by C S Marks
Gaelen turned to face Nelwyn, grasping one of her hands so tightly that the younger Elf drew back in apprehension. “What I am about to tell you must not be revealed to anyone. Do you understand?”
Nelwyn nodded, and Gaelen relaxed her grip, but did not let go of Nelwyn’s hand. Gaelen trusted her cousin, and as the tale unfolded she knew how unbelievable it sounded, yet Nelwyn did not waver or appear to doubt her. For this, and for her silence, Gaelen would be forever grateful, especially given the importance of what she now revealed. “The host of the Greatwood prepares to march to war. I intend to follow them,” she said at last, her face deadly serious.
Nelwyn gasped. “You cannot mean it! I have heard my father speak of this conflict to come—they go to challenge the host of the Dark Power, with foes unimaginable. I have heard him speak of dragons, and Bödvari, and Ulcas without number!” Nelwyn looked at her cousin, dismayed but not surprised to see that this swayed her not at all. Even when she was thinking clearly, it was not unlike Gaelen to focus with grim tenacity on an objective despite nearly impossible odds, and it would be many years before she learned to respond with greater prudence. Nelwyn gripped Gaelen’s other hand. “You are not trained or skilled in the art of open warfare—you would not survive!”
Gaelen shook her head, a note of impatience in her voice. “Few of our people are so trained and skilled, yet they are going to war; they make the preparations even now. The one to whom I am bound rides forth to lead them to whatever destiny awaits. I will be at his side…or fall in the attempt. I mean to wait until our host has departed and then follow them. Everyone will assume I have gone out into the forest, as is my habit. You must remain here and reassure them if they should become suspicious. Will you aid me?”
Nelwyn stared at her in disbelief. “Are you telling me that you want me to be complicit in sending you to your death? You want me to remain behind while you follow this incredibly foolhardy course and hide the truth from those who care for you? Do not expect such from me, Gaelen, for I cannot comply. I swore not to reveal your secret with respect to your betrothal, but I cannot aid you in this. Please, if you care anything for Ri-Elathan, or for me, do not pursue this course. Stay here where you will be safe.”
Gaelen’s eyes flashed. “There are no safe places anymore! This war is upon us all, wherever we may dwell. And I will not see my love standing in such a place of horror and death without me at his side. This time of separation from him has been painful enough. The conflict may go on for years. I could not bear it…you cannot understand.” Tears of desperation started in her eyes, and she turned from Nelwyn, enfolding her arms upon her knees and burying her face in them, weeping.
Nelwyn, who had rarely known Gaelen to weep, waited for a moment, unsure of what to do. This talk was sheer folly—it was madness—but Gaelen was in such obvious pain that Nelwyn had to relent. She placed a gentle hand on Gaelen’s shoulder. “Hush. It’s all right. I…I will do as you ask, though my heart would counsel otherwise.”
Gaelen turned her tear-streaked face toward Nelwyn, then reached out with both arms and hugged her fiercely. “I cannot tell how difficult it has been to bear this alone. I was dreading telling you, but now I see that I need not have feared. You are a true friend.”
At this, Nelwyn also began to cry, for she knew the impact of her decision. “I only agreed because I have faith that Ri-Elathan will not tolerate your presence on the battlefield. He will send you right back to us if he cares for you. I understand your motivation, but surely you know in your heart that he will never sanction this.
At this, Gaelen drew back and looked Nelwyn in the eye. “I know, and you’re right, but I have to try. If I accomplish nothing else, I must return this. He has never gone into battle without it, and I do not wish for him to be without it now, in this most terrible of battles.” She drew forth the banner of Ri-Elathan from beneath her tunic and handed it to Nelwyn, who marveled at the beauty and intricacy of the fine silk with its pattern of bright silver stars and golden sun. She gave it back to Gaelen, who folded it and replaced it with reverence.
Gaelen looked off into the distance, toward Mountain-home. “Sometimes, when all is peaceful and quiet, I can sense him…it is almost as though I can hear his voice. I try to call to him as well, but I do not know whether he can hear me. He has so little peace in his life now. I would give nearly anything to see him again, to be with him, and to know that he was safe. Do you understand that feeling?”
