The Crowned Captive
The King's Weapon

When she found Rowan in the training yard the next day, she knew it would not bode well. She stood on the edge of the ring and wished she could simply walk up to him and talk to him. As she made to do so, though, Cordan put an arm out to stop her. When she turned her irritation on him, he offered an apologetic smile and nothing more.

The dots finally clicked into place as she saw Ilda gliding towards them. Today she wore brilliant yellow pants that billowed around her legs with her every movement and a simple white top that barely covered her chest. Her mahogany skin was on full display once more, seeming to gleam in the soft winter sun. Morana could not help but be awed by the beautiful woman, and could not help but notice many of the guards that milled around were too.

“I heard you completed your task yesterday, Morana. A congratulation is in order,” Ilda offered as she grew closer. Morana could not help but continue to regard her warily.

“How do you know I didn’t just fake it?” She challenged.

“Because you are a child of the gods, Morana, and you hold more power than anybody else knows. You may not believe in yourself, but the power is present. You are the weapon.”

Trying to fight the exasperated frustration rising in her chest, Morana stared down the other woman. She was met with a blinding smile and an air of friendliness unmatched by any of her recent interactions with the fae. Finally, Morana sighed and let go of the anger that had hold of her.

“If you didn’t speak in riddles constantly, I may grow to like you Ilda. What do you expect of me?”

And that was how Morana came to find herself standing in front of Rowan, both of them looking like they would rather be anywhere else currently. Ilda fussed at the sidelines, grinning and entertaining the guards who had developed enough confidence to approach her. Cordan stood back and watched Morana carefully, and she gave him a look pleading to get her out of there. She did not know what she was doing and how she was going to be able to try and stave off Rowan’s attacks without any control over her magic.

She did not see the first fireball coming.

It hit her in the gut, sent by barely a flick of his wrist, knocking her back a few steps. It fizzled out after the initial impact, but the lick of the flames still prickled her skin, a hairsbreadth away from burning. She sucked in a breath, the memory of that feeling coming back once more, and turned to him to call this whole thing off.

Then she was hit in the cheek, and her words were silenced.

She reeled back as the sound of crackling flames filled her memories, trying to force her back to a different time. No send escaped her lips, but she looked at Rowan in terror. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her limbs became leaden. Another fireball came towards her. She could not escape, she was too weak and helpless. She was trapped.

The next fireball hit her in the shoulder, barely a glancing blow, but it was enough to knock her off her feet. Tears threatened her, such a sign of weakness, as she knelt on the ground. She looked to Cordan on the sidelines, who simply stood grim-faced and stiff with worry. She heard a crackle, and another fireball came, and another. Shrinking down would not earn her mercy today. The smell of smoke filled her nose, and she nearly choked. Her eyes turned to Rowan once more, frantic, hoping for any reprieve, and she was met with a line of fire that pummelled her simultaneously, knocking her flat on her back. Their eyes had met, and he had not cared what he saw on her face.

Something broke in her when she realised nobody was stopping this cruel game. The sound of fire stopped in her ears. She looked up at the blue sky instead of the hardwood floor and saw nor felt nor tasted blood. She was not trapped. Rowan did not care what he was doing to her, of course. The crackling in her ears was no longer the sound of flames. No, it was the crackle of her walking through the ashes. She was angry now, and she would not allow him to think her a weakling any longer.

She stood swifter than she could imagine was possible before her training, pinning Rowan with a look that could kill. The elf did not deign to move from his spot against the tree where he leant, slack-faced and bored, flicking fireballs at her as if she was nothing. She would not be nothing, not to him. As she stepped forward, she saw his hand flick another fireball, the light coming right for her face. With agility she did not know she had, she leant out of the way. Another fireball came, this time for her leg, and she stepped around the raging ball like it was nothing.

