* * *
Maliar, called Morerea, held the skeins of power connecting her to Faodhagain. They were beautiful, if weak creations. Weakened by her time apart from him.
She flexed internally, her own power racing along her arms in a delicate dance no mortal could perceive. Slowly, carefully, she added, changed, rewove the strands that bound him to her. "I bind you to me. Life to life. Pain to pain."
And then a staff, Teiglin's staff, jabbed at her, threw her off-kilter with her magics. The skeins of power fell from her hands haphazardly, falling onto the glowing gems on her clothing and the shadowy power that surrounded Teiglin. She moaned internally, dreading what could come of this.
The Void lashed out, seeking to protect the one who used it, even as her Enchantments connected her with it. Blackness, nothingness tore at her, burned her, froze her. The enchantments about her and the gems reacted, turning their own destructiveness against Teiglin, but she was falling into the blackness and-
There was a terrible ripping sensation-
* * *
Blackthorn floated in the endless blue. Faintly, she perceived the powers at work outside of her jewel, but she could no more understand the reasons for their use than she could leave her jewel.
Suddenly, the bright blue turned dark. Blackness rushed around her, snatching at her light and at the memory.
Blackthorn lashed out with what little power she had in this place. The blackness retaliated, reached for her, ripped at her-
She screamed.
* * *
Blackthorn trembled as she awoke. Something was scraping across her mind, drawing blood with each movement. The blackness had damaged her, but the blue would heal her. It always did.
She opened her eyes, stared at the bright sunlight and the green grass. Whimpering, she rubbed at her head. This could not be. This could not be! Please!
Faintly, she heard another elf awake.
* * *
Hours later, she huddled among the trees by the riverbank. It was peaceful here. Too peaceful.
She barely remembered what she had said to the other elf, to Teiglin. But she knew he was the one who interfered with Morerea. It seemed best to finish Morerea's business with him before she returned. Morerea would want to harm him for what he had caused.
Blackthorn shook her head, trying to still the hideous, painful scraping of the broken bond. The ruins of the bond with Lord Isliffell hovered in her mind, tormenting her.
She had shown those ruins to Lady Lynnette, but the Unseelie elf had denied them, called them an enchantress's tricks. Blackthorn whimpered. How could she? How could that thrall-catcher deny the evidence of her senses?
Now she was alone. She had time to think. She stared out at the river, trying to ignore the pain.
She had to find Morerea.
They were different, the pair of them, though they wore the same face. Morerea was the noble Sidhe. Blackthorn was the base thrall. Morerea was the one who must face the world, because Morerea was the one who would not bend to another's will. She would accomplish the goal that they both had in their so different memories.
Blackthorn pulled her cloak tighter about her as it began to rain.
* * *
Days later, she stood in the snowy wastes of Midgard. The isalfs were a worthy prey, suitable for bringing wealth to Lady Lasaiena.
The bond's scraping had faded to a dull ache and she was able to focus on bending the underhill to her will. The underhills that Morerea summoned were not the ones she had summoned, but they obeyed. Reluctantly.
The bond pulsed in her mind, dragging agony across her skull. He was close. Her master, the one who had bonded her, murdered Isliffell was close, coming closer.
Blackthorn struggled to stand upright, to not sway in pain. Lady Lasaiena would wonder what was wrong. Lady Lasaiena must not find out. The pain was punishment for her trying to be free.
She was not supposed to be free. She was a thrall. She was not able to be free. She had not the mind for it. She was not supposed to be free, and the pain reminded her of that.
Blackthorn huddled deeper into her cloak. It was so cold here....
He was almost here. It was beyond agony to think. She had to get away.
She could not abandon Lady Lasaiena.
Lord Isliffell came upon them while she was killing an isalf. He and Lady Lasaiena spoke. He had asked her a question, she thought. Perhaps she had answered it.
Later, she would remember.
He spoke to her again, about caring for her. Through the painful scraping and mauling, a thought demanded attention. "Why?"
"I do not know. Because you are strong. And free."
She nodded slowly, intent on understanding the words. "Freedom...." Such a simple word. It was not hers to have, though. "I have all the habits of my life as a thrall."
Blackthorn rubbed at her temples, feeling the pulses of scraped pain. "My head hurts. I- I need to rest." She spoke over whatever Lord Isliffell was saying, but she did not care.
Lady Lasaiena spoke to her then. "Is there something I can do?"
NO!
No!
You must not-
Blackthorn was hardly aware as her eyes whirled the dark green of the deep forest. "I do not know. Rest seems to help."
After that, it all blurred with the vagueness of pain. She was aware, as she stumbled through the snow that it was fading, but not enough.
One of the guards caught her arm as she fell against the gate. Shaking, she pulled herself up. "I- I'm fine."
She thought he said something then, but the pain and cold drove her into the darkness.
The End