Elfhunter (21 page)

At the heart of most of the great Elven-realms there
was a magic-user, one of the mysterious Asari. Such folk have ever
been rare. Twelve were sent into the world when it was formed, and
they held great power over certain matters. Yet they could choose
to follow either the Light or the Darkness. Those who chose the
Light favored the Elf-realms, for the Elves have rarely if ever
served the Darkness, and then unwittingly. It was the Asari who
kept those realms well hidden; one could not gain entrance without
their leave. Eádros, which was underground, was so well concealed
that men who lived in the surrounding regions wondered if it even
existed, speculating that the Elves simply appeared out of thin
air.

It was of the utmost importance that no outsiders
were shown the way into the hidden realm, but this Galador did for
the love of Gwynnyth. He remembered her impassioned plea, for she
had wanted to see the wonders of the Elf-realm for herself. When
she saw how secure and idyllic it was, she had then tried to
persuade Galador to bring the remainder of her people, who were
besieged by the enemy and had endured great suffering, into the
hidden realm with her. They would live in peace as allies of the
Elves.

Galador was uncertain, but he was yet young and his
love for Gwynnyth was very great. To reassure her he promised that,
at the very least, her family would be admitted. This unfortunate
promise was overheard by one of the King’s courtiers, who reported
all that he had heard.

Galador shivered, remembering King Doniol’s wrath.
Guards had come, arresting him and dragging Gwynnyth off to a
prison cell. Galador feared the worst—that Doniol might even have
ordered Gwynnyth killed—until he stood before the throne to answer
the charges against him.

The King had, of course, not killed Gwynnyth, but he
was both grieved and wrathful at the perceived betrayal. "I will
give to thee a choice," he said to Galador. "Your woman may remain
forever within the boundaries of Eádros, but she will be confined
here, never to roam free again."

"But she will not wish to abandon her people, and her
freedom is precious," said Galador.

Doniol’s voice was heavy with regret, but his eyes
were hard. "If she refuses, then I have no choice but to banish you
both from this realm. You will never be allowed to return."

Galador thought of his beloved, knowing he had only
one choice to make if he truly loved her. She cared for her family
and would pine for them. "I cannot condemn her to a life of
imprisonment—no matter how comfortable the prison," he said.

"So be it. You know our laws, and what you have done
is treason. Your choice is made, Galador, and you are hereby
forbidden to ever set foot in the realm of Eádros."

The Asarla of Eádros, Cuimir the Beautiful, was
saddened. But he obeyed the King’s decree, closing the way to
Galador, abandoning him to the dark and hostile world outside.

Galador would never forget the finality of those
words spoken in judgment of him so many years ago. Those words were
like a sharp blade cutting him loose from everything comforting and
familiar. He fought to distract his troubled mind from remembering
the terrible events that came after, but he could not. Instead he
dropped back, allowing Rogond to stride on ahead of him.Rogond
paused and turned. "Are you all right?"

Galador could not look his tall friend in the eye. He
pretended to fuss with the lacing on one of his tall boots,
muttering a reply. "I’m good…this lacing has come loose. I’ll catch
you up."

If Rogond had looked into his friend’s eyes, he would
have seen the turmoil of emotion fighting to escape. He had seen it
before, but not often. "Are you sure? Can I help?"

"I don’t need help. Go on ahead…I would rather not
delay. I’ll only be a moment."

But the truth was that these memories had plagued
Galador for over a thousand years. "A moment" would never be enough
to really suppress them—even now he recalled the terrible day of
his banishment, remembering how lost, how alone, and how helpless
he had been.

Once outside the Elf-realm, the lovers had gone to
Gwynnyth’s folk, but found no welcome there. Gwynnyth’s people
mistrusted and feared the Elves, and they had driven Galador out of
their settlement, chasing him with stones and wooden spears. He
still remembered his pain and shame. Gwynnyth went into exile with
him, and they wandered together in the wild.

Despite their uncertainty they were happy for a time,
as their love sustained them, and in the spring Gwynnyth was with
child. This brief, happy memory softened Galador’s face and brought
light back into his eyes, but the light faded as he remembered what
came next.

Their happiness together came to an abrupt end when
Gwynnyth was seven months into her childbearing, as autumn waned
and winter drew near. She and Galador had prepared a place to spend
the difficult months of cold and snow, and had laid by stores of
food, for there would be little to be had.

Galador had gone out gathering, leaving Gwynnyth in
the relative safety of their shelter. She had ventured forth to
walk among the trees in twilight and had been set upon by Ulcas,
even as Galador returned over the ridge and beheld her. He drew his
bow and killed or drove off the Ulcas, but not before they had
grievously wounded his beloved. Galador rushed to her side and bore
her back into their shelter, but even as he did so, he knew her
wounds were grave. He tended her as best he could, but as darkness
came she roused herself, knowing what her fate would be. Her eyes
filled with tears as she beheld his beautiful, anxious face.

"My love…sit here beside me, for I must leave you
tonight."

Galador refused to face the truth. "Do not say such
things…do not even think them! Your wounds will heal—I have tended
them well so that they won’t fester, but you must not think such
black thoughts, for they will take your strength. As long as you
stay strong, you will prevail. Tomorrow I will make you a healing
poultice…and some… maybe some strengthening tea?"

Gwynnyth shook her head slowly, closing her eyes and
shuddering with pain. "The wounds are poisoned," she muttered. "You
have tended them as best you could, but…but they are beyond your
power. Here, in this wild place, there is no help for me."

