An Apple For the Road, Complete

by KLPeterson

Post King of Shadows, Elanee will enlist Casavir's help on a quest of her own that will bring them closer together at the cost of great sorrow

An Apple For the Road

"This cabin...is there someone you pay? Are you in the process of buying it?" Elanee was still learning the ways of born city dwellers such as Casavir. She wasn't certain how to phrase her question properly, but he was already nodding. "Yes. Nasher was generous. It is already mine for as long as I would like."

He came out of the modest wood log structure with a fresh mug of ale in each hand, passing one to the druidess. There was an absence to his expression that she thought she understood, though she would not speak of it. It was a feeling she knew well. The two of them sat down on the handmade steps that he was still in the process of refining. "This new craft that you have taken up suits you, my friend." She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the wood that he had planed by hand. It had no life to it- all the greenness was long gone.

"I only use trees that have fallen," he said with a half-hearted smile.

They sat thus following the setting of the sun with its varied colors. Now and then one of them would sip at his or her ale, though few words were spoken.

"We always knew that there was a chance that some of us would fall." Casavir's blunt words caught Elanee by surprise, shaking her from the half-drowsing state that the night's arrival had begun to nurture. Another time, perhaps, she would have closed her ears to such things. But his words were gentle, and so was the hand on her shoulder. His very presence was a comfort she had long grown accustomed to taking for granted. "We all accepted that chance. It was essential that we each be willing to pay any price."

"But to live all of those years, only to die." Her words tolled like a clear, still note in the silence. They rang with the loss of poets, with the longing of youth. "I have always been led to believe that death is a part of the natural order of things. Still it seems an indignity to who he was. It felt much more personal than that."

"You loved him," Casavir said.

"No," Elanee answered with rising intensity. "I admired him once. At first, I thought I loved him. But he was rash and selfish in his way, and after a time I came to find fault with all that he did. He scorned my advice. Each decision that he made became more and more involved with his own needs, and that of the horned one. But it seems kind of sad to me how he still went into battle willingly, so young, not caring if it meant the end of his own life. Why should any of us have to make that choice?"

Casavir studiously avoided meeting her gaze. "Perhaps, then, you are sorry that you did not love him," he said with finality.

When she left her leafy bed in the surrounding wood the next morning, he was already outside of the cabin chopping wood. He didn't see her at first. Each swing of his arm brought down the axe firmly and decisively. In this, he clearly had found an outlet for all of the frustration he did not know how to express or understand. His back was bare, muscled shoulders shimmering with his exertion. Elanee realized that she had stopped in her tracks from her vantage point in the wood. She watched him bring down the axe again, splitting the wood into two neat halves with one stroke. The sheer brutal strength of his humanity demanded her attention; the raw physicality of the act gripped her in some unknown way. She brought a hand up to her lips as if he might see the breath that escaped, and discover her clandestine fascination. Casavir's chest was broad and toned. Fine black hair lined his chest in the center as if drawn there by an artist's careful hand. That line worked its way downward, narrowing, disappearing into a simple, makeshift woodsman's kilt. Elanee admired the visible power of his legs, the shape of his calves, how each breath forced the air out of his lungs and caused his chest to heave.

Then she shook her head as if to clear herself from the daze she'd fallen into, and cleared her throat loudly.

"Are you always up with the dawn, my friend?"

"Yes," Casavir replied, panting as he set aside his axe. "Sleep does not come easily to me these days." He walked to a barrel of clean water, dousing himself with it liberally before reaching for one of the fresh shirts kept on the line behind the cabin. The material struggled over his frame, all the while forcing Elanee to lower her eyes lest she caught staring. She felt suddenly ashamed, like a child caught reaching for the forbidden, and she retreated to an inner place where no one could read her thoughts on her features.

"There's bread to be had, and fresh fruit still from my last venture into town. You are welcome to break your fast with me."

"Perhaps an apple for the road." She wrapped her cloak around her arms as if chilled.

Casavir walked into the cabin and began arranging the breakfast things. "Does something trouble you?" He placed a bowl of fruit onto a newly carved tray, followed by a pitcher of cow's milk that he had been keeping cold in the frigid stream closeby. Deftly, his large hands worked to slice a small loaf of bread into two even pieces. He passed her a share as he sat down at the table across from her.

"I'm very sorry if it sounds impolite of me, but I'm certain that you did not come here to share a few meals with me. There are any number of inns from here to the Mere, if that is where you indeed return. Your kind do not appear to have a need for these things at all. How can I be of assistance to you?"

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His eyes are so infinite, she thought. There is so much more inside of them than that crystalline blue. There are storms. Regrets. An unspoken anguish. Something he has lost. And still so much beauty. So much goodness and honor. In moments like these, I can see into the depths of his very soul.

A pang of weakness came over her in that instant when she came back to the reality that those eyes were on her, and expectant. Elanee took her time in returning to the present. Such silences were not unknown from her. Casavir regarded her across the table with a genuine, kind interest. He had always admired her gentle way. Or perhaps it was the way the druidess stopped to consider each of her words before she spoke. Her head would tilt just barely perceptibly. Often her hair would fall over one of her ears, the tip of the ear rising through the soft red locks that graced it. Yes, he had seen her in the eye of a man that sees a woman, but he forced his respect for her wisdom and appreciation for her as a friend to the forefront. Given patience, the thought that she worked to form would come to her.

"You are entitled to the peace that you have found here, Casavir." She looked down at her food, untouched. Then, drawing her hands up to cup her face introspectively, she continued. "You have done and seen so much. If I could avoid it, if there was any other choice, I would leave you to it."

"Peace." The word fell from his lips as if it was strange to him. Pondering it, tasting it, he stood from the table and turned away from her. His arms were crossed, but more thoughtfully than defiantly. It was as if, he mused, he had never heard the word before and so sought to comprehend it. "Lady, I am not certain if there is such a thing in all the realms to be had. I had all but convinced myself that if only I could eradicate the orc threat for the people of Old Owl Well that such a thing could come to me. And then when there was a further call for heroes, we answered that in kind."

"We did answer it," Elanee whispered. "And then there was only more death." The sound of her voice dropped like a scrap of discarded paper. Who would hear it? Who would translate the language of the heart's cry? There were none to hear, and the forest was ever endless, never forgiving, always accusing. Death, and death, and death.

"There never is an end to it, as long as we still breathe. I was foolish to think that I could stay here for long- as if there are not other evils to be fought, other causes that must be answered. Do you understand?"

"I do, Casavir." Although he looked away from her, staring out of the window of the cabin, he could hear that she had risen from her chair, her footfalls approaching from behind. "That is why I am here. There is something more that I must do. I would like you to come with me. You are my last true friend. And I trust you, as I know you have come to trust me. I can not even tell you what it is that must be done."

The ridiculous domesticity of this small kitchen, the wood stove, the woven rugs threatened to overwhelm him. Elanee's words wove a vision of open sky, a world where one slept under the capricious clouds that were and weren't at intervals. He closed his eyes and went to that place where steel rang, unsheathed, and he threw himself into battle with abandon, always keeping the goal in mind like a mantle of righteousness about him. He heard the roaring of the crowds again as Lorne fell, and he watched the wizard fall to his knees in the ring. Some are born to die, he heard again. His conscience warring with his common sense. He was born to be a hero, and to battle on, and to die in his time. If not to Lorne, than to the whim of stone and mortar as it fell.

