Candles were lit around the elf's room. Dried herbs burned from a stone bowl in a table at the bedside, and half-drunken wine rested in a crystal mug beside it.
The elf held the girl in his arms as he sat in the bed. She'd woken up screaming at the top of her lungs, fearing the world. Fearing fear itself.
He'd made her drink the elven wine, he lit candles for a soft light as she was afraid of the dark, and he burned the sweet herbs to calm her nerves. He'd sung elven songs softly, holding her against his heart. Eventually, in her exhaustion, she closed her eyes and sleep took over her.
The elf hated seeing her like that: exhausted beyond measure in order to sleep. He knew the girl's mind was a mess of shattered glass and burned driftwood ashes, chaotic and broken and charred. When he found her, alone in the woods, he knew she wasn't herself. The elven company of warriors he rode with dismissed her as a lost cause, but he could not cast her aside as easily as them. The frightened girl had watched him carefully as he had approached her, hands up showing he had nothing to hide, and in a voice as soft as silk he assured her that he would help her.
That was three days ago. The girl hadn't gotten much better since.
The elf had cleaned her, tended to the scars and scratches in her fingers and hands and bare feet, and had dressed her in clean clothes – a pale robe, almost paler than her sickly skin. She was keeping warm, but that was all that was better since she'd been found.
She would eat no food that was brought, and would only drink sips of elven wine as he guided her to. She cried in her sleep, she screamed in her nightmares, and she was exhausted in her wake.
But still, the elf held her close to his heart, and sung her to sleep.
"She is a broken being," said his father, the King, as he stood in the candlelit doorway of the room. "You must let her decay."
"She still breathes life, Father," the elf answered, pulling a woven quilt around her. "She is not lost. Not yet."
"Her mind is shattered; I know you can see this."
"As I said, she breathes life." The elf met his father's eyes. "I will not give up on her yet. It is not too late for her."
The King simply huffed in slight annoyance at his son's persistence. "Do as you wish. Play elf maid to this dying creature; I will not stop you." He turned and left the doorway, the candle flames waving gently at his disappearance.
The elf pulled the girl as close to him as possible, and watched her face; her eyes looked peaceful, for once. Her breathing was even, and she appeared restful. He stroked her hair softly. "You are not whole," he said, "But you are not beyond saving. I will help you, I will be with you every waking moment, and I will make sure your mind is not beyond repair. I promise you of it." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "And an elf never breaks his promises."
As if she heard his words, the girl's scarred fingers gripped the fabric of his robes, and in her sleep, she breathed a sigh of relief.
YOU ARE READING
365
Phi Hư CấuI had this idea last night after a few drinks, a pounding headache, and an excessive amount of throat lozenges. In order to inspire me to write more often than I currently do, I am planning to write a new post every day and publish it, allowing me t...
