A Question of Faith

[Lerris]

It looked the same and yet for some reason, to him, it looked quite different. It was true that when he had first built the house with his young friend and apprentice Fain all those years ago it had been larger to accommodate the two of them, and had a stable to house Fain’s horse. But that wasn’t the reason why, this Elf knew the reason. He sighed, a small frown upon his face, “It is because I am alone, that’s why.”

Lerris shook his head as he made for the front door to his home on the outskirts of the woods. He didn’t deserve to be able to live here, not after what he had done, but some of the elfin-folk who lived here still forgave him…and, well, some had not. It had been two years since he had returned home and not because he was homesick, but because he was chasing someone.

That someone being Byron, Rowen’s former apprentice.

Lerris smiled as he shut the door behind him, the thought of Rowen tended to make him do that. He did miss her, but he still knew that he had made the right decision back when they had discovered Byron using his very own broken-down home as a hideout. After the two of them had left, he set out to finally come clean with the citizens of his home about what had happened to his former master, Abbot.

Years ago, Lerris had killed his old friend and mentor in cold blood. It was not something he was proud of, of course. He found old acquaintances and friends, and had told his tale. Some, mostly the elders, had forgiven him. Then, there were the others, others who vowed to take his life as payment. So far they had not made good on that vow, but he kept a lookout nonetheless, and in fact had paid several of the young ones to keep an eye open whenever they could and let him know when someone they didn’t recognize was on their way to his home. He had chosen the young ones for this task, because hardly any of them knew who Abbot was.

Lerris slid into the old wood chair at his desk with a yawn, and shifted several small stacks of papers out of his way. Together, those pages were a story about a renegade who had attacked his former mentor and fled across the country-side from her, to ultimately return to her side as an equal. It was a story about Byron, Lerris had no idea how the idea had gotten into his head, but he knew that it was a tale he needed to tell.

There wasn’t much else after that, he had spent his time rebuilding his house and hunting for food. The real town was at least a days walk away, and Lerris tried not to show his face there unless completely necessary. He had became a rather good hunter and a decent tracker. He rarely went after large game, and instead relied on snares and traps, but if the need was dire, a bow and quiver sat bundled in the corner of his room.

The elf began to doze, his mind still fixed on Rowen, wondering where she was, what she was doing. There was a knock, and Lerris frowned, in his mind he still held a picture of her face. There came another knock, several more, hasty. He sighed, and opened his eyes as he stood, in two strides he was at the door. Lerris opened it, frown still upon his face…no one was there. Then, he heard a small voice, barely above a whisper, “Someone is coming Master Lerris, and just like you asked here I am warning you.”

Lerris moved his gaze down, and there stood one of the young ones. He tried to hide his shock, panic, but by the look the young one gave him he knew he had not. “Thank you, nessa er, now go and make sure you don’t get in their way.” The boy nodded, “If you ask me, they don’t look to friendly either Master, they have that look in their eyes if you understand me…” With that he turned and was gone in an instant into the thickness of the trees.

Lerris slammed the door shut and took a deep breath, he knew the day would come when they finally came for his head. His eyes shot to his staff, ever ready there right next to the door, the only question was if he should stay and fight, or flee. If there were one he might stand a chance, but it had been long time since he had used his staff for anything else but walking.

His decision was made, he had to leave and leave in a hurry. He found a pack, and began to stuff it with everything from rations to bandages to the pages of his book. He figured that if he was out and about, at least he could get some work done. In went ink and pens, and other various things he knew would be needed. It would last him until he reached where he was going.

The thought stopped him in his tracks, where was he going?

He let out a frustrated growl as he strapped his bundled up cloak to the top of his pack. It was still warm out yet, being that it was the beginning of summer. He grabbed his staff last, and oddly enough he smiled.

“Just like old times, my very old friend…” He spoke as he shifted the staff in his hands, “Traveling with no destination, and wondering if around every corner there is someone waiting to take my life…..” He opened the door, a warm breeze hit him and he took three quick strides out, and with a quick glance at his house he turned south and began to make his way out of the wood.

“…Just like old times.”

[Rowenna]

Ahead of Lerris, far away; through bushes, through brambles, through trees and woodland—out of the darkness and into the sun.

Rowen walked the field. The tall, gold wheat touched her thigh, the sun lighted her hair, and her eyes kept forward as her mind refused to admit to her what line of trees she passed two score yards parallel. A year, and her melancholy-nostalgic eyes were forward, and forward alone. A year, and she traveled with Byron. She eyed the back of his head, some dozen yards ahead; this tall, dark man, dark of hauberk, light of skin, lean of muscle, her… this… hers. This mutual teacher? That's what he called it. A year, and Rowen and Byron acted as mutual teachers. She felt so stupid[/i[, so naked, so many things she didn't know so many things he learned without her—and they traveled together? Things couldn't, just couldn't be the same.

Hoofbeats beat the ground. Rowen forced her eyes—forward, don't look different, don't look back, don't look like you're one to be looked for. Byron grabbed her arm; she nearly jumped out of her skin, she didn't see him backtrack, or maybe she caught up?

