One Last Breath {Freya}

[Elladan Myhir]

Elladan collapsed sideways, his back colliding hard with the thick bark of an ancient oak, and he slowly slid to the floor, his legs no longer able to take his weight. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, and each time his ribs moved, inhaling or exhaling, he felt a stab of pain in his left side. Despite the mid-day sun shining through the thick canopy above, causing the birds to chirp, twitter and sing, and despite the lack of any breeze, Elladan saw the world in grey hues, and worse, he felt cold. He shuddered violently, his body acting as if he were in the frozen north lands rather than in the temperate forests of the south. His skin was a dread white, as if under the influence of a severe chill.

Sighing deeply, he did his best to control his breathing, not wanting to expend unnecessary breath. He needed to conserve as much energy as he could. He would need it if he was going to live through this. He would need it if he wanted to survive. And there was one thing Elladan was sure about; he wanted to live. He was not ready to die.

Trying to mentally reign in the pain he felt, he prepared himself to examine the wound his hands were clasped tightly over the top of. Taking a few deep breaths, he slowly lifted his hands from his side. They were difficult to prise away at first, and he was unsure if it was because he was feeling weaker, or if he were scared to see the damage that had been done to him. As he tried harder, he realized it was the first, combined with the fact that blood, his blood, had dried, effectively sticking his skin tight to where his palms had been locked.

It took a significant effort and pain to loosen himself from the position he'd been in, and it took so much strength,too much strength. He wasn't sure where he found it, but from some unknown reserve deep with in him, he managed to tear his hands away. As they came free, he let out a long, deep howl of agony. The birds that had been happily singing stopped, flocking together and flying hurriedly away, their perfect day ruined by the sound of a tortured man.

His head fell back, the effort he'd expended nearly causing him to black out. His breaths caught in his throat, and he came close to choking. His vision swam, and he had to repress the need to vomit. Somehow, he managed to keep it down. Casting a quick glance down at his hip, his eyes widened. In his side, cutting into his spleen, was a deep gash. It ran a few centimetres across, and was a few finger lengths deep.

Looking at it, the blood still seeping from it, it was enough to make him faint. He toppled sideways, and no matter how hard he tried to gain control of his arms to reach for his herbs, he couldn't gather the strength. If only he could reach the healing plants and balms he'd made up...then he could save himself. As his lids began to flicker, he uttered a weak, almost non-existent “Help.”

[Freya Lindethiel]

An elf sat high in the branches of a tree, humming a soft tune. She listened to the birds chirp around her, and she added her own little melody to their chorus, humming softly along with them. The sun had risen a little while ago and it was now late morning. It was Freya’s favorite part of the day. She loved how the sun rose from behind the mountains, how the dark world was suddenly engulfed in light, how the sky turned blue right before her eyes. Most of all though, she loved the way the birds would sing. Their song was so beautiful, so relaxing. She let out a content sigh as the wind ruffled her blonde hair around, a smile appearing on her lips. It was the perfect morning!

As soon as she thought this, however, the birds’ harmony was shattered by a loud howl. With surprised squawks, most of them took flight, bursting from the trees in a hurry. The elf let out a little yelp, and she nearly fell from the tree branch she was perched on. Luckily, she managed to grab the branch at the last minute though, digging her finger nails into the bark of the tree for support. W-What on earth was that?! Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding against her ribcage, and she took a few deep breaths to calm down. It sounded as if someone had just gotten murdered! Oh no, she hoped it wasn’t the drows again, up to their no good tricks. The darker race of elves seemed to find torturing the mortals a fun pastime, and Freya would often have to step in to stop their dark acts. With a sigh, she leapt down from the branches of the tree, feet hitting the ground with a quiet thud, and then took off running in the direction the shout had come from.

She hadn’t gone very far before she saw a collapsed figure on the ground. Was he the one who had made that noise? She peeked out from behind a tree, studying him carefully. She didn’t see any drows...odd. Then again, they could be hiding. Freya’s eyes scanned her surroundings, taking in the forest around her carefully. If there had been any drows here they were certainly gone now. With this in mind, she turned her attention back to the man on the ground. At first she thought he was a traveler, but then she noticed that he had big ears like she did. Another elf? Hm, that was rare. Especially for this part of the forest.

