They stayed two more days in the inn while Ithilwen's ankle healed itself. Illeandir spent his time silently sitting in a hard chair next to her while she slept away the horrors of her capture. He would have gladly been out roaming the countryside but Thrilo had planted himself in front of the door and refused to let Illeandir out.
"I can't make ya sleep, but sure as my father's beard ain't gonna let ya undo what the lady did. Yer gonna stay in 'ere an' rest until she says so. Ya hear me?"
So Illeandir waited. The few times Ithilwen woke she told him to sleep, but he knew that if he did the dreams would return. Every time he closed his eyes they were there. And every time they were different.
He would dream of his life in Mirkwood when he was a child running through the forest faster than the deer beside him. He would run and run, laughing, hair flying. He would run out of the forest onto the vast plains beyond. The sky darkening and fire burning on the horizon as thousand and thousands of bodies lay, dead and mutilated, further than he could see. He would stand there, unable to move or think, while the forest behind him burst into flame and consumed the land from under his feet.
Other times Illeandir stood alone, where he was he could not say for it always changed, his sword in hand and a beast of shadow and fire looming over him. Illeandir would bring his sword up and the beast would cleave his sword in two. He always woke then, covered in sweat, shaking, and paralyzed with fear.
But the worst dreams were the ones with the hanging cell bathed in weak moonlight. He could see Zaharias, a shadow, weakly struggling to rise and pull himself up. Filled with despair, Illeandir could do naught but watch for hours on end it seemed, unable to help and unable to leave. It was only when a door clanged open and the cell began to recede from view could Illeandir finally wake.
It was that dream that Illeandir was reflecting on, staring at a dark stain on the wall, when Ithilwen woke. She touched his arm and smiled.
"You looked troubled," she said. Illeandir shrugged her hand off.
"It's nothing, only the need to be moving."
"How is your leg?"
"Healing," Illeandir said as he stood up. It didn't pain him anymore and for that he was grateful, but his shoulder ached deeply.
"Your arm?"
Illeandir grinned, "Must you worry? I am fine."
Ithilwen gave him a pointed look and he relented.
"It is weakened greatly," he admitted ruefully.
"As it should be, you reckless fool," reprimanded Ithilwen. She slid from the bed, her once clean white dress falling about her ankles. The hem was tattered and stained. Dried blood formed a dark stain on the right side of her dress, blood that had spilled from the gash on her head. The sewn wound was ugly red, crusty with dry blood while the skin around it rose puffy and pink. No sign of infection had appeared yet. Illeandir hoped it would stay that way. An infected scalp wound was hard to treat and keep clean this far from any large city where professional healers could not tend to it.
"How is your head?"
Ithilwen frowned and touched the worm-like wound. It was warm to the touch, but that was to be expected.
"It does hurt some," she admitted. "As long as it's kept clean. Though, with your clumsy stitching it's going to scar," she teased. "Did you have to cut my hair?" she asked peering into the mirror and fingering the short hairs around the cut. Illeandir chose not to answer.
"I'm going down to find Thrilo. He hasn't been himself lately."
"How so?"
Illeandir shrugged
"Quieter. Sad. And he won't let me leave this room," Illeandir complained. He was tired of being shut inside the cramped room. It was making him nervous and agitated.
"Have you tried talking to him?" Ithilwen asked. Illeandir nodded. "I can try talking to him. Maybe he'll open up to a woman."
Illeandir rolled his eyes, earning a light slap to his arm. Turning away to dodge anymore mocking abuse, he grabbed his cloak and retreated to stand by the door. Ithilwen shooed him out so she could change from her ruined, blood spattered dress into something clean. Standing just outside the door, Illeandir waited patiently for her to dress. He listened to the muffled chatter coming from the common room.
The door creaked open and Ithilwen stepped out in simple grey and brown riding clothes. She was limping slightly.
"We don't have horses to ride," Illeandir noted.
"I am aware," Ithilwen snapped. Illeandir stepped back with his hands held up, surrendering. They went downstairs, slower than Illeandir would have liked, but Ithilwen's ankle still pained her greatly. At last he couldn't take it anymore. Picking her up by the waist, he carried her down the last few stairs. Ithilwen screeched when he picked her up and started giggling when he set her gently at the bottom.
"You scared me," she said breathlessly. Her blue eyes sparkled happily. Illeandir stared at her sternly.
"You were taking too long."
"Then perhaps you should have carried me all the way down," she teased. Illeandir gave her a small smile and touched his shoulder.
