential section, containing the finest manor house in Monthaven, ringed by that impenetrable wall.
You’re wondering – how did Merrill Finch become so rich? Savvy entrepreneur that he was, Merrill found many ways to put his land to good use. Hired hands oversaw his farming and dairy cow operations. Equine masters bred horses: quality draft horses, village ponies, and even blueblood thoroughbreds. Wine experts managed His prized vineyards. And his property also included a water access to the Suskil River – this saved him many a penny in church export taxes by shipping his goods from his own docs (although most villagers believed Kastelli still managed to get a cut). Yet all these commercial ventures only took up half of the Finch lands – the remainder was still given over to the forest – available for future needs as Finch might see fit. No one else in Monthaven came close to this level of wealth. [Although Old Man Newberri had more acreage, his sole focus on was on producing local crops from his farmlands, whereas Merrill Finch not only had a variety of businesses, but he exported most of his goods, fetching hire prices elsewhere].
Now earlier in the day Emcorae had ridden his horse Joanne across the Suskil River and into the woods south of the Finch estate. After sending Joanne in search of thistles, the young man took up station in a giant oak, hoping to catch a glimpse of his “dream girl” inside the walls of her father’s estate.
For nearly four hours, the soldier of destiny waited for Lynsy to show—climbing up and down the tree numerous times to relax his aching backside. Finally, his patience was rewarded when Lynsy and her friends emerged from the manor house to bask in the springtime sun.
There she is—even more beautiful than the first time I saw her at Rock Run.
Emcorae couldn’t hear what Lynsy and her friends were talking about this time, but it mattered not to him. The stalker had the perfect vantage point to sate his eyes with the beauty of his desire: he made a mental sketch of the way her wavy curls fell, he noted the seeming softness of her features, he lusted for the womanly curves of her figure. And whenever Lynsy appeared to laugh, Emcorae’s heart beat a staccato rhythm, so completely entranced was he by the pathetic sunshine of his love.
The would-be Azora spied upon his dream girl until the sun began to be obscured by afternoon clouds, and then Lynsy and her friends returned to the manor. Emcorae remained on the limb for a time, lost as if in a dream, until Joanne’s demanding snorts from below finally brought him back to reality.
He lifted himself from the limb and was instantly rewarded with an intense pain in his backside. “Ooooouuuuuchhh!” he cried, stifling his pathetic lament as he gingerly clamored down the trunk. “Oh, Azop, you stupid, stupid fool, what do you expect sitting up there all day?”
Given the state of his rear, Emcorae chose to walk beside Joanne rather than ride. His mind was awhirl with conflict: the rest of the world had ceased to exist. All that mattered was that he and his “angel” were alive—she his vision of love and he, her silent hero, paid tribute to her gracefulness – never knowing his love had been manufactured by Alyssa.
The Conflict of Love
As Emcorae led Joanne back home, he thought about Curk, his childhood friend who had always been his friendly rival. Curk, the simple, successful man, seemed to have it all figured out: a girl who adored him, a clear path to becoming a master cobbler, and a functioning role in society. Emcorae, the man training to fight for the fate of worlds, had done none of those things yet and still felt very much like the same boy who he was when he last lived in Monthaven. Now that he was back home, the glories of becoming an elf warrior had suddenly lost their luster and he felt an unworthy pang of envy. Curk has bested me yet again. And yet, I would gladly have let him win every game we played if only I could be just as happy with my Lynsy.
But he knew the truth: ‘Your’ Lynsy is already spoken for, engaged to be married to some prince!
But Alyssa’s magic compelled him to further self-delusion: Maybe she needs someone to save her from a life she doesn’t want? Why can’t that be me? How will she know unless she has a chance to see what I can offer her?
“Ha, and what can you offer a girl who comes from money?” Emcorae finally gave voice to his concerns.
“My heart!” Emcorae averred to the world. “All the money in the world can’t compare to that. If Lynsy could feel that it beats only for her, then I’m sure that she would believe in the power of our love and that together we could be happy forever.”
His self debate continued. Pah, a fairy tale! That’s what you’re living in! This is the real world, and your heart is a magicked snare.
Yet, his compelled heart him still: I must try. How can I go on with the rest of my life without at least trying?
“Any man can find love, but who else can claim that he is an Azora?” The realist in him spoke.
