Chapter Text
Fen’Harel scrambled around the pillar, desperate to keep the small girl in his sights.
“Cerys, if you don’t get back here this instant-” he bellowed, his baritone echoing about the domed crystal ceiling of his temple, hoping that someone more important than a mere servant hadn’t heard his cries. The girl’s giggling followed his remark, and the sound of a vase hitting the floor alerted him to her movements.
The private quarters. He had her cornered. He stalked around the doorway, silent as the wolf, eyes scanning the various objects she could be hiding behind. Her little desk was littered in half-finished drawings of trees, partly painted by himself. Beyond that there was a small trunk filled with dolls and various leaves and flowers she’d found in the gardens, now dried up and dusty. Along one side was her bed, unmade as always, painted with meadows and poppy flowers. The walls were daubed in colour as well, thick forests hiding little white wolves coursing between them. In the corner was her closet, the door ajar.
He stepped cautiously into the room, leaving the doorway behind him, listening for any sound of his daughter. She had certainly inherited his cunning, he mused.
“RAWWWRR!” She jumped out from the closet and swung on his arm, clamboring around his waist, teeth gnashing in a mock biting gesture through his robes. He wrestled her into his grip, throwing her on to the bed and leaning over her, hands poised to tickle her pudgy belly. Deep blonde curls were thrown in every direction and she screamed and giggled as her father took his revenge.
“You are a wicked little girl, Cerys! Ma da’harellan! Fen’len!” He chuckled as she squirmed, totally enthralled by her sweet smile and crystal grey eyes.
“Papae! Papae, ir abelas!" She slowed her struggling, her giggles slowing with the receding humour of the moment.
“What have I told you about leaving the temple, Cerys? What the grown-ups will do if they find you? Ar’eth ir'sahlinan, da’len.” He released her, letting her sit up on the bed. She touched the wolves on the wall fondly.
“I won’t do it again, I promise,” Cerys agreed, “Will you paint me, papae? I want to run with wolves, emma Fen’ashalen!” She pawed at a blank spot on the wall and looked up at him, eyes clear like ice, unafraid of the elf so many others dared not speak of. He sighed and smiled softly, unable to remain angry at his precious child, getting up to gather the coloured pastes from her table.
“Now, da’vhenan, how shall we paint you? With your little red dress?” He settled back onto the bed, rolling up his sleeves.
“Yes! YES!” Cerys giggled, her smile wide as she watched Fen’harel take the red paste into his fingers and begin sketching onto the plaster wall, “My favourite dress, papae! With the hood!”
“Very well, emm’asha, the red dress it is,” he turned to look at her eager expression, awed by the perfect pictures forming on the wall, and poked little red dots on her cheeks. She squealed, falling backwards on the bed.
Cerys watched in silence as Fen’harel painted, his fingers swiping from side to side to form first her dress, then the mane of golden hair she had refused to style, preferring her natural curls to the thick locks of her father. He painted her little button nose, and her glassy eyes, popping against her rosy cheeks. Lastly, he added a little jawbone around her the neck.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The jaw of a wolf,” he answered, “so that you may always be protected, uth dareth.”
“Papae that’s silly, ma'ar tu dar!” Cerys crawled into her father’s lap, cuddling her little arms around his waist. She gasped in wonder as he pulled the same wolf jaw from his pocket, hanging it around her neck.
“Only if you stay inside, ma da’len, do you understand? You cannot leave like that again, or they will hunt you down,” Fen’harel stroked her hair with a clean hand, tucking it behind one tiny pointed ear. She was perfect, truly, wild and free as all elves should be. He would burn cities for her if she was hurt. He’d destroy the gods themselves, if need be.
There was a cough from the doorway.
“Master, you have a visitor. Mythal is in the main temple, she says it is urgent.”
“Ma serannas, I will be out momentarily. See that Cerys is cleaned up for bed, would you?” He lifted the little girl out of his lap and set her on her feet.
“Must you go, papae?” she whined, her eyes sleepy at the corner. She could not hide her tiredness.
“I will return soon for bed, but you need a bath first. Go, follow him and I’ll read you to sleep after,” he patted her hair and planted a kiss on her forehead, “ma'ar lath, Cerys. I’ll be back soon.”
“Ma'ar lath, papae,” she whispered, before following the servant out of the room.
Fen’harel found Mythal in the main temple as instructed, tapping a heel against the marbled floor impatiently.
“We have much to discuss, Fen’harel, and little time,” she called out to him, watching him stride across the empty hall.
“If you insist, Mythal. I hope you won’t keep me long, I have business to attend to,” he replied.
“Abelas reported seeing you chasing a child around the gardens this afternoon. Is that a common occurrence for you?” She paced back and forth, arms crossed. She was agitated.
“A child? Abelas must be seeing things, I rarely see children in my temple-”
“You do yourself no credit by lying, Fen’harel! You may mask yourself well from the other Gods but you cannot keep this from me. Is she still in the building?”
Fen’harel paused for a moment, then thought better of continuing the ruse further. Mythal was one of a few who could be trusted. He needed her on his side.
“Yes, she is,” he confessed, “although I don’t see how this warrants you coming to my temple in the late afternoon.”
Mythal’s fingers drummed against her elbow, nails digging into golden flesh.
“She must be removed, swiftly. I am not the only one who knows, old friend, and what do you suppose Elgar’nan will do when he comes looking for your daughter?”
Fen’harel’s heart skipped a few beats. Elgar’nan couldn’t possibly know, surely? He remembered the fates of Andruil and Ghilan’nain, how badly he had reacted to the Huntress romancing a mortal elf - a former slave, no less, but the news of a God fathering a child with a mortal? He dared not think of the consequences. He did not want to imagine that fate for Cerys.
“Will she be safe with you?” He asked, his voice cracking.
“I will see that she is kept out of sight. Elgar’nan will never know of her,” Mythal answered, placating her old friend.
“Then do what you must,” he whispered, looking away. I am so sorry, Cerys, I am so, so sorry.
A moment later the doors beside them were flung apart, Cerys running at breakneck speed toward him. Mythal’s guards were hot on her heels, the four of them charging into the hall behind her. She hit Fen’harel’s legs with full force, almost bowling him over, and he scooped her up, holding her tightly.
“You must go with them, da’len, Mythal will take care of you,” he tried to reassure her, smoothing back her half-wet hair.
“No, papae! I want to stay! Emm’eth sahlinan,” she cried pulling the wolf’s jaw from her neck and throwing it to the ground. She sobbed into his shoulder, little fingers weaving through his fur cloak.
“We must go now, Mythal, Elgar’nan is coming,” one of the guards warned. A second pulled Cerys from Fen’harel’s arms, dragging her back to the ground as she fought with him. Her heels kicked against the ground, but she held no strength against Mythal’s sentinels. He could only watch as she was pulled around the corner, blonde hair bouncing around her shocked little face.
“Papae! PAPAE!” she screamed as she faded from sight, her shrill voice ringing through the crystal pillars for what seemed an eternity.