Chapter 22

Aduil stilled, then turned to follow the sound. A faint snuffle, a susurration and—there. Something stirred in the moonlit grass, slowly sweeping the tall, willowy blades aside in a sinuous line. Carefully, quietly, he drew his sword. They should have left the Urut far behind, but there were other small creatures, just as deadly, who made these plains their home.

He inched forward on silent feet as the creature crept closer, closer until… a squeaking bark echoed in the night as a Caracsel popped its furry head above the summer-green grass.

Aduil sighed and sheathed his sword. The long-eared rodent could be a vicious garden pest but posed little threat here. Still, he shooed it on its way, sternly cautioning it to keep its peace and stay clear of the camp.

He was not certain how much the creature grasped; while some elves possessed the ability to converse freely with all creatures of the land, Aduil had not been so blessed. Still, with some effort, he could at times make himself understood—and as the course of fortune flowed, this appeared to be one of those times. The Caracsel turned and, after casting a glance back at the meddlesome elf with an annoyed flick of its ears, vanished back into the sward, the grass gently swaying as it toddled away. Aduil rolled his eyes and resumed his patrol around the lands surrounding the camp.

Perhaps he was being overcautious. Most elves he knew, when having drawn the nightwatch, would simply choose a site with a far-reaching view, extend their senses and wait for the warming of the day. It was a sound strategy, and one he often employed—for a portion of his watch, in any event—yet he had found that on this journey, he could not bring himself to do the same.

He had been on edge from the first night, once Kate had found her rest, and he could not say quite why. It was hardly the first time he had been away from the Meadowood, nor was it the first time the safety of a slumbering camp had been placed in his care.

It was, however, the first time such a camp had held one so dear.

Perhaps that was it, then, for Kate was dear to him and only grew more so with each passing day. Each smile, each laugh, each time her eyes lit with the joy of discovery, brought with it such a bright warmth, his heart seemed to swell with it as he stepped deeper and deeper into love.

Even the exasperating way she had refused to simply take a moment to listen when she had thought she had been in the right had not been nearly so irritating as it should have been, as it would have been had it come from any other.

Never had he felt the like before, and he found he could at last fathom his brother's choice to follow his heart's desires over all wisdom, for he too would face any danger, invite any wrath if only it meant Kate would be happy, and safe.

Even if that meant safe away from him.

That was a thought he tried not to dwell upon, though it seemed he could scarcely avoid it. The moment of their parting drew nearer by the day, ever reaching to loom over them, deep and dark as a cloudbank in a winter storm. Yet, what was he to do? He could not ask her to stay. For all she spoke of a love for his land, she had made her stance on that quite clear. She wished to return home to her mother, and as much as the thought twisted at his heart, he could not fault her for it. There was very little he would not do to meet his own mother once more.

No, he could not ask her live out the rest of her days in Taleria when it would only hurt her heart, ever aching for home, for family.

Yet…

Yet perhaps it need not—

A strangled cry shattered the stillness of the night, spurring Aduil into motion even as he registered the sound. He dodged trees and vaulted over a fallen log, heart pounding in time with his steps as he raced toward the fearful cries. He drew his blade as he ran, with a silent vow that whatever dared harm his Kate would not live to regret it.

Silence fell once more, mere moments before he reached the camp, bringing with it an icy dread which only grew when he stepped into the small, dimly lit clearing and found…

Nothing.

Where was Kate?

He had thought to find her fighting fiercely for her life, but there was nothing, no Kate, no fearsome beast, no sign of struggle…even her bedroll was gone from where she had laid it near the fire. What could have happened?

Refusing to allow his fears to overtake him as that final, terrified scream echoed in his mind, he knelt to search the ground for tracks. He carefully brushed his fingers over the dirt, straining to see in the weak light glowing from the remnants of the night's fire.

He found no tracks made by human feet, nor any other being he knew of, yet the ground was disturbed. Something large, and long, seemed to have slid, shuffled almost, away from the fire, like—a motion at the edge of the clearing drew his eye and Aduil shot to his feet, sword at the ready… then dropped it with a gasp.

"Kate!" he called, for there she lay, tangled in her bedroll at the edge of camp, beneath the shelter of a young oak.

She made no reply. He dashed over and knelt before her.

"Kate!"

She lived. She must. She had moved, he had seen it, she—she tossed her head, eyes closed tight, and thrashed within the confines of her bedding, nearly rolling away from him. Aduil sighed out his relief.

She slept. She only slept. Trapped in some vile dream, perhaps, but she lived, and slept.

"Kate," he called softly.

"No, don't," she whimpered, twisting as though straining to escape some unseen foe.

"Kate." He lay a tender hand on her flushed cheek, hoping to free her from whatever terror prowled her dreams.

She bolted upright with a gasp, eyes wild and clouded with fear.

"Kate, it is well, I am here, all is well," he soothed, until her eyes found him and the tension drained out of her, her shoulders falling as her quick, frightened breaths began to slow.

"You are," she whispered. "You're still here."

"Of course I am," he said. "I would not leave you."

She turned her face away, but leaned closer to him until her shoulder brushed against him, as if to reassure herself it was true, and drew in a slow breath. "No, I know, it's just…" She shook her head and pulled away. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you."

"You could not." He shifted to sit next to her more comfortably, with his back to the bole of the tree.

