Ariadne Hawkenshire, daughter of King Arthur, stands in a hidden persona amongst the strongest warriors known. Legolas, son of King Thranduil, sees her as she is.
Was previously called As Quick as an Arrow.
Written following the three movies with a...
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Chapter four.
Ariadne stands beside her brother on their father's balcony. His room stood frozen in time behind them; an open book on his bedside table, an empty wine glass sat on his desk beside a dried ink pot with a feather sat under a parchment with their father's name signed on it. The army roared below them, making Alexandre as his sister watches the army below them.
Her city burning, people - her people, lay cold around her. Buildings are reduced to nothing but rubble as she helplessly watches the sun rise over the crumbled castle. Blood matts her chestnut hair, sticking to the sides of her face, crimson red running down her chin dripping onto the white shirt, the metal corset dusted with ash and dirt. Her ocean eyes met him through the clouded mist.
Stumbling, she falls to the floor again, crying in pain as she clutches her side, ripping out the dagger stabbed in her hip. Sobbing, she stands, taking unsteady steps before she falls to her knees beside him. Her fathers eyes are cold, his chest rises slowly under the metal armour, the Kingdom's badge he held with pride on the side of his armour now stained with the blood and horrors of the battle.
"Father,"
Ariadne places a cold hand on his face, quickly wiping the tear off his olive skin. The ash and dirt covered his chin and cheeks, eyes clean with fresh tears as sweat coats his forehead. He was cold, eyes lifeless as he stared up at his daughter with a small, weak smile. Laying on a bed of his own scarlet mess, the blood stains the whites of his long hair.
"Father," Ariadne repeats in a broken whisper, "I need to get you too the healers-"
"No," His voice was hoarse, broken with a pained inhale, "No, I see her. I can see your mother."
Ariadne gently brushes his hair from his face, "Please, you can't leave me-"
"We won my darling," The King uses all his strength and with a harsh sob, he reaches up to cup his daughters face, "We won against the Orcs, my children are safe."
"You are my home, father," She replies, pressing a gentle kiss on his palm, "Please don't leave me."
The King's eyes begin to fall shut, harsh breaths becoming shallow, "You are Queen now," He gives her a last smile, his fingertips brushing over the ash on her cheeks, "I am-" He swallows harshly, blood drooling in the corner of his mouth, "I am proud of you."
The cold winter's night before the war, snow littered the city; tall thatched roofs caught snowflakes, windows froze over as people left tails in the snow as they finished for the evening. Uniformed grey cobblestone created the crown of the landscape, the tall stained glass windows watched down onto the city. Mother Nature's frozen breath brushed over the city floors as the final light turned off for the night. The King stood by the window, looking over his city with his hands clasped behind his back as his daughter came to stand beside him. Their Kingdom was only a mere few hours away from the final step that would ignite the beginning of war. This final night was the calm before the horrific storm.
