Retribution III [FINAL]

The morning mist clung to the air as Rohan trod the desolate terrace, summoned by the queen. The garden, once vibrant, now lay in ruins. Absinthya’s neglect was evident in the withered plants, dry fountains, and scattered dead leaves—a desolate garden, a decayed beauty, as if the queen reveled in the morbid neglect surrounding her.

Rohan’s steps echoed on the cold, gray stones as he took in the eerie sight. He squinted through the fog, catching a glimpse of a distant figure in the garden—an elf walking along the path leading to the old stables. His golden hair glinted like a sunbeam amidst the gray desolation.

The elf was intercepted by a petite male fairy, delivering a package. The tiny creature seemed fragile as it handed the elf the small bundle with a cheerful chirp. The tiny fairy babbled about supplies for the journey, referring to the elf as Maeglor.

Maeglor! Recognition dawned upon Rohan—the elf who had branded Aerin with the damning “M.” His jaw clenched at the memory of Aerin’s pain.

Maeglor snatched the package, sneering at the fairy. “Filthy fae,” he spat. With a brutal shove, the elf sent the fairy crashing to the ground before resuming his walk to the old stables.

Rohan’s gaze darkened, his fists curling involuntarily at the cruel act.

Leaves, crisp and lifeless, crunched under the High Lord’s boots as he neared the fallen fairy. He extended a hand to help him up. The small creature’s eyes widened in surprise, and Rohan gave a reassuring nod. The fairy took his hand, and he assisted the creature to its feet.

“Are you hurt?” he inquired.

The fairy shook its head, adjusting its tattered wings, and Rohan’s eyes narrowed.

“Did the elf, Maeglor, arrive as a guest of the queen?” he asked, his intense gaze locking onto the fairy’s.

The small fey nodded, fear flickering in his eyes.

A furrow deepened between Rohan’s brows as he absorbed the information, a plan forming in his mind.

 

***

The early morning air in the dilapidated stable carried the scent of aged wood, a lingering musk of hay long past its prime, and the unmistakable odor of damp earth. The musty fragrance of forgotten years clung to the air, as if the very essence of decay had seeped into the timeworn walls. The occasional rustle of straw, disturbed by unseen creatures or the passage of time, released a muted scent, adding to the atmosphere of neglect that permeated the forgotten stable.

The sharp, biting cold of the morning enhanced the aroma, carrying with it a ghostly reminder of life once bustling within these walls. The musk of Maeglor’s horse, the solitary occupant of the stable, intertwined with the mustiness, creating a peculiar blend that hung heavy in the stagnant air.

“Damn Absinthya,” the elf muttered venomously, the biting cold of his words hanging in the frigid atmosphere. “Witch! Fey whore!”

His curses echoed through the stable. Shadows clung to the corners, deepening the contrast between the patches of dim light and darkness.

Unseen and unheard, Rohan melded with the shadows, his eyes narrowing as he observed every move of the elf. His cold rage found its fuel in the haunting memory of Aerin’s agony—the visceral ache of witnessing her suffering etched in the recesses of his mind.

Suddenly, a voice, as crisp and cutting as the morning breeze, sliced through the heavy air. “Coward.”

Maeglor froze, the horse forgotten as he slowly turned to face the source of the icy accusation.

Rohan stepped out of the shadows, a dark and imposing figure. His towering figure exuded an unmistakable aura of power. Eyes, like steel veiled in storm clouds, bore into Maeglor with an intensity that spoke of smoldering wrath. His face was hard and stern, casting shadows that made him look even more fierce. His jaw was set, his muscles tense, ready for action. He was a force of nature, a storm about to break.

The bewildered elf looked Rohan up and down. “Who the hell are you?”

Rohan smirked, a dangerous and mocking gesture. “Names matter little when the guilty find themselves in the presence of retribution,” he said. His voice was low and harsh. “Who I am matters not. What matters is that you, Maeglor, have earned the wrath of one who despises cowards who find pleasure in harming defenseless young fey,” he continued, the words delivered with the biting precision of a blade.

