Little bit more... Thanks, ED and Panoply.

51: Tinkering

The RPG, late afternoon, by the shore of a northern sea-

Because he had nothing better to do (being, for the moment, unwanted) Male Elf worked out their location. Walking along the sky road was not at all like traversing the landscape; everything looked different when viewed from above, and didn't quite match his ancestral lore. Lent new meaning to the phrase "as the crow flies", certainly. But he took as his first clue the twin elven cities, one below water, the other a cliff-side ruin. These were distinct and easy to place.

His former people had a name for both of them, neither of which he would pronounce aloud. Not here, anyway. Not if he wanted to keep a whole throat and an un-punctured hide.

In the common language, from better times, they'd been called Elrethe and Fialle, but those were human names. The sea folk kept their own counsel, and a wise former drow kept well out of sight, because he wasn't at all welcome here. For his help in the battle, Male Elf hadn't yet been hunted down and killed, but pushing the issue by showing himself (or camping amid the ruins) would change all that in a quick damn hurry.

At any rate, they'd stopped by a pair of twin cities, on the shore of a great northern sea, perhaps sixty miles from Meretown, as the crow flies. Possibly fifty. Frodle was nowhere nearby, and it had been quite awhile since Male Elf bothered consulting a map of the surface.

He'd placed himself well away from the mourning sea elves, in a shallow alcove of rock beside his waterfall and cleansing pool. Force of habit, mostly; the light didn't trouble him that much, and his new campsite seemed fairly secure. The horses munched, swished and rustled contentedly nearby, freed of harness and turned loose to graze. They were happy, and their steadiness helped him, but Male Elf was plagued with questions that guessing his whereabouts and grooming the horses couldn't resolve.

That concealment spell and monstrous sending had been extremely powerful magic, to start with; no ordinary sorcerer could have conjured such a beast and then kept it hidden, with an illusory shipwreck thrown in for good measure. And what of the girl-child? If there was no smashed ship, no drowned crew, where had his silent companion come from?

Male Elf turned his head to examine the girl, who sat beside him with both arms wrapped tightly about her up-drawn knees. Beyond that strange, listless quiet, there seemed nothing unusual about her. To his senses she looked and smelt like a young human female, not yet of breeding age. They'd replaced her thin clothing with a spare robe of Frodle's, but her feet were still bare and a good three inches of pale ankle showed below the hem of her new garment.

As to behavior, she ate nothing unless it was placed in her hand, responded to no questions and provided neither name, nor history. Faced with a monster, she'd cried a bit and clung to him, but afterward, not at all. Wet through when they found her, she was; cold but uninjured, and with no obvious means of arrival. The sea folk hadn't known her, and there weren't any human towns close enough to wander away from. So, this left him with… what? A weirdly empty and unexplained girl. Not menacing, but remote.

Male Elf shifted upon his mossy seat and reached into a belt pouch, in the process brushing the one that held his broken arm-ring. He had no sweets on him, or playthings, either. Just a few cakes of flat way-bread, wrapped in freshness-spelled muslin. Wishing there was milk to break it into, or a bit of fruit for sweetening, he unwrapped the cake and held it out, saying,

"Here. It isn't much, but I'm told you get used to the taste. Eventually."

He had to push the food into her hands before she seemed to notice it. Then, very slowly, the girl began to eat. Not as if hungry, but lost; dark-dreaming-lonely-afraid.

"You need a name," he said to her, rising to fetch water from the cataract pool. "Think of something, or I will… and I'm not very good at it."

Her head moved a little, as if very faintly she'd heard him, but that was all. Male Elf waited a moment, then took a cup from his pack and went out for more water. Two steps brought him out of the "cave" and into full day-shine, over which he didn't exactly stumble, but slowed. Light didn't sting anymore. It held a quick, bracing shock, like a face-full of sudden cold water.

…And his new existence was worth it. Worth everything lost and everyone abandoned, below.

