Page 97 of The War of Four Winters

"A final humiliation," I confirmed. "Or so he thought."

As the last of the clothing fell away, Elindir's expression transformed from anger to concern. His fingers traced the unbandaged wounds on my ribs from my father's sword, bruises in various stages of healing from my capture, the hollowness around my collar bones that spoke of days with minimal nourishment.

"They hurt you," he said, his voice dangerously soft.

"They tried," I replied, attempting lightness I didn't feel. "The physical damage will heal."

His eyes met mine, seeing beyond the false bravado to the deeper wounds no bath could cleanse. He understood, as few others could, that captivity left marks far beyond the visible. That chains scarred the spirit even after they were removed from the wrists.

"Come," he said, guiding me to the tub. "Let me help you."

I sank into the water, heat seeping into muscles knotted with tension and exertion. Elindir removed his own travel-stained clothing before joining me. The tub was large enough to accommodate us both comfortably, a luxury I hadn't expected from the practical Craiggybottoms.

Silence settled around us as we soaked, the only sounds the occasional drip of water and the distant murmur of activity beyond our chambers. I watched Elindir through half-closed eyes, still unable to fully believe he was here with me. That he had somehow infiltrated D'thallanar itself, risked everything to reach me.

"You infiltrated the Assembly," I said when the silence had stretched long enough. "How?"

A hint of pride touched his features. "Disguised as a clerk. No one looks closely at administrative staff. It was Niro's idea."

"Of course it was," I said softly, remembering my general's pragmatic approach to impossible problems. "And House Redrock? Their vote surprised everyone."

Elindir's expression shifted to something more complex. "That was... unexpected. Lady Sariel insisted I prove my conviction through their sacred trial. A duel that apparently hadn't been offered to an outsider in generations." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I won."

I stared at him, fresh astonishment cutting through my fatigue. "You defeated Lady Sariel in ritual combat? The same Lady Sariel who has reportedly never lost a duel in thirty years?"

"First blood only," he clarified, though the accomplishment remained extraordinary. "She seemed more impressed that I tried than that I succeeded. Something about proving humans and elves could meet as equals."

Water sloshed gently as I shifted to face him more directly. "You risked everything for me. Your life facing Michail at Homeshore. Your safety infiltrating D'thallanar. Why?"

His eyes held mine, steady and certain. "You know why."

"Tell me anyway," I said, needing to hear the words after so many days of believing I would never hear them again.

"Because I love you," he said simply, as if stating an immutable law of nature. "Because the world we're building matters too much to let it die with you. Because I promised Leif and Torsten we would both return. Because I cannot imagine a world without you in it, and I will fight anyone or anything that tries to take you from me."

Something tight in my chest eased at his words, a knot of fear and doubt loosening for the first time since my capture. I reached for him, drawing him closer until our foreheads touched, the water lapping gently around us.

"I love you," I whispered against his lips.

His mouth found mine in a kiss that began gently but quickly deepened, despite our exhaustion. His hands slid up my arms to cup my face, holding me as if I might disappear. I pulled him closer, needing to feel the solid reality of him against me, proof that we had both survived, that we were together when all logic said we should have been separated forever.

The kiss broke only when we both needed air, though we remained close, sharing breath and warmth.

"Let me take care of you," he said, reaching for the soap and soft cloths that had been left nearby. "You've endured enough."

I leaned back with a nod.

Once, not so long ago, he had been forced to bathe me as a slave, his hands moving with bitter resentment under the weight of his collar. He had hated it then, that intimate service performed under compulsion. Now he chose to care for me this way, and that still held weight.

His touch moved over my body with careful thoroughness, cleaning away the grime of the tunnels and the deeper taint of imprisonment. He worked methodically, starting with my shoulders and arms, his touch gentle over bruises and scrapes, firmer where tension knotted muscles.

When he reached the wound on my side, he paused, his fingertips tracing the edges with a healer's assessment. "This was deliberate," he observed, anger flashing briefly in his eyes. "A sword wound, precise and calculated."

"My father's work," I confirmed. "During my time in his custody. One of many lessons in obedience he thought I needed."

Elindir's expression darkened, a cold fury settling in his eyes that I rarely saw there. "He will answer for this," he said simply, the quiet promise more chilling than any shouted oath.

His jaw tightened, but he continued his careful cleaning, ensuring no infection would take hold. He worked down my body with the same attentive care, handling each injury as if it were simultaneously precious and painful, both to be treated with equal respect.

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