Princess of The Elves Ch. 02

Note: All the characters in this story are over the age of eighteen. The elves even more so. The story does not represent any real people or groups. It is a fantasy. There are literally elves in it. Any errors or omissions are my own. Please look at the story tags. If you don't like those things, then you should probably leave. Once again: you don't have to have read Captured by The Elves to enjoy this, but you should probably read part 1 of this story. Enjoy.

Jericka watched as I mashed the berries mixed with coconut water and a series of other ingredients that she kept among her possessions. I wasn't confident in what I was doing. I had only her instructions to go on. The mixture was made in a small box that had washed ashore long before. She had me used a wooden pestle to create this substance that she wanted me to put in her hair. It was harder work than I thought it would be, and I knew that this was only the beginning of my daily labors.

"Don't tell me that you forgot how to work," said Jericka. "Just because you're one of us now doesn't mean that the chores vanish. It gets worse. You have responsibilities now."

Once I had a glob of the mixture in my hands, she presented her head to me and I worked it into her red hair. Jericka had the hair color of the blood royale of Peltest, even though she was common born. This mess that she had me work into her hair kept it plastered up and fierce looking. The tint that it added to her hair was unnatural. I had no idea why she did this, but she was intent on having me do it.

I pleaded with her. "Not even a slight break? To ease me into this."

Jericka stared at me. She said, "Ease you into it? We gave you a party, and you drank a good portion of our precious rum. We eased you in plenty."

I didn't know what to say. In those first days following my transformation it was difficult for me to make sense of things. The she-elves expected these difficulties and would watch me all the time. Asking me questions. Where was I from? Who I was? Things like that. Whenever I said "Prince Sindri" I was corrected with "It's princess now. Don't forget."

That hurt me every time. They were just little jabs with words, but they punched through any emotional barrier that I could put up. As a man, I'd gotten used to my labors. Was that like a prince? Probably not—to be honest. Those last several months at sea had stripped me of my comforts. Jericka had then educated me about our work. It was just my body that was so hard to get used to. Yes, there was still times when I thought about what happened to me and I knew that I should've been beside myself with grief at what had been done and seek vengeance on these women or some sort of panacea for my condition.

Yet I didn't.

The fact that my name had remained the same made it easier. And...yes, there were some private moments, what few I had, when I would feel at my new body. I groped at my breasts and tried to admire them the way that I used to on women. It was a different thing though. To feel myself being fondled...It even began to feel pleasurable to me, which was frightening.

My breasts also made it strange for me to pick up and carry things. Like my balance was thrown off or something. I did feel great though. Suspiciously well. Strong. I thought about all the times my brothers had beaten me down with wooden swords in the castle yard.

"Fourth born! Fourth born," they teased.

I'd always been smaller, weaker, and with no prospects to my name or future. Gods, if only I could've fought them the way I was on that island. I'd show them all. But what would it ever amount to? I now quite literally had a girlish form. They'd point and laugh. They would tell me that I had such very ripe breasts that I should be the nursemaid for the children of the castle servants so they could spend more time at their work. Perhaps it was better that I was so far away and likely believed to be dead. They she-elves for all their japes didn't seem to hate me.

They called me a "sister" and said that I was loved. It was a strange thing to face suddenly: acceptance—a new life...love.

On one of my trips to retrieve water for the camp, I took a little longer than normal. No one was minding me in that moment. I spent a great time staring at my reflection in the freshwater spring. In that image was a beautiful blonde she-elf. One that the old me would've lusted after. She had big lips and large breasts—something special.

But she was me.

Then there were my eyes. Now, I may not have been one of the large powerful north-men that people sing songs about. Oh yes, I've heard they're descended from giants and gods. I've heard all the foolish tales, and plenty of people from my homeland don't dispute them. I had the blonde hair of course, and my eyes had always been a bright blue. The "change" as I would learn it was called, had intensified my blue eyes so much that they seemed to glow. This alteration fascinated the she-elves. Some of them called it a blessing from their goddess Angelenhala. It allegedly had been her voice that I'd heard during my transformation. I'd never been a staunch believer in the divine. Of course, back home I very publicly participated in the rituals because that was one of my princely duties. I wanted to believe sometimes but it was hard to rationalize certain truths especially when I never felt that I'd been blessed.

