Gawain sighed. "It does not do justice enough.”
"But?"
"But I fear she is married."
"Ah." Allazar nodded briefly, and then he too turned his gaze to the flames.
After a few moments, the silence broken only by the crackling logs, Gawain suddenly asked:
"Do you know much of elves, and their ways?"
"Some," Allazar acknowledged. "We have brethren there. But elves have long guarded their privacy jealously."
"A black braid in their hair, Allazar, this signifies marriage?"
"A braid does, yes. A black braid signifies far more."
Gawain looked crushed. "More?"
"It signifies throth."
"Elayeen mentioned the word. I took it to mean marriage."
"No, it means far more than marriage, my friend."
Gawain sighed again. "Must I hold a knife to your throat to prise the words out, Allazar? Can you not see I would know the meaning of this word 'throth'?"
"Forgive me, Longsword. It has been a long time and the memories come slowly on bleak mornings such as this."
"Hurry them."
"Throth is more than a word. It is a…condition. It is difficult to describe, there is no race other than elves who…experience this."
"What? Experience what? By my sword, Allazar, speak me a speech or I swear I'll cut off your leg and kick the information from you with your own foot!"
Allazar chuckled, for Gawain's eyes remained steel-gray in the firelight, no hint of flashing aquamire black anger. "Very well. But have you tried describing 'love', or 'hate', or 'need'? It is not easy."
Allazar settled back, and Gawain sighed aloud, staring into the flames.
"Throth," Allazar said quietly, "Is love, but more than love. It is desire, and yearning, but more than both. It is need, but more than want. It is at once revered, and pitied, by all elves, and is neither commonplace, nor rare.
"Many elves fall in love, and are married, and live their lives together, but never become throth. Some elves become throth at their first meeting."
"I do not understand." Gawain protested, his mind filled with elfin eyes…
"It is elfin, in origin. When an elfin becomes throth to an elf, it is she who begins the binding. Binding, a good word. I shall use it henceforth. The elfin becomes bound, throth, to an elf. This is signified by black strands of hair, which become visible within days. Later, when the elfin and elf have…spent much time in each other's company, the elf too becomes throth, bound, to the elfin.
"This binding is a wondrous thing. But at the same time, a dreadful thing. A throth pair are completely bound to each other, dependent upon each other. Just as we depend on food, and on water and air, the throth pair must be near one another, always. Separation becomes painful, an agony."
"Painful?"
"Indeed. Therein lies the dread. For whilst no two human lovers may know the depths of union enjoyed in throth, no two human lovers may know the agony of a throth pair unbound. If one of the pair should die, the other surely will, later, and such a terrible death…" Allazar trailed off, but felt Gawain's gaze upon him.
"In such cases," Allazar sighed, "the survivor of the throth pair becomes…dull. Listless. Disinterested in their surroundings, uncaring of themselves. In time, they cease even to feed themselves, and simply waste away. It is a living death, filled with emptiness and loss, and an unparalleled agony of grief."
"Such feelings I know well." Gawain muttered.
"Perhaps. But yet you live. A throth elf or elfin, robbed of or parted from their mate, that is different. It would be kinder to kill the survivor, and spare them the inevitable agony. But elves do not kill elves, so instead, in such circumstances, a ceremony is held, a judgement made, and the poor survivor taken deep into the forest…"
Gawain waited, but Allazar was staring into the fire again. "And?"
"Oh. And there, the athroth, for that is how they are known when the pair is sundered, is placed in a rune-circle, and abandoned. It is called 'Faranthroth'. There they remain, uncaring, closed about by trees, until in time the forest of Elvendere reclaims them."
"Until they die, you mean."
"Yes. Until they die. They are unable to fend for themselves, they do not care. Why should they? Their heart beats in another's breast, and when that other is gone, they have no life. Truly, it is a wondrous blessing, but when accident or war or illness sunders a throth pair, then the blessing is a curse. Throth is a binding that creates a dependency just as powerful as Morloch's dependency on aquamire. A pair will die without each other."
Gawain sighed again, and closed his eyes. "Then I am foolish to think of Elayeen at all."
"Love is always foolish, Longsword, and the heart seldom obeys the head."
"But there is no hope for me. She wears the black braid."
"No hope indeed. But do not slay the love in your heart. It is fresh, and the pain is better than that which lived there before, these dark months past."
"Aye. Perhaps."
They took to watching the flames again, and oddly, Gawain felt grateful that Allazar was there to share this newfound loneliness. Of late, his thoughts had turned to Elayeen more and more, now that Ramoth had been destroyed, and there was time for a youth to live.
"I still don't know why those cursed elven whitebeards wouldn't let her explain it to me. If she had, it would have been kinder to us both, I think."
Allazar looked surprised. "They forbade it?"
"Whenever she or her brother Gan mentioned the word. Gan is thal of his province. I took that to mean he is some sort of Governor."
Allazar chuckled. "Some sort indeed. Was he introduced as Gan-thal, or Thal-Gan?"
"Gan-thal."
Again Allazar chuckled. "Then in our language, he is prince Gan, royal crown of Elvendere. Had the 'Thal' preceded his name, he would be Elvendere. King. Your Elayeen, who I presume you knew as Elayeen-thalin and not Thalin-Elayeen, is the daughter of Elvendere."
Gawain looked stunned.
"I presume," Allazar said softly, "It was Elayeen-thalin? Longsword?"
"Yes." Gawain muttered.
Allazar breathed a sigh of relief. "At least you lost your heart to a princess, and not the queen herself. The king would not have been pleased. It is no wonder the brethren wished you not to know elven ways and throth, where the royal family are concerned. Especially if the young lady in question is become ethroth to a powerful lord or nobleman."
"I don't know who it was. All I know is that I found the whitebeards' constant interruptions and admonishments irritating, every time either Elayeen or her brother mentioned her becoming ithroth."
"Ethroth." Allazar corrected. "The noun is treated as every other, hence, mithroth, my bounden-love, ithroth, your bounden-love, ethroth, his bounden-love."
Gawain paled, and sat bolt upright, startling the wizard.
"What is it Longsword…?"
Gawain swallowed hard. "How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long can she survive? Separated from her…throth?"
Allazar began to look worried too. "Weeks, perhaps months if she is strong…but the elves rarely permit such dreadful suffering. Longsword, what ails you?"
"Allazar! She said to me 'I am become ithroth.' Her brother said 'She is become ithroth'…do you not see?"
"By the Teeth!" Allazar called as Gawain leapt to his feet and rushed to his room, the wizard hard on his heels. "What are you doing?"
"I must go to her!" Gawain cried, rushing to fill a pack.
"It is near midwinter's day! Longsword! It is too late!"
Gawain spun on his heel, eyes flaming black. He grabbed Allazar by his robes and thrust him up against the wall. "It is not too late, whitebeard. Say it is not too late!"
"In truth, Longsword," Allazar choked, "I fear it may be!"
Gawain trembled with dread. "I cannot let her die!I cannot let her die! By the Teeth, Allazar, if she is harmed…"