He was pacing nervously the throne room. "Eltorien, please calm down!" said the graceful young elf just entering the room. "I can't possibly! Velrian will not stop here... and I know exactly where he will strike next time!" "Our land?" asked the young elf with anxiety. "Yes. We have been away from it too long, it's unprotected and so tempting. But do not worry, Nimuea, we will defend it till death." She nodded and came nearer, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Take your detachment with you. And mine too. They won't be missed, but you may need them." "Thank you, Nimuea, I knew I could count on you," said Eltorien gratefully. "Gather the men. We are leaving now." Nimuea nodded again and left immediately, while Eltorien resumed his nervous pacing. Nimuea's efficiency was such that in less than half an hour a small army was gathered in front of the palace. Eltorien arrived then and had an appreciative glance for the gathered men; he noticed here and there some elves who didn't belong to any of the detachments but who probably thought better than letting Velrian having his way. There was Valkyra, the human girl with an ugly scar on the face, who hated elves so much that she had found this solution to satisfy her hatred; Eltorien had no doubts she would fight him as soon as Velrian would be out of the 'game'. There was Moira the archer, from a very high birth, one of the most beautiful elves Eltorien had ever seen, more beautiful even than Nimuea, who had chosen to be in the army because she was so shy she couldn't stand the attentions in the society. There was Odin the barbarian and his mercenaries, so fanatical that they would gladly have died for the elf king's cause. No one knew Odin's motivation for joining the elf army, but he had proved his loyalty more than once and everybody trusted him. There was Ker Tor, the elf with green cat's eyes, and nobody could stand his gaze. Slender and lithe, Ker Tor was usually everybody's favourite scout. All those had nothing to do in the small army Nimuea had gathered, but they all knew Eltorien, respected him and would have followed him into hell's mouth. Nimuea came by his side; Eltorien didn't need to look at her to know she wanted to come with him, but she couldn't. "Our land will be safe, I swear," he whispered. She nodded painfully. "Come back soon," she answered. "I will." He left on those words and his army followed him on the open path leading to the thick forest of the Singing Scarlet Oaks. Nimuea stayed behind, on the steps of the palace, the wind playing with her loose locks. Eltorien was on his guard: the movements of an army were never easy to conceal and it was useless to hope Velrian didn't already know about his move. So he was expecting an ambush after each tree they passed, especially in the forest of the Singing Scarlet Oaks, which was renowned for all the traps that had been set in there. More than one legend were saying - in less than a whisper - that the oaks were scarlet because of the blood that had been shed in the forest and that the songs were the laments of the dead. Eltorien was not superstitious, but he knew this forest was strange. He quickly looked behind him, to see how the men were reacting. Valkrya's unique eye was fixing him and she had a smile like a wolf's. Moira had her hand clutched on her bow and the tension of her body was almost palpable. Ker Tor cam by his side and said softly: "I feel treachery and ambush in the air." "I feel it too," agreed Eltorien. "Tell them to be ready for anything; Velrian is not known to be fair." Ker Tor nodded and spread the word; instantly everybody became even more alert. Hell didn't wait that long to start: suddenly elves in armour fell on them from the trees while arrows rained down from above. As soon as the first dying cry from his army reached his ears, Eltorien went berserk. "Sing your laments, bloody oaks!" he shouted, shooting arrow after arrow with his great bow. New dying cries joined those from his army as the battle became more intense. Even in his berserk state Eltorien could still hear the fierce battle shouts of Odin and his mercenaries and the exultation from Valkyra each time an elf fell. He wondered briefly if she would exult the same way if he were the one falling down for never getting up. Then, in front of him, mocking him, he saw Valiance and Reliance, Velrian's two sons. In the red mist surrounding him he heard himself shout a war-like cry and he rushed to meet the two instigators of the ambush. Valiance and Reliance were waiting for him and the clash was such that for a brief instant everybody else stopped fighting, looking at their leaders. Odin, seeing his leader carried away by his blind fury, fighting like only the War God could have, forced a guttural shout from his throat and knocked down two elves near him with so much strength that the elves never stood up again. The elves around him blinked, surprised, but then, as Norian, the elf king, would have said with contempt - he didn't like the idea of having humans in his army - humans had respect for nothing. The battle started again immediately. Eltorien knew he was bleeding badly, something far away in his mind was telling him so, but he couldn't feel it. No pain, only blind, mad rage. This was his land, he had played under the great scarlet oaks when he was an elfling, he was not going to hand it over or lose it like that. He remembered vaguely his brother - dead long ago now - telling him how dangerous he was when he was berserk. Frankly he didn't care anymore now and wanted almost to push the rage even further. Red blinded him, he wasn't even seeing anymore where the two brothers were standing. Strong hands blocked him and a firm slap brought his mind back to the present. "Calm down, Eltorien," said the accented voice of Odin. "The fight is over." Eltorien had the impression to open the eyes on a new world, where red was not the only colour. He breathed deeply and inadvertently looked down; he froze immediately: there, at his feet, two bodies were lying, obviously dead, and not in a very clean way. He almost felt sick. "You literally slaughtered them," said Odin. Eltorien shivered from head to toe. He looked at his troops and couldn't find any trace of condemnation in their eyes: they all knew what was the curse of the berserker. Yet he thanked the Gods for Nimuea's absence. He wouldn't have been able to face her gaze after such a display. "That's sickening," he said. "You wouldn't have survived hadn't you turned berserk," said Valkyra with her usual brutality. "They were two against you, and good fighters. Your rage is the only thing that saved you and yet, you are not in very good shape." She was right, but Eltorien didn't care. "Velrian will try to avenge his sons." "Without any doubts," agreed Ker Tor. "And he will know who to seek. He will hunt me down and I will put you all in danger." "He would have come after us no matter what," shrugged Valkyra. "You don't understand! Just by looking at those dead bodies, he will know who killed them! And tell me how many berserk elves there are in this kingdom! I'll tell you: one! Only one! Me! It's like a bloody finger pointing me out!" "Then he will come out of his shelter," said quietly Moira, "and we will be waiting for him. This coming battle will be his last." Eltorien was thunderstruck. He knew his troops were faithful, but after his display of rage against the two brothers, he would have thought his small army would have tried to abandon him. Lack of control - especially with such intensity - was not something very esteemed by the reserved elves. And yet here they were, all of them, standing by his side, ready to share his fate, no matter what it was. At the thought he felt a bit comforted: whatever fate had in store for him he wasn't alone to face it. Normally he would have felt ashamed to think like that but now the faithfulness of his troops was his only link with the normal world. Now he had an army to face his fate with and maybe defeat it... Little did he know how twisted fate could be... After that they didn't lose any time to go to the castle lost in the middle of the forest. No useless stops, no slowing pace, everybody was giving the best of himself or herself. Once at the castle everybody worked hard to make it suitable for an army. The few servants left behind by Eltorien hadn't really cared for the defensive material, not knowing the feud would last so long. Eltorien had a sad sigh when looking at the white delicate wonders of his elfish palace. He knew each stone, he loved each sculpture and some sharp angles had been polished round by his fingers. He even remembered on which bas-reliefs the stone had fed on his blood when he had scratched his fingers on the edges. The servants naturally asked about Nimuea and Eltorien answered all the questions patiently. Ker Tor, hidden in the darkness behind him, wondered about Eltorien's two personalities: usually the polite patient all-time gentleman on one side and on the other hand, the bloodthirsty berserk warrior. Everybody in Eltorien's detachment - even in the whole army, though he wasn't aware of it - knew about his curse; Eltorien wasn't proud of it, more than ashamed actually, but he had loyally warned his soldiers about it even before the first battle. For his loyalty his men loved him and trusted him with their lives, knowing fully he would rather put his own in jeopardy to spare theirs. Yet, far from here, someone was hoping, wishing, scheming against Eltorien's life. Velrian had just heard the news about his sons' death and the white faces of the emissaries were far more than enough to tell of the state of the bodies. "Eltorien, curses on you!" he yelled. "May you be doomed for all eternity and suffer thousands deaths!" His magus entered the room at the same moment the emissaries were leaving, afraid their lord would end up cursing them instead of the ever-elusive Eltorien. "Morgon," said Velrian between his teeth, "I need your help. I want Eltorien to suffer again and again, I want his sufferings to never stop!" Morgon wasn't liked even in Velrian's castle. Born from a necromancer slowly killed by his own powers, and his apprentice, a dark elf rejected by her own tribe, Morgon was an outcast even before his birth. Looking frail and sickly, always entirely clothed in black, he had nevertheless a self-confidence that made people move away from his path. Morgon was well-versed in dark arts and mysteries; no curse unknown from him, no punishment he couldn't imagine and already, on his lord's words, his mind was racing. "Eltorien," he mused. "Are we speaking of Eltorien of Scarlet Oaks?" "Yes, that Eltorien. My eternal foe! The one we are fighting for so long!" yelled Velrian, hands clutched on his throne's armrests. "May I ask the reasons