Page 17 of Heart’s Rescue

Arryn

The Land of Monsters

I’m out of options.

I’m cornered, disarmed, and somehow I managed to trip on flat ground when I tried to run away from this… this thing. This monster with the enormous sword. I turn from the woods back to the thing who’d appeared out of nowhere just after I’d decided I couldn’t survive here much longer without building a fire.

This man. He’s obviously a man, although his skin is so pale it’s almost translucent, and his enormous dark blue cloak hides most of his features. When he’d first appeared behind me with that sword, I’d thought his eyes were glowing, almost like they were on fire. But, no, now I can see he’s just a man. Like me.

Only not like me. The pale skin, that odd sword. The snow, when it never snows in the Kingdom of the Summer. Come on, Arryn, I tell myself as another shiver jolts painfully through my body. You know where you are. You’ve known it since you felt the icy burn of snow under your fingers.

The Lands Below. The exile of the wicked Kingdom of the Fall. The realm of the monsters.

My body seizes again, and this time my shiver almost knocks me off of my feet. Stars, the cold! I had no idea cold like this could exist. It’s almost a weapon in and of itself. How does that strange, pale man stand it?

I look up again, watching him. He swings his enormous sword in a slow, lazy arc, almost as if he’s showing off for my benefit.

“Going somewhere?” he asks.

Jerk. My lips peel into a snarl and I’m about to throw his own words back at him when something suddenly clicks in my mind.

I can understand him. He’s got an accent, sure, something snarly and rough, but we speak the same language. A tiny thread of hope winds its way through my frozen ribs. Kingdoms that don’t speak the same language sometimes still share customs. Stars, even humans and dwarves share some of our customs. And don’t they welcome guests as warmly in the frozen northern kingdoms as they do in the Kingdom of the Summer?

I watch the pale man carefully as my body trembles and shivers beyond my control. Do they still follow our customs down here? We’re both elves, but the Kingdom of the Fall is nothing like the Kingdom of the Summer. They’ve been locked away in the Lands Below for five hundred years; this seems a slender thread upon which to hang my entire life.

I glance toward the trees, then back to the man with the sword. I tried to run, and I failed. I tried to fight, and I failed rather miserably. This might be a slender thread, but right now, it’s the only thread I have.

Stars. I try to stop my teeth from slamming against each other, and then I fall onto my knees in the snow. My entire body screams in protest as the knee I just skinned on the ice hits the snow once again. I spread my arms wide and look up at the man. He should recognize the gesture, sure, but just in case I swallow hard and add the words.

“M-M-Mercy,” I stammer through chattering teeth.

His eyes widen, and he steps back. Under different circumstances, say, those that didn’t involve me pleading for my life in the world of monsters, that look of utter shock on his face would almost be funny.

“What?” he says.

The point of his sword is dragging in the snow, and it strikes me again what a ridiculously long blade that is. I wonder if it actually belongs to him.

“M-Mercy,” I say again, trying to grit the words out through my uncontrollable shivering. “In m-my world, it is c-c-customary to offer m-mercy to the d-d-defeated.”

He’s still staring at me like I’m speaking a different language. Ice hits the snow in front of me. Cold rivers trail down my skull and neck as ice pelts my hair and then traces its way down my body. Some part of me bothers to notice that I’m already freezing, and now I’m going to be wet as well. Lovely.

My arms ache from the effort of keeping them spread. I know it’s part of the tradition, the bested opponent on their knees with their arms out, but I just can’t hold them up anymore. I bring my arms in and wrap them around my chest; the change in position doesn’t make me feel any warmer.

The man raises his hand, pushes back his hood, and runs his fingers along one of his ears. I realize with a shock that half of his ear is missing.

“So, uh, what kinda mercy are you asking for?” he says, almost conversationally.

“Not k-k-killing me would be f-fine,” I reply, with as much dignity as I can muster.

The man pulls his cloak aside and sheaths the sword against his back, somewhat awkwardly. He’s a little shorter than the men of my world, and more solidly built. He looks strong, powerful. Deadly. His clothes are dark and practical, and they look so warm it almost hurts to watch him.

The man raises his hood again and turns toward the woods. For a moment I think that’s it, and I realize numbly that I’m not shivering nearly so much anymore. Some of the cold seems to have lifted. The man takes a few silent steps toward the forest, and I let myself sink further down into the snow. I notice that ice is building up on the folds of my velvet dress, like stars against an indigo sky.

Stars. I should really get a fire started, I know, but oh, I am so tired, and the snow doesn’t feel so cold anymore. There’s no harm in just staying here for a few more minutes as the energy of the fight drains out of me, just to watch the man with the sword leave.

But the man’s not leaving. Now he’s standing still, his body facing the woods but his head turned back over his shoulder. Watching me. I scowl at him. It’s not very ladylike, but I can’t help it. The man turns back to face me and pushes his hood down again.

“Look, if I leave you here, you’re just going to die anyway,” he says.