Retribution I

Aerin slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, she felt disoriented and sore. Still lying down, her eyes roamed across the room. Strange… She was confused because she wasn’t in the cell but in a room. A spacious and much cozier room than her cold cell. The bed was large and comfortable with dark silk sheets. The walls were draped with rich tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and noble deeds, while a crackling fire in an ornate hearth cast a warm glow over the room. A delicate scent of lavender hung in the air, soothing her senses. She attempted to sit up, but dizziness overwhelmed her, and as she moved her left arm, a sharp pain made her groan softly, her face contorting with pain. She looked at her arm and saw it had been bandaged. Memories flooded back into her mind—Maeglor. Maeglor was there! Aerin swallowed hard. Fear started to creep back. She remembered everything—the excruciating pain when he marked her and all the rest. She noticed she was without the shackles. Someone had removed them. But who? What happened afterward? Her mind had blanked.

“Easy, girl. Don’t move too much.” A small voice said. Aerin turned her head and saw a lesser fairy approaching her. She was child-sized, chubby, with moss-green skin and white hair.

“Who are you? Where am I? And why am I here?” Aerin demanded, her voice hoarse.

The fairy gently approached Aerin’s bedside, her moss-green skin contrasting with the faded whites of her old apron and dress. “I am Sylvenna, dear. A healer at your service,” she said with a soft smile. “You’ve been through quite a lot, girl. And yes, I was the one who removed those nasty magical shackles. You’re safe now, thanks to the High Lord.”

Aerin furrowed her brow. “Rohan…” she murmured, the name a perplexing puzzle in her clouded mind.

Sylvenna’s eyes held a mix of sympathy and caution as she continued, “You’re in the High Lord’s quarters, child. He found you in a dire state. Those enchanted cuffs can bring even the strongest to their knees.”

Aerin’s memory of the dark room was hazy, a fog of confusion and shadows. But she vaguely recalled seeing him in there. Why did he care? Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. “But why?” she questioned, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “Why would he care? Why save me?”

The healer’s gaze softened. “The High Lord may not wear his heart on his sleeve, but he’s not blind to suffering. Beneath all the layers of coldness, there is compassion in him. He won’t close his eyes to cruelty.”

Aerin arched an incredulous eyebrow.”Compassion in him? I find that hard to believe.”

Sylvenna nodded earnestly.”He does what he can within the limitations imposed by the queen to aid and protect the weakest and most vulnerable prisoners.”

Aerin, still doubtful, retorted, “He killed my mother’s guest in cold blood.”

Sylvenna’s gaze held a touch of sympathy. “Maybe he had no choice, dear. What you know is what your aunt wanted you, and everyone else, to know.”

Aerin fell silent, caught in a web of confusion and contemplation.

Sylvenna pressed on, “He saved you, didn’t he? If he were the monster you believe, he would have left you to die.”

Aerin remained deep in thought.

The healer continued, acknowledging the horrors Aerin endured, “What that elf did to you was dreadful, but it could have been worse if you hadn’t escaped or if Lord Rohan hadn’t found you.”

As Aerin’s gaze fell to her arm, a tempest of anger crashing over her. She felt a searing indignation, recalling the “M” branded onto her as if she were no more than an object. “I want to see,” she declared, her voice laced with fury, as she forcefully attempted to remove the bandage.

Sylvenna, alarmed by her recklessness, tried to stop her. “You’ll only make it worse.”

Ignoring the plea, Aerin persisted, tearing and pulling. “He had no right!” she exclaimed, her voice rising defiantly. “I don’t belong to him!” she yelled, her voice reverberating through the chamber with a touch of fury and desperation. “That wretched—”

Sylvenna, desperate to prevent further harm, implored Aerin to stop. Her attempts to restrain the furious woman proved futile. Urgency tinged Sylvenna’s voice as she called for Rohan, the echoes of her plea ringing through the halls. “High Lord! I need your aid!”

Aerin suddenly felt strong hands gripping her arms, abruptly halting her attempts to tear away the bandage. It was Rohan. In the dim light of the room, his eyes held a mix of concern and determination. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she screamed at him to release her.

