I recently posted this original fic on the Blood Legion forums. I would love to share it with the Brides as well.
The Daughter
Lord Golwyn was brought in and sat in a chair forcefully by his Black Guard escorts. Blood was caked just under his nose, and he bore the history of the beatings he had taken over the past several days. The High Elf lord’s caravan had been attacked by a Druchii detachment flying the sigil of House Darkstryder. And all while they beat him, they never asked him any questions. But none of this mattered now.
The door to the chamber opened, and in strode Aevin Darkstryder. He wore the familiar dark purple robes common with the Disciples of Khaine, and over them, an ornate leather and plate scale corset. He was tall and angular, his features as sharp as the two swords that hung from their rigging. There was a pause as he stood before Golwyn.
“My Lord Golwyn. Unfortunate for you and your daughter you were travelling the High Vale roads with such a minimal escort. And during a time of war. You should have used some of the back trails.”
Golwyn looked at the floor and said nothing. The words of the accursed Druchii cut with the sharp edge of truth. Now his only thoughts were regarding his daughter, Naeva. He had not seen her for days, ever since they were brought to this place. Was she still alive? had they defiled her? The cruelty of the Dark Elves was legendary. Golwyn almost made himself mad with the possibilities.
“My liegemen tell me you have nothing of any value for us. No information. Nothing. I am finding no reason to keep you alive. You don’t even make good sport.”
Golwyn swallowed and finally spoke “My…my daughter…” he tried to contain his anger “Where is my daughter?”
“Ah. Yes. Lovely Naeva. Lovely, lovely Naeva.” Aevin smiled as Golwyn strained against the chains holding him securely to the floor of the chamber. “To show you I am not a monster, I will allow you a few precious moments with your daughter.” He looked to two of his guards “Bring the girl.” The two sharp-featured warriors nodded in acknowledgement, and exited the room.
Golwyn could no longer contain his tears. He knew who held him and Naeva. He expected to lose his life. The only thing he could do was beg for the safety of his daughter. He had not been the most perfect of fathers. He had demanded way too much of her. He politicked endlessly to get her in the Lyceum in Chrace. He had been told by others wise in the way of magic that she possessed talent and instincts. He had only tried to secure her future. He realized, here and now, that he had pushed her away. Ever since she was small, she had preferred to tilt at quintains with a broom, or challenge the boys to duels with sticks. She would pour over the tales of swordmasters and knights, and when she finally fell asleep, it was always clutching one of the Lore books and a wooden sword one of her uncles made her.
His regret was almost too painful to bear.
The door to the chamber opened, and Golwyn stood as much as the chains allowed. Naeve threw her arms around her father’s neck, pulling him close as she kissed him and wept at their reunion. “Father! Father! I…..I…..”
“Naeve! Sweet Naeve! My daughter! My love! Have they harmed you?” Her hair was mussed, and her dress had mud about the hem from the floor of the cell they had been keeping her in. Her eyes shone, despite her mistreatment.
“No, father,” she said as her eyes met his “They have not harmed me.”
Golwyn looked into her eyes, and his expression turned to terrified discovery.
Then the pain struck his chest.
He gasped as Naeve’s face turned cold, devoid of the heart-wrenching emotion it had displayed but seconds earlier. He dropped to his knees, as he looked down at his daughter’s hand, clutching a Wytch Elf dagger. And now gloved in his own blood.
He fell to the floor, eyes open. He stared at the ceiling, the expression of shock melting away to a mask of gaping-mouthed sadness.
Naeve looked up at Aevin. Her jaw quivered as genuine tears started to well in her eyes. Aevin was stoic as he simply nodded to her. She went to her knees, and began carefully opening her father’s chest with the wicked edge of the dagger. She worked, blood turning her dress red. When she rose She cupped her father’s heart in her hands and once again looked to Aevin.
“He awaits you. Go to him, Naeve.” he said softly, almost lovingly.
Naeve ran from the room, down the corridor, and rounded the corner. The guards at their posts were unphased as they had been witness to the scene many times. Naeve’s tears came full-on. She shouldered open the doors to the sanctuary, running past the assembled Wytches, to the great statue of Khaine that stood at the end of the room. 40 feet it stood, a dagger in his right hand, his left lifted skyward, gloved in crimson. She held the heart of Golwyn aloft for the Lord of Murder to see.
“Father!” she screamed, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. “Father! They took me from you! But I have come home to you! I have come back to you! MY FATHER!!” she sank to her knees, placing Golwyn’s heart in the offering dish in front of her. She ripped her dress apart, discarding it, and smeared the warm blood of the Deceiver on her cheeks, neck, and chest. She threw her arms upward, reaching for her Lord.
“FAAAAAAA-THERRRRR!”
She wept uncontrollably. She did not notice the elder Wytches who moved to either side of her and gently took her in their arms. A voice, motherly in its tone whispered in her ear.
“It’s all over now. You have come home. He has never stopped loving you. His love for his children has no limit.”
They helped Naeve to her feet, supporting her as she walked to a gathering of her new-found sisters. Tears, hugs, and kisses of welcome greeted her.
She was home.
