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Date Posted: 12:33:59 04/20/03 Sun
Author: Adaron, Leila, Gelan, Brage + Eldalie of Galion Forest
Subject: Galion Forest: A conference, a feast, and a revelation
In reply to: No post. 's message, "War of the Everdark" on 12:38:20 03/27/03 Thu

The next morning found the four in an Elven boat upon the swift-flowing Quadrill. Brage knelt in the stern, his powerful shoulders driving a hand-held paddle while Adaron in the bow stroked, too. Leila was placed mid-thwart, aft of the Elf with Gelan behind the Gypsy. Gelan also plied an oar, and only Leila was without one; for her shoulders probably would not be able to last as long and she would merely hinder the others. But she was told that they only hand three oars. All day they traveled thus, occasionally shooting through rapids where the water foamed white and tumbled loudly among rocks, and here Brage, Gelan, and Adaron would stroke swift and strong, commanding Leila to hang on tightly. At other times the water flowed placidly between low, ferny banks or high stone walls, and the hush of the soaring Eldwood stole over the four.

Since she was unable to row along with them, she amused herself by watching the scenery...or Adaron. Silently she wondered what it would be like to rest her hand upon his back and feel the muscles contracting under his flesh. Color came into her cheeks then at the thought and she turned her face away quickly, clearing her throat.

Easterly they traveled throughout the day, stopping but a time or two, and as evening fell once more, they came to the inflow of the Cellener. And just past the mouth of this river they espied the light of a March-ward campfire set back in the woods on the south bank of the Quadrill.

~*~


The next daybreak found them bearing southeastward, once more riding double on borrowed horses. This time they had no guide, for Adaron knew the way to Wood's-heart, some twenty times distant. Swift were the steeds, and in midmorn the four comrades were passed through a picket of Elven warders and came at last to dwelling nestled among the giant Eld Trees: they had come to Wood's-heart, the Elvehold central to the great forest of Taure Galion.

Adaron led them to a large, low building in the midst of the others; and as the four approached, Elves stopped to watch this strange assortment of Man, Drimm, Woman, and Elf ride by. At last they comrades came to the Heru-hall, and warders asked their names while other attendants took their steeds. "Amin Adaron," replied Lord Adaron. "Amin tuulo' Tel'Oira Eldamar. My companions I will name to Lord Angrist, and to his consort Faeon."

At the mention of the Elfess Faeon, troubled looks passed across the faces of the warders. "Lord Adaron," said the Captain of the Door-ward, "you may pass and speak to Lord Angrist; yet you will find his spirits low, but it is for him to tell you why. I can only hope that you bear news that will lift him from his doldrums."

Adaron nodded. "That I can guarantee, for we bear the best of tidings. Delay us no longer; let us pass."

A deep breath taken as she passed along with her company. She missed Talar, and she did not want to appear before the elven lord in her current state. "Nan'amin holma ve' orqu!"(But I smell like an orc!) she protested to Adaron.

Adaron titled his head to one side, giving her a stoic look before his hand placed upon her back and her urged her forward before stepping forward as well, his hand falling back to his side. Across the floor strode the comrades, to come to the steps at the foot of the dais.

Angrist lifted his hand from his brow and gazed at the four, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Edan, Drimm, and Edainme. "Lord Adaron," he said at last, turning to the Elf, his quiet voice filled with sadness.

"Heru Angrist," spoke Adaron, bowing slightly. "these are my comrades: Drimm Brage of the Red Hills, mighty warrior, Rupt killer, arch breakder, axe thrower; Istalindir Leila, formally of Aragon, currently of Elvehome, dancer, arrow caster, Spaunen slayer, Bane wielder." Adaron paused as Brage bowed to the Elven Lord, who inclined his head in return.

Leila too bowed to the Elven Lord, rather irritated that Adaron saw it fit to call her a dancer. That had naught to do with what she had done in this war and in her mind only served to make her seem less the fighter than the others, but those emotions were concealed in a pleasant smile that she offered to Angrist.

