The Lost Bellator

Seven

Furorem

He hadn't heard her when she had walked through the trees, when she had walked up behind him, he hadn't noticed anything. What a hunter he was. But all his thoughts of finding her, everything he had planned so carefully, vanished as he stared up at the hooded figure before him, the hooded figure that held his life in her hands.

The sword pressed to his throat reminded him of a time when he was a child, on the verge of death like he was now. Except no one was here to save him this time. It was just him.. and the Bellator.

He didn't move and she didn't make any indication that she was moving either.

She didn't even seem like she was breathing. There was no move to her shoulders, no puffs of air in the cold. She was still, entirely still. The hand on the sword didn't waver. Arlaige had no clue what to say and as he stared up, he felt a bubble of fear forming in his stomach.

He was here, kneeling in front of one of the greatest beings to exist. And she could kill him at any moment. He couldn't even see her face, even her hand was covered. He wondered if she felt the cold.

"Speak, boy." She caught him entirely by surprise. Her voice was raspy, low, like she hadn't used it in a long time. It cracked over her words, like sandpaper over stone, like the sharpening of a blade.

Arlaige breathed in through his parted lips. The air burned his lungs.

"I have come in search of you." He rasps. Every bone in his body was telling him to run, to run from this being. He stayed rooted in his position.

"In vain." She replies. He wondered how long it had been since she had used her voice.

"Wh-I-I-," He clears his throat. "There are legends of your greatness, your power. I have come in a plea for help."

She doesn't move her sword. He wished he could see her expression, to know if he had any sway.

"My sister-."

"You have come in vain." She merely cuts him off, withdrawing her sword. Arlaige felt like he could breathe. She steps away from him.

"You should not have come."

"But I-."

"Leave these woods, boy. Or you may never leave." She turns away from him. Arlaige stood there, stunned.

"I need you." He starts, stepping towards her but finding his way blocked. Some invisible barrier kept him from following her as she walked away.

"P-please!" He pleads. "My sister is ill. The legends say you have great power. All I ask is for your help in her healing."

She stills, if a being herself could become any more so. Arlaige finds his barrier having broken. He steps forward.

"She is-."

"You dare lie to me." Her voice was quiet, but it echoed menacingly in the space between them. He cowers back.

"I have done no such thing." He says, straightening. She turns back to him. He still could not see her face.

"You plead for healing, yet you have not asked me what you truly wish. Ask."

He reaches a hand to his chest. He felt sick. He wanted his sister healed, he did. But he knew she would continue to get sick if the King stayed where he was. If he kept his sickness upon their lands.

"The King-." He replies weakly. A cold, soft laugh spills from her lips. He cringed at the sound.

"You ask many things, boy. None have dared. What shall I have in return?"

He didn't know what to say. He had barely any coins, caught only enough game to feed himself and his sister and sometimes Jorin, and only a bow and arrow to trade. He didn't have anything, only himself.

He drops to his knees, reaching palms up towards her.

"I can give you nothing but myself. Take my soul, if you wish."

Another cold laugh. She turns away from him and even her cloak made no noise against the ground. Arlaige felt anger surge through him, replacing the fear he felt. She couldn't just walk away, he couldn't have come all this way for nothing. She had gotten ten steps from him when he took a step forward.

"They have many a name for you." He says quietly, his voice travelling to her anyways. He knew it would. There wasn't a tremor in it like there had been before. He only felt anger. He didn't need to be scared of her, not if he was to die here anyways. He wouldn't make it back alone, he knew he wouldn't. He was desperate.

"I know they do." He continues. She stopped, but she didn't face him.

"I hear them in the pubs, whispering behind closed doors, thinking no one can hear. They call to you, but you never answer."

If he couldn't get to her by pity, he would get to her by anger. It was all he had.

"They call to a lost warrior who abandoned her people." He could've sworn he heard a hiss as she turned towards him, the ice crunching under her feet, the first sound he had heard her make on the ground.

"They call you-."

"I know what they call me." She spits, taking a step toward him. Anger was laced in her every word. And Arlaige watched as she reached up and pulled her hood away from her face.

Silver eyes met his. They weren't human eyes, not human at all. Her features were too sharp to be human, too beautiful that they were terrifying. And midnight black hair tumbled from around her head and fell straight down her back. Her cheeks were pink, whether from anger, the cold, or merely to make her look human, he couldn't tell.

Arlaige could barely contain his gasp. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a snarl, showing curved teeth. The teeth of a predator. Arlaige took a barely noticeable step backwards.

"They call and they chant for their miracles to come to them. Their miracles granted by me." She shakes her head, that dull, low laugh coming once again. It rattled him to his core.

"They want their savior." She snarls. "I am no savior. I am no queen. I am nothing but Death."