Legends of Belariath

gwyneth{StWi}

My earliest memories are of green leaves, tall rough trunks, and sweet smelling flowers. This is unusuall enough for a city elf, but my story only gets stranger. My name is gwyneth, and my Master asked this girl to tell this tale.

My mother is one of the best healers in our city, one of the best of our race. I don't say this to brag, but as a matter of fact. People from hundreds of miles away flock to our door to consult with her. And not just high elves, but sylvans, Chirot, human, even dwarves! There are many poems about her beauty and abilities, many of which were written by my father. My childhood was filled with laughter, lessons, genteel functions, and quiet trips to the forest to gather the herbs which were a good part of my mother's trade. I knew even then that my life wasn't typical. My best friends parents, for example, kept two slaves. My parents did their best to sheild me from that part of their lives.

I learned in school that my race, high elves, were more civilized then most, they even claimed superiority! Mother quickly dispelled thaqt notion! Working with the patients, talking with them, I learned that every race has value, has something to contribute to the world. Every one is unique with it's own benefits and flaws. Sometimes these get in the way of peace.

When I was a teenager, only in my mid 70's, my family traveled to another city where my mother was to be honoured for helping thwart a plague. I was young, impetuous, curious and in a new city where my parents had time for only cursery supervision. I was also very naiive. It wasn't long for trouble to find me.

We stayed in an inn, and, as I didn't want to attend the banquet, I stayed behind listening to a human bard. I was amazed at the passion of his emotions, loves, hatreds, all seeming a hundred times stronger then those written about by bards of her own race. She thought that perhaps since humans are so short lived, they need to fit more into each day, and so, their emotions run stronger, hotter. He was young as well, far younger in years then I, yet considered an adult by his people. I looked like an adult, yet, was considered younger then him. I'm sure he thought I was an adult at the time.

I watched the bard for hours, talked with him, joked with him, sang with him. Before the night was through he'd mistaken my youthful admiration for something else, something I was only just beginning to understand. Luckily, we were in a high elven city, else things could have ended up much differently and I may not be relating this tale today, at least not here. Another patron, a high elf elder, realized what was going on, how old I actually was, and stepped in to fend off the bard's unwanted advances on my behalf. Soon, someone was sent to fetch my mother from the banquet, which was fortunate for the bard or he wouldn't have lived through the experience.

Mother lectured him on racial and cultural differences, healed him up and sent him on the way. Father was far less charitable about the whole thing, however. I do believe he made it out of town, alive, after paying a hefty fine to the crown of the city. We returned home, unscathed, our city, however, was not.

Smoke greeted us several miles out, thick, grey wet smoke, the smell of death. Soon we saw bodies in piles outside the walls, a few elven, but mostly other races, some young, some old, mostly male. Once admitted through the gates we discovered that several young women from the outskirts of town were missing, all presumed lost to us. The carnage had stopped at the foot of my best friend's tower, where the earth was black with soot, and the majority of the well charred bodies were being taken from. A hunting party was sent out after the slavers, but they'd disappeared into the forest. The women were never heard from again, and eventually presumed dead, which was for some reason easier for most of the populous then thinking of them in chain serving some foreign Master.

Soon I was an adult of 100, my party was a wonderous thing. I began my official healer's training soon after. I spent many long hours in the library studying the various uses for the herbs I'd come to love so much as a child. I learned a few spells, studying dilligently, but taking the time to ensure I knew all of the material thoroughly before moving on. It was a sedate pace of classes, books and meditation. My herb gathering expeditions began to take me further and further from the city walls as I began to stock some of the more rare ones. Such was my life for five years. Dinner with friends, long strolls through the forest, days in the library in quiet contemplation. I had many years to master the skills of my mother's craft, and none of us were in any hurry, it was enough to work dilligently towards that goal.

Then my life changed forever.

My friend Nen and I had woven deep into the forest over several days. The weather was mild, we'd brought plenty of food, a tent, and a basket for the herbs we'd gathered. There had been some fighting of late to the north which had depleted mother's stock of some herbs, and Nen and I were determined to make up the lack. Nen was a mage, daughter and apprentice to her father, ther fire mage who had ended the last slave raid. I think she was more interested in escaping the ever present glare of her father than any plants. We were chattering, laughing, having a high old time.

