Revised July 2022

Betweenness

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III III III

Over the next few days, Anne felt her strength returning. Her bruised skull recovered, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the injury in her shoulder appeared to be healing faster than what should be normal. The skin had covered the wound already, but Anne's first glimpse of it — craning her neck and twisting her back while awkwardly pulling her shoulder forward — had still given her stomach a lurch.

The barely closed puncture was about the size of a fingernail, still discoloured and with an angry red centre, and there were small half-healed spiderweb-like cuts surrounding the wound. At least there was no swelling or disgusting fluids oozing from it, and when Anne tentatively touched the scabbed area, she only felt a small twinge. Delior had given her a tiny earthen pot containing an evil-smelling salve or paste of a grey-green colour.

"This salve is made from crushed leaves of a plant that is rare and only grows wildly, so use it sparingly," he told Anne. "The tincture is very effective, even if used in small amounts."

It was probably the most words the Elf had spared her since their first conversation, but Anne could not quite appreciate them. His warm fingertips had brushed her palm when he handed her the medicine, and while Anne nodded and thanked him, she couldn't help but picture those same fingers drawing back a bow and sending an arrow into her back.

Applying the salve was a bit of a struggle, and Anne knew she did a poor job redressing the wound. The bandage never stayed in place for long and kept coming loose, but Anne couldn't bring herself to ask Delior for help. The thought of undressing in front of him made her stomach pucker but when she had to retie the linen strips for the fifth time, Anne half-hoped the Elf would offer his help anyway. He didn't. Whether because he thought it unnecessary, or he simply didn't care, Anne had no idea.

Delior wasn't always around but would leave the cave several times a day, bringing back water and food. The latter was comprised mostly of various kinds of berries and bird nuts, some kind of yellow, tube-shaped root and wild onions, but also river fish and, once or twice, a rabbit. Anne had wondered aloud whether it was not dangerous for her to stay alone in the cave, since he would not even let her take a walk on her own.

Delior actually deigned to comment on that, but all he said was: "You are safe here."

One night, Anne woke suddenly, and in complete darkness. The sounds of the nightly forest seemed unnaturally loud and shrill in her ears. Although she was not even able to see her hand in front of her face, she knew at once and with absolute certainty that she was alone in the cave. Despite this, she quietly called Delior's name, and when there was no response, the pure and blinding fear that had gripped her came as an utter shock. Later, Anne had no idea how long she had been lying there — curled up in a ball and feeling cold and numb all over her body. At some point she must have fallen asleep again; when next she woke, the grey, cold light of early dawn was creeping into the cave akin to searching fingers, and Delior was sitting with his back to her next to the once more merrily crackling fire. She had felt rather embarrassed about her fright and therefore had restrained herself from asking Delior where he had disappeared to in the middle of the night.

Anne never saw the Elf sleep. He was always still awake when she lay down at night, and already up and about when she groggily rolled out of her furs in the mornings. Impossible as that would seem, Anne started wondering whether he got any rest at all. He did not look overly tired, but at times, there seemed to be something weary about his upright poise, and a slightly haunted look to his gaze.

Sometimes he would sit quietly though, leaning against the cave wall with his arms folded and his eyes closed, dark lashes resting on pale skin like minuscule bird's wings, his body's only movement the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest.

Anne could not help looking over at him frequently on these occasions, partly because she had not much else to observe, and although his behaviour never suggested that he was actually ill, she found an odd comfort in watching him breathe.

He never seemed to relax completely though, and his eyes would flutter open at the faintest snap of a twig, or the softest sound of a bird in the forest. More often than not, Anne hadn't heard anything at all herself, which in turn led her to wonder how keen his hearing truly was.