How could he honor that sacrifice and continue to live as though he wasn't one of them?

If you have been given voice, the sages said, then you must sing.

His eye roved to the hearth, where his hammer and shield sat unused. "If we are to leave, we leave tonight."

A deep, shuddering breath of relief went through her at his words. It would be so much more bearable with him beside her. And then, quite suddenly, it came to her that she would willingly walk into the hells as long as Casavir stood with her. Tentatively she reached out her hand, and then her arm. Casavir's body went rigid for the barest second to feel her arms entwining around his midsection. Her hands lay flat against his chest, head finding a place to rest upon the back of his shoulder.

"Thank you, Casavir. Thank you. I am not so certain that I could find the strength to do what I must if I had to go alone."

"Then you will not be alone." He closed his eyes, cherishing that touch, but as of yet uncertain as to whether she meant it in friendship, or felt the same need that he now struggled against. Hesitantly, he brought up his hand to rest it upon hers. What to say? What to hide? Would there be time for everything that needed to be said? Should he say anything at all?

His composure briefly shaken, Casavir returned to himself.

"You... honor me with your trust. Let us gather some things and set out while the day is young. The dangers that we face will increase with the coming of darkness."

"Very well." Each retreated to his or her own space, the momentary intimacy broken. Elanee seized a sack hanging from a hook on the wall and began to toss fruit into it. There had been something different between them, if for just an instant. Hadn't there?

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"I have never understood this innate desire that city-dwellers seem to have to set fires."

Evening had come without warning, interrupting the pace of their brisk walk. Without concern, Casavir assumed that the druidess knew exactly where it was that they were going. She had, after all, discovered his temporary home in the middle of a well-concealed wood without assistance. He had no doubt that she was completely capable of leading them to whatever destination awaited. The destination itself was still a mystery. Perhaps it was why she had chosen him as her traveling companion. Mutual trust was a commodity whose value could not be overstated in a world where myth and magic were very much alive. Any creature, beautiful or foul, could conceivably come traipsing out of the wood in their direction at any given time. It made sense, then, to allow the elven woman to lead the way. No one could be more at home in a wood than the very daughter of that wood, who spoke the language of every living creature within it. He knew this to be an unshakable truth- Elanee could awaken in any forest in all of Faerun and find her way home.

This did not change the fact that the druidess looked heartbreakingly frail and small sitting across the fire from him. She had her light, feminine hands on her lap, a faint, friendly smile rising from the corner of her lips. The naturally created stump that she sat upon was much too large to frame her properly. Casavir went about the business of fueling the growing fire with small, dry sticks, and various bits of brush.

"I can only imagine that it is born of man's reckless desire to consume everything that he sees. It is a small thing to end the life of a tree when it would grant a wanderer a night's warmth. Not that I begrudge you your fire," Elanee chattered nervously. The paladin was at that moment imagining that she resembled a tiny bird, flitting from thought to thought. Despite the obvious concerns that a druid would not doubt raise, he was not pleased with the idea of what lay out there in the surrounding trees. There was no path here. There would be no signs pointing the way to the nearest village. A traveler would have to carve out a path for him or herself. This meant, naturally, that there was nowhere to run, and no one to come to the rescue of any who were foolhardy enough to forget precautionary measures.

Then there are the remaining undead.

He pushed the grim thought to the back of his mind. There would never be a nightmare again that did not include those half-rotted creatures that had once been men. Some without limbs. Some dragging useless broken ones. Who could blame a man for wanting some protection against the remainder of the King of Shadows' scattered armies? It was not so much their numbers that had scraped at the edge of his courage, when it came down to the fray. It was the insult to the natural order of things. A man is born. He lives. He lies down and finds his peace at the last. Each newly risen creature was an abomination in the face of life, of beauty, of the dignity of the spirit who had once occupied the same space. There was not a creature that the paladin had faced that had affected him so deeply or left such an indelible mark on his own soul.

Are we really so different, she and I?

"I shall do my best not to be offended," Casavir said. At this, Elanee searched his features, thinking that perhaps he had made a weak attempt at humor. "Nevertheless," he went on, "I must insist. There are worse things that we may face if we are not cautious."

"You are right, of course. I am afraid I have seen too many schoolchildren setting a wood ablaze for the sake of bravado. You will have to forgive me, Casavir. I do not doubt your skills."

"Nor I yours, Lady."

"There is no lady among us. There is only a man, and a woman. Have we not faced enough as friends that you would be willing to make use of my name? A name is a gift that we are given the right to bestow on those we honor."

"Yet you have given yours so freely," Casavir replied. His brow was creased as though carefully considering her words.

"That is where you are wrong. I have only given it in part. Our companions called me by many names, and never once were given the right to speak my name in full."

His voice softened. She could only just hear him over the snapping of the fire and the song of the insects in the forest.

"And you would grant this gift...to me?"

Then there was the end of all waiting, and all considerations, and the birth of a new anticipation. It may have been ages before she spoke again as far as he could tell. He found that he wanted to interrupt her, to tell her that she did not owe him such things. But he did not do this thing. He would not rob her of her gift to him.

"You are quick to listen, and not so quick to speak. Are you so eager to learn it? Once it is yours, I cannot take it back from you. You will know the sound of it on your lips. Are you not afraid?"

Before he could think to reply, his reflexes sprang into play, intercepting a sudden projectile aimed in his direction. It had only taken half of a second to toss the apple toward him. Yet through the air it sailed as if slowed by an unseen force, tumbling end over end until it landed with a hard smack in Casavir's fist. He turned his head to look at the simple, harmless piece of fruit, knowing she had not meant to cause him harm. It was just an ordinary apple.

"Strange," Elanee sighed. "Not afraid to accept a mere apple, my friend?"

He brought it to his mouth, where he bit into the meat of it, chewed, and swallowed calmly. Then he nodded, as if appreciative of the flavor. "This apple, I believe, was mine."

"Ah, but you gave it to me, did you not? That makes it mine. Casavir." Her eyes locked onto his as she stood, walking over to look up into his face.

"I concede your advantage," he said quietly. "But, My Lady... Elanee. I did not take back the gift once it was offered. Do you mean to withdraw yours?"

The timbre of his voice, low and direct, had moved her more than any of his words. Gently, and without any further comment, she lifted her hand to his cheek, tapering her first two fingers down the edge of his aristocratic jawline. Casavir held his breath, for he dared not allow himself even the interruption of that slight movement. He watched as the druidess leaned up far onto the tips of her toes, drawing his head down so that she might whisper into the sensitive flesh of his ear. All of his being found instant focus on the contact of her lips forming a single word.

"Elaneela'riessa."

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On the third morning, though Casavir did not speak of it, he was beginning to feel positively unclean. He felt some subtle guilt at having lived such a life of moderate wealth that he knew well the luxury of keeping himself well-groomed, but by the same token still believed that comeliness and a regular bath were avenues to keeping the confident appearance that his station required. Who would hear or be moved by the word of a dirt-streaked paladin with a patchy showing of beard? There was more white in his beard these days than he would have liked to admit. Although the sinister word 'vanity' rose to his mind like an unwelcome visitor, he found that he was more than just a little relieved when their seemingly invisible trail led to a humble farming town.

