Dear Diary 3
July 3rd 2009 20:00
Dear Diary,
I am quite bored of staying here. I hope they do not tell us to press further; my men are not ready to strike Fidolius at the heart. I want to go back to the border, where we can safely sleep and eat and not be afraid that a large force will come down swinging swords for our necks. Shalorin and the other messengers have not returned; I am beginning to worry for it has been near four days now-they should arrive tonight.
The girl seems to have mostly recovered from the shock of the attack, but I can tell that she hates war; she has no place with us, but we have no place to send her. If we can return to the border, Shalorin can teach her our language and then we can send her back to the Elvish lands, where the horrors of war will not reach her. My sister will gladly take the girl in.
She is a beautiful girl, I can see quite clearly. She will grow up to be a woman of much appeal to the human men, and live out a long life with many loving her. But for now she is but a scared child with no one to turn to, no one to run to. I have taken her in and saved her from the war; and I pray that I can continue to keep her safe.
I bathed her today, and she washed with little fuss. I see now that she has fiery red hair which was only brown with mud. Her eyes struck me at the beginning-a cold, clear gray. Like the sword which I wield, Elvish steel that looks more like diamond to the human eye and more like magic to ours-a thing of beauty. Her cheek bones is high. She looks almost like a half elf, indeed she may be, considering the Great Alliance which only recently fell.
This would explain her love of horses as well; I suppose we shall find out upon Shalorin's return-but the question is, what holds him at the border? Is there something wrong there? Has he been delayed to help them fight off some enemy? If only I knew and could rush to their aid, should they need us that is...
Last night I dreamed of death. I saw the battlefield in my mind's eye. Men and women attacking us, young children rushing towards us with axes and short swords, whatever weapons they could gather together. Some of the children fought like trained human warriors; some fought like they were simply berserk with fear.
I don't know who it was, but someone set fire to the village in my dream. I heard laughter, but I do not know whose or where it was coming from. A large wolfhound, like the royal Fidolians keep for hunting, rushed through the village and jumped for me. I froze in fear as it lunged at me, big silver teeth ready to dig into any body part they might find. The thing landed right on my sword, which I had been holding in perfect position without realizing it. I felt the touch of a tooth in my shoulder and fell backwards, terrified thoughtless.
When I finally stood up again there was blood everywhere; the village was burning and the ground was a burgundy colour from the battle. A child, ten at most, ran out of a burning hut and an arrow struck them in the stomach as soon as they became a clear target. The child fell to their knees, puking blood everywhere.
And then I woke up, shaking and covered in my own cold sweat. The girl was awake, and she was looking at me. There was a strange understanding in her eyes, as if she knew the dream, knew what haunted me. That it was my job to bring horror to men, women and children alike. Anyone who might be an enemy. And I think for the first time, I think last night that girl finally came to understand why I saved her. There is a part of me that wonders if she distrusted my motives before; but now it is clear that she trusts me completely.
I stood up, dressed and held my hand out to the girl. She took it. I grabbed my sword-never go anywhere without it, especially during a war, especially on enemy territory-and together we walked out of the tent. The nearest night sentry looked at me, confused. I just smiled a weak smile and waved a weak wave, still shaky from the dream.
He nodded and we passed out of the circle of light that surrounded the camp. I snapped my fingers and a little ball of light, enough to light three feet ahead and three feet behind us, appeared floating over my head. The girl looked up, slightly surprised, but she didn't seem too shocked by the magic; it was the first spell I ever performed in front of her. Perhaps she really is a half elf.
We walked to the river there I had found her and I sat down, looking up at the stars through the light canopy of tree branches. The sound of the water was a massive relief to me, calming me, reminding me that there is still good in the world. It reminded me of playing in the river as a child with my sister; she was older but had always enjoyed our little games.
I pulled my shoes off and put my feet in the water, feeling the cool wetness, feeling the way it flowed-deeper into the land of Fidolius the current went. I could feel that the river got bigger closer to the capitol; and I could feel that it flowed right through the city. The magic in this river was strong-and I could feel that many horrors had been committed near it even this early in the war. It made me shiver to know how much blood had already been spilled.
The girl grabbed my hand and held it, staring at me with those deep gray eyes. I met her eyes and they seemed to tell me something. I can't be sure, but it seems that she was trying to tell me that it was all right; that she understood. That I was just defending my country. My people.
I sighed and looked away, ashamed. I knew that to end this war we would have to almost destroy Fidolius; the current king would have to die and before that could happen many of his people would have to die. Villages would have to be emptied.
But I wanted no part in it. I knew I was one of the best warriors in the entire army-that I was needed here. But it is one thing to learn how to dance with a sword and another thing to take a man's life-let alone the life of a woman or a child. It is a struggle. Your hands will never truly wash clean of the blood of those you kill. Especially not of the blood of those who were innocent. I am sure some of the men I killed were monsters in their own right; rapists, murderers, people whose lives were truly forfeit. But I know that many of them were innocent-and more so the children.
Why must we fight? Why must we kill, why must we die? There is a part of me that is praying that this war will take my life. I do not know if I can survive these dreams...