Then Adaron spoke on: "And Heru, though I present him last, this Man, too, is a warrior without peer: Horde harrier, Ghulk slayer, sword shatterer, son of Aurion King now dead . . . Heru Angrist, this is Gelan King, now High King of Midland."

These last words brought Angrist to his feet, and he bowed low to the Gelan, who bowed partly in turn to the Elven Lord. "Ah, but this is woeful news you bring me, for Aurion and I had naught but goodwill toward one another and I am saddened to learn of his death." said Angrist. "Let us all sit and talk and break bread together, and tell me your tale, for I glean among Adaron's words that you bear tidings of import, yet I hope that some of your news is good, for I am grieved in my heart and would cherish fair word.

At this Adaron’s face broke into a great smile. "Heru Angrist, i'Gorgorath ba!"(Lord Angrist, the Gargon is dead!) he exclaimed lowly.

Lord Angrist staggered backward, his eyes wide, his hand lifting. The hind of his knees hit the throne, and he abruptly dropped to the seat. "Ba? I'Gorgorath ba?" (Dead? The Gargon is dead?) His words were hushed, it was obvious he could almost not believe his ears.

Now Adaron showed his true excitement over the accomplish ment. His hand had been on the hilt of Bale, it had been pulled out an inch yet now Adaron slammed it home in its scabbard. "It is so! We four slew it five days past in the dark halls of Drimmen-deeve." Adaron’s voice once again held the eerie tone he was so famous for, and with one hand before him, he advanced upon the stunned Elven Lord. His voice low. "Leila slashed it with Bane, thus breaking its dread gaze; Gelan King shattered a sword deep within its gut, freeing Drimm Brage; Brage hurled the axe that close into its skull, setting me loose; and I cast the torch that engulfed it in an inferno. It was dead ere the pyre in the end collapsed and fell into the Great Deep of Drimmen-deeve, carrying the charred corpse of the Gargon unto the bottomless depths." Adaron straightened then, his chin tipping up, a sneering grin upon his lips.

Angrist's face flushed with gladness, and the Elven Lord leapt to his feet, his hands clapping together once. He called a page to him. "Light the lamps! Kindle the fires! Prepare for a feast! And send me Havor!" And no sooner had the attendant scurried from them than an Elven warrior--Havor, Captain of the Door-ward--strode to the summons of his Lord. And Angrist commanded, "Let the word go forth unto all corners of Taure Galion and to the Lands beyond: to the Greatwood and Taure en Celebdulin, to Riamon and Valon, to the Elves in the north with Lord Mallorn, and to the Host in the south: I'Gorgorath ba! Slain by these four: Drimm Brage of the Red Hills; Istalindir Leila, Edainme of Elvenhome; Lord Adaron, Elf of Elvehome; and Gelan King, High King of Midland!"

Havor's eyes flew wide, for the Horror in Drimmen-deeve had long turled the Quadran, and fear of its dread power had caused Dwarf, man, and even Elf to flee from these regions. Yet though many Elves took flight to Adonar, others of the Eldalie remained behind in Taure Galion, vowing to stay in Midland and continue their guardianship. Even so, the faint pulse of the Fear to the north ran like a threat through their lives; and only the Sun held the Horror at bay, for at night it stalked the sloping valley known to the Elves as Falanith and to Man as the Pitch; but at dawn the Gargon would return to the Black Deeves, for Adon's Ban ruled its kind. And none but Braggi and his raiders had ever challenged the Dread, and they had not succeeded: for never had a Gargon been slain without the aid of a Wizard, and these mages were gone from the sight of all, though where they went none knew. Yet here were four who had killed with their own hands one of the terrible Gargoni--perhaps the last of its kind. The Dread of Drimmen-deeve was dead! Havor raised a clenched fist and cried, "Aaye, Astalderea!" (Hail, Valiant ones) and the Captain rushed from the hall to start the remarkable news to spreading, while Angrist led his guests to warm hearths and baths and restful quarters where he could hear their tale in full.

