AN: Remember what I said about final straw? This chapter deals with that somewhat with a flashback. I'm afraid I might've dipped a bit much into Emo territory here, though. And I think I have to up the rating on the story, due to some graphic violence. I'll be editing this tomorrow while I write the new chapter. Please don't be shy about telling me if I'm over- or underdoing something.

PS: Although I took a bit of creative liberty, there is an actual historical reference. First person to correctly identify it gets an honorary mention in a future chapter. :D


The rich, meaty scent of hot dogs permeated the small underground den. Mixed in with that scent was the sharp sweetness of ketchup, the acidic tang of mustard, the pungent odor of onions and several other scents that tangled together. Several hot dogs were lined up next to each other on the hearth, awaiting Wink's return from above. The heat from the firepit weighted the scents down and made them somehow thicker. Nuada hated the stench, but Wink had developed a liking for hot dogs since his pet began stealing them. Technically, the prince was outvoted by the troll's appetite. Nuada found them revolting, but held his peace.

The girl sat cross-legged beside the hearth, eating one of the vile things while she watched him. He glanced up now and then to see her still staring at him as he practiced. His initial estimate of her age being between eight to twelve winters had shifted upwards by two - Four help him, had he tolerated a human for almost two full years? His patience must be approaching that of his sister - and though her body hadn't begun to sprout in human maturity, she did have the gangliness of one approaching adolescence, though the lines of her limbs were hidden by the torn, baggy pants that Wink had found for her and that she wore constantly. In deference to the wintry chill in the air that managed to work its way down here, she was wearing a dark brown sweater with a hole worn into the knit on her left side. Under that was a black turtleneck whose texture was so new that she had to have stolen it.

The prince had a dim view of thieves, but couldn't deny the occasional necessity. She still brought grapes now and then to curry his favor, but he couldn't bring himself to accept them. It would mean accepting her, a human, and that he was never going to do. She could be tolerated, depending on her behavior, but she would never be one of his people.

The McNeil divorce was in its final stages, with the judge now hip-deep in deciding the disposition of the joint property. Nuada had come to terms with his frustration over the setback and was now waiting as patiently as he could for Wink to return so they could go out and hunt again, and possibly learn something useful that would lead them to the crown piece's location. His spear spun and flashed through the air, sending glimmers of firelight from its silver length to dance across the walls. He was practicing now primarily to distract himself from the constant recollection of failed reconnaissance missions for well over a year.

A year was hardly a notable stretch of time for an Elf, but being so close to his goal was fraying the weave of his self control. Weapons practice was the only thing that settled him, giving his body something to focus on while his mind picked over the plan, checking and rechecking it for flaws.

The best plans are the simplest, Wink often said and Nuada could only agree. The more complicated a tactical strategy was, the more quickly and easily it was blown to hell by something the enemy did that was never taken into consideration. In their case the plan was simply to find the crown piece, get it by any means necessary, then get back home. Simple and neat, and though his father would be upset, Balor would have no choice but to listen to his wayward son, with all three of the pieces once again in Elven hands.

"How did you get those scars?" she asked suddenly, her words muffled by the last bite of her hot dog.

His focus was jarred by the human's voice, and his double spin ended as only one-and-a-half. He finished the manuever with controlled grace, turning his head to give her a warning look. Though she was somewhat cleaner than she used to be, that didn't mean he felt like chatting. "Humans," he said shortly, letting his contempt for the breed lace frost through the word.

"The curly one too?"

Nuada tried to ignore her and continued his workout. He imagined a trio of humans surrounding him, and with lethal efficiency dispatched the phantoms. Then he imagined five more and killed them just as quickly.

The human rested her elbows on her knees with a faint scrape of metal. Her adoration of Wink had gotten so bad that she'd asked him for a metal arm like his own. Wink had tried to explain as gently as he could that since she wasn't a troll, she couldn't have one. She had immediately begged Wink to turn her into a troll, and Wink, who could flatten waves of oncoming enemies and wade knee-deep into gory slaughter without pause, looked completely unsettled for the first time in centuries. His friend had had to tell his pet that it wasn't possible for her to be a troll like him.

That had led to such a flood of childish heartbreak that Nuada had left the den. For three days.

