narrative: once in a lifetime Who: Quintus Wulfric Where: Ferelden, near Gwaren. When: 9:20 Summary: A young (26 y.o.) Quintus loses the symbols of his elven pride. Rating: M for mature.
I love you.
The first cut ran deep. Quintus wanted to kick. He wanted to fight. His body laid still, ignoring his soul’s pleas. Rough human hands held his head to the side, presenting Quintus’s right cheek to a man with a dagger who sat on top of him. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered with short black hair, and steady with the small blade. Quintus closed his eyes as a second cut ran parallel to the first. He didn’t want to look at either of the men.
I love you. His father told him the night before disappearing. I love you. His mother reminded him every morning and every night, fearing she had not said it enough to her husband. I love you. His sisters teased him whenever they could. You are loved. The clan affirmed in his life.
Quintus clenched his jaw. The third cut connected the two parallel cuts. His cheek burned. The muscles in his neck were spasming from his head being held so firmly against the blood-stained floor. Blood from minutes… hours… days before? He couldn’t remember anymore. The sticky, dried puddle tinted his fair hair rose-colored. Hot tears blurred his vision. He felt the sharp blade run underneath his skin, removing the outer layer of flesh from the muscle. The peeling was excruciating and Quintus forced himself not to cry out. He whimpered softly, trying his best not to move his face.
I don’t want to love you. She had said by the fire. It only took a year for her to change her mind.
I want to be with you, she whispered to him. It was a dark night with the moon covered by clouds. Fireflies surrounded them. Quintus could see all of her in the dim green glow. The way her auburn hair cascaded over the front of her. Her dull chocolate-colored eyes. The many freckles that dusted over her dry skin.
It wasn’t as awkward as he expected. The other hunters in the clan joked about what it would be like with a shemlen. They were entirely wrong. Quintus had no problem embracing her. Their bodies fit like the gods had planned for them to be together. The act of passion was quick and simple, but they laid on the grass for what felt like forever, but forever seemed so short. Neither of them wanted to let the other go.
“Hey!” The sudden barking voice made Quintus bring his thoughts back. Pain wracked through him. The exposed flesh where the skin had been peeled away stung. Through blurred vision, he barely saw the dirty dish that held the long strip of skin. Upon it were the markings of his vallaslin. The tattoo he had spent years preparing for, the vallaslin that took days to complete, the only thing that connected him to the clan he had left so shortly ago. His tears began to fall heavier, fueled by an overwhelming pain.
Four years had passed. Four years of looking forward to spring, constantly thinking of her. He collected items on his journeys for her, had stories ready for her to listen to. Everything he did in his life was something for her. They agreed to tell their families on the same night. He would tell his clan, she would tell her family, and everything would go well. Their love was so pure, it had to go well.
His mother screamed at him. She lamented about how selfish he could be expecting to wed a human. His sisters scolded him for being so cruel to mother. Their words felt like acid against him. The other hunters mercilessly teased him and the elders reprimanded him. The clan planned to keep moving and never come near the village again.
Quintus wasn’t prepared for such an outcry. He had to see her. Quintus waited for hours at the meeting spot. It grew dark and fireflies appeared. When she ran into the clearing, her cheeks wet with tears and sweat, she embraced Quintus.
I love you. Quintus told her and she told him.
Quintus groaned. On his tongue, he held a plea for the humans to stop. His head was forced to present his other cheek. Blood from the cut cheek rubbed onto his shoulder. The rubbing caused the stinging to increase. He gave a weary attempt to kick the man sitting on him away. It was a poor move as it resulted in a punch to the stomach. Coughing up blood, he fell still again. He wished he could just pass out. It would be so wonderful if he could just go away.
The tip of the blade stabbed into his cheek. This time the slices went quicker, being symmetrical to the ones on the previous cheek. A fresh pain reemerged as skin was stripped once more. Quintus’s eyes fluttered. He attempted to force himself into unconsciousness. To just relax and give up.
There was a small abandoned hill, gorgeous in the summer, covered in wildflowers. Every time Quintus passed it on the way to the village, he imagined building a proper place for his love.
