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Sol dashed through the dark forest, ducking under low-hanging branches and hopping over fallen logs. Going off the trail was successful in creating space between her and her pursuers. The curly haired girl hid against a tree.
She took inventory: there were plenty of scratches and scrapes from her previous capture. Sol's face felt swollen, sore from the beatings. They only stopped when Sol said what they wanted to hear. That she was a witch.
But she wasn't. What was used to be called a blessing of the forest became the seed of a rumor. Noticing weather patterns and predicting the weather was only possible because she herself was controlling it.
Knowing natural remedies from her mother didn't help her case. Sol could not even hum as she gardens without her neighbors thinking it was some kind of spell.
Sol was so tired. Running for hours after a beating felt like hell in her bones. But she could not stop now. Behind her, the shouts of her pursuers grew closer. She wobbled through the trees, and spotted something laying nestled in the grass.
Mushrooms, tan and beige lined up in a circle. Echoes of her mother’s words, his warnings of fairy circles that were hidden throughout the forest. As a child, she ran from them in fear. Now, Sol trembled towards the ring. With nothing to lose, she stepped in.
It felt like she had missed a step going down the stairs. Sol tripped and stumbled and landed on her bruised wrist. She curled up on her side, clenching her wrist to her chest in a patch of grass.
The pain soon became bearable. Sol rolled over onto her back. The sky was the same shade of blue it was hours ago. Perhaps, a tad more vivid. The meadow itself seemed to be in the middle of a forest, but not the one Sol recognized. Trees here were taller and nearly blocked out the sun. And here, there were no shouts of her chasers.
Sol sat up and listened. No thundering footfalls or hounds barking. Had she really escaped?
Her stomach growled.
Towards the edge of the meadow were bushed sprinkled with dark, jewel-toned berries. They looked familiar enough that Sol picked a few to try. Sweeter than she had anticipated.
...
After a quick nap against a tree, Sol mustered up some courage to look for a way out of the woods.
There! The sound of running water. A river led to settlements, where she hoped to get help. Sol wasn’t sure how deep into the forest she had fled, and maybe someone could point her in the right direction.
The black-haired girl walked along the shore, grateful for a water-source. As Sol continued upstream, a flash of white gold caught her eye.
A figure drifted with the water. Sol stripped off her coat and cloak as she rushed towards the water. She ripped off her boots and ran for the man. The push of the stream wasn’t weak. Between fighting the water and the pain of Sol’s own injuries, it was a struggle to pull him out.
The girl flipped her catch onto his back. She pressed an ear to his chest. Good, his hearts still beats .
Sol brushed wayward strands from his face. He was beautiful, whoever he was. All that mattered was that he wasn’t one of her captors.
He was breathing weakly, and a bloody gash at his hairline.
Well, he’ll live. So long as he doesn’t catch his death in wet clothes.
Starting fires was one of Sol’s specialties. A required skill for brewing remedies for all sorts of ailments. Flames caught from a spark, and slowly crept up snapped branches. The healer’s apprentice dragged the unconscious man closer to the fire. After receiving her tossed clothes, Sol spread her cloak over him. She bundled herself in her coat and sat across the flames. A short rest to recover some energy lost in the struggle.
“If you wish to seek asylum, you must show yourself to the King. You will need his blessing.”
The halls were tall and grand. The castle was built around and into the largest trees Sol had ever seen. And at the end of the hall sat the Elvish King, upon his elevated throne. He too was gorgeous, even with his bored expression. The King looked vaguely familiar.
“Come closer.” The King commanded. Sol looked back at Legolas, and he nodded in encouragement. The human took several steps towards the base of the throne. Merely feet away, Sol could see a glitter fade away from his face. The King’s right side of his face was heavily scarred, one eye a milky white. The human immediately looked to the floor.
“A child of Man,” his low voice declared. “So far from home...”
His ice blue eyes examined Sol’s sorry state. “I could guess why. Man is dreadfully predictable.”
Sol nodded in agreement. There was no falsehood in that.
“Your name, child.” The King leaned on one hand.
There it was. One of the ways those on the Other Side get the upper hand. To willingly give one’s name away was giving away a part of themselves.
“I am called Sol, your majesty.” The human swallowed
“Sol…You have saved one of my own. I owe you a debt.” The King slowly descended his throne. “You will remain here until your wounds are healed. In one month's time, you will tell me what you desire from the Elven King.”
Thranduil stopped near feet away. Sol tried not to stare at the king’s horrible scar covering half his face. A single milky white eye. But the king noticed her attention “A rare honor, indeed.”
“Yes, it would be an honor.” Sol replied, her eyes flickering to Legolas looking for direction.
“I’m glad you are aware of your fortune. Now, off to the infirmary with you. A guard will guide you there.” The King waved to the elf by the door. Sol gingerly approached her guide, and at his positive response, left to receive healing.
But what of him, of Legolas? The human wondered. She turned her head just as two other guards were shutting the throne room doors. A touching sight in the crack surprised her. The Elven King, who most certainly intimidated her, had a single hand on Legloas’ shoulder. Thranduil seemed… relieved.