Welcome back! I must warn you in advance that half of this chapter was conceived in a pre - exam results release panic, and the other half in breaks between numerous naps in recovery of the aforementioned panic. I am not responsible for any of this.
Reviews are love!
The clock read past midnight as Ashryn slipped back into the abandoned great hall, the moonlight spilling through the windows and casting the floor in stripes of silver.
The plates had been cleared – the tables were clean, spotless. She had not attempted to sleep following the departure of the Prince's party, electing instead to linger about the halls, taking care to avoid the guest wing. It was the darkest hour of the night.
Ashryn felt duly the brush of her cloak against her ankles as she drifted amongst the empty tables, the swish of fabric the only sound apart from the faintest whispers of wind. The stone floor was bitterly cold on her bare feet, and quite suddenly, Ashryn felt as though she understood what it was to be a ghost.
The realisation came with the pressing urge to make some noise – any noise – just to remind herself that she existed.
The first notes on the grand piano were horribly jarring. She had quite simply slammed her left hand onto the keys, forming a graceless cacophony of pure chaos. She held down the notes, however, somehow relishing in the grating noise until it faded, allowing the rough harmony to ground her wandering thoughts. There were several moments of silence before Ashryn dared to bring her right hand onto the keys and tentatively move through the scales.
Family.
One of her very earliest memories was at the piano, sitting in her father's lap, fingers not quite strong enough to press down the keys: Lord Vallador had been Candor's younger brother, a peerless scholar and strategist, but he had often assured Ashryn that his greatest passions were for music and his family. The clear notes of the piano drew back memories of gentle green eyes and lazy evenings, punctuated by her own breathless laughter as she tried to interrupt her father's playing by batting at his fingers.
It had been three thousand years, but her own fingers remembered.
Lady Rhoslyn laughed easily and often and rode like the wind. She was a nimble dancer, forever spinning to Lord Vallador's lively suites, raising Ashryn above her head with the strength of Greenwood's finest cavalry officer. She fell on the Gladden Fields, under the command of her brother in law as ordered by the King. They arrived too late to staunch the slaughter of the Dúnedain: Isildur had fled; his only remaining heir Elendur clubbed to death and buried under the bodies of his comrades.
Lady Rhoslyn, Ashryn heard during the eulogy, chased off several orcs seeking to further mutilate the bodies of the fallen, before her horse was shot down from beneath her. She did not outlast the stallion.
Lord Vallador's love for his family was his own downfall. Ashryn had sat next to her uncle at the funeral, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as someone – something – commended the bravery of her father's final stand, cutting a bloody path through the straggling orcs, deviating far from the rest of the troops, driven by grief and fury. He, too, was slain on that fateful battlefield, the broken corpse of his wife cradled in his arms.
They covered up the wounds at the funeral, but Ashryn could still smell the death. It had been the second year of a new age.
The music stopped, and Ashryn realised, too late, that the dampness on the keys were from her own tears.
It had been three thousand years, but she could never forget.
The faint creak of a door opening broke through the haze, but Ashryn didn't bother to wipe away the tears nor turn to face whoever entered the room. "Good morning," she greeted hoarsely.
Cassian had a chair with him, which he deposited lightly beside the piano stool, dark hair ruffled. There was a long silence as neither of them looked at each other.
"Remember the day we met?" The words were soft, but startling nonetheless after such a long silence as Cassian bent forwards, resting his elbows on his thighs.
"You threw up on my shoes," Ashryn replied drily, sliding the lid down over the piano keys gently.
Cassian cracked just the hint of a smile. "I did apologise for that." A few heartbeats. "I appear to owe you another."
"Oh, Cass." Ashryn exhaled heavily. 'I don't need an apology." She closed her eyes, bracing her forehead against the coolness of the piano. "There are worse things."
And so there were. Lilies had lined the caskets, masking the smell of blood. Cassian's silence weighed heavily on her own, remembering. "I wish we never met."
"That won't bring them back, Cassian," Ashryn said gently.
Cassian was quiet, fists clenching and unclenching. "I just – I know that it won't, but I think about how it was only after that -" He broke off, exhaling. "I am not ungrateful." He murmured finally, features stark against the moonlight. "I owe everything – everything – to your uncle. He didn't have to take me in, not the way he was bound to take you, but he did, and he trained me and fed me and taught me, but I just wish -" He broke off, breathing harshly. "Do you think she even cared?"