Leila had smiled the whole while; how strange it was to be part of something so great that it had already changed the lives of the elves of this realm. Thankful was she though when she was able to shed her clothes in favor of a warm bath where she soaked much longer than necessary to scrub off weeks of dirt and wash her hair several times until the silken black strands would gleam like polished ebony marble. Once she had finished bathing and had dried off and scented her hair with a mix of lavender and heather, leaving it down to dry. The female elf trying to find her clothes had finally given up and told Leila she would have to wear a dress. It was a simple thing, a silken sheath that fit beautifully although Leila was slightly more full of bust and hip than the elven maid who would wear such a dress. It was forest green in color, she sleeves draping from her shoulders and coming down her wrists to a point on the top of her hands, bodice clinging and then loosening after it got past her hips. The gypsy felt highly self-conscious in the fit of the dress after having worn such heavy clothes for so long, but there was no longer time to spare. On her way to the chamber where Angrist and the others awaited her, she braided her hair back out of her face to the base of her neck where she secured it. A blush was on her cheeks when she entered, a quiet apology for taking so long, explaining the fiasco of finding clothes that fit her form.

Great joy spread throughout the Elvehold, and heralds on swift horses raced forth across the Land. And everywhere the word went, celebrating began, for long had the yoke of the dread fettered their hearts; and they heard the glad tidings, all knew the tale to be true, for they listened to their inner beings, and the exhalation of fear no longer whispered forth from Black Drimmen-deeve: the Horror was dead. And in the guest quarters the three males spoke quietly with Angrist as they waited for Leila to finish. Yet not only did they tell him their tale, they learned much from the Lord in return. And he was speaking when Leila entered. A nod was given to her, before he continued. "Ay, Gelan King, there is seesaw strife to the south, for the Lakh of Hyree and the Rovers of Kistan muster in endless numbers, and all the Hosts of Hoven and Jugo, and of Pellar and Valon are hard pressed. The Drimma of the Red Hills join the strife, yet the Alliance is woefully outnumbered."

Gelan had seen Leila enter, and though he had been listening intently to Angrist his eyes had strayed back to her. Suddenly he was aware that the Elven Lord had silence and with a flush to his face he returned his attention to the Elf. "What of the Elves? What of the Men of Riamon?"

Leila moved further within the chamber then without a word. The slippered feet made no sound upon the floor and only the whisper of silk against flesh and silk announced when she drew nearer. She took her place then, sitting down next to Gelan, the soft scent of lavender following her.

Angrist waited for Leila to be seated before he continued. "We fight in the north and northwest. In the north the Evil in Gryn sends his Hordes through Jallor Pass and the Crestan, and they come down from secret doors hidden high in the flanks of the Grimwall. In the northwest, Lord Mallorn is hard pressed at both ends of Elvenhome valley and the news I recieve is bleak. They will not last long. Lord Mallorn had said a month at most. The Elves here join with others of the Greatwood and Greenhall--as well as with the Drimma of Mineholt North, the Men of Riamon, and the Baeron Men. We fight in fastness above Delon and in the Rimmen Mountains and in the Land of Aven. Yet we have battled as far south as Eryn Ford and the ruins of Caer Lindor. And everywhere we are hard pressed, for Drego's Swarms are mighty and they assail in great strength."

This was the first news Adaron had recieved of Elvenhome his face was grim, his eyes dropping to the table, hands forming fists, his lips pressed tight.

Leila frowned, her eyes turning to the table. The news of her beloved Tel'Oira Eldamar saddened her on what should have been such a joyous day. It only served to reaffirm her calling. She had to succeed; she could not let The Eternal Elvenhome fall into the clutches of Drego. She wanted the strife to be over for man and elf, more than anything. She knew she could not allow herself to fail.

Angrist spoke on. "Harken, Gelan King: I do not wish to cast doubt upon your mission, but surely you now see that you plan to gather the Host and march north to battle the Rupt must be abandoned; you cannot come unto the north with your Legions and leave the south undefended, for the Evil One's clutch is everywhere. Yes. North, south, east, west--all around--like the coils of a great serpent, Drego's minions seek to crush us. And now you bring me news of a Horde teeming in the Quadran. Yet the force of Elven warriors presently husbanded in Taure Galion is but a remnant which I had come to gather to lead back to join their brethren in the northern battles. But now I will not do so, for I would not leave this Land undefended in the face of the threat of the Swarm in Drimmen-deeve, even though along the remaining March-ward could not press back the foe should the Everdark sweep south and the Spaunen come. I curse the day that the Evil in Gryn became master of this foul darkness that blots the land, for with it he defies Adon's Ban and looses holocaust down upon us. Yet even where the darkness falls not, still Drego works his evil, for the Hyrania and Kistania assail the south, believing that this War is but a prelude to Gyphon's coming. Yet, that cannot be, for the Vani-lerihha have not yet returned and the Dawn Sword remains lost."