Here they would be able to fully provision themselves for the journey ahead, Elanee announced. Casavir looked forward to the bath and clean bed that he knew mere silvers could buy.

As the two of them mounted the hill that brought them into full view of the town, it could be seen that there was more field than village. Rows of farmers tilled the fields, quite like the scene in the city of Highcliff, Elanee thought to herself. Robust human women worked at planting seeds with muddy hands while contented youngsters lay pinned to their bodies by slings and woven contraptions. The men had taken up the harder labor, and pushed and grunted with hoe, fork, and an unseen strength. A few whistled as though in the belly of paradise, imagining perhaps that their necks were ringed by the glittering jewelry of the gods instead of circles of grime. Hardly a man looked up from his work when the two travelers approached.

"The tavern is over the next hill, mum. Sir."

This from a harried mother whose child even now picked apart her bonnet strings. The town was a series of small hills that formed a bowl with an odd depression in the center. The houses themselves were unremarkable. Casavir stole glances at every corner as if by doing so he would at last find a name for this strangely happy little community that had not found its way onto any map he'd ever encountered. Did people truly go about their lives in such a manner, content to bring forth the fruits of the earth below them, living each day without any desire to do more? He found that the more he considered it, the more he felt a deep, grudging respect for such simple folk. The lessons of Old Owl Well had taught him that honest laborers made true companions. All of the milliners and clothiers in Neverwinter could not make value of a single man. But to weather the elements day by day, to thrive on the work of one's own hands, to claim one's stake and to earn the right to own it- there was a dignity to this life.

But when he looked closer, he saw something more.

It was the stink of desperation. The ground was not as green here as it should have been. Because he'd been so deeply entrenched in his own thoughts, Casavir had not noticed that the rich lushness of the trail they had taken had begun to give way to more faded areas in the terrain's livery. Only a few miles back, the trees had worn green leaves like emerald combs in their tresses. Here there was worry on each face, as certain as the rumbling of distant thunder. A storm was coming. Elanee had fallen to one knee, taking the sleeve of the matron who'd spoken. "Has the harvest not been good?"

"There has been no rain, mum. Not for so very long. And now that it comes, we have been living so long on what we'd stored away that we aren't ready to face it." There was shame in her words, the way she bowed her head, confiding her fears to strangers. Weather was a fickle thing, and, when the seeds were not fed, the farmers stopped planting them.

"But you do have enough? If you get them all into the ground before the rain comes?"

"Aye, mum. But there will not be time. These seeds are all that we have been able to get from the market, and it is four days' journey to the south. They must be planted two hand spans down if there is a chance for them to grow."

Elanee nodded briskly, all business suddenly. "Then we will help you."

Casavir dropped his packs into the dirt by the side of the fields. An unspoken communication passed between his eyes and those of the druidess. They were in agreement, and together they would do this. His dreams of a bath forgotten, he got to his knees beside the townsfolk and took up a basket of seeds and a trowel.

"We're obliged," a fellow further down the line said simply.

It was true that the rains were coming. She could smell the freshness of the dampness on the wind, raw and impending like the desire for her friend that she'd held at bay. For reasons she could not understand, seeing the streak of dirt on Casavir's cheek along with his strong shoulders stooping in hard labor roused a tenderness in her that one thousand endearments could not have forged.

She concentrated on that heaviness in the air. Her will was the strongest metal. It would not rain, not until they were finished the planting. She would not allow it.

The work went on for backbreaking hours, but at last all of the seeds had been planted. Thunder again wracked the slate expanse above them, scattering farmers and children indoors. Their work was now done, and they would gather gratefully around tables for their sparse meals with a prayer to Chauntea.

Elanee stood on trembling legs and started to walk toward the sound of the thunder. Her hair whipped into the frenzy of the winds even as she lifted her arms to embrace the storm. The two walked to the edge of the wood where the feeling of wrongness began. Elanee lifted her arms upward, as if taking the sky as a lover. Then she began to chant, and she did not stop until the very first drops of rain fell.

Behind her, Casavir placed a hand on her shoulder. When she had turned only half of the way toward him, he drew her to him with a powerful strength and pressed his lips to hers. His firm, masculine hand eased over her brow as if to drive away her cares. His embrace was demanding, forceful, yet clearly pleading, and she felt herself respond with a desperate passion that rose from places she had not known existed within her. He felt as though he held the very wind and rain in his arms.

There was nowhere to get out of the rain now- it drenched each of them, washing them clean of any inhibition or pretense. He could hardly stand his sudden yearning to simply touch her bare skin as much as he possibly could. Then his heart seemed to expand within him to find a room for this new love as it swelled inside of his chest so that he could not find enough room for his own breath. He stripped off his shirt so that he could know the full contact of her skin, and, when she gave it to him, it was shocking in its warmth.

The warm rains wept with them.

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Ed. I am taking some "writer's license" with the OC for the purposes of the storyline. The KC in this story was male, and clearly made only selfish decisions- actions for which he would almost certainly have had low faction with Casavir and not been approached by Casavir in the Temple of Tyr with the option to have him fight in his place. The reason for this diversion from the actual repercussions of evil actions in the OC will be made clear and are central to the storyline.

"I would speak with you."

"Come in," he answered quickly, climbing to his feet at once. She felt a renewed warmth for him when he hurriedly cleared a chair so that she would be comfortable in his room.

"No, no, there is no need for you to stand. We are not at your human court in Neverwinter. May I?" Gesturing at the bed, he gave a brief nod. Elanee settled onto a coverlet that was clean but had seen better days.

"What troubles you, Elanee?" Though they had finally known each other as lovers, even the diminutive of her name would always feel wild and strange on his tongue.

"It seems that I should ask you the same. You ate little of what was offered at table this evening. It is as if you have gone somewhere else that is within yourself to turn over some stone until it is smooth enough to cross over water. We have traveled long enough together, Casavir. I know when there is this strangeness within you." He nodded, easing himself back onto the edge of the bed. His head fell between his hands for just a moment, and then his jaw set rigidly.

And then she sighed. "The Knight-Captain once more, is it?" Her correct guess caught him once again by surprise. Casavir regarded her with a raised eyebrow that could not conceal suspicion of the depths of her talents.

"No, I can not read your mind, or your heart." The words relaxed him visibly, flickering eyes becoming impassive. Still, he leaned forward where he sat at the bed's edge, with his fists upon his knees gripping the material of his breeches.

"There are times, like tonight, when I still see myself standing in the arena in judgement of Lorne."

"Of Lorne? Or of Zachos?"

It was a point well made. Zachos Jueir, wizard, the Knight-Captain, the hero without a cause. The man whose life had been lived and wasted, as if every day had not been precious, as if the gold he so favored would give his life even the smallest meaning. Hearing his name again brought clarity to Elanee's thoughts, and, though she waited patiently for her turn to speak, the name tossed her once again into a maelstrom of bitter annoyance.

