Gawain did not care. Aquamire rage fuelled his fear, pumped the blood through his veins, charged him with strength, one purpose, one thought. Elayeen. He was vaguely aware of Gwyn snorting warnings behind him, but the warnings weren't intended for him; they were directed at other elven warriors that would step out into their path, or give chase. They did not. Everywhere, there was a sense of profound loss, of tragedy, of pity…and that simply served to give fresh urgency to Gawain's legs.
"How far?" He cried.
"Soon!" Meeya called back, and within moments, at a small clearing ringed by massive trees, she came to a halt, breathing hard.
"Where?" Gawain demanded. Then he looked hard at the elfin guard. He noted the braid in her hair, and then noted her breathing. She was sobbing, not gasping for breath because of the run. She shook her head, and choked back a reply, and then advanced through the massive tree-trunks.
Gawain followed, and found himself in another circular clearing, this one filled with low benches facing a raised mound on which a throne rested. The clearing was empty.
"Too late!" Meeya gasped, her eyes brimming with tears, "Mifrith Elayeen! Too late!"
Gawain grabbed Meeya's slender arm, harshly, and yanked her around to face him. Her dark eyes were wide with fear, but not fear of Gawain. It was fear for her friend, Elayeen. And grief.
"Where have they taken her?"
"Faranthroth. Judgement has been made." Meeya choked, and pointed a finger to the west. "It is too late."
"No." Gawain asserted. "Lead the way."
But Meeya shook her head. "Nai, I cannot, it is death!"
"Hai Gwyn!" Gawain called, and the horse snorted. "Find Elayeen, Gwyn. Show me."
Gwyn snorted again, eyes wide, and trotted across the clearing, heading west. West, through the mighty trunks that formed the perimeter of this curious clearing. Gawain followed, and thought he heard Meeya follow a few paces and then drop back.
Gwyn found a track of sorts, a kind of avenue between rows of trees. Unlike the rest of Elvendere, which had seemed well-tended and managed, this track seemed overgrown, weedblown, seldom used. At once, Gwyn let out a whinny and thundered off down the track, Gawain sprinting behind her. Sunshine lit the sky and flashed through great gaps in the canopy as Gwyn extended her lead, galloping, hooves thundering…
The track rounded a bend, and Gwyn was suddenly lost from sight. Gawain heard her terrible whinnying, that familiar and awesome battle-cry of hers, and as he reached the bend, he slowed to a walk, breathing hard, his hand reaching up over his shoulder to grip the hilt of the longsword and draw it forth, aquamire energy crackling deep within the steel.
When he rounded the bend, he stopped dead in his tracks. A large group of elves stood pressed back against trees while Gwyn pranced at the centre of yet another clearing. She reared up on her hind legs, blue eyes blazing, kicking the air, whinnying in outrage, keeping the terrified elves at bay.
"Hai. Gwyn." Gawain called softly, and at once she calmed, eyeing the elves threateningly and backing away as Gawain strode into the circle.
"You!" A harsh and familiar voice cried.
Gwyn snorted, and backed away further. And Gawain saw clearly what had outraged the horse so. A circle of white stones, their surface etched with strange symbols, placed at intervals between saplings, and in the centre of the circle, laying on the ground, wearing only her calfskin boots, green calfskin skirt and tunic, Elayeen. Already the saplings seemed to be bending over towards her, and from above, from older trees, vines and creepers slowly reaching down…
"Traveller!" another voice called. Gan. Gwyn whinnied, and in the circle of faranthroth, Elayeen stirred, barely, but enough to show Gawain that his worst fears had yet to be realised.
A muted gasp went up at that.
"You!" the harsh and familiar voice called again. "It is forbidden for humans to enter Elvenheth!"
Gawain merely stood there, his eyes fixed on Elayeen. He knew who it was that had spoken. The whitebeard, the one that had wished him gone from Elvendere. The one that had shadowed Elayeen, forbidden her to speak of throth…the one Gawain had sworn to cleave in two, one day…
"Elayeen." Gawain called softly.
"Be gone, DarkSlayer!" The wizard shouted, and in spite of Gwyn's prancing, moved forward. "It is death to enter Elvenheth! It is death to cross the runes into faranthroth!"
Black rage bubbled and broke within Gawain, rising to a crescendo that cried out for destruction. But then it subsided, held in check. Gawain was master of it. Inside the circle of stones and saplings, Elayeen had stirred once more. Gawain called her name again, softly, and with obvious effort, her head rose a little, and her eyes flickered open.
Gawain was stunned. While behind him, elves gathered in a tight semi-circle, held at bay by his horse, before him, Elayeen's eyes met his. She looked dreadful, almost as vacant and vacuous as the Ramoth servants. Her features were sallow and gaunt, her hair lank and matted, and the effort of raising her head from the cold ground in the centre of faranthroth was almost too much for her. But her lips moved, and though he couldn't hear the word for the sound of the wizard screaming oaths behind him, Gawain felt sure that the word she'd tried to speak was 'mithroth'.
"Be gone from here, DarkSlayer! Judgement has been made and cannot be revoked! None may cross the runes!"
Gawain sighed, his eyes wide with agony and rage. That Elayeen should have suffered so, wasted away so, and all because of him. And because of whitebeards, and the kings that heeded whitebeard advice. Rage, because there was only one way that the elven wizard could have known the name 'DarkSlayer'.
He spun on his heel, and with a single careless flick of his longsword, ripped open the wizard's robes. A great gasp went up as the cloth parted and fell to the ground, exposing the wizard's torso and arms. Strange symbols were tattooed all over the man's body, linked to form garish swirling patterns. And hanging from a slender chain around the wizard's neck, a tiny crystal lens, black with aquamire, a miniature version of the massive Ramoth Eye that Gawain had destroyed in the Teeth.
"I told you to hold your breath for my return, whitebeard scum. You should have heeded me." Gawain rasped, and then with a crackling whoosh, the longsword's blade scythed through the air, slashing down, ripping the terrified wizard in two from left shoulder to right hip, shattering the aquamire lens. The whitebeard fell silently, steam rising from the gaping wound in the chill winter air.
Gawain glanced briefly at the gathered elves. Gan he recognised, and a few others. A tall elf, splendidly dressed, stood with his arm around a woman who's features closely resembled Elayeen's, circlets of gold holding back their black-streaked hair. Then he spun around, advanced to the circle of faranthroth, and screaming Elayeen's name, swung the blade again.
As black steel smashed into the saplings, blinding light blasted skyward from the rune-etched stones on the ground. Gawain felt a jolt of something but ignored it, the blade scything onward, slicing through four of the slender trees before completing its dreadful arc. Leaves fell, wood groaned, and with a great shuddering rustle, the saplings slowly toppled backwards, and fell around Gawain, leaving a broad opening into the circle of faranthroth.
Gawain strode forward without hesitation, and from somewhere behind him he heard Gan, and surprisingly, Meeya, calling out his old name, Traveller.
But nothing happened when he crossed the runestones, sheathing his mighty blade. In less than twenty paces, he was kneeling before Elayeen, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her hair. She stirred a little, but was too weak to move. Gently, Gawain lifted her head, cradling her in the crook of his arm as he brushed grass and dirt from her cheek.