(OOC note on language: Although they may or may not bear any resemblance to IC languages, I have assigned real world dialects to those in Belariath, or rather I have used them as if the original words had been translated thereinto. In this case, the Sylvan Elves use Welsh (a whole two words of it.) If I were ever to write about High Elves, I would use Gaelic, (such as I know of it, which is very little) and Dwarves would use German. I don't know if there is an official version of these languages, but if there is then I cannot find them on the info site. At any rate, this is how I decided to go with it, and so far there are only the two words. If there is a place to learn the languages of the Belarathine peoples, and you know where it is, feel free to send me the link. Also, regarding Elvyra's position, she is not a queen. More like an elder with a great deal of authority. Her fortress is not quite standard for a Sylvan settlement, but it is similar to the description on the elf culture page. Their temple is made of stone, rather than wood, but stone occurs in nature after all, and does not require the death of a tree to build with.)Elvyra, Sylvia ReginaThere were twenty-seven riders, not including Melandria, who rode behind Anastasia. None of them much noticed the prisoners, who were expected to keep up on foot, or be dragged by the neck. The two conversed, but Xavier caught none of it. He was tied behind the horse of a tall male elven soldier, nearer the back of the party, as was Clarence Filchley, the halfling.
Xavier turned to look at his fellow prisoner, who was keeping pace surprisingly well for one so short. "Clarence," he said, "why are you so well named?"
The halfling looked up at him across the horse rumps. "Well that's because I'm clairvoyant" he said, grinning. Seeing Xavier's scowl, he changed his tune. "By which I mean that I once needed a new identity, and Filchley seemed...appropriate."
Xavier rolled his eyes. "If you wanted people to think you weren't a thief," he said, "should you not have called yourself 'Not-Filchley?'"
"Maybe" said the halfling, shrugging. "I was going to change it back, or to something else eventually, but it kind of stuck. That was what all the girls knew me as." He winked.
"Well, now would be a good time to change it back" Xavier replied. "You might not see your city again."
"You might not see yours again either. Will you be changing names?"
The knight groaned, and turned his attention away from the annoying fellow. Anywhere would do, even the horse's anus.
They traveled for hours, up a gradual slope, down a steep one, and up one even steeper than that, all the while traveling through denser and denser forest. At length, they came to a steep and narrow path that wound up a sheer cliff-face. Their was a stone guard rail to keep them from falling off, two feet thick, but it was only three feet high.
When they were about a third of the way up the cliff, the party stopped, and the elves dismounted next to a narrow alcove with an oaken door. Melandria waved her hand, and it opened outward, bringing with it the stench of horse-dung and musty hay.
Xavier could not see inside, but it appeared to be a stable, for all but six of the elves began leading the horses inside. The other six, among them Anastasia and Melandria, escorted Xavier and Clarence further up the ramp.
"So thief," said the red-haired elf leader, "how didst thou get up this way without us seeing thee?"
"Wouldn't you like to know" Clarence retorted.
Anastasia paused in her stride to slap the halfling in the face back-handedly. "That is no answer" she said, turning her attention back to the ascent.
Filchley growled under his breath, but his flippancy abated. "I didn't come up this way" he said. "I swam."
"Of course thou didst" said the elf, and though he could not see them, Xavier imagined that her eyes were probably rolling. Her curly red hair was bouncing playfully with her gate. "How else couldst thou have done it?"
The incline was steeper the rest of the way, and in that part steps had been chiseled out of the rock to allow an easier climb. In places it was more like a ladder than a stair. Looking over the rail, Xavier found that he could see for miles to the south, until the intermittent forest and hills finally kissed the sky in the distance. Straight down, he saw the tops of trees whose trunks he'd passed earlier. The sun was low in the sky, freshly risen in the east.
When they finally came to the last turn on the path, he looked up instead of down, and realized that even without the climb it would be suicide to assault the fortress; for a fortress it was. The causeway culminated at a portcullis, which was set four yards into a gatehouse, the second story of which stuck out farther than the first so that it, along with the murder-holes in its floor, was right over the heads of anyone at any point along the final stretch of ramp, which was much more gradual than the rest, and did not have stairs notched out of it.
