After his workout, Nuada-Prince Nuada, he mentally reminded himself sat and thought about the past. This day was bound to come. He would at least do something. Unlike his father, unlike his sister, who would not persuade their father. He was not a bystander.

Nuada-Prince Nuada, he mentally reminded himself, mused on things from long ago. Nuala. His other half. He loved her so much. He thought about their childhood, as they played together; hiding from each other in the trees as the golden leaves fell. Hiding a pile of leaves was more of a challenge. Still, with the link, not much of a game. It was more of a challenge to hide in your mind where you were. You had to close your eyes for this game to work. They created miniature boats and floated miniature armies in them. Together. There was so much that could be done together. She would need convincing.

When the war began the twins initially were hidden, to keep out of harm's way. As the war dragged on, and Nuada grew, he often went with his father into battle to oversee and to supervise. He did not understand this feeling of guilt when the golden army was raised. It should have been the total and utter destruction of the humans. The problems of the Elven nation would have been solved then.

Why did his father wish to endanger her, to endanger them by NOT warring with the despicable humans? They create more filth than even he had ever imagined possible. Death, destruction wherever they went. Old, infirm. His father was no longer fit to rule. He should have abdicated years ago. How could his sister be so content? She was wise once. She could be made to see reason.

How could she stand by and watch as year after year the numbers of the elven race plummeted? Elves were now mere lore to humans; stories to be told at night. The might of the elves was forgotten. The Elves had faded from the history of this now-struggling planet. Nuada planned to bring the Elves warring back. Elves would be lore to humans no longer.

Deftly he picked up his spear, redressed and stalked toward his destiny; good or bad, his shadow, his lackey in tow.

Brother, do not do this! Do not plan it! The thought arrested him in his tracks. It was tenuous, far away, a mere strand of thought.

It came to him through their bond, full force. His sister, his only playmate for much of his childhood due to the war was now afraid. She was afraid of him. But there was another emotion underlying this. He could not sense what it was from so far away. He made a note to himself to investigate later.

He would try to convince his father. He would at least give him that one last chance, but he was prepared for the worst. It did break his heart to see his father on the throne, so old and useless. His father was a mere figurehead now. Long past was the day that he looked up to his father; strong, all-knowing.

His father taught him much of what he knew, to begin with. The history of the Elves was vital to Nuada's education. There were many stories of death and destruction. He wanted to make sure he did not repeat the mistakes of the past. It was because of his father and for his father that he was convinced he needed to do this. At least, should his father refuse, he would die with dignity. True, it would not be the dignity of dying in battle, but with some dignity, rather than withering away, like a used up vine.

It was a great disillusionment when his father let the human nations have their cities. They did not stay in the cities. Rather, they chopped down the trees of the forest and spread out from their cities. They were heartless, and mindless, to be crushed underfoot like bugs, yet not nearly as useful in the regeneration of forest life. Bugs at the very least had a purpose. Humans, so far as he could tell, did not.

He spent as many minutes training during the day as he possibly could. He would be prepared. Angrily, he stalked on. He was intent toward his goal. Did his father no longer have any pride? Was it that he could not see right? Could his father not be made to see right? Should Nuada not die in the attempt to recreate the golden crown he could only hope that he did not grow to be as old and infirm as his father.

There was no longer an elvish pride. Elves used to be a very proud race indeed. Now, forced to live underground, and in the trees, where the sun did not always reach the earth, they had become pale and weak; everyone except for Nuada. He had made sure to hone his skills-strength, intelligence, agility, flexibility.

He was regal. He was royalty. He would not cower! His journey would be much more than a day's walk. He needed to go into the city to recover the human pieces of the crown. This would take time, and planning. He needed to make a side-trip along the way. It would be the humans who would cower.

The pieces were far, but getting closer as he walked. He could sense them. Soon. Very soon the Golden Army would be raised, and the humans extinguished once and for all. The one race who were ungrateful, graceless, sloppy. . .Nuada thought. He could go on and on. In his mind there were not nearly enough adjectives he could use. Disgust is adjective he would use. It was his disgust of the humans, what they did beyond the borders of the cities. It was they who broke the treaty.

The sun began to set and still Nuada walked on. He thought about the depravity of the human race, the inferiority. It was the anger that fueled him. Without the anger, he would not be who he was today. He had his father to thank for that also. Finally though, he began to grow weary. He would stop for today, there was still time. Tomorrow he would complete his mission. Tomorrow would be a day the humans would not soon forget.