Freya took a step out from behind the tree. Was he sleeping? She tilted her head to the side, curious, and then slowly inched closer, creeping out from behind the tree. As she drew nearer, she noticed the red that stained his clothes, the blood. This made her heart jump a little, and a startled gasp left her lips. He was definitely not sleeping! Rather, he was injured, and badly by the looks of it. “Oh dear,” she murmured out loud, big blue eyes traveling over the man in front of her. He didn’t look good, no, not at all. His skin was ghostly pale, an unnatural white, and his breathing was a bit off, coming too fast, too ragged. Not to mention the blood, the sticky liquid that was on his clothes and the ground around him. Freya wondered how he was still alive. Even an elf would perish if it grew weak enough.

Freya crouched down next to the man, balancing on the balls of her feet. She watched him for a few moments, waiting to see if he would react, if he knew she was there. Was he even conscious? “Can you hear me? Sir?” she called quietly, peering down at him anxiously. She reached out a hand and hesitantly touched it to his cheek, pressing her fingertips gently against his skin. As she feared, all the warmth seemed to be gone from this creature. His skin was cold to the touch. That wasn’t a good sign. She bit her lip worriedly, feeling panic began to rise within her. Oh god, what should she do?! The bleeding, she needed to stop the bleeding! But with what? She supposed she could use her shirt and – Oh! But she liked this shirt! Wait, no! That didn’t matter right now. The important thing was saving this man’s life. She could worry about her clothes later.

As Freya started to rip a piece of fabric from the sleeve of her shirt, she tried to think of what else she could do. He needed herbs. Those would help some with stopping the bleeding, and depending on what kind they were, they might even speed up the healing process a bit. Sure, they wouldn’t magically cure him right then and there, but they would definitely help. She kept some stashed away in one of the tree hollows for emergencies, but that would require her leaving this man on his own. She was scared to do that, thinking that if she were to look away for even a second he would just stop breathing and die. Oh, what to do, what to do…

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[Elladan Myhir]

There was nothing but darkness. A thick, smothering darkness. It was suffocating, the emptiness clinging to him, choking him, taking all the life from him that he had left. Worse than that, it was cold, and despite his thick clothing, the chill penetrated through his flesh to his bone, and it paralysed him, meaning he could not fight deaths shadowy clutches. It was with solemn realization that he concluded he was going to die, and that this is what people talked about when they were close to passing on, when they said they saw 'black.' That is all he saw now.

He would have closed his eyes, but they were already closed. He had no strength left to even hold his lids apart. His breath was coming even shallower than before, almost stopping all together. He thought of his life, of everything he'd done, and he thought that perhaps, after the number of lives he'd taken, this was fitting punishment. He would return to Gaia, he would return to the Earth that had created him, and he would be one with nature again. That could be his only path now. With that in mind, the darkness about him seemed to change, becoming warmer, less threatening. Far off, a light pierced the gloom, one single star-like light, and it grew slowly closer. To him, it was relief, a way out of the pain he felt. It was his soul rejoining the natural world. He would sustain the plants as they had sustained him. A complete cycle. A sigh passed his lips, and while he may have been warm, it was not with a sense of regret that he headed toward his saving light; a part of him wished he had more time...There was still so much he could do...

However, as the light grew, as he became warmer still, he felt something tugging at him. There was something holding him back, something beside his emotions. He felt confused, and a wave of nausea passed over his body. The white and black of this deathly state began to flicker, interchanging with images of the world he thought he was leaving behind. He recognized the trees, he recognized the ground, he recognized his own fist balled up before him. No matter how much death tugged at him, he held onto life. He had to. He couldn't die yet!

A soft poke at his cheek, tentative, almost questioning, shocked him back into a full state of awareness. His eyes flickered, and as he regained some of his consciousness, he found some new sort of life flow through him. Pain returned to his body, and his senses seemed to become alive, acute, picking up ever change about him with keen accuracy. Pain, scents, images. They were all so clear it was untrue. He had never experienced anything like it.

