Kingdom Besieged (closed for dryfter)

Kingdom Besieged (closed for dryfter)

Lyeth Talren sat by the window in her bedroom, overlooking the Calmalin Falls with a heavy heart. Her father had been right all along, her people, the life they once knew, was waning. How had it come to this? The sound of girlish giggles in the courtyard below drew her eyes from the falls. Lyeth couldn’t help but smile at the infectious sound even though it reminded her of their current dire predicament. There wasn’t one boy among them. Why their goddess had seemingly forsaken their nation, she didn’t know. Male children born to the Elven women had been a rare commodity for some time now. Lyeth despaired for her lineage. Perhaps this was the single most reason why she had chosen not to mate. Children were precious, granted, but when all the women birthed were female offspring, how were the elves to continue? There were the humans. That thought made her nostrils flare in distaste. Such primal creatures. A delicate shudder ran through her body at the mere thought of mating with one. Too many of their women had been taken captive by the humans and used for breeding purposes. Animals! All of them. Lyeth’s eyes returned to the falling water beyond her window. What had once instilled peace and calm in her, no longer seemed to.

With a resigned sigh, she rose and went to her clothing chest, opening it and drawing forth leather pants and an amethyst colored tunic. These she set on her bed, closing the lid of the chest. The gossamer nightgown she wore fell to the floor at her feet with a shrug of her shoulders. There was no one to see her smooth, pale naked flesh but the sun that was just now peeking over the treetops of their fortress. Slim legs and tiny feet stepped free of the delicate material. Lyeth bent to retrieve her gown, setting it on her bed then reaching for her tunic and drew it over her head, disturbing her ebony locks. It floated over her upper body to settle upon her full high breasts and fell to her waist. She sat on the bed to draw on her leather pants, standing to wiggle her tight rounded derriere into them. She laced them tightly. Glancing around her airy room she pondered the whereabouts of her boots. Lyeth got down on her stomach to peer under her bed and there they were, but first she had to wiggle further in to reach them. Squirming under her bed until only her bottom showed, her hand stretched forward, fingers grasping her boots and slid them toward her as she scooted back out from under the bed. Turning, to sit upright, she drew them on, the right, then the left. Getting to her feet, she adjusted her clothing more comfortably around her before striding across the room to sit at her small vanity and began to brush her long ebony locks. Green tired, forlorn eyes stared back from the mirror. Setting the brush on the vanity’s top, those green mirrored eyes stared back into the ones that caused the reflection. Her heart hurt. She was frustrated. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do to save the purity of her race. Somewhere, out there in the world beyond their protected fortress, there were, only the Lady knew, how many half-breed children running around and the irony of it all? The human males were successfully breeding male children upon the Elven women they had taken captive. No use dwelling over what she couldn’t change, let alone understand.



“Easy now Rilion.”

She softly breathed in his ear as her hand stroked across his broad neck. His furry chestnut ear flickered in response. The horse settled with a soft snort from his nose. Lyeth adjusted the bow slung across her chest before inserting her booted foot into the stirrup of the saddle adorning the animal’s back and swinging up into the saddle proper. Gathering up the reins, she leaned over the saddle horn to pet the horse’s neck before sitting back in the saddle. A soft click of her tongue. A gentle nudge of her heel. Horse and rider were headed out into the forest to hunt.

Lyeth wasn’t hunting big game. Winter was on the fringe of settling in and all the animals knew it. She was hoping for a few rabbits at best. Anything, really, to add to their meager winter stores. Most of the women preferred to bake and preserve fruits and vegetables to get them through the winter. A party of their women, Rangers, were out now, hunting bigger game. They had yet to return if they returned at all. Lyeth couldn’t depend on that. More and more of their women were going missing. No matter how strong or cunning the elven females were, the human males still overpowered them just by their sheer strength. It was a losing battle, but one Lyeth wasn’t ready to concede to. It would be a cold day in the darkest depths of the afterworld before she allowed herself to be taken by a human male, let alone mate with him and bear a child. She’d rather die by her own hand first.




Her father despaired of her. She knew she had disappointed him in his life time. He had wanted her to be the refined gracious lady like her mother had been. Lyeth had never been so. While she was cooped up in a tower with her mother and her mother’s ladies, learning to make a fine stitch, all Lyeth wanted to do was be outdoors, riding her pony, hunting with her father. Luckily for her, her mother approved of her little girl’s prowess with bow and arrows but she would not give her approval to hunt. They had skilled Rangers for that and Lyeth was a lady, someday to be queen. A stubborn, ebony haired, green-eyed little girl did not let her mother deter her. Whenever she could, she snuck away to hunt. It was never really much of anything at all, a small rabbit here or a fowl there. She managed to sneak them into the kitchen with no one the wiser. Lyeth learned to be sneaky. At a young age, she learned that if she looked upon certain people, in certain ways, she got what she wanted. Thus, the future queen of the Elves learned to fight with a knife, a dagger and eventually a sword. All of which were kept from her father and mother knowledge. For good reason. Heads would have rolled. That might be a little strong but her father wouldn’t have been lenient.

Her parents were gone now and her father had left her to all this. Queen of the Elven Nation and she still refused to behave as her father thought a queen should. If she wanted to hunt, she hunted. This was merely an escape from the fortress, a need to get out and be useful, even if only in a small way.




Rilion and she rode into the forest in quiet companionship. The horse’s hooves crunched the dry leaves. Sharp elven hearing listened for sounds that didn’t belong in the woods. Some flash of movement caught the corner of her emerald eyes. Slowly, very slowly, she drew the bow from her chest and reaching over her shoulder, she plucked an arrow from the quiver there. A slight pressure against Rilion’s ribs brought him to a gentle halt. Lyeth turned in the saddle, eyes seeking the movement. There. The bow was drawn up to eye level. The string was drawn back with arrow notched. A flash of movement again and the arrow took flight. There was a soft squeal as it found its mark. Dismounting, Lyeth shouldered her bow and ran toward the fallen animal. A nice plump white rabbit. She knelt beside it, softly speaking words over it as she pulled the arrow free, replacing it in her quiver. The bag over her other shoulder was brought around and the creature set inside it before she got to her feet again and returned to her horse, mounting up once more.

By the time the sun was directly overhead, Lyeth had managed to take four rabbits and three fowl. Not bad for a morning’s hunt. She had paused at a stream on her way back, to let Rilion drink his fill. In the meantime, she had dismounted and walked a little ways upstream, her eyes searching the water for movement. Stepping up onto a huge flat rock jutting over the water, she searched the shadows then grinned. Today was her lucky day. Lyeth removed her bow and quiver, setting it beside her as she got down on her stomach on the rock, leaning slightly over it. Her fingers reached for an arrow, pulling it free and raised it slowly over the shadowy part of the running water. Swiftly it plunged into the coldness with a splash. Her aim was true and she stabbed the arrow deeper into the wiggling body before using both hands, she drew up out of the water, a huge fish. She was grinning like a fool at her luck and perhaps that had been her downfall. Her mind was attuned to her catch and not to the dangers that could be lurking in the woods. She was just putting the fish into her bag when she became aware of …..something. Her head shot up, eyes searching. Her heart beat hard in her chest. Standing on the other side of the stream was a human male. Her mouth went dry. Her eyes flickered toward the quiver and bow that still lie at her feet. Then went to Rilion, who stood not that far away, but far enough. The human stood there and grinned at her, as if he could read her thoughts. His stance was arrogant, daring her to try. She couldn’t read his eyes, but she imagined what he was thinking and it made her sneer. Her head came up proudly, her eyes daring him in return. Her fingers dropped the strap of the bag. He’d be on her quickly if she made a move toward her bow and arrows or made a run for her horse. Nostrils flaring, emerald eyes that glittered death, she stood there, on that rock, her fingers flexing at her sides. He wasn’t going to turn and walk away. Elven women were a commodity human males craved. There was going to be a fight. The gentle pressure of the knife tucked into the back of her pants was reassuring. Either she was going to use it on him or herself. Maybe both. She wet her lips and took up a stance as he moved forward slowly, leisurely, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if he knew he was going to have her and there was nothing she could do about it. It infuriated her. Again, her eyes flickered toward her bow and arrows, before shooting back toward the male who was stalking her. Would he falter long enough to afford her an opportunity to dive for them and still get off a shot before he got to her? Doubtful. She backed away. Step by careful step. Eyes remaining on her stalker. The hunter had become the hunted. She would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if she hadn’t felt the very real threat of him or what was to become of her if he caught her.

Water slid over her boots as she backed through it to dry land again. He continued coming toward her. He even paused to retrieve her weapons as he came alongside the rock. Fire blazed in her eyes. She kept stepping backwards. He kept coming forward until he reached dry land again, now on the same side of the stream as she was. They stared at each other until she whistled. The man and the horse came rushing toward her. Lyeth drew the wicked looking knife, palming it, setting her feet…..

"Get out ya worthless boy!"

Bjorn was hardly a boy anymore, and so his father's kick, while solidly connecting with his kilted rump....didn't hurt as much as it should. He knew the old man was being soft on him, as did the dozens of eyes around him even now.

Nor was he alone. He was lucky, having shared a birthday with another clansman.....and now both of them were to under go the Rite of Adulthood together. For a moment, he stared at his friend Tristan.....the black haired youth grinning wildly even as a calloused hand rubbed his own sore ass. A glance behind them reminded them both of just what awaited them should they be successful.

A platinum haired head bobbed hungrily upon his father's lap, the ringlets of her hair thankfully blocking anything further from view. Elven women seemed voracious things, true trophies, and this one was his father's favorite.....had been bred several times though Bjorn wasn't allowed to even think of the offspring as siblings. The second the aged warrior had seated himself after throwing his son out on his duff, he was practically accosted by the sultry creature....no doubt more than ready to do her "duty to the clan" once more.

In short....he had to do the same. Overpower an elf maiden and bring her back to the clanhold. The stronger the woman, the better.....and for Bjorn and Tristan....that meant no mere peasant girl would do. But still....what could they do? A single elven warrioress could slay a full score of their warriors easily, their skill unparalleled....their weapon so much more deadly than the stone and crude iron things the humans wielded. A ranger sounded like a more likely target, but Tristan was deathly afraid of the hidden ones.....the shadows of the forest that had rained death down from the treetops and killed an entire branch of his family.

It was a suicide mission. Most of them knew it. Even his own father knew that roughly only one out of fifty youths sent out in such a manner ever returned. If it weren't for the fact that they didn't neglect their human women in favor of the more svelte elves.....the human clans would have been in real trouble. But while they were kept burdened with the clan's heirs, their counterpart's half blooded children were worked to the bone dredging up ore and metals from the nearby mountains. His father had said it was a fitting fate for abominations like they were......but the younger barbarian couldn't help but feel some measure of pity for them......

----------------------------------------------------

How long had they traveled? Worse still, it was winter. It was always winter when the Rite began. They were expected to fend for themselves, find their own food....and it wasn't going well. Tristan scanned the trees again, thanking whomever listened once again that he was still alive in this strange forest. No doubt the boy thought an arrow could take him at any time. Bjorn shivered slightly......he was probably right.

And then he saw his childhood friend, paces away by now, stiffen suddenly. Bjorn was on his feet in an instant, already moving towards the perceived disturbance as Tristan stepped recklessly into the clear.....a huge smile on his face.

And no wonder! An elf maiden! Still....Tristan had spotted her, and even now had begun to aggressively advance. This wasn't his prey. All he could do was watch. He liked his friend's chances....it appeared this one at least was unarmed....a quick glance downward showed the bow and quiver full of arrows at her feet.....if she was allowed to reach them.....but surely Tristan's spear would reach her first....

And what a horse! Bjorn couldn't help but stare and stare longingly. That beast could no doubt outrun his father's best mounts. His people were not unaccustomed to having horses, but truly none could compare to this specimen. Yet another thing the elves shamed them with.

Tristan hadn't dropped his crude spear. Though from his gait, and the way he openly tried to intimidate her with his advance across the shallow stream, it was clear that the spear he held in his hands wasn't the one he was interested in stabbing her with. And who could blame him? One drop of his seed, and the elf would be his....resistance gone, completely devoted......Bjorn shivered at the thought. She was beautiful, a true trophy.....

He was so enrapt in staring at the scene as it unfolded, that he nearly missed the danger signs as they unfolded with blinding speed.

"She's got a dagger, Trist!"

A second later and he was clamping a hand over his own mouth, shocked and appalled. If she hadn't noticed his presence yet, she certainly knew he was there now. Not that he'd make for half as commanding of a presence before her.....not staring in shock as he was at the stream of crimson coloring the water.....

His life long friend face down, yet no longer needing to worry about drowning.....not anymore.....

It had happened so fast.....was this the fierceness of the elves? Was this what made them such prized mates? Bjorn felt himself harden in his pants just as her gaze hardened as it met his own. The disgust he felt from her was tangible. He was no more than a beast, and he knew it.....

He would have her. Perhaps not today. Hell, perhaps he would die today. Perhaps he wouldn't have her at all. All this and more raced through his mind, even as he moved slowly into the clearing. He was no coward, but nor did he feel the need to provoke her any more than she already was.

He spoke, but it was the rough tongue of his clan, not the refined language of her people. He could tell she most likely didn't understand. Still....he wasn't completely devoid of knowledge. He had studied hard the few times his father hadn't been looking. The old man knew only strength....that was all that mattered. But his son knew better.....it took a brilliant mind as well as a strong arm to truly be great.

And so when he spoke again, it was only one word. One that she would know well, and perhaps wouldn't kill him over.

Though he probably mangled its pronunciation, he could tell from the way her look changed that she understood.

In elven....."Burial."

He silently kept his eyes on her, even as he moved to retrieve the corpse. The tears would come later, for now he couldn't afford to have his vision obscured. Slowly.....he dragged Tristan's body back into the brush the two of them had emerged from.....

Bjorn shivered, thoroughly miserable and chilled to the bone in the winter wind that had whipped up suddenly through the rocky valley he found himself in now.

He had half dragged, half carried his now dead companion as far as he could. Why the elf had let him go, he wasn't sure. She could have easily put an arrow in him from a hundred paces. Though the minute he was out of sight, the moment he could let his pride slip just a little.....the tears flowed much faster than the sluggish stream that had been, and would be, Tristan's resting place.

As the last stone settled into place, the sandy haired youth wiped the remnants of his mourning onto a sweat soaked sleeve. The winter ground was far too hard to dig up. A funeral pyre would have only attracted the attention of the forest elves, who in turn would no doubt slay him on the spot for doing something as forbidden as starting a fire amongst their precious trees.....

