AN: Welcome, welcome! I've been working on this on and off for, ach, several months now, and it has most definitely turned out much longer than I expected. Still, I have done my best, and I hope you enjoy it. It was born from a conversation with Laelaloo over on DA – she told me one of her headcanons about Gabilan, and I simply had to write something for it!

Fair warning though: this chapter is setup. A lot of setup. Onwards!

OoOoOoO

Part 1. The egg that hatches the chick

Llarell clomped into the pub. She couldn't help it, in her heavy farm boots, clomping was her default footstep. She clomped her way over to the bar, and rapped on it twice.

"Hey! Setton! You back there?" Llarell called.

"Coming!" came the muffled voice of the bartender. It was followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

As Llarell waited she turned and surveyed the rest of the pub, back to the bar top, elbows resting on its surface. Empty, the other patrons having skittered off to their homes and beds. The fire was banking low, casting a dim glow. As the footsteps drew closer, Llarell began chattering again.

"You would not believe the hatchin' we've had this year! I mean, I s'pose it's to be expected, what with the layin' being such a trial and bad things coming in twos and all, but honestly I swear it's like the birds are trying to spite us or somethi-" Llarell swung around, and her voice died away.

That wasn't Setton standing behind the counter. Instead, it was another elf, a stranger. He stood there, smiling politely in a slightly awkward manner. Llarell shut her mouth with a snap.

"Can I help you?" he asked, with a slight touch of an unknown accent to his words.

He was a broad, soft-looking fellow, dishtowel slung over one shoulder. Rather than opting to style his hair in the usual fashion of braiding it or having it loose at shoulder-length, it was instead cut in an atypical fashion, just about covering his ears. Hair aside, Llarell couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she got the distinct impression that there was something else that was... odd about the elf. Realising that she was staring, she gave her order.

"I'll have the Three Bird ale, ta."

Normally Llarell was great at minding her own business, possessing the brusque and preoccupied manner of farmers everywhere; as long as the farm continued to run, she couldn't give a hoot about someone's past or personal business. But for some reason, the elf behind the counter kept drawing her gaze, and she had no idea why. Llarell tried not to stare as he prepared the drink, instead forcing herself to inspect the bottles hung behind the counter (a view that was already imprinted on her brain to such an extent that she could've made a detailed painting of it with her eyes shut). When the mystery elf swam into view once more, plonking the glass down in front of her, Llarell was grateful that she had an excuse to look again, eyes quickly roaming and mind racing as she tried to figure out why in the name of the Erlking she couldn't stop goggling him.

She suddenly became aware that the mystery elf was now staring back at her; he'd definitely said something, but she'd been so lost in her own thoughts that she'd completely zoned out. What'd started out as quick glance had unfortunately stretched into yet another stare.

"Hmm?" she said, snapping back to reality.

"Three kresh?" the mystery elf repeated, saying it like it was a question.

"Ah, yeah, shoot, sorry." As Llarell fumbled in her pocket for change, she snuck another glance at him. She still couldn't put her finger on what it was… But speaking of her fingers, hers felt like they'd been electrocuted, jumping and fumbling as the slippery coins eluded her grasp again and again. The moment stretched into an uncomfortable one, the mystery elf still smiling in a slightly concerned way behind the counter. She finally managed to slap the correct amount on the counter with more force than was necessary, and immediately spun around, burying her face in her tankard as she did, only to inhale at the wrong moment. She snorted and coughed.

"Surely it's not that bad?" came the familiar voice of the barkeeper, Setton, as she emerged from the back room.

"Setton!" exclaimed Llarell through a fit of coughing. There was an unintended amount of relief in her voice.

"You alright?" asked Setton, one eyebrow raised.

Although she'd expelled most of the liquid from her airways, Llarell felt if she opened her mouth she'd probably cough some more, so she settled for nodding her head whilst wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

"Ha! It's been so long, I though one of those birds of yours had finally carried you off, and we'd be findin' your bones in a nest high up in the mountains! Though I see you've wasted no time in becoming acquainted with our new help, eh?" Setton clapped the mystery elf heartily on the shoulder.

