Hello, everyone. This is my first attempt at Hellboy fanfiction, and I wanted to test the waters with a brief prequel. Please let me know what you think!
There once lived a noble servant of Bethmoora, an Elven woman with great power and command over the magical world. She transformed herself in the ways of the shapeshifters, shielded the minds of those who needed protection, and trained her child in some of these ancient ways. She stood beside King Belor and his twin children, Prince Nuada and Princess Nuala, during the time of the Golden Army, always aware of the changing tides of time.
Her daughter too played a great role for the people of Bethmoora, a voice of kindness and comfort through the darkness of battle. She carried the spells and recipes of healing her mother had taught her all throughout the ranks, showing no discrimination between the lowest warrior and the King himself. Much of her childhood had been spent in the presence of the royal twins, teaching them all she had learned from her mother. When the time of truce came, she stood silent and still beside her mother.
For many years after the Prince's exile, the elf of great power produced an impenetrable wall between sister and brother, their minds blocked off by great distance and strong magic. She made his exile all the more real, severing briefly the eternal bond he shared with his sister, but like all things, the magic faded.
Both the Prince and the Princess could feel this woman's power grow dull and faint until finally, the wall shattered and centuries of memories and feelings, millennia of wants and desires flowed freely between the two. All was known. Nothing was secret, yet still Princess Nuala sought to shield herself. The time for war was coming. She felt it deep in her bones, the resounding cries of agony and pain from mother earth a grueling reminder of the truth.
Perhaps Nuada had been right. Perhaps Ashta, the healer who had cared for so many of their people, had been right to disappear as the power of her people waned. She spoke nothing of need, revenge, or hatred when she left. Ashta simply said:
"I cannot hear the spirits of our ancestors anymore. Have the humans murdered them too, Princess?"
Cities were loud. Cities were grimy. Troll markets smelled like feces and bile.
Ashta could never forget the smell of a wide, open, green field of Irish grass or the whispering voices of the trolls, elves, and goblins alike that populated the afterlife. She thought of them as she wiggled her way through the crowds of the market so full of life at any time of the day. Beneath the human city, the sun and the moon held no sway over their ways of life. They lived and they breathed in all times of day, sleeping when tired, and working when awake. She wondered how long it had been for these people since they had seen the sun, for she had not walked upon the surface since the troll market emerged into life.
Any other elf would have garnered attention, but the people knew her. They knew the bobbles in her hair, the myriad of silver and platinum bands that wrapped around her arms at varied locations. Her lengthy skirt was so too decorated in lengths of coin and chain, a belt of pure gold secured at her waist by the Royal Seal. It had long ago been a gift from her mother, which her mother had received from King Balor. To many elves, her body was marred and disgusting, tattoos of her devotion crawling up and around the bare skin of her stomach, spreading their message around the curvature of her sides to wrap along her spine. Incantations her mother had taught her were inked across her torso in the ornate writing she had known since birth. They spoke of her devotion to Mother Earth and asked for her guidance. Hundreds of years had left the ink faded, the once brilliant color of the decorative flowers that circled the writing little more than a blemish on her skin. Darkness too had marred her, the skin around her eyes a deep grey color, as if a piece of charcoal had been rubbed all around her eyes and faded into her pale skin the farther the color got from her eyes.
Ashta silently entered the shop she called her own, opening the windows to allow passersby to know that she was accepting visitors. The mythical creatures that inhabited this Troll market thought of her as a healer. In her care now were several young fairies, attendants to their Queen Titania, who had strayed too far on a visit to the market. As Ashta stepped into the patient's quarters of her shop, whispering incantations of light as she passed by shelf after shelf filled with potions and filigree adorned jewelry, she knew that they could leave her company soon.
She knew all of the potions by heart. Red indicated potions of healing, for deep wounds. Blue indicated elixirs of magical power to sustain the most diligent of enchanters. The purple potions were for longevity, for the races that had shorter time than the elves. Even the slightest variance in color meant varying power in all of the different potions. The purest colors were the strongest. The most diluted and dark potions were weaker, cheaper.
Along the opposite wall were the little baubles she crafted when her stores of potions filled to the brim. She fashioned belts similar to the one she wore on her waist, chain links uniting coins unused in currency. Necklaces, hair pieces, bracelets, bangles, and all sorts of wonderful shiny artifacts crafted by her hand attracted visitors to her shop regularly. Among these were drums and flutes that she purchased from smaller vendors. She found she liked how they looked, their natural woods and leathers contrasted by the shining golds and silvers.
Ashta stepped around the counter where she kept watch over her shop to pass into the back room, where patients would stay if they needed close attention. She had large beds for some guests and shelves for the smaller ones.
"Brethil, Sereg? Little ones? Are you awake?"
The answer was a chorus of fairy humming that any human would not understand. Brethil and Sereg, the eldest of the attendants had found strength in their wings again, leaving the shelf Ashta had designated for them as they flew toward her. They hovered in the air before her, Brethil an elegant picture of reds and yellows and Sereg a warrior no matter his stature.
"Thank you, miss Ashta. Queen Titania will surely thank you for your services."
"It is no trouble, Brethil. It was very rude of that troll to separate your group from the queen and injure you in the process."
As they spoke, the other fairies fluttered toward Ashta, showing their appreciation and love by jingling any loose bells and coins they could grab upon the elf's jewelry and clothing. They found delight in her attire, and even when they had been injured insisted on playing music upon the bells in her hair and the coins dangling from her long, heavy skirt and her half-cut, loose fitting shirt.