This she-elf goddess though...

There was no doubt that someone had been speaking to me, and my body had been altered in a strange and fantastic way. What was I to make of that? What was a cynic supposed to do when confronted with such things?

I just stared into the water. So much of the time prior to my transformation had been a desperate and near irrational slog. And after such a drastic change it was difficult to even think of myself as the old Sindri. The girl looking back at me from the water disagreed with that notion whole-heartedly. Gods, what had they made of me?

Remember who you are, I told myself. I thought back to being my old self. Hoping that such a thing would somehow stabilize me. My memories of Alma and Colin aboard the ship brought me too much regret. I went farther back in Prince Sindri's memories. Or were those my memories?

During my many journeys throughout the southern empires, I remembered that we docked at the island of Tol Batu, off the coast of the main continent. It was a welcome respite from our grueling sea journey. I was still struck by the heat when we stepped off the ship, even though we'd already been suffering through it several times before. I began to wear less and less like Alma did. I wore only a silk shirt and fine breeches.

Our business in Tol Batu was more resupply and rest than trade agreements and political alliances. The island had been purposefully allocated for foreign visitors to the southern empires. A sort of "safe haven" for us "northerners". That term meant every person north of the southern continent and not just "north men". People from my own part of the world were still a minority, but it was getting easier to be accepted. Even people in the south knew that we were on the rise.

I let the captain of our ship and Alma handle the detailed work while Colin and I drank and ogled at the strange sights and people that were so different from our own. Eventually, I became weary of that, and later in the day I managed to shake off my constant entourage for a little while and wandered around "northern town". The better part of it was simple buildings built from deconstructed ships. Very basic amenities and services were offered. This was how the southerners regarded us: basic. We were little above barbarians in their eyes. The whole thing was rather funny. Back home, there were some very ignorant north men who believed that the southerners were little more than savages who lived in dirty hovels. In truth: the southern empires had built massive cities and buildings that were resplendent with wealth. They saw us as the savages living in the dirt.

The southerners also knew that we liked to drink, and so there were many taverns and wine sinks in the town. I wandered into one. It was a simple thing crafted of old sun-bleached wood. Most of the seating was comprised of old barrels. I sauntered up to the rough-hewn bar top crafted of worm-eaten wood. No one knew who I was, but I had money to buy drink and that's what mattered. There was rum of course—wherever sailors went the rum followed. Wine was the most popular product for sale as it was easy to keep and transport. However, the proprietors were somehow still brewing ale in all that heat and humidity. I stuck to drinking the warm wine, and even splurged on a tankard of mead, which reminded me of home. This was a nice and relaxing moment for me.

A tall figure in the brown robes of a cleric sat down next to me. He was very tall, and even through the robes I could tell that this was a lithe and powerful man. Not a jolly fat monk at all.

"Pardon me, good traveler," he said in the Common tongue that I'd been taught. "The voyage by sea has been long and arduous. Even a man of faith finds himself tested."

A sober and angry version of myself would've scoffed at him, but I was feeling warm and happy—even in the sweltering heat of the south. Sweating out your alcohol isn't the most enjoyable of things, but I didn't care then.

"No problems here, brother," I said. "I know how hard the sea is. Forgive me, but I didn't expect to see a cleric amidst this scurvy lot."

He laughed joyfully. The cleric let his hood fall back. He was a swarthy man, who's skin had seen too much sun and wind. The cleric had long black hair tied back in a braid. Very orderly but rather plain. The most prominent thing about him was a large gold tooth nestled in the middle of his smile.

"I understand," he said. "But, let me ask you: where should men of the faith go?"

