"You would have us bow to his demands?" Elgar'nan spits, his beautiful face contorted by fury.

"Not bow," Mythal replies, ever calm. "But we must bring him back to the fold if we wish to restore peace."

"I would rather a durgen'len," Elgar'nan growls.

"High praise to our siblings of stone, dear one. We could use a more steadfast mindset to win this war."

"So you admit it is a war!" Elgar'nan snatches his small victory with gusto.

Mythal sighs. "It is a war of attrition, my sun, and not one we will win by throwing slaves at him!"

"They are my loyal soldiers. They have warred against my enemies for lesser offences."

"Every elvhen you send against him is another possible soldier for him! We need to keep those loyal to us close in this time of need-"

"Your excuse for not leasing your vallaslined few against your old friend?" Elgar'nan lowered his gaze accusingly at Mythal.

Mythal tilted her head, giving him a glare. "I choose not to send my children against Solas not because he is my friend, but because such an act would be to turn them against us. And here I thought you wanted to deny Solas troops."

Elgar'nan makes a scathing noise. "Excuses as always, Mythal. You are too used to settling feuds with words. Solas will not be calmed by words."

"And sending the less powerful to throw themselves at his feet or on his sword will?"

Elgar'nan grabbed Mythal by her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His nails dug into her skin.

Mythal did not even wince.

"I will do what I feel is best. I am the Allfather, I lead us. If I decide to throw all of the lesser beings at Solas to bring him down, that is my decision."

"On your soul, be it."

There is a polite cough from the doorway.

Mythal makes no attempt to move out of Elgar'nan's grip. They have eternity, after all, to war while Elgar'nan's lackey waits.

"This is not done. We are not finished," Elgar'nan whispers to Mythal, his words like small, sharp daggers.

He releases her.

Mythal wipes the blood from the scratches in her cheeks into her mouth, licking her lips carefully to catch every bit. "We never are, my sun."

She turns to leave, nods at Elgar'nan's girl (taking note of the vine-like vallaslin that wrapped around her naked body), and leaves.

She bows to Mythal as she passes, but her eye does not leave the Evanuris, enough that her envy was obvious.

Though for her power or her connection to Elgar'nan, even the girl herself was not sure.

"Come closer, girl," Elgar'nan orders.

Nimueh does, and the awe in her face is clear.

Elgar'nan is pleased by this.

"Tell me, why did you chose my vallaslin, da'len?"

"I was betrayed," Nimueh says. She knows Elgar'nan knows this too, knows why she was chosen for this task.

"And who betrayed you?"

"Pride." The word is spat.

"And Pride will be the Dread Wolf's downfall."

"I would wear his pelt as a coat, hahren."

Elgar'nan's lips split in a predatory smile. "Teacher? I like that very much. You have always done well to please me, Nimueh. I've always liked you best of all my children."

He walks closer to her, to take her face in his hands.

Nimueh's breath leaves her in a rush, and she tilts her face up to his, eyes closed to stop the welling tears of joy.

"Yes, my child." He kisses her more gently than his reputation would usually allow.

Nimueh kisses him back, clenching her fists to stop them wrapping about Elgar'nan's neck, the way they had when Solas kissed her.

Elgar'nan seems to read this thought, and pulls away softly. "Did he ever kiss you this soundly?" he taunts.

"No," Nimueh says truthfully. 

Solas had kissed her wildly and with abandon. Elgar'nan kissed the way troops moved on a battlefield.

Elgar'nan's grin is cruel on his lips. "Good."

He pulls her roughly to him.

She goes easily, and bends fast.

A few months later, Elgar'nan unfolds himself from Nimueh's sleepy embrace to greet the twilight.

Nimueh watches him go easily, and marvels at the sprawl of power blooming from him. 

It is some time before he talks. When he does, his voice is gentle, the way you would speak to a wounded animal. Or a child.

"I would give you a gift, my loyal child."

Nimueh sits up, eyes wide and attentive.

"A gift," Elgar'nan says, and turns. "In response to a mission well done."

"What mission is this?" Nimueh asks, trying to hide her disappointment. She had hoped her loyalty had been proven when she chose him over Solas.

"Never fear, da'len, your loyalty is not in question. In fact, I chose you for this very reason." He kneels back on the floor beside her, cupping her cheek gently.

Nimueh leans into it eagerly, breath leaving her in a sigh.

Elgar'nan kisses her breathless again, savouring the taste of her. 

Nimueh does not protest.

Once he pulls away, he threads a hand into her hair, to tug it back briefly. "So ready for me. So full of fire...they will not resist you."

"Who, hahren?"

"The Old Ones."

Nimueh pulls back with a jolt. "The Old Ones?"

Her breath seems difficult to her for a moment. "Are things truly that dire that we must grovel to them?"

"Every soldier we send against the Dread Wolf is a chance to for him to gain one. We need an army that will not turn, and will instead turn on him."

"I would not turn, and I would raze his compound to the ground," Nimueh says fiercely. Believably.

Elgar'nan chuckles. "I do not doubt that, child, but he is powerful and has powerful protection. Not even your past would change that. We need the most powerful beings to defeat someone so adept at changing hearts."

"You doubt my heart is hardened against him?"

"Yes. You were his wife, after all. You bore his child."

Nimueh's hand goes to her stomach.

"I would not trust the killing blow to someone not ready to follow through. There is vengeance, and fury, in your heart. But you would falter, my child."

Elgar'nan stands again, and walks to the view across the city. "The Old Ones will have no such qualm."

Nimueh is silent for a long time, her hand resting on the ghost of her protruding belly, remembering all the lost hope she carried in that child.

"You think a mother could not complete this task? That a mother, with her child ripped away from her, could not kill the man who did that?"

"How old would your child be now, Nimueh?"

Nimueh starts at the use of her name, that she fumbles the answer.

"A fe- few...nearly three hundred years old, hahren."

Elgar'nan tuts. "Still a child, and one that could have chosen to side with his father. If I required it off you, could you kill him as well?"

"If he has chosen Pride, then he is no longer my son."

"Are you sure of that?" Elgar'nan looks behind him to Nimueh.

Nimueh summons an image of the boy on the nearest wall. Then, without breaking eye contact with Elgar'nan, she cuts a vein open with a fingernail, and then lets loose a thin, sharp blade of blood through the throat of the image.

Elgar'nan laughs broadly. "Well done!"

Nimueh grins savagely.

(She tucks her shaking hands out of view.)

"Then perhaps you can lead a charge to his stronghold. I would still send you with the most powerful we know."

"And what would be my reward, should I fetch the Old Ones and deliver the Dread Wolf's head on a platter?"

"A piece of my soul."

Nimueh's entire world stops moving. 

A piece, even a small one, would grant her power unimaginable. What little tricks she could perform with blood, she could transform into world-altering powers. 

"Yes. I'll do it."

Elgar'nan grinned, baring his teeth. 

"I knew you would." 

He walks to her, and cups the back of her head, to taste her mouth once more.

Nimueh found she liked the copper taste she found in his.

A while later, she descends from the tower, body smarting with bruises and bites, scratches and scars, but with a goal and a catlike grin on her face. 

She had the God right where she wanted him, and his soul would be hers.

She wrapped a cloak around her, and started down the road out from Arlathan, into the Wilds, to find an Old One-

-and bend them to her will.