Blek, this chapter took me forever. I think my muse hates me. Course, I kept pulling Rowlings and re-writing sections cause I didn't like the way they were going. But to make up a little for all the lost time, an extra long chapter this week! Hope you like it.
Oh! One more thing before I get started. Couple people asked about Mero. Actually he is from the books—even the first one. Don't feel bad. Maybe you'd recognize him better as Shadow? For anyone who still doesn't remember, he was a halfblood who was saved by a young elf named Valyn. Valyn (his cousin) kept him secret from his father, and they became good friends. When Mero's life was threatened, they ran away to find the wizards together. And that's all I'm going to say for now.
Disclaimer: The Halfblood Chronicles do not belong to me. Also, I can really remember anything about the Iron People (and can't get a hold of the 2nd book) so whatever I don't know I'll just make up. Artistic License.
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Mero ducked through the door flap, and into the tent's airy interior. "How are they doing?"
The woman he addressed turned towards him with a smile of greeting. With her simple clothes and sun-goldened skin and hair, she was not immediately recognizable for an elf. It was only at closer inspection that one noticed the ears protruding from the hair, too pointed for a wizard, or the surreal grace and too-slender form that marked her for what she was. She bore nothing about her of the fragile and self-effacing creatures that the Elvenlords molded their women into—as she gestured him to sit beside her, Mero reflected with satisfaction that even her shyness had faded, like the cloth of her sun-bleached garments.
Sheyrena turned back to her charge, smoothing back the girl's blonde hair as she responded. "Oh, well enough, I suppose. Though I wish I was better at this."
"You're the best there is," Mero interjected, settling beside her. "And you work far too hard already. You may strive to attain deity-hood another time, love. As it is I wonder if I shouldn't be asking how you're doing." He reached out and tipped her face gently towards his, examining her features for signs of strain.
Rena blushed at the note of concern in his voice, and pushed him laughingly away. "Now don't you start worrying! I may not like them, but I do know my limits!"
Undeterred, he captured her hand, still gazing intently at her. "And you will be careful not to cross them," he pressed.
For a moment, she met his gaze with eyes that mirrored his own in color, intensity, and affection. "I will." Then, abruptly lightening the mood, she smiled, teasing, "If only to keep you from fretting yourself into an illness that I shall have to tend."
Mero laughed, too. Playfully, he clutched her hand against his chest, then drew it to his lips for a kiss. "You break my heart, dear lady. Now, what of our two refugees? Diric was saying that one of them had been up?"
"Yes, in fact she's out exploring the camp right now. The c—dancer. With the dark hair." Rena abruptly found reason to busy herself with her patient. "She was pretty much set once we got that horrible collar off of her. The bruises and physical damage were easy enough to heal. All she needed was a little rest to recover for the mental shock, poor thing."
She shook her head angrily, sending blonde hair flying. "I can never quite get over the arrogance of those repulsive 'conditioning' spells. Bad enough to make people slaves, but interfering with their minds? It's like taking away their Self. Their being. What makes them think they have the right?!"
Mero sighed. "I don't know. The Elvenlords have their own sort of conditioning, I suppose. If you don't acknowledge something as a—person—it's not so hard to ease your conscience about anything."
Rena smiled bitterly. "By that logic they don't acknowledge the females as people either. But then, I suppose they don't. Father certainly had no qualms about threatening a mind-wipe." She shrugged off the bad memory, as if loosing a jacket from her shoulders, and then sighed herself. "So, what exactly was in this collar-spell?"
Mero grimaced. "The usual. Loyalty, fear of open spaces, need to be in a certain place, submissive tendencies, etcetera, etcetera. Must have hit her pretty hard considering how far she'd come."
"Yes, I was surprised she wasn't worse off. She'll probably be rattled for a bit, but… she's a surprisingly strong person."
"And the other?" Mero glanced at the girl Rena was currently attending.
"Head wound, bruises, plenty of old damage, and some sort of severe backlash trauma from working with way too much magical power." Rena absently ran a hand through her hair. "That's the hardest because her magic is… different. Human magic. Some of the shock she's suffering just wouldn't be possible for an elf. Or a half-elf as far as I know. We can drain ourselves certainly, even to the point of death. But she looks more like she was… I don't know, mentally burned. Too much power, rather than too little."
Mero frowned, and shrugged. "I don't know. My teaching runs more to the elven side of my magic than the human. One of the others might know more. Or better yet, we could ask the Citadel to try to find a mage that would come down here.