And then he focused on her, the person who had, it seemed, dragged him away from death. Huge blue eyes, long flowing blonde hair, an innocent face, ears like his...was she an elf? She was the vision of perfection, of beauty. It was not like Elladan to think like that, and he had never envisioned anyone as he did her. Her voice sounded moment later, and he felt grounded by it, it having an almost musical quality. “Can you hear me sir?” Her fingers felt gentle against his cold skin, and he let out a short grunt of protest as she withdrew them.

His eyes, now half open, did not leave her as she stood, and they moved inquisitively over her lithe body, her soft, flawless skin and the tight yet non-restrictive clothing she wore. The style confirmed that she was one of his race, and that perhaps explained his initial attraction to her, not that he was the type to be attracted to women. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact he was light headed, blood loss effecting him in ways he couldn't have imagined.

As she stood above him, towering over his prone form, he noticed a flicker of panic, of uncertainty wash over her face. He figured she had no idea how to treat a being so close to death, as even some of the greatest healers would struggle to save his life at this stage. It was half their work that needed to be done, and half his. They had to know how to aid him, and he had to have the will to survive. Then, he did not lack that. Especially not now he was awake again.

He noted, slowly, that if he didn't help the girl in deciding what to do then her indecision would cost valuable seconds. If she was going to help him live, then time was of the essence. Collecting all the will he had, he was finally able to move his arms, although it took him an unbelievable amount of effort. Dragging them to his sides, he laid his palms flat on the floor, and with as much strength as he could muster, he pushed himself up. Shouting his agony at the effort his arms shook under his weight, but he was able to return himself to his sitting position, where he collapsed sideways a little, head lolling, breathing heavily. He'd outdone himself.

He cast a glance at the girl again, and noticed she had rag in her hands, looked to be torn from her shirt. He tilted his head towards it, and with a somewhat jerky movement, signalled her to approach him. “That'll...do. Put it...on the wound” His words came between heavy breaths. He panted with the effort of speaking. “I have herbs...my waist belt...” though he could say no more. He was spent, and his life was in another's hands.

[Freya Lindethiel]

Freya’s eyes widened as the man moved his arms, trying to force himself up off the ground. “Um, sir, that’s probably not a good idea…” she cautioned, watching as he tried to sit up, arms shaking as he struggled as he attempted to lift himself from the ground. She tentatively held out a hand, as if to help him, but then he shouted in pain and she drew back, flinching away from the loud noise. Yes, it had definitely been him that she had heard earlier. Indeed he was the one who had shattered the beautiful morning chorus. She had warned him that sitting up wasn’t a very smart thing to do, but he had gone and done it anyway, so that’s what he got. She supposed that was a good thing though, that he could still move a little, could still make some noise. It meant he wasn’t dead yet. “I told you not to do that,” she scolded lightly, though she doubted he was listening.

“That'll...do. Put it...on the wound I have herbs...my waist belt...”

The man told her this between gasps, his words seemed to take a great deal of effort, leaving him breathless. Freya lifted a finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet, and then crouched down next to him again, doing as she was told. She put her hands on his shoulders as she tried to help him lean back against the base of the tree behind him. It would be better if he was leaning on something, so he wasn’t using up as much strength. He needed the little he had left.

Freya leaned forward and gently pulled at his belt, undoing the clasp, and then set it aside. That would at least alleviate some of the pressure from the wound. She proceeded by rolling his shirt up, pushing it out of the way so she would have a clear view of his pale skin. She was surprised, however, to find that underneath the green cloth was a thin layer of chainmail. She pushed it to the side slightly, trying to get a better look at the wound on his side, leaning her head down closer. It didn’t look very wide, but it did look deep, and that was probably why it was causing him so much pain. Anxiously, she looked around her his pouch, all the while praying that whatever had cut him, probably a sword of some sort, hadn’t hit anything vital.

Freya grabbed the waist belt the elf had told her about, digging through it in search of herbs. To her surprise there were quite a few inside. She rummaged through them, looking for the right ones to use. Oh, it had been so long since she had needed to use healing remedies! She bit her lip, hoping she would remember the right one. This one was for poison, this one was for animal bites, this one was for broken bones, this one was for… Ah! Yes, this was the one, the giant leaf. This one would help it to start healing, or at least lessen the bleeding.

