Attending a feast in the city of Pretipaxae, Duke Phemelius Eantahr and Fia the Elf-Bard shared words with its ruling Lord, Dogalshnue Felaforthipon Kustiocciditentior. During this conversation, Lord Dogalshnue asked the Elf-Bard for her name, to which she gave one of several true answers: 'Fia'. Speaking Sun-Elvish, she added: "At ofikuem huaemiak dukys insolnu kuva Luriach okkanto."—'And my service to this strange commander (meaning Duke Phemelius) sets with the Moon.' Later during their time in that city, Phemelius himself responds to this unclear statement, saying that Fia's words 'could have many meanings'. And while those who know Fia well might be able to surmise what she meant—that her time with Phemelius would be 'ending with the Moon'—Lord Dogalshnue, who did not know Fia very well, reacted on the basis of one particular interpretation.
For he said: "Skath Fianorra, irx faebistus!" which means: 'As Fianorra, from out of the stories!' and was greatly amused to catch the reference. So you see, his interpretation of Fia's name depended on some story, yet unrecorded in this tome. We'd like to add this underpinning context, as it may help a reader understand Fia, whose life and motivations can at times be opaque. She has gone by several names. 'Fia' is a chosen one, though all words are created. For a purpose, if not several.
The stories, and poems and songs of 'Fianorra the Harlot' are old ones; created, passed down and modified by the Sun ('High') Elves of the West for centuries. And while a tale is bound to change as it's retold by a changing culture, we of the relative future can also understand that old stories tend to reflect ideals of the older times from which they sprung. This translation of one classical story into the human language has been made with a desire to preserve the original premises of said story, and since we in the future are… more skeptical of such premises, a reader might find some presented ideas distasteful. We'd go so far as to hope one does. This story's Prologue ('Of Elves and Men') also intends to represent certain oft-accepted premises of western culture; we would wish that, with this tale also, you read with these thoughts in mind: noblemen, and those under their employ, tell stories which intend to justify their rule. One might even enjoy a certain ironic quality to this tale's invocation, as Fia would surely prefer.
FIANORRA AND THE DOOMED PRINCE
As I sat drinking in a tavern, on one dark damp and fire-lit night,
My eyes espied peculiarity, for in this dreary, dimming light,
There was a high Prince of the western throne, and although he smiled proud,
'Twas known that he faced execution; all 'eared when he proclaimed aloud:
"I shall now tell you of a woman, one I loved, hated and feared,
From off her head ran wavy brown locks, over prim high-pointed ears,
And although this exotic mixture did delight most men she'd meet,
It was her twisted eastern cleverness which raised her from the street.
Born courtesan, she was a wife to me, for what short time I'd last,
I'm heart-set now to pass my story on; my years are nearly past,
In noble ending I've found wisdom, still, I fear my heart too nice:
Of I the Prince and Fianorra, wench for whom I paid the price."
"Fianorra was a beggar," said the Prince of all High-Elves,
"Her father was an Elf she didn't know; she hardly knew herself.
This girl was born of a far-eastern ham; a round-ear was the sow.
Both women paid their bread whence sowed within by farmsmen's 'indoor plow'.
"She came up knowing of no other way: spread-legs-to-bed-to-mouth,
'Til in the West, chance gave good favor: Agridoma, in the South,
Had on its throne, a Duke unbidden—he was old, though his mind spry,
'Twas later found his house was rutted, veiled; its coffers all near-dry.
To one low as this foreign lady-wench, pittance seemed a princely score,
But when the old Duke first set eyes on her, he proposed this painted whore:
'Doth thee aspire, common lady, after more than one small steal?
'There could yet be arranged between us, a prolongèd sort of deal,
'For though your wiles shan't beguile me, might they be exploited yet,
'Men love the hint, but won't suspect the whole of your sharp mind, my Pet.'
"This deal was not to make his wifing of her oft-carressèd hide,
'Tis said this Duke laid no hands on her, asking words, nor even eye,
Duchess had died, and without heirlings—his had need for one right-quick,
Instead this Duke had whore as a daughter, or: ward of court-politic.
She was so learnèd, cleaned and dolled-up, as though she were some half-niece,
And she displayed fine-garbed for suitors, for 'twas coin the two would fleece:
With Fianorra the false lady, masked by Duke that lent his keep,
Himself the wolf and she the wolfling, and untested knaves their sheep.
" 'Twas this foul scheme I stumbled into; back when I was such a fawn,
A lad as I was not the only then heart-smitten, to her drawn.
'Twixt all the vying and heart-trying, I believed I'd had hers too.
But the foxes chose for treasure, and my house is filled up-through.
Of all these matters I was warned, by friends, and uncle of my crest,
But I thought: 'What use is coin, I've plenty; must not I serve love's behest?'
We shared one night, which did suggest to me we both rightly adored,
Then harlot left; she quit me wholly, said: 'My heart shall not be yours'.
"For months I wallowed, beat and bleating, in first sorrow of heart-broke,
Until to me my cherished uncle, King's first brother gently spoke:
'Each Prince must 'choly, whence heart opens wide, chaste-given, and is spurned,
'And though there's hardness, see the dawnbreak: there's a lesson to be learned.
'For you lost tears, but not your fortune, and that's luck to wizened eyes:
'A dame wants one and not the other, and the rest is a disguise.'
"So I set on, some measure wiser—so I thought, still in my youth,
Found then a lady who was plainer; past love, I'd pursue per-sooth.
She, princess of the western isles, from rude face she spoke plain too:
'My house has need of coin, and you of wife, let me then be joined to you.'
Did she perceive the drop of innocence still left within my soul?
Did she believe that she could trick me: we to mare and I the foal?
