回 回 回
My time is near, I feel it. A manner of mercy, they say. For one to seek and severe their ties to this world; to counsel others in carrying on their legacy, such as it is, and to say their farewells.
The years have been long and hard, full of both darkness and hope for us. And where before I ran and rode and fought over never-ending plains and marched through wild forests, now I merely listen, lying in bed, my bleak vision straying beyond the window of my hut amidst the darkened boughs of Brethil Forest, given to us by king Greymantle, the Lord of these lands.
I have finished my farewells, and now I wait for the nether. I go forth with my head held high, knowing I had done all I could for our people as we strove for a better home, a fuller life.
But life had never been simple.
As I sit here, unable to rise as before, my bones now crumbling and thin, my mind yet runs over green fields of memory. I dwell on forgotten seas of hope until at last, I come to the one farewell I have not said, and never will. And there it dwells within me, word for ragged word.
I stood alone for most of my life, tirelessly devoted to our woes and struggles. And even so, there were voices, either of dissent or wrought with genuine concern, wondering why I should not take a husband. Why I should not bring forth heirs as customary among my people, and many peoples of this world.
Would that I could, I would say, and they would wonder and whisper, and surely think me mad and strange, though none ever questioned my words outright.
But what could I tell them? That I belonged with one whom I would never again meet, until the ends of the world, and likely not even then? That I surrendered to one I left behind, that I did it all for them? How could I?
No, the choice was my own. The loss is mine and his alone, as is our scarred secret, and carefully I grasp at these recollections of him and I. With each passing day that I slip further away, they gain new color and life. My body will be dust, my mind a memory. My deeds may not be sung, nor honored along the ages. I will be forgotten, as happens with all those fading on the pages of time.
But the bond still grips me, and though I desperately loathed its haggard pull in the past, it now may be the sole token left to me once I flee unhoused beyond the night.
Now, as endless times before, despite my savage rebuttal of it through the years, my thought ever strays to him.
回 回 回
I had little love for his manner when we first spoke.
They had cornered us like animals, and we were struggling to hold against the dark ones who came upon us as cruel and swift as lightning. My father and brother and I, and all our people, left our homesteads and retreated until we came to an angle of land between the rivers Gelion and Ascar. There we built hasty defenses and led all our own through, despite many knowing in their hearts that this may well be their end. We lay besieged by the orc, and the little food we had saved dwindled rapidly.
For days we held our own, but the enemy seemed to ever grow in numbers, and we were tiring.
I was not even in my adult years at the time but had never shunned the blade - it was our way. And so I stood beside my father and drove them out and kept them at bay as best we could. And all they did was to howl and bark at us in their mangled language, and their beastly cries sewed horror in our hearts.
I recall the warmth of the heavy hand on my shoulder. "Pay them no heed, Haleth. We may not win the day. But we must hold," my father said, and I listened, or tried to, gritting my teeth against the fear coiled deep within me.
Those were the last words he ever spoke unto me.
I watched as he fell, and then saw my brother, a dread look in his eyes and a steel grip holding me firm. "You stay, sister. Our people will have need of you. Remember our stand."
After a hasty embrace, he went, and there died my family, hewed before the frightened eyes of our women and children.
Then on the seventh day the foe at last broke our defenses, and their weapons cleaved through our people. As we fought beyond hope, bewildered, I heard the faraway wailing of trumpets, and soon our eyes beheld tall riders and a sea of silver spears beaming like beacons in the dark.
Swiftly this unknown host rode them down, the disgusting creatures who ruined and dismembered my family, and threw them into the rivers.
I recall running straight to where the bodies of my father and brother lay, straining to breathe and draw them from the midst of the slain, to cover their battered limbs with my cloak.
Then there was movement and a cloud of dust, and lifting my gaze I saw a great black steed, bearing a rider clad in silver mail and crimson. His shining helm hid most of his face and blinded by stray tears, I could not see his eyes.
He came to a halt, high on his horse, and an imperious voice with a stilted accent filled my ears.
"Where is your leader?"
回 回 回
As I entered the hastily risen tent, I recall gaping in wonder at the intricately woven materials, the sparse yet elegant furnishings that spoke of neverseen skill and wealth.
I had no notion of wealth. Our folk had traveled and toiled hard for a sparse and lacking life, and we knew little of the ways of other kindreds. Least of all we knew of these foreign Elves. And though I was enthralled, I also felt a sliver of envy claw at me. Who were these high lords atop their mighty steeds, so carelessly flaunting their worth and riches before us? How dare others not partake of our misery, but so easily dismiss it with their steel stares and aloof manner?