"Can't," was all he said.
They found Thrilo in the back of the room dejectedly nursing a mug of ale. He stared at the floor as if seeing something before his eyes that no one else could. A few midmorning drinkers and diners were seating across the room talking quietly. Ithilwen went over to the dwarf while Illeandir hung back a little way. Thrilo looked up and smiled wanly when she approached.
"How's yer head?" he asked.
"Better. Thank you for rescuing me."
"Aww, I didn' do nothin'."
"You captured a man and helped Illeandir rescue me. I'd say that is more than doing nothing. And Illeandir tells me you wouldn't let him leave the room"
Thrilo smiled into his mug.
"Nah, I would no'. Ya told me ta make sure he rested. An' I did."
"Thank you for that, Thrilo."
A moment of silence passed before Ithilwen spoke again.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothin's wrong wi' me," Thrilo insisted. Ithilwen waited. The dwarf finally relented.
"I been away too long, but I can't go back. I can't face 'er. She was jus' a li'le girl. She'd only remember the bad," Thrilo stared despondently into his mug.
"What happened?" Ithilwen asked. Thrilo scowled and curled his hand into a fist.
"Tha' worm-ridden, maggoty, coward stole gems from tha hold. He tried ta blame me fer it! I was so angry," Thrilo closed his eyes, "I-I hur' 'im real bad. Nearly killed 'im." Several moments of uneasy silence filled the common room. A crash came from behind the kitchen door. Thrilo stirred and brushed his forehead with a thick, calloused hand.
"They found the gems in his home and banished 'im from Erebor fer life. I was banished fer ten years fer nearly killin' a dwarf," Thrilo spat the last word out like a bitter root. "I haven't seen my sister an' brother near thirteen years now."
"Why don't you go back?"
"Same reason as 'im," Thrilo stuck his finger at Illeandir, "The past hurts too much. Old wounds festerin' and rotting. They leave holes in ya. Holes ya can't forget. Stop movin' an' they'll eat you up. Gotta keep movin', never stoppin'," Thrilo took a gulp of his ale. "Can't look back, I keep hopin' things'll ge' be'er bu' they don't. Ya can try an' try bu' nothin' is gonna work."
Ithilwen looked anxiously at Illeandir. He refused to meet her seeking eyes.
"I see it in yer eyes too, elf," Thrilo said staring at Illeandir with a hard gaze, "Yer scared and ya know it."
Illeandir met Thrilo's gaze evenly, jaw clenched tightly.
"Ya ain't gonna find 'im. Yer killing yerself fer nothin'," he paused and stared Illeandir down. "Yer friend is dead."
Illeandir flinched and looked away.
"Zaharias is alive," he said firmly.
"I don't care what ya think!" Thrilo shouted. He slammed his mug down. "Ya bloody well know he ain't gonna make it."
"I will not give up."
"Kill yerself then! See if I give a rat's tail whether ya kill yerself or not." Thrilo stood up abruptly, giving a short, stiff bow to Ithilwen he said, "Good at, m'lady." He brushed past Illeandir without a glance at the elf and stomped up the stairs. A long, suffering silence stretched across the room. Even the men on the other side were silent.
Staring at the stairs coldly, Illeandir announced, "I'm going outside."
"Illeandir," Ithilwen began. She tried to grab his arm, but he slipped from her grasp.
"No. I need to be alone." Giving her a wan smile that barely lifted the corners of his mouth, he walked outside. Ithilwen started after him, but Derik stopped her.
"Let 'im go, lass," he said, "the man's hurtin' real bad inside somewhere. Best let 'im be for a while."
"He's hardly more than a boy," Ithilwen said, her voice thick with sorrow. Derik gave the counter a half-hearted swipe.
"You three are not who you say you are," he mused. "You change every turn of the hour, 'cept for the dwarf. You two," he pointed at Ithilwen with and empty mug, "are strange. I never saw two people..." he trailed off. Confusion entered his laughing eyes.
"Well," he laughed, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're not human."
He chuckled to himself. Ithilwen's hands turned clammy. She forced herself to smile. Derik must have seen something in her eyes because he quickly stopped laughing.
"Forgive me, I should no' make jests like that. 'Specially when 'tis no laughing matter." He sighed heavily and wiped glistening sweat off his forehead.
"He'll be back, my lady. Don't you worry." He finished washing the counter while Ithilwen sat nervously in a nearby chair.
"How long he been lookin' for that friend of his?"
