Disclaimer: Second verse same as the first!
Nothing made sense. Was this what death was? Embryonic silence interrupted by pain, snatches of light and noise at random intervals? If so, then death was insanity. All silence, nothingness, or full immersion in a world of sensation would be preferable to this in-between state of unpredictable variance. Nuada strove to embrace the nothingness. Silence was by far more preferable than the off-key humming overlaid by agony.
"So he's still living is he? Despite the poor care you've been giving him, slave?" a sharp noise, the crack of something hard striking flesh. He heard no answering sound of pain, though a phantom sting lingered on his left cheek. Nuala? Was she here? He only felt phantom pains like that from his beloved.
Nuada shoved off the clinging darkness as best he could, swimming toward the world of sound just above him.
"Nuala...?" a bare croak, more like air past cracked lips than true speech.
"Hmmm, mayhap he's not as badly off as I thought. Still no thanks to you, worthless construct." He felt another stinging echo, this time on his right cheek. Then the feel of dry flesh touching him between his brows. Magic pulsed through him once-
The first sensation he registered was warmth, the second, the slow, even pulse of a heartbeat nearby. Cool, damp fabric ran over his fevered brow, accompanied by soft humming, on key for once. He could not see. Warm hands tenderly smoothed hair back from his forehead, like his mother had done so long ago. Like Nuala used to do before his exile. Soft lips caressed his own, sending tingles through his weak body. Parts of him did not feel weak at all with those velvet lips pressed against his.
It was his Nuala, he knew it in his bones.
He felt her pulling back, breaking the kiss. Unacceptable. One chaste kiss was not nearly enough to satisfy his want of her, a longing spanning centuries. Finding the strength, he slung one arm around her, pulling her down to his lips again. Her mouth collided with his, misaligned for a kiss and bumping him somewhat painfully. It took but a moment for him to realign their mouths, tongue darting out to part her lips for a deeper taste. He pulled her closer, her slight weight on his chest moderately painful, but any discomfort was worth the taste of her, the feel of her against him.
She struggled for a moment before surrendering, letting slip a little animal moan and opening her mouth further to accommodate his demands. A small fist clutched his bare shoulder even as he fought to get his other arm around her slim waist. It would not cooperate. And as much as he wanted to continue kissing Nuala, his strength was waning. Head falling back to the pillow it rested on and breaking the delicious kiss, Nuada forced his eyes to open so he could look upon the face of his beloved.
Large, dark eyes framed by darker lashes looked down at him from a round, flushed face. Dampness glistened on full lips, berry ripe. A curtain of ink-black curls fell around them, blocking his view of their surroundings. Three things crashed upon his awareness even as his body marshaled strength to react. She was not Nuala, though she felt like her in his soul. She was Human, or something close. And last, it was a terrible pity he could never kiss her again. Nuada used his one functioning arm to push the girl from him, rolling his body to the side at the same time. He was fortunate in the direction he had chosen for each of them; she landed on the floor with a pained cry, one oddly familiar though he had no idea why it would be, while he rolled across the bed to fetch up against a stone wall. Using more of his already depleted energy, he turned so his back was braced against the wall and prepared for attack.
Laughable really. He was weak as a babe in arms, near helpless even against a frail Human girl. Taking quick stock, his chances became even grimmer. He was not only naked, but unarmed. An ignoble end for an Elvish Prince. At least when he died the first time he was armed. The first time? Before he could wonder about that thought, the girl rose to her knees, wide eyes turned on him reproachfully even as the sheen of tears made the dark depths luminous. Yes, a pity she was Human and that he'd have to kill her.
"Who are you? Where am I? Where's Nuala!" He rasped, voice rusty from disuse. The girl bit her full bottom lip, making him groan on the inside and shake with disgust. Human, yet she tasted like an immortal. Pain creased her brow and the tears in her eyes rolled like crystals down her smooth cheeks. She shook her head, body trembling before she spoke in a whisper he strained to hear even with Elvish senses.
