Haraldur’s reaction to her brief discussion with her guards did not faze Vega in the slightest. She watched as they left, shortly after Alster, and smiled. But there was no malice in it, not when she turned it from Haraldur. “Alster is sympathetic. But sometimes, sympathy and kindness is not enough to persuade people.” She explained, as though it made logical sense. “And I know the strong will of a warrior when I see one. And if she is, in fact, related to you--then I think nothing less of being brought back here by authorities.” The Skyknight raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to challenge that statement. Of course, he could not.
“Besides, asking her to merely attend the festivities is no great favor.” She went on, waving her hand in a flippant motion. “I am not even going to tell her she must dance. If she wants to sulk in the corner, then that is her choice. But she will be here. If you are present in Eyraille during spring Equinox, then you become part of the celebration. No exceptions.”
To no one’s surprise, when at last the blonde warrior arrived, the princess gave her an earful. Sigrid appeared too shocked to react; she had seen the colder side of Vega’s personality, but never the authoritarian side. It occurred to her that what the guards had said about her Highness might be true; and for that, the Dawn warrior was glad that she’d decided not to welcome the consequences of noncompliance.
Mercifully, Alster made well on his suggestion to drink, and was eager to lead her to the libations table. Gratefully, she accepted the goblet that he handed to her, though looked rather dazed, as if she wasn’t entirely aware as to what was happening around her. The entire room was an overstimulating prison of colors and sounds that dredged up memories she’d bee trying to bury. Looking out upon the dance floor, she spotted a woman with dark chestnut hair, dancing with a man dressed in shades of green and gold. The sway of her hips as she danced… it all looked tantalizingly familiar. Sigrid went to take a sip from her goblet, but her throat suddenly felt too tight to swallow.
“I…” She cleared her throat. “I will still accompany you to Stella D’Mare, Alster. I do not intend to break that promise. After this visit, I’m sure that I am adequately prepared to meet your Chara Rigas. So she is Lilica’s lover?” A small, unstable smile touched her lips. “So that is the solution. If you hold power, then no one questions who you might be attracted to. A shame I never had that kind of power… even Gaolithe will not change my standing.”
Turning her attention on Alster, she mentioned, on the topic of power, “You are someone who I would trust, in power. Questions others to your liking, but I do not lend aid to just anyone; the Dawn Guard does not blindly offer aid. One wields power responsibly by taking others into account, which is precisely what you do. Although… I am sorry if I cannot quite agree with you that any of this is a ‘reprieve’.” She shook her head sadly. “It reminds me too much of moments I’d rather forget.”
Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of an elegant older woman, clad in shades of green and pink. Flowers were woven into her long, white hair, and she greeted Alster with a smile. “Alster. I was so hoping I’d find you here.” Alta chuckled, drawing the young Rigas caster into a hug. “It just happens to be luck that I found you in this flourishing crowd. And you happen to look quite dapper, yourself. If you don’t mind that I am not as spry in my dancing as I was when I was your age, then I’d be much obliged. In the spirit of spring.”
The two Rigas casters joined the mass of other dancers in their own merry footwork. Grandmother Alta, contrary to her claims, was actually quite light on her feet, and followed quite gracefully with Alster’s lead. When at last the dance came to an end, the two were approached by none other than the Green Spirit, himself. Delight danced in the elder woman’s eyes. “Ah, Haraldur. Or, Spirit of the Earth, as you are this evening.” She clasped his hand warmly. “You play the role well. And, indeed, you seem to be catching the eyes of more than one young lady, tonight; don’t let on to her Highness, however.” She winked, accepting the wreath with relish. “It must be the kohl around your eyes. It brings out the their stony blue. Nary a woman can resist eyes like those. The princess is a lucky woman.”
While the librarian and Haraldur engaged in polite conversation, between dancers, yet another eager dancer tapped Alster on the shoulder, now that he was not occupied. Cwenha stood before him, clad in shimmering, gauzy shades of pale seafoam green, white, and silver. Her pale white hair was curled and tousled wildly, and sprinkled with the glitter she donned for her performances. Tiny, jeweled stars dotted the corners of her eyes, matching the tiny, crystal studs in her earlobes.
“Alster--that is your name, isn’t it?” She asked, quirking a brow at his sudden surprise and amazement as he realized who was addressing him. “I was wondering if you wanted to dance. After everything that you have done for us--for Briery, and our troupe… when nobody else would. You didn’t even hesitate to heal her lesions. And while I am sure the other two healers had a heavy hand in developing that last tonic you delivered earlier this evening, there is no hope in hell that I would ask him for a dance.” She nodded her head toward Elias, who stood near Daphni among an array of other dancers. “I highly doubt he would agree or see it as a gesture of gratitude. But… I do want to express my gratitude to you. And I didn’t think you say no.”
Her heart-shaped lips curled into a grin, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I remember you said you had a fiancee. I don’t mean to encroach on forbidden territory; just a harmless, innocent dance. I am quite good at dancing, actually. And I’d be happy to show you, if you’ll let me.”
After a brief pause, Alster accepted her offer to dance, and the entertainer swept him up in a merry jaunt that was liable to leave him breathless and winded, if he was at all able to keep up with her quick, graceful, and fluid strides.
Meanwhile, upon realizing that they were some of the only people not dancing, Daphni took Elias’s hand. “We’ve been standing around for long enough,” she told him, gently furrowing her eyebrows. “Won’t you dance with me? It isn’t difficult; and it will make you look like less of a sullen fool. Come on.”
Drawing him close, the Sybaian healer coaxed him into a simple, four-step ballroom dance, similar to what Alster had been teaching Haraldur and Sigrid. The Clematis healer was stiff and reluctant, at first, but it did not take long for him to learn the steps and loosen up, even just a little. For what little effort he was putting into it, it was enough to make her smile. “I don’t know if it is the joy being felt in this kingdom, the spirit of this festival, or the fact that we managed to help that entertainment troupe--that we changed that woman’s life for the better, in such a great way. But I feel… I am feeling ridiculously optimistic. And hopeful.” One hand on his shoulder, she leaned in, so as to keep their conversation between the two of them. “I am hopeful for us--for our future. Because I think that there is one for us, regardless of the condition of my health. But… just because I am hopeful, does not mean I am patient. Or stupid enough to be naive.”
The two of them swayed to the tempo of the music, and despite Elias’s robes, which stood out like a beacon of the colors of spring, they blended well among the mass of other revelers, dancing the night away. “Despite what you think of her mother, she is working in earnest on my behalf… of our behalf. I don’t know that she will be successful in whatever she is looking for, but if she s anywhere near as intelligent and observant as you, then I believe in her. It will take time, though, to find the kind of solution that she seeks… and that I need. And I don’t want to put my life and our future on hold for this. I want to live my life now, With you.”
A sort of serenity befell Daphni’s face as her eyes met Elias’s. There wasn’t a trace of weakness or fatigue in it, not right now. “I’ve been thinking about the card reading Briery did for me. It is likely that she was merely telling me what I wanted to hear… but it did not seem that way. I did not sense any deception in her. And it made me think, so… I’ve come to a conclusion. I want our future now. I want to try, now… to work toward having a child.” Her hands slid from his shoulders to either side of his neck as Daphni searched his face. For shock, for understanding, for some sort of indication that her request had registered. Anything. “Can we, Elias?” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Can we try?”
Since Alster had taken her to the libations table, Sigrid hadn’t moved from where she stood, even since the Rigas caster had left to actually participate in the revelries. All the same, she hadn’t yet refilled her glass, still sipping on the wine poured for her. Truth be told, she wasn’t used to drinking in any vast quantities. Every time she took a long, drawn out sip, it burned her throat, but the more she consumed, the less her surroundings bothered her. And the less it bothered her when Haraldur, dressed in green and glittered and with an armful of wreaths, finally approached her.
“You know, if I had known the bite that woman packed, I never would have ventured to tease her like I did.” She confessed, at Haraldur’s apology on Vega’s behalf. “You certainly have your hands full. I am not sure what the consequences would have been, had I refused.” A humorless chuckle shook her shoulders. “You know, I don’t often partake in alcohol. I don’t like that it makes me feel less in control of my faculties and decisions. But I can see why people can take to it so easily. It makes all of the things that bother you not seem so pressing… With a little more of this, I don’t think I’ll mind being here so much.”
There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to prepare her for the surge of emotion that accompanied what he said next. She looked at the hand he’d extended, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with it. Slowly, with her free hand, she accepted it, clasping it lightly with her own. “My name is Sigrid Sorenson. It is my real name, and it is about the only real thing I know about myself. I don’t remember my real family, but my new family is in Braighdath, among the Dawn Guard. Also, I find myself attracted to women.” The corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly. It was the first bit of humour she’d displayed all evening. “Recently, I came into possession of a cursed or enchanted sword that chose me as its wielder. It killed one of my brothers; I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with it. So I thought that by reconnecting with something that I had lost… that somehow, my life would make more sense. That I would be able to invest in an identity other than the one I adopted in Braighdath.”
Her eyes turned sad, and she dropped his hand. “But I did so, without any regard for what you wanted, or how that would affect you. It wasn’t fair to you, and you were right to say to me what you did. I suppose… there is a part of me that isn’t satisfied by my current situation. My family among the Dawn Guard is very formal, believe it or not. There are few, if any, jokes among us.” Sigrid shifted uneasily on her feet, looking down at her glass of wine. “I just wondered if there could be more for me, out there, than what I had. I wanted to know what it felt like, being born into something--part of a bloodline, instead of earning a place in it. It wasn’t right of me to put it on you, though. I am sorry, Haraldur.”
She looked down at their hands, uncertainty crossing her features, which were tinted slightly pink from the alcohol. “I have enough brothers in arms; I wanted a brother by blood. So I… I don’t know what I can be to you. But at the very least, I will be your comrade. I will help you and Alster in Stella D’Mare, because I have resolved to do so. So whatever it is you need from me, I will be there for you, before the time comes that I must return to Braighdath. I don’t know if what I have, there, is ideal; but it is all that I know, and all that I can reasonably ask for. Until then…” She breathed out and forced a smile. “If my being here is enough to placate Vega, then I will stick it out, with a little help from this wine. But don’t hold off and second guess yourself; you have something important to do tonight.” She nodded in Vega’s direction. “Don’t pass it up.”
Taking Grandmother Alta’s hand with the prosthesis he removed from its sling (as he wanted to use it more often), Alster led his partner to the dance floor. But first, he drained his goblet of wine, and slid it on the far end of the discard table. “I haven’t had anything to drink since the last party I attended,” he confessed to the matronly librarian. “I made a drunken fool of myself dancing, if I remember. Let’s hope I haven’t compromised my precarious balance already. It’s enough, having to retrain myself on how to walk with this weight pulling me towards the earth.” He raised his steel arm, which gripped her hand with a tender amount of pressure.
Daphni couldn’t have been more delighted at Elias’s agreement, to help he realize that wish which had been weighing on her for some time, now; ever since they had brought it up as a possibility. She also couldn’t be more amused at the way in which he responded. As if this was yet another project that they were pursuing together, and not an act that truly secured them as a couple. But of course Elias would see it this way. The man could not turn a blind eye to logic, even in tender situations that should be handled with great care.
“I don’t want to wait for us to find a solution to extend my life. Who knows what could happen; the chance might pass us up altogether.” It was always a possibility, one of which the both of them were keenly aware, but she did not let it overwhelm her. “I want a child. I want that opportunity. And should anything ever happen to me… I want you to always have a piece of me. Of something that we made, together.”
Happy as she was at the Clematis healer’s agreement and his forward thinking, it was all the Sybaian healer could do not to roll her eyes. She tried not to take offense to his lack of eagerness to engage in anything intimate, knowing him the way that she did. Everything was always so methodical; a means to an end. But… it did not always have to be that way. And that was something that she desperately hoped he would learn. “I want to do this. And I want to do this with you, specifically.” She told him, barely noticing that they’d ceased their dancing to hold one another, their proximity so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. “But this is not the same as pursuing a scholarly endeavor. If we conceive a child, then it must be conceived out of love, or care for one another, and for it. There is a reason unplanned pregnancies are taboo among the Sybaia. A deeply-engrained belief that one conceived without a thought given to its life will grow up ‘broken’, or incapable of fully controlling or understanding its own emotions. Say what you want about that superstition… but I want my child to know life out of care, and not duty.”
Nonetheless, he did have a point; there was a small window of opportunity or any woman to become pregnant. Fortunately, she had always been blessed with relatively regular lunar cycles, and a good understanding of her own body. Something for which she felt all the more grateful, knowing what she did now. “You will forever be an enigma to me, Elias; while I can read your aura like anyone else’s, I may never know exactly what love means to you. But I would like to try to understand. And, if it satisfies your need for planning…” Daphni chuckled and shook her head. “I am due to menstruate in a little over two weeks from now. If that helps you plan and calculate days. But I also know my body well enough to know the approximate time when I am ovulating. Those times, I become particularly more sensitive to sadness and joy. That said… our first window of opportunity falls within the next week, or so. And I have no doubt that you’ve stumbled across a method or two to encourage fertility.”
Smiling, she gently tugged his shoulders forward, and drew him into a gentle kiss. “You realize that we do not have to wait for the ‘opportune time’ to practice.” Her shoulders shook with a suppressed chuckle. “I don’t know about you, but this is very new territory, for me. It might take some time to figure out.”
With all of that possibility out in the open, likely overwhelming the Clematis healer, he was about to be even more overwhelmed. At a break in their conversation, a familiar figure approached the two healers. But this time, she was dressed in swaths of duocromatic green that flashed with shades of blue, in the right light. “Good evening, healers.” Briery Frealy greeted the two, smiling beatifically. Her brunette locks were curled and looked to have been painted with streaks of shocking gold. “I trust the two of you are enjoying the fesitivities, this evening?”
“Indeed, some of us are. And some of us are trying.” Daphni chuckled, referring of course to stubborn Elias. “You look particularly lovely tonight, Briery. How are you faring?”
