Completed Namesake

[Hahnah]

Hahnah became aware of Rych again when he made his announcement. Became further aware of the slight change that had come over Griffyn as they had been talking. Gone was the hair that had grown on his face, shortened was the hair on his head. A slight change, yes. One that should help. Hahnah thought it to be strange--perhaps one of the more strange things--for people whom Griffyn did not even know to recognize him or his name. And all because of his father, because he had been born into such recognition, as if ordained by fate (or the cruel workings of a divine hand) to endure this. It would be maddening to Hahnah, leaving her constantly on edge. How did Griffyn manage it? The problems of trust had to be endless.

Hopefully, none of the Reds with whom they would meet would be men who recognized Griffyn. If the pretense was ruined--whether this way or if Hahnah failed in her effort to be convincing--then the worst would happen. Hahnah knew that she would not hesitate to kill who she needed to kill in order to escape with Griffyn, but that was not the worst, no. Even her own death, should there be too many, was not the worst. It was the suffering of they of Elvenkind, left to whatever cruel fate surely awaited them.

Hahnah stood up from the bench. Swept the tail of her green cloak behind herself.

Ready?

"Yes. I am ready," she said.

And the quiet thought occurred to her that, perhaps by the end of this, she would know the truth of why the Dying God had directed her to walk among them. It filled her with hope.

But at the center of that hope, tiny and cold, was a black core of horror.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

They left the city by through the tattered remains of the western gate. It took long, arduous minutes for the makeshift barricades to be pulled aside by the soldiers to let them through. By the questioning sneers the men cast them as they passed, it was clear Griffyn's disguise was holding up. Only a few would know who it was who was leaving with the city seal as proof of permission, and none would know why.

The hills of the land around Menura undulated gently. The dry grass wafted in the breeze with a natural rustling that Griffyn found very appealing after close to a week in the confines of the city. Even the expanse of the park felt claustrophobic compared to the outside. Griffyn and Hahnah crested the first hill, revealing further beyond. And close to the horizon, a thick stretch of trees.

They didn't have to wait long before there was movement between the trunks of the forest. Horses, about a dozen in total, riding hard to meet them. Red armbands. Bared steel. He and Hahnah awaited their fate. For his part, Griffyn felt calm. After a number of brief confrontations, one particularly violent, he felt he understood the men that had come against the city. Not a wild mob, but an ordered unit, passionate but controlled. So he trusted that they would not kill them here.

The riders came to a dusty halt in a ring around them. They had wrapped fabric over their mouths and a mix of styles of helm covering their heads. There was no sign of rank, but one rode forwards towards them, a spear held calmly at his side.

"You from the city?" came the gruff voice beneath the mask. An accent, hints of Dwarvish. The Spine? His attention shifted back and forth between Griffyn and Hahnah, taking in the both of them. "What brings you here?"

"Our business is for your lord al-..." Griffyn began, but forced himself to a stop, casting a venomous glance at his companion and wordless acceding to her leadership. Inside, he prayed. This next bit was all on Hahnah.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Walking out from the damaged gates of Menura was akin to walking free from the Temple for the first time. And though there was not a world entirely new to her outside the city, that trembling feeling of liberation was much the same. The walled confines of the city, and the even more claustrophobic confines of the buildings therein, were behind her. Locked within them no more, both she and Griffyn. The impulse to simply try to get away, to go sprinting into those trees ahead not for their mission but to escape this siege for good, pulsed through her legs and she suppressed it.

She had time to think on how to present herself. Certainly not as a person in a story, no. More like her normal, charming self, as Griffyn had said. She did not know any magic that could be called charms, but she could be normal. The fewer things that she invented for the pretense, the better. The way she had presented herself to the human master Eloise when first they met seemed a balance of truth and lies that she could do well again. A necessary thing, these lies. Walking among them had been an immense practice in them--her survival had depended upon them.

And there they came. The Reds.

Hahnah did not like it when they rode upon horses. Running from mounted men was almost impossible, and in the past only the night and thick brush had been her saving graces. But it was not night now, and nor was this Falwood.

Hahnah stood still. Only little movements of her head and eyes to glance about at the encircling riders. It worried her that she could not see who was human and who was not, covered as they were with their masks and helms. Before she would have been able to smell who among them was human to a high degree of accuracy. But it was not so now. Gifts could be taken away.

One among them spoke. Griffyn responded.

And Hahnah, leaning more into her natural Fal'Addasian accent and its particular pronunciation of vowels and certain consonants, picked up where Griffyn left off, "--Although you may hear it." She placed a hand over her heart. "My name is Hahnah. I am a ranger of Falwood, and I was present in the city called Menura when this siege began. I fought because I thought I had no other choice. But something has changed. I learned of the incident which caused this siege."

She looked over to Griffyn. Tried not to see him as Griffyn, but to see him as Griffin. And there it became easier to return a bitter scowl his way.

Back to the forward rider. "I had to convince the humans who hold power in the city to let me out in order to speak with you. I am speaking somewhat on their behalf."

She pulled out the pin with the Omani sigil on it and held it up for the riders to observe. Did this in a perfunctory manner, one that seemed entirely unconcerned with the very thing she was presenting to them.

"But I am speaking on my own more."

She lowered the pin and regarded the forward rider intently.

"And I want what is best for Elvenkind."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

"We all want what's best," Griffyn added, voice thick with as much condescension as he could muster, "for all kind. Our official, diplomatic mission today is to ensure that this outcome is met."

As if through a spell, Griffyn watched as the lead rider's attention flowed away from him and onto Hahnah, dismissing him entirely. In truth, Griffyn felt a touch guilty to first reinforce the impression of city nobility as aloof and ignorant, and second to place so much attention now on his friend. Still, she was playing the part well. There was enough truth to her story to make up for any flimsiness in her fiction, should any present itself. But so far it was holding up effectively.

Effectively enough to accomplish their first task. The rider nodded and turned his horse about, making a series of gestures with his free wrist that the others quickly responded to. Griffyn and Hahnah found themselves in a tight ring of horse which urged them forwards towards the trees.

"Move slow," the leader advised over one shoulder. "You will be watched."

In the cool shade of the forest, Griffyn saw the Reds. Men and women in mismatched leather stood about between the trees. Many held bows, clearly to stop any infantry charges from the city. Others simply stood, arms folded or on hips, watching them through masked faces. As Griffyn looked about, his foot caught on something on the ground. He looked down. An arrow shaft, sticking out of the soil. His steps faltered - the grass was tinged a dull red on the path they walked. Splattered and rusty. His stomach dropped as he realised they were walking over ground where the men of Menura had made a stand following last night's successful defense. Their enthusiasm for vengeance against the Reds had brought them far from the protection of the walls, beneath the boughs of the trees, where they had been slaughtered. No bodies, though. He wondered darkly where they had ended up.

The horses parted suddenly, revealing a path into the trees. With a rustle, the lead rider dropped from his mount and gestured forwards, leading the two deeper into the woods. Griffyn looked about as they walked. Further out from the path, he saw palisades and simple wooden structures manned by folk dressed simply - civilians, though like the soldiers each wore an item of red. Humans, all. He saw carpenters, labourers, a woman with a large scythe cutting into the undergrowth to make space for infrastructure. She had paused in her work to watch him pass, and he looked away.

Suddenly, the trees opened up around them. Here was a clearing, with space above the grass for the sunlight to enter. Large stones were embedded in the soil in a rough ring around the glade, their shapes weathered from age but their positioning strangely purposeful. On each of these stones, save one, sat an elf. There were six in total, dressed in a variety of garments but each wearing a dramatic shade of red. Five were male, one female. Their faces were pale, hair a mix of shades that spoke to Griffyn of the natural world - the red of autumn or the thick brown of earth, or fair as sunlight. Griffyn couldn't help but catch his breath.