"New help?" Llarell parroted, and ended up coughing some more.

"Ah, well, ol' Kaspar here turned up one day and despite what I might've claimed in the past-" Setton shot a pointed look at Llarell, "-turns out I could actually do with a second pair of hands around here." She gave Kaspar's shoulder a friendly shake before letting go. "This is Llarell, and if you can't guess by the smell, she owns the bird farm."

"Oi!" Llarell turned her attention to the newly-christened Kaspar. Internally her mind started to warn her away, what are you doing, why are you prying like this, what does it matter, but it was too late. "So you're not from 'round here then?"

'"You're not from 'round here?" What sorta question is that?! This place has a population of thirty-four, and you know every single elf here! 'Course he's not from around here! Way to sound like a suspicious yokel, Llarell!' she thought.

Kaspar was still smiling, but there was a certain guarded quality to his eyes as he answered. "Yes. I have been travelling around for a while."

A heavy pause rose in the air as Llarell digested that answer. It wasn't really much of an answer at all. It was more of a deflection.

Reading the suddenly-awkward air, Setton thumped a fist down on the bar top. "Welp, we can't stand here chewing the fat all night, got things to do! Kaspar, would you mind checking our stock of Felmet eggs? I was going to do it earlier, but ach, other things kept getting in the way, and now I need to see to that tap."

Kaspar nodded, and as he did so the motion caused his hair to bob about his ears, drawing Llarell's gaze to them. She began to open her mouth, but thought better of it and shut it. And just like that, the things that'd been eluding her slotted into place as well.

Kaspar's ears were strange. They were pointed, yes, but they were also a lot shorter. A lot rounder. The pointed tip seemed like more of an afterthought balancing on the top, as if someone had taken a human ear and pinched it.

But the real meat of the issue was his eyes. The pupils were slitted, but they seemed fatter, and once again, rounder. Almost like they were dilating in the low light, much like a human's would. And they weren't glowing.

As Kaspar disappeared into the back, Setton quickly leaned across the bar, her face close to Llarell's.

"Okay, look, it's as dark as a bird's backside in here, but that doesn't mean I can't see how you've been looking at Kaspar."

Llarell threw up her free hand in a placating gesture. "Hey, hey, I've got nothin' against him!" She paused, as Setton continued to eye her. No one could fight Setton's stare; Llarell had seen the most burly of elves wither under it. She broke. "Buuut I am wonderin' why Miss 'I-work-alone' Setton, has suddenly decided to hire help. What gives? You wouldn't even hire Hamer, and he slept out in front of the pub for a week trying to convince you, remember?!"

Setton drew back, looking faintly conflicted. She crossed her arms, gaze roaming up and across the ceiling for a moment, deep in thought, before finally letting it settle back on Llarell.

"H'okay," she began. "Okay." She sighed. "I guess I can tell you. But first off, I'm only telling you this because I've known you forever, and you'll somehow, ah... bird metaphor, bird metaphor... peck the truth outta me in the end. Second, what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room, okay?" She jabbed a finger at Llarell, whose eyes widened in surprise. "If you even whisper it to one o' your birds, I'll know, and then I'll eat that bird, and it'll be delicious and I won't have to eat for a month. Am I clear?"

"Weird mental image and vague threat aside, yeah, I gotcha."

"Right. Okay. Right. You thought about the war, recently?"

"Huh?" Llarell was caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "No? I mean, I guess I'm always kinda aware of it, yeah; our birds are bred for it, but I don't really think about it."

Setton nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's the way it is 'round here. We're outta the way, so it's easy to forget. But for a lot of folk that ain't the case." There was another pause as Setton considered her words. Llarell took a sip of her ale. "Kaspar… Kaspar's avoiding the war." Setton quickly held up a hand. "Don't ask me why, he's got his own reasons, for him to know and him to tell, if he chooses so. But, point is, he needs to be somewhere out of the way, at least until this whole war blows over."

'Blows over'. That was how Setton always described the war, as something that would 'blow over 'eventually. There was always a slight sardonic implication when she said it though; as if something as terrible as war could ever just quietly peter out, with no implications and mess afterwards.