Sometimes Delior left with only his bow, and would not return for several hours without bringing anything back. Once, Anne asked him what he had been doing, rather as an attempt at innocuous conversation than anything else. The Elf muttered something about 'meddlesome children', while looking vaguely irritated. After a puzzled moment of wondering where and why there might be children in the woods, Anne realised he was talking about her. She gave up on her endeavours then, rankled and not a little bemused. Yes, she might not be old enough to start counting wrinkles and grey hairs yet, or calling young men 'laddie', but still; even though the exact number was still eluding her — which was frustrating and awkward enough in itself — Anne was fairly certain of being well past the age where she should be referred to her as a child.

Another time she asked him whether the cave was his actual home. It was early evening and they were both sitting by the fire. Delior was mending something that looked like it might be a blanket, and Anne was chewing some sweet, scarlet berries that tasted not unpleasantly like they were already half fermented. Delior's eyes met hers briefly, before returning to his work.

"Would that not meet your approval?"

His voice was low and deceptively soft, sending a wary tingle down Anne's spine.

"What? No, I just wondered if you were only staying here because of me. I mean—" She gestured around them with her handful of berries, indicating the cave, "I don't imagine it will be very comfortable once the weather gets colder." She darted him a quick look, but the Elf seemed focused on the long bone needle he was deftly threading through the dark fabric in his lap. "It's also quite small, isn't it? Unless Elves always live by themselves and not—"

With an air of resignation and mild irritation, Delior sighed and looked up at her. "No, this is not my home. It is but a shelter used by my people and others in times of need."

"Oh, I see," Anne nodded while sadly examining the now rather squashed berries. "Elves don't normally live in caves, then?"

Delior turned his attention back to his sewing. "You are an inquisitive one."

"Well, I was just curious."

"Hence my point."

"Well," said Anne after a moment of silence, "curiosity isn't bad. It is... it is a good virtue, I'd think."

He did not reply.

Fine, Anne thought moodily, frowning at the elf's bent head. Perhaps I should start talking to myself, let's see how he will like that.

As though having read her mutinous thoughts, Delior looked up again and raised an eyebrow at meeting her scowl. "My people dwell in different places. We have built deep underground caves, great houses and tall cities. Some of my kin cleave to the sun-parched lands in the south, while others are most at home within the crown of a tree."

"In a tree?" Anne stared at him, incredulous. "Like squirrels, or birds?" Delior shot her a steely glance and she quickly shut her mouth to prevent the next few questions from tumbling out.

Brushing the last crumbly remnants of the berries from her hands and leaning back against the wall, Anne pictured elves with ghostly white faces peering from among foliage or out of holes in hollow trees. She was just contemplating the wisdom or otherwise of asking Delior where he truly lived, when the Elf drew a knife from somewhere underneath his belt, causing her to flinch. He took a last scrutinising look at his sewing before cutting off the rest of the thread, then folded the piece of fabric and tossed it over to Anne who somehow managed to catch it, utterly baffled.

"That should suffice," The Elf said simply.

Mystified, Anne unfolded the cloth again. It was no blanket, but a cloak of a thick, grey-brown material with a fur lining which she now recognised. The slash in the back was tidily sewn together; there was barely any evidence left that it had been there in the first place.

"But, how… I thought you cut all my clothes to pieces?"

"Most of them. I believed this one might still be of some use." Delior raised one shoulder in an elegant shrug.

"So, you repaired it for me?" Anne muttered, still admiring the neat mending.

"Evidently so."

"That is, er, thank—"

"No need," he said curtly. "It was I who did the damage. I am sure you would have done a much tidier job of it," he added in an odd tone of voice.

Anne glanced quickly up to him, but Delior's face was perfectly blank and his eyes unreadable as he gracefully rose to his feet. He turned towards the cave entrance, but then paused, looking back down at her.

"For the sake of education," the Elf said, his tone velvety, "humility is a virtue. So is demureness. Curiosity, however, is a disposition."

Anne stared after his retreating back for a moment, then blinked, and turned back to the fire.

Oh well, she thought as she refolded the cloak. That could have gone worse.