Their bright eyes were filled with a caustic fury as they locked upon him, but when they spied Hahnah their countenances changed. Soft, curious, sad. One elf stood suddenly to his feet at the sight of her.

"Lords, lady," announced their guard, "emissaries from the city."

"Ah," said the elf-maiden with venom, "here to negotiate a surrender?"

Griffyn allowed himself a quick scoff, earning renewed anger from their audience, before the soldier continued.

"This one wishes to discuss the conflict, it seems," he said, hand gesturing to Griffyn's companion. "Calls herself Hahnah. Speaks for the city, she says. 'Somewhat.'"

"Hahnah," breathed the elf who had stood. "That is not a name I would have expected. Has your culture been so completely stolen from you, child?"

This last was spoken in Elven, which Griffyn had to scramble to translate. Once again, he was dismissed. He wondered if this was how Hahnah felt within the walls of the city, where her presence had been a mystery many had not wished to address. He folded his arms and watched the encounter play out down the bridge of his nose.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah's heart quickened in its pace as the riders came about them in a tighter circle. Despite the nature of what they were doing, these were still men who a day ago were purely enemies, and who--further back from that--Hahnah would have butchered if she had gotten the opportunity. Surrounded. She did not like to be surrounded. It was very much like the first settlement she had gone into after her transformation, finding herself surrounded in a busy afternoon market and knowing that the only thing protecting her was a thin veneer of disguise. Her disguise now not only one of appearance but one of pretense.

Yet...this was only true if these Reds were her enemies. Were they? Were they like Kylindrielle, Elurdrith, Idreth, Alden, and Griffyn, and could be trusted? Or were they like the monster hunters, the Anirians, and the Fellowship, and meant to do harm and perpetuate cruelty?

Hahnah did as instructed. Walked slowly. She kept her expression calm and level despite the tight clutch of apprehension upon her beating heart.

Into the camp, or what Hahnah perceived as a camp. A large one, certainly. More like a village or town, she thought, as her eyes wandered and found the palisades and the simple buildings. There had been so many. So many Reds behind them, so many Reds who were not warriors in front of them. How was Griffyn feeling about this? That tight clutch of apprehension only worsened when it dawned on her that, as opposed to Menura were they were caged in by a wall of stone, they were caged in here by an effective wall of people. This...negotiation, it was far more difficult than ambushing from the dark and disappearing into the night--her favorite tactic for slaying humans. Yet this ambushing, the violence of it, did not compare to the raw potential for violence brimming here, in this negotiation, should it all go wrong. Was this something that Griffyn had to endure often? Speaking with enemies in such a way as this?

They were led to the ring of stones, upon which sat...elves. Six of them for the seven stones. Hahnah felt a very brief tide of cool relief, before that coolness turned cold with the memory of the Fellowship...and how some elves, to her horror and disbelief, held evil in their hearts and with their hands profaned the world.

A quick introduction, and then she was addressed. A word she did not completely understand: "culture." Remember. Remember the practice.

"It is the name that I was given," she said to the standing elf. And then she switched to Elvish, "I am a ranger raised by rangers. They took me in when I had no one else and to them I owe much. What they gave to me has not been stolen. Their love for me is the same that I show to all Elvenkind."

She switched back to Common. Passed a dubious glance to Griffyn--playing into the animosity that was supposed to be between them for the pretense, even as it hurt her to do so--and said, "The humans in the city called Menura deny wrongdoing against elves, and they deny that they have any elven captives in their city. But...I have heard that it may be so. This is why you are sieging the city, is it not?"

She held her hands in front of herself. Stood primly and spoke forthrightly, "I want to find the truth."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

"The truth..." The standing elf took a slow seat as his tongue switched back to match hers. "Yes, let us begin with the truth. It shall provide a solid foundation upon which we can construct any agreements."

The female elf cast Griffyn another glare, which he ignored. It was plenty clear what she thought about the direction these agreements should take.

"Captain Graves, you may leave us."

The human guard bowed stiffly, clearly uncertain about leaving his 'lords and lady' alone with the newcomers. But like a good soldier, he turned and walked away.

"Please..." The elf who had addressed Hahnah gestured to the stone lying beside his, the empty seat in their ring. Griffyn folded his arms, projecting disapproval that this left him standing. "Now then. I believe Rathierel is the one who should begin.

Rathierel turned out to be one of the male elves, dark-haired and low of brow. "Eight years ago," he began in a deep timbre, "my brother led a small camp of our kin out of the small city of Fal'Edwein, mostly craftspeople and traders. Their goal was to establish a small shop or trading centre for fine metalworking in one of the great cities along the water. My brother had a dream to be the elf to make a name for himself in a craft traditionally dominated by dwarves and humans.

"He and his compatriots were due to make their first stop in Oban. My brother and I were not on the best of terms when he set forth, but he regardless promised to remain in contact. That was eight years gone by, and I have not heard from any of his group since."

There was a moment's pause as the elves looked down at the ground solemnly. The quiet emotion took Griffyn by surprise, who felt a resonant shudder in his chest as they shared their grief.

"Six months ago," Rathierel continued when the moment passed, "my friend Erethas came to our city with a trinket of fine silverwork, originating from your setllement of Menura."

He gestured to one of the other male elves, who nodded and took up the story. "I recognised Rathanon's handiwork in the item," he said. "He had a signature style which would be difficult to emulate. Investigation into Menura's industry revealed that the city has been making a quiet name for itself over the last six years with similar items, in numbers that would suggest a small team is dedicating its time to them. I do not believe this to be a coincidence."

"Unfortunately, the city has been uncooperative. They claim that the items are the product of an artistic industry team made up of local humans. 'Inspired by elven designs,'" Rathierel continued with a sneer, "but supposedly not the work of my brother. I believe this to be a lie."

"We seven set out to lodge a formal investigation within the city." The female elf squared her shoulders as she spoke. "We were refused at the gate. It is clear that political means will get us nowhere, so we have decided on a different approach. It is regrettable, but after months of fruitless negotiation in which our kind are likely continuing to be mistreated, I hope you see that there is naught else to be done. The Order of the Acer are the brave men and women who have agreed to take up our cause. Mostly mercenaries at first, but we are heartened to find that both elves and truth have many friends in the frontier towns and villages."

All this Griffyn noted down in his journal. The Order of the Acer... better than calling them Reds. He watched Hahnah carefully as the story came to a close. A paranoid part of his mind wondered if she might be swayed by what was being said, that they would return to Menura only long enough for her to put a knife through Lady Sunderland's heart and to paint the manor red with human blood. It may only be wishful thinking, but Griffyn hoped there was more to this story than had so far been revealed. Or, at the very least, some item of evidence that would lay the whole thing bare.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

At the prompting to do so, Hahnah stepped forward and sat down on the empty stone, heels together and back straight and hands in her lap, her (perhaps oddly) sophisticated posture on display again. To Rathierel she turned her attention. Listened as he began the story.

And almost as soon as he did, something he said gave Hahnah immediate pause. The slight widening of her eyes she could not hold back, and her chest stilled as in that moment she went without breath.

Fal'Edwein. Fal'Edwein. The same place that her caretakers were from, where their lodge was only a day's journey distant. Originally both Kylindrielle and Elurdrith were from the largest elven city of all, Fal'Addas, hence their accents and by extension Hahnah's own. Both had moved to Fal'Edwein later in their lives, then out into their lodge deeper into the forest where they served as rangers. But Hahnah knew the name Fal'Edwein, that place, how Kylindrielle would once every few months go south to it and Hahnah would ask to come and Elurdrith, every time, would have to talk her down, saying that it would not be a good idea for her to do so.

