He smiled and laughed along with Selussa as she turned sideways, admiring her stomach. (Which curved out a little.) (It was cute.)
Geraint had never seen someone who liked their appearance so much. It was incredible. Admirable. Dazzling.
She twirled around in circles, looking over her shoulder so she could still see herself. Her cloak ended up on the floor, wrapped around her bare feet. (Elf feet were especially tough and designed for rough forest terrain.) (Geraint studied it as part of a project.)
Selussa had just begun to dance with Geraint when the round stick door was pushed open, creating the sound of creaking wood.
The two pulled apart and looked at the person- or elf- that was entering the room.
It was, of course, an elf with silver hair and brown eyes. When she smiled, her cheeks looked round like apples. Geraint wanted to pinch them, for some reason. (Elf enchantment.)
"Geraint," she said, nodding at him. "Selussa." She tilted her head at her.
"Hi, Olina," Geraint said.
Selussa was picking her cloak up and draping it around her shoulders. "Hi..."
"Selussa, this is the woman who healed my foot," Geraint said, trying to encourage her to say something. What was up with her? "She gave me some basil and bladderwrack salve."
Olina didn't seem the least bit offended by Selussa's lack of proper sentences. "I see you two are settling in well."
She must have been used to getting plenty of visitors each day. It was a trading post, after all.
Geraint decided to try and lighten the mood. Break the silence. "Olina," he said, looking over at Selussa to see if he'd get a response. Nothing. "We really appreciate you letting us stay here. We hope we aren't being burdens."
Olina scoffed, but she was smiling. "Oh please, I may not get visitors anymore but that doesn't mean I don't like having them around!" She winked.
"Not anymore?"
"Oh, no. Ever since an attack was launched on our trade route between us and the Orc empire- or should I say village- nobody has stayed here for quite a while."
"Really?" Geraint widened his eyes. "Our trade route has been attacked, too. How weird."
Olina's eyes darkened. "Yes. How strange."
That night, the elves decided to celebrate Geraint and Selussa's arrival by having a little campfire in the middle of the village. Just like in the dark elf village. Except the fire was smaller, and it was in a little pit in the dirt and surrounded by stones. There were fewer people, too. Maybe five or six.
It was kind of quiet, as well.
Selussa was laying her head on Geraint's shoulder, tucked under his chin. It wasn't supposed to be intimate or romantic, he didn't think. It felt more friendly and innocent. Or like she was trying to comfort Geraint without saying anything.
He missed Freyana. It wasn't like he could go back anyway. As Nuala said, violence among villagers was prohibited.
It was a dumb rule the king made up a few years prior. After supplies started diminishing and people were dying left and right from disease and malnutrition, the king held a council.
The council was held outdoors, and he wrapped the bottom half of his face with a cloth, as did the rest of the higher up people.
Geraint's mom tied a cloth she stitched herself around his mouth. Everyone else was exposed.
The king said something about how he can't afford to lose anymore villagers due to them killing each other.
Geraint looked up at him with the biggest scowl on my face. He saw right past his façade. He could tell he didn't care about the well-being of the villagers.
After that, if you so much as thumped someone on the back of the head the guards would drag you to the castle kicking and screaming.
But thumping someone wasn't as bad as slashing their face.
Slashing their face...
Vayne...
Wait a minute...
Geraint looked up, his heart thumping in his chest.
If the cut was that deep there would be absolutely no way on Dranae's green earth that Vayne's wound would be healed in half a day.
Sure, he saw the faint outline of a scar on his face where Geraint slashed it, but scars didn't form that quickly.
Selussa pressed her lips to Geraint's ear. "What's wrong," she whispered.
He didn't say anything. Instead, he stared into the fire until his eyes watered.
Before he had time to think, about four elves began blowing into their pipes. They didn't have lutes like the dark elves, but they still sounded great harmonizing with each other.
Unlike the bonfire in Briar Hollow, Selussa didn't tap her feet and start dancing and twirling with the other elves.
Geraint didn't watch her with a mixture of curiosity and warmth.
Selussa clutched his arm, her nails digging into his skin. Her hand was warm, and it seemed to be emanating calming energy.
It didn't work. He still felt nervous and anxious.
Would he ever return to the kingdom? Was he going to see his Uncle Dorrington again?
What about Vayne? Was he looking for him and Selussa?
Geraint saw something move in the woods. A shadowed figure.
He knew he was safe, since nothing could get inside the barrier without direct permission from Olina herself.
But he still felt an ominous vibe tingle through his core when he saw that black outline disappear behind the trees.
Selussa probably sensed his uneasiness because she held his arm tighter and pressed her body against his.
He seemed to relax and finally pulled his eyes away from the dark forest, back to the campfire and the singing elves.
The early morning sunlight was streaming through the window, and Geraint realized Selussa had opened the silky smooth curtains.
"Good morning, Geraint," Selussa said from the other side of the room.
