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Elowyn stared blankly as the news was relayed to her. Though it seemed as if she was not fully present, at that moment, Elowyn felt as if she were in a dream or perhaps a nightmare. A nightmare of long, narrow passages and halls, a maze of sorts with no exit. She stared; it was all she could do at that moment because if she spoke, she’d be forced to face reality. The news was cruel and harsh, and she wished not to allow it to be true. But it was undeniable.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked, oh, the voice of the guard who looked at her with pity in his dark eyes. He was touching her arm, no, holding it. Was she faint? Elowyn shook her head, a bit dazed, and her ears rang awfully. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice trembling a bit as she tried to gather her bearings.
Dead.
The words rang in her ears, vigorously pounding about inside of her head as she turned from the guard, fidgeting with her necklace as she walked down the long hallway leading to her chambers.
Dead.
Jacaerys is dead.
Her hands trembled against the delicate metal of the knob, twisting it and pushing the door open as she stepped inside. Dead. The word echoed in her brain like an intrusive whispering, intent on driving her mad. But Elowyn didn’t wish to dwell on it. Until she saw a body, she wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it; it felt as if it was merely a macabre jest being played on her. Elowyn sat down on the plush, velvet lounger against the tall windows of her chambers. She had moved it there since she had the perfect view of the training yard, and she loved to view it. But in that moment, she wished for none of that, and she found herself clasping her hands together in prayer. Elowyn was never pious, that had been her mother’s attribute, but the shattering beat of her heart had the girl scrambling for anything. If there were truly a higher power, she’d plead to bring him home safe and sound or perhaps bring him home alive, she wouldn’t dare to get picky at the moment.
As the hours flew past and the sun went to its resting place beneath the horizon, Elowyn realized her prayers had not been answered. And she was impatient. With a glance outside, the old stone fortress felt as if it was holding its breath, waiting to fall into its usual routines and practices that had been established for many years. Elowyn truly believed that Jace would knock at her door just as he always did because he knew she always had something to complain about, and he was her person to complain to—an unspoken agreement between the two that had formed after many years of friendship. Elowyn had lost a lot; they all had, after all. War was merciless once it sank its claws deep into the marrow of their lives. She had already lost her parents and her sister, not directly due to the civil war amongst them all, but Elowyn blamed it because it was easier to swallow the pain. She didn’t know whether her brother was alive or not; he had left a few years ago, fled, and abandoned them all. Elowyn had helped him because his happiness mattered far more to her than her own. She did not know if he was alive or not; he had not written since he left, and at this point, the girl believed the gods had also taken him from her. And now the gods had also taken the only person she felt as if she didn't have to explain herself to, the person who she held great affection for. But she could never adequately express her love, for a heart was a heavy burden, and Elowyn had never faired well with responsibility.
The pacing felt as if it was all she could do. Her feet were muffled by the plush rug, the color of blood. Blood that has been spilled and will continue to be spilled. How was it fair that she was still alive and every capable person had perished? Why did she deserve to live? Was it her curse to bear the burden of being a useless ghost that haunts these halls and watches as everyone around her dies? Elowyn was useless; she knew that. The girl was whiny and bratty, far too frivolous and vain to care about any of the war nonsense, always chasing after a good time, and yet, she was alive while everyone worthy was dead or dying. She was cursed, Elowyn was sure of it, or perhaps it was merely a nightmare, and she’d wake up, and all would be right in the world.
Elowyn wanted to die as well, and perhaps her death would give meaning to her life, a purpose.
The idea struck her like a bucket of ice-cold water, shaking her awake from the sorrow and despair that had settled on her heart and causing her eyes to widen. Elowyn recalls a brief mention of Bloodmagic from Daphne. Her friend always had her nose stuffed into some dusty old tome, and Elowyn was never quite interested in such things, but she never had the heart to tell her so; she’d listen to her comments and rambles. Now, Elowyn did not know anything about Bloodmagic besides its name and how frowned upon it was, but Elowyn believed she was smart enough to figure it out on her own. She honestly had already set her mind on it; she’d use her ability to call upon the Gods because surely they would listen to her.