“This might hurt a little,” she warned lightly, though she was uncertain if he was even conscious, and with that she began dabbing the leaf against the wound on his side, trying to clear away the excess blood, trying to make it stop. The stab mark would need to be cleaned soon so it wouldn’t become infected, but she didn’t think there was time for that right now. That could come later, tomorrow, if he was still alive. Right now she needed to get him bandaged and stop the bleeding. She lifted the leaf from the wound, frowning in concentration, and then set it aside. She took out another and pressed it as gently as she could against his side, grimacing as blood oozed from the gash in his skin. She did this a few times, and then began to tie the sleeve of her shirt around his middle, making sure a few of the leaves stayed firmly plastered to his side. She'd layered five of them on top of each other. Was that too many? Oh well, the more the better!

She had a little difficulty tying the knot. She was worried that she would hurt him and tie it too tightly, but at the same time she knew that the knot would have to be snug. If it wasn’t wrapped firm enough then it would keep bleeding. Pressure needed to be applied. “I know it hurts,” she murmured as she worked, “but I’ll be done soon.” She didn’t know why she was talking to him. Could he even hear her? As she finished off the knot, tying it snuggly, she looked up to his face. His eyes were closed.

She patted his cheek lightly, trying to keep him awake, or bring him back if he had already lost consciousness. “Stay with me,” she told him, tone pleading. He couldn’t fall asleep yet. She was scared that if he did then he might not wake back up. He needed to tough it out for a little longer. If he lost consciousness now, his body could easily shut down, he could die. What should she do? She had no idea how to keep him awake other than slapping him across the face, but she figured that he was already in enough pain. Freya lifted her arms, putting her hands on either side of his face, tilting his head, which had fallen to the side, back up. “What is your name?” she asked him, trying to keep her voice calm. Maybe if she got him to talk to her, maybe then he would have something to concentrate on.

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[Elladan Myhir]

“I told you not to do that.” Had Elladan had the strength, he would have scoffed at her attempt at scolding him. However, in the situation he found himself, all he could do was let out a somewhat pathetic breath, somewhere between a snort and a laugh, and let his head loll uselessly backward, as if his neck had not the strength to support his head. From his somewhat uncomfortable position, he watched the girl as she approached him, looking at him with a mix of concern and fear. He couldn't blame her though. She probably wasn't used to treating bleeding people on the verge of death.

After he had spoken once, she put her finger to her lips, trying to keep him quiet so as to reserve his strength. Normally, he would agree with her. He would advise someone dying of the same thing, to keep their lips sealed so they did not waste unnecessary breath. But right now, it was the only thing he could do that made him feel alive. Him making noise, be it talking or shouting, reminded him that he still had breath in his lungs. It reminded him that he wasn't dead yet, that he still had a chance.

As she crouched down next to him, his eyes never left hers, and he stared into her large, sky blue irises with his own, watching her intently. He tried to read her emotions, tried to focus on something, keep himself grounded so that he didn't fall into a sleep which he may never return from. He winced as she rested her soft, slender hands upon his shoulders, pushing him gently back again the tree he had earlier collapsed upon. However, despite the pain moving caused him, he was happy that the sturdy trunk took some of his weight, and he knew it would be easier for her to treat him if he were leaning backward rather than sitting straight.

However, in his new position, he found it much harder to keep his eyes upon her, and from where she was, bent over his mid-section, he could only see a small part of her face. Perhaps it was because he was still light headed, but there was still something ethereally beautiful about her. There was a strange perfection etched into the lines of her concentrating features, and he felt uncomfortable, unsure of himself, namely because he'd never thought that way about anyone. She was not only his saviour, but an enigma that caused him great confusion.

He felt her working at his waist, her fingers pulling and tugging at his belt. Moments later, as she pulled the thick leather from around his midriff he felt the pressure on his wound lessen. He breathed a long sigh of relief and shifted his hips a little, pushing the deep cut toward the girl trying to heal him, doing his best to give her full access to the damaged part of his anatomy. He felt her fingertips on his skin moments later, pushing up his tunic and moving his chain mail aside. He bit his lip, doing his best not to show how much pain he was actually in. The girl look about anxiously moments later, no doubt looking for some kind of remedy. He saw that she picked up his pouch, and started sorting through his herbs and pastes. From what he saw, she seemed a little indecisive, but as he couldn't exactly be sure what she was searching through, he was unsure exactly what it was she was looking at. He prayed she knew what she was doing.