"What's really fun" said Anastasia, noting his interest, "is dumping boiling oil through those. It washes down the entire length of the rampart. I've only seen it done once, but it was beautiful. When the second wave of goblins arrived, slipping on the cooling fluid, we lit it up. Burned the lot of them all crispy, and didn't lose a single elf. That was long before the Bringer of Storms rose to power. Before the empire."
Beyond the portcullis was a claustrophobic stretch of stone passage, over which were more murder holes, a good thirty feet up, and at the end of which stood a solid oaken door, which opened before them at Melandria's behest.
At the top of the mountain, the elven settlement appeared at first glance to be little more than a patch of forest frequented by a lot of short people, and surrounded by a stone wall fifteen feet tall. On closer inspection, however, Xavier discovered that almost all the trees were quite large, and a few of them were hollow. Maple was the most common, but there were firs and hemlocks as well, along with the occasional pine. Here and there, he saw an oak or two, and there was at least one cedar. All throughout the mountaintop cops, large limbs supported little round houses, which appeared to have floors made of planks, and walls almost exclusively of cedar bark. They looked very light and airy, but strong, bound together with what might have been wires, or thin cords.
Their captors led them through the forest to what appeared to be the only stone building within the walls, and as they passed, the elves around them stopped to stare, briefly, before returning whatever business and elf gets up to. There was more than one pair of lovers embracing throughout the scene, some sitting side by side on tree branches, some standing face to face and body to body, one pair more audible than visible where they consummated their passion in a patch of gorse bushes.
The building itself was a little smaller than the temple where Xavier had learned the All-Mother's hymns, and the ways of her temple-guards. From the look of it, it likely served the same function to the elves, consecrated for the worship of their deity.
The entrance to the temple was accessible by a broad set of steps, about forty feet wide, which broke in the middle to allow a second set of steps, about fifteen feet wide, to descent into the earth. Phosphorescent stones lay in sconces near the bottom of the wall to light the way.
"More stairs?" asked Clarence. Sweat was dribbling down him like wax down a burning candle, and a bruise was beginning to show where Anastasia had struck his cheek. They all ignored him as they descended into the depths. The went down for what felt like a great distance, occasionally passing under the dangling roots of the trees above. They passed through a number of rooms and hallways, turning seemingly at random.
Finally they came to a stop as a herald announced them inside a large room, from which a soft blue glow emanated like moonlight, bathing the faces of the elves and their prisoners just enough to recognize one another by.
Finally, the herald returned, and opened the door, letting out a wash of light that left most of them blinking, and Xavier sneezing. He had no time to readjust himself, however, as his leash was tugged, and he walked forward whether he would or no into the soft blue light.
The chamber they entered was about fifteen feet wide by thirty feet long. On the left side of the room, the entire wall was covered in shelves, which housed more books and scrolls than Xavier had ever seen in one place before. A few feet from these stood a table with four chairs around it, and covered in parchments, books, cups of quills, and all manner of tools and paraphernalia, many of which Xavier did not recognize.
On the right side of the room stood a tall mirror, bordered with a silver frame that had been twisted, splayed, and twisted again into intricate and asymmetrical patterns. There was also a large wood-veined vanity with a large number of drawers. In the far right corner there stood a large chest, over and around which hung many weapons upon the wall, and nearby stood an armor rack with several suits on it.
Luminescent orbs of what appeared to be stone were set into the ceiling, and it was from them that the blue light constantly came down. The floor was covered in a soft white carpet, which looked blue because of the luminescence of the orbs.
Dominating the scene, in the center of the carpet near the back wall, stood a tall throne of silver and dark polished leather. In it sat an elven woman. As they entered, she stood to greet them.