When he'd returned, she seemed to finally be over it, due in no small part, he was certain, to a little metal gauntlet that Wink had fashioned which fit over her right arm. It wasn't nearly so strong or well-crafted as the troll's mechanical arm, but it kept her quiet. She was wearing it today, but when she wasn't wearing the gauntlet, it rested at her hip from a length of scrounged rope slung across her thin chest. As far as the prince could tell, she slept with it as well. Nuada wasn't certain how to react to the matter.

"It just doesn't look like a scar to me," the human persisted.

He halted in mid-swing, growling low in his throat. Hard gold eyes glared at the girl. "Do you never stop speaking?" Nuada asked.

Her anxious half-smile vanished and she frowned, a hint of nervousness creeping into her features. Unfortunately, either through long acclimation to his moods or Wink's indulgent encouragement, she wasn't quite so terrified of Nuada any more. He was no longer able to scare her into silence with a single look. It was yet another thing to foul his general disposition. "I was just wondering about it," she said defensively. "I've never seen a spiral scar before."

"It's not a scar," he gritted out from between his teeth, understanding now that she must be referring to the whorl above his temple.

"Then what is it?"

The prince wondered how so many human children managed to survive to breed, with their inborn penchant for driving those around them insane with endless questions. "Silence," he grumbled, trying once more to focus on his exercises. The five human ghosts now turned into goblins - sneaky, lithe and lightning-fast. He changed his technique to fight them all at once.

"If you'd answer me, I wouldn't have to ask ten million times," she said.

"If you were fey, you wouldn't have to ask," he snapped.

She flinched, visibly struck by his harsh words, then bit her lower lip and looked down. Satisfied that she would finally leave him in peace for a while, he turned back to the imaginary goblins. Once they were all dead, the enemies changed into many-armed velgen. Again, his technique changed to meet the attacks. He was so intent upon his practice that he could almost smell the acrid stink of their clammy skin and hear the high-pitched hum from the membranes that buzzed on the sides of each triangular head. They had two hearts, so it took an especially well-placed strike to kill a velgen in one blow. His aim was true on the first two, but the third phantom slid under his spear and he had to execute a complicated spin and roll to avoid its claws.

As his lance slashed through its face, he heard it sob. No, he heard her sob. Nuada halted his practice, the velgen fading from his imagination and addressed her irritably, "What is it now?"

The human had drawn her knees up to her chest and was hugging them tightly. The gauntlet gave tiny, metallic squeaks from the joints as she rocked back and forth a little. Wet tracks ran down both cheeks and she scrubbed her other wrist across a runny nose. "You and Wink are my only friends," she said, her breath hitching in sniffles.

The first time Nuada was ever caught completely off-guard in weapons practice, it had been while facing off against one opponent, while a third came up behind him and smacked him across the back of the head with a quarterstaff. The human's odd statement gave him a similar feeling. "What babbling is this?" he asked, more surprised than irritated. "Speak plainly or speak not at all."

"You and Wink are my only friends," she repeated, a freshet of tears breaking free as she wailed, "and you hate me."

Adolescents. Human adolescents. Human female adolescents. Nuada stared at her, completely taken aback by her hysterics. He realized suddenly that things had the potential to turn into a headache in a heartbeat for him. "Be still!" he said abruptly, startling her out of her crying. She stared at him with those not-quite green, not-quite brown eyes wide in her face. He remembered being a child and an adolescent. Subtle had never really worked on him very well when he was young, and he took the lesson from that to be shockingly blunt to her. "If I truly hated you, do you think you would still be alive now?"

Unfortunately, as the color drained completely from her face, he realized it might not have been the most optional strategy to use. He heaved a sigh and turned away from her to go to his bed, his lance retracting into itself until it was a halfspear again. He stripped off his overtunic, then the sweat-dampened undertunic and tossed the lighter garment aside before pulling the overtunic back on. The entire time, he could hear her breathing like a frightened rabbit: fast and shallow. The crying was gone, but she still hitched in her breath occasionally.

Should he speak to her again? She was a pest and a human and her attempts to ape Wink were embarrassing for the Elven prince. If he remained silent, would she finally do him the greatest service any human could and simply disappear? She had her life, and had leeched relative safety by remaining with him and Wink for almost two years. Truly, what did he owe her?

