Chapter Eighteen *NEW*

"Get out!" Gaalin snapped, shouting at the surprised women who flinched, jumping at his words, then scurrying out the door. The old hag paused at the doorway, glaring back at him.

"It needs to be cleansed."

"I'll take care of her." He said, having pulled the girl into his arms and against his chest.

"She needs a healer too. I can't display a pitiful creature like that to the King."

"Then find one." Gaalin snarled, widening his eyes and narrowing his brow. "Now, get out."

The door slammed behind the women as they left, leaving Gaalin standing with a shaking babe against his damp chest. He stared down at her, down at the years of torment. She was covered, completely covered in scars. Lashings, strikes from blades, dull and sharp, burns, and more. Any sort of mistreatment that man could inflict on her were there. And much so more after this evening's beatings.

He held her gently, stroking her hair, the nape of her neck, caressing her back.

"What's your name?" He asked.

She didn't reply, yet continued to press herself into his chest.

"Child, your name?"

She hesitated, stumbling over the word, her name. "L-lib-libelle..."

"Libelle, my name is Gaalin."

She glanced up at him, and he smiled softly.

"It's nice to meet you." He said. "You're safe here, here with me. I'll protect you."

"You don... you don't know-."

He pulled her closer to him. "Child, I know you better than you think." He remembered, remembered the beatings, the harassment, the trouble he experienced growing up. All because of the mortal men.

Giving her time to relax, although a short amount, Gaalin convinced Libelle to step into the cold water that was prepared for her bath. Finding himself more irritated on behalf of the child, disgusted with the pathetic and disrespect from the servants. Supplying a young girl, wet and cold from the rain, a frigid bath. He spent time gently scrubbing away the dried blood and the dirt.

She shivered while in the bathwater, clutching her body and only extending a limb to him as he scrubbed her body. He washed the filth from her hair, then proceeded to comb the knots from the long blonde locks after he moved her to the hard bed. He wrapped her in blankets, half expecting the servants to return with some form of clothing for her. Though even more surprised when one did turn up, although she wore a frown. Muttering as she left about how it was a waste to spare any sort of clothing for the elf.

Libelle dressed in plain clothes, rags really. An oversized cotton shirt, with sleeves that reached past her fingertips, a simple muslin vest, and pants that dragged on the ground by her heels. For once in an unknown length of time, she wore clothes with few holes, she wore shoes, and she was clean and in a warm place. She was safe, and only because Gaalin was beside her.

It had had reached late into the night before an elderly man dressed in robes knocked on the door, using his gift and knowledge of magic to heal Libelle's most recent injuries. He then supplied a tonic, directing Gaalin to have her drink the solution with a meal prior to sleep. Yet it was hard to convince a palace servant to supply her with food, let alone a meal for them both.

It took some cursing from his lips, harassing the servants as they made eye contact with them while he stood outside the door. Finally, they were brought soup that could barely be called food. Cold water with vegetables overly cooked and turned to mush, with the delectable aroma of rot. Yet she ate without complaint, even greedily accepting his bowl and finishing its contents. She had scowled at the scent of the tonic that had been provided to her, yet still consumed the liquid before following his direction to lay on the hard bed.

Now, she lay with Gaalin sitting on a bucket beside her. On her side, with her small hands clutching his between her palms while she listened to him ramble and complain of the poor behavior from their undesirable hosts. He spoke indifferently, watching her eyes shine bright. The young girl, for potentially the first time in a very long time looked as though she felt relaxed.

"How old are you Libelle?" He asked.

She counted on her fingers until she reached ten, and then paused. "Sixteen... I think."

"You think?"

She glanced at the doorway, "I lost track of how many seasons have passed."

Gaalin tilted his head this time. "Where is your family? What are you doing outside of the elven villages?"

"I lost my family."

"Lost?"

"I think they died."

"You think?"

Libelle frowned, thinking. "I used to live in Calen Málos."

Gaalin's own eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply: he knew of Calen Málos. He knew the story of the elven green woods, the thought-to-be well hidden elven stronghold, deep within an ancient forest. It was once a capital of the elven kin, yet the once amazing city was now nothing but ash. Ten years ago... it happened ten years ago.

Home to hundreds of their kin, it was a place where warriors excelled. Many of their kin traveled to Calen Málos just to hone their skills. So for such a place to fall, the news of it traveled far and wide very fast. When several mortal armies joined together, ambushing the city when their warriors were away, it resulted in a great number of casualties. The warriors of Calen Málos left to travel to a far away clan who was in the midst of their own war, leaving behind the children, the elderly, those who were learning the skills of battle.

The ambush came late at night, and when man had come together in such large numbers, there was no room for retaliation when the skilled warriors were away. Gaalin had heard the tales from men as he traveled the land, how proud men were to have slaughtered the defenseless. For men, they were thrilled to have conquered the land and claimed all that was valuable from the elven kind.

Libelle must be among the few survivors of that night, the few that had managed to escape from the burning. By the gods, she was just a child when that happened. She was still so small, so thin. Sixteen? She barely presented with the physique of a ten or twelve-year-old. She appeared so frail. If she lived there, if she were there when the ambush occurred, a child no more than six years old fled her homeland and has been living on her own since.

He sighed, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees and his face buried in his hands. "How have you survived all these years?" She opened her mouth to reply, and then he shook his head. "No, don't answer that. I already know."

"Why are you here?" she asked. "Why are you living here, among man?"

He lifted his head, gazing at her with his red eyes. "I've lived among man since I was a boy. I left my homeland with my cousin, we traveled as mercenaries until just a few years ago."

"But... why?"

He chuckled, "I wanted to see the world, unfortunately the world is full of man."

"I wish I knew how to use a sword." She mumbled. "Maybe... maybe then I wouldn't have gotten caught."

She laid in silence for a few minutes, staring at him with him staring back. The young girl, forced from her homeland, and having spent he last ten years at the mercy of men. He'd experienced the abuse, the racism, the hatred towards his kind first-hand. Yet he has had both the skill and the strength to always defend himself. She... did not.

"Why is your skin the color of charcoal?"

Gaalin snorted at her bold question. "Ah, my fair skinned cousin. I am a dark elf, kin from another land where there are hundreds more like me. Dark elves, drow, demons, whatever they feel like calling me. My kin is characterized by having black skin, red eyes and white hair. Unlike you woodland folk."

"There's different elves?"

"Many." He replied. "I presume you were never taught these things, before, ahem." She shook her head and he smiled a sad smile, "I'll tell you more about these things, another time. For now, I think you should rest little one."

"Will you stay?"

"Aye, I'll stay. Now rest."