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[{IRS}Athos]

CHAPTER ONE

Two young elves ran through the village of Ebonyharrow, chasing each other in a rowdy game of tag. The elder one, his long blond hair flowing, laughed teasingly as his brother bumbled after him. "You'll never be able to catch up with me, Rindar!" He dodged his brother again, sending the younger elf flying facefirst into a pile of dead leaves that had fallen from the high treetops.

"Truce, Anar, truce," panted Rindar, extricating himself from the detritus with some difficulty. "You're right, I could never catch up with you."

Anar laughed again in exhilaration. He laughed often, so that his bright blue eyes seemed to be eternally twinkling. He slouched against a tree, tossing his hair out of his eyes as an elf-maiden walked by. "Hello there, Tariel," he said casually. She smiled at him, lowering her eyes flirtatiously, then continued on. Anar smoothed his hair back with a self-satisfied smirk, but behind it was a real affection.

"You sure have a way with the girls," said Rindar slyly.

Anar chuckled and ruffled his little brother's hair. "It isn't that hard. All you have to do is stand around and look handsome."

"Yes, but you have a knack for it," said Rindar with youthful seriousness. Anar broke into gales of laughter, leaning against the tree. The laughter was infectious, and Rindar was soon leaning against his brother. After almost a minute, Anar wiped his eyes and helped Rindar up from where he'd sprawled on the ground. "We'd better get to the center of the village soon, or we'll miss the storytelling," he said, dusting off Rindar's back. "Come on!" The brothers dashed off together in a playful race. As the glade came into sight, Anar slowed, feigning exhaustion, and let Rindar pass him.

"I won!" crowed the young elf, pumping his fists in the air. Anar smiled at him.

"You certainly did, little brother. Come on now, let's find a place by the fire." They wended their way through the throng of people around the storyteller, sitting close to the fire of dead wood that had broken from the trees with the advent of autumn. The storyteller, a tall elf with chestnut-brown hair, began relating the epic tale of Ebonyharrow's founding. As Rindar listened, spellbound, he felt a strange feeling come over him, as if he was one of the long-ago settlers. Many of them had moved on, but the storyteller was, indeed, one of the original founders of the village. One thousand years ago, they had crossed the mountains, fleeing from a war between the humans in the south, and founded the secret Harrow. They had fought against the gnomes who had claimed the foothills for their own and were warring against them; after many battles, they had been victorious.

Rindar's blood sang at the thought of being in one of those battles, adding his arrows to the storms that flew through the air. He dreamed of glorious deeds, of valor in arms and of his brother's approval when he returned home, victorious. He was so absorbed in his daydream that he only vaguely noticed when the story ended. As chatter broke up around him, he opened his eyes and looked around for his brother. Then he gasped: Anar was gone!

[{IRS}Athos]

CHAPTER TWO

Rindar jumped to his feet and immediately headed towards the stream. If Anar wasn't with him, he had a good idea of where his brother had gone. Anar loved sitting beside the stream and listening to its voice that was so much like his own laughter.

Rindar crept up to the bushes near to the waterfront and peeked through them. He was right: Anar was there, but he was not alone.

Tariel and Anar were sitting side by side, holding hands. Their lowered voices were indistinct over the water, but he could tell that they were talking about their feelings for each other. Rindar grimaced; he had never understood why his brother enjoyed formulating sweet words of love when he could be hunting, running, climbing trees, or practicing his shooting. Then again, Rindar had never been in love.

He watched for several more minutes as Tariel and Anar talked. Tariel finally got to her feet with a sigh and brushed dead grass off of her tunic. Anar rose, doing likewise, and bent down to kiss her tenderly. They parted, and Tariel smiled at him before scampering off. Anar stood looking after her with a smile.

"You realize you'll have to court her properly now?" said Rindar, causing Anar to jump. Then he laughed.

"Oh, it's you, little brother. Yes, I'd been intending that for awhile. I'll most likely state my desire for engagement tomorrow... who knows what will happen next?"

