2. Allanon's Arrival at Havenstead
Disclaimer: I do not own Amberle, Havenstead, or anything else from "The Elfstones of Shannara". Those are the property of Mr. Terry Brooks.
I tell my students their bedtime story—an Elven legend, as it is every night. Tonight I tell them a story of long ago, before Men came and destroyed the world. This one is more truth than legend; I live every day with the guilt of abandoning the Ellcrys, who is the focus of tonight's story.
Just as I end the tale of her creation, there is a knock at the door. I wince. My guest uses his fist—and it's probably his, for I have never heard a girl or woman knock that way—as if it were a battering ram.
"Who is it?" I ask softly, trying not to disturb the children. They have just begun their course of study, and most of them have never been away from home for this long before. I move one curtain aside to see my visitor through the window.
I gasp. I know who this is even before he says "I am Allanon" in brief reply.
I pretend not to believe him. It isn't hard; nobody has seen him since the Sword of Shannara was recovered. However, he knows that I do. I leave him, and the Elf with him, so that I might see to the children.
***
When I return, I go with them to my garden. Allanon wishes to speak with me. Me, Amberle Elessedil, shame of the Elves of the Westland. What in the Four Lands could the Druid want with me?
He tells me that the Ellcrys is dying and I am the last of her Chosen. Worse, I am being tracked by the Demons that have already broken through. But what would they do with me? I am no longer Chosen, and all those that were are now dead.
Dead! Lauren, my friend, who—though he never knew it—knew me best of all of our fellow Chosen, is dead. Jase, our leader by universal acclaim, is dead. All of the Chosen are gone—I want to scream out my grief, fly into a storm of weeping, but I cannot. Not before the Druid. The other six were as brothers to me, but I cannot show weakness in front of Allanon.
He tells me that I am the last of the Chosen.
***
I do not remember the rest of what was said in the garden.
No doubt it was something rude. I do not like this Druid, or the things that he says. If what he says is true, then I need more time to absorb it, to grieve and to decide what I am to do.
And what am I to do? To return—to face all that such a return implies—I cannot cope with this now. I must think on it. The Druid and the Healer-To-Be will sleep in the garden tonight, and we will speak further tomorrow when I have considered what has been said.
As I wash and change for bed, I have a shudder of foreknowledge. This quest, should I decide to embark upon it, will demand much of me—perhaps more than I can give.
I brush the thought away. Now is time for sleeping. Let the problems fade into dreams; tomorrow I will face them.
A/N: To anyone who may have read this, I apologize for not updating sooner. Another fic of mine has had more attention than this one, but then, it's been finished for some time now, and mostly what I have to do is editing. This one, however, is a work in progress, and though I have ideas, I'm a bit of a perfectionist and the next two reflections are undergoing some rather extensive revision at the moment.
P.S., Fan-kitty: Trust me, the scene with Wil is coming soon.