|
|
Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 15:37:40 GMT -5
Ocean water sprayed against the docks as the high tide swept across the floorboards, great and towering ships hooked in by the mainland. It was day, the sun mostly hidden by the misty sky, the colors of gray morning lighting up the bustling village marketplace, the boats, the sea, and the shore. Such a dull day, such a pretty dull morn, the fresh crisp chill biting the cheeks of all those long used to the strong smells of fish and ale. The high murmur of the sea peoples raged over that small town, the calls of the merchants raised above the rest. The dull roar of the sea clouding the voices of all, a lonely man stood at the dock, one arm the carrier of a thick stack of parchment, the other a hammer and a few nails. Covered over with a deep heavy cloak, his head was bent low, darkish blue eyes reeking of a determination not seen in many. Dark hair, sickly face, it was the heaviness of his cobalt eyes that was what led most to avoid that lonely man as he stood by the ship, nailing some parchment against the hull, despite what crewmen would say later. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Just... revenge.
Rowen Blackhawk!
Long time thief and murderer found. Perimeter set. Anyone interested in collecting the prize for her head see a Lycan Fletcher by the Inn as soon as suits your fancy. The first six to arrive will be delivered the information, the terms, and the location of a wanted thief. The price at any hangman's gallow is higher for the woman dead than alive! Come, and the money is yours.
Lycan Fletcher
Vellum paper, thick, stained, running ink scratched over a thick and rough paper. The writing was coarse, characteristic of a man who cared not appearance, no, no more, not as the days where he was the great fighter, all those cowering beneath him under his sadist banter, but of a man who wanted only his end. Some great spoil he sought. His prize. His trophy. The heads of those who sent him to hell.
The man in the heavy coat swung the hammer hard and sloppily with his left hand. The nail was bent in strange ways, his weak hand, needless to say, inept at even the most mundane of tasks. His right... well, it'd best first be mentioned that Lycan's retribution did not merely concern some crazy wench with dumb luck. No... no, not just her. Yes, her name was there, but such was necessary to attract the attention of would-be Assassins or Bounty Hunters. But then... then, there was that thief. Annoying brat, he was, trying to sneak around when he wasn't looking. But most of all, Lycan hated the elf. The one that wounded his hand, almost a year ago. The fight, the fight that was supposed to be easy, the fight against an accursed elf who challenged him all that time ago.
Ah, it was once so perfect. Capture a Lord, ransom him for money... so perfect, so perfect! Until a threesome found he and his Assassins in the wood in such a secluded spot they the Assassins did not imagine anyone would find. Until his men fell, one by one, by the hands of hellions. Until it came down to a battle between an elf and an Assassin. d*mn that elf... the one who ran the blade through his hand. The one that made it impossible to hold the crudest of objects, that ache in the once-Assassin's palm making it hard to so much as sign his posters, handwriting messy and crude compared to what elegance there was before. But, more than that... he couldn't fight. He couldn't swing a sword for what d*mn hell it was worth, he couldn't strike down so much as a nail with his right hand and a hammer. d*mn it all. d*mn it all.
The lone man took his heavy steps away from the dock, boot thudding against the wood in transition from the board to the cobblestone road. His eyes ever dark, jaw set, shoulders arched high, his thoughts were encompassed by a hidden rage, a secret fire, a burning hatred that consumed his very soul to ashes. Fire, burning rage, that immutable ire toward an elf, a thief, and a madwoman. They freed his prisoner. Killed his acolytes. Ruined his hand. And he would not let their deeds go unpunished.
---
The years had been passing by...Grohn had been mercilessly tortured by the thought that they were still out there...his very heartbeat raced at the thought of the elf, the woman, and her apprentice. He was going to meet them again, come out of his hiding...
He hadn't commit a crime since he killed the child so many years ago. He'd lost track of how long exactly it had been, but he didn't care. All that mattered now was that he killed her. She was the main reason for...everything. Nothing else mattered but him to rid everything of her and the other two. And the day finally arose where he discovered them.
Grohn was the ship Captain, incognito for so many years. He'd bought it (rather than stolen, which is odd enough) and called himself Oram for all these years. Captain Oram. He'd nearly forgotten his other name...his real name. He gave rides to those who desired it, poor and wealthy. He had formed a secret band of assassins who ran the ship, who spied on the passengers. His only hope was that one day, whether sooner or later, Rowen or one of her comrades would come aboard, and he would make his move...
But never did she come aboard, nor either of the two he was looking for. But he got something else...a close relation (if it may be called that) to Rowen and the others. Lycan Fletcher, and he was putting posters up around the ship.
It was a bright and sunny day when Grohn saw the first poster. He was dressed in a hood and robe so that his features could not be distinguished. After all, he was a wanted murderer and thief. How could they not be looking for him?
They were about to set sail that afternoon and he saw one outside of a cabin. He did not know if it spoke of the same Rowen that he had been waiting for all these years, but he had a deep feeling that it was her. He tore the one outside the cabin down and ordered his cronies to do the same.
He went into the Inn, stepped onto the bar and asked if there was a Lycan Fletcher present. A man in the corner raised a bandaged hand. "I am he," the man called. Grohn jumped down and practically raced over to the table.
"I understand you know of a Rowen Blackhawk," said Grohn through gritted teeth, slamming his hand on the table. His finger was uncovered, and his ring, which he had stolen from a man so long ago, was revealed. It had three gems, red, green, and blue, and a vulture-like bird that seemed to be trying to swallow the gems while also groping for them with a single talon. He smirked in the shadow of his cloak, for he now could find Rowen. A desire burned in his heart that it had not seen for a very long time…
---
Lycan Fletcher had a dark look about him, eyes deep and malevolent, expression sullen, in contrast to the sophisticated sadist there once was in him before. For no more than twenty-four hours, he had been waiting, night and day, hour after hour, for someone to show at the only Inn in that fisher's town. He was growing restless... surely the Assassins would be piling up by then? Blackhawk was a wanted woman! To know where she was... would attract attention of someone, would it not?
He had not yet lost faith when he heard his name called over the Inn. The response was immediate, head perking when he harkened to his name.
"I am he!" he said, holding out his hand--soon recoiling, scowling in disgust at the sight of his own wounded palm.
I understand you know of a Rowen Blackhawk, he heard the stranger say--and he grinned. Rowen Blackhawk... the madwoman. The psychopath.
"Rowen Blackhawk, yes," he grinned a malicious grin, gesturing with his left for the stranger to sit. When so was seated, Lycan leaned in a bit. "Blackhawk, yes... and this unnamed thief and elf she traveled with. Walked about as a band, I can only assume they're still together."
Lycan looked about a bit, as though paranoid someone would overhear.
"I wait, here, for you, perhaps five others, to tell the secret of her whereabouts. You kill her, and her friends, give me a report, we never see each other again."
Yes... yes, that was all he wanted. To know that the threesome were dead, who cared about the rest? He trusted that an Assassin or Bounty Hunter, hell, Mercenary, would care enough about the prize to go through with their quest. Money... such a powerful motivation.
"I'd go after them myself," Lycan said, unraveling the bandage 'round his hand. "Yet... I have this standing in my way."
The wound, clear of blood, clear of rotting skin, but the disfigurement was clear. A shrinking shriveled patch of skin dead center, it was clear the palm had been run through at least once. Yes, he'd kill them all if he could... in their sleep, in their wake, through poison, through swords, it did not matter. But he was of no use in his condition. No use at all...
"I shan't utter the place, not here," Lycan looked about his surroundings in that ever-present paranoia. "Can't let some fool, lest they be of the wrong sort, know of that secret."
---
"Yes, let us take this to my cabin. My friends would not let anyone disturb me if they knew I did not want to be disturbed," said Grohn. He showed Lycan the way out of the Inn, and they walked to Grohn's ship and up the stairs to the upper deck to his cabin. It was the only cabin on the upper deck.
"In here," said Grohn, opening the door. Lycan stepped inside. "Please," said Grohn, "Sit." He gestured to a chair in front of a desk and pulled it out for Lycan, who sat.
"You will be receiving a large sum for her capture--not from I, but of any formal guard you find in most given locales," Lycan told Grohn in a gruff voice, "more for a body than a living wight."
"Dead, I can do. Reward…I need none." He was still pacing through the cabin, and when he finally sat he took a small dagger from his drawer. He would need it soon. "The information will be reward enough."
Lycan grinned. "Very well…"
---
When the man who had come suggested they leave, Lycan was a bit dubious to start, but upon seeing there was no questioning the matter (the stranger had already begun to show him out) he told the Inn keeper to tell anyone seeking him out to wait by, for he would be back shortly. Stepping out onto the cobblestone roads of that fisherman's town, he was mildly surprised to see that the stranger was leading him toward a boat, and that this cabin was one slightly less stationary than what he had thought.
Shoulders arched high as he entered and took a seat, as suggested by the stranger, he maintained that coarse look on his face, hard after the fight from almost a year prior, the fight that took his life away without the necessity of death. Shaking these thoughts, he communicated the general idea to the stranger, who opened the drawer of his desk for a reason the former Assassin knew not. His main concern, then, was that all things he wanted for so long be made done. The reward, of course. Yes... he had made a joke of the reward to the woman herself the time he saw her, the time he taken her for no more than a madwoman. He joked of it, tormented her with the thought of going to prison, alive or dead. He should have ended it when he had the chance...
"Very well," Lycan leaned forward a bit, gripping the side of his seat with his good hand. "It appears as though you and I have something in common."
His eyes went to the door, making sure it was shut tight, lest another hear of it. Paranoid, for a reason he himself did not even understand, he turned back to Grohn with those electric blue eyes.
"Not so long ago, that elf-friend of hers bested me in a fight. He was well taken care of at the nearest city, and I followed them back to their homeland after they all were well and done with their Healers. The village's name is Aryan."
He pointed to the wall at his side, the direction where the village lay. Aryan... a place he could never go, d*mn that elf and his knife-slinging hands.
"Two days from here if you make good time, three if you're slow. Get there... and kill them all. The d*mned elf, his woman, and his friend. Tell me you did it, and that's good enough for me."
---
"I can do that," said Grohn, standing and walking over to Lycan, who was still a bit stiff in slight mistrust. Grohn let out a hand (while keeping his dagger hidden in his cloak) and Lycan took it warily, but shook it while smiling darkly. Grohn pulled him in and took the dagger from his cloak and inserted it into the other. His face writhed with pain, unaware of what was going on, but Grohn soon took the dagger out and slit Lycan's neck. Lycan's body fell to the ground with a rather loud noise that Grohn thought someone beneath him might hear, but he did not care.