“This might hurt a little.” The girl's voice was almost apologetic when she spoke again, and he rolled his eyes. What did she take him for? Stupid? Of course poking an open wound would hurt. He'd been through enough injuries to grasp that much. Clenching his jaw, he prepared himself for her to touch his side with whatever it was she was holding now. However, that could not ready him for the rush of agony that overtook him when she started treating him, and as soon as she pressed her hand to his side again, he shot forward, as if a jolt had passed through him, and let out a long shout, aimed, unfortunately, directly at the girls face. It was long, drawn out, and lasted until he ran out of breath to make the sound.

Once he had done that, he flopped uselessly back against the tree, breathing heavily, glaring at the female elf as best he could. “Try..being...careful!” He attempted to snap at her, but his voice just sounded gravelly and weak, no real menace in it. It seemed as though she ignored him all together though, and lost to her concentration, continued her work ceaselessly. All Elladan could do was lean back and allow her to continue, pulling pained faces whenever she laid something upon his injury.

Time passed, and he heard her muttering things, though he wasn't sure if that was to him or to herself. Things seemed to be getting more distant again, and his acute senses seemed to be failing him. The darkness was back at the edges of his vision, and he felt fatigue wash over him. It felt to much effort to even breathe, and try as he might to keep his eyes open, he couldn't. They flickered constantly, and finally, they closed.

A gentle pat to his cheek caused him to wake once again, and he opened his eyes to meet the females face once again, much closer than before, and it seemed as though she had finished, and was now trying to stop him passing into unconsciousness. He tried to smile, but couldn't. She spoke to him in a pleading tone, her hands tilting his head to look directly at hers. “My name...is Elladan.” He was unsure how he found the strength to talk, but he had to. He had to stay sentient. “What...is yours?”

That asked, he inclined his head down to his waist, and down to the pouch at their sides. “Did you find...the right herbs?” He waited for her responses, but he was unsure how much longer he could stay awake. He felt his head getting heavier, and he lost the ability to speak without slurring his words. Let his eyes close once again, he shuffled toward her a little, trying to rest his head on her shoulder. “I need to sleep...so tired. Thank yo-” But that was the last thing he was able to say, and he dropped forward, his forehead coming to rest on the padding of her arm.

[Freya Lindethiel]

Freya flinched as the man shouted, clearly in pain. She rubbed the side of her head, massaging her ear a little, and then went back to work, whispering a quiet apology. She didn’t like it when he shouted like that. It scared her, and for more reasons than one. First of all, it was loud. She hated loud noises. They made her heart beat fast, made her hands shake. Second of all, she didn’t like seeing others in pain. She was a rather empathetic being, and whenever she saw another who was suffering her heart ached. The man snapped something at her, bringing her out of her thoughts. He was telling her to be more careful, but Freya ignored him. She had told him it would hurt. What had he expected? Not to feel a thing? She sighed to herself, finishing up tying the bandage. When she was finished, she attempted talking to the injured man. To her relief, she managed to get an answer out of him.

“My name...is Elladan. What...is yours?”

Good. At least he had been able to answer her question. She doubted he would be able to keep talking for very long, as he had little strength left, but every second she was able to keep him awake was a valuable second of life. It was one more second that he was alive. “Okay, Elladan,” she said, repeating his name, making a pathetic attempt at a smile. “I need you to stay awake, all right? Please?” She knew that asking him wasn’t going to do any good at all. If his body gave out it gave out. There was nothing more she could do. If she could keep his mind active for a while it might help though. It would keep him with her for at least a little while longer. She kept her hands resting gently on either side of his head, propping it up so he could look at her. “You may call me Freya,” she added softly, though she doubted he cared at all. After all, he was a dying man, and what person on their deathbed would care for introductions?

“Did you find...the right herbs?”

