Interlude: Faldor

Faldor

The girl stopped at the table closest to the bar, removing an emptied tankard while balancing a full pitcher in the other hand. She must have felt the weight of my stare, for she turned and glanced my way. I gasped as I saw her yellow eyes, fairly glowing in the dim candle- and fire-light of the alehouse. Though thankful for the darkness about my booth, in the farthest corner from the fire, I wondered how she discerned my presence.

She raised an eyebrow quizzically in my direction, and placed the pitcher on the table, breaking gaze briefly to smile at its weather-worn residents. She walked towards my table, starting visibly when she saw there truly was a person there, but continued shortly. She stopped at the foot of the booth and looked at me expectantly. I made sure my glamour was in place, for in this country I had found it was unwise to reveal my race. Elves were not looked upon kindly here.

When I did not speak, she asked, "D'ye want t' order somewhat, sir? There be a particular good ale I ken, that's pleasin' t' exotic tastes."

I looked up, and was caught by her eyes. I could not look away, and barely heard what she said.

"Sir? D'ye want th' ale?"

I shook my head, forcing myself to look away.

"No, sir? Bé, then. Let me know when ye hae need of somewhat." She began to turn away, bemusement in those fascinating eyes.

"Wait."

Rising quickly from the bench, I grabbed her arm, eliciting a startled gasp from her, as it must have seemed I was suddenly at her side with no intervening time. Immediately it was my turn for amazement as I felt the strength in her under the thin muslin. I could sense currents of energy pulsing 'neath her skin, drawing me even more powerfully than her eyes. She was a fountain of life, a well that could not be drained.

"Sir? I--" her voice, frightened, barely registered above the commotion of the tavern.

"Ach. Aye, I'll take the ale."

She nodded, slowly, staring just past my hand on her arm, the yellow eyes enormous. After too long a moment, feeling the power in her, I released her arm, aware of suspicious eyes on me from behind the bar. I had most likely broken protocol, and someone with a big stick might come out of the kitchen if she went back without an order.

"Bé, sir. I'll get ye th' ale." The girl looked at me askance, eyes wide, seeming loathe to ask the next question. I almost lost myself in those eyes again, but I pulled my gaze to the scarred wood of the table.

"Nothing else, lady. Just bring the ale."

I could not look up until I heard the soft whisper of her footsteps, inaudible to human ears over the noise of the tavern, disappear into the kitchen, shaken by those eyes and that inexplicable power.

"Who are you?" I whispered into the smoke and shadows.

*****

I would not meet her eyes when she returned with the ale. In retrospect, it was pleasing, for all of the handful of seconds it took me to drain the tankard; I was too concerned with avoiding the gaze of the serving girl. I suppose humans would find her attractive, but all that interested me was how she could be living with such relanh and not be making use of it. Alas, that was not my mission in this land. I resolved to let her become another mystery of my travels, a memory to wonder at during the long voyages over land or sea.

I walked up to the barkeep, fully intending to settle my meager bill and be on my way. I took a breath and closed my eyes, making sure my glamour cast nothing but a human's guise, careful to keep my ears covered and my eyes from shining. But when I looked up again, the serving girl once again caught my eye, leaving me staring like an errant human schoolboy. And the barkeep noticed. He followed my gaze towards the kitchen, raising a knowing eyebrow as he saw the golden-haired girl make her way through the gnarled door.

My gaze only broke when the barkeep's large scarred hand gripped my own, which clutched a gold coin far in excess of the price of the ale. I stared at him, aghast; a human could not usually touch an elf without the elf's consent. I was truly captivated by this girl.

"She's not for sale, milord. She do as she please. No amount o' coin ta change that."

"I don't want to bed her, fool." of a human, I nearly added. "I just wish to speak with her." If I hadn't been so stunned by the girl, I would have laughed at his presumption. Elves did not mate with humans.

"Aye, ta speak wi' 'er. That's the likes o' which I ha'n't heard in somewhile," the barkeep said with a knowing smile.

"I just wish to talk." I broke contact with the kitchen door long enough to focus my own lambent stare at the barkeep, letting the tiniest compulsion leak through.I hated to use humans thus; it seemed unfair.

"Ta talk. Aye. Well, ye shall hae ta ask 'er yeself. Rhysa!" He motioned her over even as she returned from the kitchen. She set down her load at the appointed table, ignoring their stares and turning toward us. I struggled to keep my powers under control, wanting to let them enfold the girl and learn her secrets. But I could not--she would see it in my eyes, and I would lose her trust.

"Milord?" She curtseyed gently. Why everyone insisted on thinking I was nobility I could not fathom. I was dressed simply, even for an elf; perhaps it was my regal manner. The girl shot me a bemused glance as I stifled a laugh. "Richard? What is it?" she asked the barkeep.

Richard spoke slowly, still in the grip of my subtle persuasion. "This...gentleman wishes ta 'speak' wi' ye." He bowed slightly in my direction, and began to walk away.

"Yes, milord?" the girl, Rhysa, turned her amber eyes to mine, which I shuttered quickly. I could see the curiousity in her; 'twas well, for it meant she would come willingly. I would not have compelled her even if she would not.

Suddenly hoarse, I tapped Richard's retreating shoulder, asking if there was a room available where we could talk privately. At his knowing look, I said, exasperated, "A bed won't be necessary. Just a room less cluttered with hu--bris. Quieter."

He nodded, clearly not yet convinced at the purity of my intentions, but regardless led us to a room at the back, most recently the site of a card game gone awry. Several smoky torches illuminated the remnants of the table strewn about the floor, tattered cardbacks lodged in its cracks. Two chairs had survived the revelry, crazily upended upon one another. I righted them after closing the door, gesturing for her to sit.

