Private Tales Elven Eyes Only See So Much

[Ilion]

Though larger and broader than most his brethren, he was nearly as swift as any of them. Perhaps not as nimble, or agile, but he could cover ground quickly, and he could do so quietly when needed. But the likes of he was not quick enough to keep up with whom he sought it seemed. From what he knew, these were her very talents. He would be hard pressed to contend with them like this.

But with the lands as perilous as they were in these times, no one, not even the daughter of Anárion, was permitted to operate in the forests alone.

Especially not the daughter of Anárion.

He placed his hand upon a wide, dark tree, and peered out from alongside it. He could see no enemies, and though he could feel the presence of another Aerai nearby, he could not determine where. She was either naturally so guarded - which was not uncommon - or she perceived his presence as well, and wished to hide herself from him. Youthful as she was... this too, would not be a surprise. Many young Aerai aspired to prove themselves in this conflict it seemed. And that was precisely his fear... and the fear of others.

He darted out from that place, and quickly made his way into another guarding shadow, and then peered out from that place as well before continuing.

 

[Isilya]

The forest held its breath.

Isilya had known someone was following her for some time now. Not an enemy—too careful, too disciplined. But not someone she had invited, either.

She crouched low upon a thick branch, pressing into the bark. The play of shadow and light across the canopy disguised her form, the leaves breaking any clear silhouette. She was still, waiting. Watching.

Below, he moved with purpose. Too large to be truly silent, but practiced enough to make up for it. She had led him deep now, far from the main roads, far from any easy retreat. He was hunting her, but he did not yet know that she was hunting him, too.

He paused at the base of a tree, pressing a hand to its dark bark. Searching. Feeling. She knew he could sense her, for she could sense him too, but he could not see her. A light smile tugged at her lips. No doubt someone who thought they could drag her back to the Order, as if she were some lost fledgling who had wandered too far from the nest..

She wouldn’t let it happen. With a slow, steady breath, she nocked an arrow and let it fall into place. One smooth motion, effortless, instinctive, she released. The arrow cut through the quiet like a breath of wind.

Thunk.

It struck the ground just inches from his toes, the shaft still quivering from the force of its descent.

Silence reigned for a moment longer before, from above, her soft voice drifted down, calm and edged with quiet amusement.

"You should be more careful," she said. "These woods are dangerous."

And then, before he could respond, she was gone.

 

[Ilion]

He heard it first, and his hand was upon the hilt of his sword when the arrow struck, his back still to his attacker.

Too slow.

And yet there he lingered and not another shot came, or at least not of the same measure. But as he turned to see, his eyes nearly missed her, swift as she was. But he did indeed see her. That was a start.

He rested there with himself a moment, his eyes cast off into her direction. What she was up to exactly, he simply could not tell, but if he knew anything of her from her father... he sighed, knelt, and gathered up the arrow before once again giving chase.

But he did not follow after in the direction she had gone.

 

[Isilya]

Isilya moved through the forest as though she belonged to it, her footsteps light upon moss and fallen leaves, her breath steady and measured. The trees stretched high above, their shifting canopies casting restless patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. She slipped between them with ease, using their thick trunks for cover, leaping from rock to root without breaking her stride, without disturbing the earth.

She slowed to a stop after a while, pressing a palm against the rough bark of a tree, her body stilling as she listened again, her senses stretched out, searching. Nothing. No footfalls behind her, no rustling of branches, no distant shift of weight upon the ground.

Silence.

A trick? Or had he truly abandoned the chase?

She exhaled softly and continued, this time more carefully, slipping from one shadow to the next, testing the quiet. The wind stirred through the leaves, carrying with it the distant murmur of rushing water, a sound that pulled at her attention. A stream lay ahead, winding through the rocks, its path carving a narrow canyon for the water to tumble down. The scent of wet stone and fresh water curled through the air as she neared, her body finally slowing as she reached the edge.

Kneeling, she dipped her fingers into the icy stream, feeling the bite of the cold before bringing a handful to her lips. The water was crisp, refreshing, grounding. She let herself rest there for a moment, the sound of the river masking the steady rhythm of her breath.