He quickly grabbed his sword, Ithilion from the wall. It was called Ithilion for it glowed blue whenever the moon was full. It was named by his father, who had never known of the land in Gondor called Ithilien. It was also of elvish make, something his father had received when he went to stay with elves.
He walked out of his cabin, signaling to his partners to clean up Lycan's body and telling them he would not be returning. He left his boat and strode quickly through the docks, often bumping into people who told him to watch where he was going. But he didn't even hear them, because by the time they'd said it, he was twenty feet away from them.
Aryan...he'd heard the name before. He knew where it was, and he was going to get there as soon as possible. He couldn't wait. His dagger was still covered with blood that stained his cloak, but he didn't care. His sword at his side, Grohn began towards the village where he'd find Rowen...and satisfy his desires, once and for all.
---
The summer sun hung loosely in the air that day in some small village that stood out of the path of the world, the warm breeze shifting in the air over a small house that lay away from the rest. Aryan had never been so tranquil, and yet so full of life all at once. It was as though some great power had cast, and made everything all right again, better than it was before, fixing what was once broken, and bringing new benediction out of what nothing was there.
Rowen remembered. She remembered how it all began, so long ago, almost fifteen years, when she roamed the land in the cover of night, a thief by choice and pleasure combined. She had chosen to make some foolhardy attempt to steal from an elf, and trailed on for the next decade, hating that elf who denied her the prize and left her a scar to remember it by. And there she was. The happiest person in middle-earth, right along side the elf she made her enemy for so long. The woman, cerise close-cropped hair all a'muss over her head, whitish skin flushing over her cheeks, stood in her home, her bedroom, leaning over a makeshift crib, two small boys inside. A few days old each. They were, one might say, a cure to what insanity once encompassed the woman who prodded lightly, carrying none of what madness was there was before. After all that time... after all the moments of combat, running, searching, and lunacy, it was finally becoming... better. Every person who once sought harm on her or that elf had been dealt with, locale far away from any bounty hunter she knew. What disaster she herself and others had made before seemed to have finally wreaked all the havoc it could.
And then there was Byron.
The conflict with her once-student was over. He was different, in some way, in others exactly the same. He was softer, ceasing that crusade against the elf, but restless, confined to the home he had built for himself after his arrival in that quiet town. On some level, that was how she wanted it for quite a time, fearful that the life of darkness would get him into the same mess it got her, that... never ending string she made herself without such an intent. But yet, with what wants of exhilaration and moments of jocularity, it was... strange, sometimes. Not only that she'd be with the person who tried to kill the elf, stabbed her, and sent everything to perdition and back, but some difficulty in conversing when it seemed like he knew more than she, or anyone. Knowledgeable beyond what should have been, she quite recalled his response when she told him she was carrying. Something to the effect of... "I know."
Her mind drifted lightly as she stood there, life meaning nothing more or less than to be there, then, in that place in that time, with her new family and friend. There was only she, Byron, her consort, and her children, appellations as that of those in past lives that should have mattered most, but were taken away too quickly. One called after Rowen's father, Samuel, and then Lerris', Grayson.
---
As time passes people grow older, some grow wiser, and some grow taller or wider. As time passes, people die. People gain enemies and allies. As time passes, people grow angrier, and vengeance is wanted, or required. This is a story, a story of times ahead of us and behind us. Both will be discovered in this story of vengeance, and peace. But now, as our story begins….it is a time of peace, of simple life. Our story begins, with a boy named……..
The brown haired elf tilted his gaze from the pages before him, out onto the small town square of that village called Aryan. He let his pen slip from the page and onto the ground beside him, soon followed by the book as it came face down over the pen. He rested his head against the wall of his house, the house he had built when He and Rowen had finally settled down in Aryan.
Lerris glanced at the position of the sun with a wince and quickly turned his head away and back to his house, he stood from his spot outside and slowly dusted himself off until he was satisfied that he was no longer "encrusted" in the dirt. As soon as the elf bent over to grab his book, a voice came from above him, "So…how is the parenting life elf?" Lerris smirked slightly and stood to his full height, now towering over the innkeeper. "All is good Ty, now if you will excuse me….I have to go do some of that "parenting" right now…" Lerris pushed open the door to his house and disappeared from Ty's sight, "Half elfs, in Aryan…." Ty gave a laugh, and wandered slowly back to his home.
Once inside the brown haired elf tossed his book and pen onto a nearby table and began ducking through hallways trying to find his sons and his spouse. Grayson and Samuel, even saying the former made the elf just a little home sick. He hadn't seen his family in a decade, or even more for that matter. He did, slightly, miss his home in Mirkwood. But now he had his own family, Rowen, Samuel, Grayson….and Byron whether he liked it or not. He ducked into the bedroom to find Rowen standing over the crib, and he stopped, to just lean against the wall…and smiled.
---
Rowen grinned a clever smile as she felt the presence of another in her bedchamber, feeling that familiar impression of another's eyes on her. A silvery gaze remained on the cradle, or its contents, rather, as though she knew not that anyone aside she and the children was there, a set of slender fingers stroking a sleeping infant's arm in calm.
"They have your ears," she said in jest after some moment of pause, finally turning to see him a second after she spoke, dexterous gleam on her face as she neared, fingers trailing the bassinet for a short while as she walked. Whilst she was scarcely a foot away from the elf, she playfully tapped the point of his ear in reference to the words spoken a few moments before. Jovial smirk still yet covering a placid face, she went on, "and aren't you supposed to be doing... whatever it is you do do?"
Ah, well, of course she knew what he was up to. What was it... this third attempted book before an untimely destruction and or abandoning? Some writing about Byron, then he, and... well, after that, she couldn't quite say, nor did she aim to find out, lest some certain will to pester him on the topic happened to roam across her mind. It was a... burdening task, of course, but she was up to the challenge, as always.
"Perhaps you can hire Byron to think for you, and then you'd be able, at least, to get one done," she continued with a smile. Byron... Byron had taken up a rather interesting place in Aryan during his short life there. A hunter, he took up a considerably more honest profession than thieving around, like she had taught him to do, even though his prices to the butcher were nothing short of shameless. By then, most had learned that continually buying anything from the man was a sure way to go out of business--or at least, money. "Who knows, he may even give you a discount."
---
Lerris chuckled slightly as he shook his head, "Good, it's good to hear our sons don't look to human." He took a deep breath and tried to put on his most serious face, "I'm glad we don't have ugly children…." He laughed at his own horrible joke and made his way around to the crib. "About my book, maybe I should just stop writing altogether….Every time I seem to get something started, something horrible happens." The elf smiled down at his sons and did indeed see the likeness of the ears, "Right now, the last thing I need is something horrible to happen, and Byron…."
He sighed and turned back to Rowen with a shake of his head, "I haven't seen him in days, he is probably out putting poor Baden out of business with what he makes him pay…" He came back to Rowen's side and slipped an arm around her waist, "Even with a discount from that man I'd still be forfeiting more then I should be."
In truth, the elf had rarely given Byron any money to get his "new" life started when they had all finally arrived in Aryan. Somehow he had managed to get a house up, and get a rather well paying job even if he did rip some people off… The elf almost laughed when he thought of this
Byron is still stealing from people….even if it isn't pick-pocketing, now he's just doing it up front.
In all that time, Lerris had finally after a month or so fallen back into the lifestyle of the people of Aryan. Ty still had a job for him when he returned, and Lerris had gladly taken it even if Ty rarely worked him around the Inn. When he found out Rowen was carrying he had never expected twins, and when that day came he was even happier to find out he now had two sons instead of one. The thought of elven blood finally coming back to Middle-Earth brought a smile to his face when Lerris thought of his people returning, even if he knew it would never happen. But perhaps…later, much later, when his sons were grown and Lerris' days are coming to an end, one of them would find an elven mate and bring a full-blooded elf to this Middle-Earth.
He smiled slightly at the thought and kissed Rowen on the cheek, "When they are grown…. neither of them are allowed to write a book…. ever."
---
"How intensely considerate of you," Rowen grinned at his sentiment, or combination of so, rather, each statement following the next growing more and more... interesting. She should have expected as much, the elf on some kind of perpetual racial rampage against human beings, even if he was surrounded by them every waking moment, his family human by part or whole besides. As for the book... well, all the more material to stockpile for later use. "I'm sure neither of them would be too eager to write anyway, once they understand what jinx you laid on all of us with you and your string of half-compositions."
With that, she leaned her head lightly on his right shoulder, the better of the two, naturally, having long abandoned, for the most part, any strange sadist pleasure in aggravating the old wound she herself had made.
"On Byron," Rowen started, mind on what lovely remark Lerris had put on his name, "it seems to me that I'd seen him a few days ago myself. I believe he said something to the effect of hunting down the largest buck he could find for us."
She laughed lightly at that. While the boy's heart might have been in the right place, the gesture was indeed... unusual. Not quite what she'd expect from the normal person, though from Byron, it was difficult to anticipate anything. The man hadn't lived in any kind of normal civilization since childhood, so perhaps such a direction could have been understood. She could even say that his astronomically outrageous prices on the market were due to a similar factor, though all knew such was... slightly less than accurate. She could tell by the look of him, when Byron sold his meat, that the former thief was merely quite enamored, if not amused, by the response he received by most at the cost.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 16:28:27 GMT -5
Rowen allowed herself a light grin at Byron's obvious enthusiasm over the small child. She hadn't expected the response to be so... unthreatening, to be put lightly. Some milder form of pleasure, at least, she had expected from him, but as always, the man had not failed to surprise her. Anger and fury, to the cold, and to the jocular, the change ever continued. One never knew what to expect... not from a man like that.
As Byron took Samuel into his own arms, and Lerris came up by her side, Rowen broke from such quiet ponderings, and began come to the realization that some small infant had not been noticed by her friend and enemy, absence taking its toll on information. The woman began to back, grin on her face as she gestured for her former student to follow. Simper not fading, she had Lerris by the hand as she led them both into the bedchamber, and thus the resting place of the second son.
"Another one?" Byron wore a look of surprise as his eyes met the sleeping form of Grayson. "And I only brought one animal... I saw a doe close by the riverbank, if it's all the same to you."
Such a peaceful picture, such moments of quiet mirth and tranquility, and thus the stage was set... for as ever in history, the wheel turns, life goes on, and past transgressions never simply forget.
