Posted for a friend
Mid-life crisis
The tired, middle-aged woman sits on a curule chair before a tall rectangular mirror, knotting her hair in sections with the aid of a wooden implement. She notices a stray hair caught in its grain, quite unlike her own. The delicate paleness of it shines bright and distinct in contrast to the coarseness of her own thick, black locks.
A sudden look of dawning clarity crosses her brow.
She twirls the slender strand between her thumb and index finger. Each pirouette the stray hair's tangled path takes screams in her brain a veritable crescendo of some orchestral number on the epic journey to the fountain of youth.
Things once lost, soon to be found. Mmmm. Yes. This will do nicely.
A woman has her needs after all.
Debts owed are rarely forgotten
Donning the disguise of her forefathers, she traveled west to assemble a team of bodyguards with haste, carrying with her the imprisoned artifact now entombed a resin reliquary. It was quite easy to gain compliance from one of her former lovers, he himself having risen through the ranks of office. A man has needs too, but the price of silence is steep. She had finally come to collect after all these years and there was little he could do to decline the proposition.
A most fortuitous series of events played out once the soldiers set forth: aided by the power of this single silver strand, the team was hot on the trail of their target. It hadn't been too difficult, given the sucking mud ruts left in their wake. So too, were a group of idiot bandits. And when the first arrows flew at the behest of the bandits, the bodyguards leapt to action with the finery and flourish befitting their role. To protect their ward was their sole purpose and no other. But unfortunately, the woman was injured in the skirmish. Once the threat was obliterated, they bandaged and bundled up the injured woman best they could and returned to their employer after a difficult journey through the forest highlands.
No good deed comes for free
Cold as they often are, the mountainous manor seemed to warm with the arrival of the injured ward. The mistress of the house took her charge and responded coolly to the adjutant, "Your assistance is appreciated. Leave her with us. You'll have the rest of your payment before the next new moon. Send my pleasant regards to your esteemed officer."
She flipped a bag of silvers to the younger soldier and instructed him to visit the bawdy inn down the hill. "My women will be fair to you. Or harsh, if you beg for it," she finished with grim smugness. The crisply dressed man departed without as much as a salutation.
Long after the house quieted, she called her healer to attend to the ward's shoulder wound while her gaze remained enrapt on the tenderly feathered opportunity sprawled out perfectly before her. As she waited, the human woman knelt beside a richly draped bed and whispered into her elf's ear, "One has to keep up appearances, don't you think? Yes, I think you do."
No good deed comes for free. A woman has her needs after all.