Male Elf picked his way past nodding silvery ferns and wet-smelling rocks, attending carefully to the cascading ribbon of white, noisy water which leapt from the cliffs above. It pushed at his hair and garments with chilling-damp gusts, but its spirit was a good one; kindly and welcoming, even to such as he.

Allat fluttered from the sky just as Male Elf stooped to capture a cupful of water. Nice. The shape-changer had probably meant to seem noble, but there was more partly-plucked-fowl-mixed –with-dead-cat about him, than griffin. Then, too, Allat nearly shoved Male Elf into the pool for another cleansing when he tried to brake against his startled friend's shoulder. Luckily, there were branches to grab.

"Dinner," Male Elf announced aloud, pretending not to recognize Allat. Swinging himself upright, he leapt to a higher rock and seized the bird-cat's long neck. Allat made a few indignant choking sounds before Male Elf let him go (also turned into something uncomfortably spiny, which the dark elf affected not to notice). All in good fun, and no harm done to either side. Once the thief had taken his usual form, Male Elf asked him,

"What's the news from Gawain?"

At this, Allat popped eyeballs all over himself, just so he could roll them disgustedly.

"Playing 'I Spy' with Glud… and losing. Even with hints!"

The elf smiled a little.

"It'll pass," he said. Then, "What of Frodle? Has he convinced the sea people that we had nothing more to do with their storm and monster than bad timing?"

Gradually reabsorbing blue eyeballs that way, Allat looked especially pensive.

"I don't know about that, Lord-Nameless, ol' buddy… Personally, I've got a weird feeling that we didn't just accidentally blunder into all this. I think the creature was sent because somebody knew we'd hit ground here, and they wanted to make an impression. One that would pull in the locals, if you get my meaning. But, yeah… Frodle's smoothing the sea-Ps over, big time."

They started back up and away from the water, still talking.

"What about you and the chatterbox?" Allat inquired, his face morphing subtly to resemble the girl's. "Everything good over here?"

Sure.

Male Elf shrugged. Turning away from Allat, he paused to give St. George, Grayling and Dapple a fond pat each, getting soft whickers of recognition and horse-breath blown in his face, in return.

"Well," said the thief, who was now mostly human except for a few extra legs, "you're not missing much, let me tell you. When big, important people get together to make colossal decisions, they're boring as porridge and side-meat. On the whole, I'd rather be here."

The horses' ears twitched and their tails remained busy. Otherwise (standing side by side facing opposite directions) they returned to their enthusiastic grazing. Male Elf tugged a few burrs from Grayling's long tail, but he listened and even nodded. Allat behaved most times like a complete and utter fool, yet there was a streak of real wisdom and insight there, and sometimes the creature allowed it to show.

"Thanks," the dark elf told him, obscurely comforted. "I was pining away for flowery speeches and diplomacy."

Back at the shallow cliff-cave, the girl had finished what she wanted of his way-bread and allowed the rest to drop to the ground. Otherwise, the lass had moved not at all.

"Well," Male Elf called out to her, when he and Allat ducked within, "any ideas? Because otherwise, you're stuck with Aeralyn. That's "girl" in the language of halflings."

She made a very slight motion, as though listening to a distant echo, but didn't speak a word in reply. Meanwhile, Allat switched forms in rapid succession, studying the girl with varying eyes and antennae, focusing oddly plumed appendages at her. Vexed, he uttered a short keyword and popped back to "normal", saying,

"Weirdness piled on top of really, crazy strange. There's magic, but it's in her, not laid there by spells."

"So, no enchantment or bindings?"

Allat shook his head, clearly baffled.

"Not that I can sense, no."

Damn.

Male Elf positioned the water cup in her line of sight. Then he helped the girl's wandering, fluttering hands to reach for it. As he guided her drink and then dabbed at her mouth with an edge of his cloak, the elf thought hard.