Rena nodded. "Well, I think she's on the mend now, but if she's not better within a day or two… that would probably be a good idea. In the meanwhile, I think I've got the physical side of things progressing nicely."
Sheyrena had been the one to discover that the delicate 'female' magics that the male elves so looked down on were suitable for more than just such trivial pursuits as flower-sculpting and the like. The intricate control and attention to the small that those arts required made their use of magic easily adaptable to many more useful tasks, like making leaves edible, waterproofing clothing, healing… and other things. Rena firmly pushed away the memory of her final confrontation with her father.
"I can only do so much… after all, it's mostly her body supplying the energy, and she won't have a lot of that to spare for a while. Anyway, I'm expecting her to wake up anytime soon. Hoping, rather. How are things on your side?"
Mero grimaced again, rolling out sore muscles in his shoulders. "Ai. Well, we managed to track down the one that ran. He didn't make it too far—broken jaw. Apparently our dancer had more fight in her than he expected." Mero grinned savagely. "Now that would have been worth seeing! Filthy bandit. He's one of the gladiators that got loose during the young lords' war."
His lip curled. "Another escaped slave who can't think of anything better to do with freedom than prey on others. Along with his not-so-dearly departed buddy. The mage on the other hand is wild. Apparently he hooked up with the other two not long after they made their get-away. Anyway, Diric's got one of their iron collars on him, so we won't have to worry about any magic from that quarter. I'm sure the Iron People can come up with uses to put them to."
Rena looked down at her still battered charge. "Good."
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Cyerriah wasn't sure if her head would ever stop spinning. Granted, it had cause. She thought she'd had enough shocks, scares, and painful, heartrending, or bewildering experiences in the past few weeks to fill the average human's lifetime quota several times over. Then again, maybe that's just a little self-important of me. She ran a hand dazedly through her hair, and struggled to concentrate on her guide's quick chatter, made more complicated by her broken command of the language. Funny really, how it had never even occurred to her that there might be people who didn't speak her own language. Just as she'd never imagined that humans could have skin quite so dark as these people. Why, they were as brown as the elvenlords were fair!
The Iron People. She rolled the name around in her mind. Wild humans. Her eyes roamed the bustling camp that surrounded her, taking in the colorful clothing, and large tents, with the pens of cattle and the war-bulls the warriors rode nearby. Everywhere, the sun glinted on intricately worked jewelry, and the ringing cry of metal on metal from the all-important forges filled the air. 'Wild,' she contemplated, was a very relative word.
Her guide said something that she didn't quite catch, and she smiled uncertainly, hoping she didn't look too blank. The small dark-skinned woman shook her head (apparently she did look rather blank) and pointed through the crowd. With her pale blonde hair, and fair skin, the elvenmaid Sheyrena was easy to spot as she made her way toward them.
Briefly, Cyerriah fought the urge to take off in the opposite direction. It wasn't that Sheyrena didn't seem quite a nice person. Or even that she was an elf—for certain reasons, that might bother Cyerriah at the moment, but she had certainly spent enough time with elves in the past, many of whom were far more formidable than this small creature. It came down to… instinct. Conditioning. Concubines did not interact with Elvenladies.
Like that blasted collar… It had hurt, finding out all the things that pretty piece of gold was meant to do. Hurt in more ways than one. Firmly, she turned her mind away from that line of thought, starting through the camp to meet the approaching elf.
"Your friend: she's woken up," Sheyrena spoke, with no preamble. The elven woman managed an awkward smile, looking self-conscious. "She's… a little out of sorts. I think I upset her."
Cyerriah's heart leapt. "Can I see her? She's all right, isn't she?"
"Ancestors, yes! To both." Sheyrena ran a restless hand through her hair, as they started back towards the tent. "Actually," she confided after a moment, "we were hoping you could relax her a bit. I left Mero with her, but I don't think she really feels comfortable with him either. Not that I blame her."
Cyerriah blinked, and looked closer at the elvenmaid, wondering at the strange emphasis on those last words. They should have seemed perfectly ordinary; after all, Cyerriah had been having similar thoughts herself just moments ago. So why… "I'll do what I can."
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Jemayne was aware that she was dreaming. In fact, it was the only reason she had not become a sobbing, hysterical mass amidst the nightmare images that surrounded her. This isn't real! She clung to that thought, repeating it like a mantra—not real, not real, not real— as if she could crowd the growing fear out of her mind. As if she could stop the tiny little fragment of her mind which did cry, which perhaps had never stopped crying. It was real, that part whispered. Fear/Anger/Pain. It is.