But the fool was quick to counter: El-Janus gave me this time to come back home and “find myself.” Those were his exact words. I didn’t realize what he meant until now. Oh, I’ll go back to Arbola. I’ll keep up with my training, but why can’t I have this too? Why can’t Lynsy come with me? I want to have both. I want my life to be completely fulfilled, to have everything I ever wanted. If Lynsy is my true love then we’ll find a way to make it work.
Emboldened by the idea, he imagined himself a great poet as he versed…
“To want, above all else, to intertwine your life with your lover’s, to hang on their every word, to desire to make your cherished companion feel like they are the most special person in the world, to love them, to protect them, to fulfill them. To want to hold their hand forever. If that’s a fairy tale then so be it, I’m not ashamed to say that’s what I want!”
For her part Joanne hrumpffed and tried to keep the boy moving along.
Emcorae patted his horse, “Ah, Jo Jo, thank you. You know I love you, right?”
The pair continued their trek back home yet the boy was perfectly distracted by a trivial, artificial fixation. The path of the warrior was being traded for the illusion of a full life. Pah!
The next day found Emcorae in the Frixer’s kitchen, a scene of mundane comraderie. The windows were open, allowing a gentle springtime breeze waft in as Emcorae and Sandi Frixer were sipping lemonade and playing cards – their conversation punctuated by laughter from Kymm as Curk’s wife sat nearby.
They’d been playing settbakk for nearly a candlemark when Emcorae scooped up a winning trick and then began to steer the conversation. “Oh, Sandi, I almost forgot – congratulations – I heard you are on the board of elders now.”
Sandi smiled ruefully at her rival’s play but reminded herself she was still up five games to three, and then offered a distraction: “Say, Em, how would you like something to eat? Kymm and I just made fresh biscuits and we have some strawberry jam too.”
Emcorae, aware of the trap, smiled and played along, soon gobbling a biscuit while intentionally tossing out a poor play. As Sandi happily picked up the win, the lovesick boy executed his main gambit: “So, Sandi, I was wondering. I’m sure Curk probably told you that I’m kind of interested in Lynsy Finch.”
“Oh, Em, you can’t be serious.” The old matron scoffed.
“I know, I know she’s rich and all, but–“
“But nothing, Emcorae Azop,” Sandi raised a finger in admonishment. “Lynsy Finch has been promised to another.” She softened her tone with the patronizing pity of the experienced: “Em, honey, there are so many girls in the world, why bother yourself over one that belongs to another?”
“Please, Sandi, can’t you just tell me a little bit about her. Being on the council you must have heard things.”
Sandi sighed, but assuming Emcorae’s was just a harmless infatuation that might actually keep his concentration away from the card table and help her win, she giggled and began to spill the town gossip. “Well, from what I heard Merrill has a trading partner in Primcitta and travels a lot. In fact, he and his boy Dugan are out of town again.”
Emcorae, ignoring the game, pressed for more details. Sandi paused to savor a biscuit, then explained that Merrill initially left Monthaven after his parents died of a “dreadful disease,” went to Primcitta, and returned twenty years later incredibly rich, securing his fortune through connections—the same tiresome story of mortal success.
“I know,” Emcorae interrupted, “it’s WHO you know, right? My grandfather is always saying the same thing. Although he goes on to tell me that I’m lucky because I know him!” Emcorae then redirected the conversation: “I know Lynsy’s dad is rich, but what can you tell me about HER?”
“Well, Merrill didn’t marry until he was in his forties… Anna I think her name was. She’s dead now, but they were together nearly two decades.”
“But what about their children?”
“Dugan, Lynsy’s older brother, must be in his early twenties now. As for the little girl—Lynsy came along a few years later. Although what you may not know is that she was an orphan, abandoned in a basket just outside the Finch’s gates.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
Sandi, giddy with her card-winning success and the pleasure of gossip, continued: “To this day, nobody knows the mother… but Lynsy was the lucky one—for the Finches raised her as their own and the sweet girl is said to be very dear to Merrill, especially after Anna passed and he dotes over the girl—giving her anything she desires.”
Relishing the information, Emcorae was all too happy to keep losing at cards if it meant Sandi would continue talking. “Well what about this Orkney guy? How did her engagement come about?”
