Part Three – Broken
Caressed by the sharpest knife
I asked you to be my wife
Rays of the settling sun
Were my tears wept upon promises undone
(Nightwish – Astral Romance)
Ants. Swarming hastily over his bleak eyes.
Nothing could heal him, no one could save him. The Queen's wisdom, her daughter's love, the ancient chants, and all the forgotten rites.
It was like a plague, carving his insides, twisting his mind. He fought, oh, he fought for dear life, for freedom he fought, for the right to breathe his way into another day. But his destiny was set, the dark figure in his head roaring with laughter, the red sword hidden under his cloak bearing the colour of fresh blood.
He was to become a soldier of the Dark.
And there came a day like no other, with clash of weapons, and spells carried by the wind. The Menoa tree was shaking, its roots moaning, its branches falling one after the other. The one who had been a mere child came then, carried by the most beautiful dragon Human or Elven eyes had ever seen, known by the name of Saphira. And proudly bearing the aknowledgement of a warrior, he dug at the roots of the tree, where the blade had been waiting for him. Blue, like the scales of his dragon companion were.
She needed all her strenght to prevent Murtagh from getting out, and she felt weaker and weaker, struggling with him in a dangerous dance of life and death.
"I'll hide you!", she shouted, she whispered, she almost begged.
"And what of my pride?", he answered, clashing her against the wall.
His eyes were blank, so gaunt his gaze, the look of a madman. The elders would have said, had they seen him, he was the clear image of a Dragon Rider who had once betrayed their hopes.
"I prize more your life than your pride", she snapped, cleaning the blood off her face.
For the sake of a moment, he seemed tame again. Wild in his looks, tame at heart. Acknowledging what she had never told him before.
"In another Age, I'd ask you to be my wife".
As water quenches fire, Blue conquered Red. And when he fell, he was not defeated.
The Elven tears fell, yet she was not defeated either. The blade in her hand was red, her thoughts black. Her soul had been sold under the Menoa tree.