From behind him, very softly, she said, "You're always mad at me. Soon as you wake up, soon as you see me, you're mad."

Nuada turned slowly to look at her.

"I asked Wink what I did, and he says he can't explain..." she added, huddling behind her knees. "I've been trying to do things right so you won't be mad at me any more, but I don't know how. Please," her voice shook as the tears threatened to spill again, "please tell me how to fix it."

His lips thinned into a narrow, dark line. For the first time, he saw her as a child first, rather than a human. The perspective was brief, only a moment's worth, but it shook him. Where was Nuala? Why couldn't she be here, tending to an emotional girl instead of him? Why couldn't Wink have been here to be a buffer between him and the human?

"You can't fix it," he said as he turned away. He sat down on his pallet, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes were fixed on the ground as the words came reluctantly. Thousands of years of atrocities commited by humans against his people, and he'd seen the face of every murderer in hers. It was unjust of him and he took a deep breath and finally admitted, "There's nothing you can do to fix it, because you did nothing to cause it."

The hitching in her breath stopped, because she held her breath. Her eyes went wider. "I don't understand," she said.

"You couldn't," he said in a flat voice. "I have hated humans for thousands of years. You did not have to do anything to earn my animosity, other than to simply be." The faces of dead fey marched past him; some he knew well, some he'd known in passing, others not at all. Every one of them was precious to him.

"Why?" she asked.

"I have more reasons than there are stars in the sky," Nuada said. "It would take my entire lifetime to tell you, and I would still not be done. It is simply the way of things."

Cloth scraped against stone as she slid off the hearth. She approached him slowly, warily stopping when she was two arm-length's away and sank down onto her heels. The glare he gave her was only halfhearted, and though she swallowed hard when his eyes met hers, she didn't flee. "Please tell me one," she said. "I want to understand."

Nuada stared at her for a long time, his white face expressionless in the firelight. Finally, his hand moved of its own accord, going to a flat trinket-chest that resided at the foot of his pallet. The box was enameled in deep blue, like Nuala's favorite gowns, and decorated along the edges and corners with aged silver scrollwork. He released the catch wtih his thumb, opening the lid without looking and from the box withdrew an item. "This is but one reason of many," he said.

The human stared at the object in his hand, confused. "I don't get it," she said.

His gaze dropped down to his hand. In the center of his palm, no bigger than both of his thumbs put together, was a marble sculpture of a flower in astonishing detail. The major petals were ribbonlike, curling around a center framed by minor petals. Delicate texturing on the petals gave the impression of different shades of color, though the piece was a uniform soft yellow. Despite its fragile appearance, not a chip or crack marred its perfection.

"This orchid is extinct," he said. "It once grew far to the east, on an island just off of the coast of this country. Inside this flower lived a fairy, a cilfa'lir." As he spoke, the tips of his pale fingers caressed the flower, his skin almost remembering the softness of the real thing. "She would sleep during the winter, like her flowers did. I brought her dewdrops to drink every spring when she awoke."

Unbidden, a vivid memory of white petal wings and red eyes intruded, and the remembered sensation of tiny hands holding his fingertip as she drank. A deep ache stabbed into his chest, but he went on.

"I would stay with her every fall, until she went to sleep. She was always so afraid to be alone..."


The wind picked up, flipping his hair in random directions as he headed up the grassy hill. Tucked into his tunic was the tiny crystal bottle filled with fresh dew that he'd collected from Nuala's favorite roses. His customary black had seemed too dour for the morning, and he'd worn a warm brown tunic with threads of gold throughout, both colors almost glowing against the deep scarlet sash he often wore. As he drew close to the top of the hill, he reached into the inner pocket of his tunic to draw out the bottle.

Nuada came to the top of the hill, within view of the clearing, and stopped as if turned to instantly to stone.

What had been an idyllic glade was covered, infested, with humans. A crude settlement had been constructed, with the palisade still half-undone. The grass was dead and flattened, in many areas gone altogether to expose dry, beaten dirt. Humans wearing drab wool clothing moved among shabby, hastily constructed dwellings. Two of them were in deep conversation by a well that had been gouged into the ground. And over there, where his cilfa'lir's spring was... had been... a rudimentary smithy had been set up, with the earth pounded flat and hard and dusty. As he stared in disbelief, a fat human wearing a burnt leather apron stepped away from the forge to relieve himself upon the ground.

