1. Of woe and will

My time is near. I suppose all among the kindred of men feel it. A manner of mercy, they say. For one to attempt and severe their ties to this world, to prepare and hedge others to carry on their legacy. To say their farewells.

The years have been hard and full of both darkness and hope for us. And where before I ran and rode and fought over neverending plains and forests, now I merely watch, lying in bed, my bleak vision straying beyond the window of my hut amidst the darkened boughs of Brethil Forest.

My farewells were said and done, and now I wait for the nether. I will go forth with my head high, knowing I have done all that was in my power to lead our people to a better home, a fuller life.

But life has never been easy.

And as I sit here, unable to rise as before, my bones now weary and thin, my mind yet runs over green fields of memory and forgotten seas of hope. And at last it comes to the one farewell I have not said, and never will. And there it dwells, as it had countless times in the past.

I stood alone throughout my life, dedicating all to duty. And even then there were those voices, either of dissent or wrought with true concern, wondering why I should not take a husband and bring forth heirs as customary among my people, and indeed many peoples of this world.

"Would that I could," I would tell them, and they would wonder and whisper, and surely think me mad and strange, though none ever questioned my words outright.

But what could I tell them? That I belonged with one whom I would never again meet until the ends of the world, and possibly not even then? That I had surrendered my soul to he whom I then left, abandoned, and that I have done it all for them?

How could I tell them such?

Nay, all this is mine alone to bear. And somewhat grudgingly I clutch at these memories of him and I, all that I have to keep me company now as I slip away with each passing day. My body will be dust, my mind a memory. My deeds may or may not be remembered or honored in any song. But the bond still grips me, and though at times, full of endless woe and desperation I loathed it so, I am certain that it will be the sole token I take with me beyond the shores of the world.

And as countless times before, though I battled relentlessly against it through the years, my thought ever strays to him.

I had little love for his manner when we first spoke.

We had been cornered like beasts, struggling to hold against the creatures of darkness who came upon us as cruel and swift as lightning. My father and brother and I, and all of us left our homesteads and retreated, until we came to an angle of land between the rivers Gelion and Ascar. There we built hasty defences and led all of our people through, despite many knowing in their hearts that this may well be their end. We lay besieged by the orc and the little food we had saved dwindled rapidly.

For days we held our own for better or worse, and the enemy seemed to ever grow in numbers while our own diminished with worrying speed.

And though I was not even in my adult years at the time I never shunned the blade, for that was our way. And so I stood beside my father and drove them out and kept them at bay best we could. And all they did was shout and cry at how they would ravish and tear me apart once they defeated our ragged and worthless lot.

I recall the warmth of the heavy hand on my shoulder. "Pay them no heed, Haleth. We will win the day. We must hold."

I gritted my teeth against the fear coiled so deep within me, and steeled my mind to do as my father asked.

Those were the last words he ever spoke unto me.

I watched as he fell, and then saw my brother, a foreboding look in his eyes and a steel grip on my shoulder holding me firm. "You stay, for our people will have need of you."

And he went, and there died my family, hewed before the frightened eyes of our women and children.

Then on the seventh day the foe at last broke our defenses and their weapons had begun to cleave through our people. But beyond hope we heard the wailing of trumpets, and soon our distressed eyes beheld tall riders and spears of silver sheen.

And this unknown host rode them down, the disgusting creatures who ruined and dismembered my family, and threw them into the rivers.

I recall running straight to the fallen bodies of my father and brother, straining to breathe and at the same time draw them from the midst of the slain, to cover their battered limbs with my ragged cloak. Then my gaze caught movement, and lifting my eyes I saw a black horse bearing a rider clad in mail and crimson. His helm hid most of his face, and blinded by stray tears I could not see his eyes. He spurned his horse and an imperious voice filled my ears.

"Where is your leader?"

Assessing the inside of the hastily raised tent, I recall gaping in wonder at the intricately woven material and sparse yet elegant furniture.

I, for my part, had no notion of elegance at the time. Our people had traveled much and toiled hard for a sparse and lacking life, and we knew little of the ways of other kindreds. Least of all we knew of elves. And though I was enthralled, I also felt a sliver of resent rise within me. Who were these high lords atop their mighty steeds, so carelessly flaunting their riches before us? How dared others not partake of our misery, and so easily dismiss it with their steel stares and aloof manner?

He stood there in his polished mithril armor, his dark hair of a foreign shine to my eyes falling in waves over shoulders draped in a crimson cloak. I knew it was him, by sight of his helm which now stood on the table.