"I knew what I had to do," Casavir's voice rang with conviction. "But secretly somewhere within, I knew that I had lost my respect for him. I thought his act cowardly. No matter that even then, he seemed incapable of facing what was before him. It was my duty to offer to defend him, because of his innocence. Although he was not a warrior, I had hoped that ultimately, he would stand as a man."

"I had hoped the same," Elanee said quietly. "But in the end, little mattered to him but that someone called him hero. Like many city-dwelling folk, he had come into the position of gaining himself a title, making himself a mountain of gold. For some, the offer is all too tempting. And when I saw that he no longer cared what it was that we meant to do, it was then that I truly turned my back on him."

"But you did not turn your back on our cause."

She smiled thinly. "No. We both went quite willingly to whatever fate awaited us, so long as we knew that we were making some difference. You were entitled to your private thoughts of him, as was I. Yet you were also faithful to the end."

"Was I?" He leaned heavily on his knees with his hands. There was genuine feeling rising to the surface of the polite and measured calm that usually was his way. "I began to despise him in those last days. Every choice that he made branded him with another ill epithet in my sight. Fool. Coward. Liar. There was no soul remaining in his eyes- merely a cold, burning ambition that hollowed him more and more by the day."

"And yet, he did what needed to be done. We owe him at least the mention of that."

"I am not so certain that we do. It is true that he could simply have left all of us to our fates instead of joining the many in their final resting places beneath the stone. But, ask yourself, had he lived, what did he stand to gain? What door would not have been opened to him? What honor would have been out of his reach?"

"I do not know why it is that you insist on dwelling upon such things. Do you have a need to fill up all of your hours in this cycle of doubt?"

"There are some things which cause me doubt," he replied gently, looking upon her countenance as if she shone with her own light. "And then there are those things that do not. You must forgive me if I have caused you distress when it was comfort you sought. Will you come and lie beside me for this last night, before we must find the road again? I would be... grateful for your company." Those simple, naked words had been so hard to say, Elanee thought as she stretched out beside him on the humble cot. It was passingly big enough for two, but they would have to huddle close all throughout the night if either wished to stay atop it.

"Casavir," she said with a disarming lift in her voice. "I did not like him much, either."

Then he burst out into a rich, hearty laugh, and there was only mirth in it.

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The wind tousled his hair, as black as a night without a showing of stars. So innocent were his features in his gentle slumber, lost to a sleep so deep and dreamless , that she ached to touch his cheek with the palm of her hand. There would be the scratchiness of a two day beard, the fullness of the curve of his lip. The noble lines that his character had drawn on his face now made sense to her, where before she had only considered him haughty. He could have been a godling or a prince; instead, he was her heart's one true love. And tonight she would have to leave him behind.

She looked to the sky for comfort, but there was no moon.

"Let there be no more choices like these," she prayed silently.

It wasn't fair, of course. When he awoke to find her gone he would know the true anger of one who has been deceived and abandoned. And although this tormented her more than any other thought her mind could conjure, she knew that he would never allow her to go on knowing her intent. If she ended the trail here and now, there would still be time to do what must be done. Casavir was no tracker. He could surely find his way back, at least to the nearest town. Elanee knew that the only way that she could now go on was alone.

The scent of his body still clung to her cloak. Carefully she drew the hood over her hair in the darkness. Then, wistfully, she folded a few things that she knew she would need into her packs. There would be food aplenty for one who knew how to look. But she'd grown to enjoy the seasonings that city-dwellers used on their meals, in spite of herself. One bag of salt went into her bag with a spare wineskin. She blinked at the wineskin twice, as if it offended her. It was Casavir whose lips had last been upon it. She recalled how he'd tossed back his head to get the last taste of the water within. The line of his throat, so solid, so masculine, hungrily wringing it for the few drops remaining. He managed to make the smallest action sensual.

And yet, how chastely he kisses your hair at times, Elaneela'riessa.

Her vision blurred. The dagger would have no pain for her, would it? Her knuckles whitened with the tightness of her grip on the hilt as it went into the bag. Into the depths it sank, joining the other necessities. Then she spun suddenly out of control, the blade gouging out of the bottom of the bag with its sharp point as someone gripped her from behind. Jarred, heart seizing up within her, she had only enough time to gasp before a rough hand found her mouth. She gagged at the sour taste of the finger that probed at her lips, while what could only be a male arm took the wind out of her, encircling her belly.

"What's a whore of nature need with a blade like this? Give it, give it." Elanee tasted blood on her lips. The particular terror of not being able to breathe came over her then, enough to make her flail about wildly, bucking against the one that held her. The pack fell to the ground, where it spilled its contents near the camp's modest fire. Her eyes flashed in anger- anger, and then a brief start of hope when she noticed that Casavir no longer slept where she'd lay before. Whether he had risen while she was packing, or heard someone approaching while he slept, he was simply not there.

The thief put her over his knee with a grunt. She could see his left hand scrabbling for the fallen pack, looking for the dagger.

"An elf, too," the bandit chortled, groping a grease-stained hand through her hair. "Been 6 years since Ben had an elf. Was a good screamer, she was."

Taken off-guard, Elanee fought to regain her breath. Neither spell nor strategy came to her in the madness of struggling for air. She fell over his knee like a sack of flour undergoing inspection. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. "Naloch!" The animal could probably do little in this situation, but her mental call went out to it in desperation.

And then all at once there was a crack, and a sound that turned out to be the wet scattering of blood. Sweet air, cool and clean, filled her lungs. The druidess felt the body of the one that had held her spasm collectively, limb, muscle, and bone, collapsing into a heap onto its side. His head had been removed from his body. Finding her balance, first on hands and then on knees, she gratefully allowed herself to be gathered into Casavir's capable arms.

"You knew I was leaving." It wasn't a question. He stroked her hair, looking down into the eyes that held only sorrow. The sword that he'd bought in the last town lay cast aside. "I am sorry, Casavir. I'm sorry that I failed you."

"No, Elanee. You did not fail me. For the first time, you needed me. Do you see now that you do? I do not deceive myself that I do not have need of you beside me. Can you promise me that you will not do this again?"

There was nothing to do but to look away from him. He was so near to her, so present and so precious, that it became difficult to face him.

"You do not know what it is that I must do."

"I know that whatever it is, I will be with you." She listened to the lulling sound of his voice, welcoming it as the rushing sound of night woven itself between his words. Casavir took her face into his hand, turning her cheek so that she faced him once more. "You have nothing to fear from me. Elanee, I ask that you tell me what it is that you must do so urgently, and why it is that you felt that you must go on alone."

"Casavir, don't love me. It will only be harder if you love me."

He glared down at her, his mouth going taut with anger. "I have done everything that you have asked of me, but you will not tell me what to feel, Lady. You will not dissuade me from following you. I will go with you. You will have my sword, Elanee. Do you understand what I tell you?"

"Very well," she said resignedly. "Very well."

Then he grasped her body to him, and lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss bitter with apprehension. She found that she no longer had the will to resist. Where they would go, they would go together, be it to the heavens or the hells.

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(Present) Visitation

The apple fits into the palm of her hand. She grips it firmly with her index finger and thumb. She tests its weight, bringing it forth from her pocket, tossing it into the air as if to judge its weight. It hasn't changed- not in form or in density. But she has changed. Things have changed. There isn't much use in denying how she feels. Even her thought process is different than it was the day she started out on this journey.