"Bore da, Anastasia, Melandria." Her hair was long, and a luscious golden yellow, falling in many tightly wound braids over her shoulders, and down to the small of her back. She was taller than Anastasia, though shorted than Xavier, and she wore a loose-fitting white gown that just allowed viewers a glimpse of the tops of her cleavage. "Is this the thief?" she asked.
Anastasia took the stolen quill from her belt, and presented it to the elf woman. "The halfling had it, and confessed to having infiltrated us. The human was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Or the right place" mused the older elf, appraising Xavier. He thought she looked to be, in human years, in her late thirties or early forties. "Is he the one that tried to stop the others from raping our dear Melandria?"
The dark-haired elf twitched violently, and looked away.
"This is him" replied Anastasia.
The elf lady purred, smiling. "Yes, thou will certainly live. I could use another pet. Thou hast many years more within thyself to live."
Xavier blinked. "Your pet?" he asked.
She smiled, and in her smile there was both warmth and cruelty. "Yes" she said. "Varily, thou wilt come to know contentedness as rarely human hath before...in lieu of learning all that I will teach thee as to what it is to truly suffer."
"So I will be your slave?"
"Why else dost thou come before me bound and leashed like an ill-behaved dog?" Xavier might have objected, but she turned away from him, to pronounce judgment on the wiry little thief. "Thou, on the other hand, stood by and watched my favored student violated without doing anything. It will be for her to decide thy fate."
Melandria seemed to find the carpet very interesting all of a sudden.
"Well?" asked Clarence. "Personally, I'd have me killed, if I were you. Painfully."
The elven lady turned a vicious glare upon him. "Thou wilt cease to influence her decision, or else wilt face the consequences of thine insolence."
"And that's another thing" said the halfling, unperturbed. "What the hell is with the older-than-dirt pronouns?"
Anastasia smacked him again. "Thou standest in the presence of Elvyra, ruler over the elves of..."
Elvyra raised a hand to motion the hot-tempered red-head to silence. "Patience, niece. The diminutive thief clearly is not right in the head, and must say the first thing that pops into it. He will reap the reward for his insolence in time." Turning back to said diminutive thief, she said "Our understanding of the common tongue was quite adequate three hundred years ago. Clearly it has been antiquated, but not necessarily outdone. Thine own use thereof appears to be...common, I am sure. Now then, Melandria...hast thou concluded on a sentence for the varlet?"
If she had, she said nothing about it.
Elvyra took the shorter elf into a loose embrace, and put a hand under her chin. "Look at me" she commanded, and Melandria did so. "I know that must surely be afraid, and who, indeed, would not, and angry too, regarding what was done to thee. Confusion must be rife within thy soul, and thou shouldst know that this is not unusual. Yet thou, within these walls, and with my niece to watch thy back, and armed with thine own magics once again, as well as this selfsame experience which thou rightly dost abhor, art safer now than thou hast ever been before. Take heart, young love, for all, though 'tis not now, will once again be well."
Melandria closed her eyes, and hid her face in Elvyra's bosom. "They hurt me" she said, and from the sound of her voice she had started weeping. "They bade me heal their wounds, and told me sweet and seemly lies that I were safe if I but did as bid, and when I had complied they took me anyway and...and visited such wrathful pains upon my bound and helpless form that I could scarcely walk away when led upon a rope with no more power o'er my destiny than these two bumpkins have." Toward the end, her words were scarcely discernable from the sobs that surrounded them, and Xavier wondered that they could be so eloquent in such a garbled form.
"My one regret" said Anastasia, "is that so swiftly did I slay the one I shot. It were a handsome twist of fate if he had lived, that thou, my dear, hadst had the honor of the final blow."
Melandria was still sobbing into Elvyra's chest, and being comforted by the lady she stood against. Xavier was amazed that one could be so comforting who spoke of things so cruel. His own destiny was up in the air, but for a moment all his concern was riveted on the dark-haired girl, and for a change even Clarence had nothing to say.
Finally, Melandria quieted down, and Elvyra released her, standing back to look her in her reddened eyes. "Now, young student, unto what fate shall we consign our perpetrator?"
The younger elf took in a very unsteady breath, and said "Please, let him go. He did not harm me."
