Finally got this one done! Between finals and lack of inspiration, I had no time until recently. Please read and review! Any comment or critique is greatly welcome.

In other news. That new Hobbit movie... go see it... now... its amazing.


Chapter 8: Black Night, White Stag

Thorns, how did she get herself into this mess?

Of course it would be Sariel who was in charge of the Nightmare Court at Hemlock Coil. Of course she would recognize Abhari, and of course she would hold a grudge. After all, it was the sapling who had cost her the White Stag during the hunt and handed him to Gavin on a silver platter. And luck would have it, she would be a warrior, testing Abhari's ability to dodge out of the way of her onslaught. One good hit from Sariel's oil black shield and she'd be done for.

Her shoulders ached from dodging the warrior's charges, and her fingers were numb with the cold of the night. Soft blue light glows from the seams in her bark, and she certainly feels a surge of power when the full moon's light washes over her but… Sariel is tough, not so much that she was a match for Abhari, more so that the ranger was desperately trying not to wound her. She needed to buy Caithe more time to free the stag, and to make an interesting fight for the courtiers surrounding them, who were jeering and taunting Sariel more than Abhari, which was surprising.

Of course, she knows how she got in this mess, it was her idea in the first place. Soon as they wrapped up at Aron's Woodlot, Caithe had led the way north to Hemlock Coil, a narrow canyon infested with Nightmare Court, in the southern most corner of the Trader's Green province. They made Mabon Market by noon, the jungle growing hot beneath the sun, the humidity sticking to her skin and turning her temper sour.

Caithe had given her an ultimatum at Mabon while they rested and resupplied. The plan was to scout out the area, Caithe being the thief, she would go in and infiltrate the camp, attain logistics, weak points, and so on. But what they did with that information was at Abhari's whim.

"If the stag yet resists Nightmare, we have a couple of options."

Abhari knew she would live to regret this but she had to ask, "…and what if he doesn't? What if he has already given in to his torturers?" It had been weeks since the stag's capture, there was no telling whether his soul had been tainted or not.

Caithe's lips had thinned and she looked Abhari directly in her eyes, "If he is black with nightmare, then you must kill him."

"But-"

"No buts sapling, there is no cure for nightmare. If he has turned then he is a great weapon against the dream. You must do what is required of you." And she had muttered bitterly at Caithe's argument but couldn't disagree. She just prayed that they were not too late.

"Alright," she sighed, "What are our options, Caithe?"

"Firstly, we can disguise ourselves and sneak into the camp." Caithe drew a map in the sand of Mabon's beach with a stick, detailing the layout of Hemlock Coil.

It was a canyon, high cliffs guarding the sides of the Nightmare camp, the only points of access being from the valley in the north, though from that location they would be spotted miles away by the Nightmare scouts. The south was a hill side shrouded in jungle trees and a blind corner, they would have better cover there, even more so with night fall.

"Once inside we can trick the courtiers into letting us handle the stag. We'd 'relocate' him and hopefully make it back to the Grove with little incident." It was a good plan, but it settled something rough in her stomach.

"…and the other option?"

"Distraction."

They'd discussed some options, a rock slide from the cliffs, a fire, explosion, but it all pivoted on the safety of the stag.

"We need to find out who is the courtier managing the camp. Maybe we could play on his weaknesses instead?" Abhari suggested.

Caithe had seemed to consider it for a beat, before nodding, toeing her map out of the sand as she stood.

"It would be best to wait for night fall, it will be a full moon so we will not get the darkest of cover but it will do."

"Will the stag last until then?"

"If he has lasted to now, then I believe he will manage a few more hours." She didn't like it, but she didn't argue.

They left for Hemlock Coil with the sun slowly descending in the sky and made it with the smallest flares of light bursting across the horizon, stars returning in the purple sky.

Caithe had left her in the jungle to the south of the camp and she waited, watching the methods of the guards, mapping their patrols in her head absently.

When Caithe returned with the camp leader's name on her tongue, Abhari knew exactly what to do.

"Sariel? You're sure."

"I am, valiant. She is a vain prideful little thorn."

"I've met her." Caithe's eyes widened in curiosity and she ducks her head, blushing.

"Ah… uhm, during the hunt. Gavin and I ran into her. He didn't seem to carry the best impression of her either."

Caithe smirked, bitterness narrowing her eyes "I am not surprised. Even her followers do not like her."

"Bet they would like to see her lose in a duel." She'd mentioned in passing but Caithe's eyes widened and she grinned.

"That's it. You could challenge her to a duel. She is too prideful to reject it, and her followers would relish seeing her be taken down a level." And she'd agreed, because she liked the idea of it better than the infiltration.

Right now though, she wasn't so sure.