“Well, if I was in any pain, you can bet I wouldn’t be here.” The acrobat told them. “I feel fine. Beyond fine, in fact, I am full of energy and eager to celebrate. And I was hoping I might have a dance, with one of the people who changed my life for the better; saved it, even, for all intents and purposes. Cwenha already seems to be thanking Alster in the best way that she can.” She chuckled, nodding her head toward the white-haired singer, and he bewildered yet joyous Rigas caster, as they swayed in a fast-paced dace. “I would love for nothing more if you would have a dance with me, Elias. Rest assured, I will not move my feet so exuberantly as Cwenha; I do know how to tread slowly. That is, if you do not mind?” She looked to Daphni, whose proximity to Elias suggested that their relationship was more than professional.
Daphni just smiled and took a step away to convey her answer. “Not at all. Elias would be delighted to have a dance with you, Briery.” She reassured the ringleader, before arching an eyebrow at the Clematis healer. “Wouldn’t you? Just one dance is not the end of the world. After tonight, you are free to return to your sullen, stubborn ways.”
Perhaps it was the feeling of the alcohol in her blood, bringing color to her face and heat to her bellow. But Haraldur’s words left Sigrid feeling unrefutably… warm. A smile, a real one, graced her face as he spoke to her in earnest. So they were not so far apart from their own, persoal endeavors and desires, after all. She wanted a brother… a real brother, by blood as well as by spirit. And he… he wanted a sister. Someone who tied him to Klara. Sigrid was perhaps the only real candidate to fulfill that wish. Which meant that she was wanted; she belonged somewhere, to someone, to a bloodline, old and far-away as it might have seemed. But it felt no less significant.
“It is a good thing that you are not at a deficit of humour; because I am not at a deficit of jokes.” She teased, shaking her head. “But I know well enough for the future that I will not involve Vega in them. I have a feeling my life might depend on it. I really do not want to know what happens, should I cross that woman.”
As the crowd beyond began to call for the prime Spirit of the evening, the Dawn warrior chuckled and raised her goblet ot Haraldur. “Sounds like your adoring crowd awaits.” She said to him, reaching forward to squeeze his shoulder as she raised her wine goblet to him. “I am not used to drinking in large quantities; but I think tonight warrants more than one glass,” she said. “So, I will oblige and have one in your honour. And in Vega’s. The night might still be young, but it is not eternal.”
Of course, he knew exactly what she meant by that, and he did not take the reminder lightly. The crowd beyond was saying his name, his title, over and over, as well as Vega’s. Wind and Green Spirit were summoned to the very center of the ballroom, to engage in the traditional dance that took place beween them each and every year. In the past, Vega had danced with knights and Skyknights or other palace officials who had assumed the role of the Green Spirit. But this would be the first time that it would ever mean something more than tradition. This… this was going to be special. Memorable, because she had planned it to be.
And, evidently, she was not the only one with such a plan in mind.
The crowd died down to a hush as the Green Spirit, instead of taking the Wind into his embrace, fell to one knee. Vega’s heart about stopped, knowing exactly what was happening. Knowing exactly what was in the tiny, ornate wooden box that he presented her, before he even opened it. Beautiful roc feathers, form delicated from layers of gold, glittered in the golden light of the ballroom. Haraldur’s words rang and echoed in her ears, in tandem with her racing heart… but she could not give him an answer. Not just yet. Not before the Wind, itself, took to a knee before the Green Spirit.
Reaching into her billowing robes, the Eyraillian princess presented her own small wooden box. It looked larger in her hands that Haraldur’s did in his. “I believe… that the real queston is,” she hesitated, her hands unstedy as they opened the tiny box, “is, will the Green Spirit belong to the Wind? Forever?”
Another ring caught the light of the elaborate chandeliers. This one was slightly less intricate than that which Haraldur offered her, but no less meaningful in the symbolism it bore. Upon a flat, gold surface was carved a beautiful tree; one strikingly similar to the one carved upon the pendant that Haraldur had once worn for so long. The last and final gift from his mother, which she had not seen in his possession for quite some time, now. Perhaps he had lost it back at the Tadasuni encampment, among the war and chaos that had ensued. Regardless, Vega knew that it was a symbol he was not likely to forget anytime soon… and one that he deserved to keep close to his heart. The princess could not have thought of anything that would touch him more.
Stella D’Mare, meanwhile, was not making so merry, and neither was Elespeth. The Atvanian warrior had called an early night, as she often did, of late, lying upon her cot in her tent. Fortuantely for her, the weather in Stella D’Mare was always rather mild, and she hadn’t any need to worry about catching a chill. But it was only a small comfort to counter the loneliness she suffered as she awaited Alster’s return. He had said that he would be there soon, but… soon had been a week ago. And while he continued to keep in touch, she only continued to grow more and more impatient.
That said, she kept the resonance stone close, always. Not once had she reached out to him through it; not because she hadn’t wanted to. There was not a day or moment that passed that she longed to hear his voice or see him in her dreams. But he had been called to Eyraille out of urgency, and she did not want to interrupt whatever business had required his help. He contacted her whenever he could, and that was enough, though she was ashamed to admit that she looked forward to hearing his voice from that stone…
She was drifting when that smooth, precious rock vibrated with resonance in her hand, where she clutched it. Sitting upright, she struggled to understand the voices coming through it, but it sounded like a crowd. “Alster?” She asked, over and over. “What is happening? What is going on? Alster, are you alright?”
Finally, his voice came through in earnest, and her heart fluttered with relief. “You are… you have been drinking?” It was impossible to filter the incredulousness from her voice. “What is this about, Alster? What are all of those voices?”
Suddenly, everything went quiet, and she heard the distinct voices of Haraldur… and Vega. And her heart swelled when she realized what was going on.
“...Alster.” She breathed a laugh, tears gathering in her eyes. She stared at the ring on her hand, and her throat suddenly felt tight. She couldn’t tell if it was out of joy or longing. “Are they… are they proposing? To one another?” It wouldn’t surprise her. Not knowing the two of them like she did. Haraldur, and Vega… they belonged together, sacredly. And this was the future that they deserved. “I wish I was there.” She breathed into the smooth surface of the stone. “I want to be there.”
“I know that you want our...arrangement to hold more meaning,” Elias said, their proximity so close, he felt the slime of perspiration form from beneath the wreath that Vega had ordered him to wear. Rational as he was, he could not attribute the perspiration only to the heat of their skin almost touching each other. His palms, too, were sweaty, his upper lip glistening in a narrow patch. Triggered, no doubt, by his nerves, he focused, or at least attempted to focus, on his words, and not the affection that pooled in Daphni’s eyes, or the gentle rubbing of her hands over his arms. “And it does. It will. That is part of the process, among...healthy couples who harbor a suitable amount of regard for each other. Which...we do.” Hearing that his speech was faltering with every attempted explanation over their forthcoming union, he lowered his head to his feet, and began to move them in time with the waltz, again.
“Elias.” He was right not to look at her. The Sybaian healer’s face portrayed a healthy mix of amusement, disbelief, and quiet frustration. It was all she could do not to laugh and cry at the same time. Never in her life did she think she would ever witness a man, however inexperienced, say that he must resort to scholarly texts before he was confident to become intimate with a woman. Of course, it if had to be anyone, it would be Elias St. Rain. “Elias, you are overthinking this to an exaggerated degree. I am Sybaian. You do understand what that means, don’t you? I feel what others are feeling to a palpable, visceral degree. Their sadness becomes my own; their joy becomes my own. Just how difficult do you think that it will be for me to experience pleasure? Especially if you can find a way to experience it for yourself--which, if you are in fact not unlike every other biologically-sound make in existence, I imagine should not be difficult.” She arched a suggestive eyebrow at him, but he was not looking at her to acknowledge.
“Finding out what one another likes--that is part of the fun. You’re a healer; you know male and female bodies better than others know themselves. You have already got the basics down. Everything else is delightfully ambiguous, and that is precisely what draws people to the act. Besides,” she couldn’t help but grin, “for some people, you could study textbooks for hours, and still fail to make them feel what they want to feel. Everyone is unique, and their uniqueness is what makes them sensual. If you go into this as a scholar, then you are going into it wrong. So approach it as a human, with wants, and needs. Appeal to your body instead of your mind, and you will find the answers.”
Daphni’s gentle smile took on a rather playful and frisky quality. “And if after all of that, you are still confused and bewildered… then ask me what I like. No one ever goes into this knowing everything. Though I guarantee, that if you are worried about what my experience might entail, then let me assure you it won’t be an impossible endeavor. Or even a difficult one, at that.”
Though she would never tell him, for fear of embarrassing him, the red tint to his cheeks amid their intimate conversation was quite endearing. And the more they discussed this (however much it might have been to his chagrin), the more she became assured that all of this was right: the right time, the right place, and the right person. This union, this child that they planned… everything felt right. And that rightness allowed her a sense of joy and peace, realizing that there was no shadow of a possibility that she would be spending the remainder of her time on this plain alone.
Her tender thoughts were interrupted, though not rudely, by Briery, who asked Elias to dance. Of course, Daphni should have known he would refuse; even on the eve of Equinox, there was little that could shake Elias from his uptight demeanor. He was quick to refuse the acrobat, despite Daphni’s encouragement that he oblige her. The Sybaian healer frowned at his stubbornness, but Briery did not seem at all fazed. “I half-expected you to say as much,” she sighed, feigning vast disappointment over his rejection. “Well, I cannot say that is the first time I’ve been turned down for a dance. Then again, not everyone can keep up with my footwork. So no hard feelings. But,” She raised an eyebrow, “I do hope that you will dance, nonetheless. This is a joyous evening, with multiple reasons for celebration. Let yourself enjoy it, too, Clematis.”
Frowning as Briery bowed once out of respect, before disappearing into the crowd, the Sybaian healer stood by, looking less than impressed at Elias’s steadfast refusal to make merry. “I am not quite sure what it is you are trying to prove.” She told him, her tone distinctly and uncharacteristically flat and annoyed. “The only person here making a fool if you is you, Elias. You look stranger refusing to partake in festivities than you would if you’d just dance.”
Before he could protest, Daphni took him back into her arms, just as another song began. “You can go back to sulking and shunning the world, tomorrow.” She told him, pulling him close her her body as her hand found his again. No room to shy away. “But don’t burden tonight with your stubbornness. I’m having a good day; I’ve got energy to stand and make merry, and I doubt that this will be a constant, in my current condition.” Leaning in, she murmured in his ear, so close her lips almost brushed it. “Let us make the best of it. Forget who might see you; you are not a bad dancer, you know. For once,” a smile crept into her voice. “Stop thinking, and just… feel.”
After convincing him to oblige her for another dance, that was when the evening took an unexpected turn. The crowd parted to make room for the Wind and the Green spirit, who, before one another, had each fallen to a knee. Daphni’s jaw all but dropped when she realized what was happening, and at that point, likely to Elias’s great relief, she forgot all about convincing him to dance. “Well… what are the chances,” she breathed, her throat tight with emotion that was all her own. “They had the same idea…”
Vega let out a laugh at Haraldur’s surprise, but she couldn’t blame him. In a way, she almost felt bad for inevitably taking the wind out of his sails, as he had likely been preparing for this for as long as she had. “Of course it is unconventional,” Vega agreed flippantly, wearing a smug grin on her face. “You always spoke of not deserving me, Haraldur. Truth be told, I thought I could not count on you to ask for my hand in marriage. So… I took matters into my own hands. But it seems you had a change of heart.” She swallowed her tears of joy, and added, softly, “You leave, tomorrow. I didn’t know when I would find another chance. So… marry me, Haraldur. I want to hear you say that you will.”
So he did; and he spoke loud enough for all of the ballroom--nay, for all of Eyraille to hear. He took her tree-engraved ring, and she took the tiny roc wings woven along a gorgeous band of gold. The image of those beautiful wings blurred as tears filled her eyes at last, spilling down her cheeks. They were engaged, now; not yet belonging, but all the same, promised to one another. “Eyraille has always had the Wind; that has been a constant, since longer than I have been alive.” She told him, softly, so that only he would hear. “But it had never had the assurance of the promise that the hope of spring, and all of the new life that is brings. It needs that hope to see its own rebirth… and we are honoured that we might have you as a permanent fixture.”
A voice suddenly arose from the crowd, one that was loud as it was familiar, and both Vega and Haraldur turned their heads in Alster’s direction at his insistent request, which suddenly spread like disease throughout the entire room: Marry now! Marry now!
Feeling caught in the spotlight, Vega exchanged a look with Haraldur, and was about to reassure him that they needn’t be stuck as the center of attention, and of course she would give him time and space for them to plan something official, but… he agreed to it. To marry now, and skip being engaged, at all. Looking from side to side, the Eyraillian princess wasn’t even truly certain if that were possible. The kingdom certainly had thrown a lot of convention to the wind with her ascention to Skyknight commander… but she truly wasn’t sure a to just how far she could push the law.
“I don’t know if we can make it official… but if this is what they want to see, when why not?” The princess grinned, before the two of them turned to the crowd to acknowledge their wishes. The response was a deafening uproar of cheering and clapping, shortly becore Caris made his way onto the scene. The young king was still dressed in regal attire, his circlet fashioned as a wrap-around of golden roc feathers sitting atop his brow, but his robes bore the shades of springtime as opposed to Eyraille’s silver and cobalt. He eyes the two soon-to-be-weds with a look that bordered on disbelief, mixed curiously with expectation.
“Really, both of you… just how much convention do you propose to shatter, tonight?” He asked, looking pointedly at Vega with an arched eyebrow. “Talk about theatrics. Eyraille has certainly never seek the likes of this: the Wind and Green Spirit proposing to one another, refusing ever to part… you’ve really taken and run with the idea of the union of these two characters.”
