CHAPTER TEN - ANYTHING

Aethaden was stunned at Ciaran’s anger.  He had been so mired in his shock and disbelief that a human – well, a hybrid – was his Blade that he had not been monitoring Ciaran’s behavior as he spoke.  He also had not been carefully watching what he was saying. Some of his dismay at the thought of being bound to someone as unsuitable as a hybrid Elf-human had come out and tainted his words.  Though a part of him wondered if perhaps his ideas were what were wrong rather than how he had said them.  In fact, some of Ciaran’s statements to him in retaliation for the “lesser creatures” comment – about how he had rescued Aethaden and taken care of him and kept him safe and hadn’t hurt him – had his conscience pricking him.

More than pricking him.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs where Ciaran had disappeared to. The Violine stood beside him for a moment, but then mounted the stairs herself.  Halfway up, she turned and looked down at him. Her tail was close the ground, instead of perked like it had been. Her expression had him lowering his head.  

She turned away from him and then proceeded upstairs to join her Blade.  From the pattering sound of water, Ciaran was bathing now, preparing to go out, to leave.  Shame coursed through Aethaden even as he tried to excuse his behavior.

I merely stated facts!  

What facts? His conscience whispered.  What has he been other than brave and kind to me? What other facts do I currently know?  

Humans are brutish, lesser creatures run by their basest needs!  They rape and kill us! They even eat us!

What evidence do I have of this? His conscience argued.  This “knowledge” about humans is based on stories that have come down to us from millennia ago.  Stories twist and change facts. They are not necessarily true. Think of all the rumors and untruths that are said of the Undriels and we are seen and known.

The stories about Undriels ranged from them drinking the blood of infants to being Riven Elves themselves in disguise!  He scoffed at these stories, but they still hurt to even hear tell of them second-hand.  What must Ciaran have thought of hearing these things first-hand?  Aethaden didn’t really have to guess. He had seen the hurt, shock and anger in Ciaran’s gace.  

It is not just a minority that think this way of humans though! I could have lied to him and not mentioned it, but he would have found out soon enough when we went home!

Except, I also made clear that it would never be his home, his conscience reminded him. I told him that he would have no place there. Yet somehow I expected him to give up everything to accompany me to this place where he will be hated and looked down upon.

I cannot change the fact that he will not be accepted!  His mixed race is abhorrent to all Valore!

But I can change my mind, can I not? Or am I a creature ruled purely by prejudice and not what is right before me?  And what exactly about him is abhorrent?

His conscience reminded him of Ciaran’s beauty and grace as he had performed his katas that morning.  It reminded him of the bravery he’d shown in facing down three Black Knights for a person he did not even know. It reminded him of those green eyes like the forests of his home that were so expressive and kind.  It reminded him of Ciaran watching over him while he slept to keep him safe. It reminded him of the food that Ciaran had generously made for him. Nothing other than Ciaran’s own nature had caused him to do any of this.  No threat of violence from a Riven Elf had moved him to do good.  He had just done it.  

His conscience kept on, He is comely and strong and generous.  The Violine loves him. Those people who came here earlier seemed to care deeply for him, too, though they had not seen him in some time.  I know nothing else, but these good things about him. If he looked like an Elf, I would be begging him to join my personal guard!

There must be reasons that humans were banned from the Elven Realm!  All these stories of them – all bad – must have some basis in reality surely!

Perhaps they do. Or perhaps they do not.  But mustn’t I judge on my own observations?  Since when have I let other people think for me? His conscience put point blank.

I expected a full-blooded Riven Elf to be my Blade!

I should have expected nothing at all. I should have been open to whatever I found. I should have been grateful, his conscience – that was sounding an awful lot like his father and mother’s voices combined – said quite firmly.  And what I’ve found, against all odds, is … my Blade.  My Blade that I insulted and treated poorly. And, even if he wasn’t my Blade, if Ciaran was just a human who had helped me, I should not have behaved towards him as I have. When have the Valore treated generosity with such disdain?

