Another gasp, coming from the trees a few paces beyond an old oak. Gawain held his hands out at his sides, showing that he carried no weapons. As he stepped to the side of the tree, he caught his breath, and froze.
4. Elvendere
She was laying on the ground, long blonde hair shimmering silver in the moonlight, her slender back to him but her head twisted, staring at him over her shoulder. She was, Gawain thought, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
But it was apparent that she did not feel the same way about him, and as he stood rooted to the spot, awestruck and filled with wonder, the elf was reaching with outstretched fingers for her bow, which lay on the ground just inches from her grasp.
Gawain stared for a few more moments, and then realised what was happening. The elf was hurt, her right calfskin boot trapped in some sort of hole in the ground, and the gasps that he'd heard were of pain and anguish. Even now, as he couldn't help his eyes admiring the sweep of her leg from her knee to the short green deerskin skirt, she was struggling to reach her weapon.
"Peace, my lady," Gawain said softly, "I mean you no harm."
She stared at him, dark eyes wide with fear and glistening with tears, and then tried once more to regain her weapons.
Gawain stepped forward carefully, testing the ground ahead of him with his booted feet before trusting his weight to the undergrowth. It must be a very clever trap that would catch an elf, he thought, and with all his own forestry skills, he was not so arrogant as to believe that he could pass unharmed where an elf had not.
It didn't take long. Twice the ground gave way to reveal a small pit, at the bottom of which sharpened sticks waited to pierce any unwary foot that fell upon them. And all the while she gasped in pain, trying in vain to arm herself. Gawain moved around her, and knelt by her bow, and the dagger laying beside it he had not seen until now. She was facing him, hand outstretched, and her tear-filled eyes showed the depths of her despair.
"Peace,” Gawain said softly again, and reached down, picking up the dagger by its slender blade, and then he held it out to her, so that the weapon's grip was within her easy reach.
She stared at it, and then back at Gawain. He nodded, and offered it to her again. Her fingers trembled when they touched the handle, and then closed around it, and Gawain released his hold.
She was still staring at him, still holding the knife with its point trembling towards his heart, when he moved her bow so that it lay close to her.
"Peace.” He said again, and carefully moved towards her trapped leg.
The elf sat up, clutching the knife, and Gawain knew he must move carefully. It would be a simple matter for her to thrust the dagger into his heart. Slowly, he moved the undergrowth and fallen leaves, exposing the rim of the pit into which she'd stepped. He glanced up at her, and she met his stare. He couldn't tell whether her eyes were brown, or black, or hazel, the moonlight was deceptive.
He thought she must be about the same age as himself, or a year either side. He didn't know. For all he knew, elves lived to be hundreds of years old and this one could be thrice his age. But he didn't think so. Finally, she glanced down at her leg, and then back into Gawain's eyes.
"This will hurt you, my lady." He said softly, gently, and she nodded.
Gawain reached into the hole. One of the sharpened sticks had pierced the elf's foot, and come clean through the top of her boot. He looked up at her, and again she nodded.
As gently as he could, Gawain supported her foot with one hand, and grasped the bloody stick with the other, trying to lift both at the same time, to spare her pain. If her gasps and sighs were anything to go by, it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped, and she gave a choking cry when finally the trap released her.
Gawain lifted her leg gently, and without thinking reached for the knife in his belt to cut away her blood-drenched boot. The moment his hand touched the hilt though, he saw the flash of moonlight on metal, and her point was inches from his face.
"Peace," he said, as calmly as he could. It was all well and good remembering ancient decrees to "suffer no man to draw steel against a crown of Raheen", but this was certainly no man, and he couldn't blame her for her fear and mistrust.
He did his best to ignore her blade as he slowly drew his own. When he slipped its point into the leg of her boot at her knee, understanding replaced fear, and she sat back.
The boot was soft and cut easily, and in no time at all Gawain was holding the slender elven foot in his hand. Blood oozed from both sides of the wound, and since he was no healer, he thought it best not to attempt to remove the spiteful stake. Instead, he carefully ran his fingers over her ankle and shin, feeling for any sign of broken bones as he'd been taught. Broken bones were something that Raheen horsemen did understand.
It was only when he noticed the goose-flesh on her calf and thigh that Gawain suddenly realised that her blade trembled not through fear, but doubtless through shock and cold.
He cocked his head over his shoulder and hissed "Hai, Gwyn!" prompting another bout of alarm from his patient until the horse padded into view.
Gwyn picked her way through the exposed traps, and Gawain stood and retrieved a pack from her saddle. From it he took the small bottle of Jurian brandy, and offered it to the wounded girl.
"Brandy," he explained, "Jurian brandy. It'll warm you."
She took the bottle with her free hand, and sniffed at the cork as Gawain took a blanket from his saddle-roll, and spread it gently over her legs. She drew it up under her chin gratefully, and finally relinquished her hold on the dagger.
Gawain smiled as she sipped from the bottle and grimaced. Then her glorious eyes seemed to widen in wonder as the brandy took effect.
Gawain bandaged her foot as best he could, and then gazed at her.
"I can't leave you here.” He said softly. "It could be hours before your friends come looking for you. And whoever made these traps could come this way too."
She cocked her head, and blinked.
"Well." Gawain announced, smiling. "I always wanted to meet an elf, and see Elvendere. The least I can do for your not stabbing me is to take you home."
She said nothing, but simply gazed at him. Gwyn snorted, and Gawain surveyed their surroundings. The branches were too low for them to ride.
"I hope you can understand me, my lady,” Gawain smiled, stowing his pack back in the saddle. "Because if you don't, I might not see my home again, nor you yours."
He picked up her bow, and she watched as he hung it on the saddle. Perhaps she had understood, he didn't know for certain. But when he stooped, and gently took her in his arms, and lifted her from the cold forest floor, the dagger she had so desperately sought earlier remained on the ground.
To Gawain, she felt as light as a feather, and he knew as he carried her through the forest, north and away from the Ferdan track, that if she were able to stand, the top of her head would barely reach his shoulder.
She didn't seem to mind being carried, perhaps because the brandy she had sipped was unknown to her and left her feeling warm and safe. But after only a few dozen paces her arm slipped up from under her blanket and wrapped around his neck, and when Gawain looked down, her eyes were closed.
He walked for two hours, Gwyn threading her way through the trees behind him. And when the sun came up, and raucous birdsong filled the air, he turned to face east, his eyes closed, remembering The Fallen for a few moments. When he opened them and started walking again, he glanced down and was sure he saw her eyelids close, and that she'd been watching him.
An hour after dawn Gwyn gave a warning snort, but Gawain carried on walking. He had no doubt that his progress through the trees was now under the watchful eye of unseen elves, but there was nothing he could do about it. Until they emerged from hiding, and until he could hand the girl back into the care of her own people, he was honour-bound to continue.