of this feud and incessant war?" asked softly Morgon. "What kind of question is that?" retorted Velrian suspicious, throwing him a dark glance. "Knowledge is the source of all powers, my lord," explained Morgon, raising the hands as to show his innocence. "The more you know about your enemy, the more easily you can defeat him and the more pain you can inflict him." "But too much knowledge is dangerous for he who knows, Morgon," said Velrian, half-threatening. "I agree, my lord," replied softly Morgon who wasn't stupid. Quickly his smooth manners erased the threat Velrian had felt and the elf lord relaxed. "Eltorien has no weakness," he said reluctantly, avoiding answering Morgon's question, "except a young elf named Nimuea. Nobody knows where she comes from; Eltorien just showed up with her once and nobody asked any question. It's totally useless to think of using her against him, she is protected by the whole army and nobody comes near her but people selected by Eltorien himself." "Outstandingly cautious," commented softly Morgon. Velrian, slightly irritated by the interruption, stood up and paced nervously the floor. On the contrary Morgon smoothly settled down on a chair. Everything about Morgon seemed soft or smooth; his voice hardly went over a mere whisper and yet Velrian never had any problem hearing him; his moves were always graceful and measured, never any rush. Only the hard glow in his dark eyes let see the strong will hidden behind the perfect manners. "Sad we do not know more about this Nimuea; maybe it would have explained why he cares so much for her." "I already thought about it!" snapped Velrian. "I have no doubt, my lord," replied quietly Morgon. He stood up. "I think I have taken enough of your time. I shall interrogate the limbo of knowledge later today. May I offer my deepest sympathy for the loss of your beloved sons?" He had already opened the door and then asked: "One last question: is Eltorien of Scarlet Oaks the berserk warrior?" "Of course! There is only one berserk elf!" "Interesting..." mused Morgon, closing silently the door behind him as he was leaving the room. Velrian couldn't calm down. He knew perfectly - as well as Morgon - that the magus's condolences were pure politeness. Neither Valiance nor Reliance had liked Morgon and they had made him feel it. They had contested his authority in front of Velrian himself and mocked him, trying to make him look like a fool - and never succeeding. Morgon had no known weakness and yet he had one: Freya, Velrian's youngest daughter, as graceful and gentle as a doe, and yet, strangely, the only one not being afraid of Morgon. He loved the young elf as much as if she had been of his own flesh and blood; he was even teaching her some of his dark arts but, careful of not having her soul corrupted by the dark spells, he was not telling her of the dangerous spells, only the harmless ones. Velrian waited one day, two days, three days and still Morgon hadn't come out of his laboratory. Freya, unaware of the reasons of his haste, tried to calm him down and Velrian reluctantly accepted to listen to his daughter till the end of the week. Then enraged, he went up to the highest room of the highest tower and banged at the door. "I am working, please do not disturb me," said Morgon's soft voice, which sounded as if the magus was standing next to him. "I want my revenge!" yelled Velrian, not caring if the magus needed calm or not. "Your vengeance will come in its own time," replied the voice. "How long still to wait?" "Maybe two weeks more..." "It's too long!" "Eltorien will be easier to surprise. Now go!" A force pushed Velrian back into the stairs and he had to go down against his will. So he waited. He was pacing round and round his throne room, restlessly, never stopping, refusing any meal until Freya insisted and came to force him to eat. She was sad because she hadn't seen the magus in two weeks now, but she had to hide her sadness, because her friendship with him had been concealed from her father, who wouldn't like it at all. She didn't know yet of her brothers' death, but understood perfectly that Morgon's work was in relation with the elusive Eltorien. Then, at last, after one month and half of unremitting work, Morgon came out of his laboratory. Looking even sicklier than before, he went straight to Velrian and held out a casket to him. "Here is your revenge," he said with a weary voice. "The most horrible curse I have created yet and it is now yours. Use it well." Velrian's face lightened up with joy and Morgon wondered a brief instant if this curse would really revenge Valiance and Reliance or if it would only satisfy Velrian's long-living hatred. "Thank you, Morgon! Ask me anything and it will be yours!" "My reward, my lord, will be two weeks of rest. I think I deserved them." "Naturally, naturally," replied Velrian, not listening at all, his eyes set on the casket. Morgon easily slipped out of the room and on his way back to his tower, he met with Freya. The serious face of the young elf lightened up with a bright smile as soon as she saw him. "Morgon, my friend and teacher, you need rest," she said, worrying almost immediately. "I am going to get it, little one," he answered with one of his rare smiles. "I will see you later," she promised. Morgon nodded and then, taken by a bad premonition, he took her in his arms and held her close for a brief moment. "I love you, Freya, my child," he whispered to her. "And I love you too, Morgon," she said very softly, returning his embrace. She closed her eyes, forgetting they were in an open corridor, and, not for the first time, wished her friendship with Morgon was less complicated. He released her with a forced smile. "I will always be there for you, no matter what happens, you know that," he said, unable to help the sensation of uneasiness at the idea of seeing her go. "I know, yes, and I know the spells to call you," she smiled. "I have to go, Morgon. Father is expecting me." He nodded and went on his way. It was not before having climbed all the steps of his long stairs that he froze suddenly: what if... what if... No, the idea was too horrible! Even Velrian couldn't have done such a thing and yet... Hastily he went down the stairs again, but his body betrayed him and he fell heavily; he cursed himself and his lack of prevision when he found out he couldn't stand again immediately. "Freya..." he moaned softly, leaning back his head against the cold stone. Meanwhile, downstairs, in the throne room, Freya was standing before her father, her clear eyes interrogating him. "Freya, my child, I have very bad news to tell you," he began sadly. "Eltorien, our mortal enemy, had killed your brothers. Valiance and Reliance fell under his strikes and not content with killing them, he butchered their bodies." "That's horrible..." murmured Freya, her throat tightening. "Yes, that's horrible. Freya, I have here, in this casket, the way to avenge them, to avenge us for all the deaths he brought to our house. But I need you for this vengeance, for he doesn't know you and you alone can stand in front of him without risking certain death." "Tell me what to do, father, and I will!" she said, determined. He held out the casket to her. "In this casket is our revenge. Go to the castle in the forest of the Singing Scarlet Oaks and there, ask for Eltorien. Give him this casket. Imagine any reason for giving it to him, I'll let that to your imagination. And remember, Freya, the old idiom: 'Do not sleep where you ate, do not eat where you slept.' Don't stay in his castle any longer than necessary, for he would find the truth about your identity and would kill you." "Very well, father. I shall go immediately." "Be careful not to awake his suspicion. There's nobody more suspicious than him!" "I will," she promised. It wasn't long before a horse was saddled for her and she left without turning back, only regretting to leave without telling Morgon, but in her mind the only thought was about her dead brothers. The trip was a long one but Freya never hesitated on the paths to choose. She wondered briefly why her father hadn't cared a bit for her sake on the road. True, she was known to be resourceful, but most of her resources were coming from Morgon's teaching, for the magus hadn't taught her only dark arts. With him she had studied geography and she knew the maps of the whole kingdom almost by heart. She thus knew perfectly where the castle of Scarlet Oaks was. At some distance of the castle, she gave her horse to be cared for to a poor elf family living as recluse near a small village; she gave them twenty gold coins and promised there would be more when she would return for her horse. The elf family nodded, still looking at the gold coins in their hand with disbelief. Leaving them, she hid behind trees and quickly changed into poor half-torn clothes, concealing her travelling clothes into a tree hollow. She undid her hair, dirtied it with some mud, tied them with a flexible herb and then looked at herself with a satisfied look. She scratched lightly her arms and legs with thorns and then, at last, headed to the castle of Scarlet Oaks, the casket under her arm. She had only overestimated something in her so-perfect plan: her own strength and endurance. The castle wasn't that far, but she was so tired by the long trip that she arrived at the castle only very late in the afternoon and she thought with a sigh she would have to sleep at the castle. To be true to her word given to her father, she wouldn't eat at Eltorien's table, she could very well do without food for a short time, but she knew she needed rest to do the trip back. The gate opened in front of her as soon as the guard took a look at her. Two more guards came toward her as the gate slowly closed behind her. "Good evening, my lady," said respectfully the first one as the sun was declining at the horizon. "Good evening, sir," she replied, quite surprised by the politeness: she hadn't expected it from the men of that monster of Eltorien! "May I inquire where do you come from?" "My village had been torn apart by the war and I... I'm afraid I'm the only survivor." "Poor child," said softly the oldest guard. He held out his hand toward the casket she was clutching against her but didn't insist when she recoiled. "No!" she said. "I managed to save it, it's for Lord Eltorien. I must give it to him." Two new people came into view and Freya shivered when noticing they were human. Humans in an elfish castle! The very thought was horrifying. Odin looked at the newcomer. "Who is she?" "A survivor from a village," said the youngest guard, half-shrugging. Odin looked puzzled. "There was no battle near a village," he said. Freya internally panicked: she hadn't expected to deal with people from the army! "Ah, Odin! Who knows what