Ithilwen rubbed her eyes tiredly.
"Most of his life."
"This... Zar-az," Derik tested the name, "what's he like?" Derik sat across from Ithilwen, settling his heavy weight into the squealing chair.
"I don't know much about him," Ithilwen admitted. Illeandir had never described his friend, only saying he had to rescue him.
"What do you know?" pressed Derik. He folded his hands in the table.
"He's been missing, thought to be dead for years."
"And Illeandir thinks he's alive?"
"How do you know his name?" Ithilwen demanded.
"I heard you call him by name as he left. Now," Derik leaned forward, "I'll tell you something. A man that goes by more than one name is hiding something. That, or he's tryin' to forget somethin'." Derik stood up. "Be careful, my lady, mercenaries are dangerous men."
"He is no mercenary," Ithilwen extolled. Derik shrugged.
"Then what is he?" Derik disappeared into the kitchen.
"My kin," Ithilwen whispered, "the last of my people."
...
A mile outside of the village Illeandir found a grove of trees surrounding a small pond. Singing birds, with camouflaged plumage, flitted excitedly between the branches. A bullfrog croaked long and low. A fish broke the tranquil tap tap of lapping waves with a loud Plop!
He settled himself at the edge of the pond with his knees drawn up to his chest and hood pushed off his head. His cloak blanketed the ground behind him. Head tilted, eyes closed, and ears opened he lost himself to the throbbing cadence of birdsong as his mind's eye took him flying over the windswept plains.
Hours passed as he sat beneath the trees, quieting his mind after the turmoil if the past five days. Unbidden a memory came to him, sweet and joyous, playing before his eyes as if he were there watching from above.
Illeandir laughed and whipped his head around, brown hair flying in all directions. He frowned in confusion. The elf chasing him was nowhere to be seen.
"Zaharias?" He stepped cautiously in the direction he had come, bare feet silently brushed the forest floor. "I know you're there." He peered behind a large trunk. Nothing. "Zaharias." Illeandir took a step back from the tree. A face suddenly filled his vision. He screamed in fright and scrambled back, falling when his foot caught the edge of a root and he sprawled onto his back.
Zaharias laughed wildly. He was hanging upside down from the lowest branch by his legs. His silver eyes sparkled with mirth. Illeandir recovered and stood, trying to retain what dignity he had left. He scowled at his friend.
"Really?"
His remark sent Zaharias into peals of laughter. The black haired elf nearly fell from the branch. He barely managed to catch himself and alight gently on the ground. Illeandir tackled him, sending the bigger elf sprawling. Zaharias caught his arm and Illeandir ended up underneath him as they rolled.
Illeandir quickly found himself pinned with his arms behind his back and his chest pressed into the ground. He huffed and tried to break Zaharias' grip but the older elf had several hundred years of experience over Illeandir. He knew every trick Illeandir could possibly think of, and then some.
"Ge'off!" Illeandir huffed breathlessly.
"Ah, mellon," Zaharias crooned, "I would love to but..." he trailed off.
"But what!" Illeandir broke into a new bought of struggling but Zaharias held him with ease.
"But I simply cannot," Zaharias replied, as if it solved everything. Illeandir couldn't help it. He started laughing. His shoulders shook and then small noises came from his throat. Zaharias began laughing too and soon the two elves were lying on the forest floor red faced and hysterical.
The forest rang with the beautiful sound of their laughter. The greenery seemed to lift up with renewed health and the trees seemed to reach for them. Hoping to capture a little bit of happiness for themselves. It was all too rare for an elf to laugh with such abandon as the two friends did now.
"Come, Illeandir," Zaharias said, finally regaining some of his composure, "to the river." Illeandir immediately stood up and help Zaharias up. He had promised to take Illeandir to a special place along the river, unknown to any other elf, as soon as his duties as a soldier allowed him. Illeandir had been waiting many days for the day when they both could break from their normal regime.
Illeandir was a novice in the army and often had the afternoon off while Zaharias was lieutenant and spent much of his time training recruits, in meetings, or on patrol. He'd finally managed an evening where nothing more than his young friend required his attention. He intended to make the most of their short time together.
They raced to the river, laughing and shouting at each other. Illeandir, with his smaller frame, for he was still growing, moved easily through the dense flora. Many startled creatures burst from their homes as the elves tore past.
Illeandir pushed through the last of the bushes and nearly fell into the rushing river. He scrambled back and sat down to wait for Zaharias. Soon the silver eyed elf burst through the trees breathless and alight with joy. His face was bright with the living vibrance of the forest. He no longer seemed to carry the weight of responsibility and hardship. He was again a simple woodland elf who loved the forest more than anything.