That left building a cairn. It had taken long past sunset, his fingers were nearly white with the cold that had seeped into them. Yet he had done it, had given his friend a warrior's burial....

The loneliness settled about him like a cloak. It was the first time since they had set out together weeks ago that Bjorn had to confront his future on his own. Yet this was the norm, this was how things were supposed to be in the Rite. Bjorn had thought himself lucky to have a companion on his year of adulthood. Fate had laughed wickedly.

The image of the elven woman flashed into the forefront of his memory. He had sworn a thousand oaths under his breath, unaware and uncaring that elven hearing would have been more than enough to pick up the words. He would saddle that wench like a prized mare, and march her back to his father. Not that she'd be anywhere near, nor was he likely to ever find her again.....but just the thought of her fine features, the willow thin body only making each sensual leather clad curve more pronounced.....

------------------------------------------------

How long had he wandered since that day? He had somehow managed to find shelter from the biting cold wind that kept the autumn leaves brightly colored and shaking on their branches, each ones slow and drifting plummet to the ground reminding him all too well of what...whom....he had left behind.

The stench of carrion brought him back to the present. For a long moment, Bjorn hesitated. There probably wasn't any reason to investigate, but the smell was faint yet.....flesh that had barely begun to decompose. While most of the meat was no doubt unsalvagable.....there was always the chance of a meal.....

The human youth picked his way gingerly through the woods, his wiry frame bobbing and flitting from tree to tree as if dodging an unseen assassin's viewpoint. He could never be too careful. And yet what he found......

Bodies. Not that it surprised him. But they weren't of animal origin, not the remains of some great predator's meal.

Twisted, broken bodies....armored....some filled with a multitude of arrows, enough that Bjorn glanced nervously at the treetops. Rolling a green skinned corpse over, the human stepped back in disgust and spat. Orcs. Lots and lots of dead orcs. He knew these well enough. Many of his clan's warriors had been slain by just such creatures. Brutal, aggressive, and savage....orcish raids had brought slaughter to many a human settlement, and even Bjorn himself had seen many a human woman carried off and never seen again. Others had been raped openly....once all viable resistance had been snuffed out of course.

He took his time, scanning the battlefield. If anything else, there had to be something of use here. He wasn't above going through pockets, though most of the armor was too big for him....he wasn't slight by any means, but he couldn't hope to match the girth of these warriors. Just who had done this? And why was it that the weapons that were strewn about the place had all been shattered and rendered useless?

His answer came a moment later, as he rolled over another large body, already cradling a small package of hardtack biscuits found on a previous corpse. He was hungry enough that the dry cake of biscuit seemed like manna from heaven, eagerly washed down by the bitter, stale water from a similarly purloined skin.

His eyes widened softly as he took in the vision of elven perfection, her frame bound in elven steel that swelled just enough to show off her womanly assets. As breathtakingly beautiful as the maiden might have been, her amethyst eyes spoke only of death, the hardened glint there revealing in an instant that she had no regrets when her life passed from her.

Hours passed, and he had come up with somewhat of a food supply for his efforts. Jerky, hardtack, a few raisins. Travel food. Bjorn didn't care, he was much better off than before. Still....he couldn't help but wonder where the blades of the elven fallen had gone. He could sure use a weapon beyond his crude spear right now.....

A soft moan had that same spear levelled quickly enough, every muscle in his body tensing in apprehension. It had come from his left.....and some distance away, and yet this strange clearing had been cloaked in silence since the moment he had set foot in it. He couldn't have possibly missed such a sound.....

It took at least another hour of careful listening, and moving of bodies before he found her.....

Her helm had been struck from her head, there was enough blood there to suggest how heavy the blow that had done so had been....

A shapely thigh was pinned to the ground.....a spear driven clean through, though its haft was now broken and ruined. There was little clarity left in her gaze as the brutish bodies covering her were removed one at a time....the barest of squeaks escaping her as he lifted her leg, pulling the shattered wood through it.....

He couldn't tell how many other injuries she had sustained. Only that she was elven....and as beautiful an elf as they came. Should she scar from her wounds, it would only convince his people that she was that much stronger....

If she recognized him for what he was, she didn't show it. Fortunately for them both, Bjorn had found an abandoned cabin days ago. It had provided shelter, if not food. Now he had food too.

For the second time since he set out, he bore the weight of another. Though he had to admit that the mysterious elf woman was much lighter than Tristan had been. Smelled better too....especially when she lolled against him.....moaning her pain and no doubt slipping in and out of reality.

"I will take care of you. You, in return, will serve me."

He doubted she heard him. Nor understood the words even if she could. He could only imagine the horror that would have greeted him if she could.

"She's got a dagger, Trist!"

Her head shot up, emerald eyes searching the forest behind the male slowly crossing the stream toward her as she whistled. There was another one of them! The words she didn’t understand, but then, she didn’t need to. Lyeth knew she needed to escape with urgency. She wasn’t armed well. A dagger, bow and arrows, with the latter being out of reach, did not bode well for her.

Rilion reached her first. Lyeth turned in a swift motion and vaulted for the saddle. She would have made it too if the human hadn’t moved quicker than she had expected, his hand grasping her ankle and giving a vicious yank. He pulled her from the saddle and she landed in the stream with a splash. The cold water was mind numbing for a moment or more, nearly paralyzing her muscles. Though the stream wasn’t deep by any means, she choked on some of the water as she inhaled it into her lungs, the weight of his body forcing her own under the cold surface. His hands were everywhere, trying to take her dagger from her, trying to get a better hold on her body. Her feet lashed out, one finding his knee, the other aimed for his gut, both desperately trying to get him off her. If the other one in the woods came to his aid, she’d have no chance at all. Her body twisted and turned, churning the water. Her free hand found the front of his crude shirt and pulled him close and with a sudden burst of speed and energy, she flipped him, taking him totally by surprise. She used the slickness of the water to her advantage, her wrist twisting and turning in his grasp. As the water closed over his body, there was just enough slack for her to yank her weaponed hand free of his tyranny. A fatal mistake on his part. Cold metal flashed in the sunlight before plunging, meeting the flesh of his neck as his head came out of the water, mouth gasping for life sustaining air. There was a gurgle as warm blood sprayed forth, coating the front of her wet tunic and her face like some macabre war paint. His grasp on her own tunic waned. Her eyes met his and for a second when motion seemed to slow to snail’s pace, she could hear his death rattle. See the look of astonishment and disbelief in his eyes. Her own breathing became prominent to her ears. His head tilted upward, dark eyes finding azure skies as life drained from them. Lyeth felt a moment of despair before she remembered the other human. She gave the dead man a hard shove, letting go of his shirt as her other hand tightened on her dagger protruding from his throat. The force of gravity freeing it from his corpse. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly. She stepped over the body, eyes rising to the other side, seeking the other. There. He had stepped from the trees. Lyeth wasted no time in vaulting into Rilion’s saddle, this time unimpeded. She hastily gathered the reins in her free hand, turning the horse to face the other human male. The look on his face sickened her. Then he spoke. The Elvenish word sounded guttural and crude on his tongue.

"Burial."

She glanced toward the body, held in place by a few rocks, floating face down now. A soft clicking of her tongue. A gentle pressure of her heels and Rilion backed away, up onto the other side and would have gone into the trees there, if she hadn’t gently used her knees to bring him to a stop. Her emerald gaze never faltered or looked away from the male that approached his companion’s body. He, too, kept his eyes upon her form. She wasn’t sure why she remained where she was as the male grasped the dead man and drug him from the water and pulled him into the woods they emerged from. Only then did she set Rilion into a run, fleeing the site of death. She rode low over his neck, the wind taking her soft sob. Her first human kill. She was going to be violently ill.






The pain was searing. Myria’s body was on fire. She had lost a lot of blood and could only lie where she had fallen. Damn humans. How she hated them. The weight on her chest was nearly her undoing yet something wouldn’t let her succumb to the darkness again. She was unsure how long she had lain there, with bodies piled on top of her, the weight of which were being lifted from her, a little at a time. Someone was here. It took every ounce of strength her body possessed to open her eyes, even a little.

Oh, sweet mother of Sylvania. A human.

Her heart beat dipped then thudded in her chest as he bent over her to lift her leg. Had that sound come from her? Pain seared through her thigh, flaring throughout her body. Light brown eyelashes fell over amethyst eyes. Too weak to do anything more than lie limply as his arms slid under her. When he lifted her from the ground, it was all too much for her weakened state and she finally surrendered to the darkness closing in on her consciousness. Her chestnut hair, matted with blood and grime, hung limply over his arm. The gentle jostling of being lifted and carried was too much for her beaten, bruised body. It was an effort to simply breathe. Her lungs felt like they were on fire from the exertion.

Perhaps it was a good thing she didn’t hear, let alone, understand his words when he spoke. She was in no way fit to fight him or even consider ending her own life.

"I will take care of you. You, in return, will serve me."

If she had been in a healthy state, she simply would have wished him to the Underworld and dispatched him there, post ‘haste herself.

All in all, the scavenging had been successful. At least....Bjorn kept trying to tell himself that to ignore the soft dripping of water coming in through the ruinated roof. Much of the cottage was dilapidated beyond conventional repair. Yet it had proven enough shelter for him.....just not for him and another. And for now, the elf woman had his cloak, even had his shirt, albeit torn into strips that bound her head and torn thigh.

He had suffered, making several trips to a nearby creek for water. Water that he painstakingly poured into her throat, sometimes from the stolen waterskin he had found amongst his spoils of war.....sometimes from his own lips, as they covered her own and forced her to drink when the other methods only resulted in choking and sputtering.

Beneath her armor, she wore linens as well....no doubt intended to keep her soft, supple body from chafing against the hard metal. This cloth too was used, though more sparingly. She would be of no use to him if she froze to death before returning with him to his home. He had left her enough to preserve her modesty....though how much longer she'd be in need of it remained in question.

At least he didn't have to worry about a weapon with her. He'd checked. Every inch of her body as he removed the surprisingly light plate and leather. Her battle garb was unlike anything he had ever seen, and yet he hadn't the time to inspect it closer, so enrapt was Bjorn in the body it had been hiding from view.

She was his. He had claimed her, and said as much though he hadn't committed to the action just yet. Still....he felt no remorse or guilt as a smooth palm ran gently over her....admiring the supple, pliant flesh it came in contact with. She was truly beautiful, even now, he could feel the hardened muscle hidden deep within the contours of her thighs....he could feel her shudder softly as his touch crept upward.....

So this was an elf. He could feel his blood racing. He had half a mind to seperate her from the rest of her garments and lay claim to her then and there, but another part of him hushed away his impatience...his lust...

After the death of Tristan....he wanted this one to know she was defeated....and to know the man she would call Master. Even to him....after seeing the sheer number of orcish dead.....to take her in her sleep, in the midst of her feverish delirium....would be to shame her.....to sully her warrior's pride. It was a pride he swore to not deny her....not even when she succumbed to him.

Bjorn glanced down at her impossibly slender wrists, now bound by strips torn from her own tunic. The one thing he could not suffer was escape. Not that she should be able to go anywhere with her leg in such a state. Thoughtfully, he tugged a bite of tough jerky into his mouth....chewing it into a gooey paste before leaning forward again to press his lips to hers, using his tongue to force the offering deep enough into her throat to prompt a nervous swallowing.

She had been unconscious for days, at times moaning and crying out as fever from her injuries took her, and twice he thought she was going to die as her temperature reached nigh impossible levels. Still, he fought hard, keeping their water outdoors to soak up the autumn chill before drenching cloth with its cool kiss and placing the pleasant balm upon her forehead.....every watchful for changes in her condition.

"Your friends left you for dead. By all rights, you should be dead. But you will cheat death, just as I did. You were destined for me."

He was thinking of her of course. The raven haired elf with the piercing eyes....the swift flash of silver that had been Tristan's ending, and the changing of his future. Why he was still breathing even now, he didn't know. Had the maiden been merciful? Or was there more too it? It was hard to tell, his mind had been so muddled by shock and grief at the time.

But not so muddled now that he missed the gentle stirring of his charge.....

She barely surfaced before she was plunged back into the darkness with the fire that consumed her. Everything ached. Someone tried to force water into her throat, making her choke when all she wanted to do was let the fire take her. It promised her peace. A firm softness covered her lips, warmed liquid trickled into her mouth. She swallowed instinctively as it flowed to the back of her throat. Then the darkness came to claim her again. The heaviness that covered her, she tried to kick it off as her delirium raged. Her hands. What was wrong with her hands? Darkness sucked her back under, only allowing her to surface for moments at a time. She tried often to turn her head away from whatever was pressing against her mouth, inserting something into it. She tried to deny it, tried to fend it off, but her hands wouldn’t work. She could only wonder why before the fire took her again.

Somewhere in the depth of the night, Myria shuddered. First the fire had taken her, now she was cold. So cold. Her teeth chattered against each other.

“Cold…”

A single word, barely uttered through chattering teeth. Tremors rolled through her body as it shook violently with the cold consuming her. She tried to curl her body into itself but that made pain explode inside her body, making her cry out. Her mind, exhausted beyond measure, registered little, not even when another body curled up close to her, pulling her into warmth. A solid warmth. The tremors became lighter and less until they stopped altogether and she fell into a deeply fatigued sleep.

Myria's mind surfaced. Her body grew restless. It stirred beneath… what was that? Something was covering her. Her brows unconsciously drew together. The last she remembered was the orcs. Her hands. Why couldn’t she use her hands? Her mind became muddled. Tired. Weary. She slipped back into unconsciousness. She dreamed. Of orcs. Orcs had attacked their party. She had been one of those that guarded the other women who had been out picking winter berries. The orcs had surrounded them. Weapons had been drawn. She had ordered the couple of the other guards to get the defenseless women out of there, get them back to the fortress. The rest of them closed ranks, readying themselves for battle. It had been bloody. The Orcs were fierce fighters. The one she had been battling, charged her, thrusting a spear into her thigh, pinning her to the earth that ran red with the blood of Elves and Orcs alike. His head slammed into her own, making her see stars, making the light fade from her eyes. Pain exploded in her side, radiating outward, filling her body with it as his meaty fist slammed into her ribcage. She went to her knees. The Orc hit her again. By then, she couldn’t feel a thing as she fell to the ground. She didn’t know how many bodies fell upon her own. Her forays into consciousness were all too brief.