A season passed after the couple had eloped. He had left his clan, she had left her family. Quintus had built a humble hut made out of as few trees as possible. There was a small vegetable garden and rocks lined up in the formation of a fence. Quintus couldn’t help but feel proud. Even though the hut was only one room, it had a warm homely feel to it. He hadn’t been sure what a human home was suppose to be like until he walked into the hut with his love. Dreams of living there with her for the rest of his years, children running at their feet enjoying the summers and playing in the wildflowers, teaching his sons to hunt and how to listen to the wind. Perhaps he would build a hut in another location for them to travel to before the winters came…
“Hey, knife-ears, don‘t go sleeping!”
Quintus didn’t have the energy to groan. His vision slowly returned. He was dripping with cold water, slumped against a chair. The man in front of Quintus gave a toothy grin, pulling a fat cigarette away from his mouth, “You’re back! We were getting worried.” He glanced over at the other men to share a laugh. Quintus wanted to yell at them, wanted to scream for them to stop going through the baskets, leave the trunk of clothing alone, not to touch the dinner on the table. The second he attempted to move his mouth, his jaw locked. Both cheeks refused to be stretched. The smoking man in front of him leaned in, he blew tobacco smoke into Quintus’s face. The second the smoke touched Quintus’s raw cheeks, more tears welled up in his eyes involuntarily. He stomped his foot against the floor. The small, pained reaction made the men laugh again.
It had been a year when the knock had sounded on the door. He told his love to stay in bed. It was dark and cold. He didn’t bother lighting a candle. Four human men stood at the door. They were dressed in fairly fine clothing which had caused Quintus to open the door the rest of the way in surprise. He had tried to query why they were there. The men forced their way in. One grabbed his love, taking her away into the dark outside. Her screams sounded for minutes until fading away.
Quintus resembled a wild animal as he attempted to follow, but each attempt was halted. Multiple boots, fists, elbows, knees met with his body until he collapsed on the floor, unable to move. The more energy Quintus lost, the more vehement the kicks became, as if the men were feeding off of his passion.
Where had they taken her? Was she still alive? What did these men want with her? What would they do to her? The thoughts continued to repeat themselves in Quintus’s throbbing mind. How long had it been since that night? He had been going in and out of consciousness so much it was impossible to tell if days or weeks had passed. He couldn’t die. Not until he knew where she was. What had happened to her? His body was shaking.
“Lets finish up here.” A gruff man spoke up as he emptied a basket of knitted blankets, “I have other stuff to do.”
The smoking man rolled his eyes, “Alright alright.” He set his cigarette on Quintus, putting it out on the elf’s forehead. Quintus grimaced as he felt his flesh ripple and melt under the heat. Ash fell down upon his bloodied and broken nose. The human flicked the cigarette to the side, “Oh, I’m sorry about that. Here, I’ll just clean it up for you.” The man brought out the dagger. Candlelight glinted off the shining blade. It must have been cleaned while Quintus was unconscious. Quintus closed his eyes, refusing to look at the human. As the tip of the blade sliced into his forehead, Quintus began to hum lightly to himself. It was a tune his mother use to sing to him before sleeping, a lullaby. The human didn’t seem to notice or mind the broken humming. Perhaps, the man thought Quintus was groaning or just breathing heavily. Perhaps, the human enjoyed the desperate attempt for an escape.
Fresh blood began to trickle down into his eyes. It mixed with his tears. The bloody tears were absorbed by his raw, ash-covered cheeks. A numbness had occurred through-out his face. He couldn’t feel it anymore, and he was grateful. The human continued to cut. The cuts were faster and more efficient, obviously working on a schedule.
When the smoking man leaned back, admiring his work, Quintus kept his eyes closed trying to avoid the warm blood that was gushing down his face. “Hmmm… something is missing.” The human mused, “Oh yes!” Quintus felt the man grab onto his hair. A jerk forced his head back, almost snapping the elf’s neck. Quintus kept his eyes closed. The blood began to rush down the sides of his face following gravity. It trickled behind his neck and down to follow the length of his spine. “Something fitting for a knife-ear wishing to be a human.” The man’s laughter and smell of smoke were the last things Quintus remembered before everything faded away.