Elves… the word was a bitter poison on the tongues of those who knew it. A delicious gossip for the ears of trolls and faerie in kind, carried by the stream of the water nymphs whispers. Rumour foretold of their return, sending skitters of excitement through the folds of a repressed nation. The Exiled one sent couriers ahead to ensure a strand of safety and promises within the heads of those would doubt his sincerity. Few, that it was, remained unconvinced and slumped nervously beneath the shadow of confidence and determination that swallowed the Underground.

Slowly but surely the streets came alive, teeming with an energy that had not been felt in far too many centuries. It was a bright and vicious life that encompassed the alleyways and dark corners of the city; New York had become a conducive outlet for the gathering of an empire. The Big Apple would bear witness to the rousing of an age-old war and lay to rest the festering hatred between two worlds.

Now… if only there was a manual on 'how to start a war, and make it work.'

She was almost always late to work, be it a few hairs shy of the time scheduled or fifteen minutes after traffic, not counting the lights. There was a respectful hatred between she and the traffic lights of New York, one that did not extend to behind closed doors. Thus exiting the elevator to her designated floor, Ruth expelled a groan worthy of her supervisor. With but a sheer glance she confirmed her dread that the clock did in fact read almost fifty minutes after, practically an hour late. She knew that Connor would be calling her into his office and she knew what he was going to say. The very thought of dragging herself back into the bustle of After-noon rush hour was agonizing and she looked at the ceiling, eyes weeping in the hopes that somebody would take pity on her poor soul.

Her back and shoulders prickled uncomfortably and Ruth turned around to fix the culprits with a withering glare.

"I don't wanna hear it you buzzards!" She snaps, multiple heads duck back into the safety of their cubicles, one or two get onto their chairs to see after her.

"You're gonna get it this time,"

"Just wink and smile, he's a cheese for pretty girls!" the last remark tugged a short laugh off of her tongue and Ruth snorted, stopping beside the criminals office.

"I think he's made it very clear what his idea of pretty is," Another laugh. "Oh behave! He's adorable," the woman spinning non-nonchalantly in her chair was if anything, a buxom beauty that frankly had no right to talk. Ruth sets her bag on the floor and swears she can hear a sigh of relief from the fabric, weighted down by books and paperwork.

"Eek," she winces. "You think he'll sack me this time? I'm just waiting for the day."

"Baby if he was gonna sack you he would have done it the first time it happened and you don't want to know how many times I've been late," She stops her spinning and smiles, though her face was lovely her teeth left something to be desired.

"You're going to break the glass with that smile," the blond woman gasps, putting on a good show of being appalled. "You ruffian!" she wails, hands gesticulating dramatically.

"Please, Donna, not with the way you pick up men after hours." Though still in good spirits the woman called Donna simmered down a few notches, giving Ruth a good once-over before arching a manicured eyebrow. She would never actually throw Ruth under the bus but there was no doubt that her feminine nature kept a watchful eye on her ranking in the hierarchy.

"It's not that bad, but I think he's looking for you girl," Donna frowns and slides over to lay a comforting hand on the girls arm. Ruth visibly cringes but offers a smile anyway, "Well then, better late than never…" She mumbles half-halfheartedly.

Being a cock in front of your fellow peers and joking around with employees was much different than facing authority. She had never been very good with the law, obedience and anyone that demanded it really, always at odd with her parents. Leaving the soothing presence of Donna was nearly as painful as realizing she was late to begin with, traffic lights be damned!

Ruth purses her lips and wrinkles her nose in an attempt to get rid of the itchy feeling on her face. Might as well practise what she preached right? Every step was hard, one foot in front of the other, circling the cubicles and trailing dejectedly to the supervisor's office. Connor Winnow was surprisingly young to be in his position, all high cheekbones and baby blue eyes. Yet that did not take away from the fact that he towered a good foot over her head and had the presence of a well-worn King standing watch over his castle. He was not necessarily a bad guy so long as you were not approaching him out of humiliation over being an hour late to work… again.

"Hey Connor, sir…"

He only looked at her and suddenly she felt as though she had interrupted something, his gaze was cold and unusual. There was no anger on his face to betray a sentence of any kind but there was also no warmth to put her worries at ease.

"Did you need something Holmes?" Her left shoulder twitched and she was unable to stop from wringing a strand of hair around her fingers. No matter how upset he was Connor did not call anyone by his or her surnames, he always said it made him feel old and crotchety. "Donna said you wanted to see me?" The blue of his eyes shifted and his eyebrows knit together, "Were you? That's nothing new, if you've nothing important to say than go away." He shrugged his shoulders and moved back into his office, leaving her little more than a 'crack' of the door frame shuddering to go off of. It only took a few moments for Donna to join her and she could feel the eyes of at least twenty more people staring.

