The journey to Dorwinion was several weeks, and on the very first day, Galathon learned what it was to be a slave.

The traders did not stop until close to nightfall. In mid-afternoon, Istvan ate a bit of bread and gave Galathon some, as well, which he ate with bound hands.

Even when camp was made and dinner prepared, Galathon's hands were only untied long enough to allow him to eat in a little east. At this time, Istvan and another of the bechyr sat on either side of him, watching that he didn't escape.

"You see," Istvan said not unkindly when he saw Galathon's uneasiness, "we can't have you escaping—and an elf like you, why, if you decided to start running, we couldn't catch you on our own two feet."

"Istvan," the leader said, fixing the younger man with a look. Istvan did not look exactly intimidated, but he immediately fell silent. Apparently, the bachor was worried Istvan was giving Galathon ideas.

000

They tied his hands again before bedding down for the night—which would be uncomfortable, but not unbearable. The head bachor approached him and landed him a blanket. Galathon regarded him with surprise, then thanked him. Honestly, he probably wouldn't need it—elves not feeling the cold as men do—but it would be a comfort anyway, and a comfort unlooked-for.

He had observed one or two of the men wandering off behind one of the wagons and returning looking more comfortable. Istvan was bedding down next to him, and Galathon caught his attention, indicating the nearest wagon meaningfully. Istvan nodded and rose, and he stood just around the corner of the wagon while Galathon relieved himself. Then they both went back to turn in for the night, and Istvan tied a rope from Galathon's hands to the wagon in such a way that Galathon wouldn't be able to free himself without alerting the man on watch.

000

Galathon awoke in the middle of the night, breathing hard. While he had wandered in dreams, the memory had come to him of the rough handling of his brothers—the sudden stomach-turning drop into the pit, the terror and despair of knowing he would be there alone in the dark until the end of his days…

His eyes snapped fully open in the starlight and he lay there for a moment, trying to slow his breathing. Careful of his bound hands, he rolled over onto his side. Istvan lay next to him, the low flames of the campfire reflecting peach light on his face and his closed eyes.

Galathon's heart jumped in his chest for a moment, until he remembered that humans slept with their eyes shut. Istvan was alright, then, only asleep.

Galathon turned his eyes up to the spangled heavens above him. "Ah, Elbereth," he breathed, so quietly that none of the men could hear him, "shine down on me in this black pit."

000

Elbereth did indeed seem to be lending him her aid in the next few weeks as they trudged ever closer to Dorwinion. Galathon learned Íjhapton so quickly and so well that Istvan had soon taught him all he knew and called on some of the other bechyr to supply the gaps in his knowledge. They agreed, not appearing displeased. They had come to rather like the elf they had bought, who was so polite to them and never surly, as many slaves (understandably) tended to be. At the end of the first week, one of their horses had started at something and become rather wild. Luckily no one was riding him at the time, but he had wares on his back, and it looked for a moment like he would run off with them. Galathon noticed the commotion from his place further up the line, and instantly called back some calming words of his own tongue. The horse paused, and pricked his ears up. Then, to the bechyr's amazement, he trotted right up to Galathon and nuzzled his cheek, snuffling in his ear. The young elf laughed a low laugh and stroked the velvety nose with his bound hands, murmuring to the creature.

"Here," he said to one of the astonished bechyr, "he is quite calm now."

"So he is," the bachor said, slowly taking the reins. "I'll be. You have quite a way with horses, young 'un."

Galathon smiled at the compliment, but shrugged. The bechyr all knew that most elves had that same "way" with animals, and what the man was really saying was that he was surprised that a slave would help his captors out that way, saving their horse and the wares it carried. Though not in so many words, it was a thank you, and Galathon appreciated it.

For a slave, he led a bit of a charmed life after that incident. The bechyr were much more likely to talk to him in a friendly manner—although they were very careful not to let their guard down or give him any extra chances to escape.

Galathon didn't mind. He knew that was how it must be, and did not resent them for it. There was a smile and a friendly word for him every day, and that was enough for him. And they were teaching him Íjhapton at such a pace that a week before they reached Dorwinion, he could carry on a conversation with Istvan in it, albeit in a rather broken and halting manner. His Íjhapton was definitely intelligible, for all that, and Istvan seemed satisfied with his progress.

"I'd be puffin' myself up like a rooster if I didn't know it was your own hard work and not my teaching that has brought you so far," he said.

000

One morning, Istvan woke Galathon with the news that they would reach Dorwinion that day.

"Ah, how I want to smell the gardens of Dorwinion again, and see my girl waiting at the door of her father's house," Istvan said, waxing sentimental. Galathon felt some unease. If they were nearing Dorwinion, then he would soon be taken to Íjhapto, where he would be sold.

But dark thoughts left his mind as they drew near to Dorwinion. The gardens there were beautiful indeed, and fertile. Field after field of vegetables and flowers went by, set amongst the endless vineries. The men and women of Dorwinion could be seen working in their fields as the caravan passed. Some of them waved to the bechyr or hailed them merrily in their own language.

They reached the heart of the city at noon—if it could be called a city. It was more a village, as the dwellings of the Dorwinions were spread out amongst their fields. But there was a bustling marketplace, and Galathon could see that the people of Dorwinion had become rich in their trade.

The caravan stopped outside a large building where, Galathon was informed, the head bachor lived and ran his business. Istvan took him inside and showed him to the room he'd be staying in for the night.

"And now I'm off to see my girl!" he said happily.

"You will be coming back tomorrow?" Galathon asked anxiously.

"Of course! Íjhapto is part of the round-trip; it's in my contract." He looked at Galathon curiously. "You almost sound as if you'd miss me."

"I would," Galathon said sincerely. Istvan had been consistently kind to him on the road, and Galathon had come to rely on his company.

"Well, my goodness," Istvan declared in amazement, "who would have believed it!" But Galathon could tell he was flattered.

TBC

AN:

trecebo: Larry… lol Yeah, sorry about that. I wrote that chapter whilst in Indiana, with no internet access, so I couldn't look up a good name for him. Larry was his working name, which I went through and replaced with Istvan, but I must've missed that one… Thanks for catching it! I fixed it.

Thalion: Thanks!

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