He ordered himself a tankard of ale and a small clay cup of rum. Then he ordered me the same combination so that I might join him. Naturally, I did just that. I knew how to have a good time, and to not do so would've been rude of me. So began a wonderful loss of time and a haze of merriment. If only all bouts of drinking were like that. Eventually, we began talking about big things like the state of the world and the will of the gods. I barely registered most of what he said, but that's how it often is when you're drunk. Eventually, my new friend became interested in who I was.

I did my drunken best to be impressive to this man that I'd just met. I said, "You have the privilege of meeting Prince Sindri of the Kingdom of Nordiland, but for most people in the south that just means the 'north men'. It's much more complicated, really."

"Well met, Prince Sindri," said the cleric. "My name is Alric. Brother Alric to some, but in these parts I keep it simple. What are you doing so far from home?"

"Duty," I told him. "My family needs someone down here and so I came."

"The north men are not raiding the south?"

"No. My father has forbidden raiding. Mostly. We're here for trading now. Our people are doing things differently than what the commoners know us for."

Alric nodded. "That's good. Most people have grown-up fearing the north men as little more than pirates. You could make them something different. I know something of pirates, and they are quite different from your north men. You could bring about a new people for a new age."

It was a flattering thing to say, and I was drunk enough to believe in it.

"Do you follow the Common faith?" he asked me.

I managed a nod. While my father and older brother were firmly entrenched in the traditional faith of the north men, the younger siblings including myself had been educated in the southerners' faith as well as our own. I did still wear my axe pendant, but I knew how to pray in Common.

"Don't worry," he said. "I will not preach to you."

"It's not easy being far from home," I suddenly confessed. "I fear that I'm losing myself somehow. That's foolish, but it's how I feel."

The cleric looked at me soberly. He said: "This is a wild and dangerous place. You need to be careful. Don't forget who you are."

"Thank you," I said, and I really meant it.

"Do you find it difficult to keep your faith so far from home?" I asked. I tried to pretend that I wasn't asking about this for my own benefit. When you're drunk you believe in your own excellence at the art of subtlety up until the moment you piss your own breeches.

The cleric laughed. "You must learn to bring 'home' with you," he said. "May the gods look after you."

We sat in silence for a time. I had achieved that level of drunk numbness which is a blessing and a curse. I knew that I had to make my way back to the ship or my friends at least. I embraced the cleric. We shared another drink and then I shuffled away. Drunk, content, and perhaps feeling confident enough to go on with my journey. That's what I remembered.

I was left staring there into the freshwater spring. The old version of myself was long since hone. This new and strange female form remained.

"What are you doing?" I asked the girl looking back at me from the water. "This isn't you. You're Prince Sindri. You're not..."

I gently touched at my feminine face. Feeling what I beheld in the water. My eyes didn't deceive me. Who was I kidding? I had been changed. "Converted" as Jericka called it. This was me now.

"Are you so taken with yourself that you're going to keep gazing at that pool?" said a voice.

I looked up to see the she-elf Riley standing above me.

I shook my head. "No, mistress. I'm sorry. Please—"

She stopped my talking by placing two fingers on my lips.

Riley said, "What's my name?"

"Riley."

"Good. Call me that. You're one of us now, so act like it. One day, maybe I'll be Captain Riley, and you can call me that, but I'm not there yet."

She helped me to my feet.

"We probably have enough water for now," she said. "Let's go."

"Miss...I mean Jericka said we always need it. She's very serious."

Riley offered me a sad smile. "I think Jericka did too good of a job on you. Relax for a bit. You know, I should've been the one. To do it, I mean."

"The one what?"

"The one to convert you. It was my turn or so Jericka told me previously. That's how it is with Jericka sometimes though. She was hoping to make another red-head. She's obsessed."

"Why?"

"On account of the one that converted her years ago. The one called 'Landa'. Some big chieftain. Jericka can't let her go. No matter what she says."

"You don't know this person?"

Riley shook her head. "No," she said. "I've heard plenty though. Sometimes Jericka insists that she wasn't with Landa for that long and then later she says that she was supposed to be her chosen successor or something. Who knows what the truth is? Come on, let's go for a walk. You can come back for the water later."