Aethaden stumbled over to the kitchen island where he and Ciaran had dined earlier. He sat down heavily in a chair.

“What have I done?” he breathed out.

He was not sure how long he sat there. He was thinking on everything he had done and said to Ciaran.  He had treated him, not as one would treat one’s rescuer, but as some trained animal, or an obstacle that was in his way to reach his real Blade, the person who mattered. He hadn’t approach Ciaran as a person, but as a thing.  Even if humans were all he had thought them to be, was this the right approach in any case?  No.  Not at all.  His parents would never have done this. Regardless of their feelings towards humans, they would have been politic.  Aethaden had acted far more like Lethe.  Lethe, whom he despised.

He stood up then sat down then stood again. He wanted to race upstairs and explain to Ciaran his revelations and … to apologize.  But the man was bathing and dressing. It would not be appropriate for him to interrupt Ciaran in these private acts.  And, if he were honest with himself, he was still slightly unnerved by the thought of being near a naked human.  He still worried that his actions would be taken wrong.  

He snorted. Do I think that Ciaran wants me now?  Even after I insulted him?

But he was still afraid and he hated this. But it was there and he had to acknowledge it.  Still, he should not interrupt anyone in such a manner. It was not kingly.  

Yet when Ciaran came down the stairs – black hair still went from his bathing – wearing a pair of form-fitting pants in a soft blue material and a thin short-sleeved shirt of a sunset red, he still froze. Ciaran walked past him, the Violine at his heels. He did not spare the Elven King a glance, though Aethaden saw his jaw muscles twitch.  Ciaran was very well aware of him and he was still angry.  Monumentally angry.

“Still haven’t gotten that beer for yourself, your majesty? Couldn’t figure out how to open a refrigerator door?  Maybe greater beings can’t master a simple handle,” Ciaran sneered.

Yet he must have almost immediately regretted the words, as he grimaced.  And then, he actually went over to the contraption that was this “refrigerator” and got out a beer. He opened it and slammed it in front of Aethaden.  Foam flowed over the top.  

“Tha—”

“Don’t speak,” Ciaran said tightly. He held up a finger. “I think every time you open your mouth, we’re risking human-Elf relations going down another step.”

Aethaden’s head lowered, but he kept his peace, even though he was still a king and should not be spoken to thus, yet he felt more like a child. A stupid, foolish child.  But his conscience seemed to think that he deserved this. Maybe more.  A king would have been open-minded. A king would have been gracious.  A king would have thanked his rescuer.  A king would have never acted as he had.  So why should Ciaran treat him like one?

Lethe and all the other doubters have been right all this time. I am not fit to be king. How ironic that they were not here to witness my greatest failure, he thought numbly. And then his mind offered, If they are anywhere at all any longer.  They could be dead. All my people could be dead.  And, instead of explaining to Ciaran how much I need his help, I insulted him instead.

“Look.” Ciaran put his hands on his hips and glanced toward the door then back at Aethaden then outside again. “There’s a lot we have to talk about.  But I can’t do that now. I can’t be in this room with you and be…be logical, knowing what you think of me, without clearing my head first.”

“I was wrong to –”

“What did I say about talking?” Ciaran interrupted him, green eyes flashing. “Maybe you’ve had some kind of epiphany in the twenty minutes I was showering, but I’m going to guess that what you’ve likely figured out is that you need me, because I’m your Blade.  Insulting the guy you need is always a bad call, right?”

“That is not –”

“Again, no talking.  Because I won’t believe you, Aethaden. I know what you really think.  And no amount of pretty backpedaling now is going to fix this,” Ciaran growled.

Aethaden shrank down.  Ciaran was right. He wanted to backpedal now as fast as he could. He wanted to fix this.  

Please, let there be a way to fix this.

“We have this brilliant poet who once said, ‘when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time,’” Ciaran quoted.  “And I believe in what you showed me.  Humans are lesser in your eyes no matter what you say now.”

Aethaden swallowed.  “We need each other.”

