Maethoren turned his grin on Moradia and embraced her, rejoicing for the new life within her. He whispered in her ear as he held her, “Our baby, my queen, our baby!” Even the wasting sickness could not affect the jovial attitude he had adopted, and it warmed Moradia’s heart to see him so excited and glad. Maethoren grabbed her waist and whirled her around the room. She saw a glow around him that she had only ever seen once – the glow of pure elven joy. His laughter caused stirrings in the air, and she could see the spots of light dancing around them, layer upon layer of golden magic, infected by Maethoren’s happiness.

The perfect vision snapped, shattered, and fell to the ground in an infinite number of pieces as he looked on with an expression of profound sadness. The shards of the memory drew themselves together again and became a still frame; one of Maethoren’s laughing face and the light that surrounded him. Suddenly the image morphed and darkness replaced the light. Maethoren’s face became pale and drawn, with eyes closed as if sleeping. Bells could be heard tolling in the background, and the revelers from the early morning’s celebrations were turned somber. He could hear sobbing, and the vision tilted and moved, until he was face to face with Moradia, who looked at the world with vacant, weary eyes. She was not the one crying. She looked on the still form of her husband seemingly bereft of any emotion.

The world tilted again and he found himself looking at the face of an elf more beautiful than he had ever seen, pure and pristine in every way, and knew this woman to be Maethoren’s younger sister. She was dressed as if for some royal occasion, but her fair hair hung perfectly straight and golden down her back. The tears rolling down her face did nothing to mar her beauty. They enhanced her deep blue eyes and outlined her cheekbones. When he looked into her eyes, he was aware of some deeper presence, as if the earth, the sky, and the trees abided within her grieving soul. He felt the low echo of a magic ending, and watched as her image, and the image of her dead brother, faded away.

“His death fell on the same day as Moradia told him about his child. She was never more anguished in her life. After his death, she turned to the kingdom with an intense, almost insane, drive. The say she helped the kingdom with every breath she took, but she worked on her own project, too, day and night, every day since the day Maethoren died. And she fawned over her unborn child, remembering it as Maethoren’s love, kindness, and spirit. Every day she grew more fanatical about her ‘project’, until she began locking herself in her quarters, disallowing any maids or servants into the room. She would not see her best friends, would not look upon the noblemen of the court. She completely isolated herself in those last days.

“Then, she disappeared. She was out in her private garden, and had forbidden the posting of a guard. She wanted to be alone, she said. Then she vanished with her unborn child – gone, like the wind that travels forever. We remember her with love. They say she will return one day, you know. I, though, think she went off to be with her husband and took her baby with her, so they could all be together in the impossible reality of death. Though she was not one to give up her life, I believe she sought death that day in the garden, and found it. I think she wanted nothing more than to be with Maethoren again, and she found the way. She was a great mage, the queen. A great queen, too, bless her memory.”