A special guest gets a Nothelm welcome
Beneath the riotous laughter of her stepchildren and friends, Hetty’s voice was little more than the wistful call of a lone dove lost among wind-rustled leaves.
“Alred,” she cooed. “We have a special guest tonight.”
Nevertheless, her husband’s ears were so attuned to its sound that he could have found her in the midst of a tempest.
“What ho, my beauty?” he laughed. “If it’s a young lady taller than I, born on a Thursday, or, at the very least, brown of eyes, tell her to meet me beneath the most convenient mistletoe.”
“I thought you were born on a Friday!” Catan protested.
“Shh! I had to tell Lili that, or the poor little thing wouldn’t have had anyone to kiss besides her husband. And I would be a knave to condemn her to that fate.”
“It is not a lady, Alred,” Hetty said.
“Only a man!” he huffed. “Well – he’s all yours, my dears,” he said to Catan and her sister.
“Does he have a beard?” Flann smiled.
“It is not a man, either,” Hetty said. “It is an elf. It is Vash, and he wishes to see you or Egelric, and I cannot find Egelric.”
“Jupiter! Well, invite him in, Hetty! He – ” Alred suddenly turned back to Catan. “You won’t mind, my dear?” he asked gently.
“Not at all,” she whispered.
She was pale enough that he could not have asked her to come with him to meet his guest. “Simply have a seat and I shall endeavor to rejoin you in no time,” he said, thereby excusing her.
By the time he hustled out into the hall, Margaret was yelling, “You must kiss Hetty! You’re standing beneath the mistletoe!”
“Not so fast, Flann!” Gwynn laughed as she ran after her sister. “This one doesn’t have a beard.”
“Hetty can’t kiss him!” Cynewulf protested. “He’s too tall. What color are your eyes, sir?”
“I beg your pardon?” Vash spluttered, suddenly encircled by a crowd of grinning ladies.
“You’re standing beneath the mistletoe!” Gwynn explained. “You must kiss any ladies you meet!”
Vash looked up dubiously.
Alred hurried up in time to clear at least his daughters away. “Subject to certain laws, bylaws, decrees, contracts, precedents, traditions, and royal commands!”
“But he doesn’t have a beard!” Gwynn whined.
“What color are your eyes, sir?” Cynewulf insisted. “I don’t believe you have any right to kiss my stepmother.”
“They are… green…” the elf said dazedly.
“Green!” Lili crowed. “Out of my way, ladies!
“Lady Lili!” Vash squeaked.
Lili grabbed his shoulders and announced, “You come down here and kiss me, or I shall climb up there and kiss you myself! The devil! I never get to kiss anybody! I’m so short, and my name starts with L, and my eyes are green!”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Get him, henny!” Egelric hooted.
“I’m next!” Gwynn danced in excitement. “He doesn’t have a beard!”
“My decree said nothing about elves, young lady,” Alred protested.
“Neither does the Bible, but Father Brude says Kiv can become a Christian all the same!”
“Kiv!” Vash gasped, so obviously shocked that Lili left off her attempts to pull his head down to kissing level.
“I’m sorry,” Gwynn murmured, blushing brightly. “We’re not supposed to call him that, but it’s so difficult to talk about him without a name.”
“Gwynn…” her father sighed.
“Kiv!” Vash cried. “What do you know about Kiv?”
Alred drew himself up to his full height, little though it seemed before the tall elf. “The gentleman – or gentle-elf – in question is under my protection.”
“He’s alive?”
“And I intend to keep him that way.”
“He’s here?”
“My friend…”
Vash pressed his fingers against his temples and then ran them up through his hair until it all stood up on his head, exposing both his wide eyes for a moment. “Take me to him!” He let his hair fall. “I don’t want to hurt him!” he laughed wildly. “I want to kiss him! Sipú ímanrú érím! Take me to him!”