Rohan was a wrathful fury—a tempest about to unleash its devastating might.

Maeglor’s eyes widened with a sudden realization, and a glimmer of fear danced in their depths. “You’re the High Lord of the Moon Court, aren’t you?” he stammered, the weight of recognition settling on him like a shroud.

Rohan’s smirk deepened, a silent confirmation of Maeglor’s deduction.

“But trapped by the chains of a queen,” the elf added, his voice dripping with irony.

A bitter chuckle escaped Maeglor’s lips, the fear transforming into a desperate attempt at defiance. “The High Lord of the Moon’s Court, the queen’s whore, a puppet tethered to Absinthya’s whims.”

Rohan’s eyes flared with a cold rage that mirrored the frosty dawn. He tilted his head, and a surge of power pulsed around the place. The sound of snapping bones echoed in the confined space, accompanied by a guttural cry of pain from Maeglor. Rohan’s expression remained stoic.

The elf ‘s hand contorted in unnatural angles and his fingers snapped like brittle twigs.

Rohan’s voice, a lethal blend of silk and steel, sliced through the air like a dagger. Each word dripped with a chilling calmness, a contrast to the tempest that brewed within him.

“Consider yourself fortunate, Maeglor,” he continued, gritting his teeth, “I’m not at full strength, or every bone in your body would be shattered in a way no healer could mend.”

Maeglor knelt on the dirty floor, his eyes blazing with hatred as he cradled his shattered hand.The pale light of the gray dawn filtered through the cracks in the stable walls, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the pain that contorted his face.

The silence that lingered between them was broken only by the occasional whimper escaping the elf’s lips. Yet, in his green eyes, a fierce flame burned—an inferno of hatred that defied the searing pain radiating from his injured hand. His gaze fixated on Rohan, a venomous defiance that refused to yield even in the face of agony.

“You think this changes anything, puppet? You can’t control me!” Maeglor spat.

Rohan’s response was a sarcastic chuckle that pierced the air like a mocking whisper. “Oh, I don’t intend to control you, Maeglor. I want you to remember this moment every time you think of causing harm to the defenseless.”

In the blink of an eye, shadows enveloped Rohan, their inky tendrils coiling around him like loyal servants of darkness. With a wave of his hand, shadows coalesced around Maeglor, ensnaring him in a dark grip. The elf gasped as he was lifted from the ground, his body suspended in the air. In an instant, Rohan hurled him onto an old, decrepit table.The impact echoed through the stable as the table splintered beneath the force.

Maeglor groaned, his hand throbbing with renewed pain as he struggled to rise. He reached for the sword at his side, a futile attempt to regain control, only for Rohan’s magic to send the weapon flying to the farthest corner of the stable.

The High Lord walked with a lethal calm toward the elf. His hands rested casually in his pockets, a façade of serenity that masked the tempestuous power simmering beneath the surface. Each step echoed with an ominous resonance, the high lord moving like a shadow—silent, deadly, and inescapable.

“Stay away from Aerin,” Rohan’s voice sounded with a chilling calmness belying the storm that raged within him.

Maeglor’s defiant grin surfaced despite the pain. “Ah… understood now,” he taunted, his words dripping with insolence. “She managed to captivate you too with that pretty face of hers.”

Rohan’s response was a mere quirk of an eyebrow, an unspoken challenge in his steely gaze. The shadows that clung to him seemed to pulse with restrained power, awaiting the High Lord’s command.

But Maeglor, sensing an opportunity to provoke, pressed on. “Oh, how I miss her in my bed,” he sneered, his gaze challenging Rohan. “The way she used to scream my name when I fucked her—such sweet music.”

