Legends of Belariath

Rhain

Tired eyes looked down to the newborn male, a gentle smile on her lips. “His name is Rhain.” Their first born son - physical proof of their love for each other and even at just a few minutes old, a replica of his grandfather. Both parents knew that this son would follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, his great great grandfather, and so on. Pride swelled their hearts, for it had been this way for as far back as any of the family could remember and they firmly believed that their son would be the one to become Head Druid. But the sleeping newborn, exhausted from the work of being born, lay swaddled in his mother’s arms - thumb in his mouth to be suckled on, unknowing that his future was being planned for him. Laid out step by step by proud parents. Wouldn’t everyone be surprised by the tiny gift that this cat named Rhain was?

Three years had passed since the birth of Rhain - a sister had followed in short order and just recently another brother. The house was filling up now, a home of love and peace, but certainly not quiet. The child that both parents still firmly believed would grow up to become a druid was anything but the quiet, serious type. Rather, he was constantly making noise - banging on pots and pans to form beats and tempos - humming out loud to form rhythms. It seemed nearly impossible for the child to simply sit and study what was around him. It made for a lively home that was for sure though neither parent could understand it. He was the spitting image of his ancestors, yet in personality he was nothing like them. Already things were diverging from the path they had laid out for their son but they did not see it - not yet.

By seven years old both parents looked upon their eldest son with equal parts amusement and worry. Rhain was capable of fantastical tales spun on the spot whenever he wanted and a mischievous nature had begun to show itself. Meal times had become a stage for the boy, him talking more than he ate - regaling the family with stories of wild adventures to fight dragons and meetings with creatures that none of them had ever heard of. And the boy was always singing. Looks would be passed between the elders of the family, a silent worry over this child that seemed determined to follow his own path.

“Rhain, you must sit still and apply yourself. If you do not pay attention, you will not learn what I am trying to teach you.” The kindly voice of his grandfather interrupted the rowdy tale that the now ten year old child was telling, halting him in the process of the pretend sword fight to draw his eyes to the stooped figure sitting on the log waiting for him. “aww but Pepaw I wasn’t to the best part! I didn’t tell you how brave Talas defeated the terrible beast..” Disappointed and chastised, Rhain flopped himself down onto the soft grass at his grandfather’s feet, the makeshift stick sword laid beside him, large eyes lifting to the elderly man that he now spent all of his free time with. The decision had been made at the beginning of his tenth year that Rhain needed the guiding hand of his grandfather to steer him in the right direction - to teach him and draw him down the path of druidism. Six months had passed and it had been six months of struggling to keep the child settled and listening - for while much of the knowledge the elder had to share was by way of story, Rhain found it boring and was consistently day dreaming. “You must learn to focus Rhain and pay attention. The time for stories and fantasies has passed. Soon it will be time for you take your place beside me in the Grove.” No one made any secret now of what they expected of Rhain and the mischievous child struggled to live under their expectations. “Yes Pepaw. I will try harder.” The elder still believed, like the rest of the family, that Rhain could be brought into his place, that he would soon lose this desire to live in the land of make believe. Little did he know that Rhain was not destined for the place beside him in the Grove, but instead, this child would march to the beat of his own drum - would find his place in halls and inns entertaining those around him.

It was shortly after that day in the forest that Rhain found his grandfather’s old lyre - an instrument rarely used anymore - and the musician within the child sprang into full life. Any spare time was spent hidden away from everyone, nimble fingers learning the strings, learning which notes went with which till the quick witted child had taught himself how to play. Now his tales were put to song, singing of pirates and knights, warriors and kings - a whole new world opened to him. He kept this talent to himself, understanding now that it was not a talent his family wanted him to display and while it bothered him to hide it, he still tried to live up to the expectations of family.