---
Evening was approaching and Grohn had entered the village. He roamed the streets, keeping his hood up all the time. He needed to find someone who knew where Rowen was. People were crowding the streets going about their business, completely unaware of who walked in their midst. There were men carrying animals of all sorts, mostly rabbits, but one Grohn saw carrying a stag. Unaware of who he was looking at, he continued to roam the streets. After what seemed like hours, he decided to stop at the only inn he saw.
He walked inside the dimly lit tavern, seeing many drunk men clanging their tankards around and laughing as they did so. He took a seat at a table near the bar and waited for the bartender to come around to him.
"Good evening, sir," he said. "My name's Horgin. What might I be getting you tonight?"
"I believe I'll have a pint of your finest ale, Horgin, and I'll also need a room," Grohn snarled from under his hood.
"Very well, sir, very well. I'll be right back with your ale." Horgin shuffled off behind the counter and began to fill a tankard.
"Half-elves, here," Horgin said to one of the men at the bar who was waving his tankard around stupidly.
"That elf found 'imself a real catch," said the drunkard.
"Yes, that wife of his certainly is just that."
"Whasser name again? Ryan er somethin'?"
"Rowen," corrected Horgin. Grohn looked up, flame dancing in his blue eyes again.
"Where do they live?" Grohn interjected, wide-eyed.
"Down a ways, out of the way, near the wood," Horgin said with a curious look, handing Grohn his ale. "Why?"
"Old friend," Grohn lied, darting out the door.
"Wait a minute!" Horgin called after him. "You haven't paid!"
But Grohn couldn't hear him. He was darting down the nearly empty street until he finally came to it: a door with a golden knob and lanterns on both sides of it. He knew what he would do. He knew that he would kidnap their child and he would leave. He would get Rowen to chase after him and then he'd get his revenge. All he needed to do was turn the golden knob and go inside.
---
Days passed. Days of oblivion, as fate would have it, days spent in a quiet happiness that had been denied and taken for years since passed, those who would enjoy such mirth unknowing of what dangers lay so close, so near, breathing on the back of their necks with a hungry thirst for retribution. This danger... this great abomination that would soon be made manifest in the form of an enemy... this danger, this peril that waited in silence for seasons before coming out into the open was corruption.
Wickedness, fault, sin, flaw, old ways of past that would not be let alone without proper punishment. This, the natural course of justice making its path down the road of existence, taking with it whom it may. The fault, the sin, this great wrong, the life not taken back on some obscure ship, a life that should have ended long ago. A young boy's fault for ignoring his master's command, a woman's fault for failing to kill a man when she had the chance, and an elf... well, the elf was rather drunk at the time. Of course, everything could have easily been avoided if righteousness took proper course in the beginning. The woman was a murder, the boy was a thief... the woman had helped a man escape from prison, and stood by as he murdered countless people for no cause but pleasure, the boy a child of high ambitions, slowly becoming all the criminal his master had made herself. And innocence was about to pay for those depravities...
For the time, the family and their friend would exist in their ignorance. Such wonderful stupidity, blissfully unknowing of the hazards that surrounded them. Happiness, for the time. Mirth. Jocularity. Words that would soon abandon their tone and meaning, to be lost in the maelstrom of loss and pain. All to come... after the moments, the so few moments shared in felicity.
Byron had made himself quite at home in the house of his former tutor, despite something her husband had said in the year prior. Something to the effect of... I can't be having the likes of you hanging around my house every day...? Indeed, that was about the size of it. How wonderfully that worked out. Even as the young man had his own place to stay, job to work, people to see... it had all become quite irrelevant, apparently, he spending all time that wasn't cheating the butcher with Rowen and her family--or the two smaller ones, to be precise. An obvious liking had been taken to the pair, that much was quite certain.
"The boy's a menace," Rowen joked with a dexterous grin on her face, having stolen one of the children from their cradle--Samuel, to be exact. For the present time, she stood by Lerris, waiting for him to either kick her former student out or express exasperation over the repetitive and extended stays of the hunter, thief, and friend.
---
Lerris shook his head as he watched Byron play with Grayson then glanced over at Samuel in Rowen's arms. "Come on, let's get out of here with Samuel and go for a bit of a walk; I need to see Ty anyway." He brought his eyes back to Byron, "Sometimes I think we have three children." He laughed slightly to himself and raised his voice so Byron could hear, "Byron, Rowen and I need to go see Ty you can stay and watch Grayson right?" He knew he needed no answer and that the young human would have no problem staying with the child.
"Come on, before he wants to look after both of them…I don't want both my children to grow up to be like Byron…" He sighed and opened the back door, the wind blew his hair about his face and he could see Ty working in the backyard of the inn. Ty stopped his wood chopping and looked at the elf and the red haired human, he waved and motioned them for them to come over. "Come on Elf, I've got so much work I think I may have enough for the both of us to last a fortnight!" He shouted over the sound of the wind rustling the trees.
Lerris shook his head and started to amble towards Ty's back yard.
---
Byron took a moment to process what the elf had been saying to him, distractedly turning his head just in time to see the elf in question and the woman leave him behind, door closing shut behind. Wide smirk on his face, a pair of glinting black eyes turned toward the wide-awake child in the cradle. He remembered, in some distant past, someone telling him that it was hard to tell what a kid would be like at such an early age--but he could see right off. He was going to have Lerris' eyes--he could only hope that the rest went to Rowen.
"So you're the competition, are you?" he jested, almost with himself as he prodded lightly. If one had known Byron throughout his life, like Rowen had, they wouldn't have thought him interested in anything as meddlesome as a child--and infant, no less. But Grayson--and Samuel--were different. Family connection made all the difference. And it was because of that, that Byron had well intended to be there for the pair as long as they needed someone to watch their back, be it from a dishonest trader or something much more unfortunate.
Byron spoke some half-conversation to the child, speaking more so to himself than anyone else in the room, though one might have thought it was intended for Grayson. Some remarks on the ears, strategies for the good hunter, and promises for whatever future need was required of he himself, as Rowen's student, teacher, and fellow traveler. Even more, as a friend, his service belonged to the boy and his brother.
---
Grohn turned the golden knob. He stepped onto the wooden panels and looked around. The house was quiet. He couldn't hear anything. Were they home? His stomach took an unexpected leap, but he calmed down quickly. It was too quiet for them to be home. And then he heard something. A voice was softly speaking, but only little giggles were answering.
Grohn took a few steps toward the voice. Would it be the elf? Would it be the woman? Would it be the boy? His footfalls making small noises, he continued to walk toward where he heard the voice.
Then he saw the crib, with a man standing over it. "Good evening," said Grohn in a soft voice. Byron turned sharply around.
"No," he said, his eyes widening. "Not you...not again..."
Grohn smirked. "Good to see old friends, isn't it? How are you doing this fine evening? I hope you are well. It's been a while, hasn't it? Why, is that a child in that crib?" Byron did not move. "Guarding it, are you? It will do you no good." And with these last words, Grohn drew his sword and let it hang at his side.
---
Byron stared. No... no, it wasn't possible. He was dead. Grohn was dead! He had seen it with his own two eyes, he had seen Rowen cut his neck as they cast him off into the water all those years ago--how long had it been? Five years? Almost six. Almost six years past since the deadly cut, before being tossed over into the raging icy waters of the ocean. He... he could not have survived! It wasn't possible... it wasn't...
Byron's hand flew to his side, withdrawing what was no more than a mere hunting knife, expression wild with confusion. The sight of the long knife was a shock, even to himself, after all time spent stalking deer and rabbits. He didn't use a sword anymore--he didn't need it. He didn't need it until that moment. If only... if only he knew.
"You want... the child?" he faltered, brain still catching up to the fact that a dead man had walked through the doors of his friend's house. A man who had caused enough trouble for several lifetimes, having furthered the rift between he and the one who was once his teacher, on that godforsaken boat in that godforsaken sea. Gradually, he composed himself, face growing harder, grip on the blade tightening as he raised the hunting blade. It was not what one might call impressive, no, but it would do the job. "If it is he who you have come for, then I will not remove myself from his side."
And he stood there, waiting. He would not move unless he was made to move. He would not let the boy go until he himself was at the point of death.
---
Grohn chuckled. "Learned a little courage since I last saw you, eh? No matter. As I recall, you are not half the fighter your master is." He raised his sword, only holding it with his ringless hand, and began to slowly walk towards Byron.
Grohn clenched his fingers into a fist and threw a punch into Byron's nose. Being his hand with his ring on it, Byron's nose had broken and was bleeding profusely onto the floor. An expression of shock mixed with anger, the young man raised his knife to attack. Grohn gripped his sword with both hands now and defended himself. The two blades came together with a clash that sounded like battling titans to Grohn's ears. Grohn removed his sword from Byron's blade and jumped back, only to leap forward again and deal another punch. The young man's lip was now bleeding as well as his nose. Grohn chuckled to himself as Byron winced slightly. "But you were dead!" Byron cried.
"So you thought," said Grohn. "I still have the scar," he added, pointing to his neck. He cursed Rowen loudly, then charged Byron again, punching him again and then using his sword to cut Byron's shoulder. Byron, in reflex, dealt a hard punch to Grohn, who dropped back, dazed, and soon feeling a seering pain in his arm, where he saw blood now trickling. "Matching wounds for master and apprentice," Grohn snarled. Blood was trickling from both of their arms and faces now as they faced each other, both silently hoping for the other's death at the end of this fight.
---
Byron was nowhere near close to finished. The pain did not matter. Whatever hurt was irrelevant--the fact still stood. The boy, Grayson, Rowen's son and Byron's obligation, was in danger, and he would not settle to let him die.
"Perhaps you did survive!" he spat, drawing back slightly, giving himself space for whatever next move was to be had. "I was wrong--but you were wrong too!"
With that, he lunged, little plan or strategy working behind his motions. One thing about Byron that never changed. He had no use of art, no need for elegant stances or elaborate footwork, like his former master, Rowen. Rough-and-tumble, but effective. With sheer use of brute force, he knocked his opponent to the ground, blades pressing against one another, the scratching sound of metal against metal bringing back old memories of times he had thought were lost--and, for once, he wished they'd stay lost.
"Rowen is my master no more!"
The two blades slid, Byron managing to swing both straps of metal to the side, if only just to achieve a cheap shot at Grohn's jaw with his fist. It was then, when he realized... his shoulder burned.
