Role

Chapter 2

And what that choice led to could never have been predicted. She was diligent.
She was focused. And she delved deeply in the musty archives, the oldest of
libraries. So far back the writings were barely legible, practically a different
language. And there, more than five years later (for an elf, not an unreasonable
amount of time), she found it. Oh, not what she was looking for. Something
much, much worse. In the oldest parchment, almost dust itself, was a record of
the beginnings of elfin magic. And there, something that may not have been read
for countless millenia until she found it, she learned the awful, terrible secret.
Conventional wisdom speaks of the elves being a small nation because, living so
long, they have few offspring. They are taught, and the world believes, that
it is merely cultural, and natural.

It is not.

Written there, in the oldest of the old, is the truth. Magic is a poison. A curse.
It comes with a price, but does not tell you of the price before you buy it.
Magic changes the user, in body, making the women far less fertile. And it is
passed on to each generation, even if the children are not magic users themselves.
In more populous species, like humans, it is so spread out as to be nearly
undectable, almost without effect. And humans are much more recent additions
to the world of mortals. But elves. Elves are fewer, less diversity of blood
lines, but most important, they have been using magic longer than any other
species in all thera. It is so ingrained it has changed the elves, entirely.

She can recall that moment with crystal clarity, as if it were yesterday. She
had just learned perhaps the most important thing in the history of her people.
Everything else paled in comparison. But what to do?? For the high elves, magic
was almost like breathing. She was looked at askance so much precisely because
she did not desire magic. How could she expect anyone to listen? But she was
a princess, and she had been bred to duty, even if not in a manner she would have
like to perform that duty. It really want's a difficult decision, just a hard one
to carry out. But she was never a coward, and fear would not keep her from her
duty.

She gave herself seven days to come up with the perfect speech. The best words
to use to explain to her grandfather and father. She knew she would have but one
chance, and it had to be the best possible. She rehearsed. She rewrote. She
practiced. She barely slept. The days went by in a flash and on the morning of
the seventh she found herself standing before the throne. In a calm, precise, and
perfectly rehearsed presentation, she explained, and showed the ancient text.