She was so wistful that it tugged at Nelwyn’s heart. Though still very young, Nelwyn shared a natural empathy with Gaelen that allowed her to appreciate what her older cousin was going through. “Do what you must, but keep safe. I will keep your secret, no matter what happens. And my thoughts and hopes will be with you until you return.” She rose and took her leave, as Gaelen returned to staring at the river.
At last the host departed from the Greatwood, and a large host it was. Thousands of hardy Sylvan folk, some from as far away as the Monadh-ailan, gathered together before moving eastward toward their rendezvous with Ri-Elathan’s army. As planned, Gaelen followed behind. She had little to fear following such a great host; nothing would challenge them as they made their way toward the rendezvous point, and she was quite safe.
She felt the presence of Ri-Elathan’s army long before she saw it, for Gaelen was very intuitive and the collective thoughts of so many great and noble warriors could not go unnoticed. She sensed her beloved Farahin, but did not call to him, for she knew in her heart that Nelwyn was right. She would just have to convince him when she arrived. Surely Rain would not turn her away as she stood before him, ready to fight and die at his side.
If Gaelen had been thinking clearly, she would have known better, but clear thought is a luxury seldom afforded to so young a heart when it has been irretrievably given. She continued trailing the folk of the Greatwood, hoping that her thoughts would not betray her before she could make her case to her beloved.
Farahin Ri-Elathan stood atop the hill overlooking the great host of Elves that was now gathering. Beside him, Magra stood as second-in-command. The host would remain in this place for a while, as the Greatwood had promised a large contingent. They would be added to those of Monadh-talam and Tal-sithian, making for a formidable army.
Ri-Elathan surveyed the scene with satisfaction. The rows of tents displaying their colorful silken battle-flags, the sun glinting off countless helms and polished weapons, the horses, and the armor formed an impressive sight that stretched as far as could be easily seen.
Osgar’s host would approach from the southwest, but Ri-Elathan would probably not know of it until they had reached the outskirts of the huge encampment. Then he would welcome the folk of the Woodland, for they were fierce fighters and they were many. Still, Ri-Elathan was concerned for them, as they wore no armor and were armed with light bows. His own archers used longbows that had a tremendous range; against the Dark army power was more important than accuracy, as they would be shooting into a huge mass of Ulcas. Bows, even powerful ones, were of little use against dragons or Bödvari.
Rain had thought to convince Osgar to accept gifts of armor and weapons, but knew it was unlikely that he would accept, for he was proud. Ri-Elathan only hoped the King of the Greatwood would submit to his directives once battle was joined.
Magra had climbed the hill and now stood beside him. “The Woodland Elves have arrived, my lord. They are making their way here as we speak. Do you wish to ride out and meet them?”
Ri-Elathan nodded and turned to his captains. “I will return soon. In the meantime, we should make preparations to move on. The host from the Greatwood will no doubt want to rest for a day or two, but then we should begin to make our way northward again.” The captains saw the wisdom of this, as it took time and effort to get an army of this size collected and moving.
Ri-Elathan and Magra descended into the encampment where their mounts were re
ady and waiting. Then they rode out that they might receive the King of the Greatwood and his folk graciously into their company.
Ri-Elathan rode up before the King of the Greatwood, bowing respectfully, and bade him welcome. They exchanged the usual pleasantries and pledges of fidelity, but Ri-Elathan’s attention was drawn to the Elf who stood beside Osgar—an Elf with familiar olive-green eyes.
Tarfion bowed his head before Ri-Elathan, and as their eyes met they shared a brief unspoken communion.
Welcome, Tarfion. May you keep safe through the upcoming conflict so that we may honor you upon its end, as I will be asking for the hand of your daughter, who holds my heart.
