We cannot do this.
I'm begging you. Please help her.
The voices were far away, yet the bodies were so close. Man and woman, arguing about something or other. The young child was being held by small, firm hands. A woman, trying to keep her off of the ground. A life hanging on by a thread as the cold embrace of death closed its fingers upon a small child of five. She couldn't speak. Couldn't see. Only haggardly sucked in breath as though it were more precious than all the gold and silver in the world.
You ask a great deal. She is--
A child, Verathorn. A child.
What was happening? She only remembered the soldiers at the door, a man stepping between them, and a wolf. A wolf that tore the man apart. A wolf that came for her. Blood and fire. Ash and smoke. A home torn asunder in mere seconds.
Her name?
Bianca. Bianca Miles.
A silence hung in the air at the mention of the child's name. Then came distant, muffled conversation all around her. Murmurs like the whispers of ghosts from beyond the grave. Bianca's name was a relatively common one, or so she had been told. Stories of people with such a name that, while they held no worldly significance, still numbered among the tales of this world.
You know as well as I do that her kind are not permitted within this place.
Her kind. Words she'd never heard before.
Please, Verathorn. She has no one else. Her father is gone. All of her family is gone. Her mother has long since abandoned her. I beg of you, my old friend. I beg of you.
That wound is grave. She will not live through the night.
A chance. Please, give her but a chance. That is all I ask. This child…
Is a reminder. A reminder of what they have done.
She is only half Elf, Verathorn!
Half of nothing is still nothing!
A disturbance in the crowd came from the sound of small, rushing footsteps towards Bianca. Then, a hand gently brushed the top of her head, a child's hand likely not much older than her. A kind, compassionate touch that compelled Bianca to open her eyes. Her vision blurred, but she made out the features of a small girl with auburn hair and green eyes. Two small antlers protruded from her head, the tell-tale sign of the Fae that made their home within the forests of Gaol.
"Sha'ani, stay back. This matter does not concern you, little one," the man said, but Bianca's eyes quickly closed before she could take in the sight of him. Exhaustion overpowered her, leaving her without the energy to even look at him.
I just wanted to see where her antlers were. Can't we help her, Master?
A child's voice, likely this "Sha'ani," rang clear as a bell. The man let out a deep sigh, and after an eternity of silence, a pair of hands found themselves upon Bianca's back. She was being lifted high, before coming to rest in a pair of enormous arms. The woman who had been pleading for her let out a sharp, shuddering breath. Something was going to happen, but Bianca knew not what it was.
She very well may not survive the night.
Just a chance, Verathorn. Please.
Why was this happening? Bianca wanted her father. Her home. Yet as her skin grew cold, her senses dulled ever more, her mind began to understand. That life was gone. She wanted to live. She had to live. If her father truly was dead, he had died for her. He would want her to survive, to continue on, and to move forward. At least, she thought so. She knew little of the world outside of the confines of what books she had read and stories she had been told. It wasn't easily explained, but every ounce of her being wanted to live.
No one else?
The humans would not take her. The Elves would kill her on sight. I cannot go to the Dwarves, or Orcs, or take her across the sea to the Eastern Islands. There is no one else, Verathorn.
Verathorn exhaled, and began to turn. Bianca moved with him, still firmly in his arms, and soon came to rest upon a small bed. Her eyes opened slightly, every ounce of energy keeping them alert and focused on her hazy surroundings. Walls of wood and bark surrounded her, animal skins and vines lining them as some sort of makeshift insulation. Finally she caught a glimpse of the man, an enormous, silver-haired Faerie with large, curling antlers dressed in robes made of deer and boar hide.
"Sha'ani, keep watch over this one. I will return with the healers," Verathorn said before turning and leaving Bianca's field of vision. The little Faerie girl hoisted herself up on the bed and sat beside the young half-Elf.
Sha'ani rested a hand on Bianca's head, smiling as Bianca struggled to breathe. "You have pretty eyes. One's green, and the other's gold. It's unique!"
"Thanks," Bianca barely said above a whisper. "My name's Bianca."
"Sha'ani of the Heartland Fae. Pleased to meet ya!" Sha'ani was kind. She gave a puzzled look, pursing her lips and squinting her eyes as she stared at the half Elf girl for a moment. "Hey, do you have a sister?"
"N-no." Bianca choked out the word.
Sha'ani looked down, frowned, then her eyes shot wide open as she smiled once again. "Well," the Faerie child began. "Would you like to be my sister?"