Only a suggestion of sunlight has started over the hills in the distance. Elanee realizes all at once that she is dreaming when the colors become impossible in their beauty. There is an undertone of the richest gold, so sweet that it brings moisture to her gentle eyes. The light catches the orange-gold hue of the orbs set high on her face, climbs the swell of her cheek. Her spirit rises above the image of her own form so that she can see her own loveliness and value. She is a child of Silvanus, and he cherishes her. The last time that she walked these hills, she was little more than a girl with the promise of life ahead of her. Now she wears wisdom as if a crown and a cloak upon her shoulders.

It is the same dream as before. Once again her corporeal form captures her, changing her view, posing her toward the rising sun. This is when the darkness comes in its unflinching lack of mercy. The gold will change to gray. The hills will teem with all manner of unnatural beasts. The moment will be taken from her, as it has been before. As the elven woman comes back to herself, she draws in a strengthening breath. Here comes the God. Nothing has changed about him, even as the dream fails to surprise her when it arrives again. He is clothed in a swirling cowl of leaves that bears him up from the ground itself. Her still, questioning eyes meet his gaze. His bearded face looks very tired, as if he has lived one lifetime too many, drawing the heart out of him. He is neither good nor evil, but impassive, eternal, unchanging. Elanee does not kneel to him, for her servitude must take another form. As he has before, the God-Avatar Silvanus stretches forth his gnarled hands. This time it is Casavir's hunting dagger.

Will she find the fortitude to question what He asks of her this time? Or will she once again perform the ritual, as she has night after night? When she awakens, will she still know the chill sting of that cold steel lodged within her breast? Would it matter if she pleaded with Him? Does she even have the right to deny Him?

She thinks of Casavir, of how he folds his shirts before placing them into his packs. His infectious, barking laughter, the chuckle that always surprises and disarms her. This time, she almost finds it within herself to refuse. There- her mouth falls open. At the back of her throat, the things that she would say begin to rise. The God lifts his wizened brow.

But her voice does not come. The apple in her fist squirms with black worms. And then the dagger is in her hands, and she has fallen to her knees in the moss.

"As the mere has died, it must once again live. Receive the sacrifice now offered."

When she lies on her side, her blood thickening in the moss, she feels the first pangs of frustration. Her tears are bitter. The God gathers her to Himself, but she does not return His love.

And the Mere is green again.

"You may enter," the youngest druid said to her. "But not this one." He pointed an accusatory finger at Casavir, who was carefully folding the shirts that a cheerful half-elf tugged from a leather-cord clothesline. Casavir nodded agreeably. He had no illusions that this druid circle that he and his companion had come upon would allow him even the slightest entry to their inner circle. To force himself upon their closely ordered society would have been like Elanee barging into the Temple of Tyr demanding to have all of the temple secrets offered up to her. It wasn't feasible, and, more the point, was not something anyone could expect. Trust had to be built. There were also societies to which one could never hope to belong, be it by birth, or by station.

It was probably better for him not to know, he decided. He respected Elanee's beliefs, but would understand little of the rituals and lore of a druid.

Casavir watched the druidess enter the main tent, the youth at her heels. Then, placing his shirts into his pack, he took out his hunting dagger and began the process of shaving.

"You'll want some water," said the half-elf maiden. "Our Sister fancies you, city-dweller. I suspect she likes you better without a rash." She quickly went to work preparing a bowl with some water for him, and then returned her attention to the laundry hung above. Casavir paused, the knife held in his fist, as he regarded his reflection in the bowl. In the past two weeks, grooming had been less of a concern for him. Coarse, thick bristles had formed into a full beard, complete with flecks of white in odd places. For a moment, he considered keeping the neat line above his lip intact.

"Lose it." A bright smile, a merry tune. Happy little druid. Grating.

"Hmph."

Did the woman have eyes in the back of her head? Casavir felt a flare of temper, but it soon turned to a smile when weighed against the lightness of his heart. This druid encampment seemed to be just the thing that Elanee had needed to renew her faith, and with it, her outlook. When her mind had first touched that of these children of the wood, her entire demeanor had changed for the better. The blade dipped into the water once, twice, thrice. With it went his beard. He wasn't as certain as the last time he'd shaven that there would be a next time. For a while, it had almost suited him.

But Elanee doesn't care for it, he thought. The beard was gone once more. Casavir turned to face the sunlight that escaped the patches of leaves sheltering the druid grove. He felt strangely clean with that warmth on his newly-shaven skin. A hope rose in his heart, filling his chest. The druids went about the routine of their nomadic lives as they always had, some glancing at him warily from time to time, others nodding at him with a friendly smile.

"They respect your God, even though they do not believe in Him." The druidess thrust a wooden pin in her teeth after speaking. "Let us keep to our ways, and see to your own, and all will be well."

Casavir put his sword back into the sheath on his back, hammer hanging from his belt. He lifted up one booted leg onto the stump before him for leverage. "I did not expect the druids to be so forthright. What is your name?"

"I am called Siarais." Sha-rae. She continued humming. Busily her hands worked, snapping another pair of leggings down from the line. "Hello, Casavir, follower of Tyr."

"Siarais," he groused, "what do they do in there?" He pointed a thumb at the large tent beside of them. "What looks to be bearskin holds sound all too well."

"The things that druids do, friend. Ancient rituals, calling up woodland spirits, speaking in badger...this and that." She was clearly jesting. Casavir took the reprimand good-naturedly, though he had to admit that he'd deserved it. He crossed his arms and walked over to her.

"How anyone was able to conceal their presence for so long is a mystery to this 'follower of Tyr'," he said.

"Perhaps you should let a question be a question," she replied.

"And if I ask it, will a druid answer?"

"A druid will not," Siarais whispered. "But perhaps I will." The urgency of doing the grove's laundry seemed to have passed. The half-elven girl stopped her deft seizing of shirt after shirt, turning to face him. Her hair, the color of a good, hearty turn of earth, fell free about her subtly pointed ears. "Our Sister's man is welcome, if she presents him as her life-mate."

Casavir chewed on this for a few seconds, his heart taking on a most alarming flutter. He thought of Elanee standing by his side in bridal white, promised to him as life-mate, her hand entwined with his own.

"Why is it that love ties the tongues of city-dwellers so?" Siarais seemed to be walking around him and around him again, illogically, and then he realized that it was merely the heat of the sun from above beating down upon him. He licked at his lips, his tongue thickening in his mouth.

"I would not deny her this if she asked it of me." His reply took him by surprise. It was as if he spoke to himself in the solace of a private chamber instead of opening his heart to this brash, outspoken young druidess.

"Is it not the custom for you humans to do the asking?"

But then the tent flaps were parting, and there was Elanee.

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I held the sacrificial dagger as if the object itself was offensive, instead of the act I was about to perform. I thought of Aarin- the scent of his leathers and of the subtle musk of his strong, sinewy body, the way his hair felt loosened in my hands. I pictured his dark, handsome face wearing his most intimate expression. I recalled the hours and the days of our slowly blooming romance. When I thought of him receiving the news of my death, it was suddenly unbearable to the point that my knees weakened below me. I could not have been more alone had I been the only creature in this wood. And then Boddyknock smiled encouragingly. His little colorful hat and earnest expression made the situation almost laughable.

