Through The Years -Part One-

Tír na nÓg

Five months later the Light Princess was born. Her birth wasn't an easy one and it took its toll on the Light Lady.

The princess stole the hearts for the Light Lord and Lady the moment they laid eyes on her and the hearts for the Light Faeries as she grew. By the time she turned one, she was walking and talking, but with no control over her wings which had her tripping over and ending up with scraps and cuts. That's when she learned that her body heals its self without using any potions or remedies.

Where ever she was, the faeries that were assigned to accompany her were always there with her. Ovia, from the Lights clan, and Jarle, the tall faerie with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. The finest warrior of the Darks. No matter where Jarle hid, the princess always managed to find him and kept saying, "Up... up", until he surrenders and pick her up.

Shadow Mountains

When the Dark Prince turned three, he had his first sword lesson and by the time he was five, his mentor had him repeating his fighting techniques over and over for hours nonstop. In a grueling insubordinate childish outburst he tossed his sword and yelled, "This is ridiculous! What's the point of practicing all day?".

Lord Glendon was on his way to the chambers when he heard him. Fueled with outrage he stormed to the practice field and roared as he unsheathed his own sword, "Pick that up!".

The young prince forcibly complied. His eyes didn't miss the tense look his mentor had on nor that he took a stepped back, nor the blazing glare in his father's eyes. The moment he locked his fingers around the grip of his sword, his father lunged at him ruthlessly. Sending one strike after another. The sound of metal clashing echoed loudly.

"Do you think that an Orc will have mercy on you because you are young?", Lord Glendon spat.

The prince tried to deflect the attacks the best he could, but the Dark Lord didn't give him a chance. He was bigger, stronger, and merciless. In a matter of minutes the prince was breathing hard and his young muscles wear aching with exhaustion, but held on to his sword.

Glendon raided one hit after the other on his son, "Or do think the Lights won't kill you if they had the chance", he spat. Then in one rapid move the prince's eyes widened in shock. He fell to the ground crying in agony.

The Dark Lord looked at him without much of a flinch at the excruciating pain his son was in, "So weak! You can't rule the Darks if you were weak. You are better off dead". With that he sheathed his sword and walked away.

The disappointment in his father's eyes was clear. That day, the prince learned a valuable lesson. One he will never forget.

Tír na nÓg

By the age of seven, the princess succeeded at her first sneak out. She learned that the Gates of Tír na nÓg responded to her. Unlike the rest of her kind, she didn't need the Gates sentries to open the passage to the human world. Ever since that day, she drove Jarle and Ovia crazy with her sudden disappearances.

Since Jarle was relocated in Tír na nÓg by the orders of the Dark Lord. Once a year he would take three days away. He would visit Shadow Mountains for two days reporting to the Dark Lord. Then walk the Land of Man gathering books for the princess on the third day. In those three days the forest would be swarmed with Darks more than the usual until the day of his return. On that day, she would sneak out of Tír na nÓg and wait for him.

"Fáilte abhaile", the princes would greet him with a cheeky smile.

It used to irritate him deeply, yet silently, when she said those words. Welcome home! This wasn't his home. He was only following orders. His home was in Shadow Mountains. Not with the Lights. However, as time passed, little by little he was starting to look forward for those greetings of hers when he came back.

For years, the princess has been requesting to go with him to visit the Land of Man but her request was always rejected by Lord Aragon, Lady Erina, Conn, Ovia, Jarle, and even Laigh. Basically everyone she knew. She was becoming fascinated by humans and everything they did. From the books she read and the stories that Lady Erina told of her time in the human world. Her persistence to see the Land of Man was growing endlessly.

Shadow Mountains

By the age of nine the Prince killed his first Orc while the Dark Lord watched. He ordered his warriors to stay back and not to interfere.

For a nine year old boy, Orcs were massive creatures. This one outdid him in speed and strength. The Prince understood that further when long black talons sliced the skin of his back and leg. Pain surged as blood soaked his torn clothes. The Orc smashed his clawed hand to the side of his head sending him a few feet away. The Prince's head was pounding and his ears were ringing. Black spots formed before his eyes and the taste of blood filled his mouth to a sickening point. A new wave of pain surged as sharp teeth sank in the flesh of his arm forcing the prince cry out in agony.

Someone pleaded to the Dark Lord to allow the Darks to assist him.

"SILENCE!", Lord Glendon voice roared over the whir in Prince's ears, "If he can't handle a single Orc then he's useless to the Darks. Death will be more rewarding than having a weak Lord".

With that said, the Prince gathered what strength was left in him. Before the Orc could close his on his throat, he rolled to the side and sank his sword between his rips. The Orc snarled and granted him a slash over his chest causing a new wave of pain before folding back. But before he could retreat any farther, the prince hauled himself to his feet. Ignoring the dizziness and the wrenching pain, he charged with all his might at the Orc, not giving it time to retreat or strike. The sharp edge of the sword pierced his throat and came out the other side. The foul creature stare at him with its beady black eyes, then made an awful gargle sound before falling motionless. The stench of its blood filling the air.