The next morning, Anne had to acknowledge certain conditions she couldn't possibly ignore any longer. The unfortunate mixture of grease and dust, as well as a general rankness, gave her the needed incentive to formulate a plan. Be polite but firm, she told herself. After all, what did she have to lose?

With some reluctance, she slipped on her stiff, uncomfortable boots and rubbed the last bit of sleep from her eyes before approaching Delior, who was perched on the rock near the mouth of the cave.

While trying very hard to project an air of confidence, Anne positioned herself next to him and drew herself up to her full height.

"I am sorry to disturb you but I need—" She broke off when she saw what the Elf was doing.

Lying on the ground in front of him was a whole, severed hind leg of some large animal, perhaps from a deer or boar, the stump dark with congealed blood. The limb was cut open lengthwise and Delior was using his long dagger to extract what appeared to be sinews from it, which he then carefully placed on a large piece of rough linen spread out beside him.

Delior glanced up at Anne, followed her appalled gaze back down at the joint and let his knife sink.

"They are used for bowstrings."

"You killed him for bowstrings?" Anne asked, aghast.

"No, you foolish girl, I did not. The doe was killed by predators, likely a pack of wolves. What do you need?"

"Ah, yes," Anne muttered distractedly, somehow having lost the thread of the conversation. She pulled her eyes away from the unpleasant sight. "I, um, I really need a bath."

The Elf's features seemed to freeze before his eyes narrowed slightly and he knit his brows together.

Honestly, one might think she had invited him to join her.

"This isn't a matter of vanity," Anne hastened to explain, "but believe me, it is in both our interests that my skin finally comes in contact with something other than a damp cloth and the same garments every day."

Delior cocked his head; Anne thought she saw his nostrils flare, and she very much hoped that this was a mere trick of the light. The Elf crushed that hope with his next words.

"I have smelled worse."

Anne briefly contemplated the wisdom of her plan while taking a deep breath. The fact that she could smell herself, decided it. "Perhaps you don't mind, but I do. Just show me where to go. Please," she added as an afterthought. There was no need to push her luck.

She knew for a fact that Delior went somewhere else to wash up or bathe. Every so often, usually in the mornings, he left the cave wearing only a loose-fitting tunic over his legwear and a piece of cloth slung over his shoulder. About half an hour later, he would return with damp, shimmering skin and his long hair wet and sometimes wrapped in cloth. If he could have a bath, then he could hardly deny her the same, could he?

The Elf now regarded her for a moment and then slowly dropped his gaze in that manner of his that Anne gradually came to recognise, and which usually seemed to be the harbinger of nothing good. A second later, he had wiped his knife clean on the square of linen and rose.

"As you wish."

Having expected a lot more resistance on his end, Anne apprehensively watched the Elf as he stepped past her towards the corner of the cave where clothes, blankets, and garments were stored. Delior picked up a folded length of linen, as well as a couple of water skins before returning to the entrance. When he passed Anne, he pushed both the bottles and the bale of cloth into her arms.

"Follow me," he said, unusually pleasant, as he slung both his bow and quiver over his shoulder.

Anne had a distinct feeling that this could not possibly be a good sign. Clutching the piece of linen and skins to her chest, she nevertheless hurried to keep up with the Elf. Soft-footed and swift, Delior led her down the stony and sparsely vegetated slope. Soon the crooked pines and patchy carpet of moss were superseded by beeches and ferns, as the forest grew denser and darker. After perhaps five minutes of walking, a stream crossed the path, rippling and gurgling in its shallow stony bed. They followed it for a short distance until it became wider and a lot deeper.

At last, Delior stopped and Anne looked around. tall firs and beeches were growing densely around this part of the stream, and the banks were grass-covered with fewer pebbles. Several large, flat boulders were just visible below the surface of the water.