He spoke again, this time voice a little weaker. Freya nodded her head, and then, seeing that his eyes had fallen closed again, she added, “I did. You’ll be as good as new again in no time.” She tried to make her voice sound optimistic, cheerful, but it was hard. She didn’t know why she was telling him that. Maybe it was to make him feel better, to give him hope. If he thought he had a chance then it might give him something to fight for, a reason to live. If she told him how horrible he looked and how scared she was, he might give up. If he was going to survive, he had to fight as hard as he could.

“I need to sleep...so tired. Thank yo-”

“No. You can’t do that,” Freya protested, trying to hold the other elf up. He was heavy, especially since he was hardly conscious and wasn’t distributing his weight evenly. She grunted a little, attempting to push him back up and off her arm. “I told you that you need to stay awake,” she reminded him firmly. She lifted a hand and patted it against his cheek again, this time a little harder, trying to bring him back again. “It is not time to sleep.” This wasn’t going to work, was it? Freya bit her lip, glancing around. What would she do if he died? The thought nearly sent her into a fit of tears. She did not like death, and she hated the thought of any living creature dying, especially now, now that she felt this elf’s life was in her hands.

Freya began to think of what to do if he were to pass out now. He might already be unconscious. He should lie down again… But she didn’t want to move him. She was scared that if she tried to shift him around she might injure him more than he already was. Oh, she didn’t like this, no, not at all! Just a few days ago she had been wishing for something exciting to happen, but if this is what it meant, the cost of another’s life, she took that wish back. “U-Um…” She tried to think of something else to say, something else to ask him, something to keep him awake, keep his mind focused. “What is it that happened to you? How were you hurt?” She had no idea if she would even get an answer.

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[Elladan Myhir]

Vivid colour to darkness. Vivid colour to darkness. That is all Elladan could really make of the world about him as his head rested upon the other elf's shoulder. He knew where he was, he knew the appearance of the other elf, but that is the only reason he could still picture his surroundings. Should he have been somewhere he did not know, he would only have seen blurred shapes, blotchy hues and bright shades unmixed and gaudy, strange and painful to behold. It was a sign, a sign that his body and his mind had now been through too much, that after the trails of his day he needed to rest, needed to sleep.

At the thought alone he seemed to become heavier, leaning harder upon the soft skin of his saviour. He was warmer again now, less chill, feeling like he did when he woke from a long sleep, safe under covers when it was still night outside, and his every instinct told him to remain hidden in his bed, cling to the quilts for just a little longer. That cosy sensation led him to glue his eyelids shut, not wanting to interrupt such peace with the discordant reality of the here and now. He felt himself drifting, and as he did so, he took a long breath, breathing in the scent of the girl he was leaning upon. It was such a sweet smell, a mix of honey, amber, tree sap and pine needles, as if she herself were the forest incarnate. Was that why she saved him? Was she Gaia, the Goddess of the Woods that he had for so long worshipped?

No, she had a different name. “You may call me Freya.” Freya. Freya . It was a name that seemed to suit her, and he repeated it a few times over and over, his voice barely more than a whisper. He would commit such a perfect sounding name to memory, as it was so close to Gaia he felt that there must be some connection between the two. One more repetition, to make sure he had it, and he let the final vowel of the name trail out. “Freyaaa~” This time he spoke louder than before, as if speaking brought him back to her, as if it kept him just that little longer from slumber.

He felt his body being moved as Freya tried to readjust him. He felt her take his head in her hands, straighten it out, and she sighed heavily with the exertion of sitting him back up. He winced a little as she patted his cheek again, this time harder than before, more desperate. She demanded that he didn't sleep. She pleaded that he would remain awake, that he would remain with her just that little longer. What choice did he have but try to obey? He could not disappoint someone with a voice so soft, a voice so tender. He forced his eyes open, trying once again to focus. Everything rippled, and there was no definite outline to anything, as if he were underwater, but he did not close his eyes.