Velrian can do when we are not looking?" said sadly the oldest guard. "True," mumbled Odin. "And what does she want?" "Shelter and rest, Odin, isn't it obvious?" said Valkyra. "Stop being so grumpy, you are scaring her. She is probably not used to see humans and had probably heard tales of countless atrocities on our account." "But..." protested Freya, wondering when things had begun to slip out of her control. "Don't protest, child," continued Valkyra. "I know it. We humans have the same tales about elves." Being called 'child' by a human shocked Freya beyond belief: who was the human thinking she was? She should have been grateful for an elf talking to her and yet she dared to take protective manners with her! "She said she had to give that casket to Eltorien," said the guard. Odin thought for a moment. "Oh!" he said finally. "I'll give it to him." He held out his hand in expectation. Freya clutched tighter to her casket. "No! I have to give him in person!" "Eltorien is busy. He doesn't have the time to deal with every survivor. I'll give it to him right away." Understanding fully she hadn't the choice and not really expecting any courtesy from a monster such as Eltorien, Freya released her father's vengeance in the huge scarred hands of the barbarian who left immediately with Valkyra. "You know, Odin, you shouldn't have said that. Eltorien always takes the time to welcome the survivors," said Valkyra and Freya heard her, but she didn't hear Odin's answer. "I know, Val," he grumbled, "but there's something about this girl that's bothering me. And as long as I don't know what, I'm not going to let her come near Eltorien, believe me on that!" What Odin couldn't figure out and what Moira, Nimuea or Eltorien would have, was that Freya had an inner grace and manners that were clearly saying she was from high birth, which contradicted her story about her destroyed village. "I'll send the servants to care for her," said Valkyra, half-yawning. "She probably needs food and sleep." Odin grumbled something she didn't hear and continued his way to Eltorien's rooms to deliver the dangerous casket he was carrying. Freya had declined the food, pretending her stomach was too upset for anything, and was now lying in a very comfortable bed, after having taken the most luxurious bath. After what she had already seen, she was only mildly surprised by the courtesy with which she was treated. She had had a glimpse of Moira and had known immediately she was dangerous for her cover. She was feeling quite uneasy to take advantage of those people's kindness while she was bringing doom to their lord. She hadn't seen Eltorien, but no word she had heard about him was harsh. Her guiltiness - for after all, she knew perfectly her brothers were only spoiled brats and that war had never been clean and neat - was such that it almost pushed her out of her bed to snatch the casket away from Eltorien. "Tomorrow," she thought as she was closing her eyes, "tomorrow I shall leave and I will forget everything about this mysterious Eltorien." Trying self-conviction wasn't working that well and she turned over and over in her bed. She reasoned she didn't know where Eltorien's rooms were and, anyway, she didn't even know if the casket had been carried into his rooms. She forced herself to think he had slaughtered her brothers and that he was at war with her father for so long that nobody remembered the reason for the feud - she didn't even know if her father himself remembered it. "His fate is not my concern," she told herself resolutely. With this comforting thought she at last fell asleep. It was hardly midnight when a horrible cry brutally woke her up. She sat on her bed, listening attentively. A voice distorted with pain roared: "Pain! Unbearable pain! Oh Gods! Somebody put an end to this torture!" And then she heard a shout no elfish throat could have produced; it was something like a growl, so very loud and so distorted! Only a monster could shout like this. She shivered, wondering suddenly what exactly was in the casket she had given the elfish lord. Everybody was running in the corridors, so she slipped out of her bed and opened her door ajar. The people rushing to Eltorien's rooms were not only the servants as she had thought, but men from the army also. Valkyra saw her and grabbed her by the arm. "Come with me. Don't stay here alone, the Gods only know what he can do when he is in this state!" Strangely there was only pity in her voice, not disgust. She led her to the large throne room, where some other people were gathered: Odin, Moira, Ker Tor and several servants. A heavy pace was coming to the room and soft whispers were encouraging someone. "I can't possibly," roared a voice. "Look at what I am!" "Those are only your most trusted friends," said another voice, obviously not aware of Freya's presence. Only a moan of pain answered him. The door opened and a slim elf clothed in clear grey entered, urging somebody else to follow him. Freya held her breath: she was at last going to see the mysterious elusive Eltorien! Shadows grew over the door and then a paw appeared. "Eltorien, stop this childish behaviour!" commanded the elf in grey - who was probably Eltorien's own magus. "I'd like to see you in my position!" growled the presence behind the door. "I am not condemning you and the others won't either. So come!" A big sigh answered and the door opened fully. Because of shadows growing darker and darker, Freya couldn't see immediately, but when her eyes got used to the darkness, she wished she hadn't seen... Instead of a man or an elf, there was a beast, a terrifying beast, huge, with eyes red as the fires of hells, hooked horns and thick rough fur covering his whole body. "Oh my God!" she breathed. His huge furry ears were probably very sharp for he turned the head toward her. "Who is she?" he thundered, breathing fire at the same time, his eyes glowing redder. "A survivor from a battle," said Odin, shrugging. "What is she doing here? Seeing my shame is thus so laughable?" "Eltorien!" said dryly the magus. "Control yourself. We did a mistake, alright; but there's no need to scare the child." "Sorry, Olrien," mumbled the huge creature. He calmed down a bit and his eyes lost their dangerous glow. A breathless elf irrupted into the room, looked with surprise to the monster and then said in one breath: "Tell Lord Eltorien we have a big problem: the trees are growing so high that we are prisoner in the forest! There is no way to get out of it! We are trapped!" "Did someone try to cut the trees?" asked Odin always practical - and not really caring for trees preservation. "Alas, yes. It's impossible." Eltorien sighed. "I thought I was doubly cursed. I was wrong: I'm triply cursed!" "Curse," mused Olrien. "Of course, a curse! That's the only way to explain such a thing!" He noticed then that his lord had his hand closed on something and gently opened the fingers with the long sharp claws. On the palm was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen: a rose finely chiselled in crystal, each petal more outstanding than the last one, and even with some dew on it. Olrien was almost expecting a wonderful smell to reach his nose... and indeed it did! But the smell was hardly the one of a rose: it smelled magic, dark magic! He cautiously took the crystal rose in his hands and the touch almost overwhelmed him: the dark aura was so strong he wondered how he didn't feel it before. The whole thing was almost shouting 'Curse!' and he knew that Eltorien, though very gifted in many areas, wasn't sensitive to magic. "Where did you find this, Eltorien?" he asked. "Odin gave it to me," retorted the elfish lord absent-mindedly, obviously preoccupied by the messenger's news. Freya knew instantly she was in danger: Odin would say who had brought the crystal rose in the castle and they would discover her identity... Already... The barbarian protested against the veiled accusation: "I didn't offer it to Eltorien as my own! The girl brought it here, saying she saved it for Eltorien." All the gazes turned to Freya who stepped back. "Who is she already?" "A survivor of a village. That's what she said." Moira took a good look at her for the first time and, in spite of her shyness, she exclaimed: "She's not from a village! She is from high birth!" "Olrien, ask her," sighed Eltorien wearily. "I fear I would get too angry if I do it myself." "Who are you, you who brought doom to those who offered you shelter?" asked Olrien imperiously. "How could I know?" exclaimed Freya, lying in the vain hope to protect herself. "How could I know such a beautiful object could bring doom and curses?" "She's lying," said Ker Tor casually. "She smells magic. A dark aura marks her. She may not have known the exact curse, but she brought the crystal rose here on purpose." "Your lies won't help you, child," said Olrien severely. "We will be more lenient if you say the truth." "Lenient!" she spat out with spite. "And how could I trust you when I know of all the atrocities you committed? You want the truth? Very well, you shall have it, since I am condemned to die, at least you will know who doomed you! I am Freya, daughter of Lord Velrian of Golden Leaves, sister of two murdered brothers, apprentice to a magus banished and cast out by everyone else! This crystal rose is the last gift of my father to your lord for having slaughtered my brothers!" To her surprise Eltorien didn't burst out in anger. He sighed heavily. "I knew he would come after me," he said sadly. "And now I have doomed you all." "We knew the danger, my lord Eltorien," retorted quietly Valkyra, "and we all agreed to share it." "How can you say this, Valkyra, when you hate elves so much that the only way you found to satisfy your hatred is to fight elves while belonging to an elf army?" She came to him. "Because, though not belonging to your detachment, I have followed you during three years, obeying your orders, even fighting by your side and never did I find a reason to complain about you. True, I hate elves, my lord Eltorien, but you have proved to be the exception among them and you may give me any order you wish, I will follow it," she concluded, kneeling in front of Eltorien. "That's so touching!" said Freya ironically. "A human pledging her faith to a monster!" "You don't understand what it means to us, my lady," replied Eltorien. He straightened up. "Very well. Olrien, please study this marvellous crystal rose and try to find which curses it carries and what are the ways to turn them down. All of you, please treat Lady Freya with all the respect and care we'd always shown to our guests." "Respect and care?" repeated Freya, obviously surprised. "You mean... you are not going to kill me?" "No matter what you think of me, my lady," said Eltorien with dignity, "friend