The Union of the Swords [Ode to Sange & Yasha], DOTA Fanfic

This is a short story inspired by a game I used to play in my younger years, the time I dreamt of elves, swords, archery and epic battles of good and evil. I did do a lot of editing to make the story a little more emotionally realistic. I hope you guys enjoy this piece and let me know what you think.

Credit: Steam, DOTA 2

THE UNION OF THE SWORDS

Prophecies of Yllana Daveed (eehl-yah-nah da-veed),

The Daughter of the Night

The thirst for revenge will be quenched by the birth of the Daughter in the Seventh Age,

The years of oppression from the Duma’a will be ended by Her irreverent binding to the Son

But first She will wage a war, greater than any had ever seen or shall ever see

She will break old oaths that have never been broken and will forge new ones in everlasting fire

Her life will bring tides of change long awaited and Her death shall be a blessing

Translations from the Prophecies of the Sun

Lady Touruk Shinaiah

High Priestess of the Mendai Clan

The Second Age of the Dark Elves

She stood high, her long silky black hair furies like a storm in the wind as she braves the edge of Mount Ha’el, the dwelling of the Jouna, the Woodland Elves who wield the power of the wind. Her eyes, gleaming green like the mires of the Misty Forest where she was raised, revealed nothing. Her skin, pale. Her mouth, pressed dry not having spoken for days. With the flick of a knife, she opened the tall glass window and walked into his dwelling.

"So you have returned?” The man sitting on the edge of the ruby and gold lacquered acacia bed at the far end of the dark room did not need to look behind him to recognize Yllana’s presence.

“Where is my sword? Where is my Sange?” His voice trembled as though containing a raging tempest in his chest.

“Ryndai, your Sange is no more. Tied to my blade, it is. Now it bears greater...power. These I call the Sansha.”

From her back, she drew a pair of swords, a little more than the full length of her arms, similar in design, one was the color of the sea and the other, the color of blood. She laid both at his feet, knelt and kept her head low. The blades revealed an inscription in the oldest Elven tongue.

She read it, “Tsutara Nei Obrei’a.”

“There is no other.” Had she not spoken the same words to him not long ago? A tear escaped his dark blue eyes.

The sword’s legendary powers can be wielded by no one else now but by Yllana. With his thumb, he raised her chin towards him. Examining her eyes, he sought to find a trace of remorse, not of her thievery, you see, but of another crime, a betrayal not at all common among the immortal. And now, captured by her gaze, he felt a familiar feeling…of three sunsets ago.

“A distant memory…” He muttered. He quickly stood up and turned towards the door, his best effort at shaking off anymore unwelcome words from escaping his mouth.

“Your crime is punishable by death. The Sange is not mine to keep. It is the Jouna’s and our honor has been tarnished. You may leave in peace, but should our eyes meet again, your soul shall rest with your mothers.”

A deafening silence filled the almost empty room. How unusual were the footsteps of another in his dwelling until three sunsets ago when Lady Yllana Daveed of the Lost Lands swore her love to him. For a short time, the room became a haven for the restless Dark Elf…a place where words not too carelessly spoken warmed her heart.

“There must be a reason for your return. Speak fast else you may soon possess another blade…in your gut that is.”

She had no illusions. Oblivious to the momentary weakness of one she used to call ‘lover and friend’, she stood up, returning the blue sword back to its scabbard and the red she hid behind her right thigh. And in the manner of a bond slave, silently and unnoticed, she approached him.

The next moment their eyes met as he swiftly turned as if to face a foe. His eyes were furious, but she kept at the same pace, careful not to raise the hidden sword on her side. They were no farther than a breath apart when she finally stopped. No longer than a moment passed when he soon felt the warmth of blood dripping to his toes.

Yllana had pressed the sharpness of the sword with her right palm against his. She knelt before him and kissed the blood, marking an oath.

“I swear by my mothers that before my last breath is gone, a Sange shall lie on your lap, your honor and the Jouna’s honor will be restored. Until then I am bound to you, High King Ryndai Wanhana of the Jouna of the North.”

Without further hesitation, he pulled her hand towards his back, leaned towards her and embraced her passionately, causing her to drop the blade once called the Sange. The whole time he was pressing her wound to keep it from bleeding, all the while forgetting his own.