Hahnah's gaze started to soften as she continued to listen to Rathierel. She could feel her sympathies being stirred for these elves, despite all she had been through while walking among them. They had to be good people. They couldn't be profaned with sin. They couldn't be. The brother of Rathierel was from Fal'Edwein, and that is where her caretakers decided to make a home. And in these elves, in the lost brother of Rathierel, Hahnah started inevitably to see Kylindrielle and Elurdrith.

She wanted to believe. She wanted it to be so.

When Rathierel first said the name of the city, Menura, Hahnah glanced over to Griffyn. She did not hold a look of feigned scorn. Instead, something else. A face with a light shade of one who was apologetic, who knew what they were sliding toward doing and could do naught to stop themselves, and as well a face that held a beseeching character, a tiny plea for help. Hahnah did not care for the city of Menura nor its human inhabitants. But Griffyn did. He did. And it agonized her greatly. In her mind a dichotomy was set. To side with they of Menura felt like she would be betraying her caretakers, and to side with they of Fal'Edwein felt like she would be betraying Griffyn, and she wanted to do neither. Yet a choice would, most likely, have to be made.

When she looked back to Rathierel as he continued his story, that tormented look she wiped away. Put on the pretense again as best she could and listened as the female elf took over and concluded it.

Hahnah sat for a moment with eyes dipped down in heavy consideration. The Order of the Acer, humans actually helping these elves connected to Fal'Edwein with apparently no ulterior motives, she could not even begin to process right now. She was still on the story of Rathierel's brother. Rathierel--all of them--had to be telling the truth. They had to be. The human master Eloise was surely lying--the sinful were loath to admit their sins aloud. Hahnah desperately wanted no other truth than this, for it seemed to her that this alone would repair all of the damage done to her worldview, would confirm it like no other incident...save one.

The one that was the genesis of it entirely. The one that caused her to make a promise to Kylindrielle's and Elurdrith's lifeless ears. The singular promise that made her who she was.

"Suppose..."

Her voice caught. She raised a small fist to her mouth and lightly cleared her throat.

Started again. "Suppose the siege against Menura went as well as you want it to go. What would you want? What would you do with victory?"

Search every part of the city for the lost brother and the elves. Take anything and everything they wanted. Kill humans in retribution. Kill all of them. Burn the entire city down to ash.

Whatever they wanted...and to what degree...Hahnah was finding it more unlikely--second by second--that she could say no. That she would not place all her faith in they of Elvenkind.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

The elves of the Order glanced at one another.

"Should we take control of the city," Rathierel began slowly, "we would locate and emancipate our kin, of course. We would accept the surrender of the people of the city, and then we would leave. We are not so vindictive as to engage in looting and debauchery, of that you have each of our oaths."

This last to Griffyn, with just a hint of a nod. He made sure to note this down in the journal. But his quill slipped as he heard the next words.

"Of course..." the female elf prompted, brows arched, "there is the matter of payment for blood spilled."

"Yes, naturally," Rathierel continued. "The Lord of the city no doubt allowed this travesty to come to pass, and the law of Oban will be unduly lenient, I fear. His head will suffice in reparation for the sins he has committed against our kind. As well as that of the human mage."

Griffyn looked up, mind working to rebuild the character that suddenly felt so distant and alien.

"Th-The mage?" he asked, attempting a sneer. "Just who are you talking about? What mage?"

"Do not play us for fools." The female elf folded her arms across her chest with a scowl. "You have one spellcaster in your city, a man of flame and force, who has continued to thwart our attacks since the commencement of the siege. Were it not for him, you would have fallen days ago."

"And, what, you would like reparations for your wounded pride now? Is that it?" Griffyn couldn't help but let his voice waver slightly.

"Do not be absurd. He knows his crime."

The elf maiden turned her head to look at Hahnah, as did a number of the others of the Order. No, not at her. At the stone.

"He was so desperate to rescue his sister..."

Griffyn blanched. The elf assassin, the one he had been forced to kill. Suddenly he was back in the moment, hot blood on his arms and face. Hahnah's big, colourful eyes. A restless night, crushed beneath the weight of his guilt.

"Two deaths, and we shall be gone," Erethas concluded. "We shall outrun the King's riders and be away, all debts paid. We believe such is more than fair."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

You must stay calm. You must not falter.

But Hahnah's agony had only gotten worse, and Hahnah's true turmoil was just barely concealed behind an outwardly receptive expression as she listened. Her lamenting words she had spoken to the Dying God when she had been praying came back to her: Why are You doing this to me? That same feeling of seemingly insurmountable difficulty, of intense vexation at what was before her, washed over her again.

Before, this would have been no choice at all. She would not even need to spare a single second. With these elves she would have wholeheartedly sided. She would have brought them the heads of Eloise, her husband, and Griffyn if she was so able to do it on her own, and if she was not, she would have helped them to do it. A simple choice made in a narrow world that had within it a satisfying neatness and completeness. She knew exactly who she could trust, who she could not; who were those profaned with sin and who were those free of it.

This was the world that had been slipping away ever since walking among them, as if she were trying to hold a lake within her hands. And now this gradual and inevitable slippage had come to this. A situation in which, to Hahnah, there was no right answer.

She yearned with a terrible, aching pain to aid the elves of Fal'Edwein. To get for them exactly what they wanted. And she knew it to be good. Her heart told her so.

But...maddeningly...her heart was also telling her that to betray Griffyn--

(he shared food with me when i was starving. he spoke the sound of my true name. he showed me kindness. and in all these ways he is as an elf. lacking sin. a good person)

--would be a cruelty from which she would never return. She had begun to have dark, quiet doubts about that which she had done in the past, of whether she had truly cleansed the profane in some instances or...but of this there was no doubt at all. Betrayal was a cruelty most wicked. And she could not see allowing Griffyn's head to be severed from his shoulders and delivered to these elves as anything other than that. Here, faced with this wrenching choice, she saw this with absolute clarity: it did not matter to her now that Griffyn was a human. It mattered to her that Griffyn was Griffyn.

All this...as she sat on the very stone of the elf--the good elf--who wanted only to rescue his sister, someone he cared deeply about. And Griffyn had killed him after he had tried to kill Griffyn. The very idea of two good people...being forced against one another, forced by circumstances outside of their own actions to fight and kill one another...it went against everything Hahnah thought she knew of the world...and it was too much.

Hahnah bowed her head after the female elf spoke of the desperation of the good elf to rescue his sister. Hid her eyes in the palm of a hand. Felt that her eyelashes were wet and kept her hand covering her eyes as she pushed past the emotion. Thought hard to conceive of a plan, leveraging every single thing of applicable value she had learned from the absorption of Zael and from her time among them and from the few people to whom she had spoken and from the book she had read.

At last she spoke.

"I do not think..." Everything. Everything to keep her voice level and to focus, focus, focus, "...that the human masters of Menura will see these terms as fair. They will not agree."

Her hand slid down. Revealing one eye in the lowered crook of her thumb.

In Elvish, she spoke, "And that is why I will lie to them. I will lie to them however you need me to lie to them. They will believe me because they will believe their scribe." She swung her eye toward Griffyn. "You will need to prepare a trap into which I will lead the Lord and the Mage. You can offer to spare their lives if they agree to release the captive elves. Then when it is done you can take their heads. This is the only way everything can be done in time. Play along to deceive the scribe."

She switched back to Common, her heart racing and feeling as if it were close to bursting. Her hand fell away from her face and she let out a dramatic sigh. "That is all I have learned. Surely you understand now that you will not achieve victory in time before those riders from Oban arrive. You must enter peaceful negotiation with the Lord of Menura; although he cannot lose this battle, the attack yesterday has made him more willing to talk to avoid further losses. You must abandon your demand of the heads of the Lord and the Mage. I wish dearly that there could be a hope for justice regarding them, but there is not. Yet you still have the chance to save our kin."