or foe, anybody asking me for shelter is my guest and shall be treated as such. I am no monster." He inadvertently looked down, saw his own paws and rectified very softly: "I am a monster..." He ran away, ashamed. A heavy silence marked his leaving. As soon as he could, Morgon stood up and looked for Freya. But it was already too late and he knew it. He went straight to Velrian who was already savouring his revenge. "You know that Freya may never come back from this errand?" he said almost casually. Velrian eyed him slyly. "I know. But she was betraying me anyway, so it would be a good lesson for her." Morgon's surprise was boundless. "Sending her to death is maybe a bit extreme as for a lesson?" he ventured. "Do not try to defend her, Morgon," Velrian warned him. "I know you were her accomplice. The two of you were complotting behind my back, complotting against me!" A sly and mocking smile on his lips, the elfish lord produced a silver chain where a rune was hanging. Morgon recognised it immediately: it was Freya's, he had offered it to her for her last birthday. He tried to protest, but Velrian cut him short: "I won't have you corrupting my daughter! She is mine and you better do whatever I command you if you ever want to see her again! Now go!" Morgon sighed, slightly bowed and left. He preferred to humour Velrian if it meant Freya would come safe from her dangerous errand. But he really had no idea how the elfish lord could change the curse linked to the gift in the casket... As soon as she left the throne room, quite surprised to say the least, Freya ran to the rooms that had been affected to her. Remembering her lessons with Morgon, she cast a spell and her mirror lightened up on Morgon's laboratory. "Freya!" he asked eagerly. "Leave the castle immediately! The curse is terrible and..." "It's too late already, Morgon," she informed him calmly. "The curse is unleashed and we are all trapped inside the forest of the Singing Scarlet Oaks." "They know?" "They know," she confirmed. "And you are still alive?" "I was quite surprised myself," she admitted. "Maybe it's a trap..." "I don't think so. Morgon, what is the counter-curse? There must be something we can do!" "There is," said darkly Morgon, "but I can't tell you. This curse is the most powerful I have ever invented. If I tell you how to break it, then we will both die and nobody else will ever know how to break it. If I don't tell you, I may maybe guide you..." Freya's face clearly showed her disappointment. "Is there something else important I should know?" she asked unhappily. "Yes. Do not break the crystal rose. Never. If the rose is broken then the curse shall never be broken. Break the rose and you will stay prisoner for all times." Freya shivered. "I will tell them," she promised. "Though I don't know if they will believe me, after all the lies I told them so that the rose could get to Eltorien..." "Be careful around him. He is a berserker and a tiny contrariety can send him in a mad rage." She nodded and slowly the mirror misted out. She went out to look for Olrien and surprisingly found him lurking around her rooms. "I asked my master in dark arts," she informed him coldly. "He told me not to break the rose if you want to get rid of the curse." "And why should I believe you, my lady?" he asked softly. "Because, magus, if you were thinking, you would realise that the only way for me to leave this cursed castle and its master is to break the curse." "Don't be so harsh to Eltorien, my lady," murmured Olrien sadly, not even caring for the haughty tone she was using with him. "And why shouldn't I? He slaughtered my brothers and killed more people in my family than I have fingers on my hands!" "Do you really think your father was kinder with his family? This is war, my lady, and both camps show no pity! Eltorien never knew his parents because your father killed them before Eltorien had the chance to know them. Another elf took care of him and Eltorien always thought he was his brother; the feud with your father killed him too. As for Nimuea, Eltorien's young protégée, I think her family - and probably her whole tribe - has been decimated by your father's soldiers. So you see, I think we are more than even..." "What is this Nimuea doing in the story?" asked Freya sincerely surprised. "Because, my lady, Eltorien found Nimuea wandering alone in the forest and whatever happened to her family was so terrible that she was traumatised. Nobody knows anything about Nimuea, my lady, not even her, because she lost her memory. She doesn't even remember her name - Nimuea is a new name she chose when meeting Eltorien. So, beautiful gentle Nimuea is an elf without past and, if Eltorien remains stuck here or dies, without any future. Eltorien is all she has now." "How is it you all call him Eltorien? How does he tolerate such familiarity?" wondered Freya aloud, suddenly genuinely interested in this elf who could protect an unknown amnesiac elf. "Eltorien is not born in the nobility, my lady. He is from a special family, but not from noble blood, though King Norian would give him the hand of his daughter without any hesitation. The king himself ennobled him and gave him this land; in war times, lands are easy to find. As for me, I think it once belonged to Nimuea's tribe, for it seems to be familiar to her. Anyway, Eltorien doesn't like titles. And people in his army are the same. You remember Moira? Well, would you believe me if I were to tell you she has the rank of princess? Yet nobody ever gives her this title." "Special family?" repeated Freya. She didn't care at all for Moira: she wanted to know more about Eltorien, about this foe whom her father had always spoken ill of. For there was something no word of her father could erase: the deep despair in the golden red eyes of Eltorien when he had said that he was a monster... Olrien sighed, though secretly pleased with her interest. "Surely you know Eltorien is a berserker? Well, it was not meant as a curse, contrary to what he thinks." "Meant? You mean it's on purpose?" "Yes it is. Unfortunately, it is! Eltorien's family is a berserk family, has always been. We had forced fate so that they would always marry a berserker too, and the characteristic would thus grow very strong. Eltorien is the result of this manipulation, but he doesn't know, for the elf he has considered as his brother wasn't a berserker." "But why doing that?" "For our prophecies say that someday a great warrior will rise and save the kingdom thanks to his berserk blood. We thought we would help destiny a bit, for we are sure the warrior is Eltorien. But now, look at what we have done!" "Who is 'we'?" "Not me alone, though I took an active part in it... 'We' stands for the community of magus. Your master doesn't know, because, as you said it yourself, he has been banished. Am I wrong or is your master Morgon the Dark?" "You are right. How do you know?" "I recognised his touch on the rose, after some studies. This curse is his best work yet." "How can you know his touch since you never met him?" asked Freya, confused. "Who said I never met him? I studied a bit dark arts too, my lady, and the best master in dark arts is Morgon the Dark..." Silence feel briefly between them. "Why did you tell me all this? I am the daughter of your mortal foe, I brought you doom and curses!" "Yes, you did, my lady, but as you said it yourself, you are trapped here with us. Maybe you will reconsider the situation and who knows? Some good may actually come from this curse." "Like what? "You may realise that Eltorien is not the monster you have been led to believe he is," said softly Olrien. And suddenly he was gone. Freya sheltered back into her rooms, wondering if she really wanted to know who Eltorien was. Hating him without knowing him was so easy! But now, after what Olrien had told her, how could she remain so blind? Cursed even before his birth, destined to a great fate without knowing it, he was now in a far worse situation because of her! She wondered briefly if her intervention had twisted his fate, but then, it would seem strange that the gods hadn't planned with Velrian's hate. She shook herself: how could she dare doubt her father's word? Olrien himself hadn't denied the fact Eltorien had killed her brothers. Could she forgive a murderer so easily? She had seen the monster with her own eyes! Her resolve would not falter! New arrangements were made for Eltorien: he left his rooms and sheltered in the furthest room of the castle, a solitary place, in a wing nobody ever set foot in. Olrien would call him using magic if they needed him; most of the time he was hiding, ashamed of what he had become. And yet, no matter how far his rooms were from hers, at late evening, Freya would often hear his shouts of pain, filled with despair and anguish, and she had more than once the impression he was agonising. Though she didn't know the exact effect of the curse on him, it seemed to torture him endlessly, sending him in mad rages whenever his self-control was snapping away; most probably the monstrous shape was exacerbating his berserk side. One thing puzzled her slightly: even for warriors, elves were used to beauty and grace; anything ugly generally hurt their feelings and they tended to avoid it. Yet, though Eltorien was horribly ugly, his men never avoided him, nor seemed hurt by his appearance. And it was even not make-believe in front of him, for she had heard them whisper about his shame: Eltorien himself was ashamed and hurt by his own shape, but nobody else from his army was. Even the shyest servant didn't fear him and felt sympathy for him. Such a behaviour was understandable from the humans, who had no taste whatsoever, as everybody knew it, but not from elves with fine education, like Moira or Olrien. She had seen Moira fighting her own shyness to come near Eltorien, put her hand on his shoulder to show him her sympathy, and the beautiful elf hadn't been horrified by her own actions. Despite Eltorien's own orders, the people in the castle were not very friendly with her; they use a cold stiff politeness, but she couldn't hold a grudge against them for their behaviour. Only Olrien talked to her from time to time, but never as long as the first time. It shouldn't have mattered to her, but as time passed by, she began to feel lonely. Morgon didn't dare to speak with her too much, for using the spell tired her quickly, so she was left to herself most of the time and she found herself yearning for the others' company. She tried to approach Moira, the closest to her rank, she esteemed, but something looking very much like fear rose in the blue eyes of the young elf and she ran away. Suspicious Odin came to Freya. "What did you do to Moira to send her running away like that?" he asked roughly. A tacit agreement in