"Oh."
It seemed like such an inappropriate yet evident reaction to such a situation. The Nord child sat there, face wet and hot from crying and screaming, his foot lodged beneath the tree's root, which clasped tightly and stably around the child's leg. His clothes were in tatters, filthy and torn. His blonde hair resembled that of a birds nest, and his bright blue eyes were red-rimmed. Overall, Mithllon found himself staring at a very unhappy youth.
The child turned at the sound of Mithllon's quiet voice and his face twisted with anger and disgust. The Altmer was accustomed to such looks cast upon him by Nords, so he kept his expression neutral. The child regarded him for a few moments before realizing his glare would not drive the elf away. He busied himself with struggling with his captor.
Mithllon watched him for another moment, curious. Then, realizing he had yet to aid the child, slid off Drastíll, his boots crunching the dried leaves beneath them. The child jumped, startled at the sound, before turning towards Mithllon once again. His expression matched that of a rabbit caught in a trap, watching as the predator looms closer. The Altmer frowned.
"Be calm. I am here to aid you."
The child stared at him, his blue eyes wide with surprise. Then the orbs narrowed suspiciously and the child spoke. "No, you are not."
Mithllon was startled by this. He did not expect a child to contain such hatred of elves at such a young age. It was not uncommon for Nords to hate elves, but this young child contained as much bitterness as an adult. Mithllon privately scolded the parents.
The Altmer lingered a meter away from the child, before settling himself down onto the grass. His lips formed a thin line as he mused upon how to approach the Nord youth. His eyes then glittered and he smiled at the child. The boy did not expect this.
"Well, young king, never in my life have I met such a brave Nord, who scowls at the presence of an Elf. I shall watch your movements and note them, for this is a rare opportunity to see the prowess of Nords."
His daddy told him to stay away from Elves. He told him they were dangerous and mean, and did not like Nords. So Nords should not like Elves.
Ulfric did not know if he liked this elf or not. The elf called him 'young king', which made his chest swell with pride. As Ulfric wiggled his foot trapped beneath the tree's root, the elf watched quietly. He wasn't being mean at all.
Ulfric sniffed as he wriggled his leg, vainly pulling it toward him. He was frustrated to the verge of tears, and he would not have this elf see him cry. Instead, his lower lip curled over his upper lip, and his fingernails dug into the earth as he pulled harder. Again, the bark did not budge. Ulfric glared at the Altmer for a moment, expecting a chuckle or sneer from the elf. His expression remained as neutral as it had been, his green eyes glittering beneath thin black eyebrows.
Ulfric squirmed under the attention. This was embarrassing; to be trapped with his foot in the clutches of a tree root was not how he wanted a stranger to find him. Ulfric grinded his teeth together as his face grew hot and pulled with all his might. With a spike of pain and a tear of cloth, the Nord's leg was free. But he did not smile triumphantly.
He whimpered beneath his breath as he gingerly touched his leg. His trousers were torn from the knee to the ankle to expose a long cut in his skin, which bled. He watched as his skin turned purple and stung profoundly. His eyes watered and he wanted to cry. Then he heard the shift of leaves beside him and he silenced his whimpers.
"You are hurt." The elf whispered, eyes studying his leg. Ulfric slid it away to keep the elf's gaze away, but the movement sent a jolt of electricity along his foot, and he winced.
"No I'm not." He said defiantly, glaring at the elf with venom. He didn't want anyone but his daddy to touch his leg.
The elf's eyebrows rose to the sky at the Nord's retort. "Oh? But a mighty king cannot enter battle injured. How will he protect his subjects?"
"He will bite his tongue and bare it," Ulfric said. He had heard his daddy say that one time when he came home. His mommy was horrified by the bruise in which rested on the left eye of the proud Nord, and asked a similar question. Ulfric did not entirely understand it, but it sounded mature to him.
The elf frowned, eyes still fixated on Ulfric's injury. He moved closer. "Allow me to examine it, young king. There comes a time when a king gains trust between his subjects when he shares his vulnerability." Ulfric did not know what vulnerability meant, but the elf's quiet and patient voice was persuasive, and he found himself allowing the elf to touch him. His fingers were gentle and cautious, pressing on swollen areas and making note of the amount of pain inflicted.