"I do," said Rindar. He grinned. "I'm going to be your second at the wedding!"

[{IRS}Athos]

CHAPTER THREE
Three years later...

Anar leaned his shovel against the side of the hole he was digging and gratefully accepted the cloth that Rindar threw down to him. Wiping sweat from his brow, he grinned up at his brother. "Who'd have known that planting a tree was so hard?"

The elaborate courting customs of Ebonyharrow had dictated that the bride and groom remain engaged for several years before being married. So far, it had worked out well; divorces were nonexistent in the community. However, there were some peculiar aspects to it, such as planting trees that their children could live in (when they had them) and building a house (in the tree that their father or father-in-law had planted). The customs were quite strict that the couple had to do the actual work with their own hands, but Rindar was allowed to stand by and attend to his brother as he saw fit. This mainly extended to the upkeep of Anar's house, cooking his meals, and making sure that he took care of himself properly.

Rindar shrugged. "I suppose that this is supposed to discourage being engaged to more than one person," he said, glancing up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to sink over the horizon.

"I can see why that would be," Anar muttered ruefully. "I can't imagine anyone planting one of these twice," he said, gesturing towards the sapling that he and Tariel had hunted down the following week, carefully extracted from the earth, and tended to carefully until it could be planted.

Tariel laughed; an occurrence that had been happening with increasing frequency ever since her engagement to Anar was announced. It seemed that her fiance's optimistic temperament was beginning to rub off on her. "I guess not. Do you think the hole is deep enough yet?"

Anar made a few mental calculations and finally nodded, looking relieved. "No more digging for now, love." He and Tariel laughed together, while Rindar simply looked mystified. He didn't understand all of his brother's jokes, but apparently Tariel did. He stepped back and watched with interest as the pair lifted the ebony tree out of the box in which they had planted it and carefully maneuvered it into the hole. As soon as they had settled it down, Tariel seized the shovel and began throwing dirt over the top of the roots.

"Take a break, Anar; I'll do the digging for now," said Tariel. Anar nodded tiredly and leaned against the cart they had used to transport the sapling to their selected location. Rindar offered him the water flask, which he accepted gratefully.

"I'm just glad we decided to do it in the summer," said Anar. "Winter would have been a nightmare, what with the frozen ground and the cold." Rindar smiled crookedly. "Nobody in their right mind would uproot a tree in winter, anyway," continued Anar.

After ten minutes, Tariel passed the shovel to Anar and took a long draught of the water flask. "Thank you," she said, smiling at him. "It's nice to know I have such a dutiful brother-in-law; heaven knows how I'd look after Anar otherwise." Rindar blushed at her praise and scurried off to refill the water flask at the stream before she could discomfit him even more with her compliments. When he returned, the treeroots were almost completely buried.

Anar threw on the last shovelfull of dirt and beamed triumphantly. "That's that," he said happily. "In one month, we'll be able to have our wedding."

"You'd best start planning then," said Rindar pragmatically. "For one thing, you're going to need your ceremonial bow and arrows, and you're going to have to commission some chainmail from the village smith, and of course Tariel will need a wedding gown..."

"Slow down, little brother!" said Anar, laughing. "There'll be plenty of time for that tomorrow. For now, I need a meal and then a good, long sleep."

Rindar and his brother jogged home and began cooking dinner. At Rindar's urging, Anar sat down and let his brother take over the roasting of the venison. Rindar turned the spit slowly, making sure to evenly cook and season the meat. After it was done, both of them dug in with a will. Rindar refused to let his brother help clean the plates and pushed Anar over onto the bed with a dire warning that he would tie Anar in the sheets if he attempted to get up. Anar accepted his brother's verbal abuse good-naturedly, and he was snoring within a few minutes.