“Maybe we do. Maybe we don’t.  But I’m going to have as much a say in this as you –”

“My people are being killed. Right now.” Aethaden stood up, trembling, but he met Ciaran’s eyes.  And in those eyes, he saw shock and sympathy for a moment, but his Blade firmed his expression.

“What does that have to do with me? Can’t be humans killing them because you don’t allow our kind into your precious realm,” Ciaran snapped.

“No, humans are not doing any of it. The Riven are attacking and only the Guardian can push them back and only an Undriel can contact the Guardian –”

“Then go home and contact your Guardian.”  Ciaran’s expression remained firm.

“I cannot, because my powers have not replenished yet and we have to bond before I can use Nocht again to create a portal –”

“So you really need me?”  Ciaran was shaking his head and a sharp laugh issued from his lips.  “You should lead with that next time you encounter someone you depend up.  Forget the lesser being schtick.”

“We need you more than you know,” Aethaden admitted.  Bile bubbled up from his stomach.  What he done?  How could he fix this? He would do anything, anything at all!  “Whatever you may feel about me, they need your help. The innocent Valore need your help.”

“The people you said would never accept me?” Those green eyes narrowed.  Aethaden thought he might throw up. What had he done? Why had he been so stupid and emotional and … “The people you said would basically treat me like shit, right, because they’re racist creeps? Those people need me? I just want to be clear here, because – forget it. I can’t do this now. I can’t hear this. I need to think away from your presence.”

More alarm raced through Aethaden. He almost reached for Ciaran, but he kept his arms at his sides. “You’re – you’re leaving?”

Something in his voice had Ciaran’s expression softening for a moment again.  “I’m … I’m just going out for a little while. I’ll be back.”

“You’ll come back?” Aethaden repeated even as his whole body felt cold.  If Ciaran went and left him forever … He would do anything to stop that. Anything at all.  He had to make Ciaran stay or, at least, want to come back.

“Yeah.”  Ciaran rolled his lips together and stared down at the floor for a moment. “I need some time to think, okay?  I’m not going to be gone for too long. I just …”

“You can have me,” Aethaden whispered. His fingers went to the top of his tunic. He would do anything to save his people, to make up for his mistakes, anything and everything. He meant nothing. His people meant everything. He had to convince his Blade of this. He would be Ciaran’s slave, if only he would help. And a secret part of him, thrilled at the thought of Ciaran’s hands and mouth on him, but he was not doing this for himself. “You can have whatever you want.  I would give you anything.  I give you all of me.”

Ciaran’s forehead furrowed in confusion, but when Aethaden started to undo his tunic, alarm and then disgust flowed over his features.  He reared away from Aethaden. “God!  Stop! What are you doing? Who – who do you think I am?  You think I would … God!  What is wrong with you?”

Aethaden’s fingers froze in the midst of their unbuttoning. He had another mistake. His mind – suddenly crystal clear – asked him what a noble Riven Elf would do if offered such a thing?

He would be mortally offended. Just like Ciaran is.

“I just … want to convince you …”

“That you think I’m a monster?” Ciaran’s voice caught.  His eyes were wide with shock. “Yeah, you’ve already proven that.” He blinked and shook his head. “I’ve got to go. Stay … stay here.  I’ll be back.”

The last was said over his shoulder as Ciaran practically fled the house, fled from him.  With a feeling of unreality, Aethaden watched the Violine and his Blade go into the large metal beast and drive away.  Ciaran did not look back.  

What have I done?  But Aethaden already knew what he had done. He answered his own question, I’ve ruined everything.

***

Ciaran pressed on the gas heavier than he would have if he was normally going down the winding path from the house to the main highway.  Twig was staring at him anxiously from the passenger seat. He felt her trying to communicate with him. He glanced over at her and nearly ran off the road. He eased up off the gas and focused on the road.

“Twig, what the Hell is happening?” he asked.

She chittered long and loudly. He swore that he could almost understand her.  He knew that she was telling him not to judge Aethaden so harshly, that he was ignorant and scared and …

“He thought I wanted to rape him or something,” Ciaran interrupted.  

