#gwynriel

She wasn’t armed with much, just a simple kitchen knife she had found lying in the halls, probably used by one of the priestesses for dinner before the temple was flooded with unfamiliar soldiers. Yet she gripped it as though it were the fiercest weapon to behold, as she braced herself for what she may be encountering through these halls.   

Further, just a little further. She told herself, repeating over and over as her now sore and blooded feet slammed against the once white tile. 

As she rounded the corner, her eyes locked on a room with white ribbons and colourful threads around its frame. Her heart sank as she saw the door was broken off its hinges, soon accompanied by a rush of fear as her ears picked up on the sounds of a voice she knew far too well, screaming curses, mixed with the gruff tone of a stranger. 

Within five strides she was by the entrance, her eyes widening at the sight which was before her. 

The room which she had spent sixteen years in was in such a state of disarray she almost didn’t recognize it. The drawers were overturned, bed sheets ripped, shelves broken, and most startling, a man in silver armor, holding a sword to the neck of her sister. 

“Catrin!” She cried. Her sister’s gaze snapped to hers and a mix of both fear and concern, flooded her features. 

The girl had never seen her sister’s face twisted in such an expression. Not when they left their home to come to the temple, not when their mother had died a handful of years after, but now, in this moment, her gaze was wrought with terror. 

She took a step forward, hand still clenched around the knife, but before she could make a move, the soldier slid the blade across her sister's throat. A broken sound left lips so similar to hers, and what little foundation remained of the girl’s world, came crashing down. 

Their eyes locked and in that moment, one pair of teal faded away, while the other filled with tears. 

Her sister’s body fell with a heap, limbs limp and a horrible gurgling sound sounding from her now slit throat. The soldier took a step towards her, sword still dripping in blood of the now forgotten girl as his gaze locked on the only other person still breathing in the room. Fear grew as she noticed the coat of arms he bore: A black snake, its fangs exposed - the crest of the eldest Zalel brother. 

She had heard far too much about the brutality of the countries outside of Sangravah, however none were as cruel as the acts which were committed by the current king of the Court of Shadows. It had been merely a week since he had claimed the throne and he had already sought out to expand his territory. 

However, it had never crossed anyone’s mind that Sangravah would be his next target. 

His gaze trailed up and down her body in a way that made her skin crawl. “Eh, you’re pretty in the face aren’t you? You’ll be a good enough stand in, since you ruined my fun with the black haired bitch.” 

Ruined my fun. 

The words resounded in her head. Fun. That was all this was to him. Fun. Her eyes trailed to his blade, wondering how many of her friends’ blood stained that steel, Catrin’s now joining it. 

Through her tears, the copper haired girl felt her body vibrate with rage and grief, a dangerous combination. Her empty hand was beginning to bleed from how her nails dug into her palm, while the other was whiteknuckled around her kitchen knife. 

The soldier was still smiling to himself, casually standing in the growing pool of her sister’s blood, and before he could move another muscle, she lunged at him. 

The force they collided with almost knocked the wind out of her, but she quickly regained her senses, using her free hand to grab at whatever part of him she could. The soldier, still in shock, was flailing around as they tumbled to the ground, his sword falling with a clang out of his hold. 

Anger burned in her chest and she took advantage of the moment, one hand grabbing onto the hair which escaped his helmet to pull his head back, the other tightening its grip on the knife before slamming it down into the exposed skin of the soldier's neck. 

He made a choking sound and he tried to throw her off, fingers grasping for the sword which laid just out of reach., His legs kicked out, arms shoved at her, but through it all her grip was iron strong.

Again and again she rammed that small knife into his neck. She ignored the blood that sprayed in her face, the cramping in her arms, the tears that rolled down her face, and most of all, she ignored the man's screams which grew quieter with each second. It was only when he had gone completely still beneath her, that she paused. 

For a moment, the room was so eerily quiet, it was as if the entire world had stopped. 

The copper haired girl looked down at the body below her, face and neck slashed and stabbed too many times to count. She looked at his features, the mouth that was curled into a sneer mere moments ago was now slack, a trickle of blood running from his lips to his chin, his eyes which almost gleamed with bloodlust were now dull and clouded. 

A burst of clarity hit her and the girl’s head snapped towards the second body on the floor. The one which had not moved the entire time. 

“Catrin?” she whispered, her voice scratchy and hoarse. She moved one leg off the soldier, then another, before she crawled on her hands and knees towards the black haired girl.  

No, no, no. 

Her breath caught as she slowly cast her eyes down, and even in the dim light she could see the red slowly creeping across every inch of the bedroom from the wound in her neck. Horror dawned on her as she took in the soulless and unmoving body of her sister, her twin sister, who had the same hair, but black hair instead of copper, the same eyes, but stormy instead of playful, the same blood, but now staining their bedroom instead of pumping through her veins. 

The girl’s body caved in and she braced a hand on the floor, only to feel her palm slip on slick, and the feeling made bile curl into the back of her mouth. 

