Her eyelids fluttered again, and she drew in a deep and wracking breath, and then her eyes opened, wide, and filled with fear and dread…then she blinked, and her hand slid from around his shoulder, to reach up, and touch his face.
"Mithroth…"
"Elayeen."
She let out her breath in single shuddering sigh, a smile danced on her lips, and her hand slipped around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him…drawing him to her as she whispered "Mithroth" over and over…
Later, as they lay in each other's arms, the fire burning low in both hearth and hearts, Elayeen suddenly asked:
"Where is this place, mithroth?"
"We are in the home of my friend, Rak, and his Lady, Merrin."
"Then the last dream I had was no dream?"
"What did you dream?"
"I dreamed of Gwyn, and you, and a vast wilderness of cold."
"The plains of Juria. We are in Tarn, my love, on the western slopes of Threlland."
Elayeen tensed, and her eyes widened with fear. "The dwarves will kill me!"
Gawain smiled, and eased her back to him again. "No. That is a whitebeard lie. For a week we have lain here, while my friends tended the fire, and brought food and wine."
"A week?"
Gawain hugged her, and gently rubbed her back. "Yes. You were near death, so long had I been gone from you."
She seemed suddenly timid, and suddenly shy, in spite of their lovemaking. "Then it is all true? This is not faranthroth?"
"No, my love, this is not faranthroth. I came for you, and brought you here…"
And Gawain told Elayeen all that had transpired, since he had unwittingly left her athroth in Elvendere, before autumn, before winter, and since his return from the Teeth after destroying the dark lens.
At length, she gazed up at him, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide, filled with yearning, and love, and pain and anguish, and then she wept. Gawain was stunned, and then suddenly fearful.
"Elayeen," he soothed, "What new pain ails you? What can I do?"
She sobbed, and drew away from him. "This is not faranthroth…?"
"No, it is not…"
"Then don't you see? I am exiled, outcast…dead to all who knew me, abandoned, and…and we have lain together!"
Gawain flushed…"But my love…you drew me to you…"
"I had thought this a dream! Another endless faranthroth shade!"
The distance between them was suddenly a gulf, wider and colder even than the farak gorin. Elayeen turned her back to him, covering her face, weeping inconsolably, and when he reached out to touch her shoulder, she flinched away from him. He gasped, confused and afraid.
"Elayeen…what must I do?"
"Leave me…" she sobbed, "Leave me alone!"
"But…" Gawain whispered, "I cannot. You are mithroth…"
"No!" she cried, great sobs wracking her body beneath the blankets and skins, "You are not elf! I am ithroth but you are not elf, and now, neither am I!"
Gawain did not know what to do. In almost the blink of an eye, he had fallen from paradise to the depths of despair. Hours ago, she drew her very life from him. Now she wished him to leave her. Quietly, and on on shaky legs, he slid from beneath the blankets, and dressed. Not once did she turn to look at him, or say his name, or, when he moved to the door and waited, call him back to her.
He lifted the latch, and stepped out into the hallway. He gazed back at the silver-blonde hair laying tousled on the pillows, watched as her shoulders shuddered while she sobbed, and with a sigh, and his heart in his throat, he closed the door.
When he walked into the main room, Allazar, Merrin, and Rak jumped to their feet.
"Longsword!" Allazar gasped, "Is all well? Is your Lady…?"
Gawain shrugged, his anguish clear for all to see. "She lives…she is well…everything was well, and then…"
"And then?" Allazar asked, guiding Gawain by the arm to a chair by the fire.
Gawain drew in a breath, and shook his head. On the floor, Travak clutched the wooden toy Gwyn to his chest, his eyes wide, sensing the anguish and tension that had suddenly filled the room.
"And then?" Merrin prompted.
"She bade me leave. She said…" Gawain stared at the fire, completely at a loss, "She said she had thought all was a dream, a faranthroth dream…she cries floods of tears, and each one breaks my heart, and I can do nothing.” His hands opened and closed as if he would grasp the air, and crush it. "She bade me leave…"
Merrin rose quietly, and picked up Travak. "I shall go to her."
Gawain stared up at Rak's lady. "She fears all dwarves, lady Merrin! Curse every lying whitebeard bastard in Elvendere, she fears all Threllanders more than Morloch!"
"She shall not fear me, Traveller. Calm yourself. I shall speak with her."
Rak nodded gravely, and Merrin, with Travak on her hip, softly left the room.
"I do not know what to do." Gawain sighed. "I do not know what to do. She says I am not elf…"
"She is confused and afraid, Longsword, nothing more." Allazar assured him, offering a mug of warm ale.
"Be at peace, my brother," Rak agreed, "My Lady Merrin will comfort Elayeen as only another woman can."
"I would rather face the Teeth in midwinter than hear her crying so." Gawain blurted. "To be cast away from her, after so long holding her in my arms!"
Allazar smiled sadly. "You may not be elf, Longsword, nor throth, but this new pain you feel has a word in our language."
Rak smiled. "Aye. And it is good that it beats now in your breast where so long only ashes and vengeance once reigned. You are young, Traveller, and have yet to learn the mystery that is woman."
"I am old," Allazar said seriously, "And I still do not."
Gawain chuckled, in spite of the ache deep within him. Rak laughed quietly too.
"In truth," Rak said, stoking the fire, "These are wizard-words you can believe in!"
"Should I go back to her?" Gawain asked suddenly, "Perhaps she is yet afraid of Merrin…"
"No!" Rak and Allazar said, simultaneously, and grinned.
"It matters not what you do either way," Allazar grunted. "You'll be wrong whichever path you take. Go to her, and she will bid you leave at once. Stay away, and she will berate you for abandoning her."
"More truth, Traveller." Rak sighed, shaking his head at a distant memory. Many of them too, from the rueful smile that danced on his lips.
"Are you hungry?" Allazar prompted.
"No…Since Elayeen awoke this morning, my appetite has returned to normal."
"Ah.” And then Allazar looked up, and shared a knowing glance with Rak. "Since this morning?"
"Aye."
"Ah."
Gawain looked confused once more, and cast another longing glance towards the door.
"In that case, my brother," Rak announced firmly, "It is best you leave them to talk, for doubtless they will have much to say."
"In truth?"
Again Allazar and Rak exchanged a look. "In truth," Allazar replied, "And where matters of comfort are concerned, I believe your horse has become somewhat restless of late."
"Gwyn? Is all well?"
Allazar shrugged. "I know little of horses, except that they have a habit of dying beneath me. Perhaps you should see for yourself? It is a cold afternoon, but the stables are warm, I am told."
Rak nodded sternly.
Gawain suddenly had a duty, and his grateful mind seized upon it ferociously. "I shall tend Gwyn. She deserves no less, for such noble service." And he rose from the chair, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders.
"Aye," Allazar said, his face inscrutable. "A good idea."
Gawain didn't notice the smiles both Rak and Allazar exchanged as he strode from the room, and out into bitter cold air.
It was still bright, and the freezing air burned his lungs as he crunched through deep snow around the back of the house and to the stables. Servants had obviously laboured long to clear the paths, for in the garden, the bench where he had sat with his friends in autumn was still completely buried in drifts.