Ashryn knew instantly then that it was the anniversary of his mother's death. "You know I can't answer that," she replied, reaching out to grip one of his hands. Grief had filled Serelle's pockets with stones and driven her into the river rapids; her body retrieved only days after the funeral which celebrated all that had been Cassian's father as well as Ashryn's parents.
"He should have made you his heir," Cassian spat out bitterly, but clutched her hand in both his own like a lifeline.
Ashryn shrugged. "I'm not interested in being his heir, nor am I made to be. That's your future, Cass, and it does not do to dwell on the past."
"Gods," Cassian swore, head lifting to meet her gaze. "I wish you could just be more irrational."
Ashryn laughed, a clear sound, brief but with the hints of joy. "If I were truly as rational as you think I am, I wouldn't be here." She sat up straight. "It's late, and I would like to leave this estate tomorrow morning. We both ought to be in bed."
Cassian released her hand, nodding wearily. "Thanks, Ashryn."
"Not a problem," Ashryn rose to her feet somewhat unsteadily, patting Cassian gently on the shoulder before departing the room.
In hindsight, Ashryn just knew that she should have refused.
But eight hours later, elbow deep in poison, a large chunk of hair scattered somewhere on the forest floor, and with a bone deep pain in her right ankle, she could only regret.
It all began with a truly atrocious breakfast: she had tossed and turned for barely three hours before slinking off to dining room, only to find that her uncle had set up a platter in his study. Following that was a barrage of wine-soaked apologies as Ashryn drank three mugs of steaming black coffee in quick succession, so dazed that she inadvertently agreed to accompany a small group of elves on a patrol to investigate orc presence near Greenwood. First-hand experience concerning the state of our lands, he called it. Coercion into championing his cause, she knew it was.
She was exhausted and hadn't the energy to say no.
Thus, another half hour later saw her in the courtyard, bathed in the cold grey light of morning, Candor smiling eagerly from where he leaned against the fence. She moved through the straps and saddles with a dull rhythm, brushing the coat of the stallion lethargically, not even bothering to greet the trio of elves who filtered into the yard, chattering amongst themselves.
"You are not to engage, am I clear?" Her uncle's voice was steady as he clapped Cassian on the back. "We are not yet capable of fully investing into this conflict."
"As you say, my lord," Cassian replied cheerfully, "will the lady be joining us?"
Ashryn groaned. "Someone has to stitch your pieces back together," she swung up into the saddle. "Will we be returning here or to the city?" She was rather eager to check if Drauchir, the injured ellon in her house, was still in her guestroom.
"The city," Candor asserted, moving to open the gates. "I too must return."
"Until then," Cassian dipped his head, pressing his chestnut mare into a trot. Somewhat reluctantly, Ashryn followed.
The next few hours were a blur of trees, leaves, trees, and grass. She loved the forest – she did – along with all its cheerful birdsongs and rustles of squirrels hurtling through the undergrowth, but she was bone tired, the weight of exhaustion heavy on her shoulders. Cassian, on the other hand, chattered cheerfully with his companions as he led the way through familiar paths, sitting straight in his saddle.
To Cassian's left rode Anduillon: courteous, practical, dependable as stone, with hair of russet brown braided simply away from his face. To the right was Daemon of the city watch, an accomplished captain of the order with a rough strap of leather tied around his dark mop of a ponytail, fierce and cunning as a mountain cat.
Ashryn trotted behind, half asleep in her seat even as they headed steadily south: What had once entirely been under the rule of Thranduil had been halved following the war, given over to men and East Lorien, until the elves of the south filtered away and the men drifted back into the open plains to which they owed their histories and traditions. That race had never adapted to the forests.
Now, it was but branches and leaves – and, allegedly, orcs.
"If you don't mind me asking, my lady, what is your purpose on our patrol today?" Anduillon had fallen back to ride beside her, bow slung over his shoulder.
Ashryn grunted her response. "My lord uncle kindly asked it of me."
"Why?" The blunt question came from Daemon, still riding at Cassian's side but looking back at her curiously, head tilted.
"What do you mean, why?" Ashryn frowned, words clipped.
Daemon checked his pace to slot in to her right, leaving Cassian at the head of their patrol. "Well," he looked her over, gaze critical in its assessment. "Why would you agree? From what I've seen, you don't appear to have the most cordial relationship."