Rohan’s voice, steady and firm, cut through the chaos. “Aerin, you need to stop. You’ll only hurt yourself more.”

Despite his words, Aerin continued to thrash against his hold. Over and over through sobs, she repeated, “I don’t belong to him!”

Rohan tightened his grip slightly, not to restrain her but to convey a sense of grounding. “Aerin, listen to me. No one will claim you. You’re safe now.” His words were a whispered promise, attempting to break through the storm of emotions that gripped her.

Aerin, caught in the whirlwind of her own turmoil, remained defiant. “You don’t understand,” she cried, her voice strained. “He marked me like property. I won’t be owned!”

Rohan’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “You’re not his property, Aerin. No one can own you. I won’t let anyone harm you, but you need to let me help you.” His words, spoken with a gentle sincerity, aimed to bridge the gap between defiance and trust.

Aerin’s words sliced through the tumultuous air. “You don’t know him. He won’t leave me be. He killed innocents to find me.”

The High Lord’s countenance shifted, a mixture of surprise and simmering anger. Aerin caught a glimpse of Rohan’s eyes, where the embers of fury smoldered beneath a mask of controlled composure. The revelation of the elf’s monstrous deeds sparked an unexpected storm in Rohan’s gaze—a storm ready to unleash its wrath. Yet, his touch remained a steadying force.

Gently, he placed a calming hand on her forehead, his touch bringing a comforting warmth. In the midst of her struggle, Aerin’s defiance slowly waned. Rohan’s voice, now softer, reached her ears, “It’s alright, Aerin. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Through the haze of tears, a trace of serenity settled upon Aerin. Her struggle subsided, giving way to a weary surrender. “I don’t want to belong to anyone,” she whispered, her voice a mere echo of the earlier defiance. Rohan nodded, understanding the weight of her words.

As she nestled into the comforting warmth, a sense of drowsiness enveloped her. The room blurred, and darkness beckoned, offering respite from the turmoil that had gripped her.

 

***

 

In the dim-lit chamber, Rohan sat on the edge of the bed, silently observing Aerin as she slept. The flickering candlelight cast a soft glow, revealing the worry etched into his features. Sylvenna, the healer, worked diligently beside him, tending to Aerin’s wounded arm.

“She’s so young to endure such horrors,” Rohan mused, his voice low and reflective.

Sylvenna, in the midst of cleaning and rewrapping Aerin’s bandage, responded in a hushed tone, “You knew you couldn’t promise her anything. Protecting her from Absinthya is no small feat.”

A determined fire burned in Rohan’s eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he declared, a mix of resolve and anger lingering in his tone. The healer, glancing at him, acknowledged the weight of his commitment.

As Sylvenna inspected the healing wound, she remarked with surprise, “It’s astonishing how quickly it’s mending, considering her scratches reopened some parts of it.” She showed Rohan the nearly healed wound before finishing the dressing. His brow furrowed in thought. Sylvenna added, “It’s remarkable even for a high fae of noble blood.”

Intrigued, Rohan questioned further, “She’s only half-fae.” The revelation surprised Sylvenna, who paused in her task. “Her mother is a nymph, Queen Eryone,” Rohan explained. “Her father is an elf.” Sylvenna’s eyes widened with both astonishment and curiosity.

“Who was the male who did this to her?” Rohan’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes flashing with a lethal fury.

Sylvenna shook her head, her expression troubled. “I do not know. I have not seen him around the palace, but there have been whispers about an elven guest of the queen. It was said that she had plans for the princess, and things must have spiraled out of control. The elf nearly killed the poor girl.”

Rohan’s jaw clenched, his anger palpable. “I will kill him,” he growled.

Concern etched Sylvenna’s features as she cautioned him, “Be cautious, High Lord. Acting on impulse will not aid the girl or yourself.” She finished tending to Aerin’s wounds and prepared to leave, but before doing so, she turned to Rohan once more. “Take care,” she said, her voice filled with genuine worry. “I hope the girl can survive this wretched place.”