“Caris…” Vega swallowed, struggling to find the words that would make her brother understand. Of course, she could not expect him to understand; not when none of this had been planned, save for the proposals, which had been a merry coincidence. “This wasn’t our idea. I mean, it was, as far as the proposals go…”
“What are you waiting for, running your mouth like an idiot? Are you two to be married right now, or aren’t you?” The monarch interrupted, folding his arms. “Well? Don’t make me wait, and don’t make the entirety of this kingdom wait. There is only so much time left of this ball.”
The Skyknight commander opened her mouth, but no words would come out. Was he… was this what she thought it was? What she hoped for it to be? “Are you… condoning this?”
“Well, I am here, and ready to marry the two of you. And you’re trying my patience with your ridiculous questions.” Caris arched an eyebrow. “So, there is my offer. Take it or leave it.”
There were no second thoughts. Exchanging a brief glance with Haraldur, Vega fell once again to a knee to bow before her king, with the mercenary following suit immediately after.
“Hither, Eyraille, and bear witness the union of your princess and my sister, Sir Vega Andromeda Sorde, to her chosen partner in life, and an asset to our home… Haraldur.” Caris’s voice carried over and through the room, bringing a complete hush to the crowd that beheld a union that like the kingdom had never quite seen before. He turned his blue eyes onto the lovers. “You have more than made your vows to one another; the only vows left are to that of this kingdom. Vega Andromeda Sorde.” He looked upon his elder sister. “Do you, as a citizen of Eyraille, forever swear fealty to the Kingdom of Eyraille, and all that it touches, as it binds you to its roots just as it binds your heart to this man’s? If you do, then so swear it.”
“I so swear it.” Vega said without hesitation. It was not the first time she had sworn fealty to her kingdom, and made no difference to her. But, for Haraldur…
“And do you, Haraldur, a hero to the people who have come to call Eyraille’s mountains their home, forever swear fealty to the Kingdom of Eyraille, and all that it touches, as it binds you to its roots just as it binds your heart to its princess’s?” There was an intensity in Caris’s eyes that had not been present when he’d spoken to Vega. The message was clear: that to wed Eyraille’s princess, he would, too, wed her home, and become Eyraillian through and through. There was no separation of Sorde blood from this kingdom.
Haraldur understood--and he agreed, in a heartbeat. No hesitation, and no second thoughts. When a smile touched Caris’s lips, it was not unkind. The young king drew an ornamental sword from his hip, and touched each of their shoulders, as if they were being knighted. “I, Caris Orion Sorde, declare in the power of my name, and in the grace of the Kingdom of Eyraille, the sanctity of this union. Vega Andromeda Sorde; Haraldur.” Sheathing his sword, he extended a hand each to the two of them. “Rise, children of Eyraille, as husband and wife.”
Haraldur and Vega rose from their kneeling positions, and embraced one another in a prolonged kiss that tore deafening cheers from the crowded ballroom. Their ears rang with the happiness and excitement that surrounded them, and Vega could only laugh at the elated, yet entirely spent look on Haraldur’s face. “Our kingdom is insane.” She corrected him, folding one of his hands in both of hers. “Drink to your heart’s content. Have enough for the both of us; I’m under strict orders not to touch alcohol until the children are born.”
“Tonight, we celebrate more than just the hope of Equinox; we celebrate new beginnings and a bright future for this couple.” Caris declared, and there was no lie in the jubilation of his smile. “See that the libations keep coming! Tonight, Eyraille does not blink, and does not sleep. We dance and we drink until dawn!”
That announcement was, of course, met with more cheering. Sigrid, who stood by Alster as he talked into his stone, presumably to his own fiancee. His face was streaked with tears, even as he said a final, heartfelt goodbye to the woman with the companion stone, promising that he would see her sometime the next day. The Dawn warrior met his teary eyes, then glanced down at her second glass of wine. “I don’t think I am yet drunk enough to appreciate the utter mayhem that this kingdom seems to embrace,” she confided, taking a long and measured sip of wine. “Or to be comfortable in this crowd. I am happy for them, though; they seem to have endured a lot and have come far to finally have this wish granted for them. I foresee a bright future, ahead.”
Meanwhile, quite contrary to Sigrid’s bewildered and buzzed response to the impromptu wedding, Daphni’s cheeks were streaked with freeflowing tears that belonged to nobody but her. It wasn’t often that the calm and gentle Sybaian healer let her own emotions get the best of her, but there was no way to contain what she felt for the newly wed couple, knowing all that they had been through. How they had almost lost Vega. How Vega had, for a time, lost herself, and how they almost lost her all over again. And then, how she had almost lost the children she was carrying. And Haraldur… nothing could compare to what he had suffered in his past. And now, fate had turned over a whole new set of cards for them. And nobody could be more deserving.
The Sybaian healer had brought a hand to her face, to shield her incessant tears from Elias in his proximity, but her staggering breaths and the gentle shaking of her shoulders was a dead giveaway. “I’m just… so happy for them. And that we played small parts in that happiness. That they could achieve this.”
Unlike Vega, Haraldur was unsurprised when her brother stepped forward and agreed to marry them that instant. Whether it was because he had spoken to the king about his intentions beforehand, or if it was that Caris was in sublime spirits (or a little bit of both), he was unperturbed by the swift response of the crowd. Rather, he seemed...energized by the enthusiasm of his subjects, and the prospect of marrying his sister to a hero of Eyraille during one of the largest events of the year. It brought much-needed levity to the recovering nation, and heralded a change into a new, promising era. The Green Spirit and the Wind had done well to represent their respective characters. Change had blown its way into the mountain-top kingdom, bringing with it the intoxicating scents of spring and fresh life. For once, Haraldur didn’t feel undeserving of where he stood, to the left of Vega and before the Sorde monarch. He had both accepted and embraced Caris’s words from a week ago, before the festival’s commencement: he made himself deserving of Vega by believing in his self-worth. He had fought for her, and she, him. In fact, she had never stopped fighting for him. Since the beginning, she saw him as worth pursuing. Saw him as more than a broken man who did nothing but reject her advances and retreat to where she would not follow. And yet...she followed, ever-persistent in her goal to open his stone heart. To her, he was always made to be her equal.
“Oh, no. There is no getting out of this dance--marriage or not.” Vega smirked, as the crowd parted to make room for their waltz to take place. “The Green Spirit and the Wind always dance; the people expect it at the pinnacle of the final night. It just so happens that tonight… it is all the more meaningful. Come on.” The Skyknight took one of his hands, and rested the other one upon his shoulder. “If you’re nervous, I don’t mind leading.”
Nervous might have been an understatement; but that did not stop Haraldur from taking the lead, anyway, in a near perfect waltz as the orchestra strummed out the appropriate tune to accommodate their steps. It went without saying that Vega was a little bit shocked. “You did take Alster up on those lessons!” She laughed at her realization, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I can’t believe it. That you did all of that, just for this moment… you really have dedicated yourself to Eyraille. Maybe more than you are aware of. You’re more than just a hero, now; you are family.”
She looked up to meet his green eyes, and noticed that his smile reached them. “Whatever you were before today, Forbanne or not, doesn’t matter. Because you belong among us; among this family. Of course… that is not to say that you should sever all ties to who you once were.” She was, of course, referring to Sigrid. As they waltzed and circled, her eyes scanned the crowd for the Dawn warrior. A frown touched the corners of her mouth when she could not spot her; and the blonde woman would have stood out like a sore thumb, in her attire.
“I don’t see her. Damnit, I told her she was to stay. To celebrate.” The princess huffed her displeasure, but recognized that there was little she could do about it. She wasn’t about to put this dance on hold to find someone who preferred not to be there. “...I hope she stayed long enough to see us wed. I thought she might; she does genuinely seem interested in your happiness.”
Sigrid, along with Alster, watched the performance of Haraldur and his new wife. The way they dominated the dance floor with the presence, even though he had only become acquainted with dancing less than a week ago, was indeed mesmerizing. A small smile curled the corner of the warrior’s lips. “He does perform well, I must say.” She agreed with a nod. “Honestly, I am not sure I’d be able to out-dance him, even if I were dancing with Vega. It was all only a game, to me. But he took it so very, very seriously, that of course he would be good at it. It only makes sense.”
All the same, though Vega was beautiful and alluring in her attire, the Dawn warrior did not envy him. Not with all of those eyes on the two of them, all of which would be hyperaware of any misstep he made. But he made none; and no one would ever have guessed that he hadn’t danced before in such a formal capacity. Sigrid… really felt proud of him.
Evidently, it wasn’t enough that Alster’s dedicated coaching had paid off where it mattered the most--on the dance floor, between the Princess of Eyraille, and… what, then, did that make Haraldur? Well, regardless, the Rigas caster had other things in mind, than to stand back and congratulate himself on a job well done. “Alster, I already told you… I never actually intended to dance.” The Dawn warrior informed him, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Look at the great work you’ve done; this is what counts. That Haraldur had not only survived the evening, he had made it memorable. “Though I did appreciate the lessons, truly. If ever I should find myself mad enough to want to dance, I won’t be caught unawares. But I have no intention tonight…”
She was not awarded the opportunity to finish her thought, before the Rigas caster had a hold of her arm in the firm grasp of his prosthetic hand, and began to drag her along. “What? No--Alster, I wasn’t oggling anyone! And I am not looking for a dance partner.”
The Rigas caster swerved through the crowd of dancers, dragging the blonde warrior along with him. They stopped briefly at the libations table, where he refilled her goblet with dark wine, though she really hadn’t any interest in imbibing further; inebriation didn’t seem to be doing a thing to help her frayed nerves. He was quick to move on, whisking her past dancing couples without a care in the world, until he seemed satisfied with whom he came upon. He greeted a woman with curling, brunette waves streaked with shimmer, and clad in a light gown the color of a peacock’s feathers. She smiled warmly at Alster, an obvious familiarity between them. The woman’s ornate beauty did not surpass Sigrid’s attention; her frame was slight, and athletic, but there was no mistaking the confidence with which she carried herself.
“Alster Rigas. I see you are making quite merry on this joyous occasion, tonight.” The acrobat smiled brightly. “I saw you had a dance with Cwenha, earlier. I must say, she is not an easy one to keep up with on the dance floor. You did remarkably well!” She chuckled. “And yes, I’ve not experienced any pain, today. I’ve already taken my first dose of Elias’s tonic. With any luck, this upcoming week won’t render me entirely useless, thanks to everything you and the other healers have done for me.”
Her eyes swiveled to the blonde woman accompanying him as he introduced her. Briery’s smile did not waver. “Sigrid Sorenson. Of Braightdath? And the Dawn Guard, at that. It is an honour to make your acquaintance.” The ringleader offered a deep, elegant bow. “My troupe and I have frequented Braighdath, the past few years; we are headed in that direction next, in fact. Your audience is always so kind and accommodating. But anyway: I take it you don’t much care for the festival’s colors?” She nodded toward the warrior’s attire, which made Sigrid shift uneasily.
“Truth be told… I did not expect to be here tonight. And, yet… here I am.” Sigrid let out a rather self-deprecating chuckle. “I’ve heard of your troupe. I am sure that my city is looking forward to your arrival…”
“Well--don’t tell the royals I said this, but being over-dressed is overrated, if you ask me.” She chuckled. “So, you’re looking for a dance? I hope you’re as swift on your feet as Alster says you are; I rival Cwenha in my ability to move on the dance floor, if I do say so myself.”
The warrior only offered a shaky smile. “I suppose I can’t be fit to dance with this in my hand, can I?” She indicated the goblet. “Excuse me a moment while I find a place to put this.”
“By all means,” Briery grinned, and turned back to Alser with a smirk. “How much have you had to drink? You’re unsteady on your own feet!” She laughed. “Then again, I suppose this occasion--an engagement followed by a wedding moments later--is enough of an excuse to drink, is it not? Leave it to the Kingdom of Eyraille to break all convention.” She glanced in the direction of Sigrid and Haraldur, who were loathe to leave one another’s arms. “They seem so happy. I don’t think I have ever seen this kingdom celebrate quite so hard since my troupe and I began to frequent it yearly for this festival. I certainly am glad we were here to see this…”
As moment passed, and Sigrid did not return, however, Briery put two and two together quickly. “I don’t believe your friend is returning,” she said to Alster, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Well this is a new record for me; your Clematis healer friend outright rejected my offer to dance, and a Dawn warrior stood me up. And all in one night!” Her shoulder shook in a chuckle that suggested she was more amused than she was crushed. “Perhaps I need to stop bragging about my dancing skills; I'm probably intimidating them. In the air, I can turn pirouettes, but truth be told, I’m stiff at a basic waltz. Unless I’m dancing with fire, I’m really not all that interesting. Ah, well. You can’t win them all.”
Daphni had indeed found herself wrapped up in the moment of the wedding, to the point where she wasn’t even noticing the people around her. None of that--none of them mattered. Her eyes and heart were only for the mercenary and the Eyraillian princess, who both looked so happy that she could catch wind of that happiness that emanated from a distance. Alster might have been in the loop, but she had very much not been privy to Haraldur’s secretive plan, and neither had Vega, for that matter, and the pleasant surprise made her fingers tingle down to their fingertips. How the two had managed to plan the exact same thing for the exact same night was an anomaly, but it only reinforced the suggestion that fate itself had blessed this evening. That this was meant to take place.
There was perhaps only one person who was not drawn to the moment that Princess and mercenary rose from the floor as husband and wife. Elias, a slightly panicked look on his face, was quick to take her hand, murmuring something about fresh air, and lead her through a gap in the crowd. At last they exited through glass doors that led out into the courtyard, and were greeted by a much-needed cool breeze, a stark contrast from the hot and humid ballroom filled with hundreds of vibrating bodies. It was a nice reprieve. “This was a good call,” the Sybaian healer commented. “I hadn’t realized just how warm I was in that place. I suppose I was…” She wiped tears from her face with her fingertips. “A little bit preoccupied…”
And she wasn’t the only one, it seemed, though Elias’s thoughts and sentiments had drifted for another reason entirely. The Sybaian healer listened carefully and without judgment as he explained why he had needed to leave, along with why he appeared so resistant to making merry. It was written in the distressed lines in his face, as well as the shades of his aura, which Daphni had missed entirely, being so wrapped up as she was in the wedding. He wasn’t displeased among the revelers; he was overwhelmed.
