Elvi

Anarchy

Rowan jumped up, hurrying to the spot Elvi had been seconds before. His hand caught the air her brother’s shirt had occupied. Rowan screamed in frustration; the sound evidently catching the attention of his second, Alarik (al~a~rick,) as he sprinted towards his King from the trees.

“My King, what is wrong?”

“Gather the men to me now.”

The King didn’t look at Alarik, or watch as he bowed and hurried back into the trees. Within minutes the King was staring at his warriors, wounds evident on many, some still bleeding from deep lacerations. He didn’t know how to start this conversation. He had thought he was waiting to find another wolf, and instead, he had apparently been waiting for a witch. Ironic really. In some parts of his lands he was known as the ‘Witch Slayer King.’ There was no other way around it, he would have to speak up.

“I know you are all wondering why I called you off,” he began to general sounds of agreement. “I found my mate, and she…”

The King paused. He would not reject his mate, no matter what she was, because he knew the Norns wouldn't have chosen Elvi for him for no reason; but this was going to be a major adjustment for him, and his kind. A witch, of all people. He might have even preferred an elf, if he was honest with himself.

“She,” he began again, seeing their eager faces. “She is a witch.”

The silence was palpable. Moving his eyes from one face to the next, he saw the same expressions mirrored. Disbelief and anger. Finally his enforcer, Lyall (lie~a~ll,) burst into laughter.

“I'm not joking” the King stated flatly, watching him. Llyall’s face dropped, before he spat on the ground.

“You are The Witch Slayer King,” stated one of his warriors.

“I know. I couldn’t hurt her. As soon as that connection was formed there was no going back.”

“We can’t have a Witch Queen, My Lord” Alarik stated. “There will be anarchy in the streets. Treason behind closed doors. My King, I must speak freely.”

Rowan nodded, starting to pace back and forth, hands pushing his hair from his eyes roughly. He knew exactly what Alarik was going to say, but he wouldn’t back down on this. He had been waiting for his mate to show herself for so many lonely years. He wouldn’t throw her away, or worse, reject her because she was a witch. He wouldn’t fight fate. His biggest issue would be convincing Elvi to come with him.

“You cannot accept this connection. You will become a laughing stock. Your subjects will no longer trust you with their safety. We have all spent our lives trying to eradicate the vermin from your lands.”

“DON’T CALL HER THAT,” Rowan bellowed.

Without conscious thought, he quit his pacing and turned on Alarik, stepping into his face, canines extended and claws out. Alarik’s eyes widened as he looked into his King’s black eyes. The pairing was real. He had just seen proof with his own eyes. They were in trouble. Alarik made eye contact with some of the soldiers.

“Forgive me, my King,” Alarik answered with a deep bow.

“I understand this makes things… complicated, however, I will not defy the Norns by rejecting her. They obviously know what they are doing and by Sköll (sk~o~ll) if anyone attempts to hurt her I will have his head.” The group nodded, looking uncomfortable.

“What would you have us do, my King?” Alarik asked.

“For now, I need to find her. She was teleported from me by a male of her Coven. We will go to their village and seek her out. I want no harm to come of her Coven. I doubt that will go over well. We find her and I will bring her home. I will sort out the finer details later.”

“But what if she doesn’t want to?”

“Or they won’t let her! You just said we aren’t allowed to harm any of them.”

“Yes, I doubt they will let their sister go with a group of Witch Slayers.”

“Especially ones who were just hunting them.”

“My Lord,” interjected Llyall. “How are we to get her into the castle?”

The King, who had been watching the conversation in silence turned to Llyall, eyeing him suspiciously. c*****g his head to the side, eyes narrowing, his claws and teeth had retracted but his eyes were still as dark as pitch, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” started Llyall cautiously, “I mean to say, my King, that we can’t exactly walk her through the front doors. She is a witch, after all. Everyone will be able to smell it on her. Let alone her general look of…” Llyall waved his hands around himself, expressing the general air of a witch.

“I will walk my Mate through the front doors” he growled. The King’s stare made the collective shrink, not daring to open their mouths. “We will go find her now. And sort out the rest when I have her.” The warriors eyed each other before nodding and turning in the direction of the witch village.

*

The King starred. Where did it go? He knew it to be here not an hour before. He had stood by the water fountain in the town square, watching as his warriors went from house to house, witches running in every direction to escape them. There had not been a series of farmer's pastures before. He was certain he was in the right place.

“My Lord,” a nervous Alarik started. “I believe they have fled.” He too was staring at the open fields.

“They can’t have. She can’t have. No. She didn’t leave. They can’t have just left. Where did the buildings go? The fountain. NO!” Rowan bellowed.

“We will have to regroup and make a decision on this situation,” Alarik began. “If the ver… witches,” he eyed the King warely at his slip, “Think we are hunting one of their own, they will do everything in their power to hide her.”

“They already have,” said Lyall in annoyance, looking at the farm lands. He spat on the ground again, and turned back towards the forest. “Fleeing wouldn’t remove all traces of the buildings.”