And Hahnah worried intensely.

That Griffyn would see that what she was saying was truths mixed with purposeful lies.

And that these elves would not. That they would see it as all truth, as Hahnah being wholeheartedly on their side...as she once would have been.

A very delicate line she walked. One that she never had before.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn watched Hahnah carefully. Very carefully. He knew that her ability to deceive was impressive, though to call it such gave the act a sheen of maliciousness that his friend was surely incapable of. Or had he perhaps been utterly deluded? Was he walking into a trap? Indeed, as Hahnah switched into the fluid and subtle tones of Elvish, the six elves turned to look directly at him. What was she telling them? He only recognised a handful of words - believe, lord, head...

The elves looked to their own as Hahnah finished. She was small compared to them, he now realised, and her hanging head and angled shoulders made her appear even more diminutive. Like a child lost in a crowd. A wave of guilt washed over him, first for allowing suspicious for her to creep back into his heart and then for bringing her into this situation at all. Griffyn realised that he had asked much of her in this, would have to make it up to her somehow. He'd not be able to count himself her friend if he did not right the balance.

Perhaps by trusting her, as a start. He tilted his head back to look down his nose at the elves as they made their silent council.

"You heard it," he said with an expansive swing of his quill-hand. "There can be peace, and an end to bloodshed. But to ask us to give up both the high representative of the noble class, and also the champion of the common men, is nothing but foolishness. None shall accept this deal. You ask only for chaos."

Rathierel glanced curiously at Hahnah before responding. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps our demand is simple pride at work. We can negotiate more reasonable terms."

The others nodded slowly. The male beside Hahnah put a hand on her shoulder.

"Sir," he said suddenly. "It strikes me that we have been rude in denying you a place in our negotiation. Please, I would ask your name, and I shall give you mine."

Griffyn frowned. "I am called Amon," he replied with a hint of a nod.

"And I, Sycalor. My compatriots: Rathierel and Erethas you already know, as well as the lady Cierannias."

The elf maiden bowed her head, though she did not take her eyes from him.

"Also with us are friends from further afield, Fierathas and the brothers Teriannon and Terinthadel."

Griffyn shrugged his shoulders. "Glad we can make a proper start to things, then."

"Indeed," Sycalor replied. "Now that we are acquainted, tell me - do you truly believe that we are mistaken in this? Are you truly of the belief that there are no captive elves hidden away in the city of Menura?"

Unexpected. Griffyn folded his arms. There was a pause before he responded, picking out his words carefully. "I believe there is... room for error in your understanding, yes."

"And your Lord, he believes the same?"

"Such is my understanding."

Sycalor nodded. "Then here is my proposal, with the blessing of the Order. Return to your city and kindly request a renewed investigation into the truth of these claims. Have your men scour the cells, the dark chambers and the oubliettes for any sign of our missing kin. Then, at dawn tomorrow, we shall meet with your Lord at the gates of the city under a banner of peace. He will tell us in all his honesty, and give us his word, that no elves are being held within the city walls. He shall say their names aloud, and under oath he shall say that no elves by those names are presently within Menura. Then, when he is concluded, we shall leave."

The others of the council watched Sycalor with dark eyes, and nodded slowly at his words. Cierannias even smiled.

"We would also request that the mage who has so effectively curtailed our attacks also be present, so that we can be assured that no arcane trickery is attempted. He will need to have his hands bound before him and a gag placed over his lips. But he may stand with his Lord. Now, my friend Amon, does this sound more reasonable to you?"

They watched him carefully. Though he was standing and they sitting, Griffyn felt as though he was surrounded by wild cats out in the savanna, or backed into a corner by city toughs. His instincts screamed at him from the depths of his experience at his father's side, that something was going unsaid that would alter the worth of this arrangement. So he looked to Hahnah. What did she think of this?

"Dawn tomorrow?" he asked, stalling for time in more ways than one. "If you wish for a thorough investigation, that is not enough time. It will take us most of the day just to return to the city; any search of the manor will have to take place through the night. Might I suggest in three days' time, so that we can...-"

"No, no. Three days is much too long." Erethas' fair hair swayed gracefully as he shook his head. "And we are all too aware that the reinforcements from the capital shall be darkening our paths e'er too long. Dawn it must be."

"What if I were to offer a financial recompense for...-"

"Friend Amon, you must agree that the truth is our best way out of further bloodshed and pain?" Sycalor interrupted.

He swallowed. "Yes. And the truth will take time to...-"

"No, what will take time is the development of a convincing deception," the elf retorted. "The truth, you will find, takes no time at all. Amon, you do wish the truth to come out, do you not?"

Griffyn squared his jaw. His quill began to bend in the tight grip of his hand. And though his theatrical mind arrayed before him many ways for the partly-fictitious Amon to respond with some snobbish condescension, the very real Griffyn found that he could not bring the words to his lips.

"I do," he said instead. "I do wish that."

A rustling a few paces behind him. He did not turn, but saw the elves of the glade look briefly over his shoulder and then dismiss the noise. Sycalor smiled warmly before he looked back at him. Griffyn's ears dimly recognised the trailing sound of a skirt upon grass, or perhaps a particularly starchy mantle.

"Then you see the wisdom of this course of action, even if you fear the ire of your superiors." Sycalor's words granted him no escape. "You see that this is best for us all."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Relief on two fronts. First that her pretense was not immediately seen through, as Griffyn had seen her acting out the Heiress in their practice. Second that the negotiation proceeded between Griffyn--who had taken on the false name of Amon for this--and the elves in a way that allowed for her to take a break from speaking for a while, to recover her frayed wits. Battling against her own emotional turmoil while simultaneously trying to come up with a plan had been thoroughly exhausting.

Would it even work like she hoped? Did the elves even believe her, and would they then go along with it? She did not know and she could not tell. It appeared to be so. None had balked at her suggestion, and Sycalor proposed the meeting with the Lord and the "Mage." This as well as an investigation prior to said meeting, and Hahnah believed that nothing would come of it, that the human masters would continue to deny their cruelty and purposefully obfuscate any attempt to discern the truth of the captive elves. And there were elves being held in the city. Hahnah simply could not believe that Sycalor, Rathierel, and the others were so grievously mistaken or that they were liars. This latter part filled her with guilt for what she was doing, for denying them the exact measure of justice that they wished for. That they deserved.

But she would not sacrifice Griffyn. She would not betray him. An inversion of her holy purpose as a human slayer, yet this purpose had in it now plentiful damages that she could not readily reconcile, and so it was left in dangling tatters. A substitute rule then, one that was as hard and fast as her purpose had once been, she welcomed. Fears that he might betray her had since dwindled and perished, and the obstinate part of her heart that asserted that he was dangerously human--the vestiges of her old way, which yearned to ally without question with they of Fal'Edwein--had all but quieted to nothing.

An agreement was reached. A difficult one, by the look Griffyn made before making it--or was that part of his pretense? Ahhh...she did not like this. This pretending and deception and aversion to honesty necessary for this resolution with the elves and the Order of the Acer to work. She desired desperately to talk with Griffyn, to be shed of pretense and to speak forthrightly, to reassure him of her true intentions. But it would have to wait.

Hahnah stood. Said to the elves and Sycalor in particular, "We will see this investigation done and we will see this meeting at dawn held. The truth is the best course of action for both Elvenkind and Humankind."

Then, in Elvish, speaking in a tone as if she were saying her goodbyes and her well-wishings, "But you will need to force the truth from the human master of Menura when we bring him."

And she glanced to Griffyn. Switched back and said, "Farewells sound less beautiful in Common. I spoke yours for you, scribe. You do not need to bother."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn nodded as the elves stood with Hahnah, not bothering to hide his uncertainty.