 

[Ilion]

Speed alone was far from his friend in this chase. There would be no catching her, not like this. She would outlast him, and he'd fall embarrassingly behind in but a short while. But he was far from the youthful spirit he stalked. Her confidence, though admirable, was misplaced. He'd known these woods for far longer than she'd been alive. So it would be experience that he would lean on then, foregoing his usual method of charging headlong into the situation. The likes of Erën, Anárion... the late Aidathin...

He paused for a moment, his eyes drawing upward as he reflected the lessons of old.

Continuing on, his thoughts did as well.

It was the likes of they who were the exemplars of such tactical precision. And though he had differed from them to a degree, he had learned from them well.

The methods of the enemy are treacherous... abounding, invading...​

Whispers started around her...

You must harden yourself. You must know their way. ​

A dark weight, listless at first, falling slowly all around...

Do not. Go into the forest. Alone.
​

If not from the likes of them, then from he, she too would learn.

---

A cold crept in. A shadow came forth. And all around was as night.

Trampling footsteps in the distance... Gnashing biting growls... they did not draw near, but they were close.

The trees about her groaned and cried as a cruel wind pulled at their tips. ​

 

[Isilya]

The chill swept through the forest like an omen. Isilya felt it first in her bones, a sharpness that clawed at the edges of her mind. She paused, a flicker of unease twisting in her chest.

Her senses, already honed, tingled with an unfamiliar presence—something that lingered just out of sight. A weight, heavy and oppressive, pressing down like a fog creeping in.

The trees groaned, and she felt it in the deep, resonant shudder beneath her feet, the way the air seemed to tremble, as if the forest itself was warning her. Her gaze shot upward as the wind howled through the canopy as if in an effort to rip them from the earth.

And then, footsteps. But not the careful, measured step of the pursuer she had been evading. No, this was different—this was too many. The snarls and growls that echoed between the trees made her breath catch, her hand tightening around the the curve of her bow as she drew an arrow and nocked it. They weren’t close yet, but the noise was unmistakable.

Shadows.

The whispered warnings, the memories of ancient lessons, filled her mind, her father’s voice, a quiet echo, reminding her of the dangers that lurked beyond the borders of their knowing. Isilya’s heart raced..

The wind howled again, louder now, as if in pursuit. The trees’ groans turned to cries of protest, their branches buckling under the force of the wind, as though the forest itself was caught in a struggle. In one swift motion, she pulled her hood low, hiding her face beneath its shadow, and she melded with the forest once more. Her form was swallowed by the darkness, each step as silent as the next. She moved through the trees, her every instinct telling her to go deeper, to keep ahead of whatever was drawing near, but it was as though she was surrounded.

Isilya crouched low, moving silently along the ground, though her heart beat so loudly in her chest she feared the entire forest could hear. Perhaps, listening to her father was not the worst idea..

 

[Ilion]

It had taken no more than an instant of levity, the subtlest lessening of his mind's guarding - little more than a breath amidst the wind.

But it called to them.

Even Ilion became perturbed. They had drawn unto them far faster than he had anticipated, but as the rumbling sound of the Gwathui packs rolled by, it was clear that they had been led only so close. In the distance, he spotted them, biting and gnashing at one another. But, with them being once again blinded to the presence Ilion had so brazenly displayed to them, they were driven to head off in some wayward direction... but only so far. They would not be so easily deterred, and seemed to linger just there within earshot.

Despite his trepidation, and his relief, he seized the moment of near calamity - an opportunity and now, by his own design, an even more dire need.

Now it was he who had ascended into the trees, and he like any elf found his footing with ease amongst such grand branches. Drawn by mere whispers of her presence, skillful as she was, her heightened caution did lead him. But he need not catch her now, he believed.

Perhaps the point had been made.