There was peace. A calmness about her. Was she dead? She stirred and her body responded with pain. A soft cry she couldn’t prevent escaped her lips. Her eyes opened. Where was she? How did she get here? Without trying to turn her head, her eyes flickered around at her surroundings. There was someone else here. Someone who had to have brought her here. Someone who had looked after her, obviously. Myria was covered with a fur of some type. Her eyes closed briefly, her head hurting so badly. Her body hurt beyond measure but she must be alive, because this place certainly wasn’t her idea of the Summerlands. Experimentally, Myria moved her head. A scant inch. She wished she hadn’t. She recognized who was with her. Who had saved her life and now she was wishing he hadn’t. She was wishing she had died. Myria didn’t know who he was, she knew what he was. A human. By the stars of a dark night, a human. She owed her life to a human and her mind registered something else. Her hands. They hadn’t worked for her because they were bound. At the wrists.

He wasn’t her savior. He was her captor.

Her amethyst eyes met his. Her tongue rolled over her dry lips. Myria’s eyes tried desperately not to show her fear. She had heard the stories. She knew that the humans took elven women as their captives, breeding with them. She had heard stories of how the elven women couldn’t resist the human males. Craved them even. She would not be like those women. There was little doubt as to her fate in the hands of this one. He had saved her not out of desire to save a life. No. In his eyes, she was his. Myria would die first or try to kill him. She would not become a slave to a human male. She didn’t know if the rumors were true and she didn’t wish to find out first hand. The open display of defiance in her eyes was undermined by the shadows of weariness that marred her face, making her pale soft skin appear fragile. She was unbelievably tired to the marrow of her bones but her chin notched upward slightly despite that.

Days.

Days spent with her. While their food supply dwindled, he watched over her. It became doubly hard when her fever ebbed, and instead she shivered, not even the warmth of his cloak enough for her. He had taken to lying next to her, his lusts raging, though kept barely in check. He had allowed himself to touch her, had even gone so far as to move her, drape a long, tapering thigh over his own as he curled up against her and shared his warmth.

And some parts of him were definitely warmer than others. He wonder if she knew in the midst of her unconsciousness.....the feel of his maleness fitting so well snuggled against her own femininity. Only a thin scrap of fabric or two kept him from her most guarded of places and he knew it. And yet his will was iron. This was a warrioress. He would not best her in battle while she slept. What battle would that be? He would wait for her to wake, and then it would start. He would see the surrender in her eyes the moment his claim was staked.....he would witness her change......and they all changed. No matter how much hate. How much loathing. How much battle lust.

There was no mistaking how badly she was hurt. When she finally woke, it would have been a dream come true if not for the disgust and loathing in her gaze. He could practically feel her hatred, completely oblivious and thankless after he had just saved her life. Fortunately, as much as that fact made Bjorn's skin crawl with raw anger.....he also couldn't help but notice something else deep within those enchanting purple eyes of hers....eyes that no human could ever have, though ones he'd seen in the half bloods only a handful of times.

Fear. She feared him. Despite her warrior's nature trying its best to stifle it before it could show. She was hurt. She was bound. And by his own measure, she was weaponless. All that was left to do was pit her will against his, a battle even she knew....or suspected.....she would lose.

Her fear was justified. Especially with how long she had made him wait. Even now, he watched her every move as hands moved to the kilt he wore, the ornate sash about him coming undone one heavy knot at a time. Her soft cry echoed through the ragged little cabin, and not even he knew if it was fear, or pain from her sudden attempt to move. Probably both.....but he knew which one was stronger as his kilt fell away and revealed what his gods had graced him with upon his birth. A thick flagpole jutted grotesquely from his loins.....thick and veined, quivering with days of pent up lust. He had already become accustomed to just how she felt lying next to him, even beneath him. It wasn't a feeling he was going to let slip away in a moment of defiance.

"Do you understand me?"

He watched to see if there was any flicker of recognition in her eyes, if she knew any of his people's tongue.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you now? You are mine. You will serve me."

Whether or not she understood, her facial features settled in a grim line. She had to know her chances, and they weren't good. Especially when he was prepared for if she kicked him. Not hard. She only had one good leg with which to perform such an action. Still....there was nothing wrong with her arms.

Which is why he had bound her wrists. And he had no intention of waiting about to see if her writhing could free them or not.

A soft noise rose from the bed to greet him as he moved atop it with her. His hands moved of their own accord.....touching.....stroking.....growing ever more bold. She was dressed in the barest of clothing. Clothing she would need if she were to travel with him to his clanhold and be properly presented to his people. He looked into her eyes with a smile as his fingers peeled her tunic upward.....revealing the petite, yet supple looking breasts she was so desperate to hide from him. Yet it was a matter of choosing ones battles and even he knew it.....the good look he was getting now was only because her every effort was most likely directed at keeping him away from his true directive.

He would have to see how iron her will truly was....though he suspected her body would fail long before her will would.

Firm hands settled upon her trembling thighs....one of which still carried the color of crimson through its bandage.....

Let the battle begin.

"Do you understand me?"

He spoke. The words, whatever they were, sounded harsh and grating to her ears. For the first time in her life, she wished she understood him. His words would probably give her a clue as to his intentions. The feeling of helplessness that engulfed her, also made her angry. Myria became all too conscious of the lumpy bed beneath her as she wiggled and strained to sit upright even a little. It was then she noticed that her armor was missing and all that covered her body was the finely sewn chemise she had donned when her day had started back in the fortress, oh so seemingly long ago. It was thin, made to go against her skin to keep it from being rubbed raw by her armor. The savage had removed her chainmail as well. Armor and chainmail were both crafted of Mithril.



The dwarves that mined the earth, for times beyond comprehension, had always coaxed the precious ore to the surface. They were never greedy about it, depleting the earth, scarring it. They drew a certain lot before they collapsed the tunnel and moved on. The Dwarven Ones had built themselves an enormous fortress underground. They were more at home there, living close to the pulse of the earth.

The Elves and Dwarves had made a pact. They would stand as one against the crude humans who threatened their way of life. Dwarves may not be as refined as the Elves, but they were stout. Hearty. The salt of the earth and once they gave their word, it was their bond. They also made a damn fine ale. In their companionship, the Dwarves shared their Mithril with the Elves, who in turn, forged it into armor and chainmail. In exchange for sharing the precious ore with them, the Elves forged axes for their Dwarven brothers. Life was good. Until the advent of the humans. Where had they come from? They were barbarians. Heathens. They had no respect for the land they walked on or the bounty that adorned it. They didn’t understand the way of life. One simply did not kill the life that roamed simply for gluttony. Neither the Elves or the Dwarves could make themselves understood to the simplistic humans. Although the humans had learned, the hard way, not to dismiss so lightly either of the other two. The Elves could move through the trees or any other place for that matter, with speed and agility. Their weapons were deadly, their skill unmatched. The dwarves, too, gained grudging wariness. Though the humans found them humorous for being so short, the humans learned that the dwarves were a fierce lot. Despite their size, they were fierce warriors and had taken down many of their kind in battle.



"Do you know what I'm going to do to you now? You are mine. You will serve me."

The sound of his voice made her eyes focus and widen as he climbed up on the bed with her. She drew her legs away from him even though such an action made a spasm of pain flicker through her eyes. His hands stroked her skin as if he had never felt something so soft before. His actions brought an involuntary sound from her lips, her eyes to his hands. They were rough, calloused. They touched her naked thighs. It was then it dawned on her, she no longer wore her leather pants. Clearly, he had removed them to tend to her wound which was bound snuggly even though her blood had seeped through it to stain the cloth. Myria’s eyes flickered to the human’s chest. It was bare. Had he torn his shirt to bind her wound…. and her wrists? Her hands tugged against her bindings but to no avail. Roughened palms pressed to the soft skin of her thighs, pressing them apart with firmness and intent. It made her sharply aware that all that covered her lower body was a wispy triangular piece of cloth.

Normally, Myria was calm under stress. Right now? Panic was threatening to choke her as his hands settled on her thighs and he moved between them, hands peeling her chemise upwards to reveal the soft, pale flawless skin underneath. His eyes moved over her naked flesh, spurring the panic inside her to spread. She inched her good leg upward toward her body. It was done slowly so as not to alert him to her intent.

“You son of a mongrel.”

She managed to keep her voice light and even forced herself to put a sing-song tone into it. Myria barely kept the malice out of her eyes as she kept talking, her good leg drawing closer to her body.

“You saved my life and for what? For the ideal of keeping me for yourself? You may win this battle between us. I’m in no position to fight you, not now, but that won’t stop me from trying.”

Her leg shot forward, hooking behind his thigh, pulling it toward her with an instant, sudden jerk. Her injured leg swiftly drew back toward her body and lashed forward. Her target was his flat abdomen. Pain shot through her head like glittering lights blinding her for a moment as she also fought down the instantaneous wave of nausea that roiled up from her stomach. Instinct and pure determination made her roll her body toward the edge of the bed, struggling to get to her feet, regardless of the pain that half crippled her. Her sudden cry rent the air as she stood on the injured leg, forcing aside the blinding lights exploding in her head and forced down, by sheer will, the queasiness that threatened to empty her stomach of its contents. Her eyes scanned the room frantically, looking for something to defend herself with despite her bound wrists as she hobbled toward the door to the shack they had taken refuge in. There must be something here. Something she could use to fend him off with. Her pinned hands reached for the handle of the door, giving it a feeble yank. Despite her injuries, despite what she had been through over heaven knows how many days, Myria moved with an incredible speed, leaving one to wonder just how fast she could move when she was fit and healthy. Outside the sun shone, remnants of rain dripped from the dilapidated roof over their heads. Freedom. So close and yet, so far. She threw herself through the open doorway, a quick glance over her shoulder made her wish she hadn’t.

Even being prepared, it hurt.

He lacked his father's sheer bulk. So when the elfen foot connected hard with his gut, it brought out an immediate expulsion of air and a pained grunt simultaneously, followed moments later by a respectful groan. Not that she was sticking around to survey her damage. Like a woodland deer so terrified of the wolf that stalked it forgot about the injuries it had already sustained at the hands of the pack, his elf maiden scrambled for the door in a mixture of elation, fear, and agony.

Bjorn watched in amazement as she managed to get past the rotten barrier with a combination of dexterity and sheer stubbornness, even with her hands tied. No human woman he had ever seen could show this level of determination sporting the injuries the female before him had. Perhaps if children were threatened, but this was not the case.....

He had little time to admire. They were too near the forest yet. And where there were trees, there was death among them. He had been lucky so far in not encountering any of her sylvan kin, her pale skin....shimmering softly in the starlight even now, proclaimed her not of that stealthy sub-race. Not that the elves of the wood would care....not if they found him here. With her.

And if anyone knew where those elves might be, where help might be.....it was her.

He could hear her shrill cry, a glance over her shoulder telling her all she needed to know about his pursuit. By the gods of the wind, she was fast! And her leg had been fully pierced through too! A soft frown and a concerned growl rippled from his throat, though he had no way of knowing how she would react to the sound. If she continued to run like this, she could do permanent muscle damage. That would decrease her value dramatically in his eyes, though perhaps make her more worthy in the eyes of his people.

He was breathing hard by the time he caught up with her, her reaction to his touch filling his ears and hands alike. He could feel the tense muscles in her shoulders as fingertips dug hard into them, even as his own poor heels dug into the rocky, frozen ground beneath them.

She spun, her momentum arrested, and toppled to the ground where he stalked around her, sizing her up more for the sake of her injuries than anything else. She would not get away from him. She had no weapon with which to strike him down, and her hands were bound so she couldn't even pummel him. She could kick yes....but from the way her injured leg spasmed even now.....this one run would be her last for a while. Bjorn only hoped it wouldn't be her last ever. How could he tell her how majestic, how fleet footed and agile she had appeared running. If she hadn't been hurt.....he'd have had no chance of catching her.

She thrashed though. He expected her too. Twice her bound fists crashed down on the back of his head as he picked her up. She was blissfully light, he had learned that carrying her from the battlefield she had been found on. The moment she lost leverage.....her blows were like butterfly kisses, easily ignored.

"I'm not going to wait for the fever to take you again."

He spun her around, and deposited her roughly, hearing the agonized cry as her wounds made their presence felt immediately. Fingers tangled in her hair just a split second before she made to move away from him again.....the trees in full view.....she had been close. A few more minutes of freedom and she would have become a lot harder to catch.....

Her cry of pain became something else entirely as his free hand moved to cup her lithe body.....a purely lewd and sexual contact.....pressing the woman's own panties up against her barely hidden womanhood. He could almost swear he saw her shudder ever so slightly....especially as a finger curled just enough to run along her shockingly small slit....

He was far enough away. If they came for him from the trees, he would be able to beat a hasty retreat wouldn't he? And he was fairly certain he was out of arrow range....at least.....by human standards for sure.....

With a rough movement, he pulled the cloth to one side, baring her into view, ignoring her feeble protests. This was her fate, he had to tell himself. She had to have known her future the moment she had woken up in their borrowed bed.

Grunting, he pushed her down, her pale cheek grating harshly against the cold ground even as he pressed a knee against her.....leveraging just enough to press occasionally against her bandage. She ached enough already, he knew. Just how much more pain was she going to allow herself to endure? And the second those lovely, perfect thighs of hers parted....

For his part, all that was required was a simple flip of his kilt. She writhed like a desperate animal the first time it touched her.....he would never forget the sound of that last cry......

Bjorn lunged forward savagely, grunting hard as he did so, surprised when he didn't sink to the hilt in the supple elf's body. So tight was she, that her pussy resisted his advance stubbornly, requiring several more pleasant, solid pushes to finally fill her to her core where he could feel every quiver, every tremble and spasm that dared to run its course within her.

"You...are mine."

The words were whispered, but he had no doubts what so ever that this time, she at least got his meaning. Especially when the coupling began in earnest. He wasn't gentle with her for the sake of her wounds. She had angered him by fleeing, trying to escape. Did she even realize the shame he would have suffered if she had been successful, and he had later perished at the hands of a different of her kin? His ancestors would have turned their backs on him for sure.

He grunted hard with each brutal thrust of cock that pierced her belly, spitting her upon his thick meat like a roast.....and fucking her as if she actually were just as mindless. Her cries and moans concerned him, but it was enough to know that once she was bound, he could devote his time honestly to her recovery.

For now, he had to work himself to that point.....and she was making it easy for him. Never before had he felt something so passionate, so alive, as the tight sheath that rippled and convulsed around him, alternating between trying to force him out and trying to suck him in deeper. The sound she made every time he bottomed out inside her was especially intoxicating, the shivers she responded with rippling perfectly along his cock shaft, all the way to the root of him.