“So, let’s stay out here, then. Take a walk in the gardens.” She suggested, as if his confession had no impact on her mood or her happiness--because, in fact, it didn’t. “It is a beautiful night. And I’ve seen enough of the inside of the ballroom. I saw the engagement--and the wedding, a that. So believe me when I say it won’t break my heart to call an early night.”
After dabbing at her tears with his handkerchief, she tucked it away to clean it later, and took his hand again. “Elias… I was happy that you came at all, tonight. That you gave me a dance and withstood most of the evening. But what makes me happy is being near you; that we did something together. The revelry of the dance was only secondary.” She turned toward him and met his eyes. “So, I do understand. And I want you to understand that you do not need to make yourself uncomfortable to the point of breaking for my sake. Remember that I am happy when others are happy. So… all that I want is for you to be happy. And to be open to me about what makes you happy, so that I am clear on your boundaries. Do you think you can do that?”
She smiled, soft and warm, meaning every word of it. “There aren’t many people out and about, here. But if what you want is to be alone, then we can arrange that, as well. Just tell me what you want, Elias. I had my fun, tonight.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “The rest of this night--well, it is yours.”
As the passed by rows of flowers that were sprouting and preparing to bud, a familiar figure clad in attire that was especially unfestive crossed their path. Daphni looked up and offered a nod to the Dawn warrior, who wore a similarly overwhelmed look on her face as did Elias. “Good evening to you, Dawn warrior.” The Sybaian healer greeted her with a welcoming smile. “What finds you out here, and not among the revelers?”
“I… required some fresh air.” Sigrid stammered, flashing a truly unconvincing smile. “I was told that imbibing in alcohol would help... would make it more tolerable. Or, would make me care less. Evidently, all it does is cloud my head--and I am still left with what ails me.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I much prefer the courtyard. Fewer people and more fresh air. And… no dancing required.”
“Believe me, you are not alone in that sentiment.” Daphni commented, and angled her head, seeing the warrior a little more clearly. “Are you faring all right, Sigrid? I understand… it was not your desire to be here, tonight.”
“Me? Of, of course, I am fine! It was not my idea of fun, exactly…” Her words trailed off, and she was fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves, one of her more obvious nervous tells. “I was ordered to stay the evening, so I am not sure what awaits me in terms of her Highness’s consequences. Though something tells me that she will be a mite too preoccupied with her recently engagement--and marriage--to spare me a thought. At least, that is what I hope.”
The Sybaian healer chuckled. “Your escape is safe with us. If anyone comes asking, we didn’t see you.”
“Much appreciated.” Sigrid offered a bow to the both of them. “Have yourselves a good evening, healers.” The Dawn warrior then stepped away, following a chain of flower beds, with the gait and posture of someone who looked as though they were lost in an unfamiliar place, and not languidly perusing the beauty of the gardens.
“Oh yes,” Alster chuckled, at Briery’s observation. “I think I’m making too merry, though. I leave for Stella D’Mare tomorrow, but at this rate, the Skyknights will need to strap my unconscious form to the back of the roc if we intend to depart at a reasonable time.” Despite the recognition of his wanton behavior, he put the goblet of wine to his lips and took a long, inviting draught. “But I’m glad to hear you’re not in pain. That’s a cause worth celebrating, and you have the perfect venue for it. You only need to close your eyes and pretend they’re applauding for you. That’s what I’m doing right now.” When he smiled, it was closed-mouthed and wistful. “It’s sad, that I’m imagining this festival as my own wedding ceremony. I’m engaged, but I don’t know when we’ll have the chance to...to be anything more than affianced.” His smile drew into an airy laugh. “It was me, in the crowd, who demanded that Haraldur and Vega marry, tonight. If I couldn’t have what I wanted, at the very least, I could offer it to another couple.”
His title: the one thing that they had never discussed, even in all of their conversations about being together. Vega would have been lying to admit that the topic hadn’t crossed her mind, once or twice. Eyraille, though it was emerging from the bloody roots of its past, was no less a proud and upstanding kingdom. And the royal family continued to believe in the importance of names and titles. Even Vega, who chose to predominantly associate her identity with that of Commander of the Skyknights, and not as Eyraille’s princess, had found it nigh impossible to turn her back on the name carried by her own blood. Not to mention, Caris had made certain that if he was to inherit the title of king, she sure as hell was not allowed to shun her own part in the monarchy.
That said… A monarchy only remained as strong as its name, and the titles of its family. Anyone, commoner or otherwise, who had married into the name of Sorde had likewise inherited the title of Prince or Princess, Duchess or Duke… even Queen. Her own mother, though she had suffered at the hands and temper of her father, had been no less a Queen. And only because it had made him and the Sorde name appear stronger, with people of great power bearing it. This was a new day, and new age, and a budding new kingdom, under Caris’s rule, but… there were some things that Eyraille was not yet ready to yield. Not yet.
“Not that any part of this process had been at all ‘conventional’, since the moment I met you in Tadasun, but…” The Skyknight princess bit her lower lip. “Convention would have it that your marriage to me would make you a prince, Haraldur. A prince of Eyraille. And, moreso… you would be a Sorde. You would have a last name.”
Glancing at her silver-slippered feet, Vega appeared nervous and uncertain for perhaps the first time that night. “It’s a name steeped in blood and tyranny, and not one that I am particularly proud of, or hold in a favorable light. We cannot erase what my father and forefathers have done to sully it; we can only work toward making it better. Making it more than its bloody history.” She slid her hands to either side of his neck, and smiled gently. “I cannot ask you to bear either the title or the name. I wouldn’t ask that. But… know that it will no less be expected. We can formulate an argument, but ultimately, it is my brother’s decision whether or not he accept it.
“But, commoners have married into the family, before. My own mother came from a wealthy family, but not a regal one. And you already hold status in Eyraille, thanks to your heroics.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Nobody would see you as marrying for money and power because everyone already know that that isn’t what you seek. You earned neither, helping the refugees into the mountains, years ago; and you haven’t asked for a single thing since you arrived. So if it worries you because of what might be thought of you… do not be concerned. Unlike me, you have the merit of not relating your blood to the Sorde name. Should we disappoint this kingdom yet again, then at least you can say, ‘Don’t look at me, I only married one’.” Vega nudged his arm playfully at that.
He was right about the Dawn warrior, though, much though she hated to admit it. Of course, much of Vega’s conviction was driven by revenge for all of the ridiculousness Sigrid had put her through during the week, but ultimately… It had been innocent fun. And if Sigrid had been miserable among the revelers, then it would be counter-productive in the spirit of Equinox to force her to stay. And anyway… it would be redundant to send guards to find her, again. Not to mention it would likely only upset Haraldur.
“Fine. She is free to shut herself away and be miserable.” The princess huffed. “I happen to be in a good enough mood to let is slide. Though, I do wonder… does is really count that we ‘consummate’ our marriage if we already have proof that we are way ahead of the game?” She placed a hand over her stomach and laughed. “Not that I am complaining or protesting. This evening has been fun and enjoyable, but… I am sure we would be forgiven for ducking out early. This way.” She took his hand and led him toward a pair of glass doors, leading out to the courtyard. “It will be less obvious than trying to sneak through the doors of the ballroom.”
“So you taught the former circus performer how to dance? In just a week?” Briery raised her eyebrows and glanced in Haraldur’s direction, to ensure that they were, in fact, talking about the same person. “Well, assuming that someone with his stature isn’t exactly the picture of grace and light-footedness… I would say you did a damn good job, Rigas. Good enough for a royal wedding, one might say.”
The Dawn warrior’s failure to return, however, seemed to bother Alster far more than it did Briery. Being in the spotlight for most of her adult life (quite literally), she was used to experiencing displeased and audience members “booing” as opposed to applause. Rejection, however disappointing, was something that she chose not to take seriously. Often, it had little to do with her, and everything to do with the person rejecting her. “Don’t sweat it, Alster. Truth be told, she did not seem all too eager to dance, anyway.” The ringleader shrugged her bare shoulders. “You cannot make everyone happy. In fact, I would say that that is rather detrimental. There is a time and a place for unhappiness, and it isn’t unhealthy. I’d say it is as important to let ourselves feel sadness, as it is for us to feel joy. So, if sadness is what she needs to feel right now… Then let her.
“Though, if you are still up for a dance after keeping up with Cwenha…” A grin stretched Briery’s lips, and she took the Rigas caster’s proffered hand. “I am not one to turn down a good waltz or two. Maybe you can help perfect my form, as well. Like I said, if I am not in the air or dancing with fire, then there really isn’t anything all that special about me. I’m not even sure I’m as ruthless as Cwenha.”
She followed the blonde caster to a table where he deposited his empty goblet, and at the start of the next song, she was swept up in a dance with all of his practiced skills. He wasn’t wrong; even drunk out of his mind, Alster was better than merely an adequate dancer. He was an amazing dancer, at least where ballroom propriety was concerned. The alcohol certainly hadn't affected his coordination, nor his energy, and Briery found herself quite enjoying the change in pace from daring, acrobatic dance, to something a little more simple.
“Thank you, Alster Rigas. For your hand in improving my health, and for the dance.” Briery bowed low to show her appreciation, the duochromatic shades of her gown flashing viridian and cerulean in the variegated light cast from the chandeliers overhead. “Your betrothed is lucky to have you. Fear not, your time will come to exchange vows. And when you do, I guarantee that all of this,” She spread her arms wide, indicating the entirety of the room and all it contained, “will pale in comparison to the joy you feel, then. Wait for it, expect it, and it will come.”
This was likely the most open that the Clematis healer had ever been with Daphni, since they had met in Stella D’Mare’s war encampment. It was wholly uncharacteristic, but nonetheless, she kept herself open to his words, knowing that they were meaningful, coming from him--someone who spoke so sparingly about his own emotions. Seeing the colors of his aura was one thing, but this… hearing what he thought about himself, and what he thought about himself in relation to her, was eye-opening. And… very sad.
“You aren’t a husk, Elias. Far from it. I should know, for husks don’t have auras.” She gently argued, glancing at the hand that had retreated from her. “The dead do not have auras; comatose patients don’t, either, or else they are so diluted that they cannot be read. But yours is always full of colour. You may not experience happiness the same way, and by the same means as everyone else. Perhaps a dance and a celebration are not your ideas of fun, because they run counter to your more relaxed sentiments. But I’ve seen the way you smile when attending to stray cats in need of affection. Or the bliss in your eyes when you have succeeded in helping someone. That is what happiness, to you: making others happy, or well enough to be happy. Just, as you say, you want me to be happy.”
And, as if to prove her point, the Dawn warrior appeared at a rather curious time, looking about as distraught as Elias felt. Yet instead of dismissing the blonde warrior, Elias… he reached out to her. A kindred spirit, miserable for the same reason that he was. And there, he offered a small comfort, should she need reprieve from the negative effects of alcohol, the next day. The appreciation in the woman’s eyes couldn’t be missed. “I’m hoping I haven’t drunk enough to warrant aftercare, tomorrow, but if I do, I will certainly seek you out. Thank you.”
With a final nod, she headed in the direction that the Clematis healer had recommended. The small exchange left Daphni beaming, and she took his hand again. “See? You are not the only one miserable amid the festival. But even if you were truly, irrevocably unhappy, Elias, I think that I would still care for you. I would still want you in my life. It’s because of you that I chose to keep going, and did not yield to the call of death when my very existence was too overwhelming for me to bear. Were it not for you, I’d likely be living my days in the same way my mentor in the outskirts of Ilandria is: alone, isolated for anyone and anything that could affect me. Instead… I cannot think of a time when I have wanted to be so alive.” There was no ruse to her smile, or her words. “Being around you doesn’t hurt me; even at your worst, with the conflicting emotions you feel for your mother. All of that is minor. And I would not wish you to be any other way, or anyone other than the person you are. Like Imogen said, you’re a genius; and I think we make a good pair. You remind me to think when I feel too much, and I… maybe I can help you feel, more. If that is what you want.”
Even with Elias’s directions, Sigrid still wasn’t entirely sure of where she was going, in the dark. The royal courtyard was like a maze, and just when she thought she was about to make it out, she’d encounter another hedge, or a thorny rose bush that had yet to bloom. At last, she let out a long breath and took a seat on one of the benches. What was she running from, anyway? It didn’t matter where she was, so long as she wasn’t among the revelers. So long as she was not expected to dance with yet another brunette, who also happened to be a dancer… He didn’t know. Alster didn’t know. She told herself over and over, all the while knowing that her disappearance had likely disappointed him. Maybe she’d apologize later; but she couldn’t… she just couldn’t relive that…
“Sigrid?”
The Dawn warrior shot to her feet at the sound of her name. Her throat constricted when, in the pale moonlight, she found herself face to face with Haraldur--and Vega. She’d have uttered a curse at her bad luck, but there really wasn’t any suitable profanity to express how she felt. “I don’t suppose an apology will absolve me of your scorn, your Highness?” She asked, sounding terribly defeated as she met Vega’s hard gaze.
“You tell me. You left the revel against my order.” Vega arched an eyebrow. “Which leads me to think that you’ve either underestimated just how wicked I can be, or you are far bolder than I have you credit for.”
“I did not leave to slight you, your Highness. I did stay--for a long time, as long as I could, until… I know he meant well, but Alster was adamant in having me dance, and I can’t…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I couldn’t relive that. I had to get out of there… I’m sorry.”
The princess furrowed her eyebrows and folded her arms. “Couldn’t relive what? What was so terrible about my kingdom’s celebration that it drove you away so vehemently?”
