Rising from the Ashes

Forgiveness is hard.

To forgive the kingdom who had wronged her, forgotten about her.

To forgive Nakoa who had only changed his view on rouges because Elenora is his mate.

Elenora had lived as a rogue for five years. She had developed the tendencies of rogues and throughout the period she had become increasingly more cruel. It was Mia who grounded her to reality. It was Mia who remained as innocent as possible with the situation. Elenora had believed she had to be the cruelest to survive. If she left a trail of ashes behind her, nobody would hunt her. She was right of course. Though the occasional rogue stumbled across her, most read the signs she left and they turned away. If Elenora did not wake up with nightmares of Vermont, she woke up with nightmares of herself. She would see the faces of those she killed until they all blurred into one and then she would see herself, standing in blood.

Forgiveness of herself seems to be the hardest. It had been quite awhile since she woke up from one of these dreams but the smile of her nightmare self haunts her. Elenora turns away from the window and writes three letters to three people who mean everything to her. The first is to her daughter. She had written to Charlotte before but never had it been more than a few sentences. It is the easiest letter to write. There is nothing more pure than the love a mother has for her child.

The next letter is hard. Mia haunts her in her dreams as well. Mia telling her that she had become something unrecognizable. Mia telling her that she has become just as scared of her as the rogues. Mia telling her she is just like Vermont. Sometimes, Elenora feels as if she learned too much from Vermont. She did not find Anthony until her young teen years. Vermont had years to sculpt her. Vermont had years to teach her hatred.

The letter to Nakoa is not sweet. It is not kind. It is not poetic. It is honesty at its purest. Perhaps the reason Elenora had failed in writing to Nakoa earlier was because she was trying to turn herself into something she was not. Nothing felt right but these letters -this letter feels right. It is honest. It is her. Elenora is not Princess Lydia who was raised to be kind, compassionate, poetic, and sweet. Elenora was raised by a man who tortured her. She was scared up until the point her family was murdered and then she became something even she couldn’t recognize.

Elenora opens the window and with a long whistle the bird comes to pick up her letters. The method is an old one. Elenora is half tempted to go to the king and asks why he insists on keeping to the old ways. There is new technology that is faster. There are people that deliver letters now. There are phones. Except Elenora finds herself loving the kingdom for what it doesn’t have. It does not have phones with service. It does not have the internet. There are places with no electricity though plumbing seems to be something King Stavros gave into. Some might argue this is a weakness but the werewolves in the kingdom are more in touch with their wolves. That is a strength. It fits her mood anyways. The night is late and too long but the soft glow of the fireplace over her appointed room calms her in a way.

There is a quiet knock at the door. Elenora sniffs the air and smiles. Princess Lydia. The distraction from herself is very welcome. The dreams of Vermont are terrible. The dreams of herself are unbearable. Elenora pulls open the door and reveals a smiling Lydia with her fur blanket pulled tight around her. “Heard you whistle so I knew you were up.” With that she invites herself in and lands on her bed. “Ardon is coming too. Heard him moving about too. Are you leaving?” Elenora does not ask how she knows.

It was Ardon and Lydia that gave her the letter from Nakoa and so they will both put two and two together. A letter from Nakoa means she is good to go. Charlotte is home safe and everything is set up. There is work that awaits her back home. Cadence will have extra for her and she will be more than upset when she realizes Elenora hadn’t so much as picked up one book to study. “Yes. My home is Bloodmoon.”

Elenora has so much to talk about with Nakoa. He had locked her in a cell. She cannot forget that. He is her home but he was never meant to hold her captive in that home. How does one pick up the pieces after that? She can never trust Alpha Scott again. “But you will come back right? They will not let me visit. It is too dangerous.” She does not speak the thought Elenora sees lingering on her face. She does not speak of the worry for Elenora’s safety if she goes back now.

Ardon walks in and he has no problem speaking his concerns “I worry for your safety traveling back.” He grabs some wood and adds it to the fireplace. It had been dying with her lack of attention but it blazes now. Elenora watches it eat the wood. She watches the flames dance “We still do not know who had Charlotte kidnapped Muriel. It could have been a ploy to get to you.”

“They had every chance to get to me on the way here. I was alone. I will be traveling back with the best warriors the kingdom has to offer. Even so I doubt they will try and kidnap me Ardon.” The words are naive to Elenora’s own ears. They could have been biding their time. They could have been waiting. On the way back she will be traveling with Hans. He is one of the most trusted warriors the king has. He is close to the king. A friend even. He will have information.

