Acotar and Tog [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

The Princess of the Little People

As they ascended the foothills of the Cambrian Mountains, he was thankful that his prayer to Mala had been answered the girl had not said a single word. Maeve hadn’t told him much about the princess, just enough for him to find her and bring her to Mistward. It had been over a century since his aunt had sent him to recover a demi-fae. Normally Vaughn or Fenrys, sometimes Gavriel were sent. They were the gentlest of the warrior’s. He was fairly certain the Maeve would have never sent Lorcan for the same reason she did not normally send him.

His warmth died with Lyria. Even though his warmth for the world and its inhabitants died that day, something tugged at him to survive. It would have been easy to die in the numerous battles he fought in. To have given up when he was captured and tormented in head to toe iron. Something in the world kept his will to survive strong, every mission had him looking for something.

He had stopped trying to figure out Maeve and her intentions over a century ago. What she wanted with this girl, why she had always been so interested in this spoiled little princess was beyond him.

He knew that they would need to camp soon, he was traveling with a demi-fae in her human form, there would be no traveling through the night. He also doubted that the horses could travel without rest. He could hear a little brook not far from the road. This would be a good place to camp and rest the horses.

He dismounted and walked his mare to the brook. The girl followed him, he could have sworn that she tripped on every single stone on the path towards the brook. They stood in silence as the horses drank. When they had their fill, we walked them back to the campsite leaving the girl to her own thoughts.

As he handed her the bread and cheese and she mumbled her thanks,  he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be thankful or concerned for the lack of conversation. Although he basked in the realm of silence, the majority did not. He was more than happy to eat their dinner in silence. Silence was easy.

- - - - - - -

While he rubbed down and fed the horses, something deep within him had him tossing an apple to the girl. She was too thin, probably from the weeks of surviving on just flatbread and wine.

He walked back to the camp and started to sit down opposite of the tree Aelin had selected.

“Are there so many threats in Wendlyn that we can’t risk a fire?”

He almost wanted to laugh at her ignorance, but simply replied, “Not from mortals.”

He closed his eyes, but before rest found him, he could sense that they were being watched. In his centuries of being fae, in his countless nights of sleeping in the woods, he had never seen one of the Little Folk.  They were legends and myths even amongst their kind. Keepers of the woods. Through myths it was told that the Little Folk that had gifted the stags to Mala. If you were ever lucky enough to see one, you were considered blessed.

The Little Folk were not here to bless him, no he had once been blessed and failed to protect the blessing the gods had bestowed upon him. No they were staring at a golden hair girl, with a ring of fire in her eyes.

“They still live.”

He wasn't not sure what to think of the girl, but he was certain this was not the first time that she had seen the little people.