The Heart Of Bethmoora

Rated: M - Romance/Fantasy - Chapters: 3 1/2 - Prince Nuada/OFC

~Teaser~

Despairde•pair [ di spér ] n

1. Feeling of hopelessness:  a profound feeling that there is no hope.

The Heart Of Bethmoora
Chapter One~Despair~

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~:Korra:~

In the blackness of this despairing terrain, I ran.  Fighting these beasts of flesh and bone was something I could no longer afford.  I had nothing left to give, only my broken heart sustained me now and it was fading quickly. 

Thunder shook the sky from above, damning me like angry voices again and again for crimes I refused to confess to.  Their acid rain fell like tears from the heavens, drenching every living being in its poison.  It hammered hard against the black hellish clay of Outland; a place of desolation reserved for only the most malevolent of sinners. 

My stomach churned in my belly as noxious gasses rose from the barren forest floor in a deadly plume that threatened to steal the very breath from my chest.  The clay had softened now, into heavy bogs that crippled my tired legs and bringing me to a near standstill, hindering my pace; a tempo I could not afford to be encumbered.

Gritting against the cold sting of a never ending winter storm, I pushed my unwilling limbs harder through the howling winds; forcing myself to move faster.  This time held no more options, I had to move swiftly or parish. 

They were not far behind now, the disgusting smell of iron clung to their bodies like a thick tar that was ever present.  Humans are a hard breed to overlook.  I could scent the foul stench of their briny blood as easily as I could once smell the rich, spicy fragrance of Elfin magick in the air.  Humans smelled of copper and salt, a repulsive combination that threatened to make me ill even as I ran from them. 

Lightening parted the infinite darkness of my own personal Hell and following it was a rain far harder and courser than before.  It pounded me with all manner of debris, forcing me to an even slower gate.  It was as if the Gods truly meant to make me suffer.  Tree trunks fell at my every turn, boxing me in like a morbid cage of black twisting arms.

With a cry of pure outrage that sounded nothing like the proud huntress I once called myself, I used what bit of strength still residing within my spirit to hurl myself over the smallest of the trunks.  Sharp fragment of lifeless twigs tore at my skin like finger knives, digging and tearing away at what was left of my tired and battered soul. 

As my feet found purchase again in the soggy black earth I wanted to send up praise to the Gods, even though I did not come out entirely unscathed, but then I remembered that the praise either be unheard or unwanted. 

Toxins stung at my eyes as I continued to run, not even stopping when the eroding flesh of my back threatened to grind me into the ground.  I would not be brought down by a filthy mortal. 

Though it seemed the Gods had other plans.   A root of one of the many gnarled things here seemed to spring out of the soil of its own accord, catching my foot and sending me hurtling to the ground with a scream of pain.  Even with my sight that could easily see in the dark, it was far to black in the abyss of Outland to see if the root had done any severe damage, but the hot burning of my bare skin was enough. 

With no time left to ponder injuries, I hurl myself from the rain soaked ground and frantically pushed into the heavy bush of the departed forest.  Back into the blackness of despair. 

A dog baying in the distance is quickly followed the thundering of mortal footsteps and I realize all to soon that I am well and truly out of time.  They were closer now, not even a thousand paces behind me and they were rapidly gaining ground.   

The sharp whistle of an arrow rang through the air like a chime on the wind, further proving my point.  It was an arrow I barely managed to dodge and only escaped by flinging myself to the ground where my skull found purchase on a boulder my eyes had not afforded me in my weakened state.

Weakened and growing weaker still.

For too long have I run from these men.  Mortal men that for some unacknowledged reason wanted to end my life.  They hunted me like I was nothing more than a wild animal.  I the fearsome huntress, had become the cunning fox of the forest.

Too many times had their weapons of iron pierced my flesh.  For too long had the poisons of mortal metal taken hold of my blood.  I was dying.  It was inevitable.  I was tire, weak and without hope. 

For a hundred years my weary feet have carried me through the darkness of this barren wasteland while my eyes wept and mourned the absence of my Sun, my Elf Prince.  A hundred years of lost ways and lost time.  A hundred years is a long time to carry a broken heart. 

With tears streaming down muddy cheeks, I found the resolve to carry on once more.  In one more attempt to allude the ghouls of flesh and blood that sought my death, I pushed to my feet but I found I was already too late.  Much too late.  The whistles of three more arrows fletching through the downpour was like a toll of a death bell to my ear, for I could not dodge them all.  Their weapons of iron and wood struck true, the poisonous tips slicing through my skin like thin paper. 

All the breath left my body in a gasp as a sob parted my lips, for this time I knew it was the end.  My body was too defeated and I knew this time that Puca, even with all his skills, would be unable to heal me. 

With a heaving whoosh my knees buckled and I sank into the mud, my legs unable to carry me any further.  I was resigned though, to my fate.  My death would not be quick, my death would not be painless but all of that meant little to me.  My mind was wracked with questions, that for a hundred years I had longed for the answers, answers I was sure to never receive.  Heavens above, I just wanted to know why.  What had I done that could be so terrible that the Gods and Goddesses in all the beautiful glory would punish me so.  Was it because I dared to love him?  My beloved Elf.

As my eyes clouded over and spots of darkness began to cloak me, I prayed one last time to see the face of my  beloved.

Just once more, I begged, just one more time. 

Would my Prince even remember the little Fae girl that had the courage to love him?  The same Fae girl who he once proclaimed his love for.  Would he remember me?

With my last conscious thoughts centered around my Elf Lord, I grew desperate.  In my desperation my lips parted with an agonizing cry as I called out a name with all the strength I could muster.  A name I hadn’t dared spoken aloud in nearly a hundred years. 

“NUADA!”

With my mind falling into the quickening void, the last sound I could register over the pounding rain were the mournful howls of Puca’s wolf form and the tormented cries of dying men.

They were screaming out in pain and praying for absolution, the sounds of their suffering carried on the wind and washed over me like the comfort of a warm bath.

For the first time in a hundred years, I smiled. 

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