Marrow's warning bark barely reaches her in time for her to duck beneath Sariel's sword. He is whining, pawing at the ground on the sidelines because she'd called him off. Her and Marrow were too good a team, Sariel would not be able to handle them both and a quick duel meant shorter time for Caithe to sneak into the camp and set loose the stag—also, the greater likelihood that they would all die once the courtiers knew what was going on.

And if Sariel went down there was no saying if the courtiers would turn on Abhari if Caithe was not already making a run for it.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Marrow's vivacious barking brought her back, her mind absent from the battlefield, fret with worry of the plan going completely sideways.

The plan would fall through just as quickly were she to fall at Sariel's sword quicker than Caithe's lock picks could work. Her panicked arrow flew wide, glancing off the pinecone-headed sylvari's shield that was advancing on her fast as a rampaging wind rider. The shield, she was sure, was made of solid oak, at least that is what it felt like when its protruding shelf rammed into her chest. She didn't scream when her ribs cracked, tried not to grimace when the soles of her shoes burned hot trying to catch herself, and managed, until her back hit the wall.

The canyon walls were covered in plush moss and cool ferns, all except the lower walls where she was pinned to, not because of Sariel, or fear, or anything like that, but because of the hooked thorns digging inches deep into her back.

"Oh, damn." The warrior noticed, a cruel smile pursing her lips. Sariel's black shield rimmed in spikes pressed slowly into her chest, her fractured bones creaking underneath the pressure making her inhale sharply.

"Looks like you're stuck, sapling." Sariel's voice is like bark being peeled off an aspen, sharp and crackling with splinters, her breath is worse.

"Mind if I amend the terms of our duel?" Abhari gasped weakly, reaching inside herself to the dregs of her magic, hoping she could eke out another unguent of healing.

With Sariel's breath hot on her cheek, it didn't seem possible, she needed Marrow, but he was barking incessantly, a courtier holding him back by the scruff on his neck, and struggling at it too based on the drag marks of the courtier's heels in the dirt.

The pressure on her chest lifted just the slightest, Sariel's marsh green eyes flickering in curiosity.

Abhari grimaced, surprised when she felt a cool line of gold fall from her lips. She must have bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to break a vein.

"Does it have to be to the death? I don't think-" she cried when Sariel's shield lifted and smashed back into her, not once, but twice, ribs snapping under the pressure and flecks of gold splattering against Sariel's pale face with Abhari's cry.

"To the death? To the death?!" Sariel's cruel cackle sent a chill down her back… though that may have very well been the sap oozing from her wounds.

"Sapling, you should have known, when you lose, when you can't fight anymore, which seems awful—close-" she hates the way Sariel eyes her like a fresh piece of meat for a scavenger's pallet, "-I'm going to take you, and torture you. I'm going to break every finger, and peel away your beautiful bark, and once I'm through, I'll send you back to the Grove, where everyone will get the message."

Abhari seethed, a grimace on her lips she forces into a smirk "Ha, and what message is that?" She briefly wonders if banter mid-combat is a learned trait since it came so easily to Caithe. Her mind is scrambling for witty responses designed to infuriate but also distract. Based solely on the fact she was still alive, she had to be doing something right.

"The message?" Sariel seemed genuinely surprised "You must be fresh from the tree." There was a chuckle from the courtiers, and she remembers she's meant to be a distraction. Pinned to a wall and exchanging thoughts was hardly the entertainment Caithe had called for. But if the banter were witty enough, perhaps?

"Humor me, Sariel, I'm a sprout fresh from the pod."

"Hmph-" Sariel considers her words for a flicker, "-the message, valiant, is no one messes with Sariel of Noon and Nightmare. Those frightlings in the Grove will see your black scars and see my knife that carved your skin." Sariel smirks, obviously pleased with herself "The cost of your destiny is a vast one, to be the one to take it away would be—" she stops, eyes lighting with realization. She sneers down on Abhari and raises her sword to her throat, tilting the cherry skinned sylvari's chin up to see her swallow.

"Maybe I should relish this."

"Maybe you should." Caithe's chilled voice is probably the most beautiful thing Abhari has ever heard. Sariel spins on her heel at the familiar sound, seeing the firstborn across the dirt arena, her daggers drawn.

"Caithe-" Sariel snarls, dropping into a defensive stance.

The courtiers whisper in surprise "Can we take a firstborn?", eyes wide, reaching for their weapons when a beast as white as snow lands in front of them, leaping across the lot, making them scatter for fear of being crushed beneath the stampeding hooves.

Sariel shouts at her fleeing soldiers for their cowardice "Get back here!", bringing her shield up to block the stag's antlers when he turns on her in fury. She smacks him on the neck with the flat of her blade, making him jump back, lowering his head and digging his hoof in the dirt, anger in his black eyes, his antlers already tipped in gold from an unfortunate courtier in his way.