Galador’s brows knitted together as he squeezed her
hand…it was so cold, and he despaired. "Please, my love…don’t give
in."

"Listen to me, Galador, son of Galathar. Our child is
dying in my womb…the poison in my blood is killing her. Please…I
need you to be strong now, and take her from me while there is
still a chance. Please, my brave one, take her while she still
lives. I will not see the sun rise tomorrow, but she might."

Galador’s eyes filled with grief and horror—he could
never do such a thing. Sacrifice Gwynnyth to save the child? "You
ask me to do the impossible," he whispered, and the anguish in her
eyes pierced his heart and ripped it to pieces. He sat beside her,
trying in vain to comfort and strengthen her, but he could not stop
either her pain or her grief.

After a while, her eyes fluttered open, but she could
no longer shed tears. "Our baby is dead," she whispered. "She has
taken the last of my strength."

"Forgive me…I could not kill you with my own hands,"
said Galador, trying not to let her see the tears in his own eyes.
"Forgive me…please?"

"Mother and child will go together into the
hereafter," she said, attempting a weak smile. "I understand. I’m
so sorry to leave you alone…and I would ask…no, I would
beg
you to keep watch over my family, though they may not love you.
They will need your protection, and they are all that will be left
of me. Promise me?"

"I will," said Galador, though his throat was closed
up so tightly that no sound came from his lips.

"I know you will…I know. Now hold us, beloved…hold us
until we leave you. We are not afraid…"

Gwynnyth died in the early morning, as he held her in
his arms and wept. As she lay before him, cold yet still beautiful,
Galador knew that he had lost all that he loved.

The Elves do not know the ultimate fate of men; they
are only certain that this fate is different and entirely separate
from their own. Galador knew that he would never be with Gwynnyth
or with their child. Even so, he resolved to meet Gwynnyth on the
misty, distant shores where the children of men go when their lives
end, there to set out for their unknown and irrevocable fate.
Surely, if he called to her, she would come back.

He arranged and tended the body of Gwynnyth, wrapping
it in his own warm cloak. He then lay beside her, trying to will
his spirit to follow her. For two days and nights he was still and
cold as stone, his mind and heart focused on the task, but he could
not achieve it, for he was only an Elf, and the way was closed to
him. Finally, when cold and thirst had nearly claimed his life, he
roused himself. The death of his body would not serve his purpose,
as he knew that his fate would then be separated from Gwynnyth
beyond hope. He ate and drank, and tended Gwynnyth, then tried
again for two more days and nights to follow her, this time barely
managing to escape death.

He knew then that his hope was vain and that Gwynnyth
was truly gone. He wept for many days after that, wishing that
death would now take him rather than allow him to live in misery,
but such was not his fate. He remembered the desire of Gwynnyth
that, in spite of their estrangement, she would have Galador keep
watch over her folk from afar. To comfort her he had agreed, though
in his heart he carried bitter resentment of their stones and
spears.

Though Galador possessed a strong spirit, he was
nearly consumed with grief. He lay in solitude in the small
shelter, still trying in vain to reach out to Gwynnyth, wherever
she had gone. He wept and slept fitfully, eating and drinking only
enough to keep himself alive until spring. Gaunt and haggard, he
finally emerged, but it was a long while before the light returned
to his eyes.

He buried Gwynnyth in a grove of maple trees. The
warmth of spring stirred new life all around him, but he was not
cheered by it. For uncounted years he watched over Gwynnyth’s folk
as best he could, for he had promised her. His long bow and keen
blade kept them safe, but then the east wind brought a dreadful
pestilence that devastated men, women, and children without mercy.
Galador sorrowed for them but could do nothing to aid them, and at
the last he revealed himself to the few who remained. He sat beside
them, speaking comforting words as they died, begging them to carry
his message of love to Gwynnyth, if they should meet in the
hereafter.

Stone-hearted and bitter-minded, Galador became a
solitary wanderer for many an age, until his true nature prevailed
and allowed him to walk again among Elves and men. During that time
many things came to pass in Alterra: there was war between the
dwarves of Rûmm and the Eádram, so that both realms were destroyed.
King Doniol was slain, and Cuimir became so despondent that he gave
up his own life. Galador fought beneath the banner of the High King
in the Third Uprising of Lord Wrothgar. The northern land of
Tuathas, home to the most enlightened of men, was laid in ruin, and
the Plague spread its icy hand over all the western lands, taking
far more than it spared. Throughout those long ages, Galador kept
largely to himself.

Then, during his recent travels, he met and
befriended Rogond, and they had traveled together for six years. It
was this friendship— this slight opening in the stone of Galador’s
heart—that had allowed him to venture into the Light. But it was
Nelwyn’s light that truly gave him hope.

For the first time since his world was torn apart,
his heart was swelling inside its stony shell. If he could but
listen, he would escape the dark, loveless prison he had built for
himself. Nelwyn was beautiful, and gentle-natured, and of
Elven-kind. He could love her without fear, and be joined with her
forever, if only she would have him. Galador took courage from his
thoughts of happiness with Nelwyn, and for the time being he waited
to see if his love would be returned.

Pushing his dark memories aside yet again, he made
sure his eyes were dry before catching up with the rest of the
Company. He had grown quite fond of Rogond in their travels
together and would not let his friend make the same grievous
choice. When the time was right, he would tell just enough to
dissuade Rogond. He hoped that the inevitable rift that would
result would not sunder him from Nelwyn before their love could
flower, but better that, he told himself, than to allow Rogond to
impale his heart upon bitter thorns.