Her house was solid—not impoverished by some measure, timeworn too,
By their adherence to the ancient laws; just then I should have knew.
"For her lord father was a cruel man, ruther less for daughter's heart,
Which, just as mine, had harsh been broken: dowried, suitor did depart.
Her lord writ code—and this I knowed—a prince, for her would need to swear,
That he would wed or dead—bed, or lose head—the King's seal did this edict bear.
"By this alone I should have seen the line of scheming by the start.
Much later I learnt Isle-Lady's had been an unwilling part,
For though her shape hurt stares, she was yet fair, and of pure noble line,
There did lay between us some true bond; 'nuff I wisht our clans entwined.
…Only after I sent message—Agridoma, hoping yet,
And Fianorra even gave reply: 'Nothing more; my heart is set.'
Resigned, I swore my oaths to Isle-house; thought I'd learnt the lie of love.
I shall regret this haste for all my days, in soil or above.
"My wedding eve, far West, was pleasant only coldly; dreary dance,
I had begun to see the truth of 'love': fair pact, a lord's best chance.
I'd have a wife for house and offspring; passion, but a childish trife…
Indeed that night, an offspring came to me, in a womb not-my-soon-wife's.
Yes there inside sneaked Fianorra, of a way all women might:
She child-bearing, tender, seeking—shocked, I fled into the night!
I saw the wolves's game in full, just then, and I knew my mutton chopped:
Neck, treasure soon made to divide, each both, by the first lamb of my flock.
"Back to my lands I strayed, in secret, and I counseled with my kin,
How might my head and all our holdings slip this trap we'd fell within?
'Might you now wed to Fianorra?' asked my cousin—fresher foal.
'You must escape your execution!' cried my uncle—bless his soul.
They were both unwise, and I a tested Prince—only too late.
'We must draw up our own schemes,' I said, 'find ourselves the least-worst fate.
'Have then what course might save our noble house, though they all might see me dead,
'And for this scheme we must have knowledge: we must stay "one step ahead".'
"We did argue and scope out, connive, as fair folks only must,
About my clan were many enemies; only truths could we now trust,
There were hard laws arranged against us; oaths I swore shall see me bled,
Only those who'd dare decide the game, might remain 'one step ahead'.
"So we assembled all the players—I was but one piece on the board;
And Fianorra and her patron, they whose schemes firstly set the score,
Then also Isle-lord, my once-betrothed—they a party only wronged,
For this dark plan had strung us both up, and the planning had been long.
So too: the lords of all high houses, who had cause to see laws kept,
Among them was the King my father: eyes still red for how he'd wept.
And there as well—brown-white haired, in first sprigs—one highborn who had lost and won,
He who's made no mistake or treason: mine and Fianorra's son.
I addressed all, guilt naked in my words; I myself was not so clean:
'You all have heard of my oath-breaking. But! There's a truth here you've not seen:
'I swore my hand to Isle-Princess, for I thought her my love true,
'I did not know of this, my firstborn, until after he'd swelt though.
'I'd choose to wed with this fair lady, but my oath's revealed for lies,
'My heart's but owed to Fianorra, strumpet who did wool my eyes.'
" 'And what of my house?' said the Isle-lord, 'edicts should bend to your heart?'
'No, you see,' I said, 'poor father-wed; there's a lie here from the start.
'Never would I be for your sprog, dear man, though she is a lady fair.
'There's but one way for my line's future, and he is sat suckling there.
'Law wants my head, and you will have it, for I broke your daughter's heart,
'So have your price from me—I'm lost, you see—I must choose the brown-haired tart.'
"This course the nobles did agree upon: my sentenced death obeyed,
But my acceptance was not folly; I forged more schemes 'fore that day.
Duke Agridoma I shared words with, and my 'one true' harlot-wife,
Not for affection, but: a treatise. The conditions for my life:
My wealth would be with Agridoma's shared; treasure sent to Duke and whore,
Though my wise uncle would be regent—'til adult, the child she bore.
The price: my son, he would be cared for, and become a Prince as well,
To be a King, if he might rise to it, though his father will have fell.
To this I told the Duke, and my kin true, tears from out a smiling face:
'What better pedagogues than foxes, that my son might rule his race?'
Told them both, as well, all else I'd learnt: Fianorra, not his line,
Might then be jeopardized, in bastard-claim, should I choose: to Isles entwine.
When trollop spat:'Then go! Be Isle-Prince!'I could only smile and scoff,
For I did not, at this time, highlight all the ways I'd be worse-off.
"Two schemers swore to my conditions—they tied down binding oaths themselves,
To arrive: my death, two houses bound, saith lords of all High Elves.
I was provided but a week then, to ensure affairs arranged.
Through these, the world's moved as if in a fog; those around me now are strange.
I could but work to set things best I might, as unlikely as it seemed,
But then: I did it," the Prince whispered, as he drank up his last Beam.
And now the tavern all was silent, as with eyes bright-wet, he said:
"Now I to death… for accepting least-worst outcomes, is 'one step ahead'."
Then royal guards entered this tavern, and the doomed Prince stood, and said:
"Do not give pity so to fight, dear friends; I am bound to lose my head.
My want was: one drink and one story-told, that I might yet keep my soul,
You have my thanks for all your hearing ears, may I pay you for your role?"
He was pulled up and dragged out hurriedly, though he shouted as he went,
And there was joyous mirth resounding, in each word to us, he sent:
"You may perceive that I am satisfied, though soonly to be gone,
As there's a fine gem I've picked up here; might some wisdom be passed on…
For though I've eked out some small comfort, she'll be rich and I'll be dead:
When bed a whore like Fianorra, best to stay TWO steps ahead!"