Larae whimpered, arms wrapped around her swollen stomach. The babe
inside of her should not have desired to come into this world for
another six weeks, but the trauma of the sword pointed to her throat
had forced her body into premature birth.
"What's going on in here?" A man appeared in the doorway. Larae
fought back a scream as the contractions clutched her body, and then
again as she saw who the man was.
It was Commander Tarn Pendragon, a man forever seen at the head of a
recently conquering army.
"We captured her, sir. Her husband is the leader of the rebels," the
solider, who's sword was still pointed at her throat, informed him.
Tarn removed his helmet, ears twitching. He crossed the room and
knelt by Larae, intent upon questioning her, but seeing the beads of
sweat rolling down her forehead and the way she clutched her stomach,
looked up in anger at the solider. "She's in birth!"
"I know sir," the solider said, a cruel glint in his eye. "Should we
kill the child too?"
Larae gasped and reached out, clawing at Tarn's arm. She knew he had
murdered countless men, women and children. She knew he was
heartless, and she knew he would cause her death, but she need
him. "Help me, please!" she cried.
Tarn looked at her for a moment in pity, then put his hands on her
stomach, pressing down gently. "The child lays awkwardly, I will need
to cut." Larae nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. Tarn smiled at
her and stroked her hair. "I'm not going to hurt you" he said
softly, "at least not by choice."
"You're a murderer," Larae gasped, before screaming and gripping at
his hand. Tarn turned away from her and pulled a wooden spoon from
his bag. Larae had never thought such practical things would be
carried by a man of such legend and fear.
"Bite down on this." Before she could protest, he had jammed the
spoon between her teeth. She thought of asking what it was used for,
but she understood as Tarn pulled a dagger from his boot. He sliced
through her dress and petticoats. Finally, he incised her skin.
Larae's teeth clenched onto the spoon. She squeezed her eyes shut and
imagined herself back in her husband's arms, trying to focus on that,
rather than the excruciating pain. Tarn cut again, deeper. The agony
was too great. With a final scream, darkness overtook her.
She awoke to a wavering cry and opened her eyes. She beheld the most
unbelievable sight ever. Commander Tarn was wiping blood from the
baby. He was gazing at it as if it were the most precious thing in
the universe, while the babe cooed softly.
"You have a beautiful baby, little mother" Tarn said, unwilling to
give the baby to her. He'd never felt such joy from looking at
anything before. It overwhelmed him. The new-born's eyes, that should
have been blue, blinked large, green, and unfocused at him. Small
copper tufts of what would one day be hair, littered her crown. Tiny
toes and fingers curled and clutched at his uniform and hands.
Larae reached up for her baby, and Tarn placed it in her hands. He
moaned, as if in pain, when the contact was severed. The woman looked
the child over in horror. "A girl! A worthless girl!" she howled.
Tarn snatched the baby from her hands, a look of revulsion on his
face. "Die in peace woman!" he snarled. "I would not leave this child
in your care." Standing, he turned to the speechless soldier, who
soluted him immediately. "Cut her throat," Tarn said quietly. Larae
screamed, but her cries of redemption fell on deaf ears. Tarn and the
child had already disappeared through the door.

Outside it was the dead of winter. Cold snow piled in drifts around
his feet, and even the burning of the village did little to warm the
air. The child in his arms, with only her naked skin to protect her,
began to cry in earnest. Tarn balanced her in one arm, while he
unhooked the chain of his cloak. He draped it around the baby,
folding it up until she was snug and warm.
The babe stopped crying and latched one trembling hand around his
thumb. She pulled it insistently to her mouth and began sucking on
it. Tarn chuckled and removed his thumb from her clutches. "I am not
a woman little one. In the next town I'll buy you a wet nurse." The
baby screwed up it's face at this, and stubbornly began to suckle
again. Tarn laughed once more, but this time made no move to stop
her. The child seemed to take comfort in this.
"What do you have, my lord?" Tarn jumped in surprise, a look of
horror on his face. His second in command, Veldrin, looked at him
critically, then down at the child in his arms.
"Don't dirty your hands with the blood, sir. I can do that." The tone
of anticipation in Veldrin's voice repulsed Tarn more than the words
he had said.
"Don't you dare touch her," he snapped, shoving away Veldrin's hand.
All mirth had gone from his second's voice when he spoke again. "I
had forgotten. Elves do not like to see the killings."
Tarn gritted his teeth. "I am 'not' an elf," he hissed, but his ears
twitched.
