Chapter 3

The Sylvanae Archive rose before Patrina like a temple to knowledge, its pale stone façade intricately carved with symbols from languages long forgotten by humans. She took the marble steps two at a time, her excitement making her clumsy as she nearly collided with an elf exiting the grand doors. Apologizing breathlessly, she slipped inside, the familiar scent of ancient paper and preservation spells washing over her. Somewhere within this labyrinth of knowledge, Aldergon Graniel had organized the world into neat categories, and she needed to find him before the merchant caravan departed.

"Aldergon?" she called, her voice echoing too loudly in the vaulted main hall. A nearby scholar glanced up with disapproval, and Patrina winced, lowering her volume. "Sorry."

She wound her way through reading tables and towering shelves, searching for the familiar tall figure of the Head Librarian. The past weeks in the archive had taught her his habits – at that hour, he was likely in the rare manuscripts section, carefully cataloging texts no human had seen in centuries.

She found him exactly where she had expected, bent over a fragile scroll, his silver-blond hair falling forward like a curtain as he made notations in a ledger. Aldergon didn't look up as she approached, though she knew he had heard her footsteps. High Elves missed nothing.

"I've found transportation," Patrina announced, unable to contain her excitement. "I'm leaving for the Greenways within the hour."

Aldergon's hand paused mid-word. He looked up slowly, his ageless face revealing nothing, though something flickered in his eyes – concern, perhaps, or resignation. "So soon?" he asked, his voice measured and calm, betraying none of the complex emotions swirling beneath his composed exterior.

"The Forge of Gold Merchant Group is heading east," she explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "They've agreed to take me along. It's perfect timing."

Aldergon rose to his full height, nearly a foot taller than Patrina. In the weeks she had spent researching in his domain, she had grown accustomed to looking up at him, to the elegant efficiency of his movements, to the way his eyes – violet-blue and ancient – regarded her with a mixture of amusement and something like fondness.

"Dwarven merchants," he said, his tone suggesting this was not the ideal escort he would have chosen. "Heading east through the lower passes, no doubt."

"Yes, exactly." Patrina nodded eagerly. "They'll get me within a day's journey of the Wood Elf territories."

Aldergon's fingers traced the edge of the ancient scroll, a gesture Patrina had come to recognize as his way of organizing his thoughts. He wanted to reach for her, to place his hands on her shoulders and urge caution, but such physical familiarity would be inappropriate. Instead, he inclined his head stiffly.

"The Wood Elves are more... unpredictable than we High Elves," he said carefully. "They have not welcomed outsiders, particularly humans, since the Flight of Men. Your letter of recommendation may not carry the weight you expect."

Patrina's smile didn't falter. "That's why this research is so important. The Collegiate Alliance of Vyhelm has never documented contemporary Wood Elf culture from direct observation. My department head believes my work could establish a new field of elven cultural studies."

Aldergon's expression softened slightly. Her academic enthusiasm reminded him of elflings in their first century, discovering the world with wide-eyed wonder. So young, so eager, so terribly fragile in her humanity.

"I've added my own letter to accompany yours," he said, retrieving a sealed document from his desk. "It may help smooth your reception. The Wood Elves respect our library, even if they find our city too... constrained for their tastes."

Their fingers brushed as he handed her the letter, and they both felt a spark – static from the dry air, but it jolted them nonetheless. Patrina quickly tucked the document into her satchel, her cheeks warming slightly.

"Thank you," she said, grateful for both the letter and his guidance during her stay. "I'll make good use of everything I've learned here."

Aldergon hesitated but then spoke with careful precision. "Patrina, there's something you should know. The eastern routes don't only pass near Wood Elf territories; they skirt the borders of Dark Elf lands as well."

A shadow passed over his features as he mentioned the Dark Elves; instantly Patrina noted the reaction for later analysis when back safely in Vyhelm amongst fellow academics discussing elven subgroups cultural tensions still remained strong even after millennia.

"The merchant caravan had hired guards," she assured him. "I'll be perfectly safe."

"Dark Elves took humans," Aldergon said bluntly. "As do the orc peoples who roam those regions. They value humans differently than we do."

"As slaves?" Patrina asked, her academic interest overriding any fear the warning might have inspired.

"The orcs, yes." Aldergon's gaze was intense now, willing her to understand. "The Dark Elves have a more... complex relationship with humans. They collect them. Collar them. Consider them somewhere between pets and family members. A human scholar would be particularly valuable to them. Especially if the scholar has magic."

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. Magicless, remember?” She raised her arm to reveal the absence of a tattoo, the sign of a human with magic.

Aldergon glanced at her arm and let out a thoughtful hum.

Patrina swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I appreciate the warning, but I had no intention of traveling anywhere near Dark Elf territories. The merchants were taking me directly to the Wood Elf borders."

Aldergon studied her face, seeing the determination there. She wouldn't be dissuaded, this human woman with ink-stained fingers and boundless curiosity. In his centuries of life, he'd rarely encountered such focused purpose in one so young. It both impressed and terrified him.

"Besides," Patrina added, patting the small crossbow strapped to her side, "I'm not entirely defenseless. And as I mentioned, the Merchant Group had hired guards. Professional ones, from the look of them."

"Dwarven guards protect dwarven interests," Aldergon said quietly. "Remember that."

Patrina nodded, though she didn't fully grasp the warning in his words. "I should go. They're waiting for me at the eastern gate." She hesitated, suddenly unsure how to say goodbye to this elf who had guided her research, who had opened ancient texts for her that no human had touched in generations. "Thank you for everything, Aldergon. Your assistance has been invaluable."

Aldergon wanted to embrace her, to feel the quick, bright spark of her human life against his chest one time before she ventured into lands where he couldn't protect her. Instead, he bowed formally, the traditional gesture of one scholar to another.

"May wisdom guide your path, Professor Warden," he said, using her formal title as a sign of respect. "Return to us with your research complete."

The unspoken words hung between them: Return at all.

Patrina bowed in return, mimicking the elven gesture with practiced precision. "I will. And I'll have volumes of notes for your archives."

She turned to leave, her steps quick with anticipation of the journey ahead. At the end of the row of shelves, she paused and looked back. Aldergon stood perfectly still, watching her go, his tall figure framed by ancient books and filtered sunlight. For a moment, she considered running back, saying something more personal, more meaningful. But what would she say? That she'd spent as much time studying his face as she had studying elven texts? That she'd miss their quiet conversations among the stacks?

Instead, she offered a final smile and hurried away, her mind already racing ahead to the Greenways and the Wood Elves who awaited her scholarly inquiry. Behind her, Aldergon remained motionless until the sound of her footsteps faded completely. Only then did he return to his scrolls, though his thoughts no longer focused on ancient words but on a human woman traveling east with dwarven merchants who may not have been as trustworthy as she believed.