Llarell nodded thoughtfully. "Right."

"So to that end, he's gonna be helpin' me out here, until either the war ends or he moves on, whatever comes first. And that's all you really need t' know on the matter." Setton stepped back, her hands on her hips, surveying something above Llarell's head. "Right, I really gotta sort out that thrice-cursed tap, but remember, if I hear that you've been blabbing there'll be merry hell to pay."

Llarell rolled her eyes, smiling. "Setton, it's me. S'not like I've got anyone to talk to around here."

oOo

Later, as she clomped up the rough track to the farm, Llarell looked at the moonlight as it played over the mountain peaks, and thought. So. Kaspar. He'd said that he'd been travelling around, and then Setton had confirmed that he was avoiding the war, which was. Hmm. Something. Setton shrugged to herself; she couldn't blame him for wanting to avoid that particular bloodbath. Up here in the mountain range known as Ganon's Gate, tucked away on the edge of Gulfen, the claws of the war never quite seemed able to reach them. It was like the village was its own little country, and what stories of the war that survived the trip to their little outpost always seemed like they were happening to some other country, far, far away. Perhaps Kaspar was a deserter? Again, Setton couldn't blame him. When a fight was going poorly a stormbird would turn tail and fly away and people would call it smart, but when an elf wanted to do the same thing, suddenly it was (in the words of the only piece of propaganda that'd made it to the village) 'UTTER COWARDICE AND A FAILING IN ONE'S DUTY TO THE NOBLE ERLKING'. (Said poster displaying those words had a picture of the Erlking, seated, with a hand extended out towards the viewer. However the poster had gotten a bit wet on its trip into the mountains, and the colours on the Erlking had run, giving him a splotchy, melted look. No one had felt particularly driven by it to enlist, and so the village's population had remained at a steadfast thirty-four.)

But then there was the case of Kaspar's eyes and ears. Llarell had never seen an elf whose eyes didn't glow, and coupled with his rounded pupils and rounded ears, well, it made you wonder… But then again, perhaps he was one of those elves who was into body modification? Or perhaps it was a birth defect of some sort?

Llarell shook herself, and stretched upwards as she walked, pointing both arms to the sky, making her spine pop. Whatever Kaspar's deal was, she hoped he'd be comfortable enough here.

And with that, Llarell put any speculation to the back of her mind. She was a farmer, and speculation wouldn't care for her birds.

OoOoOoO

Time passed slowly in the mountains, and if it weren't for the weather, it would seem like it didn't move at all. For Llarell and her brother, Dattar, time was kept by the birds; seasons were more of an afterthought, yes the trees would change and certain plants would bloom, but this was when the birds would start to moult, and about here was when the males would gain iridescent feathers in preparation to attract females, and this was when the birds would be rowdier, and more, in a never-ending loop.

Their parents had passed on years before, leaving the two siblings to manage and run the farm between them, and due to this there was rarely any time to visit on the pub on anything like a regular basis. As such, there were long gaps of time between each sighting of Kaspar. He was almost like a cryptid, Llarell catching a brief glimpse of him as he hurried through the pub, off to do one task or another, sometimes never seeing him at all. She had to admit, he seemed nice, if a little quiet. A dependable kind of fellow. But then again, that was an image based solely on speculation and what little she'd seen of him about the place – for all she knew, she could be wildly incorrect about everything and he could turn out to be a complete bird-backside of a fellow! Well, she'd never know the truth if all she did was watch.

As it was, things progressed due to a sudden whim one evening, two hatchings after Llarell and Kaspar had first met. Like that first evening, it was late, the pub almost empty. Setton was somewhere out in the back, fixing something; there was the occasional clink and tink of metal, and some much more frequent cursing and sounds of annoyance from Setton.

Dattar rose to his feet, clapping a rough hand on Llarell's shoulder.

"I'm headin' back, sis. I wanna check in on that hen one last time, make sure she's still happy." His voice was oddly soft for a fellow of his stature, and as a result people were often taken off-guard when he spoke, having expected a much deeper timbre.

