"RUN CHILD! RUN!" The old elf screamed to her daughter as they ran through the dense forest. The mob was closing in on them, the jeers and cries of the men echoing in her ears. Each step through the brush left a new cut on the elf's cheek, a new tear on the heavy wool shirt.
"THERE THEY ARE! GET THE KNIFE EAR BITCHES!"
Fear drove the old woman to run faster and left her to too afraid to look back. It was all she could do to keep focused on her daughter, only a few steps ahead. Only once did her daughter look back, her eyes wide in terror. If the humans got a hold of them… The old woman was too afraid to imagine what would happen and what they would do to her daughter.
The forest suddenly gave way to the plains and the thick mud churned up by the spring's heavy rainfall. The sudden change caused the old woman to stumble and fall with a shriek. The cry was almost lost in the thundering rain and only barely heard by her daughter, turning and slipping in the mud as she tried to make her way back to her mother. The terror in her eyes told the old elf that the mob was too close now, that they were doomed.
She waited for the club's blow that would hopefully end her life.
It never came.
"Away with you. This here is none of your concern!" The apparent leader of the mob had stepped forward, brandishing an axe handle. His clothes were dirty, patched with material from other, older items. His thin, wispy hair clung to his head as if it were afraid to be blown away by a light breeze. As he spoke it was plain to see he had lost more teeth than those that remained. Rough, weather-worn hands gripped the axe handle, the knuckles whitened as the grip tightened. Behind him stood five other men, all similarly dressed and armed; a sickle here, a rake there and other farming implements. "This here don't matter to you so leave afore we decide you're in the way."
It was clear these men weren't thieves or brigands, merely farmers. Farmers threatening an old woman and her daughter.
He looked down and saw the old elf being huddled in her daughter's arms. The pair were terrified, silently pleading with him for help.
He spoke, moving himself between the women and the mob. "I am here now; even if I did just walk away, I am still involved. So tell me brave sers, what have two elven women done to deserve such wrath?" A heavy green cloak hung over his shoulders, the hood pulled over his eyes, shielding him from the worst of the elements and hid his face from the men.
"For surely, brave sers such as yourselves, must only have given chase to these women for some heinous crime?" The tone was calm and lightly mocking, spoken in flawless Nevarran, save for a hint of an accent.
The leader sneered and pointed the handle at the elves. "They be witches!"
"Oh?" The hooded figure looked at the pair and shrugged. "And how are they witches? I see no magic here."
"They sold us a potion for our sheep, said it would make 'em better! They lied!" The leader spat at the women, the wind carrying it and hitting the hooded figure's cloak.
"LIAR!" The younger elf cried out. She gripped the figure's cloak and pleaded with him. "Help us, please! Their sheep were ill and my mother gave them a tonic to make them well. But it will take time! Please, don't let them take us!"
"Shut up, whore!" A second man stepped forward, the one carrying a sickle. "Damn knife ears. Only one way to deal with them."
He reached out, aiming to grab the girl's hair.
The figure moved swiftly, gripping the man's wrist and twisting it to a dull snap. Pushing the farmer out of the way, the hooded figured leapt forward and barrelled into the rest of the assailants. The leader was knocked down with a heavy backhand and the axe handle wrenched from his hand. The farmer with the rake was brought down with a bone crunching blow to the knee from the axe handle and a scream on his lips.
The others were too terrified to attack and ran back into the forest, carrying the farmer with his injured knee with them, the sickle farmer following. Only the leader remained, groaning and squirming in the mud. The hooded figure leaned down and grabbed him by the scruff of his collar, pulling him close before growling at the groggy farmer. "I will ask this once and once only. Did the potion help your sheep?"
The farmer groaned and nodded slowly, speaking through clenched teeth. "Aye, it did but not fast enough!"
The hooded man threw him down and rifled through his belt pouches and shirt, pulling out several silver coins. "Get out of here before I decide to take more, such as your head."
The farmer panicked and ran, slipping and stumbling with every step. Satisfied with himself, the hooded figure turned and began to count the silver coins. As he walked towards the elven women, he took a pouch from his belt and dropped the coins into it.
The women were still terrified as he approached, still fearful of any reprisal. The fear was still there until the man dropped to his knee and helped the old elf to her feet. "My apologies for that, my ladies. I saw you being chased and well, to be honest, it didn't seem fair." It was then that the man unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around the women, revealing a head of thick black hair, framing the sides of his face and a warm smile. He opened the old woman's hand and dropped the pouch into her hand and closed the fingers around it. "Take it. I hope that will cover any price you agreed upon with those farmers for that aid. Now, if you follow the road, you should come to an inn before nightfall. They will take care of you."
The old elf was struck speechless, amazed to hold so much silver in her long life. Her daughter spoke in her stead. "Thank you, kind ser. For a kindness, I offer one to you. Stay away from the northern hills. You will find only death there."
The pair thanked him again and turned, travelling down the path and hurried past three riders and a hound. The hound bounded forward and rolled at the feet of his master as one of riders approached, a second horse's reins in his hands. The rider smiled and handed the reins over to the dark haired man, his heavy cloak shielding him from the worst of the rain. "Introducing yourself to the locals, I see."
The young man chuckled to himself and took a hold of the reins. Steadying the horse, he pulled himself into the saddle and re-joined the other riders. "Oh you know me, Beranger; I always make friends wherever I go."
The cloaked rider followed and shouted to him over the rain. "Just remember Aedan, we were sent to help these people, not to cause any trouble."
"Aedan."
The name echoed and faded in the air, changing its tone, becoming more feminine, more familiar.
"Aedan, wake up. You were talking in your sleep."
Aedan's eyes opened and saw his lover looking at him, her eyes betraying mild annoyance. "Sorry. What?"
Morrigan caressed his cheek and smiled. "I said you were talking in your sleep. As you have done every night this week. Tell me what it is that has you so rapt in your sleep."
Leaning forward, Aedan ran his hand through Morrigan's hair and kissed her lips. "Forgive me, my love. It was only a dream. And nothing more."
Satisfied for now, Morrigan returned the kiss with one of her own and rested her head on Aedan's chest. Stroking her cheek, Aedan fell back asleep with his words still playing in his mind.
Only a dream.
And nothing more.