Unlike Teclis, Tyrion's attitude toward humans had shifted multiple times over the years.
The first time he saw a human was as a young prince, arriving in Lothern and encountering a bustling foreign district where humans and other outsiders came and went. Tyrion's initial impression of them had been little more than that of "monkeys."
Young and brash, Tyrion had wandered into the foreign district and ended up in a scuffle with some human mercenaries. A wealthy merchant had intervened, calming the situation. Tyrion was left perplexed. Why, if he had been the one to initiate the confrontation, had it ended with the mercenaries apologizing?
The merchant explained patiently: "Yes, you may have started it, but their reaction was still foolish. If he'd hurt you, it would have brought disgrace on the entire trade guild. In dealings with the elves, goodwill is worth as much as gold, and the careless actions of an ignorant drunk can ruin everything."
From this, Tyrion learned two things: first, that humans were not as ignorant as many high elves thought; they were capable of understanding the long game, weighing the costs and benefits of their actions. And second, that elves were inherently superior to humans, both in birth and natural talent. In his eyes, humans apologizing to him confirmed his high status as the last bloodline of the Phoenix King.
This perspective made Tyrion more open to alliances with humans than other high elves, though he never went so far as Teclis to advocate for a full partnership or bond of mutual respect. For Tyrion, humans were temporary allies or expendable auxiliaries, useful to aid the elves in times of crisis, to help them conserve lives and resources.
But as Tyrion observed Ryan, surrounded like a hero by the applauding ranks of the Sword Masters and High Elven mages, he felt a twinge of displeasure.
This should have been his moment.
After all, he had raced his army to this very spot, only to arrive after the battle's conclusion, in time only for Ryan's grand finale.
His initial pride in victory soured; he turned to his lieutenant, Bellarion, and muttered, "Enough celebrating. Remind those Sword Masters to stay alert! What if the enemy launches a counterattack?"
"War Leader, with the greater daemon defeated, an immediate counterattack seems… unlikely." Bellarion hesitated. Surely even Chaos couldn't muster another army so soon?
"'Unlikely' means 'not impossible,' does it not?!" Tyrion snapped.
Bellarion took the hint and led the Silver Helms into the aftermath of the battle, calling for a renewed defense. Until the Night of Sorcery ended, they would allow no lapse in vigilance.
As Tyrion stood watching, he found himself regarding Ryan with a mix of admiration and envy.
The War Leader knew his own abilities; he could defeat a Slaanesh daemon prince if he had to. But to achieve it as effortlessly as Ryan… now that would have been difficult.
Low, insidious whispers echoed again in Tyrion's mind, a voice both maddened and bloodthirsty.
"Kill him, kill that damned human! He stole your glory!"
"Kill him… you are the true king!"
"Seize that sword, eliminate anyone who stands in your way!"
Tyrion fought to suppress the crimson haze clouding his mind, forcing himself to remain calm.
"War Leader, your heart hides much darkness."
Fighting the voice down, Tyrion blinked to see Ryan's brother, Fugen, the Phoenix of Ash, now standing just behind him. Fugen's elegant face was grim, his expression unbothered by the Silver Helms surrounding the War Leader.
Irritated, Tyrion replied, "My business is none of yours, human. Perhaps your aid was useful, but don't forget, we're the ones who defended Hoeth's White Tower and gave you this opportunity."
"That's not what I was talking about, young man," Fugen raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "There is something within you."
"You have no idea, do you?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed. "How old are you, human? You're hardly 80, I'd wager. Do you know how old I am? You think you have the right to preach to me?"
"Oh dear, a battle of age now, is it?" Fugen's eyes lit up with amused contempt. "If the elves judge wisdom solely by age, then why don't you just bow to Malekith?"
"Enough! Look, thanks to your brother's aid in defending Hoeth, I'll forgive your insolence, but you would do well to keep silent!"
"Forgive me for not being clear. Let me rephrase." Fugen smirked, seizing on Tyrion's words. "Perhaps, with the elves so obsessed with age, it's the crone Morathi to whom you should yield. Wouldn't she be the wisest of you all?"