She stared at the Elven Lord for a long moment, a soft sigh passing her lips. "Drego is going to bring him back. Already does he have the means, he just awaits the proper time." How did she know that? Simple enough, she'd gathered it from her visions and dreams. She knew that she would have to slay...perhaps Gryphon himself? She had not been shown that much.

A brow was arched and all eyes turned to Leila, all save Adarons. Angrist spoke. "I am sorry, Leila, but that just cannot be. Lady Rael in ARden divined a sooth of baleful portent: 'Bright Silverlarks and Silver Sword, Borne hence upon the Dawn, Return to eath; Elves girt thyselves to struggle for the One. Death's wind shall blow, and crushing Woe will hammer down upon the land. Not grief, not tears, not High Adon shall stay Great Evil's hand.' The Silverlarks of her words we know, and we think that the Silver Sword of the rede is the Dawn Sword--the great weapon to have said to have the power to slay the High Vulk Gyphon himself. But the Dawn Sword disappeared in the region of Dalgor March during the Great War, and until Rael's portent we thought it was lost or that Gyphon had contrived to take it, for He fears it. Yet now we think it to be in Adonar, for how else could it be 'borne hence upon the Dawn'? For the same reason, we think the Silverlarks to be in Adonar, too, though we still are not certain. And both Silverlarks and Silver Sword will return to Midland some direful dawn yet to come, and to the woe of the world. Yet as of now, that is not possible. And so, it cannot be that Drego is planning to bring Gyphon from beyond the Spheres."

After a moment Brage grunted and leaned back in his chair, arms lifting to fold over his chest. "The Chakka, too, have baleful sooths as yet unfulfilled, and we dread the day their words fall true. Yet, come, think you not this prophecy of yours is being fulfilled even now? For we struggle; Death's wind blows. Woe hammer the Land. Many of the portents fit."

"No, Drimm Brage," answered Angrist softly. "This prophecy looks yet to come, for there are no Silverlarks in the Land, and the Dawn Sword--the token of power--has not returned to fulfill its destiny."

A dark eyebrow rose and her jaw tightened in controlled anger. "Lord Angrist, I do not expect you to believe me, but what I tell you is the truth. Everything he needs to bring back Gryphon from beyond the spheres is in place, I have seen this. A messenger from High Adon himself has brought me visions of what will come." Her voice not changing so much in pitch as she worked to keep it steady. "Too I know that I was sent to this place on a mission by High Adon to slay the evil that chokes the Midland. I can not fail. I will not fail. Already do I possess the weapon that will tell. To rid this land of evil will cost me my life," her voice trembling now. "Do not think that I do not take these messages seriously. Lady Rael also said 'Seek the aid of those not men to quench the fires of war' and as you can see, my lord, I am clearly no man." Such strong words were spoken and with such conviction from the gypsy, but her eyes turned away quickly then to hide the tears brimming there. She knew he would not believe her, and worst, she knew that it was true.