Sigrid tried to take a breath, but it got caught in her throat. Her voice sounded strangled, as a result. “The truth is, your Highness, the last time I attended a dance of this sort, my heart was broken, and I was humiliated by a woman I loved--and who I thought also loved me. She made a fool of me, outed my preferences to the whole damned city of Braighdath. Someone who I was ready and willing to spend my life with tore me apart for a laugh.” She couldn’t help it; tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I know it is a joke to you. But if I don’t make it a joke, then it only hurts me. And it is easier to laugh at myself than to recall that kind of pain, over and over.”
At first, Vega said nothing. There was no trace of affect on her face, in light of the warrior’s confession, but she did say, “Should something of the sort ever take place in Eyraille, you could bet my brother would not stand for that sort of nonsense. Caris would see that the offender was put in the dungeons for some time; maybe humiliated in their own right. In case you haven’t already noticed, Eyraille is becoming quite partial to breaking convention.”
Stepping away from Haraldur, she added, “I am not going to apologize for dragging you out here, tonight--though I am sorry it ended the way that it did. However… I cannot let you leave here, with an unfulfilled bargain still on my hands.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Like it or not, I owe you a dance.”
“Your Highness--that isn’t necessary. You’ve just married--”
“A bargain is a bargain. And no one would dare mock anyone dancing with Eyraille’s princess. We don’t need to go back inside; you can hear the music from out here. Sigrid,” Vega extended her hand to the blonde warrior, “as princess of Eyraille, I am humbly asking you for a dance.”
Sigrid hesitated; of course she hesitated, as panic flooded her veins, and her mind flashed back to that awful night on winter solstice. But when she took Vega’s hand, and rested her other hand on her waist, her legs did not seize up as she thought they would, and before she knew it, they had fallen into step in tandem with the melody that caught up in the nighttime air. And, Vega had to admit, the warrior was good at it; light and precise on her feet, leading with confidence. She almost forgot she was dancing with a woman at all, and should she compare, Sigrid’s competency truly rivaled Haraldur’s.
When the most recent song came to an end, the two parted, with a curtsey and a bow. Tears still glistened in the Dawn warrior’s eyes, but she no longer looked terrified; rather, she looked relieved. Sigrid knelt, taking Vega’s hand, and placing a kiss upon it. “...thank you, your Highness.” She whispered, a touch of a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “You can rest easy knowing you are free of your debt.” With one final bow, she turned and made for what looked like the quickest path back to the palace. She was more than ready to retire for the evening, at this point, but it would not be with such a heavy heart, as she’d thought.
The way that Daphni referred to his aura as “full of color” had impelled Elias to frown with incredulity. While he had believed her, for who was he to doubt Sybaian specialization, it was not the first description one would use in characterizing the choleric Clematis healer. “When you say full of color—do you mean shades of red?” He picked at a stray thread from his jerkin, his wry smile unmaintained, and fading quickly. “I already know my limitations, Daphni. You don’t need to bolster my mood with exaggerations. It was a silly question to ask, and surely not one you wish to answer tonight, of all nights, when your focus should be not on me, but on your environment.”
“You aura is in fact varying shades of many colours, Elias.” Daphni tried to assure the Clematis healer, who seemed to be in some deep denial of the nature of his own emotions. “Sometimes red, yes, but not always. You are… different, Elias. Of that much, I am certain, and perhaps the things that make most people happy do not make you happy. But what you feel is no less valid. There is no right or wrong way to experience emotions. And that they mean something different to you--that love means something different to you than others, does not make your love any less valid. Take it from someone who is an expert on emotions.”
The Sybaian healer flashed a knowing grin, taking his hands into her own. “You are neither Alster nor Haraldur. Why would I ever expect you to feel as they do? To love as they do? What you have is enough, Elias. It is enough for me, so it should be enough for you as well.” She temporarily rested her head on his shoulder. He was still warm from being amid the raucous crowd in the ballroom, as was she, but that very warm brought her comfort. “I do not know your mother. I was not around for you when you were a child, and I cannot speak to what you experienced, or what you think you experienced… but I do not think that your uniqueness is what drove Imogen away. In fact, nothing to do with you drove her away save for her own circumstances. Were it up to her, I truly feel she never would have left you, at all.”
Sliding her hands from his, Daphni reached up to rest them on either of his shoulders, and searched his hazel eyes. “Nothing is missing; you are whole, complete. And I wouldn’t have you any differently, because you then wouldn’t be you. And I happen to very much like your uniqueness. You are someone who brings new perspectives to the table; even if they are not always pleasant, they are important. I think so, at least.”
Reassured by the shift in his mood, having gone from nihilistic and defeated to more open and accepting, the Sybaian healer returned his chaste kiss. “I happen to enjoy nighttime walks just as much as I enjoy dancing,” she smiled. “Not everything is a compromise. I happen to be someone who is very open to new and varied ideas. You already know what makes me happy; so help me understand that can make you happy. Don’t be afraid to set boundaries, if it means you don’t have to be uncomfortable. I think you are over-estimating just how high-maintenance I am.” Her shoulders shook with a suppressed chuckle. “Although, I suppose wanting a child is quite a lot to ask… but that will not happen overnight. We will have time to prepare.”
She linked her arm through is, a side-grin tugging at her mouth. “So I’ll give you your three days if you really believe that research is necessary. Although, sometimes I think you forget exactly what it means that I am Sybaian. Truly, I am not that hard to please.”
The light in Vega’s eyes couldn’t have been brighter and warmer. That Haraldur would accept not only the title, but the name, as well… The title almost would have solidified his dedication in earnest to her and to her kingdom. But the name--to agree to become a Sorde… That was more than she could have ever hoped for. She wasn’t even sure she deserved it--Eyraille certainly didn’t. Yet he agreed without even a hint of hesitation, which could only mean he had thought this through, long and hard. And that was his decision. “No one cares that you got paid or didn’t. Those people inhabiting the mountains certainly do not care; the monarchy does not care. What matters is that you chose to risk your own life to save the lives of countless others. Isn’t that enough? Who ever said heroes or saviors did not get paid? Anyway, this is Eyraille.” Her mouth twisted into a grin, as she reached up to wipe stray glitter from his cheek. “We do things a little differently around here, in case you haven’t already noticed…”
The Skyknight princess couldn’t help but laugh at Haraldur’s steadfast dedication to the character of the Green Spirit--which of course he would use as an excuse to find himself betwixt the sheets with the Wind. Not that she was arguing--or complaining. “A little difficult to plant seeds in a garden that is already well on its way to bearing fruit, don’t you think?” She couldn’t help but tease him. The ‘Green Spirit’ had already planted his seeds two months ago; anything else was just gratuitous. And she was just fine with that.
“Don’t kid yourself, you won’t find any argument from me.” Vega assured him, and linked their arms before disappearing into the crowd and making their sly escape through the glass doors, through which Sigrid had escaped earlier. “I don’t know what it is about being pregnant, but I don’t think I can quite get enough of you… so I want as much of you as I can have, until it becomes too difficult and uncomfortable. I hope you are willing to oblige.”
Encountering Sigrid in the courtyard was not how Vega had anticipated to end the evening; and, truth be told, she would by lying to claim she wasn’t a tad annoyed to find the Dawn warrior had directly defied her. Her ordering the woman to stay put and join in the revelries was, admittedly, moreso inspired of her own sense of revenge than in the spirit of the festival, and she personally felt that Haraldur’s distant kin had given her enough trouble to warrant it. But something in the blonde woman’s eyes took her aback, and made her reconsider ordering her back inside. She appeared lost and uncertain, and… somehow, undeniably hurt. And here she was, stuck in a foreign kingdom she did not know, with only a distant acquaintance tying her to it.
There were some discomforts that she didn’t mind forcing upon a person, such as the annoyance of being made to attend a party that did not interest them; but only when there was no chance that it might also hurt them. And what she read in the warrior’s features, in the plea that cut through her voice, was not what she had intended. Not for her to hurt that much, or at all. Her honour as a knight had trained her not to kick a person when they were down, unless that person was an enemy, and it was a life or death situation. Though aggravating, Sigrid was… somehow, genuine. And she needed a hand up.
So the Eyraillian princess offered her that hand, knowing well that Haraldur would not protest. Admittedly, she had to use some of her power to coerce the distraught woman to accept a dance, but it was not a punishment; it was a promise, that Vega was, all things considered, obligated to uphold.
She noticed a change in Sigrid, by the time the dance came to an end, and the blonde warrior knelt respectfully before her. It was not that she looked any happier, considering dances and revelries seemed apt to trigger her past traumas, but she did appear stronger. Calmer, holding herself straighter than before. Vega couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps her royal insistence to come good on their bargain had meant something, after all. And, despite how she had moaned and complained about it all week long… it really hadn’t been that bad. Sigrid was respectful, and not a terrible dancer.
“It wasn’t really about the debt.” She confessed quietly to Haraldur, only after Sigrid had wandered well out of sight and earshot. “This was about giving your cousin what she should have gotten years ago: respect, and a dance with a beautiful woman.” The Skyknight princess smirked. “I must say, she’s not half bad a dancer, either. If we weren’t just married, I might just say she is suitable competition.”
Vega elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Lucky for you, I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a woman in bed. But I know exactly what I want to do with you.” Tugging at the collar of his elaborate costume, the Wind pulled the Green Spirit into a hungry, meaningful kiss. “Let’s get the hell out of here before anyone else realizes we’ve left,” she purred, grabbing his hand, and tugging him along through the dark cover of twilight.
Sigrid slept exceptionally well, that evening, despite the events that had taken place… and, maybe in light of how her evening had ended. It was not as though the dance with the Eyraillian princess had cured her of everything that made her averse to dancing and revelries of that sort; she still would have turned tail and ran away, had she been pressured to dance with that attractive acrobat. There were some memories that only time could treat, acting as a buffer between the past and one’s current reality. But, nonetheless… she had done something she never thought she would find herself able to do: dance with a woman. And it hadn’t been all that hard.
The Dawn warrior slept soundly, not even awakening at the clamour of Alster stumbling in, drunk as a lord at some stupid, early time of morning. She did, however, awaken long before him. Although the vengeful part of her considered waking the Rigas caster early, as they should have been well on their way to preparing to leave for Stella D’Mare… but he had no acted out of malice, the night before. He thought he’d been helping her to have a good time. And, were she anyone other than herself, perhaps he would have succeeded.
Ensuring Gaolithe was tightly wrapped in its protective bindings, she strapped the sword to her back, and went about making whatever preparations to leave that she could do on her own. Slowly--very slowly--the palace began to rouse, and by mid-morning, a few people were on their feet, however unsteady. The remnants of celebration was drawn on their tired features and evident in their sluggish movements, and the Dawn warrior was thankful that she had had the foresight not to imbibe to such an extent.
Unfortunately… Alster had thrown foresight to the wind. And when late morning crept up, she could not allow him to sleep any longer. “Alster--we need to get moving,” she informed him. Having thought ahead, to save time, she’d already set his outfor on the foot of his bed, and his boots just beneath.
It seemed it would take some miracle to get him to move anywhere, at any speed at all. No sooner did he sit up that the Rigas caster emptied the contents of his stomach; and Sigrid couldn’t quite feel pity for him. He had known well what he had been getting into, and what the consequences would be. And… he had put her in an uncomfortable situation, regardless of his intentions. Perhaps a hangover was justified. “People are up and about. Not all of them look happy about it, but I encountered his Majesty, as well as Vega and Haraldur not too long ago. It is approaching noon; we need to debrief the King on whatever plan you have up your sleeve, and then prepare to depart. One of the Skyknights informed me that we will be lucky to arrive before dawn, at this rate. So get dressed.”
Easier said than done, evidently. It was as if his muscles and his brain were not cooperating; he fumbled for the outfit she’d laid out for him on the bed, as if he were pawing for it in the dark. Sigrid released a pent-up sigh. “Wait here.” She told him, and left the room without further explanation. Several moments later, she returned with a small pot of tea in hand, as well as a small cup. “I ran into the Clematis healer last night after I managed to find a way out,” she explained, poured a cup of the tea, and handed it to Alster. “He offered his services if I wasn’t feeling well, this morning. I told him I’m fine, but that you were quite the mess… nonetheless, this should help. He also made some comments pertaining to ‘bringing this upon yourself’, but I think you are already well aware of that.”
Sigrid placed the teapot upon his bedside table and folded her arms. “His Majesty expects to meet with us before our departure. Try and get yourself together, soon.”
By the time Sigrid returned to their shared chambers with a pot of steaming tea, Alster had managed to scrub his face free of its silver paint, brush through his unruly hair until neat and parted, and pull off his festive tunic in exchange for the one meant for travel: it was made of a thicker fabric, but in its royal blue, was no less dignified in its Rigas-style quality. He understood that, since his departure from Stella D’Mare, he had, by default, taken on a ambassadorial role, like his father before him, and needed to dress the part. No rags or halfheartedly chosen clothing options for him. Besides—he wanted to look, well, fetching, for Elespeth. It made him blush to admit, but after the events of the Equinox ball, watching nobles and citizens alike in colorful garments of spring, and glittering powders painted on their cheeks, he was starting to feel...a little excessive. Like a preening peacock, he imagined strutting up to Elespeth at their reunion, taking her into his arms, and displaying his colors in the form of a confident, sensual kiss.
Sigrid had thought she’d wanted to hear apologies from the Rigas Caster; and she did appreciate them, but as soon as she took note of the guilt on Alster’s face, her mood changed significantly. And it no longer felt satisfying to see him identify and resonate with his folly. “The woman you introduced to me bore a resemblance to a woman who humiliated me and broke my heart some years ago, during a festival Braighdath was celebrating. A woman I was very much in love with. ” The Dawn warrior explained, as a means to justify her own behaviour the other evening. “I wasn’t refusing to dance because I am shy or uncertain of my skills. I just did not want to relive those feelings; but… you wouldn’t have known that. I did not tell you as much.”
