All my love,
Erin
Xoxo
“Tor,” I breathe, hardly believing what I’m seeing. Slowly, I take small steps towards him, my footing light, as if I could startle him and he might disappear. He’s wearing that grin that I love seeing and associate only with him, but he’s watching me with careful eyes like he’s unsure of my reaction. Stopping just before him, I run my gaze over his familiar form.
He’s tall like the elves, but where they’re slender, he has a much thicker build, his muscles demanding attention from the clothing he’s wearing. He’s got a loose white shirt on with a leather and fur cloak, which he must be boiling in, since the temperature in Galandell is much milder than what he’s used to in the mountains. Fatigue lines his features, but his dark eyes are bright. Dark braids run down the center of his head where he keeps his hair long, the tattoos standing out on the right side of his scalp which is shaved. His usually well-kept beard is shaggy from days of travel, and I have to fight the urge to run my hands through it.
Just looking at him like this, rugged and out of breath with his axe resting on his shoulder, you would think him a brute, but he’s one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met.
“Is this real? Are you really here?” I ask quietly, my whole focus locked on the man in front of me. I’m scared this is a dream, that I’ll wake up in my bed and he won’t really be here.
“This is real, Clarissa.” Voice low, he closes the gap between us, his eyes simmering with an emotion I can’t quite place. “I found you.” His hand comes up and cups the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair in a move similar to what Vaeril was doing just minutes ago. A blush covers my cheeks at the thought, but Tor doesn’t seem to care, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, but a cough fills the room and he stiffens.
Remembering we have an audience, I take a small step back, still within touching distance, but enough that I can breathe easier. Looking around, I notice Vaeril is right behind my shoulder, glaring at the tribesman, and Naril is still leaning against the doorframe, more relaxed now that the immediate threat is gone. It’s Eldrin who surprises me. He’s entered the room and seems to be trying to control himself. His hands are in such tight fists that I can see the whites of his knuckles.
Frowning, I start to take a step towards Eldrin, who looks like he’s in physical pain. “Are you okay?” I reach out to him, but he jerks away as if my touch would burn. Freezing, I look over at Naril for help, yet he just shakes his head slightly, his eyes locked on his brother.
“Why are you here?” Eldrin growls at Tor, who’s just watching him with a raised eyebrow. In comparison to the elf, Tor is standing casually like he’s unconcerned, but I see the tension across his shoulders. I’ve seen him in action, and I wouldn’t want to be on the opposing side in a fight. Memories of when Vaeril and I escaped Arhaven flash in my mind, and I remember how fierce Tor was in battle, effortlessly swinging his axe.
Turning to me, he points a thumb towards the fuming elf, but otherwise completely ignores him. “Your elf friend here has some serious anger issues.” I want to chide him, and I want to know how he’s here too, but whatever I was about to say is drowned out by a loud growl.
Eldrin storms towards us, pushing me out of the way as he stands in front of Tor. Everything happens quickly then, my human senses struggling to keep up with the supernatural speed of the elves. Clutching Tor’s shirt, Eldrin pulls him close, his other hand fisted and hanging at his side. Vaeril and Naril join him immediately, trying to put some distance between them, the latter whispering elvish to his furious brother.
“Answer the question!” he bellows. Naril manages to sidle up and between the two of them, facing Eldrin as he continues to speak in elvish, his tone urgent.
To Tor’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch, nor does he try to fight the elf or reach for his axe, which is still resting on his shoulder. It would be so easy for him to hurt Eldrin, to push him away, but he doesn’t.
“Eldrin!” I call, and something seems to change, like my voice snaps him out of his trance. His shoulders droop, and he releases Tor. He doesn’t move, his eyes still narrowed and fastened on the tribesman, but the violence has left his body.
“Come, brother, now is not the time for this.” Naril switches to the common tongue, his eyes flicking to mine over his twin’s shoulder.
“You know him?” Eldrin inquires. He’s still looking at Tor, but it’s obvious the question isn’t directed at him. I’m about to answer, but I’m beaten to it.
“I know him, he’s a…friend of Clarissa’s,” Vaeril confirms, stepping closer and meeting his friend’s gaze. It’s obvious he’s not pleased about Tor’s presence, but he also knows how upset I would be if Tor was to get hurt because he didn’t step in. Besides, he—we—owe Tor. If he hadn’t caused a distraction at the castle, we never would have escaped Arhaven. “She’s safe,” Vaeril states, but this seems to be the wrong thing to say.
As he pushes away from Tor and the two elves, I notice the anger in Eldrin’s expression as he turns to face me. “I didn’t ask if she was safe.”
The words are like a slap to the face, and no matter how much I try to control my reaction, I know he’s seen something in my expression. Anger and frustration burn within me. Why do his words wound me? I barely know the male, and he’s been nothing but rude to me since I arrived. I don’t get upset when Naril says something like that, in fact I would expect it from him, so what is it about the scarred warrior that winds me up so much?
“Eldrin,” Vaeril calls, stepping closer to me and placing a hand on my shoulder, obviously feeling my pain through the bond. “You should go now, we are fine here.”
Eldrin’s gaze is locked on Vaeril’s hand where it is touching my shoulder, and he wears a complicated look on his face. When he raises his eyes to meet mine, he pauses for a couple of seconds, and I get the feeling he’s waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, his expression shuts down and a blank mask settles over his features. Taking a step back, he turns suddenly and storms from the room, his twin following closely behind him.
“I’ll return for you later, Ambassador Torsten,” Naril announces, pulling the door shut behind him, wisely knowing we’ll need privacy for this conversation.
The room is blessedly silent. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the weird mood Eldrin has put me in. Thankfully the heavy tension that settled over us all left with him. I can feel their expectant eyes on me, but I use the quiet to my own advantage. The last couple of days have been busy with a lot of revelations and unexpected events, one of which is standing just before me.
Letting out my pent-up breath, I open my eyes and look at the two of them. Vaeril appears tense but dignified, his back straight and face arranged in that carefully neutral mask the elves seem to favour. Tor, on the other hand, is the opposite. His smile widens as I look over at him, his eyes lighting up, and I can feel a small grin appearing on my face. His happiness is infectious. But despite his cheerful demeanour, exhaustion lines his features, and I can tell by the way he’s standing that he’s in pain.