If someone existed physically in Midworld, but their mind was elsewhere… perhaps they would seem like Aeralyn; remote, helpless and confused. Her hand pawed out. After the cup, he thought, but she felt it when offered, and thrust it aside. The raveling edge of his cloak she took and clung to instead, like a talisman or a lifeline.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night, once the party was gathered and the bulk of their camp shifted to the waterfall, Male Elf approached Sir Gawain. The Cross-Knight was better than he had been, but still rather slow and quite trusting. With their foundling in tow, Male Elf took a seat upon the ground beside his friend, who was cleaning weapons by the fire pit.

A swift glance around proved that no one else was watching. Frodle was too busy shrinking and spell-preserving great piles of seal and fish to notice the elf's activity. Glud was standing watch some distance away, while Allat lay already curled up asleep atop Dapple. So,

"Gawain," he began very quietly. "Could I talk with you?"

The red-haired knight glanced up from his energetic blade-polishing. Just as well. Glud's serrated belt knife was the object of his efforts, and no amount of oil was going to shine that.

"Master Elf," he said, genuinely pleased to see the drow. "Are you well?"

The elf shifted position.

"On the whole, yes… but I'd like to show you something, if I might."

"Surely. Say on."

At once, the rag and knife were set aside, and the knight's attention became as brightly focused as an eager dog's. Not at all fair, but the best time to try, so Male Elf pulled a handful of copper bits from one of his belt pouches and held them forth, palm up.

Sir Gawain's eyebrows lifted. Stirring the fragments about with an extended forefinger, he said,

"Tis broken."

Hardly breathing, Male Elf nodded. Just now, he felt like something very dark and stealthy… but he also refused to turn back.

"Irreparably?" he asked.

Gawain's head cocked to one side. It was no exaggeration to say that at the moment, his extreme innocence and power made him more dangerous than Glud, and several times as strong.

"No," the knight decided. "Not irrep… irri… That is, I can mend it."

Big words were a problem for him at times like this, as were complex people and hidden motives.

"Would you?" the elf asked, keeping his voice deliberately calm and quiet.

"Aye. Of course."

Sir Gawain extended his hand and placed it over Male Elf's, as though to seal a bargain. There were no keywords or sigils, no potions or powders. Just the good will and purpose of an utterly cleansed knight. Without further preamble, bright, shifting warmth leaked from between their clasped hands, and all at once, Male Elf could feel something moving against his palm.

More than that, the last faint gleam of the she-elf's disarming spell coalesced like a violet mist and then poured into Gawain's flickering repair-magic. After a heartbeat or so, Sir Gawain released his grip to reveal a bright copper arm-ring, like a serpent with small violet jewels for its eyes. Delicate as a grass-snake, she raised a triangular head and regarded them, testing the air with fast little flicks of a crystal tongue. Then she seemed to melt, passing into his palm and back to her place at his wrist; just a strange, metallic image.

Gawain had already resumed polishing, but Male Elf thanked him, anyhow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That is so cheating!" Alan snapped, getting up from his chair. "Frodle should have heard something and interrupted!"

But Fermat just smiled and gave him a helpless little shrug.

"S- Sorry about that… Alan," the bespectacled young boy apologized. "I w- was so busy preserving… food for the t- trip, I guess I just d- didn't notice."

"Baloney! You planned this! Both of you!"

Gordon looked as smug as an I-just-got-away-with-it, milk-stealing cat.

"Fancy that," the swimmer teased, folding both arms across his broad chest, "seems there are a few things that our all knowin' dungeon master can't control."

Alan pivoted to glare next at John, who'd levered his six-four frame out of the chair in slow, lanky stages. Like Gordon, Scott and Fermat, he didn't even look sorry.

"Leave me out of this," said the astronaut, laughing quietly. "All I wanted to do was fix a damn bracelet; not my fault if someone else decided to jump in."

…But it looked like they might get some extra help, after all, from a last-minute wyvern still very much in the game. Walking out of the room with Scott, expecting Penny back sometime tomorrow, John was nearly optimistic enough to bet on a phone call from Houston.

Prime crew, he thought to himself… and to whatever else might be listening… make it prime crew.