That morning we'd woken to dappled sunshine, a gurgling brook nearby and songbirds singing in the trees, they ensnared us into complacency. It was so beautiful, so peaceful the thought of danger or being wary had completly slipped our minds. I was to intent on the 'hunt', on the knowledge flowing through my thoughts to notice when all sound stopped. I was speaking to Nen, not even looking up from the plant I'd found, my voice excited with my discovery; until noticing my friend's silence. I looked up to see her held by a large red haired human, his big palm over her mouth, both wrists locked in the other meaty hand. I was frozen in place for a moment, shock crossing my face before I too was hauled to my feet by a large man. One shriek echoed through the trees before I too was silenced.

I looked across at Nen, watching the wheels spinning behind her eyes, her quick mind was working through the problem, rapidly. A signal passed between us. I stepped forward, kicking back with all my strength as she ducked down (she was only five foot tall) twisting her arms up above her and shouting a spell. The red head got hit with it, releasing Nen for a split second, long enough for her to be away through the brush, thinking I was behind her.

Unfortunatly, my soft elven boots, hand sewn by my mother and given to me on my previous naming day, did little to avail me against the barbarian's heavy plate mail. Two men followed my friend as I hoped, prayed she'd get away, get help. They returned soon after, alone. She at least had gotten away. I was bound tightly, gagged, slung upbefore the blonde barbarian's saddle, and taken away at a gallop, away from the city. I hung on desperately with one bound hand the barbarian's thick arm wrapped around me helping me stay horseback. I thought about letting go, but getting trampled by the horse's hooves would have done no good, probably would not even have rescued me from my captors.

By nightfall we arrived in a camp legues away. I was lost. I slipped from the saddle falling bonelessly into a heap on the ground, exhausted, strawberry curls whisping about my face, dirty, scratched, twigs decorating my hair. I lay there, forgotten while the men dismounted and saw to their things. It wasn't until I finally managed to gain shaky legs that the blonde shoved me to my knees, snapped a steel ring about my neck and chained me to a tree. He brushed idle fingers through my hair, across the torn gap in my dress over one breast, and said “be good.” He cut the rope free from my wrists, which I rubbed vigorously to restore the circulation. I backed away from him, stopping with my back to rough bark, sliding to the ground, too tired to do more, watching the camp in shock.

I woke with a start when the barbarian finally released the gag; several long hours later, judging by the moon. A cup and bowl were pressed into my hand by the large man before me. I looked at him a moment, having seen few in my life of his race. In general, most barbarians avoid elven cities.

”Take it slow, pet. I know yer hungry but it does ya no good if ya git sick.”

As if I didn't know that after spending a life under my mother's roof! I glared at him and began to eat, delicately, as if I were sitting at high table instead of in the dust. He sat back and laughed so hard I thought he was going to wet himself. I fought to keep a smile from my face, I didn't want to like him. He'd taken me from my family, my city, my dreams, bounced me half across the country, dumped me in the dirt with steel about my neck; I wanted to hate him. Yet I found myself liking him despite that. I finished the poor meal and he carressed my hair once more.

”If you wish to be kind, release me.” I begged softly

He glanced around, a thick finger across his lips, “No, girl, I cannae. Listen, don't talke to much, answer respectufl like when ya have to. They'll beat ya if ya make a fuss. Hell, the boss'll probably beat ya anyway but it'll go easier if ya don't make them too mad.”

I paled and shrank back against the tree. ”beaten?” I squeaked. ”but why? I.. I..”

”You're a slave, never ask why, it's dangerous.” His voice was hard, like a whipcrack, then softened. “I'll do what I can to keep you alive and healthy, but ya gotta help me pet.”

I shook my head slightly...”I'm not a slave, I'm a healer, this is a mistake.”

”Best get such thoughts out of your head pet.”

I shivered uncontrollably as he ran his hand along my body and rose once more, walking over to the fire.

A male voice commented.. “potential..”

I didn't hear the blonde's reply, I was already curled into a ball of misery, sobbing. I sank so deep into my sorrow, my grief at everything I'd lost that I didn't hear the rider's approach. It wasn't until a hard booted toe sank into my side that I looked up with a yelp. A half scorched, ebony skinned man stood there, a veil over his face wearing many silver braids and a scowl in his purple eyes stood over me and glared down.

