The binding of two prophecies

Nieriel waded gently through the shallows of the river; Syrita nestled comfortably upon her shoulders. With a gentle sigh she began to hum, a tune she remembered from her childhood sung by her mother to lull her to sleep.
Slowly Syrita began to drift, her head resting against Nieriel’s as the tune filled her ears. The woman smiled sensing the young child sleeping soundly.

---

Faelan struggled with what strength he had left, gasping for air as he reached out with his hands to claw his way through the deep water, the pain in his back too immense to allow the movement of his legs. Coughing and spitting water he fought hard to reach the shore, the river’s flow trying to drag him back out to the depths.
He knew too well he was fighting a losing battle, struggling against the inevitable; he was sinking, and just giving up when subconsciously he grabbed something. Over the numbness he suffered due to the cold of the water he could feel reeds and grass, possibly strong enough to support his weight to allow him to drag himself to shore.
Gripping a handful of reeds he pulled hard, dragging himself along the river floor up the bank. With one final heave he hoisted himself up, climbing onto the bank beneath the scrub, and with his final conscious breath he prayed, that Naedan wouldn’t find him here.

---

Nieriel’s song continued on, the tone of her tune soft and full of melody. She lifted her hand, extending her finger as a small bird approached wrapping it’s claws around her index finger as it landed, fluffing its feathers as if preparing for sleep. She smiled, the only light brought to her dark features as she ran another finger along the bird’s head-crest.
‘Greetings sweet Nieriel, as always your tune is as enchanting as the sweetest scent of flowers,’ bird spoke, a voice only she could hear.
With that her smile grew all the wider, her finger proceeding to stroke the bird’s back.
‘You flatter me, but I wonder how the view from the sky fares?’ she thought, her mind’s voice in perfect time with the tune of her lullaby.
‘Not nearly as perfect as the sound of your voice, Milady,’ the bird said before taking flight again. Nieriel simply smiled, still humming her tune.
‘But oh how perfect it would be to be so free as you, able to go anywhere without boundary, free from the cruelties of the world beneath your beating wings’ she continued her melodic thought, finding new words for the tune of her song when suddenly, Syrita stirred and awoke, sitting bolt upright.
“Have you made a new friend Momma?” Came the voice of the child, who let out a gasp.
Nieriel rather confused at this remained silent for a time, patting Syrita on the leg gently before responding.
“New friend?”
The small girl raised a hand and pointed directly ahead of them to some tattered and damaged scrub on the river bank. “A new friend Momma!” the girl repeated, bouncing slightly on Nieriel’s shoulders.
“Can’t you see him?”
‘Him?’ she thought to herself, ‘best be careful’
“Syrita, sweetheart, I need you to tell me where -whatever it may be- is” She said, lifting the small girl from her shoulders and sitting her on the ground in front of her.
“He’s there momma, just over there, can’t you see him?” The girl insisted, pointing to the damaged scrub once again.
‘Whatever “he” is, must be non-magical, or dying…or both’ she thought for a moment.
She sat for a moment; Syrita simply tilted her head as if asking what she was doing.
“Wait here,” she said to the little girl who merely nodded.
For a moment the woman sat, contemplating who this “friend” may be, quietly observing the surroundings searching for foot prints, or some form of trail. All that seemed out of place was the scrub ahead of them, curved, as if concealing something…or someone.
She stood, edging closer to the bush ahead of her, a small but bright glint of metal caught her eye and through the glare she could just make out the shape of a hand. As she got closer she could make out more glinting silver.
‘Armor’ she observed, still edging ever closer. She was barely three feet away when she began to notice more than just the armor, but the shape of an elf lying on the river bank. Breathing rapid short sharp breaths, only half of his body was touching earth, the rest was still submerged in the water. The grass around his body was covered in his blood. Under closer inspection she could see several jagged cuts in his armor; a large slice had been taken out of his left side.
Nieriel knelt beside him, placing a hand upon his head which was facing towards her. His face was dirty, eyes closed, but she could just make out the slight glint of a blue light shining through his eyelashes. Signs of movement showed he was still alive, reacting to her touch as she examined him closer. His pointed ear twitched lightly.
“You’re in really bad shape” she said with a sigh, brushing black strands of his hair out of his face.