And then, it was all falling away, fading into mere memory, as she struggled up to consciousness. Haven't I done this before? Sarcasm was nice. It made everything seem… apart. Less immediate. Less real. This time, she managed not to reach for her magic; the last few times that had only sent her reeling back into the blackness, and the dreams.
Gradually she became aware of voices, talking quietly, a dim light filtering through her eyelids, and the sensation of a soothing presence bending over her. Jemayne opened her eyes.
Green, slanted eyes stared back, framed by too-blonde hair, pointed ears—Jemayne flinched violently away from the distinctly elven face hovering over her, fear jolting pure adrenaline through her veins. "No!" She grabbed desperately for her magic, and this time managed a tenuous hold, although an aching pain seemed to swallow her brain along with it. "Get away!"
The elvenlord—elf—elvenmaiden moved back quickly, even as someone else stepped protectively between them. "Easy…" The man—dark hair, but his eyes looked elven; and were his ears a little pointed?—held out his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Easy." His voice was quiet, calming. "Remember me? I'm Mero. This is Sheyrena. She's just been healing you. Do you remember? I promised we'd help."
Jemayne's rapidly beating heart was quickly taking care of her lingering bleariness. She watched the two warily, her eyes not quite certain which one to fasten on. She spoke slowly. "I…remember." That was right, she had mind-touched him. A bit of calm returned, and she momentarily steadied. Still… Her eyes narrowed. "You never mentioned elves."
"Rena is a very good healer," Mero soothed, "and a very nice person. You can look into either of our minds again if you like."
Actually, she wasn't all together sure she could at the moment, a fact she rather desperately wanted to cloak. Her agitation found another outlet. "Where am I? And where's Cyerriah?!" At the last realization she attempted to sit up, and then abruptly aborted the act as the sudden motion sent her head spinning. Automatically, Rena moved to support her. Jemayne recoiled again, sending waves of pain and darkness through her head, and almost upsetting herself from the low cot. Lightning quick, her panic turned to anger. "Don't touch me, elf!"
The sheer ferocity sent Rena back several steps, and then she remembered herself and retreated still farther, with an unreadable glance at Mero. "I am sorry," she said softly. "I only want to help."
When Jemayne only glared she turned her face to one side, as if she could find words in the fabric of the tent. "I know my kind has not dealt well with you in the past. The elvenlords…can be very cruel to those in their control." She took another step away, her hair falling forward into her face. "Please be at ease. I will go find your friend." So saying, she ducked through the tent flap, and disappeared.
Jemayne remained motionless, eying the wizard, who stood a few minutes staring after the elvenmaid. She wasn't altogether certain she liked being alone with the young man any better than the presence of the elf. Actually, all this fear and uncertainty was beginning to irritate her. She felt blazing mad, but she couldn't seem to direct the anger any particular source—rage was a vague, incoherent cloud, as willing to tear away at her as at any target she found. Blast it all, and why should I feel bad about this? Damned elf.
"She really is just trying to help, you know," Mero said, finally turning back to her. "You might not think it, but the elvenladies are as much the slaves of the lords as the humans. Just in different ways."
"I find that hard to believe." Bitterness edged her voice like a knife.
Mero only shrugged, saying simply, "I know." A pause dragged out between them, and eventually he spoke again. "I've been a slave. I was one for most of my life. Luckier than most, I had Valyn to look after me. But still a slave."
Jemayne refused to ask the obvious question—who was Valyn?—she didn't really feel like speaking at all. She suspected he wanted her to open up and share her problems or whatever. Have a good cathartic cry. Feel all better. Nope. Not happening. Besides, a nasty little voice dug at her, He was in your head. The damned blasted elf's a healer. They already know your problems.
This time he let the silence stretch between them, and it remained unbroken until—
"Jemayne!" She turned towards the tent flap, as the tall, dark-haired girl entered. "How are you feeling?"
Jemayne managed a sardonic smile. "Oh, peachy. Not as well as you, I suppose since I'm the one confined to a bed. The pointy-ears fix you up, Cyerriah?"
"Sheyrena is right behind me, and yes, she did." Cyerriah stepped aside for the elvenmaid to enter, and tried to hide the smile that wanted to form. She dropped down alongside the girl's cot. Typical Jemayne, down to the last E. "My collar is off, too." She raised a hand to her neck, wondering at how…naked its absence still made her feel.
"Weird feeling, hm?" Jemayne said, mirroring her thoughts.
"But a very nice one, I found." They both turned to look at Mero, who leaned back, arching a dark eyebrow.