He was there, standing in his gleaming armor, his dark hair of a strange shine to my eyes, falling straight over shoulders cloaked in crimson. An eight-rayed star traced in silver thread adorned his tabard above his heart. I knew it was him by the sight of his helm, placed nearby on a table.
My back stiffened when our stares collided, and for a moment, my breath fell short. I recall the flicker as if it were yesterday.
His voice beckoned me out of my momentary lapse of reason. Its quality was grave and low, its call dark as a clear winter night. "Lady Haleth, I bid you welcome," the Elf continued his mangling of our tongue.
"I am no lady," I blurted, cursing my stunted words and hitched speech. But I stood as tall and straight as I could, or as seven days of battle and loss would allow.
A black fire brimmed in those eyes, but his face showed nothing. "Then what am I to call you?" asked the Elf, and I remember the surge of shame at my foolish compulsion to thwart him.
I berated myself. This Elven lord and his men had come, found us in dire need and dying by the numbers. Without faltering, they had granted their invaluable aid. Gratitude was due - but nothing more.
Still, I worried that I may have offended him, as I knew little of Elves. I was astonished when instead of ire, I saw the softening lines of his face, and the slight quiver of his lips.
Was he mocking me?
My hands tightened involuntarily into fists. A mighty Elf-lord though he was, and ruler of these lands, but I came to him as required by honor. And though I was in worn furs and leathers and he in plate and rich silks woven by immortal hands, our people's blood had spilled countless times defending these lands - his lands. Thus, I spoke for them, and he would show me the respect that was due. "You are to call me chieftain."
I still so vividly remember his shapely eyebrows shooting upward, and the bemusement on his face. "How old are you?" asked the sullen Elf, now come around his table. He leaned back against it, a shadowed smirk on his features.
Potent anger took me, and barely could I ease the nervous trembling of my limbs. He saw it either way. He also knew, that right then I felt the need to strike him. I am certain of it, for we spoke of this later.
"My age should be of no concern to you or anyone else, I should think," I said carefully. "Chieftain is what I am, following the death of my father and brother in this sortie."
The mirth dancing in those nightly coils died, and his face was stern as we faced each other, his youthful features cut in stone. "My condolences for your loss, chieftain," he stressed the last word, only to rile me in spite, I thought.
I nodded in acceptance of his words and held his gaze. "Lord Carnistir, I speak for all of us when I say we are most grateful for your aid," I braved, careful in drawing any sort of emotion out of my voice. "But we have nothing to offer you as recompense for this timely support," I delved into the midst of the matter, assuming that was the direction this was headed.
He righted himself then and walked closer to where I stood, straight as a rod, my hand grasping the handle of my father's sword for dear life. Suddenly that damnable tent felt much, much smaller.
My heart drummed faster with every step until he was before me, taller than any being I had ever seen; and though I knew little of life beyond the strip of land our people called home, I was certain that he would also remain the fairest.
His eyes flitted briefly over me, and I wondered why he lingered. I wanted this to be done with. But if I knew little of Elves, I knew even less of the male ilk. I thought nothing of how his dark eyes strayed to my unruly brown locks, down to my calfskin wrapped boots and up again, to my dirty tunic marred with orc blood and grime; his gaze at last locked on mine.
I jerked my chin up in defiance, unwilling to grant anyone the pleasure of thinking they may cower me. He would later tell me he was smitten, though failing to acknowledge such even to himself. I would tell him he was a fool. But then we both were.
"I want no manner of restitution from your people, Haleth daughter of Haldad," at last he spoke. "If that is your worry, then you may freely relinquish the thought."
"I may freely do much. For we are all free, and will fight for it until our dying breath."
Then, to my wonderment, in an abrupt flurry leaving me both breathless and intrigued, his mood turned fey.
"Free, on my lands," he spat.
This was preferable. An irate Elf-lord was much, much better than a scornful one. "Not for much longer," I said, every bit the stubborn daughter my father had raised me to be.
"Make certain of it," the Elf said through gritted teeth, his face poorly veiling his discontent, and I remember how it was my turn to smirk.
He spun away from me and went to sit back at his richly crafted table, taking a scroll in hand.
I fought against the brimming humiliation of this gesture, but before I could leave without a word, insulted at this petty disregard for my pretense of equality, he looked at me again. "You are weary. Best we continue this on the morrow, I think. Farewell, for now, chieftain."
I inclined my head. Secretly thankful for his words despite the strange manner of our meeting, I turned on my heel and left him alone in his mastercrafted tent.
That night, along with the cries of my father and brother, the dark light of his eyes followed me through the first rays of dawn.