"You're not really going to stick yourself with that, are you? And then I'm supposed to stick myself with it? It doesn't seem very logical, does it?"

But I was a ranger to the core. I was a daughter of the forest, and on this day I knew that it demanded my blood. I clasped Aarin's amulet for strength. And then, before I could think better of it, I closed my eyes and thrust it home. I bled. I died.

"But the Hero of Neverwinter lived," Elanee thought. Feet splashing in the stream, she looked up when Casavir came up from behind her with a hand on her shoulder. She had been crowned in flowers, kissed by each member of the Grove. In Casavir's eyes, she would have seemed a queen had she arisen from the mud with squirming bog creatures in her hands. But to see Elanee this way was to see her in the fullness of her soul and self. He had come to her to speak of greater things that weighed upon his heart.

Yet she was not with him at this moment. Her expression had the far-away flavor of meditation- one he'd interrupted by his approach.

"I know now why it is that we have come to this place," Elanee said.

"As do I." There was a lift to his voice when he spoke. Had she been facing him, she would have seen a certain glow about him. He had come to her in the joy of anticipation, not knowing that she would be in a place of her own. All around, there were the seemingly-eternal sentinels of the trees. The elf had been grasped to the breast of the Wood as if in welcome for a wandering child. Casavir, near to bursting with the things he felt the need to say, did his best not to move from foot to foot like a child bearing news he could not wait to share.

Elanee drew her feet out of the natural stream. "The spirits of the Wood speak to me. And not just those that still draw breath from the air, but the thoughts of those that have become one with it. The trees remember all that they have seen. And they hear the thoughts of those that walk between them."

Casavir's expression changed, his jaw setting firmly. "I do not hear the spirits of the Wood. I am nothing more than a man. But I have learned to listen to who and what I am, and what I believe."

"And what do you believe?" Even as she turned to him, taking his face into her hands, she knew instinctively that the two of them were now speaking each from a different place. Falling leaves slipped into the creases of his shirt, marking him, as if knowing that he was not of them, not from them. The unending trees longed to cradle their hurting daughter. But this interloper, who walked below them as a stranger, could only bring harm to that which he did not understand.

"Elanee," he said suddenly and impulsively, "I think it is time that I allowed that heart to speak for me. I am not ashamed to admit to you, to promise to you, that I love you, and that I want you to be beside me."

Breathing in slowly, she examined his eyes. They were honest eyes, showing only the love he avowed. His lips were wide, full, but not overmuch. He had fine, broad cheekbones, a soul that streamed light, causing all that was dark to crumble away to nothingness.

"Do you not love me, Lady?" His voice thrummed with rising passion. "Is what I am asking of you too much to give?"

"Casavir, you have not yet asked of me anything."

"I understand. It is not, perhaps, the right time for such things. It is best that I take my leave of you." He turned away from her with a flash of nerves. Should he go? Had she even considered his words? His thoughts went around and around themselves.

"You will do no such thing, you foolish man. For one with as much wisdom as yourself, you have a clumsy way of asking for the things that you want."

Hurt lodged in his chest. He did not know if he could possibly bring himself to speak again. There were too many dreams seeming to crash down around him. He wanted to catch them with his hands before they could wink out of existence. Before this moment, he had never cried, never shown the slightest sign of sorrow or disillusionment. But he would cry now, despite the consequences. Would she think less of him? And could she possibly, after he'd poured out his heart only to find such cold rebuke?

Elanee began to walk slowly toward him. "In all of the time that we have walked together, all that we have faced side by side, can you not speak to me as a friend?"

"A friend?" There was a rawness to his voice that she could not bear. Conflicting emotions chased themselves across his features. "What am I to you, Lady? You ask for a trust absolute, and yet you do not offer it."

"Casavir," she sighed, "I have no wish to fight with you."

"Tell me, perhaps, what it is that you want of me, and I will give it. But do not mock me."

She drew close to him, slipped her fingers into the softness that was his hair. "I want only this. To be granted some time in the dawn of your love. I want more than anything for it all to last. It is far too beautiful to me."

"And if I could promise you forever?"

Her voice grew very small. "What if I could not?"

He drew back from her, as if he had been struck. "What is there if there is not forever?"

"And if I told you that I love you, Casavir, to the depth of me, and that I will never love another, would that change your mind?"

As if overcome by the weight of his feeling for her, he went to one knee before her. She held his head to her lower belly, gently tousling his hair. "I do not have forever, Casavir," she said. "But I will give you all that I am, for as long as I have."

The elders watched all of this from a distance. There were murmurs among them, and they were displeased.

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"Put your foot here. This is where you'll stand. Try not to let anyone see you. And, Elanee... don't move for any reason."

At the thought of keeping this one position for any period of her time, her body was already rigid in protest. Did he think that she didn't know how to hide properly among the trees? Then, silently, she reminded herself that the ranger was only trying to protect her, and that he knew this particular patch of wood much better than she. Over the past month she and her traveling companion and lover, Casavir, had become familiar with the woodsmen of this camp- druids, rangers, and the occasional bard bringing news from the surrounding lands. The elf who had posed her so uncomfortably behind this tree had a rough undertone of red to his skin. His name was Ath, and he was the mate of Siarais. He wore a bow with such ease and spoke little.

Today, the camp moved like one restless body with many limbs that waved about in discontent. Elanee watched the trap-setting, weapon and spell-preparation, and picked up bits of barked orders from the elders in their central tents. She was still irritated and mildly embarrassed at Casavir's thoughtless comment that perhaps the best way to deal with the approaching threat of undead was to set a series of controlled forest fires. Thoughts such as these would never have occurred to her or any of her brethren. If the scout's news had been unwelcome, Casavir's suggestion had been a mortal insult.

"How can I protect you when you can not seem to speak without turning anger upon yourself?" Her remembered words brought a small smile when she recalled his reaction to them. Casavir had scratched nervously at the back of his neck like a scolded child and found the need to look in any direction but at his accuser. Then, slowly, he'd shaken off this defensive posture in favor of speaking his mind.

"I do not have need of your protection," he'd said after a time. "Someone must make the difficult decisions that others cannot. Do not forget that I have dealt with the undead before, many times, in battle. I am well versed in the ways of preparing the battlefield."

"But this is not a battlefield, Casavir, and these are not your men to command. These are soul-sworn druids and rangers who have lived their whole lives with the oath of being wardens to nature's treasures. In matters of war, they will not welcome the suggestions of an outsider. Any hand that lifts a flame to a tree will be cut down. You must understand that war itself is alien to my kind. But because this grove is sacred, it will be defended. We do not simply burn what is behind us in favor of greener pastures. We are the land."

"Very well. But I fear that this grove has lodged itself well and deeply within you. You seem to have forgotten your quest, whatever it may be." Her head had snapped up at this glaring rebuke that could have come from the mouth of her own deity.

Was it so much to ask to share, for a time, the communion of friends?

He sends me to my death, and instead I lie in the arms of the man that I love and sing under the moonlight with my sisters.

Elanee wrapped the rope's end around her fist again and again until it bled.