Rindar stacked up the wooden dishes and meandered his way down to the stream. Kneeling on the moonlit banks, he scoured them thoroughly with sand and stacked them up on a heap of soft moss. As he finished, he rose to his feet, only to fall flat again. He strained his eyes against the semidarkness, trying to discern the movement he could have sworn he saw before. For five minutes, he waited, barely breathing. Nothing stirred, and he finally exhaled. Picking up the plates, he strolled back up the road towards his house.

He didn't see the dark shape that stole up the hill as soon as his back was turned, soundless as a shadow.

Edited by ithilienranger732, 05 March 2009 - 03:25 AM.

[{IRS}Athos]

CHAPTER FOUR
One month later...

Rindar stood proudly beside Anar as his brother, clad in ceremonial chainmail and bearing a beautifully fashioned bow of ebony, awaited the coming of his bride. All around them stood the inhabitants of Ebonyharrow, wearing their best clothing for the celebration. Whispered conversation ran through the glade, creating the sound of a light wind. Rindar added his voice to the chatter.

"So, will that bow actually fire?" he asked curiously. It seemed like more decoration than weapon; it was beautifully carved in swirling patterns and engraved with runes.

"Of course it will," said Anar, winking at his brother. "You're given the very best wood in the Harrow to make the wedding bow, and it's a waste to make it into something that's going to hang on your wall."

"Isn't that the point of it?" asked Rindar.

“Well, yes,” said Anar with a grin, “but I thought that I might as well make something functional at the same time. After all, the arrows are the best quality as well, and the bow should match them, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” said Rindar. “But if you’re going to hang it on the wall and never use it again, what’s the point of taking so long to make it?”

“Oh, I might find a use for it,” said Anar, grinning. He caught a glimpse of white through the trees, and nudged his brother. “There’s my love,” he said, smiling.

An aisle opened between the crowds of elves, and Tariel paced towards them with measured strides accompanied by her best friend, Erina. The elder of the village stepped forward and began reciting the marriage rituals.

Under the spreading trees of Ebonyharrow, we are gathered together to witness the joining of Anar k’Valya and Tariel k’Lana under the eyes of the Goddess.

Rindar watched Anar as his brother took Tariel’s hands in his. As the newly wed couple kissed, a great cheer went up from the crowd. Anar and Tariel turned to them, acknowledging the cries with joyous tears streaming down their cheeks. Rindar felt a tremendous, swelling pride for his brother. He had never seen Anar so happy before.

An hour later, Rindar and the newlyweds were partaking of the wedding feast. Anar selected a finely washed carrot and wagged it at his brother. “So, Rindar, how did you like the wedding?” The carrot returned to him with a bite out of the end, and Rindar smirked at Anar as he munched it.

“Very well, thank you very much. You’ve really done well with the feast, though…”

“Fire! Someone help, there’s fire!” The air was suddenly filled with panicked shouts. Anar leapt to his feet, upsetting the table as he ran towards the hubbub.

“What’s wrong?” he shouted.

“There are Deathknelve swarming all over the forest,” panted an elven warrior. “They’re burning it as they go!”

Anar ran over to Tariel. “I’m sorry, love, but I must help the other warriors.” She kissed him on the cheek as he continued. “Look after my brother, will you?”

“Wait! You’re leaving without me?” Rindar protested.

Anar grinned wolfishly. “That’s right, little brother. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were injured in combat.”

“Ridiculous!” sputtered Rindar. “I can hold my own in a fight! Just give me a bow and I’ll-- ahhh…” Anar had caught him a hefty blow over the head with the bowstaff. The older elf’s face softened for a moment.

“Sorry, little brother, but it had to be done.” He turned to Tariel. “Take charge; get the children somewhere safe.”

“Love--”

“Don’t worry about me!” snapped Anar. “I’ll be fine. Just… go,” he said pleadingly. They exchanged one last kiss before Anar dashed off.

“To me, warriors of Ebonyharrow! TO ME!” Tariel watched him with tears in her eyes before running in the other direction.

[{IRS}Athos]

CHAPTER FOUR

Rindar awoke under a pile of leaves with a raging headache, his fine clothes tattered and filthy from where he had been dragged through the mud. There was nobody else in sight, and he felt a deep sense of foreboding. Struggling out of the brush, he gasped at the scene of destruction he saw.