"Hm," he growled. "Right. Then we are done here."

Were this the dining hall of his house in Alliria, or a lavish private room in the business districts of Dornoch, Griffyn would have fought this resolution. It was a common tactic in negotiation to speed through proceedings and rush to a conclusion before your opponent is aware that you have slipped them a poor deal. But there were too many moving parts to this whole charade for him to work his best. All he could do was trust.

But one day? One day and he would need to appear before these elves as himself, bound helplessly and at their mercy? The thought of it made his stomach crawl. Or perhaps Lord Sunderland would shoot down this chance at peace and the city would run red with blood and the banners of the Order. Was that really any better?

Sycalor bowed to them both as the elves turned to leave the glade, heading deeper into the woods. "A most productive discourse," he said with a wide smile. "I look forward to seeing the outcome of our diplomacy."

Griffyn nodded back. "Sure."

"Sara, is everything aright?" the elf added over Griffyn's shoulder. "You need not be here, Graves is more than capable of escorting our guests to the outskirts of the camp."

He turned. Behind him, at the edge of the trees, stood a young woman in a faded red skirt and simple blouse. Human, with her auburn hair tied in a braid and exposing her rounded ears. Sara had the demure stance of a servant, Griffyn recognised, and she blushed as she met his eyes.

"Please, my Lord Sycalor," she said quietly. "I would do this if I may."

The elf nodded, brow tight with uncertainty, before leaving the glade with his kin. Griffyn breathed a sigh of relief as the intense presence of the Order receded.

"My lord, my lady," Sara prompted, eyes down. "This way, if you please. I can also fetch refreshments for your journey back to the city, if such would suit you?"

Griffyn shook his head as he approached, his acerbic character returning to the forefront. "Not if we only have a day to solve this bloody war," he said with a sigh. "Will need all the time we can get."

They walked on together, the three of them, along the path towards the city. Griffyn wondered if he could hear the idle chatter of labourers on a break in the near distance, the sound of community. He glanced at Hahnah as they walked, desperate to communicate but unable to reveal anything of his true feelings while an agent of th-

"My lord, may I ask you something?"

Griffyn glanced down at the servant. "Go on."

"I... that is, until recently I was in the employ of the Lord and Lady Sunderland. I worked in the scullery, but I was c-conversant with the other members of the staff. I confess... I was not aware that a man such as yourself worked with the clerks of his Lordship's court. I thought I knew everyone in the manor."

He faltered in his steps, but maintained his composure. "I'm sure there's much that goes on in the manor that is... that was above your notice. What brings you to the Order, then?"

Sara was quiet following his words, lost momentarily in thought, before responding. "I... left the city on the eve of the siege. Following a f-friend."

Griffyn said nothing. Clearly this friend had saved her life, but Amon would not say such a thing.

"Did... Did you both mean what you said?" the girl continued after a moment's pause, glancing first at him and then at Hahnah. "About an investigation? About searching for the truth?"

He eyed her curiously. "Of course. What of it?"

"Then... Then I may have some information for you. About the manor, and about the people who live there. It may help you find who you are looking for."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

It did not last for very long, the negotiation, and that was all Hahnah could ask for. Even as short as it had been, she felt tightly wound, coiled and tense like a thin and frayed string. The emotional turmoil, the pretense, either would have been difficult enough on its own, but their combined torment left her feeling sapped, as if she had spent all day running from the pursuit of armored men that she could not kill.

So the presence of Sara--signaling the conclusion of said negotiation--was a welcome one, and she followed beside Griffyn as the diminutive human escorted them. Hahnah thought it peculiar to be called a lady, even if it was part of the pretense.

She agreed with Griffyn's statement on the refreshments. "We should not delay." And on they went. Out of the grove and through the encampment that was more of a settlement and back they way they had come.

Until.

Sara began to mention the manor. That she had once done work there. And that she, of course, had not seen Griffyn there. The implication of that statement was like the subtle slipping of a knife into Hahnah's chest. She slid her eyes over towards Sara. Flexed the fingers of her right hand.

But Griffyn dealt with it, and Hahnah relaxed her fingers and dispelled her intent to do necessary violence. For Griffyn to be discovered now would have been catastrophic, especially if he was somehow recognized to be the Mage that the Order wanted retribution against.

What Sara said next gave Hahnah immediate pause. Enough that she stopped momentarily and then had to start walking in a brisk haste again to catch back up.

...It may help you find who you are looking for.

Sara was a human. A human that Hahnah did not know and did not trust. But what she had said happened to be something that Hahnah was quite ready and hopeful to hear. Another way. Another possible way, she was careful to remind herself. But if it could be an alternative to the delicate and precarious plan Hahnah had set (or tried to set) in motion, then she was willing to hear.

To Sara, she said, "What is it? What do you know?"

Nothing would come of the investigation. Of that Hahnah was certain. But if this human, Sara, had a way that she and Griffyn could discover the truth of the captive elves without relying upon or asking from the human masters, then it could change everything.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Sara looked to Hahnah with wide eyes, her train of thought derailed by the young elf's intense gaze. When she responded, it was indecipherable.

"H-Honeyed ham with spinach."

Griffyn shared a glance with Hahnah before replying.

"What?"

Sara blushed. "I-I mean that, um, it's like this. When I was working in the scullery at the manor, that was an order that came in quite regularly for Lord Sunderland's chambers. Honeyed ham with spinach. The cook was asked for it a lot."

Griffyn shrugged. "The Lord's favoured dish, then. What of it?"

But Sara shook her head. "Lord Sunderland's favourite is cyder-soaked pork, we all know that. This was in addition to that, this and a number of other dishes. And Lord Sunderland isn't, well... he isn't fat."

"I'm not following." Griffyn scratched his head, briefly alarmed as he remembered he had recently cut his hair short. "You're saying that someone in his employ has a fondness for ham? So do I."

Sara looked down at her feet, and he realised he was pushing too hard. He let her regain composure, and it was a moment later when she finally responded.

"When I arrived here, I began working with the cooks to help feed the soldiers and workers in the Order. But when it got out that I had left the services of the manor staff, they asked me to try cooking for the lords and lady of the council. They said that maybe I'd know something of preparing fancier food than the simple soups we give to the others. So I met with them, and I asked them what they would like to eat if they were able to choose. And... And Lord Rathierel, he said..."

"Honeyed ham with spinach..." Griffyn finished for her. His mind went white as he worked through the implications.

Sara nodded beside them. "He told me it was something of a... of a family favourite. And I thought that was unusual, both because it was very specific a-and also because I had helped make it many, many times before."

Griffyn stopped walking. His hand went up to his mouth as pieces of the puzzle began falling into place in his head, revealing a very specific picture.

"Wh-What I am trying to suggest," Sara continued, thrown off by his sudden stop, "is that if you are seeking Lord Rathierel's brother and the others of the company of jewelers, then perhaps you shouldn't be looking in the cells beneath the manor, or the city gaol."

"We should be looking in the penthouse."

Words echoed forwards through time from people, places, noted down and filed away, now glaringly relevant.

My brother and I were not on the best of terms when last we spoke...

Perhaps this is simple pride at work...

We have all tried to explain the situation to our attackers...

You shouldn't be looking in the cells beneath the manor...

And lastly, the words of the Lady Eloise Sunderland: This city holds no elven prisoners, and no elves are being held here against their will.

Griffyn raised his hands and put them on the sides of his head, staring upwards at the light between the trees. "Fuck..."

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah blinked. Canted her head in the way that a curious bird might. And she matched Griffyn's glance before looking back to the human Sara. She did not understand what the meat of pigs and some produce had to do with anything, and she could not recall if this was some phrase or "figure of speech" that she may have heard before. But Griffyn was equally confused, so she thought not.

