Hello, everyone! Welcome to the story "Lionheart"! Based off the song "Heart of Courage" by Two Steps from Hell. I simply adore the song, it's beautiful. The story later on will contain violence, abuse, torture, naughtiness, etcc..
Xx
Isha's bridge is falling down,
Falling down,
Falling down,
Isha's bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.
Xx
The wind flowed through the grasses of Chrace, rocking the blades back and forth. The sun was beginning to rise, the sky a beautiful gold and pink color. The clouds seemed to frame the picture, making for a beautiful scene. Atop a rocky hill, one that was surrounded by stones, stood above all else. A large oak tree sat in the middle of the landform, tall and strong. Wise, just like the Elves to dwell in the land of the Lion.
Chrace had always been a mountainous landscape, with thick woods covering the area. It was the main High Elf outpost against Malekith and his kin; it was a perfect place to defend and bottleneck the Dark Elves. The terrain made it difficult for any traveler to cross, but the strong and hearty Elves of Chrace knew the hills and forests like the backs of their hands. Fierce warriors, these people would stop at nothing to defend their homes, including the white War Lions who defend the borders.
A few leaves on the tree were blowing in the wind in a downwards spiral towards the ground. Sitting in the shade of the large oak was a young High Elf, blonde hair being blown back. Her eyes were a seawash green, large and thoughtful. Framed by a heart-shaped face, the eyes stared out upon the horizon. The Elf was cast in chainmail, a lion's pelt with a head attached sitting upon her shoulders. The fur was snow white, the head's eyes containing a blank yet a courageous stare.
Lying upon a branch of the tree was a not yet fully grown White Lion. Its mane was thick and had leaves stuck in it, but the creature seemed in a peaceful state as it lay above its master, watching the sun rise ever so beautifully like it did on a continuous cycle. Across from the prominent hilltop was Blackwood, a series of castles set upon for Vaul's Council, a group of warchiefs who directed Chrace's war activities. The buildings were the whitest white, shimmering against the light of the sky. They stood tall, as if they could build up to the Heavens. The White Lion in training sitting below the powerful Oak had never been inside, but looked upon the building every day with a sense of pride.
The girl, named Arethel, was only 230 years old. Born in Lionmarch, the High Elf was raised by her father alone. They lived on one of Chrace's cub raising farms, training the newborn lions from a cub to a loyal killing machine within the matter of a little less than a year. Arethel's father, Ithamir, was one of the legendary White Lions to walk the realms of Ulthuan. He and his powerful lion, Tsubin, had chopped down countless enemies and had even taken back Well of Qyuash with the help of only a single Archmage of Hoeth. Ithamir was an honest and kind man, and a smart one at that. Many buildings in Chrace were named after him in honor.
From days after Arethel was born, her father had trained her to be a graceful yet deadly warrior.
I watched my father cross the grasslands of our farm, Tsubin trailing behind him. I smiled- they were two of a kind, and they knew it. Perhaps one of the most glorious pairs I have ever seen. He grinned when he saw me, and quickened his pace to meet me; I was sitting in the center of the pens for the lion cubs. They never tried to escape- they already had a sense of loyalty and the 'pack'.
Ithamir knelt at my feet. I was still a young girl, a curious one. He looked up at me with an odd look. I have never been able to understand the feelings he wrought into that gaze.
"Look here, now, child, I won't be here much longer-"
"Why?" I looked at him so questioningly, I guess with a look like that he couldn't have helped but chuckle.
"That doesn't matter. What matters is that I give you what you need to become one of the most glorious High Elves ever to have stepped into Chrace."
When I looked at my father, all I saw was radiance. A beautiful, bright, white light that surrounded him wherever he went. I think others saw that in him, that was what made him so likeable. Those gray eyes were always laughing and bright, and his blonde hair trailed down his back. His courage, his strength. Ithamir was a warrior like no other. He had been able to achieve and perfect the balance between ferocity and peace; I was so lucky to have a father like him.
Tsubin interrupted my thoughts.
He flicked his tail, and out from under him slowly walked a newborn Lion. Its eyes were the most beautiful gold, wide with slight fear but intelligent, kind. Its ears were wide-spaced but large, its tail deformed I could tell- stubby like a rabbit's, but pretty all the same. The cub was pure white, like snow, dawn. Meticulously, it stepped forward.
I could barely manage to make a sound. I was in awe of this lion's beauty. Much more glorious than any other we had raised, the radiance surrounding it seemed to match that of Tsubin and my father. I could only guess it was Tsubin's cub.
