The timber structure of the inn vibrated violently, a sensation Illeandir could feel through his feet and up into the back of his skull. The child whimpered pitieously in his arms and clung to his neck. The fire was all around them, drawing ever closer. Illeandir looked wildly about, searching for an escape route. The building would collapse at any moment. He saw the window, the only area not blocked by fire, on the opposite side of the building where the villagers stood and watched the inn burn. He hesitated, a three story drop was a long way down even for an elf. If he didn't land right he could end up hurting himself, killing the little girl, or both. He took a deep breath, coughed once, and sprinted through the open window just as the building collapsed in on itself. Screams penetrated through the chaos.

Illeandir plummeted through the air feet first with the child held tightly to his chest. He hit the ground hard and rolled several times to soften the impact. His ankle twisted painfully and on the last roll the arrow in his shoulder snagged on the grass and ripped free. Illeandir gasped in agony and dropped the child and clutched his arm, which was now bleeding profusely. Ignoring the wound for now, he cradled the girl in his arms and looked closely at her.

She had a small round face that would have been pretty if it weren't for the large burn covering the right side of her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut and tears fell down her cheeks. Her breath came in short ragged gasps and her skin was hot to the touch. Illeandir gently touched the burn with two fingers.

"Tanka harwar." he spoke softly. A small amount of energy drained from him and his hand turned red with heat and he drew the heat from her burn. The child sighed and fell into a deep sleep. Her face was still blistered and burned, she would be with the scar forever but she would live.

On the other side of the collapsed inn the villagers stood in silence. The only sound was the child's mother sobbing. One by one they slowly surrounded the grieving woman and laid a hand on her shoulders. One man stumbled upon a massive bow and sword. He knelt down to admire the quality of the longbow and the strength needed to draw it. He was just about to pick it up when an immensely tall figure strode out from the swirling ash and smoke. A small child hung limp in his arms. The crowd parted before the masked figure like water as he walked toward the weeping woman. She looked up and immediately recognized her little girl.

"Everild!" she shouted and ran toward her daughter, arms outstretched. "My baby, my poor baby," she moaned holding Everild tightly to her chest, tears streaked her ashy cheeks. She faced Illeandir with wide, soft brown eyes. "Thank you, stranger, for saving my daughter." Illeandir held a fist over his heart and bowed slightly. The woman squinted at him, trying to see past the mask he wore over the lower half of his face and the dark brown hood that cast the rest in shadow. Dark green eyes gazed steadily back at her. She cast her eyes down and saw his shoulder, wet with blood.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed reaching out to touch it. Illeandir shied away from her hand. She snatched her hand back, eyes wide with confusion.

"Owen!" she shouted and the man with the sword came running. He brandished the rusty blade before Illeandir, who didn't move a muscle. Underneath his mask the corners of his mouth twisted in a grim smile. "Put that down! This man saved our daughter. Show some respect!"

"Sorry, Matilda." Owen lowered his sword but still held it tightly. "Thank you, sir, for saving Everild. We owe you a great debt."

"We owe him our lives!" an older man shouted. "Did no one see him fighting the orcs that sought to kill us?" He pushed his way through the crowd holding Illeandir's bow and sword with great difficulty for they were far bigger than any weapon he had ever held in his long life, though they were surprisingly light. "If not for the valor of this one man our homes may not only have been laid to waste but we too would be among the dead."

"Eldest one," Illeandir rasped, nearly choking on his breath. The man turned to him.

"Nay, that title belongs to my mother. But she's to deaf to hear anything below a bellow and as senile as an old pussycat. Call me Jaxon." The crowd chuckled softly. Illeandir blinked and spoke again.

"You cannot stay," he said. Everyone fell silent. "The orcs are hunting me. They will track me and find you and they will kill you. All of you." Illeandir paused. "You must leave," he said quietly.

"You brought them here! You brought them here so that they would kill us!" Owen shouted pointing his sword at Illeandir again. Illeandir swayed back to keep the thing from cutting his neck open. He looked Owen in the eyes. He was a stocky man, with little in the way of neck, his shoulders were broad and heavily muscled from years of hard farming. His stance was wide, though not balanced. Everything about him screamed aggression.

"Leave now, stranger, before you leave this earth forever," Owen threatened.

"Owen!" Matilda said. The child still slept in her arms. "He saved our lives! Is that not reason enough to trust him?"