"What did you say?" shock and discomfort had built a makeshift home under her rib-cage, "I didn't say anything…" "You have to have said something, he looked livid." Ruth bit her tongue.

"I didn't say anything, I told him I was late and he just… didn't do anything, that." Motioning at the angrily slammed door, Donna scoffed. "Maybe he found out Mabel was cheating on him."

Within a few seconds of this statement the entire floor was erupted into hushed and hurried whispers as gossip traveled from mouth to mouth. It seemed all to quickly that their supervisor's bizarre episode was forgotten in lieu of finishing the workday. At least Donna gave up on her scrutiny and picked up on teasing her, the next eight hours disappeared before she realized they had gone.

She marked her time card and placed it into its proper cubby and shouldered her bag, mumbling apologies to the abused pack while making promises of a lighter load next time around, "Next time, I promise!" Ruth gave her good byes to Donna and did not move until the woman had vanished into a red car and disappeared from sight. She did not recognize the car but Donna was a strong woman with a hard disposition to crack, despite being a bit of a drinker and easy to coax into a good time. Danger would have a difficult time should it come knocking on her door… Ruth frowns still. The incident from that after-noon rising up to the surface of her thoughts, causing goose bumps to pucker along her arms and neck.

Mabel was a good girl; a sweet girl and Ruth could not see her in someone else's bed. That sort of sin was left for women like Donna, or even Beryl. Though what did she know? Her knowledge of Connors personal life was limited to their interaction at work, which was little to none. The occasional 'hello' gave her no right to make assumptions, yet did nothing to keep them at bay.

With her head full of nonsense and petty things Ruth turns from the street and slides into the ebb and flow of evening traffic, letting the crowd carry her home.

Sweet sleep encases the mind of The Exiled One, curled upon a makeshift cot meant for beggars and peddlers in seek of comfort. Though none was found he could not deny the exhaustion that forced his eyes to close and his body to sag into a mutilated sense of relaxation. The inner planes of ones mind was potent venom to the dormant thoughts of those ready-trained; to control those echoes of reality was no easy task. Thus it was that The Pale Man would jerk out of slumber, muscles coiled and eyes wide in fear, his hands searching desperately for his weapon of choice.

Only with a steady grip on his spear would he slow his breath and ease such terrible remnants of history back into their proper vault. The here and the now would wash over him in a tide of wretched smells and emotions, an instant reminder for the reason behind his actions. He clenches the hilt of the carved tool and draws the razor-blade tip against the cracking cement, he then brings it to travel across the planes of his toes, outlining each digit with eagle-like precision until reaching the end.

He was a warrior, a Prince, a King. Though no crown adorned his head, it took away nothing from his authority over the people of the Underground. There was no doubt in his mind that if asked they would kill for him, if demanded they would commit unthinkable acts in his name and praise the wisdom of his decisions. They were angry and scared; to suppress such vivid reality behind the invisible flesh of a failed treaty was purely negligent. So who was he to tell them no? When instead he could utilize these precious beings in the form of valuable assets, making them into weapons primed to take back what is rightfully theirs.

Of course matters such as these were better dealt with delicacy and well-thought words than blunt honesty. Sometimes the truth could make them squirm and frankly… he really had no time to deal with any doubtful reasoning.

With the sharp resonance of moulded metal against earth The Pale Man stood from his 'bed' and stole to the center of the room. An abandoned subway tunnel, rocked by earthquakes years ago, it was crumbling and falling apart but for the time being served as a suitable place to hide. The screech of the tram made his spine tingle and the answering bellow of wind whipped soft, bleached hair against his face. It was a wonder that none of the passengers ever thought to look out the window and notice, but… that was the legacy of humans was it not?

Looking but never seeing, acting but never thinking.

A burst of heat races a scalding path through winding veins and the Exiled Prince takes a step, his body keening with adrenaline. With the barest twitch of his fingers he slips into a groove of nature and power as familiar to him as breathing.

He dances.

Note: I'll say it once and only once. I have never read the Hellboy comics and I've watched maybe two of the animated cartoons. I have a healthy respect for fandom in terms of keeping my lips shut when someone yells at me for mistakes. This story is based solely off of the films for the time being, it is also a very personal fic. This story is dedicated to a beautiful friend of mine to show her how much I love and appreciate the work that she puts into the things she does. For not only herself but for us as friends, thank you Polo baby (smothers in kisses)

Also, I have no idea if I did Nuada justice. It felt right, I even watched the movie while I wrote this to get tips. But ya know… drop a comment if you'd like, con-crit, what have you. Thanks! PS: I tried to find the errors I could but it's probably not perfect haha.