"They've been at it for a long time, huh?"
Rannon glanced towards the voice; he was sitting on a bench outside the Great Hall, and had been for several hours now. The light of the sun had faded into a warm, orange glow and then into a pale blue shine of evening through the tall, regal windows, and his mother and her aides still had not come out from within the chamber. These were, he knew, important peace talks, but he was still nervous that the orcs might try something untowards. His mother, the Queen Nushala of the Silver Grove, was not without her means to defend herself, but Rannon had watched the Khan of the orcs arrive with his retinue of massive, hulking greenskin warriors, and it was hard not to let his eyes linger on their crude, heavy weapons or their bulging muscles and squat, angular faces that seemed to seethe with menace even when they were smiling. Still, he had to trust that she was safe. And right now, his attention was being drawn towards the voice, with its foreign inflection and strange, throaty sound.
"It's always like that when my dad gets going." The girl was about as tall as Rannon himself, but broader and with skin as green as the canopy of trees visible through the windows. Her eyes were deep-set and brown, and two small tusks parted her lower lips, not enough to be disturbing, but actually rather fetching. Her face lacked much of the feminine grace that marked Rannon's kind, but in its place was an earthen wisdom and, perhaps, a hint of mischievous cunning that both alarmed and enticed the prince. She wore a leather corset over a simple but ornately crafted tunic, and her feet were clad in sturdy boots of leather and fur, a far cry from Rannon's own dainty slipper-shoes.
"You are Rannon, right? The Prince of these groves?"
She was looking a little more intently at him now, and Rannon felt a nervous energy well up in him as he willed himself to respond.
"I- yes. I am. And you are Bashuk, aren't you? The Khan's daughter?"
The young woman smiled and nodded, and stepped out from where she had been standing in the doorway to the hallway. She moved without the same brute energy as her kin, Rannon noticed, but rather seemed to place every foot as if part of a dance, a dance where only she was privy to the music. Once more, the prince could not help but compare her to the women of his own kind, but where they were often so lithe as to practically be ethereal, there was a solidity to Bashuk that appealed to Rannon in a very real sense. It was perhaps a bit much to say that the princeling was taken by love at first sight, but smitten? Yes, he was smitten.
"Before he became khan, my father was the Voice of the People." Bashuk stepped over and gracefully set herself down next to Rannon on the bench. Her hands, which were as large as his, rested on her thighs as she spoke softly. "I know that your people put a lot of stock in songs and poetry, but my people, we tell stories. Stories of the old times, of heroes and gods, of the movements of the earth that shaped us into who we are today. It is a tradition to keep these stories alive, and we all like to tell them. But my father, well... he was always better than anyone else at it."
Bashuk smiled, and turned herself towards Rannon. Her head cocked as she took him in, this tall, slender young elf with his long, pointed ears and smooth, delicate skin that was like the color of bark on an oak tree. By contrast, the silver hair on his head almost seemed out of place, but it was nevertheless very well kept, and swept over his skull to fall past his shoulders. Grace, poise, elegance - the hallmarks of Elven royalty.
"So once he gets started," Bashuk continued softly, "he can be hard to stop. I'm sure that's why this is dragging out."
Rannon shrugged, not sure what to say. It felt like he was being slowly dissected by the orc woman's eyes, and he could feel a bit of sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he tried in vain to understand what she wanted from him. There had been war for centuries between their people - millennia, even! Long enough for no one to remember exactly what caused it, except old enmities and bouts of he-said-she-said. He was happy, of course, that peace was finally being discussed - and proud of his mother that she was playing an instrumental part in it - but it would be a lie to suggest that he was not wary of these people who had come to his city, and of whom he had heard nothing but malicious stories and rumors of their cunning and cruelty throughout his life. To find one so near him now, even if she was a very pretty and pleasant person, was... confusing.
"I am sure they have much to discuss," he said, and glanced over towards the door. It remained closed. Slowly, his eyes fell back on Bashuk, and he felt a strange courage stirring in him. She was an orc, yes, but she was also an honored guest, and he would be lying if he didn't admit to himself that the idea of spending time with her didn't pique his curiosity. So, clearing his throat carefully, Rannon met Bashuk's gaze and asked the first thing that came to mind.
"Would you like to see the grove in person? It's not often we have such esteemed guests... it would be my honor to show it off."
The Silver Grove was, to many, the most spiritually important place in the world. Five large, concentric rings of tall trees with dark trunks and bright, silvery leaves, it stood as the heart of Elven civilization, and had done so for as long as anyone could remember. It was said that the ley-lines of the world all connected here, and that the grove was the wellspring of all magic and every wonder in the world. This much Rannon told Bashuk as they walked side by side through the winding paths that lead through the trees, and much to his delight, she listened and nodded attentively, her eyes and smile often darting up to take in the view of the treetops above them, but invariably flittering back to focus on Rannon and his voice.
"Do you come here often?"
It was the first thing she had said in several minutes, and Rannon glanced at her before shrugging slightly. "Not often, no. Not much to do out here except pray."
"But it's so beautiful." Bashuk let her fingers trace over a nearby trunk, and felt the bark grate against her fingertips. "Where I'm from, there are few trees that aren't cut down for lumber or used to grow food. The ground is hard for trees to take root, and we need the wood to build our homes. If I lived here, I would visit this place every day."
Rannon smiled, and looked at the greenskin as she fawned over the grove. "It's easy to ignore the beauty of something when you've grown used to it, I suppose. But I've heard many stories of your home as well. Rugged plains and tall, azure skies that go on forever. I should like to see that someday."
Bashuk turned to him, a small smirk on her lips. "Why wait? You could come with us when the negotiations are over."
He frowned, then chuckled. "You are that certain they will come to an agreement?"
"Beyond a doubt." Bashuk stepped closer, her feet crunching a few dead leaves under their soles. "As khan, my father wants to take our people in a different direction. No more senseless bloodshed. I'm sure your mother agrees."
"Certainly." Rannon nodded, although he was more concerned with the sudden proximity of the orcess and her busty, muscular body. "But I'm not sure she would enjoy the idea of letting me leave, all the same.."
"You're an adult, aren't you?" Bashuk smirked, and stepped closer still. This near, Rannon had no choice but to take a step back, or let her come so close that her breasts were brushing up against his front. He stood his ground.
"She's the worrying sort," he muttered lamely, and tried his very hardest not to look down at the hint of green cleavage that Bashuk was offering him. It took all of his willpower to maintain a steady gaze on her face, and as he did, he watched her smile take on a mischievous note. When she said nothing, Rannon added, in an attempt to save what little remained of his dignity: "And besides, I'm not sure what I would even do out there..."
"You would be my guest." Bashuk gazed into his eyes, and despite the stark contrast of her features to those of his own kind, Rannon couldn't help but feel a pang of lust shiver down his spine. Her lips, her eyes, the texture of her skin so rugged, and yet-
"And you would get to see a part of the world you've always wanted to see. You said it yourself. Vast, blue skies and plains that stretch to the horizon. You would get to spend time with me. Unless, of course, that's what you're trying to avoid."
There was a challenge in Bashuk's voice, faint though it might be, and she cocked an eyebrow as she searched the elf's face for his response. It came in the shape of a frown.
"I would like to spend more time with you. I- I think you are.."
He paused, but Bashuk wasn't having it. "Yes? I am what?"
Rannon hesitated for a moment more, and then smiled. "This is forward of me. But I think you are the most interesting person I've met in my life."
A smirk creased Bashuk's lips. "Oh? That's a bold statement. You've known me for all of forty minutes." Rannon nodded, but before he could answer, Bashuk reached up and put her hand on his waist.