She went on to explain, Sara did. Yet the explanation thus far did nothing for Hahnah. What did it matter that the human master Sunderland ate honeyed ham and that the elf Rathierel also ate honeyed ham--with or without the additional plant? Many people shared a fondness for common kinds of food. She would very much need Griffyn to decipher the meaning behind what Sara was saying once they had the opportunity for privacy.

Hahnah stopped when Griffyn stopped, Sara coming to one as well. What she had been saying affected him far more than it had Hahnah, who with a furrowed brow stood lost and without comprehension of the true weight of the information Sara was imparting upon them. He spoke aloud after Sara said not to look beneath the manor nor in that place called a jail. A "penthouse." The nomenclature escaped her, but it was some very specific place, and it appeared as though Griffyn might know where this secretive location was within Menura. Hahnah could not fathom why, if Sara knew this whole time, that she could not have simply said to search this place called a penthouse--the digression concerning ham and spinach to her seemed wholly unnecessary.

Of course, Hahnah could not fathom why Sara--a human--would want to help them free the captive elves in the first place. Why she would care (or why the Order of the Acer would care, for that matter). But this adverse response was as meek as it had ever been, containing little to none of the fervent vitriol it once would have held, and it did not last very long at all. Hahnah was past it and past the accompanying suspicions and misgivings quickly, focusing on what truly mattered.

The captive elves. Whom she still believed were absolutely captives. This like the sole thread holding together a matted and ruined garment, and upon its snapping would the entirety of it begin its unstoppable unraveling.

Griffyn brought his hands to the sides of his head. A clear sign of stress, along with the uttering of the Common word that many considered to be obscene. And Hahnah, forgetting the pretense of her character and of Griffyn's character, touched one of his elbows and said with a tone of reassurance, "We will rescue them from this penthouse. We will."

Alarm, sharp at first and degrading quickly down to a mild level, when she realized she had lapsed. She tried to recover. Making her tone sterner. "You wanted the truth. You will have it when we find it there."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Griffyn did not speak until they had left the woods behind them. He walked silently under the shadowed gazes of the soldiers of the Order, and did not look back as Sara bade them farewell with a curtsy. The wind whipped his makeshift cloak on the grassy hillocks on the plains, facing the city walls. Menura loomed menacingly on the horizon like a stone beast, its jagged jaws open to swallow them.

"I fear," he began, his usual self returned, "that we have reached the end of what talk can achieve."

The situation played out across his mind. A group of elves find their way to the human city of Menura. The Lord of the city invites them to stay, perhaps so that they may favour him with their superior metalworking. The Lord plies them with good food and fine accommodation. As such, they remain. For eight years. And not once does their good work come with deserving recognition. And are they simply ignorant of the blood shed in their names, or callously turning their backs on their warrior kin?

Something held them in the manor of Menura, and Griffyn doubted it was lock and key.

"But the lord's reclusive nature is well-known," he said aloud. "His wife appears in public and appears to make all of his decisions. He does not accept guests, I fear. And why would he, when his choice of guest has caused all this? What chance is there he will wish to speak with a head-shorn foreigner and a young elf girl?"

And they only had until dawn to discover the truth. After that, yet more blood would be spilled on these grassy plains. He couldn't accept that. Griffyn's boots dragged through the green, picking up a layer of condensation.

Finally, he turned to Hahnah. His expression was wrought with jagged uncertainty.

"What would you do, were I not here?" he asked. "Assuming the elves truly are held in the highest rooms of the manor, the rooms reserved for honoured guests, how would you get them out? How would you even speak with them?"

At least he was certain about this, that Hahnah would not give up on the captives. She had set her mind on this rescue with a keen focus that he sometimes wondered if he could see beaming from her eyes, wavering like heat haze. They had shared words on doubt not so long ago. She doubted, just as he did. But she would continue down her path regardless. He took no small measure of comfort from remembering that.

He glanced over his shoulder, at the retreating forest. They had learned that the elves of the Order would also not back down, not even with the King's reinforcements on their way to defend the city. All this chaos for a handful of friends. He hoped that, when they discovered the force that had taken a young jeweler out of place and had used he and his allies to bring about a vicious battle, Griffyn would account it worthy.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Their forced quiet was a necessary thing to endure. But Hahnah held her silence until they were well away from the forest and the base of the Order contained therein. The long stretch of grassland between the trees and the walled city of Menura gave rise again to that impulse to simply run, to find in the expansive solitude of the wilderness of Arethil the measure of safety she was most familiar with. And again she dispelled this impulse, an act easier to do this time. She knew that she had to stay. She did not think explicitly that her whole worldview, its reaffirmation or its obliteration, depended upon the resolution of the struggles of both Elvenkind and Humankind in and around Menura...but she could feel it.

When Griffyn started talking, Hahnah almost flinched, so focused was she on rigidly maintaining her character after her little lapse at the end with Sara.

The end of what talk can achieve. That is what Hahnah thought as well. Why she thought the investigation, if brought to the human masters of Menura, would amount to nothing. And why she had thought thusly that the only way to get the Sunderlands to reveal the location of the captive elves was through the trap she suggested the elves of the Order set up. Force it from them. An imperfect plan, especially with Griffyn being the Mage, but the one she had come up with. Yet with the intervention of Sara--odd as it was to Hahnah--they had a way which could preclude the necessity of an imperfect plan.

What would you do, were I not here?

Hahnah looked back to him. She wanted to clarify what she was thinking and what she had said in Elvish during the negotiation, to speak with Griffyn without the muddying pretense and let her intentions be known. But it would wait.

She spoke honestly, even though she suspected that he would not like what she would say. "I would wait until night to have the cover of the darkness. I would find a way into the manor, and then I would start killing everyone inside as quietly as I could. I do not think it would stay quiet for long, and that is why the darkness would be important, both for running away and maybe for the killing. Buildings are unnatural in their landscape...in their layout?...they are unnatural, so I would be slowed down. I would also have to acquire the keys to doors if they were locked, or I would have to find other ways to break them open. If the place called a penthouse is indeed one of the highest rooms in the manor, I would search until I found the elves, until I had to run, or until I was slain."

She thought for a moment. Said, "I do not know what I would do after I found them. I feel...that the walls keeping the Reds out would also keep us all in, and that it would all very likely end in blood."

Sobering. To think that for all of her willpower, determination, and sorcery, it would not be enough, and there would ultimately be no saving them if she was alone in this.

She addressed his last question as a bit of an afterthought. "I would speak with them warmly." A small nod. "Yes, that is how I would speak with them, whether we had hope of escape or not."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

He nodded sadly as they walked. He'd known it would have to be something like that. Knowing Hahnah - or rather, being aware of her unknowable aspects - made Griffyn consider that she could even be capable of such a feat. Surely all the best soldiers in Menura were out defending the walls. The lord would likely only need a skeleton garrison to defend himself should the Order make it to the manor. One quick assassin, particularly one with Hahnah's abilities, may be able to clear the place out ahead of reinforcements. Might even be able to find the elves, sequestered away in their apartments.

whether we had hope of escape or not...

Well said. And to lead the elves free of the city with the siege in full effect was... Well, it didn't sound so plausible. And that was provided he went along with Hahnah's... massacre. They would accomplish more together, but Griffyn knew all too well that we would not be able to take the lives of any more soldiers. He didn't have it in him. Or perhaps instead, he had an excess of something. Mercy? Naivety? Whatever it was, it held him back. It made him... human.

Griffyn shook his head before that thought could settle. "There must be a better way," he said as they approached the city. The gates were wide open, filled with spiked wooden barricades. They were spotted from a distance, and the path was slowly made clear for them by the rough ranks of Menura's defenders.