Drawing near, now it was his voice that called out, and he said, "perhaps now you see? This enemy has come for us, Isilya. They will come for you." He dropped down from the branches, and rather than take up some chase, he found himself the mossy remains of a fallen tree, and sat, "it is not a lack in you or anyone else that we fear... it is them."

---

Isilya ​

 

[Isilya]

Isilya remained still, crouched behind the boulder, her breath shallow and measured. The Gwathui had come and passed like a storm on the edge of a horizon, never quite striking but leaving the taste of thunder in the air. She had felt them, the way they moved—like hunger given form, like shadows that breathed. Even now, they lingered, restless, just beyond.

Then, another presence shifted. Closer.

Her fingers tensed around the hilt of her dagger as she turned, silent as the forest, but before she could vanish again, a voice cut through the quiet.

'Perhaps now you see? This enemy has come for us, Isilya. They will come for you.'

The sound of it stopped her—not the words themselves, but the way they were spoken. No longer the measured pursuit of a hunter. No command. No demand. A warning.

She straightened from her hiding place, turning toward the source, her bow still in hand but lowered. The figure moved in the trees above, swift and sure, before descending, landing lightly on the mossy remains of a fallen trunk. He did not press her, did not move to chase. Instead, he simply sat.

'It is not a lack in you or anyone else that we fear... it is them.'

For a moment, she said nothing. The wind stirred the leaves between them, carrying the distant sound of the Gwathui, still prowling just beyond sight. Lingering. Waiting.

Isilya exhaled slowly, pressing the tension from her shoulders, though the sharpness in her gaze did not fade. She stepped closer, stopping just far enough that the space between them remained her own. The realisation struck like a blade slipping between ribs—this had been his doing. The Gwathui had been near, yes, but not that near. Not until he had let them sense him. Had let them draw close, snap their teeth at the edges of the dark. Had used them to prove a point.

Her breath, slow and measured before, sharpened. She took a step forward, boots silent against the forest floor, but there was no mistaking the shift in her presence—the heat in her gaze, the sudden steel in her stance.

“You drew them here,” she said, quiet but cold, a knife-edge beneath her words. Not a question. A fact.

The wind stirred again, whispering through the trees, but she barely heard it. Her grip tightened around the bow still resting in her hand, her knuckles pale beneath her gloves.

“You came here to lecture me on recklessness?” her words came low and sharp, a blade wrapped in silk.

She stepped closer, her voice a shade quieter, but all the more dangerous for it. “I am quite capable of moving through my own forest unseen, unheard - and you would gamble with my life to prove a point?”

Her lips parted as if to say more, but she stopped herself, exhaling through her nose, forcing the tension from her shoulders before it became something else. He had no right. No right to set a trap and pretend it was a lesson. No right to wield danger as a tool and expect her to accept it without fury.

Her father had sent him. That much she had already known. But she doubted even Anárion would have approved of this.

She tilted her head, gaze burning into him. “And tell me,” she continued, her voice softer now, more measured—dangerous in another way. “What would you have done if your little test had gone wrong?”

She took another step, close enough now that the space between them was no longer hers alone. “If they had taken me? If I had fallen?” Her expression did not change, but the weight in her words was unmistakable.

"What is your name?" she demanded with a tone her father would have been proud of.

 

[Ilion]

And indeed, he would have been proud of such a commanding demeanour. This much of Anárion, he did know. But also too, what he knew, is that Anárion had trusted him beyond any level of measure to have tasked him with a responsibility such as this. His methods, however questionable, had proven effective. No longer did she run and hide. Now she displayed herself plainly, speaking to him. The chase was over now, as he had hoped. But now something else ensued, and though in the end the task was now complete, there were further challenges.

Simply dragging her back would not do. Evasive as she was, although she'd likely never get away now, he might never catch her either. But then, she could never run far now, not with those things lingered all too close. But even still, she was an Aerai. Respect was to be given. And so, there he remained, sitting upon his mossy seat, unprovoked and unprovoking.

"I am Ilion, third sword," a tier of their Sphere which were many, yet still of some renown.

And while he considered her questions, he bypassed most of them, assuming of himself and of her, and even putting himself over - as he should. As was their way.

