Alanna's Background
Big blue-gray eyes peered out between the wire of the pen, and slender little fingers grasped hold of the fencing, as the diminutive elven girl watched the tall man in the red robes make his way through the market place. She'd seen him look at her, with his cheerful young face and kind eyes. She knew he'd seen her. "Please oh please," she thought, wishing she could bring herself to call out to him, but unable to make more than a whimper in her throat. Wait! He was looking her way again. She stared soulfully at him, blinking her eyes hopefully. A thin piece of her once shiny flaxen hair fell in front of her eye, and she pushed the dirty lock behind her pointed ear.
"Excuse me," the robed man called out. "Are you selling this child?" he asked, pointing his finger in her direction.
"I'm sellin' 'em all," her fat captor replied, tobacco juice dripping from his lip and into his tatted beard. "You in'erested in a slave girl? You don't want her, she ain't big 'nough to pull no weight. Now over here, I gots this Thayvian wench-"
"No," interrupted the young man. "I wish to buy the child. How much?"
"Suit yerself," he grunted. "Fifty gold."
The young mage paled. "Fifty?"
Pulling his pouch from a pocket within his robes, he counted the meager amount of coins within, even though he knew the amount there was nowhere near enough to buy the girl's freedom. Glancing over at the girl apologetically, he caught her eyes again as she pressed her tiny face against the fence.
Furrowing his brows deeply, he turned back to the slaver and withdrew a pouch from another pocket, carefully counting out 50 gold pieces, and handing them over to the repulsive man.
The merchant took the coins greedily, making them disappear somewhere beneath his stained coat. "Ya sure I can't in'erst ya in one o' them Thayvians?" he asked again, spitting a wad of tobacco into the dirt.
"No thank you," replied the young man curtly, turning his back on the man and walking softly over to the enclosure.
"Hello sweetie," he said, leaning over the fence and holding out his arms to the child. "Come on now, it's all right," he whispered softly.
The girl looked at him with those same big eyes, not understanding a word he'd said, but lifting her frail little arms to him, and wrapping them tightly around his neck as he lifted her free of the filthy pen.
"What's your name, fair one?" he asked as he walked away from the slave pens, holding the little waif securely.
No answer came forth, as even if she'd understood his question, she didn't know the answer.
*****
Ronian slipped quietly into the tower door, the child clinging tightly to his neck. He looked over to the silent elf and stroked her dirt-encrusted locks.
"Now how am I going to explain you, hmm?" he whispered somewhat nervously. As if on cue, a side door opened, and the tall wizard stepped through, casting his gaze upon Ronian expectantly, and then blinking in surprise as his gray eyes fell upon the girl.
"What's this?" he said, somewhat sternly.
"I ah.. I was.." Ronian took a deep breath and blew it out quickly through his nose, beginning again meekly. "I was walking through the slave market on my way to buy your reagents, as there was no way around it. And I spotted her in one of those filthy pens...." He stopped mid-sentence, holding the child tightly to him. "Maquil, I couldn't just leave here there," he said a bit more boldly. "Look at her." He turned his body so that the little waif's dirty face was where the wizard could see it. "She's so little.. so innocent. Gods know what atrocities would befall her, what injustices-"
"Ronian," Maquil interrupted as his soft grey orbs found themselves drawn to her large ones. "Stop your prattling, and put her down. Let me see her."
The young apprentice silenced immediately, and knelt to the floor, urging the child to stand. She did, and turned her gaze upon the tall wizard, watching him intently.
"What is your name, child?" Maquil asked.
The girl said nothing, only blinking her eyes at him like a scolded puppy.
"I don't think she speaks common, m'lord," Ronian suggested.
"Mani naa essa en lle?" Maquil repeated.
The child's eyes opened a bit wider, as if in recognition, but still, she said nothing.
"Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie?"
"What are you saying?" Ronian interjected.
Moquil scoffed at his protégé. "I asked her what her name is, and then if she spoke Elvish. Now would you be quiet?"
Ronin stepped back sheepishly, his head bowed.
"Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie, hin?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes locked upon his.
The wizard's eyebrows raised pleasedly. "You do?" he continued in the elven tongue. "What is your name?"
The girl stood silently, blinking her eyes a few times.
"Don't you know your name?"
She shook her head slowly, her blue eyes becoming glossy.
"Can't you speak, child?" he asked, squatting down to the floor at her level.
The frail child responded by throwing her arms around the white-bearded wizard's neck, holding on as tightly as her tiny arms would allow.
"Whoa!" said Moquil, a bit taken aback. He started to pull away, unaccustomed to children at all, much less one hanging about his neck, but suddenly, he found himself wrapping his arms around her securely, and lifting her as he stood.
Leaning his head back a bit to look into her dirt-streaked face, he asked softly, "How about if we called you 'Alanna'? Would that be all right with you?"
She nodded her head slowly again, her face betraying no emotion, but her blue-gray eyes seeming a bit brighter.
The old wizard smiled warmly, and then handed her over to Ronian.
"See that she gets a bath," he said, "and bring my reagents to the study."
