The Ears of the Elves
By Asso
Chapter Eleven
And here he is at last. The saviour.
But, my friends, a little at a time.
It is best to take him in small doses.
The Ears of the Elves
Chapter Eleven
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The infamy ceased. The ignoble assault.
Everything ceased.
Screams, guffaws, sneers, clamours.
Everything.
There was silence.
And in the silence, every face turned around.
All. Even the faces of those who were perpetrating the infamy. The ignominious onslaught. The brutal; the vile, attack. The savage retaliation.
Even the face of the ravaged and undone damsel, kneeling watching in dumb horror the horror of the heinous and wild aggression.
Even her face turned around.
Only one face did not.
The face of the Princess.
She could not. Immobilized and mangled and terrorized, with the mind in turmoil, with the heart pounding, pinned to the ground under the bodies, feet, knees, hands of her winners, she could not.
But every other face turned around.
To search.
To see who had spoken.
Who had shouted those words.
The face of that resonant and mocking voice.
But there was none.
No one was on the battlements.
From there the voice had come.
But on the battlements there was none.
Only the bastions. Empty, tumbledown, dismal. Gray against the sky looming of the increasing darkness of the advancing night.
But then, after few moments, while a more and more strong disquiet snaked into the hearts; while the eyes peered and plumbed; while the ears perked up to catch whatsoever noise, whatsoever signal; while the hands raised the shields and the pikes and the swords; while the savage assailants were slowly getting up, leaving free their prey, their battered victim, before being able to carry out the ignoble revenge, the torture, the gang rape, the dismemberment of the body and the soul of the miserable Princess…
There, on the battlements, between the merlons…
Heads.
One. Two. Four. Eight. Ten. Twenty. Fifty.
A great deal of heads.
And, rapidly, after the heads, the shoulders. And then the busts.
Of men.
Many, many men.
Who were now standing on the battlements, on the stone walkway running behind the row of the merlons overlooking the courtyard; upright and motionless between this and the row of the outer merlons; sheltered behind the internal merlons, those facing the courtyard.
Silent and dark against the dusky sky where one could begin to glimpse the tremulous and tenuous light of the first stars.
Humans, they too.
But no helms on their heads. No hauberks around their chests.
No shields.
No crests.
No metallic greaves.
No iron footwear.
Leather jerkins and leather trousers, which had seen better days.
And threadbare leather boots.
And bows. Great. With nocked arrows, ready to be let fly.
Firmly held in their hands.
Aimed against the other Humans, those who were looking at them from below, in the bloodied courtyard.
In tense silence.
All.
The Humans in the courtyard. And the Humans on the battlements.
All of them silently staring at each other.
Until the silence was broken.
Abruptly.
By that voice.
The same of before.
Loud. Derisive.
And authoritarian.
Peremptory.
"Let's teach these bumpkins how to behave, my boys. And let's make so that they can remember good manners for a long time."
The voice stopped. A very short pause.
"Let's say... for eternity."
There has been no solution of continuity.
There has been no time to think, to understand, to realize.
Before, the dusky sky above the courtyard.
Then - suddenly; without warning - the sky black of burnished arrows. Obscured by them.
And then nothing else.
Death reigned supreme, lastly, in the courtyard.
Only two people still able to breathe.
The handmaiden. Naked, soiled, bruised, contused. On her knees. Petrified. The hands pressed convulsively against her mouth as if to hold back her mute scream.
And the Princess.
Mute, she too.
Now sitting, painfully and laboriously, tattered and bruised, her clothes in shreds, her body covered with blood and strewn with cuts and wounds, with her legs tucked under her, on the ground soaked in blood.
Of her aggressors.
Sprawled all around her.
They too mute.
In the plumbeous silence of death.
With difficulty, with pain, the Princess managed to put herself on her knees and to turn her head toward the bastions.
She hadn't been able to see the men who had showed themselves from the ramparts to bring death to her aggressors and their comrades.
But now she could see those men, those Humans. And she could see something that her handmaiden had not been able to see before, because it was not there before.
She could see the figure, which stood, tall and dark and on the sidelines, on the bastions, partially hidden by the merlons.