I stood straighter when our stares collided, and for a brief moment my breath caught. I recall the flicker as if it were yesterday.

Aught had fallen into place.

His voice beckoned me return from my momentary lapse of reason. Its quality was grave and low when he spoke, its call dark as a clear winter night. "Lady Haleth, I bid you welcome."

"I am no lady," I blurted swiftly and harshly, my mind cursing my stunted words and hitched speech. But I stood as tall and straight as I was able, or as seven days of battle and loss would allow.

A black fire brimmed in those eyes but his face showed nothing.

"Then what am I to call you?" asked the elf then in his foreign accent, and I recall the surge of shame at my foolish compulsion to thwart him.

I berated myself. This elven lord and his host had come and found us in dire need and dying by the numbers, and without a second thought had offered their invaluable aid. And though it was aught my people had seldom experienced, I knew that gratitude was due.

But nothing more.

Yet I thought, at the time, that I may have offended him. I knew little of elves, and so was astonished when instead of ire I was met with the softening lines of his face, and the slight quiver of his lips.

Was he mocking me? My hands tightened involuntarily into fists. A mighty elf lord though he was, and ruler of these lands, but I came to him in honor. And though in worn ragged furs and leathers I may have been and he in rich silks woven by immortal hands, blood of my people had spilled protecting these lands, his lands. And so, I thought, as their representative he would show the respect that was due. Not for me, as much as for them.

"You are to call me chieftain."

I still so vividly remember his shapely eyebrows shooting upward. "How old are you?" asked the sullen elf, now come before the table and leaning with his palms against it, a shadowed smirk waylaying his features.

Potent anger rose through my entire being, and barely could I cease the nervous trembling of my limbs. He saw it either way. He also knew that in that moment I felt the need to strike him. I know this with certainty, for we spoke of it later.

"My age should be of no concern to one of elven kind, I should think. Chieftain is what I am, following the death of my father and brother in this sortie."

The mirth which shone in those nightly coils died, and his face became stern as we faced each other. "My condolences for your loss, chieftain," he stressed the word, only to irk me further, I thought.

I nodded in acceptance, and then looked him in the eye. "Lord Carnistir, I speak for my people when I say we are most grateful for your aid," I braved, carefully drawing any sort of emotion out of my voice. "But we have nothing to offer you as recompense for this timely support," I decided to delve to the midst of the matter, assuming that was the direction this was headed.

He righted himself then, and came closer to where I stood straight as a rod and with my hand grasping the handle of my father's sword for dear life.

My heart beat faster with every step until he came to stand before me, taller than any being I have ever seen and though I knew little of life, I was certain that he would also remain the fairest.

His eyes flitted briefly over me, and I wondered why he lingered. I wanted this to be done with. But if I knew little of elves, I knew even less of the male ilk. I thought nothing of how his eyes strayed to my long and unruly reddish brown locks, down to my calfskin wrapped boots and up again, over my dirty tunic, marred with black blood and grime, until those black orbs locked with my own green ones. I raised my chin higher in defiance, unwilling to grant anyone the satisfaction of thinking they may cower me. He would later tell me he had been smitten, though failing to acknowledge such even to himself. For my part, I would tell him he was a fool.

But then we both were.

"I want no manner of restitution from your people, Haleth daughter of Haldad. "If that is your worry, then you may freely relinquish the thought."

"I may freely do much, for that is what I am. We are all free, and will fight for this until our dying breath."

Then to my astonishment and in an unexpected flurry, his mood turned fey. "Free, on my lands."

This was preferable. An irate elf lord was much, much better than a scornful, derisive one. "Not for much longer," I said, every bit the stubborn daughter my father had raised me to be.

"Make certain of it," he spoke lowly through gritted teeth, his face poorly veiling his discontent, and I recall how it was my turn to smirk then.

He then abruptly turned his back on me and went to sit back at his richly crafted table, taking a scroll in hand.

I fought against the brimming humiliation of his gesture, but before I could leave without a word, insulted at this petty disregard for my pretense of equality, he looked at me again and spoke. "You are weary. We will continue this on the morrow. Farewell for now, chieftain."

I shortly inclined my head and, secretly thankful for him allowing me the upper hand in choosing an end to this meeting, I turned on my heel without having the last word and left him alone in his mastercrafted tent.

That night, along with the screams of my father and brother, the dark light of his eyes followed my dreams through the first rays of dawn.

A/N: one of those stories coming when you have no time nor rest. I wrote this (very) quickly in a frenzy, before diving into a full work week ahead. I may be channeling some heavy emotions there. Don't we all?