Abhari pries herself off the thorns, grimacing, the pain is excruciating, shreds of bark peeling off her back and thorns breaking off their vines to lodge deep in her spine. She drops on her knees once she is free, breathless, but she can't stop, she doesn't have the luxury to. Her bones creeeak and blood thickens in her throat, and she feels like she is drowning though she has never felt the sensation truly. She is drowning but someone needs a greater rescue than she.

Sariel howls when Abhari lunges, tackling the courtier and scrambling for purchase on her black armor. She receives a violent kick to the face and her skull screams but she bites her tongue and fights, snarling when Sariel's shield is wrenched away from her, protecting its bearer. Her eyes spot a flash of light and she looks up, she sees the moon shimmer on Sariel's raised sword, such rage inside the blade, stained with the torture of a dozen souls and the tears of the woman who wields it. But also the anger of her.

Abhari knows she's made a fatal mistake. She is weaponless, scrambling up a warrior armed to the teeth, but the stag is safe though he seems surprised to see the jumbling tangle of limbs. Caithe slaps him on the hindquarters, making him bolt when Sariel's sword swings down and for that brief moment when the stag is leaping above her and the blade is coming down to take off her head, time stops—the moon is hanging in the sky, witnessing her death, and she is not sure if he mourns her or laughs at her.

Or if he does not believe in her demise, because he sees the dog sprinting to the defense of his master.

Sariel's blade is stopped short and her scream deafens dog and ranger; his teeth is deep in her wrist and he wrenches, shredding her skin and dragging her away, kicking and screaming. Marrow pulls with all his might, swinging Sariel around and letting go, feeling no remorse for the sylvari when her back hits the canyon wall and she falls on her head, body going limp from the impact. A dog does not gloat, does not boast, not before he knows his master is safe.

"I'm fine, Marrow." She murmurs when he turns to her, nudging her cheek worriedly. He snuffs at her, unimpressed when she stumbles to pull herself up. It is Caithe who has her on her feet, pulling her up unceremoniously by her arm, gripping her tight by her shoulders.

"Abhari, look at me." Her voice is distant, but the sapling blinks, Caithe's blurred face coming in to focus.

Barely.

"Run." Caithe's order is final, it hits her in the gut and she just nods, no time to argue, not when the courtiers are regaining their bearings from the stag's attack and Caithe's appearance.

Caithe shoves her hard, barking "RUN!" flourishing her daggers and turning to a screaming courtier, killing his battle cry in his neck, spinning to snap another attacker's ribs with a well-placed hilt jab.

Abhari stumbles, nearly falling, Marrow providing a solid thing to push off of, and she manages to find her feet. Her toes are numb, she's not sure from the blood loss, the exhaustion, or the cold, maybe a combination of the three. But she finds that inkling of power left in her, one part grit, two parts audacity, and three parts desperation. Her mission is nearly done but her charge is running ahead of her and knowing that is what gets her running, cold air flooding her lungs when she scrambles down the hill from the canyon, Marrow on her heels.

Her quiver bounces against her thigh and bow slaps against her wounded back and somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes her bow is broken, the shaft shattered during combat, but it is not important, the creature of snow and fire is.

Somehow she tracks him down again, breath puffing in smoke in the cold, she finds him in the water outside Astorea, panting like she does, she sees him trembling, knees wobbly and breaths shaking his coat.

She does not feel a thing when she finds him, she is in the clouds, bleary and charged with a warm energy she is not sure what to call.

Perhaps it is the dregs of adrenaline.

He does not run from her when he sees her appear on the hill, and she does not fear him or approach him cautiously, she does not have the time for niceties. Instead, she grabs his antler gently, whispering in his ear.

"Let's go home, Old Boy."

He nips at her but does not argue, unlike Marrow who whines, prancing behind her and chuffing, she is not sure what for… maybe for the trail of glittering sap she leaves in her footprints.

The Grove is quiet at night, puffering swallows who thrive on the fireflies and twittering crickets whose song is slow at this chilly hour. The frantic sprint from Hemlock Coil to Astorea is a blur of ice clinging to her skin and jaguars watching her in the jungle, yellow eyes like moons watching for weak prey; her legs are certainly feeling it now though, as every other step her knees buckle and she leans on the stag for support. She blinks once and suddenly a light is being shoved into her face, it is Kahedins, carrying a ball of light from one of the flower lanterns in the grove. She recognizes his worried crease in his brow though it takes her a moment to see the rest of his face when her vision swoons. She realizes she's on the ground, looking up at the sky slowly lighting up with a distant sun. She must have passed out.

"How long—?"

"Just a moment." Kahedins assures her, gently helping her up "I saw you go down." He gains a knowing smile "Your dog started waking up the rest of the Grove when he saw you drop." Said dog nudges her face, licking her cheek making her laugh and gasp in pain. Her lungs are bruised and ribs ache but at the least her back has gone numb, where she knows the most damage is.