Eltorien's small army was that the nearest man was Moira's defender. This time it was Odin's turn and the barbarian already had natural instincts to protect a frail young maiden like Moira. "I just greeted her!" protested Freya, mortified. "You brought evil with you," grumbled Odin. "You studied dark arts, you are jinxed. Any elf in his right mind would fear you." "And you then?" she retorted vexed. "You don't seem to fear me." "I'm not an elf," shrugged Odin. "And, anyway, nobody ever said I was in my right mind." Moira waved her arm at him from a distant door and he left Freya, mumbling and grumbling. From his window Eltorien sighed sadly. Dissention as they were all trapped wasn't a good thing but he couldn't really blame his men: Freya had deceived them all, she was related to the enemy by the blood and she had admitted herself being a student in black arts. Everybody needed time for trust to be established. He left the window and his ugly face of a monster twisted in pain. He growled softly trying to choke it back; he had to control himself or else he would roar so loudly the whole castle would hear him! He knew he had probably scared the household at night, when pain was so unbearable nothing could choke back his shouts. Since Velrian's curse had transformed him into this hideous beast, he was in endless pain. There wasn't a single instant of respite and at night it grew so much his control usually snapped. Olrien entered his room; lately the magus had gotten bold enough to dare set foot in the forgotten wing. "Nimuea must be worried," said Eltorien without turning back. "You already told me that, Eltorien," replied softly the magus. "She will come here, because I didn't give her any news. She will come and she will find the wall of oaks; she won't understand, she will try to break through it. She might get hurt!" "Eltorien, since you took in Nimuea with you, you cared for nothing but her well-being. It is time for you to care a bit for yourself. The curse may be the occasion for that." "Caring for myself?" repeated Eltorien. "Olrien, be realistic: I am a monster, looking like nothing that exists, I would frighten even the most courageous warrior." "You must not renounce!" insisted Olrien. "And since your own life doesn't matter to you, think to all those people imprisoned here. They need you to break the curse for them to be free. Sooner or later we will be short of food and water, and then who knows what can happen!" "Olrien, please beg Lady Freya to find a way to free my men, even if I must endure this punishment for the rest of my living days. Please?" "I already talked with her, Eltorien. She doesn't know. The only thing we know is that the rose must not be broken. She said there is a way but that Morgon can't tell her, because both of them would die. But at least, there is a way." "Yes, there is, but maybe it's impossible to meet the conditions... Velrian's intention wasn't to give me any chance to break the curse." He motioned Olrien away, signifying his desire to remain alone. Sadly the magus left, feeling his heart stir in pity for the once-proud elf now reduced to a fearful monster. Once nobody could be found in the castle, not even Eltorien's demonic face at his window, Freya began to explore the castle, opening the doors without any scruples. And thus she ended up in rooms she knew to be Eltorien's former rooms. She looked around her, curiosity taking the better of her. Something told her that Eltorien had always lived in this room and there were some signs indicating that he had been very young when ennobled and given the castle. One carpet under the window still bore the marks of someone having lain on it and, when Freya bent down to look at the bas-reliefs, she noticed the slight blood stains on the white stone. The bas-reliefs represented the story of Isolde, a warrior elf, who had been the most beautiful elf of her time, and strangely, Freya felt a point of jealousy at the idea Eltorien had spent so much time looking at Isolde's stony representations. She straightened up and looked around. On a shelf were leather-bound books with the title written in gold, and they were all poetry books, except for one, huge volume that told the story of old heroes. The shelf under had several scrolls of paper and when she unrolled one, she saw poetry again, hand-written, and the handwriting was neat and well-formed, easy to read. The first scroll was retelling a well-known legend about the Singing Scarlet Oaks and Freya found herself enthralled by the rhythm and the choice of words. She picked up eagerly the second scroll as soon as she put down the first one and read it at one sitting. This one was describing a young unknown elf and it didn't take long to Freya to understand Eltorien had probably written this poem the very day he had found Nimuea wandering alone in the forest. Once again a total unfair jealousy shook her body. She put back the scroll on the shelf and then noticed with surprised there was a comfortable chair nearby; she sat in it and thought lengthily about Eltorien. This elf had everything to disconcert. Presented like a monster, admitting himself he was one, being a berserker - which was not a good thing for elves who pretended to be always in control of themselves - he had nevertheless spared her life, though she had brought him doom, and now he was a skilled poet! In the scroll about Nimuea, he was blaming the war raging over the country and yet he was himself a warrior! The door opened softly and she started, jumping on her feet, her cheeks burning of the guilt to have been found in Eltorien's rooms. She recoiled in her corner when seeing it was Eltorien himself who was back in his former rooms. Her eyes grew desperately wide as terror was spreading all over her. He saw her, surprise filling his eyes; then he noticed her fear and sadness dulled his brilliant gaze. Brushing against the wall, he went to the furthest corner from the door and she crept outside, unable to tear his eyes from his demonic shape with the sad eyes. She closed the door behind her, as if to put something between him and her, and ran to her rooms. Eltorien noticed immediately that the scrolls on the shelf had been moved; he took the last one she had read, the one about Nimuea, and read it again. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Nimuea," he whispered with his strangely distorted voice. "May you never be a wandering child again, with nobody to care for you!" He fixed the elegant handwriting that was his, then looked down at his misshapen paws and sighed. He had to relearn how to write. So he tried, with a piece of chalk, to write on his floor, wiping it clean with the back of his hand when he was getting frustrated. He spent hours and hours, persisting day after day, hiding in his forgotten wing so that nobody would know the shame he was feeling. He knew that, during this time, Freya was coming back into his old rooms in spite of her fear and she was reading the other scrolls. It seemed she couldn't fight it, drawn to his poetry as a butterfly to the flame. And finally he overcame his paws' disobedience and managed to write quite neatly, though his handwriting was nothing like the one he had before. Brushing against the walls, hiding in the shadows that were invading his castle day after day, he went back to his old rooms and read again the poems he had written so long ago, before even he knew he was at war with Velrian. He took a blank scroll and wrote carefully several words on it; he stopped, read again the two verses and crossed them out. Sighing he began again and again, never reaching more than ten verses before crossing the whole out. At the end, tired and frustrated, he crumpled the scroll and threw it in a corner. Dejectedly he left the room and went back to his hiding place. Stubbornly he came back the following day; he noticed on the floor some traces of wax; obviously Freya had come here by night with a candle. The scroll he had crumpled the previous day had been smoothed and was on the ground; on top of it were written - with an handwriting he didn't know - those words: "Why can't you write poetry anymore?" He looked at those words over and over again; he already knew she had read all the scrolls that were on the shelf and she clearly wanted some more. He wondered if he should have felt angry that she was reading his poetry or not, because the poems were revealing his very soul, but then he discovered he didn't care. He would have liked to satisfy her by giving her more poems, but he couldn't; inspiration had left him and he couldn't make the words soar as he was doing before. Slowly, carefully, he wrote as an answer: "A song must be free." Sadly he left almost immediately, but only to come again the following day, hoping for an answer. And there was one, one his eyes couldn't believe at first: "Please talk to me. I am lonely." He carefully cut that piece of the scroll, took a new scroll and wrote at the top of it: "I would like to, but do not know which subject to tackle without hurting you. Please give me some hints." He put the little piece just above the new scroll and left in a hurry. He was back the very evening, driven by a mad hope she would have come during the day. And indeed she had and her answer was neatly written under his still-shaking handwriting. "Tell me of your life in this forest, please." So he did and it became a ritual between them. He was coming early in the morning and in the evening, she was coming around noon and during the night, as if she couldn't sleep. Their exchanges were quite limited for paper couldn't convey too much as for feelings. Even if Eltorien knew that Freya was afraid of him, he had no idea of how much it cost her to come in his old room every day, nor how hungrily she read his words, always regretting he hadn't written more. As for Freya, she couldn't even imagine Eltorien crouching on the ground, trying his best to write neatly with his misshapen paws, reading what she had written as if it was nectar to his eyes. Both had grown fond of the correspondence, staying later and later to read the words of the other and to answer, and scrolls were going by, carefully kept by Eltorien on the shelf with his poems. After asking again and again about him, Freya began to confide in Eltorien, telling him of her life with her father and Morgon. She told him of everything her father had told her about him and Eltorien was very embarrassed to answer the veiled accusations. He ended up by replying very briefly: "I cannot deny them, for a father's words are always stronger than a stranger's, I can just hope that my actions will show you who I really am." Freya almost cried when reading those words; it seemed to her she could feel Eltorien's pain at the idea she still despised and hated him, and his