[center][img]http://img07.deviantart.net/8a54/i/2015/177/3/6/the_ridge_by_sebastianwagner-d8yrcme.jpg[/img][/center]
It was the day of the wedding and a light spring breeze drifted through the meadows, whispering tales of a summer soon to come. Children played and screamed through the hilltops, dodging between the wild flowers and scurrying up sturdy trees.  It was here on these rolling hills and plains, near the border of fairyland, that the ceremony would soon be taking place.

Poles had been raised and decorated with white ribbons; soft fabric draped between tree branches and over walkways. The hillside was littered with makeshift shacks and tent-like structures that had been raised in an afternoon for its inhabitants. Many people had travelled far for this ethereal occasion, some out of fearful curiosity, others out of unabashed relief to the end of the skirmishing between fae and man. Some had travelled for days with few supplies; over hills, through rivers and snowy plains, to send the Chief’s daughter off on her way.

Nobody envied her. So few had ever returned from fairyland; and those who had rarely returned home to their own time. Often when they got back years and years had passed, and even should they adjust to the new world they found themselves they always carried a glint of elfland in their eyes.

When she went, she would be unlikely to return, married off to those dangerous faefolk. There had been murmurings on those long, long journeys murmurings of how deep of a shame it was to lose the fine princess to those cruel heathen creatures. Few would send their daughters in her place.

Yet here she was.

“It’s your duty.” Declared her father, echoing his private thoughts as they travelled by simple carriage to the site of his goodbyes. They would be there soon, he knew, and his heart wrenched at what was to become at the end of this memorable day. No more smiles that painted the room in warmth and love. No more soft wafts of perfume through their home. 

It was as if he was saying it more to prove it to himself then to remind her.

He looked toward his beloved only daughter. Draenir was a bulky man of few words, young for a Chief but feared for his tactical prowess. He was a mass of bronzed muscle and fading battle scars, now hidden under his ornate formal clothing. His long brown hair and beard were braided this day, his simple crown – a band of metal – sitting round his head as always. His face, though young, showed age beyond his years, but his bright eyes shone through at her as he leaned forward and took her hands in his.

“You have ended this needless suffering. Not your brothers or our warriors or any of our swords and bows. The outlying villages need never fear being raided or tricked or cursed again. No more people being taken in the night. He asked for your hand, I could not have said no.” He spoke slowly and with sincerity, a slither of pain hidden in his tone. If only there had been more he could have done; some other way to end this.

[center]But was this not the most peaceful resolution of their growing conflicts?
Was this not a way to bind the House of Man and Fae forever?[/center]

Her father had agonized over the decision for days. Their villages were right on the border of elfland; all the tactics in the world could not have protected all their territories from a war between man and elf if it had ever broken out. They had been suffering their mischief long and hard, and little in the way of earthly weapons had ever helped to quell it. A war with them would be beyond unwise, and that was well were the path had been leading before today.

And yet, even now, though his expression was stern and hard as always, his eyes almost pleaded with her. They pleaded her to just say no to this, and it will be done. Just give me a sign this is not the destiny of your choosing, and I will rip the sky assunder in your name. No need for her to wed and raise beastly children beyond our ken, no need to be lost in that fearful place forevermore. She could live here, she could marry a man of good blood and stature, she could raise bairns with pink cheeks and kindly eyes. She could dance and grow old in the lands of her forefathers, stretching back to time unknown, on the eathly fruits of man and beast. Not the magical food beyond the barrier beyond lands of man to the lands of fae.