She handed him his tunic when he finished his tea, slightly more colour shading his otherwise wan face. “I am sure I will find that kind of happiness someday, Alster. But it is not easy for people like me, despite how I might make light of it. And anyway… I have more pressing concerns that dictate where my attention should lie, right now.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sword strapped across her back, needing not clarify what she meant. Gaolithe had chosen her for a reason, and it had chosen her now, for a reason. This left her to find out exactly why: and, frankly, she was afraid to find out. “When all of this blows over, when Stella D’Mare is safe from the threat of Mollengard, and when Galeyn has established itself, again… then maybe I will consider pursuing something as trivial as a dance. But as it stands, right now, I am just not ready.”
Making for the door, Sigrid told him, “Prepare yourself as you may; I will gather the others and see that someone sends for you when we are ready.”
They met sometime later in Caris’s war room, gathered around a massive table. The King, despite a night full of celebrating and very little sleep, did not appear even half as worn-out as Alster, or even Vega and Haraldur, who had lost sleep for… alternate reasons, which were not at all a secret to anyone in the room, given that they had just married. Though, come to think of it, no one could recall Caris so much as having a drop of wine to drink, last evening. Part of Vega felt sad for her younger brother, having deliberately missed out on making as merry as his citizens, but even moreso, she felt proud. That he had taken the responsibility to stay as sober as the guards on duty, in order to ensure the safety (and the joy) of everyone celebrating. If he felt at all sore about it, then the sentiment did not show in his fair features.
The small crowd, which also included the three Skyknights who would be flying Alster, Sigrid, and Haraldur to Eyraille, listened attentively to the Rigas Caster’s plan. In some ways, it was as mad as it was sound, to think that they could possibly fly into Stella D’Mare undetected and to leave, unscathed… but that didn’t even touch the roots of the plan’s insanity.
“Commander, I trust you have informed your Skyknights in the orientation and tactics they will follow to deliver these three safely to Stella D’Mare, and to themselves return safely?” Caris asked, looking to Vega, who--despite that she would not be accompanying her Skyknights and her friends--had donned her Commander’s attire. For the sake of formality, to pay respect to the planning… and to at least feel like she would have a small part in ensuring their safety.
Vega nodded her affirmation. “I have, and we’ve reviewed it all twice, already. Two of the Skynights are already familiar with the delicate nature of the situation; Sir Gleide and Sir Kallais brought Sigrid and Alster from Galeyn. Sir Kelan will be accompanying them this time, as well, to account for numbers.”
As Alster presented the stone, Caris nodded to his sister to take it. “You have already had an active part in this endeavour,” he said to her. “I trust that you will relay any imperative information to me as you see fit.”
The Skyknight princess nodded, and took the stone, folding her fingers over it. “You have my word,” she said, but as Alster went on, her face dropped and lost color at his mention of Atli. “Atli… the Mollengardian healer? The one who…” Her voice trailed off, and she placed a hand upon her abdomen. “He helped me, on more than one occasion… he told me about… about them.” Vega closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her lips together. She had made a promise to find his daughter. When this was over, and when she had safely delivered her own children… she would make good on that promise. So that the healer’s spirit may rest.
The news, from there, only got stranger. Was this the same Captain Solveig that had taken direct offense to the arrival of her Skyknights, when she had visited Stella D’Mare? Now, she was inclined to help with the safe evacuation of the city? And Haraldur… he was to lead the Forbanne? The Skyknight Commander stiffened. “I knew Haraldur would be sent to help; I did not know specifically that he would be expected to lead the Forbanne,” she said to Alster, her tone not without a modicum of accusation. Her hand stiffened beneath Haraldur’s, on the chair upon which she sat. She looked to her husband, gauging his reaction, his expression. He seemed equally concerned.
Alster went on, addressing the Dawn warrior, who nodded her agreement. “Send word to Lilica to send an emissary from Galeyn. If they travel by night by their steeds, they will reach Braighdath in no time. The Dawn guard served Galeyn before it disappeared; but they never lost their sense of duty.” She crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair. “And, if Lilica has managed to make preparations to accept Stella D’Mare’s refugees, my brothers and sisters of the Dawn guard will do what they can, to help. Have her send the emissary to Roen, specifically. Mention my name; he will listen.”
“Eyraille can also send a militia of Skyknights, to assist in the evacuation, if it comes to that.” Caris mentioned, looking to his sister for confirmation. Vega, of course, nodded. “Stealth is not our expertise, but if it means getting more people out safely, and if the Mollengardians will be too preoccupied dealing with a tidal wave, then they won’t be concerned with some giant avians.”
Having laid out the plan to the best of their ability, they left the war room, though Haraldur and Vega stalled in the doorway, the last to leave. “Last night, Haraldur, the two of us made some heavy promises that must be kept.” She said softly, without looking at him. Instead, she looked at the backs of their comrades, as they made for the roc stables. “This morning, before you woke, I spoke with the Clematis and Sybaian healers. I asked if there was any possibility that it would be safe to fly… just to be with you. To see that you are alright. Elias denied me without consideration.” Her smile was stiff and humourless. “And Daphni backed him. Said that there is too much we have done to ensure the safety of this children… so, I’ll stay. But I need you to keep your promises, Haraldur. I said that I will not go this alone. You need to be here with me to bring these children into the world; to raise them and show hem a fair life. Do you understand what I am asking you?”
Gripping his arm, Vega met his eyes with so intense a gaze, it was as if every ounce of her being that felt for him could be seen in her blue eyes. “Come back to me, Haraldur. Come back to us…”
The mercenary reassured her with a long kiss, which he then extended to their unborn children, upon her abdomen. “They’ll be fine. If this is as bad as pregnancy gets, then I’ve endured much worse. Don’t be away for too long.” Her lips twisted into a grin, mirroring the mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll get restless.”
It wasn’t long at all before they met up with the Skyknights at the stables, where Sir Gleide, Sir Kallais, and Sir Kelan prepared their rocs for flight--but they were not yet through with goodbyes.
Grandmother Alta had gotten wind of Alster’s departure, that morning, and had left the sanctum of her library to see him off. She nodded at him, her smile warm. “I could not let you leave without saying goodbye--and thank you. For a truly rewarding and blissful week. Likewise, there is always a place here for your at Eyraille’s library, if ever you want to visit.” Alta returned his embrace, her thin arms encircling his body. “I am sure this is goodbye is not final. We will meet again.” She said nothing about visiting Stella D’Mare, simply because she did not believe in keeping promises she was not sure she could keep. The years had caught up with her, and travel by roc was not something she was sure could be feasible. But her words were true: they would see one another again. “Take care, Alster Rigas. You’ve already made me proud of the name.”
“Haraldur.” Caris called the mercenary over, while Sigrid and Alster were getting situated upon their rocs. The mercenary’s tone was light and jovial; but his, by contrast, was stern and serious. “You may be prince, now, and an official Eyraillian. You might also be my brother by marriage. But none of this will absolve you if you break your promises you made to Vega.” The young king gripped his shoulder and leveled him with a stare that was identical to Vega’s: clear blue and full of cerulean fire. “Do what you need for Stella D’Mare, but this is your home, now. And Vega is your wife, carrying your children. Should you not return…” He pressed his lips together, but it was not because he did not have the words. Simply, he needn’t say anything to make Haraldur realize the devastation it would cause, for Vega, and for a newly hopeful kingdom, if he did not return.
“Come back to us.” Was all he ultimately said, offering a final nod, he left the former Forbanne to mount his roc, while the king and his sister stood back to give the Skyknights and their mounts ample room to take flight. Vega’s eyes were not dry by the time the giant avians took to the skies.
Chara had been in close contact with Alster for the past few days, as had Elespeth, to discuss the minute details of their plan. This was the night that they were supposed to return: under the cover of night, and a spell of quiet concealment, on Alster’s part. Chara had kept the grounds of the estate clear for that very reason, save for herself, Teselin, Lysander, and the Atvanian knight, herself.
Though they were not to arrive until the wee hours of the morning, while the city slept, Elespeth had made her way to the Rigas estates as soon as darkness fell, and was only joined later by Chara and Teselin when the world had gone quiet. The four of them waited in silence, and more than once, Teselin and Lysander nodded off--but not Elespeth. The former knight kept her eyes sharp on the skies, awaiting the promise that it would bring in the shadows of giant rocs.
Her neck and shoulders had grown stiff by the time those promised shadows were borne against the deep indigo of the sky. “Chara--look.” She hissed, pointing to the sky beyond. “It’s them.”
One by one, three dark shadows with sprawling wings made themselves known, silent as the night itself. One by one, they landed. Chara had insisted on the cover of darkness, and forbade them to bring any lights, but Elespeth would have known two of the three forms that dismounted and made their way toward them. The smallest form, in particular.
“Alster…” She breathed, only when he was close enough that she could make out the features of his face. Still, she didn’t move an inch, afraid that if this somehow wasn’t real, he would disappear. “You came back.”
Chara woke to the sound of pounding on her door. It was standard, now. Instead of sleeping at full-dark and rising at first light, her wakefulness revolved around external forces. Rigas guards, council members, runners, and messengers filtered in and out of her villa, a cacophony of reports, briefings, urgent news, concerned D’Marians, followed then by the uneasy silence of awaiting orders. But those unspoken questions hung always in the air. What next? Is this wise? Are you sure this is our best option? Is this situation being handled delicately? What is our contingency plan? What if Mollengard attacks?
Almost all of the strength in Elespeth’s body drained the moment Alster’s lips came into came into contact with her own. She hadn’t realized what it had required to keep herself upright, for this long; to keep herself strong, even though she had been wilting on the inside, stuck in a broken city with no one she could truly trust. Alone, and left entirely to her own devices, Elespeth had never been incapable, but likewise, she had never really been ‘strong’. She didn’t have to struggle to keep herself upright, anymore, in the presence of someone who gave her strength. Alster’s prosthesis was likely causing him a great deal of pain, and he appeared as sleepless and exhausted as her own, but in that moment, she didn’t care that she was squeezing him too hard, or that she had relentlessly captured his lips and didn’t want to let go. She had long waited for this moment; and despite Stella D’Mare’s mild temperatures, it had been a bitter, cold winter without him.
“Anything could have happened to you.” The former knight murmured, breathless from their extended kiss. “Even on your flight from Eyraille, I worried… something could have happened. Anything could have happened to you, and there’d have been nothing I could do about it…”
There was so much that she had planned to say to Alster, on his arrival. Some of it was borne of love; some, of anger, of resentment that he had spent a week celebrating in Eyraille, while Stella D’Mare had been sitting, holding it breath for its return. But now was not the opportunity for her to say anything of it, it seemed. No sooner did their lips part that Chara forced herself into the picture, angered by Alster’s lack of attention. Elespeth took a step back to allow the two cousins to interact, and for Alster to introduce everyone to the three Skyknights, as well as the newcomer in his entourage--a woman with blonde hair pulled into a tight braid, and a wrapped sword strapped across her back. Sigrid Sorenson--a Dawn warrior.
“You… you are of the Dawn guard?” The former knight of Atvany could not contain her curiosity and excitement. Her slate green eyes were wide with disbelief and amazement, as if she weren’t looking upon any ordinary woman, but someone extraordinary. “I learned of the warrior clan when I was a child, training to become a knight. Atvany has always held you and yours in high esteem… pardon my abruptness, but it is an honour to meet you, Sigrid Sorenson.” Elespeth dipped her head in something that resembled a bow. “I realize that your clan of warrior has always been more than just a story, but to see one if you before my eyes… it is rather surreal.”
“Really? I hardly think that we are a legend, Elespeth Tameris.” Sigrid couldn’t help but smile, and offered her hand, which Elespeth clasped eagerly. “Just… enduring, and very beholden to our vision and traditions. You say you are a knight of Atvany? That is rather exquisite; I have never dealt with Atvany, personally, but it comes as a surprise to me that women became knights, in that empire.”
Elespeth’s smile diminished, and she took a step back. “They don’t… I came from an influential family, and they made an exception, but… it did not pan out.” She pressed her lips together, averting her gaze. “Currently, I am a fugitive of Atvany; I can no longer return. That being said, I am also no longer a knight. Just someone with a sword.”
“I see…” There was far more to this story than Elespeth was willing to share, of that, Sigrid was certain. But it was not for her to know, unless Alster’s fiancee saw fit to elaborate. “I don’t happen to be borne of Braighdath, but I ended up there; and the Dawn guard made me one of them, all the same. Home and family, I’ve learned, is not necessarily where you are born, but in where you are accepted, and by whom.” She flashed a reassuring smile, to lighten the fact she’d accidentally touched on an evidently heavy topic. “Which, I assume, is why you have found a home, here, with Alster.”
Though it was difficult to tell in the gathering darkness of the dead of night, Elespeth thought she could see warmth in Sigrid’s smile. It was reassuring to her; any friend of Alster’s could easily be a friend of hers. You can’t use that name any longer, wolf-man, she thought of Hadwin’s demoralizing pet-name he’d given her. It might have been true before, but not anymore. Now, she was among friends.
Turning from Elespeth, Sigrid nodded to young Teselin, and then to the woman who was undoubtedly Chara--and exactly as Alster had described her to be. “Lady Chara of Stella D’Mare. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The Dawn warrior offered a shallow bow. “We have been in contact with your significant other, Lilica, who currently resides in Galeyn; she is to send word to the Dawn Guard in Braighdath. They won’t hesitate to lend aid to your cause, rest assured.”
Teselin, meanwhile, had kept quietly to herself in the shadow of nightfall, sticking to Chara’s side until the man named Alster approached and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but eventually took it and returned his smile. Though she would never say it aloud, this Alster Rigas--a hero--was not what she had imagined he would be. Not tall and broad, like the man who accompanied him, but quite small--smaller than Elespeth, and thin. Kind, without any bravado to his tone. This man had managed to send an otherworldly being back to its home? Had power that was otherwise unparalleled to any other Rigas caster? It was difficult to believe that someone of that nature could come across as so mild-mannered. But, she was not disappointed; she was glad for it.