Corpses were strewn everywhere: both those of wood elves and Deathknelves. Most of the dead elves had been cut down brutally while attempting to flee; there were deep gashes in their backs, and arrows sticking out of them at grotesque angles.

The trees were charred, and small fires were sputtering a last defiance, having destroyed all that could be burned. In places he could see a higher concentration of Deathknelf bodies, and he knew that was where the warriors had made their stand. He uttered a prayer to the Goddess for their souls and continued to wander the ruined village in a daze. They’re all dead. All of them.

He saw a flash of light in the trees and his heart skipped a beat. There’s someone out there... He picked up a notched saber from the ground and called out, his voice cracking slightly in fear. “Who’s there?” He heard a series of pained coughs and he cried out in anguish: for it was Anar.

His older brother was sitting against a tree, clutching a deep wound in his side with his right hand. The beautiful bow was still clenched in his left, undamaged despite the battle it had been through. “Hello, little brother,” said Anar, his face a mask of blood. It had been the reflection of the light off of his dagger that Rindar had seen.

“Anar, you need bandages!” said Rindar, tearing strips from the tunic of one of the dead Deathknelves. There were five of them scattered around Anar, each one a victim of an accurately fired arrow.

“Save the fabric, little brother; you’ll need it for the others,” said Anar faintly.

“There are no others!” Rindar’s fingers worked in a frenzy, binding the wound as quickly and neatly as he could manage.

“I told you, little brother; it’s pointless,” said Anar with a crooked grin. “I’ve lost too much blood already. It’s a good thing I knocked you out, or you would have ended up just like me.”

Rindar tried to speak around the lump in his throat, but Anar had continued before he could even open his mouth. “I guess the care of the village falls to you, then,” he said. His voice seemed to come from a long way off. “The bow, knives, and armor are yours now. Use them well, to protect the weak; especially yourself.” Anar laughed, but it turned into another violent cough, and blood trickled from his mouth.

“Anar, listen to me! You’re going to be fine!” Rindar knew he was lying as his brother’s blood began to soak through the rough bandages and onto his hands.

“You know perfectly well that’s a lie,” said Anar, interpreting Rindar’s thoughts. He gave another weak laugh. “Take care of Tariel… little… brother…” His hand rose halfway to Rindar’s shoulder, then fell back limply.

“Brother…” said Rindar beseechingly. “Please, Anar, hold on!” Rindar pleaded with his brother’s corpse until the blood had ceased to flow, unwilling to believe that his laughing, glorious brother had ceased to exist.

A cloak rustled over leaves nearby, and Rindar pried the bow from Anar’s death grip, nocking an arrow as quickly as he could. “Show yourself, or I shoot!”

The figure emerged from the trees, and he saw that it was Erina. “Rindar!” she said in relief. Despite the glad look on her face, he could see deep furrows in the soot where tears had run.

“Anar is dead, Erina,” said Rindar tonelessly. He looked down at the elf’s bloodstained face, wondering how he could look so peaceful among such devastation.

“I—I am sorry,” Erina managed to say. “But you must help the rest of us.”

“Where is everybody else?” asked Rindar anxiously. “How many are left?”

Erina’s face fell. “We’ve only just felt safe enough to come out of hiding: there aren’t enough of us; only ten or so. Tariel only managed to gather eight of the children, so counting us…”

Rindar seized her wrist. “Tariel? Where is she?”

Erina’s face was as anxious as her voice. “I don’t know. She left as soon as she hid us, looking for more children. We haven’t seen her since.” Rindar threw off her comforting hand and ran back through the village, tears blurring his vision as he headed for the tree that dead Anar had so painstakingly planted months ago. He fell to his knees in front of the tree, his body gripped by racking sobs: for there lay Tariel, her snow-white dress charred and bloodstained.

“I failed you, Anar,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”