As they entered the city, the crowd of soldiers parted. It was clear they didn't recognise their commander, and their eyes followed the pair with narrowed mistrust. Someone had clearly given them the all-clear to reenter the city, but their orders didn't include liking or trusting them. Griffyn didn't look back, but strode forward as if he had every right to be there.

Ahead of the crowd, he saw the door to the command building open and the thin form of Lady Sunderland's scribe peer out to inspect the commotion. He hunched his shoulders slightly, blending into the crowd, and took Hahnah's arm firmly.

"Let's get home," he said beneath his breath. "I don't feel like debriefing right now."

He quickly led the way north, to the street leading to the noble quarter. What had that man called it...? Soon, their temporary home was within sight. But Griffyn knew he couldn't rest long. His body wouldn't let him. With afternoon blending slowly into evening, he had to act.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

The wide open gates. Like the door of a cage, the door of the Temple, waiting for them. To lock them them into the city in much the same way as the captive elves. Walls, as Hahnah knew them: confining and dreadful, the constructs of a slow and painful death. Maybe that was what was happening to those captive elves. Trapped within those very walls for eight years, not starving, but forced to work. To endure continuous cruelty.

There must be a better way.

"I hope that there is."

And she did. She truly did. Hers was a way which could not end well. It was the final act of one who could not stand by, idling, while appalling cruelty to good people was being perpetuating and it was known that this was happening. Yet what else was there? Other than aiding the Order of the Acer to win in their siege? Which would not...no, that would not be good either.

Hahnah followed Griffyn through the city. Normally it would be that the distrustful looks of the soldiers would be a ready cause for concern, but she ignored it. A small nod she returned to Griffyn when he suggested that they go home, and she did not protest when her arm was taken and she was led away from the command building. This was good. She did not think that she could stand to be in that place, to see the faces of the human masters.

Up the street.

To the noble quarter.

The large manor, and then around back to the quarters of the servants. "Home," as it was.

And once inside, once the door had been shut and a tiny moment passed, Hahnah--standing close to the newly shut front door--had to say it. To finally speak to her intentions, without the stifling guise of their pretense.

"I will not sacrifice you, Griffyn," she said. Even though it had in fact been said while she had been playing to a role, still her words sounded a hint ashamed, eyes downcast. "I want to do good. I yearn strongly to aid the elves of Fal'Edwein. But...I will not allow them to kill you."

A final truth that needed to be said. One that spoke to the solidified trust she had placed in Griffyn. He of Humankind who to her was without the sin of cruelty. An admirable man.

"I cannot."

Even if that meant shedding the blood of elves.

Kylindrielle, Elurdrith...forgive her.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

Enclosed inside their home, Griffyn leaned forward on the table, fists on wood, and closed his eyes tight.

"That means much to me, Hannah."

How long had it been since they had met? Not long, and certainly shorter than the friendships of many of his colleagues back home. They had come from two separate worlds, stood on two different points of view, and had been forced together by the wild currents of powerful men and women, far outside their ability to control. And yet, Griffyn realised with an aching chest, he would die for the not-elf girl he had shared this time with. And he would do it gladly. Unable to look at her, he voiced this.

"But you should know that if only one of us is getting out of that house alive, it has to be you. It has to be you, Hannah."

Turning to face her, he forced a smile.

"My family name will give me some protection from any laws they want to level at me, and I've never met a human that wouldn't be willing to take money to look the other way. I'm sure the von Spurling treasury can weather any price the lord of the city can name."

That was provided they let him get that far, let him open his mouth. However gilded his family name, there was nothing to say Lord Sunderland couldn't just order his head from his shoulders there and then. A man in his position could easily weave a tale that had Griffyn dying for the city on the front lines to pass back to his home. Who would say different?

And besides... What was he, compared to Hahnah? A human, a rich one, with a pocketful of tricks. There were plenty of 'hims' out there, given one name or another, with one face or another. But Hahnah was one of a kind. Arethil would be infinitely worse off for having lost her. The world, he suspected, wouldn't feel his death at all.

"If either of us needs to make a sacrifice, I'd like you to leave it to me," he continued, tilting his head to one side slightly and smiling. "Can you promise me that?"

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hannah. It was more than that she liked it when he called her by her true name, that it warmed her heart to hear its sound. There was something special in him saying it. Once there had been Kylindrielle and Elurdrith, they whom she loved dearly and from the stem of this love a similar bloom for all Elvenkind as well. They had named her, knew her true name therefore, but they were gone. Of all the people in the entirety of Arethil, Griffyn was not even one among few. He was the only one who knew her true name. And that to Hahnah was special.

What came next, though, was heavy enough to crush the comforting warmth she'd gotten from hearing the true sound of her name. Dismay became her. Mouth open, brow curled, she came forward to the table Griffyn leaned on. She was prepared to voice a heartfelt protest when he turned to face her and smiled.

She let him speak, but it did little to assuage her concern. It was true that his father and the name his father passed onto him had influenced the other humans to a considerable degree. Would it protect him, as Griffyn thought that it would? Hahnah feared that it would not. Still she reserved an apprehension of many of Humankind, for she had seen much undeniable cruelty perpetrated by them. What forbearance--let alone mercy--could be expected of the human masters of Menura?

Hahnah didn't want to lose Griffyn--she fully admitted this to herself. She didn't want the world to lose him. He was special in a way that went beyond simply knowing the sound of her true name. He was a human with a capacity for kindness and lack of sin the like of which Hahnah had never before seen. And what was she? She was not even an elf, not truly, no matter how much she wanted to be. She was a slayer, one who could only make things better through death. She knew only war, and Griffyn knew peace. Couldn't Arethil do with more people like Griffyn?

Can you promise me that?

Hahnah's dismay deepened, and she was at a momentary loss for words. She lifted a hand, as if he had turned and began to walk away and she had meant to stop him, but lowered it after a second. In front of herself she clutched her hands tightly then. The tightness faded as she relented.

"I hope that it will not come to that," she said quietly, "but if it does, then I will leave it to you. I will do this because you have asked it of me...and I trust you, Griffyn. I believe in the goodness I have seen in your heart."

Firmly now. Firmly and with small gathering of tears to wet her eyelashes. "I promise that I will leave you to make any necessary sacrifice."

A promise made, a promise kept. If the worst happened, and it came to it.

She blinked. Once, twice, and then many times. Dispelling the wetness clinging to her eyes as much as she could. She didn't know what else to say. She couldn't abandon the captive elves locked in the penthouse, she couldn't wait until dawn for the Order to show (especially not for them to possibly seize victory over Menura and to take Griffyn's head), and she couldn't think of any better way to free the captive elves than to slay all those who held them captive and to thus make herself, Griffyn, and those elves enemies of the entire city.

So, as her eyes drifted downward, she sat in a near absentminded manner in a chair at the table.

And she felt strongly that she should pray.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

He nodded, looking down at his feet. Hahnah moved to the chair to one side, and he moved away to the door, leaning against the wall. He couldn't bear to look at her. He let the silence hang in the room for a long moment, holding together his composure.

It hurt to see her like this, though his heart maintained that it was the best course. Even if everything fell to pieces, even if he ended up with a blade at his neck, even if (Gods help him) the captive elves met their deaths as a result of their meddling... If Hahnah got away to safety away from this dry, desolate city, he would count it a win. Was that a mistake? Was it a mistake to throw his life as forfeit so that one individual, one he knew only a little of and understood barely at all, could live? His father's staff contained many trained swordsmen who would gladly lay down their lives for their master. And what he was doing was the opposite of that, in a sense. Did that make it wrong?

Hahnah was very still. He would have thought she was sleeping if not for her open eyes, wet with tears. Griffyn pushed himself off the wall and moved to the small room that held the bed he had used as his own. He threw the makeshift cape from his shoulders and onto the bed, and set himself to preparing. For what? He would know when he was ready. Moving to the closet, he retrieved his jacket, still battered and bloody from their encounter the night before. He pulled it on.

