"You need to rest," Ithilwen ordered. Illeandir ignored her. He was busy studying a map spread out on the floor before him. Zaharias' location was somewhere in the Misty Mountains. That much he knew. But where?
"Are you ignoring me?"
"Yes."
Ithilwen opened her mouth to scold him then closed it. A dangerous light entered her eyes. She left the room, taking her boiling anger with her. Illeandir moved into a more comfortable position, wincing when his leg stretched. He knew his body desperately needed sleep, he hadn't slept properly for the past three days or more. He was beginning to lose track in his exhaustion. But Zaharias needed him. Time was running out.
Illeandir had been attacked by another dream last night. This time it had been clear as it was horrible. Zaharias was dying and if Illeandir didn't rescue him in time, whatever had kept his friend alive all these years wouldn't be enough.
He scanned the map again and searched his memory for any sign of where Zaharias might be. Nothing. Over and over again he searched. A sinking sensation filled him. He knew exactly where to look for clues to find Zaharias; the same place the others had. His dreams.
He wanted to laugh at the irony, but he couldn't. His dreams terrified him. They sent cold shivers down his spine every time he thought of them. He refused to sleep because of what he saw. He'd faced many terrors in his lifetime, but all of them had been something he could touch, something he could control the outcome of like a game of skill. The dreams he couldn't control, couldn't stop. Every time he closed his eyes they were there. Now they came even as he was awake and filled with the faces of everyone he ever knew and cared about. He no longer only fought the demon of fire but his own demons as well.
Ithilwen entered the room with a steaming cup cradled in her pale hands. She saw Illeandir staring blankly at the map, pain and loss in his distant expression.
"Hey," she knelt next to him, "we'll find him." Illeandir looked at her but he seemed to be looking through her at something beyond sight and into memory.
"I have to find him."
"You will," Ithilwen offered him the cup, "drink this, it will help with the pain."
Illeandir took the cup reluctantly. His eyes were so full of sadness that Ithilwen wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and make everything all right again. But she couldn't. She had no idea of the horrors he faced every night, only that they were growing worse as the days passed.
Illeandir sipped the cooling tea and made a face.
"What did you put in here?"
Ithilwen frowned.
"I've never been much of a cook."
"This is water and plant leaves. How do you screw that up?"
"Just drink it."
"As you wish," Illeandir said, "If I die from food poisoning it's your fault."
"Fair enough," Ithilwen agreed. She stood up. Illeandir moved to follow her.
"No, you stay there," Ithilwen told him sternly. He stood anyway. Ithilwen sighed. "How's your leg?"
"Better," Illeandir said, avoiding her cutting gaze. Ithilwen nodded once, not believing him, and sat down in the chair beside and old desk.
"Drink your tea."
"Liquid nettle is more like it," Illeandir said. Nonetheless he took another drink and moved to look out the window at the children playing on the street. He watched them with a half smile of his face.
"You ever seen an elf-child?" Ithilwen asked coming next to him.
"Once." He pointed to a little girl with deep brown hair and a small red ribbon on her head. "She looked like that one."
Ithilwen leaned against his shoulder to get a better look at the child. Illeandir gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder she caused.
"Why do you like children so much?" Ithilwen asked. Last night, when he refused to sleep, she wrested one of the stories behind the multiple arrow wounds from him. She hoped now he might be a bit more willing to share. She still knew hardly anything about the elf beside her other than he was a good friend of the late king, well traveled, and a excellent warrior when he wasn't getting injured constantly.
Illeandir's response was slow coming.
"I don't know. I always have. They're pure, untouched by life. They don't worry about tomorrow because they don't have to."
"Is that what you want? To be untouched by life and not worry about tomorrow?" Ithilwen asked. Illeandir spread his hand out before him and squinted at it, as if seeing the scars and bruises marring his skin for the first time.
"I just want life," he whispered, "I lost it somewhere along the way and I don't know how to find it. Maybe," he swallowed, "maybe that's why I never truly stopped looking for him. Because if I stopped I'd lose the only purpose I had. Now, if I don't find him. I still have purpose. I have to find the others. But if I do, and don't save Zaharias, I will still have lost."
