The Iron Crown

7: Saoirse

-the crack as the guard brought their spear down was deafening. Saoirse's hands snapped to her mouth, staring in awe as the energy pulsed from the shield that had appeared between Estel's hands. The elf stood over Florin, braced against the force of the attack. Between his hands had appeared a shimmering blue light, intangible and yet somehow able to stop the spear in its tracks.

"Override 2351," the man barked, "disengage." The armoured figure stared down at him, and then almost robotically, its weapon was at its side in a rest position. It turned without so much as a glance back. The heavy crunch of its footsteps through the snow as it returned back to its post beside the gate was enough to bring her back to her senses.

The commotion had drawn a good number of people from the courtyard. Most had rushed over to Griga, dragging the dwarf from beneath his horse as the poor beast fought to stand. A few had moved to tend to the remaining horses, leading Noctis, Willow and Estel's mount away from the chaos. Only one figure was hurrying over to Estel.

A girl, almost a woman but not quite, was the only way Saoirse could describe her – a few years younger than she was, at least. Black hair and even blacker eyes both glittered, as though laced with stardust. She was dressed in a similar fashion to the city nobles, a pretty white dress, and a flowing red cloak. Thin lips were pressed tight with concern, her pale fists curled as she stormed up to him.

"How many times, Estel! You wait, for Rooty and Tooty to open the gates! You don't demand-" Her face dropped as he placed a finger to his lips. "Did you just shush me?"

"Make yourself useful and inform Nihil I've arrived. You'll need at least two rooms made up for me and Miss Saoirse. I would also suggest informing Freya she will have both Griga and Mr Florin here to take care of, both need treatment."

"You can't just show up, unannounced, and start making demands! You're not even a mage-"

"Every second you stand here is another second Griga spends half conscious with a broken arm, Miss Strouse." There was a quiet threat, to his words. The girls face dropped, and with a heavy sigh, turned on her heel. She barely even glanced at Saoirse as she passed.

Florin was in the foetal position, eerily quiet. His body trembled and shook, but not a single sound escaped. As Estel crouched beside him, the boy fell still entirely. Saoirse couldn't read the elf's face; it was like a mask, emotionless – but those golden eyes were calculating. Then he stood, clicking his fingers to get the attention of some of the onlookers.

"Take him up to Freya. Bring guards, in case he turns again," and then, to Saoirse, "has this happened before?" She was quick to shake her head.

"We've only been travelling together for a day or so. I haven't seen anything like this in that time. I don't think he's thinking right," she replied, and she meant it. Florin was troubled, that much was obvious – even if she hadn't read his thoughts, there had been something almost scary about the shift in his demeanour from the night when she'd first found him, and the following morning when they'd arrived in her village. One moment he'd been happily resting, happy to let Griga take the lead, and the next he'd been yelling nothings, fighting the man for control of the horse. How he'd even had the strength to not only wrestle the reins from the dwarf, but to so thoroughly force the horse onto its back was beyond her.

Florin didn't react as two of the onlookers moved over, dragging him to his feet, hauling him towards the gates. His gaze was unfocused, lips moving as though trying to speak. Saoirse moved to follow him, but Estel's hand settled on her shoulder.

"If he is sick, we will treat him," the elf assured her. "You must come with me."

"Where are we going?"