The pause only lasted a moment, and then Cyerriah clapped her hands. "Now then. I hear you are being stubborn, Jemayne. Of course, I know Sheyrena is very fearsome and intimidating, but seeing as you are stuck in that bed, you have limited options as I see it." Jemayne opened her mouth but Cyerriah continued brightly right over the top of her. "You can either muster all your courage and graciously allow her to treat you know, or we can wait until you are driven to extremes by sheer boredom."
She smiled cheerily at Jemayne, who still had her mouth open, and looked torn between outrage and consternation. Mero and Sheyrena both looked like they were trying not to laugh. She hated them all. Coming to her senses, Jemayne snapped her mouth shut. "Definitely the backbone," she muttered darkly.
Sheyrena took a cautious step forward. "Please, if you will just allow me to look you over."
Jemayne's eyes were narrowed and her stomach roiled, but she really couldn't see anyway to back out of this with out looking completely feeble. I am not afraid of her. "Fine," she grated, knowing she sounded like a petulant child, and yet unable to manage a better response. Even her customary sarcasm seemed to have deserted her.
Approval granted, Rena approached her with a strange combination of mildness and firmness, somehow managing to be both utterly unassuming, and courteously determined at the same time. She placed her hands lightly beside Jemayne's temples, with a professionally detached touch, politely ignoring the slight flinch that the girl did not quite manage to conceal.
Then the elf closed her eyes, focusing her magic. That magic was being utilized in her exam was only indefinitely recognizable, through a vague tingling sensation, and the slight, jangling 'noise' of magic that a mage or wizard could detect. Yet Jemayne, following the process warily with her mage-sight, quickly became so fascinated that she forgot both fear and suspicion. It wasn't just the magic that was different, but the style in which Sheyrena employed it, and Jemayne rather thought that the style, at least, might be able to be emulated.
Relatively quickly, Rena stepped back. "That's about it for now I think. You seem to be progressing well, and I believe we'll need to leave it pretty much up to your own body to take care of things from here. We wouldn't want to complicate the pregnancy."
And there it was. Out in the open. Jemayne was abruptly very aware of Cyerriah's gaze, bright and questioning upon her. Damn it. She didn't want to look, didn't have to, really. She could already picture perfectly what she would see. The realization, the intolerable pity, the questions. Cyerriah would never ask of course. Jemayne could ignore this entire episode, and Cyerriah would accept it, accept the hurt as if she believed she deserved it.
Damn it.
She didn't want to—couldn't deal with all this right now. Too bad. "Could we…have a moment, please?"
Rena and Mero exchanged looks. "Of course. If you need anything, you can ask any of the people around here."
Jemayne watched them go, conflicting impulses warring within her. At the last minute, she focused her magic as much as her current state would allow her, and imprecisely mindspoke Mero. ::I… the baby. It's all right?::
Jemayne saw him hesitate in the opening of the tent, and glance back uncertainly at her. A pause. She wondered if he was consulting the elf, or just not sure of how to answer. Finally: ::It's fine. A very healthy baby. Everything should go well.::
::Thank you. …Tell her thanks.::
She felt his compassionate smile. ::I'll do that. Get some rest.::
With a sigh Jemayne lay back in the cot, her head aching fiercly, despite how minimal the exertion had been. Rest, yes. Soon. But first… she closed her eyes for a moment, to bolster herself, then looked at Cyerriah. "We need to talk."
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A/N: And now you know. That's all for now. Did you like it? I know not much happened… I actually didn't get as far as I planned. Things always seem to take longer than I think they will. It's funny, Jemayne was just a spur-of-the-moment minor char, and now she's practically got the whole chapter to herself. And the next one—find out a bit about Jemayne's past! Yay! (Well, I'm excited. I don't know much myself.)
All right, big time thank you to all the reviewers. You make my day and keep me motivated. Foxfire1 sent me a very thoughtful and insightful e-mail—thank you! I really appreciated your comments.
A few responses:
Rosethorn: Survived it—but barely. Thanks!
A couple people commented on Cye's fighting. I have to admit, I was tempted. It would have been a lot of fun to have her kick all their butts. (In fact, I think that may have been somewhere in the original plans for this story.) But yes, I think this way is probably better. And you're right, she did get lucky. But she did have quite a few things in her favor… We'll see.
Winona: Heh heh. You caught it.
Karana Belle: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the action scene… I wasn't really sure about it. And still only 3 books. There's a fourth one planned, but its not coming out 'til 2005. cries.
Lurks in Shadows:: Thanks!
X-Wing: Can't say anything. Guess you'll find out.
Thank you all again. Please review!
-Li