Tarfion, astonished, kept his composure. Well met, O Elven-king, who holds the heart of my only daughter. I pray you will also keep safe so that I may sanction this union, as it does honor to my family, and I rejoice for her. He bowed, whereupon a brief, faint smile came over the stern face of Ri-Elathan. The King then turned his attention back to Osgar, inviting him to return to the headquarters upon the hilltop to discuss immediate plans, leaving Tarfion to contemplate what had just occurred.
So, Gaelen’s heart was given—there is certainly no denying it now. Is it possible that she has followed behind? It was typical of her recent behavior, but Tarfion prayed it was not so, as she would find no welcome in the encampment. How he would get her to return home was beyond his reckoning; that task would now fall to Ri-Elathan. Oh, Gaelen, please reveal yourself before we get too far into the lands of the Enemy, for you will surely be lost. Your kin are not the only ones who would grieve for you now. Tarfion turned and made his way back toward the rear of the column, just in case.
Gaelen patted Angael while gently removing a tangle from the mare’s long, silvery-golden mane. She had succeeded in following Osgar’s army to the rendezvous point, though there was a brief moment when she feared her father had sensed her presence. He had tried to contact her in thought, but she had closed her mind in spite of her love for him. Nothing must interfere with her plan to join Ri-Elathan, and now she would have to figure out a way to get to him without being detected by any of her kin—or worse, by Osgar, who would have no tolerance of her disobedience.
She swung lightly up onto her mare’s broad back and cantered north to a point where the river might be crossed. Ri-Elathan’s army occupied land on both sides of the Ambros, but the Wood-elves were camped on the eastern side. She could approach from the west if she could figure out a way to conceal her identity. That would not be difficult for one so skilled; if she had once spied on secret war-councils, she could surely make off with someone’s unguarded armor.
So it was that Gaelen Taldin, she who walks unnoticed, found herself wearing a helm, cloak, and breastplate that neither fit her nor belonged to her. She rode toward the hilltop, drawing little attention to herself, for among so many no one even turned their eyes in her direction. Only once did anyone address her, and that occurred as she rode by night through the camp of Magra of the Èolar. One of the sentinels called out to her:
“What business, rider of Tal-sithian? Why have you come to our encampment? Do you bear a message?”
Gaelen tried to disguise her voice, answering him in rather stilted High-elven: “Nay! I am misguided, for I mean to find my Lord Airan. Ummm…dost thou know where he may be found?” Gaelen suspected that if she found Airan, she would also find Ri-Elathan. The Elf of Magra’s camp directed her, but he looked puzzled, as Angael was not exactly a war horse, and Gaelen did not remotely fill the armor she had appropriated. Nor was it customary for the High-elves to carry a bow of the Sylvan realm. When Gaelen had gone, he went to find Magra to report his concern.
The host would be moving on within two days’ time. Gaelen approached the headquarters atop the hill, where the High King’s banner adorned his white silken tent. Nearby was a tent bearing the banner of Tal-sithian. Both were well guarded. Gaelen placed her hand near her heart, over the small banner bearing the same stars-and-sun design as its larger cousin, and dismounted from Angael. Her thoughts were focused on Ri-Elathan and his response to her presence in the encampment, and how she would convince him that she should remain beside him. This preoccupation made her unwary, such that she did not hear the approach of Magra until he and his folk had laid hands on her, thrown her to the ground, and forcibly removed the helmet she wore.
Magra started back in astonishment when Gaelen’s identity was revealed. One of his guards had drawn a blade to her throat, and she did not move or speak.
“Put the blade away, but keep her here until I can speak with Ri-Elathan,” said Magra. He reached down and helped Gaelen to her feet. “I don’t think it will be necessary to restrain her.” He disappeared into the King’s tent, returning after a few moments. “Come with me,” he said. “I will escort you.”
Ri-Elathan sat brooding in the large main chamber of his tent, awaiting his beloved, who was now being brought before him. He bade his guards take their leave, as he now stood regal and imposing in robes of blue and sable traced with silver and gold, his simple golden crown glinting upon his brow. In truth, he had been anticipating Gaelen’s arrival, as he had sensed her presence several times in the past few days. Though in his heart he rejoiced to see her again, he dreaded their meeting. He would have to trample her feelings to get her to leave him.
