The IRE of Winter

Chapter 32: SAFIRAH'S FATE Part 1

Three days of waiting and now they finally came. Just earlier I started to doubt the elfking would've thought of the bargain as fair. But he did, and he chose wisely. This is my fate, I thought, repaying my debt to deadmen and to the living they've left behind, and though my fate was sealed, little hope remained.

Gazing from a rooftop of a three-storey stone watchtower, wolves and men came striding slowly from the gates. The sun sat gloomy just above the horizon, crisp sound of winterwinds blew South. I scanned each of them, as if it would make me feel better.

Someone gonged to signal the arrival of dusk and the wolves howled to their deepest. They all gathered inside the fortress as the moderate snow began to fall. We've won the battle, but not the war. And there were no songs or laughter to celebrate their return. Children were crying, clinging tighter round their mother's neck. Men and wolves  alike wore a sullen face, the horror of the battle's still fresh in their eyes.

Beneath my black woolen tunic, the iron breastplate and pouldrons drained the remaining strength in me. The wound inside my heart was ten times painful than the scrapes and cuts scattered all over my arms and face. I didn't notice how many wounds those filthbats gave me, more than a dozen if I'd care to count, except for an inchlong knifecut slanting on my cheek that I am well aware of.

Fire devoured lives in an unequal scale, both orcs and elves and humans. The Beornings lost over a hundred, Khalro lost seventy and two. And when everyone started to count their loss, I am counting what I have left. Almost a hundred of wolfmen perished, those men who fought their way off from the elves and those who fell victims of the fray . Desperation drove them to the edge. And all were far from being safe, the fighting scarred their hearts and minds, the kind of feeling I too, know well.

Lifeless men were left outside the hollow for the fire ritual. The North burns their dead, for people who lives with snow, it is a very odd way of sending souls to the afterlife.

I watched them clenching my fists. If only I didn't let emotion take over me, I could have prevented this disastrous sight. The strife between the elves and the wolfmen was finally over, I suppose, King Thranduil chose me. Though I couldn't imagine myself around him, I pray he would still reconsider.

Suddenly, someone came up the hole of the stoned floor, Erett, still on his iron armour but without his gauntlets.

'Why so long?' I asked without looking back, my eyes fixed on the moving crowd.

'It's not easy to march with the dead, you should know that. A wolf is no horse, they aren't built to pull carts.'

'You could have left them there, we had enough dead to feed the fire, I don't think we need any more.' I listened as his walked slowly towards me.

'They belong to the North, Safirah. Their ashes shall mix with the air they once breathed.'

Customs, I thought feeling weary. I struggled to keep my comments, I wanted to say how stupid their northern customs were until I remembered my mother.

'It's time for you to go,' Erett said, then came to a halt inches beside me, I could sense his heavy presence, hurt and sullen too. He knew exactly why the King sent these people back. He wrinkled his nose and added, 'I saw you back there. No mortal could do what you did. Half elf or half human, I don't know what you are.'

'A vaurg,' I looked away perching my gloved hands on the wooden top rails.

'No vaurg mounted a dragon before.' He stood rubbing his bare hands. Atop the watchpost, the wind began to blow the snow stronger. Erett sniffed then said, 'We swore never to bend a knee to anyone after his death, we'll never be fond of elves. Our faith for lordship was long burried with Lord Severine. Many are the years, we never thought his descendant will find her way back in the North. For hundreds of years, our clan has served none but one Lord. Aye! 'Tis true, he carried our faith to his grave, but it was never lost. We won't break faith today, Safirah! We are yours to command. You don't have to marry that pointy eared bastard.'