Her eyes clouded with tears of ache weren't capable of putting it clearly focused as well as her shaken mind could certainly not yet be able to fully realise what her eyes were seeing.
But they could see the figure. It wasn't possible not to see it.
It was big, very big, even at a distance. And was dark. Darker than the dark sky.
And, in the silence, broken only by the raucous breaths of her and of her handmaiden, the Princess's eyes saw the figure move.
They saw it pass between two crenellations.
Slowly.
And they saw it approach the wooden staircase that descended from the ramparts into the courtyard, and slowly and solemnly come down that ladder, and slowly and solemnly go towards her.
Proceeding with quiet gait on the bloody ground of the courtyard.
Among the bodies of her dead armigers and those of their dead assassins.
Slowly, the figure was walking over to her, rolling away with its foot, nonchalantly, any corps which hampered its path and revealing itself little by little to her eyes, which were regaining a clearer vision, as well as her tried mind.
It was really big, the figure. Looked huge. Wrapped in a black cloak. Blacker than night.
And the face...
No, the Princess could not see it. In the advancing darkness, the face was hidden in the shadows under the wide brim of a big black hat.
There, now the figure was just in front of her.
It had halted exactly in front of her.
It towered on her. Black and massive, gigantic; taller than the tallest of Elves.
And it was looking at her, yes, was watching her. The Princess could see that the face was turned downwards, towards her. But she could not equally see that face. Kneeling before the hulking figure in black; overhung by it; her beautiful visage - scratched and bruised and stained with blood hers and of her dead enemies - turned upwards to that other face, that of the enormous black shadow towering over her; her large eyes wide open… she could not.
The big lapel of the black cloak was raised and covered that unseen face, until just below the eyes, and only those ones the Princess could see under the large brim of the hat, well lowered down on the forehead.
Yes, only the eyes. Or rather, one only, because the left was covered by a black blindfold.
One only. The right eye.
Vividly blue.
"Blue, eh?"
T'Pol turned to face Trip. "Ashayam, when... when... I read the fable the first time, and also afterwards, I have not... I have not noticed this. I had not given it… due importance. You know, at that time..."
"At that time, that phrase... I hadn't yet said that phrase, huh, T'Pol?"
"N... no."
"Yeah. But now ..."
T'Pol leant strongly on Trip with her flank. Sitting as she was on his lap, she squashed herself against his chest. Literally.
"T'hai'la..."
Trip interrupted T'Pol and didn't look at her as he spoke.
"An entrance on stage a tad melodramatic, this, on the part of our cute saviour, is not it? I mean, wide-brimmed black hat, black cloak, hidden face ... Damn! Worthy of an apparition of ..." Trip's look alighted, dour, on T'Pol's face. "... the devil." He snorted. "The King could not have done better. And ..." A snort. Again. Heavy and harsh. "And me neither."
"Trip, Ashal-veh..."
"Go ahead, T'Pol, go on." He grinned through clenched teeth. "Who knows. I could always learn something from my illustrious predecessor."
T'Pol had not the heart to replicate.
She nodded and went on.
"But look if it is this the way to treat a Princess! And an elven Princess, on top of that!"
That voice.
The same voice as before, the one which had spoken before, which had made cease what... what Humans were doing to her.
Well, of course. And why would she have to be surprised? To whom else would ever that voice have belonged?
But now the Princess could hear well that voice. Now... now she was not in the vindictive hands of her assailants. Her mind was clearer now. If so one could really say.
And it was the tone. It was the tone of that voice as well as the voice in itself that struck her.
The Princess had never heard a voice like that.
It was the voice you could expect from a figure like that one, certainly. Deep and strong and rough.
And yet... and yet it was also sleek, someway.
But sardonic, too. So much sardonic as to sound ominous.
Menacing.
Subtly... bad.
"Bad, huh? Even the voice?"
"Oh, T'hai'la!"
"Oh, pay no attention to what I say, T'Pol. Forget it. Let's not stop."
"Al... alright, T'hai'la."
"Oh, but I am convinced that our friends have learned their lesson, my Princess. They will have all the time required in order to practise improving their manners." A sound, from the figure. Sort of a laugh, withheld and malignant. "An eternity of time." Once again the low sound, the sinister laugh. "Yes. I have good reasons to assert that never again their minds will be crossed by the idea to treat so badly an elven Princess."
