A Court of Fallen Heroes

God Forbid...

Chapter 2

God Forbid...

Author's P.o.V:

Before the first war, five hundred years ago, when humans grew tired of the faerie's tyranny upon their kind, there was this plain saying, who gained power through the blood of every slaughtered male and female, regardless of their nature. It was a chanted, vicious poem, spreading malevolent or honourable effects once it was spoken.

Even though it was brought into this world in the same very moment as the spilling of The Cauldron, The Mother hid it from the world, for it was a calamity to the ones that fitted the category. Then, after years of being preserved in the back of the minds of the population, it surfaced when a group of celestial beings fell into our circle, commanded by a wrathful god who ruled a young world.

' Like calls to like. '

It was the truth. But a very bitter truth.

For this, the mortals suffered tremendous atrocities: skinned alive, enslaved and worked until they died of fatigue in the mines of the faeries, spitted on and stripped of any independence. It was even worse if you were a half-faerie, if somehow, you're mother was taken by a whore and fucked by several sharp-eared bastards.

The reason may seem futile and... dispassionate. The creatures thought that mankind was made for this, for pain and hardship: pain calls to pain, misery calls to misery. They weren't nice even to their own comrades: the lesser faeries. The differences disgusted the High-Faes: the rounded ears that remembered them of humans, long limbs, glowing skin, horns and clawed, webbed feet. This was all deemed to be inferior and shameful.

But all of this injustice was so far away. It didn't mean that the consequences weren't present now: the wall itself was evidence that scars remain and some don't even heal.

The winged male, roaming the skies at this late hour thought the same. His memories of the dark cell rarely affected him when he was conscious, but the trauma that resurfaced every time he slept was still proof enough that he needed more than climbing out of the abyss.

The war with Hybern didn't last very long, but both him and the rest of his family, suffered great loses for a merely illusion of peace.

Some things where not good before that, to start with, but others grew colder and colder. He thought of the relationship between the three sisters, that was hanging by a thread, and then at him and his brothers. The Archeron family was scattered anyway, but after their absent father died during the war and the other remaining sisters being transformed in faeries, the hole grew bigger, pathless.

Somehow, it seemed like destiny made them meet. One sister for each brother. The Mother was so sure that the pairs were able to pull each other from bad memories and heal their hearts together. But it was not that simple: Nesta wished to see no one around her and Elain was so closed inside her shell-shaped mind, that rarely someone could reach inside of it. He wished that someone to be him, but The Cauldron made a mistake and gave the middle sister a mate that didn't fit her.

Rhysand was the only one that was content with his wife, but he got his own plate of agony for fifty years before he reached this point of alleviation.

Azriel's gut tightened at the thought of what his High Lord had to endure for the sake of Velaris.

Recently, the two of them had enough of Nesta's rebellious behaviour. Only yesterday, at the breakfast table, they got the bill from Rita's restaurant and some gambling magazine. The Shadowsinger didn't interfere with their decision, it was not his resolution to take. He had other things on his head to worry, so much that they kept him up at night.