I was nervous about leaving my assigned duties, but Riley was Jericka's friend, so it had to be acceptable. I took a deep breath, and I followed Riley away from the spring. Riley led me towards a side of the island that I hadn't been to before. There was a small cove with many palm trees, but I could already see that some had been cut down. The wood from the trees was in differed stages of being processed. I saw something unexpected out in the sand. It was propped up on a series of logs to give some access to its bottom. It was a boat or at least a portion of one. I shuddered to think upon the violence that this poor vessel had seen or how long ago that had been.

"Do you know boats?" asked Riley.

"Once. When I was young. I would go to the harbor and see all the boats that came in and out of port. My brothers were taken out to sea by my father when he still sailed. By the time I was old enough my father didn't sail any more and my mother was convinced that I'd drown. I truly did want to be a captain once. Like in all my people's famous stories. Maybe I could make my father proud. It never happened though."

"You stopped caring about boats?"

I stood there for a moment with my mouth agape. Not sure what to say.

"Well, I suppose I got older. I found new distractions to occupy my time with. What is this?"

"My boat," she said. "I had it more complete before. I needed to redo it. One day I'll get it right."

"You ladies can't leave the island?"

"We have a few small skiffs that we can paddle out to the nearby islands, but not far out to sea. Jericka wants us to be cautious. One day, I want to sail us out of here. To find a better home for us all."

"You were a sailor before..."

She smiled. "Before I was converted? Yes, I was. I'd been trying to learn the trade for years. Signing on with merchant crews. I hoped to eventually be a captain or at least a mate. In the Royal Navy, in my old country, those positions are held by lords or the sons of lords, but I hoped that the merchant fleet would be more open. On my last voyage, there was a stowaway. That was Jericka. Things got a little messy. More violent than I would've liked, but eventually we washed ashore on the Molohri Coast. She converted me on that beach, the other ladies came later."

"She converted everyone?"

Riley laughed. "No. We were going to join with some of our kind in the southern empires. That's how we met Imani. She had just come from there, but apparently, she didn't get along with those ladies and refused to go back. We liked her too much to leave her, so we changed our plans. The others have joined as we go. Some were converted and some were already she-elves whom we found wandering. We're drawn to each other through the power of the goddess. It's how we stay safe. And now, there's you: our princess."

She laughed.

I remained silent. I was becoming used to their joke by then. I knew my place in the world.

Riley noticed my reaction. "No offence," she said. "Actually, we rather like the fact that you are our princess."

I took a breath. "Why is that?"

"People have always thought that royals are special, haven't they? We've been stuck here for a while, and if we can find some form of hope then that's what we need. Maybe that's you."

"You're looking to me for hope?"

Riley shrugged. She said, "I was a sailor. We depend on hope and luck. We hope for wind and kind seas."

"I don't know what I could do for you."

"Help me work," she said.

I followed Riley, and we went to work.

Much of what we did I didn't understand. I helped her cut and form some of the dead trees and pieces of driftwood into new planks or pieces for this boat. These pieces made little sense to me, but in Riley's mind she knew where everything would go. It was slow and difficult work because most of their tools were either crude or improvised. The blades on the tools were made from rock or precious pieces of scrap iron. Some were made from the volcanic glass obsidian found in some of the caves on the island.

As we worked, Riley went on to speak about some of the people that she had known in the past. She went on at length about that last human crew that she had been a part of.

"I truly wish that I'd been able to save Wex," said Riley. "He was a mean, scruffy old bastard, but a master carpenter. I don't know what kind of she-elf I could've made of him, but her knowledge would've been so useful."

I decided to pry a little. I said: "I noticed that Jericka has a captain's jacket. Was she a captain?"

Riley sighed. "No," she said. "That was Captain Miller's jacket. My last captain. Not the warmest of men, but very fair and honest."

"What happened?"

"When Jericka was discovered, she suddenly put forth the notion that she was in charge of the ship. Captain Miller disagreed with her."

I thought about the rough holes in the front of the jacket. Things hadn't gone well for the late Captain Miller.