"Sure, sure. I'll be along shortly, yeah?" said Llarell.

Dattar nodded, and left. Like Llarell, his default footstep was a heavy-booted clomping.

Llarell sat, nursing what remained of her pint. She could have easily swallowed the last of it in one go, but that would mean having to up and return to the farm, thus getting locked back into the daily routine once more. She wanted to savour the final sliver of free time, make it last for just a touch longer.

Kaspar hurried by, a tray tucked under one arm. He stopped behind the bar, checking something below the counter. Llarell watched him idly. It was probably just the alcohol in her system talking, but she was suddenly struck by the urge to get to know him better. It'd been, what, two years since he'd come, and she barely knew a thing about him. He seemed a nice sort of fellow, not too hard on the eyes to look at, and it wasn't like there was much choice when it came to folks out here. Besides, it might be nice to have another point of contact which didn't fall into the category of 'Brother', 'Soldier', or 'Setton', and ah, what the heck.

"Hey. Kas. Kaspar," said Llarell. Well, things were off to a good start, nothing says 'hi' like almost accidentally insulting the fella.

He popped up from behind the counter. "Can I get you something?"

"Nah, nah, nothing for me. Can I buy you a drink?"

For a moment Kaspar's face was curiously blank and he seemed to shrink in on himself slightly, as if someone had just accosted him. Then, slowly, gradually, he relaxed. He checked the clock on the wall.

"I suppose I could. Closing time is nearly here, and I do not think there will be many more people tonight." He smiled, but it was a quick, fragile thing, gone in a flash. "Thank you, Llarell."

oOo

It was late when Llarell finally returned to the farm – much later than she'd intended to be. Somehow she and Kaspar had gotten chatting, mostly him asking questions about the farm and farming, and her telling him about her life growing up there, along with the antics that she and Dattar had gotten up to when they were younger.

"You came home late last night," said Dattar the next morning. He cast a knowing look at the bags under Llarell's eyes. "Get sidetracked by someone, did we?"

"Ah, shut up, Dat," she grumbled from behind a mug of coffee.

Dattar grinned pointedly.

oOo

When Llarell was next at the pub, Kaspar made a beeline for her the moment she entered.

"Ah, Llarell. If you do not mind, I would like to repay the favour."

He'd bought her a drink, and there had been snatches of conversation between them as he worked. Llarell found herself enjoying both the experience, and his company. Before she'd left (once again having stayed much too late), she'd turned to him.

"How 'bout you come up to the farm sometime? Y'know, to say hi? If there's no one about, just give a yell!" She smiled, and quickly retreated out the door.

oOo

"Llarell? Miss Llarell?"

Llarell almost stumbled to a stop in the middle of the farmyard, caught off guard unexpectedly. Behind her, the injured stormbird she was leading squawked indignantly at the sudden yank on its halter.

"Shh, shh," she soothed, somewhat distractedly, as she ran a hand over its feathers.

"Llarell?"

Turning to where the voice had emanated from, she bellowed back. "Yeah?!"

There was a much quieter "Ah!" followed by the faint scrape of footsteps. The next second, Kaspar appeared, trotting out into the main body of the yard. A grin split his face upon catching sight of Llarell, and she felt her face respond in kind.

"Kaspar! Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes!" she said. "So, you finally decided to come an' say hi!"

For a second Kaspar shrank back slightly, smile fading, eyes dipping off to the side. The next moment the mood seemed to have passed, and he was as he had been before, smiling and standing tall.

"I am sorry, Llarell. I did not mean to leave it so long, but-"

Llarell held up a hand, cutting him off. "C'mon Kaspar, no need for all that! You're actin' like it's been two years, not two weeks!" she laughed.

Behind her, the stormbird made a soft trilling noise in its throat as it eyed the visitor. Kaspar blanched slightly.

"Hey now, none 'a that!" Llarell warned. "Sorry, she's just a bit antsy 'cause she hurt her wing and it's givin' her gyp. Taking its sweet time t' heal, too."

