(A/N Due to the fact that the Langfeld's have Elf descent, people have asked if Orrin is an elf. He has elf blood, but it is diluted. AT this point, he is essentially human.)
The two armies stood across from one another atop of a grassy field. Impori flags whipped in the air, causing Elva's long hair to curl about her neck. Beside her, Solembum's ears twitched as his black nose sniffed, the hairs of his neck rising while a long and thick tail dashed about. The human king Orrin was seated upon a large wooden throne being carried by four sturdy youths, all of them blonde of hair with blue eyes that rivaled the skies above. His queen was carried similarly, her lower face covered by a Dwarib-veil. Behind them, a portion of the Varden's army was at the ready. Hundreds of horses stamped heavy hooves while spearmen banged their weapons against large shields. Clamor was at an all-time high as Orrin's men shouted his praises, while their young King simply watched. However, the Impori remained silent. They had always been a silent people, and now was no exception. The wood-wearing men of the forest were stoic, all of them waiting for the call of Angela, if need be. Their leader was dressed in a flowing linen robe, as white as her skin while a crown of golden hair was braided above her forehead. An ashwood staff was held in her slender fingers, the head of which was adorned with an ebony scrying ball, the mists within it constantly turning and rubbing against the glass. Solembum's panther ears twitched forward.
"It begins," He said with a heavy growl. Elva leaned forward, her hand going to the quiver of arrows she carried on her slender back.
"It is not customary for a rather large army to go marching into un-allied territory." Orrin called from his lifted throne. Elva saw that the young men that carried him were slick with sweat, struggling to keep their lord above their heads.
"Our calls of audience have gone unnoticed. I wish to speak with you, King Orrin." Angela lifted her staff towards the man. Almost immediately, Elva could feel more than a dozen spells of warding form about the King.
So he has his own mages . . .
"I mean you no harm." Angela stated neutrally.
"Every precaution has to be cared for. We live in dangerous times." Orrin retorted. The two rulers looked at each other over what seemed to be the space between two different worlds, two different ways of life. Long ago the Impori fled the Langfelds when they conquered the West, choosing to live in the large wooded areas rather than under the heel of their Half-Elven conquerors. Now, Angela planned to ally with them.
"I have brought food and water. Supplies that you will need, surely. I have chosen to take a side in this war, King Orrin." Angela said softly as their army parted, men leading oxen-driven carts filled with various foodstuffs to Orrin's side of the field.
"A show of good will. I appreciate this, Angela of the Impori. However, the mages of my Varden forces state you are something detestable. A witch, if I am not mistaken."
Elva bore a small smile at that. Mages hated witches for no other reason than that a witch could control power a mage only dreamt of. Elva did not doubt that she could defeat any mage twice her age that lurked behind Orrin's shadow.
" This is true, Orrin. But you will find my witches; plural, not singular, mind you, will be a grand assist to your forces. You plan to attack Feinster, which would give you access to the Elf-lands by the south. Well, I tell you this: A forsworn has been sent out to defend the city. Avela Massieo and his dragon, Absolearet. They will destroy your army as it stands now if you do not accept my help."
There was an audible murmur among Orrin's ranks while the young King stirred in his seat. Placing a hand underneath his chin, he leaned forward.
"How have you come to know this?" Orrin questioned.
"I am a Witch, Orrin. My magic is dictated by emotion, not remembered incantations or scrolls. With this power, I can see any development I wish, as long as it is within my power. I have seen Avela flying towards Feinster. Galbatorix fears your army, but if you lose this battle, the war is lost. However, if you take Feinster you will have time to regroup, and no doubt rally some flagging Houses back to your cause."
" I have lost the North to a Forsworn already, and that one did not fight with a dragon." Orrin began.
Morzan of the black dread. Elva thought, knowing his name due to Angela herself speaking of him. Out of all the Forsworn, Angela seemed to have a connection with the dark-haired man. She could see it in the way she spoke of him, see it in how her eyes seemed to lighten whenever his name was mentioned. Elva wondered what that connection could be.
"My army has dwindled. We lost fifteen thousand at Farthen Dur, and another ten thousand as the Elves returned to their home to fight the Sealed Rebellion. I have regained some strength due to the actions of Vermal Nyste, who has taken the position of Vizier and brought a merchant army force of seven thousand souls. However . . . you are right. If Feinster is not won, my army will starve. If it is not won, I will be killed and my cause forgotten. I agree, then. We shall join forces."
It was on that day Elva saw the destruction that would befall them. It would be quick and swift, but it would cripple them almost beyond repair. She saw herself in the center of it, saw herself. Elva could not determine what it was, and she saw the vision for what seemed like less than a second yet longer than a century. She shivered, not knowing that it was on this day her destiny began to unravel.