When the first wilted piece of grey ash had fallen across her view like a stray snowflake, she had startled. There hadn’t been fear though, and certainly no suspicion, but doubt had planted itself like a seed in her heart. When the stink of the Chamber had reached her nose, a familiar smell that (though she felt no love for it) reminded her of her family, suspicion blossomed. And when the smoke had gathered and thickened, voices and shouts bleeding into the chaos, fear had been borne within her.
There wasn’t a single hint of hesitation in her body as she leapt toward the chaos, picking her way through a forest she still didn’t know too well to a clearing she recognized even less. But it wasn’t courage that led her here, or bravery, it was the fear, the suspicion. She had spent a year of her life in the Chamber, maybe longer, she had a few friends there, family. And as she crested the edge of the clearing that looked out over the tree and the garden, she felt her heart smothered where it lay in her chest. Through the violence and the chaos she looked for her mother, her sister, her aunt. But none of them appeared from within the mass and it was suddenly a little easier to catch her breath. But then a dark silhouette did take shape, a devastatingly familiar one, and their eyes met for a heartbeat just before he disappeared.
“Erebor.” She breathed in dismay, the hollows of her dark, delicate face deepening.
This was what betrayal felt like.
Time passed impossibly slowly after that. Horses vanished, others finished their spars and wandered off to leave the kingdom to mourn. But Ilka couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her heart ached so badly in her chest she considered ripping it free. Something had shifted within her, something important, and that innocence had fissured like a crushed porcelain ball. By the time she had lifted her chin again and those pale brown eyes fell back on the smoke and ash choked clearing, all of the Chamber had gone.
Suddenly, as though she’d been stretched too tight for too long, she exploded into a run. By the time she had reached the meadow, sweat gleamed in the hollow of her neck and in the curve of her flank. Her ribs heaved and the breaths came in short uneven bursts. On her skin was the stink of the Chamber, so faint, and the sweetness of the Gates. There was ash there too, acrid, and it burned her lungs. Exhaustion drew soft shadows into the hollows of her face, and as she stood there, frozen, a trembling began in the marrow of her bones.
“I can’t do this.” She breathed, just a flutter of sound as her chin tucked defeatedly to the curve of her narrow chest.
ILKA
makai x oksana