The tall figure wrapped in black made a movement with the head, a sort of nod, which, someway, suggested the impression that the brain inside that head was thinking, as if struck by an idea.
The piercing blue eye came to rest on the face of the Princess. Between the brim of the hat and the lapel of the cloak, it seemed to shine intensely in the dim residue of the light of the evening, by now almost night.
"Even my blue eyes shine in the dark, honey?"
"Oh Trip!"
"Do they do, honey?"
"Oh yes, T'hai'la! And they are beautiful!"
"Thank you, T'Pol. And maybe they are also piercing."
"In... in fact..."
"Eh, blood will tell."
"Trip, Please!"
"Oh sorry, sweetheart. You are right. I risk being as sardonic as the saviour. And this is…"
Trip suddenly broke off. "Hey, you know really a lot of human ways of saying, eh wife?
"Do I have to remind you your bad influence on me, husband?"
Trip had to smile. Inevitably he had to smile. Well, this time the lesson of humour had been imparted to him. And from T'Pol. Rogue of an unmatchable vulcan female!
"Okay. Touché, my sweet wifey." He smiled again. "Let's see. Where were we? Oh yes."
Trip's finger pointed to a line on the PADD. "Here. C'mon. Let's go on."
He blinked, slyly. "Much as not exactly good this black saviour with blue eyes may be, the story gets definitely interesting." He winked at T'Pol. "And then, the blue eyes bode well."
T'Pol nodded with conviction and resumed her perusal, while, as the quick furtive happy glance she cast at him showed her, the… blue eyes of her Trip were following carefully on the PADD, word for word, what she was reading loud.
The sardonic voice - rough and elegant at the same time - made itself heard again.
"Because I do not deceive myself, right, my lady? You are a Princess, among the people of the Elves, aren't you? Your mien, your clothing, your earrings, your, I would say more than evident, skill in combat... they are all clear evidence that you are an Elven Princess, I think. Am I wrong, my lady? Might it be ever possible you are not an Elven Princess? Even a Queen, I might think, if I were not privy that for sure there are no more Queens, among the Elves. Tell me, please, if I am mistaken, tell me if…"
Suddenly the fluent talk of that being in the shape of the shadow stopped. From under the cloak a hidden hand fidgeted.
"Oh, but what am I ever doing? I linger in useless and trivial matters that can safely wait, while you, my lady, stay there, in pain and frightened, kneeling in front of me. I am really unforgivable."
A huge hand, gloved in black, came out from under the cloak. It leaned down towards the Princess, inviting.
"Let me help you, my lady."
On instinct, without thinking, the Princess held out her hand towards the big hand that was offered to her.
Her small slender hand got lost in the hand that gently clenched hers, that kindly helped her to her feet.
"There, that's better, I think, is not it, my lady? Now, if you believe - but you can wait for my people to take care of you - you can answer me. Who are you, my lady? Are you the noble elven Princess you seem?
Something strange happened to the Princess upon hearing those words.
Something unexpected, in being treated so royally.
Inside her, pride flared up.
Oh it was stupid, yes, it was silly.
That shadow dressed of shadow, that man, because this he was, that Human... despite the undoubted elegance, despite the rough tone, certainly; sardonic, certainly; and yet very polished... and pleasant, of his voice... despite his apparent kindness... was not, could not be better than the other Humans.
His very appearance, perhaps even deliberately eerie; the unconcern full of derision with which he had ordered the death of Beings of his own race, without a second thought; the blatant indifference with which he had removed from his path the bodies that littered his steps...
And the perceivable, subtle malice of his voice, as much as it could ring polite and respectful...
What lay behind his question, so graciously formulated?
Behind his courteous acting?
Why he and his men had ended up there, in that moment, in such a timely and opportune way?
What did he want?
What, considering that he was a Human?
Or... or maybe not?
Maybe it was not a Human.
But no.
This could not be.
He was a Human, certainly. The men under his command were Humans and no one had ever heard about an Elf in command of Humans. And there couldn't be any alternative because only two sentient species existed. Elves and Humans.
Yes, no matter how huge he might appear, he could only be a Human and Humans never treated kindly the Elves without an ulterior motive.