Elvyra looked back at her second prisoner, a pensive expression on her face. "I will not release a thief back into the world" she said. "However, as thou sayst, he did harm thee not, and so shall we not visit harm on him. He will sit within a stony cell, to there live out his days in darkness and remorse for what he tried to do." She brushed the feather across the top of her nose, and looked back to Anastasia. "Get thee hence with this, our prisoner, and dispense him in whatever cell thou thinkst to serve him best, and have prepared another one within my kennel suite for this." She glanced at Xavier.
"Now hold on a moment" said Clarence. "She asked you to let me go, and you keep me as a prisoner. Curly here tried to help her, did everything right, and still you make a slave of him. How the hell is that fair?"
Elvyra raised an eyebrow at him. "Are we not within the empire built by the bringer of storms?" she asked. "Tis not fair, but might makes right."
When the others had all left Xavier alone with his new mistress, she lifted a hand, and his rope bonds disarmed themselves, falling uselessly to the floor. She held his sword in her hands, examining the craftsmanship. "An excellent weapon, similar to Belarathine katanas. Well balanced, superbly sharpened, and created of a woven steel which, if I read it right, would stand up well to dragon scales. I cannot read the writing on the blade. A northern script, I am guessing?"
Xavier scoffed, and nodded.
"What does it say?"
"I myself never learned to read our runes, but I am told it reads 'Conceived in flame, death doling out.' It is the motto engraved on every blade used by the temple guards."
"And of what temple wert thou a guardian?"
Xavier looked away, not wanting to speak to his captor about his home.
Elvyra frowned, and put a hand upon the crease of his neck where it joined his shoulder. "Did I not ask of thee a question?" she asked. From her finger tips, a sensation of intense pain shot down through his skin, his muscles, and into his heart and lungs. His body seized, and he grunted in surprise. "At home" he said. "I grew up in the city of Moloak, and was recruited to be a guardian in the temple of the All-Mother." The sensation eased, and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
"Thou wilt find, Xavier, that thou dost not wish to aggravate thy mistress. I am endowed so much with knowledge that if needs must be I can encumber thee with such malicious shackles as to make thee wish thy mother'd not conceived thy wretched soul, so if thou wish to live in comfort rather than in pain within my harem, thou wilt answer when thou'rt asked, and volunteer whate'r thou thinkest to be useful to thine owner. Am I understood?"
Xavier nodded, looking up into her eyes. "As you say."
She put a hand to the top of his head, trailing her fingers through his thick curly hair, and finding a hold on it. "Now then, Xavier..." she frowned. "Thy name is entirely too proud" she said. "If I am not mistaken, it means something to affect of 'deliverer,' am I correct?"
"Something like."
"We'll be changing that" she said. "My sister once had a dog named Asquellon. It has no meaning that I'm aware of, but that dog was just about useless. It's teeth were broken, so that it was no good at hunting, and it was mutt, so it was no good for breeding. About the only purpose it served was to look cute and clean up our scraps when we would slip them under the table. I miss that pathetic little creature, so I think I'll name thee after it."
Xavier frowned. "You're taking my name away from me?" he asked.
His disapproval was mirrored in her own face. "And thou wilt henceforth refer to me as 'Mistress,' or face the consequences."
His eye twitched, but a quick assessment told him that he had no say in the matter. Submitting would be a less painful road than resisting. "As thou wilt, Mistress" said Asquellon.
Her eyes did not soften, but her mouth smiled. "Very good, puppy. Now, Asquellon, I desire thee to tell me what deity thou namest 'All-Mother.'"
Asquellon shifted his position; the carpet was beginning to dig into his knees. "I believe that the closest parallel here would be Gaea, the nature goddess. We worship the All-Mother with songs and poetry, most of which are conceived by the priests. We revere her as the progenitor of all life, the primord of the universe. We have always known that there was more to her than just our corner of her realm, and we respect that it is right to worship her in other ways in other places."
"And how didst thou come into possession of so fine an artifact?"