His hands trembled and his breath was shaky. Ithilwen wanted to scream and shout at the world for its unfairness. He was too young for such pain and strife. Too young to be bearing the scars of an elf who'd fought for millennia. Too young to only want life from a world too cruel to give him one. He was so broken, so tired of it all, behind the mask of a strong elf who never let the world touch him. But it had. And in that moment Ithilwen saw past the mask, past the hurt, past the sorrow and saw the child within. The child still so in love with the world around him.
"We'll find them, astalder. Do not worry."
Illeandir looked at her, his eyes were dull and movements sluggish.
"Do you mind telling me why you drugged me?" His words slurred together and dropped in volume as he spoke. The empty cup slipped from his lax fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling under the bed.
Ithilwen held a finger to his lips and led him to the bed.
"So you would sleep. You won't otherwise and you need rest. Just a few hours."
Illeandir tried to fight her but whatever was in that horrid tea weakened him until she could easily lay him on the bed. Terror filled his eyes as he realized what was happening. Ithilwen laid a comforting hand to his cheek.
"I know you're scared. I'm sorry, but you won't heal otherwise."
Illeandir's eyes closed and the last of the tension left his body. Ithilwen sighed and sat at the desk with her head on her arms listening to him breathe. After a short time she pulled out a quill and ink to write a letter to Nara.
She was nearly done when Thrilo poked his head through the door like a child. He could see Illeandir's broad-shouldered form laying on the narrow bed, passed out. His breathing added a soft, pulsing cadence to the near silence of the room. Ithilwen sat at a rickety old desk scratching at a hastily written letter. Her every move made the desk squeak as if in pain. Thrilo eased the door open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind his back.
"How's the lad?"
"Sleeping. At last," Ithilwen said as she dropped her quill and turned to Thrilo. She rested her head heavily on her hand and sighed.
"At last?" Thrilo stuffed the last of a bread roll in his mouth, a prize from his expedition to the kitchens when breakfast proved insufficient.
Ithilwen gave a short bark of laughter then hastily covered her mouth and glanced at Illeandir. He didn't stir.
"He was clearly exhausted yet refused to sleep yesterday so I gave him a sleeping draught today. He was more than willing after that," she said wearily. "He'll be out for hours yet."
"Ya drugged 'im?" Thrilo's eyes widened and his bushy eyebrows rose toward his hairline. Bread crumbs sprayed from his mouth.
Ithilwen made no gesture to correct him and turned back to her letter, letting the matter pass. She scribbled out a few more words before folding the letter in an envelope and sealing it with melted wax.
"I'm going downstairs to have this delivered to Nara. Care to join me?" Ithilwen asked. Thrilo thought for a moment then shrugged.
"Ain't nothin' down there fer a dwarf. Besides, it'll look a mite suspicious if I were ta follow ya everywhere."
"You are my guard."
Thrilo grinned mischievously, "Well, I am a mercenary and we ain't too attached ta no one. If ya ge' my meanin'."
"Of course, my valiant knight," Ithilwen laughed. Thrilo blushed bright red.
"Aww, I be no knight. Jus' a dwarf tryin' ta make a livin'."
"Still," Ithilwen said. She opened the door but just before she closed it she turned to Thrilo again. "I'll be gone for a while. I want to have a look around the village. Stay here and keep an eye on Illeandir."
"Alright, mi'lady," Thrilo bowed. He sat in the chair Ithilwen had vacated, his feet dangled off the side, and watched the door with unseeing eyes; thinking.
He'd taken a liking to the two elves after his initial hatred of them for dragging him on this bizarre escapade across the country. Why they had brought him along, he did not know. His memory of that night was a little fuzzy. A few too many pints of ale clouded his mind then. He also knew that all his possessions, locked safe in his room in the inn, were probably gone. Sold off to the market. All except for the axe he never went anywhere without. He'd never be able to buy them back in his current situation. Which led him to thinking about how he would make a living again.
He'd never be able to go about as he once did; using his tools to make and repair and selling a few precious gems when work was scarce. He wouldn't cut it as a soldier or even a mercenary. What man would hire someone half his size to defend precious cargo? Not anyone with half a brain in their head. Thrilo wasn't the greatest of fighters but he could hold his own in a brawl for a time.
He couldn't go back home either. Not after what happened the day he left.
