Many were the witnesses to Lydi'aleera's death. In the stunned murmurs that swept the group, the elves surmised the queen had been maddened by grief, or determined to prove the worth of Amarillis after her son's failure. Shanyrria did not care what they thought, as long as they accepted one very important truth: Lydi'aleera Amarillis was not fit to rule. She was not and never had been Evermeet's queen.
The bladesinger turned to face the gathering crowd. Her eyes sought out Amlaruil, who stood pale and stunned among the Tower magi. Shanyrria bowed deeply, then pulled her blade and raised it to her forehead in a gesture of respect.
"The queen is dead," she said, and her words seemed to echo in the stunned silence. Then she strode forward and lay her blade in a gesture of fealty at Amlaruil's feet.
"The queen is dead," Shanyrria repeated. "Long live the queen."
Zaor understood at once the importance of this moment. He strode to the alter and drew the sword. Holding it high overhead with one hand, he held out the other to Amlaruil.
The mage hesitated only for a moment. She walked to Zaor's side and entwined her fingers in his. Then with her other hand, she reached up to grasp the hilt of the king sword.
Fey blue light poured through the moonblade and enveloped them both. They stood together, in full sight of all of Evermeet, joined by the ancient magic.
One by one, the somber elves went down on their knees to acknowledge what no one could deny.
Evermeet had a true queen, at last. 20 Flamerule, 1368 DR
To Lord Danilo Thann does Lamruil, Prince of Evermeet, send fond greetings.
Thank you for your latest letter, my friend, and for the lovely ballad that you sent for my Maura. Today is midsummer, and I have saved your song to sing for her as a midsummer gift. I have but little skill at the harp, but I have been practicing the simple accompaniment you fashioned for me and hope to do it credit. Maura is no critic where music is concerned. She is about as placid as a squirrel in autumn, and I have seldom seen her sit still the length of time needed to hear any piece of music from end to end. But few are the women who will not linger to hear their charm and beauty praised, and I feel confident that she will find enjoyment in this tribute.
It sounds as if you are progressing well in your endeavor. I can readily understand the frustrations you expressed, for the history of Evermeet's elves is so long and complex that no single work can do more than touch the corner of its shadow. But it is a worthy effort, for all that.
You asked me to speak of the queen. To do so is very much akin to the task you have undertaken: Anything and everything that can be said will fall far short of the possibilities. Amlaruil of Evermeet is revered and loved by the elves of the island and widely respected abroad. Even many of those who do not owe her political allegiance acknowledge that in a mystical sense she is indeed Queen of All Elves. The queen epitomizes all that the elven people value: beauty, grace, magic, wisdom, power. That is just the beginning. Just as your friend Laeral is Chosen of her goddess Mystra, Amlaruil is something more than mortal. She stands alone in a special place between elf woman and goddess. She is also my mother, and as such she often drives me to near madness in the time-honored manner of any mother and son. And in all candor, I must admit that I return the favor.
One of Queen Amlaruil's most remarkable accomplishments is that she has transcended many of the petty divisions between the elven races. Gold elves join with Moon elves to sing her praises. Green elves would set fire to their ancient forests if such could serve and protect her. The Sea elves adore her, and it is rumored that the Sea elven monarch of the Coral Kingdom has repeatedly asked for her hand in marriage. I can attest to this, as I was eavesdropping during one such appeal. Even some of the drow recognize Amlaruil as their rightful queen. Not many years ago, the queen secretly received a representative of the goddess Eilistraee. Though drow will never be permitted on Evermeet, the Moonflower family now has alliances with some of the goodly followers of the Dark Maiden.
Permit me to tell you a personal tale that I believe will illustrate the unique color-blind reverence that elves hold for Amlaruil.
Long before you were born, when I was a mere sapling and just beginning to feel my sap rising, I celebrated the summer solstice in the time-honored manner of my people-with feasting and song, revelry and dance. By custom, the royal Moonflower family attends revels in various parts of the island: that year, we celebrated amid the lush meadows of the Horse Fields that cover much of the northwestern part of Evermeet.
The morn of midsummer day was fine and bright, and I felt myself blessed by the bright attention of one of the spring maids who danced in the morning rituals. She was a Gold elf, a girl of good if not noble family. Before long it was clear to me that this year, I would join in the evening revels in a manner I had not before.
The girl and I, in our youthful exuberance, were ill content to wait for the coming of night-after all, midsummer is the longest day of the year! She was older than I, and wise in the ways of midsummer revels. Gifted with her soft smiles and sweet words of promise, I found myself in scant supply of that supposedly elven virtue: patience.
Before the dew was off the grass, we stole away and found a place for our private revels. I blush to admit that this place was her father's hay barns. At the time, however, we felt gloriously unburdened by this singular lack of originality and imagination.
Later, as we were picking bits of straw from each other's hair and laughing together at small things that would not, under any other circumstances, have seemed half as witty or clever, we were interrupted by her father. Yes. So far, this has all the makings of a second-rate minstrel's ballad, does it not?
The elf stood over us, grimly dignified and nearly shaking with controlled wrath. "By your leave, Prince Lamruil, I would like to have private speech with my daughter," he said in a tight, clipped manner.
I gathered up my clothes and fled from the barn. What else was I to do? Yet I did not go far, for though I respected the elf's right to rule his family as he wished, I would not allow the girl to come to any harm at his hands.
And so, as I hurriedly donned my festival garments just outside the barn door, I shamelessly eavesdropped upon the small drama played out within.
"You have shamed yourself and your family, Elora," the farmer told her in that same grimly controlled tone.
I could envision the pert, defiant toss of her golden head. "How so? It is midsummer. I am of age and promised to no male. I can do as I will-not even my respected father can gainsay me in such matters."
"That is not what I mean, and you know it well!" he thundered, his control suddenly spent. "How could you lie with a Gray elf? How could you?"
There was a moment of heavy silence-to which, I might add, I added the weight of my own surprise. Then my lass responded, "Lamruil is a prince of Evermeet. Who in your mind is an elf worthy for me to bed-the king himself?"
"Do not even speak of such treachery against the crown and the queen! With my own hands would I kill any elf woman who so betrayed Evermeet's Amlaruil, even my own daughter!"
"Then how can you object to Prince Lamruil?" she retorted, reasonably enough-or so it seemed to me. "He is his mother's son."
"What of it?"
Another puzzled silence, as the lass and I struggled to comprehend her father's logic.