By then, it was long clear that Byron was not merely protecting the young that was threatened. Of course, Grayson was of the uttermost importance, but... it was more than that. He was angry. Face of ire, that casual conceitedness of Grohn, that sickening talk, so calm, so d*mned callous, it was sickening. If he had his way... if he had his way, then soon, those words of his would be silent forever.
---
Grohn needed to get that child. He would run away with it just after he'd finished Byron off. What neither of them seemed to realize was that Grayson was wailing endlessly into the night...cries of fright, as a child often would. The groans of pain from the two men were loud, and the child, who just moments ago had been giggling happily, now longed for his mother and his father as he rolled around in his bed, continuing his unnoticed (but ear-piercing) scream.
The battle raged on. The two blades hit each other to no avail for either person. Byron was not backing down, nor was Grohn. Both suffered minor cuts from the other, on the hand, on the arm, but none were severe enough to prevent either from fighting on.
Punches were continually being dealt from one to the other, along with kicks and just about any other way the two might inflict pain upon their opponent. The floor was stained with blood and Grayson wailed on, both the men still being unaware of this.
Grohn, at long last, managed to get behind Byron and slashed the back of his legs, pushing him to the ground, face down. Grohn kneeled down and whispered into his ear: "I think I'll leave you the same way Rowen left me." He flipped the young man over and slit his neck, carefully making it so that he missed the veins running through Byron's neck, and left him lying there, unable to get up. With a gasp of breath, Byron cried into the night: "Lerris!"
"He cannot hear you, fool," said Grohn, as he scooped the child from his crib. "I don't know where he has gone, but I hope he doesn't find you for a very long time. I think I will leave you to die painfully." He turned to leave, stuffing the child into his robes, less to shield him from the night but to silence him. He took two steps before Byron spoke to him again.
---
He was on the floor, scratching the wooden boards in some hopeless attempt to raise himself from defeat. He coughed and hacked, blood spurting onto the floor, bleeding along the wood, stretching out over to the door. Of all the wounds he suffered, of all the years of fighting, thieving, killing, hurting, he had felt nothing like this since his battle at Rohan. His neck... so close to fatal. Breaths were coming in long and painful, loud and labored. No... no, it could not be. This couldn't happen. Grayson... he could not fail the child, not then, not like this!
"Lerris!" he called out in what was almost a croak, voice much soften than what should have been. He had to be louder... he had to call out, he had to get someone! "Lerris! Lerris!"
With each cry, the pain in his neck grew ever more intense. His head fell dizzy, the world spinning around him. His body threatened him with sleep, but he could not fall ill. He could not fail him. He could not fall into the world of unconsciousness, he could not allow disorientation take over him! Grayson needed him. He had to save him. Who got Grohn did not matter, who was the one to save the boy from a terrible fate did not matter, as long as it was done! Rowen, Lerris, anyone...
"Don't..." his forehead lay to rest on the ground. Don't. Don't take the child, the innocent, the one who could not be faulted for what he or for what Rowen had done. Shadowed pasts that had nothing to do with the newborn, there, evils done that concerned not an innocent child. Byron knew... it was his fault, after all. He didn't kill Grohn when he had the chance. When Rowen told him... and he didn't do it.
---
"Don't what?" laughed Grohn, almost maniacally, as Grayson squirmed helplessly from within his robes. "Don't take the child? You should know me better than that, boy. Now I leave you. Good night. See you in hell." And so he left the room, walked to the door, left, and ran away into the night.
Where was he going to go? A city? No, he needed to go somewhere unpopulated. Perhaps somewhere in the mountains? A cave? Anywhere was better than there. He had almost commit murder this night. And he would murder any who got in his way. Before long, Lerris and Rowen would return to find Byron lying helplessly on the floor and their child gone.
He knew he would have to leave a trail for Rowen. Should he just let himself bleed down onto the ground? That would only work until his wounds healed. Would he have to cut himself intentionally, spilling his blood onto the ground? No, that'd only weaken him for when she found him. And then an idea came to him: when he stopped leaving a blood trail, he would leave the child's clothes lying around, leading them to him. Yes, it was perfect! They would know that it was he. Perhaps he could pri.ck the baby and make its blood go onto the ground. A different smell than his own blood, it would only attract Rowen more. That could work.
This and many other rude thoughts filled his mind as he ran from the house into the forest nearby. He would lure Rowen to him and then he would kill her. If Lerris came, it'd be worse...Rowen alone was bad enough. If Lerris came, then Grohn would never win. He continued running and running as the night wore on until dawn came. Then he laid down to rest, Grayson breathing softly against his chest. After wailing for mounting hours, the infant had grown tired and fallen asleep. Grohn, with the soft weight of Grayson on his chest, fell asleep shortly after he laid down.
---
His hope was gone. Byron's hope... no, not his life, though that was in significant peril. Death was nothing. He could handle death. There was much to name that was infinitely more important than his own well being... but above all else, above all the things he cared about, both mediocre and profound, he did not want that child to suffer. He did not want the child to die.
He did not know how long he lay there. Forever, it seemed, bleeding, near death. He called again and again, holding onto the frail hope that stood, some hope that grew narrower and narrower as the moments dragged on. Lerris! Lerris! Rowen... Rowen. His nails scratching against the wood, he forced himself into a state of alertness. He could not sleep. Not at a time like this... he could not fall into slumber when a child was out there, with a cold-blooded murderer--a killer that did it for fun, or so he had understood when Rowen finally told him about what happened at the prison. It hurt to think what someone like that could do to an infant.
Once cries degraded into hoarse whispers. His neck forbade him to yell anymore--as much as he wanted to. As much as his mind was willing. It was the d*mned thing about his condition--not so much the pain. Not so much the torment. But the fact that he could do nothing. The fact he was of no more use to Grayson, carried off by an enemy who could not simply rest peacefully in the grave. The fact that he couldn't even properly call for help... the uselessness consuming him, he could only wait and hope someone came before all hope had drizzled down the hourglass.
---
After Lerris had his chat with Ty, the young innkeeper had convinced him to finally come and work for him for a much higher fee then was previously given. Ty had given his share of questions about the children, and giving the fact that Lerris was anxious to get back to home before Grayson turned out to be Byron, the elf answered in short "yes" and "no" answers. "Well, we really should head back…don't won't Samuel catching a cold out in this wind." The brown haired elf said as the innkeeper nodded his understanding. Lerris said his goodbyes and started to slowly approach his house, after the short walk back he pushed open the door.
There was no noise from inside; this is what struck the elf as odd. Shouldn't he be hearing the sound of Grayson giggling? Or crying? He wouldn't be sleeping, Byron was playing with him not a few minutes ago. He turned to Rowen as she stepped through the door. "Wait here…" He said in a silent tone, the elf crouched and slowly pushed open the door to the babies' room, he almost gasped at what he saw.
"Oh no" Lerris stood and rushed to the fallen Byron's side, "What…." He muttered, "Byron what happened? Byron?!" The man was hurt, bad, with stab wounds to rival the one he received in his left shoulder.
---
Minutes, hours, days, years... he didn't know anymore. He didn't care. One word. One word, as the door finally opened, figures blurred by exhaustion and blood loss. He felt their eyes, eyes on him, even movement as someone came to his side. No, he thought. His state was irrelevant. Only the child mattered. Only that man who stole Grayson from his crib held any place for concern--that murderer that left behind any common thief like himself...
"Grohn."
He remembered no more after that.
Rowen would not simply hang back, as Lerris had told her, not when she heard him speak in a raised voice in the bedroom. Samuel was beginning to fuss as she swept forward, just in time to catch the one and only thing her fallen friend had said. Grohn.
If anything, there was confusion... the bombardment of information coming in too fast to take in all at once. The sight of her friend on the ground, wounded, the small layer of blood coming all the way to the door frame, the mess of the entire chamber, and... Grohn? No, that could not be. But Byron... and then the last and greatest fear that came to her mind.
"Grayson."
|
|
|
|
Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 16:45:22 GMT -5
Lerris leapt to his feet and saw the crib empty, he cursed under his breath and turned to Rowen. "Stay calm, I'll get help." From who….? "Talia…" The elf said slowly to him self, and within seconds was out the door and running towards the inn. She had been the woman to bring him back to health, the day when he had lost Rowen and almost died…she could save Byron. Ty saw the elf running and smiled, but when he got close the innkeeper's face grew grim, "Lerris! What's the problem." The elf wasted no time and simply stated, "Where is Talia?" Ty raised and eyebrow and pointed towards the inn, "At the bar, d*mn it Elf what is going on?"
Lerris sighed and started off towards the bar, "Go to my house, make sure they aren't there!" He shouted as he burst through the inn door. "Talia?!" The brown haired elf cried. Ty's wife came from the back kitchens, "Lerris? What is the problem?" Out of breath the elf stated between long gulps for air, "Bryon…. attacked, blood all over." He said, Talia nodded quickly to each word. "I need your help…you can help…like you helped me." She nodded, "Give me a few seconds to get my things…" He nodded and took off back out the door.
Ty of course was standing dumbfounded still outside where Lerris had left him. When he saw the elf he hurried after him, as they reached the house Ty let out a gasp and Lerris came once again to Byron's side. "Talia…she can help…" Muttered the elf as if to reassure the unconscious Byron.
Talia came through the door and shook her head at the sight of Byron, "You men get out of here…Rowen get your son out of here too." She simply stated, Lerris and Ty did not argue, but as Ty left Lerris stopped near Rowen. "Let me take Samuel…" He said taking the crying child into his arms. He kissed Rowen on the cheek to reassure her that it would all be ok, and he shut the door behind him.
---
Rowen winced slightly as Samuel was taken from her arms. Her heart was beating fast. Grayson... gone. It didn't seem possible. How could this have happened? She... she had abandoned her former life! How could danger follow her this far? How could all that come to that distant place, that locale that stood as a haven from all the trouble that had been wrought in her wake? Why her son?!
Rowen knelt by Byron's side. She had only seen him in such a state before--back at Rohan. She remembered... being terrified. She remembered being afraid that she might lose him. Now, it was different. She needed Byron all right--and she knew he would be. But she needed to know what had happened to her son--that unknown factor, the mystery under it all. This was not to say that she cared about her former student any less, but at least with Byron, she knew. And the fact that, deep down, she knew that her friend would agree with her.
The woman slowly turned the man onto his back, checking his breathing. He was still very much alive, that was certain by his wheezing breath, but by the placements of the cuts... he shouldn't have been there. His neck--that wound would have been fatal, unless...