"No?" Veldrin smiled. Tarn could smell the arrogance he wore like a
perfume. "You're an illegitimate half-blood. A bastard, whose fool
elf mother was unwise enough to stray far from her home in a time of
war."
Tarn blanched and felt his blood boil. He had told Veldrin the story
of his conception in confidence. That trust was now paraded up and
down like a defeated leader, something Tarm now knew himself to be.
He had believed he had gained a friend, and in doing so, had given
himself a weakness. It had only been a matter of time.
Veldrin was speaking again, but Tarn only caught the end of his
speech.
"And now, brought low by a baby with out a name. You're not fit to be
in charge of an army."
"And you would take over? You haven't got the 'balls' for my job!"
But even as he said it, Tarn was aware of his grip slipping away. The
power he held over his men was dying, and all because of a newborn.
He had only one chance at escape. If Veldrin did seize power from
him, as was inevitable now, then the first thing he would do would be
to have Tarn eliminated. Unbuttoning the front of his shirt, Tarn
cradled the baby inside, and rebuttoned it. Then, he turned away from
Veldrin, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"You relinquish power?" Veldrin sounded surprised.
Tarn smiled to himself and lowered his hands. He could hear the sound
of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. Ignoring all other sounds
around him, even the beating of his own heart, Tarn waited. He was
fixated upon the sound of footsteps behind him, judging the right
time to turn. Veldrin lurched backwards, clutching his broken nose.
Tarn smiled grimly at him, throwing the man's sword at his feet. "My
elven blood can be put to good use, when needed."
Veldrin was glaring at him, but Tarn took no notice. He looked up
into the eyes of his men, noticing for the first time, a mutiny in
the air around him. Panicking, Tarn looked about him wildly. He
played with the idea of running, but arrows would have cut him down
before he made the safety of the wood behind him.
A horse, held by one of his men, was his eventual means of escape.
Bolting right and to the horse, Tarn swung one leg up and over the
horse's back, kicking away it's owner with the other. Tarn gripped
the reins with both hands, and prodded the beast's flanks. The animal
took off, galloping at breakneck speed. Arrows flew past his head,
one nicking the top of his pointed ear.
But Tarn and his precious bundle made it safely to the cover of the
forest.
The ground was frozen, icy cold from the weather. Branches
clutched at him and unloaded their snowy burden upon him, not
unlike the dying mother who's babe he had taken for his own.
Unearthly light danced between red and gold leaves, dappling the
forest floor in colorless brightness. The frost covered plants,
trampled under foot, cracked and rustled, loud in the foreboding
stillness. The infinite quiet was broken only by the pounding of
hooves and the harsh breathing of both horse and rider.

Realising no one had followed him, Tarn pulled on the reins, slowing
the horse to a stop. It stood, tossing its head; breath crystallizing in the chill air.
Tarn unbuttoned his shirt and lifted out the baby,
who blinked sleepily at him, completely unaware of what had just
happened to her.
"Hello, sweetheart," he crooned softly, looking at her in a new
light. This little one had caused him to desert his own army,
ludicrously so, and had probably made him a wanted man. Yet, looking
into the baby's bright green eyes, he couldn't care less. All he felt
was the need to protect her.
If he had been listening to what was going on around him, instead of
concentrating on the baby, he would have heard the devious shadow
that crept up behind him. Distracted as he was, he only knew another
was there with him when a sword was placed against his neck.
"Hand over the child and I shan't hurt you," a rough voice said.
Tarn swallowed but clutched tightly at the baby. "And what right do
you have to demand her?" he asked. He thought to stall the sword and
its owner until he could come up with a plan.
"I am the babe's father."
Tarn turned slowly, to look into the same green eyes as the baby's.
These eyes did not fill him with joy and life, rather they filled him
with a cold unsettling. Arvandor, the rebel leader, look astonished
to see his enemy sitting astride a worn out war horse, cradling his
baby daughter. But then, Tarn reasoned this was not any everyday
occurrence. "Kill me quickly and shield the child from my death," he
said promptly.
Arvandor shook his head in bewilderment. "I will not kill you.
Although I cannot deny that my heart has greatly desired your death
for quite sometime. You have brought me my daughter. I will not kill
a man who would save my kin."
Tarn sighed, and handed the child to her father. He fought against
the sadness in his heart as she was lifted from his arms. Arvandor
turned to leave, and was almost lost between the trees when Tarn
called to him. "Tell me, please, what you mean to call her!"
"Vixen," came back a voice on the wind.