It was that root that was beginning to ache, to swell and pulse with a life of its own, a life that eagerly wanted to flow into her and end her petty resistance. He focused on that.....that defining moment he knew would be her breaking point.....he was so close too.

She had to have known as well, Bjorn was careful to keep his hold on her hair, keep her pressed down and pinned as he made her take every last deep and heated pistoning. Could hear it in her voice when she spoke words he didn't understand, moaned cries born of desperation and fear.....

He refused to roar his climax, choosing to not press his luck by further increasing the chance his presence would be noticed. In the end it was all the same anyway.....his muscles clenching suddenly......the thick, heavy sack between his thighs clutching, jerking, as it caused the invading member inside her to swell dangerously......

She only had a second or two to register what was happening......

Bjorn exploded in a hot mess. Days of pent up lust and sexual frustration just from eyeing her, watching over her as she slept, arched and moaned in the throes of her fever.....his own young and over active mind finding it all too easy to imagine them as cries of desire instead of what they were.

And now.....now he was pulsing his own dominance into her, mating her completely, intimately.....and he felt her respond.

No sooner had he finished....that he released her.....grasping a shoulder once more to spin her around and openly view the mixture of emotions, feelings that mirrored openly on her face.

"I said I wanted to see the moment the light goes out in your eyes, elf. If I've not missed my chance.....show it to me."

His hands descended upon her shoulders and she knew the fleeting hope of freedom was gone. His fingers dug into her flesh hard and cruelly. Being jerked to a halt did two things simultaneously, she spun and the ground rushed up to meet her. Her wound was already on fire, a fire that stormed its way up her leg. Landing on it brought a severely distressed cry from her lips. Her face turned to the side, her hair covering it. Myria’s fingers curled against the hard ground as her chest heaved, her heavy breathing the result of several things. From the curtain of her hair, she watched his feet as he moved around her. She felt….resignation. It was a distasteful feeling. Then she was airbourne with another cry. Even with her wrists lashed together, she laced her fingers and rained blows against the back of his head.

"I'm not going to wait for the fever to take you again."

He spoke again, the sound of his voice an insult to her ears. Myria had no time for thought as he moved swiftly, setting her down roughly with no care for her injury. The impact jarred the hole in her thigh causing pain to explode in her head, making her fleetingly wish her leg wasn’t there at all. Pushed to the ground, his knee held her in place and feebly, she struggled until that same knee pressed against the now crimson bandage wrapped about her thigh. The pressure of his knee, she knew, was to keep her inline. To remind that escape was futile. It further served to remind her of her vulnerability.

Myria had thought the pain in her leg was all consuming. How wrong she was. As his body invaded hers, pain shot through her pelvic region, the likes of which she had never experienced before. She let out scream she couldn’t have swallowed if she tried. Despite the agony, she struggled to get away from him, away from that male part that was ravaging her body. It was a pointless exercise. By the stars, she felt like she was being torn asunder. Tears rolled silently from her eyes, dripping to the cold, hardened ground of winter unchecked. He pulled back only to lunge forward again, deeper. Each stroke of his cock was like a burning spear in her body. His invasion, a tear in her spirit. Finally she felt his hips pressed squarely against her. The length of his man tool, buried to the hilt. The proof of her virginity smeared on the inside of her thighs. Droplets of blood replaced her tears on the ground from her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to prevent a cry from leaving her yet again.

"You...are mine."

Whispered words. Thankfully, she couldn’t understand him. Words of conquest, perhaps? The rod of steel lodged in her vaginal channel began to move again. Her whole body scraped against the cold ground as he pushed roughly into her body. What did she care? She was ruined. There was no way she could go back to her people, even if she could effect an escape, and hold her head high. She had been defiled by a human male. She had but only one choice left to her. To die. Sounds of pain and humility were the only things allowed to escape her throat as she laid there with him rutting inside her.

Yet…..

Somewhere in the depth of her mind, someplace she could not escape from, she contemplated. So, this, was mating. Her time with the Elven men had not yet come. It made her wonder if Elven men were as brutal with their couplings. Were they as hard and strong, thick and long as human males? Or was this one an exception to his race? It had taken extreme will on her part to relax, to force her body to relax. It was an action that was foreign to her, given the circumstances. Once she did though, the pain between her thighs seemed to ease.

His tempo changed. His body stiffened. What was happening? Was he going to cease his coupling? Then she felt it. The ripple inside her body coming from him just before she felt his seed lay claim her. Myria wanted to scream again from the horror of it. She wanted to get away from him. Pummel him for doing this to her. Myria maintained her silence. Barely. She was helpless. What was done was done. It was over and she found herself spun about. His eyes roaming over her face, finding her slightly slanted amethyst ones. His lips moved.

"I said I wanted to see the moment the light goes out in your eyes, elf. If I've not missed my chance.....show it to me."

Definance, bruised and battered but not extinguished, blazed from purple depths even as his human seed leaked from her body. The muscles in her jaw worked as Myria stared into his face. Then she did something she would later be ashamed of, she spit in his face. It was beneath her to react like the primal male hovering over her. She was better than that. Refined. But at that moment, she had felt anything but refined. Myria felt dirty, unclean and violated. She would have killed him if she could have. That, too, shone from her eyes. She turned her face away from him so he could not see what else lie in her eyes. Humiliation. Shame. The desire to die.

Myria had seen him glance toward the trees not that far away from them and knew exactly why. He needn’t have worried. Her kin were not in this part of the woods today. If they had been, she would have sung out long ago and he would have been struck dead by an arrow through the heart and she, Myria, would have been the one standing over him, watching the Light of Life fade from his eyes as she shoved the arrow through his heart with her own hand. Such was not to be his fate and this had been hers. Slave to a human male. She would find a way to die.

He hadn't been expecting her to be a virgin. Though Bjorn suspected that was only half the reason she had been so damnably tight. The searing spatter of her expulsion onto his face stung his pride more than anything else. Even now with his seed buried firmly inside her, this elven warrioress was defiant. He had an answer for her in the form of his cock emptying from her, leaving her twitching walls to attempt vainly to return to their original form as he left her entirely.

Her disgust for him was plain to see. But so had been her fear, the tiniest of glimmers lighting the back of her eyes, unmistable in its brilliance. Fear....and something else.....and Bjorn knew that something else quite well. He hadn't been kidding.....it was only a matter of time now.

At least she didn't thrash too much as he carried her back the way they had came. Perhaps she was resigned....or perhaps she simply hurt enough without agitating her wounds any further than what she had already. Either way, it was a blissful change of pace to cradle in her arms without thrashing or feeble attempts to escape. As somewhat of a reward, as they finally arrived, the human gently deposited her on the bed rather than dump her like he had when he had been forcing himself upon her.

The language barrier continued to be a problem however. There had to be something that could be done for that......or perhaps time and persistance was all that were required. He had plenty of that. ....at least until their food ran out. She wasn't likely to run from him again....hell, she'd be lucky to run again period.....

--------------------------------------------------

He watched over her for days. In doing so....he watched her decline respectfully, as one would watch a warrior giving her very best.....while fighting a losing battle.

It wasn't until the third day, as he was changing the bloodied bandage upon her thigh, that he felt elven fingers close softly about his own. Even as he watched....she pulled them upward.....until fingertips ran softly across the thin fabric covering her modesty, a soft smile and blush upon her face. It was a look that swiftly changed to curious dismay and disappointment as he pulled away from her. From then on, it would only get harder to rebuff his new elven pet's advances.....

---------------------------------------------------

A long and arduous two weeks passed, and the chestnut haired lovely was finally able to move the limb again. Her human captor breathed a sigh of relief, earning him a curious glance from her. He had been truly worried she would become maimed for life. Still....he pressed her back down to the mattress rather than let her test the leg by rising.....an action she swiftly took advantage of by claiming his hands and directing them once more in askance towards her more womanly parts. His refusal seemed to genuinely bother her this time when it came moments later.....

He was coaching her. One word at a time. Often illustrated with an object held up before her. It had become a game for them during the long hours she spent healing. Not only was she slowly picking up the nuances of a language she'd have rather killed herself over than ever have come off of her tongue.....but Bjorn slowly came to soak up a few elven words of his own.

------------------------------------------------------

"Teach me."

The words were crude, barely spoken above a whisper. And yet so delicious, hovering just above her pointed ear, his position a byproduct of yet another of her advances. They were growing more and more desperate by the hour now.....though the command he uttered now seemed to have an instant effect on both her and her libido. Silently, she cocked her head to one side and let off with a string of elven chatter he couldn't hope to absorb. A strange, yet warm smile spread across her face.....Myria's face.....he'd gotten her name shortly after her fever had broken for the second time.

From there it went quickly. He was like a sponge, nodding thoughtfully, ever silent as his impromptu teacher began yet another day's lessons from the edge of her bed. Perhaps it was the look on his face that told her how pleased he was, but for the moment at least she had stopped advancing on him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Listen to me."

She stopped instantly, turning with wide eyes to regard him, searching his own grey ones for any sign of displeasure.....and fully expecting a punishment. What Myria recieved instead, laced in the melodic tones of her own people's tongue.....

Bjorn held up her armor slowly. He had kept it this whole time, refusing to part with it. Now, he surveyed her, watching her every thought flit across her face. Slowly, the human male moved forward, keenly aware of how she had frozen in place before his advance.....

"These are yours. Put them on."

Elven women were not allowed to wear clothes. That was the rule. They just got in the way of more important things. The look on Myria's face was priceless as she just spent a long moment staring at the lithe little breastplate in his hand. He couldn't possibly mean to clothe her, did he? He could almost feel her shivering long before the cold metal settled upon her hip.....

"Submit to me."

This time she could understand him. And how he loved holding her attention!

"Submit to me and no one else. No one else gets to see this side of you but me......"

He could see the confusion in her eyes.....

"I'm giving you back your armor.....I give you the freedom to hate humans as much as you want. A human claimed you after all.....He wasn't sure if it was.

He helped her reattach the armor to her body, deft fingers fumbling just a little with the elven clasps. A few long minutes later, and she was looking like the fierce, brazen warrioress who had taken on five times her body weight in orcs at least.....and was still here.

Bjorn smiled, his Elvish was improving. At least enough that he understood what she had let slip, the confusion nearly crippling as she stumbled about the reasonings why he would do this. Did this mean he didn't want her? Perhaps she was unfit in some way?

"I have another use for you."

That made her mood brighten. He had found that the one thing she herself desired, like any good servant, was to be useful and to please. He hadn't slept with her once since that day months ago.....but she could see every single day, just how happy he was with her. He looked at her with pride almost every time he succeeded just in having a simple conversation with her. This had been her doing....she had taught him, made him study hard until he could form sentences. Now....that the job was done.....he had a new one for her.

"You're a warrioress. Remember what that is, and take up the role once more. Serve me...protect me....protect all who are precious to me. That is the task I charge you with."

Her eyes had lost the fawning, but instead held a hint of deep respect, like a guard would for their captain....or perhaps general. Bjorn had no doubts that he still had control over her, and that Myria would continue to obey the orders he gave her. Gone however, was the need for his pet to remain docile at all times. He had no intentions of sharing her with his clan elders upon his return. If he could find her a weapon now.....the unspoken message would ring like a shout within their tents.

"Take care to never let anything compromise your ability to do your duty. I'm trusting you. Fail me....and I'll reduce your rank. You know what will happen then, don't you?"

She had half expected him to backhand her after she spit in his face. By that point, she wouldn’t have cared. Myria was exhausted, mentally and physically. So when he reached for her, she flinched and waited, bracing herself for the strike she knew was coming. Only it didn’t. His arms closed around her, scooping her up, holding her close to his chest and instead of fighting him, she slumped against him, finding comfort in his strength. Her eyes briefly glanced over his shoulder to the tree line. Freedom, as she had known it, was a thing of the past. Eyelids closed as her head rested on his chest. It was a complete shock to her when they returned to the shack they had taken shelter in and he deposited her gently on the bed. Myria turned her cheek into the coolness of the thin covering on the bed, giving in to her pain and knew no more.

It became as it once was. He looked after her. Made her drink from his lips. Made her take food from them as well as she tossed, turned and muttered in Elven. Her body, at one point, became so fevered that she fought against his hands on her. It, they, only added to her pain. He was not going to be denied, however. In her fevered state, the world, her consciousness, as she once knew it to be, faded from her. There was pain, hunger, thirst and him. Days came and went without her knowledge. All there was, was him. If he wasn’t touching her, changing the bandage on her leg, he was curled around her. Their body warmth shared, no matter how feeble hers was.

How many days the fever raged and tormented her body, she didn’t know. What Myria did know was that one morning, she woke, the fever having left her. His hands were on her thigh. Her fingers sought his. There was a need building inside her, a need she knew beyond a doubt that he could care for. When he retreated from her, Myria did her best to hide the dismay, the disappointment in her eyes by turning her face away. She was no longer something he wanted. Why then had he worked so hard to keep her alive? Why not let her die after he had taken from her what he wanted? These were questions that would go unanswered unless…..unless they found a way to communicate. The answer was simple enough. They each were going to have to teach the other their spoken word.

Now that she was awake, their days became filled with the tedious task of learning. At first, she would point to herself, speaking her name. He caught on quickly, though it was painful to listen to him struggling with her language. She, in turn, found it difficult to mimic the words that fell from his tongue. She conquered Bjorn much quicker than he mastered Myria, but that was fast changing. Objects were brought, held aloft. He always insisted she speak first. Sometimes, the repetition were slowly spoken syllables but eventually, they started to communicate and by the time she was able to stand on her leg without pain.

In her old self, she would have wondered, even dismayed, at her own yearnings for his touch. She would have despaired at the thought, even. That world, that part of herself had somehow slipped away with her fever. She never questioned her desire or need for him. Where it came from or why. It simply was. The pleasure she read in his eyes as he learned her language, gave her pleasure.

"Listen to me."

Whatever it was that she had been doing, simply stopped. The tone in his voice indicating that he wanted her attention. Her eyes went wide. Had she done something wrong? Her mind raced over the day’s activities and couldn’t find anything offensive. Then, he held up her armor.

"These are yours. Put them on."

He moved toward her, drawing closer as she stared at the mithril breast plate in his hand.

He was really giving her back her armor? Why now?

He slipped the armor over Myria’s head, dropping it lightly to her shoulders. His fingers pulled her hair free, letting it descend over the armor and around her once more. She was still in shock, but even more so with further words he spoke.

"I have another use for you."

That was something at least. She had use. To him.

"You're a warrioress. Remember what that is, and take up the role once more. Serve me..*****tect me...*****tect all who are precious to me. That is the task I charge you with."