“You are not nearly as naive as you pretend to be Muriel.” Ardon growls slowly. His eyes stick to the fire as he pokes it before he sighs and takes his seat. “I just got you back,” He whispers “And I still do not know who you are. We have years to catch up on.”

The silence that settles between the three of them is filled with enough emotion to suffocate her. Her relationship with the king and queen is rocky at best. There is too much bad ground between them to work out over the span of a couple of days. The relationship between the three of them is something new, something that only grows. It holds a promise in it. It will be hard to leave the two of them. “I will be back to visit in a blink of an eye. Nakoa and I are having our ceremony here after all. When it is not so dangerous the two of you are welcome any time.” It is the only reassurance Elenora has to give. She cannot insist there is no danger in leaving. There is. Perhaps that is another reason Elenora sent out those three letters. There is fear and there is doubt but at least they have something to hold onto. They have something that expresses how much Elenora loves them.

“Who am I supposed to keep as a partner in crime? I don’t often have an opportunity to help Ardon climb down the side of the castle. He can go wherever he wants.” There is bitterness in her words

“I do so love rushing into battle with the chance I might be killed to help me along.” Ardon drawls out. Lydia throws a pillow at him, a smile twisting her lips.

“Shut up. You love it and you know it. It gets your blood pumping.” There is pain in his eyes.

“It is not all it’s cracked up to be.” Ardon goes silent and Elenora watches his hands twist around, glowing blue. Elenora did not see where he got the water from but he twists it to different shapes in the air. One moment it looks like a wolf, and then a cat. “Besides, you love taking care of the injured warriors just as much. You practically run to the infirmary every time.”

They give Elenora a perfect picture and she cannot help but try and picture where she would fit in. It already looks so perfect. Prince Ardon. The warrior. The knight from her fairytale books. The fighter. The commander.

Princess Lydia. The healer. Always ready to tend to the wounds of her people. Never worried about stomaching blood as Elenora thought most princesses were. Never afraid. Wanting an adventure.

Where does that leave her? Elenora can almost picture it but it has nothing to do with the people of the kingdom. Princess Muriel. Always trying to run. Always wanting more. Never wanting to settle. Greedy for anything else, everything else. Never content. Or is that just who she became? Is that just what Vermont shaped her to be? Who would she have been? Who is she supposed to be now? Ready for revenge. Battle at her fingertips. Hatred in her eyes. How is she supposed to forget this anger if it consumes her? “I think I might miss you two when I go back.” Elenora mutters and with a wave of her hand a fire wolf, small in size, floats in the air above her. With a wiggle of her finger it moves to run by Ardon’s water wolf. Lydia is quick to join in on the display of magic. She takes from the vase of flowers and grows a path in the air that leads to the wolves. A small tree sprouts up and then flowers. It is beautiful to see. Her room glowing with their magic. Nothing more needs to be said.

The night is fresh on her mind as she walks down the cobblestone path alone. It is the early morning but Lydia swore Eileen tends to get up early to tend to her garden. She had directed her to a stone house. She swore it would stand tall over the rest and it would be hard to miss if only I keep walking. Ardon said I will know I have found it if there is a large willow tree nearby.

They are terrible at directions but Elenora does not mind the walk it gives her. Thankfully nobody approaches her today though they do wave and speak their greetings. It is peaceful until Elenora finds the place. The nerves eat at her the moment she sets her sight on the tall building. It is made up of stone and it reaches high over the trees. Moss crawls up the building, somehow making it look more beautiful than it already is. Elenora spots the willow tree and is tempted to go find out what the glowing sparks are floating around the leaves. The door swings open before Elenora can take so much as a step in that direction. Elenora looks for a person but finds none. With a frown Elenora steps forward and takes it as her cue to enter. “Come in dear.” A woman’s voice calls from another room before the door slams shut. Elenora doesn’t so much as flinch. She merely steps towards the voice to find what looks to be a gentle woman though she seems quite dramatic.

Her eyes stay on the fabric she stitches. It reminds her of Grandmother May. Elenora pushes thoughts of May and her betrayal away and focuses on the woman instead. She is beautiful though what more can one expect from a former queen known for her beauty and grace. Her hair is blonde and braided all the way down to her butt. Her skin is tan and freckled and her eyes are a bright green. She looks beautiful with her heart-shaped face and skinny form. “I am your grandmother Eileen though I doubt you feel comfortable calling me that. We may be family but it is blood only.” Her words do not come across as an insult but more of a thoughtful statement “However I do not feel comfortable being called Queen Eileen by my grandchild. We will have to settle on a compromise and go with Eileen. Just Eileen.” The woman -Eileen sticks the needle in the fabric before setting it down on a nearby table.