No. She could not think of that--Grohn was dead, he was dead for five years, and he was still out there, somewhere, whatever remains drifting in the frozen ocean, lifeless as the great many men he killed. Something else happened here. And soon, she would know...
"What do you want me to do?"
---
The crying had finally stopped, and Samuel had finally given into sleep while Lerris rocked him in his arms. The elf was obviously distressed, with his son missing and Byron beaten half to death. The lad would of died had he and Rowen decided to stay longer talking with Ty. The innkeeper had the same look of worry on his face as Lerris, and he began to mutter something about going in to help with Byron. But the innkeeper had stopped short every time he glanced at the door, knowing full well Talia would just kick him right back out.
"He will be fine…" Ty finally said breaking the long silence, "Talia knows what she is doing and the man will be back on his feet in a couple days." Lerris nodded, having other things on his mind, things like who had done it. "Grohn…." Muttered the elf, just as Byron had said before he had passed out. What does some dead man have to do with kidnapping my son? He shuddered, as if a light wind had passed through the hallway.
---
Time dragged on. The wounded was lay to rest on the bed, each wound treated and dressed, bleeding stopped as best as could be. It was decided that nothing more could be done when Rowen finally emerged from what bedchamber that had recently become an infirmary. She was shaken, clearly, mind ever on the whereabouts of her son. She stood there, almost as though picking her words carefully, hands all encrusted by dry blood hanging loose in front of her.
"He... he's going to be all right."
That was all she could think to say. Byron would be unconscious for the better part of the day, perhaps even until the next, but he was... reaching that point of normality, for lack of a better term. Slowly... gradually... but, nevertheless, his status was climbing. He would get better.
And then he would explain what happened. Where Grayson was. A part of her prayed that some troublemaker had come, and Byron merely hid the infant somewhere, out of harm's way. But... the chance was slim. She knew it was. And nothing could be said for certain until Byron finally arose from his state of slumber.
---
Grohn woke to a crying child from within his robes. For a moment, he did not realize what had been going on - then he remembered. He remembered how he had nearly murdered just before. But for what? Why had he hurt that poor man, nearly defenseless? What was revenge worth if it involved hurting others?
It was the first time that he'd ever had second thoughts about one of his many cruel deeds. What was making him think this way, he wondered, as he sat up, shaking his head. Was he just becoming soft? Or was it...was it the child? Such innocence...how could he put this child at risk of harm?
Shaking his head again, he stood up, supporting the squirming baby which was inside his robes. So he began again to run through the forest. Why he was having second thoughts, he didn't want know, though he did. It was the child. How far would he go to get revenge against Rowen?
Grohn once again had to shake these thoughts away. He was better off not thinking about these things. What did it matter? It was just another life, he told himself. One life of the thousands among Middle-earth, it didn't matter. Nothing had ever mattered to him. He had never experienced any emotion. So...why now?
But he didn't spend much time on the subject. He took the infant from his robes and looked at it. There were tears on it's face, though Grohn had not noticed that it was screaming. Looking at the clothing which the child wore, Grohn noticed a small name embroidered onto the shirt: Grayson. "So this would be your name, would it? Grayson?" asked Grohn. "Well, come on, we've got to move on." Grohn tore a piece of Grayson's clothing off and hung it on a dead tree. With a heavy sigh and a lift of his foot, he took another step in the forest.
---
Early the next morn, Byron awoke from slumber with a terrible start. He found himself in that very room he fought with Grohn, cleaned up and bandaged, not a soul in sight. His mind tried to piece it all together, what happened after Grayson had been taken. Much blood was lost that day, memory faint. Someone had come, though their image was never clear... it must have been Lerris--or Rowen, either of the pair. Had... had he said who it was who had taken their son? He couldn't remember... he couldn't remember.
The young man raised himself, with effort, to a sitting position, feeling a stinging pain on his shoulder, in that instant praying that neither Rowen nor Lerris were still in Aryan. That they were out there... somewhere, in pursuit of the man that did it. With any luck, the venture was already over. With any luck... if there was such a thing as that.
The hunter pushed back his shoulder-long raven hair, helpless against any forces that might be used against his friends or the boy. By this time... he wanted nothing more than to be of use, more than ever to both rectify his mistake and ensure the safety of an innocent child.
All the while, Rowen stood by the door of the bedchamber, having stayed through the night despite the lack of the usual accommodations. Samuel was still asleep in the relocated bassinet, and she, if nothing else, was... waiting. Her eye just barely peeked through the subtle opening of the door, searching for any and all signs of movement. As Byron looked vulnerably about, she turned her head to her spouse.
"He's awake," she said in a dry tone, knowing well that the interrogation would soon begin.
---
Lerris jumped to his feet, Ty had long returned to his home and Talia had said she would check back with Byron the next morning. "Good…." Was all the elf was able to get out of his mouth as he pushed open the door and slid past Rowen. He looked the bandaged Byron up and down and shook his head; it was a wonder that he was left alive and not just killed on the spot. Lerris ran a hand across his forehead and glanced at the crib then back at Byron. "So…" The elf mumbled crouching next to Byron.
The elf began to dry wash his hands and finally looked up at Byron, "What happened?" He said shaking his head, "Are you alright? Who was it? Where is GRAYSON!" The elf shouted, he stood when he did and began shaking his head. "I'm sorry…" He mouthed at first then spoke up, "Sorry, sorry about that." He said at a barely audible tone. "Are you O.K?"
---
Byron's private had been dashed by the sight of Rowen and Lerris, still present and accounted for. Perhaps... perhaps, in his moments bordering unconsciousness, he hadn't told them who it was. Perhaps it was his own mistake.
"How I am doesn't matter in the least," he said, almost in a tone of ridicule, though such was not intended to be. "What matters is the boy."
The hunter had the strong feeling that they both concurred with that sentiment--as it should be. As it should be...
"It was him," he began again, as though such an ambiguous description would automatically bring all mysteries to light. He clarified before anyone had a chance to get anything in, "Grohn. I know how that sounds, but I swear to you, it could be no one else. I don't know how he lives, how he found us... and I don't know why, but he took Grayson!"
He looked desperately at their disbelieving faces--especially Rowen. It was her blade that was meant to have ended it all, a cut to the neck that would have been fatal. He absentmindedly touched the bandages on his neck. Or so they had all been led to believe...
---
Lerris shook his head, How is that even possible? I remember throwing him off the boat! The elf looked to his wife and sighed, Why would Grohn take Grayson? That made hardly any sense, He turned back to Byron and nodded, "I believe you…I don't know how he could of lived and come back to do this….but I believe you." He said running a hand through his hair. It still, of course, did seem more then impossible…
How are we going to find Grayson, I can't let that mad man have my son!
The elf sighed once again, he wanted a plan, he tried to think of a plan, but had anyone even seen the kidnapper leave the city? He could have gone anywhere! The elf kept shaking his head and muttering something about where Grohn could of possibly gone. He had no more words to give now that he knew who he was after, he had to find Grohn, he wasn't sure how…But he had to.
---
Rowen gripped the edge of the door frame, breath coming in shallow, the thought of Grohn and her son chilling her blood to an icy fluid. She remembered. Grohn, merciless, killing without thought, murdering the innocent... what chance was there that he would treat a child of Grayson's age with any kind of decency? The thought of what might be was revolting, sickening, frightening...
And she remembered one more thing. Back on that boat, she stuck a blade into her opponents neck, careful to miss his vital arteries. She didn't want him to die. In anger and a thirst for retribution, she wanted him to suffer the frozen waters of the ocean beneath them, bleeding, dying, all hope lost for good. She didn't think... he could survive that. It wasn't possible, and yet, it all made a sickening kind of sense.
"I want to go with you," a voice broke her from her thoughts, a tone of desire, a kind of ambition that was never lost, even to a man reduced to a bed until further notice. Byron bore that look like he wanted to swing himself off the mattress, wield a sword and go on wherever they might lead. Instead, he merely leaned heavily forward, feeling that fresh hurt in his shoulder, as well as everywhere else. He wasn't fit to do anything of use... whether it was said or not, he must have known that.
---
Lerris immediately shook his head, "No…." He said still contemplating in another part of his head, which way he would be going. " I know your eager, but your far to injured and if you follow all you would do is slow me down." He shrugged his apologies at Byron as he redirected his gaze to Rowen. "You need to stay with Samuel, both of you…." And I don't want either of you getting hurt He had saved the last part for himself, knowing full well if he said it aloud Rowen would let him know she was capable of taking care of herself.
He sighed, "I'll go alone, I'll make Ty help me at least track him the right way out of the town and simply head in that direction." He started to rub his chin and noticed by chance that it was about time to shave his would be beard. He sighed and could tell by just looking at Byron he was not about to take no for an answer that easily until he had sat up and noticed the boundary of his wounds.
"I hate to dig up old memories, but I need a sword, a weapon…. anything."
---
Byron looked as though he might protest at that statement, but in the end, he knew that Lerris was right and he was wrong. Wounds this fresh would only slow the elf down, and ultimately make it more difficult to go after Grayson. In spite of himself, he knew he would be nothing more than a hindrance. Rowen would not be that easy to convince.
"My swords are at..." he began before the woman cut him off.
"Wait a moment," she said, placing herself in front of her spouse. Her voice was tense, a sort of weakness that wanted to be imposing, a panic that tried to compose itself to the point of dictation. "Grayson is my son as well, you can't leave me behind."
She had scarcely listened to his reason--she shut the rest off after you need to stay... she had been with him countless times before, fighting with and against him, only that time, it was much more important than any sword, mere rivalry, hell, even war. This was not the time to be left as he went on his own... not the time at all.
---
Lerris instantly began to shake his head even as Rowen began to speak, he did not want her to leave while Samuel still stayed. "Had this been years earlier…" He glanced at Byron as if the hunter would give support, but all he received was a shrug. "Rowen, I can't let you do this…not so soon, I'll send word when I reach the first town, village city…whatever I find first." He sighed and scratched his head as he tried to think up of more ideas as to why Rowen should stay while he went out looking after Grayson. He could come up with no more.
"Look…I don't want you getting hurt, if this really is Grohn, I cannot leave our son without a mother." He shook his head, she had trouble with him in the past…. who is to say that Grohn isn't stronger? He would have to be to survive what they had put him through the first time. "Please…. Mela en' coiamin….Uuma dela, I will find our son."
---
"I..." Rowen began, weighed down with that feeling that Lerris wasn't going to back down on this. It had never occurred to her, before, that she might not be going. Wherever the path might lead, against whatever forces were laid in their path, she didn't think that she would be left behind as Lerris faced it alone. "Together, we... I'd be..."