The dying elf groaned in agony as Nieriel rolled him over, examining the various wounds on his body. Gently she ran a hand over him, trying to calm his short and sharp breaths.
‘Even in his unconsciousness he still knows fear,’ she thought to herself. ‘There is something different about him’
His teeth gritted and he flinched as her hand brushed his deepest wound, and she pulled back slightly, shaking her head.
“Who did this to you?” She said, still shaking her head.
She leaned in closer to him, examining two bruises on the side of his face, one of which was bleeding slightly, the wounds indicating he had been hit hard by something blunt.
‘A mace perhaps? Or the hilt of a sword?’ she asked herself.
Her silvery-blue eyes caught sight of his lower torso and she winced. Several puncture wounds lined his lower abdomen, as well as the huge gash in his left side.
She grimaced as she placed her hands on his body and let out a sigh.
‘I’d best help him I guess’
She closed her eyes, drawing into her will, picturing his body in her mind. Her hands began to glow, silver light weaving through her fingertips. She could feel her magic working, concentrating on the less serious wounds first warming herself up so as not to ware herself down too quickly.
Slowly but surely the bruises on his temples began to fade, his smaller wounds sewing themselves shut with the help of a silvery thread which wove its way in and out of the skin. Each drop of blood returned to his body and his breathes slowed.
As the wounds healed he grabbed her arm, squeezing it tightly in his hand. With a tug he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her to squeeze her tightly to him, and she winced in pain as she tried to concentrate on him. Droplets of sweat began to form on her forehead. In his arms she concentrated harder as he appeared more alive in her mind.
He was tall, much taller than her, long black hair covering the sides of his face. His eyes shone blue, lighting his dark blue skin.
‘Who are you?’ she asked her subconscious, ‘is this a dream?’
The figure shook his head, reaching out to touch her face.
‘Then who are you?’ she asked again, almost breaking her concentration.
The figure merely smiled at her, his lips not moving as he spoke his response.
‘Faelan’ was all he said, moving closer to her to wrap his hand around the back of her head. She felt weak to his touch, his fingers were gentle, and his hand warm against the side of her face as a thumb traced the line of her cheek-bone.
Her mental figure closed her eyes, her lips parted ever so slightly as he approached ever closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
She felt a link, as if somehow she was tied to him, and her mind had trouble letting go of the safety and warmth he gave her, but she remembered she was still dipping into her essence to heal him.
Suddenly she felt weaker, his grasp had loosened on her and he began to relax, his wounds now closed and he backed away, or was it her? His legs weren’t moving, but a space was forming between them.
With a flash in her mind another figure appeared, his face deformed and demonic, sharp eyes stared directly at her, and as he spoke he revealed razor teeth.
‘Nieriel, twin of Nioniel and daughter of the sun and moon’ the figure spoke, eyes fixed upon her.
‘Do not be afraid of my demonic form, for this is not truly me, and I mean you no harm’
Nieriel could feel her healing stop, and in her mind she whispered a reply that even she couldn’t hear.
‘Shh, do not try to talk; just listen before your fatigue forces you to lose consciousness. You have crossed into the realm of spiritual awareness. Though you were aware of your heritage and your identity as a child of prophecy, you are but one of three. In healing the other you have bound your spirit to Faelan, the third child, should either of you die, so to will the other.’ The figure’s eyes turned to the other who was standing on seemingly weightless feet, his eyes shining brighter than before.