She was being given back a purpose. It wasn’t to be just an incubation chamber for his seed. She would have purpose and honor. There were ways she could use to avoid his seed taking root but she did not have access to the herbs she would need. Therefore, she said nothing of it to him. Myria did not wish to bear half-breeds and now, she would never bear elven children either. Her new purpose in life suited her.

"Take care to never let anything compromise your ability to do your duty. I'm trusting you. Fail me....and I'll reduce your rank. You know what will happen then, don't you?"

Again, her eyes widened. Her mind raced to think what would happen to her if she disgraced herself in his eyes. Would he banish her? Turn her out to live her life in the wilds? Amethyst eyes met grey ones.

“No. What will happen?”

She waited with bated breath for his answer.






“I have to go find her!”

Sylvannia paced the room. Her friends watched her with concern.

“But Sylvannia, you cannot go. Your cycle comes. It will be your time with the Elven princes.”

The dark haired, green eyed Sylvannia, stopped her pacing long enough to glare at her friend.

“I do not care. I will make some excuse for that. I have to find Myria. She’s been gone too long now. What if the humans captured her?”

“Then I’d say it was too late for her. You have heard the stories. You know that once a human male mates an elven female, they are lost. They crave to mate with the human. They’d do anything for it. That, would be Myria’s fate.”

Anger flared from Sylvannia’s eyes, making them deepen a darker hue of green. Her throat muscles tightened as she thought on this. Sylvannia knew the girl was right. Her eyes narrowed on the girl who had spoken, her fingers tightened into fists at her sides. Her chin notched higher with determination.

“If she has been taken captive by a human, then I will have to kill her.”

“No. What will happen?”

Bjorn shrugged. She was already enough of an exception as his people would soon discover to their displeasure. Still, the thought that he was making her into something other than the normal elven whore she was supposed to be, at least for now, had a dangerous and exciting feeling to it.

"If you can't serve me with your sword, you will serve me with your body."

A few minutes ago, she may have delighted in the idea. But now, now with the freedoms he had given her, he could see her true thoughts on the matter as clear as day. Knew that he wasn't referring to simply just using her for pleasure. She would be treated as his people dictated a sexy, desirable elf woman should be. The war on her face was almost laughable. Would she like being told her place was on her back if he were to demand it?

"Best to not put yourself in such a position, yes? But still....you're weakened."

His eyes held hers, noted the hardened edge in her gaze now. It wasn't defiance, she was firmly bound to him now. Yet obviously not happy either. Was it the consequence of failure that upset her? Or the thought that he had just called her weak? Either way, Bjorn felt the need to explain.

"You're a warrioress.....a strong, desirable one who is unable to defend herself against the world's many dangers. Would you submit to me and have me protect you with my paltry makeshift spear? Or would you have us both go looking for a proper weapon for you so you might be at full strength again?"

He already knew the answer of course, as surely as he knew she burned slow for him. A heat that would only increase over time until it was sated by something even hotter.

His fingertips traced softly over her thigh where the worst of her injuries had lain. Now, they only contacted the chill contours of her greaves rather than the warm and sculpted flesh he knew to be beneath. Even without a weapon, Myria looked every part the warrior, fearsome, strong....and undeniably beautiful. He was simply happy that she didn't shy from his touch....did she know how happy he was that she hadn't perished on that moldy, decrepit bed? Perhaps one day he would confide that in her......but for now.....he had an elf maiden......

It was time to bring his Rite of Adulthood to a close.

"We leave for the lands of my people. We must procure you a weapon before we reach my father's lands."

His smile spread wide across her face, made even wider by her obvious puzzlement. He doubted very much that she wanted to see other humans than himself. He had just given her her natural right to hate them after all. Would it be blasphemy to tell her his reasons?

"When a young man from my tribe wishes to be seen as an adult, he is sent on a journey. Other human clans demand the same thing from their youth. Some demand the vanquishing of a fearsome beast as proof that the boy has become a man. My clan finds few things more fearsome than your kind and the death that you bring us."

He paused a moment. Their food supply had run out ages ago save for the occasional fish he could spear for them. The waterskins were invaluable though, and Bjorn entrusted them to her as he reached for his shoddy spear. There was little to leave behind. At least he could once more don his cloak now that she had no further need of it. Elves handled cold much better than humans did, at least when healthy. Its weight settling upon his shoulders once more brought a much needed warmth that he had sorely missed.

"Just as the boy must bring back proof of the monster slain, I must return with you. Only then will they know my name and acknowledge me. Only then will I be at peace with what I must do."

Bjorn frowned softly, his face clouding over like an oncoming storm front.

"I will not have my children work themselves to death in the mine. I believe that my father, my people, do not understand what they have in the half bloods. They are content to push them aside as abominations just as your people are. And so.....we will not be staying with my people."

His ill humor vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by a wolfish smile as he turned slightly to face her. He had caught one little nuance, and while extremely gratifying.....it wasn't what he wanted of her.

"Walk at my side. Not a step behind me. I want you to feel the place I have given you. Never take it for granted, use this favor to ensure you never fail me. Take pride in your service....I beg of you."

He truly never wanted to see her broken. That wildness in her eyes that only seemed to soften when she looked at him. It made her seem like such an unattainable goal....and for a moment, he wondered why the gods had allowed him to get so lucky, for her certainly wouldn't have bested her in battle.

"You, of course, are free to slay any who attempt to contest my claim by forcing themselves onto you. I'm sure none but our greatest warriors would even attempt if you were to carry a sword in their midst again. My father will be less than happy. Armed females, human or elven, is strictly forbidden. I will refuse to bend to him....you are mine to command, not his."

His grin widened, the feral look about him only deepening.

"I fully expect to be thrown out in shame."

And then they were there. The edge of the trees, his eyes darting in one direction, than another.....as if he could spy the stealthy assassins he knew to live here. Still....he had to return the way he came....if he was to ever find his way home.

Bjorn sighed softly, resigning himself. Gently, he relieved Myria of the waterskins, letting his spear fall to the ground with a soft clatter. Slowly, carefully, he undid the leather cords that eased their carrying, handing them instead to her.

"Bind me."

The look on her face made him laugh.

"You know who you serve. I trust you. Bind me, and we will appear to be captor and prisoner as we travel through this place. Unless you have an easier way to prevent an unseen arrow from piercing my heart. The wooded ones do not take kindly to my kind traversing their forest and potentially stealing their women. None of my clansmen have a wood elf, they are much too stealthy and cunning for us. I chuckle when I think of their faces the day that happens. They might not be the only ones keeping an eye out on the forest's trails either. Bind me, and we should be safe if we come across any more of your kind."

"If you can't serve me with your sword, you will serve me with your body."

She swallowed. Hard. His implication was clear. He wouldn’t simply be using her body to slake his desires in. No. He clearly meant he would use her body to breed in. He knew how she felt about that. Therefore, he had clearly arrived at a suitable punishment should she fail him in any way. Her eyes fell away from his, looking to the bare earthen floor at their feet.

"You're a warrioress.....a strong, desirable one who is unable to defend herself against the world's many dangers. Would you submit to me and have me protect you with my paltry makeshift spear? Or would you have us both go looking for a proper weapon for you so you might be at full strength again?"

A weapon? Her eyes sparkled with something. Life? Interest? Happiness? There was no telling. Bjorn was smart. He knew what she didn’t express in words. The tips of his fingers touched her thigh. The one that was now completely healed. Her head tipped slightly to one side as she watched his face. What was he thinking? Myria had no time to dwell on her thoughts for he was speaking again.

"We leave for the lands of my people. We must procure you a weapon before we reach my father's lands. When a young man from my tribe wishes to be seen as an adult, he is sent on a journey. Other human clans demand the same thing from their youth. Some demand the vanquishing of a fearsome beast as proof that the boy has become a man. My clan finds few things more fearsome than your kind and the death that you bring us.

Just as the boy must bring back proof of the monster slain, I must return with you. Only then will they know my name and acknowledge me. Only then will I be at peace with what I must do.

I will not have my children work themselves to death in the mine. I believe that my father, my people, do not understand what they have in the half bloods. They are content to push them aside as abominations just as your people are. And so.....we will not be staying with my people."

She didn’t speak, merely accepted the water skins he handed her. His children. He meant to have them but…. her mind whirled….he had other plans for her, so that meant he would take and claim another woman. An Elven woman. Her fingers gripped the skins tightly. She couldn’t allow that… but if she tried to stop him…. A shudder rolled down her spine at the unspoken connotation. Myria quickly glanced up at his face then looked away quickly. She was bound to him now. The thought of displeasing him in any way, did not set well with her at all. Yet, to let him take another Elven woman, was unacceptable to her. She knew most Elven women looked upon humans as something below them. There had been talk of course. Some of the women saying that it was better to produce half breeds, especially boys, then to let their race die out altogether.

They left the shack they had sheltered in and headed toward the treeline. Bjorn continued to speak and she concentrated on listening. Her knowledge of the common language was growing each and every day, but she still had to focus to understand everything he said. They stopped. Myria glanced up at him questioningly as he stopped, set his spear on the ground and took the skins from her.

"Bind me."

She was shocked as his words sank in. Her look probably showed as much. He went on to explain. Bjorn made sense. If she wanted him to live past the trees, she would have to do as he ordered. Her sylvan kin would not hesitate to put a swift arrow through his heart if they saw him with her, even if she wasn’t bound. With him bound and her leading him, he would live. Maybe she could ask for a bow and arrows from them, having lost hers in battle.

Myria took the leather bindings and began to secure his wrists together in front of him. She gave a tug to insure the knots held. There was a quick glance to the trees. Her ears caught naught of a sound. That could easily and quickly change. Bending down, she picked up his spear and the water skins, giving a little tug on the leather before walking on.

From the deep cover the canopy of the trees provided, a bow was raised. A single hand was raised, pushing the bow down. There was a slight shake of a head then blue eyes turned in their direction again, silently watching and observing. The woman was Elven, that much was obvious as was the fact she had a human captive. What was curious was that the female elf had only a crude spear. None of her own weapons were to be seen. Curious thing.

“When we move again, keep walking, Bjorn and don’t look to the treetops. Let your head hang down.”

Myria whispered as she brought him to a stop on the pretense of checking his binding.



Queen Lyeth sat in front of her mirror, brushing her hair. A long flowing gossamer nightgown adorned her body and when she stood, clearly, she wore nothing underneath it. There was a resigned look on her face. A knock on her door and the look vanished, to be replaced by a regal one.

“Enter.”

The door opened to admit a tall thin woman, obviously well past the child bearing years.

“They’re ready for you, My Queen.”

Lyeth rose from her seat after setting aside her hair brush. She gave the woman a brief smile as she bypassed the woman.

“Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

Lyeth moved from her own chamber, the older woman fell in behind her. They walked quietly down the hall, turned a corner and stopped before a set of double doors. Lyeth’s hand paused on the handle before she addressed the woman. She spoke softly, quietly. Command evident in her tone.

“You may go. I will not require your presence for the rest of the evening. “

“Very well, My Queen.”

The woman curtseyed and left with a soft swish of her skirts. Lyeth waited until the woman was gone before she inhaled deeply then turned the handle of the door, opening it and stepping inside, closing the door just as quietly.

The room was spacious. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. The bed in the center of the room was huge and adorned with sheer curtains. At the foot of the bed, stood three Elven men, watching her with intent eyes. Lyeth walked across the room and stopped before them.

“You,” she pointed to the one in the middle, “you will be the first. Then you,” she pointed to the one on the right. She smiled as her eyes regarded the third, “and you shall be my last.”

Bjorn grunted softly as the leather bit down tightly onto his wrists. Good. She understood. Elves were even more intelligent than his kind were it seemed. What had taken him days of consideration, she had picked up in mere seconds. A hint was all it had taken. Now he walked a few paces ahead of her, prodded ever so often by the tip of his own crude spear.

The forest was an amazing place even as winter's oncoming stole its greenery. Perhaps even more so with the few trees that still had leaves left displaying them in an array of scarlets, vermillions, and oranges. How any elf could stay hidden in the midst of such a display of nature's color was beyond him. And yet....

“When we move again, keep walking Bjorn, and don’t look to the treetops. Let your head hang down.”

It was a sobering reminder, and he was grateful that Myria delivered it to him in a whisper. There was no telling when the guardians of this forest would take note of them. He had been lucky traversing its mysterious depths once before. Now that he had an elf to call his own, they would no doubt be furious should the truth be known. And a furious elf left no survivors where humans were concerned.

He had much practice at the walk of shame....having spent what seemed like ages being scolded by his father. Never strong enough to satisfy the old man. Never aggressive enough. His weapons training went well enough, but compared to the leader of the clan? Pitiful. And so his head hung low as he deliberately recalled all the scoldings, the sometimes harsh thumpings he had taken as punishment for his failings. Punishments that had made him stronger, but had never been forgotten.

For now, he could focus on putting one foot before the other. Bjorn remained silent. What captive would try and speak with his captor in this manner? No. It was best to remain quiet in the hopes that it would help sell there illusion. The last thing he needed was a woodland assassin deciding that the easiest way to deal with a kinsman's travel was to lighten the load of her responsibilities.

"Hail, sister."

A soft voice came from above him. It took all he had to not look up, to remain sullen and remorseful even as he felt more than saw, Myria respond.

"You're escorting interesting company today. Has he wronged you?"

Interesting conversation to be sure. Bjorn was only glad that they couldn't both here the sound of his teeth grating against each other or the pounding of his racing pulse as he found himself pretty much at her mercy and praying that the stories his people told of claimed elves were true. She couldn't betray him, could she?

"Do you plan to interrogate him about his people and potential weaknesses? Even if we learned their location we could stage a raid and most likely wipe them out. They are few yet, and as such, are insignificant."

What a horrible thought! For a moment, he was there again.....at the stream's edge....watching in horror as Tristan gurgled and choked on his own blood, his tumbling body tumbling into the flowing waters....the resulting spray and mist doing nothing to hide the look of disdain from the eyes of his killer.

Insignificant.

Now that he understood what this one was saying, and he had to be careful to not let that show if he wanted to live.......Bjorn realized just how much he could hate a single word.

"Might I ask what happened to your weapon, sister? I would think that a bladeguard of the Queen would be carrying her honor blade. I can see that the human you have with you has no such thing, nor any place to conceal it....but nor do you....."

------------------------------------------------

"Honor blade?"

He could see her react now, and knew he had struck a nerve.

"It is....special to you."

It wasn't a question. Not after observing the look upon her face, nor noting her silence. For long moments he stayed silent......mulling over his thoughts.....

"Then I will return it to you."