Byron looked back and forth between the two, feeling more and more invisible by the second. After a momentary pause, he interjected with uncertainty.
"I keep my old weapons back at my place," he said dubiously, "in the hutch by the bedchamber--every last one of them."
Rowen bowed her head lightly at the distraction, her gaze soon restored to meet his. She leaned against the bedpost, as though her legs might collapse beneath her, slowly coming to terms with the fact that, soon, everything would be out of her hands. She didn't want to believe it--in some sense, she almost denied it, like somehow, if the topic was quiet for long enough it would be as it simply did not happen.
"Go on," she lightly jerked her head to the door. She could think so say no more than that.
---
The elf nodded slightly and hurried himself out the door and down to Byron's house. He eased open the great timber door and found himself in a house that looked almost the exact same as his own. He navigated his way through the hallways until he found the bedchamber Byron spoke of and opened the hutch to look over the vast amount of weaponry Byron still hid. Swords, knives, daggers, the elf felt odd bringing blades back into his life.
He pulled free a sword and nodded at its length, and then replacing it into its scabbard he tucked it under his arm. A few knives, a long dagger went right next to the sword inserted under his arm. He kicked the door shut with his heel as he made his way back outside, had anyone in Aryan seen all the weapons coming from Byron's house none would be too fond to know they had some sort of would-be killer living amongst them; so he kept them as well hidden as possible. When the elf arrived back at his house he made his way quickly into his study and began finding old clothing. A hard leather tunic to go over his wool shirt, his old dark emerald pants from the days long ago when he was still a fighter, and a traveler.
He sighed to himself, as he looked his image up and down in the mirror, "No more fighting, I swore it…." He muttered as he started to find where he could keep the weapons on his body. The sword strapped to his back, the knives stuck inside his belt and the dagger hung from the right side of his buckle. "A bloody soldier…." He muttered shaking his head at himself.
---
Rowen was silent as Lerris took leave, trying to picture herself going with him, being there when Grayson was found. The quietude extended with the elf's absence, a wounded man carefully picking his words as he took this opportunity to bring some things to light.
"When Grohn was here," he started, hoping that the woman would catch his gaze. He received no sign, "he said he'd leave me the same way you left him all those years ago. He cut my neck, but I didn't die."
The red haired female turned her back on him completely, hands twisting around one another in discomfort. It was silently understood.
"You're not telling anyone," she said without looking at him. Byron apparently attempted to move forward because he groaned at his shoulder, Rowen lightly turning her head but still not meeting Byron's eyes.
"No one would blame you," he said, leaning back again, giving in to the wounds that Grohn had inflicted. "It wasn't as though we could predict the future."
With that, he lay back down, pondering that last sentiment.
---
When Lerris was finally finished he looked himself up and down with almost a sense of disgust. He hated the fact that Grohn had to bring weapons back into his life, he began to mutter to himself about blades as he entered the room still occupied by Rowen and Byron. He sighed when he finally caught eyes with Rowen and shrugged, "I should leave as soon as possible…" The elf said glancing over his shoulder, "I know Ty will be more then happy to help me track my way after "Grohn."
He shifted uneasily, having all the weapons hanging from him just made him feel odd. A good staff…that was something he could always use, but now, well now he was bloody equipped to take on a small army. He made his way to his wife's side and slid and arm around her waist; he pulled his head close and gave her a kiss. "I'll send word as soon as possible…" He said turning to Byron as he gave a nod, "Well….I best be off then."
---
Rowen stared, speechless, jaw almost hanging lightly as a pair of silver eyes bore into the couplet of blue. That expression on her face, such a look of what one might call neglect and most assuredly fear was not so much in recognition to the fact that the elf once again dawned weapons at his side, but the reality that Lerris was leaving, right then and there, without her by his side. She didn't... understand how he could act so calm about everything. But better, at least, that one of them could keep a lid on things.
"I... I'd fight well by your side," was her final meek attempt at joining him on the road after their son. But time was wasting. Somewhere, out there, an infant suffered the neglect of a murderer and madman, and moments were better spent on the road than idly standing there, talking. Beyond persistence, beyond what many may rather call stubborn or hardheadedness, she recognized that. "... bring him back."
Such said, she embraced him around the chest, her mind subconsciously letting it all go. Letting go of need, releasing that instilled obligation to make the future than let it happen. Resting this so-called 'faith' he so often spoke of on him.
---
Lerris nodded, and said his final goodbyes as he kissed her once again. The wind blew his hair about his face and he had to keep brushing it out of the way with his hand. The elf made his way towards Ty's household, his inn, and knocked on the door several times before entering. Talia, Ty's wife, gave one look at all the weapons he carried and gave almost a shudder. "Lerris…what do…what are…. What are you planning to do?" Lerris forced a smirk, which he wasn't sure if it made him less threatening…or made him look more insane.
"Talia, where is Ty? Is he home or is he out back somewhere?" The innkeeper's wife sighed, and pointed over her shoulder "Out back, cutting wood I do suppose…or that is what he is supposed to be doing. Lerris, please tell me what is going on." Lerris sighed, and began to lay out for her what he planned to do, how to get Ty to track the way Grohn had left….but he did leave out what he was planning to do when he found him.
Do I even know what I'm going to do? The elf shook his head, "Be careful Lerris, I don't want to buy a black dress…" He smirked once again, "Don't plan on a funeral." She shook her head and pointed him outside to find Ty.
The innkeeper's gaze matched his wife's when he noticed all the weaponry on him. "Lerris…" He sighed, "What is wrong with you?" The elf gritted his teeth, did they all expect him to sit still while Grohn had his son? "Ty, I need your help…I need to find which way Grohn left with Grayson…can you, can you track him for me?" The innkeeper sighed, "What do you plan to do?" Lerris shook his head, "Find him, and find my son….that is it."
Ty was silent for a time, just eyeing all the weapons Lerris was carrying. "War…" He muttered, "What has happened is bad enough, but bloody hell Lerris, your thinking of going to war." Lerris sighed.
Maybe, maybe I am
Ty had taken him back inside, and gotten dressed for a day in the woods. He left Lerris inside, and went out tracking on his own, telling Lerris he would just slow him down. Ty burst through the door not more then an hour later, clutching something in his hand. He handed it to Lerris without a word, and the elf looked it over. A piece of cloth, "The Bastad. was leaving clues all over the place…almost as if he wanted to be followed." The innkeeper said, Lerris nodded, and patted his friend's shoulder. "West…." He nodded, and Ty kept muttering something about war. "Be careful elf…."
He was out the door, and stuffing the cloth into his belt pocket.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 17:32:08 GMT -5
The evening became a deep and dark night. Storm clouds rolled in and soaked the ground with their relentless tears. Grohn dashed through the labrynth of trees as the baby cried from within his robes. The man could hardly see through the sheets of rain that were pelting the ground, but finally he saw a very dim light coming through the trees. He followed it and soon came to a very small house. A dying fire shone through the window, the logs red with heat as a single ember turned them to ash. Grohn knocked on the door and an elderly man answered the door.
His face was wrinkled with age but his hair and beard were but flecked with grey. "Good evening!" he cried to Grohn over the roars of the storm. "You need shelter!" he cried out. It was an odd sort of thing to say, for it sounded more of a command than a statement. He invited Grohn inside and Grayson finally rested against Grohn's stomach.
"Ah! Is he yours?" said the old man as Grohn pulled Grayson from his robes. Grohn was tempted to say no, but found his head naturally shaking up and down. He is mine...
"Well, you can rest here tonight. Your child...he is very young! He could not be more than a week old!" said the old man. Grohn looked at the baby in his arms. Grayson was now sucking his thumb peacefully and sleeping. The criminal had never given thought to how old the child was. He looked at the child, who as yet had no teeth and very little hair.
"Never matter. But where is the mother? A child of this age cannot eat as we," said the other. Another thing that Grohn had not thought about...
"Have you no milk?" asked Grohn.
"I do not keep cows here, good sir. There are no pastures for them to graze in. How ever would they stay alive?"
Grohn did not reply. He instead glanced again at the young child in his arms...no more than a week old...
He is mine...
No, he is Rowen's...
HE IS MINE!
Grohn shook the thoughts out of his head as the old man sat the two of them down by the fire.
"You should dry off. Give me your clothes, I will provide new garb..."
"We're fine with what we're wearing," Grohn snapped. The old man looked revolted.
"I am merely offering help..."
"I don't need your help," Grohn snapped again. He had always been alone...yet now there was this child...and this man...
And the child was his.
---
Cold, wet, damp, soggy, soaking…drenched. The rain, it never stops when you want it to, it always gives you that slight hope…the white cloud. Then it laughs, and unleashes its whole life onto you, and laughs again…because you're the one stuck in the rain, with no direction. This time, it kept its sights on one single elf.
Maybe he should have stopped when the rain became so heavy he could no longer see…but he didn't. Maybe he should have stopped when the only way to keep his eyes open while he ran was to look down and plow forward praying he didn't run into a tree…but he didn't. In the end it wasn't his choice to stop, a root that had grown out helped him with that simple decision, had it been his choice he would of kept going.
"Aiya! Dolle naa lost!" The elf shook his head as he cursed himself for his stupidity; with his right hand he pushed himself slowly onto his back. Clutching his left ankle the elf slowly rose to a sitting position, a groan escaped his lips and he massaged furiously at his ankle. The rain danced off the scabbard as the elf pulled the thing, sword and all off.
Pushing his weight onto the sword, he slowly stood to his feet, sitting there would do nothing, and the man with his son had much time on him. He cursed every other step he took, until the elf found a suitable tree to make shelter under. It is not like the elf was not at home in a forest; he had lived most of his long life there.
He slid the sword from its scabbard and began to cut small bushes and large enough sticks to make a lean-too. After several minutes the makeshift house was constructed, and the sword was slid home into its place. The elf tossed the sword in first, and stumbled after, laying against the nearby tree he sighed. "Amin Tulien."
Elvish translations
"Amin Tulien." = "I'm coming"
"Aiya! Dolle naa lost!" = "Ah! Your head is empty!"
---
Each minute with the old man dragged on as though it were an age of the world. The three sat in the living room, the only noise being the crackling of the dying fire and the quiet snores of Grayson. The old man gazed hopelessly into burning f*g**ts as one by one the ashes fell and the room slowly become darker.
