Daddy Dearest [Zenethil/Merik] [Fin]

[Zenethil]

They spoke of this moment. Many books, both fact and fiction, described it in pristine detail. A scant few seconds, where time seemed to stand still. Where you were unable to do more than watch, as something happened, outside of your control, helpless, powerless to aid. Now was such an instant. He had watched as Nairore had stood, the contempt in his eyes burning with such ferocity that entire cities could be laid waste by the ravening flames of his rage. It was for both her, and most especially, for Merik that he bore such passionate anger. Betrayal and treachery. Duplicity and arrogance. She yanked the blade shard from her wound, and for a single instant, as she spoke, quietly, he seemed to register what she had said, his superhuman hearing catching the words.

Duty and selflessness.

It sent him reeling, as she pivoted, raking the deadly fragment across Merik's throat, tearing a gash in it that would slay lesser men. Blood poured from the wound in thick rivulets, crimson vitae coating the inconspicuous and tiny weapon. Confusion, surprise and elation surged within him as he watched Nairore, who scant moments ago was all but dead to him, now turned upon her tutor and what until now would have been her King. The intent and reason was clear. She had stirred at the words 'open war'. She refused to be the cause of war. Pride began to bubble in his chest once again.

Then, shock, anger and despair. Merik's blade jammed into her stomach, time slowing to a crawl, as he barely started to move, his blade was already buried deep in her midriff. His first step. On his second, he hurled her now limp body towards him and the Knights. The phalanx, as shocked as Zenethil, moved in perfect synchronicity, catching her, and delicately setting her on the ground. Uncontrollable fury surged within Zenethil at the act, wheeling after setting her down, raising his hand, power coursing through it, before his words halted him. His eyes went wide, before he looked down at Nairore, a mix of conflicting emotions rending at him once again.

Merik had slain his own children? Did he know no compassion? No honour? The very idea of killing any child was deplorable to Zenethil. Even the Gerudo children were given back to their people. Corrupted children, twisted by magic were the only ones condemned to die. But the unborn ones that he claimed had been in Nairore's womb? They would never see the light of day. His pause, in shock, prevented him from stopping Merik from mounting his horse, and setting light to the stables. He wheeled to his Sergeant.

Find whatever horses you can, and hunt him. Run him into the ground. Do not let him stop.

He said nothing more, dismissing all but the healers to hunt down Merik. He knelt beside Nairore, the two priests flanking either side, beginning to chant. Frantically, he grasped her weakening hand in his, his free hand extended, palm over the deep wound in her stomach, desperately aiming to save her life. Her strained words carved deep furrows into his soul. No cry of agony. No plea to save her. No plea to save her children. Only a warning. Titania. He shook his head, as he focused on keeping her alive and stable. He would deal with Titania later.

Do not let go. Whatever, whoever greets you on the other side, turn from them, return to me again, just like you did before...

The ceaseless drone of the priests augmented the glowing light emanating from his hand, her bleeding slowing, wound slowly closing up. He prayed he was not too late. He prayed he would be able to tell her how proud he was of her. A single tear formed at the corner of his eye. His first. It rolled down his cheek, unhindered. His voice became a whisper, his eyes locked on her unconscious face, hoping, praying that somewhere, she might hear him.

Do not leave me now...

[EXIT AND FIN]

[Nightmare Darklight]

Rewards given. Thread locked and moved.