Kaspar ran his eyes over the stormbird, drinking in the sight of her. While he doing so, Llarell took the chance to run her eyes over him. She had to reckon that he looked even nicer in the daylight.

"I must admit, I have never seen a stormbird up close before," he said.

"Ha, well, come with me an' you'll soon have your fill of stormbirds!" Llarell gestured to the bird. "I can't really stop – gotta put this one in her stall – but we can walk an' talk."

"Ah!" Kaspar suddenly brightened up, a light entering his eyes. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance? I am familiar with farm work, although I must admit that it was mainly in crops and chickens."

Llarell found herself smiling once more, and gave him a firm clap on the shoulder. "'S a good start! 'Sides, when you get down to it, stormbirds are just chickens that've been given better wings. C'mon, the stalls are this way."

oOo

It was almost funny in a way, Llarell thought, how easily Kaspar slotted into her life, and how easily she slotted into his. On his free days, he would come down to the farm and help her and Dattar out (but mainly her, to Llarell's secret delight), despite their insistence that he didn't have to. Then, whenever Llarell had some free time, she'd head up to the pub, usually finding some excuse to bring some produce along: some eggs, or feathers for bedding, or, on the rare occasions when they'd had to put a bird down, meat.

Setton of course, found the entire thing hilarious, and delighted in goading them on, elbowing Kaspar when Llarell walked into the pub, and waggling her eyebrows at Llarell when she was staring at 'her man', as Setton put it.

"This is heaps better than any of those romance rags in the library!" she would exclaim, for what Llarell reckoned must be the fiftieth time in a week. She simply settled for rolling her eyes, and making a mental note to goad Setton whenever she was next in a relationship.

Others might have called it odd, really; she and Kaspar had somehow slipped into the waters of relationship without any real proper confirmation of it. Locked into one another's routines, it had just somehow happened, somewhere along the way they'd crossed a border of sorts, ending up in waters that were a close companionship of a vaguely romantic sort without really being overly romantic in itself. But that was just the way things were, up in the mountains. You got on with the solid brick-and-mortar of living, and relationships were just something you fitted in the cracks along the way. It was a sharp contrast to the romance novels which had mountain life as their setting. Llarell had read one once, a rather tattered thing that had been lent to her by a neighbour when she'd been going through a bout of sleeplessness and had needed something to read at night. She wasn't sure exactly what to expect, but had ended up with a completely unrealistic tale where the romance was the focus, and the mountains had just been a fancy sort of backdrop for the main characters to tramp around and gaze broodingly at the sunset whilst thinking of one another. Like herself, the heroine had worked on a farm, but proved to be surprisingly frail, constantly fainting at anything and everything, from blood, to animals giving birth, to the point where Llarell found herself both wondering how the farm ever made a profit and mentally making notes on how to improve the farm's output.

It was only one evening, when they'd just finished locking up the birds for the night that, once again, on a whim, Llarell had turned to Kaspar, feeling a strong rush of affection for him and said "Hey, Kas. I think I love you."

It was the sort of confession that would have made both the romantic hero and heroine in the book groan and turn between the pages. Kaspar had flushed in an oddly delicate way, smiled, and said "I think I love you, too Llarell."

And that had been that, the pair of them walking hand in hand across the yard.

Confirmation.

And again, much like relationship, Kaspar moving in to the farmhouse just sort of happened. It all started during the winter; on nights when the weather was particularly unpleasant enough to risk going back down to Setton's, he had stayed in the farmhouse's spare room. (At least, that was the official story.) From there, the farmhouse slowly absorbed him as he gradually stopped over for the night more and more, and what few possessions he had steadily migrated there in an odd sort of exodus from the pub.

Setton, for her part, didn't mind.

"Hey, it's freein' up a room!" she had said, and then promptly waggled her eyebrows so much that it looked like her forehead was having its own localised earthquake.

And while such an arrangement might have been frowned upon in proper society, up in the mountains nobody really cared, or even had time to care.

And so time ticked on.

OoOoOoO

One day, Kaspar lead them far up a mountain trail. From there, the collection of buildings that was generously referred to as a village seemed like a scattering of toys.

