Curse him, Nuada thought as he stalked away, his head held high, his blood burning with rage. A mutilated piece of human filth blocked his path; a vicious kick sent the carcass flying. His heart ached with the pain of betrayal and grief, clenching his throat like an invisible fist, but Nuada would not weep; for Balor was still watching his son's back – Nuada could feel his angry gaze – and the prince would rather die a slow and painful death than show weakness in front of his father.

Anger was the solution – to let the fire of his fury solder shut the cracks in his heart. And so Nuada continued his internal rant. Curse that fool to the blackest pit of suffering. May his guilt crush his very soul when our forests burn and our people's blood soaks the ground. Then he will know his error in trusting the humans. Then he will understand, and he will finish what he started.

Nuada had reached the trees bordering the decimated village. Only then did he pause and turn back. His hard amber eyes scanned the burning homes; the slaughtered humans sprawled under the winter sky; the Golden Army – an answer to prayer in the war to reclaim their stolen lands – waiting for the king's next order, which would never come; and the king himself. His sister, his beloved companion since their birth, stood at their father's side. The fault line of grief in his chest trembled, threatening to rip open once again as he remembered Nuala's treachery. How could she, who knew his every dream, thought, emotion, and motive, accuse him of monstrosity and murder? She knew why he had supported the use of the Golden Army! She knew that his love for his people burned with a flame almost as bright as that of his love for her! She knew that the only thing the proud prince feared was the destruction of the Fae! She knew! And yet, such cruel words she had flung at him when she realized that he could look at the carnage left in the army's wake and approve.

Nuala felt his agony. She reached out to him through their link. Brother! she cried. Oh, Brother, come back! Come back and leave this hate behind. Let us go home, and things will be just as before. I know that I was harsh; please forgive me! Come back! I love you!

Nuada's resolve shook like a tree in a tempest. He could go back, be reunited with his family….. He had only to walk back across the field. He could go home, to the Golden Hall of Bethmoora, that place which held no small portion of his heart. It was within his power to do so. It would be so easy.

Nuada drew in a shaking breath. Ah, yes, it would be easy; but what would be the cost? Nuala had been wrong; nothing would ever return to the way it had been. No matter how hard he tried, he could never forget the atrocities done to his people by the greedy, selfish, evil race of men. How could he stand tall as a Prince of Fae if he abandoned his people now? How could he look into their eyes without shame if he did nothing to protect them? No. It could not be done. To know what is right and not do it would be the worst cowardice; and it would be wrong to return with his father and his sister and smile in the face of his people's death. It was now more than a matter of personal preference. It was a matter of loyalty, honor, and duty. And Nuada could not shirk that.

Nuala felt his heart harden again. No! she wailed. Please!

From across the field, Nuada met his sister's eyes one last time. I love you, dear Sister.

Nuala's heartbreak lanced through his chest. If you love me, stay!

Nuada barely restrained tears, his own and Nuala's. What value could my love ever have if it came from a dishonorable heart? I will see you again, when the right time has come. Out loud, his voice unyielding, speaking so that every Fae on the battlefield would hear, he said, "I will return when my people need me. I will return and end our suffering at men's hands."

So Nuada turned his back on his life as he had known it and took his first step as an exile. Feeling numb, as though he walked in a dream, Nuada swiftly made his way through the trees, tall and ancient. He did not know exactly where he was going; he just knew that he needed to get away from everything. For an indistinguishable period of time, he ran. Perhaps he would have continued thus forever; but eventually he heard a racket behind him. He stopped and listened, still slightly dazed. Branches snapped and undergrowth crackled as something large barreled its way through the forest toward him. It sounded like a bear. For a moment, Nuada wondered if it would attack him and force him to kill it. But no – the wind had shifted, fanning the scent of his pursuer across his face, and it was not a bear. The familiar smell of leathery hide, animal musk, and steel washed over him; and his knees almost gave way in relief.

About time! Mr. Wink grunted as he came into view. I thought you were never going to slow down. So – where are we heading?

Nuada could only stare mutely at the troll who had trained him, his only friend besides Nuala. Someone believed in him still. Wink had not abandoned him. He had come after him. He was coming with him. The companionship was a heady balm to his pain; the powerful knowledge that he wasn't entirely alone soothed the double sting of Balor and Nuala's rejection.

The prince reached out and tightly gripped the burly troll's arm. "My friend," he rasped – but his throat was too tight for him to continue.

Reading the wordless, fervent thanks in Nuada's eyes, Mr. Wink knew that, though the prince would never admit it, he was about to break. Of course, Wink wouldn't have minded – if anyone had the right to shed tears, it was Nuada. But Wink knew his friend well, and he knew that if Nuada lost control of his emotions in front of him, he would be ashamed. Since another emotional burden was the last thing Nuada needed, Wink distracted him. He clapped Nuada on the shoulder. Don't look so surprised to see me. You aren't the only one who disagrees with the king's decision. Whenever you do whatever it is you plan to do, you will have allies.

The diversion worked; the gears in Nuada's mind began turning again. He began to pace as he thought. "But will I have enough?"

Wink shrugged. That depends on what you want to do.

That, at least, Nuada knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. Heaven and earth could crumble, time itself could unravel; but the answer to that question would not change. The Crown Prince of Bethmoora stopped and stood straight, tall, and angry, the very picture of a passionate warrior. "I want to ensure the survival of the Fae and give them a prosperous future. I want to utterly exterminate the human race and restore our people to what was once theirs."

