Travel had taken its toll, and the visions and voices that plagued her mind took a toll harsher still. By the time they had happened upon the swampy settlement, Yvaine had been in desperate need of rest, and it was for this reason alone that she was finally convinced to take a more comfortable room away from the others. For the first few days, she spent much of her time asleep, waking in cold sweats from the same nightmares and feverish dreams.
The
elves here seemed to be an entirely different sort. They were not particularly warm and seemed more...
wild - but they were practical enough in their care of her, and provided her with food and teas and a comfortable enough bed, for which she was grateful. It was evident to her, however, that they were as fascinated by her as they were disdainful of her company. Several times when she had attempted to rejoin her friends, she'd been stopped and redirected. Their attempt to separate her from
Faulkin and the others wasn't lost on her, but until they could travel, the last thing she wanted to risk was their hosts turning on them. They had enough enemies to run from, without making enemies of tribal elves.
She had been impossibly quiet as she left her room tonight, and she'd worn her cloak in anticipation of the cold. Her feet were light as she descended the steps, about to take her first squelch into the mud when a female voice caused her to startle so much that her gasp was audible. The little fox at her feet bristled and hid behind her, peeking up at the speaker.
"Good evening, Yvaine." the
elven woman spoke, her voice thick with accent and strained with the effort of trying to be as pleasant as she could.
"The hall is this way.." which of course, she knew.
" - surely you must be hungry? You haven't eaten all day." Olwynn smiled, gesturing toward the hall where they'd gathered to eat. They were, as she'd learned, quite easily offended. The elves here apparently rarely offered any elven outsiders aid, let alone provided shelter to
humans. If she seemed at all ungrateful - as apparently she had when she'd insisted that she join the others in their shelter rather than rest in the room they'd given to her, or when she'd asked if they might join for supper one evening - their irritation was palpable. And so, for the sake of her party being allowed to rest and hunt here, albeit closely watched, Yvaine remained away and made as much effort as she could to gain these wild elves' trust.
She let loose a breath and cleared her throat. "Yes. I am, thank you Olwynn." she smiled warmly, though she was certain the female had been stationed to wait where she stood and hadn't simply come to fetch her. She peered through the fog toward the fire in the distance, only able to make out a few shapes around it, and she chewed on her lip for a moment before dropping her gaze to Juniper and jerking her chin toward the men.
Let him know I'm alright, she thought as she smiled wistfully at the vixen, and she watched as she skittered off toward the fire before turning to follow Olwynn to the chief's chalet.
There, they greeted her. They surrounded her and poured her wine, women and children braided her hair in the
El'thulian fashion, they painted her face and neck in tribal ink and they taught her how to speak like they did. This had been the way every night this past week before she was invited to sit at their table and sup with them, '
blessing' her with the honour of sitting to the left of Joran L'ar, the tribe's chief, or their '
Ingwë' as they called him.
Joran was cold, though not cruel; at least from what she could tell. His people respected him, though she could clearly imagine his asperity should they chose to stray that path. Yvaine had the distinct feeling that the seat in which she'd sat for the last few evenings was one that brewed envy amongst many others, male and female both; including Olwynn who's close-lipped smile she could tell, guarded gritted teeth.
"Ah, Sithildin. You are late." he chided with a slow curl of a smile as he looked up at her painted face and braided hair.
"El'thulian suits you." The chief said as she sat and casually reached to capture the end of her braid betwixt his thumb and forefinger - a gesture that seemed something of an adumbration amongst their tribe, judging by the way the elven eyes shifted and brows quirked here and there. She could practically feel a few burning glares in particular, their eyes like hot branding irons boring into her.
Yvaine felt her cheeks heat slightly at the silence that had suddenly surrounded them, and she cleared her throat awkwardly. Joran grinned and glanced over those seated at the table who quickly resumed their chatter, and filling their plates with the roasted meats and vegetables on offer. "Thank you. Though I can't pretend I am in any way worthy of such an honour." she answered with a small smile of her own. The elves here had earned their ink and braids, they were warriors and she, quite clearly, was not.
“This word that you call me,
'Sithildin', I had not thought to ask what it means." Yvaine commented as she cut into her meat. The question coaxed an insidious smile from Joran, as though he'd been hoping she'd ask since the first he'd chosen the name. Slowly, he leaned forward, shortening the distance between her pointed ear and his curling lips as one might do when revealing a secret.
"It means,
Starlight." he purred.