There was absolutely no chance that any entreaty she might make to remain with him would succeed. Surely, she must know it! But then, he looked into his own heart. Would he know it, in her place? Almost certainly not. Gaelen had no sense of her own limits, and she could not conceive of the conflict to come. He would simply have to convince her. As Magra and his guards escorted her into the chamber, the King drew himself up and turned toward them, and as his eyes met Gaelen’s the challenge of what he now had to do was daunting indeed.
She stood before him, making herself as tall and impressive as possible with her chin lifted and her eyes fixed on him. Clearly, she meant to make a case for herself as a warrior, and it wrenched his heart. He read uncertainty and apprehension in her bright eyes as well. She was too intelligent not to know the futility of this effort.
Magra came forward with the stolen armor, explaining to Ri-Elathan how Gaelen had managed to infiltrate the encampment to stand now before him. Ri-Elathan stared hard at her, and she dropped her eyes for a moment. He was probably the only soul in all of Alterra who could elicit this simple gesture of submission from her. He smiled, taking the armor from Magra and noting how ill-fitting it would have been.
“See how little it takes to confuse our army? A She-elf, swimming in someone else’s armor and mounted on a large pony, manages to find her way to the headquarters of the King.”
“She’s not a pony,” said Gaelen, looking down at her feet.
“Gaelen, you have small faith in our vigilance, and right now I would say you are not wrong,” said Ri-Elathan, chuckling softly and handing the armor back to Magra, who took the humor beneath the gentle reprimand. “Leave us, my friend. She is not dangerous. In fact, she will be returning to her home tomorrow.” He looked hard at Gaelen, whose despair was graven immediately upon her face.
Once they were alone, Rain did not demand an explanation, or chastise her, for he knew why she had come. He approached her, took her chin in his hand, and lifted it so that she met his gaze, an undercurrent of defiance in her eyes that was not quite concealed by her submissive posture. Tears filled them abruptly, and she broke away, turning from him. He gripped her shoulders and spun her around, though his touch was gentle.
“Do not try to conceal your feelings from me, for you cannot. They are my feelings as well. I am not angry with you, and I do not hold you at fault for coming here, for I know what is in your heart. You must also know what my response to your presence here must be. You cannot come with me—I have told you this before. Does not the size and extent of this army warn you of the magnitude of my task? Even wer
e you the mightiest Elf-maiden ever to draw breath, I would not have you stay. The thought of losing you would be too great for me to bear! Do you not understand?”
Gaelen shook her head. “You would send me away to face the prospect of losing you without even being at your side…yet you cannot face the prospect of loss yourself. So I must wait in the Greatwood, dying a little each day knowing you face this peril, and wait for the news that you have fallen? Is this a fair account of your thinking?”
Ri-Elathan considered. He took her argument, but it didn’t change what had to be. “Yes, Gaelen, that is a fair account. You don’t face the task of winning this war—I cannot afford any distractions, or to be worried for your safety. No one regrets the pain this will cause you more than I do, as I would have you at my side if I could, but I cannot. You would not live beyond the first assault, of that I am certain. My grief upon losing you would be too great. I cannot afford it, and I will not risk it! You must obey my will in this, even if you never do so again.”
She knew he was right—she had known it all along. He meant to send her home, there to wait for the end of the conflict, either to rejoin him or mourn his passing. She also knew that if he failed, none of the free peoples would have peace ever again. The Greatwood would fall as surely as any other lands, and the peace and prosperity of the Elves would be forever lost. She had never seen Lord Wrothgar—few of her people had—but she knew how terrible an enemy he could be.
She nodded as the tears flowed freely from her large eyes. “I will obey you, my beloved Rain. But I will not leave you until you command me. And I will give you this, for your need of it is greater than mine—but you must promise to live, and return it to me.” She drew forth his banner, beautifully cared for, and handed it to him. He tucked it away, his own eyes over-bright with tears unshed. They embraced fiercely in the torchlight, as though trying to become of one body, as they were already of one heart.