Zaharias smiled at the young elf sitting with his legs tucked underneath him. "Do you remember the day we met?" He asked. Illeandir tilted his head back and smiled to the sky.
"You thought I was an orc." He said.
"A right ugly one too." Zaharias cackled madly. Illeandir grimaced and rose to his feet.
"What orc wanders alone in the forest?" Illeandir said 'the forest' in reverent tones.
"A dead one." Zaharias replied, his face completely deadpan. Illeandir considered this for a moment before a smile broke out on his face.
"How can he wander if he is dead?" He said, delighted to snare Zaharias in his trap. Zaharias was less thrilled. Normally he won the battle of wit, but Illeandir had caught him off guard. Still, he couldn't stay mad at him. Illeandir had been his friend for too long.
"Come, the day is passing." Zaharias said, leading the way upriver. Illeandir followed just behind him.
The river bubbled and chuckled along. They did not speak. They did not need to. They were friends and, as such friends are, they needed no words. The silence was filled with companionship, forged over many years of trial and battles won and lost. Illeandir may have been young, but he was no stranger to battle. Few elves were anymore with the growing threat in the south. It was his first battle, alone in the woods, where he'd met Zaharias.
He'd been traveling from his small hut deep in the forest to Thranduil's palace to begin his training as a warrior of the kingdom when he was attacked by a band of twenty orcs. They surrounded him and were slowly wearing him down. A buzzing whine filled the air and the orc nearest to him dropped dead with an arrow through his chest. Three more screamed in agony and crumpled to the ground. Their beady black eyes transfixed on grey shafted arrows protruding from their chests.
Four forest green clad elves leapt into battle with a fierce cry. In moments the startled orcs lay dead on the ground, twitching violently. Illeandir glanced around wildly at the elves now facing him with weapons aimed at his chest. The thing that struck him the most was the one with silver eyes and hair the color of a starless night.
Illeandir quickly explained what had happened. The elves lowered their weapons as he spoke. When he finished the silver eyed one spoke up.
"I nearly shot you. If you hadn't looked up I would have mistaken you for an orc."
"I'm not that ugly," Illeandir replied. The elves laughed and Illeandir saw in their eyes that he had already made four new friends, none of whom where closer to him than Zaharias.
"Lee!" Zaharias shouted, bringing Illeandir back to the present. Illeandir looked up and gasped.
A small pool of crystal clear water glittered slowly in the clearing, much like the one Illeandir now sat by as he witnessed the living memory. A small waterfall, perhaps just shy of fifteen feet, cascaded into the pool. The water sparkled in the sunlight.
Zaharias gave a wordless shout and dove into the pool. He surfaced, laughing and urging Illeandir to join him, his black hair plastered to his head glistened. Illeandir laughed and threw himself into the water.
He came up sputtering and shivering. The water was cold! Zaharias dunked him back under and the game began. For hours they chased each other, held contests to see who would dive the deepest, stay under longest, and scale the sides of the waterfall the fastest. One time Illeandir dove to the very bottom and came up with a fistful of mud as proof, but among the globs of dark, gooey, mud lay a round stone deep green in hue. He and Zaharias dove again and again trying to find more of them. Finally, too exhausted to continue, they rested. In all they had found five such stones, each of them a deeper, truer green than the last.
The last thing they did before leaving as the sun began to slip behind the horizon, was stand on top of the waterfall. The current threatened to push their feet out from underneath. Footing was treacherous on the slippery, wet rocks. Illeandir stood on the edge of the waterfall, Zaharias just behind him, both were grinning.
Suddenly Illeandir felt Zaharias push him. He twisted and at the last possible moment grabbed the traitor's arm and, yelling, fell into the pool. The last thing he saw before water surrounded him was Zaharias' astonished face.
Illeandir opened his eyes and stood. The sky was beginning to darken and he had no wish to be found on the open plain in the dark by whatever prowled it at night, humans or other creatures.
******************************
Well, that took forever to write, geez. One of the harder chapters. Wrote most of it in my notebook too...
Okay, has anybody heard of the movie The Thinning?
Nope nope nope!
Dear Lord that is terrifying! Worse than zombies.
Look what mossfire946 made for me!
Isn't it beautiful? It's Illeandir in a tutu! I seriously could not stop laughing when I saw it. Still cracks me up.