Mr. Wink noted the fire in Nuada's eyes and tone. Well, his hatred still burned hot. That was good – Nuada would need motivation in the days to come. You mean to continue the war against humanity? It wasn't really a question, and Wink continued without waiting for a response. Then, no, you do not have enough supporters. The entire realm of Fae will be divided between the desires for peace or for blood.

"And even if everyone were united," Nuada seamlessly picked up Mr. Wink's train of thought, pacing again, "the sheer number of Fae casualties would be overwhelming, just like it was before the Golden Army was created." He stilled again, and his eyes fixed in the direction from which he had come – toward the battlefield where he had left everything behind. "That's the answer, then," he murmured. "I must take control of the Golden Army." His black mouth pressed into a hard line, and he made a soft noise of contempt. "That would be a very interesting conversation," he ground out from between clenched teeth. "Can you imagine my walking back into Bethmoora after all this and asking, 'Father, I know we parted under unfavorable circumstances, but would you please let me borrow the Army?'?" Nuada laughed harshly, but Wink could detect the undertones of grief in the prince's voice. And Nuada didn't know the half of it. The troll winced a little at the thought of telling him what had transpired after he had left. Perhaps it could wait until tomorrow… But the elf's sharp eyes missed nothing, including that small cringe. Gold eyes snapped to his, intuition sparking in their depths. Too easily Nuada read the hesitation on Mr. Wink's face. "What are you not telling me?" he demanded suspiciously.

Nuada, Wink began, and floundered for a way to deliver this news. He decided on very gently. It's bad, he cautioned.

As rigid and expressionless as Nuada was, he could have passed for a statue. "Tell me," he said, his voice very smooth.

Mr. Wink was not fooled; he knew that the prince was at his most dangerous when he feigned calm. But still, Nuada had to know. Your father has made a treaty with the humans. As a part of the treaty, on piece of the crown was given to them. The man who took it rode away immediately, and I don't know where it was taken.

Nuada's face was whitish-grey, shocked. "He….. He gave them….." he whispered, unable to finish the dreadful sentence. Close on the heels of shock came fury, and Nuada once again went rigid. He turned sharply from Wink and took a few steps toward the massacred village he had left, as though he intended to chase after the piece at once. However, the futility of such a mission struck him – much time had passed since the piece had been taken; he had no idea where it had been taken; and, though Nuada was twice as fast as the swiftest human, he still could not outrun a horse – and he stopped. "He knew what I would plan to do," Nuada realized bitterly, speaking of his father. "He knew I would want to use the Army, so he made sure that, at the very least, I could not do so immediately." He turned back to Wink. "And the other two pieces?"

The king kept one, Wink replied. Then after wavering for a second, he added, And Nuala bears the other.

Despair and rage warred within the exile. As though the insult of giving one piece to a human had not been enough, Balor had also ensured that if Nuada wanted the other two pieces, he would have to harm those he loved most. For Nuada knew that neither his father nor his sister would willingly relinquish the pieces. He could take them by force if necessary – but even the thought of seeing Nuala hurt was like a knife in his chest. But still, he had to save his people, and thus he had to have the pieces….. And his thoughts raced on, going in circles.

Mr. Wink saved his sanity by laying a large hand on his shoulder and interrupting his pointless deliberation. Don't drive yourself mad, the troll suggested. We might be able to use this. We will search for the missing piece of the crown, and while we search, we give the Fae time. Let them see that the humans will fail to uphold their end of the treaty. Let them become enraged again. Gather more allies. Who knows – when the humans break the agreement, you might not have to do anything; your father might declare war himself.

Nuada barely smiled. He doubted that; his father had been deeply shaken by the Golden Army's indiscriminate slaughter. But the rest of Wink's plan was nearly perfect. His course decided upon, Nuada felt much better, focused. He was a warrior, after all – a man of action. With this new clarity of mind, he inspected his surroundings for the first time. Night had fallen. He and Mr. Wink were deep in the forest, at the feet of the mountains. At that exact moment, snow began to fall, kissing his face with feather-light coolness. He sighed softly, and cast his eyes around them once more, considering where to spend the night.

As luck would have it, there was a good sized cave nearby, big enough for even Mr. Wink to fit into. They entered it and sat, and Mr. Wink unshouldered a rather large pack. His hand disappeared into it and returned holding a few strips of dried meat and two pieces of bread. He handed half to Nuada. I didn't think you had brought anything to eat, he explained.

Nuada almost smiled in earnest this time. "You're right; I was too agitated to think of food when I left. Thank you."

He sat back against the wall of the cave and ate in silence. When he had finished, he lay down and closed his eyes; but there was a rock jutting into his back. He shifted into a more comfortable position and thought sarcastically, Home, sweet home. But he sobered instantly, for he knew that this was not his home. He no longer had a home.

Now that all was quiet and still, his buried sorrow rose to the surface again. Home, his father, Nuala….. All were out of his reach now, possibly forever. He felt one scalding tear slide down his face; and in his mind, he sought a happier time and place. When he eventually fell asleep, he dreamed of his childhood – of shouting, running, and playing with Nuala beneath the golden trees of Bethmoora.

Author's Note: Hello! Thanks for reading! Because I still feel bad for dropping my last story due to writer's block, I would like to assure everyone that this story will not be left unfinished because it is already done – I have already written all the chapters and will be posting them at regular intervals. Just so y'all know. Thanks again!