“I am Elenora -sorry.” Elenora pauses “Muriel. I am Muriel. It is nice to meet you, Eileen.” Elenora holds out a hand, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. Elenora does not frequently introduce herself. Most simply call her Muriel here and maybe if she is lucky they will offer their name up. It is just her luck she messes up an introduction in front of the former queen.

“It must be strange to go by a different name after being called Elenora your entire life. You do not have to be called Muriel. If you prefer Elenora just say-”

“Muriel is the daughter of the king I spent the last several years hating. Elenora is the daughter of the man who spent most of my life torturing and tormenting me.” Elenora interrupts and instantly feels bad about it. Interrupting somebody is disrespectful and this is no woman she wants to disrespect “I am sorry. I don’t mean to be rude but none of the options are ideal. I think I would rather Muriel.”

Elenora takes a seat right across from the former queen and tries not to feel intimidated. In her head, she laughs at herself. Becoming a rogue didn’t intimidate her in the slightest even though she knew they were not treated the best. This, court life, talking to people like Queen Eileen and King Zathrian. That is intimidating. These people can destroy her if they don’t like her. This was not a fear with Zathrian but when it comes to Eileen and her analytic eyes, Elenora cannot help but feel uncomfortable. “There is no need to apologize, Muriel.” The queen speaks softly, her voice no higher than a whisper. “This situation is not ideal but we must make the best of it. You must have questions right? Ask. I will answer to the best of my ability. Perhaps you can answer mine in turn?”

Elenora starts easy. It is the first thing that comes to mind, “You have the air element right? It’s odd that I have fire, Ardon water, and Lydia earth.”

“I am an Elemental Muriel. I have all the elements.” The room lights up in a flash of color. The water from the flower vases flows up and wraps around the quickly growing lilies. The fireplace blazes wild as a strong wind slams open all the windows. Everything returns to normal in a blink of an eye. “My primary element is air which is to say I have mastered it. I have the most control over it. I am the best with air. I can take your breath away or I can give it back to you with a twist of my hand.”

“Do you choose your primary element or are you just naturally gifted with one?”

The former queen smiles “It is said one’s primary element is a mirror of their soul. Fire,” She pauses, eyes intent “Is said to be for a more passionate soul. Quick to anger. Quicker to lose control.” Elenora does not dare to respond though her first instinct is to defend herself. Instead she waits for Eileen to finish and hopes for a ‘but’. “Fire elementals tend to be good leaders. Compassionate usually and resourceful. Mind you this is them at their best. Air Elementals tend to be on the more intellectual side of things. They can be flaky, and dishonest or they can be progressive and curious.” The former queen grabs her cross-stitch and focuses on it once again. It looks to be a rose, roped in with black thread. It is wilted. “I am the best and the worst version of my abilities Muriel. Just as you are yours. Angry. Want for revenge. A leader. Resourceful with a craving to be better or am I wrong?” Elenora does not respond. Instead she stands and finds a window.

“I did not come here to be analyzed, Eileen.” Elenora mutters after a moment and once again the soft laughter fills the room.

“Then tell me what you want me to know and I will try to pretend I do not see the rest.” The words piss her off for a reason she cannot begin to understand. Who cares what this woman thinks? Who cares what she pretends to know? Who cares who she thinks Elenora is?

“What am I supposed to say? What do you want me to say?” Elenora snaps. There is something about Eileen that has her tense. There is something about the former queen that has her feeling bare. The former king Zathrian was soft to be around. It felt easy to tell him her story and it was easier to talk to him. She had laid her defenses down and trusted that he would not attack. It is the exact opposite with the former queen. It feels as if the queen has already stripped her bare and studied her. It feels as if she is a book that the queen has already read a dozen times. It feels cold and Elenora raises the defenses she had put down with Zathrian. She doesn’t want to be analyzed by Eileen. She does not want to whisper her story and how it killed her. She wants to run. “I want you to tell me why you came here Muriel.” The queen shrugs “I want you to be my granddaughter but not if you plan to destroy my son. You have every right to hate him and I will not blame you or judge you for it. Maverick had gone against my council when he turned on the rogues. In the end I am a mother just as you are. In the end you have a home here if you wish but not if it means I have to choose between the son I have loved his entire life or the granddaughter that was stolen at the beginning of her life.” With that she picks up her fabric again and starts to stitch around the wilting flower. “Do tell me what life you choose to live, little flame.”

The front door slams open. A clear sign and Elenora walks out and tries to find something to do with her hands. If there was one person Elenora feels she could relate most to in the entire kingdom, it is former queen Eileen Stavros and Elenora cannot for the life of her decide if that means she likes the woman or not.