The Weight of Blood
It rained when Vanir and his soldiers rode back to Ellesméra in the morning. It had been a busy night searching for the one who represented everything that was vile in elven nature. Däthedr was hated among his people, the ones who remembered his acts of treason against Queen Arya, almost a century before. Still, there were supporters of his cause, the supremacists of the elven race. They weren't many, but they were motivated and very deeply rooted in their society.
When words of conspiracy against his ruling and the noble houses came to Vanir's ears, his only action was to throw himself on a horse and ride at full speed until he encountered the culprit. The only stone in the way was seeing Lady Líthvia alone in the night, vulnerable to those malicious intentions. He didn't know why, but in the two days he had gotten closer to her as he prepared her for the mission as the Royal Envoy, he started to care for her. It was subtle, but it was there, he could feel it. The last thing Vanir wanted was for Líthvia to be harmed. It was an odd feeling. And he wasn't so sure he was comfortable with it since she seemed so keen on replacing him as ruler one day.
Riding slowly down the path to his palace, the king sulked in his thoughts. It was without surprise when the horse that carried him entered his property without him even noticing it. Vanir dismissed the soldiers, who scrambled to get back to their duties or rest periods and got inside the palace alone, dripping water on the carpet as he walked toward his library. The best thing after a defeat for him was to sit in his chair, lean back with a cup of mead in his hands and watch the sunrise through the window.
As he opened the door to his library, however, his plan of solitude fell to the ground as he saw Líthvia curled up in his chair sound asleep. Somehow, she managed to fit her entire body in the chair, rolled in a ball of limbs and hair. The darkest and shiniest hair he had ever seen in his life dangled from the arm of the chair as a curtain.
Vanir rested his sword against the wall near the door and removed his armor. It clanked lightly as he put it aside as well, but it was enough to disturb Líthvia's sleep. She raised her head and looked around, meeting his eyes. Slowly she unfurled from her sleeping position and sat up, watching as he dripped rainwater on the floor.
"You're wet," she stated the obvious with a raspy voice.
"And you," he started as he walked to the chair on the other side of the desk, "are in my chair." A quick smile made her know he wasn't mad at her for stealing his place.
She combed her hair with her fingers as he poured himself some mead from the bottle that sat on the corner of his desk.
"Where were you?"
Vanir frowned and took a sip.
"I do not think I owe you an answer, my lady."
Líthvia did not take it as an offense. She shook her head and leaned forward with her elbows on the desktop.
"Vanir," she said in a hushed voice that sent shivers down his spine. He had never heard her speak like that to him. "Please, tell me. You said that I should go to my house and lock myself in there then rode off into the night saying that I should've never had step foot in this place. I think you do owe me an answer."
He sighed. Part of him agreed with her statement. The other felt very strongly that she should be spared from the malice that surrounded them all.
"Do you really want to know the elven society as it is?" She nodded firmly, creasing her forehead. Vanir took another sip before explaining, "Those who wished to harm your mother when she was the queen never ceased to be a problem for us. They are weak but not dead."
"So you went after one of them last night?"
He shook his head.
"Not just one of them. The one. Däthedr."
That name made her ears ring. The forbidden name that her parents would never talk about.
"Who is that?"
"You don't know?"
Líthvia looked down feeling her cheeks warm up and shook her head. For how long her parents' secrets would leave her blindsided like that? Lost and angered.
"He was the one who orchestrated the coup against Arya. He tried to kill her by associating himself with an evil witch named Bachel."
At least she knew Bachel. She was the one who hurt her father so badly to the point of almost killing him. Líthvia's eyes burned a little to think of that. She had her conflicts with her father, but the thought of his death put a dark cloud over her head. It was terrifying to the point of almost suffocating her.
"Words of his appearance came to my scouts, so I had no choice but to follow."
She nodded, somewhat grateful.
"Did you find him?"
"No. As always, he escaped."
"As always? So he appeared other times before?"
"A handful of times over the past nine decades. It's becoming more frequent in the last years."
"Last ten years, give it or take?"
Vanir squinted and corked his head.
"How do you know?"
She shrugged, as it wasn't important.
"I overheard you talking to my mother about him when I was little."
"Right. At the games. Well, that was a mistake. Your father was so furious with me for saying Däthedr's name in front of you that I thought he would punch me square in the face to remember the old times." His smile was amused, not at all offended.
"You seem to like my father, but I know he is not fond of you at all."
"Don't confuse things, all right? I have great respect for Eragon and admire him as a warrior, but I would not say I like him. We have history."
Líthvia's lips curved up in a teasing smile.
"I know he gave you an enormous beating."
