The Last Dance (I)

Inspired by Learn To Do It (Reprise) from Anastasia

It’s one-two-three
And suddenly
I see it at a glance -

“That is my decision. We will discuss it no more.”

“You will be killed!”

“No…”

An evil smile wound its way across Jerael’s face.

“I know the laws of this land. Now take my message to the king.”

His wolf daemon bowed mockingly, then scampered up the stairs to find the head gaoler.

***

She’s radiant
And confident
And born to take this chance.

Stelmaryn looked at the head gaoler, then at her father seated upon his throne, then at the prisoner. Her eyes lingered longest on the great grey wolf, paws bound together with magical bonds, prostrate at the foot of the throne. The Elf's knuckles turned white where her left hand gripped the hilt of Astarael. The longsword that bore the name of her House in fiery letters along the blade.

First the pain of Awakening, the thrill of Nephamael taking fixed shape – a silvery-white snow leopard – and now this.

“She is my only daughter! I will not have her put in such danger!”

The king slammed his fist down on the ornate carvings that ran along the sides of the throne. The noise startled both gaoler and wolf, and they jumped. Only Stelmaryn remained calm, the only outward sign of her emotions being the shimmering violet aura about both her left hand and Astarael.

“The laws that govern your very throne state that upon Awakening, the Princess will have to fight for the State in any trial by combat, Sire. Even you cannot change that. Unless you accept another as heir…”

“The only other heir is locked up in that cell and I will not have him!”

The king’s unicorn daemon pawed her hooves upon the wooden planks and snorted with displeasure as the grey wolf smiled craftily.

“It looks like we leave you no choice then."

The unicorn stamped her hooves again and glared at the wolf.

"Mind your manners before the High King of the Elves, daughter of the West Wind. Bad tidings thou dost bring, yet noble your race was and still is. Do not dishonour thine lineage."

The wolf glared as the unicorn glided over to Stelmaryn. The Elven princess knelt, conscious of her golden circlet starting to slip. She fervently hoped it wouldn't fall off, especially not in front of that wolf... The unicorn smiled, as if she had read the Elf's thoughts, and used her horn to catch the circlet, pushing it back into position on Stelmaryn's brow. Then she lowered the tip of her horn so it rested upon the elf’s breast.

“My blessings upon you,” the unicorn murmured. A silver light shone from the pearlescent horn and descended upon the startled Elf in a brilliant silver-and-gold aura. While the silver light remained surrounding the Elf, the sparkling golden motes disappeared into Stelmaryn's body.

Then the unicorn dropped her voice to the barest of whispers, moving even closer to the Elf. Her breath was warm and urgent in Stelmaryn's ear.

“You are of Astarael, the House of Sorrow, and if you call, Astarael will save you. But she will claim you if you do not stand firm.”

Stelmaryn felt raw power surging through her as the silver light died and the unicorn glided back to the king. Then the Princess turned and held the wolf’s stare until the latter was forced to look away.

“Tell your master that I accept his trial by combat."

"I will fight.”

***

I taught her well
I planned it all
I just forgot -
Romance!

Stelmaryn kept to the shadows as she made her way down the spiraling stairway towards the cells. Her heart was pounding loudly, and she would keep looking back over her shoulder, back towards the warmth of the king's hall, back towards her father, back towards Nephamael...

Nephamael. The snow leopard would not approve of what she was doing. It had taken lots of stealth, skill, and cunning, to escape her daemon's ever-watchful eyes and shut out the psychic bond that linked their minds. She could still feel Nephamael struggling to contact her, but her training had taught her how to focus her mind to the extreme degree where nothing else mattered.

The Elf stifled a cry as she stumbled on the uneven steps. Her hand went to her sword instinctively, belted to her side. The usually-warm gold was now cold and clammy. Even the crystal set in Astarael's hilt had lost its lustre, shining palely in the gloom. Astarael did not approve either. But still she went on.

All was quiet in the gaol, save the slow drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling. Most of the cells were empty, but the one right at the far end, in the gloomiest corner, was occupied. A bowl of porridge-meal and another with water had been placed just outside the cell. And she could hear the soft sound of someone singing softly to himself.

"Jerael..?"

Her voice quivered as it echoed about the gaol. The singing stopped.

Stelmaryn ran down the corridor.

She cared not for the moss underfoot that threatened to trip her up, nor for the fact that if she were caught here - of all places, for the king's daughter to be! - she would be severely punished. All that mattered to her now was Jerael in that cell.

He seemed shocked to see her, scrambling to get up and dust his tunic off. The tunic of the Royal Guard had suffered during his sojourn in the cell, for the green had faded and the gold trimmings dulled. Yet he still looked more regal than the young girl outside who was inexpertly balancing a coronet and wearing a sword too big for her.

Jerael smiled and reached out his long fingers through the bars to touch her face. She smiled back at him, positively melting with the warmth of his touch as she stretched out her own hand to him. Gently she pushed back the raven-black hair hanging over his face to reveal his eyes.

"Why did you come?"

His voice was soft and sweet as fresh honey. She never could understand why Nephamael would always bristle and growl at hearing him.

"I can't bear.. to see you.. here.. like this..."

Tears began to fall from her cheeks, and Jerael gently brushed them away.

"Don't cry, dearest. Tell me again what I am to you."

It was more command than plea. But Stelmaryn hung onto his every word, and threw herself against the bars in the desperate hope that he would hold her, kiss her, whisper sweet words of love into her ears... "You.. mean everything.. to me..." And as Jerael gently kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through the silver-blonde hair, a malicious gleam shone in his ice-blue eyes.

***

How could you do this
How will we get through this
I never should have let them dance!

Nephaemael was weary from the mental strain of having tried to contact Stelmaryn scores of times. Each time he had been forcefully pushed back, until he eventually gave up. It was not like the Elf to push her daemon to the deep recesses of her mind. There was something that was seriously wrong here.

Outwardly, he was the picture of calmness as he padded noiselessly about the palace. His tail twitched occasionally and he kept perking up his ears, hoping to catch any sign, any lead, any hope.

He eavesdropped shamelessly on gossip about sordid affairs, shook his head in disdain at soldiers complaining about guard duties, and fled from two lovestruck fools pledging troth to each other in a corner of the garden.

On his way past the king's hall, he picked up a familiar scent. He was nosing around the door when he suddenly heard voices within.

"You know I love her more than any other... Trials are dangerous enough with judging morality, but when you mix swordplay and sorcery with justice.."

"Thou overlooks Stelmaryn's skills too much. Is she not known among the people as the Deftblade? Truth be told, if she were a boy, thou wouldst have to have knighted her by no-"

"I care not if she was the best swordbearer in the kingdom! She is my daughter!"

There was the sound of something thrown in anger, and a shattering. Then total silence.

Nephamael had to lean against the door and strain his ears to hear the whispered reply.

"She is both."

Trial by combat?

The leopard had cocked his head to one side, struggling to figure it out. There were only two prisoners, one human caught red-handed in the act of stealing, and that traitorous bastard.

Why would the human demand trial by combat? Elves were one of the best fighters of all races, their quick reflexes and intense stamina making them virtually invincible in battle. With exception of the peace-loving Earth mages, Elves were so adept with the blade that it was almost one of them.

And what did Stelmaryn have to do with this?

Then it all clicked.

O gods!

Like lightning he bounded, past surprised pages and upsetting the Royal Guard at their posts. He leapt, racing as fast as he could to the dungeons - but even then it was too late.