"We don't know where he hails from, his name, or why he saved Everild. All we know is that he showed up with a band of orcs that laid our homes to waste. Either he leaves now or he dies." Illeandir wasn't listening. He had seen something move just beyond the premise of where a small group of children stood throwing a small ball to each other. Owen continued to threaten but his threats fell on deaf ears. The shadowy shape moved closer, its silhouette was that of a large man's and in its hands it held a raised scrimitar. Illeandir snatched his bow from Jaxon's hands, he drew and shot just as the orc brought its sword down upon the children. It roared when the arrow pierced its neck and fell dead. The children screamed and ran away.

"Great dragons!" Jaxon exclaimed dropping the sword he held in his hand, Owen dropped his as well. Illeandir gasped and his bow slipped from his throbbing arm. The arrow wound had opened further until it was longer than his thumb and showed bone beneath the layers of muscle. He pressed his hand over to stop the bleeding bit to no avail. Jaxon, Owen, and Matilda turned back to him. Jaxon looked at him in awe, Owen seemed less doubtful, and Matilda looked at him with motherly concern.

"Please, Owen. Let him stay. He's badly injured," she said. Owen seemed to contemplate this for a while until Jaxon nudged him and winked.

"Very well. But only until he is well enough to leave," Owen said. Matilda nodded and gently gave him Everild.

"Jaxon, order a search party to find anyone who is missing." Jaxon saluted her and called out five men to follow him. "Gabe, take three strong men and pile the orcs outside of town and burn them. Frida, gather all the women and children and have them prepare a meal for everyone and set up a tent for the injured. And find Jax's mother. She's wandered off again." Matilda returned to Illeandir, who was kneeling on the ground tying a strip of cloth above the wound to staunch the bleeding. She nodded.

"Can you stand?" she asked. Illeandir rose slowly to his feet. Matilda, by no means a small woman, suddenly felt very small. The man before her, she still did not know his name, was not big like her husband but neither was he small, he was, by far, taller than every man in the village. "What was your name again?" she said craftily.

"I never told you," Illeandir said picking up his weapons. Matilda huffed and strode ahead of him. Then she seemed to have an idea and slowed down.

"Will you tell me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"There are those that would kill for that information. I have no wish to bring further suffering to your people."

"What may I call you then?" she asked. Illeandir thought for a moment.

"Elstan," he decided.

"A strange name," Matilda mused.

"For an even stranger journey," Illeandir replied.

"Why do you travel?" she asked. Illeandir hesitated in his reply.

"To find my kin," he said at last.

"What happened to them?"

"I do not know," Illeandir would say no more even when she pressed him for answers. Eventually she gave up just as they arrived at the sight where the women were staking the tent. She motioned for him to stay and returned carrying a basin of steaming water. Another woman carried a chair salvaged from the fire and several linen wraps.

"We'll look at that burn on your leg too."

"Your daughter, how is she?" Illeandir asked. Matilda blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected him to ask about Everild.

"Sleeping," she said at last. "It's strange, her burn is as cool as the rest of her skin. It's almost as if something sucked away the heat." Illeandir unconsciously flexed his hand. Matilda shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Sit," she ordered. Illeandir sat. "Soak these cloths in the water, Diliala. Elstan, would you please remove your shirt." Slowly Illeandir took off his mask, mottled green cloak, leather armor, leather greaves, and finally a white shirt of material that was unfamiliar to Matilda.

He had long thick hair, so dark it was nearly black, that fell past his shoulders to the middle of his back. Matilda had seen few men with hair as long as their shoulders and she highly disapproved of it, but on Elstan it seemed to fit. His face was smooth and beardless but hardly innocent, his green eyes held the weight of many years but his face that of a young man's. His mouth was set set in a hard line that betrayed no emotion. His chest was smooth and hairless and rippled with muscle built over slender bones. His whole build was slim and long, screaming grace and agility. His shoulders though were broad and thick with hardened muscle. Diliala stared at him openly with her mouth slightly agape. Matilda slapped her arm.

"You have a husband!" she said. Diliala forced her eyes away from Illeandir.

"He's not my husband yet," she retorted. Matilda glared at her.

"In two weeks he will be so I suggest you begin acting as his wife and tend to his burns," Matilda shooed her away. Groaning, Diliala left, though she stole glances back as she trudged away. Matilda rounded on Illeandir and pointed a finger at him.