Rohan’s response to Maeglor’s taunt was visceral. In the blink of an eye, fueled by a surge of furious power, he erupted into motion. Like a shadowed phantom, he surged forward, his movements a blur as he merciless grabbed Maeglor by the throat. The elf, caught off guard, was effortlessly lifted from the ground, his back colliding with the stable wall with the force of a tempest.

A cold, guttural snarl resonated from Rohan’s throat, his eyes ablaze with a vindictive fire. The display of power was both chilling and majestic, the embodiment of a High Lord’s wrath.

Rohan’s fingers, transformed into gleaming talons, curled around Maeglor’s neck with a grip both unyielding and lethal.

“The only screams you’ll hear now are your own,” Rohan declared, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the stable.

Maeglor, visibly struggling for breath, managed to release a strangled laugh, a defiant challenge still lingering in his gaze. “She is mine,” he gasped.

“Aerin belongs to no one, especially not to someone like you,” Rohan retorted, his grip tightening, the talons digging deeper. “Touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”

As the elf fought for air, Rohan’s internal struggle played out in the stormy depths of his eyes. The battle against the primal urge to rip the elf’s throat apart unfolded in every tense line of the High Lord’s figure. His muscles pulsed with the coiled strength of restraint, and the conflict etched a fierce expression on his face—tightly furrowed brows and a restrained glint in his eyes mirrored the fierce struggle between the desire for savage retribution and the calculated control that held it at bay.

His razor-sharp talons grazed the surface of Maeglor’s skin, drawing thin trails of blood. With a final decision, he released his hold on Maeglor, sending the defiant elf crashing into the corner of the stable. The weakened beams groaned under the impact.

Maeglor, now free to breathe, coughed and sputtered, his defiance undeterred. “I’ll come back for Aerin. She will be my wife,” he wheezed, his words laced with determination.

Rohan’s response was swift and unforgiving. In a seamless motion, he grabbed Maeglor by the collar, the worn fabric straining under the force of his grip. With a surge of supernatural strength, Rohan propelled the elf backward, his body colliding with the stable wall once more. The aged wood strained and creaked in protest, echoing through the place like a chorus of lament from the weary timbers forced to bear the impact.

The High Lord’s face, a study in controlled fury, loomed inches from Maeglor’s, his eyes like frozen silver pools reflecting the intensity of his wrath. “Make such a move, and you’ll quickly learn how Absinthya’s ‘whore’ can reduce you to nothing more than a pitiful memory,” Rohan growled, his words reverberated through the musty stable, carrying a chilling promise.

A flicker of fear danced across Maeglor’s green eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of the danger he now faced. Rohan held him there for a moment, his strong grip serving as a clear reminder of the power difference between them. With a disdainful shove, Rohan released his hold, allowing Maeglor to stumble away from the wall.

The stable, now bearing the scars of their confrontation, stood silent witness as Rohan’s icy gaze followed Maeglor’s every move. The elf, visibly shaken but refusing to bow to the weight of the confrontation, glared back with an unyielding defiance.

A crimson haze formed in the space, a manifestation of dark magic that heralded Absinthya’s arrival. The queen surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes, her irritation palpable. “What is happened here?” she demanded.

Maeglor looked at Rohan with a mix of defiance and disdain. “Your lapdog needs a tighter leash, Absinthya,” he remarked holding his injured hand.

Rohan responded with a mocking, cold chuckle, his hands finding refuge in his pockets as if the confrontation had barely disrupted the calm rhythm of his day. “It seems some elves enjoy tormenting defenseless females and smaller fae,” he mused, his tone carrying a biting edge.”I merely reminded him of the consequences.”

Absinthya’s gaze flickered between the two, her crimson eyes ablaze with a barely contained fury. “Enough,” she commanded. “Rohan, control your impulses.”

Rohan inclined his head in a sardonically obedient gesture, a smirk playing upon his lips. “As you wish, my queen,” he replied, the underlying mockery evident in his tone.