Angrist had listened quietly as she had spoken, only to shake his head. "'Not grief, not tears, not high Adon, shall stay great Evil's hand. "Adon has said--no pledged--that He will not directly act in Midland. And you are of the race of Man. Have you not considered that?" He sighed softly, leaned over the table to look at her, though she did not look at him. Dreams are at times naught but fanciful images in a shifting shadowland. And tokens of power, such as the Dawn Sword, fulfill their destines. They can be for Good or Ill: Whelmran is a token of power for Evil--a feartoken--for it has crashed through many a gate for the Spaunen" He said, referring to the Ram that sundered the gates at Challerain Keep. "So, too, was Gelvin's Doom, an evil device in the end. Those for Good are sometimes known: one was the Kamerling; too, there is Bale, and Bane, and perhaps Black Galgor: these would appear to fit the mold. Others are unknown until they fulfill their destiny, and beforehand seem to hold no power at all: jewels, poniards, rings, a trinket. Not all are as blatant as Gelan King's rune-marked Atala blade that hewed the Helarms as foretold." He nodded. "Indeed, foretold, for it was I who long ago translated the writing on Orthran's tomb: 'Loose not the Red Quarrel ere the appointed time. Blade shale brave vile Warder from deep, black slime.' I knew not what the words meant when I deciphered them, yet it seems certain that the blade Gelan King bears is a token of power meant to strike the Warder from the deep, black slime, for that was its foretold destiny. Just as Bane, Jerriel's sword, Brage's axe, along with a Ruchen torch, were meant to combine to slay the Gargon. And if you had not succeeded, had you been felled ere reaching Drimmen-deeve, still would the Atala blade have sought out the Helarms; still would Bane have come against the Gargon: but it would have been by other hands, not yours. Some tokens would seem to have more than one destiny: Gelvin's Doom, the Green Stone of Xian. Perhaps Bane or the Atala Blade are not yet done with their ordained work; heed me, it may be that their greatest deeds lie ahead, as I think Red Bale's work is yet to be done." His back moved to the chair. "Yes, Leila, tokens of power are mysterious things, perhaps guided by Adon from afar, perhaps not. Yet none can say for certain which things are tokens, and we can only guess at best; if a thing was made in Xian, or forged in Lost Duellin, then it would seem to have come from elsewhere and none can say which are tokens until their destines come to pass." At that moment a page came to Lord Angrist. He smiled. "The feast is ready."

Adaron had sat silent the entire time, listening to the exchange between the Elven Lord and the Gypsy. His eyes had been elsewhere, mostly on the table, his mind obviously turning. When Angrist had finished his gentle lecture to Leila and rose to his feet, Adaron too rose, his gaze catching the Elven Lords. "Yet, Lord Angrist, you know as well as any other that auguries are often subtle, and dangerous--one may deem they mean one thing, as perhaps with the Silver Sword rede, when they mean something else all together."

Angrist cocked a slender brow and then canted his head, accepting the Emissary's words. Then he turned to Leila, nodding his head to her as well.

Leila had grown visibly irritated by now and had no intention of going to eat. When the others rose, she did too, but she fully intended on going back to her room. A nod was given back to the Elven Lord and she turned to exit as all else did. Her stomach hurt she was so upset. How dare he! Did he think she would just be so certain of her own death? No one would predict such a thing!

Adaron turned to follow the others out of the quarters but when Leila did not follow them, he spun once more. Long, purposeful strides easily overtook her and gently he took up her wrist as he came to her side, slowing to a halt, and thereby causing her to do such as well. "That is not the way to the Hall."

"I am aware." She allowed her wrist to remain in his grasp, only because no matter how her anger burned her she could not make herself pull away from him. "I do not wish to go. I do not feel well and wish for my bed." Her eyes avoiding his. It was more than a matter of pride.

"The feast is for us four, not three." He straightened, a soft breath escaping, his voice equally as soft, airy. "You do not feel well?" He gave a single slow nod. He was generally concerned about her and did not believe that she would be dishonest with him. "All right. I will tell this to Lord Angrist and have a healer sent to your quarters."

She sighed heavily. "I do not need a healer Adaron. My ails are not physical." She wanted to cry again but would not. "I shall go to the feast," the barest of whispers before she turned to walk back in the other direction. The expression upon her face alone was heart breaking. A cross between sadness and hopelessness, perhaps even fear. And more than ever she wished Talar were there to hug her. Leila had always been very affectionate with her father and since his death Talar had taken that place, though they were not nearly so much, and now Talar was gone...it was becoming too much and now she felt more alone than she ever had since she had now alienated herself from the company.

Adaron's brow furrowed slightly, he did not understand her. He let her walk for a moment, while he stood confused. With an inward sigh he followed her, the others still in sight.

