Bound
With heavy heart, Rayla bound her wrists. Vows would be given, and her final mission would be undergone.
The threads were not used lightly among Moonshadow Elves. For all their skills, they knew that not every battle could be a success. At times, retreat was inevitable. The blade might miss the heart, or arrow might wound them before the deed was done. Only in the most important of missions were vows of this nature given. Only when death and victory were the only options. She knew, as she bound her hands, that death would not await her if she failed here, but still, losing one's hands wasn't a pleasant experience. Before things had changed, before the last sword was put down, before the last bow was lowered, she'd seen plenty of maiming and killing. And now? Now that it was over?
Now all that was left was this thing. This one. Last. Thing. Nodding to her cadre, elves and kindred all, she began the march towards the target.
The chain of events that had led her to this moment had begun with bonds similar to the ones she now wore. Fitting then, come the end of all things, that she take a similar path. Once, she had stalked the halls of Castle Katolis. Now, with kin in hand, she walked through the halls of the Breach – the western fortress that bore the name of the path it guarded. They bore the same style common to all such fortresses in the Western Kingdoms – function before form. Defence before aesthetics. For hundreds of years, thousands of elves had thrown themselves at these walls. Hundreds of them had managed to infiltrate it. The inside of the walls were soaked in a fraction of the amount of blood that coated the outside ones, but it was blood all the same, even if it be invisible to eye, and undetectable by nose – water could remove blood if given enough time. But still, the signs were there, if one looked hard enough. They were the same signs that were to be found all over the wasteland that divided the continent in two. The bones of the dead. Their armour rusting. Their weapons broken. For every push east or west had been met with walls of steel and flesh. Blood flowed, but the land remained barren. It appeared that neither the blood of human or elf could cause even a flower to grow.
Today, that might all change. One last mission, and the continent might at last know peace.
The doors to the Great Hall opened with almighty thud. No subtlety would be required for this mission. The target stood before her. The target knew what was coming, and had accepted his fate, as had she. He saw her, standing where once there had been a throne, and for a moment, their eyes met. Only a moment, but enough for her to lower her gaze. She couldn't meet his this second. Not after all that had happened. Not in the knowledge of what was about to happen. She walked, and as ever, the dagger in her boot rubbed against her ankle. Reminding her of what she was. Of what she'd done.
It was humbling, in the knowledge that what the elves of Xadia had failed to do for hundreds of years, she had helped ensure in a manner of months. For indeed, in the Great Hall, were the soldiers of Xadia, standing on one side, arrayed in the finest armour afforded to them. The Great Hall was where the commander of this fortress was meant to reside – at times, even a ruler from the Pentarchy. But those days were gone. As she walked, her right eye saw her own people. Behind their helms, she could only guess their expressions. Some might love her. Some might loathe her. All knew what was about to happen, and all could draw their own conclusions from it. Barring any deviations from the plan, they would all leave here alive, and be free to tell whatever stories they wished. It was said that history was written by the victors, and indeed, on this day, her people were victorious.
Through her left eye, she saw the humans of the Western Kingdoms similarly arrayed before her, both like and dislike her kin. They wore armour, less elegant in form, but affording far more protection. Their banners were held aloft as well – little to distinguish between them physically, but all pledging their allegiance to one of the five nations of the West. From them, she could sense more hostility – many had lost friends and loved ones in the defence of this place. How might they feel seeing her walk through this hall freely? How did they feel, knowing that victory would be achieved today? Taking a breath, Rayla did her best to keep her pace constant. On this day, on this eleventh hour, all had to go according to plan. A thousand years of hate couldn't jeopardize that. All that mattered was the mission. And to complete the mission, one required a cool head.
There were five stairs that led up to the platform where the throne had resided. Dressed as she was, she found it a bit difficult to climb. Part of her wished for her to fall. To end this madness now. Because indeed, what she was doing was mad. History declared it as such, her people declared it as such, the world declared it as such. The only ones who didn't…well, circumstance had ensured that they couldn't be here today. All that remained was her and the target. The one that she climbed the stairs to. The one who stood before her, awaiting the end. The one who knew exactly what was coming.