Ashryn felt awake so suddenly that it was unsettling. Daemon's dark eyes were well guarded, and she could feel Anduillon's keen curiosity at her left.
It was Cassian, however, who replied. "Would you care to elaborate, Daemon?"
"Last night, for starters, didn't appear to be a display of familial love."
Well it was inevitable that someone would have seen, Ashryn supposed. "I provoked him."
"Are you defending his actions?"
"I am explaining," Ashryn corrected Daemon's whip fast retort. "He clashed with the king, drank far too much wine, and I implied he was a traitor. He had to snap sometime, and I will be infinitely grateful that it was directed at me and not the King in court."
"Lord Candor ought not have snapped at all," came Anduillon's mild observation.
Ashryn twined her fingers absently in the stallion's mane. "His actions were unacceptable," she allowed, "but I cannot change the fact that they were carried out nonetheless."
"What are you talking about?" Cassian broke in, halted in the path as he stared back at them, forehead creased. "What happened? What actions?"
Ashryn hesitated. Cassian practically worshipped Candor – as some combination of a father, god, and saviour, who had been a steady, supportive presence throughout both their childhoods. She saw the dark ambition – had seen it tinged with grief and desperation – but Cassian had not. Candor's actions had not come as a shock – to Ashryn.
"Lady Ashryn confronted Lord Candor at the dinner last night," Anduillon spoke up finally. "He was angry – and yes, drunk, as the lady said. He tried to strike her."
Silence.
The three studied Cassian's frozen features with differing levels of interest: Anduillon was somewhat abashed; Ashryn apprehensive; and Daemon almost with pity.
"Are – are you certain?"
Daemon nodded brusquely, but Cassian looked only at Ashryn.
"I believe so," she said quietly, watching him watch her.
"You did not tell me."
"No."
"Were you going to?"
"No."
"No?"
"It was not your burden to bear."
"And who are you to decide that?"
"Someone who knows you better than you know yourself."
"Oh, really?" Cassian's face was twisted into a snarl as he urged his horse forwards, threateningly close. "Well you were wrong!" The final word came as a shout which sent birds flying into the air, Anduillon's horse skittering.
Ashryn couldn't help the flinch, but she stubbornly stood her ground. "Your reaction is proving me right."
"You had no right to keep this from me!" The grey of Cassian's eyes was so dark they seemed black as he waved an arm angrily in the air, and yet Ashryn knew that it was only to hide his own turmoil as he struggled to find within his image of his benevolent guardian the capacity to strike a relative. "None!" The assertion was weaker than it ought to have been, and he knew it. "None!"
"Quiet!" Daemon's voice snapped like a whip. Anduillon's bow was strung and loaded with an arrow, pointed steadily into the bushes.
Cassian froze. Footsteps.
Ashryn drew her knife, heart thudding like a drum in her chest: the woods were utterly silent, but for the rough steps which came in perfect conjunction with the beat.
Ba - boom. Ba - boom.
Daemon held up two fingers.
Scouts, Anduillon mouthed as Daemon flipped back a small throwing knife in his palm. Where there were scouts, there came a battalion.
Ba – boom. Ba – boom.
"Trees," Ashryn breathed, "we cannot kill them all."
"We do not even know how big this party may be," Cassian hissed back. "We could take them."
"Or we could not," Ashryn retorted. Ba – boom. Ba – boom. "Let the horses go. We go up."
Anduillon nodded. Then Daemon.
Ba – boom. Ba – boom.
Ashryn counted sixteen heartbeats: sixteen heartbeats to acquire Cassian's reluctant compliance and wait for the leaves to stop rustling as the four elves scaled the gnarled, great, oaks which grew thirty meters high, watching their horses flee.
Ba – boom. Ba – boom.
They could hear the rough, cracking, blundering of dark creatures through the undergrowth, trampling the shrubs underfoot as they neared the path. Ashryn was tense as the bowstring which Anduillon kept nocked and aimed below, perched steadily on a wide branch.
Ba – boom. Ba – boom.
It was so damn loud – they were so damn loud – she couldn't fathom how any creatures could make so much noise –
And the arrow took Daemon clean through the leg.
I considered delaying this update in order to avoid the cliffhanger, but hey, we never make great choices, do we?
;)
Until next time -
Silver