~Alaendril
I am quite bored of staying here. I hope they do not tell us to press further; my men are not ready to strike Fidolius at the heart. I want to go back to the border, where we can safely sleep and eat and not be afraid that a large force will come down swinging swords for our necks. Shalorin and the other messengers have not returned; I am beginning to worry for it has been near four days now-they should arrive tonight.
The girl seems to have mostly recovered from the shock of the attack, but I can tell that she hates war; she has no place with us, but we have no place to send her. If we can return to the border, Shalorin can teach her our language and then we can send her back to the Elvish lands, where the horrors of war will not reach her. My sister will gladly take the girl in.
She is a beautiful girl, I can see quite clearly. She will grow up to be a woman of much appeal to the human men, and live out a long life with many loving her. But for now she is but a scared child with no one to turn to, no one to run to. I have taken her in and saved her from the war; and I pray that I can continue to keep her safe.
I bathed her today, and she washed with little fuss. I see now that she has fiery red hair which was only brown with mud. Her eyes struck me at the beginning-a cold, clear gray. Like the sword which I wield, Elvish steel that looks more like diamond to the human eye and more like magic to ours-a thing of beauty. Her cheek bones is high. She looks almost like a half elf, indeed she may be, considering the Great Alliance which only recently fell.
This would explain her love of horses as well; I suppose we shall find out upon Shalorin's return-but the question is, what holds him at the border? Is there something wrong there? Has he been delayed to help them fight off some enemy? If only I knew and could rush to their aid, should they need us that is...
Last night I dreamed of death. I saw the battlefield in my mind's eye. Men and women attacking us, young children rushing towards us with axes and short swords, whatever weapons they could gather together. Some of the children fought like trained human warriors; some fought like they were simply berserk with fear.
I don't know who it was, but someone set fire to the village in my dream. I heard laughter, but I do not know whose or where it was coming from. A large wolfhound, like the royal Fidolians keep for hunting, rushed through the village and jumped for me. I froze in fear as it lunged at me, big silver teeth ready to dig into any body part they might find. The thing landed right on my sword, which I had been holding in perfect position without realizing it. I felt the touch of a tooth in my shoulder and fell backwards, terrified thoughtless.
When I finally stood up again there was blood everywhere; the village was burning and the ground was a burgundy colour from the battle. A child, ten at most, ran out of a burning hut and an arrow struck them in the stomach as soon as they became a clear target. The child fell to their knees, puking blood everywhere.
And then I woke up, shaking and covered in my own cold sweat. The girl was awake, and she was looking at me. There was a strange understanding in her eyes, as if she knew the dream, knew what haunted me. That it was my job to bring horror to men, women and children alike. Anyone who might be an enemy. And I think for the first time, I think last night that girl finally came to understand why I saved her. There is a part of me that wonders if she distrusted my motives before; but now it is clear that she trusts me completely.
I stood up, dressed and held my hand out to the girl. She took it. I grabbed my sword-never go anywhere without it, especially during a war, especially on enemy territory-and together we walked out of the tent. The nearest night sentry looked at me, confused. I just smiled a weak smile and waved a weak wave, still shaky from the dream.
He nodded and we passed out of the circle of light that surrounded the camp. I snapped my fingers and a little ball of light, enough to light three feet ahead and three feet behind us, appeared floating over my head. The girl looked up, slightly surprised, but she didn't seem too shocked by the magic; it was the first spell I ever performed in front of her. Perhaps she really is a half elf.
We walked to the river there I had found her and I sat down, looking up at the stars through the light canopy of tree branches. The sound of the water was a massive relief to me, calming me, reminding me that there is still good in the world. It reminded me of playing in the river as a child with my sister; she was older but had always enjoyed our little games.
I pulled my shoes off and put my feet in the water, feeling the cool wetness, feeling the way it flowed-deeper into the land of Fidolius the current went. I could feel that the river got bigger closer to the capitol; and I could feel that it flowed right through the city. The magic in this river was strong-and I could feel that many horrors had been committed near it even this early in the war. It made me shiver to know how much blood had already been spilled.
The girl grabbed my hand and held it, staring at me with those deep gray eyes. I met her eyes and they seemed to tell me something. I can't be sure, but it seems that she was trying to tell me that it was all right; that she understood. That I was just defending my country. My people.
I sighed and looked away, ashamed. I knew that to end this war we would have to almost destroy Fidolius; the current king would have to die and before that could happen many of his people would have to die. Villages would have to be emptied.
But I wanted no part in it. I knew I was one of the best warriors in the entire army-that I was needed here. But it is one thing to learn how to dance with a sword and another thing to take a man's life-let alone the life of a woman or a child. It is a struggle. Your hands will never truly wash clean of the blood of those you kill. Especially not of the blood of those who were innocent. I am sure some of the men I killed were monsters in their own right; rapists, murderers, people whose lives were truly forfeit. But I know that many of them were innocent-and more so the children.
Why must we fight? Why must we kill, why must we die? There is a part of me that is praying that this war will take my life. I do not know if I can survive these dreams...
~Alaendril
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