“What is it that happened to you? How were you hurt?” Her question was a good one, and as soon as she asked it, Elladan's mind was plunged into memory, reliving the fateful battle of only hours before. He saw the dark skinned elf's move against him, the malice burning in their eyes. He watched as they out numbered him, over powered him, drove him to the floor and beat him. He recalled how he'd fought back, managing to gain the upper hand, until they had drawn their weapons. Then his talent had meant nothing, and even skilled as he was, he was but one sword against five, and when they moved as one, he had not a hope of defending himself.

“Drows,” he coughed, the effort clearly agonising, his dry throat protesting to its usage, “ they came from over the boarder. I don't know why. Since they had shown up in our lands I had tracked them, making sure they harmed no one-” He paused, taking a few rasping breaths, necessary to stop him fainting. “They- they caught me though. I don't know how they- but they spotted me. I fought...but there were too many.”

The memory of his mortal enemies, and recounting it, made him suddenly fearful. What if the remaining few he had not killed came to find him, came to finish what they had started? What if they tried to kill him while he rested, kill the beautiful elf girl that had saved him? She seemed harmless, unable to fight. She couldn't protect herself against trained warriors. Feeling worry pulse through him, he lifted an arm, grabbed a hold of Freya's tight leather corset, and looked into her eyes. “They are still out there. They might come back for me...save...save yourself.” With that said, he prepared himself to rise, trying to find the strength to stand, find his sword and ready himself should his attackers return. He would not be caught unguarded. He would protect his saviour.

The effort of grabbing her alone though was too much, and he was not able to move his body more than an inch. Rather, he fell forward again, colliding with her just below the shoulder, passing out completely, blackness covering over the hallucinogenic bright colours that had wanted to make him vomit, and he passed, finally, out of consciousness, the strain of his ordeals too much to bear.

[Freya Lindethiel]

“They are still out there. They might come back for me...save...save yourself.”

With those last words, the man started to rise. Freya watched him in bewilderment. Did he honestly think that he would be able to stand in this condition? He needed to stop that! He was going to tear his wound open if he moved so suddenly! Just as she was about to reach out to him, however, he collapsed into her, slumping forward. She froze for a few moments, waiting to see if he would lift his head again, but he didn’t. Instead, his breaths slowed ever so slightly and he seemed to grow heavier. A wave of panic washed through her as she realized that he must have reached his breaking point. She bit her lip anxiously, trying to move him off of her, but he wouldn’t budge. “Hello?” she called softly. She got no response. She held her breath nervously, half expecting him to die in her arms right then and there. He didn’t though, luckily, and his breaths kept coming, breath after shallow breath. She sighed in relief.

Freya just sat like that for a while, letting Elladan use her as a sort of pillow. Eventually, that position grew uncomfortable though. That, and the elf had trouble staying in one place for two long, and she began to grow restless. Once she was sure, or almost sure, that the man in her arms wasn’t going to die right away, she finally began to relax. She squirmed out from under him, propping him up with her arms, being careful not to let him fall flat on his face. She stood up and maneuvered him, dragging him so that he was lying down on his back in the soft grass under the oak tree. She was tempted to go and fetch him some water from the nearby stream, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to leave him like this on his own. What if he was right, what if the evil drows returned? They would surely strike a spear through his sleeping body. No, leaving was not an option. She had to stay here and protect him. She might have been small and innocent looking, but she was actually a decent fighter, well, when it came to long-range attacks anyway. She had a bow hidden somewhere around here, and though she didn’t like to use, if it was for self-defense she would bring it out. She hated those drows. They were such bullies!

Freya sat down next to the man as he slept, sitting just beside his head. She kept glancing over at him every so often, making sure he was still breathing. She reached out a hand and swept a few strands of his golden hair away from his face as he slept, blue eyes studying him carefully. Would he live? Would he die? She really wasn’t sure. She had done all she could do, and now that was up to him. A sad look passed through her eyes, and she found herself silently praying for this man’s life. She began to hum a soft song, a melancholy tune of bitter-sweetness. It was the same song she had been humming before this little incident had interrupted her. It was a sog she had heard long ago, one she had picked up while visiting a human village. She didn’t think that the man could hear her anymore, wherever his spirit had gone, but she thought maybe it would soothe him still, even if subconsciously. Maybe he would hear it in his dreams.