They couldn't reach the elves in the manor, because nobody would let them in. They couldn't escort the elves out of the city, because there was a siege going on. They couldn't wait for assistance, because the Order would call for him at dawn - provided they even accepted the agreement of the elves. Griffyn severely doubted Lady Sunderland would even agree to pass it on to her husband, let alone allow either one of them go through with risking themselves.

But also, also... Despite everything, he also could not sit back and do nothing. Hahnah, he knew, felt the same. They had to do something, even if it came to nothing. Not trust themselves to the pride of the human nobles, not trust themselves to the pride of the elven Order of the Acer. But something. To trust themselves to their own strength, their own determination, and to each other.

As Griffyn strapped his sword belt around his waist, tucking his wand into the sheathe on the opposite side, he felt his resolve growing. They were going to have to improvise, but he thought he knew where to start. Rolling his shoulders, he stepped back into the dining room. Behind him, the sun's light in the window darkened to umberous orange.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah heard Griffyn moving quietly to his bedroom. And the urge to pray overcame her. She brought her elbows to rest on the table, entwined her hands together, and leaned her forehead into them.

"I do not know what to do," she said in a tiny whisper. And she knew that this prayer would not be short. Often she spoke only what she wanted the Dying God to hear most prominently, feeling that He knew all of what she was thinking and feeling. But speaking aloud thoughts and feelings added a weight to them. It gave them substance in the world outside of the mind and the heart.

"I wish to aid Elvenkind. They are suffering in this city, and I wish to free them, but I do not know how."

The tips of her fingers dug into the backs of her hands.

"My purpose as a slayer means nothing here. I cannot free them by simply slaying their captors, for they are many and I and Griffyn are few. And I..."

She had to say it. It was true, and she had to say it.

"...I have had doubts about my purpose. I have had doubts about Humankind. Griffyn is a human, and he does not carry the sin of cruelty. He is not a k--"

Griffyn's sword burst from his chest in a silvery surge of metal, a cry of desperate rage in the man's lungs. The two bodies fell forwards onto the paving. The elf was dead in seconds.

She faltered in her prayer slightly. "...killer of elves. He is not. I...I have killed an elf. I have killed more than one elf."

A dead elf was on top of Hahnah's straight leg, his hand clutching a dagger even in death. His skull was a crater--blown open from within. His withering eyes were wide open portraits of agony and horror. And she couldn't stop staring at him. The elf that she had thought was a friend. The elf that she had wanted to quietly save from his human companions.

Her voice was hollow. "You lied to me."

It was all quiet in the tavern save for the last wet gasps of the barkeep. From outside came the steady drilling of a woodpecker. A pause in the bird's song. More drilling.

"Why did you lie to me??" she said aloud.

"I thought I knew the world. I do not...think that is true anymore. There is much that I do not know and do not understand. But I do know this: Griffyn and I both wish to aid Elvenkind in this city. Is this...what You want? I feel in my heart that it is good to slay they who carry sin. But..."

She felt a rising hope in her heart, taking it from the very words she was primed to speak.

"...may I also be something else, in my purpose? Of profane things I am the cleanser...and of sacred things I am the savior. May You see it be so?"

(the Living Armor within Hahnah stirred subtly...with disapproval...and she did not notice)

"May You see it be so?"

Hahnah raised her face skyward.

"May You see it be so?"

And she believed wholeheartedly that the Dying God would help her to do this good act in the world. That this was why her path had led her here to Menura. That the Dying God loved Elvenkind, loved her, and would see them through. There had to be a reason why she was a slayer, and then why she was bidden to walk among them. There had to be, and though she could not grasp it, she trusted in the Dying God whose presence she had felt all her life.

Hahnah relaxed her hands and then rose from her seat. Turned around to see that Griffyn had come out of his bedroom. Her expression was no longer solemn. And she took notice of the sword and the wand newly adorning the belt around his waist.

"When night falls, we must go."

To doom. To salvation. But neither could stand idle, and that alone warmed Hahnah's heart.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

He nodded, comforted by the resolve in Hahnah's eyes that mirrored his own.

"Right," he said. "I may have a way into the manor for us, but following that we will have to see what awaits us. I fear we cannot plan for any eventuality, and we have not the time to seek further intelligence."

He stepped quickly to the window, boots resounding on the wood, and peered out. The garden of the tall house that guarded them from the street was silent.

"But I think it would be wise if we awaited the darkness out on the streets somewhere," he added, brow tensed. "The Lady and her retinue will undoubtedly come here to check up on us once word gets out that we have returned, and at this stage she would only get in our way."

He turned to Hahnah and tried for a warm smile, though it felt chill as it emerged. "Take what you need from here and let us be gone. The shadows of the streets can conceal us if we need, but I would appreciate the opportunity to see the manor ahead of our entry. Perhaps some element that we have overlooked will become obvious."

He looked around the room. There was nothing else of his here, and nothing more he felt like taking that had been lent by the people of the city. Moving to the table, he took his journal from under one arm and put it in the satchel he had brought to Menura, slinging the pack over one shoulder. He also took up the blue armband he had been given, and pulled it on. Just in case. Though if he could get by without having to pull rank, without having to be seen at all, that would be ideal.

He glanced down at Hahnah, where she had been resting. Cursing his obliviousness to her earlier vulnerability, he crouched down so their eye levels matched.

"Are you well?" he asked. "Is there anything you need?"

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Reassuring, what Griffyn had to say. In this matter, in this city landscape with all of its unnatural passageways and the manor which was a part of it, he would know far more than her. Even with the familiarity and knowledge she had gained by walking among them. Perhaps before, when her appearance was different and she slayed without question, the thought of needing a human's help to rescue elves (a human's help at all) would have been inconceivable. But not now.

She watched him go to the window. Squinted lightly at the reflected orange of the evening light. Wise to wait for the darkness out on the streets, he said, and she nodded. She knew a quiet and secluded place that could work for them, and it happened to be where her shoes still sat discarded.

Take what you need from here and let us be gone.

She didn't have any possessions of her own, but...there was something that she wanted. While Griffyn was putting his journal inside of his satchel, Hahnah had gone back to her bedroom. A brief few seconds passed, and then she emerged and returned to the table, holding in both hands against the flat of her stomach the novel, The Romance of House Black. The story, for reasons she did not precisely know, had fascinated her.

"It does not belong to me, and it is not useful for what we are about to do, but I wish to take it." Her cheeks glowed with the rosy red of bashfulness, and her eyes were averted downward. Stealing was not permitted, she knew that, but it seemed as if whoever lived here previously had abandoned everything inside the quarters. "I want to know how the story ends."

She looked back up when Griffyn glanced down. Leveled her gaze out when he crouched and they saw eye-to-eye.

"Yes, there is something that I need. There is something that we need. We should have something to eat while we await the night to fall. We have not had anything since the morning."

It would be wise to ensure that both of them were not lacking in strength by going hungry or thirsty. And, hopefully, it would not be a last meal. For either of them. But the thought of it being a potentially final meal then seized Hahnah's attention with a sudden urgency. That sense of finality struck her, and the notion came that this might be a fleeting, singular chance to say something with full honesty.

She placed the book down temporarily on the table. Said, "And there is one last thing."

Hahnah spread her arms wide and came close and wrapped them slowly about Griffyn in an embrace, squeezing and pressing the side of her face to his chest. She could hear his heart beating.

"You are a good man, Griffyn. You are not an elf, but you do not need to be. You are good as you are."

And I was wrong. How many...how many other times have I been wrong...?

Her tone, quiet, and with the slight quiver of two very different kinds of fright. The fear of loss, and the fear that Zael had been right about her all along.

"...I see that clearly."

Griffyn