"Rayla," he said.
"Callum," she responded.
She finally dared to meet his eye again. He'd changed. His eyes were narrower. His skin was harder. He'd actually grown a bit taller, and his clothes were…well, they were different. But then, it was to be expected. This would be the last day of his old life. They both knew that he had to dress the part. The end of freedom had to be marked by a uniform befitting the occasion.
"You look nice," he said.
She lowered her gaze. A compliment. It was to be expected of course. Damn idiot couldn't keep his mouth shut, even in the knowledge of what was about to happen.
"I see you're bound."
She didn't meet his gaze, but she did raise her head slightly. More notably, she extended her wrists. The bonds were still be there.
"The oaths-"
"Will be spoken," she said. "And you…"
Callum nodded. "I know what's coming."
Rayla didn't say anything. She was too busy avoiding Callum's gaze. That, and feeling the dagger in her boot.
No fanfare for the mission's climax. No need to fool the target. Both turned, and saw the elf walk before them, standing where numerous human commanders had once been. The war was over. A new order dawned. Tall in body, long in silver hair, his eyes carried the weight of centuries within them.
"Rayla," he said, looking at her, before turning to the human beside her. "Prince Callum."
She could detect the venom in his voice. Her ears heard it. Her heart beat faster. The dagger pressed ever further against her skin.
"You are here on this day, where the old world dies. Victory is taken, and peace comes to the continent. Perhaps not through means as one might wish, but nonetheless, we are here to facilitate…the new order of things."
Neither of them said anything.
"Rayla, you may bind him," the elf said.
She nodded. Turning to Callum, he gave her a nod in turn. The nod that told her that he knew what this meant. That he knew what was coming. That he was ready to meet his fate. With beating heart and stinging eyes, she drew out the same thread that bound her hands and wrapped them around his in a single manner.
"That's tight," he murmured.
She didn't say anything. She just kept tying them, as one might the noose.
"The maiden has bound the man," the elf continued. "The words must then be spoken."
The words. Rayla took a breath. She knew the words that would complete the mission. The words that would end Callum's life as he knew it. The words that she'd rehearsed a thousand times, and now…she remembered them. Of course she did. Didn't she?
She couldn't even answer. As the elf spoke, as she and Callum spoke, the words came out regardless. Words shared by both races. Even after 1000 years of strife, the languages of human and elf had remained the same. Thus, as the words were uttered, all present could understand them. Would know that on this day, the old world died.
Earth. Water. Air. Sun. Moon. Stars.
I am hers, and she is mine.
Until the earth turn barren, until the seas boil, and the last gasp of air leaves me. Till the sun may fade, the stars wink out, and the moon disappears from my eyes. From this day, till my last day, hear and see my vow.
By earth we may be fruitful. By water we be pure. Through air we may be free. May be shine like the sun. May we be fair as the moon. And like the stars, may we never grow dim. I am his shield. He is my sword. Always together, serving one body, one union, one heart.
So I say. So I vow. I am hers, and she is mine.
From now, until the ending of the world.
The words were fancy. She knew that humans exchanged rings at around this time, but since she had one less finger than Callum, they'd decided against it. They'd decided against a lot of things. But then, this entire affair had been built on compromise. Enough symbolism to signify the end of war. Not enough symbolism to have either race accuse the other of having its traditions usurped.
But by the tradition of her people, the bonds around each of their arms grew. The vows were made.
By the traditions of his people, their lips met. The pact was sealed. The symbol made. The mission complete. The day their old lives ended, and new lives begin, be they long or short, be the earth barren or fruitful when they at last entered it. The day that victory for her people, for his people, was achieved.
She had to admit, this whole kissing thing wasn't too bad. The sweetness on her lips. The pounding of her heart. Even the dagger wasn't bothering her too much.
But of course, when you were wearing a dress as ridiculous and oversized as this, it paid to have something you could cut yourself free from.
But it didn't matter. She was his. He was hers. And as they did not part, she recalled the truth.
They were bound.