As she sat there, Freya began to grow a little tired herself, but whenever her eyes began to fall shut she would snap them back open. No! She needed to stay awake! But she was so tired… What time was it now? She glanced up at the sky and realized it had started to get dark. Oh my, how long has she been sitting with him for? It must have been hours now… She supposed a little sleep would be okay, but just a little. No more than five minutes! With a quiet sigh, she let her head slump forward, blonde hair cascading into her face. As the little elf closed her eyes, what was meant to be only a few minutes quickly turned into a few hours, time passing by without her knowing. The sun set, the moon rose, night dragged on, dawn approached…

[/blockquote]

[Elladan Myhir]

Elladan sat at the head of a huge table, a feast laid out before him, plates full of the finest elven food being carried about on the palms of attractive elven maids. He wore a smile that seemed strange on his face, one that he very rarely showed, and his blue eyes were wide, staring at the scene before him with what could only have been described as admiration. Unsure of where to look, his eyes darted from the food to the women, and he wondered if he had been sent to some kind of heaven, rewarded for his hard life in an afterlife that he could only have dreamed of.

All at once, the slowly undulating waitresses chorused 'Eat', and he obeyed without second thought. He pulled the leg from a finely roasted bird, tucking into it with gusto, teeth tearing into the succulent white meat with an unsurpassed joy. It was the best meat he had ever tasted, and it took him very little time to devour it. Soon enough, he was loading potato's, spices and vegetables onto his plate, surrounding such delicacies with wide ranges of red meat, and he barely had time to register what each food was before it found his way to his mouth. It was, undoubtedly, the greatest meal the warrior elf had ever had.

As he ate, the elven maids, who all looked somewhat familiar and similar, as if they were a set of quadruple twins he'd seen somewhere before, swayed and hummed, their pretty voices singing to him in unison. They completed the meal in a way nothing else could, their pretty faces, flowing blond hair, large blue eyes and scantily clad, perfect figures offering him something to gaze longingly upon while he filled himself. He was happy, for the first time in years, he was happy.

However, things like quadruple twins and banquets are only found in dreams. Such joy can only exist in worlds not real, and it was with the chirp of birds, the heat and brightness of the midday sun and the running of a nearby stream that Elladan was to realize this. His dream world was cut through, the faces and bodies of the maids obliterated in the light of the real world as his eyes flickered open, and his stomach rumbled, hungry after the thoughts of the feasts he had in his sleep.

It was with a groan he discovered he was lying face down in the grass of the woodland floor, with no food, no women waiting on him, still baring his injury from the day before, reminding himself of its presence with a constant twinge in his hip. Letting out a stream of curses under his breath was all he could do to make himself feel better. He thought speaking like that was fitting punishment for the world as a whole, the world that had rudely awakened him.

Looking about himself from his prone position, he tried to figure out two things. The first, and most obvious, where on earth had his saviour gone? The second, and most important question, where was his horse? He needed the first to have disappeared and the second to re-appear should his life be restored to some kind of normality and comfort. As his eyes scanned the woodland, he cheered inwardly, as the initial problem seemed to have resolved itself. The girl that had saved him was no-where to be seen, which meant he could sit up, and run before he ever had to see her again. There would be no need for awkward thank yous and heart felt goodbyes. He just had to get up and go, and because she wasn't about, he'd never need to worry about the proper etiquette to display in such situations. Now, if only Hasufel was close by...

Laying his hands flat on the floor below him, he tried to push himself upward, and he just about succeeded. Rising to his knees, he winced, and then tried to get to his feet. He wobbled a little, swaying from side to side, but managed to keep his balance with the aid of the tree he had been leaning on the evening before. Not wishing to over exert himself, he knew he needed what strength he had in order to mount his horse when it found him. With that in mind, he stayed leaning against the tree, and lifted his fingers to his mouth, before inserting them between his lips and letting off a shrill whistle.

The effort of that alone caused him to begin coughing, and he nearly ended up collapsing back to the floor, his throat sore from the exertion of the day before. He swore under his breath, and hoped the noise had been loud enough and shrill enough for his horse to distinguish it from the other sounds of the forest and find him quickly. The longer he waited, the more chance there was of that girl coming back and telling him to rest. And that he just didn't feel like he could deal with.