"Did I say nothing else?"
"Nothing else." And then she looked away, with that same sadness in her expression.
It beat on the stone of his heart and would've shattered it, given enough time. But always the sword on his back, and Gwyn, and the similarity between Elvendere and the Forest of Calne in his homeland reminded Gawain who he was, and what he had become.
Soon Gawain too used the ropes to descend to the glade from his room in the trees. And when the scars on his leg were little more than red and puckered welts, it was increasingly obvious that his health and strength were fully recovered.
Elayeen knew it, and so, it seemed, did the whitebeards, for they grew even more attentive in their surveillance. Gawain could cheerfully have slaughtered them, and it was only the serenity of Elvendere and his fear of offending Elayeen that prevented him from doing so.
Once, he saw other elves with black braids in the hair, the same as Elayeen's. They were a couple, elf and elfin, strolling hand-in-hand through the woods, laughing with one another. Gawain frowned, and then a cold fist seemed to squeeze the last of the blood from his frozen heart.
It must mean, he thought, that Elayeen was married. In Callodon, it was the custom for married men and women to wear silver bracelets on their right wrists. In Juria, they wore gold rings. Perhaps here in Elvendere, they wore lustrous black braids in their hair.
The elfin, holding his arm as ever while they walked, seemed to sense the coldness rushing through Gawain, but misunderstood the reason for it.
"You are leaving soon?" she gasped, staring up at him, her eyes wide with fear and sorrow.
"Yes," he replied, gazing away into the trees. "I must. Autumn fast approaches, and I must be in Threlland before winter's grip."
She paused, and in spite of the warning cough from the ever-present watching whitebeard, she took both of Gawain's hands in hers, and stared down at them.
"Will you return?"
"Will I be welcome?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes."
"Then," Gawain said, gently letting go her left hand and tilting her chin up, "If I am able, I shall return."
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she blinked.
"Soon?"
"If I am able." He said again, and she smiled sadly, and looked away.
Next day, early, tearful children watched as Gawain saddled Gwyn and made his preparations to leave. Gan stood by, arms folded, quietly watching as elves handed Gawain bags of provisions for his journey.
When all was packed and ready, Gawain patted Gwyn on the neck. "Go on, you daft lump. Go say goodbye to your friends."
The horse nodded, and strode forward, bobbing her head at the small group of children in the middle of the clearing. Gawain scanned the gathering of elves, but Elayeen was nowhere in sight.
Gan strode forward, and held out his hand. "Good journeys, friend Traveller. You are always welcome here."
"Thank you, Gan-thal. You and your people have been kind, and I am proud to call all here mi frith."
"You are learning."
"I have had a patient teacher, my friend. I had hoped to see Elayeen before I go."
Gan looked pained. "It would cause her much pain. She is become Ithroth…"
"Gan-thal! Nai!" a familiar voice called.
"I swear by my sword," Gawain muttered coldly, still clasping Gan's hand but staring at the wizard, "one day I will cleave that bastard whitebeard clean in two."
Gan shuddered. "They serve Elvendere."
"They serve themselves, and ever have done. But I would not part from you or your people with anger in my heart. Fare well, Gan-thal mi frith, honour to you."
"Honour to you, Traveller."
"Please tell Elayeen to remember the words I spoke yesterday."
Gan looked hopeful for a few moments. "May I ask what words you spoke?"
"I shall return. If I am able."
Gan nodded, and though the hope subsided a little, its embers remained as he watched Gawain call Gwyn forward, and then set off east through the trees.
On his walk through the forest, Gawain stooped to pick up lumps of flint, and these he slipped into a sack on Gwyn's saddle. The three dozen arrows the elves had given him were tipped with steel, and if Black Riders lay between Elvendere and Threlland, they would be of no use. It would be a long journey, though not as long at that undertaken with the heavily-laden caravan in company with Rak. He would use the evenings to fashion Raheen stone tips.
He felt eyes on him as he approached the eastern tree line, but he knew none belonged to Elayeen. At the fringes of the Jurian plain he paused, hoping that she might appear from the trees to bid him a final farewell, but no-one came. With a sigh, he gazed out across the plain, and then turned his eyes north.
"Hai, Gwyn." He called softly, and mounted. "We must bid farewell to Elvendere, you ugly nag. It is time to remind Ramoth and Morloch that we yet live."
Gwyn bobbed her head and snorted, seeming to agree. A slight noise caught their attention, and Gawain spun around in the saddle, hoping to see Elayeen behind him. But his heart hardened and his lips pressed thin and cruel.
"What do you want, whitebeard?" He spat.
"To see you gone from Elvendere."
"Then watch as I go. And hold your breath for my return, for return I shall."
The whitebeard grimaced. "I shall not hold my breath for so long a time. Where you go, there is no returning."
"The same was once said to me about Elvendere, yet twice I have passed this way. You offend me, whitebeard. Take great care not to do it again."
"What I do, I do for Elvendere."
"What you do is nothing, and nothing good. I shall look for you on my return."
The wizard smirked, but there was fear in his eyes as well. Gawain turned his gaze back to the plains. And after a final glance around the trees, they set off.
16. Morloch's Warning
They were still within sight of Elvendere when Gwyn whinnied, and lost her stride, and slowed fretfully.
Gawain scanned the horizon all around them. Nothing but the distant tree line that marked Elvendere to the west. Then a darkness began shimmering in front of them, some ten paces away.
Gwyn let out a screeching whinny, and began backing away. Gawain unsheathed the longsword, staring at the small blackness that seemed to waver in front of them. Slowly it began to take shape, long and thin, and then the form began to crystallise.
Gawain leapt from the saddle, and advanced cautiously in spite of Gwyn's warnings.
The thing became a shape, and became almost a man. As tall as Gawain, dressed in blackness, a long black cloak, or perhaps a shroud, which shimmered. The head atop the vision was round, and loathsome. Completely bald, the skin stained and mottled with black blotches. Thin blackened lips, held in a perpetual sneer. And black eyes, no whites to them at all, no pupils.
"You vex me." it said, shimmering, and Gawain swung his sword vainly, for he could see it was a vision, the landscape still faintly visible through the apparition.
It laughed, mirthlessly. "Futile. You cannot harm me."
"What are you?"
"Know you not? In truth?"
"I see a vile apparition, with bad teeth. I will not grace such dark imaginings with a name."
"Imagining? Know you not what power I possess, merely to appear to you thus? No. You do not. Else you would cower, and beg mercy!"
"Beg mercy, from a daylight shade? I would as much beg mercy from my own shadow."
"I am Morloch. Now shall you beg."
"Morloch!" Gawain spat on the ground. "Filth. I come for you."
"Foolish. You shall never cross the Teeth. You are nothing. Yet, you vex me. Why?"
"You offend me."
Again the apparition laughed. "Futility. If the high noon sun should burn your skin, thus offending you, what then?"