She was knelt down by the mirror, stitching together some fabric.
Geraint rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. "Same to you," he said. "What are you making?"
She smiled. "Just stitching together your boots. They're completely ripped apart from that troll fight."
He lay back down. "Please, you don't have to do all of these things for me, Selussa."
She wasn't having it. "I dragged you into this, so now the least I can do is repay you. And I am doing that by fixing your clothes."
He looked at the tools she was using. "What's that?"
She held up the needle- a paper-thin white thing- and waved it around. "Olina says this is made from Hadry bone."
"Hadry?"
"Yeah. Cruelty-free, she says." She went back to sewing the large tear in one of the boots together. "She said I can keep it."
The door was thrown open and hit the wall. "Geraint Flatbreath?"
Geraint sat up. "That's me?"
The elf's face was grim. "You may want to come outside. You have a visitor. Someone named Gwyn Awdwin? Human. Official looking."
"How'd you find me?"
Gwyn clasped her hands behind her back as she walked. "That is not important at the moment. All that matters for the time being is you joining the Rebels of the West."
"What?"
Gwyn looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "You heard what I said, Geraint. I need you, the militia needs you, to join forces with the Rebels of the West."
She looked around to make sure nobody was watching before she leaned in and whispered, "Think of it as a spy project. You join the Rebels, you see their tactics and plans, and then you return to Freyana and deliver the info to us."
Geraint gaped at her. "I...I don't know. These people...these creatures...they're so kind. Don't you ever just think how you misunderstand them?"
Gwyn glared at him, but he stood his ground. "Believe me, I have considered that possibility for years. But my opinion does not matter to the militia. What matters is that we put an end to these attacks and punish the Fleuries for their deeds. It's the only way, Geraint. It's the way it's been for hundreds of years."
"Commander Awdwin," Geraint said. He expected his voice to come out stern and final, but instead he just sounded like a small child telling his parents they were in trouble. "I respect your way of thinking, but I can't accept this request."
She nodded like she understood, but then she said, "Well, let me just tell you the rest of the deal." She grabbed him by the collar and got close to his face. "You spy on the Rebels, and I won't tell the kingdom your secret."
He tried to step back, but Gwyn's grip was like iron. "Secret?"
"That you're a Fleury. Half Fleury. You have their blood coursing through your veins, which makes you our enemy as well. Unless you spy on them."
He narrowed his eyes. "Even if you told, they can't do anything to me."
"Need I remind you that I have some power in the militia? Oh, and think about how disappointed your Uncle Dorrington would be if he knew you were one of them."
Finally, Gwyn let go of him, and he fell back into the dirt.
"You have exactly three days to make your decision. I will be back. If you have not made your decision, I will return to Freyana and yell to the villagers your secret. I will burst into the throne room and tell the king all about it."
She began to walk away, but then she called over her shoulder, "Three days. Two nights. Make a decision." She turned. "Oh, and don't think about running because I have associates posted everywhere, and they will track you down, and I will kill you myself."
Selussa
"Absolutely not!"
Olina held the bow in her hands, stroking the fine detail etched into the wood with her finger. "It must be some mistake. Nuala- excuse me, Queen Nuala would not trade this bow for the Godly Ones themselves!"
The male elf sighed and leaned on his giant hammer like a cane. "Well apparently she would. Look Olina, one of her delivery boys showed up with it. Said some girl named 'Selussa' would like it."
Selussa wanted to reach out and grab the bow, but she knew it would be impolite, so instead she squeezed her index finger until it hurt.
Olina and the male elf, Beraint, looked at her, then exchanged glances.
"Selussa," Olina said. "Here is your bow."
She held out the bow and Selussa grabbed it by the handle, her fingers instantly knowing where to go and how to hold it.
Running her fingers along the string, she pulled it back to see how far it could go. If she held the bow a good two feet from her face the string could reach her nose.
This superior shortbow had been adeptly constructed of only the finest maple. Its string was made from prime grass fiber, it was an extremely rare material around these parts of the world.
The limbs had been decorated with ebony details and ended in points ornamented with flowers. The handle was wrapped in leaves and decorated with feathers.
The bulky quiver Beraint handed to her was made from common fur and hide and was designed to be worn around the archer's back. The outer side had been decorated with magical runes, which likely were meant purely to make Nuala stand out.
In the hands of a novice archer (like Selussa) this bow was capable of firing arrows up to two hundred and twenty-nine meters while still retaining lethal power.
Putting it up to her nose, Selussa inhaled and cherished the sweet aroma of flowers and worn wood.
"Tell Nuala I said thank you very, very much," Selussa said, smiling at Beraint.
He tipped his helmet- an iron helm with white feathers attached to the top- and mounted his horse.
Just then, Geraint came back through the village barrier looking like a hurt animal. Behind him, "Gwynn" stomped to her horse, glared at Selussa, Olina, and Geraint, then gave her horse a kick and trotted off, disappearing into the trees.
