foxboylucien:

Elain sprints as fast as her legs can carry her. Her lungs burn and her body threatens to give out at any moment, but she doesn’t stop. Not with him behind her. Not with her child clutched against her heaving chest. She should have known he would find her again, that she would never be safe.

Visions of dark, cold, unforgiving water flash through her mind. She feels it as if it’s really there, forcing its way down her throat, into her lungs, stinging her eyes. The memory clears after a moment, but the terror doesn’t. She holds her daughter closer still and runs faster, dodging trees and underbrush as she comes to the edge of the wood.

Branches scratch at her face and arms, thorns at her legs, but she keeps going. All she knows is that she must run. The sound of branches snapping and leaves crunching behind her tells her that he is still coming, getting closer and closer as her body begins to fail.

Knowing it is the only option left, she reaches for the small dagger at her hip. She places one last kiss to the face of her sleeping babe, and leaves her in between two roots of a tree, praying to any gods that are listening that she will be safe. The child does not stir.

Elain starts to run again, leading him away from the tree that protects her precious daughter. When she is a safe distance away, she turns and faces her enemy.

She stares into the eyes of the King of Hybern, and he stares back.

She raises her dagger with a shaking hand, backing away a few steps. “I killed you before, and I will do it again. No matter how much you torment me, you will always reach the same fate.”

The King laughs, the sound echoing through the trees like a summer wind. “You cannot kill me,” he says, his voice echoing the same as the laugh, “I am the one who made you this way.” He advances, dagger in hand, and Elain catches the scent of rot and decay.

With a dense line of trees and bushes behind her, Elain has no choice but to fight. She brings to memory all the fighting techniques she had been taught since she became fae–techniques she hoped she would never have to use. She takes up the wide-legged stance she was taught, and when the King attacks, she is ready to deflect with her dagger.

She does not hit flesh, but is successful in dodging this first attack. She anticipates his next move, but only barely misses the sharp blade. Pain shoots up her arm, but she knows it could have been much worse.

He advances again and again, until Elain is nearly too tired to carry on, close to giving in. But by some miracle, some blessing from the Mother, an opportunity arises. A broken tree branch juts out behind the King, and with a final burst of energy, she pushes him, suffering a long slice from his blade in the process.

The King falls back onto the branch, pierced through the stomach. Elain sinks to her knees on the forest floor, struggling to catch her breath.

Then, before her eyes, the lifeless form of the King transforms into dust and water, air and flame. It blows away on a breeze, leaving nothing in its place.

Elain had heard stories about the puca. They disguise themselves in order to capture and devour you, and are immortal but can be killed. But the terror of seeing the king does not go away with the knowledge that he was never really there.

Elain does not allow herself to weep. Not until she hold her child back in her arms, not until she is safely back in the field, where her picnic blanket and basket wait. She does not begin to weep until she is back in her home, her daughter asleep in the nursery. Not until after she tends to her wounds. But when she does start, and tears come hot and heavy down her cheeks, she does not stop for a long time.