"How far are you planning to take us, Kaspar?" asked Llarell, casting a look back at her farm. "S'just I need to change the bedding soon, before I get the birds in."

Ahead of her, Kaspar stopped. "This is far enough, I think." He turned, and smiled. Llarell found herself automatically smiling back.

In the daylight, his eyes almost looked like that of any other elf, the pupils contracted to a neat slit, the lack of a glow less noticeable thanks to being swamped by the sun.

"Do you mind if we sit for a while?" asked Kaspar, gesturing to the side of the trail.

"Yeah, okay."

Together they plonked themselves down on the grass, Llarell flopping back to stare up at the sky, watching the clouds overhead drift by. A familiar shape cut across the sky, a dark shadow against the blue.

"Hey, Kas, look." Llarell gestured upward. "Wild stormbird up there. They don't usually come this close 'cuz of the farm. Mus' be a juvenile."

Kaspar watched the stormbird pass by, head tilted upward, his profile neatly outlined against the sky.

"It reminds me of the time that wild stormbird broke in and bred with your hens." His voice was oddly quiet.

"Hff, yeah, don't remind me. Had quite the pair of talons on him; it took a week to repair the damage he'd done to nest-house wall!"

"Yes, it was most inconvenient of him to, ah, inconvenience you in that way." Kaspar watched with a faint smile as the stormbird disappeared behind a mountain peak. "I wonder what his chicks will think of him, their wild father?"

"Ha! I can tell you what they'll think: who's this strange ol' cock? Stormbirds ain't much for family, y'know." Llarell stretched, and settled herself again.

"Hmm, I suppose that they are not."

Off in the distance a songbird sang, relieved that the much larger and potentially predatory bird had gone.

"Tell me, Llarell, what do you think of elf-human relationships?"

Llarell's eyes snapped open from where they'd drifted shut. "What?" She sat upright, looking at Kaspar. His gaze remained fixed on the sky a moment longer, before turning to look at her.

"Elf-human relationships. Your thoughts?"

Llarell sat, slightly taken aback by the question. She shrugged, and reached up to scratch the back of her head, a puzzled look on her face. "Well, there's lots of different folk in the world, and y'know, at the end of the day, s'long as you're not hurting someone, that sorta stuff is your own business. Do what you want, yeah?"

"But what about your stormbirds?" Kaspar continued. "You control who they breed with, do you not think the same standard should be applied to people?"

Llarell snorted derisively. "Kas, they're birds; they'd breed with their own family if they could! People are a different matter."

"So, you would not object to such a union?"

"Why should I? S'not my business."

Kaspar smiled. "I'm glad to hear that."

Llarell frowned slightly; this conversation was leading up to something, she could tell, but what? The unknown element lurked in the discussion ahead, like a mountain peak hidden in mist.

"Look, what's this about, Kas?" she asked. Sometimes it was easiest just to blunt.

"My grandmother was a human."

Strangely, Llarell found that she was not a shocked by such a revelation as she expected to be. Instead she just had the small thought of 'Oh, okay, that makes sense,' flash by in her head.

"So you're…"

"A quarter human, yes."

There was silence for a moment, as Llarell considered this.

She shrugged. "Well, okay then. Thanks for tellin' me."

"You seem to be taking this well," said Kaspar. His expression was a mixture of many things: mainly guarded, slightly puzzled, and a tad optimistic.

Llarell took his hand in hers. "What, were you expecting me to turn on you or somethin'?"

Kaspar looked away, his expression grave, and that action alone told Llarell more than any wealth of words ever could.

"Oh, Kas..." She slipped her arm around his shoulder, and pulled him close. After a moment, he put his arm around her shoulder too. They simply sat like that for a little while, watching the sky as the clouds drifted by.

"I guess that explains why you came here then," she said eventually. "No one ever comes out here."

"Yes," agreed Kaspar. He pulled away, suddenly animated. "I mean, it is not as if I am obvious, my tells are not as blatant as my mother's! And yet…" He sighed, shoulders slumping.