Anne breathed a sigh of relief; this was actually better than she had dared to hope for, having half-expected a muddy pond full of leeches and midges. The water would be quite cold, she suspected, but it looked clear and clean. She turned to Delior who was watching her with his arms folded and probably waiting — or hoping — for some sort of entertaining reaction from her. Well, Anne decided, she would certainly not give him that satisfaction. Instead, she forced the corners of her mouth upwards and attempted a light and serene tone.

"Thank you, I believe I can take it from here."

Delior merely nodded, and when she kept looking at him expectantly, he slowly unfolded his arms.

"What is the matter now? Do you need further instructions?"

"No, I... Are you not going back? Or... further away?"

The Elf arched an aristocratic eyebrow. "You wish to remain here by yourself? With no means to defend yourself and entirely unclad?"

He was right of course, Anne had to concede. That did not make her feel any less uncomfortable though. "Well, could you perhaps turn around then?"

Delior waved an impatient hand towards the embankment.

"I will not be able to see you once you are down there."

Anne stared down the bank, hesitating. What he said was probably true, and perhaps it was something about his dismissive demeanour, but there was suddenly an awful, embarrassing stinging behind her eyes.

A brief silence — then Anne heard him sigh and when she looked back, Delior had refolded his arms and turned his back to her. "If it puts you at ease."

With a muttered 'thank you' she started climbing down the bank.

"Whereas it is beyond my understanding why you think yourself so irresistible."

Anne grit her teeth but decided to act as if she hadn't heard him, and hurriedly undressed. Once she had placed her clothes in a neat pile on the ground, she took the bundle of linen cloth Delior had given her, crouched down on one of the large stones and gingerly held a hand into the slow-flowing water. Gasping, she drew it back, close to abandoning her entire plan. It was indeed freezing cold, at least compared to the pleasantly warm summer air.

"I do wonder how human women get anything done at all, seeing how much fuss they seem to make about everything," Delior's very audible murmur sounded from behind and above her. At least he still appeared to have his back to her.

Anne pulled herself together, took a deep breath and let herself glide into the stream — not quite able to stifle a whimpering moan.

On their way back to the cave, Anne was busy wringing out her hair and her clothes; she had insisted on washing the latter too, while she had already been at it. She was now wrapped into the linen cloths, which had previously served as her towels. Only the breeches she had put back on, after getting them as dry as possible.

Delior had not wasted any time before informing her how this could entail the most uncomfortable ailments, but Anne was ready to take that risk rather than walking around barelegged.

They had almost reached the cave and Anne had just opened her mouth in order to ask Delior when he was planning for the two of them to leave for Carrockton, when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and with a sharp wave of his hand motioned for her to do the same.

Anne looked around, utterly mystified; she even held her breath but could hear nothing but the low twittering of birds and the drowsy humming of bees.

"What is—" she began in a low voice – though apparently not low enough. Anne stumbled slightly as Delior gripped the back of her neck with one hand and clamped the other one over her mouth.

"Quiet now," he hissed at her.

With some difficulty, Anne looked up into his eyes and immediately felt like a cold weight had dropped in her stomach. She recognised his expression; it was the same way he had looked at her when she had first met him in the forest. His gaze now slowly wandered over the trees and shrubbery in front of them.

Then, in what appeared to be one sole motion, he had let go of her and bent his bow.

Anne who had almost gone to the ground, staggered upright again, looking around wildly. She was still at a loss as to what had caught Delior's attention. Neither could she see nor hear anything that would explain his reaction. Nevertheless, she slowly edged behind the Elf.

Just as Anne wondered if arrows would start raining down on them any second now, she heard it: First, there was soft, clear laughter, and then… a voice spoke words she could not comprehend, could not parse — full of age, and youth, and unsung melodies.

"Ni veren an gi ñovaded."

Anne glanced at Delior and saw his eyes widen before he let his bow sink. She looked back ahead just in time to see someone emerge from the greenery, their face shadowed by a hood. The tall figure only took a few steps towards them, then stopped and spoke again.

"Mae govannen, Legolas."

III III III

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