Illeandir shifted in his sleep. Thrilo nearly leapt out of the chair in fright. He regained his composure and glared at the sleeping elf.
"You," he paused, "are going ta be the death of my poor hear'." Thrilo patted his chest. "Ya hear tha'? Ya make the ol' ticker go faster. Ain't good fer it."
Earning no response from the unconscious elf, Thrilo spent the next hour carefully grooming his beard. When it shone in the candlelight he plaited it and stuck the ends in his belt. He took them out and redid the braid three more times before completely satisfied. Still Illeandir slept.
"How much did she give 'im?" Thrilo muttered. He stole off to his room and brought back a miniature version of what a man might call chess, it was one of the few possessions he'd always kept on his person. The game was not dissimilar to chess, but the rules were more abstract and the pieces played far different roles than a normal chessboard's. The goal was the same; capture all of your opponents pieces to win.
Thrilo entertained himself in a one man battle against himself. It wasn't nearly as fun as playing against an opponent though, but he managed. He passed two hours sitting on the floor playing himself, and losing.
At last he wandered down to the kitchen looking for something to eat. One of the women took kindly to him and sent him back up with well-wishes for the "tall man in the mask" and a couple large bowls of stew for them both. Thrilo purposely neglected to tell her Illeandir was still sleeping.
He asked Derik how long Ithilwen had been gone. He said she'd stayed in the inn for an hour after sending her letter to talk to a few locals before heading out. The knowledge did nothing to dispel the uneasiness in Thrilo's stomach. She'd been gone too long.
Maybe she had made some friends in the village Thrilo thought and dismissed his uneasiness as paranoia.
"Stick aroun' the Big Folk long enough ya worry 'bou' everything." He thumped moodily back to the room with his prize. He ate the first bowl of stew and, out of the goodness of his heart, decided to save the next one for Illeandir or Ithilwen, whichever one came back first.
He was just beginning another game of Dwarven Chess when Illeandir woke up with a shout. Thrilo shouted a string of abuse at him, for causing him to knock the game over. Illeandir ignored him and flopped back on the bed with a groan.
"How long?" he asked.
"Dunno, when'd she drug ya?"
Illeandir lifted his head and peered out the window to the fading sunset. He let his head fall back.
"Morning."
"There ya go." Thrilo picked up his game grumpily. "Go' ya some food."
Illeandir swung his legs to the floor and stood, swaying. He took a step and tripped over his cloak laying on the floor and plummeted. He caught himself millimeters from bashing his nose in.
"Ai, Elbereth," he muttered.
Thrilo chuckled.
"Ya find yer balance down there?"
"No, just your wit."
Thrilo cackled and Illeandir cracked a smile. The dwarf handed him the bowl of stew.
"Where's Ithilwen?" Illeandir asked as he took it. Thrilo shrugged.
"Dunno, said she wanted ta look aroun' town."
"How long ago?"
"Eh," Thrilo thought for a moment, "not long after she knocked you out."
Illeandir eyed a chunk of suspicious looking meat.
"That's a long time to be out in a village this small."
"Innkeeper said she was in the common room fer an hour before leavin'."
Shouts and screams came from outside. Illeandir looked up just in time to see a rock shatter the window and land directly in his stew with a wet plop. He sighed and tilted the bowl toward Thrilo.
"Stone soup?"
******************************
That first part though... about made myself cry. Too close. Too close to home.
I have a treat for you; a glimpse at my notes for this chapter. Actually these are my only notes for this chapter...
(leave the village, trouble?? Need that somewhere... but where...? Hmmm... Oh! I know! Let's see... orcs? Nah. Derik? Eh, he's a good guy, mostly. Soldiers... possible... yeah no. Malevolent beings bent on the destruction of Middle Earth? Nah, that's old school, Bandits? Sure why not, over done but who cares? I've got other plans for those malevolent beings.)
Okay, no bandits yet. Soon, but not yet. Trust me pet. MOTHERRRRRR KKKKNNNNNOOOOOWWWWWSSSSSS BEST!
I should really go to bed...
So where the heck did that emotional stuff at the beginning come from?
*gasp*
It was the tea!
That's my excuse from now on whenever I get emotional. It's the tea!