The Prince fell to his knees panting heavily. Pain spread through his body. He could smell scent of his blood mixed with the awful smell of the Orc's. His head was spinning and his heart was beating rapidly. The only thing that kept him from toppling over was the sword he planted in ground in front of him. And even then, when he lifted his eyes to his father, the look the Dark Lord cast on him never changed.

Later that year the Prince saw a young, brown hair faerie at the camps. He was sure that this intruder wasn't one of the young Darks who were training to be warriors. They might be in the same age, but the camps do not accept faeries at such young age. As he watched him, not only that he intruding, but this one was looking for something.

"Hey!", he shot. "What do you think you're doing?", the Prince advanced, his voice booming.

The boy barely acknowledged him with a glance over his shoulder, "Mind your own business".

Infuriated, the Prince grabbed the boy's shoulder to force him to face him, "I was talking to you! Answer....".

The boy knocked away his hand. Then he spun around and punched him in the stomach, "I said none of you damn business!", he snarled.

The Prince stumbled and fell back. In a blink of an eye he was up on his feet lunging at the boy. His fingers curled in a tight fist and jabbed the boy's jaw. The prince thought he would recognize him and bow before him like all the others, but to his surprise the boy launched at him as well landing a strike to his jaw too. The sounds of their fight had warriors storming in. They were both delivering blow after another nonstop. Two of the mentors were about to pull them apart.

"Do not interfere!", the Prince yelled in warning, "Leave!".

Darks folded back reluctantly, hesitant to leave. They scattered when he hissed, "Now!".

His glare was met with a similar one before they lunged at each other's throat. An hour later after consistent strikes and blows they we both on their knees heaving. The Prince threw a punch that dropped the boy on his back and made him lose his balance and he too was on the ground. Blood and dirt stained their faces and torn clothes.

They were breathing heavily when the prince forced his arm over his head and patted the boy with the back of his hand, "Hey... What.... what are you.... waiting for? it's... your turn".

The boy made an effort to move but his body fell heavy, "Give... me... a minute".

The prince's rabid breathing slowly turned into a fit of laughs. A moment later the boy joined him. They laughed long and hard with a few grunts of pain that made them laugh harder.

When their chuckles finally quieted, the Prince moved to sit. His body ached all over. He felt every bruise and cut. Breathing without feeling any pain was challenging.

"Who did you lose?", the Prince asked. He looked at the last place the boy was rampaging through. It was the pile of weapons of the fallen warriors. The ones who lost their lives in the line of duty.

The boy groaned as he sat too. He didn't speak for a while. His gaze fell to ground for a long moment before he answered, "My father". His hands closed into fists, "I was looking for his sword. I want to join the warriors".

"What's your name?", the Prince asked.

"Corwin", he looked him straight in the eye.

"I'm Alrik", the Prince extended a hand.

Corwin lifted an eyebrow, "The Dark Prince?", his eyes lowered to the exposed part of prince's neck were his dark tabard was torn from their fight. The markings were clear. "If you think that I will apologize or call you Your Highness then you're wrong". He snarked.

The prince snickered, "I wasn't expecting you to", then he rubbed the left side of his jaw and winced, "Though, that right hook you have there is making it hard to say it was nice to meet you".

Corwin cringed as he chuckled and reached out for Alrik's arm, "You too".

Alrik knew then that they would become friends.

Tír na nÓg

By the age of eight, in one of her Tír na nÓg sneak outs, the princess encountered her first Orc while she walked through the forest. She froze at the sight of the creature. She couldn't scream, run or think. She only saw pictures of Orcs in the books she read and those pictures terrified her. No fear she ever felt compared to the one that nested in her heart that moment. Neither Jarle or Ovia were by her side at that moment.

Light and Dark faeries stood between her and that creature. Even though they interfered before the Orc could lay a hand on her, his disfigured face, sharp black talons, sharp teeth and ashen skin haunted her awake and in dreams. The snarling sounds it made terrorized her for days.

Ovia gave her some tough-love talk about how dangerous that was and how she could have gotten hurt. Or even worse. KILLED! Lord Aragon and Lady Erina weren't pleased as well.

For the days that followed she was shaken by the experience. The image of when that Orc slashed its talons against one of the Dark's chest was live in her mind making her sick. Faeries had to put their lives in danger because of her foolishness. Because she was weak. Because she was the Princess. Because she was irresponsible.

When she finally got tired of being afraid, she marched right up to Jarle with a stronge thought in mind and demanded, "Tomorrow you'll teach me how to fight". The tall Dark faerie who's usually unfazed by anything had one eyebrow lifted. "And bring your sword with you", she added in the same demanding tune. As the Princess turned around to leave before he could refuse she heard him ask.

"Why?".

The question stopped her and she turned around slowly to face him, but she kept her eyes on her clasped hands. She wasn't sure if what she was about to say would make sense to him or not, "Because I don't want to be afraid anymore". Her window of leaving after her big demand seemed smaller now so she waited for his answer which seemed to take very long time. She prepared herself for the rejection.