"Rhysa, is it? Where are you from? Please, I must know."

The golden eyes flicked to the window in the back wall, darkening with the last rays of Sunna, and then back to me

"Myrhysa, sire. That be me name."

"Call me not sire. There is no human royalty to knight me," I said wryly, waving away her confusion as she opened her mouth to speak. "South then? Where, for I know not of your name," I asked, more curious by the minute.

She looked at me, startled. "Do ye read me thoughts, then? For I did na say."

"You looked to the south, my dear. 'Tis rude to read the thoughts of others." Though I could have, I thought, quickly surpressing the desire.

She glanced back to the window for a long moment and then turned back to me. "Aye, the south. Myropel. 'Tis the highest point in southern Icapia. I was fostered here when I was seven, for there was not enough brisan for my father to comtinue his work on auritars, and--" her voice broke.

I reached out to touch her hands, still twisted in her lap. "Myropel. I should like to know more of this place. I know not the language." Unbidden, thoughts of her homeland drifted to me, as well as another glimpse of the currents of power coursing through her. Who was this girl, this human, that she could carry such gifts? And yet seem unaware of them. Surely she knew...?

"An' ye should no.' We keep our secrets, we do. We do na often get visitors." She pulled her hands from mine, breaking the contact, but the vision still lingered. Her homeland was beautiful, hidden deep in the Icapi mountains, and I could see why she was wistful.

"You wish to return, Myrhysa? I can hear it in your voice." Indeed, her distress was plain to my elvish hearing, though she strove to keep her voice level.

"Aye, mi--ah. I hae told ye me name, but I do na know yours. But aye, I wish to return. It ha been eight long years since I hae seen me parents. There ha been not a way ta get there. I canna buy a horse." She looked at her hands, then turned those amazing eyes to mine.

I took her hands again, turning them palm up. I knew little of what humans called palmistry, but I could see her lifeline was short, too short for one harboring such relanh. But perhaps it was fitting; those of great power were often taken young. Warily I assessed her. Aside from the remarkable relanh she possessed, she was completely guileless, well protected by Richard, robustly hale and lithe from working years in a tavern. Her face was open, free from the inborn prejudices of this country; instinctively I knew I could trust her. An Elf's name was not given lightly, especially to one of such power, but unless she was an extremely talented actress, she would not know how to perform the Calling ritual if instructions were handed to her.

"My name is Faldor, Myrhysa. I am honored to make meet with you. Guard my name with care; whispers on the wind may well pass to evil ears."

She blinked. "Faldor? Truly ye are a traveler, for I hae never heard that name about these parts. What does it mean, if I may ask? I know not your language, either."

"It means Lore-keeper, in the language of the Elves." I paused to let that sink in, watching as her eyes grew round with surprise. I let fall the glamour that had protected me this night, allowing her to see me as I was, seeing the gleaming rise about my fingers as the entwined with hers.

"An..an elf?" she stuttered, looking down at the light limning my hands and then back up to my eyes. "But...but wha--"

"I trust you will tell no one. 'Tis secret, the things I do here, and I am not well come to this place." I saw the fear in her eyes, but then the swift reasoning and assessment of my character. "I see in you differences, relanh which could be of great import, and I know you are not like the others. You are unique, Myrhysa, unique in the world, and I know that I may share my name's secret with you. Now tell me, your name. What does it mean?"

She stared at me a moment more, then blinked, breaking gaze, a wondering smile still on her face. I squeezed her fingers gently, prompting a startled breath. She looked back at me, awe still in her eyes, making me uncomfortable. I cleared my throat. "Your name, Myrhysa. What does it mean?"

She chuckled softly. "Forgive me, I never thought ta meet an elf. Me..name, well, it's Laquenne for--Aric!"

The door had opened, without my knowlege. I threw up a glamour hastily, berating myself for not being aware of my surroundings, not wanting the newcomer to become privy to secrets he had no right to. Myrhysa smiled brightly, upsetting her chair as she ran to the large figure of a man filling the doorway. There was joy on her face, but her eyes had lost the luster I had seen when she looked at me. There was no sign of her relanh; she could be any human in the arms of her beloved.

"Aric, this is Fa--"

"Farin," I interrupted. I saw the confusion, then comprehension as she remembered my earlier words. My name could not be bandied about like a leaf on the wind.

"Farin. Aric, this is Farin. Farin, this is Aric, me trosen. Farin is," she paused to look at me, "a traveler, from lands far distant."

Aric looked at me appraisingly. I let his gaze slide over me, delibrately presenting a rather simple glamour so he did not feel threatened. "Well, Farin, as it seems ya hae already made meet my trosa, I'd be offerin ya a tankard of ale. Would ya join us?"

I saw the glimmer of hope in Myrhysa's eyes, a return of their spark, but I saw the window had darkened completely outside the glow of the torches. I had not intended to find her, just a respite from the long journey ahead. Many leagues lay between me and the Illysa, the ship that would carry me across the Strait of Toren'na'rin and from landfall, home.

I regretfully made my farewells, walking with them to a table, waving to the barkeep, taking my cloak from the peg by the entrance. I swirled it around my shoulders, setting the torches to flaring, but none so bright as her eyes. They followed me out the door and I sensed her thoughts on me long after I had gone from her sight. I knew we would meet again--such a meeting could not be mere happenstance. But Fate, it seems, did not desire me to know the meaning of her name. Would that I had learned it; I could have saved her.

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