"You are unlike your mother, servicing any creature who seeks your aid. I am glad that your mother's inherent disregard for other magical creatures in the realm of Bethmoora did not taint you," Sereg sighed.
"I had good friends and wise teachers. The Prince and Princess were sympathetic to the plights of all their subjects. Not all elves are blind to your troubles, dear ones."
"We will take our leave now, as we have a long distance to travel in order to meet their majesties in the forest again. Lord Oberon will send a better equipped messenger with payment, or QueenTitania will never let him here the end of it."
"It is surely so, but tell them not to worry about it. If ever I am in need of their aid, I shall call upon them and their favor shall be payment enough."
The fairies said their good-byes to her as they floated out of the windows. She watched them go as she followed them to the windows, but a figure walking through the crowd alone distracted her. Another elf, a tall standing man who paid no mind to those around him, moved out of the crowd to get a better hand on his luggage, two hefty boxes bearing the royal seal. Ashta felt her heart pound and skip in fear. She went with her gut.
"Nuada? Man le carel si, Ernil?"
The name and the elvish question of why he was there caught the attention of the man she peered at through her window. He raised his head immediately and looked straight at her, the mark passing beneath his eyes and across his nose enough for her suspicions to be confirmed. He allowed both large boxes to rest upon the dirty earth of the troll market, and he seemed uncertain of how to proceed as he too recognized the person staring back at him.
He looked so ill—worse than her, in fact. His eyes were sunken and dark, his lips nearly black. His hair was wet and haphazardly kept, looking as if he had not tended to it that day. His skin matched the color of the tiles beneath her feet, pasty white and sickly.
"Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo, Ashta."
And yet his voice still sounded so smooth.
He greeted her formally, a way of inviting her out into the street to talk to him without being overt about it. He would never openly ask her, she knew that. He had changed much since he went into exile, but his way with words never failed him. He acknowledged her presence, and that would be enough for anyone to invite themselves into closer proximity.
Ashta closed the windows before she came to the door of her shop, never letting her eyes off of him for fear he would disappear into the crowd again. He never moved, only waited. Finally, she appeared in the door way.
"Come inside, your Highness. The crowds will watch and listen in."
She stepped out of the doorway as Nuada lifted the two boxes from the ground and entered her shop. He must have known that he would not get away from her if he had tried. She was like a hawk when she caught someone in her sights.
"What have you got there, Nuada? Is it time?"
Time for what, she asked herself as she spoke to him, but asking the question was useless. She knew the answer before it even came out of his mouth. Exile had done little to dull the sharp edge of his hatred.
"I can wait no longer. The humans have poisoned and raped the earth, Ashta. Surely you must feel it. It is my duty to lead our people in rebellion against them."
"And how will what is in there help you?"
In the otherwise silent enclosure of her shop, she could hear the clacking of points tapping against the inside of the cases.
"A gift for the humans who are auctioning a piece of the crown in a few days' time," Nuada said.
Her eyes widened at him as she realized what must have been in the box," You can't do that to those poor creatures, your Highness. They're so small and fragile. What if –"
"Oh, the fairies can take care of themselves, kuruni. For a moment, I thought you were concerned for the humans."
A laugh followed his statement, a laugh that set Ashta ill at ease as she looked up at him, dangling pieces of finery falling in front of her eyes.
"I always knew this day would come, Nuada. I never imagined I would be so near the beginnings of your campaign."
"If you were anything like your mother, you would have known. It is why my father kept her so close, so he may know the ways of the world."
"Your heart and mind are closed to me, my prince. No matter where she is now, my mother can surely see all things and know exactly what is to transpire, but it is not in her nature to interfere. She would not have led me here to watch you save our people. Surely not."
"Did she lead you here? After the barriers between Nuala and myself fell, I assumed she had passed on."
"She is not dead, no, only gone from the presence of all creatures. She will never abandon the forests. I thought to do the same once, but I serve a better purpose here."
Nuada examined the shop she must have built from the ground up. The shelves were full of all things he had known her to hold dear. He looked to her, scarred by the life she had chosen for herself following his exile. He read the words that climbed up her stomach to circle around her back.
Mother earth, guide me through-
The rest was lost to her back, but he knew her well enough that she asked for guidance through the darkness, the same that had consumed her and left her weary. He saw it in her face, the world she had built for herself was no lonelier than his own. She regular had visitors, that much he was certain of from the well-kept appearance of the establishment.
Little had changed in her mannerisms, always proper and standing tall. She treated him with the same respect as always, a respect he had tired of often when they were young. In those days, they had been friends, more than a prince and his subject.
"What will you do now? I am surprised to have found you here."
"You have been long gone from the Court of Bethmoora. After your exile, my mother continued to serve your father without failure, but two hundred years ago she withdrew herself from court. I had gone before her to be among the people. They were suffering, and I had to heal their wounds."
"A noble sentiment."
"As is your own, my prince."
Nuada let out a hum of acknowledgement as he lifted his burdens from the ground, one after another casting them over his shoulder.
"I saw little through my connection with Nuala about you and your mother. I knew you had left. She suffered greatly under the loss of you two," he said as he prepared to leave.
"I miss your sister as much as I miss you, but I have no place in your lives. Those days are gone. The power I wielded as a child are too weak to serve you or anyone."
"Those days are not gone, only sleeping. I will prove it to you, to all of them, Ashta. I will give the earth back to our people."
"Do not abuse her, Nuada. She is weak and frail, and war will ruin her utterly.."