The crystal bottle fell from Nuada's nerveless fingers. Shock and denial fused to block out the world around him, all of reality eclipsing down into that one small area where he could almost hear the soft chirring of laughter. A sudden, awful truth hit him low in the gut.

He'd retreated back down the hill, still staring at the atrocity before him. Only when the green slope of the hill rose to block his vision did he turn away, stumbling at first as he began to run. The pain in his stomach began to turn numb and cold, and the feeling spread throughout his body until everything, even the heart he shared with Nuala, was covered in ice.

Nuada and Wink had returned that night, armed and armored. They stole into the human settlement, silent and unstoppable, and methodically slew every last human they found. Few of the beasts knew of their peril soon enough to shout or scream, and even those bleats were muffled by the thick, wet sounds of fey metal in and against human flesh. Despite the cries of shock, fear and pain, all Nuada could hear was silence as he killed, a terrible stillness inside that even Nuala's gentle mind could not penetrate.

Only four infants, so helpless and soft they must have been newly born, were not slaughtered out of hand. For some reason, despite the icy hatred that filled him, he just couldn't do it.

Instead he took the pale, mewling whelps to the other island, where another tribe of humans resided. They were darker of skin and hair than the babes, but Nuada had watched them before, and knew they tried to live in harmony with their surroundings. They never took more than they needed from the land, and offered barbaric prayers to the spirits of the beasts they hunted. He left the babies in the crude, hide-covered huts of the other humans and returned, still numb, to his cilfa'lir's home.

He and Wink disposed of the bodies by throwing them into the ocean, leaving wide swaths of blood and darker things on the ground. The settlement they took apart, destroying every last home, the palisade and the well, the rudimentary mill and smithy... Wink had heaved the forge far out into the ocean to splash amongst the feasting sharks. By the time they were done, there was only scattered debris upon the abused earth, none of it large enough to indicate that humans had lived and killed there.

Of his beautiful little fairy and her flowers, they found no sign.

The two of them stared at the ruined glade, listening to the mournful sigh of the wind. A breath of fresh, salty air parted the thick scent of blood and dust. Wink glanced sideways at his prince, waiting for further instruction. Nuada continued to stare at the murdered spring, his gold eyes unblinking in the moonlight.

"This cannot happen again, Wink," Nuada said hoarsely, the first words either of them had spoken since returning here. The troll nodded solemnly, his good hand fidgeting with the metal goblin construct that had replaced his right arm. The new metal shone brightly and was capable of satisfyingly efficient violence, but the prince knew that Wink would have given it back in an instant, along with his entire body and soul, to have his son alive again.

Humans, always humans and their filthy, festering, hungering ways. "They will never stop," Wink rumbled sadly, his fingers tracing the edge of the metal arm that met his skin, "unless we stop them."

"My father will not try," the Elf said.

A heavy sigh wheezed in Wink's chest and he shook his head slowly, "The King is wise and has faith in humans, but I fear he is deceived."

"I will not let this happen again," Nuada said, his voice turning to steel. "And I cannot trust in my father to do what must be done for us."

Wink looked at his prince, a silent question upon his broad face.

The crown... that damned, seductive, messianic crown that could command the Army. Nuada had been searching for it as he learned human ways, but his curious desire was knotting and coiling now into an obsessive need. Two random thoughts converged in his grief and he snatched at the idea they created. He could not let this happen to another of his people... not Wink, not his beloved Nuala. No more of his people would die through his or his father's inaction. Nuada's heart chilled still further as he realized the cost of protecting the fey.

He would have to become a monster, to make the choices others could not, to do what others would not. Nuada would commit any crime, any horror, to safeguard his people from the same. The Defender of Bethmoora was not enough to protect his people and his world; he would have to become something much, much more. Something much, much worse.

Too many fey believed in Balor's peace; too many more had lost their endurance for violence during the wars. He would be rejected, outcast by the very world he fought to save. Alone. Not even Nuala could possibly love him enough to overcome the revulsion his actions would cause.