"This cub is yours to raise, my child. Raise it as if it were your son. Bring him up onto a path of glory, honor, and strength. Raise him as I have raised you." Ithamir handed me his Chraceaxe- one of the most beautiful and strong ever crafted. It was forged by people from Nagarythe, a hearty and robust set of Elves. The axe itself was gorgeous silver, carvings set into the head of Anoqueyån, an ancient tongue used solely to shape the Winds of Magic into powerful spells.1 I could read some of the words chipped into it- "A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day."
At the base was a large, polished piece of Oathgold, one of the rarest and most valuable metals to exist in the Dwarf world.
I had seen my father wield this blade on the battlefield- he swung it with the finesse of a painter with a brush. I could almost say his killing of our hated kin was a masterpiece in itself. I gazed up at Ithamir questioningly. At the time, my younger self could not comprehend why he had picked now to give me this weapon and young lion cub. I cannot do the same even now.
"Do not fret, young child," he said quietly. "The time will come when I return."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes, my dear. We will meet again, I promise you that much." My father tried to give me a smile, but stopped seeing the tears in my eyes. After giving me a hug, he stood up and calling for Tsubin, with that ivory LionCaller he always wore on his belt. His lion was loyal, and rose to stand at his leader's feet. Ithamir began to walk back across the fields, turning to give me one final glance.
I stood there, holding the heavy Chraceaxe, eyes watering. I am afraid that I was a very sensitive child then. Quickly, I dropped the axe, and began to run after him as he started to walk into the woods towards the coast.
"Papa!" I screamed loudly; I wish my feet had been faster, but I was never too much of a runner. "Wait, please!"
Ithamir never turned his head.
Tears streaming down my face, I continued to run after him. The only true parent of mine had been Ithamir. I had no friends; living in a rural lion-raising area doesn't allow that. If you have too many scents on you, the lions don't see you as a pack member, making it hard to raise them. I had nobody else but my father. As his body disappeared in the thickness of the trees, my breathing grew heavy. I wouldn't be able to keep up much longer.
I had to stop. I felt sick to my stomach. The only emotion I felt was alone.
And the ground reached up to meet me very suddenly.
Xxx
When I awoke, it was dark out. The moon had long risen, its rays gently playing over my face. I rubbed my eyes, only to find that same lion cub my father had given me not long ago to be staring at me, its face in mine. When the cub saw that I had opened my eyes, it stepped back with a sniff. Quickly, I sat up. My face felt tight and my throat dry, but the lion's presence seemed to give me a sense of comfort. I had no trouble working with young lions; I felt protected around them.
Slowly, I reached my hand out to the side of the cub's head. You never would want to pet the front of its face unless you knew it well, or else it might get frightened and bite you. The lion leaned its face into my touch. I ran my hand through the cub's fur. All remnants of the tears were gone as I petted the cub.
The lion was gazing at me the whole time. I had always felt that those eyes could create a whole conversation with you without the animal being able to say a word. Suddenly, a felt a drop of wetness on my nose. I looked up at the sky- snowflakes were falling to the ground, twirling in the air. When I breathed out, a faint white cloud appeared in front of my mouth.
"Snow.." I breathed, reaching out my free hand to feel the flakes on my palm. They were cold, yet beautiful. I held my hand up to my face to look at the snowflake, but before I could get a good glimpse of it, the snow melted in my hand. The cold prickled my skin. I stood up, and the lion rose with me. I felt a faint sense of pride at that, and walked my way back towards our raising fields to put the lions in the cold back in the stables. The cub followed me.
X
Whilst inside my father's house, I set up a pot of water on the fire to boil. The new cub I had received lay on the large wolf fur rug, once a mount of a Goblin Shaman. I sat a few feet away, butchering stag meat, occasionally throwing a few pieces to the cub, which he ate without struggle. As his tail flicked back and forth, I dropped the pieces of meat into the boiling water to cook.
The snow tapped against the window gently as I sat beside the cub in front of the fire, eating the stag meat. The young male began to close his eyes. As I looked down at him, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by his presence in the room. I ran my fingers through the soft fur on the top of his head.
'Lecai. I shall call you Lecai'.2
As the sun set on Chrace, Arethel stood up and began to walk down into the bright light of the sun.
XXX
1Quote taken off the WarhammerWiki site.
2Lecai means 'lightness of being' or 'nobility of the soul' in Tar-Eltharin, the purest form of Eltharin-the main language of the Elves- to be spoken. It is often spoken by the Nobles of the High Elves and some Druchii, or Dark Elves.
And that concludes the first chapter of Lionheart! By the way, the story switches from first person to other perspectives, but mainly from a narrator P.O.V. The things in italics in this chapter were from memory. Also, the deceased lion head lying on her shoulders in the beginning is not Lecai. To become a White Lion, according to Warhammer lore, you must kill a White Lion with your bare hands.