A strained silence fell. Tyrion's face broke into a brittle smile, fury pulsing through him. Yet, he realized with a reluctant grudging relief that Fugen's words had distracted him from Khaine's influence. For the moment, it was pure irritation driving his anger.
Tyrion sheathed his blade, signaling to the Silver Helms to stand down as he turned to leave. Fugen watched him go, the Primarch shaking his head and murmuring. If Tyrion hadn't brushed him off, he'd intended to offer a technique he'd learned in his thousand-year life to control the curse, but now… best leave Tyrion to himself. They had, after all, acquired the Phoenix Runescroll.
So why bother?
Tyrion, meanwhile, continued toward the tower, his mind occupied with the idea that Ryan and his group had overstayed their welcome in Ulthuan. The naval battle was over; the undead pirates couldn't possibly recover for decades, and their ironclad warships were nearly out of ammunition. It was time to send them back to Bretonnia, with some gifts as payment for their service. Yes, he decided, as soon as he returned, he'd make the arrangements.
---
Three days after the Night of Sorcery ended, the long-awaited wedding ceremony took place in the Moon Tower of Hoeth.
It was a private event, with only three guests in attendance: Teclis, Suria, and Olica.
At long last, the Lady of the Lake, Lilith, was about to marry Ryan.
Today, Lilith wore an angelic, strapless, white gown, the train trailing seven or eight meters behind her. Suria and Olica had to lift the hem to help her walk. Eschewing her Lady of the Lake aspect, Lilith appeared in her Moon Goddess form, her fair, moonlight-colored hair flowing in soft waves behind her, her face blushing beneath a delicate veil as she clasped her bouquet. Her emerald-green eyes glistened with tears of joy, lowered shyly, her gentle gaze like water rippling in the moonlight.
Finally, this day had come.
Ryan, dressed in a simple but specially tailored High Elf formal robe, met Lilith's gaze, laughing as he noticed the two women accompanying her.
Suria wore a white lily blouse with a deep-blue pleated skirt, her long legs sheathed in sheer white stockings. Her eyes sparkled with delight at the union between her goddess and husband.
Olica, by contrast, seemed thoroughly displeased. Pouting, her cheeks puffed, she wore an indigo dress with pearl-trimmed heels and sheer stockings, glancing away with a mix of envy and longing.
Lilith stepped forward, meeting Ryan's eyes before blushing and looking down, signaling for Teclis to begin the ceremony.
Ryan looked at her with a smile, squeezing her hand. "It's been a long road, my Lady. Do you remember the day we first met by the lake?"
"Yes," Lilith murmured, eyes still downcast. "I remember everything."
Ryan wanted to respond but found himself at a loss for words.
Through the high crystal windows, moonlight poured into the hall, casting the towering statue of Lilith in a radiant glow.
Here she was, a goddess, marrying her chosen champion in the very place she was worshipped. Ryan watched her, hair flowing like a waterfall, a vision of beauty.
It was almost surreal.
The ceremony was brief, in true elven fashion. Within ten minutes, Teclis had completed the rites, and Ryan retrieved the Platinum Crown of Eternal Radiance from the treasury of Eight Peaks, smiling as he offered it to Lilith.
"My Lady, I don't have an Imperial golden eagle band for you, but I hope this crown suffices."
Lilith's eyes widened, her surprise turning to elation. This crown, long lost, embodied the authority of the Elven Queen and the ancient bond between the Asrai and the forest spirits of Athel Loren. Crafted over countless years, it contained hundreds of divine fragments and blessings from the elder trees.
"This time, I get to crown you, my Lady." Ryan placed the crown on her head.
"You may now kiss the bride," Teclis intoned, his voice formal but with a hint of grudging approval. As much as the High Loremaster might dislike the match, it served the greater cause against Chaos.
In Ryan's mind, the wedding was simple and austere but profound, as pure as crystal, as clear as flowing water.
The moon upon the water, the water beneath the moon.
Lilith stepped forward, reaching up to offer her husband her first kiss.
And as she did, a single thought crossed Ryan's mind.
Is it just me,
or are Elven customs… different?
Did she… just slip me some tongue?
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