| Subject: Afterwards |
Author:
Anawiel
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Date Posted: 20:53:06 06/18/02 Tue
She had woken to the sound of the flames. They crackled through her mind as well as the castle walls. The magic lay thick like fog in her mind. Choking her.
Anawiel turned to look beside her. Madjael slept on, his ash blond hair lying carefree over his forehead, carressing his warm skin. His dark lashes rested like black crescents on his face. He looked younger asleep. More vunareble. Just a boy really.
At that moment she hated herself. What would Galáril have thought of her? She thought desparately. Would he have forgiven her? No. Not after what she had done to him so long ago. And how did she repay him?
She betrayed him every single day, like she did everyone else. The one person she had loved through her death, through his death, through his sacrifice for her. And she had betrayed him for...for what? For one night with Madjael?Her friend?
She slipped out from under the rough linen sheets and pulled on her clothes, leaving the room, silent as the breeze in Mirkwood. Home. She could smell the trees now. Along with the ash that did not reside within her memories. Faeirex would've seen to the flames of course. It was her nature as an elf to overreact.
In the courtyard, men hurried round. Calling and shouted for help. Anawiel didn't bother to see if anyone was hurt. A person can't survive magic fire.
' Not even a high elf' she thought to herself happily. The one thing she had over them. Witches blocked it. Shame really.
Her instinct led her to the training grounds. Anawiel saw a beautiful white wolf was loping steadily along. There was no one else around. She looked up, searching, searching the skies - until she found it. A slight shimmer in the air. Delicate and a silver colour.
She grabbed a long snakewood fighting stick, sharpened into a long point at the end and hardened with flames. Anawiel ran swiftly raising the pole into the air until it connected with something. She twisted the wood with a meer thought, around what seemed to be an ankle. Pulling sharply a small thud came to the ground. The thud, as it were, turned out to be a girl. About 20 years old, maybe less, maybe more, it was hard to tell. Anawiel spun the stick round to rest in the hollow of the girl's neck. The wolf running towards them.
"Yield or die," she said calmly as a faint smile twisted across her lip. She added as if as an afterthought, "Brooke Silverblade."
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