Now if only he could figure out how to keep such a ridiculous promise.....

It was over. Finally. Though it felt like ages, and Myria had made it clear to him that they weren't out of danger yet. For the rest of the trip through the forest, Bjorn could swear he felt eyes on him. Only when they had left its edge did he feel safe.....that and when the bonds finally left his hands and he was free to move again.

"Can you really use those?"

He of course, was glancing at the bow and arrows she had been gifted.....the ranger's own. Apparently Myria's excuse had been excepted readily enough, the weapon a loan to another elf in need. For now though.....his belly rumbled.....how long had it been since they had eaten? Not since they had entered the forest.....and that was days ago now......

"We will head west to the mountains. At the base is where my father's camp is located."

He had been hoping for a sword. But if she had mastered bow, that too was good. Either should provide a lasting impression with the clan. There was still a long way to go however.....

They moved in silence.....Bjorn brooding softly over how to deliver the news of Tristan's death.....when he himself still lived......

They kept walking. Myria knew her kin were in the woods this day. This was their territory and she would wait for one of them to speak. The leaves rustled. To any other, it would seem like the lightest of breezes had ruffled them. Myria knew better.

"Hail, sister. You're escorting interesting company today. Has he wronged you?"

Myria glanced into the treetops.

“He was among the Orcs I ran into. I spared his life to serve our kind.”

Her voice was steady. Her grip on his bindings, sure. Silently she winged a prayer.

Please. Please. Master. Remain humble. Do not let them know you can understand them.

The tree elves would be curious as to how he could speak Elven and if he did anything rash, he would surely die.

"Do you plan to interrogate him about his people and potential weaknesses? Even if we learned their location we could stage a raid and most likely wipe them out. They are few yet, and as such, are insignificant."

“I’m sure my Queen will want to have him questioned. She has no love for the humans. “

"Might I ask what happened to your weapon, sister? I would think that a bladeguard of the Queen would be carrying her honor blade. I can see that the human you have with you has no such thing, nor any place to conceal it....but nor do you....."

“My blade was lost in a fight with the Orcs a few weeks back. The one who felled me and thought me dead, stripped it from me. When I revived, all I found was this human and his pitiful spear. It is not much but better than having nothing for defense. I wonder my sister, from the House of Trees, if among you there is a bow and quiver of arrows you might spare me? It would be a fine thing to have something worthy in my hands again. “

There was a rustling of leaves. The soft creak of wood. Before too long, a lone Sylvan Elf dropped from the trees. Her long hair was silver as moonlight. Slim and lithe, she jumped from the treetops and landed close to both of them. She cast the human a brief disdainful glance before handing over a bow to Myria.

“You treat him too well, Sister. He is nothing more than a filthy beast. He should be kneeling at your feet.”

Myria gave the silver-haired elf a brief smile as she accepted the bow, admiring the craftsmanship. The quiver of arrows went over her shoulder to lie against her back. Pleasantries and manners were observed and before too long, Myria and Bjorn were on their way, allowed to pass through the forest without being bothered. However, she knew they were being watched. Or at the very least, he was. Humans were not to be trusted.






"Honor blade?”

Her face remained stoic. Only a muscle in her cheek pulsed. Thankfully, he spoke in his common tongue. Her blade was a source of irritation for her. Not only had the Orc slammed the spear into her thigh, he had also taken her Honor Blade as a trophy of battle. She was resigned to never seeing it again.

"It is....special to you.”

She simply continued walking, looking straight ahead. There was silence between them for a space. Then he spoke again.

"Then I will return it to you."

Her steps faltered, briefly. There was no possible way he could do that. Instead, she had yanked on his bindings, pulling him close. She fisted his cloak, yanking on it to bring his face close to hers. Myria spoke quietly in his tongue, warning him that they were still being watched and would be until they left the woods. She pushed him back with a look of disgust and began walking again.

Myria never thought they would clear the forest fast enough. Once clear, she turned her back to the forest that was now some distance away and untied his wrists.

"Can you really use those?"

Instead of words, she stepped around him, glancing to the small snow laden mounds that were a precursor the foothills they had yet to cross over. To normal eyes nothing moved. She drew the bow from her shoulder, reached over the same and took an arrow from the quiver, notched it and after sighting down the arrow, she released. Myria gave him a look before she jogged off in the direction of her shot. Several minutes later she returned with a dead white snow rabbit dangling from her fingers. He spoke as she fell in beside him.

"We will head west to the mountains. At the base is where my father's camp is located."

They walked in silence after that. Occasional brief glances toward him, showed her a brooding countenance. She wondered what was on his mind so heavily. They continued to walk until the sun started to sink behind the mountains still a distance away. Her eyesight was excellent, even in the dark, but her thigh, though healed, began to pain her. So it was with great relief felt on her part, when he stopped and told her they would be stopping for the night. He built a fire for them while she cleaned the rabbit and thrust it on a green limb for a spit and set over the small fire to cook. She crouched by the fire, keeping an eye on their meal, turning it once in a while.

There was trepidation in her heart. They were going into a human encampment. His clan’s home. What if he couldn’t protect her from his father or the other males? She delicately shuddered considering the consequences. No. She had to believe in him. Her eyes sought him out in the growing night that was swiftly settling around their shoulders. He had seen to her all this time. True, he had to keep her alive in order to show he had successfully passed his rite into manhood. She was little more than a trophy to be displayed. Would they, the males of his clan, expect to use her body as well? Her lip curled slightly at the thought. He had said she could slay any who attempted to circumvent his claim to her. Slay them, any of them, she would. The thought of any other touching her, made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. She was his. Unless he chose to give her away. Her fingers tightened on the end of the spit. The sound of dripping fat falling into the fire, made a sizzling sound and made the fire flare. She could feel the heat from the flames intensify for a moment or more. Myria didn’t flinch away from it. If the day came when he chose to share her among his own kind… they would all die. Herself included.

Myria removed the spitted rabbit from the fire and laid it upon a flat rock, pulling the darkened limb free with a soft grunt. Her eyes sought his. He had kept her alive from the moment he had found her. It felt good to be of use again.

“Food is ready. Come eat.”

He ate slowly, savoring the greasy, slightly stringy meat. It was like manna from heaven to him who had been living off of purloined hardtack for so long, and then fish when that had finally run out. Myria was indeed skilled with the bow....yet that had been forgotten all too soon as the smell of roasting meat spread about him and filled his senses.

His wrists were finally beginning to regain feeling again, having been released as soon as they were out of immediate danger of being discovered. The look of pleasure he gleaned from her as he ate seemed so much in contrast to the one he had gotten for vowing to return her blade to her. Still, they had been in enemy territory yet with gods only knew who watched. Perhaps that had been the reason she had looked down upon him so? Or did she really think him incapable of besting an orc? Was he capable? For a moment, Bjorn let his eyes fall upon the shitty looking spear he had been travelling with all this time......and wondered.

Yet it was only a distraction from what he was truly thinking.....home. The strawberry blonde lass that had been promised to him should he return successful. She was attractive to be sure, but lacked any of the true strength that Myria possessed. For good reason, no doubt, as the woman would be expected to bear healthy clansmen while her elven counterpart was kept producing viable workers for the mines. Neither of them knew however......the path he fully planned to take with all of this.....

Surprisingly, there were few encounters along the way, a rogue pack of wolves sniffing curiously at them as they passed was about it. Fortunately, the had to have recently fed, as none of them seemed to give the travelling duo much of a glance. A day and a half later.....after much travel made easier by Myria's hunting skills......and they had reached the fringes of what Bjorn called home.

Scouts ran ahead of them, and he felt Myria tense at his side. She had no doubt sensed their presence long before he had, and yet they had posed no threat to either of them. By the time they had reached the small circle of hide huts, most of the men had turned out to greet them.....and most of those seemed none too happy to find his elf still armed and quite dangerous.

At the head of them all stood Bjorn's father. Thick arms crossed about his chest, the old man's face belied a mixture of pride and scorn as the two of them approached. Bjorn....for his part.....did not fail to notice the elf at his side, the same who had been fellating him the day Bjorn had been exiled to the Rite....now proudly standing to his left, her slender belly already taut with the stirrings of her master's lineage.

"You've returned to us."

Bjorn nodded, pointedly ignoring the sudden outburst of weeping from the rear of the gathering. The fact that he returned without Tristan spoke for itself as far as the boy's fate. It was a dangerous game that they played, and all too oft it worked against the clan. In truth....one out two wasn't bad, though there had been some who had been sure it would be Bjorn who fell trying to fulfill the demands placed on him.

Those men were now forced to take measure of this stripling's elf. An armed one at that, the fact alone being enough to put many of them on the defensive.

"And this is your elf?"

Again, Bjorn nodded silently, not missing the shrewdness in his own father's eyes.

"Have her disrobe. You know it is against our law to have an armed and armored elf amongst us. Her place is amongst the breeding pens."

Surprisingly, Bjorn turned to Myria.....nodding softly. He knew the elf was of a distrustful sort, but she would learn. To trust him that is....she had no choice but to serve him.

"Disrobe now."

More than one watched with hunger evident on their face as the proceedings continued. The fact that this one obeyed such a shameless order spoke volumes of his true level of control over her. Even the thin linens she wore beneath her armors fell away before his iron willed command. And yet.....the true surprise he had in store wasn't for her at all.....

"As you can see, she bears the scars of our battle. A fierce battle, one that few of our warriors would dare match."

The lesser amongst them squirmed. His own father's gaze burned across her flesh, his broad chest swelling with pride as he took note of the deep scarring of her thigh, and much more moderate marring of her side.....

"You fought hard, boy."

Bjorn didn't bother to tell them that he wasn't the one who had inflicted such grievous wounds upon her. He only hoped she was smart enough to follow along and not get him killed here.

"You have earned a place amongst us."

The old man's grin was wide, yellowed teeth on display for all to see.

"Prepare the feast! Prepare Larissa! My son has returned a man!"

The encampment burst into cheers, and he could see Myria flinch at the harsh sound of it all. The two of them were rushed into one of the huts, thankfully together, as Bjorn had paused to carefully collect all of the pieces of her armor and ragged undergarments.....

"You were wise not to speak. Here...again....these are yours."

Finally alone again, at least for now, Bjorn handed Myria her armors. He couldn't help but watch intently as she accepted each piece. She was so wild, so primal and sexy, fierce yet desirable.....

He wasn't about to let his clan break her. He hadn't given over her free will just to see it shattered.

"Arm yourself as best as you can. We leave in the morning. Larissa....can be....as prepared as she wants. I have no intention of taking that woman as my wife."

He let that sink in for a bit as he peered through the hut's rawhide flap at the beginnings of a great party.

"I have greater ambitions, ones my father won't understand. And revenge. I can't sit idly here, content to sire children, when my best and only friend's murderer runs free. I swore I'd take revenge on that woman.....I will find her one day."

She tensed. Scouts. That shouldn’t have surprised her. Humans may be primal, but they weren’t stupid. They had survived this long. By the time they reached the small circle of huts, every nerve in her body was taut as a bow string drawn back. The men of the clan had turned out of their huts. One stood out amongst them all, arms like tree trunks crossed over his chest. This must be Bjorn’s father. Myria drew closer to Bjorn’s side. She refused to appear cowed by any of them and held her head up, keeping pride or any other emotion from her face.

"You've returned to us."

Her eyes were drawn to the male that spoke, the one she silently assumed was his father and chief. Her eyes flickered to the elven woman beside him. It was with great will to keep the revulsion from her eyes for the woman was obviously swollen with child.

"And this is your elf?"

They were speaking about her. Myria’s amethyst eyes returned to the two men, the one at her side and the other standing before them.

"Have her disrobe. You know it is against our law to have an armed and armored elf amongst us. Her place is amongst the breeding pens."

The muscles in Myria’s jaw moved but she remained silent.

"Disrobe now."

Everything within her revolted against that command. Her hesitation was microscopic. Myria held her bow and arrows out to Bjorn. Her eyes never left the male and the pregnant female at his side for an instant as she began to unbuckle her chest plate and removed it, letting it drop to the ground at her feet with a soft thud. Her boots followed suit. Next, she rolled her leather pants off her hips, stepping free of them with a graceful motion. She had left the thin shift for last. Here, a hard look entered her eyes. A look that was mingled with pride. As her hands lifted the material from her body, she was more than aware of the male eyes on her body, devouring every curve exposed. She could feel the lust emanating from them. Her stubborn will quelled the shudder of revulsion that wanted to roll through her and wanted to make itself known in her eyes. The material dropped from her hands to float lightly to the ground, landing atop her armor. She wore no undergarments save the triangular piece of material between her legs that did little to hide her femininity from these males. Her breasts jutted high and firm. Her torso was slim, her belly flat. The curve of her hips tapered to firm thighs that accentuated the shadowy area between them. The scrap of triangular material there was also discarded.

Myria cast her eyes down and kept them that way. It would not do for any of them to know she spoke their tongue and it helped to conceal her expression from them. The old man continued to speak, pride swelling in his tone. A pride in his son. That should make Bjorn happy. What she could not do, was stop the sudden flinching as a roar of cheering from the clan rose, honoring her Master. Confusion and noise reigned as they, Bjorn and she, were hustled into one of the huts.

"You were wise not to speak. Here...again....these are yours."

She took her armor and her clothing, redressing herself as he spoke. Revulsion was still tantamount in her mind. The feeling of all those human eyes devouring her while that one Elven bitch, standing at his father’s side stood there looking smug with one hand on her rounded belly. Normally, there would be pity in her eyes for one the likes of her. She, herself, knew the potency of human seed. She didn’t begin to understand how the human seed could affect female elves as it did. It created a binding between human and elf. She didn’t know if this binding could be broken or set aside, not with his essence absorbed into her body and she was afraid to ask Bjorn. Myria wasn’t ready to hear the answer. She held the bow and quiver of arrows in her hands, unsure if she should don them. He had given her back her clothing and her weapons. Remembering his earlier words to her, she simply donned the quiver. Whatever he had in mind next, she would take her cue from him. Bjorn was looking out of the tent flap at the celebration just now getting underway. Coming to his side, her fingers touched his arm. Her eyes were on his profile.

“What do you wish me to do now, Master? What is our plan?”

His last words spoken made no sense to her. Murderer? Revenge? On a woman? She had to silently wonder what her part in all this would be.

He felt the soft touch before he heard her. Her voice betraying her presence where her footfalls never would.

Bjorn hadn't missed the lustful looks of his clansmen. It was common practice to use another's elf once the poor woman was suitably seeded. No doubt many of them waited to see if Myria would become....publicly available. The thought revolted Bjorn, despite how he practically grew up with such displays. She was his.