“You’re Alster Rigas… Elespeth and Chara have told me about you, as well.” She said, still wide-eyed in amazement that she was speaking to someone she had longed to speak to for quite some time, now. Almost as badly as she wanted to speak with her brother. “They told me what you did to save this city… I’m honoured to meet you, Alster Rigas. For so many reasons.” Namely, that he was precisely what she wished she could be: powerful, without being dangerous.
At Chara’s suggestion that they get some rest, for the night, Elespeth looked to Alster, and the way his prosthesis seemed to weigh him down. She reached an arm out to him in concern. “You must be in pain, after that flight…”
Sigrid had also taken note of his stiff posture, since dismounting from the roc. Perhaps he was too ashamed to ask for help, for feeling guilty about trying to force her to dance the night before, but she was not so callous as to deny him relief from pain, when it was one of the reasons she had come to Stella D’Mare in the first place. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” she suggested to the engaged pair. “Alster, I can offer pain relief for your arm, if you like.”
“I haven’t been staying with Chara for quite some time, now…” The Atvanian warrior confessed quietly, casting her eyes downward n a look of shame. “We… had a falling out. Don’t tell me you’re surprised. I’ve been staying in a tent, but you’ve traveled too far and for too long to put up with that kind of discomfort.”
As Chara led Haraldur and the Skyknights away to their respective chambers, Elespeth led Alster and Sigrid back to Chara’s estate. It appeared that the room she’d been staying in had remained vacant; odd, considering she had thought that the Rigas head might have seen fit to keep Teselin closer. To keep an eye on her; to ascertain her hold on her. At least it appeared prepped and ready for Alster’s arrival.
“Have a seat,” Sigrid instructed, as she untied a sack hanging from her waist, withdrawing the tincture and tiny needles. Meanwhile, Alster shed his shirt and his prosthetic arm. Elespeth looked on, understandably confused.
“What… is that?”
“This?” The Dawn warrior held up the small tin of thin needles. “It is an old, tried and true method of pain relief among the Dawn Guard and Braighdath. It seems to have been helping your fiance manage his pain; it’s part of the reason why I accompanied him from Galeyn to Eyraille, and then here, to Stella D’Mare.”
It didn’t look as though anything the Dawn warrior was doing could relieve pain. Elespeth couldn’t help but cringe a bit as Sigrid stuck the tiny pins into Alster’s arms and back. She wasn’t one to typically feel squeamish, either, though… the look of relief on the Rigas caster’s face was obvious. “Huh. Well… if it helps the pain, then he is lucky to have you as an ally, Sigrid of the Dawn Guard.”
“If you are interest, Elespeth of Atvany, I can teach you the method to the best of my ability. Insomuch that you can learn to help Alster with his pain.” Sigrid offered, briefly looking up from her task. “After all, I will not always be adhered to his side. But you… well, he says the two of you are betrothed to be married. I cannot think of anyone better to learn the method; I’ll provide you with a recipe for the tincture, as well.”
Elespeth pressed her lips together, hesitating for a beat. “I am no healer…”
“Fancy that; neither am I.” The Dawn warrior chuckled. “I only learned this method myself, recently, before leaving Braighdath. If you’ve got eyes and fingers, then you’re as capable as I am.”
After getting past the fact that Sigrid was sticking small pins into Alster’s flesh, Elespeth decided to take her up on her offer, and observed. The more the warrior explained, the more it made sense: relieving pressure points and redirecting nerve signals. Best of all, it did not leave him groggy and unintelligible, as had the pain medication that Atli had provided him with. “And… this doesn’t hurt? At all?” She asked Alster, who nodded his affirmation that he was alright; more than that, he seemed relaxed.
“I’ll let you try your hand at it, next time, if you feel confident enough.” Sigrid said at last, when the job was finished, and she’d withdraw all of the tiny needles from Alster’s flesh. It no longer appeared red and inflamed, to Elespeth’s amazement. Perhaps there was something to be said for the Dawn warrior’s methods; it only heightened her amazement of a clan that she, as a child and growing up, had always revered. “But, I think I will seek out your Lady Chara Rigas, and see myself to my own chambers, for now. The two of you deserve a moment alone, after the time you’ve spent apart.”
Respectfully taking her leave, Sigrid left the two affianced individuals to one another’s company, closing the door behind her. But it was a moment or two before Elespeth could think to speak.
“You certainly have a knack for acquiring useful friends,” she told him, scratching the back of her neck. Fortunately, the former Atvanian knight did not appear to exhibit the same visceral jealousy that Vega had, when Sigrid had been friendly toward Haraldur. “I’ve known about the Dawn Guard my whole life. Their warriors are legendary; our knights in Atvany could never amount to what they could do. It feels surreal meeting one…”
She trailed off, then, realizing that the first moment alone with her fiance in what felt like an eternity was not one she wanted to spend talking about something else. Reaching out, she took his hand. “Are you… well? I don’t know what happened to you since you left, aside from what little you’ve managed to tell me…”
When Alster had stepped aside to introduce Sigrid and Elespeth, he was not disappointed to see the two of them display respect and enthusiasm for each other. Especially Elespeth, who had reacted similarly to when he met Grandmother Alta for the first time. She, however, did not come across as so painfully awkward as he, and for that, the exchange of the two warriors was like a gathering of competence and honor. He could not help but smile his approval at them, and whatever budding friendship would occur. Even Haraldur, who hadn’t spoken more than a few words throughout the trip, and spoke none since stepping foot on Stella D’Mare, had offered a tight smile and a nod of acknowledgement toward the Dawn warrior and former Atvanian knight. Of course they would get along, his nod seemed to convey.
Elespeth could not suppress a snort Alster’s comment pertaining to his role as ambassador and diplomat of Stella D’Mare. That was certainly something they could agree upon: that Chara Rigas was strictly not ambassador material. Even if she had an uncanny knack for getting people to follow her, those skills did not translate well beyond the walls of this ruined city. Encountering a leader like her would not strike sympathy into the hearts of potential allies; even when she was at her most civil. “I suppose it is fortunate, then, that she is not the one traveling about… although less fortunate for me, since I cannot seem to keep you in one place for very long.”
He was right, though; he had been running away, and she wasn’t about to contradict him. Not when his absence had hurt her so bitterly. “It didn’t bother me that you were running away, Alster. Gods know I’ve felt apt to run away from this place, myself. When Vega and Haraldur first re-established communications with Stella D’Mare, they very near convinced me to leave, and return with them to Galeyn. I almost did. I wanted to, just for the opportunity to be around people I could trust.” Her confession was not without guilt. That she had been so unabashedly ready to abandon Stella D’Mare in search of better things, despite that Alster would always feel for this place as his home. It would’ve felt like she’d betrayed him… “But I know I’d never have forgiven myself, if I’d left. Not if something would’ve happened to Teselin or Chara. I’d hold myself directly responsible, for not remaining here to protect them… but I still don’t understand why I needed to stay at all. Why… why you didn’t take me with you.”
It was the same conversation they’d had, prior to his departure well over a month ago. One that had replayed over and over in her head, and had never found resolution. “Why… why did you leave me behind, Alster? Why propose to me and then leave? Have I stifled you, too much? Am I too overbearing, to the extent where it is cutting off your air? Just tell me.” She squeezed his good hand, curiosity and defeat written in her tired features. “I am not perfect, you know. And I’m well aware of that. So whatever it is about me that keeps driving you away… tell me, so that I can change it. You’ve dealt with Chara your whole life; the last thing you need is another overbearing woman in it. Tell me what I can do to be a better me, to you… can you do that?”
Certainly one thing she knew she could not provide was the satisfaction that Alster outlined in his accomplishments. Saving lives, healing pain, seeing a broader expanse of the world than what was visible in Stella D’Mare… The former knight could understand growing pains from residing for too long in the shelter of this city. She understood his desire to see where he could be of importance, what lives he could touch--finding meaning beyond the ways that Stella D’Mare and the Rigases had defined him. Elespeth could empathize, for that was why she had escaped Atvany in the first place: primarily to save her life, but also to find a place where she could be meaningful. Where she could do meaningful things. Alster was a shooting star in search a universe where he could shine brightly. She only wondered why he had kept that universe a secret; why she couldn’t fully be a part of that universe…
Glancing down at her hand--one that wore the ring he’d placed on her finger--and wondered why it was there, at all. Why he would put it there when he insisted on keeping her at arm’s length. “I only want to be part of your life, Alster. A deeper part; a part that I can understand. I felt like I was, once. But I worry that I never will be, again. Not to an extent that matters.” Turning her hand over, she focused on the scar on her palm. A jagged line of pink that bore more significance than what it appeared. A symbol of their integration… which was now threatened by his brand new will the Rigas caster had taken on. “Alster, you will always be you, and I will always be able to find you.” She said, flattening her hand, palm up, to indicate her scar. “Nothing is going to change that. I even managed to find you in your dreams; and I do not have the magic to warrant such a feat. That must mean something. Whatever you have done to let the Serpent into your life, indefinitely, does not invalidate the connection that we already have. You’ve changed; I understand that, and I love you no less for it. In fact… you’re more. You’re enough that you mere existence has provided a young, desperate summoner a thread of hope that she will not lead to the destruction of everyone and everything that she loves. She has been almost as eager to meet you as she is to be reunited with her wretched brother. For the better or not, you change is inspiring people. Giving them hope, again…” She paused, expelling a soft breath of air she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“But I… I haven’t changed. I guess I haven’t adapted. I’m the same Elespeth you met at Messino’s war encampment; I’m the same other half of our compound unit. And maybe that is why the new you doesn’t feel compatible with the old me.” He was different, too. Stronger, less fragile, more powerful, and… different. What mattered was that the underpinnings of what made him Alster Rigas had not disappeared, and as long as she was linked to him through their blood, she would always be able to find it. He had become something great; truly great.
And she… she had remained stagnant. And insignificant, in the grand scheme of things.
Elespeth reached up to cup his face, searching his clear blue eyes for a truth--any truth, anything that would shed light upon what she was lacking for him. “Alster, if this is what you want… To travel, to use what you have to help others who are in need, I won’t stop you. Not if this is how you’ve managed to find significance in your life. But if there is likewise nothing that I can do to help you realize your goals and the destiny that you seek… you need to tell me now. Don’t bury it beneath pretty words or engagement rings. I won’t be hurt; I won’t even be angry. But you need to tell me…”
She swallowed hard and exhaled, her breath rustling the blonde locks of hair near his ears. “Tell me that you’ve outgrown me. That there is nothing more that I can offer you, if that is how you truly feel. I’ve spent too much time speculating without answers, and I need… I need to know the truth; your truth. Please…”
You’re a liar, her conscience hissed in reprimand. You would be hurt. You would be angry. You would be crushed, because it is he for whom you’d been holding your breath. Just to witness his return…
But… I need to know. If it is time to stop holding my breath.
Happy to oblige Alster on the task he had her set out to do, the Dawn warrior had pocketed the resonance stone after leaving the two affianced individuals to one another’s company, and set off in search of Lady Chara Rigas. Evidently, the Rigas head hadn’t moved far from where they had landed, and was currently ordering stable attendants about in order to quietly move the rocs near to where the horses were kept, and as quietly as possible. Alster had been accurate in his depiction of the proud, blonde woman: she was certainly someone who was built to lead. From the way she gave orders, to the way others responded to her, Chara Rigas almost reminded her of a less benevolent version of Roen. Then again, Roen had not started out with poise and patience, either; she remembered him being rather heavy-handed during her childhood, and into her adolescence. It was only when the current generation of Dawn warriors had grown together as a cohesive unit, loving and looking out for one another like any family related by blood, that he had softened, and realized that authoritarian tactics were not necessary. In time, she expected the same was likely to occur with Stella D’Mare’s leader.
“Lady Chara.” Sigrid nodded her greeting, “Rest assured, I offered my services to Alster Rigas of my own will; and I am happy to be of help. I also offered to instruct his fiancee in the method I’ve been using to help relieve his pain. It only makes sense that those who are close to him and who will remain close pick up on the technique.”
The Rigas head, however, seemed keen to dismiss her, showing her off to her quarters and being done with it (not that she could blame her; the hour was ridiculous, and Chara likely hadn’t had any sleep, as of yet), Sigrid drew the resonance stone from her pocket, and placed it in the woman’s palm. “There are two of these. Before we left Galeyn for Eyraille, Alster imparted the other to Lilica; to maintain contact. She clutched it like a lifeline, when he gave it to her.”
Something shifted in Chara as her eyes and fingers roved over a the stone. A sort of tenderness that Sigrid (knowing her for the short period of time that she had) would not have anticipated, given her method of leadership. It was the sort of tenderness that she had seen Haraldur and Vega exchanged; and Alster and Elespeth, in turn. It was love. “Lilica… it is difficult to say that the cards have played in her favor,” she confessed, after giving the question some thought. “I can guarantee you that she is safe. But she inherited something that she never dreamed of having; and that she never wanted. Galeyn has tethered itself to her, and her, to it. She cannot leave, for the sake of the people, who are still very lost and confused and trying to put their lives back together, after over a hundred years of magical concealment and stasis.”
She thought about the way she’d reprimanded the dark mage; how they had played a battle of miseries, debating on what was worse: a cursed sword, or a cursed kingdom. But she had been wrong to admonish her for her pain. It was no less relevant than what she’d experienced in ‘inheriting’ Gaolithe. “Adjusting… has not been easy for her. I think that she is lonely. And that she’d like for nothing more than to return, to be with you, right now.” Sigrid smiled, but it was likely difficult to tell, in the lack of light. “Hearing your voice may well be the ray of hope that she needs, Lady Chara.”
The Rigas head evidently wasn’t permitted the time to dwell on the topic of her distant lover, however. Not when a guard rushed toward her, breathless and eager to deliver news that could in no way be favorable. An escaped prisoner? From the dungeons? Rather a dramatic way to begin her first visit to Stella D’Mare; particularly since Chara saw fit to make her a part of it.