words were so noble she was tempted to write feverishly that she believed him. His single line as for answer, instead of the paragraphs he was usually writing, was telling more than words could have done. "Forgive me, my friend, for having hurt you. I didn't realise until I read your words the cruelty of my own thoughts that I dared to write on the paper, for you to read! I'm so very sorry." Eltorien read her answer twice before understanding it: she was apologising? How could it be? He was the monster and she was apologising? He banged his head against the floor, cursing his demonic shape. "Lady Freya, if I ever made you think I was hurt and needed apologies, then I am the one to be sorry, for this wasn't my intention..." He rose up the head quickly; Freya had just pushed the door and was standing on the threshold, looking at him. He uttered a chocked growl of dismay and recoiled in a corner, hiding behind his paws. She came to him, her eyes shining only ever so slightly with fear, and she stopped to bend down and pick up the scroll to read his words. "You didn't make me think this, my lord," she said then and her soft voice hurt him like thousand needles piercing his flesh. "I thought by myself, reading again the words I had written. I was almost challenging you to tell me that my father had only lied to me and your answer was perfect." Eltorien didn't move, still curled up in his corner. "My lord, do not hide from me like this, please," she begged. "I'm sorry to have behaved like a fool at the beginning." He choked on his words, for they were hurting: "How can I know you are not trying to trick me now?" She bit her lower lip; she obviously hadn't thought of that. "Listen, I know it may be sudden, but I think I'm beginning to see who you are through this correspondence of ours," she said, half-extending her hand toward him. "I think I... I would like to try the next step." "Next step? Which next step?" asked Eltorien, confused, but slowly beginning to uncurl up. "Talking to each other, instead of writing." "You would like to... see me? See this monstrosity I am?" he said incredulous. "The others do. Why couldn't I? Am I less than them because I am a Golden Leaves?" "No, no! That's not what I meant! But... the others are warriors, used to the atrocities of war. You are not." "Your servants are not warriors." "True, but they knew I was the berserker and they took the risk even so. They chose; you didn't." "I'm choosing now." "What would Morgon say?" "The only thing Morgon has been able to tell me lately is to follow my heart. That's what I'm doing right now. Please, my lord? Or is it too early for you?" He shook his huge head. "It's never early enough to end a feud." Then he looked frankly at her. "Why did you choose me? Moira would have been a better choice, once she would have overcome her natural shyness." "The others are apparently not as forgiving as you are." "I told them to be nice to you." "It wasn't enough." "No, I told them again, reminding them that you were our only chance to break the curse." "Is it why you spend time with me?" asked Freya, suddenly feeling very cold. "No. Morgon didn't expect you to be trapped here, so you are as helpless as we are." He attempted to shrug, which ended up in an awkward move. "Don't ask me why, my lady," he added, "because I don't know. I guess it's how I am. My habit of always wanting to have the easy job, maybe," he concluded with a hint of humour. She smiled. "You are very convincing in this role," she said. She went to the door and turned before leaving. "Lord Eltorien, I'm sorry for the wrong my father caused you," she said softly. He half-closed his golden red eyes. "Thank you for apologising, my lady," he replied to the closed door. Freya felt her heart soar: she had a friend in this accursed place! And it was not just anybody, it was the lord of the place himself! She didn't listen to the perfidious little voice in her head telling her that he was her foe since she was born. She wanted to share that newfound joy with Morgon, but when the mists of the spell cleared, Morgon was nowhere to be found in his laboratory. She frowned, surprised: Morgon had rarely left his laboratory since she was trapped here. She sat down and waited, but Morgon never showed up. Tired and worried, she went to bed, hoping she would see him in the morning. Since Eltorien and Freya had made a truce, a pact for ending the feud, one could have thought everything would have gone smoothly after that. It was more than only slightly wrong. As Eltorien heard the last report as for the food supplies, he got very angry: the news was very bad and already, since the past week, they had had to reduce each helping. Nobody had protested: there was no protest to be done. Eltorien swore and cursed Velrian, his own berserk blood, his bad luck and a lot of other things. Olrien was already seeing the moment when Eltorien would be so lost in his wrath that nobody would be able to stop him. Freya was there, half-hiding in a corner, quite terrified by this violent outburst. Olrien came fearlessly to Eltorien, who was standing still, though his eyes were glowing a bright red, and seized his horns, bringing down the demonic face to his. "Eltorien!" he shouted. "Look at me! Look at me!" Eltorien shook himself, trying to gain control over his berserk side, and a dim glow of gold appeared in his eyes. Olrien shook the huge head as if it was only a toy. "Look at me!" he commanded again imperiously. The elfish lord was obviously fighting against himself. "Don't let it take your soul," said Olrien softly. The golden glow cleared the fiery gaze and Eltorien let go a deep breath. "Thank you, Olrien." Freya, certain the incident was over, relaxed in her corner. Then a messenger entered the room, out of breath. "Terrible news!" he said immediately, without waiting for someone to ask him what was wrong. "The forest is possessed! The circle of the trees around the castle suddenly tightened around us! And it crushed two of us in the process..." "Crushed?" repeated Eltorien, his eyes flaring with anger. "Between two trees," explained miserably the messenger. "Eltorien, stay calm!" said sharply Olrien. The elfish lord dismissed the messenger and began to pace nervously the room. "It's my fault," he said briskly. "It's my anger." "What are you babbling about?" asked Olrien, frowning. "Isn't it obvious? It was my first real anger since the day of the curse and immediately our space is reduced and two of us die! No, Olrien, I'm not looking further, this is why! Not only I am cursed to be under this horrible shape, but also, now, Velrian wants to hurt me by killing my friends! Nice curse indeed that this fragile and beautiful crystal rose brought to me!" Olrien tried to stop him, for he had noticed Freya was there and the young elf was shaking with shame and grief. Eltorien caught his movement from the corner of his eye and shrugged. "She is not guilty, she didn't know what the curse was. She didn't even know me!" "The worst problem," intervened Ker Tor, "is that if we have less place in the forest, there are less animals to hunt." Eltorien shrugged again. "What does that change? We never managed to catch any animal since we are here, anyway." He stopped suddenly. "I could. I'm half-way between beast and demon, I should be able to track down animals for us to eat." Sceptic gazes answered him; Eltorien had never been a very good hunter, for his berserk blood drove away any patience he could have had. "Maybe allow someone to go with you, Eltorien," offered Olrien. "What for? So that someone can see me hunting like a wild beast?" "No, so that someone can calm you if you go berserk," said softly the magus. Eltorien threw him a dark glance. "I would rather die," he said between clenched teeth, leaving the room. Olrien came to the castle's main gate shortly after and he was surprised to find a deer neatly killed on the threshold. Some rabbits followed and then a boar, but this one wore some deep wounds that showed the hunt had turned into a fight. Finally Eltorien came back at the castle, half-covered with blood. "What happened?" frowned Olrien. "Nothing much. The boar was in company, but the others are not decently presentable." Olrien understood what he meant and didn't insist anymore. It soon began obvious that every dark emotion that Eltorien was feeling had an impact on the forest or the castle. When he was sad or gloomy, the castle was going darker and darker, while some lights would go off and refuse to turn on again. The external walls were all black by now, the great ballroom's lights were all off and nobody could light them anymore. The personal rooms were getting black too and everybody was feeling depressed. When Eltorien was angry though, the forest was affected, the circle of trees tightened slowly but surely around the castle. The food was getting rarer and rarer; the food supplies from the castle had all vanished and everybody was relying on Eltorien's newfound hunting skills and some servants were going in the forest every day, trying to find some berries, roots or leaves to eat. Eltorien, though hunting most of the day, was the most depressed of all. Seeing his people get thinner every day by his fault was wearing him down. Then he had Freya who was deeply worried about Morgon's absence, for he still hadn't showed up. One evening, near a fire he had painfully managed to build, Eltorien said bitterly: "I should kill myself. That would probably set all of you free." Freya was the only one with him; they had put their little conversations to the evening, since Eltorien was so busy during the day, trying desperately to hunt enough to feed everybody. "That wouldn't be a good idea. If it doesn't set us free, then we will all starve, for we cannot survive without you." "But think of it! Freedom! For the curse is linked to me, to my awful temper, and if I am no more, then surely the curse will annihilate itself. And all of you would recover your long-lost freedom..." "That's a price too high to pay for me to accept," said Freya firmly. "And I'm sure none of your people would accept it either." "You would rather stay prisoner?" asked bitterly Eltorien. "I would rather be trapped in this castle with you alive than free with you dead, my friend," reasserted Freya. A dim glow lighted up in Eltorien's gaze and suddenly Freya was looking at eyes entirely gold. "Thank you for this kind thought, my lady," said the elfish lord. Freya smiled gently and left almost immediately, for she felt she had said too much. She had learnt it was better to go slow with Eltorien: he was hypersensitive and nobody knew yet what too much joy would do. But even those kind words weren't enough. Unknown from his people, even from Olrien, Eltorien had been giving his share of food to others, pretending