”Is this.. girl..the only thinhg we've to show for all of this?” He gestured to the singed men standing with him.

The blonde moved closer, though didn't get between us. ”Aye, Spyderfall, she is.” he answered, “what happened?”

”Damned fire mage, they had a damned fire mage, took out half of us, we're all that's left.”

Nen's father, I couldn't help it, I laughed, and if I were all the bounty they'd taken, she was free. Her friend was free, and that would mean that there were people out looking for her. Instantly boot met with soft flesh, hard knocking the air from my lungs. With effort, I rose to my feet only to be yanked down again by the veiled man. The barbarian's caloused hand was a light, reassuring pressure on my head, he'd stepped even with me. Spyderfall's brow raised as he brought his boot back again.

”Boss hasn't seen her yet..” the blonde said, almost conversationally. The boot returned to the ground.

”Then he doesnt know she arrived safe, does he Ferran?” the other scoffed.

”I do.”

Spyder turned and stalked off, Ferran, the blonde, turned to me. ”That was foolish, pet. The boss'll be here soon, by morning, then we'll see.”

He returned to his place by the fire, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I curled up in the dirt. This Spyderfall seemed a very angy man, but he was injured. Perhaps I knew enough to help him, ease his pain and he may calm down. I decided I would try.

Ferran had been gone hours, probably was in his bed when a newly bandaged and freshly dressed Sheyka approached me once more. I rose to my knees when he came near, but not to my feet. His purple eyes stared at me hostily.

”The boss'll be here shortly, little slave. I'm going to enjoy marking that pale white flesh.”

I looked up at him, my eyes challenging. ”I've done nothing to you. there is no reason for you to treat me like this.”

He sneered, “I'll treat you as I wish, slave.” I rose fluidly to my full height, using every ounce of elvish grace I possessed. ”I am lady Gwyndolyn Fairchild, daughter of Lady Elvenstar Fairchild.” I spoke softly, keeping my tone respectful but firm, “I am no slave. I am a healer, and I can help you.” The soothing tone had worked more then once for my mother with a patient who was so far into pain they were attacking anything that came near. I was counting on it to work here as well. I took a step towards him, smoothly, chanting softly in elvish, casting heal. My hands began to glow a soft blue, which flowed from me and over the worst of his burn wounds with a touch. A loud crack and I flew back against the tree, my hand flying to my mouth and coming away red, a bright white handprint standing out on my flesh.

I turned against the tree as Spyderfall pounced towards me, an evil looking lenth of leather with a shiny tip uncoiled from his belt. I screamed as the whip cracked against my back, tearing through tattered silk and the flesh beneath. Six more excrutiating strokes landed before a strong arm grabbed his and stilled it. I curled into a ball, sobbing as the torment ceased, looking up at the second man standing over me. A dark elf stood there, glaring at Spyderfall.

”Boss, I can explain..”

The dark elf continued to stand there, tapping one foot impatiently.

”She cast some spell on me, got all uppity, talking about her high family..” His voice took on a mocking tone.

The newcomer struck suddenly, without warning or word, bowling the sheyka over and landing him in the dust opposite me. ”Idiot! She was *healing* you! that was NOT an attack! Her mother is the most reknowned healer of her race, she has reason to be uppity, plus she has worn MY collar for less then twelve hours. I wish her *trained* not *broken*!”

Spyderfall picked himself from the ground, veil askew, jaw clearly broken, quickly arranging it to cover his dark flesh once more. The dark elf ignored him, coming to me, speaking soft soothing words. Soon my dress was removed and I huddled there naked as he cast clean over the welted wounds. He questioned me softly in my own native tongue.

”Have you eaten?”

”Lllast night.. fffFerran..”

His voice whiped out, stern..”Master Ferran..” He corrected.

I nodded.

”Say it!” he commanded.

”MmMaster Fferran..” I stuttered softly, eyes cast down in defeat.

I knew if I crossed his man he would become dangerous indeed. The cruelty of his race to mine is legendary, I could only wonder at and mistrust his kindness.

”You will call me simply.. Sir.”

He paused.

