I know I took my time again and I'm sorry about that. I still hope there are those who haven't forgotten about this fic, unlike I did. Happy belated Easter to everyone and please note that my pen name has changed. Enjoy and please review!

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Chapter Two :: Body

“The body never lies.” Martha Graham

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The piano.

It was my favourite instrument. A musician could produce such beautiful images with nothing but his fingers, paint the most gruesome of skies by sounds, tell a whole story without words, written in notes. In particular I revelled in Marth’s playing. He not only played pieces by Mozart and Bach with such enthusiasm that I could see the old maestros watching over him with mirthful countenances, clapping their hands in awe when he finished, but oh, he also composed. Given a sheet of music, some of the old ones in which time had omitted some of the notes; he could improvise without any trouble at all. I reckon it was also the way he played that made me like his music so much. He rarely opened his eyes, sometimes only enough to see the keys, quickly closing them again. He looked like he was in a reverie, as if there was nothing else than the piano that he needed to be completely happy.

I gazed out of the window, the curtains made of the finest of lace sweeping my face every now and then. Behind the vast city roaming with life a mighty forest rose like a massive green hedge. It stood still, reticent to reveal anything about itself. A veil of mystery covered it, holding tightly the secrets the forest had. The more I gazed at it the more unreachable the key to that mystery seemed to me. It was the gate to another world, that of the elven, one of which had trespassed on our lands, defying destiny.

I kept wondering about elves. It could be - and probably was - said that I was obsessed. The reason why I couldn’t find information on them was the war long ago. This wasn’t stated anywhere, but through deduction I had arrived to this conclusion. It had been the war of 1256, in which humans had slaughtered elves because they hadn’t wanted to be converted to our faith. Slaughtered might not be the right verb, but in my history book it read that elves put up little resistance if any at all. The gorge between us humans and the elven had gradually widened until the war had made it impossible to cross. The elven disappeared into the forests, it swallowed them whole in one night and they were never seen again. Since then everyone wandering in the forests would never return. No one knew what happened to them, but the story went that they were killed as revenge. The truth was coloured by stories, stories that had turned into legends and legends that had taken the form of beliefs. It was impossible to separate the truth from the stories.

The massive march of Wagner emaciated into one by Strauss, I was slightly disappointed by that. Usually I would’ve criticised Marth about the sudden change, but I decided to let it slide. I was too exhausted from insomnia to act as vehemently as I was supposed to. I was too tired to demand what I deserved, I settled for whatever I was given. The stranger had stolen my divinity by breaking into my impenetrable fortress, dragging me down from my eminent position. Since then he hadn’t returned. I had been pondering the reasons without arriving to conclusions, the continuous wondering had only created a void inside of me that slowly grew and ate me from inside.

I wasn’t making progress in my studies, my swordplay was dull to say the least and speaking sensible sentences alone exhausted me. Dreams, or those few I had, seemed realistic whereas reality reached the point of absurdity. I lived my life in a Dali-painting, unable to know what was real and what imaginary. I was obsessed. I knew it, yet I did nothing to cure myself. Maybe I didn’t want to.

The flow of music ended with a few cheerful notes, as if a small animal had scampered over the keys. The final note echoed slightly. I heard the stool screech on the marble floor as Marth got up, his light footsteps, the cracking of his fingers. Usually it made me nauseous, but I gave it no heed. I was succumbed in the mystery of my nightly visitor, my every working brain cell trying to conclude a reason, my both eyes smarting as I tried to discern something from the treetops. I knew my efforts were in vain, but hope combined with curiosity wouldn’t free me from my agony.

Marth cleared his throat. I returned from the garden of my thoughts, something I hadn’t gardened in a very long time. I looked at his beautiful, sculptured features, his dark blue eyes gazing into mine with such inner tranquillity. I had always thought that only an impenetrable sanctuary could protect us, but I had never realised that it could be constructed from the inside out. Nothing could disturb his peace of mind.

“Your uncle Noël is here.” He said, stating the reason why he had stopped playing, bowing slightly at the person by the door.

Uncle Noël came into the hall, his boots clanking on the stone floor. He was a tall man, much more muscular than my father. He was extremely proud of the way he could handle a battle axe because it required not only strength but also accuracy. And the damage was nearly always devastating. His hair was the same red as my father’s and mine but there was less of it, in character he differed from the two of us with his strange bloodlust. I don’t imply him revelling in executions, but his justice was strict and merciless. He was already balding, a man in his forties. Deep wrinkles lined his eyes. Even when he smiled he looked like he was only trying to please others with it.