The others waited outside the Lord's Hall for Adaron and Leila to catch up. When they entered the Hall they coudl see it was full of brightness, for Elven lamps glowed fulgently, though it was not the silver glow found in Eldamar, and fires were in the hearths, and bright Elves filled the hall. And Angrist led them to the throne dais and they mounted up the steps: Brage clad once again his in black-iron mail, Leila in the Elvish dress, Gelan in scarlet and Adaron in gold. Angrist raised his voice so that all could hear. "Ilya aaye i'Deevestridena, sleanra en i'Gorgorath!" (All hail the Deevewalkers, slayers of the Horror!) And three times a great, glad shout burst forth from the gathered Elves: "Aaye! . . . Aaye! . . . Aaye!" And then the guests were led to a full board, and the feast of thanksgiving began.

Yet Adaron’s eyes swept the assembly, as if seeking a face not there. At last he turned to Angrist. "Heru Angrist, I see not my younger sister Faeon, bright Mistress of Taure Galion."

Leila took her seat silently, putting food on her plate that she shifted around without interest with her fork.

Now anguish filled Angrist's features. "Faeon has ridden the Twilight Ride," said the Elven Lord. "Seven days past."

Adaron’s head tilted to one side, unsure that he had heard the other correctly. At Angrist's nod, he leaned back in his chair. "But the Sundering...None has made the Dawn Ride since."

"Just as you did, Faeon, too, felt Eiron's death cry, and she was distraught. She had ridden the Twilight Ride to Adonar, to ask the High One Himself to intercede and stop the Evil in Gryn." Angrist's hands trembled with distress. "But as I said, Adon has pledged that he will not act, at least not directly, in Midland."

Adaron's ocean orbs searched the table before him, yet he did not look for anything there. "Yet still she went to plead with him? Did Faeon not consider that the way back is closed: sundered?"

"She knew it all too well, Adaron...all too well." answered Angrist. "She knew that not until the time of the Silverlarks and the Silver Sword will the Dawn Ride be made again, and then perhaps but by his messenger. Yet she thought pershaps thsi once..." He drew a long shuddering breath. "Eiron's death drove her thus."

Adaron rose from his seat, a hand brushing Leila's shoulder and walked to a fireplace to be alone, gazing into the flames.

Angrist too left the table and his footsteps carried him to a window where he looked out into the Eld Trees and spoke to no one.

Gelan, watched the two leave and glanced to Leila. "Now we know what grieves Angrist." Said Gelan after a moment. "His consort Faeon is gone from Midland, never to return."

She looked to Gelan then and nodded once, her eyes moving from Angrist and then to Adaron. "And now a'maelamin has lost two of his siblings." The softest of sighs escaping her lips. "I feel selfish for being upset when there are moments like this, for I grieve for them both--all four at that."

Gelan nodded slowly, looking back to his meal. He didn't feel hungry anymore. A sigh of his own was given and he pushed his plate away. After a moment, he looked back to Leila. "A'maelamin? What does that mean?"

She just smiled a little. "It is a term of endearment and it means that I would care about him greatly and do not like to see him in pain." But she felt that way about him and Brage as well, just not on the level that she did for Adaron, but she did not wish to go into detail about it.

Soon Adaron and finally Angrist returned to the feast board, but the conversation at the table of honor all but dwindled to nothing. And even though they sat at a great banquet of thanksgiving, and smiled when toasted by the gay revelers, the hearts of the Deevewalkers were heavy, for a pall of sadness weighted them down.

~*~

Gelan, Leila, and Brage now sat in council with Angrist. In the distance, strains of music sounded as the feast continued, but the comrades had retired to discuss the ways before them, and Angrist had joined them to yield up his advice.

