Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

I Am What I Am

Illeandir slowly opened his eyes to broad daylight. Habit kept him from moving as his eyes scanned his surroundings. Thrilo still lay sprawled on the leaf litter in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Slowly Illeandir stood, still scanning the trees for movement. He winced as his muscles, bruised, battered, and sore, stretched. A light breeze shifted the leaves above his head causing specks of light to dance across his shirt. A loud snort from Thrilo nearly sent him up a tree. The dwarf muttered in his sleep and rolled over but didn't wake.

He felt malevolent eyes watching him and spun around, hands on his sword.

Nothing.

Illeandir took his hands off his sword and breathed deeply. He shook his shoulders to ease the tension but the feeling persisted.

"Relax." he whispered to himself. "No one here to see you." Yet he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. His heart raced inside his chest and he strained slightly for air. Forcing his mind to empty Illeandir closed his eyes and concentrated on a clear pool of water. The sky reflected the water but nothing disturbed its calm. Suddenly a great fiery beast burst from the water. Illeandir screamed and fell forward as fire and shadow filled his vision. Balls of burning flame fell upon his skin, burning him until he felt nothing but raw, torturing pain. The flaming maw of the beast loomed before him, snapping shut in a whirlwind of blistering wind. Illeandir felt his gaze being pulled toward the creature's terrible eyes that flamed with malice.

Suddenly everything vanished, even the unseen eyes that watched him. His eyes flew open and he lashed out, trying to fight whatever lay before him. There was a loud curse and a heavy thud. Illeandir looked up and saw Thrilo sprawled on the ground, having tripped in his attempt to avoid Illeandir's fist. Illeandir looked down at his hands, torn and bloody. He was kneeling in the dirt doubled over. Deep groves in the earth told him why his hands were torn. He was otherwise unharmed.

He pushed himself to his feet and staggered a few steps before falling to the ground, violently sick. When he was done he lay on his side shivering until the pure terror that gripped him faded. Footsteps caused him to look up. Thrilo approached with a guarded look on his face.

"Durin's beard, elf! What's gotten into ya?" he exclaimed.

"I have been found," Illeandir said.

Energy spent, he slept.

§§§

He woke to the sound of a crackling fire. Faintly he felt the heat upon his back and turned over to see Thrilo roasting a spitted rabbit over a smokeless blaze. The dwarf was hunched over turning the spit slowly between his thick fingers. He was so concentrated on his task that he didn't notice Illeandir until he stood up and sat across from Thrilo. Thrilo glanced up and nodded once.

"This bunny be begging fer death. Hopped right on up an' I jus' reached out and grabbed 'im." Thrilo grinned toothily and poked the meat. "It be done," he said and took it off the flames. He ripped off a leg and tossed it to Illeandir, who juggled the blistering hot piece for a moment. Thrilo chuckled as he ripped off his own piece, heedless of the heat, and bit deeply into it. Fragrant juices ran down his thick beard, becoming lost in the tangled mess. Illeandir sucked on a blistering forming on his thumb.

"So," Thrilo said smacking his lips and reaching for another leg while Illeandir was yet debating if his was cool enough to attempt eating. "Elstan..." Thrilo mused. "Where'd you ge' a name like tha'?"

Illeandir deliberately tore a strip of meat off and ate it, chewing slowly.

"Sixty-four years ago I lived in the Iron Hills for a time with the dwarves. The only gifts I brought with me were three small river stones, each a deeper green than the leaves of the trees. I offered one to the king as a token of friendship between the dwarves and myself. He named me Elf Stone in honor of that."