“My dearest nephew!” He exclaimed, opening his arms as if he was inviting me into a hug. I stood up as taught; a slight inclination of my head was enough to let him know he was welcome. Marth took a few steps back as he tried to blend into the wall, his eyes fixed on the ground. It couldn’t be seen on his countenance, but I knew he disliked my uncle. He crossed his hands on his chest; a clear sign he rejected the happy family reunion. Uncle Noël took long steps and reached us in no time. “I will be in town for a couple of days.”

I was used to this. Uncle Noël was famous for being so silent. When he spoke, it was strictly for information. This man knew nothing of small talk and I didn’t force him into it.

“Nice to see you once in a while.” I said casually, finding lazy eye contact.

“I’d like to hunt the deer while I’m here.” He said, paying no attention to me. Our province was famous for its deer, but since the war only few hunted anymore. The deer had retreated alongside the elves, forcing us to feed on other game. What this meant was that those who wanted to hunt deer had to venture into the thicker forest where the elves resided.

“But since the war…” I tried, looking at him with widened eyes. I couldn't believe he was actually suggesting this suicide. We could've simply taken our swords and cut each other's throats to save time.

“I know”, he stated, waving his hand as a signal for me to be silent. “All it requires is good equipment. I have the best.”

I took a careful step back. "I don’t doubt that but--“

“Would you join me or not?” He asked.

I weighed my options. I had never seen anyone decline an offer from uncle Noël, but I found it tempting to be the first. By declining his offer I would not only insult him but also appear as a coward. I couldn't think of anything more humiliating than confessing to being afraid. I was a prince, I was above all and my divinity protected me from mortal dangers. If I turned his offer down I had to have a good reason for doing so, trespassing on elven territory was not. I swallowed, feeling Marth’s gaze on me. His eyes were sad, he knew exactly what I did. “Yes, I’d be delighted.”

“Good. Be ready at seven in the morning." Uncle Noël said casually. He looked at Marth over his shoulder as he continued: "Notify the kitchen that they’ll be cooking deer tomorrow.”

Marth nodded humbly, leaving the room and closing the doors behind him. Uncle Noël had never liked him and thus treated him like a servant instead of the strategy counsellor he was. He had always criticised me for preferring a servant’s company to that of the lords, but I paid him no heed. Marth wasn’t a tool, he was my dear friend. Of course, I would never mention this to anyone because for someone in my position it would be a shame to mingle with someone less important than myself.

Uncle Noël smiled at me, his eyes narrowing. It was a normal smile, but something stripped it from cordiality. I felt highly uneasy, as if behind the smile he was mocking me. I shook my head, chuckling to myself. I was too tired, I knew it. In full spirits I would’ve never even considered uncle Noël mocking me. He wouldn’t dare.

When uncle Noël had left with his cape fluttering behind him, I stomped directly into my father’s quarters. The marble floor screamed under my boots, the hallways echoed with my footsteps, I listened to my own bewildered breathing. I was so full of adrenaline I thought I wouldn’t fit into the corridor with all that anger, that all the statues and paintings stood even more still as if not to provoke me. I pushed the doors open and they hit the walls with a loud crash, shaking the paintings on the wall. My grandmother’s painting was the only one to fall and shatter. I remember having told my father it was badly positioned. My father turned around with wide eyes, he had been looking at the birds from the window, holding a glass of the finest red wine.

“Father! How dare you promise uncle Noël that I go hunting with him!?” I bellowed. I stood steadily on my two feet, trying to set him aflame with a gaze. With my methods of deduction I had concluded that my father had already promised uncle Noël my company. I had also come to the conclusion that my uncle had asked him first, and being a coward he had declined, offering his son as a sacrifice. The insolence!

My shout broke the harmony of Eliwood's quiet evening alone. After the first shock he fixed his eyes on the ground, mixing the red wine in his glass with a small gesture. He didn't know I saw his hands tremble. “He wanted to spend some time with his nephew.”

I threw my hands in the air, not knowing what else to do. I felt like an animal, I had massive bodyweight, the claws of a tiger and the fangs of a wolf, the size of an elephant. “But… but like this!? It’s suicide! Few return from those forests!”

Eliwood put the wine glass on his table as he sat down on the dark red armchair behind it. It croaked as he sat on it, indicating just how old it was. He kept his eyes on the table and with another small gesture he advised me to sit. I did so, but not because he wanted to.

“Listen. Ever since that sneaker in your quarters you haven’t been sleeping, eating or practising well. I promised him you could go because the answer to your question lies in the forests. I also trust in your skills of protecting yourself, but you need to grasp the fact that I did it for your peace of mind.” Eliwood said it all in one breath. He knew I was quick to protest and even faster to take out my anger on those poor people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I was angry I didn't need to blame someone for it, I only needed someone to direct it all into.