Long had they talked and now Gelan set forth their choices: "These, then, are the two courses deemed best: To bear south on horseback across the plains of Valon toward Pellar; and along that path in the Land of Valon is the city of Vanar, some eighty to nighty leagues hence, and it would be our first goal, for there would be find Vanadurin to lead us to the Legions; but if the Host fights in Pellar, then we needs must ride ninety leagues beyond Vanar just to come to the crossing into that southern Land. Our other choice is to continue by boat, going down the River Nith to the Argon, and thence southward to Pellar; this way is more uncertain, and perhaps more dangerous, for we may not come unto those who will aid us until we reach the Argon Ferry along the Pendwyr Road, and then it may not be aid we find, for that crossing perhaps its held by the enemy. But even if it is friendly hands, still it lies some three hundred leagues distant by the great eastward arc of the river route. " Gelan paused in long thought then said: "We will go by river, for although it is longer and more undcertain, still it is swifter, for the Nith and the Argon need no rest and run their courses day and night. And if we east and sleep in the boat, stopping only as needs dictate, then we can reach the Argon Ferry in a sevenday or less; whereas by horseback across Valon, unless we press the steeds unmercifully, we cannot arrive at the Ferry in less than a tenday--more likely it will take a fortnight if we rest the mounts. Nay, the river is best for those who must fly south in haste." And so it was decided: by Elven boat to the Argon Ferry would the comrades go, for horses tire, but the river does not.

~*~



Leila moved out of the meeting then and toward Adaron's quarters where she knew him to be. Softly did she knock upon the door before she pushed it open, sticking her head in. Her hair was now unbound and fall in ebon waves around her shoulders. She entered then, speaking in a low voice. "I have come to tell you of the plans that have been made for us to continue travel," so quietly another human would not have heard it from his position in the room. She had come to him quietly, her voice gentle, for she knew that he felt anguish for the loss of his sister.

Adaron was standing almost directly across from her. His scarlet cloak was drapped over a chair pushed into a table to the right. His armor was removed and upon the table, some on the floor next to it. He was clad in soft clothing, grays for the most part. Arm bands were upon his forearms. Bane was not girted and leaned against the chair, as did his unstrung bow and quiver filled with arrows. His arms were folded over his chest and his upper body turned as keen Elven hearing picked up the soft sound of her voice. Arms still folded he canted his head and opened his body towards her, his arm gesturing for her to sit, either on the bed or at the window seat, a foot from where he stood.

Leila moved then and sat down upon the window seat, her eyes turning to stare out at the night, eyes watching the stars for a moment before she turned to him more fully. In the dress she could not get into a position with her knees pulled to her chest, so she had no choice but to keep good posture as she looked to him, her hands folded in her lap. "King Gelan had said that we shall take the river to Argon Ferry so that we do not make the horses weary."

Though he felt her looking at him, he did not return the gaze. He nodded slowly and after that a soft sigh sounded. A long moment passed before he spoke.. "I agree with his decision." Ocean hues turned to her then. His voice as quiet as a whisper, yet coming unhindered. "I do not think that Lord Angrist meant to upset you."

"I know that he did not," she said softly. "But I know what must come to pass, and it is not like I wish for my death; I do not. It takes away from moments I would spend with..." she shook her head. "I am still young by human standards, and it will rob me of all of this, but I know that it must be this way. I have the Red Quarrel, Adaron. A vision directed me to Othran's tomb and showed me where to find it. That is what will be used to slay whatever evil it must in order to purge this land of darkness."

Again his body opened up to her, he faced her, his arms fell from their folded to position to lay limp at his sides. A breath of air was released through his nose as he stepped over to her. He squatted down infront of her, one hand lifting to take one hers into both of it. He stared up at her, his expression not stoic, but simply relaxed. "I believe you." Was all he said.

She placed her free hand on top of his and smiled down at him. "Thank you for having faith in me, Adaron. I think you may be the only one that does." She looked to the stars again and sighed. "Once upon a time there was another that believed in me so much, but now I worry that he no longer inhabits the plane of the living." Her eyes turning back to him. "You know of whom I speak."

The Elf's gaze fell then, he did not need to acknowledge that he did, for Talarin had been in this thoughts as well. He rose, his body straightening. "I have grown to worry the same, for I did not see him break free at the Keep. Yet he may have, for I was pressing to reach Aurion King, and was not watching for him."