"Come on," he said, and he lead her to the line of trees. So casual was he, even lighthearted, his heart beat with pleasure at the thought of being pursued. Rowen's heart almost dropped out her mouth as they approached the edge of the wood. Byron would look at her, sometimes, and he'd think, it was sad. She would never accept it, but Rowen was passing her prime just as he was coming into his. She couldn't keep up with everything he could achieve; but she was thirty-five and he was twenty. It was just the way of things. "It's probably just a hunting party; quail. Many good, good quail."

They looked out from behind the green, green trees, hovering masks in the mottled shadow of foliage. Perhaps Rowen was older now, but he cared for her still; anyway, things were better now. She was not so feisty. She didn't yell, she didn't scream, she didn't control his every thought and movement. They were teachers. They were equals. Five horsemen emerged around the bend, dogs, a leading man with a falcon on his arm… the hounds buried their faces in the grass, excited brown pups for the birds, hidden in the field.

"We can cut through the forest on the eastern side," Byron said brightly, following, with his eyes, the hunting pups. It was their secret language for a possible mistake; Byron-speak for away from… him. East, and around, away from the elven house, east and…

It was for the better. Rowen hadn't sacrificed so much looking for her wandering student to lose him now. Byron checked her, and she managed a smile. They moved in the forest together.

And then Byron didn't know it, and then Rowen didn't see it.

And then there was a door.

The door blasted from its frame, wood splintering, breaks like boles being rent in half resounding, the door falling so it hit the floor in Lerris' Mirkwood home. A boulder entered, alive, a boulder enshrouded by shadow, links, bulges, muscle, rock, his arm met a shadow, an elven shadow, he slammed it into the wall, pinning down there. His face emerged from secret darkness to light a grisly, brutal thing, jutting jaw and cheekbones, scars, and wild misplaced gleeful rage. And then the face of the elf… a gray shadow.

"He's not here!" the elf plead with powerful insistence, no clear weakness or fear at all. "He's not here! Put me down so we can speak!"

A beat; a click; a second. The boulder of a human man leaned back uncouthly in his seat, directly facing the too-sitting elf, who leaned over his knees, his hands fastened over one another. Four other elves filled the room, all of them failed to have opened a curtain or lit a candle, so the light caught only curves and stretches of skin and cloak, faces unknown in darkness.

"Can I offer you refreshment?" the elf said.

"You would offer me stores of the elf you mean me to kill?" the human replied in a wide-smirking guttural voice.

"Don’t be crude," he made a face, outstretching his arm, and one of the elves fumbled with a tall bottle of amber spirits. It rested on the tabletop, the cradling clothing falling around it to reveal its golden contents. The human passed over it without interest. "Where were you today?" the elf continued. "If you had taken care of business quickly, we would be here paying you, not having this conversation."

"Don't pin this on me," the man grinned. "He was tipped off, obviously. The bigger question I have is why you don't take care of your own affairs."

"Don't be disgusting," the elf said in the same, low voice. "We're paying you to work, not ask questions. The elf killed a very good-"

"I'm not being paid to listen to your sob stories," the woman retorted. "But since you mention payment…"

One of the elves in the back procured a coin purse; he tossed it, and the man caught the tight, heavy bundle. He felt along the cloth, counting the scratching spheres with a pinching thumb.

"You'll get the other half when the job's done," the sitting elf said. The same elf in the back produced another pouch, and he emptied its contents in his open hand. The gold coins gleamed. "Bring…" he looked about himself a beat, "his staff," he decided, "as a token of your task's completion."

"How kind of you," his eyes caught on to the glimmer. "A pleasure doing business with you," he tipped an imaginary hat.

"I assure you, the feeling is not mutual. If you fail—if you run—if you shirk your duty-"

The muscles on the human's face moved not an inch. His hand reached, the elf's face slammed on the tableboard, bone and cheek crushed as the man ground the elf down, their faces an inch away, breathing the same hot, putrid air.

"My duty is to me," the man breathed a stinking air on the struggling elf, "My commitment is mine. I know your like—here I am, doing you a favor… I'll see you before tomorrow dies."

He let go; the elf collapsed in a heap, he coughed, he struggled up, holding his face—there was a darkness in his eyes, a powerful intensity as he looked up at the man, standing on the remains of the door, facing the woodland beyond.

"Gavalaks," the elf said after. "Our assassins… make an art of their trade. Silent, swift, undetected. Don't worry… too much… over making Saphire's death a brief one."

Gavalak's grin always looked like a grimace, from the build of his face and the scars of his skin, but there was no mistake… he had a smile on his face as he took to the wood.

[Lerris]

It didn’t take Lerris all that long to reach the edge of the forest, having lived there for so many years with Fain had allowed him to memorize every tree and pathway near his old house. The elf slowed down and began to walk, he finally set the end of his staff on the ground as he stepped out through the trees.