Rummaging through her wardrobe, Elowyn pulled out a long, thick, amethyst velvet cloak, draping it over herself and pulling the hood up. She’d have to make a quick stop at the armory before departing. With a shuddering breath, she slipped out of her chambers, careful not to slam the door shut. Sneaking out came as easy as breathing to Elowyn at this point; she knew where to step so as not to cause the floor to creak and what halls to avoid so as not to be spotted. She had spent countless hours pacing these halls, studying the layout so she could sneak out. Though tonight, she wouldn’t be sneaking out to go down to the fishing village, this time, she was sneaking out to set things right within the universe. She kept to the shadows, hiding in alcoves whenever a servant or guard passed by, careful not to be caught until she stumbled upon the large oak doors that led into the armory. Pushing the door open carefully, a low creak echoed out in response as the strawberry-blonde girl slipped inside.
The armory was expansive and felt cavernous, with its large stone walls and many displays of various weaponry, ranging from bows, crossbows, and axes to swords, spears, and daggers. Elowyn had no time to sit and view all of the different weapons; she was scared that there was a time limit on what she was about to do. Walking closer to the wall with the blades, her fingers reached for a dagger carved of silver with a curved tip. Its handle was a simple black leather. Pocketing the blade, she spun on her heel, walking out.
The walk through the castle was painfully slow, almost as if every step she took felt like a moment to think her decision through, almost as if the universe was trying to talk her out of it. But Elowyn persisted, and once the sweet smell of pine in Aegon’s garden wafted through her, she knew she was determined to see this through, walking forward until she reached a nicely wooded area. During the day, the garden was rather lovely, with its wild roses and bushes bursting with cranberries, but in the dark of the night, it felt ominous, as if eyes were on her beyond the trees.
Elowyn fell to her knees, a soft thud against the grass. The garden was dark, the pale moonlight casting an eerie glow through the canopies of the trees, causing shadows to dance and frighten freely around her. But Elowyn did not care. She did not care if a wild animal came by and decided to feast upon her body, for at least it’d serve a purpose; it’d be useful. But fear still caused her heart to pound against her chest as she grabbed a twig that lay beside the tree it had fallen from. Encasing her hand around it, hard enough that the wood chips would carve into her palms and draw forth blood, she willed the magic to spark. A curious thing, she had always been told by her father that she had a gift, a gift the founder of their lineage also possessed, but her mother always claimed it to be a curse, a punishment. If she conjured up enough willpower, she could spark flames from her blood, as if the fire was coursing through her veins, willing to be let free. It could explain her restless nature and her need for adventure and thrill.
A moment later, the twig in her hand was set ablaze, almost blinding her from the excess of light that had overtook the once-dark forest. She set it down, causing the fire to spread, and Elowyn knew she had to make things quick, or else the entire forest would burn. Her hand reached into the pocket of her cloak, pulling out the dagger she had stolen. The warmth of the fire felt comforting, perhaps like a hug she had once received from her mother many years ago before her melancholy had taken hold of her heart. The dagger was cold in her hand, almost frigid enough to bite. The fire began to spread, swirling around the twig, almost like an infection. Elowyn exhaled as she eyed the silver blade, and before she could think otherwise, she brought it to her arm and sliced deep enough to draw forth blood.
“Please,” Elowyn muttered as she brought her bleeding forearm to the fire, wincing as the flames began to singe her skin. The blood dripped, “please, bring him back, take my life in return for his,” she pleaded to the fire, hoping her pleas would reach the ears of the gods. The gods who had bestowed this gift upon her were a gift or perhaps a curse, but at that moment, Elowyn did not care for such things. She expected to die, exchanging her life to save Jace’s. She knew he was far better than her in every sense of the word. He was good and kind, he cared, and he was loyal and committed. Elowyn knew that in her heart, he would make a great ruler while she would just be a stupid girl who was too caught up in her own world to care. Elowyn had no purpose; she was nothing, and the least she could do was offer up her life in exchange for his.
The blood dripped into the flame as tears ran down her; Elowyn did not feel the wetness splayed across her cheeks, a contrast to the piercing burning of her arm as the flames grazed her flesh. “I beg of you, to the old Gods and the new, my life in exchange for Jacaerys’s life,” her voice cracked on his name, bringing her free hand up to her face to wipe away the blurriness in her vision. Her pleas were lost amidst the forest, the fire, and her cries until she eventually felt her head spin and her eyes fluttering shut. At that moment, Elowyn’s heart ached, but she felt hopeful that perhaps her prayers had been answered for the first time in her life and that she was breathing her last breath.