"You stay away from her. She has a hard enough time staying with one man without a fine one like you coming along. And for that matter, stay away from all the other girls. Most of them are already to be married. You hear?" Illeandir nodded once. He had no intention of bonding with anyone. The last time he befriended a human they had died. Such short, fleeting lives humans lived. Yet it amazed him what they could accomplish in that short time. He was brought back from his thoughts when Matilda asked him a question.

"Where did you get this?" she asked touching a thick scar that ran the length of his shoulder blade and ended where his shoulder connected to his arm. Illeandir looked at it as if seeing the scar for the first time. He shifted away from her touch.

"Goblin attack," he said. His appearance changed from emotionless to that of great sadness and grief. Matilda laid a hand on his shoulder gently.

"Who did you lose?" she asked gently. It was a long time before Illeandir replied.

"A friend," he said simply. Seeing that he didn't want to talk, Matilda set about cleaning his wounds. The burn was quickly finished but the gash in his arm would need several stitches.

"Arrow?" she asked. Illeandir nodded. "Try not to move." She quickly washed the blood away and used a splash of wine to clean the inside. Illeandir hardly flinched. When that was done she threaded a sturdy needle with some thick thread and stitched the opening closed. When she backed away to inspect her work she noticed Illeandir had been watching her mend the wound the entire time.

"It doesn't bother you?" she asked. Illeandir shook his head.

"I've been shot many times and have had to do everything myself." He swiftly touched four different spots on the same shoulder. They were darker than the rest of his skin and stood out as little dents on his shoulder. Matilda's eyes widened.

"You leave me with more questions than answers every time I ask," she said softly in wonderment. The corners of Illeandir's mouth curved up in a shallow smile. It was the closest he came to smiling that day. "Will you answer one more question?"

"That depends on what it is" Illeandir said. Matilda paused, not sure if she wanted to asked what had been on her mind. There were so many things she wanted to know about this strange young man and every minute spent with him that list grew tenfold. Where was he from? He didn't look like a Gondorian, his features were too fine and no Gondorian had green eyes. How old was he? He looked far younger than the way he spoke with the weight of many years on his shoulders, in a way he reminded her of Jaxon. Not as old as his mother but still older than everyone else. Who was his friend and why was he here being chased by orcs?

"You say your name is Elstan, I know it is not true. You said yourself that you have reasons you cannot tell, which I can accept. I know that you are a great warrior, and have probably traveled many leagues. You care for others and try to save them even if it endangers your own life. So I think you are a good man. That is all I know of you."

Illeandir chuckled half-heartedly.

"Most know even less. Your question?" Illeandir queried. Matilda opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

"How long ago did you receive that?" she blurted pointing to the scar on his shoulder. Illeandir frowned.

"Strange question, one that I can only answer honestly if you bind yourself to secrecy. Do you really want to know?" Matilda nodded. What he said only made her want the answer more. "Give me your hand." Matilda held out a trembling hand and he held his just underneath hers. He spoke several phrases that were to soft and low to make anything of and she had a feeling he was speaking in a different language.

"There," Illeandir said leaning back. "Whatever I tell you will never escape your lips until I allow it. Should you try to speak what I say you will find your tongue frozen until the thought passes." Matilda began to wonder if the knowledge was really worth it. Whatever Elstan had just done she was sure it involved some sort of magic.

"I assure you I have no power within me. It is the words of an ancient race long forgotten by your people. Your daughter heals under those words," Illeandir said leaning on his knees. He picked up his shirt and slipped it over his head. He paused for a moment before he spoke.

******************************

Haha made you wait.

Illeandir

I swear! On my life! That Illeandir had green eyes long before I read The Lastborn by Gerithor Dunedain and learned that Caledorn had bright green eyes! We swears on the precious! I just changed it from bright green to dark green because the color of his eyes comes to play later on and that's how I had it planned and it would screw some things up majorly and could end up with him dead. Seriously. I mean it.

Sorry about that. It's just that I've been working on this story for soooooo long and then I read another story where the two characters are so similar and I panicked because Illeandir has become a part of me and to change him would essentially change a part of me. I know, it sounds crazy but I don't know how else to explain it.

Vote and comment

Yours worridly and hopefully,

Illeandir Naharia Alfýkin