"I release you from service," he finally said. He couldn't ask Wink to share in that fate.

The troll made a harsh, strangled sound of surprise. He dropped immediately to one knee. "My prince," he said, his words edged in alarm, "have I displeased you?"

Nuada bowed his head, his eyes closing as he said a silent farewell to his home. He reached out without seeing to rest a white hand on Wink's shoulder. "Quite the opposite, my friend," he said. "You have been my shield-brother and closest confidant, and have done far more for me than your oath warrants."

His hand fell away as he opened his eyes again, lifting his head to look at the glade through the lens of his new purpose. Wink still knelt beside him, his expression one of trepidation and the beginnings of sorrow.

Nuada took a breath, his first breath without a home, and felt the night air curl coldly in his body. "I will reunite the crown," he said quietly, "and I will use it. I will drive the humans back into their cities and destroy those cities until they flee back to their caves. I will visit every sin back upon the humans tenfold and write them a new history in their own blood."

The troll rose to his feet as his prince spoke.

"Never again," Nuada vowed forcefully to the dead, the memory of a cheerful little face hardening his resolve. "I will stop them, and all that I love will hate me for it. I cannot, I will not, ask you to do the same. You deserve to remain in our world."

The wind picked up again, ruffling his moon-white hair. A lock remained stuck to his shoulder, held there by a splash of drying blood. The weight of his lance seemed ten times heavier in his numb hand.

Wink balled his good hand into a fist and tapped it against his chest, directly over his heart. "Loh'krenn," he rumbled. Until death...

The phrase was simple in its brevity and infinite in its complexity; the oath of a royal guard. Any service, under any circumstance, until the very end. Nuada shuddered as some of the ice within him cracked and he bowed his head again, his voice almost lost in the sounds of the night, "Thank you."

"You are my Prince," Wink said simply. "Where you go, I go. My first blade and my last breath are yours."

Pale hands splashed with dark patches of blood began to shake and Nuada curled them into fists to keep them under control. Waves of gratitude and grief and fear crashed together, sending tremors throughout his body. He would have to do the unthinkable to save his world, but he wouldn't be alone. He could depend upon Wink, his brother-in-soul, to keep him from faltering and fading when all hope was eclipsed by the coming darkness.


"I failed her," Nuada said, his voice barely audible. "I wasn't there when she most needed me, and she died alone."

The human stared at him, her features drawn in a fraction of the sorrow that wracked him. Her tears fell freely again, soaking into the neck of her shirt. There were suspicious spots of moisture on his hands and he blinked away a curious blurring of his eyes. At some point during the tale, she had settled herself at his feet, almost but not quite touching his legs. "What was her name?" the girl whispered.

He caressed the edges of the stone petals once more, then turned to put it reverently back into the trinket-chest. "She didn't have one; she was free." It was better, he reminded himself, that she had been crushed quickly. The old mantra wound through his thoughts, offering cold comfort when his grief became too much. Better to be crushed quickly, than to be captured, then poked and studied, put into a box and labeled for human science. It was better by far that her magic and mystery died with her.

The human nodded, appearing oddly to understand. She rubbed away the trails of tears with the cuffs of her sweater, her sobs hiccuping in her chest as fresh tears continued to flow. "Can... can I ask you something?" her voice quavered.

He no longer cared, one way or the other. His head felt heavy, feeling oddly disconnected from the rest of him. "What is it?" he asked dully.

She twisted her hands in the hem of her sweater, fraying the parting yarn still further. "Can I... I mean, is it okay..." she faltered, then took a deep breath and tried again, "...please, can my name be Orchid?"

Nuada regarded her levelly, his gold eyes flat in the dim light. It was by far the last question he could have possibly imagined. "Why?" he asked.

The girl looked up at him, still twisting her hands in the knit, seeming so much smaller in her oversized clothes. "I want to remember her too," she said, her expression pleading, "if that's okay with you."

He sighed and bowed his head, questioning his own integrity. He hated humans; it was no longer in his nature to give any of them anything, even if it might benefit him. Yet her request, so odd and so simple, didn't offend him. It actually seemed strangely appropriate. It was something another fey might ask.

His white head nodded once, granting her request to join him in mourning a fairy that had vanished long before her birth.