Casavir is right. You are stalling. You are asking for more days, more weeks, more time. The Mere is not so far now. And many would run, instead of being so obedient. What did Zachos tell you? When your god asks you to die, it is time for you to find another god.

There was a kind of reckless irreverence to these thoughts. It was as if they were not her own.

No, Elanee, you do not do this because you are too weak to argue. You do this because you are strong. And there may not be anyone else who is strong enough to do what you would not.

Her hand clenched around the catch of the net where she would have to loose it upon the unwelcome undead.

The trap was in place. It would fall as intended.

"Here they come!" Ath's cry went out. "Defend the grove!"

She closed her eyes. Casavir would be on the front lines. His distinct war cry rose up among the mingled shouts and groans of those facing the stinking, half-gaped maws and swords and spears of the undead.

"These enemies will not stand against us for long!" In her mind she could match the smack of his warhammer to the skull that it connected with.

If she could bring herself to wait for the right moment without giving in to panic, she would need to distance herself from the chaos. Off in the distance she could hear the rumbling crack of rocks bulging forth from the ground to form elementals. Men and elves went down in terror under filthy clawed hands, while loosened arrows from afar set home in the breasts and heads of zombies reaching forth for food. Always seeking, never satiated, loosened from control only to be left to wander.

May your mate live, Siarais.

But even with this comforting wish, it was impossible to ignore the wails of some few who had gone under the advancing, grinding wave, some being gnawed alive outright without mercy. To keep her eyes closed now would have been a denial of those sacrifices. The disorganized mob of zombies and ghouls thumped and churned their way in her direction. She prayed silently to Silvanus that the one who held the other end of the line had not fallen asleep. All that was needed now was the signal.

But it didn't come.

Sweat thickened, beading on her throat. How long had the battle gone on now? From her hiding place on the cliff above neither she nor her concealed partner could see directly below them. Without the signal, how would they know when to drop the net?

Ath, where are you?

The plan would turn the tide of the battle or lose it for them. The net's weighted ends had been consecrated. Once within its hold, the enemy would become weakened, useless, vulnerable. Unlike a living army, these invaders were too stupid to look upward or consider that they were being purposely bottlenecked into this area. They would only keep moving forward. Elanee could hear the makeshift army of woodsmen making their strategic retreat. The clang of rusted broken armor and unearthly moans grew louder by the minute. If only there were some means of communicating with her partner on the other end of the line without leaving her post. Would he feel his end of the net loosen when she freed hers? Or would his merely fall, making the whole trap ineffectual?

Then the arrow flew skyward. However, it didn't cut the air sharply as intended. The end of it glowed with a light spell that shot through the night, but it spun so horribly off center that it wobbled enough to lose its course. It couldn't have been shot from expert marksman Ath's hand... but she realized with a dawning sorry that it had. Still, despite whatever wounds had delayed him, he had managed to free that one arrow as promised. She released the catch. The net went down.

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Isn't this where I'm supposed to wake up later, refreshed and clean, lying in a warm bed with someone dabbing at my forehead and smiling down on me with concern? Isn't the world supposed to all but new, full of hope again? But that's not how it happened. I didn't take some last minute arrow to the shoulder or stone to the head that would grant me blessed unconsciousness. I'm still here. I'm still soaked in my own perspiration, with the blood of men and elves on my clothing. The gods must think this a great amusement indeed. I have no luck charm to thank this dawn. People here are still in disbelief. They are desperate. They lie around with open wounds crying out for water and attention. There are more wounds than there are tents to shred. And the bodies... the bodies seem to have no end.

"What am I to do with the rest of these?" A stringy young elf inquired. An ever-growing mound of greenish zombie flesh built itself up from his feet. The youth had tried to concentrate on his work, as if he had been dragging rubbish instead of the corpses of misshapen creatures that had once been human.

"Throw them in the pit."

"The pit is full, Elder."

"Then we shall have to dig another. No, not so close to our dead."

Elder Yadar shifted his gaze to the side, where Elanee knelt beside a wounded male human. "I had not realized that there were so many numbered among us until so many came to depend upon so few. It would be wrong, perhaps, to name this a victory." The Elder's hood had fallen about his hairy ears, making him appear a briefly comical figure despite the gravity of the situation. Because there was a need to dismantle the tents in which the woodsmen had been sheltered in order to make bandages, the wounded were forced to lie upon the ground beside the corpses of twice-dead monsters. Elanee tipped a tin cup so that her current charge could drink. Her spirit found bitter fault with the oblivious sunrise that coated the sky in strings of shameless glory while men cried out to their mothers and bled upon the ground. Carefully, gently, she helped the man to a seated position. There was nothing that she could do about his leg, of course. Druidic magic could heal wounds, even regenerate flesh. But the place where his limb had been severed was coated with its own concoction of murky black poison.

"I'm sorry," Elanee whispered in his ear. When she shook her head, he began to weep in a horrid, wretched sound, praying for death. Rapidly she started walking, away from the wounded, lest her own torment show on her features. There was no choice but to give in to the torrent of agony that gripped her in its fist. Too quickly, the tears came.

Casavir's voice, a low, dark velvet, interrupted the sound of her sobbing. "Rest now." He had drawn her into the circle of his presence, his embrace, in the way of a sanctuary that finds one whole again after a great shattering. For a few minutes he held her suspended because she simply could not stand. All the night through those who were able had taken it upon themselves to salvage what life remained. Few had slept. Elanee's own magic was exhausted. She knew that she would need to sleep in order to bring back her own healing abilities. But one victim quickly became the next, and before long the thought of rest was lost. The paladin's face still shone with certainty, with faith, with the unwavering strength he had always owned. He felt her frail body begin to give until he had lifted her fully into his arms.

"I'll rest for just a moment," she said weakly. "Just one. Wake me... if more than half of an hour has passed."

"Of course."

Long after she lay curled on her side by the edge of the camp with Casavir's cloak for a blanket, he stood by the side of the wounded with a tear working its way down his cheek. Quickly he wiped it away. So much suffering. So many people willing to give their lives to protect what they most loved. The foundation of their goodness was almost more than he could take and not be moved. He saw them for what they were- he marvelled at them. The healers had now done all that was possible for the day. Without thinking, Casavir made the rounds of the wounded once more. He brought water to the mouths of the thirsty and put bread into their hands. Here he would offer a word of encouragement, a hand on the shoulder. There he would offer an arm of support to someone who could not sit. He was moved by these people of the wood. And he knew that now he would speak no more of leaving.

"Casavir, Follower of Tyr, is it?" Elder Yadar murmured. He chewed thoughtfully on a root while his ridiculously bunched eyebrows danced up and down. "I think that any quarrel that we may have had with you can leave off for a while. That is, if you are willing. As you see us come to this, it is a reminder that the gods have no concept of time. If it please you, we can in future resume our bitterness."

He jests, Casavir thought. More and more he was coming to understand that humor was often the lightest balm of all. Silently, the druid passed him a handful of the light brown root, then clasped his other hand to Casavir's. "You have done enough, human. Let us walk together, if you are willing."

Surprised, but pleased, Casavir nodded brusquely. He could play this game. He found that his hunger got the best of him while he walked alongside the druid to the outskirts of the camp. Root cluster after cluster disappeared and led to empty hands before they reached the camp's edge.

