1Roiben propped open a battered copy of Paradise Lost and began to read. Since Ellebere was already dealing with what ever the crisis had been, Nicnevin had dismissed the rest of her knights. His reading was interrupted by a loud knocking on his door, which opened before he even had a chance to get up. Ellebere pushed a dark haired girl inside.
"Emelda, this is Roiben, Roiben, meet Emelda, hide her for a few minutes, please, thanks." The door slammed shut again, before Emelda, or Roiben had a chance to object. They stared at each other in shock for a few moments.
"What the Hell is Ellebere thinking, bringing a mortal girl under the hill?" Roiben asked, beginning to pace. "What is he trying to do, get you killed?"
"Actually," Emelda interjected, "I think that's what he was trying to prevent from happening."
"Well, he's likely to get himself killed at any rate." Roiben collapsed into a chair and looked sideways at Emelda. "I assume that you caused whatever fuss Nicnevin was shouting about?"
Emelda shrugged.
"I was sitting in a graveyard singing 'Tam Lin'. I suppose that might make a queen of the fey a little angry." Roiben couldn't help it, he had to laugh at that, it was the most understated statement he had ever heard.
"A little angry? Reminding the queen of her greatest failure would make her more than a little angry." Roiben put his head in his hands. "'I should have torn out your eyes, Tam Lin, and put in two eyes of wood.'" He quoted.
Ellebere stood before the queen, wondering what would be his punishment for failing to capture the singer.
"Where is our little balladeer?" Ellebere was hard pressed to keep from flinching. He couldn't lie. And this was one of the times he really wished he could.
"I assure you, her parents will be grieving for her tonight." Nicnevin frowned at him.
"I may be mistaken, but I do believe I instructed you to bring her here."
"My lady, she wasn't part of any grander scheme. I thought it best to deal with her, without wasting Your Majesty's valuable time." Nicnevin smiled slightly.
"A pretty answer, my knight. However, She was going to be our entertainment tonight." Nicnevin sighed dramatically. "I suppose you will have to do instead."
Ellebere imagined that this was what drowning must feel like, watching the waves closing over your head, waiting for the inevitable pain of inhaled salt water, and knowing that there is nothing you can do to stop it.
After he left the Hall, finally released, Ellebere paused for a moment to lean against the wall. His hands were shaking. Thorn and Ash. He wanted to close his eyes, but was afraid that would result in him ending up in a heap on the floor, and that would not be a good place to be. Gods, he hurt. Attempting to steady himself, he took several deep breaths, hoping that increased oxygen would better his chances of staying conscious. Collecting himself, he went to see how Emelda and Roiben were faring. He hoped they weren't tearing each other to pieces. He had seen the look on Emelda's face when he left her with out a word of explanation, and guessed at the explosive temper behind her conservative exterior.
Ellebere didn't know what he was expecting when he opened Roiben's door but it definitely wasn't what he found. Both Roiben and Emelda were reading, Roiben sitting at his table and Emelda lying on her stomach across the bed. Apparently, he needn't have worried about them.
"Come on, Em," He said, trying to sound light hearted, or at least normal. "I'll show you where you are going to be staying." Emelda stood, yawned, and handed he book back to Roiben with a smile.
"Thanks." Roiben nodded in reply, but frowned when he noticed the stiffness of Ellebere's movements and the way he wavered on his feet.
"Are you all right?" he asked. Ellebere forced a smile.
"It's nothing, I'll be fine." Roiben scowled at him over Emelda's head. Ellebere shrugged, then regretted it. "Come on." He said again to Emelda, and they left.
They followed the twisted corridors of the palace to Ellebere's quarters. They were similar to Roiben's, but without the books. Instead, Ellebere collected art. The walls were hung with paintings, mostly pre-Raphelite. Emelda smiled when she noticed a print of her favorite painting, Symphony in White. Still admiring the walls, she barely registred Ellebere's voice when he told her he was going to have a room prepared for her. She was startled out of her reverie by his return.
"Your room is next door, to the left. It's plain, but it should be comfortable enough. I'll put a glamour on you tomorrow. No one will notice, I hope." Ellebere collapsed face down on his bed. Emelda gasped. Staining Ellebere's green shirt were stripes of blood.
"She...she whipped you." Emelda stuttered. "For protecting me." Emelda wanted to cry.
"Hmm?" Ellebere had been letting his mind wander. "Yes, I suppose she did." He rolled onto his side to look at her, wincing as he did so. "It's not your fault, dear. Besides, I'll recover from this. You would have had considerably more difficulty recovering from being dead."
Em pursed her lips. "Is there any thing I can do?" Ellebere sighed.
"These really should be cleaned. There's a jar of antiseptic on the shelf over there, it's the green one." Emelda went to fetch it. Ellebere bit his lip as he peeled of his shirt. The fabric had already stuck to the wounds. He stretched out again, and Em giggled at the way he wrinkled his nose as she dabbed the salve on his wounds.
"What?" He exclaimed. "It stings." Emelda worked in silence for several minutes before asking, "So, what happens tomorrow?" But Ellebere didn't respond. He had finally succumbed to the succor of unconsciousness.