"The stag?"

"He is here." She looks up to see the Luminary of Dawn, Aife, her pale yellow eyes flickering in warmth reserved for animal kind as she smooths the stag's ruffed fur along his neck. He quivers and bows to her touch, eyes blinking slowly in exhaustion.

Her winter green skin glimmers in the moonlight and she turns to Abhari, a small sad smile on her lips "He is glad to be home."

"As am I." Abhari returns her smile with a small one of her own, wincing when her lips crack from the cold.

She is surprised when an unfamiliar grasps her shoulder and she whips her head, wincing at the action, to see Niamh, the luminary of Noon…. Sariel's luminary.

Her bark is dark as nightshade, dark slate purple, but her eyes are bright and the color of the sea. A smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, a smile unbefitting of a woman decked out in heavy armor made of oak branches and heartwood, tipped in pale gold and glowing white in the night. "Apologies, valiant." She whispers as though her voice would break Abhari's focus, "But where is Caithe?" Right, Caithe…, "Uhm…"

"Do not worry, I am here." They all look to their sister, glowing under the moon, an expression of fire set in stone on her face.

"But we do not have time to rest, I have seen scouts on our doorstep-" emphasized by the gold dripping from her exposed blades.

"Nightmare?" Aife gasps, covering the stag's ears with her hands as if he were a human child.

"They want the stag, and they will do anything to get it back." Caithe wipes the blood off her blades and sheathes them, reaching down to Abhari to pull her up doubt Kahedin's vocal protest.

"Valiant, we need you. You have experience with both Sariel and Gavin."

"You think he will be here?" Abhari feels ice clench on her heart for a brief second, but it is not angry… just cold.

"Most likely."

"Caithe." Kahedins protests "The Valiant is barely fit for battle." Caithe's icy eyes land on him "She will have to be. They are on our doorstep and they will win if we are not all defending our home."

"I'm ready." Abhari is not sure who is using her voice to speak. Like hell you're ready. She knows the bleeding has stopped but that is barely grounds for being battle ready.

Kahedins audibly scoffs but does not protest, they all know the risk of a frontal assault from the Nightmare Court.

Niamh stands after studying the ground, Abhari realizes she was studying the droplets of golden dew that could only be from her own aching wounds.

But the luminary of Noon does not voice any protest, "We will need to fall back to a defensible position." She gestures to the commons they stand in, open and gorgeous and no place for battle.

"My garden." Someone is using her voice again, she's not sure why, maybe to be useful. All four firstborn look at her, Niamh with a smirk, impressed with the suggestion.

"It is defensible, the archways for the archers and plaza for the melee. There is only one way in, the court will be funneled into close combat, we'll have them right where we want them."

"You know your war tactics, sapling." Niamh squeezes her shoulder with a smile before turning to Aife "Take the stag down to Dreamer's Terrace, I will waken my wardens. Kahedins, prepare your menders, Malomedies-" Abhari turns swiftly at the sound of his name, seeing the sylvari of darkness watching from the shadows.

His brass eyes are bright and angry, boring into her. She is not sure what kind of anger it is, but it is directed at her, and she finds a fiery blush turning her cheeks dark, so she turns away from him, feeling a black pit in her stomach. Is it shame? If so, she doesn't know what it is for.

Niamh gives her orders to Malomedies and Caithe, being the most experienced soldier and commander of the sylvari army, they respect her, and set out to their assigned tasks.

"N-Niamh?" The head of the wardens looks on the valiant, eyes softening, "Yes?"

"What should I do?" Abhari stomachs the pain in her bones, shoving it into the dark corners of her mind along with the fatigue of being up since last dawn.

"Prepare." Niamh touches her cheek, tilting her head to take a look at a bruise, "…go to Dreamer's Terrace, retrieve some weapons, it looks like you will need a new set." She says with such a smile that Abhari can't help but reciprocating it doubt the blush burning in her ears.

"Right." She murmurs, tucking her ear in nervous habit.

"And maybe swallow a couple of Kahedins' tonics, if just to calm his nerves."

"And what will you do?"

"I will go and warn the Pale Tree, though it is likely she already knows."

Abhari finds her curiosity soar at the mention of the Mother Tree, "…Will she fight the Nightmare?"

Niamh's smile turns morose "Not as you or I do, but yes." She pushes Abhari away gently, "Go, your garden will need you, Valiant." Abhari nods, touching her heart in salute and turns to head to battle. She feels a soul on her shoulder, later she will call it by its name, but now she does not know it except only as apprehension, fear not for her own life, but that of what is to come.

When she looks back on this memory she will remember the whispers of a lover, "Do not worry, love, the Mists take all souls."