He was likely talking to his own conscience about all of this.  But then she chittered some more.  Again, his mind translated. She was urging him to be patient. Urging him to give this a chance. Urging him to let his wounded pride go.

“How can I be bound to somebody who thinks I’m rapist trash?” he asked. “And before you say he doesn’t believe that, he does. God, Twig, I should be happy that I’m not going to die – if he’s telling the truth about that, but he wouldn’t lie, he seems unable to lie even if it’s to save himself and his people! But I’m just messed up about this instead.”

Twig chittered and he got this sense that she was telling him that Aethaden was young and desperate and ill-informed, but he could learn! He would learn!  He had a good heart underneath all that foolishness. But Ciaran was going to have to be the better man right now.  He was going to have to think beyond himself to others that might not be worthy of his caring for right now.  But they would be worthy in the end. If he gave them the chance that Aethaden had not given him.  If he gave Aethaden the benefit of the doubt and didn’t judge him harshly.

“I don’t know, Twig. I don’t know if I can do that,” he told her and then let out a shrill laugh. “And here I am, acting like you’re really talking and I understand you and –”

Twig put a paw tenderly on his forearm. He again nearly ran off the highway this time as he stared down at that paw.

“Holy shit. I’m Dr. Dolittle now, too!” He laughed so hard that he had to pull over as his chest was suddenly heaving.  When he could breathe again, he got out, “You’re not pretending to be a normal fox anymore, are you?”

She chirped once. No, she wasn’t.

“You’re a Violine,” he used the Elven word. It felt right on his tongue.

She chirped again and headbutted his arm affectionately.

“The world has changed in less than 24 hours.  I mean I was dying yesterday at this time. Now I’m not … and that has to be what I concentrate on.”

She headbutted him again in agreement.

He sat there for a long while, petting Twig and just breathing. Too much had happened.  He needed to get it together.  Twig leaned against him, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as he scratched her between her sensitive ears.  

“I thought we would just go to town. See if Mr. Donovan is still running the bookstore. Check things out, you know?  Be someplace normal,” he said to Twig.

She chittered softly in agreement.  But it made him wonder what was normal for her. She had come from this Elven Realm, too, hadn’t she?  Earth wasn’t home for her. And she’d gravitated to him.  Was that because she knew that he was a Blade?  

He’d found her soon after he’d sent the Black Knight crashing to its death. She’d just been a shivering little ball of fluff when he’d found her. Had she come through the same portal the Black Knight had?  There was so much he didn’t know.  But the thought of going back to Aethaden right now and asking questions was not in the cards.  He needed time to decompress.

Twig went back to her usual spot on the dash as he pulled out onto the highway again.  He drove the speed limit all the way into Forest Falls.  By the time he caught sight of the bookstore – and a convenient parking space just out front – he felt calmer.  He pulled into the space and turned to look at Twig. She tilted her head and smiled at him. He grinned back at her before turning the engine off. He offered a hand to her and she leaped into it. He then slung her gently around his neck before exiting the Land Rover.

There was no parking meter, which was so Forest Falls, but completely alien to him after all his city living.  So he stepped up onto the sidewalk – not even locking his car either – and stared with happiness at the front pane of glass for the bookstore. He saw that there were two clearly handmade sheets of paper stuck to the inside of the window.  They were brightly colored, but what they were saying was anything but bright.

They each showed an image of a child’s face, one boy, one girl, and above that was the word: MISSING!

Ciaran swayed as he was suddenly shunted back to a memory, a memory he had repressed though he hadn’t realized it, from that summer so long ago. There had been missing kids that summer he and his father had come here, too.  For towns as small and peaceful as Forest Falls and the neighboring environs to lose one child would have been monumental and unusual, but to lose a dozen was unheard of. Most of their bodies had not been found, but the few that had been discovered were not right.  They’d been partially eaten and other things, things he hadn’t heard the adults talk about.    

Black Knights had been roaming the forests back then. Black Knights were roaming the woods now.

It’s happening again.  And I have to stop it.

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