“What do you wish me to do now, Master? What is our plan?”

"Our plan is to not stay around here any longer than what we have to."

She really had no idea what this was all about, and how could she? She lived in her own world, not in this dirty place with its dirty people, just barely scraping by through nature's trials year after year.

"This is a marraige celebration. And no, its not yours. My father had a girl in mind for me before I even set out. Problem is, I had to live and return to claim her."

A wan smile settled upon his face, he could about imagine her reaction, though he didn't turn to look at it and still any doubts he might have had.

"The problem is, I didn't come back here for her. Nor do I even want her. You're more than enough woman, and quite frankly, after having sex with an elf such as yourself, I can't fathom how any of the men could be happy with their wives. Still....its all about keeping the human bloodline pure, just as elves struggle to do the same....though it's destroying them."

Bjorn continued to peer through the tent flap, noting the trays and trenchers of food being brought. Great kegs of home brewed ale and lager were rolled meticulously into place as women, human and elven, bustled about everywhere.....even shooing away the errant warrior who strayed too close.

"Let's go."

She had finally strapped the last piece in place. He wasn't nearly as quiet as she was, in fact she made him look quite clumsy. But he was good as far as human standards were concerned. It wasn't the front of the tent he left by, instead choosing to slip past a smaller, tighter flap in the rear, knowing she followed him dutifully.

The sound of impending merriment slowly faded away as he made haste to put distance between them and the camp. He hadn't told Myria where their destination was, nor did he intend to just yet. She would see soon enough.....or.....hear, most likely.

The sun had just begun to settle upon the crags of the mountains when he heard the first ringing blow. They were getting close, the sound familiar to him. Minutes later, and they came to the yawning hole in the mountainside that heralded his clan's mine......

Was this the fate of his children too? If Myria failed to protect, and there was always the possibility that she did so by choice.....he wouldn't hesitate to treat her the way his family had treated elves for generations. But even now......the mine life was a hard one to impose on a youth for no better reason than his blood wasn't pure.

"I will free them one day."

His words weren't meant for her, yet they were spoken alound none the less. Only her eyes were sharp enough to make out the figures milling in and out of the gaping maw in the earth. Nor did he want to see really. With that vision came reality, the tired and bedraggled, the near death as every last vestige of strength was used carving the bowels of the earth for its treasures. Nobody cared if they died, and they knew it. The women weren't any better. Pleasure slaves, concubines tossed to the sex deprived miners to ease at least one of their complaints. Many never saw the light of day again.....literally thrown on their backs and fucked, screaming, until they died....or their voices were lost.....

Usually both. It was disgusting, and not the first time Bjorn had wondered if he was the only one who thought that way. Fortunately, his dark mood lifted just a little as he happened to glance at Myria by chance. That one stolen moment revealed just what the elf woman thought of what she witnessed. It was written clearly on her face.....

And he thought elves hated the half bloods too. Perhaps there was common ground to be found here after all.

"Let's us be gone from this place before they find us missing. I've no intent to be married this eve."

That seemed to perhaps snap her back into reality. But first.....

"There is one more stop we need to make. It is dangerous, but you will follow me won't you?"

He wasn't sure why he even asked, though he knew why he hesitated. This would be the icing on the cake. If he pulled this off, he would be killed if he ever showed his face here again. Slowly he turned from her to plod amongst the shadows of the rocks and boulders that littered this place.

"We need to get this, and get the hell out. Fast."

Of course, she had no idea what he was talking about. But he did. He remembered the one time his father dared to bring him out here just to show off. It lie just a little west of the mines......but not even he could tell when their absence would be discovered.

A cave, shallow and moist from water that never seemed to coalesce past simple dew-like droplets. It was partially blocked from view by a large outcropping of granite. While her eyes could pierce the dark, it took his a little longer to adjust. He remained as still as a statue until they did, knowing exactly what he was looking for. A hide parcel....long and thin.....hidden in the darkest recesses of the tiny hole in the mountain.

Fingers trembled softly. He wasn't sure why he so worried if she would be happy or not, it was her duty to make him happy now, not the other way around. Perhaps it was the danger that came with violating his father's trust. Perhaps it was knowing that there was no going back. His exile would be permanent.

There was a soft, yet sharp clattering, metal on stone.....as the doehide unfurled. He could see her soft amethyst eyes widen in what he could only hope was recognition. It wasn't an honor blade, of that he was sure.....but as the elven blades spilled out of their well oiled confines....none of the three looked tarnished in the least.....

"Will any of these help you?"

"Will any of these help you?"

Myria gave a soft gasp. Elven blades made a certain sound when they struck or were struck. Where had these come from? Setting her bow aside, she lifted a solitary blade free from the other two and stepped back as she admired the sword in her hand, hefting it, finding its center balance before she cut the air with it. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. She put the blade and her body through a series of moves effortlessly. There was a slight tug in her thigh but otherwise, she executed flawlessly. It was good to have a blade in her hand again.

She was a warrior. She could move without forethought. It was good to know that after all this time, that much hadn’t changed. The injury to her thigh, to the muscles that lay under skin, attached to bone, were a little stiff, but their journey to his clan home had helped with that. Armed now with bow, arrow and sword, she felt confident she could protect him.

The human mine disturbed her. Correction. While the tunnel raped into the Earth’s mountain, annoyed her, it was the creatures forced to mine it that bothered her the most. Something had tugged at her, deep down. Something she hadn’t expected to feel, not where the half breeds were concerned. Resentment. Anger. There was little room for denial. They were half elves. Kin. No matter how much she wanted to turn a blind eye to it. And the humans, who simply enslaved Elven women for what? Their personal pleasure? And once bred and born, the children were sent to the mine to work? Her hand tightened on the grip. What did they do with the Elven women, once used up or no longer wanted? Sent them to the mine to die? The sword’s edge rent through the air with force. No matter how much Myria felt that half breed elves were an abomination and she never wished to breed one, she couldn’t turn a blind eye to the truth that they existed and they were kin. Elves were an evolved race, they weren’t crude savages. Yet, humans treated them as such. The women were nothing more than an enthusiastic hole to fuck and because they were such a fertile lot, their children were sentenced to be little more than domestic animals, used for hard labor. If Elven women had a choice in all this, human males would be out of luck and would be seeking only their own kind.

Pivoting on her toes, the sword was extended in her hand. Its tip was pointed at him. For a very brief moment, then it was lowered to her side.

“This one will do nicely. Part of me wants us to take them all. They’re Elven blades, they belong in Elven hands, no others.”

She looked at his face and spoke quietly. Only the heartbeat of the Earth and the trickle of water could be heard.

“But, I know what showing me these, let alone giving me one, will cost you. I’ll take the one. This one. Somewhere along the way, I need to acquire a sheath for it. I will use it to protect you with, Master. You have my word on it.”

Her eyes turned from his face and gently settled on the other two swords, regret clearly in the amethyst depths. Her heels found the ground and she whirled away from the hiding place, lest she change her mind and beg for them all. Myria waited quietly for him to join her.

Now, more than ever, she realized she would be the instrument of his vengeance and with a sinking heart, she had a feeling that his vengeance lie within the Elven nation. Which would prove stronger, she wondered. Her bond to him or her bond to her own kind? Fear was a great motivator and unfortunately, his threat gave him an edge.




Sylvannia reigned in her horse in the courtyard. Several of her Elven friends tried to dissuade her from going, but Syl was adamant. She had to find Myria. Word had come of a bloody fight in the lowlands. A scouting party, returning to the fortress, had found what remained of a party of Orcs. A necklace had been found among them. One of the Elves recognized it and sent the messenger to Sylvannia, who confirmed it was Myria’s, given to her by their mother. Sylvannia wore the twin around her own neck. Their mother had been given up for dead long ago when the girls were but wee children, taken by the humans. Myria was all the family Sylvannia had left. Kicking the horse in the sides, the horse bounded forward, scattering her friends. Sylvannia rode out of the courtyard, out of the fortress with snow flying around churning hooves and her gently flapping cape behind her.

Sylvannia wasn’t like Myria. She wasn’t a warrior, skilled in weapons. Syl could defend herself well enough if it came down to it. That mattered little. Bringing her sister home mattered more. The horse galloped away from the Elven fortress, heading west. Her eyes were mindful of where she was. Her eyesight was sharp, searching for anything out of place and heaven help any humans who had the thought to stop her. She may never have killed a living soul before, but for Myria? She wasn’t afraid to start.

"Pray you don't have to."

She could take that whatever she wanted to. He was in a truly foul mood between his current stress and the sight of the mine. The look on her face had been horror and disgust. While Bjorn hadn't spoken a word, he couldn't help but agree with her.

Still....he didn't come here to just arm her, though Myria certainly had first pick of the weaponry. He could see in her eyes, how she wondered how these even came to be here. Why she didn't just come out and ask was beyond him, though he smiled as she thanked him profusely for the blade she had chosen.

"You want to take them all, don't you?"

A dramatic pause as he watched her flinch slightly.

"This is why there were no weapons on the battlefield I found you on, isn't it? Your kind doesn't want these falling into the hands of their enemies. And that includes humans like me."

Bjorn made little show of selecting a blade for himself as well, though its length was much shorter than the one she had selected. Its craftmanship was perfect, and he knew without even needing to test, that its edge was sharp and would not fail him as long as he cared for it.

"Yours was taken from the woman you saw at my father's side this evening. These are all trophies of war, much good they do him. He scorns their use, taking pride in besting your warriors using nothing but his own axe.....a great thing forged from the metals the half blood dredge up from the mountain. I pray you never have to see it. As for the elf.....you've already seen her. That will be her fifth child to bear for him."

If she took offense to seeing the shortsword in his own hand, Myria seemed to hide it well....Bjorn carefully scanned her visage looking for just such a reaction.

"The wielder of this one died last winter, in childbirth. A high elf, and my father's favorite. Tanned skin unlike your pale, creamy flesh.....emerald eyes that could pierce through your soul, and fierce as a hawk. I was just a child when father claimed her before the rest of the clan. I watched the fire in those eyes flicker and burn out."

He considered her words for a moment, nodding softly at his elf's promise.

"We will find your sheath. As we will find your honor blade. Consider this a poor substitute until the day I can fulfill my oath to you."

The third blade, Bjorn tucked lovingly back into the doeskin....as if the action would somehow delay the discovery of its missing contents.

"Let us leave this place. Our trackers may not be elves, but they will be on to us soon enough. Let's hope you spy them before they do us. Your arrows may prove valuable for more than just gathering meat for our campfire."

-----------------------------------------------------

"Did it anger you?"

He spoke softly, the human camp still lingering in his mind though it was now a day or more behind them. No pursuit had been detected as of yet, though he knew it had been sent. Especially when his father found out that two of his prized trinkets had been taken.

Still, Bjorn was no slouch. He had spent the last month learning the woodlands and streams, the rocky ravines and gullies days out from their encampment. Had adventured and played far beyond the range of most human children. A soft pang ran through him when he remembered that most of the times he had been so bold was because Tristan had dared him to. They had been good for each other....always challenging the other to test their limits beyond what was approved by their respective parents.

And now he used those skills to the best of his ability. Elven woman be damned, he could care less about what she thought of his efforts. Bjorn used every trick he knew to confuse, delay, or confound the tracking party and the hounds he knew would come with them.

Traipsing through water, this time up to their rib cage. It would be an especially confusing scent for hounds to follow, seeing as how he had plunged them into the small river directly off of a fallen tree that had spanned its shimmering surface. They had gone exactly half way....before deciding to chance rust on the elven metals once more. Bjorn had no actual idea whether they would corrode or not.....but seeing how long they had remained in pristine condition in that damp old cave......

Yes, he dared the woodland again. The woods were the only place he could hope to escape his own kin. He took care to not damage any of the living trees, respectful of the ire the wood elves possessed. They hated him enough for simply being what he was....he wasn't about to stoke that fire. Now if he could only get out of this alive and without being slain on sight.....

And he again found himself relying on Myria for that. Though he doubted she knew exactly how his hopes were founded. She was armed now. And armored. Hardly the picture of the bound and pregnant elf both races should be used to by all rights. Even as he worked himself back onto shore a good distance downstream from where they had taken their plunge.....the dark haired elf hardly looked the picture of submission. Instead, he was relieved to see her alert and watching for all possible signs of danger.

A soft grunting to their left, and Bjorn froze. Still, the sound of breaking water had been unmistakable.....and as the reeds before them parted, the human uttered a soft curse beneath his breath.....the business end of his blade extended soundlessly.

"You're far from home, human. And with a pretty little elf with you too. Have you done naughty things to her?"

It was hard to stay on the defensive. Not when confronted by this creature. Leaves and vines only barely covered her most daring of places, her skin tinted the softest shade of green, her sentence ending with a seductive giggle as she stepped forward to run a careful eye over the two of them.

A dryad.

Her hair was a deep scarlet, mirroring the leaves of her home tree no doubt. Bjorn blushed softly as he realized her gaze was sweeping over him, even as he remained silent.

"You don't answer. Has he deflowered you elf? Are you his mindless patsy, or something more? Tell me your name. Speak without being ordered to. Give me a reason to not have my people kill this one where he stands. Make me......curious......"

The fae calmly sidestepped Bjorn to sidle in close to Myria, completely unconcerned with the human in a way that made his skin crawl and almost come out of the wood spirit's enchantment.

"Don't even think of corrupting me, human."

"Bjorn."

A softly arched eyebrow, thin yet delicate in its perfection.

"My name is Bjorn."

"How bold of you to speak, considering that I'm trying to have a conversation with your.....friend. Don't you know that your life hangs in the balance?"

The exiled youth merely shrugged, the dryad's full and pouty lips forming a frown in response as she turned momentarily from Myria.

"If you're going to kill me, then you'll do it regardless of what Myria says. A single whistle will bring every elf in these parts here and I'll die. Got it. So why did you stop us rather than do just that?"

A soft, teasing smile appeared suddenly on the fae's face as she turned attention once more to her elven target.

"Because I don't see many armed elves consorting with humans these days. I'd like to know what makes you so special."

"This is why there were no weapons on the battlefield I found you on, isn't it? Your kind doesn't want these falling into the hands of their enemies. And that includes humans like me."

She neither denied or confirmed. He had figured it out. They always tried to retrieve the bodies of their dead to return them home to their families. When that wasn’t possible, they burned them. Weapons were always collected to be taken back to the families. Heirlooms. If there were no families to return them to, the weapons were stored in the armory for another elf to use.