"Ahh..." Ronian began, "about those reagents...."
*****
*****
Alanna sat in the corner of the study on a pile of pillows, brushing her flaxen hair. It had grown nearly to her waist before she started keeping it trimmed. Waist length hair was hard enough to keep brushed and clean; anything more would be silly, she'd thought. Pausing for a moment, she watched the man across the room. For some **** odd years she'd lived in the tower with Moquil, and he'd never seemed to have aged a day. In fact, Ronian, who had moved on to his own abode and prosperity, seemed nearly the same age, even though he was decades younger than the old wizard. She's often wondered the secret, but had never brought herself to ask him... and as much as she found herself wanting to just then, she didn't think it her place, and she asked him something else instead.
"Moquil, when are you going to teach me? I know you keep telling me to be patient, and that you will know when the time is right, but I don't want to wait any longer. I'm tired of pouring over ancient texts and tomes, and reading about magic without being able to *use* any of it!" Ever since she'd won battle against her shock, and *** years before had uttered the first words since her enslavement, Alanna had been enslaved. It was 7 years before Moquil's patience and love, and Ronian's never-ending optimism and companionship had freed her, bringing back the joyful child she was before she was abducted in the market square.
"Come here, Alanna," Moquil said quietly, his back still turned to her.
The young woman padded barefoot across the room, standing at his back.
"Take this, and memorize it," he said, handing her a parchment scroll.
"What is it?" she asked, untying the red ribbon that held it closed, and unrolling it.
"It's your magic!" he said, not looking in her direction. "It's what you're so impatient for. Take it, read it, learn it, and then return to me."
Alanna spread the parchment open as she began to walk out the door, her eyes pouring over the words. Suddenly, her brows furrowed, and she turned to the wizard in confusion. "Moquil... I can't read this."
"What do you mean?" the wizard asked, finally turning his gaze to her.
"I can't read it. What language is this?"
"What are you talking about, girl? It's the very same script as you read to me just last night."
Alanna's forehead crinkled in confusion as she looked at it again. "This is not the same. You must have handed me the wrong scroll."
Moquil finally put down his quill and motioned her over. Alanna handed him the scroll, and he spread it out over the desk he'd been working at. "It's the same, Alanna. Bring me the tome, and I will show you."
Alanna padded across the room and retrieved the large brown book. It was rather plain, with only a single circular impression in the leather cover. It's size, however, was rather remarkable, and the diminutive elf struggled to carry it across the room, plopping it down upon the desk hard enough to nearly tip the Moquil's well of ink over onto his freshly penned scroll.
"Gods, girl! Be careful," he chided.
"Oh Moquil, it's heavy!" She leaned down and kissed his bald forehead, smiling sweetly at him.
Mumbling under his breath, but with a twinkle in his eye, he pulled the book in front of him and opened it, flipping through the pages until he found the section he was looking for.
"All right, Alanna. Now look." He pointed to a word on the scroll with one long finger, and then to an identical word in the tome. "See? Exactly the same."
Alanna looked from scroll to book and back again, a puzzled expression on her face. "But Moquil... they're not the same! This word here," she said, pointing to the book, "Is pilini'. Missile. That word," she says, indicating the book, "Well, I have no idea. Look, those letters aren't even in the Cala'Quessir lammen!"
Moquil stared at the texts for a moment, and then looked back up to regard the distraught elf with a chew of his lip. Raising a single snowy eyebrow, he then turned back to his desk, shuffling through scrolls until he found another, and held it out to her.
"Try this one," he said, a hint of excitement barely tingeing his voice.
Alanna looked at him quizzically, but opened the scroll, her eyes pouring over this one skeptically, yet with equal enthusiasm. Her eyes brightened suddenly and a smile spread across her face. "This is nai turamin! I can read this one!" Excitedly, she began reading the scroll aloud.
"Don't speak it, silly girl!" Moquil chided, shaking his head. Taking the scroll from her, he lifted both her hands in his own, and gazed upon her fondly. "You, my dear," he said with a hint of pride, "Have the gift of enchantment."
*****
"I wish you'd stay," Ronian said softly, looking down at his clasped hands. "Moquil would want you to," he added hopefully.
"I am sorry, Ronian," Alanna replied, her voice quivering as she looked out the window, avoiding the mage's eyes. "I just can't. Without him here, this tower is nothing but cold stone. He was like a father to me." Tears spilled from her eyes, and she let them fall unhindered to the ceremonial robe clutched between her thin hands.
"I know, Alanna," he said quietly, crossing the room. Wrapping his arms around her, Ronian pulled her into his embrace as she cried. "I know."
*****
"Where will you go?" Ronian asked later as they sipped spiced tea in front of the fireplace.
"I don't know, Ronian... see the world, perhaps," she replied as her gaze drifted from him to the orange embers of the fire.
Ronian sighed heavily, concern etched in his forehead, but trying to be understanding of the now elven woman's choice.
"The world is a dangerous place, Alanna," he said reservedly, glancing over at her, but not turning his head in her direction.
"T'would be better to die living, than live dying, my friend," she replied softly, and then rose from the hearth to gather her things.