Eighteen. The dawning of his eighteenth year of life found Rhain lying in his bed staring up at the ceiling, troubled and worried. Today was the day he was to take his place in the Grove, the day he was to fulfill the first part of his families expectations but he found no pleasure in the thought. Sure, he was decent at the tasks of being a druid. He was mediocre at tending to the forests and animals. He could fulfill the duties though he would never be the shining star his family wanted him to be. But the trouble was, he, himself, did not wish to follow this predestined path. His feet itched to take to the roads, to find new places - new adventures. He longed to entertain others with the stories and songs that were in his mind begging to be brought to life. A sigh was heaved as the covers were thrown off his legs, bare feet swinging out of the bed to rest on the floor, fingers stroking the lyre that had laid beside him through the night. If he followed the path laid out for him then the lyre would be put away once more - forgotten about - and he did not think he had it in him to do that. Pushing to his feet, the sound of his mother already up and preparing the celebration meal reaching his ears, he began to dress, mind racing - fighting against - what seemed almost inevitable. No! He was not a druid no matter how hard he had tried. He was destined for something else and he would find it! With determined steps, this young man made his way into the kitchen where the elders of the family were gathered, facial features set in a stubborn expression. It was now or never! And with calm but determined words, he laid it all out for his family. Told them of what it was that he wanted and that he would not follow down that path that they had laid out for him on the night of his birth. Sure, there were tears and angry words - the elders pushing hard to keep him in line, but he stood strong and adamant till finally they all bowed their heads to his wishes. Conceded to what it was that he was meant to do and be.

The day passed in muted celebration, the family still reeling from the blow of Rhain’s words and decision though for the young man, it was the best day of his life. The first day of his life! He made the decision to leave first thing in the morning - to take to those roads to begin his new life that he was sure would be illustrious and he told the family of this plan at the evening meal. New tears, more shaking of the head, but none tried to stop him now. They knew, as well as he, that the old path - the one of his ancestors - was closed to him now. He had to find his own way. Sleep was hard in coming that night, plans and ideas keeping the bundle of energy that was now Rhain awake until the wee hours of the morning. But when the sun rose on the new day, there he was - dressed and packed with his grandfather’s walking stick at his side - ready to kiss his family goodbye. Tears yet again, hugs all the way around and then he set off with a small bag of food, a small pouch of coin and a song in his heart.

Two years of traveling had come to pass. Two years of living on the road - inn to inn, occasional nights in kind hearted farmer’s houses when the weather was particularly rough and no inn was in sight. Two years of living the life that made him the happiest. Life was grand in Rhain’s eyes - being able to tell the stories and sing the songs in his heart and mind for those around him. It was a fateful night for Rhain - the night that he would begin to learn the truth of the world. The night that the door opened for him to finally grow up the rest of the way. The inn was small, nothing grand, and set out of the way - obviously nothing more than a stopping point between larger towns and cities - but with the weather threatening a storm and feet weary of walking, Rhain stopped for the night and secured a room. After being assured that his talent would be enjoyed within the inn, Rhain took his place upon the small, upraised section of the room that served as a stage, fingers ready on the strings of his beloved lyre, the crowd before him small but looking grim and miserable, something that he was sure he could change. And so began the notes from his lyre - his chosen song that of the wondrous deeds of a local legend. How was he to know that the crowd he was performing to was a barbarian’s clansmen and that they had suffered defeat at the hands of those they considered unworthy? How was he to know that they would take much offense to his song and view him as antagonizing?

He had completed no more than two verses of the song before the roars erupted from the drunken barbarians and that first heavy goblet was thrown at his head. No other warning had been given and the surge of angry, towering men towards his spot on that little makeshift stage was immediate. Outnumbered and outmatched in strength, Rhain stood no chance against the meaty fists of the barbarians. Truth was, after the first blow connected with his head, he had trouble even counting the hits that landed. All that registered within the mind of the young bard was pain - blow after blow, the constant roars from the barbarians and crashes from tables and chairs barely heard. Blood flowed, flesh was gashed open and mind was screaming at him to try to run though that was not to happen. Brutes, the whole lot of them, beat him till he could not even stand - and when the blows stopped and his mind began to think it was over, he found himself tossed onto the edge of a table, held down while each of the hulking men added insult to injury. Raped repeatedly, the grunting groans of the men as they satisfied battle lust within his body, he could only lay there in shock and fear till they were each and every one done. How long he laid there afterwards, listening to the laughter at his expense, the occasional hard smacks to his abused ass that leaked the remains of their pleasure and rough backhands to his face already swollen and sore, jaws aching from hard grips while men used his mouth to fuck, he did not know. Pain wracked his body and each breath was new torture but when the sounds of the group leaving registered, he began to move. Slow, agonizing movements to gain his feet - body beaten and tormented only to find no sympathy from the inn keeper. Instead, the portly man rushed at him angrily, yelling that it was he who had to pay the costs for the damages done to his inn. It was he that was at fault! His mind could not comprehend the anger of the inn keeper, could not fathom how the man thought it was he that was responsible when it was he that had been raped and abused! It stunned him and left him panicking, for he did not have the coin to pay for damages - did not have a way to make the coin other than his singing and that was what had got him into this mess to begin with!