The sun still sat high, and he shielded his eyes as he gazed out upon the open plain. It was strange to see rolling hills once more, he had spent the better part of the last year nearby his house tucked away in the woods. It oddly enough made a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he pushed down on his staff and moved forward.

He dipped his gaze to shield his eyes from the sun and began to move East, staying along the tree line until it hooked North. He still wasn’t sure where he was headed but he knew that whoever they had sent after him was more then likely going to track him down in order to get whatever pay they offered him. So he kept moving forward, trying to put as many miles between himself and who ever wanted his head as he possibly could.

After a short time, Lerris oddly enough found himself in a good mood, or perhaps as good as a mood as one could be in while being chased after. He began to hum lightly to himself as if he was enjoying a normal morning walk around the woods, he felt foolish to be doing so but it helped him relax.

It didn’t take long for Lerris to notice figures in the forest’s edge, he let out a frustrated sigh and picked up his pace once more, hoping he wasn’t heard or seen before he even had a chance to get away. As he drew closer to the figures he made his way several yards back into the forest. Lerris lifted his staff to grip it in both hands and hunched low behind a fallen tree, hoping they would pass without seeing him.

As they both came closer to his hidden position he readied himself for a possible fight. As soon as he heard their breathing, he thought himself caught and stood. Without a warning he leapt over the fallen tree, and tackled one of the figures to the ground in hopes of incapacitating him, and hopefully surprising the other enough to allow himself time to recover and flee.

[Rowenna]

Rowen leveled her head, what do I hear?, her eyes connected with Byron's eyes, and he looked back in a silent affirmative. No word, but eyes and years of just knowing what the other one meant, he readied his hand by his sword, and she took position by his side.

And they traversed the wood. Sun filtered through the trees, mulch shifted by their feet. "More North, do you think?" Byron muttered softly, nonchalant, having already pulled his map to analyze it; Rowen was never, ever good at feigning innocence. She looked over her shoulder, she forced her awareness to everywhere. She couldn't hear it anymore; she heard birds, she heard trees, she heard creeks, she heard crickets; but she knew, just knew, they weren't alone.

Byron glazed over the map without seeing, but he was always ready for his sword.

Bam. The figure tackled Byron's body, he went for his sword natural, like breathing, like reflex, but not before he hit the ground and physically could not disengage it.

When the figure rose, Rowen had already drawn her sword.

Clang for his calf. Blade against the wood.

The heavy metal spun air as she swung it overhand, and she brought it down over the vagabond's head; in the same motion, he spun also, clang, blade onto wood.

And then she saw him.

[Lerris]

He didn’t move, he couldn’t move. But his knees did feel like they were about to give out on him.

“….Rowen?"

It couldn’t be, was…Byron? Did he tackle Byron?

The elf flicked his gaze to the man getting up from the ground, and frowned deeply. “What are you doing here? This…this isn’t….we have to move.” Lerris un-locked his staff from Rowen’s sword and let the end thud to the ground. “I’ll explain later, right now, I have to go…” He didn’t wait, he forgot that the one women he missed, he loved, and wished he could see everyday was standing right there, in front of him…and he didn’t wait.

Because behind him, someone followed….and they wanted his head on a pike.

This, was not something Lerris Saphire was about to give up after just getting what he wished…even if he didn’t realize it yet.

So the elf pushed forward, the part of him hoping the two followed called out, “I’m being tracked, follow me.” He pushed forward, still walking, but now a little faster, away…just…away from his home and out to those rolling hills. Assuming Rowen was right behind him, he finally asked, “What are you two doing out here?” This, however, stopped him in his tracks as he realized who he was talking to.

He spun, and there she was.

“Rowen…”

He couldn’t help, despite all that had happened, despite a year apart, despite being hunted…He couldn’t help but smile, and he couldn’t make his mouth move or his vocal cords work no matter how hard he tried.

Because red hair, silver-gray eyes, and a still shocked face looked back at him.

Gods I’ve missed you.

[Rowenna]

Rowen felt pulled behind him without thought, without mind, because no one thinks love. Love is an impulsion. No one thinks longing. Longing is a state, a status of the body, outside mind and senses, for which for most thought followings feeling, the “I” statement following the initial gut reaction to being so close to someone. But for her, it didn’t come. She just wanted.

And she followed.

Byron picked himself up, half disgusted--but only half, the other half not quite on the edge of revolt, so it really wasn’t such a bad thing. He straightened and pulled straight his jerkin,

“We were just--”

He hadn’t gotten the words out to rationalize their location, when already, they were running off some d*mn place. Byron pushed on and reached out his hand to grasp Rowen’s to pull her back; but his hand only just folded around her’s, and he let go. He let go, pulling back his hand in the slightest faction as he did, looking on and trying to rationalize what he saw in her disappearing body. He regained himself and trailed after.

By the time Lerris turned back, Byron was several feet behind, and Rowen was just in his wake. She smiled and reached out to feel his cheek in the palm of her hand.

"Lerris."