He spoke about his father and the elven woman. It was all Myria could do to school her face into placidity. The Elven woman. She had stood by her master’s side so proudly, her stomach swollen with his issue, knowing full well that her child, when grown enough, would be confined to the mine. Did she even care? Or was it a case of out of sight, out of mind? Most assuredly once the woman had given birth, his father would present himself between her thighs again. Part of herself understood. The ache was deep in her core as well. The gnawing, craving hunger to have the one she served, fill her with himself. The only thing that staved off her body’s cravings was the possibility of getting pregnant. There was some sort of twisted delight in knowing that she, Myria, now wielded the woman’s sword. The very fact that it was back in Elven hands where it belonged went a long way in mollifying Myria’s feelings toward the woman.

They walked. She did not know where he intended to go but it was her job was to protect him to the best of her skills. Silently she observed him. He was careful. Intelligent even. She would grudgingly give him that. They had stayed ahead of the tracking party and their hounds. No easy task she knew. At the moment, they were wading through chest high water in winter and her skin was turning blue with cold that it was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Did it anger you?"

His question threw her off guard. She didn’t know how to answer him. She was sure he was speaking of the mine and what they both had witnessed. Myria wasn’t sure how she felt. No. It wasn’t a matter of how she felt, it was a matter of how much was felt. Myria had been walking slightly behind his right shoulder but had stopped walking at the slight rustle she heard though Bjorn had not. Her bow was drawn, an arrow notched and brought up even as the voice came. Even before his blade extended.

"You're far from home, human. And with a pretty little elf with you too. Have you done naughty things to her?"

“What he has done or not done is of little concern to you, Dryad. Shouldn’t you be in your tree, pretty one? Do not toy with the human. He is under my protection. My name is of little consequence. We are passing through and if you are wise, you will let us continue to do so.”

Bjorn seemingly ignored the one he charged with protecting him and continued to speak with the dryad.

"My name is Bjorn."

"How bold of you to speak, considering that I'm trying to have a conversation with your.....friend. Don't you know that your life hangs in the balance?"

The very moment the fae one turned away from her, Myria’s bow lowered, the notched arrow was used for something else now. Before either of them, Bjorn or the dryad, even blinked the shaft of the arrow was pressed against the fae’s soft throat as she was forced back against Myria. Dryad magic didn’t work on elves. That soft teasing smile that had suddenly appeared on the fae’s face, along with her words, faded into the nothing as she was suddenly held captive. Myria’s lips found the shell of the dryad’s ear and spoke softly into it.

“Little Dryad, unless he wishes it otherwise, your knowledge shall remain sadly lacking. You will save your enchantment for other unwary humans. I can kill you right here, right now, before your heart can take another beat or I can see to it that something happens to your precious tree if you refuse to heed my words or my master’s.”

Myria’s head lifted, her eyes looking over the fae’s shoulder to Bjorn, eyes silently waiting for him to tell her what he wanted done with the fae. Her eyes spoke of urgency. He knew as well as she did, that the tracking party hadn’t given up. They would do their best to run both them to ground and if the people of Bjorn’s clan caught them, she had no idea what they would do to him, but she was pretty sure of what her fate would be.

Dryads were not to be trusted, even if this one did give a small alarmed squeal. Myria was not fooled. The arrow shaft pressed slightly harder against the fae’s throat.

“Easy, Elf. We’re kin of a sorts.”

That made Myria laugh softly.

“You’re no kin of mine, Dryad. Now, the elves that live in the trees? Those are my kin.”

Myria’s lips moved closer to the fae’s ear.

“Not feeling so saucy now are you, Dryad?”

“You’re no kin of mine, Dryad. Now, the elves that live in the trees? Those are my kin.”

She certainly had her answer. No normal elf would show such hostility towards one of her kind, a simple nature spirit. And she hadn't even shown aggression towards the human! Young though he may appear, the human had looked sturdy enough to put up a fight. She had noticed the elven blade he wielded as well, though chose to not mention it before appearing before them both. Such was the dangers of curiosity.....

“Not feeling so saucy now are you, Dryad?”

"You forget, Elf, your kind live in the trees. But my kin are the trees. Now I suggest you lower your weapon before my friends decide to smash your human into a bloody mess. They won't have to worry about accidentally hitting me if he's the target. Of course you can slit my throat on your way over to protecting him, but I think you're ill prepared to deal with the trees themselves aren't you?"

Emerald eyes narrowed, despite the fact that she couldn't actually see her captor.

"And trees can get very angry."

A soft stirring about them had Bjorn spinning on his heel. He was no ranger, or woodsman of any sort, but only an idiot would fail to realize that while the sound had been of stirring branches and leaves......

There had been no breeze or wind to cause them to do so.

"Shall we return to more civil discussion?"

"Let her go, Myria."

He could have sworn he saw the elf flinch slightly. However, he knew she was intelligent enough to have come to some similar conclusion. All he knew was that they weren't alone.....she on the other hand.....might have a more clear notion of the dryad's veiled threat.

"You slept with her."

The fae's words were flat, devoid of emotion, stating the obvious accusation.

"Did you force yourself on her? Never mind, of course you did. No elf would sleep with a human male knowing the consequences. I confess to being curious however. Answer me, and I'll let you pass."

Bjorn frowned softly, flinching himself at another soft rustling about them, watching as the trunk of a nearby tree shivered slightly, twisting until a deep hollow somewhat resembling an eye turned to sweep over them both. The dryad merely smiled as he took a step back, torn between amazement and horror at the living tree that had been so close to them the whole time.

"Treants. My guardians. If your elf hadn't been so muddled by your seed, she'd have known that simple fae like myself don't usually travel alone. My question human....."

Her frown returned, her eyes boring into his own as she made sure she had Bjorn's attention.

"I'm more attuned to nature than both elves and humans, yet not as much so as my cousins the nymphs. Still, you warrioress.....irate as she is......is not carrying your child. I assumed humans stole elves to breed them senseless. Am I wrong?"

This time it was his turn to frown softly. Why hadn't he bred her by now? His father surely would have, would have sown his seed shortly after claiming her. Any of his clansmen would have in a heartbeat.

"I enjoy wild and beautiful things. I enjoy gazing upon you....though I admit your friends scare me."

A very girly giggle escaped the fae, a sudden showing of humor breezing across her otherwise somber face.

"So you'd bed me too if you had the chance. Make me yours. Now you see why I keep my friends about me."

Bjorn's frown deepened, never having heard of a dryad or any other type of fae being taken captive. It defied logic.

"A human can't claim a dryad."

The glade filled with the tinkling sound of laughter, and before he knew it, the sultry seductress was waggling a lone finger at him and tossing him a naughty wink.

"You won't catch me off guard like that. I know you're lying."

"Actually, I'm not. If I recall our shaman's lore correctly, a dryad is tied to her tree. Her home is the area around that tree, as well as the tree itself. Should she leave that area for any prolonged length of time, both tree and dryad will die."

He was quickly regretting mentioning his old lessons, as the look of sorrow upon her face was deep and profound. The very thought of such a thing happening to her causing her slender arms to wrap about her scantily clad frame as if she had caught a chill.

"That's why you can't have me. You'll try and take me away.....and I'd follow you like she follows you.....and then....."

Was that why no human had ever brought a dryad home with them? Could they be claimed? Perhaps she was right, though if she was, his people had brought even more atrocity into their legacy. The look on his face wasn't that contemplation, it was of disgust....so much so that it was her turn to take a small step back, provoking a shuffle of discontent from the treants, always looking for potential threat.

"You look like fun though......"

Bjorn's jaw dropped. It certainly wasn't the comment he was expecting. Just how long had it been since this one had a male enchanted and pleasuring her? Too long if she was even considering.....

"No. I wouldn't do that to you."

"You wouldn't have to. I could keep you here.....seven years....."

"And then what? If what you say is true, your enchantment wears off and your choice is to pine for me or follow me to your death."

It was almost heartbreaking seeing the soft glimmer of tears, the shadow of loneliness in her pristine eyes. Just how much enchantment had she thrown upon him already?

Enough. Enough that the second it lifted, his mind felt clearer, less inclined to feel compassion towards her. Especially when as he looked at her once more, the tearful gaze had hardened considerably, sizing him up even as they both did the same.

"Very well. I will let you pass through my glen. I give no promises for the other denizens of the forest. You answered my question, though not.....in a satisfactory manner. I think I can understand. Just as I think I understand why she is not tamely following you like some domesticated pet."

Bjorn risked a glance at Myria, more than eager to be gone from this place.

"Any human who doesn't fall all over himself in an attempt to bed me is an enigma to me. I will suffer you in my forest for as long as it takes me to figure you out. Woe to you should I find you be as accursed as the rest of your people."

"You forget, Elf, your kind live in the trees. But my kin are the trees. Now I suggest you lower your weapon before my friends decide to smash your human into a bloody mess. They won't have to worry about accidentally hitting me if he's the target. Of course you can slit my throat on your way over to protecting him, but I think you're ill prepared to deal with the trees themselves aren't you?"

There was a soft growl of a purr in the dryad’s ear. A velvety menacing tone.

“I forget nothing, dryad. Do not even seek to threaten those under my protection. ”

Soft lips pressed closer. The elf’s voice became almost a whisper in the fae’s ear.

“I may not know which tree is yours, but it will not be hard to find out and what I do with that knowledge, I promise you, little fae, you won’t like it.”

Purple hued eyes sought grey ones. Clearly a question lie in the amethyst gaze.

"Let her go, Myria."

A moment more, Myria’s hold on the dryad tightened, then with a tiny shove accompanied by a soft grunt, she released the fae one, sheathing the arrow back into the quiver the elf wore.

“Your will, my command, Master.”

"You slept with her."

Myria’s face contorted in disgust. The dryad continued her conversation with Bjorn as if she, Myria, weren’t even there. She folded her arms over her chest, setting her legs slightly apart. Myria didn’t dare leave Bjorn alone with the fae one for one second, even though she wanted nothing more than perhaps to move away from the conversation to see if she could find some fish for their dinner this night.

"I enjoy wild and beautiful things. I enjoy gazing upon you....though I admit your friends scare me."

Myria rolled her eyes, then looked away from the two. If he had any intentions of fucking the fae, she wished he’d motion her away and get on with it so they could continue their journey. Instead, she thrust her mind away from the conversation. It was brought back sharply by the dryad’s words.

"You wouldn't have to. I could keep you here.....seven years....."

The gleam was back in Myria’s eyes. Was the dryad being threatening? Schooling her face into placidity, she tuned into the conversation once more. No, the dryad wasn’t being threatening. The verbal play between the two was something else, not threatening in any way. Obviously Bjorn managed to secure safe passage for them through the glen.

"Very well. I will let you pass through my glen. I give no promises for the other denizens of the forest. You answered my question, though not.....in a satisfactory manner. I think I can understand. Just as I think I understand why she is not tamely following you like some domesticated pet."

The dryad’s words rankled. Without forethought, she took a step toward the female with another soft menacing, low, growl; then was stopped by a look from her master. A look that also told her that he wanted to be away from this place. Myria narrowed her eyes upon the dryad.

“Just remember my words, dryad. It won’t take much from me to learn which tree is yours.”

She looked to Bjorn again, then gazed upward at the sky.

“We better be moving, Master. Daylight will not last forever.”

Myria fell silent after that. Internally, she wasn’t pleased with her actions. She didn’t understand them either. What by the name of Sol, was happening to her. Myria’s eyes meandered over Bjorn, took in his agile body. Her eyes came to rest on his hips. She knew all too well what it felt like to feel them pounding against her. Myria swallowed, looking away her gaze finding some purple and white star shaped flowers along the water line not far from them. Making her way toward them, Myria bent and plucked a few along with a broad green leaf to wrap the flowers in. The lot was tucked into her trews for safety. One of the ingredients she needed for a tea. Upon returning to Bjorn, it was clear the dryad had left them. Good riddance. Heat roiled deep in her body. The ache of wanting him, flared. It was useless thing to feel at the moment. Myria had no wish to bear him a child. She simply wished for him to ease this hunger in her body. For now, that was impossible, not without consequences. Her fingers went to the waistband of her breeks, fingering the folded leaf there. Here, was the first ingredient for solving that problem.

“I gather we are ready now to proceed?”

“Just remember my words, dryad. It won’t take much from me to learn which tree is yours.”

"Do not be surprised to find it defended when you do find it."

How different this one was. What might have once been a friend was now quick to threaten just from the few advances she had made. Granted....she was in a far better position to threaten than he was.....but that wasn't by much.

“We better be moving, Master. Daylight will not last forever.”

The elf had cast her gaze upon her human master, and he in turn, twisted his stance just enough to meet her question with a respect she found curious. Still, it was more than enough time. As they returned their attentions to her a moment later, the once lovely body of the tree spirit had turned the color of muddy water. Had they reached for her, they would have found her touch to be that of rough bark. Not that they had a chance to......her physical form collapsing before them as a tangle of dry vines and driftwood.....

They made haste then, still fleeing though perhaps not as urgently. If just the two of them had roused the dryad and her "friends", the woodland fae surely wouldn't be happy with a whole hunting party. A part of Bjorn's less jaded soul wished her well in keeping herself from their hungry advances if and when they caught sight of her. The other part hoped she brought them slaughter worthy of a fae.

"A dryad. I never thought in all my days I'd see one."

He was panting now, their pace finally slowing as fatigue settled in. He was in good shape, but the rough terrain and the careful tricks he had laid to escape pursuit had taken its toll. She on the other hand.....

"Thank you, by the way. For helping me keep a level head back there. I've no doubt I could have never been seen again if it were just me."

Bjorn laughed nervously as the sudden rumbling of his stomach echoed across the forest, or so it seemed to him, his own embarrassment unable to cover up the sound.

"Now if I only knew where we were going. I'll need to build a residence, no doubt. Unless we can find one unoccupied of course. That won't happen here, too many of your kind that will be attracted by the felling of trees.....and they won't be happy about it."

The human sank wearily against the trunk of a large roanwood, his own sturdy frame looking pitiful when compared to the true might of the tree he rested against.

"Moreover, we'll need to figure it out soon. Winter's going to set in any day, and I'll be damned if I have you standing watch over a damned cave."

He fell silent then. He wasn't ready just yet to entrust her with more of his thoughts. Thoughts that had come to him as the two of them had looked out at his clan's mines and the half bloods who worked them. Myria would find out soon enough, if she hadn't guessed already. After all, who was she to guard other than him? If she wasn't required to satisfy his male needs, then who would? He was surprised she hadn't begun to ask questions already.

Then again, she probably knew the answers.