Page 12 of Wed to the Dark Elf

“I will go to the healers’ tent and help tend the wounded.” At my protest she grabs my hand, eyes blazing. “I cannot cower uselessly! Let me serve where I may.”

Pride swells in me at her courage, despite my instincts screaming to keep her safe behind barriers of stone and steel. Reluctantly I nod, clasping her shoulder. “Your work will be valued tonight. Stay wary.”

Iris presses something into my palm—her silver comb set with pale gemstones. “For luck,” she whispers. Before I can respond, she turns and hurries away across the yard. I tighten my fist around the delicate object, praying this is not our final parting.

A deafening crash draws my eyes to the outer gates. The wolves have brought a battering ram and now splinter the thick wood like dry tinder. We have only minutes before they breach the first defenses. Drawing my blades, I stride toward the chaos, battle-thirst rising in my veins. The waiting ends—now we fight.

What happens next blurs into a nightmarish miasma of blood and steel. The wolves pour through the shattered gates, hacking and slashing at our armored ranks. We hold our wall, swords and axes ringing as they meet resistance. My own blades cut down one snarling beast after another, bodies piling at my feet. But still they keep coming, a dark tide intent to drown us all.

One mountain giant smashes through our flank, towering over the fighters. I bellow a challenge and leap onto its back, driving both blades into its burly neck. It crashes down, flattening foes underneath, before I wrench my weapons free. Looking up from the carnage, I freeze at a familiar flash of flaxen gold.

Iris helps drag a wounded soldier back from the front lines, heedless of the battle raging dangerously close. As I watch, a wolf breaks through and lunges for her exposed back, claws slashing.

“Iris!” I am too distant to intervene. She spins at my cry, eyes wide as death descends.

A whistling arrow takes the beast through its gaping maw. Althir lowers his bow, face livid. “Get her inside, my lord! We hold them!”

No longer caring about glory or duty, I carve my way to Iris’s side and urge her back toward the central keep. She does not argue this time. The inner gate slams shut behind us, muting the sounds of slaughter. Iris sags against the wall, chest heaving. I crush her into my arms, uncaring of who might see. She clings back just as fiercely.

“Foolish girl, I warned you to stay protected! Why must you be so stubborn?”

Iris shakes her head against my chest. “I had to help save lives, not hide like a coward. But I am sorry to cause you fear.” Her hands twist in my tunic as she trembles.

I gentle my tone, stroking her hair. “You were courageous, wife. But these monsters would rend you apart. I could not bear that.” The admission escapes before I can restrain it. Iris looks up, eyes shining in the torchlight.

“Nor will I if harm befalls you. But we are both safe now.” Rising on tiptoe, she kisses my cheek lightly. “All will be well.” Her sweet faith pierces my heart. I wish I could believe so purely that we will come through this darkness unscathed by dawn’s light.

For now, the inner walls still stand. The fighting rages outside but no longer threatens to spill into these halls. I lead Iris to our chambers where we shed our bloodied garments and collapse into bed. We do not speak, but cling close beneath the furs. If these be our final hours, I want her scent and warmth beside me.

Sometime deep in the night, the sounds of battle fade. An eerie quiet settles, broken only by groans of our own wounded now safely behind the central gates. The wolves have retreated with the sun's rise. We have survived the first onslaught.

In the morning light, I learn the cost of our victory. Dozens injured or slain, our gates and outer fortifications smashed. It will take weeks to rebuild. But the beasts suffered losses too. Perhaps enough to make them reconsider their defeat.

In the following days, we have proof of it. Scouts report the wolf army fracturing again, tribes withdrawing across the border. They gambled on one massive attack succeeding. Now their failure has shattered their tenuous pact. The Northlands are safe again.

But we are irrevocably changed. I still wear Iris’s silver comb on my belt, the metal stained dark with blood. We came through the quenching fire together, bonded by shared hardship. What awaits us now in these uneasy times, none can say. But we continue on, side by side.

The last wolves are gone, we gather in the great hall for a victory feast. Iris sits proudly at my right hand, smiling tiredly but joyfully at the rowdy soldiers recounting their heroic deeds. As servants clear the remains of the meal, a minstrel strikes up a spritely tune on the lyre. Men push back benches, pulling willing maidens into lively dances. Laughter rings out, the sound of dark times banished.

I turn to Iris, heart suddenly buoyant. “Dance with me.”

She blinks in surprise but accepts my hand. I sweep her into the raucous steps, spinning her deftly beneath my arm. Her skirts fly out, hair coming loose from its braid to dance like flaxen gold about her flushed face. She is grace and beauty itself, a phoenix rising from horror and loss.

As the music reaches a pounding crescendo, I lift Iris high, her face thrown back in exhilarated delight. For this one gleaming moment we are triumphant, victors over the long night. Her clear laughter chases the lingering shadows from my soul. Let them return someday, we will drive them back again, together.

CHAPTER8

Iris

In the weeks following the wolf siege, life in the fortress settles into a new rhythm. Repairs dominate the days as we labor to rebuild shattered gates and reinforce walls against future assaults. I join each morning’s work crews fetching tools and materials for the masons and carpenters. The physical work exhausts me each night into dreamless sleep, sparing me from reliving the battle's horrors when I close my eyes.

Vamen oversees all the reconstruction efforts while also attending to the hundreds of details required to keep his domain functioning. We see each other mostly at meals or briefly at day’s end before sleep claims us. But the easy rapport established before the war continues, our trust in each other proven in crisis. The shy intimacy growing between us before is now a steadfast bond neither takes for granted.

One afternoon when slushy spring rains confine us indoors, I wander the fortress halls aimlessly, restless with pent-up energy. Few others brave the chill drafty corridors during the downpour. As I pass a certain unused guest chamber, faint sounds give me pause. Pressing my ear to the door, I make out a muffled thump, then a metallic clink. Curiosity piqued, I soundlessly turn the handle and slip inside.

Boxes and old furnishings clutter the modest room. Heavy curtains cover the window, leaving the space dim even midday. It takes a moment to spot the source of the noises—a section of the wood-paneled wall stands ever so slightly ajar. A secret door, undetectable from outside in the shadowy interior. Now open just enough to reveal a sliver of deeper darkness beyond.

I glance behind me, chewing my lip with uncertainty. Whatever lies on the other side is likely not meant for my eyes. But the mystery prods at me. Perhaps just a peek, enough to satisfy my curiosity, then I will quickly take my leave.

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