Not a flicker of recognition, not a flicker of worry nor pride came to Rowan’s eyes. That merely made Morana madder. She stalked forward quicker, this time seeing Rowan’s other hand move also. A fireball came for her chest, which she dodged, but another slammed into her back. With a gasp, she fell to her knees, staring at the loamy earth. This was not a reprieve, it was a warning. As she stood, she moved closer again, so close now it was too hard to dodge the fireballs. They came in a quick procession, from all angles. Morana dodged and weaved, hoping to get close enough to kick Rowan in the teeth, only to be served several smarting welts. The fireballs were hot enough to leave their mark now, singeing her leathers.

Another came, and another, and the pain started to build. She looked up, to see Rowan standing instead of leaning now, his face impassive, as a fireball hit her in the cheek, taking a chunk of hair from the right of her face. The silver pieces fell in front of her eye, still smoking.

For the second time in two days, Morana’s rage built to an insurmountable peak. As she saw the next attack come from the elf she had trusted enough to give everything to, she let that rage break through her resolve. As if taking a breath in, she drew power from around her. And then she spoke a word she did not know the meaning of.

As if hit by an invisible shockwave, the fireball fizzled out mid-air and Rowan was pushed back into the trunk of the tree. Through the field, nothing could be heard but the cracking of wood at the impact. Finally, after an uncountable number of welts covered her body and she was certain she would need new leathers, Rowan’s face faltered. His chest heaved as he drew a breath back in after his last was forced out of him. That look of bored nothing changed, mutated into confusion, then fear. As Morana looked around her, intending to level Ilda with the same look of contentment, she noticed why Rowan was suddenly so scared.

Every plant, leaf or thing non-fae within the training ring was dead, as well as the tree behind Rowan. As she watched, brown leaves detached and floated to the ground around them. She had not succeeded in a shield. She had succeeded in utter destruction. A wave of guilt washed over her, horror following close on its heels, as she truly looked at what she had managed. Every person around the area looked at her in fear.

When she looked back at Rowan, he was backing away from her slowly, his face pale. She turned her head, finally seeing the ebony woman walking forward, all the swing gone from her hips. Her white beaded sandals crunched on the dead grass as she padded towards Morana gingerly, assessing everything as she went.

“I didn’t mean this,” Morana finally croaked as Cordan appeared in her vision, brushing his hands over her stinging skin, soothing the pain. Ilda peered over his side, her colourless eyes wide.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I know you didn’t, Mor. We will work it out,” he replied, pulling her close to him.

“You used the Old Tongue,” Ilda breathed, her face the only one awed. Morana worried she may get down on her hands and knees before her.

“I don’t know what that means. How is that something wondrous? Look at what I have done.” Morana could not take her eyes off the destruction and knew not how this woman could.

“It is wondrous because you are a weapon unlike any other. Only the gods could contend with this. The destruction is alarming, I understand, but we can learn to manage it.”

"Manage? If I ever use magic again, I may very well kill someone. I don’t think that this is something to manage.”

“Many Fae have dark gifts. The elves less so, but we are diverse people. The Unseelie fae often have an affinity for such destruction. Let me call on them, and they can help you control it. But you can’t fall back into fear. We can use this, the kingdom can use this, with war so close before us.”

“I don’t want to,” Morana whispered, and Ilda brushed a comforting hand across her upper arm. She would not become a mindless weapon of destruction. With a curt nod to Cordan, Ilda turned, leaving Morana alone again. When she looked for Rowan, he too was gone, another blinding pain against the afternoon.

“How long will he hate me for? He still won’t look me in the eye,” Morana asked, her voice barely a whisper as Cordan rubbed her arm sympathetically.

“He is just an idiot. He thinks you are furious and is now very scared of you. Imagine someone you feel you wronged killing everything around you in a wave of anger. Scared is probably the only sane reaction.”

“I have tried to tell him I am not angry with him,” Morana pouted as Cordan led her away, presumably back to her room.

“As I said, he is an idiot.”

“If he is that scared of me, maybe he won’t run when I corner him and threaten to ruin his stupid pretty face if he doesn’t open those damned ears.”

Cordan laughed at that, and Morana’s mood lightened slightly at the crystal clear sound.

“I must say, I would pay to see that.”

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