"It's not enough," finished Llarell.

"Yes. My eyes do not glow, my pupils dilate, my ears are too round, and surely you have felt it, yes?"

"Felt what?"

"My skin. It is a little too soft for an elf, just a tad too spongy." He brought her hand to his wrist, and place it there. "See?"

Llarell had never noticed it before, but now that he'd pointed it out, with her hand touching him, she could see what he meant. His skin was just a touch softer, and when she pressed down, it gave way without much resistance.

Kaspar continued. "I am an elf, but I am not elf enough. And because of the war, that is the incorrect thing to be."

"S'that why you brought me up here today? To tell me this?" asked Llarell.

"Yes. I have wanted to tell you this for a while, but," his tone turned sombre, "past experience warned me away. But I felt that I would be lying to you if I did not tell, especially since, ah…" He trailed off, fingers fidgeting nervously.

"If we end up havin' a kid, they'll be a little bit human too. That what you're sayin'?" said Llarell. Again Kaspar nodded. "Well, like I said before, I appreciate you tellin' me this. An' lemme tell you, even though we might hafta think about it, if we did decide to have a chick, I'd love 'em and everyone here'd love 'em, and Setton'd probably spoil 'em silly, because she thinks a great of you, y'know, and they'd be the best loved kid this village has ever known."

At that, Kaspar laughed. Llarell had never heard him do so before; it was a rather high sound that tripped over itself, but it lifted her heart when she heard it. Untangling herself, Llarell hefted herself to her feet.

"C'mon. I've gotta get that bedding changed. Fancy givin' me a hand?"

"For you," Kaspar smiled, "anything."

OoOoOoO

AN: Okay, I just wanna make a quick note down here - if you've read X99.2XXA, then you'll know I've got a particular giant headcanon involving elf names. I'm gonna slap it down here so that you don't have to go an wade through a 5(?)k Tremily story to understand. :D

There's a lot of rules tied up with Royal names - when a child is born there's an approved list, divided up and catalogued by meanings, which they can select from. It's a very serious business, and the meaning behind the child's name is almost a wish for how their rule is supposed to play out - for example, in time of strife, a royal child might be given a name which means "peace" or "stability". Alternatively, giving a child a name that means "war" would be an outright declaration of aggression. The name is announced to the public in a ceremony.
Because royalty can only select names from a set list, they've ended up having to be quite creative, and there's a strong tradition (at this point it's practically a given) that a royal member's name contains some sort of pun or double meaning. For example: Luger's name means '(He who is) Strong', but it's also very similar to 'Lumer' - a type of hardy flower, native to Gulfen's mountains. Trellis' name means 'Night', but when written in a particular way in Erl, also means 'Dawn'. It's also highly likely that the Elf King knew what a trellis was on Earth, tying into Luger's pun name further*. Past elf royalty certainly had a sense of humour.
*(Yes, yes I know they ascended to the throne rather being born into royalty so this doesn't really work, but I have a good explanation, and that explanation is- LOOK OVER THERE IT'S THE SPIRIT *runs away*
Because of the social rules surrounding nicknames, specific pet names or terms of reference are common, (e.g. dear, friend), or in the case of family members, referring to other members by their position in the family (e.g. sister, brother) - (the latter in particular holds a few rules, but how enforced they are varies from family to family - some will be okay with terms like "sis" and "bro" and so on, whilst others will only accept the full terms).
Speaking of family, the rules around nicknames get a bit bent when it comes to family - nicknames are view more leniently if it's between family members - after all, you live with them. Again, this varies from family to family.
Just like there are occasional exceptions to the rule, there's also an exception to the nicknames rule - just like dropping a honourific from someone's name in Japan in a sign of closeness, using a nickname with someone who isn't part of your family is seen as an indication of 'Elmreth' (meaning double-headed, but a more literal version would be: 'two people who are so close that they are sharing the same body') - you're so ridiculously close that you wouldn't care if they disrespected you in this way. This is incredibly rare and only used by people who are very, very, very close. Trying to do it with someone who you aren't close with in that way is an incredible insult.