"I am curious, Casavir. Forgive me if I presume, my friend, but these are extreme times. Our daughter takes you to her bed, nay, her heart, and you seem to return her feeling. The union of elf and man is not an unknown thing. But judging by a glance, you have perhaps ten and twenty years left of good life to come ahead of you."

"You do presume much. But I will forgive it. I could not be more aware that she will outlive me." He lifted his lake-hued eyes to a murder of crows passing above. "If there is nothing else..."

The aging elf's stare became more piercing as he chewed his lip and shook his shaggy head back and forth. "There is where you have the wrong of it, I am afraid. If she stays her current course, you will outlive her."

"Do you think," Casavir said with an increasingly agitated tone, "for even a minute that I don't know what she is planning? Do you think that I do not know that ahead is the Mere and that she believes that some god of yours has decided that she must lie down and shed her own blood to give new life to the land? I am no fool."

"And you would stand to the side and allow her to do this thing?" Elder Yadar's inquiry had taken on a sinister bent of which Casavir did not at all approve. He crossed his arms firmly. But his voice shook with a quaver that showed the weakness that lay beneath. "And who am I? Who am I but the human that she loves." It was not a question. Angrily, he stalked away into the chaos that was the camp.

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RATED M for sexual content

FINALE

"We are told that the gods have no interest in the lives of ordinary mortals. But I have come to see, and not through arrogance or pride, that we are no longer such mere mortals when we take up the mantle of heroes and champions for their causes. We two have seen tyrants fall. We have answered the charge of our separate gods with all acceptance and piety, and what else is there for us but to pave history? I can no longer deny that, when we answer that call, our decisions may change the course of what is to come. Yet I wonder, as a mere mortal, why one indifferent god must choose my lady?"

One indifferent god. The last line of his own written words lingered in Casavir's mind. He lay aside his travel-worn book of devotions, which also served as a place to record his musings. This morning he had opened his eyes slowly to behold a world once again taking shape. Druids chanted. The few children played, as if unconcerned with the occasional whimper from the recovering wounded. And then there was morning. Morning, who never concerned herself with the petty fears of man. She was life and she was promise. She would always come again, despite the darkness of the night.

All through this night Casavir had traveled to the nearest town to buy as many precious bolts of cloth as would fit in the rickety wagon that the grove used for such necessities. Casavir the wagoner, he thought with a newly lightened heart. The tents were being rebuilt even as he curled behind the still-sleeping Elanee and gave into his own exhaustion. Too precious, those few hours of sleep. He had fallen into sleep's mysteries so easily when he had returned. There had been something in the loosened fall of his beloved's hair that had taken the last of his arguments. The line and texture of her inner shoulder... her lips whispering soundlessly in the innocence of her dreaming. When he heard his name murmured in her sleep, he became lost in a sudden, desperate tenderness for her, and wrapped his arms around her tightly. Again, he found himself amazed at the divine contradiction that was woman- delicacy, all unseen strength, such perfect softness that she could hold a man so easily.

Elanee sighed pleasantly as his firm arm drew her into the hard lines of him. Now, his belly and long legs pressed to to her back, Casavir smiled with contentment. He eased his hand down over her hip into the small depression below her ribs, drawing his thumb down to her navel. Then, lifting aside the red tide of her hair, his warm breath played at her ear. Elanee stirred at the sensation of his breath, at his coaxing, tugging kisses at the angled tip of her ear, the voice so like the ocean promising her everything. This gentle urging in its low timbre became a world of sound. It thrummed, rousing her from her dreaming. It was a tide that rocked her backward into the constant barrier of his strong body until she curled her legs around his own.

Before this love, she hadn't known that the touch of a male could bring her to a state of such quivering, intense weakness by his simple nearness to her. But there it was; her legs trembled as if someone had tensed the muscles within and would not let go of her. His hold over her was complete. His lips were still nipping at the back of her neck. Her very animal nature reacted to this possessive act, and she went limp as a mastered cat as he sighed out the full length of her true name. She knew to the depths of her that it was this combination of gentleness and passion that would always draw her back to Casavir. He would through love gather her to himself, though never laying claim to her or seeking to dominate her free and restless spirit. The music of the camp was distant enough- most still slept, and those that did not were not yet venturing to the outer edges of the camp.

There would be no one near enough to see if he shifted his position ever so slightly while he wrapped the cloak around the two of them... his heart quickened as the idea became intent. His body was one continuous line of sinew and muscle behind her. Elanee opened her eyes slowly. Casavir was turning her head to face his with one hand nestled within her hair. His lips knew hers. Playfully, she twisted herself in such a way that his other hand was trapped and could not move upward. This small act of defiance only served to drive him deeper into his need. Delighted at his obvious physical reaction, she pressed her backside firmly against him until he murmured his frustration. He had not thought it possible for anyone to drive him to this state of near-adolescent naked arousal.

Beginning to lose all sense of composure, he struggled hurriedly to free himself from his trousers beneath the cloak that did not quite cover the both of them. It no longer mattered that anyone could catch them at this scandalous ritual of male to female passion. He nudged at her, held captive until she smiled, relaxed, allowed him to move as he needed to move at last. His own shoulders were shaking with the flush of his desire. Dangerously, his hand rose upward to capture one of her responsive breasts into his palm. There was something in the taste of his mouth that inflamed her beyond all of her inhibitions. The liquor of the gods, the image of being one with the earth in this simple act of overwhelmingly sweet surrender. He moved within her, sighing in the same masterful voice that so freely promised his love time and time again. She loved him unashamedly even as she lay here with him accepting the gift of his body and giving her own to him. Then, quietly, they muffled each other's cries so that none could know or see into this, their private world. Casavir clasped her to his chest as though unable to bear the slightest parting of his body to hers.

"We travel tomorrow," Elanee said.

"Elanee," he replied, kissing her softly. "If you wish to stay..."

"Come now, my knight," she chirped, with a bright smile. "We have many adventures ahead of us, you and I."

"Adventures?" His voice rose, clearly puzzled. "If you mean to say that we still have your greatest test to face, I will go there with you still."

The druidess closed her eyes as a light breeze stirred her dampened hair. "Casavir. I said 'many' adventures."

Slowly, hope dawned in his heart. He lifted himself to one elbow so that he could look directly into her eyes. He did not want to see deception there.

"Elder Yadar and I spoke at great length while you were gone last evening. We spoke of many things, but most importantly of time."

"And of elves and of men, no doubt?" Casavir's face grew tight.

"Of that and more. He seems to feel as though the gods have no concern with time."

One indifferent god, Casavir thought. A gradual understanding came upon him. Both of his hands seized her face, bringing her gaze directly to his own.

"Do you mean to say that... tell me that you..."

"Casavir, I am trying to tell you that I am going to marry you. And that you and I are going to live a long and average life together until the end of your mortal days."

"And... and the sacrifice? Have you been freed from your quest?"

Elanee smiled in a casual, self-satisfied manner. "I can not think that I will have much to live for when my lifemate no longer walks with me. I suppose that the gods will have to sit on their haunches and wait."

"I hope that they will wait for a long, long time," Casavir said. And he gripped in his arms with fierce joy, and blanketed her small form with kisses.