She looked up to him then with a soft expression upon her face. "I know that your heart is heavy Adaron, not only for Talarin, but also for Eiron and Faeon. You have lost so much and I know of no way to comfort you although it tears me apart to know that you feel such pain. If there is anything..." her eyes turned away, her hands lifting lightly to gesture in place of her words. "It sounds so simple, and I know there is nothing I can do or say to take your pain from you, but still...you know that I am always near."

"I have told you that I do take some comfort in that." But how long would he have hertill he would not voice that thought, she knew as well as he did: even though she may be gone sooner than all would have hoped, in the end, she would still be gone and would only remain in his memory. Even now he did not know how he would bear her passing. Faeon was difficult, Eiron was shattering, and Adaron no longer felt Eiron in the place where his bother once had been, yet Faeon he could, for she yet lived. And Leila would be gone, and another void would open, perhaps never to be filled; for the depth of love felt of his kind was unfathomable even though Adaron, himself, did not show that depth as often as he would like. Perhaps he was lessening the impending pain.

And in the process he was breaking her heart. Leila had possessed one central point of love in her life, and that had been her father, and now he was gone and no others offered her such unconditional love despite her faults. Her bowed then and she sighed, almost reading his mind. Leila knew that she would the the cause of even more pain for him and could hardly bare the thought herself, but her destiny called to her and she could not deny it. Just as Adaron could not deny his immortality and her lack of.

Where was the sense in thinking such thoughts? He still stood before her, yet now he looked down at her, again his features void of expression. Yet his hand lifted to gently lift her chin so that she would be forced to look at im. "The night grows late, and we must rise early on the morrow. Perhaps you should rest while comfort can be enjoyed."

"I do not wish to leave you," she said quite plainly. "Too soon will I be forced to do so, I do not want to separate myself from you now, but as you wish, I shall depart," she stood then, looking up at him as if memorizing his face. The lines of his face were not such as other elves, his were more rigid and imposing, but still she found them beautiful.

"I do not wish you to leave." It seemed as though his body only rocked from side to side but he really had taken a small step closer to her. His lips were tense, as if fighting against something inside. Could it be pain? For it lurked deep in his cobalt gaze. His hands lifted, palms toward her face, yet fingers curled to allow the backs of his fingertips to stroke down her temples to her jaw, when they drifted to land on her shoulders. He swallowed against the tension in his throat.

"Then let me stay," her voice a hoarse whisper. She moved not when he touched her, but her expression softened all the more, for she could feel his pain and see it clearly in his eyes, and yet there was something more there. Her arms folded then so that her hands could rest upon his on her shoulders. "I do not want to go."

He nodded once, stepping back, his hands slipping from her shoulders to slide along her arms until each could take up but one of his. Still his expression was stoic. He turned then and guided her back to the bed. And though he did not need to rest just yet, he knew that she did. The bed was set in a corner and so he knelt onto it and turned, easing back until he could slump against the corner, his back to the wall. With a rolling of his wrist he gestured her to come to him, his arms slightly opening to allow her to his his chest as her pillow.

And she did so, easing herself onto the bed, for the elven females did not have hips as she and the dress was fitted in a way that she had to watch her movements, but was otherwise comfortable. Reclining then against him, her head rested upon his chest and green-gold eyes looked up at him for a moment. No longer did she question his heart, for she knew it now as he knew hers. Her Fair Adaron. A hand came up and traced along the line of his jaw with a butterfly touch of velvet fingers.

Both brows were slightly arched when she looked up at him, and his head turned to the side in his silent questioning manner. When her hand lifted to brush along his jaw he then turned his face towards her hand, his lips brushing gently over her fingers. He then straightened, the smallest hint of a smile coiling at the corners of his mouth. "Rest."

"Only if you promise me that you too shall sleep this night and not stay awake thinking," she said, allowing her fingertips to trail down his neck and upper chest before her arm recoiled and rested over her waist.

"I can only promise that I will try." He said simply, his hand lifting to the back of her head to gently ease it down. His own head tilting back to rest against the wall of the Elven dwelling.

She smiled up at him then, allowing him to be the last thing in her sight as her dark lashes flutered to rest upon her cheeks. Eyes closed she slowly began her descent into sleep.

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