he had fed upon preys that weren't 'decently presentable', as he was formulating it. It may have been the truth for maybe one day in a week and his great force soon began to wither. Day after day, he was getting weaker, but was far too proud to admit it, pushing himself too hard for his people's sake, and, maybe, unconsciously, was he wishing for death, for his monstrous shape was dreadful to him. Eltorien had noticed something else his people hadn't: the population of the forest seemed to change with his angers too. The deer were almost impossible to find now and he doubted very much he had hunted them all. On the contrary, boars were almost everywhere and getting more and more ferocious. Eltorien didn't mind that much: it was for him an easy way to get rid of all his frustration. Until the day he met with a huge bear. Eltorien himself was probably bigger, but the bear was well-fed and very strong compared to the elfish lord who had been starving himself for the past two weeks... As Eltorien wasn't coming back and night was falling on the forest - they were still wondering how they could tell day from night in the almost perfect darkness they were living in - the elves got nervous. The first of them, Ker Tor jumped on his feet and ran in the forest, knowing enough Eltorien's tracks to follow them easily, his cat's eyes seeing perfectly in the night. The others shook themselves from their lethargy, pushed their hunger in the back of their mind and spread in the forest to try to find Eltorien. As expected, Ker Tor found it first and called the others. Silently they came near the two bodies entwined on the ground; even in death the bear had refused to release his grip on Eltorien and the elfish lord was lying under the heavy bear, his eyes closed, a bloody stone just next to his head. Odin and his mercenaries didn't take long to separate Eltorien from the bear and then the strongest of them carried Eltorien back to the castle, while the rest was cutting up the bear to bring food at the castle. Freya was on the threshold of the main gate, waiting impatiently for the return of the scouts. When seeing the first group arriving, with Eltorien motionless, she felt her heart sinking. She ran to them. "Tell me he's not dead!" she implored to Ker Tor whom she had found to be the kindest to her. The others looked at her in surprise; none of them had noticed the sudden fondness of their forced guest for their lord. "He's not dead," replied gently Ker Tor, "but he may die if we don't care for him quickly." Freya ran the fastest she ever had, back into the castle, commanding the servants to hurry; at the beginning, they were obeying, but just because their lord had told them to obey her, but as soon as they understood Eltorien was wounded, they activated their pace. The elves carrying him blinked when entering in the room Freya motioned them into. She had probably gathered all the remaining lights from the whole castle in this room and it seemed to them, who had lived with scarce light for so long now, that the walls were shining gold. They carefully laid their lord down on the bed and removed the last rags off his shoulders. The servants immediately began to fuss around him, but Freya shooed them away, bending down on Eltorien, a wet cloth in the hand to clean all the blood on his chest. The others were looking at her quite quizzically, except maybe Olrien, who always knew more than he wanted to admit. He looked around, wondering briefly about the room, and noticed then with a light surprise that it was Freya's own room and that Eltorien was lying on her bed! Moira tugged on his sleeve. "Can we trust her?" she asked bluntly. "Ask her," shrugged Olrien. But Moira didn't get the time: Freya almost pushed all of them out of the room and closed the door. She opened one of the windows, so that Eltorien would have fresh air, and continued to treat all his wounds. It was very late in the night when she was finally all done and, exhausted, felt asleep on a chair. When Eltorien opened the eyes, he first thought to be looking at light shining on the golden leaves of a scarlet oak. "I'm dead," he thought with a sort of relief. "Nobody else but dead people can make the truce." Then from the corner of his eye he saw a silhouette gracefully asleep, her charming head on her arm, her hair falling down, the extremity brushing the floor. "An elf goddess... for me!" He tried to move, so that he could greet her properly, but pain shot through him and he fell back on the bed. The goddess sighed softly and Eltorien's sight cleared. He was in a bright room and the golden leaves of the scarlet oak were simply a tapestry hanging on the wall. He turned the head to see the goddess and realised with mild surprise it was Freya. "Freya?" he whispered with a hoarse voice. She woke up in a start and came by his side. "How are you feeling?" she asked, avoiding mentioning he had called her for the first time by her name. "What happened?" "They brought you from the forest in this state. Ker Tor can probably tell you why, but I can't." "What is this room? And the tapestry?" A slight blush covered Freya's cheeks. "This is my room," she admitted. "And, well, I like that tapestry." "Where did you find it?" "Totally forgotten in one of the rooms in the forgotten wing." "What were you doing there?" asked Eltorien, frowning. "Well... hum... I was trying to... find the courage to come see you?" she said, her tone interrogative. "Were you afraid I would harm you?" "No! It's just that... I wasn't sure you would welcome any presence, since you had chosen to... hide." "I see," he said calmly. "Why did you choose to have me in your rooms?" "That was easier for me to treat you!" "My servants would have done that. Or my men." "I... I don't know, I wanted to care for you..." "Don't try to make it for what your father did to me," said Eltorien, turning the head away. "I'm not! How could some words make you forgive what you are now because of my father?" "Oh please! Are you not going to tell me that your father had reasons to do this? Didn't I kill his precious sons, your brothers?" "Nothing could justify this terrible curse he laid upon you," she said with sincerity. Eltorien didn't reply. Freya sat back in her chair. "Why did you begin this war?" "I don't know," said Eltorien, surprised. "I guess, long ago, someone of our families did a wrong to the other one and it started a war. After that, when one was attacked, he didn't remember why and just riposted, each one believing genuinely being the victim and merely being defending themselves." Freya nodded and Eltorien closed his eyes, tired. He had to clench his teeth tight so that he wouldn't howl his pain: his wounds made him suffer, added to the usual pain he had to deal with. Silently, Freya left the room. Eltorien spent one full week lying on Freya's bed - to his great humiliation - and had to eat what she was giving him, because she wasn't leaving the room until he had swallowed the last bite. When he had protested he couldn't decently eat in front of her, she quizzically had cocked an eyebrow to him. "You thus want me to force the food down your throat?" had she asked sweetly. Eltorien had given up. During this week, he either talked with Freya or slept or kept his gaze fixed on the tapestry in front of him, wondering over and over why it was in his castle. He couldn't remember having seen it ever before, but then he hadn't gone to the forgotten wing that often either. After the week nobody could prevent Eltorien to get out of bed - and out of Freya's rooms. She tried to tell him he still wasn't healed - which was true - but he simply wouldn't listen. She tried to hold him back, her little hands soft and light on his furry arm, but he escaped her grasp quite easily. "Do not touch me!" he said in a growl. "How can you touch me, haven't you seen what I am?" He almost fled and decided, she pursued him till his old room, where he had to face her. "Why are you doing that?" he howled. She softly closed the door behind her and looked at him. "Why are you so scared of me?" "Maybe because you have a good history!" replied Eltorien whose temper was beginning to flare. "That's not fair!" she accused, tears threatening to invade her eyes. "Oh, because now we are fighting fair? When did the rules change? I am a monster, my lady, you father made sure to ensure that, why should I be fair? Monsters are not even supposed to know the meaning of the word!" At first, Freya was unable to answer but then she tried to protest. Eltorien almost jumped on her, his claw delicately closing her lips. "Don't protest," he growled, his eyes glowing red, "you know it and I know it." "Lord Eltorien," she begged, "please, your temper... You know the danger!" "The danger... Ah yes! The danger! Maybe you should think of it this way: wouldn't it be better if we were all dead? One last berserk anger and everything would be over!" "Please... you are frightening me!" "Only now? You are not a fast learner then! What, you are afraid I could put this huge paw of mine, armed with powerful claws, around this beautiful neck of yours and tighten my grip? You are right to be afraid, I could do this and worse!" He caught his breath as he looked in Freya's frightened eyes. He released slowly his grip and stepped back. "Go," he said hoarsely. "Go now before I change my mind." "No!" she protested, shaking. "I can't let you alone in this state!" "Believe me, staying is more dangerous than leaving. Go!" She shook her head. His control snapping, he pounced on her, knocking her on her back, on the carpet under the window, and leaned over her. Suddenly, all her fear disappeared like by magic; even with his demonic face so near hers she wasn't really afraid: she knew deep inside that even if he was totally berserk, lost in his anger, he wouldn't harm her. There was a control in him that was stronger than all the spells of the magus and he wouldn't hurt a woman or a child. Realisation of her own thoughts struck her: that was what she was really thinking of him, out of her father's poisonous words, and she was thinking of him as a man of honour. As to confirm her opinion his golden red eyes saddened as he realised what he was doing and he began to lift himself up. "No!" she protested, putting her hands on his shoulders to hold him back, her hands sliding then easily around his neck. He resisted, trying to escape her even so, and she had to tighten her hold on him, bringing him closer to her. "Surely you don't want a monster to lean over you like that," he objected. "You are no monster," she said. He frowned in perplexity. "What do you mean? Look at me! I look more like a demon than an elf!" "Do you remember the tapestry?" she said, taking him aback by her sudden change of subject. "There are scarlet oaks with golden leaves. You