PROLOGUE

- In the dark, the Face of Death smiles -

She could feel it in the air. Whispers of it travelled on ripples in the murky brown waters of the inner lakes of Bethmoora. Power never fades, not if it's true. But when it dwindles, the world around it shivers in empathy.

So pass the princes of Elfland into nothingness.

She looked down at her own hands then, the woman in the shadows, and they were fleshy and pale. Should you squint and let your inner vision prevail, you could see the glimmering seal a curse had wrapped around the flesh: locked in imperfection, never to know the cool smoothness of tree marble, the personal death of all Elven kind.

She may rot her way through the ages, the woman thought wryly, but the princes down below – or up ahead, it didn't really matter among the tattered ruins of the fabled city – were stone cold in the Golden Chamber. Unmoved, broken and soulless. Or almost so.

In such conditions speed was of the essence, and the woman stirred.


The task was tedious and laborious, so she planned well ahead before attempting the trek into Goblin turf. Many a deaths lingered there, some unfulfilled and unfriendly, but none that truly concerned her. They would not see her, nor hear her, nor pick up her scent from the dust filled air. She would move swiftly and surely, for all was shadow and darkness underground. She sprinkled trinkets to keep the Goblin happy, though not entirely unassuming. She prayed none, but cursed profusely at the lingering waifs fogging their insubstantial bodies around the winding path she had to travel.

At last, the Golden Chamber loomed large ahead. The steps seemed more difficult to climb this time around or maybe the woman felt wearier than before.

Much toil…

"Much sorrow…" the woman answered in her mind, then shut herself out from the interferences…

"…of unholy gods."

There is nothing holy about death. Nothing sacred. It happens. To all.

"Not to all." Not to me.

The Face of Death – one of Its many, but not Its True One, and not her friend – grinned skeletically and somewhat impishly and conceded the point. The Face hovered above the ground, among the many machinations in the Chamber and eyed a discoloured patch of dust with something akin to longing.

"Two were here, and now but one."

"For blue, for poetry, for love and lust" whispered the dust.

The woman sighed. For however great the hole in their heart – men, or men-like creatures, had such a soft, warm heart, all summer heat and autumn sleepiness, unlike the endless springs and dark winters that battled in the chests of her kind. She could feel the memories of love and the whirlwind of loss hanging bitterly in the air in the aftermath of the great battle. It was not a feeling lacking beauty. She silently thanked the people from above from removing the gently sleeping statue. Such was not a sight for her dead eyes.

On the floor lay broken Prince Nuada Silverlance, a ghastly mess of cinder and little blocks of human shaped tree marble. A limb, a smile, a lock of hair. An unforgiving eye staring into oblivion.

Such is your lord liege.

"Silver and gold."

And so were you.

"Once. A long time ago. And the world was not poorer without me, my lord. It barely noticed my passing."

The broken statue offered no answer.

The woman ghosted her hands over the marbled prince and shivered at the onslaught of hate and despair wafting off his cracked body.

"Good. The dead do not hate, they do not despair, they do not feel. Such is your fate then."

Carefully, gingerly and reverently she pieced him back together under the eyeless scrutiny of the Face of Death.

And all the king's horses and all the king's men…

"I'm no king's man. Remember?" she laughed lightly in the Face of Death.

"The good, the bad and the worst…" the woman echoed, her attention back to the one grounded on the floor, like a severed root of ancient Aeglin. "The good don't care, the worst are undone and you know nothing of the truly bad, my lord. Your people…"

With the last piece in place and her life-blood smeared on his face and over his heart, she cried prophetically:

"You will serve your people well."


A/N: Hello there, all of you who stumbled upon this little piece of folly I just had to get out of my brain. It is a seed, I think, of something bigger, that will require a lot of nurturing to grow, so have patience and we will see where it will lead us to.

In the meantime, a review or two would be nice...you know, like water to an Elemental :))

If not, I hope you had fun reading this:)