At the end of the world there stood a ruin. Vines of ivy with delicate green and yellow leaves had snaked and woven their way along the outer walls, the roots now holding fast in to the very mortar of the crumbling grey-brown stones that held the foundation in place. A top the ramparts, that had once served as an invaluable vantage point, overlooking both the see past the crags below and the land beyond, moss had spread across the ledges and the once lustrous Byzantium purple and silver banner hung limp off the battlements, thread threatening to split and spill apart with the next strong gust from over the sea. With winter steadily encroaching upon the land the surrounding hillsides of grown barren, anything green now turned a pale brown and brittle to the touch.
Inside the damage was only minimally improved. The small crops of weeds that had squeezed their way the cracks and corners on the halls were all that remained after the rest had been eradicated by fire, black scorch marks on the stone floors a testament to the power of the blaze. The tapestries that had been woven from cloth of gold and other precious materials that had once served to warm the halls could have covered the blackened patches on the walls, but they too were absent. The air had grown as silent and chilled as a tomb. Yet still, somewhere deep in the heart of the castle someone lit a fire.
Rúnya retracted her left hand, watching as a blue-green flame sprung from her first three fingers. The small round moonstone pendent emitted a soft glow as the familiar rush of power surged through Rúnya and causing her limbs to shudder. After lighting the other three braziers Rúnya leaned over the windowsill. It was night and so she could not see the small garrison of men marching in file from time to time, but she could hear the scraping of their boots against the stone ground of the courtyard below with each pass. What Rúnya had she knew was enough to protect her small holdfast, but her numbers were a mere drop in a lake compared to the force the king would have mustered by now. The rest of her mother's forces had scattered to the four corners of Albion.
She reached over and grazed her fingertips across the coarse grey material of her wool cloak. That and the fire should have been barely enough to keep her warm: the room had no roof and a bitter wind was sweeping in from the east. But Rúnya never had to worry about being cold. She pulled her cloak in a bit tighter just for the comfort of it. Yes, she most certainly would have preferred to be indoors, but this was the best view she had of the nighttime sky. She extended a thin pale arm and with her index finger began tracing the intricate patterns connecting the constellations set back in the bluish-purple canvas.
"Morgana Le Fay æledfýr ácéoce swefn, áscian!"
Her eyes flashed gold, a striking difference to their normal blue-green tint. Deep in the pit of her stomach her body released another shudder, like breath too close to the flickering flame of a candle wick.
"My Lady?"
Rúnya looked up to see Sir Kennard, leader of her personal guard standing at attention in the threshold. He was a tall man, taller than most she had seen even among the soldiers, looking all the more imposing in his chainmail and dark crimson leather armor. His hair was thick, but peppered white and brown to hint at his age. His face was hard, lined from years of battle serving in the former queen's vanguard.
"It is done." Rúnya stood and brushed the dirt from the hem of her cloak. She lifted the soft hood up and over so that it completely covered her inky black hair. Sir Kennard had wanted her to shear a good deal of it off to better disguise her, but Rúnya had refused. Her mother had always kept her hair long, and Rúnya would do the same. "Tell me Uncle Kenny, how far a ride do we have ahead of us?"
Sir Kennard smiled. He was a hard man yes, but he was just as fond of his young charge as he had been of her mother and his hopes for the her future were bondless. But first, it was his responsibility to get the princess to Camelot. "If the weather holds, tomorrow night you'll be sleeping in a proper bed My Lady."
Rúnya beamed. Her back was sore from a long day on horseback and the night ahead of sleeping on the stone floor with nothing but her clothing as padding wouldn't be much better. But a bed…a real bed sounded wonderful to Rúnya. "Excellent." She yawned. "I think I'll try to get some sleep." Lowering herself back on to the floor, she curled herself around the brazier. The flames leapt, as if they were stretching forward to tickle her face. "Goodnight Uncle Kenny."
The old knight bowed. Since the two were in private he chose to abandon formality. "Sleep well Rúnya."
When he left her, Rúnya extended her arm and beckoned to the flames. They licked at her skin, but she remained unhurt by the searing heat. "Hlíepe" She watched as the fire danced in the brazier. Stretching out like a kitten she rested her head in the crook of her arm and shut her eyes.
It was near dawn when the king's men began to slaughter her company.