She couldn’t scream. Even in her grief-filled haze she knew that if she did, more of those same soldiers in their silver armour, who had butchered her friends, who had killed her sister, would come barreling through the door, ready to kill another innocent which they had left behind.  

The blood seeping into the hem of her clothes didn’t register, nor did the sight of her twin sister’s once glowing and pale skin turning grey. Carefully, as if she were handling the most precious object in the world, the girl curled her arms around her sister’s limp form, and slowly cradled it to her chest.

Gently, she rocked from side to side, silent tears streamed down her face as she gazed at the destruction of the place that was once their home. She could still hear the shrieks of others, from the window she could see the orange blaze of fire as temples were burned, and she could smell death in the air. 

Just before dusk, they had finished up their last evening duties, ready to tuck away in their beds and rest until morning. Her sister had insisted they go back to their rooms, but she had wanted to take one last walk, just to the edge of the water, no further, she promised. 

It had never occurred to her that one walk is all that would be the difference between life and death. That on her way back, she would see the fires burning even from the cliff. Catrin had warned her that the world could be a cruel place, but never had she imagined this sight, least of all in her home.

Sangravah was a city that was composed of women and children, they cared for the temple, a place of worship. War, conquering, devastation of this magnitude, was not supposed to reach these lands, harm was not supposed to come here, and most certainly not to Catrin. 

A mangled sound escaped the girl’s lips. She hugged her sister's body closer, as if the warmth in her blood could somehow bring life back into a corpse.

“Please,” she pleaded, “You cannot leave me. You are all I have. You are my sister, you cannot leave me. You cannot.” She repeated the words like a mantra, yet no response ever came. 

~

It was hard to tell how long she had laid there. Perhaps it had been a minute, or ten, or twenty, or hours. She did not know and frankly, she did not care. 

Her ears perked at the sound of footsteps sounded from outside in the halls along with the commands and directions being thrown. 

“I want a sweep of each room.”

“Bury the dead.”

“Round up any survivors."

The voices grew with each passing second, yet still she did not move. How could she? She would not leave her sister here alone, to be discovered by strangers, just to go and hide. She slowly grabbed the hilt of the sword the dead soldier had, held it close to their bodies, and waited. 

It was only when the footsteps paused right by the door, casting a shadow onto her from the faint moonlight which still creeped in,  did she lift her head. 

Initially, she thought she was going to die. That some soldier from the Court of Shadows had come back to finish her off just as he had done her sister. Some part of her thought it may have been a mercy if he was. 

But instead of seeing the face of a war hardened man, she saw the glimpse of a boy. He couldn’t have been much older than she was. He was tall and broad shouldered, yet still had the build of someone who was not yet done growing. His brown hair was choppy and laid over his forehead, cheeks still slightly plump from youth, but it was his eyes that showed his age more than anything else. Instead of silver armour, he wore leathers as black as night, a bloody dagger strapped to his hip. 

She could feel more than see the way they scanned the current scene. The dead soldier on the ground whose face and neck were slashed to the bone, the grey limb body still wearing sleeping clothes which were stained from one slice to the neck, and then finally her, sitting on the floor amidst all the chaos. 

When their eyes locked, it was as if her heart stopped. The boy peered at her with such utter devastation in his gaze, that she wondered if just like her, it was the first time he had witnessed a massacre like this. A handful of men gathered around the door frame to see what had stopped him in his tracks, and she curled her weapon closer to her. She would not go down without bringing another body with her. 

“Leave us.” His voice commanded, seeing the way she had shifted into a defensive stance. It struck her that it was the same one she had heard from the hall. 

What was a boy, barely older than her, doing giving such commands to soldiers? She thought. 

But before she could ponder on it more, he crouched to her level on the floor. His eyes were hazel with the slightest flecks of green, she realized, as she watched them flicker down to the body in her arms, still cradled to her chest, before darting back up to meet hers. 

“What is your name?” He asked, voice smooth and calming, like a lulling tide or a cool breeze. His face was smooth, the previous emotion wiped clean. 

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Gwyneth,” she replied.  

He gave her a slight smile and her fingers somewhat relaxed at the sight. “That is a lovely name.” He inclined his head, “I’m Azriel.” A note of recognition ran through her, but she couldn’t place where she had heard his name before. Slowly he moved closer to her. She tried her best not to flinch away. “May I ask who this is, Gwyneth?”

“Catrin,” she replied, her voice breaking around those two syllables. “She’s my sister.” Before he could say another word she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you here to kill me?” 

Azriel’s eyes softened with understanding. “No Gwyneth, I am not. And I’m sorry for the death which you have witnessed tonight. Sangravah should not have been subjected to such cruelty.”  His eyes darted towards the man on the floor and anger flashed across his features. “And those who did, deserve it tenfold.” 

“If you are not here to kill me, then what are you here for?” She dared to ask. The coat of arms on his armour was not one she recognized and Sangravah was not a city which was under a specific country, the lines of its territory blurred. 