The queen’s expression shifted from irritation to mock concern. “Maeglor, dear, I let you play with Aerin, not to try to kill her. That wasn’t part of our arrangement. I should have punished you for your rough treatment of my niece,” she said, her words laced with sarcasm. “I do recognize, however, that it was all an act of ‘love.’  And once I have what I desire from the girl, you may have her—fuck her, marry her, kill her, as you please. But not until then. I hope I’m making myself clear now.”

Rohan’s brows furrowed as he listened to Absinthya’s words. There was a spark of suspicion in his eyes, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze.

Maeglor grumbled something unintelligible and walked away, heading in the direction of his waiting horse.

The High Lord’s voice cut through the silence, dripping with indifference. “It might be a challenge to ride with only one hand,” he remarked with a taunting smirk.

Maeglor, seething with rage, mounted his horse. He shot a glare of pure hatred in Rohan’s direction, a silent promise of future confrontation. Before riding off, he said to Rohan, “It’s not over.”

Rohan’s gaze remained fixed on the departing elf, a cold gleam in his eyes.

Absinthya waited until Maeglor was at a safe distance, the sound of his horse’s hooves growing faint in the early morning mist. Her eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on Rohan. She spoke through gritted teeth, “I want Aerin back in her cell.”

Rohan acknowledged her demand with a subtle nod, his brow furrowed inquisitively. “What do you mean by having what you desire from Aerin?” he inquired, suspicion lacing his voice.

The queen’s eyes narrowed, studying Rohan with caution. “I don’t know if I can trust you anymore,” she hissed. “Lately, your heart seems softer, and I suspect there’s a sentiment growing for Aerin. I won’t have you compromising my plans.”

Rohan’s gaze remained steady, his voice calm but resolute. “You misunderstand, Absinthya. Aerin is undoubtedly beautiful, and I won’t lie that the thought of having her in my bed is tempting. However, the risks are too great. I wouldn’t jeopardize my people and court for a fleeting desire. You can trust that I won’t allow personal matters to interfere with our main goals.”

The queen’s smile was cold, a calculated ambiguity that left Rohan uneasy. Her response was a measured warning, “If you’re truly wise, you won’t betray me. Not if you care about your court and your friends.”

He reiterated, “You can trust me, Absinthya.”

As if weighing the truth in his words, she finally spoke, “I need her power, and I’ll drain her to the last drop. ”

Rohan’s eyes widened. His jaw tensed, a silent struggle to mask the shock that threatened to expose his true feelings. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, the words escaping in a hushed snarl, a mixture of concern and incredulity lingering in his tone.

“I need her to break the curse. She is the Starborn, the one prophesied in The Star-Weaver’s Prophecy,” Absinthya revealed, her words cloaked in enigma.

Rohan’s brows furrowed in surprise as he absorbed the revelation. “I always thought The Star-Weaver’s Prophecy was nothing more than a legend,” he confessed, skepticism written all over his face.

However, the queen insisted on the truth, her piercing gaze fixed on Rohan. “Aerin’s powers are no mere fairy tale,” she whispered. “She possesses the inherited powers of Eryone and the rare gifts of a Starborn. I need her healing powers. They are vital to me.” Her words hung in the tense silence.

Rohan, remembering the swift healing of Aerin’s wounds, couldn’t deny the plausibility of the queen’s claim. Reluctant, trying to mask his horror, he muttered, “You’re going to kill her.”

Absinthya met his gaze with cold indifference. “Is that a problem, High Lord?”

“No, not at all,” Rohan responded, his emotions tightly restrained.

“I want Aerin back in the cell. Immediately!” Her impatience echoed in the order. “And I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. If I suspect any betrayal, rest assured, you will pay the price,” the queen declared with a chilly, ominous tone.

The veiled threat lingered as she stared at him, and then, engulfed in a red mist, she vanished from sight, leaving Rohan to wrestle with the imminent danger that now threatened the one he sought to protect.