Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

He lives

Voices floated above his head in a cadence of warbling chaos. Something soft and cool pressed against his forehead. Seconds passed before it became as hot as his burning body. Fabric chafed against his hot dry skin. He felt his clothes being removed and his body lifted before icy cold struck his bare skin, he screamed in pain. Gentle hands caressed his face but he jerked away, their touch sending bolts of fire through him.

For a long time he lay shivering in the frigid cold, straining to open his eyes and see the light that filtered weakly through. At last exhaustion took hold and he slipped into an eternal blackness.

§§§

He was bruised, bloodied, battered, and alone with naught but a weak shaft of moonlight barely shining through the surrounding darkness that seeped malice. He lay on his side on a smooth floor that swayed slowly. Iron bars surrounded him. Something smooth and round rested in the palm of his hand but when he looked down he was horrified to discover that the hand was not his own, nor did it move of his own accord. Slowly the hand, red with blood, unfolded to reveal a dark green stone fitted neatly into the palm of his hand. Illeandir studied the stone carefully, the stone felt... familiar, yet he could not place it. The only thing that came to mind was the sound of a rushing river.

Pain shot through him. Whether it was his or whoever's eyes he was seeing through he could not tell, perhaps both. The spasm of pain cause the hand to jerk and the small stone slipped between his fingers and rolled through the bars and disappeared into the darkness.

With a choking scream Illeandir and the person trapped in the strange cell lunged for the stone but it was too late. A strange sense of loss filled Illeandir. He felt as if he had just lost something vital to his survival. Then he realized it wasn't coming from him, instead emanating from the figure pressed against the cold bars trying to reach into the unimaginable depths below.

The figure slumped over and turned his face toward the moon, whereupon Illeandir got his first look at him. Ragged black hair hung down past his shoulders framing a thin, pale face with silver eyes. A face he never thought he'd see again...

§§§

"Zaharias!" Illeandir shouted, sitting straight up and snapping his eyes open. He was drenched in sweat and bare-skinned down to the waist.

Someone next to him sat up and tried pushing him back down. He fought them, thinking they were there to hurt him. He jerked and nearly fell off the bed he lay on. He was caught by soft hands and hauled back up, still fighting them.

"Help me!" they urged. Another pair of hands pushed Illeandir back down. Weak, exhausted, and trembling with fear Illeandir let them push him back down. The person who had helped lay him down again spoke, a woman.

"He's frightened." Their voice was soft with worry but also heavy with grief. Turning his head, Illeandir looked at them and instantly recognized the fiery blue eyes and open face.

"Nara?" His voice was hoarse and it hurt to speak. Nara smiled. Illeandir felt the tension leave his body.

"How do you feel?" she asked laying a small hand on his shoulder briefly.

"Better." Illeandir replied. He sensed movement beside and turned to face it. The sight that met his eyes chased all other thoughts from his mind. An elleth with white blonde hair stood beside him. Her starry blue eyes pierced his green ones with fierce intensity. She was finely built and delicate but her steely eyes bore testament to hard resolve and stubbornness.

"I'm not alone." Illeandir whispered. The elleth smiled.

"No, young one, you are not." she said. Illeandir sighed and slipped back into a deep, healing sleep.