Finally, the old man spoke. "Have you any family?" he asked Grohn. Grohn did not respond. He did not want to tell the man of his past, but it was so hard to contain it within the recesses of his mind...he wanted to spill the truth unto the old man, every minute detail...
"I've none, save my son. My wife perished so long ago, and my brother just recently. I've only my son left." Grohn remained silent.
"My older brother..." said the old man. "He died of an unknown ailment. Have you ever seen a man on his bed, awaiting and welcoming death as though it were an old friend, sir? It is an interesting thing, how he can stare at the ceiling for hours and not get bored. What does a dying man think about? We can only guess until we are that man." Grohn gazed into the burning wood, comprehending each word the man spoke as though he'd heard them every day throughout his life.
"It's an amazing thing, that a dying man can lay there, weaker than any of us can ever know, unable to move, barely able to speak...how he can tell those around him to be strong. Those were my brother's last words...be strong...it seems so long ago..." The old man's eyes gazed beyond the world, perhaps searching for some happy memory reminiscent of the past.
And so, the latch of the door opened, and every head in the cabin turned as two figures entered the room, silhouetted against the lightning outside.
---
The rain was strangely heavy for such a season, normally beaming with light and life, heat in excess, color and vibrance. Morgan Lockheed enjoyed the sun on his back, but that day, he had only the graying metallic sky to show for it, and the bombardment of tiny beads against his clothing, eyes, and skin. There was a frozen chill about the world, and life had taken to hiding. It was a poorly chosen day, for hunting, but he had insisted to his father, little left of substance at home, and he would not go back empty handed.
The mud sank beneath his feet, the man irritable at his own lack of success. More than the summer season, he loved to work for his own worth, the food on his plate, the clothes on his back. Tools, trinkets, things he trusted more only because he did it himself. All that land that stretched in his wake was his father's. It had everything, anything he would ever need and could ever want at his fingertips, but nature would not allow such to be freely given without hardship in trade.
A voice. Morgan straightened his back, sinking in the earth as he strained his senses to detect that foreign sonancy that drifted through the fleeting raindrops once, but now was gone. It sounded something elvish, but a hunter like Lockheed never had a need for learning the language--or a chance. It was of no use to him in the past, though he feared it might be that day... that day, as he skulked to find the figure that trespassed on his father's land, another man searching out a piece of what was not his, no doubt... searching through a place once full of life, looking for the same thing Lockheed did in the midst of such a fruitless day.
He stepped out of the rain, under the protection of the towering trees. The shaft was drawn at his side... a long and thin piece of timber, blade at the end. It was most useful for hunting, and suited him fine for this.
He lunged. Perhaps because of his own vexation or maybe for his natural anger at thieves and stow aways, he forced the elf--and indeed, it was--to face him before going on the attack.
---
It had been a good sleep, the kind where you didn't dream and simply let your body relax. It could have been longer, but apparently people these days had no patience for an elf sleeping in the forest…what was this middle earth coming to?
Lerris jumped to his feet when he found the arrow pointing directly at him, and winced when he landed on his ankle. For several seconds he just starred at the man forgetting many weapons hung from his body. He was in no condition for a full out brawl, but he figured he could take the human if he absolutely had to.
"No need for the weapon, I'm just resting you see…" He lifted his hands up slowly to show he wasn't about to reach for a weapon. "Are you hunting? What kind of a hunt are you on in this weather?" The man gave him a puzzled look, and Lerris shook his head and combed his wet hair out of his eyesight.
The elf shifted unnervingly and took a deep breath; he had been speaking in elvish the whole time. He almost smacked himself in the forehead for it, "My name is Lerris…I apologize…I, well I was just resting a hurt ankle."
---
Morgan held a threatening stance as the elf spoke in its native tongue, and he did not loose his muscles as the translation came so that he might understand.
"You are on my father's land," he said like the stranger had waltzed in his home and rented a bed for his own without saying so much as a word. In essence, Lockheed saw the instance true and unacceptable, particularly without word or invitation. Even without fences or lines, people simply knew certain places were not to be trespassed, any hunter or worker of land. "The hunting ground ends a mile southeast of here. I suggest you leave this place."
Lockheed then eyed the elf's... strange mode of attire. He looked like no hunter... armed in any and every way imaginable, he took on the look that equated to something more like that of a soldier off to war, or perhaps a mercenary awaiting pay to take someone out. In either case, Morgan knew very well that a doe would not pose as much a threat as this man looked well prepared for.
"Unless you want a confrontation... and by the looks of your ankle, I'm certain you wouldn't be fond of that."
He ended on an acrimonious note. If there ever was a day to cross paths with Morgan Lockheed under the accusation of alleged theft, the elf had chosen the wrong one indeed.
---
Lerris coughed and shook his head, trying to buy some time to think up something to say to this man. He looked down at himself and realized he looked like a soldier, he almost laughed but caught himself and brushed the hair out of his eyes to block the smile on his face. "No, no I don't need a confrontation right now…" The elf stated releasing the grip he had on a sword hilt and put up one hand. "I'm sorry if I've trespassed on something that belongs to you, I'm just trying to make my way through here and get onto a road that heads west."
He pointed with his other hand and shook his head; he wasn't about to tell this man the whole story. "Look, I've apologized, you mind not pointing that thing at me anymore?"
Whoever this man was meant nothing to him, the only thing that mattered was his son.
---
Morgan did not do as the elf had asked, but instead extended his would-be weapon toward the direction he had recommended his counterpart to take. Indeed, it was the same path the elf had been walking all along, albeit inconsistently, for rain and storm had that tendency to knock one off course. In either case, it was that very direction of whatever godforsaken land the elf was coming from, though Lockheed did not know this.
"That way is the fastest path to remove yourself, as after few miles, you will be off my father's land," Lockheed said, though irritably at that. His growing frustration was, perhaps, ill directed. At that time, he had seen well enough that the elf meant little harm, as much as his... artillery might suggest otherwise. This err, in other words, was not improving his temperamental disposition. "And a great deal further than that, you'll find a village. I'll prefer you there than here."
With that, the hunter finally lowered his arm. The rain around them lightened to a light patter as his cold fingers still gripped the shaft, he waiting... waiting for his transgressor take whatever course it took for him to find a place that would not cross his path again.
---
Lerris shook his head, "I cannot and will not go back that way, to my home." He shifted his weight casually, because a certain knife was poking his ribs with each breath. He knew this man meant to have him off his land as soon as possible, but there was absolutely no way the elf was about to head back, not now, not when some mad man had his son captive.
A small thought trickled through his head, and his mouth opened even though he meant to keep quiet and not anger this man. "I have no time for this" He heard himself say to the man before him, "Nor do I have time to return to my home…."
The elf placed a hand on one of the swords strapped to his side, and kept his eyes locked with the human before him. This man would be only one minor obstacle he would have to overcome these next couple of days. But to the elf it mattered none whatsoever, because the goal was the only thing he had in mind. Because this man's life could be taken if need be, because it was the easiest decision he had ever made.
Lerris does not even need to turn his head to see where he could easily strike the man down without a noise. He doesn't bother to move his eyes away to throw off the man in front of him before he attacks. He doesn't even need to pull free one of the many weapons strung about his body. He does not even feel the ache within his injured ankle.
He simply stands, one hand on a sword his other hanging limply at his side. Staring the man right in the eyes, "I will not go back…" He hears himself say, but inside his head he is not sure if it is even his voice anymore. For it has lowered and grown irritated, but it was his voice, because inside his head he knew it was his statement.
That is why he can simply stand, for the elf has no need to defend or attack. Because he knows within his mind there will be a battle here, and inside his head he knows it does not matter when the battle starts or when the battle ends. Because Lerris Saphire knows that nothing else matters, nothing else but Grayson.
"Your can either get out of my way and forget that you ever saw me on your land. Or, well or you can try to strike me down, because either way I will be continuing as fast as I can on this injured foot." The elf stated perfectly at ease, on the outside he was more then confident.
But on the inside there was a small shadow of doubt, he did not want to fight this man if he did not have to. But he knew if it did come to that, Lerris would do what he must.
Because nothing else mattered, nothing in this world at that very moment matters…
Nothing, but Grayson.
---
Lockheed spent no more time in consideration, no more time to stand and stare as the earth under their feet went dry and barren and the pines turned, with age, to ash. The elf, whatever his name and whatever his origin, had his chance. Many chances, too many. Perhaps Morgan's father, timid for his own good, had little regard for who came and went, but with thieves aplenty traveling about at their leisure, someone had to make up for the lack. Someone.
With his meager weapons, he jumped in headfirst into a fight that was well on its way, well thanks to his stubbornness and pride. He slashed with his arrow, violently and with a great deal of strength, yet all the while, lacking all the necessary skill for such a venture.. He was a hunter, not a warrior, though at times, a part of him preferred to think it was the other way around. That some piece of his soul so longed for war, for blood with its own sense of vindication, wherever it was to end.
"Do you have something to say to me, elf!" he spat with disdain at that last note, soaked to the bone with rainwater and blood. It was difficult to say how much time had passed, but the rain ever violently tore the earth with little mercy to be had. Lockheed was more wounded than the elf, that was clear--what was unclear was if the elf was touched at all, save for a few grazes. But pride had a way of hiding thing from a man, when to stop, when he had lost, when he was beaten; and it was doing a superb job of just that.
---
The human had attacked with out warning, not that the elf needed any whatsoever. He dodged each attack with ease, the man was rather large and ultimately Lerris saw that he had not the look of a warrior in his eyes. With every dodge, and every swift punch to the man Lerris began to feel his hands less and less. The weather would kill him, if the man did not.
Lerris raised an eyebrow at the human as he spoke….
Have I anything to say to you? How about stop trying to kill me you wool-headed human! How about I just want to find….
The elf ducked under another one of the man's awkward strikes, he was slowing. Lerris came up with force into the man's ribcage, sending the man several steps back. He was about to defend this land to his death…but for what?
Lerris took a step back and let out a loud sigh, "What have you that is so important that you would kill a traveler to protect? Have I reasons to even finish this fight?" He un-hooked a long bladed dagger from his belt; "Speak your grounds human, I can't waste any more time with you."
Please, I don't want to kill this man, but I will do what I must. Dear spirits, you have never helped me before…but now would be a good time as ever to start.
---
"All I've got is what I've got," the man Lockheed gestured to the expanse about him. The land, ridden by water, cold and fruitless for the season it was in. He was soaked to the bone, but still moving, and still stubborn enough to think he had a chance at all. To think he was even making so much as a dent on his foe. "I'd kill you for it, so be a good elf, be quiet, and die."