"My teacher took me to the Dwarven city of Cavern-Bright, where Vahlstein Stalschmidt watched us spar. He created that blade to my specifications, knowing what I needed from a sword, and two months later one of his apprentices showed up at the temple with my weapon. Now you hold it...mistress."
She appeared pleased with the answer. "And what brings thee south of yon mountains, slave?"
Hesitation gripped him, but he was none too eager to incur a punishment, so he fought through the difficulty. "My sister was taken from me" he said.
"Kidnapped?"
"By slavers. Three Wolven ambushed us on the way back from our vigil. We had just been...knighted, I suppose you would say. We had learned everything the masters could teach us about physical combat, and it was time to start learning magic. They killed our masters, and wounded me. Raen, they took as a hostage, and I trailed them all the way to the northern border of Belariath."
"And?"
"I found the Wolven, and killed them, but they'd already sold her to a slaver named S'qam. After that, I fell in with the bounty-hunters whom your niece so effectively demolished."
The elf's eyes were pensive as she regarded him on the floor. At length, she lifted, putting pressure on her grasp of his dark hair, and raising him to a standing position before releasing her hold. "Do you know, slave, what it is that that intrusive little creature attempted to purloin from us?" she asked.
"A writing quill, mistress, with a golden tip."
She smirked, and held it out for him to see. "That's the easy part" she said. "The really interesting thing, the reason why it was worth stealing, is because of what it does." She motioned to the seat at her table on the book side of the room.
Asquellon followed her, and sat where she commanded. A book lay open before him, with a blank page presented, and an ink-well stood nearby.
"Take thou this pen," commanded his mistress, "and put down on the parchment as near an image to thy sister's likeness as thou canst."
"I am no artist. Mistress."
"I did not imply thou wert. Begin."
As Asquellon, sighing deeply, dipped the quill into the well, Elvyra disappeared from view, and he heard her hanging his sword on the wall with her other weapons.
Sighing, he placed the tip of the quill onto the book's open surface...and watched as it went to work. It scratched up, down, left, right, diagonally, and in every conceivable direction, and in wake of its ungentle ministrations, a picture began to take shape. "I'm not doing this" he said.
"That's the magic" she replied, on her way back from the weaponry. "The pen knows thine every thought as it cometh to thy mind, and will not suffer thee to make a stroke not in the pattern of thy memory. It doth dull the artist's edge by thus removing skill from the equation, but when all required is a likeness of the subject, all is more than well." She peered down at the image he had created. "Thou art a poor artist indeed, if this is the best it can bring out of thee. Still, it is a lovely picture, and methinks I do see aught of thine own features in her face, although her hair is straighter."
Asquellon left the quill in the well, not sure what more to do with it. "This thing is amazing" he said. He could see why someone would want to steal it. The only question was what S'qam had intended to do with it. He almost voiced the question, but thought better. He still had no idea what his captors might do with the information. At best they would do nothing. At worst, they might make Raen their slave as well as him.
"I can see why they might have taken her" said the elf lady. "She is beautiful. And thou sayest she hath a talent magical as well. She might bring a handsome price indeed." She held something up for him to see, and he looked down at it. It was a collar of black leather, clasped with silver. Tiny silver letters scrawled a message he could not read across the middle. "It reads, for those who
can read, 'I am the property of Elvyra, Sylvia Regina.' Put it on."
Asquellon frowned, ignoring the sudden rush of blood to his penis brought on by her commanding tone. The collar, he knew was a symbol, and it stood not only for his surrender to the wood-elf lady, but also for the arrest of his search. He would be in the elven stronghold for years...might even die there of old age if he was not killed. But he could not escape if he did not first make his mistress let her guard down. Taking the collar into his own hands, and maintaining eye contact with that cold and mirthful stare, he slid the ends under his curly locks and snapped the hasps together in a click that sounded like the crack of thunder. Elvyra was smiling, though her eyes were narrowed. "Now strip, slave, so that I may inspect my new pet, and then I will finish making thee mine own."