"Eroica. Bethmora. Safe. I can't..." she shook even harder, pain obvious now on her features. He hardened his heart against any concern he might feel for her. She sobbed once, the sound of an animal caught in a trap. With no warning, she lunged up and across the bed, faster than he would ever credit a Human able to move. Warm fingers touched his brow and he caught the end of a whispered incantation. He did not have the strength to fight her off, nor combat the magic she was preparing to use against him.
"Sleep. Forget this." her voice pleaded. Magic pulsed through him once-
He woke slowly, in stages. Normally he would awaken all at once, instantly alert and aware of his surroundings, as if unconsciousness had never happened. Not so this time. Consciousness came to him slowly, first registering minor sensations, then sound, until finally his mind swam to the surface of his being, a diver gone down so deep that to resurface was an almost alien experience. He was in his childhood room in the palace of Bethmora. The cracked plaster over his bed, that just faintly resembled an ogre sleeping on a mountaintop, was just as he remembered. Why was he in Bethmora at all? The last place he remembered waking in was the fetid squalor of the New York sewer system where he and Mr. Wink had a lair...
Wink was dead, killed by Anung nu Rama, the Blighted One. Nuada was dead as well, though not by the Blighted One's hand.
"Nuala." It was so blindingly clear, that last memory. He was defeated, the crown lost to him, his enemy triumphant, leaving him alive without even the courtesy of a clean death. Facing the rest of eternity with that humiliating defeat on his soul was unthinkable. Nor could he just stand by and watch his people and all the Fey, great and small, perish at the hands of Man. So he'd cast aside the dregs of his honor and tried to kill the demon spawn with guile and a blade to the back. Only to be betrayed the ultimate time by his heart's mate, his beloved Nuala, Her defection to the fish-man he could have forgiven in time, even taking their father's side and withholding the crown piece had been forgotten. But this, he could never forgive her this grievous sin.
Without pity or hesitation she plunged the blade of that elven steel dagger into her breast, rending his heart in twain. The agony of it still lingered, a phantom pain plaguing him even in death. The afterlife was pure hell, and confusing. He was alone in the ruined shell of his childhood room, with only a lingering ache of pain in his physical body and a world of grief, hurt and frustrated rage in his soul. And Nuala was gone. He only felt a cold void where their bond used to lie within him. Nuada closed his eyes, infinitely weary and prayed to Danu for oblivion. Only Humans went to Hell, their belief in it making it so. Nuada should have faded to nothing, or been reborn, as was the Elven way. Two silent tears of shame and defeat spilled down his ogham-marked cheeks.
The whisper of fabric over stone and the tiny vibration of a bare foot meeting the floor alerted him long before the owner appeared in the room's doorway. Nuada was up, back pressed to the wall next to the door, a fallen hunk of stone clasped in a raised hand and poised to attack. He felt weak, not nearly at his full strength. He would have to strike quickly, incapacitating them without killing. He needed answers after all, and even in Hell people talked.
A diminutive figure heavily cloaked and hooded in faded gray rags shuffled into the room. The creature paused, head lifting and looking about the room for the Prince. Nuada brought the stone arcing down, clipping the creature right at the base of the skull, using only enough force to render it unconscious, not dead. Soundlessly the creature crumpled to the floor in a fluttering of grimy rags. Nuada stepped away from the wall, preparing to kick the creature over and wrench off its concealing hood.
"Now is that any way to treat your hosts, Silverlance? I had expected better manners from the son of Balor." The voice that spoke sent tendrils of horror curling up and down Nuada's spine, freezing his blood. It was the sound of decay and dry bones scratching on metal, of mortal life shrieking into darkness and despair. Nuada turned to see what nightmare stood behind him.
The creature was near eight feet tall, with a sightless bone crest crowning its misshapen skull. Lank black hair dangled onto its death-shroud covered body, skeletal hands clasped pensively at its waist. Desiccated lips were pulled back from odd, silver teeth in a mocking leer, a sick parody of a smile. But it was the abyssal black wings that jolted Nuada from his visceral fear into recognition. Only one creature in Danu's Creation walked the mortal plane with ebon-black wings winking with jewel red eyes.