If the Elves were now dispersed and reduced to being a shadow of what they had been, if the Age of the Elves, the glorious Age of the Elves, now was drawing to dusk, it was because of the Humans.
Her people, the great people of the Elves, had seen the birth of the Humans.
Her people had had care of them, had helped them.
But envy was born in the hearts of Humans.
And their young kingdoms had risen in arms against the Elves.
And the Humans had something that the Elves had not.
They had a weapon far more powerful than the weapons, than the strength of the Elves.
They had the weapon of deception.
Of craftiness, of wiliness.
Humans knew how deceive and lie, knew how to show themselves friends and be in reality foes.
And, although weaker than the Elves, though with a very shorter lifespan in comparison to that of the Elves, they were extraordinarily ingenious.
They possessed the genius of deceit.
T'Pol could not help but stop.
That passage, the one she was reading and that Trip was reading in his mind along with her...
Her eyes rested concerned on Trip's face.
"Trip ..."
But he did not seem worried or clouded over. Or, at least, did not show to be so.
He just nodded with a thoughtful look. "Do you see, darlin'? I was not wrong. The fable gives me reason. Humans can't be said exactly friends of the Elves. Maybe on occasion they are and maybe several of them have good feelings for the Elves. But, overall, there's bad blood between Humans and Elves."
Then, suddenly, Trip's face became somber. "And, on the other hand, what else can you expect from a breed in which flows the blood of the great deceiver?"
"Oh Trip, please ..."
Unexpectedly, Trip smiled. "But we've improved, I mean, we Humans."
Then, still smiling, he looked at T'Pol with a strange expression. "We have met who helped us to change."
His smile became extremely sweet. His fingers gently stroked T'Pol's cheek. "I have met who helped me to change, T'Pol, to become better. I have met you."
T'Pol placed the PADD on the couch and turned completely towards Trip, bringing her hand to his cheek and her face close to his, so much that their breaths mingled.
"Trip, Ashayam. It's me the one who takes refuge in you. You know it. I'd be lost without you."
"And would it not be the same for me, T'Pol? And not only because my love for you is so great?"
"What do you want..."
"What I want to say?" Trip's hand squeezed affectionately T'Pol's cheek. "Hon, think about what would happen of me, with the King, without you. (*) And before that, T'Pol, think about the dark desire for revenge against the Xindi that had taken possession of me, after the death of my sister. The dark side that was in me already at that time had shown itself. But you've saved me, T'Pol. You've given me back my joy in life and you've returned me to the light. With your love, my love. "
"Ashayam, I made you suffer!"
"For love, though, T'Pol. For love. For fear of being unable to love me in the way you, instead, know do."
T'Pol felt her heart swell. She felt something inside. As a strange urge to cry. Her Trip! Only he could make her cry of joy! "Trip ..."
"And, who knows, T'Pol... the King was the King. He was the devil. But, if Lil had not been torn away from him so brutally and suddenly... she... would she have been successful, even if in prey to his evil charm, in... in making of him something different? More... something better? And now there's this Princess. This Princess that's you, T'Pol. You made me realize that this black saviour with blue eyes will not be insensitive to her charm and she, of course, will fall prey to his, exactly as it happened to Lil with King. Exactly as... "Trip grinned slyly. "... exactly as you have fallen prey to my undoubted charm, my sweet wifey."
T'Pol lifted her eyebrow in an attempt to do 'THE' T'Pol, but her voice betrayed her. It emerged spontaneously from her mouth, sincere, without her being able to do anything about it. "I did, Trip."
Trip burst into a hearty laugh. "Ah ah, viva sincerity, hon! Do you see, sweetheart? My charm is irresistible and, let's face it, without time. Anyway, joking aside, there has always been a T'Pol in the destiny of every Trip and if the T'Pol of the King did not have time to save him from himself, you've had time to do it with me. And... I am not mistaken, eh, T'Pol?... the T'Pol who throbs within this elven Princess… she will succeed in making it, with her own Trip. Right, sweetie?"
T'Pol sighed happily. How he deserved to be loved by her, her Ashayam! "Yes. She will succeed, Trip."
Trip laughed softly. "Well. I knew I could count on her."