"You mistake my directive," a certain contending authority took his tone then, almost as though his voice was joined by the sound of several others at once - a common thing among Aerai when citing views reflected in others, "though they were drawn, it would be unto the presence of two of us. And yes, your ability to remain hidden is.. renowned. I will admit. But see now what has been done. It was but a moment, an intentional moment, and see how close our enemy has been drawn.

Can you not see what could be? If we are to become lax for but a moment, they will come. But together, we strengthen each other. Had you not been so determined to flee from me, my lack would have been guarded by your oversight.

We are the many, who are one. In these times, of all times, we must remain united."

And though he withheld any statement on it, he remained resolved. If the Gwathui had wandered too close, then he'd have given his own live first to stay that monsters, and allow time for her to escape.

 

[Isilya]

Ilion. Third Sword. A name she was certain her father had uttered before. And yet, whatever weight it carried did little to temper the slow-burning fire in her chest. She had seen his kind before—men who placed duty before all things, who wielded authority like a blade and expected others to bow beneath it.

And now, here he sat upon his mossy throne, speaking of unity, of strength, of what could be.

Her fingers flexed against the wood of her bow. A deep breath in, steady, measured, pressing the heat of her anger into something colder, sharper. She had no interest in lashing out. That would serve him. She would not be reduced to petulance.

Instead, she tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she regarded him. "Unity," she echoed, voice quiet but edged like the tip of an arrow. "Is that what you call this?"

The wind stirred again, rustling the branches above, but she did not look away from him.

“You claim I mistake your directive, yet your first act upon finding me was to make yourself prey—to invite the hunt.” Her fingers gestured slightly toward the woods beyond, where the Gwathui still lurked, restless and waiting. “You speak of guarding one another, but you made yourself a liability so that I might see your lesson.”

A soft exhale. The anger had not left her, but it had settled, tempered, honed into something else.

"My father trusts you, otherwise he would not have sent you. But tell me, Ilion—was this truly the mission he gave you? Did he bid you hunt me down like a wayward child? Did he command you to set the shadows at my heels?”

She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, every movement measured. The distance between them was not much now, but she was not the one who had taken the seat of authority. He remained seated, and she—she stood.

"Or was that your decision?" Her voice had lowered to something softer, quieter, yet there was weight behind it, something far heavier than mere indignation. It was not an accusation. It was a demand.

She had spent her life following orders, trained beneath the watchful eyes of warriors like him. Men who believed they knew best. But she had learned long ago that there was a difference between duty and obedience.

Without breaking eye contact, she extended her arm toward him. “Tell me, Ilion, Third Sword. Is this where you take me by the wrist and drag me home like a lost child?”

The offer was deliberate, almost mocking in its stillness. She did not flinch, did not waver, but simply waited.

 

[Ilion]

"Absolutely not!" he retorted. His tone was far from the careful inflections of those such as Erën, Tinúviel, or Anárion. There was much youth that burned in his blood still, and the daggers that were his eyes showed this all too clearly. They were poised upon her, all while he stood from his place - not abruptly, but unnervingly slowly.

But there was not an ounce of malice in him.

"It is you who should be called into question," and he pointed, blatantly, "you, who so arrogantly ignore the cautions of those above us. Here in these forests, alone, we are prey. Your skill is not something I am blind to, but see how quickly they come? See how quickly they amass...

You do not know..."

His countenance descended as his arm fell to his side and his voice became soft. The memory of Sindrost, so long ago... the memory of the fires, of the blood. He was so young then... young as she was now, and he had seen the first days of malice upon his people.

"...Anárion does not know what I have done. But I beseech you... come back with me. It is not safe, even as much as you believe it is..."

 

[Isilya]

Isilya did not move as he rose, though there was a quiet intensity in the way she held his gaze. His anger flared bright, his words sharp, but she did not shrink beneath them. Instead, she studied him, the way his voice carried the weight of something beyond this moment—something old, something raw.

