The roar of the crowd swam around in her head, deafening her as she moved, the skirt of her gown gathering dirt and sand as she made her way to the center of the ring. From the corner of her eye, she could see him, grinning at a Sin’dorei beauty. He leaned too far forward, falling into the ground, the hunter gathering himself to protect himself from the fighters. He was so handsome, so charming in his attempt to impress her. Moving quickly, he returned to her side, his movements filled with pride.
“Dinendal…”
Then the memory was gone, her sob breaking the beautiful illusion. The stands barren, the spectators gone, their cheer replaced with the screeching of raptors and the mighty growls of the jungle cats. The sun beat down on her back, the silk sticking to her skin as she fell to her knees, gasping in humid air between sobs and prayers. She would be with him soon, some kind soul would put her out of her misery and bring her to the man she loved, her mate.
The sun began to set, granting her burns and aching muscles mercy as it made way for the moon. She did not want this, she wanted the Light to send her a bloodthirsty forsaken, or a proud alliance soldier. Anyone, so long as they would send her away from here, allow her to fill the black hole that slowly swallowed her whole, leaving only sorrow in it’s wake.
Perhaps the Light did not hear her.
Perhaps it did not want to.
Perhaps she deserved this pain.
Perhaps she had brought her own damnation to him…
Footsteps, merciful footsteps! Someone had come; the light had heard her frantic prayers. Forcing her eyes open, she looked for her killer.
The ring was empty, undisturbed save for her footprints. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she pushed herself up from the dirt, searching around her. There had to be here, someone had to come…
“I had no intention of killing you, but this is a fruit too ripe to not pick.” A voice broke though between her sobs; the voice was familiar, yet brought no comfort, the woman’s voice was deep and her words more sharp than any blade. Her laugh, a dark melody that accompanied her words like a slow poison, grew louder by the second. “Funny, I hadn’t expected you to beg for death, Duskryder.”
A foot struck Iliae’s stomach, expertly placed as if her assailant knew of the healing wound beneath her dress. She gasped, curling her legs up protectively as she tried to push herself up. As soon as she had brought herself to her knees once again, a hand struck her jaw, knocking her back to the dirt. Her ears rang her head swimming as recognition dawned on her. “Jaericho…”
Jaericho laughed, her face warped in the dim lighting as she delivered another swift kick to the woman’s gut before turning and walking a few feet away. “And I thought your man was pathetic…” She ignored Iliae as the huntress pushed herself to her feet, continuing her words after a moment. “And to think, what he sacrificed for you…Quite touching, in fact.” A frown pulled at her lips, “But men always act like fools for you, don’t they?”
Iliae stepped back, the dull moonlight now reflecting off the blades in Jaericho’s hands. She reached for her own weapons, her hands grasping at air as her temper rose. Of course she found nothing; she had come here to die, not to kill.
“Please, scream if you feel the need to, I plan on making this quite painful.” She taunted, sauntering over to Iliae slowly as she moved her dagger around in the moonlight, a wicked smirk painted on her face. “Penance, if you will.”
____________
Sunlight illuminated the room, the crisp, morning breeze making the hair on his arms stand up. He had not slept, he could not sleep easy, instead he sat faithfully by her side. Her form was still, so still that one would easily believe she were dead if not for the screaming- How such a horrid sound could come from something so precious, so beautiful, was beyond him. Daeryan would not tell him what plagued her, what kept her locked away in her mind…
“She’s still hurting, Aereyn. The cuts may be gone, and her bones mended, but her head is still broken.” Her brother’s voice cracked as he entered the room, laying a hand on his twin’s forehead as her muscles tensed. Bags bruised Daeryan’s eyes, showing his night was just as restless as Aereyn’s. Sighing, he turned to him, his eyes softening as he felt the other man’s worry. “Illy is strong, she’ll wake up soon.” His optimistic words felt off, not holding the reassurance they were meant to carry.
“I know, I know she will.” Aereyn buried his face into his hands, rubbing his eyes to push away sleep. “Why will you not tell me why she stays this way? You told me she should’ve woken up three days ago…” He accused as he looked up, his eyes lingering on her.
Daeryan sighed, rubbing his temples as attempted to choose his words carefully. “Illy wouldn’t want me to tell you, Aereyn.” Turning back to his sister, he wiped away the sweat from her brow. “In her mind, she’s still fighting.”
____________
Iliae pushed herself to her feet, the snow beneath her freezing her through her boots as she ran to the great tree beside the camp. She closed her eyes as she reached it, collapsing against the trunk as her head spun. Breathing slowly, she tried to push the screams echoing through the forest to the back of her mind. Regaining her calm, she turned, her hand already reaching for her quiver before her eyes even opened. A mistake.
She jumped back, pushing herself into the unmoving tree as the Scarlet brought his blade down on her, tearing through her shoulder before coming to a stop at her hip. Iliae screamed as she fell, her hand frantically reaching for her dagger as the man lifted his blade to finish her. Grasping the hilt, she ripped it out of it’s sheath and struck upwards, her eyes going wide as the blade sunk into her attacker’s gut. The Crusader fell, leaving the color of his order upon the snow as he passed into insignificance.
Iliae gasped as she used the tree to pull herself to her feet, her eyes frantically moving to the blurred figures fighting for their lives in the small camp. Blinking furiously, she tried to clear her vision, it worked, for the moment at least. Gripping her bow, she turned, using the last of her strength to pull herself onto the tree’s lowest branch.
Reaching back, she stifled a yelp as she freed an arrow from her quiver and notched it, her eyes searching for a target. She could bring down, one, maybe two Scarlets before she would feel the effects of blood loss. Sighting Jaericho, she took aim, watching carefully as the rogue danced around a woman, carefully avoiding her mace as the Scarlet attempted to take off her head. Releasing the arrow, the woman fell at the rogue’s feet, a half-hearted salute from Jaericho signaled she was dead.
Moving for another arrow, she fell still, her eyes finding Aereyn as he narrowly dodged a zealot’s sword. Grasping the arrow, she swiftly set it against the ashen bow, taking aim at her lover’s opponent. Breathing in slowly, she released the arrow, a satisfied smile crossing her face as it met it’s target. They stood a chance if only she could hold on for a little longer, if only she could take down one or two…Iliae’s thoughts stopped, interrupted by a fresh pain in her side, and the ground coming at her rapidly. Then, nothing.
Iliae stirs, her eyes opening to the sight of snow- stained with her own blood. She could still hear the sounds of the battle behind her, the sickening screams and battle cries, the ring of old steel clashing, and the occasional thunder of a Scarlet’s shotgun. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the distant voices.
Retreat, someone yelled. It was not Aereyn’s, it was the cook, his boisterous voice strained, as if he were shedding tears. A woman’s voice called for Jaericho, then let out a vicious battle cry when she received no answer. Others called for each other, most frantically searching for their closest friends, brothers, and lovers.
Then she heard him, crying her name, his voice was clearer, louder than the other’s. Perhaps he was close to her, maybe he had seen her. She wanted to answer, but could not find her voice. The cold beneath her seemed to melt away, numbness dulling the pain in place of the snow. Was she dead? Aereyn’s cries had stopped, why did they stop?
The sound of a shotgun ripped through the camp, silencing all save a young Farstrider’s voice.
“Sparrow!” He yelled, “Sparrow is dead!”