He moved forward, and under the unrelenting bombardment of rain, his muscles burned. The ache, the throe in his brain; he felt it but he didn't feel. He was far too numbed by his own stubborn pride to pay heed to what his body told him. He pushed himself, he had already been pushing himself without knowing, and he had already gone too far.
He felt his boot slip against the muddy earth, and his body fall. He landed on the ground with what was almost a splash, his back arched forward and his arms leaning between his knees. Mud was flecked on his face and his breathing was heavy in exhaustion. He looked up, trying to be a threatening as he could, but given his state, it was not executed to the height of possibility.
"... or you could just go."
---
Lerris had pulled half of the dagger out when the man had fallen, and in that instant he slid half that dagger back into its scabbard. He let out another sigh as he shook his head at the man; "Leaving sounds fine to me…" The elf mumbled as he turned to leave the man there, he combed a hand through his hair, he couldn't feel a thing.
Several minutes passed, and Lerris was already lost again in the foreign forest. He had no map, and in truth no longer knew what direction he was headed. His thoughts that he was going in circles came true when he stumbled upon the human once again.
The man looked up at him, and Lerris could no longer keep his eyes on the human. He felt his back hit a tree, as he slowly slid down he began to speak. "You know, I thought I could do it alone." He hit the ground with a thump, "I thought I could, I really did, but I think I'm lost out here…I've already…"
Failed him, failed everyone…Failed Rowen.
"He took him, the crazed fool took him right from my own home. I thought everything was over, I told her that everything was over. I was wrong, I failed everyone, and I cannot possibly find him now."
At first he couldn't figured out why he was talking to the human who had almost tried to kill him. A slight grin split his face; he couldn't believe he had married the human who had tried to kill him. He gained the courage then to look up into the face of the man he had just fought.
He had to ask this man for help, it was the only way to find out where he was going, find out where Grohn had taken his son.
"Please, you must know these woods well, because you protect them as if the trees belonged to you. Lead me west, that is all I need to know, please…."
Lerris' head slumped again, "Please, he…he has my son."
---
Lockheed listened quietly as the elf spoke to him, the man still yet sitting on the ground, right where he had been left. He was silent all the while, even attentive, perhaps out of exhaustion of the fight, and even perchance in interest of what was being said. Wearisome, he let his back fall against the watery earth, and he let out a long sigh.
"If you had told me from the start..."
He didn't finish his statement. The words began soft, but something build in them, a rising roughness to the quality of his voice. Still yet a creature of pride, he would not so easily walk out looking entirely stupid.
"I want you to understand this, elf," the man said without moving any part of his body but his lips. He was stiff against the earth, and his words... the words were not said in tone with even an ounce of kindness, and rather a suppressed anger, rage, even at the object of defiance, one who would make a fool of the hunter. And yet... through sound and words, something didn't quite sit right with what came out of his mouth. "You're not welcome here. You're not welcome and don't expect to be. It's dark, now. If you leave, you'll still be here by morning, right where you left off after wandering aimlessly in circles until you grow tired of it. Then, when I've found you, I'd see it'd take you three days to die."
He sat upright, back rather covered in cold mud.
"My father has a place not far from here," he then rose to his feet with an ache about his legs and back. He straightened in the cold, muscles quite resistant to movement. "Leave tomorrow, and then I'll be sure I'm rid of you. Do you understand?"
---
Lerris nodded slowly to each word that came out of the human's mouth. He stood slowly, "I will leave as soon as possible, with first light if need be, lead the way human." He scratched the back of his neck, he felt foolish for calling him human but he had no idea what this man's name was…not that it mattered any.
"My name is Lerris, and I thank you for your help…" He shifted his weight as he continued to speak, "Lead the way, so I can be out of your hair as soon as possible." The man gave him a blank look and started off towards his father's home. Lerris kept silent, and watched the man's back as he walked.
He had actually tried to attack with an arrow, what kind of a fool would try such a thing? The elf had seen great bowmen in his days, and this man apparently was nothing but a hunter. Lerris scratched his chin and kept eyeing the bow slung over the human's shoulder. The man was lucky, Lerris was quicker but he had not intended for the death of the man, had he, Lerris would have been lost without a guide a long time ago.
Lerris made a pact within himself to no longer let such things stand in between him and his son. The elf's eyes narrowed, and slowly all emotion drained from his face.
You better lead me out of here Edan…Death flies on swift wings to those who stand in my way…
---
"Don't thank me yet, elf," Lockheed walked on without turning back to see him. After a moment's silence, he went on with a hard air about him. With scarcely a moment's notice, he gave in. "My name is Morgan. Lockheed. And my father's place is not far from here now."
It was true. Just a silhouette in the midst of darkness, a shadow the shape of a house stood in the distance, semi-distorted by the heavy rainfall. His boot sunk into the earth as he went forward, faster now, with more purpose than before. He was anxious, for some reason, though he couldn't quite say why. He thought about his father, telling him it was a fool's errand to go off in the rain after some scarce game, but he was welcome to try. And what he might say when the old man found out what he had really been doing. Probably nothing. He was like that, sometimes.
Lockheed pushed his back against the rickety door, the warmth inside a welcome next to the cold. He made room for Lerris as his eyes drew on a stranger sitting by his father.
"I see you have a guest..." Morgan hesitated. "I've brought someone as well."
|
|
|
|
Post by Rowenna on Jun 14, 2006 17:36:07 GMT -5
The swift realization that the other guest was Lerris, the elf, hit Grohn as though lightning had somehow woven its way into the house and struck him. He hadn't seen him in a very long time, but he knew instantly...he remembered the faces vividly, all three of the faces from the ship that pushed him overboard in hopes that he would die...one he'd tried to kill just the other night...then there was the woman, whom this was all against...and then this one, the elf.
But Grohn had hopes that he wouldn't be recognized. He was older now, more scarred than before. His travails on the sea had left him with marks across his face that hadn't been there when they last met. Grohn was almost sure that he could escape the elf undetected...and just then, a small whimper made him wide-eyed in horror.
The child.
He'd forgotten about Grayson, who'd been sleeping so soundly. He was now awaking to the ever loudening claps of thunder outside. He was the only thing deterring Grohn from a clean and easy escape. If he ran out, it'd be too conspicuous...but to stay would risk everything...
He found himself at an impass. He had to think quickly, on his feet.
"I'm afraid I must leave your company, actually," said Grohn, donning false kindness and a false voice.
"But sir, what of your child?" asked the old man. "Surely you wouldn't take him -"
"We shall be fine!" snapped Grohn. "I thought I'd all ready told you that I do not need your help!"
But he quickly realized he'd said too much. Before him in the doorway stood the elf with such menace in his eyes that even the Valar would've cowered in his presence.
This was not going to be a clean getaway.
---
When Lerris Saphire realizes that his son is the one crying out before him, he wants to cry out with him in joy. But the expression of bliss had become impossible to him.
When Lerris realizes that the man before him is the man who had taken his son away from him, something inside the elf finally snaps. Every weapon that hangs from this elf becomes obsolete, because he wants to kill this man; he wants to feel him die with his own hands.
This is the moment that will finally define Lerris Saphire.
He hears the voices in his head, telling him to simply pull out his sword and kill the man on the spot. Within his mind, he almost agrees, "I will kill him" he says to the voices, "For this human has chosen to be the voice of all evil, and I will kill him for that choice." The voices laugh, and quietly lie back, "When you kill him, you will be free…your hatred will disappear, you will never hear from us again."
This is the point, where Lerris Saphire sees every truth, and every doubt and the reason why his own people left this Middle-Earth. Because mankind could not shut their ears to the voices, because everyone's voices tell them they are in the right.
Within this moment of clear and beautiful truth, he realizes that it was only partially about finding his son Grayson, and partially about finding Grohn.
So he takes one step forward, and doesn't bother with words, because Grohn isn't worth a single one. He takes another step forward, and wants to say any word he can to comfort his son, because he is worth every word the elf knows.
There will be a fight here, and someone will die, and for the first time in his life Lerris Saphire realizes he doesn't care if it is his own as long as Grohn dies with him.
---
The elf was stepping closer to him. The thunder clapped louder outside. Grayson cried. The menace of the elf was one that Grohn could not merely escape. Grohn could not have drawn a sword and held the child at the same time. So, from his pocket he drew a tiny pocket knife.
It almost seemed like humor would've broken the tension, had the elf not been so passionate about his kill. The knife looked as though it were a mouse, ready to kill a rhinocerous. Odd...it seemed that the fire in Lerris' eyes was brighter than any lightning outside. The cool metal of the knife clearly reflected the elf's eyes. Such burning passion!
Grohn knew that his mouse had no chance against the rhinocerous. Unless...no, he couldn't. He could never bring himself to do it.
GAH!
He would've done it at the drop of a hat before. Why couldn't he now? It was his clear advantage.
The advantage wins the fight...use the advantage.
And without thinking about it, he raised the child. Then he brought it closer to his body, put the knife to its neck and stared at the elf. He wouldn't kill Grayson. But it was the threat that mattered most.
He couldn't kill Grayson...
Yet, he had an inkling suspicion that the elf knew his hesitation.
---
Morgan felt the tenseness in the air as he backed from the doorway, seemingly giving room for the elf to back away from the man and the child. Perhaps the human had made his err in the past, would again in the present and future, but for the time, he understood the gravity when a man threatened the life of a child. He backed, feet mashing against the mud on the outside... but he did not back out of fear or hesitation, retreat or surrender.
A man like Morgan did not stray even in times like these.
As long as the two, the elf and the murderer, stared face-to-face, Lockheed was sure the man would not hesitate to murder the child, and then the elf would not hesitate to murder the man. A universe of blood on their doorstep... but there was a third option, and it didn't come from attacking head on. It didn't come the same way Morgan had leapt out against the elf in an unjust fury, it didn't come from dueling in the rain.
It came from the back door.
Grohn had made a mistake when he left his back open against a port, and might've well learned fast enough as Morgan burst in again, wrapping his forearm around the murderer's neck from behind, swiping the knife away by the floorboards with his other arm.
"There--will--be--no--death--in--this--house!" Morgan bellowed as he kicked at Grohn's heel, forcing his back against the door. If he would run, then he would run. If he would fight, then they would fight. But if he could help if, if he had any say at all, there would be no blood in his father's house, and no stain on their door sill.
|
|