”yes.. Sir.”

His smile of triumph chilled me.

”See, Spyder,what can be done with a little.. understanding.”

Spyder nodded.

”Now, go get our healer, your treat.”

”Yes, boss.” He mumbled and moved out of sight.

The dark elf, Sir, ran a hand lightly down my side,despite the pain, something in me responded, I supressed a moan. Sir laughed deeply, it was a dark humour, and I shivered convulsively.

”Such promise..” he hissed..”Now, little one, what to do with you?” he paused a moment, turning his back to me and stepping forward, though not out of my reach if I'd wished to attack, it was a test, and I knew it. ”This elf slave is now Ferran's full responsibility. Until I deem her ready, she is for his use and mine, solely.”

There were some mutters from the man shapes behind the flames at this. Spyderfall shot me a look laced with daggers as he returned with another woman.

”Come now, boys. You'll all get a turn, once she's broken in a little.” he chuckled.

There were a few cheers at this remark, Spyder gave me a long look filled with lust. I blushed deeply, gooseflesh breaking out all over, and looked down. After the fiasco of the Inn I'd never been exposed to the seedier side of society. Now I had little choice. Ferran moved beside me as the healer knelt at my back. He gently raised my chin until our eyes met, then held mine there, stroking me lightly as the woman began to stitch. I winced, but didn't make a sound as needle punched through flesh over and over again. Seven long stripes she sewed closed across my back, and I let not a whimper escape.

Ferran stroked my head and told me how good I was, Spyderfall's eyes changed from glee to a grudging respect. I doubted it would serve to soften things when I had to deal with him next. Once I was sewn up, Sir nodded to Spyder, who took the woman off again, likely to get his own ills fixed.

”Take her inside, Ferran,” Sir said as the sky began to be touched with light. ”I doubt she's up to *my* attentions this day.” the dark elf chuckled, as did Ferran. I looked between them, confused Ferran released collar from chain, pulling a coil of leather from his belt. I whimpered and recoiled, but he chuckled and shook his head.

”Tis alright little one, it's a leash, not whip.”

Quickly he clipped it fast, I didn't miss the look of hatred he threw at Spyder's back as he did so, nor did Sir. Sir settled on a log by the fire, calling another man over and asking about the disasterous raid. Ferran led me to his tent and settled me on the floor among several blankets. After giving me water and cheese he clipped the leash to a bolt in the ground and tied my hands behind my back once more.

”I've things to do, pet. Stay here and rest. You'll be left alone, so long as you're inside.”

I looked up at him...”thank you.”

”Dunnae thank me, girl. You'll remain here and you'll train. Later you'll be sold. You are as the tent, or a horse, keep that in your mind. Do as you're told, don't try to run off and you'll be fine. Take my advise, you wouldn't get far. Now rest, I'll be back for you later.”

I cried myself to sleep and didn't wake until he returned much later. The moment the tent flap moved I was awake, alert, tense, stitches straining.

”It's alright, pet,” he said, chuckling, “I told you you're safe in here. The boss's forbidden anyone to touch ye but myself and him, for now anyway. The only one who might try is Spyder, and he won't come in here to do it. I'd kill him.”

He moved behind me, peering at the stitches..”They look good enough, shouldn't scar much.”

I shivered, whip marks on my back, a collar about my throat, would anyone at home even recognize me if I did manage to escape? Were they still looking or was I 'presumed dead' with the other women? I was forming a plan for escape, but it would take observation, preperation and even still wasn't garaunteed to succeed. For now, I was stuck here, a slave. Ferran unbolted the leash.

”Come pet, Boss wants to see us.”

I crawled out of the tent after him, then stood, following nervously. Several of the men stopped to gawk at me as we passed. I stared at the ground, bright red. I still wore not a stitch of clothing, my hands bound behind me. I had no way of covering myself. At home I'd rarely gone naked outside the bath, yet here I was being paraded about before strange, uncouth men. I wanted to sink into the ground. We walked straight across the camp to an odd green swireled tent.

Inside, essentially on a throne, sat the Dark Elf. Around him were arranged on wall hooks and pegs, various whips, paddles, manacles, blindfolds, several odd narrow rods, and other things of which I couldn't begin to guess the purpose. The floor was covered in thick pelts, varoius hooks and bolts sunk into the earth beneath it. Hung from the centre of the roof were a set of mancles atttached to chain and winch.