Sandi began to clean up the cards, having secured enough victories to secure the match. “I can only guess. If Dugan is destined to get Merrill’s fortune, Merrill surely wanted to make a good match for Lynsy. He found that Orkney prince through his connections, ensuring his beloved girl will be taken care of for the rest of her life. Plus, Dugan Finch and the Orkney prince are friends and have promised to do business together too. That’s really all I know.”
At that moment, Curk walked in, grabbed multiple biscuits, and sat down. “Did I hear y’all talking about Lynsy? You still hung up on her, Azop? Well, you may be interested to wonder about this – how come she and that stinky-breath prince ain’t hitched yet? She’s past age so what’s the hold up?”
Sandi offered the next vital piece of information: “From what I heard Lynsy and Diked were to be wed at the end of the Spring, however Dugan’s lamented that Prince Diked has postponed the wedding till next year because of his own travels.”
Smiling wickedly at his friend around a mouthful of biscuits and jam, Curk cautioned, “Don’t get your hopes up, old boy. If there’s one thing we know around here it’s that Merrill Finch ALWAYS completes his deals.”
Emcorae’s head was spinning—Lynsy’s wedding delay was a sudden, glorious window of opportunity.
But Curk changed the subject: “So we going hunting tomorrow or what, Emc?”
Emcorae got up from the table as he replied. “Sure thing. Meet you at sun up.”
“Sun up?” Curk was appalled. “What happened to the Emcorae that always used to like to sleep late?”
Emcorae smiled. “Curk, you know what they say: The first hunter gets the best shot and that’s going to be me!”
“Boy, those elves really messed with your noggin, Azop.”
Emcorae took his leave of the Frixer’s—happy for the food, the friendship, and the valuable news he’d gathered. He was now armed with the intelligence of a gossip ring, information he planned to use later that day.
The fool now believed he had a path, a weakness in the wall of destiny…
Stealth
That night, a silent, theatrical figure moved beneath the waning light of the Harvest Moon. After a nervous hop over the Finch’s eastern wall, the stalker padded softly across the manicured lawns and approached the manor house—the monument to the money that he hoped wound not negate his existence.
The fool, of course, was Emcorae. He moved with the practiced stealth of his training, first hiding behind a clump of manicured bushes, then pausing behind a fountain to check for observers. He finally crouched behind a low stone bench, giving him a clear view into the windows of the vast, multi-story house.
Not a soul stirring. Don’t the Finches have any guards? Ssst! Duck!
As if summoned by his own incompetence, two guards rounded the corner. Emcorae, clad in black, flattened himself behind the bench, almost melting into the ground. The guards, more interested in their tedious conversation than their duty, never noticed the shadow as they passed.
Let’s see, where should I put it? From under his tunic, Emcorae pulled forth a delicately intertwined ring of flowers. This was the offering of his heart: a collection of simple blooms imbued with the sentimental meaning of a lovestruck fool.
- Daisies: Signifying carefree playfulness.
- Lilacs: To bridge the gap from friend to lover.
- Four Pink Roses: Snared from Old Man Newberri’s prized gardens, representing the manufactured passion he felt for the receiver.
- A White Moon Lily: Mounted in the center, freshly picked, ensuring it would bloom again for another night or two—a visual reminder of this stealthy visitation.
Attached underneath this bouquet was a note: To Lynsy. Love: Your Destiny.
The sheer, monumental conceit of the gesture – “Your Destiny.” The boy truly believed his magically forced attraction was a cosmic mandate.
An owl hooted nearby, breaking the small trance Emcorae had slipped into. He quickly regained his composure. Though the manor was vast, he decided the stone bench, overlooking the lawn and garden, was the ideal spot for his gambit for the seat was positioned for clear viewing by the first person to exit the southeast door in the morning. As for the guards, he was wasn’t worried about them; the ring was too small to be noticed during their negligent rounds.
I will not be seen until sunrise and whoever espies it will surely notice the note and take it to my angel. The first of many gifts I hope to bring her.
And with that, he was off, speeding in a blur back across the landscape, over the wall in a single bound, and back into the woods.
“Thanks for waiting here for me, old friend,” the young man whispered to the black mare who’d been waiting for him.
The elvish mare, Joanne, snorted in disdain. She had been dragged from sleep to participate in these ridiculous, mortal courting games and her patience was wearing thin.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 