Galloping or even trotting through the forests of the Shadow World was risky. There was no way of knowing what you were likely to run into-unless, of course, the unknown was preferable to the risk of facing whatever was behind you. “As if it were not enough that we faced death by choosing to come this way, to discover that a year had passed while we were in Tuarhievel for merely a few days…… He shook his head and sighed. “Well, at least we have not had to repeat that particular experience, even if the emperor does insist on saving time by traveling through the Shadow World whenever we need to cover a lot of distance. I used to suspect he didn’t fully understand the risks involved. Now I realize he simply doesn’t care. But that first time … I shall never forget it. I never truly understood the strain my father had been under until I saw him. Only a week or so had passed for me, but it was a year for him. A year in which he was never really certain what the next day would bring. One year in which he had aged twenty.”
“You still miss him very much, don’t you?” Sylvanna asked.
Aedan nodded. “More than I can say. I miss his wisdom and his guidance. It was my mother who sustained the greatest loss, of course, but in another sense, she merely lost her mate, while I lost not only my father, but my teacher, too. There was so much more I could have learned from him, if only he could have lived at least a few more years……
“I sometimes think it must be terrible to be human,” said Sylvanna.
“All your accomplishments, your dreams and passions, are so ephemeral.
Your life spans are so very short, I often wonder how you stand it.”
Aedan smiled. “You mean to say you pity us?”
“Well … no, not quite,” she replied. “Pity implies a sort of condescension, and in the last few years, I have learned a great deal about you humans and what you can accomplish if you set your minds to it.”
“Perhaps we do so precisely because our time is short,” Aedan told her.
“Knowing we are but mortal is what gives us our drive to live life to its fullest. If we seem a bit desperate to you, maybe it is because, in a sense, we are. You elves, who live in your
immortality, do not possess that desperation. To humans, elves seem …
well, not desperate, like us.
That is why our passions burn so brightly. When you know from the outset that your time is limited, then each day becomes precious.”
Sylvanna studied him curiously for a moment as they rode side by side, rocking gently with the gait of their mounts. ‘That makes sense, I suppose. I have noticed that you humans seem to feel things very intensely.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t mean to say that we elves are not capable of intensity of feeling, for we are … it is just that humans seem so much more intense. And uncontrolled.”
“It’s that edge of desperation,” Aedan replied with a smile. “It comes from our mortality, as I said.
We live hard, work hard, play hard … love hard.”
Sylvanna glanced at him. He met her gaze steadily. She did not look away. “By extension of that argument,” she said, “I suppose one could claim that mayflies would be the most passionate creatures in the world, since they live only one day.”
“And note how very violently they beat their little wings and fly always toward the light,” said Aedan.
“They are so attracted to the flame that they will fly into it and allow it to consume them. If that is not a suitable metaphor for unbridled passion, then what is?”
“I thought those were moths,” Sylvanna said.
“Well, mayflies do the same thing, don’t they?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure. Do they?”
Aedan shrugged. “Even if they don’t, it does not invalidate the metaphor.”
Sylvanna smiled. “You may have missed your true calling,” she said.
“Instead of a royal minister, you should have been a hard.”
Aedan winced. “Oh, anything but that,” he said.
Sylvanna raised her eyebrows. “Oh? I seem to have touched a nerve.”
“I knew a hard once,” Aedan said. “In fact, I knew a number of them and they were all insufferable, but this one was the worst. Most bards are in love with the sound of their own words, which makes them merely conceited, but this one was also in love with an idea, which made him dangerous.”
“Why would idealism make someone dangerous?” Sylvanna asked.
“Ah, now there’s a question for the emperor’s chief minister,” said Aedan with a grin. “In my capacity as lord high chamberlain, I should tell you that all idealists are dangerous, because they are individuals who hold ideas in higher esteem than any emperor or king or noble. An idealist’s first loyalty is to the morality of the idea that he champions … or she, as the case may be. As a consequence, there is no room in such an individual for compromise. Personally, however, I find that there is a certain type of an idealist one can live with.”
“And what sort is that?” Sylvanna asked, taking the bait.
“One who agrees with you,” said Aedan with a chuckle.
“I should have seen that one coming,” said Sylvanna with a wry grimace.
“You’d think by now I would have learned better.”
“Elves are notoriously slow learners,” Aedan said teasingly. “That is yet another disadvantage of your immortality … you never really feel pressed to do anything quickly.”
“Some things are best done slowly,” she replied with a sidelong glance at him.
“You mean … like courtship?”