Then his expression changed. He grew thoughtful. "It will... it will be hard for her, eh, T'Pol?"
T'Pol tilted her head so as to feel well the pressure of his hand on her cheek. Inadvertently she closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Yes, Trip. It will be very hard for her."
Trip nodded. "The ugliest pages are to come yet, aren't they, T'Pol?"
"They… are, Trip."
Trip pursed his lips. "This tale speaks of very ancient times, times when maybe the imprint of the King over me, I mean over the saviour, was felt a heap. Probably more than now."
T'Pol replied in a sigh. "Put it this way."
Trip nodded again and sighed. "Bad person, huh, this saviour? The worst part of me. And, beyond that, now you know. I mean you know that what this saviour does is a bit ... a bit as if it were me to do it."
He smiled sadly. "We went well above and beyond the fact, that you feared, that I could have felt heartsick, sore and angry knowing that, to behave let's say... badly, were a Human, thus renewing the grief for the awareness of the roots of us Humans."
He addressed to T'Pol a rueful grin. "It will be hard for you to re-read the next few pages, perhaps harder than it may be for me to read them for the first time."
"Oh Trip!"
Trip hugged strongly T'Pol. He whispered in her ear. "But there is the Princess, T'Pol." He gently kissed her ear. "There's you."
T'Pol clung to him.
"The saviour found his saviour, huh, T'Pol?"
T'Pol has not even been able to respond. All she has been capable of doing was to huddle even more to Trip.
He held her like that for a while then gently parted her from him. "Come on, T'Pol. We must continue. And we can not leave anything out. When you've read the fable, you did not know what the two of us now know, whatever the number of times you've done it. It is not impossible that you've missed something, maybe even important."
T'Pol nodded. She picked up the PADD and settled down again for the joint reading.
She felt Trip's hand squeeze delicately her shoulder by way of encouragement.
And, a moment before she would begin to read again, she heard his refreshing laugh, his silly yet delicious quip, blatantly said on purpose, to tone down the tension of the waiting for what they would read that the saviour would do.
"Come on, Princess! Hang in there! It will be tough, but you will make it. My likeable predecessor will not win the day with you. And you will save him. I have confidence in you."
His arm clutched strongly her shoulders
"And then you cannot fail. Remember that you are T'Pol! "
T'Pol could not avoid it. She heard her own voice resound with great pride as she restarted to read.
And force, united with deceit, had led Humans to be the new Lords of what had once been the Enchanted Kingdom of the Elves.
On the great continent, in the end, they were left, the Humans, to dominate, although in war against each other.
The Era of the Elves was ending.
But it was not over yet.
The glory of the Elves had not yet waned.
And of that glory the Princess was the depositary.
And, in some obscure way, that big and black being, that faceless Human, had managed to awaken in her the pride for what she was.
An elven princess?
She was not only an elven Princess!
She was THE elven Princess!
She was the Princess of the people of the Elves.
The last heir of the glorious supreme power of the people of the Elves.
She was...
"I am Alel."
The blue eye seemed to sparkle.
The deep voice spoke. Neither sardonic, nor polite. Only amazed.
"You are Alel?"
The Princess nodded proudly.
"The Princess Alel?"
Again the Princess nodded. With even more pride.
"The daughter of Arnon and Dalel?"
One only word, from the Princess. "Yes."
"The last great sovereigns of the entire people of the Elves?"
Again. "Yes."
"You are the Princess Alel, the heir of the supreme power over the whole people of the Elves?"
The Princess, as far as tall as all the Elves, was small facing the huge figure in black.
And her clothes were in tatters.
Her slender and well done body showed off itself, bruised and wounded, from the countless gashes of her scanty dress
Yet she appeared almost as tall as the figure standing before her and as if covered with pure splendour, as she straightened up, with proudness, in responding.
"I am."
End of Chapter Eleven
TBC
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I have kept my word, my friends.
Finally the saviour has shown himself.
Well, however...
It may also be true that he's Trip, in some way, but you can not really say that he is lovable exactly as our engineer. What do you think?
Well. Let's hope for the best.
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(*)Something that you do not know yet, my friends. "In the Hall of the Mountain King" has not yet arrived at this point.
But it will arrive there.