“I am here only to help in whatever way I can.” He simply replied. “Far too many innocents have lost their lives already, and I can only hope to aid those who are still with us.” And though she probably shouldn't have, Gwyneth believed Azriel. 

Maybe it was how earnestly he spoke with a tone far beyond the years he surely had, the clear sadness in his eyes as he gazed upon the dead body of her sister, or the hatred in them as he looked at the dead soldier, but something in her told her she could trust him. 

As if seeing the trust slowly building, Azriel removed one of his gloves, blood soaked as they were, and merely opened his palm to her. 

Letting her decide what she wished to do next. She realized. 

His hands were large, with long fingers and strong tendons, yet even in the dim light she could see brutal scars laying across them too. Yet, she didn’t find herself shying away from them nor did she question where they came from, if anything, the sight of those hands, those open, scarred, human hands, made a wave of relief and hope fall over her. 

Gwyn slowly laid the hilt of the sword in his hands and he carefully placed it out of sight for both of them. He waited patiently for her to make her next choice. She hesitated for a moment, looking down at Catrin’s face. Even in death her sister somehow looked so sincere. 

“My men are digging graves outside for those who have fallen.” Azriel noted, noticing her hesitance. “Some are by the temple, others in the forest, and a few overlooking the sea. You may choose which one you’d like Catrin to be placed in.” 

She nodded her head. Logically, she knew that Catrin could not stay here in their bloodied room. Her sister deserved a proper burial and resting place. “Overlooking the sea,” Gwyn finally replied, voice hoarse. “We would spend hours watching the sun rise and fall above the water.” 

He nodded. “I will see to it myself that she is buried at the highest peak.” 

With the agreement between them, Gwyn finally unwound her arms from around Catrin’s body, the night dress sticking to her skin because of the blood. She pried her fingers loose from where they gripped her black hair, and lifted her sister’s corpse up. Azriel aided her, bringing his hands to clasp around Catrin’s back and knees to hoist her up. 

Gwyneth watched as he gently placed Catrin in the arms of another soldier, who was likely around their same age, with hair that went down to his shoulders. She heard his swift orders on where to bury her and the edge in his voice as he spoke of what would happen if his instructions weren’t followed. Her eyes followed the sight of the soldier until she could no longer see the black of Catrin’s hair in the hallway. 

Azriel entered the room again, this time bringing one of his men in. She tensed at the sight of another man in the room, but quickly relaxed once she saw him yank the dead soldier out of the room by his ankle, as if he were lugging rubbish. 

“Do you have anywhere you can stay, Gwyneth?” Azriel asked. “Any family or friends who you can live with?” 

“Everything and everyone I’ve ever known is here,” She whispered. “I’m not sure if there is anywhere else I can go.”

He paused for a moment, hesitance on his face, before taking a deep breath and turning fully towards her. “Come with me. I can offer you a house and a home, with food and water. You can continue as a priestess or acolyte or become something different. ”

Her head cocked in confusion. “Who exactly are you?” 

He stared at her for a moment before he sighed, “Azriel Zalel, fourth prince of the Court of Shadows.” 

She froze. Azriel Zalel. Azriel Zalel. Prince of  the Court of Shadows. He was the brother of the man who had led the charge against Sangravah. 

“But I do not come to harm anyone,” he added quickly, sincerity ringing through in his words and eyes. “I have no wish to lay more destruction, not to Sangravah,” he paused. “And certainly not to you.” A pained expression took over his features.“I did not know my brother would do this, and believe me if I did I would have done everything in my power to stop him.”  He swallowed, and then extended his hand towards her. “Come with me Gwyneth, and I swear to you that Catrin’s death and the deaths of all the others will not be in vain. You will be safe and cared for.” 

Gwyneth peered at Azriel and it stuck her so deeply at the look on his face. His brows were furrowed, cheeks slightly sprayed with red, lips parted from his words. Yet it was again the sight of his hand that truly took her aback. They trembled just the faintest bit, and yet his quivering, blood smeared, scarred hand, so open to her, was akin to looking at a lifeline in the middle of a thundering storm. 

As if a dam had broken inside of her, she let out one broken gasp before the cries overtook her body. She shook with the force of them, one after the other and she couldn’t stop even if she tried. 

Without hesitation, Azriel gently reached out and took her in his arms, tucking her head underneath his chin. She grasped his leathers with a whiteknuckled grip and her tears cascaded over her cheeks, lips, and jaw, a never ending steam of escaping. 

“She shouldn’t have to be buried,” Gwyn sobbed, “she shouldn’t be dead. None of them should be dead.” 

Instead of saying anything, he simply held her closer, his hand pressed against the back of her neck, the other between her shoulder blades.

She repeated those words over again until she lost count of how many times she had uttered them. The only thing that registered in her mind was his hands, still gently cradling her within his grasp. 

As she slowly drifted into sleep, her body heavy from the events of the night, she heard his voice, smooth in her ears.