"Your ankle is sprained," the elf said, giving the final diagnosis. "Your cut also requires seaming. This will take just a moment." He raised his hand and Ulfric watched in horror as a bright light burst from it and twirled towards him, hissing quietly as its body crackled in the light. He shrieked and pulled away, slamming into the tree and shielding himself with his arms. The light vanished instantly as the elf's expression turned into surprise. "What-"
"Don't touch me! I don't want it near me! Keep it away, keep it away!" He covered his head with his arms as he shouted at the elf, legs curled in front of him. The elf stilled, arm still raised. But there was no more light in his hand.
"I must heal you or you cannot walk properly."
"I don't care! Daddy said no magic! I don't like magic!"
The elf sighed, his brow wrinkled as he stared at the Nord. "What would you have me do?" Ulfric was silent, watching the elf, making certain he would not cast anymore magic. Daddy had shown him magic once, and told him how dangerous it was. He told him never to use or touch magic. That was also another reason that his daddy didn't like elves. Was he not supposed to like this elf? The elf's eyes glittered once again and he approached Ulfric, lips poised to speak.
"Daddy told me not to like elves and not to like magic." The elf's mouth clamped shut. There was a moment of silence. Ulfric watched as the elf stood up, turned, and left.
Ulfric's jaw fell. He didn't want to be left alone! He didn't like this elf, but that didn't be he disliked the elf either! Ulfric opened his mouth to shout to him, but realized the elf stopped next to a horse, which was hidden in the shadows of the trees.
The horse was pretty. Its white pelt glistened in the sunlight, and its black hooves practically disappeared in the black mud. There were bags tied to its saddle. The elf opened one and pulled out a blanket and a water skin. He then walked back to Ulfric and laid the things beside him.
"Now, because you wish me to not use magic, it seems I must tend to you the traditional Nordic way, yes?" He reach toward Ulfric's leg, but the little hand caught his wrist.
"Promise not to use magic?"
The elf smiled. "Promise."
Ulfric was still not convinced. "Cross your heart." The elf looked genuinely puzzled at this, so Ulfric provided a demonstration. He dragged one finger from his right shoulder to the left side of his waist. Then he dragged his finger from his left shoulder to the right side of his waist. This indicated a cross. Then, he said with an utterly serious tone, "Cross your heart like this."
To Ulfric's bewilderment, the elf's eyes shifted into understanding before glinting with mirth as he repeated what Ulfric had done. "I cross my heart." Ulfric was satisfied, so he allowed the elf to tend to his 'wound'. The elf began to tear the blanket into strips before watering one down and tapping the cut gently, cleaning it. He tore off the excess cloth from Ulfric's tattered trousers and discarded them. He then found a straight, firm stick, which he set against Ulfric's sprained ankle, before wrapping the strips around the stick until his ankle was completely covered. He stepped back to examine his handiwork, apparently satisfied.
Ulfric found he could not move his ankle in anyway, the stiff binding hindering his movements. The elf helped him stand, and just as he was about to lean on his ankle, the elf said sternly, "Do not put any weight on it. It will take time to heal; perhaps a week or so and you will be healed."
Ulfric glared at him angrily. "If I can't walk on it, how can I get home?"
The elf smiled gently. "You Highness, you will need an escort to accompany you to your kingdom. Where do you live?"
Ulfric smiled proudly. "I live in Windhelm. My daddy is the Bear of Eastmarch. He's the jarl."
The elf froze. He stared more intently at Ulfric. "The jarl? Of Windhelm?" He repeated. Ulfric nodded, beaming.
"Yes. My daddy is really brave."
The elf smiled again, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "I'm sure he is. Tell me, young one, do you realize where you are?"
Ulfric frowned. "No," he admitted. "The men didn't tell me where we were going either."
This time, the elf's tone changed entirely. It was far more stern and serious. "Tell me about these men."
Ulfric looked at the ground. He felt like he was in trouble. "They told me they were daddy's friends. They wanted me to come with them so I could train. Daddy always talked with me about training, so I went with them. We went camping and they showed me how to make a fire. I got to sleep in a tent and everything. But then they started talking about people searching for them, so we ran. I fell and got stuck in the tree. They didn't help me; they just kept running."
"What did these men look like?"
"I don't know. They wore dark cloaks all the time and I couldn't see their faces."
"I see..." The elf stared into the sky thoughtfully, and Ulfric shuffled nervously. The silence was long and uncomfortable. He searched for a way to break it.
"I'm Ulfric."
The elf was pulled from his trance as he looked back at Ulfric. He smiled kindly at the boy.
"And I am Mithllon. A pleasure to meet you."
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