The Queen and the Corpse

A post written by Nim using an idea Rosemary suggested,

Two years prior to the Dark Age beginning in earnest,

Of late, the call had been getting louder, more persistent, so much so that she began to fear sleep, where the dreams would try her devotion once more. But even her kind could not avoid slumber forever, and eventually she gave into the demands of her flesh…

She found herself in the desert once again, standing before the Great Temptress and her Vile Crown. They were alone, but a cloud in the distance marked the legions of their kind that had succumbed to the call and joined the cause of the supposed Ruler of all Elven Peoples. There was a moment of silence as the Queen and her Iron Crown waited for her to pay the deference they felt was their due. They did not receive it.

With a slight frown, the Iron Queen began, “Nimorra of Clan Redleaf, few of our Elven People have refused my summons, fewer still are those who resist who have not sold their souls to our enemies. All of those who fight the Yoke of Man, including your own son, have come under my banner… all except you. You alone do not acknowledge my authority, even when all other contenders have long endorsed my claim and my cause. Your strength is great, but it is misplaced. You place your faith in a dead lord, one who was not even one of our People, of a race that is now extinct. Your strength is being wasted for a cause that died long ago. Join me, join your son, and the war we fight will be won. Our Kingdom will rule all of this Man-cursed land, and bring about a rebirth it desperately needs.”

A pulse from the Crown upon her fair head was accompanied by a sense of longing in Nimorra, a promise to end her loneliness, a promise to give her hope in place of the despair that had been with her after a century of abandonment. Much of her being very much strove to say yes, to step onto a different path from the lonesome, torpid one that the road she had chosen long ago had become. The battle of wills began once again as the Crown exerted its might upon her, sapping her strength and her resolve. It called on her to kneel, to give up her allegiance to a deceased pretender. Nimorra’s knees buckled, her gaze wavered, threatening to fall. She struggled to breath before the power before her.

However, she couldn’t forsake the promise, not when she had given so much, indeed, her entire life to it. He wasn’t back yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come. This was just another trial, not unlike her years in Radogast’s dungeons, or her years raising His son after he abandoned her. Nimorra was one of the People, long of life, and she had many years left in her. She could wait and endure her trials then, and she could wait and endure her trials now.

Her commitment resolute, Nimorra felt her strength return as she returned the Queen’s steely gaze and retorted, “Death has no hold over those who have mastered it.”

“The Necromancer’s Creed,” the Chosen Queen mused, “More foul magics are difficult to find, but nonetheless, I can find use of your gifts.”

“I will not be you’re tool!” Nimorra declared.

The wind picked up, lifting the sand up and forming a cloud that soon overtook them, concealing the Iron Queen from view. “We shall see…” she replied, promising further visits to come. Nimorra closed her eyes and covered her face as the flying sand battered her, punishing her for her obstinance. Suddenly, a deafening boom shook the earth, shattering the earth beneath her and sending her plummeting into the depths of chasm. This sensation she had experienced once before, over century ago, and indeed, to her horror, she found herself falling into the very same crater she had fallen into then. The very same shock and the very same burning accompanied here as she landed onto the blasted earth. Around her, the charred carcasses of the men, woman, and beasts that had been caught in the great explosion that concluded that great battle were littered about her. Now, as in then, she found herself drawn to one particular corpse, however, this time it wasn’t the corpse of Ceriden Malkaan, who had destroyed himself to defeat Thierri’s army that she found herself before, but rather the body of a half-fey man, the arrow that had taken his natural life in an even earlier protruding from him.

“Galathus…” she gasped.

The corpse returned her stare. “Nimorra, my greatest disciple,” the corpse rasped. “Your perseverance shall be rewarded. My shackles are loosening, I have found a way… to return…”

Even the scalding of her feet and the oppressiveness of the furnace she was in could not suppress the glee she experienced as she processed those words. Her hope, which had nearly been fully consumed by the ravages of time ignited anew.

“Are you ready?”

“I…” she paused, “I have acquired a few followers, some of whom have figured it out.”

“We will have to build upon this. I shall be back soon, so very soon. I have learned much in this Darkness; my power shall be greater than ever before. However, I cannot do this alone. Find your son. I tire of these pertinacious hosts. Find him, and prepare him to receive greater power than he can possibly imagine.”

“I have prepared him for the promise as best I could, but he grew impatient,” Nimorra sobbed. “He set out to create his own rebellion, but now he has succumbed to the Queen…”

“You will find your son,” the corpse of Galathus Kelmoran insisted. Take this arrow from my chest. It will show you the way.”

She hesitantly reached toward the evil missile. The ravages of the heat and her injuries sapped her strength so greatly that it took all the will she could muster to fulfill the task, yet for Kelmoran, nothing would stop her. She felt her consciousness fading (or perhaps returning) as she held aloft the arrow, which began to transform into a very familiar necklace…

And then the dream concluded, leaving Nimorra with one very clear thought. It was time. What had been buried must now be found. Her true Master was returning. She would need to be prepared. Her followers would need to be prepared. Lastly, her son would need to be prepared… for his destiny.