Nuada dropped into a deep bow, keeping wary golden eyes on the Angel of Death and Rebirth. "Ä-Mǽriel. Forgive the trespass against your servant. If I had known..." Nuada trailed off into silence, skin crawling as the Angel rasped a dry chuckle at his apology. He would have preferred anger to that laugh, it would be less frightening.
"Forgiven, Silverlance, easily forgiven. Ä-Mǽriel's Hand is a resilient construct, and near impossible to kill. Rise." Nuada straightened and backed a few steps away as the Angel entered the room. Standing over the fallen Hand, it nudged the body roughly, muttering too low for Nuada to hear. Jerkily the creature rose, body hunched over and shaking. Nuada winced inwardly, regretting harming the poor bastard. He had felt the subtle flow of magic reviving the creature, but not the familiar pulse of healing magic to accompany it. The Angel didn't seem to care if the creature was damaged as long as it was functional. Foolishness. What did he care if the creature hurt? It was not his primary concern. Finding answers was.
"How did I become a guest of yours Ä-Mǽriel? I was not expecting this honor at my- at my death." Nuada spoke cautiously, using as much politeness as he could muster. Which wasn't much, the burning need to have questions answered was consuming him.
"You are not dead. Well, at least you are not dead anymore."
"My lord?"
A dozen blood-red eyes pinned Nuada to the floor, the look inside them inscrutable. He willed his heart to keep beating steadily, picked one eye and met it squarely. The death's head grin on the Angel's face faded to more serious repose, though no less horrifying.
"You have been brought back, Prince Silverlance. You have a destiny, a higher purpose to serve. What is your most fervent desire?" The Angel stepped closer to Nuada, wafting the scent of dry-rot and dust up his nostrils. He fought not to cringe.
"To save my people from the ravages and perfidy of Humanity; killing all the Humans if I must to do so." Nuada held himself erect, chin tilted up in pure bravado.
"Yes. Yes that is indeed a worthy goal, and one that I am prepared to help you achieve. Are you willing to do anything necessary to accomplish this though? You will not waver no matter the cost?" Nuada heard a quiet eagerness in the Angel's voice. He weighed his response carefully.
"The ends justify the means. I have already died once, without honor. I have lost everything dear to me. All I have left is this desire; to save my people from the Humans." Nuada bowed his head, feeling the bitter sting of that admission, the empty, cold void where Nuala used to glow.
"Good." The Angel snapped its wings open wide, shaking dust motes into the air. "We will talk more of your plans later. Now you need to rest and regain the strength you have lost. Only so much could be done when we resurrected you, the rest will simply take time. Our Hand will see to your needs. It is a golem, simply command what you wish and if it can be done, it will do so. Use this gift wisely. I will return soon."
Nuada watched the Angel leave, held his breath until the last scraps of its robes disappeared around the corner of the doorway. The air slowly left his lungs in a weary sigh.
The Hand was still hunched over its belly, immobile and as animated as stone.
Nuada limped back to his childhood bed, the musty mattress in it's sheltered alcove a welcome sight. He sank into its embrace. Faintly trembling hands scrubbed the worry from his tense facial muscles, pressed tight over tired eyes. He heard no movement from the creature indicating it was going to leave on its own.
A golem, was it? What did he know of golems? Magical constructs created by sorcerers of incredible power, usually bits of metal, clay or stone, nothing that was once alive, animated and bound with and by runes. They obeyed, literally and exactly, any order given. They were voiceless, mindless servants. What under the Great Tree would he do with a mindless drone?
"Hand, go about your regular tasks, if you have no regular tasks, find something useful to occupy four hours of time. At the end of four hours, return here with food for me, fresh clothing and either bring me a bath, or take me somewhere I can clean up. Go."
He finally heard the creature slowly shuffle off, an odd, limping gait to its steps. Again that niggling sliver of guilt pricked him. It was only a construct; it couldn't feel pain or anything else, so he shouldn't feel guilty for the blow he struck it. Eagerly Nuada surrendered once more to oblivion and let sleep claim him. When he woke, he would think of everything he had to do.