—Ngh!

Instant regret.

Was this how Ërna felt when Valýría held a blade to her neck? Or was this somehow worse because there were several more blades involved in this scenario? Did it really matter when, regardless of numbers, one’s life was on the line either way?

Valýría was right, though.

Fëor was good-natured to a fault.

It was strange. It didn’t make sense at all. After all, he was probably the most terrified person at the assembly when they declared that soldiers from Pelría had been spotted in Gälenor. Why, then, would he reveal himself to his greatest fear with the naive hope that they might help him? That their cold aura was merely from suffering, not malice?

It was noble, but stupid. Very stupid.

If given the chance, Valýría would have scolded him on the spot. But…Fëor was not so fortunate.

He was surrounded.

“Having a hostage might speed things up.”

“Seems rash. Don’t forget, they’ve been watching us.”

“Yeah, could be a trap.”

“I don’t care. We can take ‘em.”

“He’s probably just some peasant, though. Who else would be out here in the middle of nowhere looking like…that? What kind of leverage would that give us?”

“Good point…”

“Definitely a trap.”

While the soldiers debated what to do with their prey (whose fay mood had faded back to frightful shivering), the captain walked up to get a closer look.

“He’s no peasant.”

The soldiers fell silent as the captain spoke.

“Strange. So very strange. It’s as if he’s fëol incarnate. He teems with life and the land-spirits love him. Can’t you feel it, my friends? Even now, they are trying to protect him.”

Most of his companions looked confused, but a few looked down at their feet, eyes widening.

“They’re…heavy.”

“Yeah, my boots…it’s like they’ve been bound.”

“Stuck in mud’s more like it.”

The captain continued to walk around Fëor, seemingly unaffected by the same affliction described by his fellows.

“Are you an ëolfëánor?”

Fëor was taken aback.

Was this how Ërna felt when he asked her if she was a fëánor? Uneasy, somewhat flattered, but mostly misunderstood? Either way, he couldn’t answer. He wasn’t as strong-willed as her.

“No…I supposed you couldn’t be. Unless this shadow has shaped a new horror, ëolfëánorí always appear as the animals they gave life to. You’re abhorrent but no animal.”

He continued to pace around Fëor, examining him.

Ab…horrent?

Fëor didn’t understand why the captain was so disgusted with him. He didn’t understand why he called him “fëol incarnate,” either. Both assessments seemed a bit dramatic.

It wasn’t normal to be born from a berry on a legendary tree, of course…but Fëor didn’t feel special. Aside from the affection he received from land-spirits, he was ordinary. Pathetically so. His only skills were having a green thumb, cooking delicious food, and worrying about…well, everything.

“—”

“Tie him up.”

With hindered movement, the soldiers pried their feet from the ground and marched toward Fëor with menacing eyes. Frustrated and afraid, he felt helpless before them. Running was no longer an option. What else could he do but close his eyes, tightly clasping his hands together, and await the inevitable?

“—!”

“Thy prayer hast been felt, O child of Gälnos.”

It was a voice as sweet and soothing as honey. He didn’t know who it belonged to, only that it dispelled his dismay and no one else seemed to notice it. And then, as if answering its call—

—the grove sprang to life.

Pink flowers bloomed upon every bush, roots rose from the earth, and green sprouts grew into vines that wrapped themselves around the feet of Fëor’s foes. Some were dragged into the dirt, while others were bound so tightly that they dropped their weapons. Only the captain was unaffected.

“I’ll say it again…”

Rose-gold beads of dewy light swarmed around him, but they seemed afraid to get too close.

“…he’s no simple peasant.”

He waved his hand, swatting the spirits away like flies before curling his fingers into a fist and—

Thump!

Fëor spun to the earth.

He tried to get up, but his whole body was trembling. The best he could do was lean on one elbow while holding his other hand to his face. Wiping the corner of his mouth, he noticed it was warm and wet.

Blood.

Fëor’s vision blurred.

The captain looked down on him.

“Disgusting. Even your blood glimmers with the golden hue of fëol. You truly are shackled to that witch of a goddess.”

He grabbed Fëor by his shirt, holding him up like a filthy rag.

“I’d pity you if you weren’t so pathetic. How could a man be so feeble? To panic as you are after a single punch to the face? You won’t get far in this world like that.”

He swung his arm down, sending Fëor to the ground with a thud—but he didn’t let go. Sighing, he slumped his shoulders and turned his gaze upward to where the first stars were beginning to appear.

“Freedom lies not in Ëolna’s cruel captivity, for only in Rëálna’s garden can we shine as stars. Here we are smothered, striving in vain to return to the lofty heights from which we came. And so that bond shall be broken.”

He wasn’t speaking to Fëor, who he deemed helpless beyond saving. Instead, he was reciting the words of a wise philosopher to remind himself what he was fighting for.

“He may seem useless, but I think he’ll prove to be an excellent hosta—”

As he turned to face his fellows, who were still struggling against their earthy bounds, he saw a great shadow rising with the moon in the east downriver.