“So shall it be, Lady Yllana Daveed of the Lost Lands. The binding will last until one of us dies and until the promise is fulfilled. Until then, I will know what you know. I will feel what you feel. Your every joy and your every pain mine to keep.”

The ceremony of duty, Obrei’a Nomal as it was called, the binding of the lovers, a sacred ritual performed only a decade after a betrothal, was fulfilled in pious sacrilege. For almost four thousand years, the ritual had not been done among the Jouna.

There were few betrothals among the Woodland Elves, you see, but none in this age desired to fulfill the ritual for it is followed by the act of breeding. The Jouna’s apathy for the decadent world left them with little desire to produce offspring who could see a worse age, if that were possible.

Suddenly, a rush of blood flowed through Ryndai’s veins.

So this is what it’s like to be bound to another. He thought to himself.

“So...you are she…and...you plan to lead the Dark Elves to war against the Duma’a of the East?” Her thoughts are too difficult to consume all at once, but she made sure those would be the first he would learn about her. He slumped back, his weight on the floor and his palms grasped his forehead as he took in all her memories, thoughts and emotions. It was no ordinary blood after all. It was the blood of the Daughter of the Night, red as the moon on the night they were betrayed by the Duma’a and red as the anguish of betrayal and the lust for revenge passed on from her mothers.

For a moment, in excitement his thoughts lingered, inspected and explored the mind and the heart that are now fully known to him. He looked straight into her eyes and wondered.

So she did…his gaze never left hers.

In a way, I did…she answered back with her thoughts.

For a while, they were once again quiet. He smiled at her faintly. Their bond has deepened and there is no going back. She is his, whether she’ll have him or not.

So you are stronger than I...He thought seeing her completely unmoved by the rush of memories, though he was at least 2,000 years older.

Yllana, victory is far from your grasp. Your numbers are few and their sorcerers shall murder you by the hundreds. My people may…may forgive your betrayal if you would allow them to know who you are. Grant me this. Hide in the Courts of Dakel for forty sunsets until I convince the elders to come to the aid of your sisters. Ask.

“You speak as though there is yet secrecy in my heart. There…” His affections echoing in her mind momentarily interrupted her resolve. She continued.

“There is no honor should the blood of the Duma’a fill the earth at the cost of what is left of the Jouna. Your people are no longer warriors and your numbers have waned. Your women have little desire to bear, your men are few and I have taken more than I can afford from your people. I shall judge the demon that sits on the throne of my mother and I shall take back the Stones of Reckoning. Then, the plagues that roam the land shall cease and peace shall once again reign in our time. Perhaps then, the Jouna will find a reason to conceive once again. By the blood running through my veins, I shall fulfill the prophecies and right the evils of the past.”

If there were oceans of tears, he would have cried them. Yllana has after all declared her love, not only for him, but also for his kin. But he held back to honor her courage.

“Worry not Ryndai Wanhana of the Jouna, my death shall be a blessing to you too.” Picking up the blood-stained blade from the ground, she smiled faintly as she made her way backwards from whence she came, in the manner of a bond slave. She stood on the balustrades still facing the High King. Her dark green cloak flapped violently in the raging wind. She bowed her head as her bloodied right hand beat her chest, a royal farewell among the Woodland Elves.

Suddenly, he strode towards her. The light revealed his long, pale face, sharpened at the jaws. Ears and brows pointed towards the temple. He was about a feet taller than Yllana. His long sun-kissed hair fluttered in the rush of air. His face, they say, resembled the Great Elves of the First Age, creatures of beauty and grace. He was a royalty of royalties.

“The sun will set soon, your majesty. I must…”

“Return.” He interrupted not so much as a request, but as a decree.

“I shall.” She lifted her head slightly and their faces met. His cheeks revealed a warmth he hid so well in the darkness.

"Calm." He smiled faintly. It was not so much a command to the raging wind that quickly died as it was to his raging heart.

And with a smirk, Yllana leaped backwards from the balcony descending heights from the castle’s mountainside. She knows what she has to do. She must now go where the sun rises. She must go to the Land of the Duma’a.

As a messenger, she came to the Lands of the Gonai,

Came here She did, to steal one of the sword of three 

Then, with the setting of sun, the Daughter shall break the curse of the Gonai

As a thief She will leave, not of the sword She stole, 

But of the Heart that will be Hers forever…

The Prophecy of the Union of the Swords is fulfilled…