The Eyes of an Elf
I coughed, my breathe became a cloud in the cold air of the dungeon. I shivered. My worn woolen shawl did nothing against the bitter wind that found its way through the cracks in walls of my cell. The chains seemed to have frozen in place where they held my ankles in their icy grasp. My cup of water had already frozen solid, and my tongue grew dryer. I tried to curl up, but the rags of green cloth that covered my body did not keep out the cold. Keys clicked and I looked up. A boy around my age, 18, slammed a bowl of cold slop on the floor. “Eat.” I smiled, my green eyes turning blue, then gold, then purple. For a minute I held him in my magical gaze, but he shook his head, releasing himself. “You can’t fool me Aoibheann Niamh, your eyes have no power over me,” he tried to hold himself still, but I could tell he was shaking in fright. I laughed, a laugh I had been told, would put bluebirds to shame. He quickly left, and locked the cell door. Men believed that eyes were magic, they weren’t. As I leaned down towards the bowl of milky white slop, my brown wavy hair fell away to reveal my pointy ears. I was an elf, and my eyes changed colors. They weren’t magical, it was just how I was born, and it scared the human race. Their king had captured me, believing that I, Aoibheann Niamh, or bright eyes, was the leader behind the War. It was laughable. That I, the illegitimate daughter of an elven blacksmith, would be the leader of the War. I looked back at the bowl of slop, and put my hands around it. The warmth had already left it, and a thin layer of ice was already beginning to form on the top. I brought the bowl to my nose, and breathed deeply. I sensed the essence of amaylis; the herb humans believed got rid of magic and put the consumer in a trance and state of ignorance and stupidity. I pulled myself into a corner of the cell and poured the slop down a hole in the floor, like numerous other times. I wrapped myself in my shawl as much as I could and tried to sleep.
When I woke up the torches had been lit that were braced to the wall of the corridor outside my cell, and my empty bowl was gone. I suddenly winced in pain as the scar on my upper arm throbbed. Elves. They were near. I looked up in time to see hooded men march past my cell. These were the men that had killed my father and captured me. The Hooded Guard, they were called. As they passed, one broke from the ranks and stole over to my cell. My eyes began to change color, and my scar throbbed stronger. “Aoibheann, come, now.” I smiled. “Eòghan.” He quickly and quietly broke the lock on my cell. Then he entered and broke the shackles on my ankles. He tossed me a black hooded cloak and we disguised ourselves as the Hooded Guard. I had little energy left, but we were able to make it out, unnoticed and alive. As we mounted his horse, I suddenly found myself in the golden woods of Crisosaidh, or Hall of the Elf.
“Stay strong my daughter.” I turned around. Father? But he was dead. As soon as he was there, he was gone disappearing in wisps of smoke.
“You served us well Aoibheann Niamh.” I turned around and saw the Queen. I fell to my knees, “Your majesty.” She extended her hand to me, her movements slow and dreamlike. “Rise and go in peace,” then she to disappeared in tendrils of smoke.
“Aoibheann,” I turned around again and there stood Eòghan. “Eòghan,” I said and ran towards him. He embraced me and whispered, “I love you.” I felt my self being pulled away from him by some unseen force. “No. Eòghan. Wait!” He extended his arm to me as I was being pulled away. Then like all the others, he vanished in strands of smoke. “No. Wait,” I cried. Something hit me in the face, and the golden woods of Crisosaidh disappeared.
“Get up.” Something kicked me and I looked up into the eyes of the Hooded Guard. My eyes began to change color in hatred, and for a moment they stood still, terrified by the beauty of my eyes. They quickly picked me up and dragged me out of my cell, my body limp and weak in their arms. As they led me outside, I caught a glimpse of my future through my still changing eyes. The executioner’s block. As they led me up the steps, the king began to mock me. “Finally Aoibheann Niamh, “he spit the words out like they were something rotten,” Finally the War will be over. I will be victorious as soon as your magical eyes cloud over.” I laughed, stunning the crowd. As they laid my head down on the block my eyes changed color for the last time.