I suddenly felt extremely stupid. The thought of finding some peace of mind in those forests had never even passed my mind, I had only thought of the dangers. My father had understood that the answers to those questions troubling me could be found there, the answers I yearned that would give me peace. My anger had first turned into embarrassment, now it changed into anxiousness. Prejudice. There were stories in which the elven seduced humans and then cut their throats, burned down their houses and ate their babies, commanded huge armies of bears and other creatures of the forest. I wasn’t sure my curiosity waspowerful enough to overcome my prejudice. Was I brave enough to find the meaning of that stranger - his hand on my temple - or would I try to forget that encounter and continue suffering from insomnia and anxiety?

I decided to embark on this journey. Maybe it would be the end of me, but it could also save me from myself. I could be rid of my curse if I only had the courage, but if I decided to protect myself I would surely generally lose my mind. I already felt the insomnia gnawing at my sanity. It revelled in the ever-increasing void inside of me, in the emptiness of thought, feeling and soul. I excused myself with a bright red face and bearing these thoughts in my mind I returned to my quarters, only to experience yet another sleepless night, perturbed by anxiousness.

The following morning I mounted my horse. She was a true beauty, a black mare, raised an trained by me. I was the only one allowed to ride her, she listened to no one else. Her fur shone in the sunlight like the hair of an asian beauty, her dark eyes noticed everything, even the smallest of my movements were orders to her. Marth smiled at me as he tightened the straps of the saddle, quickly proceeding to our weapons, controlling them as well. When I focused on something I frowned and chewed on my pencil, sometimes drummed the table with it but Marth held his calm countenance, the archaic expression of a statue no matter how hard he concentrated. Every once in a while he would glance at me or uncle Noël, his expression revealing absolutely no thoughts; it was as diplomatic as possible.

If I could've I would've replaced uncle Noël with Marth. It was my last thought before we departed.

We rode through the fields, uncle Noël led the way with his red horse. He looked mighty in the saddle, like the king’s brother should. We talked little, I kept my thoughts on the deer and hunting. I didn’t want to let my anxiousness win me over. As we reached the forest, I was surrounded by different scents and sounds. The leaves turning into moss under my horse’s hoofs rustled slightly, there was the scent of moss in the air, it swarmed with life as different kinds of insects buzzed all around us. The pine trees were heavy with cones, somewhere a brook babbled, every now and then we saw the ground turn blue with all the blueberries. As the forest thickened we drew our weapons. The scents of the forest remained, but all the sounds disappeared. I felt as if the forest waited in agony for us to kill a part of it.

The silence was asphyxiating. Never had the nature been so silent, never had the hunters been so afraid. We had been entangled into the net of mystery, unaware of what it was capable of doing and unprepared for anything at all.

“Roy, behind you!” Uncle Noël shouted suddenly. My heart skipped a beat, his shout had been so loud. It had revealed our whereabouts. It was an irrational thought but my mind gave no heed to rationality. I was taken over by alarm, my most primitive instincts raising to the surface. I deteriorated from a highly educated prince into the caveman from hundreds of thousands of years ago.

I heard the sound of a bow firing an arrow, but before even realising it I saw the arrowhead sticking out of my chest. It shone malevolently, I could see my own stupefied reflection on it. At first I couldn't believe it had pierced me. Then came the abundant bleeding. Blood spurted out of the wound, colouring my shirt dark red. It gushed out as if someone had imprisoned it inside of me, sealed it away into my veins to keep me alive. I fell off my horse, blood spraying around as I hit the ground. The leaves sucked it into themselves, turning from green and yellow to dark red. I was covered in the sticky substance, it paralyzed me with panic. I was sure I was going to die. I lay limp on the ground, my face distorted from pain, my mouth gasping for air. I only twitched as I tried to get up, tried to understand what had happened but I couldn’t move. The pain was terrible. It spread from my chest to my whole body, punishing me.

I heard uncle Noël get off his horse, the leaves rustling under his feet as he walked to me. I tried to reach out to him, ask for help, but the pain disabled me. Where had the arrow come from? Had the elven shot me? I tried to ask, but blood blurted out. My face was full of that sticky red liquid. I lay still, my eyes wandering around the treetops, tears blurring my view. The last thing I saw before I passed out was uncle Noël’s shadow casting over me. As I drifted into the soothing darkness I heard him say: “You’re no longer an obstacle for my crown.”