"After many beatings I gave him!"
"Yes, but he was a sick fragile human. Some would say you were disloyal to even go so hard on him."
Vanir puffed his chest, his pride severely hurt. Líthvia waved her hand with a small laugh. "Don't worry, he doesn't say it like that. He respects you too."
The king felt less offended after the last comment, but still, the memory of him being a careless young elf made his cheeks burn.
He nodded and downed his mead.
Silence befell the room as they looked at each other. As it had been lately, the stare bothered neither of them. It felt comfortable even.
Líthvia was the first one to break the silence.
"You think I'm not safe here," she said in realization. He simply bent his head.
"All right. I'll leave as soon as possible for my mission then."
Vanir agreed with a soft smile.
"That would be the best decision, yes."
Líthvia stood up and walked to the door where she turned to see that he was on his feet as well, waiting to greet her. A pool of rainwater formed under his chair behind him although his hair and clothes had stopped dripping already.
"I will be ready first thing in the morning if it's all right with you."
Vanir walked closer to her.
"It is. I will meet you by the gates of the Tialdarí Hall to bid you farewell, my lady."
She bent her head slightly and pressed two fingers on her lips, never taking her eyes off him. He did the same and watched as her hair flipped around her as she turned to leave.
The sword that Rhunön handed her at the end of the day felt like a feather in her hand, and Líthvia looked at the old smith with suspicion. It was silver with a broad blade, long and flexible. On the guard, there were adornments in the form of flowers, and a purple amethyst was encrusted in the pommel.
"It feels too light."
The night before, after the encounter she had with King Vanir outside the smith's workshop, she decided to go inside looking for answers and of course, a sword. She didn't have a sword yet, and when she would ask her father for one, he would always say "Have patience". Before she left Mount Arngor, however, he instructed her to go find Rhunön, for the smith had the perfect weapon waiting for her, one that she could reshape to fit Líthvia measurements. But as far as answers go, if it depended on Rhunön, Líthvia would never know about Däthedr or that her life could be in any danger in Ellesméra.
"Are you afraid it will break, little girl? The last one who wielded it was at least twice as stronger as you, and it held the force of his attacks beautifully." She pointed at a fallen tree trunk that was three times wider than Líthvia's body. "Test it there."
The half-elf gritted her teeth and swung the sword to hit it with full force. As it was pure butter, the wood was cut in half, and a light vibration could be felt in the air as the sound dissipated.
"That was good enough, but my enemies won't have armor made of wood."
Rhunön was losing her patience.
"Will you keep it or not? This is the best I can do for you."
The girl sheathed the sword and attached it to her belt.
"I'm keeping it. How much do I owe you?"
The old elf scoffed and rushed her outside waving her hands.
"Go away now, I have lots to do."
"But—"
"No buts, your father and I have an agreement. Now go."
"Will you at least tell me who this sword belonged to?" She asked with her feet already outside the smith's property.
The other sighed heavily, and after an internal debate with herself, only one word escaped her mouth, one that seemed to ground Líthvia at once.
"Evandar."
Líthvia sat on the couch in the treehouse for what seemed like an eternity. The image of the noble elf on the fireplace mantle buried her deeply in a trance.
"Líthvia?" Her father called from the door. "What are you doing? We have sword practice now."
The teenage girl peeled her eyes from the fairth and moved slowly outside.
"Father," she started as they faced each other on the flat space by the river where they usually trained. "Do you think that my grandfather would have approved of us?"
"Brom? Why wouldn't he?"
"Not Brom, Evandar. He was a king and pure blood. I can't help but wonder if Evandar and Islanzadí would accept you and me as their family."
Eragon frowned and stepped closer to her, leaving the wooden sword he carried on the floor. He grabbed her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. Her father had the warmest eyes, she had to admit. They were the same color as hers, but she always thought that his were different.
"Honestly? I don't know. Islanzadí was too strict with Arya, but as far as I know, Evandar was kind and tolerant. They both loved your mother very much, so it seems plausible to think that they would be supportive of our family. That's what I like to think anyway." He smiled and squeezed her shoulders. She returned the smile, but the apprehension never receded.
"I would like to know more about them, to see where they lived and touch the things they owned," she said as Eragon returned to his position a few steps away.
When he turned to her, he had that expression he always had when he got an idea.
"Maybe you will someday have something that belonged to them. Who knows."
A/N: It's so nice to be back and have new ideas again! I hope you can forgive me for my absence, and please tell me what you think of the story so far.
I'm planning this fic to have around 30k words, but who knows. So, there's a lot to come yet.
Thank you for reading and leaving comments, it always makes me more motivated.
See you soon!