“By the sounds of him, I don’t blame you for confining him to your dungeons,” she confessed, shaking her head. “If it makes a different, I will help. But… not with this.” Unstrapping Gaolithe from her back, she held the sword in the crook of her arm. “Can you provide me with a bow? It’s far easier to hunt with a range weapon, and I’d be less likely to severely injure him, should I find the need to slow him down. And I need you to have this delivered to my chambers, immediately; but do not unwrap it.” Carefully, she set Gaolithe upon the ground. “Don’t even touch it--have someone else transport it, and only if they are wearing gloves. I do not have time to explain, but know that this weapon is dangerous and life-threatening in anyone’s hands but my own.”
Chara sent yet another frantic guard to retrieve a bow and quiver of arrows for Sigrid, and only after she reiterated once more the importance of not coming into direct contact with the blade or hilt of the sword did she agree to let another attendant take it to where Haraldur was situated. “In the past few weeks, I’ve already come to face a few of my greatest fears.” She informed Chara, strapping the quiver of arrows across her back. “I don’t think that there is much this fearmonger could do to leave me shaken. I’ll try not to bring him back injured, but depending on if he gives me trouble, I cannot make any promises.”
There was only one place for a fugitive to run, and that was into the forest, so it was there that Sigrid began her search, by the pale moonlight. It appeared that he hadn’t escaped too long ago, so she reasoned he couldn’t be far, though by no means did that mean he would be easy to find. She must have been searching for a good three quarters of an hour before her keen ears picked up on rustling and heavy breathing nearby. A shadow--no, two shadows became visible in the moonlight that filtered through the trees, and there was nothing to prepare her for what actually found. A man, one fitting Chara’s description, was engaged in a long, lusty kiss with another man who appeared to be dressed in the same attire as the other Rigas guards. The Dawn warrior almost dropped the arrow she notched in the bowstring; not to threaten, but merely as a means of insurance.
“I’m afraid I have to break this up.” She spoke loud enough that the two men startled and pulled apart. The one clad in Rigas attire looked as though he had been caught with his pants down (and had it been moments later, he might have been). The other--the one fitting the description Chara had imparted--only looked amused. “For what it’s worth, it’s not my call. But Chara Rigas is very interested in having you back, to keep an eye on you.” She leveled her gaze, and her arrow, on Hadwin. To the other man, she merely flicked her chin. “You--get out of here, and I won’t say a thing about what I saw. But you,” she pressed her lips together, and stepped toward the wolf man. “I need you to come with me. And I’d rather not have to hurt you to make it possible.”
He wasn’t quite prepared for the stream of words that had apparently been weighing on Elespeth’s mind throughout the months of his absence. They flooded out of her like an over-washed river down a gulley. So strong was her pouring of emotion, that he needed to close his eyes for the impact. It was as he had feared. His departure was far from beneficial to the one who mattered most. What had distance done to her? And could he smooth over the cracks and breathe life into her once more? Or did he break her so irrevocably that no manner of apologies or kisses would revive her? He may be capable of saving lives, but he was poison to those he loved.
He spoke the truth--a truth that Elespeth had been aware of for quite some time, but one that she had neglected to take into consideration when Alster had left her behind. The fool’s errand upon which he, Tivia, and Vitali had embarked had ultimately been Lilica’s. Therefore, it had never been within the Rigas caster’s control, who left and who stayed. Perhaps it wasn’t so much that she had been denied her desire to accompany the small party, but rather, the fact that Alster has been so insistent on leaving. Yes, he had been exiled, along with the necromancer and the dark mage, but he hadn’t even tried to put up an argument against it. And Chara… she had just let it all happen.
“No, you weren’t wrong. I was safe here. I was staying in the Rigas estates, in this very room for quite some time, until… I just couldn’t handle how Chara was trying to manipulate Teselin, with no regard for the girl’s health and safety.” The former knight raked a hand through her long chestnut locks, which she hadn’t bothered to braid, of late. It was as if the pit of sadness she’d dug for herself in Alster’s absence had caused her to let herself go in small ways. Lately, it had taken every ounce of willpower she could muster just to encourage herself to train. Since their plan still involved taking on Solveig (eventually), she could not allow herself to get too soft, in the event that she would be taking the Mollengardian Captain on in combat. “I think, to her credit, she has gotten better, though,” she went on, on the topic of Chara. “She… apologized to me, actually. It seemed genuine. I’ve just kept away to avoid the awkwardness. It’s a moot point, though.”
Elespeth breathed a heavy sigh and shook her head. “Teselin is positively incorrigible. She insists on being useful to us; despite knowing the risks, to herself and to others. She’s agreed to summon a tidal wave to allay Mollengard’s retaliation towards us during the evacuation. For someone who is so desperate to get back to her worm of a brother, she certainly doesn’t seem to have a sense of safety. I’m… I’m sorry, Alster. I’m just being difficult, aren’t I?”
She stood up from where she sat next to him no the bed, and paced the room, rubbing her arm out of agitation. “It’s just that I felt useless, remaining here. Constantly at odds with Chara and her knack for manipulation. And putting up with that damned wolf-man, who has unfortunately become integral to our plan…” Elespeth pressed her lips together in a grim smile. “Maybe I’m just upset that you dodged all of the bullets I had to take. And Teselin’s arrival only made things more complicated. It’s been difficult to stay sane in the place, around these people.” And to sleep, she almost said, but it was likely already evident in the dark half-circle beneath her eyes that her nightmares had return. Nightmares that tended to return whenever her mind was troubled, and her heart over-burdened. “This is your home; and I understand your dedication to it. But… I think I know, now, that I cannot call this place my home without you.”
Elespeth paused in her pacing, taking in the tired, yet undeniably healthy face of her fiance, and her expression softened. “...you did nothing wrong, either, you know. You did what you had to do. You left, got the space that you needed. You’ve helped people and changed their lives for the better. You’ve met new people, made strong allies, and you had the opportunity to experience the joy of celebration… which is more than you will get here. Don’t apologize to me, Alster. Not for doing what you needed to do to maintain your own sanity.”
But then he said something she hadn’t realized, before, and her face dropped and her eyes widened when he mentioned the word dying. “You… the disease still festered? Even after sending the Serpent back?” Elespeth closed the distance between them again and gripped his arms. “How? I thought… you were alright. Alster, you should have told me sooner… what you made was not a choice; you didn’t have a choice. Binding yourself to the Serpent… it was a necessity. And had I known… I would have told you to do the same thing. If for no other reason, then for the selfish desire to have you in my life…”
She covered his hand with her own, feeling its warmth against her chest. “The truth is, Alster, we all have darkness. And we always will. We cannot exist with only one side of a coin. I have my own darkness… my brother, and his fate. A fate that should have been mine. One that still haunts me in my dreams. One that left a hole inside of me, as well, and that threatens to absorb any joy I might experience. So I… I know how you are feeling. I understand.”
Elespeth encased him in her arms, returning the embrace, as if afraid he might slip from her fingers again if she let go. “I’ve been there, too. Sometimes, I wake up, and my first thought is to bargain with death itself. To take me and to return Farran, for he’d done nothing wrong, and were it not for me, he never would have died.” It was a difficult confession, particularly in light of his own. That she was the sole reason he clung to life… It felt like a lot of responsibility, and completely changed her perspective on his absence. He had never been running from her: on the contrary, he had been trying to make sure that he would run back to her.
“So… just know that I understand. That I don’t want you to hide that darkness, because I am all too familiar with it, myself. Promise me that you won’t hide, Alster? I don’t know how to help you, if you are not transparent… Do you understand? Can you be open with me?” The Atvanian warrior took his face in her hands, seeing the sadness swimming in his azure eyes. A sadness with which she could relate. “Only then, can I pull you back, if you begin to slip… but I always will. I won’t let you fade from me. Because I need you, just as much as you need me.”
The moment was interrupted by a knock on the door, forcing the two to reluctantly disengage. An attendant presented Alster with his belongings, placing them to the far side of the room, before leaving the two to their privacy, again. “You brought… a gift?” Elespeth looked at the velvet box, and leaned over to peer at what was inside. A delicate circlet that gleamed of pure and untarnished silver sparkled like the stars it bore in the candlelight that lit the room. And at the center, a jewel, that reminded her of Alster’s eyes…
“I, too, came from a noble family. I had fine clothes and was never in want of anything, really,” she began, and dared to pick up the beautiful headpiece with the utmost delicacy, almost as if she was afraid her touch would sully it beyond its perfection. “But never in my life have I owned something as exquisite as this…” Gently placing it back in the box, she flashed a smile. “I’ve never worn a circlet, before. Even if I wear it to our wedding, are you sure it wouldn’t be too… regal? Too presumptuous? I may be marrying a Rigas, but I am not one, by blood. Surely Chara would frown upon it… think I was overstepping my bounds, or some such nonsense.”
And speaking of Chara…
Elespeth’s heart skipped a beat when Alster ventured to suggest another ceremony to take place before their wedding. One that they had only briefly spoke of, prior to his departure, and to which she hadn’t given any more thought, until now… “Do you think… would Chara bother herself to do that, for us? With everything that is already happening?” Of course, the warrior was not opposed to the idea. Not when every day of her life was only a fraction of Alster’s. That despite her health, with every day that passed, she was hastening towards death at an escalated pace compared to his own life span. “I mean… she might have apologized, and we might have currently found even grounds, but she isn’t my friend, Alster; nor am I, hers. I could tell by her reaction to your arrival that she is happy you’ve returned safely, but more than that, she is bitter for it. Because we are reunited… and she and Lilica are not.”
Her shoulders slumped a little, as her own words resonated in her ears. “I suppose I haven’t been fair, to her. Certainly, I’ve been lonely, but… so has she. More than she is willing to admit. So it would not surprise me if she was opposed to performing the ceremony, if for no other reason than on the grounds of misery loves company. But… if you do want to ask her,” she smiled, and for once, it reached her eyes. “I am not opposed to starting our forever before we are married.”
She returned his kiss with as desperate a hunger as she had when he’d first landed, so starved was she for this contact. Something corporeal, and not merely the figments of her dreams. “Are… you sure I should stay here for the night, though? I don’t want to disrespect Chara, and all of my sleeping attire, is in my tent. It’s too dark and would be too much of a hassle to retrieve it. Besides…” Her grin turned a little sly. “You need rest. And I’m not sure how much rest you will get with me around.”
Chara had warned her that this shapeshifter had a way of seeing into people’s minds, to what they feared the most, to what hurt them the most, but only now did she realize she was unprepared for the man she was facing. He read her like a book, evidently, as if her heart’s desires were written on her sleeve, as plain as the nose on her face. And, moreover… he saw where those desires had landed her.
Well, at least that saved her from having to explain herself for the fourth time in two days.
“I’m not sure how you think that telling me what I already know gives you an advantage over me,” she said in a simple, conversational tone. “Particularly not when you are pointing out a folly I’ve long since come to terms with.” Well, perhaps that part was a lie, but having fearsight did not make someone a detector of deceptions. Sigrid didn’t lower her bow, not even when the Rigas guard smartly took his leave. “I don’t want to hurt you, to be very honest. If I shoot, it will be to injure, and not to kill; which can sometimes be worse, as I am sure you can imagine. And at that point, you will have to come back with me, anyway, because you will be injured, and leaving you here almost would almost guarantee your death.”
He wouldn’t let up, though. Even went so far as to advance on her, forcing her back, to keep a good distance for her range weapon to be effective. The Dawn warrior pulled the string tauter, as a warning. Why was he disrobing? To unnerve her? Just because I am amorous for women does not make me disgusted at men, she almost wanted to say, but decided not to pay his antics any heed. “I’ll ask you one more time,” she said at last. “Come with me peacefully. It is not my job to question the word of Stella D’Mare’s leader--”
Sigrid almost dropped her bow the moment the man before her began to… change. The sickening sound of bones breaking and shifting into something impossibly other made her stomach turn, and though she had been aware of this man’s abilities, seeing it with her own eyes was something else, entirely. One moment, he stood on two legs, and the next, four, with the eyes and fur and form of a wolf. She should have shot him, then; anything to slow him down, but he took advantage of her moment of shock and leaped at her.
The arrow she’d notched released, harmlessly somewhere into the forest, where she heard it embed in a tree. The remained of her quiver went flying, as she did, toppling to the ground, landing so hard on her backside that it was sure to bruise the next day. Scurrying to her feet, she grabbed another arrow and notched it, but… the opportunity had passed, and the wolf had disappeared without a trace. “So much for being anything of a good hunter,” she sighed, somewhat disappointed in herself. But there was no way she’d have won this; she’d never intended to strike him. Not if he was valuable to Chara’s plan; compromising him would not have lent any favors…
“Well, this is just another terrible start,” she sighed to herself, picking up the remainder of the arrows and tucking them into the quiver. “Maybe I need to stop paying visits to foreign kingdoms and cities… seems to be the only way I will stop making an ass of myself.”
With a dejected shake of her head, the Dawn warrior decided to cut her losses, and headed back toward the Rigas estate to deliver the bad news of her failure to Chara.
As Elespeth stood and paced, Alster listened to her frustrations spoken aloud. He’d heard the gist of what had occurred between her and Chara, through their separate, hurried accounts to him via dreams or resonance stone. It was not new information, but it gave him additional insight to see what the affair had done to her nerves. “I shouldn’t have asked so much of you,” he said, scooting forward on the bed to grab the tunic draped over the back of the chair. He hadn’t yet slipped it on since Sigrid’s treatment of his arm, and while certain Elespeth didn’t mind the exposure of his bare torso, he had developed a chill—perhaps from the heaviness of the subject he broached. The void, after all, was not a warm place. Nothing approaching what even an agitated Elespeth could provide, in her frenetic back-and-forth. “If you had wanted to, you could have gone to Eyraille when offered. I wouldn’t have held it against you. Chara would have, yes, but it sounds like she would have searched for any reason to vilify you. And while I’m not justifying any pain that she’s caused, I know that she’s under an intense amount of stress. No one person can do this alone, and it sounds to me like she’s isolated herself from any help.” He pulled the tunic through both sleeves and cinched it together with a sash, but didn’t bother to button it.