I woke up to the shouting and yelling of children. At first I was sure I had died. I was sure I had arrived in heaven, so bright was the light filtering into the room. I tried to move, but my chest answered with a shocking wave of pain. It assured me that I was alive. I looked around; the strings of sunlight were slipping into the room from the door veiled with a light curtain. I could see glimpses of the cerulean sky. Wind was playing with the curtain, throwing in a few leaves every now and then. I could smell the forest around me, it smelled so fresh and full of life. The room where I was seemed to be engraved inside a tree. My bed was placed on the other side of the room, a little wooden table right next to it. There was a tray on the table with a cup and a bowl of something. Other than that the room had two windows, both covered with curtains of some thick cloth. A vine was peeking inside from the window, already trying to take over what rightfully belonged to Mother Nature. All furniture was made of wood, including my bed. On the floor there was a carpet made of hay. There was also another bed, neatly made. Next to it was a table just like mine, full of all kinds of small things. I wasn't alone.

Panic settled into me. It was like a bunny trembling behind my ribcage, my heart racing as I fought to sit up. Attempt after attempt I had to give up, the pain was too much. I was still in the forest deducing from the scents around me, I was in a home engraved in a tree, I heard no familiar sounds. My hypothesis couldn't be wrong. I was in elven territory. I shivered, my chest aching only more. Breathing felt hard, my mind fed me images of the possible terrible plans the elven might have for me. I had to accept the fact that I couldn't move, I had to surrended to my fate and accept whatever it had in store for me.

Suddenly a figure's outlines were lit by the sun at the door. He was holding something in his hand, maybe a bowl. He was humming softly as he walked inside confidently. His steps were light as if he hadn't weighed anything at all. I had seen the same figure somewhere else, the same pointy ears. My mind wasn't functioning like it should have, I couldn't make the connection of what I was seeing and what I had seen. It had always taken me longer than others to wake up. Seven days of sleep after weeks of insomnia felt rejuvenating- a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time. I once again tried to move, but the pain was too much.

The figure walked to me. He sat down on the edge of my bed, placing the bowl on the table. With a swift hand he pushed some strings of hair behind his ear, still humming quietly. The tune was unfamiliar to me, very different from the ones I was used to listening. He turned to me, his eyes widening.

"You're awake!" He remarked to himself, placing one hand to cover his mouth.

I glared at him in panic. His laid-back attitude gave me no solace, I was still in a deep state of shock. For a few passing moments we exchanged glances, his cerulean eyes full of curiosity, mine overflowing with fear. When I gave him no answer he took a small cloth from the bowl he had just brought in. Every once in a while he'd stop scrubbing his hands and just stare into his lap with a pensive look, sighing. It was relieving. I breathed a little easier each time he ventured into his thoughts. It also gave me the courage to scrutinize him. Shyly I gazed into his kind eyes, they were lined with dark lashes, like pebbles around a spring. He was dressed in strange clothing, green as grass, white as the clouds, blue as the sky. This type of fashion was outrageously ridiculous, his clothing beared little resemblance to our cultured fashion and victorian morals. He had a feather behind his ear, I couldn’t think of any other bird than a swan from its whiteness. His hair was naturally blonde, styled by the wind that - as an autograph - had left one leaf in it. It seemed to live a life of its own, in a way it was bestial, yet somehow it reminded me of the vast hay fields of Ertruria swaying in the wind.

"We were starting to worry you might never wake up." He said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. "It's been seven days."

I remembered. Seven days since Uncle Noël had betrayed me. He had tried to kill his own flesh and blood in order to get his hands on his brother's crown. Greed had settled into him and eaten away his pride. Before I had passed out my last thought had been that I would die and insects would eat my decaying body, leaving my white bones for the wild dogs to chew on. Ironically It wasn't I who was about to decay, he was already rotten to the bone. Still I wasn’t sure had my fate taken a turn from bad to worse, but I could at least have a clean conscience where uncle Noël had to carry the weight of betrayal on his shoulders.

The elven man put the cloth back to the bowl, placing his hand on my forehad to try if I had a fever. My eyes flew open as his hand reached my forehead. I recognised that feeling, the tingly sensation in my spine, the butterflies in my stomach! I smelled the primeval forest, the blueberries and strawberries! I saw the long, pointy ears, I drowned into those eyes as his mouth curved into a wider smile. I tried to get up, but the pain disabled me. He mumbled something about a fever, at the same time blowing his hair out of his vision. I was suffocating, my own anxiety strangling me yet at the same time great relief washing over me like a monsoon. All I could do was stare at the man whose hand had been on my forehead once before in my room!

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Yes, another cliffhanger! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and review, because it really makes my day! We’ll see again in the final part!