His accusation should have stung, her brow quirking at the audacity of it, but she had heard it all before. Reckless. Arrogant. Ignorant of the true dangers of the world. Words spoken by elders who had seen things she had not, who thought that made them wiser. And perhaps, in some ways, they were.

But that did not mean they were right.

Her extended arm lowered, slow and deliberate, though the gesture was not one of surrender. A breath of wind stirred the trees, and for a moment, the forest itself seemed to listen. She took a step forward, just enough to close some of the space between them, but not enough to yield ground.

Her head tilted, and her voice quieted. "I have been taught, warned, sheltered. My entire life, I have heard the caution, the stories, the lessons of those who came before. And yet, for all of your wisdom, all of your experience…" her voice softened further, though the edge remained, "you think this is how I learn?"

She exhaled, her expression unreadable. “No, Ilion. I do know.”

A pause.

“But I also know what it is to be caged.”

Her father had spent a lifetime ensuring she understood the dangers beyond their walls, that she knew what lurked in the dark. He had trained her, honed her skills, armed her with knowledge—but still, still they sent hounds after her the moment she strayed too far.

Perhaps she should have been grateful. Instead, she was tired.

She glanced past him, toward the whispering trees, then back to him. His anger had faded into something else now, and she sighed, some of the fight easing from her stance, though not her resolve. “I will not be ushered home. But if you wish to walk beside me instead of against me…” she hesitated, then nodded toward the trees behind him. “Then walk. And we will see where the road leads.”

It was not agreement. Not entirely. But it was not refusal, either.

 

[Ilion]

There was of course more, a great deal more, that he wished to reply with in protest. There was so much more to it than simply forbidding one from running too far from home. But as she shared with him her point of view, he supposed he could in some ways begin to appreciate it. It was not as though it was truly all that difficult to see, or to even expect.

Things had not always been this way.

And so why feed into the misconceptions she had developed? No Aerai was to be... caged.

"Very well," he said, offering her a stern and respectful gaze. The chase was over. Even if she were to run again, then he would simply have to return and say that he had failed.

And so he began to walk, and hoped that his willingness to cooperate would inspire her to do the same.

"Tell me, how often is it you do this without anyone's knowing?" he asked the question lightly, a hint of humour in his tone.

 

[Isilya]

Isilya cast him a sidelong glance, her lips twisting slightly as though tasting the question before answering.

Clever. He had shifted the ground beneath them, turning the chase into conversation, slipping into camaraderie as though it had always been their course. And yet, beneath the light tone, she could hear the weight of it—the attempt to measure her, to see just how much she would reveal.

Her eyes flicked forward again, her steps careful and light against the forest floor. "That depends," she mused, voice smooth, unreadable. "Are you asking how many times I have slipped away? Or how many times I have been caught?"

The wind stirred between them, carrying the whisper of the trees.

She let the pause stretch just long enough before adding, with a wry smile, "Because if the second number is what concerns you, I imagine you and my father would get along quite well."

 

[Ilion]

"I have long admired Anárion," Ilion admitted as his eyes tracked off across their surround.

The distant pitter pattering of the Gwathui packs seemed to fade away, and the dread that fell over the land with their presence also diminished as they walked on. He hid his relief, but was glad to so presently feel the distance put between them and their enemies. Every step took them further from danger, and the monsters were none the wiser it seemed.

"But no, I must admit. There was a time when I too would slip away casually into the night, far from the reach of our brethren. I would wander these woods, for days at a time... but it was very different back then.

I will admit to you, I am... mourned, that things are the way they are now. If this were an earlier time, there would be little worry for you to do as you do."

And his regret was marked plainly as his eyes fell to his feet as they walked. There was no joy in him for the way things were now, for how he had chased after her. Even if it was by the call of duty unto his people, his captain - General - and their ways... there were just simply so few Aerai left.

Each and every life was far too valuable... each and every loss held such higher meaning. But far worse than that, yet, was each and every one of them lived in far greater danger than they'd ever known before. He hated to admit it... but it was changing them.

It was changing him.