are Eltorien of Scarlet Oaks and I am Freya of Golden Leaves." "I don't understand," replied Eltorien, who had wondered often in front of this particular tapestry. "Olrien was right. Though you are looking repulsive and fearful, though your temper is violent and quite unpredictable, I have found that I can look beyond what I was taught to believe. We are foes and yet we are one." "One?" "Don't you understand, Eltorien?" she insisted. "You are no monster to me because I saw the elf behind the monster and I love this elf. Which means that I love you." Eltorien's surprise was boundless but he didn't have the time to express it. They heard the shattering sound of crystal but amplified a hundred times while the singing of the scarlet oaks around them grew so loud it was deafening. Eltorien felt a force trying to tear him away from Freya's arms and then she was screaming, screaming his name, screaming helplessly as she was trying to hold him back against her. He called her name back, his voice sounding strange to his ears, his arms closing on her, holding her tight against him, as he was trying to protect her from the sudden raging. "Eltorien! Eltorien!" she screamed. "Don't leave me!" "I won't leave you," he promised, his voice sounding even stranger to him in the middle of the raging. A new force threw them to the ground and he enfolded her in his arms to protect her. She clutched tightly to him and he could feel her shiver of fear, but somehow he knew that it was not fear of him. Then the raging disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Eltorien straightened up a bit to make sure Freya was not harmed. A new light was dancing on her face and in her eyes as she smiled at him. She held out her little hand toward his face, touched it quite wonderingly and then whispered: "You are so handsome..." Eltorien almost choked. "Handsome? Me?" "Look at you, Eltorien," she said with an adorable smile. And then he noticed that it was a hand near Freya's neck, not a paw. A hand, his hand! "Am I... am I me again?" "You are. Oh yes, you are!" He stood up, bringing her with him without any effort and looked by the window. Suddenly the view was clear and he could see daylight. "We are free," he whispered. "You broke the curse, my lady!" She turned his face to her. "'My lady'?" she repeated, pained. "After what I confessed to you, you are still calling me 'my lady'? Don't you... love me too?" His only response was an enigmatic smile and he bent down to brush his lips against hers. "I do," he answered in a breath. He released her and opened the door, running in the stairs and corridors. They were all outside the castle, breathing fresh air and turning their face with eyes closed toward the sun. Olrien almost fell on the ground when he saw him. "You are back!" he exclaimed and everybody cheered. The magus's joy vanished like snow in the sun when he noticed that somehow Eltorien had managed to grab his weapons on the way out. Freya had seen it too and she came near him. "Where are you going?" she asked, trembling. "To stop a war, Freya, love. Since I'm supposed to be a great warrior, maybe it's time for me to step forward and actually do something!" "How do you know?" "Olrien finally ended up telling me. It's not really glorious, is it?" "You don't need it to be my hero." He smiled and reluctantly let go of her. In her eyes he could read her plea 'Don't kill him, don't kill him, please...' and he wondered briefly if she was pleading for her father's life or Morgon's. "Let's go," he commanded. They were tired, hungry and not yet recovered of their newfound freedom and light, but they all obeyed like one man, ready to follow their lord. They walked without any rest, hurrying out of the forest, toward the elf king's castle. Surprise and horror seized them as they saw the forest ravaged beyond the trees that had held them prisoner for so long. Olrien shivered and whispered: "Magic, dark magic..." He didn't need to say more; Eltorien understood what he meant and he thanked the Gods for Freya's absence. At midway between the forest and the king's castle - among destroyed lands - a single man was facing an army and, leading the army, proud and fearless, was standing Nimuea. Eltorien felt very proud of his little elf. Though he had never met him before, he knew who was the man facing the army: it could only be Morgon and indeed it was him, driven mad by his grief for having lost Freya and avenging himself on everybody around him. The fight began before Eltorien could intervene or even bring his own troops to Nimuea. Morgon was mad, magic coming from him like an incessant flow; in front of him, Nimuea didn't yield any inch of ground. Fiercely she ran forward, a light in her eyes that was quite reminding of the one in Eltorien's when in his berserk state. A wave of black magic hit her full-force; Eltorien faltered, thinking his little elf lost, but the blow didn't even slow her down. "She is berserk!" whispered Olrien in awe. "And a great warrior will raise as darkness will break on lands torn apart by wars; as everybody will step back or run away in front of the terrible threat, the chosen one will stand firm, protected by the berserk rage..." quoted softly Eltorien. "It's her, it's not me! It never was me!" "No!" protested Olrien. "You are both the chosen ones! Go help her, for you alone can stop Morgon's destroying fury!" Eltorien just needed an encouragement to go to Nimuea's rescue and his men followed like one. As soon as Morgon saw Eltorien, he knew immediately who he was, feeling the mark his dark arts had left on him and his wrath knew no more limit. "Freya, may thy blood fall on thy murderer!" he shouted quite theatrically. Curiously Eltorien didn't turn berserk; he placed himself in front of Nimuea, protecting her from her own fury, and shouted back to Morgon: "Freya is not dead! She is in my castle, safe, worrying for you, as you would know if you were still in your castle instead of ravaging the lands!" "You are lying!" "Then how could I be standing in front of you? Would Freya's death have broken the curse?" Morgon calmed down immediately. "No," he admitted. "The only way Freya would have been able to help you had nothing to do with her death." "I agree. Believe me, she is alive and well. I would have had her coming with me, but I didn't want to put her at risk in a possible battle." "So you are keeping her prisoner?" asked Morgon, his temper flaring again. "Absolutely not, she is staying with me of her own free will." "Unbelievable!" exclaimed Morgon. Then he looked attentively at Eltorien. "Did she... free you?" "Yes, she broke the curse." "It can't be, she was supposed to bring peace, not Freya and you." Eltorien's surprise knew no bound as Morgon was showing Nimuea who was progressively calming down from her berserk fury. "Nimuea? What could do this poor amnesiac child?" he said, placing himself defensively in front of her. "She is the key, she is the proof." "Which proof?" "Of the union between two bloods hating each other: she is the golden leaf of the scarlet oak." "What? Nimuea is..." "She is the daughter of Marana of Golden Leaves, sister of Velrian, and of your own father, Eltorien of Scarlet Oaks!" "I knew it, I knew it!" whispered Olrien, excited. "I knew she was bound to the forest of the Singing Scarlet Oaks." "How is it possible?" wondered Eltorien, putting his arm around Nimuea's fragile shoulders. "When he was young, your father fell in love with Marana and, not caring for the war already raging between your families, the two young elves eloped together. The one you call Nimuea is the proof of their mutual love." "But she couldn't stay," said Nimuea with a dreamy voice. "She weaved a tapestry, scarlet oaks with golden leaves, and disappeared one night, taking me with her. He ran after her, but he never found her. Attacked on the way back to her brother's castle, she lost me in the forest and I was raised by a wild elf who happened to find me." "Marana made it home and when seeing his sister, Velrian grieved. The only words she could pronounce before falling in a coma she would never awake from were 'scarlet oaks' and Velrian's hatred grew so much he swore nothing would prevent him to wipe away your family from the living world. As for your father, mad with grief, he had to marry for the berserk cause of your magus friend and then you came." Eltorien took Nimuea's face between his hands. "My sister," he wondered aloud. "The living proof our two families can love and not only hate." "Freya and you are another proof," said softly Morgon. Eltorien looked down. "Will Velrian accept to see his beloved daughter go away with his sworn enemy?" he whispered. "Velrian thinks you killed Freya as soon as you discovered her duplicity." "Why didn't you tell him the truth?" "Because he said he wanted to teach her a lesson; he wanted to take her from me, when I have been more a father to her than he would ever be! She is more my daughter than his!" Nimuea stepped forward, looking as if she was still lost in her trance, and touched lightly Morgon's cheek. "You loved my mother," she said, sounding surprised. "You were her magus and her friend, until she died and then you wanted to bring down my other family... But you discovered the truth then..." "No, child, I discovered it only when seeing you and anger seized me for having hated during so long the wrong persons! But you look so much like Marana, you could only be her daughter... If I had known who was 'Nimuea' when I was creating this curse, never would I have done it!" "And then never would have Freya come at my castle," underlined Eltorien, watching Nimuea half-snuggling against Morgon. "And it seems Nimuea has inherited something from her mother..." he added with an amused smile. "No!" protested Morgon. "I can't... Go away with Freya and protect Nimuea... Without his daughter, Velrian is only the shadow of himself, his hatred will soon be extinct." "Come with us, Morgon. Dark arts or not, you are Freya's friend and almost father, you were once Olrien's master and obviously Nimuea doesn't really want to see you leave. That's enough for me." "But, the curse..." "A curse? Which curse?" said Eltorien with a large smile. So they all came back to the castle of Scarlet Oaks and Nimuea took the tapestry in her hands. "This was given out of love from my mother to your father," she said gravely to Eltorien. "Keep it preciously." And so he did, for it was hanging on the wall when Freya and he got married and he insisted to have it too for Nimuea and Morgon's marriage. Freya insisted too and Morgon had to surrender, which he would have done gladly anyway, just to see the dancing light of joy in the eyes of his young bride.

All texts © Azrael 2002.
Parure Deva Lake, by Moyra/Mystic PC. Copyright © 2000. All rights reserved.