Faelan stirred, clenching his eyes shut in his subconscious. In his mind the same figure appeared, just in front of the woman who healed him.
‘Faelan, son of Maerul Arim’yanath, and Shaela Maralia of Lunar Carisora’ The figure spoke.
‘You know that you are a child of prophecy, but your prophecy was only the first half. The woman who healed you is the other half, and she brings favour to your conquest, and possibly the source of your doom. You are not dreaming, you have crossed into the realm of spiritual awareness, as she did, and you are now bound by spirit. Should one of you die, the other will join in death. I hope you will no longer be careless with your own life, for you are now responsible for three. You will know the third when the time is right.’ The figure turned and looked back at the woman who faded from the vision, before he himself faded as well.
Nieriel suddenly collapsed, her head falling onto the other’s chest. Her body ached and she could just feel the elf’s breaths, the rising and falling of his chest beneath her head, the sound of his heart beating stronger than before beneath her ear.
She smiled to herself as Syrita crawled up beside her.
“Did he hurt you momma?” the child asked.
“No, Syrita, he didn’t hurt me” she whispered in exhaustion.
Over the beating of the man’s heart she heard the bushes rustle behind her, her eyes were too heavy to keep open. She was too tired and sore to move but she managed to catch sight of another figure, running into the forest away from her.
“Oh no” she whispered to herself before everything went black.

---

Nieriel stirred and opened her eyes a little. Trying to move she let out a heavy sigh, noticing the shapes of two figures standing over her, one tall and slender, and the other shorter and wider, hints of a bronze beard caught light from a fire behind them.
Still groggy she made the attempt to sit up, but the taller figure was already leaning over her with his hand on her forehead.
“Shh, do not move, only try to rest,” The figure said, laying her back down. She nodded slightly and closed her eyes again, her body still aching from the energy she used mere hours before. Within minutes she was asleep.

---

In the dark two familiar characters sat. Borrick Broadaxe the dwarf, his long-bronze beard plaited down his front over his armour. Beside him sat his helmet, a horned war-crown which was designed to fit his thick dwarvern head. On his right sat his war axe, its blade broad and sharp, and the handle long and thick.
Across from him sat the drow, Dianass Thia’Lerithan. From his head hung his white hair, free and thin, gently swaying in the soft breeze of the night. His lavender eyes glimmered in the dancing flames and his dark skin was now a blend of orange and violet/grey light.
“I just can’t figure it out, Borrick,” the drow said softly, “Naedan has attacked many a city before without Faelan’s reaction, why would he start fighting back now?”
The dwarf sat silent for a moment, the wood in the fire crackling as the flames gnawed upon it.
“Why d’ye think?” The dwarf said, reaching for a flask hanging from his belt. “Som’what’s gonna snap when ye spend yer life runnin’ from somethin’ yer terrified ta face. How many towns has Naedan attacked, ye think?”
“Hmm, true, and Faelan has been running his entire life. Perhaps he realizes its time to stop”
The dwarf shrugged. “Bah”
Dianass merely chuckled, accepting the flask when Borrick offered it to him, taking a gulp of the mead inside.
“So, instead of being beaten down on the run, he is beaten down on the charge”
“Aye” the dwarf said flatly.
Both turned their heads in the direction of the two sleeping elves, neither of them had moved, except Faelan’s arm which was now wrapped around the woman who was still lying on top of him.
“We gonna move em?” Borrick asked.
“Shortly perhaps,” the drow said in reply, “but for now let them rest, the last thing the woman needs is to see the face of a drow staring down at her.”
“Mmhm” the dwarf mumbled.
“What?”
“I might not be the sharpest blade in the armoury, but even I can tell yer’ up ta som’what” 
Dianass gave an innocent smile-though in the only light provided by the fire he looked slightly evil.
“What are you saying? Me? Up to something? Never,” he said in denial.
Borrick shook his head and chuckled.
“Yer tryin’ to play match maker again,” he said to the dark-elf who handed the flask back to him.
“I merely waiting to see what happens is all, no plotting, no scheming, my intentions are purely innocent.”
“Bah, the innocent drow…that’ll be the day,” Borrick said, chuckling again.
“There is good in the drow as there is good in humans. We drow are merely less susceptible to it.” 
Borrick shrugged and dismissed the comment with a loud grunt and a wave of his hand.
“Alright then don’t believe me,” Dianass said jokingly, folding his arms across his chest.