I took two steps into this chamber of horrors and stopped dead. Ferran came back, hissed for me to be good and chivied me forward until I was beneath the hanging mancles. Then he had me kneel, arranging my body until he was satisfied with my presentation. My knees were wide apart, wide enough that Sir had a clear view of my sex, nor would he let me move my knees even a fraction of an inch closer. My back he straightened, thrusting my chest forward, chin set just right, though I was told not to look up. My hands he released from their bondage and set on my knees, palms up. And so I was presented to the Boss with no name.

”This,” Sir spoke for the first time, “is a position I expect you to memorize and take every time you kneel.”

He expected me to strike this obsene pose all over the camp? My mind reeled. Ferran sat beside me, a length of chain in his lap. At Sir's nod, he locked one end on my right wrist, the other on my left ankle. It was a thick, heavy chain of about two feet in length, and effectively hobbled me in place.

”This and your collar will be your only garments until you earn others. You will not cover yourself unless told you may, nor will you stand unless ordered.” He smiled then, looking me over openly. ”As you can guess, were you to stand you would be bent over. Walking would be difficult, running impossible. This gives you freedom to crawl about camp about your chores, without us having to worry about you running away.”

I shuddered. What sort of training was this? Did they wish to turn me into an animal?

”I have noted you are very proud, this isn't unusual for a high elf. Your proud of your heritage, proud of your esteemed family and their accomplishments. I admit, I would be as well.” He smiled again, ice, I shivered, caught in it. “I have no time or patience for your pride. As of right now, you have none. I take your name. You are now only slave, or pet. You are not even 'elf'.”

I glanced at Ferren and swallowed, my eyes wide in shock and disbelief. My name? How could one take away a name? Surely I would keep my identity deep within my soul?

”If you use your name, or even 'I', you will be punished.” he leaned forward, lockikng me in his gaze. “You will find my punishments are much *worse* then Spyder's barbaric efforts. Don't tempt me.” he sat back once more. ”When you speak of yourself you will say 'this slave' or 'this pet'. Anything else will be punished, immediately and severely. Mostly, you will not speak at all, unless asked a question. You may be given permission to speak from time to time, but barring that you are permitted only sounds, not words.”

He paused and looked from Ferran to me.

”When you earn a name, we will give you a new one. If anyone dares touch you, do not fight them, that isn't your place. Obey them, *but* afterward seek me out and tell me all. Do you understand, slave?”

I nodded, still in shock. ”yes, Sir.”

”Good girl.” the dark elf offered me a cold smile. ”Ferran, you are excused from other duties, barring an attack. Tomorrow we strike camp. I want us away from her old life, away from that wretched city and any who yet hunt for her.”

Ferran rose, tugging on my leash. I turned and crawled after him. What else was I to do?

Now gwyn begs You excuse this girl a moment. It was difficult for her to speak, to think as she used to when she was a child. It will be much easier to remain consistant through the rest of this girl's tale. Many have asked her why she speaks the way she does. gwyn has explained it as best as she's been able. Now You know the reason. It was Sir's decision for her to speak in this way, and despite His being gone from gwyn's life for many years, she finds it almost impossible to refer to herself in any other way. Perhaps the next part of her tell will explain why that is also.

This slave spent the rest of that day learning how to kneel, stand, walk, crawl, lie down and act. She learned her positions, well many of them. By dinner she had mastered several of them, including that first beautiful position of the kneeling slave. Dinner was also a learning experience, for she was taught how to serve food and drinks as she waited on the camp. She was hand fed a morsel here and there, learning also how to take the proffered food delicately, with her teeth. Once all were served, Master Ferran made certain she was fed properly, from his plate. By the time W/we retired, this girl was full.

Nor did her lessons stop there. The Healer met U/us in Master Ferran's tent, checked this slave's stitches hands and knees, and chanted some quiet spells over her before winking at Master Ferran and slipping into the night. I peeked up at him curiously.

”Noticed did you?” he chuckled. ”The Boss wants ya to heal natural, but with all this crawling and fetching Shelba and I are afraid ye'll get sick.”

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