I have returned to my room.
The first thing I did was retrieve this journal.
The second thing I did was stare at a wall for approximately three minutes.
The third thing was accepting that none of today made any sense.
I shall begin from the beginning.
After Madam Stella finished preparing me, a carriage arrived.
Not an ordinary carriage.
A terrifying carriage.
The sort of carriage that makes a person afraid to sit incorrectly.
The interior looked more expensive than several houses I have lived in.
I spent the entire journey trying not to touch anything unnecessarily.
The horses were equally alarming.
Four white mares.
Perfectly groomed.
Perfectly matched.
Perfectly beautiful.
I suspect they could win beauty competitions.
If horse beauty competitions exist.
The important detail, however, was that I rode alone.
I assumed the mysterious princess would already be waiting inside.
She was not.
The carriage eventually arrived at the Church of the Sun.
The plaza was crowded.
Very crowded.
Nobles.
Merchants.
Foreign visitors.
Important-looking people.
More important-looking people.
And several individuals who appeared wealthy enough to purchase small nations recreationally.
I had already decided what would happen.
First, I would greet the princess.
Second, I would politely pull the Caravan Master aside.
Third, I would finally tell him exactly what I thought about certain decisions.
Several decisions.
Many decisions.
Afterward, once I felt emotionally satisfied, I would request permission to rejoin the caravan.
Then I would perform whatever duties were required.
Perhaps serving tea.
Perhaps carrying documents.
Perhaps assisting the princess.
The plan was flawless.
Unfortunately, reality intervened.
The moment I stepped out of the carriage, I noticed people staring.
Not casually.
Actively.
I immediately became uncomfortable.
Being observed is considerably less enjoyable than observing.
Then several Moonfen Sisters noticed me.
I recognized the expression immediately.
A brief pause.
A flicker of surprise.
Then deep bows.
Again.
The same thing happened in Yggdra.
The White Fox Mask continues creating social problems.
At this point I have accepted it.
Reluctantly.
Several minutes later, the Caravan Master arrived.
At least, I think it was the Caravan Master.
Initially I was uncertain.
The man approaching looked respectable.
Well dressed.
Properly groomed.
Disturbingly handsome.
For a moment I genuinely thought:
Who is that?
Then I recognized him.
Which somehow felt stranger.
The Caravan Master can apparently clean himself.
This revelation alone would have justified today's journal entry.
Before I could recover, matters became significantly worse.
He approached directly.
Stopped in front of me.
Then—
Got down on one knee.
I would like to emphasize that I had no warning.
None whatsoever.
Then he spoke.
In Quenya.
Fluent Quenya.
Without hesitation.
Immediately creating a new problem.
Because it is surprisingly difficult to insult someone in an ancient sacred language.
The conversation went approximately like this:
Caravan Master:
"Aiya, heri Deluna. Mae omentielvo ad."
(Nice to meet you again, Lady DeLuna.)
DeLuna:
"Aiya, hér Eldar. Mae omentielvo ad."
(Nice to meet you too, Master Eldar.)
Caravan Master:
"Nai ú-mára le i lelya asenya sÃ."
(I hope you don't mind walking with me today.)
DeLuna:
"Mána ná i aranel i ná mi ambarnya?"
(Where is the princess that I need to accompany?)
Caravan Master:
"Quetuvamme as i lelya. Nánye lelya le na i mára nór."
(We will talk as we walk. I will bring you to a good place.)
DeLuna:
"Manen quetilme Quenya?"
(Why are we speaking in Quenya?)
Caravan Master:
"Únat. Queta asenya Quenya."
(Nothing. Just speak with me in Quenya.)
And somehow—
I obeyed.
Only afterward did several delayed realizations arrive simultaneously.
First.
Since when does the Caravan Master speak Quenya?
Second.
How does he know I speak Quenya?
Third.
Why am I speaking Quenya with the Caravan Master?
Fourth.
I forgot to insult him.
This was the most important realization.
I had prepared for days.
Days.
Then he switched languages and my entire strategy collapsed immediately.
While I was still processing this disaster, Ryn appeared.
And somehow became a second disaster.
She was wearing an official Roderick Street uniform.
For the first time since meeting her, I looked at Ryn and thought:
Oh.
Right.
She really is the heir of one of the largest merchant families on the continent.
The uniform suited her annoyingly well.
She approached.
Bowed.
Then greeted me as though we had never met before.
I stared.
She remained perfectly professional.
The betrayal was extraordinary.
Then Spathian appeared.
Wearing an official Resistance uniform.
That was somehow even worse.
For the first time since meeting him, he looked dangerous.
Competent.
Important.
Like someone capable of changing history accidentally.
Which, admittedly, is already true.
I was beginning to question reality.
Fortunately, Old Shard arrived shortly afterward.
Looking exactly the same as always.
The same patched clothing.
The same enormous collection of questionable possessions.
The same general appearance of a highly educated vagrant.
Seeing him was deeply reassuring.
Reality immediately became believable again.
After that, I became increasingly aware of how many people were watching us.
Several elves approached.
Each greeted me politely.
Some appeared genuinely pleased to see me.
Unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea who they were.
Apparently they recognized me from visits to Elven territories years ago.
This is deeply unfair.
Elves remember everything.
Humans do not.
Eventually the Caravan Master offered his arm.
Then escorted me through the city.
We continued speaking in Quenya.
Every time we passed Moonfen Sisters, they bowed.
Every time this happened, I became slightly more uncomfortable.
The Caravan Master appeared completely unsurprised.
We visited several locations.
Ate excellent food.
Drank excellent drinks.
Spoke about many things.
Most of which I now remember only vaguely because I spent the entire evening trying to understand what was happening.
Then it ended.
We returned to the inn.
And that brings us to the final problem.
After we arrived, Ryn smiled.
Then informed me:
"You did very well today, Miss DeLuna."
I immediately asked the obvious question.
"What part?"
Ryn laughed.
Then refused to elaborate.
Again.
Tomorrow we will attend the auction.
Apparently I will sit beside the Caravan Master.
My responsibilities are simple.
If he asks me a question—
I should nod.
That is all.
No further explanation was provided.
Naturally.
I am now lying in bed.
Exhausted.
Confused.
And deeply annoyed.
Because despite spending days preparing myself emotionally—
I completely failed to scold the Caravan Master.
Not once.
Not even a little.
Tomorrow, however, will be different.
Probably.
Assuming he does not start speaking Quenya again.
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