"We start at early dawn", Jarle finally said.

She was surprised that he accepted that she started jumping up and down with glee. Her mother's voice was clear in her ear. It played the same words she said to her in many time in many different occasions, Princesses don't do that! That was enough to make her stop. Instead she cleared her throat and clasped her hands in a Light- Lady-like-manner, "Cha bhith mi gad mhealladh", she promised. She could hold the Lady posture but she failed to keep the excitement off her voice.

Jarle's eyes followed her as she walked. He knew she will do her best to keep her promise not to disappoint him. She turned at the corner walking casually, and then started skipping when she thought she was out of sight. She was out of sight alright. However, her shadow wasn't. A smile slowly crept to his face.

The next day the Princess was ready and waiting before dawn. Jarle threw a long stick at her feet, "Pick it up", he ordered.

The Princess did she was told, "A stick?", she scoffed swinging it left and right, "To skewer an Orc with it. Or maybe poke at it until it dies".

Jarle was finishing wrapping his hands with a long strip of black leather, "Tug you wings away".

She murmured as she closed her eyes willing her wings away, "Great! Maybe it will pick its teeth with it after biting my head off".

The moment she opened her eyes a flash of black passed in front of her eyes. Something hit her legs pulling them from under her and she fell hard on her back having the air knocked out of her lungs. "Owwww".

Jarle peeked towering over her, "Lesson one. Always keep an eye on your opponent".

She pushed to sit up and maybe, just maybe breathe again. Jarle kicked her stick off the ground and caught it midair before handing it to her. "Lesson two. With good thinking and good training anything could be used as a weapon".

He walked back to his previous position, "Tell me when if you are quitting".

The princess pushed of the ground. A strong-willed determination in her eyes, "Never".

Jarle gave a single nod, "Then we start".

Shadow Mountains

By the age of ten. The prince was patrolling the area waited as he did for years before. 

Jarle's visit to Shadow Mountains ended and he was heading in his direction when the Prince cut him off with an unsheathed sword.

Jarle bowed undaunted by the sharp edge that was pointing directly to his chest, "Your Highness".

Alrik asked him the same question he asked every time, "Where does your loyalty stands?".

Jarle stared him in the eye and the Prince did not avert. His answer didn't change from the past five years when the Prince started to ambush him after every visit, "My loyalty stands with the Dark Lord and the Darks".

Only then would the Prince lower his sword and allow him to get on his way. Jarle's eyes narrowed as he studied him. Something was different this time though. It seemed like there was something on his mind. The Prince didn't step aside. However, he did sheath his sword. Jarle kept quiet and waited.

"Tell me about her", Alrik finally spoke.

Jarle looked at him for a long moment. He has just said it. The words just left his mouth. My loyalty stands with the Dark Lord and the Darks. Then why there was this overprotective nagging feeling nicking his insides? Was Alrik trying to get him to reveal something about the Princess? Or maybe was he testing his loyalty for the Darks, "Cén fáth?".

"I want to know her. How's she like?", the Prince solicited. Nonetheless his stare never broke.

If Jarle was good at anything, -beside being a Dark warrior- it was reading others. Nothing got past him. Every stare, gaze, movement, flinch, shift, nod, pitch of a voice, he caught everything. Not a single thing would pass him. And he was never wrong. Yet the Prince, without a doubt, was sincere with his request. This was purely for himself. Jarle gave in and took place under an old willow tree. He waited in silence. A moment later Alrik unhooked the sword from his belt and joined him placing his sword in front of him. Jarle might not be able to see Alrik's expressions, but he could tell that the Prince was listening to every word he said.

To Jarle's surprise, he had a lot to say about the Princess. He remembered everything from the first moment he saw her, wrapped in a tiny bundle. To when she wouldn't stop crying so he was forced to pick her up despite his objections and from then to every day that followed. Her kind heart. Bright mind. Sweet smile. She was a quick learner who never gave up.

He told him about how she would lend a hand to anyone who needed help. How she doesn't act like a princess when she's walks the trails of Tír na nÓg. How she would dance in the street and walk in the rain. Have a mud fight with youglings. How she worked hand in hand to help build a new class at school so more faeries could learn. How she insisted on thanking and apologizing to the Dark warrior who got injured while protecting her from the Orc. His stories had no ending and he could go on for more than the two hours he spent talking about her.

Jarle stories where interrupted by advancing steps. Corwin peered out of the dense trees, "You've been called to the champers", he informed.

Jarle heard the Prince take a deep breath before he grabbed his sword and jumped up to his feet.

"Thank you", Alrik said giving a single nod of gratitude.

Jarle didn't move for a moment. He rested his head on the rough tree bark behind him. Today he talked more than the he did in eight years he spent with the Princess. Something about those stories did something to his insides though he wasn't sure what it was. He pushed off the ground to his feet.

There was a small pouch that Alrik left caught his eye. As he picked it and peeked inside it he slowly smiled. Something told him that this was going to be a habit.