Moving with what speed he had, he yanked his britches up and grabbed up his gear to take off running, leaving the inn in the middle of the storm only to come face to face with the group once more. He knew he could not run fast or far - not against men that were healthy and hardy while he was beaten and bloody. It became a game then - one that he strived to end by losing them though for three weeks they won. Hounded him, chased him, caught him only to beat and rape him over and over but careful to keep him alive for their sadistic pleasure. Even when he stopped fighting them - simply accepted that they had caught him again and again, submitted to their abuse, they beat him - keeping wounds open and festering. Deep fear began to form - paralyzing fear at the sight of them, smell of them and when he finally managed to lose them - to escape them, he found that he could not even bear to think of barbarians without sickening fear welling up. His body was broken, bleeding, infected and unable to carry on despite a fevered mind screaming that more distance needed to be gained. He needed to be further away so that the barbarians could not catch him again for he had no doubt that he would die under their not so tender mercies sooner rather than later.

A week passed of him forcing himself to walk, the walking stick of his grandfather the only thing that made such a task possible, despite the damage down to his young, wiry body. Tail dragged the ground, left leg dragged behind him with each step, infected wounds leaving his body wracked with fever. A week of pushing himself till finally no more could be tolerated. His food gone, his fear keeping him from venturing into small taverns and inns, he finally collapsed and succumb to the darkness that had ate at his vision, his last thought being that he was going to die. But that was not to be - he had a destiny and the Gods would not allow him to die on the side of a road, beaten and abused. So imagine his surprise to open his eyes once more only to find not the ground under his face but a soft pillow and not the trees around him but a warm room. Experimental movements of feet and fingers were given only to find no pain - his mind unclouded and no fever remaining. A turn of his head had his eyes landing on a beautiful elven woman sleeping in the chair beside the bed, garbed in what he thought was healer robes. It had to be her that saved his life, and he was thankful for that, but the second thought to pierce his mind was that he was lying there naked, a sheet barely covering him. Embarrassment, for his body had responded quite logically to the sight of the beautiful woman - had aroused and tented the sheet. Grabbing handfuls of the sheet, he slid from the bed, his scarred back kept towards the sleeping woman, and began searching for his clothing - desperate to hide the state of his body from the woman that had shown kindness and mercy to him. His stumbling searching did little to keep the woman asleep and after several minutes her voice spoke out. “Do not fear, you are safe in an inn and your garments are being mended and washed as we speak. You were quite ill and abused - my husband and I were not sure you would pull through.” His eyes swiveled back to the elven, wide eyed and still gripping his sheet before his hardened girth.

“Thank you. I was sure I was dead myself. I.. I have some coin, not much, but I can pay you for your kindness and healing.” While he was poor, he did not mind giving the last of what he had to this beauteous woman for her kindness. “Don’t be silly, my husband and I could not take your coin. Though there is something you could do to repay his gift of healing.” It was then that the door to the room opened and an elven man stepped in, smile on his face at the sight of Rhain up and moving about. “ahh good, he has awoke and seems well despite the troubles he faced.” Rhain had never in his life seen two more beautiful people and found himself staring between the two, surprised by the fact that it was the man who was the healer but that surprise would be minimal in comparison to what he would feel soon. “What can I do to repay you both?” The words were low, worried at what it was these two could possibly want though he could only gape when the woman stood and unfastened her robe, baring her perfect body to his gaze. “Share this night with us. Come to bed with us and experience what we have to offer.” His body throbbed in agreement and need and he finally nodded mutely, feet stepping towards the woman’s outstretched hand while the sheet was dropped to puddle to the floor. Imagine his surprise to learn throughout the night that this woman, wife to the healer, was a seductress with talents that kept him hard and ready till the wee hours of the morning.

Morning dawned to find him snuggled between the warm bodies of the husband and wife, mind still reeling from everything that had been opened to him, body languid and satiated. It was a cost that he found himself willing to pay over and over if but everyone asked that price! Once they were all awake and one last tryst was shared between them, he found himself dressed in mended and clean garments, his coin pouch a little heavier and a small bag of food to carry him through his journey. Last good byes were shared, more thanks for their kind help and one last bit of advice for the bard. “Head west, to Nanthalion, for there you will find a home and a chance to make it. None of the backwater inns can offer you what the Lonely Inn will be able to.” It was words he remembered and advice he would follow, feet setting out from that inn towards the west, following the road before him towards the capital, Nanthalion. There he was sure he would find his destiny!

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