She was calming now, yet still she quivered, and so without thought, he wrapped an arm around her and drew her close to his side. She went willingly, melting into the embrace, and after only a brief hesitation, lay her head upon his shoulder with a tremulous sigh in grateful acceptance of the offered comfort.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" Aduil offered. "I have found the terrors of the night often lose their hold when spoken of."

Kate nodded, though she did not speak right away. When she did, it was in a soft, quiet voice, as though fearful that speaking the words too loud would call the images into being.

"We were riding, you and I, just like we have been, and we were talking and laughing when out of nowhere, the trees behind us started breaking and falling and suddenly the King was there…Only he wasn't an elf, he was an enormous Urut, as big as the trees, and he burst out of the forest and grabbed you and he was pulling you away from me, tying you in webs—and you were reaching for me, Aduil, you looked so scared and I tried to get to you but I couldn't move, and the Urut laughed in this horrible grating screech and tossed its hair, and it was your father's hair and it was wearing his crown…except it was too small for its bulbus Urut head, and—"

Aduil belted out a laugh, then slapped his free hand over his mouth as Kate raised her head with a frown. "Forgive me, I do not mean to laugh, it is only, the hair and the small crown and the enormous head, I—" He cut himself off, lest he dissolve into a fit of laughter and truly offend her.

She shook her head at him, then rested it back upon his shoulder with a small huff. "That's okay. I guess it is kind of funny. Actually, now that I say it out loud, it's pretty ridiculous."

Aduil could only smile to that, for it was far from ridiculous in his eyes. Dreams were rarely meaningless he knew, and to hear she dreamed of him, of fears of his loss…Perhaps he stood a greater chance than caution would lead him to believe. Perhaps he could at last speak his heart. Thrice, he had tried since they had left the Meadowood, yet each time the words had seemed to lodge in his throat, a fear such as he had never known clawing them back. Yet now…

"I…" he began, but could go no further. He clenched his jaw, silently cursing whatever it was that held his words captive, fervently bidding it to take its leave and trouble him no more.

"You what?"

Aduil supressed a resigned sigh. "I was often besieged by terrible dreams when I was a small elfling," he said instead. "Some nights, when I would wake from one of these dreams, my mother would take me out to watch the stars, and she would recite for me the tale of how they came to be."

"That's sweet. My mom wasn't usually there when I had nightmares when I was little—she worked nights—and the lady who stayed with me while she was gone didn't have much patience for 'such nonsense'. She'd just tell me it wasn't real and to go back to sleep. Your way sounds much nicer." After a brief pause, she asked, "how does the story go? If you don't mind."

"Not at all. Though, I may not remember it true, it has been some years since last I heard it."

"Like I'd know the difference?"

Aduil chuckled. "A fair point. Alright." He leaned back against the tree and cleared his throat. "Long, long ago in the elder years, a time before petty rivalries and wars split the lands, when all was still green and good, there lived, in a village by the sea, a young elf maiden by the name of Beleriel," he began, reciting the words by heart as Kate snuggled deeper into his embrace. He smiled and continued the tale.

He stumbled a few times in the telling, as his knowledge of Kate's language stretched thin in places, but she helped him through, playing a guessing game of sorts until they landed upon a reasonable translation.

As the narrative began to draw to a close, Aduil found himself weaving into it far greater detail than he had ever heard it told for fear that, when it was through, he would no longer have an excuse to hold Kate close, and he knew he would miss her from his side.

Still, all tales have their end, and this was no exception.

"Some things, once done, cannot be undone, and Beleriel could never again walk amongst her kin. Yet so brave and kind was Beleriel, having given all of herself to protect the memories of her people, that the goddess Samdiriel took pity upon her and pulled her from the icy depths and wrapped her in the warm dark cloak of night, there to serve on as guardian and guide for all poor souls, lost in the dark. And there she remains, from that day to this, still collecting the memories from those who wish to share, holding them safe within her cloak, so none may be forgotten, ever again."

"So, Beleriel became the first star, and all the rest are the memories?" Kate asked sleepily. "I like that. All the loves and hopes and heartaches and adventures…all the best days and the worst, all the stories, right above our heads… Way better than the last story of the stars I heard." She yawned.

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Don't really remember much," she mumbled with another yawn. "Something about a princess… dropping beads from her necklace to find her way through the dark sky… and they turned into stars…"

"You are right, that is… ridiculous," Aduil said with a smile.

"Mmmm…"

They fell into an easy silence and to Aduil's delight, Kate made no move to leave his side. Soon, her breaths deepened, and she drifted back into sleep. Moving carefully so as not to wake her, he reached down to her bedroll where it lay crumpled at her feet, (as she had wriggled out of the uncomfortably tangled thing sometime during the story) and pulled the quilt from the canvas covering before wrapping it snugly around her. Holding her close, he settled back against the tree again with a contented sigh.

It was strange. Aduil had been a wanderer for as long as his memory stretched. Sleep aside, he could never seem to still himself for more than a few hours, try as he might; his body demanded motion. Yet that night, with Kate safely ensconced in his arms, Aduil had no desire to move a single muscle. It was as though she calmed his restless spirit.

Perhaps, all those years of wandering, he had only been searching for her.

As a soft breeze rustled the leaves up above, Aduil gently rested his cheek atop Kate's head, content to spend the rest of the night simply holding her, listening to the songs of the night.