Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Life's Price

"You need to rest," Ithilwen ordered. Illeandir ignored her. He was busy studying a map spread out on the floor before him. Zaharias' location was somewhere in the Misty Mountains. That much he knew. But where?

"Are you ignoring me?"

"Yes."

Ithilwen opened her mouth to scold him then closed it. A dangerous light entered her eyes. She left the room, taking her boiling anger with her. Illeandir moved into a more comfortable position, wincing when his leg stretched. He knew his body desperately needed sleep, he hadn't slept properly for the past three days or more. He was beginning to lose track in his exhaustion. But Zaharias needed him. Time was running out.

Illeandir had been attacked by another dream last night. This time it had been clear as it was horrible. Zaharias was dying and if Illeandir didn't rescue him in time, whatever had kept his friend alive all these years wouldn't be enough.

He scanned the map again and searched his memory for any sign of where Zaharias might be. Nothing. Over and over again he searched. A sinking sensation filled him. He knew exactly where to look for clues to find Zaharias; the same place the others had. His dreams.

He wanted to laugh at the irony, but he couldn't. His dreams terrified him. They sent cold shivers down his spine every time he thought of them. He refused to sleep because of what he saw. He'd faced many terrors in his lifetime, but all of them had been something he could touch, something he could control the outcome of like a game of skill. The dreams he couldn't control, couldn't stop. Every time he closed his eyes they were there. Now they came even as he was awake and filled with the faces of everyone he ever knew and cared about. He no longer only fought the demon of fire but his own demons as well.

Ithilwen entered the room with a steaming cup cradled in her pale hands. She saw Illeandir staring blankly at the map, pain and loss in his distant expression.

"Hey," she knelt next to him, "we'll find him." Illeandir looked at her but he seemed to be looking through her at something beyond sight and into memory.

"I have to find him."

"You will," Ithilwen offered him the cup, "drink this, it will help with the pain."

Illeandir took the cup reluctantly. His eyes were so full of sadness that Ithilwen wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and make everything all right again. But she couldn't. She had no idea of the horrors he faced every night, only that they were growing worse as the days passed.

Illeandir sipped the cooling tea and made a face.

"What did you put in here?"

Ithilwen frowned.

"I've never been much of a cook."

"This is water and plant leaves. How do you screw that up?"

"Just drink it."

"As you wish," Illeandir said, "If I die from food poisoning  it's your fault."

"Fair enough," Ithilwen agreed. She stood up. Illeandir moved to follow her.

"No, you stay there," Ithilwen told him sternly. He stood anyway. Ithilwen sighed. "How's your leg?"

"Better," Illeandir said, avoiding her cutting gaze. Ithilwen nodded once, not believing him, and sat down in the chair beside and old desk.

"Drink your tea."

"Liquid nettle is more like it," Illeandir said. Nonetheless he took another drink and moved to look out the window at the children playing on the street. He watched them with a half smile of his face.